#but that was long enough to just reek of bath and body works

[elysianightsss]

I have a request: how would the Techno react if Reader dies but appears a few months later alive but very injured?

Now this inspired me.

Warnings: 18+, angst, suicide mentioned, hints at nsfw, blood, alternate timeline where she was never pregnant; adding Athena and Apollo into this would have made me cry so no. 

————————————————————————

Techno was distraught, it was against his nature to love and be loved and yet you taught him how. You were his everything and more. From the moment you shot him in those woods all that time ago, when the voices went quiet when your face came into his eyesight, everything changed for him.

He loved you more than life itself, so when Phil broke the news to him that you were dead, he lost it. Standing in the living room of the home you had shared together, rage burned through him, his shaking hands ripping, shoving, destroying. By the time he was done, Phil had witnessed something he thought he’d never see.

Techno was weeping, sobbing, screaming for you. A broken man wanting the only thing he couldn’t have. For months Techno barely ate, barely slept, contemplated suicide daily. How could he live without you? Why would he even want to? Without you there was no meaning to his life. It was like a huge hole had been punched through his chest.

The absence of you was everywhere he looked, the little touches you had slowly added to the house over the years. Your perfume, oils and lotions on the white vanity in the corner of the room. Techno remembers vividly, when you had talked about wanting one and he worked for weeks to build and paint one you’d love. He sat for hours carving intricate designs onto the legs and around the mirror just for you.

The wardrobe filled with your clothes, the beautiful materials you covered your body with, he was always envious of them, they got to touch you all the time. Dresses hanging there that hugged your figure perfectly, that made his heart beat faster.

The bathroom filled with your sweet bath oils and bath salts, countless times he had come home from fighting and you drawn him a bath and washed him clean. Countless times had he taken you apart in the sweet smelling waters and steamy room.

The bed was the hardest to deal with, it reeked of you. The mouthwatering smell he wanted nothing more than to roll around in, it was always present when he slept. It was a slight comfort to him, but always left him distraught. He thought about sleeping downstairs but had to remind himself that he had destroyed the couch.

More time passed, around six months now since Phil had told him about your death. He was a hollow shell of himself, he had lost a lot of weight and always had dark bags under his eyes. He was surprised he was still breathing.

“Techno!” Phil had screamed, a dreaded, fear filled, confusion dripping scream. Techno sighed, it took so much energy out of him to simply stand. Feet practically dragging along the floor, he shuffled to the front door sparing a longing look to his axe of peace. Whatever was on the other side of his door was dangerous if Phil’s scream was anything to go by, and he was happy to let whatever it was kill him.

Opening the door and stepping out onto the wood panels just before the stairs that led down to the snow, red cloak and gold crown nowhere in sight, The Blood God isn’t who stepped out to fight, but a broken man ready to die.

That all changed the second he saw you. You who had been dead for six months, you who he had mourned for six months, you who was bruised and covered in cuts with blood dripping from them. You who looked just as starved and exhausted as Techno did, in fact you looked worse.

“Sweetheart?” Techno’s voice cracked as he uttered the term of endearment he hadn’t spoken in so long.

“Tec.” Your voice was small and fragile, your hand reaching for him. The clothes you wore were torn and certainly not enough to keep you warm in the freezing cold snow you had trekked in to get home.

He ran to you, feet moving quicker than they ever had before all so he could take you in his arms and hold you close. “I’ve got you darlin’, I’ve got you, hold on to me.” He used all his strength to help you into the house, Phil running to your aid too.

You took in the state of your home and honestly it was alot better than what you had expected. Glancing at your husband, he avoided eye contact sheepishly, normally it would have made you smile. You don’t even think you know how to do that anymore.

“Let’s uh, get you upstairs.” Phil said awkwardly, helping Techno carry you up into your bedroom, and onto the bed. You sighed in pure relief that you body didn’t have to hold itself up anymore, that you weren’t on a nasty cold stone floor too but the soft, Techno smelling, mattress you had been dreaming of for six months.

You were so happy you cried. You cried ugly, hard, loud. Letting all your emotions out. Techno was there stroking your filthy, greasy hair and holding your dirty, sore hand. “Sweetheart?”

“I’m just so happy, I thought this day would never come. I had convinced myself that it wouldn’t. And yet here I am. Home.” You sobbed out the words, looking at your husband through your tears blurred eyes, just about making out the crooked smile on his gorgeous face.

He wanted to ask what had happened, wanted to know who had done this to you. But just seeing your relief to being in a bed, to being home, he knew you’d need time.

Phil went home after Techno had asked him to, they agreed not to tell anyone you were back until they figured out what had happened to you and by who.

Techno ran you a bath and took extra time and care into washing you off, he had to pull you out of the disgustingly mucky water and run you a new bath. This one you could soak in, allow yourself to relax, even when the clear water did dirty again, only a little this time though.

You saw the look in Techno’s eyes as he washed you and you knew, remembering the vow he made to you all those years ago; “I love you, it took me a while to say it I know. But I need to know you understand—“

“Understand?” You asked.

“How much I love you. I’d destroy empires for you. Pillage country’s for you. Kill for you.” He pressed his forehead to yours. “If anyone ever even thought about hurting you, they’d be dead before they could finish that thought.” He growled, deep from within his chest. The ruby of his eyes shining brighter the more he talked about it.

“I understand.” Of course you did. You knew from the moment you said ‘I do’ exactly what that meant.

“You’re going to kill him aren’t you?” It was a question you knew the answer to but you still felt compelled to ask nonetheless.

“Yes.”

[separatist-apologist]

We Could Call It Even

Summary: Newly made and terrified, Elain Archeron's human fiance tells her of a creature that could turn her back and keep them together and Elain will stop at nothing to make rumor a reality.

There is no force that can undo fate. No magic that can unmake a mating bond. And Lucien Vanserra isn't about to let his mate throw herself in the path of certain death on a fools hope. Lucien will be forced, instead, to watch her love another man for eighty brutal, miserable years.

While Elain Archeron will have to contend with a life she hoped to never live…and a mate she never wanted.

Thank you @shadowisles-writes for the moodboard!!

This is not a rewrite and just barely canon compliant. The first few chapters take place during ACOWAR and the remaining take place 80 years in the future.

Read on AO3

-

They came for her in the night.

Hair unbound, in a thin night dress, the fae males came with rough hands and lewd stares. They pawed at her body and threatened to strip her naked if she made a sound. They threatened worse if she fought them. Elain Archeron was bound, gagged, and left to rot for days in a cell where she wept silent, bitter tears. Did anyone know she was missing? She’d been separated from Nesta, whom she could hear screaming day and night like a wild animal. It was a promise of what she’d do should she get free of her own restraints—Nesta would go out fighting.

But Elain had decided compliance would serve her better. Even when they returned, reeking of iron and salt, Elain was certain it was all a misunderstanding she could clear up. Feyre was fighting a war—they must have thought she and Nesta were helping. They were, of course, but Elain had concocted a pretty lie she was certain would stand up to scrutiny. They hadn’t known the full scope, had merely been welcoming their sister back home.

They were innocent—which was the truth.

It was only when she was dragged into that throne room that Elain understood she was merely collateral damage. Her life meant nothing to the fae, just like she’d always been told. She was merely a copper piece to be bartered with before she was ultimately discarded. 

She was exhausted and starved after days of nothing—not even water, which dripped into her cell but was inaccessible to her due to the gag shoved in her mouth. Four human queens watched—the same who had come to her home, who had listened to Feyre’s pleas for help. Elain tried to maintain eye contact with them, but none would look at her.

They might feel a little shame, but not enough to put a stop to what was coming. There, situated on the gleaming onyx marble floor, stood a cauldron big enough to bathe in. Smoke poured around its iron rim, warning her of what would happen should she be submerged. Elain tried, vainly, to keep herself from being shoved in. Her foot caught on the lip before Elain was tossed into the frigid water. She held her breath, intending to just pull herself out.

Hands, rough and unyielding, grabbed her limbs. She tried to scream, which only pulled water into her lungs. Elain struggled to expel it, which only caused her into inhale more water. Her lungs were on fire as panic flooded through her. Every mechanism her body had was working against her, making her an enemy of herself. Elain tried to vomit up that water, which caused her to gulp down more. Her mind was frantic, legs kicking against the hands wrapped around her ankle.

Please! She screamed in her mind, praying some long forgotten deity sympathetic to humans would emerge. Humanity had long abandoned the gods who, truthfully, had abandoned them first. They blessed the fae with superior senses, strength, and magic they could call upon at will. What had they given humanity? Nothing but suffering.Why should humans offer prayers and worship when they turned their backs on them?

Elain had never been religious, truthfully. But right then, she was desperate. Please, she begged again. There was no answer to her, only her limbs loosening and the once burning pain fizzling into an almost pleasant numbness. She’d thought the drowning would be the worst part.

Elain was wrong.

Just as her mind began to blacken around the edges, letting her slip into hazy oblivion, the hands yanked Elain further into the endless waters she drowned in. The heat and pain that had once bubbled in her lungs spread outward, burning Elain from the inside out. Her bones were ground to dust, reforged in that white flame. She could feel it pouring from her eyes, her nose, her mouth. Elain tried to scream, but more flames licked along the back of her throat, rendering her mute. 

The hands that had once dragged her down now seemed to cradle her, holding her gently as Elain’ sensitive skin scabbed and flaked away before mending itself. She felt each stitch, each pull of the invisible, immortal thread that was remaking her. 

I don’t want it. Please, Elain thought, twisting around in that boundless, endless water. She stretched out her hands trying to find the boundaries of this cruel, cold new world but there was nothing at all. Time had become meaningless, though she was certain she’d been suspended for an age. If she managed to escape, she’d find a millenia had passed.

Elain choked back a bubbling sob at the thought. A whole life lost, and for what? The obsession a few women had around immortality? One kings drive to punish her sister? Elain didn’t understand the politics at play, searching for some answer that would explain what had happened. 

And oh. Feyre must be miserable over the whole thing. A life dedicated to keeping her and Nesta alive and safe—ruined. Elain wished she could tell Feyre none of this was her fault—that she forgave her for any wrongdoings Feyre might have committed, that she didn’t blame her youngest sister for any of this. 

Nesta would be next, unaware of the horrors waiting for her. Elain was certain it would break her. Maybe it was for the best she’d gone first—perhaps whatever horrors the cauldron wanted to inflict would extend no further than Elain’s body. Perhaps Nesta would be shoved in only to find her feet touched the bottom. She wished for it, trying to will away the unbearable pain as she prayed and prayed, and prayed.

The hands that held her stroked her cheek, and all at once the pain was gone. She wasn’t dead—Elain could feel her frantic pulse beating in her chest, but nothing hurt anymore. What would happen next, she wondered? She wanted to know what would become of her—was there some afterlife she was being ushered off to? Some new horror she was moments from being subjected to?

Elain felt warmth flood through her as a reassuring presence made itself known. Pressing itself against her chest, the voice echoed through the dark, fear can’t harm you. Not anymore. Ask your questions—and receive an answer. 

Elain felt loved, felt it as surely as she felt the cold come rushing back toward her. She didn’t want to leave that reassuring embrace, but water was rushing over her, along with her need for air.

Her knees slapped against the unforgiving ground as she gasped in a breath of air. Through her soaking hair, Elain looked up to find Nesta staring back at her, eyes wide with horror. It had been years drowning in the Cauldron. She knew it had been.

But she was right back where she’d started. It was like no time at all had passed. Elain wanted to scream, but air was too precious to waste on fear. Something else was pressing against her mind, whisper that she needed to turn, to look, to see.

“Don’t just leave her on the damn floor.”

The voice was new to her and yet somehow familiar. If a voice could be a home, that deep, masculine sound certainly was. Elain felt the cloth draped over her shoulders before she dared to look, taking in the man in question.

Something clanged through her, answering a question she hadn’t known she’d been asking. It was a cruel twist of fate to feel that twang, that snap, that last, missing piece fall into place. Their eyes locked, drinking in one russet, one gold. She wanted to touch him, to bury her face in the collar of his jacket and inhale the warm, masculine scent of her. 

The world had fallen away and Elain forgot why she was on the floor or what had happened mere moments before.

I’ve found you. 

“You’re my mate,” he whispered, answering the question she’d clearly been shouting between them. He pulled on the thread between them, yanking Elain back to the present. Mate.

Oh, no. 

Pure terror clawed at her. It was a nightmare that remained unending, that she couldn’t wake from. Nesta was yelling, just as soaked as Elain was though uncovered and uncared for. No one had come to claim her. That was a relief, Elain decided. She merely remained on the floor, unwilling to go to that man.

Elain needed to go home. 

–

“Are you sure about this?” 

Feyre asked for the millionth time that day. Elain had never been more sure of anything. Feyre didn’t understand, small minded and distrustful of humans despite living nineteen years of her life as one, but Graysen would. They were a love match—he’d fought his father to propose to her, though no one thought she was good enough. She’d been impoverished and no one back home had forgotten that. Her sudden wealth had been explained thoroughly by their father receiving the missing chests on his once sunken ships.

She knew now it was the price paid for taking Feyre away. Graysen didn’t, though—he believed the lie. Still, she knew how he’d fought to make her his wife and Elain had to believe that love would hold even now.

Even after she’d become the very thing he hated. 

Wiping her sweaty palms on the skirt of her dress, Elain turned to face Feyre. “Promise you won’t hurt him.”

The look in Feyre’s eye told Elain that her sister would hurt him if she felt it was necessary. That this was a promise she could not keep. Still, Elain demanded it rather than confirm, once again, that she wanted to see him. She’d been locked up in this mountain prison for months, subjected to the tiptoeing of Feyre’s winged friends and the uneasy conversation with Lucien Vanserra. How long before he decided to stake his claim? She’d been reading about mating bonds—how they affected males, the laws that governed them, and perhaps most horribly of all, that they could not be broken.

Only rejected. 

Elain didn’t want to speak to him again. Instead, she wanted to put everything behind her and go back to a life that made sense. 

“Even if he takes you back—”

“He will,” she whispered fiercely, twisting the iron engagement band around her finger anxiously.

“Even if he does,” Feyre repeated, undeterred, “you’ll outlive him by centuries.”

“You don’t understand,” Elain heard herself say, catching the look of hurt that flitted across her younger sisters face. Feyre didn’t, though. How convenient that the male she loved also happened to be immortal and her mate. Elain often wished for that, too—that the bond would snap between her and Graysen and she’d, at least, have something to cling to. She didn’t have that, though it didn’t make the love she felt any less present. The mating bond meant nothing to her—Lucien might have some uncomfortable claim over her, but he didn’t have her heart.

And he never would, she vowed. Elain had begun to pin all her feelings of resentment on him, heaping all the hurt onto his shoulders regardless if he deserved it or not. Elain didn’t particularly care about his feelings, in part because she didn’t think he cared about hers, either. She was simply an object he was entitled to.

And everyone wanted her to give him a chance. She could see it on their faces, the pity when they mentioned him, the cajoling when she wouldn’t give him the time of day. Rhys would pointedly refer to Feyre as his mate when Elain was in earshot, as if Feyre no longer had an identity outside it. Cassian and Azriel shifted around her, eyes looking everywhere but at her. Claimed, they seemed to whisper. 

What about what she wanted? What she needed? No, Elain would go. If Graysen wanted to reject her, he could do so in person. Though, she prayed he wouldn’t. Too afraid to use her magic to see what might happen, though it whispered against her mind she only needed to ask, Elain allowed herself to be carried into the human lands. 

When they landed just outside the high, stone walls, Elain caught her sisters stiffening. She knew what they saw out here, knew they viewed this place as inferior. Beneath them. They’d gladly accept immortality if it meant they never had to return to this place. Had it truly been so terrible, Elain wondered? Had there been no joy? No happiness? 

She’d had all that. Her life hadn’t become a waking nightmare until she’d been turned. There was no joy, no happiness for her as an immortal fae. Rhysand’s palace in the mountains was overwrought and impersonal, everything dressed in neutral creams and beige. Feyre liked it that way, but Elain missed color. She missed living things, the passage of time. 

Archers on the walls pointed arrows at Elain, who trembled slightly. Everyone was watching—the eyes of the fae on her back, the humans on her front. Elain wasn’t afraid they’d hurt her—Feyre wouldn’t allow it—but she was afraid Graysen wouldn’t come out. That he’d reject her.

“Tell Graysen that his betrothed has come for him. Tell him…tell him that Elain Archeron begs for sanctuary.”

She knew her role, here. She was supposed to convince him to aid them in the upcoming war. Elain didn’t dare glance over her shoulder where Rhysand stood, afraid if she did, he might guess all her thoughts. He’d realize, too late, that she had no intention of helping them. That if it came down between leaving with Graysen and leaving the fae to fight their own wars, well…

It was horribly selfish. Terribly unkind. Elain tried to ease the roiling guilt in her stomach, sloshing around as it demanded she do as she’d been told. 

Elain wanted both, but if she had to choose, just this one time, she wanted to choose herself. 

Behind her, her sisters talked quietly though Elain wasn’t listening. All she heard was the soft crunching of boots on snow—she knew those steps, had heard them creeping over wood floors not that long ago. 

