#ao3 was going down some for me while I wrote this list

[katyawriteswhump]

Of mermaids and soulmates 💖

For @steddiebingo prompt, “Mermaid,’ and @stmonstercalendar Mermay week 1 prompt… ‘Mermaid.’ I also plundered the Mermay bingo prompt list for inspiration and used storm, washed ashore, cave and... whump (okay that was going to be in there whatever I wrote, I fear, but the others got me going on this, thanks.)

Rating: M, WC: 3700; Tags: O!Steve, A!Eddie, mermaid Steve, fairytale au, some sexual content, pining, minor angst, hurt/comfort, sick fic, snuggles, fluff, tooth-rotting fluff, very literal happy ever after. Summary: Life was tough for Eddie and his fisherman uncle, Wayne. Then Alpha Eddie goes and makes it tougher, by falling in love with an Omega mermaid called… Steve?!? Read on AO3

The healing herbs are from amazing designs by @moonjelly69 and can be found in posts here and here. Thank you for letting me borrow them. They def leaked through from a far better place.

💖💖💖💖💖💖

Eddie found his Omega the morning after a really nasty-ass storm.

He woke with a gut-churning shudder that told him somebody he cared for was in danger.

Wayne was fine, tho’. He clattered in the cottage kitchen, which pumped out odors of fresh bread and bacon that would be their only meal today. The storm had lost them the profits of a whole night’s catch. Eddie grabbed his jean jacket and nudged past Wayne with a mumbled, “Not hungry,” then straight out onto the shingle shore.

“Eddie? What’s wrong?” called Wayne, from their doorstep.

“Nothing,” said Eddie, attempting a goofy grin and a flippant wave. Only that I’m going out of my mind. Like I do every day.  “Back in a sec.”

Eddie followed his nose, clambering between the debris, tracing that tiny wisp of salted-caramel and seagrass sweetness that threaded its way through the seaweed and brine.

He found Steve hunkered by a rock, curled into a ball. If it hadn’t been for his scent, Eddie might’ve missed him. A veil of wet hair covered his face, and he’d wrapped his arms tight around his shivering bare torso. His beautiful fishtail was folded in, and completely tangled in a segment of ugly orange trawler net.

Eddie absorbed this in a single heartbeat, hurried forward and crouched down. He gently touched the mermaid’s shoulder, who looked up with a very Omega squeak.

“Hey?” said Eddie, “Steve, it’s me, Eddie. You know me?”

“Uh… like we’ve not been fucking for weeks, dipshit?”  Steve’s voice shook with trembles them broke up altogether. “My tail… It’s all tangled up. Please help me?”

Eddie draped his jacket over Steve. “Christ yeah. I owe you one, remember?”

“I’ll always remember,” whispered Steve. Then he slumped forward against Eddie, completely out of it.

Eddie opted not to tell himself this couldn’t be real. Seeing was believing, huh? He lowered Steve’s head down onto soft sand and set about untangling his fishtail. He kept his hands steady—despite his fury—while using his penknife to remove the plastic cutting between Steve’s beautiful multi-color scales and fluttering tailfins. Then he scooped the fairly hefty mermaid into his arms and began his trudge back along the shore.

He was sick with worry.

If Steve hadn’t been hurt, however, he would be howling his joy to that wisp of a daytime moon. Finding his mermaid made a whole lot of sense, as if his whole life clicked suddenly into place. Plus, Steve was even cuter in real life than in his dreams.

He had seen Steve with his waking eyes before, only once.

He’d been fifteen and after endless bugging, Wayne had agreed to let Eddie assist him on the fishing boat. One night, a giant wave had swept Eddie from the deck, and the icy waters gobbled him deep.

He flailed, attempted to pull for the surface. Too late. His lungs burned. Panic blindsided him. In the inky darkness, the bubbles of his breath seeped from him, white light strobed before his eyes, and then…

…the kiss.

Okay, it was a kiss of life. Eddie was in no position to find it hot.

Still, after the first injection of lifesaving air, he noticed the softness of his rescuers’ lips. Then he saw a guy around his age with a floaty lion’s mane of hair, who wrapped a solid arm around him, and pulled for the surface.

The other boy appeared to have a fishtail.

Lack of oxygen sent you loopy, right?

They’d emerged among the choppy waves, yards from where Wayne leaned over the side of the boat, holding a lifebuoy and yelling his head off.

The mer-boy shoved Eddie forward. Wayne grabbed Eddie’s hand, hauling him to safety, while those other arms around him slipped away. “H-help the other k-kid,” gasped Eddie, flopping onto the deck.

Wayne gave him a look. The one that, in his kind-natured uncle, stood in for calling Eddie out for being dumb. From the corner of his eye, Eddie glimpsed a flicker of that fishtail between the foamy white horses, silvered and glittering with all the colors of the rainbow.  “Don’t worry, Eddie. He’ll be okay.”

Wayne believed in mermaids. Merfolk? Whatever the heck they were called. As for Eddie, he wanted to believe. Didn’t stop him wondering if they were both crazy.

A couple of years later, he presented Alpha and dated a few Omegas. None of them rocked his world, until Steve the mermaid—oozing adorable Omega vibes and bitchy as fuck—began starring in Eddie’s dreams. Which were as hot and horny as they were wet and sticky.

Also, heart-achingly real, which was… Yup, crazy.  In his dreams, he was fucking Steve, who for sure seemed to possess some kind of snug Alpha-dick lovin’ hole. But how could he fuck somebody who literally had a fishtail?

And who other than a crazy guy, not only banged mermaids in their dreams, but also snuggled and exchanged pillow talk after? One of Steve’s favorite topics was the songs that Eddie blasted from the boat while he and Wayne worked. He wanted to know everything about them, from the names of the groups to the kinds of instruments they played.

Apparently, Steve really liked Queen: “Don’t get me wrong, Eddie, I dig the thrash metal shouty shit—and ACDC hit some awesome resonances that send the whales cuckoo—but that Freddie dude can really sing.”

Finally, and maybe craziest of all, what kind of mermaid introduced themselves as Steve? Eddie wasn’t sure what sorts of names mermaids should have. It would be nothing as ordinary as Steve, right? Steve also explained that he was a mermaid— “Yeah, a mermaid, like is that a problem, you stupid mouth-breathing land-hugger?” 

He was also an Omega.

Eddie was fine with all of that and had never harbored any doubts about the latter.

At least, in his dreams.

During the day, Eddie had been pretty damn sure he was either going cuckoo as those metal-loving whales… or that his mermaid was totally stalking him.  He regularly caught a wisp of that caramel and sea-grass scent and was damn sure it was Steve, because it usually gave him a semi. There’d also been the mysterious gifts turning up randomly on deck—including a solid silver skull and crossbones ring that must’ve belonged to a pirate boss. Finally, there’d been that time his ghetto blaster skidded overboard. It’d been slid back beneath the ship rail, soggy, useless and with his Black Sabbath cassette ruined.

Hey, it was the thought that counted.

Now, here he was, carrying the guy of his dreams—a limp and senseless mermaid—home to Wayne. Who stood at the door of the cottage and ushered them in with a mumble of, “Ah yeah, makes sense. What a damn shame. I’ll get extra blankets, throw a log on the fire.”

Eddie lay Steve down on his own bed and stared.

Jesus freakin’ Christ!  Was he real? He was real! Steve whimpered desolately, and Eddie snapped his gaping mouth shut to lie down and gently wrap his body around Steve’s.

The mermaid’s torso was somehow soft and Omega and muscular and sturdy—all that swimming, Eddie supposed. Steve whimpered and rolled closer, and Eddie gently enveloped him the best he could, rubbing his cheek against Steve’s ridiculously soft fluffy hair, dropping kisses. Steve’s tail nestled into Eddie’s legs and their bodies notched together as if they were born to snuggle this way.

Eddie’s heart ached and he gulped back totally un-Alpha tears. Had he found Steve only to lose him.

No. He point blank refused that.

Wayne returned with the blankets, and also a first-aid kit and bandages, which he used to carefully clean up and tend to Steve’s tail. When Steve hissed and moaned in his sleep, Eddie pressed the mermaid’s head to his chest and rocked and stroked him.

Eventually, Steve’s trembling subsided. He sighed a few times, snuffling against Eddie’s throat, as if Eddie’s scent might revive him.

Then he slipped into a deep sleep.

“Eddie,” Wayne whispered from the doorway, a short while later. “C’mon, son, you can leave him for a moment. You gotta eat. I saved your breakfast.”

Eddie bit back a snarl. He didn’t want to leave Steve, not for a second, tho’ Wayne talked sense. He reluctantly unwound himself and joined Wayne in the kitchen.

Wayne’s worry was etched deep in every line on his brow.

“What is it?” asked Eddie.

“Listen, his injuries are infected. We need to act fast. I know the right herbs to cure him—thryssil, a sharp leaved water-plant with healing saliva, and blunova, dark blue berries that grow deep in cool sea-water caves. They’re rare and getting rarer. Hard to find these days.”

“We can’t buy something at the chemist?”

Wayne gave him another of those placid looks. “Mermaids are magical, Eddie—he’s a sprite of the ocean’s deepest magic, and the modern world has polluted him. We must find those natural medicines then… Look, you know better than I that he’s an Omega. The herbs alone won’t cut it unless an Alpha nurses him through the worst. And when you save his life, you’ll be bound to him. While he lives, you’ll never be able to mate another Omega. He would perish of rejection and grief.”

Eddie let the bombshell blast through him.

He got it. It should scare the bejesus out of him. What would happen when he went into rut? Did Steve have heats? Would they ever be able to have pups?

What would be the point of a mate if they couldn’t actually mate?

Yeah, the bombshell blasted through him. In its aftermath Eddie found he was totally ready to take the plunge with Steve, whatever their future may bring.

Screw being ‘bound’ to each other, as if it was something unwanted. He knew in that moment that Steve was his soulmate.

“I get it,” he told Wayne, with a shrug. “I honestly do, and it’s all fine. Where do we look for these herbs?”

They took turns sweeping the shoreline and every cave they knew. Wayne searched for longer. Steve slept more easily when Eddie snuggled him, than when Wayne sat with him, mopping his burning brow and holding his too-pale hand. The Omega’s fever grew worse, and he sniffled weakly, sweating and shuddering. Then the fever broke, and he settled, horribly quiet.

Two days passed, and he still hadn’t woken. His pulse grew thready and faint, his breaths horribly shallow.

When Eddie stroked his face, and begged him to wake, his lashes barely flickered.

His fishtail turned a bruise-like purple, spreading upward from the bandages he kept bleeding through.

“Stay with me, Baby,” whispered Eddie, “Please, Stevie, please?”

A putrid fishy scent began drowning the last shreds of his Omega sweetness, and Eddie sobbed shamelessly.

If Steve died, Eddie would be free to find an Omega he could have pups with. Apart from he wouldn’t. In his heart of hearts, he knew he could never take another mate, and that he’d only ever be happy with Steve. Then, as his tears disintegrated into snarls of vengeance against whoever dumped that nylon net, Wayne burst into the cottage:

“Eddie, I got them.”

Eddie unwound himself from Steve, reluctant but also dead keen to aid his uncle, who looked dog-tired, his wiry frame drooping. They mixed the blunova berries with the thryssil saliva and applied them in a poultice to Steve’s tail. The leftovers went into a cordial for him to sip when he awoke.

Wayne said ‘when,’ not ‘if.’  Eddie clung to that quiet optimism, as he slid back beneath the blankets to snuggle Steve.

The next few hours proved truly magical. Color returned to Steve’s face, and his breathing grew deeper and even. Eddie slid a hand beneath his head and lifted it, trying to coax him into sipping the cordial. At first, Steve barely opened his eyes, but hitched his lip and muttered, “too sleepy, get lost.”

Yeah, that was Eddie’s snarky little mermaid.

When he finally tasted the blunova, tho’, he sucked his lower lip, and whispered, “Yum.”

Soon, Eddie caught a hint of Steve’s sweetness returning. It mingled with the fruity medicines and Eddie’s own Alpha scent, which pumped madly as if trying to form a protective cloud around his Omega.

Finally, Eddie’s tension melted away, and he too drifted off into a deep sleep. When he gradually wandered toward wakefulness, something that felt like warm trickly honey was gliding down his chest.

His eyes flew wide and locked with Steve’s. Who was tucked cosily under his arm, and… Ooookay, yup, taking advantage of that position to lick Eddie’s chest, which was inked with many nautical and totally metal tattoos.

“Hey,” said Steve, jerking back, startled.

“Someone’s feeling better, huh?” Eddie beamed down at Steve, who’d retreated toward Eddie’s armpit, plying Eddie with large curious hazel-brown eyes and a surprisingly bashful smile. “How do I taste?”

“Not gonna lie. Could lick the salt off your skin forever.”  Eddie worshipped Steve’s playful smirk, then the way he swiped his tongue around his soft and super-kissable lips. Steve in turn flitted his attention to Eddie’s mouth. “There’s somewhere I’d like to taste more.”

“I reckon we can arrange that, Babe.”

Eddie hoisted his helplessly beached mermaid up a little, then leaned down for a tinglingly sweet and chaste kiss. Soon, Steve was parting his lips, whining for more. Eddie indulged him, offering a bit of tongue and working the kiss tenderly. As it lingered, he carefully blanketed himself around his Omega.

Eddie already needed Steve, like the air he breathed. They’d make this work. They had to. He ran his hand down Steve’s spine, kneading gently at the seam between his torso and his fishier parts, while Steve’s arm crawled tentatively up around Eddie’s neck.

They settled down beneath the covers for a lengthy sleep-in. Eddie left Steve only to fetch the food Wayne had left. He felt bad that Wayne had gone out fishing alone, and they’d lost several days earnings caring for Steve. His worry for his uncle and how they’d make ends meet, was one of the few things that clouded his happiness.

When Steve awoke, he asked Eddie to take him down to the sea. He was pretty sure it would make him feel better. Eddie wrapped him in fuzzy blankets and carried him to the softest sandiest dunes, where they settled to watch a stellar orange-pink sunset.

Eddie blasted a mixtape out of his new second-hand ghetto blaster, and they chatted like they’d known each other forever. Steve discovered he liked Bowie nearly as much as Freddie. All the same, they both knew they had to talk about serious stuff.

“So, yeah, I’m an Omega,” said Steve.

“I’m super aware of that.” Eddie’s whole body vibrated with Steve’s adorable and very Omega purrs, while Eddie’s hand wandered lower than before to caress the rounded curves of Steve’s hips and mermaid butt. The Omega purred harder for a moment then stopped altogether: “Now you’ve saved my life, you’re bound to me. Like I’ve been bound to you, since I performed those totally awesome heroics and saved yours.”

“Huh?” A sea breeze whistled around them. Eddie made sure no cold air leaked between, while the Omega’s tale made his chest pang.  Since Steve saved Eddie’s life, Steve had been ‘totally, idiotically obsessed’ with him:

“I followed your boat pretty much every day. Then my pack moved on, while I was chasing after you, and I never found them again. I presented Omega a few moons ago. It was scary at first, and I was going out of my mind with loneliness. Till I found I could get into your dreams. Being magical is pretty freakin’ cool, huh?”

“Pretty freakin’ hot. Why didn’t you pop up and say hi?” Eddie stroked the Omega’s hair from where it kept blowing across his face. Then he grinned and crossed his own eyes. “I mean, I kinda knew I had a creepy obsessed fan following the boat.”

Steve curled his lip. “I’m not creepy.”

“You’re creepy-cute?” Eddie cackled and Steve pouted. Damn, that was adorable.

“Look, it’s complicated!” Steve flipped his hand, giggling anyhow. “It’s not like I totally hid but I had to be careful! I mean, you seemed nice, I loved your vibes and the music, and your scent sent me loopy, but I heard stories about you leggy morons. You can be complete a-holes, tho’ after I’d managed to get in your head—”

“Clearly, not a creepy thing to do,” snarked Eddie, rewarded with that pout again.

“After I visited your dreams for a chat—oh, and literally got you off, you’re welcome, a-hole—I was pretty sure we were soulmates. I was psyching myself up to say hello, okay?”

“Okay,” said Eddie, grinning dopily. “Seriously, can you read what I’m thinking now?”

“Only works when we’re apart and you’re asleep, I think. I can guess, tho’.” He rolled his eyes then narrowed them. “Something Alpha-ish, like… you’re conflicted about what to do when you go into rut. You don’t want to ditch me. You also want pups badly. Listen, so do I. Mermaids and humans have been mating for centuries. I think we’ll be okay.”

“Okay.” Eddie could live with that. “Any idea how exactly?”

“No! When they taught sex ed to all the other little mermaids, I was probably off mooning over your sorry ass. When the right time comes, the magic of mother nature will show us a way, I guess. Anyhow, as much as I’d luuurve you to bang my fishy bones for real… I’m, ya know, getting over nearly being dead. My tail’s still kinda numb.”

Eddie could definitely live with waiting. They curled together into a cosy ball of purrs and growls, while night crept slowly across the beach.

Steve grew strong again quickly. After a few days, he came out to sea with Eddie and Wayne and swum alongside their boat. Eddie totally loved watching Steve swim, the swish of that magical tail, and those sexy shoulders and solid biceps, though he was already worrying about Steve getting tangled in their relatively eco-friendly net.

“Do I have to turn vegetarian?” asked Eddie, grimacing at their wriggling haul. “I’m mean, you’re kinda fishy, and now it seems—”

“Don’t sweat it,” said Steve. “It’s only the same as you eating other mammals.”

“I guess.” Eddie still felt uneasy, though fishing was his and Wayne’s livelihood.

“Oh! Almost forgot,” called Steve. “I know where there’s a ton of that sparkly shiny crap you humans get all wet and bothered over.”

After chugging their little boat along a white-water channel between some sabre-tooth rocks, Eddie and Wayne followed Steve into a hidden cave. Wayne streaked his flashlight across a glittering array of gold and silver treasure, literally spilling from a dozen old wooden tea-chests.

“See?” Steve bobbed between the boat and the treasure and tossed up his hands with a splash. “It’s where I found your ring. Figured you might have a use for the rest.”

“Yeah,” said Wayne, sounding choked. “Yeah, I think we might.”

Eddie was choked too—with a profound relief that the uncle he loved might be able to take life easy for the first time ever. For him and Steve, too, the future now seemed limitless, family or not.

The same night, as a full moon rose, Eddie felt it—that stir of heat in his blood that meant he was going into rut. Wayne had gone out to treat his girlfriend to a meal, and Eddie had just carried Steve back to their bed. He’d been looking forward to snuggles, and now…  Ugh!  He was gonna have to sleep by the hearth.  Or not sleep, more likely. By midnight he was gonna be humping the furniture, and he was troubled about what he might do if he totally lost it.

He was soooo hungry for Steve, and also mighty curious about how they were going to procreate. If it was rubbing against Steve’s tail or something, or fertilising eggs? Damn, they’d make it work, but Steve was still slightly fragile.  What if his inner beast took over and he rutted too hard while his Omega still healed?

With his heavy dick aching beneath a pair of loose jogging pants, he peeped around the door to see Steve tucked up in bed. Far from asleep. He was sitting up against the pillows, arms folded, and his head tilted, smirking.

Eddie was in too much of a hurry to ask why. He squeezed tight words from between his clenched teeth. “Listen, Babe, I reckon it’s best if I go spend the night on the beach.”

“It’s cold outside, numbnuts. Also, you reek of sex, and I dig it. You’re gonna come straight over here and get into bed with me.”

There was something in Steve’s wide, hopeful, giggly eyes that Eddie simply couldn’t refuse. Seconds later, he was sliding under the covers, vowing to himself he’d give Steve a quick squeeze and go.

Then he froze.

Steve rolled toward him and hitched the knee of what felt like a pretty darn human leg onto Eddie’s thigh. And between? Steve was already very wet, and a wave of his sweet perfume accompanied a fresh gush of slick. A loud rumble escaped Eddie before he could help himself—a groan of relief mingled with a hungry growl.

“Told you mother nature would provide,” whispered Steve.

Eddie slid a hand down to lightly finger absolutely everything required to satisfy an Alpha in rut. Steve smiled, kinda smug, and wrapped all four of his limbs around Eddie, nuzzling Eddie’s scent gland.

“Is this because of the full moon?” breathed Eddie, nudging his already epic boner between Steve’s spread thighs. If this was only once a month, he’d take it.

“Nope. It’s because I’m ready and you’re ready. I got an idea it’s gonna happen a lot.” Then he turned deadly serious, cupping Eddie’s face. “I love you, Alpha. Please, fill me with our mer-pups?”

“Don’t beg, Sweetheart. I’ve waited my whole life for this. Gonna fill you with our mer-pups and gonna love you all. Love you so much.”

They melded then, like ripples on the water, and as Eddie’s waves crashed into Steve, Steve surged back against him. And they fucked and fucked and fucked.

Eddie and Steve moved to a glittering pink castle by the sea. They raised their pups with the help of Great-uncle Wayne, and they all lived happily ever after.

💕💕💕💕💕

my steddie fic on AO3

[cottagecore-raccoon]

Cozy ask game 8:

Fave comfort fics, bc I need new fics to read

Oh I love recommending fics! (Fair warning, I read almost exclusively Good Omens fanfics, so I hope that's up your alley :) )

Any Way You Want It by Justkeeptrekkin (27k)

Saving the world is exhausting work. With Heaven and Hell off their backs, it seems as good a time as any for Crowley and Aziraphale to take a proper break. Neither one of them predicts the direction their holiday takes. Who'd have thought that sharing a cottage in Scotland would be quite so romantic?

Hooped Earrings by OfEden (39k)

After 29 years Azira comes out. While her family and ex boyfriend don't support her, her life long best friend is there by her side every step of the way.

The Rose and the Serpent by Atalan (55k)

AU, retelling of “Beauty and the Beast”. Quite honestly, sending Aziraphale off into the forest to be held hostage by a giant snake in a cursed castle isn’t even the worst thing Gabriel’s ever done to him, and at least it means a change of scene. But then neither the snake nor the castle turn out to be quite what he’s expecting…

Slumber Party Summons by JoyAndOtherStories (29k)

Written for Ineffable Husbands Week 2019, "Trip" prompt (and also for fun). Crowley gets Summoned by a teenage girls' slumber party. Everyone has far more on their minds than they've wanted to admit, even to their closest friends. Also, pajamas, hair and makeup, manicures.

Shelter from the Storm by AppleSeeds (13k)

They're coworkers in town for a conference, but a storm has knocked the power out in the hotel where they were supposed to be staying, so Crowley and Aziraphale brave the storm and find their way to a charming little B&B, which has one room available, and it's the honeymoon suite, which only has one bed, and now Aziraphale is injured and needs to be looked after, and oh no now the power's out here too but at least they have the soft flickering glow of the candlelight but OH NO the heating's gone off too and it's getting VERY cold and Newt's the one trying to fix it... whatever will Aziraphale and Crowley do? AKA, what happens when I try to squeeze as many tropes as I possibly can into one story.

If you're interested in more, here's the link to all of my bookmarks! I try to write nice little blurbs for all of them

Cozy Ask Game

[a3therc0r3]

Boiling Blood

co-creator: @dragonspoems

summary: you wrote poetry during your time on Philos in your and Sylus’ own language; the poems found their way onto Earth and are now highly sought after, working to be decoded and being sold in auctions for billions. When Sylus learns about the poems, he immediately knows who wrote them, recognizing their language instantly. He has now made it his goal to hunt down as many of these poems as he can while simultaneously searching for you. 

content: sylus x f!reader, angst, past-relationship, pre-relationship, poetry, spoilers for sylus' myth

word count: 2,261

a/n: this is my first ever time posting on tumblr so i hope you enjoy!! i have some more fics coming in the near future(fluff, i promise-) also HUGE thank you to my amazing friend and collaborator @dragonspoems who not only wrote the poem in this fic but also gave me the idea for this fic!! go show them some love! this fic was also posted on ao3

first part is from sylus' POV

Appearances can be deceiving. For example, on the outside, one may see a violent lion, while on the inside, there is simply a shaking kitten. On the outside, one may see a calm, collected, well-kept man who sips occasionally on the venue-provided wine; swirling it around his glass in boredom. On the inside, his mind is racing, his eyes scanning the crowd and glancing back down to the list of goods. His knee bouncing as each item is sold off in a painstakingly long manner. Couldn’t they just get to what was important? What everyone was truly here for? Of course they couldn’t, you have to save the best things for last. 

Sylus watched as other guests whispered to one another, sharing rumors about the ancient writing that everyone was anticipating. They would lazily raise their paddles to pass the time, betting on a much less interesting artifact. A protocore here, a painting there, all while mumbling to their friends about the bits of this writing that had been released to the public. Hushed voices muttering about the beauty, the romance of the words. His beloved’s words. His. No one else’s. They didn’t deserve to read her literature, didn’t deserve to even attempt to translate their language. They didn’t watch from far away when she scribbled in a notebook. They didn’t know how her hands would smell of ink when she touched his face. They didn’t know anything and they never should.

Sylus’ grip on the list had tightened unconsciously to the point that his nails pierced through the paper. It had practically crumpled in on itself, his chest heaving as thoughts spun out of control. The masked twins beside him glanced at one another before leaning in slightly and whispering, 

“Boss? Are you alright?”

Sylus snapped out of his haze, clearing his throat and taking another sip of wine. The twins righted themselves and nodded, knowing to leave well enough alone. They knew better than anyone in here that hell was about to break loose the minute the poem was brought out. There was a high probability that it would end in bloodshed, considering how important this was to their boss; then again, there was always a possibility things could end in bloodshed with Sylus. 

After what felt like hours of waiting, the auctioneer finally grinned and leaned toward the microphone, 

“Now, ladies and gentlemen is the product that I have a feeling the majority of you are here to see. The antique poem is thought to have been preserved all the way from Philos,” guests leaned forward, their interests piqued, “Very few of these pages have been found, and even fewer have been translated from their original language. However, from what we can tell, these poems seem to be the story of beauty, tragic romance, the tale literally as old as time.” The man chuckled to himself, resting his weight on his hands placed on the edges of the podium, “Your faces tell me that many of you are already interested. Since these are so rare, I expect that there will be quite the competition, though we must ask that you all maintain your composure. Now, let’s start the bidding at fifteen million.”

Paddles raised instantly, calling out higher numbers on top of each other. Sylus crossed his legs and let his head rest against the back of his booth, his fingers turning the paddle over in his hand. He’d let them have their fun, wait until the cost had gone up before chiming in. 

“Fifty million from one forty-three, do I hear sixty? Sixty million anyone?” 

Guests continue to holler out their bids, waving their paddles impatiently. The auctioneer spoke a million miles a minute, pointing to each guest as he acknowledged the prices. Sylus remained silent until the bids had risen into the hundred millions. 

“One hundred and seventy million from Mr. Abrams, we are getting up there, ladies and gentlemen, do I hear eighty?”

Sylus raised his paddle, “Two hundred million.” His voice boomed above the others, a few turning to look at the unfamiliar vote. 

“Two hundred million! From Mr…” the auctioneer moved to spot him through the sea of heads, taking the microphone with him, “Mr. Sylus! Such an honor to have you here, sir! Two hundred million from Mr. Sylus, do I hear two hundred and ten? Two-ten, anyone?” 

A paddle was raised. So, they wanted to keep fighting? Bold move. The bidding continued, raising to two hundred and thirty million before Sylus spoke once more.

“Three hundred million.” The auctioneer practically laughed, “Three- three hundred million from Mr. Sylus! Another decent raise! Do I hear three-ten?”

Another paddle raised, “Three-fifty million,” the voice chimed out.

“Three hundred and fifty from this fine lady! Do I hear-”

The man didn’t get the chance to finish before Sylus cut in, “Four hundred million.” The woman who had placed the previous bet, turned from her seat to glare at Sylus, earning a smirk in response. 

“Four hundred million! The heat is cranking up here! Do I hear four hundred and fifty million?” The man strolled to the edge of the auction block, grinning as he spoke.

A paddle raised.

“Four hundred and fifty million from Mr. Abrams! Do I hear five hundred?” At this rate, it would take an hour to get the poetry. All Sylus wanted was something to remember her by, anything from his past life to cling onto while he searched for his beloved. Something to keep him sane in the meantime. He’d indulged them for long enough and now his patience was wearing thin. Sylus raised his paddle once more.

