#air tightness testing services

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Explore Southern Assessors' air tightness testing services in buildings to ensure a healthier, more sustainable future for your spaces.

[k-nayee]

Between Faith and Flesh Grotesquerie x Midnight Mass

wc: 2.8k a/n: incase it was unclear, this is a little cross-over between Grotesquerie x Midnight Mass while also being an Actor!AU. Might be a lil confusing but wanted to make something new lol

Traveler M.List

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"Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything....James 1:2-4." 

The familiar warmth of the chapel enveloped you as you delivered the final lines of your morning homily, your voice calm yet resonant in the quiet space.

Sunlight filtered through the modest stained-glass windows, casting soft hues of gold and amber across the worn pews where Crockett Island's tight-knit congregation sat.

The scent of salt and damp wood lingered faintly in the air—a reminder of the sea just beyond the church walls.

Your gaze swept across the group, catching the faces you had come to know so well over the past year.

The mayor's daughter Leeza Scarborough sat in the front row, wide eyes attentive on you as she folded her hands neatly in her lap.

Even Sheriff Hassan stood near the back as his son Ali sat near him listening intently, despite knowing how outdated many were to his Islamic faith.

These people, they had become your family in a way—this island, with all its quiet mysteries, had grown on you.

You closed your sermon with a passage on resilience, something that had always resonated with you—like how faith, similar to the sea surrounding them, could be both steady and tumultuous.

"We find strength not in the absence of struggle, but in how we rise after the waves pull us under." Your words hung in the air for a moment, met with soft nods and murmurs of agreement from the congregation.

"Let us pray," you began, your hands resting gently on the altar.

As you spoke your thoughts wandered briefly, like they often did, to Riley Flynn—a name you had known only through the accident that had first led you here.

His absence was a constant echo in the small populace community, felt even when it wasn't spoken aloud.

As the congregation stood to leave, you lingered near the altar to exchange kind words with those who came up to you.

A soft word here, a warm touch on the shoulder there—each gesture felt like a testament to how far you'd come.

This role, unexpected as it was, had become more than just a position. It was your calling.

"You've really made a place for yourself here," Anne said quietly, her expression sincere as she approached.

"Thank you Mrs. Flynn," you replied, offering her a gentle smile. "Means a lot coming from you."

And it did. Especially knowing how much of the weight of her son's sins pressed on her mind. 

It still surprised you sometimes how much the town had accepted you. Even when being the first ordained woman pastor—something that should have sparked outrage, especially in a small traditional community—the people had welcomed you with open arms.

Or at least most of them had.

The familiar sound of heels clicking sharply against the stone floor caught your attention.

Bev Keane.

She always had an aura of cold disapproval, her gaze flickering over you with barely concealed distaste.

"Another lovely service I'm sure," she said, compliment laced with her usual acidity. Her lips pressed into a thin line as she continued, "But I wonder if perhaps next time you might include more...traditional teachings? Some of the congregation finds your progressive messages a bit, well, out of step."

Her words stung, but you kept your expression calm refusing to rise to her bait.

Bev had never approved of your leadership from the start—the idea of a woman in your position, however temporary, was something she barely tolerates.

With every sermon you gave, every interaction with the townsfolk that went well, her bitterness seemed to deepen.

"I'll take your suggestion under consideration," you kept your tone firm. There was no point in arguing with Bev directly—it would only lead to more confrontation.

One thing you had long since learned about Bev's resistance was that it was more about control than doctrine.

She craved the power that came with influence over the church, and your very presence threatened that.

Bev's smile didn't reach her eyes. "Of course. Well I'll leave you to clean up. God knows there's always work to be done."

With a stiff nod she turned on her heel and marched away, her presence lingering even after she disappeared through the doors.

As the last of the congregation departed, the chapel fell into a serene silence once again.

You exhaled softly, feeling the weight of the morning settle on your shoulders.

Despite the support of the community, moments like these reminded you of how precarious your position was.

You knew she was waiting for any excuse to discredit you—an outsider who had stepped into a role she believed was hers by right.

Busying yourself by tidying up, your hands smooth the fabric of the altar cloth as you cleared the space for the next service.

The chapel, now empty, felt both peaceful and solemn.

It was in these quiet moments that you often found yourself reflecting on the journey that had brought you here—from your small-town upbringing, to your studies, to this remote island where you now stood as the first ordained woman pastor.

The soft chime of your phone broke the stillness. Pulling the device from your pocket, you faintly smile at the name on the screen. Nick.

The message was short but familiar—a photo of him post-workout, his face flushed with exertion with a cheeky grin plastered across his face.

Nick: Finishing up my workout. Just wanted to give you an update :)

Your could feel the warmth creeping up your neck.

You weren't sure why you were smiling so much—after all, it was just Nick being...Nick. Friendly, teasing, always with that infectious charm.

But somehow, the way your eyes lingered on the photo for a beat too long made you acutely aware of something deeper. Something you weren't sure you should be feeling.

Shaking your head slightly, you reply back.

____: Glad to see you're keeping busy!

You hit send, already imagining the smirk he'd have seeing your response.

As soon you tuck away your phone, intent on finishing the cleanup, another buzz came almost immediately.

Nick: Hope you weren't doing anything unholy with that picture of me ;)

The heat had spread to your face and a startled laugh slipped past your lips.

You quickly type back.

____:  Behave Nicholas. I'm a pastor remember? 

You knew he was just being playful, but it didn't stop the way your heart skipped slightly at the implications.

Unholy. The word reverberated in your mind longer than it should have.

Before you could dwell too much on it, another text came through.

Nick: Sure sure I believe you ;) Anyways got a surprise for you

Your fingers hesitated over the keyboard, curiosity piqued.

____: A surprise? What kind?

Nick: You'll see. Just finished that project I told you about. Check your email when you get home. And no peeking. You promised

The reminder made you chuckle. ____: Fine fine I'll wait. It better be good especially with all this mystery!

You added a playful emoji at the end, the excitement clear in your message.

His response was immediate, and you could practically hear his voice.

Nick: Oh it's good. Don't worry I know you're going to love it.

You smiled at the screen, shaking your head at his confidence. Of course he'd know.

The faint echo of your steps on the wooden floor snapped you back to the present, making your thoughts drift back to his arrival, how it had all begun.

It was almost a year at the time when Father Pruitt had left on his pilgrimage, leaving you in charge of the church—a transition you hadn't anticipated but had eventually embraced.

And just as you were starting to find your footing, Nicholas Chaves had appeared, adding a new dynamic you hadn't expected.

Before he arrived to Crockett Island, you recall the unexpected email you received: a simple inquiry from the actor who was looking to deepen his understanding of priesthood for an upcoming role.

He wanted to shadow someone in the clergy, someone who could give him an authentic insight into the life of a pastor.

And he'd heard about your rather unique position on the island...

You of course were slightly taken aback by his openness and easy way he'd talked about his work.

It wasn't every day someone like Nick came knocking, but you had agreed mainly from intrigue of the whole situation.

Even when Bev became immediately suspicious of him—practically interrogating him when he first arrived—the rest of the town welcomed him warmly, charmed by his easygoing nature.

"Another distraction," she'd muttered once when Nick had offered to help you carry boxes of hymnals inside one time. "This is a church not a social club." 

Her words always came with that same bitter edge, though by now you'd learned to brush them off. 

He stayed in Father Pruitt's old house with you during that time in one of the spare rooms.

As you finished locking up and made your way toward the small home, your thoughts drifted back to him.

You never planned on feeling so affected by him. Yes he was charming, but it was more than that—there was something about him that drew you in even when you tried to resist it.

And it wasn't just his looks—though you couldn't deny the way your breath occasionally caught when he smiled at you in that boyish way of his.

No. It was his presence. The way he carried himself—confident yet curious, never shying away from asking questions about your work and sermons, about faith itself.

He was genuinely interested, even if he wasn't fully immersed in it like you were.

In all, conversations with Nick were easy; late-night talks often ended up stretching longer than intended as you discussed everything from theology to the little absurdities of life.

And yet despite the growing comfort, there had always been a tension simmering beneath the surface.

The first time you felt the it was when he'd sat in on one of your late-night study sessions, helping you prep for Sunday Mass.

His quiet attentiveness as he listened to you practice, his casual lean against the doorway as he watched with a smile tugging at his lips.

Now, as you made your way up the steps, you wondered what this surprise of Nick's could be.

You pushed the front door open, the familiar scent of wood and old books greeting you.

It was home now—at least for the time being. Letting out a sigh, you set your bag down and make your way to the bedroom.

Changing your robes and veil into a more comfortable sleepwear, you grab your laptop and settle into bed.

There in your inbox, you find a sent email from him.

Three video files, each with a timestamp of about an 50 minutes. The subject line read simply: For You.

You frowned in confusion but quickly clicked on the first one. The video loaded, and as it played, the familiar face of Niecy Nash popped up on the screen.

A soft laugh escaped you—a TV show? It wasn't what you were expecting, but you were intrigued.

As the episode unfolded, you were drawn into the storyline.

It was refreshing actually, seeing a concept that brushed against the edges of a religion that's intertwined with your own daily life.

By the second episode you were completely hooked. You'd grown attached to the characters, loving the way they navigated this warped world of morality and sin.

The storyline itself was intense and unpredictable in how it blended the very faith you preached into something so viscerally raw.

But then your heart leapt a little as Nick—or rather, Father Charlie finally appeared on screen.

You smiled, unable to resist snapping a picture of the scene and sending it to him with a simple teasing text.

____: Look who just showed up on my screen.

Your phone buzzed almost instantly, but you ignored it.

You were too caught up in watching him; your eyes tracing the way he moved, the way his expression shifted with every word.

It was surreal watching him play a priest when just a few weeks ago, he had been standing beside you in the church helping with the altar cloths.

Every close-up of his face had your heart doing an odd little flip. You'd shared conversations with that face, shared jokes and moments of comfort. 

The goofy smile on your lips was hard to suppress as you watched him banter with Sister Megan, the two having a light giggle over stolen fries.

You couldn't help but draw parallels between the man on the screen and the man you had grown close to—the actor who had been nothing but kind, thoughtful, and, admittedly, a little flirtatious.

And then the scene change.

The camera panned across a dimly lit, sparsely furnished room. Your eyes narrowed, focusing in on the figure sitting at the edge of a bed.

It was Father Charlie—his broad, bare back flexing as he sat, hunched slightly. The room was silent except for his soft labored breathing.

You watch with growing confusion as his breathing deepens.

A soft sound escapes him—a low moan—and suddenly, the atmosphere in the room shifts entirely.

Your eyes widened upon realizing what you were seeing. Father Charlie is pleasuring himself.

The sounds of his quiet sighs fill the room, and you freeze as you try to process what you're watching. 

The camera caught it all: the soft sighs, the slow measured pace of his hand, the quiet moans that grew more strained with every movement.

You felt your breath hitch, heat creeping up your neck as you watched too stunned to look away.

You know it's just a show—it's just acting—but seeing Nick, someone you know, in such an intimate and vulnerable moment...it shakes you.

Your body feels hot, heart pounding as Father Charlie quickens his pace, his breath becoming more erratic, moans growing louder.

A strange warmth unfurled in your chest that you immediately tried to suppress.

It felt wrong to watch this—wrong to feel anything about it.

Your fingers tremble as you reach for your laptop, the desire to pause or stop the episode battling with the inexplicable pull to keep watching.

And then it changed again.

The camera cuts to him standing at a basin, his back to the facing you once again, the muscles in his back flexing under the low light.

You blink rapidly as he begins to wash his hands, the sound of the water almost deafening in the silence.

That's when you notice it—the chaps. He's wearing bottomless chaps, the skin of his thighs and backside completely bare.

"Sweet baby Jesus," you whisper, hands shaking as you press a hand to your mouth in attempt to contain the heat that spreads across your face.

It wasn't over.

Father Charlie moved toward a small wooden box, opening it with a reverence that made your stomach twist.

He reached inside and pulled out a flogging whip—a thick, multi-tailed instrument of punishment.

His expression is solemn, his lips moving in silent prayer as he prepares the whip, his fingers brushing reverently over the strips before raising the instrument of self-punishment.

Your heart hammers in your chest as you watch, unable to tear your eyes away as Father Charlie strikes himself.

The sharp crack of the whip fills the room and you flinch at the sound.

Each lash is deliberate. His body jerks with every strike, a soft grunt escaping him with every hit.

His whispered prayers mix with the sounds of his punishment, the intensity of the scene almost unbearable as it goes on, each crack of the whip sending a shiver down your spine.

It's too much. You couldn't take it anymore.

Your hand shot out, scrambling to close the laptop with a thud. For a moment you couldn't move.

Your body felt both heavy and weightless at the same time, suspended in the strange space between what you knew and what you had just witnessed.

The room around you suddenly felt too small, too close.

Shakily, you brush a few stray strands of hair from your damp forehead, trying to steady yourself.

You were a pastor—dedicated to God, to the people you served. You weren't supposed to feel like this.

Closing your eyes tightly, you try to will the feeling to go away and dissipate like the smoke from the candles you had blown out earlier in the church.

But the heat in your face, the trembling in your hands, didn't fade.

You felt as though you had been thrust into a battle between your devotion to God and the temptation of something far more dangerous—something you could no longer ignore.

The dim screen of your phone in your peripheral catches your attention.

Hesitant, you picked it up, and your stomach drops at the sight of Nicholas's message.

Nick: What do you think?

[photo1030]

Heyyy I have a suggestion to make it’s kinda stupid whatever so it takes place at the mayor’s party where Arthur Morgan and Dutch is meeting mr Bronte and reader come running to Mr Bronte for some random reason and sense she’s wearing a corset she can’t get all the air in her lungs AND SHE PAST OUT so Arthur or Dutch (I LUV THEM BOTH teehee) gotta RIPS her out the corset.. that’s all I got LOVE YOUR WRITING BTWW MWAH! ❤️❤️❤️

Hi there @lizzie2980 So sorry this has taken me forever. Thank you for being so kind and patient (and hopefully still interested?) This was a great prompt, had a lot of fun with this one.

This is a bit out of the canon story, hopefully that is OK. This is a little bit of flirty and protective Arthur, with a smidge of charming Dutch in there...lovely combo, if you ask me....which you did...(This is not part of my existing fic, Leather and Lace, btw)

(The images used here were found on a lovely blog that is apparently designed to help fanworks. Check it out! Thank you to whoever put that together. https://reddeadreference.tumblr.com/post/679731317406072832/the-gilded-cage )

*Special thanks to @appalachiancowboy99 for being my sounding board.

DON’T MAKE A SCENE 

Summary:  You are at Angelo Bronte’s house for a fancy garden party when you meet a certain group of outlaws.

Your hands clamp down tighter as the plump elderly matron apologetically yanks the strings of the restrictive corset. Nails of already shaky fingers dig into the wooden bedpost that you use to support yourself with as you stand on wavering feet. You wince on the verge of painful tears as Bridget stands behind you and pulls the threads of the already too tight garment even tighter still, testing the limits of its stitching and causing a gasp to quickly get sucked into your folded-up lungs with each pull.

Sunset has already begun, the brilliant orange disc settling itself softly behind the horizon line for the day, and your room slowly dims to a pastel dusk as you get ready, the wall sconces glowing against the ivory painted walls of your lavish private quarters inside Angelo Bronte’s mansion. The garden party below will be starting any minute, and the shadows that dance along the walls inside the house mask the dread inside your chest. It is as if your hope and spirit are diminishing with the quickly-fading sun. You are hoping that Bridget doesn’t see the trepidation creeping into your expression as she flits about you, but the older woman is too shrewd for that. 

“You know...Mr. Bronte…he isn’t going to wait much longer for you”, she murmurs as her weathered fingers begin to run over your frame, smoothing out the fabric of your dress, picking at errant threads. “He will eventually want what he feels he is due.”

The obvious statement hits your gut like a prize-fighter’s punch. “I know,” you utter with a dejected sigh, your voice almost a whimper in the air.

The thought of the man’s pock-marked, oily skin against your own makes you sick to your stomach. It would be like a vile lizard rubbing up against you. 

But Bridget is not unsympathetic to your situation. She is definitely a woman of experienced years, as the graying hair of her loosely tied-up bun gives testament to. And she knows a thing or two from her twenty-some years in service to upper-society households. 

“You know, sometimes when you’re a woman, you just have to do what you have to do. Close your eyes and let your mind go somewhere else when it’s happening.” She waves her hand dismissively in the air as if speaking about the most matter-of-fact thing in the world. “Just tune it all out, let the man have his way, and then it will all be over quickly. In fact, it’s usually over quicker than you think.” She gives you a whimsical wink as a sharp cackle snaps out of her throat at her own joke. Whether Bridget is speaking specifically about Bronte, or any man for that matter, you are not sure, as this seems to have the feel of a rehearsed speech she has given many times over.