The door opened with a bang, and there he was. Wild, blue eyes scanned the space before landing on her, and a gloved hand slid through his warm brown hair. Relief shuttered over his handsome face. Elain staggered a step forward as Graysen lurched for her, stopped by his father.

Oh, no.

She hadn’t factored him in. Hadn’t thought he’d come. The elder Nolan stared at her coldly, and Elain knew he knew. Graysen might not know, but his father did. 

“What is the meaning of this?” he asked coldly, staring down that birdlike nose of his. She’d never liked him, and he’d never liked her. Perhaps he was about to get what he’d always wanted—a life free of Elain Archeron.

To her credit, Elain tried to address him. Her words failed her, terrified it was all over. That the fae had succeeded in stripping her of every last ounce of her humanity. Elain and Graysen merely stared at the other, separated by an invisible boundary neither of them could cross. He wasn’t listening.

“Elain—why are you with them?” he finally asked, unconcerned with the words they were saying.

Nesta answered for her, like she always did. Elain tried to find her voice—she managed to stammer out the plea Feyre had rehearsed with her. Give the humans sanctuary, she pleaded. Please. 

And then, he told them. Nolan, hand still on his son's shoulder, staring at her with a mix of triumph and hate. This was it—the moment Elain had been dreading. She’d wanted to tell him herself, to explain it all. It wasn’t as if she’d jumped in willingly, though perhaps to a man like Nolan, it simply didn’t matter. She ought to have died rather than become one of them. 

And here she was.

Allied with them. The fae who had never done anything to prove themselves, once again making demands. Elain could feel her resentment rising with just as much ferocity as her fear. Her alliance with her sister would cost her everything. Feyre had gave, and gave, and gave—but Elain had, too. She’d convinced Nesta to let Feyre and the fae in, had sent the servants away with gold and promises they’d be alright. Had tried to do the right thing.

And for what? 

“I would be inclined to believe you if you were not lying to me with your every breath.”

Elain fumbled for her words. “I—I am not, I—”

“Did you think that you could come to my house and deceive me with your faerie magic?”

It was Rhys who spoke, smooth and clear. “We don’t care what you believe. We only come to ask you help those who cannot defend themselves.”

Elain drowned it out, trying to silently plead with Graysen. His eyes were locked on hers, and she knew what he was seeing. The magic that made the fae so lovely—deceitfully so, because mortals often fell into their traps before they were ripped to ribbons.

Or worse. 

Feyre’s friends tried to keep the lie up, but Nolan wasn’t having it. When Mor said any weapon could harm a mortal, insinuating Elain still was one, Nolan spoke again with far more venom.

“But she isn’t a mortal, is she? No, I have it on good authority that it was Elain Archeron who was turned Fae first. And who now has a High Lord’s son as a mate.”

Elain didn’t know how she didn’t throw up right then and there. As Jurian—his likeness was painted in every schoolhouse, in every history book, and on the armor of so many soldiers—stepped out to inform everyone he had told the Nolan’s everything—Elain forced herself to breathe. Graysen’s lips had parted, his expression slack. Did he think, because she’d been assigned a mate at random, that she was done with him? She wanted to step toward him, but Feyre and Nesta were flanking her, half shielding her with their taller bodies. Jurian monologued, out of place for the scene. Elain couldn’t make sense of any of it. Why was he there? Why was he talking? 

Elain wanted to scream at them all to shut up, shut up, shut up! It was a power contest with each person attempting to one up the other at her expense. They didn’t care about her. In fact, Elain believed they were hoping for all this—the overwrought theatrics, the sneering human lord, and her eventual breakup.

What would be left? Oh, she’d grieve—she was certain they thought so—but then she’d fall into Lucien’s waiting arms like she was supposed to. Maybe they’d make her. She wasn’t clear on that front. 

“I did not mean to deceive you,” Elain whispered when a lull in the conversation allowed her to. Graysen’s emotions seemed to war over his features before settling into a flatness that scared her

“I find I have trouble believing that,” his father said.

Graysen spoke, finally, his every word a knife. “Did you think you could come back here—live with me as this…lie?”

“No. Yes. I—I don’t know what I wanted—”

“And you are bound to some…Fae male. A High Lord’s son.”

Elain was going to be sick. “His name is Lucien,” she told him, wanting to be honest. 

Graysen’s temper rose, cheeks coloring with anger or something else. She couldn’t say. “I don’t care what his name is. You are his mate. Do you even know what that means?”

“It means nothing,” she swore, hating how her voice broke. She was a crier by nature, and here, even in her anger, it seemed those tears would betray her. “It means nothing. I don’t care who decided it  or why they did—”

“You belong to him.”

There, beneath his angry words, was the same hurt pooling in her gut. Elain stumbled forward only to be shoved back by Nesta and Feyre. “I belong to no one. But my heart belongs to you.”Graysen’s eyes flicked to her sisters, to the fae warriors lingering behind her, crinkling at the corners as he made some last minute decision.

“I want to speak with her. Alone.”

A chorus of no’s erupted from everyone and Elain was pulled back further not by Rhys, but by Azriel. She shoved his hands off her, infuriated that once again, everyone else got to decide her fate. She tried to surge forward and Feyre began negotiating, ever opportunistic.

“Here is how things are going to go—”

“Let her go,” Graysen called, interrupting her sister, his hand on his sword. Cassian rose to full height, clearly seeing a challenge. It was unfair, she thought as Graysen unsheathed his blade in warning. 

“You promised!” Elain called, restrained by Azriel as she thrashed against him. “Feyre, you promised!”

“Is this the famed diplomacy faeries have to offer us?” Nolan asked, his alarm plain. Overhead, on the walls, his men pointed ash arrows at all of them. Rhys surely had noticed—what was the likelihood they’d all escape? 

“Let’s all calm ourselves,” Rhys said as if he’d read Elain’s mind. Perhaps he had, though she hadn’t felt his presence. Glancing over his shoulder, he beckoned for Azriel to bring Elain forward.

Elain shoved Azriel away from her person, smoothing out her skirts with whatever dignity remained to her.

“I want to speak to her. Alone.”

“No,” Feyre repeated, apparently willing to die on this hill. “Whatever you have to say to her, you can say to all of us.”

“I have nothing to say to you,” Graysen snapped. “Is she your prisoner, then?”

“No, of course not—”

“Then let her answer for herself,” Graysen demanded. “Lady Elain?”

“I…yes. I’ll speak with you.”

“Not alone—”

“However he likes,” Elain snapped at Nesta, frustrated they were going to try and control this whole thing.

“Ten minutes,” Graysen conceded, perhaps realizing that, otherwise, he’d have a bunch of faeries in his courtyard making demands on him. “Ten minutes and you can have your shelter.

“No wards,” his father added, still sneering down his nose. “We don’t need them.”

Rhys seemed to bristle, though he merely said, “Suit yourself.”

Graysen beckoned Elain to follow him, sandwiching her between his own body and his fathers. She marched through the doors, wondering if this wasn’t, somehow, a mistake. A trap of some sort, where she’d be slaughtered as an example.

“Ten minutes,” his father warned, stalking off with a few guards. Graysen didn’t wait, flinging his arms around her body.

“Oh, gods,” he whispered, burying his face in the crook of her neck. “I thought you must be dead.”

It only took Elain a minute to wrap her arms around him, too. Was that her shaking, or him? “They took me in the night. Held me for days, I—” a sob escaped her, silencing whatever else she said.

“Did they hurt you?” he asked, taking her face in his hands with such gentleness it threatened to ruin her. Thumbs sweeping over her cheeks, Graysen looked as if he could see her, and not the otherworldly beauty meant to make her a predator.

“They killed me,” she told him, tears streaking over his cheeks. “It hurt.”

“Tell me what you’d have me do–”

“Your father–”

“Will not interfere,” he murmured. Graysen released his hold on her face to tuck her hair behind her ears. “He promised me when I put that ring on your finger…worthless as I understand it to be.”

“I love it,” she whispered.

“I’ll help your faeries at the gate in exchange for you,” Graysen told her, “in whatever way you’ll have me.”

“Can I…can I stay here? I hate it there,” she whispered, still holding him tightly. “It’s like a beautiful prison. Every time I try and leave my room, someone is waiting at the door for me.”

Graysen’s relief filled Elain with the same. “I was hoping you’d…yes. Besides, I’ve heard rumors of a creature who might be able to unmake you.”

“Truly?” It was a dangerous thing to hope, and yet Elain couldn’t help herself.

Graysen’s smile was a beautiful thing. “Truly.”

[wosemi-sama]

and the crowd went mild 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥 also no chara dividers im lazy rn

these r so short id add more but im rushing rn sorry lmfao 😭😭😭

intended lowercase!

misc. obm hcs

LUCIFER

wakes up at the ass crack of dawn every single morning.

wears those old man pjs. with the long hat and fuzzy slippers and gown. you know the one.

most bitter coffee you've ever had in your life how he can drink it is astonishing.

his bed, his mattress, his pillows are all as hard as rock how does this man SLEEP.

sleeps like hes the corpse at the funeral hes that one image

MAMMON

will pull you into a headlock and call it a hug.

LEVIATHAN

guy who had mountain dew and cheeto dust in his veins instead of blood. guy who marinates in his room for two months straight. guy who- (i am immediately shot dead).

did a collab with the anti-lucifer league to create a 100k words dialuci fic to piss off lucifer (dont worry about him he got paid in anime and tsl merch).

TRULY believes he is the #1 tsl fan. and also #1 ruri fan.

wimp who VOLUNTARILY makes you cosplays if you are a cosplayer or even if you aren't. it will happen.

vtuber fan. he was like "hey i wanna be a streamer but i dont wanna show my face but i also want to be an anime boy! wait-" and now hes a vtuber.

has accidentally referred to all of his brothers as "chat" at least once. hes never recovering from that btw.

SATAN

cannot stop annotating books he reads for the life of him.

all of his books are just filled to the brim with sticky notes because all he does is annotate.

once he has a crush he will start imagining him and them in the same scenarios as the characters in romance novels he read. (loser alert!!)

sneaking a new cat into hol like once a week (he never succeeds btw).

ASMODEUS

oh boy his room REEKS of perfume and body spray.

"i sprayed my new perfume in every nook and cranny! smells so floral and elegant, don't you think?" (it smells like a bath and body works threw up.)

surprisingly plays the trumpet and BOY is he loud. bro is absolutely blasting those notes.

worst driver ever btw.

BEELZEBUB

freckles all over!! like a lot. *im not beating the insane allegations*

ate like 27 family size dorito bags, 30 dollars worth of taco bell, and four sprites in one sitting and he still hasnt recovered.

sleeps. like a lot. not as much as belphie but enough to be considered an eepy guy.

BELPHEGOR

will randomly grab every blanket and pillow he can get his hands on and make a nest in the common room if he's up to it. and then have everyone make a dog pile in it just so they can hang out and be silly.

will NOT clean it up afterwards. lucifer will tell him to and his only response will be "im tired..."

freckles like beel too i think theyre silly.

9829364 cow plushies. (theyre all from lucifer)

SOLOMON

will randomly gaslight people for no reason

"hey did you do the homework"

homework? what homework? there was homework? my, what even is homework? never heard of that.

"hey, i heard of this animal from the human world called a giraffe! can i see a picture?"

what? what's a giraffe? oh, those!! yeah, they're just myths. they're not real. purely fiction!!

yk that one post about tumblr funnyman solomon. he is a tumblr funnyman to me. he confidently posts his exploded spaghetti and gets 10k notes i think.

SIMEON

has a book club with satan and solomon. :)

probably writes oneshots of the brothers on tumblr idfk man (sorry to the simeon fans i write like nothing on this guy bro).

LUKE

bodily six ("but didnt the devs say hes ten?" shut up. /j)

along with that, also shorter than in canon. (since hes. yk. a first grader. that BOY is not five foot hes one sauce packet long dude.)

favorite store in the human world is walmart. i like to think his human world outfit is all exclusively from walmart bc thats funny i think.

DIAVOLO

hands of STEEL. he tries to grab your wrist and he nearly crushes it by accident.

ice cream!! he loves it :) his favorite is strawberry btw.

also this boy is NOT a himbo hes a smart man.

needs like a hug and some sleep and also a friend this boy works too much!!

BARBATOS

short. like really short. especially according to devildom standards since most demons are super tall.

"but isn't he six feet?" not in my heart.

somehow always making tea for some reason?? if he's not making tea then he's making pastries.

my boy does not SLEEP. hasn't slept since the sun has been birthed and doesn't plan on ever doing it.

[yorshie]

Could you do a bayverse one where the turtles (seperate) react to their s/o getting so upset that they can only repeat a couple words? Like if they were suddenly having anxiety and can't say anything but "oh jeez.. oh... oh. Jeez. Oh jeez...." really quiet or something like that. How would they comfort their s/o? Is their s/o sad? Mad? I think it would be a nice comfort headcanon. Also, no pressure to write this. I just thought it might be cute.

Alright Anon, I took a little liberty because I’m pretty sure I wrote one exactly like this (and I don't wanna bore you rehashing the same idea), but we’re gonna go with Reader hit the panic button walking home from work because they felt like they were about to get jumped, said Turtle Man shows up, kicks ass, takes names, then realizes A - this is probably the first time Reader’s seeing said Turtle Man in action, and B - Reader is in the full five stages of a panic attack, just huddled up against a wall, can’t string two words together.

(as always set in 2023 for turtles are 22 ish)

Cue Headcanons below:

LEO

First things first he’s gonna put the weapons away. He knows how intimidating they are, he’s used that fact to his advantage in the past. The last thing he wants to do is make whatever’s going with you worse because you saw the shine of a light glint off one of his blades.

Next thing next, he’s gonna take you someplace else. Someplace that doesn’t reek of blood, piss, whatever the hell an alley smells like. It doesn’t matter what state you’re in, or if you can verbally give him permission, he’s going to swoop you up and get you the hell out of there. If being manhandled makes you more angry, or brings on the waterworks, it’s something he’ll deal with later. Leo’s used to making quick decisions that involve the welfare of others, this is no different in his eyes.

Leo’s a taskmaster, he does better with a bullet point list to follow. And the next thing on his agenda, now that he’s insured your immediate safety, is going to be a body check for wounds. If you’re in a state of mind to help him, he’ll let you tell him you’re fine. If you aren’t, he’s going to check for himself. Clinical, straight to the point, strictly professional. Doesn’t matter what stage your relationship is on, he’s looking for blood, scrapes, pain, and nothing else. If he finds something, he’ll bundle you up again and take you to Donnie. If he doesn’t, the gears in his brain switch over.

Now that he’s seen to you physically, he’ll start on your mental state. If you don’t like touch in the middle of a breakdown, he’ll back off, give you space, start working on using his voice to get you back to the place where you can string together more than one syllable. If you can stomach touch, he’s going to want to hug you. His heart is going a mile a minute, so it’s just not for your benefit, but he won’t tell you that just yet.

Once he’s got you talking, returning his affection, Leo’s going to take you to either your place or the Lair. He’ll push for the Lair, since it’s more defensible, but if you need the comfort of your space he’ll bend. He’ll spend the rest of the night making sure you’re ok, double checking the locks on your windows and doors, making sure you eat, bathe, etc. He’ll make you tea, whether or not you actually drink it. He’ll stomach whatever movie you want to watch, just as long as you let him sit beside you.

If your relationship is on the newer side, and it gets to the point when he’d usually leave, he’ll linger. All it will take is a word from you and he’ll stay, whether you’ll let him hold you in your bed or camp on the floor. He will absolutely not listen to any entreaties to further your relationship at this time; he doesn’t want you to do anything you might regret later.

If your relationship is far enough, it won’t be a question of him staying. He’s gonna stay, he’s gonna wedge himself into bed with you no matter the size of the mattress, and you’re probably going to wake up either sprawled across him or somehow contorted into an awkward position with his arms around you. If you want something more from him he probably won’t take the request seriously. For his own peace of mind, he’ll keep his wants on a short leash and you’ll have to settle for cuddling, kisses, and if you ask, he’ll churr until you fall asleep.

If he convinces you to go to the Lair, he’ll take care of you there as well, but you’ll have to deal with the other brothers as well. Leo’ll take you by Donnie’s lab to insure his health checks were accurate, then depending on who else is around he’ll either openly walk you to his room, or carry you there to avoid Mikey and Raph making fun of the two of you. Same rules on touch apply, if your relationship is newer he’ll give you his bed and he’ll disappear or sleep on the floor. If you’ve been together for the long haul though, the damn roof could cave in and he still wouldn’t stop cuddling you, though churring is out if there’s a chance his brothers could hear.

RAPH

Once he’s taken out the bad guys, Raph’s attention will turn to you. He’s not the type to put his weapons away right off the bat, but if he sees you eye them or flinch away when he gets closer, he’ll take the chance of a surprise attack and put them away. 

He’s not going to touch you right away. He knows what emotion in overdrive will do to people, and the last thing he wants is for you to take a swing at him out of leftover anger or fear only to feel guilt over it later. So he’ll rumble at you, talk soothingly, try and get you to a point where you’ll start seeking reassurance from him. If you’re quick to reach for him, that’s his queue to get you the fuck out of there, but if you’d rather cling to the dirty wall instead of him he knows whatever’s going on with you is bad.

