#have no idea how to explain but it’s so detailed yet delicate?

[sefynarose]

i want to find either a Chinese or Russian artist to commission a full size double image of Sylus so that i can make it into a body pillow

[ahqkas]

♯ARTSY HANDS AND MINDS ( how would the batboys react to you making your own merch of their alter ego ! )

— gn!reader, bruce & dick & jason — separated, fluff, established relationship, not edited, cursing, bases on this req.

© ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

. . . BRUCE WAYNE !

WHEN BRUCE UNLOCKED AND PUSHED the front door of your apartment open, the familiar scent of one of your candles immediately greeted him with warmth and the familiarity of home. he was finally home, with you. it had been a long night, after all, a long night of patrols and late emergency meetings at wayne enterprises. all he wanted was a quiet evening with you, a thing that finally came to him.

the sound of soft humming came from somewhere in the apartment, probably from your living room, much to bruce’s detective skills. he couldn’t help but let a gentle smile grace his face upon the sound as he hung his coat. you always seemed to brighten even the darkest of his days.

but as he rounded the corner to the living space, his smile froze.

there you were, the love of his life, sitting cross-legged on the old, beaten couch ( which bruce insisted on replacing but you didn’t let that happen, something about an emotional bond ) with a black hoodie spread across your lap. a large symbol graced its chest area. the bat-symbol, he realized. smalls jars of fabric paint surrounded your sitting form, and you were holding a delicate brush, adding details to your own craftwork.

bruce was caught of guard.

“bruce!” you gasped his name out when he came into the clear sight, startled. you even nearly dipped the brush in the wrong direction which would mess up with the project you were currently working on. a flush of warmth creeped up your neck. “you’re home early. i thought you’d be at the office for a while.” not that you minded.

“i finished up early,” he hummed and gestured towards the hoodie in your lap. the sight of the symbol, his symbol, stirred something deep within him. “what’s that?”

“oh, this?” your hands awkwardly hovered over the clothing. “it’s nothing, really. just a little project i’m working on.”

your man raised one eyebrow at your dismissal. “that’s quite detailed for ‘nothing’, sweetheart.”

you gave in after a second of thinking, saying to yourself it definitely wasn’t for the petname or the gentle command in his tone. “fine. you caught me. i’m making my own batman hoodie. but before you say anything, let me explain.”

“i’m listening.”

“well, i’ve been a fan of batman for a while now,” you began, eyes watching his face for every kind of a reaction. “not like one of those die-hard fans who camp outside at night trying to take pics of him or anything. just . . . i admire what he does for gotham. he’s a symbol of hope, you know. it’s nice to have someone who actually fights for the city.”

bruce felt a lump form in the back of his throat. you admired both bruce wayne, the gotham’s billionaire darling, and batman, a side of him that came out when the sun went down.

“and,” you continued, “i wanted a hoodie with the bat-symbol because it looks cool, but the official ones are ugly. they’re all this stiff fabric that itches with weirdly placed logos. i wanted something more casual. so, i thought, why not just make one myself?”

his heart skipped a beat once you finished your mini rant, the muscle tightening against the bones of his ribs. you had no idea you were speaking to batman himself, yet your admiration was pure and genuine. it reminded him why he wore the cowl in the first place — to protect people like you, who believed in a better gotham.

“well,” he said after a moment of just looking at you with that special look in the depths of his gaze. “if batman knew how much effort you put into this, he’d flattered.”

“you think so?”

“i know so.”

. . . DICK GRAYSON !

THE LINGERING ACHE IN HIS MUSCLES FROM THE ROOFTOP CHASE he had barely managed to win stained his sore body as he returned from a long night of patrol back home to you. his footsteps were silent, practiced from the countless times he’s done this, when he unlocked the front door to the apartment he shared with you. the lights were still on, spilling the warm light from the living room into the hall.

dick smiled to himself. you always waited up for him, no matter how late he came home from “work”, and it never failed to warm his heart.

to find someone who would do such thing as cut their sleep schedule for him was basically rare, but he managed to.

you were sitting cross-legged on the beloved couch dick himself chose, completely absorbed in your task. the couch has lived its fair share already, but it was well loved and had so many good memories, so you kept it. your boyfriend watched from the doorway as your brows created that adorable little v between them, furrowing in concentration. meanwhile, your hands worked carefully with blue and black yarn. your fingers clutched the unmistakable nightwing plush; complete with the signature blue symbol across its little chest.

you don’t actually know about nightwing. well, you know about his existence, about how the vigilante keeps blüdhaven’s streets safe from criminal activities, and you knew about the package beneath the tight spandex of his suit. what you didn’t know was nightwing’s true identity. you didn’t know how he always made sure to come back home to you, and you totally didn’t know that ass belonged to you.

“uhh . . .” he was caught of guard for a second here. “what are you doing?”

jumping slightly at the sound of his voice, you clutched the half-finished plush close to your chest as if protecting it from his praying eyes. “dick!” your face flushed with embarrassment. “you’re home early.”

he arched an eyebrow at your behavior, his gaze averting towards the digital clock of the tv before it shifted back to you. “it’s almost two in the morning. sooo . . . are you going to explain why you’re making a mini nightwing doll this late at night?”

“first of all, it’s not a doll. it’s a plushie.”

“of course, my bad. plushie.”

“and second,” you started to defend your actions more confidently when you noticed the slightest of smirk gracing his face. he looked tired, the strands of his bangs slightly damp with sweat and his eyes nearly dropping down with how the exhaustion pressed on him. yet he still managed to be all cheeky. “it’s not like i’m obsessed or something. i just — the fan-made ones were too expensive, and honestly none of them were cute enough, so i decided to make my own.”

dick stepped closer to your sitting form, fidgeting with his hands to hide his racing heart. “you’re a nightwing fan?”

you shrugged and started picking at a stray thread on the plushie. “i mean, yeah. who isn’t? he’s cool, and he’s probably the least terrifying out of all the vigilantes in both gotham and blüdhaven. plus,” you paused in the little rant he’d coaxed out of you. “i think he’s kinda hot.”

a loud cough interrupted you the moment those last words slipped past your lips. dick’s ears took on a pink hint, along with a more pronounced smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. the tired look in his eyes was suddenly long gone, too. “you’re a think he’s hot, baby?”

“yeah. it’s not like he’ll know i said that, though.”

oh, you had no idea.

“it’s not perfect,” you shaked the plush in your hands to make a point, “but i wanted it to look right. and i know it’s probably silly, but it makes me feel safe, in a weird way. like, if i ever needed help, he’d show up, you know?”

dick wanted to tell you the truth then and there — that nightwing would show up for you, every single time, because you were his main priority. nothing else mattered but your safety. but he couldn’t. not yet.

his fingers brushed yours instead, tracing the fabric of the yarn with a gentle touch. “i think it’s perfect. and if nightwing ever saw it, i’m sure he would be flattered.”

“yeah, right,” you laughed, actually laughed, and rolled your eyes in that way he adored. “like he’d care about some random plushie.”

he didn’t argue, though a part of him was already planning on leaving a little thank you! note the next time he patrolled near your apartment. for now, he could settle for leaning against your side and pressing a chaste kiss to your temple.

. . . JASON TODD !

JASON HAD BEEN IN A RUSH TO GET HOME. the heels of his boots crunched on the gravel beneath him before he shrugged his leather jacket and unlocked the front door to your apartment. tonight’s patrol had been rough — more bullets than he’d planned for and a few bruises he would have to hide later. all he wanted now was to crash on the couch with you, maybe with a shitty movie and some pizza if you hadn’t eaten yet.

he took a step inside, already feeling the tension and ache erasing from his muscles as the familiar warmth of the living space wrapped around him like a blanket. he was finally home.

but when he crossed the threshold into the living room, jason froze right on the spot.

there you were, curled up on the couch, wearing a black hoodie that looked far too big on your frame with a hand-painted crimson symbol on the chest. not just any symbol though — it was his symbol. the red hood insignia stood out vividly against the dark fabric of the hoodie. he couldn’t miss it even if he was blind.

and that wasn’t all. on the coffee table in front of you was a small knitted plushie. its tiny body was simple, but the details were on spot: a small red helmet and a matching chest symbol that mirrored the one on your own chest.

you weren’t supposed to know about red hood. to certain amount of course. jason couldn’t shield you from the outside no matter how much he would like to, but he could shield you from one of his many personalities — the red hood. you weren’t supposed to know about him being red hood. so, he hoped it was still the truth.

“hey, you’re home!” you must’ve heard him come in because you looked up at him with that sheepish smile he grew to cherish, all while holding up the plush up for inspection.

“yeah . . .” he trained off, scratching the nape of his neck. jason didn’t like lying to you any more than he had to, so making up some shitty excuse about where he was and what was he doing was pretty much pointless. instead, he turned the attention to the creations of your work. the hoodie and plushie. “what’s–uh–what’s this?”

you glanced down at yourself like you’d forgotten what you were wearing. “oh, it’s a red hood merch. well, kind of,” brushing a stray hair off the hoodie, you smiled up at him more confidently. “i made these.”

jason’s brows shot up. “you made them?”

“yeah! the official looked ugly—like who designed that stuff? and the fan-made ones were either way too expensive or just not what i was looking for. so, i figured, why not do it myself? and he’s kind of my favorite vigilante.”

he felt his heart skip a beat. your favorite?

what the fuck. “red hood is your favorite.”

it definitely didn’t sound like a question, it was spoken in way it sounded like a statement, but you answered him with a reason anyway. “mhm. he’s a badass. a little scary, sure, but in a good way. like, you know he’s got a soft spot somewhere under all the armor. i caught him feeding the stray cat on our fire escape the other day. it was cute.”

well, he wasn’t exactly careful with the cat, but he didn’t expect the meowing and hissing would catch your attention. stubborn stray.

jason blinked, more caught of guard than feeling the edge of panic. he should panic, you were practically close to discovering your careless boyfriend was red hood. he was at a loss of words. “cute” wasn’t exactly how he’d describe himself — or his alter ego — but he wasn’t about to argue with you. instead, his fingers moved to trace the oversized sleeves of your hoodie, calloused fingertips brushing under the fabric to intertwine your fingers in one.

you didn’t know the truth, and maybe you never would, but as long as you felt safe and protected in his arms, he was okay with it. you were holding a piece of him he’d never given to you, and yet you loved him the same.

[targaryenluvs]

RAVAGE

pairing: dark!president!coriolanus snow x innocent!wife!reader

summary: he’d won the election, much to your elation. now you’d have to navigate the fame, fortune and status as the first lady of panem. but coriolanus just wanted you all to himself, and he’d do anything to scare you into his arms.

warnings: possessiveness, murder, robbery, bad smut, controlling, tears, babying, kisses, fingering, oral (f receiving), p in v, kinda subby corio/dom, praise, sense of entitlement? breeding kink, tummy bulge, overstimulation, little bit of aftercare

word count: 2k

a/n: i’m such a bitch for making everyone wait so long for a delicate part two 😌 and i finally have the confidence for smut so heheh - yes i’m using tvd names a lot - corio/coryo use - tried out a new layout 👀

part one of delicate

you couldn’t believe it.

coriolanus snow, president of panem.

all of his hard work has finally paid off and you couldn’t be more happy for him. you wanted to give him a gift but you still had no idea what he would want. it seemed the two of you practically had everything overnight, so a measly gift seemed to be difficult to acquire, one that he liked? even harder.

so you’d decided to go out, the idea of surprising him exciting you so much you’d forgotten to tell coriolanus where you were going to.

so imagine his surprise when his assistant told him you’d left the house, viewing you on the security cameras.

which you had no idea were there.

coriolanus saw it as an act of defiance.

he had to move about this correctly, he couldn’t have you injured, but he needed to scare you back into his arms. to remind you of the horrible place that panem was.

over twelve stores, and nothing. so you’d decided to enlist the help of one of your few friends. “not a single clue of what he’d want?” elena asked as you stabbed at your fries, “nope.” you answered as you placed a fry in your mouth.

“well if he has absolutely everything then his gorgeous wife should be a nice gift after an extremely long day no?” you looked up at her, confused, “what do you mean?” she giggled, “oh god, i forget how you don’t know that much. you, y/n.” at your adorable puppy face she leaned in, “your body.” you jumped back at her words, “i… i’ve never.”

“you’ve never?!” elena slapped her hand over her mouth at your admission, “how? i mean you’re absolutely stunning sweetheart, how hasn’t he yet?” you played with the table cloth in your hands, “i don’t know.” elena twisted her fork around her pasta, “okay has he never made a move, or, have you never noticed the signs?” you took a sip of your wine as you stared back at her, “what signs?” elena sighed, rubbing her temple, “there are signs, moments. the two of you, sitting on the couch and his hand trails higher. his breath quickens at the sight of you in a dress. the little things.”

“and what happens if you notice these signs, act on them?” and this was exactly her expertise, she wiped her face with her napkin before paying the bill. “if i’m going to explain this in detail then we need to go to my house. or a dirtier part of town. my dear girl, i’m taking you to your first ever bar.”

coriolanus has to hold on to his mask of self-restraint, you’d been spotted at a bar, with one of your friends that he despised. but at least his plan could take full effect without a hitch.

your mind had been blown, irrevocably and utterly blown. the way elena had described it all, she made it sound like heaven. but she did tell you about other men, some care for themselves more so than the girl. and you had no clue what type of man corio was in bed.

you’d been so absorbed in your own thoughts you hadn’t noticed the man following you, not until he attacked you. he’d been going after your bag of course, but it was a gift from coriolanus. the man was unrelenting as he shoved you against the cold wall, grimy hands pushing and pulling with you as you tried to regain hold of your purse. “let go!” you cried out before he slammed you into the wall again, loosing grip on the purse coriolanus had just gifted you.

what would he say? it was his gift to you!

you woke up with a throbbing headache and corios hands brushing away strands from your face. “there you are sweet thing. you feeling okay?” you peered up at him, unable to move due to the millions of blankets on you. noticing your struggle he smiled before shifting them off, “better?” you nodded before sitting up with his help.

“corio, i lost the bag you gave me. the bad guy he- i’m so so sorry. please don’t be mad with me i didn’t mean to-“ he laughed, although it didn’t reach his eyes, “you think i care about the bag y/n/n? i could buy you a million bags, better bags. i’m just glad you’re okay. those guys, they won’t bother you again.” all you could do was sob and hug him, pondering the meaning of his words.

AN HOUR AGO

“hey, what the hell man? you said to attack the girl and take the bag!” the man shouted as coriolanus undid his cuffs, adjusted his sleeve, pushing it back on both arms. “i told you to go for the bag, yes. but i specifically remember drilling it into your head not to hurt her. and now she’s lying in bed, has been for the past three hours with bruises everywhere. and for that?”

shouts and screams of pain echoed through the abandoned building as coriolanus struck the man with a hammer, over and over and over. the job had one guideline. and this idiot couldn’t get it right.

don’t hurt his delicate girl.

PRESENT

you’d been so absorbed with worrying over the purse and apologising for your tears you hadn’t noticed corios hungry eyes. “i really did like that purse.” he murmured, “oh corio, i should’ve tried harder to keep it. what can i do?” hook, line and sinker. he had you where he wanted and he’d finally get what he deserved.

“let me fuck you. please.” and who were you to say no? your naivety led to him laying you down on the bed, head between your thighs. you’d heard about it from elena, a man pleasuring a woman, but it was a million times better than you could’ve imagined. coriolanus was messy, and desperate. he’d been waiting for so long and god was it worth it.

his heart raced with both excitement and nervousness as he held your thighs in his own hands, tracing up and downwards, feeling the warmth against his own skin. coriolanus couldn't resist the opportunity to tease you. “you wanna cum?” corio mumbled as he continued sucking on your swollen clit, “mhm.” you could hear him laughing at your pathetic excuse of agreeing.

coriolanus wholeheartedly believes you belong to him. the second you were married, and even before, you were his. your submission would prove it, and he would do anything for it. you were his and he was yours. his bold blue eyes ravished you, all of you, “who’s making you feel this good?” your hips squirmed away from him but he just pulled you back, pushing two fingers into you.

corio reveled in your naivety, the way you responded to his touch, the way you whispered dirty words as if it were a sin. and right now, you still couldn’t bring yourself to name what you needed. his pace was brutal as he lapped at your cunt, a third finger curling inside of you as they went in and out. your gasps and cries were music to his ears, he’d been denied this all too long, and he wasn’t sure how he’d ever done it. “cmon, say it.” and you did, over and over again. “it’s you! you, coryo.”