When Bridget sees the distaste of such a thing clearly coating your face as you silently stand there with your hands fidgeting over themselves, she continues.

“If you’re clever enough, you could let him have what he wants, but then have something for yourself on the side, you know.” 

Your eyes immediately shoot up to hers to find that knowing twinkle in her eye. The thought causes a humorless huff from your lips. 

“I can barely manage to look after myself, Bridget. I couldn’t manage that cat-and-mouse game.”

“Suit yourself,” she shrugs and continues to primp and preen your outfit. 

Despite the odd advice, you are grateful for Bridget’s counsel. She is the only friend you have here in Angelo Bronte’s mansion. You are not a hostage per se, but he has made his opinions very clear on how he feels about a woman, especially one indebted to him, leaving the premises to socialize without him as your escort and chaperone; so improper, so ungrateful. 

It is especially warm tonight on the evening of the garden party that Mr. Bronte has been planning for weeks now. The whole household buzzes with excitement and anticipation for the fancy event, despite the sweltering weather. St. Denis is dreadfully hot and muggy, making it difficult to breathe on a good day. You’re not used to such heat. You come from the northern state of Massachusetts, which is much cooler. The heat here is bad enough, but the humidity clings to the air like a wet blanket. 

And this damn dress doesn’t help in the slightest. 

The dress that Angelo Bronte hand-picked for you to wear tonight is way too tight, making you lightheaded already. You watch in the full-length mirror as the constricting fabric pulls your body into shape under Bridget’s strong, able fingers, transforming your voluptuous figure into an hourglass. A deep midnight blue hued fabric that shimmers in the light is cut to hug and accent your physique, leaving little to the imagination of the observer. 

If the origins of the dress weren’t so distasteful, you may have very well liked the beautiful gown that currently clings to your form and drapes over your hips in a cascade of silk. But you know Bronte did not provide this gown to please you. No, he did it for his own inflated ego. Bronte will parade you around tonight like a prized horse out of his stable, showing you off to all in tonight’s attendance. And he’ll treat you as such too - like something he’s purchased and owns outright.

You curse yourself for letting yourself get into this situation. You hate that you have to rely on this man for a place to live. You arrived new to St. Denis a month ago and were promptly robbed upon arrival, leaving you with nothing. So much for civilization. 

Bronte noticed you at the train station, frazzled and lost, and totally beside yourself as to what you would do now. You came here with no relatives, no contacts, just the promise of jobs and new adventure out West from an ad you saw in the newspaper back home. The man quickly made your acquaintance, preying like a vulture on your vulnerable situation. He was charming with a note of authority, like he knew exactly what to do and where to go. But it quickly became apparent that he offered you his home as a sanctuary in hopes to win your affections. You’ve managed to play coy for awhile, however, agreeing to be on his arm and accompany him to various social functions in town in exchange for residency in his home. But you have denied the man what he wants most - you in his bed. 

An involuntary sigh passes your cherry lips as Bridget takes your hand in hers, patting it in the same way a grandmother comforts her troubled grandchild, and leads you to the vanity along the opposite wall so she can set your hair. Your body mindlessly drifts to the tapestry-padded stool, like a lost flower petal in the wind, void of any energy or enthusiasm. 

Bridget’s nimble fingers curl your hair and pin it back to showcase your pretty face, adding in beautiful crystal clips for decoration and she even weaves a few flower buds from the garden into your locks. You sit silently in front of the vanity mirror with a blank stare, a melancholy overtaking your soul as you watch her prepare you to be the perfect accessory to the rich man’s life. The motherly woman’s presence comforts you, but she is also serving you up to the master of the house like a slice of beef on a silver platter for him to devour. 

“There, now. Don’t you just look breathtaking?” she breaths in awe. The deep-set lines around Bridget’s hazel-colored eyes crinkle as she admires her masterpiece. Your eyes refocus to catch the old woman’s proud gaze in the mirror, and then back over your own reflection.

“Yes, Bridget,” you whisper with a sad smile, your lower lip quivering just slightly. “You did a fine job. Thank you for your help tonight.” She catches the reluctance in your fluttering eyes and can only nod in agreement. She lovingly pats your arm in an attempt to comfort your growing uneasiness. 

“Well, I had better get downstairs and tend to the kitchen, then. Don’t hide up here too long, miss.” And she wipes her hands on her apron as her wide hips carry her to the bedroom door before she slips out and you are alone with your thoughts once again. 

With a deep sigh, you haul yourself up to stand. You swish the heavy fabric of your dress-skirts to the side to allow you to amble over to the balcony doors of your private room. Pulling the double-doors open wide with both hands, you step out onto the freshly painted wood as a rush of humid air hits you like a wall, causing you to take a brief pause to try to catch your breath. Your hands eventually find their place upon the smooth railing as you step up to the edge to look out over the balcony at the garden party below. 

Jovial music floats up to your ears from the string quartet that is playing on the patio beneath you. String lights delicately criss-cross over the open garden area, resembling a net that has caught a thousand fire-flies. Bronte’s guests have already started to arrive and their chatter fills the air, alternating with the clinks of champagne flutes. You casually observe as greedy fingers grab at the delectable food and free alcohol that is meticulously displayed along elegant tables that dot across the property, the delicious aromas wafting through the evening air. 

The scene laid out before you is like a page out of the society section of the newspapers. Always over-the-top, always impressive, Angelo Bronte spares no expense in his functions. Decadent food, expensive wines, extravagant decor. Always to impress the upper echelon of society. And yet, you have no desire to mingle with the high-society of St. Denis. From what you’ve seen, it’s hardly impressive to you. 

You watch with disinterest over the crowd, observing from the elevated vantage point as people collect in small groups, then turn to whisper to each other like conniving socal piranhas the moment one of the fold turns to leave to join another circle. With a scornful roll of your eyes, you have no idea how you are going to make it through this evening unscathed. 

And then, a collection of unknown men catch your eye. You’ve never seen them in Bronte’s circle before. And they clearly don’t belong. Under closer observation, this is an assembly of rugged looking gentlemen, a sharp contrast to the other guests in attendance tonight. Though they may have donned fancy tuxedos and hats, the way they carry themselves indicates they are not used to wearing such garb. Their eyes nervously shift all around instead of at whoever is addressing them as if more interested in what is happening around them rather than trying to assert social connections. Your bottom lip gets pulled between your teeth as your curious gaze lingers on them, trying to determine if they were invited or snuck in with the crowd.

As if he can feel your eye on him with the sixth sense of a trained outlaw, Arthur instinctively looks away from the men he is standing with and looks up towards the balcony of the great house and notices you. He doesn’t smile or even move for that matter, other than a single eyebrow lift as if in confusion. Your breath catches a bit at being caught staring. But yet you cannot bring yourself to break eye contact with the startling blue eyes gazing back at you from across the garden. And you can’t help the soft smile that blooms across your blushing cheeks at the ruggedly handsome man. 

When the mystery man eventually turns his attention back to his companions, you shake your head back to reality and decide you’ve stalled long enough. It’s time to begin to make your way down to the garden party and get this over with. You leisurely stroll along the length of the wrap-around balcony of the house to the stairs that will carry you down to the patio. Your hand has to grip the railing of the staircase as you walk, as your dress is so tight that descending the stairs makes you out of breath. The boning of the corset digs painfully into your ribs and hipbones as you move. Such a dreadful, masochistic thing, you wonder why on earth women put themselves through such torture for the sake of fashion. Once at the bottom, you attempt to take a deep breath, bringing your fingertips to your temples before bracing yourself to join the guests. 

First order of business, you scan the crowd to locate your host. It takes a few minutes, but you eventually lock-in on him when you hear his boisterous, condescending laugh echoing over the throng of people. Angelo Bronte really is a toad of a man. And despite his money and power, he is rather socially inept. Maybe it’s the fact that he's not from this country. Or maybe society is held differently in Italy. But either way, the elite here in St. Denis have mixed feelings about the wealthy man. Mixed as in, they like his wealth but do not care for the man. And that is where you come in. 

Bronte’s idea is that having a beautiful, refined and charming woman on his arm will make him appear more distinguished. Your role in this little arrangement with him is to be the doting young paramore, helping him to navigate the social circles. No one needs to be the wiser that the two of you sleep in separate rooms on completely different ends of the house. But for appearances sake, Angelo Bronte has acquired himself quite the crown jewel with your presence. 

As you meander through the crowd, you keep getting intercepted by random party guests, each one handing you a new glass of champagne. Your eye catches Bronte’s a few times as you mingle, as he checks to make sure you are performing as expected. Of course, the witty jokes, effervescent laughing and demure little smiles that emanate from you work according to plan. You can see Bronte pointing you out to guests from across the garden, a crude grin of approval splitting across the faces of the men he leans into, all chattering with hushed tones and hungry eyes. It’s enough to make your corset-restricted stomach turn. 

After about forty five minutes of false chuckles and empty smiles, you are desperate for fresh air and peace and quiet, so you discreetly head to the rose garden which is off to the right side of the party, hoping to find less people there.

Wandering aimlessly through the maze of hedges and rose bushes, you manage to find a quiet little corner away from prattling visitors and raise your tired eyes to the heavens above. The smog of St. Denis covers the night sky and it leaves you with a heavy feeling of disappointment that even the vast galaxy of stars is being kept from you in this dreadful place. With a dispirited sigh, your tear-misted eyes slowly roll shut, attempting to find some sort of solitude from this hell on earth. 

“Is this a safe place to hide?”

The sound of a deep, gravelly voice suddenly cuts into your mind, causing your eyes to snap open as you spin to see who is speaking to you. 

And there he is. The handsome fellow who you were staring at from the balcony. He stands quietly, a slight smirk of amusement on his face. It takes you a few moments to realize that he is indeed real, no fantasy apparition to come to stand before you. Confused blinks skitter across your face as you take in the sight of him. Now that you are up close to him, you can see just how tall and broad-shouldered he is. 

“Sorry, miss, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he offers when you hesitate to answer, his simple apology carrying little fanfare or bravado. Just a simple statement with no malice, no ill-content and no agenda towards you. 

“Oh…no…you didn’t startle me,” you manage to stammer as you try to regain your composure.

The stranger’s ocean-blue eyes float across your frame, head to toe, assessing you with a slight tilt of his head.  “You sure about that?” he jokes as he gives you a deeper smirk now.

Picking up on his genuine humor, you release the breath that you didn’t realize you were holding. “No, you’re fine,” you assure him. “I just needed a minute, is all. I didn’t expect anyone to be back here.” 

When you lob a smile back at him in return, Arthur takes a gamble and begins to move slightly closer to you, specifically intent on maintaining this conversation. “Hmm, needing to get away from the herd? Is that it?”

The term causes a chuckle to erupt out of your throat. “Yeah, something like that.” You begin to step towards him as well, both of you moving slowly yet purposefully towards the other to close the gap between you until you are about three feet from each other. The air surrounding the garden is like that before a thunderstorm, exhilarating because it could be both beautiful and dangerous at the same time. The two of you stand quietly, simply staring at the other like a couple of clumsy teenagers not knowing what to say. 

“No offense, but you don’t seem like you belong here,” you finally break the amorous spell with a raised eyebrow. As your words hover like a butterfly in his ears, you note the faded scars along the man’s chin, embedded into his tanned skin and nestled beneath his rugged beard that you can see was probably hastily groomed for this evening.

He doesn’t deny it, but counters almost playfully with “I could say the same for you.”

You flirtatiously narrow your eyes at him. “What makes you say that?”

He waves his large finger towards you. “You carry the same disdain for this place on your face that I do.”

Well, you have to admit, he’s got you there and all you can do is nod in agreement. “That obvious, huh?”

“Just a bit,” he chuckles, bringing his hand up to pinch his fingers together to accent his point. “It's ok, though. Glad I’m not the only one who doesn’t want to be here.” And he tosses a perturbed glace back over his shoulder towards the noise of the party. 

“I guess that makes us two peas in a pod, then, doesn’t it?” you muse with a glittering smile that makes his chest tight.

A grin pulls at the corner of the stranger’s plump lips, causing his scarred chin to wrinkle. “I guess it does, doesn’t it?” 

“My name is Y/F&LN”. You extend your hand out and his large hand completely engulfs yours, dwarfing your delicate fingers with his own. You immediately notice how his skin is rough, yet warm to the touch, his hand strong in a comfortingly protective way. 

“Arthur Morgan.”

And the two of you hold each other’s gaze like a spark of electricity pulsing through the air to connect you. You can feel your fingertips go numb as your heart beats faster within your perfume-dusted chest. And Arthur hopes that you do not notice how he thickly swallows, flexing his now-sweaty hands before awkwardly kneading his thumb into the opposite palm. 

But your beautiful little moment together is short-lived when you hear your name being called out into the night, snapping you back to the real world. And before you know it, a very anxious-looking Bridget appears from around the hedges, her eyes darting around, her lips pressed tightly together in worry. 

“Miss Y/N, there you are! Mr. Bronte is asking for you.” She gives you a sharp wave in her direction before her eyes quickly slip to the burly gentleman to your right.

An embarrassed school-girl blush dusts your cheeks as you clear your throat. “Yes, of course, Bridget, thank you. I’ll be right there.” You turn back to Arthur. “Well, Mr. Morgan, it was very nice to meet you. If you will excuse me, please.”

“‘Course.” Arthur dips his head with a respectful nod as you float past him, your fingertips nervously tucking a few tendrils of hair behind your ear. 

Bridget gives Arthur a good look up and down before she turns and follows behind you back towards the music of the garden party with a sly, smug smile drawn on her lips. “Maybe you’re more clever than you think,” she whispers impishly in your ear. You shoot her a cautionary look as you smooth your hands over the fabric of your dress, making sure that you are presentation-ready before you make your way to your host. 

As you navigate the crowd to approach Bronte, you take notice that he is talking to the other men that came with Mr. Morgan. The moment he catches sight of you, Bronte’s face lights up.

“Ah, Miss Y/N! There you are! Come, Come!” He waves you over to stand next to him. “I’d like you to meet some special guests.” Bronte crudely clutches your hand, bringing it to his saliva-slick lips before eagerly wrapping it around his arm. “This is Mr. Van der Linde, and his associates, Mr. Williamson and Mr. Matthews. Gentleman, this is my…’companion’, Miss Y/LN.”

You force down the bile in the back of your throat that the toad conjures up as a graceful nod and accompanying smile adorns your pretty face when you turn towards the men you are being presented to. “Gentleman, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” 

“Miss Y/L/N,” Mr. Van Der Linde greets you as he flashes a sultry grin in your direction, boldly reaching his ringed hand to take ahold of yours that sits tucked in Bronte’s elbow. He brazenly brings your digits to his warm mouth to place a tender kiss along your knuckles. “Call me Dutch.” His dark eyes fully take you in with a glitter of mischief behind them. “Mr. Bronte is indeed a lucky man.”

Unlike Angelo Bronte, you find this new social contact of his to be quite charismatic and charming. And while most of the attendees of this event carry some level of bravado, this man standing in front of you seems to be quite different, the type to put his money where his mouth is. 

Interest flashes through your eyes at this dark-haired stranger. And Bronte is quick to notice. With a deep scowl of disapproval, his arm quickly snakes around your waist, holding you possessively against him in the presence of these men, so tight that it makes you squirm against his grip. You are about to protest the moderately painful discomfort when Mr. Morgan suddenly joins the circle, his azure eyes immediately targeting the meaty hand that grips your hip before lifting to meet your grimacing expression. The sight makes his face turn dark with a menacing presence to it. It almost shocks you to see the stark contrast to his demeanor from your encounter a few moments ago. 

“Quite the shindig you got goin’ here, Bronte,” Mr. Morgan says cooly, his statement breaking the tension of the social circle. “You always run things like this?”

The disapproval in your new friend’s voice causes one of the other men in his group (Mr. Matthews, is it?) to shoot him a glare of warning, to which Mr. Morgan shrugs off. 

Bronte lifts his nose at the rub, but he will not be made a fool of so easily at the challenge. “Ah, I’m sure you country folk are not used to such luxury, yes?”  

“Personally, I don’t care for it,” snarks Arthur with a snort of derision. “Hard to enjoy myself like a gluttonous pig when there’s people right outside the gate starvin’”

As you stand there next to Bronte listening to these men throw thinly veiled contempt at one another, you begin to feel dizzy. Your head starts to swim, spots dancing before your eyes, making your stomach lurch. But no one notices at first, except for Mr. Van Der Linde.

“You alright, miss?” Mr. Van Der Linde questions you with concern skipping across his dark features. 

“Oh, yes,” you wave him off. “It’s just…just this heat…” You begin to fan yourself, desperate for some cool air to caress your face. 

