#he came back an incurable romantic

[booklover-s]

alucard being the matchmaker of anette X ritcher and olrox X mizrak

[aphroditelovesu]

Kinktober Day Fourteen — Romantic Sex/Making Love

❝ — 💗 lady l: day fourteen of kinktober! Hope you like it :)

❝💗pairing: yandere!eros x female!reader.

❝warnings: smut, NSFW, vaginal sex, romantic sex, oral sex (female receiving), fingering.

❝💗word count: 1,185.

A romantic and sensual bedroom is a place where all the details combine to create a passionate atmosphere. The walls are painted in soft shades of red and pink, creating a cozy feel. The lighting is soft, with candles scattered around the room, casting a soft, warm light. A translucent fabric canopy covers the bed, adding a touch of mystery.

On the bed, there are soft satin sheets and feather pillows that invite you to touch. Red rose petals are carefully scattered over the duvet, creating a sensual path. Soft, seductive music fills the air, creating an immersive soundscape.

A pleasant aroma of scented candles fills the room, evoking passion and desire. A tray with strawberries, chocolates and chilled champagne is available to stimulate your taste buds. To top it off, heavy velvet curtains can be drawn back to ensure privacy and the feeling that the outside world has disappeared, leaving just you and your love to enjoy this romantic and sensual space.

''You are an incurable romantic.'' You commented as you entered the room and found the god lying on your bed, wearing nothing but a thin white robe.

Eros smiled, ''Can you blame me? I just love my wife too much.''

You shook your head, laughing and approached the bed slowly, ''Wife? As far as I remember we have been lovers.''

Eros sat up and pulled you closer to him, ''Yeah? What if I want you to be my wife?''

Your heart raced and you felt your mouth go dry. You placed your hand on the god's strong shoulder and smiled, ''Then I would happily accept.''

His eyes lit up and Eros pulled you by the waist and with a delicate movement, dropped you onto the bed. He lay down next to you and watched your face tenderly.

''Then you would make me the happiest god ever.''

Eros brought his face closer to yours and your noses touched. You felt your body shiver when he ran his hands over your arms, in a soft caress. He took a deep breath and his hands came up to your face, where he held it and gently pressed his lips against yours.

You responded to the kiss passionately, your hands being placed on the god's face and caressing the soft skin gently and carefully. Eros pulled away and kissed yours cheek, his face flushed a little.

Eros hugged you and kissed your neck, his tongue passing over the soft skin and his teeth dragging across your neck, giving you goosebumps.

''I love you...'' He whispered against your ear and bit your earlobe, ''And I'm going to make love to you all night just to prove it.''

You hugged him in response, your body burning with the need to be loved. Eros pulled away a little and looked at your face and smiled, ''You're so beautiful.'' You felt your face heat up at his words but you smiled.

Eros ran his hands down her body and his hand wandered to your thigh and he caressed your clothed legs. The god sat down and helped you remove your own clothes, your blouse and your pants, leaving you in just your lingerie. You smiled and Eros unclasped your bra and brought his face closer to your breast and licked your nipple, while his hands were dangerously close to your intimacy.

The god slipped his fingers inside your panties and you gasped when they made contact with your pussy. Eros rubbed your clit with his thumb and gently inserted a finger into your pussy. You groaned and threw your head back.

Eros licked your breast masterfully, while his finger penetrated your heat. He added another finger and you arched your hips, wanting more contact. He smiled and stopped licking your breasts and removed his hand from inside your panties. You pouted.

''Not yet, love.''

Eros muttered as he removed the robe he was wearing, finally standing naked in front of you. You smiled when you saw that he wanted you as much as you wanted him. His hands slid up your legs and he removed your panties and licked his lips at your nakedness.

''So beautiful.'' He purred and Eros positioned himself between your legs, his face close to your intimacy. You bit your lower lip and moaned when his tongue ran across your pussy, licking its entire area. You squeezed your thighs and Eros grabbed them, his hands leaving some marks. He ran his tongue over your clit and you moaned.

Eros penetrated you with his tongue and he licked you all over like a man dying of thirst, your juices delicious to the god. His nose was making contact with your clit, making you have small spasms of pleasure.

''E-Eros!''

You moaned his name, your climax approaching. Eros licked one last time and you sighed as he pulled away from your pussy.

The god lay down next to you and turned you sideways towards him and hugged you, your back against his chest. His hands went to your breasts and squeezed them gently, you moaned when you felt his hard cock against your pussy. You lifted your leg a little and Eros slowly penetrated you, taking your time and making sure you got used to his size.

You breathed heavily as he buried himself completely in your pussy, your inner walls squeezing him incessantly.

''Fuck...'' He moaned and moved inside you and you moaned, your hands squeezing his that were playing with your breasts. Eros held your hands and squeezed them, moving a little faster inside your cunt.

You turned your head to him and Eros leaned down and kissed your lips, his cock pounding your pussy hard but not enough to hurt you. He kissed your neck and Eros held you tightly, keeping you in place as he made love to you.

Eros held you in his arms, and continued kissing your neck, his cock slamming into your tight pussy quickly and deliciously. You felt your pussy clench hard around him and you moaned loudly, cumming and trying to get as much contact as possible.

The god smiled mischievously when you came and with a few last thrusts, Eros pulled out of you and came on your thigh, very close to your pussy, he took a deep breath and squeezed you even tighter.

He felt especially needy today and wanted the most from you.

''I love you.'' He whispered in your ear and caressed your arm.

You smiled and turned to face him, looking passionately into the god's eyes, ''I love you too.'' You murmured and Eros took your lips in a passionate and possessive kiss and turned you over on the bed, getting on top of you.

He bit his own lip and looked at you, ''Ready for a second round?''

Your only answer was to kiss him. And it was the correct answer.

[chronically-ghosted]

Little Monsters

rating: 18+ Explicit

pairing: dieter x f!reader

word count: 5K

summary: A phone call home to your family has you missing them desperately . . . especially your husband, who always knows exactly what you need.

warnings/tags: pregnancy, Dieter has children and is actually a really good dad, director!reader, 1st half is mind numbing tooth rotting FLUFF, 2nd half is straight filth and dieter has a nasty nasty mouth, masturbation, camera/phone sex, slight breeding kink, one single use of ‘Daddy’, if I had an ounce of shame left in me I would not have posted this

a/n: special shout outs go to @spookyxsam for showing me about how babies work and to @lunapascal and @mysterious-moonstruck-musings for talking me off the daddy dieter ledge. this is my first pregnancy fic and i do not know what came over me (she lied, knowing damn good and well what happened to her brain chemistry)

from @yoursoulsunbreakable 's request: Hello sweetie, congratulations on your milestone <3 Here's my request for the little drabble: 5. “Tell me what you would want to do, if you were here right now.” With our precious Dieter and smutty? Hope it'll inspire you 😘

🤍Masterlist

“Tell me what you would want to do, if you were here right now.”

“Oh, Dieter, I’d – I’d –,”

“Yeah?”

You let out a burst of air from your lips, flopping back against the pillows. “I’d ask you for a foot rub,” you whine into the camera. 

He chuckles, the sound a bit garbled through the speakers. He leans forward into the camera, as if trying to see down your body, the angle of the phone against the hotel’s lamp not quite right. 

“Is Bravo Baby number three giving you trouble?” 

You eye your swelling feet over the steadily swelling bump. Well into your second trimester and the list of shoes in your closet you could still wear is shrinking rapidly. This also happened with your second child and when Dieter made one joke about keeping you barefoot in the kitchen, you nearly threw a butcher’s knife at his head. You stroke the left side of your stomach to preemptively soothe the little brat before they start wailing on that spot all night, sighing into your husband’s sympathetic, pixelated face. 

“They’ve been grouchy all day. Tom had to leave me in the car for a bit after we scouted a potential place for the exterior shots to finish taking pictures because somebody was having a grand old time wearing me out.” You narrow your eyes at him through the camera. “As if there was any doubt this was your child.” 

This is a constant inside joke between you. Your first kid, a girl, was a beautiful blend of both you and Dieter. His eyes, but your hair, your cheeks, and his nose. He also got to name her – said it came to him after he bought some chocolate and water at the hospital lounge –

“Zelle, Dieter, ‘Zelle’?? Like the money transaction service?” 

But you had been too zonked out on painkillers and endorphins to object (you thought it was beautiful at the time), and he signed the papers anyway. Neither of you had come up with a fitting name before then and he swears the instant he held his baby girl in his hands for the first time, it came to him, as if the stars rearranged themselves in the sky with that name. Incurably a romantic at heart – your husband – you found it sweet and also idiotic, but it was too late now. 

Your second one, Orion, had his name written down on a post-it note you carried in your purse for months and you made sure to show the nurse when you were admitted. Not that Dieter would intentionally go against the name you had agreed on if the baby was a boy, but there was a slim chance he’d get so caught up in the moment and, with watery eyes, tell the nurse to write something like Mars Bar on the birth certificate. 

And, for all that, Orion could have been a carbon copy of you.

The joke started when Dieter picked him up from his crib one night and brought that gurgling little mouth right up to his nose. “Are you sure you didn’t just spontaneously create this one? I don’t see a single hint of me in this little guy.” To which Orion giggled around a drool-damp fist and promptly bopped his father on the nose with it. 

“Are you saying you don’t remember what happened the night he was conceived?” You asked with a smirk over your shoulder as you returned some baby bibs to the drawer. 

Dieter snorted and slid Orion into the crook of his arm, those onesie-white feet seen kicking over his forearm. “Now Mommy is just being plain silly.”

That was five years ago and you couldn’t exactly deny you were excited for the smell of newborn to be all over your husband again. 

“I’ll be glad when we hit the last trimester,” he says, chin propped up on his wrist to stare down at you in his other palm, “so I can wave that doctor’s note in your face when you try to work too hard . . . like you are now.” 

You shift onto your side to face him, rolling your eyes. “You only like the third trimester for the sex hormones.” 

After spending most of your first pregnancy, and at least half of your second, trying to claw Dieter’s eyes out if he so much as breathed in your direction, he was delighted to find that by month seven, the hellcat who had taken over his wife’s body turned into a needy, whiny little kitten. 

Some of the best orgasms of his life come from those months, he swears up and down. 

“I’m not going to complain,” he grins, peering down at you from those prescription sunglasses. The Dieter you used to know wore them because he was constantly hungover; your husband wears them because he keeps accidentally misplacing his actual prescription glasses. “All I’m saying is you better be back in time so Daddy can play house with Mommy.” 

The shrill cry is heard through the phone, the closed bedroom door, and at least one hallway:

“Is Mommy on the phone?” 

Barely a second later, you watch over his shoulder as the door flings open and a wild blur of arms and legs dogpiles Dieter onto the bed. You hear him grunt, the camera flips up to the ceiling, as Zelle and Orion clamor for the phone. Chuckling to yourself, you take up the phone from the bedside table and hold it in your palm as you lean back against the pillows and your children’s faces flash over the small screen. 

“Mommy, I made a bug out of noodles and string today.”

“Mommy, I saw a cat that looked like a cow today.”

“Mommy, Daddy’s broccoli tasted funny - you cook it better!”

“Hey!” He lunges for Zelle’s little ankle and pulls her up around her waist as she giggles helplessly. 

You can barely see them, Orion’s pudgy little finger over most of the camera, Dieter’s hair and Zelle’s kicking feet visible only in flashes. 

“You better go help your sister, Orion!” 

Needing no other prompting, he drops the phone against the pillows and leaps onto his father, squealing at the noise Dieter makes. Where Orion got your looks, he had all of his father’s mannerism. You blinked twice when as a toddler Orion’s purposeful pout had looked so similar to his father’s, you wondered if they had practiced it together. Orion is ruthless when it comes to the tickle wars and immediately goes for Dieter’s neck. 

