#I only was around her I never spoke to her but I remember her so fondly

[felassan]

David Gaider on Kieran, under a cut for length:

"CHARACTERS - DAY TWO: Kieran (Technically this is an addendum to yesterday, but I make the rules here so nyah!) Heading into DAI, I had a bite-sized problem on my hands. I knew Morrigan would feature. I also knew we were importing previous choices. So now I had to contend with: the Old God Baby. Here's the thing about honouring previous game choices, from a design perspective: it's a sucker's game. What many fans picture, when you mention it, is divergent *plot* -- the story changes path based on those major choices. How exciting! But you will never be able to deliver divergent plot. You can deliver flavour differences (usually in the form of divergent dialogue), character swaps (character X appears instead of Y), and extra content (such as a side quest) -- but plot branching, particularly the critical path? It's a question of resources, and there's never enough to go around. "Here Lies the Abyss" in DAI was about as good as it gets, and even that was a far cry from how I originally pictured it (hello last-minute insert of Stroud when a DAO Warden import got cut). The Old God Baby was one of the main choices from DAO -- Morrigan has a baby? With the Archdemon's soul?! Most DAO players who flagged that choice surely expected *monumental* consequences. World-shaking consequences! And we talked about it. We did. There were, like, three different designs of the DAI ending where OGB Kieran could cause complete divergence: new path, cutscenes, the whole nine yards. But it wasn't going to happen. It was a decision from *two games ago* that only a small minority (hello telemetry) would even choose. To the rest, they probably neither knew about it nor cared... so how many resources could you invest? To do what? Set up an even bigger divergence for the NEXT game? The other writers acknowledged my anxiety with a grim nod every time it came up, but they had no solutions. Finally, I realized there WAS a solution, and that was changing how I thought about the choice: don't make it about Kieran. The players don't know him, never have. Make it about Morrigan. Thus began a feverish three days where I wrote probably the most complicated scene of my career: Morrigan's reckoning with Flemeth in DAI and the fallout after. Three different versions (OGB Kieran, non-OGB Kieran, and no Kieran), each with branching for other choices (like the Well of Sorrows). I did it all at once. There was no other way to wrap my head around the complexity of it. It was also a tough sell to the team, considering the amount of cinematics work, but they agreed we had to do *something*. And still it felt... underwhelming, insofar as divergence goes. But it was also good. I remember when I first spoke with Claudia, about how this was Morrigan's story. This was about how motherhood had changed her, how she'd grown up. Claudia got a bit teary-eyed. It was a journey she was familiar with, she said. Her first son, Odin, had been born in 2005 not long after DAO came out. And, man, she killed with that performance! Kate, too, but I'll get to her later. Claudia dug down, and that scene where Morrigan tells Flemeth she'll never be the mother Flemeth was to her? That came from someplace very raw. It was devastating to witness in the booth. There were tears all around. Not long after, Claudia called and asked if maybe - just maybe - Odin could play Kieran? He was a bit young (not yet 5, then), but it felt... right? We agreed. Claudia was in the booth, gently coaching him through his lines, and I think that was the first moment I felt I'd done the right thing."

[source thread]

User: "Do you find it an odd choice that Kieran hasn’t been mentioned at all in Veilguard?" David Gaider: "If there’s less reactivity in DATV, I’m unsurprised. Continuing choice from up to 3 games earlier is… unsupportable. Yet DA established the expectation they would so… damned if you do, damned if you don’t?" [source]

User: "EA is one of the biggest game companies ever. I don't think more complex diverging plots are impossible." David Gaider: "Well, if only more writing was all it took. Sadly, it's also cinematics. Art time for all those reappearing characters you probably want to look *just* right. And let's not forget we have to test all those permutations! So I don't disagree with you in spirit, but I don't think it's the answer here." [source]

User: "is there a possibility of future kieran appearances in a book or something similar outside of the games?" David Gaider: "I'd have no way of knowing that." [source]

User: "I’m actually shocked so little people chose the dark ritual. That was basically the main reason Flemeth sent Morrigan with the wardens, no?" David Gaider: "The impression you get of what "most" players do - in almost any game, not just DA - is very different if you're online a lot. Consider here that it's not just the % of DAO players who chose the Dark Ritual, it's the % of DAI players WHO PLAYED DAO and cared to import that choice 5 years later." [source]

User: "Is there anything you wish you had done differently, in hindsight?" David Gaider: "Probably just to not ever do importing choices between games in the first place." [source]

User: "Kieran only existed in my DAI state b/c Morrigan as a mother really appealed to me. I wasn't expecting to be devastated by those scenes 😭 I guess when we complain about lack of consequences from prev choices in DAV we must also ask how MUCH are we willing to pay for those branches to exist?" David Gaider: "That's indeed it. Content directed towards reactivity would have to come from somewhere else. So essentially a shorter game overall for the sake of those hardcore fans who'd import - who would, I imagine, REALLY enjoy that... but it's a tough cost/benefit analysis to make." [source]

User: "mr gaider im gonna keep it real with you if i had to choose between my hof and hawke i would've simply passed away" David Gaider: "Right? That was the ENTIRE idea! I was very excited, and for a while it seemed possible." [source]

User: "This has been a very interesting read but I have to ask why they decided to use Stroud instead of the HoF" David Gaider: "1) Complexity of providing means for a player to build a Warden (which they did in DATV for the Inquisitor). Also spoiled the surprise. 2) We’d have needed to give the Warden a voice. Add these to the cost and it was deemed not worth it." [source]

User: "Genuine question, not a critique - but what made the OGB decision one that couldn't be handwaved as canon no matter what was or wasn't chosen? Leliana and Flemeth being around no matter what come to mind. Was OGB simultaneously too major and too minor of a decision?" David Gaider: "Flemeth and Leliana being alive were easily explainable, and we knew we were doing it even back then. Circumventing the Dark Ritual… that would be too cheap. We did talk about it, but it just felt too dishonest. Too high a price for what we’d get in return." [source]

David Gaider: "If I’d known the Well of Sorrows would only see reactivity in the confrontation with Flemeth, I’d probably have made a much bigger deal of it." [source]

David Gaider: "We could maybe have gotten past the need to "reconstruct" the Warden, much like the Inquisitor was reconstructed in DATV (so I understand), but the need to give the Warden a voice was the final nail. Too potentially disappointing for the very people who'd be excited about it, aside from the cost." [source]

[rafeskai]

Life as We Know It — Rafe Cameron

Chapter Four

Two opposites must navigate love, loss, and unexpected parenthood to discover the meaning of family.

Summary: When tragedy strikes, two very different individuals find their lives unexpectedly intertwined as they become the guardians of an orphaned child. As they navigate the challenges of co-parenting, balancing careers, and confronting their pasts, they discover that family can form in the most surprising ways. Through heartfelt moments and unexpected humor, they explore what it means to build a life together—one step at a time.

Pairings: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: Character deaths & angst.

Author's Notes: Was gonna make chapter 4 like 5k words but I decided to put it into two separate chapters.

Masterlist: Here

The weight of Sarah and John B.’s loss still felt like an open wound, raw and fresh, no matter how many days had passed since the funeral. Some nights, you could still hear Sarah’s laughter echoing in your head, still feel the warmth of her presence, as though she were just a room away. And John B., with his reckless optimism and that undeniable spark of life that had kept everyone around him grounded, seemed like a ghost that haunted your every moment.

But the hardest part was seeing Willa—tiny and innocent, too young to understand the gravity of it all. Her parents were gone, and she didn’t even know why she cried sometimes, why her little heart was breaking, why her world was changing so fast. And yet, it was you and Rafe who had to bear the weight of their absence, both trying to figure out how to hold Willa together while you were both falling apart.

The days were long and filled with small, seemingly insignificant tasks: feeding Willa, changing diapers, trying to soothe her when she cried. But underneath all of that, it was hard not to remember Sarah’s voice calling out to you, her bright smile in the mornings, the late-night talks about everything and nothing. Those moments were gone, and you felt like part of yourself had been ripped away with them.

And then there was John B. The spontaneous adventures, the way he could make you laugh even on the worst days, the way he’d always come through when you needed him most. Those memories, too, were bittersweet now—something you cherished but also something that threatened to suffocate you.

You tried to stay strong for Willa, to focus on the here and now, but there were days when it felt impossible. There were times when you’d find yourself staring at the little girl in your arms and wondering if you were doing enough. Wondering if she would ever remember the love her parents had for her or if she would only know the sorrow of their absence.

Rafe, for his part, seemed to bury his grief deep down. He rarely spoke about Sarah or John B., and when he did, it was as if the words hurt him too much to say aloud. He was always trying to maintain control—over Willa, over the situation with Ward, over himself—but you could see it in the way his eyes flickered with pain whenever something reminded him of his sister or her fiancé.

It wasn’t just the memories of Sarah and John B. that gnawed at him; it was the guilt. The unspoken weight of knowing that his family—his toxic, emotionally abusive father—was now trying to take Willa from him, from them.

Rafe had never talked much about his dad, not even to Sarah. But in the quiet moments, when the house felt too still and too silent, you could see the rage simmering behind his eyes. Ward Cameron had done unspeakable things to Rafe and Sarah growing up, and the idea of him having any claim to Willa, of him trying to step in as her guardian, cut deeper than either of them cared to admit.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

It was late one evening when the dam finally broke. Willa was asleep, her tiny body tucked beneath the blankets, and the house was finally quiet. You and Rafe were sitting on the couch, the exhaustion of the day heavy on your shoulders. The wine bottle from a few nights ago sat untouched on the coffee table. Neither of you had much appetite for anything anymore—food, conversation, anything other than the silence that seemed to speak louder than words.

Rafe was the first to speak, his voice low and uncertain. "I hate that they're gone. I hate that I can't fix it. I hate that Willa won't ever know how good they were. How good they could have been."

His words hit you like a tidal wave, and for the first time in weeks, you saw the cracks in his tough exterior. He wasn’t the cold, distant person you’d been living with; he was just a man—broken, grieving, unsure of how to move forward.

"I hate it too," you whispered, turning to face him. "I hate that Willa will grow up never knowing how special they were. How good they were. Sarah was... everything. She made everything brighter. And John B. He had this way of making you feel like things were always gonna be okay. Even when everything was falling apart."

Rafe's eyes were distant, his gaze turned to the floor as if trying to bury the memories. "I should’ve been there more. I should’ve been a better brother. I should’ve been there for Sarah. I—I wasn’t enough. I couldn’t protect her from him." His voice cracked at the end, a rawness creeping into the words.

You could feel the pain in his voice, the regret, the anger that swirled with everything else. It was too much for him to hold, and maybe it had always been. Maybe Rafe had been carrying this weight for years, too afraid to talk about it, too scared to let anyone see him broken.

You didn’t know what to say at first. You wanted to comfort him, to tell him that he wasn’t to blame, but how could you? There were no right words, no magic phrases that could undo the past.

Instead, you simply moved closer, sitting beside him on the couch, the space between you closing.

"You didn’t fail her," you said softly. "Rafe, you didn’t fail any of us. You loved her. You loved John B. You’re still here. You’re still fighting for Willa. And that means everything."

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. But in that silence, something passed between you both. The raw honesty of the words, the shared pain, the understanding that grief didn’t need fixing—it just needed time.

Finally, Rafe turned to face you, his expression a mixture of exhaustion and something deeper, something more vulnerable. "I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to be a good dad to her—how to keep it together when it feels like everything is falling apart."

You swallowed, feeling the sting of your own grief in his words. "I don’t know how to do it either," you admitted. "But we’re doing it together. We have to. For her. And for them."