And suddenly the world around you starts to spin and your knees give way underneath you as if they move of their own accord. You begin to crumple in front of everyone and Dutch is quick to catch you just before you hit the ground, his strong arms shooting out to enfold you and ease you into the grass. The moment Arthur sees that you are in trouble, he promptly hovers over you as well, catching your hand into his own and placing himself between you and Bronte as things go dark in front of your eyes.

A collection of curious guests begins to gather around the spectacle, whispers and fingers discreetly pointing in your direction.

“The lady needs some air,” asserts Dutch as he kneels behind you.

Arthur is at a loss on what to do at first, but is quick to notice how restrictive the corset of your dress is, as your chest can barely move as you desperately gasp for air, your face turning red from the heat of the evening.

With a look of determination, Arthur’s rough hands wrap around your biceps and carefully lift the upper part of your limp body to lean against Dutch, who cradles you into his chest for support. Without a word, Arthur grabs at the fabric of your dress and quickly rips the corseted area wide open, easily tearing the seams under his hands, to release your lungs, exposing the delicate silk undergarments and bare skin hidden beneath. Shock slaps Angelo Bronte in the face as he stands behind Arthur, helplessly watching this embarrassing little scene unfold before his eyes. 

Ignoring the judgemental gasps of the partygoers, Arthur then proceeds to snatch a glass of champagne out of the hands of one of the nosey women craning her neck to see the spectacle and tosses the liquid into your face. The moment the bubbly fluid hits your skin, your eyes instantly pop open as you deeply gasp, desperate to expand your lungs to draw in fresh air. 

Arthur cautiously watches your face in anticipation as you rapidly blink the sweet nectar out of your lashes. Your eyes land on Arthur in confusion as to what has just happened before looking down at yourself and realize that you are now exposed to the whole party. But Arthur immediately takes off his jacket and lays it overtop of you as you sit nestled safely against Dutch who is still behind you. And Arthur breathes a sigh of relief when he recognizes the threads of alertness brightening your features once again. 

“Get the hell outta here,” Arthur orders the crowd, waving them away with a wide arc of his long arm. “Nothing to see here, just a woman needing some air, is all.”

“Can you stand, miss?” Dutch’s deep voice carries softly over your shoulder and into your ear, anchoring you back to consciousness. 

“I think so,” you venture, although the wavering in your voice is not entirely convincing. Your head is still swimming with confusion, but at least you can breathe now and the pounding in your temples has started to recede. 

Arthur takes your hand again, his other slipping under your arm to guide you to your feet as Dutch carefully steadies you from behind. 

“I don’t know what to say,” you say sheepishly looking up into Arthur’s worried face. “Thank you.”

“Thank you?” Bronte suddenly bellows, finally finding his voice of outrage. “Thank you?! You make a scene in my house and you say ‘thank you?!”

“Easy, leave her be,” Arthur growls out, turning his threatening gaze to the party’s host. “Can’t you see the lady isn’t well?”

“No, she most certainly is not!” Bronte spits back in anger. His heartless, burning eyes now land back on you, his nostrils flaring wildly with impatience as his expression screws up into a hateful scowl. “Nuisance! I knew it was a mistake to bring you here” he hollers at you, flecks of spittle flying in your direction. “Should’ve left you at the station where I found you!” His finger thrown in your face causes you to shrink backwards, leaning your back into Dutch yet again, where the man’s hands protectively come up to cradle your arms. 

But Arthur is not having any of it, protectively placing his large bear-like frame between you and Bronte, towering over the other man and desperately trying to refrain from landing his massive fist into his face. “You best keep that finger to yourself, Mr. Bronte, else I'll break it clean off.” Arthur’s tone is low and deep, his threat making a shutter cascade down your spine as you watch with baited breath for what is to happen next. 

“Get out! All of you! Get! Out!” Bronte screams, waving at the group of newcomers. “And take that bitch with you, too!”

Your heart sinks as you watch the Italian spin on his heels and storm off towards the house, his arms flailing wildly as he vents his frustrations and anger out into the ether. The party has clearly ended now, as the guests murmur and whisper amongst themselves about the outrageous scene and begin to file out of the garden to leave. 

Your head hangs a bit in shame as you nibble nervously on your pink bottom lip, holding Arthur's jacket over your chest like armor. You have no love lost for Angelo Bronte, but the idea that you now have nowhere to go is a little terrifying. You have no money, no provisions. Nothing. 

Arthur turns to look at you, seeing your soft face frozen in stunned silence. His own countenance turns sheepish as he now realizes that he has cost you your home. “Sorry about that,” he mumbles, his hand coming up to rub behind his neck in embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to get you tossed out.”

“Don’t trouble yourself.” You shake your head and place a grateful hand along Arthur’s arm. “You probably did me a favor.” Your smile is warm and forgiving, but it doesn’t make him feel any less responsible for your new predicament. “But I meant what I said, Mr. Morgan. Thank you,” you whisper emphatically. Your gentle voice causes butterflies to flutter in his belly. 

“You have anywhere to go now?” Arthur asks, his blue eyes burning into your own. God, how you could get lost in those eyes for hours. 

Sadly, you shake your head, confirming his suspicions. 

“Well, then,” interrupts Dutch from where he still stands behind you, “If that is the case, you are welcome to come with us, Miss Y/L/N.” He offers you another of his charming smiles as he holds open Arthur’s jacket as you slide your arms in, and he pulls the oversized garment protectively over your shoulders. He then offers you his arm to escort you away from the party, with his entourage in tow. 

Arthur gives a lofty eye-roll to the heavens at Dutch’s attempt to swoon you, causing Mr. Matthews to chuckle at the interaction. But you smile graciously at Mr. Van der Linde’s offer as you gladly accept his arm and begin to walk with him. You look back over your shoulder and give Arthur a demure little grin, which he returns as he follows you and Dutch out to the front of the property towards the awaiting carriages with Mr. Matthews and Mr. Williamson close behind. 

“Thank you, Mr. Van Der Linde,” you smile brightly up at him. “I just may have to take you up on that offer.” 

Masterlist for more Arthur goodness

Taglist: @appalachiancowboy99 @rivetingrosie4

[bloodibambiidoll]

Run, Kitty, Run

Summary: When Rafe catches you touching yourself without his permission he decides to teach you a lesson you won’t forget. (Technically part 2 to this blurb but can be read as a standalone) Wk: 3.1k

Warnings: Heavy Dom/Sub dynamics, pet play, predator/prey kink, choking, spanking, unprotected sex, leashing, mask kink?, daddy kink, hair pulling, breeding kink, overstimulation, sliiiight anal play if you squint. 18+MDNI! (Shout out to @babygorewhore for being my always sexy beta.)

Rafe bursts through the bedroom door, slamming it open hard enough that it hits the wall. The sudden intrusion makes you jump so high you nearly fall off the bed. You hastily pull your fingers that were inserted knuckle deep from your pussy, your wide eyes landing on your not so happy looking boyfriend.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” He practically growls as he stalks forward, grabbing you by the ankle so he can pull you to the edge of the bed.

“Daddy I - I was just - you weren’t here and I -“

“Daddy I was just - you weren’t here - wah wah wah, quit that shit out. You know exactly what you were doing. Tell me.” He leans over you on the bed, his large hand roughly taking hold of your jaw.

“I was… touching myself without your permission… but-“ You’re sentence is cut short when Rafe squeezes your cheeks together so tight it shuts your mouth.

“No buts, kitty. You broke my rules, plain and simple.” He uses his hold on you to shake your head from side to side, tutting at you. “You know daddy checks the cameras when he’s out, dumb little kitten. It’s almost like you wanted to get caught.”

It’s not that you wanted to get caught, it's just that you didn’t think he would catch you. He was supposed to be out night boating with Topper and Kelce where he didn’t have service. You didn’t think he’d still be checking the cameras. He usually did when he was out, just to make sure everything was square at home. Also to make sure you were following his rules. Which usually you did. But every once in a while you’d try and test his limits, and today you were just so bored and horny. So you figured it wouldn’t hurt. Wrong.

“Daddy, I’m sorry! I’m really sorry! I just missed you so much and-“ his hand leaves your jaw in favor of your throat, squeezing just enough to make you shut up.

“The fuck did I say about excuses?” His hand tightens around your neck causing the little bell on your collar to jingle. The sound gives Rafe an idea, a devilish smirk spreading across his lips. “You know kitty, this collar looks real nice on you. I love the sound it makes when you’re bouncing on my cock... But I think we should really put this little bell to the test though. What do you think, baby? Wanna go for a little ride?”

“A ride? Rafe-“ He gives you a stern look, correcting you without words. “Daddy, I’m literally in my pajamas and in bed. So, no, I don’t particularly want to go for a ‘little ride’ right now.”

“Are you really gonna give me a fucking attitude? You wanna push your luck, little girl?” He practically growls, squeezing your throat once more before releasing it. You don’t even have time to gasp for air because he’s standing up and pulling you up by your shoulders in one swift motion. “Get your ass up and get in the truck. Now.”

“Can I at least get my shoes on?” He scoffs, rolling his eyes at you.

“No. No shoes. Get a fuckin’ move on, you’re only making this worse for yourself, kitty girl. You have three minutes to have your ass in the truck or I’m going to spank it until you can’t sit for a week.” He taps your cheek twice with his palm before turning away from you and walking towards the door. You scramble to your feet, following him like a kitten to milk.

“You’re seriously not going to tell me where we are going?” Rafe has been silent the entire ten minute car ride, completely ignoring anything and everything you’re saying to him. You gave up for a few minutes, but your patience is wearing thin.

“You’ll see, baby. Just think I need to remind you what happens when you break my rules s’all.” He smirks to himself, not even sparing you a glance. He turns the truck down a dirt road and continues driving until the road disappears and the only thing left surrounding you is trees. He pulls up to the edge of the tree line, putting the car in park.

“So here’s what’s gonna happen.” Rafe takes his seat belt off, turning towards you. “You’re gonna get out of this car, and you’re gonna run. If you can manage to keep away from me for more than ten minutes I’ll just fuck you into the dirt. If I get you before that? I’m beating that little ass with my belt until it’s raw.

“Rafe, seriously? I’m not even wearing shoes… I’m in my fucking tiny nightgown!” Was he serious? He’s done this one other time but it was pre planned. You knew where you were. There were rules put in place. And you had fucking shoes on.

“You’re seriously still giving me a fuckin’ attitude?” He weaves his fingers through your hair, gathering it in his hand so he can pull your head up to look at him. “I’d really consider checking that shit if I was you.”

He gives your hair a harsh tug, eliciting a moan from you before releasing you from his hold. You watch as he opens the center console, pulling out a ski mask and the little pink chain leash that goes with your collar. He pulls the ski mask over his head and smirks at you damn near sadistically, his lips looking plump through the slit in the black material. You clench your thighs at the sight. As annoyed with Rafe as you were, you couldn’t deny that the thought of him chasing you through the woods in nothing but your silk nightgown was making your pussy leak onto his leather seats through the thin material of your tiny thong.

“I’ll give you a two minute head start. Better start running, kitty.” He leans over you to grab the door latch, pushing it open for you. He looks over at you, his blue eyes roaming your figure before meeting your own. He brings his face close to yours and you almost think he’s going to kiss you. But instead he just smirks. “Go.”

Part of you wants to stay put. Roll your eyes, glare at him, tell him to fuck off. But the other part of you? The part that wants Rafe to shove you on your knees and fuck you into the ground? That part wins. You jump down from the truck, your bare feet landing in the mud. It wasn’t raining now, but it was this morning so the ground was still wet. You wiggle your toes in the brown muck before looking over your shoulder at your boyfriend. You send him a smirk and take off.

You aren’t a huge runner so you aren’t super confident that you’ll be able to keep away from Rafe’s large form for a full ten minutes, but honestly? You love it when he spanks you and he’s going to fuck you either way, so you don’t really care if you do or not.

You dash to the left, weaving through the trees to the best of your ability in the dark. The mud sticks between your toes and small branches scape against your skin, your heart is pounding in your chest and your thighs are sticking together slightly from how wet you are. You aren’t very far from the truck when you hear a branch snap near you.

“Here, kitty kitty kitty, come out, come out wherever you are….” A chill runs down your spine and the throbbing in your core increases at the sound of Rafe’s taunting voice. You turn on your heel and run in the direction you’re pretty sure is opposite from him. “Ohhhh kitty, daddy can hear that pretty little bell.”

You duck behind a tree, crouching as you try to calm your ragged breathing. You hold the little bell between your thumb and forefinger, attempting to get it to stop jingling against your chest. You hear the sound of shoes crunching leaves so you peek out from behind the tree. Rafe is standing with his back to you about fifty feet away. Part of him is obscured by the trees but you can see his broad shoulders filling out his black button up deliciously and the ski mask adorned on his head. You take the chance to stand and ease away from the tree but when you’re backing up your heel hits a twig and it has his head whipping towards you. You make a dash for it, weaving back through the trees.

“It’s only been six minutes and you’re already losing… I can see you, kitty girl.” You whip your head around and sure enough, Rafe isn’t too far behind you, stalking towards you with the mask on. You can’t see his face but you can just make out the feral look in his eyes and the Cheshire grin on his lips through the mask's slits. You let out a little involuntary yelp, turning back around to assess your surroundings. You see a cluster of bushes almost completely concealed by trees and rush behind it, slipping between the brush.

You put your hand over your mouth to quiet your breathing, listening carefully for any signs of your boyfriend but you don’t hear anything. You peak through the bushes, your eyes searching for him to the best of your ability in the darkness. You don’t see anything so you let out a shaky breath causing the little bell around your neck to jingle against your sternum. You grab onto it, frantically looking and listening for any sign of Rafe. After a few seconds it seems like it’s all clear so you start to shuffle backwards out of the brush, only to smack into something hard.

“HA! Looks like I caught myself a kitten.” Rafe’s arm locks around your shoulders from behind, using his grip to whip your body around towards him. He grabs onto your throat, that nearly sinister smirk ever present on his lips. “You’re mine now.”

He squeezes your throat, stepping his body towards you. He uses his grip on your neck to push your back against the nearest tree, his eyes roaming your figure. Your hair is a tangled mess, your nipples are peaked and prominent through the thin silky material of your nightgown that’s smeared with dirt, little pieces of twig and brush sticking to parts of it.

“Look at you, dirty little slut. Bet you’re so fucking wet from this, huh?” His free hand comes up between your legs so he can cup your lace covered core and sure enough his palm nearly sticks to the material. “Always so fucking wet for me, even when I’m chasing you through the woods like fuckin’ prey, aren’t you baby? Such a pathetic little whore… You did good, but it’s only been nine minutes and forty seconds. So, it looks like I’m going to have to spank your little ass still.”

“Rafe, are you kidding? It’s twenty seconds!!” You whine.

“Too fucking bad. I said ten minutes, I meant that shit. And the fuck did I say about that god damn attitude, huh?” His black fabric encased eyes drink you in as his tongue darts out to lick his bottom lip. The hand on your throat reaches into his back pocket, pulling out the thin pink leash. He hooks it to the collar before tugging it downward. “Down, kitty.”

“I’m sorry daddy.” You kneel in front of him, looking up at him with wide eyes and a pout on your lips.

“That’s cute, baby. As much as I love you all apologetic on your knees for me, I want you on all fours. And your little innocent act isn’t gonna cut it this time, you’re still getting your shit wrecked.” He chuckles darkly as he takes a step back, yanking the leash with him. It causes you to lose your balance, your hands falling forward into the mud. He walks around behind you with the leash still pulled tight, cutting your airway off just right.

“I was gonna give you ten, but since you almost made it I’m gonna give you five.” You hear his belt buckle clanking before you feel the cool leather against the swell of your silk covered ass. He uses his hand that still has the leash wrapped around it to push your nightgown up before grabbing onto your panties and yanking them down to pool at your knees.

“Count.” The harsh slap of the expensive leather against your skin causes you to yelp and jolt forward, tightening the leash around your neck in the process, making you gag.

“One.” You whimper out, adjusting your knees so the leash is tugging against your throat less, but still tugging. The slight cut off in your air supply was making your head spin in the best way.

“Good, now say ‘thank you daddy.’”

“Thank you daddy.” Another smack lands on the same spot, the sound echoing through the trees. “Two, thank you daddy.”

Three and four come in succession, one on each cheek and you count each one, making sure to thank him after.

“Arch your back more.” He growls, pulling the leash upwards and using the toe of his expensive loafer to push against the middle of your back, causing your ass to arch further in the air. You hear the belt whoosh through the air before the final and hardest blow lands.

“Fuck! F - five! Thank you daddy!” You hear the sound of his belt hitting the ground before he’s kneeling behind you, one of his large hands gripping onto the fat of your tender ass. He pulls it to the side, spreading you open.

