#and you can tell i need to do a little more painting on the seams for the background

[nehi-soda]

Bound in Bloom -

Jackson!Joel Miller x Female Reader

Explicit; Minors DNI 18+ only.

Summary: Joel Miller never thought he’d find peace, not after all the years of running, fighting, and surviving. But here you were, standing in the kitchen of your farmhouse, your belly swollen beneath his favorite sundress on his birthday.

Word count: 2.4K

Warnings: breeding kink, pregnancy kink, farmhouse!joel, dad!joel, established relationship, pregnancy, talk about your body changing, fingering, oral sex (female receiving), mention of unprotected P in V sex, creampie, smut, fluff, soft!joel, pet names (baby, darlin'). No use of Y/N. Mood board is for aesthetics only; the reader's features aren't specified.

A/N: I just know this would be Joel's DREAM, so I wanted to gift it to him for his birthday (and you cannot tell me this man does not have a breeding kink). Yes, Joel, you can keep me barefoot and pregnant, sweetie.

for @justagalwhowrites' joel miller birthday celebration (I chose Jackson Joel and breeding kink).

The soft morning light filtered through the kitchen window, painting everything with a golden haze. The sweet smell of cake filled the room as you stood at the sink, hands submerged in warm, soapy water, humming to yourself as you scrubbed the last of the cake mix off the various utensils. The worn farmhouse floor creaked beneath your bare feet, familiar and comforting. The air outside was still and quiet, except for the occasional rustle of the wind through the tall grass surrounding the house.

It was peaceful out here. Away from the chaos, from Jackson, from all of it. Joel had finally given in to the idea of a quieter life. After years of running, fighting, and surviving, he got what he'd wanted— a simple life. And you, you were part of that dream, tethered to him in ways you’d never been able to escape since the moment you met him.

Your little floral sundress clung to you a little differently now, tighter around your hips and shorter than it used to be, the fabric barely grazing mid-thigh. The hem lifted just slightly as you shifted, the soft cotton pulling tighter across the swell of your belly. You absently brushed your hand over the curve and smiled softly.

You didn’t expect to outgrow your clothes so quickly, but the last few weeks had caught you off guard. It seemed like overnight; your belly had swelled, pushing at the seams of your favourite dresses and making your jeans a distant memory. Lately, you’d been relying more and more on Joel’s t-shirts and flannels, the worn fabric soft against your skin, offering that extra room you needed. You liked the way they smelled like him—like woodsmoke and fresh pine, wrapping you in his presence even when he wasn’t there.

You could see it in his eyes every time he caught you wearing something of his —how much it did something to him. How the sight of you in his clothes, with your belly rounding beneath the fabric, lit something deep inside him.

But you didn’t try to get pregnant.

There wasn’t some grand plan, no careful conversations or conscious decisions about what you were doing. It had been the way he groaned when you begged for it, the way his breath hitched and his grip on your hips tightened like he was holding on for dear life. You loved the power it gave you, how those simple words could unravel him completely.

“Put a baby in me, Joel.”

You’d whisper it in his ear in those moments when he was deep inside you, moving slow and steady, his eyes heavy-lidded with desire, sweat beading on his brow as he tried to keep control. Sometimes, you’d say it soft, barely a murmur against his lips. Other times, it came out all breathless, a plea mixed in with the sound of your moans. Sometimes it would be a loud scream.

And every time, it hit him like a goddamn freight train.

You felt it in the way his body would react—his hips driving harder, deeper, as if your words unlocked something in him, something primal. He couldn’t hold back when you said it. The way his voice would break, that low, guttural groan spilling from his throat as his fingers dug into your skin, his grip almost bruising, made you want him more.

“Please cum inside me, please, please, please…”

“You want that, huh. Want me to fill you up?”

And you did. You wanted it so badly in those moments; the idea of being swollen with his child, of him claiming you in the most permanent way, made your entire body burn with need.

His movements would become more purposeful as if he was consumed by the thought of it too.

But you weren’t trying to get pregnant. Not really. 

You just loved the way it made him lose himself, how he’d bury himself so deep inside you, hips flush against yours, as he came with a broken moan, spilling himself into you over and over again, filling you up as you’d asked.

You could hear him behind you, the sound of his heavy footsteps announcing his presence before his hands did. You smiled to yourself, letting the warmth of the sun match the warmth that spread through your chest. There was something so comforting about his presence—solid, dependable.

“Morning, darlin’,” his voice was rough from sleep, but there was something softer there, too, the edge he used to carry dulled by the peacefulness of this new life. His hands found your hips easily, warm and firm as they slid over the fabric of your dress, fingers grazing the swell of your belly like it was second nature to him now.

“Morning,” you murmured, smiling as he leaned in closer, his chest pressing against your back, his lips brushing against your shoulder.

“How’s my girls?” he asked, his hand resting protectively on your stomach, thumb tracing lazy circles over the fabric as if he couldn’t get enough of the feeling of you.

From the moment you’d found out, Joel had been convinced you were carrying a girl. His baby girl.

“They’re just fine,” you teased, leaning back into him, letting the warmth of his body sink into yours. “She’s still baking.”

Joel chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that made your heart flutter.

"You look real pretty today," he murmured, voice gravelly and thick with that Southern drawl. You felt his hands slide across you in a slow, deliberate grip, the curve of your waist sliding down to rest on your widening hips. His breath was warm against your neck, the thick scrape of his beard sending shivers down your spine as he planted soft kisses along the sensitive skin there. His touch was slow, tender, not rushed—like he had all the time in the world; like you were something precious.

“Gonna need to get you some new dresses soon,” he murmured. “Can’t have you walkin’ around in this one when it’s barely coverin’ ya.”

"You used to love this dress. Couldn't take your hands off me when I wore it, remember? Are you saying I'm getting too big for it?" you laughed softly.

“Nah,” he whispered, “Just sayin’ you’re growin’ right where I want you to.”

"Well, I wore it especially for you. Happy birthday, old man." you teased, raising your hand to dab bubbles on his cheek before giving him a soft kiss. You bit your lip and focused back on the dishes, the feel of the soap between your fingers suddenly became more acute. But it was hard to stay focused when his hands were moving like that. His fingers toyed with the hem of your dress, teasing, lifting it ever so slightly.

"Joel, I’m almost done—" you giggled, but the words caught in your throat the moment his lips pressed against that sweet spot just below your ear. His hand slid higher, bunching the fabric, exposing more of your thighs, the cool air brushing against them.

“Good, 'cause I want my birthday present now." he growled softly between kisses, his voice low and rumbling. His fingers danced over your thighs as his mouth continued its slow, deliberate assault on your neck.

You could feel the heat pooling between your legs, your body already responding to him, the ache growing with every passing second. He knew it too—the way you shifted slightly, pressing back against him, craving more even as you tried to stay focused.

“So damn beautiful.” he whispered, his voice full of affection, his lips brushing your ear. A hand slid higher again, teasing along the edge of your underwear now, and you could feel your breath hitch, your whole body tensing.

You tried to protest again, half-hearted, knowing it was useless. His fingers slid beneath the thin fabric of your panties, brushing over your folds, finding you already wet with need making him groan softly.

“Always fuckin’ ready for it, huh?” he muttered, his fingers moving with a slow, torturous rhythm that had your knees trembling. “You were made for me, made for this, to carry my babies.…”.

All you could do was hum in agreement and let out a breathless moan, your head falling back against his shoulder as the pads of his rough fingers traced hypnotic circles against your swollen clit, the sensation overwhelming. His breath was hot against your ear, his free hand cradling your belly with a kind of possessive tenderness.

“God, you drive me crazy.”

He kissed your neck again, harder this time, nipping and sucking, sending jolts of pleasure down your spine. You could feel him growing harder against your back, the heat of his body pressed flush against yours.

“You want me to stop?” he whispered, his fingers still moving in slow, agonising strokes. He knew the answer before you even said it, his voice thick with a kind of smug satisfaction that only made the heat between your legs burn hotter, your pussy fluttering around nothing.

“No…” you breathed, your voice barely a whisper, dizzy with need.

“Didn’t think so,” his voice deep, and then his fingers dipped lower, slipping two fingers inside you, pulling a soft moan from your lips, filling that ache you always seemed to have inside you that only Joel could satisfy.

"That’s it, mama, let me take care of you.”

You could hear the soft squelch of your pussy, accepting his fingers over and over as Joel gently swayed you in his arms.

Just when you were getting lost in his heavenly touch, he pulled them out making you whimper, your pussy clenching at the sudden loss. A firm hand between your shoulder blades pushed you forward, your pulse thrumming with anticipation.

Your palms braced against the cool surface of the sink as your body instinctively arched for him.

You felt him sink to his knees behind you, the rough denim of his jeans scraping against the wood floor.

You could barely catch your breath, the feel of his hand sliding down the curve of your ass, his fingers gripping the fabric of your soaked panties, tugging them down your thighs. You gasped as the cool air hit you, your legs spreading automatically.

He pressed his lips to the back of your legs, kissing his way up slowly, reverently, as if he were worshipping you.

“Goddamn, baby,” he groaned, his hands gripping your thighs, spreading you open. “Such a pretty fuckin’ pussy.”

His mouth was on you before you could even register the heat of his breath, his tongue slipping between your folds, lapping up the wetness. You let out a moan, loud and breathless, your body jolting forward as the first wave of pleasure hit you like a lightning bolt. His hands were firm but loving on your hips, pulling you back just enough so he could fit his mouth where you needed him most.

He groaned against you, the sound vibrating through your entire being as his tongue slid over your sex, slow and demanding. He wasn’t rushing, wasn’t devouring you like a man starved. No, you were a luxury that had to be savoured.

His tongue dragged a long deliberate stroke from your clit to your entrance. His grip on your thighs tightened, holding you steady as he began to devour you, his mouth relentless, his tongue dipping and circling with a precision that left you shaking.

“Joel.”

His name was all you could manage, and it came out in a desperate moan.

He fucking loved how his name sounded when you moaned it.

He pressed a kiss to your swollen clit, soft and tender, before sucking it gently between his lips.

Your head dropped forward, your body trembling as the pleasure built inside you, hotter and hotter, until it felt like you were going to explode.

“Oh, fuck…” you whimpered, your fingers digging into the edge of the sink till your knuckles turned white, the pressure inside you building faster than you could handle.

Each lick was thorough and purposeful, his tongue exploring every inch of you like he was committing it to memory.

“God… Joel… feels so fucking good.” You could barely speak, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps as his mouth worked you over.

You rocked your hips back, settling his tounge further into your cunt.

“Mhm, mhm,” Joel hummed against you, his hands gripping your hips tighter, pulling you down harder onto his face, his words vibrating against the overstimulated bundle of nerves. “Atta girl, just like that, let go, baby.”

You could feel the orgasm building inside you, the heat coiling tighter and tighter. You were right there, teetering on the edge, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps as he pushed you closer and closer.

“Joel… I’m gonna—" you tried to warn him, but it was too late. The orgasm ripped through you like wildfire, wave after wave of pleasure crashing over you as you cried out and came hard on his tongue. But he didn’t stop, didn’t slow, drinking every drop of your release until you were spent, legs giving way, chest heaving.

When he finally pulled away, you were a quivering mess and could barely stand. You felt your juices dripping down the inside of your thighs and shivered.  

Joel wiped his mouth on his sleeve before he rose behind you with a groan. “Jesus, I'm gettin’ too old for this.” His hands slid up your thighs pulling your panties back up with him. His large arms settled around your waist, pulling you back against his chest.

"Don’t be too worn out," you teased, your voice soft, still giddy with the afterglow. “Ellie and everyone are coming over, remember? And we’re having cake!”

“Baby, you know…I'm feelin’ a little full, actually.” He joked.

Your jaw dropped incredulously at his vulgarity before he planted kisses all over your flushed face.

Each year, when he blew out the candles on a small cake you’d make from whatever ingredients were available, he’d always wish for the same damn thing: To keep loving you.

 And if he were extra good, maybe he’d be given another shot at fatherhood. 

Joel knew that this year, even if he never let himself fully believe he deserved it, you had already given him his greatest wish.

divider credit to @mikeykuns

[brdies-beasties]

Man I finally got the light brackets and the glass tracks in for Jörm's tank. I'm getting so close to being finally done.. I cannot wait to bring this thing inside!!

[xzaddyzanakinx]

Not That Kind of Guy

Part Six: Stalker!Anakin Skywalker × femme reader series

Warnings: stalking, weirdo behavior, psychotic/delusional behavior, possessive/protective, sexism/misogyny, sexual content/fantasizing, pervy behavior, NONCON (somno), mask kink (Ghostface), sex toys, knife, spitting, cumplay, nude vids/pics, masturbation, forced oral, forced orgasm, drugging [Be sure to pay attention to future warnings in the series]

Info: Anakin is such a good 👻 even without all the stabbing. He’s getting cocky with us. Some bitch tries to flirt.[diary entries from Ani] extremely not proofread. MDNI 18+

Diary Entry: July 12th

I feel alittle bit bad… but not really, for lying to you. I don’t actually have work tonight. It just seemed like the most logical thing to say you know? So… apologies baby, that wasn’t very nice of me.

To make up for the lie I was about to tell you, I slipped a pair of your panties from your laundry basket, you were awfully dazed after I used that little line I stole from one of your books. It was really, really cute how you fawned like that. Those big beautiful doe eyes looking up at me like I’d just told you that you won the lottery.

I guess you kind of did, or at least my version of it. I had a lot planned for you tonight and tomorrow night. You’re getting your reward and then some.

So with your pretty little lacy panties in my pocket I went upstairs and immediately got to work. Now, I know this probably sounds just a smidgen gross but I promise I’ve tried it out on some of my own clothes until I got it right. You won’t even notice.

It’ll be just like your pillow okay? That small, harmless piece of me helps you sleep at night and, well, I want you to feel that secure all the time. No matter where you are. I want you to have a piece of me.

So, you know that strange little extra bit of fabric in the crotch of all your panties? That no one really knows the purpose of? Well I’ve discovered the perfect purpose.

With a small flat paint brush I’m going to dot my cum along the seam on the inside of that pocket.

Like I said, I’ve tried it out. You won’t even notice, it won’t get all crusty and gross like you might think okay? It’ll only be alittle teeny, tiny, bit of it.

So, I’ve tested it on my things, but not yours. I didn’t want to test it on the dirty pairs I’d borrowed from you because well… those are mine and they won’t be going back into your drawer. Ever.

That’s why I snatched up this pair. To test it on the real thing. And when I tell you this is the best idea I’ve had in a while I mean it. It’s perfect. I’ve already got everything set up.

Those dirty panties are really gonna help me out while I pump my cum out into your favorite new coffee mug.

The second you leave for work I’m headed over there to carefully apply my love to every pair of undies you’ve got. I just know how much you enjoy it, I mean you only ever use the pillow I keep fucking, so I’m doing something right… right?

You little freak. Needing my cum in your panties so you can feel safe and comfy even without me there to hold your hand. We’re not quite there yet and that’s okay, because we have these subtle ways of loving each other don’t we?

Date: July 12th

If the little bell above the door chimes *one more time* and it’s not Anakin, you might scream. It’s 7:20, doesn’t he have to clock-in at 8:00ish? What if he didn’t actually mean it? Was he just being nice? Have you read this situation completely wrong? Have you-

**ting-ting-ting**

You could’ve gotten whiplash from the speed at which you swiveled your head toward the entryway. A flood of relief rushed over you when you saw the familiar bright face that belonged to your dreamy eyed neighbor.

“Hey sweetheart.” He said, his voice low and smooth. He didn’t hide the way he drank in your appearance, or at least what was visible behind the counter.

“Anakin!” You squeaked, blush dusting across the bridge of your nose.

“What’s a guy gotta do for a slice of butterscotch pie?” He crooned, hopping up on the red and chrome barstool nearest to you.

“Say please.” You smirked.

“Please princess, may I have a slice of pie?” He grinned.

You produced a pre-cut slice in a small to-go container from the icebox behind the counter. Sliding it across the counter to him with a fork laid across the top, you missed the small frown on his lips when you were startled by the bell again.

“Sorry. I’ll be right back.” You said hurriedly.

You rushed to the booth where an older man, one of your regulars, slid into place. He always ordered the same thing. Coffee and the daily special, so you were back in front of Anakin in no time at all.

“Hi.” You smiled, letting out a rushed breath.

“Hey sweetheart.” He said, his eyes soft and warm. “Tryin’ to get rid of me already?” He teased, tapping the to-go box with the fork.

“What? N-no of you course not.” You shook your head vehemently. “No, I just wasn’t sure if you were coming and I thought-“

“Wait,” he stopped you, plucking the pen that was still tightly gripped in your palm and replacing it with his fingers. “You thought I wasn’t coming?” He asked.

He looked hurt, deeply hurt, at the notion that you would think he would miss a single second of being in your presence. His hand cradled yours in the way that gentleman in movies held the hands of women they fancied, right before they bring their knuckles to their lips for a kiss.

“Well, it’s just- it was later than I thought.” You said anxiously, feeling silly that you’d doubted him, beginning to quickly over explain yourself. “I just know you’ve gotta be at work at 8:00 or something and I was worried you were running late and wouldn’t make it and I was gonna take it home to give you tomorrow or…”

You stopped, seeing a big grin gracing his pretty face.

“Shh, s’alright darlin’.” He chuckled, “take a breath.”

You blushed, how does he always make you so flustered? He must think you need coddling. Maybe that’s why he’s so sweet to you. He’s seen how utterly hopeless you are and he just feels the need to coddle you.

“Sorry.” You said quietly.

“Baby, look up here.” He commanded in a gentle but firm voice, snapping his fingers twice and you immediately met his gaze. “Atta girl.”

“Now listen to me.” He said softly. “Don’t you ever doubt that I will show up for you. Okay? I’m a man of my word, always.”

“Okay.” You nodded, your head practically empty as a dizzy feeling wracked your brain.

“Good.” He smiled. “Now. Tell me how you know what time I go to work.” He smirked.

“What?” You squeaked, not even realizing you’d said that aloud. “Oh my god I’m sorry, I just… just a lucky guess- I mean I see you leave pretty often around that time so I just assumed…”

“Pretty girl, you’ve been creepin’ on me haven’t you?” He teased, his smile only growing as he watched your face pale and reheat within seconds.

