#i ate too many crisps

[lesleyherogirl]

Ooouuuurgh my tummy hurts

[envy-of-the-apple]

Fun Sized

Dark!Fairy!Gojo Satoru x reader

Word Count: 2k

Synopsis: You save a tiny fairy. Gojo Satoru decides that you and him belong together, regardless of how little he is and how little you think of him. 

(Warnings: Yandere, not many warnings in this one ngl)

The fae are a dangerous bunch. You've heard more than enough stories to be spooked. Sirens will sing beautiful songs before dragging you into the depths. Dragons will burn you to a crisp before a second's thought. Nagas would make sure you were alive until the very end as they feast on your organs. Centaurs would use their powerful legs to stomp yours to mere twigs. Driders would suck your blood until there's nothing left but a husk of your body. 

You've never heard anything about fairies. They didn't live in your region. Their lands were high in the mountains, where humans rarely traveled. Also, they were so tiny, according to the books. The biggest seemed to be barely the size of your hand. They were harmless, you concluded. Harmless to humans. Harmless to you. 

He had been harmless. At first, you thought it was a cluster of leaves in the stream, but as the current drew it closer, you noticed tiny arms and a tiny face. He was unconscious; you didn't even know if the poor thing was alive. 

The Fae are a dangerous bunch, but saving one tiny fairy couldn't hurt, right? 

Your guest quickly proved to be a bigger hassle than you initially thought. 

When you brought him to your cottage, he laid in a basket of warm linen, asleep for hours near the warm fireplace. The blueberry pie was still hot when you turned around and caught him staring at you. 

It was silent for a while, and then you said: 

"Do you like sweets?" 

That's how your tentative friendship with the other kind started. Gojo Satoru (you later learned his name) was a boisterous thing. He did in fact like sweets, which helped bribe his friendship. You're surprised that he ate so much despite his stature. Did all faires have black holes for stomachs? 

He healed up rather quickly. At first, you were afraid that his wings had crumbled due to the prolonged exposure to water. But after stuffing himself full of the blueberry syrup, he smiled widely before flitting out your window. 

You thought that would be the end of it, but then he just came coming back. 

Apparently, your baking skills left an impact on the small creature. He didn't visit often, but when he did, you would always make sure you had something. Whether it be cookies, brownies, or that blueberry pie he was so fond of. Anything was good enough for Gojo's taste palette. 

"In the fae lands," Gojo said when you prodded, "sweets are too sweet. Yours is just enough."  You weren't too sure what he meant by that, but you took it as a compliment. You were sure the fae wasn't something who'd give praises so easily. 

It's not like you were upset at providing food for your tiny friend. Quite the contrary. You loved it when Gojo visited. You found him fascinating, the way he could fly miles and miles above your head. How tiny he was. The amount of times you had to hold yourself back from squishing him between your fingers because of how cute he was scared you. 

And you hoped you were fascinating enough to entertain Gojo. You had to be; you don't know why else he'd keep coming back. Even after gobbling down your cooking, he'd lounge around your home, entertaining you with his stories. You learned of the other magical creatures he was in contact with, the students he taught, and how fond he was of them. You don't know why he was so open about sharing his personal life with you, in the stories fae hated humanity, but you would never complain. 

It doesn't click as to why Gojo's so invested in you until he comes out and says it himself. 

"Instead of me coming back and forth like this, why don't you just come live with me?" He says, "I would cut down my flying time by a lot." 

You stare at him in amusement, sure he's joking. "I'm not sure how I'd fit in your house." You tease. "I'd probably crush all your furniture." 

"I can make my house bigger." He announces. "Don't worry 'bout it, just say yes." 

You stare at him, slowly realizing that he isn't as amused. He's still smiling, but there's no joke. 

"No," you finally say, "I'm not doing that." 

He cocks his head surprised as though he's never had someone reject him before. 

"What?" He asks, "Why not?"

