#Wind has been living rent free in my head

[choconoru]

I wanna share some LU thoughts/headcanons that I've been keeping to myself so here is a random list of stuff that I thought of myself or picked up from other people;

1. Wild is able to make accurate animal or monster noises. He knows how to mimic sounds of wolves, bokoblins, moblins, and such. He picked up this ability during his time in the wild.

2. Wild probably has ADHD, but there's no such term in their world. Prior to dying, he had to learn to mask and it was exhausting to him. He doesn't remember most of it however.

3. Wild barely plans ever in fights. Hit it and try not to die is his only strategy. Somehow, it works and it scares the rest of the group. (Also my strategy in BOTW lol)

4. Also an idea that came across my mind at one point: Wind's first name isn't Link, his first name is something else. Link is his 2nd name. Everyone in Outset calls him by his first name, but somehow when he started his adventure everyone referred him to his 2nd name. (Not saying what I think his first name would be lol, up to interpretation).

5. Wind is an older brother. So naturally, he still has those older brotherly instincts. Being the youngest is not something he is used to. In rare instances, when he gets to play the role as the older brother in the Chain, he does it very well.

6. AU Idea?? I like to think Hyrule might still have his fairy wings in his Hylian form, but he hides it underneath his clothes.

Yeah I think that's all for now lol

[and-will-and-nico-were-roommates]

This is so goddamn funny to pair up with my headcanon that Will comes to understand Nico's struggle with having no Italian native speakers close to him and starts to learn modern Italian to see the Italian speaking side of him. After doing his hardest to learn a new language to understand his boyfriend and getting to a conversing level, Nico busts out a whole new language that is actually his mother tongue

"nico di angelo would lose his ability to speak venetian after bianca dies" is a very understandable headcanon but minoritarian languages losing speakers makes me very sad so i personally choose to think nico raises venetian ghosts to practice his venetian from time to time and make sure he doesn't lose it.

[sasheemo]

Revenge and Reconciliation

Pairing: Ex gfs Bound!Agatha x Witch!Reader

Summary: When the hex shatters, the bond between you and Agatha reignites with a force too raw to ignore. Confronting her after decades of anger, betrayal, and yearning, you’re determined to make her pay. Power, passion, and a collision of unresolved emotions blur the line between vengeance and surrender.

Tags: Bitter Ex Gfs, Smut, Revenge Sex, Emotional Angst, Power Dynamics, Magic-Infused Sex, Magic Strap, Magic Cum, Magic Wrists Restraints, Slight Degradation, Cum Powered Reconciliation, Revenge Gets Sticky, Sub!Agatha (I know, wtf), Writing Sub Agatha Feels Illegal, Is It Subbing If She Still Wins Tho?

Word count: 6.6k

A/N: I wrote this fic as an attempt to wrestle my way out of the creative block that’s been clinging to me like an overly affectionate stray cat. I don’t think it’s the best thing I could have written, and I’m not entirely convinced by it, but the idea had been gathering dust on my list for a while, so here we are.

The concept of sub!Agatha has always intrigued me—mostly because, in my mind, it’s about as rare as a solar eclipse. I usually stick to writing Dom!Agatha, but hey, I think sub!Agatha is canon-compliant too… just in that “blink and you’ll miss it, alignment of the magical cosmos” kind of way.

For this fic, I decided to throw caution (and some very own personal hcs) to the wind and see if I could somehow make that dynamic work in an x Reader setting. Did I nail it? Definitely not. Do I feel like I truly captured the elusive sub!Agatha vibe that lives rent-free in my head? Eh, we’ll call it a work in progress. Maybe I’ll take another swing at it someday. For now, here’s my first attempt—enjoy! 💜

MASTERLIST

Read on AO3

It’s subtle at first—a faint ripple in the air, like a string pulled taut and suddenly slackened. But you feel it, deep in your body and soul, as if the ground beneath you shifted. 

The hex is broken. 

Agatha.

Her name lingers in your mind like a curse, dragging with it a torrent of emotions you’ve spent decades trying to bury.

Fury, white-hot and all-consuming, surges to the surface, clawing at the walls you’ve built around it. You can feel it all, the bitterness, the pain, the endless ache of betrayal.

Yet everything feels shushed by the unmistakable pull of her magic, faint but familiar, like the distant hum of a melody you can’t forget.

You’ve tried to sever this bond more times than you can count, poured every ounce of power into cutting the thread of magic that still ties you to her. 

But it never worked. Years of spells, rituals, and desperate attempts to scrape her magic from your soul couldn’t erase that connection, that cruel reminder of the love you once shared.

You don’t want to feel her. You don’t want to feel anything.

But with the hex shattered, she’s there—everywhere. The memories rise like a tide, drowning you in the ghost of what once was. 

The warmth of her fingers, trailing just long enough to leave a fire in their wake. Her voice, low and teasing, laced with promises that made your heart race. You remember the way she laughed, genuine and unguarded when she let herself forget the world, or the way her lips curled into a smirk when she caught you staring, daring you to look away. Those stolen nights, when her touch was tender and her kisses slow, felt endless, like she was giving you pieces of her no one else had ever seen.

And then… nothing. 

She left. Without a word. Without a reason. Without even a shred of decency to say goodbye. She disappeared like smoke, leaving only the cold, bitter truth: it meant nothing. You meant nothing.

The memories crash to a halt, mocking you, shaming you, for ever believing she could be anything more than one of her masterly crafted lies. 

Your magic surges in response, wild and vengeful, begging for release. You clench your fists, trying to ground yourself, but it’s futile. Her presence—or the absence of it—calls to you.

It’s been decades, but the wound is as raw as the day she abandoned you, as sharp as the moment you realized she wasn’t coming back. 

But you won’t give her the chance to run this time.

Without hesitation, you focus your energy, feeling the familiar pull of teleportation. The world shifts, and when you open your eyes, you’re standing outside her house in Westview. It’s dark and unassuming, the air around it heavy with the remnants of the hex’s magic.

The door slams open with a burst of energy, the wood groaning under the force of your magic. The faint remnants of Wanda’s hex still cling to the air, a metallic tang that pricks at your senses, but they’re nothing compared to the oppressive weight of her presence.

Agatha is sprawled on the couch as if she hasn’t a care in the world, her posture loose and unbothered despite the clear signs of exhaustion clinging to her. 

Her dark hair, longer than you remember, tumbles around her shoulders in wild, mussed waves, catching the light like ink kissed by moonlight. Her clothes are rumpled, the lines of her blouse wrinkled and her jeans have clearly seen better days, but somehow the disarray only adds to her maddening allure. 

And then there��s her face—those sharp cheekbones, that pale, smooth skin, and the glint in her icy blue eyes that even now refuses to dim. 

She looks up at you, her smirk curling with the same audacity that’s haunted you for decades, and for a moment, you hate how effortlessly breathtaking she is, how your heart still skips a beat whenever her eyes meet yours. Even now, even when she’s powerless.

“Well, well.” she drawls, tilting her head, her voice laced with a defiance she has no right to feel. “Come to gloat?”

You take a step inside and the air shifts, charged with the force of your presence. For the first time in decades, you’re the one with the power, and Agatha—bound, powerless, and alone—is at your mercy.

“You look terrible.” you say, your voice sharp, cutting. “What happened to the all-powerful Agatha Harkness? Shouldn’t you be out scheming, manipulating, destroying lives? Oh, wait—”. You step closer, savoring the way her smirk falters, “You can’t.”

Agatha’s smirk snaps back into place, but there’s a flicker—tiny, fleeting—of something behind her eyes. Fear? No, she wouldn’t let you see that. Regret? That would be even more shocking. Whatever it is, it’s gone in an instant.

“You’ve got quite the mouth on you.” she says, leaning back against the couch. “I guess that hasn’t changed.”

Your jaw tightens, so hard you’re lucky you don’t chip a tooth. The sheer audacity of her, lounging there like she hasn’t single-handedly fueled centuries of your bitterness, makes your magic flare. 

The air around you hums with tension, a wave of heat radiating from your skin, but she doesn’t even flinch. Of course she doesn’t. Why would she? Agatha has always been maddeningly immune to the consequences of her actions. 

“Don’t you dare pretend nothing happened.” you snap, stepping closer until you’re towering over her. “You left, Agatha. You abandoned me without a word. No explanation, no goodbye—just gone. Do you have any idea what that did to me?”

“I had my reasons.” she murmurs, voice quieter now, almost too quiet.

Your laugh is cold, bitter. “Reasons? That’s the best you can come up with? You destroyed me, Agatha. For decades, I tried to understand why, to make sense of how I meant so little to you.”

Her lips part as if to speak, but no words come out. For a moment, just a moment, you see something raw in her gaze—a vulnerability she’s trying desperately to hide.

“Don’t.” you say sharply, your magic flaring brighter. “Don’t you dare try to justify what you did. You don’t get to play the victim.”

Her smirk falls back into place, but it’s weaker now, almost brittle. 

“You’re really milking this righteous fury thing, aren’t you?” she quips, though her voice lacks its usual bite. “What do you want, then? Revenge? Closure? Or did you just miss me?”

The last question catches you off guard, her tone teasing but her eyes searching. Your magic is screaming at you to be unleashed, the rage bubbling so close to the surface as you lean in closer, your face inches from hers.

“What I want,” you say, your voice low and dangerous, “is for you to feel even a fraction of the pain you caused me.”

The heat of your fury presses down on her, forcing her back into the couch. Her sharp tongue falters, her bravado slipping just enough for you to see it: the crack in her armor, the shadow of fear in her eyes.

“Give me one good reason,” you hiss, venom drenching your tone, “why I shouldn’t end this now. Why I shouldn’t take everything from you the way you took everything from me.”

“Because you still love me.”

Five words, and everything you’ve built comes crashing down.

It festers like an old wound torn open, flesh ripped apart to reveal something gory beneath, bleeding and pulsing. It’s a visceral pain that feels like it might consume you whole, a dark, twisting ache that blooms in your chest and radiates outward.

Your grip on your magic falters, and for a fleeting second, you see her as she was all those years ago—the woman who once held your heart in her hands, who kissed you like you were the only thing that mattered.

The memory bleeds into the present, stark and jarring, clashing with the image of the woman before you now. She’s still breathtaking, but there’s a hollowness in her now, a shadow where the fire used to burn brightest. 

The contrast churns something bitter and broken inside you—resentment, grief, yearning, perhaps all three at once. It’s unbearable, the way the past and present collide, leaving you adrift in the space between what was and what is.

You force yourself to recoil, your magic snapping back to you as if burned. 

“Love?” you spit, the word a venomous hiss that cuts through the charged air between you. “You think I could still love you after everything you did? I fucking hate you, Agatha.”

Her laughter startles you—a sharp, bitter sound that carries no joy, only a rawness that sinks deep under your skin. It’s the laugh of someone who’s long since made peace with their own destruction.

“Hate’s just love that’s been shattered to pieces.” she says, her voice cracking, the edges sharp enough to draw blood. “And we both know you’ve been holding onto those shards for decades.”

You want to deny it, to unleash every ounce of fury you’ve carried for all these years, to rip her apart for daring to speak such a painful truth aloud.

But you can’t.

And it’s in this moment of hesitation, of vulnerability, that the rage in your chest shifts—twisting into something far more dangerous.

The bond between you roars, electric and alive, as if responding to your emotions. It’s always been there, tethering you to her no matter how much you tried to sever it. And now, it’s pulling you closer, wrapping around you like dense smoke.

It’s infuriating. It’s intoxicating. And you fucking missed it.

Even bound and powerless, Agatha looks at you as if she’s still in control, as if the years of pain and betrayal you’ve carried mean nothing.

Her eyes narrow, a glint of recognition flashing in that unnervingly sharp gaze. She sees it, she feels it, the way her words have struck a nerve. And, of course, she pounces on it.

“What’s the matter, hon?” she purrs, her voice a sickeningly sweet mockery of concern. “Can’t decide whether to kill me or fuck me?”

The words land like a match to gasoline, igniting a fire it’s far too late to extinguish. The line you’ve been toeing shatters, and before you can stop yourself, you close the final distance between you in one swift movement, your hand wrapping around her throat as you press her back against the couch. 

Her smirk doesn’t leave her lips—if anything, it deepens, her breath catching just slightly as her eyes gleam with something dark and infuriatingly pleased.

You can feel her pulse under your fingertips, quick and unsteady, and it only feeds the chaos roiling inside you.

“You don’t get to say that.” you hiss, leaning closer until your face is inches from hers. “You don’t get to act like this is a game.”

“And what if it is?” she murmurs, her voice low, almost daring. “What if that’s all we’ve ever been?”

The anger in your chest twists, warping into something raw and untamed. You hate her. You want her. The two emotions bleed together, inseparable, consuming.

Your grip on her throat tightens—not enough to hurt, but enough to remind her who has the power now. She doesn’t fight you, but she doesn’t look away either.

“You have no idea what you’ve done to me.” you say, your voice shaking with the weight of everything you’ve held back. “No idea what it’s been like to carry this—this anger, this pain, this fucking bond I can’t escape.”

Of course, you don’t expect her to apologize, she never would, but the flicker of regret in her eyes is louder than words.

The bond between you hums again, relentless and unyielding, pulling you closer even as you try to resist. You do hate her, but you also can’t deny the way her presence calls to you, the way her magic—even diminished—feels like a part of you.

“Why, Agatha?” you demand, your voice breaking as you lean in closer. “Why did you leave? Why did you—”

She cuts you off by brushing her lips against yours in the barest hint of contact. It’s not a kiss, not yet, but it steals the breath from your lungs all the same. 

As her breath mingles with yours, the world collapses to the infinitesimal space between your lips, a charged, aching void that demands to be closed.

And then, as if honoring that demand, she closes the distance. 

Her lips crash onto yours in a kiss that isn’t tender—it’s a storm, a battle, a clash of wills. Her mouth moves against yours with a desperation that feels like surrender, but there’s no mistaking the way she bites at your lower lip, as if daring you to take more.

You growl low in your throat, the sound vibrating against her lips as your hands find her hips, pinning her harder against the couch. She arches into you, her body a perfect, infuriating fit against yours, and the bond between you flares alive, pulling you deeper into the chaos of her.

Her tongue meets yours, and it’s molten—hot and demanding, tangled in a rhythm that feels like a fight for dominance neither of you is willing to lose. The couch creaks beneath you as you press her down, your weight covering hers completely, your hand sliding up to tangle in her hair, tugging just hard enough to make her gasp into your mouth.