Once he’s got you out of there, he’ll want to look you over. If you’re crying, he’ll take the chance to wipe your face, get rid of the tears, because if he has to keep looking at them he might go back and find someone to pick a fight with. Once he’s sure you’re done crying, he’s gonna look you over, and for the most part he’ll be relying on you to tell him if it’s bad or if he needs to stop. He’ll keep it professional to be sure, but if this is a newer relationship he’s gonna blush. Can’t help it, even if its something as innocent as your stomach, somewhere in the back of his turtle brain he’s having a conniption.

If he finds something worrying, he’ll call Leo. Big brother, for all the times they’ve fought, will know what to do. At this point he’ll take you to the lair, and you’ll be subject not only to Donnie treating whatever Raph’s found, but also a hovering Leo who’ll want to know what the hell happened, and why Raph went alone. 

If he finds nothing, the ball is now in your court. His first gut instinct is to take you home, comfort in the familiar and all that. If you want to go to the Lair, you’ll have to verbally confirm this in a clear manner, because if you stay silent or blabber you’ll end up back at your place.

If you go home, he’ll hang around far longer than he should. Unfortunately, if this is a newer relationship, he’ll try to dip out unless you take the time to convince him he should stay. Raph will need constant reassurance that he is something you actually want, and so the thought of you wanting his big, ugly mug around when you could be reliving other big, ugly mugs is not something that crosses his mind. If you are persistent though, he will stay, but you will likely find him in the floor in the morning even if you manage to convince him to share the bed.

If your relationship has been going on for a while, he’ll treat you to the nine yards. Bubble bath, take out, he’ll let you use him as a pillow to watch a movie, etc. When it comes time to sleep, he’ll wedge himself into the bed with you, but you’ll have to settle for him sleeping with his shell to the door, even if that’s your usual spot. It’s not up for debate, and if you try to wiggle him into a different position the only thing it’ll get you is a side eye and minor frustration. If you want something more from him, you’ll have to be direct, because Raph will absolutely not take the lead on a night like this, no matter how many hours it’s been since he rescued you.

If you convinced him to go to the Lair, its safe to say he’ll drag you by Donnie just to make sure you’re really ok. Then, if he can manage it, he’ll dodge Leo. No one’s to say if he’s actually successful, but neither of you are ready to hear a lecture at this particular moment. Thank god he and Mikey finally got separate rooms and the younger quit sneaking into his room from nightmares, because the last thing you need is to wake up with an arm around you that isn’t Raph’s.

Newer or long term relationship, Raph will offer his bed, but it’s big enough that he’ll take the side nearest the door. Newer relationship: he’ll sleep with his shell to you and construct a line of pillows between the two of you. Long haul: you’ll be wrapped up in his arms, between the safety of the wall and his shell. He’ll talk you to sleep, maybe even churr if he knows no one else will hear. 

DONNIE

Donnie takes bad guys out with lethal precision, using a combination of his tech and his bo. He’s not too picky on form or technique, just whatever eliminates the threat in the most timely manner. When he is finally able to turn his attention to you, he’ll hide behind his brain, fool himself into believing he can be analytical and logical when taking care of you.

He’ll take you by the shoulders, use his tech to scan you, fire off questions about your health, status, mental state, until you either start answering or you have a breakdown. If your response is bad, his tech will pick up on it long before he ever will, but the warning across his goggles will be enough to pull him back, clue him in into trying a different angle. His next approach will be to get you somewhere safe. He’ll ask you if you can stand his touch, but if he sees you deteriorating, he’ll simply act, take you to the Lair and his lab where he can feel in control of the situation.

Logic will tell Donnie that if you’ve made the entire trip to the Lair, you’re likely not suffering any huge injury. And that knowledge will allow him to switch gears, to take your face between his large hands and ask, instead of demand, if you are alright. He’ll do anything you ask, if you can just tell him you’re ok. 

If you are injured, he’ll see to it right away. He’ll get you some of his clothes to change into if yours are bloody, or stand guard while you take a shower, shell facing you to afford a little privacy. He’ll prattle on the entire time, but expect a cheeky comment or two throughout the process. Donnie can only hold them in so long, and as soon as he’s sure you’re not going to drop dead or have a heart attack from anxiety, his sharp wit is likely to return. He’ll comment on the audacity of your attackers, which body wash you decide to snatch from the communal bottles, anything to keep you talking and to avoid the silence that will likely turn right back into a panic attack.

Since you’re already at the Lair, he’ll ask if you just want to stay. If you want to go home, he’ll take you, but he’s not going to leave you alone, even if your plan was to just curl up alone and process. No such luck. He’ll kill time walking circles in your apartment checking your security until you get the hint and order him still. If your relationship is newer, he’ll ask if you want him to stay, and likely be self conscious of his actions once he realizes what he’s doing. If your relationship has been going on for a while, he’ll be amused at you ordering him around, but pliant with what you want. In all reality you probably won’t sleep in the bed, but on the couch, with some old movie on in the background because Donnie is allergic to laying horizontally in a bed (feels too much like rest) and he can’t relax without some noise. 

If you agree to stay at the Lair, he’ll clean off his bed and tuck you in, no matter the time. If you want cuddles, this is the point where you have to verbalize it or play pathetic, because after about 5 minutes of inactivity he will wander away to tinker, to work, always staying within line of sight, but Donnie doesn’t have an off switch. Especially if your relationship is newer, he won’t know what is acceptable and his mind will run away with him on what you would or would not allow, and in the end he will end up at his computer for 5 hours because difficult coding is more straightforward than feelings.

If you have been together for a while, Donnie will have a better handle on what you can handle and what your limits are. If you want him to hold you, he happily will, though if you plan to fall asleep he will probably turn on some music or a movie for the background noise. If you want something more than him, you’ll have to have a reason why, because as much as he’d like helping you forget things, he knows that’s not healthy. Either way though, he doesn’t mind rumbling or churring for you, the sound is soothing and no one is going to hear over the hum of the computers and music.

MIKEY

Small protector bean is deadly when in combat, faster than Leo when he puts his mind to it, more precise than Raph, and after years of practice he’s managed to turn his occasional fumbles to his advantage when he focuses. And if you’re in danger, he’s lazer focused. 

The moment you both are in the clear, he’s gonna be up in your space, asking if you’re ok, hands checking you for injuries. If you need a moment, or some space, you’re gonna have to be aware enough to ask for it, because this turtle is riding high on the adrenaline of worrying about you and the high of saving you. It’s gonna take him a moment to calm down, but once he does, he’s either got an answer from you or realized you’re too far in your head to hear him. If that’s the case, he’ll just hold you to his chest, keep up the litany of reassurance until you stop shaking and you’re holding him back

Mikey will want to take you by the Lair no matter what, to run an all clear by Donnie to make sure you’re really ok, and to tell Leo that he’s taking a week off patrols to walk you home from work. Yes, you probably are there for that discussion, and no, you will not be able to change Mikey’s mind about it. He loves his brothers, but they can handle a week without him, you’re important too.

If you’re hurt, he’s gonna be in Donnie’s way most likely, because there is no way he’ll leave you alone until you’re bandaged up and Donnie’s assured him you’ll be fine. He might have to resort to shocking Mikey if he needs him out of the room for some reason, but thankfully between the two of you, you can conjure up some errands for him to run long enough for Donnie to work.

If you want to head back to your home, he’ll try and stall you, invite you to play games or watch a movie with him. It will take a little bit to either convince him that’s where you want to be, or more likely, that you want him to come with you. Oh, he just assumed you meant for him to stay here. Oops.

If your relationship is newer, he’ll drop you off at home and you’ll have to invite him in if you want him to stay. He’ll eat your food, drink your soda, sure, but he’ll also readily cuddle with you without prompting. Mikey doesn’t really like to overthink things, and even if your relationship is newer he’ll assume you’re good with his touch, because surely you are if you’re willing to call him your boyfriend. If you’ve been together for a while, he’s already claimed a spot on your couch, on your bed. He’s an infestation, but he’s your infestation. Get ready to be cuddled for the entire night, and get ready for snoring, mumbling, churring, etc. This turtle has no filter, and no sense of personal space. Hope your bed is big enough to escape if he rolls over.

If you stay in the Lair, he’ll order in pizza, share his soda with you, let you borrow some of his clothes to sleep in, etc. If your relationship is newer he will self consciously keep his door open, as if to broadcast his pure intentions towards you, but if anyone peeked into the room during the night they’d probably see you being the little spoon. If you’re relationship is more of the long haul variety, he likely has the door shut, but that’s just so he doesn’t annoy the others with the late night movie and game marathon he’s planning to keep your mind occupied. If you want something more from him, he’s happy to oblige, but if something feels off with your response he’ll redirect you, distract you until you give in and just let him cuddle you instead.

[the-fiction-witch]

Scrubber Girl

Media Artful Dogder

Character Jack Dawkins

Couple Jack X Reader

Rating Flirty AF

first fic post show release for Jack Dawkins!

I would like to formally welcome him to the roasta and thank everyone involved in artful dodger!

I hummed myself a gentle tune as I folded laundry away into the upper cupboard when suddenly this smell, this stench! this utter aporance! met my nose. 

"Ohh my-" I gasped turning to see if I could see what on earth had happened only to see a strange sight indeed. 

As Resisdent Dr Jack Dawkins came trudging up the stairs dressed in his shoes, socks, his undergarments and a dirty old coat, with a look of anger and frustration his body coated with dirt, blood and... frankly I didn't want to know what else. His whole body stank enough I could smell him before he even reached the top of the stairs.

I met his angry eyes, then his... undergarments utterly in shock grabbing a yet folded sheet to hold over my eyes

"ahhh goodness gracious! Dr Dawkins!" I yelped "What on earth happened?"

"Don't ask." He snapped heading to his room, 

I quickly finished the laundry and took my dress in hand to scamper along behind him to his room quickly going in before he stopped me 

"What on earth happened?"

"I don't want to talk about it" 

"Alright, You need a bath. You utterly reek"

"I'm fine" he said stripping the jacket off and washing his face from the basin by his bed

"Jack you need a bath." 

"I'll deal with it in the morning Y/n I know you trying to help but It's been a long day I just want to get to bed." 

"I just clean those sheets jack, No absolutely not." I said moving to stand in front of his wardrobe to prevent him from getting clean clothes

"Y/n."

"I will ask you nicely once Jack, and I will ask you rather bluntly a second time. Do not make me ask you a third." I glared 

He rolled his eyes "Run me a bath." 

"Thank you, I will add some extra bubbles just for you" I smiled going to scamper away to run him a bath but he grabbed my arm "Yes?" I asked his response like normal was to merely rub his nose on mine "Not on your life while you're smelling like that doctor. Once your bath is finished I will consider it" I told him before I hurried down to the bathroom running the large tub with a nice fresh bar of soap, some fluffy towels and extra bubbles and soon enough he arrived wrapped up in his jacket with a fresh set of clothes "You're bath awaits you, Dr Dawkins" 

"Thank you y/n." 

"You're welcome, now come on let's get rid of that horrid... whatever it is." I told him 

He smiled and stripped off what remained of his clothes before climbing into the tub "Ahhh hot,"

"if its not hot your not clean" I giggled "Enjoy your bath" I smiled going to leave but he grabbed my arm and tugged me back "Yes?"

His response was to lean on the side and give me puppy eyes 

"Alright" I rolled my eyes sitting on the edge "What on God's green earth is in your hair?" I asked 

"You don't wanna know" he sighed relaxing a little 

"I worry about you sometimes." I sighed picking up a rag from the side getting a good rub of soap and starting on his matted hair filled with chunks of... ehhh I don't wanna know "You get into another fight again?"

"No."

"You trip over the surgery waste bucket again?"

"No. And I can do it myself you know" He pouted 

"Alright I'll go" I laughed trying to get up and leave but he grabbed my arm and pulled me back

"Ohh no you don't" He smirked tugging me back so much I almost fell in his bath with him 

"Jack let me go!" I giggled 

"How am I ever meant to get clean without my little scrubber" He smirked 

"Jack!" I giggled pushing him off before he really did pull me in his bath with him "Not while you still covered in... Ohh my- Is this flesh in your hair! How- what- when-"

"I told you, you didn't want to know." 

"Let me guess some crack pot scheme of you boys downstairs gone horribly wrong?" I asked having to work a bit harder now I knew what it all was getting the good scrubbing brush 

"More or less" He shrugged "While your at it scrubber girl I have a terrible itch on my back" He complained arching his back so I could use my long scrubber 

"I protest to being labelled your scrubber girl" I complain playfully but still decently hitting him on the head with the wooden steam of the scrubber 

"Owww" He complained "Sorry scrubber girl"

"One of these days, your going to call me that and I'm going to push this scrubber slightly further down and end up shoving it right up your arse. Like to see your quick fingers get you out of that"

"You'd be amazed what my quick fingers can do" he smirked "I suppose you wouldn't be surprised. Would you scrubber girl?" He smirked leaning back to playfully wink at me 

"You want me to hit you again? cause I'll do it. and it'll be much harder."

"not the only thing getting harder." he smirked 

"Okay. You asked for it." I glared fetching the hard brush the one often used for the bottom of your feet, calus hands and stubborn merky mud. I dabbed a bit of soap and before he could argue or protest I shoved the brush down his chest until I met his crotch and scrubbed like I was cleaning off old boots to which he squealed like a nine-year-old girl has lost her dolly and immediately he scampered himself to the other end of the bath sheepishly holding his legs to his chest

"No." He warned "Noo. put the brush down."

"I'm not sure, a scrubber girl needs to scrub" I giggled jumping to the other side and trying to get him again but he again moved in fear 

"ahh no! no. okay... I apologise." He said, "Just put the brush down."

"Alright," I giggled setting the brush down "What am I?" I asked 

"My scrubber girl" he smirked 

"Jack," I warn going to pick it up again

"Alright! Alright, Your y/n. my very sweet little laundry girl." he smiled moving over to be close to me leaning on the tub a little "Not the scrubber girl"

"That's better" I smiled fixing his hair a little and giving his lips a soft gentle kiss he tried for more But I pulled back 

"Would my lovely laundry girl like to join me?" He suggested

"After what's just come off your body Jack you have more chance of getting the virgin Mary herself coming through that door to give you blow job" 

"I mean... you can empty it and re-run it if you feel that strongly about it"

"Just put some pants on Jack before I really do shove that scrubbing brush up your arse" I warn getting up and throwing him a towel to it hit him in the face

"Thank you-" He sighed 

[shadowqueenjude]

Elorcan

“You swear it? That you will protect me?” “I didn’t leave you to the ilken today, did I?” “Swear it.” “I promise. I will not abandon you.” “Then I will tell you what I know.” “Bigger tits won’t prove or hide anything.” “Perhaps they’ll keep men distracted just enough that they won’t ask questions.” “Husband." "Brother. I am your brother." “You are my husband. We have been married three months. Follow my lead. Men will not fear the threat of a brother. I would still be unclaimed—still be open for … invitations. I have seen how little respect men have for anything they think they are entitled to. So you are my husband until I say otherwise.” "You have no money, do you?" "Looks like I was mistaken." “Come, wife.” "Figure it out yourself." "We have a bargain, girl." “You did not specify when I had to tell you. So I may take as much time as I wish to recall details, if you desire to wring every last one of them from me.” “Do not toy with me.” “Or what? Kill me, hurt me, and you’ll still be out of answers.” “I could find some buckets, heat water, and you could bathe in here, if you want. I’ll stand watch outside.”

“I’ll offer Ombriel a coin to wash it all for you tonight.” “I have no other clothes to wear.” “You can sleep without them.” “With you in here?” “What about your own clothes?” “What of them?” “You … they’re filthy, too.” “I can wait another night.” “Why should I be the only one naked? Wouldn’t the ruse work better if you and I both took the opportunity at once?” “You are very young. And I am very old.” “How old?” “Old.” “A body is a body. You reek as badly as I do. Go sleep outside if you won’t wash.” “Fine." “How badly does it hurt every day?” “I’ve had it since I was a child. I learned to live with it.” “That’s not an answer.” “Why do you even care? You said you’d stand watch. I thought you meant outside.” “Enjoy yourself.” “My uncle … He is a commander at Morath. He … locked me in the dungeon once. His name is Vernon, and he is clever and cruel, and he will likely try to keep you alive if you are caught. He wields people to gain power for himself. He has no mercy, no soul. There is no moral code that guides him." “Would you like me to kill him for you?” "Would there be a cost?" "No." “Your foot has been ruined for years, though. He locked you in the dungeon that long?” “No. I was only in the dungeon for a week. The ankle, the chain … He did that to me long before.” "What chain." “When you kill my uncle, ask him yourself.” “Molly will be begging you to stay, you realize.” “Is that your professional prediction?” “Did you sell your shirt, too?” “Got ten coppers from a farmer’s wife for it.” “That’s disgusting.” “Money is money. I suppose you don’t need to worry about it, with all the gold you’ve got stashed.”

