#but the layered veils make me happy

[itsdefinitely]

i miss him

[u3pxx]

KISS KISS FALL IN LOVE! 💍💐‼️

my piece for the @aaweddingzine which is now open for leftovers!

extra stuff/commentary under the cut | like what i do? support me on ko-fi ❤️💜

i also ramble a lot more on the behind-the-scenes pdf for this zine that you can also get with your purchase >;^] i also drew some nifty matching icons for the zine! (hint: it's time for divorce)

you know me, i'm incredibly klapollopilled, of course i'm drawing these two suckers for the wedding zine! <3 something about klapollo marriage makes me incredibly emo so i'm very glad for the opportunity to go all out so i can be EXTRA emo about it 😈

if i remember right, i think this idea came to be when i thought about the image of klavier bursting into tears as he lifts up apollo's veil and it all went from there LOL (also so psyched i get to draw him in a barong tagalog <333)

everything got so much more ambitious, though, from that initial idea! i drew like what (i am counting the number of characters in the spread right now as i type) 40-ISH CHARACTERS ALL IN ALL?! (WHAT THE FUCKDFGDHJ) and i even had to cut out some of the characters i originally had in the sketch 😭 (sorry gumshoe, kay, and seb/eustace ....)

i drew this like a year ago and i'm still so proud of this piece! i don't think i can achieve this level of rendering again, it's been so long i forgot how to do it LMAO

(also i can never reopen the file for this thing again bc it makes clip studio want to dieeeee DFSGHDJ so many layers ...)

another thing, i was working on this in tandem with my piece for the mea culpa zine; do you know how funny it is to draw apollo having such a happy moment and then draw him dying 😭 the contrast, the whiplash

that's all i have to ramble about i think, i'm so so so amazed at this zine bc my zinemates truly made some spectacular pieces of art! :"^D if you have the chance, please do check it out! 💗

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Vow 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, arranged marriage, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!August Walker

Summary: your father's murder leaves you in the hands of a dangerous man.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

"This is how we stay safe," your mother tugs the laces so your lurch. 

Your eyes widen at your reflection. The gown is tight yet too big. The bodice pinches as your mother yanks and yanks. The skirt is full and fluffy. Layers and layers of tulle.  

You can't breathe but you don't think its the boning. You touch the front of the gown, feeling the delicate embroidery, and shudder as you exhale. Strange how days before you wore black and cried, now you're in white in what many deem the happiest day if your life. 

"Hasn't he taken enough--" 

"Shh!" She whips her finger up. "He can always take more. Your father didn't think so but he can, god rest. There's always something to lose." 

"Mom," you croak. You've never seen her afraid. She's always been pompous, always unfazed, but now her eyes are like sparklers, flickering and frantic. "I'm scared." 

"Be scared but be obedient. And smile," she moves around you and frames your face, "smile. Please. He can always change his mind. Don't let him. If he does, we are lost." 

"How do you know? Daddy's gone. We can leave--" 

"The vultures are waiting," she snarls. "Don't you understand? It's only the wolf that keeps them at bay." 

"Why... why would he want me? If daddy--" 

"Hush, I won't tell you again. Do not speak of your father. Especially in front of him." She dabs your lip with her thumb as she fixes your make up, "from this day forth, he is the only man in your life. Understand?" 

You pout. That night comes back. The echoing bang the woke you, your mother's scream, and the barrels that pointed through your doorway. Quick, clean, horrifying. As if your father never was. 

"Yes." 

"You better. You know this man is cruel. Do you want to test him?" 

You shake your head and she lets you go. You back away and heave. You won't mess up the hours of work put into your hair and face. If you look in the mirror again, you will. 

You stare at your skirts as your mother pins the veil on your head. She pulls on it, arranging it around you. It drapes almost to your feet. 

A knock at the door. She goes to it. Whispers. The door stays open. Your mother calls your name. Your soles stick before you can make yourself move. 

As you get to her, your mother takes you by your wrist. You feel her warmth through the lacy gloves. She guides you behind a party of women. Some you recognise, some you don't. Their makeup is thickly caked on and their hair teased. 

"Look up," your mother snaps under her breath and lets you go. "You will not shame your family by hiding." 

You raise your head. Your head is light and bobbly. You march down the hallway behind the train of solemn women. 

You’ve never met the man who killed your father. The very same you are about to face. The one you are to marry. It’s the sort of irony that hurts. 

You’re stopped as the other women keep going. They leave you, one by one, until it is only your mother. She gives your hand a final squeeze and goes. You wait alone, uncertain. 

The music changes and you flinch. You know you have to go but you don’t want to. You don’t want to die either. And you don’t want to lose your mom. She’s all you have left. 

You can picture the house. Ransacked, bullet-riddled, crowded with strange men. You push away the memories and step forward. One foot in front of the other. Keep going. That’s what this life will be. Do what has to be done, not what you want. 

You enter the large hall. Peaked ceilings, music echoing off the walls, full pews, and a man waiting. You look ahead to the figure at the altar. Two, but the shorter one fades into the background. The priest is a blue as your eyes fixate on the man in the white suit. 

As you get closer, his features come into focus. Dark curls, a shadow of a beard and a thick line of hair over his lip. The cleft in his chin adds to the chisel of his jaw and he’s tall. Very tall and broad. His blue eyes meet yours. 

You trip as you try to step up beside him. He’s quick to catch you. His grip is iron on your arm. He helps you up and stands you across from his. Your eyes cling to him. You can’t look away. You’re terrified. He can’t look away from you either. 

You stand facing each other; you trapped him shock, him in triumph. This day is the first day of the rest of your life. The end of the empire and the birth of another. A vow to seal your fate and those of all watching. 

[tip-top-cloud-surfer]

Bumping Beach Bikini - Rooster

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw / Wife!Reader

Word Count: 0.8k

This work, all my works, and my entire blog are 18+ Only

Warnings: Pregnancy; References to Sex/Suggestive Jokes; Flirting; Use of Second Person POV “You,” No Physical Description of Reader (Minus Pregnancy), No Y/N

Summary: Rooster admires the view of his pregnant wife on the beach.

Master List

Bradley had a mental list of the best outfits that he had ever seen you in. There wasn’t a set ranking, just general levels of appreciation.

There was a step above your normal beauty and allure, which mostly included random casual outfits that for whatever reason just got him going. Like the yellow sundress that you wore when it was exceptionally hot out that was super easy to slide his hands under. Or those jean shorts that he loved to slip his hand into the back pocket and give your ass an appreciative squeeze. Or anything of his that you chose to wear.

And the step above those were your slightly dressier outfits that got him even more excited. The backless black dress that you wore out in Vegas when the two of you went out with the Dagger Squad. Or the blue floor length dress that you wore to Maverick and Penny’s wedding that looked like it was literally sculpted for you and your figure. Though he did rip the zipper on that one.

Then there were the more special outfits. Your wedding dress mostly, since he literally burst out into tears the second that he saw you step out in it. The photo of you that he kept in his cockpit was from your wedding day with your veil spread out around you, giving you a completely angelic appearance. And, well, Rooster was also very fond of the matching white lingerie set that you wore underneath it that night too. He did rip that one too though.

And at the very top of the pyramid of his favorite outfits was, of course, your birthday suit. Nothing would ever top that one.

But seeing you in a maternity bikini with one of his Hawaiian shirts wrapped around your shoulders and your baby bump sticking out from between the folds of his shirt—now that was a sight that he ingrained into his mind for the rest of his life. That one really challenged your birthday suit in his mind.

“What?” you laughed, shooting your husband a look as you applied more sunscreen. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You’re glowing,” Bradley praised, still taking in your beauty.

“With sweat,” you giggled, rubbing in another layer of sunscreen. “It’s only spring and I swear I’m melting already.” You set down the tube of sunscreen and shot your husband a playful look. “You just had to make sure that I was heavily pregnant during the hottest months of the year in Southern California, didn’t you, Bradshaw?”

“Maybe you should have done the math before you begged me to get you pregnant,” Bradley replied, a bit smugly.

“I don’t beg,” you scoffed, shooting him a look. “And besides you offered about fifty times before I let you. If anyone was begging, it was you, Bradley.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Rooster mused, smiling over at you.

There was one rule to surviving with a heavily pregnant wife—it was to let you win. On just about everything. Anything health or safety wise, he would argue back, but Rooster took a rain check on all of the little things. And frankly he got more satisfaction out of seeing you happy than being right.

“Do you have enough water?” Rooster asked, sitting up some more.

You reached over and lifted your giant water bottle into the air. Taking a long sip from it just to prove your point to your husband, you set your water bottle back down on the sand.

“I’m fine. Just need some time to relax,” you replied, leaning back in your seat. “Before it all really sets in.”

Reaching down to pick up your ankle, Rooster started to massage your foot, earning a sigh of relief from your lips. Practically melting into your chair, you turned to your husband with a small, thankful smile as you curled your toes a bit.

“I could get used to this.”

“I’m sure you could,” Rooster chuckled, rubbing the back of your calf.

“There’s only one thing that would make this better.”

“What?”

“Take your shirt off.”

“Mrs. Bradshaw,” Rooster jokingly admonished, causing you to smile wider. “Be careful suggesting that. I knocked up the last woman who asked me to take my shirt off in that tone.”

“I’ll take the risk,” you replied with a smile, rubbing your bump slowly.

“So long as you understand the risk,” Rooster returned with a wink.

“Jesus Christ, the rest of us are trying to eat here,” Phoenix cut in, sounding annoyed.

You and Rooster turned to the other Daggers, Maverick, and Penny, who was hiding an amused smile behind her hand. Maverick turned to Penny with a similar expression, shaking his head. But most of the other Daggers, those who were single anyways, shot both you and Rooster somewhat disgusted looks.

“Sorry,” you called sheepishly, waving to them.

“I’m not,” Rooster replied, reaching up to take his shirt off.

[shidouryusm]

✿༝༚༝༚ Wrapped in red ✿༝༚༝༚

・❥・Kuroo x reader

・❥・synopsis-> hey siri, what are the consequences of surprising your fiancé with a lingerie under a coat for his birthday?

・❥・ word count-> 5.6k words (nobody look at me)

・❥・content warning-> mdni, explicit smut, fem!reader, cun!lli!ngu$

・❥・a.n -> this is the last time I'll be reposting this if tumblr still doesn't like me I got nothing to do. Tagging a bunch of my mutuals so that atleast they can enjoy. may your cheese rot tumblr. Also happy kuroo day ignore I'm this late everyday is kuroo day stfu. dividers by @cafekitsune , @benkeibear and @quirrrky

Kuroo can feel the chills of the winter already settling in mid-November. The expanse of his living room is veiled with a thin layer of frigidness. The tiles were cold and a siren of silence rings through till the ends, until the little clock resting on the small table breaks through the curse with the beginning of a new day. 17th November. He stares at the clock. The slick hands points to 12, busy announcing his 29th birthday. It is a small, black, cat shaped clock that you found from god knows where and gifted him out of blue. Your justification being “it looks like you”. Kuroo snickers at the sudden wave of memory.

A whole lot of other things around his house are also extensions of you – the little section of potted plants on the shelves, the matching coffee cups, the red mittens hanging over the oven handle, kitchen magnets comprising pictures from both of your trip to Paris. They all are like pockets of your shadow scattered around, giving little hints of the day when you’ll ultimately mark your reign as the Mrs. of this house.

But as of tonight, each of them wildly indicates your lack of presence. Kuroo discerns that the silence was not any call of winter, rather it’s the sheer absence of your chortles and excited squeals around the house, especially tonight.

Kuroo was never that big on celebrating his birthdays, being on a competitive position in corporate asked for lot of compromises and Kuroo had wired himself to do that in his early years on job, not caring about forgetting his birthdays and stuff. Still, he manages to dig up time when it comes to yours or others. The man that he always is - relentless in his acts of services. 

However, you being around never quite made it possible for Kuroo to actually forget about his day. Always the more excited one, the best planner and as always, a little better than the previous years. Whether it be by throwing a grand party in a club for him or just by yourselves, with home cooked mackerel and rice, catching the golden sunset above and just savouring the day with a casket of good memories to look back on. Or it may be simply you by his side that makes each of his birthdays something to look forward to, even while being clutched by stress and non-stop work.  

He was indeed getting spoiled by such pampering because, as of this moment, there was nothing he wanted more than to be around you. To bask in the incessant warmth of your hugs and engulf himself in the pool of your kisses. Fuck. he really wishes you weren’t drowned in your work right now just so your singsong voice of Happy Birthday could reach his ears the first. He peers at his phone, several texts from his co-workers and friends wishing him were flooded in his notification bar, along with your last text, sent over an hour ago. 

Love♡♡ : work is so crazy right now, they should pay me for even gracing them my time this late >:(( anyways, good night. love you tets &lt;;33

Nothing after that. He stares at the text. You weren’t online which meant you are either too busy in work or have already fallen asleep…without wishing him? 

A small twinge of hurt pinched his heart at the thought of it. Although he tries to reason it with your pressure at work. But it’s been like this for a few days, you completely submerged in work, barely getting the chance to even facetime, not being overly zealous atleast 3 business days before his birthday.

The little red demon above his head tries to play tricks yet his heart works with rationale – leading two projects at the same time meant things will slip up. Distance may be bound to form. Who knows? even paths of life may deviate from one another and eventually-

His train of thought cuts short by the sharp ring of the doorbell. It’s 12:30 already. Kuroo internally pleads that it’s not some surprise by his former teammates because without you, he doesn’t think he will indulge even a slightest bit. 

The door swings open and so does kuroo’s jaw. You, in your full glory, a ginormous beige jacket wrapped all over you, hair dishevelled from the wind, yet framing the most beautiful face in the world, stand at the threshold, panting and holding a large box of what seems like a cake. 

“Oh my gosh tetsu, I was almost about to punch the baker. Dumbass messed up my whole timing”

Kuroo was still busy steadying himself but he shifts from his place, allowing you to scoot past him and settle yourself in the dining seat, placing the cake there. 

Weren’t you asleep? Weren’t you way too busy to come? What is going on? 

He looks at you, making yourself comfortable at his space, like you are just meant to fit inside these 4 walls. The frosty silence suddenly vanishing by the cauldron of warmth you bring with you everywhere. He can’t wait for the day when it will be regular sight. 

“Baby, are you gonna stand there the whole night?” you giggle, striding towards his still figure beside the doorway. You hook your arms around his waist, your head tipping back as you stand on your toes, planting a soft kiss over his lips.

Kuroo’s eyes flutters shut as he draws himself into every fleeting moment of this kiss. His hands find your cheeks and large palms cradles them as gently as a rose petal, head dipping down to take in more of the feeling of your lips against him. The taste of your cherry balm engulfing him. 

You part from him, merely inches away as your lower lips bruses against each other. You whisper into the small gap, “Happy Birthday, my love. I’m not too late, am I?” 

“Doesn’t matter when your wish is what makes it worth. I almost thought you forgot” he hums, hands curling up against your neck, urging you to look at him. You crane your head up, meeting those honeyed eyes pooling with a multitude of emotions. 

“Awe you miss me that much? I have been real quiet this year on purpose. Trying something a little different”, you cheekily say, poking your tongue out. Kuroo quirks an eyebrow, “always a step ahead, aren’t you?”  he pecks your forehead while a small whisper of “I love you. Thank you for making this day something to look forward to” grazes over your skin. Your feel the kaleidoscope of butterflies zooming inside your ribcage, for the way his words echoed through the drums of your heart. As if the resonance between his and your heart just created more love to harbour.

"Tetsu", you grab his face, dipping his tall frame downwards to place another kiss. This time between his eyes. Hoping this kiss was equivalent to the million words he said with those gaze a few seconds ago. 

You take his hand, pulling him towards the cake, “now now,  it’s not the time to be all mopey. I fought for this cake and now you get to commemorate this day of high significance”. Kuroo chuckles, you were full of beans indeed. 

To think just a few moments back his thoughts were spiralling, he registers that that how much you being by his side grounds his inner monologue of hidden insecurity. Kuroo is always the epitome of  confident man but the inner cloud of anxiety yet rumbles time to time. Until, your presence acts like the yellowy sunshine after rain, banishing any grey thoughts that dare to delude him. 

“Why such high significance, may I ask?” you roll your eyes, amusement twinkling in your eyes and you answer like this is the most simple question ever, “Because you got to be born and be my boyfriend and then my groom-to-be, duh”, wiggling the left ring finger, you laugh. Shaking his head, he tunes into the peals of laughter with you. He cuts the cake, feeding you a piece before noticing you were still in your coat. 

“Baby, are you that cold? You know you could wait a bit more for your winter cloth haul” he gestures at the neck high coat. You squirm a little. He finally noticed.

“y-yeah, I know. there’s a…reason”, you send a sheepish smile on his way, effectively avoiding his gaze. 

Kuroo reaches towards you, curious at your shift in demeanor. He leans down, meeting your gaze with his ever sharp ones and you found yourself faltering a bit, heartbeat pacing higher than normal. 

“Princess, are you okay? you got a fever?” he runs his hand over your forehead to which you shake your head. Taking his fingers in yours, your fingertips glides over his knuckles. Unable to stall in any longer, you slung your arms around his neck. 

“Actually, I have your gift”, bringing your mouth closer to his ear as you whisper, “right under”, you murmur. His hand is now brought on your lower back, the feel of your skin right underneath the coat, clearly evident. 

Kuroo sucks in a breath, catching on to your innuendo immediately. Palms migrates towards your shoulder blades where he can feel the thin strap and bare skin over the coat. Curiosity killed the cat and now he just got fucking murdered.

“Hmmm? Should’ve said it earlier, princess.” kuroo hums, a mellowy timbre coating his voice. You gulp audibly, anticipating his moves. 

His hands trail over your shoulders, reaching up and stop around the collar of your coat, playing with the top button as he flashes his Cheshire like smile. Demeanor changing from concerned to smug in a flash of light. You keep your eyes on him, heavy breaths escapes your nose and mouth. Kuroo leans forward, his voice now merely a whisper tickling your ears.

“Should I guess what my present is?” he asks coyly. You can feel the teasing glint the words carry.  

“You can open it already, y’know?” your voice had an air of neediness, wanting nothing more than to indulge in his touches and losing yourself in him for the night. 

Kuroo tuts, shaking his head in faux disappointment, “tsk tsk tsk. it’s my present, princess. Let me enjoy it. in my way”. With that, he flicks the button open, his eyes catching a hint of red around your neck. A dark chuckle escapes his throat.

“Red, huh? You surely did some homework before”, another button pops open, this time, the base of your throat open up and a little red ribbon wrapped around the middle like a bow greets him. 

Kuroo felt his heart thrumming loudly, imagining what he could find after fully unbuttoning your coat. The suspense of the act spiking his blood and rushing downwards towards his crotch, he can already feel himself getting hard. God, you really knew how to outdo yourself every single year. 