This isn’t forgiveness. It isn’t reconciliation. It’s unfiltered emotion, punishment and possession, everything you’ve bottled up for decades exploding in a collision of anger and desire that leaves no room for restraint.

With a flick of your wrist, her clothes dissolve into shimmering wisps of magic, vanishing like smoke into the air. What’s left behind steals the breath from your lungs despite every part of you screaming not to react, not to let her affect you like this.

The sight of Agatha’s bare body, a masterpiece of soft curves and sharp angles, reignites memories you thought you’d buried—the way her skin once felt beneath your hands, how her body moved in perfect synch with yours, every sound she made etched into your soul.

It’s been decades since you last saw her like this, but time has done nothing to dull her power over you. 

Your pulse thunders in your ears, heat spreading like wildfire through your veins as your gaze trails over her, lingering on the lines of her collarbone, the swell of her breasts, the way her thighs tremble ever so slightly.

She’s bound and powerless in every possibile sense of the words, yet somehow she still holds the upper hand.

Her lips curl into the faintest smirk as if she knows exactly what she’s doing to you. “Still as easy to impress as ever, I see.”

The words snap you out of your trance, a surge of irritation mingling with the desire coursing through you. 

With another flick of your wrist, ropes of magic coil around her wrists, pulling them together and suspending them above her head. The glowing bonds crackle with energy, casting faint light over her bare skin. 

Her smirk falters, just slightly, as she tugs against the restraints, her muscles flexing in defiance and testing their hold.

And it’s that—that small attempt at resistance, her futile struggle against the bonds you’ve created—that makes something snap inside you. 

It’s not just power—it’s the realization that she, the woman who’s haunted your every waking thought and dream, is finally yours to control. The intensity of it almost scares you, the way it spreads through your chest like spilled ink, staining every corner of your mind in pitch black.

It’s a visceral, consuming need to claim her, to fill her, to mark her in a way that will sear into her soul, leaving no room for doubt or escape. The hunger burns through you, fierce and unrelenting, every ounce of your power thrumming with it, shaping itself into something tangible, something undeniable.

Your lower clothing dissolves into shimmering magic, leaving you partially bare—but not fully. The vulnerability of complete nakedness is a luxury you can’t afford. Not right now. Not with Agatha. You want the contrast to be stark—her, stripped of everything, exposed and powerless beneath you, while you remain in control. It’s a statement, a reminder, that here, now, you’re the one with the upper hand.

And then, as though summoned by your need, the strap materializes. And it’s not just magic—it’s a part of you, an extension of your body. 

The weight of it settles against your hips, grounding you, the connection immediate and intimate, as if it’s always been there.

Your gaze drops for a moment, drawn to the way your cock stands proud and commanding, and a smirk tugs at your lips. You take in its size, the thick, substantial girth that demands attention. You make no effort to hide your satisfaction as your hand wraps firmly around its base, stroking it in slow, deliberate movements that make your intent unmistakable.

Agatha’s eyes widen, her own gaze falling to your cock before flicking back to your face. Her lips part slightly, and her tongue darts out to wet them in a motion so instinctive, so sinful, that it sends a fresh jolt of heat through you.

For once, she seems utterly at a loss for words, the sharp wit you’ve come to expect from her silenced by the weight of the moment, and by you.

“Speechless?” you ask, your tone dripping with mockery. “Not like you.”

“Well,” she manages, clicking her tongue, her voice laced with an edge of forced confidence, “you’ve certainly… outdone yourself.”

You press the tip against her thigh, watching as her body tenses and her breath hitches. Slowly, teasingly, you trail it upward, letting it graze her glistening folds but never quite giving her what she wants. 

You see all of her defiance falter the second you tap the tip against her clit. You do it multiple times, teasing her until she’s a panting mess, her chest heaving as her body completely betrays her. 

And yet, her eyes stay locked on yours, burning with a mix of frustration and longing.

“Look at you,” you murmur, your hand sliding back to her throat, wrapping around it just enough to keep her grounded. Her pulse races beneath your fingers, and you feel her body relax into your touch, her submission becoming more evident with every passing second. “You’re supposed to be the powerful one, remember? The one who’s always in control. How does it feel to be at my mercy?”

She doesn’t answer—not with words. Instead, a broken moan escapes her lips as you finally push the tip of your cock into her. The sensation shoots through you like lightning, raw and electric, and you can’t stop the low hum that escapes your lips.

“So wet for someone who acts like she’s above it all.” you say, your voice carrying a teasing lilt. “Tell me, Agatha—do you always get this needy when you’re powerless? Or is it just for me?”

Her cheeks flush, and she glares at you, but the humiliation in her eyes only makes your smirk deepen. She tilts her hips toward you in an attempt to take more, the motion drawing a smug chuckle from your throat.

“Pathetic.” you mock, “You used to have me on my knees, begging for you. And here you are now, so desperate for my cock you can’t even hide it.”

Her lips part in a sharp, trembling intake of breath, her chest rising and falling as her wrists strain futilely against the glowing restraints above her head. 

“You think you’re in control now?” she spits, though her voice trembles. “That this makes you powerful?”

You laugh, cold and merciless, leaning in until your breath fans across the shell of her ear. 

“Oh, I don’t think.” you whisper, your words nothing but a cruel taunt. “I know.”

To drive the point home, you push deeper, and the wet, obscene sound of her body yielding to you fills the room. 

She’s molten, deliciously tight, and her slick heat draws you in like a drug. Every inch you sink into her feels like a conquest, you can feel how her body stretches to take you, how her walls tremble and clench around the pleasurable intrusion, pulling you deeper as if begging for more. 

The sensation is so vivid, so overwhelming, that a loud, unrestrained moan tears from your lips.

“Seems like I’m not the only needy one.” she murmurs, her voice trembling but cutting nevertheless. “Such pretty sounds for me.”

Her words strike a nerve, and the moment they register, your hips snap forward in one sharp, punishing thrust, driving the strap so deep your hips collide with hers. 

The impact sends a jolt through both of you, her sharp cry echoing through the air before it’s cut off as your fingers tighten around her throat.

“Is that what you wanted? Mmh?” you hiss, your voice trembling with the effort to stay in control. “To be fucked like this? To feel what it’s like to be under me for once?”

She doesn’t respond, her voice swallowed by a series of breathless moans as you pull back and thrust in again, setting a slow, languid rhythm that feels more like a claim than a motion. 

You want to break her—but not physically. Even now, even with the all this anger coursing through you, the thought of truly hurting her is unthinkable. You know you’re big, and despite everything, you couldn’t forgive yourself if you let the fury bleeding into your movements cause her pain.

Instead, you pour that intensity into control, into precision, into the way you angle your hips just right to drag your length against every sensitive spot inside her. The sound of her wetness grows louder with each thrust, mingling with the faint creak of the couch beneath you.

“Gods.” you murmur, your free hand gripping her hip to steady yourself. “You feel that, don’t you? How wet you are for me? How much you want this?”

Her head nods slightly, the motion almost instinctive, as if her body answers before her mind has time to process, before the final syllable of your last question even hangs in the air.

“Yes—fuck.” she whispers, the word trembling on her lips. “Yes, I—”

“Louder!” you command, your tone sharp as you feel it—a fresh gush of wetness enveloping you, slick and hot, pulling you in. 

“Yes!” she screams, her voice cracking under the weight of her need. “I want it—I want you.”

Her admission is a spark to the inferno raging inside you, and you give in to it, your magic surging wildly. 

Your pace quickens, your hips snapping forward with growing intensity, each thrust deeper and harder than the last, the slap of your hips against hers a relentless cadence of possession that blends with her cries.

Her wrists pull at the restraints while her back arches and her moans rise higher, each one a testament to your power over her, a surrender you claim with every punishing thrust.

Your gaze drops involuntarily, drawn to the mesmerizing rhythm of her breasts bouncing in time with your movements, and the sight instantly makes your mouth water. The memory of their softness, the way they felt against your tongue and lips, rushes back unbidden, igniting a primal urge to lean down and take one into your mouth.

But you catch yourself, clenching your jaw against the temptation. This isn’t about her pleasure. You’re not here to make her enjoy herself. You’re here to ruin her, to make her crumble under your control.

“Fuck, don’t stop.” she whispers, her voice breaking. “Don’t you dare fucking stop.”

Your eyes snap back to hers, a wicked grin spreading across your lips as your grip on her throat loosens, your hand sliding down to join the other on her hips. With both hands anchoring her in place, your pace grows ruthless, each thrust drawing louder and more desperate sounds from her.

Her walls tighten around you, squeezing your cock as the connection between you deepens, your magic tangling with hers in a way that feels both chaotic and inevitable.

And then, just as you feel teetering on the edge of release, you pull back, slowing to a maddening pace. 

Your thrusts become shallow, deliberate teases that barely fill her, leaving her gasping and writhing beneath you. Her frustration is palpable, her hips bucking in search of relief, but you hold her steady, a cruel smirk curling your lips.

“You’re so close, aren’t you?” you purr, each word dripping with satisfaction. “Just say the word, Agatha. Beg me, and I’ll let you come.”

Her body tenses beneath you, every muscle taut as she fights the command with everything she has, struggling to cling to the last fleeting semblance of control. Even as her thighs quiver and her hips twitch uncontrollably, her pride holds her back, refusing to surrender to you so easily.

But as each thrust reminds her of what she’s being denied, drawing out her torment, her nails curl into her palms, her jaw tightens, and her resolve cracks little by little under the relentless pressure. 

Finally, her head tilts back, her voice breaking as the words tear from her throat. “Please—fuck… please, let me come.”

Her words ignite something feral and all-consuming. Power surges through your veins, setting your every nerve ablaze as you answer her desperate plea and resume fucking her with renewed vigor. 

You slam into her with brutal force, each thrust hitting that soft, devastatingly perfect spot inside her that makes her entire body jerk beneath you. Her eyes roll back, her cries turning into incoherent, panting moans that fuel the raw, insatiable need driving your every motion.

“That’s it.” you growl, your hand sliding down to her clit. You circle it with fast, precise movements, your fingers slick with her arousal as you push her closer to the edge. “Come for me, Agatha. Come on my cock.”

Her moans climb higher, until they peak in a scream that tears through the air as the tension within her shatters all at once. 

Agatha’s orgasm bursts forth like a supernova, bright and devastating, her walls clenching and spasming around you in rhythmic pulses that leave you breathless. She cries out your name, her voice splintering into a sob as her body quakes with the force of her release.

The sight of her—head thrown back, lips parted, her chest heaving as she trembles in the throes of ecstasy—is almost enough to undo you. But you don’t stop. You keep pounding into her, forcing her to take every inch over and over as you drive her higher, helping her ride out each wave of her climax.

And then, as you revel in the way she’s gripping you as though she never wants to let you go, and your own release threatens to overtake you, you falter.  

Because her eyes—half-lidded, blown wide, and dark with need—lock onto yours, piercing through the haze of control you’ve clung to. Her lips part, trembling, and her voice cuts through the storm.

“Fuck—please, baby.” she gasps, each word breaking into a whimper that makes your stomach tighten and your magic throb. “Come inside me. I need it—need to feel it, need you to fill me up.

That’s it. Her words, how she begged for it, the pet name falling so effortlessly from her lips, the raw desperation in her voice, the sheer thought of filling her up with your cum, of watching her take every drop like she’s made for it. It’s all more than enough to tip you over the edge.

How utterly ruined she looks beneath you only adds to it, and whatever fragile grip you had on your restraint shatters instantly, obliterated by the force of her need.

Your hips snap forward in one last devastating thrust, burying your cock into her as deep as it can go, your climax slamming into you like an explosion. 

And then it happens.

The magic within you surges implacably, a relentless flood that erupts deep inside her in thick, scorching waves. Each pulse of your cock forces more of your release into her, a molten rush that fills her completely. The bond between you roaring with life as your magic claims her from the inside out, leaving no part of her untouched.

Beneath you, Agatha’s body goes taut, her back arching violently as the blue in her eyes gets rapidly swallowed by a swirling, familiar, luminous purple. 

You can feel her magic pouring back into her, she gasps as it all overtakes her, her body trembling violently as another orgasm tears through her. But this one is unexpected, different, and even more powerful than the first. 

Her cry pierces the air, a sound of pure ecstasy and unrestrained power, unlike anything you’ve ever heard. It’s primal, otherworldly, and devastatingly beautiful. For a moment, you’re left breathless, unwillingly captivated by the sight of her. A vision that makes something inside you ache.

When the final waves of pleasure subside, you collapse onto her, your breath ragged, your body trembling with exhaustion and the lingering hum of magic. 

The restraints on her wrists dissolve, fading into shimmering sparks, and her hands hover for a moment, uncertain, before they settle gently on your back.

Her touch is light, not hesitant but careful, as though rediscovering something long lost. And as your bodies press together, it feels as if no time has passed at all since you last lay in each other’s arms.

Agatha’s chest rises and falls with uneven breaths, her lips parted as her hooded eyes lock onto yours.

Her gaze is a labyrinth, a tangle of emotions so layered and profound it’s impossible to unravel. There’s no trace of defiance, no smugness, no sharp wit lurking in the corners. Instead, disbelief and shock hum beneath the surface, while a glimmer of something softer—gratefulness, maybe even devotion—burns faintly. And yet, woven through it all is an aching, unguarded longing.

It’s a silent confession wrapped in questions, and the absence of her usual masks, the sheer vulnerability staring back at you, stirs something deep in your chest, a feeling too overwhelming to even begin to name.

As you pull out of her, you catch how her hips twitch instinctively at the sudden emptiness, and the sound she makes—a quiet, needy whine—makes your breath hitch. 

The cock dissolves in a flicker of shimmering light, fading back into the ether, but your eyes remain fixed on what it left behind.

You watch your cum drip from her, thick and glistening as it slides slowly down her folds. The sight is mesmerizing and utterly filthy, making a new rush of heat coil low in your stomach. 

Agatha notices the shift in your gaze, lazily tilting her head to follow it. When she sees what’s caught your attention, a smug grin spreads across her face, equal parts infuriating and intoxicating.

“Hmm.” she hums, her voice a sultry drawl that sends shivers down your spine. “You always did know how to leave an impression, darling.” 

She pauses, her grin deepening as her eyes flick back to yours, gleaming with sharp amusement. “Though I must say, I never expected to get my powers back this way… not that I’m complaining.”

As soon as you register her words your jaw clenches, a flush rising to your cheeks as frustration surges through you. 

That wasn’t supposed to happen. The thought echoes in your mind, relentless and deafening. You didn’t plan this—hell, you didn’t even know you could do that, and the realization leaves you stunned, reeling. 