“Help!” he chokes, “I’m being overrun by tiny monsters!”

Zelle roars at his hip and Orion howls – he’d be a werewolf for Halloween a third year in a row if the tradition continued. Despite more frequent and loud protests about his poor back, Dieter lunges forward and yanks Zelle under his arm like she’s a football. He does the same to Orion and faceplants with both of them successfully pinned. It’s the oldest trick in the book and you muse what he’s going to do when they are too big to do that to anymore. But, as Dieter likes to say, one colossal nightmare at a time. 

“Peace treaty?” His voice is muffled by the blanket. 

“Stand and deliver,” they repeat, breathlessly and red faced. He lets them go and the two bodies barely move, grins still plastered to their faces. Cheeks pink, Dieter crawls over and snags the phone.

“See, darling?” he says between heavy breaths, “this parenting stuff is easy.” 

“Mommy, when are you coming home?” Zelle pops her head between Dieter and the phone, her cheek pink and her little hands pushing her hair off her face. 

“Yeah!” Orion pipes up, crawling over Dieter’s back, hooking his tiny hands over his father’s throat. Dieter’s eyes bug out for a moment before adjusting the five year old’s grip. “Are you done chasing the dragon?”

At that, Dieter snickers and you can’t glare with fire in your eyes like you’d like to so you plaster on an overly sweet smile on your face. 

“Rori, we asked you not to say that. It’s a stork, remember?” 

Orion frowns into Dieter’s curls. “But I want a baby brother or sister that comes from a dragon’s egg.” 

“Yeah, Mom, a dragon baby is way cooler than a stork baby.” 

Oh, you are going to kill him. 

This was another ongoing joke . . . for Dieter. Orion’s teacher called home one night after Orion proudly announced that his mommy was off chasing the dragon. Understandably concerned about the phrase, she called to make sure everything was alright, only to find out what he meant was that his mother was expecting a new baby and instead of a stork, his father told him that Mommy was going to find a dragon to put a new egg inside her tummy, and then the new baby would eventually pop out from the egg. 

This was something you had to relay through the phone to the teacher . . . because Dieter was curled up on the floor, laughing so hard he went mute, tears rolling down red cheeks. This had been his ‘stork’ story for Orion, and apparently unaware of just how impressionable a five-year-old is, told him that Mommy was chasing the dragon for a new egg. Dieter says his greatest regret in his life is that he wasn’t there to see the look on Orion’s teacher’s face. 

After that, you (and Dieter once he recovered) tried to alter the story enough so that he wouldn’t accidentally imply his mother was off on a drug binge, but evidently too much stuck. 

“I’m meeting with the dragon tomorrow, okay? I’m not chasing after anything. We’re having lunch. Right, Dad?”

“Absolutely.” He nods seriously at Orion and kisses that fat little cheek. 

“When is the dragon gonna give you the egg with my baby sister in it?” Zelle asks, matching Dieter on her stomach. Dieter’s confidence manifested perfectly in his daughter; you and him had told her many times that the baby might be a little brother, but she just stuck her nose in the air. “I know it’s a sister,” she said, with a characteristic roll of her eyes. 

“A couple more months, baby,” you smile, unconsciously rubbing at your stomach again. Baby Bravo is suspiciously quiet. Not soon enough. “But I’ll be home tomorrow, but you two have to be good for Dad until then, okay?” 

Orion nods from Dieter’s shoulder, but Zelle smirks up at her father in a way that is well beyond her six years.

“I promise to eat all of Daddy’s nasty broccoli!”

Dieter’s own impish nature, thrown right back at him. The one solace you found is that your husband might have finally met his match. 

He grabs her, flips her on her back, and blows a strawberry on her tummy as she shrieks with glee. 

“Alright – that’s it – it’s bath time for all naughty monsters!” He hikes Orion over his shoulder and picks up Zelle by her waist. He glances back over at you, his eyes bright and a giant smile on his face. 

You swear every time you see Orion, there’s less and less baby in his pudgy face, his little hands. Zelle is constantly saying and doing things that surprises you with the depth of their awareness and you know it doesn’t all come from you or Dieter. 

Your heart actually aches from missing them so much. 

“Monsters, say goodnight to Queen Monster–,” more yelling, roaring, “I’ll call you later tonight, okay, baby?” 

You nod, your eyes suddenly hot and tight. “O-okay – love you all.”

“LOVE YOU!” The three-headed monster yells in unison as it lumbers out of the bedroom.

You end the call, just before the tears spill. Again on your back, you stare at the ceiling feeling incredibly sorry for yourself when the baby rolls over and kicks you in the ribs. 

Hey, I’m here too!

You laugh, a little watery, and you wipe your eyes with your palms. Just get through tonight and you’re home. 

“Okay, okay, I’m up. Let’s get ready for bed, would you like that?”

It’s late. You know you should be asleep already, but the shower had taken longer than expected. The phone call with your husband and children lingered in your mind when you turned on the water and stripped down. Your heart was so full to see Orion’s pout and Zelle’s mischievous grin, especially after such a long day on your feet and for all his teasing, Dieter’s own ease and confidence as a father, as well as a husband, left you feeling . . . warm. In fact, your mind’s eye lingers on him in the memory of the call: his beautiful, rich curls – those square black glasses that made him look annoyingly mysterious and so goddamn hot – his biceps flexing as he throws around his children with ease, his shoulders broad and straining against his shirt — his bulging forearm making his triangle tattoo pop – his wedding ring that replaced all the other rings –

The good news is the baby was almost here. The bad news is that you’re suddenly irrationally horny and your all-too-eager husband was a plane ride away. 

Entirely naked besides the white hotel robe around your shoulders, you sternly ignore the plush tingling between your legs and try to focus on rubbing in lotion into your legs, your hips, over the old and new stretch marks over your stomach. Your fingers rub underneath the curve of your stomach and accidentally brush the damp curls, sending tiny shock waves up your pelvis. You gasp lowly, freezing, eyes tightly shut, fighting back that wave of arousal. 

Goddamn it. 

At first you think the ringing is between your ears, your blood rushing hard and fast, and then you realize it’s actually your phone going off.

Daddy Dieter, the screen reads.

You frown at the clock – if it’s late for you, then it’s very late for him. When he said he’d call you later, you didn’t think he meant literally later tonight. Still frowning, you put down the bottle of lotion and answer the phone.

“Dieter?” 

“Hey, baby. How’s your night?” 

He pulls back the phone and your mouth flushes with spit. He’s shirtless, sunglasses replaced with his actual glasses, that silver earring glinting in the low light. In the center of your bed, he’s propped up on several pillows with his arm tucked behind his head. He has thickened over the years, his chest and shoulders taking on a new weight as if he physically grew into fatherhood — and God, if his bicep was bulging before –

“Dieter –,” your voice is hoarse at first and you have to clear your throat to get anything out of your mouth that isn’t a whine. “Dieter, what are you doing up?”

He shrugs like he’s just been bored at home. “Bath time was easy. Orion wanted just one story and Zelle didn’t put up a fight when I told her it was bedtime and she had to put away the crayons.” 

You narrow your eyes. “Did you slip them Benadryl?” 

“Wow! No! Did you ever think that maybe I’m just that good of a dad?” He scoffs, mildly offended. And then he smirks. “I told them you’d come home sooner if they were good.”

“Ah, the old Santa Claus trick.” You nod sagely and sit down on the edge of the bed, the movement tugging the robe slightly. “Always a classic.”

“Yeah, I –,” Dieter’s eyes widen, edges going dark. “Are you naked?” 

You swallow, his sudden shift in tone causing your thighs to clench. You cross your legs as tightly as your belly will allow, your chin held high.

“I’m in a robe, Dieter. Took a long shower.”

His eyes glitter with interest, the tip of his tongue running on the edge of his bottom lip. “How long?”  

Feeling hot and swollen for months now, you flush pink, an overripe peach beneath the slightest pressure of his thumb. 

“Dieter–,” it’s a whine but you shake your head. “Please don’t tease. I’m so . . . sensitive right now, and I won’t be home until tomorrow and–,”

“Baby, baby, breathe. I know it hurts.” He sits up, his eyes big and dark. “I remember how wet you get around now.”

Your cunt drools onto the robe below you, thighs sticky, his words ringing in your ears. 

“Dieter, don’t –,”

“I know I can’t help you but what if I showed you how to help yourself?” 

You whimper, arousal now hot and warm in the pit of your stomach. The strength of it makes your pelvis ache. You know it won’t be the same as him, but his voice, it might be enough. You nod, your heart pounding, hand holding the phone shaking. 

“Then lie back, baby.” Dieter purrs and it’s almost like he’s pushing you back with his hands. You shift up the bed, careful to not step on your robe with your heels as you center yourself in the covers. But Dieter’s moving, off the bed, and he’s adjusting something behind his phone.

The baby inside you can feel your heartbeat racing and they turn, uneasy. You soothe them with small circles just above your hips, your lips between your teeth. But that touch on your skin, the look in Dieter’s eyes, you brush lower on your skin and immediately you shudder. 

“Baby, please, hurry, whatever you’re doing, hurry –,” 

You drop your fingers over your thighs, curling and uncurling, drawing imaginary lines like he does in the mornings against your shoulders and back. 

“Just a second, sorry, almost got it.”

Then he steps back, the phone hovering in the air. Dieter sits on the bed and the camera holds the entire bed in view. Dieter is nothing if not a performer, bringing a tripod into the bedroom when he knows you need him the most. He’s so fucking hot.

“Can you see me, baby?” 

You nod stiffly. “How do you want me?” 

“Whatever way is comfortable,” he smiles and it’s almost as hot as his smirk. Fuck, he loves you so much. You slide the robe off your shoulders, exposing the tops of your breasts as best you can and still keeping your phone up. “Perfect, baby, that’s perfect.” 

Your hand drops to your thigh again, dragging your nails up under the swell of your belly and you twitch. 

“T-tell me what you would want to do,” you begin, your voice shaking, arousal smooth as it licks up your spine, “if you were here right now.” You feel warm all over, the sheets cool against your calves. 

This far away, you can’t see his eyes clear enough to watch them darken entirely, but his low grunt is enough. It’s time for him to perform for his pregnant and insatiable wife. 

He slips his glasses off and tosses them onto the bedside table, where they land with a clatter. You can’t even think of scolding him when he lifts his hips and yanks his gray sweatpants down his knees, then to the floor. He’s half-hard as he shuffles back to the pillows, nearly in the same position you are. You shift to match him entirely, needing the immersion to be total and complete. You’d cry if he could actually touch you.

“Are you comfortable?”

You nod again. But Dieter shakes his head, his fingers digging into his thighs. “I can’t see you this far away, baby. I need you to say it. Talk to me.”

He was usually the one vocal enough for both of you, any coherent language impossible with the mess he makes out of you. You can’t imagine what you’re going to sound like, not when you’re this needy and desperate already.

“O-okay, Dieter, I’ll try.” 

“Good girl.” You whimper again, trying to restrain from touching yourself before he tells you to. But you’re throbbing, the heat blooming from your cunt rushing to the rest of your body, the baby in you restless. As if mother and child can only be soothed by their father. “Now, breathe, darling, you’re flushed.” 

