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whataperfectwasteoftime · 3 months ago
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The Gift
Pairing: Marcus Acacius x Virgin f!Reader
Rating: E (explicit smut, 18+ only)
Word Count: 9.2k
Warnings: Period typical sexism and treatment of women, period-typical ideas of virginity and virtue, Marcus is a bit rude at first but he comes around quickly, attempted assault that is heavily implied to be sexual, canon-typical violence, hurt/comfort, wound care, yearning, virginity loss, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected PIV sex, mushy endings :)
Summary: The Emperor of Rome has given his most valued General, Marcus Acacius, a generous gift after his recent successful battle. Rather than the gold he’s hoping for, Marcus is stunned when a young virgin is delivered to his chambers. At first, he refuses to entertain the idea of stealing the virtue of a scared girl, but their lives become entwined when he learns that refusing his ‘gift’ puts her in even more danger…
A/N: The art in the header is by @norththelemon and is inspired by Paulo and Virginia by Alessandro Puttinati. Thank you so much for letting me use this artwork for my fic!!! <3 The artwork does not necessarily reflect the appearance of the reader character; rather, it is a reflection of the original artwork. The only physical description I included of reader is that she has long, curly hair (color and texture are never mentioned). Marcus’s pet name for her, bellatora, very loosely translates to “little warrior.” Thank you to the lovely @leslie-lyman for the beta! **NOTE: as attempted SA can be triggering to some people, I have separated out this section with asterisks (******). You can quickly skip this scene and you will not miss any significant plot. If you have any questions, do not hesitate to send me a DM! Be safe <3
Masterlist
Marcus rides through the streets of Rome, the cheers of citizens ringing in his ears and the white petals being thrown from above him sticking in his curls. The populus is joyful, but he cannot help but think of the cost of the battle, about the sons and husbands who he knows are not returning home.
He longs for a bath, to wash the grime, dirt and blood from his body. He longs to strip off the heavy, soiled armor and lay down on his bed, naked and warm and full of bread and wine, and sleep for several days.
First, however, he must endure the long procession up to the palace, where the Emperor was surely waiting for him–where he would have to play all the little games that come with positions of power: smile, nod, say the right words and act in the ways that other people expect of a General.
The horse whinnies nervously as the cacophony swells, and Marcus gently pats its neck, sending a cascade of petals to the ground to be trodden underfoot by so many hooves.
The Emperor waits at the top of the Palace steps, surrounded by all of his court and Roman nobility. Without allowing any of the contempt he feels to show on his face, Marcus Acacius dismounts from the horse and slowly ascends the marble stairs. When he reaches the top, the Emperor pulls him into an exaggerated hug, slapping his back and cheering loudly enough for the onlookers to hear.
“Congratulations to you, my friend, for your triumph and victory over the vanquished,” the man booms, slapping Marcus's pauldron again for good measure and causing another great cheer to rise up from the crowd.
Marcus does not say anything, but he turns to face the onlookers and unsheathes his sword, raising it over his head victoriously, knowing that's what they all want him to do. The resulting din seems to rattle the very stones of the palace.
“You must be weary, good soldier,” the Emperor tells him. “Go now and rest. A gift will be sent to your chambers to show your Emperor’s appreciation for your prowess in battle.”
Marcus nods and bows deeply, indicating his gratitude for his Lord's generosity. He's most thankful, however, for the quick dismissal.
The General’s quarters in the palace are spacious and outfitted with all modern amenities Marcus could ever think to ask for. He quickly lights a fire under the basin to begin heating water for a bath. He begins removing his armor, leaving it by the door where he knows it will be collected for cleaning and polishing. He discards the filthy underclothing and retrieves a clean cloth with which to wash.
It is only now that Marcus is able to take sock tock of his injuries; as the grime is wiped clean from his body, he can finally see where the blood was his, and where the blood was not his. His arms are peppered with bruises and superficial wounds, but nothing that requires any dressing. 
He is lucky. 
Marcus dresses in loose robes, luxuriating in the feeling of being free and unencumbered by his armor. With a deep, satisfied sigh, he settles himself down on the bed, surrounded by the ornate pillows that come with Palace trappings, and closes his eyes.
They’ve barely been closed for a few minutes when a knock sounds at the door. 
Marcus frowns. All his joints and muscles protest when he reluctantly rises from the bed again and opens the door. He’s greeted by one of the Emperor’s personal guard, who is roughly holding the upper arm of a young girl.
“What is the meaning of this?” Marcus asks hesitantly, taking in the girl’s simple, white shift that clings to her breasts and hips, her trembling lips, and her wide, terrified eyes.
“The Emperor, in his generosity, presents you with this virgin as reward for your duty to Rome,” the guard announces. He pushes the girl forward into Marcus’s chambers and shuts the door behind him.  
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“What in the Gods’...” the General murmurs under his breath as you are shoved unceremoniously into the room.
You curtsy deeply, remembering, despite your fear, what you have been instructed to do. “M-My Lord,” you whisper through trembling lips. You can only stare at the floor, unable to look at the man to whom you have been gifted.
“I had been hoping for gold,” the man grumbles. “What am I supposed to do with you?”
He sounds angry. This terrifies you more.
“I am f-for your… p-pleasure,” you try to explain. “My Lord.” You deepen the curtsy, until your knees nearly scrape the floor. If you please him, perhaps he will not be unkind.
“Stop that. Get up.” the man snaps. “I’m not in the mood for deflowering virgins.”
“S-Sir?” You don’t understand. You weren’t prepared for the man to say no. You were bathed, dressed, and told that you were to be a gift for a mighty general. You were to please him, let him bed you, and serve him until he tired of you. You were instructed to kneel, to address him as only “My Lord,” and to do whatever he asked of you. Only then would the debt your father owed to the Emperor be paid in full. 
You were not given instructions on what to do if the General refused his gift.
“D-Do I not please My Lord?” you try again. Terrified of being turned away, sent back to your father, where they’d surely kill you both, you begin to cry.
“By the Gods–stop, come here,” the General says, sounding exasperated. He gently leads you to a chair and indicates you should sit. You do. He crouches on his heels so that your heads are level, and examines you. “Who are you, girl?”
“I… am the only daughter of Proculus Opilio,” you sniffle. “I am a gift for his Lord’s pleasure.”
The man’s fingers take hold of your chin; his hands are gentle as he guides your eyes up to his. “Why are you a gift,” he presses.
“M-My family owes a great debt,” you whisper. “I am to be payment for our transgressions against the Emperor.”
“The Emperor sends me a frightened child,” the man growls as he quickly stands and paces away from you, “and calls it a gift.”
“You must accept,” you say frantically, hopping up from your seat and following him. “They will know if you do not, and we will be punished for it.”
The general scoffs. “What, they intend on checking?” he asks, as if such a thing is too ridiculous to be spoken aloud.
“Yes,” you whisper. They told you as such.
“Girl,” he says sternly. “I am not going to enact such violence on a scared child.”
“I am not a child,” you argue, sticking your chin up. “I have seen nineteen summers, almost twenty.”
The General seems to find this funny. He huffs, shaking his head and turning away. “Go home, girl.”
“I cannot go home,” you say, and start to cry again. 
“Stop. Stop,” the man entreats. He turns toward you again and cages your face in his hands, rubbing the tears away with his thumbs. “Okay. Do not worry, I will… Gods, I will help. You and your family will come to no harm.”
“Thank you,” you say emphatically, your hands coming up to your shoulders in preparation to unclasp your shift.
“No! Stop!” You freeze again, eyes wide.
The General softens, and gentles his words. “Please stop. I am weary from battle and I need to sleep. Please… let us both rest, and after that we may discuss this with level heads.”
“Of course, My Lord,” you nod, curtsying again. 
“Marcus.”
“...My Lord?”
“Call me Marcus. I am no Lord.”
“As you wish, My Lord.” It comes out automatically.
The General–Marcus–raises one eyebrow.
“...Marcus.” You watch as the man pads over to the bed and collapses onto it with a heavy sigh. 
“You may sleep here, you may sleep elsewhere, it does not concern me,” he mumbles, eyes already closed. “I am not long for this world and will be unconscious for quite some time, I imagine.”
His words are correct; within a matter of minutes the man is snoring. 
Alone and scared, you sink back down into the chair, and begin to cry again.
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Marcus wakes with something tickling his nose. Opening his eyes, he’s greeted by a mass of curls on his pillow, framing the angelic face of… 
Oh.
He had forgotten about you. At some point, you had clearly decided to sleep as well, because you are curled up next to him, your hands clasped under your chin and your lips slightly parted in sleep. This is the first time he’s seen your face not terrified, and he realizes that you are really quite beautiful.
He does not know what to do with you. 
Marcus has never had a shortage of willing partners, and he is uninterested in the alternative. You are pretty, young, and soft, but he is not the sort of man to force himself on a woman. Even if you did ask him in no uncertain terms to do so, it would not be for the right reasons. 
He needs to find a way out of this situation, ideally with his life, your life, and the lives of your family still intact; he did not wade through the blood and mire of battlefield just to condemn an innocent woman to death.
“Girl,” he says lowly, and your eyes open quickly. They go wide at his proximity, and you scramble back a few inches, creating more space between you.
“H-Hello,” you greet him shakily. 
“Good morn,” he replies. “How are you feeling?”
“Well-rested, My Lo–Marcus.” You offer him a small, timid smile. 
Marcus glances toward the window. “It must be almost midday,” he says, noticing the angle of the sun. He’d fallen asleep yesterday in the late afternoon, slept all night, and through the morning. He hopes you did the same. 
“I am famished.” He gets up from the bed–Gods, his muscles still ache��and pads toward the door to his chambers. “With any luck, this morning’s breakfast will still be outside.” 
It feels like the only act of providence that has happened since his return to the Palace that the breakfast tray is still there, laden with fresh bread and fruit. He carries it inside and sets it on the small table in his chambers. He grabs a piece of bread with one hand and beckons you over with the other, too hungry to be polite and wait for you before tearing a piece off with his teeth. He finishes the bread in a few bites, but you still stand near the bed, unmoving and watching him with wary eyes.
“Come. Eat.” Marcus grabs another piece of bread and a handful of grapes. 
Hesitantly, you approach the table, looking like a wild animal unsure of whether the human offering you food can be trusted.
“I do not bite, girl,” he grumbles. 
You snatch a loaf off of the table and retreat backwards a couple of paces, breaking off small pieces and popping them into your mouth as you continue to stare at him. 
“What will you do with me?” you ask.
“Do with you?” Marcus laughs humorlessly. “Nothing.” 
“Nothing?” you repeat, beginning to sound angry. Good. Marcus would rather you be anything but the timid, scared girl that was shoved into his chambers. “So you would condemn my family to death?”
“I am not going to take an unwilling woman to bed,” he growls, taking more grapes from the tray and popping them into his mouth. 
“Most people would do far worse to save the life of a loved one,” you argue. 
Marcus scoffs. “I’ve seen and done things you could not imagine, girl. If losing your maidenhood is the worst thing you can conceive of–”
“It is not,” you snap, stamping your foot in a show of exasperated petulance. “If you are not going to help me, then… I—I hope the gods curse you!” you finish lamely. You spin on your heels and retreat to the corner of his room, sitting down on a chair and crossing your arms with a huff. 
Marcus closes his eyes. He is being too harsh with her, too cruel. He has spent too long shouting orders at his men of late, and not enough time offering comfort or kind words. He grimaces and approaches you with caution. You glare at him, and he doesn’t blame you, but he slowly sinks to his knees in front of you before speaking.
“I have been unkind,” he says softly. “Please forgive my rudeness.”
He watches as your pretty eyes narrow, then widen, then narrow again as a number of emotions seem to flicker across your face. Your lips part, but you don’t respond, and Marcus forges on.
“I did not ask to be put in this situation, and neither did you. I made a promise to you last night that you and your family will come to no harm, but we must work together to keep you safe.”
“Would it not be easier to simply take your ‘gift’?” you sniffle, jutting your chin out and trying–unsuccessfully, he thinks to himself–to be brave.
Marcus chuckles softly, reaching forward and gently grasping both of your hands. “I have committed enough violence in the name of Emperor and Country to last a man several lifetimes. I may not have been as kind as I should have been to you, but I will not take the innocence of a scared girl who is being used as a pawn in the evil games of powerful men.”
You sniffle again, wiping your nose on the back of one hand. “Sometimes I wish I could just be free of this cursed ‘gift’ of innocence and lose all value to men like that.”
Marcus huffs in amusement. “Do you, now?”
You sigh, turning and looking out of the window. “How nice it would be to be valued for other qualities, instead,” you murmur, speaking more to yourself than to him. When you turn back to look at him, you ask, “How will you–we–subvert the wishes of the Emperor himself?”
Ah. He was rather hoping you wouldn’t ask, at least not yet. Truthfully, he has no idea; all he can really hope to do is attempt to sway the Emperor in some way, or at the very least, buy him some time. 
“I will request an audience,” Marcus tells you. “I must go soon to debrief with the other generals, and he will be in attendance. I will speak to him, garner favor…” he trails off, knowing how vague and uncertain he sounds. 
“You would really take such a risk for me…?” you ask hesitantly. 
“The Emperor, in his wisdom, has bestowed upon me a gift,” Marcus says sardonically. “And as I see it, that gift is now mine, and is under my protection.” He gently cups your cheek, letting his palm rest against the slightly damp skin. “We will use his… generosity… to our advantage.”
He stands, letting his fingers trail across your jaw before pulling his hand back. “I must go. Do not open the door to anyone while I am gone.”
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In the General’s absence, you finish off the rest of the breakfast tray, which was plentiful. With a full belly, you wander around the man’s chambers, exploring the space that will also be yours for the foreseeable future. You wash in the basin, splashing cool water on your face and sighing in relief. For the first time in over a day, you are finally able to breathe and take stock of your situation.
You should be grateful, really. The General Marcus, although gruff and tactless at times, seems to be a caring, even kind man. You believe him when he says he will protect you, protect your family, even though you have nothing to give him in return. Nothing he wishes to take, at any rate. 
Your eyes fall on an ornate dagger sitting on a table near the window, and you cannot help but think of the way his hands–the same hands that would fiercely wield a weapon to slice through skin and bone–so gently touched your face. 
A loud knock on the door to Marcus’s chambers startles him out of your reverie. A soft noise of surprise escapes you before you are able to clap your hand over your mouth to stifle it. You can tell that whoever is on the other side of the door has heard you, because they pause, listening, and then knock again.
The handle rattles as someone on the other side turns it back and forth, testing the strength of the lock, and your heart pounds with trepidation. 
They cannot get in. They cannot get in. They cannot get in. You repeat the phrase over and over in your head, but then you hear the distinct click as the lock is bypassed or picked, and the door swings wide.
“Well, well, well,” a man in ornate robes sneers. “It appears the rumors are true.”
**********************************
Another man in similar garb pushes past him. “Our beloved general has a new toy.” The words are dripping in sarcasm.
You back up against the wall, and the table next to you rattles when you bump it with your hip. Quickly, you pick up the dagger and point it at the intruders.
Both men guffaw loudly, slapping their knees and shoving each others’ shoulders in their apparent mirth. “She has teeth, she does!” one of them jeers.
“Tell us, did you bite the General when he stuck you?”
The men lunge forward, and you slash with the blade. One of them howls, clutching at his arm, where red is already beginning to well up between his fingers, but you are unused to wielding weapons and the second man rips it from your grasp easily.
“You little bitch,” the injured one spits, and slaps you, hard, with his good hand, the blood from his injury splashing your face and your white robes. You crumple in an instant, clutching your cheek, as the two men close in.
“I bet she squeals nice and loud,” one of them growls menacingly as he reaches for you.
*************************************
A loud bang from behind the men makes them startle. You look for the source, and see the General standing in the doorway with fury in his eyes. He wrenches another dagger from its scabbard and, with no warning, lunges forward and plunges it into the neck of the man who had reached for you. With a sickening gurgle, the man collapses instantly, and red blood begins to pool underneath him. Marcus rips the dagger from the man’s neck and points it at the second man as he shoves him against the wall, who immediately begins to whimper and shake his head. 
“Sniveling cur,” the General spits. “I would happily kill you both, but you are going to deliver a message for me instead.” At the man’s frantic nod, he continues. “It seems that some need reminding that I am not to be trifled with,” Marcus snarls. “And the next person who disrespects me by harming my property will be dealt with in the same manner as your friend. Now. Go.” 
The man bolts, clutching the wound you had given him.
Marcus’s demeanor immediately changes. He drops the dagger on the floor and falls to his knees in front of you, taking your face in his hands again… hands that are trembling. 
“They hurt you,” he murmurs, his eyes rapidly flicking back and forth over your face, seeing the blood that had spattered on your robes.
“It isn’t mine,” you manage to say, although your voice shakes and your chest heaves with leftover terror. You can’t keep your gaze from landing on the dead man in front of you, his eyes still open and staring sightlessly ahead. “I–your knife I–”
“Okay,” he nods, his thumbs still caressing your cheekbones. “Okay. Shhh. Don’t look at him, look at me.” When you manage to pull your gaze to the General instead, you’re suddenly captivated by his wild, dark eyes. They’re so full of fire, yes, but with that fire brings warmth. He stares at you as if you are a precious object, not some scared little girl covered in blood and cowering against the wall. “Come here,” Marcus says softly. “Let me help you up.”
You surprise even yourself when you automatically lean forward and into the General’s arms. He stiffens, seemingly just as stunned by your trust in him, but he recovers and carefully stands, pulling you up with him and gently turning your body away from the dead man. He leads you forward, and you follow blindly as he guides you down onto a chair. 
“Let me fetch a cloth,” Marcus says, his expression stormy and troubled, “to clean you up. Do not move.”
You nod, watching as he fills a little bowl with water from the basin and comes back to crouch at your feet. “Your cheek,” he murmurs. “Is it very painful?”
You nod again, a few hot tears escaping from your eyes and stinging the small cut in question. 
“I will be as gentle as I can,” Marcus promises. “But it must be cleaned.”
You shut your eyes as his fingers carefully grasp your chin, using his hold to tilt your head and grant him easier access. The cloth is cold against the burning skin of your cheek, and you cannot stop the soft whimper that leaves your lips. Gently, the General dabs the little wound, dipping the cloth in water over and over and soothing the tender skin as he wipes it clean of dirt and blood.
Once satisfied with your cheek, he cleans the man’s blood off of the rest of your face and neck, as well as the few droplets that had landed on your hands from the other man as he was stabbed. 
“Thank you,” you whisper hoarsely as he gently turns one hand over and dabs away the last remaining spot of blood on the inside of your wrist. 
“You should not be thanking me,” Marcus says, voice tinged with bitterness. “It is because of me that you came to harm.”
“Yet it is also because of you that I was not harmed further,” you tell him quietly. Your eyes dart toward the body in a pool of blood still lying on the floor, and quickly look away again. “You killed a man for me.”
“You are under my protection,” Marcus says solemnly. “I do not take that vow lightly.”
As your heartbeat finally begins to slow, the deep terror that had been swirling inside you leaves, replaced with bone-weary fatigue. Your vision swims and your head sways slightly as you suddenly feel that you must fight the urge to fall asleep right here in this chair.
“Something ails me,” you say, alarmed at your darkening vision.
“Battle fatigue,” the General says matter-of-factly. “When the fog of war lifts, sleep often takes its place.”
“I am no soldier,” you protest tiredly. The world shifts–Marcus has scooped you into his arms and is carrying you to his bed, carefully laying you down on the blankets. 
“You are now,” he teases gently. “Victorious little soldier, bellatora, wielding a General’s weapon with ferocity. You even have a battle scar.” His finger gingerly brushes your cheek.
“Will others come?” you ask, struck with a sudden pang of fear even as your eyes threaten to close. 
“No.”
“What if they do?” It’s a silly question, and you aren’t sure why you even gave voice to such a childish fear. Warmth envelops you as Marcus covers your form with a blanket. Your eyes finally close, and the General’s last words seem to come to you through a dream.
“Then I will fight the entire Roman army to keep you safe.”
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Marcus Acacius did not want this “gift.” 
He did not want a virgin to deflower, nor a scared girl to comfort, or even a servant that inexplicably tidied his rooms while he was away.
He did not want you. 
But here you are, sitting by his window with a book, eating all of your dinner and a good portion of his, and leaving long, curly hairs on his pillows, by the basin, and even on his armor–something he had discovered during a drill one morning, pulling the offending strand off of his pauldron with a bemused shake of his head. 
He does not want you. He doesn’t want the comb and mirror that now lie on the table by the basin, nor the extra rags he had to ask a servant for–ears burning bright red–when your… er… monthlies arrived. He does not want to spend his wages on new robes for you, but he hardly has a choice, not when your thin white shift became filthy with blood the night that he–
Gods.
The night that he almost lost you.
If his meeting had gone just five minutes longer, he would have been too late. He would have arrived to a much different scene, and he knows he would have killed every inhabitant of the palace in retribution.
This is how he knows that he cannot trust his own feelings when it comes to you. What should be an unwanted inconvenience in his life has quickly become much, much more. He acts like a man in love, the way he buys you trinkets and brings you sweets, but no matter how he twists the story in his own head, he cannot deny the truth: you are a captive. His captive.
As if to punctuate his thoughts, a wealthy merchant crosses his path in the bustling market, followed by another man carrying all of the man’s wares for him, purposely walking several paces behind as is the custom for slaves.
Marcus can dress you in all the finery his salary can afford, but that does not change the fact that you were intended to be a slave for his pleasure. 
He already has his intended prize from the market–a parcel containing two pieces of sweetbread tucked under one arm–but perhaps it is guilt over your imprisonment that causes his head to wander to the stall of jewelry to his left. 
“Trinkets for a special someone,” says a middle-aged woman wearing kohl eyeliner and almost as many beads around her own neck as are displayed in her stall. She shoots Marcus a knowing smirk as his fingers reach out to graze a length of beads of palest pink. 
“Rose quartz,” the woman tells him. “For love, compassion, and emotional healing.”
Rose quartz. He cannot help but picture the pretty, pale beads glowing, luminous against the soft skin of your neck.
“How much?” His voice is rough and thick. 
The woman’s smile widens.
They cost almost an entire weeks’ salary, and he’s never spent such a sum on anything for himself, let alone something so frivolous, but he’s already reaching for his purse.
You grin widely at Marcus’s return–a sight that makes his heart swell when he remembers how frightened you were of him on that first night. You make little grabbing motions with your hands, causing him to laugh as he hands over the parcel of sweetbread. You take your piece and hand him the other, hardly waiting until he’s taken it before you’re biting into the sweet dough with a sound of pleasure that goes straight to his nether regions. 
He thinks of the necklace, wrapped in cloth and hidden in his robes, but he is struck with a moment of uncharacteristic cowardice, and he leaves it where it is. 
“Tell me about the market,” you say wistfully. 
“Too crowded,” Marcus grunts before taking a bite of his own sweetbread. 
You seem to find his cantankerous nature funny, for Gods know what reason, and the pretty sound of your laughter fills the room–and his mind.
“There are a number of visitors for some play at the amphitheater tonight,” he explains further, shrugging slightly.
You suddenly exclaim in delight, startling him a little. “I love the amphitheater,” you say emphatically. “My father often had to punish me for sneaking in to see plays against his wishes when I was a little girl.”
Marcus chuckles, picturing a smaller version of you, but no less fiery.
“It was worth it,” you laugh. You pop the last piece of sweetbread into your mouth and suck each finger clean of the sticky dough in turn. Marcus should look away, but he’s entranced by the way your lips close around each digit, leaving clean, shiny skin in your wake.
He blames this momentary onset of utter madness for the words that leave his mouth next.
“Would you like to go see it? The play?”
 The pure delight that washes over your face is enough to make Marcus want to take you to a different play every night, but after too short a time, you are frowning warily.
“Would that be wise?” you ask. “Is it not dangerous for me to leave your quarters?”
“You would be seen as my consort,” Marcus answers. “No harm will come to you, bellatora.”
“Your… your consort?” 
“You cannot be a prisoner in these walls for the rest of your days,” he tells you softly. “If we play the parts we have been given–the General and his consort–no one will question it. They wouldn’t dare, not after my warning. The entire palace knows that I will gladly kill anyone who threatens you.”
You duck your head, looking down at your hands. Marcus wonders if you’re frightened of him, still. 
“Everyone will see my act as one of possession,” he says. “Of territoriality. If we allow them to draw that conclusion, they will never suspect any different.”
You nod, biting your lower lip and giving him a timid smile that slowly spreads across your face and turns into something bright and joyful. 
“Thank you,” you whisper. 
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“The play will end before we even arrive, bellatora,” Marcus grouses from the main chamber. 
“Patience,” you snap from the washroom. The stupid elaborate hairstyle that you keep trying to braid your hair into keeps falling out, and you’re beginning to feel frustrated. With a heavy sigh, you settle for a simpler plait that falls over one shoulder. You’re wearing one of the nicer gowns that Marcus has gifted you–robes of deep emerald green, but you still worry that you look far too common to be an appropriate consort to a General.
Since when has such a thing become a concern for you? Despite the roles you are forced to play, Marcus is not your consort, nor your lover. He has made it clear he will never touch you, so why are you hiding in the washroom, worrying over your appearance?
With a pained sigh, you shake yourself, square your shoulders, and turn to face the General.
“Ready,” you announce, and the man in question looks up.
His lips part slightly, a little crease forming on his brow as his eyebrows raise. He fixes you with that look–the one he keeps giving you lately. It’s as if he’s in a constant state of surprise every time he sees you, as if you aren’t a permanent fixture in his rooms and could disappear at any moment. 
“What?” you finally ask. 
Marcus seems to shake himself out of his stupor. “It is missing something.”
The statement confuses you. “I–I have nothing else to–” You cut yourself off as the man seems to be digging through his clothing, looking for what, you do not know.
“I thought this would suit you,” he says quietly, as he retrieves a small parcel and holds it out for you to take.
You hesitate, frowning. “What is it?”
Marcus huffs softly with impatience and opens the parcel himself, revealing the prettiest strand of stones you’ve ever seen in your life.
“Oh,” you gasp. 
“Do you…” the man in front of you clears his throat and shifts in his stance, “Do you like it?” he asks gruffly.
“Yes,” you whisper. “Yes, I like it.”
Wordlessly, he removes it from the cloth and moves behind you to clasp it at the back of your neck. You can’t help the wide smile that breaks across your face at the feel of the cool beads resting against your throat. Gently, you touch the necklace with your fingers and turn to look at Marcus. “Does it look pretty?” you ask, still grinning at him.
The General’s face is almost pained when he returns your gaze. His eyes don’t leave yours when he softly answers, “Yes.”
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Marcus Acacius has never been much for plays, but never before has he experienced seeing one with you. He can’t help cracking a small smile himself every time you let out a joyful peal of laughter, which you do often, as the story is a humorous one. 
The necklace suits you just as he thought it would, but your beauty almost makes the stones appear dull in comparison. If anyone were to ask him, Marcus would say that your smile could outshine all of Rome. Pretending that you are his consort is far too easy; your delicate fingers find the crook of his elbow without prompting when he offers his arm to you as you walk through the streets when the show ends. Your eyes always seem to find his, your face bright and hopeful and oh so lovely as you look up at him. 
“Marcus?” 
He’s been lost in his thoughts again. He grunts and nods to you as the two of you walk back to the palace, when you suddenly stop. 
“I want to tell you…” you begin, wringing your hands together nervously. 
“What is it, bellatora?” Marcus asks with concern.
“I want to tell you that I am… very happy,” you say, ducking your head and avoiding his gaze. 
“I am glad that you enjoyed the play,” Marcus says hesitantly, wondering what is making you suddenly be so… shy.
“With you,” you add quietly. “It’s not only the play, it’s… it’s just you, Marcus.” The final word is almost a plea, with how earnestly it leaves your lips. “I–I want you to know that I would. I would be your consort, i-if you wanted, and I’d–”
Marcus closes the small distance between you and presses his lips against yours. You yield to him immediately, your small hands moving up the planes of his chest and coming to rest at his jaw. You kiss with the slight timidness of someone unfamiliar with how to do it, but oh, he’s happy to guide you. One of his hands gently cups your neck, the other caresses your cheek and it’s all he can do to keep the kiss chaste and not frighten you by backing you up against the wall of the alleyway and opening his mouth to you. 
When he releases your lips, you chase him–leaning forward with your mouth still pouted and your eyes closed, as though you cannot bear to be parted from him, and it takes a herculean effort not to indulge.
“Come,” Marcus murmurs softly, his thumb tracing back and forth over your cheekbone, watching as you flutter your eyes open and look at him with an expression of such open trust and want that he feels as though he’ll burn from the inside out. “Come, let us go home.”
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You are ablaze.
Marcus’s hands seem to burn with heat as he guides you hastily through the palace and to his familiar quarters, but their temperature still seems to pale in comparison to the heat that rises within you. 
Once inside, he kisses you again, and you swear your knees could simply buckle and give out just at the feel of his lips on yours. You crave it again and again; your hands grip at his robes to hold him close to you, hoping he’ll never stop. 
“Sweet girl, little bellatora,” Marcus murmurs, his lips dragging from your mouth across your cheek to the side of your neck and oh, you like that even more–your head falls to the side and your back arches as you all but beg for his lips on your skin again. His hand on your lower back guides you even closer until your bodies are pressing together and you gasp softly at the feeling of his body against yours.
“Tell me,” he whispers in your ear, his lips grazing the shell of your earlobe and causing a cascade of shivers to course through you. “Tell me that you want this. If you do not, deny me now, and I promise I will never touch you again.”
“No,” you whimper automatically. “No, please don’t stop, just–”
“Shhh, bellatora.” Marcus seems to crumple with relief, leaning forward until your back hits the wall and his lips ravish your neck once again. “I won’t stop, just tell me you want me like this.”
“Yes,” you gasp, as the General’s hands cage your face and his mouth meets yours once again. “Yes, yes, yes–” You repeat the word over and over into his mouth, until he groans softly and parts his lips too, deepening the kiss and tasting you with his tongue.
His hands caress your neck, fingertips running up and down before settling on the clasps on your shoulders. “Let me see you,” he whispers. “Please, let me–”
You pull back, looking in his eyes as you nod slowly, giving him permission. He carefully undoes your dress, letting the fabric fall and pool at your feet. The necklace is still around your neck, and he touches the beads lightly as he stares at the sight before him.