You came here to break her, to strip her of whatever scraps of control she had left, to show her just how worthless she was without her power. You came here to make her pay.

But instead, as always, in the end, Agatha got exactly what she wanted. 

The smugness etched into her face says it all. It’s infuriating. Humiliating. Maddening. Everything always plays out in her favor, no matter how the odds stack against her. The universe itself seems to bend for her, conspiring to deliver her victory, while you’re left choking on the ashes of your intentions.

And yet, even in your frustration, there’s a selfish, shameful flicker of satisfaction burning in your chest. You gave her back her power, yes—but you did it your way. Intimate. Indelible. Something neither of you can ignore or undo. 

No matter how powerful she becomes again, no matter how she wields what’s been restored, she’ll always know who gave it back to her and how. She’ll owe you, whether she admits it or not.

In that way, you did make her pay. And the twisted irony of it feels like a cruel, bitter triumph.

Agatha notices the shift in your expression, the way your gaze has drifted into the distance as if lost in thought, and her voice slices through the haze with a softness that catches you completely off guard.

“You’re so beautiful when you’re like this.” she whispers, her tone impossibly gentle, like a secret meant only for you. ”When you’re all mine.”

Her words land like a jolt, anchoring you back to the present and cutting through the fog in your mind. 

There’s something in her voice, an aching sincerity you didn’t expect, that makes something deep inside you twist painfully.

But even if her tenderness disarms you, it still strikes a nerve, clashing violently with the anger and resentment still simmering beneath your skin. You cling to that anger desperately, using it to shield yourself from the confusion clawing at the edges of your control and threatening to drag you under.

“I’m not yours.” you snarl, but the words lack conviction, and you know she hears it.

Her grin returns, sharper now, as if she’s savoring your futile resistance. 

“Oh, darling…” she whispers, her voice dripping with equal parts confidence and affection. “You’ve always been mine.”

You open your mouth to reply, to hurl another retort that might restore some semblance of control, but the words die on your tongue as her hand moves with startling speed. 

Her fingers curl around the back of your neck, her grip firm yet trembling, and she pulls you down roughly, her lips crashing against yours before you can resist.

The kiss is instant chaos, scattering your thoughts like leaves in a storm. Her tongue slides against yours, hot and insistent, tangling and teasing with a fervor that steals the air from your lungs. 

It’s wet, messy, the taste of her flooding your senses as she kisses you with the same confident, consuming intensity she always did. 

But beneath the confidence, there’s something unspoken. 

It’s in the way her body shudders beneath you, in the way her fingers dig into your neck, in the way her lips cling to yours as though letting go might unravel her completely. The vulnerability in her touch and the aching need in her kiss cut through the haze of anger, leaving you trembling and unsure whether the ache blooming in your chest is pain, longing, or both.

But right now, whatever it is you’re feeling, you refuse to linger on it. 

You won’t allow her another second of your time, your presence. The very air around her feels oppressive, making it harder to breathe, and you know that if you stay a moment longer it will be too late to resurface.

With all the strength and willpower you can muster, you push yourself up, breaking away from her touch and from her warmth. 

You wave a hand, conjuring back your underwear and pants in a blur of hasty magic, your movements jerky and unsteady while every fiber of your being screams at you to put distance between yourself and her. To leave.

Suddenly, the bond hums again, loud and persistent, gnawing and mocking at your resolve. You grit your teeth and force yourself to ignore it, taking a couple of steps toward the door, refusing to look back. 

You’ll leave. You need to leave. You want to leave.

But with Agatha, it’s never that easy.

“Wait.”

It’s not a command. It’s not teasing or smug. It’s quiet, almost unsure, and that alone makes you hesitate.

You glance back over your shoulder, your voice sharp with all the frustration burning hot in your chest. “What could you possibly want now?”

She sits up slowly, still completely naked, making no effort to conjure clothes with the magic now thrumming through her.

“Answers.” she says, her tone smooth but tinged with a sly undertone, her gaze locked on yours with unnerving steadiness. “That’s why you came here, isn’t it? To finally hear the truth you think I owe you.” 

She pauses, her lips curving into a faint, almost teasing smile as her eyes flick downward to her still-bare body. “Especially after… this.” Her eyes return to yours, glinting with amusement. “I suppose it’s only fair.”

You fold your arms across your chest, your anger warring with the pull of her words. 

“You owe me more than answers.” you bite back, your voice cutting and cold. “You owe me years of my life, years of trying to understand why you left.”

“And you’ll have them.” her voice softer now, almost disarming. “But not like this.”

Your eyes narrow, suspicion curling in the pit of your stomach. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She rises slowly, her movements deliberate as she closes the distance between you. Her nakedness robs her of nothing—if anything, it sharpens her power, her control. 

When she reaches you, her hand lifts to cup your cheek, her touch infuriatingly warm, a silent challenge wrapped in unsettling intimacy.

“Stay.” she says, her thumb skimming your skin with a tenderness that makes your breath hitch. “We’ll talk. Over dinner. But only if you stay.”

You bristle at the condition, your pride flaring. 

“Using my need for closure as leverage?” you ask, your voice biting. “How very you.”

Her grin returns, sharper now, but her eyes betray a flicker of something gentler. 

“Oh, darling.” she purrs, her voice dripping with confidence, “I know you want this, so, let’s not play pretend. I’d say we’re well past that point, wouldn’t you?”

Your jaw tightens, the weight of her gaze making it hard to hold onto your anger. You hate that she’s right. Hate that you want to stay, that the bond between you has wrapped itself around your heart so tightly you can’t bear to leave.

“Fine. Dinner.” you say, your voice clipped. “But no games, Agatha. You owe me the truth.”

Her smirk deepens for a moment, a glimmer of mischief flashing in her eyes, before softening into a genuine, almost nostalgic smile. 

“No games.” she whispers, her tone unexpectedly gentle. “Just dinner… like old times.”

You shake your head, as if trying to clear the lingering warmth of her touch. But it stays with you as you watch her move toward the kitchen, humming softly to herself.

As you follow her, you can’t help but wonder if staying will be your salvation or your undoing. But with Agatha, it’s never a question of one or the other—it’s always both, tangled together in a way that, after all this time, you’re starting to realize you were never meant to escape.

[painted-flag]

OF FLOWERS AND DEATH - Aemond Targaryen

☾⋆⁺₊✧ dark elf!Aemond Targaryen x f!human!reader series.

☾⋆⁺₊✧ Summary: A taint twists through the kingdoms of man and elf, killing all life in its wake. Your father, a brilliant mind, had worked tirelessly for a solution to fight that evil. However, you are left shouldering the burden of his research after he mysteriously disappears.

A newfound companion lands you a position working under the watchful eye of elf healers. You struggle to hold yourself together in the dark woodland kingdom of elves ruled by their merciless king - Aemond Targaryen. Secrets breed more secrets, and figuring out who to trust is more difficult than ever - especially when you cannot even trust yourself.

It is a race to find a cure while unravelling the secret behind your father's disappearance, the origin of the taint, and the troubling stirrings in your heart caused by the elf king. The impending war between humans and elves drives tensions further, casting a dark veil over your endeavours.

Moreso, when death itself seems to come knocking upon your door.

It can also be found on my Ao3, right here.

☾⋆⁺₊✧ Chapters:

Chapter 1: The Laws of Humans and Elves Chapter 2: A Modest Proposition Chapter 3: A Study in Death Chapter 4: A Night of Song and Dance Chapter 5: The Young Elf Chapter 6: A Snake in the Garden Chapter 7: The Dark Woods Deep Chapter 8: Marked Flesh Chapter 9: Home and Hearth Chapter 10: The Art of Potion Making Chapter 11: A New Ally Chapter 12: Death's Sting Chapter 13: Of Taverns and Bathhouses Chapter 14: The Saphire Chapter 15: Know Your Enemies Chapter 16: Every Little Thing Chapter 17: The Winds of War Chapter 18: Past, Present, and Future Chapter 19: The Scars of Betrayal Chapter 20: An Elf's Rage Epilogue: An Elf's Devotion

☾⋆⁺₊✧ Content warning: 18+ depictions of violence/gore, eventual smut, warfare, sickness/disease, some moments of misogyny, mentions of alcohol consumption, and Criston Cole (yikes).

☾⋆⁺₊✧ I am extremely excited to begin releasing this series! Ever since season one was released, the concept of writing an elf-based story on Aemond has been living rent-free in my head.

There will be weekly updates to this series. While I have extensive outlines for each chapter, I wish to take this at a slower pace when it comes to releasing. This way, I can balance other works on this page as well. (along with my uni coursework).

Thank you all for the support! <3

☾⋆⁺₊✧ If you want to be added to the taglist, click here!

[koiiiji]

snuggling

author’s note ; this supposed to be just short sketches but i turned it into drabbles, bc my head is a rent free for bearded big guys like taesoo, jinrang AND gongseop so here is gang.

lil bonus in the end

Jinrang

Jinrang loves days like these. the kind where the sky is a deep, endless blue with thin, wispy clouds stretching across the horizon. the wind is sharp and briny, carrying the scent of salt and fish, rolling over the water in icy bursts. the waves lapping against the hull of the boat in a steady rhythm.

you don’t love it as much as he does.

bundled up in your thickest jacket, you sit near the edge of the boat, watching Jinrang handle the fishing rod with practiced ease. his sleeves are pushed up despite the cold, strong hands gripping the reel, completely focused on the water.

“i don’t know how you do this,” you mutter, tucking your hands into your pockets. “it’s freezing.”

Jinrang glances at you, amused. “you say that every time.”

“because it’s true every time.”

he chuckles, adjusting his grip on the rod. the boat sways gently with the waves, and you shiver again, curling in on yourself. Jinrang notices.

without a word, he tugs you closer, wrapping an arm around you with the kind of ease that makes it obvious he expected this from the start. his body heat seeps into your cold skin, and you sigh in relief, nuzzling against his side.

“there. better?”

“much,” you mumble, closing your eyes for a moment.

Jinrang keeps fishing, but every so often, you feel the subtle shift of his gaze, the ghost of a smirk playing on his lips.

the day stretches on, the salty breeze tangling in your hair, the cries of distant seagulls breaking the silence. you don’t fish — you never do. you’re just keeping him a company, half-dozing against him while he focuses on the water. Jinrang likes it this way honestly. it’s peaceful. just the two of you, floating in the middle of the sea, the world feeling a little smaller, a little quieter.

hours pass, the boat rocking gently as the sun begins its slow descent. the exhaustion creeps up on you before you realize it, the fresh air weighing down your limbs. you barely register Jinrang reeling in his last catch before your eyelids grow heavy.

by the time you’re on the way home, exhaustion has you slumped against Jinrang’s shoulder, still fighting to keep your eyes open.

and he loves it.

he glances down at you, already dozing off, your breath even and warm against his arm. his lips twitch at the sight of your mouth parted slightly, a tiny trail of drool beginning to escape onto his sleeve.

cute.

Jinrang shifts just enough to get a better view, pulling out his phone with practiced ease. click. another one for the collection. if you knew how many pictures he had of you drooling on him, you might never fall asleep near him.

when the car finally stops, he maneuvers you effortlessly into his arms, cradling you like a princess. you stir slightly, barely conscious, and Jinrang hushes you with a quiet chuckle.

“shh, i got you.” his voice is low, warm, reassuring.

you settle again, nestling closer, completely unaware of the fond smile tugging at his lips.

Jinrang wouldn’t trade this for anything.

Taesoo

late autumn has always been Taesoo’s favorite season. the air is crisp, the leaves burn in shades of gold and crimson, and his house — tucked away in the mountain — grows warmer and cozier. it’s even better now that you live here, finally gave in to his relentless persuasion to move in with him.

he loves waking up before the sun, slipping out of bed without disturbing you. and while you’re still asleep, he’s already been down the mountain, tracking game through the morning mist. hunting is second nature to him, a ritual that reminds him he belongs out here, away from the noise of the city.

but as much as he enjoys the solitude, he always comes back. always makes sure he’s home before you fully wake.

heavy wooden door creaks open as he steps inside, the scent of cold air and damp leaves clinging to him. he moves quietly, but you’re already half-awake, rolling over and blinking drowsily at him.

“…you’re back,” you murmur, voice thick with sleep.

Taesoo smirks. “miss me?”

you don’t get a chance to answer — his hands, still freezing from the cold outside, suddenly slip under the covers, finding your waist. you jolt at the chill, a startled squeak leaving your lips as you try to squirm away.

“Taesoo!” you gasp, swatting at his hands, but he only chuckles, pressing his cold fingers against your warm skin in teasing little touches.

“you’re so warm,” he hums, as if that justifies his actions. “feels nice.”

“and you’re cold!” you wriggle away, but he’s stronger, easily pinning you with just the weight of his body.

“then warm me up.” a smug grin is plastered on his lips.

you huff, half-annoyed, half-laughing as you grab fistfuls of his jacket and yank him down. he doesn’t resist, letting himself be pulled into your arms, his face pressed into the crook of your neck. clothes are cold, his skin even colder, and you shiver as you bury your fingers in his hair.

“…you’re lucky i love you,” you grumble.

Taesoo chuckles, breath warm against your skin. “i know.”

mountain air outside is sharp and biting, but here — wrapped up in each other — it feels like home.

Gongseop

late autumn at the temple is quiet, the kind of quiet that makes the world feel softer, like it’s wrapped in a thick blanket of golden leaves and crisp mountain air. the mornings are misty, the fog rolling through the trees like a slow-moving river, and the wooden floors of the temple are always cold beneath your feet. there are no radiators here, no modern heating, just thick blankets, the faint scent of incense, and Gongseop. your own personal heater.

and thank the heavens for that, because without him, you’d have frozen to death by now.

Gongseop is big. thick arms, broad shoulders, a chest you could easily mistake for a firm pillow, and his soft belly that only makes his hugs better. he’s warm, always, and you’ve made it a habit of burrowing into his side whenever the autumn chill starts creeping in.

which is why, every morning, before you’re even fully awake, you instinctively reach for him, pressing yourself against his sturdy frame. he’s still half-asleep too, barely reacting as you tuck yourself into his chest, seeking his warmth like a cat curling up in a sunspot. his arms wrap around you easily, a heavy weight that makes you feel completely safe.

of course, you always forget one little thing.

Gongseop may be warm, but his hands? his hands are not.

you realize this all too late, the moment his freezing fingers slip under your shirt, resting against your bare stomach.

your shriek shatters the peaceful morning silence, sending birds flying from the temple rooftop.

“JI GONGSEOP, YOU ABSOLUTE MENACE—”

you try to scramble away, but his grip is solid, unrelenting.