“No! No, god no Anakin!” You squealed grabbing both his hands. “Jesus, you must think I’m crazy. It’s- I sit next to my window to read around that time and I’ve just noticed you walk past.”

“Well I’ll make sure I start waving in your direction okay, princess?” He chirped, his face seemed to boast that he was absolutely giddy at this new information.

“I promise I haven’t been- god that sounded so weird I’m sorry.” You whispered, utterly embarrassed by your own admission. He’d never speak to you again.

“Hey, hey, hey.” He chuckled, squeezing both your hands. “I’m just teasing sweetheart. You know that don’t you?”

“Y-yeah.” You nodded, internally trying not to scream at yourself.

“Sorry.” You whispered, pulling your hands away because your palms started to feel clammy.

“Shh. Don’t worry about it.” He said softly. “I didn’t mean to make you upset. I just thought it was cute that’s all.” He smiled.

“Cute?” You repeated, your face reddened to the point that you began to feel hives sneaking up your neck.

He shrugged in response, lifting both hands up as well. A little smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he leaned over the counter and snatched your order pad from your apron pocket.

“There’s a table in the corner that’s been glaring at you for the past minute and a half.” He tilted his head in their direction. “Go take a minute for yourself. I’ll get it.”

“Wait but you-“

“I’ll get it.” He interrupted.

“Anakin-“

“What did I just say?” He said sternly.

“You’ll get it.” You responded quietly, eyes wide at his response… and the swirling storm of heat that pooled in your lower stomach.

“Good girl. Go.” He gestured dismissing you with a wave of his hand before turning on his heel.

Diary Entry: July 12th

Oh my sweet, sweet little girl.

I just love you so much I want to scoop you up and tuck you in my pocket.

You’ve been watching me. You little sneak. I purposefully don’t look up at your window when I leave and come home from work. I know you’re sitting there, I just didn’t know you were aware of me walking past. I don’t like to look up there because, well, I’m me. I’d get distracted. Horribly distracted and terribly late to work.

That’s why my head is always down, eyes scorching holes into my phone screen as I watch you, watching me.

You are so much like me. So much.

You’re just perfect for me princess. I’ve never found someone or even dreamed of finding someone who could appreciate me like I would appreciate them. That must be why it took me so long to find you, good things come to those who wait.

Waiting for you has become one of my favorite things.

I waited and waited and waited. I researched, gathered and collected, stored, filed and tucked away every minuscule detail of your life I could get my hands on. All before I let myself step foot in your apartment.

Then I waited some more. Waited until I could move in next door. Waited until I could finally let you see me.

Now I needed to wait for tomorrow.

For you to get your little drink and watch me like I watched you at the diner. Then when you get home, you’ll crawl in bed. All snuggled up in your comfy new sheets.

And it’ll be your turn to wait.

Ps. Did you know that Amazon sells pill moulds? I forgot to mention it earlier. Your SleepyTime tea won’t be enough, for this visit. I’m really lucky they have one that looks almost identical to Tylenol. I’m also really lucky that you’re oblivious enough not to question how ‘your’ bottle of Tylenol got placed conveniently next to your birth control to encourage you to take it.

I’ll make the quick switch and I’ll change them back asap.

Don’t worry, I’m not mixing drugs that shouldn’t be mixed. It’s perfectly safe to take your SleepyTime Trazodone Tea and Estazolam. I would never put you in danger. I even accounted for the fact that you always take two.

It’s real handy that I’ll have a whole bottle of ‘Tylenol’ just in case I need to pull out this trick again.

Date: July 12th

The moment you got home you practically sprinted to the shower. Not because you felt icky from work. Not because it was hair wash day. Not because you just needed to get clean.

You needed a good cold shock to your system.

The icy water pelted you like hail. If it weren’t for the chattering of your teeth and the blood rushing to your ears you swear you’d be able to hear the water sizzle and evaporate against your scorching hot skin.

Anakin had ruined you. Absolutely ruined you.

You hardly know him. How can he make you feel like this and you’ve only spoken to him for maybe an hour in total. That’s insane. You’ve interacted with him for maybe an hour or two if you take into account the times you’ve passed each other in the hall and said hello.

It’s like he knows you down to your very soul.

He acts like he was put on earth to serve you; like it’s his only reason for existing. If you were told that every thing he does, he does for you… you’d believe it wholeheartedly.

He speaks to you like he needs you to hear every syllable and know deep in your heart that he is very fucking serious about everything he says. His voice is tailored to fit your needs perfectly. He can be soft spoken and comforting. Kind and understanding. He can be firm and unwavering, serious, stern.

His voice can also be deep, rough, gravely. It can grip your attention and hold you under his thumb in a way that no man has ever done before. It’s sinful really.

He touches you like you are a precious, fragile relic meant to be coveted and kept safe. Handles you like the finest silk, like he knows each and every thread you’re woven with. Those hands, they feel so familiar.

‘He’s loved me in a past life.’ You thought to yourself. ‘That’s the only explanation.’

How else could your body light up in recognition at the firm but gentle caress of his guitar-calloused fingertips along your arms?

He looks at you and sees you.

He sees what you’ve kept locked away from everyone, maybe even the things you yourself can’t see.

You let yourself ponder over the very real possibility that you’ve gone insane. This is crazy. You’re acting like you’ve lost your last marble and you can’t catch it before it rolls under the fridge to be lost forever.

What if it’s all in your head?

What if none of these feelings are reciprocated and you’ve imagined it all? Could you really be that daft?

You shook your head and turned the shower off, stepping out and wrapping yourself in a big fluffy robe. Letting yourself drip-dry in front of the mirror while you desperately try to warm yourself back up. All the while still being painfully aware of the ache between your legs that never fully goes away. Not since the first time you felt it in his presence.

It wanes when you’re away from him. It barely dwindles to a quiet lull when you try to fix it yourself. It’s become an itch that you simply cannot scratch. It’s an incessant nagging reminder that Anakin is slowly consuming you and that he’s completely unaware of it.

It’s gotten to the point that sometimes when you wake up in the morning, it feels like you’ve been toyed with. You’ll wake up with panties soaked with arousal, so much so that the fabric sticks to you. Your nipples feel sensitive and raw. You swear you can feel the ghost of warm hands much larger than your own exploring your flesh.

You’ve come to the conclusion that your body is begging for you to give it what it needs.

You’ve all but given up on masturbation. You’re certain that nothing, not even the most luxe toy on the market could give you what Anakin could.

His cock is the only thing that can sate that horrible tug of desperate hunger you feel in your core.

Until you can have him it seems that you’ll be going to bed hungry and waking up starving.

Diary Entry: July 13th

I should win an award. I have worked so fucking hard on self control and god damn you tested me last night.

I was gnawing off my own fingers trying to quiet myself enough to hear your soft desperate pleas for release. You poor thing, if it hurts me so badly to wait that long to cum… I can only imagine what it feels like for you.

Almost an hour of it.

I could hear it baby. How wet you were for me, the sound your delicate little fingers made when you slid them down beneath your panties and as deeply into your needy little hole as you could.

It just wasn’t deep enough was it, princess?

Twice tonight you’ve tried and failed to give yourself an ounce of relief. If anything you’ve made it worse.

I walked home from ‘work’ (aka the 7/11 because I needed a snack and for you to see me now that I knew you were watching) and listened to your first try, I promise I wasn’t trying to invade your privacy like that. That’s the whole reason there’s no visual to the camera installed in your room. Audio only.

Audio that I always make a point to survey, along with footage from the other cameras, on my way home from work. Gotta keep updated you know? See what I’ve missed.

Anyway, that time you gave up relatively quickly. Must’ve decided to wait for me to get back huh? I saw you. Sitting in the window, watching me watch you through the screen.

Funny that a few minutes after I’d locked my front door I got the notification that your bedroom door had been shut. And I suppose it could’ve been a coincidence that when I pulled up the live audio I just so happened to catch the rustling of your sheets and the soft sigh escaping your lips as you starting in on your second attempt to pleasure yourself.

Of course I couldn’t let you do it alone. What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t join my little princess in the bedroom any chance I got?

The pitiful noises you made broke my heart.

You tried so hard didn’t you sweetheart? All that work and you didn’t even cum. It made me hurt for you. I felt ashamed that I finished and you didn’t.

I provided solid, albeit silent and unseen, support while you worked. I wanted nothing more than to burst through your door and help you. To let you take what you needed from me.

I could be your toy. I’d be still, I’d be good. I’d let you use me until you’ve gotten your fill.

You deserve it after all the selfish teasing.

I’m sorry that you’ve been left so needy.

I’m not sorry that I did it though. How could I be sorry for the way I can make you squirm even in your sleep?

Remember what I said about killing two birds with one stone? Well, let’s make that a quad-kill okay doll?

Date: July 13th

You were giddy with excitement, you woke up in the best mood. You flitted to the kitchen and made yourself a cup of coffee in your brand new favorite Hello Kitty mug, then plopped onto the couch to call Luke.

“What are you doing tonight?” You asked the second you heard the call connect.

“What I don’t even get a hello? A goodmorning?” He scoffed.

“Hello, Goodmorning. What are you doing tonight?” You asked, meaning to sound sarcastic but you were too blissfully happy to sell it.

“Probably me.” You heard a gruff, sleepy voice crackle from a distance on Luke’s end of the line. Han.

“Jesus what’s wrong with you?” Luke snapped in a hushed whisper.

“What?” Han asked as though he truly didn’t understand what Luke was referring to.

“Sorry. Anyway.” Luke cleared his throat and you swear you heard Han chuckled and the rustling of sheets along with a dull thud and groan coming from Han.

“Lukey don’t kick your boyfriend.” You sighed, “now both of you shut up.”

“I need you to come to the bar with me tonight. You know for moral support.” You said, a giggle slipping through. “Anakin came to the restaurant for pie yesterday and he wants me to come get a drink at The Cerulean tonight.”

“So, he asked you out?” Luke questioned skeptically.

“Well no,” you said slowly. “Not exactly. He’s gonna be working… he just wanted me to come say hello cause he came to the restaurant…” you trailed off.

“We saw each other at the laundromat yesterday.” You started to explain. “And we realized we never told each other where we worked, and then we both realized we’d actually been to each other’s work… he even served me a drink at the bar. I finally remembered where I knew his face from! I thought he looked familiar.” You said proudly.

“So, you saw him at the laundromat. Invited him to the Bluebird for pie, he’s returning the favor by asking you to come see him at the bar?” Luke repeated.

“Yep. So you’ll come with me?” You asked, a grin spreading across your lips.

“Fuckin’…” He groaned. “Of course I’m coming with you are you stupid? You think I’m letting you go to a bar alone?”

“Oh I just love you.” You cooed, so so relieved he’d agreed.

“You better.”

🖤🖤🖤

With your hair pulled back in a loosely curled bun, you slipped into a cute little lilac slip dress that fit you just right. Some heels to match hastily strapped on you timidly walked into your living room and did a little spin for your best friend and his pet leech Han.

“How’s this?” You asked, gesturing to your outfit Vanna White style.

“Perfect.” Luke said with a grin. “Hot.”

“Really?” You asked as a small shy smile crossed your mouth.

“Have I ever lied to you?” He asked seriously.

“No.” You giggled.

“You look gorgeous. Now take me to meet this little boy-toy of yours.” He said, standing up from the couch as Han dutifully follow behind.

“He’s not little. He’s actually pretty tall.” You said nonchalantly.

“Do you have to have an answer to everything?” He scoffed.

“For you? Yes.”

🖤🖤🖤

You walked up to the bar, Han and Luke trailing closely behind you. You didn’t see Anakin. When you turned around to pout to your friends you were surprised to see Anakin standing behind you with his hands in his barkeep’s apron.

Luke watched the exchange with narrowed eyes and his lips pulled up in a “hmm” position. Like he was scrutinizing every last movement and word said. Maybe he was wrong about this guy. Maybe you were right and he really was all you’d painted him to be.

“Boo.” He grinned.

“Ani!” You said excitedly clapping, not even realizing you’d dropped a nickname for him.

But he noticed. He noticed and it almost brought him to his knees. Though instead of passing out and throwing up like he felt that he was going to, his hand came up to your bicep to glide down the back of your arm and bring your hand to his lips. Brushing those plump pink lips across your knuckles, all while deeply, intensely, staring into your eyes.

“Hey princess.” He smiled, then broke eye contact to address your friends and leave you to buffer.

Your turn to faint.

“You guys with her?” He asked politely, giving them a once over know that he was in front of them, up close.

“Mhm.” Luke answered. A polite smile on his lips as he stuck out his hand. “Yeah I’m Luke, this is Han.” He nodded toward him and Anakin introduced himself in return, shaking their hands.

“Look, I told Trev I’d be taking a little break to hang out with you all for a bit.” Anakin said, pointing at his work friend. “He’s happy to oblige until he gets sick of handling it by himself.” He grinned.

Conversation flowed between the three of them easily and you thoroughly enjoyed watching it play out. No one you’d ever crushed on had ever won Luke over, but Anakin was definitely cracking the concrete wall Luke built in his head to protect you.

You didn’t even feel the need to speak, you were comfortable and content just to listen. Anakin made you feel included even if he wasn’t speaking directly to you. Every so often he would tap his sneaker against the side of your heel, he’d be talking in depth about something with Luke or Han but staring at you like you were the only person in the room.

You wished he would grab you and pull you closer. But he was too respectful, too… traditional? Was that the right word? What else would you call someone who you’ve come to believe is practically courting you.

That’s what this is. You know it. You’ve seen it, read it, consumed it in enough forms of media to know that he is testing the waters and waiting for you to accept his offer.

This is the modern version of a promenade about the park.

The sweet words. Gentle touches. Occasional obvious flirts. Cutesy nicknames. Only meeting you in public, allowing you to oblige it on your terms. Offering his help in anyway he could. Not asking you out on a date, a proper one. He hadn’t even given you his phone number.

It all translates.

Sweet nothings whispered in the parlor. Comments that would’ve had you hiding your blush with a silk fan. Princess, Baby, Sweetheart; Precious, My Love, My Sweet. He even called you darlin’.

Courting means publicly inviting you to take his hand. Respectfully requesting you to allow him to steal away a piece of your heart. The gentlemanly way.

Offering his help with the groceries, gifting you the book. You’d accepted both and you only had one more until you’d be giving him silent permission to ask you to be his.

Yet you hadn’t even realized it until right now. Wait… did carrying your laundry count? No. Surely not. No. The others were extremely memorable. The third would be even more so, you were sure of it.

“Sweet girl.” Anakin cooed, snapping you out of your thoughts. “I’ve gotta go back behind the counter. What do you want to drink? On me, alright baby?”

“Oh,” you stuck out your bottom lip slightly and quirked up the corner of your mouth in thought, “Um just surprise me.” You smiled.

“Sure thing.” He grinned, a gentle thumb graced your cheekbone before he turned on his heel and headed back where he was needed.

“I’m so sorry for doubting you.” Luke said in a low and serious tone. “Like truly I’m baffled.”

“I know.” You agreed, wide eyed at Luke’s approval.

“The woman was too stunned to speak.” Han said, trying not to smirk.

“Do not quote memes to me right now.” You giggled.

You heard the double snap of Anakin’s fingers and spun around like the obedient little thing you were. Happily taking the two small steps to lean on the bar and accept your drink from Anakin.

“Margarita?” He asked, sliding it toward you.

“Yummy.” You nodded, “thank you.” You blushed.

“Oh, ‘course.” He grinned. “Anytime doll.”

“Beer for the boys.” He said, nodding at them behind you and producing two tall foamy mugs.

“Oh thanks, you didn’t have to do that.” Han said, taking a swig.

“No big deal.” Anakin shrugged, turning back to you. “Go have fun. Find me before you leave alright?”

“Uh huh.” You giggled, “I will.”

“I know.” He patted the counter near your hand and winked before turning to take someone else’s order.

“Oh you’ve got it bad.” Han let out a rumbling laugh.

“Uh huh.” You agreed enthusiastically, knowing it was true and not caring enough to pretend it wasn’t obvious.

The rest of the night was more of the same, your friends teasing you. Stealing a glance toward the bar to see that Anakin was already staring at you with the intensity of a burning star.

“You ready to go home?” Luke asked Han.

“Mmm.” He grunted in agreement and looked at Luke expectantly.

“Go on.” Luke shooed you toward the bar to tell Anakin you were leaving. They walked toward the door to wait for you, giving you just a hair of privacy.

As you walked up to the bar, Anakin was speaking to a girl who was very obliviously trying to flirt with him.

“What’ll you have?” He asked flatly.

“What’s your favorite?” She smiled, leaning on the counter and pushing her tits together.

“If you want a recommendation go to Jess.” He pointed to another coworker who was currently mixing a drink. “She’ll help.”

“What? You think I can’t handle whatever whiskey it is that you like best?” She giggled, clearly unfazed by his lack of interest.

It made your heart swell, he was acting this way and he didn’t even realize you were within earshot. He was so busy wiping down the counter to avoid eye contact with this girl, he hadn’t looked up once.

“I don’t drink.” He said.

“A bartender who doesn’t drink?” She laughed and it sounded like a fucking cackle, you saw Anakin suck in his cheeks and turn his head to tuck his chin into the shoulder farther from her to ensure he wouldn’t burst into laughter at her.

He cleared his throat and finally looked up. The eyes you know as warm and comforting looked cast from frozen steel.

“That’s what I said isn’t it?” Anakin’s voice was cold in a way that you’d never heard before and it scared you… but also kind of excited you? Like the cold wave you’d felt from his gaze once before it was gone in an instant.

Once again he’d surprised you. Just like every other time you’d been in his company. The girl scoffed and muttered something under her breath but Anakin had already left the one sided conversation and his face softened, the blue of his eyes being swallowed by the pools of black that spilled over every time he looked at you.

“There’s my princess.” He cooed. Proving without you even asking, that he had eyes only for you.

“I came to say I’m headed home.” You smiled bashfully, your hands clasped together in front of you as you rocked from your toes to your heels.

“Your body guards are walking with you right?” He asked, concern creeping in to his gentle voice.

“Of course.” You nodded, it was so sweet that he worried about you like this.

“Good.” He smiled, holding out his hand and using two fingers to beckon you closer.

You stepped forward and gave him what he wanted, your hand to squeeze gently.