“One billion.”

More guests turned their heads, whispering to themselves as to why the leader of Onychinus would want a piece of poetry so bad. The auctioneer clapped dramatically, trying to excite the room, even though he had asked for the opposite moments prior. “One billion! Now that is an offer of the century. It’s going to be hard to top that, folks.”

“One point two billion.” The man from earlier–Mr. Abrams–raised his paddle, eyeing Sylus as he did so. 

Oh, so that’s how you want to play. Sylus held his paddle up before the auctioneer could even point to Abrams, “One point five.”

“One point seven.”

“Two billion.”

“Three.” 

The auctioneer chuckled wearily to himself, “Gentlemen, please, wait a moment for me to-”

“Ten billion.” Sylus carefully put his gun on the table, pointing the barrel in Abrams as he crossed his arms. His right eye glowed with such intensity that it made Abrams shiver on the spot as if Sylus could kill him with a mere stare. He probably could. The twins unsheathed their weapons, a silent warning, and had the man closing his mouth before he could voice another offer. It was time to shut up. Mr. Abrams turned back to face the auctioneer, placing his paddle down with a hmph! His wife muttered something bitterly to him.

The auctioneer let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding in, “Ten billion from Mr. Sylus! Do I hear any higher offers? Anyone? Ten billion, going once, going twice? Sold to Mr. Sylus for ten billion! Congratulations, my good sir!” 

He continued moving on with the next item, but Sylus couldn't care less; he had gotten what he came here for. He rose, taking the last swig of his wine and placing his gun back into its holster. With a flick of his hand, the twins stepped back, allowing Sylus to walk towards the backstage area. A few guests stood to block his path, turning to him with pleading gazes.

“Mr. Sylus, surely I can offer you a much better deal to take the poem off your hands. I could even pay you back the ten billion you lost!” A man stepped forward, his hands clamped together as he spoke.

A woman beside him scoffed, “Please! You don’t even have half that amount,” she stepped towards Sylus, purposefully bumping her shoulder against the man’s before caressing the Onychinus leader’s arm, “I can give you money and a good time.” 

Sylus grimaced in disgust, pulling his arm away as another guest behind him chimed in, “I’ll give you my first-born daughter! A-and any valuables you want!” 

“I’ll give you my daughter and my wife!” a voice spoke from somewhere in the crowd, quickly followed by a slap and a woman yelling in a foreign language. 

The first woman tugged at his sleeve again, “Mr. Sylus, please! Just reconsider and I’ll make it worth your time!” 

Sylus pulled his arm away for a second time and glared at the crowd surrounding him, a red mist pushed through the mob, forcing them to make a path for him. “You’re all pathetic, you sit here and let people piss on you without even the courtesy of calling it rain,” he strode through the swarm of guests that were still whispering offers to him, the twins following close behind him. The auctioneer seemed to be frozen in awe, unsure of how to proceed with the event. When Sylus reached the curtain that separated the backstage from the rest of the room, he turned to his henchmen, “Make sure they don’t disturb us,” and with that, he disappeared behind the fabric. 

The auctioneer let out a nervous chuckle, “Ladies and gentlemen, please return to your seats so we may continue with our schedule,” disappointed mumbles filling the silence as they complied. 

Behind the curtain, Sylus had been led to a private sitting room, where he awaited for the staff member to bring him his winnings. The flickering glow from the chandelier cast warmth through the room, hugging him in a mellow embrace. He crossed his legs, tapping his foot impatiently against the carpet. He could be wrong, the poem may not be what he thought they were. It could all be just a coincidence, every ounce of his past life was truly lost to a wind he would never feel again. Sylus grit his teeth and glared down at the rug, thoughts racing. 

A knock on the door interrupted his pondering, the woman that had escorted him stepped back into the room with a smile, “Your purchase, sir.” She handed him a leather binder with gloved hands and stepped back against the wall. 

He waved a dismissive hand at her. She bowed, seemingly disappointed, “We thank you for your appearance,” and with that, he was left alone. He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding in, opening the binder with a shaky hand. A yellowed and faintly crinkled paper sat in a sheet protector. With careful fingers, Sylus pulled the paper from its film, rubbing his thumb over the familiar texture. He had recognized the handwriting immediately–it had been ingrained in his memory for as long as he could remember–the poem was exactly what he had hoped it was: one written by his beloved. Biting his lower lip, he read her scrawls, 

It’s been years, and yet I still couldn’t explain the ache, from what I was, my very essence. It was painful to contain it. 

It hurts so damn much, going through days knowing what fools I am surrounded by. They don’t know anything yet, born with silver spoons in their mouths, not a gem in their eyes. 

I wished to be like them. Ignorance is bliss to the things I’ve seen, letting them take more–all they think they need. 

Yet his voice, a devil’s call, to grow back my claws, to be the one he fell in love with, to be the one I am, the one I unforgivably was.

I knew that call. I knew that need–the need that claws inside of mine–to let the world be filled with traitors’ screams.

Killing what was mine, forcing my hands into the fire of unbeknownst burning in his chest. 

I hated him, loathed him for it, for he knew who I was–a beast, a creature within that wanted their blood, wanted to dance on their graves for all the wrongs they have done. 

Something in my mind telling me he was, he is mine, and mine alone. He belongs. I belong to no one but us, and the spirits of our own, souls of the same kind.

They banished and looked away, laughed and smiled, celebrated the unbecoming of something that was mine and mine alone. 

Soon enough they will know. They will find what they have done, through my everlasting boiling blood. 

I cannot blame him for what he did, for it is as well the doing of mine.

Sylus stared at the paper, biting his lip harder, blinking rapidly to banish the tears threatening to spill. He took another breath, cleared his throat, and looked down at the initials that sat at the bottom of the page. Your initials. Because it was always you, and it will only ever be. The only one he would spend billions on to read a few lines of poetry. 

Sylus gripped the paper tighter as if it would disintegrate in his very fingers, the same way he once had, lifetimes ago on another world. He gazed up into the flickering light of the chandelier; his mind had been made up the moment the fragments of his soul had blown through that breeze so long ago. He was going to find you, no matter how long it took. He would wait centuries, traverse hellscapes, die as many times as he needed to, to find his way back into the arms of his beloved.

a/n: thank you so much for reading! i hope you enjoyed reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it

[dcxdpdabbles]

Do you have any rules for requests?

Thank you for asking and respecting my boundaries!

I do have some that I've started over the course of running this and other writing blogs:

1. I will not write overly Gore, Yandere, or Rape. I might have implied it or have it offscreen in a quick one sentence passage, but these themes make me uncomfortable, so I don't make them main topics. If you send in a request, I'll likely post it with a rejection notice so that others who see it might be willing to pick it up. The only time I won't is if the ask is rude/too detailed.

2. As a personal choice, I don't really enjoy writing multiple crossovers. This means I like to stick to the DC or DP universe's for this blog. Occasionally, I might use elements of a third option, but it's really hard for me to make it work since I'm not putting in an honest effort.

3. My blog has blanket permission on all prompts/chats/requests as long as I'm credited for the original. If you want to reblog and add more, you can. If you want to write an extended fic on another website, you can. If you want to draw based on something I wrote, you can. If you want to post it on tick tok with a voice reader, you can. If you would link me so I can geek out about it, please do so.

4. I don't do tag lists because they are too much of a hassel to keep an eye on. I also don't like seeing such a big wall of usernames. I try to keep my master post organized with the latest updated date on there if you would like to follow the Aus and find all the parts. The index will show you where each Au is organized.

5. I'm twenty-seven years old (I have no money, no prospects, I'm a burn to my parents, and im frighten). This means that while I don't mind getting NSFW asks or implied NSFW jokes/writes, I ask that if your underage DO NOT send them in. It's for both your safety and mine that you don't interact with that material until you're older. (I think I'll post the NSFW stuff on Ao3 as suggested)

6. I'm a multi-shipper. Since none of these charaters are real, I am known for moving them around and changing their circumstances to make pairs. My favorite genres in writing is fantasy and romance, so if you don't like a ship, please understand that it won't stop me from writing it. Unless requested for a gen fic in the ask, I will change almost all prompts into romance because I like reading/writing that kind of stuff.

That's all I can think of on the top of my head. If you sent in an ask and haven't seen it yet, it's because I haven't gotten the time to answer it.

Currently, I am behind by a lot in my inbox but that's mostly due to my final for my 16 week course, my work's audit and end of the fiscal year budget, I have five close family graduations, two weddings and one baby shower all crammed into the same month of May.

I'm also suffering from a bit of writer's blog on some aus.

But I swear I will get to your asks as soon as I can. I'll jump around to try to get past the writer's blog, but once things calm down, I'll go back to the order in which I received the asks.

[leighsartworks216]

Hostage Situation

Zayne x Sylus (x gn!Reader)

The reader character doesn't actually show up in this, they're only mentioned by the guys, but this is still very much a poly relationship

Wrote this with brown noise blasting in my ears at full volume to drown out my annoying relatives so I hope the desperate yearning to be there with the boys comes through okay /hj

Warnings: fluff, domestic fluff, polyamory, cuddling, kissing, literal sleeping together, pet names, dialogue heavy

Word count: 597

Main Masterlist

First Love and Deepspace Masterlist

Second Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

"I need to get up soon, love."

Sylus hums, acknowledging the words, but ignoring their meaning completely as he presses his face further against the doctor's neck, hiding from the daylight pouring in through the blinds. "What for?" he asks in a murmured rumble.

Zayne grins despite the inconvenience. He combs through Sylus's white locks, scratching idly at the base of his skull to draw out a low groan of appreciation. "I have work today."

"What kind? Surgeries, patients, or paperwork?"

He huffs. "Is this an interrogation?"

Sylus's hot breath tickles his neck as he laughs. "Yeah, it is." Lazy kisses begin littering his neck, from the hollow of his throat to his jaw, from his collarbones to just behind his ear. It's hard not to get sucked into the sweet pleasure of it all. Unhurried, warm, soft - he wants to melt into the bed and stay here all day. "You gonna talk willingly?"

He trails his hand along Sylus's bicep. Sylus, seemingly without thought, slips that arm out from underneath Zayne in order to hold his hand. They lay interconnected on the bed, stretched out to the side. That half of the bed is already empty. "When did they get up?" Zayne asks instead.

"Hmm," another kiss over his pulse, "they were already up when I got back."

"Ah, so I became your unwitting victim in their stead."

"Unwitting? Since when do victims willingly hold their kidnapper's hand?"

"It's an unfortunate hostage, caught in the crossfire," Zayne laments in the usual dead tone of his dry humor. Sylus snorts regardless.

He turns his face to rest his cheek on Sylus's forehead. He glances at the clock on his bedside table. "You're going to make me late again."

Sylus sighs deeply, but finally relents. He lifts himself up onto one arm to hover above his partner. Their hands depart so he can cup the doctor's cheek and swoop in for a proper kiss, slow and warming, before he at last pulls away and lays down on the empty half of the bed. He readjusts to lay on his stomach. As soon as Zayne gets up, he steals his pillow and uses it for his head, while one of yours has been captured and is being held to his chest.

"I'll see you tonight, before I have to leave," he murmurs from his comfy spot amidst the scents and lingering warmth of his partners.

Zayne hums, already heading to his closet to get dressed and start the day. "Try not to bring work back with you," he chides, all too affectionately to be scolding. "If your Evol runs out, you have other medical professionals at your disposal that can help."

"Yeah," he agrees with a chuckle, "but they don't kiss it better."

Zayne grins to himself as he grabs a black tie off the hanger. "Who says I'll kiss it better this time?"

Sylus pointedly holds up his left hand to show the gold and silver rings decorating his fingers. "Nuptial law, sweetie. Don't forget your lunch."

"I won't, thank you." He rounds the bed and presses a final kiss to the crime lord's temple. "Get some sleep. I love you."

"Love you, too."

Zayne stands back up and starts heading for the door, when a resounding SMACK! stops him dead in his tracks. His shoulders are up by his ears, his back tense and stock straight. He pivots sharply to glare down at his partner.

Sylus smirks, looking up at him with lazy red eyes and all the smugness in the world. "Sorry, snowflake. I couldn't resist."

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @huen1ngk41 @armycaratlover @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy @an-ever-angry-bi @thejysemongko

[absurdthirst]

Hurricane Heat {Frankie Morales x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 5.5k

Warnings: Hurricanes, dangerous weather, alcohol, fear, anxiety, sexual innuendo, the boys being menaces, oral sex (male and female receiving), sixty-nine, vaginal sex, unprotected sex

Comments: With a hurricane headed straight for you, you decide to shelter in place with the boys. Frankie's house being the best location to ride out the storm. Once the power goes out, the howling wind will push the two of you together.

A/N: @storiesofthefandomlovers and I wrote this as Hurricane Milton was barreling towards and affecting Charlie's area of Florida. This is not to make light of anyone's suffering from either hurricane over the past weeks or to encourage anyone to stay in the path of a deadly storm.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

*Follow @absurdthirst-writes and turn on notifications to stay up to date on all new fics.

|| MasterList || Frankie Morales MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

“Hey man! I’ve got six cases of beer and twelve bags of chips!” Benny hits the door with a grin and holds up the two cases in his hands. “Let’s get this hurricane party started!”

You snort, shaking your head and coming to help him haul in supplies. The hurricane that is bearing down on your town is supposed to be a doozie and because of that, you had all agreed to hunker down at Frankie’s house. He’s got a generator and more importantly, a grill, so it’s a natural choice. “So what will you eat and drink?” You joke.

Benny snorts, “you laugh, but lemme tell you, Doritos have got me through a lot of shit.” He sets the cases down and you look over at Santi and Frankie while Will brings in another case of beer. “We got the ice in the cooler. Extra gas cans and flashlights.” Santi lists and Frankie pats his friend on the back, “we got it all covered. We just gotta ride it out.” He says and you nod, “the worst part is the air going. It’s been a heatwave. If I could guarantee AC and Internet, I’d be fine.” You confess with a sigh, glad to be with the boys for the storm. They are all highly trained and they wouldn’t put you in danger if they thought it was best to leave.

“We’ll grill up the steaks and make that five pounds of bacon I know Frankie bought.” Will snorts and Frankie shrugs. “You laugh, but bacon cures all ills.” He huffs. “BLTs, Bloody Mary’s, just eating bacon and drinking a beer while the wind howls. Good times.”

“Bacon and booze. The best combination.” You grin, “and I have my Bluetooth speaker so we have some tunes. It’s gonna be a bad storm but we are ready.” You nod and Frankie comes over, “I have the sofa bed pulled out for you. The boys are on the blow up beds.” Frankie says, methodical and wanting to make sure everything is ready before you shut up for the storm. “Thanks.” You smile, squeezing his upper arm. You’ve known the boys since you were their medic on their missions, serving your country with them by your side and you’ve been close ever since. You’ve been in love with Frankie for the same amount of time but the timing has never been right. You’ve been in a relationship or he has. You’ve yearned for him and the timing has never worked out for you. Even now, you’re both single and there’s a damn hurricane coming for you.

Frankie shifts and props his hands on his hips. “How are you doing, sweetheart?” He leans in closer and speaks quietly, sure that you wouldn’t want the others to hear. You are nervous about the storm, much more than you are letting on, he can tell. He’s spent plenty of time studying the way you act over the years. “I know you’re scared, but we will be fine. Even if the shit hits the fan, we have an evacuation plan and plenty of survival gear.” He tosses you a small grin. “Just think of it as a deployment.”

You nod, knowing he’s being logical but these storms always make you nervous. You can’t control them. It’s completely at the will of the earth and you hate that. With ops, you could control your destiny, account for all factors that could happen, and ensure your safety but Mother Nature? You can’t control her. You snort and lean a little closer. He’s always made you feel so safe.

Hugs have always been freely given and this time is no different. Frankie pulls you against  him, trying not to feel guilty for enjoying how you feel pressed along his body. He’s comforting you, not trying to cop a feel. “Come on. I’m almost done making that crack chicken dip you like so much.”

You grin, "you're too good to me, Morales." You enjoy how he holds you and you hug him for a moment before you step back, "come on. Let's finish up and get locked in." You wink at him and walk into the kitchen to finish getting your snacks prepped. "Fuck, Will. How much booze did you buy?" Santi chuckles as he looks at the bottles and Ironhead shrugs, "Publix had a bogo. It's a hurricane, man. Nothing to do but drink." You chuckle and shake your head, looking over at Frankie as he works on his dip.

“I’m going to put the extra gas cans out with the generator on the porch.” Will tells everyone, disappearing outside again to bring them in and you know that he will check and double check that everything is ready for the storm

You watch the news as the storm keeps its track and you are nervous now that you’ve locked yourselves in. You sit next to Frankie, biting your lip, and he slides his arm around you to rub your upper arm. “It’s gonna be fine, sweetheart.” You nod, looking at him before you look at the screen.

He ignores the sly grins from the guys, keeping his arm around you. They know how he feels about you. They’ve known from the beginning. Frankie doesn’t lack confidence, he has no problem going out and picking up a girl, but you are different. You are a part of their team, family in a weird way. If he took his shot and you turned him down, it would change the friendship you have and you mean too much to him. “Getting another beer.” Benny announces as he climbs up from his spot on the floor. “Anyone else want one?”

You shake your head and Frankie nods, “I’ll have one.” You chuckle, patting his leg, “you’re all gonna be wasted for this storm.” You look over at Santi who has Jack and Coke in a tumbler. “Nothing else to do. Other than fuck and I’m not Benny’s type.” Santi chuckles and Benny snorts, “in your fucking dreams, Pope.” You giggle and lean into Frankie, loving how he smells. Strong and capable. The musk has you crossing your legs to squeeze your thighs together but you are just friends and you cannot make it awkward.

He enjoys the way you curl into him. Pulling you close and humming. If it weren’t for the wind blowing outside and the guys here, he could pretend this is a cozy evening watching tv with you before he takes you to bed. “You okay?” He asks, checking in again to make sure you are good.

A few hours pass with pizza being cooked from the freezer, drinks poured and you are watching the news show the storm barrelling towards your state and you sigh, nerves twisting in your stomach. “You want another beer?” Frankie asks, sitting down next to you and you shake your head, “Valium?” You tease and he chuckles, “I’m fresh out.” You rub your cheek, “it’s the waiting that’s frustrating me. I wish it was here already so we could get it over with.”

“Ready for the dark already?” He teases. “The internet will be down and we will have to play poker or a board game to stay entertained.” He grins and jerks his head over at Will. “And that one is too competitive at Monopoly.”

“God and no AC. It’s gonna be killer.” You confess, “and you know I kick all your asses at poker.” You remind Frankie who chuckles and nods, remembering how you’ve schooled them during your time served together.

“We’re gonna play poker?” Pope asks as he smirks. “Strip poker?” Frankie rolls his eyes. “Why, cabron? So we can all be sitting butt ass naked while the only woman here is fully clothed?”

You giggle, glad that Frankie thinks you’d win and you nudge him, “why don’t we play Monopoly? I need a distraction from the storm.” You shudder as you look over at the TV to see the storm heading towards you. The boys nod, not arguing with you when they see you’re nervous and you work fast to get everything set up.

Frankie helps, wanting you to be comfortable and feel safe. The wind has picked up and the storm shutters are starting to rattle on the kitchen window. “Too bad they don’t have a helicopter playing piece.” Frankie huffs, picking up the ship. “I would definitely be playing that.”

You giggle, “I think the cat is the best one for you. Catfish.” You wink at him and he nods, taking the piece from you. The storm shutters shake and you shudder, nervous about the storm hitting you outside. You sigh and take a seat, calling the others over to begin the game.

****

“No fucking way. Pay up.” Santi demands from Benny, holding his hand out for the cash just as the lights flicker. “Shit.” You murmur, looking up at the light. “Dude, that’s not a hotel. I don’t owe you that much.” Benny argues and Santi goes to speak just as the lights flicker then it goes dark. “Well, fuck.” Will mutters, “maybe they will come back on.”

Frankie groans, knowing that it’s wishful thinking at this point. Power will be out for the duration and he immediately reaches for the lamp he had put on the end table and flicks it on before he grabs his headlamp. “We’ll give it a few minutes but then we start the generator.” Cords have already been run through the house to everything they need to power up to keep things somewhat comfortable. “Knew I should have bought one of those standing AC units.” He grumbles to himself.

“We will be fine. Hopefully power comes back soon.” You murmur, shivering despite knowing the heat will creep in soon enough. The power doesn’t come back and Frankie makes the decision to start the generator. The wind blows outside, rain hitting the shutters, and you fan yourself with the monopoly instructions as the heat starts to get to you. “Okay. I think we are done with Monopoly.” You sigh, reaching for the money. “How about truth or dare?” Santi suggests with a smirk. “Truth? We know literally everything about each other and we aren’t teenagers.” You scoff, gathering the tokens before you fold up the board.

Frankie glares at Santiago, knowing he would be pulling some shit in the effort to get the two of you together. All of them think that you want him, but he isn’t convinced. Normally, he knows when a woman is interested. “Why don’t we go to bed? Things will look better in the morning.”

The boys smirk, nodding at each other, and you don’t notice. “Sure, Cat. Let’s get to bed. It’s gonna be a long night and I’m sure we’d all rather sleep through this shit.” Will says and everyone nods. “I call dibs on the bathroom before you all go in there.” You declare and Frankie hands you a lamp. “Thanks.” You smile and make your way into the bathroom after grabbing your toiletries.

“Go to bed.” Benny scoffs as Frankie throws him a frown. “She’s scared enough that she might crawl in the bed with you.” He teases, Laughing when Frankie shoots him a bird. “Keep it up and I’ll make you sleep outside with the generator.” He threatens. Although he knows that he wouldn’t do that. The bad thing is that Benny knows it too.

“Just trying to get you guys together, man. It’s gotta happen. We are sick of watching you two make eyes at each other.” Benny says and Frankie scoffs, rolling his eyes in disbelief that you make eyes at him. You get ready for bed, changing into a tank top and shorts. It’s too hot to wear anything else, and you brush your teeth before you take the lamp and make your way back into the living room. “Bathroom’s free.” You tell the others, knowing they will want to clean up.

Frankie groans quietly when he sees your outfit. It’s nothing extremely provocative, but he still thinks you look stunning. All the guys go get ready for bed and Frankie changes into some shorts and a t-shirt. “You good, sweetheart?” He asks, coming through to check that .

You nod, “I’ll be fine.” You promise, offering him a small smile despite your stomach twisting with nerves. “Just - just nervous to go home and see how it is.” You confess, “what's gonna be damaged.” You bite your lip, “anyway, let’s get some sleep, baby.” You murmur and rub his shoulder, leaning in to kiss his cheek without thinking about the term of endearment.

Frankie hums and turns towards you, your lips brushing the corner of his mouth and he inhales sharply. “You- you come to me if you need anything. A distraction.” He manages, his voice rough and low.

His words make your stomach twist and you nod, “thank you.” You pull back to look at him. So many years you’ve hidden your feelings and tonight could be worse than all your nights spent on ops. The boys are ready for bed and you watch Frankie as he makes sure everyone is comfortable before he makes his way to his room. You settle into the sofa bed but it’s hot. So damn hot without the AC running. You toss and turn as the wind howls and the shutters shake against the windows. The boys snore around you and you huff, sitting up, and you decide to get some water. It’s dark and you curse quietly as you try to navigate the boys laying on the floor until finally you stumble into the kitchen. It’s so hot. You grab the lamp and turn it on, finding a bottle of water, and you decide to pull your tank top off since everyone is asleep, allowing yourself to cool a little with your bralette on.

Frankie wakes up the moment he hears someone moving. The drone of the generator chugging away mixes with the hurricane and honestly had become background noise. But he hears a cabinet door open and then the fridge. Getting up, he knows it’s one of the guys or you, but he wants to check. If it’s you, he wants to make sure you aren’t about to jump out of your skin.

You hear footsteps and turn to see Frankie standing there in his t-shirt. “Shit.” You hiss, still startled despite his slow approach and you place your hand on your chest. Your normally steely nerve is displaced by the storm. “Sorry.”

“No, don’t be sorry.” He murmurs, stepping closer and watching you in the lamplight. “Are you okay, sweetheart? I know you’re nervous.” His eyes dip down to where your hand is on your chest. “I’ve got a fan in the bedroom.” He offers.

You are tempted. It’s so damn hot. You press the water bottle from the cooler to your chest, sighing in relief. “I - are you sure? I don’t wanna - I’m sure you want to stretch out.” Frankie rolls his eyes which you see in the lamplight. “Come on. Cool down.” You grab your tank top and make your way into his bedroom, “oh God it’s so cool in here.” You groan, walking towards the fan.

“Sorry.” He swipes his hand over the back of his neck and chuckles softly. “I sleep better when I have a fan blowing on me. So instead of charging my phone, I plugged in my fan. It’s the only one I have unfortunately.”

You shake your head, walking to the unruffled side of the bed. “It’s your house. Your generator. Your gas. You are more than entitled to use the fan.” You promise and shift to lay down, still in your bralette and you sigh in relief as the cool air hits you. The wind rattles around the house and you shiver. “Too cold?” Frankie asks as he shifts to lay down next to you. “No. Just hate that sound.” You murmur, staring up at the dark ceiling.

“I know.” He hates it too, but he tries to not let himself think about what is happening outside. “You need to think about something else.” He offers. “What’s your craziest idea?” He asks, suddenly wanting to know. “Could be anything.”

You chuckle, “oh God. You cannot drag this out of me after tonight because I’ll never admit it but right now, anything for a distraction. I, uh, I want to have sex in a helicopter while it’s flying.” You confess, “everyone has a mile high club in a plane but that’s boring. I wanna have sex in a bird. Thought about it a lot when we were running ops.”

Frankie groans, cock twitching in his shorts. “Fuck yessssss.” He moans, not looking over at you. He doesn’t want to embarrass himself. “I have that same fantasy. Although it would be difficult to maneuver.”

“I know but if anyone could figure it out, it would be you.” You giggle, shifting to lay on your side to face him. He looks up at the ceiling and you bite your lip, knowing he doesn’t want you like that but right now it’s too easy to imagine. “Imagined it so many times when you were the pilot.” You confess quietly, keeping your eyes on him.

He closes his eyes, swallowing harshly and taking a deep breath. “Baby, you shouldn’t say things like that to me when you’re in my bed and wearing the sexiest little shorts and bra that I’ve ever fucking seen.” He opens his eyes and looks over at you, eyes dark with lust. “You have no idea what I’ve imagined doing to you.”

You inhale sharply, your heartbeat dropping into your pussy as you clench, slick from just being near him. “Show me. I want you to show me what you’ve imagined. Because I guarantee you it’s along the lines of what I’ve imagined you doing to me.” You promise, shifting closer to him.

Frankie takes a second, watching you to see if this is some kind of test or joke. When he doesn’t see anything but impatience, he lunges forward and grabs you as he presses his lips to yours eagerly.

You gasp into his mouth when his lips press against yours. Surprised but delighted as he pushes you back into his mattress, shifting closer to hover over you. You cup his cheek and eagerly let his tongue tangle with yours as the wind howls outside.

Your thighs part, letting him settle between them and press his hardening cock against your core. Making him groan into your mouth as his hands turn greedy, practically ripping your little bralette off your body to get to your tits.

He is immediately kissing along your jaw as his hand cups your tit, squeezing, and you moan, grateful that the storm is covering your noises from the boys sleeping in the living room. Your hands grip his shirt, desperate to feel his skin, and he reluctantly pulls back to let you drag the shirt from his head. You toss the shirt across the room, your hands sliding along your back, and you moan, “you are so fucking strong and sexy, Frank. Always thought that.”

He hums, taking the compliment when it would have been easier for you to have thought that about any of the others. You’ve chosen him to fantasize about and that makes him burn to make you happy that you wanted him. His fingers pinch your nipple and roll it around before he ducks his head down and wraps his lips around it.

You moan, sliding your hand up to tangle your fingers in his hair, his tongue lathes your nipple before he sucks on it, releasing it with a pop that makes you whimper. You rock your hips up to grind against his hard cock. He switches to your other breast and your hand snakes between you so you can slide your hand into his boxers and wrap your fingers around his hard cock.