“Oh, Gods…” Marcus murmurs to himself, shaking his head in awe. “What a divine gift you are, bellatora.”
His eyes rake over your breasts, your hips, the swell of your stomach, and the fire burning within threatens to consume you. With one more soft kiss, he whispers, “Come to the bed, so I may worship you properly.”
You let him lead you, keeping your eyes on him as he takes your hands in his and pulls you toward the bed. You are too consumed with flames to feel fear of this moment, but a pang of nervousness thrums within you despite yourself. 
Marcus guides you down until you’re sitting on the edge of the bed. You begin to scoot backwards–you might not have much experience, but you know you’re supposed to be lying on the bed–when he stops you, and instead sinks to his knees in front of you. 
“I–” you begin, unsure of what to do.
“I want you to watch,” the General whispers, looking up at you in the same way an acolyte may look up at a temple. “I want you to see me.”
Slowly, cautiously, as if he’s afraid of spooking you, he guides your legs open until you’re splayed out in front of him. You would be embarrassed, but for the hungry look in his eyes, how his chest seems to heave in anticipation, and the way his tongue darts out to lick his lips as if he’s about to enjoy a feast.
When he leans forward, his mouth moving toward you, you gasp and stiffen, and he pauses.
“Trust me,” he soothes. “It will feel good, I promise.”
You swallow thickly and relax again, watching as Marcus comes even closer, until he’s able to press a kiss right on–
“Oh,” you whimper softly. 
Emboldened, he angles his mouth against you and licks. The sensation of his tongue through your folds causes you to collapse backwards on your elbows, your head falling back and your eyes closing as you gasp toward the ceiling. 
“Watch,” Marcus reminds you. 
With you half-sprawled on the bed, your legs fall open even further and his hands wind underneath your hips as he pulls you even closer onto his mouth. His tongue, his lips… oh, it’s so decadent; you’ve never felt pleasure like this by your own hand. He thrusts his tongue into you, and you can only whine and babble wordlessly, your eyes wide as you dutifully watch him please you. He alternates between these deep, overwhelming strokes of his tongue and little licks right on the little bundle of nerves above, back and forth, back and forth until your entire body shakes. 
“Exquisite,” Marcus rasps, his voice rough with exertion and pleasure. His lips close around you and he sucks gently, and the fire within you burns until it reaches a crescendo, until finally, you fall.
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“Bellatora.” The endearment is laden with affection, and when you slowly blink your eyes open, the General is smiling down at you. “Are you with me, mi bellatora?”
You giggle. “I think so.”
He must have disrobed while your eyes were closed; you stare at his slightly golden chest, at the light dusting of hair and freckles, and further down, where–
Oh, Gods. 
Marcus hangs thick, heavy, and proud, and you swallow in trepidation at the thought of all of that inside you.
“Don't look at that; look at me.” The words are soothing, but tinged with humor, and you can see the mirth sparkling in his eyes when you do as he asks and look at him.
“Let us just lie down together,” he says, smiling. “Nothing more.”
You scoot up until your head rests against the pillows, and Marcus crawls over you with a smirk, pressing little kisses up your body as he goes, until he lies down beside you and pulls you into his arms.
With your back against his chest, you can't exactly forget about the hard length of him, as it's currently pressing insistently against you. You wiggle, arching your back and trying to soothe the empty ache that still seems to reside within you. 
“Feeling greedy, mi bellatora?” 
You whine softly and push back against him harder. His arms are wrapped around you, but somehow, it’s still not enough. You want him everywhere, you need everything. 
“What have you done to me?” you laugh softly. 
“Nothing you have not also done to me,” Marcus murmurs, nipping your shoulder playfully. 
“I have done nothing,” you say airily, leaning further back into his embrace.
“Oh, you have,” he growls. “You have invaded my quarters–”
“That is hardly my doing–”
“–and shortly after, invaded my heart,” Marcus continues, ignoring your interruption. “You have made me crave as I never have before.”
“You have made me feel the same,” you whisper. “I have never… felt anything like this before.”
“Mi bellatora,” he breathes against your skin, sending shivers up and down your spine.
“Do not be cruel.”
“Cruel?”
“You are denying me.”
At your playful accusation, Marcus suddenly shifts, rising up from beside you and pinning you to the bed with his body. “And it is taking the effort of every bone in my body, more challenging than all twelve labors of Hercules.”
“Then stop,” you tell him softly, reaching up to palm his cheek. “Stop denying us what we both want.”
Rather than answer, the General lowers his mouth to yours. 
Kissing might be your new favorite thing–you thought the feel of Marcus’s lips was the most perfect thing you’d ever felt when he kissed you in the alleyway, but here, in his bed, with the weight of his body pressing deliciously down on you, his kisses feel even more profound. His hips roll gently against you, and you instinctively wrap one leg around his thigh to try and relieve your desire for more friction. 
The action causes Marcus to groan and bury his face in your neck, his light beard scraping against your skin. Your hips cant upward unconsciously, and the skin of his cock catches and rubs against your folds. 
With a little moan, you press against him harder, wanting more, more–
“Bellatora,” Marcus groans. He props himself on one elbow over you, spits on the other hand and rubs the wetness onto the head of his cock. He repeats the motion again, and then gently rubs the remainder onto you, making you arch back with a surprised gasp. 
“I know, I know,” he murmurs. “It’ll be easier like this.”
He lines up the thick head of him with your entrance and pushes the tip in ever so slightly. Your eyes widen as you feel him, your mouth falling open as you stare up at him in awe.
“That’s it, just look at me,” Marcus murmurs. “Just keep looking at me.”
His face is so close to yours that your breaths mingle as he slowly slides in. You expect it to hurt, but you’re so soaked from his earlier attentions that it’s almost easy for him, at first. When he’s only about halfway in, though, you start to feel unbearably full–too full–and it makes you whimper softly and squirm against him.
“Breathe for me,” Marcus reminds you. “Breathe, mi bellatora.”
In between more kisses and soft praises, he pushes forward, bit by bit, until you can feel his body fully pressing against your core.
“Oh,” you whisper, smiling shakily. “I can feel you.”
Marcus chuckles. “And I, you.”
He stays just there, unmoving, stroking your face, until you begin to squirm with impatience again.
“I don’t want to hurt you, bellatora,” he says softly. “Please, love, tell me if I do.”
You nod, wide-eyed and enraptured by the feeling of being utterly filled. With one last gently kiss to your cheekbone, Marcus carefully begins to move. His cock drags slowly back and forth against your walls, and each time he buries himself to the hilt once again, it sends sparks of pleasure all over your body.
Your exhales turn high and breathy, little whimpers and gasps escaping every time Marcus reaches the end of you. You cling to his shoulders, the back of his neck, your fingers tangling in his curls, eliciting a deep groan and a change in the rhythm of his thrusts as he gains confidence that you aren’t in any pain. 
The faster Marcus’s hips move, the more it seems to send you into a frenzy. Your legs wrap around his hips and your grip on his upper body tightens as the fire within you starts to build again. 
Your lips seek any available skin they can find, pressing open-mouthed against his jaw, his neck, his upper arm, anywhere you can reach. One of Marcus’s hands gently cups the back of your neck for leverage as he grinds against you; the other wanders up and down your body–gripping your hip, squeezing your breast and pressing his thumb against your nipple, stroking your cheek as he kisses you again and again. 
His kisses become more and more messy and frenetic as he loses himself in the pleasure of your body. He pants softly, his voice catching on every exhale, quiet little noises deep in his throat that only you can hear. 
Your bodies move seamlessly together, aided by the light sheen of sweat that beads on your skin. Marcus hand slips in between you, his fingers finding the little bundle of nerves and gently rubbing circles into the skin there.
“Oh, I–I–” you whimper brokenly, drunk on the sensations of pleasure that he’s pulling from your body. “M-Ma–” 
“Say it,” he rasps in your ear. “Please, bellatora.”
“Marcus,” you manage to gasp. 
“Again.”
“M-Marcus, Marcus, oh Gods, I–” 
Your body arches off the bed as the strongest wave of pleasure you’ve ever felt courses through you. You convulse against him, hands scrabbling for a hold on his broad shoulders, gripping him for dear life as though he is the only thing keeping you from being pulled under by the waves. 
Your cries reach a crescendo and Marcus gives you everything–his hips snapping roughly against you as your core continues to flutter weakly. Finally, when your body feels boneless and the fullness of him begins to ache, his thrusts falter and he finally stills, his cock twitching inside of you as he finishes. 
He slips out, frowning slightly with concern when you wince, but continues to hover over you, his eyes sweeping over your face as your breathing slows and your heart quietens. He stays there, stroking your hair and kissing you until his shoulders start to shake with the effort of holding himself over you. 
You fall asleep tangled together, safe and warm in Marcus’s arms.
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[Several moons later]
“Must we really go?” you wheedle as you watch the General fiddle with the clasp on his ceremonial robes.
“It is the most effective way to make our little statement, bellatora.” 
You cross your arms and make a show of pouting, although you know Marcus is right. You raise your arms, which are currently holding half of an unfinished braid. “Help me with my hair?” 
Marcus sighs loudly, although you know that, like your feigned petulance, it’s also an act. He takes the braid from you and finishes it before moving to the next section, plaiting it together the way he knows you like. 
“Tell me the statement again.”
He huffs. “You just like hearing me say it.”
“Yes.”
“An act against one of us is an act against both of us,” he murmurs dutifully. “And tantamount to an act of war, to be met with a swift and disproportionate response.”
“You always say that–‘disproportionate response.’ I do not understand what you mean by it.”
“Mmm. An opposing force sends one arrow into my army, I send one back. Proportionate response. Someone sends an arrow into my army, and I reign fire from the sky, burn every building to the ground, kill every citizen and remove them from every map. Disproportionate response.” Marcus finishes your hair and gently drapes the long braid over your shoulder.
“If ever you ask why I was scared of you when first we met, I will refer to you to that statement,” you say wryly. 
“You did ask, mi bellatora.” He picks up a belt and scabbard–similar to his, but smaller, more delicate, and ornate. He fastens it around your waist, cinching your dress and making you feel not only more alluring, but powerful. 
You do a little twirl and turn to him. “Do I look like the consort of an esteemed General?”
Marcus leans in and gently captures your lips with his. “You look like so much more. Now let us go into this den of wolves.”
With your head held high, you walk proudly through the halls at the General’s side, your hand tucked neatly against the crook of his elbow, until you reach the banquet hall, where the Emperor is holding a great feast. In your wildest imagination, you cannot think of a single place you want to avoid more, but you hold Marcus’s earlier promise in your mind as the heads turn to look at your entrance.
This is the last time.
The Emperor, surrounded by his entourage, raises his glass with a shout and a laugh as he sees the two of you. “The good General,” he grins wolfishly. 
“Taking his little plaything out for a walk,” one of the other men sneer. 
“Letting his little pet out of its cage,” adds another, snickering. 
Calmly, you unsheath the beautiful, ceremonial dagger that Marcus had given you as a gift and hold it at your side, just as he’d told you. A powerful warrior does not brandish their weapon or wave it under people’s noses, he had said. A powerful warrior does not need to. They simply remind their enemies that the weapon is there.
“You disrespect me,” you say, keeping your face even and your eyes stern. “And you disrespect my husband.”
Silence falls around the room. The Emperor’s men look at each other, to Marcus, and back to you again, unsure of how to respond. Finally, one of them laughs loudly.
“General Acacius is going soft,” he cackles. “Letting his little toy play pretend that she’s the wife of a noble.”
You fight to keep your expression free of malice or hurt, continuing to face them down calmly, your sword resting at your side. 
“Your gift to the General was far more valuable than you knew,” you say evenly, speaking only to the Emperor. “My family’s debt is paid in full, and I am therefore free to leave the palace at my leisure.”
The Emperor of Rome stares at you with befuddlement, his eyes wide, seemingly completely at a loss for words.
“We take our leave,” you announce with a flourish of a bow. 
“Leave?” The man sputters. “You are my finest General, you cannot–”
“I have given the Empire more than my fair share of years in service,” Marcus says quietly, standing resolutely next to you and placing his hand around your waist. “I find I have seen all I care to see of war, and the rest of my days will be filled with peace.”
Marcus turns to the other generals, who are all watching the confrontation with the Emperor. Without speaking, they draw their swords and hold them aloft in a silent salute to your husband–who solemnly returns the gesture. As you are still holding your dagger, you copy the gesture. This seems to please both him and the other Generals, who all smile. 
Marcus turns to you, beaming with affection and pride. “Let’s go home, bellatora.”
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Epilogue
In a small hamlet south of the big city, a villa sits on a small hill overlooking the Tyrrhenian Sea. 
There is a rumor among some of the residents of the town that the man who lives there used to be a General in the Emperor’s army, but most of the inhabitants agree that this is a ridiculous notion. 
He’s too soft-spoken, you see; his gentle demeanor is unlike that of a soldier. He often likes to sit with his wife and watch the color of the sea change as the sun rises in the morning, savoring the moment of peace before his children wake up. 
There are five of them now–with a sixth on the way. His wife jokes that should she find herself with child for the seventh time, she’s going to feed the man’s privates to their goats. 
Their life is modest, but by all accounts of those who witness it, they are blissfully happy. Their home always seems to be filled with joy, laughter, and no small amount of chaos that always follows young children. They maintain a small farm, raise goats and chickens, and they sell their extra eggs and vegetables at the market every week, accompanied by their five children, who are helpful… to varying degrees.  
Sometimes, late at night, the odd passer-by will see the silhouette of a couple standing on the cliffs overlooking the sea, wrapped in a tender embrace.
They have few visitors, but those who have been inside their villa have noted that two swords are mounted above the front door. One is large, utilitarian, but expertly crafted–with signs of wear that might indicate it has seen more conflict than most. The other is small and elegant, the hilt decorated with precious stones. 
No one has ever dared to ask about them.
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thugbiscuits · 10 days ago
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october fic rec list 18+ ONLY MDNI
please note: none of these fan fictions were written by me. when you read please make sure to like, comment, and reblog. IT MAKES ALL THE DIFFERENCE. (also go check out their blogs because they have way more delicious writing that you’re looking for 👀)
HEHEHEEHEE thank you for keeping up w/ my monthly recs, honestly. it’s so cool to see writers get recognized for their creative skills and to meet likeminded people on this app ! i love it here sometimes. anyways, enjoy this beautiful spread of fics. love you all MWAH. ageless blogs / minors get blocked
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logan howlett fics
➺ swallow (oldman!logan howlett x reader, smut) @strangererotica
➺ hurricane (series, ex bf!logan howlett x reader, smut) @bpmiranda
➺ young rich & in love (dbf!logan howlett x reader, smut) @prettycoolgirl
➺ swipe right, bub (mutant!logan howlett x human!reader, fluff) @shybluebirdninja
➺ big bad wolf (logan howlett x fem!reader, smut) @not-neverland06
➺ verona (boyfriend!logan howlett x reader, fluff) @lanadelreyscokewhor3
➺ size difference (logan howlett x reader, smut) @l0vergirlsw0rld
➺ nameless as a river undiscovered underground (logan howlett x reader, smut) @moonlight-prose
➺ fuck or nothing (logan howlett x reader, smut) @adelliet
➺ be nice! (logan howlett x reader x wade wilson, smut) @hotgirlslovecyclops
➺ like animals (logan howlett x mutant!reader, smut) @areyouwell
➺ logan taking care of drunk reader (fluff) @mcrdvcks
➺ baby fever (logan howlett x reader, smut) @silverskyeline
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wade wilson (deadpool) fics
➺ his favorite slut (mean!wade wilson x reader, smut) @softfem-dom
➺ dialed in (deadpool x reader, smut) @tteotlma
➺ involuted (wade wilson x reader, smut) @inklore
➺ blowout (wade wilson x fem!reader, smut) @baka-bakeneko
➺ deadpool as your boyfriend headcanons (deadpool x reader, fluff/smutty) @titaswrld
➺ knee deep in the passengers seat (deadpool x reader, smut) @runawrites-blog
➺ high sex w/ Wade (wade wilson x reader, smut) @lillian-gallows
➺ kinktober #21 (gunplay) (wade wilson x reader, smut) @avocado-writing
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bucky barnes fics
➺ fri(end)s (bucky barnes x fem!reader, smut) @buckymorelikefuckme
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joel miller fics
➺ maple hazel (joel miller x reader, fluff) @razrbladekiss
➺ seeing pink (joel miller x reader, smut) @gutsby
➺ a burning desire (series, firefighter!joel miller x reader) @honeyedmiller
➺ bdsmaid (series, joel miller x reader, smut) @mountainsandmayhem
➺ howl-o-ween (joel miller x reader, smut) @covetyou
➺ harder (joel miller x f!reader, smut) @toxicanonymity
➺ sweet cherry (joel miller x f!reader, smut) @aurorawritestoescape
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santiago ‘pope’ garcia fics
➺ think about it (pope garcia x reader, smut) @fettuccin-e
➺ when you move, i move (santiago garcia x reader, smut) @noisynaia
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cooper adams fics
➺ pretty little princess (cooper adams x reader, smut) @steph-speaks
➺ stockholm syndrome fic (cooper adams x reader, read tags!) @thebutchersbitch
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dividers by @/saradika-graphics <3 header by me!
lovey’s note: what do you guys think of the header i made fr? 😭 cause i tried to make her cute ! also please check out all the series on here, im HOOKED seriously
259 notes · View notes
tatterings · 7 months ago
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Lamentable is the Autumn Picker Content with Plums - Chapter 11 - A Fertile Flower of Hope
AO3 LINK HERE
Pairing: Astarion/Halsin
Rating: Explicit for the full work, this chapter is E for everyone.
Tags/warnings: Mention of sexual slavery.
Word count: 8,000 (this chapter)
Header art by @solmesia.
Work below the cut as well!
As the door opened, a slender hand thrust into the room, accompanied soon after by a loud thunk onto the floor below - Astarion's drowcraft armor. The door opened wider, creaking on its iron hinges, permitting the entrance of Jaheira. She was an imposing force, a hero of Baldur’s Gate, and though Astarion was not one for hero worship (besides, perhaps, Drizzt Do’Urden), her sheer presence oozed ‘respect me’; even when she barged in rooms essentially unannounced.
The vampire slipped from Halsin’s arms and turned to face the High Harper, taking a moment to compose the sheepish expression he would hate for her to see. Though Jaheira was no young woman anymore, her vision was as sharp as a panther’s prowling on a hunt. When Astarion met her eyes, Jahiera's expression was mixed. Her silver eyebrow arched in suspicion but also playfulness, and her wrinkled hands were perched on her hips.
 "When you both caused a scene a bit ago, this popped out of thin air, right onto the war table. I suppose it is yours?" She said in her thick accent, gesturing with a wave towards the armor. "Plenty of poisons and daggers. Astarion, you may be a  man after my own heart," she said, chuckling to herself.
"That would indeed be mine," Astarion said, crossing his arms with a huff, feigning dissatisfaction in the high Harper's approval of his well-stocked weaponry he kept close at hand. "But rather rude of you to insist was our fault for causing the scene."
Jaheira merely smirked and shrugged, "It is all the same. Regardless, you may resume your…activities" her words trailed off as she waved her hand and waggled her fingers in their direction, before turning on her heel and closing the door. Astarion turned to face Halsin, the tips of his ears flushed, and both the men laughed quietly to themselves over the silliness of the intrusion, the shattering of the tension which had their nerves tied in knots after their run-in with Raphael.
Astarion huffed a sigh and picked up the armor gingerly to don it. He patted about his bracers and the chest piece, verifying all his hidden daggers were still there. Gods bless the Drow for making armor with so many wonderful hiding spots for knives and poisons and other handy little accouterments that never failed to give him the upper hand in battle. He felt better with his armor on. No one needed to see the carvings on his back, to perceive him laid bare, exposed. To know about any poems or curses, or how he wanted to feel the wide, hot press of Halsin's hand across his back.
He cleared his throat softly, looking up at the druid, whose expression was one so full of... something. Tenderness perhaps? Curiosity? Either way, the soft way that he gazed at Astarion was almost unsettling.
"Well. Shall we.. get on with it? Do whatever needs to be done to help the boy?" Astarion asked, tilting his head as he spoke, studying the large man beside him. No need to dwell on the outburst nor Raphael nor infernal carvings. There was work to be done, and bastards to hurt. He was in a vindictive mood, feeling as though he had been flayed by the cambion for the world to see.
Halsin nodded somberly, and opened the door, gesturing to Astarion to go forward first. Astarion appreciated that the druid rarely questioned him when he wanted to move on to another topic.
***
The day had been full already, between Raphael’s appearance and his brief respite in Halsin’s’s arms, and yet it was only mid-afternoon. But mid-afternoon in these cursed lands was just as dark as a starless midnight. The Selunite priestess Isobel had provided a blessing to them earlier, barring the need to carry a moon lantern or torches to navigate the endless shadows. Still, Astarion wished he'd brought one all the same. Not that he was unnerved by the dark, since darkened alleyways and dimly lit taverns were his only companions for 200 years. And this magical darkness, though it was much heavier than a moonless night, opaque and unseeable, even with his darkvision - wasn't as unnerving as the concept of Halsin truly comprehending, perceiving those scars that lay underneath the circular keloid-scarring on his back.
They were close to where Halsin had last seen flowers in the shadow lands, and although the curse seemed lighter here somehow, shadows still lurked in the edges of the vision. Different shadows lurked in the periphery of Astarion's mind. His mind replayed on a loop the memories of Halsin’s tenderness and care in their… intimacy - Astarion hesitated to call it lovemaking - and the druid’s protectiveness when he had been stripped bare by Raphael. Both times was as though Halsin had held a torch to the scarred, dark insides of Astarion. While it had brought him warmth and comfort at the time, recalling the inescapable vulnerability of the moments they shared made his muscles tense and his stomach coil tightly. Astarion longed for a torch for the simple fact that he would prefer something to hold and grip onto, without cutting crescent moons into the palms of his hands as he clenched them into fists.
Halsin now was fully aware of all his scars, now that he had seen the physical ones. The ever-observant druid had already detected, as if he could smell them, the deeper and arguably more inescapable ones in his mind that he himself hated to acknowledge. It nagged at the back of Astarion's mind, lingering like a headache that throbbed despite all the herbs and potions one could take. Would Halsin still want him, once his own problems are resolved, and the scars of the shadows are lifted from this land and the druid’s deliciously strong-beating heart? Would he still want to deal with Astarion's scars - no, his wounds, for they still hurt him on a level far beyond his skin - after completing his 100-year quest to cleanse the shadows?
Astarion was skeptical that the answer could possibly even be "yes". If it was, Halsin was the most noble of the biggest fools. The vampire was lost deep within his thoughts when the sound of a child's laughter ripped him from the fog of emotions. Although, as Astarion heard it again echoing in the distance, he realized it was almost like a child's laughter. It had something deeper in it, a mixture of the sharp grating of steel on steel and the wail of a rabbit being crushed by a predator’s jaws. But it was still a laugh, and it seemed to echo around them. Only after swiveling on his heel, dagger in hand to survey his surroundings did he notice a small tiefling boy, whose head popped up over the windowsill inside a decrepit house.
Astarion hadn't even noticed the house, so lost he had been in his thoughts, his eyes cast low watching the ground beneath him. But the dilapidated house was rather large for the area, despite falling apart. The only life, if it was truly alive, was the boy peeking out at them from the paneless window. The vampire drew up beside Halsin, who had frozen in his tracks, and nudged the druid slightly.
Halsin had seen the blonde-haired boy long before Astarion had. He was staring at him, his thick bushy brows furrowed deeply as if in discernment. His lips were pursed, the lines on either side of his mouth etched deeply with concern.
"That’s him. Like an echo of Thaniel, remolded by the curse," he said, his voice wavering slightly as he spoke. “We need him, if we’re to put a stop to all of this." His words were under his breath, unintelligible by the boy, who emerged from the doorway of the ruined shack.
Astarion couldn’t hide his shock, his scrunched nose and narrowed eyes once he got a better look at the boy. Though still a child, he had been twisted by the curse, from the tips of his curling horns to the blackened and gnarled claws at his toes. It was so tragic that Astarion nearly laughed. A child. A picture of innocence. There was no justice in this world, truly.
"Thaniel?" Astarion asked, looking mostly at Halsin, but jerking his head of silver curls towards the boy. He slipped the dagger back into his drowcraft bracer. Sadly, not all problems can be cured through stabbing, he was learning.
"My name is Oliver. Not Thaniel," pouted the boy, crossing his arms and stamping one foot. Either dust or shadow spiraled into the air with the motion - Astarion wasn't sure which. It unnerved him, as the motes swirled around the boy’s body.
"Okay, Oliver," said Halsin, crouching as he stepped closer, his palms low to the ground and open - as someone would approach a fearful dog in an alleyway. "I am Halsin. I'm a friend of Thaniel's, and I think Thaniel was your friend too. Would you like to see him again? Play with him again?" Astarion's ears perked up at the slight crack to Halsin's voice as he questioned the boy. His soft, warm voice had an uneasy edge to it. An undercurrent of pleading, begging, that was so unusual for the typically stoic druid.
The boy growled and balled his little hands into fists at his side, shadows swirling behind him. Astarion eyed him down the bridge of his nose as he looked on. Could spirits be manifest by his very will alone?
“No!," Oliver shouted, stamping his foot into the ashes again, "Why should I go back to him? He abandoned me! But here... I’ve made a family, and I can play all the time! Just leave me alone." His words were a jumble, so fast in his squeaky voice, echoed by a deep monstrous growl that seemed to come from the shadows behind him.
"What a temper this little brat has," Astarion muttered to himself, sneering at the child. He was dirty, looked full of mange, and frankly too far gone to help. He was thankful Halsin didn't hear him - or didn't act like he did, anyway, and that Halsin knew how to handle delicate situations and people with smokepowder bombs for hearts. The boy paid Astarion no mind, and glared daggers at the druid who inched ever closer. Halsin had drawn so very close to the boy, within an arm's length. He kneeled and leaned onto one knee to remain at eye-level with the child. 
"Oliver, nobody is making you leave. This is your home. But it is dark, empty… lonely," Halsin's voice dropped an octave lower at the last word, and if Astarion wasn't mistaken, nearly seemed to break with emotion. The druid cleared his throat, and continued. "I know your pain, I truly do. Thaniel is my friend also. I played with him, and he was ripped away from me, same as for you." 
The boy seemed intent on Halsin's words, his eyes' eerie glow flickering with emotion. It was a stark contrast against his pale skin as the boy’s face contorted in multiple different ways over the next few moments. He seemed hurt, then confused, if the vampire were any judge of body language, and the cloud of thick tension settled between them all seemed to lighten. Astarion was agog at how Halsin knew exactly what to say in what moment. It was inarguably impressive. The boy remained silent, watching Halsin like the cornered dog, unsure if the hand reaching out towards it would feed it or beat it. "But you need not be alone any longer," Halsin said, continuing with the same tender tone, a soft smile causing the corners of his eyes to crinkle, "You need not invent friends. Thaniel is back, and is real. He is waiting for you."
Astarion stood silently, watching the boy. Waiting for his decision. He heard sniffles and little whimpers coming from the boy before Oliver finally peered up at Halsin, his glowing eyes brimmed with tears… and the faintest of smiles on his face.
"Fine, I’ll do it. it might be nice to be with him again," Oliver said, still with a hint of a pout. But now, his words lacked the echoed edge of the shadows. In fact, the whole boy lacked shadows overall, and had begun to glow a soft golden-green. And had also begun to levitate. His ruby eyes darted between the boy and Halsin, unsure of what to make of the scene, until Oliver disappeared in a dazzle of gold.
When Halsin turned to face Astarion, his smile was so bright, that the pale elf felt his expression alone might radiate enough joy to banish the shadow curse. The vampire tried to compose his face, to twist it from an expression of being completely perplexed, into one more neutral. Either way, Halsin didn't seem to notice; he was too busy nearly launching himself at Astarion. Both his large hands gripped onto the vampire's arms, gripping them firmly, giving them a little squeeze. Astarion couldn't help but grin back at the druid, whose smile was, quite frankly, contagious.
His grin was interrupted by the press of Halsin’s lips against his, and the pull of his body to Halsin’s bulk. Astarion kissed back tentatively, a bit confused but pleased nonetheless to be a recipient of Halsin’s affection despite the druid being so preoccupied by Thaniel and this boy recently. After a few exchanged breaths and gentle nibbles to Halsin’s lower lip, the druid pulled away and beamed down at Astarion.
"It's done at last," Halsin said, his voice ebullient with joy, "Soon the land will be unshrouded. With the oak father’s blessing, the shadow curse may soon be no more. Come, let us check on Thaniel and see how he fares." 
Astarion was pulled into another bear hug, his face pressed to the cool leather of Halsin’s armor. He couldn't nod or shake his head in agreement or disapproval, with how tight of a hug Halsin had pulled him into. He was thankful that the thick muscle of the druid's chest and his armor obscured his lopsided grin.
******
Halsin was disappointed, but not surprised, that restoring Oliver and Thaniel together did not result in an immediate end to the Shadowcurse. Rarely in nature were things so easy to rectify; balance was something that was not easily attained, nor easily broken, nor easily restored.
As Thaniel had stirred, he had described to Halsin and the rest of the party how an anchor still held the shadows in place. Most of their excitement had faded when he revealed that the anchor itself was Ketheric Thorm. Nothing good comes easily, indeed, Halsin thought to himself bitterly. Even getting honey requires the risk of a few bee stings. 
Still, he couldn't help but argue with the insistence of their group - starting with Karlach, echoed by Wyll and Gale, and later agreed to by Lae'zel and Shadowheart, that they should take the evening to celebrate Thaniel's recovery and the opportunity that is so tantalizingly close. Astarion, always one for luxury, had also immediately echoed the sentiment of deserving of a little treat.
Halsin couldn't disappoint the party with his nagging concerns; in the realm of shadows and fight against evil, every little victory should indeed be appreciated and celebrated. He'd offered to speak to Jaheira to get the Last Light Inn properly prepared for the celebration, and had left prior to any of the other adventurers. It was only a half-lie, because it would be prudent to inform the Harpers and others to expect their ragtag crew of adventurers. Being the bearer of good news was also always welcome, and he was sure that the Harpers would appreciate having a morale boost. But mostly, Halsin suspected that Jaheira could provide aid for some additional tasks he wanted to complete; he would also need solitude to do so.