“coryo, ah, your fingers feel so good,” you mewled, tilting your hips more trying to lean into his touch. coryo withdrew his fingers to play with your clit, rubbing circles around your sensitive nub that resulted in you crying out in pleasure.

“such a good girl, getting all wet for me,” you nodded along dumbly, “for you, all you.” you babbled as he kissed you deeply.

coryos hand dragged up and down your folds, “your pussy is soaked, baby. look at that,” you whined at the feeling of him not touching you, your cheeks flushed at the sight of your arousal. coryo pulled his pants down, throwing them away over his shoulder. you hid your head into the pillow as coryo tutted, “you have to look pretty girl, look at the mess you made.” coryo taunted as he rubbed your slick juices all over his dick, trying to humiliate you, get a rise out of you. coryos hand holds onto your neck, tightening as you clutched on with both hands, “please, coryo, i’ll be so good.” he rested his forehead on yours, noses touching.

“i love you, i love you, i love you.” he whispered in your ear, “my beautiful wife, you’d look so good with my baby in you.” the idea of having his baby had you pressing your lips to his as he bit down on your lower lip, making you gasp as your lips part, his tongue pushing inside your mouth, exploring every bit of you he’d ever wished to. his hunger hadn’t fallen, only increased.

“ i need to fuck you,” he panted, you having stolen his breath. coryo teased your folds with the head of his cock, “need to fill up this pretty little pussy of yours,” he pushed into you, warm walls coating his cock as he groaned, “you feel so good.” he moaned into your neck as your hands clutched onto his broad shoulders. he wasn’t sure if he’d last long but then again he didn’t care, it’s not like you knew it was a short time.

the way you clenched down on him was more than enough proof of your virginity. your cries fueled him on as he pinned your hips down into the mattress, rutting against you wildly. “you feel that?” he was everywhere, filling you up. his dick making an appearance through the bulge in your tummy. “uh-huh. too much i can’t-” he stopped you before you could finish by pressing down on it with his palm, “yes you can baby.” you shook your head, “coryo i can’t, you feel too good.” you begin, crying from how good he was making you feel, from how dumb and desperate he was making you.

“m’ gonna fill you up, gonna give you my baby.” he was driving you crazy, his heavy panting, hands on either side of your head, his voice was deep and filled with fire. “yes, yes please inside me.” coryo’s eyes squeezed shut and his brow furrowed you were too much, fuelled on by the idea of a pregnant wife, pregnant you. swollen belly, heavy breasts, relying on him to help you out of bed. his hips stuttered and faltered as he came inside you with a low groan. he didn’t care about pulling out and neither did you as your release came down on you again. “feels so good coryo, thank you.”

he couldn’t help his smile as you continued to thank him for making you feel so good. his ego was sure as hell swelling as he pulled out of you, collapsing on the bed. his hand caressed your face, kissing you all over, praising you.

“you did so well f’me. proud of you baby.” you grinned up at him as you snuggled into his neck. “only for you coryo.” all for him. “i’ll clean you up okay?” you nodded along as he got out of bed.

coriolanus deemed the night a success, but for some reason he didn’t feel complete. he wanted more. but as he looked up at your sleepy eyes and tired out body he wanted to let you rest. but the idea seemed to slip out of his head once he was levelled with your core again, his release spilling out of you and the warm towel forgotten. he didn’t stop himself when he began to lick at you, his tongue working his way into your entrance as your hand shoved at his face.

“coryo, i’m sensitive. coryo please stop.” you attempted to crawl away but his hands dragged you to the edge of the bed, legs around his head. your body fell limp against the sheets as pleasure took over. your hands laced with his hair as you cried out.

it was going to be a long night.

[butmakeitgayblog]

Hi yes hello help me I have a new fic idea for this picture

And it's giving me brainrot because I have too many wips and yet... I must write this ficlet. It's very soft. Friends to lovers.

Lexa owns a little holistic shop that always smells like incense and fresh herby plants. Fresh sprigs of flowers and dangley charms everywhere. Not quite "nature child/granola sister" vibes because it has too many sleek and modern details to it, but still very earthy and calming. Clean and fresh. It's tucked away in a sleepy little town along the coast that's just a short walk to a pier, so the fresh scent of the ocean's spray always mingles with all the perfumes of her shop.

Clarke moves there following the death of her father. Not running from anything, but more just trying to find herself in her new found peace. She's faced her own mortality and come out the other end understanding who she wants to be vs who she thought she should be. Exchanging her med school white coat for cable knit sweaters. Sneakers for deck shoes. Reading glasses for wayfarers.

Chaos for calm.

Which of course leads her right into Lexa's shop a few weeks into getting settled, deciding a new skin routine may be in order as well. Maybe a new lotion and a few handdipped candles to line her fancy new bath tub too, if the hand painted sign outside the shop is to be trusted.

Of course all chances at being the chill, solitary new girl in town who lives quietly and keeps to herself kind of fly right out the window when she hears the little ding of the bell overhead and looks up to see brilliant, soft green eyes already crinkled at the edges in a welcoming smile. Seeing all that sun kissed brown hair pulled back in a delicate crown of braids, the waterfall length of untamed curls falling over strong but slender shouders. Hearing that lyrical voice that's not at all chipper like she'd expect from someone peddling holistic wares. Instead it's soft and vibrant, more like too-warm honey that's been left out in the afternoon sun. Feminine but sure of itself as she merely bids a simple, "Hello, can I help you find anything in particular?"

All that chill is also nowhere to be seen when this freaking angel made of droplets of sunshine and chamomile takes it upon herself to squeeze a dollop of the lotion she'd been eyeing into Clarke's palm and start massaging it in with hands that are so fucking soft Clarke forgets how to breathe. Her intense eye contact as she gently explains the ingredients and why they're so good doesn't help either. Not that Clarke could be PAID to recite any of it, not having taken in a single damn syllable.

She could easily tell you the exact slope of the woman's eyelashes though. Could probably draw the freckle on her upper lip from memory too.

Of course Clarke would leave 2 bags and the shopowner's business card heavier, $70 lighter, and with absolutely no qualms about trading in at least part of her medical knowledge for giving this holistic stuff a try.

And that's it! That's all! Just a pretty girl who is maybe slightly nuts but beautiful and sweet who runs a little holistic beauty shop.

Nothing life altering or anything for Clarke, obviously.

Clarke being new and so in her head about everything and all the changes? It's just A Lot already on her plate. She doesn't have the space for anything else.

But... then there's just Lexa. So unassuming and mild and calming in her presence. Undemanding of Clarke's attention despite always seeming to have it. That slow fall into each other over too prolonged eye contact and friendly waves as Lexa glances at her through the arching windows of her shop, Clarke seeing those plump lips tug up into a grin that mouths an amused but unheard "Hi" as Clarke walks past for the third time that day.

Total coincidence.

But the friendship blooms just like the little plants and sprigs around Lexa's shop. Taking shape and growing as the season changes.

Passing glances and friendly waves turning to chance meetings and slipping away to sit on the bench at the end of the pier, splitting batches of seasoned fries and garlic aioli that Clarke has no idea where Lexa manages to put considering all her halter tops and sundresses that, whew, just leave not much to the imagination.

Walking through a local garden/woodsy path and talking aimlessly for hours as she watches Lexa collect little wildflowers and clovers along the way, stowing them in a satchel she keeps in her long flowy pants, only to drop by the shop the next afternoon and find that the tiny wood nymph-turned shopkeeper has braided her treasures from their outing into her hair that day.

Walks along the rocky beachside and lunches sat huddled together in the park. Lexa sharing how she got into her business and Clarke relaying her past in the medical world just to falter, only to breathe a sigh of relief at Lexa's lazy grin, "Don't worry, Dr. Griffin. I still believe in the power of penicillin."

Lexa showing Clarke where she makes her wares while standing far too close than what's necessary as she lets Clarke peruse everything. Always catching Clarke's gaze in her excitement at Lexa's creations, holding them with that soul-quieting smile of hers.

Clarke noticing how Lexa's scent changes slightly with the seasons because of course Lexa only works with fresh product. Noting how as the months get colder, she goes from airy, delicate lilac scents to heavier sage and sandlewood notes. Fresh pine, peppermint, and holly. Noticing how cute little painted toes trade in their freer sandles for more sensible uggs and the occasional snow boot, seeing how dresses and spaghetti straps get exchanged for cardigans and knitted sweaters big enough to juuust effortlessly slip off her shoulder...

(Still no bra)

(Not that she's... keeping track...)

Lexa is just so unexpected and so... not at all anything Clarke would've ever thought she'd be attracted to. Beyond just her stunning face that is, obviously. It's her personality. She's not someone Clarke can easily "put in a box". She's not quite a hippie, she's not exactly new agey, she's certainly not weak, but she's not overbearing. She's maybe a liiiittle bit nuts, but also so fuckin smart and not cocky about it at all. But absolutely is cocky about the silliest things, like being good at Scrabble and knowing how to fold a fitted sheet. (Again, liiiittle bit nuts.) She's kind, but not a pushover. Soft in ways Clarke can't even begin to fathom or calm her heart over, but so deceptively strong, both in body and spirit.

And she's quiet. Quiet and reserved in her perfectly Lexa way. Yet, when she does open up, there's so much there. So many layers to her, and every time Clarke thinks she's gotten to the bottom of the question mark that is "Lexa", there's a whole new labyrinth to uncover.

The connection between them expands and blooms and becomes something entirely its own. And it kind of just gradually dawns on her that Clarke has somehow managed to find her best friend in the entire world... and has promptly fallen in love with her.

Now.

If I wrote this obviously very short ficlet (😤), would anyone read it?

[floralhuqzz]

Mine, Not Yours (Joe Goldberg x reader(fem)

(Chapter 7: Behind Closed Doors)

MASTERLIST

authors note: This chapter contains slight smut at the end, not long because honestly I have no idea on how to even write smut…lmao anyways enjoyyy!

⸻

It’s quieter than usual today.

The house feels empty, like a place that’s only half-lived in. Love’s gone out for the day, and I’m left with my thoughts—thoughts I’d rather not have.

I couldn’t stop thinking about you last night. The way you smiled at me. The way your lips almost kissed mine before you pulled away, running into the night. You left me with questions. With an ache I couldn’t explain. But you’ve always done that to me.

There’s something irresistible about you, something that draws me in every time I try to pull away.

But I know something you don’t.

Your window, just across the way, has become my silent obsession. I study it, memorizing every flick of the curtains, every time you walk in and out of the frame. And today, I can’t help myself.

I find myself standing by the front door, staring at your house. The air is thick, but I can’t shake the feeling that there’s something more behind your smile, something hidden beneath the surface of our conversations.

I decide I can’t wait any longer.

⸻

You’re not home. The quiet outside tells me everything I need to know. Your car is gone. It’s the perfect opportunity.

I walk across the yard, carefully avoiding the creaky spots on the wooden fence. The space between our homes is narrow, but it’s just enough for me to slip through. The side gate is unlocked—of course. I step inside.

Your house is colder than mine, quieter, but the faint smell of lavender and vanilla lingers in the air, just like your scent.

I move carefully. Slow. Methodical. The way I always do when I’m trying not to get caught. Every detail of your house speaks to me: the open book on the coffee table, the faint impression of your body where you sat last. It’s like I can see you everywhere, even though you’re not here.

I know I shouldn’t be here. But I can’t stop myself.

The door to your room is ajar. I pause for a second, listening. Nothing. No sounds. No footsteps. Just silence.

I step inside.

Your room is just as I imagined it: warm, inviting, personal. The walls are lined with photographs of friends and family, memories of a life that seems so far from mine. But it’s the small things that draw me in. The lip gloss on your vanity. A bracelet tucked carefully into a small jewelry box.

I can’t help myself. I reach for the lip gloss. It’s pink, almost a shade too bright, but it smells like strawberries. I dab a bit onto my wrist, inhaling the scent, imagining your lips, the soft press against mine.

I put it in ny pocket as then my fingers brush the surface of your vanity once more, moving to the bracelet. It’s delicate, gold with small charms dangling from it. I can picture you wearing it, your wrist delicate as you slip it on.

For a moment, I just stand there. My pulse quickens. I’m studying you even when you’re not here—every little piece of you. The way you’ve organized your things, the personal touches. It’s almost like a map of your soul, each item a clue to who you are.

I take the bracelet. It feels cold in my hand, but it’s something you’ve touched, something you’ve worn. That’s enough for me.

I slip it into my pocket, my heart pounding in my chest. I stand in the center of your room for one more beat, memorizing the space—the way the sunlight falls through your window, the soft rustle of your curtains moving with the breeze. And then, just like that, I step out, quietly closing the door behind me.

As I stand outside, looking back at your house, I feel something stir inside of me. This pull. It’s stronger than before. But now, I have something of you. Something to remember you by. A piece of you that’s mine, even if you don’t know it yet.

And now that I’ve had a taste… I won’t stop until I get more.

⸻

The bookstore is quiet tonight. The only sound is the soft rustling of paper as I straighten a few books on the shelf. My mind is elsewhere, though—on you, as it has been since you first walked into this place.

A buzz in my pocket breaks my focus. It’s a message from you.

“Are you at the store? I’m coming for a book.”

I don’t hesitate. “I’m here. Take your time.”

I don’t know why, but there’s something in your messages that stirs something in me. I can’t quite place it, but it’s magnetic.

⸻

The door chimes as you enter, and for a second, I freeze.

You. Standing in the doorway, looking almost out of place here, yet exactly where you need to be. You take a moment to scan the shelves, but I can feel your eyes on me, even before you turn toward the counter.

I don’t wait for you to say anything. I can feel it—the pull between us, the tension that’s been simmering ever since we first met.

“Are you really here for a book?” I ask, my voice a little too low, laced with something darker. I can already tell you’re nervous, but it only makes me more intrigued.

You bite your lip, clearly unsure of how to answer. “Yeah… I was looking for a book,” you say, but your voice falters. It’s not just about the book. You and I both know that.

I take a step closer, watching the way you react, the way you shift uncomfortably in place. “What else, (y/n)?” I ask softly, my eyes locking onto yours. “What’s really on your mind?”

You hesitate, your breath catching in your throat. For a moment, I think you’re going to back away, but then you do something unexpected. You step forward, just a little, closing the distance between us.

“I don’t know,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe I just wanted to see you.”

The words hit me harder than I expect. I want to step back, to keep some distance, but I can’t. There’s no escaping it. The tension between us is electric, and it’s been building for far too long.

Before I even realize what I’m doing, I reach out, gently taking your hand in mine. I feel your pulse quicken, but you don’t pull away. In fact, you move closer, your body instinctively leaning into mine.

“Are you sure that’s all?” I ask, my voice soft but firm, the need in me impossible to ignore.

Your lips part slightly, and I can see the hesitation, the conflict in your eyes. But then, just as I thought you would, you lean in—your breath warm against my lips.

Without another word, I close the space between us, my lips finding yours in an intense kiss.

It’s everything. The pressure, the hunger, the overwhelming need to feel you closer. The bookstore fades away. The books, the shelves, the quiet hum of the fluorescent lights—everything disappears.

You kiss me back, just as fiercely, your hands moving to my chest, your fingers threading into the fabric of my shirt. I can feel the heat between us, the electricity that’s been building up since we first laid eyes on each other.

I step closer, pressing you gently against the counter. You gasp, the sudden contact taking your breath away, but you don’t stop. You respond to me with a desperation that matches mine. The kiss deepens, our lips moving against each other in sync as the world outside this moment ceases to exist.

I pull back just slightly, my forehead resting against yours, both of us breathing heavily. “This is dangerous,” I whisper, the words coming out almost as a warning, but I can’t bring myself to stop.

You smile faintly, but it’s not a playful smile. It’s more like you’re acknowledging the danger too, and somehow, it makes the tension even stronger. “I know,” you whisper back.

I kiss you again, more urgently this time, pushing you gently against the shelves. Books fall, unnoticed, but neither of us cares. The only thing that matters is the feeling of your body pressed against mine, your hands now pulling me closer, your lips tracing the outline of my jaw, and the way my heart races in response.

Everything else fades away. It’s just you and me in this moment.

I pinned you against the book shelf, scared that something will end up falling but right now I couldn’t care less when I have you. So perfect in my hands just like I imagined it.

The soft fabric of your skirt against my fingers that im sure you wore just for me makes me shiver..You’re something out of this world. I mean it.

Your gasps and your little whimpers against my lips it feels like absolute heaven to me. You were made just for me didn’t you? We belong together (y/n).

I turn you around slamming your pretty face againts the shelf. God im sorry Love.

