#Butterfly Chair- Bottle Green

[portgasdwrld]

📂Op men + sitting on their lap.

Featuring: Zoro & Ace, GN!reader

Warning: Suggestive, established relationship

Note: I got carried away😭

Zoro

The bar you walked in was crowded with people and your eyes searched for the figures of your crew and your grumpy boyfriend. You had left to verify something on the ship, but as you expected the crowded bar had little place now for you to sit and enjoy the night too.

You walked around and found your green haired man chatting with the crew and drinking down a bottle of sake. You stopped behind him and softly flicked the back of his head earning a groan from him as he slightly turned in your direction.

-Oh you’re back, I was almost gonna go after you.

He said with a light smile. You smiled back and rolled your eyes at him.

-Yeah sure and you would’ve gotten lost the moment you would’ve stepped outside of this place.

-I’m not that bad with direction.

-Yes you are that bad, that’s not even out to debate.

Nami retorted in your défense with an annoyed look.

-Agree.

Sanji followed after exhaling a cloud of smoke.

-How about you stay out of this ero-cook?

Zoro growled as he leaned his body over the table and gave Sanji an annoyed glare.

-He’s right though baby.

You chuckled as you put your hands on his shoulders to calm his tension.

-Oi, Y/n !

Luffy screamed out your name in excitement in between two bites. You looked over your captain and furrowed your eyebrows waiting for him to say something.

-Why are you standing up? Everyone else is sat!

-Oh, well the bar is pretty packed. There isn’t any chair left…

-it’s okay, come sit on my lap.

-huh?!

You replied shocked. Zoro was never the type to introduce PDA and you were sure it wasn’t the alcohol that was affecting him. Your heart fluttered at the idea of him growing comfortable enough with you and your relationship to be more affectionate with you in public. It was a small gesture but coming from him, you felt warm just at the idea of sitting on his lap.

He didn’t let you have much time to think about it as he took your hand and pulled your body near him to grab your waist and dragged you on his lap. You blushed as you looked up at him and he simply smirked back. You looked away a bit shy and fixed your position on his lap, making sure it wouldn’t be uncomfortable for him.

-Since when do you have the courage like this to pull me into your laps in public, you teased him under your breath so only he could hear.

He emptied what was left in his bottle and looked back at you.

-Was I supposed to let my pretty lover stood up, wouldn’t be very manly of me.

-Yeah it wouldn’t be..

You nodded as you stole a bite of his food while ignoring how his nickname gave you butterflies. He shifted slightly under you to grab another bottle on the table, pressing his large chest on your arm. His hot breath brushing your neck and a secretive low grunt leaving his lips.

You didn’t know if it was because it has been a moment since you two had sex or if your hormones were simply higher that night, but you felt your body getting hot. You grabbed a glass of water on the table and changed your position to face the table. His hands immediately grabbed your hips and he pushed them forward.

-Are you trying to make my dick hard or what. Don’t move like that without telling me, he said annoyed.

As much as his actions were turning you on, the idea of making him hard and then have him fuck you stupid, didn’t even cross your mind…well until he directly asked you.

You looked over your shoulder with now a mischievous look and smiled at him.

-I wasn’t, but now the idea doesn’t sound so bad.

-Y/n…

-What~ little fun won’t kill you.

You said while pushing your hips a little bit against his bulge. You tried to be as discreet as you could be, but Usopp was catching up on what was happening and was giving you two a dirty glare.

Zoro wasn’t going to fold so easily so he just pushed your body to sit on only one of his lap.

-Now, be good and I will see what I can do for you later.

If only he knew he was in for a long night.

Ace

You sigh as you knock on the door of the infamous commander who stole your heart. You barely saw him all day as a mission was approaching and he was looking through everything, making sure the plan would go well.

He quickly showed up at dinner to grab his food, gave you a kiss on your forehead and ran to meet White-beard who had asked for him and few others commanders. You knew it wasn’t his type to barely eat, so you decided to check up on him and grab some food for him before the kitchen closes.

-Who is it ?

You hear his muffled voice filled with exhaustion.

-It’s me, I brought you some food.

-Come in

You open the door and see your boyfriend’s face lying on top of a pile of papers, tired eyes and a weak smile.

-My saver is here, he speaks in a small voice as he sees the big bag of food you brought. You chuckle as you walk closer to him and pat his dark wavy hair.

-I was worried seeing you barely eat today.

-Im so exhausted, It’s like my brain is going to explode from all the information pops has been feeding me.

-He trusts you with those, so I imagine it’s a blessing and a curse at the same time.

-Yeah, but Marco has been helping me a lot, along with the others, so we are making it a little lighter for each other, he says with a tired chuckle as he pulls your body into his laps. He tucks his head in the crook of your neck and let a tired sigh as he closes his eyes.

-Finish your work quickly so you can go to sleep. You are about to fall unconscious on those papers, you whisper softly as you caress his hair.

-Mmmm don’t want toooo, he mumbles childishly against your neck making you giggle.

-Aceee, quickest you finish, quickest you’re free , my love.

He leans back into his chair and stares right into your eyes. They glitter as he looks at you, giving away that he’s planning something.

-I will if you keep me company, he retorts with a huge grin.

You furrow your eyebrows and nod, not seeing anything wrong with it. You haven’t spent much time with him anyway, so that seemed like a good idea. You are about to stand up to go lay on his bed, when his large arms firmly keep you in place.

-But you have to stay on my laps. I want you close to me.

-Ace, you know you’re not gonna get any work done with me on your laps.

-Why not

-Because we both know how that ended up last time, you roll your eyes and squint them at him as you put your hands on his chest to free yourself. He softly put them away and leave a quick kiss on your lips.

-Maybe that’s the type of work I wanna do, he replies with a smirk.

-Suddenly, you don’t seem so tired.

You tease him with a smile while wrapping your arms around his neck. You gently press your lips against his and you feel his warm hands grip your hips as he kisses you back. You pull away to catch your breath and watch his eyes stare at you with nothing but lust.

-Oh shit, the food! you suddenly remember.

-It’s gonna be our aftercare snack, he announces as he picks you up and put you on his bed.

Yeah, he passed out right after y’all were done :/

He ate the food though when he woke up in the morning :D

[titaniasfairy]

i need to be laid out across john prices lap in a pretty two piece, the most filthiest things spewing out of his mouth right into my ear as his hand meets my ass over and over i’m craving it . . .

oh this is just making me think about john applying your sun screen for you…

i made this longer than intended lol

18+ MDNI!!

cw: no smut just very suggestive, fem!reader, dom!price, price is dilf tbh, spanking, massaging

the weather’s getting warmer, and all you want is to lay across your longue chair by your backyard pool to soak up the sun and feel the rays on your soft skin.

your skimpy bikini barely covers your ass and tits, the material tightly clinging to your body while your heart-shaped sunglasses tied the “outfit” together.

you weren’t aware you had an audience when you were bending over to lay your towel down and a loud hiss and groan could be heard behind you. chuckling, you turn around to greet your crowd.

“like what you see, hm?”

john stood there in his army green t-shirt and khaki cargo shorts behind you, looking as middle-aged as he could. his eyes were squinting while he pulled down his aviators to get a good look at his girl.

“i certainly do.”

price approaches you and hugs you from behind, his big hands fully encasing your waist. your head leans back against his chest and john takes the opportunity to kiss down your neck.

in between pecks and light sucks on the warm flesh, john whispers sweet nothings into your ear.

“y’know how good you look in this? tryin’ to give a show to the neighbors, huh?”

you let out a light laugh and his grip on your waist tightens. “i’m not messin’ with you, luv. you lookin’ to show off for someone?”

john’s voice is low and hoarse in your ear, sending shivers down your spine and butterflies to your cunt with each syllable he says. you can tell he’s worked up too from the growing bulge poking your lower back.

“you know it’s all for you, honey.”

“it better be.”

you successfully wiggle out of his grip and grab the sunscreen laying on your chair. you turn around to face john and the bottle opens with a pop of the cap.

“i was thinking… maybe you could help me put this on? you know i can’t reach all the spots on my back.”

price exhales with a huff, seemingly laughing at your offer. but how could he deny you when you’re looking up at him like that?

“i’d be fuckin’ glad to.”

you eagerly hand him the bottle, excited to get his hands running up and down your body. john takes the bottle from you and takes a step back, observing your body.

“on your back, i wanna see those pretty tits poking up at me.”

john’s dirty words make your pussy clench around nothing, your thighs squeezing together while you stare in front of him.

giving you a ‘what are you waiting for’ look, john urges you lay down on the chair. before you could settle, john is pushing you down and covering his hands in sunscreen.

“good lord…” he exclaims, his hands finally coming down to cover your legs in spf. his calloused hands massage the sunscreen into your calves and thighs, john’s eyes trained on your face to see your reactions.

“that feel good, luv?”

releasing a sigh, you smile and nod. john has always had a way with his hands, whether it be when he’s massaging your shoulders after a long day or groping your tits while he’s pounding you hard.

“i know it does, i know.”

his hands begin to move from your thighs to your pelvis and tummy, making sure every inch of you is covered in sunscreen. with each squeeze of your skin, john his groaning out explicatives as he gazes on your figure. your eyes can’t help but fall to his now raging boner throbbing in his shorts. before you could protest, rough hands pull your tits out of your bikini top.

“w-wait john! someone could see-”

“let em’ watch, give em somethin’ to look at.”

john applies more sunscreen, this time he squirts the product directly onto your tits. the sudden coldness of the lotion makes your nipples harden, even in the heat. john’s hands rub the lotion in, groping and squeezing at your tits and tweaking your hard nipples.

“f-fuck, john..”

your back arches and he laughs- the bastard laughs at you. your thighs are clenched together and your legs are crossed to apply pressure to your cunt.

“jesus christ these tits are gorgeous. look at you, squeezin’ your thighs together like a hopeless slut.”

his hands suddenly leave your tits and move to your shoulders and arms. you try to protest, but john’s hands are already holding your wrists to stop you from moving.

“what’s the problem, lovie? m’just doin’ what you asked.”

you couldn’t really argue with the man that was making you this horny, so you just sat back and allowed john to cover the rest of your front in the lotion.

“on my lap now, gotta get your back.”

john pats his thighs and sits next to you and you’re quick to lay across his lap, your ass perfectly in the center and your groin laid exactly on his hard bulge.

“holy shit, babe.”

a hard smack is laid on your ass, leaving a white handprint of sunscreen on your bottom. john begins to rub the lotion on your ass, adoring the way your flesh jiggles with each touch.

“make sure to get my back!”

while your voice is muffled, the reminder earns you another smack to ass. “i’ll take my time if i want. if you don’t watch your mouth you’ll have to start counting em’.”

“y-yes sir.”

his strict tone makes you grind down on his cock, trying desperately to calm the urge in your cunt. john’s hands land back on your waist and grip hard, effectively stopping you from grinding on him. in an instant, john stands up and carries you bridal style to the door.

“hey wait-!”

“had enough, we’re goin’ to the bedroom.”

“but what about-”

“you can sunbathe later.”

ty sm for the ask!!

taglist: @soapsgf @glossysoap @meowpupp (pls inbox me if you wanna be added!)

[notjustjavierpena]

I dont know if its Father’s day where you are but Happy Father’s day to Hubby Javi!!

Father's Day (Drabble)

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: It's not but he sure appreciates you reminding me! In other words, I threw this drabble together just for you. Spot a little reveal in there!

Summary: Join Hubby as father's day comes to an end.

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader (no y/n)

Tags: Domestic, pregnant reader, fluff, allusions to smut, Javier being called Daddy

Word count: 725

Father's Day

As the day is coming to an end and the weather starts cooling down outside, Javier drags his favorite garden chair into the center of the back porch so he has an overlook of the garden. He settles into the chair with a contented sigh, feeling full from the fantastic dinner you served half an hour ago, and in his hand, he twirls and rereads the card he received during his breakfast. 

It’s a handmade card full of glitter and dollops of messy glue, each of his children contributing a drawing but also a joint message telling him that they love him. Lucas has drawn a picture of them all, complete with a depiction of the growing belly on you as you carry his twin girls, while Inés has drawn a heart with a stick-figure family inside it and one of her famous butterflies. Javier’s eyes had practically sparked at the realization that even Sebastian had added his mark with a few colorful lines and squiggles.

He looks up with a smile and observes Sebastian babbling in a kiddie pool that you’ve set up next to him. His one-year-old is splashing happily in a swimming diaper, trying to figure out how things seem to stay afloat despite his efforts to drag them under the water. 

Javier’s two eldest children are playing tag on the lawn. They’re barefoot, speeding across the grass until their pant legs are covered in green stains and dirt but they look so happy as they take turns to chase each other.

Lucas pauses for a moment and decides to hide behind a bush when he sees Inés is distracted by a ladybug on one of the trees and seems to forget that she has to run from him. He pants with excitement and exhaustion at the same time, waiting patiently for her to start her search for him. 

“Got you!” He shouts triumphantly when she runs past his hiding spot, jumping out and capturing his baby sister with a grin. She squeals with laughter as she tumbles to the ground, the sound echoing through the garden and settling in Javier’s chest, warm and comforting. She regains her composure, animatedly dusts herself off like she’s seen in cartoons, and then she’s off again and Lucas adapts his speed to match her. Lucas is so good at making her feel confident and seen, Javier thinks to himself, if only he knew that being an amazing big brother is paying off because you’ve looked at a dog for his birthday in August, a two-year-old beagle from the local shelter. 

You step out onto the porch, immediately bending down to check the temperature of Sebastian’s water, and only when you’ve made sure it’s not too cold make your way to your husband. You lean down to kiss him, a hand on your pregnant belly as you do it, and Javier stretches his neck to meet your lips in a soft peck. 

In your free hand, you carry an already-opened Corona beer. You hold it out for him and he carefully sets the card down on the side table to take it from you. 

“Thanks, baby, you spoil me,” he says gently. He sits back and takes a long sip in the scorching summer heat. Then he rests the bottle on his thigh, “Still don’t think I look like him… the guy in the commercials.”

“Yes, you do. Happy Father's Day," you say fondly and kiss him once more, this time a little longer and enough for him to want to wrap his arm around your waist. 

"Thank you," he replies, placing a gentle hand on your belly instead as his eyes are filled with love for you. "I can't believe how lucky I am."

“Just wait until you realize what I have planned for later,” you tease with a knowing smile, “It’s going to be all about Daddy tonight. I’m showing you how much I appreciate everything you do for me and the kids.”

“Tell me more?” His interest is definitely piqued. 

“Not in front of the baby. It’s not appropriate,” you tease.

“Come on.”

“Use your big brain,” you laugh softly, “I’m giving you a blowjob, you idiot.”

A grin spreads across his face and while still staring into your eyes, he shouts across the garden, “C’mon, mijos (my children), it’s time for bed.”

.

.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

[ladykailitha]

Icarus Part 18

Hey, guys! I'm back!!! I had a great and very productive hiatus, the results of which can be found here.

But tl;dr is that this story is complete, so it will be regularly updated on Sunday until it's done. Then I will release the story that started this all "The Rise of The Fallen" in two parts, also on Sundays. Which will take us all the to December, if you can believe it.

I'm still working on the other stories and at least The Hellfire Exotic Club (stripper), The Caged Bird Still Sings (sugar!baby), and Of Butterflies and Backstrokes (Olympic swimmer) are all going to be fairly long so that should be exciting. Then I'll be working on the fun little game show story now called "A Love Connection". Which won't come out until one of the others ends. Sorry. But WIP Wednesday will show you teases of it until then.

I recommend rereading the previous chapter to refresh your memory and away we go!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17

~

Steve was riding on the best high. Their next song was “Kiss the Boys/Kiss the Girls”. The song was about finding love in whatever form that took. With a full verse on non-binary folks, despite the title. There was nothing in the world that could compare to crowds screaming your name. It didn’t even matter that the name they were screaming wasn’t Steve, it was Abbadon.

He stumbled into the green room that had all their stuff in it. Corroded Coffin had taken the stage and him and his boys were relaxing with their masks off, Hopper at the door.

“I’ve never been so nervous in my life!” Shane said after downing an entire water bottle. “That crowd was massive! And diverse! Usually we just get college aged kids but there were literal kids out there and old time rockers too.”

“Shit, yeah,” Spence said, pushing his hood off his head to splash a little water on his head. He didn’t have a spotlight on him but wearing all black still made for a hot set.

Shane laid down on the floor, sprawled out spread eagle. “Is this is what real fame is like?”

Steve slid off the chair he was sitting in, to sit next to him. “God, I have such mixed feelings about that if it is. Because the energy was off the charts and I’m pretty sure I sung my heart out...”

“But you aren’t sure you keep up with it for the whole tour?” Simon asked quietly.

Steve threw his head back to rest on the seat of the chair. “Yeah. I don’t want to burn out before I turn thirty, you know?”

“You should talk to Eddie about what they do not to burn out,” Spence suggested. “Because they’ve been doing this for ten years and longer tours than this.”

Steve hummed his agreement.

Suddenly there was a knock on the door. “Celeste, incoming,” Hopper muttered, before opening the door.

Anyone in view of the door, put their mask over their face and then off again when the door closed behind their manager.

“Good job, guys,” Robin said cheerily and sat down on the floor between Shane and Steve. “I just got off the phone with Vickie and she says social media is going batshit insane about the song and Steve’s intro. And it’s good. Like really good. There are some assholes, but it seems that even the media and music critics are calling it the next gay anthem.”

“What are they saying?” Simon asked, sitting up on the sofa and scooting to the edge.

