#dark wizard soap

[starsofang]

TOUCH OF MAGIC

You form an unusual bond with a mysterious dark wizard who comes knocking at your door, writhing in the hands of death.

Witch!Female Reader x Dark Wizard!Soap TW: NSFW, MDNI, dead dove do not eat (kind of), smut, fingering, p in v sex, dirty talk, dark themes, witchcraft/magic, horror themes?, mentions of death, heed the tags please Word Count: 7.5k A/N: i'm not good at writing soap's accent therefore i barely tried. there are also witch inaccuracies, of course, because this is fiction. it's for fun, so enjoy! divider by saradika

The forest was harmonious outside your home, the summer leaves shifting to crisp fall, morphing the tall trees into hues of red and orange. It carried a bleak chill with the breeze that infiltrated your cottage through the cracked windows, allowing for fresh air to breathe.

You always loved when autumn made its appearance. It was when the Earth’s energy was at its peak, so much so that you could feel the rumbling vibrations echo through the soles of your feet.

The gorgeous display of the forest making its seasonal changes, the animals coming out to enjoy the hint of the summer heat fading, the spirits of the Earth growing stronger. It was a witch’s dream.

However, this time felt different. There was a certain shift in the air when you’d first woken up that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. It was a whisper in the wind, barely knowledgeable, but it was present, and it was dark.

Its shift arose goosebumps along your skin, even as you engulfed yourself in the steamy water of your shower. They lingered even as you slipped into the kitchen to make yourself breakfast. Then they grew tenfold when you entered your workspace, where even your cat appeared on edge.

Something was coming, and you knew not what to expect.

Taking a sip from your warm mug of rose tea, you collapsed at your cluttered desk, encasing yourself a fuzzy bear fur shawl to shoo away the biting chill creeping in your home.

Sensing your presence, your cat hopped up on your desk, tail swaying lazily in the air as he approached you. His nose bumped against the rim of your mug that sat on your desk, eyes peering into the murky liquid.

Sitting up and curling the fur securely around you, you peeked down into the mug with him, before it dawned on you. With the mysterious aura littering your air, you could read the tea leaves and get a glimpse of what the day may have in store for you.

Quickly gulping down the rest of the tea, you were considerate to leave the slightest amount of liquid in the cup. For the next few moments, you began carefully sifting around the mug, rotating it to and fro with your eyes closed so as not to catch a glimpse.

Your cat sat in front of you, yellow eyes watching with peak interest. When you opened your eyes, you were met with a peculiar glint in his slitted pupils that indicated he felt the strange energy as well.

Peering down in your mug, you took in the scattered tea leaves, attempting to get a read. You felt as if your eyes were deceiving you.

In place of the tea leaves was the silhouette of a man, slightly blurred by the dirty water. There was no telling of who or what this man was, but you knew the implications and you feared you were reading your own leaves wrong.

A man meant a visitor, though it was unclear whether or not it would be in vain. It explained the shift you felt, yes, but you were not one for visitors. Your cottage was far from civilization, and you were not acquainted with other witches and wizards of the merry. You preferred isolated practice, where one would not be able to interrupt.

Unease pricked under your skin, causing those goosebumps to rise all over again. You knew now it wasn’t the mere chill of your home causing them, but the presence of a newcomer. An unwelcome one at that.

You were smart enough to have set up protection charms when first moving into your home many years ago. While you were far from the strongest witch, you were experienced and well-trained. You had plenty of knowledge from years and years of studies. It was engraved in your blood, coursing through you. You knew what you were doing.

However, this energy was dark. Gloomy. It showed no intent, yet that was the issue. Its intentions were unknown, so you couldn’t rule out foul play, nor could you trust it was genuine.

You could do nothing but wait. Cooped up in your study, crafting up various charms needed in the event you’d have to protect yourself, keeping all on hand for when your arrival approached.

The day came and went, the golden sun slowly falling behind the treeline of the forest and struggling to peek through the leaves. Your home was losing sunlight, forcing you to light all rooms with candles.

The energy was stronger. It invaded your nostrils with a sickeningly sweet scent mixed with the smell of rotting flesh. It threatened to block your train of thought. It was intoxicating while simultaneously repulsing, and you quickly rid yourself of the trance with a sniff of some putrid frog’s breath.

It was enough to leave you gagging, returning to your senses. The scent in the air was briefly forgotten, allowing the prickle of nerves to dissipate.

Curling up on your couch with the mysterious energy temporarily out of your mind, you cuddled up with your fluffy familiar, slipping into a peaceful slumber that was much needed after the tension that had sickened you all morning and noon.

A knock on your door woke you from your place on the sofa. Your cat was nowhere to be found, and when you sat up, you found him sitting in front of the front door, tail tapping on the floor.

He wasn’t alarmed, nor was he calm. He seemed impatient, eager, as if wanting to welcome the newcomer.

You were cautious when approaching your door. You had a stranger on your grounds, and every spirit in you was telling you to run, to leave, hide. Whoever was on the other side was a dangerous force, one that you shouldn’t meddle with.

However, it was rude not to greet him. As much as you wanted to, you couldn’t. It was the perks and downfall of being a light witch. Being unfriendly was difficult to act on. It was entirely why you preferred living far from humans and witches alike.

Upon opening the door, it was a fright. It was a man, surely. He was clothed in dark robes, loose on his body as it fluttered to the ground. On his face, a red skull mask sat, leaving only his mouth and jaw displayed. He was rather tall, yet his posture was hunched, as if in pain.

It was then you noticed the line of veins along his skin. Black, swirling up his forearms and disappearing under his sleeves. They traveled up to his neck, where his skin was exposed, fanning out in ugly branches. They spread from his neck to his jaw, where the ends of the veins spouted out.

Poison. The man was poisoned. It explained the rotting smell that tickled your nose, yet the sweetness that tinged it. He was decaying from the inside and out, his blackened veins proof of that.

That wasn’t the only issue.

He was a dark wizard.

His red mask was the representation of death. There was no mistaking it. All dark wizards and witches wore them in coordination with the Lords of Death. They were the exact people you’d avoided for years, and now one had been plucked right on your doorstep, injured nonetheless.

“Please leave,” you uttered, gripping the door handle tight in your grip and beginning to close the door.

Before the door shut, a veiny hand pressed back, tainted with poison in the bloodstream. His head lifted the slightest to look at you, eyes blue with the hint of crimson red. They pooled with a look of pleading.

“Wait,” the man begged. You paused in your attempts to close the door. “Please. I need yer help.”

You shook your head, knuckles white around the handle. “I don’t help dark wizards. I’m sorry.”

“Please,” he tried again. “I won’t hurt ye. I can explain everythin’, but I can’t do that if ‘m dead.”

“I have no reason to help you,” you dismissed. Everything within you was fighting with each other. A warzone in the space of your mind, battling between helping and ignoring. “You work with the dark arts. I do not. Whatever curse you’ve been poisoned with is not mine to fix.”

The man made a defeated noise, head drooping. His free hand lifted to tear the red mask off of his face, revealing himself. His forehead was coated with a heavy sheen of sweat, dripping down the sides of his temples. His skin was pale, almost ghostly gray.

The veins had not yet slithered to his face. If they did, the poison would reach his brain, rendering him dead. Though they were tiptoeing that line quite closely.

“I’m sorry,” you apologized, and you really did mean it.

“Please,” he tried once more, voice cracking. “I’m not like them.”

“You’re a dark wizard,” you pressed. “You are them.”

“Not anymore.” The man looked up at you from his pained state, eyes begging. A strike of guilt hit you that you tried to dismiss, but it only festered. “That’s why I’m like— like this.”

The two of you stared at one another, your firmness beginning to falter. This was the first person you’d seen in decades, let alone another magic wielder, and though that was how you wanted it, you felt sorrow and lonely.

He wasn’t to be trusted. He was dangerous, a murderer, most likely, if he was crafting under the Lords of Death. Yet he truly was dying, and he’d succumb to the poison if you didn’t help.

You were losing your own battle, and with an exasperated squeak, you ushered him inside. He followed with a pained grunt, collapsing on to your sofa.

“There are charms all over the place,” you explained wearily. “Do no try anything stupid, clear?”

The man gave you a tight smile and a lazy thumbs up, before the veins sifted beneath his skin and he returned to wallowing in his own ache.

Leaving your trust with him stupidly, you rushed to your study to shuffle through your potions, praying you didn’t have to craft a new one. They were time consuming, and this man did not have enough of it.

Dark arts were difficult curses to deflect. Seeing as they were some of the most powerful magic in the sorcery world, the damage was lethal if not dealt with accordingly.

Luckily for you, though you were far from the strongest, you had that experience to back you up. You knew you could help him, thank Gods, but it was a matter of how quickly you could help him.

With a vial in your grasp, you hurried back to the living room, nearly stumbling on the cluttered trinkets along the ground. You made a mental note to clean up the moment he slept. You didn’t want to appear as a messy witch in the present of… well, you supposed a dark wizard, not that you should worry about his opinion.

“You must drink this,” you encouraged. Taking a seat beside his poisoned body, you popped the cork of the vial off, a brief puff of steam emitting out of the glass. You held the vial to his lips. “It may not feel well, but surely, it will be better than what you’re going through.”

The wizard’s lips parted to invite the mysterious liquid in, swallowing it down without much fight. His face twisted in distaste, coughing weakly.

“Thank ye,” he wheezed, lifting a shaky hand to wipe the residue off of his mouth.

You didn’t answer, instead standing and gesturing for him to join. “You can use my bed for the time being. It will be an unpleasant process.”

“I couldn’t ask—“

“You are already in my home. There is no more moralities. Please, follow me,” you dismissed. He let out a sigh, wincing as he got up to follow you.

Your room was about as messy as the rest of the house. You brushed aside stray clothes on the floor with your foot. Approaching your bed, you tugged back the blankets and fluffed up your pillows, nodding for him to lay down.

The wizard complied, laying down with an uncomfortable grunt. His skin was clammy yet cold to the touch as you helped gather the blankets around him, and you knew he had a heavy fever from the poison.

“Rest. The potion will take effect with time,” you said, stepping away from the bed. “We will figure the rest out later.”

The man gave you a frail smile, one of which you looked away from. Dying or not, he was still evil.

“What’s yer name?” he asked. “‘m Johnny.”

You sniffed, quickly telling him your name before leaving the room, shutting the door. You didn’t want to be present when the potion began working, to see his body fight it off, to hear how much pain he would be in. Even more, you didn’t want to be near a dark wizard who had a charming smile even near death.

Johnny didn’t wake up the next day, nor the one after. In fact, he slept for approximately a week before he called out for you.

It had you in a whirl when you heard his voice. You’d nearly forgotten he was there, though you’d tended to him nearly every hour of the day.

You gave him more than you should’ve. You were being too kind. You’d adjust his pillows, clean his paled skin with a wet cloth, pour food potions down his throat since he was unable to eat on his own. Everything you did was bordering too comfortable, too considerate.

“You’re awake,” you greeted politely, shuffling into the room. The man in question smiled widely at you.

He looked much more lively than before. Well, technically he was lively, seeing as he was dying before, but it was evident that the potion worked.

His skin, which had been a ghastly hue, was now tanned and bright. Looking closer, you could see a jagged scar along his chin, the tissue a faded pink. His eyes, that had been tarnished with red, were a lovely ocean blue, sparkling in a boyish wonder. The veins in his body that were blackened were faded into nothing, successfully returning to normal.

He was a handsome man, that was for sure. You hated that. He was an enemy, and his stay was overwelcome.

“I’m happy to see you better,” you offered with a small smile. “I am sure it was quite the terror.”

“It’s all thanks to ye, bonnie,” Johnny praised. “Wouldn’t have survived without ye.”

You cleared your throat, rubbing your neck in awkwardness. “It was nothing. Consider it a mere favor from witch to wizard, yes?”

“That was more than a favor. Can’t I repay ye somehow?” Johnny asked. You shook your head.

“That won’t be necessary. I have told you before that I don’t associate with dark wizards. I have helped you, and that’s that.”

Johnny frowned, clearly disgruntled from your lack of interest. He stood slowly from the bed, grunting at the aching muscles from laying down for a week and some. “That’s that?”

“Yes. I apologize.”

“I thought perhaps we could be pals.” The way Johnny said it had him sounding defeated, which surprised you in the slightest. To be friends with a dark wizard, especially as a light witch? Why would one want that?

“You’re mistaken,” you muttered, not unkindly. “You showed up to my doorstep, I did not ask for this. I have offered my help, and now you are better. It’s best if you return home so I can return to mine.”

It was strange, the tug of guilt that pulled at your heartstrings. It was as if a part of you wished to be friends with him. After all, he wasn’t bad looking, not in the slightest. In fact, he was dashing, and had shown you nothing but kindness.

A dark wizard being kind was unheard of. Perhaps the poison had made him forget his place. You didn’t know him, nor him you. You hadn’t a clue the horrors he probably faced or caused.

“I don’t wish to return home,” he confessed. Johnny stepped closer to you, and you took a step back. “I don’t wish to perform dark magic. I don’t wish to be a dark wizard. It’s the reason I was poisoned in the first place.”

“One does not suddenly wish to no longer be a dark wizard,” you argued. “It is in your blood.”

“Yet it seems ye’ve helped me craft new blood with that potion of yers.”

You stared at Johnny wearily. It was true, part of his body had to be restored due to the decomposition his body underwent internally, and part of that meant restoring his blood. However, you’d never heard of a case where a dark wizard wanted to be something else.

“I suppose you’re right on that part,” you sighed. “But that still doesn’t change the fact that you are a dark wizard.”

“I can try to change it,” he pleaded, and your resolve slightly cracked. He seemed to see this, because he continued. “Let me stay here for a while. I’ll do whatever ye need done around here. Like an apprentice! I will prove it to ye.”

The little sprites inside of you began to argue, and one was clearly winning. You wanted to help him. Maybe it was the lonely part of you begging for a friend, but either way, it was reaching towards victory.

“I will let you stay temporarily,” you agreed reluctantly. “I could use the help, you’re right. However, heed this warning — if you try anything harmful, if you try to take advantage of my kindness, I will not hesitate to turn you into the Head of Wizardry. Are we clear?”

“Crystal, bonnie.” Johnny was practically bursting out of his skin with pride.

You weren’t sure whether you made the right choice, but it was too late to backtrack. What’s done is done, and you can only seek out the future.

Johnny was a rather good apprentice. He was also a rather good friend. Within just a couple of weeks of him staying there, you extending his stay to a month. Then another month.

Now, it was as if he were permanently living there. You found that you didn’t mind all that much. He was fun, you hated to admit, and very charming.

On mornings you found yourself cooking breakfast, he’d perform silly spells to amuse you. Whether it was lifting your familiar in the air with a point of his finger, or casting a storm cloud inside the kitchen to rain on your food, you found yourself enjoying it. It was a change of pace, one that was much needed.

Where you sought solace in dark isolation, he brought the sunshine. Ironic, considering he was a dark wizard. Mornings became exciting, as did waking up. Evenings shifted to calm, sharing the presence of each other while you read an herbology book, drank the tea he made for you, and he messed with your cat. Nights, where you’d bid each other goodnight with a heavy tension in the air that you couldn’t quite describe.

You’d never felt that way before. You were often good at reading the room. It was the very beauty of your magic. Yet, with Johnny, it felt as if there was a blockage in your witchcraft. And unforeseeable force, preventing you from seeing what this tension was.

As the months went on, it only grew thicker. It was suffocating to be around him. Your heart ached with an unknown need, one that gravitated you towards him without a clue of why. It was as if your heart wanted one thing while your mind sought another.

Johnny was easy to talk to. He never spoke of his experiences as a dark wizard, nor did you ask. But talking about everything else came smooth.

He loved to learn. Teaching him your magic wasn’t simple. His craft was memorized to the dark arts, but he was determined to learn all about yours, staying up every waking moment if it meant spending that time with you.

Sharing that space naturally had you gravitating towards one another. It was friendship, yes, of course it was. Possibly a forbidden one, but the Head of Wizardry didn’t have to know what couldn’t hurt them. But that tension you’d been feeling felt like more. 

Johnny never mentioned it, nor did you. That was territory you’d never crossed with another being before, and you’d be mad if you made the first move.

“You put in too much rosemary, Johnny,” you explained with a sigh, glowering down at the murky liquid bubbling in your caldron. It was a disgusting green, slimy and acidic. “And too much of the serpent's scale, clearly. It’s green.”

“Aye, bonnie, that’s what learnin’s all about, ain’t it?” Johnny remarked with a boyish grin, leaning over the caldron so he could join you. Your heads bumped together, something that seemed to be happening far too often lately.

“Of course, but it has been months. Am I a bad teacher, Johnny?” you asked with a faux frown, lifting your head up to look at him.

The proximity was close between you, borderline inappropriate, yet it became a daily occurrence. Johnny didn’t seem to mind, and surprisingly, you didn’t either.

“‘Course not. Yer the best teacher there is,” he teased, bumping your shoulder with his. “‘m just a bit of a forgetful bloke. Too much rosemary and serpent’s scale, I’ll remember.”

“Good.” You let out a dramatic sigh through your nostrils, wrinkling up at the bitter aroma that wafted through the air. You stirred the potion with your trusty spoon, watching the boiling bubbles lower to a simmer. “I believe I’m already nice enough to teach you my craft. It’s quite a waste when you mess up every potion. I’m beginning to think it’s on purpose.”

Johnny snorted in amusement, eyes glinting with mischief. An untrustworthy one, he was. He was no longer on the dark path of wizardry, but he still expressed that trickery like a boy.

“Ach, c���mon, that’s harsh,” Johnny complained, watching you fill the potion into empty vials. “I think ye enjoy bein’ my teacher more than ye want to admit.”

A flutter of embarrassment rose within you, warming you inside. You never used to be flustered so easily until Johnny. He made you nervous, that sickening kind of nervous that sent somersaults in your stomach. It was as if a million moths made home inside of you, fluttering about freely.

“You are flattering yourself,” you retorted, dismissing him with a hand.

“Am I?” he hummed, his voice coated in honey. It formed goosebumps along your arms, your hair standing on edge. You hated the effect he had on you. “Ye seem quite rattled.”

“I am not rattled,” you hissed in defense, whipping your head to throw him a glare.

Johnny, as always, remained unfazed from your firm antics. In fact, it made him egg you on further. After all, the two of you were each other’s only friends in this witching world, and neither had any plans on leaving. He was a permanent visitor, anyway.

“Sounds like somethin’ somebody rattled would say,” he teased. You rolled your eyes, placing corks in each vial to close them off. The rancid scent filtered out of the room slowly, allowing you to breathe.

“You’re pushing it, Johnny. Might I remind you that this is my home, and you are merely staying under my command?” you asked with a raise of your eyebrow.

“Mm. I believe if that were true, ye would have kicked me out by now.” Johnny raised his eyebrow back, taking a step closer to you. You caught the motion out of the corner of your eye but ignored it. “So why don’t ye?”

“Johnny.” You threw him another glower, though there was no denying the spike of nerves his mere confidence was giving you. “You know it is because you’re my friend. I’d feel… guilty.”

Johnny snickered, continuing to step towards you until his chest was against your back, looming over you. His head leaned down, lips ghosting your ear. The feel sent a chill through your veins.

“Guilty?” he repeated. “No, not ye. Ye wouldn’t feel guilty kickin’ me out. I think it’s because ye like me.”

“Stop,” you begged weakly. “It is because you’re my friend that I would feel guilty. I wouldn’t want you returning to old habits.”

“What, me bein’ a dark wizard?” he questioned. You nodded. “I’d never. I rather like bein’ with my little light witch, learnin’ things. Ye really are a great teacher.”

You swallowed nervously, keeping your eyes down on the caldron. His lips remained near your ear, his voice like the call of a siren.

“Maybe it’s time for me to teach you somethin’ for once.”

“What on Earth would you teach me besides dark magic?” you gawked, spinning around to face him. Your head tilted up to meet his eyes, where he stared back at you with a devilish grin.

“How to deal with yer feelin’s, of course,” he stated, as if obvious. “Don’t look at me like that. I know ye’ve spent decades out here alone, no friends, no lover. I want to be both for ye. Let me teach ye.”

“My feelings? You’ve gone absolutely mad, Johnny,” you defended, scowling.

You hated how correct he was. You’d avoided these feelings for months, playing dumb about what they could possibly mean. You pretended to be clueless, pretended they weren’t feelings of love, of desire, yet you should’ve known Johnny could read right through you.

“Mad for ye, maybe.” Johnny beamed at you, smug and proud, and you weren’t sure whether you wanted to smack it off or kiss it off.

“You—“ Exhaling sharply, you collected your head. “You’ve been reading my mind, haven’t you? For how long?”

“Long enough.” Johnny leaned his hands forward to rest them on your potion table, caging you in between them, leaving you with no room to escape. “So? Are ye goin’ to let me be the teacher this time?”

You stared at him in silence, completely bewildered. The damn bloke had been using dark magic to dissect your mind in order to see what you were feeling. With that being true, that meant he’d known about your inner troubles for months and never acted on them.

You really wanted to smack him. Or perhaps force an itching potion just to mess with him temporarily.

“I do need a break from teaching,” you confessed quietly, tugging your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Atta girl,” he praised, his smile a bit softer around the edges. “Don’t worry. I’ll be good, so long as you do as well.”

Without a moment of hesitation, the taste of Johnny invaded your tastebuds. His lips were chapped yet soft, a bit rough against your own. The rhythm was uncoordinated, seeing as you hadn’t kissed another person in quite a long time. So long that you couldn’t recall the memory.

Johnny was patient, though. After all, he wanted to teach you, and surely, he was complying.

His hands fisted the edge of the table, knuckles turning white from the grip as he fought the urge to touch you. However, the moment your kiss began to move much more smoothly, that fight became lost.

His hands quickly slipped to your waist where he held you in his embrace, burning with a roaring fire. He was aching, craving, and you could feel those emotions rolling off of him and transmitting to you.

The kiss became sloppy, mouths becoming desperate against the other. It was a build up of unspoken emotions that festered for months like an annoying tick, never wanting to leave you be. Now that they were prominent, they poured out like a broken faucet, filling the room with hopeless desire.

“Ye don’t know how long I’ve wanted this,” Johnny gasped against your mouth. His lips ventured down your cheek, your jaw, then your neck, the slight point of his canines dipping into your sensitive flesh.

Your breathing was ragged and ruined, chest heaving as you attempted to catch it. It was hard to do so when he nibbled behind your ear, a sensitive twinge shocking through you, causing you to gasp.

“Ye like that, my little witch?” Johnny teased, snickering in your ear. The rumble of his voice vibrated against you, low and seductive. You’d never heard him talk like that before, nor had anybody done it. The feeling was new, yet it sent heat right to your core.