Kuroo presses a kiss right beside that bow, feeling your erratic pulse against his lips. It curls into a smirk, right against your skin. You tip your head back, eyes closing and hands finding their way to the hem of his shirt. 

“Uh-uh, princess. Not so early.” Kuroo envelopes his hands over yours, before bringing them together behind your back, caging you between his hold. His right hand, once again,  flits back in its previous mission while his left hooks both of yours ; effectively locking them behind your back. “Not until I’m done unwrapping my present”. A kiss plants underneath your ear; the skin tingling with its effect. 

“You sure are taking a hell lot of time” you scorn. Kuroo chortles, popping another button open. This time a part of your sternum peeps out, he can make out the hint of cleavage from the skin exposed. More blood runs downwards and kuroo fights the urge to tear the coat off and bend you against the table to ravage you then and there. 

“Good things take time, princess. Moreover, you seem to enjoy it.” Kuroo muses, his hips roll against yours and you could feel the hardness of his crotch brushing up against your lower belly. “Take this as a punishment for being late to my birthday” he opens another button and the lace cupped cleavage makes their way.

“But it wasn’t my fault.” you pout. You’re so adorable, kuroo thinks. He laughs under his breath before pressing a soft kiss against your cheek. His hands trail over your sternum, dipping down towards the fat of tits spilling out before he ghosts over them ever so slightly, drawing a whine out of you from the untouched touch. 

“Oh but you were…” he drawls, “to think you went outside like this. Being a naughty little girl, are we now, princess?”. You open your mouth to say something  but his lips silences yours. His tongue almost immediately finding its way in your mouth and playing with yours. 

The kiss was sloppy with the way kuroo laps at your top lip, engulfing it in his mouth, saliva smears over your upperlips and drips down your lowers. The steamy makeout session in addition to the his hips grinding against your coat covered crotch leaves you staggering. 

One by one, he unbuttons the whole coat till the end, each time kissing a part of you he passes in the process, to all the way down, where he is kneeling. He looks above to see your figure hugged by this beautiful dark red fabric, only covering the bare necessities. 

He is eye level with your bare thigh, the plush skin adorned by a thin lacy garter, linked to the equally thin panties with a small band of cloth. You feel his hand runs across the back of your thigh, the cool band of your engagement ring gliding smoothly over your skin. The pads of his fingers dip down a little deep when he reaches your almost bare ass. 

“Fuck. what I’d do to you” you hear him murmur against your lace clad thigh. He scrapes his teeth against the fabric, peeling it off and exposing the beautiful skin out. The sharpness of his teeth mingles with the softness of his lips as he sucks and nips at the skin, leaving a purple well of mark around that area. Your breath hitches as you feel the dull throb of the hickey while he continues his ministration all over your inner thighs. 

“We better take this to the room before I end up taking you right here” his teeth still ghosts over your skin, now attaching around the band of your garter, tugging it gently before releasing it back, the elastic smacking your skin, causing a whine to tumble out your throat. His actions causing your pussy clench around the fabric.

He continues his journey up with his mouth before reaching your pussy. The material doing nothing to hide the outline of your cunt and looking closely enough he sees the dampness that is caused by your arousal. His fingers join in, smoothing upwards over the fabric gently. A moan leaves your lips, with the way he is being tantalisingly slow. If you could, you would have shoved his fingers inside. 

“Already wet and I barely did anything, baby. Wait for the real action atleast” his voice sardonic and praising simultaneously. He plants a kiss right over your crotch before trailing upwards. 

“Tetsu, you little-” you whine to which kuroo snickers. He loves you to death but he loves it more than anything when he is edging you and you are writhing and pleading.This is when he gets the chance fill you to brim with pleasure. The power surge he gets from this is immeasurable, when nothing leaves your mouth except his name. 

“What, my darling?” kuroo kisses below your navel, his lips smoothing over the surface with no friction. He peppers your stomach with nips and kisses before reaching under your breasts. A small kiss between the valley of your tits and then he finally rises up. He caresses the sides of your breats before holding you by your waist, squeezing you gently,pulling your figure flush against him. His hardened member now rocking against you with less obstruction. 

Kuroo tugs the coat off of your shoulder and it pools around your ankle, revealing your whole set to your fiance. Kuroo gawks at your figure, as if time stopped its track for him to drink your body with his eyes. 

“God you’re fucking beautiful” his voice low and husk filled. Kuroo peppers kisses on the curve of your shoulders, hiking his lips up into the crevice of your neck, leaving open mouthed kisses trailing towards your jaw.

You have always been the prettiest for him but this colour on you has popped out every feature of yours in the most alluring, elegant way. Kuroo huffs out short breaths as his eyes find it difficult to tear away from you, he eyes you from down to up before his eyes land on that ribbon. 

Oh fuck that ribbon. The way you made yourself like a present, kuroo is positive there isn’t any better gift in the whole planet than the one before his eyes. His lips find you again, passion and lust permeating through the kiss. His hands reach up to your breasts and he gives them a good squeeze. The nipples pert and poking through the cloth against his palm.

He guides your body along with his towards the bedroom without breaking the kiss, stumbling along the way but nonetheless reaching towards the edge of the bed. He pushes you, still connected with your lips, cradling your head before you fall into the heap of soft mattress. His body hovers over yours and one of his knees positions dangerously close to your cunt. 

“We gotta take this off before I tear it and that is the last thing I wanna do” kuroo husks, his hand deftly working their way to take off the top. 

Not that it did anything to cover what’s underneath, yet as he removes the bra and sees your tits spill out, he couldn’t help but take one in his mouth. Fondling the other one with his hand.

The feel of his mouth finally somewhere on you has you teetering on the edge, you let out out a moan. Your hands rake through his ink black locks while he tugs you nipple with his teeth. His knee presses against your almost bare pussy the sensation spikes your insides. 

Your hands reach for his shirt once again, urging him to take it off , to which he obliges but not before remarking something about it. 

“Can’t wait to see me naked, guess I can indulge in your desire a little bit”, you roll your eyes. Smug bastard. You feel him shift downwards, his knees touching the floor while leaving you sprawling on the bed, he adjusts your legs around his shoulders before scooting downwards.

His hands plays around your nipples, twisting and turning while his mouth travels south. He lets his teeth do the work, pulling at the underwear and tugging it off of you, finally letting the sight of your clenched cunt soothe his eyes. The way he keeps a unbreaking eye contact while doing the dirtiest of act makes your arousal seep down your cunt even more. He tugs the panties halfway through before teething at the garter again, slowly dragging it across you skin and pulling it off. 

“Practising for the big day, princess” he grunts, taking them off of you fully. You let out a light croon, even amidst the unholy acts of provocation, the gentle reminder of your promised near future sends you into a blissful train of thought. 

Kuroo’s sharp nip at your inner thigh brings you back. He stares at you with drooping eyes, silently challenging you to not break the contact as he lowers himself over your slit. He licks a stripe of your pussy, the feel of his tongue like millions of fireworks inside your nerves. You silently breath out a gasp while kuroo begins his onslaught of kitten licks over your cunt. Gradually reaching to your clit. He presses a kiss over the nub before capturing it with his mouth, gently sucking on it.

His tongue flicks your now swollen clit as you rock your body, bringing him closer, as if it’s anyways possible. Your mingled sounds of squeals and moans and whines mixes with the soft squelch of his fingers entering you. He prods them gently over your walls, knowing where to stretch and poke to evoke the most raw reaction from you.

“Tetsu…fuck...aah..” your voice are nothing more than little tufts of breaths as he shifts his pace every so often, while never leaving your puffed clit unattended. The alternate of his tongue and fingers works wonders to roll you over the edge. 

“Cum for me, baby” you hear his raspy voice vibrating across your skin, he sloppily makes out with your slit before driving his tongue inside, his face tilts as he tries to reach as deep inside you as he can. The grip of his hands on your thighs tightening. His cock feels heavy and the burning desire to replace it with his tongue flames his inside – but not before he makes you cum like this atleast twice. 

Two of his fingers drum over your clit while his tongue prods inside you. His jaw hurts but nothing matters when he gets to see the expression he draws out of you. Mouth falls open, while your head tips back. Not giving a damn about keeping eye contact because fuck if you could have exploded out of your body, you would. 

Kuroo groans at the irresistible feel of your essence around his tongue, “tastes so good for me”, he hums around your pussy. You could feel the wave of arousal waiting to burst and as you hear the words escape his mouth, your body reacts on accord. Back arches beautifully as you release yourself against kuroo’s lips.

Your mind levitates in the cloud of bliss while you feel Kuroo laps at your essence, the drag of his lips against you too euphoric. to joyful to get down from. But even while being on the daze, you feel Kuroo going at your pussy once again. 

“T-Tetsu…hnnggh”, you can feel the added force that his tongue applies as it drives inside you once again. 

“You thought I’d leave you to come around my tongue only once.” he rasps, his nose brushes against the overstimulated clit. He nuzzled himself against your cunt, his hands reaching over your ass and kneading the soft flesh. You let a wanton moan, too loud for the neighbours to not hear. Kuroo smiles, tongue thrusting inside your cushiony walls even more. 

You could feel your body quivering, preparing itself for another wave of orgasm not long after the previous one. You tug at his hair, your nails scraping against his scalp. Your other hand grabs at your breast to hold onto something. A sight Kuroo savours from behind his bangs that cover his face.

“I’m gonna…” you whine, thighs jolting around his arms while he keeps them locked. “Make a mess around my face, darling. Let go.” Kuroo was getting delirious at your taste. His cock nearly bursting his load in his pants. He rubs against the board of the bed, releasing some friction. He can sense your orgasm looming and naturally, he increases the pace, tumbling you over the edge for the second time. His teeth grazes the clit, giving it some attention before a harsh suckle has you going for the 2nd time that night. 

Your back arches, juices spraying out of your pussy. Kuroo is enthralled seeing you this dirty, this sexy, this sinful. You didn’t hold back  your sounds either, sweet melodies of his name with pleasured moans ringing throughout the room and satisfying Kuroo’s ears as he succeeds in making you spent. 

Not that he intends to stop yet.

Your body is still quivering, the afterwave of the pleasure still gushing inside your body. Kuroo caresses your thighs and hips, coaxing your body to relax. 

“You did so well, my sweet baby. looking gorgeous cumming around my face like that”, kuroo engulfs your mouth, his tongue shoves yours around and you decide to suck the tip of his tongue, relishing in the tangy essence of yours. A moan erupts from the man above as your wrap your hands around his sculpted back, losing yourself in the kiss. 

Kuroo helps you get down from the high before flipping you over. You notice the way he positioned you both, you are right in front of the dressing mirror. 

When did he even do that? 

Kuroo kneads your ass from behind, while another hand grabs your chin to make you look at the mirror. 

“Eyes up there, baby. Watch how I fuck this little pussy into oblivion”, you can feel his clothed cock grinding against your ass. Whimpering, you wiggle back, feeling more of him, causing Kuroo to suck in a breath.

“Behave, darling.” Kuroo lightly smacks your ass, watching the flesh ripple and groaning at the sight. 

You look over your shoulders at him. He looks so broad, the toned sculpture of his long hours at gym and sports really gifted you with a goldy sight. His face flushed with crimson and copper eyes blown out with lust. The contour of his abs to sexy to not gawk 24/7. His sweatpants are already hung low, cock whipped out, hard and swollen. The tip angry with precum dripping down the globes of your ass. You try to shift back, intending to return the favour he generously gave you a while back. 

But Kuroo , not-so-gently puts you back on your position, grabbing your shoulders and pushing you against the sheets. Your ass hiked up more to flash the clenching pussy in the air. The cold draft blowing around your sticky folds making you shiver. 

“Tetsu!” you exclaim, as he starts dragging his length over your folds, adding more of his arousal with yours, the spot lubed and moist for Kuroo to slide right in. 

“What did I say about behaving, princess? Are you looking for to get punished?” his voice dark and menacing, only reserved for you, in the bed. You shake your head, eyes locked with his through the mirror. Your nipples brush against your sheets with the way you are bent, adding more to the sensation.

You try to tug off the red ribbon, not wanting any ounce of fabric on your skin when kuroo grabs your hand, harshly. Hooking it over your back, he hikes your body up a little higher, his cock straight against your fold, the tip hitting snug the clit. His eyes are narrowed, eyes a little menacing, 

“Don’t you dare take that off. This stays on.” his voice low. You mewled an okay, too entranced with the way he looks behind your back to notice his manhandling. 

“That’s my girl”, kuroo hums before sliding inside you with ease. The remnants of previous shenanigans making it easy. Your mouth falls in a O as you feel the ridge of his cock gliding past your walls. With each of his inch bottoming inside you, you let out a moan, voice deliriously filthy. The sounds like a dulcet for him. 

He rams the last of his inch at once, making your body lurch forward. Your face scrunched in a beautiful frown, teeth digging at your lips. Hair falls over your face as you dip your head down to adjust to his size.  Kuroo becomes too busy admiring your features through the mirror. You look like a goddess, a goddess he brought down on her knees before him. 

He was probably too enticed because it wasn’t until the roll of your hips around his pelvis that dragged him down to where he was. “T-tetsu. movee” , he hears your plead. 

“As you say, baby girl.” kuroo starts drilling his cockinside, sliding in and out of you, the head colliding with the gummy walls near your cervix. You were pushed forward with the intensity of his thrust yet the feeling of his prominent vein grinding inside your wall was too heavenly to complain.

It was him and you, intertwined with each other, knocking the door of lust but beneath it was promises of love.  

The grip of his fingers around your hip was deathly. It sure is gonna leave a dent. Kuroo grunts and groans as he watches the base of cock froth with both of your juices. The squelching sound everytime he enters you fills the room along with the slaps of the skin. 

You could feel his balls hitting you right above the clit, light strokes against them making you dizzy . His hands snakes around your stomach, reaching your clit. He takes the nub between his two fingers, rolling them around and pinches it. You squeal at his actions, back bending away from him, but the grip of his arm around keeps you flush. 

“Your pussy is made right for me. Almost made me bust a nut the moment I slid my cock inside, sh-shit. so fucking tight and clenching” , his words are so vile, yet so sweet to hear. He bends down, back flush with his chest as he presses a hoard of kisses around your nape and shoulders. Suckling the skin and leaving out purple marks in its wake. 

“Tetsu..more…you feel so good against me” you cry, eyes rolling with the way he is snapping his hips against yours. The constant assault over your g-spot inside and the clit outside once again announces the impending avalanche. 

“More you say? Greedy girl.” he rasps before hoisting you up, one hand still playing with your clit while the other finding your left breast. 

Cupping the whole fat of it, he squeezes the mound hard. His hips unrelenting with their strokes. The bed creaks from the sudden movement. The headboard banged against the wall once. Now the neighbours are definitely gonna know.

“So fucking beautiful. Truly the best gift ever, princess. I love you so much”,  you turn sideways to face him, his molten amber eyes mirroring the heart eyes you are sending him across. 

You capture his lips in a soft kiss, your hands reaching his face to cradle the sides and pulling the front tufts a little. Vibrations of hums and moans share between you two in the kiss, while both your bodies work on their own accord. The golden light of the  lamp falls over your skin, the golden iridescence  reflecting of your skin makes you nothing less than a fallen angel. The halo like glow of your body makes Kuroo's heart gallop loudly. Makes him wonder how he managed to find someone as perfect as you are.

“Look at the mirror. See how ethereal you look while taking me like that. God really took time while making you” , you chuckle at his cheesy words. No matter how dominant he acts in bed, at the end it was still your dorky, corny Tetsu. 

You zero in the way he fucks you, the outline of his cock visible as he drills into you. A dragged moan fills the air. kuroo kisses around your temple, his thrusts erratically hits you, losing rhythm. You realise he’s close, so you arch your back, feeling more of him inside. Fucking himself inside you. 

Kuroo hisses at the act, his fingers pinching your clit in return. Your walls clamp around his shaft, making him lose all the threads he had been holding onto ever since he buried his face in your cunt.  

“Shit, baby...take me…take all of it. Let's cum together”, his babbles choking in his throat as he thrusts in you one last time before warm ropes of his cum fills your pussy. You came around the same time, pooling his thighs with hot, sticky mess. 

He kisses you throughout the high, a level of euphoria never felt before. He realises he didn’t use any condom today neither did you retorted against it. Kuroo slides out of you, your cunt clenches from the lack of his heavy cock. He gently lays you down, bringing a wet towel and cleaning off the spilled cum from your thighs and his. Your face beams with the post-coital bliss as you spread your arms over your head, breathing heavily. 

“You good?”, kuroo asks, his voice regaining the gentle hold back. You nod, closing your eyes and relaxing yourself. 

“If I knew you’d go this crazy over a lingerie set, I’d have thought it through before buying.” you breathily say, seeing Kuroo’s face turn a little red. The debauchery dawning on him a little.

“You could wear an overalls over a trash bag and I’d still fuck you the same. It’s you who’s this hot”, Kuroo plants a sloppy kiss on your cheek, his hands smoothing your hair. He scoots you over, finding himself a space beside, pulling you against his side. His fingers work through your scalp while you find warmth in his body.

The comfortable setting almost lulling you to sleep before you lurch up, face palming yourself. Kuroo sits back, concerned at your sudden leap, while you look at him with guilty eyes.

“I forgot your actual gift at home, while being too excited for this one.”, you hide your face between your palm, whining and falling back on his chest. A hearty laughter rolls out of Kuroo at your state while he rubs your shoulders. His mind already bent on to tease you.  

“Wanna suck me off to balance that out?” kuroo sends a sly grin your way, his voice holding a glint of tease but really not expecting you to wallow in.

To his surprise, you part away from his chest, face filled with a challenging gleam. Without any words, you straddle him, holding his cock by the base. A dopey smile spreading all over your face. 

“Say less. I’ve been meaning to do that since forever.”

a.n-> aint nobody leaving the house without giving him a sloppy. if tags dont work and it flops then im giving him an even intense sloppy

comments, likes, reblogs are appreciated

tagging : @stsgluver , @kuroosexuall @shotorus + @satoruhour @hannzai @tetzoro @mrs-kurooo @quirrrky @pastelle-rabbit @planetnini @selarina @sookisaurus @itadorey @utahimeow @this-is-still-mia @kamorikiri @shoyostar @screampied-main

[autumnalmoons]

Your late-night company (nsfw, mdni, +18 only)

It's smut bc I'm a horny bitch (lovingly), and because I want him to split me in half--I know he can, like c'mon

Viktor x fem!Reader | 2.1K

Notes: PWP, Established relationship, set kinda between act 1 and act 2, Vaginal Fingering, Innapropiate use of Viktor's cane (sorryyyy), Dom!Viktor if you squint, Cockwarming, Nipple play, English isn't my native language so lemme know if i messed up somewhere :)

Ever since he could hear the echo of your heels reverberate around the lab like a second heartbeat, Viktor knew you were onto something—and such rhythm makes his heart pick up speed too, though Viktor’s faster than each one of your carefree strides against the dark marble floor.