“Marion was my mother’s name. She died defending Aelin Galathynius from her assassin. My mother bought Aelin time to run—to get away so she could one day return to save us all. My uncle, Vernon, watched and smiled as my father, the Lord of Perranth, was executed outside our castle. Then he took my father’s title and lands and home. And for the next ten years, my uncle locked me in the highest tower of Perranth Castle, with only my nursemaid for company. When I broke my foot and ankle, he did not trust healers enough to let them treat it. He kept bars on the tower windows to keep me from killing myself, and shackled my ankles to keep me from running. I left for the first time in a decade when he shoved me into a prison wagon and dragged me down to Morath. There, he made me work as a servant—for the humiliation and terror he delights in. I planned and dreamed of escaping every day. And when the time came … I took my chance. I did not know about the ilken, had only heard rumors of fell things being bred in the mountains beyond the Keep. I have no lands, no money, no army to offer Aelin Galathynius. But I will find her—and help her in whatever way I can. If only to keep just one girl, just one, from ever enduring what I did.” “I am over five hundred years old. I am blood-sworn to Queen Maeve of the Fae, and I am her second-in-command. I have done great and terrible things in her name, and I will do more before death comes to claim me. I was born a bastard on the streets of Doranelle, ran wild with the other discarded children until I realized my talents were different. Maeve noticed, too. I can kill faster—I can sense when death is near. I think my magic is death, given to me by Hellas himself. I am in these lands on behalf of my queen—though I came without her permission. She might very well hunt me down and kill me for it. If her sentinels arrive looking for me, it is in your best interest to pretend not to know who and what I am.” “Do you have a family?” “No.” “Do you have friends?” “No.” “Then you and I are the same in that regard, at least.” “I’m going to Eyllwe. Take me ashore and I’ll wash my hands of you as easily as you washed the blood of that man off yours.” "Did you not hear what I said? Take me to shore.” “No.” “No?” “The river veered southward two miles ago. From the map in the cabin, we can take it straight south, then find the fastest route to Banjali. Turns out, I now have business with Aelin Galathynius, too. Congratulations, Lady. You just got yourself a guide to Eyllwe.” “As far as anyone’s concerned, you’re still my wife.” "I will always find you. I promise." "I will always find you too, Lorcan." “I wanted to go to Perranth with you.”

“I love you. I have loved you from the moment you picked up that axe to slay the ilken. And I will be with you …I will be with you always.” "No." "I love you. I have loved you, from the moment you came to fight for me against Vernon and the ilken. And when I heard you were somewhere on that battlefield, the only thing I wanted was to be able to tell you that. It was the only thing that mattered.” "Ask me to stay." "Stay." "Ask me to come to Perranth with you." "Ask me to marry you." "Will you marry me, Lorcan Salvaterre?" "I'll think about it." “It’s just … I’m Lady of Perranth. If you marry me, you will take my family name. Lord Lorcan Lochan?" “I’ll use it with pride every damned day for the rest of my life. I will marry you, Elide Lochan. And proudly call myself Lord Lorcan Lochan, even when the whole kingdom laughs to hear it. And when we are wed, I will bind my life to yours. So we will never know a day apart. Never be alone, ever again.”

[fishedeyelenz]

Billy Lenz headcanons

Fuck it, it's 1AM, I don't want to go to sleep, let's overthink this dumb attic man. Most of these are from the vault I use for reference when writting for him

Generally has a very musky, dusty scent to him. He likes feeling clean, though he has trouble keeping up with his hygiene. He bathes when he can/remembers, but most of the time he will be smelling of sweat, dust, mildew and sometimes cat food. So best case scenario -he smells like an old man. Worst case scenario -he smells like something died in a bowl of cat kibble.

Has very chapped lips, chews on them out of nervous habbit. I'd a bit better with keeping up with his dental hygiene, but it can happen that he forgets to brush his teeth for a day or two. His teeth are naturally kinda yellowish though. Has a gap between his two front teeth.

Has a staring problem (no shocker there) he has very wide hazel eyes which have an ability creep people out even in normal circumstances.

Likes to keep his hair relatively longer, going under his chin to shoulder length. Likes playing with his hair, twirling it and scratching his scalp to calm himself down. Doesn't like it too long though, it irritates him when he has hair brushing over his back. Has soft curly hair, thick but most of the time it's greasy and tangled and matted up like a rats nest. Can clean up nicely though.

Has a decent amount of body hair, and has a very patchy stubble. He shaves with stolen razors, so he probably doesn't have the sharpest materials to work with. He does have sideburns though, which he likes to take care of

His green sweater is his comfort item, and he has a very hard time parting with it, even when it reeks like something died in it. Probably buys multiple pairs of the greens sweater if/when he has the means for it.

Near constantly has a cold, doesn't layer up at all when the weather gets cooler. His hands are cold and dry. If he's lucky he has an absolutely damp and snot-filled handkerchief in his pocket, but he usually wipes his nose into his sleeves. He's fucking gross like that.

Drools a lot, spits while he talks, most likely has some disorder that makes him salivate in large quantities, but he isn’t gonna get it checked out.

Is afraid of needles, doctors and dentists. just being in a hospital-like environment makes him anxious, it reminds him too much about his stints in psych wards and asylums. Doesn't like receiving any sort of injections. Dislikes taking pills as well, but he can put up with that at least.

Very messy eater, not only chewing really loudly, he also manages to spill just about everything over himself. Can cook simple meals, and can help assist in making more complicated meals, but the process will be messy. Most of the time he is not capable of cooking, and so he steals food from the residence he is squatting in. Doesn’t eat a lot when in survival mode, but if he's in an environment he is comfortable with/is being taken care of, he will eat ravenously and a lot too. Has a fast metabolism when he's young, so he doesn’t put on that much weight, but when he starts approaching middle age it will slow down. In his forties he will develop a dad bod if his circumstances allow (DILF Billy supremacy).

Sensitive to light, prefers being in the dark. The darkness is safer and familiar to him, he feels very exposed in light and open spaces. Also prefers stuffier and more claustrophobic environments, and he most likely has mild agoraphobia. Lights also sometimes hurt his eyes as well.

Sensitive to loud noises, ironically enough. Is easily overwhelmed in noisy environments. Likes to repeat things he hears, very good at voice mimicry, likes words with pronounced "t" sounds in them. Has echolocalia.

If he weren’t an unstable murderer I could see him becoming an actor or a voice actor. Depends if he wants to be seen or not, because I think he would gladly take on roles on TV if they wouldn’t credit him. This man craves attention but is at the same time afraid of receiving it lol. Attention can overwhelm him easily. Could see him becoming a theater actor as well.

Has a big oral fixation problem. Chews on zippers of his jackets, pencil tips and just about anything he could stick in his mouth. Chews on his nails and bites down on his fingers when he's nervous/thinking.

Also stims with his hands, claps when he's excited. Imitates playing a piano when listening to music. Twirls his hair, fidgets with loose threads of his sweater. Sadly when he's overwhelmed/having a meltdown he grips and pulls on his hair, sometimes punching the sides of his head. Likes to rock himself as well.

Near sighted and in desperate need of glasses, but he doesn’t particularly like wearing them and continuously loses them. Needs them only for reading, but as he grows older his vision will get worse and he will have to get a standard pair. He thinks he looks like a nerd when he wears them-he is right (🤓<-Billy)

Loves movies, loves Kubric especially, but watching a film with him can be a grueling experience if you don’t enjoy somebody talking over and narrating the whole film. Especially if there's food like popcorn involved, he will talk with his mouth full, chewing loudly.

Has a sweet tooth. Will eat just about any cakes, candies, treats and fruits. Loves strawberries in particular.

Can't stand cigarette smoke and alcohol. Is very judgmental of people who partake in them. Is kinda a judgmental and mean person in general lol.

I’m sorry folks but this man does not like Christmas lol. Probably has some very bad memories related to the holiday that cause him to burst mentally during that time. Doesn’t care for other Holidays either, except for maybe Valentine's day if he happens to have an object of affection at the moment.

Has eaten cat food

Raised rats as pets before he stole Claude for himself, who proceeded to eat all of them.

[doodlelots]

Headcanons for daan

I haven't done too much historical research so forgive me if some of this is culturally inaccurate. but here we go

He's underweight due to avoidance of food when stressed/moody. You can see his ribs a little. He generally has a bony, gaunt look to his body and skin. He used to eat better when with the baron.

Chronic smoking has his lips pale and cracked as well as eventually forming nicotine stains. He overall reeks of smoke too.

Has bad eye bags from irregular sleep and stress. He also itches/picks at the stitches around his missing eye when particularly wound up.

Has a bad slouch, but since he's been taught to have a straight back and polite posture as a butler, he snaps into position around others.

Because of Eihner and time spent in hoity-toity culture, he:

Can play piano. Was taught per recommendation from Eihner. He doesn't enjoy it and can only read music sheets, he can't improv it at all.

Is a decent cook due to butler work.

Loves to dance, he finds ballroom dances and waltz charming. He would dance with Elise a lot at home.

Is dexterous and precise, especially with his hands, due to medical training. Has nice, cursive handwriting.

Doesn't know how to drive due to using taxis all his adult life.

He still wears his wedding band from his marriage with Elise, even long after the festival is over. He also keeps a photo of her in his wallet.

He's considered getting a glass eye, but for guilt relating to Elise, he leaves the decision in the air and never thought about much.

He carries a cigarette tin, lighter, pocket mitror, comb, and wallet in most situations. He stores what he can in his inner/vest pockets so his pants pockets can be empty for his hands.

A genuine grin from him is slightly off putting. His canines are just pronounced enough to be of note but they aren't unnatural looking.

A bubble bath with a shot of whiskey in one hand and a cigarette wedged between his fingers is his favorite way to relax.

Familiar with many languages but is only really fluent in his home language (whatever funger equivalent there is to Dutch) and English (Rondish?). His accent is difficult to read due to picking up so many dialects growing up.

He always sleeps head to toe in pajamas (or whatever equivalent). Even socks.

He knows a bit about fashion and clothing design due to Elise's passion for it. But his judgement on what looks nice is skewed sometimes because he doesn't have a natural eye for it. He likes the look of stripes on argyle, for example.

He had a bit of a passion for medical work before the war, but after serving and his view of the baron soured, his interest diminished to finding it practical and nothing else. He has more passion for bartending than anything else now.

[imreadydollparts]

A little salon talk

I'm working on some very special, very dirty ponies at the moment, and some things certainly haven't gone as planned.

I wanted to talk a little bit about how I have addressed those things and what I have used in the process.

One of the most stressful issues has been paint sliding off of these ponies. Some of them had mysterious yellow stuff on their bodies and where that yellow stuff was, the paint isn't sticking anymore.

For Rapunzel, I dabbed on Vallejo Premium Airbrush Color Matt Varnish with a cosmetic sponge and that stopped the paint rubbing off. It is a matte varnish so if you put enough layers the gloss of the paint will be hidden. Overall, Rapunzel got 3 layers: Two base layers to stop the paint coming off further and protect the vinyl from the paint I was going to add on top (red pigmented paints do tend to bleed into vinyl), and a third layer over top of the repair paint.

I'll talk more about Rapunzel when her individual post comes through the queue later. She's given me some trouble, that's for sure.

Another big problem was that they all reeked of mold as they were covered inside and out. Dance n Prance DJ was so sporey....

Normal washing and disinfecting did get rid of all of the living mold, but the smell persisted because vinyl does that with smells.

Regular smell reduction products and methods for fabric do not work on dolls and ponies because they're not fabric, they're a thick layer of bubbly, spongey plastic that loves smells and stains.

The only thing I found that helped mask the smell of the now-dead mold is L.A.'s Totally Awesome Cherry Blossom All Purpose pre-diluted spray.

A few times I've thought "L.A.'s should sponsor me because I use their products a lot in the salon..." but I don't think I'd actually want to be sponsored by any corporation because you're basically a paid actor at that point and have to say what they tell you to about the products. I don't want to do that. I prefer to say what I mean.

Anyway.

I already knew T.A. was ok for ponies (at least, ponies who's paint isn't falling off) from having used it quite a lot on my own ponies before putting it anywhere near someone else's.

This one has a light scent to it that isn't overwhelming and being a cleanser, I know that it's not just applying some scent to the vinyl but also working against any remaining mold which also helps reduce it's smell.

How I used this was to liberally spray the insides of the ponies' bodies and let it sit a few hours, then dump out the cleanser and rinse them well.

I WOULD have treated these ponies as though I were deflocking them and used a hot T.A. bath to really get into all of those little plastic pores, but with the paint sliding off of multiple ponies that wasn't an option.

It's not a 100% solution, and they do still have a bit of moldy smell to them which may become more prominent again as the cleanser's perfume wears off, but with a proper cleaning and T.A. Cherry Blossom treatments, they smell a hell of a lot better.

A couple of the ponies in this lot have some of the worst hair I have ever seen, not only in texture but in condition.

So dry.

Now, I am good at what I do, especially when it comes to smoothing out pony hair, but I'm having to wave the white flag on some of this hair.

This is the same pony's hair before and after (her tail is in another pony right now so I could work on it while the rest of Swirly Whirly is taking a long sun bath), and that's as good as I could get it.

It's so. dry.

Normally, Garnier Fructis Sleek and Shine conditioner does just fine on nylon hair but it couldn't reduce the dryness on this hair enough.

That hair above was conditioned and flat ironed five times. The only thing I will not do is flat iron dripping wet hair on super high heat because I don't want to short out my flat iron. The only thing I can't do is attempt steaming it. Steaming is an excellent way to smooth out synthetic hair, but I do not have a stand to hold dolls or ponies so that I could safely steam them without scalding myself.

I had to get out the Big Conditioner, which is kind of funny to say because it's actually very tiny and I only use it on dire doll hair for fear of running out.

This little bottle of After Color Mask came with a bleaching kit that I got on deep clearance just to get to try out some 40Vol cream before committing to buying a big bottle.

Swirly Whirly's tail is still visibly a mess, but it finally feels nice and soft.

If you dye or bleach your hair and get these little bottles of hair mask, hold on to them. They'll do amazing things when you get a doll or pony with unusually or stubbornly dry hair.

Now if only Garnier sold this in big tubs.

[noiseyburlesquepeach]

Good Luck, Bones!

Summary: Leonard McCoy could be the poster boy for denial. He was not delusional, he was always acutely aware of the truth, he just chose to believe that the truth was wrong, much to his detriment.

Leonard McCoy could be the poster boy for denial. He was not delusional, he was always acutely aware of the truth, he just chose to believe that the truth was wrong, much to his detriment. He denied that his marriage had problems which ultimately led to his divorce. He denied that he drank too much, even when he was chugging the last of the contents of his flask right before boarding his flight to Starfleet Academy. He knew his two day old clothes reeked of booze and sweat, but he was too drunk to care. By the time he sobered up, he was denying that the decision to join Starfleet was impulsive. 

When Bones signed on for the Enterprise’s five year mission, he denied that he was absolutely terrified of space travel. He denied the existential fear that leaving the planet instilled in him. He denied that he was a deadbeat dad, leaving his only daughter lightyears away to be raised by his ex and some other man. He denied how much that bothered him. 

Even with the first thirty something years of his life left behind, Bones was still familiar with denial. He had a certain idea of what kind of man he was. What he was feeling right now did not align with that image. 

They had stopped for a brief shore leave before heading back into deep space. Bones didn’t like shore leaves unless they were on Earth. As terrified as he was of space travel, he was even more so afraid of whatever germs and diseases he would encounter on a foreign planet. Fortunately, the planet they were on had a sizable human population which distracted from its natives that were decidedly more blue than humans.

Bones wasn’t looking at any of them though. He had his eyes focused on a man dancing in the center of the room. Every time he pulled them away, they drifted back the moment he was no longer consciously focusing on looking at everything and everyone but him.

 They were in a bar, more of a club really. Neon strobe lights bathed the dance floor in rainbows. Looking at them for too long gave Bones a headache. The whole planet was hot, but it was sweltering in here with all of the bodies packed together and all of the smoke hanging in the air. It turned out that this planet’s main export was marijuana, or some alien herb that had the same chemical compounds as marijuana, so rather than getting drunk, everyone was getting stoned. Bones hated smoking of any kind, so he stuck to what little alcohol they had behind the bar. Damn bartender looked at him like he had two heads when he asked for alcohol and no weed. It all felt very twenty-first century, which made sense since this was a retro themed club. The only thing Bones hated more than clubs were themed clubs. They were blasting two hundred year old pop music that made Bones cringe. Music had truly evolved so much in the last two centuries. He tried to focus in on the lyrics, hoping he could find some decent meaning in them.

It started with a whisper, and that was when I kissed her, and then she made my lips hurt, I could hear the chit-chat, take me to your love shack. 

That was enough for Bones. This music was trash.  

Bones sat alone in the corner of the room, trying to avoid as much secondhand smoke as possible as he nursed his watered down beer and watched his colleagues smoke and dance. Well, he was watching one in particular. 

It was hot, and the way that everyone was dressed reflected that. Short skirts, booty shorts, crop tops, no tops, and then there was Bones in his typical going out clothes, a gray v-neck and jeans. 