“Shut up, you mangy wizard,” you breathed, your own voice failing you.

“Feisty.” You could feel his grin against your ear. “I’ve always liked that about ye.”

His lips brushed down your neck, teasing. It wracked you with a shiver, your arms looping around his own neck for stability.

“I’m only feisty because you do not listen,” you retorted. Johnny laughed.

“Why do ye think I do it, bonnie?”

He pulled away from your neck to peer down at you. You opened your eyes and returned the gaze, blinking dumbly. Johnny’s hand slowly slid up your body, brushing along your robes. It stopped on your face where he firmly gripped you by the cheeks, four fingers on one and his thumb on the other.

You were in his grasp yet again, forced to look him in the eye while he grinned wickedly. You could see the brief glint of dark wizard shining in his blue irises, the telltale sign of who he would always be deep down, though it was the side you had come to accept.

“I like seeing ye all riled up. All moody and mean, bossin’ me around as if yer in charge. Tell me, witch. Who’s the one in charge now?” he asked slowly, the fingers on your face tightening, digging into your flesh.

“You,” you stated shamefully.

“Me,” he repeated proudly. “Good girl. I knew ye could take orders as well as ye dish ‘em out.”

Johnny’s lips returned to yours, moving feverishly. His hand dropped from your face and to your robes, eagerly untying them. They fell to the ground in a heap, leaving you exposed. It happened so quickly that you had no time to process it until his fingers found your chest, plucking at one of your nipples which peaked up in interest.

The spark it sent through you tugged an involuntary moan from your lips. The sound caused Johnny to repeat it, taking your nipple back between two fingers to lightly twist and tug.

“Such a pretty witch,” he hummed, placing a kiss on the column of your throat. “Aren’t ye?”

Before you could respond, Johnny briskly lifted you onto the table, knocking over your caldron in the process. Its remaining contents spilled onto the ground in a mess, the green acid staining the old wooden floors.

You’d normally be in a panic over your workspace becoming disastrous, but the desire overtook your senses. The only thing on your mind was Johnny and the way his eyes practically devoured your naked body, taking it all in.

“It’s not fair,” you muttered, so quiet he nearly missed it.

“Aye? What’s not fair?” he asked, cocking his head down at you.

You attempted to turn your head, looking away from him, but his hand came to grab your chin and turn you back to his attention. You thumped your head back on the wooden table, staring up at him in embarrassment.

“Your robes are on but mine are not.” The moment the words left your lips, he grinned at you, full of that familiar mischief.

“Sorry, bonnie. Guess I got ahead of myself,” he apologized teasingly.

Standing straight from where he was towering over you, he began to undress himself, the black cloak slipping off of him with ease and sinking to his feet. In an instant, his nakedness matched your own, though your eyes remained firmly on the ceiling.

“Ye asked for it, witch, now yer not even goin’ to look?”

You could barely take Johnny’s mockery. He knew exactly what to say to have you in a fluster, and every bit of it was working.

Slowly, your eyes shifted down from the ceiling, before stopping on his face. You knew he wanted you to see him for all he was, just as he’d done you, so you gave in, dipping lower.

Johnny was beautiful, riddled with scars and stories. He was a book yet to be opened, and you wanted to delve deeper, to learn.

Meeting his eyes once again, you gave him a bashful smile, one which he returned. Seemingly satisfied with you following direction, he trailed a finger down your body, the fingertip calloused and rough from years of magic. Your eyes never left his as it ventured lower, teasing, going anywhere except the place you truly wanted it.

“You are messing with me,” you murmured, voice weak. Johnny gave you a knowing look.

“Messin’ with ye?” He tutted, sliding his finger down the plains of your stomach. The sensation made you keen. “‘m not messin’ with ye. You can just tell me what ye want, love.”

You swallowed, squirming on the table when you felt a low burn erupting from his fingertip. It was faint, barely recognizable, but it was a telltale sign of further taunting. “Must I say it?”

“Mhm.”

“I’d like you to touch me,” you mumbled. Johnny’s eyebrow quirked, his smile becoming smug.

“What was that?” he asked knowingly.

“Christ, you beast, please touch me and quit your teasing,” you hissed, frowning up at him from where he leaned over your body.

Johnny’s grin grew, the corners of his eyes crinkling. He looked pretty when he smiled, and you swore he had casted a spell on you.

“There ye go. Wasn’t so hard, was it?” he taunted.

“Damn you.”

The wizard snickered, finding humor in your clear desperation. Nonetheless, he gave you what you wanted, his hand dipping beneath your stomach and venturing into new territory.

When he finally touched you, you were soaked, embarrassingly so. The tips of his fingers dived in the folds of your pussy, drenching themselves in your slick.

Johnny released a content sigh through his nose, his eyes flickering down to take you in. He watched as he toyed with your clit, forming an agonizing slow pace. He rolled it beneath his fingers, sending you electric shocks from head to toe.

“Oh,” you gasped, as if surprised by the touch, though you’d asked for it. It’d been long, too long without a feeling of pleasure, and now you were practically aching for it.

“Good?” he hummed. You gave him a dazed nod, blinking at him.

The motion encouraged him to explore. When you felt the tip of his finger circle your entrance, then prod through, sinking down to the knuckle, your mouth dropped open, a gruffled noise escaping you.

The pace he set was a bit faster than when he’d stimulated your clit, but still too slow. You writhed beneath him, pleading with your eyes for him to do more, to do something.

Taking note of it, he sped up just the slightest, slowly working you open on his single finger. Once he felt you were comfortable, he welcomed a second finger, which somehow became a third only minutes later.

You were practically falling apart without him even fully inside of you. You feared you’d be an utter mess when it was cock, but before you could dwell on it, his fingers curled up, sparking a fire that burned fiercely.

A string of moans and whimpers filled your study, all from you. They were broken, somehow already wrecked from Johnny simply fucking you open on his fingers.

“Gods, ye don’t know what ye do to me,” he breathed, leaning down to brush his lips against your ear. His arm was trapped between your bodies, fingers never letting up on the brutal pace inside you. “Can’t even explain how long I’ve wanted it.”

You whined pathetically, clenching around his fingers. “How long?”

“Much longer than ye think, witch.” The wizard smiled against your ear, before drifting down the side of your neck, taking in your scent. “A lifetime.”

His words didn’t register, for you were too caught up in a trance. Love stricken, pleasure drunk, whatever it may be, it took over all logical senses.

“I want you inside,” you begged, squirming once again. “Please, Johnny.”

Johnny exhaled through his nose, the air fanning along your neck where he nuzzled into. “Whatever ye want, my little minx. I’ll give it to ye.”

His fingers left an ache when they left you. It was a foreign feeling, clenching around nothing, and you felt the burn of embarrassment when you realized just how truly desperate you were to feel him.

The loss didn’t last long. Before you knew it, the blunt head of Johnny’s cock nudged your cunt. His eyes fluttered up to yours, basking in the sight of you, flustered and keening.

The bulbous tip pressed further, breaking through the first ring of muscle of your pussy, giving you more and more. Your body was pulled tight, shoulders tense and back arched. Johnny’s lips pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder, a hand caressing your hip.

“Relax, witch,” he murmured against your skin. His voice was hypnotic, ringing through your ears like a song. It caused you to calm in an instant, your body accepting more of him inside until he was flush against you, the tip of his cock nuzzled against the spongy walls of your cervix.

He was at the limit, bordering on being too much, yet somehow not enough.

Your legs wrapped around his waist, luring him to move. When he did, you saw stars, each and every thrust causing him to drag along the walls of your cunt, only to be slammed right back into you. You were on cloud nine, preening in the attention your pussy had desperately needed for decades too long.

Whimpers of his name left your lips, encouraging him. The sounds of your pleasure only fueled his burning desire, and soon enough, he was rutting into you like a dog, losing all sense of control.

The table shook with every thrust, vials of herbs and potions clattering to the ground and smashing. You didn’t have an ounce of care to worry about it, solely focused on the warmth building in your core.

It felt as if someone were pulling an invisible string inside of you, daring to unravel your innermost pleasure. It only grew in intensity when Johnny had switched positions, grabbing hold of your ankles so he could press your knees to your chest.

The only thing keeping you from falling apart was Johnny. He made sure your legs remained tucked against you as he greedily took what he wanted, cock slipping in and out of your slick. You swallowed him up, as if he were meant to be there, like you were molded for him.

“I could stay here,” Johnny panted, sweat beginning to bead along his forehead. His eyes were lidded and heavy, smoldered with a sultriness that had your heart pitter pattering against your rib cage. “Inside of ye, I swear, I could. The best pussy I’ve felt in centuries.”

You gasped at his words, body shuddering in pure want. The build up was close, you could feel it vibrating between both of us. It was as if both of your enemies were reaching out towards the other, craving to be formed as one. Dark energy and light energy, a disastrous mix.

“Ye want me to stay, witch?” Johnny purred, his grin dazed but smug. “Want me to stay here forever with ye?”

“Yes,” you sobbed, your body tensing and untensing with every shot of pleasure that zapped you. It stung deliciously, both the strain of your trapped legs and your pussy accommodating his cock, but you reveled in it.

Johnny made a low noise in the back of his throat, pace quickening. The sounds of your bodies mending together filled the room, wet and dirty, skin slapping with skin. The two of you were doused in sweat, skin hot to the touch, scorching your veins. This was an act of love, an act of two worlds mending as one, dark and light.

The more frantic he became, the more uncoiled you felt. Your body and mind were drunk, wiped off all things magic and replaced with Johnny, Johnny, Johnny.

“Goin’ to let me cum inside, witch?” he mocked, grin so sinister you would’ve been scared if it weren’t Johnny. “Might cast a spell on ye if I do.”

“Please,” you begged, hands scrambling to claw at his back, surely leaving marks by the end. “Yes, please, do it, Johnny.”

Johnny let out a wicked laugh, quickly smothered by his own moan. His thrusts became sloppy and erratic as he hit that sweet spot within you every single time, erupting fireworks beneath your eyelids.

It didn’t take much to get you past the edge. Your mind blanked, your eyes flashing white as intoxicating ecstasy dripped through your bloodstream. Johnny held on to you tight while you shook, spilling himself inside of you, painting your walls with nothing but him.

Despite talking mean to you, Johnny was sweet when he cleaned you up. Your study was a mess, one that he fixed without question while you rested on the living room sofa, spent out of your mind. 

Curled up in furs to keep your naked body warm and snug, you smiled at Johnny when he entered the room, watching as he stepped into the kitchen. You had full view of him from where you sat, and when you blinked away the tiredness a few times, you noticed he was putting on a kettle for you.

Your heart soared at the memory of you two flashing in the back of your mind. It was heavenly, the collision of you and Johnny’s worlds. Like it was a serene paradise only the two of you know.

“Here, love,” Johnny murmured softly, setting the warm mug of tea in front of you.

You sat up, thanking him sweetly. Lifting the cup, you inhaled the lovely scent of mint, before taking a sip, sighing in content at the warmth flooding your mouth.

“Did ye enjoy yerself?” he asked, and you nodded happily. “I’m glad. I meant what I said. I want to stay here forever. It’s a real shame that I can’t.”

You stared at him, confusion flashing on your face. A cold chill dripped down your spine when you noted the smile he wore, how it seemed so soft yet so fake. As if he had painted it on.

“What?” you asked, gripping the mug in your hands tighter. “What do you mean?”

“’m really sorry that I’ve had to do this to ye after the time we’ve spent together,” Johnny sighed. “What was it ye said when we first met? One doesn’t suddenly wish to no longer be a dark wizard? One does not simply change from craftin’ dark arts?”

Your hands began to tremble. Mixed emotions hit you all at once. Fear, confusion, betrayal, hurt. You thought after allowing Johnny into your home, you had formed an unbreakable bond. Two magical beings from different realms, formed together as one. A friendship, a relationship, a lover.

“Johnny,” you whispered, voice cracking. He simply smiled at you, cocking his head.

“Perhaps in yer next life, ye won’t be so kind. I really am sorry, minx. I was really startin’ to like ye.” Johnny caressed a hand through your hair, but the feeling felt foreign, like a burn singeing your skin. The touch snapped you out of your daze, and when you came to, you noticed his other hand grasping the red skull mask, one you thought he’d gotten rid of.

If only you had bothered to take a glance at the tea leaves gathered at the bottom of your mug would you have noticed the shape of a knife form, warning you of incoming death.

[carnivorousmossbeast]

Transit

no content warnings

Summary: John “Soap” MacTavish & Simon “Ghost” Riley wait for a military convoy. Ghost finds out Soap knows a song that isn’t “Anarchy in the UK” by the Sex Pistols.

The only thing cutting through the silence of the pre-dawn darkness was the lieutenant opening and closing his mouth, clacking his bloody tongue piercing against his teeth — mindless and heedless of the phantom pain shooting through Soap’s mouth every time it happened. The wet sounds of lips parting, smacking, tongue licking and detaching from soft, spit-slicked gums were driving Soap up the walls.

“Gum?” There lieutenant’s voice cut through Soap’s unease.

“Gum- what?”

“Did ye want any?” Ghost asked, producing a sliver-wrapped strip from somewhere. Mysterious pocket candy, as likely to be fresh as it might have been plucked from a dead Russian operative seven months ago, and Ghost had simply forgotten to empty his pockets before laundry. Juicy Fruit mixed with old pocket sweat stains and Persil detergent didn’t seem like a flavour to chase the miserably watered down and microwaved coffee sachet he’d called his breakfast because mess didn’t open until five. Two full hours before they were scheduled to leave. Soap sighed and turned his face towards the window. They were supposed to be out on the road already, but the fucking convoy of course ran late — and now all they could do was stare at the silent radio and wait. He hated these hours wasted in limbo.

Ghost seemed oddly calm, for once. Aside from the whole mouth-smacking of course. Soap wondered why he hadn’t noticed it before. Perhaps the situation had him more on edge than usual.

“Bother ye if I start the motor?” Soap asked. The windows were fogging up and the used air was making him sleepier than it should, although given the three thirty wakeup call he decided to cut himself some slack. Still, being this tired without the convoy having reached base yet, let alone getting a move on, it didn’t seem like his best idea.

“Keep the lights down. Lieutenant Morrison gets weird about his boys and they’re facing us.” The lieutenant wiggled his leg. “Tell me about your basic,” Ghost finally asked.

“Wot? Story time because ye’s types didn’t have a good sergeant in basic?” Soap snorted. Ghost did that thing he liked to do where he could be staring at Soap, at Soap’s bones and nerves and delicate blood vessels, or something not-Soap which just so happened to occupy the same space as Soap. The eery glare didn’t really do it for Soap so he turned the key in the ignition and took a second to appreciate the warm red and orange lights popping up before he twisted the key one notch further and the old jeep coughed back to life. The machine was loud in the pre-dawn silence, cutting through the dreams and exhausted half-comas that their comrades surely still tried to escape in.

“Used to ah. We used to sing a lot. Had an Irish boy in our group, he knew all these songs from his ma’s pub.”

“Sing like a bird, the lot of you?”

“Ever heard a shoebill, Lt?” Soap asked.

“On YouTube,” his lieutenant admitted easily. Soap sniggered to himself.

“Surprised ye know what that is, sir.”

“Had to take basic somewhere, didn’t I?” Ghost asked mildly. The weirdly wet mouth-noises stopped, and instead he started popping one of the buttons on his thigh pocket.

“Yer right mad if ye think for a second I believe that Sir, all due respect.”

Ghost only hummed to Soap’s indignant reply. “Sing us a song then, Soap.”

“Ever heard a Kiwi?”

“Had one run up to me in the middle of a night training with Aussie SAS,” Ghost replied with what sounded like a grimace. “The poor sods that were sent to populate that continent really had to think they were being sent to hell.”

“They didn’t know how America would turn out,” Soap replied absently, trying not to focus too hard on the repetitive metallic plop of Ghost opening and closing the buttons on his trouser pockets.

“A right comedian before sunrise.” At least Ghost seemed amused by his disgruntled, short replies.

“Aye, Dante had shit on me,” Soap agreed easily and wondered for the umpteenth time why Ghost would be so fucking awake at this ungodly hour. He wasn’t used to superiors sitting awake while they waited for a convoy, wasn’t used to conversation beyond talking shit at the CO passed out snoring in the passenger seat.

“Not quite, Soap,” Ghost said with what sounded like a smile. “Promised me a song, sergeant.”

“Nae danger did I promise ye anything,” Soap tried.

“Don’t get cute with me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sir.”

“Go’an then.”

Soap sighed and rolled his eyes for good measure before adjusting the fan to heat the windows.

“There are men of over ninety that have never yet kissed a girl,” he started and then stopped himself to clear his throat. “But give me a ramblin’ rover frae Orkney down to Dover. We will roam the country over and together we’ll face the world.

“If you’re bent with arthritis, your bowels have colitis, you’ve gallopin’ bollockitis, and you’re thinkin’ it’s time you died,

“If you’ve been a man of action, though you’re lying there in traction, you may gain some satisfaction thinking ‘Jesus, at least I tried’.

“Oh there’s sober men and plenty, and drunkards barely twenty, there are men of over ninety that have never yet kissed a girl.”

“Missed your true callsign, didn’t you?” Ghost asked quietly, as if he regretted breaking the silence after Soap’s voice cracked on the last line. “Sing like a lark for me, Soap.”

“Not a happy song, Lt.” Soap exhaled through his nose, and tried not to think too hard about the way his voice had cracked. On how many notes he had missed. Why he had chosen that particular part of the song to sing.

“Doesn’t change that you sing it nicely, sergeant. Sound like a choir boy.” Soap bit his lip, uncomfortable with how easily Ghost had spoken about Soap’s childhood, regardless of if it stemmed from Soap’s personnel file — which Ghost has full access to, it would just be weird — or if it had come from conjecture — also weird to think of himself as so easily fitting into patterns, Soap thought.

“Think that’s the convoy up ahead, on the service road?” Soap noticed movement to his left, half hidden behind his lieutenant’s bulky form. Desperately wished for the moving string of lights to be his reprieve from Ghosts eery perception. Ghost turned in his seat, twisting his entire spine. Soap thought to himself that he’d have been both more and less surprised at the same time if his lieutenant had just swivelled his head like an owl.

“You good to drive, sergeant?” Ghost asked.

“Tell you when it changes, Lt,” Soap promised and watched Ghost’s satisfied little nod.

“Then hit the road,” he ordered lightly and started fiddling with that stupid pocket again.

“Yes, Sir.” Soap smiled to himself while he turned on the lights and pulled out of the parking space to slip between the guard vehicles of the MP.

We will roam the country over and together we’ll face the world.

He hummed to himself, quietly of course as to not disturb the night any further. If Ghost joined him, Soap pretended not to pay any attention to it and weaselled the soft sound away to keep safe in his breast pocket.

[swordsandholly]

Should I start working on this College AU rugby player Soap x art history major (sort of low self-esteem) reader again?

I’ve been thinkin’ about it. Their story haunts me. Anyway here’s a snippet for you to judge:

You sit in the common grounds on an old, tattered quilt under one of the oaks. You managed to score a good spot today, just enough sun to be warm but not enough to force you to squint. The tree curves in that perfect shape for you to lean back against it. You’ve settled into your millionth re-read of Howl’s Moving Castle. A go to when college gets too hard for your brain and you need something easy to digest. Like saltines on a sick stomach.

A faint call of, “Bonnie!” jerks you from the quiet of your moment. Oh, God. Johnny comes jogging up from a group of his fellow rugby players. If only the way he smiles at you didn’t direct all of your attention onto him, maybe you could have gotten away with pretending not to see or hear him.

As it is, you totally can. You push your sunglasses up onto the top of your head and pluck out an earphone just to sit up on your elbows. “Johnny.”

All six foot of the man comes plunking down onto the grass beside you. “I don’ get tae see ye around campus often. Feels like I havennae seen ye in forever.”

“I work a lot.” You repeat. Why couldn’t the gods gift you with at least moderate conversational skills? “It’s only been, like, four days. You weren’t in class yesterday.”

He chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “Aye… Might have, eh, partaken a bit too much…”

You snort. “As long as you weren’t drinking and driving.”

“I would never.” The response is immediate, his tone unrecognizably dark. A sore spot.

“I’ll give you the notes.” You tilt your head back, changing the subject quickly. The shadows move and the sun begins to encroach upon your spot. It’s nice, actually.

“Ye donnae have tae-”

“I don’t mind.” You wave him off. “We can go over them on study night.”

A loud whistle and a holler echo from the other side of the lawn. Johnny’s buddies are all grouped up, staring. Well, the ones that aren’t actively being distracted by pretty girls are. Your eye meets with the man in the mask, staring each other down for a very brief moment. A shiver runs down your spine as he turns away. Two of the others lean in, snickering while they watch the two of you. It makes your chest hurt in a far too familiar way.

“I think your boys are calling.” You turn back to look at Johnny.

“Och, they can wait.” He shrugs those wide shoulders. Has he gotten bigger recently? “Whit are ye readin’?”

“Oh, nothing, just some kids book…” Before you can tuck it away he snatches it up, flipping it over to the back.

“My sisters read this! They watched the movie a lot. S’about tha’ girl who gets swept off her feet by a dashing wizard, eh?” He grins and leans in. “Remind ye of anybody, bonnie?”

You sit up and scoff, snatching the book back. “Fancy yourself dashing, MacTavish?”

“On occasion.” He winks.

You roll your eyes and mock gag. The man sure lays it on thick. “Well if you read the book you’d know he’s a whiny little brat, so, frankly, yes, it does remind me of a certain somebody.”

Johnny pouts dramatically, only further proving your point. “Got a sharp tongue on ye, hen.”

“It comes in handy.” You chuckle.

“God, I’d be so good to ye.” He says so fast you almost miss it as he grins wide.

You splutter out an awkward laugh, caught entirely off guard. The words sting a bit. He’s joking, obviously. It’s a little cruel. Uncharacteristically so.

Another shout has Johnny rolling his eyes and standing up. “I’ll see ye Thursday?”

“Thursday…” You nod, eyes still wide. You’re sure you look ridiculous.

Mr. Johnny-Sees-All grins back at you with a knowing spark in his eye. “Later, hen!”

[last-starry-sky]

kinktober day 31 - scars // monsterfucking - pt. 1

part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 4

poly!141 x f!reader

[MDNI - NSFW - MIND THE WARNINGS: 1.1k, alcohol mention, no actual sex in this part, just pure halloween fluff 🎃, enjoy!]

tag list (lmk if you'd like to be added!): @slut-lmao, @mishaglass

You couldn’t contain your happy screech when you opened the door.

