#Perhaps enjoying a bit the last moments of following the running series

[longagoitwastuesday]

Can't believe I've been watching JJK for around two months and I'm still in episode 14 of the first season

[piningforstan]

Memories

Part One | Part Two

Summary: You’re relieved to see your husband alive, but you have yet to learn at what cost.

Pairings: Stan Pines x F!Reader

Word Count: 5.9k

Warnings: memory loss, it’s a bittersweet fic (let me know if there’s anything else)

A/N: I could honestly stay in this story forever. I hope you enjoy! (If you don’t think the small attempts bits of humor are funny, just do me a favor and pretend like they are)

Life moved on, of course, even though it felt like yours had ended. The town needed rebuilding. Newspapers and media outlets needed to be dealt with — Ford recommended telling reporters that there had been a series of animal attacks. But most townsfolk just wanted to forget. The lasting effects of the memory gun meant they preferred to just pretend like nothing happened.

You busied yourself however you could, clearing fallen brush and trees, reuniting families, making do with whatever food you could find and cooking for anyone who hungered.

And when you weren’t focused on resurrecting the infrastructure of Gravity Falls, you focused on doing it for your family. Dipper had withdrawn inside himself. Mabel practically resided in Sweater Town. And Ford largely made himself scarce as he puzzled out ideas for getting Stan’s memory back. So you invited Dipper to join you for nonsensical errands and you laughed your way through Mabel’s favorite movies and you always made sure that Ford had something to eat.

You had time for everyone, it seemed, but Stan.

He floated along the edges of your day to day life, suspended in a state of limbo — wanting to participate but not knowing whether his presence would be tolerable or not. And you didn’t want to provoke his already weakened mental state so you let him be, an observer to a family that he had been the nucleus of.

“Oh, uh, mornin’.”

You were sitting at the kitchen table, staring at nothing in particular when Stan shuffled in, donned in his boxers and wife beater. It ached to see him how you had so many other mornings. Perhaps that’s why you avoided him; to do so was easier than confronting this pain.

“Stan. Good morning.” You sat up a little straighter. “Coffee is made already.”

He grumbled his thanks. You noticed that he grabbed his favorite mug, one Soos bought him that stated WORLD’S GREATEST FARTER, without thinking. There were small, fleeting moments like this that made you believe that he might regain his memory. But they often slipped away, just like Stan clearing his throat and saying, “So, uh, we’re married?”

“Yes,” you said, inhaling sharply. “Thirty years.”

Stan wrapped one large hand around the mug. He let out a whistle as he reclined back on the counter. “No offense sweetheart, but that doesn’t speak highly of your intelligence.”

You can’t help it. You croaked out a laugh. “No, no it doesn’t.”

“How’d I do it?”

“Do what?”

“Keep ya around for thirty years.” He gestured in your general direction, veritably flustered. “I don’t need to ‘member much about myself to know you’re too good for me.”

“Well, you could be very convincing,” you supplied after a moment of consideration.

Stan scoffed. “Bullshit. What’s the real reason?”

You eyed him, then said in a resigned voice, “A wife can’t testify in court against her husband.”

A beat of silence ensued, followed by the loudest belly laugh of anyone you’ve ever known. Stan clutched at his chest, coffee spilling over his mug and onto the floor. He all but wheezed out, “I knew it!“

“It was my idea, actually,” you said, smiling fondly at the memory, “we had only gone out a few times when it happened. You wanted to make a run for it. Even though we hadn’t known each other long I already knew that I didn’t want to go a day without you. So we got hitched at the courthouse and the case was dismissed on account that I was the only eye witness.”

You were surprised to discover that relaying the story brought you more comfort than sadness. It fanned the dying ember of hope inside you.

Stan processed this information. “What was the crime? Must’ve been bad.”

“If I told you ‘stealing my heart’ would you believe me?”

“I’d believe you’re a shitty liar.”

Stan pestered you for an answer but you staunchly refused to give it to him, if only to prolong the conversation even more. Eventually you lapsed into a comfortable silence, but after thirty years of marriage, you knew that Stan hadn’t given up, rather reconsidered his angle. It wouldn’t be the end of that conversation.

Only the dredges of your coffee remained but you sipped it every now and then, taking the time to study Stan when you didn’t think he noticed.

Did he realize that he remembered more than he thought? Like the mug, for instance. The way he stood. How he moved around the kitchen. How much did the memory gun erase? You read once that memories consisted of just the last time you remembered something — a great portion of your life would pass without recollection. But the feelings stayed the same. You might not remember specific moments of your mother being kind to you, but when you looked at her your chest swelled with affection for her.

Was that how Stan felt now? Wading through residual feelings and sentiments without the memories to attach them to?

“Listen, uh.” Stan rubbed the back of his neck. “I know this is weird ‘tween us. But I-I hope we can be friends. Still. If you want.”

Hopefully your expression did not betray the stab of pain in your heart. “I’d like that.”

Apparently, rebuilding your friendship with your husband meant him “Stan-napping” you.

“If it’s Stan-napping wouldn’t that mean you’re the one being —”

He flapped his hand. “Shhh, shhh, shhh.”

You grinned and slid into the front seat of El Diablo like normal. Gum wrappers scattered the ground at your feet, along with a lighter and several cassette tapes. You inserted one, faint rock music playing from the radio. A laugh escaped you. “Remember when —”

You stopped. Stan smiled sadly.

“It’s a’right. Promise. Tell me anyway.”

And so you did, retelling the story as best as you could in detail. Stan listened intently as he drove, interjecting his own comments and questions, laughing at all of the parts you knew he would. The tape had played on repeat during a week that you spent running a con in Arizona. An unsuccessful one at that.

“You really did all that w’me? Now I really don’t trust the likes of ya.” Stan drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the door with his elbow out the side.

“In my defense, I was always more of a reluctant volunteer.” You focused on the trees flying past, silhouetting Stan’s handsome features and his easy smile. “But I would follow you anywhere.”

It’s an embarrassing admission.

You stumbled over your words, but Stan was quick to cover for you. “So I didn’t need to Stan-nap you?”

“No, but I’m still glad you did.”

“And to think, all of the work I put into it.” Stan feigned clutching his chest in indignation.

You snickered. “By all of the work do you mean withholding caffeine from me until I agreed? That was more of a hindrance than anything. I would’ve said yes much faster with coffee.”

“Noted. Anything else I should know?”

“I can also be persuaded with chocolate.”

Stan mock-glared at you. Whenever he spoke, he used his hands in big gestures, emphasizing whatever point he was making. “Wait, wait, wait. Chocolate? What happened to followin’ me anywhere?”

“I’m just saying it helps,” you told him.

For the duration of the ride you regaled him with whatever tale that came to mind. Eventually the trees thinned out and the lake came into view, water shimmering. An outcropping of cliffs hugged one side of the lake, extending an almost natural awning over the small hut Stan parked in front of. Picnic tables dotted the sparsely grassy area and families darted in and out from between them, children laughing with sticky faces and parents chasing after them waving napkins.

“Ice cream?” You climbed out of the car, the door swinging shut behind you.

Stan watched the children with soft fondness, making faces at them as they passed. Together you walked down the worn path to the counter manned by a pimpled teenager.

“Ford said I should do things I used to like to try and jog my memory,” Stan said. He peered at the menu — 107 flavors! it boasted — instead of meeting your curious gaze. “He, uh, told me we used to come here.”

“We did.” Your throat felt thick.

He had kissed you for the first time on that picnic table over there, when dusk had settled and fireflies lit up the night around you. You had been sitting on the table with Stan slotted between your legs. His mouth was cold from the ice cream but soft and sweet tasting, dancing across your tongue. You never cared for mint before that day.

When it was your turn to order, Stan persisted that you deserved a senior discount. The teenager caved, leading you to roll your eyes as Stan put his change in the tip jar only to draw out more than he put in. He took the first taste of his mint, double-scooped cone and winked at you.

“You’re insufferable,” you said with a laugh.

“He made it too easy,” Stan replied. “Sucker.”

You sat down at one of the empty tables. No one approached you but they cast glances in your direction, undoubtedly interested in the hero of Gravity Falls. If Stan noticed he didn’t say, challenging you instead to an ice cream eating contest until one of succumbed to brain freeze.

Stan had a voracious appetite, as did you, and you won out in the end. Stan, as a result, had to jump into the lake with his clothes on.

“Wait, before you go.” You couldn’t hide your amusement as you leaned up on your tiptoes and wiped ice cream from the corner of Stan’s mouth. Your thumb lingered. Recognition flashed in Stan’s eyes, then disappeared as soon as it appeared. Had you imagined it? “Um, there.”

“Thanks, kid.”

A moment passed between you, the span of a few heartbeats, before Stan braced himself. He yelled, “TELL MY STORY!” before racing off towards the shoreline of the lake. You doubled over with laughter as his youthful sprint soon turned into a hobble, the wind carrying Stan’s curses back to you. He collapsed on the sand mere inches from the lake.

Concern worried the edges of your mind. You called out to him, “Stan? Stan!”

No response.

You smiled sheepishly at the townsfolk observing the whole situation, then trotted after Stan. Upon inspection he was still breathing, one hand draped on his chest. The sand crunched underfoot as you stood over him. “Did you die?”

“Maybe.” He cracked open an eye. “Does that make you an angel?”

Your worry vanished. Staring up at the sky, you searched the clouds for an answer about why you still put up with this old man. “No use flattering me. This doesn’t hold up your end of the deal.”

“Yeah, yeah. Gimme a hand, would ya?”

You reached down for his hand, but instead of meeting yours it clasped around your wrist, pulling you down on top of him. You cried out in surprise. The water lapped at the pebbled beach, soaking through your clothes as Stan caged you with his body and rolled you both into it.

You shrieked in protest. Entrapped in his arms, he hauled you out into knee-deep water. It was no use trying to fight against him, though you gave your best effort. He could’ve held you like that all day and you knew that when you twisted to face him, it was only because he let you.

Somehow you winded up with your hands on his chest, his shirt plastered to his skin and revealing a glimpse of the body beneath. The moment reminded you of how young Stan made you feel, still blushing over him. He never treated you as if you were old or frail and you might as well have been in your late twenties again, when you first met, not a crease or wrinkle in sight.

Stan cleared his throat and the spell broke.

You removed your hands and stepped back, already missing the warmth of his proximity. In an attempt to ease the tension, you quipped, “I won’t forget this, Stanley Pines.”

Stan’s mouth twitched into a smile, eyes soft. “Neither will I.”

Stan assured you that evening that the outing had roused a memory, but you knew that he just wanted to console you. It didn’t matter. You were determined to recreate as many memories as possible, some alone, others including Dipper and Mabel. Great fun was had by all but you could tell, sneaking glances at Stan whenever he looked away, that it wasn’t registering.

Dipper and Mabel’s last days in Gravity Falls were swiftly approaching. It was a general consensus in the Pines household to pretend that this was not happening.

“You know, you could go with them.”

Admittedly, while watching Stan entertain Dipper and Mabel with an outlandish story, you forgot Ford was sitting beside you. The sinking sun created an orange glow over everything, glinting in Ford’s glasses as he waited for your answer.

“Who?” You asked, distracted.

“The kids.” Ford made a flippant gesture towards them. “Back to Piedmont.”

“Oh.” You hadn’t given any thought about it. It was, after all, never your plan to leave Gravity Falls. Was Ford trying to get rid of you?

Ford continued, “Just…I see the way you look at Stan. I know it hurts that he doesn’t remember.”

“It does.” You grew a sudden interest in the fray of your jeans. For the kids you put on a brave face, recreating memories with enthusiasm, but in truth, each one that failed was a stake through your confidence in Stan's memory.

“My theory might be incorrect. Or just an outlier in Stan’s case,” Ford added with afterthought, never the one to admit failure. Unlike you. “It doesn’t seem he will ever recover his memories.”

“We can’t give up, though,” you said, voice wavering with emotion.

Ford’s jaw feathered. So much of him reflected Stan down to the last detail, but with an air of superiority that Stan lacked. “Stan told you about Stan-o-War.”

A statement. Not a question.

“Yes.” Irritation raised under your skin like an itch you couldn’t scratch.

“I want to take him out. On a boat. Explore the world like we promised each other.”

“What boat?”

“I have one,” Ford vaguely promised.

“What about The Shack?”

“We can leave it to Soos. Assuming that you go with the twins.”

“Why would I do that?”

A lull happened in the conversation as Dipper and Mabel exploded in uproarious laughter at something Stan said. You suspected Ford was gathering his words. “I’m afraid that if we carry on as we have, the stress on Stan’s mind will break it completely. We need to face the music.”

“I’m not giving up on him,” you gritted back.

Ford heaved a sigh. “I’m not suggesting that you do. I don’t think you ever would. But we have to do what’s best for Stan.” He put his hands on his knees and pushed up, his shadow falling over you as he stood. “Just think about it.”

And think about it you did. A lot.

You still hadn’t come to a decision a week before the twins left. Ford informed you that he planned to surprise Stan after they left, leaving you with the decision of staying with Soos or going with Dipper and Mabel. Could you just…up and leave?

Reportedly, their parents were looking for help; from what you understood, a divorce lingered on the horizon. It brought comfort to you to think about caring for them during a tumultuous time. Not to mention you couldn’t stand the thought of not seeing them every day — but to gain it at the risk of losing Stan?

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Stan strode into the room, dapper in his Mister Mystery suit. Your cheeks heated. Too many times you had been caught this week lost in your thoughts. “Oh, I —”

“No, seriously. I need a penny.”

You opened the register. He proceeded to take said coin and spin some elaborate tale to a group of tourists about how it had been crafted from a rare alien metal. Stan sold it for “only ten dollars” after pretending to meditate on the offer, chuckling as the unsuspecting tourist walked away.

He tapped the money into his sleeve. “Okay, but really, what’s eatin’ at ya?”

“I’m just sad about the kids leaving,” you told him after a pause, which wasn’t a complete lie. Unable to bear the flicker of sadness across his face, you panicked, racking your brain for something else. “We should…throw a going away party for them.”

A party? That was the last thing you needed to concern yourself with. But Stan had already latched onto the idea.

“Hey, that’s not a bad idea. We could promote the Shack, invite their friends, exorbitantly mark-up entry tickets.”

Stan listed each idea on his fingers. Although you regretted suggesting it, it filled you with warmth to see him invigorated by the notion of a party. You couldn’t steal that away from him now.

It shouldn’t have been a surprise to you that Stan was an expert party planner considering he was the life of one wherever he went. He got to work assigning roles and soon after you were hiring a caterer (Greasy Sue’s), a DJ (Soos, who insisted you call him despite being in the same room), and security (the man you only knew as “the one with the tattoos”).

The more you inquired, the more people wanted to participate. It opened your eyes to how much the Pines family impacted the town over the last few months. It was heartening, to say the least.

And by the time the party started, everyone in Gravity Falls was either attending it or volunteering at it. Everywhere you looked there was someone you knew, someone there to celebrate the people you loved most.

“You think they were surprised?” Stan’s booming voice floated over the music.

Strobe lights flashed overhead, casting him in an array of colors as he parted the crowd to your side. Dressed in dark slacks and a deep v-necked shirt, gold chain nestled in a patch of chest hair, Stan cut a perfect image of himself in the ‘70s. And although the outfit invoked memories of a younger man, you found this older one much more preferable.

“Definitely,” you replied.

Stan leaned down. “What?”

“I said definitely!” The music blared, pulsing through the whole building like a living thing. It didn’t help that Mabel and her friends had acquired full access to the speakers that Wendy’s dad lugged in earlier.

“What?” Stan wrapped one hand around your waist and pulled you in, putting your mouth dangerously close to his ear.

Heat flooded you. You yelled, “Let’s go outside!”

“Lead the way!”

To your pleasure and mortification, Stan removed his hand from your waist just enough to rest on your lower back, steering you through the crowd of partygoers. The cool night air was a balm to your heated skin as you stepped onto the porch.

Stan strayed from you long enough to shoo away two people kissing passionately on the couch — Blurbs and Durland— before patting the spot next to him for you to sit down.

“Are we old or is that music too loud?” Stan asked. He fished a cigar from his pocket and lit it.

You were entranced by the smoke curling from the end, the fixture of the cigar resting against his bottom lip. You swallowed and uncrossed your legs, then recrossed them.

“All that matters is that the party is a success,” you said.

Stan chuckled. “Heh, it is, isn’t it? Little twerps didn’t know what hit ’em.”

A small eternity passed in which you hunted desperately for something else to say. Stretched out above you on an inky canvas, the stars shone, rendering you small and insignificant. You stared up at them as exhaustion claimed you. You were so tired of thinking, of inventing conversation, so you said the one thing you knew to be irrefutable.

“You’re a good man, Stanley.”

He guffawed. “Don’t let anyone hear ya say that.”

“It’s true.” Since that day at the lake you had been careful not to touch him, but now you put your hand on his knee. “You’re a good man. What happened doesn’t change that. Your memories do not amount to your character.”

The corner of his mouth quirked, and you could tell he was fighting a swell of emotion. “I wish I could do better. Everyone has these…expectations of me. I dunno how to live up to them. I want to be that person.”

“You are that person, without even thinking about it. You’re still passionate about your family. And you’re clever and brave.”

“I’m, uh, not complain’ or nothin’ but I can see the disappointment in your eyes. And-And not just you. Everyone.” He took a drag from the cigar, chest expanding with an inhaled breath. Stan blew the smoke out slowly. “I’m a stranger in my own life, ya know?”

Ford’s words, his expression grim, emerged: We have to do what’s best for Stan.

Tears sprang to your eyes but you willed them away, swallowing until your throat no longer felt quite as thick. It wasn’t fair to push Stan to be someone he couldn’t remember by clinging to a past that only you knew.

Maybe Ford was right.

Maybe the best thing for Stan was to shed the weight of these expectations and carve out a new existence for himself. He would be thrilled to explore the world with his brother — who might as well have just been introduced to him considering the time they spent apart.

There was no room for you in this new life. You knew he could never look at you without thinking about his shortcomings, even if they existed only in his mind. You were standing on one side of a chasm, yelling at him; Stan on the other side, but he was too far away to hear you.

“Well that got depressing.” Stan stubbed out the cigar, ash crumbling. He stood and held his hand out to you, eerily reminiscent of how Ford had last week. “C’mon, dance w’me.”

He looked nervous to ask you this, which dumbfounded you — you would do whatever he asked. The quiet observation made you smile.

You took his hand and allowed him to pull you back inside, a sense of bittersweet finality settling over you as you did.

The party prevailed. People were drunk on the cheap beer and good company, cheeks reddened, smiles wide. When Soos played a string of throwback songs, Stan animatedly swung you around the dance floor, surprisingly graceful for his age and size. Every touch and graze seared through you, and Stan’s gaze lingered on you in a way that heated your core and stole your breath, his dark eyes glinting with customary mirth.

A particularly enthusiastic move spun you nearly into the beverage table. You stumbled but Stan was upon you in a moment, catching you and steadying you with his hands on your waist.

“You okay?” He inspected you from head to toe, then chuckled. “Heh. Guess I don’t know my own strength.”

One moment you were like that — brimming with happiness, entangled, chests pressed together — and the next Stan had pinned you to the wall, the darkened corner lending plenty of privacy to his wandering touch and fervent kisses. You kissed him back with similar urgency.

There was no part of him that you hadn’t mapped at one point or another, though it felt jarringly now like new territory, the same broad shoulders and thick arms but somehow different.

And you wanted to explore all of it.

With your teeth you tugged at his bottom lip, teasing open his mouth in order to get a better taste. Stan, pliant and obedient under your lead, sighed in pleasure. Nothing you did sated the need inside you to consume him, devour all that he offered so that you could never miss it again.

Stan had just moved his hand from your ass down along the curve of your lower thigh to lift your leg up around his waist — hardly an appropriate position for a Grauntie, you thought vaguely— when you were interrupted with unmistakable cheering. “Get ’em! Get ’em!”

Stan ensured to cover your body with his own as he whirled on Tyler in a move of unexpected gentlemanliness. The next words out of his mouth? Not so much.

Stan rasped, “I swear to God if you don’t get outta my sight right now I’m gonna rip out your eyes and sew them on whatever horrible affront to nature I have in my shop. Now scram.”

Tyler paused. He breathed out a small, “Get ’em” then turned tail and fled.

You covered your mouth to stifle your laugh.

“Pervert,” Stan grumbled.

“Can you blame him?”

“Nah. I’d watch us, too.” Stan grinned then, renewed in his delight. He gestured with his chin towards the door marked EMPLOYEES ONLY. “Wanna get out of here?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

The music, muffled by distance, sounded like an erratic heartbeat from the living room chair where Stan pulled you on top of him. You both laughed as your knees protested against the maneuver, Stan carefully guiding your legs to rest on either side of him. He kissed you at once. It was as if there had been no interruption from before, his hands in your hair and your fingers clumsily working the buttons of his shirt.

Stan shifted to accommodate the subsequent unbuckling of his gaudy belt, taking the opportunity to also unburden you from your top. Your entire being seemed to warm as he admired this new development, gaze drifting lazily, drinking in his fill. Stan always made you feel desirable. Even after your skin freckled and your breasts no longer held their perkiness.

Smiling with the ease of a contented man, Stan reached out and brushed a thumb under your collar. “How’d ya get this?”

You froze. You didn’t have to look to know what he was talking about — a tiny, heart-shaped scar.

The obvious shift in attitude made him recoil. His features spasmed with regret.

“I should know that, shouldn’t I?”

Your chest tightened. You whispered, “Yes.”

“Damnit.” He breathed your name. “I’m sorry. I should’ve known better than to say anything —”

The rest of his apology fell on deaf ears. You awkwardly climbed off his lap and collected your shirt. The shag carpet nearly swallowed your bare feet, having kicked off your shoes sometime after crossing the threshold into the house. Stan sat motionless, watching you. 

“You don’t have to apologize,” you quietly said.

Stan’s fingers flexed, an effort not to reach out to you again. “I fucked up. I’m sorry.”

“It…it’s okay.” You felt, somehow, as if you were both shrinking and expanding. The words you managed to eke out next sounded hollow. “We shouldn’t have done this.”

“What?”

“It wasn’t a good idea.” For the second time that night, tears burned your eyes. Stan, upon noticing, leapt out of the chair but you stepped out of his reach, wrapping your arms around you.

Stan deflated. Actually deflated, shoulders curving into his usual rounded posture. “What’s going on? Listen, I shouldn’t have said —”

“It’s not that,” you interrupted.

But wasn’t?

Not exclusively, you corrected. It was a whole jumbled, tangled mess of things. We need to do what’s best for Stan.

You couldn’t do this to him. To yourself. Couldn’t cycle through these moments of normality that inevitably tainted themselves. Like oil in water, you couldn’t separate one from the other. You had been delusional to think that you could defy that basic logic.

You would do anything for love, wouldn’t you?

Didn’t that include letting it go?

“I can’t do this, Stanley,” you told him. You were floating above yourself, presiding over the conversation in incorporeal form. “I-I can’t move out of the past. And I want to move forward, I do. But it’s impossible, and I can’t have both. I can’t.”

Tears flowed steadily down your face now.

Stan moved to console you but must’ve thought better of it. “What are you saying?”

“I’m going to go to Piedmont. With the twins.”

“What? What about us?”

“There is no us anymore, Stan.”

His throat bobbed uncertainly. “I know that it’s not like before but I…I’ve really enjoyed our time together. We could make this work.”

You shook your head. Sobs racked you, great shuddering, choking cries.

Stan stepped tentatively forward. “I dunno what to say.” His mouth worked as he searched for his next words. “We’ve made so many new memories together. Ain’t that enough?”

Was this really happening? You couldn't believe that it had come to this, all of those years. You didn't have any words for the emotions wholly encompassing you. 

“Look, kid, I —” Stan’s brows twisted up in grief, in regret and confusion, “— I wish you would stay. I think I’m fallin’ in love with you again.”

The pleading tone of his voice proved exactly why you needed to leave. Realistically you could never have him this way, and you would only hurt him because of it. Stan deserved more than a constant reminder of the consequences of his heroic deed.

You turned from him. “I’m sorry, Stan.”

Your name from his mouth sounded like the prayer of a man desperate for salvation. “No. Please. Please don’t go. Don’t leave me.”

Heart heavier than it had ever been before, vision blurred, that’s exactly what you did.

As anticipated, the next day brought an onslaught of tears and goodbyes. You traipsed the halls of the Mystery Shack alone, ghosting your fingers over the chipped paneling and peeling paint. You were married to the old house as much as you were to Stan. Deep down you knew that you would return, but it didn’t make the goodbye any less difficult.

You avoided Stan at every possible turn. Only when you all piled into the car with your luggage did you force yourself to acknowledge him, fatigue creasing his face. You wanted nothing more than to comfort him. But this would be good for him — no more sorrow, no more pain. After the bus departed, Ford would surprise him with the boat and he would start a new life.

The walk from El Diablo to the bus station seemed to stretch on forever. You held Mabel’s hand while Dipper pushed ahead, feigning bravery, though last night you heard him crying softly in his room. So much had transpired over the summer, and now the days of adventure and laughter were over.

“I made these for you,” Mabel said. She handed Stan and Ford a pink sweater each, the former putting it on immediately and glaring at his brother to do the same. “I’m gonna miss my Grunkles.”

Ford smiled wistfully. “We’ll miss you too, kiddo.”

“C’mere, sweetie.” Stan brought Mabel in for a hug. It didn’t elude you that he used the endearment he chose before the memory wipe.

You felt as if your chest might burst from all of your suppressed, cresting emotions. Dipper bid his goodbyes next. The bus rumbled to the station then, kicking up dust, and the four of you fell into a tightened embrace.

You pulled away last. Stan regarded you with large, reproachful eyes as you kissed his cheek. “Goodbye, Stanley. We’ll see each other again.”

“Uh, yeah. Yeah.” He looked jarred by the interaction, a faint blush burning his cheeks.

Ford dipped his chin in your direction, a silent acknowledgment between you. Your lower lip trembled. But, as you turned to Dipper and Mabel, you summoned your most convincing smile and led them to the bus. Stan and Ford ensured that the driver allowed Waddles on the bus, who squealed his delight at entry. The duo, Stan outfitted in his brass knuckles and Ford with his gun, watched over your departure like two handsome, vengeful guardian angels.

Your bus seat creaked as you settled down into it, Dipper and Mabel on either side of you.

“To Piedmont,” you said.

“To Piedmont,” Dipper echoed. His grim smile had you reaching out to hug him again.

Mabel sadly waved Waddles’ hoof out the window. You couldn’t bear to look out it, staring straight ahead until the bus gained traction on the gravel road and the bus station — and your heart, your home — shrank in the distance.

For a long time the only sound was the bus chugging along and the only other rider, a snoring old man. You weren’t sure what the twins were thinking. Perhaps they were recounting their many adventures just as you were, Stan starring in most of yours.

No. No Stan. You needed to be brave.

You tried valiantly to raise morale. “We had so many great memories this summer. Fishing, swimming, being with Wendy and Soos and —”

“Grunkle Stan!”

You nodded somberly, adding, “And Grunkle Stan.”

“No! Look!” Mabel clambered in the seat, stabbing her finger at the window. Both you and Dipper righted in order to peer around her sweatered form. Sure enough, there was Stan, running to keep up with the bus and waving his hands.

“Wait! Stop!” He yelled, panting. “Stop the bus!”

“We have to stop the bus. He wants to tell us something,” Mabel said, eyes wide with urgency.

You eyed Stan, stumbling over rocks and roots, knowing that he wouldn’t last much longer. You signaled for the bus driver to stop; after the Waddles incident, he was only too willing to obey. The bus sputtered to a halt and the three of you piled off, Mabel and Dipper darting out in front to meet Stan’s breathless approach.

