#Until I'll be thing and brittle

[messinheaven]

why do I prefer not being at all than being less than perfect?

[hairmetal666]

Steve knows he falls in love too easily. Nancy told him, Robin too.

But falling in love with Eddie Munson is hard.

They're supposed to be friends after Vecna. They're supposed to be friends, but Steve can't get past what Eddie did in the Upside Down; how he put himself in a position to nearly die, how Dustin got hurt. It's not fair. He knows it's not, but it doesn't make the anger go away.

Eddie's part of the group now, though, and Steve won't leave him out, no matter how angry. They're all at movie nights, at pool parties, at Hellfire, at Corroded Coffin gigs. It's just that Steve and Eddie don't speak. And Steve is okay with it. If it's what it takes to make sure that they're all hanging out together, not talking to Eddie is a small thing. He's pretty sure Eddie doesn't mind. At least, he seems as uninterested in hanging out with Steve as Steve is with him.

It doesn't need to be anything more than that, and it isn't, not until Steve goes upstairs to get more sunscreen during one of the pool parties, and walks back downstairs to find Munson waiting for him in his kitchen.

"You need something?" He asks, unable to fully hide the way he jolts with surprise.

Eddie twists the rings on his fingers, something Steve's noticed he does whenever he's nervous. "You have a problem with me, Harrington?

"No, of course not," he answers too fast.

"C'mon, man. You can barely stand to be in the same room with me."

"That's not true! We're in one together right now."

Eddie rolls his eyes so hard that it has to hurt. "Don't do that. Don't pretend like you don't know what I mean. You can't stand to be alone with me for more than thirty seconds."

Steve splutters, searching for a plausible reason.

"Is it cause--" Eddie swallows, hand going back to cup his neck. "Is it cause you heard me tell Robin that I'm gay? Back at the hospital. Is it because--" he cuts himself off.

Something in Steve's chest clenches hard, warmth swooping dangerously in his stomach. "No," Steve says, means it. "I didn't hear. I didn't-- it has nothing to do with that. It's--that's cool. Thanks for--yeah, that's cool."

Eddie's smile is a brittle little thing. "Then, what else?" Eddie pulls a chunk of hair over his mouth. "I can't think of any other reason you'd hate me so much."

"I don't." And Steve hopes it's coming off as genuine. "I promise."

He can't help remember the camaraderie, the understanding, that started to grow between them in the Upside Down. The "don't cha, big boy?" of it all. They could be friends. They should be.

They shouldn't get into it. Not right here, not right now when the kids' splashes and excited screams filter through the sliding door.

"You're a shit liar, Harrington."

"Ed--I'm not--"

"You know what? Don't bother. I'll just--" He jolts in the direction of the front door.

"Don't be stupid, Munson."

"God, I can't believe I didn't see it before. You just fucking loathe me."

"I do not. Grow up."

"Oh, yeah? Then what's your problem?"

"There isn't--"

"Stop lying!"

"You didn't fucking think!" He shouts. Loud enough that the noise outside cuts off. "You pulled that shit in the Upside Down and you almost died! Dustin got hurt!"

Eddie blinks his big brown eyes in stunned surprise.

"I told you, I said, 'dont try to be cute or be a hero or something.' And you know what you said? Do you?"

Eddie won't look at him now. "I had to make a choice, Steve."

"It was the wrong one!"

"I would do it all again. No matter what you say. I would do it to draw the bats away. To protect Dustin."

"But you didn't."

"There was no other way to stop them, Steve! They would've gotten through, into Hawkins."

"It doesn't matter."

"You weren't there! You can't tell me--"

"Yes, I can! I know."

"You don't! You think--"

"I almost lost you!" He screams. "You nearly died in my arms, Eddie. And for what?"

Falling in love with Eddie wasn't easy. It was blood and near death; it was weeks in a cold hospital room while Eddie existed in a drug-induced twilight state; it was agonizing convalescence and physical therapy and changing bandages; it was Eddie leading dnd sessions with bright eyes and contagious enthusiasm, herding the kids to the arcade and video store, theatrically serving snacks at movie night; it was festering, senseless anger at the near loss of something.

Eddie's lips tremble. "Steve, I--"

"It doesn't matter." He turns away to slide a hand down his face in an effort to wipe away the emotion. "You're fine and we're--it doesn't matter."

"I'm sorry," he whispers. "Steve, I'm sorry. I wanted--I thought it would help. I thought--"

And Steve has to admit, he does, the whole terrible contradiction of it all. "I know," he whispers back. "I would've--I know."

"I thought I was protecting Dustin. I thought I was buying you guys time with Vecna." Eddie's voice breaks. "I didn't--I--" He squeezes his eyes shut.

In the quiet of the kitchen, they gravitate to one another, foreheads resting together.

"I should have been there, Ed. I shouldn't have left you two alone. You almost died, and I--"

"Sweetheart, I'm right here. We're right here."

They don't kiss, but they're close enough that their mouths brush with each breath they take.

"Don't do that, again." Steve clenches his fists into Eddie's cutoff t-shirt. "Promise you won't ever--"

"I promise, Stevie. I promise. I'll be by your side until the very end, whatever it is."

[silentium-symphony]

Autumn-disiac (Link x Reader) SMUT

a/n: sorry i've been gone for awhile! here's some ~fun stuff~ to make up for lost time ;) i haven't really written anything in awhile, so please bear with me as i get back into the swing of things!

cw: minors dni, afab!reader, link going FERAL over his meal :), reader is just a sobbing horny mess LOL, praising, cunnilingus, overstimulation, porn w/o plot, christ what the hell did i write

wc: 595

♤♢ ~~ ♡♧

The return of autumn heralded many things. Those sick of summer's swelter happily traded in sweat-yellowed tank tops for cozy, chunky knit cardigans. Fur-lined pants and leaf-patterned smocks replaced rustic shorts, and other summer apparel was shelved for the next growing season. Mothers' calls for their children chime earlier and earlier, paralleling the harvest darkness that encroached sooner in the day. Heroic epics crafted from the day's play are often discarded at the door, forgotten, as children are embraced by their mothers first and the smells of her cooking second.

Beyond the intimate comforts of home lie the wilds, which have since been shadowed with deep magenta. A thin spray of mist rolled down the hills, carrying with it the softest hint of moved air. The breeze, chilled by the beginnings of the harvest season, lapped at a set of blurry windows fogged from within.

A tongue, moistened with your sweetness and honeyed with sinful whispers, dragged the edge of ecstatic muscle up and down your abused folds. A brittle sob erupted from your chest as you tossed sweat-pressed locks from your forehead.

"L-Link, we've been at this for hours..."

"I know, baby, I know. You're doing so well. Just one more round, okay? You know how much I need this sweet pussy."

Your beloved's sultry purr rumbled through your core, sending bolts of electricity through pleasure-numbed nerves. Calloused palms sunk into your soft, supple thighs as he urged you forward and back with a gentle sway.

"Mm... Rock your hips for me... That's it, that's it, love..."

The sounds of desperate suckling and pussy-drunk groans brimmed the air with sickeningly sweet depravity. The musk of hours-long sex perfumed your senses into a mindless, blissed-out mush, electrified only by the occasional flick of your clit or the teasing teething from the man below. Leaning back slightly, you rested your shaky arms atop Link's thighs, doing little to still his erratic and involuntary pistoning--a futile attempt to fuck the hole he was currently feasting.

"That's it, hun, lean on me. I'll take care of ya, promise."

That all-too familiar tension was mounting deep in your gut, threatening to spill over and drown the man underneath. Honed in on your tells, Link initiated a dangerous combo of tongue and finger, alternating between fucking and rubbing until your vision blurred with more tears and your throat burned with more pleas.

"Mm... You want it, yeah? Does my beautiful, perfect girl wanna cum for me? Hm? Wanna cum, baby?"

"P-Please...! Link, I'm so close, please let me cum! Please let me cum! Plea--!"

A burning white throbbed through your core, snapping the thread that dangled your last bits of sanity over the velvety abyss. A searing light, hot and addicting, temporarily blinded you as you felt yourself fall back onto a sticky body.

A loud cry buzzed through your subconscious as something hot and wet squirted all over your front, painting your tits and stomach with thick threads of white. Pleasure-stricken convulsions rocked his body as more heat spilled onto you.

No energy could be expended to bask in the final afterglow, your eyelids weighted by an exhaustion you had never known. Some shuffling, and soon, the hot stickiness on your back and front was cooled by a wet rag. What could vaguely be recognized as fingers combed through the undoubtedly sweaty, tangled bird's nest formed atop your head. Soft, lovestruck murmurs coming from your beloved hastened you quicker into slumber.

You could only hope he understood your gurgled hum as an 'I love you.'

(Don't worry, he did).