When the four men who lived down the street had seen you decorating for Halloween (in August but that’s not important), it sparked a long overdue introduction that ended with you convincing them helping you with a few of the more unwieldy parts of your grand design. Soap got a kick out of the 12ft. skeleton, and Gaz only almost fell off your roof once while tying down the giant rope spiderweb. 

That had been months ago, and now, every now and then, they made sure to stop by to check in on you. The four of them seemed pretty bored, and you were a single woman all alone in that big house. Having someone to look at leaks in your radiators or nail down loose floorboards kept money in your party fund and you got four different flavors of hot men to look at. How was this not a win for you?

You had invited them all to checkout the “little get together” you were planning for Halloween night. If they didn’t have anything else to do, of course. Something told you they weren’t the kind of guys to stay in and hand out candy. You loved the look that they passed around to each other as you waited for their response, all side eyes and sly smirks.

Sure. Yes. Of course, love. They all chimed, Ghost’s oppressive silence speaking for itself. 

When the big night rolled around everything was perfect: your jack-o-lanterns were all lit, flickering candles inside them dancing in the night breeze, the lights the guys had helped you hang swayed in the empty branches of each of the trees in your front yard, even the moon played her part, hanging overhead shaped like a reaper’s scythe. 

Your various friends, coworkers and acquaintances all arrived as the night spun on. Everyone enjoyed the massive tub of purple punch you had prepared, the bubbling dry-ice cauldron really selling it. You provided a simple charcuterie board, and had told everyone to bring a themed snack to share if they wanted. The table filled quickly as everyone arrived. Various shaped and decorated cookies were popular. Your one coworker brought his “famous” deviled eggs and another brought in a plate of sliced apples and homemade caramel sauce. Otherwise, it was bring your own beer and the party was over at dawn.  

You lost track of time as you buzzed around, trying to have fun and host as best as possible. Midnight chiming on your grandfather clock made you realize that your four most anticipated guests had yet to arrive. You wouldn’t have faulted them if they just didn’t show. They were your friends, it wasn’t the end of the world. Wouldn’t have given them grief if they didn’t come in costume, either. Your brain just about exploded with joy when you answered the door to see all four of them, even Ghost, dolled up in their spooky best. 

Price was the first over the threshold, turning your open arms into a hug as he swept you inside. His pointy wizard hat was almost knocked off by the door frame, making you giggle as he set you down.

“I can’t believe you all dressed up!” you said, hands admiring the rather expensive looking high-collared robe he was wearing.

Soap was next, slipping around Price to pull you in for a hug. He smooshed your face into his flannel chest, chest partially exposed and very hairy. Whoever had done his makeup was a true effects talent. The extra hair on his face and neck was blended perfectly with his natural color and the pointy ears looked startlingly life-like. He even had a dab of dark paint under his nose to make it look like a dogs. When he smiled, flashing a double set of prominent canines, you couldn’t help but stare. 

“Wow!” you commented, petting his flannel because it was the most appropriate thing you could will yourself to touch. “You really went all out!”

Gaz’s hand on your shoulder made you jump before you realized it was him. He looked so different, probably the most changed of all the guys. He didn’t have any makeup, but his costume was impeccable. A black silk shirt with a loose black cravat around his neck, a rich red brocade vest that looked incredible against his skin, topped off with a black trench coat that you were pretty sure you had seen him in before. You threw yourself into his hug, squealing the whole time.

“I love your vampire costume! It’s my favorite!” you said excitedly, dancing on your toes as you did. You smiled at him as you stepped away, catching a glimpse of the set of long canines in his mouth as he replied with a simple, “thanks”. 

"Hear that?" you heard him whisper to Price. "Said 'm her favorite."

“And what are you supposed to be, love?” Price asked, looking down at you authoritatively, hands on his robed hips.

“Oh me?” you responded nervously. “I’m a witch!” you answered, looking around for your hat.

You must have taken it off when you went into the basement for more booze. The ceiling was pretty low down there, and you didn’t want to bring up any actual spiders with it. You felt a little disappointed, standing next to them in their amazing costumes while you had to sell your black and silver dress without your one accessory. 

“‘er y’ go,” Ghost said, arm reaching over the shoulders of the men around you to plop your wide, decorated black hat on your head. The tatters of his mummy wrappings caught on their clothes as he pulled his arm back. 

Price turned to make room for the man, letting him enjoy the full view of your sweet smile and nervous sway. This was the first time he’d ever talked directly to you. 

“Thanks, Ghost,” you said shyly. “I appreciate it.” 

There was something unnerving in his simple costume. It suited him, of course. Layers of dirty-linen colored gauze obscured most of his face, continuing down to wrap his whole body. Whomever Soap had found to do his makeup must have a friend in costume design, because you couldn’t find where a shirt or pants split to combine into one. The effect was near seamless. Even the tatters that streamed down his legs and off his arms didn’t look tacked on.

He had left both of his eyes exposed, too. His large brown irises and (you assumed) natural dark bags beneath them adding to his haggard, aged appearance. What made your stomach turn was how he had emphasized the few scars that crept out from behind the wrappings. You could see where each true scar ended in a bump of flesh, but the ends had been extended, made to look longer, wider, crueler. 

Maybe he wanted to look flayed beneath everything, you thought. It was Halloween after all.

[frogchiro]

No I have to add something to this or I'll go insane oH MY GOD-

Graves is awful and an asshole; every chance he gets he will rub it in that HE is the one getting hacker girl by his side almost all the time and not 141 :(( He thanks whatever higher power there is that he's a 'techno-wizard' as you affectionally call him and he can show his prowess off like a peacock both on the battlefield (you're not an operator and don't engage in fire exchange per say but he knows you still keep a watchful eye on them with cameras and your various knick knacks) and in the technical world, he LIVES for your praise and usually ends up with a half chub because of it :((

His latest 'kick 141 in the proverbial balls' operation was even more successful than his stunt with the plane and capturing Hassan. They were all stationed in some bumfuck-nowhere in Al-Mazrah with you in tow for technical support. It was...hell to say the least. During the day it was unbearably hot and Johnny felt like his fuckin' balls were dripping with sweat and he could see that Ghost wasn't in much better shape, his huge body was naturally incredibly warm, all that muscle and layer of fat and thick body hair was made for keeping warm in colder climates; Johnny knew that from experience when you, him and Simon were stationed in Russia and Ghost had the two of you cuddled up all nice and warm, sharing intimate moments and body heat...but this wasn't Russia. It wasn't pleasantly warm but dripping hot and Johnny wished he was everywhere but not here and though Ghost didn't seem to mind the conditions, the Scott knew that he was bothered too.

But the real nail to the coffin was a message. Not a simple one like a debrief or a message from Laswell to update them, no. It was fucking Graves and what did he send? A picture of you. A photo of pretty little you, laid out like a perfect meal on soft looking sheets and it looked like some sort of base because it was way too luxurious to be a safehouse.

And there you laid, all pretty and nice with a shy smile on your face, naked safe for the loose shorts you usually wore. Your skin glistening with a healthy glow, looking impossibly soft and your stomach rolls only adding to the perfection of your body; you looked like a goddess. But then really hit Soap like a train; Graves had you laid out like this, probably touching your body with his rough hands, kissing all over you and muttering dirty words of love in that damn southern accent in the comfort of a cool room, AC probably blasting all nice and comfortable and cool judging by the way your nipples were hard and perked up, that damn mutt was surely having the time of his life suckling and biting on them while Johnny and Ghost and the rest of their men were stuck in horrendous humid heat with no privacy and absolutely no time to even jerk off, though he could see Ghost spreading his huge legs and adjusting his cock through his dark pants, no shame at all.

Johnny had to turn the phone off again and could only scream in his head at the top of his lungs in agony, his head thumping semi-loudly on the wooden wall behind him. Oh he was gonna get you the second he comes back♡

[averagewriter-inthedark]

Me & The Devil P.2 🌘| Harry Potter Imagine

takes place during HBP & DH1

Part 1 here Final Part | HP Masterlist

Characters & Pairings: Black!Sister reader x HP characters (platonic), Severus Snape x reader (platonic/semi-romantic)

Content Warnings: death, violence, profanity, angst, slight cannon divergence, mentions of torture and blood, set during the book timeline of the 1990s | female!reader (she/her) | wc: 6k

Requested yes/no

Premise: A dark storm is brewing over Hogwarts. The return of Voldemort and his Death Eaters spark unease in the Golden Trio. For a certain member of the Noble House of Black, she takes on a new role of double agent with the partnership between her and a certain Hogwarts professor. Will she survive the ordeal and get her freedom when it's all over? The odds are slim when acting as a loyal servant and hunted by aurors.

Note: Snape is 37 in this like the books and reader is 31. Part 3 will be the final chapter to this miniseries but I have no idea when it will be posted. Hope y’all like this one! Also near the end the final scenes are inspired by Wanda in MOM so yeah that belongs to Marvel

——————-

Months went by. Waiting. Scheming. Y/n felt her mind deteriorate by the day. Between Bellatrix’s constant complaints of Draco’s failures and Narcissa’s moping, Y/n spent most of her time in the attic of Malfoy Manor. Hidden away to perfect her spells and create new ones. She even managed to successfully become an animagus. 

A black crow.

How fitting.

At times Y/n found herself sitting in front of the window. Especially when it rained. The lightning in the distance, the crisp air filling the attic walls. Lost in her thoughts, Y/n would caress the silver jewelry laid on her left ring finger. 

Once a month she’d receive a letter from Severus, unbeknownst to the others, detailing Draco’s attempts and all the times Snape’s had to cover for him. As part of their deal to keep quiet of the others' disloyalty and motives behind actions, Snape agreed to update her on Draco and keep the Order off Y/n’s trail. For Y/n’s side of the bargain, she agreed to deflect suspicion on him from their fellow Death Eaters. Specifically her sisters.

And what better way to do that then in holy matrimony.

“You want to get married?” she scoffed, placing her wine glass on the coaster. Having left with her sisters following the unbreakable vow, Y/n returned later that night after Severus sent an owl. Sitting in the same leather chair from before, “You humor me.”

“I can assure you I am everything but comical, Y/n,” he drawled, standing by the fireplace. The sound of wood crackling filled the room. “This is not an arrangement I suggest lightly.”

Seeing how serious he was, Y/n’s demeanor changed. “Wow,” her tone lowered, finger raising to tap her lips. Unable to read her mind since she was a gifted Occulmens like himself, Snape was left to wonder what Y/n was thinking. Truth be told the woman was more impressed than shocked by his proposal. “I think that’s the first time I’ve been rendered speechless, Severus.” Standing, Y/n grabbed her glass and approached the man. “You truly believe this would work? Proposing a marriage between us….” she trailed, glancing at the fire briefly, “is intriguing. Tell me more.”

Snape’s expression remained the same, “It is simply a matter of convenience.” No need to sugar coat it, “We want to keep our secrets hidden. So long as you can assure your sisters stay off my back…..I’ll make sure the Order stays off yours. We play the part of a happy married couple when operating business with the Dark Lord, and I will do everything in my power to get your freedom when this all ends.” 

Y/n liked what she was hearing. The more she thought about it, the more engrossed she became. Marrying Snape wasn’t ideal--as the concept itself she did not care for--but Y/n could not deny the idea made her curious. Plus Severus was handsome, a talented wizard, and obviously, he knew her motives for following Voldemort. What her end goal was. She needed to keep him close. 

“I think I’ll find playing the part of a smitten wife will be rather easy,” she rasped, stepping closer to Snape so their chests were nearly touching. Walking her fingertips up the length of his arm, Y/n leaned closer to Snape which ignited a sharp breath from the man. She smelled of expensive perfume. Their closeness allowed him to see how her eyes turned from their usual coldness to something more lustful. Almost sinister. His reaction made her smirk, “Confident you can manage the same….husband?” 

Now, almost a year later, the two managed to successfully keep their union hidden from the Order. All while any suspicion the Death Eaters had of Snape seemed to disappear. Bellatrix, initially furious and doubtful of their ‘relationship’, soon began to trust him. Still, the witch grimaced each time the pair greeted the other with an affectionate kiss. Or when Y/n took claim to Snape’s lap during meetings. An action which surprised the man himself in the beginning.

Each letter Severus sent was met with one in return, however Y/n was careful to only send her owl in the late hours of the night. When her family was sound asleep. Signing the parchment with only her initials, but instead of B as the ending initial it was S. She���d never admit it aloud, but Y/n felt a sense of comfort with Severus. There was an overwhelming amount of hate in her heart, but the pinch of sanity left in her soul connected to him. Which is not a surprise. He is, of course, the only person who can relate to her. 

Neither would call it love. Y/n possessed no love. And Snape lost his when Lily died. They had mutual respect and care for each other as their partnership grew. Finding the other’s presence calm despite the world around them going to shit. 

The news of Draco’s success in connecting the two cabinets came from Bellatrix’s glee, the woman bursting into the attic with a loud, “It’s time, sister.” Reluctantly, Y/n trailed Bellatrix to Knockturn Alley, where they met several of their associates. 

Dark clouds painted the sky. Thunder rumbling. It set the tone of the evening. 

Y/n stayed stoic the entire journey. Hating every minute, yet doing nothing to escape. Where could she even go? The mark on her arm prevented her from doing so. Until Voldemort was defeated, the only way for her to stay alive was to continue the act of a loyal servant. 

Draco was gone when the group breached the cabinet in a cloud of black smoke. The boy rushed to find Dumbledore and complete his task. He found the man on the observation deck of the Astronomy Tower. Unaware his longtime rival, Harry Potter, was below him, watching the scene play out. 

The others arrived to witness Draco complete the task, however, in the end Snape was the one to administer the curse. And so the greatest wizard in history fell from the sky. 

Y/n kept her eyes on Severus the entire time. Watching his reaction. When he went through with the unthinkable, Y/n wasted no time in rushing to his side. Cupping his face, she noticed the dissociative expression Snape wore. Mind processing what he had done. “Severus,” he didn’t respond, making her shake his shoulders, “look at me.” Finally he meets her eye and the woman matches his anxious demeanor. “We have to go. Now.” 

Clutching his robe, the two push Draco in the direction of the Death Eaters. Bellatrix’s maniacal laughter rings as she shoots a spell into the sky to bring forth the Dark Lord’s symbol in the clouds. Not long after the tower was surrounded by members of the Order, ensuing a battle between the groups. Y/n tried to avoid dueling as much as possible. Not wanting to harm anyone, especially the kids in the school. 

Cutting the corner after dodging a spell from her niece Nymphadora, Y/n spotted the wretched Fenrir Greyback attacking a man she didn’t recognize. Judging by the wild red hair he possessed, she assumed it was a Weasley. Greyback’s back was toward her, unaware she stood behind him. From the looks of it, the redhead was losing the fight. 

Not sure what came over her at that moment, Y/n raised her wand and shouted, “Stupefy!” The werewolf was flung into the wall behind him, falling unconscious. 

“Bill!” a voice screamed, Y/n turning to see a young woman running to where the Weasley laid. Bloodied and knocked out. Fluer dropped beside him, sobbing at the state of her fiance. She glanced up to see Y/n, immediately becoming frozen with fear while pleading with her to help. “Y-you--H-he’s been--.”

Cursing to herself, Y/n approached the two. “He wasn’t bit,” adjusting her dress skirt, she grabbed the cuffs of Bill’s jacket and gestured for Fluer to help. Together they moved him to a concealed area away from the battle. “He’s been scratched.” Having studied werewolves while in school, the woman was well educated on the subject. Muttering a healing spell, Y/n attempted to at least stop the bleeding, however, she knew the extent of his injuries were serious. “Nevertheless, the wounds are cursed. They’ll scar.” 

Fluer watched her carefully, “W-why are you helping us?” Y/n gave no answer, instead casting a final healing spell before standing up to leave. In her peripheral vision, she noticed movement from Greyback, and sent a second stun his way to keep him unconscious. She always hated him, so it gave her great pleasure to pu thim down. 

Truth be told Y/n didn’t know why she helped the injured Weasley. It would have best suited her to get the hell out of there and let whatever outcome happen. Whether that be Greyback killing the man or Bill successfully overpowering the werewolf. But instead, she cursed her associate. Saving the life of ‘the enemy’. 

Several agonizing minutes passed before Y/n managed to escape the tower. At Snape’s order, she ran deep into the forest until she was far enough to apparate. Back at the manor she was immediately questioned by her sister.

“Is Draco okay,” Narcissa grabbed Y/n’s wrist to stop her from escaping to the attic. Eyes glossy with tears, “Did he--.”

“Your son is fine, Narcissa,” she roughly pulled away. “You have my husband to thank for that--he finished the job.” There was immediate relief from Narcissa, exhaling the breath she had been holding. Y/n went straight to the liquor cabinent, taking a glass and pouring a generous amount before downing it. She then refilled the glass, offering it to her sister without a word. Once Narcissa took it Y/n kept the bottle for herself, saying nothing more as she made her way to the attic. 

It wasn’t long before the others arrived. Y/n heard Narcissa’s cry of relief upon seeing Draco. Bellatrix was busy scolding Greyback--something that brought a smile to her face. Other murmurs were made out, but hard to identify with all the noise. Moments later she heard the fast approaching sound of footsteps nearing her door. Jolting from her bed with her wand raised at whoever was about to breach it. Only when it was revealed to be Severus did Y/n lower her guard, rolling her eyes, “What have I told you about--.”

Snape slammed the door shut, muttering a silencing charm which caused Y/n to raise her brow. “We need to talk.” Her guarded expression returned, but Snape beat her before she could question him. “I know you stunned the werewolf to save Weasley.” All movement from the woment seized, frozen in shock.

“How do you know--.”

“I saw you with Miss. Delacour, Y/n,” Snape peers down at her with visible frustration. “Why would you risk such a thing? If you had been caught--.”

“But I wasn’t, Severus,” she interrupts, eyes flicking to the door in fear someone was listening, but then she remembered the spell he cast. “I was careful. You should know better than to underestimate me. And to answer your question….” she turned away from him, hands on her hips as she turned her focus to the woods beyond her window. “I don’t know what possessed me to do what I did--It just happened. Maybe it’s the fact the Weasley’s are distant family. Or because I fucking hate Greyback.” She throws her hands up in defeat,  “Or I want the Order to have all its members to better their chances at winning this damn war. Maybe…” her hands fall back to her sides, “deep down there’s some humanity left in me.” The words were so low it was barely a whisper. Y/n shook her head, the speck of softness replaced with disinterest. 

“Whatever it was,” turning back to him, Y/n narrows her eyes in warning. “It’s no longer our concern. Dumbledore is dead, you killed him.” footsteps echo against the wood as she approaches Snape, noticing his expression change at the mention of the headmaster. “He will be plotting his next move. We need to remain focused--I expect his attention will be on us more now given the circumstances.” 

Snape knows she’s right. Killing Albus only shined a spotlight on him, and in turn on Y/n. He was now labeled public enemy #1 in the eyes of the Order. Voldemort himself will likely turn to Snape. They will have to up their game, continuing the act of a happy couple. Well happy as one can be in the middle of a war. 

That summer was endless torture following the Headmaster’s death. Y/n not only had to deal with Voldemort growing stronger, but also the return of Lucius from Azkaban. It did bring the witch great joy to see the dark circles beneath his eyes and matted hair. One year in prison did a number on him. 

Lucky for Lucius it was only one year. Had it been 15 like Y/n, he’d surely gone mad. Thankfully the two rarely saw each other. Not long after his release following Dumbledore’s death Y/n moved into Severus' home. Only returning to the mansion when necessary. 

At every Death Eater meeting Y/n had to fight yawning with how bored she was, keeping her expression blank even when addressed by Voldermort from time to time. The man wasn’t blind. Well aware the youngest Black was not as forthcoming with her praises to him like Bellatrix. Never voicing her opinions, while also keeping any objections to herself like a smart person would do. He never fully trusted her. Even though she was married to one of his most trusted advisors, something in the back of his mind told Voldemort she’d be the first to turn on him. Without proof, Voldemort kept a close eye.

The meeting tonight was just like any other. Seated at the massive dining table in Malfoy Manor, Voldemort at the head while the Black’s and Malfoy’s flanked to the right. Y/n seated beside Draco, far from her sisters. Very telling of her attitude towards them.

Severus was the last to arrive, dark cloak tailing behind him. His entrance caught everyone’s attention, while his was on his colleague hanging in the air. Muggle studies professor Charity Burbage. The wounds on her body indicated she had been subjected to torture. 

“Severus,” Voldemort greeted, “I was beginning to worry you had lost your way. Come. We’ve saved you a seat.” The headmaster took claim to the only free chair at the table, bidding a look to his wife, to which she slightly shook her head. Silently saying, “I had no part in this.”

Voldemort then said, “Do you bring news, I trust?”

“It will happen Saturday next, at nightfall.”

“I’ve heard differently, my Lord,” Yaxley interrupted at the other end of the table, then proceeds to say he believes Harry will be moved at the end of the month. The 30th of July. The day before his 17th birthday.

“This is a false trail,” Snape insists. “The auror office no longer plays any part in the protection of Harry Potter. “Those closest to him believe we have infiltrated the ministry.”

The Death Eater seated beside Y/n laughed, “Well, they got that right aren’t they.” Several at the table joined in the laughter. The youngest Black’s expression was tight, plastered with annoyance. 

“What’s say you, Pius?” Voldemort addresses the man seated at the opposite head of the table. 

Nagini curled herself next to the chair as he answered, “One hears many things, my Lord. Whether the truth is among them is not clear.” Voldemort chuckles.

“Spoken like a true politician. You will, I think, prove most useful, Pius.” The Death Eater appears pleased by the compliment. Voldemort turns back to Snape, “Where will he be taken, the boy?”

“To a safe house. Most likely the home of someone in the Order. I’m told it’s been given every manner of protection possible, once there it will be impractical to attack him.”

Suddenly the conversation is interrupted by Bellatrix. “My Lord, I’d like to volunteer myself for this task.” She leans against the table, voice dropping, “I want to kill the boy.”

“Of course you would,” Y/n thinks to herself, holding back the urge to roll her eyes. Frankly she found her sister to be stupid to ask such a thing. Considering Voldemort mentions his desire to kill Harry Potter everyday. And with the prophecy, there’s no way he’d allow anyone else the opportunity to do the deed. 

In the back, Charity let out a haunting groan, causing Voldermort to shout, “Wormtail! Have I not spoken to you about keeping our guest’s quiet?”

“Yes, my Lord,” the man spoke with urgency. “Right away, my Lord.” As he scurried off, Voldemort returned his attention to Bellatrix. 