Im a bad husband. A bad father. I admit it. I shouldn’t be doing this. I should be in bed next to you.

But love does magic. And I have fallen for it. Once again.

I raise your skirt up just to see your silky smooth pink panties.

Naughty.

You knew this would happen.

But who am I to judge?

The sound of metal echoed the room as I unbuckle my belt. I hear you breathing heavily. Are you excited? Scared? You should be.

I should be too.

I hear your soft voice once more “god please Joe j-just fuck me” you whimper to me.

God you’re so needy (y/n). But since you asked so nicely, who am I to decline such a thing?

I grab your neck from behind as I slowly thrust into you and God… Is this what heaven feels like?

My thrusts start to quicken up as I feel myself getting even more excited. And believe me, I wish I could stop (y/n), but your cute moans and whimpers are only making me fucking hornier. “Jo-Joe~ Im gonna-“

So fast already? “You wanted this as much as I did didn’t you?” I say as I grab a full chunk of your hair and yank it back so I can see you, and you moan. You like to be treated like this huh? Interesting. You nod at my question. “you’re mine.” I growled against your ear.

You’re doing things to me (y/n).

You nod at my comment once again “y-yes” my thrust get harder…faster. “Good girl.” I say as I feel you finally come undone right in front of me. This is what I pictured since the day I first saw you…

And I want more.

[thebigbiwolf]

Mine, if Only for the Night

Summary:

Based on a prompt given to me by a wonderful anon: Astarion/reader fic where he finds out she's never had a lover 'finish the job' so she doesn't see what all the fuss is about, and he decides to use his skills to ruin her for anyone else and show her what she's been missing out on?

Fic Tags: Porn with feelings, Multiple Orgasms, Overstim, Astarion POV, LOTS of Pining, Vaginal sex of all kinds (jesus), and Reader's First Orgasm lol

Fic Warnings: Explicit Smut (18+ MDNI), language

Word Count: 5.1k~

Read on AO3: Here

A/N: I loved this prompt. No notes. This is also maybe a bit of a fix-it fic where Astarion does not dissociate during your first time in the woods because my baby deserves to have a good time.

Thank you Lari @imaginarydromedary for being the best beta ever.

-

Astarion leans his shoulder against a tree, surveying the clearing. 

While the surroundings were still a tad rugged for his tastes, he’d taken it upon himself to arrange a few furs and pillows here and there until it felt acceptably comfortable. 

He peels off his nightshirt, discarding it into the plush grass as he works his jaw, wondering where you might be. 

You should have arrived by now. More than an hour had passed since the distant, jovial music and chatter had faded into nothing, and the tieflings have long since said their goodbyes. The night envelopes him in silence, broken only by the distant murmur of a nearby stream and the usual cricket song.

He’s starting to wonder if perhaps he had misread this entire situation. Maybe he pushed too far - made some sort of error in his assessment of you. 

Or maybe you didn't desire him at all. 

The idea gnaws at him - unsettles him more than he’d ever care to admit.

An uncomfortable weight in his chest. 

He brushes the feeling aside, scoffing to himself.

As if you or anyone else would deny themselves a chance to indulge in his body, especially when offered an immediate out. No unnecessary promises. Not even a cuddle.

As if.

And yet, he can’t seem to shake this uncomfortable doubt.

Step by step, he paces, turning your interaction with him at the party over in his head until he’s exhausted every word - until the grass flattens beneath the soles of his feet. 

How the topic of your disappointing sexual history came up could perhaps be attributed to your shared bottle of wine. He’d nearly choked on the damned drink when you explained to him, in detail, about every encounter, every night you spent satisfying a man’s ego rather than having your needs met, and how you no longer believed there was any real point to sex.

He could hardly believe his beautifully pointed ears.

And while he would normally revel in the opportunity to embarrass someone over being the tragic victim of terrible sex, your case is… different.

You are different.

You stood by his side, even through the disastrous revelation of his condition. More than that, you allowed him to drink from you - a favor he won’t soon forget. 

Part of you even enjoyed it. 

He felt it the moment he put his mouth on you, the very second his fangs breached the delicate skin of your neck. He felt it all: the subtle hitch in your breath, your little twitches of excitement. 

And yet, you asked nothing more of him. 

So, what is a friend to do?

It took some insistence - a bit of reassurance that no , offering to bed you properly was not brought about by a sick sense of obligation, nor was it a way to repay you for your kind deeds - but honestly, for the life of him, he doesn’t understand why this feels so damn important - why there's this incessant urge to bring you the release he knows you so desperately need. 

Perhaps it's the promise of a challenge - one that pokes at his male pride like a petulant child. It goads him, raising an egotistical brow his way, the knowledge that unlike all the other men you’ve wasted your time with, Astarion could get you off with ease.

He’d pull out all the stops, use every trick in his little black book to reduce you to a quivering, obedient mess. He’d take his time with you - have you wet and pliant, begging beneath his fingers before giving you everything those pretty little lips could ever ask for. 

He would ruin you, if you’d allow it.

All you had to do was give him one night. No strings attached.

And yet, here you are, keeping him waiting.

Five, then ten, then 20 minutes pass, and only when he’s about to pack his things - when his growing impatience threatens to twist into a feeling dangerously close to disappointment - does he hear movement behind him.

The rustle of leaves, a snapping twig. 

Astarion turns to find you grappling with a particularly thorny bush - your hair a mess, adorned with small sticks. With a frustrated huff, you kick at the plant, muttering under your breath.

You haven’t noticed him yet, too busy fighting to free your foot - and it suddenly occurs to him that your inferior human eyes had to navigate these woods in the dark. 

That little detail must have evaded him when he made his proposition, but realizing it now, knowing that you weren't simply wasting the night away, wrestling with the decision of whether to leave him waiting and wanting… sets him at ease.

“You should have been a druid.” he teases.

You freeze, head perking up and swiveling towards the sound of his voice.

“I don’t see why the lot of them insist on camping out in the wilderness,” you huff,  “There’s a perfectly fine grove less than a mile from here.” 

You finish prying your boot out from the thicket, nearly toppling over in the process. He almost considers helping you, but watching you struggle like a newborn dear is just too amusing to pass up. He’ll make it up to you soon enough.

Making your way toward the clearing, your eyes gradually adjust to the moonlight. They find his gaze, then wander over the pale expanse of his chest, before quickly darting away to focus on the ensemble of blankets.

“Oh. This is… nice.” You remark, gesturing towards the furs, and at first, Astarion assumes you’re mocking him - turning a nose up at his thoughtful efforts.

But when he turns toward you, preparing to make a less-than-savory comment about gratitude, he is instead met with a genuinely surprised, and somewhat irritating, smile.

Just what sort of lovers have you settled for, thinking that this constitutes ‘nice’?

“And you thought I was going to, what,” he scoffs, “Drag you into the cold woods and have my way with you against a tree?” 

Your face flames at the suggestion, burning bright red at his boldness, but you don’t deny it. 

In fact, his keen ears pick up on the subtle flutter of your heartbeat as soon as the words leave his lips.

That’s all the confirmation he needs. 

“Ah,” he purrs, “I see.”

With that, Astarion closes the distance between you, toned arms sliding beneath the firmness of your thighs to lift you with ease. A surprised squeak leaves your mouth as your ankles instinctively lock around his waist.

He takes a few steps forward until the dull edges of bark press into your shoulders.

“Is this what you want?” He punctuates his words with the firm press of his clothed cock against your core, already hardening with interest. It’s almost maddening - how responsive you are, already squirming in his arms when he’s hardly touched you.

His grip tightens on your rear, nails digging into your soft skin.

“Answer me, dear,” he growls, “I want to hear you say it.”

It’s a lie, of sorts. He doesn’t want to hear it - he needs to. Needs you to beg for him, as ridiculous as it feels. 

He’s had more lovers than he could count, heard their sweet cries like a symphony of praise, but they fell on deaf, pointed ears compared to this - to your ragged breaths.

“ Say it .”

“ Please , Astarion. I want this -”

As soon as the words leave you, his lips are on yours, hungry and demanding. He sets you down, one hand leaving your thighs to grab at your jaw and tilting it just so - steering your face into a more accessible angle, the tip of his nose finding its place against your flushed cheek.

His other hand snakes its way to the back of your head, twining the soft strands of hair between his fingers, tightening them in his fist and pulling .

The sudden sting elicits a whine, stolen from your parted lips, and he takes the opportunity to run his tongue along the seam, dipping into the inviting heat of your mouth. Notes of cheap, flat wine still linger on your tongue, but he quickly finds he doesn’t mind the taste - barely notices it at all when you're opening up for him so eagerly.

He long expected himself to turn off - to hide behind his practiced movements, allowing his body to do the work for him - to wake up sometime after you’d found your pleasure in him.

But here he remains - his script thrown to the wind while your little sounds of approval hang in the air between you, driving him with a hunger that is wholly unfamiliar. 

He wants this, but that realization will come later, when he’s gathering his clothes with the heat of the morning sun at his back, wondering why the idea of leaving you there in the plush grass settles like lead in his stomach. 

It’ll wait for him there, hidden behind layers of denial and fear, then follow like a hound biting at his heels for months on end until he makes peace with it - until he chokes on his own tears in the safety of your arms where you’ll welcome him, along with all of his complications.

But for now, he kisses a line down your shoulder, feeling more alive and present with every swipe of his tongue against your collar bone. You sigh, and he pays special attention to the thin skin there, warm and jumping in time with your pulse.

Astarion's deft fingers skillfully unhook the buttons of your shirt with practiced ease. He tears away the offending fabric, and a low growl burns its way out his throat as the last two buttons pop off, landing somewhere in the dirt beside him. You’ll have something to say about that later, he’s sure.

When the morning comes, he’ll notice you searching for them and offer to sew in new ones - more suitable ones, in whichever color you’d prefer. When he hands the shirt back to you just a few hours later, now embroidered and finer than even before his careless blunder, your impressed smile will awaken a fondness in him that will linger naggingly in the corners of his mind for the foreseeable future. 

He’ll ruminate on that later, when his mouth isn’t descending on your breasts, and his hands aren’t palming at your newly exposed skin.

Falling to his knees, he works at the laces of your trousers. Then, when the troublesome strings are finally undone, his eyes meet yours, holding your gaze as he peels the cloth slowly down the length of your thighs. He takes his time with it, dragging the fabric over your knees and trailing the blunt edge of his nails back up to the curve of your hips, watching intently as the skin prickles beneath his touch.

You wiggle, restless and flushed bright red from your neck to your ears, suddenly avoiding his stare. 

It’s a strange, uncharacteristic shyness—until he puts two and two together when he runs his finger over the white lace of your smalls and finds them positively soaked .

“Is this all for me?” he teases, a smug smile tugging at the corner of his lips. 

His thumb presses knowingly into the wet fabric, petting the skin beneath with practiced pressure. 

You don’t answer - you can’t - with your head thrown back and eyes squeezed shut, too busy rocking mindlessly into his touch. 

Well, that certainly won’t do.

A hard slap lands on the inside of your thigh, jolting you to attention. The responding hitch in your breath goes straight to his cock.

“I asked you a question, darling. Is this all for me?”

“I - agh , yes.”

“ Very good,” he purrs, satisfied, “Now, spread these for me.” 

You obey, parting your legs and giving him more space to work with. He tugs at your pants, quickly ridding you of them, then goes back to work kneading lazy, unhurried circles into the thin, sticky, wet fabric. It clings to your skin so perfectly, outlining your form for him as if you were wearing nothing at all.

You're panting above him now - small, rushed breaths suspended in the charged air. The muscles of your thighs twitch with each pass of his thumb over your clit.

And again, you’re not looking at him - head turned to the side and whispering curses quietly to yourself.

Another slap to your thigh, then - the same one, because he’s cruel - now marked with the vivid red imprint of his hand.

“Eyes on me,” he commands.

When your eyes meet his again, they’re hooded and glossy, filled with a familiar haze. 

Lust .

He’s got you now.

Pulling the now thoroughly ruined garment to the side, Astarion rewards you by dragging a finger through your folds, watching your arousal drip down his wrist. It practically drools out of you, coating the rest of his digits, slickening his palm as he presses one into your entrance. 

Your hands instinctively fly to his hair, settling atop the tousled, white strands, and your body takes him in greedily . 

Astarion smiles to himself. 

This feels… good - being so in control, pulling little pleasured sounds from your lips. His pride swells as he adds another finger. You buckle forward, letting out a strangled groan, losing yourself to the feeling of being stretched - being prepped for him and every inch of cock he has to give you, sitting impatiently hard and neglected in his trousers.

He pumps in and out of you, slowly at first, but it only takes a few short moments before your impatient squirming turns into a mindless, needy grind. Each small thrust forward has your body taking him deeper, clenching him tighter until he can feel you throbbing around his fingers.

There’s a level of self indulgence here that he would deny if questioned - perhaps even under oath - but the wholly unnecessary way he pauses to tear the fabric of your smallclothes would quickly betray him. 

Your squeak of surprise is all he hears before the press of your thighs deafens him - and if he was naive enough to believe that your blood was the most enticing thing he’s tasted in the last two centuries, it pales in comparison to the mess you’ve made for him. 

An anguished hum escapes him as he drags his tongue through your folds - so hoarse and strained with disbelief, it almost sounds more animal than man.

He drinks you in, letting up for only as long as it takes to press tender, soothing kisses into your clit, sucking gently at the nub before dipping his tongue back into your hole for seconds, thirds -

This is madness . How someone could pass up this opportunity is far beyond him. Your fist in his hair, surrounded by your pulse as it thrums within the warm, pillowy skin of your thighs, the way you chase your release, rocking into his mouth and coating his chin with your slick, is everything . 

It is everything.

In the cornered haze of his mind, he almost regrets his promises. Had he known it would be like this, that you’d be the first and only memorable partner he’s had in the last two centuries, he may have reconsidered. 

Hells, he should have reconsidered the moment his tongue slipped into your mouth and you had the gall to taste that fucking sweet - to be that damned responsive . 

How is he supposed to play this off as if it changes nothing - as if this means nothing at all?

“Shit, Astarion -”

Pesky details. He’ll have to sort those out later.

“I’m - I think I’m close -” 

Astarion is a smart man - smart enough to know that the best course of action here, when you’re on the precipice of coming apart, is to simply redouble his efforts and continue on as he has been. No special trick up his sleeve, no overly indulgent stylized movements, just sucking as gently and generously as you need. He applies the same steady, circular pressure of his tongue, curls his fingers and fucks you with them in a steady, calculated rythm, until -

The moment you fall apart will be forever burned into his mind. 

He will remember it all: the twitching of your thighs, the tight pinch of your brows, the sound of your cries as your hips stutter in his strong hold. He’ll remember the way he moans, earnestly, as he laps you through it, eager to extend your high for as long as your body allows him. And he will surely remember the thrill that runs up the length of his spine at the sight of you losing yourself at his hand.

But most of all, he will remember the moment immediately after - when your movements slow, and your tight grip loosens from his hair; when your warm hand falls to the side of his face, the soft pads of your fingertips rubbing gentle circles into the shell of his pointed ear. 

You may not have even noticed the small gesture, too blissed out and trembling, but when the two of you look back on this moment years from now, Astarion will laugh at how blind he was - how he should have seen the spark of fondness in your eyes as you fought to catch your breath, the kindling that was twisting in his chest at the sight of your flushed skin, and the fire that would grow there until it nearly consumed him. 

He should have known that this was the start of something greater.

But at this moment, all he knows is the sudden, inexplicable urge to keep you here tonight - to prove himself worthy of coming back, should you ever have an itch that needs scratching. Perhaps tomorrow, or the next night, or any other time you’d see fit. 

Astarion places a final kiss on the junction of your hip, right where the skin is thinnest above the bone, then leans back to fully appreciate his work. 

You are breathless , chest heaving from sheer exertion.

“That was…”

You huff out a laugh as you try to find the right words.

“Perfect?” he raises an eyebrow at you, grin tugging at the corner of his lips, “I know. Like I said, I’m quite good at this.”

He wipes at the clear slick on his chin and shamelessly licks his hand clean, sucking your mess off his fingers with a playful pop.

Your face flushes with embarrassment - the pretty color now matching the puffy, reddened skin of your sex. 

“Do you want more?” he asks, as if his cock isn’t threatening to leak a dark patch into his trousers, “We don’t have to, of course, but -”

“Yes.”

Astarion’s smiles are normally calculated - purposeful, and poised to perfection, but the one that finds its way to his face at your eagerness is as real as the ache beginning to bloom in his knees.