“Stan, what are you doing?” You shielded your face, blinking into the sun.

Stan doubled over, hands on his knees. He signaled that he needed a minute. You stood, smiling sheepishly at the bus driver, who looked less than impressed to be waiting. You started, “Stan —”

“I remember!” His face absolutely beamed. “I remember. I remember it all.” Stan grabbed Mabel’s shoulders. “You eat glitter when you think no one is looking. You told me once that you invented invisible ice cream but couldn’t find it when it fell on the floor.”

It was Dipper’s turn next for this onslaught of information, brimming out of Stan like an overflowing sink. “You! At the beginning of the summer you thought Mabel’s pet rock was an alien tryin’ to blend in. You were freakin’ out because it kept movin’.” Stan burst into laughter. “But it was just ME!”

“Grunkle Stan!” Mabel and Dipper leapt to embrace him. He hugged them tighter than you had ever seen before.

He remembered? He remembered?

“Don’t think I forgot about ya.” Stan released the twins, crossing the space between you in only two strides. “I’m sorry, doll, ‘bout everythin’.” His large hands cupped either side of your face, gaze roaming over you with renewed wonder. “Everything is so clear now.”

Your lip wobbled. “You remember?”

“Yes I remember you beautiful, crazy woman!” Stan laughed and suddenly he was wrapping his arms around your middle and lifting you off your feet, spinning you in a circle. “I remember! I remember!”

You put your hands on his shoulders to brace yourself. “Stan! Stan! Are you sure?” You couldn’t let yourself hope again if it wasn’t true, fluttering in your chest like a trapped bird.

He set you down again, grinning like a child. “Like hell I’m sure. When…When Bill went in my mind, I ‘member thinkin’ that I could never lose you. None of you. I suppose I was s’scared of it that I repressed it deep enough to protect the memories. Then when you got on that bus, when I thought I lost you for real, it all came rushing back.”

“Really?” Tears strained your voice.

“Really.” Stan’s features softened. “I understand now why you fought so hard to get these memories back.”

A sound of strangled, delirious joy burst from you and you threw yourself against him, arms encircling around his neck. Stan’s mouth hovered near your ear, lips brushing the outer shell of it. “I love ya, doll. Even-Even when I didn’t remember why, I loved ya.”

“I love you, too,” you sighed into the crook of his neck and shoulder. “I can’t believe this.”

“Well, believe it.” Stan retracted enough to study you, curious and awed all in one. “You can’t get rid o’me that easily.”

“I-I really thought…” you shook your head, unable to get the words out. You just held him tighter.

“I know. I know, doll.”

You didn’t need to speak to understand each other, to know what the other one was thinking. When he held you now, he held you with thirty years of memories, a bind stronger than even the ring on your finger.

Mabel broke the embrace, tugging on Stan’s shirt. “What happens now?”

In the distance, Dipper and Ford were chasing Waddles. Stan observed this, then took a long look at you before turning to his niece. He waved off the bus driver, saying, “You ever been on a boat before, kid?”

A/N 2.0: In my head, they all get to go on their adventures together and reader homeschools Dipper and Mabel and they’re a big, happy family.

There’s little nods to the Swooning Over Stans dating game by @gfdatingsim and By Steps and Inches by @funkingrunkles . Memories is kind of my love letter to both stories that I enjoyed so much. (So if you read this, thank you💕)

[supernovafics]

𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐄

pairing: exboyfriend!steve harrington x fem!reader

word count: 3.2k words

summary: in which you and steve run into each other at a party. it’s been months since you two last talked— which was during a conversation that had ended on the sourest of notes— but now here you both are at a party that neither of you really even want to be at. just for a moment it feels okay to pretend that everything is fine between you two, but then it gets too hard. and instead, it’s unspokenly decided that perhaps this is the chance for you both to get that closure that neither of you got all those months ago

warnings: steve’s pov, explicit language, cigarette smoking, mentions/slight descriptions of a toxic/bad relationship, brief mentions of cheating (not reader or steve), brief mentions of stancy, lots of angst

author’s note: i really really enjoyed writing this and it made me realize that i would love to do more stuff in steve's pov,,,, also now that this is up that means that the folklore series is finally finally done! thank god! (full "folklore" album series masterlist here!)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

“our coming-of-age has come and gone. suddenly this summer, it's clear.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

He told her that he was going to find the bathroom. 

What Steve didn’t tell her was that it wasn’t because he actually needed to use it, but because he just wanted to use any excuse to get away from her for a bit. 

Jill was really nice, but this first date proved that they had absolutely nothing in common— the dry conversation during dinner and the disagreement on the movie choice when they made it to the theater were prime examples of that disconnect. 

Steve had assumed that after the movie she would want this date to end as much as he did. But then they were exiting the theater and she was saying that they should go to this party, and he said, “Sure, why not?”

Now he wasn’t sure if said the right thing.

She knew a ton of people at the party, and so did Steve, but the difference was that there was no one that he wanted to engage in any sort of conversation with. It had barely been two months since he graduated, but a part of him hated going to parties now.

He wandered around the house— he wasn’t even entirely sure whose house this was— and pretended to search for the bathroom even though he was actually headed nowhere in particular. In his mind, he told himself that he would walk around for five minutes and then go find Jill again.

He walked upstairs, following the quietness and letting the loud sound of music and never-ending conversations fade away. All he wanted was silence and a moment to himself, maybe to think of some excuse to tell Jill about why he was going to head home but she should stay and keep hanging out with her friends if that was what she wanted to do. He was very well aware that the guy he used to be in high school would call him a loser for leaving a party on a Saturday night when it wasn’t even ten o’clock yet. But, Steve didn’t care, and that was what he would call progress. 

He opened the door to the first random room he spotted and immediately saw someone sitting by the open window in the corner. He didn’t even give himself a chance to see if he recognized the person before he started closing the door. He quickly figured that if someone was sitting in a room by themselves during a party, it was probably because they wanted it to be that way; it was what he wanted right then.

“Shit, my bad,” Steve mumbled half-heartedly. 

Your quick and unbothered, “It’s okay,” came out loud enough for him to hear before he could fully close the door and it made him stop midway.

It had been so many months since the last time he saw you, since the last time he even heard your voice, but he was still able to recognize it immediately.

He looked at you again. You were slightly illuminated by the moonlight and streetlights outside, and he was surprised that he didn’t notice it was you from the moment he opened the door. 

Your name fell from his lips in a whisper, but you heard him almost too clearly. 

“Steve,” You breathed out, turning your head and squinting at him in the darkness. He noticed your demeanor change; you sat up in the chair you were sitting in and pulled your legs off of the one that was across from you. It was easy to tell that you were surprised to see him. “Hi.”

“Hey.” Steve wasn’t sure if he should walk over to you, he was feeling the same way you were in that moment, but he did so anyway. 

He sat down in the chair that was now empty across from you. He noticed the cigarette in your hand and watched you take a quick drag of it. 

“Um, can I bum one?” He asked. He had quit smoking months and months ago, but he was perfectly okay with bringing the old habit back for a night if it meant getting to talk to you for a little bit longer; although, maybe that was something that he shouldn’t have wanted to do.

“Mhm,” You nodded at him and pulled your pack of cigarettes out of your jacket pocket.

Steve grabbed one from the pack and then took the lighter from your outstretched hand as well. “Thanks.” 

Right then, everything somehow seemed easy, normal even; the silence that filled the room didn’t feel unbearably awkward or weird. Just for that moment, it felt okay to pretend that everything was completely fine; like there wasn’t such a messy past between you two.

It was easier to do that than to talk, or even think, about the last conversation you two ever had with each other, which happened days before you left to spend Spring Break with your Aunt in Texas. It was a conversation that could more so be described as an argument— the worst one you two had ever had— and it led to the most tense and abrupt ending to your relationship.

You left early for Texas the next day and never came back. Steve had to find out from one of your friends that you decided to stay and finish out the last few months of your Senior year there.

Maybe it actually wasn’t so easy to not think about the past and pretend that everything was normal. 

“I, uh, I didn't know you were back in Hawkins,” Steve said, taking a quick look at you and then going back to staring out the window. 

“Yeah, I just got in this morning. My mom wanted me to come back for the Fourth of July fair thing this week,” You quickly explained and then took another, longer drag of your cigarette before continuing. “I’m also, um, not leaving again… My mom knows someone that’s opening a bookstore at the new mall, so I’ll be helping out there for the time being. She really wanted me to come back here and I think she knew that books would be the only way.”

I also really wanted you to come back. Steve wanted to say that, but he didn’t; it would’ve only shifted the conversation in a direction that wasn’t at all lighthearted.

“I also work at the mall,” He told you instead. “The ice cream parlor; Scoops Ahoy.” Right as the words left his mouth, he immediately wanted to take them back. Just for a second, he forgot about how completely embarrassing his current job was and once he remembered, he wished that he never brought it up. “Actually, please forget that I just said that.”

“Why?”

He sighed. “Because I have to wear a sailor’s outfit as my uniform, and I don’t want you to ever see me wear that.”

You let out a laugh, and Steve forgot how much he missed hearing that sound; he loved it.

“Okay, when’s your next shift? I wanna make sure to see you in that outfit as soon as possible.”

Steve shook his head and instead of answering your question, he changed the subject. “Anyway, I’m surprised you decided to come to a party on your first night back here.”

“I was dragged to this by Ally, and then was promptly ditched by her when this guy started flirting with her,” You told him, leaning back in your chair and crossing one leg over the other. “What are you doing here?”

“I'm actually on a date right now,” Steve answered. For some reason, he decided not to mention that the date had been bad.

You nodded at him after a moment of letting his words linger in the air of the bedroom. “Cool. That’s nice.”

Hearing you say those words in this moment, immediately reminded Steve of the first time you two had ever talked, because those were the same words that you had said to him at a completely different party. And in this moment, they even sounded the exact same as they had back then too.

That night all those months ago on New Year’s Eve, Steve sat down next to you on the couch in Kyle Thompson’s living room and said, “This is one of my favorite movies;” Risky Business was silently playing on the TV in front of the two of you. You simply looked at him for a second before saying, “Cool. That’s nice,” and things probably should’ve ended there. There was something about your entire vibe right then that made him think that you didn’t want to talk to anyone, but that only made him want to talk to you more.

And somehow him changing his approach and not trying so hard to be charming— and instead simply being honest and nice and just himself— worked. You and him ended up talking the rest of the night; both of you had just gone through break ups so the conversation almost immediately went to that. Your breakup— which involved you catching your boyfriend cheating on you in the library at school— happened only a few weeks earlier and it was the reasoning behind your melancholy at the party. You hadn’t been in the mood to talk to anyone, let alone a guy. 

But, Steve noticed how your sadness and cold demeanor managed to fall away as you two kept talking; being vulnerable in ways that usually never happened between two strangers. But, the fact that you two could relate on something that had happened so recently in your lives made you not feel entirely like strangers. 

When the clock struck twelve, signaling the start of a brand new year, you softly kissed his cheek and he did the same to yours. He had desperately wanted to slot his lips against yours, but in that moment that kiss on the cheek felt like enough. 

That night was the first time that he truly felt happy since he and Nancy broke up barely two months earlier.

Now you were cold again and that probably meant that this conversation by the window should be over. But, just like the last time, Steve still wanted to talk to you. He wanted to spend the entire rest of his night with you instead of Jill, and he knew exactly how much of an asshole that made him. 

“How was Texas? The new school and everything,” Steve asked, he was both curious to hear about it— there were so many moments over the past few months where he would wonder how you were doing there— and he also just wanted to keep talking to you right then. 

“It was really nice, and it felt good to have a fresh start for a bit,” You started. “My Aunt works at the high school in town, so that made it a lot easier for me to enroll and finish out my last months there. And the school was pretty much the same as it is here. Much to my surprise, not everyone was wearing cowboy hats and boots everyday to class.” The joking tone in your voice was very evident and it made Steve smile. You looked at him just for a second before focusing your eyes out the window again. “How were, um, things here?”

For some reason, that was actually a hard question for Steve to sum up in one easy answer. Mainly because the completely honest answer was a long and complicated one. 

During the entirety of his Spring Break, which he spent mostly at home and going to one stupid party, Steve thought about how he could fix things between you two once you came back— he didn’t believe that the way things ended that night, that argument, truly marked the end of everything forever for you two. 

And then those first few days after Spring Break when you didn’t come back, but he still thought that maybe, hopefully, you would, were absolute hell— he was confused and upset, equally at himself and at you. Once he finally found out that you definitely weren’t coming back, he convinced himself that maybe you and him were something that wasn’t supposed to be fixed. 

And forcing himself to accept that actually made things feel a little bit better for him. 

“Good. Pretty boring. But, overall, good,” Steve finally said, deciding to keep his answer short because it just felt easier to do so. 

You took a final drag of your cigarette and then flicked the butt out the window before looking at him. “We’re both happier now, right?”

Steve considered your question for a moment.

He definitely knew that he was a better person now than how he was before, he was definitely healed from all of that past shit— what happened between him and Nancy and what happened between him and you. But, he wasn’t exactly sure if he was happy that you weren’t in his life anymore. 

Before anything had even happened yet between you two all those months ago, you both had kept telling each other that you were better off as friends and that you both shouldn’t rush into another relationship so soon. But, neither of you listened to one another’s excuses, even though perhaps you both should’ve.

He was kissing you only three weeks after the new year’s party— standing outside the front door of your house, the prettiest smile on your face when he pulled away— and days later, you were calling him your boyfriend and he was the one smiling so damn happily.

Steve finished off the rest of his cigarette and then met your gaze. “I think things are better now, but I don’t know if that really makes me happier.”

“I think I missed you a lot while I was gone. Even though I kept telling myself that I shouldn’t,” You told him and he was a little surprised by your honesty right then. “Sometimes I would wish that I didn’t run away from you. At least, not like how I did. I’m sorry.”

Steve hated that you were saying sorry to him in that moment because he felt like he was the one that had more stuff to be sorry for. Or, at least, he was equally at fault with how quickly everything fell apart between you two. 

“I'm really sorry too,” He said softly. 

That relationship that you two had, as brief as it was, was something that probably should’ve never happened in the first place. Neither of you were remotely ready to be in something serious again. But, Steve thought that this time and this relationship would be different— better than the past ones— and so did you. 

He was so convinced that he didn’t need to worry or even think about really processing everything that happened with Nancy, the heartbreak he felt from that, because he was going into something new that felt as if it was simply meant to be. 

However, that was almost immediately proven wrong. At times, the relationship was worse than your previous ones. He’d get jealous over the littlest of things, and you couldn’t find it in you to fully trust him about almost anything.

Breaking up was inevitable and it definitely was for the best, you both were inadvertently hurting each other. But, what made it all so much harder was that the feelings you had for each other were real; he loved you and you loved him, so much, so deeply— you both just had shitty ways of showing it. 

You stood up from your chair then, breaking your gaze from Steve’s. “I’m gonna go.”

“Wait,” He stood up too and followed you to the shut door. 

You turned to look at him again. You didn’t give him a chance to say anything before you started speaking. “And what I said to you that night during our argument, I didn't mean it.”

Steve couldn’t help but look away from you then because being reminded of something that he had tried his hardest to forget about made him inwardly wince.

Before tonight, your last words to him had been, “I hate you. I can't do this anymore.” Those eight words had hit him so fucking hard, they felt like the worse punch to the gut. But maybe the comment was warranted because he had just accused you of flirting with some guy at a party the two of you had gone to earlier that night.

“I know. I didn’t mean what I said that night either,” Steve responded. You were about to turn around again, but then he asked, “Can you stay? Can we talk some more?” 

He wanted to ask you more about Texas. He wanted to hear about even the most mundane things you did there. He wanted to playfully make fun of the fact that he could hear that you now had the tiniest hint of an accent. 

Steve wanted to do a lot of things right then, but he especially wanted to ask you when you were starting your job at the bookstore because maybe that would mean he’d get to see you again after this moment. And he didn’t even care that if he saw you at the mall, it would probably mean that you’d see him in that dumb fucking sailor’s outfit. 

For a second, you just looked at him, before saying, “You’re on a date right now.”

He reluctantly nodded at your words. “Yeah.”

“She’s probably looking for you.”

“Maybe.”

“You should go find her.”

“I should,” He nodded again and then shook his head as he softly said his next words. “But, I don’t want to.”

You were so close to each other right then, and it seemed as if you both realized that at the same time. Sitting in the chairs had been different, you were still somewhat close to one another but also far enough that the thought of crossing any lines wasn’t on either of your minds. 

Now there was barely a foot of space between you two and it almost felt like second nature to touch one another.

Steve took a tentative step closer to you, gauging your reaction for a moment, and you seemed okay. And then it was almost like a ping pong match started, both of you going back and forth with making some sort of move. You closing the rest of the distance between you two, Steve’s hands gently finding your hips, and then yours circling around the nape of his neck with your fingers running through the grown out hair there. Somehow that small touch felt amazing to him, he missed the feeling of your hands in his hair. 

At this point, he wouldn’t have been afraid to admit that he missed everything about you.  

And maybe it was dumb of him to think, but he also found himself even missing the relationship. The communication between you two had been bad at times, horrible even, but everything else was always so good.  

He still loved you, he was realizing that now, and now he wondered if that would ever change. A part of him didn’t feel entirely scared to say that to you either, even if you no longer felt the same.

Steve tilted his head down a bit, letting your noses brush and ghosting his lips over yours. 

Your mouth was just a breath away from his and he could’ve sworn that you were gonna do it and press your lips against him. But then you were pulling away and slipping out the door. Your voice was soft as you said your last words to him.

“See you around, Steve.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

“no, i could never give you peace.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

let me know ur thoughts<333

[brabblesblog]

Ch 4: I sought whom my soul loveth: I sought him, but I found him not.

Astarion has ascended, and she has stayed with him. Life in the Crimson Palace isn’t as idyllic as it seems. Is there a chance for their relationship to go back to how it was? Or is it too late for the Ascendant and his consort?

This series is about Ban, my Tav, and the Vampire Ascendant. Will be angst and smut, with sprinkles of fluff.

This fic is a softer take on Ascendant!Astarion and of the changes he undergoes after the rite. Can Ban handle the change, and if a chance came, would she choose to run? And can the Ascendant win her back in time? Inspired by the concept of vampire wives and that IGN interview with Larian that discussed the ascension.

Professionally edited by @editing-by-night

Astarion has finally found where his consort has gone to, and attempts to bring her back.

Read on AO3.

Masterlist.

“For what it’s worth, you did the right thing.”

Gale’s voice startled Ban as she sat at the desk of the room he’d graciously loaned her, furiously trying to wipe her tears. He’d walked in at an inconvenient moment, a common occurrence for him. Gale took a seat nearby, reaching out to place a hand over hers. He found her hand a bit damp, but he didn't mind.

It had been a tenday since she’d fled the Ascendant’s clutches, ten days since she had last seen his face. She’d thought it would be easy, forgetting her captor. But he had also been her beloved, and in his absence she found it easier and easier to excuse his misdeeds and only miss the good.

She hated herself for that.

“I miss him,” she said, voice rough from weeping. “I shouldn’t. I should be enjoying my time here, planning for my future - anything.”

Anything, other than thinking of him, of longing for someone who no longer existed.

“I’m sorry, Gale. I’ve been a terrible guest.” She stood, about to start pacing the now well-trodden path she frequently followed in this room.

Gale didn’t offer any false platitudes. Instead, he reached out to squeeze her hand. “It’s not your fault. It never was. In the end, ascending was his decision to make, quite like how it’s also his decision to be whatever he is right now.”

If she had put in more work, done better in talking him down, perhaps things would've been different. He had been so afraid and lost; he’d needed her guidance and she had failed. But Ban also knew she wouldn’t have had the heart to deprive him of the ritual’s gifts. Her feelings about it hadn’t been worth him giving up everything he stood to gain. And so, with only a brief effort to dissuade him, she’d helped him when he’d needed it.

That train of thought brought forth a fresh wave of tears. Instinctively she reached out for Gale, wrapping her arms around him and burying her face in his chest, where the orb once was. For a moment, she imagined being back in Astarion’s arms. Her Astarion, with his cold hands and a heart that beat a little too slow.

Gale’s warmth was a far cry from that, but the comfort he provided was still very welcome and much needed. He wrapped his arms around her, his voice quiet and full of an emotion she couldn’t quite pinpoint.

“I’m sorry, Ban. Had I known this would be how you and Astarion would end up… I don’t know.”

Maybe I’d have tried harder to be the one for you, he thought. It wasn’t the right time to say it. It might never be. But he’d be there in any capacity she needed him to be, regardless.

“You’d what?” she said. “There was nothing to be done. No one can see the future - even you, Gale. It is what it is. I just have to move on.”

At first, there had been some worry about Astarion showing up and dragging her back. A quick visit to Elminster and a favor had addressed that issue. Gale now had wards placed around his tower and around Ban herself, preventing the Ascendant from making contact without permission.

She lifted her head, meeting his gaze. In the warm firelight he looked rather handsome, and his brown eyes widened as they both realized just how close their bodies were.

They’d spent most of these past ten days together. Gale had been keeping her company and showing her around Waterdeep. Ten days that had in all honesty been wonderful, that were very reminiscent of the early days of their adventure, days when Ban had spent more time with Gale while her budding romance with Astarion was in its infancy. Gale had told her then that he felt something for her, but she had chosen the vampire instead.

For a moment, in the height of her misery and loneliness, she wondered how Gale’s lips would taste. She swallowed down her despair and threw caution to the wind, leaning in.

The kiss was soft, hesitant… and different. She felt Gale’s breathing pick up, his beard tickling her as he deepened the kiss. He felt like warmth and kindness and safety, and she tightened her hold around him in welcome.

Gale broke the kiss, his pupils dilated and his chest heaving.

“I- I don’t think this would be a wise move,” he began, “but I don’t mind that as much as I would like to.”

He reached for her again, but she shied away.

“You’re right. It wouldn’t be fair to you. I don’t think I can ever give you what you really want, Gale. Even back then.” Since meeting Astarion, she had never felt anything for another.

Gale’s face darkened a little. “I understand. But Halsin-"

Ban shook her head. “Halsin understood and accepted that I could only give so much. Could you?”

The wizard bit his lip. On the one hand, he wanted to say yes, and damn the consequences. On the other…

“You know me too well,” he said, smiling sadly. “However, if your heart does find itself having room in the future, please do think of me.”

Ban laughed bitterly. An image of Astarion swam in her mind, that shocked and stunned expression he’d made when she’d told him she had chosen him over Gale. The utter disbelief on his face, melting into surprise and pleasure when he’d realized she’d meant what she’d said. She shoved the vision away. Even now, after everything that had happened since the rite, she’d chosen that damned vampire again.

“You already have a place in my heart, Gale,” she said carefully. “Just not the piece you want. In the future, that may change; but right now I cannot give you that which is still tangled in another’s.”

He nodded, resigned. “For now, that is satisfactory.” He looked away, taking in the room he was letting her stay in, the rows of books lending it a cozy, homely atmosphere. “I shall turn in for the evening, then. You’re always welcome to knock on my door if you need to.” He gathered some courage, enough to press another quick, chaste kiss on her lips, and left her in silence.

The nights were never easy, and when she finally laid down, she found the bed too empty and sleep difficult to achieve.

The next morning, Ban was woken up by a commotion, seemingly coming from right outside her window. She could hear a loud bang every few minutes - a sound very reminiscent of the one the statue of Shar had emitted whenever someone stepped too close and triggered the wards around it. She opened her eyes to see dawn had barely broken, sunlight streaming through the windows. It took a moment for her thoughts to sink in.

Her eyes widened at the realization. The wards.

“Ban!” the Ascendant called out the moment he saw her peek out through the open window.

He stood outside his carriage, an ornate monstrosity of black and gold. With him were a number of summons, both werewolves and skeletons, which he had apparently been attempting to send through the wards to no avail. After another failed attempt, he crossed his arms and glared up at her.

“Hello, you ingrate. Are you truly going to stay cooped up in there forever, Ban? I can wait just as long!” He strode forward, pausing to take a cursory, disdainful look at the tower. “And here I was thinking you hated being stuck in one place. At least the palace has better ambience than this dump.”

Ban sighed. She had to admit he looked glorious in the morning sun; the rays caressed his silver curls, making them appear to sparkle in the light. His eyes were sharp and intense, equal parts anger and another emotion she couldn’t quite place. He was dressed in his red and black doublet, the one he knew to be her favorite. She decided she liked him like this: at her mercy, for once.

“I’m surprised you’re here, Astarion. I had thought you would just find some other bride,” she bit out, relishing the way his eyes widened in surprise at her choice of words. He bared his fangs, realizing that she now knew the truth.

“No one else would do,” he retorted, recovering his composure and slipping back into his usual confident demeanor. “You of all people ought to know that. Now. Let me in.”

She shook her head. “Sorry, you’ll have to figure that out for yourself.”

The Ascendant growled, then barked an order for his minions to step back. If they couldn’t, perhaps he could. He approached the invisible barrier, hands reaching out to it slowly.

One loud bang later and he was on his ass, hair and clothes disheveled, staring in shock at the tower. He made another attempt as a bat, only to be sent flying. An attempt as a cloud of mist ended similarly.

He changed back, angrily trying to comb his hair and smooth his clothes back into place.

“I see Gale’s skills have improved somewhat,” he grumbled.

“A little gift from Elminster, actually,” Gale answered, greeting the Ascendant from the doors of the tower. They stared at each other, not six paces apart, separated by the invisible barrier.

Astarion seethed. “Happy now, Gale? Happy you’ve stolen her, when you never could before?”

Gale shook his head. “I have done no such thing. You pushed her away yourself. You needn’t any help from me in that regard.”

For a moment, Astarion was feral. He bared his fangs and he tensed as if to pounce at the wizard, stopping a hairsbreadth away when he remembered the barrier. As he collected himself, he saw Ban approach; she stopped beside Gale, watching him.

“What do you want, my lord?” Her voice was dry, face affecting a bored expression.

“You. Back home with me.” His answer was instantaneous. Pacing back and forth, much like a predator toying with its cornered prey, he smiled. “I’m not leaving, pet, until you come back with me. And I have all the time in the world.”

Ban considered this, recognizing it wasn’t an empty threat - he could very well set up camp at the gate of this tower, trapping them all inside. This was a stalemate she could not allow to drag on, for Gale’s sake. She sighed and whispered to Gale, who nodded.

“Fine. I will at least allow you into the tower. We can talk. But." She smiled back at him, and it was a cold thing. "I have the same spell around me as this tower does. You cannot touch me. You are also not allowed to harm anyone else.”

She drew herself up, trying to appear as confident as she wished she felt. “Is that agreeable to you?”

Astarion clenched his fist. He wanted to fight back but knew it was a lost cause. “Agreed. Now let me in,” he hissed.

Gale waved his hand, and there was a soft hum as the barrier disappeared. “Only you, Astarion. No ghouls,” he added.

Glowering darkly, the Ascendant acquiesced, following Ban and Gale into the tower.

Ban sat opposite Astarion, hands fidgeting in her lap. Gale had left them to talk in her room; now that she was alone with him again she felt oddly glad of it.

Astarion let out a small sigh, looking as though this was just one more errand he had to do. He’d accepted the offer of tea from Gale; his crimson eyes peered indifferently at her over the rim of his cup as he sipped.

“What will get you to come back?” He almost sounded bored.

“Definitely not that tone,” she snapped, irritated despite herself. Did he expect her to simply fold?

He crossed his legs, watching her a little more intently now. His face betrayed none of his inner turmoil.