“Be safe okay? I’ll see you soon?”

“Yeah.” You nodded enthusiastically. “Yes you’ll see me soon.”

“Thats my girl.” He flashed a bright smile, taking your one hand in both of his and kissing your knuckles. Rubbing his across your skin his thumbs creating a heart on the back of your hand when he pulled away.

“Bye Ani.” You said, making a quick escape with one last look over your shoulder before running to Luke and Han.

🖤🖤🖤

After they returned you safely to your home you went about your nightly routine. Boil water, make tea, take birth control, and oh look at that you even had the forethought to set Tylenol out as well. Pop two of those and then shower quickly, settle in for bed and before you know it, you’re so asleep that you can’t hear your front door unlock.

Anakin intently listened to the audio of your bedroom intently on his way home. From the way you were snoring Anakin knew you were deep, deep, deep in sleep. Even so, he needed to be careful, so after he showered at his apartment he crept silently into yours with a small bag in tow.

He tested your level of unconsciousness via sound before even attempting to enter your room. Just like every other time he’d snuck in. No response.

So he opened your bedroom door and gently shooed the cat out of the room. She was very unhappy about this considering Anakin usually let her snuggle in his lap when he came to watch you sleep. But he wasn’t here to watch or to get a quick fix, not even for a little bit of teasing.

He was here to play.

Armed with the necessary tools he laid them neatly on the foot of the bed after slipping on his Ghostface mask. Cliché sure, but he knew your little secret. If you happened to wake up, which was highly unlikely, he’d be anonymous and you’d think it was another wet dream.

He pushed up the sleeves of his solid black hoodie, carefully took off his sneakers, followed by his leather gloves. He hated having to take the extra measure to hide his identity just in case but it’s his own fault for having so many tattoos.

Once finished he picked up your wrist and dropped it, watching it fall clumsily at your side. Perfect. Now he could get to the fun stuff.

He peeled back the covers and took a moment to soak in your image, you were spoon feeding him pure beauty and didn’t even know it.

He’d done this before. He couldn’t help but sneak the occasional picture, but he’d never taken a picture of you completely bare before.

Tenderly he pushed your thin nightie up and over your soft breasts, taking his sweet time to caress and care for you like always, but this time he let himself touch your chest sans fabric barrier. It was something so unforgettable, seeing the peaks of your breasts rise and pebble up under his thumb. Even more so the soft sleepy sigh you let out when he lifted his mask to suck and twirl his tongue around them. Tugging lightly before letting it fall back into place so he could watch them jiggle.

His hands traveled to your hips and slid your panties down partially. He posed you, one hand on your breast, the other he placed between your legs under your panties. He stood over you and took several pictures from different angles.

Deciding his jeans were much to restricting and horribly tight across his swelling cock, he got rid of them.

Once he was more comfortable he slid your panties farther down and placed them aside. He kneeled, getting eye level with your cunt.

The most sacred part of you. Where he so badly wanted to bury his cock, but he refrained. That could wait until you were conscious and willing.

“Look at you.” He groaned, biting his lip before getting back to the task at hand.

For now, he would slide your own fingers past your slick folds, into your greedy pussy. Holding your wrist in place so that your limp hand wouldn’t fall away. He even let you have a little taste of yourself, of course capturing that on film as well.

Now that he had some gorgeous new material for the visual to go along with the pretty little noises you make when you think no one is listening… he had some new ideas to try out.

Ideas like tilting your head to the side and slipping just the head of his precum coated dick past your plump lips. His hand trembled as he clicked record, the bright white light of the flash illuminating your face. You didn’t even flinch. Your eyelids didn’t twitch, your mouth didn’t move.

The longer he rubbed his cockhead over your tongue and traced your lips till they were shiny with precum and saliva, the more confident he grew.

“Tastes good doesn’t sweetheart? Shame you can’t lick those pretty lips isn’t it?” He snickered, tapping your cheek with his cockhead to leave a sticky trail behind.

He wasn’t worried in the slightest that you’d wake up now, so he allowed himself to go just a bit further.

Pinching the tip of your tongue and opening your jaw alittle wider, he removed his cock completely. Making sure to get a good shot of untouched throat, he’d need a before picture to refer to later.

He slowly pushed back in, stopping when he hit the back of your throat. The only bad thing about you being unconscious was that you couldn’t tell him if his fat cock was choking you. So he’d have to settle for his hand covering what wouldn’t fit in your mouth.

He sat his phone aside, he needed both hands for this. If he wanted to feel you moan around his cock, he’d have to give you something to moan about.

Hiking up one leg of yours and letting it fall to your side, he couldn’t help but chuckle at the way you were letting him treat you like a noodle. You were practically boneless… it crossed his mind to put you in the Piledriver, see how far he could fold you, but once again: you’re unconscious and you can’t tell him if you’re uncomfortable.

He had morals, lines he wouldn’t cross, rules he wouldn’t erase… maybe bend them, but not wholly change them either.

So he settled for rubbing circles around your puffy clit, already wet and needy little pussy. His hand on the back of your head to keep you still, he couldn’t have your poor brain rattling around your skull while he fucked your mouth. He loved you too much to give you whiplash via mouthful of dick.

“Oh you like that don’t you baby? Yeah you do, I can feel it.” He moaned, letting himself get lost in listening to the combined sounds of his cock in your mouth and his fingers toying with your wetness.

He slid his fingers down your slit and back up again; that’s when you made a bit of noise for him and holy shit.

His hand left your cunt immediately to keep your jaw pried open and held still while his other pumped his shaft wildly. He’d been at this more maybe two minutes tops and the vibration from that one gorgeous moan was enough to draw up his balls and scrunch his face.

He whimpered, removing his hand from your jaw, he let go of his cock and almost cried from how painfully close to cumming he was. But he couldn’t not get the first time he came in your mouth on camera. So he grabbed you by your hair and propped up your head to keep your mouth open. Straddling your chest he kneeled over you and watched through his phone screen as rope after rope of white, hot, love coated your tongue and throat.

He could’ve shed a tear at how outrageously beautiful you looked, how messy your mouth was, the drip of his semen down the back of your throat.

Anakin quickly switched over to taking photos again, he desperately needed a clear picture of your cum coated throat and god did he get the perfect image. He’d make it his screensaver if he could.

Once again tossing his phone aside he leaned over you, spitting a glob of saliva to help wash his essence down when he squeezed beneath your jaw to make you swallow.

“Perfect. Good job baby.” He whispered. “Took it like a champ.”

He squeezed both cheeks in one hand to squish your lips together. Smiling at the way you looked. Eyelids half raised from all the movement, face flushed, swollen lips.

“S’fucking cute.” He laughed, smacking your cheek twice, gently of course. Just a little love tap.

He extricated himself from you and shuffled back down to the end of the bed, between your legs where he belonged. Spreading your legs nice and wide, he took a second to just enjoy the view.

“Pretty little thing aren’t you?” He splayed his two large hands across your stomach and slowly snaked it down your abdomen, across your mound, trailing to your inner thighs to finally hook beneath your knees and lift your legs.

He needed you in the butterfly position if he were to properly pleasure you this time around. He wouldn’t tease you tonight and make you writhe and moan and hump his hand but never cum.

He’d turned you into a needy whore just like he wanted to, but you deserved a reward, he reminded himself. Because it was oh so tempting to continue that little game he loved.

“What do you think doll? Dildo or vibrator?” He asked, laying the toys one after the other between your legs to snap at photo of.

“Ah who am I kidding, you want the vibrator don’t you?” He asked rhetorically. “Here princess, get it wet for me.”

He brought the toy to your lips and rubbed it across your tongue, grinning when he pulled it away and saw the shiny string of saliva connecting to your tongue.

“Sorry you can’t have my cock sweetheart.” He said, sounding a bit mournful as he dragged the tip of the vibrator down your throat and through the midline of your body, stopping just above your clit.

“I’d love to fuck you but… I can’t do that to you.” He sighed. “You’ll just have to wait. It’ll make it more special huh?” He smiled, turning the toy onto the lowest setting.

He teased your entrance with the very tip, barely ghosting it around and around. When he finally saw your hole clench around nothing he sucked in a sharp breath and chuckled, he couldn’t help it, it was comical how badly you needed him.

Slowly, frustratingly slowly he inserted the tip and twisted. Gently thrusting it deeper and deeper until it was fully seated in your cunt. He left it there to watch for a moment, untouched and unmoved, you dripped arousal down onto the sheets below you. A beautiful little pool of sex he’d get to take home as a trophy.

“More?” He asked softly. “I think you need more don’t you sweetheart?”

He switched the setting higher, about halfway to full power and sat back on his heels watching your hips buck and your stomach tighten. A beautiful strangled moan left your swollen lips and Anakin couldn’t help himself.

“Gotta kiss that sweet mouth baby, lemme see that tongue.” He groaned, sliding the mask up just enough to suction his lips to yours to suck and pull and lick to his heart’s content.

“Fuck your mouth… tastes so good.” He whined, sucking your bottom lip between his teeth and pulling, watching it snap back into place with a wet pop.

Just as he was about to go in for another kiss he heard you take a deep inhale. He pulled the mask back into place and backed away, watching you closely for any sign that you were being roused awake.

“Don’t fucking scare me like that.” He mumbled, turning up the vibrator again.

“If you wanna cum so bad then ask for it.” He grinned.

He thrust the toy back and forth in time with his hand on his cock, loving the way your body tried to so hard to wake up your mind so you could enjoy it fully.

“Poor thing. Squirming for me.” He panted, scooting closer and seating the vibrator back into your cunt fully. “I’ll let you cum this time okay? You need it don’t you sweet girl?”

Anakin brushed his thumb across your clit quickly and beamed at the way your idle hands tried to grip the sheets beneath you.

“So close baby girl, so fucking close.” He whispered, flicking your clit just to see you jump.

He snickered and settled his thumb solidly against your puffy red button and rubbed firmly. Jacking his cock in time with his ministrations on you.

“Gonna cum…” he whined, noting the way your legs were lifting slightly from the bed.

“Yeah. Yeah, c’mon baby, fuck.” He grunted, fucking up into his fist as he tilted his head back. Spilling his cum onto the quivering canvas of your spent folds.

He slowly milked the rest of his seed out onto you and pulled the vibrator from your depths, scooping up his cum and shoving it into your greedy hole to massage into your gummy walls where it belongs.

He stroked your front wall carefully, pressing up against the sweet spongy spot that made your toes curl. The second he pressed the vibrator down on your clit your cunt spasmed around his fingers and he got to see you come undone for the first time.

“Oh shit.” He breathed out, his voice shaky as he watched that puddle beneath you become a lake as your squirt dripped over his hand and onto the fabric.

“Fucking hell.” He moaned, shoving his hand beneath his mask to slurp your juices from every centimeter of his skin.

He was too busy loosing himself in the taste of you to notice you finally fluttering your eyes open just slightly, moaning in overstimulation from the toy he’d left buzzing between your pussy lips.

“Goddamnit.” He swore, shoving his still hard cock back into his boxers and switching off the toy.

He waited, waited a painfully long time to make sure you were still stuck in dreamland before moving again. It was time to high-tail it out of there.

He clumsily shoved his things into his bag and tugged on his pants and belt. Cursing himself for getting carried away like that, for not paying attention, for almost waking you up.

Slipping into his sneakers and tugging his sleeves back down he fumbled in his pockets to find his gloves and hastily shoved his hands in them.

He stood at the foot of the bed and stared at the mess he’d helped you make on your sheets. Great. Now he really couldn’t just leave his own set of sheets beneath your mattress to change later when you were gone.

He had to do it now.

He pulled your comforter fully off the bed, your extra pillows and stuffed animals as well. The top sheet was used to quickly and carefully wipe the mess off your skin before he folded it and shoved it down into the bag.

Thinking ahead he laid the clean top sheet over the comforter so he could put both on at the same time, save a few seconds. Now came the hard part.

He popped up one corner of the fitted sheet and replaced it with the new one, doing the same to two of the other sides. He kneeled on the bed with his feet hanging off the side, careful not to get his sneakers on the clean sheets.

He gingerly laid your arms at your sides and oh so slowly rolled you over until you were flat on your back again.

Anakin held his breath and tried his very best not to laugh because of the fact that he had quite literally rolled you like a log and you didn’t even budge. He walked around to the other side and finished taking off the sheet and fitting the new one over the last edge.

After the sheet was folded and carefully tucked into his bag he tossed it over his shoulder and went to your bedroom door to allow your cat back into the room with you, she’d always snuggle under the covers beside you and you’d be awfully confused if you woke up and realized she had somehow gotten out of your room without the help of opposable thumbs.

Anakin surveyed the room and smacked himself internally. He almost left you panty-less.

“Idiot. All tore up from one little thing.” He scoffed. “Can’t believe I almost-“

He shook his head and told himself to shut his mouth, he could shit talk himself later. Right now he needed to carefully slide your panties back into place and cover you back up, maybe give you alittle goodnight kiss too.

Finally everything was in place as it should be, he marked everything off in his internal to-do list and checked his watch. He’d kept it under two hours just like planned, everything was fine, so fine in fact that he didn’t bother to be careful with his foot-falls.

The high-pitched shriek of pain Boogie let out when he put his full weight onto the tip of her tail was more than enough to wake the dead. Anakin froze, smacking the button on the side of his neck, attached to the box that would alter his voice in case he needed to speak.

“Boogs?” You sat up slowly, your body not in tune with your mind in any capacity. Funny how he could fuck you with a vibrator but an ear piercing cat wail could wake you up. Weird.

You didn’t even have your eyes open, poor thing. Anakin laughed before he realized he was making any noise at all.

If your eyes were sewn shut with sleep before they were stretched wide with terror now. You scanned the room and were horrified to see a tall, imposing figure in a… Ghostface mask?

Hot. Wait- no. You shook your head and flipped on your bedside lamp.

“Don’t fucking move.” He growled, producing a butterfly knife from his pocket and spinning it to flip it open.

You squealed but complied and shrunk back. There wasn’t much you could do anyway, you could barely hold your eyes open and your head up.

“Good.” He nodded, walking up to you basking in the knowledge that you’d be obedient in this type of situation.

“What’d you want?” You asked quietly.

“Just came to say hello to a pretty little thing that’s all.” He cooed and sat down on the side of the bed.

You whimpered and moved sluggishly away, finding it difficult to support your weight with your arms.

“Hold real still.” He soothed and for some reason you did.

You didn’t flinch or fight him when he used the tip of the knife to push your hair away from your eyes.

“I’m not gonna hurt you.” He stated calmly. “Cross my heart, hope to die.”

You could practically hear the smirk in his filtered voice as he slashed the flat side of the knife in an X across the center of chest. In one fluid motion that was much more attractive than you’d ever willingly admit, he flipped out one of the dual knife handles and somehow swung it closed in the open palm of his hand by twitching his wrist quickly.

He showed you that he was putting it into the locked position, pushing the small rod at the bottom of one of the handles with his thumb until it clicked.

“You’re safe I promise.” He said. “I’ll let you hold it if you want.” He offered it in his open, flat palm but you denied it, shaking your head and quickly realizing that made you very dizzy.

“Brave one, huh?” He chuckled, pocketing the knife again.

He saw your eyes flit toward your phone and tsk’d audibly.

“Hey, I said I’m not gonna hurt you.” He reassured you. “Don’t try it okay?”

“Okay.” You agreed, bottom lip trembling.

“Like I said. I just wanted to say hello.” He shrugged. “And maybe remind you that you should remember to lock your windows.” He hated to lie, but he couldn’t say he just unlocked your front door could he?

At that moment your cat jumped up and settled in his lap. He carefully inspected her tail and gave her gentle chin scratches.

“Sorry bud. Didn’t mean to step on you.” He whispered.

“What the fuck.” You whispered, unbelievable. What the hell was happening?

“Hmm? Oh yeah, we’re good friends aren’t we?” He said, patting her head. “Now, go to your mommy m’kay?” He scooped her up and put her in your arms.

“She’s had a bit of a fright.” He told your cat. “Best to keep her company.”

“Now. I’m gonna leave okay?” He said, standing up slowy, his hands raised in a gesture of peace. “Count to 100.”

“What?”

“Count to 100 before you get up or try to call anyone. Got it?” He said, his tone even through the filter suggested that you should’ve just known what he meant.

“Yeah.” You nodded, your eyes feeling heavy and droopy again.

“Good.” He had to try extremely hard not to use pet names with you. He was certain you’d be suspicious immediately if he did.

“I’m going to leave through your front door, after I lock your window for you. Understand?” He said while slowly backing out of your room.

You blinked, mouth agape, still so very confused. What is this? Is this some strange and vivid dream? Maybe you should ask?

“Am I- this a dream?” You questioned, feeling stupid as soon as it left your lips.

He tilted his head and clasped his hands in front him, leaning his back against your bedroom door frame.

“Do you want it to be?” He asked in a teasing way that sounded too familiar for your comfort.

“What?” Your voice shook, you were suddenly aware of how pathetically helpless you were.

A stranger with a knife is in your bedroom and you’re just speaking to him like this is the fucking checkout line at Kroger.

He chuckled, scratching the side of his mask as if it were his cheek. “Pink book. Right bottom corner under the mattress.” Anakin nodded toward your bed.

“You- wait.” You felt sick, your diary? He was talking about your diary? How long was he in here?

“Mhm.” He nodded.

He waited for you to speak again, relaxing again the the doorframe. He let his head tilt back and knock against the wood while he crossed his legs at the ankle and unclasped his hands. Cracking his knuckles with his fingers laced together.

“Well?” He asked, crossing his arms across his broad chest.

“Well what?”

“Do you want it to be a dream?” He repeated firmly, leaning forward just a bit.

Why did you want to say yes?

“I’m not hearing a no.” He raised a hand in the form of a question from where it was tucked underneath his arm.

“No.” You shook your head, watching the room spin. “D-did you drug me?” You whispered rubbing your eyes as dancing lights flashed across your eyelids.

“Yep.” He answered nonchalantly. “Don’t worry you’ll be fine.”

“Huh.” You breathed out. If this was real life and a stranger broke into your house and somehow drugged you… why wasn’t he trying to hurt you?

It must be a dream. Sure. Yes. A dream.

“What’ll it be?” He asked “should I stay? Or should I go?”

“What do you want to do?” You wondered aloud and immediately regretted not thinking before you spoke.