“Come here, then,” he says, dragging his weight back to the blankets. He doesn’t even have the time to readjust the decorative pillows before you’re clamoring on top of him, covering his neck with impatient kisses and helping him remove his clothes. 

“Eager, are we?” he teases, but he’s met with no response. Your mouth is too busy sucking bruises into the pale, hard planes of his chest, hands working diligently at the laces of his pants. 

The moment his legs and cock are free, Astarion wastes no time wrapping his arms around your midsection and seating you perfectly on his hips, the searing heat of your slit molds around him, dragging up and down as you grind against his length. 

There’s urgency in the air - in the way your mouth finds his own. It buzzes and hums, growing with every pass of your hips, prickling like burrs beneath his skin. He’s as much a victim of it as you are -here in this little corner of the wilderness - to the strange and unrecognizable pull. 

This desire to touch you.

With one hand anchoring the back of your neck, he takes his length with the other, notching himself at your entrance - an invitation you eagerly accept.

You sink down, enveloping him in suffocating heat . 

The grunt that escapes him is entirely involuntary - the honesty behind it bleeding out between his teeth, escaping with a hiss. 

“Shit,” he huffs under his breath, willing his brain to focus on anything other than how you mold so perfectly to him. It’s almost like you were made for this - for him - and the notion itself is almost enough to toss him right over the edge.

It’s hard enough to believe he’s present with you, here in this moment, rather than falling into oblivion and allowing the act to pass him by.

But to be enjoying it this much? 

Sheer disbelief.

Your hips move experimentally, sighing with relief as you take the rest of him down to the hilt. His grip on the nape of your neck tightens, nails digging small grooves into the base of your scalp. The slow rock of your hips as you adjust to his size would surely be enough to finish him, were he any ordinary man - were he not determined to brand this night into your mind for the rest of whatever time you have left on this earth - tadpoles be damned.

It’s not supposed to be like this. You’re not supposed to be like this, melding so beautifully around his length. But he has appearances to maintain, and spilling into you now would surely ruin his carefully crafted reputation, so he steals what’s left of his composure and continues on. 

Astarion stares at where your bodies meet, bringing a practiced thumb back to your perfect little nub and pressing . The delicious pressure has your forehead falling to his shoulder.

“Can I - agh, ” you pause as he cruelly begins to rub your clit, much too slow to actually finish the job, but just enough to feel you clench around him. He continues like that for a few seconds, savoring the way you grip, release, and start to dribble down from where he’s rooted so deeply inside.

“Can you what, my dear?”

“Can I move, please?” 

“Hm,” he sighs with feigned indifference, “Well, since you asked so nicely.”

His hands guide you into a comfortable rhythm, stroking your walls and filling every inch of your greedy cunt as it swallows him up - back and forth, rocking into him until you’re good and split open.

You ride him until your legs begin to fail you - until he has to grab your waist to keep you steady as he fucks up into you in earnest. The hard, wet slap of his damp skin against yours mixes with your strained, desperate moans. He pounds you like he’s sating some sort of hunger - fucks you with so much force that your slick forms a thick white ring of cream at the base of his cock. 

His thumb rubs expert circles into your clit with firm, gentle pressure, until he feels that telltale fluttering of your walls around him, and your blunt nails are digging into where his shoulders meet his chest. 

“You’re close again, aren’t you?” he grunts, and the question is met only with an affirmative whine. “Good. This time, I want to feel it.”

His hands move to your rear, squeezing and kneading - pulling and pushing your hips to grind himself even deeper into you until your body gives up its orgasm.

It drags you under like a raging current. 

You wail pitifully against his shoulder - the suffocating grip of your sex working to milk him dry, gushing around him and soaking his thick cock as he relentlessly fucks you through it.

It's almost enough to end him, it truly is, but Astarion is nothing if not thorough, and G ods be damned if you leave this clearing tomorrow morning without your cunt permanently molded to his shape - without this encounter seared into your very being.

His arms wrap around you, pulling your chest tight against his own and turning you over until your back meets the soft furs - his hips rolling into yours as the waves of white-hot pleasure pulse through you. 

There will be many more where that came from. When you eventually crawl back to his tent with a shy gaze and offer him another taste of your neck, pretending it was simply a coincidence that you waited until the dead of night to seek him out, when the rest of your merry little troup were fast asleep in their bedrolls. Couldn’t stay away? He’ll joke, pretending as though his heart doesn’t stir at the sight of you.

He’ll bed you again, and again, and again. Whenever and wherever you should ask: on his desk - tomes shoved carelessly to the ground, between the cracked stone walls of a cave while the others ready their gear, tangled within the sheets of the first real bed you happen to find. He’ll fuck you in those stolen moments with a willing mouth and hands and cock, however many times it takes for him to realize this does mean something to him - even if he isn’t quite sure what that something is . 

And you, being the perfect thing you are, will be patient, and give him the space he needs to figure that out.

“One more,” he whispers hot against your cheek, “I think we can get one more out of you.” 

“This is insane. How are you so - gods, ” he’s got just the right angle now, dragging languidly in and out of your thoroughly fucked hole. 

He’s done quite a number on you already, and you’ll likely need a day to recover the strength in your legs. The others will surely mock you for it, but perhaps you’ll manage to blame it on the hangover?

“Astarion, I - I don’t think I can do another -”

“You can,” he says with the confidence of a man who’s done this before - one who knows the limits of a woman’s body and exactly how to push them. “And you’re going to stay right here, wrapped beautifully around my cock, until you give me what I want.” 

He drives the point home with a sudden, hard thrust, and the rush of it has you keening in surprise, hands flying to his back and heels digging in for purchase. 

In fairness, he’s hardly given you a chance to come down from the last climax, but you sought him out tonight. You knew what you were getting into, no less than a mouse offering itself to a cat. He’ll toy with you until he’s had his fill - the first man in your life to ever make you come apart. Not just once or twice, but three times once he’s through with you.

And while the third takes a bit more work, as expected, he quickly realizes you appreciate a decent amount of force, so he feverishly pounds into you - pinning your wrists at your sides to prevent too much useless, unnecessary squirming. 

Astarion thinks could get addicted to this level of control if he isn’t careful - his brave, unwavering, diplomatic leader held captive beneath him as he wrings every last bit of pleasure from your body, drunk on his cock and fucked out well past the point of any decorum. 

The way you moan for him now would put some prostitutes to shame - eyes glazed over and thoughts entirely wiped of anything other than being split open and thoroughly used. 

It reminds him of why he’s here. The thankless months you’ve spent worrying yourself over every vagrant’s problems are now practically a thing of the past. And after tonight, you’ll surely be ruined for any other man, securing himself in your good graces. A win, win, all around.

Your orgasm almost sneaks past him, too caught up in his own musings to notice, but the subtle rush of slickness and the resounding sound of your body sucking him in even deeper gives it away. Your head rolls to the side as you choke back a sob, tears forming the corners of your eyes as your exhausted cunt barely manages to scrounge up the effort to squeeze him, and that’s when he finally decides you’ve had enough.

“Where do you want me?” he asks.

“Inside? Agh - Inside, please, ” 

Oh.

An unexpected answer, but not an unwelcome one.

And so, he does.

For the first time in his memory, he comes entirely apart. 

With a few more strokes, he spills inside of you, and the sheer impact of it takes him by surprise.

Hissing between his gritted teeth and buried in your warmth he floods you to the brim, floods every inch of your cunt until his come has no more room to fill. The spend clings to his cock with every stroke, drooling out of you and tracing a cloudy white line through the valley of your rear before soaking into the blankets beneath.

Astarion heaves like a man with functioning lungs, groans from the sudden, noticeable soreness in his limbs, and actually, truly laughs at the absurdity of it all.

Just how long had the two of you been at this? Over an hour, surely?

He’s about to ask you - maybe try his hand at a bit of pillow talk for the first time in his life - but when he looks back at your face, he finds that you’re barely conscious, just on the precipice of passing out from exhaustion.

He pulls out of you, trying his best not to grunt through the overstimulating drag of your skin against his.

Astarion could count on one hand how many memorable encounters he’s had since the beginning of his servitude, and even less when considering how many he enjoyed. 

Well, enjoyed would be a very generous descriptor. More so, how many he was able to stomach until the end. And while his anatomy was capable of producing results despite his head being elsewhere, this was… different.

You are different - that much was clear from the beginning, since the moment you forgave him for pulling a knife on you and, for whatever reason, trusted him enough to allow him to stay with you, despite it being an objectively stupid thing to do.

He’ll tell you as much, when he finally confesses his feelings for you. That had it not been for your endless patience and your unfathomable kindness, he may have never learned to love at all.

But he wont have the words, let alone the maturity , to articulate that for quite some time.

For now, here you are, snoring softly beneath him. 

And here he is, with the beginnings of a strange, unrecognizable tingling in his chest.  

What ever will he do with you?

[haru-chi]

-a bit Manga Spoiler ahead-

The more I think about it the more I just don't know what to feel about doing Miharu's arc before doing an extended hand story ><

tbh I feared them doing that and was talking about this with a friend before the Miharu's arc preview even dropped but since they did a pretty good job so far this season unlike the past two, I wanted to have faith ...

maybe it's fine to do it after which would result in different reaction yet reach the same end plus it's up to oneself to decide how to perceive something ...

personally speaking, I don't want Miharu's arc before the extended hand story ... for me it won't hit the same ...

don't get me wrong ... be it I saw it before or after I know Miharu's arc will always be special to me ...

but you know, being "special" hold different kind of meaning ... the Miharu's arc being "special" without an extended hand prior knowledge will be different than it being "special" with that knowledge beforehand .... it won't be same for me ... the experience will be different .. the reaction will be different ... I don't know if I make any sense but don't know how to explain it well enough ><

I'm not only talking about how Seiji's reaction is different in both stories when Natori offered him help .. nor am I talking about how their relationship in it was pretty positive by its end ...

it's something more than just those ...

a glimpse at Seiji's family burden

Seiji's sad wish of wanting a Shiki

Natori trying to understand him

it's those little details, those unspoken things that change your view of characters and character's reaction in stories ...

that's why when you read/watch Miharu's arc with this knowledge it makes it so different ... everything is just so different since Miharu's arc expand on those same ideas while adding more .. this same burden .. this same sad wish .. this same delicate and complicated relationship between Seiji and Natori ...

Miharu's arc something too special for me, that it felt unreal to have sometimes ... but I don't think it would've been so without an extended hand story ..

as I said it would've been still special even without it but wouldn't be the same kind of special :)

also, I guess the questions and mystery would've been different in a way too by the end of it or throughout the story ...

I know cuz what I asked about and was killing myself to know throughout Miharu's arc was questions I wouldn't have asked nor considered if I didn't know an extended hand beforehand ^^

anyway, in the end since the anime team decided to change the order of events, I hope Manga reader don't ruin anything for anime-only or spoil an extended hand for them for the sake of Miharu's arc (surely the anime will adapt it) or make them feel they're missing something out if they didn't ask for it themselves ...

let them live and enjoy their own type of experience and memories while we watch over them silently ^^

I'm only sharing my view and emotions regarding the matter since I can't deny I'm a bit sad since I wanted my friend to live through the same experience as close as possible but oh well ...

[drsugarsweet]

Holding On To Smoke

Haunted Armor!Polnareff x Reader

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Synopsis: Through a stroke of good fortune, you have been placed in charge of an antique home. The former owners only asked that you kept the relics inside, and you agreed. If only they had mentioned that some of the relics aren't as lifeless as they initially seemed...

TW: Implied character death (not reader’s) Note: reader is GN, no pronouns aside from 'you' are used.

Masterlist ☆。*。☆。

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A/N: Polnareff is SUCH a sad grieving beast, this only felt appropriate for him.

The home that you've come to enjoy for so many months is old, much older than you. It's full of items you're scared to touch for fear of shattering their delicate nature, of spiderwebs that look too beautiful to break and rooms that you haven't even stepped foot into. There simply isn't enough time or motivation for you to cover all of that ground, and yet…

And yet you notice small oddities that you can't fully explain away. There's odd clanking in the halls that sounds far too consistent to be the pipes. After all, they only rattle when you draw water from them. The rooms you frequent are miraculously free of dust even though you haven't had the time to drag out the duster and rags yourself. It’s hard to chalk up the cold and pointed breezes as a simple draft, and you swear you’ve seen something glowing out of the corner of your eye more than once - only to disappear when you actually look at it.

Oh, and you can’t ignore the massive elephant in the room.

More specifically, the massive suit of armor.

Upon first entering the house, it looked like an odd decoration but hardly one you could complain about. Old houses have weird decorations, right? It made you feel like you were walking into a murder mystery set but your attention was so set on moving in that you didn’t think much of it. It looked regal and mysterious enough to make you ponder over its relevance though. The original owners never mentioned it, did they? There’s no plaque to reveal who may have donned it, who it may have shielded or when. You shrug and decide you’ll research it at a later date.

That later date keeps getting pushed further and further back however. The mysterious old house has its fair share of secrets to keep you distracted - a library packed with dusty old books, a kitchen full of secret panels, not to mention the many, many nooks and crannies you weren’t told of. The only times you ponder about the armor again is when you pass its dulled surfaces in the hallway. It isn’t until you finally decide that a heavy cleaning of the home is in order lest your lungs fill with dust bunnies that the armor finally has your full attention.

How does one clean a suit of armor? You’re not sure. I’s not like it’s been in any books that you’ve read before. A wet rag should at least help with removing the dirt and dust, and you assume that the kind of polish used on metal surfaces in your kitchen could work. It’s a large suit and you know you’ll have your work cut out for you, but something draws you in despite the eeriness of the relic. It feels strange. It feels… Melancholic , somehow. Maybe you’re too wrapped up in the idea that this once belonged to someone, that someone could have lived, breathed, died in those iron plates. Maybe it’s the way the chestplate and helmet have engravings of broken hearts on them that tug at your own heartstrings. Whatever the reason, you feel like it’s your obligation to give this old thing one last hurrah in the way of cleaning it up.

As the rag glides across the faded surface and carries away the countless layers of grime, you start to see the former glory restored. The armor truly does look uncared for, though you aren’t surprised given the state of the house. It only spurs you on as more of that gleaming silver comes to light. There’s so many small details to pay heed to; engravings of hearts and chariots must be carefully detailed, and the sections of overlapping plates require a special amount of focus. At the very least there isn’t any corruption or rusting. It takes hours to clean with the occasional break for refreshments in-between, but pulling away from the now clear (albeit dull) suit sends a wave of relief through you. The low evening sunlight streaking through the stained glass windows of the foyer reflects in a beautiful kaleidoscope on the iron. For just a breath, a brief moment… You could almost swear that the suit of armor is glowing.

The moment passes as the clouds of kicked up dust finally force you to sneeze, and when you look at the armor again the glow is gone. It must have been a trick of the light. With that, you nod and set aside the polish to be done the next day. Perhaps the sheer amount of time or the curiosity that you’ve poured into the armor play a role in why you suddenly feel a sense of longing and connection towards the suit, almost as though you’re leaving an old friend. It’s odd, but you shrug the thoughts away and retire to your room for the evening. The next day will surely be brighter.

Downstairs, the darkness of the dusk is broken by a soft glow.

Weeks pass after your restoration of the armor. The oddities start as subtle movements at first. A hand shifts slightly or the helmet seems to perk in the direction of your favorite armchair; the dust settled around the suit’s base is disturbed, or is it just your imagination? As the house becomes cleaner in more miniscule ways, even that starts to make you wonder if it’s all in your head. You only start to think something is up when you come home from work to find the armor set at the foot of the stairs to the second floor, its gauntlets set against the scabbard of its rapier. It’s not like the suit froze when you entered - you’re sure you would’ve heard the clanking, and it’s just a suit, right? If you weren’t constantly swamped with work you’d almost be afraid of the potential haunting. You know it isn’t some mischievous intruder breaking in just to mess with you; the doors and windows are always the same as they were, and it’s not like anything is missing. There aren’t handbooks on how to deal with haunted houses like this and so you stand in the house’s entranceway, eyes glued to the relic posed mere feet away.

It feels like an eternity that you wait with bated breath for something to happen. When it does, there is no loud scream or rush of metal and pain; no ghastly beasts lunge for your throat, and as you stand gaping like a fish out of water, you realize that the movement of the armor is almost unnoticeable at first glance.

The visor of the helmet minutely tilts towards you and you know for a fact that gauntleted fingers twitch at the scabbard’s handle. The gig is up. You take one step back, and the armor jerks to face you further. Another step, and the helmet is facing you fully, its hand never leaving the hilt of the razor sharp rapier. The door is closed and solid against your back and you’re certain that this is where you will die.