“What can I give you, then, to make you want to be with me again?” That sounded better, he hoped.

“Your old self.”

He seethed, lips curling into a smile that was all teeth. “What old self, Ban? I’m still me. I’m still the Astarion you love.”

She laughed at that. “You’re right. I studied everything I could get my hands on, for a while. I even asked Gale to look into it. I tried to understand why you’re so different. I thought the rite destroyed your soul.” She shook her head. “But no. You’re you, just worse.”

Astarion bristled. Worse? When he’d become the most powerful vampire to ever exist? “I was weak! I was worth nothing. Why would you want that over this?” He gestured to himself, as if to remind her of what exactly she stood to lose. “I can give you the world - have been giving you everything!”

“Give it to someone else. I need the Astarion I fell in love with. Not you. Not the riches or the power or whatever other trinkets you offer.”

He felt his anger rise, and felt the urge to shout, maybe even lunge at her. But he quelled the impulse long enough to think: Would his anger help anything? Would screaming and threatening her work, when he couldn’t even lay a hand on her? He weighed his options and decided to remain civil until a better solution presented itself.

“I was pathetic,” he intoned. “Worth nothing. You can’t possibly want that. I’m better now. Don’t you want that for me? For you?” He made an attempt to widen his eyes, to appear more vulnerable.

She was not convinced. “I let it happen for you,” Ban said, averting her eyes as she revealed her shame. “Personally? I would have preferred you to stay the way you were; it would have meant that you would still love me the way you used to, would let me love you the way you used to. But that’s a selfish thought, and it’s far too late for regrets.”

She locked eyes with him. “You were everything I wanted, Astarion. Now none of that man remains.”

She wouldn’t admit to him that at times, that man still shone through, that she still saw glimpses of him within the Ascendant. To admit that would give him an advantage, a carrot to dangle in front of her. He’d tell her to wait, to be patient, to allow him time to let his walls down. Would he even mean it? She doubted it, but she was almost sure she’d acquiesce if he pleaded. The ability to resist his vulnerability was never a skill she had possessed.

He stared at her for a long, tense moment. “The man of your dreams, the hope of him, is your own worst enemy. That… spawn… is gone. I am he, and he is me. Except I’m more.” He set his teacup down on the side table and leaned forward, slowly encroaching on Ban’s space.

“Don’t you dare speak ill of who you were,” Ban snapped, her temper getting the better of her. “I have let that happen again and again. I’ve had enough.” She glared at the Ascendant, at the man her treacherous heart still loved. “You may be more now, but you are also so much less - in all the ways I need. You were more than enough before, and this version of you could never even come close to the man you were.”

Astarion seethed anew. He instinctively lifted a hand to grab hers, to tell her that he was all that he’d ever wanted to be and more. Better. Why couldn’t she understand that? Why couldn’t she simply accept all he has to give, accept that he was doing all this for both of them? What was a little less freedom in exchange for everything else? He wasn’t his master, he wasn’t out to hurt her.

But as his hand came close to her skin the wards responded, and he was sent flying back with a loud bang, the chair he'd been sitting on broken into pieces behind him.

He groaned a little as he got up from the floor, his fury renewed at the indignity, but he quickly forced himself to calm. His body hurt and he tried not to wince; powerful as he was, he wasn’t invulnerable. Astarion waited a moment for his breathing to settle. When he spoke again, his voice was more level and seemingly more resigned.

“If you cannot accept who I am now, so be it.” He kept the facade up, refusing to let himself show any sign of sorrow, especially when he felt it as keenly as a dagger in the heart.

“I can find another you in a lifetime; probably in less time than that.” This was a lie, but he forced it out, needing to keep a shred of dignity.

“Then you’ll end our bond? You’ll end this miserable connection we have?” Ban said this with a mixture of relief, hope, and to her shock, dismay.

His eyes widened. “How did you- oh. Gale’s told you, hasn’t he? Is he to be my replacement? He’s always wanted you, even back then.”

He smirked. “He won’t be half the man I am, pet - you know that. Only I can fuck you the way you want to be fucked. Only I can make your body feel the things you so want to feel. Only me,” he drawled, taking a step towards her.

She didn’t take the bait, although the way his voice lowered made a pleasant shiver run down her spine.

“Just say it, Astarion. Will you break our bond, or will you not?”

The bond he’d created when he’d turned her into his vampiric spouse: the mental connection, the ability to feel when the other was in great pain. Gale had explained it all to her. Ending the bond required a simple ritual - but it required both hers and Astarion's consent.

He shook his head. “No. I won’t. I can’t even touch you, my treasure. What does it matter whether the bond exists or not?”

His voice lowered in pitch, the aggression slipping away. He tried to keep his anguish hidden when he spoke again but didn't quite succeed.

“Besides. If I break the bond, I’m not certain I can keep protecting you from the sun, or keep lending you my other gifts.”

This surprised Ban and she nodded, accepting his reasoning. “I suppose you’re right. Thank you, I guess. I expected you to take them back the moment you realized I’d left.”

Astarion shook his head. “Wouldn’t do to have my precious treasure burn in the sun,” he said sadly, and there it was again, that softness that made her want to rush back to his side.

He gave her some space, taking several steps back, and chose to be honest for once. Astarion figured it might win him back some grace and might make her think there was a chance for him to be what she wanted him to be.

“If none of my other words are worth anything to you, then at least remember this: I respect that you chose to leave.”

She looked up in shock.

“You were always worth more than just this,” he murmured. “I always felt that you were… degrading yourself, in a way, being my consort.” He looked away, as he always had in moments of vulnerability. “I did try, Ban. I tried with you, in the only way I know how.”

Try as he might to tell himself that he was doing this to manipulate her, the truth was far more complicated.

She shook her head, refusing to accept. “You never actually tried, Astarion. If you did, you’d be him again.”

He’s still in there. Just let me in. Just let your walls down. Let me love you.

She stared at him, eyes cold in spite of the thoughts that plagued her mind.

He weighed his words. This could be the final time they saw each other, if he played his cards wrong. Part of him refused that idea, rebelled against it, wanted to gnash his teeth and bite at her and force her back, dragging her if that was what it took. But the other half, the smarter half, told him to allow her this and bide his time. He’d always been good at manipulating her heart, right from the start. He could do it again.

What he’d never say, especially to himself, were the real reasons he was letting her have this. He saw that she wanted this, that she needed this, and all he’d ever wanted was her happiness. That her Astarion still existed, and he was letting her go, because he didn’t deserve her. He never had, but it had never been truer than now, when he had broken her.

“But I would have ruined your love, used your trust until you were nothing.” A small smirk crossed his features, but it came across as more melancholic than anything. “Better that be someone else’s fate than yours, darling.” He used her old nickname again, the smirk shifting into a wistful smile.

Ban softened a little at these words, glad he was finally showing some small sign of progress. She found that it hurt her too, to lose him, but she didn’t fear him knowing that.

“You’ve already ruined my love, Astarion. If you think you’ve spared me that fate, it’s too late.”

A small glimpse of the old Astarion was visible as the mask slipped. Ban saw him swallow and take a shaky breath, she could almost feel the knife twist in his heart until he stiffened up and recovered.

“Well. Better that it end now at least, than have it last for however much longer. I’ve divested myself of my former self. Maybe you’re the final attachment I need to let go of.” He dusted off his suit to give his hands something to do before meeting her gaze again. The longing in her eyes sent a sharp bolt of pain through his chest; for a moment - just a moment - he considered groveling on the floor for her love.

But that was beneath the Ascendant, and he always won out in the end. He straightened up.

“This is farewell, then, Ban,” he said, “I hope this is what you want.”

He walked away, then turned his head back towards her, reminding Ban of the first night he’d bitten her. When he had thanked her and gone to hunt.

“I’ll still always love you,” he whispered, and for those few seconds it was him.

Without another word, he was gone.

[one-piece-aus]

Whumptober Day 17

Kid x Reader

Ahoy! Remember that angsty Kid story I wrote last year for Whumptober? I saw you guys wanted a sequel so I decided to write the prequel to that from Kid's POV! (I do have the idea of making this a series but I need more motivation) Anyway, if you can read the other part to this HERE

Enjoy the story! ^-^

"Kid, you've been acting different lately," Killer said as he stood beside his friend.

"You don't have to remind me," Kid growled, shifting his stance while keeping his arms folded as he leaned against the school's gate. His eyes were fixated on a group of friends walking by... no, he's only looking at one person, you.

"It's the girl, isn't it?" Killer stated, following Kid's gaze.

Kid grumbled in response and averted his eyes from the group to glare at the ground. Even with you out of sight, you weren't out of his mind. You haunted his mind and wouldn't leave, ironic because you didn't exist to him before Ms. Makino paired the two of you for an English project this year.

"When are you gonna tell her?" Killer asks turning back to the redhead.

"I don't plan to."

"Why not? She gets along with us just fine," Killer pointed out, which is seen as a good sign in the Kid Gang since most of the girls who try to run after them have a distaste for most of their members.

"She's probably already dating that goth freak."

"Who is?"

Kid and Killer turn to see Law approaching them.

"Fuck off Trafalgar!"

"I came to ask a favour, I thought I was going look for a way to bargain but it looks like you need information." Law smirks.

Killer glances at Kid who is already growling at Law, "Kid, if you don't want to ask her directly to find out, this is the next best thing."

"I know," Kid growls, loathing at the thought of asking Law for something. "Fine! Do you know if [Y/n] is with that freak Hawkins?"

Law shook his head. "I've seen Basil hang around [Y/n] but he's not dating anyone. He says romance is nothing but delusions and a distraction in high school, maybe you should heed his words Eustass."

"I don't ask for your opinion Trafalgar!" Kid flipped him off.

"Well you did ask for information, and now you gotta pay up."

"Like hell I will after-"

"Do you know if [Y/n] is with anyone?" Killer asked for Kid, figuring if they get more info Kid will help Law without a fuss.

"I don't, but if anyone in this school would know, it's probably Basil," Law shrugs. "He knows her the most, probably the only one who knows her. Not even Strawhat or his friends know about her, and that's hard to find these days."

"I know her."

"Sure you do Eustass, but I suggest talking to Basil."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"You wish to know if [Y/n] is single?" Hawkins questioned, closing his locker door and turning to Kid.

"That's what I just asked."

"May I inquire why?"

"I just want to know," Kid told him, folding his arms.

"To answer your question, no, she is not with anyone at the moment," Hawkins stated. "However, if you're wanting to pursue her, I would advise against that."

"Let hell you'll stop me!" Kid shouted, side-punching the locker beside him.

"I'm not saying I will," Hawkins said. "But I think you should reconsider."

"What do you mean?" Kid asked narrowing his eyes at the blond.

"Knowing [Y/n]'s past, it's clear that you're not suited for her."

"And what? You are!?"

"No, our relationship is as she once stated 'loners who stick together', but you, on the other hand, are a bit more complicated now that you've developed feelings for her."

"That's none of your business!"

"Perhaps not, but it is [Y/n]'s business and as someone who has known [Y/n] for quite some time now, I can't help but be concerned about her well-being," Hawkins states while maintaining eye contact with Kid. When the redhead doesn't respond, Hawkins walks past him to go to his club when he stops. "There's more to [Y/n] that you haven't seen. If you're serious about this, I suggest you find out before you go any further."

Kid stood there, hearing Hawkins' footsteps echo further down the hall.

Did he really not know you? Sure, Kid might not know your childhood or the other schools you went to, but he didn't think that'd be a big deal. He hasn't been to your house yet either but most families wouldn't want a member of a gang in their house... No, that's not an excuse. If he's going to get to know this side he hasn't seen, he has to set that aside.

Kid decided that the next time he sees you he'll take you around town to see if he could take a step closer to knowing you. At least, that's what he wanted to do, but you were making it hard to do.

You no longer stayed in your shared English class, always asking to study somewhere else. He never saw you in the halls, not even when Hawkins walked by. You were nowhere to be found at lunch, and if you were in a club at the end of the day, Kid didn't see you in there because he checked every club meeting to find you.

Two weeks passed since this started, and Kid normally didn't like assuming these kinds of things, at least not when it comes to his friends, yet his mind couldn't stop whispering this thought to him.

You were avoiding him.

Tag: @gnarlycrys @roseoftrafalgar @bookandyarndragon

[brookriver-mudlark]

Shot-by-shot commentary of one scene from Transformers: The Last Knight

A few months ago, I remembered this movie was a thing, and looked up a clip to see if I'd be able to sit though it just for Optimus.

The short answer is no.

The long answer is that this single scene has driven me insane.

Bear in mind, i have very little context for this scene, so i will primarily be riffing on it from a cinematography angle. Buckle up!

Let's start with this...beautiful? aerial shot of gray metal guys running on a gray metal slope, their considerable scale reduced to that of ants on a plate by the speedy camera.

These two climb out of the structure. Their spatial relation to the rest of the scene is never established.

Aaand now the metal guys are running down from the other side of the screen. Did the camera keep spinning between shots?? Anyways, they start pummeling Optimus.

Cut to Optimus being pummeled from the front. With a bit of planning, this could have been continuous with the previous shot, but...oh boy. Oh boy. Let's not start with that just yet.

Don't forget, girl is here! (This is the last time she shows up in this scene.)

Oh right, Cade was in the corner of the last shot. He gets up, starts running in the opposite screen direction of where Optimus was in relation to him earlier,

...and immediately slips and falls in the next shot. You get to enjoy the moment in lovely slow-motion.

Optimus then explains what is currently happening in the scene for the benefit of anyone staring slack-jawed at the screen by this point.

Then the knights go back to beating Optimus up. One guy takes an axe to his back edged side down, and it doesn't do jack except knock him flat.

Also, Cade is here.

This guy finally comes to deal the killing blow.

What follows is a series of barely connected slo-mo jump cuts of the device on Cade's arm unfolding,

followed by a fast series of time-breaking cuts to show a single sword strike,

oh my god they keep cutting

wait WHO IS THIS, WHERE WAS HE ...oh my god, i scrubbed backwards, he's supposed to have been near Cade the whole time, what

Then there's a dramatic spinning shot, which would have been a cool moment to show the walking props knights holding their swords up in abrupt reverence, but instead we mostly just watch Cade look around in confusion while Optimus grovels.

We interrupt the spinning to inform you that this scene was filmed during golden hour.

Back to spinning. I guess you don't have to worry about the 180 degree rule if your scene spans the full 360, huh?

Cade looks over at Optimus, and Optimus looks back. ...Followed IMMEDIATELY by a fast pan of planes flying behind some knights; my eyes

Optimus keeps talking. His speech is about as continuous as the shots.

We finally get a quiet moment to hold on that last shot for a while, and listen to Cade give a pep talk to a war general who's seen countless human lifetimes' worth of pain and loss.

And that's all that Optimus needed to pick himself up.

We get a triumphant shot of Optimus straightening up, rallying his brothers in arms to rise up against Quintessa...

And for one moment, perhaps your brain can feel a glimmer of joy within the soup of semi-consciousness it's now sinking into.

...

If I watch the whole movie, I will die.

That's all, folks!

[littlemourningstarr]

Malady

Sekh is sick, and it's up to Astarion to convince him to rest.

Read below or on AO3!

Pairing: Astarion x Transmasc tav

Part of the Eternally Yours series!

Tags: Transmasc tav, sickfic, fluff, vaginal sex, post game

Astarion roused from his trance to the sound of coughing, from across the house. He frowned, buried his face into his pillow, arm stretching out, and finding an empty bed. He grasped at the sheets, as if by sheer force of will he could make Sekh materialize.

With a tired sigh, Astarion pushed himself up, standing and stretching in their dark bedroom, his joints pleasantly cracking. Unsure how late in the morning it was as the shutters had been perpetually closed and the heavy curtains drawn tightly shut since they moved in, Astarion dressed- just in case Yenna was about.

He opened the bedroom door, heading downstairs slowly, just in case a curtain had been opened to allow the rest of his little family to enjoy sunlight.

The house was blissfully cast in candle light, and Astarion found Yenna sitting in a large chair that he liked for reading, Grub resting by her arm. She had her arms folded. “I was waiting for you to get up.” He looked at her, a bit perplexed- and then heard the coughing fit again, from down below.

In Sekh’s workshop.

Astarion frowned, heading for the hatch and opening it, climbing down into the large basement. It was littered with shelves and tables, filled with various flora from the Underdark that- with a bit of tender love and care- seemed to be willing to thrive in the dark, even on the surface.

Sekh was sitting at his work table, his hair tossed up in a messy bun atop his head. He was slouched slightly, leaning over, working on something, still dressed in whatever clothes he had thrown on after waking. The larger, oversized cardigan was one Astarion had been forced to mend a few times now, thanks to some slight spills with concoctions that were just a bit acidic.

Before Astarion could get lost in watching the drow work, Sekh’s shoulders shook as he coughed. His hand left the table, moving to presumably cover his mouth, stifle the noise.

Astarion frowned, walking over, pausing just behind him. “You’re sick.”

Sekh jumped, looking up at him, having not heard Astarion’s silent footsteps. His cheeks had quite the flush to them, his eyes a bit glossy.

“I’m fine,” he said, but his voice was a rasp. He winced upon hearing it, knowing he sounded anything but.

Astarion clicked his tongue in annoyance. “I warned you last night, but you just had to stay out in that rain. It was frigid!” Astarion dragged his fingers along Sekh’s cheek, the heat beyond anything he had ever felt on the drow, even in the throes of the most intense passion.

Sekh’s eyelids fluttered over Astarion’s cool touch.

“You should be in bed.”

“Too much to do,” Sekh whispered, as Astarion moved to brush a few wild, free strands of hair from his forehead. “And the society is expecting me shortly. I need to finish, get dressed-'' he cut off to cough again, covering his mouth and shaking with the sheer force.

“Oh like hells are you leaving this house.” Once Sekh’s coughing stopped, Astarion nearly hoisted him up from his chair. Sekh complained loudly, but the vampire ignored him, taking his hand and leading him back towards the ladder to the main level. “Yenna!” Astarion called as he climbed up, Sekh following- which was good, because Astarion knew he couldn’t physically drag the drow up alone.

The girl hopped out of the chair she still inhabited, as Astarion pulled himself out of the hatch and turned, helping Sekh out as well. Even through his sweater, Astarion could feel his feverish heat.

“Would you be a dear and go visit Blurg and let him know Sekh will not be leaving the house today.” Sekh frowned, folded his arms- a childish pout at being ordered around. Astarion ignored it for the moment. “And perhaps ask if he may have anything for his fever.”

“Leave it to me!” The girl was running for the door before Astarion could do more, her cat jumping and following her. She was always eager to visit the Society anyway- being sent over on her own probably felt like a treat.

“And you,” Astarion said, turning to Sekh, “back to bed.”

“Astarion-”

“Sekh.”

“Starshine-”

“Sekh’met.” Astarion folded his arms, and the drow sighed, bowing his head. The fact that his stubbornness didn’t push the argument further was proof enough that he must have felt wretched.

“Let me get my notes at least,” Sekh asked, “I can read from bed.”

Astarion’s look softened, and he gently guided Sekh away from the still open hatch. “I’ll get them,” he said, not moving until Sekh was halfway up the stairs, calling back that he needed the notes on Bulbfruits specifically.

While Astarion had no real interest in whatever grew in the Underdark- he didn’t need his lover to specify. He knew exactly what Sekh was studying currently- he’d been at the Society of Brilliance’s Lodge more nights than he can count as the drow fervently discussed the flora. This had been the most recent topic for a month now.

Astarion let himself back down to the basement and over to Sekh’s desk. It was littered with open journals, loose papers in the drow’s scrawling, sketchy handwriting. Possibly the worst Astarion had ever seen.

It made him smile.

Astarion picked up a few, setting them aside when he was able to determine they were not on the correct weed. He set them neatly in a pile, thinking that perhaps if Sekh were to get some rest maybe he could sneak back down here and tidy up- just a bit.

He ended up with one of the journals and a few loose scraps of paper. He made his way back up the ladder, closing the hatch, and then up to their bedroom. Sekh had lit his bedside lamp, had shed his large cardigan and was working a brush through his now free, still tangled hair.

It had grown so much over the past eight months, since the Brain- and hadn’t been dyed in the last two, since they had been reunited with their companions. All of the pink had faded, leaving only Sekh’s natural ginger.

Astarion preferred it like this, but he never said so. He knew Sekh’s hair dying was sentimental, and he wouldn’t take that away from the drow.

Sekh set his hair brush down, happily taking the reading materials from Astarion. The vampire crawled onto the bed, settling next to Sekh and taking up the brush, working it through his thick, silken hair. The drow opened the journal, quietly reading to himself.

When Astarion was satisfied that the tangles were all removed, he gathered up Sekh’s hair, began braiding it slowly. Sekh glanced at him, a little smile crawling onto his flushed face. Astarion caught it and returned the smile, leaning forward and kissing his warm cheek, as he tied off the braid.

Astarion slid his arms around Sekh, happy to soak up his feverish heat, as the drow went back to reading silently. It wasn’t long before Astarion could hear the door opening, and Yenna’s quick footsteps running up the stairs.

She was getting lighter on her feet- Astarion was rather proud of that. He’d been spending time with her in the evenings, teaching her all of the fun ways to sneak around, the showiest ways to twirl a dagger. She would never be defenseless again.

She burst in, arms full of a very large tome and a few small pouches, spilling the contents on the bed, and nearly losing her footing. Before Astarion could reach out to brace her she was back properly on her feet, grabbing one of the pouches and passing it to Sekh.

“Blurg said this will make you feel right as rain,” she announced proudly, “in a few days,” she added, and Sekh groaned. He flopped back onto his pillows, and Astarion rolled his eyes.

“So dramatic,” he mumbled, taking the pouch and pulling the bottle from it. Sekh glanced at him, his face screaming really- as if Astarion had the right to call anyone dramatic.

“He said it’ll help you rest and with the fever.” Sekh blindly reached for the pouch Astarion had discarded, not sitting up as he fished out a small, hand written note. The vampire assumed it listed whatever was in this and how to take it.

He trusted the Hobgoblin and his Mindflayer to not poison Sekh. Strange company as they were, Astarion knew they had become some of Sekh’s closest friends.

“Blurg said it’s really gross though,” Yenna pointed out, tossing one of the other, much smaller pouches onto Sekh. It landed on his belly, and whatever could possibly be inside must have excited the drow, because he shot back up into a sitting position-

So fast that he reached up for his head, as if he’d made himself dizzy. Astarion reached over and rubbed his back soothingly, as Sekh opened the pouch and shook out a small, round, red speckled candy.

With a grin large enough to split his cheeks, he popped it into his mouth. Astarion had only ever tasted them second hand- from Sekh’s still sticky lips in countless fervent kisses- but they were sweet as honey, with a spice that he imagined could burn open the drow’s airways.

The Hobgoblin made them, whatever spice coming from some plant in the Underdark. Astarion knew Sekh had recognized it immediately, but he could never for the life or death of him remember the name.

Yenna had another small pouch, presumably of her own, which she tucked into her pocket.  “He said if you’re feeling okay and bored this book should keep you busy.” Sekh gathered up the large, well worn tome before Astarion could, opening it and leaving it on his lap. The vampire knew he’d have to wrestle it away from his lover soon if he wanted Sekh to actually get some rest.

“Thank you, Yenna,” Sekh said, “I’d hug you but I do not want to get you sick. Wait…” he glanced at Astarion, “Can I get you sick?”

The alarm in his voice was cute.

Astarion waved him off. “No darling, you can’t.” Whatever virus the drow had wouldn’t have anything to take root in within Astarion. He only ever worried about sickness in someone’s blood.

Astarion climbed out of the bed, guiding Yenna from the room. He did echo Sekh’s concern about not wanting to get the girl sick. He could argue that he didn’t want to have to play nursemaid to two people- but in reality, he was fairly sure his chest would crack in half if he heard Yenna so much as cough painfully once.

Good thing Yenna always had plenty to entertain her outside the house. Most days if she wasn’t with Sekh down in his little mad alchemist lab she was running about the city, Grub in tow. She’d made friends, Astarion knew- and he was proud of her for it. Granted, the little thing had never been shy, she’d proven that when she’d first approached Sekh, a gods damned drow, whom she had never met in her life, when they’d first arrived at Wyrms’ Crossing so many months ago.

“Make sure you’re at the Elfsong before dark,” Astarion advised, “I’ll come walk you home.”

“I could walk myself home,” Yenna pointed out, and yes, yes she could, and Astarion was sure that if anyone gave her trouble she’d give them twice the trouble back-

But he and Sekh weren’t willing to risk it. She was still a child, and any city after dark wasn’t a place for a child to be alone.

“You know,” Yenna added, as Astarion tried to tidy her hair a bit. It was getting quite long, but still shaggy. She had a few small braids scattered throughout the mess that he had painstakingly done. She wasn’t one for frills of any sorts, but she’d indulged him. “If we file my teeth to look like yours, no one would bother me.”

“And out with you,” Astarion said, face scrunched in mock annoyance as he pushed her towards the door. She laughed, before turning and wrapping her arms around him. Astarion dropped the annoyed act, lifting her up and spinning her once, just to hear her laugh into his chest. “Whatever you do, just remember-”

“Don’t get caught,” Yenna finished, as Astarion let her down. He grinned and waved her off, and she was out the door so quickly Astarion barely saw a flash of the sunlight, outside.

Astarion went back upstairs, found Sekh exactly where he had left him, flipping a page in the large tome. The medicine Blurg had provided was definitely untouched, next to him. He glanced up as Astarion leaned against the doorframe, folding his arms- and his stare was enough. With a sheepish look- and Astarion would never, ever tell Sekh how utterly precious it was- Sekh picked up the bottle and opened it, downing a mouthful. His candy was already long gone.

He made a face, closing the bottle and setting it on his bedside table. “As bad as whatever Omeluum had you drink in the Underdark?” Astarion asked as he crossed the room.

“Gods no, nothing will ever be worse than that.” Astarion settled down next to him, reached out to brush his hand along Sekh’s forehead. He felt even warmer than he had earlier. Astarion frowned, but Sekh leaned into his touch, ginger lashes fluttering as his eyes shut, enjoying how cool the vampire was in comparison to him. “You feel nice.”

Astarion chuckled, pulled his hand back just to tuck it behind Sekh’s neck, under his hair. He shivered, and Astarion leaned in, brushed his chilled lips against Sekh’s flushed cheek.

“I feel like I’m on fire,” Sekh admitted, turning, eyes flicking to Astarion’s lips. The vampire knew the look well- the same look Sekh gave him anytime the drow wanted to kiss him, but found some- typically quite worthless- reason not to.

Astarion pressed a slow kiss to his mouth. His lips felt like burning flowers, silken but so hot. Sekh sighed against him, one hand fisting in Astarion’s shirt. The vampire traced his tongue along the seam of Sekh’s lips, and when the drow sighed, pushed his way in.

He could taste the ghost of the candy, that familiar honey and spice that he was coming to equate to Sekh. But over it was the bitter, herbal flavor of the medicine, a heavy, almost dirt like taste.

“You taste awful,” Astarion mumbled, even as he stole another kiss. Sekh pulled back, laughing so hard that he had to cover his mouth as it dissolved into a coughing fit.

“You still kissed me,” he pointed out, once he could speak again. Astarion hummed in response, reached for the tome in Sekh’s lap and shut the book. For a moment the vampire thought Sekh might fight him on it- but the rebellious look was fleeting, and Sekh let Astarion heft the book over to his bedside table.

Astarion pulled the blanket back, and fought down a bemused smile as Sekh tugged his shirt off and tossed it away, flopping down onto the sheets and reaching for his pants.