Rafe’s eyes softened, his hand trembling slightly as he reached for yours. It wasn’t a grand gesture, but it was everything. "I’m scared, [Y/N]. I’m scared of what Ward might do. I’m scared of failing her."

You squeezed his hand, your voice barely above a whisper. "We’re not alone in this. We have each other."

And in that moment, as the weight of the past few months hung heavy in the air, you both allowed yourselves to be vulnerable. For the first time since you’d become Willa’s guardians, it wasn’t just about fighting for her—it was about acknowledging that the fight was bigger than both of you, that the grief you shared had no easy solution. And that maybe, just maybe, you could survive it together.

But even as you held on to each other, even as the weight of the past few months began to lift just a little, a new storm was brewing.

The next morning, a letter arrived from Ward Cameron’s attorney.

The legal battle for Willa had officially begun.

And this time, you weren’t sure if you could win.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

The tension in the house had been building for weeks. The constant phone calls, the late-night meetings with lawyers, the nervous energy that permeated every room. It felt like a storm was brewing, and no one knew when or where it would strike.

Ward Cameron was relentless. He wasn’t going to let go of Willa without a fight. The custody battle was a war neither you nor Rafe were prepared for, and with each passing day, it became more and more clear that Ward had no interest in doing what was best for Willa. He was driven by control, by pride, and by a need to take back what he saw as his.

You could feel the weight of it all pressing down on you as you prepared for the court hearing. It wasn’t just a matter of legal paperwork anymore; it was about Willa’s future. About whether or not she would be able to stay with the people who loved her most—or whether she would be taken away by the very man who had terrorized Rafe and Sarah their entire lives.

The morning of the hearing arrived, and as you walked into the courthouse, a cold shiver ran down your spine. Ward was there, sitting smugly at his lawyer’s side, his presence already like a shadow over the room. You glanced at Rafe, who looked tense but composed. He hadn’t spoken much in the last few days, but you could feel the anger simmering beneath the surface.

“We’re gonna win this,” you whispered, more to reassure yourself than him.

Rafe didn’t respond. His jaw was clenched, his eyes fixed on the door as though he was bracing for what was to come.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

It happened before the hearing even began.

Ward spotted Rafe as he entered the building, and in an instant, the calm atmosphere of the courthouse was shattered.

“Rafe,” Ward’s voice was like acid, dripping with disdain. “Still playing pretend, are we? Acting like you’re fit to raise her?” His gaze flickered to you, then back to Rafe. “You’re nothing. You always were. Just like your mother. You’re not good enough for her.”

You could see Rafe’s fists clenching at his sides, his entire body rigid with tension. He was trying to keep it together, trying to stay calm, but you knew Ward’s words were cutting through him like knives.

“Don’t talk about her,” Rafe spat through gritted teeth, his voice dangerously low.

Ward smirked, then took a step closer. “Or what? You gonna threaten me, Rafe? You gonna get violent like you always do?”

Before anyone could react, Ward’s hand shot out, slapping Rafe across the face with a sickening crack. The sound of the slap echoed through the hallway, sending a chill down your spine.

Rafe stumbled back, his hand instinctively reaching for his cheek where the bruise was already beginning to form. You could see the pain in his eyes, but the rage was sharper—cutting through him like a blade.

“Ward, you don’t get to touch him,” you snapped, stepping forward, but Rafe raised a hand to stop you.

“I’m fine,” he said, his voice tight with anger. But you could see the bruise already swelling, darkening the side of his face.

Ward laughed coldly, his eyes glinting with malicious satisfaction. “This is the man you’re trusting with her?” He gestured toward Rafe, a mocking sneer on his lips. “Pathetic. This is all a joke to you, isn’t it?”

Before you could say anything else, security had already stepped in, and Ward was ushered away by his lawyer. Rafe stood there, silent, his face hard as stone.

“Let’s just get this over with,” he muttered, turning on his heel and heading toward the courtroom.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

The courtroom was packed, tension thick in the air. The judge, a woman with a stern expression, motioned for everyone to sit down, but you could still feel the heaviness of the moment.

Rafe sat beside you, his posture stiff, his hand gripping the armrest of the chair so tightly his knuckles were white. You could see the bruise on his cheek, the darkening mark a stark reminder of the physical and emotional battle he was facing.

Ward sat across the room, his face set in a smug grin. He didn’t look at Rafe. He didn’t need to. He was confident he had already won.

As the hearing began, the tension grew. Both sides presented their arguments—Ward with his usual smugness, his words dripping with false sincerity, and you and Rafe, doing your best to argue that Willa belonged with the people who had been raising her, the people who loved her.

But as the court session continued, it became clear that Ward wasn’t playing fair. His lawyer had found every loophole, every flaw in your case, and used it against you. And with the bruise on Rafe’s face, there was no way around the implications it carried. The scene in the hallway, though quickly dealt with, was impossible to ignore.

Rafe’s history, his past with Ward—everything was being dragged out into the open, and no matter how hard Rafe tried to stay composed, no matter how much you fought back, the weight of their father’s influence was undeniable.

You watched, helpless, as the case swung in Ward’s favor. Every argument Rafe made, every truth he tried to speak, was countered with a lie, with an accusation. And in the end, it wasn’t about what was best for Willa. It was about who had the power, who had the money, who could manipulate the system.

And in that moment, it was clear who was winning.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

The judge finally spoke, her voice cold and impartial. “Based on the evidence presented, and in consideration of the child’s well-being, I am ruling in favor of Mr. Ward Cameron for the temporary custody of Willa Routledge.”

The words were like a slap in the face. Your heart stopped, the world spinning in slow motion as you processed the finality of her decision. Rafe’s face fell, his entire body going rigid beside you. His hand, which had been gripping the armrest, was now shaking.

Willa was going to Ward. And there was nothing either of you could do about it.

“What?” Rafe’s voice was barely a whisper, but it held so much anger, so much disbelief, that it made your chest ache.

The judge didn’t respond, and Ward’s smirk only deepened, satisfaction radiating from every inch of him.

You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t think. You couldn’t believe it.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

Rafe stood up, the pain in his eyes more evident than ever before. He didn’t speak, didn’t argue. He just left. He stormed out of the courtroom, his movements sharp, angry, broken.

You stayed behind, your own heart sinking, as Ward’s lawyer turned to you with a cold, dismissive smile.

“This isn’t over,” you whispered to yourself, but deep down, you knew it was. The battle for Willa had just taken an unimaginable turn. And you couldn’t help but wonder if you and Rafe would ever recover from the blow.

© 2024 rafeskai | All rights reserved. This fanfiction is a work of fiction inspired by characters from Outer Banks, and no part of it may be reproduced or distributed without permission.

[minswriting]

Do I Wanna Know? - Step-Brother Spencer Reid x Reader

About: It’s not easy fucking for your nerdy and hot step-brother when feelings become involved.

Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, step-cest, step brother spencer, oral (f receiving), vaginal sex, unprotected sex, guilt, shame, unspoken pining, etc.

Word Count: 1702

“Have you got color in your cheeks?

Do you ever get that fear that you can’t shift

The type that sticks around like summat in your teeth?

Are there some aces up your sleeve?

Have you no idea that you’re in so deep?

I dreamt about you nearly every night this week.”

Your mother married her husband a few months ago. At a time when they had only been together for a few months but they apparently just “knew” it was meant to be. Who were you to judge, really? If you know, you know. You were just glad that your mother was relatively happy. There was also that added bonus of having a very new step-brother.

Spencer Reid, a profiler for the BAU and now your step-brother, was this nerdy guy. He had an eidetic memory, dressed like a grandpa, and was extremely hot for no reason. The day you met him, you were overwhelmed by his attractiveness. And he was so awkward too, adding to the appeal. You don’t see him often strictly due to his work and the fact that he lives in D.C while you live in Las Vegas. But when he does, it’s as though you’re in heaven. And tomorrow, Spencer is flying out to visit.

“How many secrets can you keep?

‘Cause there’s this tune I found

That makes me think of you somehow

And I play it on repeat

Until I fall asleep

Spilling drinks on my settee.”

Spencer: I can’t wait to see you.

You: I can’t wait to have your face buried between my thighs.

Your phone buzzed with another text.

Spencer: That will be divine.

You couldn’t help the smirk that traveled on to your face. You remember the first time you ever initiated anything with Spencer. It was a month after the wedding. He had flown back to Las Vegas for a case he was working on and decided to stay at the house rather than in a hotel with his team members. You noticed the way he had looked at you whenever you guys saw one another. Like you were forbidden fruit. But he was always too awkward, too shy to say anything to you. You guys hardly spoke unless necessary.

That was until you cornered him one night after he had gotten back at three in the morning after his case had been concluded. You remember the words you had spoken to him. “I see the way you look at me,” You had said quietly but seductively. That night you had gotten on your knees and gave him the worlds best blow job imaginable. And ever since then, the two of you had a very secret thing going on.

Late night phone calls, sexy photos, videos of one another sent privately. The past few months had been absolutely blissful. The amount of orgasms that you had every week was astounding and you were absolutely never sick of it. Because you got to hear the hot and sexy sounds that Dr. Spencer Reid, your step-brother, make.

As the months had gone on, these late night phone calls would turn into more than just sex. Talks about your days, life, books you both had been reading, the shows you’ve been watching. What was supposed to be nothing more than physical was slowly becoming emotional. At least for you. These days you often wonder if Spencer felt a similar way. But that didn’t matter as much. You would never allow yourself to cross the emotional territory. Or at least you’d never actively admit it.

“(Do I wanna know?)

If this feeling flows both ways?

(Sad to see you go)

Was sorta hoping that you’d stay.

(Baby, we both know)

That the nights were mainly made

For saying things that you can’t say tomorrow day.”

The day Spencer had arrived, you spent the day teasing him. You wore a red dress that covered just enough to be considered appropriate. But if you bent over in the slightest, which you certainly did, you could see the sexy red lingerie set you wore underneath, Spencer’s absolute favorite on you. He hadn’t had the opportunity to see it in person until now. After your family dinner and your parents had gone to bed, you had dragged Spencer to the bedroom, not even bothering to take your time.

Maybe it’s the way his tongue moves around your cunt, lapping up your juices. Or the way Spencer sucks on your clit, doing whatever he can to bring you the most pleasure. All you know is that you have to try your damn hardest to keep quiet, to make sure neither your mother or his father wake up to hear what their children are up to. Spencer’s face is buried in your pussy, tonguing your hole while his nose runs against your clit. If hell were real, you definitely would be going with how much you enjoy fucking your step-brother. And it would be absolutely worth it if you get to live this lifetime underneath Spencer.

When you finish twice from his tongue, Spencer finally removes his face from your cunt. His face glimmering from your juices as he reaches his hands to undo his shirt. You were already naked, something Spencer had done as soon as you closed the door of the bedroom. As he took off his shirt, Spencer licked his lips, looking at you with a look that you couldn’t quite interpret.

You knew this was wrong. So ridiculously wrong. He was practically family, at least legally. He was supposed to be your brother, someone you can depend on. Well you certainly depend on Spencer for something. And it’s certainly not for anything family friendly either. You’ve tried calling it quits. Three weeks in, you tried leaving it be by not calling Spencer or texting him. You only lasted a day before you started craving him again.

“Crawling back to you

Ever thought of calling when you’ve had a few?

‘Cause I always do.

Maybe I’m too busy being yours to fall for somebody new.

Now, I’ve thought it through

Crawling back to you.”

With you laying on your back while Spencer pounds into you like his life depended on it, you were absolutely trying so hard not to moan like the slut you know you are. You had a fist to your mouth while you looked at Spencer, who was leaned over you, arms on either side of your head, while his cock was thrusting in and out of your tight pussy.