[xf-cases-solved]

headcanon/fic idea where during the cancer arc, mulder is over at scully's place on a saturday morning going over a case file (that probably could have waited until monday, but he wanted to check on her, and scully knows that, and mulder knows that scully knows, but they both just keep it to themselves). and at one point, scully checks the time and sighs and says she needs to call and cancel her nail appointment for that afternoon, and when mulder asks her why, she says it's bc her dr prescribed her a new med and it's giving her slight double vision, and "it's a common side effect and it's temporary, but i don't want to drive until i adjust to it, and it's not worth it to pay for a cab just for a manicure"

and mulder is like, "i'm not doing anything today, i'll take you"

and obviously scully dismisses the offer, but he keeps insisting, and the truth of it is, with all the constant med adjustments and (occasionally gross) physical side effects of medication and just being sick in general, she hasn't felt particularly attractive in weeks, and while it's not like she is trying to impress anybody, she takes a lot of pride in her appearance and how she presents herself to the world, and her nails are so brittle and the polish has completely chipped away from her last manicure, and honestly, this one little thing, no matter how inconsequential, really would go a long way to making her feel more like herself

so she eventually relents (which pleasantly surprises mulder bc she is stubborn af)

on the way there she's already apologizing for how boring he'll probably find it -- how frivolous and feminine -- and "it shouldn't take too long, i'll tell her to skip the hand massage," and mulder is like, "if you tell her not to give you a hand massage i will hold you at gunpoint until you let her do it" bc he is NOT about to let her skip out on some self-care bc she's worried he'll be judging her for indulging in something "girly"

(he knows she constantly walks a fine line between expressing her femininity and keeping it to herself bc she's worried it will make her male peers view her less seriously)

her nail tech immediately asks if mulder is her husband, even tho she knows damn well he's not bc she asks him if she's found a man yet at every gd appointment, and when she says no, the nail tech is like, "why not? he's handsome and he took you to your appointment, he seems like good husband material"

(they side step out of the conversation, but she is painfully aware of mulder's smirk)

her nail tech asks mulder if he wants a manicure too, and scully thinks she's probably joking, but mulder is like "hell yeah," and scully feels like how she does when he talks about aliens with random cops and witnesses with a straight face -- like, a little embarrassed, but also in awe of his complete lack of giving a fuck

so they are seated side-by-side and get manicures at the same time

mulder doesn't get any polish, but he lets his nail tech shape his nails and apply cuticle oil and, yes, give him a hand massage

he and scully have a brief debate about her nail polish, bc she always gets a super light pink or just a glossy finish (bc anything bolder would feel like overindulging in her femininity and she doesn't want to give any of her misogynistic peers more ammo), but mulder is mercilessly persistent, saying shit like, "that peach color would look good on you" (it wouldn't, she thinks, she's too pale for it) or "that burgundy one would match the new dark lipstick you got a while ago," and she's sat there wondering when the fuck he noticed something as trivial as the shade of her lipstick, and does that mean he's paid attention to other aspects of her appearance? and if so, what does he think of them?

(eventually she lets him talk her into an insanely light shade of baby blue, mostly bc he said it would complement her eyes and she was too caught off guard to tell him to stuff it, and the nail tech makes another casual quip about how good of a husband he would be, and a teeny tiny voice in the back of her head that she can barely hear is saying, "yeah, actually, he would")

when they're finished, he slips the nail tech his credit card while she is searching for her wallet in her overcoat pocket, and he does not look remotely remorseful when she reprimands him, that bastard

in the car, she can't help laughing at the way he keeps checking out his nails, tilting them so the sunlight hits them through the window and he can see how uniform and shiny they are (his nail tech talked him into a clear top coat)

he offers to drive to the chinese restaurant a few blocks from the lincoln memorial, bc she mentioned to him two weeks ago that whenever she is too nauseous to want food, she can for some reason always stomach that restaurant's egg drop soup, and even tho she's not nauseous rn and has also eaten enough egg drop soup lately that it actually sounds a little abhorrent, she says yes anyway, bc she's so touched that he remembered that small detail

they end up getting an order to go (she orders a full entree of vegetable shrimp along with her soup, and the look of relief and delight on mulder's face when he realizes she has an appetite for once makes her blush)

they go back to her place and watch The Thing, and then a rerun of jeopardy (they're pretty evenly matched in terms of useless trivia knowledge, but the final jeopardy question is "this man is the only doctor in history to have a 300% mortality rate," and scully was saying "dr. liston !" before mulder had a chance to process how that was even possible)

she gets drowsy early (another side effect these days), and mulder is discreet in not pointing it out, and instead makes an excuse about needing to feed his fish so he should probably get going, and once again, they both know what he's doing, but they both keep it to themselves

she walks him to the door, and before he leaves, he takes her hand. she lets him raise it up beside her face, even tho she's not sure what he's doing, until he says, "yep, i was right, these make your eyes even prettier," and like ??? what is she supposed to do with THAT??

in the end she does nothing except let him kiss the tips of her fingers, right on the light blue polish, and then lets him kiss her on the forehead. (she tries not to think about where else she'd like him to kiss her, and fails miserably)

they part with shy goodbyes, and it's only in retrospect that she realizes she hadn't actually thanked him, not really

when she is dressed and ready for bed, she slides under the sheets and calls his cell

"mulder, it's me," and somehow he sounds delighted to hear from her, as if they hadn't just spent the entire day together

"i just wanted to thank you for today. i really needed it"

she isn't able to express her gratitude in full, bc that would require being emotionally vulnerable and she's not v good at that, but she suspects mulder hears what she isn't saying anyway

"anytime, scully," he says, and she knows he means it sincerely. "my hands are so soft, i might have to make this manicure thing a regular occurrence"

she laughs

"goodnight, mulder"

"goodnight, scully"

in the morning, the first thing she notices is the blue of her fingernail polish, and the warm feeling it gives her stays with her through breakfast and all the way through the afternoon

[ratsummer]

Shhhhh shhhhhh I'm getting carried away here, but...

Y'all ever think about Phantom being unphased by griminess when he's first summoned?

Or maybe not unphased, but he just doesn't make cleanliness a priority. Like this guy has been roaming the circles as best he can on his own, more concerned with finding food and shelter and the reluctant ally here and there than with personal hygiene.

Summoning as a general rule isn't a very tidy affair, so no one really notices that first day. Omega and Aether give him the typical, cursory wipedown to remove the worst of the summoning... goo... before bundling him up in soft, loose, flowy robes while his skin is still sensitive. And of course, when they show him where his room his, they introduce him to the baths and let him know he has the rest of the day to clean up and settle in.

Well, morning rolls around and Dew arrives to the breakfast table, ushering a very sleepy little quint along in front of him. Cirrus scolds him for so obviously waking him up before he was ready, but Phantom insists it's okay, please, I asked him to make sure I was awake for breakfast! Don't get angry at him!

And while Phantom explains that Dew stayed up late with him to help him find and organize snacks in his room, Cumulus comes to the table, yawning wide and clutching Aether's arm. She was so excited to greet Phantom and Aurora at their summonings, hugging them tight (despite the goo) and welcoming them into the fold. She's just as excited to see them at breakfast, purring and pressing a kiss into Aurora's hair first before shuffling over to do the same for Phantom.

He can't help but flinch a little as she approaches. Old habits die hard, and he immediately rushes to apologize when she stops in her tracks and frowns. But Cumulus is used to skittish ghouls - she typically accepts boundaries gracefully. No, what's caught her off guard is-

"Phantom, sweetheart, didn't Aether show you how the bath works?" Cumulus' voice is soft and warm, but she's got Aether pinned with a disappointed glare.

Phantom curls in on himself a little, squirming and wrapping his tail around his fingers. "He did... why?"

"Little bat, you've still got... goo... clumped in your hair. That can't feel very good."

And while Phantom is squirming and explaining himself, that he was focusing on getting used to his room, Cumulus starts looking him over more carefully.

She notices his claws, broken and jagged in some spots, dirt and goo clumped around them. Little scrapes, scratches, and bruises littering what little bit of his bare skin is exposed. Hair dry and frizzed up, with tangles and knots all around the base of his horns. And his horns... dried out, brittle, chunks missing near the ends.

Well, Cirrus doesn't call her Fussy Lussy for nothing.

"Oh darling, it's okay you didn't have time last night. I'll tell you what, I was going to have a little spa day today, I've got so many new things I want to try out. How about you come along with me and I'll help you figure out all the knobs in the tub and you can try out some of my soaps!"

Phantom looks a little wary and unsure as Cumulus extends her offer, maybe trying to figure out how to say no, until Aurora gasps and starts kicking her feet excitedly.

"Oh! Phantom! Cumulus helped me wash my hair last night and her soaps smell soooooo good! You're gonna love it!"

So, that's how Phantom ends up reclined neck-deep in deliciously warm bathwater not an hour later.

Cumulus is humming quietly, sitting next to him and lighting all the candles she lined up along the edge of the tub. "These candles are always here," she explains, "And the matches live in that jar tucked over there, so you can use these anytime you want if you like them, alright?"

Phantom just hums a little to let her know he's at least kind of listening. He rubs his toes through a little pile of what Cumulus called epsom salts, enjoying the way the grains crunch and swirl around his feet as they slowly dissolve. He can't remember being so comfortably warm and relaxed, maybe ever.

"Alright, sugar, I've got so many good things to try out. Are you ready?"

Phantom loses track of time quickly, but it must be hours that they soak together. Cumulus grooms him meticulously, and it stirs up achingly precious, half-lit memories from his kit days, when he still had his parents to look after him.

She scrubs his hair thoroughly with a sweet, sudsy shampoo. Her claws scratch deliciously over his scalp, sending goosebumps down his back. She works something called conditioner in next, using her fingers and a comb to tug and tease all the knots out of his hair. Not once does she pull hard enough to hurt.

She rubs a creamy, buttery substance between her palms until it melts into a sweet-scented oil. She massages it over his horns, cooing about how it's adding so much depth to their night-blue color. His claws are next, and Cumulus patiently explains what each of her little tools is for as she goes about trimming, filing, and oiling each one. She even rubs a cream into what she tells him are his cuticles, apparently to soften them or something.

She uses the softest cloth he's ever felt in his whole life ever to wash him thoroughly with a mouth-wateringly scented soap. She's thorough, getting behind his ears and between his toes. While she washes him, she tells him they should talk to Rain later about trimming up his hair so it doesn't fall in his eyes so much. She checks in with him constantly, asking if he's still okay with her washing him or if he'd like to take over.