Gongseop just laughs — deep, rumbly, completely unbothered by your suffering. “mmm. morning, sweetheart,” he hums, pressing his cold nose against your neck for extra torment.

you flail. “your hands are like corpses!”

“you're dramatic.”

“you have hands of a zombie!”

“would a zombie do this?” he slides his frozen fingers further up your torso, brushing dangerously close to your chest, slowly cupping your boobs, grinning when you shriek again.

“YES, YOUR ZOMBIE WOULD DO EXACTLY THAT!”

he chuckles, his beard tickling your skin as he nuzzles into you, effectively trapping you in place. you squirm, but it’s no use — Gongseop is a mountain, and mountains do not move.

“you always steal my warmth at night,” he says lazily. “i’m just balancing things out.”

“this isn’t balance — this just unfair!”

he snickers, but finally relents, pulling you flush against him, his big arms locking around your waist. you grumble, but despite your complaints, you don’t actually try to leave. not when his warmth is so comforting, not when the chilly mountain air makes the rest of the world feel too cold.

Gongseop presses a sleepy kiss to your temple, his breath warm against your hair. “shh,” he murmurs, voice heavy with drowsiness. “go back to sleep.”

you sigh in defeat, resting your head against his broad chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

maybe you’ll just pretend to be mad.

maybe...

bonus sketch ; platonic older brother! gitae x reader

[where-does-the-heart-lie]

Friends We Made Along The Way Modern AU Part 2

Ive been getting a couple requests for modern day kid/killer, and ive had this perona design in the works for months now. But the final straw was the realization from that one ask i got that i have nothing for Koala in my au yet. So i had to rectify that.

ASL Brothers Modern AU

East Blue Crew Modern Au

Grand Line Crew Modern Au

Friends We Made Along The way Post

additional head-canons:

Koala volunteers at the hospital that Sabo works at as a physical therapy assistant on the weekends. it is very seldom she has free time due to her department store job, doordash job, and volunteering.

Perona, along with Zoro, was a foster child to Mihawk. they both came to live with him when they were teenagers. She still lives with him, but she pays rent and their relationship is more like roommates than father-Daughter atm.

kid and killer are saying up for a trip to Hawaii. They really wanna go up the Mauna Kea mountain and breathe in it’s famously clean air.

additional koala headcanons on this post

Perona has taken up a bit of fencing lessons from Mihawk, and has generally absorbed a lot of information about swords from just being around Zoro and Mihawk all the time.

Kid lives in a very crappy building with 7 other roommates, but he winds up crashing at killer's place most of the time

Killer collects posters of movies he likes that he steals from the movie theater as they come out.

Thanks for reading 👍

[librarygarten]

Chain x Space Orc! Human! Reader

Been thinking about those humans are space orcs posts. I know I'm not the first person to think of this, but the idea of humans just being built different than Hylians has been living in my head rent free.

You had been traveling with the chain for a while now. Long enough for them to notice you were different from them. For one, your ears were round, not pointed, but that difference was easy enough to dismiss. No. It was apparent that you were built… different.

It had all started when the group was transported into Wild’s Hyrule, directly onto Mount Hylia. Wild had been quick to pull out warm clothes for the group, but even bundled up in cloaks everyone couldn’t help but shiver in the icy wind. That is, everyone, except for you, who had declined Wild’s offered cloak and seemed completely unbothered by the fact that you were on top of a mountain in nothing but shorts and a T-shirt. When asked, you merely commented that the wind was a bit brisk, but not too bad.

 Then there was the incident with the Wizzrobe. Legend had reluctantly agreed to give you and Wind a tour of one of the dungeons he had cleared during his adventure. Unfortunately, whatever dark entity that seemed to be toying with the group had uncleared the dungeon. Legend saw the magic hit you square in the chest. He expected to see you at least stumble backwards from the blast, but you didn’t. You didn’t even flinch. You just looked down at where you had been hit, then back up at the Wizzrobe.

“Umm… Was that supposed to hurt?” you asked. The Wizzrobe responded by teleporting away, never to be seen again.

The final nail in the coffin was when you, Time, and Warriors had been cornered by a Lynel. The rest of the group was off exploring, so you couldn’t wait for backup. Before Time could even try to formulate an attack plan, you had up picked up both him and the captain, tossing them over your shoulders as you sprinted away.

“HOW ARE YOU LIFTING US? WE’RE WEARING ARMOR FOR HYLIA’S SAKE!” Warriors yelled, a bit indignant at being carried like a sack of potatoes.

“Do we even weigh anything to you?” Time pondered, resigned to his fate.

“Nah,” you grinned, still running, “It’s like holding a bunch of grapes.”

[wroetolando]

I had an idea… possibly writing a Landofic based of the song Dress-Dijon. Maybe current time they’re broken up for a while but he sees her and has flashbacks to their relationship. Kinda like the song goes.. or whatever you feel from hearing the song. I love this song.

#anonymous🌟

𝙻𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝙸𝚝 𝚆𝚊𝚜 | 𝙻𝙽𝟺

𝗮/𝗻: i love love LOVE all the song request fics! Gives me more song recs for my playlist!!😭🫶

𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: lando norris x fem!reader

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: the one where they’ve been broken up for months, but lando sees her again—wearing the dress—and all the memories come crashing back

𝗺𝘂𝘀𝗶𝗰: the dress - dijon

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: angst?

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

The city doesn’t feel the same anymore.

It’s not the fog curling along the edges of the street lamps or the way rain clings to the windscreen like a desperate thing. It’s not even the silence inside the McLaren hire car, humming low with the murmur of the engine.

It’s her.

She’s standing in front of the café they used to go to, her hand twisting the strap of her tote bag, looking like a ghost wrapped in denim and the same black boots he used to trip over in the hallway.

Lando’s foot stays planted on the brake.

She doesn’t see him. Or maybe she does and just doesn’t care.

Same difference now.

He should drive. There’s a million reasons to keep going, all of them logical. It’s been months. Too many sleepless nights, too many interviews where he smiled a little too tight. She’s moved on—or at least she’s tried to.

He can’t tell. He’s never been able to read her like she could read him.

And now? He doesn’t even know who she is anymore. But the flash of her turning her head, rain catching on her lashes, the familiar way her shoulders curve like she’s carrying everything she won’t say—that’s the version of her that still lives rent-free in his head.

Suddenly, he’s not in the driver’s seat anymore.

He’s back in her apartment, the one with the crooked window pane and the scent of cinnamon always floating in the air. She’s wearing his hoodie and that damn faded dress, the one with the rip near the hem she swore she’d fix and never did.

The vinyl crackles in the background—Dijon’s voice trailing like smoke around the kitchen. Her back is to him, swaying slightly as she stirs something on the stove.

He remembers thinking: If I don’t say it now, I’ll lose her.

But he never said it.

Not the way she needed.

Instead, he watched her turn with that half-smile, the one she only gave him when she thought they were okay. When she thought they had time. When she thought he wasn’t going to break her heart slowly.

Now she’s just standing there. Present and out of reach.

A car honks behind him. Lando jolts, foot slipping off the brake, the world shoving him back into now.

He doesn’t wave. Doesn’t look back. Just drives.

But she’s still there.

Everywhere.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

He sees her again two nights later. Monaco. The one place they swore they’d escape if things got too loud.

Too late for that.

It’s some rooftop event, champagne flutes and fake laughter clinking like wind chimes in the breeze. He’s in a conversation he doesn’t care about with someone he doesn’t remember the name of. Then he hears it.

That laugh.

Low, throaty, real.

Like sunshine on skin.

His eyes find her before he even turns fully. She’s across the rooftop, hair curled and wild, a red dress brushing the top of her knees.

Not the dress, but a close second.

She’s holding a drink and smiling at someone—tall, charming, not him. Lando’s jaw tightens. He’s seen that version of her before. The curated calm. The slow blinking. The nodding like she’s listening but not really there.

Because she does that when she misses someone.

Because she used to do that when he was right next to her.

He turns away before he does something stupid.

But the memories don’t.

They come crashing in. Flashbulbs behind his eyes.

The fights at 2 a.m. Her voice cracking when she said, “I don’t know how to be with someone who’s never really here.”

The way he always said, “I’m doing this for us,” even when he couldn’t remember what “us” meant anymore.

The good stuff, too.

Like the way she used to fall asleep on his chest during long flights, or the time she surprised him in Abu Dhabi, standing in the paddock with a handmade sign that just said “Drive fast, come home faster.”

He wonders if she kept the key.

Or if she threw it in the Thames like she said she would if he ever hurt her again.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

The thing about grief is that it doesn’t just hit you when it ends. It sneaks up when you least expect it—like when your phone buzzes at 1:07 a.m. and for half a second, you think it might be her.

It never is.

So when he hears a knock on his hotel door, he doesn’t think it could be.

But it is.

She’s standing there, soaked through from the sudden downpour, mascara smudged beneath her eyes. No umbrella. No explanation. Just… her.

And that dress.

The one.

Threadbare. Familiar. Haunting.

“I wasn’t going to,” she says, like he asked her to explain. “But I saw you.”

He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t trust his voice not to break the fragile air between them.

“I thought I was okay,” she admits, stepping past him like no time has passed at all. “But I’m not.”

He closes the door.

Locks it.

Not for safety, but because if he doesn’t, she might disappear.

Again.

They stand in silence, soaked shoes squeaking against the tile. Her fingers twist in the hem of her dress.

“I didn’t come here to fix anything,” she whispers.

“Then why are you here?”

Her eyes meet his. Still the same shade of storms.

“Because I miss you in every version of my day.”

Lando swallows hard, voice rough. “You told me not to come back.”

“I did. And I meant it.” A shaky breath. “But I also meant it when I said I’d always love you.”

The words hang between them like thunderclouds.

He walks toward her, slow like he’s approaching something sacred. His hand brushes her cheek, and she leans into it like it’s instinct.

Because it is.

“We were good,” he says quietly.

“We were better than good,” she replies.

“And bad,” he adds, a bitter smile. “We were terrible at knowing when to stop.”

Her lips twitch. “You never stopped me when I said goodbye.”

“Because I thought letting you go was what you needed.”

“And now?”

“I need to know if you stayed gone because it was easier… or because it was right.”

Silence again. Except this time, it’s louder than anything.

She looks down at the dress.

“It still smells like you,” she says. “Even after all this time.”

That breaks him.

He pulls her into him, and she doesn’t hesitate.

Not this time.

The kiss isn’t desperate. It’s not even fiery. It’s soft. Familiar. Like slipping on a song you forgot you loved until you heard it again.

It’s everything they never said.

Everything they still feel.

When they part, her forehead rests against his.

“We still can’t be what we were,” she murmurs.

“I know.”

“But maybe we don’t have to be,” she adds, lifting her eyes to his.

He exhales, fingers finding hers.

Maybe they won’t fix it.

Maybe it’ll still fall apart.

But maybe there’s still something left to build from the ruin.

And maybe, for now, that’s enough.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

masterlist

[nyrandrea]

Everything's Fine

As you try to deal with everything that has been thrown at you so early into your journey: forced leadership, mindflayer tadpoles and taking on everybody's personal problems, it all just gets a bit too much for you.

(Takes place during Act 1)

Word Count - 3.5k

Also available to read here on AO3!

Enjoy!

xxx

You felt your patience starting to wear incredibly thin when you realised Astarion had been staring at you for over five minutes now. 

Not directly, he would never be so conspicuous—at least, not intentionally— but you kept catching those fleeting glances he was throwing your way; the corners of his red eyes crinkling every so often before returning to whatever book he was pretending to read. It wasn’t one of those charming, smouldering gazes he would sometimes give you after a night of feeding, asking if you were alright, knowing full-well that your answer was a resounding ‘I’m fine’, and that you would provide for him again soon. 

No, what he was doing right now—very carefully—was scanning you, studying you,  judging you. It was as if he was trying to leer right through to your very soul. 

You almost had half a mind to stomp over to his tent and demand what his problem was, but there were other unfortunate issues to contend with. 

Namely Shadowheart and Lae'zel. 

“I already told you that the artefact is my responsibility,” Shadowheart said, her aloof demeanour and confident tone betrayed by the hand hovering over the hilt of her dagger. “This way it will protect us all, I thought we had already established that!” 

“We have established nothing,” Lae’zel hissed back. “We only agreed not to slit each other’s throats in the night, though...,” she grimaced. “I still have no reason to trust that you will not try again.” 

“At least there’s still some sense in that bullish head of yours.” 

“Tsk!” Lae’zel spat at Shadowheart’s feet, much to the latter’s disgust as she recoiled back. “However, the matter still stands that the relic you hold onto belongs to my people. Therefore, it should be in my possession!” 

The cleric sneered. “I would sooner slit my own throat.” 

“Then go right ahead. Nobody will stop you.” 

Rubbing at your temples to try and ease the incoming migraine that, for once, was not caused by the mindflayer parasite living rent-free in your head, you decided to step in-between the two women, not really caring about risking a gutting from their trigger-happy blades. 

“C’mon, we’re not seriously having this fight again?” You huff incredulously, the question already sounding stupid as soon as it left your mouth. Because of course they were having this fight again. They had it yesterday, and the day before that, and they were probably going to have it tomorrow as well. 

“We are, as it happens,” Shadowheart replied, her eyes flickering briefly to you before narrowing forward again. “Because this savage bitch won’t leave me alone!” 

Lae’zel bared her teeth in a cruel grin. “Better to be that than a revrykal of Shar.” 

At the mention of her Goddess’s name, Shadowheart practically lunged herself towards Lae’zel with an enraged scream, her dagger raised high with the intention of plunging it straight into the githyanki’s chest, who in turn raised her shield to protect herself. In that moment, you were nothing to them but a speck of dust in the wind. 

It wasn’t until your hand shot up in a blind panic when Shadowheart realised what she was doing, forcing her to suddenly pull back to avoid injuring you, only a moment too late as her knife slashed the palm of your hand. Blood sprayed across the ground as your short but pained cry echoed throughout the camp. 

“Oh Gods...” Shadowheart muttered as everyone was suddenly on their feet and crowded around the three of you in a matter of moments. “I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t... mean to...!” 

“What? Attempt to kill our leader in cold blood?” Lae’zel muttered as she took your trembling hand to examine it, you only stared ahead as the shock took a moment to wear off. You didn’t even register her uncharacteristically gentle touch as she turned your palm up. “Only a flesh wound, you will live.” 

“Still,” Astarion piped up from behind. “Perhaps it would be best to get that dressed up lest you attract any...*ahem* unsavoury visitors.” 