“Look how fucking wet that got you, your pussy is practically dripping. My little slut likes getting chased, huh?” He leans down, sinking his teeth into the already red skin of your ass before gliding his tongue over the bite mark. The tips of his fingers gather your wetness, shoving them knuckle deep inside you. He immediately starts fucking them into you fast and hard causing a loud moan to rip through you. “You fuckin’ like that shit? I want you to cum for me.”

“Yes daddy, yes I love it. Feels so fucking good. Wanna cum on your cock.” You push your hips back against his hand and he tugs on the leash to keep you in place.

“Quit squirming.” His thumb presses against your clit, rubbing quick circles on the sensitive bud. He curls his fingers against your sweet spot, pistoning them inside you just right. He leans down to spit on your asshole and it drips down onto your cunt, sending you over the edge.

“Oh fuuuuckkk!” Your walls clench around his fingers, a milky white gathered at the base of them.

“You wanna break my rules? Talk back? Act like a brat fuckin’ all week? I think this will shut you up.” Rafe rips your panties from around your knees, pulling them off your feet before leaning forward to shove them in your mouth. He pulls his cock from his pants, lining it up with your entrance so he can push inside you in one rough thrust. He doesn’t give you time to think before he’s fucking you at a brutal pace. “Look at you, pathetic little kitty all stuffed full and covered in mud.”

You moan around your panties, drool dripping down the sides of your mouth through the material. Rafe’s fingers find your clit again, circling it in time with his rough thrusts.

“Yeah, fuckin’ take that dick, slut. Gimme another one, cream on it.” He repositions his hips and the new angle has his cock hitting that perfect spot inside you. You cum hard, white hot pleasure coursing through your body. Mud coats your legs and arms, the motion of your body sending speckles of it up onto your face and baby pink nightgown. It’s all so animalistic and you don’t think you’ve ever been this turned on in your life.

“Another, cum for me again kitty. Be a good little whore for daddy.” You shake your head, groaning around the lace between your lips. You know what he’s doing, Rafe gets off on the power trip of overstimulating you until you can’t take it anymore, and even then, he keeps going.

“Don’t fuckin’ tell me no, cum.” His thumb comes up to circle around your asshole and that’s all it takes to have you cumming for him again. “Yeah, that’s it, gimme that shit, good little kitty.”

Rafe continues to thrust into you deep and hard, his fingers continuously circling your abused clit. He makes you cum two more times before he pulls out of you abruptly, grabbing you by the hips to manhandle you onto your back. He shoves his cock back inside you before picking the leash up again and resuming his brutal pace. He grabs the panties from your mouth, tossing them aside.

“Lemme hear those pretty little moans, kitty girl.” Rafe pushes the ski mask up over his mouth, leaning down to connect your lips in a bruising kiss. He tugs down on the leash while he thrusts up into you. He kisses down your jaw before biting down onto the juncture of your neck, certainly leaving an imprint of his teeth behind. He leans up on his knees, pushing the mask up off his head, causing his bangs to fall down on his forehead. He grabs your legs, hooking them over his shoulders so that his cock hits even deeper inside you.

“Fuck daddy, I want your cum, want you to fill me up.”

“Yeah? Want me to stuff you full of my cum? Maybe knock you up? Put a baby in you?”

“Yes! Yes! I want that so bad, want it so bad daddy.”

“Gimme another one first. One more kitty, you’ve been so good for me. Just gimme another one.”

“I can’t, it’s too much!”

“Yes you fuckin’ can.” He lands a harsh smack on your tit before twisting your nipple. You’re so sensitive that when the second smack comes on the other tit it has your walls clenching around his cock. “That’s right, daddy always knows what’s best for his little kitty girl.”

Rafe drops your legs and you hook them around his waist, he leans forward with one hand on either side of your head to support himself while he chases his own high.

“Yeah, that’s my dirty fuckin girl, look at you all fucked out on the ground covered in mud. You’re so fuckin’ sexy. Ah, shiiiiit, I’m gonna cum. Gonna fuck this pussy fuckin’ full.” He pushes his hips flush against yours as his cock swells inside you, ropes of his cum painting your walls. When he comes down from his high he’s panting, sweat from his brow dripping down onto your lips. You lick it off with a moan.

“Mmm that’s my good girl, you were so good for me, baby.” He cups your jaw, running a thumb along the apple of your cheek before placing a much gentler kiss on your lips. “You ready to go home? Take a nice bath, get all cleaned up?”

“Mhm, yeah daddy, that sounds nice.” You let out a fucked out sigh, nuzzling your cheek into his palm with a hazy smile.

Tagging ppl who asked & mooties who might be interested: @valeskafics @nkeyaaa @puzziepoppin @rafescurtainbangz @impmunson @voyeurmunson @dreamliners

[a-d-nox]

aphrodite (1388) persona chart observations (part 1)

welcome to my mini valentine's series on the goddess of love and beauty - this month 4 observations will be released regarding the aphrodite persona chart! all observations are in reference solely to aphrodite persona charts. these observations are completely hypothetical. they are based on my (the those closest to me's) experiences with each aspect/ placement! please don't take everything i say as predestined, astrology is possible outcomes not guaranteed ones. this is just a starting place for when examining singular objects in an entire galaxy (these are not the only asteroids in affect for you). take what resonates and leave what doesn't!

♀ sun-vertex people will find they are adored by a great many people in life

♀ virgo (6°, 18°) moon, 6h moon, and/or moon negatively aspecting mercury or mars often have issues with their sexual organs - ex: endometriosis, fibroids, PCOS, etc

♀ water and earth moons are likely to have large breasts; they also tend to be the most "womanly shaped" and thus "breedable"

♀ moon-venus aspects are often very fashionable people

♀ moon-uranus people are ultra feminists - for example: they are the ones who don't tend to accentuate their femininity in terms of fashion, who don't care about about body appearance for others, and/or tend to advocate that all women are beautiful BUT are more than their looks

♀ moon positively aspecting uranus tend to receive a lot of praise from those around them about their looks despite feeling they are unattractive - while the negative aspects tend to adopt a lot of routines to glow up or maintain beauty yet recieve little to no praise

♀ moon-hephaistos (2212) people may be outcasted by other feminines OR constantly rejected by them

♀ moon negatively aspecting hestia (46) people could feel like they aren't womanly enough because they aren't home-maker type of people, and/or they might feel shame do to a lack of "virtue" at some point in time

♀ you'll definitely want romantic advice from those who are an air mercury, air venus, and/or a venus ruled mercury; these people are extremely eloquent when it comes to love and emotions

♀ having a water mercury can indicate very deep emotional intelligence

♀ water mercuries have a love language of physical touch and/or quality time, air mercuries have a quality time and/or words of affirmation love language, fire mercuries have acts of service and/or physical touch, and earth mercuries have gifts and/or physical touch... am i right? click here to take the test - tell me your aphrodite mercury and you top result!

♀ mercury or venus ruled 3h people tend to be extremely poetic

♀ mercury-venus people really like the attention they get from drama and gossip

♀ mercury-jupiter positive aspects are often giving to and receiving compliments from others - while negative aspects tend to receive very few and tend to keep their thoughts on other people's looks to themselves

♀ mercury-jupiter positive aspects may have an easier time of sharing their feelings and those feelings being while received - while negative aspects may find that they have a hard time saying how they feel or feel as though when they speak about their emotions that their sharing was in vain and thus not received by the other party at all

♀ mercury-uranus people are manipulative on small scale (white lies, intimate inner-relation lies (most serial killers have tight orbs between these planets in this persona chart), influencing (kim k has a conjunction), etc)

♀ if you want someone who knows how to dirty talk, find a mercury-pluto person; they are very much a eloquent poet in the daylight and devious dirty talker in the night. these people also tend to read a lot of smut or they could write it!

♀ mercury and/or saturn aspects to artemis (105) are the best at adapting to shifts in romantic life or to a partner's lifestyle

♀ mercury-eos (221) people are very poetic when asked about their experience with love

♀ a lot of fire venus people have femme fatale fashion aesthetic and beauty standard - while air venus people tend to dress like soft, girly aesthetic

♀ people with venus ruled by venus or mars OR aspecting mars tend to be seen as very desirable in the societal sense

♀ venus-mars aspect people have a lot of masculine suitors they get adoration from and/or that they dote on

♀ venus-uranus people, like moon-uranus, people are very likely to be feminists - venus-uranus people tend to advocate for LGBTQIA communities extremely inclusive to the trans-community (venus is the genitalia)

♀ venus negatively aspecting neptune people always have a crazy story to tell about their love life and ex lovers

like what you read? leave a tip and state what post it is for! please use my "suggest a post topic" button if you want to see a specific post or mythical asteroid next!

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© a-d-nox 2024 all rights reserved

[smilingformoney]

Desirium

Severus is testing a new potion, with unexpected side-effects. (aka: sex potion trope but make it Snephy)

Snape x OC | smut

Warnings/content: masturbation, blowjob, slight dubcon if you squint, desk sex, dom!Snape (later service dom), orgasm denial, overstimulation, possessive Snape, cunnilingus, use of safe word

Read on Ao3 or below:

Now that the twins had started nursery, Persephone and Severus had a lot more time to themselves. Generally, this involved catching up on the sleep they’d lost since they were born, although for Severus it also meant throwing himself into his work without interruptions from feral children - something he had craved ever since he’d started working at Hogwarts over twenty years ago.

It wasn’t surprising to Persephone, then, that some mornings she took the girls to nursery on her own, as Severus was deep in concentration over his desk, or his cauldron, and she didn’t want to disturb him. One morning in particular, she returned home from dropping the girls off when she heard Severus’ voice in his study. He never spoke to himself - he could go without speaking as long as he was allowed to be cooped up in his cave. He and April were similar in that way, their non-verbal communication far beyond anything Persephone, Ariadne or Abbie had been able to achieve.

At first Persephone thought someone might be in there with him, but as she listened, she realised he wasn’t talking, but moaning. He almost sounded like he did in bed, on the now only too rare night that they weren’t too busy, or too tired to have sex.

She opened the door cautiously, knowing he didn’t like to be disturbed, and was surprised to discover exactly why he sounded like he did in bed - he was sat back in his chair, his eyes scrunched tight as he furiously pumped his fist around his cock.

“Sephy,” he mumbled to the air.

He hadn’t realised yet that she was there. Although the sight was arousing, Persephone was a little hurt - could he not have waited for her to get home? Did he now prefer his own touch over hers, leaving her role only to that of fantasy?

He needed a reminder, she decided. On her tip-toes so as to not make a sound, she crossed the room to him. Her sneaking skills must have been rusty, though, because he seemed to sense her presence when she approached and his eyes opened. Rather than being shocked or embarrassed that she’d caught him in a compromising position, his eyes only grew more lustful when he saw her. His right hand showed no signs of slowing; with his spare hand, he reached up and grabbed her waist, pulling her towards him.

“Sev…” Persephone gasped; he only growled in response as she fell on his lap, and he pushed down on her shoulder to force her to her knees. He squeezed her chin to open her mouth, and suddenly his cock was down her throat.

She choked slightly, his cock having been shoved so suddenly and so forcefully into her dry mouth. If Severus noticed, he didn’t care, as he grabbed her by the hair and held her head still as he rutted furiously into her mouth. She knelt there, coat and shoes still on from having been outside, as her husband face-fucked her until he came down her throat. Only then did he finally release her hair from his hand, and Persephone was finally able to breathe when she was able to extract herself from his crotch.

A thousand questions were swimming in her head, but the one that came out was, “How the fuck are you still hard?”

Sure enough, despite having cum down her throat only moments ago, Severus’ cock was still standing to attention.

He groaned, knuckles turning white as he gripped the arms of his chair in frustration, seemingly trying to resist going right back down her throat. “Still… need to cum…” he managed to say, although it seemed to be a struggle for him to even speak.

Persephone got to her feet and looked down at him. He looked incredibly hot, his whole body quivering with lust as he physically restrained himself from moving. His eyes were closed, as if looking at her would be too much.

“I tested a new potion,” he said through gritted teeth. “The side effects are… unexpected.”

Persephone couldn’t help but laugh. “You tested a new potion on yourself, and the side effects make you uncontrollably horny?”

“Yes.”

Severus opened his eyes, and as soon as he laid eyes on her body, his hands were on her hips, pulling her down to straddle his lap.

“Need you,” he growled, his hands clawing uselessly at her clothing. “Naked. Now.”

“Say please,” Persephone teased.

Severus groaned in frustration. “Get your clothes off, please, or else I might just die if I don’t fuck you.”

“Yes, sir.”

She began unbuttoning her coat, but even that was too slow for him. Severus pulled the coat apart with his own hands, sending buttons flying, but he didn’t seem to care. He moaned with relief to see she was wearing a low-cut t-shirt, and he buried his face in her breasts, nuzzling them like they were a pillow after a long day.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he moaned. “Mhm… Sephy…”

He pushed the fabric of her t-shirt and bra to the side to allow a breast to escape, and Persephone hissed slightly in pain as he took her nipple in his mouth and pinched it between his teeth.

She could feel his erection pressed between their bodies, and if she weren’t wearing trousers, she needed only to lower herself a few inches to fill herself up with him.

Severus seemed to be similarly frustrated, because he removed her breast from his mouth with a pop , picked his wand up from the desk, and with two quick waves their clothes had vanished. As his wand clattered to the floor, Severus pushed Persephone backwards to lay her on the desk. He ignored the parchment being crushed beneath her back, and paid no mind to the vial of liquid that crashed to the floor. She had no chance to ask what they’d just broken when she felt her husband’s cock filling her up, crawling up her walls as he fit so perfectly inside her. He wasted no time thrusting furiously into her, his depraved grunts filling the room as he fucked her so hard, so fast, that the desk began to creak beneath them.

At least he was enjoying himself; he’d spent no time getting her ready as he usually did, and so the feeling of his cock rubbing against her dry walls was painful and uncomfortable. She opened her mouth to say something, but whatever had been in the smashed vial wafted into her face, and she breathed in something that smelt a little like Amortentia, but mixed with the familiar smell of sweat and cum.

The gaseous potion filled her lungs, and her heart immediately began to race. The painful fucking suddenly became very pleasurable indeed as her cunt moistened itself around Severus’ cock, and all Persephone wanted was to cum while he was buried deep inside her. Somewhere in the back of her mind she registered that she must have breathed in whatever substance Severus had drank to make himself uncontrollably horny, but that voice was small compared to the overwhelming need for her husband’s body.

She moved her hand towards her clit, desperate for extra stimulation, but Severus slapped her hand away.

“No cumming yet,” he growled. “Not until I say so.”

“Please,” Persephone begged. Maybe if she came, the torturous need coursing through her veins would be sated. She had never been so horny in her life, and she now understood what Severus said earlier; she, too, felt like she might die if their bodies ever disconnected. He was part of her, and she was part of him; why should they ever need to separate?

Severus grabbed her hands and pinned them above her head as he leant closer to her, their bodies pressed together as he grunted furiously into her ear, his face buried in her neck. Persephone let out a small yelp as he sunk his teeth into her flesh, latching on like a hungry babe to a breast, and a wet, cold sensation told her he had drawn blood. Somewhere in her mind she registered the pain, but the sensation of his mouth on her neck, his hands on her wrists, his chest on hers, his cock still pounding furiously in and out of her cunt - it was far more pleasurable than the small pinch of broken skin.

She so desperately needed to cum, to clamp her walls around his cock and milk him for all he had, but he’d given her an order and she was terrified, if she disobeyed, he’d never let her cum at all. So she tried to think of something else, anything else, to keep her peak at bay. Over Severus’ shoulder, she looked at the jars of slimy ingredients lining his shelves, all gross and gooey, wide-eyed dead creatures staring at her from their glass prisons, all lined up neatly and meticulously organised. She could just imagine Severus perusing the shelves, his elegant fingers gently skimming across each jar as he looked for the right ingredient… the same fingers that could find her sweet spot in seconds, the fingers that were now creeping down her arm to wrap around her throat, and she was snapped back to reality when he squeezed just above her clavicle. It was the smallest of squeezes, testing her response, and when she gasped in pleasure, Severus smirked as he lifted his head to look at her, watching her face contorting in blissful pleasure-pain as his grip on her tightened.

“I’m going to cum in your beautiful cunt,” he growled. “And you’re going to take every - last - drop.”

“Yes, Daddy,” Persephone moaned. “Give me your cum, please, I need you to fill me up, please, please, please…”

“Yes, take it, take my cum… my good girl, mine, mine… MINE!” Severus roared as he came, his cries of ecstasy echoing through the room, and if they’d had any neighbours, there would be no doubt they’d be heard. His hips stilled deep inside her, plugging her up as his cum shot inside her, and his grip on her throat tightened so much she almost couldn’t breathe.