Robin grinned. “This is my favorite one: Heaven is where the assholes are, we always knew all the good people were in hell. Keep up the good work, Abbadon and all of the rest of The Fallen. From Metallica’s official Twitter.”

The room was deathly silent for all of two seconds before they all erupted into gleeful screams. They all jumped on her and started hugging her tightly.

“Get off me! Get off me!” she shrieked. “You’re all sweaty and gross!”

They deliberately smeared themselves all over her before they got off, giggling like children.

“Boys!” she huffed dramatically. “So gross. I swear you lot don’t grow up you just get older.”

Steve leaned over and gave a huge kiss on the cheek. “Probably, but you wouldn’t love us if we were any different.”

Robin swiped her cheek in an exaggerated fashion. “Maybe, but boys are still gross.” She went on to tell them all things that Vickie was sending her about the world’s reaction to the song.

Then after a while she bumped into Steve’s shoulder. “Go on. I know you want go watch some of the show, I’ll hold down the fort here.”

Steve smiled at her and gave her shoulder a squeeze. He got to his feet and put his mask back on. After checking to make sure no one was in view, he knocked on the door for Hopper to let him out.

Once the door closed, Robin let out a long sigh. “I worry about those two.”

“Who?” Shane said, sitting up for the first time. “Steve and Eddie? Why?”

She nodded, pulling her knees up to her chest and tucking her chin between her knees. “Being in the closet is hard. And I know Abbadon has come out, but he’s still in the ‘closet’ as it were about his identity and Eddie and Steve having to hide their relationship on top of Steve hiding who is... let’s just say that great relationships then theirs have crumbled under the pressure.”

The room was silent as they all took that in.

“Are we just doomed from having relationships?” Spence asked. “Are we all destined to be lonely?”

Simon’s lips quivered. “I hate that I have all these women throwing themselves at me but they really don’t care who’s under the mask.”

“I hit up every gay bar in every city we tour in as me,” Shane muttered picking at the skin around his nails, “and I don’t know if it’s worse they don’t know who I am than if I had gone as Astraeus.”

“I’m trying to have a girlfriend,” Spence said bitterly, “but all I can tell her is that I travel for work. And yeah it’s new enough she isn’t asking as what, but how much longer can I dodge that question?”

Robin let out another sigh. “I know, and it’s not as though I can really date either. Are they dating the goofy lesbian Robin, or the sophisticated fashion plate, Celeste? But with Eddie I think Steve has it harder.”

“It’s because Eddie is famous, huh?” Simon asked, sliding off the sofa to sit next to Shane on the floor.

Spence got up and curled up around Shane. Robin inserted herself into the pile and they just cuddled until the show was over.

~

Steve wanted to be on that stage more than anything, just singing with Eddie, happy and free. But he was Abbadon right now and while he might get away with it, Steve didn’t feel comfortable with the not being able to kiss his boyfriend senseless.

He waited until the it’s almost time for the encore before he slipped back into the green room. Everyone else is already changed and gone. It’s just Robin as Celeste waiting for him.

“How did he not have a boyfriend before now?” Steve muttered as he pulled on the khakis and blue polo shirt of his ‘uniform.’

Robin snorted. “For the same reason you went pretty thin on the dating field. He was hung up on a special someone.”

Steve blushed and ducked his head. “I’m assume you think it’s me.” He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to get it lay straight after being hidden under the hood for so long.

Robin got to her feet and leaned down to look him in the eye. “Are you telling me you don’t?”

Steve looked away. Robin gently lifted his chin and then held his face her hands. “Steven Kincade Harrington, you listen to me close. You are worthy of love. You are worthy of care. You are worthy of attention. And Eddie Munson is one hundred percent onboard to give all three. Of course he was waiting for you. Any person with eyes can see how much he loves you. Fuck, Simon bristles every time he’s brought up now because instead him being your protector like it used to be, it’s Eddie.”

Steve stared at her with his mouth wide open. “Simon’s jealous of Eddie?”

Robin laughed and kissed his stupid head.

“Babe,” she said fondly. “Spence and Shane have been beating him off with a stick every time Eddie comes around.”

“But Simon doesn’t protect me,” Steve said tilting his head to the side. “I protect him. He’s so painfully shy outside of the band and he’s always curled up on my lap.”

“Please tell me you aren’t that naive,” she said. “He is always sticking up for you about your writing, about your singing. When it comes to band stuff Simon is the biggest mama bear of them all.”

Steve blinked at her for a moment and then mouthed the word “Oh.”

“You are such a dingus,” she said shaking her head. “But you’re my dingus so that evens it out a bit.”

He pushed her playfully. “I’m going to get out there before people wonder where the missing EMT is.”

He slipped out a different way from when he came in and she watched him go. Steve was brilliant at a lot of things, people included. But he always had a blindspot when it came to when other people caring for him.

She sighed and then made her way out of the green room so that Corroded Coffin could unwind now.

Robin passed Chrissy on the way out.

“Hey,” Chrissy said with a huge smile. “My boys want to go afterwards with your boys, you think they’d be down?”

“Of course they would!” she replied. “As The Fallen or no?”

Chrissy slapped her palm to her forehead. “Shit I forgot. As The Fallen. But they have casual masks to go in right?”

Robin smiled back at her. “It’s fine, of course they have casual masks. I’ll let them know. It’ll have to be much later because they have to be see as normies for a bit before they slip back into The Fallen.”

Chrissy winked and tapped the side of her nose. “I got you.”

Just then all the Corroded Coffin boys came bursting from the stage into the wings, whooping and screaming. They huddled together, arms around each other and counted to twenty.

Once they got to one, Eddie screamed whooped again and all four of them ran back on stage.

Robin blinked at them for a moment. “Didn’t they just have an encore?”

Chrissy threw back her head and laughed. “Depending on the city they can do anywhere from two to five encores.”

“Holy shit!” Robin said in genuine awe. “That’s insane.”

“It’s not even their record,” she said.

Robin’s eyebrows shot up. “There’s no way.”

“Six in Salt Lake City,” she explained. “Just coming off their third album, the one with eight singles. Which was too many in my opinion but apparently a couple radio stations thought there were a really good deep tracks and played. Then it got around, yaddy yadda. You get the drift.”

“But six?” Robin asked a little unsure.

Chrissy nodded. “Salt Lake is crazy for that shit though. I’ve heard bands go there if they want their ego stoked.”

“Any bands avoid it for that reason?” Robin giggled.

“I have no doubt there are,” she said with a hum. “Most of the time bands whine about the lack of boobs and booze when they refuse to go back.”

Robin rolled her eyes. “Men are so gross.”

“Agreed,” she replied with a wink. “Go lesbian power.”

Robin fist bumped her. “I’ve got to go look like a PA schlep for awhile. I’ll text you when they’re free.”

“You’ve got it girlie!” Chrissy said.

~

Eddie was not pleased that they were at a bar. A bar was the last place he wanted Gareth to be right now.

But he insisted he would be fine and seemed for the most part to be sticking to a cherry coke, but Eddie was keeping an eye on him.

Things were actually going well until...

Astraeus let out a yelp of pain.

Abbadon and Azrael were on their feet in an instant, Asmodeus close behind. There was a little action going on so Eddie couldn’t see what happened, but oh boy did he see the aftermath.

Standing behind The Fallen’s bassist was an asshole with his phone up, filming and another guy yanking on Astraeus’ hood.

“Get off of him,” Abbadon hissed. “Or else.”

Abbadon was the shortest of his band, but fuck in that moment, he looked the most intimidating.

The dude with phone scoffed. “Or what? I’m filming you, you can’t do shit.”

Steve let out a huge ear-piercing whistle and yelled, “Security!”

The two dudes’ eyes went wide as they turned to scramble away from their table, but ran into two very meaty looking guys flanking Hopper.

“You two boys going somewhere?” the head of security asked, low and dangerously.

“We weren’t doing anything!” the one dude said. Not the one with the phone, but the one who had pulled on Astraeus’ hood.

“Yeah?” he asked. “And would these boys say the same?”

The asshole with the phone scoffed. “They’re just a bunch of weird, rich assholes, they’d say whatever.”

“And the security cameras won’t show you filming your friend here, yanking on this man’s hoodie?”

The two dudes looked at each in actual fear for the first time.

“And by the way, that’s assault,” Hopper continued to press. “So unless you want to be arrested, you’ll delete that little videos of yours unless you really, really want to broadcast your crime to the internet.”

The guy with the phone had Hopper watch him delete it off his phone.

“Good,” he said, “now these two gentlemen are going to escort out of the building, a building you’ll never be allowed to come back to ever again.”

After Hopper left with the bouncers and the two idiots, Gareth turned to them.

“Shit,” he said, “that was fucking terrifying. Does that happen a lot?”

Abbadon and Azrael exchanged a glance.

“More than it really should,” Azrael said. “It’s why Ellie designed a hoodie that would be harder to yank off. The trade off unfortunately is that hurts like a bitch when it’s pulled.”

“That fucking sucks, man,” Jeff said. “The next round of drinks is on me.”

Eddie nodded, but inside he was screaming. He didn’t know that this was something the band experienced at all. And even if he didn’t know who they were, that would still freak him out. But it was worse knowing it was Steve that they were doing this to.

Abbadon squeezed his hand under the table. It didn’t reassure him, not really, but it was still nice that Steve recognized his turmoil.

The night was a little more subdued after that as the Corroded Coffin boys thought about the implications of what just happened and The Fallen boys because all they wanted was a fun night out and it was ruined.

~

Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25

Tag List: CLOSED

1- @mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @val-from-lawrence

3- @goodolefashionedloverboi @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog @irregular-child @blondie1006

4- @yikes-a-bee @bookworm0690 @anne-bennett-cosplayer @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten

5- @genderless-spoon @y4r3luv @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt

6- @disrespectedgoatman @eyehartart @dawners @thespaceantwhowrites @tinyplanet95

7- @iamthehybrid @croatoan-like-its-hot @papergrenade @cryptid-system @counting-dollars-counting-stars

8- @ravenfrog @w1ll0wtr33 @child-of-cthulhu @kultiras @dreamercec

9- @machete-inventory-manager @useless-nb-bisexual @stripey82 @dotdot-wierdlife @kal-ology

10- @sadisticaltarts @urkadop @chameleonhair @clockworkballerina @garden-of-gay

[caffiend-queen]

Do NOT Say 'Always After My Lucky Charms,' Or I Will Stab You

Welcome to another addition to the Holidays in Hel series! Where Loki and Mina attempt to save the Avengers from yet another catastrophic holiday fuckup.

I've been cleaning up and adding bits to my Holidays in Hel series because really, it's my favorite. I hope you enjoy, and thank you as always for reading!

Chapter One: An Unmitigated Disaster Awaits

In which Loki and Mina once again find themselves in the middle of a colossal Avengers holiday fuckup. And who knew the Fey Folk were such assholes?

If there was blame to be assigned for the night that destroyed any charm and mystery left in St. Patrick’s Day, it should really go to The Paddy O’Hoolihan’s, an Irish folk band with a painfully cheesy name. But their music- it was frenzied and delightful, which was why Mina, Wanda, Jane, Pepper, Darcy, and even Natasha were swirling madly in some sort of a jig between each other like a flutter of butterflies, colorful spring dresses flaring out in a pleasing way that exposed a toned thigh or two. They were so fascinating to watch that the rest of the Avengers agreed right then that a Night Out On The Town would be necessary in the hopes of seeing more of this.

“A flutter of butterflies?” Tony blustered. “That can’t be right.”

Loki was seated elegantly on a comfortable chair in the middle of Central Park while most of the other male Avengers were seated in the grass, soaking the seat of their jeans. “A flutter,” he confirmed, watching closely as Mina sent him a saucy little wink. “Known also as a kaleidoscope or a swarm.”

“Swarm isn’t the right word,” mused Steve, still brushing at the green streaks on his pressed chinos. “That sounds like bugs. The girls are definitely butterflies.”

“Butterflies are bugs,” grunted Bucky, eyes closed and soaking in the weak spring sunlight.

“You romantic bastard,” chortled Sam, who was watching Thor capering with the women and getting the dance steps wrong. “I’m gonna go save those ladies from his bigass feet.” 

“That slick son of a bitch,” Tony observed morosely, watching Sam gracefully sweep Pepper under one arm and Natasha with the other.

It was a rare day, a blissful day where nothing was exploding, no one was invading anyone else’s borders, no one was getting kidnapped, and even HYDRA appeared to be taking a long afternoon nap. The Avengers were all lazing in Central Park on an almost unnaturally warm day for March 17th and enjoying a holiday where they were, for once, not urgently needed. Anywhere.

“To St. Patrick’s Day!” toasted Bucky, raising his bottle of Guinness to clink with Steve’s. “So what’s the plan for tonight?”

Tony pulled another bottle from the specialty vibranium cooler that floated next to him, its propulsion jets hissing softly. “Watch the parade from Stark Tower, say a prayer at St. Patrick’s Cathedral, and hit The Dead Rabbit Grocery & Grog. The Dropkick Murphy’s are headlining.”

Loki sniffed, still watching keenly as Mina took the hands of an elderly gentleman so wizened and stooped that he could legally be classified as a leprechaun. “My lady and I will be spending the evening safely at the Tower. I do not understand this keen desire for holiday-based mayhem and disaster, but I assure you we shall not participate.”

“Brother!” Thor’s voice was unfortunately right next to Loki’s ear, and God or no, the roar from the oaf seared through his ear canal and scrambled his ganglia. “You must bring the Lady Mina, she will be terribly disappointed! Darcy has been telling her of the majesty of the Celtic celebrations here. She must pay homage to her ancestors.”

Loki frowned. Mina had Irish blood? He would rather crush his own skull with Thor’s hammer than admit that his brother knew something about his Mina that he did not, so he settled for a haughty sniff. “Why must I be the sole sentinel during every holiday on this benighted excuse for a realm to remind you all that it will always, always invariably result in death and destruction? That there will be some unnatural force that will target the Avengers and endanger all those we love? Why must I be the-”

“Hey, did you hear that?” Tony interrupted happily, “Loki looooves Mina!”

And then the tiresome chorus rose from this pack of imbeciles. Loki rolled his eyes, wondering if he sent a hailstorm of toads down upon this crowd if it would immediately be traced back to him. But then his Mina returned and sat down in his lap. Kissing him on the tip of his aquiline nose, she sighed, “And Mina loves Loki, so all of you hush.”

“Darling, are you indeed of Irish descent?”

Mina looked up from the 3D chemical strain she was modeling for one of Jane’s experiments. “Yes, and Scottish. How did this come up?”

Loki sniffed haughtily. “My oaf of a brother attempted to claim that I must indulge you in a night of drunken excess with the rest of the team as some sort of homage to your heritage. Is this night one that must be dedicated to your ancestors? Is it a sacred rite?”

Giving a very unladylike snort, Mina said, “Nothing sacred about gulping down too much green beer and singing Irish folk songs. But…” Loki groaned internally. His sweet girl had a look of longing as she continued. “But it’s always such a fun night! I get to dance and sing, and the saying is that ‘On St. Patrick’s Day, everyone is Irish.’” She smiled up at him sweetly. “Even you, Loki.”

Lip curled, he snarled, “Do not assign me a heritage from this insignificant rock!” Traditionally, this sort of elegant sneer would quail Mina, but this time, she gave him a sneer of her own. 

“Oh, you do not disrespect my people, Loki!” She quailed slightly before seeing his curled lip stretch into a smile. 

“My, my. Look at my fierce little banshee! I would not think of it.” Mina gave him the sort of shameless, hopeful grin that crumbled the God of Lies and Mischief’s will more often than he’d care to admit. 

Sliding her hands over his broad shoulders, admiring the hard muscle beneath, she asked, “Does that mean you might be willing to join the group tonight at the Dead Rabbit?”

His elegant head pulled back from hers, “What a truly bizarre name. Does the proprietor wish to drive people away from his tavern?”

Mina cackled a bit. “We Irish are tough. We like it rough and difficult.” She instantly realized her mistake as Loki’s pupils flared.

“Really…” he purred, his deep tone more like a rumble against her spine. “You like it, ‘rough,’ do you, darling?”

It was a desperate scramble to get away from her God’s ruthless grasp, but Mina found herself pulling on her old plaid kilt and cream Irish fisherman’s sweater after a promise to show Loki later the bit of “rough” that a good girl from the Emerald Isle could handle. “My lovely Mina,” he approved, stepping behind her in the dressing room mirror to straighten his cuffs. She’d just pulled on some warm black tights and her knee-high riding boots. “You have a very delectable ‘upper-crust schoolgirl’ sort of look here. I find myself quite interested in knowing what good Irish schoolgirls wear under their kilts.”

“Well, I imagine a big, strong man like you can find out for yourself,” Mina answered primly, then leaped over the bench with a yelp when Loki made a sudden move at her. Chuckling, he straightened his tie and strolled sedately after her.

It was, of course, vile. Loki sighed in a long-suffering way as he surveyed the crowded bar, one hand securely on Mina’s back. “The sun barely set and here are your countrymen, already intoxicated,” he said, leaning in close so she could hear him over the drunken chorus of “Whiskey You’re the Devil.”

“Oh, look!” Mina shouted back, “There they are! In the Snug.”

“I beg your pardon?” Loki raised a brow.

“The Snug,” Mina was the one carving a path through the partygoers, heading for their friends. “There’s one in every proper Irish bar.  It’s the room right off of the bar where the ladies used to go to have a pint or a sherry and not have to worry about being considered loose. Now the bars just rent them out as a VIP space.”