“As inspiring as I find your bloodlust, Bellatrix,” the hope was clear in her eyes, disappearing with his next words. “I must be the one to kill Harry Potter.” With that she curled back into her seat, Y/n’s lips raising in a satisfied smirk.

“But,” he rises from his chair, “I face an unfortunate complication.” As much as Y/n wanted to tune out this conversation, the nature of it was hard to dismiss. Especiall when the man walked behind the chairs on her side of the table. Brushing past her sisters before ending beside Lucius. There was satisfaction seeing him visibly afraid of Voldemort. A smirk on her lips when he was to give up his wand, a wizard’s most prized possession.

Her expression shifted when Charity’s brought to the center of the table. Death Eaters laughing at her despair and cringing with disgust at her profession. Y/n moves her gaze to Severus, who’s emotionless to Charity’s pleas. Then when the woman’s killed and her body drops to the table, Y/n lifts her hand to grasp Draco’s wrist. Squeezing it in warning for him to control himself when she sees his distraught state in the corner of her eyes. 

The action surprises the boy. Draco sucking in a breath and forcing himself to relax. Once he does, Y/n removes her touch and waits to be dismissed by Voldemort. As soon as the order is given she’s quick to leave the table, taking Snape’s outstretched hand where he apparates them back home. 

“How do you plan--?” he doesn’t let her finish the question.

“I have it covered.” Moving to his study, he hears her footsteps behind him, Y/n slamming the door shut once they’ve entered. He looked annoyed, “This doesn’t concern you.”

“The hell it does!” she shouted, making him clench his jaw. Ever since the incident at the Astronomy tower the two had been on edge with each other. For one, the Order discovered their marriage causing Y/n to lose her shit. Now she was public enemy #2 in their eyes. Or 3 if you count Voldermort at the top. Her odds of the Order leaving her the fuck alone decreased immensly. 

Second, Snape told her of his and Dumbledore’s arrangement. That the headmaster asked Snape to kill him. A secret Y/n had trouble wrapping her head around and prayed to a higher power no one, especially Bellatrix, found out about. 

Crossing over to him where he stood at his desk, Y/n caught his wrist to make him look at her. “In case you have forgotten, dear husband, we are playing both sides right now. You say you want to protect Harry Potter…just how do you plan to do that during an ambush you helped orchestrate? What the hell are we supposed to do if Harry Potter dies at his hands Saturday next?” Y/n squeezed his wrist tighter, “I’m putting all my trust into Severus Snape. You promised me my freedom when this was all over.” 

“I haven’t forgotten, Y/n,” he removes himself from her grip, “You say you trust me. Do so, and you won’t be let down.”

Y/n didn’t know where it all went wrong. One moment she was flying in the sky, the next she’s being rammed into by Bill Weasley’s Thestral. Pain erupted in her chest, likely from a broken rib and caught herself on the creature's satchel. Her hand is then grabbed by the imposter Harry seated behind Bill, keeping Y/n steady to prevent falling to her death. Using her talent of legitimins, Y/n identifies the imposter as Bill’s fiance Fluer. 

“You’re not Harry Potter,” she whispers, causing Harry (Fluer) to widen her eyes. The accusation was confirmed when Fluer’s voice responded, “How did you know?” Before Y/n could answer, however, the world around her became black. Having been stunned by Bill who realized what was happening behind him.  

Acting fast, Fluer reached with her other hand to further grasp Y/n’s now limp body onto the Thestral. 

“What are you doing?” Bill shouted over the chaos, “She’s one of them!”

“And she saved your life in the Astronomy tower, William!” Fluer screamed back. Using all her might, she hauled Y/n over the bottom half of the creature. Gripping the material of her robes and dress while ducking at the incoming curses around them. 

When they finally made it to the Burrow, the shaky landing caused Fluer to lose her hold. Y/n fell to the ground, still unconscious. Bruises were sure to form on her body. Bill leaped off the Thestral, helped Fluer off and rushed to Y/n. After confirming she was alive by pressing his fingers to her pulse, the oldest Weasley took the death eater into his arms and followed Fluer into the house. But not before telling Fluer to take her wand which had been discarded into a ditch.

“Wait here,” he said, placing Y/n in the care of Fluer by setting her on a bench outside the door, Bill entered to find the others gathered around an injured George. After the shock wore off of his brother’s state, Bill announced the death of Mad-eye and departure of Mundungus. Deepening the already intense mood.

“There’s something else,” he hesitated, eyes flickering to find everyone staring at him with unease. They watched Bill exit the house, only to return a second later dragging the last person they ever expected. Gasps rang out, wands drawn in Y/n’s direction. The witch barely conscious but fighting against Bill’s hold. Eventually succumbing to sleep once again due to the pounding in her head. 

With the help of Remus, the two propped Y/n in a chair, casting a spell to bind her hands and legs. “Where’s her wand?” Remus urgently looked around, relieved to see the object in Fluer’s possession. He turned to Bill, “What the hell happened?”

As the oldest Weasley explained, Molly approached the woman, assessing her carefully. Y/n had dirt and grime in her hair. A small cut to her temple. Likely from a rock when she fell from the Threstral. Her breathing was shaky, pained groans escaping her mouth which Molly assumed was from trauma to her chest. Although the others were against it, Molly began performing healing spells on Y/n, “Had it not been for her my son would be dead! I do not care what side she is on--I shall offer the same courtesy.” 

The group was alerted to Y/n’s consciousness twenty minutes later when she groaned. Shifting in the chair, her eyelids fluttered briefly before opening to bright lights. Moaning, Y/n straightened up aware of the audience in front of her, however she did not appear concerned. Even with several wands pointing at her. “Hmmmph,” she blinks a few times, settling her gaze on Remus, “what an unpleasant situation we have here. I hoped to be dead before experiencing this.”

It pained Remus to hear her words. Thinking back to that little girl he’d met on the corner of Diagon Alley with James, perched on Sirius’ hip. That little girl was gone. In her place was a woman with the Devil on her shoulder. “We don’t want to hurt you, Y/n.”

Tilting her head as though she found his statement funny, she replies “Is that supposed to make me feel at ease?” rolling her eyes she adds, “Surely you could’ve come up with something better.”

Remus sighed, realizing it was about to be a long night. “We’re willing to negotiate terms if you provide us with information. A lesser sentence if you will,” he chose his next words carefully, seeing her demenor shift, “so long as you are upfront and answer all of our questions with honesty.” Y/n’s face tightened, no longer humored. Remus felt his stomach lurch, not breaking the intense eye contact she set with him.

“You threaten me--.”

“It’s not a threat--,” he insists but Y/n continues.

“With a cell in Azkaban and expect me to comply? By being a snitch?” she shakes her head, eyes full of fury. “Go to hell, Remus Lupin.”

“It doesn’t have to be this way.”

“Oh?” She grumbles with a glare, “and how else do you suggest it be? I’m not stupid--a tad mad if we want to get technical, but you all have yourselves to blame for that.” Y/n was referring to the Order not taking her in during the First Wizarding War. Sirius warned them of his family and the Death Eaters recruiting her at a young age. Yet no attempt to protect Y/n was initiated. 

The werewolf’s face fell, “Had we known--.”

“Known what?!” She jumped forward in her chair as the dam of pent up resentment and anger broke, making several flinch at the sudden movement. A few wands pointed up but she paid them no mind. “That I’d become a Death Eater against my will? That I’d be forced to use the Cruciatus Curse on the Longbottoms or face my sister’s wrath?” She spat with ferocity. Pupils nearly pitch black it made her appear demonic. “You knew what my family was like! Sirius knew--It’s why he left! And you did nothing to save me.” Leaning back in the chair, Y/n finished with, “Go ahead and kill me. I’m not telling you shit.”

Remus runs a hand through his hair, his patience running thin and stress levels rising. “Y/n, I’m trying to help you here. We’re giving you the opportunity to avoid a lifetime in jail if you help us--help us end this war.” When his efforts are exhausted Remus gestures to the man behind him, “Kingsley has Veritaserum and we will use it if necessary.”  Now this has her smirking, chin raising in challenge. 

“Go ahead,” her voice lowers an octave, sending chills along his arms, “I welcome you to.” Weary of her acceptance, the adult members of the Order all exchange looks before Kingsley approaches. Y/n tilts her head back, watching Kingsley unscrew the vial and pour the tiny amount of liquid onto her tongue. Once it’s entered her stream, the woman cracks her neck and returns her attention to Remus. 

He clasped his hands in his lap, leaning in his chair. “How’d you know about tonight?”

Y/n pretends to think, “I think I saw an advertisement in the Daily Prophet. Yeah,” she nods her head, acting serious. “That was it.” 

Remus’s own head falls to his chest, the others visibly confused. The potion was to make her tell the truth. Pretty much against her will. Thinking it may have not settled in yet, Remus asks another question. “Who told him we were moving Harry?” 

Deciding to play along, Y/n shrugs her shoulders, “Yaxley.” Lie. She held back a chuckle at his confused reaction.

“How did he know?”

“Overheard it.” Lie.

“Where?”

“Diagon Alley I assume.” Lie.

“From who?”

“I don’t know.” Lie.

“But he’s the one who told Voldemort.” Y/n rolled her eyes at that, gesturing to her binded hands.

“Obviously since we’re sitting in this predicament.” She sees the frustration on Remus, as well as the others. Yet, the witch couldn’t help but feel entertained. “Anything else?”

“What’s your relationship to Severus Snape?” 

“He’s my husband,” She didn’t miss the way the Order reacted to the news. Upset but not surprised. No point in lying. They already knew about their marriage from what Snape told her. The truth of why, however, was still a secret. 

“Why did he kill Dumbledore?” Harry stepped forward, drawing her attention to him. Anger was written all over his face. Filled with absolute hatred. Something Y/n had expected when her husband murdered the man he looked up to. 

“You were there, right?” she asked, head tilting with curiosity. “Snape mentioned you’d been below the observatory deck.” Tsking, Y/n surveyed him. She was getting under his skin. “Why do you think he did it?”

“I think he did it to save himself. He was a coward,” Harry saw the way her face tightened. Taking offense to his words. A mere speck of what someone could label as affection or respect to her spouse. 

“Severus Snape is many things,” she sounded sinister, anger seeping off every word. “But a coward is not one of them.”

“Fat lot of good coming from you.” Harry antagonized her. “You hightailed it out of the ministry when Sirius died. He was your own cousin.”

“My cousin who left me a sitting duck for the wolves,” Y/n reminded the boy, temper rising. An indicator with how her voice was strained. “Let’s not forget you all thought he was responsible for betraying your parents. Didn’t even hesitate to believe he was guilty.” That cut them all deep. “And I adored Sirius at one point in life. Much like you, Harry Potter,” she let out a deep sigh, attempting to calm herself, “look at where it got me.” Exhaustion was beginning to take over the witch. Her body ached and there was a pounding in her head. Molly’s healing spells worked to patch any internal injuries Y/n had, but she still was drained from the whole ordeal. 

They were getting off track. Having had enough of the tension, Remus butted in, “Answer the question, Y/n. Why did Snape kill Dumbledore?”

“I don’t know,” she simply stated. Lie. “He didn’t say. Although…I can only assume it was to spare my poor nephew.” Another shrug, “And survive the unbreakable vow. Which you already know of.” 

Harry shook his head, “I don’t believe you.” His gut was telling him there was more to the story. 

“Harry, she took the Veritaserum,” Hermoine pointed out gently, missing the flicker of amusement from Y/n. “She’s telling the truth.”

“Hermoine’s right, Harry,” Ron agreed, moving beside his friend. “There’s no way she could be lying.”

“How much did you give her, Kingsley?” Arthur questioned, also suspicious of Y/n’s answers. Kingsley held up the vial. More than half was consumed.

“Enough.”

“Something’s off,” he murmured, rubbing his chin. A bickering match ensued between members of the Order. Harry, Arthur, and even Y/n’s niece, Tonks, had difficulty believing Y/n told the truth. The majority, however, voiced opposition. 

“Veritaserum is a very potent and strong potion, Harry,” Remus stood from his chair, but before he could say anything else, Y/n’s voice took over.

“Which you just wasted.”

Silence consumes the room. Processing what she said. That’s not possible.

Heads turning to the witch, Y/n starts to chuckle in delight. A sight unnerving to the Order as it becomes more deranged. Harry looked to his friends for an answer, but they were just as perplexed as him. Y/n’s voice turns taunting, “Oh my, you lot really are daft at times. Have you forgotten? Or did you believe it to be a rumor?” Her grin is wicked, finding the scene entertaining much to their dismay. “I’m a skilled Occulmens.” 

It was as though the dementors arrived with how cold the air became. Everyone falters, stilling at the revelation. It could only mean one thing:

Everything Y/n said potentially was a lie. 

The Death Eater tsked, “What do you think I did with all that time I had rotting in the middle of the ocean?” she laughs again, more menacingly. “Your little potion is useless! My mind is more protected than Azkaban. For all you know I fabricated everything I just told you.” Her taunting laugh continues, shredding the last ounce of patience the Order had for her. 

Remus kneeled in front of her chair and smacked the table, causing everyone besides Y/n to flinch. “Enough of these games! I have tried to give you the benefit of the doubt knowing you’d been forced into this life, but you have proven to be not so different from your associates.” Now that was a nail to the coffin. Any and all of Remus’s hope for Y/n having some level of good in her gone. “This is your final warning--or we will throw you in Azkaban for the rest of your life for good!”

Never straying her stare, the Death Eater murmered cooly, “You have no idea how reasonable I’ve been.” This time it was Remus’s turn to scoff.

“Holding children hostage at the Ministry, attacking Hogwarts, marrying Snape, and sending assassins after the officials who locked you up,” He lists off, surprising the Order with the last detail. They had heard rumors of Azkaban guards and Ministry officials killed in the last few months, but assumed it was Bellatrix. “I don’t see how that’s being reasonable.”

Y/n gave a sound that was a mix of a chuckle and scoff, leaning forward in her chair. “Sending those assassins after them instead of myself was mercy.” A chill rose, Harry’s intuition telling him something was about to happen. “And despite your hypocrises and insults I have warned you time and time again to simply get out of my way.” Remus saw her hands fidget, tightening his grip on his wand. 

“You’ve exhausted my patience,” Her voice lowered once more, almost to a whisper as her bottom lip quivered. “But I do hope you understand…that even now--with what’s about to happen…..” lips curled into a deathly smirk. “This is me being…reasonable.”

Faster than the speed of light, Y/n casts a non-verble, wandless spell that mimics a gust a powerful wind, ripping the binds off her hands and ankles. Remus flies onto his back, the lights flicker and burst. The windows and glass shatter. Papers fly. Hermoine screams, echoing amongst the shouts as Ron pulls her into his arms. Molly leaning over an injured George to protect him from shards. 

 Fluer gasps at the feeling of Y/n’s wand in her hand ripped from her. The death eater had snapped her fingers in the chaos with a non-verbal Accio.

With her wand now in her possession, Y/n unleashes another bout of wind, crippling the Order from attacking her. Once satisfied she makes her escape. Black smoke fills the room before flying out the window and into the night sky. The storm inside the burrow seizing. 

“What the bloody hell was that?” Ron coughs, catching his breath. 

“That,” Kingsley stands up straight, sore from colliding with the wall which knocked him down. “Was the closest thing to experiencing the Devil on Earth.”

Tags: @unloved-and-outspoken

[buzzkillers]

Burning like embers (falling tender)

Pairing: Regulus Black • Black!Reader

Summary: Regulus kidnaps the bride. (Wc:5k)

Warning: Dubcon, Kidnapping, Semi Unrequited Love, Attempted Non-Con, Pseudo-incest, Pureblood Politics, Regulus Embracing His Flaws (Yt and British)

Beta: @darksideofthecocoamoon !!! This would've been way worse without her.

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Regulus Black was not a good man. 

Good men existed in folk tales, in between the thick yellow pages of his childhood books. Where nobility and honor was permeated in ink and their righteousness was outlined in bold roman font, the letters too tiny for baby regulus to read. It was hard to be a good man,  he learned. And by the age of twenty four, he was barely a man at all. 

Rather melodramatic. His mother had said. 

Mother also said he should feel lucky.  

It was luck after all wasn't it? His mother said. A gift to have all of his boyhood crushed out and replaced with a substance that no good man ever possessed. Voldemort knew how to show his favor. He should've been grateful. 

And Regulus was. Grateful that is. He was grateful in the way ravens were grateful for a murder, fire to wood and a cowardly man to…well to him. Regulus. Who had no problem bringing all of these things to fruition. Better than him than the others. His colleagues that liked to add to the fire and wood first, turn a flicker flame to a conflagration. 

It was good that he had all of that goodness ripped out of him, the remnants stuck between Voldemort's teeth.  

Because good men became drunks; drunk on alcohol, indulgent on cheap thrills and even cheaper whores. Complacent. Regulus thought.  

Vermin. His father corrected. Dogs that pretended to be wolves before they latched back on their leashes and trotted home; clean shaven and pristine. 

Regulus knew good men well afterall. 

He's killed many. 

A poison there. A dog bone here. Family cemeteries made entirely in his name. 

So when he said he wasn't a good man, it wasn't an attempt to be humble or modest or bashful or coy or any other fanciful saying. Regulus Black was not a good person. 

The mark proved it. 

The murders cemented it. 

And your body chained to his bed, screamed it. 

Or maybe that was simply a gross overstatement? 

The word 'chained' naturally made one think of those muggle devices. A crude contraption with metallic locks and easily hexed metals. (An insult to human ingenuity, really.) No, your chains were of the metaphysical kind: sophisticated, invisible, snug. It was the nicest thing he's ever done for an opposer to his Lord. 

Unfortunately, you were not raised by Mother. So you didn’t understand to be grateful. Which was a shame. Even a bird admired their cages eventually. It was the least you could do. 

But of course Regulus' life was unfairly hard and his options null. So instead of admiration and dutiful respect, you laid with your back turned and her body curled against the dark corner of your bed. Small and pitiful— a bit wet too. 

Funny.

Maybe he should've called you a fish instead. You wouldn't laugh but it would be funny. After all the white gown that clung to your body was completely translucent, the edges covered in soap suds. (Nastily, Regulus Black curled his bruised lips; a caged bird indeed.)

He closed the door behind him.  

His own clothes drenched and his fingers bloody with scratches before he dumped the wand in his hand to the ground. It clattered unceremoniously. 

"My bird," he began, voice smooth, annoyed. 

"I hope you're incredibly happy with yourself," he slipped his loafers off and untwisted his family rings.  

"There's a dead wizard at our doorstep because of you," parts of him anyway.

The rest of him was about a few yards out. With chunks of flesh too burned and scarred to be identified as human spewed across the acres of land. (Dog meat, his father would say. Hopefully the animals thought the same.) 

The whole ordeal was unnecessarily messy you see? Uncivilized even as he looked at the 'dog' blood splattered against his light robes. Angered, he unbuttoned that too. 

"It was an avoidable death, don't you think?" 

"A complete waste of my time, even?" He cocked his head, his voice heavy with something that made your back tense. 

Yet of course, you refused to turn around, to look back… 

A recent nasty habit of yours as he threw his robes on a nearby chair. The excess blood dripping from hand woven cloth onto the concrete floor. A familiar sight. 

Slowly, his eyes dragged to the wand on the ground, so small and twiggy. It reminded him of the toy wands he saw poor half-bloods play with when no one was looking. A scrap of trash. No different than what you'd throw for a animal to catch. 

Yet, it took death for the wizard to let it go. (A dog and its bone.)

He frowned, then snapped it beneath his heel. 

Magic spurted out and when he looked up your head swirled back towards the wall. He frowned again.

"You could at least cry," he said, voice hoarse. 

“He died for you after all,” 

Besides your frame, a lamp flickered and its shadow danced across your back. He licked his lips, hmm. “They all died for you, actually,” 

"Should I tell them to stop?" He murmured. But you only curled further into yourself. Like a victim, like someone that's done nothing wrong. He gritted his teeth. "No that won't work, you'll just keep sending them," Regulus kicked the wand across the room. 

"Maybe if he had served his purpose…." The air crackled. “..But alas,” Then he crossed the small room and plopped himself on the bed. His head cushioned against the duvet. 

"What did you tell them anyway?" he whispered, before something cracked and your cuffs pulsed. He smiled.  

"Did you say you were captured? That I was holding you prisoner? Did you lie, birdy?" He whispered, before slowly you sat up and turned your head. Your pupils were fat, your breath still.  

"Shut up," 

"B-" he started before all air left his lungs, your hands wrapped around his throat.

"Tu putain de salope—" your knees dug into his waist. “—just stop talking," Spit flew with each word and it took everything in him not to lick it away. He could only smile and make it worse. 

Your eyes widened, a fury of emotion flickering in and out and Regulus only with luck missed the conjured dagger that dug into the place where his head once was. 

"Baise gluante-"  Then with a flick of his wrist the chains tightened, your positions switched and Regulus was on top once more. His bony fingers pressed into a neck that creaked beneath his weight. 

“That was an admirable trick,”

“You almost got me there.” He spoke too soon. 

The knife appeared again, this time pressed too close to his third rib. Huh. What was that muggle saying about kicked dogs again?

"Don’t make me repeat myself," You demanded again between clenched teeth and his skin that was beginning to unravel under the metal. Something in him warmed at that. He killed a man like this the day before. But that was more brutal, cruel even. This was not that. This violence was intimate, affectionate. 

So much so that the moment you spat your words back at him, this time he did lick it off. 

"Sweet," He murmured to himself, like burnt cranberries and raw strawberries, something natural that bursted on his tongue. He licked it again. “A little sour too,” Beneath him you laid frozen, your own eyes widened until your grip on the knife loosened. "Just like me,"

"You're sick," you said it like you were just noticing. "How could you just-"

Quickly, you took a deep breath. 

In. 

Out.

“I'm nothing like you," 

"Nothing?” 

With a grunt you attempted to get up but he kept you down with nails that dug into your wrist. An devilish embrace. "You killed him and you didn't have to, you didn't even need to touch him, you could've let him go, kept him out of it," you insisted, each word said with hard eyes and fat tears on your cheeks. "We're nothing alike," 

Regulus shrugged his shoulders. 

"Then leave," 

"…."

Outside your ‘dogs’ flesh had begun to be pecked off by the ravens and the bones by the flies. Inside, you licked your lips but you did not move an inch. “Here, I’ll even help you,” he confessed before with a whispered incantation, your chain vanished. “Go,”

A symphony of emotions flickered across your face. They all burned hot and they all made Regulus shift above your thigh. Before your knife clattered to smoke and your face twisted into something like hatred. 

His little bird drew back into her cage. 