Frankie grunts, rocking his hips forward and groaning against your nipple. You are so much more responsive than he ever imagined, your sounds sweeter. He flicks his tongue over the taunt bud and carefully grinds his teeth around it until you are whining his name.

You whimper when he switches over to your other nipple, making them deliciously sore and distracting you from the roar of the wind outside. You try to pump his cock, squeezing him in your hand as he releases your nipple with a pop to groan your name. “Lay down.” You plead, wanting to touch him.

“You don’t want me to eat your pussy?” He rasps out, nearly salivating at the thought. “What do you want, baby? I can lick your little pussy and make you forget all about the storm outside or you can ride my cock and see what’s louder, you or the wind.”

“Fuck.” You gasp at the filth from his mouth but it makes you wetter. “Wanted to suck your cock but shit. I need your tongue. You want me to sit on your face while I suck your cock?” You ask breathlessly.

“We can do that.” His grin is filthy and he licks his lips suggestively as he pulls away and flips onto his back. “Come sit, baby.” He coos, patting his cheek. “Always wanted to smother myself in your pussy. Drown in it. Bet you taste fucking amazing.”

You shift to kneel above him, dragging his boxers down to expose his cock, and you groan at the thickness of him. “Holy shit.” You murmur, “you’re gonna stretch me out.” You confess and he groans when you slide your finger along his length. “Sit on my face.” He demands and you push your shorts down along with your panties, naked as you straddle his chest.

“Fuuuuuuuck.” He groans when he gets the first glimpse of your cunt when you bend over. “Sorry.” You cringe slightly and rock your hips away from him as if you are embarrassed. “I didn’t know I was going to do this. I would have shaved.” Frankie snorts, shaking his head as he grabs your hips to drag you back. “I don’t give a fuck if you shaved.” He huffs. “You have a pretty pussy and I’m going to bury my tongue in it.”

You moan when he surges forward to slide his tongue through your folds. “Fuck, Frank.” You gasp and close your eyes as his hands squeeze your ass while he slides his tongue over your clit. The wind howls outside and you inhale shakily, reaching down to wrap your fingers around his cock. You love how he groans into your folds and you bend over so you can take him into your mouth. You flick your tongue over the head, the salty taste of pre-cum hitting your tongue and you swirl your tongue around the head before you close your lips around it.

He can tell that you’re surprised by his enthusiasm, but you shouldn’t be. Any and all of his girlfriends had bragged about his willingness to go down on them, but you make him eager for it. Wanting to show you how good he can make you feel and taste how you come apart for him. He groans into your flesh, enjoying the tangy taste of your cunt while you lap at his cock.

You moan around his cock, taking him deeper as you relax your jaw. He’s thick and stretching your mouth, but you love it. The storm shutters shake but you don’t pay attention as you focus on Frankie sliding his tongue through your folds and you take his cock deeper until you choke. It’s been a while since you’ve given a blowjob to a cock this big and you pull off to catch your breath.

“Don’t hurt yourself baby.” Frankie reluctantly pulls his tongue away from your clit to warn you. He knows he’s a lot and if you can’t handle it, he won’t be upset at you, “I’m still going to make you cry out even if you don’t suck my dick.”

His words make you moan his name and you wrap your fingers around him, pumping him while he’s slick with your saliva. “Wanna make you feel good.” You reply breathlessly, “fuck. Your tongue - it’s so good, baby.” You moan as he flicks your clit again.

He hums, knowing that you do make him feel good. Just letting him touch you is making him feel good so he dives back into your pussy with a long lick to your pussy and feels you squeeze his cock before lowering your head again.

You want to pleasure him, and distract yourself from the roar of the hurricane outside, so you take him back into your mouth, fingers working what you cannot wrap your lips around. Your jaw is stretched as you bob on his length, saliva dripping down into the coarse hair at the base of his cock.

He moans into your folds, toes curling when you swallow around him. It’s the best fucking blow job he’s ever had because it’s you. You are the girl he wants and everything you do is just amazing. He doubles his efforts on your pussy, wanting to feel you cry out around his cock when he makes you cum.

You moan around his cock when he pushes his tongue into your fluttering pussy. His mustache rubs against your folds and his nose nudges against your skin as he shakes his head. It’s incredible and you rock back against him as you relax your jaw. His efforts are not in vain as you get closer, thighs pressing against his ears as he works you over. “Fuck. Frank- oh fuck.” You gasp, letting his cock drop from your mouth when he sucks on your clit. “I’m gonna - oh God. It’s - shit. Fra-” You don’t finish your cry of his name as you choke and fall apart on top of him. Thighs smothering his face as you soak his chin in your cum.

The storm howls outside the house, but your sounds are covering them up. Making him groan ravenously when you start to shake and your pussy floods his mourn with a wave of your sweet juices.

You pant against his thigh as he works you through it, lapping at your clit, and you whimper when it becomes too much. You shift away from his face and wrap your fingers around his cock again. “Want you inside of me.” You murmur, squeezing him.

Frankie grunts, twitching against your palm. “How do you want me, sweetheart?” He pants. “You want me to be in control or do you want to ride me?” He knows you would never let him pressure you into sex to begin with, but he wants you to choose how you take him the first time. 

You let go of his cock and shift off of his chest, kneeling on the bed. “I want you to be in control. Show me what you’ve wanted.” You demand, shifting to stretch over his body so you can kiss him. “Take what you want from me, Francisco.”

That is fucking music to his ears. Gone is the worry, the softness. His jaw set and his eyes narrow as he wraps his arms around you and flips you both over on the mattress, eager to get you under him. “God, you won’t regret that.” He promises, his voice low and husky.

You stare up at him as he settles between your thighs. “I want you to fill me up. It’s safe. I have an IUD and fuck, Frank, I need you. I want you.” You promise as he hovers over you and you surge up to press your lips to his.

He hadn’t even thought about protection, but he trusts you. He knows you and knows you would never lie about something like that. So he’s kissing you back while he’s taking hold of his cock and sliding it through your folds to press against your entrance. Groaning when you nip his bottom lip with your teeth and he pushes inside you with a slow, firm thrust until he is buried in your pussy.

Your mouth falls open as he pushes into you, stretching you out, and you caress his shoulders until you grip his back. “You’re so thick, baby. God, so fucking good inside me. I need - I need you to move.”

He groans, loving how needy you are. Leaning down and pressing his lips to your before he starts to move. Right now, his control is threadbare and he shows that with the harsh, sharp snaps of his hips, pulling back and drilling into you again.

He seems animalistic and you love it. Your focus is solely on Frankie and you moan his name into his mouth as he slams his hips against your ass. “Oh fuck. I - I love this. You feel so much better than I imagined.” You moan into his chin and he squeezes your thigh.

He grunts in agreement, teeth snapped together and his brow pinched in concentration. Wanting to see how much you can take and greedy for every time your pussy squeezes his cock tight. “Fuuuuck.”

You tilt your head back into the pillow, mouth open as you moan, “oh shit. Yes. Right there baby.” You whine, rocking your hips up to meet his and the room fills up with noises of sex, drowning out the gusting winds.

He is spurred on by your breathless praise. The needy whine for more, making his hips plunge down again and again. He’s drunk on you, completely wrapping up in how you react to him.

You wrap your legs around him, needing to be closer, and you love how he looks as he looms over you, illuminated by the lamplight. “Wanted this for so long.” You confess breathlessly, squeaking when he adjusts his hips and thrusts into a spot that has your eyes rolling into the back of your head.

He groans, loving your confession. “Me too.” He pants into your neck. “Fuck, want you to cum for me baby.” He concentrates on that spot, hammering against it again and again and chuckling when you start to squeal every time.

He hits that spot over and over and it makes you squeal his name until you finally fall apart around his cock. You soak him, thighs shaking as you arch your back, consumed by an orgasm from the man you’ve wanted for so many years.

Frankie growls your name, hips stuttering and his pace grinding to a halt from how hard you are beating down on him. Your orgasm pushes him over the edge and he buries his face in your neck, painting your walls with ropes of his sticky seed as he cums.

You grip his back, your nails digging into his flesh as he rocks into you. Grunts muffled into your neck and you moan, loving how the warmth of his seed feels around you. “I love you.” You pant breathlessly, wrapping your legs around his waist, keeping him inside you.

Frankie whimpers your name, turning and pressing his lips to your pulse. “I love you too.” He promises. Even if you are just saying it because you’ve been caught up in the moment, he means it. He has always loved you. “So much, baby.”

You sigh, a smile on your face as your heart pounds. Maybe it’s the high of the moment for him. The stress from the storm and the first time you’ve had sex, but you feel warm throughout your body. “I think we are in the eye of the storm. It’s gone quiet out there.”

He listens for a moment, his head lifting from your neck. “You’re right.” He murmurs. “We are through the worst of it.” He promises, kissing you softly. “Are you still scared?”

You shake your head. “No. I know you’ll keep me safe. And the guys. Can hear them still snoring from in here.” You joke and caress his shoulders before you run your fingers through his hair. “I really do love you. I have for years. You’re - you’re the man I’ve always wanted. That’s why it’s never worked out with others. I love you, baby. I’m here and I’m all in if you want me.”

“You’re mine now.” Frankie promises. “The moment you wanted in my bed, I knew I was keeping you.” He reaches up and caresses your cheek. “We will work out the details, but I want you, sweetheart.”

You smile, kissing his nose and you whimper as he pulls out of you. “I’m gonna clean you up.” He declares and you stretch out on his bed while he grabs the lamp to get you a rag to clean up. Once you’re cleaned up, you settle under his sheets, glad to have the fan, and you curl into his chest. The winds are picking up again as the eye passes and you close your eyes. “Get some sleep, sweetheart. The storm will pass.” He promises and you sigh, listening to his heartbeat as you fall asleep. You feel protected and loved and safe which is more than you ever imagined when you heard the storm was heading your way. Yet here you are, you and Frankie together in the eye of the hurricane and you’ve never felt happier.

[tragedybunny]

I Should Tell You - Chapter 4

༺Summary༻

In a fit of guilt, Astarion tries to confess his deception to you. At the last moment, he loses his nerve and ends your relationship with another lie. He's resigned himself to having lost his chance with you forever when once again everything changes. With the two of you out on your own, will he be able to take a chance and tell you everything, and will you forgive him when he does?

༺Pairing༻ Astarion x Female Reader

༺Warnings༻ Sexual references

༺Word Count༻ 2348

༺A/N༻ Weeeeeeeeeeeellllllllllll it's finally back! After an incredibly long hiatus. And to thank for that you have my new partner in this endeavor @icybluepenguin who co-wrote this chapter with me. I'm sorry for no tag list but it is just a pain to keep up with.

Read on AO3

Astarion made good on his promise to say his farewells. If he lingered a little longer than he insisted he would or if his eyes looked wet when he passed you upstairs, no one said anything. 

Your hand hovered over a jar which had lost its label. Gale had loaned you a bag of holding for all the books and other bits that wouldn't travel well. He would keep them at Waterdeep until you returned. The jar went in the bag. You had left your mother's house with practically nothing. All the mess strewn about here you had earned. It was yours in a way nothing else had been. 

But you couldn't take it all to the Underdark, could you? Even if it was strangely wrenching your heart to pick what to take. 

Seven thousand spawn waiting in the Underdark. And one accompanying you down there. You had been sincere - the Underdark had been an adventure like nothing you could imagine and seeing it again with more freedom to explore would be an incredible opportunity. 

But being alone with Astarion… it was so easy with him, the way it hadn't been with Halsin. There had been plenty of kindness, of patience – of incredible sex only a wood elf could provide too – but only Astarion made you feel entirely yourself. 

You gripped a worn leather bracer, one you'd long since lost the pair to. You could do this, you could avoid any slips of feelings. All you had to do was just… be friends. 

Easy, right? 

Shoving the bracer in the bag, you turned to the pile of books. Some were obvious. That romance wasn't going to help you in this situation, even if you did want to see how it ends. Into the bag. 

The book of wizard spells Gale had given you, that would come. When your hand brushed the cover, there was a silent hum of approval from your patron. She’d always liked Gale. 

She’d liked Halsin as well, the very embodiment of virile nature. But Astarion had been a thorn in her side. “A life for a family line.” That had been the deal - and a vampire spawn was useless there. The subtle background thrum of her happiness while you wrapped yourself around the ache in your chest that night was impossible to forget. 

Why couldn't it have been easy with Halsin?  What had gone wrong – what had you done wrong? You shoved that thought down as far as you shoved another book into the bottomless bag. 

The sun was setting as you took your belongings downstairs for one last meal at the Elfsong, and maybe the last hot meal you would see for a while. Securing a table in a quieter area, with a pint of the finest Baldurian ale, your order of fried fish and a warm soup was brought over by Alan himself.

“One last meal for our resident hero. And not just of the city – demands for rooms have certainly improved with the gossip about your residence here.” Alan offered his hand and you clasped it with goodwill and warmth. 

“You were a great ally to us, it’s only fair you’re repaid.” The growling of your stomach almost drowned out your words, and your cheeks flushed a slight red. Packing under Astarion's deadline had distracted you from eating all day. 

Alan was gracious enough to not remark on your distress but retreated with a friendly wave. “I’ll leave you to your meal then.” 

Embarrassment stinging your cheeks, you dug into your fish. 

It was delightfully salty and crisp, the inside melting in your mouth. Nothing else mattered but the perfect bite in your mouth. 

“Ah there you are, darling,” a distinctive voice drawled from right behind you, and you jumped a little. 

It seemed Astarion was still able to sneak up on you whenever he wanted. Some things never changed, and that was a bit of comfort to you. “Come to join me for a bite?” You turned toward him with a smile. 

“Now, now, don’t be a tease dear.” He returned your smile with a sharp one of his own, giving your stomach a little flutter that had nothing to do with hunger this time, and sat down across from you. “Although you do look good enough to eat.”

Falling back into a flirty exchange was so easy. Nothing to it at all, with him. And the way his eyes looked in the lamplight –

There was another retort right at the tip of your tongue… but you stopped. Maybe it was too easy. Astarion hid behind flirtation. He used it as a shield. And if you played along, would he see that it was actually a game? Or would he assume you were looking for a new bedmate, someone to distract from the heartbreak? 

After all, you weren't sure if it was just a game yourself. You were carefully not thinking about Halsin, not thinking about how it might have been you –

You looked down at your soup with a shy, mumbled, “Thanks,” instead. 

An unpleasant silence fell between you before Astarion cleared his throat. “I see that you’re all packed, yes? No last minute change of heart?” 

“Not on your unlife Astarion. This is going to be an amazing adventure.” 

As cheerful as you tried to be, the moment seemed to have fizzled. You picked at your food. You did have doubts, but not the ones he thought. The danger didn't bother you, not after taking down a Netherbrain. But you did feel… wistful to be leaving the city, this place that had been your home but also your prison. Part of you wanted to explore it with new eyes but just as much of you wanted to be far away from it. The conflicting swirl of grief and excitement was hard to ignore.

“So, what is the route you’ve got to get to the others?” Some awkward moments were to be expected, right? It was all part of rebuilding your friendship – no need for it to sour the whole night. 

“Well…” Astarion was oddly hesitant. “There wasn’t much of a safe route for an army of spawn through the city. But there are some tunnels under Szarr manor.”

You wrinkled your nose, disgusted by the thought of returning to that accursed place. It had felt good to bring an end to the sadistic vampire lord and know that he would never hurt Astarion or any others again. It made sense that a manor passed down through a lineage of vampires would have access to the Underdark. 

“Hopefully there aren’t any more surprise house guests lingering. We just get in, and go right down.” As much as your skin crawled at the idea of Szarr Manor, Astarion was the one who had been tortured there, for two hundred years. If there had been any other option, he would have taken it, even if it meant walking through fire. 

Astarion swallowed hard. “Right, just as simple as that.”

Without thinking, you reached a hand across the table to where his rested, and wrapped his pale fingers in yours, giving them a soft squeeze. “It won’t take long, we’ll be through it in moments.” 

He squeezed back, a moment of acknowledgement before withdrawing his hand and pushing the subject away. “Then you best eat up, don’t want to dawdle until the sun rises, my sweet.” 

The rest of the meal passed with much lighter conversation; idle gossip and Astarion’s blade-sharp judgement on everyone in the Elfsong that night. Finished, you stood from your chair. 

You took a last look around at the place that had been home for a good month. Perhaps the only place that had ever begun to feel like home. You were nothing like the girl who had fled Baldur’s Gate months ago. You weren't even still the woman who had arrived back here, not after the Steel Watch and Cazador and Gortash and the Netherbrain. And more. 

Adventure called to you. Seeing the world so long denied to you, flexing your magical powers with confidence. 

But so did a home. Having a place to return to, to hold your memories and your safety at night. People who wanted you around, stability and comfort. 

And Astarion. 

“I suppose it’s time,” you said, grabbing your pack. There was only one way to have Astarion and you were going to take it, even if it made your heart crack. “Lead the way.” 

Astarion flashed you a devilish grin that made your stomach quiver. “Oh, does that mean I’m the leader now?” 

The lamplight really did wonderful things for his eyes as he smiled. And that lock of hair, it looked so soft, he must have washed it earlier –

You covered your distraction with a hasty giggle. “I don’t know, can you make sure we don’t wander into our untimely end?” 

Astarion looked dramatically thoughtful. “Ah, perhaps a co-leadership situation is in order.” Dropping into an exaggerated bow, he gestured to the door. “I’ll still be your guide to the tunnels. Right this way, my lady.” 

The streets of the Gate were never silent, even in the dark. All around you, life in the city went on as you followed Astarion from the Elfsong. 

His steps were swift and sure, the echoes of a thousand times taking this path in his posture. His shoulders hunched, then straightened, then hunched around his ears again. He looked straight ahead, not glancing at you  or the nightlife of the city. How many times had he lured someone down this road, knowing death awaited them? Only it hadn't. Cazador had kept them, starving and caged. You remembered the horror as he realized how Cazador had tricked them, the guilt that he tried to bury in a dash for power, the tears that streaked his face as he stabbed his master over and over. 

If anyone deserved this second chance, it was him. 

“You're awfully quiet.” 

“Just… looking at the stars,” you said. They were brilliant tonight. Well, as brilliant as they got in the city. Summer was winding down and the evening was clear with just a touch of chill - leaving the stars shining in a cloudless sky. 

Astarion’s ruby eyes followed yours to the sky. “I guess I'm not used to looking up enough to notice them.” 

“Well, now you get to. You can go anywhere and see the stars.”

Astarion kept his gaze to the sky while his eyes became almost luminescent in their softness. Then he bent his head, staring at the pavement with a hard expression. “That is, once I’ve checked in on my dear siblings.” 

The two of you quietly entered the lower city passage and before you knew it, the manor proper was looming before you, silent as a tomb. Beside you, Astarion froze, looking ahead with a mixture of fascination and dread. 

“Right, well. Here we are.” His voice shook so subtly that anyone else may not have been able to catch it. 

Reaching up, you placed your hand on his shoulder, reassuring with a gentle touch. “I’m with you. We're doing this together.” 

With a shrug that sent a stinging through your heart, Astarion removed your hand from where it had rested. “I’m fine,” he said, words clipped before starting towards the door. 

Too far…

There wasn’t any point in trying to walk it back. Astarion was already getting ahead of you. There was still the possibility, however slim, that something was inside. 

You hurried to catch up with him, hurt and yearning lodged in your throat. 

The House of Szarr was unchanged since you’d last passed through the doors – though now the silence felt desolate instead of eerie. The servants must have wandered off or become food for the spawn; none of them haunted the halls any longer. Everything else remained untouched: paintings, tapestries, furnishings. The trappings that begged you to praise the greatness of the Vampire Lord who resided here. 

Astarion's back was stiff and his shoulders perfectly straight. He clenched his jaw, looking ahead with determination. His bravery shone despite his brittle posture as you walked deeper into his nightmares. 

Your fingers twitched with the urge to take his hand, to remind him that you had beaten this place together once and you wouldn’t let anything harm him now. But his earlier reaction kept your hand at your side as you hurried by the empty kennels. 

Not far past them was a smashed panel in the wall, timbers and plaster littering the floor. You hadn't done this damage, as much as you had fantasized about tearing this place down beam by beam. The freed spawn must have done it. 

Astarion hadn't said a word since you'd entered the palace. He had stalked through the halls with a stony look on his face, not stopping along the way or even glancing at you. You didn't dare make a sound, lest it ruin his fragile armor. Get in and get out, you thought. Everything else could wait. 

Through the broken wall was a narrow wooden staircase. You cast a mage light to help with the oppressive dark as you descended, worried that you would put a foot through the uneven boards. Walls that had started as smooth plaster gave way to cut stone and then to natural curves. The air grew more and more stale and musty as you went, taking on that distinct aged and chill quality of deep caves.

Astarion's posture softened the farther you got from the palace. There was still tension that you thought wouldn't leave until he'd dealt with his siblings. But it was good to see some ease return to his stride. 

You heard the echoing noise of a small stream of water just as you spied the first cluster of tiny luminescent mushrooms ahead.  

Before you, the passage widened and the Underdark sprawled out to welcome you. The alluring, yet deadly beauty beckoned to you and slowly a smile crept across your face. If you didn’t have Astarion or Halsin at least you had these wonders to bask in.  

[corazondebeskar-reads]

the art of breaking (dark!joel miller x f!reader; dead dove do not eat)

the art of breaking part one | part two

very dark!Joel Miller x f!reader

Word Count: 10k

Summary: Your meeting is happenstance, but everything that follows? Well, that’s all Joel. He just knows you’re going to be his perfect little toy. He just has to show you how.

written for the #deaddovedecember2023 event hosted by @romana-after-dark | also on ao3 | dedicating this to @kewwrites, who is a master and icon of unsettling-but-still-romantic dark fic & whose incredible vibes made me feel brave enough to write this. love you ty 🖤

dividers by @saradika-graphics

NOTE: DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT.

Seriously, I am saying this as clearly as I can: read the warnings carefully. If anything listed is something you don’t want to read, don’t. The working title for this was “the darkest joel” for a reason (and I actually tamed it down/cut out some of the intense scenes). It’s modern-day/no outbreak, but Joel still lost Sarah and went off the deep end. He was probably a good dom at some point, but now he’s just fucked up.

If you're worried it'll be too dark, it probably will be.

Warnings under the cut:

Warnings: dead dove do not eat, non-con, dub-con, very dark!Joel, BAD bdsm etiquette, not SSC/RACK compliant, sadist!Joel x masochist!reader, coercion, corruption, manipulation, isolation, gaslighting, captivity, sadism, masochism, pain play, extreme punishment, semi-permanent damage (a bone is broken, I’m not fucking around), whipping, spanking, face slapping, tit slapping, impact play in general, mentions of vomit (no description), oral, anal, vaginal, degradation, humiliation, overstimulation, edging, denial, dacryphilia, bastinado (mentioned), restraints, very brief knifeplay, tiny drop of blood play, Joel sees reader as property, inadequate aftercare 

Again, I cannot say this enough. This is a dark fantasy and should not be taken as representative of a good d/s relationship—it’s abuse masquerading. Just because I wrote it doesn’t mean I’m condoning it. 

Please read responsibly. 

I. in media res

     -the fracture

There’s one comfort Joel almost never denies you.

Well, never denies himself.

Unless you’ve been real bad, you always take your place in bed with him at the end of the day. You think it’s so he has easy access to you if he wakes up horny, but honestly, that happens a lot less than expected. He works hard all day; he needs his sleep.

No, he likes the comfort of your warm body next to his. The way you curl up and press kisses to him, no matter how bad he hurt you during the day. His sweet little pet, desperate for every bit of his affection you can earn. He’s always gentle with you here.

It’s part of what makes The Pit so effective.

It fucks with your brain on so many levels, exposes you to so many fears, and then you have to reconcile that you were bad enough for Joel to deny himself the comfort of you in his arms at night. That you’re so undeserving of his love.

Of all of the ways he punishes you, this will be the worst. You can take the humiliation, the pain—not easily, but you can, and there’s usually immediate care after.

But a night in The Pit will tear you down completely.

You hadn’t known what to expect when he said you’d have to spend the night alone, but it wasn’t this.

“No, please,” you scream, stumbling to keep up as Joel pulls you by your hair.

“Shut up,” he snarls.

The soil is loose, clinging to your sweat as you try to right yourself. It’s a futile effort. When you reach The Pit, he holds you down with his boot on your chest while he unlocks and opens the bars.

“Get in,” he says.

You’re sobbing and shaking, skin already gone cold. Somehow, you manage to obey.

The Pit is exactly what it sounds like. It has an open wooden frame with mesh on the side walls to keep the dirt in place. The bottom is bare soil. Mounted to the top of the beams is a grate of bars that sit flush with the ground.

It’s big enough for you to curl up at the bottom—which is what you do now.

“I’m sorry,” you cry.

He shuts and locks the gate.

II. from the start

     -intact

It was kismet, really, that he was there that night. He didn’t usually go out for drinks with the guys, not wanting to be the boss who was always cramping their style. But Tommy had dragged him out tonight, and so he was witness (with the rest of the pub) to your relationship falling apart.

And okay, maybe he went outside for a smoke after you moved the fight to the alley so he could eavesdrop. But it wasn’t his fault. How could he not?

You had said, “Maybe you’re just not man enough for me,” to the brawny but pathetic prick across from you in the booth. “Wanting you to be rough doesn’t make me a freak.”

“That’s not rough; that’s fuckin’ abuse. You’re sick,” your boyfriend had practically shouted.

The discussion evolved into a screaming match in the alley, where Joel had been pleased to be right. It was about more than just a little rough sex or spanking.

At the end of it, your boyfriend stormed off, and you went back in the pub. Joel found you at the bar, throwing back another shot and wiping your tears away.

“You did good back there,” he says.

You startle and look at the stranger. The very handsome stranger. Rugged, with a salt and pepper beard and a scar across his nose.

“What do you mean?”

“Standin’ up for yourself. Not a lot of people woulda been confident enough. ‘Specially not a girl lookin’ for that.”

You glare at the bar counter. “M’not a weirdo.”

“Nah, you’re not. Shit like that is perfectly normal. He’s just pathetic.”

You look back up at him, and he sticks one hand in his pocket, trying to adjust himself discreetly. The tear streaks on your cheeks are getting to him.

“I don’t know. He’s probably right. It’s not your garden variety shit,” you say. The tequila and his gentle eyes have loosened your tongue.

“I doubt that. Try me,” he says.

“What?”

“Try me. Tell me what he freaked out over, and I’ll tell ya if it’s weird. Trust me, I’ve seen it all.”

You hesitate, but he looks genuine and kind. “I asked him to hit me. Like, in the face. And to, y’know, pin me down and—” you trail off.

“And make ya take it?” he guesses.

You nod. “He thought I like, I dunno, actually wanted to be raped,” you whisper the last word, eyes darting to the people around you.

Joel laughs. “Honey, that’s so normal, you wouldn’t believe. I’ve helped ladies out with that little roleplay more times than I can count. If that’s your deepest, darkest fantasy, and he couldn’t take it, then you’re better off without him.”

“It’s not,” you mumble.

“Speak up, honey.”

“It’s not my deepest, darkest fantasy. It’s probably one of the least of them.”

He grins. “Then you’re definitely better off. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with likin’ things on the darker side, sweetheart.”

You’re feeling hot all over and are about to ask him more when your phone rings. It’s your idiot boyfriend, who’s realized you have the car keys.

“I better go. Thank you,” you say, standing and offering him your hand.

He gives it a firm shake, tipping his head. “I’m Joel. And if you’re ever so inclined, I’d like to take you out sometime.”

You laugh. “Let me break up with my boyfriend first, Joel.” But you dig a pen out of your purse and write your number on one of the tiny bar napkins.

Your first date was so normal. You’re not sure what you expected. To jump right to hardcore sex?

But no, he turns up at your door in a neatly pressed green button-up, black slacks, and an ostentatious belt buckle. He greets you with a kiss on the cheek and a bouquet of wildflowers, lavender stalks nestled between pink honeysuckle and red salvia. Not a traditional arrangement, but it reminds you of a summer sunset.