“It would seem we already have,” Lae’zel replied, to which the vampire put a hand up to his chest in mock offence. 

“Lae’zel, you depreciate me,” he pouted. “I’m hurt.” 

Astarion’s sudden cold grasp on your wrist startled you as he decided to examine the cut himself in a much less gentle manner than Lae’zel. “Not that I would be able to get much from this anyway, even if I tried.” 

You were slightly worried that he was pondering the idea the longer he stared at the wound; you could practically see him drooling. It wasn’t until you cleared your throat that he snapped out of his daze. 

“Well, we should probably get this cleaned up anyhow,” he finally said. “To avoid infection and whatnot.” 

“...You’re not gonna lick it clean, are you?” Karlach asked with a grimace. 

“Of course not!” Astarion bit back, much more flustered this time. “I’m not some savage beast, you know.” 

“That’s... debatable,” Gale piped in. 

“Well! It’s lovely to know that you all think so little of me; the feeling is very much mutual,” Astarion said with a fake smile before taking you by the shoulder. “Now, if you’ll all excuse me, I’ll have to nurse this poor wounded soul, as well as my pride.” 

He started guiding you away from the rest of the group, you only allowed him to because the whole situation had you in a bit of a daze, but not before Shadowheart tried to get in another “I’m... I’m sorry.” 

“It’s... I’m fine,” you replied with whatever level of composure you could muster up with a smile in a small attempt to reassure her before allowing yourself to be led towards Astarion’s tent. Your words seemed to satisfy her as Shadowheart returned a sorrowful but grateful nod, though her expression turned sour when Karlach stepped between her and Lae’zel. 

“Alright now, ladies, what do you two say we let out our pent-up aggression towards each other in a healthier and less murder-y way, huh?” The tiefling suggested before holding up her finger to not let the other two get a word in edgewise. “And before you ask, I will not be taking no for an answer.” 

A small smile graced your lips at Karlach’s enthusiastic yet surprisingly pragmatic way of taking charge, and it seemed to be working as Shadowheart and—to your utter astonishment—Lae’zel agreed to whatever training regimen she had in store for them.  

‘Perhaps Karlach should take over as leader...’  

The idea was extinguished as soon as it had entered your mind, replaced with thoughts of the tiefling messing everything up, of her killing you in your sleep, that you shouldn’t trust her to lead your party. The only one who should have any authority over these subordinates is you. Only you are worthy. 

The voice quieted down after a few moments, leaving you only with a pounding head—just another one of the many wonderful side-effects of the parasite. 

You didn’t take any heed of whatever thoughts the tadpole forced upon you. You knew that Karlach would never hurt you, or any of the others for that matter—not by choice, anyway. However, those flashes of betrayal and blood were starting to wear you down a bit, especially with the lack of sleep; the very notion of it had been non-existent since you escaped the nautiloid and accepted the leadership that everyone had practically forced upon you. 

You weren’t exactly a natural-born leader; hell, you barely managed to keep yourself alive never mind a whole group of people. 

“That’s going to need stitches,” Astarion said as he observed your hand more closely now that the two of you were in the privacy of his tent. Heat flushed around your cheeks at how close the two of you were. Flashes of that night you had shared a bed—or well, the forest floor—came to mind, and you hated how flustered it made you. It was a one-night stand, a bit of fun to ease the stress of adventuring; clearly it meant nothing. At least... that was what you were made to feel. 

What had been a night of passion for you, had been the same old dance for him. 

“Take a seat there,” Astarion’s said, his voice cutting through your thoughts like a knife. “I should have a needle around here, somewhere.” 

“You know how to sew?” You asked, settling down on a cushioned stool. 

“Don’t sound so surprised,” he said, and a sting of guilt surged in your chest. “How do you think I’ve kept these clothes looking so good for over two hundred years? Certainly not by magic.” 

“Why not just buy new clothes?” 

Your prodding seemed to hit a nerve as he paused for a moment. 

“Why waste the coin?” He finally replied, sounding a little dejected. 

“Sorry,” you said, biting your lip as you tried to think of a way to quickly rectify your carelessness. “You do look great, by the way—y-your clothes, I mean,” embarrassment takes over as you trip over your own words. “The gold embroidery is um *cough * it’s nice.” 

Astarion seems amused at your inability to grasp basic English as he chuckles, the sound deep and almost musical. “Why thank you, darling. I’m glad someone around here appreciates the finer details.” 

The vampire kneels next to you and threads the needle before gesturing for you to hold out your hand. “It has been a while so... let’s just hope I’m not too rusty, hm?” 

Those words don’t instil a great deal of confidence within you, but you won’t allow it to show, trusting in him to get the job done. If you ended up getting sepsis, well... Withers was always on stand-by. 

“Now, hold still,” Astarion instructed. “This may sting a little.” 

You nodded, only wincing a little when he made the first stitch, the pain became more bearable as you watched him focus with the kind of laser-like precision that only came with a practiced hand; it made you wonder how many times he had done this. His methodical movements almost lulled you into a sort of relaxed trance, had your mind have not been working overtime, you honestly might have fallen asleep: Gods know you could have done with a bit of shut eye. 

Ever since the ship crashed, your problems just seemed to keep piling on top of each other: Lae’zel was hellbent on getting to that githyanki creche, and there was the matter of Karlach’s engine, Gale was close to blowing to kingdom-come if he didn’t get another magical item to consume soon, Astarion would probably need another feeding at some point, not to mention the dog, Scratch, and the owlbear cub who had started hanging around the camp. A dog was one thing but how much did owlbears need to eat?  

It was fine, you reassured yourself. Everything would be fine. 

“There we go,” Astarion said, relinquishing your hand back, freshly stitched and cleaned. The pain was still there, dull and throbbing, but it wasn’t anything a quick healing spell couldn’t fix. 

“Not my best work but it will just have to do for now,” he huffs, as if he was annoyed with himself. “You’ll have to excuse the sloppy stitching, it’s... been a while.” 

“It’s beautiful work,” you can’t help but admire the stitching; it was flawless. “Thank you, Astarion.” 

His gaze remains on you for a moment, as if he were expecting some sort of quip or punchline, and his eyes widen slightly when he realises you’re being genuine. 

“I... uh... you...?” He pauses and squints; still nothing. “You are... most certainly welcome.” 

You raise an eyebrow; did he really think so lowly of you that he believed you simply weren’t capable of a simple 'thank you'? Or was it himself that he had no confidence in? Your thoughts turn to when you asked him about how he came about becoming a vampire. Astarion kept most of his history closed off from you but told you just enough to let you know that this ‘Cazador’ fellow had treated him poorly. Belittled him. Enslaved him. 

You couldn’t begin to imagine how horrible it must have been; no wonder he didn’t trust anyone. 

A part of you wanted to pry into his thoughts, to let him know that you were here for him should he ever want to talk, but a new figure entered the tent, startling you into closing your mouth. 

“Hello!” Gale cheerily greeted with a smile, his eyes latching onto you immediately. “How are we feeling?” 

“Oh, we’re feeling quite dandy, thank you,” Astarion interjected with a frown. “You didn’t think to knock before deciding just to barge in?” 

“Well, given the materialistic structure of this very sound establishment, I think you’ll find it’s a little difficult to uh...” Gale trailed off, attempting to rap the tent flap to no avail. “...knock on.” 

“Then why not just knock on the wooden beams with that...” The vampire waved lazily towards Gale’s staff. “Very large stick of yours.” 

“Duly noted, but I think we’re getting a bit off track here,” the wizard said before turning to you. “I need a word.” 

You were taken aback slightly by his bluntness, and you couldn’t help but notice the almost pained way he was wringing his hands and how his eyebrows subtly twitched. He looked incredibly... uncomfortable. 

His hand hovered over his chest briefly, just above the mark that glowed whenever he consumed magic. 

Shit. Was it that time already? But hadn’t you given him something only yesterday? Or had it been a few days now? With recent events, it was hard to keep track of the time anymore; day and night just meshed into one big messy blur. 

Judging by your panicked look, Gale held up his hands in a placating manner. “Now, I know you’ve had a lot on your plate recently but this little uh... situation of mine is growing quite dire again so... if you could just relinquish whatever magical artefact you have, then all will be fine and dandy.” 

“I... don’t have anything on me at the moment.” 

Gale’s expression dropped. “Come now, you must have picked up something along the way, surely?” 

You grimaced. 

“In a dungeon? Along the road? What about that little goblin camp you rampaged through recently?” 

His sudden passive-aggressiveness made you feel uneasy. 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Astarion cut in, folding his arms. “But we were a bit preoccupied with fighting for our lives to be on the lookout for any magic boots for you to chew on.” 

Gale chuckled dryly and drew the vampire a dirty look. “I don’t think you quite understand the gravity of what might very well happen if I don’t find something to contain the beast within me very soon- “ 

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, darling.” 

“This isn’t a joking matter!” 

“Ugh! Just shut up!” You snapped. “I do get it, Gale. Because you remind me Every. Damn. Day. About this big, scary, mystery catastrophe that might happen without actually explaining anything about it! A bit of context would go a long way!” 

Gale’s hurt wince suddenly had your stomach churning in guilt; you shouldn’t be snapping at people; you were better than that. 

“I’m sorry,” you quickly apologised. “As soon as we’re out on the road again, I’ll make it our priority to look for an artefact for you, alright? You have my word.” 

Astarion scowled and Gale forced a smile; his lips too strained for it to be genuine. It seemed like you couldn’t please anyone today. 

“That’s all I can ask for, and I promise... all will be revealed soon, otherwise the tadpoles will be the least of our worries.” 

When Gale left, you plopped down to the ground and took ragged breaths to calm your nerves, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of hurt as you nestled your injured hand in your lap. Had Gale only checked in on you so he could ask you for a magic item in return? Was he really that desperate? He must have been, seeing as you had completely forgotten about his predicament. 

What kind of leader were you? 

“You know, you can’t go making promises all willy-nilly like that,” Astarion said. “We have enough problems as it is without having to worry about...” 

His chastising faded into white noise as you grasped your head, the sting of your fingers curling and tugging through unkempt hair was just enough to distract from the pounding that came from within your brain. The ability to focus was suddenly lost to you as your heart raced, and dark emotions swirled within your chest like a wild tornado; it was tempting to let them sweep you away, to ride the waves into the unknown. To be anywhere but here without anyone depending on you for so, so much.  

“Hello?” Astarion drawled. “Are you even listening to- Darling...?” 

He moved closer to you; his steps measured and deliberate as he lowered himself down next to you, still allowing you enough space while being close enough to reach out a hand to your trembling shoulder, his touch cold yet oddly comforting. 

“Hey,” he spoke in a soothing, soft tone, his crimson eyes locking onto yours with unwavering support. “I’m right here with you, you’re safe, just breathe along with me, alright?” 

You nodded, albeit shakily, and tried to mirror his calm, measured breaths, inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly, attempting to regain control over your racing heart. 

Astarion’s voice never wavered as your frantic gasps slowly started to synchronise with his calm breathing. “I know things are tough right now, but these feelings will soon pass. You’re stronger than you think, darling.” 

He continued to gently rub your back, tracing comforting circles with his fingertips, a rhythm that matched the cadence of your breath. Your hands slowly unlatched from your hair as you felt Astarion’s reassuring presence and honeyed words grounding you. 

“There we go, you’re regaining control,” he encouraged softly. “Now, I’m going to get you a glass of water, will you be alright for a moment?” 

You nodded again, and with a quick squeeze of your shoulder, he left. As your panic attack started to ebb, your breathing evened and your heart slowed as you felt yourself returning to the present moment, the tension that had your body rigid starting to ease. 

Astarion was back by your side within moments, gently pushing a glass into your hand and helping you lift it to your lips for a small sip of water, the cool liquid soothing your parched throat. 

“How do you feel?” 

“I’m-” 

“And don’t you dare say ‘I’m fine’,” he scowled. "Because we both know you’re clearly not.” 

You racked your brain to try and find a way to explain that you were okay and that this was just a small moment of weakness, a blip in the road, that there was nothing to worry about and you had it all figured out. 

But the words never came, instead you draw your knees up and hug them close to your chest as if to hide away from his piercing gaze. 

Astarion lingers by your side for a moment, his expression unreadable. 

“Would you like to stay in here for a while?” 

Unable to find the energy to speak, you simply nod. 

“Then come on, scooch over.” 

As you shuffle slightly to the side, Astarion sits down next to you, draping an arm over your shoulder and allowing you to settle your head into his side and cling to his shirt in a way that a child might cling to their mother. 

“...I’m sorry." 

From the corner of your eye, you could see Astarion’s expression soften as he waved a nonchalant hand. “Oh, you have nothing to be sorry for, dear. If anything, I should be the one apologising, who knew being in my mere presence would be so breathtaking?” 

You managed a small chuckle at that. 

“But in all seriousness,” he continued. “I know a thing or two about putting on a façade and... well...,” he paused. “Just... know that if you ever want to talk, I’m all pointy ears.” 

You hum in acknowledgement, though you can tell by his undertone that he’s being disingenuous, kindness wasn’t exactly his forte after all, but you appreciated the attempt all the same. But you were just content to sit in his arms for a while, and he seemed pleased enough with the silence. So, for now, you inhale the comforting aroma of bergamot, rosemary and brandy, letting yourself get lost in his comforting presence. 

And exhale. 

xxx

Hellooooo Baldur's Gate 3 has me in a chokehold and the brainrot is real. I'm only in Act 1 hence why this fic takes place so early in the game but this idea wouldn't leave me alone so here we are. Apologies for any inconsistencies :'3 Let me know what y'all think!

*Edit - since this has been pretty well received, I've opened up requests! Pop me an ask if you would like one :)

[euoi-euoi]

Anonymous (🦋) requested a prayer for mental illness, specifically feeling overwhelmed, so naturally I wrote two prayers!

PRAYER FOR MENTAL ILLNESS

See me, Dionysus Bromios, Dionysus Eleuthereus, loud-roaring god of liberation: long have I slumbered in darkness, consumed by shadow, dreaming of nothing, numb to your revelry and joy... Shake loose that which binds me to this emptiness, to this sorrow, to this lack of self-fulfillment— wake me! Wake me so that I may once again see the stars, hear birdsong at dawn, feel the morning sun on my skin, and remember who I am and what it means to live.

PRAYER FOR FEELING OVERWHELMED

Hear me, Dionysus Bromios, Dionysus Lyaeus, boisterous god who frees me from care and worry: when the world hums too loud, my heart drums too wild, and my head spins, remind me to breathe and return to a moment of stillness; show me that this cage I've outgrown has always been unlocked, that I am free to fly where I please without burden; be the wind beneath my wings that carries me through bluer skies to highest branches untouched by fears and anxiety! O Dionysus Dimetor, twice-born from the violence of being rent asunder: remind me that I am whole in all my pieces.