"Yes," he sighed, his voice not at all shallow and not at all starved for air while he rubbed at the wound that would soon scar by morning, 

"That's what I thought," 

—

When he first met you, his first thought was: 'This isn't going to work,'  and his second thought was 'She's too good for Sirius,'

In hindsight, both statements were correct. 

You were a bold thing really. A beauty covered in rare gems and an aura that spoke of higher breeding. Mother boasted about you highly. The jewel of the west she called you. Someone, born and bred within the confines of a highly respected Afro-Caribbean pure blood family. It was a surprise that Mother even knew you but he guessed that was the point. She wanted someone not as connected in British society after all. Someone who only visited when they had to. 

In other words, the likelihood of Sirius already having fucked you was low and the likelihood  that you knew him was even lower. 

For his mother, ignorance truly was bliss. 

If not for Sirius than also for the fact that no non-British family paid attention to Voldemort.

Voldemort's tyranny was simply an English problem. The bloke didn’t seem to care about the muggles from other countries, much less ones from the Caribbeans. Still, people have heard whispers of him. Only a dip in the pond about a crazed muggleborn that had a bone to pick with British society. 

Nothing special because in hindsight, who didn't? 

So, it was unsurprising that your parents agreed to a marriage of convenience with the one family that was in His pockets. What was surprising was how well you took to it. 

According to Sirius, arranged marriages were archaic and boorish. Not because of any logical reasons like loss of autonomy but because ‘Only a pauper let's their parents pick where his cock goes'. Of course he paid Sirius no mind. 

 Yet, solemnly he wondered if you felt the same. As a boy he would've scoffed at the idea of someone not wanting to marry into the powerful House Of Black but he hasn't been a boy for a long time now. The scales had long fallen from his eyes. In the privacy of his mind, he could not say that it was truly an honor to marry into the Black Family. 

Not with the Potters and Misli’s right there. Not with witches like Bellatrix in the family. On the contrary, it's most likely that you were in for a shock. And you'd probably run for the hills while Sirius laughed into his fifth bottle of ale and mother seethed in the shadows. 

It was the logical conclusion, he knew it and father knew it. But sometimes wolves liked to just watch their prey die. And who were they to go against Mothers will? Father the patriarch and him the–good son. The dog. So he even prepared for it. What a waste of time that was. 

He told Kreacher to prepare for a crying wailing woman. He didn’t prepare for the force that walked through the door instead. It was raining when you visited but you didn't seem to notice. Instead your face was held high as you met mother, your grip firm when you met father and you smiled at him. Very toothy and almost childish but it fit you well.

Father and Mother were nervous that Sirius wouldn't take to you. That they'd have to find another poor woman for their plans but Regulus remembered the sparkle behind his brother's eyes, the twitch of his fingers when you matched fire with oil. You gave him boorish jokes with a classy smile and a mouth no different than a muggle sailor. You were everything dirty about Sirius, wrapped and repackaged into someone pretty, someone that could take it, take him. 

Regulus wasn't impressed of course. It took anyone with a halved brain cell to get along with Sirius. You were really no different than James in his mind. Someone that could code switch between two worlds without making either party uncomfortable. A chameleon with nothing inside. It was good that you only had one job really. One simple, impossible to fail job: 'Bring my son back to me,' He heard mother whisper, both of your bodies hidden in the shadows of the back rooms. ‘Bring Sirius back into the fold’ 

‘Bring him back with a mark,’ She really meant to say and then the conversation was over. 

And of course you failed. 

____

"Do not touch me with blood still on your hands,"  you barked as Regulus dipped your head into the water. The soap suds in your head mingling with the crusted blood on his fingers until the water became a dull, faint pink. 

He hummed. "You demand a lot of me," but his hands do hover away from your hair and to the lip of the porcelain tub. You'd smell so much better without the after-smell of spilt blood anyway. 

Without thinking he rinsed his hands in the water bowl by his side. His pink reflection looking at him before he went back to your puffed- no braided hair. It wasn't like that before. Did you do that while he was upstairs? With your bare hands at that? No, you must've used a spell. Strangled together the few bouts of magic his bindings granted you and did what he offered to do freely. Impressive. 

He should take it all apart. 'Just to spite you,' he thought before with a hum he squeezed more shampoo in your hair. Suds dropped to the wooden floor, and seeped between the cracks. The scent of juniper berry erupted in the air. Your hands gripped the lip of the tub tighter. 

“Sirius used to wash my hair like this.” you murmured, your teeth dug deep into your lip. “Eventually, he’d join me and we’d stay in the tub for hours,” 

He paused, his fingertips wrinkled in your hair before you took a long and hard inhale. In.  Out. 

“Is that so?” he murmured, something tough in his throat. It was only because of the hand of Merlin that he was able to sound nonchalant. 

From his position, he could not see your features. But he could look at the mirror that faced the both of you. It stood at the opposite side of the room; decorated in golds and engraved with faces that he had no interest in knowing. Your own face was the only one that captured his attention. And at this moment, it was closed off. Your lips twisted sardonically and your eyes cut to the side.  

“Yes, there was more that was happening of course, but—that would be inappropriate to tell, " you snickered as if you were the leader on all things dealing with propriety. He took a moment and breathed in. 

“Was this before or after you betrayed him,” Regulus asked. You went silent. 

Coward.

“Or do you even remember,”

“-shut up,”

“Is that a no then?” 

"Are you deaf?" you cut your eyes towards the mirror. "I told you to shut up," 

His own lips curled, "You are still wet," The suds in your hair have now dried. Leaving behind dollops of water that now pooled at his feet. The excess had begun to drip to the floor, the rest down your neck, to your back. 

"Did that also remind you of your time with Sirius?"  Then you shot up, the water falling from your shoulders.  

"Do you constantly think about what gets your brother hard?" What a dirty mouth.

His lips twisted. "You should get back in,"

"No," 

"You'll get a cold," 

You rolled your eyes. "Then you shall tell my family I died of hyperthermia, they'll believe that," 

His eyes fell flat but Regulus didn't say a word. Just kept his touch gentle, his movements soft. As if you were a lover, a friend and not—

The knife only nicked his shoulder this time.

"I said-" you shuddered violently,. "-To stop it," 

In the mirror, Regulus watched as you shot him a look. Weeks ago there was a fiery rage in there, dragon eyes in human form. Now it was just tired, bored even. Then you looked back down, silent. 

He narrowed his eyes. "Ask me,"

Your grimace only deepened, but now there was humor laced in the edges. "Ask?" your lips twisted into a nasty tired smile; 

"Demander?" You giggled. "Did you forget what's in our blood?" You questioned with all that humor quickly gone and replaced with a tone ancient and old.

"We do not ask," you sneered, then rolled your shoulders. 

"Even Sirius knew that,"

_____

You didn't even know Sirius. 

That was the worst part. You giggled in hidden corners and you kissed his hand to make the elders gasp in horror and Sirius like a fool ate it up and you didn't even know him. 

Sometimes,the depths of his brother's stupidity astounded him. Did he really think that a woman like you would just fall in his lap? You were already out of his league. A barmaid would be a better fit. 

It was foolish, idiotic, ridiculous but it worked. Because without knowing Sirius was getting closer to taking the mark. He no longer grimaced when Regulus arrived home smelling of iron. Or when he got caught with scratches on his arm and blood on his collar. Mother's plan was working and he only felt pity.

It was one thing to pretend, it was another to have to dumb yourself down for a bonafide pauper. If Mother had picked him, there would be no farce. Not like he wanted that. He didn't want anything. 

He was fine with watching from the shadows. His entire presence ignored while you and Sirius pretended you were the only ones in England. It was simply the way things were, he realized with clenched knuckles and a tight smile. 

But did it have to be? 

 __

No, it didn't.

—-

Six months later, Regulus understands why Sirius gets so addicted. A drunk like him, so prone to tasting what was bitter, his tongue rotten with ale. You were an overturn. Something annoyingly new. Regulus had never tasted something so sweet. Poppy pomegranate and sunburst cherries. He swore that he’d get a cavity as he dug his fingers into your hair. 

Twisting you into position, tight, proper, the way you gripped the stem of any fruit. Of anything that you wanted to get a better taste of. You were too stunned to fight back then. The bitter after taste of champagne you were prone to drinking sticky on your tongue. Your glass already shattered on the floor. 

In the next room, your husband argued with portraits. And when it's done, and when you slap him. Regulus received a thought. An awful hypothesis. 

What else could he get away with when enclosed by walls? The rest of the world locked away? 

An awful thought indeed. 

—--

It's only a week later that it happened. Sirius waking up to an empty bed and Regulus miles away on a mission, in the middle of nowhere, in a quaint little cottage.

It was almost too easy. 

—

You didn’t leave of course. Not at first. 

Because leaving met acknowledging that you were wrong. That there was nothing to gain at keeping his attention. Leaving meant having to look Sirius in the eye and tell him you lied. 

Of course you had questions. Regulus of course didn’t answer. 

You didn't need to know how distraught Sirius had become. A pathetic puppy that moped around the manor destroying everything in sight. Regulus didn’t even need to plant ideas in the brutes head. No, all the seeds were already there. Sown in from years of idiocy and your failed meddling. 

'It was Dumbledore, I just know.’ 

‘That stupid old git is trying to punish me,' he whined to Regulus. 'He took her, I know he did Reggie, you need to help me' 

'Prongs and-" he'd gnaw at his cracked lips. 'they don't believe me, they think I'm mad, they think I'm—Regulus'

Sirius was mad for you. Unnaturally obsessed. A fool with his alcohol taken away. A dog that's lost his chew toy. He didn't know any better. He couldn't have. But Regulus did, Regulus knew you. He understood your games and twist. Poor Sirius. 

If Regulus had to be the bad guy then so be it. He could be the executioner and the judge, he just needed to play his cards right. 

Murder would create a martyr but someone missing? Someone that Sirius could say left him high and dry. It was what you were planning to do anyway. And if Regulus quickened the process that didn't make him anymore of a bad person than the murder and countrywide slaughter ever did.

—

You were surprisingly clumsy by your lonesome. 

Random scars and cuts littered your body when he wasn’t looking. Ghost of attempts at escape most likely. Which was fine. Regulus could play doctor. Even if it included a bath. A mutual need, probably. The blood on his hands had begun to make his nose burn. 

He watched you flinch, took relevance in the way your eyes settled: tired, bitter. It was the same look worn by others. It reminded him of himself, of mother. Abrasive. Challenging him. 

After all these weeks, you seemed to still be under the impression that Regulus was anything like Sirius. That they shared the same rotten brain cell that Sirius had split amongst his new brothers, his new family. 

He unclenched his fist. Let his anger burn and flick in the atmosphere before with a turn of his head he looked at the hair moisturizer on the counter top. 

"Your hairs going to be tangled tomorrow. You should let me rebraid it," You scuffed at that. 

"Touch me and you die." You said the same thing to Sirius once. He heard it through the walls during your consummation night. Between the sounds of ruffled sheets and curses. And surprisingly, Sirius listened.

Regulus didn't have the same control. He grabbed for a braid, a knife appeared once again at his rib. He sighed. “You’re being stubborn,”

“I will rebraid my own hair,”

“..With what autonomy?”

You rolled your eyes. "Want to find out?”

He snorted, hands gripping your strands. "Sometimes, it astounds me how well you lie."

"Don't you realize that I already know you're guilty?"

You sighed. Tired, as if this was a conversation you two have had a million times before. It was.

You looked away. "I'm not," he yanked your head. "But you are." Then when with a snap of his wand you were dried and dressed. Your body plopped on your bed without care. He rolled his eyes.

"You fed my brother lies and lured him away f when your job was so simple. to bring him back," Get him to take the mark, be the whisper in his ears, that was what Mother told you. All that deceit just so that the family could have a proper Heir. A better head outside of him the runt and Bellatrix the mad woman. 

Regulus pinched the bridge of his nose. “You lured him away and then-” he gripped his fist into the sheets. “-and then you attempted to run with another,” 

“You were going to betray him,” it was funny really. Outside of the curses and the hexes and threats that was the one that got you to pay attention. That indifference melting away with ease.

"You are a liar and you should be happy that I even-":

"Look at me?" You rolled your head to the side. "Cause you look at me alot Black, even when you think I'm not looking back," you said this with shadowed eyes and a laziness to your movements. Like you had all the time in the world to revel in the fact that Regulus watched you back. That he wasn’t as suave as he thought you were. 

Regulus flickered his eyes down to the crotch of your dress. Theres a wet spot there that never fully dried. Regulus shot to his feet.

 "You're angry," 

"Regulus," 

"I get it, truly" he found himself at the edge of your bed. A wand less spell on his lips that warmed the fabric. 

"I've been nothing but terrible to you, completely awful. That's no way to treat a sister-in-law, now is it?" he sat at your side, his hands on your thigh. Fabric brushed against your bare skin. Under his words, you shook. "But if you bring up his name again, I'll-" 

"What?" You sneered, that hatred bleeding back in. "Let me go?" 

"Tell Sirius what I did?" With a blink your eyes began to sheen. "I do not care," 

Then your face twisted. "Not anymore" 

He gripped your face, his own features  suddenly inhumane. "Your boy toy has made you cocky," 

"Do you think I won't do it? Are you prepared to make that gamble?" There was a frenzied tone to his voice as he said this. For a moment he wondered if it was the weather. An effect of being so sick of your behavior. He must've been worse than he thought but you were looking at him with defiance. He wanted to find control but there was a smolder to your eyes, a spark and suddenly Regulus lost all control. You were serious. 

And then you screamed as he gripped your shoulders and shoved you into the mattress. It bounced beneath the weight. "No," he whispered. 

Your slip entangled in his fingers. You were slipping between his fingers. The harsh tear of fabric brought him back to the present as the top of your slip laid torn in his hand. 

You laughed. It too sounded frayed while your fingers trembled. "No?" 

But outside of that you said nothing, just stared at him the way you stared at potion books and Sirius odd muggle gimmicks. Something dangerous, that you were simply waiting to explode and somehow that was worse than screaming. Worse than you cursing at him while his fingers dug into your ripped dress. 

"You do not know him,"

But youre stupid so you only grunted back, "Don't I?," 

He laughed "My own brother? You really think you know him better than I?" 

"No—" 

"No?" 

"I don't know what Sirius was like as a child but I do know that the boy you call your brother is dead" 

You gripped his arms now, like an anchor. "I know that he only exist in your memories, and I mourn your loss"  

"But the man is different and I know him and I know that he would never give into Voldemort—not even for you,"

Don't say his name, rested heavy on his tongue. But he crushed it. In that moment something in him died and something else was born. A substance unknown to good men or even Voldemort. 

 So, he smiled. Soft hands coming up to pick at the soft white gown. The fabric was practically translucent up close. 

"Those are harsh accusations," he plopped on the bed and felt himself jump a bit before his hands relaxed against your knee and then your thigh and then- paused with a look. 

 Your body trembled beneath his fingers. 

"Fratricide, sororicide? You really can't think of anything worse?" He whispered, his words painting a portrait that only you could see.

 Still, he watched your eyes widen and felt your breath stutter. A fine drip of water that didn't come from your hair, slid down your forehead. Before a hummingbirds heart fluttered beneath your skin. And all he could do was stare, his hand pressed firmly against your cunts entrance. 

"I can.." he said, still covered in blood, still burning with the mark, before his fingers slipped between your thighs. Plushy and warm then suddenly damp, drenching his fingers.

 "..I can think of something worse for Sirius to find." 

"He'd only have to look at my hands" 

You jumped back and thrashed but it was worthless, his fingers were already against your cunt.

  The sounds only got louder, your thrashing more manic but the spell he put on your hands and feet kept you plastered to the bed. He grounded into you further, chest against chest before his head nuzzled against your own. 

 'Frankincense and juniper berry' he thought with a whiff. Like the familiar books he read as a child and the aroma of the Black home after night had fallen. Divine and familiar. 

His own little goddess. 

The revelation forced him to kiss your cheek. His own lips pressed firmly against your skin. He could taste the shea butter. Could still smell the fruity body wash as your screams turned into whimpers and then morphed into ugly moans. The sounds of pleasure ripped out of you through clenched teeth and bitten lips. 

He brought his free hand up, clenched your neck. Felt the arteries jump and your jugular twitch. He killed a man like this earlier today. A long and dirty muggle way of murder. 

Still, he took interest in the way the man's eyes slowly turned glossy and the way his hands clenched helplessly at Regulus' clothed arms. As if this would rip him away from Regulus. Force him to not carry out his duty. Beneath him, you did the same. Your soft hands grasping helplessly at his clothes. Pulling him in, pushing him back. Delirious. 

"Tu vas le regretter, Black," 

"You gain nothing-" 

"C'mon you can beg longer than that, give me a tale for Sirius.” He sneered. “Let me tell him that you put up a fight," he bent down. 

"Let me tell him that his wife fought hard for me not to fuck her," you spat on him, he kissed you. 

Then you knee him in the face. He jerked back, blood spurted in his hand. He smeared it against your knee. 

"You palefaced-" you punched him this time, his teeth rattled. the bed met his back. The force ricocheting till the bed frame cracked and your chains went loose and Regulus was back on you like a feral dog. 

You would not leave this place. 

But youre quick, a snap of wind that pushes him to his back, elbow in his throat. Above, him you look like a God. Vengeful.  And ready to destroy the only person who exists just for you. “You can't stop me, “ 

And Regulus is weak. A small pathetic thing just like Bellatrix said he was because his eyes burn. The edges wet with admonishment. The edges of his lips quiver. And suddenly all that anger bleeds away.  He gripped your wrist. Sharps nail dug into your skin with something worse.  

“He doesn't deserve you,” He pierced, throat burning. Above him, your eyes melted. The look indescribable.  

“I know.” 

“You will get bored of him, and I'll still be here waiting, watching,” he pulled you closer, nose to nose. You filled his vision. “Do you like making me your dog?”

You opened your mouth but no–

He persisted, tears fat. “Can't I just have you,”

“Can't you just want me? Is that too much to ask? Is it too much to want?” Regulus wanted so much already. He rarely ever had it in his grasp. The back of his mind filled with ideologies of freedom, and family and lonely nights in nowhere cities where no one would know his name. All of that was too far away though, intangible. But this–

He crawled into your space,  gripped your skin. 

–This was so close.

He shuddered. Lips red and his face damp with anticipation. Below him, you looked ethereal. The edges of your eyes burning soft.  

“Is this really all you want from me? Sex? After everything?” 

No. What Regulus wanted was much darker than that.  More debased and immoral and such an awful sticky thing that he could not even admit it to himself. But for now, if that's what you needed to believe. If only a physical communion was what you thought he wanted of you. Then so be it.  

He opened his mouth, ready to lie. 

Yes.  

It's right on his tongue.  

Yes.  He was not greedy. Yes. He did not want anything more. 

Yes. The oath of one easily satisfied. 

But nothing came out. His voice stolen as you looked up at him. Eyes wide.  All seeing. Knowing of everything. 

Regulus shook his head.  

“No.” the word bled out in spurts. 

Weak. Bellatrix whispered in his ear.  So fucking weak. Maybe he was no better than Sirius. 

Because you were only going to deny him. You were going to say no. Laughing at his face because that's what people did in the face of fools. Regulus grip loosened. Beneath him you sighed. 

“Merde.”

“You're a piece of work, do you understand–” your lips twisted, eyes narrowed. “This is not my home and yet you keep me here, this is not my country and yet you keep me here, don't you think I've given up enough to simply be in your presence? Can't this be enough?” 

You say that but Regulus sees the molten desire in your eyes. The way you flickered across his face, unable to stay in one spot but lingering all the same as you crowded in him too.

Suddenly the air was dry. Regulus forgetting how to breath as you leaned back. Exposing your neck, dematerializing the knife. 

He gets closer. “Speak plainly.”

You looked away.  Outside the dog was barely bones. Rotten in the earth. You seemed to contemplate something, eyes distant before you're brought back to reality. 

“...I'll allow it.” 

Oh.

‘We’ can have this. Not just him, not just you. This had to be a gift. Before your grip turned tight, your face feral. A certain kind of wildness found only in martyrs and heroes and righteous fools littered your eyes before you smiled, teeth bloody. “Ask any more of me and i'll leave you here,”

“Alone, and then you’ll have to kill me to get me to stay.”  

"I will haunt you till you are dust and bones and-" he kissed you, his own blood smeared with yours before he pressed his forehead against your own. "Yes," he whispered, and it couldn't help but notice that it sounded like a prayer. Like holiness,a type of reverence found only at the foot of gods and priest. 

He said it again. You froze. 

"Just don't go where I can't find you." 

He smiled. 

Then he kissed you again, on your nose this time, then your eyelids. Then sweetly, softly the space between your lips and your nose. He sighed and then he took you. 

He puts his mouth on you. Slipped his head beneath your layers of clothing. 

Unbuckled and unzipped and pulled apart each single one before your bareness glistened in his face. Until he could see the disbelief at his urgency flood your features. The confusion at his delicacy. Regulus understood.

There was something horrific but about taking someone's defenses apart with a sensitivity. With the precision of a monster that did not have to rip you to shreds to make you feel fear. And when he got to your core Regulus wasted no time. 

....You tasted like pussy. 

Musky and sweet, and in your skin he smelt the juniper berry and in your lower hairs drenched with the smell of arousal. 

Above him you flinched and you shivered. It reminded him of a siren.

The unseelie ones that would flinch and cry as he electrocuted their water. Taking their oxygen away, fucking up the chemical imbalance, till their nails cracked the glass, 

All while his fingers brushed against your own. Your ring finger still entrapped by a silver snake ring. Regulus was not a good man. He was flawed with impatience, entitlement, narcissism, the list went on. But it was his entitlement that got you in his bunker. It was his impatience that made him act, his familial nature that got you here on your back. Body drained and his head placed timidly on your belly. 

He listened to your heart beat through skin and bones. Through vertebrae and arteries. Because everything was louder there, your blood even sang for him. A frenzied beat that made your skin hot to the touch. 

He collapsed further into you. Nuzzling his nose into the crux of your neck.

An unleashed dog indeed.

.

.

.

.

[lulublack90]

Prompt 10 - Penpals

@wolfstarmicrofic July 10, word count 983

‘Dear Padfoot,

Wales is the most beautiful country and there are so many exciting things to do here, so why did my parents pick the most boring village to live in? It’s so dull here. I miss the chaos of our dorm room and the library. There’s a library van that comes here every two weeks, but the old duffer who drives it won’t let me take more than three books out at once. I need more than three!

How’s it going at home? You said in your last letter that your Mum caught you replacing her chinaware with nose-biting teacups. While I’d pay good money to see Walburga Black with a teacup stuck on the end of her nose, Sirius, we talked about this. Please keep your head down, we both know she doesn’t mess around. If you can’t go the next few weeks without causing some mayhem, please, keep it to your room. Maybe use that extra strong spellotape I gave you for Easter?