In his usual fashion, Tony had not only bought out the Snug, which had an excellent view of the rest of the pub, but he also had the management re-create the magnificent, shining walnut bar that ran nearly the length of the main room into a private version for the Avengers. When they drew closer, they found Thor in a handstand with one end of a tube in his mouth and the other in a cask of aged whiskey. 

Sam, Clint, Darcy, and the usually shy Bucky were circling the spectacle, shouting “Drink! Drink! Drink! Drink!” Thor finished the cask and flipped upright with a flourish, raising his huge arms and roaring in triumph.

“What are you wearing?” Loki frowned, all the men were sporting hideous green plaid patterned neckties, and the more drunken amongst them - namely Clint and Tony - had little green bowler hats perched atop their messy hair.

“It was Tony’s idea, where’s your tie?” asked Bruce, who looked distinctly put out that he’d been forced to wear this itchy novelty neckwear while Loki looked as smooth and perfectly put together as always in an onyx Tom Ford suit.

Loki sniffed, “Ideally, at the bottom of the Hudson River.”

Tony stumbled up behind Loki and Mina, sunglasses askew as he looped an arm around each of them. “Your brother knows how to party, Severus Snape! Let’s tap another cask for you!”

“It is a crime to treat a good whiskey so,” admonished Loki, “and Thor must consume twenty or so of those casks for him to find something even approaching intoxication.” Nonetheless, he found himself relaxing and even amused as his Mina dragged Natasha up on to the bar for a round of Irish Ceili dancing, the Russian gracefully moving along as if she’d performed Irish jigs all her life.

“Man, is there anything Natasha can’t do perfectly?” groused Darcy, watching the footwork until it made her dizzy.

Bucky put his arm around her. “She can’t make that cute little noise you make when I…” She dissolved into a round of giggles and Loki rolled his eyes, looking around the pub. There was a thicket of drunk college students, singing along off-key with the Dropkick Murphys, who’d moved on to “Rose Tattoo.” The main bar was claimed by the regulars, who held court and toasted something new at least every sixty seconds, based on the cheers and clinking of glasses. Small islands of tourists floated through the crowd, gripping a beer mug in one hand and a souvenir Dead Rabbit t-shirt in the other. Irish flags were draped in every corner and the light glowed off the massive selection of alcohol behind the bar, bathing everything in a pleasingly golden glow. And… Loki raised one elegant brow. There was a small group of… small people?

“Little people,” Steve said, leaning in. “The correct phrase is little people.”

“Descendants of a visit long past from a group of lustful and irresponsible Nidavellir,” mused Loki, “the dwarves always eager to spread their seed.”

Steve looked alarmed, “I don’t think you want to be floating that theory, Loki. Especially not here, and not tonight.”

Before the God of Mischief could further discuss Nidavellir sex tourism, he heard a loud “Hellooo, Monty!” from his sweet girl, still tip-tapping away atop the bar.

One of the men broke away from the group and waved eagerly. “Éire go Brách, Mina!” 

Leaping rather gracefully from the bar, she took his small hand, greeting him warmly. “Éire go Brách, Monty! I’m so glad you came.”

The gentlemen had a face like a withered crabapple, all wrinkles and slightly sunken, but when he glanced at Loki, there was a spark of… something in his eye. One trickster always knew another, and he recognized the elderly gentleman she’d favored with a dance that afternoon at the park. “Well, when you promised me another dance, my dear, how could I not?” Monty turned to Loki and bent his head in a courtly gesture, “If your date for the evening has no objection, of course.”

Oddly, Loki did have an objection. The gleam in the small man’s eye was growing brighter, and his own emerald ones narrowed. “And what brings you to New York, Monty? Your accent has all the slurs and ellipses of a Dubliner, born and bred.”

Mina’s new friend threw back his head and laughed grandly, “Ach, you’ve caught me. I am, indeed. But I find that here in America, the Irish celebrate this day with greater enthusiasm.”

Just then the Dropkick Murphys launched into “The Boys are Back” and Mina squealed. “Monty! This is my song, let’s go!” And with a final smirk at Loki, her diminutive beau allowed her to pull him into the crowd. 

He stared after them disapprovingly. The Dead Rabbit was even louder - if possible - than it had been when they arrived and the discordant screech of electric guitar and the accompaniment of the Uilleann pipes rose over the crowd.

The boys are back

The boys are back

The boys are back

And they're looking for trouble

Standing on the highway, ???

I'm missing my home, and it's killing me

Down the ramp past the jail, I'm feeling alright

Bought roses for my ladies from a corner delight

It's time to get ready for that song and dance

Let's go my friends, it's time to take a chance

We're back in town, we're gonna get it done

We got nowhere to hide, we got nowhere to run

It's been a long time coming,

It's been a long time coming,

The boys are back

The boys are back

The boys are back

And they're looking for trouble

And in the blink of an eye, Mina and her questionable dance partner were swallowed up into the crowd. “Did he not seem unnatural to you?” Loki asked Tony, who was leaning heavily on his shoulder and wrinkling the perfect cut of his jacket.

Tony stumbled back, “Woah, Lokes, prejudiced much? What’s next, snide comments about the little people always being after your Lucky Charms?” He said the last in a deplorably bad Irish accent, and Loki’s brow furrowed. Tony (partially sober) was just barely endurable. Completely intoxicated Tony was a punishment that could make the strongest Asgardian choose Odin’s dungeons over Stark Tower.

Bucky gently elbowed Tony into a seat, where his head tipped back and a gentle snore rose from his slack mouth. “Ignore him, Loki. What’s the problem?”

“Most pressing,” he said, “is that my dear Mina seems to have disappeared into this drunken throng with a most untrustworthy creature.”

“Takes one to know one,” Bucky agreed, but he refused to take offense, still searching the crowd. Looking around, he frowned. “And where’s Darcy and Jane? And Pepper? And Natasha?” By now the others were closing in. Thor shouldered his way into the knot of drunken, flailing New Yorkers and Clint hopped up on the table.

Pale hands shooting out, Loki sent a silver stream of energy that coiled and ripped around the pub, curling and snaking along, but there was no sign of the women. “By the NORNIR!” he shouted. “Why? Why must it always be the holidays? You Avengers are a curse, I swear it!”

“Huh?” Tony woke up, standing and rubbing his face. “What?”

Loki turned on him. “You will never heed my warning, will you? All our women- they are gone. Gone!”

“Aw, damn,” sighed Steve, "AGAIN?"

Chapter Two is up tomorrow. You know, the one with all the smut.

I'm starting over with a vague memory of who might like my Loki and Avengers tales. If you would like on or off this list, please let me know! Thank you. Mwah!

@what-is-your-plan-today

@sweater-daddiesdumbdork

@the-soulofdevil

@americasass81

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[azrielwingspan]

DISTRACTIONS (AZRIEL X OC)- PART 1

Distractions is a collection of short stories whose main characters are Azriel and Nyra (OC).

It's established that there is some heavy tension between them (everyone suspects lol) and I decided to put into words a few visualizations I've had of the both of them just pining for each other, playing hard to get, flirting, a bit of angst, some fluff and overall just being HELLA CUTE OKAY.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Here is PART 1 !!!

Summary :

The IC , Nyra and a couple of mutual friends decide to stay in for a night and celebrate the success of one of their more important missions. A bit of alcohol and a cozy setting can do wonders.

Warnings: Nothing major. Lots of drinking, fluff if you squint your eyes.

"Okay, bring out the expensive wine. I'm sick of whatever crap this is." Cassian said making a disgusted face at the glass of wine in his hand. Nesta, curled up by his side on the love seat in front of the fireplace , smirked at him over the rim of her peppermint teacup.

"That would've been possible.." drawled Rhys from the wingback chair adjacent to the fireplace "if you hadn't made it your life goal to rid my wine cellar of it's most expensive occupants."

A few chuckles rose around the room and Cassian scowled , halfheartedly taking a sip from the crap wine in his hand.

Despite the lack of good wine, everyone was in good spirits that day. The parlor in Rhysand's and Feyre's Riverhouse was occupied by their closest group of friends who were finally able to let loose after weeks of intense work. The fireplace cast a cozy glow over the dark wood furniture with emerald green accents and provided a warm embrace against the frigid rain lashing against the windows.

The smell of alcohol , rain and smoky cedar mixed in with the quiet chattering of the occupants , sometimes interrupted by a boisterous laugh set everyone's senses at ease and lulled them into comfort.

"I heard the party started without me."

Heads whipped towards the doorway of the parlor where Nyra stood grinning with her hands behind her back. Dressed in a gold satin dress with dark hair in a braid, her green eyes sparkled with mischief.

"Well..." said Nicolai, her best friend since childhood, "you are two hours late." He glanced at the clock placed on the mantel above the fireplace.

"I am aware. Which is whyyyy..." Nyra brought her hands forward showing everyone the two bottles of tequila she'd managed to buy before showing up.

Cheers erupted through the room, Cassian nearly jumping out his seat. Mor tackled her in a hug saying "Thank the Cauldron. I was ready to fall asleep."

She was pulled into the room , bottles taken out of her hand and replaced with shot glasses. A grin was etched onto her face as everyone assembled near the fire place to take their first shots together.

Nyra was trying very hard. She really was. She was putting every ounce of her willpower towards not looking at the male at the periphery of her vision. Being in the same room as him was enough to make her heart stutter and set off a swarm of butterflies in her stomach. Her body was attuned to his every movement and he was the first thing her mind directed her to in any room.

She would've gone straight to him and spent the entire evening by his side but this thing between them was becoming too evident. She would be asked questions that she didn't have an answer to. She wasn't ready to face that. Not yet. Perhaps she was a coward but she didn't want to face that either. That's how she had survived for so long and she wasn't keen on facing those parts of her anytime soon. There were more important things to focus on.

"To us. The dreamers and conquerors." Rhys raised his shot glass in the air and everyone followed him. Once the shots were downed, a few coughs erupting as the burn of the alcohol kicked in, Nyra made her way through the crowd talking to everyone she knew.

She would speak to him last. She could spend the most time with him. She almost rolled her eyes at her own thoughts and tried to focus on her companions words. She'd sneaked a peek at him because she couldn't help herself and her stomach lurched at how devastatingly handsome he looked. Wearing a simple black shirt unbuttoned at the top , the firelight falling across half his face making the deep tan of his skin glow against the stark contrast of his shadows, hazel eyes that were glazed from the alcohol he had consumed, he looked ravishing good. He stood near the chest of drawers, an elbow placed on the surface of the chest lazily while the other hand held his glass of...whisky. She would know for sure if she kissed him.

She had immediately turned away , not trusting herself to stop staring if she started and tried to give her undivided attention to her companion. She might have zoned out on his face multiple times because he seemed to take the hint and end the conversation before she made a bigger fool of herself.

"NYRA!" Feyre called from the other side of the room, where she was perched on the chair that Rhys occupied. She made her way to Feyre all the while being aware of the set of hazel eyes that trailed her.

Don't look. Don't look. Don't you dare.

Successfully making it without tripping on her dress or making lovesick eyes at a certain male, she listened to Feyre update her on what had happened in her absence. A couple more shots and drinks were consumed during their gossip session with Mor. Nyra had reached a point where she let out a laugh at every single thing that came out of Feyre's mouth. That tequila had done its job too well. She'd forgotten how many shots she had until that point but judging by the lightness in her head and the slight spin around her , she had enough.

Realizing it was time to sit down before she split her head on the floor, she turned around looking for an empty seat. She found one at the other end of the parlor but it didn't look as enticing as the chaise lounge chair where Azriel was seated speaking to another male. There's just enough space for her to squeeze in. She'd reached a point where her intrusive thoughts couldn't be ignored anymore.

Letting her alcohol addled mind take over, she excused herself from the fizzing out gossip session and made her way over to Azriel. His eyes shot to her the moment she moved, making her think that he'd been keeping note of where she was the entire night. Her heart pounded harder with that thought and she forced herself to breathe normally. Hazel eyes finally clashed with hers and she couldn't help that child like joy that lit up her face. She wasn't this bad during her teenage years either ugh. What had this male done to her?

A small smirk curled his lips while his eyes shone with amusement. The bastard had known. He'd known that she was trying to avoid speaking with him till now. He had known and he had waited for her to come to him because Azriel knew that she couldn't fucking stay away.

She tried not to fidget under the intense gaze that he had fixated on her as she walked towards him. The male he was speaking to rattled on and Azriel interrupted him muttering in a low tone all the while not taking his eyes off of her. Nyra didn't know if it was the alcohol causing the heat to flush her face or if it was something else. Someone else. The male he was talking to found elsewhere to be.

"Hi." she whispered looking down at him and trying to control the whirlwind in her mind. "Hi." he whispered back looking up at her , his eyes holding promises of things she didn't let herself wonder about. He shifted on the seat hinting at her to sit down.

Maneuvering herself around a table, she fit herself into the space next to him trying not to sigh in content at the immediate cocoon of warmth that enveloped her. His scent invaded her senses and seemed to be more potent than the alcohol she had. The entire room seemed to vanish when it was just the both of them and she grateful that they were seated in a dark corner of the room.

"I think you're going a little cross eyed there." Azriel said throwing an arm behind her on the couch. She wanted to lean into him until there was no space left in between. "I think I see two of you." Double the fun.

He let out a raspy laugh that set shivers running down her back. They were so close but not close enough. His shadows faded into the darkness behind leaving the both of them blanketed in glimmers of firelight running across their skin.

"And here I thought avoiding one of me was a hard task for you." he said , eyes shimmering gold in the firelight.

"Not that hard truly. I just have to keep away from dark corners."

"Corners like this?"

"Exactly like this."

"And yet here you are."

"You seemed desperate to talk to me. So I decided to put you out of your misery."

"Did I now?"

"Oh yes you did."

"Well thankyou for putting me out of my misery, Nyra." He had a wonderful way of saying her name. The R came out with a trill, a habit he had picked up from her as a way of mocking her.

"You're welcome Shadowsinger. I do need a favor in return though." she said bringing up the glass of whatever was in there upto her lips while keeping her eyes glued to him.

"Favour?" he asked ,eyes trailing the movement of the glass to her lips. She might have taken an unnaturally long sip to keep his eyes trained on her mouth.

"Yes." she said breathily watching his eyes flick back to her.

Too far. This was going too far and too fast.

Clearing her throat she said "I demand to be taken to the pastry shop that everyone here seems to rave about. If there's anything to put me out of my misery, it's deliciously sweet pastries."

"Pastries? You know I've heard people say I can be deli--"

"Don't finish that sentence." she said fighting the laughter ready to erupt.

He raised his free hand in mock surrender and tipped back his glass of whisky. She could smell it now. A kiss could could confirm though.

She stole a glance at the tattoos peeking out of his shirt as he turned away from her to place the now empty glass on the floor beside them. He turned back towards her stunning her with the intensity of his gaze.

"Do you want to go now?" he asked shifting himself into a more comfortable position. His arm continued to rest behind her.

"Now? It's the middle of the night."

"I know."

Nyra blinked once, the only indication of her confusion.

"I'm sure the baker would go beyond working hours to put a beautiful woman out of her misery. I've heard he's quite charming."

Nyra was sure that the heat rushing to her face was not the alcohol this time. It was such a cheesy line and yet she almost fanned herself to get rid of the red staining her cheeks.

Azriel who never missed anything especially when it came to her, laughed quietly earning a smack on the arm.

“I think you’ve had enough to drink for tonight.” Nyra said trying to collect herself.

“I think I need more now that you’re here.”

“Funny. I was thinking the exact same thing.”

“I think every male requires a bit of liquid courage to be around you.”

“Am I that torturous?”

“You’re resplendent.”

“Is that your new word of the week?”

“One of the many for you.”

“Why Az, if I didn’t know better I’d think you were trying to charm me.”

“You don’t know better then.”

Nyra shut her mouth not knowing what to say. Azriel was much more talkative today. The alcohol had loosened him up and they were crossing into dangerous territory. Nyra would be lying if she told herself she wasn’t getting a rush from it.

“Charmed?” He asked breaking into her thoughts. They’d leaned a little closer to each other in the past few minutes. She was able to smell the heady mix of alcohol and cedar on him that muddled up her brain.

Maybe it was the sudden surge of confidence due to the alcohol or maybe it was the way Azriel was looking at her that made her want to play along.

She leaned even closer , stopping an inch from his face and let her breath wash over his lips as she said “You have to try much harder than that, Shadowsinger.”

His eyes flashed with surprise and desire. They’d never gotten this close to each other before. They really were cartwheeling across the invisible lines they had drawn for themselves today.

A grin broke out on his face sparking something in her chest that made her feel content. He was beautiful. She wanted him.

“I like a bit of a challenge. Things were starting to get boring around here.” He said as his eyes roved over her face as if he were trying to memorise every inch of her.

“Is that what I am? A challenge?” she questioned letting her free hand trace the markings on the ring he wore. She felt him stiffen beneath her touch and felt an absurd amount of satisfaction.

“An enigma.”

“Another word for me?”

“Only for you.”

Her mouth went dry at the stampede of emotions running through her causing her to wet her lips. Azriel attention honed in on that movement and her breath hitched at the predatory focus directed towards her.

After a beat of heavy silence, he gave her another lazy smile and moved away dropping his head back against the couch.

The firelight highlighted his onyx hair and she fisted her palms to stop herself from moving away a stray piece of hair from his face. She needed to leave. If this went any farther, she was reckless enough right now to cross a line they would never come back from.

As if hearing and agreeing with her thoughts, Azriel lifted his head and said to her “Get some sleep. I’ll take you to the pastry shop tomorrow morning. We’ll see how much of your misery can be taken care of.”