Once they're out and dry, she helps him put on a creamy lotion before handing him big, soft clothes to pull on. She helps him roll the sleeves and cuff the pants, having stolen them from Swiss.

"He won't miss them, sweetie. That ghoul has the comfiest loungewear and he's always happy to share."

Cumulus insists that the most important part of their spa day is to immediately crawl into her nest to snack, snooze, and watch movies. It's called beauty rest for a reason, Phantom!

It's with a full belly and a clean, relaxed body that Phantom snuggles down under Cumulus' fresh, soft blankets and promptly passes out. It's the deepest, most restorative sleep he's had in ages.

And while he sleeps, Cumulus pets his hair, rubs his back, and generally fusses over whether the blankets are covering him properly. Her entire heart has totally melted for this sweet ghoul who's seen too much hardship, and she vows to make him the most rotten, spoiled little brat the ministry has ever seen.

[becausebuckley]

michelle's buddie fic recs: week 41!

another excellent reading week <3 this list is spoiler free for season 8: for season 8 fic recs, click here!

this is a mix of fics with all ratings, so some include NSFW content. please take a look at both the ratings and the fic tags before reading!

if you come across something you like in this list, remember to show some love to the author by leaving kudos and a comment!

for thy true-love take | lecornergirl/@clusterbuck| 1.9k | T

Chimney Han and the ethics of slipping your coworkers love potions. chimneyhen bestieism!! this felt so them <3

from the ground up | blueberrytwoberry/@blueberrytwoberry| 17.5k | M

And so, really, the last thing he needed when he got home at the end of a long shift was to find a massive, weird-ass dog curled up on his front porch. And yet, there it was. just this morning i realised what a goldmine animal transformation aus can be and wow this was exactly what i was looking for!! the maddie scene had me giggling, such a lovely fic!!

i can't sleep without you | Buddiesmutslut/@buddiesmutslut | 1.9k | G

He can exhaust himself with a workout or a good shift or a night out, but by the time he climbs into his bed, he lays awake for hours, replaying his mistakes over and over again. He’s barely sleeping, beyond exhausted and he just wants to go home. so so soft and so lovely <3 exactly the comfort i needed earlier this week

i didn't know (that it could be good) | rainbow_nerds/@rainbow-nerdss | 27k | E

They're friends, that's all there is to it. Until Eddie lets himself into Buck's apartment unannounced, and finds him in a compromising position. That should be nothing, just something to laugh about down the line, except afterwards, it's like a switch has flipped, and neither of them can get it out of their minds. okay yes yes the smut is good the clothes sharing is nice the sexual tension is so there but can we talk about the butterflies?? just read this and you'll know what i mean it will be so worth it i promise. a new favourite for sure <3

i'll be the north star that takes you home | marviless/@marviless | 7.9k | G

in which eddie is moving back to el paso for the summer, and buck is deeply in love. listen the idea of eddie moving to el paso hurts me and also hurts buck BUT when it leads to fics like this i suddenly don't mind anymore <3 the airport scene!!

i'll keep your brittle heart warm | reeseofmind | 12.8k | E

5 times buck and eddie wear the other's clothes + 1 time they don't wear much of anything. i've been deep in the clothes sharing tag and this was one of my favourite finds <3

in synchronicity with the score | therainbowsedge/@therainbowsedge | 30.2k | E

“How long have you gone without scening?” And isn’t that a loaded question that Buck doesn’t even know how to start responding to. i have such a weak spot for fics like this. this has some gorgeous descriptive passages and looks into buck's mindset in this au!

love like woven thread | renecdote/@renecdote | 1.9k | G

the one where Eddie is a clothes thief and Buck kind of loves that about him. the ultimate hurt/comfort fluff clothes stealing fic <3 so lovely!! i reread this while working on this rec list actually hehe

steal my abuela (you already have my heart) | anarchyat4am | 4.6k | T

“Hey,” Eddie says softly, “You really showed up for me yesterday. Thank you.” “Course,” Buck says, “We had fun.” “Fun? You sat in the ER with my abuela for three hours.”. buck and abuela!! i love them together so much!! family feels indeed <3

vary my days | Chash | 12.6k | T

After Christopher leaves, Frank tells Eddie to get a hobby. Eddie picks Legos, Buck picks crochet, and they both wait for Chris to talk to them again. eddie and the legos my absolute beloved <3 such a fantastic working of these characters!!

you've haunted me so stunningly | playinginthunderstorms/@playinginthunderstorms | 9.6k | T

Five times Buck and Eddie hold hands, one time they do by proxy, and one time Eddie freaks out about it. holding hands!! so so hurt/comfort in the best way possible. i was saving this one for a bus ride home after a long day and it hit the spot exactly <3

[azes-silliness]

𝕲𝖔𝖑𝖉

Zhongli x reincarnated gn!reader Angst » comfort(?) An: Hi. Wow, my recent stories suck :3 Finals are tomorrow but I love procastination! Warnings: Reader death, graphic descriptions of blood and violence. Summary: Gold is a precious jewel that glimmers even in the darkness. It is able to withstand even the most powerful forces with mere dents that can be flawlessly fixed. It's only weakness is that when it's old and brittle, it shatters, if not thrown away first.

--

To Rex Lapis, you were an interesting soul. An Adepti with a profound curiousity in humans. Most of your kind hardly bothered with such things, deeming them trivial. Every week, without fail, you made it a point to drag the geo archon to Liyue, giggling at how he managed to seem surprised with your timing at every instance of this happening. "Aren't humans amazing?" You whisper in awe, glancing down from where you were sitting. This excursion had led you both to the quiet peak of a mountain overlooking Liyue. It was breathtaking, to say the least. "They have such short lifespans yet they manage to have so many industrious inventions!" You were pointing at the 'windmill' of the humans. A simple, yet valuable contraption, he supposed. Yet Rex Lapis's eyes were not focused on that human made object-no. His eyes slowly trailed to your gleaming features beside him, leaning close to the cliffs end. You were smiling... "You look beautiful when your excited." He hardly knew why he said that, it was a mere passing thought he should have kept to himself. Yet...the look on your face was well worth it. You gave him a teasing smirk, "Aww, but you can't switch the roles here! You'll be pretty, I'll be hot." He let out chuckle, his eyes twinkling with amusement, "You can be both." He mused affectionately, his hands settling beside him. His chest felt extremely warm, which was odd. He didn't recall any tea having this side effe- ...his cheeks were warm too now. His hand was about to cover his face in embarassment, already starting to turn away before your hands reached out to hold him. "Who knew you got flustered this easily?" You observed, pleased. It was undeniably cute, after all.

"Every journey has its final day. Don't rush." -- To Morax, you were a dearest companion. A trustworthy ally in battle, and a comforting presence over tea. He had witnessed great a many betrayals, both intentional and not. Yet you stayed steadfast by his side, his ever-loyal subordinate. Battles had already caught Liyue in fire within the span of a year. Friends, partners, even enemies met desolate ends at the hands of countless monsters emerging from the abyss. It was a horrific event, new wounds scorning the land so deep many wondered whether they would ever heal. Morax was not spared his fate either, forced to watch with a steady hand as his nation's people were slaughtered by the thousands infront of him. Blood painted almost sickeningly welcoming landscapes every battle, marking a grave for the deceased and scaring the survivors. As every battle closed, the remaining would slowly trudge away from the garish sights, making their way for 'home'. Morax was no different, dismissing his warriors before plodding to the home you shared, every step closer to you seeming lighter. Until he noticed the specks of blood on an open door. "Y/n?" His voice tensed as he quickly made his way to the front, hesitating to come inside. His mind started to conjure up the worst possibility, his thoughts still in the battlefied. No. That wasn't going to happen. He closed his eyes and braced himself, steeling his breaths. Taking out his spear, already in position to fight anything that may be threatening you, he burst open the door, breath heaving with almost petrifying fear. Morax was about to get into a offensive stance before- "...!" There was nothing to fight. The job was over, and he couldn't even attempt to stop it. "Y/n..!" Crimson pooled the area around you, painting the floor a gruesome work of art. Your face was pale, the usual welcoming smile brutally wiped clean. You...didn't seem to be breathing. "My dear...?" Morax whispered, his voice shaking as he knelt next to you, putting a hand on your pulse point.

He closed his eyes, desperately waiting, hoping for any sign you were alive. After all, you were the one who told him and promised him that eternity would be your bond. A few seconds passed like bricks, each one adding weight to his shoulders. Reality started to crash into his face. As if they the world needed one more person from him. No. No. If they did need another person from him then take them. Anyone. Please. Anyone but you. More time passed, the only sound in the area being the faint rustle of leaves and Morax's heavy breaths. "No...w-what? T-thats. No." Morax looked down, tears starting to fall from his eyes. The great geo archon started to cry, grabbing your shoulder, "No...no...Y-Y/n. I order you to stay a-alive. I'll reward you...I'll reward you greatly." He managed, burrying his face into your cold neck, his tears cleansing some of the blood littering your cheeks. His heart froze up in pure terror and denial. No, no. His wordless cries soon turned into a chant of your name being repeated like a mantra, over and over again. As if doing that would bring you back. Would stop this war. Idiotic of him. "My dear-my love, look at me. Please, please look at me. Live. Please." See? He was begging you. The proud god had never knelt so fervently to anyone before. So you'd definitely heed his request. You needed to. But no. You were a traitor too. You disobeyed him "Osmanthus wine tastes the same as I remember... But where are those who share the memory?"