"Well." You clear your throat. "For one, I'm human, and you're a fairie. I don't think Fae would appreciate a human wandering around in their lands." 

"Who cares about all that?" Gojo waves his hands around. "You'll be with me, anyways. It'd be fine." 

"I don't get why you're so fixated on the human realm." His mouth turns into a sneer. "It's all so boring. Nothing ever happens. And our magic is much more advanced than yours." It's true. You can't disagree with that. Satoru didn't wear clothes made out of leaves or vines, unlike the common fairy stereotype. His clothing looked much more advanced compared to your loose cotton dresses. A black shirt with intricate buttons and long sleeves. Along with black trousers. You wonder what material could make his suit so shiny. 

You laugh at his disgust. At that time, you saw Gojo as a tiny child clutching their mother's skirts, a cute puppy. You hadn't yet taken Gojo Satoru as the threat he was. 

"It's because I am human." You say, not offended by his remarks. "So I like being near other humans." 

He groans as though your logic makes no sense. "Yuji and the others ask about you all the time, though. They've been dying to meet you." 

"You talk to your students about the giant that cooks for you? I'm flattered." 

"You're dodging," he warns. You roll your eyes. 

"Satoru, I'm not coming to live with you. It'd be too much of a hassle." You finally say. "Besides, you're not my type." 

"I'm everyone's type." He argues. 

"Not mine." You smile, and then you make your first blunder. 

"I like my men a little taller." 

He stiffens, and you know you said the wrong thing. Your smile fades as does the cheery energy in your cottage. He says nothing, but he's zipping out your window before you can apologize. 

He doesn't return for the longest time. You count the weeks. Guilt weighs on your shoulders, heavy and burdensome. Every day you bake something even tastier than the day before. Not even that is enough to coax him back. 

You think you've lost him forever, when he returns on one sweltering summer evening. 

"Hi." You blink. He's watching you, sitting idly on the window, kicking his tiny feet. 

"Hi." He smiles. 

You're happy enough to grab him with one fist and hugging him to your chest, but as always, you stop yourself. Instead, a shy smile rests on your face. 

"I'm sorry," you say, "I really am...will you accept an apology pie?" 

He grins wider, and you relax. 

He eats, and you're grateful. Something you once cherished in your life has finally come back to you. You might not return Gojo's feelings, but you still care for him. You'd rather die than ever hurt him again. 

"No, you're right." Gojo surprisingly concedes when you apologize for the third time. "We're too different. It'd never work out. Not as the way you are, right now." 

You nod, grateful he's so understanding. "Exactly." 

He's finishing up when he announces he brought you a gift. 

"I've been working on it for the past few weeks," he cheerily says. "It took a while, but it's finally safe for human consumption." 

He takes out a tiny glass bottle filled with something swirling and blue. When he asks you to bring a glass of water, you acquiesce. To your astonishment, when the elixer is poured, the entire water becomes a swirling mass of a color comparable to none other than galaxies. You're so mesmerized by the color, it's enough to stump your voice. 

"For you!" He declares. "You've always been cooking for me; thought I might return the favor, just this once." 

"What is it?" You ask, amazed by the color. You admire the glance, unaware of the glint in Gojo's eye. 

"It's kinda like the wine you have in the mortal realms, but a little less poignant." He gives when you glance at him. "Go on, tell me what you think?" 

You're too trusting, and so you make your second blunder. 

Once you start, you can't seem to stop. The taste is otherworldly, addicting. You drink and drink, not wasting a single drop. You're breathing heavily once the cup detaches from your lips. 

"Amazing." You say before looking at him. His eyes are too wide, but you're too distracted by the taste still on your tongue. "Seriously, what was that? Can I make it here?" 

He scratches the back of his head. "Not really, the ingredients are pretty hard to find." He shrugs. "Besides, it's supposed to be a one-time use." 

Your eyebrows twist, and then the world sinks. 