“From my garden,” he says a little sheepishly, but you like them a lot better than some generic store display. You tell him as much and his cheeks flush a little.

You return the kiss and pop the flowers in a vase of water before he sweeps you off in his pickup. You aren’t surprised, really, but it’s more charming than some of the other men and their gaudy trucks.

Joel’s is older but well-kept, with minimal rusting around the wheel wells. The bed is open, and you can see streaks of grease and paint spills. A silver tool chest is mounted against the back of the cab. Everything inside and out has a light coating of sawdust.

He isn’t some insecure man with a truck big enough to make up for what isn’t in his britches, that’s for certain. You’d hazard a guess that the corded muscle of his forearms and the breadth of his shoulders are well-earned.

He holds the door open for you, which you tease him for as you slide onto the truck’s bench seat.

“Ain’t doin’ it ‘cause you’re incapable,” he drawls. “Or because you’re a lady,” he adds when he sees the glint in your eye.

“Oh yeah, cowboy?”

His grin is lopsided, a little dark. “Nah. I just think you deserve to be taken care of, s’all.”

You flush, the back of your neck burning, but you don’t fight the smile that threatens to break out. “Thank you, Joel.”

He shakes his head. He’s pretty sure, now, that if he plays his cards right, he’s found somethin’ special.

He waits three whole dates to take you to bed, and even then, it doesn’t start dirty.

“Let me get to know your body first, baby,” he urges when you ask him to fuck you rough. Instead, he takes you apart piece by piece. First with his tongue, and then his fingers. He brings you to the edge over and over, but never lets you fall.

After a while, you’re a broken record, pleas and sobs spilling from you.

“That’s music to my ears, darlin’,” he says, pulling his fingers out abruptly to see how your cunt throbs for him. He spits on your clit and watches it drip down to join the mess between your thighs.

“Please, please, Joel,” you beg.

“Please who now?”

“Please, sir,” you try, and are rewarded with his sharp grin. But not with an orgasm.

He slaps your cunt. “That’s more like it, baby. You remember who you’re talkin’ to, alright?”

You nod. “Yes, sir; thank you, sir.”

He shakes his head, sucking on your clit for a moment before pulling back to get a good look at you. “You do like a little pain, huh?”

“Would like more,” you say.

“Oh yeah? What would you let me do to you?”

“Anything, please, sir.”

He clicks his tongue at you. “Don’t go sayin’ that to someone you barely know. It’s okay to mean it when you trust somebody, but you’re gonna end up in more trouble than you bargain for if you pass that out like candy.”

“I do mean it.”

“Yeah? You’ll let me do this?” His open palm smacks across your face, leaving a sting tingling on your cheek and a lightness to your brain.

Tears spring to your eyes, but you nod frantically.

“What about this?” he grabs a nipple in his calloused fingers and yanks, twisting.

You yelp, but it trails off to a moan, and you nod.

“Goddamn, baby. S’good. But what about this?” He flicks open the switchblade he keeps in his pocket.

You jerk and whine, eyes wide and wet as he brings it to your breast. Your breathing falls shallow as you try to hold still, the point scraping the delicate skin as he circles it. But the look you’re giving him almost has him cumming in his pants like he were twenty years younger.

“Fuck, you weren’t kidding. I mean, you’ve gotta have limits; everyone does. But you just want me to hurt you, huh?” He digs the tip of the blade in a little on the side of your breast, cock throbbing as you gasp, and you both watch a tiny drop of blood bead and trickle down the blade.

He puts it away. “No,” he says when you whimper. “Not today. I ain’t prepared for all that.”

Joel doesn’t like to break his toys. Not permanently. Just enough that he can put them back together how he likes and then do it all over again.

“Don’t need to be prepared; just do it,” you whine.

He slaps you again and wrenches your head up with a hand in your hair. “First of all, I fuckin’ told you no. Second, I know you want to be a stupid little cunt for me, but I’m not about to cut you open without any goddamn first aid shit.”

He leans back and smacks the breast he had cut. He hits you over and over, alternating sides, until your chest burns, and you’re sobbing.

He looks you over briefly and then shoves his hand between your thighs. “You’re wetter than a slip ‘n slide, baby.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” you whisper.

“I know,” he says, and wipes the tears from your cheek with his thumb. He feels your cunt twitch when he brings his thumb to his mouth and sucks it clean.

It’s the last straw for him. He’s not opened you enough, but he has a feeling you’ll like it better this way anyway.

You cry out, back arching when he shoves into you. He meant to go slow, he really did, if only to drag out the anticipation. But you’re so warm. So wet. So he just stuffs himself inside.

It’s not that he doesn’t believe you love the pain; it’s just that he can’t resist feeling the evidence for himself. He slaps you across the face while you’re still processing his cock, and the resulting clench and jerk of your body drag a moan from him.

He holds back, regulates his urge to pull each whimper and scream from you, but it’s still so fucking good. It’s been a long time since he’s doled out real cruelty to a slut like you who loves to suffer.

When he finally lets you cum, it’s when he’s about to. He pulls out and spanks your cunt, granting his permission. As your pussy flutters desperately around nothing, he cums on it, watching the way it gets prettier as he paints it.

You black out for a minute. When you come to, he’s wiping you down gently with a warm washcloth, wicking the sweat off your face and chest before cleaning his cum from your curls. You whimper, and he grins, leaning over to steal a kiss.

Even after that first night, he goes slow. He can’t scare ya, not while you still have someplace to run. Plus, it’s so much easier if he starts planting the seeds for your training now.

He knows you’ll beg for it, anyway. He’s been getting the nastiest text messages from you. Part of it is the dopamine; he’s not stupid. But part of you really wants this shit. And the rest? Well. You’ll get there.

It’s the little things. He orders you a black decaf at the drive-thru when you ask for a latte. You start to correct him, like you think he’s made a mistake, but he gives you a look, and you shut your mouth immediately.

When he pulls away from the speaker, you look over at him again. “Sorry,” you mumble.

“Sorry…?”

You squirm a little, heart pounding, unsure if he’s really doing this at the Dunkin’ Donuts. “Sorry, sir.”

He smiles and rubs his hand on your thigh where it peeks out from your skirt. “Thanks, baby.”

And that’s all it takes. You take the cup when he hands it to you and you’re quick to say, “Thank you, sir,” even though the kid at the window is still passing things through to Joel and can clearly hear you.

     -fissured

It goes on like that for a couple of months, but it doesn’t all go so smoothly. One night, he picks you up from work and takes you to a restaurant, saying he wants to treat you. Halfway through the meal, he asks for your panties.

“What?” you say, shocked at his vulgar language in the dining room.

“Take ‘em off and hand ‘em to me.”

You go to stand, probably thinking you can go to the bathroom to obey.

He shakes his head, clicking his tongue in disapproval. “Right here, right now, baby.”

“Joel,” you hiss, sitting back down, “I can’t do that.”

He fixes you with a calm smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, raising one finger in the air. “I’ll give ya three choices. The first one, the one I’m going to advise you pick, is that you do it right now, and I’ll only punish ya for talkin’ back.”

“The second one,” he holds up another finger for emphasis, “is you can go to the bathroom to take ‘em off, but you’re gonna pay for it when we get home. The third one is where you don’t listen, we leave right now, and you learn to fuckin’ regret it.”

Your breathing is shallow, and your pretty eyes are shining. If he wasn’t fully hard before, he is now.

“I-I can’t,” you whimper. “Please, sir.”

“You got about thirty seconds to make up your mind.” The softness is gone—from his voice, from his face, from the set of his shoulders.

“Fuck,” you whisper, and you stand up. You’re only in the bathroom for a minute, and when you sit back down, you try to hand them to him under the table.

“Nah, that was only a choice if you were good,” he says, smirking and laying his expectant hand on the white linens.

Mortified, you ball them up tight in your fist and press them into his hand. He slides them into his pants pocket.

He doesn’t say anything else about it for the rest of dinner, asking instead about your projects at work and your visit with your parents over the holidays. You feel sick, barely eating a thing, and biting your lip to stave off the tears.

As soon as you’re in the truck, you start to cry. “I’m sorry, I was just scared and—”

“Shut up. You made your choice. You’re not sorry. You’re just afraid of the consequences.”

“N-no, I am sorry, I mean it.”

“You’re gonna have to prove it.” He doesn’t look at you on the drive home, doesn’t speak again. Doesn’t even turn the radio on; just listens to you sniffle.

When he parks, he sets his hand on your thigh. “Don’t worry, baby. I know you can be my good girl. All you gotta do is take your punishment and learn from it, okay?”

You sniffle again and nod, blinking through tear-laden lashes at him.

“So pretty when you cry for me,” he murmurs. He gets out and comes around to open your door, offering a hand to help you step down from the tall truck. You take it, and he holds on, leading you inside his house.

He sits sprawled on the couch, thighs parted wide to make room and waits until you’re comfortably kneeling between his legs. You’re sat in silence, head bowed, arms folded behind your back.

“Tell me what you did wrong today.”

This is a first, but not a last. Even on days when nothing egregious has happened, you will follow this ritual. He’ll ask for your sins, and you’ll confess. There will always be something you’ll owe him for.

“I argued when you gave me orders. I was disobedient.”

“Anything else I need to know about, baby?”

“No, sir.”

“Why’d you argue?”

“I was afraid. I’m sorry.”

“Save your grovelin’ for after, baby. Why were you afraid?”

“I didn’t want people to see. I didn’t want to get kicked out or arrested.”

“You think I’d let anything happen to you? You think I would have given you an order that put either of us at any kinda risk?”

Your face burns. “I—”

“I thought you trusted me.” He sounds hurt, and you’re a little nauseous when you look up to see his eyes wide and sad, lips turned into a wounded scowl.

Your shoulders slump. “I didn’t think. I panicked.”

“Hmm. Okay, I can work with that.”

You look up at him, brow scrunched and lips pouting as you try to parse his words.

He smiles. It’s cold, and his eyes are steel.

You swallow hard, and his grin widens, quirking into a smirk.

“Alright, baby. I got just the thing.”

He leads you into the ensuite. You kneel on the little rug by the tub while he fills it. You’re too afraid to ask what’s happening, so you just sit quietly. He leaves the room and doesn’t come back until the tub is nearly full, and you’re starting to worry that you were supposed to be monitoring it.

He comes back in, and once it’s nearing the lip of the tub, he turns off the faucet. He has you kneel on the top of the three steps leading up to the edge. It’s the most luxurious thing in this house, and you suspect he installed it custom so he could soak his aching muscles.

He bends you over the edge so you’re leaning close to the water and crouches down behind you. It’s a pleasant surprise when he spreads you wide and licks from your clit to your asshole.

He stays there for a few minutes, indulging in your wet cunt and the cries it draws from your lips. After he’s had his fill, he stands up and lubes up his cock before pushing his way into your ass. He’s generous with the lube but rarely preps you, since you both like it better when it hurts.

You’re writhing a little beneath him, wriggling your hips to try to ease the passage. Once he’s fully seated inside you, he grabs the back of your head and shoves it under the water before fucking hard into you.

You thrash, displacing water from the tub, until he yanks you back up.

You gasp for air and scrabble to get a grip on the wet tile, but he pushes you back down and groans at how tight you get while you’re struggling.

He pulls you roughly back up. “Gonna keep going until you stop makin’ a fuss.”

You go to protest, to panic, and he pushes you back down.

The next time he pulls you out, he spanks you until your skin is burning. “Fuckin’ trust me. You think I’m gonna let you drown?”

“No, sir,” you cry, but it’s garbled as he pushes you back down. You’re still fighting him each time.

He pulls you back out and repeats the beating. “Relax, or we’re gonna be here all night.”

He continues the process a few more times and then gives you a reprieve, letting go of your hair so you can rest your cheek against the cold edge of the tub while he pounds into you. He reaches and rubs featherlight circles around your clit until you’re softly moaning.

“You gonna trust me?”

“I’m trying, my body panics,” you pant.

“I’m not gonna let anything happen to ya. You hear me? You know you’re panicking, so focus on me instead.”

“Yes, sir.”

It shouldn’t make sense, but you think he’s long warped your brain anyway. The next time he pushes you underwater, you clench your fists tight and focus on what oxygen you do have, even if he knocks a little out with each thrust.

His hand in your hair is your anchor and buoy. You tense when you feel your body start to jerk, trying so hard to control it.

He pulls you up. “Just like that, baby. Again.”

It gets just a little easier each time. He leaves you under longer, until your lungs are burning, and you’re on the edge of gasping in water, but he pulls you out in time.

“Fuck, you’re doing so well.” He’s a little fascinated. He hadn’t really been sure it could be done or if your survival instincts would go into a frenzy. But here you are, letting him almost fucking drown you.

Not that he would.

Despite being balls deep in your tight little asshole, he isn’t trying to reach his orgasm. Not yet, staving off his pleasure so he can keep a clear head.

He keeps it up just a little longer. You’re getting tired and tolerating less and less time underwater. The last time he pulls you up, he pinches your clit and tells you to cum while he fills you.

He dunks you again while you cum, and you clamp down on him tighter than you have before, convulsing on his cock. When he pulls you back up, you’re gasping and sobbing. He pulls out and wraps you in a towel, easing you to the wet floor while he cleans up.

When he comes back to you, he helps you stand and dry off, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“So?”

Your brow furrows. It’s not what he usually asks after a punishment, but you think you know what he means. “I’m sorry. I trust you, I promise.”

“I know. M’so proud of you for taking that. You’re turning out so nicely, sweet thing.”

In the morning, you’re almost late to work after sucking him off when you should have been getting dressed. He’s about to walk out the door to head to the site when he hears your frustrated voice from the bedroom.

“Joel, where are my underwear? I need to fuckin’ leave.”

“I told you, baby. There was a price to pay when you picked the bathroom. Y’ain’t wearing ‘em anymore.”

“What?”

He doesn’t need to see you to smirk at the shocked expression he knows is on your face. “We’ll talk about it more tonight; I gotta run.”

     -avulsed

“Y’know, baby,” Joel says, leaning forward to rub your shoulder. “They just don’t fuckin’ appreciate you.”

You’re bent over, elbows on your knees, crying with your face buried in your hands. You sit up and sniffle, wiping the tears. “It’s fine; it’s not like I need to be coddled at work.”

All the stress of the PR world is getting to you, and you hate it, you fucking hate it, but you dropped 50k on a degree, so now you’re stuck.

“But they make you work all this overtime, cut your team in half, and then berate you when you can’t meet the client’s deadline? You do not deserve that, baby.”

You let him coax you into his lap, facing him so you can bury your face in his soft, worn tee. He rubs your back and holds your head to his chest.

“You’re too good to me,” you mumble.

“Nah, darlin’, I’ve told ya a thousand times. You deserve to be taken care of.” He presses a kiss to the top of your head. “I, well. I was thinkin’...”

You wait, but when he doesn’t pick back up, you sit up and look at him.

“I dunno. It’s nothin’,” he says.

“Please tell me?”

“Alright, fine. Now, I don’t want ya to feel any pressure. It’s just a thought. But maybe you should just quit and stay with me a while, ‘till you can find something better?”

You can’t tell if he’s joking. He must see something on your face, because he tips your chin up so you’re looking into his eyes.

“I know it’s sudden, but I mean it. Let me take care of ya while you figure shit out. We don’t gotta treat it like living together if y’ain’t ready. But I’d be open to that conversation, too.”

It doesn’t take much more than that. The first couple weeks, he lets you give it a try—searching for new degree programs, applying for jobs you know you’re overqualified for just to try something different.

After nothing pans out, he suggests you both take a week off. Him from work and you from the burden of trying to escape unemployment. Just relax, like a little staycation.

It’s bliss. You go on dates, eat pizza and marathon the “Jurassic Park” movies, and fuck like crazy.

On the third night, he sits you down. On his cock, of course. While you’re bouncing and brainless, he cups your cheek. “Baby, you’ve been too damn stressed still. What if we… well, what if we tried out a day or two like we’ve been talking about?”

Sometimes, you whisper to him in the darkness, usually while he’s balls deep, how you wish you could be his all the time. His good girl. His pet. And he whispers back, lures you right in with promises of taking care of everything, of you not having a worry or care in the world. Just him.

Now, he fondles your tits while he murmurs to you. “We can just wake up together, and I can take care of ya. Everything you need, baby. All you’d have to do is be good for me, yeah?”

You moan and grind down harder on his cock. “Please, sir. I want it more than anything. Just to be yours.”

“I know, sweetheart.”

Joel had no patience for brats, so he usually broke his toys in sooner into the training process. He liked ‘em nice and obedient—scared, if that’s what it took, but devoted. But you had been from the start—you wanted to be good in all the ways you could never seem to be to other people. Your family, your job, the world seemed to just demand more and more.

Joel was the first person to make you feel like you had actually, really, truly pleased him. There wasn’t a higher mark you should have made. There wasn’t any expectation for you to give more and more.

His orders were complete, always. You learned that very quickly. Attempts to go above and beyond were rebuked.

“If I wanted that, I woulda said so,” he told you. And like everything else, you committed his words to memory.

It helped that he gave praise freely. You didn’t have to wonder if he was satisfied, if you should have licked him differently, if you should have made prettier faces while you came. He reassured you until you believed him, and then kept going anyway.

It made it easier for him to slowly peel you away from the ungrateful world.

“You don’t have to take that,” he’d say after watching your face fall further and further while on the phone with your mom. “Family ain’t supposed to make you feel like shit.”

They made it too easy, really, and your relationship with them would have likely just fizzled out. But in the end, he had to step in and snap it off.

You asked him to come with you to dinner at their house. He was hesitant. He wasn’t really the boyfriend type. He wasn’t really even your boyfriend. That was too weird a word for either of you, not when he owned you.

But he knows you didn’t want to go alone, and he has a feeling he’ll be cleaning up the mess anyway.

You want to give them a chance. Things have been so tense, and they said they missed you. But they didn’t even make it through the entrée without ridiculing you.

When your father asks how work is going, you quietly confess to quitting, hastily reassuring them that you are looking for a new position. Though, and you keep this part to yourself, you maybe haven’t been trying that hard.

“What do you mean you quit? How are you paying your bills? You better not have come here to ask for money,” your father says, setting down his fork to glare at you.

“Well, I’ve been living with Joel,” you mumble to the tablecloth.

“I didn’t raise you to be a gold digger,” your mother chides.

Joel tries to bite his tongue and let them dig their own graves. But your father calls you a “fucking whore,” and he can’t stand it. Can’t stand the way you’re cowering in your chair, fighting back tears.

“You watch your mouth,” Joel snaps at your father.

You look up, mouth agape, eyes darting from Joel to your parents.

“Mind your business,” your dad tells him.

Joel stands up and throws his napkin on the table. “She is my fuckin’ business. I wouldn’t stand by and let anyone talk to her like that. You’re not an exception just because you managed to get it up long enough to cum in your wife.”

“Joel,” you whisper, tugging at his sleeve. You’re burning, melting on the spot, from the vulgar way he’s talking to them. For him, someone who’s always strict about manners and proper hospitality, to talk back like this? God, you think, he must really love you.

He puts a hand on the back of your neck and holds firmly as you lean into it. He rounds back on your parents. “You treat her like fuckin’ dirt beneath your feet, and I’m tired of it. You don’t deserve the fuckin’ dirt beneath her feet.”

He shoves his chair back and grabs your hand. “C’mon, baby; we’re leaving.”

You take it and stand up, letting him pull you along. Your father follows you into the foyer, and you try not to look at him while you shove your shoes on.

Joel holds your coat out while you slip into it, and you tune out whatever your dad is yelling now. You don’t want to hear it; you know it’s nasty, and your whole world has narrowed to Joel anyway.

He holds out the key. “Go wait in the truck, baby.”

And you do.

He comes out about five minutes later, red-faced and huffing with fury. He doesn’t say a word when he gets in; just throws the truck into reverse and pulls away. You both ignore the blood on his knuckles.

Once you’re on the road, he looks over at you and sighs. “C’mere, sweetheart.”

You unbuckle and slide over to the middle seat, tucking your hand between his warm body to curl around his arm. “I’m sorry,” you whisper.

“Whaddya sorry for? None of that was your fault.” He kisses the top of your head and cups your cheek at the stoplight. “It was gonna happen eventually, anyway.”

“Thank you.”

The rest of the ride home is silent while you breathe in his comforting musk and try to relax. But the tension is unrelenting, the horrible rotting feeling eating away at your spine.

He knows. Knows what you need, knows what he can do to seal this moment forever. He waits until he’s unzipping the pretty little cocktail dress you’d stressed over.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you,” he murmurs, breaking away from where he was sucking his claim down your neck to swap out your delicate necklace with his collar.

He unhooks the bra and kisses the marks he left behind with the cane, your penance for being allowed to wear it. It leaves you bare to him, and his hands turn greedy. He presses biting kisses against your lips while digging fingers into your bruises, swallowing your whimpers.

He grabs you by the neck and squeezes the sides of your throat, holding you to him while your vision blurs. When he lets go, you stumble, but his arm around your back holds you upright. He slaps your face with quick, sharp blows in rapid succession to keep you unsteady.

“Knees, hands behind your head,” he says, and lets go.

You fall but are quick to right yourself and take the position. He wastes no time, giving you another harsh smack before grabbing your hair and shoving his cock into your throat.

You choke and gag but keep your hands in place even as your head spins. You feel limp and grateful that he doesn’t seem to require any effort from you as he uses you without mercy.

“Look at you. You’ve got my whole cock down your throat. You’re so fuckin’ good for me.”

Your eyes are already glazed over, and you moan your appreciation around him.

He pulls out and hauls you to your feet. “I know what you need, sweetheart. Get your ass downstairs.”

He fucks you, beats you, uses you wherever he wants. But the basement is where he keeps the heavy equipment and where you know you’re about to have your mind and body pushed to the absolute limit.

You’re ready, he thinks, when he gets down and finds you waiting perfectly in place for him, eyes wide like he’s descended from on high. He jerks a thumb to the wooden post, and you meet him there.

“Forget about what they want you to be,” he murmurs as he closes the steel cuffs around your ankles. “You know what you want, baby. Right?”

“Mhm,” you nod, already slipping away into that safe place only Joel can get you to.

“What do you want to be?” he asks, binding your arms up over your head to the eye bolt at the top of the post.

“Yours.” It’s half-whisper, half-whine.

“Yeah? You just wanna be mine? You don’t want to get a new job?”

“No,” you finally confess. “But—”

“But what, baby? If you say somethin’ about money or bills, I’m gonna be mighty unhappy.”

You bite your lip. “I’m scared one day, you’ll wake up and not want me anymore.”

“That’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever said, sweetheart. You think I put all this work into helpin’ you, into teaching you how to be mine, just to toss ya out? You’re hurtin’ my feelings.”

“I’m sorry,” you say automatically.

He slides a silicone cock into the bracket lined right up with your mouth. It’s a fairly standard size, since he knows you’re going to thrash around and doesn’t want you gagging too much and throwing up.

Your torso gets tied to the post by your tits, the wood nestled between them and rope woven around. Securing you there forces your head onto the toy, but he doesn’t make you take it all the way. You keep your mouth open and don’t move closer or further, waiting for his command.

“Suck on it whenever you’d like. You’re going to need it.”

Your eyes roll back a little at his promise. If he thinks you’re going to need something in your mouth to self-soothe, you’re in for an absolutely amazing time.

“Focus on me. That’s all you’ll need to do from now on, baby. No more worries in that pretty little head, okay?”

The first strike is a warm-up. When you feel the lash of his favorite whip lick your ass, you moan. It’s a moderately short signal whip that he wields like a fucking pro. His warmups are quick but thorough, and you’re squirming when he moves on to your thighs and shoulders.

“Already?” he says, laughing when you whine around the silicone cock.

You’re absentmindedly sucking on it when he starts a harsher assault. A particularly sharp strike stings at the valley where your ass meets your thighs, and you yelp, jerking a little and gagging yourself on the dildo.

His smirk burns into your back as the cry melts into a moan, and you writhe a little, trying to get friction where you need it most. What you get, though, is the tip of the whip against your cunt.

By the time he moves around to your tits, they’re covered in spit, heaving with the effort of holding back your orgasm. He comes up to you first, and pinches at your nipples.

“Aw, does my dumb little cunt want to cum?” He croons, tugging and twisting until you moan. He laughs when all you can get out is a muffled “mhm.”

“Tell ya what. You can cum all you want while I hurt you tonight, okay?”

He punctuates it with a particularly cruel pinch, and that, combined with his permission, is all you need to let the pleasure shudder through you.

“Yeah? You gonna get off to being my little toy? Gonna let me do whatever I want?”

You moan around the fake cock, easing it further into your throat.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He doesn’t give a warm-up on your tits, figuring you’re already so far gone it doesn’t fuckin’ matter.

He’s right. The first lash is harsh, a welt blooming across the top of your breast in its wake, but you groan, trying to press your cunt up against the post for any relief.

You don’t need it, though. He brings you to your peak again with the skilled flick of his wrist, landing blows across the fat of your breasts. He waits until you’re mid-orgasm to bring the whip hard across your nipples.

The resulting wail almost makes him cum in his pants. He does it only twice more, relishing in your agony, but restraining himself from just letting loose. Not with the whip, as much as he’d like to. Maybe later with a flogger.

Once he’s taken it as far as he’s willing to risk, he moves back around to give the rest of you the same treatment. The hardest hits push you over the edge, and by the time his arm is getting tired, you’re sobbing and writhing in your restraints, overstimulated in every way.

He unlatches your ankles first, helping you find steady footing before untying your wrists and torso. You drop to your knees and open your mouth, throat aching for his cock after the tease of the toy.

He doesn’t have the willpower to torment you by denying it tonight. Instead, he nearly pops the button off his jeans in his urgency to pull his cock out and shove it as far down your throat as he can.

Your arms find their place behind your back, and you just take it. He fucks into you without restraint. It’s filthy, from the mess you’re making to the wet choking sounds he pushes out of you with each thrust.

You’re shaking, and he pulls out abruptly.

“I said while I’m hurting you. You don’t get to just cum from getting facefucked.”

“Then hurt me, please,” you sob. It’s right there; you’re so close.

He slaps you across the face and laughs as you cum, shoving back into your throat while you’re still riding out the aftershocks.

He pulls back out, and you whine until he yanks you up by the bicep and pushes you over to the padded bench, bending you over it and shoving into your sopping cunt.

“Still disappointed?” he teases.

“N-no,” you pant. “Please hurt me.”

“Beg me properly, greedy little cunt.”

You clench around him just at the words, but obey. “Please, sir, please hurt me so I can cum. Please.”

“I’ve been hurtin’ you all night, baby,” he says, voice thick with false pity. “Don’t you want me to be gentle with you now?” He can feel how hard you’re trying not to cum as he mocks you.

“No,” you sob. “No, love me, hurt me, please.”

It’s got an edge of desperation and heartbreak to it that he just loves.

He smacks your already bruising ass until you sob harder, shaking uncontrollably as you cum. He wraps his hands around your throat and fucks you through it until he cums, hips stuttering, and filling your cunt with his spend.

He lets himself collapse a little on top of you, pinning you with his weight against the bench with his softening cock still buried in you. “Feel loved now?”

You’re still crying, and when he folds his arms around your chest, elbows resting on the table, you cling to him. “Love you,” you murmur over and over, pressing kisses up and down his forearms.

He nuzzles his face into your neck, kissing and sucking at you. “I know, baby. You know I love ya.” He’s half-hard—not something that happens a lot anymore at his age, so he’s not gonna waste it. He pulls out just to manhandle you up onto the bench on your back, climbing up between your legs and shoving back in.

It’s a little sloppy until he’s fully hard again; your combined cream making things a little too slippery. Once he’s erect, though, he sets a punishing pace, folding you in half with your legs up by your ears. He works your clit with his hand, relishing in the way you’re fucking exhausted and overstimulated, but your poor clit’s been neglected. It means he can twist and pull on it, tugging until you give him more and more, until you’re sobbing for mercy that you know you’ll never get.

He doesn’t ease up until he pulls out to cum over your tits and face.