-- To Zhongli you were distant memory filled with love. One he'd remenisce about every day. He would smile as he passed by the cities of Liyue, knowing how pleased you would be with the human's growth. You would definitely light up and recite what you knew about them from books. All the other adepti had joked that you talked more than the geo archon himself. "..." Wouldn't it be funny to admit his knowledge he was prided for mostly came from you? You would have giggled. Thats all that mattered. "I love you my dear..." Zhongli whispered to the wind, a stray tear falling down his cheek. He had never mourned you enough, and will never, hm? Though in the moment,he could almost hear the breeze whisper back the affirmation. He chuckled, "Ahh...Perhaps I am going senile." " Should the day ever come that we are not together, you will continue to shine like gold in my memories."

"My dear."

[procyonloser]

(orc/elf Adamsapple mini. warning for mentions of childbirth and violence/bloodshed)

Adam was exhausted, his breathing was only now starting to even out, but he couldn't sleep yet. One of the taller elves handed him a round crying bundle, which he pulled up onto his breast.

The infant looked massive in comparison to the elven children that watched on from the entrance of the room - but it was minute compared to any orc children. His eldest child sat beside him on the birthing bed, sucking his thumb, not fully understanding what was going on, but he was just barely walking yet. Like his eldest, this infant had shorter pointed ears, somewhere between elf and orc, and a short tail, which the elven children found wildly hilarious. He knew his children would have a hard time growing up here, already being called names, like piglet. The alternative was impossible, his own village would kill them immediately.

Lucifer leaned in, pressing a kiss upon his brow, and then onto the newborn. A little girl, with a shock of blonde hair, showing she did take after him just as much as she did Adam.

"You've done beautifully, my love." Lucifer said, and Adam wanted to be happy, but the elven wet nurses looked at him with disdain at best, disgust at worst. They weren't supposed to allow orcs into their lands, and Lucifer was far from the most popular elf, even before he brought Adam home.

Maybe they'd find somewhere, someday, for their family - away from all the names and looks.

But how had he even gotten here? Well, it started two years back.

The orc village Adam was from was one of the largest, and Adam was the firstborn son of the current ruler. That, of course, didn't secure his position. He had to fight to keep it, and it was only a matter of time until someone challenged his father, or he was killed out on a raid. His sisters too seemed eager to get rid of him, but Adam wasn't about to let that happen. There were multiple ways to win favor within his village, but capturing an elf was always a big one.

They were fast, they could use magic, they had more advanced weaponry, and they had jewelry. They were always bedecked in things that glimmered, things that Adam's village had little of. Adam needed a wife to secure his own future as well, he needed heirs, and he needed gold to melt down and turn into a marriage dagger for the orc of his choosing. So, Adam needed an elf.

And, he'd just so happened to have spotted one in this area recently, an open glen within the woods. It was very far outside the line of their own territory, which meant the elf was either strong, or incredibly stupid - or as his mother Asherah, would say about Adam, a stunning mix of both.

Adam sat up on a high oak branch, one heavy enough to carry him, watching from above as his target made itself known. He couldn't tell if it was male or female, elves all looked the same to him, but it seemed short, even for their species. It walked around the glen, picking up sticks, bending them like it was testing the brittleness, before throwing them away. Elven bows were one of their worst weapons, the orcs had nothing so long distance besides throwing spears.

Adam waited until it was turned around, before he jumped down from his hiding spot, and swung his club hard into the elven figure with a cackle. It went flying, hitting a rocky outcrop, and collapsing as a cloud of dust rose around it. Adam grinned, resting his club on the ground, and waiting to see if the elf got back up.

"You shouldn't have come out so far, little one. You know, if you're not dead, all you need to do is give me all your jewelry and clothing, and I'll let you live." That was a lie. "You can go home." Adam wanted to see first if it was a male or female, then he'd probably trade them off to the humans.

The elf pushed up onto a hand, and Adam's grin spread. It was stronger than he'd thought. As the dust cleared, the elf got to it's feet, and made eye contact with Adam. Red eyes, that was uncommon.

"Somehow I doubt that," the elf said wryly, in a deeper voice than he'd expected. He had no weapons on him that he could see, not even a knife.

"Are you male?" Adam asked, and the elf gave a small nod. "Well, I have to admit that's less interesting."

Adam raised his club again, ready to finish the job. "Make your choice, elf."

The elf raised an eyebrow, dusting himself off, like he was entirely uninterested in Adam's threats.

Maybe because he was.

With a flick of his wrist, Adam went flying backwards, dropping his club, and falling down the side of a riverbank. Immediately, he knew something was wrong, he'd not expected such powerful magic out of an elf so small. Adam coughed, and coughed until it came up red as he landed, feeling a sharp pain begin to radiate from his center. Adam looked down, and felt cold. He'd landed on a downed tree, and a jagged broken branch had impaled him through his stomach.

The elf appeared at the edge of the riverbank, expression going from tired, to shocked. In an instant, he'd silently jumped down beside Adam, looking over the wound. "Oh no...I didn't mean for this to happen..." He whispered to himself, chewing on his lip.

Up close, Adam could see he was very pretty. A small heart shaped face, large eyes, long sharp pointed ears covered in dangling gold and gems. Adam's breathing got more haggard as he watched him move around, as though he was trying to find some angle where Adam wasn't going to die.

"Hey, what's your name?" Adam asked quietly, and the elf looked up, startled.

"Lucifer."

"I'm Adam. Could you do me a last favor? You elves have honor, right?" Lucifer paused, but nodded. "Could you give me one of your necklaces? When my people find my body, I want them to know I fought. I want my mother to have it."

Lucifer watched him, brows knit together as Adam spoke. He looked more pained than Adam felt, because, in truth, he'd started to not feel much of anything. He was cold, that's all he felt.

"This wasn't supposed to happen, why did you have to-" Lucifer shook his head, before he raised a hand, and Adam began to raise off the branch. Blood began to pour out of his open wound, as Lucifer lowered him onto river stones. A golden glow surrounded delicate fingers, and he pressed them against Adam's stomach.

"I'm not going to let you die, Adam. I'm going to heal you, then you can see your mother yourself." Lucifer said, meeting his eyes with resolution on his face. He raised a bloodied hand to Adam's cheek, caressing it just briefly, before returning it to start the healing work. Adam closed his eyes at the soft touch, and waited for death to take him, but it never came.

Adam woke up, who knew how much later, weak, but alive. They were in a cave, illuminated by a soft red glow, and he heard gentle singing, and felt a hand running through his hair. He leaned into the touch.

It was the beginning of their life together.

[hpowellsmith]

Heart's Choice WIP announcement: Heart of the Mountain by Fay Ikin

Heart of the Mountain is a new Heart's Choice text game by Fay Ikin, the author of Heart of Battle and Asteroid Run: No Questions Asked. It's in the same setting as Heart of Battle, with a new MC and totally standalone.

Play Chapter 1 here! Fay would love to hear whatever feedback you have if you have a moment - either on the forum, or send it to me and I'll pass it on to her as she's not on here.

-

The war between the Coritan Republic and Messimera has been over for years, but as a magician you’ll never be free of your duties to your country.

With control over warmth and heat energy, you’ve been sent to a remote Messimeran outpost, where a small group of soldiers from both sides have been tasked to cooperate and guard the northernmost demilitarized zone…where your predecessor went mysteriously missing.

If anyone crosses the mountain pass or the frozen waterway, the peace treaties could fail. It’s frigid, isolated work, and monotonous until a mysterious fellow magician falls at your doorstep hiding dangerous secrets. Will you welcome your kind, or support your colleagues’ suspicions of them?

Everyone has their own agenda - and their own secrets to guard. When their goals oppose each other, who will you support and who will you stand against? Who will you keep close when your magic starts to fail, when paranoia and fear strike the outpost? A mysterious force within the mountain threatens to topple everything your country has worked for. What are you willing to lose to survive - your livelihood, your love, or your magic itself?

Heart of the Mountain is set in the same setting as Heart of Battle, 4-5 years later. All of the characters are new for this game, though backstory elements can have some familiar notes from the previous game. You won’t need to have played Heart of Battle to play this game.

I’m aiming for 3 or 4 chillies - some sex scenes are very explicit, and some will (at the reader’s choice) feature some intense kinky experiences.

As with Heart of Battle, it’s v/v. The MC can be a man (cis, trans or non-specified), woman (cis, trans or non-specified) or non-binary person (AMAB, AFAB, or not specified); the love interests are selectable between cis man/cis woman/non-binary.

There are four characters alongside the MC - everyone the MC interacts with is romanceable and plot relevant, and the conflict between different love interests’ goals and ambitions drives the plot.

All the characters have the possibility of a happy ending, but on some high-conflict routes some characters can become hostile antagonists

There are currently some polyamorous options planned: Eleri/Felician/MC, and Stelare/Theano/MC.

Romance Options:

Captain Felician Resende

GRIEVING OFFICER from the Coritan Republic

Felician’s magician best friend, the MC’s predecessor, went missing a month ago: a devastating loss Felician is still struggling to accept. With bad experiences with magic in the war, and a lingering deep distrust of magic, Felician’s trying hard to keep it out of the way of professional - or personal - relationships.

Best Felician: honorable, go-getting, enthusiastic

Worst Felician: inflexible, manic, controlling

What to say: “I agree, a five mile hike is a perfect team-building opportunity!”

What not to say: “I hope you don’t mind, I’ve made some amendments to your chore chart!”

-

Sergeant Eleri Katsaros

CONFLICTED ENGINEER from Messimera

You can’t get secrets out of Eleri with a prybar, but it’s still obvious that Sergeant Katsaros bitterly regrets whatever happened during the war. So now, here’s someone committed to being kind while frozen with shame. Eleri can’t imagine being called a good person, let alone believing it.

Best Eleri: Idealistic, practical, reliable

Worst Eleri: Fatalistic, brittle, volatile

What to say: “Let’s stay up until four in the morning to do inventory. In silence.”