“I’m too hot,” he mumbled, catching Astarion staring. The elf would be the last to ever complain about Sekh stripping of his clothing. Instead he reached out, dragged his fingers along Sekh’s bare stomach, along his navel, pausing at his pelvis. Sekh gasped, arched into the touch, before he reached up, covered his own mouth with his hand, shocked at the reaction himself.

Well.

“I can cool you off,” Astarion offered, working quite hard to keep his voice tender and not suggestive. Sekh didn’t even hesitate at the suggestion, squirming out of his remaining clothing and asking, skin to skin?

Astarion climbed out of bed to strip properly, leaving his clothing folded on the floor. When he crawled back into bed, he reached for Sekh, pulled the drow’s back flush to his chest, stretched out across his body. Sekh squirmed, sighing, as Astarion’s arm hooked around him, hand splayed on his belly.

He burned hotter than the hells, against Astarion. A heat unlike anything Astarion had felt. He’d be alarmed if Sekh didn’t seem to be functioning so well and already medicated. Astarion leaned down, nuzzled into his neck, dragged lazy kisses along his pulse.

Sekh squirmed, little breaths escaping him, and Astarion’s hand slid lower along his belly, without thought. He caught himself as his fingers grazed the soft skin of Sekh’s mound, instantly moving his hand to Sekh’s hip.

“Sorry darling,” he mumbled, almost embarrassed that he’d fallen into wanting to touch so quickly.

But Sekh just reached for the hand on his hip, squeezed Astarion’s fingers and whispered in a slightly hoarse voice, “Would you?” He guided Astarion’s hand back, slid it over his mound, and Astarion could feel the twitch in the drow’s hips, wanting to grind against his hand.

And oh, who was he to ever deny his drow?

Astarion slid his fingers along Sekh’s lips, past them, groaned because still he burned even hotter. He teased his clit slowly, felt his lover shiver against him. “Love,” Sekh breathed, and Astarion kissed at his pulse again, murmured sweet little nothings that rang far too true in his heart. His touches were slow, teasing circles, knowing exactly how to slowly bring Sekh up to an ecstatic high.

Sekh continued to squirm, to grind against his hand. Astarion couldn’t stop the way his hips canted against his lover’s plush ass, his own cock stirring over the heat, over Sekh’s little breaths, over knowing he was the cause of even just a moment of bliss for this man.

Astarion slid his fingers off Sekh’s clit, got a frustrated little groan that turned into a needy whine as his finger teased at his entrance. He didn’t push inside- as much as he wanted to- simply dragged the wetness he found back up to Sekh’s hard clit, sliding over it again and again and again now.

Sekh tipped his head back, grinding against Astarion’s fingers. The vampire could tell he was so close already- knew every little tick of his desires, his body. He moved to Sekh’s ear, whispered, “can you come for me?” and the drow arched, cried out his name, shaking as his orgasm wracked his body.

Oh, Astarion it would delight for eternity that he could speak this man into euphoria.

His touches slowed but didn’t stop, easing Sekh through his orgasm. The drow writhed, creating a delicious friction against Astarion’s now fully hard cock. The vampire jerked his hips against him, bit back a growl, tried to tell himself to take a breath, to relax.

This wasn’t about him. Not this time.

Yet as Sekh began to calm, he purposely pushed back against Astarion, making the thought feel fleeting. The vampire pressed his face into Sekh’s hair, inhaled a shaking breath. “It’ll pass,” he mumbled, knowing Sekh was all too aware of his aching cock.

Sekh hummed softly. “It doesn’t have to…”

“Sekh.” The drow craned his neck to catch Astarion’s eyes, gave him one of his dazzling smiles that always stopped Astarion’s undead heart, made his belly cramp up with how much love could be visible in just a single curl of the man’s lips.

“I want you to,” Sekh said, adding, “if you want to.”

Astarion bit his own lip, fangs poking against tender flesh. Because gods he did want it, he wanted to be locked inside this man every waking second of eternity. And just knowing he was wanted, endlessly-

Astarion grasped at Sekh’s thigh. “Hook your leg up over me darling,” he murmured. Sekh did as he was asked, his leg hooking up over Astarion’s hip. Astarion grasped his own cock, teased himself along Sekh’s slit, loved the little breath that rushed out of Sekh. He smiled to himself, before easing in slowly.

Sekh’s body was hotter than it had ever been, a sheer inferno that had Astarion’s mind going white hot blank. He groaned, buried himself into his lover far quicker than he meant to, felt his stomach knotting up in a warning that this wouldn’t last.

Sekh shuddered, reaching across the bed to grasp at the sheets, squirming and writing against Astarion, a silent plea for him to move, to stroke each nerve inside his body. Astarion moved his hand back to Sekh’s cunt, two fingers siding around his clit, jerking at the hardened bud to match each desperate thrust he gave him.

Sekh’s mouth fell open, little cries and mewls spilling into the air. He was panting within seconds, pushing himself back to meet each of Astarion’s thrusts. The vampire growled, got his mouth on the crook of Sekh’s shoulder, teeth holding him, but not breaking skin.

The drow shuddered, started whining bite me, over and over again, as Astarion thrust into him with abandon. Gods he’d meant to be softer, but Sekh was making it impossible.

“No,” Astarion breathed, as much as he wanted to. The feeling of Sekh’s skin breaking for his fangs, the trickle of his sweet blood along Astarion’s tongue, always took their love making to a level Astarion didn’t know was possible, had never been able to fathom before Sekh.

But he wasn’t out of his mind enough to think biting Sekh was a good idea while the man was ill.

Sekh groaned, but didn’t push further. Instead he tried to tighten his leg draped over Astarion, to pull him deeper.

Astarion moaned, the sound followed by a full body shudder from Sekh, over it. Astarion was so close, he could feel his muscles coiling into knots, his stomach tight, his balls fucking aching. Gods damned,it felt nearly pathetic, he’d barely been inside his drow, but, but-

Sekh could undo him in seconds.

He switched his movements to quick strokes of Sekh’s clit, refusing to take his own bliss without the drow joining him. Sekh whined, turned his head and bit at the pillow, muffling his little noises as Astarion felt his body clenching around him, right on the edge-

It was Astarion, moaning his name, unabashed and adoring, that sent him over the edge. That sent Sekh into a second, sobbing orgasm, his leg tightening on Astarion, pulling him impossibly deep.

With a relieved groan, smiling, Astarion let himself come, staying nestled into Sekh’s fever hot body, as the drow’s waning orgasm milked him fucking dry. It was moments of pure, unadulterated heaven.

And then Sekh was relaxing against him. Astarion moved his hand so his arm could lock around his partner and nuzzled into his neck, peppering soft, affectionate kisses along his skin. He felt slightly less warm, somehow- and Astarion hoped the medicine was helping.

Astarion stayed inside Sekh until the drow squirmed, finally pulling away. The room’s air felt frigid compared to his heat, but Astarion bit back any complaints, as Sekh rolled onto his back, looked up at him with drowsy eyes. “Tired?” Astarion asked, and Sekh nodded. Without even a moment of thought, Astarion was climbing out of bed, taking a few moments to clean up the mess he’d left on his pretty darling.

Normally he’d be more than happy to slide between Sekh’s legs and lick him clean, but he didn’t want to push the man. He needed to rest.

Once done, he crawled back into bed, and Sekh pushed up against him, wrapped his arms around him and settled just below his chin. “You don’t have to stay,” he whispered, even as he held tightly to Astarion.

The vampire chuckled. “I don’t believe I could move if I wanted to now, pet.” He paused, before adding, “Not that I want to. To be clear. I don’t.”

Sekh laughed, but it was a slow, half asleep sound. He was fading fast. Astarion kissed the top of his head gently, fingers tracing along his damp spine.

“Sweet dreams, my love,” he whispered, intent that when Sekh awoke, he’d be the first thing he saw.

[paragonrobits]

Movie Review - Holy Musical B@man!

I am a simple person, with simple tastes (albeit ones that periodically have me wistfully imagining people incredulously asking me if my brain is broken or if my entire life to date has been an incredibly elaborate bit I am doing), and my tastes in movies are fairly straightforward. Oh, yes there are certainly layers to it; on the proper occasion, perhaps one day my reviews will give me room to ramble on about my undying fixation on ‘robots and nonhumans as personhood’ plot elements, or extensive use of practical effects, and my love of bathos (or, as I always assumed it to be, the dramatic changing of register for comic effect, but apparently that’s a different thing), and it is this last point that I keep thinking about with Holy Musical; namely, ITS REALLY GOSHDARN FUNNY.

I’m not a very emotionally demonstrative person. It’s not that I am consciously detached or try to limit my expressions, but I am NATURALLY not a very emotive person; it’s just not natural or easy for me to express myself with the same extremes as other people do. Sometimes this is a problem; around my family I find myself having to constantly overact because they get upset and take it personally when my normal reactions are subdued. When I find something funny, I usually only have a small response; a small laugh, a little giggle, something like that. And when something gets a big belly-busting ‘oh god someone send help I can’t stop’ laugh, that’s either me making a TRULY HORRIBLE pun so awful I can’t even say it before busting up laughing, or I really was having the time of my life enjoying something.

This movie is the latter; whatever else it has going on, it got me a TON of laughs, over and over, and for that, I really have to appreciate it. Whatever else it has going on, it is genuinely and consistently funny.

On a broad strokes basis, this movie strikes me as being something of a reconstructive parody; specifically of the darker and edgier Batman, with both the first two Nolan Batman movies and Frank Millar’s well known (infamous, in my book, as I REALLY don’t much care for it) The Dark Knight Returns. Early stage Batman of this musical is definitely a comedic depiction of Batman at his most, to quote Overly Sarcastic Production’s take on the matter, ‘Punisher in a silly hat’. I normally DON’T like this take on Batman at all; I can’t stand people who go online and sincerely say that Batman is a billionaire that beats up poor people or reduce a nearly 100 year old running character to some pithy remarks so they can feel like a smart aleck for a few minutes. Yet somehow, this play makes it work for me; it’s probably because its just SO over the top and coming from a place of love that I really don’t mind, say, Batman depicted as an overzealous hunter of criminals that’s willing to pop out PLANE-MOUNTED GUNS on a guy who technically stole from his own till by forgetting to put in some money before he left.

Following a brief falling out with Alfred (who is essentially all of Batman’s friends in disguise, including Lucius Fox, a joke that had me wincing in discomfort the moment it popped up and feeling profoundly relieved when it just moved on, only to be repeated a few more times; frankly, I feel that if this has come out a few years earlier, we would be seeing outright stereotype racism jokes; the corners of the Internet this would have been popular around at the time went nuts for that and I hate that), Batman ultimately turns a new leaf when he meets Dick Grayson, in this portrayal played off more as a brotherly character rather than the more familiar depiction of them as a father and son duo. There is a LOT of Burt Ward’s performance as Robin from the Adam West Batman series, and this brings me to the fundamental point.

I feel that this musical is all about Batman starting out as a dark and edgy jerk-face with an overly zealous approach to crime and playing all the worst borderline fascistic interpretations of the character to comic excess, to gradually mellowing out as he befriends Robin and becoming a much more genuine and humane character, and with the campy tone, by the end of his character arc he resembles nothing less than Adam West’s famous depiction of Batman, played straight and with love, and I HAVE to appreciate that; it's sort of a love letter to camp and not being ashamed of its roots, as a lot of the ‘comics can be SUPER SERIOUS and we don’t have to be gross and campy’ attitude tends to go.

Batman’s villains are similarly extremely campy and they’re an absolute BLAST; virtually every line from them is packed to the brim with thematic puns and in particular I really like this musical’s take on Penguin; less a mob boss guy, and more of a heavily bird-themed crime villain who can’t go more than a few words without working in bird puns, and I LOVE IT. Everyone is like this, from Poison Ivy to Catwoman (And this alone is probably an indicator of this musical’s lean towards the likes of the West Batman show, as Catwoman hasn’t been considered a rogue in QUITE a while and her portrayal here is a dead ringer for that era). Of note, Joker off-handedly dies off screen early on. I say GOOD RIDDANCE. His role is instead filled by Sweet Tooth, an absolutely delightful villain chock full of furiously quick candy puns, genuine menace and a ton of fun pretty much every moment he’s on screen.

He’s very clearly a Joker stand-in, but without the kind of baggage that Joker himself usually brings on board. Its with him that we have a scene taken directly from the iconic ‘choose who dies’ bit from The Dark Knight, but instead voting on whether Robin lives or dies; I was struck at them in the death of Jason Todd, which never fails to impact me. (Perhaps not as much as harshly as Jason Todd outright referencing it in Injustice 2, but this is pretty close.) He adds in a Harley Quinn analogue, who carries both the blatant abusive dynamic and being a legitimate threat in her own right despite her silly demeanor. Interestingly enough, despite my assumptions that he was an original creation of this project, he actually IS a pre existing character, but a very minor one; he apparently has only had a couple of appearances prior to this and was considered forgettable even by the standards of one off gimmick villains. I consider this the equivalent of someone bringing back the Penny Plunderer as a genuine villain without losing a bit of campiness.

I mentioned before that I feel this musical covers elements of the Nolan movies and Millar’s work. From the latter, we have other superheroes periodically making appearances throughout, and here’s where we get SUPERMAN. Now, I’m honestly pretty defensive about works, especially parodies, getting Superman right in any capacity; I get REALLY touchy about it, and honestly, I think this movie does better to give Superman an antagonistic role than The Dark Knight Returns did, even with a similar scene (albeit with Obama rather than Reagan); instead of being a government stooge, this take on Superman is deeply insecure and resentful of Batman’s popularity despite his own vastly greater power and success, which also feels like something of a meta commentary on Batman often being perceived as a better character than Superman. (PErsonally I feel a guy in his 30s who has mastery of ALL the skills and martial arts disciplines, despite individual ones taking a LIFETIME to learn, is even more inherently absurd than a superpowered alien that happens to look exactly like a human, but that’s a whole different rant.) We see a bunch of other heroes throughout, most especially Green Lantern who has a running gag of being late for a Thing with Solomon Grundy (I don’t know if Grundy was picked for specifically starting out as a Golden Age Green Lantern villain, but I’d like to think so), and is portrayed as a shlubby Brooklynite, which is honestly a take that feels… right. Not sure why, but it does!

Ultimately, it comes down to Batman outright just asking Superman for help, because he’s the only one that can do things on that scale; essentially having him drop his ego and pride to sincerely ask for help, which feels like a really nice way to directly address the rivalry that is applied to them in a lot of comedic works and come to terms between them, and Superman doing the famous Reeves Time Warp spin (which was alluded to earlier in the movie) to undo catastrophe.

This in particular cemented a feeling that the movie is essentially about Batman developing from a parody of his darkest and most edgy characterizations set off by people imitating the vibes of the Dark Knight Returns and the Nolan movies, through a storyline that incorporates aspects of both into its plot, and at the end, through his friendship with Robin (a character notably absent from the Nolan movies save for Rise, and honestly I don’t feel that counts), and embracing the most fun and campy aspects through Robin, THE old school campy character, developing into something akin to Adam West’s Batman.

That said, Batman himself is a bit of a hard sell here. He’s a fun character, no question, especially as the movie progresses. But while he IS fun, he generally does work better as a straight man and it’s hard to say he handles that super well, at least to me. I do think Batman being just as quirky and weird as his cast is appropriate, but he’s mostly interesting not on his own but how people react to him. A lot of his best bits here are when he’s part of a larger scene, or people are reacting to him; his manchild mannerisms and demented behavior get a lot funnier then. They’re never bad, but they’re not really GREAT per se.

But all the same, it IS a genuinely fun experience that had me busting out laughing like a self-satisfied hyena, and you know what, I love it just for that alone. A great watch, all around!

Some other things of note:

- I really liked how no one seems to know what a robin is. “What is that, some kind of lizard?” And Robin’s parents being assassinated by one is honestly so bizarre but I can see that being a thing in the DC universe.

- Pour one out for poor old Killer Croc, who died as he lived; poisoning the water supply in the tradition of camp villains of old!

- People just… knowing that Superman is Clark Kent is honestly kind of a gas. Yes, there ARE reasons why he maintains his secret identity, but it's fun for the people involved to play it as a non-issue.

- Not a gag but Plastic Man looks fantastic in his brief appearance.

- Also not a gag but I read Garth Ennis’ Batman Reptilian not too long ago, and I’m struck by how both these works seem to poke at the idea of a much more brutal and callous Batman. Not much of a similarity, true, but it is striking how they go in opposite directions; this one opts for escape into the blessed realms of camp, while the other… well, it’s a Garth Ennis work, its exactly what you’d expect from the person who made the Punisher (and a completely non-ironic take) a signature character. If you HAVE to have Batman being the sort of person who takes glee in plane weaponry, I’d rather it be played for comedy.

- There’s a LOT of similarities between this and the much later Lego Batman. Apparently the people who made this even commented on that!

- Okay, okay, Robin determining his hero identity in a parallel of Batman’s is hysterical. SEARCH YOUR HEART. IT IS TRUE.

[pagesfromthevoid]

I'm always down for exploring Benedict and Miss Everlys alone time !

Whatever the Poets Say | b.b. | 17

Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: Sexual undertones. Heavy petting.

Author’s Note: Thank you for your patience with this, honestly. It’s been a wild couple weeks and I’m so tired. But I had to get this done! Enjoy!

Series Masterlist | Talk to Me!

Dearest readers,

Last night it seems that the Everly and Bridgerton family had a bit of a falling out. If rumor is true, Mr. Benedict Bridgerton was seen exiting the gentleman’s club with the Viscount and Colin in tow, inebriated and yelling about his devotion. It certainly woke the streets up. Perhaps it was because of what happened with the Queen and her misguided attempt to expose me. Or perhaps something from the past was dredged up before the wedding.

Regardless, Mr. Bridgerton was seen with his brothers following, yelling in the streets about winning back his beloved Miss Everly. Sources say that even the Viscount himself was in on whatever the three men were up to –some are saying it was even his idea. Perhaps there is a romantic bone in that body of his after all. 

Did Mr. Bridgerton go home last night? Or did he find himself tucked away in a quiet corner of the future Mrs. Bridgerton’s bedroom? 

Only time will tell.

Yours truly,

Lady Whistledown

“Your bedroom is not what I imagined it would be,” Benedict hummed as he lounged on her bed, looking around.

She was latching the window and drawing the curtains, waving at Anthony and Colin who looked up at her sheepishly. Once her curtains were closed, she turned and faced Benedict, who was still flush from however much alcohol he had consumed. But he was enthralled by her bedroom, looking around it with a bright smile. Excited by the sudden entry to her private life; as if he was being given something invaluable. 

“Have you imagined my bedroom before?” She asked, brow raised and a teasing grin on her face. 

“I have imagined many things of yours before,” he admitted, sitting up on her bed now. “Your bedroom, your bed, your pillows. Everything that you touch, I have imagined.”

“I cannot decide if that is very sweet, or very strange,” she admitted with a small laugh as she finally crossed the room to him. 

Benedict’s legs opened, and his hands reached out to her hips. Her cheeks flushed with heat as he pulled her to him. He tilted his head up, looking at her with hazy eyes as she rested her hands on his shoulders gently. Something about this position —Benedict’s hands on her waist as he sat on the edge of her bed, and her standing between his parted legs —felt more intimate than she imagined it should. 

“I thought I lost you,” he whispered, rubbing gentle circles with the pads of his thumbs. 

Her hands drifted down his arms, squeezing his biceps timidly. “You would need to do much worse than bed my modiste, Benedict. Though perhaps we try not to find out how much worse, hm?”

He nodded almost frantically, fingers stilling against the fabric of her nightgown. She watched him for a moment, smiling softly as he gazed up at her. One hand remained on his arm as the other raised, running her hand through his hair softly. Benedict hummed in response, closing his eyes as he relished in the feeling of her touch. 

From where she stood, for once she was able to properly look at him. Benedict was taller than her and while they had spent plenty of time admiring one another’s features, being able to look down at him for a moment was something to savor. Though, as her hand ran from his hair to his cheek, she smiled sadly down at him. Even with his eyes closed, she could see they were still puffy from crying, with dried tears caking the corners of his eyes. He wasn’t exaggerating when he said he had been a wreck all evening, it seems. 

“You are so beautiful,” she murmured, stealing his words from earlier in the evening. “I cannot believe you’re mine, Benedict.”

His eyes opened, and he looked up at her with a broad smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. He leaned into her touch, pulling her closer by her hips. “I am yours; forever and always.”

“Forever and always,” she repeated with a soft smile, both hands now resting below his jaw and holding him there as she admired him still. 

Benedict whispered her name, soft and sure, as he tugged her closer. His hands tried pushing her nightgown up, but she stopped him. He looked up at her, his brow furrowed as she shook her head. “Please,” he pleaded, looking up at her still. 

“As tempting as you may be,” she explained, running her thumb over his cheekbone gently. “You will be sober when you have me, Mr. Bridgerton.”

“Even if it is before the wedding?”

His voice was hopeful; sinfully hopeful as she nodded. Her own smile said it all. “Even if it is before the wedding.”

Her confirmation seemed to ease Benedict’s desire for the moment as his grip loosened on her. But he kept his gaze fixed to her face as he tried to formulate his next request. “Am I still allowed to sleep beside you, at least?” 

She couldn’t help but laugh some, nodding as she pulled back from him. “You did come all this way…”

“And I am truly too exhausted to make a bed on the floor.”

She rolled her eyes as she slipped her robe off and set it on her chair. She could feel his eyes on her, practically burning a hole through her nightgown. Benedict watched her every move as she padded across the wooden floors, slipping under her covers with ease. Then, she rested her hands in her lap, waiting expectantly. 

“Oh, right,” Benedict sputtered, pushing himself off her bed. 

It was far more amusing than it was seductive to watch Benedict pry off his clothing, truthfully. He struggled to untie his ascot, tugging it a little too hard before tossing it aside. And he fumbled as he kicked his boots to the side, certainly making anyone awake aware of his presence. His hands ran through his hair, messing it up further as he decided what he needed to do next. His suspenders were haphazardly yanked off next, tossed to the side with his boots. 

His hands hesitated at the top button of his shirt though. For a moment, he considered simply leaving it on —but after a few seconds, he glanced up at her. She had her thumb to her lip, biting at the nail, as she watched him closely. Waiting with baited breath, it seemed, for his decision. Benedict grinned to himself, looking down for a moment as he felt the heat rush to his cheeks, before he finally unbuttoned his shirt slowly. 

Benedict did not meet her eyes as he undressed, carefully pulling his shirt off his body before discarding it. But he could hear her sharp inhale as he did; and it made him smile to himself. Swallowing hard, he took two rather long strides before he found himself at the edge of her bed, and he slipped under the blankets beside her. Her thumbnail was still being bitten anxiously, and he was looking at his hands as he tried to conceal his smile. 

It was not the first time Benedict and her shared a bed. However, it was the first time she had seen him in a state of undress. 

“I…goodnight, Benedict,” she whispered, voice trembling some as she reached to blow out the candle at her bedside. 

Benedict hesitated a moment before leaning over as she returned to her spot in the bed. She gasped softly as he captured her lips with his. But as quick as he kissed her, he pulled back with a smile. “Goodnight, my love.”

                                        *****

When dawn broke, she found herself wrapped in Benedict’s arms, cheek pressed to his bare chest. He was still soundly sleeping, arms wound around her shoulders with his cheek pressed to the top of her head. With him still asleep, she took a moment to wiggle from his grasp carefully –trying not to wake him –so that she could pull away and truly admire how handsome he was. She rested on her elbows, weight on the bed, as she looked him up and down for a moment, memorizing the curves of his body before her eyes settled just above where the blanket rested on his waist.

This was the closest to a naked man she had ever been; and he wasn’t even naked. He was simply shirtless. But he was there, in her bed, and she couldn’t help but wonder what more there was to see about her future husband. She kept her hands to herself, though, simply admiring him with a soft smile. Well, she kept her hands above the blankets –she couldn’t help herself as she rested one hand against his chest, feeling his steady heartbeat as he slept. Chest rising and falling slowly, peacefully.

Was this what she got to look forward to every day, then? Waking up to Benedict, asleep in their bed. At peace, and calm? It almost felt like a dream, to be so in love with him. To be so lucky as to have him.

His hand covered hers suddenly, and she jumped a bit, surprised. Benedict’s eyes opened, half lidded from sleep still. But he was smiling down at her, lazily. “Good morning,” he whispered, though he was clearly still half asleep.

“Good morning, love,” she returned, sitting up now and resting her back against her pillows. “How are you feeling this morning?”

He yawned, rolling to his side to nestle his face into her side as he draped his arms over her stomach. His voice was muffled as he spoke into her nightgown. “Far better than I expected I would. Though, I got to wake up to you –so I feel wonderful.”

“Flattery gets you very far,” she teased, running her hand through his hair as he pulled himself as close as he could to her.

“How long have you been awake?” He asked, peering up at her from his spot against her side.

“Not long.” She hummed a bit, looking out towards the window but the curtains were still drawn. Only a sliver of sunlight crept into the bedroom, though she wasn’t going to leave her place beside him any time soon.

“Ah, so you were watching me sleep, then?” He teased, rolling onto his back finally to look up at her properly. She kept her eyes on the curtains.

“I was not simply watching as you slept,” she countered, crossing her arms over her chest as she pouted some. “I was just…admiring how you look when you are asleep.”

“You mean when I am half naked in your bed.”

There was a smile in his voice as she finally looked down at him, feeling her cheeks warm from embarrassment. “You make me sound so crass.”

“So you were!” He teased, sitting up beside her now, that same grin on his face.

“Well, I do not know what else you would expect me to do!” She argued, flustered as she looked down at her hands. “You are the first man I have ever had in my bed –I think it is only fair that I’m curious.”

“You’re very pretty when you’re frustrated,” he offered, tugging now at the fabric at her waist. “Come here.”

She looked up at him, frowning some as he pulled her into his lap. Her legs rested where her head would lay, and she sat sideways in his lap now. Benedict reached up, pushing a stray hair behind her ear. His free hand took hers, moving to drape it around his neck. 

“What are you curious about?” He asked, voice soft as he lifted her other hand and followed the same motion. Her hands intertwined behind his head loosely. Her breath hitched her throat, and she tried to pull back but Benedict took hold of her wrists gently, keeping her in place. “You do not need to worry, my love. I am not going to make fun of you, or hurt you. Please, let me satisfy your curiosity.”

She bit at her lip gently, swallowing hard as she looked down at her lap. If he listened close enough, she was certain Benedict would be able to hear her heart pounding in her chest. But he whispered her name softly, lifting her chin to make her look at him again.

“What are you curious about?” He repeated, still soft. Still gentle as he held her in place by her wrist and chin.

“I…I am curious about…” Words were suddenly very difficult to form, which for a writer was a problem. But she didn’t know how to phrase what she wanted to say. Truth be told, she didn’t even know what she wanted to say. “I have read plenty of books,” she settled on saying, taking a breath as she tried to steady her racing heart and trembling hands. “And I know the…general idea of what happens between a man and a woman –how it should feel; how it does feel. But I am…well, I am curious about…” Her eyes dropped to his chest, and she pulled one hand away from his neck to trace her hand down his front carefully. Timidly. “I am curious about everything, Benedict. About you; about how you feel against my skin. How you sound, and taste. I…I am just…”

“Curious,” he finished, setting his hand over hers. “Can I…can I show you something?” 