The clanging of metal grows closer and closer with each step of the suit of armor. Even behind your eyelids - when did they close? - you can’t miss the icy blue glow painting the backs of your eyelids in dim light. Your eyes peel open just enough to witness the armor come to a still before you in its pale glowing glory. The finger guards on the scabbard have lifted away and now the suit stands before you motionless yet again, its gauntlets stiffly held at its side. The icy terror that initially held you in its grasp melts into mute confusion and unease. Why isn’t it attacking you? What could you have done to inspire this thing’s movement? Or…

Has it always been on the move?

Your racing thoughts are interrupted by another sudden jump from the suit of armor, but this one catches you even more off-guard. In one quick and jerky movement, the suit tumbles down onto one iron poleyn, its other knee bent as it bows its helmet before you. You have no idea what to say, what to do as the massive suit freezes yet again. There’s a moving set of armor in front of you. Holy shit , there’s haunted armor in your house.

For a minute, the two of you stay there in frozen time. The armor doesn’t move but it glows and pulsates with faint blue light. You don’t move aside from the slowing rise and fall of your chest. There’s a tension so palpable in the air that it surely could be cut through like butter with a hot knife, but you have no idea what to do or say to your unexpected housemate.

The first noise to break the room isn’t from you. It starts out so quietly that the rush of blood in your ears drowns it out. Slowly and drenched in uncertainty, a noise no louder than a whisper seems to fill the room. There’s a pause, and then the noise again, and again, growing louder with each confused blink it draws from you. The moment that it grows loud enough to register properly to your ears is the moment that you realize that it’s a voice echoing around you. The voice is hoarse and strangely hollow, but it sounds almost like a man. It echoes again from the suit of armor and you realize that it is speaking to you .

“Please… Give me an order.”

The stunned silence plaguing your voice is hard to break. Break it you do, but only because the tide of questions thrashing against your skull threatens to consume you.

“Who are you?”

Perhaps the right question would be who it - he - was. You begin to regret not looking up the source of the armor sooner. The voice goes silent and the glow swirls in a mesmerizing miasma of dull silver and ice. Whatever haunts this armor seems to form the strongest beneath its chestplate and helmet, and for the briefest of moments you wonder what you would see beneath the visor. As though it can sense your innate curiosity amidst the waves of confusion and fear, the being raises its helmet a fraction as though it were looking at you. The feeling of eyes becomes strong and yet oh so familiar.

“I am Jean Pierre Polnareff. You have laid claim to this land. I pledge my loyalty to you, to protect you and honor your every word.” The helmet drops again and the regal being donned in iron waits ever so patiently for your words. With its hand on its scabbard and that plasmic echo fading in and out like a heartbeat, it truly bears the visage of a noble warrior. 

Okay, what the hell are you supposed to do about this? 

There’s a fucking ghost knight in your house.

After a very rational and intense moment of thinking on the matter, you do the only thing that sounds right when confronted with such a ghostly specter. It doesn’t matter that it hasn’t made a move to harm you. You reach behind you, feeling around until you can grab the doorknob to the front entrance. You throw open the heavy door before hauling ass into the chilly night air, refusing to look back once lest the point of a rapier be the last thing you see.

You’ll find a hotel or stay with a friend for now. There’s no way in hell that you’re going back to your house, no way that you’re reenacting some stupid horror movie scene.

You go back to the house two days later.

Maybe it’s the twinge of pain in your shoulder and neck from sleeping on an uncomfortable futon. Maybe it’s the reminiscing that you’ve had time to do on the whole matter. You’ve never felt unsafe in the house; melancholy, sure, pensive if you stood in the right spot. You never felt afraid though, so why is the memory of the one that called himself Polnareff lingering in your mind?

The old home looms over you as the gray skies threaten to douse you in rain. Despite the being that you know lurks inside, the building itself doesn’t feel ominous. It feels like a rundown old manor and you can’t come up with a good reason to avoid going in any longer. The stone steps are slick beneath your shoes and with a mighty groan, the door swings forward into the foyer.

You aren’t really sure what you expected. Images of torn tapestries and broken mirrors came to your mind at first, like a raging beast rampaging in a bout of anger. The light of the day floods the foyer, and you breathe a sigh of relief to see that there is no such damage. As a matter of fact… There is no sign of the suit of armor at all. It isn’t at its base in the middle of the foyer. You know you should be on high alert, but the lack of surprises lulls you ever so slightly.

It feels silly to call out for another person in your own house, so you decide to take your chances and look around instead.

The den is free of the suit. You find yourself oddly disappointed.

The kitchen likewise lacks any spectral beings, and so too does the rest of the first story.

The memory of the first time that you saw the armor moving towards the staircase comes to mind, and your eyes travel up and along the mahogany banister towards the silent second story. If there were anywhere that your unassuming houseguest would be, you have a strong suspicion of its intended destination.

The doors to the library creak open as you peer inside and to your unexpected relief, a flash of iron catches your eyes. You push further in to be greeted by the broad, shining form of the suit of armor. Its helmet has tilted slightly back as though to acknowledge you but it has not moved. That glow remains but it is more dull than last time, the colors barely touching the dusty books and desk it stands in front of. That acknowledgment is all that you need and you take a deep breath of the stale air.

“I’m… Sorry. Sorry for how I acted last time. I wasn’t expecting you and I was scared, so I ran.” It’s an apology you never felt that you would make, but it feels wrong to leave things as they were. This thing has likely been here longer than you have been alive; the aura of sadness and mournful longing around it tinges your heart in a way you never expected.

The armor turns to look at you further with a set of clangs and you catch a glimpse of what its broad form was hiding. You haven’t had time to get a good look at the library beneath all of the blankets of dust, but the crest hanging on the wall is one you don’t recognize. The symbols of hearts and horse-drawn chariots bear a striking resemblance to the engravings on the knight’s armor. You startle as you realize that the very same insignia was on the paperwork that you signed to properly take ownership of this house.

The suit turns fully to face you and you swallow down your nerves. This could either go really well or really poorly based on how good you are at offending ghosts.

Its visor tilts to one side, then the other. It takes a step forward, and this time you stay where you are willingly rather than freezing in fear. Another step is taken. Another. By the time that your distorted face is reflected in the large breastplate of the armor, you realize just how cold the room has gotten around you. That visor leans down to look at you and you look up into it as icy tendrils of mist curl from beneath the edges. When the gauntlets reach up and towards you, it’s a miracle that you don’t feel fear. All that you feel is the strong wave of melancholy that you first felt upon stepping into this house, and you wonder just what this soul has suffered to exude such strong feelings of sadness.

The gauntlets do not reach for you, though they do briefly cradle your own hands in chilled metal before continuing upwards. The guarded fingers come to rest at the edges of the visor. Tendrils of ghostly energy curl at the iron knuckles, and it freezes like that. It’s as though it’s waiting for your order. With a flashback to the last meeting, you blink away crystals of iced tears that you didn’t even realize had appeared and answer its unspoken question.

“Show me your face. I want to see the knight of this house.”

You aren’t sure what to expect. There are no rules that could have prepared you, no pictures or carvings or films. The glide of the visor up and into the iron helmet is silent as it reflects the light. Whoever this man was, he is nothing like you expect, and that’s a pity because he is refined and elegant and somber in the way that only a lost soul can be.

Your hand shakes as you reach towards the visor. Crystals of ice gather on your fingertips as your eyes roam over the misty face of the man that once was. Sad eyes like faded seaglass stand out amidst shadows of sharp cheekbones and shroud-like silver hair that dances like spider silk in the wind. He speaks of tragedy and heartbreak without saying a word, and the brush of your fingers on the frigid iron of his helmet finally breaks what fear remains in your heart. 

“You’ll protect me?” The words are barely a whisper, but you don’t have it in you to speak any louder.

The ghost - Polnareff - nods. Somber as he may be, you swear that the corner of his lips turns up for just a moment. That air of melancholy lifts ever so slightly from your heart, the glow of the being before you so much more vivid than before.

“I swear to you, as is my purpose. You’ll never be alone.”

[qingyingpocketlirary]

A Loong History Lesson 1

This is a post that has Key information for my Snaphots and Tea Collection serises and also for information inportent to the back story for The Spider Web Story.

It also contains some HEAD CANNONS. Please take note they are head cannon's not Orginal to the Book JTTW or considered Cannon to the Lego Monkie Kid fandom while reading. Thank you!

A Loong History Lesson 1.

We’ll start with a very important detail about the Dragons.

In these series and in the story, I am taking real life information and tweaking it just a little, both to fit what the show has already established and for my own liking too.

There are Five main Dragons, a father and four sons.

Qinglong - The Azure Dragon - Central

Ao Shun - Black Dragons - North

Ao Qin - Red/Yellow Dragons - South

Ao Guang - White Dragons - East

Ao Ji - Green Dragons - West

The story of the Dragons, in relation to my stories is as follows;

Before humanity was established, Qinglong alone ruled the seas, maintaining and protecting the still new and frightened humans from the wrath of the war still about between the Heavenly Gods and Young Immortals, against the Underworld and the Demons who refused to bow down to Heaven’s imposed ruling.

He was not cruel, but he was also not kind, if one sought his aid, they would offer him something equal to his aid in return, be that an offering of service, of coin or something else, he did not care. 

For a long time, it was this way.

Until the day Qinglong encountered two beings he had never met before. A pair of primates, one with fur of dull red, with a short temper yet, both chaos and order at his feet, the other with fur of shining platinum, long arms and at his fingertips, order and chaos, danced freely. They were sitting atop a snow kissed mountain, sharing a plate of fruit cuts and cooked meat.

The Azure Dragon questioned their purpose, and was told that they were waiting. For what? The birth of another like them. It was a long time to wait, and the two had waited a long time already, but it was important to them and so, they would wait. He asked why they waited, and they explained that waiting was all they could do. If they tried to act, to hasten the arrival of this other in any way, it could very well shatter the delicate peace and stability of the world.

Qinglong asked how, and was told; In nature there are places and groups for everyone, and everything. But for us, there are only us and no others. We are Born of both the maddening mayhem of Chaos, and the calming harmony of Order. We are a family unto ourselves, and to others? We are proof that balance need not be so black and white, good and evil, light and dark. Would not the Heavens, who claim to help and serve Order, fear us their foes if we acted to bring our third into being in this time of conflict? Would not the Underworld, who seek to contain and control what little of the Chaos they have managed to trap here, claim us a greater threat for seeking the company that would come in its own time?

The Azure Dragon thought on this and questioned why there needed to be a third, if the two current are content to wait and was asked in turn; Do you not seek company? A person or persons to converse with? To share ideas and debates with? A friend to share the joys of the ever changing world with? A child to teach his immense knowledge so that he might pass on his greatness some day?

Qinglong had not known how to answer this, for he had until then, always been content to be alone. To this, the long armed one had said it seemed a very hard and lonely task.

Some time after this meeting, the world began to tear and rip apart as the Pillar of Heaven was shattered by an unknown force. The humans were wiped out as the world was savaged by disasters of nature, Chaos and Order were at unrest and even with all the might of Demons and Gods, Heaven and the Underworld, the outlook was grim, against a foe that seemed to shift and change to match every move with one of equal or greater power. Until Qinglong, the two Celestial Primates and a nameless God entered the fray, and after a violent conflict that lasted five days, the foe was beaten back and Nuwa was able to fix the Pillar of Heaven.

The injuries from that final conflict scared horridly, and were unable to be masked beneath the magic of a  glamor, as such it was impossible to hide or deny who had been involved in the fight.

During the rebuilding efforts, Qinglong decided to ensure his power would survive to aid the world, should it be needed again. He did not wish to burden others with such a request, not after so much loss and destruction, and so, he traveled into the western waters and took four jugs of water from a river he had gifted to the Kingdom of women, and then, he returned to the very center of the Oceans of the World.

By the time the World was once again settled and beginning to heal, four Dragon Kings established their rule.

The King of the North, Ao Shun, whose scales were black as coal. The King of the South, Ao Qin, with scales of brilliant crimson and yellow. The King of the East, Ao Guang, whose scales were white as snow. And the King of the West, Ao Ji, with scales as green as an emerald, and to each of his four sons, Qinglong gave a tiny fragment of his own power, allowing the four to wield one of Four elements. 

Ao Shun, oldest and strongest of the four, took the element of ice as his own, and with it, swore no threat would claim victory over him nor his domain. Ao Qin, seeking to thrill and excitement, took the element of air, and promised only to unleash its truest might upon foes and dangers to his domain. Ao Guang had, at first, wanted fire as his element, but the element would not yield to him and so to him came the element of water. He swore he would do what was best with it. And to Ao Ji, youngest and most curious of the four, came the element of fire, and while Ao Ji had no true desire to wield the flames, and had hoped for a gentler element, he swore he would use the flame to protect and guard his people from danger.

The Dragons settled into their place, resting comfortably in their place as Kings, above mortals but beneath the Immortals, a sovereign power the humans could worship but not a higher authority of the Heavens. And for many years, things were peaceful, until Ao Guang grew resentful and craved more than he was allotted. 

Enter Nezha, I may turn what comes next into a story, I may not but for the sake of this history lesson, here are the Key notes.

Nezha is ‘born’ after an unnaturally long pregnancy as a flesh egg. The reason for this is explained when Taiyi Zhenren visits and tells Nezha’s mother that Nezha is a gift to her from the Heavenly Queen Mother, and only with a mother’s love can the flesh egg open to release the babe within.

Li Jing is at first overjoyed at the birth of another son, but this does not last long as Nezha is clearly his mother’s child, and prefers her company over his. He is also unhappy that Nezha will not be trained by him, but by Master Taiyi Zhenren when he is older.

Ao Bing (Ao Guang’s third son) meets Nezha and other children of the town by the river and the two become friends.

During a small feast to celebrate a noble man’s birthday, Ao Guang and his older two sons (need names for them) attack the town and injure Nezha’s mother and Nezha calls them all cowards for attacking a lady. Insulted by the words of a child, they demanded the boy be punished for his insolence.

Ao Qin and Ao Ji, who had attended the party in disguise, step in and see their brother and nephews off swiftly, praising Nezha for his bravery to defend his mother before they too leave.

Li Jing and Nezha argue and Nezha leaves the Li Household angry. He meets Ao Bing at night and the two talk.

Ao Guang, angered by the insult of Nezha still, arranges to speak with Li Jing over tea. They meet alone.

Basically Ao Guang makes Li Jing an offer. By sunrise, Li Jing must offer up his own life in payment for his town’s safety. The lives of six of the town’s children. Or Nezha’s.

Nezha returns home and overhears an argument between his mother and father, and blames himself. When Li Jing curses and denounces him, Nezha leaves.

Ao Guang takes Ao Bing with him to find out the result of the offer.

Nezha refuses to let his friends be taken, leading to a fight between Ao Bing and Nezha, because Ao Guang demands blood in payment for this second insult.

Ao Bing lets Nezha win. Nezha kills himself to stop Ao Guang taking further action for his actions.

Before Ao Guang can retaliate by desecrating Nezha’s body as a trophy, Ao Shun, Ao Qin and Ao Ji arrive with Taiyi Zhenren and the three other Kings drag Ao Guang away while Taiyi Zhenren takes Nezha and Ao Bing’s bodies with him.

Ao Guang is brought before Qinglong, and as punishment for all his crimes, Qinglong strips him of his element and his two remaining sons were stripped of their scales. Further, Ao Guang and his entire family were enchanted, only able to leave the water for short times, as to linger out of the  water would cause their scales to molt and their body to wither with age. This enchantment would only be removed when all his brothers and his father agree that Ao Guang has earnt forgiveness and the right to regain control over his domain again. 

Ao Bing, revived with the help of Taiyi Zhenren after Nezha, rules the Eastern Sea in his father’s stead, but the two do not speak to one another.

Ao Bing and Nezha know that the other is alive again, but they have not spoken since their fight, Nezha is ashamed to face the Dragon and Ao Bing feels he has lost the right to seek Nezha out for not doing more.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That’s it for now, I’ll add more History posts when I have them written out.

[alystrin03]

Oz and Alecto for the kiss prompts 42 👉🏻👈🏻🥺🥺

@cryingskunch aka @dragonagegayz asked me for a clumsy kiss for Oz and Alecto! I tried to do my best although there is no one naked involved (not yet!!)