Even though he looked and felt so out of place, he couldn’t bring himself to leave. He couldn’t take his eyes off the dance floor. Right in the middle of the crowd was his Captain. He had a human man wearing nothing but tight red booty shorts pressed against his back and a blue woman wearing a denim skirt that was barely wider than a belt and bikini top against his front. There was barely any barrier between their skin. Jim was dressed a little more modestly, he was wearing denim shorts that didn’t show the bottom half of his ass cheeks and a white ribbed tank top, but still it wasn’t much. It made Bones’s stomach churn. 

His movements were fluid, not as clumsy as they were when he was drinking. His eyes were half lidded as he undulated to the music. He was in a trance, in his own little world, just him and the music and the bodies pressed up against him. The woman was pretty, but nothing special once you got past the blue skin and hair. The man was skinny and short, and not particularly attractive, at least not in Bones’s opinion. Jim could do much better, he was a well built man. A bit stocky, but muscular, with broad shoulders and a strong chest. His skin was toned and tan and always had a sheen to it that somehow didn’t make him look greasy, but healthy and virile. 

Bones chewed his lip as he wondered if Jim would go home with one or both of them tonight. Of course he would, what else is shore leave for? Sometimes living aboard the Enterprise felt like living through a teen drama, especially for Bones who had to perform every STI or pregnancy test on the droves of horny ensigns that made their way to sickbay every day. He couldn’t really blame them, after all, a bunch of fit, attractive people stuck in space together twenty-four seven? Of course there would be intra-crew relationships. When you had a higher rank, however, you had to be careful. It would be unethical, for example, for Bones to sleep with one of the other doctors or nurses since they were his subordinates, but engineering officers or bridge crew didn’t report to him, so that would be fine. The Captain however, outranked everyone on the ship, and everyone reported to him, so he couldn’t ethically sleep with anyone aboard the ship, which is why he should be free to enjoy his shore leaves without judgment. 

Not that Bones was judging of course. He had been known to occasionally hookup with a lady on shore leave every now and then. Tonight the thought of that made him feel nauseous. He had been approached a few times this evening already. The women here were stunning without exception. Many of them were just his type, tall, tanned, and curvy with long dark hair. He had always liked brunettes best, but tonight he found himself more interested in blondes. Something was obviously wrong with him. Maybe it had just been too long since he had been with anyone. Maybe he needed to get his hormone levels checked. He was getting older, testosterone usually started declining in a man’s forties. That had to be it. Nothing a hormone supplement wouldn’t fix.

Why couldn’t he take his eyes off of his Captain? He was worried about him, that was it. Jim had smoked a fair amount tonight, even from afar Bones could tell that his eyes were droopy and he was a little shaky on his feet. He was just worried that someone would take advantage of his intoxicated state, nothing more. 

Jim caught Bones staring at him and flashed him a lazy smile from across the dance floor. Bones suppressed the flutter in his gut at that sight. A moment later Jim was excusing himself from his dance partners and making his way over to Bones, the crowd jostling him slightly. 

“Heyyyy,” Jim said as he collapsed onto the seat beside bones. Up close Bones could see that the whites of his eyes had turned entirely pink and his pupils swallowed up all of the hazel. 

“You look stoned,” Bones grunted in response. Jim just giggled. 

“You don’t look like you’re having much fun tonight.” Jim slid closer to Bones until their knees brushed. 

“Not really my scene. I don’t smoke.”

“I don’t either usually, but once won’t kill me.”Jim pulled a joint out of his pocket and lit it up, being careful to blow the smoke away from Bones. He coughed a few times before going back in for another puff. 

“You’re gonna turn your lungs black, fill them with tar,” Bones scoffed. 

“Bones, for one night can you just be my friend, not my doctor,” Jim said with an eye roll, “you may find that having fun won’t kill you.”

“I can have my fun without drugs, thank you very much.” 

“Cut the D.A.R.E. shit Bones, you drink more than anyone else I know.” Jim’s words were critical, but his tone was decidedly teasing. 

“S’pose so.” Bones took another sip of the piss that this place was passing off as alcohol. Jim took another puff of his joint.

Bones found himself wondering what it tasted like. His eyes caught on Jim’s bottom lip. His mouth probably tasted like burnt rolling papers and faint skunky herb. He had no desire to get high but he wanted to taste it. He reached out halfway to grab the joint. Jim hesitated.

“It can be pretty overpowering the first time,” Jim said. He looked like he was thinking for a moment before his face lit up with a devious smile that made Bones’s heart flutter. “Here, I know what I can do to make it less harsh.” 

Jim stood and stepped close to Bones, using his knees to spread the Doctor’s legs. Bones couldn’t help the breath that hitched in his throat at the sudden proximity between them. He felt a twitch coming from his trousers, but quickly suppressed it. 

Jim brought the joint to his mouth and took a long drag, then he leaned down to Bones’s mouth that hung agape and he connected their lips, blowing the smoke from his lungs into his companion’s. Bones instinctively inhaled as he fought the urge to follow Jim’s mouth as he pulled away. 

All was blissful for about half a second until Bones exhaled and began a coughing fit like none he had ever had before. His eyes crossed a little and he found himself unable to open his eyelids for a few seconds. When his coughing subsided, Jim handed him his beer to soothe the burning in his throat. 

“How was that?” Jim asked. 

“That was something,” Bones managed to grunt. Jim laughed and took another puff before putting the joint out in one of the ashtrays that adorned every surface.

“I’m guessing that was your first time,” Jim said, grin widening as he blinked away the smoke that was making its way through his body. Bones just grunted in response. 

“My first was in high school. One of my friends took a joint from his older sister’s dresser. We smoked it in his treehouse,” Jim looked into Bones’s eyes, his demeanor growing more serious just then, “that wasn’t my only first time that night.” 

This couldn’t be happening. Obviously Bones was much higher than he thought and was hallucinating. Maybe the joint was laced with something. There was no way that Jim, his best friend, his captain, the man he would walk to the ends of the earth with, was really acting so suggestively towards him. And there was no way he liked it. There was no way he could feel his stomach twisting and little Bones beginning to stand at attention. 

“Do you wanna dance with me?” Jim asked. Bones could tell what Jim was asking him, even through his slight haze Bones could see the signs. Jim was blushing, sweating, and avoiding direct eye contact. This was more than just an invitation for two friends to dance. 

This was one of those make or break moments. The butterflies in his stomach screamed yes, that Bones hadn’t been able to focus on anyone but his best friend all night, that no matter how much he pushed the thoughts and dreams of Jim out of his mind, no matter how many times he told himself he was just getting his wired crossed, he was just going a little stir crazy aboard the ship and misinterpreting his feelings, that despite all of that he couldn’t deny what he was feeling anymore. He couldn’t deny that he was feeling something. 

“Uh, no thanks. I think I’m gonna head back for the night,” were the words that escaped Bones’s mouth. He couldn’t bring himself to give in. He couldn’t bring himself to give up the denial that had been protecting him his whole life. Jim’s face fell. 

“Right, of course, it’s getting late,” he said, forcing a smile, “good luck, Bones.” Jim left Bones alone once again and returned to the people he had been dancing with before, only this time he looked far less enthusiastic. 

Bones had to get out of there. He chugged what was left of his beer and slipped out the door without a second glance to the dance floor.

Even outside he could hear the music from the club as he walked back to the hotel. 

It’s fine, it’s cool, you can say that we are nothing but you know the truth.

Bones paused to catch his breath for a moment. Now that the sun had gone down, it was cooler outside. He breathed deeply, enjoying the respite from the stuffy club air. He hadn’t realized how oppressive it was until he filled his lungs with clean, smoke free air. He sniffed his shirt and immediately wrinkled his nose. He smelled like stale pot. 

I don't wanna call it off, but you don’t wanna call it love, you only wanna be the one that I call baby.

For the first time all night, the club was actually playing decent music. Bones listened harder. 

You can kiss a hundred boys in bars, shoot another shot, try to stop the feeling, you can say it’s just the way you are, make a new excuse, another stupid reason, good luck, babe!

Jim’s last words rang in Bones’s head. “Good luck, Bones”. Good luck with what? At first he thought Jim was wishing him good luck getting home safe. Did he mean something else?

You’ll have to stop the world just to stop the feeling.

Bones had enough. He was tired, tipsy, a little high, and most of all, not ready to confront whatever the universe seemed to want him to confront. He began the short walk back to his hotel room alone.

[calamityandme]

Dear diary (lol),

Today has been very good. I got to sleep in finally. I woke up at 11:15 and had a brief moment of, “oh shit, can I do that?” but snapped out of it.

I made coffee and showed Danny how I like my coffee so he can make me some hahaha. After drinking a cup of strong café bustelo I started working on the house. Sundays are my cleaning days.

I started with arguably one of the hardest chores today, something I’ve been wanting to do for a while since I’m preparing for our families to visit the house later this month; vacuuming out the air conditioner grates.

It hadn’t been cleaned probably since we’ve moved here, over four years ago. Some people would be mortified by me saying that, others would probably question why I’m cleaning a rental that hardcore. I’m doing it now, that’s what matters. Not that Danny’s parents are going to come over and immediately look at my grates. I worry that little things like that are secretly making the house smell bad.

While cleaning the grates i had to empty the shop vac out multiple times because it kept getting stuck with thick wads of dark gray dust and fibers. I also found what I think was a molded McDonald’s French fry. I was actually amazed because I’ve never seen a molded McDonald’s fry before. I wondered how fucking long that fry had been in that grate before fate decided I would obsess over cleaning something long enough to eventually do it.

After the grates I vacuumed the inside of the couch, vacuumed the living room twice as well as the kitchen, bathroom and second bedroom. I mopped the kitchen, bathroom and second bedroom. I didn’t want to bother with our room this time (trying to convince myself that’s fine). Then I tidied the living room and kitchen, gathered all the trash, did two loads of laundry, cleaned the bathroom and filled the essential oil diffusers. Changed both litter boxes and replaced with fresh litter. Danny did some more dishes also which I appreciate.

It’s a small thing, but I also moved a succulent onto our coffee table in the living room. I think it makes the house look nice. We have a lot of plants but most of them are on the porch during the summer and the rest are next to the best windows in the house for light.

I’m trying really hard to make the house smell alright. Not that I think it reeks right now. I just know people become smell blind when they live in a home for a while. I don’t want my mom to come over and think, “smells like weed and old produce,” y’know?

Now that I’m pretty much done with cleaning for the day I’m kind of not sure what to do. I’m trying to remember desires that are not productive/cleaning related.

I thought about baking earlier but now my energy is running out. It’s almost 7 PM and my body is slowing down. I might sort laundry, maybe watch a show and play the Switch. Take a bath. I don’t know.

I finished my Graveyard Book. It was a really good book. I really enjoyed listening to Neil Gaiman’s narration. I wish Bod and Scarlet could have stayed friends, but I imagine that after Nobody traveled out of the cemetery he found a good life with people to spend time with.

Now I’m starting a new audiobook. The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller. So far I’m hooked. I started listening to it today and I’m already 25% done with it (almost listened to three hours just while cleaning). I like the storytelling in this book, the gay tension and the Greek influences.

Tomorrow I’m going to try to not do much. That’s what I try to do when I don’t work on Mondays anyway. I have to schedule down days often for myself, otherwise I will keep going until I breakdown. My fuse is so much shorter than it used to be, I used to tolerate so much more. I just have to have time to lay in bed or stare at the wall and exist. It recharges me so I can do what I need to throughout the week.

I hope anyone reading this has had a good weekend 🩵

[crimsonblackrose]

Was lured into a bath and body works by a free item no strings attached coupon, and then proceeded to not leave because their Halloween stuff is out, and now,  the smell of bath and body works is just a part of me now. I will never know peace. The shirt I bought at a different store also smells like it. This is my life now. A cacophony of intense smells.

[sukirichi]

sweet lies (m.)

His lies were way too sweet – and you were too addicted to make him stop.

cw. oral (f receiving), fingering, slight body worship, public sex, multiple orgasm, orgasm denial, dirty talk, praising, titty sucking, nsfw, toxic megumi, fwb, slight angst, the traditional unedited fic

note. choose your fighter, megumi or sukuna 😈 and thank you to besties nie and ellie for editing this STOP SHOWING YOUR ANKLES CHIRREN

series masterlist | 01 | 02 | 03

Megumi slides your shirt down your shoulder to press kisses on the bare skin. Your head tilted to the side to give him easier access. You hate that you feel so weak around him, your hands gripping his thigh you’re currently straddling, already so breathless from his teasing ministrations. 

“You should move back closer to campus,” he mutters at the juncture of your neck, pulling another soft gasp from you the moment his fingers dip inside your damp underwear. You feel him smile at your skin, using his deft fingers to push two of them inside your sopping hole. He pumps them in slowly, teasingly slow, coaxing your arousal to coat his fingers while you grind against his palm, eyes shut tight from the pulling knot in your stomach.

“It’s hard to fuck you when you’re a half-hour drive away.”

You scoff against him and roll your eyes. “I wonder why I got kicked out from the dorms in the first place.” Exactly two weeks ago, Megumi snuck in drunk and horny into your dorms, shaking you awake to get rid of his boner. 

It was a sloppy quickie, mostly because he’s eaten brownies and got fuck drunk before stumbling beside your bed. The insensitive idiot left his rum bottle under your bed just as he wobbles back to his frat house, and as if things couldn’t get worse, there was a surprise dorm inspection the next day. Not only did they find cum stains all over your sheets, but your bed also reeked of weed and alcohol, resulting in a quick expulsion from the dorms.

If it weren’t for the help of one of your professors, Gojo-sensei, you wouldn’t have been able to find a decent, cheap apartment. It came with the price of rooming with one of his old acquaintances, a muscular, heavily tattooed guy who seemed to be a few years older than you.

He really wasn’t a bad roommate. Other than the fact he seemed really intimidating, the dude mostly kept to himself, either locked in his room or away for work that you don’t really get to see him that much. His place was decent too, your room bigger than the last, so it was a good deal, but as Megumi said, it’s really hard to fuck around when you’re so far away.

“Not my fault, you’re so weak for me, baby,” he taunts as you tighten around him, his pace increasing with his lips sucking love marks on your skin. You can’t help but snicker at his actions; if you didn’t know better, you’d say he was jealous. 

But this was Megumi you were talking about – everyone knew he never got jealous. 

“I don’t like you here.”

“Aw, sucks for you.”

“I’m serious,” he grips your waist tighter, drawing a drawled-out moan from you. Megumi rubs your clit with his thumb and swallows your moans through open-mouthed kisses, your fists balled into his hoodie. Fuck this, you’re completely aware he’ll never like you the way you like him, but it’s so hard to feel sad about that when he’s knuckle deep inside you and playing you like a violin. As much as you hated him and his pretty face, you have to admit his fingers were fucking magical.  

Megumi nips at your lower lip before thrusting his fingers in and out of you at a numbing pace, not taking long until you’re creaming all over his hands. You pant at the orgasm, head falling back into his shoulder. 

He brushes your hair away from your eyes and kisses the side of your head, the gesture way too sweet for someone who insisted on a ‘no-strings attached’ sexual relationship. But you don’t complain – this is like a dream come true for you – allowing him to leave a trail of kisses down your jaw instead, his wet hands squeezing your thighs in a possessive grip.

“You should just live with me. I’m not comfortable with the fact you live with a man.”

There’s a trace of jealousy behind his voice that you’d normally swoon at, but he’s pushing you to the edge and fucking around with your feelings so much that you can’t even enjoy the rare moment. You push yourself off him and reach for your discarded shorts on the floor, sliding the material over your legs while Megumi shamelessly stares at your ass behind you, his head resting on his hands.

“Megs, I barely even talk to the guy; he’s always away at work. You’ve really got nothing to worry about,” you tell him, making quick work of tidying your school packets just to ignore his heated gaze. “Besides, you and I aren’t even dating. Don’t get your panties in a twist.”

“You never hold back with your words, huh?”

You shot him a look, an angry glare that should be threatening, but the glint in his eyes just tells you he’s enjoying every second of it. “You like it.”

“Hmm, maybe I do,” Megumi tugs you back to the bed, effortlessly, as he flips you under him. In this position, he’s situated right between your bodies, hands clasped against one another. He’s absolutely stunning, bathed in the sliver of the moonlight, in your bed, no less. You’re a flurry of emotions – stuck between wanting to fuck him and kissing him, and then scream at him to let him know he should stop playing with your heart. 

Megumi’s eyes darken as he traces over your silhouette, watching the way your chest falls heavily at his touches. He uses one hand to trace the tip of his finger from your breast down to your clothed core, a smirk painting his lips when you buck your hips up at the contact. 

Fuck him, fuck him, fuck him. 

“Just promise me you’re not letting others see your pretty pussy okay?” he tugs your shorts to the side, tongue darting out to lick at his lips at the sight of your glistening folds. You’ve lost count of the times he’s made you cum tonight with just his fingers; the raging hard-on hidden behind his sweatpants is proof that he’s quite different today by letting you get fuck-drunk on him first. Perhaps it’s his way of keeping you so helplessly wrapped around his finger, fucking you good enough that no one else comes second to him, and he knows this. He sees this from the desire pooled in your eyes. 