You go, smooching his cheek and surely leaving a pink mark on your lipstick. Not that he minds, of course, he's used to leaving his loving marks on you, too, and even now, he can see the now purplish hickey down your collarbone that you’ve been trying to veil with a silk scarf.

“What brings you here, my darling?” Viktor hums, unconsciously seeking your lips. Is that pink lipstick the one that tastes like cherry? He’s a man of science, he’s ought to investigate.

“Nothing much. I came to bring you home,” you say, hugging his slender frame from behind, your chin hooked in the crook of his shoulder, just over his back brace. “I miss my Vitya so, so much…”

Viktor shivers, trying to ground himself in the domestic, seemingly innocent gesture of a kiss over your temple. "I miss you, too, my jewel. Alas, Progress Day is in a couple of weeks, and we need to have everything ready in case a mishap happens.” He sighs, thick brows furrowing in focus. “As usually does.”

You nod. Of course, you understand that his work is a priority, but you also have a good memory; of those two past days when you went to sleep alone. There are those familiar purple bags under his eyes, only darker.

“Hmm, alright,” you say, massaging his scalp for a bit before wandering around the lab. “Then allow me to make you company. This place is filthy, handsome.”

“Chaos potentiates creativity.”

Your chuckle reverberates around the lab, which causes Viktor to lift his chin a little higher, how easily he can make you happy.

He turns back toward his desk, hearing you going toward the closet supply to get a feathery duster, mumbling a song under your breath as you hop around cleaning surfaces and wiping down machinery with a piece of cloth.

It's only a matter of time before your plan starts, and you have calculated it just as perfectly as Viktor's equations; using your knowledge of the man next to you, his existence is the most amazing creation you've seen—much to Viktor's attempts to surpass it with his machines.

You dust off the drawer next to his desk, ‘accidentally’ knocking off one of the pens tossed over the wooden surface, further down against the wall. "Oops!" you say in your best role of an actress, which isn't that good, only for him to look your way.

The floor is cold as you brush it with your fingers, a fine layer of dust and carbon covering it. One of the windows must be open because you can feel the cold autumn wind brushing under your mischievously short skirt, one of Viktor's favorites, right against your already wet folds that the underwear you chose today isn't meant to cover.

You want him to see. Swaying your hips playfully the moment you feel his gaze burn your back.

Over the purring of the machines, you hear his air leave in a sharp inhale.

Between not wearing panties at all, you choose ones made of black lace and cute, little black ribbons decorating the most… enticing areas. The cloth down your pussy was too small, and you had to choose or covering your clit, or covering your core—which of course, you choose the eager bundle of nerves, so Viktor could see you all wet and glistening for him.

Smiling, you push the pen further down his desk, a soft—very inappropriate—groan escaping your lips, copying my memory of one of the sounds you made every time his cock presses that special spot inside of you.

“I liked that pen a lot,” Viktor mutters, though you can hear the smirk in his voice.

By now, you have no idea where that damned pen had gone. “I’m sure I can make it up for you about that,” you say, knees bending slightly, so your pussy can open a little. Only if he ever tries to play the oblivious.

A chair squeaked, and it’s impossible not to start imagining Viktor’s lithe fingers caressing the curve of your ass. Instead, you got the cold metal of his cane’s handle.

“Ah!” He chuckled at hearing your surprised gasp.

“Is that disappointment I hear, my jewel? Or just cold?” He hums, dragging the handle along the folds of your pussy until it brushes your entrance, only the tip. “You’re all dressed up for me. And I wonder… why is that, hmm?” he says, the tip of the cane playing between your folds. “Is it because you’d like to ‘keep me company’?”

“I never told you how I planned to accompany you," You mutter, feeling your legs starting to shake as the cold metal meets your boiling core, thinking that you were about to melt.

“Use your words, darling. If you’re so eager.”

There is a certain edge to his words, the hoarse tone around his R replacing the usual soft tone he uses to whisper to you when you two aren’t in the privacy of your bedroom.

“I… I thought you may need… um…” you say, voice lost with each playful movement of his cane in and out your entrance; barely some inches in, but moving it just right thanks to the exhaustive research Viktor had conducted ever since he caught you with that vibrator. Little by little, your arousal warms the metal, and you wonder if Viktor can feel it, too. “Relaxing.”

“Relaxing? My, I’d say this is rather… distracting,” he chuckles, the wheels of his stool coming closer as you hold your hands against your burning thighs. “A pleasant one, of course, but still a distraction.”

“Oh? Then do I deserve a punishment?” You try your best to quip, though your voice quivers mid-sentence.

There’s barely a heartbeat of silence, and then:

“Bend over the desk,” he says, voice stern. You could almost picture him in one of the Academy’s auditoriums giving a lecture in that tone, absolute, bossy. He knows it, of course. He knows you, after all, just like any of inventions, he had spent several hours studying you. Loving you.

Your walls squeeze nothing at the words, but the light from the descending dusk is enough for him to see it.

“Hmm,” Viktor says. “I wonder how you’ve been pleasing yourself these days that I haven’t returned home, my jewel.”

You attempt to roll over—you want to see him, because he looked just so unfairly stunning with his brown hair stuck to his temples, beads of sweat running down his chest as he bit his lip as seeing you just so shamelessly needy for him, trying to contain himself just a little longer...

He pushes your back down the desk, pinching your butt once he catches you trying to turn your head to see him.

“Oh, no, no, my love. If you are going to distract me, then you must accept the consequences.” He bends down, biting your earlobe before nuzzling his nose down your neck, taking in the sweet essence of your clothes, of your hair, the same one he could always smell on his pillow. The mix of his shampoo makes his grasp on your hips tighten.

You whine, pouted lips parting in a breathless moan when he introduces the handler of his cane inside of you, his thumb lazily rubbing circles on your clit, first clockwise, and then in the contrary direction once he feels your walls starting to contract, ushering your orgasm away.

The wet sounds of the handle coming in and out your soaked cunt fills the lab, Viktor’s stool creaking as he re-position. From the sound of his pants unbuckling, you think you know what he’s doing that needed such a good grip on his seat.

“I wonder if you’d take me as well,” he mumbles, your wet sounds mixed with a new one that could only be Viktor starting to jack off from the view of you. "All those toys and they can't replace me.” He uses his left knee to part your legs even wider, his free hand making a wrinkled mess of your skirt, just above your hips.

You huff, fingers white from grabbing the edge of the desk. “As if I’ve ever disappointed you.”

Viktor chuckles, pinching your clit slightly before letting go. The emptiness fills you when he withdraws his cane, though the narrow length is soon replaced by the thick head of his cock rubbing against your entrance.

“Mmmm,” you hum, satisfied. Your hips buckle against him, trying to take him inside of you in one thrust.  Sadly, Viktor’s punishment for keeping him away from his duties was never.-ending teasing.

Viktor caresses the curve of your ass, his hands going to brush the outline of your hips and waist until his chest is against your back once again, his big length teasing through your folds without actually giving you what you want—and yet, you know you could finish off with only this. Would he be so cruel, though?

“Come here,” he mutters against your ear, sliding a hand around your waist, and pushing you down the seat with him.

You hiss, feeling the quick buckle of his hips as his cock burrows deep inside of you, twitching at the welcoming, wet warmth of your walls. His hands take you by the hips to stop you from starting to ride him.

“Shhh, shhh. Patience, my love,” Viktor coos, nuzzling his face in the side of your neck as he bites a trail of kisses toward your shoulder, fingers gently pulling down one end of the scarf, brushing slowly down your shoulders to reveal the quite generous cut in your neckline.

Humming, approbatory, Viktor returns to his desk, with a firm grip around your waist to keep you still.

He kisses your cheek, putting his cane against the wall. The metal glistens, soaked with your juices against the reddish hue of the dying sunlight.

His right hand pushes your legs open, tangling your legs against the desk to keep them open when his fingers slide down your stomach, fingers lazily rubbing your clit.

Closing your eyes, your head lolls against his shoulder, letting him take your lips in a kiss that lets you taste the bitterness of the coffee he has just drank to keep himself awake during the night.

His tongue passes along your bottom lip, and it’s indeed that cherry-flavored lipstick, teeth grazing the sensitive skin as the hand grabbing your hip raises to grab your breasts when he grows needy, too.

“Vitya…” you moan, voice muffled as he kisses you again.

“My favorite blouse,” Viktor says, tugging down the smock of the front so he could see your lacy black bra. “So easy to access.”

You smile, hips gently swaying side to side against his lap each time he strokes your clit.

Viktor’s fingers work masterfully inside your bra, rubbing your nipple as your hands frantically undo the clip of your top so he can push the bra away.

It’s too much. Between his playful nibbles down your neck, the slow circles drawn on your clit, his fingers pinching your nipples and rubbing them to make the little peaks soft again even his cock filling you, although still, is enough to push you through the edge of pleasure. Legs shiver as your mouth stutters a moan, letting out a cry that Viktor drowned with his mouth.

“We can’t let the guards know what we’re doing, don’t you think, my jewel?”

“Why… why not?” you pant, kissing the mole peeking above his shirt’s collar. “My boyfriend fucks me so good,” you giggle.

Viktor smiled, his cock twitching at your lewd words. Your walls keep squeezing him, greedily wanting to be soaked with his cum.

"I haven't yet today," Viktor hums, deep in thought, kissing your sweaty brow. “Let me finish revising this blueprint, and we’ll go home.”

You pout, but only another heated kiss is necessary to make you respond:

“Okay,” you say, all doe-eyed now that you’re satisfied. Momentarily, of course. And that you had convinced him to go home. “But only this one blueprint. Or I’ll bite you.” You try to stand up, Viktor’s hand yanking you back between his legs before his cock could sleep out from your pussy.

“I never said you could move, my love,” Viktor says, squeezing your hips playfully. “I’d take you can be a good girl while I finish my work?”

You shake your head. “No.”

Viktor chuckles, his free hand starts to rub your overstimulated clit once again. His other hand quickly drops his pen to reach the bottom drawer of his desk, where you can see the outline of the vibrator Viktor keeps there ‘just in case’. “I suppose I just have to tire you up, then.”

[kinascum]

BITS. - M.STURNIOLO (harry potter AU)

summary: As night descended upon the Hogwarts grounds, the students retreated to their dormitories. However, as a prefect, you noticed a student missing from the dungeons.

Warnings: listen english is not my first language im sorry, angst, sad matt, regulus black coded matt, prefect!reader, slytherin!matt.

A/N: Hey! this is pt1 of my 1K CELEBRATION! find the celebration masterlist here (coming soon)! enjoy!!

As darkness fell, enveloping the Hogwarts castle, all of the students retired to their dormitories, preparing for a restful night's sleep. However, as a diligent prefect of Slytherin House, you couldn't help but notice that Matt Sturniolo was conspicuously absent from the Slytherin Common Room. Despite the stringent rules prohibiting students from wandering the halls at night, your concern for Matt propelled you to search for him.

Quietly making your way through the dimly lit corridors, you cautiously avoid the watchful gaze of the janitor and the ever-wandering eyes of the teachers. After what seems like an eternity, you catch sight of a mysterious figure in the main courtyard. And there he is, standing alone amidst the cold night, his face powdered with a delicate layer of snow. His demeanor exudes an aura of hostility and distance, not at all striking as this was his usual self. As you cautiously approach him, attempting to engage in conversation, Matt remains silent, his thoughts veiled in the mystique of the silent winter night.

You try several times to bring him out of his melancholic trance, but it seems like no matter how hard you try, Matt won't speak. Frustrated by his seemingly stubborn silence, you approach him and grab his shoulder, turning him back. You gasp, not having expected the tears running through his eyes.

"Matt...?" you question, concern bubbling in your own eyes as Matt' sobs intensify.

"Get away from me!" he yells tearfully, his voice quivering with fear and vulnerability. You instinctively reach out to place a comforting hand on his shoulder, but he recoils, his eyes filled with hostility as if they were shooting needles into your skin.

Matt had never been the type to open up, yet you can't bear to see him suffer alone. Not when you know that his loneliness is eating away at him, causing him to doubt himself and question his sanity. How could someone as thoughtful and kindhearted (even if he didn't show it much) as Matt go through such anguish? It doesn't make sense.

In one swift motion, you pull the boy into a tight embrace, offering him the only comfort that you can give him in this time of need. He fights against your warmth. Sighs of denial fly out onto your shoulder as he cries. He rejects the embrace as he is used to doing, but you know he needs this more than his pride.

Eventually, he starts desperately clutching your clothes, struggling to stifle his cries, burying his head in your chest. You gently caress his back, trying to offer some semblance of comfort, yet his shaking is unbearable. All too soon, he pushes you away, looking into your eyes with tears rolling down his cheeks.

"Why are you doing this!?" His uncontrollable sobs cause him to struggle for breath, and as he exhales, large white clouds of condensation form over his face.

Your heart breaks at the anguish radiating from him, as well as the frustration seeping out of every pore of his body. It feels like an entire ocean lies between you two, and the mere sight of it makes you feel so helpless. And then it hits you.

The first thought that comes to mind as you stare into Matt's wide blue eyes: You have to be there for him. If not for yourself, then for the sake of everyone who loves and cares about him. You want to ease the pain that his despair brings him, whether he wants it or not. Matt Sturniolo deserves to be happy, even if he's unable to accept it at the moment.

"I'm doing this because I care," you say between gasps for air, your heart pounding as you desperately search for the right words to convey your understanding.

Even though you barely know this boy, you can sense the weight he carries and how he longs for moments of peace and support. You take tentative steps toward him. You stop in front of him, your heart still pounding, feeling like you had ripped it out just to hand it to him.

As you stand there in the courtyard facing Matt, the cold night air seems to envelope you, creating an almost tangible barrier between your emotions. But the urgency to reach out to him and provide some comfort is overwhelming. He looks at you with a mix of surprise and pain in his eyes, as if he can't fathom why anyone would care about his turmoil.

"I want to be there for you," you repeat, your voice barely above a whisper, your own emotions threatening to spill over. "You don't have to go through this alone." Matt gazes at you, his expression a tumultuous blend of vulnerability and defiance.

It's evident that he's battling his inner turmoil, struggling with the idea of letting someone in. For a moment, neither of you speak. The silence seems to echo the heaviness of the situation, mirroring the weight of Matt's pain. At that moment, you feel a profound determination to break through the walls he had built around himself, to let him know that he isn't alone in this.

"I don't know if I can," Matt finally murmurs, his voice laden with uncertainty. He takes a hesitant breath, his gaze flickering between you and the ground. You wait, giving him the space and time he needs to process his emotions.

Before you can say anything, you hear footsteps approaching. Professor McGonagall's dark eyes pierce through the darkness. "What is the meaning of this?" she demands, her voice commanding and tinged with disapproval.

Matt steps back, his moment of vulnerability vanishing as quickly as it had come. "Nothing, Professor. I was just... I was just leaving," he stammers, avoiding your gaze as he brushes past you and heads back toward the Slytherin Common Room.

But before he could, McGonagall stops him dead in his tracks, "No, you werent, actually." She said, the boy stood confused before she continued speaking. "It is far past curfew, children, follow me."

Both you and Matt followed her out of the school, grumbling under your breaths. McGonagall turned and cast a stern look at you both, her eyes daring them to talk back. You quickly obeyed, knowing that McGonagall would not tolerate any disobedience.

Upon arrival at Hagrid's hut, he's already waiting outside, Fang by his side "Well, kids, you'll help me here tonight then," Hagrid said, his heavy accent dripping on his voice as he handed Regulus a heavy light, and an axe to you.

"What is this?" you ask, confused as to why he would hand a heavy axe to a child. "Oh. Right..." he turns around to face you both, "We are cutting down some trees these nasty little creatures have been eating at." The rest of his sentence was drowned out by your thoughts as you walked with him.

The weight of his pain lingers in the cold night air, and you can't help but wonder if you'll ever be able to break through to him. With a heavy heart, you make your way into the forbidden forest, knowing that despite your best intentions, some battles are fought alone.

A/N²: not my best work, but let me know if yall want a pt2, kisses!

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

HAL, HEAR ME OUT !!! ghost coming home to wis wife on Easter, he thought he wouldnt manage to come back home in time, but Price dismisses him earlier, so he decides to surprise her by making a egg hunt for her, something she always said she liked to do when she was little, I KNOW THIS IS A SPECIFIC REQUEST, FEEL FREE TO DENY DEARIE, i just really love easter loool (and simon too)

love ur works, hal ❤

A Good Man

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

Synopsis: If such a thing as a good man existed, Simon Riley knew he was not it.

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: Self-deprecating thoughts, allusions to Simon's past & trauma, delving into his psyche, angst, but a lot of fluff, Simon's POV

A/N: I knew I had to get this out before Easter actually came around so here it is early, Anon! This was an adorable request. Enjoy and have a happy holiday! <3

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

If such a thing as a good man existed, Simon Riley knew he was not it. 

Skin shredded; showing every tear and rip with a thinly veiled sense of pride along with a detailed description of every bullet wound and burn. Rope tears along the forearms and red stab marks over the visible spine of his back. Tattoos that depict skeletons and war. He couldn’t tell you every life he had ended, but he could name names until his tongue went black and fell off; though he spared you the details. 

Simon Riley was a devil incarnate. Dead-eyed and robust of body. Muscles wound with promised death and the trigger finger to prove it. His life was measured in an hourglass, the sand cascading down like the blood from his knife after a kill; it would stop flowing, one day – abrupt and final. Simon Riley was a demon, a monster. Simon Riley was a Ghost. 

A ghost with an impeccable memory and a deep love for the woman currently on the living room couch. 

The man blinks, slate eyes taking in the steady rise and fall of your chest with a slow melting of his shoulders. He had a doubt that you had planned to fall asleep with the Tv on – or the floor lamp, for that matter. 

Its golden light slipped over your form, and he traced the flow of it as the voice of the news anchor went in one ear and out the other. Gradually, a hand slipped to the balaclava over his head as your lips let loose a grumble, nose nuzzling the feather pillow. 

Simon often found himself watching you sleep when he was home; how your face would lose all tension in those brief intermissions between oblivion and awakeness. When his own nights were restless, it helped to know that at least someone was at ease, especially if it was you. The fabric slips from his tired visage, the mess of blonde locks atop his head sticking this way and that; layered with the gleam of grease. As the black face-paint stains his sockets and spreads with a swipe of a stiff palm, the ever-constant cloud over his head peels back but for a brief moment of peace. 

His bag was still in the foyer, holding three months of dirty clothes and gear hostage in its zipped space; stained, and bloodied. The man himself wasn’t much better. 

It had been a long few months. 

Hooking the balaclava onto the belt of his cargo pants, Simon bends down on an achy knee, a grunt in his throat sounding off like a boar. Scarred fingers go to brush your cheek, though no words exit his mouth, no whispers of adoration. Just a glimmer in his eyes, a release of that furrowed line in the center of his forehead that seemed permanent these days. 