“You’re so wet,” Spencer whispered shakily, looking at you in your eyes. “So tight. I could be buried inside you forever.”

You couldn’t help the whimper that escaped your lips as you looked back up at Spencer. The look in his eye. the one you can’t quite put a name to, was still there. Lust? Guilt? Love? It couldn’t possibly be the last one.

“Have you got the guts?

Been wondering if your heart’s still open

And if so, I wanna know what time it shuts

Simmer down and pucker up

I’m so sorry to interrupt, it’s just I’m constantly on the cusp

Of trying to kiss you

I don’t know if you feel the same way as I do

But we could be together if you wanted to.”

His lips went to yours, kissing you like you were his last breath and he needed you to hold on for life. His cock plunging into you at a rapid pace. The room was filled with the rhythmic sound of skin slapping skin and the wet sounds of your pussy. Had your mother and his father been awake, they’d certainly question the noises going on.

“(Do I wanna know)

If this feeling flows both ways?

(Sad to see you go)

Was sorta hoping that you'd stay

(Baby, we both know)

That the nights were mainly made

For saying things that you can't say tomorrow day

Crawling back to you (crawling back to you)

Ever thought of calling when you've had a few? (You've had a few?)

'Cause I always do ('cause I always do)

Maybe I'm too (maybe I'm too busy)

Busy being yours (being yours)

To fall for somebody new

Now, I've thought it through

Crawling back to you”

You could feel the heat building in your abdomen as Spencer’s cock hit your g-spot repeatedly. “Oh fuck,” you whisper moaned, breaking off the kiss. “So close, Spence.”

“Go ahead, sweetheart,” he whispered back. “Cum for me like a good girl.” He continued his movements, fucking you to completion.

You let out a whine, trying hard to not be loud as your orgasm grew closer. Spencer reached down between the two of you, rubbing your clit. And you gasped loudly, bringing your hand back to your mouth as your walls tightened around Spencer’s cock. Within seconds you were cumming, hard, spilling your juices onto his cock and onto the mattress. Your back arched as you came, your toes curling from the best orgasm you’ve ever had.

Spencer followed you, cumming inside of you with ropes and ropes of his cum, filling you with not a single care in the world. Maybe it was a sick thought on his part. Maybe if he got you pregnant, he could finally claim you as his. Or maybe that was just your fantasy. You were on the pill, it was very unlikely.

Afterwards, it’s the cuddling. The soft words spoken about how beautiful you are and how good you did that make your heart flutter in your chest. The way Spencer looked at you with that same look. And in your heart you absolutely knew what that look was. Love. Adoration. Mesmerized by you. Your step-brother loved you. Just like you loved him.

But you’d never admit it out loud. Neither of you would. Because your circumstances wouldn’t allow for such a thing to happen.

So in the shadows you guys remain, caught in your own little bubble where it’s nothing more than sex. But the calls while he’s away become more frequent, more about missing one another and wanting to hear each other. Many words spoken and yet many remained unspoken. Just as it will remain.

[maracujatangerine]

91. A conversation

CW: institutional slavery, pet whump, dehumanisation, box boy universe

“Cory… I think we need to talk.” Lydia’s tone was cautious. Carefully gentle. “What do you think?”

Coriander had been sitting slumped against the wall on his green pillow in the kitchen. When Lydia spoke, he instantly straightened up.

“Y-yes, Miss Lydia. T-this pet needs to talk. It has been thinking.”

��Okay.”

Lydia sat down in her usual chair, facing him. For quite some time now, she had been more relaxed around Coriander. She had felt able to trust their report and that also he would be less vigilant in interpreting any gesture of hers as a sign of displeasure or censure. Now, however, she once again felt herself hyper aware of her own body language. Do not cross your arms, she reminded herself. Shoulders turned towards him, heart open, posture welcoming. She smiled, and nodded.

“I’m listening. We can talk about whatever you want.”

“T-this pet has been thinking about what.. what has happened to it. About why it is here.”

Coriander rose to his feet, perfectly graceful as usual.

“Miss Lydia, This pet did volunteer, it did. It knows it did.” He pulled a shaking hand through his blonde hair. “T-there w-was a signature, on a paper, and… and…” He shook his head. “T-this pet cannot remember. But.” He looked down at Lydia, grey eyes suddenly fierce. “B-but this pet knows that it wouldn’t have volunteered if it knew. If it knew what it was going to be like. Nobody would volunteer for that.”

He started to pace the kitchen, back and forth, his shaking hands drawn tightly into fists.

“The cold, the beatings, the starvation, the experiments, the violence, the abuse, the contempt, the neglect.” His whole body shaking, he stared unseeing out the window. “The way you are never good enough.”

Lydia could feel her whole chest ache in phantom pain as her heart hurt for him. She wanted to reach out to Cory, but she was also afraid to disturb whatever path he was on. This was probably the first time ever he named the things he’d been going through.

When he just stayed silent, breathing hard, staring out the window, she eventually said, as gently as she could.

“Cory. This is terrible, and I am so sorry that it happened to you. I’m really glad that you can start to talk about it, though. I’m here, and I’m listening to everything you want to talk about.” She paused, and when he showed no sign of even having heard her, she added. “I just want to remind you that this is never going to happen to you ever again. You are safe here.”

He whirled on her, then.

“B-but, Miss Lydia. If nobody w-wanted to buy it, this would not have happened to this pet.” He paused and swallowed. “This would not have happened to me!”

Looking down, he continued. “You have been kind to this pet, that is true. But there is a paper in the drawer there…” He pointed, his whole arm an accusing arc. “That says that you own it. Whatever you want to do to this body…” He hesitated and plunged on. “…to this soul, it is your right to do it.”

Coriander shook his head slowly, grey eyes boring into hers. Very slowly and steadily he said. “Miss Lydia, i-if it wasn’t for you - a-and many more people like you - t-this pet wouldn’t be here.”

He hung his head, then. Exhaustion and a spasm of pain flickering over his face for just an instant. Gritting his teeth, he met her eyes again.

“Miss Lydia, t-this pet needs some time alone. May it be excused to go for a walk?”

Lydia nodded quickly, biting her lip.

“Of course, Cory, whatever you need.”

The blonde young man inclined his head respectfully, but the fire in his grey eyes did not die down.

“Thank you, Mistress.”

Lydia held it together while Coriander went out into the hallway, put on his shoes and coat, and walked out the door.

It was only after she heard the sound of the latch clicking closed that she leant down on the smooth, wooden surface of the kitchen table, hid her face in the crook of her arm, and cried.

Tag List Part 1: @cupcakes-and-pain @whump-em @whumpzone @wh-wh-whu @neuro-whump @carnagecardinal @cowboy-anon @whump-me-all-night-long @redwingedwhump @myst-in-the-mirror @haro-whumps @eatyourdamnpears @bloodsweatandpotato @pinkraindropsfell @whumptywhumpdump @theydy-cringeworthy @whump-in-progress @whumpsy-daisy @nicolepascaline @whumpcreations @briars7 @shiningstarofwinter @whumppsychology @alex-ember @miss-kitty-whumptastic @whumpy-writings @in-patient-princess @youtube-fandoms-bands @goblinchildindabog @mazeish @distinctlywhumpthing @inpainandsuffering @canniboylism @icannotweave @incoherent-introspection @kim-poce @broken-typewriter @the-monarch-whumperfly @whumpers-inc @grizzlie70 @lil-whumper @writingbackwards-blog @sunflower1000 @wingedwhump @thecitythatdoesntsleep @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @onlybadendings @rabass @wolfeyedwitch @melancholy-in-the-morning

[writerfromshikahr]

A pre-relationship piece. TW for some discussion of abuse, but nothing detailed.

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Pebbles - Lucanis X Rook Fanfic

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"I can see why this is your favourite spot," Rook said, gazing out at the bustling city below. "Treviso looks stunning from up here. I never got to explore this part of the city as a child."

Lucanis smiled as they sat together on the rooftop. "Illario and I would come up here and throw pebbles at the people below—until Caterina caught us," he said, smirking. "It was his idea, of course."

Rook laughed softly. "Yes, that does seem like something he would do," she said, turning to him with a knowing smile. "But you should have known better."

They sat in companionable silence for a moment, the distant hum of the city below filling the air. Then Rook spoke again. "Must have been hard, growing up with Caterina. She seems like a formidable woman. If your training was anything like mine…" Rook trailed off, her voice softening as she caught herself.

Lucanis regarded her for a moment, his gaze steady but unreadable. "She’s my grandmother, but yes, it was difficult. At the time, I hated her. She was impossible to please, and like most Crows, I suffered. But what made it worse," he said, his tone lowering, "was when she’d turn around and tell me it was because she cared for me. It was… confusing."

"I understand," she said quietly, though her voice carried the weight of her memories.

"And you?" Lucanis asked, his gaze lingering on her. "I learned a little from Viago. He may have called you 'his idiot,' but don’t take it personally. If he ever stops using that word, then you should start worrying." His smirk softened as he added, "You were eight when you joined House de Riva?"

"My parents were killed while they were trading here," Rook said, her gaze fixed on the city below. "We were walking back to our accommodations when some mercenaries jumped them. I don’t remember much of that evening." She hesitated, "But I do remember using my magic for the first time—trying to help my mother."

Her hand drifted to her lap, her fingers fidgeting as she spoke. "I would have been killed too if it hadn’t been for a Crow that… intervened." The word lingered, heavy with meaning. "House de Riva took me in—gave me a home, a place to sleep. But they never addressed what I’d witnessed. Instead, they used it, reminded me of that night, to push me harder in training." She glanced at Lucanis, her expression conflicted. "I’m grateful, but like you said, it’s strange to feel grateful to people who also hurt you."

"We have things in common, it seems," his voice thoughtful. "I lost my parents young, but unlike you, I had family." He glanced at her, his expression softening. "You were alone in a city that wasn’t your own, surrounded by strangers you had no choice but to rely on." He paused, his dark eyes lingering on hers. "Admirable resilience for someone so young, Rook."

"I get a compliment Dellamorte? I’ll take it—Viago doesn’t hand those out too often."

"Oh, you’re his favourite; that’s why he’s harder on you," Lucanis leaned back on his hands. "Besides, you have me by your side now. That’d terrify him more—he and I, we have a history."

"By my side? Is this just Crow loyalty, or… something else?" she mused, glancing down at the city. Her heart fluttered as the question lingered, unspoken feelings stirring beneath her curiosity.

He regarded her quietly for a moment before replying, his tone unreadable. "As I said, there are plenty of reasons to work with you. Some, I admit, might be more out of self-interest than others."

"Self-interest? I can work with that," she said, smiling at him.

Lucanis didn’t respond, and she hadn’t expected him to. Silence fell again, broken only by the faint hum of the city. She noticed him digging into his pocket.

"I almost forgot," he said, pulling out a small handful of pebbles and offering them to her.

"I wondered why you were picking those up when we walked here."

He smiled playfully. "Whoever can hit that merchant’s stall three times in a row buys the coffee later. Bonus points if you can land one in the bowl of mackerel."

Rook raised a brow, taking a pebble. "The fish? Now you’re just trying to show off."

Lucanis rolled a pebble between his fingers. "Maybe. Or maybe I just want to see if you're up for the challenge." He tossed the pebble lightly in the air and caught it, his gaze darting to the stall below. "Your move."

Rook narrowed her eyes, "Oh, I’m more than up for it."

She aimed, letting the pebble fly. It bounced off the corner of the merchant's stall, missing her mark by inches. "Damn it," she muttered, biting back a laugh.