“Mine,” he snarls, shoving his fingers into your swollen cunt and feeding you what’s left of his first orgasm and your… well, he’s not really sure how many. A fuckin’ lot. “You’re all mine. Little fuckin’ toy to do whatever I want, right?”

You’re still gasping for breath, having been half-suffocated in that position, but when you look at him, it’s like he’s a fucking god. “Yes, sir.”

     -broken

The day had started out fine.

He’d laid out a dress for you to wear. Sometimes, he made you go around bare for a while, just to fuck with your head a little, but he prefers to unwrap you like a present.

Plus, the sight of you crawling around in nothing but a slutty, barely-there dress is picture-fuckin’-perfect. He’d know; he’s got a bunch of ‘em on his phone.

And crawl, you do. You haven’t been allowed to walk further than a couple of feet in a long time. There’s penance to be paid if you can’t avoid it.

Joel collects your penance whenever possible, gathering what’s owed for your sins and dealing out forgiveness when it's settled. It’s how he shows his love.

And he does love you. How could he not? Such a perfect little toy. He’s spent so much time training you right to be his prized possession.

He knew it’d happen eventually, so when you commit one of the worst offenses, he has to make it count. You were testing your limits, of course; he had expected it. He had expected it months ago. It was worse now, after you’d been so good and earned so much trust. But now that you’d been nothing but his for two months, you had finally fucked up.

Your punishments were never painful. Okay, they weren’t pain-focused. Sometimes, he had to put you over his knee to let his frustration out before he could give you a proper punishment. But the pain wasn’t the point—you both liked it too damn much. No matter how much farther he took it than a regular session, and no matter how sick you were with guilt, you were always a soaking wet mess after a beating.

This time would have to be different, though.

It was time to finally break you.

He knew as soon as he got home. Not the particulars, but that you’d made a huge mistake.

On the surface, nothing was amiss. You were knelt by the door in your pretty little dress, a short number in navy blue. You had your head down and arms folded behind your back in perfect posture.

But something was off. It didn’t feel like you were happy he was home. And he was pretty sure there would only be one reason for that.

He hung up his keys but didn’t bother to take off his shoes, coming to stand in front of you. “What’d you do?”

You flinch and have to re-tense to hold the position as a sob escapes you. Your hands are balled into fists to fight the urge to cover your face. “I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t ask if you were sorry. I asked what you did.”

If it were still the early days, when this shit usually happened, he might have been just a little softer. At least until he coaxed the confession from you, anyway. But you were in too deep, now, too entangled in this life that he had little patience for your reticence.

“I—”

“I recommend you spit it out. You’ll tell me in the end, anyway.”

You start to cry. “I can’t say it.”

“You better figure it out pretty fuckin’ fast, little girl.”

“I had an orgasm,” you blurt, whimpers escalating to sobs.

He pauses. It’s worse than he thought. The rush of disappointment and anger sends his heart racing, and his fingers flex in longing for a cane.

“Did you enjoy it?” he says.

It catches you off guard. “No, I promise.”

“That’s too bad, ‘cause it’s the last one you’re gonna have for a while.”

You aren’t surprised; you’re actually relieved. Of course, of course he’ll fix you.

He finally takes his shoes off and sets his phone on the counter, beckoning you to follow him to the living room. Taking his seat on the couch, he waits until you’re settled at his feet.

“Why’d you do that, baby?”

“I-I didn’t mean to. I was edging for the last time today, and I don’t know what happened. It was just there, and I knew it, I knew it was coming, and I—” You choke on the guilt, the grief.

“You what?”

“I don’t know. I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t convince myself to stop. I kept thinking ‘no, you stupid cunt,’ but I couldn’t pull my hand away.”

He regards you for a moment. He’s burning inside, but trying to calculate the most effective approach.

“Thank you for telling me right away,” he says, but even though he means it, the words are cold and clipped. “Which hand?”

You look at him, eyes wide and brows furrowed. “What?”

“Which hand did you use? Give it to me.”

You lift up your right hand, and he cradles it in his.

“Listen close.” He waits until he’s sure you’re focused on him, on his words.

This is where things have fallen apart in the past. No amount of training and manipulation can get someone across this hurdle; they have to mean it. The last thing he wants is someone running to the police because they don’t fucking understand how serious he is.

“This is going to be your last chance to back out. I will stop right now and let you pack your shit and leave. But if you stay, you’re agreeing to anything I do to you past this point.”

You bite your lip, stomach churning. “You’re scaring me,” you whisper.

“Good. You should be scared. What you’ve done is one of the worst things you could have. That’s got some serious consequences, baby.”

“What’re you going to do?”

“I gotta hurt you. Bad. Y’ain’t going to like this; I can promise you that. I can’t punish your cunt because you’re such a stupid pain slut; anything short of permanent damage is gonna make you wet. And I’m not lookin’ to do permanent damage.”

Your lip trembles, heart pounding. You’ve never been so afraid, but you’re also enthralled. Lured in by the timbre of his voice and the salvation it’s promising.

He squeezes your hand where he’s still holding onto you. “I’m going to break one of your fingers.”

Your heart falters, blood rushing. “Oh god,” you whisper, shaking your head. Instinctively, you tug back on your hand, but he grasps it tight, tight enough that you feel the bones grind under his large fingers.

“It’s up to you. That’s half the price for forgiveness. The rest is gonna be spending the night alone.”

Somehow, that sounds worse. You can’t breathe.

“Gotta choose, baby. You wanna go? I’ll pay for a cab. You can walk away, but you can’t ever come back.”

You think you might be drowning. Leave? How could you leave? There’s no debate in your head; you have nothing without Joel. Nowhere to go, no one to turn to. And the idea of losing him feels catastrophic.

You’re crying again, and you’re vaguely aware of his soothing voice trying to coach you through breathing. When you focus on him, just like he’s taught you, you start to calm down.

It’s Joel, you think. He’ll take care of you. And he said he didn’t want permanent damage. You just have to suffer for your betrayal and he’ll forgive you.

“I think I might throw up,” you warn him.

He sighs, the fear of losing you flooding away, taking some of his anger with it. “We’ll do it in the bathroom.”

He stands up, and you follow, albeit slowly, as the wave of nausea rises. You do throw up as soon as you get in the bathroom, thankfully making it to the toilet. He holds your hair and rubs his hand across your shoulder blades.

“It’s okay, baby, get it out of your system. You’re being so brave for me,” he croons. He helps you up to sit on the edge of the tub and gets you a little cup of mouthwash.

“I’ll help you brush your teeth after,” he promises. “I’d do it now, but, well. You’re probably going to puke again.”

When you’re done swishing the mouthwash, when it’s all turned to foam and you’ve spit it back in the cup, he swaps you for water. You rinse and spit that, too.

He’s laid a few things out on the counter. You feel dizzy all over again. Something tells you the comfort you feel is wrong, but he’s prepared an ice pack and medical tape, and has four little ibuprofen out next to another cup of water.

The other, louder part of you is whispering, see? He’ll take care of you. The act of wondering what’s wrong with you feels like a farce. You’re thinking it because you think you should, just going through the motions.

He takes off his belt and brings it to your mouth. You clench it between your teeth, letting a shaky breath through. His hand cups your cheek, and you lean into the warmth.

“I knew you were somethin’ special,” he whispers. You’re not sure he meant to.

Your whole body is shaking uncontrollably. He watches you for a moment, worried you’re going to faint, and then sits on the floor with his back against the tub, pulling you into his lap. He lays you back against his chest, caging you in with his arms and thighs. The ice pack sits to his right, already popped and frozen. Waiting.

Gently, he lifts your hand and brings it in front of your chest, taking it in his left. It’s a macabre mockery, the way he cradles it in his palm, fingers wrapped around the sides. In his right hand, he notches his thumb on the knuckle of your middle finger, bringing the other fingers in below it.

He doesn’t drag it out, doesn’t take pleasure in your terror. When he moves, it’s faster than a gunshot. Your scream is raw, breaking free from the spaces between your teeth and the belt. The taste of leather will remind you of this moment for the rest of your life.

He has the ice pack on it before you mentally register that it’s over. You’re sobbing. Horribly, he’s right, and you are sick again. He holds your hair in one fist, holding the ice pack to your mangled hand in the other.

When you’re done, he pulls you back against him, wrapping his limbs around you in a perverse embrace as you shake harder. With his free hand, he brings a damp, cool cloth to your face, cleaning you of the viscera of your sickness.

He’s shushing you, head bent close to your ear. “It’s alright, baby, it’s over. You did so good. I’m so proud. I love you so much.”

It’s good that he doesn’t expect an answer because he doesn’t get one. You’re too lost in the pain and shock.

When it’s time to take a break from the ice, he grabs the medical tape and wraps it around your index and middle fingers. You cry out again as he jostles the break. Once he’s splinted it, he lowers your hand gently to your lap so he can grab the medicine.

“I can’t; I’ll throw up again,” you say, voice cracking.

“Don’t have a choice, baby. Gotta keep the swelling down.”

He feeds you each pill, one by one, chasing them with sips of water.

You look so sad and precious that he almost feels bad. Unfortunately, he’s also rock fucking hard, so he shifts you a little to pull his dick out.

You don’t say anything when he lifts you to lower you on it. He’s careful, trying not to shake you around too much. He was right; you didn’t enjoy this pain. You’ve never been this dry for him before, and you whimper pathetically at the pinch and sting of his girth.

You may be worn out and in agony, but your cunt doesn’t get the message. He grins when he feels you getting wet and clenching around him. He doesn’t push it though, doesn’t torment you, just fucks up into you gently until he fills you.

You’re limp against him now, and he presses a kiss into your hair. “You may have to walk for a bit,” he muses. “But I’ll cap your penance at ten.”

You wince. Ten strokes with the cane on the soles of your feet every day until your finger heals? You usually only owe enough for two or three. It is a mercy, though, so you nod and thank him.

Joel can hardly contain the way his chest is flooding with warmth. You’re so close; he can feel it. So close to being completely his to put together just the way he likes.

He can’t wait to take you to The Pit.

     -kintsugi

You’re cold. So cold. You’re curled in on yourself, tucked into a corner in the hopes that you’d be able to keep warmer. Your whole right hand throbs.

Moonlight only cuts across the corner, but it’s a comfort still. The soil is loose and you keep shuddering, feeling the tickle of a dozen phantom insects.

Worst of all, your chest aches, like he may as well have hewn you open. Dry sobs work their way free every now and then, leaving your mouth tacky and your throat full of cotton.

The only rest you get is when you blessedly pass out. Every time you close your eyes voluntarily, you see the heartbroken look on his face when you begged him not to leave you there.

“I wish I didn’t have to. I wish you hadn’t broken my trust and I could keep you close, baby. But you’re never going to learn how to be good if I don’t show ya.”

Bad, I’m bad, he doesn’t want me anymore, you think to no end.

When the sun starts to rise, you’re limp, still in your corner. You barely turn your head when a shadow falls over The Pit, but your heart starts to pound when the lock clicks, and Joel raises the gate.

“Oh, baby,” he says, soft and sorrowful. “C’mere.” He reaches out a hand, and you scramble to him, letting him take your left arm in his grasp and pull you out. You move immediately to your knees, body bent forward as your knotted muscles protest. He scoots his boot out of the danger zone near your broken finger.

You keep whispering, a broken record of “Sorry, please, I’m so sorry.”

He picks you up and holds you to his chest, shushing until you fall quiet. It doesn’t take longer than a few seconds as your brain desperately clings to any scrap, any way you can be good for him.

He brushes the loose dirt from you before going inside and upstairs to the ensuite. He sets you on the little rug next to the full garden tub, and he tests the water with his fingers before peeling his clothes off.

You flex your left hand, balling it in and out of a fist. You’ve never been particularly ambidextrous and wonder how you’re going to wash him without falling in or hurting your hand.

Before he gets in, he feeds you four more little red pills. Once he’s settled, he reaches out and guides you carefully by the waist, pulling you into his lap in the warm water.

That’s all it takes for you to start crying again. He doesn’t try to quiet you; just holds you there against his chest and lets you sob.

By the time you’ve calmed, the water has cooled, but instead of getting out, he just drains a little and runs more hot water.

Joel tips your chin up gently with the knuckle of his index finger. “You ready to be my good girl again?”

You nod, lip trembling.

Joel does nothing you hadn’t asked for. The trouble for you was that you asked for too much. Gave him too much. And it was far too late to get any of it back.

He gave what he could, though. Couldn’t replace what he’d taken, so he pours himself in the cracks, puts you back together with a firm hand and loving care. Sure, his love doesn’t look like what you’re used to, but he knows you see it for what it is.

“I know, baby. You took that all so well. Don’t worry,” he pauses to kiss you, “I forgive you. My perfect little toy.”

pls be nice, I'm so nervous about this.

[farfromstrange]

Enduring | Matt Murdock x AFAB!Reader

Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x afab!Reader

Warnings: Angst, chronic (lower abdominal) pain, mentions of spotting (blood), self-loathing, allusions to Doctors Not Listening To Patients With A Uterus, health anxiety (warranted), non-sexual intimacy, hurt/comfort, self-indulgent, not proof-read

Summary: You’ve been experiencing chronic lower abdominal pain for years regardless of the point in your menstrual cycle. Some days, it’s worse than others, but when the first heatwave of the year hits New York City and you have another flare-up, your day takes a sudden turn for the worse. Thankfully, Matt is there to comfort you in any way he can.

WC: 3k

A/n: Even though I tagged my tag list, don't read if this could be triggering to you! So, I know pain is a very sensitive subject and everyone experiences it differently. I used my personal experience with pain and chasing a diagnosis to write this. That doesn’t mean it’s the only experience. Lower abdominal pain can have many causes, which is why advice from a medical professional is often necessary. That being said, I know how hard it can be to have been born into a female body and be treated like my pain is worth less for whatever reason just because I was born female. There is no shame in standing up for yourself in a man’s world that completely disregards women’s health. I had to learn it the hard way to the point it has taken a toll on my mental health, so I just needed to write a little comfort piece for my own peace of mind before my appointment on Monday. I wrote this for the sake of getting it out of my system, meaning it’s probably not perfect, but if you can relate to what I said in any way, feel free to read it and make up your own mind. (I will not be posting this on AO3 for now. I hope you can forgive me for that.)

Matt always knows when something is wrong with you. 

Sometimes, he can smell it. Other times, it’s the way you taste when you kiss him or the sweat that clings to your skin, or when he goes down on you and your essence is slightly tangier than it was the day before. 

Matt knows when you’re ovulating because the changes in your hormones make him go crazier than he already is for you, and he is familiar with the metallic scent of blood when you’re on your period. He can tell when you start sweating more often, when your muscles tense up more than usual, or when you are slightly more emotional. He knows before you even do because he has to. 

You are miserable almost every day, really, but more often than not it happens around the time of your period. So, he pays close attention to the signs. When the painkillers stop working, or when you get more tired, or when you stop moving around as much. When you tell him you’re fine even though he can feel the muscles of your abdomen tensing under his touch when he hugs you. When he can tell you have been crying and he wasn’t there to help. He has to know because you need him. 

You’re not entirely dependent on him, of course; you have lived on your own before and while it was hell, you pushed through somehow. With him, you don’t have to be alone on the days you can’t get out of bed because the pain keeps you locked in a fetal position, or on the days you have to cower on the bathroom floor until you’re too weak to move. Matt has reached a point of knowing you where his four working senses don’t play much of a role in telling what kind of a day you’re having; he just knows. 

Tonight, he senses it when he comes through the door after work, finally escaping the raging heat from the streets that made him feel like he was dying on the commute home. He instantly loosens his tie to get some air into his lungs, feeble fingers working desperately to free himself, but it doesn’t take a second longer for him to realize something is wrong. It is nothing but a mere hunch—some kind of aura that emits from somewhere in the apartment that makes the hairs on his arms stand up. He calls your name, frantically searching for your heartbeat. Through the rattling of the fridge as it tries to keep up with the rising temperatures inside, he makes out the rapid drumming of your heart against your ribcage. If you’re not dizzy yet, he thinks, you soon will be. 

Upon hearing you huff from the kitchen floor, Matt doesn’t hesitate tossing his bag mindlessly into the nearest corner, followed by his keys before he makes his way to find you. He’s overheated, itchy, and sweating through his clothes, but not anywhere near as desperate as he is to get to you. 

“Sweetheart?” he asks.

Hearing the sound of his voice, you realize that what felt like five minutes must have been hours spent on the cool kitchen floor. You can’t even remember how you got there. The hours have blended into minutes, the tiles digging into your sweat-coated skin. You’re curled up in a ball, wearing nothing but one of Matt’s loosest shirts. You couldn’t stand the feeling of a waistband around your stomach, so you took your pants off, changing into the oldest pair of cotton underwear you could find. It’s all soaked by now, and part of you wonders if you did finally get your period or if your pores just decided to drench you for the fun of it. 

Everything hurts. Your muscles are tense, yet at the same time they are so incredibly weak, you don’t react when the front door opens. He’s worried, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. It is as though the pain has made you entirely apathetic, coiling in your lower stomach and spreading into your legs like a parasite. All you can do is succumb to it. 

Matt’s feet come into view. The purple cast of the billboard outside falls upon him, painting the shadow of a halo above his head. It’s ironic, really; the man you love as your knight in shining armor, a Catholic looking like an angel in artificial neon light. 

His gentle voice reaches for you, “What’re you doing on the floor?”

He doesn’t ask if you’re okay because he knows it is futile, but even that question you don’t know how to answer. What are you doing on the dirty kitchen floor?

You clear your throat, trying to sound nonchalant when you answer, “It’s too hot up there.”

He crouches down. “Just too hot?”

You sigh. “No.”

It was a good day until it wasn’t, and then you were in pain again and all the days you spent feeling a little more like yourself are suddenly gone with the wind. The tears wrap a noose around your neck for the second time today, your eyes burning with faint resistance. Every time you think it gets better, it gets worse again. And every time you try to pretend that maybe things are looking up for you and it isn’t as endless of a pit as you thought, the exact opposite proves itself. You’re tired; you’re in pain and you’re tired and you feel so silly for letting it dim the light Natt pointed out a few days ago that he had so deeply missed, but there is only so much hope you can have.  

This isn’t the first time he has found you like this, but it truly never gets easier. Hearing the strain in your voice, the quiver in your entire being as you try to catch your breath, telling yourself not to fucking cry. It never gets easier to know how much you beat yourself up for something that isn’t your fault. Because the doctors that were supposed to listen failed you, and now the road to relief is paved with bricks you can barely climb over. You are on your way now, finally, but the future is still not certain. In the end though, what kills him the most is that he can’t help you. 

Matt reaches out, his hand shaking as he aimlessly brushes his fingers over your forehead. “Cramps?” he says.

You nod weakly. 

“Since when?”

“I don’t know,” you confess, and that is when the glass overflows. 

With a click of his tongue, he wipes the first of your tears away. His brown eyes bore into your soul, completely bare in front of him. Your body is like a complex crafted melody only he knows how to decipher.  

The tears quickly form a barrier between you and the tiles. Matt tilts his head. The faintest hint of copper clings to your skin. “Did you get your period?” he asks. 

You shake your head. “Just… some spotting.”

“Explains the blood.”

He is way too nonchalant about it, you think. The way he accepts your version of normal even though you feel like a failure trapped in a body that refuses to work like it is supposed to.

“How’d you get here?” he asks again, his voice so soft you want nothing more than to hide your face from him and cry some more. 

He refuses to let you go, gripping your chin to the point it almost hurts. “I was trying to do the dishes and then–” a broken sob gets stuck in your throat. “It hurts and it’s hot, and I can’t breathe.”

He gently cradles your face in his hands. “I know,” he says like he can read your mind. And maybe he can.

Your chest heaves with every breath you take. “I couldn’t stand anymore, so I laid down. On the floor,” you tell him. “I just… I didn’t get anything done today.”

“Doesn’t matter.” 

“It does. I–”

He cuts you off, “No, sweetie, it doesn’t. I can wash the dishes, but I can’t replace you.”

His dedication hurts. You used to be called sensitive and not worth the drama, but with him, you count, and that hurts because you are barely hanging on by a fragile thread. You don’t know how to ever give back to him what he has given you. The countless nights you patched him up after he got his ass handed to him do not seem to matter much compared to what he does for you. 

He studies your erratic heartbeat for a moment. “You want a heating pad?” he offers. 

You physically cringe at the thought of a hot water bottle when the entire city could function as one, and you are quick to deny, “Too hot.”

Matt chuckles. “Yeah, I figured.” He brushes a damp strand of hair away from your face. “Have you taken anything yet? Advil? Naproxen?”

You growl. “You know none of the pills they gave me fucking work!” 

He doesn’t seem deterred by your tone. All he does is smile softly at you, fingers tracing invisible patterns on your skin.

“I know,” he says. “I’m just trying to help.”

“Well, nothing’s helping,” you retort. 

“That why you’re lying on the floor?” 

Another tear rolls down your cheek and past your cracked lips. “I told you. Nothing helps.”

Snapping at him for only trying to care may be petty of you, but there is nothing you loathe more than feeling so utterly helpless. 

Matt moves closer, your words pearling off of him like he is made of stone. He doesn’t even flinch. 

“Okay,” he murmurs. “Can I try something else?”

The voice in your head is screaming, what else is there to do? You are tired of trying everything and nothing ever working. Two more weeks until you will meet with a new doctor, but those two weeks might actually kill you. That’s what it feels like, anyway. 

He sighs, “C’mere.” Without another word from you, Matt slides his arms under your sticky frame and lifts you off the ground. His skin offers a stark contrast from the cold kitchen tiles, but he’s clean, and he smells like home. Not this place, not this city, but him. 

“Where are we going?” you ask.

“Bathroom,” is all he tells you. 

Your brain is too slow to even dare protest. He carries you to the bathroom, setting you down on unsteady legs. 

“May I?” he asks. You nod, but even as he pulls his shirt over your head, he doesn’t once let go of you. 

You close your eyes. The pain in your abdomen is dull yet searing. You try to focus on anything else, but just when you think it’s getting better, it breaks through again, burning through you like a wildfire on the blade of a hot knife. And that makes you sad. It makes you so sad and angry you don’t know what to do with yourself. You want to scream and cry and tear the apartment apart, but you’re exhausted and tired and you know that if this pain keeps rippling through you, you might fall apart. 

You hate when he sees you like this. When you’re falling apart and there’s nothing either of you can do, and you blame yourself even though there is nothing to blame yourself for. Matt knows that. You sometimes wonder if you are a burden to him and he just won’t tell you because he doesn’t know when to stop. To stop caring, to stop helping, to stop trying to change everything. But then again, he has always told you that loving you isn’t a burden. If you get lost in the what ifs, you might actually fall apart.    

“I’m gonna start a cool bath,” Matt murmurs next to you, snapping you out of your thoughts with his gentle baritone of a voice. “Just stay here.” 

You nod weakly, too exhausted to argue. The thought of immersing yourself in cool water, even for a few minutes, seems like a small mercy. 

Water starts to run in the distance. His belt hits the floor, followed by the fabric clinging to his skin. You’re afraid you might get dizzy if you open your eyes. Dizzy because of the pain. Dizzy because of him. 

The cabinet behind you rattles when he reaches for it. “Claire gave them to me, but you took these before,” he says, skillfully working on the cap of an orange capsule. “They’re a bit stronger than Advil.”

You don’t protest, you simply let him place one of the pills in the palm of your hand. He is right behind you with his hand on your waist when you take them, swallowing with a handful of water. There’s nothing sexual in the way he touches you, just a tenderness born from years of knowing each other’s bodies inside and out. 

Maybe that is why you could never be a burden to him; he has felt like one for most of his life, and the last thing he wants is for his love to feel the same way. And he needs you to remind him that he is everything to you, too, his hands never wavering when they find your skin. You’re his lifeline as much as he is yours.

The cold water hits the inside of the bathtub, pattering down like raindrops on a windowpane. Matt gently tugs you closer to him and guides you toward the tub. At first, when he lifts you in, the cool water is a shock to your overheated skin, but it doesn’t take long for you to welcome the change in temperature. 

He eases you between his legs once he is sat, your back against his chest, wrapping his arms around you. His hands come to rest on your lower stomach, close enough to allow you to pull your legs up to your chest. It’s the only position that doesn’t hurt. 

You remember nights spent crammed in the same position, not because of you but because of his nightmares. The roles were reversed then. When it’s too hot outside, he needs the world on fire to burn a little less bright. Today, you finally realize what he must feel like on days like these. 

“How’s that?” he asks, his breath warm against your ear.

You nod. “Better,” you whisper. Better isn’t perfect, but the pain is just dull now, and the gentle movement of his fingers against your sore muscles lulls you into a state where you can breathe. It’s not perfect, but it is as good as it gets. 

Your head falls back against his collarbone. “Thank you,” your voice is barely above a whisper when you tell him.

He shushes you, lips moving to your temple. The gesture is supposed to say, don’t thank me. But it feels wrong not to. 

You lift your head enough to look at him, finally, your eyes fluttering open to look back into his hazel orbs. “Matt…” 

“Yeah?” he breathes. 

“I don’t know what I would do without you,” you confess. It’s a truth you’ve grappled with, the stark realization that his presence has become indispensable. It is a burden, to be loved so fiercely, as much as it is an addiction. Because a life without him seems like a sheer impossibility you don’t ever want to face again. 

Matt holds his lips against your skin, smiling. “Good thing you never have to find out, hm?”

You chuckle weakly. “You sure about that?”

“Mhm.”

“What if you get sick of me?”

“Then I’ll be sick of you for a few hours,” he says, “and you’ll be sick of me ‘til we’re not.”

Your eyes roam his face for any indication that he might not be telling the truth. “That easy?” you ask. 

He nods, fingers coming up to find your lips. He touches them for a moment, exploring the soft skin there. Instead of kissing you though, he halts.

“What?” You frown. 

Matt shakes his head. “Nothing. Just… You’re gonna be okay,” his voice is barely above a whisper. “I’ll make sure of that.”

A whimper breaks from your chest. He believes it wholeheartedly, but it is incredibly hard to hear it out loud because you don’t believe it. You press your lips together, trying to hold back the tears that threaten to spill over again. “I just wish it didn’t have to be this way,” you whisper. “I wish I could be… normal.”

Again, he nods, fingers brushing over your cheek to catch a stray tear. “You are normal,” he insists softly. “Your pain doesn’t make you any less. And ‘cause I know how strong you are, I know you’re gonna be okay.”

“Even if I’ll be ill for the rest of my life? Even if I–”

“Of course,” he stops you. “Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out. I promise. Not ‘even if’ but regardless of whether it’s endometriosis or… or something else. Your pain is a part of you, but it’s not all of you. I love all of you.”

There is no stopping the avalanche of tears that is forced down the hill by his words. They hit you harder than an arrow to the heart. 

You crack under the weight of your emotions. “I love you,” you whisper. Those three words mean the world, but they feel inadequate to describe what you feel. 

“I know,” says Matt. “I love you too.”

The once open wounds of the blood you shed just to find him are nothing but scars now—scars you can learn how to live with once you accept that there is nothing wrong with you. Being a human being with an illness, both mentally and physically, doesn’t make you any less worthy of love. It doesn’t make you any less worthy of life. 

With Matt by your side, you are no longer alone in this. You have him, all of him, and that makes all the difference. 

Matt Murdock (Angst) Tag List: @acharliecoxedfan @gpenguin666 @itwasthereaminuteago @norestfortheshelbywicked @yarrystyleeza @littlenerdyravenclaw @thychuvaluswife @schneeflocky @imjustcal @pipsqueakkitten @merlinbtch @thatonegamefish @amberritonicole @pigeonmama @bohemianrhapsody86 @a-gir1-has-n0-name @winkev1 @callsign-ember @chittaphonstar @buckyyyismahhlife @trublu2u @xnatyx @zomtart @abucketofweird

Also tagging: @moncherriis

[soullessdianthus]

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐘 | 𝐕𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐀𝐔

❗ APOLOGIES for the tag list in the comments, Tumblr has an issue with tagging more than 5 people ❗

Summary: Victorian AU where you are hired by Lord Simon Riley as his housekeeper in the secluded countryside. Besides the gardener - Johnny, you barely sees anyone around the house and the strange things begin to happen around you. The manor, or rather its residents, hides a terryfing secret.