“Oh you don’t wanna know.” He snickered.

“Then why’re you here?”

“You’re peaceful when you sleep.” He said casually. “I like to watch you.”

“You what?” You squeaked. “You’ve been here before?”

“How about this.” He proposed, walking back to your bed and fishing your diary out from under the mattress. “You have questions for me, I’ll answer them. Write ‘em down.”

He tossed it on the edge of the bed and reached out to you. “C’mere.”

“Why?”

“Just do it okay?” He sighed and watched you scoot closer.

He gingerly reached out as if you might bite him, you probably should. But for whatever reason you didn’t want to. He kind of felt… familiar. He didn’t scream ‘psycho killer’ instead he radiated comfort.

His leathered fingers scratched the top of your head in soothing circles. Why were you allowing this? Why were you not terrified?

“Go back to sleep.” He said softly. “I’m leaving now.”

“Why?”

“Do you want me to stay?” He laughed.

“What? N-no?” You shook your head, denying it vehemently. “Of course not.”

“Sure.” He teased. “G’night.” He straightened up and patted your head.

You watched him leave, heard him walk through your living room and kitchen and leave your apartment.

You didn’t move. You didn’t jump up and run. You didn’t grab your phone and call the cops or Luke or anyone else.

You didn’t feel scared, you thought maybe your strange acceptance of the situation was a survival instinct that would go away when the threat did. But you weren’t scared. If anything… you felt alittle lonely now that he was gone.

Part Seven

This is a butterfly knife for those of you who are unaware lol

Tag-List:

@wickedtactics @tsugumiholic @kingdomhate @burnthecheshirewitch @exquisitcorpse @arzua10 @bby-imasociopath @depressed-kay @aliciaasky @naty-1001 @mrsmikaelsxn @bunnylovesani @ausskywalker @angelsadmired @slut4starwarssmut @chocolatepalacecloudhoagie @starkiller419 @hearts4mitski4 @lethargic @allhailbuckybarnes-blog @shadowhuntyi @mortalheartache @fallinlovewithevil @sythethecarrot @chaoticantihero @vadersslut @luvvfromme @anakinsbaee @doblasftcisco @sweetcheesecakesblog @luvskywxlker @angelsadmired @kaminokatie @anakin-pilled @graveyard-stray @chiaraanatra @jediavengers @zapernz @lunalitva @salted-snailz @queenofchaos99 @ellie-luvsfics @dazednstars141 @rorysbrainrot @hopesworlld @lonaah @t8lzw @guiltycherries @syralix @doblasftcisco

THE TAGS LIST IS FULL! But if you want to be tagged I will comment ur username for you. Love you all so many.

[p1nkcanoe]

kinktober day seven: gags (copia x aether)

kinktober prompt list provided by planetcoma on twitter!

summary: copia rides the high of a great show, and aether helps him through the lingering adrenaline warnings: gags, handjobs, use of quintessence magick words: 1407

click here to read on ao3 or read below:

Copia’s chest heaves as he stumbles through the door of his dressing room, the energy of the show still crackling through his veins and humming just under his skin. His hands shake as he throws off his vest and begins to undo the obsidian buttons of his shirt, his fingers jumping over the seams and missing the holes. The woozy cocktail of adrenaline from a great performance and lively crowd rarely makes him this restless anymore, but tonight had been the best stop on their tour thus far, and he can’t help but bask in the lingering spotlight that he still feels the warmth of on his face. Even after the fall of the curtain and the dimming of the stage lights, the energy he feels refuses to go anywhere but south, and it’s not necessarily that he’s agitated with it, but his pants are a little too tight and the sweat clinging to his skin is only making the desire to strip more intense. It’s unfortunate how his body and his brain battle for such relief. A low growl escapes his throat as he works on loosening the knot in his tie, pacing back and forth like a caged animal instead of the resplendent Papa Emeritus IV. 

He’s so focused on getting his boots off after loosening the tie around his neck that he fails to hear the door creak open behind him, but he sure feels the presence that slips into the space. The new crackle of static that weaves its way through the hair on his arms tells him enough, and the ghoul steps in quietly, closing the door behind him and watching the electrified state that his Papa is still in. A knowing smile slips onto his face and he begins to stalk closer. 

“Looks like someone’s still riding the high,” the ghoul murmurs, and Copia casts a glance over his shoulder, kicking his shoes off in the general direction of his wardrobe. 

“We haven’t had a show like that in months. My ghoul, tell me you felt it too,” he tenses slightly when the feeling of a strong hand covers his shoulder, but quickly recovers. That static energy seems to constantly radiate from Aether like a beacon and he feels it caress the skin beneath his ear like an invitation. “If my old bones weren’t already beginning to ache, I’d tell you to go grab your instrument for a second encore. Perhaps even a third.” 

Aether chuckles, and a deep rumbling purr kicks up in his chest when Copia reaches up to lay a hand atop the ghoulish one on his shoulder. 

“You know I can help you with the aching, Papa,” he says, “you only need to ask.” 

“It’s good to let them ache. Keeps me young.” 

The ghoul laughs again at his Papa’s slip of humor and presses the palm of his hand against the hard bone of his shoulder, teasing a trickle of his magick through his skin. He knows that his Papa will never ask anything of him, but he also knows when he needs it. The magick sinks into his muscles and Aether allows his Papa to sink into the front of his chest with a pleased hum. He supports him with a strong arm across his tummy, but then that hand begins to descend down towards the ties at the front of his pants. He teases the knot there. “Shall we free you from these horrible restraints? Work off some of this tension?” 

“You’re good to your Papa, do you know this?” Copia breathes out when Aether pulls at the strings and releases his cock from behind the sweaty fabric. Drunk on a taste of Quintessence magick, he covers the hand around his shaft with his own, tightening the fingers around the base and letting out the most gorgeous moan that Aether has ever heard fall past his painted lips. 

A couple of stagehands cease their conversation somewhere out in the hall and the ghoul pauses, testing the sensitivity of his Papa’s hardened cock with a long, slow pull towards his tip. He groans again, louder this time, and someone outside makes an awkward noise. 

“Quiet, Papa,” he warns and thumbs at the slit, careful to avoid raking his blunt claws over the head, “we need to keep you quiet lest you desire to be the talk of the crew tomorrow.” 

Another dull pulse of magick flows from his hand, causing the air around them to pulse with a palpable charge, and Copia jerks his hips forward into his fist, a blurt of pre leaking from the tip along with it. 

Aether can’t just leave him like this now, he has to help his Papa, he has to be good, so he spins him around and pushes him gently against the wall of the dressing room, descending on him with a hand on his cock, the other on the back of his skull to keep the magick flowing, and Copia folds to his touch. 

“Shh,” the ghoul warns again and glances towards the door. The latch is still very much unlocked. It’s a risky thing to do. Copia fails to comply, his gasps and groans growing louder and more persistent with every slight touch to his dick.  

Before he can protest, the ghoul is grabbing the discarded tie from around his neck and stuffing it into his mouth. The noise that fights through is muffled. Nice and quiet. 

“If you’re going to make noise, you’ll have to keep this between your teeth,” he explains with an experimental twist of his wrist. Copia’s mismatched eyes nearly roll to the back of his skull, but the moan that accompanies it is manageable, stuffed to the back of his throat. The crew outside continue their conversations and begin to wheel a part of their background towards the bus. Aether begins to stroke him properly from root to tip, and his Papa bucks forward at the hips, chasing him with each pull. 

He holds him against his chest for a while, pulling at his cock while the magick in his vessel soaks into his sore muscles, and all the while he talks his Papa through his well-needed pleasure. 

“You deserve this,” he tells him while he wraps his fist around the ruddy head, “you were amazing tonight, Papa. A real star. Imperator will be proud.” 

He tightens his grip slightly, just enough to make him groan and gasp from behind silky fabric, twisting his wrist to send shocks of pleasure straight through him to saddle up right beside that adrenaline and magical buzz. Copia’s breath stutters, his heavy head falling back onto Aether’s shoulder as the ghoul’s hand works with perfect, practiced rhythm, stroking him faster now and with a perfect pressure that he knows he likes. The warmth of Aether’s Quintessence pulses deeper, easing the ache in his bones, but it’s the way his fist drags along the length of his cock that really makes his muscles tremble. 

“That’s it, Papa, just let go,” Aether whispers, pressing a kiss to the side of his neck that still smells sweetly of intoxicating human sweat. The steady pull on his cock is relentless, and his fingers spread slick globs of pre over his skin as he works him towards the inevitable finale to his grandiose performance. 

Copia groans from behind fabric, the pleasure building too fast, too intense for what his old body is used to, and his hands grip Aether’s arm in an attempt to steady himself while his hips jerk forward in uneven movements, chasing a release that’s so close he can taste it. 

Aether presses his palm firmly against the base of his shaft to draw out the final moments, and a pulse of his magick slips through his fingers, right into the shaft of his cock, and Copia nearly doubles over with the feeling of it directly in his balls. When the gag begins to slip, he covers his mouth with his hand. 

“Cum, Papa. You deserve it. Cum for me. For all of us. For everyone out there tonight.” 

His brow furrows and his teeth dig into the tie at the sound of Aether’s voice, velvet-like and coaxing, and when Copia moans in response, Aether squeezes and pumps him harder, faster. 

His Papa shudders, release tearing through his weary body, and with a final muffled gasp, the final encore of the night reaches its grand crescendo.

[marvelmusing]

In Another Life

Part Twelve

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova x Alternate Universe!Reader

Summary: A successful return to Ravka prompts you to share warnings of the future with Aleksander, and a new (but not unfamiliar) character invites himself into your schemes.

Warnings: references to the rule of wolves duology.

My Masterlist • Series Masterlist • Next Part

“We need to talk about the third amplifier.”

Aleksander hums in acknowledgement to your mumbled words, and you feel the vibration of his response in his throat as your forehead is nestled against his neck.

You’re sitting in his lap, legs draped over his, your side tucked under his arm, and your hands slotted beneath the lapels of his kefta in an attempt to remain warm.

Ever since your fever had broken, you find yourself feeling cold more often, and seek out Aleksander’s warmth which he’s always happy to provide.

When he feels you shiver, Aleksander wraps one of his arms tighter around your body.

You had parted ways with Sturmhond and his crew at around noon today. Not wanting to be seen colluding with a suspected pirate, Aleksander had requested you be dropped off along the coast in a longboat. From there you had walked back to Os Kervo, and now that the shadows were lengthening, you wanted nothing more than some quiet time with Aleksander.

“The firebird is known for its elusive nature, though I don’t doubt that you know where it is.” He remarks with a small smile. You nod faintly.

“I do. But, the firebird isn’t the third amplifier.”

Aleksander frowns, looking down at you as he discards the papers in his hand. You run your fingers down the length of his tunic, nails catching against the seam between soft fabric and leather.

“Did Baghra ever tell you how your grandfather died?” You ask softly.

He nods slowly.

“Everyone in Ravka knows the story of Sankt Ilya. How he brought a child back from the brink of death, and was killed by the villagers for his unnatural power.”

Aleksander opens up a drawer in the desk, pulling out a book. It’s cover is a deep red cloth, with golden embellishments and the title printed in Old Ravkan. He sets the book down in your lap.

“Have you read Istorii Sankt’ya?” He asks, the Old Ravkan rolling smoothly over his tongue as you open up the book.

“Some of it.” You admit. Turning through the glossy pages, you admire the brightly painted illustrations that accompany each story of the saints. “The version in my world is a little different from this one.”

Aleksander’s head cocks to aside and curiosity fills his eyes as his thumb smoothes over your kneecap.

“How so?”

“There’s two saints missing.” You tell him, flicking through the pages before you stop at the back of the book. “Sankta Alina of undiscovered gifts.”

You pause, looking up to meet Aleksander’s eyes.

“And the Starless Saint.” You say quietly. Then you smile. “Which, if anyone knew his name, would also be called Sankt Aleksander. The patron saint of those who seek salvation in the dark.”

Aleksander stares down at the book, eyeing the blank pages where there should be an illustration of him.

All he’s ever wanted was for his country to accept him - the hopeful dream of a frightened boy, shunned and feared for centuries.

Since the creation of the Fold, he had abandoned that hope, believing that he no longer deserved, or would even achieve such a thing. Your words had surprised him, and you can see him mulling over his sainthood in his mind.

You turn back through the pages, to Sankt Ilya’s story, and trace your fingers over the illustration. The white stag with its glimmering antlers. The sea whip with its scales dipped in gold. The firebird.

“You know the real story, don’t you? That it wasn’t a farmer’s son your grandfather brought back to life.”

Aleksander nods.

“Baghra only told me about her sister once. But I remember.”

“When Morozova resurrected her, he used merzost.” Aleksander nods. “Unintentionally making her the third of his amplifiers.”

He looks up at you, startled by your revelation, and you can see his thoughts beginning to race.

“But she died. Alongside my grandfather.” He states, but you can hear the question in his voice.

You shake your head.

“She survived. Somehow. She had children, and a long line of descendants, that continues to this day.”

Aleksander regards you for a long moment.

“You know who it is.”

“We already have the third amplifier.” You tell him quietly. “His name is Malyen Ortsev.”

In that moment, you are both silent. The floorboards creak as the wind rattles against the windowpane, and you fight the shiver settling over your skin.

Aleksander leans back in the chair you’re sharing, his eyes never leaving you as he processes this information.

“That’s why you kept them together.” You shake your head.

“Mal has some sort of connection to the other amplifiers. It would have taken us far longer to find them without him.”

“And do you intend for Alina to kill him?”

Your eyes widen, and you shake your head.

“No. Absolutely not.”

He frowns at your almost frantic tone.

“Why?”

“Two amplifiers is her limit. A third one would take her power away, as some sort of punishment for her greed.” Your brows crease and your nose wrinkles in disapproval as you add those final words.

“I presume that’s what happens in the book.”

You nod.

Silence hangs between you both, and you know Aleksander is busying thinking, but there’s something weighing on your mind. Something that neither of you have addressed yet.

“We’re in agreement that taking down the Fold is a bad idea. Aren’t we?” You ask him, and he frowns with surprise in his eyes.

“Yes.” He says slowly. “Though I had thought that you wouldn’t approve of keeping it intact.”

“Taking it down would cause more problems than it’s worth.” He nods in agreement, though his frown doesn’t fade.

“I agree. Although I have a suspicion that we’re both thinking about different problems.”

As you nod, you take a moment to gather your thoughts, and consider how to explain what the problem is.

“The creation of the Fold caused a tear in the making at the heart of the world. There’s no reasonable method of fixing that.”

He tilts his head aside, eyeing you carefully.

“Meaning there’s an unreasonable one?”

Several thoughts run through your mind. Aleksander’s death in the Fold by Alina’s hand. His resurrection, and possession of a young monk. The thornwood tree. The sacrifice he makes, once again, for his country, to hold the tear closed for eternity with his body.

You narrow your eyes at him.

“It’s very annoying when you do that.”

Amusement twinkles in his eyes as he adjusts his arms around you, his palms settling on your waist as he raises a brow.

“What? See through the clever word choices you make to avoid a discussion you won’t like?”

“Yes.” You say, looking down as anxiety floods through you.

If you explain everything, would Aleksander offer to make the sacrifice - to suffer for eternity to keep the Fold at bay? Your heart twists painfully in your chest at the thought of such a thing.

“I won’t pry.” He says softly.

Glancing back up at him, some of your nerves dissipate as his eyes meet yours. You nod, and continue to talk through your thoughts.

“At the end of the trilogy, Alina loses her power, and the Fold is brought down. But in its place there’s something worse.”

“What is it?”

At that, you falter.

“My knowledge is a little limited at this point.” Aleksander raises a questioning brow at you, and you sigh. “There’s two more books set after the trilogy… but I’ve only read the scenes with you in them.”

The corner of Aleksander’s mouth quirks, and you roll your eyes at the sight of his own eyes sparkling with fond amusement.

“Even after it’s destroyed, fragments of the Fold reappear because of the tear at the making, leaving destruction in their wake.”

Aleksander nods slowly, running a hand over his face as he thinks.

“With more training and the power of two amplifiers, Alina should be able to remove the volcra. After that, the Fold is more of an inconvenience than a problem.” You nod in agreement.

“That should work.”

Aleksander runs his hands down your side, in an effort to keep you warm. It’s comforting, sitting in a shabby little room with the fire crackling weakly in the corner, pressed against Aleksander’s chest. No doubt he feels you press a little heavier against his chest as you body pleads for sleep.

He drops a kiss onto your forehead.

“Bed?” He asks softly, and you nod.

Aleksander tucks his papers away, and you place The Lives of Saints back into the drawer. Once you’ve finished clearing away, Aleksander takes your hand, and you move towards the bed.

You settle under the covers, as Aleksander dresses into his night clothes.

“And your plans for the throne?” He asks, lifting the covers before he slips into bed beside you.

“Convince Vasily to abdicate, then prove that Nikolai has no official claim.” You mumble as you wrap your arms around him. Aleksander frowns, and you add quickly, “It’s a very loose plan, at the moment.”

He breathes out a small laugh at your admission.

“Well, it’s a good start.”

You smile softly at the sound of his laugh and fall asleep with your head on his chest.

»»---------------------►

On your return to Os Alta, Aleksander immediately receives news of the King’s illness worsening. He is now bedridden, but you insist to Aleksander that the King should still be treated despite his confinement, in case Nikolai should return. No one can suspect any foul play once the King finally dies.

As Royal Consort, you’re invited to the palace to attend and comfort the Queen in a time of such distress. She sits surrounded by ladies maids, who all flutter their fans towards her whenever a moment of emotion seizes her.

Occasionally she will sniffle in such a manner that has you uncertain as to whether she’s genuinely upset, or just playing a part for her Court. Nevertheless, you offer her empty assurances with falsified sincerity in your voice.

Luckily it’s racing season, meaning that Vasily is several miles away at his dacha in Carvyea. Whether he has heard of his father’s condition, you’re uncertain, but no one mentions his absence.

Day after day, you’re brought before the Queen, and her ladies maids all fawn over you. They run through the usual topic of conversation - your engagement. In response, you show them the Lanstov emerald that you wore almost permanently now that you were back in the capital. Aleksander’s necklace is, as always, hidden underneath your shirt.