Hope you like It and I LOVE OZ

---------

Alecto had never been to Nevarra in her whole life. She had, however, read a lot about the Mourn Watchers - novels, mostly - and was the first to offer to accompany one of the Masters on his journey there. The point of the mission? No idea, nor did she care. The only downside was that it wasn't Viago she was going with, though the idea of being safe from sharp eyes for a few days wasn't so bad either.

It seemed to be more of a diplomatic affair than anything else. Surely the Talon was trying to establish connections with the Necropolis, and if she could learn something, so much the better. But this conversation between the Master and the necromancer leaders seemed simply endless, and Alecto had too short attention span.

She let her gaze wander over the mages circulating here and there, until she noticed a Qunari, a bit younger than her for sure, but considerably taller. He had a much less serious countenance than the other people in the room, and for some reason she found him likeable even though they hadn't even exchanged a word.

The Master, uncomfortable with the young girl's obvious lack of interest, turned to her. "We still have some delicate matters to deal with, unsuitable for the ears of an apprentice. Go and try to learn something useful." The last words were spoken with mockery, but to her they sounded like the highest of compliments. She was free.

She let her footsteps guide her through the halls, where skeletons worked tirelessly preparing the coffins that in a few days would be occupied. She was watching a skeleton carefully carving a design into the stone when she noticed a presence beside her.

"It's hypnotic, isn't it?" She turned her head to look at her interlocutor, and met the kind eyes of the Qunari she had seen earlier "I'm glad an outsider appreciates our work. Most visitors are simply appalled"

"Meh. Most wouldn't know how to properly appreciate something beautiful even if it was glued to their ass." They both laughed heartily. "I've seen you in the lounge before. Are you one of the Watchers?"

They began to walk together, leisurely, down the halls as they talked "Still a student, but someday I will be. I have the best teachers." He looked at her quizzically, digging his golden eye into her "I've never met a Crow before. I thought you were…”

He lingered for a while, searching for the right words. Alecto let out a chuckle "Cold, ruthless killers, with a stick up their arse?" Her new friend reddened slightly, agreeing with her. She winked "Most of them are, but some of us are the shame of Antiva. And I'm not a Crow, I'm still learning, like you. My name is Alecto

" "Oz" he replied, pursing his lips into a smile that she found charming. "Come. I want to show you something"

He led her through the different chambers of the Necropolis until they came to a beautifully decorated garden, with skeletons arranged in different positions, as if mimicking scenes. Alecto was fascinated and looked at everything with sparkling eyes, completely in awe of the ornate tombs shrouded in green glow. Oz then led her to one of the gardens, where they sat among the flowers.

"I had never imagined that the Great Necropolis could be such an impressive place.” She looked up, watching the wisps wander freely "You Watchers are impressive"

Her words were full of admiration, but it was quite clear that the compliment was not directed at any more Watchers than the one in front of her. It was not only the warmth that radiated from his face, but the way he had explained the ins and outs of the Necropolis, the details of each chamber. He respected her, was kind and did not patronise her in the slightest. She surprised herself by thinking that she wouldn't mind spending more days in Nevarra. Spending more days with him.

"I'm sure there are gorgeous things to see in Salle, though I think one of the best is here with me." Alecto blushed at the compliment. He didn't seem flirtatious, not in the style she was used to, but she wouldn't mind either.

Certainly the atmosphere matched the mood. The stillness, the silence only interrupted by those ghostly servants, the light filtering through the pillars. She bit her lip for a second, hesitating, but Oz was so close to her and the thought of enjoying his company a little more intensely would be the cherry on top.

She leaned forward for his lips, unlucky that he turned his head at the last minute and the kiss ended up barely grazing her cheek. Visibly surprised, Oz interrupted what he was about to say to look directly at a blushing Alecto.

"What was that?" He asked her, frowning quizzically. There was, however, not the slightest disapproval in his words

She shrugged "If there's one thing I'm learning here it's that, in a world where death is inevitable, there's no time in life to waste on self-doubt. And I was wondering if you'd be as good a kisser as you look"

Oz let out a chuckle at the mage's cheekiness, smiling slyly at her "You have a certain reputation in Antiva too, you know. I guess there's only one way to find out."

They may have had questions beforehand, but it turned out to be an incredibly interesting activity to search for the answers together.

[guilty-pleasures21]

Chapter 4 - the picnic

Part A

Part B

Part C

Warnings: none.

----------------------------------------------------------

     She wandered down the street, huddled in the rattiest cloak she could find. This was such a bad idea: she’d known it the entire time she’d been digging through her cupboards for the cloak, the entire time she’d waited until everyone had returned home for their afternoon nap, the entire time she’d snuck down the alleyways behind the slowly deteriorating neighbourhoods as she headed towards her goal. And yet, she hadn’t been able to stop herself from continuing with her plan. She glanced around furtively, her senses on high alert in the dangerous-looking area she’d managed to find her way back to. But she still failed to notice the man standing in front of her until she bumped right into him. Gwen gasped and jumped back on alarm, clutching her cloak tight around her as if it would offer her some form of protection.

     “Hello, young miss. Might you be in need of some help?”

     Her heart slowed its rapid pace when she found the familiar friendly features of the man she had met the day before. Miles raised an eyebrow at her terrified expression and Gwen's stomach tightened at the knowing smirk on his face. 

     “Um, yes, actually … I … I seem to have misplaced my … my mother’s bracelet during my last trip here,” she explained. “I … It means a lot to me.” 

     She looked up at him, her eyes wide with desperation and sorrow, and Miles felt himself melt at the sight - against his better judgement. He shouldn’t help her - shouldn’t try to keep her there for any longer than she’d already been. It was too dangerous for her, after all, given how very obviously middle-class she was. But unfortunately, he found himself nodding his head and walking beside her as they scoured the ground.

     “So … Miles …” Gwen began carefully, trying to find a way to discreetly drop her bracelet on the ground. “What do you do? When you’re not rescuing damsels in distress, of course.”

     He barked out a laugh at her joke and Gwen smiled at the sound, delighted to have been able to make him laugh. “I take whatever odd job I can find, but … I've been thinking of … apprenticing … for a carpenter.”       

     Why would he say that? Why would he share such personal details about him with this stranger; details he’d never even shared with his closest friend? Maybe because she was a stranger? Someone who didn’t know enough about him to tell him what a ridiculous idea it was? Miles turned away and winced as he waited for her to laugh in his face at the very idea.

     “That sounds great!” Gwen replied unexpectedly. “Have you got a shop in mind?”

     Hesitated at her, stunned by her excitement. Then the corners of his lips curled in response to her genuine enthusiasm.

     “Yes, actually!” he admitted. “He makes the most beautiful doors! They’re the first thing you see when you approach someone’s house, so-” He paused, embarrassed by his sudden passion. What the hell was he doing talking about doors to this beautiful young woman?! Of course she didn’t want to hear about doors! He turned away from her, lowering his head and avoiding her gaze.

     “Uh, sorry, I … I tend to get a little carried away when … when it comes to … this sort of thing,” he apologised. Then, “oh! Is this it?” 

     He bent over to pick up a delicate silver bracelet and Gwen let out an exaggerated gasp of relief. “Oh, goodness! Yes! Thank you! Thank you so much, Miles, I can’t … How can I ever repay you?”

     She grinned as she accepted the bracelet and Miles felt his stomach do a flip as she fluttered her lashes up at him. Honestly, her smile was reward enough for him. He froze, caught off guard by the sudden thought, then he took a step back from her. “Uh, no payment required, Miss!”

     He cast his gaze down and shuffled awkwardly in position, trying to figure out what to say to her. Finally, he looked up and opened his mouth at the same time that Gwen did. “Oh! Please! You go first.”

     “Oh! No! You can go first.”

     “I insist.”

     Gwen hung her head, trying to hide the blush that had crawled up her pale cheeks. She brushed a strand of her hair behind her ear, then she peeked up at him again shyly. “I was just going to say that … I should probably … be going now, but … I hope … that is … maybe … we might … see each other? Again?”

     Miles swallowed hard at the suggestion, suddenly getting nervous at the implication that she wanted to see him again. Because nothing would ever come of it. 

     “Uh, maybe,” he replied noncommittally. He pushed aside his disappointment for the moment and gestured down the alley. “Do you need help getting back to your carriage?”

     “Oh! Uh … I … I took a taxi, actually.” She bit her lip, waiting for him to chastise her about travelling the dangerous streets on her own. And as expected, Miles gave her a horrified look.

     “I would strongly advise you to not do that again, Miss Gwen.”

     Gwen shot him an exasperated look as she began walking down the narrow path. “I told you to call me Gwen, Mister Miles.” 

     Miles cringed at how weird it sounds. “Right. Gwen.”

     They continued in companionable silence to the end of the street and Miles waited until Gwen’s carriage was out of sight before he turned to head back home. But it was at that moment that someone jumped out at him, taking him by surprise. 

     “Hey, bruv! What are you doing with the Commissioner's daughter?” Miles relaxed when he heard the familiar sound of his friend’s voice. Then he tensed up again when he realised what he’d just said. 

     “The Commissioner’s daughter?!” he repeated incredulously. Hobie grinned as he slung and arm around Miles’s shoulders. 

     “You think she can get us into the palace?” he asked. Miles glared at him. 

     “Shove off, Hobie,” he told him, pushing his friend to the side. Hobie snickered at his characteristic righteousness and easily caught up to him as they made their way back home. 

     “Come on. Your uncle would be mighty pleased to know that you’re finally getting involved in the movement,” he pointed out. Miles grimaced uneasily. 

     “I am involved in the movement,” he argued weakly, his stomach twisting itself into knots as he thought of the plans his uncle had discussed at the last meeting. “I just … I don’t think we need to take it that fa-”

     “Oh! And what?” Hobie stopped in his tracks, his carefree demeanour taking a sudden unanticipated turn. “You think the Queen is going to give us the time of day otherwise?”

     Miles held his gaze as the both of them stared at each other, neither wanting to be the first to back down. Finally, Hobie sighed and patted his friend on the shoulder. “Come on. I’m not gonna fight you, bruv. Let’s just make sure we make it back in time for supper, yeah?”

Continue

[jdreamer00]

Zhongli Birthday Questionnaire

Ohk, I am new to this and I never post, but I felt compelled to give this a go (please tell me if I did something wrong)

1. What left the deepest impression on you when you first met him? Was it how he looks, talks, or something else?

Okay, basically, everything? The details of his clothes, his voice, and the topics he talked about—it left a lasting impression on me. By the end of the Jade Merchant part in the Archon Quest, I was already smitten.  I remember waiting to meet him in-game actually. I saw someone's screenshot of the character and immediately thought, 'oh, he's going to be my favourite' which was quite an innocent thought at the time because I never anticipated becoming a simp to a fictional character for the first time in my whole life and now it's been five years of that

2. What do you like most about Zhongli as a character?

That's a tough one!! But what I love the most is his core values and ideas; like his fascination with nature and people. Being a bigass dreamer my whole life and pursuing astrophysics irl, I was used to being usually the one to talk weirdly specific about stuff. I see some of the same energy coming from him, but he's much more stable and less anxious than me I love him

3. What is your favorite Zhongli voice line, and why do you like it?

I love his idle osmanthus wine—yes, that very line. Despite it being somewhat annoying in the English version, to me it highlights Zhongli's character trait of frequently citing ancient poems to express the most specific emotions. Initially, I found this mannerism to be strange and overly complex, especially since I had nonexistent knowledge of the Chinese language and culture. But, I’m beginning to understand it much better now.

You can come back to the past, but there's no one there? Ah. I love it. Both existential and melancholic, yet such a delicate and wonderful emotion.

4. Does Zhongli resonate with something in real life for you? Has he managed to influence your life in some way?

Absolutely! As I mentioned, I have a deep romantic fascination with the world and all the little details in between. Now, whenever I learn a new concept in math or visit a museum or gallery to explore a new exhibition, I can't help but imagine how I would explain it to him in my mind. I find myself gushing about how amazing and real human existence is and feel validated and grounded, knowing there's nothing wrong with me. Also, my first love in this lifetime was geology, lol. Meeting Zhongli felt like reigniting a forgotten memory.

5. What part of Zhongli's design do you love the most? Do you have a favorite outfit?

Zhongli looks stunning in everything, period. But I particularly love his hairstyle, although I'm not sure if that counts? Signature of Teyvat chic: long strands of hair paired with a shorter cut. And the colour of his dark hair?  Sigh, I'm in love with this colour.

6. Zhongli has a lot of lore. What’s your favorite story/feat that he's ever done?

I honestly can't decide. There is undoubtedly a lot to him being the oldest character in the game, but most of what we know comes from the Archon War period. While there are plenty of little stories that show his love for humanity, sacrifices, and friendships, I mostly feel disheartened.

So, I'm going to choose something more light-hearted and pure: his obsession with cubes 🟧 I adore how much joy he derives from them; it’s really cute, and I love cubes as well!

7. If you could give Zhongli a birthday present, what would it be?

Wool scarf! Because his birthday falls in the middle of winter, it only feels right to give him with something warm and fluffy. I have a cream tartan scarf in mind.

8. If Zhongli visited you for a day, where would you take him?

This questionnaire is hard, I swear. Just one day? Hmm... I think I would like to climb a mountain and set up camp there to watch the city at night and drink tea while having a conversation.

9. If you could talk to Zhongli, what’s one thing you’d want to ask him?

I wanted to know if he feels happy now. I just want to hear it from him. And I would also like to hear whether he feels lonely?

Ikik, He has always been surrounded by people in his life, but I can't help but wonder how lonely it must be to be the object of respect and admiration for so long

10. Which of Zhongli’s attacks do you like using the most? How do you prefer to use him in a team? What build do you have him on?

Obviously, this is his shield. The strongest in the game, the skill that carried me and many other players through the game, and the one for which I've collected his C6. I have a hybrid build with a Homa. Classy

[blackswan446]

CORRUPTED || ten.

𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐔𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐃 ✩✩✩

for an autumn day, it was unseasonably warm. it felt more like a beautiful mid-spring afternoon. the landscape didn't match the temperature; the fall air brought a burst of new color to the normally-green tree leaves, to paint one last vibrant picture before they would plunge to the ground and succumb to the harsh conditions of winter.

you sat on the edge of the fountain, making sure not to let you or your bag fall into the pool of water and coins below. although the mall was crowded, you could've sat for hours and just watched the world go by. all these people, they all had their own lives, their own friends and enemies, successes and heartbreaks, yet all you would ever know them as is random people from the mall, and all they would ever know you as is the girl who was sitting on the fountain.

you were broken from your philosophical moment by someone taking a seat next to you on the cool marble bricks. that person was hoseok, clad in his fashionable streetwear, styled hair, and...holding flowers?

you must have been visibly confused, because the first thing he did, rather than greet you, was explain the bundle of flowers in his hand. "don't get the wrong idea, i passed a shop on the way here. i thought you'd like them, that's all." he said, holding out the small bouquet to you. you smiled, and took them slowly. "thank you..what kind of flowers are they? did the owner tell you?"

he nodded. "gardenias. apparently this is the last bunch the shop was selling, i think the growing season for them is over." he explained, looking proud of himself and his good deed. you held the velvety petals of the delicate white flowers between your fingertips, and you didn't need to lean closer to smell their sweet fragrance. you smiled fondly at the small posy, and looked back to hoseok. "thank you, i love them." you said gratefully, not bothering to hide your cheesy smile. he beamed at your appreciation and his heart swelled with pride.

'looks like my research paid off. who knew flowers could have so many meanings?'

✩✩✩

it was a few hours later, and you were walking side by side with hoseok in the shopping mall. you cradled the elegant bundle of gardenias gently in one elbow, and the other was holding a few shopping bags. hoseok was carrying a few of his own, plus a to-go cup of iced coffee. "i'm glad we were able to go out today." he said, "you know. before the holiday rush."

you nodded your head in agreement. "yeah, i am too. this place will be packed a month from now. all the stores will be empty, too." you complained, shuddering at the thought of returning here and fighting with the old ladies over the last candle and swimming through a sea of middle schoolers, all looking for their mothers.

"we only have a few more stores to hit, right? my feet are tired." he whined. "hey, i want to get my holiday shopping done early. you can't rush me. i only have to get something for my aunt, my father, and yoongi."

hoseok cringed internally at the mention of his name. "yoongi, huh? what are you going to get him?" he inquired. you shrugged your shoulders. "oh, i don't know yet. he's so hard to shop for. i have to make sure i get him something good, though, because he'll already be mad that i'm out today." you stated.

hoseok felt his heart sink as you mentioned that detail. "how come?" he gritted, trying to keep his cool as he fought the little red devil on his shoulder, screaming in his ear for him to do something, to say something. you sighed. "i don't know. i think it's because we're getting into flu season, and he doesn't want me to get sick." you said. hoseok nodded stiffly. "good to know he cares so much." he fumed, careful not to let his response come out sarcastic.

you nodded and sighed again. "yeah, it is. even if he's strict, i'm glad to have him." you said contentedly.