She tried to ignore the twinge of disappointment as he removed the hand from behind her. He was leaving. He paused his movements, suddenly studying her face intensely as if he were trying to decide on something.

The next thing she knew, a warm caress of lips touched her bare shoulder igniting a fire within her. Her head went silent, unable to process what just occurred.

“Good night.” His lips brushed the shell of her ear, his breath setting off goosebumps. Her entire body flushed with heat and before she could mutter her response, he left.

She saw him leave the parlor and realised that everyone had already left for the night. She hadn’t even noticed.

Pouring herself another glass of wine with her only companion being the soft pattering of rain against the windows , Nyra realised she was fucked .

Truly, utterly, completely fucked.

[boosoonhao]

buzzes and butterflies

vernon x reader 5k words non idol au swearing, mentions of drug use, drinking, explicit sexual content

vernon spots you the moment you walk into the living room of soonyoung’s frat. it’s a hot summer, temperatures climbing every day, so it’s not really a surprise that you’ve opted for short shorts and a simple, white tee. that doesn’t stop the sort of strange wallop in his chest when you twist your head around to make eye contact with him.

“hey, vernon,” seungkwan calls from his left, nudges his elbow against vernon’s side. a blue-green bong appears in vernon’s peripheral vision. “are you even listening?”

“don’t bother,” seungcheol chuckles from his own chair on the other side of the table, a roll of his eyes and a half full beer bottled nestled between his thighs. “his girlfriend just arrived.”

vernon glances down the expanse of your legs, pleasantly surprised to see a red-ish purple mark right where the hem of your denim shorts ends. he wonders if you even know it’s there, this blatant reminder of where you spent the night two days earlier. he wonders if everyone knows who put that mark there. 

“she’s not my girlfriend,” he mutters, takes the bong from seungkwan’s impatient arms.

vernon has known you since the two of you were kids; long before you started wearing bottoms that show off your thighs. he remembers play-dates and first days of school; learning how to ride a bike, graduation parties, proms. somehow you’ve been part of every milestone of his life so far; he even lost his virginity to you. he knows you like the back of his hand; all your ticklish spots and strange erogenous zones; every scar and mark that makes your body unique. sure, he loves you, but not like that. not like a girlfriend.

“not your girlfriend,” seungkwan mutters, as if the statement is absurd. his voice cracks, and the shorter man coughs, takes a sip of his red solo cup filled with vodka and cranberry juice. “then stop telling me about your sex life,” he pauses to return the wave you send their way, air blowing out of his nose as you start making your way over. “please.”

vernon hums, feels his head go tingly as he exhales smoke and hands the bong over to seungcheol’s waiting hands. “she’s ace, she lets me do her in the ass,” he says, part-brag, part-to-annoy-seungkwan. when the blond next to him levels him with a scandalized facial expression, vernon grins, feels a sort of childish glee tug at his chest. he shrugs, “anyways, it’s just sex.”

“whatever you say,” seungkwan returns, drags a hand through his hair, leans back on the couch. he shifts his gaze as you come up to stand by the end of the table, almost directly behind seungcheol. opens his mouth to greet you, only to be cut off by seungcheol, who takes a deep hit of the bong and turns his head in your direction.

“anal,” he says by way of greeting, lifts his hand up expectantly in the universal sign of ‘smack your palm against mine to express agreement’. “classy!”

 it takes you half of a second to comply, the sound of your palm hitting seungcheol’s crisp and audible even with the constant hum of some semi-decent edm track oozing out from the speakers littered around the room. 

“hello seungcheol,” you greet, patting the man on the head. “vernon, seungkwan,” you let your eyes drift over to the end of the couch, where soonyoung is drooling against his own shoulder. “soonyoung falling asleep at his own party before ten pm, nice to see you again, too.” a sort of knowing, collective sigh follows the statement. at least the poor dance major hasn’t gotten any dicks drawn on his face this time. yet. “are we talking about the time i–”

“nope!” seungkwan cuts you off, gets up from his position on the couch so fast it makes the furniture creak. “none of this,” he wriggles himself between the table and vernon’s legs. “i can’t take the two of you tonight.” he pushes past you with a squeeze to your shoulder. “have a nice night, freaks.” 

you look in the direction seungkwan bolts off to for a moment, before moving to steal the man’s now empty spot next vernon. your arm is hot against his own, and vernon has to clench his fist to resist the urge, the impulse to reach for your hand. vernon isn’t, by any stretch of the imagination, a touchy guy. he doesn’t feel a need for hugs and lingering touches. but your closeness is so known, so comfortable, that he feels a sort of pull regardless.

but then, that might be the weed. or the alcohol. or both.

he turns his head instead, takes in the details of your face. “hey,” he murmurs, watches as your mouth quirks upwards. 

“hi,” you return. and everything is as it should be.

it’s not that vernon doesn’t like you. for all intents and purposes, he thinks that this thing that the two of you have is perfect. vernon doesn’t care about dating, doesn’t long for a relationship. with you, he doesn’t have to worry about forgetting anniversaries (though, he does remember, to the day, the first time you sucked his cock), or knowing what kind of flowers you like (you’re allergic to pollen anyways), or introduce you to his parents (you’ve already known them for most of your life).

vernon likes when you stay over an entire weekend and only get out of bed to take shared showers or to get takeaway. he likes waking up to the feel of your mouth around his cock, to the taste of weed when he sucks your tongue into his own mouth. he likes spending entire sunday afternoons just lazily exploring each others bodies; intermissions of blazing and eating pizza naked and talking shit. he likes that you have no reservations about parading around his apartment wearing only panties and nothing else and that you’re never opposed to ducking out of a party for a quickie and that you’ll indulge him in his more off-brand fantasies. 

but in love? nah. vernon doesn’t do that.

he turns around in the bed, his thin duvet twisting around his body. you’re doing something on your phone, face scrunched and brows furrowed. he gets the distinct feeling that you’re playing some sort of rhythm game, the kind of high intensity game where you’d be annoyed if he interrupted you. so, vernon clears his throat, lies fully on his back, and he asks; 

“if i asked you to piss in my mouth, would you?” 

it’s not the first time he’s brought up some sort of strange, outlandish ‘what if’ like that, but your facial expression is still as open, as surprised as if he’d never asked for anything raunchier than a kiss on the cheek before. you lock your phone with an audible click, put the device down in favor of staring him down with arched eyebrows and an amused sort of slant to your mouth.

“didn’t know you were into water sports,” you tell him, a husky, teasing sort of quality to your voice. vernon’s own mouth curls into a grin and he turns onto his side, reaches over to brush a lock of hair away from your face. 

“it’s just a hypothetical,” he says, like he always does. like he did the time he wanted to try wearing your panties, the time he was curious about fucking your tits and the time he tried to shock you by jokingly proposing you try pony play. you roll your eyes, already too aware of this game of his.

“well, i guess i’d need some water bottles,” you reply with a casual shrug, the nonchalance of your tone making vernon laugh. he hooks his fingers behind your ear, keeps them there as if he needs to anchor himself. 

“what? you’d actually do it?”

“sure,” you deadpan. “we’ve done weirder stuff.” 

vernon hums, scoots closer. he tugs at your ear, nips at your bottom lip before he lets his hand wander; down the side of your face, curled around your neck, tracing the shapes of your breast before settling at your hip.

“you’re gross,” he tells you, voice filled with a sort of affection he reserves for these moments; for these lazy, casual conversations he could not have with anyone else. you reach out and wrap an arm around his neck, your nose squished against his.

“i’m gross? you just asked me to piss in your mouth!” 

vernon laughs, a booming sound that starts at the pit of his stomach and rips out of his mouth as if he would burst had it not been allowed exit. he presses a sloppy, wet kiss to your mouth, teeth clinking together and his leg moving to hook over yours, pull you closer to his body. your own mouth is curled, a clever kind of grin decorating your features. he rolls over until he’s on top of you, fingertips ghosting over your breasts, uncontrollable giggles pressed into the nape of your neck. 

you squeal, writhe underneath him and grab at his hands. he evades you, keeps your lower body trapped between his legs; fingers pressing teasing tickles against the skin of your sides. you squirm, half-laughs spilling from between your lips and echoing around the room. vernon leans down and you make a grab for his coppery curls, tug his face the last few inches to meet your own. you gasp into his mouth when he circles his finger over a particularly ticklish spot of yours, and when he’s finally lazily pressing his cock into you; slow, unhurried movements that feel more like a reflex than anything else, vernon can’t even remember what what so funny in the first place.

(he wakes up from a post-sex nap hours later, drowsy and sticky with sweat. you’re lying a bit away from him, sleeping on your stomach with your head turned away. he hears your quiet, easy breaths, watches your back fall and rise in tune with your inhales and exhales. your duvet has crept down to the dip of your back; the barest, most tasteful side boob visible from underneath you. a warm sort of feeling seeps into vernon’s body, and he wriggles closer, carefully lifts your arm to slide underneath it. he snuggles close, buries his face in your hair, smells the familiar scent of his own shampoo. 

he falls back asleep, feeling safe.)

vernon feels the soft fabric of your panties, slick with wetness already, against his cock. the position – back of the car seat pushed as far back as possible, your knees against his sides – is not particularly comfortable, by any stretch of the imagination, but there’s no denying that car sex always manages to turn him on something fierce. there’s something about your mouth; open and wide against his own, and about the way you clutch at his curls and coil your arms around his head that just makes his head spin. you grind against him, let his hands guide your hips. 

“vernon,” you mumble, voice too low, too close to his ear. a shiver runs down his spine, his hands bunching up your sundress to climb up your body. you’re not wearing a bra. you whine when he pinches your nipple playfully, ground your lower body against him. “we don’t have time for this.” 

he hides his face in the nook of your neck, bites down on your most sensitive spot, keeps you steady as you squirm in his lap. “you should sit on my cock, then, baby.”

he tries to sound seductive, but that flies right out the window when you reach your hand down to stroke his cock, smearing his pre-cum down along his length. his voice cracks embarrassingly. you hum, thumb teasing the head of his dick. “i should, huh?”

vernon groans. “you should.” you lift yourself up, one hand on vernon’s cock and the other pulling your panties to the side. vernon presses his nose against your skin, growls into your shoulder when you slide yourself down his length. you feel so good around him, the perfect mix of tight and hot. his arms wind around your middle, pulling you close.

“fucking car sex,” you mutter, fingers threading back into his locks as you wiggle slightly to adjust. vernon pretends not to hear the stutter-y exhale of air as his cock moves inside you with the movements. “so goddamn uncomfortable.” vernon bucks up, relishes in the feel of your fingers tightening at his hair, pulling until it almost hurts.

“it’s hot though,” he giggles at your neck, teeth grazing skin. you set the pace; slow, languid movements on top of him. vernon likes that, feels a cloud of fluttery butterflies on the inside of his stomach at the way you grind against him. he presses a sloppy kiss to the side of your neck, leaves a trail of chaste pecks along your jaw, nibbles on your ear. “someone could walk by any moment.”

“hurry up, then,” you mutter, guiding one of his hands down, pressing it against you. he takes the hint, circles your clit with two fingers. the sound that tumbles out of your mouth sounds like wind chimes, like bells and symphonies. he repeats the motion, juts up against you and grabs onto your ass with his free hand, his face hovering a hair’s breadth away from your own. “i have to get back soon.”

he stops. “get back?” he repeats. “aren’t you going to the party?”

you exhale through your nose, air hitting vernon’s face in a cool, welcome breeze. “no,” you tell him, hesitate. “i have a date.” 

“a date,” vernon feels like a parrot, leans back. “you’ve got a date.” you try gyrating against him, your insides throbbing with the sudden lack of friction. his fingers are still slippery against the inside of your thigh.

“yes,” you mutter. and here one of your best and your worst qualities come out on full display; your stubbornness. you hands are at his shoulders, your gaze unblinking as you stare him down. even as a drop of sweat slides down the side of your face, even as vernon’s cock is buried deep inside you, you manage to look completely in control. it turns vernon on as much as it scares him. “is that a problem?”

but here’s the thing. vernon has a reputation of being lazy, aloof. of being too stoned to care most of the time and too casual to be opinionated. he thrusts up against you with all the force he can muster, presses you down with one hand and massages your clit with deft, quick fingers. his teeth sink into the skin of your neck and you muffle a cry with the back of your hand.

vernon can be stubborn, too. 

“of course not,” he growls against your neck, laps at the reddening spot where his teeth has bruised your skin. his voice is barely audible over the sound of flesh smacking together as he pounds into you, a sort of inexplicable frustration tugging at vernon’s neck. “are you gonna go on the date like this? fucked out and with my cum still leaking out of you?”

you tilt your head back, neck exposed. “i was gonna shower.” vernon licks at your jaw, feels the way you clamp around him, erratic ruts against his cock and fingers growing desperate.

“don’t,” he says, tries not to notice how possessive his own voice sounds. he hopes you’re too distracted by his dick to take note. 

“that’s unhygienic, vernon,” you reply, his name turning into a moan as he bites down on your earlobe. “i can’t walk around with cum in my panties.” and granted, he’ll give you that. that doesn’t mean the mental image doesn’t make his cock throb inside you, pushes him closer to the edge.

“fuck,” he groans, pauses his movements all while still fingering your clit to keep himself from coming too soon. “fine, change panties, then,” he amends, as if he’s got any say in the situation at all. 

you stare at him, eyes hooded and dark. there’s a sort of furrow to your brow that vernon doesn’t want to think about. “fine,” you relent, and vernon’s shoulders sag with something akin to relief. “i swear vernon, your kinks are getting stranger by the minute.” and vernon doesn’t argue with that, because of course; that’s all it is. a fetish, a kink. another peculiarity of his. 

he snickers, but the sound feels hollow.

“damn vernon,” joshua marvels, three hours and fifteen minutes into the party. vernon has his head leaning back against the couch, a pleasant mixture of weed and alcohol mingling in his body. he has to squint to really manage to focus on the older man, tilting his head to face the new arrival. “who pissed in your drink tonight?”

his brows furrow. joshua’s a pretty boy, he muses; a clean sort of look, neat haircut. always wears clean shirts. vernon wonders if the boy you’re on a date with is like that; if he’s got his license and all the buttons on his ironed shirts. “what are you talking about?” he barks, the sound a tad more aggressive than intended. joshua’s own, perfectly shaped eyebrows rise until they’re almost completely hidden underneath his bangs. a teasing sort of smile takes his mouth. 

“you’re in a bad mood,” he says, and it’s not a statement; it’s an observation. vernon frowns. 

“he’s just mad his not-girlfriend ditched him,” seungcheol offers as an explanation. vernon feels as if he should argue, but his mouth is full of syrup. 

“ah,” joshua muses, an airy sound full of understanding that vernon find completely unwarranted. it’s almost annoying, how quick the other boy is to take this explanation at face value. “where is she tonight?” 

vernon huffs out a laugh; a sound that tastes as bitterly as it sounds. “she’s on a date.”

a collective, soft ‘aah’ falls over the small crowd of boys in the living room, and vernon’s head jolts up so fast it makes his brain hurt. he stares at the group, a deep frown pulling at his lips. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“come on, dude,” seungcheol rolls his eyes, takes a long sip of his drink, presumably for dramatic effect. “you’re jealous.” vernon sputters, scandalized by the accusation, but seungkwan cuts in before he can object.

“seriously,” the blond huffs from his own corner of the couch. “how long have you guys been doing this? you had to know she’d want to start dating at some point.” seungkwan, bless his heart, takes on his most lecturing tone of voice, the one he dons when he wants to remind vernon that he’s not the only one who’s known you for years. that vernon’s not the only one you talk to.

“if you really don’t have feelings for her at all you have to prepare yourself to let her go,” he continues, watches you with something between suspicion and curiosity in his eyes. “she’s not gonna want to be your fuckbuddy forever.” 

and realistically, vernon knows that. he knows that at some point you’re going to want more than sex – even if the sex is amazing – and that you’ll start looking elsewhere for the things vernon isn’t giving you. he just thought he could avoid it for a bit longer. something cold rests at the pit of his stomach.

“oh,” joshua pipes up, leaning forward with his hands on his knees. somehow, he looks sort of like a lemur. “i guess the date didn’t pan out.” vernon whips his head around, scans the crowd that’s accumulated by the pool table right outside the nook of a living room the group of boys have gathered in. 

and sure enough, there you are; fingers sweeping your hair out of your face and sundress reminding vernon of the things that transpired mere hours earlier. you haven’t spotted him yet, it looks like; too busy leaning close to allow hoseok, a man vernon only knows by name and face and dance major, half-yell something into your ear.

vernon gets up. you notice him a moment before he manages to wriggle past the crowd to reach you, and you lean over to say something to hoseok, who nods and claps you on the shoulder before disappearing into the crowd.

“hey,” vernon half-yells into your ear, a hand automatically coming to rest at the small of your back. “what happened to your date?” he pretends that he doesn’t say the word ‘date’ with visible distaste. you shrug, hands crossed over your chest.

“eh, i wasn’t feeling it,” you tell him, face so close he feels your breath against his face with each word. “he kept asking me to call him daddy,” you roll your eyes, a sort of lopsided grin curling your mouth. “it’s 2018, who even does that anymore?”

vernon snorts, curls his fingers into the fabric of your dress. “i do. literally all the time.” the edges of your mouth twitch.

“it’s just funny when you do it.”

warmth spreads from somewhere in vernon’s chest and through the rest of his body. damn right it is, he thinks, a sense of superiority tugging at his stomach. “you always do it, though,” he murmurs against the shell of your ear, tugs at your dress to pull you closer. you size him up, a small smile on your face. it looks fragile, somehow, as if your face can’t quite keep up with your mouth. 