He chuckled, leaning forward. "Close, but not quite. Watch and learn." With an almost lazy flick of his wrist, his pebble sailed down, landing with a soft plunk in the bowl. He tossed another pebble in the air looking decidedly smug.

"My coffee’s going to taste even better knowing you’re paying for it."

[elspethdekarios]

Atonement

Hello fellow Solavellan sufferers!!! I've written a little fic about what I imagine goes down between Solas and Lavellan once the game is over. I'll have you know I listened to the Lost Elf Theme on repeat while writing it, if that tells you anything. Anyway, read below the cut or on AO3 here!

SFW, Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Words: 2,821

! HUGE VEILGUARD SPOILERS !

When she stepped into the Fade, hand in hand with her love, Sulah had no preconceived notion of what to expect on the other side, nor did she spend a moment speculating about what it could possibly be. She was with Solas, after all, and there was no use in trying to predict his actions. It was funny, really—how she found him predictable and surprising all in the same. No, there was little use trying to guess where in the Fade he would lead them. Nonetheless, she wasn't sure she would have ever expected this.

The pocket of the Fade they walked into was dull and gray as stone. In fact, most of it was stone. Fragments of buildings and debris floated slowly through the foggy sky above. Tendrils of winding roots grew up through cracks in the stone. There were staircases that seemed to lead to nowhere, and twisted, barren trees clinging to broken columns and walls. The air was so still it felt stifling in Sulah’s lungs. And Solas, downtrodden and bruised, looked like he belonged there. Like he was part of the backdrop. As if he could hear her thoughts, he spoke.

“It is a reflection of what I am. What I don't want to be.” He paused, dropping his head. “What I don't want to face.”

“This is how you atone?”

“I told you it would be terrible.”

“And I told you forever.” Sulah turned to him, heart aching for the bloodied mess of his face. “I meant it.”

Solas lifted his head enough to look at her through glassy, violet eyes. “I don’t deserve you, vhenan.”

“I think that’s up to me,” she said, wiping away a stray tear on his cheek. “Let’s talk, my love. Before you start making your amends.”

They sat with their backs against a nearby stone wall. Solas’s eyes alternated between being heavy with sleep and haunting despair. He looked so much older than she remembered him—not physically, really, but in the way he seemed to be held down with millennia of burden. On the other hand, he had the heartbreaking demeanor of a child unable to emotionally grasp the multitude of his feelings.

“I don’t know… where to start,” he breathed. With one look at her, a hint of hope glimmered amongst the sadness in his eyes. “I have missed you. Desperately so.”

“I’ve missed you, too.” Sulah’s voice cracked as she spoke, a stream of tears steadily falling down her cheeks. She brushed them away and smiled sadly. “So let’s start there, shall we?”

His kiss tasted of salt and metal. She didn’t care about the wounds on his face or the small gash on his lip still swelling with blood. It had been a decade since she tasted him, touched him, spoke to him. Even though she knew he visited in her dreams, he never made contact—only watched, a dark figure in the distance. How she longed to reach out for him every time, to pull him close and find solace in his arms like she used to. Sulah crawled in front of him, her knees aching as they pressed into the cold stone, and wrapped her arms around his neck. After a brief hesitation, Solas rested his hands on her waist, his touch timid at first, like he was afraid of doing something wrong. But his touch grew more confident by the second, and soon his arms were wrapped around her so tight she could barely breathe. It felt as if a missing piece of her heart had been restored, held in place by molten gold.

“I don’t know that I can possibly tell you all of it. Perhaps I could… show you, instead.” With a single thought, Solas willed into the Fade a blue crystal statuette of a wolf, not unlike the one Sulah found when his ritual failed. He held it, concentrated on it, and its core radiated bright blue magic. He held the figure out to her. As Sulah took it from him, their destitute surroundings swirled and dissolved, leaving her in front of a young Solas. His face was not quite so worn with pain and exhaustion like the one she knew. Long, auburn hair cascaded down the center of his head, falling over his shoulder as he turned to face the other elf in front of him.

“Solas, how could you?” the other elf asked. His skin was tan, his hair was dark, and his face was marked with Mythal’s branching vallaslin. The same branches that Sulah had tattooed underneath her eyes.

“I do not expect you to understand, Felassan,” Solas said, standing tall and proud as ever. “It was necessary for the enemy to believe we were committed. A heavy sacrifice, but one that gave us a real chance to end the war.”

“You knowingly sent those spirits to their deaths!” Felassan shouted. “We’re supposed to be better than this.”

Felassan spoke to Solas with the intimacy and confidence of a close friend, unafraid to confront his wrongdoings. Sulah could make out a hint of remorse in Solas’s eyes before his face hardened into a scowl.

“I did what had to be done.”

The scene dissipated. Ruins were replaced with the glorious landscape of ancient Arlathan, sprawling greenery among grand, floating palaces. Solas argued with an elven woman who Sulah now recognized as Mythal. She was identical to the spirit fragment she had seen before stepping into the Fade with Solas, only solid and real. The words they spoke were jumbled, as if Solas couldn’t remember the exact things said when he transferred the memory to the statue, but Sulah knew what they were discussing all the same: the Blight. Solas protested, pleaded with Mythal, before finally giving in to her demands.

“I will follow you always,” he said. Sulah had never heard him sound so defeated. A distinct and overwhelming sense of shame settled over her as the scene faded.

The memories continued like this, one after the other, each one brief but enough to show her the actions that haunted him. And enough to leave her with thousands of questions. She saw his regrets from centuries ago—memories of Mythal, Elgern’an, Ghilan’nain, the other Evanuris. She saw him destroy the legacy of the titans, and the corruption that introduced the Blight to the world. She saw his sorrow at the creation of the Veil, the loss of the world he knew, the unbreakable tether he had to Mythal, similar to a commandeering mother and a child eager to please her, desperate for her approval. She saw his plans to give Corypheus the orb go awry, the conflict raging inside of him as he fell in love with Sulah, the way he almost told her the truth that night in Crestwood. She felt the guilt he carried afterwards—that he still carried. She saw him devise his devious plan to mold Rook into someone the prison would take in his place. His betrayal and desperation.

She saw the despair in his eyes when he killed Varric.

Sulah stood on the raised platform where Solas orchestrated his ritual, watching as Varric climbed the stairs in an attempt to stop his friend. Even in a memory, the air was charged with powerful magic, culminating in a swirling wind that blew her hair into her face, obscuring her view. She could only make out fragments of the argument.

“You need to listen—”

“You have come a long way and made a valiant effort, Varric—”

“—able to give me a straight answer—”

“—rather than admit this is mine to solve—”

“—who are you trying to convince here? Me or yourself?”

Varric’s last statement stung like a knife. His words echoed as time slowed. Sulah felt the heavy burden of self doubt imbued in Solas’s memory as the two men locked eyes, their argument hanging in the air between them. In a chaotic flash, several things happened: Solas turned to continue the ritual, Varric attempted to pry the lyrium dagger from Solas’s hands, and the monuments of the Evanuris surrounding the ritual site began to fall. Somewhere in the chaos, while wrenching the dagger back from Varric’s grasp, the blade pierced through his chest. The sound of ripping flesh. The gasp from Varric’s mouth.

“NO!” Sulah shouted. Time had slowed, and she rushed to catch him as he stumbled, forgetting that it was no use. Her arms moved through him like a ghost.

Solas watched his friend fall to the bottom of the stairs, regret bubbling up inside of him at what he’d done. And still, the sense of doubt from Varric’s words lingered, sullying Solas’s certainty as innocent blood seeped through the fabric of his gloves.

He steeled himself with cold resolve and turned away.

The gray of the Fade prison came back into view. Sulah felt like she had been in Solas’s memories for hours, but neither her body nor his had moved from the ground against the wall. He watched her with bated breath, his jaw clenched, eyes glossy with fresh tears. Moments ago, she watched him command a rebellion, steadfast and resolute and proud. A powerful god among mortals. But the Solas in front of her now held little of the immense ancient spirit she’d seen. He was only a man, broken from the weight of his regrets.

“I cannot ask for your forgiveness, vhenan. Not even your understanding.” His voice broke, his next words spoken through a sob. “I am so sorry that I let you fall in love with a monster.”

Solas hugged his knees to his chest. His hands shook and his body trembled as he cried. It was pure, raw, searing emotion—and it was the first time she had ever seen him lose control of himself. Sulah had been lonely for years, yearning for the man who felt like home while sleeping cold in an empty bed, but she’d never felt as alone as she felt now, sitting in the vast emptiness of the Fade with a god shedding centuries’ worth of repressed agony that she could never possibly comprehend. He was the one who always seemed to know what to do, who had a plan for everything. He was the one more familiar with the Fade than the waking world. But he was also the one who had to face his regrets. His pain. And he had already proven that he couldn’t do that on his own.

“Solas,” she said, quiet and sad. “You killed Varric.”

“I’m sorry,” he choked through tears.

“I… I knew he was gone, but no one…” she trailed off, thinking back to the letter she received from Morrigan shortly after she met Rook and the others. Varric was gravely injured in an altercation. He did not make it. I am sorry you have to find out this way. “No one told me it was by your hand.”

“They were protecting you,” he said. “From the truth of what I am. Perhaps they shouldn’t have done so.”

Sulah sat in silence, trying to piece it all together in her mind.

“I never meant to hurt Varric,” Solas whispered. “I have harmed so many people, innocent people, and Varric… Varric….”

He stopped speaking and rested his forehead on his knees, letting the tears fall on his armor.

“My love—”

“How can you possibly still love me, Sulah?” he snapped, a wolf showing his fangs. “I deserve whatever cruel fate awaits me here. You do not.”

“Solas—”

“Would you truly—”

“Let me speak,” she said, stern and commanding. Her Inquisitor voice, the other members liked to call it. It worked. Solas nodded for her to continue. “To heal from your past, you have to confront it. It will be painful, but you must. Tell me about Varric.”

Solas sighed and let his head fall back to the wall, the apex of his throat bobbing as he swallowed.

“Varric was a good man. He was my friend.” He closed his eyes and Sulah watched as a single tear ran down his bloodied face. She tried to hold back her own tears, but they streamed warm down her cheeks nonetheless.

“What would you say to him if he were here?”

“That it is one of my greatest regrets, one that I desperately wish I could take back. That I enjoyed his company on our journey years ago, and that I have missed him in the years since. And that I am terribly, terribly sorry.”

Like a prayer, the final words escaped Solas’s mouth in a despondent whisper. In the distance, a structure resembling the skyline of Kirkwall crumbled. Sulah recognized it from her visit several years ago. She had only made it to Kirkwall once in the time that Varric was viscount, a position he reluctantly accepted, but one that she always suspected he secretly enjoyed. He took her to the cliffs of Sundermount, where Dalish sometimes set up camp. It looked remarkably like the area of the Free Marches her clan frequented before she left.

“I thought it might remind you of home”, he had said.

“I came here to see* your *home, Varric.”

“We’re doing that too.” he pointed across the water to the silhouetted, square buildings.

She smiled at the memory and let herself cry as the Kirkwall replica became an avalanche of stone plummeting into the abyss. When its final, broken pieces fell, Solas turned back to her and took a long breath. She looked at him, attempting to reconcile the Solas she knew and loved, the Solas in front of her now, with the Solas she saw in his memories. There was a cruel pride deep inside of him, one he tried to keep from her for so long. She could see it now, and it was fractured.