Her brow furrowed some but she nodded meekly, allowing him to shift her out of his lap and back onto the bed. He kept her hand in his, pressed against his beating heart. Much like hers, it was racing in his chest. Threatening to burst through at any moment. Her eyes remained on his, unsure what he was doing as he slowly drifted their hands down his chest. His skin was smooth but littered with freckles that spread across his body like stars in the sky. Her hand began to shake as he continued to draw her hand down, closer to his stomach where he tensed slightly as her hand pressed against it. It was then that she realized what he was doing; or, where he was going. 

Benedict’s and her hands stopped right above where his pants hit his hips. Her breath caught once more in her throat as he looked at her, waiting for her to tell him to stop. But she didn’t; instead, her hand left his and trailed further down itself. Running her hand over his thigh that was hidden under the blankets still. He leaned his head back some, taking a moment to savor in her touch as she finally ran her hand over the growing bulge in his trousers. He sucked in a breath, and she yanked her hand back –eyes wide as she looked up at him, worried she hurt him. But he shook his head, taking her hand once more.

“It’s okay,” he reassured, kissing her knuckles one by one. Then the pads of each of her fingers. “Do you see what you do to me? Even the slightest touch…” 

Carefully, he placed her hand back on him, pressing down just barely. He took another breath, closing his eyes for a moment before he released her hand. She waited for just a second before she pulled her own away. Benedict leaned back, watching her with that crooked grin of his, unable to help it as he adjusted himself in the bed. Her silence was far from uncomfortable; he could see the gears turning in her head as she processed what he had just done.

Her hand reached for his now, fingers wrapping around his wrist gently as she lifted his hand and pressed it against her breast carefully. Benedict inhaled sharply, looking down at her now as he adjusted his hold on her –understanding what she was trying to do, though he showed her where she seemed to really want to be touched as he cupped her breasts in his hands. She was shaking, and he could see it as he pulled away.

“You do not have to –”

“You’re trembling,” he pointed out, pulling her back into his arms now. Her back pressed against his chest as he spread his legs, settling her between them. “We will take things as slow as you need, my love.”

Slow was not what she wanted, truthfully.

———

Taglist: @queensgirl718 @drowninginaseaofbooks @severewobblerlightdragon @wildflowerel @just-an-ace-elf @kamala-khann

[mismaeve]

Her Tortured Soul, Part Three

↳ Her Tortured Soul Part Three, Thranduil x Reader, 18+ Warnings: angst, followed by smut. Minors DNI Word Count: 3.2k A/N: And here is the third and final part of this short series. I am immensely proud of this. I will note that those of you who I have tagged that do not wish to read the smut, there is going to be a banner separating the story from where the spicy bits start, so keep an eye out for it. You can't miss it though. That said, feedback is always strongly encouraged, greatly appreciated and sorely needed. Enjoy!

It felt like a lifetime had passed since you last had feasted your eyes on the grandeur that was the Greenwood palace. Much like your heart felt on the inside, with rays of undisturbed golden sunlight spreading its wings to embrace your beating soul, so did its warmth descend upon your beloved’s kingdom, filling the halls and pathways with radiating light and vibrating life.

The previously felt gloom that had always seeped through your skin, penetrating your flesh, and finding home deep within your bones, had given way to hope as you walked among the waking at last, no longer a fleeting ghost of the elusive dream realm.

The sweet tingling sensation in your stomach was near agonising, fluttering butterflies swarming and tickling your insides ever tirelessly as you, accompanied by his guards, were escorted to the throne room high above the countless halls and chambers, to be presented before the King of the Woodland realm.

One by one, the guards posted on both sides of the carved bridge turned to face you in one swift motion with a saluting stomp of their feet on the paved ground as was customary when welcoming a guest of great importance and rank such as the Lady of Imladris.

Pale eyes interlocked with yours almost instantly the moment you were brought before him, the guards, each taking a bow before slowly backing away and leaving you to their king.

“My Lady, I had not thought to see you here in Greenwood,” courteous words filled with icy wonder flowed down from the throne he was occupying.

You wondered how well he would play his part of keeping up this ruse if he knew that you hadn’t come as the Lady of Rivendell, wife of Lord Elrond.

How you ached to run up the stony steps leading to his throne and tell him the news, to throw your arms around his neck and kiss him with all the love you bore for him, unconstrained by guilt and remorse, not held back by your vows that had been said in vain regardless of your good intentions.

You couldn’t. It wouldn’t be proper. He didn’t know yet; it would have to wait until the rest of the formalities and courtesies were observed and duly executed.

“I bring news from Imladris, my lord. Perhaps we could speak in private, the matter is rather sensitive I’m afraid,” you offered a timid bow of your head while your eyes remained peeled on Thranduil.

Your beloved watched you for a moment before he rose to his feet and allowed his slender legs to carry him down the steps to be stood in front of you. The distance between you was respectable and appropriate given the circumstances yet you could swear your nose immediately caught the familiar and cherished scent of him.

“Leave us,” his order sounded all over the room and was quickly followed by the obedient parting of his guards while Thranduil’s pale eyes remained pinned on yours, a flicker of annoyance dancing in his dark pupils. Silence saturated with tension flowed between you while you waited for his diligent servants to leave the throne room.

“What are you doing, coming here in this manner?” he demanded to know, not trying to hide the exasperation that was laced with his accusing tone.

“I can’t say what I have to say here. Could we go somewhere less predisposed to interruption?” you asked having brushed aside his icy bearing. After all, how could you hold him responsible when you had given him no warning of your imminent arrival.

“How many ways are there left for you to torture me in, I wonder,” he hissed under his breath.

“Your being here, the mere presence of you is excruciating. I cannot subject myself to being alone with you.”

There was a hidden plea underneath his frozen façade, one coming from a broken ellon who dared not hope for something so far out of his reach.

“I am asking you to trust me,” you murmured patiently while your hand reached up to caress his silky-smooth cheek. His eyes closed at the tenderness of your touch, and you felt him lean into it before in a blink of an eye, Thranduil jerked his head back and left your hand hanging empty in the air between you.

“This is no dream; why are you so eager to tempt fate?” his whispered words bore every ounce of his tortured soul, laden with want of the one thing he could never possess as his own.

“It goes beyond that, and you know it. All that I am asking of you, is that you take one final leap of faith,” you spoke calmly while your heart was all but on the verge of making you beg him and plead with him, do most anything to get him in a room alone with you where you could deliver him the delightful news.

“I cannot, I will not risk compromising your honor,” Thranduil shook his head, his words sounding the finality of his decision.

“Mine or yours?” you raised your chin in contempt.

Color drained from his already pale complexion at the mention of his honor. You knew better than to question it, but you felt as if he had left you no choice, stubborn and unyielding as he was, he would oft break before he would bend.

“You think I care about my honor?” he lowered his voice and took a step closer to you.

“I would let it be dragged through the mud from here to Valinor if it meant keeping yours intact, so do not insult me by suggesting otherwise.”

Thranduil’s breath was like blazing fire on your face, the quickened heaving and falling of his chest only mere inches from your own body sent a fiery jolt to the pits of your stomach. And when the towering king’s darkened eyes dropped to your lips, you saw the reason why he wouldn’t be left alone with you clear as day. Frustration was dripping off him like hot wax from a burning candle.

“I’ve left him,” you broke the silence at last. Your whispered words were barely audible, yet Thranduil had heard you all the same, for his eyes immediately found yours in a quick sharp glance.

“Tell me of the madness you have caused so that we might hope to salvage it somehow,” his words, low and quiet as they were, somehow still thundered inside the spacious room after he had closed the door to his private chambers.

“There is nothing that needs salvaging, my love,” you reassured him and proceeded to tell him about the conversation that had taken place between you and Elrond only a couple of nights before.

Thranduil had listened motionlessly and soundlessly to the tale that you had brought forth, an account of hope born of the ashes from a gruesome heartbreak, your long-awaited opportunity to be together at long last, after decades of having been forced apart, suffering needlessly, and forced to contemplate whether this world was meant for you after all. All of it, the anguish, the torment, the insufferable pain, coming to an end once and for all in the light of the mercy and forgiveness bestowed upon you by an unlikely ally.

Silence gathered and endured inside the four walls of his lavish chambers while the Woodland King contemplated the turn of events you had brought to his attention. You had expected to see delight but found none on his placid features, even his pale eyes seemed to be miles away while he appeared to be staring right through you, as if having forgotten that you were there to begin with.

“Say something,” you whispered not being able to withstand the deafening silence any longer.

Thranduil slowly closed his eyes, his breath leaving his lungs in the same instant as he opened them again and looked at you with all the sorrow his flawless features could possibly harbor. Your heart sank in your chest at the gut-wrenching look he bore, his eyes resembling vast seas of great despair that held no hope of ever running dry again.

“It doesn’t change anything, meleth.”

You had to strain to hear him, so defeated he sounded, as if his very will to live was slowly seeping from his body, one drop at a time. Your heart winced at his words, rebelling at the very idea of what he was saying. Try as hard as you could, you failed to see reason sound enough to support his preposterous words.

“It changes everything,” you declared firmly, shaking your head violently you hoped to dismiss the uneasy sensation that was beginning to take root inside your mind, the fear of him not wanting you now that someone else had discarded you. Your soul revolted at that unimaginable notion.

Only your beloved didn’t rush to cast aside your growing fear.

“It changes nothing!” Thranduil raised his voice, making your heart jump inside your chest at the unexpected harshness.

You blinked in utter disbelief, refusing to believe what you were hearing, the most horrible words imaginable rolling off his lips with no care for the devastating impact they would have on you.

“How can you say that?” you choked out, your throat gripped by the paralyzing dread that had also made your tongue run as dry as the barren lands to the South.

Horrified and frozen you watched him stride over to the windows, both his hands gripping the hard stone frame on either side, pale fingers digging into the rough and impenetrable surface in hopes of lending some of its stone-hard stability.

“You are still his wife and will forever remain as such.”

You could practically taste the disdain in his voice. Even with his back turned to you, you could see and feel the aggravation washing off him and coming at you in waves you couldn’t possibly hope to survive.

Frustrated, you took a few steps towards his frame, unwilling to back down from what you knew in your heart was right.

“You forget, we burned the parchment,” you had started to remind him but his abrupt turning around on his heel made your words die inside your mouth before they could reach your lips. With dark eyes blazing, his gaze pinned you to where you were standing with your eyes wide and mouth slightly ajar.

“There is more than one way in which we are wed to one another,” Thranduil’s raised voice erupted within his chambers while his face mirrored the fury that gripped him.

“Burning a paper does not erase that bond,” he added bitterly.

In the face of his wrath, a smile was slowly spreading across your lips, the horrid look you had born earlier, melting away like spring snows, revealing the softness beneath. You shook your head slowly while Thranduil looked on in bewilderment, presumably unaccustomed to bearing witness to someone who wouldn’t shrink away at the sight of his rage.

“Then it will please you to hear that I’ve never been his wife,” you confessed with a timid smile.

A shadow of disbelief flickered in his pale eyes at the sound of your words, as quickly as it had come, it was gone in a heartbeat when he narrowed his eyes and gave you a measuring look.

“All those years together and you never,” Thranduil trailed off, not being able to bring himself to utter the words that had given him sleepless nights for decades when he would curse the fate for forcing him to love you.

You shook your head and smiled reassuringly. It was the truth. In your decades together, there had been no intimate relations between Elrond and yourself. You had been his wife in every way there was save for that.

“How?” Thranduil breathed out with his eyebrows furrowed, his pale eyes piercing through your flesh in search of the truth carried within your soul.

You allowed your smile to grow warmer, to show him the love you bore for him written plain across your features in case there had ever been any doubts hidden away deep within him, where he himself wouldn’t have dared to venture on his own free will.

“It was always ever going to be you,” you murmured.

 A barely audible gasp came unbidden from his lips. Something shifted in the room you were in, you couldn’t see it clearly, but you could feel it intimately. Thranduil’s walls had started to tumble like stone.

He closed his eyes and shook his head as if some part of him was terrified that it was all a lie, a beautiful illusion crafted by powers and forces beyond his control.

“See for yourself. Make me your wife right here and now,” your words dripped with sincere willfulness as you moved closer to him, slowly closing the space between you. There had been enough distance separating you for too long, it was finally time you bound yourselves as one.

Before you could react, he was towering over you, his dark eyes going straight to your lips as his hands clasped your face and pulled it up to meet his.

“Make me yours,” you breathed out against his mouth before his lips claimed yours in a kiss overwhelmed by decades of longing, laced with desire that had nearly burned him alive while he had only dreamed of making you his.

You parted your lips and welcomed his kiss with a need that mirrored his own, your tongue lacing with his hungrily while he guided you backwards in the direction of his bed. Starved hands roamed across the fabric of your riding-cloak before unclasping it and flinging it to the side; impatient fingers traveling from your neck to your shoulders where they slid the thin silk straps of your dress over your shoulders thus making it trickle down your body and pool at your ankles.

Thranduil’s kiss grew deeper and more demanding, commanding your complete and irrefutable surrender to him which only fed the already blazing warmth deep in your core where your desire for him was all but beginning to surge through the rest of your body.

Suddenly your back was met by something cold and hard. You imagined it was the wide and intricate bedpost, but before you could even think to open your eyes to inspect, he had hoisted you in his arms, wrapping your legs around his waist and pinning you to the carved post with no chance of escape even if you had been in need of one.

You could feel his own arousal when he pressed his body against yours, a hard bump grating at your lower belly in a teasing manner, yet you knew better than to think he was going to waste time with toying with you when your past experiences were compelling him to hasten matters along. While he would worship you for the centuries to come, tonight he would claim your body and soul for himself.

Breathless you poured your very essence into his kiss, your hands finding their way into his hair and tugging at it while Thranduil quickly relieved himself of his heavy robes, followed by his tunic before his hand grasped yours and pinned them to the bedpost above your head by your wrists. His mouth proceeded to venture past your lips, to your jaw and continued its hungry descent down your neck where he sucked on your flustered skin, each movement of his lips accompanied by the increasingly more pressing rocking of his hips.

You bit your lip in hopes of stifling the moan that was building deep within you, your insides all but quivering and dripping with anticipation of what was to come when Thranduil’s mouth claimed yours again with a dark hunger you had never felt before.

Before long, he had placed you on his featherbed after he had discarded the rest of his clothing, his naked form now towering over you like a most perfectly crafted and shaped mountain, his eyes sparkling with feverish greed.

He lowered himself enough to take your mouth with his burning lips, muffling your breath and forcing you to obey his will while his hands explored your naked body, the soft pads of his fingers caressing and brushing over every inch of your skin until reaching the entrance to your core.

You gasped against his mouth when his finger slipped past your slick folds and into your soaked heat. Something rumbled deep inside his chest as he slipped a second finger in, exploring the dripping core of unrestrained desire. The sweet curling and swirling motions of his fingers inside you began building towards something far greater than mere anticipation. Your breath grew heavier, laden with unyielding want for more while your already frantically beating heart began to race.

“Not yet, not like this,” Thranduil’s husky voice breathed out hot against your lips before you felt him retrieve his fingers from your heated depths, leaving an unpleasant emptiness in their absence.

“Please,” you heard yourself whimper, unable to wait any longer, your body all but aching for his as if your very life depended on it.

You wouldn’t have to beg again.

You felt Thranduil adjust himself before plunging deep inside you with a single hard thrust, the force of it making your insides burn and protest to the unaccustomed presence. You threw your head back against the soft pillows, crying out in pain at the throbbing fullness deep inside you.

“It’s going to hurt but it will pass soon, my love,” Thranduil murmured lovingly, his fingers moving to stroke your hair while he planted tender kisses near your mouth, on the tip of your nose, on the softness of your closed eyelids, your temple, and your jaw.

Soon he began moving, gently and slowly at first but as the pain started to give way to the blissful sensation you had felt earlier, prompting your hips to fall in with his rhythm, his thrusts grew deeper and harder.

His mouth left your lips to venture to your neck, grazing the soft skin with his teeth while he continued to lose himself in you, growling and grumbling in rapturous delight every time you curled your hips to meet him halfway, his throbbing length bringing you closer to your ultimate release with every thrust he made.

Panting breaths mingled and laced together in the air around you as Thranduil claimed you repeatedly, pushing you closer to your inevitable undoing while he himself was bound for the same stars of near ethereal bliss.

“Please,” you heard yourself gasp on the verge of your decadent release before your nails dug into the silky soft skin on his back, prompting a near feral groan to escape his lips as he slammed into you harder and harder until you arched your back and were met by a million stars while sweet, agonizing waves of pleasure crashed down upon you one by one, knocking the air from your lungs and forcing you to groan in euphoric delight.

Thranduil found his own release shortly after, biting down into the sensitive skin on your neck while he spilled himself deep inside you with a guttural groan of his own before his body collapsed on top of yours.

“Mine at last,” he sighed in your ear.

A blissful smile crept onto your lips as you breathed him in.

Mine at last, you thought to yourself before closing your eyes.

Liked it? Like/reblog/leave a comment to let me know. Feedback is what keeps the muse alive and willing to help with future works. Any interaction brings me immense joy. Support your fellow creators :)

Gif by @theincaprincess, divider by @firefly-graphics

Taglist: @heilith @kanafinwe-makalaure @i-did-not-mean-to @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore @missymoo02 @a-contemplation-upon-flowers @kiatheinsomniac @eunoiaastralwings @coopsgirl @aduialel @augustwithquills @a-world-of-whimsy-5 @zenka69 @canmking @warriormirkwood

[rayshippouuchiha]

Ray-Ray, do you have any headcanons for a Ready Made Family AU: Kyoraku Style? I feel like he and Ichigo would make a great pair, because Shunsui is known as a womaniser, whether he is exaggerating or not, but Ichigo has her sisters to protect and she isn't gonna take any of that from him.

Okay okay okay! I got another ask that immediately made me think of this one:

Ray darling I have this AU rattling around in my head where Ichigo kills the Kenpachi(not Zaraki) without knowing how he is. Like the 11th is out in Rukon for some reason and the dude messes with one of Ichigo's friends Ichigo stabs him. He now has a division he has no clue what to do with and he's not allowed to refuse. Also, Ichigo has absolutely zero tolerance for the anti-kido, no helping your friends bullshit. I've no clue what do with this so just shouting it into the void for others

And I realized it would fit perfectly into this AU!

So! We've got an Ichigo who, through a series of events, has ended up on her own in Rukongai with two little sisters to raise and care for.

All three of them need food to various degrees as well as shelter but even with Ichigo eating way less than she needs to be on the regular and spending more than one night out under the stars while she works to bring in money, it never seems to be enough.

But Ichigo is strong and her power seems to only grow with every fight, with every hardship she overcomes. She is an uncharted ocean of reiryoku who spends her days and nights with her teeth gritted, trying desperately to keep her power from leaking out, from alerting anyone to the truth of her abilities.

It is, in fact, what had caused the final fallout between her and Isshin.

Isshin had wanted her to submit herself to the fate of becoming a Shinigami but Ichigo ... Ichigo, for all that she could hold her own in a fight and often enjoyed it, had only wanted peace. Had only wanted a life of her own with her sisters safe at her side and, perhaps, one day something warm and sweet to call her own.

Isshin had disagreed.

Ichigo had been forced to insist.

And now her life has become a string of fights with only brief moments of peace between them. Has become this delicate balance between staying hidden and pushing herself desperately to become stronger and stronger because the twins need her to be the best she possibly can be.

So she hunts hollows, tracks down thieves, does construction, lifts and carries freight, fights gangs and petty criminals, and deals with all of the darkness that the Shinigami all too often overlook, safe as they are in their glorious fortress. Anything and everything she can do to provide for the girls.

She gains a bit of a reputation in the outer districts as someone to call on when the Shinigami will not help. And so, in the end, no matter how much the idea makes Ichigo's teeth itch, she becomes some bastardized form of substitute Shinigami in all but name and rank.

But at least she stays hidden from the powers that matter and she holds onto that last bit of freedom with ragged hands.

It gets a little easier when Yuzu and Karin grow a little older, able to be trusted with a neighbor or on their own for a few hours here and there and freeing up Ichigo to find even more work.

It's not perfect but it's a life, one Ichigo is almost proud of even.

So, of course, a Shinigami has to ruin it all.

Ichigo is carting crates at a bakery closer to Seireitei than she normally likes to get. She makes an exception for this place because the woman who runs it doesn't mind watching the twins and has a habit of plying them with treats throughout the day as Ichigo works.

She senses the trouble first, hears it second, and has to wait precious seconds before it comes into her sight range.

A Shinigami. A captain too from the looks of his clothes.

Ichigo grits her teeth, grabs at her reiryoku with all her strength, and vows to keep her head down.

Which means, of course, that the Shinigami, a handful of his followers trailing behind him, heads directly for her.

Or, to be more accurate, the shop she's working at.

He's loud, boarish in appearance as well as attitude, but the way he shoves rudely past Ichigo without sparing her a glance is actually preferable.

His rudeness to the shopkeeper is more grating but Ichigo simply shoulders another crate and goes about her business.

But then ,,,,

"Brat," Ichigo hears the Shinigami hiss.

And that word sets the hair on the back of her neck on end.

She half turns just in time to see the Shinigami draw back one massive hand, obviously intent on striking someone down.

Ichigo has enough time to register just what, who, has drawn his ire before her mind blanks and her body moves without her consent.

One second she's standing across the shop, a crate on her shoulder and another at her feet, and in the next she's standing in front of the Shinigami, one arm raised to catch him by the wrist, Zangetsu settled firmly in her free hand as easily as breathing and Karin cowering behind her.

"Touch her," Ichigo says flatly, "and it'll be the last thing you do."

A hush falls over the entire area, even the Shinigami's followers go completely silent as they straighten to attention.

"Is that a challenge, little girl?" The captain sneers as he jerks his arm free.

"It's a fact," Ichigo tells him simply, not bothering to try and stop him. Because it is. Peace might have been Ichigo's dream but there is nothing and no one she would not destroy to keep what is hers safe. "But if you want to take it as a challenge I've got no problem making sure you learn the lesson."

The captain laughs, his followers laugh, and Ichigo can't help the way her mouth curls up just a bit at the corners in a snarl.

"I am Kenpachi Kiganjo," the captain, Kenpachi, announces then, one hand already reaching for the zanpakuto on his belt, "and you are going to die."

"Well," Ichigo says, a hand gesture sending Karin scurrying away with Yuzu to hide behind the counter as she tightens her grip on Zangetsu's hilt, "you're welcome to try but I'm warning you now, I've got shit to do later so I'd rather make this quick."

~~~

The shockwave from their clash blows the windows out of the shop but Ichigo can't focus on that at the moment.

~~~

The fight is long and brutal and ends with far more blood than she enjoys.

Ichigo has no interest in killing this Kenpachi Kiganjo, has no interest in the trouble that killing a Shinigami-taicho will doubtlessly bring her.

But he leaves her with no choice.

He refuses to stay down, refuses to accept defeat gracefully.

And the one time Ichigo tries to end the fight and walk away, the one time she tries to show him some degree of mercy, he turns his attention towards the twins yet again, mouth spewing out filth.

So Ichigo does the only thing her instincts and her nature will allow her to do to someone who would speak of what is hers in such a manner.

She puts Zangetsu cleanly through his spine.

He's dead before he realizes she's struck.

Again silence takes over the street.

And again Ichigo pays it no mind.

Instead, she cleans Zangetsu's blade and turns her back on the rapidly cooling corpse.

A long low whistle has the twins poking their heads out of their hiding places, their screams of "Ichi-nee" filling the air as they run to her side.

With the girls wrapped firmly in her arms and all of her efforts to fly beneath the radar thoroughly ruined, Ichigo doesn't bother to pay any attention to any of the other Shinigami who have begun to clamor for her attention.