“yeah, well,” you reply with a slow roll of your shoulder. vernon can’t help noticing your defensive, passive stance. “i guess there’s only room for one daddy in my life right now.” 

silence follows. well, not really, of course; a sub-par dubstep track is booming from the speakers and around you people are hollering, laughing. but somehow, there’s only a muted sort of quiet surrounding the two of you. vernon blinks, a sort of weight to your joke that feels misplaced, too heavy. you clear your throat. 

“i only came by to drop off some weed,” you explain, clearing up instantly, then, why you were talking to hoseok – possibly the only one with a bigger stoner reputation than vernon himself – instead of seeking out your usual group. “i’m gonna take off. early shift tomorrow.”

usually, you’d offer to drive vernon home. it’d just be an excuse, of course, a flimsy, indirect invitation for him to come over and spend the night between your legs. he waits, but it doesn’t come. you shift, vernon’s hand slipping away from your back, and you pat him on the chest, gaze not completely on him.

“i’ll see you later, daddy.” 

vernon watches you leave, seungkwan’s words echoing in his head. his heart is beating against his ribcage so hard he feels like his whole body is vibrating. 

time passes. a week. two weeks. vernon barely sees you at all, barely even has the chance to speak to you. you’re taking extra shifts, you tell him; you have homework to catch up on and tests to study for. it’s bullshit, of course, so transparent and blatant it leaves a bad taste in vernon’s mouth. he knows what you’re doing. 

you’re avoiding him. 

so he does what he always does; he talks to seungkwan. you’re an idiot, seungkwan says. i told you this would happen. if you don’t want to lose her you gotta put a ring on it. seungkwan might have taken a back seat in your trio once vernon and you started sleeping together, but that does not mean he’s not an important part of it. he probably knew, long before vernon realized, that vernon is in love with you.

so vernon does the only thing he can think to do. he goes to walmart.

he knows you’re home, because seungkwan – as the top notch best friend he is – has done some recon. vernon knows you’re studying, that you’re sitting somewhere in the apartment on the other side of the door. still, he’s reluctant. 

vernon has never been a relationship sort of guy. has never needed to be. he fell into the rhythm of whatever the two of you have been doing for the past few years before he even had the time to consider anything else. why would he need a relationship, when you’re there to lean your head against his shoulder during movie nights and slip your hand into the waistband of his pants when the movie gets boring. why would he need a girlfriend when you already know and love his parents, let him eat you out in empty parking lots and make out with him in bathrooms at parties? 

he’s an idiot, of course, because it took seungkwan literally beating him over the head for vernon to realize that the only thing that separates your ‘no-strings-attached’ relationship and an actual, official relationship was the names you call each other.

vernon inhales. he never thought he’d be nervous to see you. he might know how he feels, now, but he has no idea how you feel. only one way to find out, he supposes.

vernon knocks.

he hears a thud, a low curse followed by footsteps.

you rip the door open as if you’re expecting someone, pausing only when you come eye to eye with vernon. “oh,” you mutter. “vernon.” he takes a moment to take in your appearance; face free of makeup an attire decidedly comfy. he’s pretty sure the hoodie you’re wearing used to be his at some point. you arch a brow, eyes on the bouquet of plastic sunflowers in vernon’s hand. his palms feel clammy.

“you here to murder me, bro?” you ask, and the ‘bro’ feels sort of like a distance, a line being drawn. vernon cringes. 

“plastic,” he explains. “for your allergies. lasts longer, too.” it’s not much of an explanation, really, doesn’t at all clear up the awkward tension that rests between you. you hum, cross your arms and lean against the door frame. vernon tries not to feel self-conscious at the fact that you don’t invite him in.

“what’s the occasion?” 

vernon clears his throat. “we need to talk, i guess,” he tries. these conversations look so easy in romantic comedies. “about us.”

you exhale through your nose, mutter a low ‘oh boy’ under your breath. “what brought this on?”

“i miss you,” he mutters, feels like he’s on display. 

“you miss sex.”

vernon’s brow furrows. “fuck off,” he huffs, before he can stop himself. “i miss you. i miss that you drool on my chest when you’re sleeping,” he twists his hands around the stems of the plastic flowers in his hands, needs something concrete to ground himself. he feels like he’s going to disintegrate, like he’s being pulled apart at the seams. “i miss smoking with you and just eating chips in bed. i miss holding your hands.” 

“where is all of this even coming from?” you ask, something unsteady to your voice. your fingertips dig into the flesh of your arms. “you’re always going on and on about not wanting a relationship. flowers and anniversaries and all that.” you wave a hand towards the sunflowers. 

“i’m an idiot,” vernon says, earnestly. “i didn’t even realize until seungkwan told me that the reason i didn’t want a girlfriend was because that meant we’d have to end.” he sees the subtle, slight change in your expression, feels a hopeful thud against his ribcage. “i just don’t even know who i am without you.”

“you’ll have to spell it out for me, vernon,” you murmur, shoulders high and tense, teeth gnawing into your bottom lip. vernon inhales, is all too happy to comply. he takes a step forward, presses the plastic bouquet of sunflower into your hands. 

“i’m in love with you. looking back who the fuck even knows how long i’ve been in love with you,” he says, runs his thumbs along the back of your hands. “and it’ll break my mom’s heart if i have to tell her we’re not actually dating.” you snort at that, you lip twitching. vernon takes it as encouragement, leans his forehead against yours. “please be my girlfriend.”

your arms wind around his neck, and vernon can’t quite help his relieved sigh at the contact. the more pathetic part of him feels like crying. “you can’t take it back,” you tell him, and despite your best attempts you can’t quite hide the fragile quality of your voice. “if you do this now you have to commit to it.”

vernon circles his nose around yours, hands sliding along your back. “just be my fucking girlfriend,” he murmurs, and then he closes the gap. 

it feels like he hasn’t kissed you forever. it feels like he’s kissing you for the first time. there’s something different about it, about the way your tongue slides along his bottom lip and about the moan when he sucks it into his mouth. he pushes you against the door frame, presses his body as closely against yours as he can. his lungs are burning, desperate for air, but he perseveres, groans as you pull at his hair. 

“fuck, i missed you,” he whispers, voice raspy as he moves to nip at your neck. his hands are at your ass, squeezing and pushing and pressing fingers into your flesh. there’s a crack in his voice that he can’t find it in him to be embarrassed about. “i missed you so much.” 

“i missed you, too,” you tell him, as if it’s an admission, as if the words are thick in your throat and reluctant to be spoken. 

“are you busy?” vernon asks, his lips against your throat. he feels your hum against his mouth, the vibrations like a jolt of lightning through his body. “we have two weeks of sex to make up for.” you laugh, nails scratching at his scalp in a way that sends shivers down his spine.

“luckily for you,” you tell him, press a light kiss to his lips, pull him into your apartment. “i’ve had a shit ton of water today.” vernon smiles against your mouth, bites your bottom lip. 

“you’re such a freak,” he murmurs, guides you towards the couch. you open your mouth, to object or to take the joke further, he doesn’t know; he steals the words right out of your mouth, takes your face between his hands. “luckily for you i love freaks.”

as it turns out, girlfriends suck dick even better than fuck friends.

[joka13]

FANFICTION: Weasley Twins x Reader (Slytherin Girl) - Part 30

WARNINGS: mentions of child abuse

"No," you say out loud, taking your hand back.

It's not right for a student to be punished with physical harm (or any kind of harm for that matter). You're not one hundred percent sure that's what Professor Umbridge has planned for your detention, but the possibility of it is enough to keep you from entering her office. Just as you turn around to head back down to the Great Hall, you find Fred and George running towards you up the stairs.

"Y/n!" the twins call out to you, and butterflies in your stomach come to life at hearing them say your name.

"Fred! George!" you reply, grinning as relief flows over you now that you've made the decision not to go to detention with Umbridge.

"Don't do it!" George huffs, panting heavily.

"I know you're accustomed to being a goody-goody, but this isn't worth it," Fred wheezes.

You snort and roll your eyes. "Not to worry; I don't need convincing. I'm hardly a 'goody-goody' after sticking around you two almost everyday since the beginning of the school year."

The twins share a sigh of relief.

"Dinner!" you exclaim. "I get to have dinner!"

"Hooray!" the twins shout.

"We'll have to be quick about it," Fred says as the three of you link arms and start for the Great Hall. "If you're not here for detention, Umbridge has no reason not to eat her own supper in the Great Hall, too."

And quick you are. (You've now disobeyed Umbridge twice within the last five hours, and you aren't eager to see what she'd do if you ran into her again.) You and the twins rush down to the Great Hall, gather as much food as you can carry, then run up to Fred's and George's dorm. All of the students should be having dinner at the moment, so now there is much less of a risk that you'll cause a fuss being seen in the Gryffindor common room.

You practically fall onto George's bed in exhaustion. "I'm never going up another flight of stairs for as long as I live," you cough, then abruptly realize that you're lying on George's bed. You sit up in a hurry, accidentally sending rolls flying out of your pockets. You go to pick up the rolls and hope that if your face is red Fred and George will believe it's because you'd been running.

The twins chuckle, looking just as, if not a little less, fatigued than you. Fred slumps down against the wall by the door while George takes a creaky, wooden chair on the other side of the room.

After gathering all of the fallen bread, you split the number between the three of you. Fred sets a bowl of green beans and noodles on the floor along with four oranges. George reveals more rolls and a whole bottle of "Otter's Fizzy Orange Juice", and you and George let out an approving whoop.

The three of you have gotten closer to share the food and are now all sitting on the floor in a circle. You eye the bowl of loose, wet green beans and noodles as you peel an orange and laugh. "I'd use 'Accio' to summon a fork for that, but that seems dangerous."

"Hmm. I didn't think about that," says Fred. "I wonder..." He proceeds to take out his wand, point it at the mess of food, and say, "Wingardium Leviosa," performing the swish and flick wand method.

Everyone watches silently as a single noodle rises slowly into the air. You giggle.

"I'm not sure what I was expecting, but that works I suppose," George snorts.

"Open wide, y/n!" Fred says, guiding the noodle over to you. You open your mouth, but the noodle lands on your nose and the three of you laugh.

About an hour later, after most of the food is gone, the realization of your situation finally sinks in.

"Oh, I'm just dreading what Umbridge might do to me," you groan.

"Here, have some fizzy orange juice," Fred says, taking a swig before passing the bottle.

You laugh weakly, "Drowning my worries in pop won't do me any good," but you drink it anyway.

"Don't you bother your pretty little head. What's she gonna do anyway? Expel you?" George snickers. He stops when he sees your expression change as you remember your conversation with Malfoy from earlier that day.

"...I'll just have to wait to make my complaints until after she's become headmistress," Malfoy had said. "Then she could do some real damage."

"Yeah. She might." You take a long drink.

"She couldn't," George says. "She doesn't have that kind of power... Even if she did, would it be so bad?"

Fred shoots George a look that you can't interpret, but before you can ask what it's for, Fred says, "You seem... irrationally concerned about this, y/n..."

"I'm not," you sigh. You then go on to tell the twins about your run in with Malfoy and his claims. Fred and George are quiet for a moment afterwards, but they handle it well altogether.

"I wouldn't be surprised actually," George says, clicking is tongue in disappointment.

Fred nods. "Me neither. She's gotten this far... I wasn't going to mention it because I didn't want to be the bringer of bad news, but have you heard about Professor Trelawney?"

Your stomach tightens. "Oh, no. What happened?"

"Since our last class with her," Fred speaks slowly. "Umbridge had her... sacked."

"What?!" you exclaim. "She can't do that!"

"Apparently, she can," George sighs. "Dumbledore couldn't do anything about it, other than demand that Trelawney still be allowed on school grounds."

"That's terrible..." You are truly sad. Despite the divination teacher being rather unpopular with most of the students, you have always been fond of Professor Trelawney, more so than any of your other professors even.

"I'm sorry, y/n. I know you'll miss her lessons," Fred consoles.

The door suddenly swings open, and a couple of the twins' roommates walk into the room.

"Y/n. Hello," Lee Jordon greets you awkwardly. "You're early."

"Ah, yes. I'll just, er, leave then," you say, quickly standing. You don't want to be here when the boys change into their pajamas.

"We'll come with you," Fred and George say simultaneously, and they follow you out the door.

"Where do we go?" you ask, nervous as the few Gryffindor's in the common room stare as you pass.

"How about the Room of Requirement?" George suggests.

"I am all for it," Fred says, grinning slyly and nodding his red eyebrows at you.

"Pff, if we go to the Room of Requirement, we're going to finish our Nosebleed Nougat," you giggle, becoming flustered at the memory of snogging Fred earlier. You shove him playfully. "We're so close. And we won't need to bring any of our materials."

George clears his throat loudly. "That's exactly what I was thinking."

You're grateful for the distraction. When you get to the Room of Requirement, everything you need is there and ready to go. You immediately get to work, putting together the concoction you had made so many times previously. Knowing that they'd only get in your way if they tried to help, Fred and George sit back on a comfy couch kindly provided by the Room and watch.

About an hour later, you think you're done putting all of the ingredients into the bubbling cauldron when you notice a tiny, glass bottle that you hadn't bothered to pick up. You are sure that you hadn't missed anything when you prepped all of the needed components...

You pick up the bottle and bring it closer to your face to better view the label, watching the strange, brown liquid inside slosh around, and read "Siccativus".

It suddenly dawns on you that the Room of Requirement had produced absolutely every ingredient you knew you needed to make the nougat... What if it also produced something you didn't know you needed?

With shaky hands, you do your best to carefully pull the cork out of the glass bottle before pouring its contents into the cauldron. You stir the blue, syrupy liquid and watch as it gradually turns purple. Blue was always as far as you got... until now.

You wait in impatience for about five minutes to let the liquid cool and harden. Then, using a small knife (provided by the Room), you cut out a small, purple rectangle.

"Fred... George..." You mumble, fixated on the sweet in your hand.

Both twins have dozed off and don't hear you over their own snoring. "Hey!" you shout, and the twins startle awake.

"Huh? What?" George yawns, rubbing his eyes.

"Eat this," you say, reaching into his bag and pulling out an orange nougat. You stuff it into his mouth. "Chew. Quickly. I think I've got it this time."

At hearing this, both twins appear much more alert and aware. George swallows. Seconds later, his nose begins to bleed profusely. You give him the purple nougat. George chews. George swallows.

Everyone holds their breath in anticipation, and the seconds seem to pass all too slowly. It's difficult to tell if the bleeding has stopped because there is already so much blood. You curse under your breath and turn around to search for a towel. You find one has appeared neatly folded by the cauldron. You grab and toss it at George's face.

"Ah. Thank you," George grunts, wiping the blood off his face. You and Fred watch his nostrils earnestly, just daring more blood to dribble out, but it doesn't. George's nosebleed has stopped.

TAG LIST: @tomhockstetter7-111 @jasm-1ne @costheticbabe @luthien-elvenia-asher @megablonde22 @thecuteavocado @weasleylady92 @websfromallthespiders @rubyintheforest @weasleylover4eva @georgeweasleyslostearhq @im-coolrat @them-cute-boys @xmadigurlx @keirasinbin @huayan

[gumballavocadoharry]

Baby Susan; Jack Chambers

Jack and Alice looked in awe at the sweet baby bundle tucked away in her crib. The flamingo crocheted quilt, hugged her tight enough for security. "Alice, isn't amazing how we created something so beautiful?" Alice laid her head on Jack's shoulder.

"Yeah.....look at her little nose," As if on cue, Susan's diaphanous nose twitched like a little bunny. "She has your eyes Alice, and your hair and smile." Alice giggled, while continuing her gaze at her baby girl.

"She has your nose." Jack beamed in pride as seeing that when Susan was born, she looked like a copy of Alice. Despite the colossal jubilation Jack felt at Susan's birth, his mind did bellyache at the fact of Susan only favoring him to a microscopic degree. When he pictured his new offspring, she would have light brown hair with enriching green eyes like her mother and deep dimples like him. She would be a gentle and ladylike soul like Alice, but a stubborn jack rabbit like himself.

But nonetheless, Susan was more than anything he could've dreamed of. She was perfect in everyway. He soft pale skin, her mushy cheeks that he splattered in kisses every moment he got and her benign little cries that she echoed throughout the house for a diaper change or a bottle.

Her personality was already shaping itself. She was a quiet baby, with only a little to say, Susan was a miss independent as she focused her baby brain on doing things herself. She was also obedient; determined to mind the do's and don'ts of her parents. She would stare into their eyes, almost as if asking for approval for an okay to squawk out a cry or to grab something that seemed edgy for her.

Jack and Alice too their positions into their own bed, after reading a goodnight story and kissing the 2 month old baby goodnight. Jack watched from the bed as Alice fixed herself up for bed; her gentle smooth hands rubbing her sheeny face and neck. She stared at herself in the mirror with such modesty yet insufferable pride at the same time.

Alice sat legs crossed while applying her night serum. Her black lingerie layed perfectly around the curves of her body. She finished up before inviting herself next to Jack in the bed. Alice's head hit the pillow before Jack had the chance to ask her if she wanted to indulge in the book the two had started together. But Alice's snores told something different. Jack had to face it, she was home most of the day with Susan and it was a daunting task in itself to care for such a little susceptible infant. I guess it's just me. Jack thought before turning the page of the chapter he already finished.