Don’t be a dick.

Moony.’

‘Dearest Moony,

Please find enclosed a photograph of one Walburga Black with a teacup attached to the end of her nose. Free of charge, I might add. You can keep your good money, this one’s on me. 

Sorry it’s taken me so long to reply, but I think you can guess why. It was totally worth it though. 

Your idea to use the spellotape you gave me was genius, Moony! I stuck all of Regulus’s bedroom furniture to his ceiling, it took them all night to get it down. Regulus took my bed while Kreacher worked on his room. But I just got in with him. He was not impressed. This house has ten bedrooms. I don’t know why he didn’t just use one of them. 

Prongs sent me some frogspawn soap, and I’m going to put it in my father's bathroom. Not pranked him for a while, I bet he’s missing it! 

I’ve sent you some of the lesser dark arts books from our library. Maybe don’t let Hope touch them, as I’m not sure if there are any antimuggle curses on them or not. Knowing my family there probably is. 

Love ya Moons,

Pads X.’

‘Dear Sirius,

I swear you get some sick thrill from being punished. WHY WOULD YOU PUSH HER!!! Although the picture is my new favourite thing. I got it framed, and it is now on my bedside table. It’s the last thing I see at night. 

Thanks for the books. I’ve hidden them from Mum just in case. They’re really interesting. Do you know that not all dark magic is bad, and it’s just a few idiots that gave it a bad name? According to this book, light and dark magic users used to live harmoniously until a dark wizard took it too far, and dark wizards have had a bad name ever since. It’s fascinating. Please send more if you can. I finished them far too quickly.

Sirius, please stop pranking your parents. Remember what happened last summer? Do you want a repeat of that? You can pull off a lot of looks, but a shiny bald head is not one of them. So knock it off, or they’ll send you back with hair like Snivellus!

There are three weeks left, Sirius, please, please, please stay out of trouble. 

Love you too,

Remus x.’ 

‘My sweetest, most handsome Remus,

It is not in my nature to behave. I am a natural prankster and I go into withdrawal if I don’t prank at least once a day. You know that!    

I’ve sent as many books as mine and Reggie’s owls could carry between them. Reg is going to kill me, but it’s for a good cause. He’s actually been alright with me this last week. We’ve been hanging out in the library together while I’ve been looking for new books to send you. We haven’t spent this much good time together since I went to Hogwarts. 

That’s what I’ve been telling you for years, it’s only pricks like Bellatrix that give dark wizards a bad name. But oh well, what can you do?

The weirdest thing happened, Remus. Father finally used the soap I swapped out in his bathroom and he laughed. I didn’t think Orion Black was capable of such things. It's unnerving. 

I will admit that I’ve taken to committing small pranks in lieu of bigger ones. I drew moustaches on all the portraits the other night while they were sleeping and so far no one has noticed. It’s been three days, Moony! 

I can’t wait for the summer to be over. I have a whole notebook filled with pranks for next year. Plus, I really need to stretch my legs if you know what I mean. These paws of mine are itching for a run. How about yours?

Love you 

Sirius XXX

P.S. How dare you, I totally pulled off the bald look! Mary did an excellent job of painting that lion on the back of it for our first Quidditch match!’

‘To the biggest pain in my arse,

Sirius, you are such a pest. STOP PRANKING!!! We can get as many Slytherins as you want when we get back to school. Hell, we can start on the train if you need to prank that badly. Thank Regulus for the use of his owl. I’ve nearly finished all the books you sent again. I just can’t put them down. Hogwarts should have some of these in the library. I’ve clearly been missing out on a fully-rounded education. 

Not much to report here. I baked a cake with Mum, and we ate most of it before Dad got home from work.

We have a run the first week back, so not long to wait. 

I miss you,

Remus X.’ 

‘Remus,

I can’t wait.

Miss you more than you know

Yours forever

Sirius XXX.’

[djarincore]

141 DND!au — collection.

A collection of my works featuring: paladin!ghost, fighter!price, rogue!gaz, and artificer!soap x readers

+18 MDNI -`♡´- COD masterlist

paladin!ghost x reader

a sacrifice in your name | angst, smut

A paladin's oath means everything to them—but not to Simon, not when it comes to you.

drabbles

vengeance paladin!Simon | smut

fighter!price x wizard!reader

the object of my desire | smut

You're a hardworking scholar and the spoiled daughter of a corrupt nobleman.

The mercenary hired to protect you is more than willing to take your father's money, just not your bratty attitude. Luckily, he's got a few ways to deal with spoiled little girls like you.

rogue!gaz x bard!reader

you say you want me | smut, slight angst COMING SOON!

You run into your ex at the tavern, and he just wants to have a chat—preferably alone in a dark room with your clothes off...

artificer!soap x ranger!reader

my arms belong around you | fluff COMING SOON!

The blacksmith's apprentice is absolutely smitten by you.

divider by @/cafekitsune

[scarredwithcruelintentions]

chapter 4: a reflection in another's eyes

Find the masterlist here!

CW: Unintentional and nonconsensual voyeurism

W/C: 2,579

A/N: Have another simply because I've been writing so prolifically!

Astarion spent the better part of the day curled up in his tent with all of his belongings. He figured that if anyone else were to come looking for him, it’d be best if he didn’t have any obvious indications of his whereabouts on display. For as much as he wanted to bask in the sunshine like a lazy cat, it seemed safer to stay huddled in the cramped shadows of his tent, surrounded by all of the pilfered trinkets he associated with his freedom. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had anything to call his own, and each item, no matter its usefulness or lack thereof, had earned a sentimental place in his undead heart.

As the light shifted toward dusk, his mind grew restless and he felt suffocated by the heat and darkness of the small space. He crawled to the mouth of the tent and hesitantly lifted one of the flaps to peer out. His eyes quickly found Karlach and Shadowheart preparing the fire, but saw no sign of the morning’s adventuring party. He exhaled slowly through his nose and stood, gathering his things and tenderly placing them outside once more. 

He caught the curious eyes of Shadowheart watching him enter and exit repeatedly and scowled menacingly at her, fighting the urge to giggle as he watched her face scrunch up in distaste. Karlach only smiled at him, nothing but kindness in her eyes, so he obliged her with his own in return.

The last rays of twilight streaked the sky by the time he finished re-orienting his belongings, and there was still no sign of the rest of the group. He became fidgety with distress at the thought of you injured or dead somewhere far from his reach, and chose not to analyze the feeling further. Surely, you were fine. Surely the other three had kept you safe, so that you might come back and provide him with security in turn. 

He stared absently at the book in his lap, poring over the same paragraph far too many times as his agonized thoughts ran away with him. With a frustrated growl, he snapped the book shut and tossed it none too gently into his tent, snagging his toiletries off the little table next to him and stalking away from camp to the riverbank nearby. He hoped bathing would prove a more helpful distraction.

He shucked his clothes and swiftly waded waist-deep into the water, unaffected by the frigid temperature. He allowed his body to sink beneath the rippled surface, soaking himself from head to toe for a good wash. He worked his rosemary soap into a rich lather and scrubbed the layers of road dust from his silver hair and ivory skin until he glowed in the pale light of the moon. Deeming himself thoroughly cleansed, he dipped below the water one more time to rinse all of the suds away before making a hasty retreat to its edge. He donned his smalls in a rush, pulling his breeches on shortly after and lacing them shut.

Stepping into his camp shoes, he rubbed a spicy and citrusy oil through his curls and across the planes of his chest absentmindedly, his thoughts wandering once more. As he sucked in a breath for a heavy sigh, he caught your scent on the breeze and heard the tinkling sound of your laughter. He scrambled for his things and made a mad dash back to camp, pulling his worn, ruffled chemise over his head as he went.

Once he caught sight of you, the chilly tendrils of fear that had been slowly constricting his chest all day receded in an instant, replaced rapidly by the fuzzy warmth he’d come to associate with you - until he noticed the person opposite you. 

Gale.

He watched in abject fury as the wizard laughed at your clumsy hand gestures and repeated his motions for you, his praise at your correction driving a breathy giggle from you. Something hot and green took over him as the Weave sparkled around the two of you, the look of wondrous fascination in your eyes too much for him to bear. This was another unfamiliar feeling, one that left a vile churning in his gut and a rancid taste in his mouth. A feeling he decidedly did not like one bit, and he skulked away to his tent to avoid feeding it further.

Little good it did, for the seed of doubt had been sown.

Well enough is certainly not good enough.

He placed his toiletries back on the table outside his tent and took up the ornate silver hand mirror in their stead, ducking into the bleak darkness of his sleeping quarters. ______________________________________________________________

He heard the padding of your bare feet and the telltale swish of his tent opening before he saw you, delicate face reflected in the many fractured facets of the hand mirror.

“Looking at something?” he drawled in greeting, smirking at the surprise marring your fine features.

“How did you…?”

“The only benefit to a mirror when you have my condition,” he answered without turning to look at you, afraid of what his expression might betray. “It doesn’t quite make up for the lack of a reflection, mind you.”

“I came looking for you when we got back, but I couldn’t find you anywhere,” you began, letting the flap of his tent fall shut.

“I had gone for a bath,” he replied matter-of-factly.

“Why didn’t you come get me when you were done?” 

He scrutinized your face in the cracked mirror, eyes round with sadness and lips drawn in a slight frown. You wrung your hands in the muslin material of your sleep dress.

“I had every intention of inviting you for dinner when I returned, but you seemed… otherwise engaged,” he sneered, grateful you could not see his face in the reflection of the mirror.

“Ah, that. Gale was showing me how to harness the Weave without my lyre. He said I had a natural talent for the arcane arts,” you responded with a flush, arms drawn tight around your middle in defensive bashfulness.

“I think I rather prefer the magic of your music, darling,” he snarked before he could stop himself. The silence that followed was awkward at best. 

Clearing your throat, you nodded at the mirror in his hand.

“Do you miss it?”

“Do I miss what?” he snapped, mood foul and patience running thin.

“Seeing your own face,” you answered in a small voice.

He swiveled to face you, jeering, “Preening in the looking glass? Petty vanity? Of course I miss it.”

You remained standing just in the threshold of his tent, looking down at his no doubt disdainful expression.

“I’ve never even seen this face. Not since it grew fangs and my eyes turned red.” He could feel his lip curl in contempt.

“What color were they before?” you asked quietly.

He was taken aback, unable to recall the answer.

“I…I don’t know. I can’t remember,” he replied, voice now solemn, “My face is just some dark shape in my past.”

He was quickly overcome with white hot rage at the reminder of everything Cazador had taken from him, the memory of himself included.

“Another thing I’ve lost,” he snarled, hurling the hand mirror across the tent with unnecessary ferocity. The already-fractured surface shattered on impact, spraying shards of glass haphazardly in all directions.

You jumped back with a gasp, hand flying to grasp at your chest. He could hear the rapid, unsteady rhythm of your heart and felt a pang of remorse for startling you. He hung his head and buried his face in his hands with a groan, trembling with the rage and loathing that coursed through him.

He couldn’t hear your tentative footsteps or the soft sounds of your breath over the ringing in his ears, but he could smell you coming closer. He felt the gentle swoosh of your skirt and the impression in his bedroll as you knelt in front of him, and had to suppress a shudder when the warmth of your small hands encircled his wrists, drawing his own away from his face. Even still, he did not raise it to look at you.

You gave a little tut of disapproval, and he soon felt your calloused fingertips skate along his jawline, soft palms guiding him to meet your eyes. He watched intently as your eyes flitted over his features, drinking in the sight of him.

“What?” he rumbled.

He felt the pads of your thumbs trace gently over his cheekbones, and he closed his eyes at the feathery sensation. The warmth he associated with your presence morphed into a blazing inferno in the hollow of his chest, and he sucked in a sharp breath.

“I see you,” you breathed.

He opened his eyes to find yours heavy lidded, soft features rosy in the warm glow of the oil lamp. He could count the freckles across the bridge of your nose with your proximity, your intoxicating scent drawing him ever closer.

“And what do you see, exactly?”

“Strong, piercing eyes,” you whispered, your own flitting from one to the other of his.

“Go on…” he exhaled.

“That dangerous smile,” you replied, lips quirking up as if in example.

All I’d have to do is lean in.

As soon as the thought crossed his mind, a tempest of disgust and bitter hatred whirled through him, sullying the fragile moment. It was too much. Too gentle. 

More kindness than he deserved.

He reached up and grasped your wrists, not missing your shiver at his touch, though whether it was borne of the chill of his skin or the heat of your desire, he couldn’t say. All it did was fuel the maelstrom of his self-loathing. He deftly, albeit cautiously, removed your hands from his face and leaned away.

“Very good,” he purred, slipping back into the comfortable familiarity of his persona and taking control of the conversation again, “Now just tell me I’m beautiful and we can call it a day.”

The dramatic change in your expression would have been funny if it didn’t also hurt, snuffing out the fire and the warmth in one fell swoop and leaving an ache of regret in its place.

“Is that all you want? Shallow praise?” you gritted out, mouth set in a hard line.

“Hardly! There’s also gold, sex, revenge - quite the list really,” he laughed, though it sounded false even to his ears. “But failing any of those, I will always settle for shallow praise.”

“I can’t believe you,” you snapped, yanking your wrists from his grip. “Would it kill you to be vulnerable?”

You sat back, swinging your legs around and pushing yourself up to stand.

“It very well could, darling,” he sniffed, turning his head in profile to regard you haughtily. 

“Go find your own dinner, Astarion,” you muttered, expression thunderous and limbs rigid with hurt and fury.

He watched as you stormed away, mind working overtime to catch up with how quickly the situation had turned south, and found himself staring at the swinging flaps of his tent for longer than he cared to admit.

For the first time in two centuries, it was not fear that kept him awake. ______________________________________________________________

Astarion surfaced from his fitful trance with a groan, blinking in the diffused glow of the oil lamp. He rolled over and pushed his tent open, surprised to find the blanket of night still stretched across the sky. He couldn’t remember how long it took to slip into his meditation, nor when it had happened, but it had been restless and plagued with the spindly remnants of memories best left forgotten.

He stretched and took a deep breath, an unnecessary but still calming practice, and weighed the benefit of slipping back into his trance against going out to hunt. He stared at the fabric ceiling swaying in the breeze for a few moments before deciding to get up. It had been a day or more since he’d last fed, and he supposed a full belly might help ease the pain of emptiness in his chest.

He slipped from his tent in silence, prowling in the direction of the forest, when he heard humming coming from the direction of the riverbank. He diverged from his original path and crept toward the sound, the haunting melody piquing his curiosity.

He smelled you before he saw you, and halted his approach in the shadow of a great oak tree close by. His skin prickled with the wariness of unanticipated voyeurism, but he could not draw himself away from the sight of you.

There you were, waist deep in the river, moonlight glistening off your bare, sudsy skin. Water ran in enticing rivulets from the ends of your hair, cutting trails through the lather in the valley of your breasts and over their soft mounds, droplets falling from the full curvature of their undersides into the rippling current swirling around you. You continued to hum your melancholy tune as you worked the fragrant floral soap through your hair.

Astarion was grateful for his lack of a pulse and need to breathe; had he been a mortal man, his regular bodily functions would have been sure to give him up. 

He watched with rapt fascination as you propped your foot up on an invisible platform, no doubt a stone beneath the water’s surface, and ran the soap up your leg in a tantalizing display, the other following suit some time after. You took your time cleansing yourself despite the obvious chill of the water, skin dimpled with gooseflesh. His darkvision allowed him to pick out the finer details of your form, finding the silvery flash of old scars in the most unlikely of places.

The pleasant warmth your beauty incited warred with the cold discomfort of his abhorrent behavior. You were sure to skin him alive if you ever found him out, but you remained blissfully unaware of his presence for the moment, content to take pleasure in the act of washing yourself. He heard you suck in a great lungful of air and the telltale plunk of you sinking beneath the water’s surface to rinse yourself. He should have used the opportunity to slink away, but he was curiously rooted to the spot.

You resurfaced with heavy, panting breaths, hands slicking your hair back from your face and wringing the excess water from it. You undulated with the current as you waded back to the bank.

The pale light of the moon glinting off your wet skin as you hummed your poignant melody gave you a siren-like quality that stoked the embers of that tingly warmth into a burning need that sat low in his belly. He was familiar with lust, knew the look of it in others and the inevitable feeling of it in himself when forced to perform. Never, before now, had it been a welcome sensation.

I wonder how she’d look, bare in the glow of candlelight.

Just as quickly as the feeling came, it left in a rush of confused disturbance. He was knowingly violating your privacy, and taking enjoyment in it. He felt the overwhelming burden of shame consume him. With one last glance at your lithe form perched on a rock as your skin dried in the warm breeze, he fled into the hush of the darkened forest and far from the conflicted thoughts of an excitement long assumed dead.

[birdiebirdjay]

i mentioned to a friend of mine (fellow harry potter fan, but she has never interacted with the online fandom) that people now glorify the marauders and have a whole fandom devoted to worshipping them/bashing snape and she was,, shocked, to say the least.

it made me realize how delusional marauders stans/snaters actually seem to the outside world because like... snape was the good guy? that's like the ultimate end to his character arc?? and really i totally get being delusional over characters sometimes, because i too like to pretend about alternate universes where the marauders weren't complete pieces of shit as teens. i too enjoy the characters of older remus lupin and sirius black (even though i hate that their wrongdoings were more or less brushed off + never seen as serious, we do see more of them as people than we do of james potter). but bashing the man who:

spent about half his life being abused and tormented in various ways

spent a few years with a cult that accepted him and gave him some semblance of protection, then turned around and went back to the 'good guys' (who had literally never done anything for him before this, some of whom had even actively taken part in his abuse and others who had turned a blind eye to it) at great personal risk to his life

literally spent the rest of his life trying to make amends and aiding the light in defeating one of the most powerful dark wizards of all time, still risking his life for basically no reward except the knowledge that he was protecting the wizarding world?

i just cannot see it as anything but insanity.

add onto that preaching about how amazing and pure and lovable the marauders were and accepting outlandishly out of character headcanons and fanfiction as canon?

it's impossible to fight them because nearly none of their arguments are based in fact. how do you convince people that a 16 year old boy did not, in fact, deserve to be dangled upside down, choked with soap, and have his pants taken off in front of a crowd? how do you do that when they're such firm believers that he was an evil racist blood supremacist who deserved it and more?

in short, i am genuinely both confused and somewhat horrified of the marauders fandom.

[starsofang]

🔫💚 QUICK! What is one fic of yours you think deserves more love and attention? Share the title and link in your answer, then pass this on to 5 fanfic authors you love and respect! Anonymous or not! 🔫💚

hii pookie

hiii pookie

i definitely think touch of magic deserves a little more love because it’s literally wizard soap smut with a plot line and a twist and dark wizard soap is hot

real talk, i worked very hard on that oneshot and i had so much fun writing it. it’s not meant to be serious and very constructed, but it still i think has an interesting storyline with a bit of a personality that soap doesn’t normally have since he’s a dark wizard on the brink of death. it’s fun while also has you kinda like 😟

i also think the plot twist at the end is kind of unexpected but also lowkey eats 😭

[nobody-nexus]

Sinful Circus AU Incorrect Quotes

(CW for NSFW humor) (Will contain Ragapom, Abstrabbit, and Bluetooth)

====

Able: Hey, what have you two been up to? Gangle: We were helping Ragatha write her vows, but she kicked us out because Jax was making inappropriate suggestions. Jax: How is “Pomni, I love your sweet ass” inappropriate?

====

Queenie: If you could guess, how many brain cells do you have? Kinger: Dorito’s cool ranch. Queenie: Queenie: I'm just gonna assume zero for now. Kinger: I love that song

====

Pomni: There’s no “I” in team, but there is one in pizza Kaufmo: So, you’re not going to share? Pomni: I’m not going to share

====

Zooble: I dare you- Ragatha: Kaufmo is not allowed to accept dares anymore. Zooble: Why not? Kaufmo: "I have no regard for my own or others personal safety", as some would say

====

Able: Today, Influencer said a swear word, so Ragatha said she was going to wash Influencer's mouth out with soap. Influencer replied, “It’s okay, I like the taste of soap”. Turns out, they’ve been putting soap on their lips to blow bubbles

====

Zooble: closes a cabinet a crash is heard behind the cabinet door Kaufmo: What was that? Zooble: The sound of someone else's problem

====

Able: I don’t know how you have your foot in your mouth, your head up your ass, and your nose in my business. But here we are, you fucking wizard

====

Jax: I’m a multitasker! Jax: I can disappoint fifteen people at once

====

Moon: Well, Caine and I finally did it! The rest of the squad: gasps, shocked expressions, etc. Moon: That's right… We kissed!

====

Influencer: Bl@ckm@1l 15 5uch @n ugly w0rd. 1 pr3f3r 3xt0rt10n. Th3 X m@k3s 1t s0und c00l

====

Pomni: Good news! I didn’t screw up! Able: … Pomni: I screwed up less badly than usual! Able: … Pomni: Screwed up with less immediate consequences than usual

====

Ragatha: I asked Pomni out Queenie: Oh, I’m sorry Ragatha: Why? Queenie: Well, I assume she said no Ragatha: No, she said yes Queenie: Really? Then I’m sorry for her

====

Jax: My knee just cracked so loudly that I half expect it to glow in the dark tonight

====

Jax: Zooble, we tried things your way Zooble: No, we didn't Jax: I did it in my head and it didn't work

====

Pomni, gardening: Hey, can you bring me the hoe? Zooble: Yeah, sure A few minutes later Zooble: Here you go Pomni: Zooble: Ragatha: Why am I here?

====

Influencer: 1 th1nk w3 5h0uld h@v3 gl0w 5t1ck ju1c3 1nj3ct3d 1n 0ur b0n35 wh3n w3'r3 b0rn, 50 1f w3 br3ak 0ur b0n35, w3 g3t @ fun l1ttl3 5urpr1s3! Caine: What's the surprise? Zooble: Blood poisoning.

====

Jax: When do I get my own gun? Pomni: I wouldn’t trust you with my kid’s lightsaber

====

Jax, referring to Zooble: I don’t know, they just don’t seem interested Caine: Did you try talking to them? Jax: Jax: Try what?

====

Kaufmo: I wouldn’t wish that upon my worse enemy! Kaufmo: Unless of course. . We’re talking about my enemy, Zooble. Fuck you Zooble, you know what you did!

====

Jax: Wait you like me? For my personality? Zooble: I know, I was surprised too

====

Kaufmo: What’s the status up here? Pomni: Fucked up, about to die, Able’s a nerd. The usual

====

Able: I have been tricked, I have been backstabbed, and I have quite possibly been bamboozled

====

Ragatha: Sometimes I drink milk straight from the container. Influencer: @h y35, th3 c0w'5 udd3r! Ragatha: What? Gangle: WHY WOULD YOU SAY THAT????