Instead, she takes a deep breath and steps.

~~~

It doesn't end there of course. Ichigo's luck isn't that good.

Now she's being hunted.

Shinigami seem to be around every corner, her description on all of their lips.

Some manage to find her but she leaves them all beaten and bloodied but alive in a pile behind her.

Instead of the regular beatings discouraging them it only seems to make them more eager, more determined to get closer to her.

It takes months before she sticks around long enough to listen to any of them talk.

To be more accurate they start to ambush her in groups and scream at her as she's busy fighting.

When she finally gets the majority of what they've been trying to tell her, Ichigo just thinks they're all even more ridiculous than before.

There's no way she's going with them back to the Seireitei because there's no way she is a taicho now. She wants nothing to do with Shinigami and she didn't even go to the Academy, which is a fact that makes them all seem even more rapturously delighted for some reason.

Only they don't relent. Weeks more pass and they keep coming, day after endless day. They interfere with her attempts to find work, scaring off any who would hire her and not leaving her in peace long enough for her to hunt Hollows or gang members.

In the end it's the one called Ichinose, a tall and stoic Shinigami, who manages to convince Ichigo to at least visit Seireitei. It is, he says, the only way she might be able to get herself out of the situation she's found herself in.

So, with the twins tucked somewhere safely out of sight, Ichigo goes.

Ichinose is, thankfully, quiet and polite company for the entire trip. Though the speed they move at might also have something to do with that. Ichigo does not, after all, have the better part of a month free to make the trip to and from the inner parts of Seireitei. Haste is necessary.

She doesn't like the whispers or the way people stare at her in her simple and obviously threadbare clothes. Doesn't like any of it at all. But this is her only real option. The Shinigami will not leave her alone and she needs them gone more than she needs to avoid Seireitei at the moment. If this trip will do that then no amount of whispers and stares will stop her.

Ichinose is leading her through a large courtyard when someone finally stops them.

"Oh," a voice, warm and husky and filled with a lazy kind of cheer, calls out then, "who's this little beauty, Ichinose? Don't tell me you're taking her back to the 11th. Haven't seen Kenpachi in a while but she'd be wasted on him."

Ichigo feels the way a scowl immediately crawls its way across her face even as she turns to face the speaker.

"Such a mean expression," the man, tall and handsome in a disheveled sort of way beneath his straw hat and ridiculous pink kimono, practically purrs at her. "It doesn't suit you, little flower. Bet I could make you smile a lot better than Kenpachi ever could."

Frazzled and irritated, run ragged by the stress of the past few months, Ichigo reacts instinctively when he reaches out to grab her hand.

Her fist buries itself right in his smug face and he folds like his strings have been cut.

"Ah," Ichinose speaks up from her side then only to send ice trailing down Ichigo's spine with what he says next.

"I'd like to introduce Kenpachi Ichigo," Ichinose says, "our new 11th Division taicho. I've brought her to tour her new Division."

"Hey," Ichigo cuts in then, rounding on Ichinose with her eyes narrowed sharply, "I thought you said I could get out of this mess if I came here."

"I lied," Ichinose says placidly, barreling on before Ichigo can erupt at him, "Kenpachi-taicho, please meet Kyoraku-taicho, captain of the 8th Division."

Ichigo freezes and turns slowly to stare down at the man whose nose she's very clearly broken. The second Shinigami-taicho she's laid hands on in the past few months after years of avoiding any trace of them.

And in that moment all she can think is

"Are all the taicho here such assholes or am I just special?"

[fan-fantasies]

What a Fool (P.2)

A/N: hey guys! I just wanted to take a moment and ask a favor. I would be honored if you guys would reblog this series or comment on it. The likes make me happy too but I was super excited for this series and it didn’t get the reception I was expecting. I would just like it to reach more people. Thanks for reading!

Warnings: sexually suggestive content, swearing, terrible writing

Pairing: mostly Finan x reader this part

Masterlist

Part One // Part Three

————————————

Uhtred decided to travel back to Winchester for the time being so his men could rest and enjoy themselves. There was peace for a time so he did not see why he should deny them some simple joys.

Once you arrived, everyone went straight to the ale house. You went to sit on the end up Finan pulled you down between him and Osferth. Sihtric scowled at him but you missed it.

“So, maybe we should save some coin and share a room?” Finan suggested to you.

“So I can be kicked out at the first sign of a willing whore who wants to bed you? No thank you,” you laughed.

“I am practicing chastity, lady!” He said. Everyone at the table burst into laughter. “I’m insulted!”

“And I’m the pope,” Osferth said.

“Maybe I’m saving myself for the right woman,” he said, looking directly at you. Something about the look in his eyes sent a shiver down your spine. You were not blind and knew that Finan was handsome, many women had thought so. You also knew he was a good man and a great warrior. The two of you flirted quite often but neither of you cared enough to take it further. Perhaps that was changing.

You all settled into comfortable conversation and the food was actually decent. Finan kept an arm around your waist, holding you close to him. You didn’t think too much of it, as you were all pretty affectionate with one another. You leaned into his side as you listened to different stories being told.

“Have you thought more about my offer?” Finan asked quietly, his closeness making your whole body warm.

“I don’t see why we couldn’t save some coin,” you replied.”

“I’ll make sure you have the comfiest bed in Wessex, my lady,” he chuckled.

“I’m holding you to that,” you said. You felt like someone was staring a hole through your head so you looked up, Sihtric shooting daggers with his eyes. His gaze was fixed upon Finan and his look softened when he looked at you. He seemed almost pained and you were confused.

The night ended rather uneventfully, everyone venturing off on their own. You left Finan to get the room, waiting by the stairs.

“Up and last door on the left. Best view in town,” he winked.

“I’m pretty sure I have the best view right now,” you smirked.

“I can think of ways to make it better.” He stepped closer to you and your heart began to race. He paused only inches away from you. He leaned in and you bit your lip, nervous for what was to come. “Are ya gonna go up?”

“What? Oh, yeah!” You said, turning on your heel and running up the stairs. Finan followed behind leisurely, allowing you to reach the room first. You opened the door and saw that there was only one bed. “You’re sure this is the room you asked for?”

“Positive. Best view in town, best bed for my best girl.” He set his bag down next to the bed and began to take off his armor.

“Well you better not bring back any whores if we’re sharing a bed,” you told him coldly.

“I have no intention of having anyone but you in this bed,” he replied. By the time he was finished undressing, he was left shirtless with just his underpants on. You took off your top few layers, feeling comfortable around him. You had all been through so much together that seeing some skin never bothered any of you.

The bed was big enough for two, but Finan still laid pressed up against you. You could feel his hard muscles through the thin fabric of your nightdress against your back and it sent your mind spiraling. All of your innocent flirting and teasing touches had never amounted to anything before, but now might be your chance.

“I can practically hear ya thinkin’. Relax, would ya?” He chuckled.

“I’m relaxed,” you mumbled. His hands trailed up your back and started to massage your shoulders.

“You’re stiff as a board,” he said. You had to admit, it did feel good. You soon let yourself relax into his touch as he worked on your shoulders. His hands traveled lower, massaging your lower back as well. You accidentally let a moan slip out as you rocked your hips back into his, losing yourself in the pleasure of the moment. You swore you could feel a hardness pressed against your ass but before you could think more of it, his one hand moved to grip your hip, pulling you from your trance.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered sheepishly.

“No need for apologies. I just don’t want you to think I’m being indecent or trying to ruin your virtue,” he said. You had to laugh at that.

“What’s gotten into you, Finan?”

“Just trying to treat you the way you deserve to be treated is all,” he said. You rolled over to look at him, a playful glint in his eyes.

“Well my virtue was ruined when in fell in with your rowdy bunch so don’t go trying to protect it now,” you laughed.

“I don’t want to be indecent then,” he smirked.

“And if I want you to be?” You asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“Then I’d be happy to oblige, but I need you to tell me what you want.” His face inched closer to yours and you could feel his beard tickling your face. You clenched your thighs together to relieve some of the pressure building.

“Finan, I-”

“Wake up! Uhtred needs us!” You both jumped at the sudden knocking on the door and yelling. You recognized Sihtric’s voice.

“It is the middle of the night!” Finan yelled back.

“And Uhtred needs us!” Finan looked absolutely furious. Sihtric continued to bang on the door, earning angry shouts from other guests.

You sighed and climbed from the bed, throwing your clothes back on quickly. Finan followed suit and you both ran to the door.

“What’s wrong?” You asked.

“Something about a fight and he said he wants Finan to find him and you and I should go find the man he was fighting.” Finan glared at the young Dane, knowing exactly what he was up to.

“How are we supposed to know who it was he was fighting?” He didn’t answer. “Sihtric, how are we to know?”

“How are we to know there was even a fight to begin with?” Finan questioned. You looked between the two men who were staring daggers at one another.

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” They both answered far too quickly.

“Sihtric, was there a fight? Does Uhtred actually need us?”

“It was a test, my lady, to make sure you’re always prepared.”

“Seriously? You men will be the death of me.” You stomped back to your room and closed the door behind you.

“That was dirty,” Finan chuckled darkly.

“No one said we had to play fair,” Sihtric said. “You’re trying to steal my woman, of course I’m going to do whatever I can to win.”

“She was about to be my woman before you interrupted us.” Finan opened the door and turned around. “I’d cover my ears if I were you, I can be a screamer.”

Finan closed the door on the rather pissed-looking Dane. He began to strip again but stopped when he noticed you seemed to be asleep. He took off his shirt and crawled into bed.

“(Y/N)? You awake?” He asked. No response came. He sighed and settled next to you. You waited for his breathing to even out before you opened your eyes. You looked at him peacefully sleeping beside you.

You wanted him, man, did you want him. But something in you made you hesitate. You were certain he’d be a good hump, but what if that made things different? Different with him and different with your group? Then your mind went to Sihtric. Was it fate that he interrupted you at that moment? Perhaps it was a sign- but a sign of what?

Sleep was not easy to come by that night between the handsome Irishman snoring loudly beside you and the thoughts screaming even louder in your mind.

The Last Kingdom Taglist: @cornervase @camillabrady @moldy-khunt @stray-bi-kids

[arosesstorm]

colin bridgerton serie 

ep seven

words count: 2.4k            fem reader! x Colin Bridgerton

warning: friends to lovers trope

summary: y/n Dayton and Colin Bridgerton were friends and they swore they'd always be but it takes a great deal of bravery to love someone, more to keep loving them when it hurts the most.

English is not my first language loves, trying my best, enjoy :)

Knocks on her door distracted her from her reading.

"Come in" she mumbled, her hand resting on the page she was just reading as her mother popped her head inside. 

"Am I disturbing you?", y/n softly sighed, "no, come in". 

There were moments when she just needed peace, little breaths in a day full of expectations.

Reading had been her escape for as long as she could remember and people around her knew that when she had a book in hand, she was just longing for a quick escape. 

Her father knew, her mother knew, along with her little brother and Colin…

Y/n’s mother gently sat close to her on the couch, her dress graciously moving with her. 

She was holding a piece of paper in her hands as she looked at y/n. 

"Dear.." She looked to the ground, hardly finding the words. 

"Is everything alright mama?" 

The woman quickly looked up into her daughter’s eyes. 

"I gotta ask you dear" her expression hard "is everything alright with mr Bridgerton?" 

Taken by surprise by that question, y/n didn’t fail to be sarcastic: "which one? You’ll have to be a bit more specific mama", another thing she must have taken from Colin, quick remarks.

"Y/n…"

The girl sighed loudly, "We are not so close anymore" she admitted as her mother smiled softly. 

"Oh dear, you've grown attached to him, haven’t you?".

But she needed no answer as y/n looked outside the window, the faint shadow of pain coloring her face. 

The woman put her hand on her daughter’s knee, reassuringly, "It isn’t something you can simply decide not to feel anymore", her eyes shooting back to y/n’s face as she continued: "the strings that bind you, they can’t be untied".

Her eyes suddenly passionate as she tighten the grip. 

"Oh dear girl, I know you expect and deserve the very best; but sometimes things don’t quite follow the narrative, sometimes we have to force a chapter or write it on our own".

A breath, as she handed y/n the paper she had been hiding behind her back. 

The girl’s eyes scanned the paper as she read first slowly, then in a breath: 

The one we love have the power to inflict us the greatest scar.

For what thing is more fragile…than the human heart?

The bond between man and bride is private, sacred.

But I must tell you, I have learned that a grave fraud is afoot; as if the Featheringtons did not have enough to be dealing with, Mrs Marina Thompson is with child and she has been from the very first day she arrived in our fair city.

Desperate times may call for desperate measures, but I will wager many will think her actions beyond the pale. 

Perhaps she thought it her only option or perhaps she knows no shame. 

But I ask you, can the ends ever justify such wretched means?

-From the Chronicles of Lady Whistledown  

The girl’s eyes fell off the paper, only a thought crossing her mind: "I have to go" she mumbled, "I have to go" she repeated more to herself than her mother. 

And in a second she was up, quickly running for the door and to the entrance, her brother questioning her alarming behavior to their mother. 

"I need a carriage, immediately, I am to be escorted to the Bridgerton’s household". 

It took a ten minute ride to get to the household, but as soon as she jumped down the ride, she was already knocking on the door, a newfound need to see him, to speak to him. 

Y/n had passed the last weeks changing plans, praying not to meet him or better, them, and now she was going mad trying to find that same man; life can be crazy and fate hilarious. 

It was mrs Wilson who opened the door, her voice stern "the family does not accept vis-" before her eyes fell on the girl: "mrs Dayton" she breathed. 

"I need to see him" y/n pleaded, which seemed to work since the woman opened the doors fully: "please come in". 

Lady Bridgerton was at the entrance, walking quickly from one part of the room to the other when she spotted the visitor, feet stopping instantly. 

"Dear" she muttered, her eyes kind, y/n had this strange feeling like the woman had been expecting her to come.

The girl made a small bow, impatience betraying her good manners: "where is him?" She asked. 

The woman took a step forward, her hands finding y/n’s as she held them tight.

The smallest hint of compassion in her voice: "upstairs, in his room". 

It took so little to get there, her heart guiding her in a desperate run, but now that she was climbing up the stairs, her eyes searching for Colin’s room: the first on the left of the corridor on the right… now she was suddenly feeling anxious and overwhelmed. 

She knocked once, then twice, "I want to be alone" she heard, a voice so raspy and low she thought she had imagined it. 

There was no way she was backing up now, another knock and the door opened fully: "I said-".

His eyes fixed on her, as his voice dropped lower again: "y/n?". 

Colin’s eyes were red, hinting he had been crying; that austere, charmer of London had been crying. 

It pained y/n. 

His clothes were wrinkled and his hair not the ever so perfect styled. 

It took her no time, as she flew into his arms, holding tightly. 

As soon as the boy felt y/n’s body pressed to his, he gave up, arm wrapping her, his head hiding in the crook of her neck. 

He closed the door and guided her to his bed as he never let go of her embrace. 

"i’m so sorry" she whispered as she let go, falling to sit on his bed. 

It wouldn’t have been proper for a lady to be alone with a man, let alone in his room, on his bed, but y/n couldn’t care less at the moment, nor that she ever did when she was with Colin. 

Colin was sat in front of her as he held her hand tightly, his eyes those of someone who was trying his best not to cry. 

"I was a fool".

"You were not a fool! you believed yourself in love, you shouldn’t apologize for that" y/n whispered back, her fingers stroking his. 

The man half smiled, his eyes, even if red, were the clearest green she had ever seen. 

"I missed you" his voice cracking as she hugged him again. 

Y/n didn’t know how she found herself with her back against the headboard of Colin’s bed, his head on her lap as he was resting close to her, her fingers in his hair. 

After crying for hours, he seemed to have fallen asleep in that position, his arms securing her legs, keeping her close. 

There was something terribly intimate of being in that position with her best friend and even more heartbreaking to know she was comforting him because another girl broke his heart. 

As the hours passed, the sun gave his place to the moon, darkness surrounding the room, y/n could do nothing but stroke his hair, rock him to sleep.

Her arms felt tired and her heart too; she could do nothing in the complete silence, but realize, exhausted, terrified, that she loved him.

It was clear now, why she felt like it was not the moment for her to marry, let alone to fall in love; why she refused a handful of more than acceptable proposals, how she got so angry at him for taking that fateful step.

She loved him in a way she could never love anyone else and it broke her heart. 

It was midnight when she left his room, quietly jumping down the bed hoping not to wake him up. 

As soon as she closed the door to her back, she wanted to do nothing but cry, endlessly, for hours. 

Violet was still awake, a cup of hot tea in her hand as she portrayed the face of worry. 

As soon as she spotted y/n make her way down the stairs, she softly called her name. 

When the girl turned around she could not hide the tears that were framing her eyes, the pain that was dancing in them. 

"Oh dear" Violet came closer to her and she hugged the girl, she held her like she knew. 

It felt like Violet perceived her, understood her thoughts, shared them. 

After what felt like forever, Lady Bridgerton whispered: "I wondered who would have realized it first" her arms leaving y/n’s frame as she held her shoulders tightly: "I’m sorry it had to be you", an encouraging smile "I’m sorry it had to be this way". 

If y/n’s mother was right, if what really tied her to Colin was a string, If that was what love felt like, y/n never wanted to feel it again. 

The last dance of the season was hosted by the new duchess of Hastings, at their house in the countryside. 

Daphne was beyond excited for the upcoming ball; everything had been organized in the most detailed of ways. 

The whole mansion was dressed in white and silver silk, candles framed each window and a soft, warm light enlightened the dance floor. 

The events of the night prior danced in her head as y/n was waiting to be greeted by Daphne and her new husband. 

By the time she succeeded to meet the two, her friend warmly smiled at her, a nod to her husband as she muttered to the unmarried to follow her. 

Daphne took the girl away from the majestic view, as they made their way through the crowd. 

A few feet away from the little stage were violinists and pianists were playing their songs, the two girls met a door. 

It was hidden from the view; Daphne pushed rather ungracefully as she held y/n’s hand; "this way" she mumbled, making the two walk down a long corridor. 

Once they reached the end, they started climbing up the noisy stairs. 

When they reached the top y/n was breathless. 

The terrace were the two arrived was facing the floor were couples were already dancing. 

From that point of view, she could spot every and each person walking by, probably going unnoticed since the only light was coming from Daphne’s candles far away. 

"What is wrong, Daphne?" Y/n finally asked, looking back at her friend. 

Daphne reached towards the handrail, close to her. 

"This season did not went how we have imagined, did it?" A smile on her lips as y/n chuckled: "not quite at all" y/n replied, her heart was tired, her eyes too. 

"It has been a rough time, hasn’t it?", y/n just nodded. 

"Oh y/n" Daphne suddenly reached for her friend’s hands: "mama told me". 

Y/n’s soul felt tired too as she stared down at the ton "I’m screwed" was what left her lips. 

"Why are you saying this y/n-"

"I am done Daphne, finished, this is it for me." Y/n lushed out, :"I spent all my life getting to know a man while I never realized I was falling for him", her eyes left Daphne’s face as she searched for him in the crowd of people. 

"I spent all season dancing with strangers in hope to find him in them, I asked questions and refused proposals all because I was too blind to understand the reason behind it", she felt like crying "I behaved like a spoilt child, taking a grudge upon him just because he fell for someone who wasn’t me".

Her eyes went back to her friend: "this is not what I wanted to have, this is not the story I was dreaming about". 

Daphne shoot forward, her hands wrapping around her figure as she held y/n tight.

"If there is a thing this season has thought me" Daphne took a breath "is that things we want don’t arrive just how we expect them".

Their eyes met, as Daphne kept on talking: "You should tell him". 

The duchess held y/n’s figure tighter, "it’s Colin we’re talking about, the same boy you shared your deepest secrets with" a warm smile, "tell him". 

But Daphne was wrong, because as y/n was making her way back to the party, her feet guiding her towards the refreshment table, she couldn’t help but think that it was not her Colin, not anymore. 

In the mist of time, existed a moment were the two had been close, had been inseparable. 

But the blur of that same time made y/n realize the one who was standing in front of her was not a kid anymore, he was not her best friend, he was not her most trusted adviser, he was a man. 

A very good looking one too. 

"y/n" he breathed, shifting uncomfortably in his place. 

"Mr Bridgerton" the girl muttered, Colin handed her a glass of lemonade as his eyes fell to the floor.

"I must confess, I’m embarrassed" the boy mumbled, "you’ve seen me cry too, now you really have all the material for a perfect blackmail", his tone was playful, but y/n felt like being clear. 

"I would never"

"I know, that’s why I felt safe enough" was Colin’s answer. 

They shared some gazes, finally looking at each other’s in the eyes when:

"Colin I-" 

"Y/n I should-" 

Soft chuckles, "you first", y/n smiled kindly, she would have told him that night, that was it. 

"After everything that has happened I realized something" Colin breathed, his tone rather disconsolate.

Y/n’s eyes were shining with a light he never saw, but nonetheless, he kept rambling: 

"I’m to begin my tour, tomorrow morning, you know how much I longed to travel".

'Yes’ the girl thought, 'how we were planning to do it together'.

But she had to keep strong, her heart breaking under the weight of a one sided affection. 

"What did you wanna say?" Colin asked. 

Y/n forced a smile "nothing important, enjoy your tour". 

She placed the untouched drink back to the table as she turned around. 

No, if Colin wasn’t going to return her feelings she would have buried them. 

If the man she loved was not brave enough to love her back, she would have closed the book and started a new one. 

All she had to do was to go get those damn scissors. 

(here we are, season one is done, see you in season two <3)

mia

masterlist

ep six <- -> ep eight

© 2023 of Mia (arosesstorm). All Rights Reserved.

[vespersposts]

Sleepless

Hi lovelies 💝,

August means something to those who have an obsession crush like mine.

💙Let's all celebrate that nice Daiki's birthday together, hoping that sooner or later he will decide to move next door to me, or in my house directly. This story is self indulgent as hell, but when it comes down to him, even your serious author loses the plot. The story is pretty long so I decided to double split it, i think it'd be easy for the two-time reading.

📝 small side note: suffering from insomnia myself, I am well aware that the representation I have given is only useful for the purposes of the narrative, I hope it does not offend other nocturnal animals .

Happy birthday D! 💘

📮Comments, criticism, sharing and like are so appreciated!📮

Follow the #knbhousewarming or #housewarmingbyvesper to find all the entries, or just ask for a tag I’d be glad to add you.

Who’s gonna be next? ( 💜: He's HUGE!). If you prefer a different Knb boy, let me know!

Love always,

V.

💋PS: If any of you amazing authors would like to contribute with original work to this series, that would be a dream for me. Please send me the link and tag me so I won’t miss any stories, and use the #knbhousewarming , as the platform sometimes gets crazy.

💣PPS: I apologize in advance for any grammatical and/or spelling mistakes, English is not my first language (bear with me!).

➿Genre: fluff, slice of life, one shot.

🏡 Housewarming Masterlist��

New York, Brooklyn Heights

Sunday, 03.15 A.M (ET)

A starry June night.

It hadn't happened to you for so long that you'd almost forgotten about it. You had started to lose bits and pieces of yourself sneakily, little by little, during a busy work period where sleeping hours were the last thing on your mind. A mountain of photos to edit, which the editor of the glossy fashion magazine you worked for had adored, promoting you to art director just to piss your predecessor. You had accepted, not so much because you were dying to find new trouble, but so that you could afford that house, in which you had dreamed of living since childhood.

It wasn't even like the other times: you were functioning. You worked too well, you worked twice as hard, you had twice as many ideas, but unfortunately you also thought twice as much. Perhaps you had not noticed it, but it stood there and had waited for the worst possible moment to make itself known.

The only unimportant detail, this time around your insomnia seemed not to want to go away.

One week, and if you hadn't slept at least five hours in three days you would have had to swallow the holy pills.

That's why, at that ungodly hour, you had slipped on leggings and trainers, zipped up your jacket over your sports bra, tied your hair in a high ponytail and, trotting down the building's stairs, were about to do the only thing that had worked in the past: tire yourself to death.

Off season for him mainly meant enjoying life. 

That's why from October to April he called Cleveland home, but then the rest of the year he loved to spend it in Japan or in that flat that had been recommended to him, only a few weeks earlier, by an ex teammate. A city that looked like a district of elegant brownstone cottages, with a lovely tree-lined promenade along the East River, the same one along which the girl from flat 13 was probably headed.

"Going for a run in the darkest hours, how stupid! The night was for having fun, chatting, making love and eventually sleeping ” he had thought as he held the door and enjoyed your brief ritual exchange of 'Good morning / thank you / please be careful/ sleep tight'. 

He had never ventured to ask anything , not even the reason for your strange habit of spending every night that God sent on earth awake and alone in the big flat in front of his own, going out onto the terrace to gaze at the dark night. He perceived you as a shadow against the window light, a shadow that stretched and sometimes danced to music that he couldn't hear, a shadow that returned to the night when you turned off the flat lights, and that came back from the night when your silhouette was dimly lit by the light of a faint candle. The very fact that he knew nothing about you, that he understood nothing about you, intrigued him.  You were a nocturnal, wild and elusive animal and he was the only one who understood your rare nature. In his mind you were an assumption, a fascinating thought that he could not help but think about. A challenge, an exciting balancing act. Yet you had a boyfriend, so he was told by the lovely old woman who lived next door, whom you called 'Granny' , and for whom you gladly ran small errands. "An ordinary guy" the former opera singer had revealed to him, when she had subjected him to her personal entrance examination into the social life of the building. He had wasted so much time thinking about what kind of person might have attracted your attention that, ironically, for the first time in a long time it was he who was left alone for the night. 

The sky changes, and you see the lights go on in other houses, the curtains open, and the day of people who know how to sleep can begin. You ask your pod for some music and turn on your computer, but your eyes see only one thing. You read his name in the inbox and open the email, only to realize how loathsome he can still be.

 "I'll pick Grandma up at 11 a.m. Tight schedule. Make sure she has everything she needs and not just useless evening clothes." 

"Go and die " you type back, adding a smiley emoticon as in your best tradition. It's always like that with Elliott anyway. Scion of a banking cult, slick student at your own private school, brilliant manager of the main branch of the institution founded by an ancient  great-great-grandfather. You grew up elbow to elbow, he the only one able to tolerate your less than aristocratic origins, and you the only one able to handle his awful temper. A partnership cemented by the unconditional love you both had for that now elderly lady with a very tarnished memory, for whom you were both genuinely her beloved daughter's children.

You finish your tea, open the curtains and windows, so that the fresh dawn air enters the whole flat, hoping that it will wash away even that last shapeless thought. It's probably a side effect of sleep deprivation, your brain's way of getting the endorphins you deny it, but it's ridiculous that he makes you feel like a young girl on her first crush. You look towards his balcony, the window slightly open, the lights off, and you know he is sleeping, since you met him three hours ago. He was alone, but that boy was handling traffic in his house comparable to an airport terminal.

You smile at that innocent naughtiness of yours, which is only the result of the awareness that the relationship between you will remain formal. Grandma liked him, so it was common for her to invite him for tea or some fancy excuse. She would entartain him with anecdotes, or her fantasies, or a mixture of the two, and you would find him standing in front of you, tall and alluring every day; and every day you would notice a detail that  shatters your determination not to pay attention to him. If only there was a freaking summer league, or if only he had gone back to Japan for his holiday, you would have had some respite from that constant assault on your senses.  As it was meant to be, that day too could not pass without you finding him before your eyes for the umpteenth time, his charcoal shirt that couldn't look better on those perfect shoulders, his light trousers wrapped his toned legs, his enticing eyes following you around the room, now that you asked grandma permission to review her holiday suitcase. His loud laughter and his hands, those big, long hands of his, that had touched yours to deliver a glass of water, perhaps lingering longer than necessary, but more prosaically pandering to your anxiety, now that with the departure of the hostess,  your chances to meet him would drop.

When Elliott arrives, the situation becomes surreal.

"You should go to lunch together" suggests your childhood friend, after spending the first half hour of his visit telling Grandma the epic story of the Japanese basketball champion, who is conquering the NBA, gloating like a teen in front of a k-pop idol.

"You know I go to Poppa's for lunch on Sundays" you cut it short, hoping to silence him, but the banker who looks like a Vogue model, is having none of it.

"In that Bed-Stuy dump?" he snorts, looking at Daiki as if the latter might know something about the toponymy of the quarters.

"Elliott, I was born there, I'd appreciate it if you didn't call it a sewer" you take him back, under the embarrassed gaze of your host.

"It sucks even if you were born there! Besides, what the fuck are you doing at Poppa's, if you don't even like meat! You're not a fucking rat anymore!" fights that big son of a gun. You fold your arms across your chest and are about to send him to hell, but he grabs you close for a hug, and you give in.

"Do you really want to take Aomine to a place like that, sis ?" he asks you , just to provoke you again, as if he expects a thank you for setting you up on a date. You look at him, half-close your eyes, about to give your answer when his voice shushes you both.

"Im so in for it. I'd like to see something different. You're gonna buy me lunch in return, deal? " his voice was so deep and warm. You'd like to make an excuse and leave him in that room, but the only thing you make him leave at home, as a precaution, is his watch.

"I hope you're not the fussy type" your  voice comes to him out of the blue, shortly after you've taken a seat in a filthy underground car. 

"No, I wouldn't say that " he replies, noticing how the landscape changes rapidly: from the open space of your nice district you move on to large buildings all leaning against each other, shops with broken or worn out signs, dirty streets and people with empty eyes.

"You're probably thinking Elliott was right, but ..." you carry on, as if suddenly embarrassed.

"Not at all. I was actually wondering why you moved, if you love your old block so much " he asks, turning his eyes from the window to your own.

"Because Bed-Stuy had nothing to offer me, apart from Poppa's cooking " you sigh " Since I had good grades, they admitted me to Elliott's school, but you can imagine what it was like. I was "rat" for everyone except him. Actually, when I took this train from school and went back home, all I thought about was how much I wanted to leave, how much I wanted to live in the beautiful Brooklyn Heights too, where the houses had lots of rooms and a balcony, where there were people like Grandma and not drug dealers and criminals. I'm not in love with this area, but I owe a lot to it, that's why I go back there every Sunday " you admit, giving him a glance, and he feels you so close and fragile that he would hug you tight, but he knows that would be inappropriate, to say the least.