You're falling. You think you are. You don't really know. Everything feels like it's stretching. The walls of your tiny little cottage get higher and higher and higher. The floor gets more and more warped. You're sinking, sinking through the air. When you scream, nothing comes out. You feel like you're choking because you can't breathe, and then your vision grows black. 

The next time you open your eyes. It's still dark, and to your horror, you realize you're buried underneath something. 

You panic, clawing and tearing your way out. The material gives away easily. It's fabric. Cotton. But there was so much, an undying ocean of fabric. You lift yourself up from the pile and that's when you realize you're completely naked. 

The mountain of cotton you just climbed to the top of was your old dress. 

Everything was gigantic—the table, the chairs. The windows seemed endless. The ceiling looked miles above you, and you know what happened, but your brain can't formulate it because it can't be—it just can't be.

There's a flutter of wings. You always thought he was so quiet before. Now, he's all you can hear. Immediately, you wrap your body with the cloth. It's hard to keep still; your body is buzzing with nerves and you still can't understand. You have to force yourself to look at him.

You don't know why you expected shock, guilt, something other than the pure manic glee on his face. Satoru towers above you, head tilted. He bends down, cupping your trembling face in his hand because he's big enough to do that now. 

"Just when I thought you couldn't get any more adorable." He coos. 

You can see him now. His skin isn't pale, it's borderline translucent. His canines are sharp and pointy. And his eyes. Oh God you've never seen eyes so terrifying before—an endless mass of blue, threatening to swallow you whole. 

He wasn't a cute little fairy. He was anything but that. 

"Gojo..." You start, heart squeezing. "What did you do.." 

You know. He knows. That's why he ignores your question entirely. 

"I'm surprised it worked." He says, mainly talking to himself. "Shoko said it might be a dud, and she was so sure of it, that I mostly believed her." 

"But now look at you!" He roughly pinches your cheek. "You're the perfect size now." 

"Stop." You blubber, pushing his hand off of you. "Don't touch me. Change me back. Change me back." 

He frowns. "Why would I do that? You being human-sized was always such a hassle. Lumbering around. Way too loud. Don't get me wrong, I adore you either way." He proclaims like it's something benevolent. "But this has its charm."

He leans forward, and you scuddle backward in fear. His grin widens. 

"So, am I tall enough for you, now?" 

[jarofstyles]

could u please do a quick lil fluffy one about heavily pregnant y/n and harry at an event like maybe an award after party or something? and her just not feeling great so he takes her home and they have a cute little cozy night in and just him taking care of her

Yes I can, sweet dove!

Check out our Patreon!

-----

"Y'alright?" His voice was quiet, but loud enough for her to hear over the loud chatter and music. His eyes were vigilant on her the entire night and he could visibly see her start to wilt a little bit in the last few minutes.

When she had agreed to go to the show with him, she hadn't anticipated how tiring it would be. How many people she would speak to, how many people would want to touch her belly. The congratulations had been so, so lovely- but if one more person touched her, Y/N would probably cry.

But this was Harry's event, his work, and she wasn't about to risk anything by complaining. She used to attend everything- the rehearsals and late night shows and signings, but with the arrival of their first baby looming over them and the trials and tribulations of a first time pregnancy, Y/N had been down for the count for a bit.

She did well, all things considered. She had stayed active and ate as well as she could -though the powder sugar mini donuts, sprite and salty French fries sprinkled with sugar had been her weaknesses- and ultimately had a smooth pregnancy. However, nearing the end now, her hormones were shot, her body ached, and her feet were swollen.

Sucking it up all night, she had kept a nice face and leaned into Harry's embrace. His hand had rested protectively over her bump, the swollen stomach his pride and joy as well as his most worried about asset, and he had been a doting father to be all night- but she didn't want to ruin anything for him.

It was nearing 1 in the morning, though, and she was shot. Preparations had begun at noon, making it more than 12 hours of hustle and bustle. Y/N craved mint chip ice cream, crisps, and the couch.