***** Halsin's head jerked towards the entrance of the Inn as he heard jubilant chatter echo from outside. Karlach had arrived, he presumed, and was proven correct when she rushed into the inn with a cry of "Cold ale for all!", arm linked with Shadowheart. She had her tail wrapped around the wrist of a sheepish, blushing Wyll behind her. Lae'zel followed the three with an expression less severe and uninterested than typical. After her strode in Gale with his typical good-natured cheer, waving to Jaheira and the others. Astarion took up the rear, ending the party's entrance with less boisterousness and more subtlety. The adventurers had gotten the camp tidied up before joining Halsin; after several rounds of ale at the Inn, and a likely hangover, they wouldn't want to deal with it later, that was for certain.
Halsin had plenty of time for both of his side-tasks before nestling into the corner of the inn that appeared much like a library. One of his side-tasks had included acquiring a book regarding infernal pacts. Jaheira and her Harpers were clever and studious, and an old dusty book on just that topic was available for the druid to borrow. He hadn't intended to make a fuss of looking into the topic, but the choice was taken from him as soon as he felt Astarion lean over the armchair in which he had settled. The vampire's cool breath lingered on his cheek, and Halsin tilted his head gently to press his forehead against Astarion’s jaw. A slender finger came down on the tome and slowly slid across the lines as, Halsin assumed, Astarion read over his shoulder.
A scoff from the vampire ruffled his stray hairs, making them fall into his face.  "Halsin, you’re not reading that on my behalf are you, darling?" Astarion said, nearly spitting his words as he’d shot upright after skimming only a few sentences. He placed his hand on his hip and sauntered over to sit in the unoccupied armchair beside Halsin, separated only by a tiny round table on which he placed a glass of wine. He arched an eyebrow at the druid, studying him down his nose. 
Halsin shot him a crooked grin, shrugging his broad shoulders at the question. "No matter how long I live, I will always strive to remain a keen pupil. Only a fool would think he could absorb all knowledge of the world. There is always more, infinitely complex," he spoke with his hands, gesturing towards both the book and Astarion for his next words. "Additionally, it behooves us to prepare for the challenges ahead. Both yours and Wyll’s… Infernal dealings are one subject of which I have not studied deeply,” he admitted with another shrug. He had spent too much time trying to rectify his mistakes with the Shadowcurse to fuss with fiends in the hells below. 
And he currently wanted to spend his time on a more worthwhile pursuit - chatting to Astarion. Halsin's fingers slid up the edge of the book and folded the page in half to mark his place. His hand jerked away as a small droplet of red wine landed on the page.
Astarion had sputtered in his wine cup and tried not to choke. Halsin's head tilted to the side as he watched the vampire's vexed expression. Though Astarion didn't need to breathe, this was the second time Halsin had somehow made him choke on his wine.
"Halsin, what in the hells are you doing?!" Astarion gasped, his voice shrill in shock. One slender hand was pulled to his chest, as though he were on the verge of heartbreak. "I was going to let it slip that you're insisting on doing research on my behalf, but I cannot abide by you defiling a book!" He clicked his tongue in disappointment, and reached towards the tome in Halsin's hands. The druid snapped the book shut and set it beside him on the armchair, chuckling to himself about Astarion's dismay for dog eared literature.
"Ahh a purist, are you Astarion?" he said, winking at the vampire, whose face flushed with a tinge much like the color of the wine he sipped again, glaring at Halsin over the rim of his cup. The druid just grinned wider, his crows feet deepening, and continued. "I must admit, books that show no shelf-wear are visually appealing, and the smell of new books is intoxicating…but do tomes bearing visible markings not intrigue you more than those unmarred by use?" 
Astarion lowered his wine glass a bit, narrowing his eyes to study the druid, and seemed unsure of what Halsin was trying to get at. Or, Halsin figured, perhaps still offended by the dog eared page. "But think of it, Astarion, a dog-eared book means it has been well loved. What information did it share to their reader that was so valuable? What is the story contained within, and even is the story of the book itself? Just as a person's skin bears sun spots and scars, books marked by their readers have fascinating stories to tell,” Halsin explain.
Astarion had perched on the edge of his seat, leaning heavily on the armrest with his chin in his hand. He had sat quietly during his monologue, one silver eyebrow arched up to his coiffed curls. He had even taken another sip of wine to keep his sharp tongue busy on something other than a retort, Halsin assumed. The beautiful elf was always quick with a witty remark; his intellect was something Halsin greatly admired. The vampire set his wine glass back down and brushed at his trousers, flicking away at imperceptible dust that Halsin didn't see at all.
"Well," Astarion started, his words heavy with his unmistakable pouty tone, "you always have a wise response to excuse your habits." Astarion crossed his arms, tapping his fingertips on his biceps, watching carefully as Halsin picked the book up and opened it back to the page. "Still, I knew you had plenty of faults, Halsin," he said, counting on his fingers as he spoke, "your stubbornness. Your bleeding heart. But mutilating the books?”
The shadow of a grin crossed Astarion's face; his words were heavier with tease than the threat of a tantrum. It was endearing, and it made Halsin's heart soar to see some playful banter come from the vampire, who just recently had been so distraught after the run-in with Raphael.
Halsin ached to make the playfulness last. He licked his finger agonizingly slowly, and flicked the book to the next page, dog-earing that page as well. He grinned wickedly and watched the vampire from the corner of his eye - blood was rising to his face, but clearly not out of anger. This side of Astarion - the baffled, caught-off-guard side - was delightful, and Halsin enjoyed finding it. The sound of his calloused finger on the book’s rough parchment was accompanied by an overly dramatic harrumph from the pale elf. 
"Well, did you find anything out, at least, in your tome-torture?” Astarion said, with very little venom, but his eyes glittering with curiosity. He brought his wine to his lips again and drained the glass.
It was Halsin's turn to sigh, and he snapped the book shut again, laying it flat on his lap. "Very little, unfortunately," he admitted, angling his broad body to face Astarion better. He shook his head, his auburn braids falling in front of his shoulders, whispering across his collarbone. He noticed how Astarion's eyes constantly shifted, exploring his body, his surroundings. They darted back up as Halsin continued to speak. "I wish there were more information on the topic, but devils aren’t in the habit of bestowing insight into their trickery."
Astarion scoffed again, and waved his hand as if dismissing the idea. "Of course not," he said, his eyes rolling once before settling back on Halsin's face. The vampire, too, had angled his body in the armchair and had leaned forward on the armrest, his hands dangling over the small table between them. One hand fidgeted with the empty wine glass, a long nail clicking as it flicked back and forth over the rim. The vampire had many nervous tics, small things he did when deep in thought, or when anxious. This particular moment seemed to be full more of  anxiety than his own mulling, but Halsin didn't feel it appropriate to disturb Astarion's thoughts. The vampire finally spoke again, after a moment of silence which hung heavy between them.
"I appreciate you. Looking into this, I mean," Astarion said quietly, raising his eyes to Halsin's and peering at him through pale eyelashes. "It's a cruel irony, you know. Having been given my freedom by a parasite, given hope that it might not turn me into a monster… and then to learn that my mas-... Cazador might have etched something even more nefarious into my very body. And the only way to learn more about it is to work with a literal devil." His voice was soft, low, and almost seemed to break at times. It lacked any of his ebullience or drama that he so liked to sprinkle into his speech.
Halsin sat patiently, nodding while listening, studying Astarion's expression. It pained him to see how pained Astarion was as he described his exhilaration of freedom that so soon fell to agony, then hope, then complete uncertainty. And how his former master still haunted him. Halsin frowned, his lips pursing tightly together. Of course Cazador plagued the vampire’s mind. It had only been a handful of tendays since he had broken free from his imprisonment. Halsin swallowed at the thought, choking down his own anger at the inhumane cruelty of slavery which Astarion, and many others, have had to bear.
“Though it is distasteful to deal with fiends…finding out more is an opportunity that you must pursue," Halsin replied, his kind hazel-green eyes meeting Astarion's. He reached out, slowly, and curled his hand under the vampire's, encircling it and rubbing his thumb softly over the top of Astarion's hand. He cleared his throat, steeling himself for a level of vulnerability and honesty that he had not shared with anyone in over a century. “I too have had the unfortunate experience of being at the mercy of someone else.”
'Unfortunate experience' was a misnomer, Halsin knew deep down, because merely recalling his imprisonment made his stomach lurch. And yet he had told himself it was a youthful misadventure for decades upon decades to avoid deeper reflection. Until discovering so many parallels between his past and Astarion's. His thick brows knit together as he pondered on how to explain the whole escapade. Lost in his thoughts, he was unable to see how Astarion's eyes had widened, his brows raised. Unable to realize that the pale elf's cool grip on his palm suddenly tightened, fingertips pressing firmly on his hand.
Halsin nodded a few times as he allowed himself to creep into the deep recesses of his memory. He hardly noticed how he had inhaled and held his breath to steel himself against the memories themselves until he began to speak.
"I was a foolhardy young druid at the time, intent on seeing the beauty of the Underdark's otherworldly fauna and subterranean glow for myself. The botanical illustrations truly did not do them justice, I’ll admit,” he smiled softly at Astarion, recalling one of the only positives about the journey. He cleared his throat to push down the lump he felt forming there. “In my explorations, I had wandered too close to one of the larger Drow cities and…" his voice trailed off, but his mouth was slightly open as he looked for the best way to phrase the predicament he was in for years. "I found myself in the position somewhere between a guest, a prisoner, and a consort of a noble drow house for a time. The house matron took an interest in me and the patron also. They saw me as a…novelty."
Astarion's eyes narrowed at Halsin's expression and words. "Rarely do the drow have guests, darling. Do you care to explain further?" His words were minced, as sharp as the daggers he hid in his drow-crafted armor. The air between the two was palpably heavy, as Astarion seemed to pick apart Halsin’s words with surgeon-like precision, digging deeper into the meaning behind them.
The druid's throat bobbed as he swallowed, thinking of how to phrase it most carefully. It had been a trying time, for him, as a youngster. Once in which he feared for his very life. It was perhaps the most dangerous and unpredictable few years he'd ever experienced, and yet, he realized, he'd been shoving it to the back of his mind and classifying himself as a 'guest'. He realized how his jaw had begun to ache, so intense was his frown.
"I was chained in their bedchamber for nigh on three years," Halsin explained, his eyes darting away from Astarion's briefly, before meeting again for his next words. "During that time, I did what was necessary to survive." The vampire's eyes widened, his porcelain brow cracking as his expression twisted into something like pity, if Halsin had to place the emotion. He nodded to himself as he recalled the memories, the sights of his time trapped in the stalagmite prison of the drow matron. 
"The preserved skins of surface elves hang on the walls of noble Menzoberranzan homes for display as trophies. I did not intend to add a bear skin to their collection," Halsin said, shrugging as if the weight of the memories was on his shoulders, as if they did not burden him. He liked to think they did not; they didn't affect his current day-to-day existence, so the experience must not have been too bad, he had told himself for over a century. Certainly they did not haunt him as severely as the shadow curse.
"So you were a slave," Astarion said, his expression unchanged, "used for their perverse pleasures." The pale elf sat so rigidly he could have been made of stone. With how cool his hand was, Halsin could have believed he was indeed carved out of alabaster.
"I… cannot argue against that. For two centuries I've thought of it rarely, whether that was intentional or not," Halsin said, his lips thinning in another frown. "I feared for my life and, lacking freedom, I was indeed enslaved to my masters." His voice was softer at the end, lighter, as though the wind had been knocked out of him.
The pale elf's expression softened, his brows knitting upwards in what Halsin assumed was curiosity. "However did you manage to escape Menzoberranzan? Let alone find your way from the Underdark?" Astarion asked, his voice lacking its usual teasing or sarcastic tone. He seemed genuinely intrigued, leaning towards Halsin further. He seemed enraptured by Halsin's story, unaware of how his nails pressed into Halsin's large hand. The druid didn't mind, and gently squeezed back.
"Patience, mostly. Biding my time. My moment eventually came, when some rivals of my hosts sought to unseat them. In the midst of the fighting was pure chaos, and in that moment I took my chance," Halsin looked at Astarion, his expression more severe and serious than the vampire's, for once. "I never looked back until I breathed fresh air again…and I never learned what became of my masters." His large shoulders lifted and dropped again.
Astarion hadn't seen his shrug most likely, as the vampire's eyes were downcast, darting back and forth, as though he were formulating a conversation in his head. Or perhaps simply deep in thought. Either way, Halsin sat patiently waiting for his reply. No need to rush. Nor was there awkward silence, as the background noise of clinking glasses and happy chatter filled the inn - at least most of it, save for their quieter corner. Karlach had made a bet and was armwrestling someone, Halsin overheard. As well as the unmistakable voice of Gale, so generously sharing his endless knowledge and stories. Finally, Astarion raised his head to look at Halsin.
"You had family, though. And no one.. ever came to look for you?" Astarion asked. Halsin was surprised by the humanity in his tone, his concern. He sighed softly and offered a weak half-grin for the vampire.
"The Underdark is a vast network of caverns, so it would have been almost impossible to track me. And exceedingly dangerous," he explained. It had hurt, though, the years he was down there, knowing that no one was likely coming to his rescue. The pain resurged slightly, causing Halsin's stomach to flip and his skin to become hot. He shifted in his armchair uncomfortably. "This was also well before the Grove became my family. I've long had the tendency to roam and travel, instead of settling down. So as far as anyone knew…I was simply traveling."
Astarion shook his head, as if in disbelief, his beautiful brow wrinkled in dissatisfaction. "A pity," he said, squeezing Halsin's hand before pulling his own free of the druid's grasp. "But I am glad that you escaped. And to have met you." Halsin's heart leapt at the admittance, at the slight tinge of Astarion's ears and cheeks turning red, before the vampire realized what he had said, that he had let his mask slip.
"I certainly would hate having missed the opportunity to try bear blood," Astarion said, his voice full of that false mirth. His high pitched giggle filled their little nook off the main part of the inn. He winked at the druid. Halsin chuckled to himself and grinned, shaking his head slightly. He wouldn't push the matter further; Astarion's deflection queued the end of the conversation.
Or that topic, at least.
**************
Astarion was still stunned at Halsin's revelation of his sexual slavery; and appreciative that the druid knew when to keep quiet and leave him to his pensive moods. He struggled with the idea of Halsin under the thrall of anyone, let alone a diminutive Drow matron. As soon as Halsin shared his experience, Astarion's mind had run amok, conjuring the image of the large druid bound and tethered against his will… it made a knot tangle in his stomach. Astarion disliked both the knot and the fact that it had formed so quickly. Loathed how quickly his mind could so easily launch into a thousand scenarios of bound hands, sharp knives, and blood-stained floors. He hadn't realized he'd been staring into the distance for quite some time until Halsin spoke his name, and he had to blink rapidly to get his vision to refocus.
"Astarion, are you alright?" Halsin asked, tapping his forearm lightly with his thick fingers, resting his heavy hand on Astarion's delicate wrist.
As though by instinct, Astarion's other hand flipped in the air, as if batting away Halsin's concerns. "Of course, darling. Just the wine you know," he lied. Wine tasted of vinegar to him, and largely left him unaffected by intoxicating effects. "Although everyone else is rather…exuberant." 
Karlach was a doll, but gods could she be loud. Lae'zel of course, besides her blasted sword sharpening, wasn't obnoxious. Gale being endlessly verbose coincided with Wyll's chatterbox nature. Only Shadowheart knew when to keep her mouth shut, besides Halsin. The inn was full to bursting with songs and laughter.
It was rather annoying, and made brooding even more difficult. Yes, of course, they'd rescued the boy, there was hope for a cure of the tadpole… for the others, at least. Astarion's jaw clenched thinking of what could happen if the tadpole was removed. Would Cazador so quickly take power back over him? He had to get answers about those wretched scars before that could happen.
His thoughts were interrupted - again - by Halsin, this time by a gentle squeeze. "Would you like to go somewhere quieter, Astarion?" Halsin asked, his voice as gentle and reassuring as it had always been.
Ah, quieter, of course, Astarion thought to himself.
Halsin's expression darkened slightly and he shook his head. "Seduction is not my intention this evening, Astarion. Truly, I thought that you might appreciate someplace different to rest for the evening other than a camp bedroll."
Astarion hadn't realized his expression had changed enough for Halsin to notice. The vampire tried to reset his face to neutral; that mask of seduction melted like snow from sun-warmed stone. Old habits, dying hard, etcetera etcetera. He would like to have some place to repose in peace, though he enjoyed wanton parties as much as any good deviant. Still, some place better than his threadbare blanket - not to mention sharing more time with Halsin, was an opportunity Astarion couldn't pass.
He nodded and stood, stretching his arms overhead as he unfolded himself from the armchair. Halsin offered his arm Astarion's way, and nodded his head toward the room to which they'd retreated after Raphael's literal dressing-down. 
"Such a gentleman," Astarion purred as he slipped his hand into the crook of Halsin's arm. He couldn't resist gripping the druid's thick forearm muscle in a squeeze before relaxing his hand. Halsin's body heat, his strength… the memory of how he had been at Astarion’s request - no, the command - and so obediently followed the vampire’s lead to their mutual ecstasy… it sent a shiver down Astarion's spine, causing the hairs on the back of his neck to raise.
Halsin seemed not to notice as he waved a 'goodnight' to the rest of their companions, leading Astarion to the room he must have reserved when he had come earlier to Last Light, prior to anyone else's arrival. Though it was the same one they'd been in just a bit earlier, Astarion felt as though he were seeing it for the first time. Perhaps that truly was the case; he had been in distress the first time they'd been here after all, and sight-seeing hadn't been his priority. He raised his chin, surveying the room with curiosity and pleasure. Two clicks behind him signaled that Halsin had closed and locked the door.
"Well now, this is more like it! It’s quite a fine guest suite after all, even in the middle of a wasteland," Astarion chirped, loosening his hand's tether to Halsin and roaming about the room. He appreciated the thick fur and hide rugs that cushioned his footsteps as he took measure of his surroundings. His fingertips danced on fine antique wooden furniture - possibly as old as he was - that was clean and aged with a nice finish. A sideboard was laden heavily with candles, all lit and making the room smell faintly of honey. The side tables of the room also had candles, as well as a carafe of water and two goblets. The bed seemed plush enough, with pillows both decorative and functional at its head.
Astarion chose to settle himself at the head of the bed, kicking his boots off onto the floor, and shrugging off his armor. "So darling, what possessed you to reserve this room, hmm, if not for more of what we enjoyed the other night?" he asked, one slender eyebrow arched. Atop the copious pillows, Astarion reclined in the easy manner he had practiced over centuries.
Halsin's genial chuckle brought warmth to Astarion's cold chest as he settled beside the vampire, slipping off his own sandals and sitting cross-legged on the bed. "I've no ulterior motives, Astarion, and have been fully transparent with you," he said, his tone and grin as affable as always. "I thought it may be a fitting way to show my appreciation for you, and all you've done for me. For Thaniel. For the good of this land and the nature within it." He leaned forward and placed his large palm on Astarion's thigh, and raised one of the pale elf’s hands to his lips. Halsin pressed a gentle kiss atop his fingers, then settled his hand back down.
A shiver ran down his back again, and Astarion wiggled his shoulders further into the goose down pillows to will it away. "That's… very kind of you, Halsin," Astarion offered, brows rising in surprise, a slight flush growing at his cheeks. "It is rather nice to lie on an actual bed instead of the ground. I'd dare say we deserve a bit of comfort after all of our efforts."
The crow's feet at Halsin's eyes crinkled with his grin. "I thought you might. Comfort doesn't come naturally for me," he said, his voice a bit lower, softer. His hand traced along the surface of the soft linen quilt below him. "I am restless, and roaming. Comfort is for the farm animal, snug in its pen. I live for the wilderness." A large shrug of his shoulders blocked the candlelight from his side of the bed, then revealed it again, outlining the druid in an orangey golden halo.
Astarion couldn't resist snickering and rolling his eyes. "Oh I'm well aware darling; if you had it your way, we'd be lying naked in a field somewhere, gazing at the stars." He gestured with his hand at the ceiling, though he could only keep his eyes on the druid. How handsome he was, how striking. How full of delicious depth. His soft nature despite his inner beast. His wrinkles from age and experience. His hand on Astarion's thigh, calloused from hard work. He indeed was not made for creature comforts.
Halsin grinned and inclined his head towards Astarion, leaning in close and peering at the vampire through his dark eyelashes. "You read my mind, Astarion. But I thought of an adequate compromise for each of our comforts," he explained. Astarion's head tilted as he studied Halsin's face. "Could you humor me, dearheart, and close your eyes?"
Astarion's eyes narrowed. "Oh? Do you have some sort of lewd trick coming my way?"
"Not at all, Astarion. Just a surprise, on my honor." He squeezed the vampire's thigh softly and rose to stand beside the bed.
Astarion harrumphed and crossed his arms, wiggling further onto the pillows and crossing his long slender legs. "If you insist," he drawled, tapping his fingertips on his arms. "I do hate surprises. But I suppose I can grant that much at least." He closed his eyes and the fine linens, the candlelight, the large druid, all disappeared behind his eyelids. His sensitive hearing picked up the soft padding of Halsin's feet along the floorboards and rugs. 
For once, Astarion didn't want to break the silence with his own voice, for that would prevent him from picking up hints of what the surprise was based on the small sounds of Halsin's movements. The sound of blowing; he was snuffing the candles. The click of the lock on the door. And, oddly, the soft hum of a spell of some sort being cast. It was almost painful, the ache to open his eyes and see what on earth the druid was doing. His curiosity was never sated; and yet, he ached just as badly to please Halsin by humoring his desire for this surprise, whatever it was.
He heard Halsin pacing back towards him, the soft exhale of breaths as he slid onto the bed beside Astarion. He felt the larger elf's arm slide behind his lower back, Halsin’s warm hand wrapping around his waist to pull him closer, pressing him to his side. Astarion flushed again, wriggling slightly to nestle into the crook of Halsin's arm.
"Well? Are you quite finished?" Astarion asked, his patience wearing thin, but his curiosity growing.
He felt a soundless chuckle rumble in Halsin's chest. "Thank you for your trust, dearheart," he said. Astarion noticed he didn't mention patience. "You may open your eyes now."
As soon as Astarion opened his eyes, his mouth dropped open as well. How had he not noticed? Had he been too preoccupied with the allure of an actual bed to bother to look at the ceiling? Or was it that Halsin had used some sort of druid magic to mask their presence? Astarion wasn't sure, nor could his thoughts linger on the confusion he felt as his eyes roamed the ceiling, his fangs glinting in the reflected light from above.
All along the ceiling glimmered hundreds of tiny stars; each no bigger than a gold piece. They shone like gold, too, just as the sun glinted upon coins cast into a water fountain in a Baldurian street square. They twinkled and pulsed with magic, creating a dazzling starscape above him. It  mirrored beautifully the stars in the night sky that he hadn't seen in the entire time they'd been in the Shadowcursed lands.
His mouth was dry from hanging open; Astarion licked his lips and swallowed, his hand crawling towards Halsin, grasping his tunic in wonder. He felt Halsin's warm hand lay atop his, a soothing weight grounding him despite feeling as though his head swam in the stars above. Halsin had to have prepared this when he came to the Inn earlier. And also planned the candles, the timing… the minor cantrip of 'daylight' that he must have cast on each individual star. Astarion squinted, his night vision finally adjusted to the dimmer light. Each star appeared to be wooden; they had been whittled. By hand - by Halsin.
“What…what is all this for, Halsin?" Astarion asked, his eyes fixed on the wonders above, "How long did it take you to carve…?" He felt himself being pulled closer to Halsin, their torsos pressed together, Halsin's strong arms encircling him, sending goosepimples all down his body and a warmth in his chest and belly.
He couldn’t hold back the smile that tugged at the edges of his lips as he felt the press of Halsin’s soft lips against his forehead, and how they were curled into a smile. "I've been working on it for quite some time… despite only mentioning it recently," Halsin said, his contentment warm and solid, radiating from his deep voice. "Even if we cannot admire the night sky in these lands…I wanted to lie with you under the stars and feel your skin against mine."
Astarion felt as though his heart had started beating, with how fiercely his chest tightened as he realized that though he had never even considered it, he wanted that too. He wriggled his body against Halsin's, aching to be closer. "This… is nice," he said. And he meant it.
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andkisses · 1 year ago
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♡ them as speak now (tv) | enha ♡
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ot7!enha headcanon: inspired by songs off of speak now (taylor's version)
♡ ot7 x gn!reader | wc. 1.6k ♡ genres/tropes: fluff! some make outs i dont make the rules 🤷🏻‍♀️ ♡ mentions of/warnings: none lmk if i missed anything ♡ a/n: little something for every member <3 jungwon’s first and the rest below the cut ^^ the header is so pretty purple on top fr i meant to do this when the album released by it never happened lol enjoy !! also lowercase intended <;33 ♡ masterlist ♡
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✧・゚: * jungwon - long live
it’s loud when you grab his hand, the whole room cheering. for what, jungwon has forgotten the moment he felt your fingers against his. he can barely hear you as he reads your lips: “remember this moment.” and suddenly there’s a crown on his head and on yours and then–that force he can’t ever ignore, not with you. the red string of fate tied between the two of you that pulls you together, his hand to your cheek and your lips against his. there’s no more cheering, just the sound of jungwon’s heartbeat and his thoughts. he wonders if you feel the same, if your heart feels so full it might just pop with petals and confetti everywhere, just like his. and when he opens his eyes, jungwon wipes away your happy tears as you laugh into his arms. homecoming royalty–who would have thought? he remembers when he was too shy to talk to you, now he’s ready to stand by your side for as long as possible. jungwon leans in to kiss you again, his mind clear and happy as the camera flash pops and he feels your smile against his lips, and he knows. “promise me,” he whispers against your skin. “always remember?” your arms wrap around his torso, and jungwon wraps his around your shoulders. your always, he decides, is his new favorite sound.
✧・゚: * heeseung - i can see you
messy, he knows, but not sloppy. you two shouldn’t see each other, or so they say. campus rivals gunning for the same position in clubs, the same achievements and awards and accolades. they should hate each other, is what you hear. but heeseung knows he could never, ever hate you. not even if he tried. he can’t even hate how the two of you have to act like spies, covert and not getting caught, because he likes keeping you secret. it’s selfish, really, but he can’t help it. your touch makes him dizzy, even the slightest brush of your hand against his passing in the hall sends his mind into overdrive. the things he sees in his head, what he imagines when he sees you waiting down the hall for him, drives him as he kisses you against the wall with fever. his hands at your waist, yours in his hair. heeseung knows this can’t last forever, so he’s counting the days until you can be his all the time, not just in small stolen moments. when the competition won’t matter, when what’s done is done and he can hold your hand walking to class and give you kisses goodbye. when you can slip into his dorm or he into yours, and neither of you have to worry about being seen. when there’s no more notes, because you’re finally in sync with one another. that’s what heeseung is waiting for, working for.
✧・゚: * jay - ours
it’s how, no matter how busy, the two of you always find time for each other. jay isn’t sure when you slipped the note into his lunch, but he’s happy you did. seeing your handwriting and a little smiley face and heart lifts his spirits. especially when people around him are always asking questions and throwing metaphorical rocks: “aren’t you a little too young to know what love is?” but jay does know. it’s how your hand always finds his if you’re standing beside each other. how you’ll talk to each other, debriefing each other about your days, tucked beneath the covers, nose to nose. how, when you can’t sleep, he knows to rub your back in soothing patterns. he shares riddles with you, his notes in your lunch, and patiently waits for you to text him guesses. it’s how, after a long day, you find yourselves draped over each other in a corner of the couch, savoring each other’s breathing and relishing the okay silence. he doesn’t have to talk to you, or you to him. holding each other at the end of the day, you’ve both discovered, is more than enough to recharge. with you in his lap, your head tucked against his chest and beneath his chin, jay can’t imagine anything better. this love, he decides, shines, and it's yours forever.
✧・゚: * jake - enchanted
you came to him like a light, jake remembers. some dumb college party feeling lonely because he knew no one, and everyone only talked to him in passing. then–you. a light at the far end of the room, something he was drawn to. when your eyes met, the spark of recognition filled jake–but he wasn’t sure if he’d ever met you before. then, jostled together by the crowd, he caught you before you fell, hands careful around your arms before letting go. and he remembers wondering if you felt the feeling as well. and no one warned jake about how you would be all he thought about–how his eyes would search for you everywhere, all over campus and elsewhere, because why wouldn’t he? left so wonderstruck he’s surprised he can get anything done. but then–that chance encounter in the stairwell, seeing you again, and jake swore to himself he wouldn’t let you go so easily this time. his first page, his chapter one, begins with will you go out with me? it’s followed by a coy smile and an i will. and now here, months later, as the sunlight streams in through the curtains on this early lazy morning. jake is careful not to move, you’re still asleep. the sunlight, he decides, reminds him of you. a light, full of wonderstruck. he plants a gentle kiss to the crown of your head, and smiles when the hand on his chest holds on that much tighter.
✧・゚: * sunghoon - sparks fly
pouring rain as silence falls over the two of you, and sunghoon waits with bated breath trying to determine what you’ll do next. he didn’t mean to confess like this, soaking wet and just out of arm’s reach at the end of an argument. he had been acting “weird” because he didn’t want to ruin this friendship you had–one that had gone on for so long, but then he said it. i’m so in love with you, and i have been. it feels like slow motion as he watches the raindrops hit your cheeks and you step close to him. sunghoon can’t help it, he laughs, one short hah with a smile on his face because, somehow, you’re still here. he shivers when your hands come up to comb his hair out of the way, and his hands come up to rest securely at your hips. lightning strikes somewhere else, a rumble of thunder coming your way. the harsh yellow street light illuminates your spot in the dark. your hands go around his neck, and now there’s barely a space between you.  “you’re captivating,” you whisper, before closing the gap and pressing your lips to his. you’re sweet and everything sunghoon wished for, pulling apart with a gasp to laugh again, his joy uncontained, he pulls you close, and revels in how you nuzzle into his chest. he’ll miss your touch when you aren’t with him, but he knows you’ll feel the same. and that’s captivating.