AO3 link ⟶ 𝕏

A/N: Huge thanks to @starsexplodeatnight who was so kind and sweet to help me with the fashion aspects of this fic. ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Also, won't lie, @ohbo-ohno's works and Ghoap dynamics inspired me to go back to the roots and to write some darker, gothic romance with Ghoap and Reader. At least I tried. ╮(￣▽￣"")╭

Warnings: dark themes, religious themes, dubcon/noncon (full list on Ao3)

Word count: 7.6k

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐄

Lord Riley’s house seemed to be alive at times. The wind sweeping through the draughty windows fills the lungs of the great manor. Old, wooden flooring creaks and the glass strain within its frames. 

You hated how untamed your imagination was especially after nightfall, when the darkness creeped in every hollow and corner of the manor. Since the first day, every night you would leave a single candle lit on the bedside table just to ease the vivid imaginations. When you were a child your mother scolded you about reading such profanities about ghosts and curses. 

And now you knew why. If the candle wasn't lit, strange figures danced in the shadows, their eyes imprinting into your skin and if were they real, would they try to hurt you or rather warn you?

But now, as a grown up woman, those nightmares of your childhood came back to haunt you once again. 

With all of your heart you were grateful for Sir Jonathan Price, a friend of your family, who helped you get into Lord Riley’s favour. It was him who wrote a letter of recommendation to make it easier for you to find a good, suitable job as a woman of your status. 

But he didn’t mention once that the manor was so far from civilization. 

Johnny quickly became your closest confidant around here. A Scottish gardener whose brown hair reached down to his broad shoulders and sparkly eyes in the colour of clear sky. He took care of the gardens as well as master’s horses and sometimes you could find him repairing a fence or something of sort. Johnny was a hardworking man, only a few years older than you, but he was also gentle, clever and jolly.

Such an opposite to Lord Simon who was everything but what Scot was – silent, harsh former lieutenant who would rather spend his time in the solitude of his chambers. Otherwise he would go on a ride or hunt into the forest on one of his favourite studs. Simon’s face was pale as a ghost’s and covered with shallow scars, remnants of his service in the army. 

Nonetheless, the tall, portly man seemed to enjoy your presence, if you dared to assume that, purely because you were quick to adapt. Lord liked his silence and you did not want to disturb your master’s peace, wouldn’t you? 

Within a week you have learned the following pattern – each day started with breakfast, which you ate alongside Lord, sporadically noticing the presence of busy cook, Kyle Garrick, who didn’t happen to talk much. Then, you would proceed with your everyday duties. Which did not include sneaking around to go and talk with the gardener, but nevertheless you did.  

And as the evening would finally come, you were sitting in the playroom of the manor embroidering while Mr. Riley was reading his book. Even Johnny was allowed to come sit with both of you, gnawing at the wooden pipe between his teeth. It all felt so domestic in such a short period of time. 

And how could you believe such gossip about Lord’s hospitality, or rather its lacking, hearsay in the city? 

Sundays were always a day of rest. You were sitting in your bedroom on the highest floor, reading one of the novels you brought from home. Too entertained with the story, you blindly reached for the cup of tea standing nearby. The noise of ceramic pot splattering across the floor caused you to tense immediately. 

It shattered to pieces. Such a waste, it was a pretty one. 

You closed the book with a sigh and set it aside, slowly walking towards a storage on this floor. With a small broom in your hand you returned to your room only to find it oddly… clean. The staining of spilled tea on the flooring was gone just as the bits of what was left of the floral cup. 

Almost like it never even happened. 

Your eyes wandered across the chamber, searching for the mess you just made. But every little trace of it was gone. You kneeled down and looked under each piece of furniture. Still, nothing was found, a broken teapot swallowed by the void.

Slowly you retracted from the room onto the long hallway, searching for the maids or signs of their presence. It must have been one of them, right?

— Hello? — You asked with hesitation in your voice, but there was no living soul to answer you back. Not nearby anyways. 

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐈

Coos of the crows and rattle of their wings echoed through the old trees. And although the sky was grey and cloudy that day, no rain had yet fallen. Alongside Johnny, you went for an afternoon stroll down the borderline of the forest, enjoying a minute of break.

— How long have you been working for Lord Simon? 

— A couple of years now — the man reached down the wild grain growing on the field and plucked a single piece. He continued to play with it between his thick digits, brows narrowed as he reflected on his further answer. — He hired and gave me a roof over my head when I retired from service.

— You were a soldier too?

Johnny nodded with a simple “aye” and you smiled.

— What?

— Nothing. Didn’t think such a gentle gardener was once enlisted. 

— Yeah? Didn’t think a pretty lass like yourself would be so nosy. — He smacked the tip of your nose with the stalk he was holding. 

Your cheeks grew rosy and warm, when he paid you a compliment. Not that you were a prude! Actually far from that, but it was just that Johnny was so charming and he definitely knew how to sweet talk to a woman like you. 

— Not nosy, it’s considered rude — you explain to him, fidgeting with your fingers yet a smile is painted upon your face. — “Curious” I think suits me better. Those who spread gossip about others’ affairs and tragedies are the nosy ones. See, that’s the difference. 

Johnny stopped suddenly and took your hand into his palms. He held you gently, almost like you were made out of glass and he, with his admirable strength, could break you into pieces. What a great waste it would be to destroy such a pure soul. He leaned closer to your ear, warm breath tickling your sensitive skin and your heart almost jumped out of the ribcage. Should his closeness excite you so much? Should a grown woman be this rash?

— Only if we were seen by someone, here on the glade, alone. Scandalous — the man mocked such behaviours, while brushing a single strand of your hair behind the ear. — What would they think, hm? 

Before you took a step back, your gaze met his for a brief moment. There was a hint of curiosity and playfulness in his blue eyes. And perhaps something else, something much more obvious than you believed it was. 

Something that made men weak.

— Right, what would they say, Johnny? Who? — You asked him playfully, though your expression was full of sorrow. —  I barely see anyone around the house. I’m starting to believe those servants are some… ghouls living in the attic or they simply avert me so often. 

— Lord likes his peace, they work as if they weren’t there. Just as it needs to be. 

— It’s been some days now and I hadn’t met any of them. You’re the only person who actually talks to me. Don’t you get lonely there?

— Simon’s and your presence is enough for me. And well, it’s nice to talk to Mr. Garrick sometimes. 

— He talks to you? 

The cold breeze danced through your hair, causing you to shiver. Dry and brittle leaves crunched under your soles when the two of you continued to walk down the old pathway. 

— Autumn here is tough, lass, you should have worn a sweater. We should head back home, the nightfall is coming. 

You loathed the cold weather and how freezing the chambers got in the morning. Your first winter in England’s countryside might not be as pleasant as you thought it would be, with cold feet and no one in the manor to warm your spirit up. 

No peers, no guests, no neighbours. Just you, Johnny and Lord Riley.

You stood back in the middle of your quarter, looking at everything and anything at the same time. Each detail like a porcelain vase with flowers or lace tablecloth looked so neat, with no sign of dust it was almost impossible. Many questions were stacked inside of your head. 

Was your chamber cleaned every single day? If so, when did they do it? And why hadn't you even bumped into any of the servants of the manor? Yes, the building was large, but at some point you had to meet the staff, right? 

It has officially been two weeks since you moved to live and work here. Although using the word “work” was far-fetched. You hoped to become a governess to Lord Riley’s children, but that dream was quickly demolished as he had none. So then it was told that you were responsible for the house work, but there was no one to supervise as they were constantly hiding from you. So you were sitting there at the end of the day in a living room, chaperoning your Lord. This time without Johnny.

Fireplace was spitting long flames, popping ashes into the air. The interior was welcoming, when the wind behind the windows grew stronger. A storm was coming. 

— May I ask you a question, Sir? — You had put aside your embroidery set, before finally asking. The blonde man hummed, eyes still transfixed on the lecture he was reading. — How often do the maids come to my room?

— As often as needed. Why?

— I wanted to rearrange my quarters this morning, just to push the bed closer to the wall, but when I returned from the afternoon stroll, it was back in its primary place. 

— Then they fixed the furniture, didn’t they? 

You had a feeling that was not the case. You scratched the flooring during the first attempt, if the staff was to push the bed back to its origins, they would only do further damage. Yet, the wooden planks were brand as new. No signs of any scratches.

Were you hysterical? Was it all your vivid imagination?

— But it’s heavy, my Lord.

— And yet you managed to move it. So did they. 

Lord Riley was grumpy again, his voice hoarse and accent thick. 

You once again took the needle threaded with string into your fingers and returned to the unfinished piece, but the urge to continue pushing him was stronger. You might rather bite your tongue in the future. 

— Maybe I should talk with them and explain that I prefer it the other way. 

— I prefer when the rules of my household are followed. You wouldn’t have such an idea if you didn’t have so much free time.

Your hands dropped to your lap as you abruptly looked at him, slightly offended. And even though Lord tried to conceive this, you noticed how the edges of his lips twitched in a tiny smile. He was toying with you.

Simon was strict. Perhaps he never abandoned the military's rules and drills. He was an adamant man who valued his own comfort. That means, obeying his rules. 

— Come, I might have an idea how to keep you busy.

The Lord of the house rose from his seat. Each time you stood next to him, you were intimidated by his height and solid build. Despite being off duty, he kept his admirable physics of a Greek god. 

At least that is how the books you kept so dear to your heart described the brave warriors. 

You followed the master into his private library and patiently stood right behind him, when he was searching for a certain book. Finally he reached a thick tome in your direction – “A Mortal Immortal” by Mary Shelley. 

— Here, this may interest you — but when you stretched out to receive it, he moved the novel out of your reach. — Ah, ah. What do we say?

— Thank you. For borrowing me your book. 

— However, when I think about it, I’m worried this will only worsen your… troubled mind.

— My mind?

— Johnny told me you worry too much about some nonsense that should not be your priority in the first place. You’re letting this place and its solitude haunt you. Are you of a weak mind, girl? — You quickly understood what he was referring to, so to prove the point you denied the vile accusation. — So, I’d recommend you stop being childish and focus on your chores. Then everything will be alright, understood? 

— I’m not childish.

— Is that clear? — He repeated with much harsher tone.

You nodded slightly, barely visible, but enough to agree with the Lord.

— Now, go to your chamber, it’s getting late. 

His dark eyes carefully inspected your figure. You noticed him staring at your neckline for far too long than what was decent. His coarse hand swiped over yours when he was giving you the book. The cold metal of his signet felt like a thousand sharp stings. 

What kind of game was the Lord of Riley Manor playing with you? 

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐈𝐈

The simmering sound of something powerful cracking snatched you from the peaceful dream. Every muscle in your body tensed and you sat up, holding the duvets tight when a thunder enlightened the black sky. Your heart beated fast within its cage of bones and breath shattered, anticipating.

Surely, thunderstorms can happen in late autumn, but you had never predicted it to happen this night. You felt uneasy, when another loud rumble made you scared. Then there was the banging window frame, somewhere in the long hallway and those horrible, horrible whistles of wind. They sound almost like human cries. 

At first you ducked down beneath the covers to shield yourself from the haunting sounds, thinking that the servants would take care of the open window. But minutes passed and they didn’t. 

With a lit candle on a metal holder you walked down the corridor, the flame being the only source of light. 

So when the wind coming through the window blew it off, you gasped loudly in panic – you barely saw your own hands in front of you!

— No, no, no…

You almost screamed when someone placed their hand upon your shoulder and then your mouth. A familiar figure was illuminated by another lighting. You could never mistake those blue eyes for another. 

— Shh, bonnie. It’s me — Johnny whispered, slowly uncovering your mouth. — I heard the fuss. You alright? 

— Actually, no… Did you hear those sounds?

Your hands squeezed the candle holder, when the gardener rushed to close the open window. You shivered, only a thin layer of nightgown covering your skin. You looked behind, checking if you were alone in the hallway. It certainly felt like you weren’t. It had to be the ghouls. 

— What sounds? 

— Howling, distressed cries? Wails? I-I heard them in my chamber. 

— You’re scared of the storms?

— No, that’s not-

— It’s okay to get spooked sometimes — he cut you off and grabbed your hand, slowly leading you back where you came from. — Come, let’s get you to your room.

— Oh, don’t belittle me. — You frowned upon him, yet you doubt he had seen it. You clung to his strong arm like a scared girl, not eager to get lost in the darkness again. 

— That was not my intention. Was just trying to comfort you.

When you finally reached your room, you couldn’t find the strength to let go of his hand. You interlocked your smooth and delicate fingers with his digits.

— Please, Johnny, don’t go. I’m… scared. 

— Of thunder? — He chuckled, petting the palm of your hand. 

— No, this place. Something is not right, please, I–

— It’s okay, you got scared a little, that’s all. You really want me to stay? 

You shuddered when taking a deep breath, calculating every possible consequence of this decision.

This was not right. 

— Yes.

When he stepped inside of the room, a rush of excitement flooded your veins and sank on the bottom of your stomach. Perhaps it was foolish and considered promiscuous inviting a man into your bedroom, but your body and heart desired otherwise. 

Johnny’s presence brought you comfort that you were longing for, his touch ascended your worries to the void and filled the troubled mind with pleasure. Nothing else.

Without a word spoken the two of you moved to the narrow, still warm bed and climbed under the sheets. Johnny captured your head between his hands and pulled in a gentle kiss on the lips. In his performance he was eager, sloppy yet charming. One of his palms gripped your hip through the crumpled material, just as you hooked one of your thighs over his hip. 

Foolish, foolish girl. 

— You’re so pretty — he whispered through the thick air as he pressed his forehead to yours. The curve of his nose filled your bridge as you looked at him from under your lashes. — The moment I first saw you getting out of the coach, that day you arrived, I knew I couldn’t ever let you go, bonnie.

Johnny swiftly moved on top of your lying form, holding that one thigh open. He continued the passionate assault on your lips, carefully rolling the hem of your nightgown up. 

Your body was on fire, everything inside of you screamed this was wrong, but somehow, the sinner inside of you called for him. For his touch, for his affection and his sweet, sweet nectar. 

Only when he started caressing your mound and its slit did you acknowledge where his hand wandered. And although his skin was rather tough  from all the years of hard work, his touch was gentle and surprisingly precise. You gasped lovely. It didn’t take that much of a hassle for him to make you wet and eager down there.

— Oh, Johnny… 

His name rolled off your tongue like honey, a music to his ears. It wasn’t long enough before he was grinding over your thigh with his excited and leaking length. 

— You are what we needed. A little warm sunshine, eh? 

Did you hear “we”?

But before you could ask him, he began stretching your cunt a little bit too carelessly to your liking. All his prudence was gone, as he got drunk on your scent and how you felt around him. Your hand gripped his bicep and your glossy eyes went wide like a scared doe. 

— Johnny, Johnny, slow — you breathed out through muffled whine and the man atop of you stilled. — Slow, please.

He could feel how your heart pumped within your veins. 

— I’m sorry, bonnie. Let me kiss it better — the gardener leaned down to pepper your face with kisses. And when he got to the sweet spot on your neck, you giggled — shh, we don’t want to wake him, don’t we? 

Obviously he meant Lord Simon. 

He set a steady yet bearable rhythm as his hips rolled into you in waves. His chest was close to yours, brushing sensitive nipples through the thin fabric of a nightgown. You were pushed into the cushioned pillow, hair splayed beneath like roots of the ancient tree. 

You felt so lightheaded yet so good at the same time. Sparkling, increasing sensation tickling the nerves and blinding the vision. Johnny was all you could experience in that moment. He was the only thing you could smell, touch and taste, when he was trying to steal the air from your lungs. You fell into the abyss of pleasure quickly, all the latest worries fading away.

And the horribly loud storm? Didn’t matter at that moment. All thunders quietened down and the entire world could be burning in flames and ashes, but you wouldn’t even notice. 

The man moaned deeply from his throat, when he got closer to his peak, hips frantically snapping against yours. You barely managed to entangle your shaking fingers within his brown hair, right above the nape of the lover’s neck. With one more final thrust both of you indulged sweet, sweet pleasure.

Johnny stayed until the morning came, just as he promised. With an expression of pure ecstasy and lust, you snuggled into his chest. He wrapped a pair of arms around you and for the first time since the arrival you felt at peace sleeping in the manor. The candle remained snuffed out. 

In the morning of the following day, you went to the city with Mrs. Garrick to receive the remaining letters and a few other errands. You and the cook split to settle matters quickly. 

The post office was a small place with barely anyone inside but a friendly looking old lady behind the counter. 

— Good morning, I’d like to receive the mail for Lord Riley.

You put on a polite smile, walking closer to the counter and removing the bonnet from your head.

— So you are the new housekeeper, I’ve heard about you. It’s been a while since someone got his letters, guess he still ain’t leaving the house?

— No, ma’am. Lord is rather… — you paused, searching for the right description of your employer — a private person. 

— Always had been, even before he went to war. But oh, that was years ago, I hope he softened at least a little. Such a sad and grumpy boy he was. 

There was something in the way she phrased it that made your body still. Blood got so heated up anyone that touched you could feel it on the outside. Did she mean the previous Lord, father of Simon Riley? But that couldn’t be the case, this title was newly found when he returned from the war. So what was this all about? 

— Forgive me, you said “years ago”? How long ago was it? You see, I’m not from here and the Lord doesn’t share much about himself.

— Of course he does not and do not expect otherwise — she waved with her wrinkled finger, before reaching for the bile of letters from the shelf behind her. — It was around twenty five years ago, Lord Riley was the same age as my son when he joined the Queen’s army.

— I see. 

You were confused, extremely confused. The blonde Lord with scarred face did not look a year past his thirties, how could this be that he enlisted quarter of century ago? At that moment you felt so horrified by this anomaly. 

Through the rest of the day and the day that followed, the old maiden aunt’s words echoed inside of your head:

— I am surprised anyone actually was willing to take that job. Lord Riley is a… forgive me for speaking so freely, but he’s a strange man who abandoned the word of God years ago. Why do you think he got pushed away from the post earlier? 

He was…? 

You didn’t look the same into the depths of the windows of the Manor, nor did you stare at the dark corner of the hall. Every sound of wood creaking sent shivers down your spine. They were coming. 

Oh God, have you gone mad?  

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐈𝐈𝐈

You stirred the porridge over and over again, watching as the gooey mush slipped from the spoon down to its den. Despite the tremendous amount of honey you added it still tasted rather bitter this morning. 

— Did you finish?

— Excuse me?

You tightened the hold over the silver spoon when Lord’s hoarse voice brought you back to the eerie reality. 

— The book. I asked if you finished the book? — Blonde man raised his thick brow in question, curiously looking at you from his own plate. 

— Oh, yes, yes. I enjoyed it, however I found Winzy’s life quite miserable to be honest. And tragic.

— Why so? 

— Well, he lost the woman he loved so dearly and then had to continue living eternally without her. Imagine how lonely his life had to be, when he must have outlived every single friend he had made. 

— If he was so miserable as you say, then why wouldn’t he just end his suffering and join the woman he claimed to love? Maybe he didn’t really care after all. — Simon leaned back in his chair, exhaling loudly. — I sometimes wonder what his life would look like if he had given the potion to Bertha. A pair of immortals walking this earth, would they become some sort of Gods?

— Doesn’t the thought of living so long… make you feel… I don’t know, unease , my Lord?

— No. I’ve seen worse things than an old man. Those who fear death might go to extremes just to avoid their end.  

— We were not made to live forever, don’t we? We should not play God.

— There is no God, sweet girl. Only sinners and fools. Those who play and those who lose. Are you a loser?

— No, Sir. 

His dark eyes glowed in a mysterious manner as the silence fell between you two. The man was bright and had seen right through you. 

— Good. If we speak of the matter of sinners, I’d like to make one thing clear.

The Lord stood up from his seat, putting the white napkin on the table. His figure loomed closer toward his housekeeper and finally leaned on one of his hands over you. You could feel his breath on your neck, his closeness made you shiver. 

— You’ve been living under my roof and by now you should know I despite disobedience and liars. 

— I am no liar, Sir. 

— Perhaps not, but you hide things from me. Captain Price spoke of you in high regard - a well behaved woman from a respected family, yet you’ve proven yourself to be rather promiscuous. You even ensnared poor Johnny, didn’t you? 

That… was straight forward. 

— I did no such thing!

Suddenly he wrapped one of his strong hands over the nape of your neck, causing you to tense and lean away from his touch. The man began drawing circles over your skin with his thumb, almost like he tried to soothe your shattered nerves. You gasped at the sudden force he had put you in place.

— Watch yourself and think twice about answering again. 

— It was mutual.

— Mutual? — He repeated mockingly. — Johnny boy would fuck anything that moves in ten miles radius. And it just happened to be you. 

— How dare you speak like this? — You turned your head to look him in the face. When you did, you saw the insolent smirk painted over his pale face. — He is at least decent towards me, he’s kind and caring. We did nothing wrong. Why do you care?

Simon leaned down right next to your face. He continued to stare you down, his brows narrowed in deep disappointment. 

— You’ve built a wall between us, sweet girl. Yeah, you did. If there was something you ever needed, you should have come directly to me, your Lord. And I can assure you, Johnny did not give what you craved and desired. 

Inconveniently your face changed its colour to vivid blush, when he suggested such things. Your stomach felt like one, big knot twisting its way to get stuck in your oesophagus. Was that it? Was this how he perceived you? Was he jealous of the fling between you and Johnny or was he simply cruel?

Lord Riley let go of your pretty neck and caressed your cheek with the knuckles of his fingers. Just like one would touch a lover and another – a pet. 

— You’re frightened. Are you scared of me, is that it? Be obedient and you won’t have to be. Or do you really want to be punished so badly?

You quickly denied by shaking your head to the sides to which he only hummed. His weight shifted behind your back and a trail of footsteps could be heard as the Lord of the house left the dining room.

A moment passed before you caught yourself staring at the bowl of now cold porridge, slowly digesting the conversation you just held with him, your Master. 

The burden upon your poor, poor mind has overwhelmed you and the realisation of a potential madness weighed heavily upon you. Nothing made sense. Not a single logical explanation has come to light to soothe your fears. 

After those couple of weeks the staff and maids stayed in the shadows, Lord’s age did not match the tales of his youth and those horrible sounds you continued to hear at night? Ugh, they kept you awake, causing dark bags to show under your pretty eyes. 

The manor itself seemed to have poisoned you. Was that it? The reason? You knew you had to leave the house as soon as possible. You had to…

Oh God, what have you gotten yourself into? 

That night was no different to those before it. Wind blowing through the crack in the window’s frame, wheezing and whistling. Your bedsheets are exceptionally cold this time, causing you to shiver and tremble. The candle is still burning, a metal holder standing on the table. 

When you finally manage to curl up under the sheets and doze away slightly, you hear this agonising, scary wails. 

Wait. No. 

Those are no wails.

I-Is someone moaning?

You raised up to a sitting position in a half asleep state. Loose strands of hair stick to the forehead as you continue to listen for more sounds. 

Those seem to be almost human-like. Maybe they are? 

You throw the sheets to the side and crawl out of the bed. You’re frustrated and moody, close to tears from the exhaustion of not being able to sleep. Before you left your chamber, you grabbed that damn candle light and took a deep breath. 

Your bare feet left no traces behind as you walked down the dark hallway. The heart in your chest was about to burst, obviously you were still scared of the dark and what possibly lurks within it. The hem of your nightgown sweeped the wooden flooring that cracked underneath your weight. 

Then, you heard those moans again, louder. You were getting closer. Following the awful sounds you finally get to its source. You knew where your feet happened to take you to and that you shouldn’t have dared to enter this chamber. Nonetheless, you did. The shroud of mystery had to be torn. 

You slowly creeped towards the half-opened, heavy doors and sneaked inside where the darkness swallowed almost everything. Single candles had been lit across the room, creating an ascended ambience. You should have turned around and left, you understood that perfectly well. However, you wanted answers to all the secrets of the manor and its habitants. 

Behind the wooden screen there was a large bed and two figures sitting on its edge. Gardener who was completely bare and whining into Lord’s shoulder, drool leaving the corner of his mouth. Thighs spread open and eyes closed tight. And there he was – Lord Simon dressed in trousers and loose, white chemise. His big hand was tightly wrapped around Johnny’s angry cock, pulling and twisting the sensitive skin. They seemed to be enjoying themselves as Johnny whined pitifully again at the sensation. 

At least now you finally knew what those sounds were exactly – that stormy night Johnny came to you, were they also together? You couldn’t move and kept standing close to the screen, eyes transfixed at the scene you witnessed. So many emotions washed over you – were you embarrassed, scared or even jealous? The dots and the facts slowly began connecting. You had to make haste and leave this room. This house. You knew you had to get away tonight, before things would escalate. Oh God, you couldn’t properly breathe, your face and lungs felt like they were on fire!

— Looks like we have company — the coarse voice of a blonde man made your skin cover in goosebumps. He stared directly at you. — Want to join us? 

Unknowingly you made a muffled whine of embarrassment as you swiftly turned around and started to walk away in a hurry. As if you were in some kind of trance, your body going automatically. You rolled up the long hem of your nightgown not to stumble upon it as you found yourself on the corridor again. 

Christ! You forgot to take the candle with you! 

The breathing became difficult as you had to navigate somehow in the complete darkness. A part of your heart felt betrayed by the erotic scenery you just witnessed, although you couldn’t completely understand why. You and Johnny were a one time thing, why would you feel sorry for him bedding someone else? 

Probably because this “someone else” was your mutual employer.

There were heavy footsteps behind you, they were getting closer and closer. He was right behind the nosy intruder. You tried to fasten your pace, blindly going forward, hoping to find a staircase. Then it would lead you downstairs and outside of the building. But before you even made it halfway to the stairs, you bumped into a slim table standing by the wall. The vase standing on it fell and broke as the painful impact of the table's corner digging into your abdomen sent you to the ground. 

When it was clear you were within his grasp, you tried to crawl further away from him, trying to escape somehow. But Simon was faster and he collected you from the floor. 

— Come, before you’re gonna hurt yourself. — Lord Riley said as he managed to lift up and throw you over his broad shoulder with little effort.

You tried to break free by kicking like a goat and punching him with your curled fist. But how could the strength of a city girl ever compare to the former soldier’s? You groaned, you kicked and you cursed. Nothing could have prepared you for the harsh slap that Simon planted on your bottom. It stung, causing you to go still over his shoulder. And when he spanked you again you bit your lower lip, trying to confide any pathetic whines. 

— Should have whipped you long ago. Maybe it would teach you some respect. 

— I didn't mean to interrupt, I’m sorry! I’m sorry, my Lord!

— Oh, you happened to join us just in time. 

Lord Riley took you back to his bedroom and tossed you down onto his remarkably large bed. This time, he locked the doors from the inside and removed the key from the lock. You were stuck there with them. You managed to back up a little, before Johnny reached you. He sat at your side and carefully extended his hand towards your petrified face, a curtain of hair covering your pretty features.

— It’s alright, bonnie. Calm down. 

— I don’t want to be a part of this. — You stated, kneeling on the bed sheets splayed beneath. Simon stood tall with his hands crossed in front of you and the gardener. Johnny gently began to caress your back in a soothing manner. 

You were caught red handed, busted the only chance to run away and now you were more than positive he would never let you go. You tried to conceal the fears and shame, because now was the time to uncover the truth. 

— What is this? — You asked with a shaking voice, eyes transfixed on the two figures of men, going from the blonde to the brunette. — What’s going on? Please, let’s forget about this. I’ll go back to bed. I–I…

— You already are in one — Lord took a step forward and caught your jaw. He yanked your head up, forcing you to look at him. — Have you finally figured it out? I directly gave you clues. Come on, you’re a smart one. Put the pieces together. 

How could you come up with a logical conclusion? Everything you gathered through the weeks could be interpreted as a mad woman’s nonsense. But you weren’t ill, you were aware of the games going around you.

— You’re much older than you look, that’s what I know. And that you’ve done horrifying, unforgivable things during your service. Lord– Simon — you corrected yourself — what have you done? 

— Think. Harder. 

His patience was running thin. Simon spoke through his bared teeth. 