They all seem dreadfully excited about the wedding, which has anxiety settling into your stomach. With Vasily not even here, how can you convince him not to marry you or become king? The stress certainly doesn’t help how warm you get when you’re sitting in the Queen’s parlour.

Even you, who feels cold on the warmest of days, find the rooms of the Grand Palace incredibly stuffy.

It’s on a particularly warm day that an attendant announces the arrival of Second Prince Nikolai of Ravka.

Part of you is relieved to not be the centre of attention for once. Though the rest of you is concerned. Did Nikolai know about your engagement to his brother? Surely he must recognise you from when you met him as Sturmhond. Does he know about you and Aleksander? Zoya always said that the two of you were rather obvious.

The Queen is thrilled by her son’s arrival, and you can’t help but feel a little bad for her. None of her family ever wants to be home, it’s no wonder she’s always eager when someone new arrives. She kisses him on both of his cheeks, and he blushes a little at her affections.

Then she introduces you to him.

You bow politely and offer him your hand. He takes it, his eyes fixed on yours as he lifts your hand to his lips.

“A pleasure to finally meet the person I’ve heard so much about.” He says.

Nikolai always chooses his words carefully. You’re certain there’s a hidden message in his greeting, some sort of warning that says: I know you.

After a little more time of Nikolai telling some rather entertaining stories about his travels, you decide to make yourself scarce. The prince doesn’t let you escape so easily.

“Allow me to walk you back to the Little Palace.”

“Thank you, Your Highness. Though I assure you, I’m quite capable of walking alone.”

His eyes sparkle with amusement as he remarks with a small knowing laugh,

“I’m quite sure you are.”

Despite his face being different, you still feel like you’re talking to Sturmhond, and you’re tempted to roll your eyes as you accept his hand. You don’t notice the Queen watching you both with a small smile.

Alina had punched Nikolai in the face when he had revealed himself as Sturmhond. Whilst you don’t think the Court would approve of such a thing, the smirk on his lips certainly tempts you. Perhaps punching him would release some of the awful tension in your shoulders.

The two of you walk quietly down the corridor, before exiting through a side door and making your way towards the path which leads to the Little Palace. The silence between you urges you to make some conversation.

“Lovely weather we’re having for this time of year.” You remark lightly as you walk arm in arm.

The breeze is fresh, and the sunlight carries some delicate warmth that is so characteristic of spring shaking away the cold of winter.

“You’re not marrying Vasily for love.” He states.

That certainly didn’t take long. You blink at him.

“What makes you say such a thing?”

Nikolai raises a brow at you.

“Perhaps the rather endearing love confession I witnessed between you and General Kirigan a few weeks ago?”

Keeping your face as neutral as possible, you curse yourself internally.

“Forgive me Your Highness, but you must be mistaken. We’ve never met before.”

“Don’t play coy with me.”

Deciding to drop your confused facade, you give him a small smile as you say,

“I thought you liked our little back and forth?”

The corner of his mouth twitches slightly in amusement, but he sighs and shakes his head.

“Why do you want the throne?”

“I don’t.”

“You’re saying you want my brother?”

“No. I…”

Closing your eyes for a moment, you consider your options. Just this once, the truth might work best.

“I just want to make Ravka better. He asked me, out of the blue, and whilst I don’t love him… I thought I could do some good as a consort.”

He’s quiet after your admission, and you lift your gaze up from the grass to look at his face. He seems to be pondering your words seriously, and when he sees the worry in your eyes he smiles reassuringly.

“I believe you.”

Breathing out a small sigh of relief, your grip on him tightens as you step painfully onto a stone. The two of you are quiet for a small length of time. No doubt Nikolai is thinking deeply, so you look over the landscape.

The grass that connects the Grand Palace to the Little Palace is a bright luscious green, and a few insects can be seen buzzing cheerfully above a small patch of flowers.

When you glance back at Nikolai you find him already looking at you.

“What if you married me?” He asks. Your eyes widen.

It takes you a moment to respond.

“No offence, but you’re a second son. Practically speaking, you’re a downgrade.”

“But physically I’m an upgrade, right?” He remarks smoothly, tilting his head to gesture at himself, and you laugh.

“Vasily is still first in line.” You remind him.

“I think I can convince him to abdicate.” You tilt your head at him. That had been your plan, which might be easier to accomplish with Nikolai on your side. “With a big enough fund to live off, and spend on his horses, I think he could be quite content.”

“So do I.” You say softly in agreement. He raises a brow,

“Is that a yes?”

“Wouldn’t it be a scandal?” You ask with a nervous frown. “I’m engaged to your brother, then I decide to marry you instead?”

“We’ll have him leave suddenly. You can act heartbroken for a month or so while his charming younger brother consoles you. Only to sweep you off your feet in a whirlwind romance. The people will love it.”

His words have a smile tugging at your lips. It feels strange, to be scheming with someone other than Aleksander. You wonder what he will think about this offer.

“Do you mind if I think about this?” You ask him.

Nikolai nods with a small smile.

“Give my regards to General Kirigan.”

»»---------------------►

You push the door to the war room open, and stand staring into the room for a moment, your head swimming with thoughts. When Aleksander looks up from his place at the large table he chuckles quietly at your expression.

“How was it?”

“I need to go lie down.” You state.

With that, you step inside and shut the door behind you. Then you walk towards the bedroom with the intent to lie down and close your eyes for a long time.

“Nikolai returned to Court today.” You tell Aleksander as you cross the threshold into his bedroom.

Slumping down onto the bed, you stare up at the ceiling for a moment before you close your eyes. Aleksander’s footsteps echo over the hardwood floor, as he appears in the doorway.

“Did he speak with you?”

“Among other things.” You remark distractedly. “He proposed.”

Aleksander raises a brow and steps into the bedroom. He sits down on the sofa beside his bed, and you sit up.

“I didn’t think their sibling rivalry would extend to such lengths - stealing each other’s betrothed.”

You breathe out a small laugh.

“Nikolai knows about us.” You admit softly. “Me and you.” He shrugs.

“It’s not uncommon. A marriage of convenience often means both parties find what they’re lacking in their marriage elsewhere.”

“You mean the royals usually have affairs while their spouse looks the other way?” He nods.

Lost in thought, you tug your boots off and pull one of your knees up to your chest, folding your arms around your leg.

“The situation is ideal.” You reason. “Nikolai is the best option for the throne at the moment, but…”

You sigh, staring down at the floor.

“I know it’s selfish, I just can’t help but think that I’m ruining everyone’s chance at happiness.”

Nikolai won’t fall for Zoya like he’s meant to, that’s two people broken apart by you. You’ve stopped Aleksander from being with Alina, and whilst he says he wants you now that could change. You will grow old. Aleksander won’t.

Aleksander stands, and within two steps he’s in front of you. He crouches down, so that his face is level with yours, and his forearms rest on either side of you.

“This arrangement with Nikolai is temporary.” He assures you. “Accept his proposal, as long as he agrees to a courtship. That will buy us time.”

Aleksander brushes his knuckles against your cheek, before he cups your face in his hand.

“While he courts you, and even while your engagement begins, we will plan our next move.”

He kisses your forehead, his nose trailing over yours as he moves his lips down to meet yours, and butterflies flutter in your stomach as you kiss slowly. Aleksander smiles when a soft hum of pleasure escapes your lips, and he kisses the tip of your nose.

A smile spreads over your lips, and Aleksander regards you fondly as his fingers trail from your cheek to trace along your jawline. He takes your chin between his fingers and kisses you again.

“You won’t have to marry anyone you don’t want to.”

»»---------------------►

marvelmusing Tag List: @dreamlandcreations @blanchedelioncourt @idaofinfinity @slytherheign @ellooo0ooo @vixenofcourse @dumb-fawkin-bitch @jane-arthur

In Another Life Tag List: @parabatai-winchester @dangerousbluebirdpoetry @jambolska-grozdova @mxacegrey @budugu @cynthianokamaria @scarlettqueen190 @eloquentree @sharp-cheekbones-locked @sorrow-and-bliss @biblophilefox82 @tartiflvtte @rainbowgoblinfan

Aleksander M Tag List: @nyctophiliiiiaaa @jazmin2211

BB Characters Tag List: @rachlovesactors @noortsshift @aikeia

[greetingsapartment]

hey hey! i hope you’re having a good day ^_^ can i request wally with a reader who’s really into the himegyaru style? thank you so much and have a wonderful day/night!! <3

Wally Darling with a Himegyaru reader!

Wally definitely has an appreciation for your sense of style!

He likes to see just about any of his neighbors dress themselves up in all sorts of fashions and fun styles, that is what Wally believes self-expression is all about. Wally dresses himself up in his own way, why shouldn't you dress up in yours?

When you come up to him for the first time with your hime-gyaru makeup and all of the chic clothes that come with it on, Wally looks around at all of his neighbors, running around in the grass and through the milkweeds, playing with a hula-hoop or even reading a book — and then to you, blinking, with that same neutral expression, a soft smile on his face when he first sees you dress up in such a way.

"Neighbor, you didn't tell me you were so fashionable." Wally would say, rather innocently, admiring your hair and the frilly clothing you adorned, staring back up at you.

He sits up a little further in his seat, and not before long, he turns to you, tilting his head to the side when his pupils widen, growing in a dark mass.

Wally asks if he can paint you, not too long after he's first seen you.

I just think I should capture this moment. After all," He slowly blinks once more, voice growing higher before he tones it back down, "I think you look great, friend." He nods, gentle as ever, reassuringly.

If you ever do end up snagging any of your wardrobe on an overgrown bush, a prickly tree branch or otherwise — Wally will be glad to help you out!

Any rip or slash, any seam or stitch, it'll all be brand new by the time he asks Poppy for a favor, relating to your apparel. Poppy is good at these kinds of things, and by the time she's done panicking over where the needle might've gone, she'll have your attire all fixed up for you, neighbor!

You need something for your makeup, or maybe some polish for your shoes? Howdy might have something for you!

Ribbons, laces and pink satin bows, Julie has a whole closet full of them!

Anybody you ask in the neighborhood, and they are always more than willing to lend a hand for you to be able to express yourself better. Wally is no stranger to wanting to look your best, in all your favorite kinds of garb.

Wally will do whatever he can, for you to feel more like yourself!

And as a bonus, of course, all your other friends really love your style too! (thank you lots, hime-gyaru anon!! i'm really hoping this wasn't too much of a blank page, as i was trying to be vague, since i don't really know what you would wear in terms of a specific outfit, so i tried to describe what most hime-gyaru outfits tend to have in common :') i'm sorry!!! i'm hoping this is at least readable! and a goodnight/good day to you too!)

[skyrimfuckery]

Working on my Squire’s Plate redo is partly an exercise of looking back and seeing how I’ve progressed. I finished the gauntlets today, and I’d like to take the opportunity to compare the textures for the inside of the glove for all the gloves I’ve textured so far. The reason I chose this area is because it’s easy to ignore during gameplay and barely gets shown during screenshots, yet it has the potential for the most personality as it’s literally the palm of the hand. Furthermore, this has been an area that I have always needed to texture, no matter the design of the glove. It allows for a good 1:1 comparison between things.

Starting off with the Blackened Steel Vambrace, I must say the leather texture has nice folds and creases showing off personality. It is very rough around the edges, and could use more detail in the color maps and more nuanced creases in the finger areas. The seam work is done quite messily, too. At the time I was set out on creating a good leather material both up close and at a distance, and not so much on creating a leather glove. I can tell you right now that my current work, which I will show last, still does not meet my imagination’s standards.

Moving up, the leather on the Evermorin Gauntlet is downright disappointing. I put in very little effort in the palm texture and only added the bare minimum: the cushioning but at the base of all fingers is accentuated, that’s all. There aren’t even any creases worth mentioning in the fingers. That’s not to say this gauntlet sucks, because if you flip it over you’ll find something I’m proud of to this day. This texture work perfectly illustrates my earlier point of the palm being easily missed, meaning shoddy texture work goes unnoticed.

My first venture into Substance Painter was with the Lorisian Glove. You’ll see that t he seams are way cleaner and not as squiggly as the previous two gloves. I went in the right direction by adding yellowish highlights to the top of the creases to simulate natural wear. Too bad it’s not enough and the palm is not exactly convincing. The thumb, however, looks fucking nice though. Note the lack of detail around the fingers, once again.

Then we have the Dragonstar Gauntlet. The leather was supposed to be a rough suede esque thing, which means it starts to look crusty really fast. The creases, however, are done pretty nicely. There is defined geometry, with major and minor details. Note the shaping around the base of the fingers, which is cleaner than the previous work. Apart from some deformed stitching, I’d say this is a pretty okay texture. This work builds upon my previous stuff because it uses both larger and smaller creases. None are hand-drawn, all are the result of a rotated overlay and clever masking. All in all, it doesn’t come across as convincing leather.

The Dark Witch Gauntlet technically isn’t leather. But a palm’s a palm. The fingers are very detailed and got a splendid 3d-look to them. The palm, however, is relatively barren. That’s because fabric doesn’t leave crease marks with use like leather does, but I could have added a few here and there because the thing is being used, and it would make it look less like shrink wrapped latex. The few creases that are there are subtle because they are supposed to convey the pulling of fabric close to the seams. Overall, I paid a lot of attention to actually painting the shape of a hand in this one, which you can see around the thumb webbing and the base of the fingers.

Closing up, we have the palm of the Squire’s Plate. The redo. This is the first gauntlet I textured using a high poly bake. I sculpted all the finger details in blender and transferred them to the lowpoly. The thumb has creases running perpendicular to its axis. The details that I’ve added to other gloves are here, with a few more. What this workflow allowed me to do, though, is to add worn areas based on the sculpt data. So you’ll see that the top of the creases are lighter and their bottoms are darker. One thing to note is that I underestimated the normal strength resulting the baking process, because areas like the base of the fingers are not as defined as I’d like.

The workflow that I used for my most recent project, the Squire’s Plate redo, has allowed me to produce the most lively glove out of them all. Yet I must say that the dragonstar glove has the most intricate details, with creases everywhere running in directions that make sense. The Lorisian glove was made with a good mindset, I just lacked skill and experience. My first glove, the Blackened Steel Vambrace, remains a great work for the time. For a while it was head and shoulders above my other leather work.

This post was for showing you my journey thus far, and for me to learn from my older successes and mistakes. I’ll definitely go back to the Squire’s gauntlet for a little bit to add some more juicy creases because I still have the project files so it’s literally no big deal.

Included are also some pics of the Gauntlet as it looks like right now!

[once-in-a-blood-moon]

The Mourning Star

Lucifer x GN! reader (can be read as romantic or platonic)

Summary: Lucifer visits your grave often, finding it hard to cope with your sudden passing. With the concern of those close to him, he realizes he's not alone in his grieving.

AN: This is a little self indulgent... It brought me some comfort, so I hope this can do the same for someone else.

Warnings: brief mentions of death, brief mention of alcohol use, grief/mourning

The rain came down in even patterns, tracing lines down Lucifer’s face. His ruby eyes trained ahead, not daring to peek at what lay below his peripheral. He’s visited this area often, he knew what he would find if he looked. A broken reminder, a heavy truth. 

A gravestone painted in his father’s tears. 

Lifting his face towards the sky, his eyes closed, Lucifer immersed himself in the steady rhythm the rain provided. He wondered if his father was truly grieving with him or if the gray skies above were a mock towards his graying heart. With a heavy sigh, Lucifer steeled his nerves preparing himself to gaze upon a stone he’s become resentfully familiar with. He shifts his head down, allowing his eyelids to slowly flutter open. 

Several new flowers lay at the base of the gravestone, almost looking as if they were trying to take shelter from the rain- the soaked petals adding to the dreary look of it all. Lucifer notes that someone must have visited recently as those flowers had not been brought by him. His mournful gaze slowly reaches the engraved letters his eyes have bored into time and time again. 

It was a name that he could not forget as long as he lived. But the owner of the grave was a stranger to him. The vessel that lay beneath the dirt is no one of whom he knows. Lucifer could only recognize the name with the memories that he held so close to his heart; yet those moments feel so distant now. 

It seemed that it wouldn’t matter how long of a lifespan he would live, time would never be on his side. That painful reminder is one that’s now uttered in stone- etched in his heart. 

The scene before him becomes blurry as hot tears race down his cheeks, intermingling with the cold drops that quickly connect underneath his chin. His throat constricts uncomfortably, hot and scratchy as he heaves in more air than his lungs can take. He’s glad he’s here in the company of only himself, his pride couldn’t take the thought of anyone seeing him unravel at the seams. 

The cold drops of rain suddenly seem to pause, but the sound continues to patter around him. The subtle warmth of an outstretched arm holding an umbrella tells Lucifer all he needs to know. But he doesn’t dare turn to face who is next to him. 

“You’ll catch a cold like this, Lucifer. You should be more careful.” Simeon’s soft voice barely resonates against the rain, but Lucifer hears it, choosing to ignore the warning he was given.

“How did you know I was here? I never spoke to anyone of my whereabouts.” He tried to keep his voice steady, not wanting it to sound strained. 

“We’re not dumb, Lucifer. It’s unlike you to be absent for long periods of time, multiple times a week- especially without notice.” 

Lucifer was silent at that. Simeon was right. Nothing had been the same since-... 

“I’ve spoken to both Diavolo and Barbatos. They’ve told me your work is often late or subpar. And your brothers have mentioned you leaving without saying anything and how you reek of demonus at breakfast.” 

Lucifer grimaced. Had he really gotten that bad?

“I’m… sorry for worrying everybody.” He paused, sighing as he gazed at the gravestone. “It’s been hard to come to terms with their death. It was just so sudden.” 

From his peripheral, he noticed Simeon had inched closer, now standing next to the soaked demon. The grip the angel had on the umbrella was tight, as if he were trying to keep it together as well. 

“It’s alright. But know that you don’t have to face this alone.” Simeon pointed his head behind him before continuing. “We’re all here for you.” 

Lucifer stiffened at the implication of Simeon’s gesture, but his body moved regardless to look behind him.

Five black umbrellas were being shared amongst everyone. Diavolo and Barbatos, Luke and Mammon, Satan and Levi, Asmo and Solomon, Beel and Belphie. Concern and sorrow reflected in each face he saw. 

Lucifer felt selfish now. He knew he wasn’t the only one affected by this, but he’d been so caught up in his own grief he’d forgotten about everybody else’s. 