How could she possibly come to terms with all he had done? He had taken Varric away from this world, a man who, despite his faults, brought hope and friendship and humor into the world around him. She could feel the empty, aching shells of all the hearts who missed him—including her own. There were more adventures to be had, more books to be written, and Solas took it away. Away from Varric, away from the world. Sulah couldn’t bring herself to consider the even larger things he had done. The man she loved was responsible for the Blight. He tranquilized the Titans. He murdered his friends—sometimes on accident, sometimes for what he considered betrayal.

Sulah steadied her breathing and closed her eyes, focusing on the rhythm of the air flowing in and out of her lungs. She let the world fall away until she could feel nothing but the essence of her soul spreading into her limbs, making her weightless. If Solas was a spirit of wisdom, what was she, deep down? A word stirred somewhere in the depths of her heart: patience.

“This is going to take a long time, vhenan.” Solas’s words roused her from contemplation.

“Yes,” she said. “For both of us, I think.”

For the first time since reuniting, he touched her of his own accord, studying her prosthetic arm with gentle fingers before resting his hand on her thigh beside it.

“It’s a good thing time doesn’t exist in the Fade, then.” Sulah placed her remaining hand on top of his. “To answer your earlier question, I choose to still love you despite your mistakes, Solas. I love you because I tried to move on, to meet other people, but none of them could touch whatever piece of my soul that you do. Every person I tried to give my heart to was a flimsy bandage over a gaping wound. And I had to reconcile with myself that I love someone who would tear the world apart for his own stubborn pride. I know your heart, Solas. You are more than your mistakes.”

Sulah felt as if a small part of the rift between them had stitched itself back together; a fragile scar translucent and deep, but healing nonetheless. For a moment, the insurmountable hurdles she would have to help him overcome fell away. It was just the two of them, together in the Fade like all those years ago. She knew how the world would see them: the lovestruck Inquisitor and the Dread Wolf. The cautionary tale of a Dalish girl who fell right into the jaws of Fen’Harel himself.

“Sulah,” Solas reached for her face with both hands, holding her like he had to be sure she wasn’t a mere reflection of his desire. “As long as you will have me, I swear to you: I will never abandon you again. You will have me, always.”

His kiss was soft, but charged with intention. Devotion. As they broke apart, he pulled Sulah into his arms, resting his cheek on the top of her head.

“Ar lath ma vhenan. Bellanaris.”

[seven-seas-of-rhye-bread]

Ahh... Lucius Verus x F!OC

Sorry for the lame title, but my brain is exhausted from writing this fic.

This was inspired by that scene in the beginning of the movie when he's sitting in that bath-- it was so rude that it only lasted a minute!!

Warning: Pure smut ahead, 18+, minors DNI please!!

Disclaimer: I am but a dreamy horny bitch, this is not historically accurate besides what I could google ( and I only read the top result, so who knows how accurate). I am here for a GOOD time not an ACCURATE time.

P.S. sorry it ends abruptly, I'm chronically bad at endings, weee.....

P.P.S-- only lightly proof read, my b

xx

Cassia stood over the amphora straining the oil from the herbs and flowers it had been stewing with. An intoxicating bloom of iris, myrrh and cinnamon floated up from the mixture and she inhaled deeply. She might be a lowly servant at Rome's most exclusive thermae, but whenever she strained the oil Cassia liked to think she smelled like an empress. 

Alba, another thermae servant, opened the door and peered around it.

"Cassia? You're needed." 

"I'm needed?" She asked, confusion clouding her face. She was never needed-- there were plenty of servants, why would someone need her specifically? Unless-- oh. It was him. The champion gladiator, Hanno. Her heart quickened, remembering the last time he was there. 

It was after his first victory, he was treated to the best private caldarium in the baths. When she first laid eyes on Hanno he was standing in the middle of the room, facing the bath beyond him, the steam rising from the hot water. He was still dressed for battle, and his shoulders rose and fell with quick breaths as if he was still fighting. Cassia was silent as she made her way into the room, as servants were only to serve and not to speak unless spoken to. As she reached up to undo his armor, Hanno snatched her wrist and turned towards her. His eyes were wild with rage and confusion. Cassia wanted to cry out in pain, his grip was more than strong, but she remained silent, afraid someone would hear. 

In a moment he realized where he was-- that he was not in the coliseum and she was not another gladiator intent on killing him. Hanno's eyes softened with concern and fear as he let go of her wrist and saw the red imprint that would soon bruise. 

"I--I'm so sorry. I didn't mean--" his words trailed off as his hand fell back by his side. 

"It's alright." she assured him with a quiet and calm voice, though her wrist ached already.

"Is it okay if I..." Cassia started to reach up to his armor again. Hanno nodded and turned back to face the pool. She was careful with him, noting the way he winced as she raised up his arms and took off the heavy chest plate. She averted her eyes to the side as she removed his belt and loin cloth, before kneeling to remove his shin guards. 

Cassia stepped back, putting his armor and cloth aside. Hanno stepped cautiously, painfully down the stone steps into the water. He hissed as he fully submerged himself in the cerulean water, a trail of blood leading from the wound on his shoulder. 

Cassia blushed when Hanno let out a satisfied, relaxed moan as he sat back against the side of the pool. She had done this time and time again when there were games happening at the Coliseum, but she had never felt bashful like this before. She stood quietly in the corner-- her eyes fixed on the mosaic floors. 

After a long moment Hanno spoke, "what's your name?" 

"Cassia" she answered quietly, her eyes lifting to meet his. 

"Cassia..." he repeated, his eyes looking heavy, now that he was relaxed. He winced when he reached up to his hair that was matted with sweat, dirt and blood. 

She went over to the  edge of the bath, taking a small amphora from the bathing kit, filling it up in the pool and pouring it over his head. A small moan escaped Hanno's lips causing a flush to creep up Cassia's face. He was sitting at an awkward angle from her so she pulled him closer to her and poured more water over him, massaging the grime from his hair. Cassia took a small palmful of clay shampoo, and worked it into his hair. His head was lofty in her care, lolling around in the sublime comfort of being bathed. 

After his hair was clean, she positioned Hanno's head back to rest on a rolled towel and took a wet cloth wiping it gently at the blood and dirt caked on his face. She thought he had fallen asleep, but then his eyes fluttered open. Hanno reached up and tucked a loose strand of her flaxen hair behind her ear. It was such a gentle action from someone who had just killed multiple competitors. Cassia could see in that moment, he wasn't meant for violence.

Hanno pulled her face gently down and kissed her. It was deep but soft at the same time, and she would have continued kissing him, if her arm that was propping her up didn't slip on the wet stone ledge and land in the water. The hot water brought Cassia back to where she was-- and what she was doing. She stood up quickly, an embarrassing crimson shadowing her face. 

"I- I have to go," she said as she avoided Hanno's gaze which followed her as she laid out towels and a clean tunic for him. 

It had been more than a fortnight since that day, and Cassia avoided him at every one of his visits since then. Though she would be lying if she said she didn't take note that he refused assistance from any other servant, a fact that quelled a jealousy she didn't know she could feel for someone after one kiss. And now, tonight-- Hanno was asking for her. 

Cassia tried to keep her breathing calm and even as she walked down the Portico to the private bath he occupied, but her heart was beating too fast to breathe calmly. 

She knocked gently before entering the caldarium, forcing herself to meet his gaze in the candlelight. He was already in the pool, sitting in the corner, his arm hanging over the side.

Cassia didn't know what to say, nor if she should speak at all. Hanno watched her intently as she stood before the bath, waiting for him to tell her what he wanted. 

"Sit" he ordered in a quiet voice and she obeyed, taking a seat on the ledge. 

Hanno sat up, his eyes narrowing as he looked at her. He slowly reached for her hands, bringing them to his face, inhaling deeply. 

"Your hands smell... like a goddess's," he said after a moment. 

Cassia smiled to herself, "I was making bath oil..." 

"Sorry to have pulled you away from your task..." he said with an air of cheekiness as he once again relaxed back against the side. 

He asked, "what are your duties with me?"

"my duties?" Cassia asked, her eyebrows lifting slightly.

"What are you to do for me?" he rephrased his question.

She bit her lip and looked down to the bathing kit that sat by the ledge. 

"I'm to assist you with bathing..." she answered, surprised that she was not as intimidated by such a suggestive question.

Hanno smiled at her, "so you're not to join me? You cannot bathe with me?" 

Cassia shook her head, but a hint of a smile couldn't help but grace her lips. 

"Would you get in trouble?" Hanno asked, reaching out to touch the collar of her tunic. 

"I... I don't know, but I don't think my master would be pleased" 

He then looked her in the eyes and asked, " aren't I your master in this room?" 

She was at a loss for words, but that was no matter as he sat up and kissed her. It was more intense than their first kiss, more desperate and hungry, and it lit a fire in her.

"Join me..." Hanno whispered enticingly, his breath hot and ticklish on her ear. 

Cassia stood up, her heart beating wildly as she walked back to the door. She hesitated for just a second before locking the door. When she turned back towards Hanno he was smiling. 

She undressed slowly, enjoying the way he watched so intently, she could tell he was stroking himself as she got fully naked and walked towards the pool, descending slowly into the hot water. Cassia had never been in a bath that was warmer than tepid, and she gasped as she fully submerged herself in the water. 

Hanno reached out and pulled her into him, his leg resting between hers. She could feel the length of his cock against her thigh, instantly making her wet and lusty with desire. He moved her over to the ledge and with a small gasp from her lips, he lifted her up onto it and went between her legs, spreading them. Hanno looked up at Cassia as he planted a slow kiss on her inner thigh, and another and another before licking a strip up her wet lips. 

Cassia moaned, her eyes shutting tightly as he began working her with his tongue. She wasn't inexperienced in sex persay, but a man had seldom done this to her-- they typically only cared of their own pleasure. She felt Hanno separating her lips with his fingers before slipping one finger and then another inside her. Cassia gasped and covered her mouth, afraid that someone could have heard in the relative quiet of the thermae at night. 

She felt blinded with ecstasy as Hanno continued to lap at her and move his fingers in and out. Before long Cassia was seeing stars, and slowing Hanno's hand-- her orgasm rising through her so intensely she instantaneously became sensitive. She let herself breath for a moment, coming down from the high as he placed gentle kisses on her thighs once more. 

Cassia slid back into the pool, her head still swimming with the intense orgasm. Hanno grasped her hips and pulled her into him again, letting Cassia taste herself on his lips. She felt oddly delirious with desire for him, her orgasm making her hungry for more of him.

Hanno rested back against the side of the pool and Cassia wrapped her legs around his waist. He angled himself into her, and he cried out at his first thrust, burying his face into her neck, biting gently at her soft wet skin. 

Cassia rocked her hips back and forth, his cock stretching her walls with the slightest bit of pain that soon turned into nothing but pure pleasure. Hanno fingers dug into her fleshy hips, pulling her up and down on his cock, slowly and rhythmically, as if trying to make it last forever. She had wrapped her arms around his neck, running her fingers through his wet curls, their kisses gentle but still hungry, as if neither of them could get enough. 

Hanno's thrusts became frantic while still deep, ramming his length into the very depth of her cunt so that she felt breathless at each one. He came with a stifled cry into Cassia's neck and she could feel all his muscles tense with his orgasm under her touch. They stayed still for a long moment like that, the only sound in the room was their heavy breathing and the water trickling down from their skin. Cassia eventually pulled herself off of Hanno, and settled down next to him, his strong arms strung around her shoulders. 

They stayed just like that for some time, not saying anything, just being with each other. She felt like she could fall asleep in his arms, and with a slight pang in the pit of her stomach, she actually wished she could. 

[axie-lot]

Sparrow

Characters: Boothill

Warning: Male characters,Spoiler,mention of death,child death.