✧・゚: * sunoo - when emma falls in love
there have been other’s before you, of course. some came and went, and some stayed longer than others. now: you. the guards he built up at first would never have allowed it, letting you in like this after everyone else. but even when sunoo was unusually cold, you stayed. bit by bit, sunoo felt it. love, the ooey gooey kind that sticks to everything and changes how you see things, even color. because it isn’t just a color anymore. it’s your favorite. or the one you look best in. or the one that matches your eyes. sunoo falls, and he knows others can see it, like how stars shine in the night. and before he confesses, and after a few dates, sunoo locks himself in, paces imaginary ruts into the floor. he tries to talk himself out of it, but his heart talks him back in. he used to always look for the rain, but with you? he finds out his heart fits in the palm of your hand, and as sunoo stares up at you, his head in your lap and your fingers combing through his hair, sunoo is okay to let you keep it. something tells sunoo, this is it. his shelter, his love. and he’s oh so okay with it. he pours out his love, words after words, actions after action, kisses after kisses. yes, there have been ones before you, but sunoo will be damned before letting anyone else come after.
✧・゚: * niki - mine
people tell him all the time he should “keep his options open.” but niki knew the moment you walked into the diner he worked at, you were the one. how could you not be? now, here you were, your first official date–one that didn’t include you coming around to see him at the diner. there’s too many feelings running through his body–fear and excitement and nervousness and–god, you’re just right there. inches from him. what should he do? the lakewater laps against the shore down far in front of you two. then it happens. niki turns to ask you something, and he’s forgotten now because you’ve done the same thing and somehow between you leaning and him ducking down–a kiss. your first kiss with each other. you stare at each other, lips askew and kissing each other’s corners. but then, like magic, you close your eyes and break apart just enough to kiss again, for real this time, and now niki’s emotions feel like they’re times ten. after who knows how long–not niki, he could stay here forever–you pull away again. his eyes flutter open, and he savors the redness of your cheeks, knowing his must be just the same. he reaches out to lace his fingers between yours. “be mine?” he asks, and you laugh, a joyous sound niki promises to keep around. you kiss him again. “of course, if you’ll be mine?”
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nymphoheretic · 2 years ago
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Synopsis: What if Kyoujuro took Akaza's offer and became a demon? He trades his mortality for the immortality of demon. But for some reason, he can't get your sweet scent out of his head. It calls him like a moth to a flame. So, much that Akaza has to bring you along.
Warnings: Black coded!Reader, slight nocon(but they back off), Dubcon, Corruption, Clawing, choking, biting/marking, spitting, knotting, oral (recieving and giving), blood play, darcyphilia, somnophilia, bondage, collaring, usage of the nickname "Pet" from Akaza, pet play Master/slave, slut calling, humiliation, exhibitionism, dumbification, nipple play, sadism, double penetration, anal, spitroast, claiming, praise, degradation, and just overall roughness(mostly from Akaza). Let me know I missed anything!
Word count: 4.4k
Pairing: Demon!Rengoku x Slayer!fem!reader x Akaza
Tags: @awilddreamermain @babiefwuit @noriken @sailewhoremoon @getogasm @stygianoir@monaukah @bakugosbratx @cherryblossomsenpai @hvziers @suyacho @saetoshis @tokyometronetwork @potofstewie @sulli1361 @e-b-e
A/N: The art in the header is a paid commission by me! Done by the amazing Nightly_uwus on Insta!
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You watched in horror as Akaza’s nails grew into sharp claws as You heard Kyoujuro silently and brokenly accepted the demon’s offer. He did not want to die so young. He had so much to live for. Even at the cost of his memories, Kyoujuro wanted to live. 
You were glad that you had sent Tanjiro and Inosuke away to help the train members after you had patched the young demon slayer up. You watched as Akaza grinned as he eased his nail into the center of Kyoujuro’s forehead and began to slowly pump his blood into his body.
“Kyou...” You whispered out as tears formed in your eyes as his body began to convulse as the change started. His skin lightened from tan to an almost pale white tone, his once beautiful golden-vermillion eyes darkened until the sclera were pitch black and the gold of his irises nearly swallowed the red. 
Short red horns sprung out his forehead and you could fairly see red lines circle his wrists as red claw-like marks appeared on his face. His hair also grew longer and the red streaks spread more throughout the blond locks.
He was still a very beautiful being. Actually even more so as a demon possibly. You could feel your heart racing in your chest. You still loved him. You loved him even if he chose to forget about all your happiest memories, memories of his mother and his brother, to forget about you. But even then, you still loved him. You froze when his turned those eyes on you, his nostrils flaring. You held your sword closer to your chest, prepared to attack if necessary.
“How do you feel, Kyoujuro?” Akaza asked. The change in his new demon was only temporary. He’d need to take him to Muzan for his true form to be revealed. He grinned when Kyoujuro looked up at him with his newly changed eyes, but frowned at the confusion swimming in them. “What?” He asked before turning his head in the direction of the woman sitting teary eyed on the ground, your nichirin blade held close to your chest.
Kyoujuro scented the air again, that inoxicatingly sweet smell making his mind even more fuzzy than what it already was. It was coming from you. Why did you smell so familiar? Why did you make his heart beat so fast within his chest? Why did he want to do nothing but fill you again and again with his cock until you were a sobbing mess? “Akaza...Bring me the woman.” His voice held an air of power even if his transformation was not complete yet and it sent shivers down even Akaza’s spine.
Akaza looked taken aback. Kyoujuro was supposed to be his. He should have forgotten about his past life! He turned angry golden eyes on you but then shifted to the lightening sky behind you. ‘Shit! The sun!’ “Kyoujuro, we have to get out of here!” He grabbed Kyojuro by the wrist and tried to pull him into the shadows of the trees.
He looked over at you, a growl bubbling in his chest. “I’m not leaving without her.” Kyoujuro may still be a bit frail from the transformation, but he was not leaving without you. He needed to know why he felt so drawn to you.
Gritting his teeth, Akaza quickly ran over to you, your eyes wide as the pink-haired demon snarled down at you. “I don't know why you’re still so familiar with Kyoujuro, but he won’t leave without you.” He grabbed your sword from your hands, smacked you across the face with it to knock you out and tossed it aside before picking you up and tossing you over his shoulder. “Kyoujuro, let’s go now.”
Satisfied that he had gotten his way, he stared at the lightening sky for the last time, knowing deep down that this would be the last time he would be able to witness the sun rising over the horizon. He grit his teeth when Akaza yelled at him, he was still getting used to his new body. Flexing the muscles in his legs, he bent down to take off after Akaza when a vaguely familiar voice called out to him.
“Rengoku-san?”
He shifted his eyes over his shoulder to see a young demon slayer. He noted the hurt expression on his face. It seemed this child knew him when Kyoujuro was a human. He flashed the boy a fanged smile before the heat from the sun warmed his flesh and he made a beeline for the shadows of the forest. He needed to find a hideaway from the sun and then he would question you. He wanted to know why your scent was still so familiar to him. Why everytime he looked at you, he wanted to fuck you stupid, to fill your tiny body with his seed, to have you in his arms. Kyoujuro would have his answers soon.
Kyoujuro followed Akaza’s scent deep into the woods until he found the pink-haired demon holed up in an abandoned shack, the windows already boarded up. He scanned the small enclosure for the you and spotted you crumpled up on the floor in the middle of the building. 
He rolled his eyes at Akaza's little pout as he was glaring at you. Kyoujuro walked over to where you were and the scent of your blood hit him strongly. It both made his mouth water and his cock rock hard. Why? Why did you make him both want to rip you apart with his claws and fangs, to devour you, but also to pick you up and slam you up and down on his dick until you were sobbing with pleasure. 
Akaza watched as Kyoujuro stared down at the woman. The longer he looked at you, the more angry and frustrated he became. Kyoujuro was supposed to be his eternal fighting partner. He should have forgotten about everything. Even a past lover. So, what made this... “Pet so damn special.” Yes, the name “pet” would suit you well. You were merely a toy for Kyoujuro that he will eventually tire of and eat. It was only a matter of time before he had Kyoujuro all to himself. “The little pet won’t last long. I will give her until tonight.”
The blond demon took a step towards the woman, your scent starting to drive him crazy with a hunger he did not understand. He was a demon now and humans were his food. And to make things even worse, you were a demon slayer, his newly sworn enemy. 
Was it because Akaza was the one who turned him? He was the Upper Moon 3, his blood should have been almost as potent as Lord Muzan’s himself. But...Kyoujuro had to know. He needed to sate this ache in his chest.
 He moved over to your unconscious body, the throbbing in his chest increasing the closer he got. Your scent was intoxicating, mouthwatering even as he saw the line of blood that rolled down the side of your face.
“Kyoujuro...” Akaza said, his eyes narrowing slightly. What was he going to do? While Akaza, himself, did not eat women, he would not put it against the blond if his first meal happened to a female of his past. Maybe if Kyoujuro ate your, it would break this connection they seemed to have. “Eat her, Kyoujuro.” he said simply, his tone dull. “Eat her and be free of this burden she holds over you. That way we can finally fight for all eternity.”
Kyoujuro drowned at Akaza’s voice as he reached the woman and dropped to his knees. He scooped your limp body into his arms, your scent nearly making him feel drunk. You were pretty, no, you were beautiful. Too beautiful for him to even be holding. But, he needed a taste, just to see why your scent was so addicting. 
His tongue slipped out and licked at the line of blood that clung to your cheek and a low moan rumbled in his chest. Not only were you beautiful and your scent called to him, your blood was just as sweet and intoxicating. Kyoujuro had to have you. He leaned down and caught your lips with his, his tongue sliding past your pliable mouth to tangle with yours.
The pink haired demon’s eyes narrowed even further as he watched his newly spawned creation lay you back down on the ground before he hovered over you.  “What are you-” He stopped and blinked in confusion at what he was watching. Kyoujuro was kissing the human! “What the hell, Kyoujuro? I said to eat her, not kiss her!” he snarled, golden eyes flashing dangerously. 
Was he really losing control over his creation? How would Lord Muzan react if he brought not only a human, but a member of the demon slayer corps back to the Infinity Castle with him. Sure, he may get praised for turning a Hashira, but you would never be allowed. “Get rid of her, now! Or I will.” The threat was empty, Akaza would never kill or eat a woman, but Kyoujuro did not know that.
A deep growl emitted from Kyoujuro as he glared at Akaza with burning eyes. He was not going to let the older demon take away something that so obviously belonged to him. Kyoujuro bared his fangs at the pink haired demon in warning, “You try to kill her and I will end your existence, Akaza.” He hand went to the nichirin blade that was still looped through his belt. He held the unconscious woman closer to his chest and sent Akaza another warning growl. 
Akaza looked at Kyoujuro and sighed, shrugging his shoulders. It would seem that he would have to change tactics. Raising his hands in surrender, he took another look at you in Kyoujuro’s arms. You were fairly attractive and had a decent body. Maybe you would become a demon too? 
No, he remembered the hurt and betrayed look on your face when the blond had admitted defeat and agreed to be a demon. “Okay.” he said as he walked closer to the couple, his eyes remained locked with Kyoujuro’s. “I don’t kill or eat women anyway.” He knelt down next to you on the opposite side of Kyoujuro. “Since you obviously have such an attachment to her and I am the one who created you, it’s only fair that we share her, Kyoujuro.”
Kyoujuro looked at Akaza with barely concealed disdain. What he was saying did make sense. The pink-haired demon did give him his blood to make him an immortal demon, but was he willing to share this woman with him?
Looking down at her, something in his mind wanted to refuse Akaza’s offer, but there was something telling him that she would be protected if he agreed. With a solemn nod, Kyoujuro said, “It is only fair.” He relaxed his shoulders and allowed Akaza to get a better look at the unconscious woman. “Do you know why I feel this way towards her? Who is she and why does her scent call to me?”
Fangs grit tightly as Akaza struggled to think of an answer. He did not know why you managed to be remembered by Kyoujuro’s body. What made you so fucking special. You appeared to be an ordinary human, a normal Demon slayer. You were not even that strong. While Kyoujuro was a Hashira, you could not be any stronger than a Tsuchinoto at best. 
But, Kyoujuro was his creation now and should listen to whatever he says as long as it was not about killing you apparently. “Apparently she’s someone you knew before you became a Demon and for some reason you can’t forget her completely.” He sat back on his heels and rubbed his chin. Now that he was closer to you and not in a panic running from the sun, your scent was rather delectable. Akaza froze, your scent made his cock rock hard for some reason and he wanted you too.
The blond saw the way the pink-haired demon’s nostrils flared and how he froze. “You smell it too? It’s her scent. I don’t know either but it makes me want her even more, but not only that having her body in my arms also feels so familiar. And when I kissed her earlier, I thought I felt an even deeper connection with her. You said I knew her when I was human. Was she my lover?” He asked as he gazed down at you, his words sounding strained as he fought the urge to strip you of your clothing and fuck you awake.
“Yes.” Akaza replied reluctantly. He remembered how Kyoujuro told you to stay back and that he would not allow his beloved to get involved with such a dangerous fight at your current level. “But it is possible that once you’ve received blood from Lord Muzan that all memories of her will disappear.” 
Kyoujuro tightened his grip on her. “And if I don’t want to forget her. I do want Lord Muzan’s blood to complete my transformation, but this woman calls to me and I want her.”
A frustrated growl left the older demon. There was no negotiation with Kyoujuro. His mind was made up. He wanted to keep you. “Fine. We can keep the pet.” Even if his tone was annoyed, there was a part of him that wanted the woman too. Her scent was starting to become addictive and his mouth watered. “Kyoujuro, since we’re keeping her. We may as well take her for a test drive.” 
He smiled as he moved closer to the unconscious woman, touching the riverlette of blood that was slowly trickling down the side of your face. Akaza may never actually consume a woman, but your blood was calling to him and he had to have taste. He brought his two fingers that were coated in the sticky red fluid and brought it to lips mouth. Electricity went down his spine and straight to his cock when the flavor of your blood struck his tongue. 
“It’s like her blood is an aphrodisiac.” Kyoujuro said, running the tip of his tongue over the path the blood was beginning to take again until it reached the source at the small wound above your eye. He lapped at it as his saliva began to act as a clotting agent and sealed the wound. “It makes me wonder if other parts of her are just as sweet and addictive.” He then trailed his tongue from the wound back down the side of your face to your neck until he reached the collar of your black uniform.
Akaza’s claws were already making quick work of the duttons that held your top together as he leaned forward to catch your lips with his. He pushed his tongue past your lips and curled it around yours. Even your lips were addictive and he wanted more. 
His fingers parted your top and began exploring the uncovered flesh, claws shredding the bandages you used to bind your breasts. He felt you shift slightly, your breathing quickened and he smirked. Just how would you, their little pet, react to being ravished by two demons; becoming their toy. 
Kyoujuro crawls down her body, letting Akaza have the top half of you as he takes the bottom. He needed to know if other parts of you were just as sweet. He could sense that you would be waking up soon, but he couldn't bring himself to care. You belonged to him. 
He flattened his tongue as he left a wet trail over your belly, your skin sweet and addictive. Kyoujuro felt as if he tasted you before, but he couldn’t remember all he knew was that your skin was soft and supple under his tongue and he wanted more. His hands gripped her thighs before sliding up the skirt she wore. His clawed fingertips ghosted over the thin panties that covered your cunt and he used one to cut through the material. 
Fingers gripped and groped at the exposed flesh of her chest as Akaza kissed your soft lips. He wanted to see the look in your eyes when you woke up with one demon fondling your breasts and the other between your legs. He tugged at your bottom lip with his fangs, being careful to not cut you and wake you with the pain. 
Akaza wanted a genuine reaction from you as you slowly came to realize what was happening to you. His fingers pinched at your  nipple, twisting it lightly as he rolled it. He slid his tongue back inside your mouth and pulled yours inside his mouth which he quickly sucked on. You tasted so damn good; he could not wait for his turn to taste you.
Kyoujuro's tongue found its way to your leg, licking your calf muscle down to your inner thigh. It was like his body remembered every touch that would drive you mad with pleasure as your own small body shivered and a small, muffled sounding moan vibrated in your chest. 
That sound was like music to his ears and he wanted to draw more from you. Kyoujuro moved close to your pussy, the sweet scent coming from it drawing him like a moth to a flame. He brushed his nose against your clit, feeling you shiver even more intensely, your legs trembling in his hands. Kyoujuro moved to latch his mouth on that sweet spot that was so tantalizing to him. 
You squirmed when a familiar feeling filled your body. Why were you feeling this way? you should only feel like this when you're with Kyoujuro, but he became a demon. You mewed softly at the feeling of a warm tongue lapping at your cunt. It was very similar to how Kyoujuro would do it. Each wet swipe felt better than the last. Another moan vibrated in your chest and you began to wonder what was this foreign pressure on your lips and touch on your chest. 
Your hands moved to grab at the head that was between your thighs as I moaned into the mouth covering me. The darkness that was clouding your mind was slowly dissipating. “Oh, Kyou~” you whined when the lips moved from yours to your chest.  your body reacted like it always did and you felt the familiar knot of heat flare in your lower belly.
Akaza curled his tongue around one of your hardened nipples and tugged on the other with his other hand. He could sense that you were on the verge of waking up, if the increasing sounds of your moans were any indicator. He stole a glance up at your face and smiled at the twisted look of confused pleasure that furled your brow. 
Your soft whimpers were starting to sound like music to his ears, but he wanted to make you cry. Make you cry from the sheer pain and pleasure that only a demon could give you. He wanted to bite you and leave marks all over this supple skin. “Wake up, pet. Then the real fun can begin.”
Kyoujuro wrapped his lips around that tiny sensitive bit of flesh and sucked on it while flicking his tongue over it. He knew you were close, he just had this feeling. Your fingers were tangled in his red-streaked blond hair, tugging and pushing at the same time. 
He then retracted the claws of his middle and ring fingers before slowly easing them inside that tight little hole. Kyoujuro needed to taste you. You were already so sweet on his tongue, but he knew there was something even more delicious. 
His fingers rubbed against a patch of rigged flesh as he tongue swiped aggressively over your clit. Your hands began tugging and pushing at his head more as your moans became even louder.
That knot in your belly tightened even more, heat spreading down your body and gathering in your belly. You was so close, but who was doing this? Kyoujuro was no longer a part of your life. He left with the Upper Moon 3. You tried to make the darkness fade more quickly as you struggled to open your eyes. 
But then the knot came undone and your back arched, lifting off whatever you were lying on as your orgasm shook through your body. Your fingers pulled at the head between your thighs and whoever it was let out a growl that vibrated through your clit. Shivers went down your body as the foreign touch at your chest became even more persistent, tugging and squeezing at your nipples roughly. 
Who else could be here? You forced the darkness away as you slowly opened your eyes.
The first thing you saw was the head nestled between your thighs, the wet tongue still lapping up your juices. Your pussy was still tingling from the intense orgasm but it did not seem like whoever it was was going to stop. 
You tried to tug at their hair once more but someone grabbed your wrists and pinned them over your head. You looked up and stared into Akaza’s gold eyes. A gasp left me. “What are you doing?” You tried to thrash in his hold, but a strong arm wrapped around your waist, holding your hips down. “Huh? What’s...” Looking down, you finally took in the red-streaked blond hair that you knew so well. “K-Kyou?”
Akaza grinned now that you was awake. He could now have as much fun as he wanted now. “Hush, pet. Let Kyoujuro finish his meal.” His claws shortened to a neat trim as he pressed them against your lips. “Why don’t I give you something to preoccupy that mouth of yours.” He grinned when it looked like you were going to defy him, but another breathy moan made her lips part and his fingers slid inside your warm, wet mouth. “That’s a good little pet. I’ll train you well.” He leaned in and nipped at your neck before soothing he bite with his tongue.
Kyoujuro swallowed every last drop you had to offer from your quivering hole. You were the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted. Her flavor is so familiar to him. “Fuck...my sweet little Fireball.” he murmuer into your folds. 
The name rolled off his tongue so easily. Like that was what he had always called you. Kyoujuro moved his tongue away from your weeping slit, to circle your clit again, feeling your thighs tremble around his head. One arm was locked over your hips to keep them in place. 
Kyoujuro released you and looked up at your face and saw the fear in your eyes and immediately jumped away. “What?” He grabbed his head as an intense throbbing pounded at the front of his head.
“Shit.” the pink-haired demon cursed as he pulled away from you to help his new creation. Akaza thought that this would be a bad idea. You were too closely linked with Kyoujuro’s memories as a human. He glanced at the door and saw that the sunlight still filtered through the bottom of the door. “Don’t you move. I have to go help Kyoujuro. Looks like he’ll need more blood.” He grabbed your face, glaring into your eyes and daring you to defile him.
You nodded your head as you grabbed the open ends of your jacket and held them closed. You watched as Akaza approached Kyoujuro, who was still growling in pain, his eyes flickering from white and black as he held his head. 
Was he not a full demon yet? Maybe you could still save him. Save the love of your life. Your body still remembered his gentle touches even if he was supposed to be your enemy. You could not deny your heart still saw him as the man you fell so deeply in love with. 
You touched your lips, you could still feel and taste Akaza’s fingers in your mouth. Kyoujuro was never that rough with me...
Shaking your head, you tried to rid yourself of those lustful thoughts. Why were you having such thoughts about your sworn enemy?! That demon took the love of your life from me! But a voice in the back of your head told you that you actually enjoyed having this newly demonized Kyoujuro between your thighs as Akaza had his fingers in your mouth. 
Your mind slowly traveled to thoughts of being sandwiched between them, feeling their hands on your body, their cocks deep within you. You slapped yourself hard as you came back to your senses. You watched as Akaza knelt down by Kyoujuro, his nails lengthening. Your heart twisted in your chest as you forced yourself to look away.
Akaza pushed his finger deeper into Kyoujruo’s chest, giving him more blood. He watched as the small horns grew in length and darkened in color, the red of his irises turning into slits as the gold took over. Red flame-like markings appeared on the young demon’s face as Akaza pulled away and licked his finger as the wound healed. “Better, Kyoujuro?”
Kyoujuro slowly put his hands down away from his head, the throbbing pain easing away now that he had more blood. “Yes,” he looked over at you, your sweet scent still in the air; even more so now that he had brought you to an orgasm. He could still taste your essence on his tongue. “But, I should probably not touch her until I can find a way to make her see that I am not to be feared.”
Golden eyes rolled as the pink-haired demons placed his hands on his hips. “Or maybe we get rid of her before we return to Lord Muzan.” He backed away from Kyoujuro when flames suddenly surrounded the young demon as angry glowing eyes locked on his form. 
How was Kyoujuro this strong as a fledgling demon? His power was almost on par with an Upper Moon. A smile crossed the older demon’s lips. He truly did find the best fighting partner. 
He held his hands up in surrender as he backed away slowly. “I didn't mean kill her.” he said, noting the stubborn look in Kyoujuro’s eyes even as the flames dissipated. “But if you insist on keeping our little pet. She’ll need a collar.”
“I’m sorry?! A what?!”
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©️2022 nymphoheretic - I do not give permission to copy, edit, alter, or distribute my work. Do not adverse on tiktok. Do not repost on any other platform.
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alexagirlie · 5 months ago
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At the Touch of You
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A/N: This is one of the absolute favourite fics I've written for the Duneverse. Just 8.4k of Paul having orgasms lol. Header by me, divider by @cafekitsune
Fandom: Dune
Pairing: Paul Atreides x Duncan Idaho. Paul Atreides x Others
Rating: E
Wordcount: 8.4k
Summary: Paul attends a spice orgy at Sietch Tabr. He has much to learn.
CWs: Smut. Lots and lots of smut. Orgies. Spice use. Drug use (spice). Oral sex. Blow Jobs. Cunnilingus. Anal Fingering. Anal Sex. Rough Sex. Group Sex. Voyeurism. Pinning. Possessive Thoughts. Possessive Behaviour. Minor breathplay.
Taglist (pls let me know if you wish to be added/removed: @softhecreator @gatoenlaciudad @almostg
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Paul looks down at the small innocent looking vial in his hand, rolling it back and forth across his palm. It was made of glass and contained a thick clear liquid with just a glimmer of red-orange powder. Spice.
He had been given the vial a few minutes prior by a young woman. She had been shy but insistent that he take it. The young woman, who introduced herself as Jarameen, explained that the oil was used for religious and ritual practices. Either in the privacy of your own yali with your chosen partner or during group rituals. One such ritual was taking place in two nights time if he was interested in attending.
At that point Paul's face had been bright pink and burning hot. Spice orgies, she was referring to Spice orgies and was inviting Paul to attend. He couldn't look Jarameen in the eyes. She said a quick goodbye and took off towards the market, disappearing into the crowd.
He had read little regarding the Spice orgies prior to coming to Arrakis as the filmbooks did not have a lot of information on the practice. He knew it involved the ritual consumption of Spice and making an offering to the gods of the water of one's body.
Paul was desperate to learn as much of the Fremen culture as he could so decided that he would attend, if only to satisfy his curiousity. However under no circumstances would his Mother or Duncan ever find out.
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A few nights later finds Paul dressed in a loose pale coloured shirt and a simple pair of dark pants. He leaves his Yali and makes his way quietly through the winding tunnels and caverns of the sietch. He could hear the faint pounding of drums, the rhythmic sound getting louder as he got closer to the ritual chamber. It was situated deep within the sietch, passed where the living quarters were situated and the market. Paul figured it was so the noises from the ritual did not disturb others who were not in attendance.
When Paul arrives he sees a large crowd already gathered. Men and women of varying ages and states of undress. He tries not to stare too obviously at the naked flesh all around him but several bodies of particular attractiveness catch his attention as he makes his way into the room.
The chamber was crafted much the same way as the yali's, just on a much larger scale. The walls and ceiling were draped in moisture traps and decorative fabrics hiding the stone and hanging down creating little rooms and alcoves. These spaces were filled with cushions and the Fremens reclamation fabrics. Even water shared to honour the gods was reclaimed for use by the sietch.
Paul finds a spot on the outskirts, leaning back against the wall and settling in as the ceremony gets started. The beat of the drumming reaches a crescendo then stops, silencing ringing out as everyone falls quiet.
Paul watches with rapt attention as a man and woman step up onto a raised platform of rock in the middle of the chamber. They were scarcely dressed in loose translucent fabric, symbols drawing across their skin in dark ink. Face, hands, chest, it was unlike anything Paul had seen among the Fremen to this point. He made a mental note to ask Chani about the symbols the next time he saw her.
They raised their hands above their heads and tilted their heads to look up at the ceiling. They began speaking in harmony, a prayer in the Fremen tongue. Paul does not understand all the words but he understands enough to know that they are asking for the blessing of the gods, a blessing of Shai-Hulud. That they were offering a gift of their bodies water to honour the gods.
As they are speaking, an earthenware bowl is being passed around the room, from person to person. The bowl is large, and painted with a scene of the desert sunset and the Shai-Hulud moving through the dunes. Reds, Orange and Yellows. It was quite detailed and very beautiful.
Everyone participating in the ritual takes a sip of the thick liquid inside before handing it to the next in line. When the bowl reaches Paul he takes a moment to inspect the contents. The liquid is thick, almost the consistency of mud if Paul was to be honest and shimmered with the Spice contained within. Flakes of dried herbs floated across the surface.
He took a hesitant sip and the flavour burst across his tongue. There was the sharp tang of spice melange, burnt cinnamon and ginger. Comforting and strong. Paul also thought he could recognize the taste of clove and cardamom. He could not place the taste of the herbs but assumed they held significant ritual purpose since they were included in the mixture.
He let the flavour sit on his tongue another moment then swallowed thickly. The liquid slid down his throat with a strange warmth, a warmth that spread out through his body once it hit his stomach. It spread into his limbs, making them tingle and burn with sensitivity. The warmth centered on his groin and he could feel his cock begin to fill. It was achingly hard in seconds and pressed up against the fabric of his pants, leaking, the first small offering of water to the gods.
As the spice continues to work through Paul's body his head spins and he begins to sweat. The second small offering of water to honour the gods. His mind gets foggy and he has to close his eyes and take a few deep breaths to gather himself. When he opens them there is a woman standing in front of him, she smiles and Paul spots a flash of tongue as she licks her lips. It was the Priestess who was facilitating today's ritual.
"My name is Yasmin. May I assist you in getting undressed Usul?" She asked, waiting for his slow nod before reaching out to help him undo the top couple of buttons on his shirt. "The first time can be overwhelming, the Spice mixture will be potent. But I can assure you it will all be done with consent, you tell someone no and they will listen".
She gestures off to the side where a number of Fremen warriors stood on guard. They had not partaken of the ritual drug and were present to ensure all the rules were followed.
As she pulls it up over his head another set of hands come around from behind him and undoes his pants. Fingers pressed teasingly against the hardness found there. Paul's eyes fall shut and he lets his head fall back against the warm body behind him with a small moan. The feeling of a firm chest telling him it was another man. Opening his eyes he looks over and sees the face of the Priest. It seems the two work as a unit in all aspects.
Between the two they had him stripped down to nothing in just under a minute. The Priestess lowers herself to her knees at his feet, looking up at Paul through dark sooty lashes, her blue on blue eyes dark and heated.
"May we be your first full offering, Usul? May I take your water into myself as a vassal of the gods?"
Paul's body managed to find enough blood to flood his cheeks with red, arousal and embarrassment equal. He knew that sex was the point of this ritual but wasn't expecting to be asked so blatantly.
"I'm… I've never…" Paul couldn't quite get the words out, to bring himself to say out loud that he had never been touched by another before but the Priestess seems to understand.
She smiles up at him, "Then I would be doubly honoured Usul, to be your first".
Paul was not completely ignorant of what to expect next. He had snuck a few more explicit filmbooks and his imagination was vivid late at night when he would take himself in hand. Though in his heart of hearts he wished for the body touching his to be familiar, tall and broad and warm. A body he knew from sparring and companionship. A body he knew he would never be able to touch.
The first kiss of her mouth to his cock sent sparks up Paul's spine and made him weak in the knees. The only thing holding him was the strong grip of the Priest's arms around him. He was a solid, warm weight at Paul's back. Paul had a vice grip on the Priest's wrists as Paul was unsure what to do with his hands and hoped that was an okay place to leave them.