You inhale, the air notching on every bone in your spine, and exhale, your lungs shuddering, eyes shut. “Dieter, please, tell me what you’d –,” 

“I’d touch your thighs,” he says with such immediacy, your eyes spring open. He’s got the knee farthest from you bent up, as if putting himself on display, turning his hips towards the camera slightly. His other leg is stretched out long beside him and his left hand strokes his cock. Hair and shoulders backlit from the far lamp, the image of him like this alone — just for you — has your cunt clenching, a moan spilling from your lips. “Touch your thighs, baby.”

You can’t grab as much skin as he does, but you try. You lift your knees, and massage the backs of your thighs, then up to your knees, and back down. You can almost feel his breath on your calves and you shudder. “What else? W-where else?” 

“I’ve been thinking about your tits for days,” he groans, the sound strangled, his cock now fully-hard and red. He cups himself, twisting as slow as he can take it. “Tell me what your tits feel like.” 

“Sensitive,” you gasp as you draw two fingers across your nipple and squeeze gently. Dieter only uses his mouth now on them, so you wet them with yours and return them to your swollen bud, slowly twisting and pulling. 

He’s watching you through the camera, eyes wide, breath sharp when you suck your fingers into your mouth. “Fuck, yeah, that’s right. Get them wet. What are you thinking about?”

“You. Your lips around my nipple, under my breast. Your teeth. They’re so heavy, Dieter.” 

His hips jerk under his hand, his fingers moving faster now. You can’t quite hear what he’s muttering, but you catch weak mumblings, “gonna feed our baby”, “yeah, your tits”, the baby” —

“Dieter, please–,” 

“Touch yourself with your fingers wet from your mouth. T-t-tell me what it feels like.”

With a relieved cry, you slide your hand down from your tits, over the swell of your belly, and in between your thighs. Wetness clings to the curls, to the curve of your ass, your body so ready to take him, and it locks up when you slip a finger inside.

“So wet. Warm. How many fingers can I put in?”

“One, but – can you already do two?”

You nod, the huff arching into a whine. “Yeah, baby. You have no idea how wet I am. I can slip in two with no resistance.”

“Jesus,” he pants and slows down, his hips rocking of their own accord. “You’ve got me so hard.” 

You curl your fingers inside of you, searching for that spot made and found and praised by him. Your folds plump and achy, you twist your wrist, scissor your fingers, but it’s not the same. It’s not the same as his three fingers plugging you up, readying you to take so much of him, it’s enough to ease the sharp ache for a bit. You moan, fucking yourself more. He hears it, sees it, and grunts. 

“You can come wherever you want, baby,” he murmurs, his own hand hesitant to match your speed. He tugs on his balls and his toes curl, his neck long and tense. “Fuck, I need your hands.”

“Me too,” you sob, real tears pricking the corners of your eyes. It feels good but it’s not the relief you need. It’s pathetic but you don’t want to stop. You can’t get in deep enough, even if you could get around your big belly. “Dieter, I can’t reach. It’s – I’m –,”

“Breathe, love, it’s okay.” His voice is soothing, calming. The same one he uses when you’re in labor and the sweet honey warmth of it sinks into your bones, easing the panic. You slow, gasping, tears pooling down your temple. Your orgasm is harsh, sunken in the dark, waiting for you to draw it out.

“What can you reach?”

“My clit.” 

“Then touch that. Can I see?”

You nod, angle the phone down as you rub that electric nub. 

“Oh, fuck, baby. I know it’s frustrating and I know it hurts, but you look so fucking good. So wet for me. Your pussy is perfect, pink, just how I like her.”

“Yeah?” you spin your fingers faster. That hot arousal returns steadily, melting back the resentment towards your own body the longer he praises. 

“Oh yeah.” You can hear the slap of skin on the other end of the phone and you can picture Dieter flat on his back jerking himself off to your pulsating cunt and you moan, loudly, tension evaporating from your body. “How do you feel?”

“Good. Tight. I just need a bit more.” 

“Me too. Let me see your face, pretty girl.” You turn the camera and gape at the sight on the screen. 

Precum drips out of his now-purple cock, his chest flushed and neck sweaty. He’s twirling the head around with his thumb at the pace you’ve set with your fingers against your clit. 

“Look at what you’ve done to me. You’re so fucking gorgeous. Can’t wait for you to be home so I can eat you out for hours.” 

“I want your cock in me, Dieter,” you gasp, furiously rubbing on your clit, sending wave after wave of pleasure coursing through you. Your cunt clenches in time with your thudding heartbeat. “You’re so thick. I wanna feel the stretch.”

“Oh, I’m gonna fuck you hard.” The confession is a low snarl, a promise made between the ridges of his teeth. He fucks his fist faster, the noise over his labored breathing obscene. “Gonna put your hands on the headboard, your pussy in my lap and I’m gonna fuck up into you until I fill you full again. Wanna make you pregnant twice.” 

Arousal floods your veins, your thighs a gooey mess. You toss your head back, back arching, and you moan as loud as you can. 

“Oh– shit, oh, oh, shit–,”

“You’re gonna leak all over my thighs and when you’re done coming so hard you can’t see straight, I’m gonna lick it up all off you, my wife. Mine. My baby. Mine. Fuck, you look so good full of me.”

He’s never this possessive, never angry that he can’t have you but he sounds livid. He fucks his fist, his hips bucking into nothing, his other hand squeezing his thigh so hard his knuckles go white. 

You circle your clit one more time and finally — your orgasm crests, your body locking up, your cunt gushing – and it leaves your mouth before you can stop it –

“Oh, Daddy–,”

You hear him gasp as if electrocuted, and you have to drop your phone to steady yourself as the weight of white-hot pleasure explodes across your body. You rock, breath gone from your lungs, mouth open in a silent scream, and everything slams back into you and you gasp, high and loud, every inch of your skin hot and trembling. You don’t realize you’re sweating until you feel it drip off your neck.  

All you can hear is Dieter panting from your phone amongst the covers, the sound muffled. Your eyes flutter as the warm waves languish, then curl, and finally, you sigh as the last waves drain out of your body. If you weren’t lying down you’re sure you’d be dizzy.

“Oh my god,” you mutter breathlessly to no one in particular.

“B-baby, you still there?”

You blindly feel around for your phone, arm so weak it’s trembling as you pull the camera towards your face

Dieter looks about as fucked out as you feel. Cock limp and still dribbling, his stomach and chest are covered in cum. He pushes his damp hair off his forehead, eyes wide and staring at the ceiling. 

“Holy shit, baby, that was …”

“Yeah,” you nod, swallowing your dry tongue, wishing again he was here so he could get you a glass of water. “I hope that wasn’t all of it because I really want you to say all of those things again tomorrow when you’re inside me.”

He groans and adjusts his limp cock. “You say that now but wait until Baby Bravo kicks you in the kidneys. You’ll be feeling a lot less generous towards this,” he gestures aimlessly to his naked body, “then.”

You chuckle. “Let’s just hope for the best. Besides,” you say, groaning a bit as you sit up to wipe the sweat off your neck with the robe, “I’m pretty sure I can have you eating out of the palm of my hand. Now that I know your secret . . . Daddy.” 

Dieter groans as you laugh. He shakes his head. “You shouldn’t be so surprised by now when you make me discover new kinks.” 

“Mhmm hmm.” 

He rolls his eyes as he gets up and picks the phone off the tripod. Holding the phone to his face, he wipes the cum off with his sweatpants before turning his attention back to you.

“How are you? Feel better?”

“Much better.” You stretch and lean back in the bed. If he was here, you’d probably be asking to eat you out, but at least the knife’s edge of desire has dulled. You can at least wait until nap time to jump your husband’s bones. 

“Good,” Dieter sighs, satisfied. “I’ll be there to pick you up from the airport tomorrow, okay?”

He always gets like this the nearer the due date comes, as if he can’t stand to see you lift a finger unnecessarily. You smile and nod, never wanting it to be any other way. 

“I’ll text you when I land.”

“Okay. Good night, my biggest love. I love you, so much.” 

“I love you too, Dieter.” Goddamn hormones, making you cry again. 

“Now lemme say goodbye to our little traveler.”

You wipe your eyes with your thumb as you tilt the phone to your swollen belly. 

“Good night, Baby Bravo. Can’t wait to have you around.”

And, at the sound of their father’s voice, they stir. Not kick or hurt. Just a tiny foot against your tight skin.

You are officially crying now. 

“They said hi, didn’t they?”

You’re nodding, crying, and he can’t see a damn thing. “Yeah,” you say quietly. “They said good night, Dad.”

He’s patient with you as you wipe your eyes, cheeks flushed again. 

“Baby, don’t cry, you’re breaking my heart.”

“You’re just a really good dad. And I’m so lucky,” you blubber. “This is it! I’m never leaving to go scouting again. I can’t take it.” 

“Mhmm. Let’s revisit that when you’re about two months postpartum and clawing at the walls.”

You laugh with him, your own sticky and goopy. “Fine.”

“Go to bed, love, and for the record, I’m the lucky one. Don’t forget that. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Good night.” You blow a kiss and he catches it. You roll your eyes. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

You stay like that for a bit, cradled by the pillows, and your phone on your chest, thinking about everything from Dieter to the next school picture day, to the next family vacation, and of course, the zillion things you have to get done with work before the baby comes — hopefully all from the home office.

She kicks. 

You smile, wondering how you and Zelle both just know it’s a girl. Dieter has his own suspicions, he says, but he’s saving them. Orion would probably be thrilled to have a dragon in the family. You snort, hand over the place where she put her little foot.

“I miss them too, sweetie. And once you’re here, we’ll outnumber those silly boys. Maybe we’ll have to get a dog. You’ll like dogs.”

She’s silent, maybe sleeping, maybe thinking about what the heck a dog is. You smile, turn off the lamp, and peel back the covers. The sheets are cool and soft.

You fall asleep, dreaming of little feet, and hands, and wedding rings.

[iamnmbr3]

Lord Voldemort <- break his ass down, please. (Love you blog, btw! 💖)

How I feel about this character

One of the characters of all time. I find Tom Riddle to be an absolutely fascinating character who is so fun to explore. I think he came out a lot more 3 dimensional than JKR perhaps intended (I say this because a lot of the backstory we get on him makes him a lot more nuanced than the narrative seems to acknowledge) which I absolutely love. His complexity, intelligence, creativity, self sufficiency, determination even in the face of impossible odds, ruthlessness, penchant for drama, and the tremendous amount of adversity he has to overcome provide a lot of richness that is fun to analyze and read about. I mean, without him we wouldn't have the story.

All the people I ship romantically with this character

Alphard Black. Yes, I wouldn't have called it either not too long ago but now this ship lives rent free in my head. (If you want to read about why you can look at this post here). All hail the dysfunctional, hilarious, and emotionally compelling mess that is Alphalord - which I ship both in serious incarnations and also for the crack humor potential; truly the versatile ship of all time that gives me way too many feels but also is very fun to make crack humor posts about. Also, although it's not my OTP, I think there's a lot of interesting potential - all of varying degrees of darkness - to explore pairing him with Regulus as well.

My non-romantic OTP for this character

I talked here about how fascinating I find Voldemort's relationship with Snape. He does genuinely seem to like and respect him - to the point that he is actually willing to do favors for him and expresses regret about killing him. Though also...on the flip side, he doesn't like him enough to not murder him (although interestingly from an in-universe perspective we could even read him using Nagini to kill him as him not being able to use the killing curse against Snape due to feeling conflicted). I really like the idea though of him destroying everyone who he feels even somewhat close to.

Which leads me to my actual answer to this question since I already wrote about him and Snape in the Snape ask (linked in the previous paragraph) which is - Hagrid. In the book 2 flashback Tom and Hagrid are on a first name basis. And Tom clearly already knows that Hagrid has an Acromantula because when he gets the unexpected and unwelcome news that the school is going to be closed he immediately knows just where to go to find someone to blame. This suggests that he and Hagrid had a preexisting relationship where Riddle gained Hagrid's trust enough to learn things about him.