What not to say: “I’ll only give you your toolbox back if you can name five things you like about yourself.”

-

Doctor Theano Leventis

MISANTHROPIC PHYSICIAN from Messimera

“Doctor Leventis has the potential to be a shining star of the Messimeran Army…if only Leventis could match talent with compassion”.

This, like other performance reviews, Theano has disregarded as ‘pointless sap’. There’s little point in babying other people’s emotions when there’s any number of things to do instead: music, reading, gambling, scientific analysis…you name it, Theano can do it. Unless it requires a bedside manner.

Best Theano: Creative, progressive, perceptive

Worst Theano: Bitter, destructive, dismissive

What to say: “Why would we be emotionally vulnerable with each other when we could get drunk and pass out instead?”

What not to say: “I’m sorry, but the future of the outpost relies on your ability to give me a convincing hug.”

-

Stelare Belmonte

FLIGHTY MAGICIAN from the Coritan Republic

Magic academy washout, army washout, an Illustrious’ magickeeper’s washout, an arena designer washout…is there anything Stelare can’t get fired from for ‘wilful disobedience and lack of adherence to basic safety’?

Stelare has telekinetic magic: the application of force to move and manipulate the world. But instead of being indispensable, Stelare has happily embraced the label of ‘massive liability’ and the freedom that comes with it. But what exactly is the plan on this remote, classified mountaintop?

At their best: Passionate, ambitious, protective

At their worst: Unpredictable, careless, vindictive

What to say: “I made you some hot chocolate, the others are so jealous!”

What not to say: “You don’t scare me…you’re just mediocre.”

[sourbites]

What Remains After Fury

You knew Metallica, and everyone involved, were stressed for weeks building up to the Seattle event. It's been built up in everyone's minds to be this huge thing, and it's honestly really freaking James out. He's been restless, and sleepless, and his temper is more brittle than ever. Which has rubbed off on the others. Lars and James are fighting like never before, Jason's everyone's punching bag, and Kirk can't keep them calm and together forever. With that awesome environment, everyone on the team has been just as brooding, skulking around the venue at rehearsal as if they're being forced to show up.

That's why you're so surprised when you see James, a giddy James, floating around backstage when he's got an encore to show up for in a dozen minutes or so. You know it's James, even with his back to you. You'd recognise him off the beating of your own heart if you had to.

Gently, mindful of his recent mood, you remind him. "Don't forget your encore, James." You say coolly, masking the schoolgirlish sigh you want to swoon out at the sight of him.

Beer in hand (as usual), he turns to you: "I won't. Just wanted to come see you. How you doin', darlin'? Workin' hard?"

It's funny how he almost sounds southern, despite living in California for most of his life. That bluesy purr of his voice does nothing to cauterise the red-hot lust spilling out of you as if you have a bleeding head wound. It certainly feels that way sometimes, as if your mind fogs. Grinning, James raises his brows at you expectantly. Oh fuck, he's expecting an answer.

You swallow dryly, almost stupefied. "Shut up, that's not nearly as smooth as you think it is."

He laughs, his shoulders shaking subtly as the air enters and exits his chest. A thick bicep curls around the top of your shoulders, bringing you to his side for a quick hug. His skin is warm, molten hot — a little clammy from performing for at least two hours by now.

"I'll take your word for it," He hums, slowly slipping his hand down low, low, low. Dutifully following the surface of your back, the dips of your spine, until he reaches the small of your back. Thick fingers grope into your shirt, rounding out around the swell of your hips.

There's a heavy pause for a moment or two. His hair swooshes around as he looks around backstage. Most other crew members are tuning stuff and messing around with lights. AKA: doing what you should also be doing.

"Fuck it," You hear him murmur lowly. "You wanna take your break right now?" The question is directed at you.

You wring your hands in excited nervousness, despite finding yourself nodding. "We shouldn't take too long, though." You remind. The clock's still ticking, and there's a mass of fans preparing for an encore, crowding around the stage restlessly.

"Don't you fuckin' worry about that," James' hand is already rushing you into some emptied-out storage room, hot on your heels himself. 

The door to the little room slots closed, the lock following soon after. The four walls are bare save for a shelf where James is already surrendering his bottle of half-savoured beer. The light is an old, warm-toned fluorescent that flickers painfully every few seconds— as if it's sighing in exhaustion.

With both of his hands aching with idleness, James busies himself by slipping his warm, big palms over your figure, drawing you in with both his index fingers hooked around the belt loops of your skirt. You walk the three steps towards him until your frame bumps into his. Greedily, his hands cup your waist, gathering the material of your shirt into fists. His hot mouth is on yours, devouring your every breath. Your skin rasps against his moustache, a cool nose nudging into his. Just to make matters worse and get you further under his spell, he grazes his teeth against your lower lip, heavy-handedly groping your ass through your skirt.

You don't have time for the slowness, and James doesn't have the sobriety for the tenderness. Skirts are bunched up around the waist, and fly zippers are hatefully yanked down. Tongues swipe over lips, and corners of mouths, getting tasted indulgently. His tongue's in your mouth, and you react on instinct, sucking around it as your palms slip under his shirt, venturing up, and raking your nails back down. He shudders, patting you on the ass in his approval. You smile inwardly, nipping at his neck before you sink to your knees. It's a Pavlovian reaction, to kneel around James' thighs or at his boots.

With prying hands, you manage to tug down his boxers enough. His cock is already heavy and hard, springing up and smacking into his abdomen. Wrapping a hand around his base to secure him, you lean in, your soft breath hot against his skin. You can see the chills on James' arm before he reaches to you, threading thick ringed fingers through your hair reverently. You mouth at his head for a few moments, your lips sliding over his ever-wettening tip. With a few kisses, you sink further onto him. Your tongue flutters around his shaft, tracing the art of the vein that runs along the underside of his impressively thick cock.

James hisses once your drooling lips take him into your mouth. Precum beads a pearly, translucent shine around his peachy-skinned tip. The bluntness of his short fingernails scrape along your scalp, fisting your hair at the crown of your head. You can feel his pelvis and hips flinching. He's holding back. You try to ease him into the hollow of your throat, knowing that eases him.

"Nah, sweetheart. No time for that." James sighs, before practically scalping you with how much force he uses to yank you off him. You follow, jerked backwards with a throaty gasp.

He cups your cheek, stroking down your messy hair. "Later, alright?" He promises, grinning again.

You're guided to stand up, your back firmly pressed into the wall. His breath mingles with yours, and you can almost taste the deeply malted beer on his breath. Fuck, he makes you dizzy. James cups your thigh, steering it around his hip. With his other hand, he gathers your panties and ushers them to the side.

You find your place in the crook of his neck, sighing as he glides his now glistening cock over your wettened slit. In a dull, ache, tingle, James bullies his way into you, his fingers splayed and gripping onto where your hip meets your thigh in vehemence. He bumps against your cervix, his hips jutted forward as if he wants it to bruise you. Shuddering, your breath stops with every time you meet.

Golden, shining locks are swept to the side as you sink your teeth into James' flesh, tongue swiping over the slab of meat that connects his neck to his broad shoulders. You can almost feel his rock-hard cock in the pit of your lungs each time you ambitiously try to breathe. God, he's a monster.

Heated limbs wrap around heated limbs as he carves his hips into yours as if he's a worshiper of some deity, and you, his worshipee. A cry is forced out of you as James withdraws himself, only to pour into you, burning your bruise-tender skin as he goes. He stumbles faster and faster into you, smothering a palm to your mouth to muffle the sounds of your noises. As if that makes anything more subtle. The room is full of heavy breaths, skin punching into skin, and the obscenely vulgar sounds of slicked arousal drooling and bubbling from your puffy cunt with each schlick and schlock of James' thrusts. But sure, you need to keep your noise down.

Tears prickle at your waterline. Each shaky inhale is gutted out of you, your moans stuttering every time you're fucked into the wall.

"Shh, attagirl. Keep quiet f'me," James rasps out, grazing his teeth into the shell of your ear for a moment, dipping further into your warm bubble of space. Furiously charmed, you lean into him; maybe to take some weight off of your one leg that's not wrapped firmly around his waist.

James' hips are snapping into yours, bucking and pressing as if he intends to flatten you. You feel malleable anyway: like hot clay, a pile of mush that's bolstered up with every nasty hurl of his aggressively penetrating cock.

As if you weren't already close to going into cardiac arrest, you can hear the winding corridors quickly fill with hustling and bustling. The encore must be close. And James is missing (or busy, is a better term for it). And the man in question doesn't even seem to notice. His chest rumbles with a deep, rich moan. He bows his head down, caressing the base of your neck with an open mouth. Your pulse is thrumming. Your heart is thumping against your ribcage. You're not sure what will remain of you after James' fury.

"C'mon, sweetheart," He coaxes between smoky gasps of breath. "I know you're close." He goads. You can feel his smirk against your skin.

His calloused fingertips sweep up your throat, cupping your cheek. Uncharacteristically tenderly, he plants a kiss to the corner of your mouth. You grip him, any part of him you can manage, in a blind panic. His hair, his shirt, bicep, forearm, shoulder. Anything and everything that will help anchor you to reality as the sheer consciousness is viciously and thoroughly fucked out of you. Brain melting and going straight to that wild, fluttery pit in your stomach that thirsts to boil over.

You throw your head back against the wall, otherwise limp with jellified limbs if not for James being your pillar. Sensing what you're about to do, he cements his hand to your mouth again, forcing you to swallow the lewd moan that's heavy on your sex-liquored tongue.