Soon it turned dusk midnight, Jack asleep with the book page cornered and set aside on the nightstand, spooning Alice as the young couple were snoozing away in the mildly heated pale yellow room, tucked away in azure pixelated covers. That was until a baby's shriek wrested them alive.

Alice dashed into Susan's bedroom; rollers in her hair bouncing along with the lavender robe she covered herself in. Jack laid in bed still; hand going over the empty indention of where Alice's body was.

"Shhh, my butterfly...there, there." Alice cooed through the monitor. Jack was soothed by Alice's sweet song like voice, gently rocking his baby back to sleep. "You just wanted someone to hold you? Well, mommy's here baby....she'll always be there." Jack didn't even recon the smile that had incoherently spread across his face. Alice had said the last part with the gentle voice she always uses. But the feeling of deep admiration and devotion for her baby lingered in her tone which uprooted Jack from his warm spot in the bed, and into Susan's bedroom, where he was greeted by a nursing Susan and a sleepy wife.

Jack was awestruck by the site. The tiny baby was suckling for milk and her sapped mother, laid back in the pale green rocking chair the couple had taken the liberty to make. Mostly Jack. Being the do-it-yourself type of guy, Jack constructed the chair as a present for Alice, like a thank you for carrying the baby. Jack carefully took Susan after she was done with her midnight snack and placed her into the crib.

He then adjusted Alice's top part and carried her into the shared bed they had. "Goodnight my princess," Jack placed a sweet kiss to Alice's cheek. "I love you."

[sekiromi]

A Devil You Do, ch. 6

pairing(s): Raphael x Tav/Reader, Astarion x Tav/Reader themes: reincarnation, soul bond, past lives, lost memories, pining, slow burn cw/tw: canon-typical violence, gore word count: 6.9k previous chapters: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5]

[read this fic in all its glory on ao3!]

Chapter Six: The Famished Come to Feast

Two doves on the selfsame branch, Two lilies on a single stem, Two butterflies upon one flower: - Oh happy they who look on them!

You did not enjoy interplanar travel, you decided, tightening your grip on the devil whilst your free hand flew to his upper arm, squeezing your eyes shut as you waited for it to be over. Luckily, you did not have to wait long, your feet coming to rest with only a slight sway on solid ground after a mere few seconds. Raphael placed his hand over yours and looked down, eyes silently asking if you were alright. You managed a tight smile which seemed to satisfy him, and he led you both down a cobbled alleyway awash in the orange glow of the streetlamps overhead.

Underneath a forest green awning attached to an old building that simply bore the words ‘sub rosa’ in golden lettering, various tables and chairs were arranged in a neat grid, each with an oil lamp burning in the centre, some filled with patrons of the restaurant, others empty. All kinds of creatures seemed to dine here, some you did not even know the names of and had never seen before, but they all appeared to have one thing in common; whether they were alone, with a partner, or amongst a small group, there was an air of secrecy about them, an illicit understanding that their business was their own and no one else’s. You got the feeling that you should not look too closely at anyone nor try to eavesdrop on any passing conversation, and politely averted your eyes as Raphael opened the door, gesturing for you to enter first.

Inside was a small bar that stretched to the back wall with glasses, goblets, chalices, drinking vessels of every kind displayed on open shelves around the top and hanging from rails underneath. Wines of every colour, region, and vintage lined the cabinets, accompanied by interesting looking bottles of spirits, liquors, and various other distillations that you did not know the names of, forming an iridescent rainbow of glass that shimmered in the light. From another room you could hear the muffled sound of a piano being expertly played, a piece you recognised as the gentle, romantic rhythm of Liszt’s Consolation no. 3. Behind the bar, a rag in hand as they dried the bottom of a glass, tail keeping time of the piano solo like a swaying metronome, stood a tall tabaxi, their inky black fur interrupted by a bib of white that extended from their chin beneath a crisp dress shirt overlayed with a fitted waistcoat, bow tie perfectly symmetrical in the centre of their elegant neck.

“Raphael,” they greeted warmly, returning the glass to its home as they rounded the end of the counter and approached before stopping to give a low bow, “good evening to you, and your delightful companion.” Striking yellow eyes fastened themselves on you, thin pupils imperceptibly moving across your smaller figure as they appraised you. Transfixed by the creature, you could not look away. “How are you both this evening?”

“Quite well, thank you, Six. How about yourself?” You were surprised to hear Raphael reciprocate the question, and turned your gaze to him as he exchanged pleasantries with the waiter. He did not notice your look, or pretended not to at least.

“Very well, thank you for asking. If you’ll both please follow me, your table is just this way.”

They led you past the bar and through a red curtain half-covering an arched doorway to the left. This room was dimly lit, shaded lamps diffusing faint, warm hues across the small space, and casting soft, substantial shadows in convenient places. There were fewer tables inside than outside, you noticed, no more than six all together, and all except one were filled. Towards the back of the small room stood a baby grand, rich and perfectly polished mahogany reflecting the flickers of the many candles alight. A demure elven woman draped in a black dress of fine silk played tunefully, feet pressing pedals beneath as her fingers danced across the keys, their tone resonating softly within the chamber of the instrument.

Six led you past the other seated patrons to a table tucked away in the back, sandwiched between the wall and the windows. Raphael gestured for you to take your pick of the two seats, and you slid into the one further away that allowed you to look across the room, your back to nothing apart from the wall behind you. It was not until Raphael took the other seat that you realised you had voluntarily put yourself into a corner.

You smiled up at Six in thanks as they placed a copy of the wine list in front of you, offering some clarifications and advice on the rather daunting list of options. Altogether there were about seven pages to flick through, three dedicated to just red varieties, and you did not fail to notice that there were no prices listed.

“For tonight’s menu, I recommend a paler wine,” they brandished a quill from somewhere and, leaning over you, drew little stars next to their favourites as they flicked through the pages, “any of these will pair well with your meal, an orange one in particular will complement the flavours without overwhelming them, but you might prefer a white if you like a slightly sharper taste. If there’s anything you’d like to try first, just let me know. I’ll give you both some time to decide.” Raphael gave a nod of acknowledgement, turning his gaze towards you as Six bowed their head and slipped away. Glancing down at the menu, you perused the wines they had marked, not confident in your ability to pronounce many of them at all. Below each was written a brief description in a tiny hand, noting the top-most flavours and general texture. You skimmed them all, filing away information about which were sweet and which were bitter, which had sharp hints of citrus and which had more mellow notes. They all sounded good to you, though not that you considered yourself much of a sommelier. Usually you would drink just about anything.

“Anything take your fancy?” Raphael asked, his own wine list left untouched in front of him. You glanced up at him before looking back down, your mouth twisting thoughtfully as you flicked back and forth through the sheets.

“Hmm…there’s too much to choose from, a lot of these sound really good.” Your eyes skimmed the same passages again as you propped your elbow on the table, resting your cheek against your fist before placing the menu down and fixing your gaze on the devil sat across from you. “What would you recommend?”

He gave a satisfied smile, honoured to have been asked.

“Like you say, many of them are very good indeed. Have you had the pleasure of tasting a wine from Tashalar before?” He asked, leaning back in his seat and slowly lifting one leg to cross over the other as he regarded you. You shrugged and shook your head.

“Not that I can recall.”

“In that case, might I suggest we share a bottle of Amarast Nectar?” He watched your gaze return to the list, eyes searching fruitlessly. “It’s on page six.”

You found it halfway down the page, its region of origin listed as the Delphin Mountains and notable flavours including orange blossom, dried apricot, elderflower, and a hint of chestnut with a salty finish to it. It sounded intriguing, and you were not opposed to trying something new, so you nodded in agreement.

“Sounds good to me.”

“Excellent.”

When in range, he alerted Six to your decision, and you watched as they left for the bar. Taking a moment to further inspect your surroundings as you waited, you again cast your gaze over the room. Hushed conversations faded into the melody of the next movement the elf played, cutlery clinked in soft chimes against crockery, and the atmosphere felt tight, almost intimate.

“What made you choose this restaurant? I would have thought you’d have a private room or something with your own personal chef.” You asked with a tilt of your head. Raphael raised an eyebrow.

“Is this restaurant not to your liking, mouse? You haven’t even tried the food yet.”

“No – I didn’t mean it like that. I just thought…I don’t know, I didn’t expect you to take me somewhere public.”

Raphael seemed to consider your words closely for a moment, drawing in a thoughtful breath as he searched for a response. In the end he settled for the truth.

“I did consider somewhere more private…however, I thought you might be more comfortable in a neutral, public setting,” he explained, before gesturing around the room, “besides, sub rosa is still quite an exclusive ‘members only’ club. Not just anyone can book a table here.”

You felt your heart settle a bit, sort of almost…touched, that he had the foresight to consider your trepidation.

“Oh. Well, that’s very thoughtful of you.”

He offered you a smile and a nod, silently saying but of course, as Six returned with your bottle of wine. They moved to fill your glass first, offering no more than a finger’s width, before looking at you expectantly. There was only half a moment’s hesitation as you figured out what you were supposed to do, you could not remember the last time you had been to a restaurant where you had been expected to try the wine before you committed to the whole bottle. After all, it was already open now anyway, what would they do with it if you said it was not to your tastes? You never could figure that out.

Delicately pinching the stem of the crystal glass, you aerated the amber liquid with a gentle swirl before lifting it to your nose. You did not consider yourself a sommelier, no, but you still had your senses. A burst of fruit and florals drifted up as you inhaled, hints that were amplified even more on your tongue, lingering on your palate in delightful swirls. Raphael watched you closely from across the table as you sampled the drink, enraptured by the performance as you flicked your gaze from him to Six, giving the latter a nod of approval and gesturing for them to fill the glass.

“I’ll be back with your first course shortly. Enjoy.” You watched as they departed before turning back to look at Raphael with a curious gaze.

“But…we haven’t ordered?” You questioned, arms folded in front of you as you leaned in closer. Raphael merely smiled, reaching to pick up his glass.

“Here at sub rosa they offer a very select, seasonal set menu that changes each day depending on what produce they are able to procure in the morning. There is only one option for each course.” He explained, not moving to take a drink of his wine.

“Is now a bad time to tell you that I’m kinda fussy?” You asked with a smile.

“Yes.” He tilted his head down a little to look at you through his eyelashes, amused, before raising his glass into the space between you both. “Now, let us drink. To new business partnerships.”

Lifting your own glass you gently brought it to his, careful not to accidentally break it, before bringing the rim to your lips for a sip. It was sweeter the second time around.

Six returned soon after with your first course; crostino topped with warmed goat’s cheese, a sweet fig jam, and fresh mint leaves that tingled on your tongue. It was the best thing you had ever eaten, until the next course came out. A rich brown crab served on a bed of sauteed saltwort and topped with slices of juicy blood orange provided a nice, light contrast to your starter. And, as Six had promised, it paired excellently with Raphael’s choice of orange wine. The figs made a return for your dessert, baked into a buttery, crumbling tart crust alongside a nutty frangipane cream filling, presented in such a perfect slice it was worthy of a portrait, you decided.

Between courses and mouthfuls of the delicious food, you enjoyed a pleasant conversation with the devil. He told you about how he discovered this place, explained that it was first just a wine bar but, after a suggestion from him (and a small monetary investment) they opened up a kitchen and started to offer food. He mentioned how the main currency of the restaurant, rather than gold, was secrecy. Patrons of all ilk and walks of life sought sub rosa out for its policy on strict confidentiality. No business discussed within the walls of the restaurant would be repeated to anyone, and details of reservations were destroyed shortly after they had been fulfilled. You could come to sub rosa for an evening and be entirely lost to the world, something you felt you could soon get used to.

As the conversation developed, you had to wonder what the motive of the evening was. How many clients did Raphael take to fancy restaurants, charm them with his sharp tongue and opulent tastes, lavishing them with his attention? You did not kid yourself into entertaining the idea that you might be the first, nor the last; there was not a chance in the Hells. Still, he seemed like a busy man, and the fact that he had taken the time to turn his attentions to you alone felt significant, but you could not figure out why.

The truth, not that Raphael would let you know, was that you intrigued him beyond logical reason. Every meeting with you thus far, no matter your mood, had been an enjoyable one, and he had been invested in every detail of your journey from the start. Recently, he had found it hard to stay away, exercise some restraint, and let you come to him of your own accord. He wanted to get you alone, free from the whispering of the Emperor, from the judgements of your companions, allow himself to get a proper read on your character, discover something new about you. He wanted to give you a break, provide an opportunity for you to be entirely yourself for an evening. No open quests, heavy responsibilities, difficult decisions; just a fancy dinner.

And, if you happened to take a liking to him after tonight and felt more agreeable about signing his contract, well, then the evening would have been a wild success indeed.

The last piece of your tart lay on your plate before you, perfectly prepared to contain the optimal ratio of crust, cream, and fruit altogether. The perfect bite. You almost could not bring yourself to eat it, because then the meal would be over, and you would likely never again taste something so heavenly.

“Not going to finish your meal?” Raphael asked, his own plate now clear.

“I am. I’m just…savouring it, I guess. I’ve never had figs before, you know. Didn’t expect to like ‘em so much.” You idly poked the baked fruit with your fork

“Figs to fill your mouth…” Raphael mused, empty fork resting on his lips.

“Citrons from the South,” you continued with a fond smile.

“Sweet to tongue and sound to eye,”

“Come buy, come buy.” With the final line, you gave in and reluctantly devoured the last morsel.

“A fellow fan of Rossetti? You find ways to surprise me still, mouse.” You were not sure if it was the euphoria from the food, the effects of half a bottle of wine, or whether you were under some kind of spell, but the particular octave of Raphael’s voice this evening, the low purr that hummed in his chest when he spoke, did something to you, something unspeakable, something you dare not linger on.

With a sickening drop of cognizance, you realised you were attracted to him. A devastating realisation.

“Everyone knows the ‘Goblin Market’.” You ended up responding with a shrug, tracing patterns on your plate with your fork and trying to even out your voice.

“Do they, indeed…”

The desire to lift your head and look at him was immense, but you knew he was already looking at you and you could not bring yourself to meet his gaze just yet.

“Anyway, it’s not my favourite of hers.”

“Oh? Pray tell, my dear, which is your favourite?” You had him intrigued now. You could feel his eyes grazing your cheeks as you placed the fork down, looking thoughtful for a moment.

“I prefer ‘An Old-World Thicket’.” With a breath in, you lifted your eyes to cast them across him. He had averted his own gaze for a moment, wracking his head for a verse of the poem you spoke of.

“…Remind me how that one goes?” He asked with a hint of something akin to vulnerability.

“Oh it’s a long one, I can’t remember the whole thing. Let me think…” You wandered your own memories of being read bedtime poems as a child, searching for a full verse left untouched by the effects of the passing of time that you might be able to recite. After a few seconds you cleared your throat and began the first that came to mind.

“The pleasure I remember, it is past;      The pain I feel is passing, passing by;      Thus all the world is passing, and thus I:           All things that cannot last Have grown familiar, and are born to die.”

Raphael nodded eagerly in recognition as you spoke.

“Ah yes, I remember. Quite a sombre poem to have as a favourite, no?” He observed, moving to undo a fastening on his coat as he reclined.

“That’s what I like about it. The contrast between the beauty and vitality of the nature she describes around her and the solipsistic darkness within her. It’s very real and honest.”

Raphael felt the urge to ask you if it was a poem you related to, if that was why you held it dear, but decided that was too personal of a question for now.

“Any other hidden passions I’ve yet to uncover?” He settled for, resting an arm on the back of the chair casually.

“Oh, plenty,” you responded with a smile and half-laugh, “but I’ll save those for another night. Why don’t you tell me something, instead?”

“As you wish. What would you like to hear?”

You looked pensive for a moment, fingers tapping against your cheekbone and irises gazing upwards as you thought. Across from you sat a font of knowledge and experience. The stories Raphael could tell would no doubt be enrapturing, epic, and moving. You tried to think of something you might like to learn about, but there was so much to choose from. For a moment you considered asking about the Fall of Netheril, he had mentioned before he was there when it happened, but you quickly decided against it. You did not want to encourage discussion of the crown and therefore, by extension, the unsigned contract. Not yet, anyway.

“How about…‘The Harrowing of the Hells’?” You suggested, gazing curiously as his face contorted into an expression of displeasure.

“A rather unpleasant one, that. Would you not prefer a lighter tale?” His reluctance to divulge had you intrigued, and you could not help but to press him.

“I always preferred the darker fairytales as a kid.”

“My dear, the Harrowing is no fairytale. Besides, to hope to understand it there is another story that predates it that must come first. A long, sad tale in and of itself. Not suitable dinner discussion, I assure you.”

“Good thing we’ve finished our dinner, then.” You returned with a sly grin. He stared at you fixedly, narrowing his eyes and silently daring you to push the subject further. Upon seeing no sign of relent, he sighed.

“Alright, then. I must warn you now, though – this story does not have a happy ending. Are you familiar with the tale of ‘The Dove and the Devil’?”

An old fairytale from your childhood, one your mother would recite as a cautionary tale of sorts to prevent you from getting into too much trouble.

“I think so…it’s the one about an angel who was seduced by a devil, he tricked her into sin and so she was cast out of the Heavens? Then she rotted in the Hells while he profited from having corrupted such a divine creature.”

Raphael laughed mirthlessly and shook his head.

“You mortals always need a villain in your stories, don’t you? It was much, much simpler than that.” He glanced around before leaning in closer, which naturally encouraged you to do the same. “They merely fell in love, and paid the price.”

You felt your expression tighten into a frown.

“But, and I mean no offence here, devils…can’t love…can they?”