Prayer requests are open at my discretion! Tips and prayer commissions can be paid through ko-fi~

You may use this prayer in your personal practice, but please do not alter, copy, or repost.

[terra-ediacara]

Collection of silly (and less silly) Shadow headcanons I simply cannot live without that live in my head rent-free forever-

Fangs! Fangs, fangs, fangs- And big bone-crushing carnassials. I don't have a lot to say about this one but just, Shadow with big stupid teeth, ya'll- (plus my lesser headcanon that he snarls and growls all the time because the scientists aboard the ARK couldn't decide whether to treat him like a sophont or like a feral animal, so they chose both and also neither, leaving his instincts confused and leading to him switching wildly between proper gentleman and Resident Semi-feral Alley Cat)

This motherfucker has a sweet-tooth. Especially chocolate. Maria snuck him his first piece after a particularly rough day of procedures and he's been hooked ever since, but literally anything sweet and sugary he's so down.

He's a really good cook! Like a really good cook. He can make something tasty out of almost anything, and is the de-facto chef for Team Dark. He saw Sonic microwaving some shitty dollar-store chili exactly one (1) time, said never again, and now he makes him chili and freezes bags of it for him to use on his chili-dogs. Amy likes to rope him into helping her cook for her parties, which he grumbles about but actually enjoys himself cooking while Amy bakes.

In game/comic-verses, he's either a vegetarian or tends toward vegetarianism. This comes from the Black Arms invasion, the things he saw and did under Doom's control, he can't get the sights and sounds and tastes out of his head. There are days its so bad he can only eat the blandest foods, I'm talking saltines and vegetable broth here, because the horrors hiding in his memories are too strong to overcome, some days. He will still cook meats for his friends, though, as long as he's not having one of his Bad Days (and someone else cuts it up for him). In all other verses where the Black Arms invasion didn't happen/hasn't happened yet, he is Uncomfortably Carnivorous and also Probably Eats Bones (hypercarnivore Shadow with bone-crushing carnassials and giant canines my beloved-)

In terms of environmental temperature, warm over cold, always. Cat rules apply, here. He hates, hates, being cold, probably comes from spending his formative years in the pod which I imagine was kept pretty warm, and despite his trauma with that, being surrounded by warmth is familiar and comforting. Also, procedure tables and surgical suites are cold, very cold (idk how many of you have had the pleasure of being in one awake and aware, but as a veterinary student, holy shit I freeze my ass off in there-) so being cold reminds of these too much.

He has old procedure scars under his fur and a pretty significant amount of medical trauma that makes hospitals his literal nightmare; also chronic neurogenic pain due to inappropriate/lack of intra-op analgesia. The ARK was hell, despite the fonder memories he may have of the Professor and of Maria. The Professor had strict rules on what procedures could be done and under what circumstances, but the other scientists and project heads are stubborn and don't have his attachment level to Shadow. Surgical procedures were some of the worst, especially exploratories and anesthetic-procedure-testing, which often went hand-in-hand and had very little pain control (this was the 50s after all, or 70s for movieverse, and lab-animal protections/veterinary analgesia protocols were Not It, the go-to was pretty much knock 'em down and who cares about silly things like wind-up pain-). As a result, he has surgical scars on midline/flank incision scars, as well as associated chronic neurogenic pain in these and other areas (joints were another favorite of the scientists-) due to the constant nerve stimulation. I could go on for days about wind-up pain and chronic neurogenic pain due to lack of appropriate analgesia ('going under' is more than just knocking out consciousness, my friends). Also the adhesions in his abdomen must be hell, so probably has some digestive issues that make his Bad Days about certain foods even worse.

He's bilingual English and Spanish, as well as fluent in whatever correlates to ASL in universe. The Spanish came from both her and the Professor. Maria in my headcanon is biracial, with her mother being Hispanic, so the Professor wanted her to be able to communicate to someone in her mother's birth language to help her feel more at home on the ARK. Maria taught him the ASL so they could talk when they weren't supposed to. The ASL plays well with one of my Sonic headcanons that the speedster sometimes gets too overstimulated/overwhelmed (ADHD is more than just squirrel! and i-can't-find-anything-im-so-silly moments, my friends-) and will sort of return to his selectively mute days. Shadow took notice during one of these episodes, repeated whatever he said before in sign so Sonic knew he could understand him, and the carried on whatever back-and-forth psuedo-argument they would have had anyways.

He is NOT a morning person, and tends to sleep in if he has the time- also, night-terrors. He's not one to laze around; once he's up, he's up, but he has trouble falling asleep (and staying asleep, honestly) so he's a slow-riser in the morning. This goes into him having nightmares and full one night-terrors, which is why he finds it even harder to sleep if he's sleeping next to someone; he hates showing weakness, and anyone seeing him in the throws of a night-terror, to him, is a humiliating prospect. In any verse with Sonadow or Shadamy (I love being a multi-shipper I eat so good on this site lol-) it takes him a long while before he's comfortable sleeping (literally sleeping, in this sense lol) next to them with any regularity.

Do NOT talk to him before he's had at least two cups of coffee, and the coffee better be blacker than his soul. Maybe a tiny splash of some basic ass creamer if he's feeling okay-er than usual. This goes along with the last point and kinda against the first point, but in the morning, he's out there fighting for this life lol. He just wants to be awake and get his wits about him, probably has a headache from not getting an actual rest, Do Not Interact (this goes double for Sonic's morning-person, chatty-Cathy, unmedicated-ADHD ass). He has sweeter type coffee drinks during the day sometimes as a treat, usually because Rouge or Sonic got them for him.

He listens to old crooners on a real, brass-horn gramophone. His favorite artist is Nat King Cole, but he listens to all sorts- Dean Martin, Sammy Davis Jr., Perry Como, Frank Sinatra, you name it. Swap this for 70's music on a tape deck for movie-verse. If he's alone, he'll sing along with them and actually has a very nice singing voice.

He's an avid reader. He used to sit and read all the time with Maria, especially on those days were her treatments and the procedures the scientists carried on him were too much for either of them to have energy leftover. He likes mystery novels and romances as his bread-and-butter comfort genres, but when he's feeling adventurous he'll read old myths or historical fiction (fantasy/medieval period-pieces are his favorites, King Arthur anyone?)

He watches telenovelas with Rouge, usually while drinking red wine. Or Stone for movie-verse, minus the wine cause child (probably gives him like bubbly grape juice). This is sort of coming from the bilingual thing, but also he's a ✨Dramatic✨ little creature, let's be real here- I mean he says things like "I'm the coolest" and calls himself the Ultimate Lifeform unironically. He plays it off as just watching with Rouge to help translate things for her since she's fluent but not as immersed in the context of the language as Shadow is, but it's usually him reminding her of new episodes coming out they need to watch.

He's a really, really good friend. He plays it off like he's not, like he's still a lone wolf out there on his own, but touch his friends and he will not hold back. He likes to hang out with Rouge and go shopping with her (again, claims it's just to keep an eye on her and keep the creeps away, but she always takes him to his favorite music shops and thrift stores, too). He spars with Omega or sometimes sits with him and just people-watches, since they're both sort of out here trying to learn (or in Shadow's case, re-learn) just how to be a person in modern society. As he gets closer with Sonic and Co., he finds he really loves Amy's company, too, and her perspectives on a lot of things are interesting to hear. Sparring with Knuckles is fun, too, almost as fun as sparring with Omega. He treasures his races with Sonic (pry this information from his cold dead body- or get him drunk and he might spill), and when they have quiet moments to sit under the stars, he might actually discover he has more in common with the speedster than he originally thought.

Just- Shadow, ya'll. Fuck I love this little gremlin so much-

[dystopicjumpsuit]

Hi, if you're still doing cuddle prompts, could I request Mayday with hugging from behind?

If you want to, and have time, no pressure.

Life Day Comes but Once Each Year... but Mayday Doesn't

A/N: Happy Krampusnacht, Nika! My deepest apologies for the long delay on this fic, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. You can blame @cloned-eyes for my clone!Krampus obsession. Their Krampus Bad Batch art has been living rent-free in my head for a year, and I am definitely on the naughty list. Thanks for that.

Pairing: Krampus!Mayday x Reader (fem; has hair)

Rating: M (mature content intended for readers 18+; minors DNI)

Wordcount: 2.7k

Warnings and tags: established relationship but it’s complicated; fluff; domesticity; SMUT with the tiniest scrap of plot to explain how TF Mayday ended up as Krampus; allusions to spanking/flogging; monsterfucking but make it tender because it’s Mayday; oral sex; fingering; PIV; creampie; body worship; more fluff; crack treated seriously; Mayday wants to wife you up because it is literally impossible for me not to see this man as husband material; mention of wanting children; if horns not for grabbing, why handle-shaped? 

Summary: He’s a monstrous immortal who has carried out the duties of Krampus across the galaxy for a millennium. But for one night each year, just before Life Day, he’s yours.

Suggested Listening:

This fic smells like: Apres by Ellis Brooklyn (evergreen trees, snow-capped mountains, bourbon on a cold night)

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The cabin was dark, save for the soft, warm glow cast by the lights of the Life Day tree and the flickering illumination of the fire that blazed in the wood stove. Outside, the wind howled with menace as the snow whirled in a blinding flurry, but the cabin was sturdy, and the winter storm battered fruitlessly against the walls. 

On the caf table sat two empty schnapps glasses and a half-finished puzzle, abandoned with its incomplete pieces scattered across the tabletop and the floor around it. The Life Day album you’d been playing had long since ended, and now the only sounds in your living room were the faint crackle of the fire, the muffled roar of the wind, and the quiet ticking of your cuckoo chronometer.

The scene was disgustingly wholesome, considering the decidedly unwholesome activities that had occurred on top of that very caf table not much earlier, but you were too drowsy and comfortable to care. You were curled up across Mayday’s lap, with your head tucked into the crook of his neck and your hand resting flat against his chest, just over his heart. You could feel the beat of it, steady and warm beneath your palm, and for a moment, you closed your eyes, just to listen to the sound of his breathing.

“Tired, love?” he asked, pressing his lips to the top of your head. His fingers trailed over your shoulder, down your bare arm to your elbow, and back up, again and again, in a hypnotic rhythm.

“Hm-mmm,” you lied. “Wide awake.”

His quiet chuckle ruffled the fine hairs at your hairline. “You know liars go on the naughty list.” 

You smiled and tilted your face up to kiss his cheek, brushing your fingertips along the curling length of one of his horns. “I’m pretty sure at least half of the things we did earlier were enough to land me on the naughty list in perpetuity.”

“A permanent fixture,” he agreed. His solemn tone was belied by the smile that faintly creased the corners of his dark eyes that glimmered red in the dim light. “I have a special place on it, just for you.”

“I hope it’s at the top.”

“Is that where you want to be?” He grazed the tip of his nose down your cheek and then bit your lip softly.

“On top, underneath, on the floor, on my knees—anywhere you want.”

“Careful, darlin’. That kind of talk will get you in trouble.”

“Oh, no, I would absolutely hate it if you felt the need to punish me with those birch rods of yours,” you murmured.

He chuckled quietly as his hand stole up your thigh to massage over the fading red marks and gently squeeze your ass. “Did you not get enough earlier?”

His hands slid languidly up your body, gathering up your oversized knit sweater and pushing it up and over your head, leaving you completely nude.

“You know, there’s a snowstorm out there,” you teased. “I’m going to get hypothermia.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll keep you warm.” His lips trailed down your throat as he leaned you back against the small mountain of throw pillows and began to kiss his way down your body. “Your sofa is much more comfortable than your caf table. We should have done this earlier. Take pity on an old man’s knees.”

“I wasn’t aware that immortal, mythical beings had joint problems—Oh, that’s nice, keep doing that.”

“With pleasure.”

He draped one of your legs over your shoulder, and the other he pinned between his body and the back of the sofa. He gripped your hips, holding you in place while he took you apart with meticulous thoroughness. Your fingers tunneled through his shaggy hair and then wrapped around his curling horns, shamelessly using them for leverage as you guided his head exactly where you needed him. 

“Just like that,” he murmured, his voice vibrating over your flesh, driving every thought from your mind as his lips moved softly against your cunt and his forked tongue swirled over and wrapped around your clit. “Do that again. Show me how you want me.”

His long tongue slid deeper, caressing insistently inside your body, focusing on the places he knew so well and working you with agonizing precision. Your hips twitched up off the couch, moving without your permission as you let out a sudden gasp. His strong hands tightened around you and pressed you back down.

“Liked that, did you?” 

His tongue slid back inside, repeating the exact motion until you were shaking and whimpering beneath him, desperate and balancing on the knife edge of pleasure.

And then he withdrew, the monster.

You swallowed a choked sound of protest and suppressed the urge to grab his horns and press him back down. He smiled wickedly up at you and licked his lips.

“I could feast on you all night, love,” he said.

Then why the kriff did you stop?! You wanted to scream, but you knew it would just make him more determined to draw out your torment.

“I’d let you,” you replied breathlessly, hoping that he’d take the karking hint and put that lovely tongue back to work.

No such luck. He dropped his head back down, but instead of going where you wanted him, he pressed a kiss just above your pussy, then another, a little higher, and another, higher still, until he had kissed a trail halfway up your abdomen. He buried his face against your belly, using you as a pillow, and you were just beginning to wonder exactly what the punishment would be for murdering your teasing godsdammned Krampus lover, when he spoke.

“I missed you this year.” His quiet, surprisingly vulnerable words melted away your irritation like snow in spring.

“I missed you, too.”

He tilted his head to look up at you with soft eyes. “What did you miss?”

“Your extremely long tongue,” you quipped, determined to keep things casual despite brushing painfully close to confessing the decidedly uncasual nature of your feelings for him. 

He laughed. “Anything else?”

“Your extremely thick—Oh!” Your words were cut off by your own gasp as he slid one of his big fingers into your cunt.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Let me hear you.”

You would have levitated off the couch if he hadn’t been holding you down. As it was, you let out a sound that would have been embarrassing if you’d been cogent enough for it to register. Instead, you writhed and whimpered, and when he slid a second finger in next to the first, it was all over for you. The orgasm he’d teased you with crashed into you, and your body thrashed beneath him as you cried out hoarsely. 

“There it is,” he growled. “There’s that beautiful sound I’ve been dreaming about all year.”