✩✩✩

after a long day of shopping, joking, and talking, you were finally walking through the deserted parking lot to your car. "god, how long were we here?" hoseok joked, looking around the desolate plot of concrete. "six hours, maybe?" you said, thinking back to what time you had gotten here and when you had last looked at the clock on your phone. "i'm exhausted."

he nodded tiredly. "what are you doing after this?" he questioned, the both of you stopping when you reached your cars. you thought for a moment, considering your dinner options and the commute home. "i'm probably going to go to bed. i'm exhausted." you repeated, thinking of the fluffy pillow and cozy comforter waiting for you at home. "sleeping already? but it's only six o'clock." hoseok said, surprised.

"i know, but i haven't really been sleeping well these days. i always wake up more tired than the night before." you admitted, remembering also the sleepless nights and when you would jolt awake randomly. "i see." he said, nodding his head. "well, i hope-"

hoseok stopped talking, watching as the light around the two of you dimmed. the golden rays of the sun were suddenly gone. looking up, the both of you saw the reason for the abrupt darkness: a huge, grey cloud, that had moved through the sky and covered the sun, killing the bright light that came with it.

"what the hell?" you blurted, wondering where in the world that cloud had come from. "i didn't see that when we came outside." hoseok said, his tone sounding bewildered and a little scared. you shook your head. "i don't like this parking lot when it's this dark or empty. it makes me feel like something bad is going to happen. i'm leaving." you said, flinging open your drivers side door and jumping in.

hoseok, who found your superstitions amusing, laughed as you shoved the key in the car's ignition. he tapped on your window, and made a cheesy 'call me' gesture to you through the glass. you rolled your eyes and laughed, clipping your seatbelt into place and driving out of your spot. hoseok waved you goodbye, and it wasn't until you were gone that the smile fell from his face and he got into his own car.

✩✩✩

as he laid in bed that night, his thoughts were fighting with one another, darkness imposing itself into the corners of his mind and seeping into his brain. he look a deep breath, and laid still for a moment, before lunging off of the mattress and flying to his desk. he rifled through the drawers, desperately trying to find the paper he needed. finally, his fingers brushed over the smooth envelope he had been searching for. taking it out of the drawer slowly, he lifted the flap and removed the sheet inside.

he read over the unsent letter, rereading some sentences over and over. there was a lot more where this had come from, as he had been writing them for well over a year now. however, with the recent influx of emotions he had been feeling the past few months, and his internal battle between good and evil, the volume of letters written had shot up.

his feelings terrified him to the core, and these letters served as reality checks, as something to ground him and point him back in the direction of happiness and peace. were they the honest to god truth?...

he liked to think so.

whether or not these letters were an honest record of his emotions wasn't important. what was important, was the fact that these letters contained the right answers, and also proved to both you and himself that he knew what the right answers were. they were like reminders for him, whenever his mind started to stray away from what was right, he could reread them and get himself back on track.

he had to make sure he didn't act out, because if he said one wrong word, did one wrong action, gave one little indication that this darkness even existed,

you would run

so fast

and so far

and you wouldn't

give it

a second thought.

✩✩✩ 𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐔𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐃

[hopepaigeturner]

Villainous Benophie AU: Part 3

Inspired by @orangepeelshortbreadcookies; BRILLIANT Villainous Viscount AU (read on AO3 here). So all creds go to her!

And while she has done a beautiful fic about Benophie in this universe, Thieves of Dusk (10% RECOMMEND A READ. Read on AO3 here). But we’ve been chatting about my own ideas for Benophie. So, with her blessing here’s the next part of my version.

Check out Part 2 here.

It is almost three months since that night when he spots the silver dress again. It weaves around masked people at a secret auction. And once more she takes Benedict’s breath away. He follows her like a shadow, as she herself lingers in the shadows seemingly eavesdropping on the guests before ending her night with an impressive round at the tables. She plays a delicate game of winning and losing her eyes more shrewd and her skills flawless—she has learnt since that first night. Benedict does not want to consider how.

When she finally retires he corners her and finally they are face to face. And all the little evidences of time's fingerprint's come to the fore; how the silver of the dress is worn with little stitches and patches skilfully covered; her hair is shorter, her face wan and her figure slimmer—very slim. So slim it makes his hands curl into fists.

They pick up that delicate dance of conversation before his ire causes it to crack and demand answers from her. And he uses his whole height, his whole demeanour, the hidden darkness that he can unleash in one look. (Years later when he knows of it all, not just the depths of his heart but the depths of Sophie's pain, the memory of this night will haunt him). And although there is a slight tremor in her fingers she explains.

She has been staying at a rundown boarding house within the slums, and on nights when it is unbearable she seeks shelter with a modiste friend of hers. She has spent the last months travelling from club to club to ensure that her cardsharp reputation does not spread until she is adept enough to cover her tracks. And when she is not trading chips for cash, she is trading secrets for much larger sums for the infamous gossip sheet—Lady Whistledown. Among such hunts she pieced together who he was.

She does not talk about that moonlight night, not even when he asks in veiled words (in a moment of rashness that feels like something much more dangerous) whether she has been able to have another cigarette without thinking of his lips.

One word.

No.

And Benedict inspects her for any discrepancy in the perfect mask that cloaks her body similar to the silver one on her face. Yet there, in her eye he spots it. A look that sparks something inside of him, (he dismisses the little voice that whispers hope—hope doesn’t exists in the world, only opportunity).

He knows that look, he has glanced and studied it in the mirror every morning. She wants to play the game. And Benedict will more than happily oblige—after all he is the master of games.

Cardsharp against cardsharp. Force of will against force of will. Heart against heart. Game on.

The conversation spins again as she refuses to be his mistress—he does not worry for there are many different ways to win the game. So, he spins her into a corner, playing on the explicit details that mark her privileged upbringing. He knows she can bare a life of dirt—but that doesn’t mean she would not jump at the chance for a life with cleaner hands. And so he offers her a beautifully wrapped proposition:

Do not be a mistress be a governess. Three meals, a roof over her head and three young charges to care for during the day, leaving the nights open for her more clandestine ventures.

Finally, he adds an extra bow: full protection under the Bridgerton name. As safe a barricade as those surrounding Buckingham Palace—perhaps more so.

Sophie stays silent, those beguiling eyes calculating moves. Yet, as he expected, she is not so proud as to forfeit her safety for a victory. So, she concedes and agrees to take the position.

He insists on accompanying her home at which point she finally takes off her mask.

Benedict is struck by the fizzing sensation once more as he takes in the soft curve of her face, and the true colour of her eyes—brown, brown like the deepest wood in the forest. The places rumoured that only fae frequent.

As she shuts the door behind her she finally tells him her name.

Sophie.

The carriage rolls away.

He must have her. He is not worthy of her, fairies and beautiful maidens do not fall in love with those who have washed reams of blood down the drain or take dark delight in ruthless vengeance. She will never love a man like him—love? (When did he start thinking of such superfluous things? Like that whispering voice he crushes it under his fist). He needs her in whatever capacity he can grasp.

NEXT

[coleblackblood]

Saving Me, Saving You

Fandom: Ashwood Grove (Will o' the Wisp Audios)

Rating: M

Summary: Lorelei could still remember the first time she saw Gorgeous - and the events which led up to their first date. AO3 Link

A/N: There's an extra warning about one of the scenes in this fic (regarding sexual harassment) - if that's something that bothers you, or if you want to know more/how to avoid it, I have detailed it more in the top Author's Notes on the AO3 page (since Tumblr formatting is garbage) Enjoy!

Lorelei could distinctly remember the day she first caught sight of her partner.

It had been her first time at their bar - joining a group of friends for a night out after a long week of cleaning up messes and customer service smiles.

They had been standing at the entrance: sharp red eyes casting an imposing glare over the crowd, arms crossed in the stereotypical Bouncer fashion as they checked IDs, listened to messages through their earpiece, and firmly turned away anyone who didn’t pass their silent “tests”. 

One of her friends jokingly called them “the perfect defense against drunk morons”.

But the only thing Lorelei could think was: “Gorgeous.”

She grew nervous as they made it to the front of the line, and when she passed over her ID for inspection, their fingers brushed, making her pulse jump.

Gorgeous’ eyes narrowed, watching her closely for just a few moments too long. 

She laughed about it now, explaining how she was so smitten at first glance that just being near them made her heart race. 

At the time, though, she was worried about being mistaken for some underage teen trying to slip inside. 

Probably not the most logical train of thought, all things considered. 

It would have made more sense for them to think she was afraid of them - being a vampire, and all.

Still, they made it inside, and had a wonderful time: dancing, drinking, and swapping horror stories from their work once they ran out of gossip. 

Yet the entire night, Lorelei couldn’t stop thinking about the bouncer - and how she might have an opportunity to see them again.

-----

The second time she went back to the bar, there was a new bouncer working the front. Lorelei tried to hide her disappointment as she went inside, debating on just going home. 

But, she had come all this way, and already paid the entrance fee. Might as well at least have a drink before she went home, maybe dance to a song or two. 

That would prove to be a mistake, unfortunately. 

Shortly after Lorelei ordered her drink, grabbing a rare open seat at the bar, another patron shoved their way in between her and the Changeling seated next to her. 

She could still smell the noxious cloud of crappy cologne that wafted over him, and see the shine glinting off his slicked back hair and knock-off designer sunglasses. 

“Hey beautiful. What’s a pretty girl like you doing drinking alone?” He grinned widely at her, showing too many teeth to be anywhere near friendly. 

“I’m just waiting for my friend to come back from the bathroom, actually.” Lorelei lied, donning her best “problematic customer” smile.

Even then, she knew it would be a bad idea to tell him she was alone.

“Oh really? Nice, nice. I love ladies who know how to have a good time.” 

Before Lorelei could respond, he moved in, slipping an arm around her shoulders and crowding closer. 

She swore she felt her skin crawl at his touch.

“Speaking of a good time, why don’t you and your friend join me and mine at our booth? I’ve got a couple of buddies visiting from out of town who could really use some more… delicate company, ya know?”

Her heart beginning to pound, Lorelei carefully shifted back a bit, trying to maintain her carefully crafted smile.

She couldn’t get out of her seat between him crowding her on one end and the cluster of people at her back. Not to mention, the bartender was down at the other end, not yet noticing her predicament. 

Just keep calm. Wait for them to look back, and you can signal for help. 

She really didn’t want to have to try and fight this creep.

“I’m sorry, but we’re actually going to be leaving soon. Maybe next time?” It was a strain keeping her voice light, pretending to be perfectly at ease. 

“Oh really?” The creep laughed, a sound that sent shivers down her spine. “That’s perfect! We can all leave together. I’ve got plenty more drinks at my place-” 

He paused, eyes leering as he took her in. 

“And you like a girl who knows how to show a guy a good time.”

Lorelei could hear a ringing forming in her ears, mental alarm bells going off at every corner. Her eyes scanned the bar, falling on a discarded drink.

If she tossed it in his face, maybe she could-

“Hey.” A new voice interrupted the pair. The creep yelped as two strong hands abruptly grabbed him by the arm and the back of his neck, yanking him away by a good few feet. 

Lorelei could have wept with relief. 

Standing there, expression twisted with fury, was Gorgeous. 

“You need to learn to respect a lady’s space.” They jerked their head towards a cluster of booths tucked away in the corner of the building. “She turned you down. Now get lost.” 

Sputtering, the creep whirled to face them, hands balling into fists.

“Fuck off bloodsucker - I saw her first!”

The shift was almost immediate. Whereas before Gorgeous seemed angry, now a mask of cold fury seemed to slip over their face. They straightened up, stance wide as their arms crossed over their chest. 

There was hardly any change to them physically, and yet they now seemed to tower over the creep. Every inch of them giving off an aura of “Fuck around and find out.”

It was honestly terrifying.

And yet Lorelei had never felt so safe. 

“Women are not your toys. I gave you a chance to go back to your friends, and now I’m telling you: Leave, or I will throw you out. Decide. Now!” 

The final command held an edge of power that made Lorelei’s breath hitch. She covered her mouth, hoping they hadn’t heard it. 

Fuck. In any other situation…

Spitting curses, the man lunged at Gorgeous. Trying one last time to try and salvage his own ego. Someone nearby shouted, surprised.

It was a pitiful attempt, really. 

In one quick move, Gorgeous had him on the floor, cursing and wailing as he was pinned.

“That hurts!” He screeched, head thrashing as he kicked his legs.

Clearly just putting on a show.

Too bad for him, no one was buying his pitiful performance.

Gorgeous ignored him, instead looking up at Lorelei. She hadn’t moved, frozen in place by the sight before her. 

They looked so gentle now. Such a sharp contrast from before. 

At some point during the tussle, their hair had fallen into their eyes, obscuring them a bit. 

And yet that didn’t stop them from focusing entirely on her, clearly concerned.

“You want to press charges? He was harassing you, after all.” They asked. 

After a moment, Lorelei shook her head. 

She didn’t want to deal with him or anyone else tonight. She just wanted to go home. 

An uncertain emotion passed over Gorgeous’ face, before they pushed it back, growing serious once more as they nodded. 

“Right.” They turned their head toward the bartender, raising their voice to be heard over the music - as well as the growing crowd of people around them. 

“Lenny!” The young man startled, scrambling over to the end of the bar. 

“Yes? Sorry!” He looked between Lorelei, then Gorgeous, and finally landed on the creep. Seeming to grow more anxious as he realized what was going on. 

“Keep an eye on her - get her a cab, or let her use your phone to call someone. Either way, I don’t want her alone while she’s waiting, got it?” 

A beat passed, and the sternness faded, replaced with an uncomfortable sense of realization as they looked back to Lorelei.

“Sorry - is that okay with you? I normally wouldn’t insist, but given that he came with friends, it might be the safest option. You’re more than welcome to wait at the bar, if you prefer, or I can ask one of our female staff to give you a ride. Whatever makes you more comfortable.” 

A bit surprised at the consideration, Lorelei nodded. Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, she was starting to feel shaky, and a bone-deep sense of weariness was settling into her limbs.

“I-It’s fine. I can get a friend to come pick me up.” 

Gorgeous’ shoulders relaxed a fraction, although they still gave her a once-over before they nodded. “Understood.” 

They hauled the creep to his feet just as one of the other bouncers made their way through the crowd, taking one of his arms to help drag him out. 

Lorelei didn’t see any of them again before her friend arrived. True to their word, a woman wearing a t-shirt labeled “SECURITY” in bold letters escorted her out, and remained nearby until she and her friend drove off. Lorelei didn’t say much, just explained to her friend that there had been some creep and it was handled by the staff. She was fine. 

A part of her was immensely grateful for Gorgeous stepping in when they had. She shuddered to think of what might have happened, otherwise. 

Another, smaller part whispered at her dreams as the remnants of the fear died out, leaving her with nothing more than a racing heart… as well as memories of strong hands, and the comfort of their commanding presence. 

------

Lorelei didn’t go back to the bar after that. 

Part of it was the poor encounter, but - after thinking on it for a long while a few days after - a larger part of her had begun to feel awkward about going somewhere just for the sake of potentially talking to someone who worked there. Lorelei had been on the receiving end of such affections before - both positive and negative examples - and knew all too well how awkward it could get. Not to mention how easily “being polite” could be misconstrued for genuine interest. 

So, Lorelei resolved to give up. She had more important things to focus on, after all.

Like getting through the rest of her shift without ending up in another “team meeting” with Poppy and her coworkers.

It was already set to be a trying day. The new girl who was supposed to be working reception hadn’t shown up that morning, and despite numerous calls and texts, hadn’t even bothered to give an indication when she would be showing up. If at all. 

Which meant Lorelei was now spending the day fielding vampires to feeding rooms, assigning volunteers, and dealing with any and all front-facing complaints. 

Plus all of the paperwork.

So much for those new donor interviews. I hope June can handle the extra workload without me.

The front doors of the VSCC opened, and Lorelei quickly straightened up, plastering on a cheerful smile. 

Yet another complaint by Poppy: Not enough “pep” in their greetings.

Not to mention the reason the last receptionist had been fired.

“Good evening! How can I help - oh!” Lorelei’s eyes widened. 

Standing before her, looking just as shocked as she felt, was none other than Gorgeous.

“Uh… hi.” 