Yasmin's tongue snuck out from between her lips and just touched the tip of his cock, collecting the fluid gathered there before disappearing back into her mouth. He couldn't look away from her, as she let out a small hum of pleasure. It was as if the taste of him was everything she had imagined.
Paul's cock throbbed and they watched as it gave a visible twitch in the air. Yasmin's mouth twisted into a mischievous smirk before she leaned in again. Mouth open and wet, sinking down on his cock, inch by wonderful inch. Paul's brain whited out as her nose met his body and she sucked hard as she pulled back up to the tip of him.
Paul couldn't help the sounds he made, desperate and loud. Her mouth was hot and wet, sliding up and down his cock obscenely. Paul knew this would not last long, his orgasm was building fast, faster than it ever had when he was alone. He could feel her throat tighten around his cock and barely had enough restraint to not thrust, to not chase the sensation to his completion. He wanted this to last.
The arms around him tightened and Paul was pressed back into the body behind him. The feeling of the Priest's hard cock pushed along the crease of his ass only serving to push him closer to his end.
Paul felt a hot breath on the shell of his ear as the Priest spoke to him.
"Don't try and hold back Usul, let the pleasure sing through you and release it to the gods."
Paul felt warm calloused fingers travel up his stomach, chest, until one hand slid over his pectoral, taking a nipple between thumb and forefinger giving it a sharp pull. Paul's mouth falls open, keening as each pull sends a burning hot jolt of pleasure up his spine. The other hand joins the first, both nipples now being pinched and twisted leaving Paul a panting whining mess.
This was the last push and Paul was done for, coming with teeth clenched around a scream, his whole body tensed up and shivering through the release. Yasmin's mouth and throat worked steadily to draw in every drop, swallowing it down.
Paul didn't know this but several of the gathered people had stopped to observe the would-be messiah experiencing his first offering. Not just because of his pale skin and strange green eyes that captivated so many. But also because they were eager to see how the off world duke would take to one of their most sacred rituals. As it turns out, he took to it as if he were born to it. A truly perfect offering.
After the Priestess had finished sucking Paul's brain out through his cock she rose gracefully to her feet and took Paul's face between her palms. She slid her fingers up into his hair and used the hold to pull his mouth down to her in a kiss. It was closed-mouthed and chaste at first but she gently coached Paul into making it dirtier. Coaxing his lips open and his tongue out to play against her own.
Paul could taste the lingering saltiness of his spend mixed with the burnt cinnamon of Spice on her tongue. It was strangely intoxicating and Paul chased the flavour hungrily until it was gone from inside her mouth.
Yasmin pulled away with a laugh, placing a firm hand in the middle of Paul's chest when he made to follow.
"Go Usul, go and enjoy everything tonight has to offer".
Paul hesitated, shooting a glance over to the Priest, whom Paul could see was still hard. His cock was purple at the tip and leaking beads of pearlescent fluid in a steady stream. His mouth watered.
The Priest caught Paul's glance and was quick to assure Paul. "I appreciate the interest Usul, but I only share my water with one". His gaze locks onto Yasmin and Paul can see them share a smile full of love and adoration. He looked back at Paul, "Go, I'm sure plenty of others would love to show you all the pleasures the night has to offer".
With a smile of his own and a nod Paul did just that.
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By now the drug had kicked in at full force. His cock was hard again, his mind was foggy with arousal and Spice. He felt loose and relaxed and couldn't keep the large smile off his face. The Priest had been right and it did not take Paul long to find another that was willing to bring him to orgasm.
Paul floats from person to person, taking pleasure from whoever shows an interest. Men, women, he didn't care and found pleasure in both. They used their hands, their mouths, and one memorable moment where a handsome man had pulled Paul down into his lap. He used firm hands on Paul's waist to push and pull him against his body, hips gyrating, grinding down until Paul couldn't take it and splattered their stomachs with his release.
Paul had lost track of the number of partners he had that night but by the end his orgasms produced no more water. They left him spasming and making vocal high pitched whines, eyes wet with tears. Another small offering to the gods.
Paul doesn't remember the walk back to his Yali, but he awoke several hours later with a groan. His whole body ached, his balls in particular throbbed, and he was sticky with a mix of his and his various partners' release. He rolled onto his back and raised his arms above his head trying to stretch out the kinks. Back arching he groaned again when the door to his Yali opened, the large form of his swordmaster, Duncan Idaho, filled the doorway.
"Time to get up Paul, your mother is waiting for you".
With a jaw cracking yawn Paul rolled out of bed and to his feet, padding across the room to the reclamation chamber, needing to freshen up before getting dressed. He thought nothing of his state of undress, it wasn't anything Duncan hadn't seen before in the years as Paul's combat teacher. He did however miss the look Duncan gives him as he walks past. As Duncan takes in the sheen of dried cum on Paul's body and the faint finger shaped bruises along his hips.
If Paul had been paying attention he would have seen Duncan's face twist into a look of desire and jealousy. Eyes racking over his body with clenched fists. But he wasn't and by the time he had exited the reclamation chamber Duncan had wrestled his emotions back under control and nothing showed on his face.
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A few weeks later Paul receives the invitation to attend another Spice orgy. This time from the Priestess Yasmin herself, and he does not hesitate to agree to attend.
Paul had learned many things about the orgies since he attended the last. He learned that the herbs added to the Spice mixture were used to heighten sexual arousal allowing those that consumed it to reach their climax more often. There was also a contraceptive mixed in making the ritual safe from unplanned pregnancies.
He also learned that being selected to lead the ceremony was a huge honour. That Yasmin and her partner, Vishneer, had only just been elected to their positions before the last ritual. Each pair would lead the tribe through the ritual for one year then a new pair would be selected.
They painted their bodies with symbols reflecting their desires for the tribe in that year. Plentiful harvest, lots of children, courage in battle. Chani had thought the line of questions amusing but had not hesitated to answer them all until Paul was satisfied.
He couldn't wait for the night in question and a chance to learn even more.
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A week later finds Paul sneaking out of his Yali again, only this time he has acquired himself a shadow. A shadow in the form of his swordmaster.
Duncan is not a stupid man, he had put two and two together and determined that Paul's state that fateful morning had coincided with a Spice Orgy the night before. It would make sense that the Priestess and Priest would invite the possible Madhi and Paul, being the knowledge seeking young man he was would attend. And it would stand to reason that attendance would mean participation.
He knew Paul had never had the opportunity to explore his sexuality back on Caladan and did not blame him for trying things now. It didn't stop the surge of jealousy over the thought of others touching Paul but that was his problem, not Paul's.
His choice to follow Paul this time was simply so Duncan could keep an eye on him. To make sure no one was trying to take advantage of his Duke while he was high from the Spice and vulnerable. It had nothing to do with wanting to catch a glimpse of Paul undone, lost in pleasure, nothing at all. Duncan had gotten very good at lying to himself.
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As the ritual began Paul was determined to expand his experiences this time and learn how to give pleasure to his partners. Not just receive it as he had the last time. It was quick and easy to find someone willing to teach him what he was desperate to learn.
Soon Paul found himself on his knees, head between the thighs of a woman slightly older than himself. Her hands were in his hair, guiding his head, guiding his mouth over her core. She was so, so wet, his mouth and chin covered in it, a mix of saliva and her body's water.
She was giving him instructions, telling him what to do to make it good for her. When to rub his tongue across her clit or give it a hard suck. When to slide fingers into her, to curl them up towards her pelvis searching out the spot that makes her throw her head back on a moan. Makes her hips start to rock down against him.
Her fingers tightened in his hair to the point of pain and pulled a moan from Paul's mouth. The sensation traveling down his spine and lighting a fire in his groin. Cock throbbing between his legs, he couldn't help but to reach down with his unoccupied hand and grip tight around the base. Another moan escaping his mouth, this one echoed back to him from above.
His partner's hips began moving against his face more insistently and Paul intuited that she was approaching her climax. He doubled his efforts, fingers moving in her smoothly at just the angle she had instructed him. Sucking firming on the nub of nerves, a gentle application of teeth and her body went tense. Gasping, moaning sounds falling from her mouth and a flood of fluid spilled over his fingers and down his wrist. Her grip on his head not loosening for several minutes as she rides out her orgasm.
Once she releases him Paul leans back on his heels and wipes his clean hand over his mouth. Biting his lip he hesitates before asking the question he wanted to ask.
"Did I… did I do okay?"
His partner, Sahila lets out a breathless giggle and reaches out to run a gentle hand through Paul's hair. "Darling you were perfect".
A flood of warmth pools in Paul's gut at the words and his cock twitches where it sits still hard against his thigh.
"Would you like to continue being good for me, Usul? You said you wanted to learn how to give pleasure?" When Paul nods, she reaches out a slender arm and becomes over a man who had been hovering just out of Paul's line of sight. "Bakula. Come here my love".
The man who walked forward was massive, the largest Fremen Paul had ever seen. He was almost as tall as Duncan and he even looked a few inches broader in the shoulders. He carried himself like a warrior, even while nude.
Surprisingly it was only then that Paul noticed It. His cock. It was huge, much like Bakula himself and Paul felt a mixture of arousal and not a little amount of trepidation at the sight. As he got closer and Paul got a good look the arousal started to outweigh any other feeling he had. It was big, yes, long and thick, and the thought of getting his mouth on it made his head swim and his cock leak onto the ground.
Bakula stops at Sahila's side, taking her hand and bending down to lay a kiss across her fingers. "Yes Mistress?"
"Usul would like to learn how to give pleasure with his mouth, be a dear and lend us a hand"
She directs Bahula to take her place seated in front of Paul and then kneels down beside him. Her fingers find their way back into Paul's hair and with her voice in his ear she guides his head down.
It took a bit more work for Paul to get the hang of sucking cock, but he was soon able to get control over his gag reflex and take Bakula all the way into his throat. It was messy and made his head swim with lack of air and Paul loved every second of it.
After his crash course Sahila and Bakula sent Paul off to practice his new found skills. Over the course of the next several partners he showed how quick a learner he was. He was so focused on pleasing his partners his own need was left unfulfilled. Eventually Paul allows one of his partners to change the plan, offering to show Paul the potential of a good fuck.
Paul allows himself to be pulled away from the crowd and into a more secluded corner of the ritual chamber. Says his name is Rajani and he lays Paul out on his back and crawls between his spread thighs. The man uses his mouth and hands, first paying lavish attention to Paul's weeping cock before moving lower. Hands pushing Paul's legs up and out so he can place a wet open mouthed kiss to Paul's hole.
Paul's whole body spasms and he tries to push back against the sensation mindlessly. He is unsuccessful but it doesn't stop the trying. One of his hands flew up to his mouth to stifle the noises that tried to escape. It was wet and wonderful and as his body loosened up and relaxed around his tongue his partner slid a finger in beside. The finger was wet and from the tingling sensation Paul recognized the ritual oil from his own explorations of the substance on himself. One quickly became two then three, thrusting in and out of Paul's body stretching him open.
His cock was red and leaking against his stomach, twitching with each push when it happened. A twist of the wrist and those fingers brush up against his prostate and send him hurtling over the edge. His cock shooting spurts and spurts of cum across his chest and stomach.
It took several minutes for Paul's brain to restart. His partner waits patiently, Paul's legs wrapped around his waist and one hand is rubbing firmly up and down the length of Paul's thigh. His own hard cock a hot brand across Paul's skin, wet with oil.
"You alright to continue Usul?" He asks and Paul nods. The man spreads Paul's thighs out further and slots himself in between. Lining his cock up with one hand he pushes in, slow and steady until he bottoms out inside of Paul. Paul can't breathe. It feels so very fucking good. He thought the fingers felt amazing but this was even better and as his partner begins to thrust his cock is quick to fill with blood once again. Unbelievably fast, even with the help from the ritual drug.
Soon Rajani is thrusting in at a punishing pace, Paul moaning non stop. He doesn't see his next orgasm coming and within minutes he is once again shooting across his stomach. His mouth opens on a soundless scream as his prostate is milked through to the end before his partner slows down to a stop.
Rajani checks in again, getting consent to continue and so pulls out and manhandles Paul over onto his hands and knees, chest pressed to the ground. Paul's head swims with the rough handling, keening high in his throat.
"Good?"
He nodded frantically and pushed his hips back to meet Rajani's as he thrust back inside Paul. This angle was even better than before, each thrust hitting his prostate dead on, sending sparks of over sensitivity up Paul's spine. Strong hands gripped his hips and pulled him back hard onto the cock inside him, fucking him relentlessly. And Paul just takes it.
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Unknowingly to Paul, Duncan is watching him from the perimeter of the ritual chamber, taking steps to stay out of Paul's line of sight. He is seething with jealousy, growing stronger and stronger as Paul moves from partner to partner. The other men in particular, make his blood boil.
He had almost stepped in after getting a look at the first man Paul was presented with that night. He had been tall and thickly muscled, big enough to make Duncan second guess his chances in a fight. He had only relaxed after seeing the gentle way the man handled Paul, constantly checking before increasing his intensity. The woman with them a guiding hand, instructing Paul on how to please him with his mouth.
Duncan knows he has no right to feel this way, Paul wasn't his to covet and yet he couldn't stop himself. Couldn't stop himself from imagining walking forward, ripping the man who was now fucking Paul away and taking Paul for himself.
Duncan feels a flood of shame following his disrespectful thoughts and he forces himself to look away. Paul was not his, Paul would never be his and he needed to leave before he did something he would regret.
His feet did not move and his gaze found its way back to watch as Paul came for a third time. Watches the man fucking him reach around with one hand and jerk Paul off in time with his cock thrusting inside him. Can see Paul bite down on his own fingers to try and stifle the sounds coming out of his mouth. He failed, Duncan could hear them clear across the chamber. His cock throbbed. He finally steps back, turns his back on his view of Paul and heads back to his Yali.
If he shoves a hand down his pants as soon as the door is closed and spills over his fingers in a few short strokes to the image of Paul getting fucked then no one else needed to know.
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Paul enjoyed his second Spice orgy even more than he had his first. As he made his way back to his Yali he took stock of everything he had learned about himself that night. He learned that he liked to be given instructions, being told exactly what to do to bring his partners pleasure. Hands in his hair pulling tight until his eyes watered, the sting of teeth or nails in his skin. Of being held in place and used.
He also learned that while he was attracted to men and women he definitely preferred sex with men. Especially oral sex with men. The feeling of a hard cock sliding across his tongue and into his throat. Of being on his knees. The saltiness of cum.
It wasn't something he had ever thought he would like but the proof was in the constant hardness between his legs all night. And the mind blowing orgasms at the end.
As he was settling in bed his last thought was how much better it could be with a very specific partner.
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Paul did not expect how sore he would be the next day as he was getting ready for training. Today he was training with both Chani and Duncan and knew he was going to die by the end. He couldn't hide the limp and Chani proceeded to tease him mercilessly. Duncan was strangely quiet about the whole thing, which Paul thought odd, normally the big man would be the first to poke fun at Paul about anything
He shrugged it off, one of them teasing him was enough, and refocused back on his training.
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Paul begins taking lovers outside the orgies, experimenting with all sorts of acts and positions. His favourite encounter so far was with a man named Xand, who had Paul begging by the end with each thrust of his hips. Paul was on his knees, face down in the bed, his arms pulled behind his back, forearm to forearm and secured with a length of rope that had been as soft and smooth as silk. Xand had been using Paul tied arms as leverage, pulling Paul back onto his cock, driving it relentlessly into his prostate.
A litany of please, please, please falling from Paul's lips, getting louder and louder the closer he got to the edge. His eyes were wet with un-shed tears and all he could think about was spilling helplessly across the sheets. But he knew he wasn't allowed yet, hadn't been given permission.
Soon Paul lost the ability to form words, shapeless sounds spilling from his open panting mouth. He was so close, he just needed a little nudge to finally go hurtling over the edge. He was desperately holding on to that last little shred of his control, wanting to be good and not come before he was told he could. In the back of his mind he registers the heat of Xands body leaning over his back and a wash of warm breath hits the back of his neck.
"Go on then Usul, cum!" And Paul did, screaming and body shaking as his cock soaked the sheets below him. He lay there panting and spent as Xand pulled his cock from Paul's hole and finished himself off with a hand. Coating Paul's lower back in his cum.
Needless to say the vial of Spice oil he had been given needed replacing several times over.
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Paul's new found venture into casual sex was a little bit of a well kept secret. Well kept as in everyone knew but no one brought it up, especially around Lady Jessica or Duncan Idaho.
Jessica had awkwardly tried to bring up the situation, wanting to make sure Paul understood that a Fremen bastard should be avoided. When Paul mentioned that unless it was somehow possible for Paul himself to get pregnant, she really had nothing to worry about. She never brought it up again.
As for Duncan, every time he observed someone sneaking in or out of Paul quarters just made him more and more jealous. Each day it became harder to keep his distance, harder to remember why he couldn't, why he shouldn't.
It all came to a head one day when Duncan had entered Paul's yali to retrieve him for that day's training. He expected to find Paul running late but what he found was Paul on his knees. On his knees, hands clasped behind his back and a tall, broad Fremen man driving his cock down Paul's throat.
Duncan saw red and before he could stop himself he was striding forward to rip the man away from Paul with a growl. Ignoring both their protests he drags the man over the threshold of Paul's room and shoves him out. Closing the curtain in his face cutting off the sound of him cursing Duncan out.
Turning back into the room he plants a palm in the center of Paul's chest and gives him a firm shove backwards. Making Paul stumble back until he hits stone and Duncan is crowding him against the wall. Paul's breath escapes him in a gasp and Duncan doesn't even give him time to recover before leaning in and taking Paul's mouth in a possessive kiss. His tongue diving past Paul's lips and sliding against into his mouth.
Paul's hands reach up and grab two fistfuls of his shirt. For a second Duncan thought Paul was about to shove him away but he uses the grip to pull Duncan even closer. Hitching a leg up across the back of Duncan's thigh he grinds up against him, drawing a groan out of Duncan's mouth.
Upping the game Duncan picks Paul up and pins him against the wall, Paul's legs moving to wrap around his waist. He had one arm under Paul's ass holding his weight, the other was behind Paul's head. Equal parts protecting it from the hard stone and wanting to get his fingers into Paul's curls giving a tug and drawing the most delicious sounds from Paul's throat.
Duncan chases those sounds pressing their hips together causing Paul to throw his head back on a gasp of Duncan's name. Taking advantage of the newly presented skin Duncan begins laying biting kisses down the length of Paul's neck. He picks a spot just above Paul's collarbone and latches on, sucking and biting until the skin turns purple. He sucks several bruises into the skin above Paul's shirt collar, each one darker as Paul urges him on. Harder harder harder.
He slots a knee between Paul's legs, pressing it against the wall and using it to take Paul's weight so he can free the hand that was holding him up. He starts to unbutton Paul's shirt, mouth moving over the newly exposed skin. Latching onto a pink nipple once he gets enough of the shirt open. Paul's fingers tangle in his hair, pressing his mouth harder against his chest.
"Teeth, please Duncan use your teeth" Duncan grinned against Paul's chest before giving Paul what he asked for. This time.
Soon he has Paul so worked up he is grinding down against Duncan's thigh. He alternates between both nubs until they are red and puffy before removing his mouth. He moves both hands under Paul's ass, getting a firm handful of both cheeks before pulling Paul away from the wall. His weight felt like nothing in Duncan's hold.
He walks Paul across the Yali and tosses him on the bed. Duncan takes a quick minute to tie his long hair back before kneeling on the edge of the bed. Reaching out and grabbing Paul around the hips he manhandles him up the bed until his head rests on the cushions. Paul's hair is a riot of messy curls across the fabric.
Once Duncan has Paul where he wants him his hands move up under the edge of Paul's shirt, pushing it up his chest. Kneeling between Paul's spread thighs Duncan presses his lips to each inch of skin as he unveils it. He uses tongue and teeth, leaving little red marks across Paul's chest.
Paul was making the most delicious noises and Duncan thought he deserved a small reward. Pushing the shirt the rest of the way off his lips met Paul's. His hands moved up to Paul's shoulders, up his arms lifting them above Paul's head and pinning them down. Paul offers no resistance, in fact the move seems to excite him even further, his hips bucking up into Duncan's stomach.
Duncan pulls away from Paul's mouth with one more sweep of his tongue "Keep your hands here, can you do that my boy?"
He waits for Paul's breathy yes before trailing kisses down Paul's jaw and neck. Working his way down Paul's chest and stomach, by passing his nipples even with Paul arching into the touch of his mouth as he moves past.
Once he got down to the hem of Paul's pants he sat back up and took a moment to look at the young man under him. Paul was a vision, he had kept his arms above his head and Duncan could see the grip he had on the pillows. Hard enough for his knuckles to have turned white.
He was watching Duncan back with eyes that were heavy lidded and dark with desire. His gaze was appreciative, traveling down from Duncan's face, over his broad chest and finally down to his groin where his cock was tenting the front of his pants obscenely.
Duncan soaked up the attention, Paul's obvious attraction settling something inside him. He decided to tease Paul, just a little.
"Like what you see my boy?" Paul's eyes snapped back up to Duncan's face and he blushed. Duncan took pleasure from the knowledge that Paul's blush did in fact extend down his chest. Something he had wondered about the young man for a few years now.
That pink hue only darkened as Duncan pulled his own shirt over his head, the muscles in his shoulders and chest rippling. He then made quick work of Paul's pants and undergarments, eager to see Paul fully nude once again. This time up close and not from across a crowded chamber.
He was even more beautiful and Duncan made sure to take it all in. His long, long legs which framed Duncan's hips so perfectly. His cock was longer than Duncan thought, slender like Paul and was already leaking against Paul's stomach. Duncan's mouth watered and he wanted to get that cock in his mouth but he wasn't done torturing Paul yet.
Without breaking eye contact he leans down and places a gentle kiss on one sharp hip, then the other. Brushing his nose along the crease between groin and thigh, Paul's legs spreading wider in response but he keeps his hips on the bed. Duncan spared a brief thought towards whomever taught Paul how to behave so well but shoved the jealousy aside. Paul was under him now and he intended to keep him.
It's Paul who finally breaks eye contact as he throws his head back on a moan as Duncan continues the path of his mouth down the inside of Paul's thighs. Down to his knees, his calves even the soles of his feet before making his way back up. Back past Paul's twitching cock, a quick nip at one nipple pulling a whine from Paul's throat before he takes Paul's mouth once again.
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Paul had never felt so seen, so cherished by a partner and it made sense that the first time he was made to feel that way would be with Duncan. His oldest and most dear friend, the man he had been pining over since he was only 16 years old.
He opens his mouth to Duncan's tongue and utilizes all the tricks he had learned from his partners over the last few weeks. They spend several minutes kissing, Duncan's hands moving over Paul's body, his weight pressing Paul down into the bed. Things were heating up and Paul couldn't stay still any longer, his hips starting to grind up when Duncan pulled himself away.
Paul watches as Duncan gets up from the bed and with rough hands he spins Paul around and pulls him down until his head is hanging off the edge of the bed.
"Stay"
Duncan then moves to stand in front of Paul's face and starts unbuckling his belt, dropping it to the floor. Paul had a feeling he knew what was coming and was already dropping his mouth open and waited for Duncan cock.
This drew a chuckle from Duncan, "bit of a cock slut these days eh my boy?" Paul just opens his mouth wider and extends his tongue in response. He loved sucking cock and wasn't ashamed of the fact.
Paul watches as Duncan unbuttons his pants and pulls them down just enough to get his hard cock out before reaching out to grasp Paul's head between his large palms. Paul's cock leaked at the site, Duncan was huge, bigger even then Bakula.
Duncan adjusts the angle of Paul's head so his cock slides in nice and easy, right to the back of Paul's throat. Duncan pauses there and Paul moans as the salty taste of him explodes across his tongue.
Paul can tell that Duncan was struggling to stay in control, to not just start thrusting and he was having none of it. Reaching out he wraps both hands around the back of Duncan's muscular thighs and uses the hold to pull Duncan even deeper into his mouth. He fights his gag reflex and swallows around the thick length.
Duncan seems to get the hint and gives a few slow thrusts before pulling back so only the head of his cock was in Paul's mouth. "Pinch my thigh hard if you need me to stop”
It takes a couple of minutes for them to find a rhythm that worked for both of them but soon Duncan was sliding smoothly in and out of Paul's mouth. He loses track of time and just lets himself be used, floating in the pleasure he was feeling until he could no longer ignore his own arousal.
Paul was so hard, the feeling of Duncan's cock hitting the back of his throat over and over making him throb against his stomach. He removes one hand from Duncan's thigh and reaches down towards his cock, intending on getting a hand on himself to relieve some of the pressure.
Duncan was faster. He snatched Paul's wrist out of the air, "None of that my boy, you cum when I tell you, not a minute sooner". He places Paul hand back on its place gripping his thighs and begins picking up the pace.
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Duncan can feel himself getting close, Paul's mouth wet and warm and so open for him. But he doesn't want to cum like this, he wants to cum inside Paul, so he pulls his cock out of Paul's mouth, pausing to admire the saliva drooling out of the corners. The flush spread across his face and down his neck. His cock looked painful, leaking and red.
Next he helps Paul sit up, steadying him as he sways from the blood rushing out of his head. Duncan gets them resettled the correct way around in the bed. Paul's head back on the pillows and himself kneeling between Paul's legs. He runs his hands up Paul's smooth thighs, knee to groin, thumbs digging in until he can push Paul's legs up to his chest.
"Hold these up for me"
Paul was quick to obey hooking his knees over his elbows and holding them spread. Duncan groans at the site, Paul was deliciously flexible and he looks so good spread open for Duncan. His rim was pink and slick?
Duncan feels a growl rumbling up his throat and he reaches out to touch, thumb rubbing against Paul rim and coming away glistening with oil. "Did you let him fuck you Paul?"
He was sinking two fingers into Paul before he had even gotten a response, sliding all the way to the knuckles with no resistance. Paul moaned out a breathy yes, prompting Duncan to follow up with a hard bite to Paul's ass cheek. The little slut was going to get wrecked and never look at anyone else again.
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Paul loves the possessive move, the pain from Duncan's teeth making him jerk and keen. He isn't sure what comes over him next, all he knows is he wants more and so tells Duncan all the details from last night's partner. How the man had bent over for Paul, screaming his name. How thick his fingers felt as he slid them inside Paul, how his cock felt as he brought Paul to orgasm. How Paul was attempting to return the favour when Duncan had interrupted them. How good he tasted. Any piece of information Paul could think of to drive Duncan wild with jealousy.
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Duncan knows what Paul is doing but takes the bait anyway and sets out to wreck Paul. The two fingers he has in Paul's ass quickly work up to 4 before he finally gets his mouth of Paul's pretty cock. He sucks him in until it hits the back of his throat and then applies strong suction on his way back up. Greatly enjoying the sounds he is pulling from Paul's mouth as he sets up a quick pace, angling his fingers so it brushes against Paul's prostate every third or fourth thrust.
Soon he had Paul begging, "Duncan, Duncan please! Fuck me!" He was moving between Duncan's mouth and his fingers as best as the position allows and Duncan felt deeply satisfied at getting him so worked up. "Fuck I'm going to cum, please I can't!"
Duncan wasn't ready for Paul to get off and pulls his mouth and fingers away. "Where's your oil my boy" Paul releases one knee to blindly reach under the pillow pulling out the small glass vial.
Duncan gets the lid off and coats his fingers, sinking them in Paul's hole making sure he was adequately wet before smoothing the rest over his cock. Relishing the feeling of Paul's eyes on him as he strokes himself. Duncan can already tell this will not last as long as he wants, just the touch of his own hand pushing him close. The reality of finally having Paul is overwhelming.
It's time to give the young man what he wants and Duncan uses one hand to line his cock up with Paul's hole. With the other he encourages Paul to wrap his legs around his waist before he starts to push in. There was a moment of resistance, Duncan was quite large, then he slid past the first ring of muscles, Paul gripping him tightly. After that it was one easy slide to seat himself all the way inside his Duke.
Duncan has to pause here, Paul was gripping him like a vice and he did not want to cum so soon. Paul had his head thrown back, mouth hanging open panting while his hands were gripped so tight in the bed spread his knuckles had turned white. Duncan ran a hand up the outside of Paul's thigh and gripped him around the waist.
"You alright Paul?" He asked the younger man, thumb rubbing back and forth across the soft skin of his hip.
He watches as Paul opens his eyes, the green he was so familiar with almost completely swallowed by the black of his pupils. His voice had a strained breathless quality when he answered. "… please fuck me Duncan".
Who was he to deny his lord any longer. He set out to do just that. Both hands gripping onto Paul's waist he set up a punishing pace, using his grip to pull Paul back onto his cock with each thrust. Paul was letting out a continuous stream of moans and curses, getting louder and louder as Duncan adjusted his angle until he was nailing Paul's prostate on each pass.
At one point he reaches down and grabs one of Duncan big hands, removing it from his waist and bringing it up to his throat. Duncan groans deep in his chest and tightens his fingers ever so slightly over the pale column. It was enough to cut off Paul's airway just a bit but not so much he couldn't speak and soon he was begging Duncan to let him cum.
Duncan decided to finally have mercy on his boy and was quick to give him permission. He hadn't even gotten a hand on Paul cock before the younger man was spraying his stomach and chest with his release. Duncan found the sight of Paul cumming untouched so arousing that it only took another two, three thrusts before he was following Paul into oblivion. He barely had the presence of mind to fall to the side and not crush Paul under his weight.
They laid there side by side and breathless, their sweat being wicked away and absorbed for later use. As Duncan's breathing returns to normal Paul rolls into his side and props his chin on Duncan's chest. Duncan doesn't even need to open his eyes to know that Paul is staring intently at his face. He struggles to keep a grin off his face, it wouldn't do to seem too satisfied with himself.
"What is it my boy?"
"How long?"
Duncan cracked an eye open at the vague question "how long what?" He asked.
"How long could we have been doing this?" Paul broke eye contact for a moment before looking back at Duncan's face.
Duncan chuckled "I don't think I ever would have done anything if it wasn't for the Spice orgies… and all the lovers you had taken since" Without the driving force of his jealousy went unsaid.
Paul's eyes widened in surprise and he pushed himself up on an elbow so he looked down at Duncan "You knew about the Spice orgies?"