It's notable that they would have probably been the only 2 orphans at school (after Hagrid's father died.) I can imagine them running across each other during holidays when everyone is home. (They also both had a nonstandard accent - though Riddle has succeeded in mostly getting rid of his own accent by the time the memory takes place - that might have been looked down on by some of their privileged pureblood peers).

It's also not even clear if Tom intended for Hagrid to be expelled (though he certainly was willing to risk it in order to prevent the school from closing and to avoid incurring any blame himself) given that he seemingly intends to kill the spider and say that it got loose by accident rather than as some sort of intentional plot. He also doesn't kill Hagrid when he has the chance in book 7. This is probably just for plot reasons so JKR can have him carry Harry's presumably dead body back to the school, but in-universe it's interesting. Maybe Tom thought he could still turn Hagrid into a useful servant (which I don't think would have gone well). Either way, the fact that they seemingly had a sort of friendship at one point is very interesting and lends an added layer to Hagrid's assertion in book 1 that Slytherins are bad and not to be trusted.

While Tom likely viewed Hagrid with a certain degree of disdain right from day one, it's up to interpretation whether he ever also felt any positive emotions about his relationship with Hagrid or if the friendship was purely a one-sided farce. I prefer the former because I think it adds more depth and complexity to the characters and relationships if Tom ended up having some feelings of genuine camaraderie with Hagrid but was still willing to sacrifice him to protect his own interests. It makes the moment even more interesting if he did not specifically intend for Hagrid to get expelled and thus ends up losing one of the few people who, unlike the majority of his housemates, doesn't look askance at his presumed lineage as a muggleborn and his utter poverty. And this also adds interest to his decision in the end of book 7 to capture Hagrid rather than kill him.

Though of course, neither Snape nor Hagrid hold a candle to the true Tom Riddle BROTP of all time - Tom & Nagini. I love the way he is generally very touch averse but likes to hold her and pet her like a very terrifying therapy animal.

My unpopular opinion about this character

There's a lot I've talked about before like the fact that I think Tom really did want the DADA job and I also think he's a lot more emotionally intelligent than he gets credit for and the people he seems to enjoy hurting most are actually monied purebloods and the person who behaved most unreasonably in the orphanage memory was actually not Tom.

So for this I'll go with the fact that I view Tom as a much more tragic character than the narrative seems to frame him as. It's weird that so many other characters who do bad things get framed as a tragedy not an inevitability - something that is closely linked with the idea that even for characters who have gone down the wrong path there can be redemption. We see this with Snape, with James Potter, with Regulus, with Dumbledore, arguably with Grindelwald whose last act is to lie about the Elder Wand, and sort of even with Peter Pettigrew.

In contrast, Dumbledore always acts as though it's a forgone conclusion that Tom was going to turn out evil and ignores the way wizarding society and even he himself failed to ever do anything meaningful to help Tom or try to guide him onto another path. That doesn't mean he might not have still become Lord Voldemort. But it's never treated as something that even might have been avoided. There is no discussion of what a loss it is that his talent and power and intelligence and creativity weren't used for good. But it is a loss.

It's not inevitable that Tom turned out the way he did. It's not inevitable that he lived a life where he never knew what it was to be loved. It's not inevitable that the first person to ever offer him mercy is Harry Potter and by that point it's far too late and he doesn't even understand what Harry's trying to do. It's not inevitable that because the wizarding world has no concept of social services he grew up in a muggle orphanage without any knowledge of who or what he was, hated and feared by all, and in turn learning to hate and fear them in return. It's not inevitable that Dumbledore immediately gave him up as a lost cause and he never had an adult in his life who could provide support and guidance and a sense of safety. It's not inevitable that upon arriving at Hogwarts he got sorted into a House with people like Walburga Black who would have called him mudblood and hated him for his poverty almost as much as his bloodline, breeding further anger and resentment. And it's not inevitable that he made the choices that he did to kill and to maim. It's SAD. He could have done and been so much more.

I mean, to be clear, from a reader perspective all of this makes Tom an interesting and fun character. It's not bad from a storytelling perspective that these things happened. But nonetheless, it's a tragedy. And I think that gets very little play in the narrative. Yes, Harry tells Tom to try for remorse, but it's framed by the story more as an instance of Harry being ridiculously decent. When Dumbledore discourages Harry from feeling pity for the horrifying state Tom will find himself in the afterlife, there's nothing in the narrative framing that suggests the readers are meant to view Dumbledore's callousness as awful.

From an in-universe perspective we can talk about the strange bias Dumbledore had towards Tom from the moment he met him, but from an out of universe perspective it's more about the author's bias. Yes Dumbledore is meant to be flawed and imperfect, but we readers are not meant to think his treatment of Tom is an example of that imperfection. We're supposed to think it's just fine that upon learning that Tom has lived a lonely and miserable existence where he is constant mortal fear of being declared mad and forcibly locked up, Dumbledore's first act is to use magic to frighten and to punish. Partly this is just because that scene is a flashback about the villain of the series and JKR kind of forgot that from an in-universe POV he wasn't the villain of the series yet.

But also maybe it says something more profound - because in the end of the story the narrative declares "all is well" and yet none of the factors that led to Tom Riddle's rise have actually changed. As Harry is sending his children off to school 19 years later in the accursed epilogue, nothing has actually changed. It's fine to have a story that doesn't have a happy ending. But the narrative frames the ending as a black and white "everything's fixed now and they all lived happily ever after" sort of ending and...no. And this stems, I think, from the failure to engage with the elements that make the main antagonist a great tragedy rather than a cartoonish inevitability. This all makes the story much more interesting, but I'm not sure JKR is fully aware of what she wrote.

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon.

I wish we saw more of him in book 7. The opening scene at the Manor in Deathly Hallows is really tense and gripping and interesting...and a lot of the wedding planning and camping stuff in my opinion...is not. More scenes of the Death Eaters and Voldemort (delivered via Harry's visions) could have been very engaging. Furthermore, Harry could have actively explored Tom's mind and/or widened the connection to try to figure out where the Horcruxes were. This would have added drama, made Harry's connection to him more central to the plot, and allowed us to see more high stakes and interesting scenes.

[philtstone]

42. true love’s kiss - as u wish! 🫡

the original plan for this prompt was something wildly different and then this -- whatever it is -- Came To Me. shoutout to The People for voting that they wanted a sleepy one. another mollyverse ficlet for my audience of 2 <3

The downside of living in a household with very defined taste in popular cinema, Juliet decides, is that when all the other parents are patting themselves on the back for their person-first-literate socially-aware unproblematic child-rearing achievements, your five year old daughter is on an obsessive quest to bestow true love's kiss.

Juliet doesn't know how to tell Marla Sapperstein (husband in tech, teaches pilates on Wednesdays, doesn't have an ounce of creativity in her perfectly sculpted almond mom figure) that it is not her fault modern kids' media is soulless and her husband is an incurable romantic. Besides which, despite her diet of John Hughes and Classic Disney, Molly's framework for love can be pretty much distilled to whatever it is Starfish has going on in his ailing squishy body.

Unconditional. Genderless. Also -- and Juliet is very vehement about making Marla and her judgey eyebrows understand this -- who's to say that Molly is not the prince in her imaginings? Or in fact that there is a prince at all?

Check and mate, Marla. Feminism. Love wins. Our family is just as progressive as yours.

"Jules," Shawn says one night, sprawled under her while they comfort-watch Pretty in Pink for the trillionth time after a mundane week from hell, "haven't we technically won by default? You're the pastry winner of this outfit. Marla hires a nanny."

That is not the point, Juliet insists, as the outdated gender dynamics of Shawn's favorite movie play out on screen. The point is that Juliet hates being judged, and Marla is wrong, but there is no way to prove Marla is wrong because the whole system is rigged. Maybe if all the new crap wasn't so fast-paced it ruined kids' (in this case, already somewhat tenuous) attention spans, they wouldn't have this problem.

Also, frankly, Juliet likes princess movies. Ugh!

"Is this because you saw Janeece hitting on me at that last parent night thing?" Shawn asks, sighing and looking down at her.

"I know you know her name is Janet," Juliet mutters mullishly.

"Sweetheart. You don't need to prove to the other moms that you're a good mom." Shawn pauses, contemplative. On screen, Andie mopes alluringly, yet with great uniqueness and outcast flair, against a locker. "Or that we're normal. Whatever that means. Besides, I don't want Mol to watch stuff on her own, and you know I can't sit through bad movies."

Shawn sits through bad movies all the time. Hot Dog, for example. Sixteen Candles. He grumbles at the second one but doesn't really disagree.

read the rest on ao3 <3

[platinumrosetail]

It's a pleasure to see you again, I came to ask you for a request hoping you will accept it.

Yandere Seth x fem reader.

Message: Reader, first daughter of Osiris, older sister of Anubis and Horus (sorry, I really like that the reader is the sister of Horus and Anubis) and wife of Set. You can devise a mini story where she recovers the seed that her father stole from her husband. This is how they manage to have Seth's daughter. but (a situation that you can invent) the reader ends up dying, but this time because she sacrificed herself to save Seth after receiving a fatal stab wound. Seth is left alone with his daughter. The girl grows up to look a lot like her mother, but her hair and character are the same as Seth's.

Obviously the villain of everything in this story is Osiris.

(I would really like you to do something like that, sorry if you consider me someone with tragic endings. I'm looking forward to it. Thank you)

Oh you’re fine, these are actually really interesting ideas 😁

Warning: noob author, female reader, angst, yandere romantic characters, and others.

Character: Seth.

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

You were the daughter of Osiris and isis, the eldest of the three children aka your two brothers; Anubis the second eldest, and Horus the youngest, Anubis was half because of events between your father and Nephthys while Horus is Osiris and Isis son like you’re their biological daughter.

You were also the wife to Seth; the god of war and sand, how that happened is a long story.

You noticed some red flowers in the garden your father gave to your mother and curiosity got the best of you and you went to get a closer look on the red flowers.

You found out that this was your husbands seed as you can look through the memories of living beings, one of the advantages of being the daughter of the god of life.

You knew that Seth wanted a child so you decided to give him the opportunity to get the wish he deserved after all he’s been through.

Your father found out and went after you when you had given birth already to yours and Seth’s daughter when your father came busting through the room and aimed to kill your child which was in Seth’s hand, Seth shielded his daughter with her waiting for the pain of the attack but didn’t feel anything, you had take the attack and gave a attack of your own to your father so he doesn’t get out of this scot free with no injuries either. Sadly you didn’t anticipated that the attack had poison that could kill a god and soon that wound turned fatal as it was apparently fast past and soon became incurable now which lead to your death.

Your death traumatized your husband and made him seek out and kill Osiris with strength that he never had before to avenge your death. He doesn’t let anyone touch your daughter or anywhere near her that includes her grandmother and her uncles, he also makes sure that she is in the same room as him so nothing bad happens. He secludes her from anybody he deems a threat to her while also looking for ways to hopefully bring you back as he doesn’t want to be alone and he’ll do anything to make sure you and your daughter is there with him until the end of time.

(A/n: hope you like it!! It was honestly an interesting request! I loved writing it 😁 anyway hope y’all have a wonderful day/evening/night!!)

[rinwritesfics]

Fix It

Plot: Hunter comforts the reader after difficult news is received.

Warnings: Comfort angst

Word Count: 1610

Author’s Note: This is entirely self-serving and my partner convinced me that it’s okay to share. I got some difficult news on a family member this past week, and maybe this will help someone feel like they’re not alone. This can be read as platonic or romantic.