Very well, this fic will be split into two parts. Part 2 won’t take too long to post. Well, this fic was a request, but this part will serve as more of a "Prologue" for the idea behind the request.

Theme: angst

This work was originally written by me in Portuguese, and I translated it using Google Translator, so I apologize for any translation errors

Summary:Well, a life on the farm, a happy life, until the lands of his planet were invaded by those dogs, bringing hell with them.

[Masterlist]

Boothill remembers very well how he met [name]... Even though so much time has passed, even with his body entirely altered, he still remembers him. How could he forget? Oh, that boy who was as clever as a raven, But at the same time as gentle as a small sparrow. He remembers that meeting as if it were yesterday. It happened during his childhood, And one thing he knows for sure—that meeting Was an unusual one.

Well, young Boothill had just finished his breakfast with his siblings, and Nick had asked him to get the hay from the barn to feed the animals. That was part of his routine back then, so he thought everything would go as it always did. He went about his usual tasks, helped Nick clean up the kitchen after breakfast, and fed the dogs before heading to the barn. But as he was on his way to the barn, something unexpected happened. He heard a desperate scream coming from the road. Curious, he turned to look at the dirt road and noticed something unusual, Something very unusual... He saw a boy, about his own age, running. The boy looked desperate—and rightly so—because right behind him was a large group of geese chasing after him. Boothill was stunned by the sight, having never seen so many geese in one place before.

“What the hell,” was all the white-haired boy could think as he watched this bizarre scene unfold before his eyes.

He stood there, frozen, not knowing how to react. For a moment, he simply watched, but then he noticed something—a small detail. The geese were getting closer. Much closer.

Realizing this, the white-haired boy started running too, before the furious geese could reach him. He looked around for somewhere to take cover and spotted the barn. Without hesitation, he ran towards it, the only place that could offer safety.

He managed to reach the barn entrance, and only then did he glance back to assess the situation. To his surprise, the boy who had initially been chased by the geese had also made it to the barn. Boothill was shocked at how fast the boy had caught up with him, despite the considerable distance between them. But there was no time to dwell on that—the geese were closing in.

The two boys scrambled to shut the large barn doors just in time, before the terrifying geese could get in. They stared at each other for a moment, unable to process what had just happened. Finally, they both spoke at the same time: “Holy shit...”

After that chaotic situation, the two began to talk. And over time, Boothill started seeing the boy more frequently around the farm.

At first, [name] was hesitant to open up to Boothill, always staying on the defensive. But little by little, [name] began to let his guard down. Boothill got to know more about [name]’s personality and discovered that beneath that wary, bird-like demeanor was someone as gentle as a little sparrow.

[Name] would come by every day to visit Boothill, help with the farm chores, and then spend hours chatting and having fun once the work was done.

“Come on, Boothill! If we finish quickly, we can go swim in the river,” said the boy as he dashed past Boothill, who was carrying a bundle of hay.

“Sparrow, it’s just a chicken. She’s probably more scared of you than you are of her,” teased the gray-eyed boy, holding back laughter as he watched his friend being cornered by a small chicken.

[Name] always seemed to show up at the farm out of nowhere, and sometimes he arrived with bruises on his body. Boothill would always worry about his friend when this happened. That’s when he realized he knew almost nothing about [name]’s life.

He tried asking about [name]’s family and where he came from, but [name] always changed the subject. Over time, Boothill stopped asking.

As the two grew closer, they were almost inseparable. Boothill even introduced [name] to Graey, Nick, and his other siblings. He was so happy they liked [name].

Graey and Nick quickly grew fond of little [name] too. They could see through [name]’s lies about his family and noticed the pain he was trying to hide.

And so, the truth came to light: [name] was a street boy. That explained everything—why [name] always avoided talking about where he came from, how he could come and go as he pleased, and the bruises that always seemed to appear on his body.

In the end, they welcomed [name] to live with them. At first, [name] was reluctant, not wanting to be another burden for the men to take care of, but after much insistence, he finally agreed.

Well, if they were close before, now they were inseparable. Living in the same house, it was rare for them not to be together or at least within each other’s line of sight. One was always following the other

Whether it was to tend to the sheep, Check on the cows, Or even ride horses.

Speaking of horseback riding, it was Boothill who taught [name] how to ride. That day was hilarious because [name] was terrified of losing control of the horse and falling off. But by the end of the day, everything went well, thanks to Boothill, who stayed by his side to help with any problems that might arise.

Even though [name] now lived with them, he still held onto some habits from his time living on the streets. He remained a wary bird when strangers visited the farm, and every time that happened, Boothill had to calm him down.

The two of them often went out at night to hunt small game, staying out all night and only returning to the farm in the morning. These were some of the moments when they bonded the most and opened up to each other, as it was just the two of them, their weapons, and the forest throughout the night.

However, the most precious moments for Boothill were when he picked up a guitar and played for everyone, while [name] accompanied him, singing like a beautiful bird.

Oh, those sweet moments… Moments that now belong to the past.

And so it went on for a long time. But time passed, and those children began to grow into young adults.

Oh, Boothill remembers how much [name] had changed as he matured. That young boy with the soul of a skittish bird had grown into a handsome young man. He had let his hair grow long, always tying it in a low side ponytail adorned with a small braid that Boothill himself would often weave into his hair.

And his personality had changed a little. Once a wary and distrustful wild bird, [name] had become a gentle and kind sparrow, though his classic skittishness would occasionally resurface.

Some things had changed during this time. Now, he rarely saw his brothers, but he knew they were doing well. It was also during this period that the most emotional day of his life occurred— The day he proposed to [name]. It wasn’t the most elaborate proposal, but for him, it was deeply moving.

The proposal took place as they were heading home after a tiring day. The sun was already setting, casting its orange glow across the sky. Boothill had the idea for the two of them to stop for a moment to talk beneath a large tree on the farm. He wanted to surprise his little sparrow, even just a little.

He began to talk about their life together, from the time they were children to the present moment. He reminisced about how they met and how they had never left each other’s side. It was at the end of that heartfelt conversation that he made his proposal.

“My sparrow, you know better than anyone that I’m not very good with words. But I want you to know that all the moments we’ve shared together, the countless fun times we’ve had, have been incredibly special to me. You, my sparrow, are incredibly special to me. So now, I’ve decided to take a step forward in our relationship. And so, I ask you—will you marry me?”

He remembers [name]’s tear-filled eyes as he spoke. And as soon as he finished, [name] threw himself into Boothill’s arms, hugging him tightly and saying “I accept” over and over again.

A few weeks later, they got married. It was a simple wedding with just close family members present. It was the happiest moment of Boothill’s life.

He cried—one of the few times he ever did—as he watched [name] dressed in a simple suit. He was moved seeing Nick and Graey, also emotional, watching their adoptive son get married. It was such a beautiful moment.

After the wedding, they began their married life together in a small, simple house near Graey and Nick’s home.

Now both grown men, they lived together, starting their little farm.

Their life was perfect.

The two lived in complete harmony. They worked together, managing the household chores and farm tasks. [Name] even got a job to help with the farm expenses.

For a time, it was just the two of them on that small farm. They adapted well to that life, but both felt something was missing—something to make their family truly complete.

And so, she appeared… Their sweet and dear little girl.

On a silent night—a rare occurrence, as the sounds of rustling leaves or distant animals from the forest were usually ever-present—Boothill sat on the porch, staring into the vast darkness ahead. He had lost sleep and, not wanting to wake [name], who was sleeping soundly, stepped outside to see if the fresh air might bring his restlessness to an end. Lost in his thoughts, he suddenly heard the sound of loud, piercing cries echoing through the stillness of the night.

Following the cries, he discovered a small baby, wailing and inconsolable. Boothill didn’t know what to do at first, but eventually, he picked her up just as Graey had done for him many years ago and brought her home.

When he returned, he found [name] awake and slightly groggy, likely roused by the baby’s cries. Boothill remembers the look on [name]’s face when he showed him the baby—pure joy. The idea of becoming a parent made [name] so happy, he couldn’t stop talking about how excited he was to take on the role.

From that moment on, the two of them became parents. The void they had both felt was filled by that little girl.

Oh, how attached they became to her.

The next morning, they visited Graey and Nick to introduce them to the newest addition to their family. The two were overjoyed at the thought of becoming grandparents.

As days passed, the baby grew a little older. She began to take her first steps and babble her first words. Though, to her parents’ dismay, one of her first clear words turned out to be a small swear word—something she must have overheard from one of them, simply repeating the sound without knowing its meaning.

Boothill found immense joy in watching [name] hold the little girl and show her the animals on the farm.

Every evening, they had a routine. The two would tuck the little girl into bed, with [name] telling her a story while Boothill played a soft melody on his guitar in the background. Boothill even crafted a small guitar for her, something she could play when she grew older.

Oh, those sweet, precious moments…

But all good things must come to an end.

And it was on that fateful day that hell began.

Boothill wasn’t home when it started. He saw the enormous excavators appear on the horizon of the plains, paying no heed to the protests and despair of the local residents. Black ore began to gush from beneath the earth. Armed guards attacked the locals, forcing them from their homes, insulting their dignity, and disregarding their lives.

Though he managed to infiltrate one of the ships of those invaders, Boothill soon realized that his family needed him. He had to make sure they were safe—he had to protect them.

Cannon fire rained from the skies. When he finally stumbled back to the farm, he found it reduced to ashes. The elderly Graey and Nick, along with all the friends and siblings he grew up with, had already lost their lives. Their lifeless bodies lay scattered across what used to be the farm he called home.

Clinging to a sliver of hope, he rushed to their small house, praying he would find the figures he cherished so deeply alive. But to his horror, the house had been destroyed entirely. With tears streaming down his face, he began searching through the rubble.

What he found broke him completely: the lifeless body of the little girl he had raised as his daughter.

A cruel world, to take the life of a child—a child who had just started walking, a child who would never grow up.

Boothill held her small body close and cried like he never had before.

But then, a thought pierced through his grief: where was [name]? Where was his husband?

Desperate, he searched for [name], combing through the ruins of their home and the surrounding area. [Name] had been staying home that day to care for their daughter. Boothill should have found him there. Yet, no matter how thoroughly he searched, he never found [name]’s body.

What happened to [name] remains a mystery.

All Boothill could feel now was a deep longing for the past.

He missed the times when he could still see the people he loved.

He longed for the days when he still had his daughter and [name] by his side.

In a single day, he lost everything. And it was all the fault of the IPC’s dogs.

Boothill swore vengeance on those who had taken everything he loved from him.

Much time has passed since that fateful day. Over the years, everything changed. Boothill was no longer the same man. His body had been completely modified with mechanical parts, turning him into a cyborg.

Now, he had joined an organization—he was a Galaxy Ranger.

But that wasn’t the only thing that had changed. He had become a wanted man, with a bounty on his head.

That was the price he paid to pursue his ultimate goal: revenge.

Now, this was his life—a cyborg with nothing left to lose because everything he had loved had been turned to ashes.

He was now a cybernetic cowboy wandering among the stars, a member of the Galaxy Rangers who had vowed to punish the wretched by any means necessary. That was all he was.

His purpose was simple: to draw the attention of the IPC. He attacked their ships, slaughtered their lackeys, and spread chaos to lure them out. All to fulfill his ultimate goal—revenge.

Yet, no matter how much his life had changed, a lingering pain remained in his chest. A deep ache for his past. The guilt of failing to save his daughter, of not being able to protect Graey and Nick, and the unbearable sorrow of not knowing what had truly happened to his husband.