— Oh, God. Are you a part of this? — You looked at Johnny, before the blonde man caught your throat and lifted you on your feet again. 

— Don’t be harsh on her! She doesn’t know better. She needs to learn. — The Scotsman said to your defence, narrowing his thick brows and scrambling the bridge of his nose. All this time he was sitting comfortably on the bed, absolutely not bothered with his nakedness.  

— There is no God here, sweet girl, I already told you. Only me, Johnny and well, you. I’ve been kind enough to share a piece of me with you and that’s how you repay your Lord? In such childish, pathetic disobedience? Fucking nosy, aren’t we? Or just eager? 

The tall, bulky man reached with his other hand and forcefully cupped your crotch through the thin material of the nightgown, causing you to wriggle in his hold. He prodded against your slit with his finger, toying with you, testing the limits and your responses. And you were very responsive. 

In that moment you thought about the choice of literature Simon had given you. The main plotline revolved around immortality and its consequences, which would somehow explain… some things. Yet what about God? Why did Simon detest him so much?

— God turns his back on people like me and once you sin for us, he will turn on you too — he mockingly snorted, before continuing your torment. — If he didn’t already. 

You tried to tear from his hold, shaking yourself and pushing his chest away. Lord Riley stood like a mountain, not moving an inch. In a quick movement he twirled you around and took a firm hold of the nightgown material at your back. Then you heard how loudly the stitches broke and the teared material slowly fell to the ground, exposing your much alive and young flesh.

Before you realised you were completely bare and managed to cover yourself somehow, Simon grabbed your arms behind your back so you couldn’t move further. 

— I think he sent you to us as a gift — the man leaned against your shoulder, whispering into your ear. — Yeah, that’s what you are – a sweet, innocent present. Isn’t she cute, Johnny? 

Brunette finally stood up from the bed and gently caressed your hip. He was standing so close, you could feel his pulsating cock and its leaking tip on your supple thigh.

— Aye, she is lovely. 

— Have you tasted her, boy? That night you sneaked under her covers? — To which the dark haired one denied. — Well, I think you should compensate the little lady, no? Help her calm down, you know how women can get… hysterical. 

— W-Wait, wait, no, n-no… 

Simon sat down on the edge of the bed and placed you between his massive legs. One of his hands wrapped around your fragile, swan like neck and the other cupped your left breast. Meanwhile, Johnny got down onto his knees and moved closer to the two of you and before he dived between your thighs he looked into the dark irises of his Lord. Not yours. 

— He eats like I starve him beforehand. You’re gonna find out, lovely. 

You tried to squeeze your legs shut, but the gardener kept them spread wide so he could lean closer to your cunt. And when you tried anything like moving or wriggling away, Simon would pull or twist one of your nipples causing you to yelp. 

— She’s really pretty — the Scot said, parting your lower lips apart. The shame washed over you, causing your head to turn into Simon’s shoulder. — Never could have pulled such one while in the army. 

Then he flatten his tongue over your most sensitive parts and started dragging it along the slit. You entangled one of your hands within his brown strands of hair, on top of his head pulling slightly. When his lips sucked at your clit you finally moaned, releasing some tension and anger within you.

— Bird’s already singing.

Simon purred into your ear, nuzzling his eyebrow ridge into your head. The feelings and sensations you were experiencing overflowed your system. The man you trusted as your lover was assaulting your cunt with his mouth and the Lord you were supposed to work for was enjoying the show. You pressed your eyes shut, trying not to cry. But you finally broke and the salty streams began to run down your rosy cheeks. 

— You think she deserves to cum, Johnny? — To which the kneeling men nodded vigorously. — Use your words, stupid mutt. 

— Please, Si, let her. Look how stressed she is. Poor thing, she might need a few more.

— A few- Ah! M-More?! — You squealed again, when someone rolled your nipples between their fingers. 

When your peak neared, you tried to turn your head away and hide. You didn't want to give them the satisfaction of seeing your face in pure bliss. Simon held your head against his sternum, pressing your forehead backwards. 

You felt like you were on fire, orange flames licking your fingers, your breasts, your inner thighs. 

— That’s it, good girl. 

And when the knot finally bursted, a wave of painful, white pleasure washed over you. The orgasm was so strong, it blinded your senses for a short moment in which the men flipped you around the bed. 

Johnny was supporting your shoulders and your head, while Lord was stirring in front of you. He threw your legs over his thighs and scooped closer to your still wet with saliva crotch. And not only with that…

The new wave of panic overwhelmed you when Simon began to undo his trousers. He was taller and bigger than the gardener in every aspect, you were scared. Taking two lovers, without marital vows? Does this make you a whore? But you didn’t want this!

— No, no, no… — You weeped sadly, trying to crawl away, before Johnny began to caress your head. His grip was tight and successfully held you in place. 

— After tonight, we’ll be joined as one, bonnie. Just us, here in this house, forever. 

— But I-I don’t want this, Johnny! Please, let me go. Let me go.

You repeated as Simon pulled you by the hips closer to him. His now exposed, thick cock stiffened over your soft abdomen, leaking some precum. 

— Shh, Simon knows what’s best for us. He knows. 

When the tip of his length caved his way inside of your warm, silky walls, he was at least decent enough to take it slow. If you felt full during that first night spent with Johnny, this time it seemed even fuller. With his flesh, Simon filled you to the brim, still not even moving. The man saw your struggle to relax, so he leaned down and sucked the thin and delicate skin below your jaw. 

Meanwhile Johnny brushed your hair backwards and with the other hand he caressed your ribs. Somehow they knew how to press each individual button to make you docile enough. 

They learned how to tame you. 

Only then, Simon began to move his hips, thrusting slowly and continuously fastening the pace. His movements made you sway along Johnny’s knees. Your breasts bounced within the rhythm and your eyes searched for them through the half absent haze. 

You got lost in the moment, every breath merged with another. Hands roaming over your body, whose owners you couldn’t really assign, the burning stretch in your cunt that began to lube itself to ease the friction. 

The pleasure that crushed over your sensible thinking, put you in an almost ascended state. You were still sobbing, when Simon fastened his pace and his cock penetrated you deeper, kissing your cervix. You were still trembling, when the two men started making out above you. Their lips crushed in a vulgar exposition of their affection.

— Can’t you see that you’re lost without us, lovely? — The Lord’s voice shaken as he was getting closer to his climax. He leaned down and kissed you, almost stealing your breath away. 

— Wouldn’t last without us, would you, lass? 

They continuously somewhat mocked you and each time after they did, they cooed at you or leaned down to “kiss it better”. By the time Simon finished inside of you, groaning loudly, he spilled the warm seed inside your walls to, as Lord claim, “make you theirs”. 

— Don’t worry, we got you now. We’re gonna take care of you. Just let us… get familiar first. — Johnny said calmly, when the blonde was massaging your tense things. You knew they weren’t yet sated. 

That night you happened to lay over one of Simon’s bulky arms like a pillow. He caged your body from behind, his chest pressing tightly against your spine and Johnny laid on his side in front of you. Through a half awakened state you managed to look through the window that faced the treeline. An edge of forest shrouded in thick, morning mist. 

Tonight you finally were able to put the pieces together. However it was too late anyways.

The house seemed to be stuck in time and space, so were its residents. The wind sweeping through the draughty windows fills the lungs of the great manor. Old, wooden flooring creaks and the glass strain within its frames. Every aspect of the building stays the same, untouched and reclusive for many years to come. 

You finally let the heavy eyelids close. The sun was rising.

Obviously very inspired by Ghost's music and Crimson Peak, here is Spotify playlist ⟶ 𝕏

[warcats-cat]

Sacred Animal

Summary: Hermes takes you on a "mystery date" that becomes very cute and silly, very quickly.

A/N: I'm doing it, I'm being brave and posting one of the drabbles I wrote like over a month ago but felt kinda shy about. Biggest, most fluffy Thank-You to @lickoutyourbrains for reading and rereading and encouraging me through everything. If you guys enjoy this one I'll consider posting the others. Please let me know what you think, and as always let me know if I missed any tags!

Read on Ao3 here!

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Hermes' domains were a wide net that covered a lot. Travelers, Messages, Thieves, Trickery and Cunning, Athletes, Merchants, Speed, Language; the list went on for a while. And in keeping with the diversity of his domains, his moods and interests tended to whirl and swing around with the days. 

It made for some chaotic date nights. 

But really, you enjoyed the chaos; the thrill of his surprises, not really being able to guess but being able to follow where his mind was going. You could keep up with him, and he loved you for that. Therefore, date nights like tonight were surprising, but not completely out of left field. 

You were bundled up in a thick coat with ear muffs on your head; it wasn't snowing yet, but it was cold enough that the snow predicted for the following days would stick, and probably make a thick blanket on the ground. 

You faintly wondered if Hermes had ever made snow angels…

“Ready?” he asked at the front door of your apartment building; he was wearing a wide-brimmed hat instead of his usual helmet, and it cast a shadow over his eyes in lieu of his sunglasses. He also had a warm-looking red cloak, apparently lined with fur or some other fluff over a thin shirt that you couldn't quite see. He probably didn't need the cloak, he never seemed to feel cold, but it was important to keep up appearances when visiting public places. 

So you were going somewhere that would have other people. 

You huffed, checking the strap of the bag you carried to make sure it was close to your chest - he could still easily steal your wallet and phone, but it was a little harder when he couldn't just reach into your pockets. One of these days, you might just cave and buy the weird chest-strap bag that kept all your valuables up high and theoretically safe from nefarious hands. See if he could break into that…

Belongings secure, coat and muffs adjusted, you nodded and his face lit with a grin as he effortlessly lifted you into his arms. You could barely see the glow of his eyes under the shadow of the hat - the longer you dated Hermes, the more you learned to look closer for the little things. Right now, he was excited; more childlike joy than gleeful mischief, which was even more exciting for you. As much as you enjoyed his pranks and silliness, it was rare that he had this much anticipation for something. 

He was usually all soft smiles and warmth, but this was bright like a star. 

You tucked your face into Hermes' chest, knowing he was going to fly directly to wherever he was taking you. There would be no sight-seeing on this trip; another mystery to confuse you about potential locations. He pressed a gentle kiss into your hair before taking off, the wind quickly whipping around the pair of you as he sped towards your destination. 

It was still bright out - the sun wouldn't set for another hour or two, and the light and wind surrounded you for a few moments before you felt Hermes slow and finally land. At least this time he hadn't gone high enough to make your ears pop. 

You waited for his arms to loosen, looking up at him after a few moments. 

“Put me down?” You asked, teasingly. He shrugged. 

“Nah. It's pretty cold, it's nice to have a personal heater.” He replied. He only laughed when you lightly slapped his chest with the back of your hand, and finally released you. 

“How does your hat not fly off?” You asked, noticing the tips of his hair under the brim were ruffled, but the hat itself remained secure. He shrugged again. 

“God magic?” he theorized, jokingly. That was his answer to a lot of questions about his anomalies, and you knew better than to press. You rolled your eyes and huffed, crossing your arms. 

“Ok, fine,” you gestured for him to lead, “where exactly are we?” He took your hand and began to walk across a rather large expanse of grass, passing a little gravel parking lot full of cars, and you could see some farm buildings in the distance. 

“We’re gonna meet some friends!” the wide smile returned, as if his statement wouldn't raise more questions, but you just chuckled and followed. You were definitely on some kind of farm-store property; a place that probably did apple picking or a pumpkin patch in the fall. Right now, though, all of the trees were bare, the grassy field yellowish from winter frost, and the rows of dirt in the distance empty as the plants that grew there waited for spring. 

The pair of you walked up to a little gate, where an older man was sitting with a little cash box. The man smiled as you approached. 

“Well, how can I help you two?” he asked, a bit of a ‘country lilt’ to his words. You expected Hermes to wave a hand and work his ‘god magic’ on the man so he allowed you to pass, but instead your godly boyfriend handed over a real, American ten-dollar bill and responded “Two please.” 

You tried not to look at Hermes in shock and confusion; he ‘paid’ for a lot of your dates, but not usually with actual money. You faintly wondered if he was starting to understand the difference between stealing from corporations and small businesses; a subject of many debates and discussions throughout your time together. You were impressed. 

The man took the bill and traded it into his cash box for two bright green silicone bracelets, and began to fish out some change before Hermes held up a hand and told the man to keep the change. 

The god handed you a bracelet and led you around the gate as the man wished you both to have fun. After it appeared Hermes was not going to say anything about it, you tugged on his hand, causing him to stop. 

“Who are you and where is my boyfriend?” You asked, only half-jokingly. Maybe even less than half. 

He bounced on the balls of his feet; damn he was really excited. “I learn things when we talk! I'm supporting some local farmers!” He defended with a grin. “I’m not only a Patron of thieves, you know.” 

With that response apparently being all he planned to say, he began to walk again, taking your hand, and by extension, you, with him. The pair of you were walking around the main building which you were now certain was some kind of store, and as you turned the corner you could hear the excited jabbering of children. 

What the heck.

‘Meeting friends,’ he said. You were on a farm. There were little kids. You looked at the bracelet now on your wrist which read ‘Friendly Fields Local Craftworks and Petting Zoo’ in thin yellow letters. 

Well, this was certainly the most unique date he'd ever taken you on. 

In the rapidly diminishing distance, you saw a series of low fences housing several animals, and about a dozen children with parents in varying stages of exasperation. Most of the little ones were crowded around a hutch of extremely fluffy rabbits, but there was also a pen with mini ponies, one with two alpacas, one with a cow, one filled with chickens, and one with a small handful of sheep. You were pleased to notice that all of the pens had little heaters for the animals, and were sheltered in case it rained. 

You had to admit, this was kinda cute. 

Hermes continued to lead, heading straight for the sheep who ‘baah’d at him as you both came near. This one was the farthest off, and it seemed none of the children were very interested in visiting the sheep. 

“Hello, lovely ladies,” Hermes said as he leaned down and began to scratch one under its chin. You were a bit surprised; normally petting zoo animals were pretty apathetic towards their visitors, unless there was food involved. But all four of the wooly sheep had wandered over and were waiting for Hermes' attention. 

“So you're the god of sheep.” You said, a wry smile on your face as you watched him pet one animal with each hand. 

“Ha! You're close,” he replied, “I’m the god of shepherds. But sheep are one of my animals.” He paused, realizing you hadn't joined in, and stood back up to look at you. “Is this ok? You like petting things…” he asked, and now his face was hesitant.

You did like petting things. You constantly tried to pet the stray cats around your apartment complex, and the second someone offered for you to pet their dog you were all over those good boys and girls. You had even been to petting zoos before! Sheep were one of your favorite animals (although now you were absolutely not going to tell Hermes that). You felt your cheeks get hot, and it wasn't from wind burn. 

“Well, you looked like you were pretty excited to see them, and I didn't want to get in your way…” you said lamely. In truth, you just thought watching Hermes talk to a small herd of sheep was adorable, and had forgotten you were also supposed to be interacting with the animals. 

Hermes smirked, and pulled you a little closer, holding out a hand to the sheep closest to him, “here, just let her sniff you first. They'll probably feel a lot safer than normally because I'm here.” 

You followed his lead, surprised when the sheep forewent sniffing your hand and plopped her little chin in your palm. You could almost believe she was smiling at you. A surprised giggle bubbled out of you; no animal had ever done that. 

Seeing that there were now enough hands for all four to get pets at the same time, the whole little herd came up to the fence to vie for attention. It was strange and a little wonderful; their wool was thick and dense and incredibly warm, once you pushed your fingertips into the fleece. Hermes was saying something to the two in front of him, but you were only barely aware of that as you watched the little sheeps’ tiny, nubby tails wagging and twitching. 

He was probably giving them a blessing, the big softie; to be warm and live long and always have the tastiest grass. 

You had no idea how long the two of you had stood there, spoiling the little sheep with your scritches; thankfully the sun hadn't set yet, but it was a little darker. Hermes led you around to the other pens, now significantly quieter as several of the families and children left for the evening. There were still a good number of people around, but not so rowdy. One of the alpacas was interested in the pair of you, though not nearly as much as the sheep. The horses looked at you like you were some kind of aliens; as if you were the ones in the pens for their entertainment. Hermes avoided the cow, saying she was giving him a dirty look. 

You knew he had a history with cows but you didn't think it went that deep…

The chickens were also quick to look for Hermes' attention, running over to the fence posts to investigate. They formed a wide clump of feathers, and would have been centered around him if there hadn't been a barrier in the way. As it were, several chickens were reaching their heads through the fencing, clucking and (apparently) trying to peck at the god. You giggled. Hermes looked around a moment, that mischievous smile on his face, and you saw him pull his hat down in the back just far enough to free the wings behind his ears, which flapped a few times at the chickens in return. 

The chickens went wild, some of them darting away, some of them flapping their wings back, some almost screeching; to the point that one of the farmhands came over to make sure they weren't fighting, and Hermes had to quickly slip his hat back in place. 

You'd never pet a chicken before; and the farm hand was kind enough to let you and Hermes each hold one. They were warm, surprisingly heavy, and you were taken aback when you realized the bird was purring. Not as deep and consistent as a cat’s purr, but still noticeable; the vibrations just barely palpable in your hands. Hermes' face was practically glowing in the low light, looking at you holding the chicken. After a little more cuddling of the soft feathers, and watching Hermes (probably) whispering a blessing to the other birds as well, the farmhand helped you place the chicken back in her coop, and Hermes led you to the last pen; the bunnies.

Angora rabbits, to be specific, with their carefully brushed fur and softly padded pen. A visitor could see clearly that these were the prized animals for the farm. And they certainly were cute; well-socialized and hopping over to see the newcomers, hoping for treats, clearly relaxed while being handled by the humans. 

You opted not to hold a rabbit, but you did get to pet a few of them as they wandered from person to person - their fur was as silky-soft as you imagined; always hearing about angora wool being special and extra soft (and probably extra expensive) but never going out of your way to find clothes made with it. 

The sun was finally setting in earnest, and the farmhands were beginning to pack up the petting area and move the animals back into their warm barns and hutches; the little country store was still open though, and it only took a little bit of begging to convince Hermes to go inside and look around. 

He’d already been planning on going in, but you were cute when you made your sad-eyes and exaggerated pout. 

Inside, the shop was warm and smelled like fresh cinnamon and vanilla. There were a few people milling around, looking at the different products - lots of fresh baked goods, homemade preserves, craft items, and even a cubby of milled goat milk soap. There was also a large sign on the counter that read “Chelly is OUT” in large red letters, and you assumed the tile that read OUT could be flipped to say something like IN as well. 

You wondered if you'd get a peek at Chelly. You did love shops that had kitties wandering around. 

Hermes unpinned his cloak so it hung at his shoulders instead of clipped at his throat, and you loosened your coat as well; the shop was nice and warm, and you were getting a little too warm under so many layers. 

Hermes was definitely just showing off his shirt - a meme shirt, because of course he'd been collecting those recently... 

You took your time looking at different things, eventually Hermes handed you a little shopping basket with a knowing grin, and you blushed again as you carefully placed a bottle of lavender oil for baking and a pack of flaky, delicious looking chocolate pastries into the basket. You were a bit surprised when Hermes actually added some things to the basket - namely two little crochet sheep that had a tag reading [80% angora, 20% wool] and a crochet chicken that apparently had a squeaker in its body. 

Oh gods. That was going to drive his siblings insane. 

And then suddenly, Hermes yelped and jumped, floating just a second too long before landing and looking down at the floor. 

Looking at a little tortoise riding around on a skateboard-like contraption.

The yelp had attracted the attention of the woman running the counter, but Hermes was unbothered; consumed with the sheer delight upon seeing the little reptile appear from under the shelves. 

“Oh, I'm so sorry!” the woman said frantically, “she's perfectly healthy, I promise, she just gets a little feisty when it's close to closing time, because she knows once the customers leave she gets a strawberry. She didn't bite you, did she?”

Meanwhile, Hermes had become a metaphorical kid in a candy store, sitting down right on the floor and cooing at the tortoise. He waved the woman off, saying, “She's so cute! So fast!” And then addressing the turtle, a mess of babbling that included “Look at your little wheels!” 

You'd seen many moods from your godly boyfriend. You'd seen him happy, frustrated, confused, annoyed (usually by your car and your coworkers). You'd seen him drunk and giggly, when he had twirled you around until you both threw up. You'd seen him cry, though rarely; he rarely felt safe to do so. You'd even seen him divinely angry once when a nymph at one of Dio's parties asked why a mortal like you were allowed to attend. 

You had not seen him like this. This was newborn-baby-cute-aggression levels of babbling. He gently scratched around the tortoise’s shell, watching the reptile wiggle when he apparently hit a good spot. (It was admittedly adorable.) You were pretty sure you could see his wings ruffling under his hat. 

Thankfully, the woman was pleased with Hermes' excitement. “Oh, yes. Poor Chelly was hatched without her back legs working. My son made the little wheel board for her. She has one that only has wheels on the back, but she seems to prefer the ability to race around.” 

Ah. Chelly was the tortoise.

“It's brilliant!” Hermes' replied, and then after a moment of hesitation, he surprised you again. “Can I pick her up?” He asked, almost bashful. 

The woman only laughed. “Sure, if she'll let you! Just be careful, she likes to give love bites.” She patted the reptile’s shell gently and asked if you needed any help before returning to the counter to attend another customer. 

Your boyfriend was still sitting on the floor. 

Not knowing what else to do, you joined him on the floor. 

He gently wiggled his fingers in front of Chelly, and when she didn't reach out and bite, he carefully scooped her off of her skateboard and held her right up to his face. 

“Helloooo, Darling! You like to go fast, huh? Go Zoomies? You're such a pretty girl!” He was almost blushing, and for the second time you wondered what clone had spontaneously replaced the man you were dating. Meanwhile, the tortoise was content to extend her neck and brush his nose with her face. Her front legs wiggled as if she was still walking or possibly swimming, and he continued to talk to her. 

The longer you sat there, the more you wondered if they could understand each other. 

With a sigh, you gave Hermes a kiss on his cheek, told him you were going to look some more, and left to explore the other shelves. (You may or may not have snapped several dozen photos of him cooing at Chelly in the meantime.)

He sat there with the tortoise a full ten minutes; meanwhile you found your own mischievous gift. You had paid quietly and hidden the item at the bottom of your purse, under the ‘valuables’ and wrapped in a brown paper bag. That was for later. 

When he finally rejoined you, you playfully bumped him with your elbow as he took some offered hand sanitizer from the counter to clean his hands.  He paid for the rest of the items in your basket, once again with real money, and you knew better than to question it at this point. The pair of you rebuttoned your extra layers and prepared to go out into the night. 

“So, are you replacing me?” you asked. He smiled, nuzzling your cheek with a little huff. 

“Nobody could replace you.” He replied softly, and your face suddenly felt a little warmer. He easily picked you up once more, having put your purchases into his trusty messenger bag, and with little warning he took off. 

This time, he did fly a little higher, just so you could see the stars on the way home. The cold wind bit your nose and you would probably have chapped cheeks in the morning, but it was worth it. 

He landed easily outside your apartment building, fishing the brown paper bag out of his pack. He would have to be back on Olympus tomorrow morning, and was leaving tonight to have time to leave a trap for Apollo. You barely had a moment before he pulled you into a kiss, then twirling you around and dipping you backwards, throwing off your balance. At least he kept you from falling, even if it was an almost cartoonish dip. He was probably floating to have you so far back. 

“So,” he panted lightly, his breath making little bursts of fog in the night air, “did you have fun?” You laughed, patting his shoulders as a request to stand back up. His face was positively glowing as he helped you right yourself. 

Yes, he had been floating, damn god powers…

You laughed anyway; “Yes. More fun than I have in a while.” You said, and it was the truth. Hermes' silly side was your favorite thing about him, and you had gotten to see so much of it tonight. His smile was brilliant once more, and under the shadow of his hat you saw his eyes start to glow silvery. 

“I love you.” he said, and kissed you again. “I'll be back in two days. I'll pick you up from work.” 

“Okay. Don't be too mean to Apollo, okay?” You teased. He rolled his eyes, and began to break away, before you grabbed the strap of his messenger bag and stuffed your own small gift inside, feeling it disappear into the organized clutter of the bottomless bag. He quirked an eyebrow in question. 

“Don't open it until you get back to Olympus. Promise?” You asked, and held up your pinky finger. 

He snorted. “Sure. Promise.” He linked his pinky with yours, and you shook. Truly a sacred oath. One last stolen kiss, and then he was gone, zipping away into the night sky. You hugged the bag from the store to your chest, and went inside to your (thankfully warm) apartment. 

The treats went into the kitchen, to be enjoyed for breakfast tomorrow. You were already scrolling your phone for that lavender shortbread cookie recipe you'd seen a week ago and thinking you would have to go to the store tomorrow after work anyway. The little sheep plushies (you now noticed one was a ram and one was an ewe. Dork.) went onto your shelf of ‘Hermes Trinkets’ for now, though you knew you would probably move them to your bed for cuddling soon. Damn those things were soft. There was also a pair of thick purple socks that you hadn't seen him grab, equally soft, and you already planned to change into them with your pajamas. 

Not even an hour later, as you were settling in for bed, you received a text message with a photo attached. 

Hermes, his hair wild and hat off, with a gigantic grin on his face. Proudly wearing the crochet headband with a carefully curled pair of stuffed ram horns. Captioned: ‘Better than my laurels.’

You suddenly really hoped he wouldn't wear that to council meetings. You'd created a monster. 

(If you enjoyed, please reblog!)

[gladumfdoodles]

it's been a while since i did a little self promo post, so!! I'm doing another one!!

Hello folks, I'm Glad! I'm a fic writer in the Hermitcraft and Life series fandoms and have specifically been writing platonic scarian for nearly two years now. i have well over 400k words worth of those two on my ao3, which you can find here!

My most popular fics on Ao3 and the ones that you might have heard of before seeing this post are:

-Phasmobros: a GIGGS centric phasmophobia fic similar to a chat fic, in which the story is told through a series of radio logs, emails, and text messages. I wrote it during the height of phasmo with the GIGGS crew in October of 2023, and it haunts me to this day as my best performing fic and the first fic i ever wrote /silly

-Mer AU: a series in which Scar is a Blue Catfish mer forced to showboat for an aquarium and Grian is working on his Masters in Marine Biology who notices something isn't quite right. Features angst, whump, hurt/comfort, and more!

My discord server's favorite fics are:

-Secret Worlds, aka Atlantis AU: follows the plot of Disney's Atlantis if the characters were instead from the Life Series and Hermitcraft. If you like action, adventure, and worldbuilding, this one is very fun. I really enjoyed doing a deep dive into the culture of Atlantis specifically in the Disney film and then expanding on it, and a few elements of the plot have been switched or tweaked to fit the characters better!

-Mer AU: See above! This one is a big fan favorite, so if you want a nice introduction to my writing, that fic is definitely the way to go!

-A Group of Crows is Called a Murder for a Reason, aka NVSK or Necromancer v Serial Killer: Based off of a Tumblr post, in which Scar is the leader of the local mafia and kills a lot of people, and Grian is a necromancer who keeps bringing them back. This one is packed with hurt/comfort, hybrid instincts, possessive characters, and complicated morality. If you like BAMF Scar and Grian and pathetic wet cat of a man Jimmy (he's trying his best), this fic is for you.

-Technical Difficulties: A Scifi AU in which Scar is an enforcer and Grian is a criminal against his will. After an explosive meeting, they work together to take down the organization that held Grian and his friends captive, and Grian faces some incredible challenges along the way. Featuring some experimentation and feral Grian, as well as my favorite, a concussion scene.

-Angel Ellipsis: An angel/demon AU with some very particular world building. Based off of SilverWing's fic Mischief and Mayhem but with my own personal touch to it. Grian is a demon being kept for experimentation by human scientists when one day an angel is thrown into the cage next to him. Hungry, scared, and desperate, they cling to each other, until a local group of ragtag creatures comes to save them. Loads of whump and angst in this one, but also plenty of hurt/comfort. Also features the ZITS crew!

-Don't Look Too Hard: An old one but a good one! Grian is a homeless avian keeping himself alive on the streets with his friends when he suddenly gets kidnapped by the House of the Watchers, a noble family that serves King Scar. He quickly becomes their slave and personal punching bag, but the Watchers don't seem to realize that Scar can sense exactly what Grian is feeling when they visit the palace. This one is a feel good fic! Hurt/comfort to the max with so much bird brain. There are also a lot of characters in this short fic, plenty to get excited over!