Megumi scoots down lower to stare at your pussy, which is already embarrassing since you’re so wet down there. He simply sighs at your bare cunt before him, using two fingers to pull the lips apart, followed by a groan at the apparent slick. “This is all mine.”

In your lust-filled haze, you scrunch your eyebrows and sneer, “How about you mind your own business?”

“The fuck did you just say?” he chuckled, his warm breath tickling your inner thighs. “You’re mine, babe. Haven’t I fucked you enough to drill in that in your pretty little head?” Megumi doesn’t waste his time diving straight to your eager, awaiting core. Your hands fly down to tug at his hair as you grind your hips to his face, legs weak from his lips wrapped tightly around your clit. “You know I’ll get mad if you touch anyone else.”

“Fuck off, Megumi,” you spat out, “We’ve been fooling around for a year, and you still refuse to date me every time I ask you out officially. Listen, I understand you’re not ready for that kind of relationship, so you could at least respect that you don’t get the exclusivity of keeping me all to yourself.” Truly, this rebellion is so uncalled for and unexpected. The moment you had your eyes on him and made it your life’s mission to win him over, not once had you complained that he never wanted to take things a step further. But it’s been too long, too fucking long, and too many no baby’s already – your pride was beyond crushed. It was about time you set the boundaries this time, and you quiver around his skillful tongue, strong and firm as you rasp, “I’ll fuck whoever I want.”

“You’re lying.”

“What?”

“You love me,” Megumi pulls away from your clit with an audible pop, his face glistening from the smeared juices all over his cheeks. However, his eyes are narrowed, almost as if he’s scrutinizing you. You can’t focus on the fact he denied you of your orgasm because he’s looking at you so seriously, only to tilt his head to the side, a smirk playing on his lips. “It’s written all over your face.”

“Maybe I do, but are you deserving of it?” you push his head away and ignore the aching in your chest. Megumi shuffles close to you, pulling you in for another cuddling session before you hide under the sheets, making it clear you were not to be touched anymore. “Go home, Megs. I’m tired.”

In all honesty, you want him to stay. You want him to fight harder to win your approval back. He’s not a big cuddler, more of the type to pass out beside you after he’s gotten his own orgasm, but you’ve been so sure that maybe he might be different today. Under the sheets, your lip trembles in anticipation, eyes blinking wide at the dark silhouette outside your metaphorical shield. But as Megumi playfully slaps your ass, his warmth leaving the bed, you’re not really surprised. 

He never stayed the night before – why would he do that now? 

Silly girl, you chastised yourself. 

“Fine. But I’ll be back tomorrow,” you hear him scuffle for his shoes outside, a smile evident in his voice as his words float around the silence of your apartment. “Wear my favourite set like a good girl for me?”

“Go away!”

Megumi’s laughter echoes all the way to where you curl yourself into a ball. You hate that his laughter alone makes your heart skip a beat, even if it doesn’t carry any affection behind then. “See you then, baby,” is all he says before the door slams shut, leaving you alone to your thoughts and insecurities all over again.

His lies were way too sweet – and you were too addicted to make him stop.

You’ve really hit rock bottom; that’s the only explanation for your actions. Megumi was coming over in a few hours, unsurprising that he chooses 3 AM of all times. Not only did it mean his frat brothers would be asleep, but it also meant that his other side bitches would assume he’s doing the same. You know, of course, you fucking know you’re not the only one, but it didn’t hurt any less.

The pain just keeps getting worse every time you think of him, said thoughts always comprised with your shirt trapped between your teeth and your hands down your pants. There’s no denying you’re addicted to him, though being addicted to a never-ending heartbreak was a different story. 

A story which you’re not ready to find out yet, so you dress up in your sexiest dress and take the nearest cab, heading to a place where you definitely shouldn’t be.

Two more hours before Megumi arrives. Two more hours before you fall into that endless cycle of fucking and him leaving you alone, promising he’ll be back tomorrow, before it all repeats and traces back to square one. He’s not going to stop, and neither are you, so where was any of this supposed to go now? He doesn’t want you, not in that way, that very much is clear – so why was it so hard to let go of him?

Deep down at the back of your mind, you know your answer. It’s because, like the lovesick fool you are, you’re still hoping that maybe someday he’ll look at you the way you look at him.

Fuck it, is all you think of as you flash the bouncer your ID, not missing the way his eyes fall down your tits that are so close to popping out of your dress a minute longer than welcomed. Snatching your card away from him, you push against the crowd, immediately regretting coming here as the loud thumping of music and stench of sex and alcohol washes over your senses. 

You make a beeline for the empty bar, save for the bartender who had his back turned to you as he wipes the glasses over.

You clear your throat to make your presence known. The first thing you see is a broad back, thick lines of dark tattoos outlined even in his white button-up shirt. He places the glasses down and moves expertly before you, sliding shot glasses next to others before procuring a drink out of nowhere, a greeting about to leave his lips when you both make eye contact.

The drink stays still on his hands, blinking for a moment at your equally stupefied face before he says, “It’s you.”

“S-Sukuna,” you greet back, smiling at your roommate. You’ve barely seen the guy the past few weeks other than sleepy good morning’s, and I’ll take the trash out tonight before both of you disappeared into your own worlds. 

Sukuna is...well, you don’t know, exactly. It’s not like he’s around much for you to make a proper judgment of, but he’s a pretty nice roommate, filling up the fridge whenever you guys run out of beer. There were times he nods at you as a greeting before leaving for work, too, leaving you alone at the house from midnight all the way to the morning. Other than thinking your roommate is pretty unique from his face tattoos and roguish handsomeness that contrasts his rather frequent sleepy mumbles, you’ve failed to realize he could actually be like a normal human. Seeing him stand before you, his forearms lined with veins and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, taut waist emphasized by a black vest, you swallow audibly.

He’s entirely different from the guy you often see passed out on the couch, but it’s a welcomed sight, nonetheless.

Sukuna’s actually...pretty hot.

Hiding the thumping of your heart – whether out of nervousness or it’s just trying to match the beat of the music – you beam up at him,  eyes glossed over with curiosity as he reciprocates with a more mischievous grin. 

If he’s easily read your mind that you are indeed attracted to him, he makes no comment about it, focusing on hearing your voice over the music instead. 

He leans over to you, not pulling away even as your lips faintly graze his ear. Fuck, he’s got piercings too. You greedily drink in his masculine scent, thankful that the music thumping is so loud he won’t hear the frenzy mess inside your ribcage. 

“I didn’t know you worked here. Heck, I didn’t know you were a bartender, but I guess the irregular sleep patterns make sense somehow.”

“What did you think I was, sweetheart?”

His deep voice reverberates all the way down to your toes, his throaty chuckle hoarse. “I-I don’t know,” you pull away nervously, blinking up at him way too innocently. “A gangster, to be honest,” you blurted out. Sukuna tilts his head to the side, and you immediately raise your hands beside your head as you mull over how offensive your words might’ve been. “I don’t mean anything offensive by it, I swear! It was just my first impression!”

“First impressions are usually false. Anyway. It’s fine,” he shrugs, resuming his task of wiping over the glasses. 

His hands were so big, his fingers long and slender...your attention is drawn to the adept manner of how he wipes the cloth using the tip of his finger, reaching behind him to get another glass, all without keeping his eyes off of yours. It leaves much room to muse about what else he could do with those hands, and you squirm at your seat, opting to look at his face instead since that would be more polite than eye-fucking his hands.

Sukuna smirks, that cunning twinkle in his eyes matching the dim lights of the bar. Somehow, you suddenly feel so lightheaded. 

“If it makes you feel better, I thought you were a shy girl at first, but your boy toy brings a different side of you every time he comes around.”

You squeak in embarrassment, “You’re home by then?!”

“Only sometimes,” he reassures with a laugh. “But I’ve heard enough,” Right. He’s older and definitely more experienced than your sexual escapades with Megumi – this must be nothing new to him by now, and yet, your skin flushes heated. “Don’t look too flustered, sweetheart. It’s not the first time I’ve heard of that,” he nods at you, “You don’t look very happy with him, though.”

“Tch, now you’re assessing my relationship status?”

“I don’t have to,” he shrugs, the gesture so damn reassured. Chuckling at your apparent frown, Sukuna shakes his head to himself. “It’s written all over your face you’re not satisfied with something. You wouldn’t be here if you were feeling good in the first place.”

“How much have you heard?”

“Oh, I don’t care about how you scream his name. That’s none of my business,” he grumbles under his breath rather bitterly – but that could just be the music messing with you. Sukuna holds your gaze as he sets the final glass down before you, his elbows languidly resting on the counter that separates you both. You’re left staring at him in wonder, watching the way he pours the drink right in front of you, the movement of his lips so intoxicating and even erotic you nearly didn’t hear him say, “But as your roommate, I wish you’d stop inviting him around and just kick him out already. He doesn’t like you, you know.”

He doesn’t like you. Megumi doesn’t like you – you know that already.

Glare deepening at your surprisingly nosy roommate, you take the glass from him and down it in one go. Sukuna’s brows shot up in awe, arms crossed against his puffed-out chest as you slam the glass down. 

You were fuming. 

“You don’t know a single fucking thing about me.”

“That’s right, I don’t,” he answers without skipping a beat, “But we men, we understand each other,” You open your mouth to retort, silenced by Sukuna’s finger pressing against your lips. You freeze at the contact, and Sukuna makes use of your state, continuing right where he left from. 

“Listen, take it from me as free advice. I’ll even put your drink on the house.”

Really, nothing is stopping you from biting off this guy’s finger, but he looks like he knows something you don’t that you just choose to keep your mouth shut.

Satisfied at your decision, Sukuna smiles sweetly, reaching over to tuck your hair behind your ear. The gesture puts you under his spell, and he lingers there a little longer, massaging the lobes of your ears before he pulls back just as fast, almost as if he never touched you in the first place.

You fight back the urge to huff. 

Why were men so complicated? One moment, they were hot, then cold the next. You would just never get it.

“That guy you’ve been mooning over for who knows how long? He doesn’t give a fuck about you. You’re just someone who warms his cock every now and then, but I guarantee he’s thinking about someone else in his head when he’s with you,” he announces straightforwardly, not giving you the time to recover before he shrugs like his words didn’t just slap you in the face. “Just call quits on him, sweetheart. There’s really no need to waste such a pretty face. Ever heard of the saying – there’s plenty of fish in the sea?” he pushes another drink to you, “Drink up and loosen a little. With a face and body like that, you’ll find someone better soon.”

“I highly doubt I can find someone better when all everyone sees is my appearance.”

“I don’t,” he hinted with dark eyes, “But I assure you it might be what people see first. You do have a face of an angel; men are into that shit.”

Taking the drink from him with a loud sigh, you feel yourself weaken. You bury your head in your hands, replaying all the memories you’ve had with Megumi. It’s foreseeable that almost all of them consisted of you two fucking, nothing but a faint memory of two where Megumi actually cared enough to perform aftercare. The thought makes you wince; he really is an ass, but you’re also so hopelessly infatuated with him that you refuse to acknowledge the truth.

“Megs and I...we’re just complicated, okay?”

“Sure.”

“I swear!” your defenses are hopelessSukuna’s knowing smirk, the man holding back a snigger from your silent rage. “Besides, maybe his disinterested nature is what made me attracted to him in the first place. I like the mystery. It’s not bad for a girl to enjoy searching for answers every now and then.”

“Except he’s already given you a concrete no, and you’re the only one still hanging onto him,” he reminds you. At your dropped jaw, Sukuna has the audacity to wink. That motherfucker –“Pressed a button, kitten?” he pats your head, leaving you to be even more riled up. “Don’t be sad. It’s not like he’s the only guy who can make you feel good.” As if a light bulb went up in his head, Sukuna hid his smile by turning his back to you, pretending to be engrossed in the drinks all laid out in front of him. But even with his face obscured from your view, his words rang thick and clear: “In fact, I bet you your cute ass someone else can change your former perspective on what pleasure really is.”

“Yeah, like who?” you snorted sarcastically, “You?”

“I wouldn’t be opposed to that,” he faces you, absolutely shameless as he eyes your cleavage. Sukuna clenches his jaw at the tempting view before him, sliding his gaze back to yours to look for the answers in your face. “If you want a demonstration, that is.”

Sukuna hasn’t really touched you or even spoke explicitly, but you’re breathing hard anyways, subconsciously clawing the countertop. 

You don’t know if it’s your voice or his that’s ringing your ears, the words what’s holding you back? the last thing you hear before grabbing him by the collar, leaning over the counter to taste his lips. Sukuna smiles at the kiss, his large hands cupping your face in them. His thumb traces circles over your jaw as you greedily suck on his lip, uncaring that you’re making out with your roommate in a public place.

As if remembering that he’s still at work, Sukuna pulls away for a moment, diving in for one last peck that has you giggling adorably. Sukuna’s grin grows wider at your flushed cheeks, snapping his fingers at someone from a distance. “Geto, break!” 

The guy who must be Geto popped his head out of the backroom, frowning at Sukuna’s words when his gaze lands on you and the not-so-subtle needy grip you have on Sukuna’s collar. His mouth forms into an ‘o’ shape before he gives a thumb up, disappearing afterward. 

That’s all Sukuna needs before he’s leaving the counter, breathing in your panicked squeals as he picks you up, your legs flailing to wrap around his.

You’re giggling and laughing all the way to the back of the club, your hands tugging at his undercut and his own squeezing at your ass. Sukuna kicks the door of the restroom open, which is thankfully clean (you made the right choice choosing a luxurious club), settles you down before him, and locking the stall.

His lips are on yours in an instant, his hands tugging off your dress and scowling at it as if it’s offensive. “Calm down,” you tease him, “They didn’t do anything wrong.”

“They were a fucking tease the whole night,” he glares at the lacy cups of your bra, his breathing laboured as he cups them. You throw your head back until it thumps at the door, teeth muffling the moans that threaten to erupt. Sukuna unclasps the material in one swift movement, surprising with just how many times he’s done this before. “Fucking gorgeous tits – why the fuck does your boy toy not want to keep you to himself?”

“He’s – oh fuck,” you scrape Sukuna’s scalp, his tongue wrapping around the swollen bud. He caresses the other one not to leave it unattended, and he’s grinding you against the door so hard, his dick poking at your dress leaving very little to the imagination. 

Sukuna chuckles at your broken response, rutting his hips in such a sensual manner you didn’t think he was capable of. “You were saying?”

You glare at him from under your chin, but he can’t take you seriously while he’s sucking at your tit like a child. This man is brave enough to nip it with his teeth, the sting making you hiss and buck against him. “He’s possessive,” you breathe through your mouth, a little in disbelief you’re casually thinking about him while Sukuna gets down on his knees. “He wants me to be exclusive with him, but he’s free to fuck who he pleases.”

Sukuna rubs both palms in front of his face as if preparing to devour a meal, which he’ll do so soon enough. He pushes your dress and bunches it at your waist, tugging your underwear to the side before he groans. The sound is so deep and masculine, so utterly frustrated for some reason you can’t understand.

“Now that’s unfair,” he mumbles absentmindedly, peppering your pelvis with kisses. The feverish touch of his warm lips on your already burning skin has you clutching at the door, feeling your legs weaken.

His eagerness and distrait acts of body worship drive you crazy. Megumi is good at making you feel desired and fuckable – that much you know from his habits of pushing his pants down at pretty much anywhere as long as you were around, claiming you’re a walking ‘boner trigger.’ Sukuna, on the other hand, was a lot more patient and attentive to his movements, taking the time to make you feel you were more than just a body and a hole. It’s odd, hella fucking odd, because this man is older than you and a friend of your professors, but did you care? No. Did you want him to fuck your brains out in a public restroom? Fuck yes.

A wanton moan paints the wall as Sukuna slides your thong off just above your knee, his eyes closed as he buries his cheek in it. You look down with wide eyes, hands grabbing at nothing and everything at the same time. From the looks of it, he’s sniffing your sex, the sight so outright erotic that you only moan louder.

How was it possible to be this much turned on?

By the time he’s opened his eyes, his entire demeanour’s shifted. Gone was the enthusiastic and sly bartender, now replaced with a much more animalistic entity residing beside it. 

Before you could make yourself comfortable, Sukuna hooks one of your legs over his shoulder, the tip of your heel grazed against the tight walls of the stall. He licks a flat stripe from your hole that clenches around nothing, moving upwards in such a passionate, languid manner he’s making you forget you’re literally in a fucking restroom. Your breasts heave up and down from how you’re struggling to breathe, his tongue pushing past through the tight ring of resistance until he’s plunged through your core. You wobble above him, remaining upright only by his arm pushing your back flat on your under boob.

Sukuna slurps at your cunt yearningly, the hums he gives every now and then, making your core vibrate. You grind your pussy on his face, the black marks lined on his face glistening.

He moves to suck at your clit, transitioning after each beat to slurping the swollen bud and kissing your lips as if he was making out with it. You’re sure you’re making a mess on his face, but he doesn’t give you time to feel embarrassed about it. He spreads your legs further until your muscles ache from the stretch, the pain accompanied by your stomach tightening.