Speaking of [name], the question haunted him endlessly: what had happened to [name]’s body? Despite searching relentlessly, he had never found it, leaving him to agonize over its fate.

But after a long time, Boothill finally found the answer to that question.

One day, after destroying yet another IPC ship, the cyborg decided to take a break at a random bar on some distant corner of the galaxy. He wanted to drink and clear his head. Choosing an isolated corner to avoid drawing too much attention, he ordered his long-awaited drink and leaned back.

As he waited, he scanned the bar’s surroundings. It was a dingy, run-down place, but it had its charm. The room was filled with customers, most of whom seemed engrossed in the bar’s center. This gave Boothill some relief—he could enjoy his peace without interruption.

But then, something caught his eye.

On one of the bar’s walls, there was a board filled with wanted posters. He spotted a few familiar names, like the Stellaron Hunters. His gaze trailed across the posters, pausing momentarily on some of the members, until it stopped abruptly on one specific face.

A face that made his circuits freeze.

"WANTED: Stellaron Hunter [name]—Reward: 6.13 billion credits."

He couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

It was unmistakably [name] in the photo. Though their appearance had changed somewhat with time, Boothill recognized them instantly. He could never mistake the love of his life, no matter how much they had changed. What kind of husband would he be if he couldn’t recognize his beloved pardal?

And now, Boothill had a new purpose in his wretched life.

In addition to destroying the IPC, he would find his pardal.

He would bring the love of his life back to his side once more. to be continued.....

[one-chance-sevika]

Minors do not interact.

TW:blood,spit,biting,cigarette burn,abuse,restraining,bruises,oral s^x,explicit language

We built this tomb

A wave of cigarette smoke grazed your confused expression, it went about the edges of your open satin robe and glided on your exposed skin. The stream of thoughts that came upon you was so violent, it went against your core beliefs.

Sevika took another drag of her cigarette and looked at you from the corner of her eyes, she was making a genuine effort to decipher your expression, yet ultimately concluded that your unpredictable mood swings would always remain a mystery to her. She lunged forward and grabbed your arm.

"What could I possibly have done this time? You are so weak that it drives me insane" Sevika said as her lips curled into a snarling frown.

"How can you even ask me that?" You stood up, and as you did the material of your robe shifted and exposed your bare body embellished with bruises in different stages of healing.

"You are way too demanding, you know."Sevika spoke, displeased with your attitude.

You were drowning in the torment of Sevika's abuse, a relentless cycle that had twisted into a grotesque parody of routine. You could feel yourself unraveling, the edges of your identity fraying under the weight of her sadistic dominance. Many things kept you by her side from the fact that you knew she had a soft heart when you knew how to behave around her to the fact that she would protect you from everything and everyone if she needed to keep you safe.

The only thing that kept you remotely sane was the fact that you two built this tomb, and you will not be filling it alone. You always thought that you would never stray away from her, but your patience was starting to wear out.

Sevika finished her cigarette, and she was looking up at you with a nasty smirk on her face; you were still standing in front of her with your robe open. While you stood, she moved towards you on the floor, pushed your satin robe aside, and licked your leg with a smirk on her face.

You looked down at her, reached for your cigarettes, and lighted one up while you rolled your eyes when you saw her taking her mechanical arm off. You knew damn well what that meant. You agreed for her to take it off when she was planning something suggestive.

"Don't make things difficult, let me take charge and set things straight, the way it's meant to be."

With a smile, you looked at her and bent down, signaling for her to kiss you. You then gazed at her amputated arm before kissing her passionately and putting off your cigarette on the stump.

Sevika leaned into the kiss, her intensity growing with each passing moment. Her bites became so powerful that you felt the sharp sting of your lip splitting, a warm trickle of blood following soon after.

You commanded her to strip and pass you the cigarette that you put off on her from the floor. While you smoked, you watched her attentively with a stern expression. You despised her in this moment, but her body and essence still enticed you. You signaled her to get on her back, and you sat on top of her, straddling her hips while facing away. You wasted no time and began kissing up her thighs.

You were not surprised to see that your being a bitch to her did nothing but arouse her. You gave her what she didn't deserve:pleasure.

After some time put to good use, Sev was about to finish. You wanted her to remember this moment, so when you felt she was on the edge, you stuck your finger into her freshly burnt stump. Sevika's moans of pleasure and pain could be heard from a mile away.

A wave of anger hit Sevika and she tried to get you off of her. She didn't manage it, so she resorted to parting your thighs more with her strong, calloused hands and spitting on your hole. She watched the spit drip from your pussy and land on her abdomen.

"Told you, we built this tomb, and I will not be filling it alone."*I joke as I get off her and lick the spit off her abs*

[theofreakingbell]

I'm crashing really badly today, so this will be brief, but one of the first disability activists I ever had the honor of running into online passed away recently. If you have the time and energy I'd appreciate y'all reading about her. 

for her funeral expenses: 

also, from her family's GoFundMe "Also, please help advocate for and enact public health policies that center the people who are most impacted by and high risk for COVID, especially people like Tinu. As Tinu wrote, "if you would wear a ribbon for a cancer patient, you should be wearing a Mask for Everyone"."

learn about what is happening with COVID now, even if it hasn't personally affected you yet. Recognise your own privilege and do what you can to protect others. Ignorance is not a luxury high risk people have, and even when we do everything we can to protect ourselves we are so often still failed by those around us. Tinu is not the first person to die because of that nor will she be the last, but it doesn't have to go on forever.

Remember the dead, fight for the living. 

#ForTinu

[rexscanonwife]

Happy Mexican heritage day, by the way! Thanks to my whitewashed-ass mom I didn't grow up with that much of the culture, but I'm proud to be a part of it nonetheless!! 💖🇲🇽💖🇲🇽💖🇲🇽💖🇲🇽💖🇲🇽💖

To celebrate I'm gonna imagine showing my f/os things from Mexican culture where applicable > u <

[misspickman]

transfem kon proposal could have been good if was good

[hella1975]

listening to call your mom rn (god it feels wrong spelling it like that)

gripping u by the shoulders. this song is everything to me.

[pseudowho]

You could have walked to the café to meet Nanami Kento alone; you'd have preferred to, in truth, walking slowly in slow drizzle.

Instead, He walked you there, pushing through the tinkling door that He held for you, begrudgingly, as if you should be grateful. You could not look up to meet Kento's eye.

When you did look up to see Kento, stood waiting for your pre-mission meeting, He pulled your gaze back with a scowl, and a grab of your jaw.

Kento caught whispered berating; mumbled pleas.

"--just a work meeting...please--"

"--you remember to text me. You'll do well to remember you're mine."

You jolted from His pat-slap to your cheek, too sharp to be affectionate but too weak to turn heads. Still, humiliation festered on your face, putrefaction laid by His hand.

Kento remained unmoved, passively unthreatened by His filthy glance before He retreated from the shop. Something dark stirred in Kento's gut. The malice was not meant for you.

You sat at the table, wordless, your cold hands wrapping around a coffee which seemed to be, curiously, your exact order. Already here. Already waiting. Just for you.

Kento pulled his own chair out, sitting opposite you, one long tan-trousered leg crossing over the other. You looked down, your eyes cast in shadow. Kento looked to the insidious, gloomy drizzle outside, his sharp features cast sharper by the midday lamplight.

Eventually, achingly smooth, his voice called you home.

"What does 'mine' mean to you?"

You looked up at him, blinking. Your brain ticked.

"I don't...I don't know."

Kento was quiet again, leaning back in his armchair beneath the arching lamp, regarding the rain as though it watered his thoughts. He spoke again; you hung onto every word.

"When I was a boy, my grandfather left me a diamond."

The coffee shop buzz dimmed, and slowed, and muted. Kento captivated you so easily. The world fell away. Here he was. Already here. Already waiting. Just for you.

"It was...exquisite-- the diamond. The best and the brightest. A beauty amongst beauties." Kento took a deep breath in through his nose, feeling your cold little heart slow. "I didn't deserve it. It was...a privilege, to call it mine. A mantle that I bowed my head to bear."

Your fingers loosened around your coffee as Kento continued. His voice strained, aching for something.

"I could never be enough for the diamond, so I...I would build my life around it. Not in spite of it, but because of it. I hesitate to say I possessed it; it was no painting, or ivory box. Its beauty was far too timeless to be owned, for this diamond's beauty would outlive us all. If not in body, at least in memory."

The air felt light in your lungs, and you with it, as if you floated on helium, high and sweet. You yearned to reach for what was not yours. Your little voice spoke up, braver in Kento's ambient warmth.

"Tell me...tell me more."

Kento obliged. "On days when my diamond was dull, without its shine, I'd polish it more. I'm...gentle. I know it better than my own skin, and by the time I'm done, it sparkles."

Your eyes drifted closed to trap your sorrow. Your head bowed down, as if to be a diamond in daydream.

"On days when it shines-- and, god it does shine-- I can only step back and admire it, while it takes its time in the sun. They...deserve each others' beauty, the sun and she, and I would wither and rot if I kept them from each other. My diamond...my diamond deserves the world, and it deserves her."

Kento leaned forwards, now. His ambient warmth kindled higher until you burned as though he were the sun, and you yearned to blossom.

"I fear its loss; I am only, of course, a man, and I couldn't expect others not to covet such treasure, and so I keep it close. I would bring it to my bed, if only it would let me. I'd hold it in my sheets, if I did not fear I would sully it by my proximity alone."

Your lips parted so briefly, your objections snagging on your teeth to remain upon your tongue. Your heart weighed down with mercury and lead. Kento's voice could not be more than a whisper, and yet, with the steam-arm shrieks and the tamping chatter muted to insignificance, you could hear him.

"I would surround her with other beautiful things; not costly things, not necessarily, as if material goods were needed to enhance her. But rather, those things, and only those things that compliment her as she compliments them, be they wildflower or fairytale or fine wine."

Your coffee salted with the drop of a tear from your bowed face. Kento turned aside from your tears; not to disregard them, but to allow their trails to bloom as if creeping wisteria-- growth, in grief. A handkerchief slid across the table to you in one broad, calloused hand, and Kento sounded physically pained.

"Eventually, as I age, I recognise that all I was, am, and will be, can be traced back to such a diamond; not because I could not live without it-- that wouldn't be accurate. Rather, because, with the diamond removed from the equations which make the sum of me, the equations would unravel-- nothing would make sense, and if I ever tried to replace it, I would always come up short. I would never find the answer again. If I were to lose it...I could only surmise that I did not deserve it, like...like a prophecy fulfilled. It is not mine, and it will never be, if I seek to possess it."

As you fought the urge to gasp for air, Kento's voice grew bitter, snide. You caught the sharp edge of a blade; the darkness that reminded you that he could be a dangerous man.

"Men who use 'mine' for their partners are less than a stone's throw from boys who would use 'mine' for a toy car or a set of dominoes. As if...as if they are a thing to be played with, and jealously possessed, until they are discarded and forgotten."

Your coffees cooled in the chilly aftermath of Kento's monologue. Your purpose for meeting was forgotten. You were numb-footed as you stood, and followed Kento outside to the rain in the shelter of his great umbrella. He offered you an arm, and you took it, tucked close to his body.

It was curious, you thought, as Kento walked you to the train station. Arm in arm was less intimate in the eyes of society than hand in hand, but the hold was so much more intimate upon the body of the receiver.

Kento closed his fingers around yours, gently refusing, as you offered him back his handkerchief. He waited until you were beneath shelter, and did not turn to walk away until you did. Your heart pounded. Your body and mind were alive with sweet botanicals and promise. You turned on a pinhead, calling back up the subway steps.

"Kento! Did you...do you really have a...a diamond like that?"