"Yes Paul I knew about the Spice orgies" Duncan answered as he reached out to tuck a curl behind Paul's ear "you were not being exactly subtle".
"Oh" That seemed to be the end of it and Paul laid his head back down on Duncan's chest, nuzzling in. Duncan felt himself drifting off to sleep when he felt Paul suddenly bolt upright.
"Wait, does my mother know about the Spice orgies?" Paul sounded so horrified that Duncan couldn't help but to break down howling with laughter. He was happier then he could remember being since before coming to Arrakis and it was good.
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Paul was dreaming. He saw the birth of his sister, Alia. Saw all she was destined to be and accomplish. He saw them retake Arrakeen with the help from the Fremen. He saw the fall of the Emperor and Paul's ascension to the throne. Duncan is a constant companion by his side, his strong right arm, his shield. He saw their wedding day, married in the traditional Caladan manner under the light of the twin moons, hands wrapped in ribbon the colour of the seas. He sees them grow old and in love and happy.
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jenwvo · 2 years ago
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Alba Baptista + Kristina Tonteri-Young (Avatrice)
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Ava Silva e Sister Beatrice icons e Headers
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themore12 · 1 year ago
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I need votes on what project I need to continue next
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Famous S/O Winners (Ft. Ace, Leona, Floyd, and Sebek)
Idol!S/O or Famous!S/O
When their S/O is a Famous Idol what will they do with that information?
Will they Boast about it until everyone in school, and whoever in their right mind follows them know?
Will they Fight your fans about who you love more?
Will they get Angry but Laugh at your fans for their delusions?
Or Will they become Protective of you in fear that your fans might harm you?
(HC + short written)
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In Dire Need of Comfort (Ft. Azul, Rook, Jade, and Malleus)
Your Love is what brings them Comfort.
Why would they Need your comfort?
Deep in the night, someone wakes up from a Nightmare from the past.
They say when someone can't Protect their S/O from harm they become angry and frustrated.
When someone can't Obtain what they really want, they become sad.
When someone comes to terms with their own Mortality it feels like a weight in their heart has been lifted. But what if someone else comes to terms with their S/O's mortality?
(Long written + short hc)
(i physically acnt do angst hepl)
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Love Expressions?! (Ft. Cater, Trey, Jamil, Epel, and Lilia)
How do they convey that they love you?
Do they convey it through-
Words of affirmation? Affection through spoken words, praise, or appreciation.
Quality Time? Giving undivided attention.
Acts of Service? Nice things you do that make them feel loved and appreciated.
Physical Touch? Love through physical affection.
(short written + hc)
(theres no gift giving sorry i could not fit it in there)
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Ideal Date (Ft. Riddle, Deuce, Jack, Ruggie, Kalim, and Silver)
The ideal date for them and why!
Amusement park to let out their inner child?
Getting to know his hometown perhaps?
How about hitting the gym? Or what about YOUR ideal date?
How does watching life hacks and having a fun time sound?
How about a young, rich, a little tall, and handsome boy take you out shopping?
Or perhaps just hanging out in his place and spending time together sounds great?
We'll find out!
(Long hc + short written/maybe long written)
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A-T-T-E-N-T-I-O-N (Idia)
What happens when your gremlin of a house warden misses you badly?
It has been exactly 7 hours and 4 minutes and 23 seconds since your last reply to him. Do you not love him anymore?
.
.
.
Ok, maybe he was overreacting, 4 hours isn't that long and he needs to give you your own space because that's what lovers normally do.
.
.
.
3 minutes pass...
.
.
.
Ok, he can't.
(attention by new jeans) (Long written + text messages)
AUTHORS NOTE MEEP MEEP
I'm not going to spoil anything huge. But there are text messages in here(attention)! Tell me if you guys want text messages with the boys in the future!
Also the header may or may not be the vibes of each story lol
that sam request is hard since idk how to write for sam sorry
also i apologize i was gone for so long i wrote for other fandoms lol
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izuom · 7 months ago
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loathe = love, a txt x nct dream series (act three)
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GENERAL SYNOPSIS. What happens after a long adolescence adaptation for all the years spent battling for wanting only the best on own goods? Starting with the early teenage blues and progressing through their early twenties, it remains a similarly restless youth for those who have struggled in all aspects of their lives. People usually tend to declare a foolish remark of a pocket full of sunshine and all the related greatness it consumes but what about a pocket full of hatred instead? What comes in a handful of hatred to the facility of life soon slowly embarks to completely the opposite of it? To finally grasp something out of their teenage years—meet twelve self-proclaimed losers in finding love between the chaos of loathe and watch their evolution as freshly bestowed characters in approaching young love.
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READ WARNING BEFORE PROCEEDING! some out of these twelve fics would be containing smut writings, so please be at least 18 to proceed further. your own actions are your own responsibilities.
MAIN GENRE. romance, college!au, youth, angst, young adult, drama
BASED OFF. combination of two albums from yours truly (2013), my everything (deluxe) (2014) by ariana grande
STATUS. on-going
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NOTES. roughly sketched (is that even the right word?) piece of what my mind was really trying to do back at the end of august last year, and here is it! there’ll be another continuation of loathe (references for more like a spin-off/explanation to their past but that’s a surprise so pls be awaited for that too ;D) so as yall clearly see, all characters were made based off my forever favs of ari around her debut years albums!! (i do not support her homewrecker era but let’s not lie yours truly is literally the best thing that happened to everyone bc it does to mine, at least). as being in their early twenties, yes, this one goes to every one of those who are going through their adulting phrases (i never like the way it sounded), and also doing a bit justice to ari when she decided to give nothing but a masterpiece AND being in her twenties! nonetheless pls pls give this a lot of love and support bc i work hard enough for this, and bc i think this one deserves hype for all the sweats i’ve been giving and throwing on to. n e ways thank you in advance to everyone who spent their time to read this series (hopefully i won’t disappoint any of you), cheers to everyone, cheers to the girlies who has serious attachment with college, this one goes for each one of you lol much love xx
pls do ignore the old watermark! i love the settings of this header and do not want to take further revision to change it lol (i couldn't find the original editing to this)
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visualizer / general playlist / poster / tracklist pt. 1 / tracklist pt. 2 / taglist
© izuom, all rights reserved, 2024.
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cgsf · 2 years ago
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Men's Hockey (RPF) fanfiction recs:
Connor McDavid/Leon Draisaitl
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"he's no jacob from the bible (but damn he made me pray)" 🔒 (M) by softnoirr | 8,567 | He fell in love with his best friend. He fell out of love with the thing they did together. He broke like a puppet crumbling under its strings.
"freight train running" 🔒 (E) by adeleblaircassiedanser | 1,607 | Right now he cares roughly zero about anything except Leon’s warm hands on him, the way he smells and tastes like he showered and used Listerine and shaved just to be waiting here, waiting for Connor. “Sit down,” Leon says. “I want to blow you. You look so fucking money.”
"The Great Escape" 🔒 (E) by marmolita | 6,809 | Sometimes you just need to drive across Canada with your girlfriend, your girlfriend's girlfriend, your girlfriend's girlfriend's boyfriend, and a couple of dogs.
"circle the drain" 🔒 (T) by blaahaj | 3,431 | “Listen.” Connor leans right up to the mic. “If there’s any kind of—anybody, studying time travel out there, I’m stuck in a time loop, okay? I’m stuck and I don’t know what else to do, take me off to a lab or whatever but I’m so fucking sick of—” “What the fuck,” Leon says, too loud.
"in the spaces no one looks" 🔒 (M) by anonymous | 18,873 | When the lights come back on after the Pride Tape presentation and the boys start to stir, Connor looks at Ebs, sitting on the floor in front of him, and he says, without thinking, "Is this about me?" Everyone within earshot freezes.
"All In" 🔒 (E) by marmolita | 29,414 | The website is simple and straightforward. The header reads Black Forest BDSM and there's a tasteful banner showing a set of leather handcuffs laying on elegant sheets. There's a photo on the side of a solidly built man in leather pants and a tight fitting shirt, cropped so that his mouth is visible but the rest of his face isn't.
"tonight we're gonna drown the sound out" 🔒 (E) by winglavender | 1,970 | Some days Leon still can't believe he gets to have this: Connor, his hair fluffed up from Leon's fingers, all his teeth showing, easy and relaxed in a way he isn't anywhere else.
"older, younger, both" 🔒 (E) by notthequiettype | 1,875 | "You look really young this year." "I look the same," Connor says.
"living by the hour" 🔒 (M) by notthequiettype | 1,233 | "Good birthday?" Leon hums, and starts opening up Connor's slacks.
"the weakness of wanting anything" 🔒 (E) by notthequiettype | 6,323 | "I can't believe you didn't tell me you had an exit strategy," Leon says, and taps the lit button to keep the doors from closing. "I didn't," Connor says, and steps in. "I just got tired."
"this year" 🔒 (NR) by notthequiettype | 409 | Connor had been saying, this year this year this year for so long now, a prayer that had lost specificity a long time ago.
"green in your love" 🔒 (E) by notthequiettype | 6,151 | How it could have, should have, and did.
"green as weeds" 🔒 (E) by notthequiettype | 6,671 | Connor knows he shouldn't go, that even if Leon's been nice enough to him, gone out of his way include Connor in team stuff more enthusiastically than Connor was used to, it was still different than going to his house, going to a party, going to a party at his house.
"love me mercilessly" 🔒 (E) by notthequiettype | 2,309 | It's not usually like this.
"the consensual reality of ordinary life" 🔒 (E) by notthequiettype | 3,779 | Two years ago, the bland domesticity of a routine would've sent Leon into a spiral.
"show me how to be your boy" 🔒 (E) by notthequiettype | 3,535 | "I'm good," Connor says, when the hot surge of it settles into an ache for more. "You're always good," Leon says, smirking against Connor's mouth.
"universal properties" 🔒 (NR) by stridents | 7,950 | The video has 400k views already. Or at least, this version on Twitter does, which seems to be a repost of an already-deleted account. The caption is just two eyes emojis, a shocked face, and Connor’s fucking Twitter handle.
"a brief, unauthorized guide to tending an exit wound" 🔒 (NR) by stridents | 10,121 | In the ten months between March 2021 and January 2022, Connor McDavid gets swept in the first round of the Stanley Cup playoffs, initiates a breakup, and is hit very hard on the head.
"legs and limbs" 🔒 (T) by stridents | 757 | “You’re unglaublich.” Connor says it soft and haltingly, because it’s new and unfamiliar and Leon’s. His mouth is refusing to cooperate, tongue sitting too close to his new teeth. “Very good.” Almost true. And besides – Leon loves him.
"The Sexual Adventures of McDavid (or How Connor Learns To Relax)" 🔒 (M) by carissima | 6,546 | Leon’s heart is racing as he steps into the shower and flicks the water on. It’s hot and the pressure is too high, his skin prickling as the water flows down his body. He ducks his head under the spray and tries to get his breathing under control. Connor just checked him out, he’s sure of it.
"(a kiss) to encourage" 🔒 (T) by carissima | 1,023 | “I don’t mind running,” Leon says, stepping off the machine and grabbing a bottle of water that he downs in one long drink. “You just need some motivation.” Connor groans and gets to his feet. “Nope. Nothing could motivate me to run.” Leon pats his shoulder. “We’ll think of something.”
"push and pull" 🔒 (T) by carissima | 5,415 | “Say you want it then,” Leon says, skating backwards and keeping his gaze locked on Connor. “Say you want the fucking trophy, Connor.” “I want the trophy,” Connor yells. It echoes weirdly in the empty space around them but he doesn’t care. “Are you happy now?” “Not yet but we’re getting there,” Leon says.
"dragging myself back home" 🔒 (T) by blaahaj | 4,021 | Connor doesn’t go to Cologne on a whim. He’s been thinking about it for a long time—since Leon announced his retirement from the NHL more than a year ago. Connor meant to go watch him play, told him so even, the handful of times they’d talked to each other. But the NHL season was what it was, and even when they were teammates Connor never followed Leon home for the offseason.
"four years, no calls" 🔒 (M) by blaahaj | 4,241 | Connor takes a swig of his beer and waits until Leon’s a safe distance away. This won’t be pleasant, but some things need to be said. “He’s not gonna fuck you, just so you know,” Connor tells Tyson, gently as he can.
"got the ceiling with the stars" 🔒 (E) by eversincewefellapart | 5,655 | “That’s so dope. You got a sugar daddy, huh?” Connor’s face goes hot extremely fast. “I — what? No?” Kailer finally looks up. “The rich older guy you’re dating drops thousands of dollars on gifts for you and takes you on vacations?” he says, and Connor hesitates before nodding. “Congratulations! You got a sugar daddy.”
"the most remarkable thing about you" 🔒 (T) by winglavender | 6,719 | "I was never going to get in the middle of what you and Connor have anyway. You know what I mean," Darnell waves a hand. "The dynamic duo, the two top scorers, the All Star legends, carrying the whole team on your very impressive shoulders. And that crush Connor had on you for years." Darnell shakes his head. "I just can't compete with that kind of bond." Leon is sitting down, but he feels like his skates just slipped out from under him. "What?"
"memory that beats like a drum" 🔒 (M) by notthequiettype | 1,581 | "You lead, I'll follow." Leon says it like it's easy. "Yeah," Connor asks, his voice kind of reedy from yelling on the ice. "That simple?" This doesn't feel simple, suddenly. It feels huge and complicated and maybe almost scary if Connor wasn't too tired to feel anything resembling fear. He wants it anyway. "Anywhere."
"the years of love's past" 🔒 (NR) by notthequiettype | 2,169 | Connor sent a gift. It was what you did when you were an adult and an invitation was extended to you, even if it was one you wouldn't accept. Couldn't.
"Can't Change The World (But Maybe I'll Change Your Mind)" 🔒 (M) by puckinghell | 11,006 | Leon knows he should maybe try to contact Connor, but he doesn’t really know what to say. The thing is, if it was anyone else, he’d text. He’d tell them it’d be okay – even though he has no clue – and to get through it and that he’s there for them. He’d then expect to not hear from them again. But it’s Connor, and everything is different, with Connor.
"the perfect blend" 🔒 (T) by carissima | 5,714 | “This your first time here then?” Darnell asks, reaching below the counter to pull out a loyalty card that he dangles in front of Holy Fucking Hottie. “Ten visits gets you a free coffee.” “I guess it depends whether the coffee’s any good then,” Holy Fucking Hottie says, his gaze flickering over to where Connor is sliding the lid on his espresso.
"if we make it through december (we'll be fine)" 🔒 (M) by softnoirr | 15,610 | “Are you uh,” Connor takes a breath, “Are you doing anything for Christmas?” Leon pauses, his hands stilling on the laces of his skates, but he doesn’t look up. Connor’s starting to develop a paranoia that he’s going to forget what Leon’s eyes actually look like.
"tonight the sky's alive" 🔒 (E) by anonymous | 2,371 | Leon grabbing his hand while they were out shopping in the city had been a new thing. Weird but nice, which basically described all of Connor’s friends. He guessed that was a consequence of focusing on hockey for so long.
"kiss me with your mouth open" 🔒 (E) by winglavender | 12,920 | "Why, are you offering?" Leon's still smiling, ready to make a joke of it again. Connor swallows. "What if I was?"
"take me back to places i feel loved in" 🔒 (T) by fishfoods | 1,637 | They'd had a conversation after that last doctor visit, a mess of words and comfort, hands held too tight. Connor could see it in Leon's eyes then. He wasn't going to ask. Connor should've known. He'd never, ever, ever ask. Someone else would've. Not Leon. Connor has one year left. One year. He's going to play, and then he's going to come back, and they'll figure things out from then.
"i know you're something else" (E) by littlelocaldreamer | 4,274 | Connor’s never had a friend like Leon before.
"door number two" 🔒 (M) by blaahaj | 5,919 | “You this nice to all Hallsy’s hookups?” Leon asked. Connor shook his head. “You’re the only one I’ve met.” God, he really was new.
"came to win" 🔒 (M) by revanchist | 400 | Because he’s drunk, and because he’s not thinking with his head, and because it’s always harder at the scene of the crime to pretend the crime didn’t happen in the first place, he says, “Sometimes you’re so good I want to slap you.”
"be the one to set me free" 🔒 (E) by notthequiettype | 31,327 | Connor tips his chin up and Leon's mouth is on his in the same breath, something slow and new and careful, exploratory, cautious, Connor's hunger for it simmering low and then roaring to life, hot and heavy in his belly. It's different than kissing Amanda, or Leslie, or any of the girls before or in-between, like it's touching something new. It feels like an itch being scratched that he didn't know was there at all.
"I'm not a sailor, I'm a captain" 🔒 (E) by LizzieMack | 1,940 | so connor mcdavid has a hot tub
"for control, grip" (E) by brinicles | 3,330 | Everything Leon does is foreign and fantastical. He comes back every fall and feels like something from another dimension all over again, something new, novel, a whole different hemisphere of frost boiled down into his blood, a frame that Connor can study endlessly: can watch and scrutinize and never really figure out, never get a handle on. This isn't that, though. This is just Leon being a little shit.
".500" (T) by brinicles | 4,647 | "Fuck," he mutters. "Hey," Connor says from the doorway. He stumbles again. "Fuck," he says again. (Mar 9 2020, EDM vs VGK: You can keep the game alive, but the season dies fast as the year goes on.)
"Better Than I Ever Even Knew" (E) by Lewsy | 13,185 | Connor gets it, has made his peace with the fact that most people find him painfully boring, but he’s managed to keep Leon around, so maybe it’s not that bad.
"and just for this moment (as long as you're mine)" 🔒 (E) by adoringsolitude | 5,815 | He digs his nails into his forearm in a desperate attempt to ground himself as he strains to catalog every sensation, knowing with absolute certainty that even if he manages to ask someone else for this someday, it won’t be as good as this.
"we’re only alive if we bruise" (M) by snowinthestars | 1,916 | Leon and Connor don’t really have personal space with each other.
"no dawn, no day" (T) by jalebibaby | 1,784 | Later, when his heart rate shoots up, and his lungs are on fire, trying to keep up with him pushing so hard to get back on the ice, he counts to twenty-nine.
"even when i lose i’m winning" (NR) by allthatsings | 1,109 | Connor helps an injured Leon get ready for bed during Round 3 of the 2022 Stanley Cup Playoffs.
"impulsivity" 🔒 (NR) by notthethequiettype | 791 | connor goes to germany
"the way things have a double life" 🔒 (M) by notthequiettype | 3,777 | connor decides to try playing it fast and loose. leon isn't handling it well.
"Two Minutes for Hooking" 🔒 (E) by Helenish | 5,271 | It used to bother him, being looked at, picked apart, but he’s used to it now. Part of the job.
"what we've made" 🔒 (E) by notthequiettype | 6,683 | "Come to the house." "Aren't you sick of me?" "Not as sick as I'll be of the quiet."
"miracle summer" 🔒 (T) by Helenish | 2,748 | “I thought,” Connor says once, tucked in next him, drowsy. “When I first saw you coming off the Ferry, I thought you were summer people.”
"cherry bomb" 🔒 (E) by notthequiettype | 2,469 | "Cherries are a little on the nose." Connor hums again, the end tilted into a question. "Fruit," Leon says, and lets his fingers graze higher, the soft skin of Connor's inner thigh.
"sure as the sea" (E) by littlelocaldreamer | 3,698 | They don’t do this. But Connor looks so happy, so carefree like he never is, and before he can stop himself Leon asks the girl, “When are we leaving?”
"if i'm not what you hoped" 🔒 (E) by winglavender | 10,425 | "Heard the Leafs lost tonight." "Yeah." Mitch pulls an exaggerated face. "Leading the whole game and then Connor's guy ties it up with a disgusting pass, absolutely filthy, and then scored the overtime winner." "That's rough. You want another one?" The bartender tips her head at Connor's half-empty glass; he shakes his head. "Who's your guy?" "Draisaitl, obviously." Mitch taps the rainbow-patterned 29 on Connor's arm for emphasis. "He's not my guy," Connor says.
"orbit" 🔒 (E) by withfeathers | 2,000 | Leon was one draft spot away from being on the other side of the ice. Not that he thinks about it much.
"when you find out" 🔒 (E) by nymhciv | 10,779 | It takes Connor a moment, blinking, to realise what Yamo is showing him. He sends work out pictures in the team group chat sometimes, they all do, a check in system that had been well established when Connor joined the team. Connor thinks that’s what Yamo is showing him, at first, wonders if he’s about to get shit for his form. Then the Connor on screen moves, sinks further into his lunge, brings his heel up towards his ass. They don’t send video in the team chat, but the team chat isn’t the only place Connor shares his work out routines. And Connor does post video on OnlyFans.
"love casts a shadow" 🔒 (NR) by notthequiettype | 645 | Leon thinks, after seven years, he should be used to it.
"cover to cover and unbound" 🔒 (M) by lighthousetowers | 24,659 | “That’s not the ending, is it?” Connor asks. “Uh,” Leon finds the spot where he stopped reading, “yes, it pretty much is. Last sentence: ‘Not made for each other, they are making each other.’ The end, I guess.” It takes a couple beats for Connor to speak. “Is it? The end? They’re still there. They’re still making each other.”
"say it, say it again" 🔒 (E) by lagerlout | 4,157 | “Where are we going?” Connor asks, lips brushing against Leon’s ear as they hit a speed bump. “Don’t know,” Leon says, eyes on Connor’s mouth as he brings a water bottle to his lips, “Don’t care.”
"but close ain't close enough" 🔒 (E) by lagerlout | 6,363 | “How come I have to be the girl?” Leon asks. Connor’s too disorientated from the heat and the blood rushing south, liquid fire in his veins with Leon’s breath ghosting over his shoulder so he blurts out, “Cause you’re the pretty one.”
"keep the bullet" 🔒 (E) by cuprun | 19,132 | “It’s not about the sex part. Like, that’s fun and it helps, but it’s more about, like,” Lauren pauses, really thinking about it, “giving up control. Letting someone else be in charge. Letting them figure out what he needs and give it to him without him having to ask.” She raises one shoulder in a delicate shrug. “He could probably explain it better.” Leon doesn’t get flustered, as a general rule, but he might now, at the idea of having this conversation with Connor himself. “And he’d want to do that with me?” “He trusts you,” Lauren says simply.
"Choke" 🔒 (E) by Helenish | 8,635 | “Maybe I don’t want my dick sucked,” Connor said reflexively, as Leon racked the barbell with a clatter, heaved a breath, a half laugh, and said, “Speak for yourself.”
"accessory to the rockstar" 🔒 (E) by unsay | 5,318 | It’s not a competition. Leon has seen nature documentaries, he knows about that; he and Lauren evolved to fill different ecological needs.
"the lightning on your breath" 🔒 (E) by notthequiettype | 18,073 | Connor says his name, this low, soft, "Leo," that's going to haunt Leon for the rest of his life, a moment pinned, and he leans in and presses their mouths together, slow enough that he gets to watch Connor's eyes drop shut, his fluttering lashes, to know that Connor knows exactly what's happening, not moving or backing away, laughing or shoving at Leon, just kissing back, opening his mouth against Leon's, and it's better than what happened when they were young when Leon was too cowardly to learn the shape of Connor's mouth against his, better than most of what Leon's had since.
"just the touch of your hand" 🔒 (E) by lagerlout | 3,463 | Connor's limbs slacken under Leon’s grip, brain short-circuiting, all systems fried except for a white-hot buzz of yes.
"better put that business to bed" 🔒 (E) by lagerlout | 2,870 | “Get it, Leo,” Connor rasps and fuck. Fuck, his voice. It’s almost completely gone, a throaty rumble two octaves lower than usual and Leon’s dick goes from mildly interested to rock-hard in three seconds flat.
"two strangers in the red light" 🔒 (E) by notthequiettype | 14,937 | Connor looks up, derailed only momentarily by how good-looking the guy is, slacks and a button-down open at the top like his pictures, and a nice wool coat. Connor clears his throat. "Is it better if I tell you I didn't request it, at least?" "And ruin the fantasy that I just found out that Connor McDavid's an absolute freak? No way."
"polite fiction" 🔒 (E) by blaahaj | 3,651 | If Connor thinks it’s worth asking about, he thinks he can make it good, and he’s probably right.
"the best thing that hasn't happened yet" 🔒 (E) by notthequiettype | 36,209 | "It's Connor, right," Leon asks, as he approaches. "It is, yeah. Nice to meet you, Mr. Draisaitl."
"leech" 🔒 (E) by blaahaj | 2,220 | Connor had been holding his breath since May, since Vegas. He didn’t say anything. Let his chest hurt.
"one pitch" 🔒 (NR) by notthequiettype | 533 | Connor's always liked the sound of the crowd, but tonight it feels like being smothered.
"i'm gonna tell you right now, they're all i'm thinkin' about" 🔒 (E) by lagerlout | 7,012 | Connor understands it now, why Lauren takes her time to pick her little outfits, to make sure she looks her best and preens when he compliments her. He wants to be adored too.
"bones in the foundation" 🔒 (M) by cuprun | 8,623 | connor & leon show off their magic disappearing act. it would be great if they did it on purpose. sometimes the haunted house is just your own house.
"Home by Now" 🔒 (T) by ClaraxBarton | 2,769 | There are brats, and then there are brats. Leon had grown up safe and secure in the knowledge that he was good. It hadn’t really been a question - if Leon would be a sub or a dom or a switch or adynamic. Draisaitl boys were always subs, always had been - always, his grandmother had once smirked, would be. So. Leon was a sub, but Leon was good.
"lean on my mistakes" 🔒 (T) by blaahaj | 4,287 | “So why are you two normal?” Leon asked. Kailer rubbed his chin. “I can still feel it,” he said after a second. “It’s just that I’ve had a crush on you for like three years now so it’s not a big deal. You do look really good though, man,” and he patted Leon’s chest. “Thank you,” Leon said, and looked at Connor.
"to think I almost had it going" 🔒 (NR) by bluenorth | 1,109 | There’s a ringing in Connor’s ears. It’s a never-ending crescendo, it drowns out the red mass of people that gets more agitated as the final seconds of the game run out. It feels personal and what can anyone do when time and luck are not on your side? When nothing you do is ever enough? When the thing you want is within your grasp and someone takes it before you can?
"bend and break this fever dream" 🔒 (E) by notthequiettype | 7,019 | Connor McDavid Goes to Kink Class
"if i could make a wish" 🔒 (M) by lagerlout | 2,884 | “People can see us.” “It’s just the team,” Leon mumbles, lips brushing against his shoulder, “Any of them would want to take care of their captain.”
••••••
"did all of this sober" 🔒 (T) by blaahaj | 2,344 | “Yeah, I mean.” Connor’s hands are on his hips. He’s wearing the gross underarmor Leon always tried to get him to throw away, with padding over the collarbone. “Leo is…you know, we work very closely together off the ice. Worked. What happened is behind me and I just want to move on with the season.” Nobody has the balls to ask Connor about the other rumors going around. Leon figured they wouldn’t.
"Scoring Effects" 🔒 (E) by Helenish | 30,196 | One constant of NHL hockey is that teams that are losing, on average, dominate play. They have the puck more, they take more shots, they take more risks, they score more goals. These effects are broadly called "score effects.”
Ongoing list that will be updated.
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softness-and-shattering · 9 months ago
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Just spent a bit of time working t e r. F.s
(Edit: blocking. I dont know why i said working.)
1. A lot of them claim to be young. A lot of blogs that say minor, 17, 19, handful of others under say 24.
2. Theres some funny shit. "I hate all men" uh your header is my friends crowley and aziraphale.
3. Someones real mad "we trans people" have adopted blahaj (she called him "the ikea shark") and wants to re-adopt him as a terf dogwhistle. I dont think this is gonna happen probably but fyi.
4. Someone else mad we've "stolen" gender euphoria from masc lesbians. How dare we be joyful about short hair??? How dare that be about gender sometimes.
5. Naming conventions/lookouts: a lot of gyn a lot of rad a lot of joan of arc, the lesbian labrys flag (thats what its called right? The purple with the axe thing?), a lot of "adult woman" "adult human female" "pro women" "protect women", a lot of "baby radfem" and "aspiring radfem", plus the age thing is worrying.
Anyway fyi
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rin-bellatrix · 2 years ago
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A Man After Midnight
"Won't somebody help me chase the shadows away?" - ABBA
Sasha's gone missing in search of the final vault key piece, and Fiona will be damned if another vault tries to take her sister from her - again. It doesn't matter who - or what - gets in her way, she'll find her sister - even when something supernatural is determined to make sure that she and Rhys never see the light of day again...
Written for the rhyiona lovers who are also Halloween lovers
Header art is by arymus (deactivated ☹)
I decided during the planning stages that this will be part three to "It Takes Two" and "U.N.I." sooo this is a multi-chapter work now I guess 🤷🏽‍♀️
Btw... it's a long one folks, get a snack and strap in lol
Fall leaves dividers from these posts and jack-o-lantern dividers from these posts. Orange swirl divider from this post
Trick or Treat~ ❤🧡💛🍁🍂🎃⚰🪦💀🕸🦇😈
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Rhys turned off the car engine, pocketing the key and stepping out of the car with Fiona. The air was chilled and thick with mist that saturated the scenery and painted everything in a dreary sort of gray color. They glanced around and caught the looks of the wary townsfolk as they eyed the newcomers who had just arrived in their small rural town.
Fiona ducked her head, allowing the brim of her hat to cover her eyes - an old habit she never lost from back in her grifting days. 'Keep your head down, do your best to blend in and don't bring any unnecessary attention to yourself,' said the memory of Felix's voice floating in the back of her mind. But those days were behind her now. She was here for one reason and one reason only - to find her sister.
Meanwhile, Rhys shivered in the cold autumn air and tugged his jacket tighter around himself, glancing around the shrouded town to try and locate the hotel he had booked their stay at. All of the buildings appeared looming and ominous in this weather; he couldn't really differentiate one from another as they were half concealed with a wispy blanket of fog.
This was not some romantic getaway for the weekend, but rather an expedition to try and find Sasha. Her last known location had been here, this backwards little hole where she had followed a supposed "lead" to a new potential vault key piece. She had been conversing with Fiona, keeping a regular point of contact with her for the two days that she was there. On the third day, Sasha failed to check in and Fiona's big sister protective instincts flared to life, causing the vault hunter to abandon her current assignment and Fast Travel back to Promethea, where she could load up on gear and head over to her sister's last known whereabouts.