Raphael tilted his head and gave a small shrug.

“I suppose it depends on the devil. But usually, no, devils do not concern themselves with such infantile emotions. This one, however, did.”

You opened your mouth to add something when Six suddenly appeared and asked if you were both finished with your food so that he might clear the plates, forcing you to sit back and put some distance between yourself and Raphael. The waiter then inquired as to whether either of you would like a coffee, an offer both you and Raphael accepted, and left quickly to prepare them.

“Why? What was different about this devil?” You asked, leaning forwards again and crossing your arms on the table in front. Raphael looked thoughtful for a moment, ruminating on something, before responding.

“He was young, I suppose. He had not yet learned to hate.”

“So…what happened, then?”

He gave a sad sort of smile, wondering on where to begin for a few moments as Six returned with two espressos, placing them before you both gently with a clink of ceramic, and promptly left again. The enticing, toasted scent of the coffee graced your nose with hints of clove and cherry, a combination that seemed to warm you from the inside even before your first sip. You suddenly had the feeling you might never be able to smell coffee again and not think of this moment; being sat here in the dim light with Raphael, listening to his stories, enjoying his company, basking in the joy of a genuinely wonderful evening.

“Very well, allow me to set the scene, if you will…”

Raphael recounted the tale in spectacular, dramatic detail, gestures and expressions animated as he built towards the climax of the story. His voice, full of emotion and the weight of distant memories, described how the angel and the devil met on the material plane as children. How, both being the spawn of powerful immortals with whom they had a difficult relationship, they bonded unexpectedly. Knowing they were metaphysical opposites, but too young to really understand what that might mean, they played and indulged in mortal pleasures together, visiting great empires, witnessing catastrophic chaos, relishing in mighty battles, causing their own mischief. They experienced a shared youth together, sparing each other from what would have likely been an otherwise lonely childhood. This bond that they developed bloomed into friendship, and friendship eventually started to mature into something more.

They were nineteen when they committed their cardinal sin. Succumbing to their mutual desire, they made love in the blanket of the night, the moon and stars their only witnesses. Heavenly hands wandered infernal peaks and valleys, clawed fingers drew forth stuttered moans, and bodies intertwined in a magnificent collision of the divine and the damned. There was no insidious seduction, no illicit temptation, just a pure, adolescent, reciprocal hunger for one another that brought them together.

Once the Gods learned of the corruption of their asset, however, they raged. She was forbidden from stepping foot in the mortal realm again, and instead was sentenced to spend the rest of the century repenting for her sin in the Seven Heavens. Safely within the clutches of the spiteful Gods, her mind was poisoned against the devil, and any fond thoughts of him alchemised into ones of resentment. Feeding her convenient lies, they told her that a devil was not capable of love, that he was merely seeking to claim her precious soul as a powerful bargaining chip, a feat that would have earned him great honour amongst his kin. This is the lie that came to be known as the tale of ‘The Dove and The Devil’.

Confined to Mount Celestia, she spent her years training alongside a holy army in preparation for the Gods most ambitious plan yet: a full-on siege of the Hells, a war that would later become known as the Harrowing. With her methodically-nurtured contempt for the infernal and her overflowing divine powers, there was none better suited to head the charge. For over half a century she led scores of celestials into Avernus, striking down all devils, fiends, and demons in her path as a golden warrior, a reformed angel.

“She was a fearsome thing to behold, indeed. It was a perilous time to be a devil, you know, looking up to see her streaking through that red sky, it filled you with such a gripping sense of dread. Even now, I shudder to think of it…”

A devil that dies in the Hells, after all, dies for good. There was a devil though that, despite the concerted efforts of the deities, she could not bring herself to kill, even as he tried to kill her. Parts of Celestia, of course, can burn out the evil lurking within a soul, extinguish any corruption that had been implanted, but it cannot cure love. And, despite everything they had come to believe about each other, that love was still there. It was this love that became her undoing; in a moment of blinding fear, without hesitation she took the life of another celestial, one of her own charges, that was about to strike down her devil. This betrayal was a sin that the Gods could not forgive.

She was summoned back to the Heavens to face the wrath of her Gods. For all her virtues, she could not undo her actions nor deny the painfully obvious truth: her very spirit had been permanently marred by the hands of a most unholy creature, she had been contaminated and corrupted, and thus there was no place in Heaven for her. Stripping her of her station and immortality, they banished her to Nessus where she would be expected to remain for the rest of her now finite life, however long that came to be.

In the depths of the Hells, she could not hope for absolution from her Gods, but instead her devil proved to be her saviour. He recovered her from Nessus, taking her with him back to Avernus, where they fought together to bring an end to the Harrowing of the Hells, united as one.

“I would like to be able to tell you that this is where our story ends, that the dove and the devil arose victorious and retreated to a quiet, easy life together in relative peace, that they lived happily ever after in the Hells, content to spend a small eternity within each other’s arms. Alas, I did warn you this was not that kind of story. Although the Harrowing was over, another war was waging, a war that sent tremors across the realms, a war that was being fought on their very doorstep. I am, of course, talking about the Blood War.”

It would be during the battles of the Blood War that they would pay the price for their unbridled avarice. Believing they could do anything together, they gathered their own armies and set out to secure new victories. When a chance to acquire Cania arose, they were too hasty in taking it, sparing no thought to the circumstances under which the opportunity had appeared. During their siege, they became separated, a turn of events that was by no means coincidental. The Lord of the Eighth had set a cunning trap, enticing them with the potential of a new conquest, and then struck the devil where it hurt the most. Mephistopheles killed the angel, impaling her on her own sword, leaving her on display for the devil to find. In the tundra of Cania, he could not save her, and with her immortality stripped from her, she departed this world forever, cold, in pain, and so far from home.

“And that, I am afraid, is the end of our rather bleak tale.”

You were speechless, moved deeply and profoundly with Raphael’s retelling, the story striking a chord in your heart that threatened to bring tears to your eyes if you were to dwell on it for too long. It brought forth supressed images, fractured memories of distant dreams left behind in the Shadow-Cursed Lands, dreams you had since forgotten. You tried to hold them within your grasp, tempt them to come forwards and reveal themselves, but the more you tried the further they slipped.

The devil across from you looked somewhat wearier after recounting this most grisly history, shadows clinging a little tighter to the skin beneath his eyes. There was something else, something he was keeping concealed for now. You sensed he himself had something of a role to play in this sombre turn of events, and you could not help but to inquire about it.

“Did you know her at all?” You asked quietly, the last remnants of your coffee now long cold as you took a final sip with a grimace.

Raphael stiffened marginally, if you had blinked you might have missed it.

“No, I never had the pleasure.” A lie, you realised. “But I did know him, fairly well.”

You reckoned with the decision to press him about his mistruth, ask him why he was lying to you, but you sensed it would be a fruitless endeavour. Either he would insist, and likely end up convincing you of his dishonesty anyway, or he would get angry, and you did not want to ruin the otherwise pleasant evening.

“Oh? What became of him, in the end?” You settled for. Raphael’s usually warm eyes dulled for a moment as his gaze fell from yours.

“In his despair, he took his own life. Some centuries after her passing.”

“A true tragedy, then.” You responded mournfully, heart breaking for the condemned lovers. Raphael huffed a caustic laugh.

“Hardly. He was a weak, pitiful creature by then. Putting an end to it was the only mildly redeeming thing he did.” You frowned, not sharing in his sentiment as the conversation fell into a natural, only slightly uncomfortable, lull. After a few beats of silence, Raphael spoke up again. “Anyway, enough about that. The night is still very much in its youth. Would you do the great honour of accompanying me on a little stroll to the waterfront? The view is delightful at this hour.” He asked with a hint of intentional vulnerability in his tone. You glanced out the window, noting the blackened sky and twinkling stars. You had no idea what hour it might be, for the most part the evening had drifted along of its own accord, enjoyable company and enrapturing conversation seeming to have interfered with your sense of timekeeping. Still, what harm could a little longer do?

“I shall indeed.” You responded with a nod, unable to help yourself from mirroring the smile that adorned his face at your acceptance of his offer.

“Let us depart, then.”

He stood and led you away from the table, back past the bar where you each thanked Six for the meal, who smiled with a bursting warmth and assured that you were welcome back any time. Since he did not mention anything about the bill, you assumed Raphael had already settled it beforehand, and idly wondered how much it had cost him. You refrained from asking, running the risk of the answer making you feel either cheap or guilty.

Once outside, the welcome, tender warmth of the restaurant was replaced by the fresh night breeze, nipping at your exposed skin and causing goosebumps to erupt in the wake of its caress. You drew in a tight breath, steeling yourself against the sudden chill, cursing yourself for not bringing a cloak or something to shield you from the cold, and followed Raphael closely as he led you towards the main street before taking a right, turning to the river path.

Glancing down to check on you, he noticed you had drawn your arms around yourself, shoulders shivering almost imperceptibly, face contorting into a grimace as the wind rushed up from the river to meet you in an unpleasant gust. Without hesitation he undid the fastenings on his coat, slipping it from his shoulders to instead place it over yours. You looked up, bewildered, about to utter a polite refusal which he immediately silenced.

“I do not feel the cold as you do, my dear. You need it more than I.” You could not argue with him, though you would have liked to. The heat of his body lingered on the inside of the coat, radiating deep into your skin and instantly stilling your shivers. Without it, you could see the rest of his outfit: a smart, well-fitting waistcoat gilded with gold sat atop a loose, ivory dress-shirt, a crimson cravat holding up the collar, black trousers tucked into leather boots that tapped softly against the cobblestones as you walked. He looked good, worryingly so. You could not help but to admire him unabashedly as you reached the towpath. Flicking his gaze from the river to you, he stifled a grin, watching your eyes roam across him without restraint.

“It’s quite the view, is it not?” He asked, glancing back across the river where the reflections of the golden streetlights, twinkling stars, and dazzling full moon danced on the ripples. Soft, quiet wingbeats appeared from behind as a heron flew low over the water, feet tickling the surface and sending up a fine spray. Idle couples wandered the path ahead, arms tucked into each other, heads close, whispering their secrets.

“Mmm…yeah…” Your voice was distant, distracted, and when he glanced back down he could not stop the amused smile from pulling his lips upwards to find your eyes still fixed on him, hovering somewhere between his neck and clavicle. He leaned in close, lowering his head to murmur into your ear.

“You’re not even looking,” he teased in a hushed tone, relishing in the blush that erupted across your cheeks and nose at both the proximity and his observation. You turned quickly to look across the river while he chuckled deeply and gently reached for your hand, tucking it into the crease of his elbow as you walked, forcing you both closer. He considered jesting a little more, but decided against it, instead content to watch the way the reflection of the ethereal lights danced in your eyes.

The minutes passed in a comfortable quiet as you walked together up the path, the warmth of Raphael’s body at your side keeping the cold at bay. You pondered on the events that had unfurled this evening, curious as to why he never brought up the topic of the contract. You had assumed that was the whole point of the entire charade; charm and subdue you into signing it, but he had not mentioned it once thus far, and you had to wonder why. Could it be that he simply enjoyed your company, and wished to spend time with you?

Ha! What a foolish thought.

You silenced that line of thinking, aware of the dangers it presented. Raphael was not only charming in his very nature, but well-practiced at it too. He was specially designed and crafted to tempt mortals like yourself, he made a living out of it. If you were in any way special to him, it was only because of the position you had found yourself in, the chance to procure the object of his deepest desires just within your reach. It took a great deal of effort to remind yourself of this.

Should you sign that contract and complete the deal, your business with the devil would be finished. Would you see him again after that? You had no idea.

“I understand your craving for power, by the way,” you heard yourself saying, apparently unable to let the evening end without touching on the unspoken topic. “I crave it too.”

Raphael looked down at you, regarding you with an honest curiosity, intrigued at both your willingness to address the subject and your admission. You were not the type to pursue something as grand as world domination, you did not seek to subjugate and overrule. From what he had learned of your nature, you sought the opposite.

“May I ask, what for?” He asked, footsteps slowing down slightly.

You peeked out of the corner of your eye to look at him, considering your words.

“I just…one day, I want to be so powerful that I no longer fear anything at all.” You admitted quietly, ashamedly, turning you gaze towards the celestial glow of the moon.

Fear was not something he inherently associated with you. Throughout your adventure you had shown faultless courage, arguably foolish bravery in the face of some very dire circumstances, rushing into deadly battles with a fierce determination to emerge victorious.

“What is it that you fear, little mouse?”

You both came to a stop, your hand slipping from his grasp as you approached the stone wall, resting your arms against the cool bricks and staring out across the river to the bank opposite.

“These days, losing control of my own mind.” You answered as he joined you, only a sliver of a gap between your bodies. There was a look in your eye, you had left something unsaid, but implored him to understand what you meant. You were not just talking about the imminent ceremorphosis should your task fail, you were worried about being manipulated into making decisions you otherwise would not make. By the Emperor, by your friends, by him. “As well as the usual, of course. Losing those I love, my home coming to ruin, dying a painful death…the standard stuff.”

He hummed in acknowledgement and leaned in a little closer.

“You know, I am sure we could work something out. If I were to acquire the crown and all the power it bequeaths, I could protect you and those you hold dear. We could flesh out the terms in the details of your contract.”

You chuckled a little, smiling.

“I’ll consider it.”

The hour was growing late and your eyelids heavy. After watching you stifle several yawns and rub at your eyes like a weary infant, Raphael suggested calling it a night. Despite how nice it would be, he could not stay here forever with you – he still had other business to attend to, besides yours. Other clients to check up on, other contracts to draft. The work, unfortunately, did not stop just because he had.

As before, you took a firm hold of the arm he offered to you, bracing yourself for the unsteady feeling of racing through time and space. You were relieved to find it was not as bad as the first instance, and you appeared before the Elfsong Tavern without even a wobble. The streets were still littered with people milling about, coming and going from their evenings, some walking rather precariously.

With a sigh you went to remove your grip from the devil and jumped only slightly when Raphael’s hand enclosed around your smaller one, turning you to face him as you watched, unsure. He brought your hand to his lips, pressing a slow, intentional, tender kiss to the backs of your fingers, closing his eyes as he did, giving your hand an almost imperceptible squeeze before returning it to you with an expression on his face that seemed to suggest it pained him to do so. You felt your throat tighten at the unexpected gesture, not sure what to say. Luckily, he spoke first.

“Thank you, little mouse, for entertaining me this evening. It has been a truly illuminating experience.”

“Likewise. Thank you for the dinner, I had a good time.”

“I am very glad to hear it. Take care, I’ll see you soon.” With a small nod he turned on his heels and headed towards Wyrm’s Crossing. You watched for a moment, almost until he was out of sight, curious as to why he chose to walk instead of just vanishing into the air like usual. You wondered whether he would look back at you, wondered whether you wanted him to. He did not. At least, not until you had turned away and already ducked into the tavern.

It was not until Astarion, lounging amongst the cushions on the floor of the room with a book in hand as the others slept, gave you a peculiar look as you entered, tilting his head curiously that you realised any hope of your activities of the evening remaining your little secret were well and truly toasted. You groaned inwardly, silently cursing the devil and wondering if this was in his plan all along. How you were going to talk yourself out of this one, you had no idea. You were literally wearing the evidence.

Raphael’s coat sat perfectly atop your shoulders still, and the fabric reeked of cherries and musk, leaving no doubt as to who it belonged to, who you had spent your ‘date’ with.

Astarion gave you a shit-eating grin, eyes sparkling with intrigue as he snapped the book shut.

“Tell me everything.”

[chapter seven]

[pitchmoss]

𝕺𝕮𝖘 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝕬𝖚𝖗𝖆𝖘: 𝕯𝖓𝕯 𝕰𝖉𝖎𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓🖤

tagged by @perpetuagf to do this uquiz to analyze my ocs and their color auras. very fun lil deep dive into the minds of my lil guys.

tagging: @jacobseed 🖤 @druidgroves 🖤 @devilbrakers 🖤 @clericofilmater 🖤 @bethesdas 🖤 and whoever is reading this and wants to join in!

𝕭𝖗𝖎𝖆𝖗; 𝕬𝖘𝖍𝖊𝖓

old newspapers, smoke, quiet cities, pale cheeks, pebbles, chalk, the clouded moon. your essence is ashen: you are warm but vacant, an empty canvas waiting to be painted. your heart is soft; there is a peace that seems just out of reach, but it is worth striving towards. perhaps lost, you comfort yourself by what you can, and you are never unwelcome. you are the dreamer. you are the wanderer. you find kinship in like-minded individuals of chiffon, hickory, beige, and ivory, who share your aspirations for goodness. you are also drawn to the inspiring and kind lavender and peach, who will help you grow and open you to find yourself. however, you may struggle to get along with the strong-willed personalities of periwinkle and tawny who put themselves first.

𝕻𝖔𝖒; 𝕺𝖗𝖆𝖓𝖌𝖊

guitars, fanta bottles, sunglasses, orange peels, butterflies, popsicles, paper lanterns. your essence is orange: dreams hold you aloft and inspire you to be better. you thrive on creativity; there is always a new inspiration that moves you and takes your heart. you draw friends but may show all of them the same smile. you are the restless. you are the adventurer. you find kinship in like-minded individuals of apricot, amber, fire, and terracotta, who share your enthusiasm. you are also drawn to the pensive souls blue and green, who will help you grow and see which projects and emotions are worth your time. however, you may struggle to get along with the headstrong personalities of grey and purple who are too rigid in their perspective.