“S-Sukuna, oh, oh yeah,” you bang your fist on the door, his smug chuckles sending you over the edge. Your pupils blow wide as you feel the impending orgasm weigh down on you heavily, about to send you into overdrive by his tongue swiping at your lips, teasing you to give it to him more, give it to him harder. Turning your head down to warn him you’re coming, the words die on your throat because he’s already looking at you, his cheeks and nose smothered with your shining slick, and the brat is smirking. “Shit, you’re a little—” Sukuna cuts you off by generously sucking your clit one more time, pulling the muscle taut just to show you that it’s rolling between his lips. It looks fucking insane and filthy that you come right there and then. 

Your orgasm is so strong that you actually slip from your heels. A scream from you is knocked back into you just as fast, Sukuna moving quick and graceful in one fluid movement. He catches your leg and shoves you against the door, gripping at your hips until you’re bending forward, ass perked, and wiggling just for him.

For a split second, you’re sure you hear the unbuckling of a belt, but it all fades in your clouded mind.

Sukuna enters you in one thrust, the sensation of being filled up so soon rendering you speechless. Literally absolutely silent, palms flat on the door and tongue lolled out, all the burning in your body focused on your centre.

He releases a grunt at finally being inside your plush, warm walls. Sukuna allows you to get used to his length for a solid minute, both of you catching your breath in the meantime. Your tits are sprawled out, and you’re a shaky mess, feeling nothing less of dirty yet so aroused that you can’t do anything about it. Sukuna thrusts in slowly at first, and that’s when you feel the size difference between him and Megumi. Megs was definitely blessed in the dick department, and he’s always been so cocky about it, but goddamn, Sukuna was beyond huge.

You think you could cum again just from him filling you up. He was stretching you out so well that he leaves behind a faint burn, making you feel as if it’s your first time all over again – all for the good reasons.

He soon begins to set his pace, one of his hands tugging at your ponytail so he could see your glossy eyes and mouth hanging open. Sukuna scoffs at your fucked out state, too cock-hungry even to form coherent sentences. His length is slipping past your folds in such a tantalizing, delicious state, the prominent veins of his cock kissing the bumpy ridges of your walls. He was right – you’re definitely changing your perspective on pleasure because you don’t think you’ve felt this good in your life. 

With Megumi, it was mostly always about his own release. With Sukuna, he’s making sure you get to feel inch by luscious inch slipping out of you before he slides them back in, his deep moans the dirtiest thing you’ve ever heard.

“Aw, look at you,” he coos, kissing you sideways sloppily. Sukuna reaches the edges of your lips but licks at your skin anyway. His canines revealed to graze at your skin. It’s so animalistic, so carnal, and he’s fucking you with such primal need that you forget everything you once knew about sex. “Your pretty pussy is drooling for cock, sweetheart. Such a dirty little thing, taking me like this.”

Now, this was lust as its purest form, the rhythm of his hips so sinful you’ve lost faith in everything but how he’s making you feel. 

The walls are pounding with the bass boosting outside, but soon even the loud volume of the synthesized music is drowned by your whimpers. Sukuna lets go of your hair to place his hands on your hips. If he was dominant before, he only encourages you to scream his name louder, realizing that he was still being nice seconds ago, but now he’s the one controlling you. 

He pounds roughly into you until you’re crying, your drool dribbling from your lips and small patches dropping to the floor. It’s the same with your cunt. You’re so wet that you can feel squirts of cum staining his pants and your legs. Sukuna doesn’t stop praising you on how you’re so perfect, how your cunt is the tightest he’s ever fucked, and now he gets why your boy toy could never really let you go. In the middle of it all, he manages to slip in a comment that maybe Megumi’s dick isn’t big enough to stretch you out because you’re wrapped around him like a vice, to which you respond that he’s just massive.

“Fuck yeah, I am,” he agrees cockily, eyes narrowed at where his length kept being swallowed by your pussy. “I’m fucking destroying you, sweetheart. You’ll be broken by the end of this, fuck.”

His words are like ambrosia you’re getting drunk on, the filthiness of his mouth fuelling your desire. Your body heats up at the same time that familiar tingling tightens in your stomach, and you blindly stretch your arm out behind him. Sukuna easily reads your mind and takes your hand, looping his fingers with yours. His palm is right above your knuckle, and the angle hurts your arm so bad you cry harder.

“Please, please, please,” you beg him and snap your hips back to meet his dick thrust by thrust, “I’m so fucking close, please—”

“I got you, sweetheart,” he leans down for a quick peck at your hand, increasing his pace as he twitches inside you. Sukuna is thrown off rhythm by the way you grip down on his dick harder, his breath stuttering as a result. You wrap your fingers around him as your second orgasm that night crashes down onto you in waves, his cock on the brink of being spent from how you’re milking him. 

He pounds deep and slow into you, relishing in the warmth of your cunt that he’s losing his mind, basically in the same state as you are now. You’re panting and sweating, cursing at each thrust, and he stills for a moment, pulling out so fast that you wince at the emptiness. Sukuna pumps his dick with his free hand and shoots his load onto your back, his moans guttural and hoarse. You grimace at the warm cum now coating your back because there’s no way you’re using your dress to wipe that away. 

Sukuna chuckles at your silence, probably noting in the way you frown at him. “Sorry, sweetheart,” he runs a hand through his hair, his cock growing hard despite releasing a huge load. “Next time, I’ll cum in your mouth. I want to see you swallow me like a good girl.”

“Next time?” 

You think you’re so sly by scoffing at him, but Sukuna isn’t stupid. He sees the way you light up at his implications, and he walks closer to you, a hand wrapped around your throat before you pull you flush against his chest. You gasp at the lack of air, blindly patting behind you, but your hand only grazes at his cock, which twitches excitedly at the contact.

“Yeah, next time,” he affirms with a low growl, licking from your jaw down to your neck. It’s so hot, he’s so hot, and you’ve never felt this sexy in your life that you soon become on par with him, pussy clenching around nothing. “I’m not done with you yet. You’re not leaving unless I’ve changed your mind,” he teases the base of your throat to squeeze it tighter, the swift movement of him filling you once more escalating to a tenfold. Your struggle to breathe causes you to clamp down on him hard and Sukuna’s chuckles falter into a quick inhale that’s so satisfying to witness. “What do you think? Still need more demonstrations?”

“Yes,” you choke out. Sukuna’s victorious and award-winning smile is hidden at the sweaty column of your neck where he leaves little kisses in its wake, ones that soon turn into something of a harsh bite. “Yes, please, show me more. Need you, need you so bad, you fuck me better than he does.”

Sukuna does more than show you that night. He makes you feel a thousand more nerves set on fire until you’re nothing but a moaning mess. After all, what better way to change someone’s mind than to mess with it on the inside?

In the end, when it comes down to it, your lies were way too sweet – and he was too addicted to make you stop.

[rosella-writes]

Hello lovely! I need more Sten & f!Mahariel in my life. Let's see them + “ i have never felt this safe before. ” from the Misc Sentences prompts? :3