====

Able: I know what you're up to. Influencer: R3@lly? B3c@u53 I b@r3ly kn0w!

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Jax: If the thought of something makes any of you giggle for longer than 15 seconds, you are to assume you’re not allowed to do it

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Influencer: Th3r3 15 n0 1 1n h@ppyn355… Pomni: There is if you fucking spell it right

====

Caine: There was a motor close to where I am right now. Caine: A motor- a motorcycle? Caine: Oh sorry, a murder Ragatha: That escalated quickly

====

Jax: .. .----. -- / … --- .-. .-. -.-- (translation: I'M SORRY) Gangle: What's that? Jax: Remorse code Gangle: I'm even angrier now

====

Sun: Sleep is the body’s best safety mechanism Kaufmo: How so? Sun: It keeps you from screwing up for 8 hours

====

the Squad cleaning up Caine: Pick up the nearest piece of trash and throw it away! Pomni, to Jax: Aight, which bin do you wanna go in-

====

Moon: Define “dream” Zooble: Dream - the first thing people abandon when they learn how the world works. Gangle: That’s too dark!

====

Pomni: You look good in that hoodie Ragatha: You know where else I'd look good? Pomni, zero hesitation: My bed. Ragatha, at the same time: By your side- wait, what?

====

Gangle: Okay. Hypothetically speaking, how mad would you be if I burned a hot pocket so badly it could probably fall off a ten-story building and be completely fine? Sun: Gangle, what did you do? Gangle: Take a guess

====

Ragatha: What do we say when making bread? Zooble, glumly: That's the dough rising Ragatha: And what do we NOT say? Jax, sadly: That's the yeast fucking

====

Caine: Oh no! The printer broke while printing out Jax's birthday invitations! Gangle: Well, what are they supposed to say? Caine: "Jax's birthday" Gangle: So, what do they say instead? Caine: "Jax’s bi" Gangle: Gangle: Works out either way

====

Jax: Kaufmo, you look deep in thought. What’s wrong? Kaufmo: Did you know you can look at any object and know what it’s like to lick it? Even if you’ve never touched it before? Jax: I’m never asking you anything ever again

====

Pomni: What are you in the mood for? Ragatha: World domination Pomni: That's a bit ambitious Ragatha: You are my world~ Pomni: Aww… Ragatha: Pomni: Ragatha: Pomni: OH.

====

Zooble: We’ve been conducting an ongoing study to see what Influencer will and will not eat Queenie: Grass? Yes! Zooble: Moss? Yes!! Queenie: Leaves? Ohh, yes! Zooble: Shoelaces? Strange but true! Queenie: Worms? Sometimes! Zooble: Rocks? Usually, nah Queenie: Twigs? Usually! Zooble: Kinger's cooking? Inconclusive! Moon: How did you… test this? Zooble: You just hand them stuff and say ‘eat this’ and if they eat it, they eat it Moon: … I don’t know how to feel about this Kinger: IS THAT WHERE ALL MY SPARE SHOELACES WENT?

====

Caine: I can't imagine what Influencer is planning. But I can tell you two things. We won't like it and it won't be legal

====

Pomni: angrily presses Ragatha against a wall WHERE'S THE MONEY?! Ragatha: … Ragatha: Are we about to kiss-

====

Sun: If we lose, you’re out of the will Pomni: I was in the will?

====

Ragatha: What is it called when you kill a friend? Influencer: H0m1c1d3! Gangle: .......Murder-

====

Sun: Everyone thinks you suck. Jax: I think you have the wrong number… Sun: Influencer? Jax: Nope. Jax Sun: Well, you probably suck too

====

Able: According to the footage here, you shook the vending machine and when the shake alarm went off, you punched the glass and broke it Zooble: …I was hungry

====

Influencer: @rs0n? 0h! Y0u m3@n "cr1m1 brûl33"!

====

Moon: What the FUCK is this?!? Pomni, sitting down, surrounded by corpses: I won Mafia, that’s what

====

Caine: I'm not superstitious… But I am a little stitious

[icyblogs]

flesh and bone

Winter represents many things. The start of a new season. The beginnings to an end. Or the beginnings of a new start. Years finally caught up to you, finally knowing enough to summon a creature able to fulfill things beyond your wildest imagination. So why is it that you're now finding out that everything was orchestrated from the very start? Or: A DND au where a human falls into the clutches of a fiend and his guard dog. Patron!Ghost x Fem!Reader x Warlock!Soap WC: 6.8K Based off of this thought ! [AO3] -> Next Chapter Warnings: Start of a dark fic!! Mentions of death, depression, dubcon touching, semi-graphic description of violence, paranoia, manipulation, reader has a backstory to make sense for plot! A/N: i've never written for cod before so i'm sorry if characterizations are wonky okay ty

Winter represents many things. The start of a new season. The beginnings to an end. Or the beginnings of a new start. Most often in literature they can be associated with the circle of life- many animals lay dormant in this time of year. But even still, it goes to show the fragility of life; some creatures thriving in the atmosphere while others retreat back to their homes and really remember just what they’re living for- waiting it out until the leaves sprout anew. Just as the waters of puddles and lakes crystalize into ice or the roads start to slowly become less traveled– many things come into association with this time of year.

Death, mourning, skiing- sledding. The dichotomy of moseying along something in nature that could so easily kill you. Just for a bit of adrenaline. For some thrill or interesting experiences to tell at the next person you see at a tavern, drinking and chortling over a tankard of ale. Albeit most races aren’t built to survive freezing temperatures, they sure act like they are. But some actually are of course. Goliaths with their adeptness of surviving in the mountains- up to twenty thousand feet in altitude. Some dragonborn depending on their ancestry, hailing from ancient beings that simply thrive in some of the most subzero of places in the lands. But of course.. most are not. Putting on layer upon layer to just merely survive in these conditions- unable to even thrive unless the circumstances deem worthy enough. 

It is seldom worth the consequences. 

The winters were frigid as always, sharp pin pricks of frost seeping into through your stagecoach’s insulation even though the artificer claimed they infused the interior with a heating cantrip. Damn swindler- “100 gold for a safe and warm journey!” It unfortunately was the price of discreteness.. but maybe if you wished hard enough the air coming through would be enough to keep you from turning into an icicle- but it provided almost an almost numbing sensation to temporarily soothe the anxiety pricking at the recesses of your mind. 

Just a few more hours, just a bit more time, and everything will be perfect. 

Regardless, it was a fitting evening, all things considered. The mountainous path was characteristically barren- as to be expected being so close to Midwinter. Dense fog drifts further obscuring your vision as you stare out the semi-opaque glass into the no man’s land. Trembling fingers smooth out your cloak as you straighten in your seat, the temperatures seeping through and nipping at your skin despite the warm wool gloves that cover the appendages. Your breath was a foggy mist as you breathe, leaning back as the air swirls around and encapsulates the interior of the.. Let’s call it a cozy vehicle. 

It was easy to notice the slow pace that the coach was going: after all you can only be lost in your thoughts for so long. Going out of the city during this time of year was always a toss up on how navigable things would be.. But given the surge in technology with these infused machines and .. these wizards and such- theoretically it should be a breeze.

A gilded bag sits beside you on the worn leather seats, the contents packed with purpose- containing the bare essentials, among other things. It was silent besides your ragged breath, gripping the fabric of your cloak in a white-knuckled grip, lips pursed as you glanced through the fogged glass once more as if something would change in the scenery. The engrained tick made it a habit hard to shake off; eyes flickering back and forth repetitively either side of dark path on the left of you to the dark path to the right of you, almost compulsively like it was an itch needed to be scratched despite there being no one there the last ten times you checked. It was a simple inkling that needed to be constantly taken care of- as if the moment your head was turned, you could almost swear that something was looking back at you. 

A face? Ah, it was just some branches-

The stagecoach swerves and it makes you jolt out of your thoughts, eyes glancing behind you towards the front of the carriage, absentmindedly chewing on your tongue and a grimace immediately crosses your features, not even registering the pinprick of pain in your mouth. 

Seeing the horses rearing their hooves, stopping in their tracks, the horse’s squeals were loud even over the sound of the biting wind. All of it felt too familiar; it’s been years and yet.. It’s almost too easy to fall into the abyss of your mind, your breathing slowing. The slow and steady stream coming to a halt as if the crimson in your veins were mere molasses- stopping the flow to what allowed you to properly breathe, feeling as though your chest was being crushed. Pressing down, ripping the air out of my lungs– peine forte et dure. 

It was almost mocking in a sense, the stagecoach seems to disappear and you’re planted firmly back in the painful memories that dance around your skull like a rattle, the taunts and phantom pains drifting over the side of your face. Remembering the curve of a dagger sinking into your skin and through tissue, choking on blood- a sense of blind panic seeping its way into the air that your lungs struggle to remember how to be of use. You recall smoke- thick and permeating down your trachea, choking- gagging for some sort of reprieve, your hands outreached to grab their hand if only you could stretch just a little further-

 A bang startles you out of your stupor as you gasp, head whipping to the side- cold sweat dripping down your temples. Your left hand feels unnaturally heavy as you take a deep breath to steady your haggard breathing, trembling as you stare at the coachman- a harengon- you hadn’t recalled his name. He hops into the interior, shooting you a look of concern. You gulp a few times to soothe your dry throat, the taste of iron bittersweet, coating your tongue as if a rich cabernet- thick and heavy. Familiar.

“Ma’am- I’m so sorry. The path is too treacherous I can only take you this far-”

It takes you longer than you would have liked to collect yourself-, licking your dry lips, the cracks from the dry weather causing the simple motion to sting. “And- And I do believe I paid you for a full express ride through the Surykyk Range and to the top of Mt. Akka. Did I not?” Your voice is firm, albeit a little shaky as you cock your head looking at the rabbit with pursed lips.

He looks apologetic, wringing his hat between his two paws, his ears drooping. “Ma’am, really, you have to understand-”

“Understand?” 

“Yes, I know you prepaid but the road after this gets too perilous and..” His voice becomes a sort of background noise, an ugly feeling festering as you blink slowly. There was that sensation again you’ve felt a few times over the past few years; a little tingle on the hairs of your neck as they raised, along with the incessant buzz that completely sounds out the haregon’s voice. His lips move- words that seem to go in one ear and out the other, as if making fun of you. His droopy ears, his expression of sympathy- no pity. Looking at you like you’re some sort of wounded animal– no- he was mocking you. Of course he was.  

Your hands tremble as they tighten into fists, mouth opening and then closing and you let out a heavy sigh. It was irritating- how could a simple job such as this could not be? Pay some gold to get to the top of a mountain- why was everyone around you acting so completely incompetent? Why are they acting as if you were asking them to do the impossible? In this day and age a small trip of this magnitude should be nothing. A walk in a park. If they weren’t going to be of any use then.. Why are they even in front of you at all? Do they seriously not know how long you’ve waited for this and they’re just denying you access? Over a petty blizzard? No. 

Beneath your gloves the skin was taut as you tighten your hands into fists as if it would help ground yourself but to no avail. The low buzzing grows louder; like bees humming around your brain like the ridges and valleys were honey- drowning out the pounding of your heartbeat. Louder and louder, reaching deep into the grooves and making their place known, feeding on your festering distress. On your negative emotions. The sense of trepidation melds back into being wound up like a tight spring as you continue to stare hard at the rabbit; your body acting as if on auto-pilot. His whiskers twitch. And you? Well you just go through the movements and zone out once more, falling into a welcoming void of darkness, surrounding you- comforting you. 

The blood rushes to your head as your heart pounds, the buzzing ceasing to a low hum. When you come back to, you are still in the stagecoach, however, you are the only living being in it. It wasn’t necessarily a surprise really, these recent bursts of blackouts are more common as of late, happening more often than not. They happen at the most random of times and always seem to exemplify death- oddly enough it only started happening after the incident. Only after you found out you could summon a greater being to give you power. 

Your eyes flicker down to the white boots you were wearing and click your tongue, seeing the sprinkle of red bleed into them as if the blood were a brush and the leather it’s canvas. You try to rub out the stain but to no avail, only smearing it into a sort of pinkish hue. Your eyes then move upwards towards the wooden ceiling and then fall unceremoniously towards the corpse, wiping your forehead with the back of your glove, face losing color. Your hands felt almost achy, the muscles strained and well.. Seeing the way his neck was bent ninety degrees, it was understandable. The aftermath of these blackouts were never easy. Fighting down the growing nausea, you stumble out of the stagecoach, clutching your bag firmly to your chest as you pass the horses- trudging through the rough terrain. 

—

The hours feel longer now, the evening turning into twilight, as you take the trek by foot. Sheer cliffs drop sharply into the abyss below as you continue to climb further and further from mass-population; rising steadily in elevation as you take in the sights all around as far as the eye can see. The thick blanket of fog really did make it hard to see everything clearly but what of the forest around you that you could see was big. It was vast, the barren trees with a light coat of fresh snow brushing along their branches. Grand normally in nature, but even more so as they seem to tower over the road: the branches sticking out like gnarled fingers, hanging over the cliffside as if trying to beckon you off the beaten path. The snow covered ground is uneven, the shadows cast by the moon creating disfigured shadows and shapes that play tricks on your eyes.

It honestly didn’t help the anxiety whatsoever; the fog, the falling snow— the overall just sensation of being watched. You blame the paranoia and lack of sleep at the time, but it was  impossible to resist the urge to look behind you to see if something appeared in the last two seconds you weren’t looking. 

Maybe the Haregon was.. right. It was, for lack of a better term, hell. Auril’s reach was deep- as to be expected being so deep into her territory, but it was terrible. The snow piled up to be knee deep, having to pay close attention and really watch where there was the slightest indentation in the snow- if only to figure out where the fissures were so you don’t fall to an unseemly death. It was nearly impossible to do this with just the moonlight to light your way: wishing that you didn’t care so much in case something went wrong. You should’ve just gone through with all this in the comforts of your home. 

After all.. It would surely be a shame if you got so close to your goal and yet never reached it. Would truly be such a pity. 

The area was honestly reminiscent of what you might conjure up Stygia being like; how you might imagine that part of the hells being in terms of barely being traversable- snow as far as the eye could see. It wouldn’t be a surprise if you saw a gaggle of frost giants or the start of the Styx the next time you turned a corner as you continued to steadily rise in elevation. 

The snow crunches beneath your feet, creating a rhythmic cadence. Every step is a genuine, calculated effort to not slip and fall on the surface- gripping the mountain side tightly as to not fall. And well, in addition to yet everything else the frigid and occasional gusts of wind that sends plumes of snow swirling around you, only adding to the overwhelming sense of sheer isolation in this desolate landscape. The further in elevation you get the more that feeling grows on you. It doesn’t help that you can barely see ten feet in front of you either. However.. At some point you realize you may or may not be lost. It was.. Well, it was hard not to get lost.

Yeah, you were definitely lost.  

It was easy to look up at the sky and huff, taking a few deep breaths to calm your nerves, but it was certainly a difficult task. Back in the city when you initially planned out this whole grand scheme, it was theoretically supposed to be an easy trip. Go out to Mt. Akka- far away from civilization in case you mess up the ritual, and then summon the all knowing being and make a pact. It was supposed to be easy. Three easy steps. After all that’s what he said all those years ago. The man that started all this.

— 

Days after the incident had time crawling to a standstill- the hours feeling like weeks.  Funeral arrangements made and gone through with. Sympathies and gifts sent to your temporary place of residence as if they were truly sorry for you. ‘Sorry for your loss.’ ‘She was a wonderful mother, a great friend.’ If they truly felt that way, then why was it just you looking down at the casket as it got covered with soil? Why were you the only person who seemed to be grieving for this loss? Why did nobody else come to pay their respects as you stayed for days, finding solace in the overturned soil? As if you could claw your way through the ground and climb inside with her, hugging the charred corpse and burrowing between her ribs. Aching for the sensation of a hug, of an embrace. 

It really was no surprise when you’re found spending your nights in a shady tavern. Tucked away deep in the city- in alleyways, far away from the upper levels. It really was the best place to drink away your sorrows. It was the perfect place to become a nobody.

Huddled into a corner of a grimey back alley place, the wood sticky and stained with what, you weren’t sure. It was loud that night; and yet there you were: alone with nothing but a tankard of ale to drown out anything else. Just wanting to get numb. Just wanting to .. stop everything. Patrons come in and out, and yet there you stay even as dawn begins to rise. Sticking out like a sore thumb despite the best efforts to blend in. Too rigid to count as a regular, too downtrodden to appear lighthearted enough to familiarize yourself with the other joyous people. Just a meager human in a hodgepodge of species. 

That’s where he found you. Sitting on a stool on the end of the bar; staring down at the amber liquid, gently nursing the liquid- too many drinks in to necessarily turn your nose up at the far too bitter and pungent cheap ale. It was now a more comforting taste, dulling the senses, muffling the loud noise, turning it into a vice. 

A hand brushes along the curve of your ass- quickly making its way up and settles over the nape of your neck- squeezing absentmindedly, and you’re brought back to the present. Head lolling to the side slightly as your gaze travels upwards. Bright blue eyes stare back at you, resembling a kaleidoscope of precious gems- sapphire, larimar, kyanite- swirling and sparkling with mischief, his gaze adorned with an impish grin. His dark hair was ruffled up in a sort of weird style, long on the top, short on the sides. He was a peasant, it was easy to assume but if you were more coherent, it was easy to tell that he was anything but, despite how he presented himself to you. Back a little too straight, nails clipped and short, no signs of dirt underneath them. The stranger’s fingers dig into your flesh and you frown, squinting up at his sheer audacity.

It was then you noticed his ears- ah. That’s why he looked so .. ethereal. His skin was perfect. But he had facial hair.. A half elf? Regardless, you stick your nose up at him as you scowl, perfectly content to wallow in grief in peace. Trying to twist your head out of his gentle, but firm grip. Mouth opening to tell him off- to leave you the hell alone–

“Ah’ll buy ye a drink bonnie.” His low purr cuts off your starting protests, hovering over you, blocking your view from the rest of the tavern- hand squeezing you once more before falling and taking their place across your lower back as if it belonged there. The warmth of his skin follows your movements as you press against the bar in a sluggish attempt to get some space. The man tilts his head down at you, giving a toothy smile when your frown deepens, looking at him with clear apprehension- “Dinnae ken, i’ll buy ye something strong. You look like ye need it, hm?” 

It was easy to squirm under his insistent gaze, nodding. Eyes half-lidded as you blink slowly, the pads of his fingers absentmindedly tapping into your back when you didn’t answer verbally. “Yeah.. I guess so.”

Never realizing that you never had a choice; it truly was never an offer. 

Regardless, this stranger- Johnny you later found out his name was- listened to your tales and woes as you blubber over the ‘top’ shelf liquor. Slurring your words incomprehensibly as he sat on the stool next to you, large hand now finding its home in holding the flesh of your thigh far too high up to be considered respectable. It was easy to take the information given to you at heart as he even gave such great life advice. Describing wonderful tales of protection- of something to work for- a goal to try and get to. It was hard to remember at the time why his words seemed to cut through the fog of the alcohol, and why it stuck with you. 

“And he’d make sure ye’d never have te worry about nothin’ again. Set up for life, able to get easy protection for yerself. Sounds like a dream, and it’d only be a few small things tae do.” Poisonous words seeping into your ears paired a saccharine sweet smile hiding the maws of a dog ready to bite down at a moment’s notice. Holding himself back, playing nice for you. For him. “I mean yer a wee bonnie thing, drinkin’ your life away. Shh.. shh I ken, I ken- I know it’s hard.” Wiping your tears away as they start to overflow again, hiccuping as you take another large swig of your drink. 

John was just one of those people that it was easy to talk to- maybe it was how long you’ve been in this place, or maybe it was the fact that he was buying your drinks, who knows. Just a charming gentleman, knowing all the right things to say, and so what if he was a little touchy? Maybe he just needed a little bit of comfort too, surely you could understand that, right? He was so nice in fact that he walked you back to your temporary residence- silly, you must’ve forgotten you told him where you were staying- and when you woke up the next morning there was a concisely written note with everything you needed to do. The smell of sulfur stuck to the parchment as if burned into the grooves of it. 

What a nice guy.

—

Yeah, looking back though it certainly wasn’t the brightest idea to go this far away from civilization. But you heard it was a scary ritual! That there might be a lot of consequences to it! But as you looked around the snowy scene with a huff it was clear that you were more than likely not going to make it any further than this without just flat out dying. So.. you pause in your steps. The situation was just so absurd, that you were risking your life for something that might not even happen. But what else is there for you to do at this point? It sparks a bubble of bittersweet laughter in your chest as you wipe away some flurries on your nose- maybe you can just wish to make it out of here alive and well instead. 

You crouch down, awkwardly trying to clear away the snow to reveal the hard ground- your hands freezing wet by this point- the wool gloves feeling as though it was becoming brittle and stiff. It takes a few minutes but you were able to eventually clear a decently sized space around you. The ritual should’ve been performed at a higher elevation, for your sake of mind over anything else- but at this point it was quite literally probably either do or die. So might as well try to give it a last ditch effort, right? And with how the snow continued to descend thick and fast, like a relentless onslaught with no regards towards your personal quest, it was only a matter of time. So you continue to awkwardly carve out a space around you, grimacing at how your hard work was by the minute getting covered up by the steadily growing blizzard around you. The line of sight diminished drastically as the snowstorm swept through the landscape like a ghostly specter, cloaking the world in a shroud of swirling white and obscuring all signs of life or landscape. 

Clutching the bag so the contents don’t get blown away, you procure a small glass jar of a fiend’s blood- trembling hands starting to pour it on the ground in an attempt to recreate the shape you recall tracing so many times before. It certainly felt different using blood as paint rather than graphite; practically speeding through the process as by the second, snow was landing on your now coagulating hard work. The symbol was lopsided, the intricate circles and lines definitely asymmetrical and not fully correct- A gust of wind shoots through the gorge, the force nearly strong enough to make you crash into the ground. You stumble as the sound of glass shattering resonates, the sound echoing even above the roaring sound of the wind rushing past you. You gulp hard, shaking like a leaf in a raging storm- when another gust, almost like a predator sinking its claws into your skin; forcing you down into the ground, as if you didn’t have permission to stand. Your body hoists itself up for but a brief moment and then unceremoniously falls, and you scowl as your body is forced into a makeshift kneeling position, the cold tendrils blowing past you as if in the imitation of a bone chilling hug.

Well.. a pact summoning could be done standing or sitting down, you suppose.