𝖅𝖆𝖑𝖊𝖘𝖐𝖆; 𝕽𝖔𝖞𝖆𝖑

crown jewels, portraits, satin chairs, masquerades, nebulae, betta fish, secrets. your essence is royal: you cultivate your strengths and know how to be needed. you attract others; you are flattering and bold, locking everything ugly away. you create an image of decadence and confidence, effortlessly. you are the courtier. you are the net-worker. you find kinship in like-minded individuals of lilac, purple, indigo, and amethyst, who share your ambition. you are also drawn to the dramatic noir and crimson, who will help you grow and speak your truth even if it isn't pleasant. however, you may struggle to get along with the aimless personalities of gold and umber who lack a strong goal in life.

[bloodkeep-escape]

[ID: fully illustrated fanart of the prefrontal PIs from Mentopolis, all sitting together in a booth at Nostalgia's diner. Conrad eats coffee grounds out of a mug with a spoon, while Justin looks over at him sadly, his chin resting on the table. Hunch sits, relaxed, with his hands behind his head and a root beer float on the table in front of him. Anastasia writes in a notebook, with a glass of vodka resting in front of her.

Imelda cheerily breaks up a piece of bacon and drops the pieces into a mug of coffee, Dan speaks and gestures intently with a bottle of maple syrup in front of him, and The Fix (sitting in a green chair placed next to the booth) holds a tiny looking calzone in his very large hands and speaks, his speech bubble showing an image of a swallowtail butterfly. END ID]

Nostalgia's: serving coffee grounds, your first root beer float, warm vodka, bacon and coffee, pancake syrup, and a calzone.

[rj-drive-in]

Sting Like A Bee Department:

The cost in metaphors alone....

THE BUTTERFLY EFFECT © 2024 by Rick Hutchins

The time machine reappeared almost instantly, but its appearance had drastically changed. Most obviously, three deep grooves had been scratched into the side of the capsule’s battered hull. In addition, one of its tripod legs was bent nearly in half and the whole thing was smeared with mud and streaks of moss.

Arcadia gasped, slapping her hand to her mouth, as the capsule settled onto the laboratory floor with a diminishing series of metallic creaks. Wisps of fog rose from the moss and dissipated. It smelled of rotting vegetation. Silence fell and lingered, and she began to wonder what she should do next. She was only a grad student, and this was an unofficial project.

She was startled when the hatch finally unbolted with a clang and creaked open. Professor Hamblish slowly leaned out of the capsule and looked around the lab with wild eyes.

“Professor Hamblish,” cried Arcadia. “Are you all right?”

He was a terrible sight to behold. Like the capsule, his formerly white lab coat was covered with mud and plant matter; his long gray hair and thick beard were matted with blood and leaves, as well as what appeared to be the wings of large insects. At the sound of Arcadia’s voice, he adjusted his glasses and focused on her.

“Doctor Plantagenet? Arcadia?” he said. “Is it you?”

“Yes, of course,” she replied, rushing over to help the plump scientist down the ladder to the floor. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, disaster!” he cried. “Nine hours! Oh, what a misadventure!”

“What happened?” She wheeled an office chair over from one of the worktables and eased him down into it. “Tell me what happened.”

He peered up and down and all around the laboratory and examined Arcadia closely from head to toe. “Everything looks all right,” he muttered. “Nothing seems to have changed.”

“Can I get you anything, professor?”

“Do we still have that stash of Twisted Tea in the mini fridge?”

“Yes!”

“Thank the lord.”

Arcadia ran to the back room and returned immediately with two bottles of Twisted Tea. She bit the caps off with her teeth and handed one to Hamblish, who guzzled half of it in one swallow, then examined the label intently.

“Tastes the same, looks the same.”

“You were going to tell me what happened back in the Cretaceous, professor.”

“Right, right,” he said, taking another drink. “The time machine worked perfectly, placing me at the edge of a marshy field. It was cloudy and seemed to have recently rained. The field and the surrounding forest were the brightest green I had ever seen, and the air was full of the most exotic and alarming sounds. I was feeling positively giddy and I realized that the atmosphere was far more oxygenated than we had anticipated.”

“Sounds good so far.”

“I wandered around, intoxicated by the bright colors and incredible aromas and pure oxygen of the distant past. I found myself standing in the middle of the clearing. That’s when a dinosaur appeared from the far tree line.”

“Fantastic! What kind?”

“An undocumented species, I think. It was twice as tall as a man, with the bird-like body of a theropod and the long flexible neck of a sauropod.”

“Uncanny!”

“Apparently, it caught my scent. It took a deep breath, shuddered with disgust, and bellowed a mighty roar. Then it lit out toward me. My theory is that it sensed that I did not belong in the Cretaceous.”

“Good theory.”

“I turned and ran pell mell for the capsule as fast as I could. The marshy ground made it difficult and I fell down several times. I almost lost my glasses once. But I made it back to the capsule several steps ahead of the dinosaur and flung myself inside just in time. I pulled the hatch shut without a moment to spare, for it rammed the capsule, knocking it on its side.”

“How awful.”

“The beast pummeled the capsule aggressively for hours, battering it with its thick neck and scratching at it with its giant clawed hind feet. Eventually, the capsule rolled down a small hill and thankfully ended in an upright position.”

“That was a lucky break.”

“Yes, I don’t know what would have happened if I had tried to time travel in a capsized capsule. A short time after that, the dinosaur seemed to grow weak and it lay down. It quivered violently and vomited, and then it lay still. I suspect that something in the capsule’s chemical composition was poisonous to it.”

“Oh, dear.”

“Needless to say, I was terrified of what I might find when I returned to the present. You’ve read that Bradbury story as well as I have.”

“Of course.”

The professor raised his arms in a shrug. “But everything seems perfectly normal. There are no obvious changes. I keep waiting for the twist ending.”

“Perhaps there are non obvious changes.”

“Indeed. But what?”

“Since I remained behind, I would be part of the altered timeline, so I would not be aware of any changes,” said Arcadia. “Why don’t you ask me some questions?”

“Excellent suggestion!” responded the professor, sitting up straight.

“Okay, go ahead.”

“When was the American Revolution?”

“1776.”

“Pearl Harbor?”

“1941.”

“The first Moon landing?”

“1969.”

“Patriots win their first Super Bowl?”

“No idea.”

“Never mind. So far, everything is perfectly consistent. But now I begin to fear that my own personal history has been altered.”

“In what way?”

“Do I still have tenure?”

“Certainly.”

“And this is MIT?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Am I married?”

“Oh, hell, no.”

“Do you still…?” The professor gestured vaguely.

Arcadia smirked and raised an eyebrow. “Yes.”

He wiped his sleeve across his forehead. “I may need one today.”

“I’ll go change. You take a shower.”

“Wait! We must be absolutely certain. To the Google!”

He propelled his office chair over to the bench that held the Internet computer. He hunched over the keyboard, Arcadia standing at his side, and typed rapidly for a few moments before leaning back with a look of dismay.

“Good heavens,” he groaned.

“What’s the matter?!”

“The political situation. It’s dreadful. But no different from when I left.”

He returned to the keyboard and typed rapidly again, then nodded at the results. He typed some more and then nodded again. This continued for several minutes until he leaned back in his chair and pushed away from the bench, his feeling of relief almost palpable.

“I can detect absolutely no anomalies.”

“That’s amazing, and somewhat inexplicable. All of our theories about time travel will have to be rewritten from the ground up.”

Professor Hamblish smiled for the first time since his return. “Indeed, haha,” he laughed. “Won’t our colleagues be flabbergasted? So much for the Butterfly Effect!”

Arcadia crinkled her nose curiously. “What’s a butterfly?”

[royac]

Take this guilt, I'm sure you'll never grasp it.

Charles felt as if time itself wasn't real.

"First, I'm gonna kill your friend. Then, I'm coming after you."

The crackling energy flew from their fingertips as they growled, "First, we're gonna kill you. Then, we're gonna kill your friends. Eldritch Blast!" His heart pounded within his chest as he watched as the green lightening ball struck the bandit captain's head, exploding moments after impact. He felt a particular satisfaction with this death. How fucking dare he try to kill Warren? Twice?

They shuddered at the memory, placing the knife in their hand down. Charles had been in the middle of working on something, mementos, for his new party members. Quartzara, Scott, Warren, and Zendresi had all accepted his invitation to stay at his house. He only had three rooms, so it was tight, but he didn't want to leave them out to dry, especially since it seemed like they truly all had each others backs.

He put his hand to his chest, uncomfortable at the sensation. It had been a long time since he'd met anyone he considered a true ally, let alone a friend, and suddenly he felt as if he had three. Of course he respected Scott, Elwyn, and Rhicca, they were proving to be pretty good battle partners, but they hadn't really had a chance to get to know the others as they had with the previous three.

Charles looked down at the knife in his hands and sighed. What was he doing? Getting attached? It had been what, a month? At the most since he'd met these people? He couldn't tell whether he thought he was pathetic or not.

Placing the carving down and running a hand through their hair, they sat back in their chair, staring down at the small fire they'd lit in the fireplace. He had never really had friends... except...well... Not until William. Maybe that was why he felt uncomfortable with the sensation in his chest and the panic he felt when he saw Warren on the floor, blood gurgling out of his mouth as he was stabbed not once, but twice by that asshole.

...Maybe he was scared of getting attached and having someone ripped out of his life again. He put his knife next to his carving on the table and then put his head in his hands, sighing.

"Charles, what are you doing..." His fingers grasped the gold ring on their left finger. "Will, I don't know what to do," he mused aloud.

"I'm not... I've never been good with people. Not really - I can lie myself out of almost any situation, persuade someone into thinking I'm their best friend, but I don't know what to do with people I actually might care about. I wish you were here. You would know what to do," he stopped, raising his head and staring back into the fire before continuing, "I guess I just miss you." After a few moments of silence, he reached back toward the knife and carving and began crafting again.

A week had past since the party's last fight and they had claimed their reward from Lord Varian. Charles had also finished creating his mementos for Quartzara, Warren, and Zendressi. He crafted another worm for Quartzara (He really had no idea why the worm carving came to life... again...) but it seemed happy to crawl into Quartzara's hand.

For Warren, he'd made a small potion bottle that had his family crest on it: a butterfly. He didn't tell the man that. He'd just said, "This is from my hometown." He wanted someone else to have a part of his history, even if they themselves weren't aware of it.

Lastly, he'd carved a slug-like creature for Zendresi, modeling it after the figures his father used to make for him. Again, he wanted to share his family's memory in someway... even if he wasn't ready to share information regarding his past. He knew he enjoyed their presence, but he still felt too guarded to share anything other than that his family had died.

[silverjetsystm]

Your muse has to share something that’s hard for them to talk about. What is the biggest thing they don’t want to say aloud/admit? What makes it hard for them to say it? {Steven}

Headcanon/Development Questions | Accepting

Sunset dripped orange through Dr. Sterman's familiar office. The bookcases behind the couch Steven was sitting on, the lamp next to her chair.

This isn't the first office he's been in. They don't recall all the doctors. Cracked double digits. Twelve, maybe fifteen. She's kind from the times he and Lockley have tuned into Marc's sessions. She's exchanged notes with their specialist.

He's alert. The body is tired. Recently moisturized and fed doesn't scratch the weariness, bottle green suit tailored over bruises and butterfly bandages.

"It's… been a while since I've attended therapy. In the past, there was a focus on Marc's concerns. Integration." Another pause, lips pressed together.

"It's better when we work together." Calloused fingers from blades and sticks lace together. "Always an adjustment when I front after a long absence. Reaching out to business connections. Lying where I have been. It's not easier for Lockley." A sigh, picking at his nailbeds. "But he is able to be under the radar. I always wonder how long this will last and what we'll lose next."

[urmomsspeciallady]

Chapter Nine- there is something on your mind

There Is Something On Your Mind - Big Jay McNeely

POV: Stanley Marsh

I follow Butters up the stairs then down the hallway to the right into his room.

"Alright! Well. Here's my desk. Have at it!" Butters moves his arms in an exaggerating motion, as if he were giving a shitty presentation. "Let me know if you need anything; we'll be in the other room."

I give a nod in response. "Will do." He leaves the room. After a second or so, I set my backpack down and pulled out my folder for math, sitting that on the desk.

I pull out the swivel chair in one fell swoop and plop myself down in it. I pull myself up to the desk and tap my hand against my folder. Fuck that, I’m bored. I stare down the pencil cup Butters has. Which colorful pen, pencil, or other frilly writing tool should I bless my algebra papers with today?

I can hear the group begin to chatter now, about the project. Hmm. Like I said, school work is boring.

I slide my arms across the desk and lay my head down. I stare at a random fixed point in front of me. I could take a nap right now, but I'm not tired, just bored. I start glancing around the room.

Butters has some weird pictures up. Mainly drawings. One of Hello Kitty, one of some anime character, one of flowers and butterflies, and one of..

Oh my god. I sat up. Is that him and Kenny as the fantasy characters we had as kids? The princess and… I don’t remember. Knight in shining armor?

I snicker and pull out my phone, taking a picture then snapping it to Kyle. Expecting an immediate response, I’m reminded that he’s studying when nothing happens. I stand up and start looking around more.

Butters’ desk: neatly cluttered the previously mentioned colorful pencil/pen cup, the paint and marker stains on the desktop, a few books and notebooks in a stack, random pieces of jewelry, and a plastic water bottle. I wonder how someone could live like this?

I absentmindedly pick something off his desk and end twiddling my fingers with a hair-tie. I glance around his room, a full scan of it since I have time.

His bed: obviously hastily made, stuffed animals in a corner of it, pillows leant against the headboard, and two or three different blankets crumpled on it.

I set his hair-tie back on his desk.

I walk as I look along these walls. There were some barren spots among all the papers/posters. In a corner hung a net filled with stuffed animals and teddy bears. I furrow my brows. He’s a little childish for a 16-year-old.

His small dresser: books sat all lined up on the top of it, some school books and some fiction novels. Cool, he has some manga too.

His big dresser: the same old smooth green dresser, on top of it were figurines of characters (I recognize a few), a few articles of clothing stuck out of the drawers, and little “knick knacks”.

His dresser was near his closet door. I glance behind me to see his bedroom door still shut. I can still hear the study group talking so I can snoop around. No biggie.

His closet: clothes on hangers hung in a way you could tell he tried to organize but gave up, some clothes on the floor after falling off a hanger, more stuffed animals in cubbies, a couple boxes filled with what I assume is random junk and lines of books followed by notebooks on a shelf.

I come out of the closet and close the door behind me. I sigh and slump into the desk chair again. I take a quick glance at my algebra homework. Who the fuck cares about the value of x? Mixing letters and math is one of the worst inventions in all of history.

I pick up the packet, sliding it in my hands and flipping through the halfway-done work.

The pile of books on his desk: a tiny illustrated version of The Wizard of Oz, (gay), All the Bright Places (probably gay), Poems for Everything with a few sticky notes stuck in the pages (very gay), and a notebook.

I pick up the notebook.

His notebook: plain spiral style in the color black, last year and Sept.-Dec. was written in silver sharpie (maybe he’ll write the month he finishes it after the dash?), a few decorative dots in silver sharpie decorated the cover, a pencil was hanging in the spiral of the notebook.

I open to a random page; it’s one from last September.

September 3rd,

Sometimes I really wonder if I’m going crazy, honest-to-God crazy.

This time, we were just sitting in English class. Eric was just fussing about something and wham! He had enough and punched him. I didn’t think Eric could punch that hard at all, but I heard a crack and his head flopped on the desk. Everyone carried on like normal. It always bugs me because it feels so real. I’ve got to be crazy to be having such real dreams like these.

A dream journal? “Dude,” I snicker under my breath and flip past a few more pages.

September 16th,

This time the bus ran him over after school. Still sick to my stomach.

Shit, these dreams suck.

November 7th,

Eric. Again. Eric decided to give him a “whirly.” ??? Who does that? That sounds like something straight out of a cheesy highschool film. Like when the bully sticks the protagonist’s head in the toilet and flushes. But, Eric is not a bully. He said he couldn’t breathe, but Eric didn’t stop. These nightmares are starting to affect how I feel about Eric again. But I know it’s my imagination. I know it’s not his fault. And. I know he didn’t actually kill Kenny.

What the fuck? He killed Kenny? My mouth was open in a sort of slackjaw state.

I hear the door open and tuen to see Kyle. He walks in and shuts the door behind him. “God, I’m so glad to have a break from those bastards, especially Cartman.”

“What’s that face for?” He gave me a questionable look.

I struggle to find the words, “All these. All these pages in this journal are dreams Butters had where Kenny died. Every single page.”

“What? Let me have a look,” Kyle takes the journal out of my hands, his slender fingers skim through a few pages.

“I’ve got to be crazy. For having dreams almost every night where some guy, who took pity on you, dies? Yeah.” I say, scanning Kyle’s face as he thinks.

“This is so fucked up,” Kyle starts. “I mean, I’d understand if it were a few nightmares, but this is almost every single day.” He holds up the journal, “This is fucking freaky.”

I take the journal from him and close it, not sure if I should put it back. “What do we do? Should we tell Kenny?”

Kyle thinks for a second, “I genuinely don’t know. Here. Give it.” I hand him the journal and he flips through a few pages. He snaps three pictures. “Let’s think it over, then if we decide to show Kenny, we can. If not? We delete them. This could just be some sort of…A trauma induced state where his nightmares are about his loved ones getting hurt, but it could also be some kind of sadistic fantasy. I mean, this kid has been to the mental ward multiple times. It doesn’t freak you out how he has been clingy to Kenny for years?”

I breathe out my nose, “When you put it that way, it’s freaky as fuck.”

----- end of chapter

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