He turned to Simeon, taking his features in for the first time since he’d arrived. His hair was wet- small droplets dripping onto his exposed shoulders. His angelic garb clung onto his body from prioritizing his friend's safety and comfort. His ocean blue eyes were holding back waves of emotion. 

A patient smile found its way across Simeon’s lips before he spoke again. “Let us help you. Don’t do this by yourself.” 

Lucifer glanced at the gravestone one last time. He wondered what you would think if you found out he was living this way- you would encourage him to not isolate himself again. He pictured you animatedly giving him a lecture about his lifestyle. At that imagery, Lucifer softly chuckled for the first time since your passing. 

His head swiveled back to an expectant Simeon. Lucifer took a deep breath, his mind already made up. 

“Fine. You have my word.” 

Relief flooded through Simeon’s eyes. Lucifer felt relief as well. He knew that this journey of grief would not be an easy one. But he knew having valuable people by his side would make the process a little more bearable. 

[alexanders-pokemon-adventure]

A little rain in every life must fall

Sera Frigga

Sera’s meeting with Victoria was … illuminating . There was no cure that could be administered to alex to end their endarkaning. It seamed that the only thing that reversed shadowfication in humans was an inner strength the sufferer had to summon themself… but . In those Sera found or Heard about healing from shadowfication , it was treated like trauma . The sufferer was at least in part, cared for by a support system That in time helped them find the strength to overcome the shadows . Of course, they were also conscious. Alex had been comatose for more than a mouth , with no sign that verbal communication was reaching them and sera’s psychic prob providing less than Successful . How could anyone give alex the kind of emotional support they needed when so far they’ve be Functionally unreachable. Alex needs strength .

An idea floated to the top of her mind , Alex need strength . ALEX NEED STRENGTH. Alex hadn’t been traumatize into closing their heart , or incidentally, exposed to shadow-type enegy contamination. Alexander is a conductor of energy thats how they took in the power that now comatose them …but could they take in energy to heal . At its very base shadow types and their powers where molded from trauma. What helped those who suffered trauma?

Care ,compassion, sympathy , therapy Sera thought to herself. What help poeple heal? Love , love was perhaps not a means to an end but love can be the pressure that stops the bleeding. Was or could love be something that transferred like shadow-type energy . A dote connected in Sera’s mind, was friendship, not molded from a kind of love?

It was an idea Prof. Apricot was unsure of , friendship was an energy that could be transferred from trainer to Pokémon to aid in evolution , could it be given person to person? How much would they need ? Could it be measured? Apricot had objections ,Alexander’s care team had objections but none of them had better options. Had any options anymore? With alexander’s condition, continuing to worsen .So as a way the quell her own mind and maybe The mines of Alexander’s friends Sera decided Play a game of cards. Sera was an ESPer a telepath, a telekinetic ,a psychic Who had learned a great many things in her 28 years. Had gone to Alexander’s house and raid their home for supplies. She needed blank cards for her next act for them to be made of materials tied to Alex to begin with. To look into the future in a way , her power would guide the images that shown on the blank card surface. Sara knew she only would have the strength for four. Four symbols to interpret from , four cards to Divine the future. So in a Break room , in the hospital Sera watched by Derek , Alexandria( @alex-ishvan ), and Prof.Apricot Drew her first card . It took form as she motioned with the card colors coming to life on earth surface, painted with her strength.

The hangman, a major arcana showing it before them.

Sera was surprised that it was not Derek with his impatience to ask the first question but professor Apricot

“ sera while I may study empowered humans, I will admit,” she paused, searching for the right words “mysticism, and other such practices are outside of my field of study could you explain what this means to me?”

“Each card will take on the appearance of one of the major or minor arcana of the tarot . Each Arcana has its own interpretive meaning that when looked at together can be used gather information, on top of that the The way I use my power to shape the images on the cards can also provide hints and context that the symbolism of each arcana alone might not have” sera explained

“soooo what do you think this means?” Alexandria asked

“A lot of things potentially” Sera said “ Submission, new perspectives ,trials sacrifice , intuition, among other things”

“ so what does the image tell you?” Prof. Apricot asked

Sera thought it was clearly Alex falling or being held up ,hanging by dark hands emanating from the cavity on the back of ...

Derek answered first” its Alex when they tried to Spirit Harmonize with their Shedinja Papyrus . It ended poorly they couldn’t regulate the amount of energy being taken from them and stoped breathing for a minute. Alex was lucky I was near by when they tried it. “

“So Alex … Alex tried some thing and it ended poorly” Sera let out a large sigh she did not like what it could mean, that this event

She drew another card A little tired this time.

Sera couldn’t stop her gasp as she placed down the three of swords.

“ what sera ,what dose it mean ?” Apricot asked

Sera explained One of the few universally negative arcana . It symbolized Sorrow and was associated with pain ,loss and death.

“What about the picture? “ Derek asked “dose it suggest something specific?”

Sera looked at the card for long moments . She explained the image could potentially be in reference to what Alexander and their castform Nimbus did in the greenhouse and that the sorrow could be in reference to that or…that event may have related to another or be in reference to a future sorrow.

She Drew another card ,more strength leaving her as she placed it down.

“Hey it’s us and Ellisa, Lynn, and Rai “ Alexandria’s said looking down at the card” what does the five of wands symbolize?”

“Conflict…”sera said

Alexandria did not like that answer “ I’m not fighting Alex again, if this means that it’s not happening”. Derek nodded in agreement as he mumbled something about who Rai?

“i’m certain it can be more than just conflict Alexandria” professor apricot said more as a question than a statement

“The five of wands doesn’t always mean a literal conflict and the conflict it’s referring to might not be one towards or against Alexander. They’re not even in the picture. But … we are “ sera said

“ could it mean we all have to fight some thing and who is Rai?”derek asked

“ he’s a ranger in Sinnoh , he and alex are friends, I think “ Alexandria explained, as she examined the card closer, Alexandria’s sharp nails traced the image “ the wand have smooth bells on them”

“ interesting” sera contemplated it The symbols and the image seem to conflict conflict and friendship. “What if … it could maybe mean Will fight for Alex” Sera did not feel convinced of that interpretation

Sara drew the final card

“ the Seven of cups” professor apricot spoke

“ it represents choices ,true answers, delusions ,some time great revelation and making decisions”Sera spoke

Sera went on to explain that the images on the cards generally represent possibilities ,different paths or a person imagining such things. Each cup holds a different path, A different choice ,a different possibility.

“Thats me “ Derek said “yes “ sera agreed “ The top left cup, usually hold the face of an Oracle or a loved one”

There was an expression on Derek’s face that Sera couldn’t read, she knew he and Alex we’re often more than friends in recent years but also knew it wasn’t something either had made any real commitment to. Sera knew Derek had other lovers occasionally and Alex still living in the endless mountains wasn’t ever lonely. Derek’s only response was to sigh.

“What’s with the glowing figure in the center? “ Alexandria asked .Sera thought Alexandria did so to pull attention away from Derek , which he seamed to appreciate.

Sera continue to explain the symbolism .The center figure usually represents a desire for understanding of one’s self . That It could potentially mean Alex is looking for something in themselves. The symbol on the top was a little stumping until Professor apricot mentioned that it was the symbol for Uxie and represented wisdom , her symbol shown two unown The letters A and I . The bottom left appeared to be Alexander’s home with the mountains in the background that could represent stability . The center left Image with a building with the name of Alexander’s company Al.co on its roof.

“ The center left cup usually represents wealth” Sara said.

The cup on the center right Bore the symbol of Victini and represented victory , but nobody liked that the unown that floated around the image spelt D.E.A.T.H . In the final cup on the bottom left shown a shadow Ho-oh.

“ I hate that thing” Alexandria spat out, Alexandria whose vision who had been better than theirs during the shadow storm had actually seen it in the sky’s those days .

“ it could mean calamity, destruction, rage, and evil”sera said

Sera was tire , but still need to finish the reading .

She knew the other saw her stare at the card for long minutes , saw her eye glow as she pulled as much as she could from from them though about all she had learned and gathered not just from the cards, but from Victoria from her psychic probe and from Professor apricots and Alexander’s care team. She took a deep breath before speaking and in a voice with more power than she felt spoke.

“ I think Alexanders coma and exposure to shadow type energy has forced them to face terrible grief and pain that’s so long as the shadows keep them there they are never going to wake up” Sera held up the five of wands “ I think those of us on this card and maybe others need to come together and… help Alex fight the shadows . Give them strength and with that strength I think Alex will be able to conjure or forage a way past the wall that Closes off their heart.”

Derek was the one to ask “if Alex can do that will they wake up?”

There was no hesitation in Sera‘s response. “Yes Alex will.”

Professor apricot was the first to jump on the logistics, and suggested that they contact Ellisa ,Lynn( @adventures-on-foster-island )and Rai ( @ranger-rai )as soon as possible. Sera rested while the others got to work. It would take time to execute their plan.

[cvt2dvm]

Buy This, Buy That, "Less than a coffee now!" It seems like every time we're on social media, we're bombarded with products, fashion trends, advertisements, and new "aesthetics" that, conveniently for drop shippers and fast fashion empires, require us to buy a whole new wardrobe and interior design scheme. So, here are my top 10 tips for breaking the cycle.

Figure out who you are. Rather than the you the advertising algorithms tell you that you are.

Go through your current closet, jewelry box, vanity, and decor. Keep what makes you happy, and toss, sell, or donate what doesn't anymore. Yes, this includes those impulse dopamine-seeking purchases and the "little treats."

Make a list of things you realistically do in your day-to-day life that may need closet supplementation from what a standard "capsule" wardrobe would offer you. Church clothes? Sport-specific clothing? Officewear? Do you do a lot of formal events that require attire for certain dress codes? Do you do date night and girl's night outfits? For example: I need dependable workwear for after-hours farm calls so I keep about 5 items in my wardrobe that fit that function. I also keep a bit more workout clothing than some would since I work out 6 days a week.

In the same vein as number 3, are there places where you can increase cross-over between categories in your wardrobe? For example, choosing well-fitted tees that can be worn as under-scrubs and as casual tops around town?

Figure out if there are colors and shades that you look best in/feel the most confident in. There isn't a need to do the one-size-fits-all color analysis that TikTok and Instagram are constantly trying to sell you on reels based on the seasons. Figure out which colors you are complimented the most in, that you feel the best in, and that inspire the most positivity for you. Narrow it down to 4 or 5 colors for both colors and neutrals (blacks, grays, whites, nudes). I did 2-3 colors per season, plus my standard neutrals.

Figure out your style. Personally, I tend to have a fashion that draws inspiration from American traditional, southern prep, English country attire, and the fashions of foxhunting. Think Orvis, LL Bean, Cordings, Dubarry, Talbots, Tory Burch, Ted Baker, and Lily Pulitzer. In decor, I tend to be drawn toward colonial era antiques, leather upholstery, campaign furniture, heavy fabric drapes, ox tongue wood finishes over cherry, oil paintings, black marble, gray field stone, and polished brass. It's not everyone's cup of tea, but I found it by perusing fashions, furniture, decor, even TV and movies for things I adored.

Quality over Quantity: This is a big one. Rather than buying a new outfit every time I wanted to do something, or buying each cute accessory I saw and wanted to buy on impulse, I started getting really picky about the materials and workmanship in the things I purchased. Cheap may look good for a brief time, but it fades quickly. The things I buy now need to fit well, be of good material, be tailorable, have finished seams and edges, and be of substantial enough material that I trust that it will last me 2-10 years depending on the item, with some items being things I intend to only buy once in the cases of jewelry and scarves.

Cool off: This product looks like it would solve XYZ problem for me! Will it? Put it on a wish list and save it for later. If you still think it's going to revolutionize your life a month later, work it into the budget.

Quit buying from TikTok Shop, the majority of the stuff on there is drop-shipped junk made to capitalize on a quick trend, which is also part of why there's always pressure added to the pitch "before it sells out" "For less than the price of a coffee" "While the sale is on" if a product can be sold for $9 when it's usually $100, the deal is too good to be true, and the product won't last. Same goes for Shien and Forever 21 if I'm honest.

Focus on 1-2 items per season, an accessory, a cute top or a fun dress. Reducing my consumption to replacement levels plus 1 or 2 items has drastically cut my spending on fashion and decor. I also check second-hand stores first.

I went ahead and included some inspiration boards for you, one with pretty typical accessories for me, one to help better visualize my fashion sense, and then 2 palettes, my colors and my neutrals. I hope you all liked this, I'll also be doing a breakdown of my jewelry, vanity, and closet here soon.

Love,

[whiteknifesmile]

I posted this on Twitter a while ago and I’d like to clean it up and expand more on it but that’ll be a while and I want to preserve this original thread.

Wei Ying pressing A-Yuan into the hollow of the tree trunk.

“Xian-gege…” the little boy cries with tearful amber eyes

“It’s okay, it’s okay, my little radish!” he promises breathlessly, painting characters around the hollow, even as his body feels like it’s crumbling at the seams.

“I’m scared…”

“I know. I’m sorry, A-Yuan. Your Wen-popo- and everyone-“ he takes a deep breath and kisses A-yuan’s forehead with a sudden movement, the awareness of how little time he had hitting him with a pang. “Everything we did, all of it was for you. So you would grow up safe and happy. We love you… so much. But I think it’s time now… to try something different okay?” He smooths a finger over A-Yuan’s cheek, then his fluttering eyelids. “So, my little radish, you are going to take a little nap, and when you wake up… you’ll be just the way you need to be. And you’re going to grow up so good, from a radish to a big strong cultivator, I know it.” One more kiss, and Wei Ying rips himself away before he can lose his nerve. His smile is ragged and just as tearful. “You’re going to be amazing.”

A-Yuan blinks hazily at him, then the sleep spell drags him under and Wei Ying heaved out a grieved breath in the empty silent air around him. He knows what he’s about to do will kill him, without a doubt. But his actions have already lead to so much pain and anger and with the whole world against him, death is the least he deserves according to everyone. Wei Ying has run his luck out. No more chances, no actsof mercy or kindness left to draw on.

Despite it all, Wei Ying has one tiny piece of hope left to save from the fires of the siege. His A-Yuan, his baby radish… a-yuan never deserved a second of this retribution. From a labor death camp to a barren wasteland, his sweet boy has seemingly never had a moment’s peace or stability- but he’s still so sweet! Wei Ying knows that A-Yuan is surely not meant to die here. Not here, in this evil place full of dust and ghosts, not in the ashes of his family’s lineage, his clan annihilated. A-Yuan will not die!

And Wei Ying will make sure of it. The spell he laid on his radish was a very special one, built in his moment of terror about leaving this child behind in a world that hates his bloodline without any family left to protect him.

The spell will change A-yuan’s features, just enough to erase that tell-tale Wen nose, those Wen brown amber eyes, the distinctive Wen curls to his hair. Change to what, you may ask!

The next person who picks up A-yuan from the tree hollow, the person who the spell will decide is worthy to caretake for the little radish, the spell will find that person’s features and change A-yuan to match. To make him more like /their/ son, not a Wen’s. Like a foundling.

A-yuan has no more family in this world who can protect him. Wei Ying will simply make him some more family.

Wei Ying half wonders if his brother will be accepted by his spell. He prays that no Jin will be. But Wei Ying supposes that he’ll be dead by that point and he will have to trust in his spell enough to trust that it’ll choose whoever is best suited to raising his radish child…

Wei Ying just wishes he could have seen his A-yuan grow up, picked out his courtesy name with Wen-popo, taught him to shoot arrows with his Ning-gege too…

In a gentler but imperfect world, Jiang Cheng could’ve been his uncle and Wei Ying could have pressed A-Yuan into his arms and asked him directly to take care of his child, Jiang Cheng’s nephew, and there would be no need for uncertainty, for untested spells and shaky trust in a world cruel to him and no luck to rely on. His A-yuan could die, instead, if no one comes by the hollow.

Abandoned. Alone.

He’d never know that Xian-gege didn’t leave him behind… that this was the only way to give him the best chance to survive.

Even as the fierce corpses and ghosts tear him to pieces, slowly yet thoroughly, that thought haunts and hurts him the most, that A-yuan is hurting more.

— —- ——

When Wei Ying is reborn, or perhaps a better word is transplanted, it takes a while to get his bearings. Quite a lot happens very quickly… but seeing Jiang Cheng with his nephew, jolts at Wei Ying that he sees only one nephew, a boy with his mother’s eyes.

There is not another little shadow hiding behind his brother, no boy with his foundling father’s nose or eyes.

Wei Ying can’t think of anyone else his spell could have chosen to unveil and change A-Yuan to. So that must mean his little radish died long ago. Forgotten.

One of the little Lans hurry to Hanguang-Jun’s side, in the lull of shouting and staring contests, and Wei Ying watches with faint interest, renewed grief heavy in his heart.

The littlest Lan whispers something to Lan Wangji, and then two sets of matching golden eyes turn to look directly at Wei Ying.

Huh. He had thought that golden eyes were the hallmark of the main Lan bloodline? How’s this boy got them?

How strange. That little Lan looks just like how Lan Wangji used to look, a lifetime ago in a library that hadn’t burned yet, that little twitchy nose at Wei Ying’s antics, and that smooth straight hair down his back that Wei Ying longs to tug on and bother until that golden gaze is on him, angry and confused about it. But this little Lan… his expression is so sweet, Wei Ying instead wants to pinch his round cheeks and call him a chubby radis- no. Bunny.

Because he’s a Lan, and the nephew of a sect leader. He’s protected and cherished by his clan, well fed and educated and beloved certainly!

He’s not A-Yuan, last child of a scorned clan.

That’s Lan Wangji’s son, heir to the prestigious Lan family.

Not Wei Ying��s.

[yeyinde]

So, I'm rereading In Undertow for, like, the 100th time and I was just wondering if there were any extras to that fic that were cut?

I'm dying to know Ghost's pov after the fact. Please tell me he was secretly yearning too 😭

(I am blowing up your inbox, bb. I'm so sorry!)

Oh, no worries!!! You def aren't! 🖤 There wasn't much that was necessarily cut.

Ghost's POV would have started from "everything" and carried into the story, but I wasn't confident enough to do it from his perspective. He also had a lot more in Sierra Leone compared to MC who hasn't really started to develop feelings until that point. 