He watched you with voracious eyes, a subtle glimmer of red flashing in their depths as his clever fingers wrang every last drop of pleasure from your body, drawing out your climax until you felt as though your entire body was unraveling. Knelt between your thighs, with a sinful grin that flashed his sharp canines, he looked like the devil himself, come to steal your soul away.

Except he wasn’t satisfied with only your soul. He wanted all of you: heart, body, and mind, and damn him to the seven hells, because you’d given them all to him.

The sofa creaked under his shifting weight as he began to crawl up your body, still working his fingers inside you, his lips and tongue grazing softly over every curve, every freckle, every centimeter of your smooth, warm skin. 

“My sweet, perfect little one,” he murmured, withdrawing his fingers at last as he settled between your thighs.

It had been strange at first, all those years ago, to feel the thick, warm fur of his thighs when he moved inside you. You had long since grown accustomed to it, and you sighed luxuriously as he pressed into you. His hand glided down your thigh to wrap it around his hip, and suddenly, he paused.

“What’s this?”

He pulled his hand away and held up a puzzle piece he’d found stuck to your leg.

“That was definitely your fault,” you laughed.

“Guilty as charged.” He tossed the puzzle piece over his shoulder and captured your hand instead, drawing it up over your head and interlacing your fingers with his own as he held it in place. 

“Kriff, you’re so fucking tight,” he panted, his breath hot against your throat as he tucked his face against your shoulder, kissing and softly biting, careful not to break the skin but letting you feel the sharp points of his teeth nonetheless. “Your pussy is magic. You feel incredible. I missed you so much—I missed this.”

Your legs twined around his waist; your free hand tangled in his hair and then glided down the back of his neck to hold him close.

“Kiss me,” you said, and he did, without hesitation. 

His tongue swept between your lips, and you could taste the wild, heady flavor of your own body in his kiss. He began to move, setting a languid pace but thrusting hard. 

“Gonna fuck you so deep you’ll never forget me,” he whispered.

As if you could ever forget him when you felt him in every beat of your heart, every breath of your lungs, every pulse of blood in your veins. He owned you without ever staking a claim. He owned you, and he didn’t even know it.

“Yes,” you breathed. “Make me feel you for days.”

He took his time, savoring you as if every tick of the chronometer didn’t steal away another second of your dwindling moments with him. But he knew what he wanted, and he pursued it relentlessly, refusing to take his own pleasure until he’d built you inexorably to another climax. Only when he felt you clench around him and cry out his name did he finally let go. He pounded into you hard and fast, gripping your hip in one massive hand to hold you in place until at last he came with a silent snarl, flooding you with molten heat.

He collapsed onto you. You reveled in his weight and warmth, burying your face against him and inhaling his scent as if you could brand it on your memory. After a moment, he shifted off of you. He tucked you against the back of the sofa and stretched alongside you, resting his forehead against yours as he wrapped you in his arms.

“Magic, huh?” you murmured with a tiny smile.

“Magic,” he repeated. 

He tugged the throw blanket from its crumpled heap on the floor and settled it over the pair of you, and within seconds, you were asleep.

The cabin was cold when you woke, and Mayday built the fire back up while you brewed a pot of caf. It had been little more than a power nap, but still, you felt a pang of regret that you’d wasted even that much of your limited time with him in sleep. You could sleep after he left, after all. You would have a whole year to sleep.

You stood by the window, hands wrapped around your mug of hot, fragrant caf, silently observing the scene outside. The storm had exhausted itself overnight, and the resulting thick blanket of fresh snow was perfectly, eerily peaceful. It was dark yet, but the pale light of dawn had begun to outline the mountains in a narrow strip of gold.

“Sun is coming up,” you murmured. “You’ll need to leave soon.”

He came to stand behind you, slipping his hands around your waist and wrapping you in his arms as he pulled you back against his chest and rested his chin on your shoulder. “I don’t want to go.”

“I don’t want you to, either,” you confessed.

“Maybe I should stick around.”

Your heart panged, and it actually stung that he would even joke about something like that, but you refused to taint the last few moments you had with him this Life Day by getting weepy, or gods forbid, begging him to stay.

“How would that work? Considering you’re, you know…”

“An ageless, unkillable monster tasked with punishing evildoers each year before Life Day,” he supplied helpfully. “Or as I prefer to think of it, enforcing the naughty list.”

“Yeah, that.”

Your wry tone pulled a reluctant laugh from him, and he tightened his arms more securely around your body, pulling you close. “Because it’s the final year of my contract.” 

“Contract?”

“I died,” he explained quietly. “A long time ago, on a planet far, far away. In the bitter winter, under the pitiless gaze of a man who saw me as less than nothing.”

You sucked in a sharp breath, tamping down your rage at this unknown man, knowing that right now, he needed your understanding, not your righteous indignation. “What happened?”

“The Force saw it differently. I was offered a chance. An opportunity for another life.”

“And the catch was…” You reached up behind you to trace your fingertips along the curve of one of his horns. “... this?”

He nodded. “One thousand years of service.”

One thousand years. Gods.

“Was it worth it?”

He huffed softly, and his hand flattened against your belly and slid up your rib cage until it rested just below your breast. “Ten years ago, I would have said no. Ten years ago, I would have said it was a cosmic kriffin’ joke.”

“Ten years?” you whispered. “That was—”

“When I met you,” he finished. “Ten years is nothing to me. I was so close to the end of my contract that I could taste my freedom. But ten years is a hell of a long time for a mortal. I knew there was no way I could ask you to wait for a creature like me—someone you only saw once a year.”

You rested your palm over his hand and then lifted it to your lips to press a kiss against his wrist. “Good thing you didn’t have to ask.”

His hand curled around the side of your head, and he turned his head to kiss your temple. “I want to marry you.”

Your heart stuttered to a halt before giving a violent thump. “... What?”

 “I knew from the first time I saw you.”

“Why didn’t you say something sooner?” you demanded.

“I never propose before the tenth date.”

“That’s not funny!” you exclaimed.

“They can’t all be zingers.”

“Be serious, Mayday.”

“I am serious,” he said softly. “I want you to be my wife. I want to wake up next to you every morning, instead of alone in an empty bed. I want you to be the mother of my little hellspawn babies.”

You snorted, and he smiled, pressing one last kiss to the side of your head. For a moment, you allowed yourself the indulgence of imagining a future of this: waking up with him, having these moments of quiet intimacy every day, instead of squeezing as many as possible into a single day each year. It was a lovely fantasy, but your pragmatic mind refused to let you dwell on it for long before logic started poking holes in the idea.

“But you’re immortal,” you protested, “and I’ll be gone in a blink of your eyes.”

“Not after this Life Day,” he replied. “Once my service is done, I’ll age like any other human.”

“But you’ll keep the horns, right?” you blurted out before you could stop the words.

He smirked. “I think that could be arranged.”

“And really, we’ve only known each other for ten days.”

“I’ve thought about you every single moment in between. I’ve crossed the galaxy more times than I care to count, and I have seen more things than you can possibly imagine. And in all my long life, I have never seen anyone more perfect for me. I was never meant to find anyone, but I found you, and I can’t imagine letting you go.”

Oh, that’s just… That’s just playing dirty. Damn him and his silver tongue. His lovely, long, forked—FOCUS! This isn’t the time to be making decisions with your ovaries!

“You’re just bewitched by my magic pussy.”

That startled a laugh out of him, and he tilted your jaw up for a kiss. “Stop talking like a degenerate and say you’ll marry me.”

“Fine. But if baby Krampuses come out with horns, we’re getting a divorce.”

If you haven’t seen @/cloned-eyes Krampus Bad Batch art, you need to. Wrecker, Hunter, Crosshair, Tech, Echo, Wolffe.

More Mayday: Fluff and spice.

Taglist:

@523rdrebel @wings-and-beskar @merkitty49 @arcsimper5 @clio3kantarella

@cloneloverrrrr @goblininawig @ladytano420 @arctrooper69 @sunshinesdaydream

@littlemissmanga @stunkbiggu @marierg @idontgetanysleep @lonewolflupe

@moonlightwarriorqueen @dudewhynotthis @sleepycreativewriter @tcwmatchmakingau @littlemissbshine

@heavenseed76 @bobaprint @sweetcream-coldfoam

@skellymom @pickleprickle @trixie2023 @cw80831 @flyiingsly

@lightwise @swcowgal @vrycurious @thora-sniper

@reader6898 @cdblake1565 @epicy0n @starstofillmydream @msmeredithrose

@totallyunidentified @eclec-tech @euphoriacafe @hipwell @kimiheartblade

@dangraccoon @transactivecybermemory @etod @ivyyyyy @somewhere-on-kamino

@burningnerdchild @saneabandoned @heidnspeak @maniacalbooper @rebell-ious

[concreteangel92]

Hey there! It's blend-in-with-the-madness 🙂

Thank you for offering to write something!

The BDSM Noah moodboard has really fried my brain so I'm not sure what I want to request exactly haha. Surprise me! Since this one is the birthday present, I'm sure Noah would do something amazing and very smutty for my birthday, uh the reader's birthday of course 😆

For the Halloween one, Noah and reader go to a costume party. Reader has been a brat all day and she's being extra bratty during the party. Noah takes her into a bathroom for quick little edging "punishment" and he says they'll finish at home only if she behaves. She pushes his buttons and says she'd like to see what he'll do if she doesn't behave. 😏 I'll let you take it from here!

For the Halloween costume part, Deadpool and Wolverine have been living rent free in my head since I saw the movie lol so... I think Noah would look great in the Deadpool costume (mask kink honestly) and reader is wearing this (https://imgur.com/a/eRxVUxX) a Wolverine themed dress for easy access during the party and maybe after the party too

Thank you again for offering to write! No rush on these at all! 🙂🫶

Noah Sebastian x female reader

18+

Warnings: brat taming, dom/sub relationship, fingering, remote controlled vibrator, semi public?, mean!dom Noah, I think that’s about it haha

I’m so sorry this has taken so long to get up but I hope it was worth the wait for you!! ☺️

First part of the request is here

* You’ve been a huge brat all day. I’m taking back chatting, being sassy for no reason and just over all winding Noah up just because you could

* You could tell Noah was taking it all in, even if he hasn’t said anything, you knew you’d eventually pay the price

* “you better behave yourself at this party”

* “Don’t I always?”

* Noah would just give you a glare in response “I mean it, if you act up tonight then there will be serious consequences”

* You nodded to keep him quiet but in your head, you knew you were far from done.

* Later that night you were both dressed for the Halloween party you were attending

* Noah was dressed as Deadpool and you were a female wolverine

* Seeing Noah in the mask was a huge kink of yours, one of the reasons you’d suggested this as your couples costume

* Once at the party, you allowed Noah to think that you were behaving, it was only a couple hours later that you started to push his buttons once again

* If you were grabbing a drink, you’d only get one for yourself and when he asked where his was, your response was “you have legs, get it yourself”

* You’d make small jokes at his expense in front of his friends and talk over him during the conversation

* Not being able to hide the small smirk on your face when you would catch the look he was clearly giving you through the mask

* What tipped him over the edge was when he caught you chatting to some random guy who was talking to you and when you saw his gaze, you playfully put your hand on this guys arm when you laughed at his poor attempt at a joke

* Seeing Noah shaking his head was all the confirmation you needed that he was extremely pissed off

* You made your excuses to this guy and went upstairs to the bathroom

* You let out a small shriek when you felt someone push you inside and slam the door before locking it

* “You really have been a disobedient girl tonight, what the fuck was that?”

* You looked up at him innocently “what do you mean?”

* “You know exactly what I mean, you’ve gone too far tonight so let me remind you of who you belong to”

* The next thing you knew, Noah had flipped your dress up, pushed your underwear to the side and he had his gloved fingers knuckle deep inside your dripping cunt, relentlessly working your body like a violin as you felt your high building

* He’d pulled his mask off at this point, it was thrown next to where you were sitting up on the counter

* “I can feel you clenching down on me, getting close baby?”

* You moaned out a choked “yes”

* For Noah to then bring his fingers away, leaving you staring wide eyed at him

* “Too bad, only good girls get to finish. If you start behaving then I’ll make sure you finish later”

* Feeling extremely annoyed at being edged, you couldn’t stop yourself from saying “and what if I don’t?”

* Noah stood back and glared down at you, he blinked at you a couple times before he reached into one of the pockets of his costume

* “I had a feeling I’d have to be prepared for your back chatting mouth”

* He pulled out the remote controlled vibrator you owned and held it up to your face, your attitude swiftly changed when you realised what he was about to do

* “What’s the matter angel? Don’t feel like running that mouth of yours now?”

* He then pulled your underwear down your thighs so he could push the toy inside of you, your walls instantly gripping onto it

* “Now, you will keep this in for the rest of the party and take what I give you. Don’t even think of taking it out until we are home. Do you understand me?”

* Noah had put your underwear and dress back in place and had caged you in by putting his arms on the sides around you, his tall frame looking almost intimidating as he leaned over you

* “Answer me”

* “Yes sir”

* Noah smirked and stood back up and reached for his mask

* “Good, you can behave”

* Once he’d put his mask back on, he unlocked the door and gestured for you to go out in front of him

* You could fully feel the vibrator as you walked

* It was as you were walking down the hallway that you suddenly felt your knees nearly buckle as the vibrator buzzed to life, sending shock waves throughout your body

* “Shit!”

* You turned around and saw that Noah had his phone in his hand and waved it casually

* “Brats need to be punished”

* And for the rest of the party, he certainly made sure you were learning your lesson

[fleet-off]

From a chat I had with lu @lu-sn months ago, an idea that’s been living in my head rent-free. ❤️

They’re packing up Vegas’s room at the minor family compound—Pete on the floor with the boxes, Vegas on the edge of the bed and a dozen ugly outbursts.

(It is pain and presence and all Pete’s patience in the face of Vegas’s uselessness; it is a fragile, defensive rawness and a loving, too, and all of it bound up in grief and grievance.)

The packing goes more tolerably than it has any right to. Porsche never pokes his head in. Pete follows Vegas’s terse directives unerringly, sees too much but asks few questions. Three boxes and four garbage bags are filled in short order.

And then Pete comes upon Vegas’s drawer of trophies.

Not spelling bee trophies, you understand; these are the tokens of theft and successful exploits.

So here is the ring Vegas wore to visit Tawan. A forgotten earring. A pair of briefs, abandoned by a nameless squirrel-faced little twink who dangled off Kinn’s arm and Vegas’s every honeyed word.

Gifts, too: a set of ornate golden cufflinks, an enormous and tacky wristwatch. A dozen expensive baubles Vegas never used but forever gripped tight.