Staring, the faint twitch of his lips is the only tell at all that he was content at all, feeling your skin as a feather would slide over water. He takes down a breath.

There were few instances that Simon fully remembers from his childhood – most displaced in the back of his mind with a barbed wire fence and a door with no keyhole – though there is one he refuses to lock away. His mother. He can’t help it, and before he can stop himself the words are spilling directly from his heart to his mouth. 

Hell, he really must be tired. 

“She’d of loved you, Sweetheart.” It’s like he’s startled by his own voice, head pulling back and walls going back up, but that delicate glimpse was enough. 

A gravel voice and manchester accent bleed together to form some piece of the puzzle that was his pure adoration for you; small cardboard cuts and divots that had been given over to create a picture. Simon Riley was a ghost, yes, the Ghost, but he was never that when he was home. 

He was just Simon to you.

Blue eyes study the small smile that blesses your face when the man runs his fingers into your hair and attentively separates knots; your body unconsciously molding to his touch. With a kiss on your forehead, Simon chooses to not wake you. It’s late, the man reasons, and he knows how hard it is for you to sleep when he’s gone. Almost as hard as it is for him when he can’t feel your weight on the opposite side of the thin mattress he’s cursed with in the barracks. 

Against his better judgment, he’d learned to love your contact; your presence next to him and the way you fit into his arms.

As gently as he’s able, the black ink of his tattooed arm slips under your shoulders, pushing between the cushion and your limp body to lie still. The other hooks around your knees, and with a pause to make sure you weren't going to wake up, Simon lifts you as easily as a piece of paper. Your weight lays comfortingly against his chest, shallow breath hitting his neck and he thinks for a moment just how it was possible to love something more than you can love anyone else that came before. 

“Simon…” Your voice brings goosebumps to his forearms, his fingers tightening over the shirt he now recognizes as his own clothing you. A smirk runs over his face. 

Lips caress his pulse, a nose taking in his scent of canvas and sweat; a tinge of barely restrained corruption, a soul more damaged than a window shattered into a million pieces.

How can you stand it? How could your body instinctively lay into him and give redemption willingly? 

Simon grips you ever closer, using his own body heat to lull you back to oblivion. He didn’t have an answer – probably never would – but that didn’t mean he wasn’t forever grateful. 

But he was a stiff man; a stoic one. 

He slips through the bedroom door, navigating in the dark as if his eyes had built-in night vision, and hums out, “it’s me. Go on – back to sleep now, Love.” 

Air communes with a soft grunt, and Simon watches from the side of his vision as your lids flicker open and closed. As desperate as the fight is, it’s over fairly quickly when he lowers you to the sheets, cupping your head and setting in on the pillow. 

Soft fingers wrap his lower arm, and with trapped breath, Simon watches your lips connect to the pale skin of his wrist before your form once more goes slack; ever the stubborn one to greet him even half-gone. Weak mumbles stuck forming ‘welcome home’ and ‘love you’ on a lead tongue garble to nothingness like a gargoyle’s stone speech. 

“Hmm.” The Lieutenant smirks as the area tingles, preening like a bird. There are many things to say to you, but he settles with a mumbled, “Don’t hog the sheets. Gotta go take care of the mess first, copy?” 

You don’t answer, of course. With a delicate pet on your head, Simon exits the room silently to take a shower and organize his gear; closing the door behind him only halfway so he can still keep an eye on you as he passes. Ever the neat partner, he wouldn’t go to sleep until all were in their proper places – clothes in the washer, knives and various licensed weapons in the nightstand, and paperwork in the office. 

There was a sanctity in this. A way to get rid of the lingering adrenaline of being on Base or in the field – deterioration of the mind but in such a way it would be described as a boil to a simmer. 

All of it is uneventful. 

He enters the kitchen with only a white towel around his waist sometime later, flicking on the lights and running his fingers through his damp hair before bee-lining to the fridge. If there needed to be a list made of the things he loved the most, it would be fairly short – only three. 

One, you, two, the adrenaline rush of a good deployment, and, finally, your food.  

Simon would listen to Johnny’s rambling for days if it ended with an excellent heaping plate of whatever you cooked for supper.

Opening the fridge, the man’s eyes widen, shimmering with azure glass.

“Fuckin’ hell, Sunshine,” he breathes to himself, hand reaching inside the box with fervor, “you’ve been busy, then, eh…? Bloody feast in ‘ere.” 

The Lieutenant drags out a heaping plate of steak and potatoes – a side of greens covered in plastic and a sticky note on top. 

‘Save for Simon.’ 

The food didn’t look older than a day or two…did you save him some of your meals every once and a while just in case he would show up?

He grunts, re-reading your chicken scratch with a swelling of his chest and a foreign heat on his cheeks. Simon moves to the oven, preheating it and placing a cooling rack on a metal pan over parchment paper. Damned if the man would mess up your masterpiece; he’d reheat it properly. 

With minimal noise, he waits for the meat to be done and settles on placing the potatoes in the microwave with the greens for time's sake. Standing in the kitchen, his eyes gradually fall closed, their weight heavy. But his ears perk at the faint pitter-patter of bare feet. 

The sneaking arms around his waist don’t startle him, and with a sigh on his lips, Simon feels you melt into the curve of his open skin. A head connecting with his spine. 

“Thought I brought you back to bed?” He whispers, flesh melding to you like hot iron, a scarred hand resting over the one that’s on his abdomen. 

Your nose nestles into the burns over his back, and even if you couldn’t see it – the sudden sweep of vulnerability is nearly heard. You lay a kiss and think no more of it, but Simon shivers with beautiful agony; eyes gazing off.

“...Erm,” you groan, fingers tracing the build of his ribs, “needed to hold you.” Your breath stills – half-asleep. “You’re…here?”  

Simon chuckles, hearing it echo off the walls.

“I’m ‘ere, Love. Few more bloody cuts,” he breathes, “but I’m here.” 

“Good. Missed you.” A second of kisses and distant blue eyes. Muffled yawns into his flesh. “Didn’t think you’d be back in time for Easter.” 

Simon twists, aware of the delicate fold of his towel, and lifts your fatigued form onto the counter, settling you down so you don’t fall sideways. He blinks down at you, cupping your cheek when your neck gets too heavy to hold up. Your lids rapidly move, your nose scrunched at the overhead light and the man knows you’re only awake because he’s home. 

He utters out to you, faces close, “The Old Man let me off early,” and lays a peck to your forehead, holding his lips there for a long second. Mutters into your skin, “prickly bastard’s been antsy – hasn’t had a good drink in weeks. Was about ready to strangle someone.”

She’s warm.

His body slots itself between your legs, one arm around your back and the other placed on the counter. Simon’s forehead falls to your shoulder, and with a groan of satisfaction, he feels your fingers go through his locks; itching at his scalp dreamily. 

“...Dunno whether to thank him or send ‘em to a therapist.” You whisper, kissing his neck, unable to keep your hands off each other for a mere second. 

“Better to place money on the both.” His grumbled words are barely heard. “I’ve got two weeks ‘fore they need me back.” 

A soft hum is all he gets before the timer goes off and he takes down a breath, forcing himself to peel back from you and grab his supper. 

By the time the both of you are in bed, he’d nearly forgotten about your comment, and as he stroked your hair and felt you bring him closer under the covers, he remembers. He’d asked Price to give him two weeks on account of the holiday you’d loved so much – Easter – and had used the Captain's deteriorating attitude as a pry. It had been easy enough, the two had known each other for a long time. They knew their breaking points. 

Sometimes living around a handful of other men formed unbreakable bonds of brotherhood, and while that was true for 141, it was also a pain in the ass. People long for home at the end of it – a soft touch and sweet kisses. There’s only so long you can go with yelling orders into the same faces and playing Poker in a shitty safehouse.

Simon never thought he’d be worthy of it, a home, but here he is regardless and here he would stay. And he knew Easter was your favorite time of the year, and he also knew that Easter was…tomorrow. His dead eyes widened. 

The plan formed quickly, his strategic mind helping as it always does, and as he snuck out of bed and laid his lips to yours in a tiny kiss, a shirt was tossed on along with boxers. You never heard the door to the garage door opening, just snuggled back up to the pillow and an old t-shirt he’d placed in his spot instead; inhaling his calming scent.

—

When the sun had risen an hour ago and Simon had finished with heavy fingers. Groaning, the back of a hand meets a forehead, trying to swipe away sleepiness as one would a fly. But he says nothing, feet hitting the floor as he enters the kitchen, an object held in his palm that was quickly stashed in the breadbox.

This was childish, he knew, not at all like the deadly Lieutenant of TF-141. Like Ghost. The boys would tease him relentlessly if they found out.

“Simon…?” Your voice draws him back, and with a look over his shoulders, he finds you wrapped in the comforter like a mouse. “What are you doing out here?” 

The lie comes easily.

“Fixin’ breakfast.” Your eyes flicker to the open breadbox, eyebrows furrowing. A smirk grows and you walk over with a laugh living in your expression. 

“I don’t even trust you to toast bread, Love, go sit down. You’ve been stuck on rations for too long.” Simon only steps back, gazing over your head and seeing your hand pause. “I’ll make us some…” 

He watches as he loves to do, memorizing the parting of your lips and the recognition lighting like a shy fire. The man smiles then, and it is a delicate thing; an expression not tainted with sarcasm or deception. 

Your hand delves into the box and pulls out a plastic egg softly as if it would snap in two. 

It’s cheap, made of thin plastic and fading in colors of the shade of pastel pink. Chipping. There’s nothing inside of it, just a bare piece of holiday joy that never meant too much to anyone beyond children. But with how you’re staring up at him, Simon thinks all the searching in the bins from the garage was worth it. 

“What’s this?” Your voice wraps him close, and your hand holds the object close. Simon shrugs, digging deep into your vision. 

“I’ve the faintest idea, Sunshine.” The giggle flies to his cold heart and he pulls you to his chest to still the raging of it. “My guess,” he raises a stiff brow, “intruder broke in, yeah?” 

“Did this intruder have ears and a pink nose?” You ask, noses brushing. “A hop in his step, maybe?” 

“Hell if I know,” Simon grunts, eyes flickering away before he can break before you. “Best get my gun just in case – you’ll ‘ave to find the rest ‘o the bastard things, though.”

You kiss him then, and he captures the back of your head, holding you to him as if you’d disappear if he let go. He doesn't know what you did to possess him so, to make his thoughts be only of you even when he’s halfway around the world. Were you an angel? A shred of light made physical? Perhaps an embodiment of all the good in the universe? 

Simon had no answer, as he usually did when it came to you, and you sighed into him, whispering redemption to his soul. 

You said you loved him, and he said it back with every ounce of him that was untouched by death. And then you pulled from him with a laugh that could throw away darkness and disappeared with promises of finding the remaining eggs. Like a loyal hound of hell, Simon followed, pulling on the comforter to slow you down so you don’t trip. He would always follow.

The vision of a good life starts with a view of the present. Who you choose to care about; how you make meaning of nothing but a shared morning and a memory of youth. Simon does not remember much of his childhood. Most of the memories are displaced in the back of his mind with a barbed wire fence and a door with no keyhole. Cast away. 

Coated in fear and lies.

Some days he asks how he can still call himself Simon Riley – it’s the name of a dead man, after all…and then he looks at your beaming face, and his question is answered as fast as it was thought up. 

You deserve Simon Riley, not Ghost. Not a devil incarnate or Dead-eyed. A demon, or a monster. If there was even a shred of purity left in him, that was what he knew beyond doubt. 

Simon Riley was selfish, he admitted, and he was loathed to leave you…so here he would stay. Hiding easter eggs and giving veiled hints when you were close to one near the planted flowers in the backyard. There was a simplicity that the man bathed in – the blatant enjoyment of a plain life. 

With a chuckle in the back of his throat, Simon pushes off the back porch and makes a comment about how you were closer to the dead bird you had buried in the garden bed than an egg. A flick of your middle finger leaves him smirking, and he splays a hand over your back, angling your body farther north. The kiss left on his stubbled cheek makes him warmer than he wants to admit; cold eyes soften.

If such a thing as a good man existed, Simon Riley knew he was not it…but he was trying to be damn near close. Until then, the ring he had bought would stay in his office.

TAGS:

@blueoorchid, @jxvipike, @revrse, @shuttlelauncher81, @bruhhvv, @kittiowolf210, @aerangi, @spikespiegell, @ghost-with-a-teacup, @1234ilikecowsthanyoumore, @uberraschungg, @shoe1412, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet @pukbadger, @omeganixtra, @gills-lounge, @voidinfernal, @sukunas-left-nut-sack, @untoldshortsofthefandoms, @batmanunicorns523, @icepancakes, @copiasratscheese, @besas-stuff, @marytvirgin, @misfne, @halfmoth-halfman, @lothiriel9, @anna-banana27, @jade-jax, @cl0wncxre, @john-pricee, @330bpm-whiplash, @lora21, @wolfyland07, @dilfsaremyfavourite, @levietc, @kk19pls, @semieitabby, @thriving-n-jiving, @cringe-kats, @n1choles, @gaychaosgremlin, @johnpricesprincess, @haleypearce

[pandora-writes-one-piece]

The Warrior's Wrath - Part 2

Source for pic

Word Count: 5994

Tags: Medieval Scotland AU; Highlander Kid; Blurry non-con; Angst without happy ending; Fluff and angst; have I mentioned ANGST? soft Kid; feral Kid; Blood and gore; Killer might have a crush on reader (didn’t notice I did this until I was editing); MDNI!!! 🔞

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Summary: You and Kid, the fiercest worry of your village, get married and happiness is just within your reach. Until Blackbeard, the laird, comes to claim prima nocta and takes you. Somehow, you are able to placate Kid’s anger before you go, yet, when you return filled with marks and bruises, Kid can no longer be controlled.

Notes: Highlander Kid lives rent free in my head and I can’t help it. This one got away from me, though. I meant it to be around 5 or 6k words, it turned out to be almost 13k. Historical note, there’s no concrete historical evidence to support the existence of prima nocte, but this story was heavily inspired by Braveheart - God, I love this movie. I do hope you enjoy it! I’m so sorry for breaking your heart again. I thrive on angst! 

PS: Decided to compromise and split this into two parts but posted at the same time!

Tag List: @rosidaze @beachaddict48 @armiliadawn @jintaka-hane

MASTERLIST

|Part 1|

Kid slept through lunch and most of the afternoon and when he woke up, you had already instructed Killer to ask him for help with a very important task that needed his craftsman expertise, so he wouldn't observe you too closely again. 

Killer gave you a frown and a veiled judgmental look that you decided to ignore and, by the time they returned, you had dinner on the table. Kid's portion had a special ingredient in it. 

And it wasn't just love. 

He fell asleep the second his head hit the pillow and a soft sigh left your parted lips as you cleaned the table and applied more poultice to your wounds. They seemed less inflamed now. Their colour was a bit more faded and the swelling on most of them had gone down. 

You nodded as you prepared for bed. You could do this. 

-*-

You were woken by a wave of heat and pleasure. Something so strong that immediately pulled a moan from your open mouth. 

The room was dimly lit by the light of the crescent moon coming through the window and the small flame of the burning embers in the fireplace, but you could make out Kid’s fiery red hair between your parted thighs. Though you didn't need any sight to realise what he was doing.

His tongue licked and lapped at your lower lips, tasting, sucking nibbling. He was teasing you awake with the gentleness of his touch, purposely dragging his tongue around your clit. 

“Kid!” You huffed, eyes shutting hard as your fingers clenched the sheets. 

“We still haven't tried this bed out, lass. I don't know why I've been so tired, but I'm not postponing this anymore.” His calloused hand grabbed the back of your knee as he hoisted your leg over his shoulder. “The other one.” He commanded you as you silently obeyed and placed your other leg on top of him. 

The room was dark. He wouldn't notice the dark finger-shaped bruises around your hips. There was barely any light, he wouldn't notice the crust already coating the bite mark on your right thigh. You could scarcely see the orange of his eyes so there was no way he would notice the purple of the bruises on your buttocks. 

Right? 

Besides, you couldn't even think straight as he plunged two digits inside you and bullied your throbbing nub. His efforts now only aimed to get you off as you were already awake, all previous gentleness quickly forgotten. The pressure building in your core made your legs clench around his head and he groaned into you, the low vibrato of his voice adding another layer of pleasure, tightening the coil and making your back arch. 

The pain from the bruises on your back and the bites on your nape mingled with the waves of pleasure that overtook you almost without warning. 

“Mmph, Kid! I'm gonna-...” You didn't even finish your sentence as it turned into a litany of moans and mewls, thighs clenching and squeezing Kid's head, pulling him further into you as you rode out your high on his face. “Stop, enough, love.” You tapped his head lightly as your legs released him from your grasp, clit aching and throbbing, begging for rest. 

He emerged with a wicked grin on his face. “All tapped out, lass? This is just the beginning. I'm not done with ya.”

Your heart leapt and rejoiced at his words, but your body was so tired and sore that it begged for rest. You needed to stall him. 

“My love, let me just brew us some tea. I'm so tired that I need a little pick-me-up.” You kissed his forehead and swung your legs to the side to get up. You were naked - Kid's work - but quickly stirred the embers in the fireplace, adding some kindling and bringing it back to a roaring flame so you could heat some water. You planned to mix a bit of nightshade in Kid's tea. That would put him to sleep. 

Except you didn't notice how your husband silently followed you to the brightness of the fireplace - he was the fiercest warrior for a reason. 

As big as he was, he moved with the stealth of a stag, so you didn't hear him until his hand was on your arm, stilling your movements. Biting your lip you tried to suppress a hiss. He could see you clearly now. 

All of you. 

All of your bruises and marks and cuts. 

All of your shame. 

Your eyes searched for his, embarrassment and fear written all over your face. He gazed at you with a piercing scowl on his lips, orange orbs scrutinising every bit of skin, taking in the full extent of what the laird had done to you. 

To his wife! 

“Kid…”

“So ya weren't disgusted by me.” He grunted. “I thought ya just didn't want me anymore. But ya were just hiding this.” He dragged out the last word, his growl shifting the sound to something dangerous. 

“I…”

“That fucker.” The eerie calmness of his voice made all the hairs on your body bristle and brought tears to your eyes. This was what you wanted to avoid.

The tea, he needed the tea. 

“Let me just-...” He cut you and your movements off by grabbing your waist and laying you down on the deer pelt you had on the floor - you had put it there for cuddling. 

“Shut up, lass.” His voice was hoarse and pained. He forced you to lie back as his eyes ran over your body, taking in all the wounds, bites, scratches, cuts and bruises. There were so many. You knew. 

You lay still. Your eyes shut as you tried to keep your tears hidden inside. You never wanted to hide something like this from him, but you had to. 

“Did ya really think I wouldn't notice this?” You had never heard him speak so calmly. It was another stage of rage you had never encountered. And it was terrifying. 