The biggest moments from my old notes were: 

—steeled gaze, ready for rejection but still bold enough to hope; flat, but not lifeless. Empty, but not barren. The look reminds him of being twenty-one in Manchester. The recycled calamity of a homecoming left him feeling like a livewire. Cauterised scar tissue. The skin above is blemished and gnarled but the wounds inside haven't healed. He thinks of it then, and asks: what good is a soldier who has nothing to lose? 

—it's stifling in the desert, but you make no complaints when he motions toward a beige tent nestled amid the dunes. Close to the makeshift base used by their allies, but far enough that any screams won't carry. Locked in a cabin with a man you'd met a handful of times, and he sees nothing but readiness in your gaze. Liquid metal. Mercury. He looks away, and peers out the flap. Sand. Sand. Endless beige and blue. 

"I would kill for some Jollof," you murmur, voice stained as you lift your arms over your head, stretching. "Maybe we can get some—"

He cuts it off, hand on his comm. "Sierra One. What's your status?"

It crackles. "Clear blue skies, Whisky Two."

"Let's hope it stays that way." 

—it's not a trick, but that's what you call it. Knife in hand, the heft of it is a comfort, familiar, and then—

It slices through the air, and hits the mark with a thawk that shakes loose sand from the roof of the tent. The target wiggles for a moment, body spasming, and then it falls still, curling in on itself. One last defence, even in death.

You peer around the wooden post, blinking at the black Scorpion pinned by his blade. 

"Neat party trick, Lieutenant." 

Your eyes gleam in the ochre that cuts through the small windows. Liquid silver: metallic and phosphorus. 

"It ain't," he refutes it, gripping the handle. His thumb presses to the cold metal blade. He wonders if you'd cut just as deep. 

(His party trick saves you four times in the desert. You huff when he tells you this. Keeping count? You snark, wiping your brow. Sand paints your skin. He shrugs. Gotta. Nothing is free. I'll reap my dues soon enough.)

—he isn't jealous. It's what he tells himself when he sees Sesay cling to you. Who you spend your allotted time off with doesn't matter to him. You've been stuck inside a tent for half a year, practically sleeping on top of each other, and when someone offers respite from the stifling confines of beige and tan, its—

Wanna go? You don't wait for his response, hands curling over the thick of his forearm. Your fingers barely span the width. A crescent over his flesh. Something cold pools inside of him despite the heat. His lungs are thick with harmattan. 

You take him for yaheb. He doesn't take his mask off. Doesn't miss the way your eyes flutter over the bulk of him, as if the touch of your palm to his flesh made you acutely aware of how much space he takes up, and how little you can cover the expense of his. His breath stutters.

—home should be a reprieve, but it isn't. You fit inside their circle with awkward points that gouge the seams. It's not uncomfortable. They ease into your crevasses when you prove yourself over time. Your affinity for gathering information on the spot is quickly utilised, and exploited. Soap and Gaz stick to you, and he finds himself in your orbit less and less. Distance makes sense, and he grabs it. He needs to shake the madness from his joints, to get away from you and the canyons in your eyes that leak balm over his napalm-seared skin. 

But they bring him back. Now 'im, they say, and don't notice the way you falter. The way you trip. He does. Always. He sniffs out your burgeoning something the moment it manifests, but there is nowhere to go inside a warehouse that reeks of men, and battle. 

But then there is you. Soft eyes, mercury. He doesn't trust these men, not really. Doesn't trust anyone with a pulse. His fingers graze your arm, chin jerking to the rafters where he found a room with a lock. He tucks the key into your palm, the only copy, and says nothing outside of a short, clipped up there. You won't be sleeping in the lion's den. 

He catches Johnny's eye from over your head. His chin dips. He wonders if Soap worries about the same things as he does when they tuck you inside a metal container with people they only know based on paper-thin files. 

It might be the madness in him, nights in his bed woken up to the sound of banging and humid breath on his neck, but—

Thanks, you murmur, eyes shining and wet. Trusting. 

He wants to say, you should trust anyone, not even me, but the words clot in his throat because he knows what you'd say in return. Spent nearly a year grinding you down to your baser parts, until all that remained was brutal honesty and vulnerability. He knows you'd scoff or huff. A soft exhale through your nose, eyes skirting to the side in some proxy of a roll, and then—

I trust you with my life, Lt. 

(Don't worry about me. I do.) 

He went on lookout after that, eyes burning holes into the empty black nothingness that surrounded him. His hands curled into fists by his side, your words echoing in the gummy soft lining of his head. I do, I do, I do. 

You said it absently, pouring over some document he handed to you like it mattered. Like whatever he says or gives you or does takes priority over everything else. You took it with both hands, eyes wide, and then sunk into the pages with such meticulous dedication that he almost had half a mind to tell it didn't matter that much. That you shouldn't wear yourself thin over a stupid report that could have done himself, but he didn't. He watched, watched as your eyes glued to the margins, and your mouth parted over the words: that's a silly thing to say. Well, I do. Absent. Mindless. 

Mindless. 

Like it didn't even matter. Like it was natural or obvious or—

His hands itch. Scars pulling taut. He reaches for the knives in his pockets, and wishes that something would happen just so he had an excuse to fall into himself again. 

The weight is calming. Heavy. 

I do. 

—he keeps his distance. Stays away, and then: 

Keeping my seat warm.

It's the way you say it. A purr. Soft, and coy. Words frying at the end. A little uptick. 

Had it been anyone else, he'd have chewed them out. Ground them between his teeth until they were a pulpy mess of masticated remains. And yet—

His hands falter on the comm. Soap's gaze darts to him, head jerking so fast he wonders if Johnny has whiplash. He feels like he might, too.

His chest feels tight. Soap mutters into the comm.

Fuckin' hell, indeed.

[gingerteaonthetardis]

'Can I tell you a secret?'

Nine x Rose. It's sooo up to you, but I think Nine is very, very good with secrets, even the most personal ones.

Lots of love to you, dearest Abbey!

oh, sasha, this was such a fun little scene to write! i kept the secret lighthearted, though i agree that nine would be a wonderful bearer of even rose's deepest secrets. i hope you enjoy! (and i am sending lots of love to you in return!)

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

"Can I tell you a secret?"

The sunrise had just begun to creep over the horizon when the rasp of her sleep-roughened voice called his attention back.

He turned on his side, ignoring the bunched up picnic blanket beneath him. 

It had been a day for that. Letting the small irritants go. One couldn't wander through a world of magnificent birds, bees, and trees and get hung up on muddy boots or lumpy picnic blankets. So he'd reconciled himself early on, vowing not to make a fuss.

But in the end, even he had to admit—it had been an oddly perfect day. 

They'd hiked for miles through the twisting old forest, which seemed to slant gently, almost persuasively upwards to an ultimate outcropping. A pale green pinnacle, populated with tall grasses and even taller flowers with open, bright faces, which bobbed on the breeze and leaned their heads toward Rose as she passed. 

The air up here was piercingly clean, but not cold, so they hadn't bothered with a fire when late afternoon came and Rose was hungry enough to want to open their picnic. And they hadn't bothered much about climbing back down either. They'd simply curled up on the blanket and watched the sun retire, watched stars come out, and when Rose got tired, she slipped just as effortlessly into sleep. 

And while Rose slept, he thought about how oddly nice it all was—how simple. Just a hike. No danger, except when Rose stumbled over a root or stone, and no adventure beyond what could be supplied by the constellations, which he knew by name. 

Their stories were often violent, conflicted, wild. The opposite, in every way, of this trip.

His eyes focused through the faint purple-ish dawn on her upturned face, which waited for his answer.

"If you like," he said mildly.

She pressed her lips together, barely suppressing a smile. Turning her face to the sunrise, the first faint, burnt orange ray touched her nose and cheeks, like the sun meant to paint her in the best possible light. She had a seam running along the left side of her face from where she'd used his leather coat as a pillow.

"I know I made all this fuss about having 'one nice trip,' and I'm always going on about what an awful driver you are, but…" She paused, shaking her head once. Amused at herself, maybe. And then she turned back to him. "I think I prefer danger."

A grin split his face, unable to be helped. "Really?"

Something about his face must've been funny, because Rose laughed. She made an attempt to bury the sound in her shoulder, but didn't succeed. "I do, yeah." She nodded. "Is that stupid?"

"No," he replied, too quickly. He felt almost giddy at the shared feeling. "I mean, this place is near perfect, far as I can tell. But what's so good about perfect?" He sniffed, looking back out at the sky, which was now being slowly taken over by the sun's grand show. "Perfect is perfect, whether we're here to see it or not. It doesn't need us."

She didn't have an answer to that. Didn't need one, he guessed. In fact, he had the mad idea that she understood him exactly, and agreed with him on every point, so nothing further needed to be said.

It was a rare experience, for him, being understood. People—humans, mostly—had a tendency to boggle at his notions, to balk at the way he lived his lives. But Rose wasn't just an ordinary human. She was special. 

Not perfect, but something more rare and extraordinary: she was a person whose strange edges and funny ideas and wild whims aligned with a lonely old alien's. And though he knew he'd never give voice to it, he also knew he needed that. Needed her. 

Her hand rustled against the picnic blanket, and he felt her warm palm press into his.

It was a beautiful sunrise—as near perfect as a celestial event could be, viewed from such a magnificent spot. And when the sun had finally ascended, the Doctor got to his feet and helped Rose up beside him. Her hair was rumpled from sleep. Her eyes sparkled, in spite of the smudged makeup beneath them.

She was lovely.

He held out his hand and said, "Well, Rose Tyler. Let's go find some danger."

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

more lighthearted prompts...

[banannabethchase]

Hi hello Damian should fuck Seth about his pretty lace tights

A Little Like Punishment - also on AO3

~

Damian follows Seth as they leave the arena, and Seth is more than just a little interested in why.

~

*sighs* BDD, Sarah. BDD.

~

Seth's making his way backstage to go celebrate in his locker room when he's shoved up against the wall. He tries not to be interested in the arm at the back of his neck. "Hello, there," he snipes. "To what do I owe this pleasure? Or maybe I should say whom."

"Quick the bitch act," snarls - he thinks that's Damian's voice. Could be, based on the height of the arm.

"It's not an act, Priesty," he says. "It is you, right?" He wiggles around under the grip to look up. "Ah, look at that. I was right."

"Jesus, you never shut the fuck up," Damian growls. "Get the fuck in your room. We need to talk."

Seth rolls his eyes but pushes into the locker room leisurely, only to get shoved onto the couch with the door crashing shut behind Damian. "You here to paint me like one of your French girls?" Seth adjusts the belt around his waist a little better. "There."

Damian stares at him, mouth a bit ajar. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Nothing," Seth says. "Back hurts, a little, from your boy's buckle bombs, but I figure that's fair."

Damian's mouth snaps shut. "You made me betray Finn," he says, expression dark and menacing in a way that should not intrigue Seth as much as it does. "Finn's now going to think I did that on purpose." He looms over Seth like a shadow.

Seth looks up at him and licks his lips. "Didn't you?"

Damian's hand shoots down and curls around Seth's throat as he presses a knee into Seth's gut. "I would never."

"Tonight you did," Seth singsongs, pressing up against Damian's hand. "You put your own priorities over the group." He licks his lips. "I know how that feels." He reaches up and pulls Damian down to him, stopping a breath away. "I know what it's like to want more than what they can give you."

There's a few heartbeats where Seth genuinely doesn't know what's going to happen next. Damian could crush his windpipe or drive a knee into his stomach, could let him go and walk away.

But, instead, he does what Seth had hoped, and crushes his mouth down against Seth in an aggressive attempt at a kiss. He can taste the sweat from the night on Damian's lips, the disappointment, the guilt. It's more familiar than he'd like. He grips at Damian's hips and pulls him down so he falls on Seth, a glorious weight that promises no good decisions.

Damian kisses with punishment, which Seth should have expected. Demanding and insistent and heated, with hands that scratch up Seth's chest and tangle in his hair to pull. He can't help the way he arches into it, the desire pooling in him like the blood in the bruises on his skin. He's hard enough in his ring gear that it's painful, and he reaches down to pull his dick out. They feel far past decorum.

"Oh, fuck no," Damian purrs. He grabs Seth's hands and pins them to the arm of the couch in one hand. Seth's vision blurs. "You wait until I tell you."

"Okay, then. You gonna bring out the punishment from the indies?" He tilts his head as Damian bites marks down his neck. "You gonna hurt me, Priesty?"

"Stop fucking calling me that," he mumbles against Seth's skin. "Christ alive, you really are as annoying as Finn said."

Seth laughs. "And Finn would definitely know." He'd like to get fucked raw, get railed into oblivion by someone he's been eying more than he'd like to admit but he knows they don't have the time. "You like the gear?" He asks. Damian's hands are fumbling with the tie on his gear pants.

"Lace is a nice touch," Damian mumbles. "Makes me forget I hate you a little." He uses his free hand to curl fingers into the lace and rip.

"Hey! Those are couture!"

"They were couture," Damian corrects. He shreds the pants at the inner seams and pushes the fabric away, diving down to wrap his mouth around Seth's cock without a second of warning.

"Holy shit," Seth says, grabbing at the couch cushion. "Jesus, warn a guy."

Damian peers at him from between his legs. "What, you thought I was down here not to blow you and finger bang you?"

Seth's eyes widen and he stares down at Damian. "Uh."

"Oh, now you stop talking," Damian says. "Look, I can leave."

"No!" Seth says. "No."

Damian raises an eyebrow. "Okay then. You lay back and be good for once in your goddamned life."

Seth can do what he's told when a blow job is involved.

Damian shifts Seth's hips so he can slide a finger between Seth's cheeks, tracing around his rim before leaning in to spit on his hole.

"Fuck," Seth moans, throwing his head back. "Fuck, Damian."

Damian flips him the bird, then slides the same finger a knuckle deep, sending sparks up Seth's spine.

It should be embarrassing, how loudly and desperately he whines and shifts. He wants to push down on Damian's finger, wants to push up into Damian's mouth. He can't move, though, can't do anything but feel it as Damian works his mouth and finger like a magician.

"I, Damian - god fucking damn it, I hate you so much."

Damian pulls off. "You're close, aren't you?" His smile is infuriating. "Knew it." He dives back down and, to his horror, Seth comes with a shout.

Damian pulls off and crooks his finger once more, sending a pang of overstimulation through Seth that makes his hips buck wildly.

The laugh that comes out of Damian is downright evil. "So goddamned easy."

Seth's mind is buzzing as Damian crawls over him and grabs his hair.

"You're gonna fuck my mouth, aren't you," Seth says, grinning. "I love the way you think."

Damian rolls his eyes and shoves his pants down, guiding his dick into Seth's mouth. It's salt and heat and sends Seth's head whirling. Damian's not as rough as Seth had expected him, but the words spilling from his mouth are utter filth.

"Make good use of that mouth of yours," Damian says, hands curled into Seth's hair. "Take it, you filthy son of a bitch."

Seth leans into it, gripping at Damian's thighs and doing his best to relax his throat and keep the suction. He thinks, if he wasn't so exhausted from the match, he could get hard again and maybe convince Damian to fuck him. But he's tired and older than he used to be, so he'll have to settle for this.

Damian uses his hair like a handle to move him where he wants him, and Seth loves it, loves the moment, loves the way he doesn't have control. He grips his fingertips around the belt still on his waist, tangles his fingers in the shredded fabric that used to be his pants, and wonders how he got so lucky to win his match and get to be here at once.

"Gonna - fuck, I'm -"

Seth drops his hand from the belt to reach up and give Damian a thumbs up, then his mouth is filled, hot and salty. He swallows, and inhales deeply through his nose as Damian pulls his dick from Seth's mouth and sits back on Seth's thighs.

"Jesus," Damian laughs. "You really are good at that, you know?"

Seth dabs at the corners of his mouth. "I do. Never had a complaint."

Damian's smile is cuter than Seth thinks should be allowed as he shakes his head. "I'm still coming for that," Damian says, backing off of Seth and tucking himself back in his pants. He nods toward the belt and stands. "You good?"

"Hell yeah," Seth says, sitting up and draping himself across the couch. "Great. Toss me a water, will you?"

Damian obliges, and Seth downs it in a few gulps. "Got another one in my fridge."

Damian waves it off. "I'm good." He nods to the belt again. "Next time you see me, though." He puts his hand on the door. "I'm taking that belt." He pulls the door open.

"Wait," Seth says. "Wait, you're gonna leave me here naked?" He gestures to the pink fabric draped around him. "You ripped my pants! And you're not gonna give me yours or anything?"

Damian turns back with a grin on his lips that Seth would kill to taste again. "Nope."

And he closes the door behind him, leaving Seth eager for their next encounter.

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Vicarious (Part 41)

“Do you really need to bring this?” Azula holds up an old wicker basket with use loosened seam work. 

“Of course! It's my favorite foraging basket.”

Azula quirks a brow. “We don't need to forage at the palace. And besides you can come back here just like we do with our Ember Island house.”

“well yes, but I plan on gardening when I get home.”

“We have plenty of less tattered baskets that you can use.” Ursa knows that Azula is only trying to be helpful. 

“It's special to me.”

Azula nods. “I don’t understand the appeal of keeping a beaten old thing, but if you enjoy it…” she shrugs.

Ursa chuckles, the girl has never been the sentimental type.

“These too?” She holds up two porcelain plates, one painted to resemble the ocean and the other with a bowl of fruit. “Aren't you worried that they're going to break? We'll be hiking.” 

Ursa considers. “Alright, perhaps not these.” 

Azula lifts the plates out of the her pack. “Just so we're clear, this is a one time thing. From now on you're packing your own luggage. I just don't want you slowing us down” She gives a lazy flick of her hand, her sleeve falls down to the bend of her arm.

Across the room Sokka cackles. “You can just help a person out of the kindness of your heart, you know.you don't have to come up with excuses.”

Azula sniffs and hands the plates to Ursa who, in staring at the plates, glimpses Azula’s now empty hand. Today she has her fingernails painted a vibrant blue. Just before she puts her palm back to the floorboards, just before her sleeve falls back over her forearm the woman notices the linework of scars.

She scrunches her brows. “Azula what happened?”

“I handed your plates back to you?” 

“To your arm! What happened to your arm?”

Azula flinches and holds that arm to her chest. “Nothing. They’re just lightningbending scars. Most lightningbenders get them after a while.” 