"Feet are swelling." Her response was mumbled into his shirt, but she knew he would understand. "Feels like m'standing on needles."

"Darling." His concerned tone matched the cute little furrow of his brow, making her smile. "Should have said something earlier."

"Didn't want to interrupt. This is work, and I got to eat my sweets earlier." That had been part of the incentive, as well as the goody bag. It was wild what people would send celebrities that could easily afford all the products, but Y/N was a woman who took what she could get!

"You're more important than the lot of them. Our son is napping well inside your stomach." He shook his head. "Cmon. We can go home, let me just say goodbye."

"Kay. Can we get my foot spa out when we get home?" She asked as she followed him to grab their coats. He had gotten her one that heated the water and acted like a mini jacuzzi for her aching feet and it had been one of her favorite things ever.

"Course. I'll get the nice smelling lotion and rub them after, hm? Need you comfortable too. Did you want to stop and get some chips?" His thoughtfulness made her tear up, sniffling before she cursed the hormones. This was common and irritating but she couldn't help it.

"Y-You read my mind. Milkshake too?" She peeped, wide, teary eyes looking up at him with hope. No good fast food run was complete without it.

"As if I could say no to you, my darling." A kiss was pressed against the side of her head as he called for the valet. "Your wish is my command."

[nb-octopus-writes]

once you’re in the hive, the other bees assume you’re supposed to be there

[Masterpost]