Persephone inhaled deeply when his grip relaxed and Severus collapsed, spent, on her sweaty body, as if she’d taken not just his cum but all of his energy in one blissful moment.

Blissful for him, perhaps - her cunt was still on fire, desperate for the wave of bliss only he could so expertly pull from her. She grinded her hips against his, desperate for any kind of stimulation; his cock was softening, but she needed him desperately, if not his cock then his fingers, his tongue, anything…

“Severus…” Persephone moaned, and she realised she was crying. “Please, Severus, please…”

Severus was still trying to catch his breath, but his panting stopped when he heard her pleas. He looked up at her, eyes wide with shock, as if he was only just realising he’d completely forgotten her needs.

He pulled out of her and dropped to his knees in an instant, ignoring the cum dripping out of her as he buried his face between her legs. Persephone cried out with relief when his tongue ran over her clit, and she knew she wouldn’t last long. Severus slipped two of those beautiful fingers inside her wrecked pussy, elegantly caressing her inner sweet spot as his sharp tongue traced circles around her clit.

Thank fuck he wasn’t teasing. He usually ate her out so slowly and carefully at first, building up her pleasure before letting her cum. But now he wasted no time, finger-fucking her furiously as he sucked on her clit for dear life. Persephone clawed uselessly at the desk beneath her, and when she couldn’t find anything to hold onto, she sunk her fingers into her husband’s silky hair, nails digging into his scalp as with one, two, three perfect strokes of his fingers, she exploded with ecstasy, her walls clamping around his fingers as he kept stimulating her through her orgasm, only slowing to a stop when the last aftershock of her orgasm had left her body and she, too, felt her energy drain away instantly.

Persephone released her grip on him and he sat back into his chair, his hair a mess, his cheeks flushed red and his chin glistening with her sticky juices. Severus closed his eyes as he caught his breath, and only opened them when his wife crawled onto his lap, nuzzling his neck as she snuggled up to him.

His rock-hard chair might be suitable for him to work from, but it certainly wasn’t made for cuddling. He apparated them up to their bedroom, their naked bodies appearing on the edge of the bed, and together they slid under the blanket, holding each other as close as they could.

For a few moments they lay there, soaking in the blissful aftereffects of what had just happened, until Persephone spoke.

“What the fuck was that?” she mumbled sleepily.

“Not the intended effect of the potion,” Severus replied.

Persephone chuckled. “Clearly. What was it supposed to do?”

“It was only supposed to give me an erection. I may have to dial back some of the ingredients.”

“Why do you need a potion to give you an erection?” Persephone asked curiously, looking up at him as she rested her head on his chest.

“I don’t - not yet. But it’s a common issue among men my age - I’m hoping to create a potion to market. I may need it myself one day, but I assure you, the only assistance I need to get hard is thinking of you.”

Severus wrapped his arms tighter around her, holding her close and taking in her scent. “I’m sorry, I was very selfish just now. All I could think of was my own pleasure.”

“Thank Merlin the orgasm stopped the potion’s effects. I don’t think either of us would have the energy to go for much longer than we did.”

Severus hummed thoughtfully. “It seems it was only that last orgasm that worked. None of the previous ones did - I still felt desperately horny.”

“Previous ones? How many times did you cum in your own hand before I came home, Sev?”

He blushed, his eyes darting to the side to avoid hers. “Three times,” he admitted. “Each time, I maintained the erection and my desire throughout… it was only cumming inside you that worked.”

“Maybe it doesn’t just make you horny… when I breathed it in, I felt a need to cum, but mostly it was just a need for you. Perhaps it was less a need for pleasure, and more a need for connection, the intimacy of sex.”

“Perhaps. My mind was swimming with thoughts of you, but it wasn’t until I had you in front of me that I really felt sated. I suppose that’s logical - I based the recipe on that of Amortentia.”

“I thought that was what I smelt. It’s hard to tell when Amortentia smells like you, and I’ve already got you there. I can’t tell if I’m smelling you or the potion.”

“Your Amortentia smells like me?”

Persephone laughed. She propped her head up on her hand and smiled at him incredulously. “Of course it does, Sev. What else would it smell like?”

“Mine smells of you too,” he admitted. “When we were apart, I always hated teaching Amortentia, because the whole classroom just smelled like you. Your lavender shampoo, the firewhisky you always kept at your home… and a smell I couldn’t identify for years. It wasn’t until we had the girls that I realised it was the smell of baby powder. I must have smelt it that day I came to see you when Abbie was a baby.”

“I smell firewhisky too,” Persephone said with a laugh. “We must be a couple of drunks.”

Severus chuckled and brushed a stray hair from her face. “What else do you smell?” he asked.

“Cinnamon, of course. And a kind of damp wood smell - it’s what your old house smelt like after the rain.”

Severus smiled. Even after all this time, he still seemed to find it hard to believe she loved him as much as she did.

“I should probably reduce those elements,” he said thoughtfully. “My aim is arousal, not carnal lust.”

“And you should probably wait until I’m home to test it,” Persephone said, firmly but with a hint of a tease. “I can be your… control subject.”

“Mmm, I do like having you under my control,” Severus teased as his hand snaked down her body to squeeze at her arse. “And you’re certainly my favourite subject.”

Persephone laughed, then kissed his soft lips lovingly before he turned the kiss hungry, hands digging into her waist as he held her flush against him. He flipped her onto her back and moved his kisses to her neck, taking care across the bruise that was forming across her neck, before moving further down her body and taking her nipple into his mouth. Severus hummed with satisfaction, never releasing his latch onto her breast even as his hand travelled lower down her body.

“Is the potion still working?” Persephone asked, trying to contain a moan as her husband’s skilled fingers began teasing at her folds.

“No,” Severus replied as he released her nipple from his mouth and began kissing every inch of her breasts. “This is all you. All for you. Five orgasms for me this morning and only one for you?” He tutted with disapproval. “That won’t do. I’ll make sure you have another six, at least.”

“We’re not as young as we used to be, Sev,” Persephone reminded him. “I don’t know if - ah!” She gasped as his finger slipped inside her. “...if I can do that anymore.”

“Oh, you will,” Severus promised. He looked up at her, dark eyes alight with a fierce determination. “I’ll keep you in this bed all day if I have to. Oh, the things I’ll do to you, Sephy… I’ll have you cumming until you’re begging for mercy.” He pressed his thumb against her clit, and chuckled darkly when she twitched.

“So eager for me already. This is going to be so easy…”

She came within a minute, and just as he promised, by the time lunchtime came, she’d cum not just six, but seven more times before she was indeed begging him for mercy, insisting she had no orgasms left in her.

“One more,” Severus promised. Persephone had her arms tied above her head, the other end of the soft yet secure ribbons meeting the ceiling above the bed. The ribbons were just long enough to suspend her above the mattress, her bent knees not quite meeting the surface. Her arms ached as they held up her weight, unless she were able to sit on a pillow - but Severus, of course, had no intention of giving her any sort of pillow to rest on. Instead her weight rested on his face, and as his tongue explored her cunt and his nose rubbed against her clit just right, Severus moaned with lust, enjoying every moment of his wife’s dripping wet cunt trapping him beneath her.

When she came for what he promised was the last time, her thighs clenched around his head, and Severus knew that even the slightest of friction against his cock would have him cumming too. But he ignored his aching member - he’d taken his own pleasure enough, perhaps too much, that morning. He wanted to give his wife all the pleasure she deserved, and he was sorely tempted, when her orgasm subsided, to keep going, to lap up everything she had, to leave her trembling and unable to speak. He was just picking up the pace again to do exactly that when she spoke, and his movements froze.

“Gillyweed!”

On hearing her safe word, Severus gently withdrew his tongue from inside her and removed her hips from his face.

“What’s wrong?” he asked quickly, grabbing his wand from nearby to release her bonds, allowing her to finally drop onto the bed. He caught her as she fell and laid her down gently. “Did I hurt you?”

“No, just… too much. I can’t… I can’t cum again, Sev, I might pass out,” Persephone replied, catching her breath as a tear of frustration rolled down her cheek.

Even so, Severus insisted on checking her over, and although she was red and sweaty from exertion, and some handprints and fingernail marks adorned her body, there were no new marks past the bruise on her neck.

“Oh, darling, you’re exhausted,” he said soothingly, gently caressing her face. “I think you need a bath, hm? We’ll get you cleaned up, then we’ll have some late lunch.”

Persephone smiled and nodded, and soon enough they sunk into the hot, soapy bath together. She knew he was really going all out when he filled the bath with his favourite soap, a fancy concoction Lucius had gifted him last Christmas. A sigh of relief escaped her lungs when she felt the hot water on her sore skin and a relaxant in the soap left her melting into her husband’s arms.

“Better?” Severus mumbled in her ear as he held her carefully, as if worried he may break her.

“Mhm,” Persephone mumbled in response, her eyes already closed as she relaxed into his embrace.

“Is there anything more I can do for you, my love? Anything at all. I am yours to command.”

“There is one thing you could do,” Persephone replied, and her cheeky tone made him suspicious, but he was determined to stick to his promise.

“Oh? And what’s that?”

“Pick the girls up from nursery today.”

Severus chuckled warmly.

“Of course I will, darling. Of course I will.”

[chibikyo]

Day 10 - Praise Kink

Fujin x F!Reader

Reader discovers Fujin's loves being praised and uses it to full advantage in their relationship. Chapter is softer, a bit of build up and really sweet. Fujin is very much a service top in this

Warnings; mild verbal restraint, Praise kink, Fujin deserves good things

***********************************

Y/n noticed it well before Fujin ever confessed feelings for her. He had been the one to recruit her as an earthrealm champion, impressed with her determination and creativity. They had trained together almost every day since. Fujin was an excellent teacher, endlessly patient as he taught her not only how to control her own innate magic, but gentle as well. It hadn’t taken long for her to start feeling the first flutters of affection for the wind god, but she was content just being his student, his friend, but she couldn’t help that she started studying him closer. She wanted to learn everything she could so she began cataloging each little smile or laugh, compiling each mention of something liked or disliked, until it became second nature. 

Which is why she had learned pretty early in their training that Fujin loved praise. He was kind, words of admiration rolling off his tongue with ease. It was so easy for him, so genuine, that Y/n was convinced negativity didn’t exist in his vocabulary. So the first time he’d come to her, asking to show him how she had done a certain cartwheel kick that he couldn’t seem to land, Y/n had observed first hand how that same praise made him preen. He worked hard over the course of the afternoon, paying close attention to her as she broke down the move and finally landed the complicated kick against a training dummy. She had clapped and done a little dance, commented at how perfectly executed it, and his reaction had been instant.

His face had flushed red, his glowing white eyes visibly going soft and downcast as he’d said it wasn’t all that impressive, a timid smile on his beautiful face. Y/n had felt her heart skip a beat at having made him so happy and had cataloged the reaction away to examine later. Over time, she’d started slipping more little praises and words of affirmation into their interactions and each time he turned into a blushing, stuttering mess. It was unfairly adorable and only made Y/n fall more and more in love.Since their courtship began, Y/n had taken full advantage of all she’d learned about Fujin during their time together to keep him feeling happy and loved.

So, driven with a need to put her knowledge to the test, Y/n had instantly applied what she knew in their bedroom activities and discovered that his reaction to praise during training was nothing compared to the way he’d melted the first time she’d dropped praise while making love. His gentle nature carried over to the bedroom and their first time he had been very cautious, asking for permission with each new exploration of her body, and Y/n had been so caught up in the tenderness of it that she’d simply slipped into habit. She’d let out a string of affirmations at how good he made her feel, how wonderful his hands felt, and within minutes Fujin had let out a throaty groan, coming in his pants like a horny teenager. He’d blushed and stuttered apologies and Y/n had simply cupped his face with a laugh and told him how much she loved him, but now she knew exactly how to get him going, which all led up to this moment.

“Oh my god, babe.” Y/n moaned as she thrust two fingers up into her tight hole, eyes locked with Fujin’s as she slowly stretched herself to take him. Fujin groaned, hands clenching around her calves as he fought to keep his hips from jerking into the air. She had promised to take good care of him as she’d pushed him back onto the bed, straddling his hips so his cock was firmly pressed between her pert ass cheeks. She’d placed his hands at his side, told him he could hang on to her legs if he needed to, and then had proceeded to tease him relentlessly. “You’re so beautiful.”

She had nipped and sucked her way down his chest, teasing new with gentle hands and a warm, slick tongue. She’d spent several minutes sucking and licking each nipple, switching between them every so often. His chest was so sensitive she’d actually made him cum once just by nipple stimulation alone. She decided to take pity on him this time, pulling away just before he reached his climax and he let out a needy whine as she lifted her hips to begin preparing herself to ride him. 

“You’re being so good for me.” Y/n crooned, rocking back against his aching shaft as she brought her free hand up to tease her own breast. She felt how his breath hitched, body seizing beneath her and abs drawn tight. There was a hungry gleam in his frosty white eyes as he watched her pleasure herself and his hands flexed again. “Ready for your reward?” He gasped when she reached under her to grasp his cock, holding it steady as she lowered herself onto the thick shaft. Even with ample prep and foreplay it was always a stretch to take Fujin’s cock and he always seemed concerned he might hurt her despite her assurances otherwise. To her, this only drove her to reassure him more, and the best way to do that was…

“So big, babe. You fill me up so good.” Y/n praised as she felt herself fully seated on him.

“Are you sure it isn’t too much?” Fujin murmured, concern and admiration in equal measure warring behind his eyes.

“Feels perfect, babe. Love being stretched out and full of your gorgeous cock.” Y/n trilled. Fujin could only moan, wanton and needy, as Y/n slowly began to rock her hips, sliding up and down in a shallow rhythm as she adjusted to his size. She felt his hands squeeze tighter, leaned down to brace her hands on his chiseled abs so she could ride him in earnest. The drag of his cock against her inner walls felt truly heavenly with each bounce of her perky ass. She couldn’t take her eyes off of him, watching his face twisted with ecstasy, forehead scrunched and eyes squeezed shut. He threw his head back in a moan as she picked up speed, and couldn't stop the desperate pleas that fell from his lips.

“Please, tempest, darling…” Fujin keened. “Please.” 

“So proud of you, asking for permission.” Y/n praised. “You’ve been so good for me, always so good for me, babe. You can touch now, sweetheart.” 

His hands shot up, stroking her waist reverently before he began to bounce her harder up and down on his cock, guiding her movements which only encouraged her to quicken her pace. He groaned, hips stuttering and before she had a chance to react he flipped her over, plunging his cock back into her molten core the second her back hit the mattress. He always got so desperate when she teased him, yet she knew he could go harder, really bruise her if he wanted. She felt her own climax quickly building, hot and heavy in her core, but she was determined to make him spill first. 

She wrapped her hands around his neck, pulling him down into a passionate kiss before making her way lower to wrap her lips around one of his swollen, puffy nipples and biting gently. She felt his back arch, thrusts stuttering as he started to come in thick hot spurts and she snaked a hand down between them to finger herself, rubbing at her clit in tandem while he fucked her through his orgasm. She came just as gave one final thrust into her, holding himself flush to her entrance as she felt the heavy coil of tension burst and flood her with a crescendo of syrupy pleasure. 

“Love it when you let loose, babe.” Y/n murmured as Fujin collapsed onto her with a groan. He was heavy, but she didn’t mind, arms wrapping around his back to massage the spasming muscles lovingly.

“You are a menace, tempest.” Fujin replied, a chuckle on his lips. He rolled onto his side, pulling her into his arms and placed a gentle kiss on her nose. She had a smirk on her face as she locked eyes with him.

“A menace, me?” She kissed him again. “That was only round one, sweetheart.” She purred, hands tugging at his braid, playing with the silky strands that had fallen loose. “And I’m just getting started.”

[firefirefruit]

Steel in Her Veins, Chapter: One

Table of Contents | Next Chapter

Characters: Fem!Reader x Roronoa Zoro

Chapter One: What Happens When a Swordsman Meets a Swordsmith? 

GIF by gildedmuse

Behind the Wall

Zoro notes that the trek up into the forest with Gramps is oddly silent, as his boots clumsily crush against the leafy meadow. Between the two, no words of small talk are being shared or expressed – which is surprising and also a breath of fresh air to Zoro, since it seems he can’t get away from people who love to yap. 

He was also secretly thankful that he was being guided to the swordsmith rather than having to put his listening comprehension skills to the test, with how – and he wholeheartedly believes this - villagers always give him the most confusing roundabout directions (really, it’s just them telling him to turn left). 

So, as he lags behind the dagger-swinging Gramps, he realises that this has been the first time in months that he’s felt at peace without having to sleep for it. 

After what seems like an hour of silent ambling, Gramps looks behind himself at the samurai and childishly beams. 

“We’re almost there, celery-boy.”

“Gotcha, dusty puffball,” Zoro retorts.