“I hoped I could hide it from you.” The whisper that left your lips felt foreign and odd. And you still couldn't meet his gaze. 

“For how long? Ya were going to deny me for how long?”

Biting back a sob you shook your head and scrunched your shoulders. “How long it took.”

“That fucker hurt ya. Why? Ya fought back? If ya wanted to fight I was ready for it before he took ya! Ya didn't have to do it alone!” He emphasised his anger with a punch to the floor and you inhaled deeply. This type of anger you were familiar with. 

“It wasn't like that. He realised I wasn't a maiden anymore. Then he ripped my wedding dress and told me he would make me forget you.” Finally your eyes met Kid's as you smirked and a silent tear ran down the corner of your eye. “I told him there was no chance of it happening with his tiny dick.”

You saw as your husband's lips twitched, and his orange eyes brightened with the slightest hint of humour. Yet he didn't laugh. 

“So he did that.” He gestured to your body and you nodded solemnly. You had to find a way to drug him before he did something drastic. 

Except he just inhaled. A deep breath as he closed his eyes. You could almost feel his anger draining away from him so you didn't dare speak a word. 

When he opened his eyes, there was nothing but love in them. Kid lowered himself above your body and you felt his lips on yours, very softly, then they moved towards the bruise on your jaw. You let out a low hiss because of the pressure but he didn't say anything. Instead he continued, kissing every bruise on your neck, on your breasts, chest, belly, legs, thighs… 

Your husband worshipped your body like he had never done before. You knew he loved you deeply, and you loved him beyond anything rational, but he showed his love with coarse gestures, with brutish affection. Never like this.

Slowly you laced your arms around his neck, pulling him back to you just as you saw his fist clenching, knuckles turning white and veins protruding from his biceps. He was stuck on your thighs, where there were some of the worst bruises. 

“My love.” You brought him back to reality, pressing your lips firmly against his, noticing the lingering scent and taste of yourself in his mouth, not caring one bit. “It’s still me. I’m fine. Forget it, please forget it.”

Kid didn’t say anything. He pressed his knee against your legs and you parted them so he could slot himself there. He kept trailing kisses all over your body. Soft kisses. So, so soft. He was trying to caress you at the same time, but with only one arm he couldn’t find support to keep upright.

Grunting and cursing about his limitation, he sat down and used his arm to hoist you up so you could sit on his lap, one leg on each side. You used this leverage to grab his face with your hands, tracing your fingers through the scar on his face and kissing him gently. “Kid…” You didn’t quite know what you were about to say. Something to try and steer away his anger. 

Whatever it was, it was quickly set aside when he claimed your lips again. A kiss so sweet and so soft, so unlike anything you were used to, that it almost brought tears to your eyes. Clawing with your hands, you pulled his shirt over his head and aligned yourself with his hard dick.

His arm circled your back as his hand settled on your nape, deepening the kiss and he gave a gentle thrust, sheathing himself completely and swallowing your soft moan. You rocked your hips gently, following his slow pace. 

It was utterly different from all the times you had been together with him and yet, still as pleasurable as when he was using you brutally. You couldn’t explain why this heat coming from within you felt different, except that it just did. It built in soft waves, spreading slowly to your toes and making your head light. So much so that you had to bury your face in the crook of his neck, your fingers tangling themselves amidst red locks as faint moans escaped your lips, just to keep you tethered to reality. 

His head fell on your shoulder as well, lips kissing softly instead of biting angrily; his hand caressing you instead of pressing and bruising. He was treating you as if you were a delicate flower instead of the wild thistle he knew you were. 

And for all the old gods and the new, you didn’t even know you needed to be treated this gently until the tears started streaming down your face. Hot droplets, one or two at first, and then an unending torrent. You saw them fall on Kid’s shoulder, and you were sure he felt them because he stopped for a second before resuming his languid, soft thrusts. 

“It’s ya and me lass.” He whispered near your ear while his arm gripped you tighter. “Always ya and me. Always.” He punctuated each word with a harder thrust and the wave of pleasure that hit you with the last ‘always’ came unannounced, crashing over you like a raging tsunami, making you cry out his name as your whole body clenched around him, locking him in a desperate embrace.

He finished a few thrusts later and you remained locked together for a while. You don’t really remember falling asleep, you recall him softly cleaning you up and helping you to bed as you muttered softly: “It’s me and you Kid.”

And then darkness took over.

-*-

The dawn came too fast. Light seeped through the window lazily as the birds chirped their morning song, too close to your window, reminding you that it was time to get up and get ready for the day.

You felt happy. Your heart lighter than it had been since your wedding day. Last night you had made love with your husband. You loved the way he roughed you up, taking you hard and possessively, claiming you as his whenever and however he pleased.

But last night felt different. And it was healing in more ways than one.

Your hand reached for his side of the bed, searching for his body so you could claim some cuddles and kisses. Even if he protested a bit, you knew he was a softie for your affection. 

But the bed was cold and he was gone.

Gasping, you jolted upright, stifling a cry of pain as your body protested with the effort. Your eyes immediately went to the mantle, to the designated place of his axe, silently praying and begging all the gods for it to be there, resting idly against it. 

It wasn’t there. 

Nausea overtook you and you barely had time to find a bucket to vomit of bile that surged up from your stomach. You knew where he was.That was why he had been so gentle and so caring last night. 

He had gone to seek vengeance. 

-*-

After he put you to bed, Kid donned his kilt, a scowl on his lips as he regarded your spent, sleeping form. He could still recall the shape and indent of every bruise, every bite mark, every scrape and - that fucking fucker - every cut. 

There was no way he would let this pass.

Throughout the night you were gone, he had come to terms with what happened. Flanked by his best friends - Killer, Heat and Wire - they had drunk themselves into a stupor. He was willing to forgive that laird bastard for what he had done. 

Kid had promised you.

But now he was seeing red. After what he had seen, after the marks that useless arse had left on your body and your soul - your tears had broken Kid in two - he would never let that bastard live another day. 

With you tucked safely in bed, he pressed his lips to your forehead. You were the love of his life. He had never felt this way about anything or anyone. He had learned long ago that vulnerability was a weakness, something to be taken advantage of. 

Except with you.

With you he could be vulnerable, kind, gentle, warm… you would never judge. Only reciprocate.

“I love you forever.” He mumbled into your hair as his hand lingered with one last caress before he left your home.

He was going alone. With all the rage he felt, he knew he could take on the world if it stepped in his path. Except the one who did was Killer.

“Where ya going?” Killer asked, a soft chuckle letting Kid know he already knew the answer.

“Claim some blood. Wanna come with?” The growl that accompanied his statement was involuntary. 

“Been waiting for it. I saw that fucking bruise on her jaw. That fucker.” 

They both started to pace towards the dense forest. “Those were not the only ones. He scarred her all over. Fucking bastard, I’m gonna carve a grin on his fucking face.”

“We’ll help.” Heat and Wire said, emerging from the shadows.

Kid grinned maniacally. Fuck, the four of them would burn the world down.

Just for you.

-*-

As you left the house, looking frantically for Kid, hoping he was just sparring with Killer, you realised that all of the four warriors were gone. Your stomach churned again and you threw up some more behind a bush.

Your worst fears had come true. This was all your fault, you forgot to give him the tea.

Tears streamed down your face as your heart clenched in your chest. He would come to you alive, you knew that perfectly well, but he would never live down the murdering of a laird. He would be sentenced and executed. Hanged, most likely, beheaded if there was any justice left in this world.

But he would be torn from your arms. For eternity.

As you slumped to the floor, your wet eyes fixed on the battered path that came from the woods and led straight into the village, you heard him. A boisterous laugh, a thunderous cocky roar of victory. He’d done it.

-*-

Kid had gone straight to the laird’s quarters, leaving his men to handle whatever else came along. They were told to try and hold back on the killing, but they were free to do as they pleased. 

Fortunately for them, most of Blackbeard��s household hated his guts. They let them pass without bothering them. Only some of his personal guards gave them trouble. But Kid strode on. His eyes burned with rage, his hand clenched around the handle of his axe, which was calling for blood.

Kicking the door of his room down, Kid rejoiced from the startled yelp that came from the bed. The bastard had been in a deep slumber, but Kid wanted him wide awake for what was coming next.

“Lass, go away.” Your husband growled at the girl that was in bed with Blackbeard, a very young girl. And that only managed to fuel Kid’s rage.  A groggy Blackbeard tried to get up, but Kid drew a knife from his belt and threw it at him, hitting his nose with the hilt and eliciting another yelp. 

“Ya stay right there.”

With two long strides and while the laird was still clutching his nose in pain, Kid approached and, as soon as his enemy removed his hands from his face, he delivered a powerful punch to the same spot where the knife had hit, effectively making him lie back down. 

“I said, stay down, fucker.”

Kid snarled, his lips curling back, revealing his menacing canines. 

Blackbeard opened and closed his eyes between groans, as the punch from your husband had made him very dizzy, almost unconscious. A perfect stage for what came next. 

With dexterous fingers, Kid tied Blackbeard’s wrists together, threw them over his head, and secured them to the bedpost. He repeated the procedure with his legs, and then nodded in approval.

“Just like a fucking pig ready for slaughter. Ya fucking asshole.”

The laird blinked, his mouth opening and closing, revealing his many missing teeth and lending him a terrified look. Your husband leaned down, putting his face right next to Blackbeard’s bleeding nose. “Remember me?”

Blackbeard spat in Kid’s face, which only managed to make Kid's cackle more menacing. “I remember your wife very well. She squirmed a lot beneath me and-...”

Kid didn't let him finish as his forehead collided with Blackbeard’s mouth, knocking out a few more teeth. “Keep my wife's name out of ya filthy fucking mouth or I make this last way longer than it needs to. And ya won't like it.”

“Her name wasn't the only thing in my mouth.” He taunted and Kid cracked his knuckles against his leg. 

“The long way it is, then. Even better.” It was a good thing that Blackbeard was too busy blinking back tears from the sting of the headbutt, or he would've noticed the unhinged glint in Kid's eyes. 

It was also fortunate that he was spitting out teeth and blood for a good part of the minute because he missed seeing Kid lay out his knives, ready to exact his vengeance. In the slowest, most painful way possible. 

-*-

You got up on shaky legs, nausea still making you wobbly, but you strode with purpose towards your husband, your eyes wide as saucers and your mouth hanging open. 

You had seen him bloodied from fights and hunts before, but right now he was soaked in blood. Head to toe, there was barely an inch of skin that was clean. 

With each step you took, more tears fell from your eyes, and your heart clenched more tightly. Breath hitched in your throat as your limbs trembled and shook relentlessly. 

“You idiot, reckless, careless, moron!”

Killer whistled as he, Heat and Wire stepped out of your way. 

“Feckless gowk, you're always, always, thinking with your fist instead of your head, Kid! Why?” Your voice grew louder and louder, reaching a screech so high that would make a forest banshee squeak in fear. As soon as you reached him, he greeted you with his cocky smirk, tilting his head sideways and looking down at you with a bit of blood smeared near his lip. 

“Hello, lass. Miss me?”

You clenched your fists, relentless tears still dripping down your face, drenching you in sorrow. Pressing yourself against him, you punched his chest, over and over while your eyes tightened and sobs clawed at your throat. 

Somehow you still managed to speak between heaves and hiccups. 

“You promised me a lifetime! A lifetime entails an actual life! Why did you do this, Kid, why? Gods, why?” Your legs gave out but before you collapsed, his strong arm enveloped your waist, pulling you into a crushing embrace. 

You locked eyes with him and his were filled with tenderness. Something he reserved only for you. 

“Lass, for ya I'd make the whole world bleed. Over and over again until all the rivers ran red.”

His words hung around you, heavy and painful and you kept sobbing into his chest, your fingers clawing and clenching his blood-soaked shirt. 

“It's ya and me, love. No one in between.” He finished as you felt yourself drifting into unconsciousness. “Forever.”

-*-

You barely had a few hours with him before the sheriff came to take Kid away to the gaols. He didn't protest. You however did. 

Your screams were heard all over the Highlands. How it wasn't fair, how the laird was dreadful and terrible and how no one liked him or thought he was fit to lead. You even showed them most of your bruises. 

When none of that worked, you dropped to your knees and pleaded. You begged like never before. 

To no avail. 

They didn't even let you say goodbye to him properly. 

-*-

Kid had weeks to ponder his wrongdoings as he sat in jail. He was pondering all right, but they were not wrongdoings in his eyes. 

He thought about the way it felt as the tip of the knife sank into the laird’s thigh, right where you had a mark. He thought about the cut he made from Blackbeard’s lip to the exact place where the bruise on your jaw was. He also thought about the joy it gave him when he ripped the laird’s balls out with his bare hands. 

It was such a shame the bastard passed out from shock and blood loss immediately afterward. Such a shame. 

On other days, most of them, actually, Kid thought about you. Your scent, your touch, your lips, your hair, your smile… 

But mostly, your love. 

-*-

You tried everything. You spoke with the highest ranks in the clan - the ones who were deciding both Kid's fate and who ruled the land - but they quickly dismissed you. 

You spoke with the druid who had officiated your wedding but he couldn't do anything to help. When you managed to speak with the sheriff, he told you Kid had made a deal of his own. He would gladly pay the ultimate price and serve as an example: even if the laird was a total bastard, there could be no rebellion, much less from within the clan. 

But only if his friends were spared the repercussions. Killer, Heat and Wire wouldn't be charged. 

The sheriff accepted. 

-*-

They decided on a beheading. Which was much more humane than just leaving someone dangling from a noose. That was torture if the neck didn't snap right away. 

Kid was grateful for that. 

They were going to make an example out of him, but they were still thankful for the service he had provided. Blackbeard had been in charge for a short time but the damage had been extensive. Both to the vaults and to the towns and villages under his command. 

The sheriff confessed - over drinks Kid should have been denied but wasn’t - that he should be made a hero instead of a martyr. But life was just like that. ‘One minute you're here, the next you're dead.’

Kid tried to push his luck a bit more and asked to see you. 

The sheriff said he would see what could be done, but his smile and wink gave Kid hope. 

Kid just needed to make sure you were all right. He knew you would be mad at him, cursing him, condemning his soul to wander aimlessly with all the grudge you held against his actions, and he needed to apologise to you. 

Not for what he did, he would do it all over again - except, maybe, leave the laird  conscious for more time - but for what he put you through. And for breaking his promise. 

He would love you forever, that he would. Except his forever would be far shorter than yours. And perhaps that was something you couldn't forgive. 

-*-

When the sheriff came to get you so you could see Kid, you almost wept. You were knee-deep in your herb garden, trying to gather some peppermint and chamomile to brew a tea that might help keep food in your stomach, as you didn’t seem able to hold anything down these days.

You were mistaken, though. You thought he meant you could bring Kid home to you. But it was just so you could say goodbye. His execution was scheduled for the next day. 

Quincy and Killer had to help you through your shock as you tried to regain your breath. Even the sheriff seemed flustered by your fit. Yet how could you help it? When the love of your life was going to be executed?

After your friends forced you to drink some of that tea, you accompanied the sheriff to the gaols, dread making your stomach churn as the nausea returned tenfold. The smell of the gaols alone was enough to make anyone queasy. 

But soon enough the sheriff led you to a small room - not his cell - where Kid was waiting for you, his wrist shackled to the stone wall. As soon as his bright orange eyes fixed on yours, you became a sobbing mess. 

Closing the distance between you with a small sprint, you jumped and dangled from his neck as he took two steps back gaining enough leverage from the chain to hug you back. “Kid! Kid! Gods… oh, gods…” Burying your face in the crook of his neck, you sobbed and cried until your throat was raw and your tears had dried.

“There, there, lass. It’s okay. It’s okay.” He kept repeating those soothing words, his dry lips placing gentle kisses on your skin. You showed no signs of letting him go anytime soon, so he slumped against the wall and slid down, cradling you in his strong lap as your arms held on for dear life around his thick neck. 

After what felt like an eternity, you heard the soft thump of Kid’s head against the wall and you moved to look into his eyes. He looked pained and exhausted as he let out a deep sigh. 

“Forgive me, lass.” His mumble made his chest rumble and, instinctively, you pressed closer to him. “I broke our vows. I cannot give ya forever. But I’ll always love ya.”

Fresh tears ran down your face, gathering at your chin and dripping off. You didn’t even bother with cleaning your face as the tears would only carve new paths, like a river that keeps flowing, shaping the earth as it passes. 

“Will ya? Forgive me?” You should. You wanted to. But his parting would leave a chasm so big within you that you didn’t know if you could. Besides, there was something else he needed to know.

“I’m carrying a child in my womb.” You said softly. You had suspected it for a while, but now that your monthly cycle had fully stopped, you were sure. 

You felt him stiffen against you, the soft caresses of his hand against your back suddenly halting as he turned his head to look into your eyes. You indulged him by lifting your head, a strained smile pressed upon your lips as you realised, far too late now, that this information was bringing regret to his eyes.

If you had known sooner, perhaps you could have prevented this. He might’ve stayed home instead of seeking vengeance. He would still be with you tomorrow, and the day after, and the one after that. Because there would be a child to tend to as well. 

Except there was a slight problem.

With a trembling lip and shifting eyes, you grasped his dirty ragged shirt. “I don’t know… gods, Kid I don’t know if the child is…”

“It’s mine.” He roared. A primal growl escaping his lips as he swallowed a hard lump in his throat. “I know it’s mine. I know it, lass.”

You nodded at him, fresh tears rolling down your cheeks once more. “It’s yours.” Kid dipped his head as he took your lips into his and you couldn’t bear the thought that these moments were the last you would spend with your other half. “Kid, beg for clemency. Please, Kid. Beg for your life. Say you’ll repent for your sins. Admit you were wrong and ask for mercy. For me, for the child, for us! Please, Kid, please!”

He shook his head softly, seemingly out of strength to contradict you, and you continued. “Please! They hated the laird, they’ll forgive you if you plead enough! Even if you stay in jail for the rest of your life, please, love! Please!”

The words kept catching in your throat. Desperate, raw, filled with sorrow and grief. You didn’t know what else to do.

He simply kissed your forehead and sighed. “Lass, a warrior doesn’t beg. A warrior has his pride. I will not beg.” He seemed resigned to his fate now, you knew there was nothing else you could say that would swindle his will. He was a warrior through and through and you knew he would never live in shame. Even if it meant he had to be away from you.

“Please…” You begged one last time.

“Love, ya’ll stay away tomorrow. I don’t want ya at the beheading. I don’t want ya to remember me like that. Ya’ll stay home, feed, take care of our child. Raise him to be a strong, powerful warrior like his father. Stay away.” 

You shook your head as another fresh wave of sobs made your shoulder heave. “Say you’ll beg, Kid, please, for us…”

“Stay home, forgive me. Make me these promises, lass, so I can go in peace.” This unfamiliar softness in his voice only broke you more. You needed to forgive him so he could rest in the afterlife. You knew that. But you also knew that forgiving him meant you had to accept the fact that you would never see him again.