I quickly cupped my hand over my mouth as I set down my datapad, tears filling my eyes. The sob I choked back was held in silence – for now. This news wasn’t something I was ready for, let alone for anyone else to know. It was hard to hide anything on this shuttle, but I was going to damn well try.

Take a few breaths in, clear my mind, don’t look at the datapad.

The tears began to recede. Good.

I sniffed slowly, deeply, and it was quiet. Good.

Just as I was about to put away my datapad, a soft clearing of a throat came from behind me, causing me to jolt. I spun around, eyes wide.

“Sorry,” Hunter said softly. He took a good look at my face as I tried to avoid his gaze and his expression fell. “You okay?”

I looked at the floor and blinked back more tears. “I’ve been better,” I whispered, then wiped away a tear. “I didn’t bother you, did I?”

He shook his head. “No. But what’s bothering you?”

My voice was shaky as I responded quietly, “No offense meant, I promise, but I’m not sure if it’s a situation you’ll quite understand….”

“Try me,” he said back just as quietly.

I bit my lower lip, then handed him the datapad. Detailed in my messages was the health diagnosis of a very close family member for an incurable disease. Tears filled my eyes and I looked away to try to stop them again as he read.

A moment passed before he handed the datapad back to me.

“And here I was complaining about being cold on this mission,” he said quietly.

I made an attempt to respond, but nothing would come out except a strangled sound in my throat.

“I am so sorry,” he continued in his quiet tone.

I hiccupped as I sniffled, gaining the courage to speak as concisely as I could. “You would think that this galaxy would have a cure for this since the science to give you guys life exists.” I paused, then my eyes widened. “I don’t mean that in a bad way against you guys, I swear.”

He gently touched my arm. “It’s okay. I didn’t take that personally. Do you know how long your loved one has?”

I shook my head, then whispered, “The doctor only gave estimates. With a disease like this, it could be a short time, it could be a long time. Maybe three years, maybe more.”

Hunter said softly, “It’s not an insignificant amount of time, but it definitely isn’t a long time. Maybe something will come along.”

“I can’t hold my breath and hope for a cure to speed run itself in three years, let alone available to the general public. And I can’t fix it. The only hope I have is how long their independence holds out.”

Hunter nodded. “With something like that, I can see why you say that. I’m here when you need to vent. I wish I could do more.”

I nodded, wiping away more tears at the same time. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” he whispered.

“I wish I could be there right now instead of on a mission,” I said miserably, more tears filling my eyes.

“I wish you could, too.”

I wrapped my arms around myself. “It’s not that I’m not grateful to be with you guys, I just….”

He nodded, looking at me with a gentle but sympathetic look. “I know.”

I felt sick to my stomach. Here I was complaining about my wants and needs while we were in the middle of a galactic war and the man I was complaining to didn’t even have his own freedom to make life decisions for himself. “Stars, do I ever sound selfish right now….”

He shook his head. “No, no you’re not selfish. You have every right to want to be with your loved one during this.”

More tears blurred my vision and my sniffles increased. “But -”

“No. I know it’s hard, but if you let this overwhelm you, then your hope is all gone. And you need to have hope for spending this time with your family member. You have to have hope.” He gently squeezed my shoulder and I leaned into that comfort.

“How can I have hope for something like this? There’s no hope for it to get better.”

“Even for something like this, there’s hope. Do the next right thing. It’s the light that still exists, even when the tunnel you’re in is collapsing.” He tried to make it sound optimistic, but my heart wrenched and anger grew.

I scowled and raised my voice, no longer caring that others might hear. “My family member has a fatal disease! There is no light at the end of this tunnel!”

“I know,” he whispered. “And I wish I could change it. I wish I could fix it. But you still have to keep that light to keep going. Even if right now, it’s just for them.”

My tears began to fall freely and I covered my face with my hands. Hunter immediately pulled me into a tight hug, one hand at the back of my head as I buried it in the crook of his neck and one on the middle of my back.

I cried into his shoulder, finally letting myself feel the devastating news as it washed over me. Finally, when I calmed down a bit, I whispered an apology to him. He shook his head.

“You’re going through a lot. This isn’t your fault, and I’m not about to judge you for needing a shoulder to cry on.”

“No, but still… I’m your squad medic, nothing is supposed to phase me….”

A small reassuring smile on his face grew. “That’s not true. It’s okay to let this out, because breaking points exist.”

What he did next surprised me. He brushed a few strands of hair behind my ear, but I was feeling too numb to let it affect me any further.

I sighed. “Alright. Maybe it is okay for it to affect me.”

He nodded. “Absolutely. You’re not emotionless. You’re not made of steel. You have every right to express them, and I will never shame you for your emotions.”

“Thank you….” I whispered. “Sorry to have bothered you about this. I had tried to keep it to myself, keep myself professional.”

He shook his head. “Don’t start that. You have every right to express it. I’m just glad I can be here to help you when you need it.”

I nodded and he pulled me into another hug. My head rested against his shoulder and I sighed. “Hunter?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m tired,” I whispered.

“And that’s okay.”

My mumbling took over and I closed my eyes. “I may just fall asleep like this.”

“I wouldn’t mind that.”

“You’d mind standing for so long.”

“Then let’s get you into a bunk. Come on, I’ll keep you with me and keep you safe.”

I pulled back and looked at him. “Sharing a bunk?”

“Yep. Come on.”

He led me to a bunk and laid down, pulling me in close to him. I closed my eyes.

“Hunter?” I whispered.

“Yeah?” he replied quietly.

“I’m scared.”

He whispered, “I know, cyar’ika. And that’s okay. I’d be surprised if you weren’t.”

I swallow thickly, tears filling my eyes again. “But I have to watch one of the strongest people I know become wholly dependent on everyone for things that include basic needs and functions. It’s so hard to think about. It’s not fair.”

He gently squeezed me. “No, it’s not fair at all. It’s extremely difficult. It’s not something anyone should have to go through on either side.”

“They would like you, you know.”

He smiled a little. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I just hope you can meet them while they can still shake your hand.”

“I promise to make every effort to get that to happen, cyar’ika,” he said softly. “I promise to be here for you and support you.”

I sniffled more. “Thank you.”

He rubbed my back, holding me close.

“Hunter?” I said after a while.

“Yeah?”

“You know this means now I have to get tested for the genetic markers, right?”

He froze, then pulled back to look at me. “W-wait, you mean you may end up suffering from the same illness, too?”

“It’s now genetic,” I whispered and he hugged me tighter.

“What happens if you come up positive for the markers?”

“Then we have to prepare for the possibility that I may develop it, too, at some point.”

“No matter what, I will support you for as long as I can and as best as I can.” He frowned, clearly more troubled than he was letting on. Both of us knew the unspoken words of him being owned by the army, his accelerated aging, and the possibility either of us could die due to this galactic war.

“Thank you,” I whispered anyway, holding him tightly. His arms wrapped around me, almost as if sheltering me. I blushed slightly and my eyelids began to droop.

“Rest. Nothing can be done tonight while you’re exhausted.”

I went to protest, but then I nodded. He was right, of course. Even if I didn’t want to sleep, my exhaustion was going to drag me kicking and screaming under the waves of unconsciousness due to my earlier sobbing.

“Thank you, Hunter,” I whispered as my consciousness faded away. Stress sat right on the outskirts of my rest, but with Hunter keeping me safe, I could get some shut-eye in. He was always right there for me. And for him, I was always grateful.

Tagging: @trixie2023, @maybethatfanfictionwriter

[changingplumbob]

MoodCAS - Nostalgic

CAS Challenge by @mickimagnum - Featuring Devin Villareal

I'm susceptible to stars in the skies, I'm incurably romantic, If they're told to me all covered with sighs, The wildest of lies seems true. Each time a lovebird sings, I have no defenses, My heart is off on wings Along with my senses

Credits and blurb below...

Hair: @greenllamas Hat: @rustys-cc & @sentate colab Makeup, Earrings: @pralinesims Dress: @ice-creamforbreakfast Shoes: @sentate Necklace: Cottage Living Pearl Bracelet: Get to Work Bangles & Nails: Base game

I generally enjoy lots of movies, music and fashions from the 50's and 60's. When I feel nostalgic I get very old school like that. Let's Make Love came out in 1960. Marilyn Monroe's character is taking part in a play where she is playing a satire version of, yep, Marilyn Monroe. Anyway a billionaire goes to stop the play, only to get cast as the satire version of himself and fall in love with her. He gets a professional to write this song so he can have a scene with her. Thus the outfit is set back in that time. Lots of pearls because I feel like pearls were the classy thing back then. A dress covered with hearts helps Devin slide back in time.

[vante1920pm]

──;; " 𝐈 𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐅𝐄𝐒𝐒... " ★☆

★ 𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲: this is probably one of the most laziest thing I've written but let's not talk about that :))

requests are open !!

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

☆ 𝘀𝘆𝗻𝗼𝗽𝘀𝗶𝘀: after spending so much time at the sallow house, a certain slytherin girl caught an incurable disease; love

☆ 𝗽𝗮𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: anne sallow/fem!slytherin!reader

☆ 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴: fluffy fluff, anne deserves more love <3, not proofread, got lazy, i have a bee flying in my room, i like my own posts lol

☆ 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 1.2k

Since the day Anne saw you for the first time, she couldn't take you off her mind. When you consoled her after Sebastians and Solomons fight, to, when you brought her flowers on a sunny day.

She was completely smitten with you.

Of course, Sebastian noticed and tried to help her out, which wasn't as easy as he thought, since Anne was always so nervous when you were around.

But Sebastian only saw that as a challenge for him, so he dragged Ominis into his plan.

They tried to set Anne and you up. Perhaps a picnic was what Ominis proposed.

So, the two boys brought their plan into action.

Sebastian sneaked food from the kitchen and Ominis picked flowers and a few decorations, so it would be to your likings. Though, he didn't really see what he had picked...

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

"There's no way this could go any wrong, everything is set up perfectly!"

Sebastian said, while looking down on their masterpiece.

"If Y/N doesn't fall in love with Anne after this evening, then there's no hope for her at all."

Shaking his head to his friend, Ominis took his wand out, so he could follow Sebastian, who already dashed forward, back to their house.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

It was now afternoon, the "golden hour". The best time for a romantic picnic, as some might think.

Anne was getting ready, by Sebastians request. She was confused on what he had planned this time, but didn't question her brother.

She picked her best dress out for this occasion, in case a certain someone would be there, which wasn't unlikely, due to the friendship between her and Sebastian.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

You were on your way to the Sallows house. You received an owl from Sebastian, that you should meet him there, because there was something important that you have to witness.

You, of course, knew, that he was up to something probably stupid.

When Ominis came back to the castle, he had a nervous look on his face. He even completely ignored you when you greeted him.

But it was Ominis, so you didn't give it a second thought.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

Walking through Feldcroft, you took notice of the good weather.

Many times, the clouds would darken the sky, so it was a nice change of scenery.

On your way to the twins house, you were greeted by a few people, who got used to your visits in the village.

Anne and you were often seen outside, while she showed you her favorite places, but most of the time you spent in her house.

You developed a small crush on the girl, but never told it anyone, except for Natty.

She always lend you an ear when you needed it, for which you were grateful, and tried to give you advice.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

The door flung open immediately when you knocked, an ecstatic Sebastian standing right in front of you and not giving you a second, before he pulled you inside.

"There you are! You've been taking your time today." you tried to protest, but got shut down by the boy, as he forced you a bunch of flowers in your hands.

You looked at him confused.