When he got the notification that his girlfriend was stopping by his company's home planet, Atlas' president grew excited at the thought of a romantic night out. Activating his newly programmed assistant, TIMM-E, Rhys allowed the program to take care of Atlas while its president was briefly away. He needed to work on making a body for TIMM-E, because as of right now, he was just an encrypted piece of data floating around Atlas' system. But for today, he could do his job well enough that his body would have to wait for later. Right now, love and romance were what Rhys was focused on.
Donning his expensive cologne and a fresh set of date night clothes, he swept by her apartment with a large bouquet of roses in hand, intending on asking her out for the evening. Expecting a tired but content vault hunter at the door, he was instead met with a laser focused, completely serious vault hunter who was not stopping by to rest for a few days before running off to her next adventure. She was only here temporarily, strapping up for what looked like a big battle.
He questioned her with a concerned wrinkle to his brow as he watched her check the sights of a rare gun before sliding a fresh clip into it. She briefed him about the little she knew, moving on to handle two different grenade mods, trying to decide which was the better of the two. The young CEO placed the roses in a vase, fanning them out a bit as the Pandoran woman clipped the chosen grenade mod to her hip, tossing the other one back into her storage container.
Seeing Fiona cycle through her inventory and attaching high powered weaponry to her belts, Rhys knew he couldn't leave her to face this alone. Sasha was her sister, but she was also one of his closest friends. They were all a family, bound by more than blood. He wasn't some kind of world class assassin, or really a fighter of any kind, but Fiona needed support and he'd give his all to be there for her and Sasha.
When he proposed that he'd come along to help, Fiona had outright refused, claiming that he'd just be putting himself in danger and that she didn't want to worry about her sister and her boyfriend too. But he insisted, claiming that his cybernetic inhancements would make tracking clues and ultimately finding Sasha that much easier. Eventually, the prospect of getting to her sister as soon as she was able to convinced the vault hunter to accept his help.
Rhys carefully reached out and pulled her into his arms, holding her tight. "Don't worry Fi, we'll find her."
He could feel the various edges of her weapons pressing into his body, and truthfully it was a bit uncomfortable. But she returned his embrace and pressed her face into his shoulder, knocking her hat askew, and his discomfort didn't matter compared to his need to console his lover. Fiona was incredibly brave, but he knew that she was also incredibly scared. His own worry over Sasha's disappearance was hard to push back, but he didn't want to add to his girlfriend's already obvious distress.
They eventually broke away, and Rhys soon after hopped on a call to obtain their reservations for a hotel in the town Sasha had last been in. Fiona excused herself, needing to go down to the lobby of her apartment building and purchase ammunition from a vending machine, before getting ready to leave.
Turns out getting there was a little more complicated then they thought. The small town was so sequestered that not only did it not have a Fast Travel designated location, but it was miles away from the closest city that did. So Rhys quickly rung up the nearest rental and placed an order for a high-class (of course) but simple vehicle that would take them the rest of the way.
Now that they had arrived, they needed to grab their gear and make their way over to the hotel to officially begin their search. The company man and the Pandoran woman each took ahold of their own luggage, trying to ignore the feel of being stared at by dozens of watchful gazes. Closing the trunk and stepping away from their rented car, the young CEO activated the anti-theft alarm which seemed to chirp loudly in the lull of this tense silence. Turning towards the hotel, the couple began walking down the street when a voice called out to them.
"You can't park that here."
They both turned to find the speaker, taking in the older man leaning against a support beam in front of a shop. He looked less than impressed with them, his stare cold and unflinching.
"Oh, I'm sorry, is there a lot nearby or somewhere else I can park it?" Rhys asked, trying not to ruffle the feathers of the townspeople who were now all eyeing the newcomers with varying degrees of distain.
He glanced down the foggy street, but only then did he realize that there were no other vehicles as far as the eye could see. In fact, he hadn't seen any at all while driving into town. Their rental could most likely be the only car within a hundred miles.
"Sure," the old man shrugged easily, gesturing vaguely with a slight wave of his hand. "Best to park it in the next town over. Stay with it too, while you're at it."
Atlas' president frowned, not liking the way this guy just told them in a roundabout way to leave and stay gone. He opened his mouth to retort, when his girlfriend moved past him to step closer to this stranger.
"Look, we're only here because we're looking for my sister," she informed, watching his face carefully before turning and catching the eyes of everyone who was staring at them. "Has anyone seen her? A woman with light green eyes, her hair done up in thick locs? She was here for two days?"
None of the townsfolk spoke up or moved, they just continued to observe the couple as if Fiona had never said a word. They both knew that everyone watching had understood Fiona, it wasn't as if she was speaking Eridian. The people nearby were just purposefully ignoring her. The vault hunter pursed her lips, fighting back against the frustration wanting to get the better of her.
Rhys lifted his cybernetic hand, pulling up a hologram portrait of Sasha on his palm display. A blue digitized bust of Sasha sat in his hand, her smile beautiful and bright as she slowly rotated in a full 360 degree visual reference.
As soon as Rhys lifted his mechanical hand and brought up a glowing hologram, the reaction with the crowd was immediate. Everyone seemed to move back away from them, their murmurs of offense and scandle clear in the tones of their voices. They acted as if Rhys had just called forth fire from his hand. Startled, the young CEO quickly dismissed the hologram and dropped his hand, taking a step closer to Fiona. Likewise, she moved to face him, and one of the onlookers caught sight of the official vault hunter patch sewn onto the sleeve of her jacket.
"A vault hunter..."
"Vault hunter-"
"Did you see that-"
"Another one-"
Their frantic words ran together, almost unintelligible, but they both could hear the genuine fear and open disgust when the words "vault hunter" were spoken.
The people living in this backwards town had been coolly contemptuous, then reacting with indignation when Atlas' head had pulled up a hologram, acting as if modern technology didn't exist outside of this settlement. But the tone clearly shifted once Fiona was identified as a vault hunter, the air now thick with hostility and the promise of violence.
What these people had against advanced devices and vault hunters, she may never know, and to be honest, she really didn't care. Right now, they were in her way of finding where her sister was and if one of them even took a single threatening step closer, she'd have no problem whipping a gun out and showing them that she meant business.
"Everyone calm down, calm down now - these people are guests come to visit our fine town; let's show them some of our famous hospitality, shall we?"
A clear voice cut through the tension, making Rhys and Fiona turn towards the woman stepping through the small crowd that had gradually gathered around them. She was mature and elegant, holding her chin high as she swept towards them. Fiona, still on edge, kept her hand posed to reach for a weapon, eyeing the woman with open suspicion.
The older woman didn't seem to mind, looking between the two of them with a mild sort of curiosity. She was wearing what could only be described as an expensive gown, her collar bare and her skirt voluminous. She wore simple yet expensive jewelry along her neck and on her fingers. No one in the gathering stopped her or disobeyed her words, they only watched as she stood in front of the two newcomers.
"You must be the Strongforks, yes? You've procured your reservation for a stay at my hotel. My name is Lady Van Tassel, pleased to make your acquaintances," she stated, extending her hand demurely as she introduced herself.
"Oh! Yes, that's us, erm, t-the Strongforks, yep," Rhys fumbled, stepping over to delicately take her offered hand and give her a dainty shake.
He stepped back and Lady Van Tassel's hand was extended towards Fiona. Fiona wanted to ask Rhys about when they had gotten married and why hadn't she been informed, but that could wait until they were alone. She supposed for now she could play Mrs. Strongfork if it got them out of this situation faster. So she took her hand and also gave a gentle shake, noticing almost as an after thought of how soft her skin felt against her own.
Pulling away, the Pandoran mentally considered her own hands. The life of a vault hunter was rough, but that didn't mean her hands had to be. She made a mental note to moisturize more often.
"Please, come this way. I'll see you to your room," the Lady said, turning and allowing the out-of-town couple to follow behind her.
Glancing at the people who only moments ago were so keen on displaying their outright hatred for them, Fiona watched as they broke away and dispersed, not even sparing them one last disgruntled glance. Either their ire was extremely fickle, or Lady Van Tassel was someone more important than a simple hotel owner.
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Entering between the large double doors of the hotel, all three of them stepped into the quiet lobby, with Ms. Van Tassel leading them straight to the check-in desk.
Despite Rhys' long legged height, as he followed closely behind the Lady and her vast swishing skirts, he reminded her of a baby duck, trailing in her wake. Fiona supposed that since she had taken them both in, that would make her a duckling too. She never liked to be indebted to people, especially those who she didn't know, but she had to admit that Ms. Van Tassel had pulled them out of a sticky situation.
"Thank you, for what you did back there," Fiona called out, catching the eye of the Lady as she turned to look at her from over her shoulder.
The older woman sighed, shaking her head once as she rounded the desk. "Let me apologize on behalf of my neighbors. We don't get very many visitors, and those that we do, some end up being vandals who call themselves 'vault hunter's' and only bring chaos to our quiet little town." She glanced up at them, her brow pinched with concern. "We've had a few... Unsavory altercations in the past. So many of us are wary, to put it lightly, of anyone who claims to be a vault hunter..."
Fiona nodded, stepping closer to the desk. "I understand, and I'm sorry for your troubles. But believe me when I say that I'm just here to find my sister. As soon as I do, we're gone. You have my word."
Lady Van Tassel regarded them quietly for a moment, before offering a small smile. "You two certainly don't come across as ruffians or scoundrels... I'll take you for your word, an unbroken promise between two ladies and a gentleman," she granted, reaching over the desk to take Fiona's hand again in another shake.
She then reached down and pulled out a large book, carefully opening up to a bookmarked page before turning it around and settling it onto the ledge in front of Rhys. "Sign here then, Mr. Strongfork," she instructed, pointing underneath a row of names to the next open space. "I'll get your keys ready and escort you upstairs to your quarters."
She turned towards a desk behind her and opened a wide drawer as Rhys scribbled his name across the page. Fiona sidled up next to him and together they scanned the names on the registry, looking for any of the names Sasha had used in the past. None had stood out to them, and so Rhys turned the book around as the Lady faced them, holding two copies of the room key out to them.
Taking one each, Fiona pocketed hers immediately and figured she'd question Ms. Van Tassel now while she had the chance. "Lady, have you seen a young woman in town, green eyes, thick hair locs? She was here for two days, I've lost communication with her almost a day ago."
"I'm sorry, but I haven't seen anyone around here that looks like that. She's your sister you say? I hope you find her soon, darling," the Lady murmured, coming around the desk to offer a consoling pat to the vault hunter's arm, before linking their arms together. "Now, let's get you two situated upstairs, and I'll have a hot meal waiting for you when you're ready to come back down. You can't go out searching on an empty stomach."
She guided Fiona towards the stairs, calling out behind her for Rhys. "Mr. Strongfork, please don't forget your lovely wife's luggage, be a dear and carry them up for us, won't you?"
Had she turned to look over her shoulder at him, she would've found said Mr. Strongfork blushing at the mention of Fiona as his wife.
"Y-yeah, of course... Wouldn't want m-... My... W-wife to-"
"Rhys darling~" Fiona called, interrupting his suspicious stammering.  If this town was as backwards as it has already proven itself to be, then perhaps an unwed couple sharing a room would be the last straw on the belliks back. "Don't keep us waiting, okay~?"
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Their room was nothing too extravagant, but it looked comfortable and clean. Fiona was truly exhausted, only allowing herself to sleep on the car ride over, which had been a mere couple of hours. Before that she had been out on the field, completing some side mission for someone on Sanctuary. Now, the temptation of a clean bed called to her, her body desperate for some real rest. But the thought of her sister alone, possibly in a dangerous situation - or worse, hurt - kept her from being able to indulge in some much needed sleep.
So for now she shoved her luggage under the bed and straightened up to look at Rhys. "So... Husband of mine."
The ease with which Fiona could conjure a blush to her boyfriend's face was incredibly satisfying, but it didn't make up for the explanation he owed her.
"So, I'm sure you'd like for me to explain myself right?"
Fiona raised her scarred brow as a silent answer.
He glanced down shyly, rubbing the back of his neck as a subconscious show of discomfort. His still pink cheeks combined with a tentative smile made her soften towards him. "Well, when I called to book the reservation, you had just left to go stock up on ammo, so when Lady Van Tassel answered, I kinda had to wing it when I asked for a double and she inquired if my... Wife... Was coming along... So I just sort of said, yes..."
He looked up at her and she swore that at any moment, he'd start poking his index fingers together like a guilty child. "Hmm, maybe it's a bit too early for us, we still haven't had our one year anniversary yet..."
Rhys chuckled nervously, relaxing a bit but still looking as though he was expecting a solid reprimanding. "Hehe, yeah, definitely too early for like, marriage and stuff..."
Fiona made a show of tapping her chin in thought, humming to herself as he watched. "Though I don't think I'd mind if I was Mrs. Strongfork for a while..."
"...Oh...?" The hopeful tone in her boyfriend's voice brought a smile to her face.
"Yeah. After all, I'd get at least fifty-one percent of Atlas right?"
"Wha- fifty-one percent? If anything, I would get fifty-one percent because I'm the CEO-"
"Am I hearing fifty-two percent?"
"No, come on, that's not how negotiating works-"
"Fifty-three percent."
"You're not even listening-"
"Sixty."
"Please... I'm not gonna have a company left to manage-"
"Seventy-five percent and that's my final offer as your wife."
"...You are a cruel, cruel woman."
Fiona grinned, making her way over to him and planting a kiss along his jaw line. "That's why you married me, dear husband."
He slanted his head and leaned down, kissing her briefly over her ruby lips. "I wouldn't have it any other way, dear wife."
The vault hunter smiled, reaching down to link their hands together. "Let's go eat so we can find Sasha and get our asses back home."
Rhys patted his empty stomach with his free hand, almost salivating at the thought of a hot meal. "You don't have to tell me twice, I really hope it's delicious."
His girlfriend pulled him along, locking the door behind them. "As long as it's not chocolate dill pickle flavored, it should be good."
"Slanderous. I'm telling you, once you try Fran's yogurt, you'll be singing praises to whoever invented such a delicious flavor combination."
"We can only hope so Rhys, we can only hope so."
Their meal is simple but savory, hot and filling so it sits just right in their bellies. They thank Ms. Van Tassel as she collects their dishes and stacks them on a tray to take back to the kitchen. Turning to leave, they stop before the double doors and look back when she calls out to them.
"I should warn you, to please be back before night fall. There have been some... Strange occurrences lately, and I'd hate to see you two suffer from lack of knowledge. When night falls, come back here and resume your search tomorrow morning."
"Thank you Lady, but we're not afraid of the dark," Fiona answered. "We'll be alright, we're tougher than we look."
"I see..." The older woman murmured, clearly disappointed. "That may be so, and I can say nothing else to try and convince you otherwise. But if there is one thing you take from me, please let it be this - find shelter before the lamps go out, or surely you will be doomed."
Rhys glanced over at Fiona as the vault hunter considers the patroness, who stood by their table, the bottom of her apron twisted tightly in her worried grip. As a born and raised Pandoran, she had spent many nights out underneath the moons and stars, both as a penniless child and as fledgling vault hunter. Doing so now didn't concern her in the slightest, but she figured that she'd at least reassure the older woman and try to ease her mind.
"We understand. If we're out that late, we'll take shelter and wait it out 'til morning. Hopefully we'll find Sasha and be back before that's even an issue."
"You brave girl..." Lady Van Tassel murmured, gliding over to the younger woman and reaching up to cup her cheek tenderly.
Fiona thought that it was a little weird, but she understood that some people were comfortable with showing such displays of affection. On top of which, the Lady had been nothing but kind and welcoming to them, so if she wanted to...touch her cheek for whatever reason, Fiona didn't mind it too much.
"I was a lot like you when I was your age... Do be careful out there, both of you." Smiling softly, the Lady lifted her hand from Fiona's face while simultaneously a sharp pinch to her scalp caused the vault hunter to wince. "Oh! I'm sorry, this old ring pulled your hair, my apologies dear girl!"
The Pandoran woman reached up underneath her hat to rub at her scalp, eyeing the couple of strands that had caught on the back of Lady Van Tassel's ornate ring. "Ah... It's no problem, don't worry about it. Anyway, we'll be on our way now. Have a good night Lady, see you soon."
Fiona righted her hat and she and Rhys waved goodbye to the older woman who waved back until the double doors closed behind them.
Lady Van Tassel looked down and carefully extracted the younger woman's hair from her ring, pulling a small book of summoning from her apron pocket and tucking the hair in between the pages.
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The couple start their search by checking any areas where Sasha could've gone or was most likely to go. There was a tailor a few blocks down (who absolutely refused to let Fiona in). Rhys went in alone and questioned him but had no luck there.
Next was the grocer (who didn't want to talk if Fiona was standing within ten feet of his shop). Rhys was told a young outsider bought some fruit from him but once, and he claims he hasn't seen her since. Supposedly she looked like Sasha but he wasn't entirely sure until Rhys folded some bills into his hand. (What a schmuck.)
Walking down the foggy street to their next stop, the company man nudged his girlfriend playfully in an attempt to tease her and lift her spirits. "You think any of the people here wanna join your fan club?"
The Pandoran woman rolled her eyes, leveling the taller man with an unperturbed stare. "I'm not here to win their miss congenitality contest, I'm here to find my sister. They can think of me what they like, as long as they don't get in our way."
The florist was next, but as Fiona stepped up to the entrance, the door was slammed in her face (nearly flattening her nose and knocking her hat off), before the OPEN sign was flipped to CLOSED in the curtained window. The vault hunter was about to start kicking doors down to get her answers whether people liked it or not, but Rhys gently guided his fuming girlfriend away to their next stop.
They both decided that Rhys would do the asking, because although he wasn't too popular amongst the locals, the vile vault hunter was tolerated as well as deadly plague. Which was to say not at all.
There was a general shop, owned by the same older man that had told them to park their car elsewhere. Fiona waited outside, arms crossed over her chest as she willed her irritation to subside. Her foul mood wouldn't help find her sister any faster - in all likelihood, it might even hinder the search. So she took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to ground herself and ignore the people passing by who were obviously glaring daggers and muttering to each other about her. A shriveled old lady even spat at the ground by her feet as she hobbled on by.
It was safe to say that she was not making any new friends here.
Her boyfriend stepped out from the shop, the little bell above the door dingling as he exited. She turned to face him and he simply shook his head no. She was expecting that but the disappointment still stung. Glancing down to the small bag in his hand, she looked back up and raised a silent brow of inquiry.
"Wouldn't talk to me unless I bought something," the company man answered, lifting the bag and opening it, showing her that he bought about a dozen sticks of jerky.
"Why so much?"
Rhys shrugged. "In case we get hungry again while searching all night. Plus, if we find Sasha tonight, she'll probably be hungry too."
Fiona couldn't argue with that. "Fair enough. Now, where else can we check?"
Atlas' head ripped open one of the sticks of jerky and bit into it, using the uneaten portion to point down the road. "There's a church of some kind down that way," he spoke around the dried meat in his mouth. "Doesn't hurt to check it out."
The vault hunter wanted to make a comment about him talking with his mouth full, but truthfully she didn't have the energy to joke around right now. Exhaustion was weighing heavily on her mind and the gray skies were growing darker and darker with the night impending. "Alright, let's go."
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The church was nearly empty, the only inhabitant was a priest doing some general upkeep around the building. He also observed them with obvious concern, but so far he wasn't slamming doors in their faces or hurtling insults at them, so he was infinitely more welcoming than the other people who they tried to talk to.
Fiona waited between the threshold of the door, half expecting to be verbally thrown out before she could get a word in. Rhys didn't want to waste any time, so he quickly approached and asked the devoted man if he had seen a woman bearing Sasha's resemblance anywhere in town.
The pastor seemed to hesitate a moment, his eyes taking in the sight of the lanky man before him with a glowing amber eye and a mechanical hand that clutched a plastic bag. The silent woman behind him who lurked in the doorway who had to be the vault hunter that people had rushed in to tell him about. He sensed no ill will from either of them, but he still remained wary of their true intentions.
"I'm sorry, I can't help you. Now please, leave."
"Can't or won't?"
Rhys looked back at Fiona, her bright jade eyes leveled on the priest in an unflinching stare.
"My sister is missing and no one in this whole town can tell me where she's gone? No one can help me, not even a man of the cloth?"
The Pandoran walked forward, moving past the young CEO and stepping closer to the priest. "I'm gonna ask you again. Have you seen my sister? Do you know where she is?"
The older man looked down at her, his eyes meeting hers briefly before skittering away. "I'm sorry..." he repeated, refusing to meet her gaze.
The vault hunter stared hard at the man before her. Her boyfriend reached over to put a hand over her shoulder, silently beckoning her away. She ignored him and leaned forward, invading the pastor's personal space.
"If my sister is hurt because no one in this town wanted to help, you will come to understand the truth in the saying, 'hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.' Remember that, Father."
Fiona turned and stalked down the aisle, afraid that if she stayed for one more second, she'd come to regret it. Rhys turned, sparing the sweating priest a backwards glance before quickly following his girlfriend out of the church.
The vault hunter stormed out, leaving the church behind and marching down the street. She didn't know where she was going, only that she needed to get away. Her head was pounding and her eyes were watering for no reason. Her muscles ached and all she wanted to do was find her sister and sleep in her arms for a week straight.
Where was Sasha? Was she hurt? Why wasn't she contacting her? Did something bad happen? What if she needed Fiona right now but she was stuck here dealing with these wretched people?
Fiona stopped suddenly, so so tired and frustrated that she didn't try to fight the tears gathering along her lashes. She tilted her head back and sighed deeply, her breath billowing out in a short lived cloud. Dusk was truly settling in now and the already dark town was growing darker.
Homes with people who had all their loved ones safe and sound under one roof were drawing the curtains and dousing their lanterns. Shops that they hadn't been thrown out of were closing too, the owners locking up and heading home. No one wanted to be out in the dark at night, but Sasha was. She was out there all alone, and Fiona was failing her all over again.
She dipped her head down as she heard Rhys walk up to her. He seemed to hesitate, knowing in this moment that she was fragile. But eventually he sidled closer and whispered softly to her in the last sunlit hour.
"Hey... Can I give you a hug?"
She didn't turn her face up, keeping it turned down and hidden, but she nodded silently and turned towards him. He placed his bag of jerky by his feet before straightening and folding her in his arms. He squeezed her tight, and when her hat threatened to fall, he lifted it and placed it over his own wavy hair to keep it from hitting the damp ground. Her hair exposed, he placed a kiss on her crown and rubbed his hand down her back.
"Sasha is so lucky to have a sister like you. If I had any siblings, I'd want to have the same relationship with them that you two have." He swayed with her gently, speaking softly against her hair only loud enough for her to hear. "No one in this universe loves Sasha more than you do. Anyone can see that. You're doing your best Fiona, and you're not alone. I'm here to help you and Sasha too, remember that."
The vault hunter sniffled, rubbing her face over her boyfriend's expensive clothing. Normally she was tougher than this, but nearly two days without sleep was really wearing her thin, along with of course the constant worry. Also the abundant assholes in this town were getting on her last nerve, too.
She lifted her face and looked up at Rhys with her watery eyes. "...Thanks..."
He smiled lightly, bringing up his left hand to delicately wipe away any stray moisture from her face. "No problem beautiful."
"Sorry... I just need a moment to get myself together," she sighed, trying to summon some more strength from deep within herself.
"Take all the time you need, I'm not going anywhere," Rhys replied, taking the hat from his head and fitting it back onto Fiona's.
She adjusted it slightly, before tugging at her jacket, squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin. "How do I look?"
"Like you're ready to get back out there and threaten some more people."
An embarrassed smile broke out over her face and she reached out to slap him on his arm. "Well. He deserved it."
"Hey lady... Are you the vault hunter?"
The couple turn to look at a young teenage boy, who was staring at them like they were lunatics. Well, they were, kind of... Making a scene in the middle of the street...
"Yeah, that's me," Fiona answered, looking him up and down. He was watching them like they were loons, but she couldn't detect any hatred coming from him like every other person in town.
The boy looked around, making sure no one else saw him as he spoke with the two outsiders. It was very nearly dark now, and it seemed like everyone was inside already.
He faced the pair and cleared his throat. "Look... My da patrols the town at night, to keep our people safe. He says about a night ago, he saw the outsider lady head up towards the covered bridge, down that away," he gestured, pointing to the outskirts of town where the street lamps faded into the thick wall of mist. "She was by herself... If that's your sister you're looking for... I don't have much faith that she's okay - no one comes back who's been out after the lamps are gone, but... I hope you find her."
Rhys and Fiona looked at each other, before addressing the boy again.
"Thank you!" she called out, turning and almost running in the direction he pointed out.
"Hey, thanks kid, we really appreciate it," the company man nodded, snatching up his bag, digging in and giving the bewildered teenager a stick of jerky, before running off to catch up with his girlfriend.
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Night has truly fallen, and the only light available to them now is the faint flickering glow from the street lamps and the light from the overly large moon. The rolling fog that blanketed the area earlier has only thickened with darkness taking over.
Rhys activates his ECHO eye, tracking the foot prints from a pair of shoes around the sparsely wooded area on the edge of town. They are Sasha's size and favorite brand, and they seem to be recent - within the last twenty-four hours. He tells this to Fiona who visibly sags with relief. They haven't found her yet, but they're finally on the right track.
As time passes, they recall the warnings not to be out when the lamps died out, and now they can no longer see the flicker of the tamed flames in town. It is past midnight, and the lights have finally burned out.
Rhys' glowing amber eye pierced through the rolling fog to look up ahead and locate the covered bridge the teenage boy had mentioned. He lifted his robotic hand and activated a beam of light to shoot out of his palm display. He angled it forward until the beam could cut partially through the churning mist and illuminate part of the structure of this bridge.
"I think Sasha had to come through here, her footsteps were leading up this way for sure."
"Can you see what's on the other side?"
"Too much fog right now, we have to cross the bridge first."
Breaching the entrance to this large covered bridge, darkness almost fully envelops the pair as their heeled boots clip and thump against the wooden floorboards. The company man raises the intensity of his light beam, guiding them closer to the end of the bridge. The mist on the other side seems somehow thicker, his light barely able to penetrate through its opacity.
They step off the bridge and start walking over hard packed dirt, following Sasha's trail deeper into the forest. The shrouded mist before them is so dense that they have to slow down to make sure that they're still following in the Pandoran woman's steps. Fiona steps closer to Rhys, even wrapping a hand over the sleeve of his metal bicep, because any misstep could easily separate them in this low visiblity. This was a missing person hunt for one, no need to add anyone else to the list.
After a couple of minutes of tracing carefully over Sasha's tracks, the two of them glance at each other as they can hear what sounds like distant galloping fast approaching. They turn to look behind them and the sound of hooves striking the hard packed dirt grows closer. Becoming uneasy, the couple share a look and Fiona begins to pull Rhys along, heading back towards the covered bridge that stretched over the rushing river below. At least for sure they know there's some kind of shelter to be had there.
Just as they make out the roof of the bridge a little bit away, they look behind them once more as the growing volume of someone or something approaching sounds like it's right at their backs.
The clouds above break, moonlight shining down and illuminating the churning mist in the distance. The fog parts suddenly, and out from its depths surges an equine-like creature with a rider cloaked in shadows. What causes the couple alarm is that the head of the rider appears to be a pumpkin, a crude face sawed out of its husk and spewing flames from its holes. It seems to set its sights on the only other people in the clearing, and after rearing its horse in a show of excitement, it heads straight for the couple like a bat out of hell.
They both turn and make a run for it, sprinting across the now visible clearing and just beginning to make it across the wooden floorboards as the rider draws closer. Rhys looks behind him just as the rider stops before the bridge and takes hold of its own head. The rider winds back and hurtles the flaming pumpkin towards them. Rhys shouts for Fiona and grabs her, pulling her down with him in an attempt to dodge the attack.
As they're falling, they can feel the heat from the fire and the force of the pumpkin fly pass them and explode further up on the bridge. They land hard and twist to look behind them to see... Nothing.
There's no rider on the other side of the bridge. The mist is flowing calmly as if there was never a disturbance.
They turn simultaneously to look for the smashed pumpkin, but there is no jagged pieces of rind exploded on the floorboards like they expect there to be.
Sitting up, they look at each other in complete confusion.
"Okay... That really just happened to us, right?"
"Yeah..." Fiona answers distantly, seeming preoccupied with trying to find a reason as to what the hell just happened.
"So we're not crazy right? Some whacko was really just chasing us, chucking flaming vegetables at us right?"
"Yeah..."
Rhys looks over Fiona and helps her up. "Hey, are you okay? You're not hurt or anything Fi?"
Fiona is staring hard into the distance, where the violent rider had emerged.
"Fi?"
Fiona turns to look at Rhys, a hard look across her face. "Rhys... The last time Sasha was seen was where that pumpkin bastard came out from. Maybe he's got something to do with Sasha disappearing... Listen, go back to the hotel and wait for me there, it's too dangerous to take you along."
"No, no way am I leaving you to go off by yourself after we just met that... That galloping ghost or whatever!"
"Come on, be reasonable here. Even if I gave you a spare gun, would you be able to hit anything with it considering your poor aim?"
"Hey! I've been practicing I'll have you know-"
"Oh yeah? So you're telling me that you're confident that you can actually shoot at and hit your target?"
"Yes!"
Fiona leveled him with a flat stare.
"...And by yes I mean maybe...! A strong maybe."
She sighed. "Juuust as I thought..."
"Look, that doesn't matter anyway because I've got this little doohickey right here~" he preened, opening a digital inventory just like Fiona's, and digitizing a small gun into his hand. He showed it off like it was something special. "What do you think?"
The vault hunter shrugged, crossing her arms across her chest. "What is it, your water jet flosser?"
Atlas' president grinned, unperturbed by her teasing. "Nooo, this is the future of Atlas! A new design for people who have less than ideal aiming skills. Equipped in this power packed pistol is an automatic aim assist, or AAA for short."
"Aaa?" Fiona repeated, incredulous.
His bright smile never left though. "You got it! See, the technology here is two-fold: the actual pistol locks onto your chosen target, then the bullets have a teeny tiny little tracker as the actual bullet head. No way can anyone miss with this bad boy! Buuut, it's a prototype, not officially ready for the market yet. Soon! But not yet."