That he was lost forever.

And that was a terrifying thought.

Instead you pressed your lips against his, deepening the kiss, drawing him close, clawing at his body in desperation and grasping every bit of him, trying to imprint his mark upon yourself so you could forever remember the shape of his body against yours.

After an eternity you whispered: “Aye, Kid. I forgive you. I love you forever.”

“And always.” He finished in a mournful tone.

-*-

Quincy stayed with you. Killer wanted to be at your side, to help you through the pain, but you needed Kill to be there for Kid. You were still hoping he would beg for mercy. Deep down you knew he never would, but there was a very slight tingle of hope in the pit of your stomach and you almost didn’t dare give it any attention.

Your nausea was overwhelming and you were bedridden, barely eating and with no will to even open your eyes. 

Noon was the time of the execution. Ten minutes to go.

“He’ll beg. He has to beg.” You whispered to the wind, Quincy was holding your hand, feeding you tea from time to time, her face heavy with the loss. 

Five minutes…

“Quincy… he can’t leave me! He can’t!” The sobs and hiccups pulled more bile from your stomach, your limbs trembling relentlessly as your head throbbed and ached. 

Noon.

The bells didn’t ring and you hoped. Your breath hitched in your throat. They only rang the bells when the execution was over. The bells were silent.

The bells were silent.

Shallow breaths left your parted lips, your tears frozen in your eyelids as your hand crushed Quincy’s, who stood by you without making a sound. 

Then the relentless toll of the bells started. Each toll carved away a piece of your heart. Each chime brought a wave of agony up your chest. Each clang resounded deep in your soul, bringing flashes of the brief time you spent with Kid: his smiles, his frowns, his growls, his eyes… the light in his bright orange eyes which you would see no more.

The pain was unbearable.

With each heave you made, gasping for air that seemed to never reach your lungs, your heart broke another piece. With each wail that left your lips, a part of your soul left with it. Your heart had parted from this world.

And now you were left empty.

Forever.

-*-

“Push! Push, lass! A little harder, come on!” House instructed, her hands deep in your thighs, helping the baby be born.

You were spent. The last eight hours had been laborious, painful and filled with memories. You were physically drained and emotionally exhausted. 

“I can’t!” You whined, a fresh bout of tears leaving your eyes as you cursed and tried to push.

“Ya can! Ya know why?” House looked up from your thighs, a wicked smile spread upon her lips as she lifted her bloodied hands and clapped, droplets of blood flying around her. “I see a redhead!”

And with a hearty laugh you gave a final push, your strength renewed, your love rekindled.

“It’s a boy!” House exclaimed as the sweet sound of cries filled your ears.

-*-

The stone marker was very simple. Heat had carved a red flame upon the stone with Kid’s name on it. Every month you visited it, leaving a wreath of wildflowers on top of it. White heather and clovers, primroses and daisies, meadowsweet, and ropes of ivy to symbolise fidelity and eternity. 

An exact copy of the headdress you wore on the day of your wedding. You didn’t take any other man, though you didn’t make that promise to Kid, you couldn’t find enough strength in you to give yourself to another person. 

And Kid would be waiting for you in the afterlife. You were sure of it.

Your child was already one year old. A fiery redheaded boy, the spitting image of his fierce father. Every night you stared at him for the longest of times, seeing so much of Kid on your son, wishing your husband were by your side to share the joy.

He would have loved to carry the little one on his shoulders, to make him giggle, to spin him in the air… he would’ve been proud to train him in the ways of the warrior, to follow Kid’s footsteps.

He would’ve been proud.

“Your father was very brave. He gave his life to defend our honour. He’s watching us!” The tears were still a constant, but rarer now. The ache in your heart somewhat subsided, but was still there. Throbbing from time to time. A painful remembrance of what could have been.

With a sigh you placed the wreath on top of the stone and uttered the same words you uttered every time: “It’s you and me, Kid.”

Forever and always.

The End

[mashiraostail]

your gang orca praise kink stuff goes soooo crazy please give us some gentle dom praising from halsin w Fem reader PLEASE

glad u like it thank u!!

yall are crazy outing your praise kink in my ask box. Ask and u shall receive tho!!! Kind of a long one, i care for u guys so I have to feed u.

NSFW under the cut!

Aches blossomed like weeds all over your poor body. Maybe you should have brought Halsin along on this one, a healer would have done you well about 3 hours ago. He stayed back, or perhaps he went on his own way for the day. For all your not seeing eye to eye Astarion was seemingly happy to help you hobble along with an arm slung over his shoulder.

He's biting something back and Karlach all but shoves it out of him.

"Thank you. For...taking those hits for me." He rolls his eyes when he says it, but it does nothing to veil his grateful tone, "i can't imagine it was pleasant."

"It wasn't." You muse back, "but you're helping me along."

"Well-" He sputters, "I figured you could take it since you have Halsin waiting for you with baited breath every night."

He was right, you did. He tried to be subtle, to give everyone a once over after a hard day, but he always lingered on you. He liked you, perhaps more, it was obvious. At least when you stumble back to camp he has a reason to make a b-line to you first.

"What happened?" He takes you from Astarion, who snickers a bit at you.

"Nothing, just the typical day." You shrug.

"Is everyone else okay?" Bless him, he feigns interest in the other 3 trailing behind you.

"Don't worry." Wyll waves, "we'll live."

"Come with me." He doesn't even respond to Wyll, he was not as good of an actor as he hoped to be.

You go with him, not that he gave you much of a choice, guiding you away before he could even finish. He settles you down by a shallow river not too far off from camp. He brings a bowl and a rag, with a small sack of supplies to clean you off with.

"I know you're capable." He starts, as he wipes layers of blood and grime away from your skin, "i'm not underestimating you-"

"I understand." You cut him off before he can prattle off into a nervous explanation as to why he seems to favor you over the others when you're injured.

You fall back into silence as he cleans you off.

"Look up at me." Fingers on your chin crane your gaze up to him, if he's trying to be seductive it has certainly worked, and if he wasn't it was cruel. He's scanning your face, his eyes meet your gaze.

"Will I live?" There's a coyness to your voice that just about knocks him off balance.

"Yes, lucky me. Does your head hurt?"

"Not at all." You felt better, under his caring hands, there was a dull soreness now, it overtook the harsh and stinging aches.

It was already dark, nobody had bothered to call the pair of you for dinner, perhaps more knowing than they let on.

"Can I do anything else for you?" He asks, kneeling now but still tall enough to be gazing down at you. The dull light of your lantern made him glow.

"No-" Suddenly you can't play coy anymore, it's like his sucked the air out of your lungs, he takes your hand.

"Will you stay with me tonight?" when he asks he traces his fingers over the back of your knuckles.

"Of course." You nod, something flutters under your ribs. He brushes his lips over the back of your hand, and it lights you up. It's such a silly, small, innocuous gesture, but it makes your stomach warm.

"Thank you." He looks up from the back of your hand to catch your gaze.

You kiss your teeth, your mouth feels dry all of a sudden, "why thank me?"

"Because you're allowing me." Halsin murmurs it, "I'm grateful to be let so close to you." He kisses his way up your arm in a galant gesture, though it makes you feel light headed none the less. When he reaches the crook of your neck, the shallow divot where your shoulder ends he stops, and drops your arm gently onto your lap.

"You can act modest, or play coy," He continues despite the lack of contact, which makes you feel cold and even more exposed then when he's ravishing you. "But you know how I want you. You indulge me."

"Please," You're fluttering, you try to sound casual but you're fluttering like a moth and Halsin is a big, bright fire drawing you in. "it's self serving."

"Even better." He elects to sit beside you, "indulge yourself in me."

"Oh gods." You feel hot, in the back of your neck, in your chest, between your legs.

"What?" Halsin reaches for you, you let him, he wraps an arm around you, he draws you in. "don't you want to?"

"I do-" You're practically whining despite the fact he has not denied you, and probably never would. You turn your face into his neck, nosing at his collar. He makes a pleased noise at the feeling, and brings a hand up to cup your hair.

"Then tell me what you want. You can have it, you deserve it. Anything, just tell me."

You aren't sure when you make your way into his lap, when the desire to taste his skin becomes so potent that you have no choice but to glide your tongue over his collar bone. He's happy to rub up your back and thighs, to pull your closer by the back of your head.

"Is it me you want?"

You moan, gasping, you aren't sure when you started rutting against his leg, but he seems all the more happy to have you there so you cast aside the sheer embarrassment of it all.

"You can have it, you can have me. All you have to do is take it. I'll let you, I'm yours for the taking."

You practically cry at that, you aren't sure when you'd become so pent up.

"You can have me." One of his hands is holding onto the bend of your hip, guiding them against his leg in a languid rolling pace, "you already do. You deserve it, all of it, whatever you want. Tell me."

You let him take your shirt off, you're more than keen to free him of his.

"I must have been particulalry well behaved in my past life." For a breif moment his hand releases your hips and he's gliding rough palms over your chest and stomach, "you're such a lovely thing..." He ducks down, kisses at your chest, pulling you away from the perfect friction of his thigh to the warm heat of his mouth and tongue.

He's kissing, licking and nipping at the newly exposed skin while his hands trail over your ass, up your back and thighs, drawing you in impossibly closer to his mouth.

"I'd give you the world, anything you'd ask." He pushes the small of your back, guiding you back down onto his lap, "but you only want me?"

"Do you really feel that way? That I should have whatever I ask for? Whatever I want?"

The sight of your chest heaving, glistening from his mouth makes him groan, "how could I not? Tell me what you want, My hands? My mouth?"

You feel on the verge of passing out, terrible and blissful all at once.

He lifts you as he stands, but just a quickly sets you down again laying on your back.

"Are you sore?" His hands hold your waist, his nose is at your jaw, "I'd be content just to stay here, looking at you, kissing you. We would not need to anything more to sate me." He assures you, "the sight of you like this alone would be enough to satisfy me for lifetimes to come."

"No." You're breathless, you shake your head.

"No?" Despite what he's said he sounds hopeful, grateful, pleased even.

"No." All you can think to do is repeat him. You help him help you out of your pants.

"Will you let me?" He's already lowering himself between your legs, you flush.

"You hardly have to ask permission."

"Yes?" He pushes you for it anyways, of course you indulge him.

"Yes."

It's been hundreds of years, of course he was an attentive and...skilled lover, but this was almost too much.

Your back arched off the ground, his hands were there, big and warm and slightly rough, he held your waist there his fingers wrapping around to the small of your back where it arched. Where they held you his hands pulled you closer, just barely.

He didn't protest when your thighs closed around his head, when they squeezed, or when your hands pulled him impossibly closer by his hair. In fact he sounded more than pleased at all of the above. Every time he had a spare breath he was singing you praises. You were perfect, you cried out for him perfectly, and you were so easy to love.

His hands squeezed your waist where they held you, he groaned every time you called his name.

When you do reach your climax it almost blinds you for a second, but Halsin doesn't seem interested in letting you rest until you force him off with a keening sort of whine at the overstimulation.

"I'm sorry," He's kissing at your legs, your lower stomach and up your ribs ravenously, "I can't bring myself to stop with you."

It's so easy to open yourself up to him, to let him take and for you to take what you want.

"You're so lovely." He's kissing around your chest, subtly gasping for you air, "I'd mistake you for an angel if not for the things we do together." He guides your legs around him, closing the small amount of space left between you.

"If I didn't know you to be so truly good then I'd mistake you for something much more sinister than an angel, considering the spell you must have put on me." He's arching up into your hands, turning and preening at every touch and heavy breath, "do you know what you have done to me?"

Eventually you stop your head spinning enough to fumble with his pants, until there's nothing at all between you.

"I was taken by you from our first meeting," He groans as you undress him, "but all the things I dreamt have been put to shame at the feeling of the reality of it in my hands." He takes in an uneven breath as your hands run over his cock, you turn your head to open your neck to him, he's glad to muffle himself into it. The feeling of his low groans vibrates the crook of your neck. You arch your back, pressing your chest into his which seems to set him over the edge.

"You're the most lovely thing I've ever laid my hands on, please, say you'll have me." As if it wasn't obvious, as if you weren't laying naked below him, blossoming at his lips and fingertips.

He guides himself easily into you It’s hardly painful, it barely stings, it tingles up to your stomach, and it’s pleasant. A blooming sort of feeling that you often pined for once it was gone. It was fleeting and easily missed when it dissipated. He's captivated by you, your expressions, the way you cry out, the wavering in your voice.

As with all things, he's incredibly gracious with you, giving you long, deep rolls of his hips and easy praise. He enjoys watching you melt from it, it makes his chest warm with affection.

"You're divine," He doesn't mind your arms around his neck, he holds you closer with a hand between your shoulder blades, "every single time." He enjoys the feeling of your hand holding the back of his head too.

"Every time I swear you can have me, but you're always bent at my will aren't you? Beautiful, obedient, and mine for the taking. Look at me."

All you can do is obey and nod, maybe a bit dumbly. You wrap your legs tighter around him, there was no way you'd last very long in this state. He holds you by your chin, he keeps his eyes on you whenever you cum, muttering out obscene praises. Occasionally he'll use his hold on you to turn your head to the side, to observe your throat, he swears he can see your pulse beating.

When the pair of you are finished Halsin seems perfectly fine to dip into the shallow river, it hardly reaches his waist.

"Come here," He insists, "I'll hold you."

"is it cold?" You roll over to see him.

"No, barely." He waves you over, and fuck, you're still coming down from your high, still bent at his will. You go to him, you let him guide you by your hand into the river, once you're close enough he holds the crook of your elbow, then the bend of your waist.

You rest your head against his chest as he runs wet hands over your hair.

"Many people have held my favor in my life," He looks down at you, "but I don't recall ever being so enthralled by someone." He runs a wet hand down the side of your face, "some days I dread the thought of our paths diverging."

"Don't think you'll be rid of me so easily" You manage to be a bit cheeky. Despite yourself you brush gentle fingers over the side of his neck, he closes his eyes thankfully.

"Kiss me." His voice is quiet but steadfast. Of course you go to him.

When he pulls away it's just enough to speak, "you know I adore you, tell me you do."

"I know." You grin and push his damp hair back, "you're especially sentimental today."

"I suppose I...must have missed your company." He decides, "we usually travel together."

"Is that it? I'm not complaining, maybe we'll travel separately more often."

He groans, wrapping his arms around your waist and lifting you up, "don't be cruel to me when you were so well behaved all night. I'm not sure what I'll do."

You laugh, bracing yourself against his chest as he prepares to drop you into the river, "no please, I swear to keep you dutifully at my side from now on, just don't drop me in this water!"

He's ravishing your neck again, your laughter made his chest burn with affection, "I truly can never deny you."

You have a feeling tonight may be a longer night than average.

[thoughtsfromlayla]

Destined Dreams of Love: Prologue

Summary: As no stranger to arranged marriages, your parents excitedly marry you off to the king at his request. He is contradictory, cold yet caring, strict yet liberating, it's all too much! He could never love another for reasons you do not understand either, didn't he just meet you? Perhaps in time, you can learn to love him, too.

Warnings: ~1.3k words. Arranged marriage trope, slow burn, alternate universe, eventual smut, miscommunication, general palace drama, no i don't know the rules of royalty, ANGST (It's my specialty)

Tag list is open, just let me know!

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Everything was too much.

Too much fuss, too much noise, too many smells, too many textures. Your mother stands beside you as she fluffs the veil one last time and smoothes your silken dress. The corset you wore was bone-crushing, making the already anxiety-ridden day even harder to breathe. With sweaty, shaking palms, you grab the bouquet of flowers, gripping onto the fragile stems tightly as your only saving grace. 

Your mother moves the veil over your face a few moments before the large doors open. She cups at your face through the see through fabric and looks at you with teary eyes. 

“Oh, my own daughter. Married off to the king at his request,” She gushes with love. “Now, make sure you make him happy, bring honor to our family.” Her last bit of wisdom falls from her lips. 

You couldn’t help the roll of your eyes at her words. You’re no stranger to arranged marriages, it’s quite the normal in the higher social circles that you find yourself in. Your birth was that of an arranged marriage, after all. You are, however, a stranger to King Morpheus. 

That is to say, you have seen his portrait several times, and you would be lying if you were to say he is not of good breeding. He always eluded a sense of authority, even through the layers of paint. Perhaps it was the way he held his head, or his posture, or how lean and muscular shoulders meet slim waists. But then you’d be rambling - and a proper lady does not ramble, you can even hear your mother’s voice echoing the words. 

The music swells in muted harmony on the other side of the heavy doors and you hear the gregarious sound of people standing from the pews as the door slowly opens. Your mother leaves you side and it would be the last time you will feel her comforting arms around you. It takes everything in your willpower to not turn around and beg her to reconsider. But who would defy a king?

Your father stands on the other side of the doors and you walk a few paces to meet his awaiting arm. His face is as stern as always, only more groomed than normal. The crow feet and smile wrinkles are few, but some are discernable to you as you look at him one last time. You can recount each memory those wrinkles came from, few from joy. Perhaps today you will make him proud. To throw away your own dreams and desires for your family. 

He leads forward, your hand slotted to his arm, and your heart pounds louder than the choir. Each step you take, the closer you are to your future, to your soon to be husband. Each step another wish gets left behind in the vibrate but dying petals of fresh flowers. You will never know the warmth of your own bed again, nor the hearth that burns proudly in the drawing room where you like - liked - to spend your time, no more familiar faces to bother you. Your fingers will never dance across the same pianoforte’s glass keys, and they will never caress the old books in the library that talk about love. 

Your father lets go of your arm and you stand on wobbling legs to stare through thin fabric at the new outstretched hand. Pale skin is hidden by midnight black sleeves, trimmed with gold and flames. He wears a formal suit, an equally dark cape draped behind him that pools along the stairs like the night sky fell to the Earth at his feet. Your gloved hand takes his as he helps you up the last few steps. The choir stops, and it is just you and your heart against the world. You take a look at him, and the last of your breath is taken away. 

He’s somehow even more handsome in person, his portraits certainly didn’t lie about his facial structure. In fact, you believe his jawline to be stronger than the paintings. His eyes stare at yours through your veil, an enchanting mercury blue. Cold, but you think if you were to dig far enough, you would find warmth instead. 

A cough from the priest brings you back to the present and you jump slightly in your skin. His thumb runs a soothing finger over the back of your hand, but it somehow does the opposite. It makes him real, it makes the situation real. 

“Distinguished guests, esteemed family members, and honored participants, we gather here today to witness and solemnize the union between His Majesty, King Morpheus, and Lady (Y/N). In the tradition of arranged marriages, this ceremony represents the merging of two families…” The priest’s voice fades into a muddle, the monotone reading of the speech out of an old dusty book ornate with gold and jewels. 