"Oh, you give them to my sister."

"Uh, what's happening right now?"

Sebastian chuckled and opened the door once again, yanking you out with him.

"Sebastian, what's going on?"

The boy in question turned around to face you, waving to someone in the distance.

Before you could even turn to look at the someone, Ominis stepped right beside you.

'Did Sebastian forget that Ominis can't see him waving?'

"Finally, it's time."

Sebastian took your wrist and pulled you with him, Ominis right behind you.

You were befuddled by their weird behavior.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

The three of you halted at a grass field, and you took notice of the big picnic blanket, with a picnic basket standing in the middle. It was also decorated with blossoms, that were scattered everywhere and a small teapot, that you recognized from somewhere. You weren't sure from where, though.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

"She will be here any second." Ominis shoved you forward.

The boy seemed less stressed than before, a small smile forming on his face.

Before you could even ask what's going on, the boys made a run for it.

They just left you there. Alone.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

You stood there for a solid five minutes, before you took a seat on the blanket and put all the food out of the basket. If you're already there, why not serve yourself?

"Y/N?"

Surprised, you found Anne hovering over your shoulder. Her uncle behind her.

You quickly stood up to greet them. Anne looked at you with a smile and gave you a wave.

Her acting shy towards you was nothing new.

She was like that since you met her, but Sebastian told you, that she normally was way more open and mischievous.

You always tried to get him to tell you what the reason for that was, but he always only gave you a smirk.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

"It's a nice surprise to see you here!" Anne stepped closer to you and tilted her head.

Looking behind you and then to the flowers in your hand, she gasped.

Her uncle was long gone, but you didn't really care about that.

You snapped back to reality and hold out the flowers to the girl in front of you.

Anne jumped by the sudden movement, but reluctantly took the bouquet. While doing so, she accidentally grazed your fingers with hers.

You felt the heat creeping up your cheeks, so you looked down on your feet.

You already felt embarrassed about the whole situation, you didn't want to make it even more awkward.

"Um, we should sit down, I guess..." Anne nodded along and quickly seated herself on the blanket, looking up at you with eager eyes.

It finally dawned to you, Sebastian definitely planned this whole thing. That would explain, why Ominis didn't want to talk to you.

He had this habit to tell you things he shouldn't, and he didn't even know why that is.

Sighing, you plumped down next to Anne, who already had a piece of cake on her plate.

She handed you your own over and put a cup of tea next to you.

"So, I think your bro-", "I know."

Anne put her plate down and twirled to face you.

"I know that this is all his work. But, I-I think this is a good opportunity to confess something to you.."

Without a word, you took the girls hand in your, squeezing it so she continues.

Anne took a deep breath and closed her eyes, before she opened them again.

"Since the day we met at my house, I couldn't take my eyes off of you whenever I saw you.

Your face takes over my mind, even in my dreams. I've grown strong feelings in the time we've spent together, but I've been worried about your reaction, so I never said anything about it. And-" without letting her finish, you yanked Anne towards your body to embrace her in your arms.

After a few moments, she relaxed and placed her head on your shoulder.

"I have to confess, that I really like you too.." you whispered in her ear, before pulling back so you could kiss her.

© 2023, vante1920pm

[mimisempai]

To see the smile on your face

Summary

Crowley is in the mood to romance Aziraphale a little, but he has no idea how to go about it, or who to ask. In order to prepare for the perfect evening, however, he'll need to make some connections. An opportunity for him to strengthen his ties with the neighborhood?

Notes

A little bit of levity for our two boys, and an opportunity for Crowley to interact with the local shopkeepers...

On Ao3

Rating G -  2033 words

"What are you still doing here? You finished your coffee ages ago, didn't you?"

Crowley looked up at Nina and replied, "Hey, Nina, you should be nicer to the customers."

Nina shrugged and retorted, "You're not a customer, you're a parasite."

Crowley retorted, "I'm still paying for my coffee, and I want a second one."

Nina eyed him suspiciously and sat down across from him, "Out of the question. You're already too nervous."

She pointed at the demon's fingers tapping nervously on the table and continued, "Spit it out."

Crowley shook his head, "And being the subject of street gossip for the next few days? No thanks."

Nina chuckled softly, "You're going to be the subject of gossip anyway, so go ahead and shoot!"

Crowley avoided her gaze and murmured in a low voice, "I'd like to do something romantic for you know who... well..."

"Oh no no no, I'm going to stop you right there. Go to Maggie, she's the incurable romantic between the two of us. She's better at that sort of thing."

Crowley handed him his empty cup, "Coffee for the road?"

"Go to hell!"

Crowley stood and muttered, "Been there, not going back," before leaving the coffee shop and heading for Maggie's shop.

He stepped through the door and exclaimed, "Maggie, I'm so glad to see you!"

Maggie looked at him quizzically and said quietly, "You know, when you're not grumpy, you're almost scary. What do you want?"

"Oh, I'm really hurt that you'd take it that way."

Shaking her head in amusement at Crowley's now familiar antics, she replied softly, "Is this about Aziraphale?"

That had the effect of calming him, and he came to lean against the counter.

"Okay, you know, I was at Nina's and I finally told her that I wanted to do, uh, you know, something for Aziraphale, not the usual, you know."

Maggie laughed softly, "I now understand why Nina sent you here. If I'm trying to decipher what you're trying to tell me, I assume you want to surprise Aziraphale and you don't know exactly what."

Crowley sighed, glad he didn't have to humiliate himself any further, "I knew you were sharp, Maggie."

"I told you I liked you better when you're grumpy. Gerald Lambert."

Crowley raised his eyebrows, "What?"

"The cellist Gérald Lambert. Aziraphale seems to be quite fond of him. Unfortunately, he's never been recorded on vinyl, so I don't have anything for him. But I seem to have seen that he is currently performing in London, though I don't know more than that. I think Mr. Arnold would be in a better position to inform you about such concerts than I am."

Crowley rolled his eyes, wondering how many times he'd have to socialize today.

He thanked her with a grunt and headed for the music store not far away, hoping to avoid Justine, the owner of the French restaurant.

"Oh,  it's Mr. Good Guy!"

Crowley retorted, "I already told you, I'm not either... What?"

Mrs. Sandwich looked at him cheekily and replied, "I got the message about you not being a lad. So here's your new nickname, Mr Good Guy!"

Crowley refused to argue; he felt it was a lost cause anyway.

The sassy woman continued, "So you want to do something for your sweetheart?"

He stared at her, "My wh... what?"

Mrs. Sandwich replied, "The bookseller."

Gossip in this neighborhood was a disaster.  

Nina would pay for it.

With a mischievous smile on his lips, he leaned into Mrs. Sandwich's ear and whispered, "I hear Nina's added a coffee to her menu called the Vinyl Latte." 

Seeing that the woman was still not reacting, he added in a conspiratorial tone, "You know, Vinyl, like the record store, and Latte, like the coffee..."

"Oooooh... oooh, I think I have to be somewhere."

The woman didn't greet him and went straight into Justine's restaurant. Crowley snickered as he entered the music store.

He felt a little more at ease because he didn't have to explain himself, he had just come to get some information. He walked confidently up to the man at the cash register and, after greeting him, asked, "Have you heard of Gérald Lambert?"

The shopkeeper eyed him suspiciously, thinking that Crowley probably didn't really seem like the kind of guy who liked that kind of music, before replying, "The cellist? Yes. Quite."

"I hear he's giving a concert in London at the moment?"

"Yes, absolutely, at the Wigmore Hall, playing Bach's 6 suites for solo cello. But all the concerts are sold out."

Crowley nodded, looking slightly annoyed, while inwardly telling himself that getting tickets would be as easy as clearing a table at the Ritz, which was what he was going to do as well.

He greeted Mr. Arnold and left the shop, rubbing his hands together. A few more preparations and it would be perfect.

Meanwhile, as the afternoon drew to a close and night began to fall, Aziraphale was surprised that he hadn't seen Crowley since he'd left for coffee at Nina's. 

Busy with yet another tax audit because his well-kept accounts were too suspicious, Aziraphale hadn't seen the time fly.

He took off his glasses and muttered, "I wonder where he's been."

"Well, after spending some time with Nina, he went to Maggie's, then met with Mrs. Sandwich, and finally went to Mr. Arnold's."

Aziraphale turned to Muriel and asked, "Tell me, did you work or spend your time watching the street?"

Muriel replied, "It's not like the street is very big. Besides, given his appearance, Mr. Grumpy is quite an eye-catcher.

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow and replied, "You spend a little too much time with Mr. Grumpy. You're getting pretty cheeky."

Muriel's face fell and they began to apologize. Recognizing this kind of behavior, Aziraphale immediately stopped them, "I was joking, Muriel. I just thought it was like I heard Crowley talking and found it amusing. It's not a reproach. It never will be. Go on and express yourself freely. I'm sorry if I made you think otherwise."

He was relieved to see the other angel's smile return after a few seconds and promised himself to be careful in the future. He knew exactly what it felt like to constantly have to stop yourself from expressing who you were. 

They continued to put the books away together and it was getting dark when he told Muriel they'd done enough and they could go home.

The angel had barely left the bookstore when Crowley entered.

"Crowley, my dear! Where have you been?"

Crowley approached and said with a small smile on his lips, "Let's just say I went to do a few things. How about you? Did you finish your accounting or whatever it was you had to do?"

Aziraphale joined him in the middle of the bookshop and replied with a sigh, "Actually, I'm knackered."

Crowley raised his hand and wiped a small smear of ink from the angel's cheek with his thumb, leaving his hand there. As the angel leaned his face against the demon's hand, Crowley asked gently, "Too tired for a little surprise?"

It was as if something had animated the angel from within, and his eyes lit up as he exclaimed, "A surprise? What is it?"

The demon chuckled and replied, "Angel, if I tell you, it won't be a surprise anymore, will it?"

The angel turned his head into the demon's hand and kissed his palm before Crowley dropped it and grabbed the angel's hand. He pulled him toward the door of the bookshop and the angel asked, "Where are we going?"

Crowley turned to him, winked, and simply replied, "Do I have to remind you that this is a surprise?"

He led the angel to the Bentley and gallantly opened the door for him to get in before getting behind the wheel.

They had barely driven a few yards when music began to play on the car radio, Aziraphale almost immediately gasped and said in a surprised voice, "It's Bach's Cello Suite No. 1! Crowley, you never listen to this kind of music!"

Crowley playfully replied, "But you do."

Aziraphale looked at him puzzled for a few seconds before exclaiming again, "It's played by Gérald Lambert! I'd recognize his style anywhere!"

Crowley, a satisfied smile on his lips, asked, "And how about listening to it live? I'd say... right here, right now."

The Bentley had just miraculously pulled up not far from Wigmore Hall.

"Crowley! But how...and why?"

Crowley opened the door again to let him out, then held out his arm for them to walk down the hall before answering, "How? Let's just say with the help of some people and a little magic. Why? Because I wanted to surprise you and make you happy."

Aziraphale squeezed his arm and said, looking delighted, "Well, it worked."

A short time later, they were seated in a booth that allowed them to enjoy the concert to the fullest.

Crowley, who found the music absolutely boring, enjoyed the spectacle of the angel's reactions as the concert went on, and in the end the two hours didn't seem all that long.

As the applause died down, Crowley whispered in the angel's ear, "I have another little surprise for you. How would you like to meet your idol?"

He was delighted to see the angel's expression of joy as he threw his arms around his neck and embraced him.

A short time later they were at the stage door and Gerald Lambert approached them, the angel excited as a flea, handed him the concert program and exclaimed happily, "I'm so happy to meet you."