"Jesus Christ," James marvels at you, his gaze falling to watch your soaked cunt withstand every vicious stroke of his cock into the channel of your insides. You squeeze your eyes shut as James' rhythm falls faster in a never-ending inward thrust. The pad of his thumb finds your swollen clit, and gives it a few overzealous swipes. Your body replies with a wobble. Then the squelch of cum as your aching hole gushes around him, pulsing and milking his cock to follow in your actions and just let go.

Your head swings back and forth between keeping James here for a little while longer and finishing him off to send him back onstage. If you concentrate hard, you can hear Lars' yells for James sandwiched between panicked "fuck"s.

James is hitting something tender and spongy when he finally finishes. His whole body shudders, his shoulders tensed, and his hands locking around you, iron-gripped. He gives a few shallow, half-hearted thrusts just to get it all out of his system (until tonight, inevitably).

"Fuck," He sighs, easing out of you with one hand, the other gingerly guiding your leg down. He fixes himself up, tucking his half-hard dick into his jeans. He swipes his beer off the one lonely shelf mounted on the wall, greedily swallowing it down his throat.

"Keep that pussy juicy, sweetheart. M'gonna eat it later." He grins, giving you a pat on the hip before reality hits him, and he rushes out of the room in a blur for his encore. You're left with the reek of sex and the syrup of mingling cum between your legs.

[mintmatcha]

cw: cisfem reader, reader is part gnome, reader wears glasses, sacrilege,

One, two, three. You swirl the last bits of tea counterclockwise and let the bits settle into shapes, order forming from the chaos.

"Are you trying to read the tea leaves?"

You peek up over your glasses. Holm is watching you, head resting against one hand. His cheek is smooshed forward so far that his eye is forced closed in an exhausted wink, and you can't help but smile back at him.

"Maybe."

"Using my blessed tea? My holy herbs?" He frowns, mouth comically down turned, a upside-down U. "That's sacrilege."

You tilt the mug his way. "So you don't want to know what they say?"

That earns you a soft smile, warm and fleeting. It ends with a sigh. "Only if it's good."

It isn't. The leaves tell you of bad decisions, of regrets and heartbreak. You spin your cup once more and watch it all turn to flurries.

"Things are always good with you."

"Hm." He reminds you of a cat, emotions reserved and measured, lips lifted in the middle by his short philtrum. "Hm, hm."

You hadn't intended to end up here, but a couple glasses of wine and a couple bad decisions led you right to his door, a moth to flame. When he answered the door, you told him the inn was full, that other friend's places were too far. It was an obvious lie, but he let you in anyway, made you tea and threw wood on the fire.

He stirs his spoon until his tea swirls, spoon never touching the mug's edge. It's silent, methodical, perhaps a bit soothing.

"The neighbors are going to talk, though." Holm stays placid, voice soft. The silken fabric of his sleep clothes are wrinkled only on one side-- he side he sleeps on, you imagine. "I'm not supposed to be alone with a woman after dark."

He's more devout than most in this part of the country. Prayer at sun rise and sun down, a diet free of meats and alcohol, perfect celibacy; he's the paradigm. Common doesn't have the correct word for the position; monk, priest, shaykh: none of them are quite correct, but close enough that most get the idea.

A holy man.

Certainly someone that shouldn't be having you stay the night.

"They won't." You tilt your mug side to side and the dregs of tea leaves, still wet, catch the light. The shapes change and shift. They still aren't good. "The neighbors know you wouldn't do anything."

"They don't know that." Holm hums. "I// don't know that."

There's a dwindling silence between you, a tension you can't cut through. The unspeakable thing between you grows.

"If something was going to happen between us, it would have already happened."

The fire catches in his eyes as he looks your way, bouncing from one eye to the other, then down to your mouth. He lingers there for a long moment, lids so heavy that you finally understand how thought can be sin-

"Let me get your bed set up."

You take his mug to the sink as he goes down the hall, rustling in closets. The house's quiet is heavy and hearty, so thick you can't swallow it down.

"You can take my bed tonight." He calls down the hall. "Mickbell and Kuro didn't clean the futon last time they stayed over and it's covered in hair."

A headache is already starting to thrum at your temples. Tomorrow, you'll regret all of this, but tonight, you can blame the alcohol.

"I'm not going to ask you to do that."

Holm comes from his bedroom and just shakes his head. You don't fight it; the fire is low and the sun is only a couple hours away.

Even if it wasn't, you'd still stay.

"The sheets are fresh." He musses his hair and its delightfully fluffed, red touched brown has reminds you of your family's old hunting dog. "I'll sleep out here, so I don't wake you in the morning."

Neither of you move. The last bits of fire are dying in the hearth, painting shadows long. Darkness is threatening to engulf you both, swallow you whole, and you use the last bits of light to admire him and his casual, understated beauty-

"Don't." Holm's voice is brittle.

"Don't what?"

"Don't do it."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You do." Neither of you move. "It's why you came here."

Your eyes are better than his in the dark. You can see how he seeks you on in the darkness, eyes slightly narrowed.

"My Gods are important to me." His brow is knitted firmly, but his mouth is soft, open. "My spirit is important to me."

"I know."

"If you start, I don't know if I'm strong enough to stop."

He steps closer. "So, don't." Another step forward, until you can feel the glimmer of mana around him. "We can't."

"Okay," you say. "I won't."

"Don't tempt me."

"I'm not."

"Good."

There's only a singular moment before he breaks. He draws you in like a breath, hands clumsily finding your cheeks and cupping them forcefully. The kiss itself is messy, with his nose bumping into your cheek and his lips missing yours, but he takes corrections well. You tilt your head slightly and he meets you there, mouth slotting into yours. You busy yourself with the front of his shirt, undoing just enough buttons to slide your hands against the warm, soft skin of his chest.

The kiss remains chaste, just the friction of skin against skin, until you part your lips more and more, him chasing the contact with wanton want--

Your tongue slides against his and he moans, unabashedly and unembarrassed, into your mouth. Holm pulls back, panting so hard that his chest bumps into yours.

"You-" He swallows, glancing down. His hands slide down your shoulders and to your chest, cupping them clumsily, meekly, hopefully- "You taste like wine."

And he dives in again to suck on your tongue.

The rest is a flurry. Your head spins, your chest aches like it might burst, and Holm keeps kissing you with that earnest, amateur passion that makes your heart sing. Your glasses are knocked halfway off of your face, drooping off your nose. Holm walks your down the hall step by step, in between gasps of breath and nips of teeth, until the cool down of his bed presses against your back.

His bed is fluffy pillows, white sheets, and down. They smell like musk and like they were dried in the sun,

Holm breaks away for a moment, jagged breath against your cheek. His tired eyes are barely open, but they still watch you with a gentle admiration.

"You look like an angel."

Your heart drops. No, this isn't holy. Not at all.

"Oh, Holm." You place a hand on his shoulder and push him away right before his lips find yours again. "We can't do this."

He doesn't move, but you can feel the resistance drain from his muscles.

"I'm choosing you," he whispers. "I know what doing this means and I'm choosing you."

He reaches for your cheek, pleading.

"Let me choose you." Holm's touch is heartbreakingly fleeting. "Let me worship you."

You almost break. You want to break.

"I can't let you do that."

[meidui]

as you know, i am absolutely obsessed with 'seven years in heaven'. do you have any recommendations for similar fics where they teeter on the edge of a breakup or divorce, or where exes get back together? i'm looking for stories where the tension is all based on miscommunications and assumptions, and nobody is genuinely angry/there's no hate between them. i need that stupid yearning and longing when, in fact, they both still want each other. i've read a few but i can't get enough 😩✨

DO I EVER!! 🥰

In Too Deep by @fohatic

Steve knew that he was asking for trouble when he agreed to let the gallery auction off a date with him for charity, but he needed to get in the director's good books if he wanted to make it as an artist in this cutthroat town. He never imagined that his participation would ignite an outrageous bidding war, or that the infamous, billionaire ex that he hadn't seen since their sudden breakup two years prior would show up and stake his claim.

a *slightly* twisted, darker spin on meidui's "frequencies of sea and space"

frequencies of sea and space by meidui

“One mil,” a voice says, firmly, and Steve would recognise that voice anywhere. Like thick amber honey, like smoke from a fire, lighting him up and burning him down.

There are no higher bids.

Steve looks across the room and gazing back at him is the face he’s spent two years squeezing his eyes shut at night trying to block out, but those eyes meet his and it’s all over.

From the Ground Up by @omg-just-peachy

Tony and Steve broke up years ago and Tony never quite got over it. When they finally see each other again at Pepper's wedding, Rhodey convinces Tony this might just be his second chance.

Paint the Town Blue by @omg-just-peachy

Ten years since he’d seen or spoken to Tony Stark, ten years since they’d broken up to go away to school. And now this email. It could be his only chance to see Tony again.

I'll keep your brittle heart warm by @omg-just-peachy

They got married when they were young, just twenty-four years old, despite the arguments from their friends that they should wait, that neither of them were ready for a commitment like marriage so young. Steve distinctly remembered Sam pointing out that the male brain isn’t even fully developed until age twenty-five. But they were young and passionate, so sure they’d found their perfect person that they could overcome anything and everything life threw at them. 

And it was true.

For six months. 

it always leads to you by @arabellamonkey

Slowly at first, and then all of a sudden, everything made sense: the way Tony had looked at him that first time when Pepper had introduced them, the way his eyes were always searching for him everywhere they went, and how Tony had asked him about his suit, voice clearly flirty now that he thought about it again. And that smile, oh God, that smile… it had been the same he had given him all those years ago when they flirted in their kitchen. “Wait, you… you recognized me?” Steve asked, eyes wide and voice incredulous. Tony scoffed, expression still bemused, “don’t insult my intelligence, of course I did.” Steve stared at him, both eyebrows raised. “Okay, it might have taken me a few days to figure it out,” Tony ended up admitting.