“I must warn you… you should be prepared for the swordsmith. She does not like to sugar-coat things.” 

Zoro remains silent; at first, he mulls over his words before deciding to shrug it off. It’s not like any of the swordsmiths he’s met are legendary, so really, why would her opinion matter?

As they near a mountainous cliffy terrain, Gramps stands ahead of a narrow gap between two rumbling boulders. His hands deftly stroke across a specific gap with obnoxious hand movements, which Zoro thinks he’s undoubtedly making up on the spot. Still, as the old man moves away from the caress, the rocks begin to shuffle and grumble lowly. The boulders twist and turn, jagged and crumbling, into forming an irregular cave-like hole. 

When the cave stops echoing its aroused yawn against its walls, the merchant turns around to stick his tongue at Zoro.

“You thought I was an insane old senile for a second, didn’t you?” 

Slowly, Zoro’s ears turn red.

“You did, didn’t you? You followed me here because you felt bad for me, didn’t you?” 

“Leave it alone,” Zoro sighs, feeling the heat continue to rush over the rest of his face. 

He quickly shuffles through the entrance before he can give the geezer another chance to holler at his idiocy. It didn’t stop the dusty puffball, though – as they both continue their journey within the dimly lit cave, Zoro can hear the old cackles that echoed off the jagged walls.

“Wait until you meet her, you’ll be lit up in flames!” He giggles deviously, pleased with his successful torment with the bull-head.

“I don’t give a shit about what anyone thinks,” Zoro mutters, remaining tight-lipped for the rest of the journey. 

Over the Wall

“Go find a transponder snail right bloody now - I’m not dealing with him,” you hiss at your Gramps, who stares at you almost as dumbly as the green sword wielder standing beside him.

“What are you talking about?” Gramps Suki splutters, acting oblivious as he’s always been with you. “Give him a chance, he’s a good kid!”

“No,” you hiss, ignoring the green-head standing stoically in front of your anvil, putting your palm up at Gramps. “Call the Navy Protection Services right now, he’s a disgrace to his swords.”

“Do you want a fight with me, woman?!” The idiot swordsman yells, clawing clumsily for the weapons at his hip.

Unprovoked, you hit him with a deadpan look to the side. God, how many careless swordsmen have you dealt with who all act the bloody same?

“That’s brave, asking to fight the one person who knows how to make and break a blade.” 

In an instant, green-head starts shouting out a string of insults like a moron. 

Although small and frail in appearance, you know Gramps Suki is more than what he chooses to show to people. In a swift manoeuvre, his knobbly hands grip the guy by the collar, making the samurai look like a wretched cat dragged by its neck.

“Get your hands off me, dumbass!” The swordsman chokes, squirming and struggling against the strength of your Gramps. Ignoring him entirely, Gramps stares at you with bewilderment and slight humour.

“What?” You ask him, casually heading to the back of the room to wash your hands. 

“We aren’t pro-Navy, Raya, or have you hit your head on the anvil again?”

“You’ve hit your head on the anvil before?” A gruff voice snickers in Gramps’ vice grip, making you grit your teeth hard.

“Someone needs to call child protection services on those poor swords,” you loudly announce, shutting the green-head up from his evil grin. 

You turn around to rest against the sink, drying your hands with a blackened rag. 

“I can quite literally feel how broken they are in their sheaths, and I’m stood all the way here. Don’t you respect your blades, Mr. Samurai, or do you like to use them as big tooth-picks instead?”

And the dude, still squirming a few centimetres in the air, absolutely loses it. You can’t help but crack a laugh over how furious he’s getting as he begins to continue with his insults. You swear you hear him call you an anvil-indented-head in his string of lovely compliments.

Even Gramps can’t help but guffaw at the entire interaction between you two, completely folding over in on himself. Although still holding onto the green-head’s shirt in an abnormally strong grasp, he heartily laughs on, as if he’s holding a cloth in the air.  

Tsk. Maybe Gramps really is going senile - you think, while you dust off your blackened hammer. Out of any person in the world, you didn’t know why Sukiyaki decided to bring in this idea of a swordsman as a potential client.

You and Gramps have only worked for the best and scarcely have any, if at all, clients – simply because, for you and Gramps, swordsmithing is incredibly dangerous and quite literally life-threatening. Your whole cover can be blown up in an instant if the wrong person fucks around and finds out who you both are.

As underground swordsmiths, you intentionally work away from the hubbub of the central market to gain only the attention of the right clients. To you, this cabbage patch of a man shows absolutely no promise, evidence, or indication of worthiness to bear your craftsmanship by his side. 

This dude comes in with a crumbling sword, the sword who’s barely holding herself together in the shambled state she’s in, as well as bearing two other wobbly blades on his hip. The first time you sensed their three auras, as he and Gramps made their way towards you, your whole stomach dropped. 

Of course, you see broken swords all the time; in your profession, it’s called for – but the way that the green-head’s metals were humming – no, moaning - made you want to writhe in your own skin. You’ve never heard this level of sadness before. It completely pained you to know what the blades were thinking.  

How unfeeling he is to the forces who defend his life, time and time again. Frankly, it’s insulting. 

“Who do you think you are, anvil-head? You’re just the village’s swordsmith - a nobody,” the guy spits out, wholly absorbed in his anger. He finally manages to push himself away from Gramps’ hands and land on his feet.

“Oh, God.. not again,” Gramps mutters, shaking his head in mild displeasure. He knows what’s about to happen.

Your hands pause in the middle of buffing your hammer. 

A nobody, huh?

Your fingertips grow warm. You gaze up at the man – the first time you’ve actually acknowledged him with a look - who’s now stomping towards you, his hands balled in fists. 

As you shake your head, you feel tendrils of smoke and heat frame around your face. What a bull-head. 

“Fix my swords, woman,” he demands through gritted teeth, standing between you and your workbench. 

You sigh, unimpressed, staring straight into his eye. 

“It can’t be done.”

“Are you telling me you’re so unskilled that you can’t mend my swords?”

A smile unfurls across your lips, fire emanating from your fingertips and across the stray curls of your hair. 

You shake your head. 

“No, I’m telling you that I'm melting them. Look down.”

Gramps Suki and Bull-Head slowly tilt their vision to the floor, plainly staring at the liquid metal dripping out of all three of his sheaths. 

[shittalkcornstalk]

“Take One For The Team”

Synopsis- After finding out your Captain has been giving you special treatment, your friends convince you to flirt your way into getting the crew some much needed time off.

Warnings- xfemreader! , Use of Y/n, 18+ minor dni, Eventual Smut, mild manipulation on your part, alcohol use, weapons mention, age gap mention, Buggy is kind of creepy just a little

Word Count 2.4k

Author’s Note - Hi! As you might notice this is my first post! It’s also my first time sharing something I’ve written before , but something about that clown awoken something in me :) Let me know if there’s anything I missed tags or warning wise! I have two more chapters done that I’ll release if everything works out.

Chapter One “A Test Run”

You’d been sailing along Buggy’s crew for the last 6 months, helping in raids and preparing for the grandline. After some incidents with an up and comer Buggy had been much less inclined to leave anything up to chance. Now running the ship with the aid of Alvida and hiring on more freaks to service his mission, his goal of the one piece was set in motion, and very little was going to stop this determination.

At first you weren't a particularly skilled fighter, but you could do a bit of maintenance around the ship, and were willing to train at your weak points. When you first joined you were worried about your position as the only other woman on the crew besides Alvida Being surrounded by a considerable amount of dangerous men had you a bit on edge, but Cabaji had made arrangements for you in a small closet converted into private quarters within your first week on the ship. At least that's who you thought made that happen. Throughout these last months you found yourself rising in ranks rather quickly. You’d been gaining some talents in hand to hand combat thanks to training, but making good friends of Cabaji and Moji had you sitting with the upper ranks of the crew sooner than you’d anticipated. And with that you noticed an increase in the quality of life. It was small, but the bathing supplies you were allotted became higher quality, they softened your hair and gave it a warm sweet smell. The food had gotten better, with larger portions. You hadn’t a clue what was happening beyond maybe who’d you been associating with. You seemed to have some power in play but you didn't know why. Until on night while you were out drinking with friends.

It has been a rather torturous day for you and your crew. Buggy had started an aggressive training regiment that left all of you tired and sore. You saw him watch over all of you, barking orders and sneering at anyone who tried to wimp out. You caught his eyes following you as you lunged forward punching the air, practicing your swings. He smirked at you before shifting his gaze elsewhere.

“Train harder! If you ever want to see your captain become king of the pirates you must work till you bleed!” He laughed at the sight of everyone.

God, it sucked. Your arms were aching and you started to really dislike the guy for his cruelty. You grasp at the cold mug of beer in front of you, chugging it down to cool yourself after today's workout. Cabaji and Moji are also exhausted relishing in their own self pity and pain.

“He’s such a tight wad right now. God will he just let up this act for one second? He’s been working us to the bone-“

“Hey, at least you get special treatment, think about how the rest of us are suffering” Moji groans out

You take a second to process what he said. What special treatment? You’d assume at least Buggy’s two right hand men were also getting some benefits.

“What do you mean by special treatment?” You look at them confused.

Moji puffs and takes a swig of his drink. “The fancy smelling soaps, the private room, hell you get almost twice the meat either of us get at meal time- you think we're all getting that? Have you seen the rooms, have you smelt us? You know you've been given special attention this entire time right? We thought you knew?” He points to Cabaji who nods in agreement.

“Yeah and they way you just so happened to go from cannon fodder to the captain’s table in a matter of weeks? We’re friends, don’t get that wrong, but our friendship only got you so far y/n. There were other things getting you to the table that quickly…”

They were both insinuating something, dancing around the elephant in the room, and you wanted to know what it was.

“Why though?”

“Please, you’ve got to be blind to not notice it. He watches you train a little too attentively, his eyes follow you around while you work. He made sure you were right by him at meal times. You're in a private room for ‘your safekeeping’. You get nicer clothes, you get extra beauty sleep , you get extended bathing hours. The captain got it bad- and you’ve never even clocked it?”

You stammered, your brain gets fuzzy. Captain Buggy has been giving you special treatment because he's got a thing for you. You feel a weight in your stomach as you consider all the things lining up in your head. He does look at you funny, in fact he’s looked at you that way since day one of recruitment. Did he hire you for that alone? Did you like him? Not really… He was a good captain until recently but now all you can think about is how hard he's been working you all. As far as you're concerned, whatever Buggy had wanted from you, wasn't gonna happen.

“Oh my god, how did I not notice it- I feel so stupid…” You groan, chugging the rest of your beer. “This entire time, he only had me on the crew to woo me-“ You stick out your tongue and lay your head on the table in defeat.

“Well now that you know, Moji and I have been talking and we think we can use this information to our advantage. Lighten our work load a bit-“

“And what do you mean by that?” You ask imparitively.

“Well here’s the thing now that you know the captain is putty in your hands, let's use that, c'mon take one for the team-“

“AND WHAT DO YOU MEAN BY THAT!”

“Nothing crazy, but the captain has been in such a terrible mood lately and it's causing all of us to suffer- maybe if the girl he likes was a bit nicer, complimented him a bit more, played with her hair, other girly shit. He’d distracted enough to forget he's a total asshole.”

“yeah y/n its not like you have to sleep with him.” Moji motions with his hands in a comical way. “Just use some of that charm and get us a little more time off” he laughs into his drink. If you all hadn’t been so close and also a little drunk you’d punch both of them, you still kinda wanted to punch them…

“You guys are gross. That’ll never work. You are seriously overestimating this ‘feminine charm’ and crush shit, I’m sure captain would looooovvvee to hear how low you think of him right now-“

“No come on, give it a chance, tomorrow all you have to do is smile at him a little more, laugh at jokes-and and…” Cabaji thinks for a second…

“Touch his shoulder!” Moji finishes, “Then I bet he’ll let up! You’ll see! Just try it, our situation isn’t gonna get any worse if it doesn’t work…”

Moji and Cabaji jokingly give you puppy dog eyes and pout “Please for your best friends~”

“Ugh fine, but you owe me, both of you are taking over my chores for a week after tomorrow-“

“Deal!” They say in unison snickering to themselves.

The next day comes and it's time for you to embarrass yourself in front of everyone it seems. You take note to take a little extra time to get ready, nothing crazy , but looking disheveled isn't gonna help the plan. You make your way to the dock for training when you see Buggy, Cabaji, and Moji taking. Your two friends spot you first giving a wink and a smile and they say goodbye to the captain leaving you alone as you approach him. You take a deep breath and step forward.

“Good morning Captain Buggy~”

You try to be a little more melodic in the way you say his name, though it doesn't quite roll off your tongue that well. Buggy certainly didn’t notice that though cause he was already a little jumpy at your more aggressive approach. He blushes a bit and stifles a cough.

“G-Good morning Y/n, what brings you here this morning, shouldn’t you start training?” He's trying to keep cool, but now that you are well aware of his feelings you know he's bluffing. You can’t believe it but this might actually work.

“Is it so -bad- I wanted to greet my captain this morning?” God you are deluding yourself, but you do a tiny pout and the look on this man's face shifts. He's a mess and you have control.

“NOT AT ALL-“ He starts waving his hands. “I’m just not used to you being so…um…cordial-“ He giggles a bit to himself. Cordial was not the word he wanted to say and you knew it. You shift your eyes over to the two idiots watching the spectacle. They mock you with kissy faces, and like a lightbulb going off in one of their pea sized brains, they mimic the shoulder touch you agreed to. With a quick breath you look at Captain Buggy directly in the eye, batting your lashes, and curling your lips to talk.

“Captain Buggy?~” You let his name sit for a minute. He looks back at you, gulps, and waits.

“Yes?”

You take your hand lightly touching his bicep and softly rubbing it up to his shoulder. He jolts ever so slightly under your touch.

“I was just wondering what today's regiment was? We’re all so tired from yesterday's workout, and while we…I want to make sure we can serve you to the best of our abilities. I was wondering when our next rest day was?”

He gulps again, heavier, as if this man had swallowed a rock. He coughs to alleviate some of the tension in the air. And though you don’t fully know it yet he thinks he’s found his in to sweeten you up to him a bit. After all a girl like you does deserve a break, but if he only gives you a day off he’ll expose himself to everyone. He's gotta play it cool, still fulfilling your wishes but make it seem like he's in control.

“Why you happened to ask me on the perfect day doll-“ A nickname he’d never confronted you with before, but with his ego inflated he thought he'd slip that in “I was just about to tell the entire crew that all training was going to be canceled today” He moved his body to the crew to announce it but keeps his eyes on you expectely. “Proceed with normal chores, but today will be light work for all-'' He smiled at how great this plan is. Surely you’d start seeing him in better lighting with this generous offer.

Cabaji and Moji are celebrating by themselves at their hiding spot. Hi fiving each other and shooting you thumbs up. You look back at your captain, fully unaware that you’d scemed this outcome. You were suprised it worked this well, but this outcome made it seem like this was a much easier feat than you were expecting. You’d be able to get a lot more with very little it seems. And now that Cabaji and Moji have taken up your chores for the week, no training and no chores meant a full day of rest and relaxation for you. You could really get used to this. You smile to yourself, but Buggy, who really hasn't kept his eyes off of you this entire time, takes it as a compliment.

“ Take some of that much needed rest y/n, you deserve for how hard you work. After all, it's like you said you need energy to serve your captain.”

You shudder in your head at the implications of that last statement before grinning past the grimace on your face and leaving with a sweet plasticy “Thank you Captain Buggy-“ He waves you off, and you can definitely see his gaze linger on your ass.

“Gross…” You think to yourself.

Later that night you and the two others relish in a successful mission.

“It fucking worked!” Cabaji yelled clinking glasses with yours.

“It fucking worked…” You stare blankly groanin to yourself in self deprecation.

“Aw c'mon think about it we’d probably get a whole week off if you just sucked his d-“

You smack him before he can even finish the thought. You weren’t gonna become some toy just to get a bit more vacation time. You wouldn’t mind having the weekends off though, especially when you were docked in new cities. You could go shopping more, maybe go to the markets, try the spas… You could embarrass yourself a little if it meant that maybe…

“Listen I’ll agree it worked better than expected but we can’t jump to conclusions and say this’ll work all the time. Chances are this was a one time thing. Captain Buggy may not be the epitome of self restraint and class, but he’s not stupid-“

He’s stupid. Sure every day didn’t immediately become a luxury cruise in paradise but you'll be damned if your little giggles and hair flips didn't lighten the load for everyone around you. The captain was happier, calmer, and now that he was convinced he started hooking you in, he didn't take out a lot of that repressed anger he’d built up on the crew. It was smooth sailing for the most part. You’d say hello to him in the mornings, goodnight to him before leaving for your own quarters. You’d refer to him with full title as Captain Buggy, enunciate the words in a way he found irresistible, and of course Mojis patent pending ‘shoulder touch’. He swears you need to bottle and sell it. He was putty off this little attention you gave him, and for how little it was, you'd oblige to give it to him. You wonder if anyone had picked up on it, but you probably would have been mocked to hell for it, if anyone actually knew. So in secrecy you kept up this little crush act for as long as it could run.