A pause in wet footsteps. Fine needles of rain upon his umbrella. Kento called back.

"Sadly, no. It's only a dream. But if I did have that diamond...well. I would be proud to call her mine."

Your heart would surely burst. You couldn't breathe. Your cold little hand clasped the handrail on the stairs, and you sought to deny Kento's morbid prophecy.

"You could...you could steal it. A...a diamond. Your diamond."

A smile, and a hum.

"I could. Perhaps I shall. Perhaps...soon."

[swiftdove]

collateral damage

pairing: rio vidal x agatha harkness x fem!reader

summary: after being stranded by your ex-lovers, you've found a new life, hoping to finally move on. unfortunately, fate just doesn't seem to be on your side.

content: angst, allusions to smut, sapphic yearning

a/n: i'm obsessed to say the least

You should've known.

From the moment Agatha stepped foot into your pitiful excuse of a store, you should've slammed the door shut. For years, you'd been reeling from the wounds inflicted by your so-called lover. If you could even call her that. Never, did she once, refer to you as anything other than her 'pet'.

You supposed the name was fitting. You were practically a dog, groveling at the ground she walked on. Hoping, begging, praying, dying that she wouldn't leave. 

Then, without a trace, she vanished from your life, set on her next twisted mission. You had simply been a means to an end, a brief footnote in her life. 

It didn't help that the only other person you cared about, Rio, had followed in Agatha's absence. They'd left you alone, desperately trying to piece together the shattered remains of what you once had. 

Sometimes, you wondered. You wondered if they ever felt guilty about what they did, and if they ever thought of you from time to time. Then, you scolded yourself for even daring to believe that the Agatha Harkness and Rio Vidal would have the time of day to care about you. You had drowned in that pit of self-deprecation for years, slowly re-learning how to live without them. 

And just as you thought you were finally free, the wretched witch came back, pulling you back under her spell. If it were anyone else, you would have said 'no'. But it wasn't just 'anyone else'. It was Agatha. You weren't sure where this sick, borderline-obsessive love for her came from. You had left it to depreciate in the back of your mind, where you would have preferred for it to have stayed.

Unfortunately, Agatha had had other plans.

It was stupid. You hated yourself for it.  You hated that tiny spark that you felt when she said your name, that familiar warmth in your chest when she came close. You would've given anything to stop the feeling.

If only Agatha knew. Throughout her long, melodramatic speech about the rewards of The Road, all you could do was stare at her in disbelief. The promise of being with her, even if it were for a short while, was enough to have convinced you. If you had known, back then, that Rio would have been joining you, you would have eagerly accepted the offer without hesitating.

But then again, time had cast a golden glow over your past relationships. You hadn't remembered how unwanted you had felt in their presence, how much they hadn't cared about you.

Sat around the warmth heat of the fireplace, your gaze lay wistfully on the two women. Situated across from them, you felt more distant to them than you had when you were alone.

"I have a scar," Rio suddenly spoke, glancing over at the coven.

"No, you don't," Agatha shot back, almost instantly. 

Your ears perked, waiting for Rio's next words.

"Yes, I do," Rio replied, glancing over at Agatha, her solemn gaze worth a thousand unspoken words. It was their dynamic, their silent conversations, that left you feeling like a second-choice. The feeling settled into the pit of your stomach, which you desperately tried to keep from coming back up.

"A long time ago, I loved someone." Rio shot another pointed look at Agatha. "And I had to do something that I did not wanna do, even though it was my job. And it hurt them. She is my scar."

If you had the choice to go deaf right there and then, you would have chosen it immediately. Although, you knew it wouldn't stop the sharp pain you felt in your heart. Seeing them together was enough. 

"I have to go stretch my legs," Agatha said, walking away.

Just like she used to walk away from every problem in her life. Like she did with you.

You couldn't bear it. One more second in their presence, and you were sure you would have thrown up.

"Same," you replied quietly, walking in the opposition direction to your past lover. 

It was only until the warmth of the fire was long gone, that you felt the tears sliding down your cheeks. 

Breaking down into sobs, you brought your knees to your chest, burying your head inside. You shouldn't have come. You should have said no. 

It seemed as though fate was constantly punishing you, tugging at your heartstrings until they threatened to break. You hated that a part of you wanted to hurt them. Just enough, so that you too would have left a scar. But you knew you couldn't do it. You wouldn't. Not after they shared, so intimately, their past with you, letting you devour every fiber of their being.

You knew why they were the way that they were. That's why it hurt so much to watch them, again and again, fall victim to their pasts. That's why you could never leave, knowing how much pain they had endured, knowing that their wounds ran too deep to ever heal.

Sympathy was a knife, stabbed straight into your back when they left you to dry.

"You good?"

You'd been so deep in your emotions, you hadn't noticed the dark shadow looming over you. Swiveling around, you were met with a pair of manic brown eyes.

"Rio," you exhaled, quickly wiping away your tears. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Rio shook her head softly, pushing her tongue against her right cheek. Her fingers trailed up your leg, sending shivers down your spine. 

"Come on, now," she lulled. "You never were much of a good liar."

"Maybe I've changed," you replied sharply, pulling away from her touch.

Rio's grip tightened, her fingernails digging into your thigh. "Maybe you have," she replied dismissively. "Is that why you never called?"

You scoffed, turning away from her piercing stare. "No. We're not doing this - this wasn't my fault. You and Agatha left without saying a word to me. Call me crazy for assuming you were done with me."

"Now there's the Y/N I know," Rio bit back. "Always jumping to conclusions."

You rolled your eyes at her. "What does it matter anyways? You seem perfectly fine without me. I didn't seem to have left a scar."

"Is that what this is about?" Rio questioned, a taunting grin tugging at her lips.

You refused to dignify her question with an answer.

"Aww, was our little baby feeling left out?"

A mocking, cruel voice rang out in the air, one that you knew all too well.

"Fuck off, Agatha," you snapped. You were hardly in the mood to deal with her heartless jests tonight.

"Someone's forgotten their manners," Agatha remarked, her voice laced with venom. 

Rio chuckled, her grip still deathly tight on your thighs. You could feel the blood seeping out of your skin, onto her fingers.

"I wish I could have forgotten you instead," you retorted, unsure where this newfound attitude was coming from. 

"Now, now. Don't get too cocky," Rio warned, although the grin on her face said something entirely different.

You bit back a scoff. "What's this, anyways? Last time I checked, you both hated each other."

The Green Witch shrugged. "We both share a common interest."

Refusing to take anymore of this, you made a move away from them, eager to escape Rio's death grip. Unfortunately, the two witches were unwilling to let you get away so easily.

"Don't," Agatha cautioned, her voice alone enough to stop you in your tracks.

"What do you want?" you snapped, finally turning towards her.

Your eyes narrowed as Agatha's smile turned into something sinister.

"You," she replied definitively. 

You laughed sarcastically, barely believing what was happening right now. "Are you fucking kidding me? You left me. You can't - I - don't you think we're too far gone now? I mean, you left me wondering where the hell you -"

"We didn't want to leave," Rio interjected.

"Then why did you?" 

"We cared too much about you to stay," Rio explained, gently interlocking your fingers with hers. "It would've only have hurt you."

"Well, you hurt me either way," you replied bitterly, flinching at the coldness of the witch's fingers.

Rio sighed. "I know. I know we did."

Exasperated, Agatha tilted your head up with her fingers, forcing you to look her in the eyes. "Pet, we're sorry."

"Well, sorry doesn't cut it anymore. Not in my books," you snapped, wrenching yourself out of their grasps. "And don't call me that. I'm not your pet."

Without looking back, you walked back towards the fireplace. Unbeknownst to you, the two witches you left behind were hardly satisfied with your answer.

"She's forgotten who she belongs to," Rio murmured, staring into the back of your head.

Agatha tightened her jaw, shaking her head. Her eyes met Rio's, a knowing smirk playing on their lips. 

"It looks like we'll have to teach her a lesson then, hm?"

[millyhelp]

Jason had just woken up. the large arm stretched out so he could pull you by the waist and snuggle you into him. Your side of the bed was empty and cold. Your cell phone wasn't on the nightstand.

Where are you?

Panic broke out in Jason's mind, making the post-sleep haze disappear. You never wake up before him.

Jason stood up with only his black Versace underwear on his body. He went to the bathroom, you weren't there, he went to the office and you weren't there. He always kept weapons hidden around the apartment and this was a time when he picked up a 9mm that was under a corner table in the apartment's hallway.

"Where are you?..." Jason's voice sounded shaky. His hands were tight on the gun in his hands.

He went to the kitchen and walked through the living room, guest room, you were nowhere to be found.

Did she leave me? Could it be that she abandoned me? What did I do wrong?

Jason ran his hands through his hair. No sign of you. Not your purse, not your keys, nothing. For a moment he thought you were just a dream, but no, the nail marks that burned on his back and the hickeys along his chest and abs proved otherwise.

The sound of the door unlocking made him alert at the front door. It opened and there you were. A sigh of relief left Jason's lips. He ran over to you and pulled you towards him.

"Jay-oh, hey..." The bags that were in your hand fell to the floor and you struggled to close the door and hug Jason then. Thick tears that Jason had no idea he was shedding before you arrived wet your shoulder.

"Where-" a sob left Jason's lips "Where were you?"

"I just went to buy things to make you lunch, babe..." You ran your hands welcomingly along Jason's back. He was holding you tight to his body. "You were sleeping so peacefully that I didn't want to wake you up."

her smell. she is here. she didn't leave. I'm not alone. it's her. she is here.

"I'm here now, it's okay." You kissed his neck sweetly and he whimpered. "I'm here..."

"Dont leave me... please..." he whispered

"i won't. im sorry for not waking you up." Jason looked into your eyes. The arms were still around you, you felt cold metal on your back. "What is that?"

Jason remembered he still had the pistol in his hand. He showed you and you looked at him in surprise.

"I thought someone took you from me." The face, red and wet with tears, spoke with melancholy. "I would kill anyone who tried to take you from me."

your heart pounded in your chest. He really thought someone had taken you or that you were gone. You took the bags in your hands. "Come with me. Let's leave this in the kitchen and I'll go back to bed with you, put that gun away, it's not necessary." You said sweetly and kissed Jason's cheek.

Jason nodded. He still had one hand on your waist, he wasn't going to let you go anywhere soon.

you walked to the kitchen and placed the bags on the counter. Jason put the gun next to the things and hugged you from behind while you took the things you bought out of the bag.

his large slender fingers caressed your belly while he watched you attentively and in silence taking things away. Jason's thoughts were lost on you and only you. the way you moved, everything about you gave him peace of mind, his mind wasn't an enemy when you were present.

"a penny for your thoughts." You said with a smile on your lips.

"You."

"Me?" You giggled and felt Jason nod and then felt him rest his chin on your left shoulder.

"Yes." He whispered. "What will you do?"

"a brazilian dish. feijoada is the name." You sigh when you manage to finish taking everything out of the bags.

"hmm." Jason mutters. "can we go to bed now?"

you took Jason's hand and guided him to the bedroom. You only realized that he was only in his underwear when you took off your dress and lay down in just your bra and panties.

You opened your arms to Jason and he buried his face in the middle of your breasts. "Would you kill a kidnapper with just your underwear on?"

"Mhm..." He muttered and you giggled. Jason squeezed your hips, pulling you closer, if that was possible.

"Don't ever do that again..." he said quietly "Never leave again without at least telling me, please..."

"I promise." You kissed Jason's forehead and he buried his face in the valley of your breasts again.

he was finally at peace again and could go back to having a peaceful sleep while in your arms.