Chapter 3: A Series of Unintended Events

Wordcount: 1.3K

~~~~

The pancakes are delicious, light and fluffy. Virgil only has two, because he did already have cereal and unlike Remus his stomach is not a bottomless pit into which he can pour an unending stream of nutrients. But they're delicious, and he's glad Calico convinced him to try a bit.

After breakfast, Virgil helps with the dishes because Remus still isn't up yet, and neither is Janus—probably still curled around him like a hot water bottle—and he has nothing better to do.

Princey meanders in after him, and despite having just demolished an entire stack of pancakes and a decent amount of scrambled eggs, starts rooting around in the fridge. He emerges with a plastic-wrapped plate of tiny pumpkin pies and leans against the counter to eat them directly off the platter, clearly pleased that the party having ended means he can have the leftovers.

“So you're the reason the chinese buffet has a twenty plate limit,” Virgil teases after Princey eats several in a row without pausing. Virgil had a few of those tiny pies last night, so he knows they're good, but Princey is absolutely chowing down on them.

“Hey, that was not my fault!” Princey protests. “Besides, a place that calls itself ‘all you can eat’ shouldn't even have a limit.”

“It shouldn’t,” Virgil agrees. “But I've never hit the limit myself, so I thought it was reasonably high. I suppose that a buffet operating in the same town as twin black holes would need to be cautious to protect their profit margins though. How much did you two pack away before they asked you to stop?”

“Wouldn't you like to know, weather boy,” Princey says. “Anyway, it really wasn't us.”

“No?”

Princey sighs. “No, Count Woe-laf,” he says. He is just too much fun to tease. “If my father is to be believed, it was actually him and a couple of his college buddies.”

Virgil laughs. “Oh, so it's definitely genetic, then!”

Princey chuckles, popping the last tiny pie into his mouth and setting the plate on the counter. Virgil takes it and rinses it off so he can put it in the dishwasher with the others. “Yeah. Dad says they absolutely cleared out the seafood section, and most of the mac and cheese, and ate a sizable portion of pretty much everything else. If you get him going, he'll give you a very long and probably quite embellished retelling of the many courses they had. They never got kicked out, but the next time they went, they were told that there was now a limit to just how much they could eat.”

“Ah, alas,” Virgil says. “I bet it was a fabulous feast, though.” He finishes loading the dishwasher and checks under the sink for soap. They have pods, which is very convenient for measuring, or rather for not having to do that. He pops one in and turns the machine on.

“So, if I'm Count Olaf antagonizing you, which Baudelaire does that make you?” he asks. “Not bookish Klaus, surely. Maybe Sunny? I think she could demolish a plate as quickly as you, though her small stomach wouldn't have the same capacity.”

Princey's eyes light up and he leans forward. Instead of answering the banter, he says meaningfully, “I have the full series on dvd.”

“I'm not doing anything right now,” Virgil says. Princey beams.

“Great! I'll make popcorn!”

~

They have a dedicated home theater. The tv is large, the seats are comfortable, and the speakers are crisp and clear without being too loud. Princey made a bucket of popcorn for each of them, and Virgil isn't very hungry right now considering he very recently had breakfast, but he munches idly on it as they watch, and comment, and theorize. Princey is fun to watch tv with, and doesn't mind Virgil talking while they watch.

They're in the middle of an episode when Remus appears in the doorway.

“Hey Emo,” says Remus. “I gotta get home and feed my cat before she figures out how to unlock the front door and hunts me down. I was gonna take you home on the way, but it looks like you're in the middle of something.”

Virgil considers. He looks at the screen, where Lemony Snicket is explaining that if you're allergic to something, it's generally best not to put that thing in your mouth, especially if the thing you are allergic to is a cat. He looks back at Remus. “You swear you'll come back for me?”

“On my favorite dildo and Janus's two cocks,” Remus says with feeling, and Virgil can't help the chuckle that escapes him.

“I'll be okay,” he says. “Go get Diesel Fuel her lunch.”

Remus salutes him and disappears.

They finish the episode and Remus hasn't come back yet, so they go on to the next one. During the theme song though, Nerdbot appears to inform them that they too need to eat lunch.

Virgil thought Princey might protest, given how invested he's been, but he pauses the show and gets up. “C’mon, Tall Dark and Stormy,” he says to Virgil. “If we skip lunch to watch tv all day we get a lecture about why proper nutrition is important.”

“You do,” Nerdbot confirms. “Points of note include the necessity of proteins and vegetables in addition to carbohydrates.”

“Is popcorn a vegetable?” Virgil asks.

Nerdbot raises an eyebrow. “It is a carbohydrate, actually. It is also primarily air.”

It seems that all the other guests have gone home, so it's just the four of them now. The table is back to its smaller size, and Princey has Virgil sit at the corner beside him, so they can keep talking. Nerdbot sits on Virgil’s other side, and Calico sits at the head, across from Princey.

Lunch is baked chicken and a vegetable dish that Virgil doesn't really expect to like, but he takes a polite spoonful anyway because he's sure Nerdbot is capable of a very powerful ‘eat your vegetables’ lecture, and he doesn't feel like hearing it right now.

The vegetables do not taste bad. Virgil’s not sure why he's surprised anymore considering everything he's eaten in this house so far—with the possible exception of the cereal, which doesn't count—but the vegetables are the opposite of bad.

“Why are you such a good cook,” Virgil says to Calico, who brightens. “I need to come eat your food more often.”

“He has a magical tongue,” Princey says, making heart eyes across the table at him.

Calico blushes slightly (not nearly as deeply as he had last night) and clarifies, “I'm very good at tasting, and I have a lot of practice combining flavors. I'm also not afraid of fats and salt, and that helps.”

Virgil has two servings.

Remus still isn't back yet when they finish lunch, and Virgil is starting to get concerned.

Don't forget me, he texts, and goes into the room with the couches to wait.

This couch really is comfortable. And Virgil got barely any sleep last night, between staying up late and waking up so fucking early, and also probably never actually falling into a deep sleep at all since there were other people in the room. And his stomach is full and warm. And the couch is so comfortable. 

He barely has time to notice how heavy his eyelids are becoming.

~

Virgil wakes, briefly. The room is dark. Someone has covered him with a blanket. He finds his phone and checks it. There's a message from Remus, about half an hour after Virgil’s last text.

came to get you but you were very asleep, it says. text me when youre awake and wanna go home

Attached is a selfie, with Virgil in the background passed out on the couch.

Virgil groans. fucker, he texts back, and falls back asleep.