*** Or, after breaking up five years ago because of heavy miscommunication, Steve gets assigned to be Tony's personal bodyguard.

dreamt of you all summer long by @ifmywishescametrue

Steve spends months after the breakup trying to forget Tony, but it never seems to work. That's alright, though, because Tony can't forget him either.

all I ever knew of love by @stovetuna

For six months, nobody knew that Tony Stark and Steve Rogers were dating.   Which means no one knows they broke up six weeks ago.

Catching Lightning in a Bottle by @sabrecmc

College student Tony meets janitor Steve at MIT and they fall blissfully in love, until Howard happens and things fall apart. One divorce paperwork snafu courtesy of the ever-helpful Jarvis, and ten years later, Tony has to get re-divorced from Steve.

This does not go as he imagines.

Or, the Sweet Home Alabama AU that no one--well, okay, a few of you--asked for.

Modern Love by @captainneverever

Tony drifts into a relationship with Steve after a one night stand. He thinks that Steve is modern and well adjusted to the 21st century but finds that Steve is old-fashioned in unexpected ways.

Captain Coffee by @captainneverever

Steve is content managing his own coffee shop and life is full with friends and neighbors. But an owner of big coffee chain pressures him to sell and someone from his past reappears. And now Steve needs to fight a bully, an ex, and himself to get his happy ending.

Never Worlds Apart by @kandisheek

It's been six years since he's seen Tony when he walks into his favorite diner and sees him sitting in their old booth, as if nothing ever happened. Steve can't believe the nerve of Tony to just show up out of the blue after the way he ended things.

Turns out Tony has a reason for wanting to make amends. And Steve doesn't appreciate only finding out about it after Tony has already almost died.

Plausible Deniability by nowalee

Tony and Steve broke up a month ago. Now, Tony is back because Fury wants him for an undercover mission. Only catch? Steve has to go with him, because the public doesn't know they broke up yet. It's a perfect cover.

And Tony can totally be alone on a mission with his ex who he isn't over yet. What could possibly go wrong?

You, Me and the Christmas Tree by @wikketkrikket

Steve thinks Tony is drinking. Tony thinks Steve is cheating. They both think their marriage is over. They are just going to give Peter one last family Christmas because he thinks everything is fine.

None of them are wrong, but none of them are right either. When Steve and Tony get snowed in together 3 days before Christmas, will the enforced proximity be the time they need to figure things out?

(Spoilers: yes, yes it will)

[wetcarcass]

Ramsay took him decades ago. Plucking away at Theon, pricking him into Reek, into his.

Now those decades creep back for him. Slithering up, swimming upriver. Spinal-fluid rushing, rapids spitting to the brain.

He ran too hot. The rage burned him up. He's evaporating.

Ramsay has Alzheimer's, the years he took have come back to take and taunt. He doesn't always remember a name, but he knows this soft creature is his.

Willowy thing.

Wearing marks that have no time or place.

Little, lanky thing.

Wispy fingers, bird bones with no wings.

Waifish thing.

Standing, tilting frail. Lithe, and weary-limb.

Sweetling.

Time has turned Theon quiet. Mute is the spectator. No joy is taken, he has no body to relish in the sight.

A touch away from satisfaction, Sweet Reek keeps Theon a passenger.

Swaying steps, now old and brittle. Tottling about the house. Fetching, tidying, minding, mending.

Staying, serving. Nursing the senile beast, lost at home.

The anger, is common place. The fear, is new. Sweet Reek, knows and is endeared. To know what Ramsay does not.

Watching those cold eyes fog and fade. To hear howls uproar with doubt. Sweet Reek, is wooed.

Decades have come back, up from one hand, down to another.

Useless author's notes:

The sudden thought of came to me "what if Ramsay had like alzheimer's" and the implications of him being like 60+ and Theon/Reek also being old and has been "kept" for decades - accustomed to life and now Ramsay is loosing his memory. declining. but Reek/Theon remembers everything and is the one choosing to stay and nurse Ramsay until death.

The irony of taking someone's life, breaking them away from who they are - only to deteriorate himself? IDK, maybe one day I'll dive into writing something more extensively. But for now, whats above is out of my brain and can leave me alone now.

... huh 3 of my elders ( grandparents and older aunts ) have all died from or with dementia. maybe this is where thats coming from.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Drawn Together 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, obsession, intimidation, and other dark elements.

Character: Steve Rogers

Summary: You get a tattoo on an impulse to break your routine, but you walk away with something else as permanent as the ink.

I saw this and had to

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You are not a rebel. You are clean cut. You live within very precise boundaries. Minimizing every part of yourself to evade notice. Rules are not meant to be broken, despite that old cliche.

That is until that day. It's foolish, you know it. That voice in the back of your head repeats your foreboding. You know you can't go back. There isn't a magic eraser for this one.

Shut up.

You're over it. Over yourself. Over your boring life. You've never done one fun thing for just yourself. It's always been what has to be done. What must be done. You're thirty years old and you don't even know if you understand the concept of 'fun'.

You sit on the leather bench. Nervous and shaky as hell. There's still time to change your mind. You can take your deposit and go, with clean untainted skin.

No! You're not going to chicken out this time. You want one memory that doesn't end in you tucking tail and running.

"Do you like the sketch?" Sam, your assigned artist asks.

You glance over at him as he pulls on a pair of black gloves, his gun laid out and sterilised. You peek at the open sketchbook, the drawing of a simple red poppy outlined in black with a thick spiraled green stem. Nothing too big or extravagant, easy to hide. If your mother or father ever saw that, you would be excommunicated.

"I love it," your voice quavers and you clear your throat, "I'm sorry, I'm just a little anxious."

"That's fine. First time, right?"

"Uh, yeah, I don't even have piercings," you give a brittle chuckle, "I'm not really the adventurous type."

"I'm sure you are in your own way," he grins, a look that calms you. "So, we still set on ankle?"

"Um, yeah, I think that's good."

"As good a starting place as any. Glad I talked you off the ribs. Those are tender."

"Just an idea," you breathe, "I don't know much about these things."

"Not to worry, you're in good hands," he winks, "you can just relax," he rolls his stool to the foot of the bench, "and pop your leg up here."

"Right," you gulp down another chest full of air and follow his direction, "that's it?"

"And keep still. Tell me if you need a break. The pains a bit much at times so don't be afraid to speak up."

"Okay, sounds good," you try to settle in but your blood feels thick and your vision speckles with silver. Oh god, you're really going to do this.

"Don't hold your breath," he says, "really, I don't like my canvases passing out."

"Sorry."

"It's okay, you want something to drink before we start?"

"No, I'm good."

"Awesome," he says and grabs his gun, double checking the tip before moving back to your ankle. "Alright, I'll count down so you're not too surprised."

"Thanks," you fold your hands over your stomach as he positions your leg and bends forward.

He counts from three and you focus on not moving at the first stab of pain. Don't be a weak bitch. You grit your teeth and let out your breath as the gun buzzes loudly. The pain keeps a steady sear in your skin but you slowly get used to the sensation.

As he works, your eyes wander along the dark red walls and the artwork hanging all around. Tattoos in colour and black and white. The schematics of a tattoo gun. A falcon crest wrought in brass.

You hear the door open and the smoky voice of the other artist, Nat greets the newcomer you can't see past the pillar. The response is a deep, rocky timbre. You can only imagine the inked up brute behind it.

"Always with the notes," you hear a paper crinkle, "I'm the artist here, Rogers."

"Hey, I'm an artist too," the man counters lightly.

You peek over as the redhead woman appears on the other side of the pillar and guides her client through to her open workspace. An open curtain drapes against the wall at the other end of the shop. She sets down the page and tuts as she looks it over.

The man slides off a pair of dark sunglasses, black lenses with golden frames. He slips them into the pocket of his denim jacket and tugs at the sleeves. Their actions seem to be routine and you can see why. His arms are covered from wrist to shoulder in ink, a few smaller tattoos on his knuckles. Now you really feel out of place. 

"Sam, what's up?" The other client calls over as he hangs the denim on the coat rack.

"What's it look like, Steve?" Sam says, his eyes not leaving your ankle.

You take in the interaction silently. You're a stranger among the usuals. The poser getting their taste of artificial danger. Your ankle tweaks and you smother a grunt between your teeth. The noise catches the blue eyes of the man, Steve.

You quickly avert your eyes back to Sam and knot your fingers together. Steve's shadow moves away. The artist at your bench hardly seems bothered but gives a shake of his head.

"You want the curtain?" Natasha asks as she approaches the black drapes.

"Nah, you know I don't care."

Your eyes flick up as the man peels off his tank top. Wow. You blink rapidly and make yourself act normal. 

He lowers himself onto the leather seat as Natasha takes out her tools and starts sterilising. You once more force your attention back to Sam's careful work. It's going to take a while.

"You good?" He asks as he glances over, lifting the gun from your skin.

"Great," you murmur in an airy voice.

"Still nervous?"

"No, actually, kinda excited," you try not to speak too loud, overly mindful of the other client in the shop.

"Good," he hunches again and you suck in as he put the needle back to your skin. "So, what do you do? When you're not getting sick tats, that is?"

"Um, I, er, I teach. Music lessons."

"Music, huh? You seem like… the drummer type."

"Piano," you correct him, "I can carry a beat–" you pause to check the pain in your voice, "but I mostly teach piano."

"Classy," he remarks, "so, a poppy, any particular meaning to that?"

"Er, no, uh," you rub your neck nervously but make yourself quit moving, "it's my favourite flower."

"Pretty sombre fave but I get it," he remarks.