The musician simply nodded distantly, and Crowley instantly hated him.

Aziraphale continued as the musician signed, "You really are a talented musician, and I've never..."

The cellist interrupted, handing back the program, "Yes, thank you, I already know all that. You can save your breath, you've got your autograph. Thanks for coming."

Crowley was about to jump in and tell the ruffian what he thought, but Aziraphale beat him to it. He handed the signed program back to the musician and calmly replied, "It's a shame that such a talent should be served by such a bad temper. Please take back your signature, sir, as I don't want to remember you. May I never see you again."

He turned with dignity and walked away, followed by Crowley, impressed by the grace with which the Angel had handled the situation. He looked back and couldn't help but make a small gesture to trip the cellist; it wasn't much, but it satisfied him enough.

"What a despicable little bastard!"

Crowley turned his head toward the angel who had just cursed and couldn't help but laugh as he grabbed the angel's arm.

He said softly, "I'm sorry your idol didn't live up to your expectations."

Aziraphale took advantage of the deserted alleyway to stop and kiss the demon on the cheek before continuing, "I had a great night anyway. Thank you."

Crowley asked, "How about I tempt you once again to end this evening even more nicely by dining at the Ritz?"

Aziraphale laughed softly and replied, "I would say, as always, temptation accomplished."

They both laughed as they got into the Bentley.

Moments later, they were seated at their usual table, just a little closer than usual, waiting for the waiter as the piano played the notes of soft jazzy music.

Under Aziraphale's surprised gaze, Crowley stood and whispered a few words to the pianist, who nodded with a smile. 

When Crowley returned, the waiter had filled their glasses with champagne and Aziraphale had his in his hand. Crowley grabbed his, and Aziraphale was about to toast him when he stopped abruptly and whispered, "It's..."

Crowley nodded, smiling.

“That certain night

The night we met 

There was magic abroad in the air”

There was undeniable magic in the air, and as Crowley and Aziraphale took a sip of champagne, the angel took the demon's hand and intertwined their fingers.

It wasn't Bach.

The pianist wasn't famous.

But to Aziraphale, it was worth all the concerts in the world because it was a hymn to their love.

_________

Still not beta'd

Still not my native language

Still hoping you'll enjoy this story  🥰

Still thanking you for bearing with me 😝

Ineffable Growing Love series : here (After season 2)

Ineffable Husbands masterlist : here (Before season 2)

[munmomuu]

Going to babble about Gale and Wyll in Act 1 party scene

I'm going to talk about Gale and Wyll in the tiefling party scene in Act 1, no further spoilers because I haven't reached further yet. Read more if you are comfortable with these spoilers.

Gale

I have to admit, I was really disappointed that Gale didn't want to seal anything romantic during the party anymore. I understand it is decision for better, but it just reminded me of my first run in early access where I refused to sleep with Astarion because I was afraid of ruining things with Gale, and ended up being friendzoned with Gale. I actually have to go sleep alone after the party. Well, atleast for now it seems like Gale is very much interested, but his predicament really prevents him not pursuing anything with us yet.

Aside from my disappointment, his conversation during the party is such a delight. My first initial reaction was "Oh, is he.... talking about Mystra?" then I saw the cat option and realised yeah, that must be it and then my heart sunk when he denied it so intently, only to just correct that Tara is not a cat. WELL EXCUSE ME SIR, YOU SAID YOU HAVE A CAT. AND YOU JUST REMINDED WHY I LOVE YOU SO MUCH.

I explored other options too, and I just really love all of it. It really confirms a lot of headcanons him being lonely, battling with depression and even though he is quite charismatic, he still doesn't keep close friends. He's such a deep and very human character and I am really curious where it all goes.

And not the game actually calling me out going to bed and thinking about Gale taking me in the weave... Or the other way around. Only thing it would have needed is to add my name after it.

Wyll

I do miss the early access Wyll a little, but seeing Wyll's story so far with Karlach and at the party, I am growing into the new Wyll as well. I feel he did fall off from his charisma a little, but maybe that is just because I haven't been able to actually keep him in my party. Atleast that's my theory since he seems much more serious than he led to believe in the party. I have a solo game where I am having Gale, Wyll and Karlach with me, so hopefully I get to see the more cheerier Wyll soon too.

The small back and forth banter with "Guess why I came to you" is so playful and cute. Me being the incurable flirt in games makes it very difficult not to pick that option, but I really don't want to lead Wyll on by flirting with him and then just dumping him for Gale. My heart couldn't take seeing him so hearbroken.

[penn-dragon]

You’ve activated my trap card: infodumping my thoughts about Sanji’s fucked up relationship with vulnerability and intimacy.

I remember reading something once that talked about how many men struggle with discerning the difference between the desire for intimacy and the desire for sexual satisfaction because the two are so often considered synonymous for men in society. One person talked about how her partner thought he had ED issues until they started exploring different ways to fulfill his emotional needs and he learned the difference between being horny and wanting emotional closeness. That’s always kind of stuck with me, the way men are expected to fulfill all of their emotional needs through sex with romantic partners, because wanting non-sexual intimacy is something seen as “girly” or “weak.” And I’ve thought about it a lot in regards to Sanji and his relationship to masculinity and vulnerability.

Sanji has a very hard time expressing his kind and vulnerable side because of the abuse he suffered as a kid. After he ran away from Germa, he learned to act like a tough little asshole as a defense mechanism, because there was no one to protect him anymore. Even after Zeff took him in as someone who genuinely loves him, Zeff basically acts the same way, being rough and tumble ex-pirate who communicates his love to Sanji in more subtle ways. So being raised by him pretty much reinforced that switch in his personality to only showing his kindness in ways that are considered acceptable for a man (cooking, flirting with women, ect.)

Sanji is most comfortable putting on a tough guy persona and acting like an asshole, even if his actions directly contradict it (e.g. saying he only saves women only to risk his life throwing Usopp out of danger three seconds later). Which is something a lot of people in One Piece do, but Sanji takes it to another level, because even now he has his family’s voices in the back of his head telling him he’s weak, a failure, subhuman. Rather than just a front to act tough, I think Sanji genuinely feels unsafe showing the parts of himself he was told make him weak. He trusts his friends with his life, but childhood trauma dies hard and the traumatized child inside him still thinks showing kindness and vulnerability leads to pain, and as such he still struggles to be truly emotionally vulnerable with people, ESPECIALLY other men, who he sees as the bigger threat.

However, fearing your emotional needs doesn’t make them go away. Sanji LOVES people. Despite his incurable asshole disease, he’s extremely personable. He has a big bleeding heart and cares so deeply for the people around him. He craves connection, and I think that goes doubly so for a romantic relationship, because Sanji loves so intensely. I think in a relationship with Zoro they would have a hard time getting into sync at first. Falling in love with Zoro came out of LEFT FIELD for Sanji, it was in NO WAY something he was prepared for and is nothing like he ever imagined, therefore it’s completely uncharted territory. They suck at communicating because Zoro doesn't always realize things need to be said out loud and Sanji’s afraid to ask. He’s especially not comfortable with the idea of wanting intimacy from Zoro. Despite the inherent trust and respect they have for each other, their relationship has always been volatile, electric, violent. There’s no room for softness. Men aren’t supposed to want tenderness from other men. He’s not supposed to want closeness from Zoro. That’s not how they are, that’s not what he pretends he is.

Sex on the other hand, sex is safe. Men are supposed to want sex—expected to—and while sex and emotional intimacy often go hand in hand it’s not scoffed at the way non-sexual intimacy is. He’s able to fulfill some of the desire for closeness through sex without completely opening himself up to vulnerability. But wanting sex and wanting intimacy aren’t the same thing, and Sanji’s not actually allowing himself what he needs. Enter Zoro figuring out what Sanji’s doing after he reaches a breaking point (starts sobbing half-way through sex which PANICS THE HELL out of Zoro) and being like “yeah I’m not letting him do that anymore” and starts opening up the option for different kinds of intimacy in their relationship in a way that doesn’t make Sanji feel exposed or demeaned.

I have a headcanon that Sanji struggles with wanting/asking for non-sexual intimacy from Zoro. So if he's having a rough day or just wants to be held by the man he loves he'll initiate sex in order to feel that connection, regardless of whether he's actually in the mood. But Zoro's gotten unnervingly good at telling when he's doing this and redirecting to give him what he actually needs in that moment.

[sportswriterdad]

I have some questions about the relationship between the two people in "Escape (The Piña Colada Song)."

When I was young, I was inexplicably drawn to songs that really told a story. The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald. Me and Bobby McGee. Maybe that’s why I ended up becoming a writer. I don’t know. Anyway, "Escape (The Piña Colada Song)" by Rupert Holmes was one of those songs I was attracted to in a way I couldn’t really explain. Now that I’m older, I have some questions. A lot of them. So let’s settle in.

Let’s start with a basic premise: the two people in this song are the worst partners in the world and they probably deserve each other. But it’s a relationship that’s struggling. Hey, we’ve all been there, right? On one level, we can all identify with at least the start of the song. Over some sweet Yacht Rock beats, Rupert starts with the following:

I was tired of my lady. We’d been together too long. Like a worn-out recording, of a favorite song.

Great opening line. Really smart and evocative. With the smooth music in the background, this is straight outta the 1970s. There's trouble ahead, baby. He goes on to talk about reading the paper in bed — and old-timey phrase if I’ve ever heard one — and checking out the personals, where he found a letter talking about a potential partner who loved “piña coladas, and getting caught in the rain.” Oh, and they also don’t like yoga.

His interest is piqued.

Let me address the narrator here first: What the hell, man? I shouldn’t have to spell it out for you. This is the point in the evening where you put down the paper, turn to your partner, and talk. “Hey, you know what? I’ve been working long hours, and I know you weren’t crazy about the idea of me starting that yoga studio. But let’s take some time to work on us. How about we get away to the Cape?” Bottom line? This is not the way two mature adults who have been in a longish relationship handle their business.

Let’s turn our attention to the partner here: Look, I get it’s the 70s. I saw “The Ice Storm.” It was a different time. People were experimenting, wearing bell bottoms, and listening to England Dan and John Ford Coley. But I think the idea of taking out a personal ad saying all that stuff, well ... it sort of strikes me more as third-date information, you know? Not necessarily judging. Just saying.

Anyway, the narrator sends back a message, saying that “although he’s nobody’s poet,” he thought it wasn’t half bad. (Made me think of Anthony Michael Hall at the end of “The Breakfast Club” giving himself a congratulatory punch in the arm.) He wants to meet the letter-writer tomorrow at noon at O’Malley’s, so they can "plan their escape."

So the narrator’s partner walks in. They're the one that placed the personal ad. LOL. And they all share a good laugh. What a crazy romantic mixup! The end.

Dude. You’re going to tell me that at least one of them isn’t pissed at the other? Worst case, the partner walks into O’Malley’s and sees the narrator there.

“What are YOU doing here?”

“Nothing. Just came down for some piña coladas and champagne. I wanted to go out in the rain. Hoping I’d get caught out in it, maybe.”

“I didn’t know you liked piña coladas.”

“Oh yeah, there’s a lot about me you don’t know, friend…” (mumbles under breath, goes back to reading the paper...)

Things are so wrecked between them one had to write surreptitiously to a newspaper about the situation? And the other thought it was a good idea to answer anonymously? And these two have been together in what is a relatively “long-term” relationship, and one didn’t know their partner's drink of choice? (Guess they agreed to disagree on yoga. And getting caught in the rain, for that matter.) These are two people who desperately need to talk to someone about their relationship.