“Not those. I know what lightningbending scars look like. I’ve seen enough of them.”

“Nothing happened, mother. Nothing of note.” 

“It happened while I was in her body.” Sokka stands up and makes his way over to Azula, wrapping his arms around her. His hands rest just beneath her chest, too close to touching it for Ursa’s comfort. But Azula reaches her hand up and curls her fingers around his wrist. “I didn’t mean to hurt her, I just wasn’t used to using her hands.” 

She can tell that the man is lying. “Of course, I can’t imagine that you would get away with it if it had been on purpose.” 

“He wouldn’t have.” Azula agrees. 

Sokka gives her a little squeeze and a peck to the cheek. “She wouldn’t hurt me. She’s actually really friendly. I mean look at this face.” He pinches her cheek.

“You’re pushing your luck, Sokka.” She grumbles. But there is a flicker of begrudging amusement in her eyes. A little spark that has been there since she was a child. Her eyes haven’t changed much; they had always been sharp and inquisitive, intense and knowing. But there the bags are new, faint but still present. The lingering ghosts of a cruel happening.

Something has happened to her daughter, maybe many things. Things that she doesn’t want to talk about. And maybe Ursa will never know just what those things were. Maybe she will never know just what she couldn’t protect her daughter from. 

That both of her children wear harsh scars, puts a tightness in her chest. A tightness that comes from knowing just enough…

In reaching for Sokka’s hand, Azula’s sleeve dips just enough and that tells Ursa more than Azula wants her to know. A woman of herbs, ointments, and medicines, she has seen many scars and stitched a wound or two. She knows what she is looking at. 

She knows that her daughter has been hurt so terribly. Just as much as Zuko.

Agni, her poor children. Thank the spirits that they can fight, that they have been raised resilient. They have survived and it is no thanks to her. 

Ursa stares at the scar. 

It makes that smile on Azula’s face that much pleasanter. The girl leans against Sokka, head against his chest, tilted slightly up too look at the man. She holds his hand against her shoulder. 

Ursa decides that she likes this man. He has been caring for her daughter when she hadn’t. He makes her daughter smile when she never could. She hopes that she can one day. One day if Azula will let her back in. 

.oOo.

“Can I help you with those?” Hakoda offers. “I packed pretty light.” 

Ursa smiles. “I would appreciate that very much, I think that I packed more than I could handle. I suppose I should thank Azula for not letting me pack even more.” 

Hakoda chuckles. “She’s a good woman. She certainly keeps Sokka on track. I like to think that he helps her lighten up a bit.” 

Hakoda studies the woman’s face for a moment. Even wearing one that isn’t her own, he can see the resemblance. It isn’t in the facial features themselves but in her expressions, the way that she moves that face. She has the same haunted, weary and melancholy look as her daughter. The one that makes him wonder just how much she has gone through and how much she might go through in the future.

“Do you think that she will forgive me?” She gives a sad little laugh. “Someone else’s father is a better parent to my daughter…”

Hakoda returns that with reassuring smile. “My own daughter was rather disappointed with me at one point.” He pauses. “Similar reason too; she felt like I abandoned her and Sokka.” He pauses. “Your daughter acts cold but that’s all it is, an act. She just needs some time to adjust to you being home.” 

“I hope that that’s true. I just want my family back and happy.” 

“She wants a happy family too.” Hakoda promises. “I think that she just isn’t sure how to deal with having one.” 

.oOo.

“I thought that we’d never get some time to ourselves.” Sokka flops onto the bed next to Azula. Azula who has already showered and has taken to lounging languidly on a pile of absurdly puffy pillows. 

Azula yawns. “Yes, runions are tiresome.” She taps her chin. “And we still have to fill the rest of your friends…”

“Our friends.” 

“The rest of…our friends…” Azula tests the phrase. “We have to tell them about our misadventures.” 

Toph is going to enjoy that way too much. He sighs and sits himself back up. He holds his hand to her cheek. It is damp from having let strands of her hair cling to it. He loves the smell of her, of the shampoo that she hadn’t washed all the way out. 

He lets his hand slide from her cheek down her neck. He holds it at her collarbone. She touches her forehead to his and closes her eyes. His other hand explores her back, rubbing along her spine, savoring the warmth of her skin. 

“You look beautiful tonight.” 

“Just tonight?” She murmurs. 

He nudges her. “You know what I mean.” He lowers his hand to her hip and presses a kiss to her lips. He lowers his other hand too, his fingers finding the hem of her robes and one of several sashes that holds it together.

She props herself up with one arm while the other reaches to cup his face. Her robe slides down her propping arm enough to expose her shoulder. He isn’t wearing a shirt, that is one less thing for them to worry about. One thing that Azula doesn’t have to remove before offering several kisses to his bare chest. 

She lays back and lets him untie the rest of those sashes and push her robe open. His heart flutters—truth be told he had been starting to think that he would never get to touch her without his own skin as a barricade. 

“Is this alright?” He asks.

Azula shrugs. “I’ve never done this before. I don’t know what I like and don’t like.” 

.oOo.

Is she scared? Perhaps a touch.

She isn’t exactly fond of treading new territory. She is, however, fond of staring at Sokka’s pecs as he leans over her. She likes holding her hand against them. She enjoys holding him by the hips for a change. 

He had promised to be gentle with her and he has kept to his word. 

He asks her a lot of questions. 

And he takes a lot of pauses. 

He is good at reading her expressions and she thinks that it isn’t entirely a matter of having worn it for so long. When she makes a certain face he slows down. He asks her again how she is doing. Perhaps it isn’t the sexiest thing but she isn’t particularly going for sexy right now. Which she supposes is strange, considering…

Sokka’s lips find her chest. He covers her body with kisses until she is certain that he hasn’t left much of her unkissed. That, she decides, is what she likes the most. She isn’t fond of the rest, the rest is uncomfortable and she thinks that Sokka is plenty aware, because he has taken to simple kisses in choice places and that is better for her. 

It is closeness, she realizes.

She likes knowing that someone wants to touch and hold her more than she likes being touched. 

Sokka draws back and hums to himself. “I think that maybe you’d rather be the one giving, instead of receiving.” 

Azula tilts her head. 

Yes, maybe that could be correct. She thinks that she would enjoy pleasuring Sokka rather than letting him do all of the work. In fact, she thinks that she would much prefer if she did all of the work. 

She flips him onto his back and stares into his soft blue eyes. 

She presses her hand to his cheek and holds it there.

Holds it there and stares and finally admits, “you’re going to have to give me some instructions.” Her cheeks are flushed. 

Sokka chuckles, “alright.” 

.oOo.

Sokka stares at the ceiling, smiling to himself with one hand on his belly and the other tangled in Azula’s hands. She hadn’t bothered to put her clothes back on. Her tousled hair spills over her shoulders and chest and across the pillows. Her eyes are closed and her lips are slightly parted. Usually she sleeps on her side or her belly but tonight she is sleeping on her back with one hand palm up next to her head. She looks peaceful and undisturbed which is always nice to see. 

He can’t sleep. 

It isn’t a matter of stress or running thoughts.

It is just that he is so delighted. He can’t quite keep his mind from reliving those touches and those kisses. From the euphoria of finally having gotten to have an intimate moment with her when she is herself. 

More so, he can’t stop thinking about what she had said just before closing her eyes; “I’d trust you to do it again.” 

And that means much more to him than any of the times when any of his previous lovers had commended him for his skillful handwork. 

She trusts him. 

He grins. 

She trusts him.

Her fingers clench and unclench and she rolls onto her side, mumbling something that he can’t quite make out. She nuzzles her face against his chest. He loves her so much, more than anything else. And he hopes that she knows that. He gives the top of her head a kiss and wishes her a good night. He likes to think that she can hear his well wishes through her fog of sleep.

[discordapples]

PT 9 At Candle Glow

Word count: 2k (8 mins read)

Characters: Ominis Gaunt, Sebastian Sallow, Livia Novik.

Summary

With the help of the Grimfire candle, Livia, Sebastian and Ominis find the entrance to the Room of Requirement and meet with a sinister figure calling itself the Collector.

Read the ninth chapter below.

Livia | Hogwarts, Early September, 1893.

The Grimfire candle gasps alight. A shy lucence at first, then a blood-red glow dispelling the legion of shadows emboldened by the gathering night. 

Sebastian is gloved to his wrist, the Grimweave Gauntlet espousing his hand and fingers like a second skin. 

He insisted on carrying the sacrificial work—despite Ominis’ injunctions to study the artifact before making a brash decision—sliding into the garment without a second thought and palming the Grimfire with confidence. 

Now the spiny candle rests in his hand, a long, emaciated and crooked thing, barbed with hundreds of prickly needles, crowned in a vermilion flame.

It burns hot—blistering, really—and even at a distance, Livia can feel the swelter on her cheek. 

She takes a step back, the familiar lump in her throat calcifying at the thought of the blaze jumping over to her, setting her clothes afire. She half expects Sebastian’s hand to melt from his bone, but he looks unaffected by the sizzling heat.

“Now what?” He asks her.

The corridor stretches on each side of them. The silence in the castle is oppressive—strictening. A yoke looping around Livia’s neck and ushering her further into the arms of her goal.

As if there was any other way but forward. Her past is spinous with teeth. The present, brittle and shivery. 

Only the prospect of pulling Laurence back from what orphic reality lies behind the afterlife’s veil sustains her. 

“We need to move,” she says. “The flame will find the fraying seams in the wall.”

“How you itch to speak as cryptically as Dovetail to make our little quest more exciting…” Sebastian teases her. 

Next to him, Ominis clicks his tongue in annoyance. “She quoted the exact passage.”

“I’m well aware,” Sebastian shoots back. “The flame will flutter when the room is nearby because fire feeds on oxygen, and a hidden room is bound to be filled with air. I’m no Ravenclaw, but I’m not an idiot either.”

“There is a little more to it,” Livia adds. “The Grimfire has been designed to detect things that have been magically concealed. No normal candle would do.” She glances around her, to the pooling shadows that fester outside of the crimson light’s vicinity. “We should get going before someone catches us. I don’t know how I could justify meandering in the company of my tormentor.”

A neat line traces down Ominis’ brow, but a scowl is the only thing he offers in response to her slight before Sebastian leads them onward.

They plod wordlessly through hallways at candle glow, the flame burnishing their warped silhouettes on the walls.

Hogwarts is silent as a tomb, save for the ghosts that idle in the eaves somewhere above their heads. Even the paintings are empty, as if the subjects they shelter have been expatriated by the Grimfire. 

There is something eerie about the blood-red glare and the way it slices through the murk and, for an instant, Livia thinks it a sentient, living thing, marshaling them into uncharted depths to a destination only known to it.

They traipse past the Three Sisters Bells, needle through countless warrens of corridors, ascend a tower, then climb down another, until they find themselves in the Astronomy wing.

The air here is stale, the silence assertive. The Grimfire’s glimmer flickers once, twice, thrice; the flame’s apex dramatically leaning to the left.

Excitement swells through Livia’s veins, her heart thrashing against the boning of her corset. 

Ghosting over her palm, the phantomatic touch of her brother tells her she has never been so close to pulling him through the shroud of death back into the world of the living.

Sebastian likewise smiles, his excitement dripping through his face.

“Did you find it?” Ominis asks, his eyes wending about the shadows before him. 

“Yes,” Livia confirms. 

Her fingers scuttle along the stone wall, and Sebastian inches closer. The Grimfire throbs, its heat intensifying. He turns to Livia, his pupils two boundless pits of ink-black in the queer light. “How do we get in now?”

“What do you do when can’t see things, Sebastian Sallow?”

His brow hikes on his forehead, a smirk playing on his lips. “I tell myself it must suck to be Ominis.”

Ominis gives a low growl before giving Sebastian an irked shove.

Livia ignores the puerile display. “The right answer is you turn on the light.”

“Isn’t it already on?”

“Lift the candle,” she orders Sebastian and he obeys, his curiosity discernible.

She lets her fingers hover close to a sharp spur. “Haven’t you wondered why it’s made of needles? The Grimfire flame feeds on blood.”

“I don’t know why I let you two sway me into coming with you,” Ominis cuts in, his tone barbed with exasperation. “First, we paint me as a ravisher to break into Black’s office and now we prick ourselves with needles to access a room that doesn’t want to be found. Doesn’t it sound a little dangerous to you when I say it out loud?”

“Sounds even more exciting, actually,” Sebastian retorts with a wicked smile on his lips before angling his face to Livia. “Show us what you’re made of, new girl.”

Her ventricles plangent, she extends a finger towards the candle. 

The tip is razor-sharp, puncturing into her skin with ease. A flower of blood blooms on the pad of her index, bubbling when it comes in contact with the seething heat. The Grimfire flame tumefies, and Livia retracts her hand swiftly, clasping her flesh wound into the folds of her skirt to stave off the blood flow. 

Sebastian is next, the shy pain and the sight of his blood leaving him unfazed. Again, the flame purrs and fattens. Sebastian turns to his friend. “Care to contribute, Ominis?”

With a sigh, the Slytherin obliges. 

The flame sibilates now, the glimmer tumescent and replete.

“Fuck,” Sebastian mutters, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip. “This shit’s burning through my fingers.”

He doesn’t have to weather the hurt for too long, for a searing line crawls through the spaces between the stones forming the wall. There is an ominous hiss, then a sheen of simmering air rippling before them. The Grimfire goes out next, and a door flickers into existence.

Sebastian tilts his head, visibly perplexed. “Is it—”

“It must be,” Livia says, her voice is reduced to a whisper. “The Room of Requirement.”

Ominis sighs next to them. “A part of me really wished it didn’t work.”

“What a spoilsport you are,” Sebastian snides. 

Livia’s thoughts, however, are miles away from the banter, and even further from the caution she knows she should exert. 

The room beckons, its arcane a calling Livia longs to unravel, and she presses both her palms to the metal flourishes stippled into the door.

“Maybe we should tread carefully,” Ominis advises.

“It’s a door, Ominis,” Livia replies. “There’s only one thing to do with it.”

“Get your wand ready if you’re so skittish,” Sebastian suggests before laying the candle on the ground and shrugging out of the glove.

Together, they push the door open. It groans on its hinges, then gives way.

A musty smell feathers to them. The room’s entrails are stitched with obscurity.

Swallowing in a dry throat, Livia moves deeper into the room. She cannot see any walls, yet something encroaches on her. A film of brumal air roams close to the ground, swirling around her ankles, and she is reminded of the poltergeist’s lair. 

Reality bends and twists here. She can sense it. The fabric of materiality is threadbare. If there is a tear in it, Livia will find it and wrench the Promissum Mortis from it. 

She pulls her wand from her pocket and utters a feeble: “Lumos.”

The light grows coyly from the tip, throwing a bone-white glow through the room. It sits hollow, save for a looking-glass.

“A floor mirror, really?” Sebastian mouths, and even if considerably lower-pitched than his usual clarion tone, his voice booms through the room like a lash of thunder.

For a moment, Livia doesn’t move. Behind her, Ominis likewise holds himself in an agitated silence.

Can they awoke something? Is there a presence lurking in the gloom with a lick of froth on its lips?

Seconds elapse during which nothing happens. Even the gelid glaze of air seems to have settled and dissolved.

Staring at the mirror, Livia notes the surface is stained with black fingerprints. The florid silver frame is antiquated, coated with a patina of fine dust. It is an old thing, rusted and neglected, and something ferments inside Livia’s stomach. When her fingers touch the glass, the effect is striking and immediate.

The room shifts. An eidolic lucence fuses from the mirror, and the wainscot of the previously imperceptible walls peels away as if curling away from a naked flame. Above their heads, a crystal chandelier skirls seethingly. 

Sebastian’s fingers curl around Livia’s arm, wresting her away from the looking-glass. 

The tempest of sound and light grows fiercer until Livia can see nothing but bursts of white exploding through her vision.

It is maddening, but not once does Sebastian let go of her, and she desperately holds onto his presence to anchor her back into reality. 

When the squall dies out and Livia peels her eyelids open, her heart skips a beat. 

They stand in a chaste white room in the middle of which stands a masked figure.

It is nipped in a black robe; its obsidian mask featurless and smooth as polished stone. Voiceless, Livia takes in the trailing knurled twine jutting out from the entity’s navel, as if a braided umbilical cord limping lifelessly onto the floor. Its gait is angular and cadaverous, and Livia is persuaded that if it steps out of its clothes, it would be no fleshier than a skeleton.

Sebastian’s fingers tighten around her shoulders. In other circumstances, Livia would note the feverish warmth effusing through him, the comforting press of his body trellising hers, the curt breaths he pushes against her scalp, but her mind is fixed on the uncanny being before them. 

Time leaches, cruel in its abating. 

Next to Livia, Ominis is tensed as a wire, his shoulders corded with apprehension. If he cannot see the figure, he can sense something is amiss. 

The festering air, however, is enough of a deterrent for him to loosen his lips to let out a question.

Then, noiselessly, the presence tilts its head, as if curiously eyeing a flock of unfamiliar creatures. Its long, skeletal fingers join before its lap, right above its strange appendage, and a cavernous, masculine voice swells from everywhere all at once, as if carried to their eardrums by every particle hanging in the air.

It scuttles over the walls, skims across the floor, bleeds from the ceiling. It is utterly and mesmerisingly terrifying and beguiling. “You sought, and you found. You may call me the Collector.”

The Collector glides forward, the mangled hems of his cloak soaring with each of his moves as if poised with a will of its own. Livia feels Sebastian’s hand inching ever closer to his pocket. 

But the entity stops, as if combing through his intention and Livia asks, her heart hammering in her chest: “What are you?”

Slowly, he shakes his head. “Three wizards found their way to me. Three questions I will grant them, and one I will ask in return.” The Collector lifts his hand and his sleeve bares a rawboned hand. His skin is papery, fragile and, most of all, without nails, yet the tip of his fingers are keen as knifepoints. “Return to me at the same hour tomorrow with your inquiries. The room will be open to you.”

And before Livia can think to react, a white noise savages through her skull.

The stone of Sebastian’s presence is gone. So are all sensations within her. 

It’s as if her soul is wrenched out of her body; her shrilling fear dissected from her frame.

And when she opens her eyes, she finds herself in her bed, her pillow drenched in sweat and a noose of blankets snarled around her neck.