You find your eyes wandering to anything you could see without moving. Yet they always returned to those cold mercury blue eyes. You knew nothing about this man, even the news articles the school boy brings every week never spoke of anything specific about the king. He wasn’t known to be the closest to his subjects, only ruling them from a six foot long pole. Would he be the same behind closed doors? Only calling you when he demands it? Or will he be something else, something different? 

All questions to be answered in due time, for sure, but is it wrong to ask now? Before you are tied to this man until your dying breath? 

“In the presence of witnesses and under the guidance of tradition, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may seal your vows with a kiss.” The priest finishes. 

You blink when the speech is over. King Morpheus takes a step closer to you and you think your heart is going to jump out of your chest and plunge itself into the nearby sea. His hand leaves yours and slowly lifts the veil, a slight smile is apparent on his face. A blink and you would have thought you imagined it. The veil falls behind you and you are completely presented to your king, the flimsy fabric the last of your defenses. 

His warm breath tickles across your glossed lips before he pushes forward with a kiss. Soft lips meet your own, tasting of sweet wine and berries and leaves you dizzy. You always thought your first kiss would be that of romance, something you read in your many books. Where you had run off into the forest and stolen a kiss with a forbidden lover, shared only between the two of you and full of giggles and promises to run away together. How ironic it is instead with the strictest setting possible, witnessed by the entire court of his kingdom. 

His fingers find their way to your cheek, thumb caressing the soft skin. 

“I could never choose to love another,” He hums while he looks at you. It was hard to discern what kind of emotion he was showing as he didn't show any at all.

His declaration shocks you and yet… calms down all of your nerves and never ending questions at the same time. His voice was not what you had expected it to be. Somewhere in your head, you had convinced yourself that his voice would be harsh, cold, and rough like the oak trees that shaded the river. Instead you are lulled to him by his voice, it’s soft and deep. He speaks slowly with no rush in his tone at all. It’s a voice of seduction and authority, a voice that knows its importance and will be listened to. 

Your own voice finds itself as you respond. “Maybe one day, I’ll could learn to love you, too.” 

“I will wait, my dear.” He breathes out, yet he doesn't meet your eyes quite so.

“May I present His Majesty the King and Her Majesty the Queen Consort.” The priest announces. The King drops your hands immediately as if you were made of hot iron and turns to the crowd, any sentiment the two of you shared, lost immediately.

Cheers erupt around you, flowers following their excitement as the marriage is sealed in golden ink.

☾ ✴ ๋࣭ ⭑․⋆⋮. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁⋆⭒˚.⋆⋮⋆․ ․⋆⋮. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁⋆⭒˚.⋆⋮⋆․ ․⋆⋮. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁⋆⭒˚.⋆⋮⋆․

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[snowyquokka]

ATTRACTING THE OPPOSITE - H. JISUNG

cw - mentions of alcohol, mentions of stabbing (jokingly), mentions of violence (I guess?), SHITTY WRITING, boxer jisung, fem reader, kinda fluffy ig, uhhhh I think that's it

wc - .8k

an - HAPPY HAN DAY !! I sincerly apologize for how absolutely awful this is but I wanted to try and get out of my writing comfort zone w this one. but, nonetheless, I FINALLY FINISHED SOMETHING who cheered !! I defo will be writing better stuff later on but this is just something quick I pulled together

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

In the bustling heart of a city that never quite slept, tucked between a neon-lit ramen shop and a vintage record store, there was a small, unassuming hole-in-the-wall bar called "District 9." It was a haven for misfits, loners, and those looking to escape reality, where the clatter of glasses mixed with the whispers of secrets being shared over half-filled mugs of craft beer.

On a rainy Thursday evening, it was more crowded than usual. You sat among the eclectic crowd leaned forward, your elbows resting on the bar. You had just finished complaining to the bartender about your shitty day at work when you were met with the gaze of a rather imposing figure.

Jisung was an amateur boxer, though tall and built like a brick wall, there was a softness to his edges, and he had a charm that paired well with his features. With a grin that could rival the sun, he sidled up to you, your attention still caught up in a rant about office politics.

“Hey there,” he said, his voice deep and inviting. “What’s the story you’ve got brewing?”

You glanced at him, sizing up the muscles that strained his fitted shirt. You offered a polite smile, your mind racing for an escape route. “Oh, just office horror stories,” you replied, waving a hand dismissively. “You know, the usual power struggles and egos clashing over the copier.”

“Sounds intense,” Jisung replied, undeterred. “Maybe I can help lighten the mood?” 

You raised an eyebrow. “I doubt you’d be able to lighten anything when you look as if you could be an axe murderer- a very squishy, adorable, gentle axe murder.” The more you spoke the stupider you realized you sounded.

Jisung chuckled, amused. “You look like the kind of girl who’d call a man squishy just to bruise his ego,” he waves over the bartender once again, “Let me buy you a drink, yeah?”

A playful light flickered in your eyes as you leaned back, crossing your arms. “You’re not my type, I’m afraid. I prefer not to date people who could easily kill me with brute force while also looking like their cheeks are made of mochi.”

“Is that on principle or just preference?” he asked, tilting his head with curiosity.

“Both, I suppose,” you answered, digging deeper. “It’s only logical. I might be a sucker for some tragic romance, but I’d prefer to be stabbed than have someone crush me with their fists. So, if you'd happen to know anyone…?”

Jisung gaped, half-laughing, half-wondering if you were serious. “Stabbed? That’s quite extreme, don’t you think?”

“Well, it’s more romantic than being pulverized,” you shrug with a sigh. “But in all honesty, I like my partners a little more… fragile, if you will.”

“Fragile, huh?” he mused aloud, scratching his chin as a playful grin danced on his lips. “I do know a guy. A buddy of mine who bakes and is about as threatening as a baby chick.”

You leaned in, entranced by the absurdity of your exchange. “Now you’re speaking my language. But if he’s too timid, I might just accidentally scare him away.”

“Then we’ll make sure you get the recipe,” Jisung said, laughing openly now.

As the night unfolded, you exchanged stories—Jisung revealing a softer side veiled beneath his muscles and you allowed him to peel away the layers of your tough exterior. You bonded over your shared taste in obscure films and the best local pizza joints, while the rain drummed rhythmically against the bar’s window.

Eventually, the bar began to empty, the crowd thinning as couples began to drift toward the door. Jisung glanced at his watch, a frown creeping onto his face. “I should probably head out.”

You felt a pang of disappointment, surprising even yourself. “Yeah, me too. It’s getting late.”

As you two stood to leave, Jisung paused, a serious look crossing his face. “Look, uhm, I know you’ve got your preferences, but would you consider going for coffee sometime? I promise I won’t pulverize you or whatever.”

You considered him for a moment, the shadows of the bar catching the profile of his strong jaw and the kind eyes that felt atypical for someone his size. “You know what? Coffee sounds great. But only if we meet at a café and not a dark alley.”

He laughed. “Deal.”

As you stepped out into the cool night air, you glanced back at the rundown bar, a smile creeping onto your face. Perhaps it was time to reconsider your so-called principles—after all, sometimes opposites really do attract, even if one was a little more likely to throw a punch.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

tags: @skzstarnet @azunaar @seungseung-minmin @myseungsunglove @solisyeah @miss-daisy04 @bubbly-moon @kaiyaba

[footballffbarbiex]

Is it too late to request Ruben Dias with baby daddy ‘pumpkin picking’ please? Maybe you’re all out picking with your eldest child & heavily pregnant with the second. Ruben gets a bit sassy and reader threatens to attach a pumpkin to Ruben (like the viral watermelon videos of dads-to-be having them taped to them) and he soon goes back to being fluffy?

from this list.

sorry this is a bit later than planned, but i hope you like it!

-

each step brings a low, dull ache in your lower back and a splintering pain across your hips which only slows you down further than the waddle that you're now doing. it doesn't make it any easier with the ground now drenched from the last few nights rainfall and your feet threaten to slip out from beneath you with each squelchy step. even as you cart the wheelbarrow which helps to keep you the right way up.

Rúben walks ahead with your daughter, both of them managing to stay upright better than you, though she is supported by her daddy. her wellington boots have a thick layer of sludge going up past the rubber soles like a thick layer of icing upon a birthday cake. but he makes sure that she never falls, that even when she begins to lose her footing, that he's right there to give her her confidence back as he helps her regain her balance. she looks so small next to him and yet, she was growing up far too quickly. everything, physically, about her was Rúben and it made it far too easy for him to sweet talk you into having another baby.

he had promised that the first weekend when they were both available, he would take her pumpkin picking. she'd seen pictures from her friend's and acknowledged her jealousy, asking repeatedly why they were able to go but she wasn't. Rúben hated to see his little girl upset, especially for something that was so easy to fix.

several other families mill around, some slipping and sliding and no doubt seeing their life flash before their eyes as they begin their downward journey into the dirt. the sun seems brighter, imitating the way winter sun blinds, though it probably doesn't help that it's cutting through a veil of fog which hangs over the fields, leaving the scene before you all to feel incredibly spooky. you half expect to find a scarecrow to be hung up with a pumpkin head carved with a menacing smile as an attraction to take pictures with.

"mummy is a slowpoke," Rúben says loud enough for you to be able to hear, deliberately turning his head to ensure it reaches you as far back as you are. she giggles, betraying you in the process, and begins to chant "slowpoke" as she bends over to examine a pumpkin before deciding that it's not the one for her.

"come on mummy," he laughs as he begins to run in slow motion, "lets have a race, see if she can catch us." he says, encouraging the mini version of himself. she eagerly agrees, traitor, and begins to mimic him while squealing "catch us mummy" over and over.

Rúben's happy smile quickly disappears as he catches your expression and he gulps as you approach.

"what was that?"

"nothing," he feigns innocence.

"daddy says you're slow." your daughter says as she approaches with a small, but to her a large, pumpkin in her hands. it's dirty, the mud clings to her small hands but she looks super proud of her find as she rolls it into the wheelbarrow.

"keep speaking like that honey," you say, your words dripping with sweetness as you give him a smile just as sickly, "and you'll find yourself picking out an extra large pumpkin to strap to your stomach while i zap you with a TENS machine to see how a tiny bit of this feels."

"that sounds like fun." he grimaces, "but i'll, respectfully, pass. hey sugarplum, do you want to show me those big muscles of yours and maybe help mummy push this wheelbarrow while i help her walk along?" he asks, squatting down to her level and using a calming voice.

she immediately lifts her arms to flex her biceps and show that she's capable of it while he steps to your side and wraps an arm around your lower back.

"good choice Dias, good choice."

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Vow 2

Warnings: non/dubcon, arranged marriage, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!August Walker

Summary: your father’s murder leaves you in the hands of a dangerous man.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

The man is quiet. The villain. The boss. The groom. Your... husband. 

The vows were what you would find in a script. Nothing special. Just standard. Just going through the motions. And when he lifted the veil, his kiss was just as prescribed. That’s it. Your life is over and his is just beginning. 

Your hand is in his as he guides you from the hall. He takes you between the pews and out the tall doors. A shower of petals rain down on you as you come out into the sunlight. There’s a car waiting. The people around you are like actors on a screen. It’s all fake. This isn’t a happy day, this is business. 

The car door shuts on the other side of him and you’re closed in with this stranger. The stranger you’ll spend the rest of your life with. You know his name and his bad deeds, but nothing else. 

You fold your hands over the layers of the full skirt. He shifts as he pulls a fold of tulle from beneath him. You watch his large hand and tremble. 

“Sorry,” you breath and snatch the skirt so that it can’t overflow onto his lap. 

He catches your hand and you freeze. You lock up, bones aching, muscles clenched. He tugs on you. You let him draw you closer as you stare at his steely grip. He brings his other hand over to pet your knuckles. The softness of his touch makes you tingle. 

“You’re scared,” he states. It isn’t a question. He knows. “If you are loyal, you don’t need to be.” 

You nod, “yes, sir.” 

He huffs through his nose, “I am your husband.” 

You close your eyes and tempo your heartbeat, “what should I call you?” 

“You know my name.” 

“Walker.” 

“August,” he insists upon his first name. “Maybe one day, you will have something softer to call me.” 

“Maybe,” you shiver and he squeezes your hand. 

“Your father wrote his own fate, you will write yours,” he raises your hand and lays a kiss on the back of it. “It doesn’t need to be the same.” 

You stare ahead. You can’t let yourself feel or you will feel everything. The fear, the grief, and even, the anger. Once they boil over, you will be lost. 

“I understand, August.” 

Another heavy exhale. 

“You will not act so cold in front of my men.” He takes your hand and forces your fingers open. “You will touch me with kindness.” He puts your palm to his cheek and leads you to cradle his face. His stubble pokes at your delicate gloves. “You will do so without my order. You will behave as a wife, so far as they are concerned. Let your father’s defiance die with him.” 

“I will not resist,” you tell him as much as yourself. 

“Goddamnit, look at me,” he says. 

You turn to look him in the face. The anger you expect is absent. He watches you placidly. Your fingers twitch and he leans into your touch. He takes your other hand and forces you to twist toward him. He leans in and before you can think, his lips are on yours. 

It is different than at the altar. Not just a peck, more. His lips part and his tongue flicks out along yours. He hums and you open your mouth. His hand creeps up the back of your neck and he locks you against him. His tongue invades your mouth and you squeak. 

He draws away and his eyes narrow, “better.” You’re unsure if he means it was better than before or that you need to do better.  

He lets you go and sits back against the seat. He closes his eyes as he pushes his shoulders wide. His feet are planted as he lingers in unspoken thought. You look at the driver then out the window. You turn back to him. 

You touch his sleeve and shimmy closer. He hums again. The tone assures you that you aren’t unwelcome. Play your part, fulfill your vow. That is all that needs to be done.  

This is more than you, there is your mother, and others beyond that. Those that were once loyal to your father. Those you called friends and family. Those who now walk the same tightrope. Those that have already fallen. 

The car stops. A flicker of panic strikes in your chest. The door opens from outside and he pulls you out with him. You keep one hand on your skirt and the other on his arm. He marches ahead. 

You enter the large building and wait in some room. He remains silent, pensive. You’re summoned and after a time. He fixes your arm to hook through his as you stand before the large doors. 

“Head up,” he girds before you enter. 

They watch you, just as before. You can hear them this time, whispering. You don’t look anywhere but ahead of you. He nods at the more notable guests. You will not doubt be met again with those faces through the night. 

He puts you ahead of him to climb onto the platform where the bride and groom’s table stands. He follows closely. He pulls a chair out but puts his hand to your back so you cannot sit. He sidles behind you. Instead, he sits with you, lifting you into his lap. 

You quiver again. Humiliation surges through you. This is his show of victory. He boasting. No, you will not just be beside him, you are his.  

[aboutcustardcreams]

Part two

part one

She sees right through me

Can't express how much I loved writing down this chapter. I got carried away, and here's the result. Hope you enjoy it :3

word count: 4000 ish

A pregnant silence fell in the TARDIS right after those simple words slipped from your mouth. A small confession, merely the tip of the iceberg that still was able to cause quite a shock. 

The Doctor’s voice is barely above a whisper when she asks, “so you come from Gallifrey?” 

Of course you did, but she needed to be sure. From the moment she laid her hand upon your chest, she had known. A sound so very familiar to her echoed to her ears, against her palm. It was slightly accelerated, yet in perfect harmony with her own heartbeats. 

Thump Thump Thump 

You nodded your head, and glanced at her while her eyes were still fixed upon your chest. She swallowed hard and blinked a couple of times, as if to find the strength to pull away from you and come to terms with this unexpected revelation. All this time she thought she had lost her family, her people, and yet you stood there, very much alive, and like her. Like a bolt from the blue. She didn’t even know what she was feeling: relief, happiness, fear, confusion. Probably all the above.

You give her a glimpse of a smile, and bow your head just a bit so that you can meet her hazel eyes. “Are you alright?” 

Your voice kinda worked as a wake up call. She nodded quickly and pulled away. One single step back still felt like she had just put an entire ocean between you two. “Of course. I’m great, me. Over the moon.” 

Yaz lightly scoffed at that, clearly having none of it. 

She was lying and it was so obvious. You licked your lips and hummed in thought, suddenly having second thoughts. What were you thinking? Why were you doing this? She had her life sorted out now and was content with it. She wasn’t alone, you had to remember. She had Yaz. And they seemed happy. Complete. You couldn’t just burge in and then what? Disrupt her entire existence? Make her remember you? 

“Are you?” She later questioned, noticing your state of trance and sudden quietness. 

Blinking repeatedly, you waved your hand dismissively, “Sure thing. I’m always fine,” you blurted out. 

“You’re both terrible liars,” comes from Yaz in the background. Her tone is serious yet veiled with a layer of fondness. She found herself thinking that perhaps hiding and …lying was a Time Lord’s thing. 

You let out a sound between a huff and a chuckle. Brief and bitter. The Doctor stirred her lips in a grimace, “I mean, I’m quite shocked if I’m honest. But I’m happy to know you survived the war…” There was honesty in her voice, but also a veil of awkwardness in her movements. She was telling the truth. On one side, she was eager to get to know you, but on the other, she was terrified. 

A lump formed in your throat. “Only because I wasn’t there when it happened,” you stated, somehow a bit ashamed.  

The Doctor frowns at the sight of your features dimming. You’re suddenly wishing to have been there too, to help, maybe? To die? To do something that wasn’t lying in a jail’s cell for an insane amount of time. It wasn’t that easy to read what’s going on inside your head, but the Doctor was trying because you intrigued her. The funny thing was, she only needed a brief physical contact to know it all, a connection she could gain by touching your temple. But it wasn’t her place to pry. 

“Where were you?” asked Yaz cautiously. 

You licked your lips and swayed a bit, shifting your body weight from one foot to another, “Ah– you know,” you looked up at her, voluntarily avoiding meeting the Doctor’s eyes, afraid of what you might find in there. “Prison is not as bad as they think. It’s a tad boring, food isn’t great. It’s slimy, but all in all, it kept me alive.” 

The Doctor’s hearts ached for you. “I’ve been in prison,” her voice came out firm, despite the clear emotion in her eyes, “so no, I don’t believe you for a second. Prison is terrible. It’s lonely. Cramped and quite smelly. Days go by and you feel powerless, useless. You lose yourself in places like those.” 

You swallow at the firmness of her tone. A tear slides down your cheek. She was right. It had been Hell to you, but you managed, you had no other choice. Her eyes softened; drawing closer she reached out a hand to wipe your cheek. You shivered. Oh- how you had missed this. Was it embarrassing to admit you had been touch starved? That the last time you hugged someone was when the Doctor was still with you? “And you–” she trailed off, “something tells me you didn’t deserve to be locked up.”

You lifted your chin and met her eyes. Your smile didn’t reach your ears as you muttered, “what gives?” 

“Can’t explain,” she replied. “It’s a feeling. My gut is telling me there’s good in you.” 