You get off the metro, and after a short walk you find yourself in front of a row of buildings all alike, dense like the cells of a beehive, closed around a sort of common space that probably should have been a recreational area equipped with facilities, but now only looks decadent, sad and rusty. He saw  groups of children playing haphazardly and cheerfully, kids with loud music watching you quizzically, elderly people raising their hands to wave at you, bullies making offers that fall on deaf ears, until you find yourself in a narrow, dark alley, right behind what must once have been a basketball court. Yet the entrance to the diner was on the main face of the building, as the arrow of the sign suggests. 

"Come, don't be afraid, looks bad but it's safe" you mock him gently, your hand reaching for his one, your fingers interlacing with his to reassure him, but the effect his body sends back is a wave of overwhelming desire that makes his blood boil in his ears and leaves him unable to articulate words. He runs the palm of his hand along your forearm, over your skin, so soft and smooth. You look at him, open your lips to tell something, but he has already lost the ability to understand. Skinship, attraction, risk, a lethal mixture is pumped through his veins at an unsustainable pace.  He is about to close his fingers around your elbow to pull you to him and take you, locking you against that cold brick wall, when a male voice roars your name and divides you.

Poppa is a giant with a contagious good temper and arrogant, hearty cooking, who immediately sets you up at the best table in the place, in the small green space at the end of the dark alley, just behind his kitchen. Your burger looks alive, judging by the amount of toppings and cheese it leaks, which is why you are teased by both of them, who over the years must have honed an exact technique for holding bread, meat and toppings together.

"It's not a guy who looks like him, Pops" you explain, making the man's eyes widen "I brought you the real deal!" you smile, taking a long sip of water. Now the man's attention shifts to you, because "He knew he had seen you somewhere before".

"That's me Sir. Aomine Daiki, the one who plays in Cleveland" you reply and see the man's eyes light up with joy. "Man! We are all crazy about you, you're a genius!" the man shouts, calling out to all his kitchen staff, so that they too can shake hands and take pictures with the man who scored an average of 22 points per game in the last championship. It starts a party, which soon involves the whole block and in which he seems completely at ease, so much so, that he willingly accepts to shoot a few rounds with a group of boys from the local team, raising the already torrid temperature considerably, when he takes off his shirt and asks you to keep it, completely unaware of the emotional tsunami that watching him play causes. If Daiki in grandma's kitchen is attractive, in his element he is the most sensual and exciting man walking on earth. The way he moves, his absolute mastery of his body, those bright eyes full of agonism and above all his smile so radiant and seductive, which he never fails to turn on you after every point scored.

"Awesome!" shouts the girl sit next to you on the bench.

To you it's not awe, it's crave.

That dangerous feeling does not leave you even when you return to the metro, when you shower in your flat only to knock on his door shortly afterwards, having agreed to have dinner with him, bewildered as you were by lust.

You find him exactly as you left, absorbed in a phone call with someone he likes as he laughs, but that's all you can understand as he speaks a fascinating but unfamiliar language to you, which makes his voice sound even deeper.

"Excuse me, bestfriends catchup" he smiles, as you reach to take two glasses from his hands, asking if he can get you water instead of the caffeinated drink he opens for himself.

"I can't sleep lately, so I'm trying to ... " you stop, because there is no need for him to know that embarrassing fact about you. He glances at you fondly, as if he really cares about your story.

"Yeah I mean, it's a period where I should also call someone special to relax" you cut in short, taking a sip of water.

“You can call him, I'm sure he'd love to be your hero! ” he suggests.

"Him who, though? Elliott?" you ask, as you follow him moving away from you to retrieve a set of flyers from the fridge.

"Your boyfriend" he says, leaning back against the kitchen counter.

"I don't have a boyfriend " you answer with undue urgency, figuring out shortly afterwards the genesis of that misunderstanding, as Grandma had muddled up Elliott's boyfriend as yours.

"Time to get one, if you don't want the situation to worsen! " he says, approaching you, taking advantage of your discomfort to mess up your hair, and leave the flyers in your hands, with the options from which you will have to choose your dinner. Then he finally goes to take a shower, smiling at you blushing at his soft tease.

A normal routine.

"For a couple " adds your brain, which has evidently lost all its best cells, and can't think of anything else. You sit on the chubby rough linen sofa in the big white living room, look at the dark marble of the fireplace, the high neoclassical walls, the windows with their thin curtains, close your eyes and lean your head , trying to avoid the storytelling of that absurd fantasy. Yet, all the naughty things you two could be busy doing on every surface of that huge house, are the only thoughts swirling around in your head. That sharp desire takes all your energy away, surely making you look pathetic in his eyes, actually used to see models, and not a vapid chick like you. You rub your face and take a deep breath, feeling a sudden saddness that makes your body heavy.

He quickly ran a towel through his hair, pulled on a white T-shirt, fastened his dark trousers and inhaled, because after that day, it had been a terrible idea to ask you to stay for dinner. He wasn't ready, and now what he had felt after your last conversation was haunting him, reverberating endlessly in his mind. He wanted to take care of you, he wanted to be him and no one else the mainstay of your life, and that was upsetting, because that was not the way he was. He was careless, free, unattached. Yet he would not have tolerated you perceiving him that way. He wanted to be infallible in your eyes. He wanted to be the one, unrepeatable, incomparable, irreplaceable.

And then he wanted to have you. He wanted to have you so badly.

He smiled because on the large sofa in the living room you looked so tiny, all curled up on one of the large linen cushions, one bare foot on the edge of the furniture, your small hand beside your sleeping face, your soft breathing , your hair spread over your shoulders left bare by the pretty blue dress you were wearing.

Too damn cute.

He dimmed the lights in the room until they went out, leaving only the pale reading light on, retrieved a blanket, but stopped shortly after because a sudden flick of your eyelids caught his attention. 

"Dai-ki," you tell him with a sigh, probably still in dreamland, as you can't keep your eyes open. You smile as he approaches and slowly strokes your head, running his fingers through your hair and over the nape of your neck, sitting on the rug at the foot of the sofa so he can see you.

" I'm here" he says gently to your sleeping self, resuming his slow, sweet caress.

"Speak to me, tell me something in your language, anything " you call him out in a smooth voice, so innocent but with a hint of need that immediately roused all his senses

"Daisuki na, oyasumi nasai. Yoku nemureru to iine." (*) he indulges you idly, more to himself, thinking that you may have already caught up on your sleep, so beautiful and cuddly that those words come out naturally, as if he is breathing.

"Your voice is so sultry , it gives me chills " you murmur, blinking a little, your soft lips curving upwards.

"Chills?" he asks back, amused.

"Anything about you is so damn attractive, do you have any idea how tiring it is to resist ? " you admit, laughing quietly at your own boldness, turning towards him, so close you can feel his scent. He smiles at you, bringing your forehead into contact with his. You open your eyes and you feel your body slightly shiver , when he demands your undivided attention, pressing his thumb against your lower lip as he whispers those words.

"Then don't"

He closes the distance between you, working his way over you, locking his eyes in yours, making you sigh. His lips join yours with a light touch, that immediately deepens. He smiles against your lips, his tongue plays with yours, his voice claims you with a sensual moan to which you immediately surrend, as you do not want him to miss anything about you. You smile just to catch your breath, and kiss him back wholeheartedly. His eyes close ever so slightly after yours, allowing him to lose himself completely in your warmth.

It hadn't happened to you for so long that you had almost forgotten. You had forgotten what it was like to wake up in the house of someone who smiled at you, while you were having breakfast on the terrace of his flat, who stole your food, teasing you because you had fallen asleep like a stone on his sofa. A funny, handsome man with a childlike soul who, only a few days earlier , you had hoped would spend the off season light years away from you, but who now, leaning next to you on the railing of his flat, already seemed too far away.

(*): Hopefully it's the correct form for "Goodnight, my love. I hope you sleep well"

[cinnamonest]

Zhongli (Genshin Impact) - Yandere Profile

This man's voice has a POWER over me I SWEAR

tws: yandere, mentions of n/sfw

tws (under the cut): very ddlg-esque vibes, sorta? infantilization, noncon

I'm sorry I get such strong daddy vibes it unintentionally went in this direction, hope that isn't too bad lmao

I’m working on all the prompts I’ve gotten in! I’ve gotten a few so I’ll be working on those.

----------

What are they generally like? Lucid, aware? Obsessive? How do they behave?

He's one that might be likely to misunderstand his feelings at first, think that he sees himself as a mentor or maybe even an authority figure, someone to guide you and teach you and serve as a dependable partner to your travels. As time goes on, and he begins to recognize how utterly flustered he gets around you, he's forced to acknowledge the actual feelings he has.

While some yanderes with a slight aloofness or pride to them get worse when in love, such as Childe or Kaeya, his drops completely. You bring out a softer side of him, really, one that's protective and tender and loving, so very loving, wanting to be around you, with you. He's certainly an obsessive, protective type, ultimately allowing his protective nature to get the better of him as he demands to know everything you've done, account for your location at every moment, constantly keep track of your habits, inquire about very personal details of your life. If he realizes you're bothered by it, he might draw back a bit, but he's convinced that that's just your perception, that it's necessary, truly, and not at all unusual.

Pet names. Particularly fond of love, darling, and angel. Sweet things that represent what you mean to him -- something precious, something to represent his adoration and idolization.

The primary form of delusion comes from a perception of you. He's obsessive, and idolizes you to an extent. He perceives you as pure, innocent, angelic. The thing is, this applies regardless of whether or not you actually are. If you are, it will solidify the idea, but even if you're not, he will find a way to see you so, anyway. No matter how wise you are, no, you're naive. No matter how capable you are, no, you're weak and fragile. No matter how experienced you may be, no, you're pure. He can always keep this delusion running by bringing into account age and comparison - you'll never be as strong as him, so you might as well be frail and weak. You'll never have lived as long as him, so really, do you think there's that much difference between you and a child, when compared to someone like himself?

How likely are they to kidnap their darling? How quickly will they do so?

Actually highly likely, and pretty quickly. As he observes you, it becomes very clear to him how very fragile you are, how naive you are, you are quite literally too pure, too angelic, to be living in this world with such beings as humans. Fragile, beautiful little things have a place where they belong - protected. Where do we put fragile, beautiful things? We put them behind glass, behind ropes, in pretty cages, in secluded rooms. It's only natural that you, too, need a similar environment.

He's one of the ones that will... Elegantly kidnap you, as odd as it sounds. He's not a brute that would do something horrendous like knocking you out or drugging you, no, he'll find an excuse for you to come to his abode, invite you in, and you'll walk in none the wiser. Only after your in, and the doors close, does he guide you to your new room, calmly explaining that he's come to the realization that you're too fragile to continue your journey, and ought to simply give up on your travels. He knows you'll be upset at first. Like a child being denied, you'll get pouty, moody, you might cry, you might lash out at him. It's predictable. He'll dry your eyes and calm you down, brushing off any harsh words you may have, holding your wrists in his hands when you try to push him away, softly reassuring you that it will all be alright, that you're safe now, and you'll learn to accept this with time.

How difficult is it to escape from them? How do they keep you restrained? How do they deal with attempted escape? 

He would want something... elaborate. He's a man with taste for the most beautiful of things, including yourself, and he won't settle for something as simple as a chain or ropes. No, that would be too simple and brutish, and you, one of the finest things in his life, deserve something equally beautiful and delicate.

He's one of the ones that would go to a great deal of preparation for your arrival. He'd have a room prepared just for you, very ornate, beautifully tailored to you -- the walls your favorite color, the bed made of the same material as your old one, and the whole room completely filled with things you're certain you never even told him you liked. Clothes that fit perfectly to your body. It's frightening how perfect it is, because you know he had to go out of his way to acquire the information to achieve such perfection, but you have no idea how.

Everything about it elegant and detailed, right down to the series of ornate locks on the door. They're some of the sturdiest available, made with essentially unbreakable metal alloys and the most intricate lock systems to date. The windows don't open, and he'd certainly find some way to ensure escape through them isn't an option -- perhaps metal bars, perhaps an unbreakable glass substitute, perhaps merely locating your new home right on the edge of one of Liyue's most beautiful mountains, so that if you were to go out the window you'd plummet to the earth below. He's a bit delusional, but he's not stupid, and he will think through every possibility. Every little detail he needs to keep you safe and confined.

He's certain that, perfect as it is, this room is all you will ever need to be happy. Should you desire anything else, he can bring it to you. You'll never have to leave.

So it goes without saying that it would be exceptionally difficult to escape him. You'd have to find a way through the locks, for which your best bet would be to get some hair pins or tiny writing utensils. Even if you managed it, though, which would frankly be a very difficult feat, you'll have to deal with staying free. Zhongli has ties to the people of Liyue as a whole, and needless to say, he has eyes everywhere. You can't risk appearing in the harbor area, there will be far too many people who would immediately report you, and you'd just be walking right to him anyhow. The surrounding areas also have ties to him, so you'd want to try and reach Mondstadt, as far as it is, which is a difficult travel by foot all alone. You won't get far. He's faster, he's wiser, and he will find you long before you could ever hope to make it there.

However, he's not quite as angry as some yanderes would be about it. He doesn't take your escape personally, no, he blames himself, only calculating his own mistakes as to how it happened. He sees you as something like... a little runaway pet, so naive and dull that you don't know any better than to go wandering off. Or perhaps like a child, just sheepishly curious and wanting to explore, not knowing the dangers of the world. Or, perhaps...

"I haven't been giving you enough attention, have I? That's why you pulled this little act of rebellion... you're hurt by my negligence and wanted to be reassured of my care for you. I'm so sorry... I understand now, love. This was my fault. I've been so caught up with work... I'll delegate some tasks to my workers, and I'll be able to spend more time with you from now on, alright? Don't worry, I'm not angry, I'll take full responsibility. I'll be sure to make it up to you... now, let's go home."

How easy are they to trick, deceive, or manipulate?

Much like Childe or Venti or anyone who has been around as long as he has, you really don't stand a chance. He's an incredibly perceptive man. There's not much to say on the matter, as any attempts will be quickly shut down.

He'd find it amusing, really. Like a child trying to lie, but the evidence is all over their face and hands - it's that obvious to him. It's cute enough that he almost hates having to discipline you for it, but, you have to learn.

How lenient are they? What privileges can you have, and what will you be denied?

He wants his little angel to be safe - and unfortunately, you, being so naive and empty headed, don't always know what's best for you. He knows rules can be hard to follow perfectly, but they're there to keep you safe.

Extremely strict, will want to monitor every moment of your life, every little movement you take, and will insist on watching over you in every task. He'll pick out everything you wear, everything you eat.

Occasionally, if you ask very sweetly, he may take you out for walks in Liyue. Honestly, he'd be lying if he said he didn't enjoy taking you to what he knows are the finest locations, shops with the highest level of craftsmanship, restaurants with a high price tag and reputable food. He enjoys showing off his refined tastes and discerning selective abilities. And honestly? There's a certain... Powerful feeling to knowing you're made aware of the costs when he makes high purchases in front of you... even if you don't realize he's not always actually the one paying for it, or that he forgot mora again but promises the owner to pay later - but he'll make sure you don't know that. You hear the numbers, and your eyebrows raise, your eyes widen. You'd nearly faint if that total was on your responsibility, and he knows that. Which is why he'll simply smile at you, and tell you you're worth every last Mora. He'll buy you nearly anything you may desire. It seems like leniency, but in reality, it's his subtle way of locking control and dependency over you, making you respect him, making you love him.

"Don't worry, love. It's not a lot... Not to me, at least. Even if it were, my angel only deserves the best, no?"

What kind of rules do they have? What kind of punishment would they use?

Oh dear. Again, he's very strict, and wants to monitor everything you do, every little aspect of your life. He decides what you eat, portioning your meals to make sure you're eating enough, he worries about you going hungry during your travels, but luckily you'll never have to worry about that again. If you have a sweet tooth, he'll sigh and worry about your teeth and health, but he'll make sure to account for a little bit of sugar in your day, and will even pick up little treats from some of the most reputable places in Liyue.

He picks out clothes for you with each day. They're not... Normal clothes, per se. Certainly not what you'd normally wear on your travels. And it's not like anyone will see you except him - which is exactly why you'll have clothes he would never want anyone else to see you in. Frilly, lacey things, somehow both highly sexualized but also incredibly infantile, soft pinks, baby blues, gentle off-whites. They accentuate the curves of your body so perfectly, while just barely letting him see the parts of you normally kept hidden.

You'll have a schedule - a bath time, a bedtime, a wake-up time. He's weak to your requests, though, and may let you stay up a little late every now and then, or sleep in just a bit, if you make that soft pouting face and beg. He'll insist on bathing you, dressing you, so that you don't have to - and can't even if you wanted to - lift a finger even to wash yourself or put your clothes on.

He has a set of rules for you, very simple ones he hopes you can easily follow. No trying to leave. No doing anything dangerous. No talking to strangers when you go out. You must hold his hand whenever you're walking together, don't go wandering off.

He'll feel ashamed of the thought for a while, but eventually he'll cave and give into the desire, no, the security precaution, of a nice little collar for you. It's not too embarrassing, no, he went out of his way to find one that was delicate, almost like a necklace, made with fine materials, the engraving only visible up close. If you look closely, though, it clearly bears his name.

Breaking the rules is expected, he anticipates it. You're not the brightest, he might even view it as a mistake. A benefit is that you can easily pass it off as simply forgotten, or an accident. Hence, he's not too harsh - normally. He'll sigh, forgive you, and pat your head, contemplating how to prevent your access in the future.

Perhaps you wriggled out of his hand and ran off while walking? You were just excited, distracted, like a child. He might be able to procure a small leash, one that wouldn't be immediately obvious or embarrassing, to attach to your collar. Perhaps some cuff-like links to latch your arm to his.

You forgot the rule about not handling the kitchen knives and cut yourself? He'll have to get some kind of lock and simply keep them safely away from you. No big deal. Any measures are worth your safety.

If you push the limits, or have a defiant attitude, he might reach the point of punishment. As for not-unwholesome things, this would usually include taking away privileges, such as walks or sweets, but overall, punishment will mostly come in more impure forms.

How do they deal with rivals, or perceived rivals? Will they get rid of them? Will they kill them themselves, or find another way?

Not too much to say here - he has connections. He doesn't need to dirty his own hands. For all his supposed humility, if he truly dislikes someone, they're no more significant than an insect to him. He has no reservations about ridding the world of people who, in his mind, are obviously trying to deceive you, abuse you, corrupt you.

Thankfully, he is very capable of keeping a neutral face, even when he feels laughter building up. It would probably look strange if he were smiling over the newest body to come into his parlor.

How easy is it to make them mad? What does their anger look like?

It's a slow buildup. He views restraint as a virtue, and looks down upon those who lack control over their own tempers. He's a man who strives to meet his own standards of character, and that very much applies to self control and ability to maintain a controlled demeanor, even when he feels a bit of frustration due to you being intentionally and deliberately defiant.

It's his responsibility to be a good role model for you and make sure you understand how to behave. However, in the end, he's very keen on properness and rules. If you have a tendency towards brattiness and pushing your limits, you may drive him to a boiling point.

However, even when expressing his anger, he's remarkably controlled. It's very mature, really. Nonetheless, he will have you shivering and tearful with his voice alone, booming with that depth that reverberates off the walls, that vibrates against your very core. His true anger is one that can strike fear even in the most courageous individuals - he's terrifying when he wants to be, fierce and intimidating, a sort of power just eminates from him.

Nonetheless, it's quick, he calms down very quickly, wipes the tears from your eyes, and sighs.

"I do hate having to be firm with you... but I can't have you thinking you can just act however you want. You understand that, don't you?"

So they see you as above them, beneath them, or equal to them?

Both? It's difficult to describe. You're an angel to him. You're the finest work of art, the most intricate creation, the kind of person whose body and likeness deserves to be preserved in art and tradition, one of those women who should be renowned for beauty even centuries long after you're gone from the earth. It's almost goddess-like. At the same time, there's a beautiful, tragic duality to your essence, he thinks. A fragility and a dependency that leaves you in need, but an inherent status of perfection that makes you deserve the utmost perfect of care. You need to be coddled, cared for, protected, but you deserve it. Like a deity incarnated into a mere fragile human form, a queen that needs support to retain her grace.

Unlike some, he doesn't view his care and protection as some kind of favor that should be repaid with your gratitude, no, really, he is grateful that he is the one who is even deserving of being your caretaker, your provider, your lover.

Even if he is the one who determined that he deserves that role.

How determined are they for you to love them? How hard will they try to make it happen? Or are they content just having you?

He's convinced that he can show you that he is your protector, your lover, that it's fate itself that has locked you together, not just his own will.

And he is, above all else, patient. One of the most patient you could encounter. You think a year is a long time? It's nothing to him. A century for you? More than a lifetime. For him? Nothing. He can and will wait, as long as it takes, and he will never falter in his continual care. He'll remind you frequently, he'll shower you in affection, but if you don't return it? It's not that bad. He has all the time in the world to fix you.

Bonus: Is there anything that makes them unique, in comparison to other yanderes?

Moraless Sugar daddy

But in all seriousness, he is definitely of the gift-giving love language. He sees beautiful things, and beautiful things make him think of you! It's sweet, he thinks. So many little things he sees throughout his day make him think of you, and he has to have all of them, see your face when he gives them to you. He likes making you happy, for one, but he'd be lying if he said there wasn't a sort of satisfactory pride he gets from the power dynamic of it all. He wants to be the sole source of provision in your life, he wants your dependency.

If we're talking prior to the events of the game, it will be even more extreme. He treats it like it's truly nothing, throwing around massive purchases, seemingly as if he's not thinking about it at all. But he is - rest assured, he's taking it into consideration, at least, that is, how it will affect your attitude and perception of him.

General perverseness: how sexual of a person are they? What’s their drive like? How touchy do they get? Do they have any reservations about sexuality?

On the reserved side. He'd never conduct himself improperly in public, of course. It's out of the question. He cares about proper behavior and public image, and he'd never behave in a vulgar manner.

Even in private, he's certainly one of the ones that struggles with a certain guilt. To some degree, he would feel like you're so innocent and pure that he doesn't want to corrupt you. He goes through stages. First, he'll lie to himself, telling himself that the feelings he has for you are simply protective, platonic, a natural sense of responsibility for you. That becomes more and more difficult to convince himself of, the more excited he becomes around you, the more he finds his eyes drawn to whatever bits of skin are exposed on your body, finding himself drifting off to impure thoughts, trying to push them away. 

Second, once he's forced to acknowledge the true nature of these feelings, he'll simply practice restraint, something he's rather good at in this area. He tries, he really does. He tells himself he can't do something so impure, that it would violate you, that he should be ashamed of himself for it. It becomes more and more and more difficult to restrain himself with time, the feelings rising and the thoughts become more difficult to push away, eventually entertaining the fantasies in his head in an attempt to rid himself of the urge in real life. It doesn't work, no, it only makes the urges worse, and he can't be around you without his body nearly commanding him to do something. And finally, he'll take a different stance entirely, telling himself that, no, it's not going to corrupt you, rather, it's taking care of you. If he really wants to love you, really wants to care for all of your needs, then surely that would include your physical needs, and therefore, really, it would be wrong of him not to help you.

As that shift in viewpoints goes on, he'll become more and more bold, hands lingering just a little longer, face coming just a little closer. It's a slow build of tension, just waiting to boil over. 

How forceful are they? Do they care about your willingness?

He understands you're nervous. Again, no matter how experienced you are, somehow in his head he makes it out to be insignificant. Even if you've had other relationships, he convinces himself - and tries to convince you - that they were inadequate, they didn't care about you, not like he does. And he'll treat it as that -- any resistance you put up is nervousness, nothing more, nothing less. He'll reassure you a million times that you won't feel pain, that he'll be gentle, that you'll feel good, even if his size and strength frankly is rather intimidating regardless of experience. He'll keep cooing in your ear, softly whispering reassurance, softly running hands over your skin, holding you in place as the last inch stretches you apart. 

What sort of kinks or fetishes do they have, or would they fill?

Infantilization

Again, no matter how smart, experienced, and capable you may be, you're none of those things to him. You're a fragile, little thing. He has to take care of you at all times. It may not be evident at first, and he himself likely doesn't fully realize it, but there is something highly sexual to this for him. Caring for you puts him in a position of dominance, control. It gives him access to your privacy, dressing you up, fingers running over your skin, bathing you, watching your skin glisten. He'll talk to you in this way, too, often softly, remarking every little way in which you need him, and even condescendingly so. He wants you to be his, not only in a sense of love, but of possession.

Oral

Primarily giving. Even on its own, he loves the taste, but the effect it has on you makes it that much better. He loves anything that forces you to depend on him entirely for pleasure, that puts you at his mercy. And he'll be torturous about it too, restraining your arms and legs so you can't control anything, hold your hips down so you can't roll into him, so that only he can determine exactly how much pressure and speed you get. And he won't rush it, no, he'll go so slowly it's torturous, and telling you very simply that if you want any more, you'll have to beg.

Edging

For a variety of reasons. The power trip is as exhilarating as it is pleasurable, but he also loves watching your body writhe. Each little muscle that moves under the flesh when your arms strain against his hand holding your wrists together, the convulsing of your stomach muscles, the way your toes curl and legs spasm and the sweet little whimpers you make when he draws back just short of your high. He's mastered watching your reactions, knowing exactly when to stop, even if you try to mask it. He'll want you to tell him, though, nonetheless, tell him when you're close, if for nothing else but the sense of you obeying his commands.

Collaring

Similarly to infantilization, it gives him something of a sense of control, of possession. He loves seeing his name engraved on it, marking the whole of your being with his ownership. In his somewhat rare moments of roughness, he'll want to pull on it, use it to draw you towards him, in a moment of your defiance, in particular. If you're being mouthy, whiny, disobedient, and you finally make him snap, especially if you try to walk away from him, he'll yank you back with force, pulling you close to him, and when the force of it shuts you up, changes your demeanor, forces you to acknowledge your submission - the satisfaction he'll get from that is incomparable.

How do they feel about pregnancy or babies? Do they want them?

As much as he likes the idea, to him, you're already like a child, naive and fragile. Could your body even handle a pregnancy, a birth? He'd likely try to avoid it, but in the end, if it happened by accident anyway, rest assured you'd be getting the best care of any woman to ever be pregnant in Teyvat, and he'd do everything in his power to ensure you were always comfortable, taking his caretaking to another level, almost never even letting you get up, insisting you stay still and calm and needy.

What kind of (nsfw) punishments would they use?

He'd be one to pull the "it doesn't hurt you as much as it does me" line, but really, even if he refuses to admit it to his own self, having you bent over his lap is just as much for his own enjoyment as it is a disciplinary measure. It's more humiliating than it is painful -- he'd hold back, afraid of hurting you with his strength, but taking in every little flinch and whimper you make as he brings his hand down on your ass, keeping your head pressed down, kneading at the flesh. He'd insist it's the most effective punishment measure, but you can feel the hard-on digging into your stomach. The worse the behavior, the worse the beating, but every time, after it's over, he'll hold you upright, wiping the tears from your eyes and asking you if you learned you lesson, if you intend to do it again, and smiling when you insist you won't.

What body parts of their darling do they like the most?

Your skin. It's beautiful, and he loves the way that light from the moon and sun look on your naked form. He loves the way your skin feels, soft and delicate, smooth, so paper thin and fragile, and so, so deliciously prone to showing marks from the slightest of harm - a simple smack can make the plump flesh darkened and reddened, the lightest suckling will leave beautiful hickeys all down your neck and chest. There are so many ways to mark his property, to stake a visible claim all over you, it's irresistible.

He also will go out of his way, when picking out all the things he wants you to wear, to find colors that best go with your skin tone, in a contrasting sense - particularly lacey, sheer things that contrast very well, so he can see your soft flesh perfectly defined against the little lace patterns.

[elephart-hi]

Worthy of a Queen | Jurdan Canon Compliant AU

AU: Jude decided to take Cardan in small doses during The Wicked King. Lovers AU

Summary: Jude was a fool for try to best Cardan here. She may be a cunning spy and a swords master but the bedroom and lovemaking was his domain.