“Hi…” 

Words, what were words?

And why did they seem so… sweet? Shy, even?

Come on, Lorelei, you literally saw them floor a man the other day for your sake.

Granted, it was a bit hot, but…

Okay, a lot hot. When taken out of context. 

AND YOU’RE LITERALLY JUST STARTING AT THEM OH MY GOD SAY SOMETHING!!

“I’m glad you seem to be doing well.” Gorgeous said, breaking the increasingly awkward silence between them. 

“Yes! Yes, I am - thank you. I’m sorry I didn’t say that properly before, it was just-” Lorelei shrugged, smiling sheepishly. 

Oh god she was never this bad with people. Especially not clients. 

“No, please - don’t apologize. I was just doing my job.” Gorgeous’ expression lightened - and oh no they had a really sweet smile!  

“Honestly, I apologize for my insistent behavior, beforehand.” They glanced around, seeming to come to a conclusion, and winced. “And for bringing up such a thing while you are obviously working.” 

“No, no, you’re completely fine. Honestly you’ve been very considerate, so please - don’t worry about it.” Lorelei smiled - a genuine one this time. 

The doors to the building slid open once more as another vampire left, catching her attention, and Lorelei straightened up a bit, clearing her throat.

“You were right though - I am still working. And I’m sure you had a reason for coming in today, right? Did you have an appointment with one of our volunteers?” 

Gorgeous seemed to relax at her words, shoulders falling and a clear sense of relief shining in their red eyes. 

“Sort of. A friend recommended this facility to me, and I’ve already completed part of the process. However there was some sort of issue with getting the paperwork - a corrupted file, I believe? So I was told to come finish it today, and then I would be assigned a volunteer.”

Lorelei had a vague memory of June cursing at her computer last week when she came in for her shift - something about how the IT guys had changed something in the system, and caused multiple client files to become damaged. At the time, she had joined her in the frustrations, even if she didn’t entirely understand what happened: having to call and explain the situation to multiple people, and essentially re-do their entire interview and assignment process had been a nightmare to handle. 

Right now though? She was starting to feel a bit grateful for the ordeal.

“I can certainly help you with that! Just one second.” Lorelei’s fingers tapped across the keyboard, making her way through the system with a skilled precision.

“Looks like you just need to fill out the final consent forms. Would you be comfortable filling them out here, or would you prefer to have a private room to do so?” She asked, looking up at them.

Some vampires were discomforted by the idea of someone potentially seeing even a hint of their private information - understandable when dealing with clientele with heightened senses - so they made a point of going over most of the paperwork with one of the VSCC’s employees, as a general rule, with an option of doing so alone if they wished.

“Would you be able to assist if I had any questions?” Gorgeous asked.

“Of course!” Lorelei beamed. “I actually usually assist with the interviews and new arrivals paperwork, so I’m very familiar with the process.” 

Gorgeous smiled again, and Lorelei swore she felt her heart skip a beat.

Damn it!

“It seems I’m in good hands then.”

Trying not to think about how the feeling had been very much mutual before, Lorelei passed over the paperwork and a pen, and settled back in to review some of the appointments for the day, while Gorgeous grabbed a seat in their waiting area. 

It served as a good distraction from admiring how good they looked even from a side profile - or the cute way their brow furrowed as they concentrated. 

Focus. 

Lorelei hummed to herself as she scanned over her screen. It looked like she had a fairly quiet shift ahead of her: just a handful of clients coming in for scheduled feedings tonight, including Gorgeous themself, and all the current volunteers were regulars who had been vetted and donated multiple times in the past, if she remembered correctly. 

“Oh no.” One name stuck out among the rest, sending a sense of dread down Lorelei’s spine. 

Why her?

Gorgeous suddenly paused in their writing, glancing up in her direction. Lorelei fought back a blush, smiling and waving in what she hoped was a friendly manner. They returned her smile, even if it didn’t quite reach their eyes, and focused once more on their paperwork. 

Maybe she would cancel?

Granted she had yet to do so once in her entire time volunteering there - no matter how many employees and clients prayed for otherwise.

The doors opened, and a choking cloud of tropical-scented air rolled throughout the lobby. Lorelei stifled a grimace, and saw Gorgeous abruptly freeze, one hand shifting to their shirt collar before they thought better of it, stiffly lowering their hand once more. 

Honestly, Lorelei wouldn’t have blamed them if they had followed through. As it was, she was pretty sure they were actively avoiding breathing - even more so than vampires usually did.

Pineapple Lady had arrived. 

“G-Good evening!” Lorelei forced a smile as the woman approached the counter, trying not to gag as the stench of pineapple grew ever stronger. 

There had been a time she enjoyed the scent. 

Now she couldn’t so much as see a picture of the fruit without thinking of this woman.

“Good evening~” The woman practically sang as she plopped down her oversized purse on the counter. Several pens and a stack of business cards were sent scattering over the reception desk, but she didn’t seem to notice.

Lorelei tried not to twitch. 

“I’m here for my very important donor appointment.” Pineapple Lady gestured with one heavily ringed hand, the overhead lights catching on every massive gem and sending blinding rays in every direction. “You know, I have been coming here for several months now, and I’ve never missed an appointment! Honestly, you’re quite lucky to have someone as generous and considerate of the poor, impoverished vampire community as I am!” 

And yet, she didn’t have the common sense needed to not consume jumbo cans of pineapple juice before coming to donate. 

Or not wearing something that could blind their clients with an errant gesture.

Unfortunately, there wasn’t much she could do now, and so Lorelei made a mental note to have whoever handled her next appointment to bring these issues up again. Before she was assigned to anyone. 

In the meantime, she had to play nice.

“We’re very grateful for your generosity, ma’am!”

Fortunately (or not), Pineapple Lady didn’t seem to catch on to the judgements Lorelei was silently casting, instead making a show of leaning over the desk - further shoving her oversized bag towards the edge, closer to Lorelei - and giving the younger woman a very wide view down the front of her top.

Seriously? Did she take an open-neck shirt and just rip out the remaining collar?

Apparently their discussion on how their services didn’t involve biting from the neck - and so she didn’t need to wear a shirt that fully exposed it - had also not been heeded. 

“Tell me something, Laura-” Seriously? She was literally wearing a name tag. “Is that lovely specimen in the corner over there going to be the one biting me today? Because I would very much appreciate it.”

Unbeknownst to them, Gorgeous and Lorelei stiffened at the same time. 

Oh no .

Pineapple Lady was - for once - completely right. Most of the volunteers were assigned based on availability, which meant as of right now, she was the next one up. 

No. Absolutely not. 

This was not a matter of jealousy. This was a matter of basic decency. 

Okay fine, maybe a little bit of it was jealousy, but Lorelei was not going to acknowledge that right now.

Gorgeous had been kind to Lorelei. Looked out for her. Showed consideration at every given opportunity.

They didn’t deserve to be stuck with the woman who moaned every time she got fed from!

Lorelei just needed to come up with an excuse…

“Hey Lore, I just wanted to let you know that our next donor is ready to go. I’ve got them set up in room-” 

Like an angel from the shadows, June appeared from the back of the building. Spotting the now-infamous Pineapple Lady standing at the front desk, Lorelei’s coworker paused, looking between them both.

“Is everything all right?” She asked. 

Lorelei seized her chance. 

“Yes! Everything’s fine.” Turning to Pineapple Lady, Lorelei plastered on a fake, sympathetic smile. 

“I’m so sorry ma’am, but as someone who has donated so often before, I’m sure you understand that they are preparation procedures that must be completed before we can assign you to anyone.” 

Before she could argue, Lorelei turned back to her coworker.

“June, do you mind escorting her to an open feeding room? I just need to make sure this client’s paperwork is finalized, and then I can send them back with the donor you just mentioned.” 

Looking none too happy to be stuck with Pineapple Lady, but knowing as well as Lorelei did what making a scene in the front of the office would mean for the two of them, June nodded. Though not before casting a glance between Lorelei and Gorgeous, first - and causing Lorelei to realize that the vampire had started watching her once more. 

Though they were quick to look away when June made eye contact with them.

Understandable, really. Lorelei had yet to meet anyone who could stand up to June’s sharp gaze.

“I’m happy to assist you, ma’am! Please, follow me.” June chirped, filled with the same false cheer that Lorelei herself had put on.

Casting one final glance between the two of them - and giving Lorelei a distinctive “You owe me” look as Pineapple Lady walked ahead - the two disappeared into the back. Once more leaving Lorelei and Gorgeous alone together.

A sigh of relief escaped Lorelei before she could stop it, followed by a flush of heat spreading across her face when she heard Gorgeous laugh.

“I’m inclined to agree.” They stood up, wandering over with paperwork in hand. 

“I owe you my thanks.” They continued, pausing in front of her desk. “Truth be told, I do not think I would have been able to handle being in her presence for much longer.”

“Oh, no - honestly I’m sorry you had to encounter her at all! Especially during your first time here.” 

Gorgeous nodded, understanding reflected in their eyes. “I take it she’s a… problematic regular, so to speak?” 

Lorelei scoffed slightly, relaxing a bit. 

Something about their presence just put her at ease.

“That’s putting it lightly. Let’s just say that you would not be the first to have a complaint about her.” 

Gorgeous’ eyebrows raised, a slight smile tugging at the corner of their mouth. “Really?” 

They paused, seeming to consider then:

“Is it the uh - scent?” They ran a hand through their hair. “I don’t mean to be rude, and obviously my sense of smell is far stronger than a human’s but… is she fond of pineapple, by chance?” 

Did she want to try explaining why pineapple was chosen? 

Probably not the best option for their first real conversation.

“You are correct.” Lorelei shook her head, smiling ruefully. “To be fair, she’s not the only one we’ve had this issue with before - I can’t tell you how many lectures I’ve heard and given about not wearing perfumes or soaps that smell too strong. Not that it’s a problem to follow, of course - we are a service dedicated to vampires  after all, and I truly believe the extra effort is worth it. But…”

Lorelei laughed a bit. 

“Between you and me? There are still days I worry about becoming the next one to receive a warning.  I’d hate to make someone uncomfortable just because I wasn’t careful about how much perfume I put on before my shift.”

Gorgeous chuckled. “I hardly think you need to worry about that. Personally, I think you smell delightful.” 

A beat of silence passed between them. Lorelei blushed, surprised by the sudden compliment, whereas Gorgeous seemed to realize what they had just said, eyes squeezing shut.

“And that… was entirely inappropriate, given - as we have established - you are at work. I apologize.” 

“You’re fine!” Lorelei blurted. Blushing a bit deeper, she cleared her throat. 

Come on, keep it together.  

“I mean - I don’t mind. Thank you for the compliment.” She smiled at them, Gorgeous seeming to relax a fraction at her reassurance.

“Honestly, it should be me who is thanking you. After all, you saved me from having to figure out how to feed without inhaling.” Their eyes glanced towards the doors which led toward the feeding rooms. “Among other things.”

Lorelei wondered if they could hear Pineapple Lady moaning. 

For their sake, she hoped not.

She needed to let them leave. June would be getting suspicious before long, and it didn’t look good to have a donor waiting, either. 

But at the same time… she didn’t want them to. Lorelei liked talking to Gorgeous. It was interesting seeing this shyer, almost clumsy side, and how it contrasted with the stern, protective aggression she had seen the other night. 

It made her wonder just how much of it was the job - and how much of it was a part of them.

And going by how they kept hesitating by the front desk, Gorgeous wasn’t eager to leave, either. 

Screw it.

“Listen,”  Lorelei spoke up once more.  Gorgeous seemed to snap to, focusing on her with such a quick, rapt attention that her heartbeat picked up a bit.

God, she was already enjoying having their attention on her way too much.

“I know you said I don’t need to thank you for before, but I would still like to. Maybe by say - taking you out for coffee?” 

Her smile took on a mischievous edge.

“Somewhere away from both of our jobs - where you could tell me some more of those compliments?”

Gorgeous looked surprised, eyes wide and lips partly slightly in shock. Then, slowly, a wide smile spread across their face.

“I would like that very much.” 

Yes!

Snatching a pad of sticky notes, as well as one of the still-scattered pens, Lorelei hurriedly jotted down a quick message, passing it over. As Gorgeous took it from her, their fingers brushed together, and she swore she felt a spark jolt once more between them.

And judging by the sharp breath from someone who most definitely didn’t need to breathe - so had Gorgeous.

“My phone number.” Lorelei explained. “After you’re done with your feeding, you can shoot me a text, and we can arrange the date?” 

Gorgeous nodded, carefully tucking the slip of paper away. “Sounds perfect.”

“Oh! I just realized - we never really formally introduced ourselves, did we?” Lorelei stuck out her hand. 

“I’m Lorelei Dump - though most people call me Lore.”  

She grinned a bit.

“Do you have a name, or should I just keep thinking of you as “Gorgeous”?”

Something amused and strong burned in Gorgeous’ eyes as they took her hand. Only rather than shake it, as she expected, they instead carefully turned her hand around, pressing a gentle kiss against her knuckles. 

“I suppose you’ll find out on our date - won’t you?” 

Smirking softly, Gorgeous released her hand, and stepped away, moving toward the back doors. 

“Until we speak again, my lovely Lore.”  

Lorelei watched them disappear into the hallway. Her hand tingled with the cool sensation their mouth had left… as did her mind, thinking about what those lips may feel like on her own, later.

[talldarkandroguesome]

27th of Second Seed, Morndas

Well, I cannot say that I am surprised in anyway, but the circus mysteriously disappeared the morning after we had attended. Apparently many people who attended found themselves light on coin and other valuable items and when the Ordinators went to question them, they only found the matted down vegetation in the shapes of their various tents.

Tel was moderately upset about it and seemed to feel responsible for not turning the thief I had caught in. I think after so much congratulations to me, they felt worse about not having simply allowed me to do whatever it was I was going to do to them.

As I had said previously, I was not about to waste my time on a pickpocket. Really those of the upper crust who lost items only have themselves to blame. Did they not have their items enchanted? Did they honestly assume that Nords would be too stupid to attempt such distraction techniques and so allowed themselves to go in without any protection whatsoever?

Do I feel bad for some that may have been of lesser means, certainly! They did not deserve that. Honestly, this is why I hate the Thieves Guild so much, they do not teach any common decency.

The Breton siblings continue to tout themselves as the great intellects who have finally solved the issue of low pregnancy issues amongst mer. I cannot tell if they are simply trying to amass as much fame and fortune before people discover their ruse, or if they truly believe that which they espouse.

As long as it keeps them out of my home, I do not much care. I hear that they are being summoned before the Grand Council to give a talk on their methods. Mother has kept silent on her opinions on this matter. She cannot be seen to be against their ideas and have voted for its use during the House Council meeting, though I suspect that she was more interested in keeping more eyes upon me.

I received a letter from Fennorian today. It was rather sad news. Devastating, really.

It seems that Count Ravenwatch has passed. I will not recount the details here, I have the letter if I should wish to remember them. Still, it was hard news to swallow, even if it explains the long absence of our communication.

News of his death makes me realize that I had thought of him in some ways as a sort of mentor. Well, not quite so intimate, though he was certainly a confidant. Verandis was very candid with me and when I solicited his advice, he gave it rather freely. I can only imagine how difficult the politics of High Rock must be right now. Such a precarious position that the Ravenwatch must find themselves in. Verandis was such an accomplished politician and able to assuage the fears of leaders around him. I can hardly see Gwendis or Adusa-Daro able to provide as much assurance. Adusa-Daro seems the most natural choice as leader of their house, but I wonder if the Covenant would allow a Khajiit, let alone a vampire Khajiit to have such power within their ranks.

I know Fennorian has elected not to step into that role. I fear he is the one most capable of being the political face of the house, yet his fear of losing control has seen him abstaining.

In my response to him I have sent an offer of a place of safety, should the political situation become too delicate there. It is perhaps overstepping my position as a Widow, but I owe the Ravenwatch much. There is much to be gained from an alliance if it were to come to it, though I know most of that house must curse the names of all Daedra given that they are bound to Coldharbour upon their passing.

Oh gods! Poor Verandis!

I wonder, would there be a way to free him, given that the Mages Guild still has a portal to that plane?

I must stop. I have more than enough to deal with in my own immediate vicinity, I need to not rush off to solve someone else's problems when mine loom so large before me.

Still, I would very much like to go and visit the Ravenwatch. Perhaps I can find an excuse to bring Sildras to High Rock. Perhaps as a family trip before Tel's pregnancy proceeds too far. I have no idea what the impact of teleportation might do on a child in womb.

So very much to consider.