You hummed softly. “Is it because I saved you and Yaz?” you mused, eternally grateful for the hint of a smile she was giving you. 

She chuckled lightly, “You got ten points for that by the way. Plus, you’re our friend now. Isn’t she, Yaz?”

Yaz smiles so genuinely, the dimples on her cheeks showed up. “Absolutely.”

Friend. That was something, wasn’t it? And it didn’t even take much to get there, having started as a total stranger. This version of the Doctor made her look like a cute and loyal golden retriever. Playful, friendly, a bit of a dummy sometimes and always ready to contribute. You never thought you could love the Doctor more than you already did. Perhaps it was a good idea to start over, build your friendship from scratch. Could you do that? Definitely. For her, you’d open up the galaxies. Staying in the shadow was pure bliss if that meant breathing the same air again. 

“But you still have to explain how you know our names,” she adds, arching an eyebrow at you. There’s playfulness in her eyes and in her tone. 

You chucked, “I s'pose I have to.” 

“The TARDIS let you in. And if she did, it means…”

You looked around you, a nostalgic light brimmed in your eyes. You still remember the day you and the Doctor stole this spaceship. The euphoria of having conquered something only yours to use, had been thrilling. Originally, the TARDIS belonged to the Division, but it was damaged, and for that reason, left in some kind of stock with other rubbish and mechanical supplies. But you and the Doctor fixed it, after a couple of months, or years, it didn’t even matter to you, because you bonded like nobody else. And when you two started traveling with it, nobody noticed the TARDIS’ missing, simply because it wasn’t one of the Division’s official spaceships. 

“She knows you,” Yaz continued. The lights of the TARDIS flickered from bright yellow to a warmer hue of orangish. It suited you, that light. You closed your eyes for a brief moment, and hummed softly, feeling the warmth of the TARDIS as a velvety caress on your skin. 

“You’re very perceptive, Yaz. I get why the Doctor likes you so much,” you teased, with your eyes still closed. The Doctor’s cheeks turned into a darker shade of pink. 

Yaz opened her mouth to reply, but her words died down in her throat before she could even think of what to say. Was it so obvious that the Doctor liked her? And that she liked her back? Even for someone that has just met them? Apparently so. 

The Doctor stared at you, all of the sudden a tad bit uncomfortable. To possess such a knowledge meant being exposed and vulnerable. And the Doctor hated to feel that way.

“You talk as if you’d been spying on us.”

You squint your eyes, as if all of the sudden, the Doctor started speaking another language. “Not spying,” you objected. It was frustrating to stand there and be treated like you couldn’t be fully trusted, whereas in the past, you had been the sole trustworthy one. You stiffened and took your hands out of your pockets. “My intention all along was to make sure you were okay. It’s all I ever wanted.” 

The Doctor thought for a second. A wave of guilt flashed through her eyes, as those softened, “can you tell us why?” 

You hesitated, looking back at her like a lost puppy. “I don’t think it’s right,” you muttered, voice broken. Your eyes mirrored the confusion of the Doctor. “This was a mistake, I shouldn’t have–” you felt dizzy, frantic. Your voice trembled as much as your form while you spoke. 

But the Doctor wasn’t having any of that. “No, hey, it’s okay–” she cooed, her hands coming resting upon your shoulders, in the genuine attempt to reassure you. She mentally scolded herself for having been so pushy, without giving you proper time to collect yourself. Your hearts were beating so fast she feared you were on the verge of a panic attack. “I’m sorry I made you feel like I didn’t trust you. I know I can. You helped us and I can’t simply brush that aside. It’s just…” she paused, briefly glancing at Yaz, whose gaze was encouraging. “Yaz and I have been through so much lately and I can’t help but worry about a new danger lurking in the shadows. Ready to catch us unprepared. But you’re nothing like that. Quite the opposite, I think.”

The TARDIS buzzed softly. Yaz couldn’t understand what she was saying, unlike you and the Doctor. She figured by the small giggle that slipped from your lips, that the TARDIS said something funny or accusing aimed at the Doctor. 

“She acts like she knows you well” she later reasoned, “And if she does, it means–” 

You inhaled sharply and hesitated, averting your eyes from her to the tip of your boots. How could you sum up everything in a few words? How could you look into her eyes and tell her you had missed her for entire lifetimes. 

“Tell me, please…” 

Yaz watched you nibbling on your bottom lip. The emotion veiling in your eyes was raw, as if spilling those words out would mean putting salt over a freshly open wound. “Can I tell you something, Sage?” She muttered kindly, reaching up to you. Feeling her standing by you, you turned your head and nodded wordlessly. 

“I learned my lesson the hard way. Hiding my feelings from the Doctor thinking it was the best choice,” she muttered, with a tight smile. “And even if we can’t have what we’d like to share, for all kinds of reasons, I don’t regret for one second having told her how I feel,” a tear slipped down her cheek at the confession. You blinked slowly, trying hard to swallow the lump that just formed in your throat. Her pain was very similar to yours; she was in love with the Doctor and even if she couldn’t have her the traditional way, she was willing to stay by her side for as long as time would grant her. And that was enough. 

The Doctor’s eyes turned glassy too. She pressed her lips in a thin line, nodding slowly, almost mechanically, “I can’t really tell my hearts what to feel, because they are so full of love for Yaz. I vowed to protect her and to stand by her for as long as I’m allowed to exist in this body, and even in the next if she will have me,” Yaz smiled at that. “I can’t give her what she wants, nor what she deserves in matters of human relationships simply because I’m not a human. Time will catch up on me, eventually. And when that moment comes, it will hurt.” 

Bravery is knowing something will hurt and doing it anyway. A wise person once told the Doctor. 

You thought for a moment. It made sense, in a way. Their relationship didn’t need any label, simply because it existed beyond any of those. That was, in your opinion, the most beautiful confession of love. The truest manifestation of it in its purest form. Yaz wasn’t ready to let go of the Doctor as much as the Doctor wasn’t ready to say goodbye any time soon. Never been good at goodbyes anyway. And Yaz, oh– she was brave. Probably the bravest human you’ve ever met. 

Does it still count if you said she is the first one? 

“That’s to say…” Yaz continued, placing a hand upon your shoulder. “That whatever you feel you can’t tell the Doctor, in truth you can. Plus you owe it to yourself. There’s nothing worse than living a life filled with regrets and what ifs.” 

“I know, I understand–” your lids fall shut for a second and when they reopen, the Doctor is met with a pair of puffy and red eyes. It only took you a second to crumble. But you allowed no tears to wet your cheeks. Not yet. Not ever if you could help with it. It was too soon anyway and if you started tearing up now, then it would be impossible to keep talking and make sense of everything. 

“But I think,” you blinked, and forced a tight smile, “I need a cuppa. Don’t you want a cuppa? My throat is dry,” you rambled while the Doctor and Yaz exchanged a curious glance. 

When you started moving towards one of the corridors, as if you knew every path like the back of your hand, the other two followed behind, calling out your name. “Do you even know where to go?”

You hummed in thought, “Should be here, right?” The Doctor realized you weren’t talking to any of them, but with the TARDIS. The blue box buzzed and lit up a series of lights to guide you over the kitchen. A grin curled up your lips, “I thought so, thanks,” you continued, “Second door to the left and then right and then– oh,” you come to a halt when instead of the kitchen you find a cozy library, “Is this new?” 

A pang of nostalgia hit the Doctor in the stomach at the sight of the room. She leaned against the doorframe and stared at the slouchy couch in the middle of the room. Everything smelled like paper and leather in there. 

“The TARDIS made this room for one of my friends, she was a teacher.” 

“Clara,” Yaz whispered, and she nodded her head. 

“Oh,” you gaped, in awe. “It’s beautiful. Love a good book, me. And there are plenty of them here,” you commented quietly. “The kitchen used to be here, so I presume it moved elsewhere. Maybe next door?” 

“Sage, wait, please,” the Doctor grasped you by your wrist, before you could flee away from her again. Her fingers curled around your skin, that felt warm and incredibly smooth underneath her fingertips. You sighed, but listened to her. You didn’t even like tea, to be honest. You were more of a coffee type of person. The Doctor would know if only she remembered you. “The TARDIS knows you, she let you in, and you act like you have known me forever, but I have no memories of you. Only recently I found out what the Division did to me, taking away from me a speck of a life I didn’t even know existed, nor how big that was. And when I look into your eyes, I feel drawn to you in a way that feels both terrifying and right. And I’m not saying that just because you’re a Time Lord. I kind of feel all my past regenerations, those I have no memory of, were there with you. Am I wrong?” 

You promptly shake your head. No, she was hardly ever wrong about a thing. It brought a small smile upon your face, that somehow eased the Doctor’s hearts. You sniffed and adhered your palm against the corridor of the TARDIS, “We fixed her together. It was challenging, but so much fun. You were still working for the Division at the time. I wasn’t. Never did. You couldn’t share much of the things you did for them and with them, despite wanting it so much. I think I asked everyday,” a watery chuckle escaped from both yours and her mouth. It felt like a sense of familiarity was coming back to her. You loved it. “You were always so patient with me. No matter how insistently I kept asking you what you were up to with the Division, you never let a single word slip out,” she hummed, still smiling softly at you. It did sound like something she would do. Especially to protect those she cared about. “Eventually I stopped asking and respected your privacy. And now, thinking back to it, I’m so glad you never told me anything” you bowed your head as the Doctor listened to you in reverent silence. Same did Yaz. You couldn’t hold yourself anymore, and tears started spilling down your cheeks at incredible speed. Your breath hitched. 

The Doctor’s hands came cupping your face, her fingers getting wet with your tears. “Sage, it’s okay…” She looked at you with a pair of eyes that held nothing but affection and comprehension. You sniffled. “If you had told me, they’d have wiped my memories too. They chose prison, instead. There, I had time to think. So much time. I erroneously used to believe you had been blessed with memory loss because at first I was suffering so much. You can’t miss someone if you don’t even know that they exist, right?” 

Yaz’s heart tightened in her chest at your words. She had thought the same thing once. She regretted it later on, but that thought still had crossed her mind once or twice. 

“Then it hit me. I couldn’t live a life, believing it was normal to think a person so special like you never existed. The thought of you kept me going. Doc.”

The Doctor’s chin quivered. She gasped helplessly, and blinked repeatedly to ward off the tears clouding her visions that kept streaming on her face. 

Her hand slid from your face to your shoulder, then reached out to your hand, hesitantly clasping it in hers. She took in a long breath, “for how long?” 

At first you didn’t understand, so you frowned. How long, what? 

Anguish dimmed her features. She started to question her own decisions of keeping her past in the past and you being there was one of those reasons. You suffered her absence, while she kept on living her life like you never existed, never mattered, never touched her hearts. And that was wrong. Cruel. Because you did. She could feel it. Maybe you had another face back then, surely she had too. But that didn’t matter. You were still you in your hearts. And so was she. It was exactly why you never stopped looking for her.  

“How long have you been in prison? How long have you missed me? How long have you suffered because of me? How long have you been searching for me? How long have we known each other? How–” The Doctor was frantic. And you were taken aback by her outburst. So was Yaz. She couldn’t stop talking. Rambling. Panicking. 

Perplexed and rather shocked, you opened your mouth to say something, but you couldn’t master a single word out of you. The Doctor kept asking you questions over questions. She was mad, not at you, but at herself, at the Division, at whoever did this to her and to you. It always ended up like this. In the end a life with her meant only pain and suffering. 

You stumbled backwards, a wave of dizziness at you. Yaz caught you, “Doctor, calm down…” 

“Calm down?” She almost laughed. “How can I calm down, Yaz?” 

You cleared your throat, and then advanced towards her again. “It doesn't matter anymore. I’m here now,” you lifted your hand, allowing it to cling to her coat. 

“Except that it does, Sage,” she insisted, eyes wide open. You held your breath. “Just tell me, how long have you been in prison because of me.”

You inhaled sharply. “Not because of you,” you argued, the determination in your eyes didn’t falter, despite your voice coming quite faint. “Never because of you, you hear me? I’ll not let you take the blame.”

“Please,” the Doctor wasn’t one to beg, yet here she was now. 

You dropped your hands over your hips. “About seventy years.”

Yaz’s face turned white, “Oh God-” she muttered under her breath. 

The Doctor’s mouth twisted into a painful grimace. It felt like she had been run over and over by a train. You didn’t come here for that. You didn’t mean to add to her sense of responsibility. 

“Doctor, that’s nothing for a Time Lord and you know it. We are immortal.”

She snapped, “doesn’t mean we can or should endure everything!” 

It had been unbearable for her to spend about thirty years in prison, but unlike you she had hope. If it hadn’t been for Jack rescuing her at some point, she would have lost her mind. The thought of her fam waiting for her, remembering her, kept her hoping. What hope did you have, instead? What kind of foothold did you have for yourself? 

“Doctor, it’s okay,” you insisted. 

“No, it’s not okay! Don’t tell me it’s okay when it’s not!” 

You gulped and moved your hand from her coat, up to her cheek, where another tear was slipping down, thick and warm. “Fine, it’s not. It was not. It was pure Hell. But I resisted. I never gave up because I knew sooner or later I’d have found you again. And I did. That’s the only hope I ever needed. It was enough for me.” 

Reluctantly, almost fearful, the Doctor eyed you through her wet lashes. “I’m so sorry I don’t remember you,” she pursed her lips and you smiled at her sympathetically. You took a step closer to her. It was your turn to be strong, your turn to reassure her, to tell her that it was okay, because truth be told, it really was. 

“Hey,” you lifted her chin by placing your finger underneath. She sniffled and closed her eyelids to get rid of those itchy tears that kept welling up in her eyes. “I said, hey,” you playfully nudged her arm,  and she chuckled. Yaz was chuckling too. 

“Hey,” she said back, smiling with her eyes. 

“I’m here now, am I not? If you’ll have me, I can help you remember who we were. No pressure at all. Or,” you rolled your tongue behind your teeth, “we can start over, I’ll become your friend from scratch. New me, new you.” The Doctor was considering it, motionless. It’s not that she didn’t want to be your friend, because she wanted to. more than anything she wanted to know you, but at the same time, she couldn’t deny the fact that you knew her deeper, and better than she would ever know herself. 

Maybe that’s what she wanted too. All in due time. You saw her silent request in her eyes, as a free pass to do your next move. Stretching out your arm, you smiled politely at her, still adding a hint of silliness in your tone, because that’s who you were, “Hiya. Nice to meet ya. I’m the Sage. And you are?”

The Doctor couldn’t help but chuckle heartily at that. She could accept that for now. Like Yaz had accepted traveling with her despite knowing it wouldn’t be forever. That’s what love was. Effort, sacrifice, every single day. 

“I’m the Doctor, and that over there is my friend, Yaz,” she smiled and squeezed your hand. 

You nodded your head, happily, “Nice to meet you too, Yaz.” 

“Likewise, Sage” she chuckled, wiping her tears with the back of her sleeve. 

“Can we have that cuppa now?” The Doctor asked, her voice still thick with emotion. “Isn’t it how we welcome the Fam?” 

“It is,” she agreed, walking past you. In the moment, she brushed your hand with your fingers. 

You grinned, and before she could disappear in the kitchen, you scrunched up your nose, “I actually hate tea. Can I have coffee instead?” 

The Doctor draped an arm over your shoulder, while Yaz nodded her head, wordlessly. 

The Time Lady scooped you a bit closer, her smile widening, as you let out a surprised giggle, “I’m glad you found me.” 

“Me too” your cheeks flushed with the colors of hope, the exact same colors she was proudly showing off on her tee. 

Hope, what a beautiful thing to hold on to.

[elrondsscribe]

Okay so here’s the thing. I freely admit I am Big Stupid. I forget things constantly. The Vampire Chronicles is a layered tale packed with constant retcons and gaps getting filled. Whole chunks of characters’ stories slip my mind on the reg.

So I understand I may be missing something major.

But.

From where I’m standing … I know that Armand was v upset when it happened, and given everything he’d been through to that point he’s absolutely allowed to be upset; but did Marius do wrong by turning Sybelle and Benjamin?

Hear me out: the rule of this universe wrt humans who tango with vampires is there’s only three eventual outcomes: death, madness, or vampirism. Obvs if Armand had his choice at that point in the series he’d have preferred them to have regular human lifespans and eventually die, but 1) given his history with Daniel, who knows if he wouldn’t eventually have changed his mind, and 2) it might not have been what they necessarily wanted for themselves. Cause the way both Sybelle and Benji talk makes it sound like they might’ve actually asked Marius to get vamped??

(And Pandora? Or wtf was Pandora even doing while all this was happening? She was there, what was she doing?)

Because here’s their response to it:

(…) Sybelle rose from the piano, and with her arms out ran to me. And Benji, who had been watching all the while, rushed to me also, and they imprisoned me gently in their tender arms.

“Oh, Armand, don’t be angry, don’t be, don’t be sad,” Sybelle cried softly against my ear. “Oh, my magnificent Armand, don’t be sad, don’t be. Don’t be cross. We’re with you forever.”

“Armand, we are with you! He did the magic,” cried Benji. “We didn’t have to be born from black eggs, you Dybbuk, to tell us such a tale! Armand, we will never die now, we will never be sick, and never hurt and never afraid again.” He jumped up and down with glee and spun in another mirthful circle, astonished and laughing at his new vigor, that he could leap so high and with such grace. “Armand, we are so happy.”

“Oh, yes, please,” cried Sybelle softly in her deeper gentler voice. “I love you so much, Armand, I love you so very very much. We had to do it. We had to. We had to do it, to always and forever be with you.”

Like, in the immediate aftermath, they’re both over the moon about it; they’ve even fed already. Later in the Prince Lestat era, they both seem fine; like I’m not recalling any major fledgling angst.

Claudia was eternally unlucky, and she was intensely lonely. Her relationships with both Lestat and Louis were complicated and strained (to the point that she tried to kill Lestat), she didn’t really have peers, and by the time she finally got a companion Armand was already engineering her death.

Daniel gradually went unhinged for a decade before becoming a vampire, and Armand might’ve blamed himself for Daniel’s full-fledged insanity afterward but it sounds to me like even if he’d somehow survived that horrible night he’d have lost his mind anyway. (By the way, who was it that kept Daniel fed while he was in that madness, huh?)

Benjamin and Sybelle are super lucky, relatively speaking; they have each other as peers, and Armand is somewhere between a peer and a guardian. From what we see in the PL era, they have their pursuits, they have a place in the vampire world — as fledgling vampires go, they seem to have as close to an ideal life as fledgling vampires get.

And like,, they got what they wanted: their Forever With Armand, with the sweet bonus of less physical harm to fear. And in the long run, after the … Veil-induced mania? wears all the way off, it seems like Armand isn’t that unhappy about it either.

So.

As much as Armand is totally allowed to have his feelings about it in the moment, all things considered it doesn’t seem like Marius “ruined” much of anything by turning them. At least not to me.

(Marius and Pandora? Tf was she doing?!)