And finally, my personal favorite fics. Most of them are listed above, so check out the summaries there if you're interested!

-Mer AU: This one will always hold a special place in my heart. I spent ages on the worldbuilding, and it brought me really close to my community as well.

-NVSK: This was my passion project last year. I loved writing this one so much and I love it so so so much. Please check it out, it is my baby and it needs more love.

-Smiler AU: My little horror project! It's an apocalypse AU in which a species of aliens have invaded Earth with one purpose: to make people happy. Except they get a bit confused and think that if someone is smiling, that means they're happy, and if they're not smiling, that needs to be fixed. And the whole fixing process? Doesn't have a very high survival rate. The smiler afflicted area is walled off by the World Governments, and Grian and Scar are just a few of those people trapped behind that wall. I'm still working on this one, and it is once again, a really big passion project of mine, so please check it out!

There are a ton more fics on my profile, more than I could ever link here, and I strongly encourage you go check them out if anything here seems interesting to you! I have a plethora of oneshots and short fics, as well as a smattering of long fics, most of which center on desert duo/platonic scarian. If you made it to the end of this post, congrats! Thanks for reading my rambling here, and I hope to see you over on Ao3!

[originalgenshinscenarios]

Everyday, I go insane about how little content there is of Baizhu (and when there is it's just so fucked up 😭 no shade to those who like it but how on earth is Baizhu tag on AO3 looking like just a list of trigger warnings in DMMD)

So I'm being the change I wanna see, his bday letter inspired me.

Baizhu's S/O helping him rest up

Reader here is gender neutral

Dating Baizhu had always been quite an interesting experience, but with time you quickly got used to his quirks. One of them being Changsheng telling on him when he's neglecting himself.

You were preparing a small surprise for his birthday, nothing too extravagant but still a sweet gesture for your beloved...

That is until you noticed the adepti slithering your way. Your attention went to her right away as she explained what's going on.

With Gui being out of commission and Qiqi caring for patients, Baizhu's fatigue- although his own doing- was something that worried you.

So while it wasn't like he was sick, due to his condition it sometimes feels like it's one and the same. Besides, if he'd listen to anyone that would be you... Sometimes.

And once he saw you with Changsheng around your arm he already knew what the snake was up to.

Despite your worried expression he only laughed and tried to reassure you that he was okay... Emphasis on tried because he looked like he was going to pass out any second.

You walked up to his desk and took his hands, placing away the brush he was writing with "You're impossible..." Was the only thing you said at the moment before he started with more excuses.

After all this season changing makes it so easy to get sick he was only trying to write up a list of remedies... Maybe make some sort of pamphlet or advertisement with his advice and some easy to make remedies and recipes...

Speaking of which he was just done thinking of one. He wrote down the special tea blend and yet he hasn't made it to check if his curse of bitter medicine touched also on tea as well.

As he kept on talking you decided to agree to taste test the tea, but only if he rested afterwards. That compromise he could agree to.

You went on to follow the written instructions and by the time you were done he actually fell asleep on his desk.

(If you're strong) Rolling your eyes, you pick up your lover gently. Trying to not jostle him awake and took him to his home which was pretty much a part of the pharmacy. His work really is his whole life...

Once he's settled in his bed you take off his glasses and look closely at his handsome face. Adoring every wrinkle and yet... Finding yourself worried upon looking at the dark circles under his eyes.

He probably forgot it was his birthday too, which wouldn't be the first time. You lay down next to him and tuck a strand of his hair behind his ear and just let him rest. It was still pretty early so you'd get to spoil him for his birthday later today anyways.

For now, you just enjoyed the silent moment. You wanted to be with him when he wakes up. As you thought about your plans however you tried to think of a way to make him follow you. Of course he's not THAT stubborn... But you never know what his priorities will be once he wakes up. Especially since today looked like "work priority" day for him.

(If you're not strong enough to lift him) You didn't like how he was positioned and yet you didn't know if you wanted to gamble waking him up and then trying to argue with him to sleep. Because despite his promise you had a feeling he'd think of a way to do as he pleased.

After a moment of hesitation you decided to trust your lover's word and woke him up. He apologized for his drowsiness and went ahead to ask you questions about his medicine.

You answered his questions quickly to change the subject to his promise. Which he remembered and his little nap made him aware of his lack of arguments.

He leaned onto you and together you walked to his home. Of course he didn't fall asleep the moment he laid down. The two of just talked for a while. Holding each other close until he drifted away.

[partyfailure]

I don’t!!! Have polished digital art IM SORRY PLEASE take these doodles. Some Mikes in between eras, toy animatronics and Scrapbabies with bill&ford from the wild… and then Cassidy! As if she were to scare you!

The Mike era goes like this: fnaf4 - fnaf2 (Fritz Smith) - fnaf1 (Mike Schmidt) - fnafSL (‘Eggs Benedict’) and then ffps with him and Helpy being happy and cute. He is 13 by the time of bo83 and about 20 in 1989-90, the date the fnaf1 takes place (see this video for context!). Then there’s SL, which I put in the late 90s-early 2000s. Mike does very great during that time lol (he is getting scooped tomorrow) ((also also, Mike on SL’s pose is very very inspired by one of the drawings of leeseechkeens human bill au! But my rendition of it looks a bit wobbly lol)

Now an ~update~ for my creative process on the AU hehehe!

Okay so, thinking about my AU somehow is much more difficult than thinking about a normal fnaf timeline. AND DECIDING how I want to tell is even worse. But! I’ve had some more interesting ideas that could be a perfect plot twist by the Security Breach era that literally left me awake at night LOL but I roughly made my timeline of events - I need now to fill in plotholes (which are many) and decide which method of storytelling will be the best.

I’ll be reading some of my favorite fics to have a sort of blueprint on how I should structure my stuff. It’s not ideal but I have NEVER been so insistent in developing something more and wanted people to enjoy it. I tried to write MA before this reboot/the addition of SB and it was messy like, unnecessary lengthy chapters with information that wouldn’t add anything in the story. Plus, I wrote 3 chapters that are okay-ish to me, but the fourth while yes cool, had no reason to exist. Brah I didn’t delete it all together because it was SIXTY PAGES WORTHY OF GOOGLE DOCS, but again, no interesting stuff. The pacing was sooo bad and I began re-reading and wanted to shut down my computer a lot of times.

After creating this tumblr and sharing my concepts, the ideas for MA began flowing so well. I’m not going to say the major idea that made me stay awake but I will say!!! Cassidy will no longer be an ally for Michael’s investigations - at least, not for so long as Charlie, who’ll stay with Mike all the time. I think I can say that one without spoiling so much 👀 but everything will come all together, hopefully. Imagine if hypothetically after it’s done, I could begin a series of oneshots and mini-stories that talk about things that could happen post canon or pre-canon?? And maybe in the future expand my list of fandoms that would be peak. I even though about a (funny) ao3 username IWBEHWEB IDK I LOVE FANFICTION

Anyway, these are the rants for today. I don’t know if you guys saw but that poll I made - Organize my au and make the human designs had the same amount of votes, so I’ll be doing the two things. I really really want to draw the Afton family completely…

Anyways, I’ll bring afton and Emily designs maybe later :) byeee for now!

[dumbbitch-academy]

A Night of Blood and Wine

Astarion x f!reader

WC: 3.4k

Like always: 18+ MDNI

Summary: Its a party tonight at the Elfsong with the entire party! Reader and Astarion head upstairs where Astarion gets drunk, but in his own vampire way *wink wink*

Contains: Blood drinking, alcohol use, sex mentioned, but nothing happens, FLUFF like so much fluff omg, also Shadow'zel is alive and well

A/N: I wrote this story and it took me while but here it is. There is party banter so sorry if there is some OOC moments, I am not used to writing the rest of the companions. Enjoy! This is proof-read as much as my tired brain can handle right now, also I might change the title later.

AO3

Masterlist

The excitement grew all day inside of you. It had been so long since there was time to just be with each other. All of your companions having a party to celebrate nothing in particular, to still being alive, which was all reason enough and more. Your party had rented out the entire upper floor of the Elfsong, which currently buzzed with the excitement of everyone getting ready in their best clothes. You and all the other girls had gotten together in one room, giddily getting dressed. Lae’zel had been choosing which of her camp clothes fit the evening’s festivities the best, which Shadowheart helped her with, excited to see her in something more fun and less formal than her usual Githyanki armor. 

You giggled at the two, once their blatant disgust and animosity was channeled into something more productive, a beautiful friendship had begun to blossom between the two of them. From that point, an even more beautiful relationship was found out one day as a few others in the party, including yourself, caught them sneaking a kiss when they thought no one was around to see them “Too cute” you thought to yourself as you currently were sitting in front of the mirror, reapplying your eyeliner. The dress you had chosen was fitting for a party, it was a beautiful shade of pink, it paired beautifully with your tanned skin and black raven hair. The corset laced up accented your curves, the skirt a comfortable length. Karlach had opted for her usual leathers, as she knew she was going to ruin anything else besides her usual clothes with the amount of fun and liquid courage she planned on partaking in this evening. 

“You almost ready, soldier? We should have been there about 10 minutes ago!”Karlach came up behind you, staring at you in the mirror, a large grin had cracked her face into a wonderful smile. “Yes, Karlach. I’m done just now. Just want to look perfect tonight. I can’t remember how long it has been since we let loose a little,” you look at her through the mirror, “and how about you two? Are you finally ready?” You eyed Shadowheart and Lae’zel who finally came out of their corner, smiles in their eyes. “Yes, lead the way, let us head down and conquer this night,” Lae’zel said as she smoothed out her outfit one last time. 

The descent down the stairs gave way to nerves forming in your belly, excited for what the night might bring. Once you pushed your way through the doors, you immediately were greeted by a cheer from Wyll and Gale, Astarion still yet to be seen. “Finally, the ladies decide to grace us with their ever alluring presence,” Wyll spoke through a small happy laugh, you could tell he had already had a pint. “Good evening, ladies, follow us to your table this evening,” Gale motioned, obviously having begun drinking already as well. You all gathered around the table the men had picked out, large enough for everyone, and more towards the back. You still looked around, trying not to be overt about trying to find Astarion, but still curious where your boyfriend was, though you knew hanging out with a drunk Wyll and especially Gale was not a highlight on his list of fun things to partake in, sober at least. It was at this point you felt a cold hand land on your bare shoulder, where your dress straps did not cover. A shiver from both excitement and unexpected cold ran through you, and turned around to find Astarion. “There you are, my love. I was wondering when you all would show up. I was starting to think you were all having fun up there without us,” his usual smirk across his face. You shook your head, giggling and smiling, “What can I say, fashionably late and all that.” Astarion laughed, and handed you a glass of your favorite wine. He moved to kiss you, which you moved your face up to allow him better access to your lips. You could taste the wine on his lips as well, so he had started drinking as well. Not that it would get him drunk, but that would come soon enough. “You truly are stunning, my dear. What a beautiful dress,” Astarion warmly complimented you, looking at you up and down. “I could say the same to you, too, Star.” He was so very handsome tonight, not that he wasn’t every night, but tonight, there was just something about him. A lovely flowy shirt accompanied with leather pants that hugged his figure, smokey eyeliner to match yours adorned his crimson eyes. 

“I would like to propose a toast, to…” Gale had started, interrupting your flirtation but he quickly lost track of where ever that train was headed. “A toast to great libations, and even greater friends to share them with!” Wyll graciously swooped in and saved Gale, much to his inebriated thanks. Everyone toasted their goblets into the air, and took a swig. 

You looked around, just in awe that everyone who meant so much to you was with you at this moment, your very own family. Something that you had back home, but they never really truly understood you. You loved them, yes, still sequestered in that small little village, but this was something entirely different. This was a family of your own creation, of everyone who meant the world to you in their own special way, but especially Astarion. He was something that you never really planned on happening, not that you were complaining about the surprise. You looked upon the man next to you, laughing with Karlach, sipping his wine, and you felt just the most adoration for him in your heart. You could tell he could tell your heart beat was drumming hard as he looked over to you, a genuine smile in his eye, ears turning downward ever so slightly, something you noticed would happen when you became even closer. He bent down and kissed your blushed cheek. 

As the night went on, the drinks flowed. You were becoming pretty silly in your drunken state, and it was to everyone’s entertainment. “You know, I always kinda wanted something to happen between you two!” You looked over and giggled over at Shadowheart and Lae’zel, who were sitting oh-so-comfortably with each other, Lae’zel’s arm over Shadowheart’s shoulder. The pair both rolled their eyes at you, “Well, once she started to stop being such an ass, there really was a strangely endearing charm to her,” Shadowheart spoke turning her heart to the woman in question, brows knitted starting down at her goblet as she took a deep drink, not used to her love life being so proudly on display. “I was never an ass, just persistent in my objectives for the party being correct,” Lae’zel corrected her precious rosy partner, and Shadowheart raised an eyebrow in return. “Sure, whatever lets you sleep at night ‘Zel,” Shadowheart scoffed before she leaned in to kiss Lae’zel’s cheek. 

You turned your attention to Wyll and Gale, who were both deep in conversation about… something that probably would not make any sense to anyone outside of their little conversation. You tried to listen in on their discussion, but could not follow one piece of it, and you weren’t sure the two did either, much to your confused enjoyment. “I have no idea what they are fucking talking about either,” you heard Astarion say as he noticed your puzzled face once he turned from his conversation with Karlach. “Okay good, because I know I have had a lot tonight but I thought I was far more gone than I originally thought for a second there,” you nodded your head, grateful for the second opinion to confirm you weren't just going crazy. You turned your attention to Astarion who had been looking down at you, one eyebrow cocked up as he studied you, gauging how drunk you were, and when he saw that look of mischief and relaxation in your eyes, he snorted out a laugh. Before you could stop yourself, you immediately became needy for him. Not in a sexual way, but just to be close to him as you rested your head on his shoulder, “Starrrr…. Star, you should bite me and then we can be drunk together! It’s the perfect plan!” Astarion stopped mid drink from his goblet and his eyes widened. He laughed and scooped you closer to him, “Darling, are you sure?”  You looked over to Karlach who had her hand over her mouth, trying so hard not to burst into laughter and flames. “Yes! I wanted this to happen all day, I know you can’t really get drunk, and so I thought, what better way to get him drunk, than with my very own drunk blood?" You moved to sit up straighter and moved your hair out of the way of your neck. Somehow, for the first time, you managed to make Astarion slightly embarrassed. Who knew that it just took a lot of liquid courage and offering up your neck in front of the entire party to get him to become bashful. “Darling, let's go somewhere more private, I might decide to take my time with you,” Astarion quickly regained his composure, much to Gale and Wyll’s annoyance made evident by their groans. You nodded, a large, wet eye smile shown across your face. Astarion’s heart swelled, you were always so cute when you were relaxed like this. “Take your time guys, don’t let us keep you away from each other,” Karlach called out with a hardy laugh as the two of you made your exit. 

Astarion took you by the hand, and you followed suit feeling as if you were floating. As you walked through the crowd of people, you felt Astarion’s thumb rub your hand where it sat, causing you to smile and hum up at him. His eyes caught you out of the corner of his eyes and he smiled down at you again, his ear on the side of his head swiveling down slightly again. 

As you made your way to the shared bedroom that the two of you had been using, you decided all of a sudden you were way too hot after walking through the sea of people and climbing up the stairs. “Help me out of this dress?” You turned your back to Astarion, hair flipped to one shoulder. “My dear, cannot wait for me any longer? Are you that needy for me?,” Astarion feigned in pretend disbelief. His deft fingers worked to get the laces of the corset loosened. “Well I got too hot and now I want to be in my lounge wear. I mean we can if you wanted to, but right now I think I just want to have nothing on me and let you drink from me, clothes feel wrong right now,” you said, trying to explain the drunk logic swimming in your brain. “Sure darling, I can help you with that, my sweet, silly girl,” Astarion said behind you, your dress finally falling to the ground. You stepped out of the dress and took off your shoes, and looked up at him and giggled until you remembered you left your goblet downstairs at the table. Astarion noticed the look on your face and asked, “you forgot your drink didn’t you?” You nodded, but quickly forgot that issue when your eyes spotted the bed, and took his hand and you walked over to lay down. You climbed into bed, relishing the cold fabric from being empty for so long cradling your skin. With a sigh of comfort, you looked up at Astarion, who was softly smiling down at you with adoration. “You know, the eyeliner makes you look sooo good, Starri,” you giggled as you reached up for him. “I had a feeling you would appreciate it,” Astarion took your hand and moved into the bed with you, your naked body pressing against his still clothed form. You hummed in comfort as he bent down his neck to nuzzle yours asking, “Are you still okay with me biting you, love?” You nodded lazily, the alcohol swimming in your blood and brain making you lethargic, “Yeah.” 

Astarion hummed and whispered a thank you as he kissed your earlobe, making his way down to the junction between shoulder and neck with open mouthed kisses. He trailed back up to his favorite spot, gave it a peck, and slid his fangs into your delicate flesh there. The alcohol swimming in your brain made you confident as you moved your hands to caress him behind his head with one hand and the other on his butt. You giggled as you heard his breath hitch when he felt your hand fall to his ass, you rubbed the back of his head in soothing slow movements. “You are so sweet to me, my little Star, so beautiful, so loving, how did I get so lucky?,” you gushed in soothing whispers, eyes fluttering closed as you fully relaxed into the elf. Ears tickled your cheek as his ears twitched in elation from your words, and you giggled, “Gods, your ears are so cute.” Astarion’s ears twitched even more from your ongoing barrage of affection towards him and you felt him giggle into your neck, “I love you.” You hummed and smiled even though you knew he couldn’t see it, but you knew he could hear it when you responded back, “I love you too, Astarion.” 

He slowly swallowed his last mouthful and came up from your neck, his pupils dilating as the alcohol from your blood hit him. His face wore a dopey smile as he rose, but his eyes caught a bead of blood falling from the bite, and bent down to lick it up and finally lick the wound. His movements became less dexterous as the alcohol swam in his body and he nearly fell over trying to get back up from licking the wound. “Easy there, Star,” You move to sit up and help him to move to his back, face blissed out as he giggled to himself. You still felt deliciously drunk and now with your boyfriend reaching that same point of inebriation you were ready to head back to the party. You gave him a kiss on his now pink cheek and caressed his head soothingly, “I am going to get dressed and we can head back down.” His eyes locked onto yours and he nodded, “Whatever you say darling, you gorgeous beautiful woman.” You deeply blushed, he always would get super flirty once he was drunk. 

You slipped on some comfortable lounge pants and his white shirt that you could borrow more often than not, not that he was complaining. Seeing you in his shirt always made his heart soar. You went to see in the mirror what your makeup was looking like, slightly smudged and a bit runny, so you opted to clean your face so that you wouldn’t look like a racoon more as the night went on. You walked over to the bed and found Astarion humming a song to himself as he watched you move about the room. You offered your hand and he grabbed it, using the leverage to bring his body up, stumbling just a touch as he got back onto his feet. “Oh darling love, that shirt on you, it's so…” he thought for a moment the words he had swirling in his brain, “so nice.” His flirtation fell short and you snorted a laugh, “Okay, come on lover boy, let's not let them keep waiting all night. Plus, I want more wine.” 

You took your boyfriend back down the stairs, this time leading him. His feeding had sobered you up just a touch, but there was more wine to remedy that. As you waded through the crowd once again, you finally saw the rest of your table, who once they saw the both of you, raised up their goblets and cheered as the two of you came to sit back down with them. You found your wine goblet and began to sip on it again as Astarion sat beside you and clung to your shoulders, head dipped down to rest it on you. Always the cuddler when he was like this. Karlach was far more gone now at this point as well, and congratulated the two of you on returning back safely, “I was wondering when the two of you were going to be done”-she eyed your changed of clothes and lack of make-up- “have a little fun up there ,eh?” Your cheeks flushed, but before you could answer, you felt Astarion move to speak first, “Darling, everything we do is fun, you’d have to be a bit more specific if you were to ever want to hear about our thrilling and mind-blowing sex life.” You immediately choked on the wine in your throat you had been swallowing, “Astarion” you finally managed to gasp, and you immediately began to laugh with Karlach who was both surprised and delighted by Astarion’s comeback. He laughed his high pitched giggle, “She’s so adorable when she gets shy, my darling love,” he slurred out his words as he moved to kiss you cheek.

The rest of the night was spent enjoying everyone’s company, retelling stories of your most recent adventures together, and loving being with this new found family of yours. You did not know how you ever got so lucky to call these people your little family. As the night died down, you all retreated back to your rented rooms upstairs, saying goodnight to each other. You waved good night to Shadowheart and Lae’zel returning to their shared room as you and Astarion entered yours. Both of you were much more sober now, as the night had ended with you drinking water and eating a good plate of food to put something on your belly. 

You both helped each other get out of the clothes that had been somewhat plastered on your bodies from the heat of the busy tavern. You moved to help Astarion cleanse the eyeliner, his eyes closed as you ran the soft cloth along his eyes, removing the makeup. “Look up?” You asked as you went to get the liner from his lower lash line, “Did you have fun tonight?” He subtly nodded, not wanting to risk a poke to the eye, “I actually had a really great time tonight, thank you for asking. What about yours?” His crimson eyes pointed towards the ceiling still. You finished cleaning his face and gave him a kiss between his brows to his delighted surprise, “I had a wonderful night, thank you Star.” 

You both decided to climb into bed still naked, and held each other. You rested your head on his arm, he stared up at the ceiling which was dimly lit by a single candle on the bedside table. His cold body was a great relief from the heat your body had been enduring the past couple hours after his feeding. “Do you need to feed again? I don’t think you got very much earlier,” you asked looking up at Astarion, who moved his head to make eye contact with you. He thought about it for a minute and then answered with a tender voice, “No thank you darling, I’m okay, perhaps tomorrow night, but I’m enjoying just this.” You nodded and kissed his arm where your head lay, “Of course, Star,” you held back for a moment until you spoke again, “Astarion?” He looked down at you again, “Darling?” The look on his face held love and utter peace just to be with you. You had so much to say, to thank him for choosing you, for being there for you when you needed him, to let him know he could always depend on you, that you were irrevocably his, but the only thing that was able to slip from your lips was something that you hoped would convey all of those thoughts and feelings into them, but you knew you would spend everyday showing as well. You looked up at him, nuzzled your head into his arm again, and with a yawn, “I love you, so much.” He sleepily smiled and moved his head to kiss the crown of yours, “I know, I love you too, my little sweetheart.”

[leighsartworks216]

A Spawn Could Get Used To This

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Wrote this on 1 hour of sleep. I did proofread it. I am so so sleepy. I'm going back to bed after this

Warnings: embarrassment

Word Count: 1,163

Main Masterlist

First Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist - Second Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

AO3

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In the few weeks he’d been traveling along with this not-so-merry band of weirdos, Astarion got used to a lot of things very quickly. Gale loudly explaining anything at the drop of a hat, Lae’zel and Shadowheart fighting, the smells. Some things were positive, too. The sun was always nice and warm, and the odd sort of comfort being with a group of weirdos brought was nice. And, of course, some things were neutral.

One of the neutrals he’d adjusted to came in the form of you, their leader, and in fact the forms you could take on. He wasn’t sold on the whole druid thing before - all of them were tree huggers who cried over a crushed blade of grass - but, well, being romantically involved with one came with some quirks.

Quite often, almost any time you weren’t busy exploring or risking their lives, you would transform into a cat and go about the camp. If Scratch and the owlbear cub were any indicators, small fluffy things raised morale. Most everyone would scratch along your spine or behind your ears, all their woes forgotten for even a brief moment. It became rather commonplace. Mundane. What an odd thing to be called mundane.

Along with this came another little quirk.

After you did your rounds, getting pets and listening to their smaller issues, you’d come back around and rub against his leg. This very quickly became a way of asking for him to pick you up. You rather enjoyed being close to his chest and purring as loudly as possible.

Today was just like any other. You’d come back with a sack of stolen goods and bloody armor, drop everything unceremoniously in a pile, and transform to make your rounds. Well, he assumed that’s what you did. He was a little preoccupied when you disappeared, but he didn’t think much of it when a cat started wandering around the tents.

So he stood and flipped through his book and busied himself, waiting to drop the act and pick you up and cuddle. It was a rather good act, he thought. He’d furrow his brow or lightly chuckle, and become so engrossed in pretending to read he stopped noticing the passage of time, until something small and fluffy rubbed against his leg.

He closed the book carelessly as he looked down at his feet. Sure enough, a cat rubbed its cheek against him, already starting to purr. He grinned, though not too wide, lest the others begin to think he went soft. “Hello, my love,” he cood. “Want me to hold you?”

The cat meowed, head butting him. He chuckled and tossed his book onto a pillow, before bending down and lifting the darling creature - his darling creature - into his arms. It flipped to its back to be cradled like a baby in the crook of his elbow, paws stretching out and claws latching lightly to the fabric of his shirt. It purred so loud he was sure everyone else for a mile could hear it.

Unusually, it didn’t seem to like when he tried stroking its belly. He thought, perhaps, you just didn’t want that kind of contact today. He’d been getting used to the boundaries touch should have, and the fact you would respect them. It was only natural to have the same grace in return.

“Awe, you got yourself a little friend!”

Astarion startled at the voice, jostling the cat slightly, who mrowled at the movement. Sure enough, standing beside his tent toweling their hair dry was his beloved druid. Not in cat form. He gaped in confusion and awe.

“Darling, don’t take this the wrong way but, where the Hells were you?” The cat rolled to its side to knead biscuits into his chest. He barely felt the pinpricks of nails.

You gave him an odd look. “I went for a wash. Our battles were a bit bloodier today, and while you may like the smell of blood, I, personally, don’t. Especially when it’s up my nose.” You scowled, rubbing your nose at the memory. “Why? Did something happen?”

His frown didn’t disappear as he slowly replied, “No, nothing at all.”

You gave him another odd look. “Are you alright?”

He blinked, shaking himself out of his dumbfounded stupor. “This is going to sound ridiculous, but…” He looked down at the cat in his arms that seemed to settle down and prepare for a nap. “Well, dear, I thought this was you.”

The laugh bursts out of you unbidden, and Astarion glares embarrassed at you. You try to bite down the giggles trying to escape. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry! It’s just,” you giggle and step forward to pet the cat. You have a bubbly sort of mischief in your eyes. He prepares himself for the worst. “You can’t tell the difference between us?”

“I didn’t think I had to memorize the precise hairs, no,” he bit. “It looked like you - why would I have any reason to believe it wasn’t?”

“You don’t need to be defensive,” you assure sweetly. “It’s cute! And it seems to like you.”

He huffed and looked down at the creature. The points of its fangs peeked out as it drifted off into sleep. The purring persisted, now almost reminding him of snoring. He pouted, though he hated when you called it that. He preferred the term brooding. “Yes, well, I was rather hoping it was my darling druid come to join me for a lazy evening.”

You chuckled and kissed his cheek. “I can do that. But I don’t think your new friend is going to want to leave you alone.”

He peeked at you from the corner of his eye. “I could be persuaded to share myself with both of you.”

“What if I turned into a cat and purred, too?”

He hummed, pretending to consider the deal, but the slight lift of his mouth gave it away. “I don’t know, darling. You know how much I simply loathe sharing. I think you can do better than that.”

You smile. “Okay, what if I throw a kiss into the mix?”

He grinned, the points of his fangs peeking out just like the cat’s in his arms. “That might even it out.”

You do your best to avoid disturbing the cat as you lean in to catch his lips. You taste of fresh spring water and the barest hint of a health potion. And he loves it. The kiss doesn’t last nearly long enough before you pull away and kiss his cheek. “Get comfortable. I’ll be back in a moment.”

“I’ll count the seconds,” he teases, though there’s no hint of a lie in his voice.

You chuckle and walk away, back to the pile of stuff that Wyll and Gale are already sorting through, counting 1, 2, 3, 4… And 97 seconds later, when you and this stranger cat are both laying atop him, purring incessantly, he finds he could get used to it.

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