Somewhere along the way your demands and wishes for this pact- for this all giving wish might have gotten a little.. skewed. It had been a whole process to get to this point after the accident- years dedicated to sneaking about the forbidden areas of libraries- going from nation to nation, paying hefty amounts of gold for mere names that might aid you on your quest for the power to protect yourself. The power to protect what once had long been past, like a memory fleeting in the wind. Faceless people crying out for you to run, for you to stay- for you to save them– for you to save yourself. The power to reach your hands further out and save your loved ones. 

So .. when did that start to twist into the wish to live. To simply survive the circumstances you’ve thrust yourself into? 

The blizzard seems to rain even worse as you sort of tussle down a gem in the ground of one of the circles- some emerald pendant your family has had in their lineage for centuries. It was an attachment that felt sort of poignant, one of the only few things that’s survived that is of their memory– blinking away the forming tears as you watch the snow slowly fall over the item. You then proceed to pull out a singed book of spells- one you’ve tried to use a countless number of times, but the weave never seemed to allow you to tap into the energy; and you’ve had to hold onto it for the ritual as it was a magical item, no matter how much it was just a blatant form of mockery. As if saying ‘wizards and sorcerers can use me and yield results, so why can’t you?’ You set the heavy leather book on the other circle.

 You crawl against the force of the wind awkwardly to the middle of the practically ruined ritual circle, trying not to ruin your already stained clothing- but at this point did it even matter anymore? A small vial is procured- this blood visibly lighter than the fiend’s- this being one of a fellow human; the blood of a friend. You haul yourself to your feet, digging into the hard dirt to keep yourself stabilized, despite how badly the world was trying to send you crashing down to the floor. Clearly unable to keep yourself steady, you hastily drip the liquid beneath you, already starting the incantations that you know oh so well, spreading the liquid in a smear with your heel, praying and hoping this would work. Watching as each drop sinks into the sleet, the macabre tapestry that spirals out– as if the very land itself was painting a picture; weeping for the fallen, mourning their passing in silent reverence. It was for a good cause- you told yourself. 

Years of letting your feelings fester, dedicating years of studying and researching towards this moment, your palms becoming doused in red and the darkening of your soul- all towards changing your fate- though you had hoped this moment would end up being done in a well.. more covered environment, however it was no matter. This was the better alternative- getting power for free. Not having to train and be proficient in magic and study all those years. Your mind sort of just latched onto the idea of working smarter- not harder. To get a shortcut in the way of life. 

Infernal spills from your tongue- accented and choppy despite your best recreation of it- clearly not of your mother tongue despite the fact you could practically recite it in your sleep by this point. The incantation was slowly spoken, like a low rumble- reaching the far back of your throat, the cadence deliberate and guttural as that small hum of a buzz begins to slowly begin in the deep recess of your mind. A small pocket knife is procured from your bag, flipping it open as you urge your voice to be louder than the howling wind as the snow swirls around you like a vortex. The blade presses against the palm of your hand.

The pain lasted for but a brief moment, small bubbles of blood starting to dribble out of the wound, falling at a faster rate as it dripped onto the circle beneath you, combining with the scarlet already split. The cold wind continues to swish around you, your clothing providing little to no protection as the incantation becomes louder, the words becoming choppy– more frantic. The shadows grow longer, the trees groan as if bearing the weight of something heavy. And then your voice comes to a stop, panting as you wait for something to happen, smiling as you look around with wide eyes, a numbness starting to make its way through your limbs.

Silence.

And more silence.

It was painstakingly easy to panic, hastily repeating the incantation as loud as you can- something setting in. A realization of what you were doing? Yeah that wasn't working.

 “No- Nono.” Tears make it harder to see, blinking them away as another cut was made, adding more blood to the middle of the circle as if that would solve all the problems in the world- “Why- Why isn’t it working? I did everything right-” The pitch rises in your growing hysteria, looking around at the partially covered symbol to see if something went wrong. An exasperated sigh leaves your lips and it turns into a chuckle and then into a full on fit of laughter, your cracked lips forming a larger grin. There’s no way right? That this was actually happening. Years of your time- nearly five god forsaken years. If you ever saw that blue eyed elf you’d kill him. Fucking hell-

“Please-” Your head tilts back as you glance up at the stormy sky, pinpricks of fear running down your spine as the expression simmers into a more somber one. It all comes crashing down as a jarring realization that all this time- you didn’t even know exactly who it was you were trying to summon. That elf and all those people telling the stories of tales across the land, talking of a being to grant power. To grant wealth. To provide enough strength to save the people around you. To take a nobody and turn them into a somebody. To give reason to actually keep living instead of joining your mother six feet under. Buried back under the burnt down remains of your estate.

It was described as simple. Summoning the being in a circle of a fiend’s blood- establishing a connection to the outer realms. That part was simple enough, though it took trading with some shady people but eventually you got what you needed; some mercenary you had to pay off to look the other way as you essentially go through the process of bloodletting an imp. Then draw out the symbol- provide the items of a precious gem and a magical artifact. Easy enough. Provide the blood of a friend- showing how willing you are to cut ties your former life to just to establish the connection, and finish it with a drop of your own blood to finish the connection, all while chanting some very specific incantations. 

You did all that. So.. why wasn’t it working?

You performed it perfectly. 

The hard ground felt like nothing to your numb body as you sank into the snow once more. Glass glitters in the snow as it presses into the side of your face, but you barely register the pain. It was supposed to work. All those scrolls- all those people, all that time. And for what? A useless invocation. Something that didn’t even work. Taking the time and energy, going out of the way of civilization in case something went wrong and..  Yet. And yet- It was silly. It was so freezing out here, the air thin and hard to breathe, but for some reason it felt warm. 

You weren’t anything special, a mere human in the world of dragons. In a world of krakens and beholders and all these amazing things. And yet at the end of the day.. you were just a regular old nobody. Sure, you were of a sort of nobility status- though not anymore– but you were trying to change your past; trying to make yourself better. To change what has already been predetermined- to reach up and touch the stars, not realizing that you were tethered to the realm. Trying to rewrite predetermined fate, as if you actually had a chance at being anything more than being completely useless-

It was easy to lose your train of thought, head swimming as an unsettling terror seizes your chest- everything begins to fracture and break. The sounds around you start to become distant echoes, muffled and indistinct, as if you’re listening from the bottom of a deep well. There's a strange detachment, as if you’re floating on the edge of reality, holding on only by the thinnest of threads. The cliffs around you seem like they’re combining overtop, as if you’re looking through a fishbowl lens: the shadows seem darker, twisting and turning under the moonlight’s glow. Your thoughts slow to a crawl, each one a struggle to grasp onto before slipping away like sand through an hourglass, fighting a losing bottle to have any idea be coherent enough to pass through the filter. Accompanied by a tingling sensation that spreads from the tips of your fingers to the crown of your head, as if your body is disconnecting from itself, each limb growing heavier and more distant with every passing moment. 

Why did this happen? Why.. did it not work? 

Why did you even try? You just wanted to be more. You just wanted to survive. To live.

Black dots fly in your field of view; dancing around like fairies in the wind, mocking as they flutter across your vision with no rhyme or reason. Your vision blurs- the unsaturated colors of the snowscape soften into monochromatic tones of gray; the moonlight seems to go further and further away as your head sinks into the snow; the dots growing larger as if obscuring your vision.  

You’d do anything.

You blink slowly as the buzzing creeps up louder, wrapping around your brain and clinging to the nerves. And then all at once dissipates, leaving an eerie silence in its wake. The feeling of being watched seeps into your conscious state of mind but at this point it was a mere afterthought, feeling hollow as your eyes fall half lidded.

“Anything?” A low timbre resonates around you, emanating from no discernable source. The disembodied voice seems to drift around your fallen form, as if hovering- waiting. 

The realization has a little chuckle ripping its way out of your throat. Oh, you were hearing things now. Lovely. You were discombobulated clearly, eyes closing as you breathe slowly, your heart seeming to calm down. The voice- you weren’t exactly sure if there was someone around you or if you were genuinely going crazy, like it was some angel above speaking to you on death’s door. 

Right. Keep your eyes open- it’s not time to sleep yet. Right? But honestly it wasn’t even that cold anymore. Rather warm actually- like you were being coddled in an embrace- why would you want to move? Your eyes squint open against the snowstorm, looking around blearily at your limited scope of sight. Your limbs feel not only heavy but numb, and you knew moving them would be a chore and so you simply stay put laying down. There was a brief moment of nothing and then- Ah, right. There was someone speaking to you.

“Uh huh.” That sufficed right? There was an unnecessarily long pause, prompting you to continue talking- after all, what harm would it do? “Wanna live.” Your tongue felt heavy, as if speaking required some sort of insurmountable effort. You shift- pressing your face further against the dirt, lacking the energy to try and do anything else, little pricks of blood starting to stain the fresh snow.

“You’d do anything?” The gruff voice rings out once more and you almost groan, eyes fluttering around uselessly, vision blurring and becoming unfocused. Why was it–he?- asking you that? Aren’t your last moments supposed to be in peace, not filled with conversation? 

“Anythin’.” You slur, gasping for breath as soon as the last sound finishes your chest suddenly tightens, constricting your breath, as if the air around you stills. You don’t notice the change in atmosphere, the magic sprinkling around your body- floating and pulling at unseen chains tethered deep in your heart- too hyper focused on the sudden searing pain on the back of your neck; akin to a branding iron. 

“Silly girl.” 

You writhe at the sensation, whining, feeling the individual lines of runes being carved deep into your skin. The pain was unlike you’d felt before, even from the pain all those years ago. No- this– this was agony. This was being trapped in a whirlpool, dragged under the depths by the relentless force of pain, unable to find solid ground. This was thousands of needles piercing your skin, pulsing through you like a constant drumbeat- each throb, each line being carved only sending waves of agony. Like a black hole, taking you deep into the Shadowfell, into the Nine Hells- being torn apart- each limb being torn. No- not torn. This was more precise, being carved like a butcher- no like a surgeon, meticulously taking their time to dissect you. To pull back your skin and peer at everything that makes you, you. Each individual nerve and muscle laid bare as they are probed and examined, delving into the very essence of your being. Seeing what makes you tick, what makes you smile- your worst thoughts- your deepest desires. 

This feeling wasn’t.. unfamiliar oddly enough- in fact the opposite, as if you’ve felt it before, except this time it was a more obvious invasion, a violation of your innermost sanction as it digs deep into your body and pushing past your ribs and settling into its new home, wrapping an icy claw around your heart and constricting–

Then all at once the torment ceases, the pain being replaced with almost a sense of reprieve. You feel the phantom of a hand brushing over the now raised skin, causing your sweat-ridden body to jerk away frivolously, before settling, letting out a soft sigh. The sudden relief was like stepping into a new realm of freedom and tranquility; as if all the burdens you previously had were released. Like gentle relief that calmed the raging of your mind- calming the storm of anguish and bringing a moment of clarity and peace. The fear that once consumed you, the sense of hopelessness that weighed heavy on your heart, the loneliness that haunted you for years—all of it now seemed fleeting, like passing thoughts. As transient as the wind sweeping through the sky, soon forgotten. Those years of all that struggle; all those years of searching and praying for some sort of help. Like a weight lifted off your chest. You could reach above; no longer being bound to the realm: you could do anything. Be anything- Your eyes had closed, when did they close? You open them- seeing nothing but the darkness of the mountains, but it was so weird, as you could feel it- him- hovering around your form like a lingering shadow. A man? A monster- you weren’t sure. It was hard to tell.

And so, when your eyelids inevitably fell closed once more, it only made sense you were too far gone to even notice the skull-faced monstrosity standing over you, his head tilted as he looked down at his newly anointed warlock with an inscrutable expression. Rich amber eyes looking down at you and then- a pleased hum resonates through the air.

Mere minutes later the spot where you once laid was coated with a fresh coat of snow, looking like a pristine blank page, as if nothing had even transpired there in the first place. As though you never existed in that space to begin with. 

[karlachismylife]

Is it visual stimming or is he a romantic?

A little evening romance with Karlach and Soap.

Camp was as quiet as it can get out in the vast wild of Faerûn. A whimsical song of a nighttime forest clearing, crickets and birds praising the moon hidden under a thin gauze veil of ripped clouds. Tonight was scarce with stars, but occasional openings in the greyish blue waves of heavenly seas showed glimpses of magical twinkles here and there. Most of the party has already gone to sleep or at least to have their alone time in their tents, sounds of flipping book pages or an occasional clink of a bottle inside drowned out by the disorganised rhythm of campfire's crackling in the middle.

Karlach sat there, mesmerized. Watching glimmering reds and oranges of the pile of smouldering coal in the heart of a slowly dying fire - it felt like they were breathing, a rhythmic rising and falling of a mystical creature's chest, a dragon or a salamander perhaps, nestled cozily in their natural habitat of flames. It was nothing like the eternal burning of desolated Hell planes filled with smog and ashes up to what you could barely call skies. This was the closest she's had to a home hearth in ten years, and the occasionally cracking and moving on their own due to the heat coal pieces seemed friendly. Their hypnotic dance made the rest of the world around Karlach go darker, become muffled and almost disappear, to the point where she didn't even notice quite the heavy steps of a familiar figure approaching and sitting as close to her as possible.

Even right next to the campfire Soap felt Karlach's heat, radiating off of her and making the dying flames in front of them seem barely warm. Her engine wasn't even acting up, the fiery glow behind her chest calm and even, but she was still hot to be around - in all ways possible.

"Didnae think ye could get cold. It's nae even tha' chilly tonight, is it?" Johnny broke the silence with a small chuckle, turning his whole body towards the charmed - and charming - tiefling. Karlach didn't look startled even though she definitely didn't notice Soap joining her at the campfire; she just was too entranced by the shimmering coals to react accordingly, her head and body moving to mirror Soap's inviting friendly pose, but her eyes staying glued to the enchanted dragon treasure in the heap of still warm ash.

"Nah, mate. Just... watchin'." Her answer was a bit slow, delayed by the unwillingness of her mind to open up to anything besides the beauty of gleaming firebrands. Soap's eyes flickered to the same picture, but quickly returned back to watch Karlach's face adorned with twitching spots of lighting and shadows, dancing to the music of their campfire and gentle wind. It suited her red skin and demonic features, but she still looked kind. To him, she looked kind even splattered with blood, someone's torn out rib clutched in hand, chest heaving with rage and flames of her engine spreading black charcoal spots on the ground.

With a blink, his gaze shifted down, following the simple train of thought and lingering on her chest - it's not like Johnny's been shy about checking her out at any previous time. Or like anyone here was shy about anything (except for vital information that every fucking one of these weirdos kept to themselves. that goddamn wizard and his magic bomb...). But at the same moment as Soap's eyes landed on the generously showing skin, Karlach sighed, breathed in deeply and then let out a calm breath full of peace and contentment. Her engine's glow brightened up just a little and then went back to previous state, highlighting dark silouette of her ribcage with a soft sparkle on each breath.

"Everything here is pretty as a picture. Even the fire looks different. I missed it, you know?" He didn't expect her to continue and looked up at her face for a moment, just to see that she's still looking into the fire reflected in her cat-like eyes and allow his gaze to fall back onto the mysterious gleam of her engine. It looked captivating, calling to reach out and touch, not in a way that a bonnie lass's rack can be, but similar to a mythical Spunkie lurking somewhere in the mist over deadly swamps in fae lands. Karlach's light was just as appealing and just as dangerous as a will-o'-the-wisp or a fresh out of fire coal. Yet she probably missed them too. Missed the sun and the grass just as much as some of the deadly creatures hunting in the forests and enemies that didn't reek of sulfur. Must've missed the heat of a friendly campfire and its coals too. After all, he missed his home too, no matter how magical this world was, he would've never turn down an opportunity to go back home, even though home was war, bloodshed and cities choking on the face of a planet still drowning in animosity. Would he?.. "They're shiny, like stars. Beautiful, isn't it? The world is so... beautiful."

"Aye," Soap agreed, not even looking another time at the coals that Karlach pointed out. She didn't notice, of course, neither the enchanted look on Johnny's face as he watched her engine dance in her heartbeat's place, nor the way her tail desperately wanted to wrap itself at least around Soap's ankle and couldn't. He might've not seen it himself, only feeling warmer and warmer, the heat coming not from an almost dead campfire but from the bulky red figure next to him. The one he kept his eyes on this whole time. "Beautiful, it is."

As a raging ADHD haver I cannot stress how hypnotic smouldering coals are to me. It might seem like it's all the same picture, but it just grabs your eyes and does not let them wander even if you want to. It clears all the chaos in my head out, absolutely empty bliss. Too bad it clears even things I gotta keep in mind... (i might've gone to cook something on open fire with my mum recently and almost burnt our food cuz i couldn't stop staring at the pretty coal go twinkle twinkle...)

Also, if you enjoyed my writing and/or the pairing, reblogs are very appreciated. As well as likes! I have shipped quite a lot of rarepairs and posted them on different platforms, and Tumblr has been the kindest to me and my weird brain. I appreciate y'all very much and feel here better than anywhere on the internet. English is not my first language and I don't have patience to proofread things properly, so corrections and critisism are appreciated too!

[leighsartworks216]

Good Boy

Astarion x transmasc!Tav/Reader x Gale

This is a part two to Feel Good

Gale might be OOC, I don't have him talking as much as I'd honestly like, but I just don't know what he'd say and I don't have the brain power rn to listen to his dialogue. Not proofread

SMUT BELOW THE CUT

Warnings: oral (w vagina), threesome, top Astarion, bottom Gale, praise kink, hair pulling, slight scent kink, some nipple play, mentions of top surgery scars

Word Count: 1,051

Main Masterlist

First Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist - Second Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

AO3

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Astarion couldn’t keep his mouth off of you. Lips trailed languidly along your new chest scars in wet kisses, tongue brushing along the jagged edges. You tasted like Gale’s soap, which they’d used to tenderly clean your body after so long of being unable to properly bathe. Now you were clean, and both men fully intended to make you filthy.

Both men knelt over you, Gale burying his face into your shoulder and trailing scratchy kisses along your throat. He brushed his tongue over the faded bite marks left behind by Astarion, drawing out a whimper from you. They were taking their sweet time. Their hands caressed and massaged and pressed softly against you, but they never reached where you needed them. Astarion could smell you already - dripping wet with arousal for them.

His dark red eyes sought out yours as he sucked a nipple into his mouth, teeth grazing ever so lightly against it as his tongue swirled around. Your hand flew to his hair, tugging desperately at his white curls.

“Please, please,” you gasped. You reached up and tangled your other hand in Gale’s hair, trying to pull him away from his assault on your jaw. “Need you, please.”

Astarion released your nipple, but his cool breath continued to fan over it as he spoke. “What do you want us to do, love? Use your words now.” He trailed a hand along your belly, brushing over Gale’s, and gliding it between your thighs, but not quite touching your sex. No, instead he pressed your legs open, and you complied without a single thought otherwise.

You groaned, frustrated and needy. “Eat me out,” you gasped as a flush rushed to your cheeks. “Please, Gale, need you.”

Gale captured your lips in a kiss, licking his tongue into your mouth greedily. You shivered thinking about him doing the same thing to your cunt. He pulled away with a grin. “It would be my honor.”

He made his way slowly down your body, taking his time to kiss every inch of your skin. Your collarbones, your sternum, your peck, down to your belly button, and further still until he knelt between your legs - he loved the way you tasted. Even just the smell of you was enough to drive him mad.

He pressed your legs further apart so he’d fit, and watched as Astarion’s slid from your thigh to your cunt. He used his fingers to spread your folds, slicking his fingers with you as he showed just how needy you were to Gale. “Look how wet he is already,” the vampire purred.

Gale groaned, cock twitching at just the sight of you like this. So handsome. So gorgeous. He dipped down, ready to dive in and lose himself in you. But Astarion stopped him with a small ah-ah, and presented his coated fingers to the wizard.

“Come on,” he encouraged with a smirk. “Show our darling just what that tongue of yours can do.”

“I’m sure he’s well acquainted by now,” he remarked, but he took Astarion’s fingers in his mouth anyway. He watched you both as he ran his tongue between them and licked up the slick, coating the fingers in saliva.

You shuddered and Astarion grinned. “Well aren’t you just a good boy,” he teased, but Gale shivered at the praise. Even though Astarion said it so playfully, he knew it was genuine. He pulled his fingers from Gale’s mouth and grabbed his hair, right next to yours. He pushed his head down between your thighs. “Eat up. He’s waited long enough, don’t you think?”

Gale didn’t hesitate. He licked a stripe up your slit, cleaning you of your wetness, before teasing his tongue around your entrance. You bucked up into him, but he pressed an arm over your hips to keep you pinned down. They couldn’t have you exerting yourself - that would ruin the entire point of this. With his nose pressed against your clit, his tongue plunged deep inside.

You moaned as he ate you out, pressing your head back into your pillows as the sensations overwhelmed you. The sloppy, wet sounds filled your ears; the wizard acted like a starving man at a banquet.

Astarion’s mouth found your neck, sucking and nipping all over, but especially around your pulse. Your blood raced under your skin as your heart raced. And you smelled delicious. “You’re gorgeous, my love,” he groaned into the skin behind your ear. He released Gale’s hair in favor of running his fingers along your chest scars, delicately, as they were still sensitive. He pressed harder when he ran his fingers just underneath them. “So fucking handsome.”

You tugged on his hair until his lips were on yours. It was a sloppy kiss, full of desperation and passion. He eagerly swallowed every moan and gasp from you.

He nipped at your lips when you pulled away with a choked groan. His eyes studied your face knowingly. “Are you going to cum for us, pretty boy?” You whimpered at the nickname. Gale felt you clench excitedly around his tongue.

Astarion’s hand slides down your stomach until his fingers find your clit. Gale repositions so he’s not getting flicked in the nose as the vampire begins rubbing circles against you. He peers up through your legs to watch as your chest rises and falls with hurried gasps, watching as Astarion finds your neck again and murmurs sweet praises into it. He can pinpoint the exact moment you orgasm.

Astarion doesn’t let up on your clit as you clench around Gale’s tongue, drawing out each moan of their names as your cum is eagerly eaten up by the wizard. Only once you begin squirming with overstimulation does Astarion stop, before pushing Gale firmly but not unkindly away from your cunt. His face is coated in you, filling his nostrils with your heady musk. He presses tender kisses to your inner thighs, holding them steady as they tremble from the aftershocks.

“Good boy,” Astarion praises as he pulls away to assess his partners. His eyes are still dark with lust as he watches Gale. They meet eyes, and between them is the same thought. He turns back to kiss you, languid and sweet, before he pulls away with a wicked smirk. “We’re not done with you yet, handsome.”

---

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