[mysticalmallard]

Good afternoon!!!!

Could I request a one shot where the reader is Chibs niece and she’s the first patched member. I think it would be fun to see how they prank her into thinking she’s been kicked out. I can see Chibs fighting so hard not to smile 😊

Thank you!!!!

Prospect No More

🦆: I had so much fun writing this oneshot for you! I hope you enjoy it!!

Description: What if instead of Juice, Chibs backs his niece for prospect?

Wordcount: 513

Warnings ⚠️: none I think

SoA Taglist: @arkytiorlecter @aimkatsz @ravennaortiz @darqchilddaydreamz @mischiefnevermanaged89-blog @hatersaremymotivators @theshynerdsworld @thefrogytimes

♥︎ If you wish to be added or removed from this taglist comment or message me ♥︎

SoA Masterlist 🌸 Main Masterlist

It had been a year of trials and tribulations, of tests and demonstrations of loyalty and commitment. And now it was time for the moment of truth.

The club had called a meeting, gathering the members. Chibs sat in the corner, a small smirk on his face as he watched the scene play out.

Clay, standing at the front of the room, began his speech. "We’ve all seen the dedication and loyalty demonstrated by our prospect over the past year...but now it’s time to make a decision."

She stood nervously before the members, her heart pounding in her chest. She knew this moment was coming, but still it was nerve wracking regardless.

Chibs glanced at his niece, taking in her nervous expression. He could see the fear in her eyes, but he also saw the fire and determination that made her such a good prospect.

The President continued, "We’ve taken every aspect of her service into consideration. Her loyalty, her skills and her dedication to the club."

Some of the older members nodded in approval, while others remained stoic, their faces giving away nothing.

She looked around the room, her gaze flickering between the members. She could feel the tension in the air. She couldn’t tell if they were going to accept her, or kick her to the curb.

Chibs couldn’t help but feel a hint of sympathy for his niece, a protective instinct welling up inside of him. He knew how much this meant to her. How hard she had worked to get to this moment.

Clay cleared his throat, drawing the room's attention back to him. "After weighing all the factors, we’ve come to a decision."

Her heart skipped a beat, her breath catching in her throat. This was it. She was about to find out her fate.

Clay paused, a sly smile spreading across his face. He could see the fear and anticipation etched into the prospect’s face, and he reveled in it.

"And the decision is..."

The room fell silent, waiting on baited breath for the verdict. The prospect’s heart thumped wildly in her chest, sweat beading on her forehead as the tension became almost unbearable.

Chibs had to hold back a chuckle at the President's dramatic pause. He knew what the decision was already, but seeing his niece squirm like this was quite entertaining.

"After careful consideration..." the President drawled, stretching out the suspense for as long as he could.

She was practically in tears now, her breathing shallow and ragged. She couldn’t take much more of this.

Finally, he spoke. "The prospect has proven herself to be a valuable asset to our club. It is my pleasure to announce that she has passed her probationary period, and has now earned her full patch."

The room erupted in applause and cheers, the members congratulating the prospect on her hard work and dedication.

Chibs stood up and walked over to his niece, pulling her into a tight hug."Ye did good, lass," Chibs whispered in her ear, his voice gruff with emotion. "I always knew ye had it in ye."

[southernassessors24]

Contact us for expert Air Pressure Testing services in Hampshire, Wiltshire & Berkshire. Ensure your home's air quality with Southern Assessors. Reach out now.

[usafphantom2]

How An A-10 Pilot Guided His Wingman to Safety in a Hypoxia Crisis

Lt. Col. Mitchell recalls a life-or-death moment in the sky, helping his wingman fight hypoxia during a mission aboard the A-10 Warthog.

David Cenciotti

A-10 Hypoxia

U.S. Air Force Reserve Citizen Airman Lt. Col. Timothy “Scream” Mitchell, an A-10 instructor pilot and flight commander with the 47th Fighter Squadron, places his hand on the iconic nose of an A-10C Thunderbolt II at Davis-Monthan Air Force Base, Ariz., Aug. 22, 2024. (U.S. Air Force photo by Tech. Sgt. Tyler J. Bolken)

With the plan to fully retire the type by 2029, the U.S. Air Force will decommission 42 A-10C Thunderbolt II aircraft this year, with the remaining 260 expected to be phased out in the next 5 years.

As the legendary “Warthog” approaches the twilight of its storied service, one figure stands out as a living embodiment of the grit, tenacity, and unwavering dedication that define the aircraft’s tight-knit community. That figure is U.S. Air Force Reserve Citizen Airman Lt. Col. Timothy “Scream” Mitchell.

With nearly two decades of flying the A-10, Mitchell was recently recognized with a prestigious safety award, not only for his actions during a perilous night flight but for a career that epitomizes the spirit of the A-10 and the individuals who support and operate this combat-proven aircraft.

In March this year, Mitchell found himself in a situation that tested the full breadth of his experience. Alongside Capt. Dylan “Mac” Vail, an active-duty pilot from the 357th Fighter Squadron who was being trained to become an IP (instructor pilot), Mitchell embarked on what was intended to be a routine 2-ship training flight.

U.S. Air Force Reserve Citizen Airman Lt. Col. Timothy “Scream” Mitchell, an A-10 instructor pilot and flight commander with the 47th Fighter Squadron, stands in front of the first A-10C Thunderbolt II he flew, tail number 9154, on the flight line at Davis-Monthan Air Force Base, Ariz., Aug. 22, 2024. Mitchell has flown the A-10, often referred to as the Warthog, for nearly two decades, exemplifying the dedication and expertise that define the A-10 community. (U.S. Air Force photo by Tech. Sgt. Tyler J. Bolken)

As an instructor pilot and flight commander for the 47th Fighter Squadron, Mitchell is no stranger to demanding situations. However, on this night, what began as a standard night sortie, would quickly transform rom routine to critical. In fact, Vail began showing the early signs of hypoxia, a dangerous condition caused by a lack of oxygen that can impair cognitive functions and motor skills.

A subtle threat

Hypoxia can be difficult to identify, especially for pilots, because its onset is often gradual and its symptoms can be subtle or easily mistaken for fatigue or stress. Symptoms like dizziness, confusion, lightheadedness, euphoria, and impaired judgment often develop slowly, which can make it challenging for pilots to recognize what is happening before it becomes severe, and increasingly difficult for a pilot to maintain control of their aircraft.

In the cockpit, Vail was struggling. His brain, starved of oxygen, couldn’t process the situation clearly. As the effects of hypoxia worsened, the situation became dire. But Mitchell’s calm and decisive leadership shone through. Years of experience kicked in, allowing him to quickly assess the situation and provide clear, concise instructions over the radio to guide Vail back to safety.

It was a night that could have ended tragically had it not been for Mitchell’s steady hand.

“I could barely think straight,” Vail recalls, his voice heavy with the memory of that critical night. A Houston native and a graduate of the Air Force Academy, Vail was in a dangerous spiral, both mentally and physically. “Mitchell was there every step of the way, simplifying everything, telling me exactly what I needed to do. It was his voice and experience that got me back on the ground safely.”

For Vail, Mitchell’s actions went beyond the role of an experienced pilot, they embodied a deeper philosophy, one ingrained in the A-10 community itself. This is a community where the mission is paramount, but equally important is the unwavering commitment to the safety and well-being of those involved.

“People always get lost and enamored about the aircraft,” Mitchell explained. A native of Lockney, Texas, and a graduate of Texas A&M, Mitchell is quick to shift the spotlight away from himself and the aircraft, instead highlighting the broader community that supports the A-10. “But the number one thing is the community that is dedicated to it.”

For Mitchell, the A-10 is not just a machine. It’s a symbol of camaraderie, a tool to defend and protect, and a centerpiece of a community bound by shared purpose and dedication. Standing next to the very first A-10 he flew, tail number 9154, Mitchell reflected on his long journey with the aircraft. His humor remained intact despite the passage of time and the wear of years spent in service.

“I’m old,” he said with a chuckle, recalling his search for some of the A-10s he had flown over the years. “I was trying to look for a couple of tails that I had my name on in the past, and I think they’re gone either to Moody AFB or the Boneyard, so here’s what it is.”

Mitchell’s reflections extend beyond the aircraft’s flight numbers and history. He shared a little-known piece of A-10 heritage, the unique artwork that adorns each of the 47th Pursuit Squadron’s aircraft. Dating back to World War II, these aircraft are emblazoned with characters from the “Dogpatch” cartoon series by Andy Capp, a tradition that the squadron continues to honor.

“The 47th Pursuit Squadron paid Andy Capp $1 for the copyright usage of his characters to put on all the airframes,” Mitchell shared, highlighting the deep historical roots that tie the squadron to the past. “Each airplane has its own character from the original Little Abner cartoons.”

U.S. Air Force Reserve Citizen Airman Lt. Col. Timothy “Scream” Mitchell, an A-10 instructor pilot and flight commander with the 47th Fighter Squadron, looks on as he stands next to an A-10C Thunderbolt II at Davis-Monthan Air Force Base, Ariz., Aug. 22, 2024. (U.S. Air Force photo by Tech. Sgt. Tyler J. Bolken)

This rich tradition, combined with a sense of pride and duty, has been a cornerstone of Mitchell’s career since he first began flying the A-10 in January 2005. From those early days as a young lieutenant in the 47th Fighter Squadron to his current role as a seasoned commander and mentor, Mitchell’s journey has been defined by his commitment to not only the aircraft but also the people who operate and maintain it.

“Creating new fighter pilots and passing on the lessons learned—that’s our job,” Mitchell said, emphasizing the importance of mentorship within the A-10 community. “We are providers of fixing problems for people in a dynamic situation, and we’re very good at it.”

Col. Aaron “Nacho” Weedman, commander of the 924th Fighter Group, also expressed pride in Mitchell’s efforts. He highlighted the significance of Mitchell’s actions during that night flight and the profound impact of his leadership on the A-10 community.

“His actions while instructing a student during a sortie in which the student experienced a serious physiological incident saved the life of another pilot,” Weedman said. For Weedman, Mitchell’s recent safety award is not just a personal achievement but a reflection of the ethos that has guided the A-10 community for decades.

The citation for the award specifically notes Mitchell’s quick thinking during the March 2024 incident, as well as his broader contributions to the safety and training of A-10 pilots. But as Weedman pointed out, the recognition also speaks to the experience and maturity that AFRC Instructor pilot cadre like Mitchell bring to the mission of the A-10 Formal Training Unit.

“His actions that evening highlight the importance of experience and maturity that AFRC Instructor pilot cadre add to the mission of the A-10 FTU,” Weedman emphasized. “This experience is leveraged to strengthen the total force, producing combat-ready wingmen for the A-10 community.”

More than just an aircraft

For pilots like Mitchell and Vail, the A-10 is far more than just an aircraft. It symbolizes something much greater, a legacy of camaraderie, dedication to mission, and the enduring reputation of those who have flown it and those who have been saved by it.

Vail, now a certified instructor pilot himself, is keenly aware of the legacy he is inheriting. It is a legacy shaped by the seasoned pilots who came before him—pilots like Mitchell, who ensured the lessons of the past continue to guide the future.

“I love the A-10. I love the mission,” Vail shared. “But what makes it special is the people, the community of pilots who have dedicated themselves to this aircraft and what it stands for.”

As the A-10 gradually phases out of U.S. military service (with a potential future in a foreign air arm), its heritage will not fade away with its airframes. Instead, it will live on in the stories and experiences of those who flew it, those who maintained it, and those whose lives were saved by it. And in the center of that story will always be the men and women like Lt. Col. Timothy “Scream” Mitchell, whose actions ensured that every pilot returned home safely.

A U.S. Air Force A-10C Thunderbolt II assigned to the 47th Fighter Squadron, Davis-Monthan Air Force Base, Arizona, flies over Range 2 during Haboob Havoc 2024, April 24, 2024, at Barry M. Goldwater Range, Arizona. (U.S. Air Force photo by Staff Sgt. Noah D. Coger)

About David Cenciotti

David Cenciotti is a journalist based in Rome, Italy. He is the Founder and Editor of “The Aviationist”, one of the world’s most famous and read military aviation blogs. Since 1996, he has written for major worldwide magazines, including Air Forces Monthly, Combat Aircraft, and many others, covering aviation, defense, war, industry, intelligence, crime and cyberwar. He has reported from the U.S., Europe, Australia and Syria, and flown several combat planes with different air forces. He is a former 2nd Lt. of the Italian Air Force, a private pilot and a graduate in Computer Engineering. He has written five books and contributed to many more ones.

@TheAviationist.com

[iww-gnv]

Oregon OSHA has fined a Portland environmental services company a total of $118,800 for numerous safety violations that resulted in two workers passing out on the job. The fine against River City Environmental Inc. is one of the largest levied by the Oregon Occupational Safety and Health Division in recent years, division spokesman Aaron Corvin said. The citation lists 10 violations and notes that the problems date to last June, when River City assigned workers to clean filters inside a stormwater sewer at Widmer Brothers Brewing in north Portland. Widmer staff noticed the workers were not taking proper safety precautions and sent them away. They went again in mid-July for the same job, the citation said, and River City again failed to equip and train the workers properly but they were allowed to enter a maintenance hole at the brewery anyway. Their job was to clean, retrofit and remove filters in a tight space used to sift stormwater runoff from a large loading dock, an operation that’s performed yearly, according to the citation. The space was confined and dangerous: The oxygen levels were 12.5% compared with the 20.9% that’s generally in the air. Safety rules allow workers without ventilation or supplied air to enter a space as long as it has a minimum of 19.5% of oxygen. The citation said River City did not ensure that the work was supervised, failed to equip the workers with air testing and monitoring equipment, did not provide ventilation equipment, and did not give them rescue and emergency equipment. It also didn’t inform the workers on the potential hazards of the job or of the potential symptoms and consequences they could face, the citation said, and the company had no procedures to rescue the workers in the event of an emergency. The workers weren’t even trained in basic first aid or CPR, the citation said.

[lemonsrosesandlavender]

Snippet Sunday

Thanks @redroomroaving ! I tag… @commander-krios @forget-me-maybe @kimberbohwrites @lizziemajestic

For my In Service of Magic readers: have a taste of the next chapter 💜

‘My curse-breaker,’ she murmurs. ‘My -’

His lips are too inviting to waste any more words. Throwing herself down, she kisses him urgently, stroking his soft hair. Rolan’s hands test uncertainly against her arms, asking permission.

‘Hold onto me, my pet,’ she tells him, and his arms slide tight around her. Hot, feverish breaths brush her lips each time she breaks for air; and then, when she returns, his lips match hers even more closely than before, yielding when she pushes and seeking when she pulls away. His mouth - when she presses her tongue deep, conquering him, she feels every moan whispering through their touch.

‘Perfect,’ she murmurs.

Rolan’s eyes flutter open.

‘You are perfect.’

[random-introverted-blog]

His Star - His Queen [Chapter 3 - Tithes To The King]

Where are you/Where is Tav? Somewhere...

Summary: Astarion arrives in the Ascendants world. Nothings different. Until it is.

Then he meets his first ally, who explains the differences while getting shitfaced.

Link to the Tumblr Chapter Index

A/N: I know, I know. Where's you/tav? ...Somewhere.

Be patient, little muffins.

Warnings/Adivsories: Some... unsavory meanings about these tithes. Like... prostitution. People offer their hot youngins to a tyrant for services that may or may not be sexual...

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A knock came to the door of his quarters and Astarion called for them to enter. He was just finishing a final once over of his equipment when the male elf, Aeron poked his head in. "All the preparations have been made. The only missing component is you, Ser." He says with a subtle inflection in his voice. If the circumstances were different, Astarion would enjoy the sound of his racing heart, indulge in teasing even. But that would only further delay him.

He would not tolerate having his patience tested any longer.

With one tug to the strap of his spidersilk armor, he sheathed his daggers and slung his bow and quiver before striding toward the door. Aeron only narrowly avoiding before pushed aside by the vampire spawn. Comically, he hurried ahead of Astarion, matching his brisk walk as they navigated the lonesome halls of this temple... or whatever. They weren't very forthcoming about where this place was.

They arrived through the heavy double doors into the war room, where Illyndra gazed upon her reflection, the frame of the mirror ominously shifting from black to red in a slow wave. Arms folded behind her back. "Excellent. I trust you are ready to proceed?" She says without looking at him.

"You're asking if I'm ready to proceed?" Astarion retorts, looking between her and the mirror before scoffing and looking away.