"Yeah, I guess…"

Your attention is drawn at the soft slap of skin and the rattle of metal. You look up as Steve retracts his hand and Natasha points at him with a sharp nail, "this is a sterile workspace."

He chuckles at her irritation and shows his palms before he sits back. He rolls his shoulders as he leans casually and twiddle his fingers against his jeans. Once more, your eyes meet and his mouth slants slightly. You gulp and look down again.

"So, any ideas for a second piece?" Sam asks.

"I think I'm gonna stick with one."

"Not gonna get a full bouquet?" He wonders.

"Not yet."

"Better get cozy, Rogers," Natasha says.

You look up as she sprays shaving foam onto his chest.

"You know this is my second home," he teases as he relaxes and she spreads the cream.

"Don't remind me," she grumbles as she takes a razor.

You tear away from your distraction once more. Gosh, it is painful. You don't know how people end up like him. Your tiny little flower will be more than enough for you.

You close your eyes and groan. Sam rests his hand on your calf. He squeezes as he pauses again.

"Need a break."

"No, keep going," you puff out.

You grip the side of the leather bench and bite down. You've always been a big baby. You bat away the gloss of tears threatening to confirm that and take another breath.

The subtle creak of leather pulls your gaze back across the room. Steve leans slightly around to see you past Nat as she shaves one side of his chest. You grimace and hide beneath your lashes.

Why is he looking at you like that? It must be amusing, someone like you in a place like that. Now you know this is definitely a mistake.

[emblemxeno]

This brings up a question I've always had why DO so many people call Edelgard a revolutionary what am I missing? She's point for point like all politicians who claim it's for the good of the country and go back to how things were when it's just an excuse. Like I don't like bringing real world stuff into this but Israel and Netenyahu? Russia and Putin? Make America great again and Trump? They all use the exact same tactics calling the other side the enemy it's all by strength alone (please ignore the system you just aren't strong enough listen to me I'll save you from the evil scapegoat I'm telling you about), using only people close to them to put into positions of power, it's honestly shocking people are blind to this??? Then again they seem to think the church is just like our church when they're barely alike so idk

We really failed as a fandom tbh.

When the game presents an imperialist autocrat pretending to be (and believing she is) a revolutionary and who sides with terrorists who committed a genocide without much pushback beyond insults until she gets what she wants because, to her and her jackass evil butler, their useful power outweighs being fucking evil and making things terrible.

And a significant portion of the audience says "yes actually, she's a revolutionary who wants to bring change and everyone who's against her wants to maintain a toxic status quo, especially the genocide victim whose warnings and instructions were ignored by humanity."

Despite the fact that, for as much as she claims she's future focused, she fucking venerates the past to an insane degree. She thinks things were better when the other countries didn't exist; she believes things are better when one person on the imperial throne gets to call the shots with no checks on that power (like, just because it's not an inherited position anymore, doesn't mean it's good, since the subjects still don't have a voice); she compliments a past when merit and strength (concepts that are just as brittle and easily taken advantage of as birth status) were what got people high positions without consideration of those below the shot-caller; she thinks things were better when Nabateans had no ability to participate in how things operate-in their own birthplace mind you-because she doesn't view them as beings capable of emotion, logic, or rationality.

Edelgard is a rough textbook example of the evils of modern conservatism, wanting to return to an inequitable and oppressive power structure of the past that shut the majority out while claiming "oh just be better at your job, you whiner." And no amount of her feeling "uwu sad" about her actions changes the fact that she's still doing them.

[inoshibi1]

-Yandere! Doma X Escaped!Reader-

⚠️warning⚠️mentions of obsessive/aggressive behaviour and taunting.

Fandom: Demon Slayer. Character(s): Doma [upper rank 2 demon]

A/N: I’m sorry if this isn’t very good. Please tell me if there are typos in it, I didn’t have a chance to re-read it♡♡

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It wasn't that you didn't enjoy being with Doma. He took care of you in the Eternal Paradise Cult and made sure that you felt loved and safe. More than anyone else had ever done.

But after so long, an undeniable truth did arise—you were bored.

A person could only stay cooped up in a room for so long. And while you did have plenty of entertainment, the need for something a little more exciting had taken root in your being.

So, it was how you found yourself in this predicament.

It didn't take much running to stumble upon an abandoned village. Dashing through and behind the buildings, you fell down running inside a small home. There were large wooden crates, you utilising them as an opportunity for a hiding spot. To secure your position, you pulled a piece of plywood overtop of the boxes, creating a concealed little nook.

And so you waited.

You knew Doma had followed you here, because you only got about thirty feet away from his home before you heard him calling out to you. And while you recognized that distinct teasing in his voice, telling you that he knew you weren't seriously trying to leave him, he still managed to instill a certain enticing fear in you.

Whether you actually lost him as you entered the abandoned village, or if he was just holding back was beyond you. It didn't matter, when the door to the room you were holed up in was unceremoniously kicked open.

Shoes sounded against the concrete floor, a clear identifier to who had made their entrance. Of course, his smug voice bouncing off the walls served the same purpose.

"Come on out my sweet Y/N. I know you're in here."

You heard his footsteps delve deeper into the room. Slowly.

Menacingly.

The deep baritone of his voice sent chills down your spine, amplified by the echo given off by the fairly empty area. "Y'know, if you wanted to play with me so desperately, you could've just said so."

He wasn't wrong, but you had a strange desire to push the demon's buttons. That, and you didn't know if he'd let you do something this risky if you asked. Still, you kept silent, a hand clamped over your mouth in an attempt to stifle any noise.

It sounded like he was pushing things to the side. Searching every crevice, the noise of wood scraping against the floor meeting your ears.

"If you come out now, I'll go easy on you when we get home....maybe."  Doma snickered to himself menacingly , knowing full well how in for it you were the second he got his hands on you.

You could tell he was getting close, the rummaging nearing your position as he swept the room for your hiding spot.

Doma was nothing if not dramatic at times like these.

The furniture to your right were kicked over, the brittleness in the wood causing them to crumple under the impact. The commotion earned a frightened squeak from you, and the second it escaped your lips, you knew you had lost.

"Hm, what's this?"

You didn't have to be looking at Doma to know that there was absolutely demonic grin plastered across his face. The thumping of your heartbeat picked up, anticipating what was to come.

Aside from his shoes colliding with the concrete, a deafening silence overtook the room―until the low and threatening sound of his voice filled that void.

"Could it be...."

His footsteps came to a halt right next to your hiding place. The plywood was ripped from its spot.

"...a little mouse?"

Your gaze shot up, and they were met with Doma leaning imposingly over your crumpled form on the floor. Wild rainbow coloured eyes pierced yours, holding nothing but danger.

Not a second went by before you were scrambling away, dead set on making a break for it. Or at least, that was until an arm snaked around your waist, pulling you close to him.

"Where do you think you're going, my dear?"

Your legs kicked around, unable to connect with anything while you were suspended.

It was a split second decision when you lifted your head up to capture his lips, pouring all the emotion you possibly could into the act in an attempt to appeal to whatever amount of entertainment remained in his body.

His reaction was almost immediate.

He let out a noise somewhere between a possessive growl and a hum of approval as he kissed you back harder than ever before.

From how aggressively you were squirming in Douma’s grasp, you began to see him become more disheveled each time he let you up for air.

He had the faintest blush of pink across his cheeks, a few of the shorter strands of his hair were falling in front of his face - which would occasionally be caught in the kiss, not that he cared. He wasn't out of breath, but his breathing was heavy. He had transferred both your hands to one of his own in order to stop your squirming.

And the look on his face... The pure hunger that was there before he started was gone. Although he was still remaining somewhat civil, There was no denying that he was positively ravenous now.

After what felt like an eternity, Doma pulled back very suddenly, the sheen of sweat that had been shared between your two bodies leaving you unexpectedly cold and confused

It wasn’t until you completely caught your breath when a fit of uncontrollable giggles escaped you as he playfully spun in a circle with you in his arms.

"Noooo, let me go!"

He laughed at your demand, the taunting lilt to it making you shiver. "I'm sorry my dear but I can't. You're in big trouble after this."

In mere seconds, Doma had maneuvered you to be slung over his shoulder, surprising you once again with how strong he really was.

"H-hey! It's your fault for not taking me anywhere fun, I mean you could've at least—"

You yelped when a hand came down on your ass to silence you, prompting you to squirm fruitlessly in his surprisingly iron-like hold.

Doma began heading for the exit of the abandoned home as he spoke. "My dear, we've been over this, you've got everything you need back with me in the cults paradise." He shifted you so that he could pin your still struggling legs down before continuing. "And maybe if you didn’t keep up with that misbehaving attitude of yours, I'd actually be able to take you somewhere nice for a change."

You perked up at the notion—not knowing that Doma had ever actually considered letting you roam a little more freely. "Wait—really?"

He chuckled at your disbelief, pushing the front doors open. The cool air of the night hit your body, causing you to pull yourself closer to the heat radiating off of him.

"Yes, but before I let any of that happen, someone's gotta learn their lesson on what happens when they are disobedient."

Unconsciously, you tensed at the notion, knowing his methods of reprimand would have you in for a long night. It wasn't that Doma would intentionally hurt you, it was just that he would take advantage of all your little weaknesses he'd come to observe. And you knew that he'd make you betray yourself in all the best ways, and somehow get you to enjoy it at the same time.

Sensing your bubbling anticipation, Doma satisfyingly smiled to himself. He made his way through the deserted back streets, not bothering to put you down for fear of any more shenanigans.

Your fate was determined. You'd never be able to get away from Doma, and really, you didn't want to.

"...Now, shall we go back home, my dear?"