Fiona was doubtful, but Rhys seemed pretty proud of his little experimental gun, plus some back up to fight this apparition would be nice... What other choice did she have.
"Alright, fine - but on one condition," she pointed a turquoise tipped finger in his face. "Once your shield is low, come back to the bridge to hide until it fully recharges again, do you understand?"
"Well, yeah I get it, but I don't have a shield," he answered, perplexed.
"You're taking mine," she answered, deactivating her shield and removing it from her belt. She clipped it onto Rhys' belt and it flared to life, gradually recharging even amidst his protests.
"Whoa, no no no no, I can't take your shield! You need that!"
She quirked a brow at him in response. "You're gonna need it more, plus out of the two of us, I'm faster on my feet. And don't worry too much about it, I've got a backup in my inventory."
She cycled through her digital items, selecting the other shield she had in her inventory. It wasn't too much weaker than the one she had given her boyfriend, so she didn't feel too exposed as she clipped it on and it rapidly charged to full capacity.
"Now, we've gotta come up with a solid plan on how to deal with Mr. Dramatic," Fiona started, watching as Rhys shoved his AAA pistol down his waistband and put the bag of jerky in the now empty slot in his digital inventory.
"Ooh, Mr. Dramatic, that's nice - but what about Captain Dramatic? Sounds funnier."
The vault hunter rolled her eyes. "Rhys, focus."
"Okay. But just hear me out... Doctor Dramatic, huh? Huh? Come on, you can't tell me that it doesn't sound funny and dastardly."
Okay... This was gonna be a while.
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Stepping through the dense fog was anxiety inducing, it almost felt like it was purposefully moving against them and keeping the enemy from sight. At any moment, he could burst through the wall of mist and be upon them in seconds. They really had to strain their senses to catch even the slightest of changes to their environment.
Always aware, all of the time.
They didn't know how much time had passed, but soon it started to feel as if they were safe. Perhaps... Perhaps they had imagined a headless cloaked rider who threw flaming pumpkins at strangers in the woods. Certainly the idea itself was crazy - a far-fetched notion born from lack of sleep and constant worry.
The Pandoran stopped and tugged on her boyfriend's arm, pulling him to a stop alongside her. He had been stalking around just as on edge as she was, and it sort of felt silly to be walking around in circles in the middle of the woods at night. It was late in the year and night at this time of the autumn season was cold and wet. Truthfully, they could just continue to follow Sasha's boot prints rather than waste anymore time on this wild rakk chase-
A sudden glow to their left drew her eye, and immediately she shoved Rhys out of the way, jumping back herself as another flaming pumpkin crashed into the ground where they had been standing. Flaming bits of the jack-o-lantern pelted their shields, but that was of less concern than the rider on the massive steed that had just appeared.
His dark form cleaved through the fog, heading straight towards Fiona as another incendiary jack-o-lantern appeared instantly in his waiting hand.
"Rhys, remember the plan!" she called out, turning and drawing Doctor Dramatic after her as she sprinted towards the bridge for the second time that night.
If he answered back, she couldn't hear him over the sound of the horse's hooves galloping after her, and quickly gaining speed.
She ducked and rolled to the side as another firey pumpkin was thrown at her back, depleting her shield's capacity entirely. She hid behind a large tree by the edge of the clearing, trying to catch her breath as she brought out her assault rifle.
Checking the status of her recharge rate, she watched her shield capacity as it quickly started to fill up from zero. 'Okay, so pumpkins that happen to be on fire are very damaging and dangerous, noted.' She checked to make sure her safety was off before peeking around the edge of the trunk.
Fiona's ECHO rang and she answered it automatically without thinking. She was used to being contacted while crouched behind cover as bullets and/or axes whizzed by her (such was the life of a vault hunter), so this time was no different.
"Yeah?" she answered curtly, emptying a full clip into the horseman as he stormed towards her, before dropping back down behind her cover. The rider took a good sixty bullets to the chest like a sponge - this was not gonna be as easy as she'd hoped. She began swapping the empty clip for a new one when the caller spoke.
"Hey Fi, sorry it took forever to-"
"Sasha?!"
"Yeah?"
Fiona was half relieved, half incredulous in this moment. "Sasha, where have you been? Where are you? Are you okay?"
"Yeah I'm fine, my ECHO just up and died on me, so I had to leave the creepy little town I was in to go to the city for the nearest repair shop-"
"I thought something bad had happened to you!"
"Nah, you know me, I can handle myself. Did you come all this way just for me? I can see from your ECHO location that you're in that old town I was in - it's creepy right? The vibes in that place are totally off-"
Another flaming pumpkin was thrown against her cover, bits of tree bark and pumpkin rind still on fire were raining down next to her crouched figure.
"Sasha, look... Rhys and I are in the middle of something right now, so I'll call you when we're done."
"Ew, I really don't wanna know that..."
Fiona's face burned red. "It's- NO it's not-" The vault hunter sighed in frustration over the sound of her sister's light giggles.
"I'm just teasing~ Enjoy your date and call me later. Bye Fi!"
"Bye, brat..." the Pandoran woman stashed her ECHO device away, turning to help her boyfriend finish this thing off.
Rhys was following the plan, drawing the horseman's attention to him by running and firing an entire clip into his broad back. Doctor Dramatic turned the horse and started charging at the young CEO. She couldn't hear him from across the clearing, but she could certainly imagine the sound of the yelp he let out as he fell back behind some cover.
She shot out of her hiding spot and ran down the edge of the treeline, keeping her sights locked onto their opponent. When he got too close to the small boulder that her boyfriend was taking cover behind, she stopped and lifted her assault rifle to point it at the rider's back.
She used the sights to aim because any stray bullet could miss and possibly hit Rhys, and even though he had a great shield, she still didn't want to take any chances. As soon as she had the middle of his cloaked back in view, she pulled the trigger and shot massive amounts of hot lead into their pursuer.
The rider seemed to lurch forward, dropping a pumpkin and almost falling from the force of being shot at, and Fiona started to hope that this would be the end of it. But her hope was fleeting as he seemed to shake off the attack and right himself in his saddle. He turned, and reached out to his side, materializing a sword out of nowhere. He swung it in a graceful but powerful arc, the sharp blade singing as it cut through the cloudy air.
'Oh shit...' she thought, having no time to panick as he forced his mount to start barreling towards her.
She threw the large gun onto her back and booked it towards the bridge. Drawing the vegetable tossing rider closer to the only safe space they had was part of the plan. She could just make out the roof ridge in the distance, its peak high enough that the mist seemed to thin closer to the top.
But the rider was on her sooner than she expected.
She heard the singing of the blade as it swung towards her from behind.
Rhys' shout in the distance, the heavy billowing breaths from the horse, the blade cleaving through everything with no resistance. Everything was happening all so fast and there was no time to react.
The sword sliced right through her shield, immediately making it crash to zero. In the arc of the same swing, the edge of the blade cut cleanly through her neck. Or it would have, but Rhys was unloading the last of his bullets into the rider and that altered Doctor Dramatic's aim. Instead of decapitating her, the sharp edge of the blade cut upwards and sliced through Fiona's hat.
She landed hard on the ground, her breath getting punched right out of her as the rider changed direction and started heading for the company man. She looked ahead of her as her beloved hat - now in two evenly halved pieces - tumbled onto the ground in front of her.
'My hat...!' she despaired, staring at what was left of it in absolute heartbreak.
Her eyes hardened and she pushed herself up, the fury of a thousand bullymongs making her seek not only victory, but revenge now.
Rhys pulls the trigger to his prototype gun, frowning at the empty clicking sound it was making. "Out of bullets already? Note to self: get the R&D department to extend the cliiIIIIP-"
He dropped down and covered his head as the horseman rode up to him and swung his blade over the young CEO. Fiona was on the other side of the clearing, and whatever she was doing was making enough noise that it drew the rider's attention again. This close to Doctor Dramatic, Rhys could activate his ECHO eye and see that the being sitting on top of the steed really had no head... His entire bodily form seemed as if it was constructed of shifting shadows. Even his gleaming, deadly blade looked as if it was made out of solidified moonlight.
Before Rhys could take in any more details, the horseman kicked off and raced back towards Fiona. He couldn't see his girlfriend from this perspective, the bodies of the rider and his steed obscuring his view. But she was still fussing with something by the sounds of it, so she needed more time. But he had nothing left...! Nothing, except for that one thing...
The vault hunter slides the last of the rockets into the chamber, loading the launcher properly as her enemy comes barreling towards her. As she flicks the safely off and moves to lift the giant weapon, she can hear her boyfriend shout from behind the fast approaching rider, "IT LOOKS LIKE YOU NEED A HAND!"
From behind the horseman she can see Rhys lift his cybernetic arm, leveling it at Doctor Dramatic's back before it explodes out of his sleeve and rockets towards his cloaked back. Rhys'... Mechanical fist strikes the rider down, making him tumble off of his horse. The horse then collapses into a cloud of smoke, blending with the fog swirling around.
The rider stands up and redraws his sword, but before he can come any closer, Fiona fires her rocket launcher at him, the kickback almost knocking her off her feet. The projectiles meet Doctor Dramatic, a massive explosion obliterating their relentless attacker in a rain of pumpkin guts that gets splattered all over them.
The vault hunter flinched upon impact, taking a moment to lower her heavy weapon from off her shoulder to rest at her feet, reaching up to wipe away stringy orange innards and pumpkin seeds from her face.
The head of Atlas jogs over to her, stopping midway through to retrieve his robotic forearm from the pile of pumpkin innards, shaking it off before walking over to her.
"Well... That was eventful."
She looked down at the partial arm he held in his left hand. "So when were you gonna tell me about that?"
Rhys shrugged, the beginnings of a shy smile twitching at his lips. "Eh, it's also, sort of... A prototype. I don't even have a name for it. Got the idea from a video game, heh."
He held out his partially empty sleeve towards her, and she reached over her rocket launcher to start rolling up the fabric. Once it was up over his elbow joint, he fit his mechanical forearm over the slotted edges and sealed it back in place. He flexed his metal hand to ensure everything was synced up properly.
"Hey... Did you say anything cool when you fired your rocket at him?"
The Pandoran tilted her head, "Why would I?"
"Aww, it's just, you missed an opportunity to say something badass like 'Take two of these and don't call me in the morning,' ya know, because we called him Doctor Dramatic? It would have been cool and funny..."
She scoffed in amusement, shaking her head at him. "Rhys, I think you're mixing up being a vault hunter with a movie star," she said as she dematerialized her launcher back into her digital inventory. "So is that what that whole 'Looks like you need a hand' thing was about?"
Clearly embarrassed, Atlas' president cleared his throat and brushed a hand down his jacket, flicking off pieces of wet pumpkin pulp. "By the way... I got a text from Sasha that said 'winky-face' so I'm assuming she's okay."
"Yeah, she called me in the middle of all that and told me her ECHO device had just died, but she's fine. I told her I'd call her back after we were done, so let's start heading back."
He pulled up his palm display and began entering a short message to Sasha as they headed towards the covered bridge. "I'm checking her location now and it says she's nearby. I'll text her back and ask her to meet us at the hotel."
"Great..." Fiona managed around a yawn, so glad that this awful situation was finally over with. "Hey, thanks for everything by the way. I couldn't have done it without you." She smiled tiredly up at her boyfriend.
He reached out and tucked some of her hair back behind her ear. "Hey, that's what husbands are for, right?"
She chuckled and reached up to flick a pumpkin seed off of the tip of his ear. "Whatever Mr. Rocket Fist..."
Rhys nudges the woman at his side and says "I don't know about you, but this has kinda put me in the mood for some pumpkin pie... What about you?"
"...Rhys... As much as I love you, I will strangle you. I don't wanna see another pumpkin for a long, long time."
"Aww, you said it first this time...! I love you too Fi."
Fiona looks over at him incredulously. "I want a divorce..."
Rhys shrugged, a bashful smile on his face. "What can I say, I just find you so cute when you're violent."
Fiona rolled her eyes, but as always, couldn't mask her affection for the dork by her side. She linked their pumpkin stained hands together and pulled him down for a quick kiss. When they broke, she looked up at him with a tired smile and said "Let's head back to the hotel and clean up, this is officially the worst honeymoon ever."
They turn and start walking hand in hand across the dark and quiet bridge, back towards the edge of town.
"A shower and a bed sounds really nice right about now..."
Fiona smirked. "Even better than a pumpkin pie?"
Rhys snickered, slinging his arm over his girlfriend's shoulders and pulling her against him. "You're never gonna let me live that down, are you?"
"I could be persuaded to forget... With a little monetary incentive..."
"Of course, what else should I have expected?"
Fiona wrapped her arm around his slim waist, allowing them to press closer then before. "Well, I'll be nice and give you the soon-to-be ex-husband discount, of course."
"Ooh how generous, my sweet, kind hearted, vault hunter soon-to-be ex-wife~"
Fiona chuckled, nudging him lightly. "Dork..."
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Entering the double doors of the hotel, the tired couple were immediately greeted by the one person they came to find. Sasha looked damn near radiant, breaking out into a big smile as soon as she saw them.
"It took you two long enough," she quipped, way too chipper for the likes of the incredibly exhausted pair.
"Shut up~" Fiona groaned playfully, stepping over to give her sister a hug.
She was stopped when Sasha held up a hand with a slight grimace. "Save the hugs for later, when you're not covered in..." She waved her hand in a vague gesture over the two of them. "Whatever this is."
"Fair enough," the older sister shrugged, dragging herself towards the stairs with her lanky boyfriend in tow. "Shower first, hugs later..."
"Actually," Sasha called out, "just get your bags, I'll drive us to the big city so we can get some five star take-out and bedding with a high thread count. My treat."
Rhys and Fiona sighed in unison at the thought of such luxuries after the ordeal they just had. Quality food and quality bedding sounded nothing short of heavenly in this moment. They quickly mumbled their agreement, heading off to fetch their belongings.
After retrieving their bags and coming down, they spotted Lady Van Tassel by the check-in desk. Something had soured her once sweet demeanor, and now she was watching them leave with clear irritation on her features.
"Sorry Lady," Rhys spoke, apologizing for such a quick exit. "We're canceling the remaining reservation but I'm happy to pay you for the night."
He took a step towards her when Sasha put a hand on his arm to stop him. "Go sit in the backseat with Fi, I'll pay for your stay. After all, you came all this way just for me, it's the least I can do."
"Oh, are you sure? Thanks, Sasha, I owe you one," he promised, eager to finally get some rest. "Thank you again Lady Van Tassel, goodbye...!" He turned and both he and Fiona make their way over to the car, the two already practically asleep on their feet.
If Rhys would have waited to see the older woman's reaction, he would've witnessed the scowl full of hate she was no longer able to hide.
Sasha looked over at her coolly, aware of who she really was. "Your attempt on their lives is payment enough, right... Witch?"
Lady Van Tassel glares sharply at her, but says nothing.
The younger Pandoran woman smiles knowingly, before turning and leaving the hotel behind her, making her way over to the car. Fiona and Rhys were just snuggling in together in the back when Sasha settled into the driver's seat. The company man had already inserted the key into the ignition, so all she had to do was start it.
She pulled out from the parking spot, turning the wheel easily and driving through the town. She glanced down to her right to see a plastic bag on the passenger seat. Slowing down to check its contents, she laughs quietly to herself as she finds it's full with sticks of jerky.
Continuing the drive, she finally makes it out of town and starts heading towards the cluster of city lights in the far off distance. Glancing in the rear view mirror, she smiles at the sight of the couple leaning against each other, fast asleep. Rhys was already starting to drool and Fiona was snoring softly, both of them clutching their luggage like teddy bears to their pumpkin stained chests.
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This story was heavily inspired by Tim Burton's movie "Sleepy Hollow". Who doesn't love a good headless horseman?
♡ Tag List ♡
for everyone who interacted with these posts promoting (?) this fic (let me know if you'd like to be removed from the Tag List):
♡ @sanzosin ♡ @andaxay ♡ @admiralsweko ♡ @timothylawrenceatlas ♡ @elusivexx ♡ @yuuki-mishima ♡ @goddessluver27 ♡ @karedevil4ever ♡ @mordecaixhope ♡ @multi-ship-writer ♡ @anothergameofwickedgrace ♡ @z3pp3l1
©rin-bellatrix 2022
☆ borderlands masterlist ⋆ main masterlist ☆
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khae-writes · 2 years ago
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you are my home [ tartaglia/reader ]
tags: fluff, kisses, mentions dark side??, ooc??, fem reader, soft childe, dedicated to my best friend,
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          The sun arose, golden light shining upon a field of flowers of glaze lilies. The lovely ivory color pranced across the plains, small pebbles scattered around as the water rushed by falling into a long stream of waterfall down below. Peace and quiet, it was a moment of serenity; undisturbed and unperturbed. This was what Childe longed for — no, this was what Ajax longed for. Laying on the grass with nothing to care for, the rays of sunshine bathing his body that craved the peaceful background.
Childe — a title that he’d sullied and tainted with blood and merciless slaughter because of his drive to be an active machine in war; a title that he honors as the Eleventh Harbinger; a title that had scared many who’ve heard of his doings; a title of a strong man who’d countered many dangerous beings and lived.
And at the same time, a title that broke him bit by bit.
It was the very title that one day would spread a little far too wide in all of Teyvat that his younger siblings would hear of it. Where they would find out he worked as a villain in this cruel world; where his secret that he tried so hard and so long to keep; a secret to keep his family from being involved in dark business that could risk putting them in danger. Childe had to — no, Ajax — this was what he was keeping them from.
A world of monsters, nothing but ruin and lies — a cryptic and unapologetic dimension where if he asked as gently as he could, no one would bat an eyelash to help. A world so corrupted that despite not wanting to turn out a villain, Ajax turned into a fine asset on the battlefield. A world so unkind that just a simple witness to bloodshed would make one’s skin crawl and burn. A world where a young Ajax was forced to be brought into the Fatui because his desire to pursue violence was uncontrollable.
And one day, maybe that flickering grace of sanity in him would one day snap into a wisp of a flame.
Tartaglia couldn’t bear to picture his beloved younger brother look at him with soulless eyes, with indescribable disbelief as he would give him a look of incredulity if he saw his hands dirtied with wet gooey blood. He wouldn’t be able to fathom his surroundings; he might lash out; he might hurt—
No.
Tartaglia shakes his head, trying to rid of the negative thoughts in his head. He shouldn’t be thinking about such things in such an atmospheric calmness. He should be having fun; enjoying the scenery and resting. A good Harbinger shouldn’t break his mind over little things, no?
No. He had to stay calm; stay sane.
His family was waiting for him in Snezhnaya. Returning home into their arms with a broken mind would be like exposing his dark and poisonous behavior to his loved ones when it’s but a part of him.
‘Do not forget, Ajax, you are here to provide for your relatives and to serve the Tsaritsa as she sees fit. She wouldn’t like you questioning your abilities because she is never doubtful of your skills as one of her trustees.’
The ginger-haired male nearly lets out a laugh — would his family still look at him the same? Like he is a proud warrior who fights for the better good, someone who brings his family’s name to honor by selling toys that all children alike enjoy the toys he make? Would Teucer still look at him with those sparkling, bright jewels in his ocean-blue eyes, gazing up at him with unparalleled admiration? Or would they all turn their back on him, realizing that they’d been admiring a murderer in disguise?
Archons, he needed a distraction—
“Ajax?” A soft whisper brings him back to reality. The hallucination of his family staring at him in horror disintegrated into dust, his lifeless eyes blinking to turn his head sideways. His eyes met (e/c), and he felt his heart soften.
The girl he loves, the woman of his dreams, the queen he would rightfully do anything for so long as it was in his power. You were beautiful, inside and out. Your smile as your lips curl up onto an upwards curve, showing off that perfect smile that would brighten up his days to no end; your eyes that shined in the darkest of nights that not even the moon could compare; your hands that he loved holding even if there was no reason to — if people asked him if you were some sort of divine being, he would’ve responded yes. There was no one like you in the world.
The woman that loves him, the woman that cares for him, the woman that he keeps coming home to because he was high off on paradise every second he spent with you. There, next to him on the grass, you lied next to him with your hands resting on your chest as your head was tilted to face him.
“Yeah… what is it?”
You gave him a disapproving frown, brows furrowing. “You had this look again.”
“Did I?” The Snezhnayan male chuckles awkwardly as he rolled over to his sides so his right arm now supported his whole weight while his left hand caressed your cheek gently, a portion of his body hovering over you as he leans down to gently rub his nose with yours. “Sorry, I tend to… overthink sometimes.”
You bit down the giggle that almost slipped out from the eskimo kiss, your arms instead wrapping around his neck as you brought him closer. “That so? Mind if I know what it was about?” Your lips pecked his, and in just that split second, Tartaglia forgot what he was thinking of earlier.
God, he was drunk on love. And he wanted to bathe in it more, especially because it was you.
“Take a guess, I’d like to know too.” He teases, his pearly white teeth flashing as he coyly stares at you with a boyish grin. “I wonder what I was thinking about.” It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth either.
You giggle, pushing his hovering body off of you and instead topping him by placing your two hands on either side of his body. Tartaglia was taken off guard, eyes flitting towards yours in slight surprise since you didn’t usually attack him first. You leaned down, lips brushing against his before letting out a short giggle.
Ajax nearly feels his heart jump out of his chest at your teasing, his cheeks reddening at what you were trying to do. His heart pounded hard and he was sure if you listened closely, you would hear the rapid noises it was making. But he focused on you solely — noticing how close you were and how he could practically feel your breath fanning on his lips every time you parted just a bit of those lips.
You were constantly in his vicinity after every battle, always in his line of vision, always so close to him — so close that he loved getting all too many opportunities to hug you, to hold your hand, to touch you, to kiss you any time he wanted; he loves simply just being there with you.
Every moment, to him, mattered.
It was when the ginger-haired male had finally grabbed all courage inside his heart to bring a hand up to the back of your head and push you closer. His head raised up a bit to meet your lips in a gentle kiss; one that, although you didn’t see coming (you probably did), you returned with just as much gentleness. Your lips and his moved in synchrony but unfortunately you both had to pull away for breath.
“What’s up with you today?” You laugh softly as you pulled away. “You’re quite soft today, not that it’s a bad thing.” You mused, seeing your lover’s expression convert into slight embarrassment, his cheeks tinted red.
He clears his throat, flushed cheeks. “Ah… well…”
You giggle and roll off of him, back onto the grass that tickled your cheeks. The silence that ensued after wasn’t uncomfortable in the least bit. Any moment with you was shared special, no matter where there are interactions or not. He counted them all and described each one as heavenly.
“Hmm… this is… a little random but,” this time, Ajax turned his head to look at you in curiosity, “what is home to you?”
He’d known beforehand what you’d lived as before he’d crossed paths with you — you were a victim of domestic abuse, and he was very much aware how much torment and pain you’d went through before stumbling upon him in dirtied garments. He had the option to ignore you, but the fear in your eyes triggered something in him — reminding him of himself from when he’d fallen into the Abyss.
Tartaglia was slightly apathetic as you asked, but as soon as you did, two things appeared in his head. One of his family in Snezhnaya and you, his beloved. The male hums in ponder, eyes darting upward, squinting slightly as they were blinded by the literal sun.
“You are my home.”
“Huh?”
“I would’ve honestly answered my family but,” he turns to you, eyes as dead as ever as he confesses, “they are my heart instead.”
You frowned. “Technically, in this given scenario, aren’t they the same?”
“They’re different for me. I can live without a home, but a heart I know I can’t go forward without.” He spoke, an aching in your chest stinging as he finishes.
And it hit you just how cold the meaning of his words meant. It was simple and straightforward, there was nothing to not get. That if he had to choose between his family and you, he wasn’t going to hesitate dropping you onto a pot of boiling lava for his own blood-related loved ones.
“I-I see… I’m sorry… for asking.” You apologized meekly, shying away now that you realized your worth in comparison to his family paled by a stretch away. What hurt, really, was that he didn’t even think twice about his decision. You knew already that he would pick family over you, but it still hurt.
“But,” he pauses again and you perked up, eyes darting to him in nervousness, “without a home, I’m lost and alone.” Ajax turned to you, eyes softening a great amount as his thumb brushes over your cheek lovingly. “You are my home, (Y/n). You make me feel safe and protected—make me feel like I can be myself without a hindrance, make me feel comfortable. You…” He trails off, his forehead leaning on yours. “I love you. And that even if I can live without you, I wouldn’t.”
Your heart beat erratically, your nose turning red as you sniffled. “Oh…” You tear up, hiding your face in your hands as he continued to caress your skin in a graceful manner.
“I… love you too. You’re my home too, Ajax—and I… I’m so glad you’re here…” You stammered, choking on your sobs before wrapping your arms around him. Under the bask of sunrays and amber light, you two held each other in a moment of peace and serenity.
This was all what Ajax needed to keep himself sane.
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dairy-farmer · 2 years ago
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Hi! I think the links for your masterlists are broken 😞. Just a quick FYI.
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thank you all for letting me know!!! I really appreciate it and don't worry this isn't a bother at all!!!
i didn't realize that there was an issue and since I haven't checked tumblr in a few days I hadn't realized anyone had been trying to let me know about this issue!!! (in case something like this happens again and i dont respond within the day i'm more likely to see it on twitter- just in case!)
i'd also like to thank the two asks I included above they were the ones to catch it early! on what seemed to be the 14th.
so I believe I know the cause of this issue of not being able to view the masterlist especially in regards to the the second ask where it mentions an issue with a browser. the only thing I've changed about my tumblr recently was I messed with the visibility settings to be as I set below
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I changed it to hide my account from people without an account about 4 days ago because of something that happened on twitter (nothing bad! just my realizing that underaged people could view the content and follow when it's something I prefer they didn't and since turning of anon on the inbox to prevent underaged people from sending asks would be hurting others who want to retain anonymity I decided to do this instead.)
however this seemed to have the unintended conseqeunce of messing up the masterlist link for people on mobile it appears (desktop as well possibly?). the masterlink issue seems recent since it's never happened before and this is the only change I've done recently so I think the only fix i can do is to undo it (which I've done and the masterlist should be working as of my posting of this ask👍)
I'll just be more clear in the description box and header that the content is nsfw and 18+ and if any underaged person sees this and decides to read the matierial anyway that is just something I have to be okay with as a possibility, I really have no say in what anyone does on the internet and I doubt every person who has visited a porn website or read an E rated fic on ao3 was an adult so I do get the curiosity.
but with the anonymity factor of the inbox and just the overall blanket of assumption that everyone on the internet may be lying- i can't actually stop an underaged person from sending me an ask but I can state that i'd greatly prefer they DIDN'T.
underaged people stumble across and seek out nsfw content I get that but what they shouldn't be doing is sending asks, interacting with, messaging, or following that content and its not just about the kind of matierial it is that makes it a problem.
-interacting with strangers online (not just nsfw ones) should always be conducted carefully don't give out your age, name, personal details without thought for the very serious repercussions they could carry if the person turns out to be a not-so friendly stranger.
-if you're underaged and leave your phone or computer out: a parent could see the kind of content you watch/read and the consequences could range from mild embarrassment to pretty severe depending on the household.
-nsfw work is not a how-to guide or an instructional manual. there's a 'right' way that sex works in real life and if you're young you may not fully understand that and try to use what you've "learned" from fics, porn, etc and you could hurt someone or yourself.
sorry if this seems preachy or that this ask about a simple issue with the masterlist led to a spiel and small PSA.
tumblr hasnt proven to be an issue with this kind of thing recently so id ont want anyone to feel discouraged but I just wanted to make sure anyone who was curious about it understood the 'why'.
hopefully the masterlist is back in order! from what I can tell the links themselves in the lists work fine and it was just the masterlist link itself that was the issue!
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omgkalyppso · 2 years ago
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👾
Thank you for the ask!
Send me a 👾 and I’ll give you a random song off of an OC / Blorbo playlist with an explanation!
I see you have bg3 in your header so I have two versions of a same song on each my Astarion and my bg3 tav oc Étoile playlists:
My body is a cage That keeps me from dancing with the one I love But my mind holds the key
You're standing next to me My mind holds the key My body is a…
My body is a cage We take what we're given Just because you've forgotten That don't mean you're forgiven
I'm living in an age that Screams my name at night But when I get to the doorway There's no one in sight
I'm living in an age They laugh when I'm dancing with the one I love But my mind holds the key
You're standing next to me My mind holds the key
Set my spirit free
I might be way off the mark with my Astarion interpretations / assumptions / characterization, but I like him held back by his past experiences in Cazador's thrall, exploring what it means to be a creature of the night, feeling unworthy of acceptance and love when he knows he would place himself first in any scenario that beggared selflessness. Meanwhile Étoile is a "young" elf, who felt out of time after outliving a few friends, now able to appreciate the company of other outcasts and how their unusual history and gender are suddenly mundane, applying insecurities like 5d chess or w/e.
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stateofsport211 · 1 month ago
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📸 ATP official website
Concurrently, in Charleston...
The Charleston Challenger then wrapped up with a final involving 2 young players, where Nishesh Basavareddy, who stunned first seed Christopher Eubanks 6-4, 7-6(5) in the semifinals, faced lucky loser Edas Butvilas, who also knocked out Tristan Boyer 6-4, 6-3 thanks to his solid showing to complete the double-header. The setup could determine the rest of the match, considering the nerves in play outside of their range consistency throughout the match in general.
After a forehand down-the-line winner struck Nishesh's baseline game right at the second point, E. Butvilas scored the same shot for his earliest break point, but Nishesh fumbled it before holding his serves to 1-0. Subsequently, even if the American scored a backhand pass to lead by one point in the next game, E. Butvilas still held his serves to 1-1 before he broke to 2-1 due to Nishesh's forehand errors. E. Butvilas then followed it up with a service game hold to 3-1.
In the next game, Nishesh tried to assert more pressure on E. Butvilas' service game, having a rare volley that turned out to be out for the Lithuanian's break point, before another defensive measure created another break point. However, Nishesh still held his serves to 3-2 after surviving the break points, almost breaking again thanks to his forehands before E. Butvilas held his serves to 5-3. It took two more games before the latter earned his chance to serve for the first set, which he succeeded (6-4) to be (technically) a set away from the title.
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