Illyndra sighs and turns to face him, then glances beside them. "Aeron, if you would."

He nods and reaches slowly for Astarion's left arm. Holding it gently between both hands. A soft red glow glazes his eyes. "Per astra et mea ad te." Aeron speaks with confidence, and a warm burn almost too hot to be comfortable washes over his limb. It passes quickly enough and the man steps away, eyes returning to his bright silver color.

"With this, you can navigate to the Ascendants' homeline with no risks, will conceal your identity from any other, excluding Tav and him, and overcome the difficulties caused by vampirism. You will need to return here within two days of your entry, so the enchantment may be recast on you—"

"Two days?! That's it?!"

"That is all the gods are willing to permit. We will well use what they have allotted to us." She states sternly, before motioning to Aeron again.

He nods and passes in front of Astarion, his hand touching the mirror and eyes glowing softly again, "ab astris ad astra."

The mirror shimmers and warbles, its surface rippling like water in response to his words. Astarion's keen eyes discern faint shapes that don't belong in this room. He sees a discarded chair, toppled on its side, a table with a book propping up one leg, and the scent of dust and debris permeating the air. The creaking of rickety wooden floors accompanies the scene. "Find Aric Blackthistle, a male tiefling with grey skin and short horns. Gather every bit of information you can. Our next steps hinge on what you uncover."

"To hells with gathering anything, I need to find her." He hissed angrily, voice reverberating softly along the wide expanse of the room.

"You will not," she replied, her voice tinged with a mix of determination and caution. "He undoubtedly has her well hidden, deep within the labyrinthine walls of his palace." A barely noticeable hint of dust permeated the air, intermingling with the faint aroma of torches burning on the walls.

His fingers clenched into tight fists, nails digging into his palms. The urgency pulsed through her veins, a primal instinct urging her to action. But his steady gaze met hers, his eyes filled with wariness. "Now is not the time to be brash," she warned, her voice laced with a hint of apprehension. "We must tread carefully, strategize our every move. We will reach her in time." The words hung in the air, a fragile promise amidst the uncertainty. Together, they stood in the well lit war room, their resolve burning bright, as they prepared to embark on a treacherous journey to end the Ascendant and save you.

Astarion turned to the mirror and stepped toward it. His fingers delicately brushed against it, and he was surprised to feel an icy, watery sensation that left his fingertips strangely dry. Briefly, he examined them, rubbing them together with his thumb before forging ahead.

That same sensation cascaded over his entire body, cold enough to startle him with a gasp. How it was cold enough to affect him, Astarion could only guess. If he had any inclination to give it attention. Still, he had more urgent matters that demanded his immediate action.

Standing in that same room he glimpsed through the mirror, the vampire gave a cursory glance at the surroundings of what he presumed was an abandoned home before striding for the door and stepping out into the world beyond.

Immediately, the setting sun glared into his eyes, sparking against the surface of the Chinothar. Two chatty men strode past him without so much as a glance and Astarion simply paused in quiet awe at how truthful Illyndra had been. He'll be honest... he didn't think she could pull it off.

As he turned the corner and ambled down the streets of Baldur's Gate, he had to remind himself that this wasn't his Baldur's Gate. Though everything stood and looked exactly the same, save a store or two he didn't recognize. Then his eyes caught something in the distance... he squinted a little, trying to see it better without approaching it.

Ah, and the enormous marble statue of a regal-looking elf... Him. Dead center in front of the gates to the city.

He must admit, he does cut an exceptional sculpture.

Sighing, he continued on. Effortlessly weaving through the streets, noting all the young men and women dressed in fine clothing, hair and skin clearly tidied with meticulous detail. Some were excited, some melancholy, others impassive or solemn. Looks like he arrived at an odd time. They were almost all accompanied by someone. Presumably, a relative who wore slightly less elegant attire.

As he stood there, he observed the crowd gradually making their way towards the Szarr Palace, their footsteps creating a rhythmic hum. Or what would've been the Szarr palace. In its place stood a larger, elegant, lavish, and ornamented mansion.

Convinced it was probably best to follow the crowd and gather information, he joined them on their march toward the oversized wooden doors. Right away he spotted a man, a grey-skinned tiefling with short curled horns, arguing with another, paler one. A tall elf in a simple but silver embroidered black jacket. "We invested much of our time and coin to present our tithes—"

"And you have done so. Marvelous, you can carry out simple instruction." The well-dressed man said in a deep, posh voice that grated Astarions' ears. "But the God-King's word is final. Your tithes are no longer desired by him." He remained still in the face of the angry crowd.

God-king? How arrogant and pig-headed is his ascended self?

But before the tiefling could respond, the elf held up his hand. "However, as you are keen to bestow upon the Ancunín palace your generosity, our almighty God-king has declared he would still accept offerings of sustenance and servitude. The potential offer of his eternal gift in his service remains intact." He explained stone faced and posture perfect

The tiefling sneered, clenching his jaw before a younger girl touched his arm. "It's alright, papa, I can still serve..."

He balked, eyes widening and gaze hardening at her. "No! You know what that means!" The tiefling man said, desperation tinged in his voice.

"I do," she said with a hint of sadness. "It means Asha can finally get the care she needs." Her voice soft and gentle. A beautiful smile slowly formed, causing delicate lines to appear on her lips. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, reflecting the setting sunlight that hung in the sky. Her hand slipped off his arm. However, before she could fully retreat, he turned towards her, enveloping her in a warm embrace. With a tender gesture, he pressed a loving kiss to the top of her head, offering comfort. For him, for himself, perhaps both.

Her eyes glossed over and her hand began slipping off his arm. But he turned and wrapped her up in his arms, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

They had a hushed conversation between themselves before she stepped away and looked at the Elven man.

His piercing, scrutinizing eyes meticulously sweep over her, tracing every contour from the top of her head to the tip of her toes, until he finally grants a decisive, solitary nod. "Very well," he utters, his voice carrying a certain air of authority amidst the bustling, attentive crowd. "You will come with us, and the master will have the final say." Assuring the restless onlookers, he raises his voice and says, "Rest assured, the forthcoming festivities due in a mere tenday will proceed as planned."

Astarion watched with a numbness as the young lady shuffled away, behind him and with the line of pale, well-dressed figures. She remained fixated on the ground, never allowing her eyes to wander. The trend continued from there. Sometimes they were accompanied, sometimes they were alone.

The world will yearn to kneel... and offer its neck.

What kind of insanity was this tyrant subjecting everyone to?

Honestly, it didn't trouble him terribly. He wasn't a bleeding heart like you, his Star. What did bother him was that this thing wearing his face was the reason for all of this. Shaking his head, he noticed the male tiefling slowly distancing himself, fading away from the crowd and making his way back down the path. Didn't Illyndra describe this one? Aric Blackthistle, grey-skinned and short horns? Could he risk wasting time and asking the wrong person when he could simply plan how he'll infiltrate the palace?

Deep down, he knew that Illyndra's assessment was accurate, even though he despised admitting it. If he gets caught, the uncertainty of what might befall you in the time it would require to escape is unsettling. Better to understand this world a bit more and plan his next course of action from there.

So he followed him, ensuring he kept a careful distance to avoid arousing his suspicions. Unsurprised when he quickly ducked into the Elfsong. Astarion followed him inside and straight to the bar. "I assume you're Aric Blackthistle?" He queries, taking the seat beside him.

The tiefling lifts his head, sparing only a glance before waving down the barman, who gives him a knowing nod and grabs a mug. Only then does he give Astarion a full acknowledgement. "You must be the one those Time Priests mentioned. Let me catch you up to speed then, I'm sure they told you jack..." He grumbled, holding his hand out eagerly and expectantly for his drink and the barman obliged, pushing it into his hand before thumping his shoulder.

"All the politics you're likely familiar with, the dukes, the parliament of peers, the patriars, all that remains intact. With one major addition." Pausing only to take a swig of his drink.

Astarion arched a brow. "The godking?"

"That fucker." He grunted as he set down his mug and leaned his arm on the bar. "They're all puppets, of course. They sing and dance and smear their faces in dog muck if it's to please Godking Ancunín. He lets them meet and run the sword coast, and they propose their ideas to his Royal Steward, who then picks the better ones to present to our King." Aric sneers, his knuckles turning white around his mug.

"After he threatened their bloodlines for wasting his time," he continued, "they reluctantly agreed to appoint an intermediary, a go-between. Someone to pass the buck to."

He continued speaking, his voice low and filled with tension, as Astarion remained still, absorbing his words. The room filled with the sounds of ambient chatter among the other patrons, occasionally disrupted by the clank of a mug. Aric's gaze drifted, his eyes distant, lost in a sea of thoughts. He shook his head, as if trying to dispel the haunting images that plagued his mind.

He continued, and Astarion simply remained still and quiet. Processing all of this. "The Crimson Eclipse nearly set off a chain of events that I'd much rather never witness in my lifetime..." he said, his voice tinged with a hint of dread. The room seemed to darken slightly, as if reflecting the weight of his words.

As Aric continued speaking, a subtle scent of trepidation filled the air, blending with his unwavering determination. "But if the rumors hold any truth, then..." his voice trailed off, leaving a lingering sense of uncertainty.

His hand brushed against his forehead, a gesture of frustration and worry. "That doesn't matter now," he said, his tone laced with urgency. "My little Elowen is in that hellpit, risking her life to gather information for us from within."The room seemed to grow colder, a chilling atmosphere settling around them. Aric's voice carried a hint of bitterness as he spoke. "Word has reached us that the Ancunín palace no longer accepts maidens. Our plans to get close to that...that fucker...have been thwarted."

A sense of disappointment and frustration hung heavy in the air, mingling with the faint scent of desperation. "The best she can do now is infiltrate as a servant girl, getting as close to him as possible," Aric concluded, his words echoing with a mix of hope and resignation.

"Maidens?" Astarion repeats, his tone laced with both confusion and a hint of unease. The sheer ambiguity of that statement allows for an endless array of potential meanings.

Aric snorted, the sound echoing through the dimly lit tavern. "Our godking is a hedonistic sicko," he scoffed, his voice filled with disdain. The flickering candlelight cast shadows on his furrowed brow, reflecting the intensity of his words. The air was heavy with the scent of the wood furnishings and spilled ale, mingling with the faint aroma of roasted meat wafting from the kitchen.

Leaning back against the worn wooden bar, Aric's fingers drummed impatiently, creating a rhythmic sound that blended with the lively chatter of the patrons. With a quick tap on the bar, he caught the bartender's attention, silently requesting another refill.

"The godking used to seek them on occasion when the queen was alive," Aric continued, his voice tinged with bitterness. "Though not as frequently as he had after she passed. The sudden disinterest has many mouths yapping..." His words trailed off, drowned out momentarily by the clinking of glasses and the laughter of a nearby group.

Aric paused, lost in thought, before a shrug of his shoulder broke the silence. "We may have a new queen soon enough," he mused. "I've heard things weren't... good when she reigned at his right hand, but better than they are now. It's been said his iron grip was not as tight. He was calmer. Dare I say contented."

His gaze shifted to the doorway, anticipation flickering in his eyes. "You can stay with me while you visit," he offered, his voice filled with a sense of loyalty. "The missive they sent ahead mentioned you can't remain here for too long, and I'm happy to lend aid to the resistance's strongest allies."

The low hum of conversation and the clinking of glasses filled the air once again, as the tavern continued to buzz with life.

Once again, Astarion was left with a multitude of questions that he'd apparently have to ask at a later time, as the tiefling man tossed some coin on the bar and rose from his seat. "I can only imagine how arrogant and megalomaniac he must be to consider himself a god as well as a king..." He mused, more so to himself as he followed behind.

But his statement seemed to make Aric momentarily hesitate as they set foot on the streets in front of the Elfsong."You misunderstand... Much as I loathe him," he said, his voice carrying a hint of caution, "I dare not underestimate him." Turning towards Astarion, his gaze locked with intense determination.

"He has every right to deem himself a god..."

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A/N: Next chapter.

You get Ascendant x You/Tav next chapter.

Promise

[chicknstripz]

∘₊✧ [[ Sun, Surf & Sand ]] ✧₊∘

Pairing ||  Fives x GN!Reader Word count || 987 Warnings || Brief mentions of PTSD, Fluff, So much fluff. Overview || Self indulgent Fives takes his family to the beach feels, in honour of father's day! 'Fives' prompt for @clonexreaderbingo

Crashing waves and salty air backdrop your perfect day, the shriek of your little one pulling your attention from your trashy romance novel.

Fives has your toddler by the hand, standing at the water's edge with not a care in the world. He looks so good like this, his tanned skin glowing in the light as he lifts the toddler over another wave. The small girl yells in delight as the water tickles her toes, her interaction with the water managed with care by her doting father. 

Fives doesn't want her to fear water like he does, the endless blue stirring memories of Kamino. He remembers being tossed out to sea, his survival skills tested in a brutal five day training session. He also remembers time spent below the waves, his flash training ill preparing him for deep sea diving. None of it had been enjoyable, the company of his own heartbeat prevailing over every memory, and none of it could hold a candle to the beach he stood upon. Cold unfeeling water had been swapped for warm waves, and complaining brothers had been swapped for a happy family. His little Sarad was smiling at him like he'd hung the stars, all chubby checks and sparkling eyes. And you? He's pretty sure you've never looked prettier. you're laid on a towel with a drink in one hand, and a book in the other - your eyes soft as they catch his. He stops to appreciate the sight for a moment, just long enough for a ware to crest over Sarad's waist. She squeals in surprise and holds tight to him, her little arms barely covering his chest.

"Woah, you alright there lil one?"

She nods, her curls tickling his jaw with each move.

"You sure? We can say hello to your Buir for a bit if you want. Maybe build a sandcastle?” 

She nods again and Fives takes this as a sign she’s done with the water, at least for now. He drops her to her feet once the water laps at his ankles, watching with a smile as she totters up the beach with giggles. He’s not at all surprised to see you’ve pulled out a holorecorder, your form dropped to one knee to get Sarad’s best angle; and he can’t help but tease you as you lift the cam to include him in the shot. 

“Why cyare, I’d never thought you’d ask! Yes, yes, a thousand times yes!”

He watches you roll your eyes, your expression giving away the flush of heat that rises to your cheeks.

“We’re already married, di’kut” “And what if I wanted to marry you again?” He’d marry you a billion times if he could, on as many planets as you wanted. All he wanted was for you to feel loved and appreciated, to know that you’d been and always would be the center of his galaxy. 

“I don’t think it’s entirely necessary ...” “Oh, but it is!” He beams as he cuts you off, happy to watch the effect his words have on you. The subtle shift of weight from side to side, the shift of your brows and lips; it all tells him he’d made you feel warm and happy. “But what about the cost?” “What about it?” “We can’t afford it, not on that ‘pension’ they gave you” Fives scoffs. The republic had decided some years back that his service deserved a soldier’s pension. It was, in his opinion, nothing more than a publicity stunt. The sum was barely enough to repay his vode for years of pain and loss, but it was also better than nothing - which was what they were due to get before Senator Chuchi stepped in. “My brothers will help.” “Fives, I don’t want them paying for something we don’t need.” He drops beside you with a chuckle, gathering Sarad into his arms and settling her atop his crossed legs. The blanket more than protected her from the warm sand, but he was feeling indulgent and protective today; her happy giggles encouraged his internal desire to dote on her. “I didn’t mean it like that. Kix got himself ordained. All we have to do is give him a time and date.” Your eyes widen in shock, then laughter; the expression warming your face as you retrieve a bottle of sun lotion from your bag. “Did he know? Why does that not surprise me.” Fives laughs alongside you, passing a small toy to Sarad to keep her occupied while you cover her skin in a protective layer of lotion. “He said, and I quote. ‘I’m not letting any of you di’kute ruin your cyare’s special day’. Anyone would think we can’t do serious” Your soft laughter turns to guffaws, the sound violent enough to make you snort. He’s not sure why you find it so embarrassing. He loves it when he can elicit this kind of laughter, your form near hunched over as you nurse aching ribs. “I can’t see why he’d think such a thing, I really can’t.” You spend the next few moments in laughter, settling Sarad between you to play with her toys. She’s still too young to understand the concept of making a sandcastle. For her the fun is in the filling of the bucket, and the demolishing of the castle. She doesn’t even wait for her father to say ‘ta-da!’. She’s already pushed her hands into the damp sand with a giggle, pushing the sand about to further explore its texture. “So, you in? Or ...” You lift your head with a shy smile, your eyes full of warm love as you sit on your haunches. “Only on one condition.” “Oh? And what might that be?” “That Echo and Sarad have to be our flower girls” He can't help but mirror your playful smile, his chest blooming with laughter as he reaches over to shake your hand. “You’ve got yourself a deal, cyar'ika.”