(Apropos of nothing, I’m curious as to some of the other things that hold this relationship together. Travel? Are they both incurable foodies? Do they have a shared love of theater? It feels like there’s an awfully thin thread keeping them together, whatever it is.)

Ultimately, my biggest takeaways here are that we’re all better off because these two are together, and not with someone else. We all dodged a bullet there. And O’Malley’s must have been a wild scene back in the 1970s.

[deathswcrn-a]

About Breina

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quick as a whip, crude-mouthed with a crooked smile, the willing shield and gleeful blade, breina rivlin once danced with dragons and fell away laughing. though she hides her grief behind drink and boisterious antics, she is a fiercely loyal friend, an incorrigable flirt, as rough as a split knuckle and burdened with a heart of gold.

Breina is, first and foremost, a fallen folk hero. She was once known as the slayer of a dragon burning its way across the land, blighting holding after holding with diseased breath and chasing people from their homes.

She was just a simple mecenary - a sword and board for hire who could pull out a quick spell and bared teeth for gold. Seperated from her family from a young age, she had only ever been taught to look out for herself, and she did, turning herself from terrified orphan to a bruiser under the watchful eye of Gideon, her surrogate father and mentor. He watched her approach the underground as a furious loner and come back covered in cuts and scrapes, and he recognised her quick, churlish tongue was getting her into too much trouble.

So he shaped her - taught her how to fight properly, taught her to turn her red-hot fury to something productive, how to turn her bossiness and stubbornness into leadership and how to turn her tongue to the right targets. She became a thorn in the side of the right people, fighting for the scorned underground she came from to be treated with respect by those above. So the girl turned into the champion - so she was set up for a fall.

Abandoned with blood on her hands. Friend turned traitor. The thorn unplucked. A crime worthy of death. She doesn’t talk about it - but when she’s dragged in front of the magistrate, she convinces them to an unusual sentence. She convinces them to let her die trying to bring the dragon down. She’s tough, she can take a beating, and if she succeeds, then she will have repaid the blood debt she’d incurred. They’re desperate enough to agree. And so she rode against the dragon, expecting to die - and somehow succeeds in bringing it down, the left side of her face scarred beyond recognition in return in thanks.

She never returned to Gideon. Never returned to the underground she paced as a youth, and never returned to where she might run into the man who betrayed her again. She wanders from town to town, blade in one hand and a bottle of rum in the other, trying to find a new meaning between booze, fights, sex.

Identity

Full Name: Breina Eletta Rivlin

Occupation: Mercenary

Nicknames: Bree

Aliases: Verse Dependent

Sexuality & Gender

Sex at Birth: Female

Gender: Agender

Pronouns: She/They

Romantic Orientation: Panromantic

Sexual Orientation: Pansexual

Libido: High

Physicality

Body Type: Muscular, lean

Height: 163cm / 5’ 4"

Weight: 57 kg / 8st  11lbs (126lbs)

Eyes: Grey-green

Hair: Chestnut brown, 2c texture (Coarse Wavy)

Piercings: Yes

Scarring: Yes

Tattoos: No

BACKGROUND

Social Class: Lower Class

Basic Education: Varied

Higher Education: No

Biological Parents: Rivka Bethlin, Sebastien “Bastien” Du Val (Unknown, presumed dead)

Siblings: Taron (Known), Cera, Aaron, and Thomas (Unknown)

Adoptive Parents: Gideon Dressler

Pets: 4 dogs: Scout (Cane Corso), Hunter (King Shepard), Thane (Leonberger), and Captain (Pomeranian)

PERSONALITY PROFILE

BASE PERSONALITY: Stubborn, Loyal, Brave, Sarcastic, Enthusiastic, Tough, Skeptical, Angry.

JUNG: ESTP(Se - Ti - Fe - Ni - Improvisor Subtype)

MORALITY/PHILOSOPHY: Path of Liberty (Chaotic Good)

[jp-hunsecker]

The Last Valley Movie Review

The Last Valley is set in the German countryside during the Thirty Years' War (1618-1648), a conflict originally motivated by religious differences that soon became mainly political (if there’s any difference at all). Vogel (Omar Sharif), a former teacher constantly running from the ravages of war, discovers a village hidden in an idyllic valley; unfortunately for him, the Captain (Michael Caine) and his band of mercenaries — which includes Lutherans, Calvinists, and Anabaptists (“pagans”, “blasphemers,” “Satan worshipers”, and “worse;” i.e., Catholics) — arrive at the same time. To save himself, and the village, from looting, pillaging, and rape by the soldiers, Vogel persuades the Captain to camp there and forget about war, famine, and, of course, the plague, for the winter. Using Vogel as a mediator, the Captain brokers a truce with the population, agreeing to protect the people of the valley in exchange for food, shelter, and concubines; in a scene brimming with religious satire, the Captain manipulates the local Catholic priest into giving, or better yet, selling the chosen women a “public blessing … full remission of past and future sins” (I’m reminded me of the bishop in The Baby of Mâcon preemptively pardoning hundreds of rapists). Another great scene belongs to Sharif; the Captain has moved a conspicuous “Our Lady” altar to a less conspicuous location in the valley, incurring the wrath of the aforementioned priest and other Catholics (including, ironically, those under the Captain's orders). In order to preserve the fragile peace, Vogel comes up with a story about a dream he had the night before in which “a regiment of soldiers came riding under a full moon. They were huge and wicked, and they faced the altar. But as they watched, the shrine disappeared. So the soldiers went on their way to Rheinfelden and never came back." Writer/director James Clavell provides the Captain and Vogel with romantic interests, but the only relationship that matters is the love/hate bromance between the cynical military man and the scrupulous ex-teacher. On the other hand, Clavell puts the Tyrolean locations to great use; the titular valley, photographed in all its splendor by John Wilcox, delivers in spades the Arcadia that the script promises.

[authortobenamedlater]

(Send me two characters romantic or platonic and I’ll write a little fic)

@christian-latte-anon​ I did both prompts!

This is a literal shower thought that became a fic, LOL. It can be MWAS or canon, shippy or not. Reader’s choice!

20. “You can borrow mine”

Cadet Chyler Silva turned off the shower. She might have taken a little longer than she should have, but it was close enough to lights out that she wasn’t worried about incurring anyone’s wrath. Her muscles ached from the PT session and her face felt raw from the sweat she’d just scrubbed away.

Get used to it, the freshman told herself. She pulled the curtain aside.

The second Chyler stepped out, the curtain in the stall next to hers shut abruptly.

“I…hello?” Chyler tried.

“Uh, it’s OK,” a male voice came from the stall. “You go ahead.”

“I didn’t think anyone else was in here,” Chyler said. She reached for her towel—

—only to find it wasn’t there.

Oh, no. “Shoot,” Chyler sighed.

“Everything all right?” The disembodied voice called again.

“Yes—I mean, no.” Chyler felt decidedly stupid and exposed standing in the middle of the shower room naked and dripping. “I forgot my towel.”

“Oh. Um.” Disembodied Voice’s hand emerged from behind the shower curtain. “You can borrow mine.” The hand pointed at the standard-issue white towel hanging from the hook.

Chyler gave her new acquaintance a quizzical look he couldn’t see. “What are you going to do?”

“I’ll figure something out.”

“All right.” Chyler took the towel and backed into her stall to dry off. “Thank you.” She thought for a moment. “Hey, what’s your name?”

“Tom.”

“Lasky?”

“Yeah.”

Thought so. “You’re in my squad.” Chyler squeezed the ends of her hair into the towel.

“Hastati?” Tom asked.

“Uh-huh.” Chyler stepped out and pulled on her T-shirt and sweatpants and wrapped the towel around her hair. “You know, how about I go get you the towel I left in my room?” 

She heard Tom shuffle. “That would be great.”

Chyler stifled a giggle. “Well, then, I’ll be right back.” She slid her feet into her shower shoes and started for the door.

“I’ll be right here.”

Chyler turned back to look at Tom—or rather, the shower curtain acting as his placeholder. “How do you know I’m not going to play a trick on you and leave you stranded?”

“I just do.”

The way he said it gave Chyler a feeling she couldn’t describe. It was like Tom had known he could get pranked and also intuited that she wasn’t going to do so. 

“I’ll…” Chyler swallowed. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.” She exited to the barracks.

“Thanks, Chyler.”

Chyler was halfway back to the showers, towel in hand, before she remembered she’d never told Tom her name.

Laskey x Chyler, 18 or 20

(Send me two characters romantic or platonic and I'll write a little fic)

I seem to be taking my own sweet time answering these, haha.

@mrtobenamedlater this is very much taken from us!

18. "Here, drink this. You'll feel better."

“Here, drink this. You’ll feel better.”

Tom slid his hand just far enough down his face to see his wife standing in front of him holding a tumbler of scotch.

“Come on,” Chyler prompted.

Tom puffed a sigh and took the proffered glass. “Thanks,” he said tonelessly. He took a sip from his glass without really tasting anything.

Chyler sat on the couch next to him. Tom’s disinterest morphed into dull curiosity as his peripheral vision caught her pouring a second tumbler. “What are you doing?”

“What’s it look like I’m doing?”

Tom squinted at her. Chyler rarely touched alcohol, and certainly never hard liquor. “You hate scotch.”

“You know what I hate more?” Chyler screwed the cap back on the bottle. “Your moping.”

“I do not mope,” Tom grumbled.

Chyler scoffed. “Yes, you do.”

“I do not!” Tom protested.

“Exactly what would you call this, then?”

“Thinking.”

“A fine example of a distinction without a difference.” Chyler tucked a leg under herself and sat back. “You are moping, Thomas James Lasky, and I’m not putting up with it sober.”

Tom let the conversation drop. He’d been on the losing end of enough arguments for one day. He took another drink. At least she got the good stuff.

He held the scotch on his tongue for a moment and frowned. Chyler had gotten the really good stuff. Tom looked through the glass at the bottle on the coffee table.

“Hey. Wait a second.” Tom grabbed the bottle and noticed the telltale blue tint. “Johnnie Walker Blue Label?”

Chyler paused mid-sip. “Yes…?”

“Honey, do you know how expensive Blue Label is?”

Chyler swallowed. “No?” She lowered her glass to her lap. “It’s good.”

“It should be!”

“I didn’t know,” Chyler said apologetically.

Tom squeezed her hand. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I was just a little surprised.” He made himself smile at her. “Impressively good choice from she who never touches liquor.”

“So how much is Blue Label?” Chyler asked.

“A lot.”

“Didn’t you buy it?”

“Actually, no.” Tom’s lips twitched into a small smile. “Parangosky gave it to me when I got assigned here.” He took a swig. “Guess it pays to be ONI’s head spook.”

“Parangosky?”

“Yup.” Tom gazed at the amber liquid. “She said I’d need it.”

“You didn’t go through it the first week?”

“Del Rio wasn’t all bad, Chy,” Tom said.

“Hm.” Chyler leaned onto his arm. “Well, Parangosky might have been an old battle-axe and a war criminal," she squeezed his hand, "but she sure did know the good stuff when she saw it.”

Tom’s breath hitched at Chyler’s double meaning. “Thanks, hon.”

Chyler sipped her drink again. “Oh, I really like this, Tom.”

“All right then, there’s not much left.” Tom grabbed the bottle. “Help me kill it.” He refilled Chyler’s tumbler. “Just go slow, or it’s gonna kill you.”

“Noted,” Chyler laughed softly.

Tom shifted on the couch to look at her. “You know, I think Parangosky and I are more alike than I knew.”

“I knew it; you've been a closet war criminal all these years.”

Tom wrapped his arm around his wife and kissed her forehead. “I know the good stuff when I see it, too.”