~~~

“Shall we continue?” he asked in a voice of innocence that certainly seemed akin to lying with how far innocence was from his intentions.

~~

Jude had underestimated Cardan. She got her prize, she had won the battle, but he was going to win the war. With that miserable thought in mind and her pride boiling with anger she spat out her response, “fuck you.”

Cardan’s chuckle was dark and dangerous as he said, “with pleasure.”

Rating: M is for mature and mad filthy (but ends sweetly) (I try to trick ya in the beginning bare with it)

AN: This is my first ever fic!!!! And of course, it's Jurdan and of course, it's smut. No one is surprised. Shout out to Amber and Hannah for being my beta readers and convincing me to post this. And shout out to @slightlyrebelliouswriter23 who's beautiful writing made me go fuck it and sit down and write something myself which I've always wanted to do, so thank you keep being wonderful.

Please let me know what y'all think! I have ideas for a whole fic for this so if you want that tell me.

Inspired by these sketches and this

set during the Wicked King

warnings: hair pulling, spanking, and light bondage

AO3

As she lay sprawled out on her hands and knees, dirty, sweaty, and out of breath, it was clear to Jude Duerte that pride was her hamartia. She could have everything that she needed if she would only concede but stubbornly she refused to. Her pride wouldn't allow it, no matter how desperate she was.

Instead of the glory, she assumed she would achieve that night she lay there pathetically at his mercy. Something she deeply detested. She detested it almost as much as the smirk she could practically hear on his full lips as an infuriatingly cocky laugh rumbled out from deep in his throat. A laugh that had her toes curling and her seeing red and seething. Just as most things that came from his lips did.

Jude gritted her teeth together as she futilely attempted once more to get him to relent but the ironclad grip on her hair did not loosen and she was met with another rumble of laughter followed by a resonating smack of skin against skin. Her cheek stung from the impact and the slap made her burn red hot. The blow would surely bruise.

She hated him for this. Absolutely loathed him for it. She could easily beat him in a fight, have him on his back with a knife to his throat in less than ten seconds if she wanted. He knew that as much as she did. He probably relished in the knowledge of it, of having her here like this when she could easily best him. But she couldn’t now. Not if she wanted what she came for. Tonight her only option of getting what she needed would be to play nice. Something she was not fond of nor good at. Something that she absolutely did not want to do. Jude wanted nothing more than to make him see red as she did at that moment.

In her anger and frustration, Jude let his name snarled from her lips, “Enough of your stupid games Cardan” she nearly spat the last syllable out.

She was met with another slap, its impact sent her reeling with a groan slipping from her mouth. She hated to give away that his blow affected her at all; that groan was a loss for her. He hummed at the sound she made. Satisfied that her patience was running thin. Happy that he was getting to her. He knew he was winning. He gripped her hair tighter, tugging her head back and her lips pulled into a sneer. She could hear that fucking smirk again as he murmured into her ear with the buttery voice of a lover, “What games do you speak of my darling Jude?”

She struggled again but to no avail. The ‘my darling’ getting to her just like he knew it would. Oh, it made her burn. “You know what I’m speaking of!”

All that he smugly replied with was “Do I?” a small quip from his devastating lips.

She knew he was toying with her. Responding with questions to avoid having to speak in truths. A common trick of the fae used to deceive those around them. But Jude was having none of it.

“Give me what I want, Cardan!” it was a vicious snarl from her lips. He stilled completely at it and she knew it had been a mistake to let her temper fly. She knew he would only give her what she craved if she played by his rules and losing this prize was not an option for her. She couldn’t afford it. Jude was absolutely desperate.

He leaned in close to her ear once more and in a hushed whisper that sent a shiver, not unlike a premonition, down her spine and said, “all you have to do is ask Jude. But make it pretty, befitting of the king of fairy,” his words were an infuriating echo of what he had said to her not so long ago at the summer tournament after she had bested him in the war games. He had gripped her hair like this then too. But Jude doubted she would best him tonight.

She hated it. She hated him for this.

“Go fuck yourself,” she spat at him. He gripped her hair painfully tight this time and slapped her ass harder than he had before. The combination left a series of moans spilling out of her.

He drank up her cries like it was the fine wine they had drunk from the bottle which sat empty next to their dinner on the discarded tray situated on his bed next to them. The gaudy fabric of the comforter cushioned both of their knees, his tucked under and between hers, forcing her legs to be spread wide for him.

“But then I’d have to stop fucking you, my sweet nightmare. And I know neither one of us would want that” he looked down to where he was buried to the hilt in her, still and unmoving. His free hand massaging her red and sore butt cheeks that were bruising from his earlier abuse.

“Especially not after you were dressed up so divinely for me tonight. That dress was just begging to come off wasn’t it?” He hummed as his free hand went from massaging her sore bum to teasing her right above the nub between her thighs. So close to where she desperately needed him to be but giving her no reprieve and only making her more desperate. Jude bit her lip, refusing to respond, her stubbornness digging its heels in, so Cardan continued on.

“I could tell how wound up you were when you showed up here. With a pretty blush already on your breasts and the sweet scent of your arousal coming from your skirts with every step you took towards me.” The dress in question laid discarded on the floor beside his own clothes. It had been raven-black to match his hair, hugged her curves and muscles like a second skin, and was dangerously low cut. Definitely not her usual attire, definitely wasn't subtle Jude realized with embarrassment. Both of their wardrobes had been removed in haste not far into their dinner. The buttons of Cardan’s ridiculous blouse scattered the tiles beneath the bed, having been ripped from the fabric as Jude rushed to undress him in her lustful frenzy.

“So unusually kind of you to bring dinner and wine for me, to ask to eat in my company. I know it was all just an act to get me to fuck you, Jude. The least you could do for me is beg for it,” he whispered dangerously, his voice thick with his arousal.

Jude flushed again, this time in shame from his words. That he truly thought it out of her character to be kind. It was true of course. Jude wasn’t a very kind person, not after what she had lived through. But for some reason that was beyond her, she wanted him to think highly of her. She wanted him to think she was kind. And most bizarre of all, she wanted to be kind to him. Perhaps fairyland was driving her mortal mind mad after all.

“It wasn’t just to get you to bed me Cardan,” Jude answered ashamed of how breathy it came out, ashamed of what she was about to say, “I did want to enjoy your company tonight. I brought you dinner and wine because I thought it would make you happy.”

Jude would be damned before she begged him or anyone for anything. But if he wanted sweet words from her she would give it to him at this point. His free hands had moved upwards from tracing around her clit and had gone to circle her breasts. From time to time he would give them a brutal squeeze. More taunting but no release. Jude was a bundle of nerves wound up painfully tight. She needed her prize and she would be getting it if it was the last thing she did. She just wouldn’t beg for it.

To her surprise, he landed another searing smack to her backside sending her sliding forward and had him pulling her back onto his cock by her hair. Jude’s toes curled on the mattress, more moans spilling from her lips. She was beyond keeping them in at this point, the wine they had drunk making her dizzy, or perhaps it was just him doing that. The lust fogged her brain more than the alcohol did. She tried to slide forward again so she could push back onto his delicious length, rock hard and throbbing within her, but he held her hair tight, keeping her in place. Still no release in sight.

“Dirty mortal liar” Cardan spat at her, not believing her wishes to make him happy. Landing another brutal blow on her bum. Cardan had confessed to Jude in the court of shadows that he was no killer, but that didn’t take away from his cruel nature. He wasn't being gentle with her. Jude didn’t want him to be.

The spanking was a mercy compared to the torture he had been forcing her to endure. The sharp slaps gave her friction and reprieve from his cold refusal to please her in the ways she craved. And now because of her earlier outbursts, he remained buried in her gut unmoving and wouldn't move an inch till she begged him to. Before at least he had been in motion albeit it being painfully slow. Sliding in and out of her aching core, still slick and throbbing from his earlier ministrations with his mouth. He had spent longer feasting on her than he had on his meal, now cold and forgotten. He had tortured her with his tongue, bringing her to the edge of precipice but never allowing her to tumble over the peak into blissful oblivion.

She thought he would finally give her release when he slid his gloriously thick length inside of her but still he only taunted her. Slowly he would slide in and out of her, mocking her with what she was desperate for. He would pull out to his tip, her hair locked in his ringed hand keeping her in place while he eased back into her wetness at a punishingly slow pace. All the while knowing she was desperate for more. Each strike to her ass had been a godsend, pumping red hot arousal to her system while his little endearments, ‘my Jude’, ‘my sweet nightmare’ spurred her on. Cardan knew she secretly loved to hear them. Knew she loved hearing him call her ‘his’. Knew it made her think of all the things he could do to claim her as his; with his hands, mouth, and cock.

But they were far too alike the two of them, Cardan as prideful and stubborn as she. Jude could feel him pulsing inside her. A pounding throb in time with his heartbeat. She knew it had to be painful at this point, he was torturing himself as much as he was her. But that was part of the thrill for him. He loved the powerplay, loved toying. He wanted to come out on top; Jude couldn’t let him.

“I may be a liar Cardan but I didn’t just then. I want to make you happy.” Jude was panting as she spoke. She would never live this down. She couldn’t bring herself to care though. It was the truth. She wanted it as much as she wanted him at that moment. She hadn’t been able to rid herself of the guilt of tricking him into the crown and chaining him to the throne as well as her command. She wanted to see a smile on his face rather than the sneer that lived there most days, as breathtaking as he was with either. Jude wanted Cardan to be happy and she wanted to be the one to make him feel that way. Especially after she was the source of his misery. Although it wasn’t as though he hadn’t been the source for much of hers in the past. That alone was the only thing that kept her from begging him to give her what she so desired. That she was horny enough to even consider begging him, if he was deserving of it, was something she didn't want to think too much about.

“If you wanted to make me happy Jude,” he said her name like a curse, his frustration with her stubbornness evident, ”you would beg for me.”

She felt a ghost of a touch tickle against her arm then flee away an instant later. She peeked down as much as she could with Cardan pulling her head back like he was. Below, his tail was coiling and uncoiling. Whipping back and forth sporadically. Like a cat’s would while it attacked its prey. Before, he had the laziness of a cat who had caught a mouse; a cat that was toying its food before devouring it. Now he was agitated and ready to strike. Jude could use that.

At her refusal to respond to him Cardan tisked and lamented “well if you have nothing to ask of me, my goddess of death, then I suppose we are done here.”

He started to pull out of her as though he meant to leave her there as a panting, aching, mess with no release in sight. Her prize to be lost. She felt his tail whisper next to her arm again, just as he slid his tip out, and with the desperation of a mouse fleeing its captor, Jude latched onto his tail and ripped him back, slamming his raging length deep into her. Hard. The cross between a groan and a whimper that escaped from his lips, and the toe-curling feeling of him slamming into her made her mad with desperation and giddy with power. Jude wasn't the mouse anymore. She was a lioness; she was going to feed.

“You’ll do well to remember who put that crown on your head, My King. Begging is out of the question and will be until you are worthy of it,” she purred at him. “As your sechel, I’d advise you to please me and do it well. But, and more importantly,” she said as sweet as the fruit of the everapple tree, “As the Queen of Shadows and master of your fate I demand you do it,” she finished with a smirk, using the word ‘demand’ instead of ‘command’, so there was no true magical power over him to do so.

“And Cardan,” She said glancing over her shoulder, his grip on her hair had gone slack enough for her to do so from his shock at her actions and words, “Do make it worthy of a Queen.”

Her bravo started to wear off as the giddiness faded. It was in that moment, staring into the Achingly beautiful face of the High King, whose midnight black orbs burned like fire threatening to consume her that Jude realized her mistake. From the look of the wickedly sinister grin on his sinful lips, Jude knew would be getting her prize after all… and then some. Cardan had been playing nice until now, in hopes she would be nice in turn to him. Now that he knew there would be no such thing he was more than willing to unleash himself on her relentlessly.

What a fool she had been to forget one of the first rules of fairyland: Be careful what you wish for.

Jude would be lucky to be able to sit down or move for the next week without being sore if their last row together was any indication of how the rest of the evening would play out.

Cardan’s grip on her hair tightened again and used his free hand to trace a single finger up the curve of her spine, sending goosebumps flying in its wake. He pulled her up against his chest by her hair. Her head resting on his shoulder now, breasts pushed out to the world and peeking from the chill in the room brought on by his change in mood. Being the High King gave Cardan control over the weather and such things; no more nice Cardan who gave her sweet endearment, this was the Cardan she was most familiar with, his face the picture of icy rage.

Her breath plumed in clouds from the frigid temperature and ruffled the raven black hair sticking to the sweat on his brow. She shivered from the cold. He was so devastatingly beautiful like this it made her head spin. The sneer on his face made her toes curl knowing she was the one who had put it there.

His voice was murderous as he murmured, “Give me back my tail.”

Her grip on the thing tightened as it tried to lash out of her grip. His tone only stoked the fire burning in her gut, the heat fighting the chill of the room.

She felt the giddiness bubble up in her again, the same feeling of fear mixed with excitement that she got when she taunted him at school. The feeling of taking a dare.

“Fuck me like you were told princeling and perhaps I will,” she referred to him by the same mocking title his late siblings would call him by, all of them being more than a hundred years his senior and already have established roles in the kingdom, while he was hardly 19 and had still been in school with no real power. She was deliberately placing him beneath her by calling herself a queen and him only a boy prince, despite him being two years her senior. She felt the smugness tugging her lips when she heard his breath come out ragged and slow. He was going to great lengths to keep his temper in check, still not wanting to let her win. But Jude could taste her victory, her toes curled and her gut tingled with sharp electricity boiling there. An almost hysterical laugh bubbled up her throat, knowing that her next words would send him over the edge.

“Or perhaps you don’t know how to please a woman, hmmm?? Were all those ballads about you being a good lover just pixie dust in the breeze? Maybe the musicians of the court were just flattering you so that the fine people of fairy would think that you were actually good for something.”

It was an obvious lie and they both knew it, Cardan has had her screaming his name, soaking the sheets, and has made her a blubbering mess, nothing more than putty in his arms, much to her own shame. But the lie was an insult to his manhood nonetheless. He would have to fuck her senseless now, his honor and pride would demand it.

His grip on her hair tightened as the room rapidly started to heat back up, getting hotter by the second. Cardan was pissed now. He used his free hand to trace the curves of her body following his hand with his deadly stare. He took in every inch of her, from the blush on her cheeks that burned so bright it went straight down her neck and chest and spotted across her full breasts which were heavy and aching from her arousal. He took in Jude’s toned stomach and muscular thighs appraising them as though they were one of the powders he frequently took as though he hadn't had a dose in far too long and was itching for it. There was a furious hunger in that gaze. The stare of a recovering alcoholic glaring at the bottle before he dived to the bottom of it. Furious for even wanting it, furious for going back to it, furious for having said no to it for so long when it felt so right. He was going to give into Jude even if she didn’t beg him for it. He was pissed about it.

His tracing hand slowly inched towards the numb of nerves between Jude’s thighs, her hair tugged back on his shoulder allowed him to hear the airy sigh that befell her lips, tickling his hair. Her airy moan sounded like one someone would heave when they stepped into a steaming bath after a long day of hard work, easing their aching muscles. That wouldn't do at all. There would be no easing for her. If she wanted to step in that tub then Cardan was going to shove her in and force her head under the water and keep it there till she was thrashing for air. If she wouldn't beg him to start, then she would have to beg him to stop.

Cardan leaned in and whispered to her ear, using all of his willpower to keep his temper in check, “Fitting for a Queen you said hmm,” the words sent shivers running down her spine, had her walls clenching around his cock that was still buried in her, to her great dismay still not in motion.

Cardan paused to take a breath and for a moment the whole room stilled as though his magic had quieted the very air around them, as if the whole kingdom was tingling in anticipation, silently waiting to see what happened next. Even the roaring fire that was crackling in its hearth just seconds prior didn’t dare to make a sound, lest it invokes the wrath of the wicked king. The only noise was Jude’s ragged breathing in eerie contrast.

Cardan’s words eased out in his exhale, resembling the sickening woop in the stomach one gets when falling from large heights, “How's this for fitting?”

Jude’s eyes were blown wide and then forced tightly shut as he unleashed himself onto her. The sounds of the room roaring back to life around them were completely lost to her as the brutally aching bliss filled her to the brim. The sensations were overpowering her, overwhelming her senses after being denied it for so long. The feeling of his length filling her to the brim combined with his sinful hands, one tugging her hair the other rubbing her nub; It was too much. Cardan’s hand was brutal in its attack on her clit, rubbing her relentlessly right where she wanted it, just the way she liked it.

The act alone was more than enough and already toying her towards the edge of release. Cardan knew Jude’s body far too well. He had spent plenty of time tracking all her tells, tracking every breath she took while she lay beneath him from the first moment she welcomed him into her bed. His dark hungry eyes always locked on her taking everything in. Cardan was a fantastic lover not just because he knew how to please any woman who passed his way, but because he went to lengths to perfect his craft for those who stayed.

Jude realized with no little shame that he had been saying something to her but she had missed it because of the roaring in her ear. Her cheeks went impossibly pinker when she realized it hadn't been roaring, but her own moaning. She hadn't even realized she was doing it so overcome by her arousal after being denied all night. She glanced up at him and all she could stupidly say was, “huh?”

He barked a laugh, his head thrown back; he loved making her like this. Knocking Ms. Know-it-all off her pedestal, making her dumb-founded and drooling. Such a sharp contrast to her usual stoic demeanor. He leaned down close to her face, slowly licked up the dribble of spit hanging from the corner of her mouth. Then with a wicked smirk on his sinful face, one that promised nothing but trouble, he went to her ear and snickered, “you’re as soaked for me as you were when I shoved you into that river mortal.”

As he said it he rubbed her just so, sending her shuddering relentlessly into an orgasm around his unmoving cock. The orgasm shattered her mind and made her see white, then instantly red from the fury his word sent her into. She hated that he made her come while he said that. Knew he had done it on purpose to piss her off. Knew it was the damning truth since no lie could fall from his fairy lips. Bliss, anger, and shame all swelled within her swirling together and muddling her mind in ways fairy fruit never could. Jude felt as though she might fade into the very magic of fairyland at that moment for surely if one could be magic itself, this would be how they always felt.

Jude couldn’t even get a word in back at him for what he said because he slammed his mouth against hers before she could recover enough to form a coherent sentence; licking and drinking up her moans like it was his only purpose in life. His other hand moved from restraining her hair and wrapped around her middle, pinning the arm holding his tail to her side in an ironclad hold and pinning her body against chest; his hand reaching up to attack her breasts. Switching back and forth between one and the other, he would alternate massaging and pinching her nipples with painful precision. His other hand was still working her clit sending her rolling from one orgasm into the next. The combination of it all was so overwhelming she cried out into his mouth as she squirted all over his hands, soaking their legs and the sheets beneath them. Jude was awash with shame and bliss, leaning her full weight on him to remain upright. He hadn’t even begun to fuck her properly yet, Cardan was still buried within her throbbing painfully from denying himself and she was already a stupid mess in his arms. The shit-eating smirk on his face told her that he was thinking the same thing.

Jude was a fool for try to best Cardan here. She may be a cunning spy and a swords master but the bedroom and lovemaking was his domain. Her legs quivered beneath her, hands limp at her side. Cardan released his hold on her, sending her falling ungracefully forward onto her chest and face. He laughed at her mockingly, “and now the sheets are nearly as soaked as your clothes were that day.”

Jude’s blood boiled and she wanted to turn around and slap him. But as she went to move she found herself unable to. While she hadn’t been looking, brain hazy from her orgasms, the roots from the tree atop the hill had curled their way down the bedposts and snaked their way across the sheets wrapping around her wrists binding her in place. Another display of his kingly magic. Jude tried to figure where she went wrong, one moment she was the one with power and now here she was again, completely at his mercy and more so than before. The answer to her question flicked back and forth in the periphery of her vision, his tail moving again like a lazy cat playing a game it knew it was going to win. He had made her come so hard she completely lost her senses and touched the stars and managed to release her one and only advantage.

“Thank you for returning my tail to me sweet Jude,” he said, noting her coming to this realization. His hand returned to her hair pulling her head back as much as he could while her hands were bound. He shifted, leaning forward shifting his body causing his cock to finally move within her once more; it was enough to make her lose a breathy moan. Oh! The frustration she felt with herself! She was a fool for him and it was humiliating. His other hand went back to massaging her bruised bum as he chuckled darkly behind her.

“Shall we continue?” he asked in a voice of innocence that certainly seemed akin to lying with how far innocence was from his intentions. Jude was still miserably horny, and not even the two earth-shattering orgasms he had given her were able to satiate her need after all the torture he had put her through earlier. She craved him desperately but her wounded pride couldn't bear to ask him to go on. She tried to shift her bum against his length again, the same attempts she had earlier, knowing it was just as futile now as it had been before. He laughed at her, slamming his palm hard against her ass just as he had done each time before.

“Excuse me, your majesty,” he purred, mocking her for calling herself a queen while pumping into her once, twice. Teasing her, making her nails dig into the bound palms of her hands in ecstasy, “I believe I asked you a question, my queen.”

Another endearment. Him calling her his. His queen. She squirmed again, willing him to please her but he held fast.

“Last chance Jude,” he murmured in her ear, leaning all the way forward so his cocked filled her completely, “Beg for mercy and I’ll give it to you,” the smirk was as present as ever in his infuriatingly sexy voice.

Jude had underestimated Cardan. She got her prize, she had won the battle, but he was going to win the war. With that miserable thought in mind and her pride boiling with anger she spat out her response, “fuck you.”

Cardan’s chuckle was dark and dangerous as he said, “with pleasure.”

He slammed into her unrelenting: brutal and hard. Jude was going to have to skip training tomorrow because of this, her body would be too sore. She hated missing training and it made her furious at him. Perhaps she just liked being made at him, she thought as he hit her spot over and over again making her see spots. She went to bury her moans and cries in the covers, still damp beneath them from when she squirted, but he pulled her hair back forcing her to cry out into the room for him to hear.

“Moan for me Queen Jude,” he gruffed out viciously, riled up and ravenous after having to wait so long himself to have her, “let me hear how worthy this fucking is of you hmm.. this is what you wanted wasn't it? A good fucking? It's what you came here for.”

He was relentless, Jude was biting her lip trying hard to not give him what he wanted. The wet sloppy sound of their bodies joining together echoed in the room in time with the slapping of his pelvis against her ass. It was debauched to hear how sinfully wet she was for him, the wet slapping making it painfully evident just how ‘worthy’ his fucking was. She groaned through her teeth and he yanked her hair hard forcing her mouth open. Her moans came spilling out, pitching each time he thrust his body into hers.

Cardan was groaning with her now. He was getting close if his sporadic thrusts were any indicator. The knowledge that he was getting off to her made her walls clench around him and her toes curl in pleasure, forcing a groan from deep in his throat to spill out. It was otherworldly, doing this with him, so many emotions, sensations, and feelings all swirling together in a messy lustful haze that left them rutting like savage dogs by the end of the night. They hated each other, didn't they? How could they keep coming back to each other like this? Why did this feel so right?

He pulled her hair back hard making her back bend almost painfully towards him, her wrists straining against the vines that bound her; training was definitely out of the question this week. She could see his face now, brows pinched, eyes dark, sweat dripping off of him while his mouth hung open. He was devastatingly gorgeous like this. He leaned down and kissed her as he landed three sharp blows to her ass with his other hand as he pounded into her relentlessly. She squirted again seeing stars as another orgasm ran through her. He smiled a brilliant smile down at her for it. So beautiful that she all but forgot her pride existed as she said breathily, “I didn’t come here just to fuck you Cardan, I swear it,” blush burning her cheeks at her confession, “I wanted to make you happy.”

She felt emotions shining on her face, ones she always buried but she didn’t mind it. Jude was mad with pleasure, drunk on his kiss, his scent, and sensations. Jude was drunk on him. Caution was lost to her.

Cardan’s eyes went wide at her words and he released her hair suddenly. A swear was a serious thing in Fairy especially one made to the high king. The vines receded from restraining her and he unsheathed himself from her aching core. She was met with a jolt of horror at what she had done, what she had said, in fear that she had upset him.

The panic was quickly replaced by confusion as he rolled her onto her back with tender hands and then leaned above her positioning himself between her legs with one arm bracing beside her head while his other hand came up to tenderly caressing her cheek. His cock was positioned right before her entrance, leaking with precum. He clearly had stopped right before his climax. What on earth compelled him to do such a thing?

“Is that the truth?” he said in a breathy whisper, chest still heaving from their wild fuckings, still trying to catch his breath.

All Jude could manage was a small nod.

His eyes searched hers, looking for something. Jude didn’t know if he found what he was looking for but after a moment he slowly slid into her again staring into her eyes. She wanted to look away, his gaze was too much as he slowly and sweetly slid their bodies together, again and again. He was being tender with not a rush in the world. A different kind of fire started building within her. Instead of a burning inferno like earlier, this one was the slow-burning of water set to boil. His dark gaze was searching, consuming. His beautiful face slack in awe as he looked at her.

“Beautiful,” he murmured like wonder spilling out of him. Jude snapped her eyes shut to it, to what she felt. She felt naked for the first time today despite having been freed of her clothing for the better part of two hours now. The way he was holding her, the way their bodies slid together, it terrified her, the emotions it stirred up. He cooed at her then, fingers caressing her cheek, “Jude,” he said sweetly, “look at me Jude, it's okay.”

She scrunched her eyes shut further at his words. He stilled, pulling away from her. He heaved a sigh, that sounded so much like hurt and disappointment. Quickly, shyly her hand reached out to the ringed one on her cheek just as it went to pull away. Softly Jude said, “Please-- Please don’t stop.”

Jude mustered all the courage she had, reached into the well of fearlessness she had obtained from living in fairyland, and opened her eyes. Dark pools the color of midnight stared back at her, full of swimming emotion. It was overwhelming, confusing. She wished she knew what he was thinking, wished she knew if this meant something. There was so much fear in her and she knew he could see it all on her face. She was so scared of this, “Please Cardan, keep going. Please. I-- I beg you.”

The smile that graced his shocked face was beautiful and hesitant like the one someone might make if they thought something was too good to be true. She shocked herself with the plea, she had never thought she could long for someone the way that she did at that moment. She wished she knew what he was thinking. She peeked to his tail in hope of gaining some insight, but it was wrapped around her calf, the furred tip seemed to be caressing her. She looked back up at him. Cardan was smirking, but it wasn't mocking, it seemed… endearing almost. But that couldn’t be. He clearly knew why Jude looked at his tail, knowing she liked keeping an eye on it because it made him easier to read. The crinkles beneath his eyes gave away happiness and his smirk tugged into a dazzling smile.

Jude’s heart was pounding so hard it almost hurt. He ran his hand down from her cheek to her chest, feeling how fast it was pounding. His smile only grew, as he leaned down and nuzzled his nose against hers. Jude let loose a breath she didn't know she had been holding, it came spilling out of her like an airy laugh, her lashes fluttering at his closeness. He was being so sweet, it threw her off guard. She peeked into his eyes once more, she didn't really know what she was looking for in them. But she knew what she did not find there: his arrogance, his cruelty, and his wickedness.

There in his dark eyes, she saw something she didn't understand yet. Saw something shining there that she knew reflected back in her own. Confusion mingled with an emotion she had never known before. She realized she didn't understand a lot of things, about life, fairyland, and him. From the look in his eyes, she realized she didn't need to understand everything. And with that realization, she wasn't afraid anymore. She peered into his eyes unabashedly now, Belkin’s words from in the Isle of the Forgotten rang in her head:

“to mortals, the feeling of falling in love is similar to the feeling of fear.”

But what do mortals feel when they stop falling. What happens when they were wholly in love.

Jude didn’t know, and she didn’t care to know. She didn’t need to understand everything, she didn’t need to understand what she felt. She needed to just feel it.

If nothing else, Jude felt safe here in Cardan’s arms. A feeling that she had long grown unaccustomed to thanks to the cruelty of her life. She looked at the man before her, so similar to yet so strikingly different from the boy he was under Belkin’s thumb. This was a man who she wanted to make happy. And despite his uncanny ability to frustrate her, he had the uncanny ability to make her happy as well. He made her forget her pride and she made him forget his own. Neither caring who came out on top anymore. Maybe it was just the sex, maybe it was something more. She didn’t know and somehow that was fine.

With those thoughts singing in her head, Jude Duerte leaned up and kissed Cardan Greenbriar soft and slow, allowing all the things she kept buried within her to come pouring out. Allowing all the things she didn’t understand to pour out with it because perhaps Cardan didn’t understand it either. Perhaps they could learn to understand it together.

So that night, Jude waved the white flag and she made love to the King of Fairy.