Oh thank yoooou I love them 🥺🥰

Rating: T for platonic casual nudity

Words: 630

for @dadrunkwriting

~~~

The Warden was struggling.

Weeks on the road had made her dirty, matted, and dank like a wet dog. He could smell her elven stink from yards away — couldn't the others? These bas must, surely. But the human male was just as bad, if not worse, and the assassin was disgusting as well beneath his perfumed armour. The only one who did not reek was the witch, for she at least seemed used to these conditions.

But the Warden, without her usual tools, struggled now beside the stream with wet fingers caught in her bedraggled hair. The others had bathed and moved on long ago, but she remained. He lingered with her.

"You are failing," he told her.

She looked up at him, mouth agape, brow furrowed. "In general or right now, Sten?"

"Right now," he said. "You are merely inefficient the remainder of the time. True failure has not yet found you."

She snorted. "That's a relief." She tugged at her short hair again, winding her fingers through the strands and struggling to rake them through. It looked painful.

Sten sighed, then approached. She shifted without a thought to allow him to sit on the stone beside her. He raised his hands, then paused.

"May I touch you?"

She raised her eyebrow when she glanced over her shoulder at him. "I realise I'm not wearing anything, Sten, but that isn't an invitation to put your hands on me."

"Do not be ridiculous," he said. "Your hair. I wish to help, but not without permission."

"Oh." She sounded sheepish. "Yes please."

He shuffled closer and laid his clothes in his lap. If they became damp from his skin, they would dry again soon enough — this chore looked as though it would take time. He then raised his hands to her hair and began picking through the wet, tangled braids and mats. She let her own hands fall away and rest on her naked thighs.

As he worked to undo the stresses of time, Rhiannon slowly relaxed. Her spine, usually straight, bowed like a soaked reed. Her blinks slowed until he wondered if her eyes would shut and never open again. Her side was warm against his knee.

"The sun has not yet set," he grumbled eventually. "Do not sleep."

She started with a soft hum. "I won't. S'just nice."

He gently teased out a large knot. "You should keep your hair braided close to your skull. It will keep this from happening again."

"Like yours?"

He grunted.

"But it's not pretty, Sten."

"It does not need to be pretty. I do not need to be pretty. I need only to be effective."

She hummed and leaned back against him. Her body was very small, and he had to bend his arm uncomfortably to keep picking at her knotted hair. "You're effective Sten. Thank you."

Rhiannon was silent again for a long stretch of time, her breathing syncing with his own. It was comforting, like being among the others of the Antaam once again. He slowly allowed himself to feel like a part of a whole.

Then, as if no time had passed, Rhiannon said, "You make me feel safe, Sten."

He grumbled. "I am a sword arm. If I did not make you feel so, I would be failing."

"You're not failing." She shifted until her back was flush against his chest — she was lucky he only had one more matted knot to finish. "I've never felt this safe before."

The Warden said this as fact, so he did not respond. There was no need. He simply finished smoothing the final knot from her hair, his elbows helping to hold her body in place against him, and let his breathing and heartbeat sync with the smaller, shallower ones within her.

[officerjennie]

Title: As the Clouds Whisp Overhead

Summary: Jaskier gets off on Geralt's soft thighs and tummy. Literally. Geralt relaxes back and lets him, enjoying the show. Weight gain spoken of positively. Pairing: Geraskier. WC: 3.5K+

CW: smut, brief mention of weight loss due to difficult times (past)

It had been a rather easy spring, all things considered.

Geralt lazed in the field, not really watching the clouds that drifted overhead, his eyes closed and breaths deepening into an almost meditative state. The smell of wine and cheese was almost drowned out by the wildflowers about them but it was still there, as was the scent of apples, salt, the road, and the lingering oils that Jaskier had insisted on wearing ever since he’d discovered Geralt’s nose was sensitive to the others that he used to reek of.

Said bard was currently shuffling their lunch about, putting most of it away for later, humming one of his newest tunes as he folded back up the blanket he’d apparently bought for just this occasion. Though they’d eaten plenty of meals without it or the basket he’d purchased at the market as well, Jaskier had insisted that a picnic was a special affair and deserved the right accessories to make it just right.

Geralt had just let him do as he wished, not worried about his friend’s coin purse - and not worried about his own, for once. Usually the end of winter spelled a time of heavy work for him but he’d lucked out on a couple of easy and well paying jobs right off the bat - so he thought a bit of down time wouldn’t be the end of the world for them.

The song on Jaskier’s lips was one he hadn’t quite finished yet. Geralt had already heard several different renditions of the first verse alone, lyrics tweaked here and there, the exact lilt of his voice changing back and forth as he tried to settle on what he believed would sound the best. And despite his occasional grumbling over the repetition it was a rather relaxing tune, one he didn’t mind listening to.

Beyond that, there was a sort of...intimacy that came with being trusted with Jaskier’s unfinished works. The knowledge that Jaskier wasn’t always his best around him, was able to fuck around with a song and riddle the air with curses of “bollocks” and “cock” while he tried and failed and tried again to make it just right. That Geralt could see him like this and not the perfected performance that he was to the rest of the world, the mask that was firmly in place right up until the moment he didn’t want it to be.

And that moment just so happened to frequently involve witchers, whether directly or indirectly. How many times had he gone feral on someone for just saying the wrong thing about one of Geralt’s colleagues? Just early that spring he’d jumped someone for spitting on the ground over Lambert’s name, and Jaskier hadn’t even met him yet.

Something like pride welled up in his chest at the thought, though it was a quiet thing. Jaskier should be more careful, he shouldn’t be fighting their fights - but it meant the world to him all the same that he wanted to. Especially for his brothers.

“You know, I’ve never been one for cheese and crackers as anything more than a snack, but that was simply delightful.” Jaskier’s voice came closer as he talked, and the flowers and grass were disturbed next to him as the bard flopped over at his side, quickly snuggling in when Geralt moved his arm to make room for him. “We’ll have to go back and ask again what the name of that cheese was. Never have I ever given so much thought to pairing and wines and all that stuff - my youngest sister was always more interested in that sort of thing, and really if I heard her say one more time that my palette wasn’t refined enough I might have had to hide frogs in her bed again.”

Jaskier settled in nicely at his side, slotting in like they were made for each other, fit perfectly together. He chattered away and Geralt mostly tuned him out, something Jaskier loved to fake hurt over though they both knew it was just that: fake. Over the years Geralt had perfected hearing what he needed to hear and simply listened to the tune of Jaskier’s voice, the song of his highs and lows, his sighs and breaths and every heartbeat becoming the song that was his bard.

Meditation came easier around Jaskier than it did anyone else. Even around his own family it was a struggle. Lambert was a little shit at the best of times and Eskel simply existed larger than he wanted to, and Geralt was always tuned into his brothers, paying attention to them because he knew just how limited theri time was together. But with Jaskier, he could rest, relax, simply let himself be like he’d never experienced with anyone else.

His arm rested at Jaskier’s back, hand loose on his side, barely hanging on and feeling his bard breath in and out as he spoke. Jaskier’s fingers tapped a rhythm where they were rested on his chest, though eventually they moved, sliding down to rest against his stomach and making Geralt hmm at the pleasant warmth they brought.

They’d stripped earlier to bathe in the nearby river and had mostly dressed, though Jaskier had forwent his doublet as Geralt had his armor. It was nice, being out in the wild, away from the faux sense of safety that inn rooms allowed them and yet still able to be this content without his armor on. Just their loose clothing, not enough to be considered decent in any sort of societal setting, simply existing and being and just…

Geralt was content, and he didn’t consider that a bad thing. Not in the slightest.

A breeze rustled the field about them, loose silver hair tickling his face though Geralt didn’t have the bother in him to brush it out of the way or tuck it behind his ear. The air smelled nice for once, no clogging dust on the wind, no rotting anything nearby nor farms to make his nose want to clog itself. Since the summer was still a ways off the sun wasn’t too harsh on his skin, his chemise enough to keep any possible chill away though it was warm enough in this part of the country, everything pleasant and not too much.

There was also a lovely set of fingers that had wormed their way under his chemise. Jaskier hadn’t bothered to push it up, had just scooted his hand underneath, and with very gentle circles had begun to rub patterns into the soft flesh there. It was enough to make Geralt melt beneath him, a soft hmm on his lips accompanied by a sigh as he felt his every muscle relax at the touch. The winter had been extra good to him, Eskel having returned with more coin than expected from his path which had meant more meat for their stews, and the lot of them had eaten extra well.

Jaskier had never shied away from letting him know exactly how much he appreciated it when he ate well. There had been a few times on their own path that food had been scarce, and despite witchers having an accelerated metabolism Geralt had always done his best to see after his bard first and foremost - so when times were tough his body showed it, and Jaskier had played his fingers raw when he saw the worst of it just to make sure the both of them could eat their fill.

But there had been no such worries or struggles yet this year, what with the good winter and the well paying contracts that had followed. Geralt’s stomach was full and soft, protecting the muscles and other important organs underneath, and the rest of him was showing the spoiling as well. His thighs had grown softer, somewhat straining against the material of his pants but it wasn’t quite uncomfortable yet - he knew well enough to keep his clothes somewhat baggy, to make room for the waxing and waning that came with the path. His chest, too, had grown softer, encouraging Jaskier to nuzzle into it at any given opportunity.

Those calloused fingers found some of the scars that ran across his belly, caressing them gently. Some stretch marks veined their way across his skin as well, hidden at the moment by his chemise but Jaskier felt his way across them all the same, giving off a gentle sigh as he snuggled in closer and traced his love wherever he could reach.

Geralt could not have thought of a more peaceful way to spend the afternoon. The clouds blurred as his eyes slid closed at the tender affection, his breaths deepening. Deep breaths in through his nose, smelling the wildflowers. A rabbit was nearby, chomping as quietly as it could on some grass, its hops barely whispers as it braved further away from its burrow. Geralt could hear the gentle chuffing of its babies hidden away, the call of a hawk overhead that sent the rabbit scurrying. The scent of budding trees, of a little mouse that had found some seeds to munch. The scent of his bard, his oils and shampoo and the hint of river on the both of them, and the growing scent of-

A snort brought them both a bit out of the peace, and Geralt cracked his eyes just enough to smirk down at the startled confusion growing on his bard’s face.

“Really?”

Those pretty pink lips pouted up at him as if Jaskier wasn’t fully aware of what was growing in his pants. Geralt made a show of raising one of his eyebrows, raking his gaze down, down his bard, straight to stare at his crotch just long enough to get his point across before flicking his eyes right back up.

It took a few seconds for his bard to catch up, Geralt watching the thoughts clear as day on Jaskier’s face, until red spread pretty across his cheeks and darkened the speckle of freckles there. Jaskier sputtered a bit and Geralt had to bite back a wider grin, starts to words that had no finish dropping between them before Jaskier cut himself off with a whine, ducking in to nuzzle into his chest and push the rest of his body closer.

“That’s not fair, Geralt - what, can you, I don’t know, smell it or something?”

Geralt didn’t respond to that, just reached up to tug a stray curl back behind Jaskier’s ear. His bard peeked up at him with another adorable pout jutting out his lower lip, his nose scrunched up as he waited for his ‘ridiculous suggestion’ to be shot down.

But it wasn’t shot down. And Jaskier frowned, and then he squeaked, climbing on top of Geralt to straddle him and poke a very firm finger straight into the chest he’d just been nuzzling.

“You and your- your entirely unfair witcher ways! Are you telling me you could tell all this time? Every time?” Geralt didn’t stop his grin this time and the indignation just grew, hand gestures growing wider. “That is- Geralt, how am I suppose to walk through life knowing you can smell my erection? How am I ever supposed to get up of a morning knowing my every waking naughty thought will be given away? Which yes is entirely too often but you’re entirely not fair, have you looked in a mirror in the past decade? Cruelty, unfair, entirely too sexy for your own good, for anyone’s own good-”

Jaskier went on like that, ranting like only he could, while Geralt eventually tuned his words out just to listen to the lilt of his voice. And the bard made a rather pretty picture himself, straddling him like that. His chemise was loose, showing off curls of dark hair that Geralt could run his fingers through for an eternity and never be bored of it. Broad tanned shoulders, a soft stomach barely hidden underneath his clothes, his pants a wonderful shade of green that fit in with the waking world around them.

A very pretty picture, but a noisy one at the moment. Geralt sighed but Jaskier went on, wildly flourishing his hands as if it was the end of the world that Geralt could smell his arousal. An arousal that had notably not died down, still pressing against the fabric of his pants, catching Geralt’s eyes and making him tilt his head in that way that Jaskier insisted was ‘adorable’ - though Geralt didn’t think he was capable of such a thing.

His thigh twitched with a rather mischievous thought, and as Geralt’s gaze traveled back up to Jaskier’s face, cheeks still stained pink from his rather unnecessary embarrassment, he thought there perhaps that voice would do better singing for him than ranting about his dramatics.

He’d been called an asshole before, and Geralt had never disagreed with the label. But he was lucky enough that Jaskier for the most part never minded - and he greatly doubted Jaskier would mind his next movement.

As Jaskier waved one of his delicate looking wrists in the air, dandelion seeds drifting on the wind about them, Geralt shifted beneath him until he had room to lift up one of his thighs. Before Jaskier could catch his movement it pressed up into him, cutting his bard off with a gasp, his eyes fluttering as Geralt’s smile showed teeth.

“That’s-” Jaskier pressed right down onto his thigh, his hands coming down to support him, and he didn’t waste any time in making it more enjoyable for himself. Shifting down, one hand placed on Geralt’s chest to support him, Jaskier straddled his thigh and slowly ground down onto it. A pretty moan escaped his lips and his tongue darted out as if to catch it.

It was a lovely show, watching as Jaskier pressed down onto him, sought out his own pleasure by rubbing against his thick thigh. Geralt pillowed his head on his arms and just watched, not moving his leg, letting Jaskier set his own pace and feeling pride bubble up in his chest at how pretty he sung for him. On a particularly rough grind Jaskier whimpered and rutted against him faster, making Geralt’s own cock twitch - but he wasn’t really in the mood for pleasure, so he ignored it in favor of the show.

Though he made for a beautiful picture, back lit by the sun and clouds, a pretty blue above that couldn’t quite beat the beautiful blue of his eyes, Jaskier wasn’t purposely looking good for a show. He didn’t touch his own skin like he did when he rode Geralt, didn’t skim his hands down his chest and stomach to show it off. Didn’t bite his lip or run and tangle his fingers into his curls. The emotions that crossed his face were not stressed or controlled, his noises slipped out without thought, his body moving without any purpose beyond pleasuring himself - and it made it a moment Geralt wanted to sear into his memory forever. That Jaskier could let go like this for him. That he trusted that Geralt didn’t mind, trusted that Geralt did not judge him for his desires. How human Jaskier allowed himself to be, imperfect and all the more beautiful for it.

“Fuck,” Jaskier cursed on an exhale, his movements already shaking, his cock dripping enough precum that it soaked into the front of his pants. Geralt could almost feel it wetting his own. “Geralt I- fuck you’re gorgeous, so gorgeous, I want to-” his hips stuttered, breath catching on a moan, brown curls caught on the wind and dancing. “Can- can I get off on your stomach? Gods it’d be so soft, feel so good, I- fuck.”

That was something he’d never requested before. Geralt quirked an eyebrow, belying another twitch of his own cock, but he grunted out “If you must.” And he had to bite back a chuckle at how quickly Jaskier’s fingers went for the ties of his pants.

Jaskier’s cock was leaking profusely though that wasn’t anything he didn’t already know. It looked like it was aching from it, hard and red and angry when he fished it out of his pants and smalls, and Jaskier whined as he couldn’t help but stroke himself a few times. His hips bucked with it, a greedy and wanting noise slipping from between his wet lips - but then he was slipping down Geralt’s leg to straddle his hips, and his cock was pushed against the soft skin of his stomach.

It didn’t slide against him very easily. The precum leaking from the tip helped, but Jaskier didn’t seem to care, holding onto his cock and gently rubbing it against him, jaw wide and loose like it was the single most pleasurable act Jaskier had ever experienced. Geralt cocked his head and tore his gaze away from Jaskier to watch his cock rub circles on him, precum dribbling faster and catching in the hair that curled white all over his abdomen.

Honestly, Geralt didn’t quite understand it. Wasn’t entirely sure what had Jaskier’s breath coming so fast, his heart beating so quick at rubbing against his soft stomach. But he didn’t really care. Jaskier’s hips jerked and he fought to keep himself reigned in, to keep his movements steady and slow, and Geralt just watched him and let him. Let him take this pleasure, smelling the arousal coming off of him in waves, listening to the rhythm of his breaths and body and heart. And Geralt memorized every little detail, from the flutter of his long eyelashes to the way his fingers dug into Geralt’s side, nails just at the edge of biting him.

Jaskier whimpered, long and shaking, when he came. It was desperate, his face scrunching up, eyes shut tight as if he was grasping onto the pleasure with all of his might. Geralt reached out to take hold of one of his hands, letting Jaskier clench his fingers as hard as he needed, bringing them up to brush his lips against the knuckles as Jaskier spilled all over his stomach.

His bard almost collapsed onto him, but Geralt moved him before that could happen, bringing him down with a shush at his further whimpers and letting him rest once more in the crook of his arm. And Jaskier came down slow, heartbeat eventually matching the rhythm of his deepening breaths, eyes still scrunched up tight as if he didn’t want to let go of what he’d been feeling.

When Geralt ran his fingers through his curls, they were damp with sweat. He hummed, not minding, just holding him close as he melted against him.

Eventually, Jaskier stretched, letting his arm flop against Geralt’s chest and legs tangle with his once more. He almost made an effort to open his eyes. Almost. Instead he frowned lightly, nuzzling into Geralt and as he moved impossibly closer.

“Want me to return the favor, love?” His words were light things that could have been carried off by the wind if Geralt’s hearing had been even slightly worse.

In truth, Geralt was turned on. How could he not be when Jaskier had ridden his thigh and stomach so beautifully? But he thought it over for a minute, the cool breeze tickling his face with a few stray white hairs, the scent of wildflowers coming back to him as the one of arousal dissipated.

“No,” he said finally, pulling Jaskier closer to kiss the top of his head. Despite the interest his body had shown he found he wasn’t in the mood himself, content enough to let Jaskier have his pleasure and leave it at that.

Jaskier just hummed, not questioning him further, and a small smile tugged at Geralt’s lips knowing there would be no hurt feelings over it. His bard’s fingers eventually went back to lazily tracing patterns into his skin, though he made a bit of a yucky face when they found the sticky mess he’d left of Geralt’s stomach hairs. Still they were both far too content to clean up just yet, not even wasting the energy to tuck Jaskier’s softening cock back away in his pants as they laid there, relaxed, enjoying the non-harsh sun and the clouds that lazed across the sky overhead.

“Coin for your thoughts?” Jaskier whispered into his chest after a time, and Geralt grunted, not even opening his eyes to look down as he responded.

“A bigger food budget.”

A moment later, and Jaskier’s laugh filled the field around them, sharp and uncontained, a laugh that was so far away from the performance he played that it drew a chuckle out of Geralt as well. That they could be themselves around each other, that they could be so carefree and human, was the most joyous thing Geralt had ever found in his long, long life - and that they’d discovered a new way to have fun was exciting, and Geralt was certainly going to take advantage of this new discovery. How could he not, when his reward was a well-pleased bard melting in his arms.

[amerrierworld]

California Girl

for the request: fem!reader always shows how much she loves her, doing good things to her, so Lou tries to reward her for being such a her good girl, with something cute and then smut.

Summary: Lou pampers the shit out of you.

Characters: Lou Miller x you

Word Count: 1,546

Warnings: Smut! b a t h s e x 

California was beautiful. There was a massive stretch of shoreline that you were driving alongside. You could smell the ocean, delighted that your senses were still working, and not dulled by the endless reek of New York City streets.

“Hold on,” Lou shouted over the noisy engine, revved the bike, and sped up even more. 

The hotel you were staying in this time was fancy to the max. The room itself was practically a whole apartment and then some, it was so luxurious. 

You bounced up the stairs to the elevator as Lou parked her bike- she didn’t trust anyone to park it for her. It was a long way up and you had the elevator to  yourself, so you checked your reflection in the shiny metal of the door, your hair a tangled mess from the coast winds.

Lou had driven basically the entire time you’d been in Cali, seemingly never tiring on the bike. But as you made your stops and settled in at various hotels,  you knew the sheer physical strain of it had to be exhausting. 

So when you came back to the room, you immediately ordered room service with both of your favourite meals for dinner and a bottle of champagne. Then you hopped in the shower. 

“Y/N?” Lou called out once she got back into the room. The lights were dimmed. There was a sound of rushing water coming from the bathroom.

Lou nudged open the door slowly, met with a wave of warm air, and then-

“Ta-daa!” you popped the cork off the champagne bottle, watching how it nearly broke one of the ceiling lights. 

You were in a thick hotel bathrobe, perched on the edge of the filled bathtub, giving off flowery aromas and a high pile of bubbles. The plates of food were sitting next to you on a low table you had dragged in, along with two glasses. 

Lou blinked, laughing incredulously, “baby, what’s all this?”

“Hush! No talking,” you got up, making cute grabby movements as you neared her and tugged off her jacket. 

You quickly stripped her to her underwear and paused just to admire her toned figure. She smirked as your fingertips danced along her waist and hips. 

You pressed your nose into the crook of her neck, nuzzling her as you undid her bra and rubbing at the faint red lines left behind from the wires. Her warm chuckle dissipated into something darker as your fingers pressed into her weary skin. 

Then you dropped to your knees and pressed a faint kiss just above her underwear by her belly button. Her hand made a clenching motion in your hair, wanting to grab you but resisting the urge. 

You slid off her panties and tugged her to the bath. The minute her sore legs got in she let out a delighted moan. 

“Sit, sit, sit,” you urged her, watching her submerge into the water.

“Fuck,” she breathed. “Hm, this is nice.”

“You’ve been bringing me to all these places for the entirety of the trip. You gotta relax for a second too, yknow.”

“Oh, baby,” she murmured, watching you with droopy eyes, before eyeing the plates next to you. “You got dinner too?”

You brought a plate to your lap and offered her the fork. 

“You’re such a good girl,” she sighed, “you didn’t have to do this.”

“I know, but I wanted to,” you replied giddily, leaning forward to kiss her. “Eat!”

You watched her eat, running your hand through her damp hair as she leaned against the edge of the bath, bubbles and water slightly spilling over the edge.

“I could get used to this,” she said. “You pampering me.”

“I’m not complaining either,” you smiled, sipping your own glass of champagne.  You knew your belt was slipping and your bathrobe was loosening just a little, and Lou’s eyes followed the exposed valley between your breasts with eager eyes. 

“You should get in with me,” she said huskily.

“I- but I already took a shower,” you replied.

“Oh, so that’s why you smell so nice,” Lou surged up out of the water. Her strong arms perched on the edge of the bathtub, her upper torso exposed and slick with water.

Her mouth nudged against yours, “it’s still warm. It’d be a shame to let all your hard work go to waste.”

Something hot rushed through your body, and it wasn’t because of the steaming water,

“No no, this is for you. This isn’t about me getting a fucking reward, ” you huffed, pulling away and setting the plate to the side. But as you did, Lou reached for the belt and undid the knot entirely, letting it fall open. You blushed,

“Lou!” 

Your girlfriend grinned in sheer delight, only tugging at the belt, showing more of your skin.

“If this is for me, shouldn’t I get the one thing I want most?”

You rolled your eyes, let yourself be moved forward, caught your hands on Lou’s shoulders as she gazed up at you, kneeling in the bath. 

“You’re insufferable,” you laughed.

“...I love you?”

You shook your head, leaned down and kissed her, “I love you too.”

You let Lou push the robe off your body entirely, and slowly helped you in the bath. But she beckoned you to sit on the widest edge of the bath, where you could rest your hands behind you without fear of falling off.

“What’re you doing?” 

“Rewarding you for being such a good girlfriend,” Lou kissed your knee and cupped your heel under the water, stroking up and down. “For coming all the way to Cali with me here.”

“I remember you not really leaving me much of a choice,” you gasped, because her warm lips were kissing along the inside of your thigh, “but I never would have said no. You know that.”

“I know you don’t need rewarding,” Lou continued, breath ghosting over your clit, “but I like giving it to you. Do you like it when I do that?”

“Yes,” you gasped, hips rocking on the slippery surface.

“Careful you don’t fall off, babe,” she said, sliding in closer. “Everything is so wet.”

You moaned and your head tipped back as she pressed the flat of her tongue against your cunt. 

She knew exactly what you liked, knew where to press and prod to have you sweating and begging for an orgasm, and she enjoyed every second of your quivering body giving into her.

“Fuck, L-Lou-”

“You like that, baby?” she swiped her tongue along your entrance and you mewled.

“I-I do,” her eyes were glimmering up at you and were struck with a devilish idea.

Mustering enough breath to speak amidst your moans, your hand tangled in her hair and tugged, just a little.

“J-just like that,” you lowered your voice a little, and watched her eyes blow up with sudden arousal. “You’re doing so good.”

Lou had never heard you talk like that; horny, desperate, but praising. Usually you’d be begging her to let you come, you would do anything for her. But now-

Her body surged with newfound lust, and she attacked your centre with a newfound vigour.

You let out a shout as she pushed a finger inside, slick and wet from the water and your arousal,

“Yes! Yes, yes, oh, Lou, baby, you’re doing so well. S-such a good- good girl,” you kept going. Lou’s moans against your cunt showed you how much she was enjoying your sudden dominance.

But as you neared your orgasm, your natural instincts took over and in the end you couldn’t hold it in anymore. Your hand released her hair and your arms dropped down to rest on your elbows, arching your back and begging, pleading for her to not stop, to please let you come, please, please, please-

Your body seized up, feet planted on the floor of the bath, your upper body cold from the exposure to the air, but shivering from the release that rocked your whole body. Lou’s fingers slipped out of you and kneaded your trembling legs with a final, soft kiss just at the crease of your thighs.

You trembled, sliding into the bath with her, the hot water immediately relaxing your tense muscles. Your head swam in a state of euphoria for few moments and Lou held you close, warm hands running up and down your sides. 

“My little Cali girl,” she said against your cheek, lips kissing you messily. You chuckled, bumping her, “that was wonderful.”

“Don’t get used to it, hey?”

“Maybe I should bring you out west more often. I think the ocean air here makes you a little.. bold.”

You turned around in her arms and snuggled into her hold, your back resting against her chest. 

“Whatever,” you grinned, shutting your eyes and soaking in the peace around you, “just be glad that I’m so hopelessly in love with you that I’ll go anywhere you want.”

“Anywhere?”

“Hm, within reason.”

“There it is.”

You rolled your eyes again, turned to look at her as she said,

“I’d do the same for you, you know. Next trip, you tell me where to go. And we’ll go there.”

“M’kay,” you brushed noses, held her close, “is that a promise, Miller?”

“You bet.”

A/N: We love lovey dove Lou! taglist: @the-obscurity​