Here is a collection of meticulously labeled disks—one bears the squirrel-faced twink’s name, not that he’s aware—and Vegas knows the moment Pete picks up the oldest and glimpses its significance, because the corners of his mouth tighten a fraction. He sets down the disk and lifts Tawan’s ring instead, inspecting the empty promises engraved on its inner edge.

“Drop it,” Vegas bites out.

And Pete nods, and drops the ring back in the drawer with precisely as much consideration as Tawan deserves, and they move forward.

Or so Vegas thinks, except the next item Pete produces is a second ring. Gold and jade, a gift from some big-mouthed triad boy with his tongue hung so loose he ultimately lost it. “A shame,” Vegas had told Kinn at the time, airily—“It was a talented tongue, wasn’t it?”

There are at least four rings in that drawer.

The physical evidence of everything Vegas won over Kinn once brought him a mangled satisfaction. Now it is as if Pete is raising his mutilations to the light. He clung to them—they are his, as very little has been—but they are not of him.

“What,” he says sharply, “you want it?”

Pete raises his eyebrows. “I don’t think it would fit me, if I did.”

“Don’t get fucking jealous.”

Pete tilts his head. Looks up at him, thoughtful. “You’ve been a lot of different things to different people,” he says. “Did they fit you?”

(And here is the truth: sometimes, they did. Sometimes it was the wind in his face and a motorcycle engine revving under him and a rush of pure simple abandon. Sometimes the success of the lie overtook him and he became it; sometimes he ached with fragile pride for his meager wins.)

(Some nights he lay in bed with the smothering heat of a body against his back and cold sweat on his bare skin, and only his fingers dirty from touching Kinn’s leftovers because there was nothing left inside him to hold the stain.)

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” Vegas says. His voice comes out strange and hoarse. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Pete.”

Pete crawls over. He picks up Vegas’s hand where it lies limp on the bed.

Despite everything—Vegas’s chest catches, watching him slide the ring onto his finger. He loathes—loves—his lungs are shot, can’t drag in enough air.

The ring dangles off his finger. Triad kid assumed his size, thought him grander than he was.

It looks gaudier now than it did the one time he attempted to wear it. Maybe it’s the absence of the family ring.

The tat and trinkets were designed for tawdry shapes, molds into which Vegas contorted himself. He is no longer capable of the imitation.

(Pieces of him continue to wear those shapes, still and forever. This alien body is an inescapable thing.)

Vegas watches his own hand clench into a fist. The urge—to unmake, to smash himself open—this too is inescapable. Easier to extract what is genuine from the beaten pulp than from the shell.

Pete knows this too, but he bows his head against Vegas’s arm before Vegas can even try. His forehead is warm—his hair soft—underneath, his hands hold Vegas’s wrist like a precious thing. Clumsily, Vegas’s free hand finds Pete’s nape.

“Be the parts that fit,” Pete tells him. “Hold what you want to keep. The rest will fall away.”

Here on his finger, a part of Vegas forcibly made native; here in the stretched-taut tendons of his forearm, the rot that is all Vegas’s own. Pete is careful with the invasive patchwork of him, but the specific gentleness he offers Vegas’s putrid inborn mess is fury and comfort in equal measure.

He strokes Pete’s hair. Slowly lets his fist unclench.

The ring clatters to the floor, bounces somewhere under the bed. They do not retrieve it.

[iliketangerines]

I know you do like hybrid reader but do you do hybrid animal mk men? If so- electric eel Raiden has been living rent free in my head- or like wolf Reiko- but more electric eel Raiden. How he’d accident shock reader or being her food whenever she’s by the river 🥰 how he’d see her play with the village children in the river from a far and wish that reader would carry his clutch of eggs and mother them.

good pup

a/n: hmmm...might make a part two because i really want to wite nasty a/b/o smut for fun. also, i do have an electric eel raiden fic up here. also, i do NOT condone this behavior in real life

pairing: wolf!reiko x gn!reader

warnings: noncon (kind of?), nothing explicit

you enter the court, clenching your hands nervously as you look at the bystanders towering over you and the other Earthrealm defenders

looking back to Sindel, perched on her throne and tail swishing behind her elegantly, she resembles a lion to you, ears flicking as she addresses you and Lord Liu Kang

the princesses with their own tails and ears take place on their thrones, watching with keen eyes at how the five of you will adapt to Outworld

you can see General Shao, his horns curving up to the ceilings and heavy dragon tail curled up next to his feet as he glowers at the five of you

he introduces his finest soldier Reiko and gestures to a tall man walking in, wearing black face paint and his ears twitching as he walks in

his tail swishes behind him, and he looks much like a wolf, a predator ready to strike and kill with bared fangs

Raiden tenses in front of you, and you let out a small mumble under your breath, trying to give him silent encouragement and perhaps yourself too

Reiko bares his teeth, sharp fangs on display as his ears pin flat to his head, and he towers easily over Raiden and everyone else alike

suddenly, the warrior’s eyes snap to you, and you jolt as his gaze seems to stab through you, tearing out every secret and thought that you’ve ever had

you break eye contact immediately, looking down to the ground and stepping back a bit to hide behind Kung Lao and Kenshi

the fight begins soon afterwards, and you watch as Raiden effortlessly uses his amulet to fight and win against Reiko

the wolf growls at the champion, and quickly gets up, ears pinned back tightly as General Shao then comes to take his soldier’s place and fight against Raiden

as you watch the ensuing fight, a shiver runs down your back, and you find Reiko still staring at you, nose twitching as he continues to just stare

it unnerves you, and you try to turn your attention back and try to take your mind off of how he can’t stop looking at you

Raiden wins once more, and General Shao stalks off angrily, tail whipping behind in frustration and feet causing the ground to slightly shake underneath you

Reiko follows behind his general but not before licking his lips and finally tearing his gaze away from you, trotting away with his master

you shake off the interaction and congratulate Raiden for his win, patting him on the back as you all head back to your rooms for a personal celebration and wind down until the banquet

time passes faster than any of you can blink and soon enough the five of you sit in the banquet, and you sit by Kenshi as you feel the texture of the cloth covering the table

it was softer and nicer than anything you could and would ever own, and you wonder how long someone had spent making the cloth only for it to be used as a dining table cover

you’re shaken out of your thoughts as Reiko and General Shao walk over and sit right next to you, the wolf taking a seat right next to you, not even trying to hide how he stares at you

it makes you wriggle in your seat, and you notice how his nails resemble claws and try to suppress a shiver as he sniffs the air again

thankfully, the servers start to bring out food, and you distract yourself with listening to the conversations around you and eating every bit of the food

you listen to Kenshi judge Kung Lao for eating so much, you listen to Johnny flirting hopelessly with Kitana, and you listen to the singers in the background

paying attention to everything except the wolf staring you down and making your insides turn with nervousness

did you smell or stink or something? why else would he be so intent on sniffing the air every minute?

Kenshi seems to notice your discomfort and throws an arm around your shoulder to drag you in closer to his and Kung Lao’s conversation, but the both of you hear Reiko’s loud growl

the wolf stands up, chair falling over and slamming down onto the ground, and it makes both you and Kenshi jump at the rudeness of it all

Reiko huffs for a moment, looking seconds away from ripping Kenshi into shreds, and General Shao tells the soldier to stand down

for a moment, it looks like Reiko will disobey, eyes firmly planted on the hand on your shoulder, but slowly he picks his chair up and sits down, still growling quietly

Kenshi and Kung Lao send you a glance, and you shrug your shoulders, unknowing of why the wolf seemed so angered by a simple gesture

you try to ignore him for the rest of the night, but it becomes increasingly hard as Reiko stares you down, forgoing even eating the food on his plate

the conversation is stilted and stiff as you try to play it off, but somehow you make it through, clenching onto the expensive dining table cover and picking at the threads

finally, General Shao has an outburst and marks the end of the dinner, and you hurriedly stand up to get away from the presence next to you

and then, you feel his clawed hands grip onto yours and drag you into his arms, and his nose buries itself into your neck, breathing in your scent heavily

you freeze, unsure of what to even do, shocked by his boldness and the forwardness

only when you feel sharp teeth sinking into your neck and a sharp burning pain spark through your body, does your body snap into action, slamming the warrior into the ground and releasing yourself from his grip

there’s yelling and angry shouting from around you, but Reiko just laughs, your blood dripping from his teeth and your neck still burning much more than what a bite should be

he smiles up at you, ears perked up as he says that you’re his, his pretty little mate, and you bare your own canines and growl, asking what the hell did he mean by that

you knew exactly what he meant, biology had never left your mind, but you couldn’t believe him, refused to believe this wolf

wolves mated for life, you knew that, and you also knew your lifespan would be a blink in comparison to his lifespan

and yet, the pain in your neck burned and spread like molten lava running down your body and filling your body with a angry pain

you let go of him, scratching at your body, trying to get rid of the feeling and gasping for air, and you close your eyes to try and ease the pain rushing through you

whimpers and screams of pain rip out of your throat, and you can hear the muffled sound of fighting in the background

it all seems irrelevant to the way you can feel your body giving up, black dots dancing behind your eyelids, and you gasp for one more breath of air as you pass out

you’re not sure when you wake up or when the pain had subsided, but you wake up in the medical wing, staring at high ceilings and sunlight trickling through the curtains surrounding your bed

turning your head to the side you find Liu Kang, lips pursed and hands clasped together, and a feeling of dread curls in your stomach at his concerned expression

he starts slowly, explaining what has happened since you’ve passed out, that Kung Lao, Kenshi, and Johnny have been sent on a mission to find someone

that when you passed out Reiko had gone to you and Kenshi had thrown a punch at the warrior and started a fight

and that you were now of Outworld

you blink at the last sentence and let out a small what, sitting up in your cot and staring at the remorseful looking god, and you ask him to explain

he lets out a small breath and explains slowly, that when Reiko had bitten you, it had caused an irreversible bond between the two of you and had quite literally shifted all of your DNA to be of Outworld origin

you no longer belonged to Earthrealm, and due to Outworld customs and to hold the fragile peace between Earthrealm and Outworld, you would become Reiko’s and Liu Kang could do nothing about it

you start to laugh, it all sounded so insane, your entire body quite literally rearranging on a genetic level to match Outworld’s and that you now belonged to a man you had never met

tears start to fall down your face as you realize exactly the type of position that you’re in, and Liu Kang lets you sob into your hands as he waits for you calm down

the curtain rips open, and Liu Kang snaps at Reiko to leave

you look up and find the warrior looking at you, tail wagging and fangs bared in a smile, and you want to kill him, tackle him and pin him down and beat the shit out of him

but you can’t find it in your body to try and attack him, but at least your tears have dried up out of sheer anger towards the warrior

he coos at you, walking over to you and crawling into the bed and burying his nose into your neck and licking at the wound

you try to move, to do something, to push him off of you, but your body disagrees, trembling and going limp in his hold instead, head tilting back to let him have better access

looking to Liu Kang, he can only ask Reiko to get off of you once more, and the wolf growls at him, grip on you becoming tighter

you can smell something, you can smell Reiko, something wafting from him, strong and like ash, and you can feel your body relaxing against your will, eyelids drooping down as you hear Reiko whisper that you’re all his, only his, and no one else’s

you’re stuck with Reiko whether you liked it or not

[thenightshadowqueen]

SFTH moments that live rent-free in my head, part 2 (in no particular order)

Because apparently I have more.

“Mmm, but I’m poison and you love it”

Creepy Jim 🏳️‍🌈

The hat-nose letter

“STOPINTHENAMEOFTHELAAAWWWW!!!”

Sam losing his fucking mind during the expert game in HUGE

“Mr. André Beetroot, you’re my hero!” “Ah, I don’t like you.”

Luke as the horny goblin

Tom’s whole speech as Locomotion—it was so fucking gorgeous and it’s in my head all the time (especially “I’m older than the devil, sir” and “I am the Silver Line and the Silver Line is me!”)

“Don’t let the constant mental breakdowns get you down.”

The bit in the Suspicious Crème Brûlée where Sam yanks Luke around by his hair

“AJ stays with Luke…” (I’m sorry in advance for getting this stuck in your head)

Luke taking his trousers off in Nigel (and then using that to get Tom to do it in My First Bra)

“Lovely little Luke Manning!”

AJ’s rap about Disney princesses (Worst thing I’ve ever seen. 10/10.)

Tom holding up a fucking buttplug during one of the COVID livestreams????? (Also I can’t for the life of me remember which one it was and if anyone knows that would be very appreciated because I’m half-convinced it was a fever dream)

“Gavin, obviously there’s a difference.” (I don’t know what it is, but the way Tom says it has captivated me)

The Jane Austen bit in West End Big Boys

“Grab her by the face and DON’T LET GO! Because sometimes they run away and LEAVE YOU!”

“I’m just a writer, and I like to ride bikes. I’m not weird, I’m not strange; I enjoy juices, and I have a good family.”

“When the wind doth blow/to and fro/you must get your shit together/and fuck up them hoes”

The kiss in the prom Timewarp, and especially the way AJ and Tom were cheering them on

Also the kiss in the “what not to do with your coworkers” video, because the way Luke throws three of his limbs in the air at once is glorious

“Husband! Husband!” “Oh, darling, you’ve been down in the basement—” “The chinchilla’s a FUCKING NAZI!”

Sam calling AJ “CrossFit Voldemort”

On that note, “He looked a little bit like Henry Cavill if he had a wasting disease” (and Tom’s little sassy head movement in response)

“You’re keeping me on tenterhooks, like a piece of sirloin.”

The scene Tom and Sam did for Tom’s anniversary

“The camper the German, the more likely they are to win.”

“You said it was water under the bridge.” “Aye, and you know what’s good at drowning people?”

Giggly Luke from Hornchurch

The booba looba (and AJ’s glorious reaction to it)

“Can I call you Tony?” “You can, but my name’s David.” (“So, Tony—”)

Jackson from the COVID livestreams (“Sit in the well-done corner and just shut up.”)

Sam’s fucking apocalypse plan (which is still in my head despite my best efforts)

“I just wanted to have the talk.” “The talk? The boob talk?” “The boob talk that all women must have with their mothers.”

The wife from the casino scene (it’s the accent)

“Do you need a lie-down?” “I thought I already was.”

“Larger than a man, smaller than a dream”

Moriarty-Sherlock mental fuck chess

“Capitalism is blood!” “CHANGE!” “Communism is yoghurt!”

Tom bring an absolute menace during Puppets

“God bless the British Transport Police” (said in the most ‘what am I doing with my life’ voice I’ve ever heard)

“Stay on your stool bitch boy”

“Get your hand out of my car”