~~~~

Chapter 4: The Second Morning

[letters-from-ikemen]

A series of small letters

Found on Mitsuhide’s desk tied with a red ribbon…

They say curiosity killed the cat, but what does it do to a Little Mouse? My my, what did you suspect when you spotted this scroll on top of my desk. Did you hesitate, unsure whether to open it? Did you wait, breath held, for me to return?

Are you now looking around wondering how I knew you would open this mysterious correspondence?

It’s a game, Little One. Your search begins!

Served alongside a bowl of seafood …

Too easy? Perhaps, perhaps not. But I have ensured that you ate a warm meal on this crisp day, and if I wrote them down, my feelings would warm your cheeks to a blush. I won’t enumerate them here. That charming look on your face is not for Masamune’s view.

A letter handed over by Hideyoshi …

Little Mouse, the things I subject myself to for your comfort. Hideyoshi was not pleased that I sent you all over Azuchi, but I assured him I have a good reason. Even so, I would not be surprised if you had to listen to him disparage my character. And though your ears might be ringing, you’re likely rested enough to seek out another letter.

Found underneath a stack of military treatises …

Strategy comes in many forms, does it not? The sun is close to setting, and I expect you took pity on Mitsunari and arranged his book piles in such a way as to avoid him being crushed by an avalanche. While the little mouse has been away, the fox has been…

Delivered in person, for you to read while enjoying a relaxing massage…

Welcome home my love,

You’ve been working so hard, I wanted you to enjoy a day off, visit with friends, and bask in lovely weather. Had I suggested that you take a break, you might have nodded… and then forgotten to do so as you became engrossed in your work.

You were away from home long enough for me to set the scene for a quiet evening together. Quiet, apart from a bit of teasing. I have not forgotten that this entire adventure began when you could not resist opening my correspondence.

Perhaps, also, there was a sinister reason for my game. This hunt ensured your mind was on me all day… as mine was on you. Little Mouse, you are always at the center of my thoughts, even while I go about my tasks.

Mitsuhide

a letter for anon, thank you for the request!

About this blog || Request Rules

[milequaritchsslut]

His sun girl

Summary: He loved you, but he had to let out at some time…

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x Dead Reader

Warnings: Alcoholism, death, blacking out, crying, depression, isolation, sadness, loneliness

He sat in his room most days, alone with his thoughts and the dim lighting that he allowed to stay on. He wasn't one to talk about you anymore, you were in the past. But so was he—it was like he was stuck without you. Almost like someone paused his movie and never turned it back on after you died. Yeah that's what it felt like—just that. He had no control over moving on or staying put in his agony. It wasn't like he wanted to move on either, he was ok with sulking and rotting away in his apartment alone.

He loved looking at your pictures—it gave him some sense of comfort, knowing that he still had small pieces of you with him. He loved you more then you could've ever known, he adored everything you did. Even when you weren't so amazing, when you would come home drunk and yell at him. You had promised that you would've stopped—he begged you to keep that promise. But like they say once a cheater—always a cheater. And sadly you led yourself to your own demise, you had one too many shots that night. Collapsing to the ground and laying unconscious—he rushed to the hospital when the paramedics called him. Worry and sorrow filling him as he realized he was too late—you left him before he could even say goodbye.

He sobbed into his hands-falling to his knees next to your hospital bed. Tears streaming down his rosy cheeks and staining his clothing. His heart was smashed onto the ground, the pieces scattering and spread around the room.

It seemed his world was taken from him that day-what had he done so wrong? All he ever did was love and care for you gave you all he had left in him. But it seemed it was your time, time to let you go—even though he desperately didn't want to. But that wasn't really his choice was it? No it certainly wasn't—so he didn't move on. He stayed put—replaying that day in his head for the last 7 months and crying and wailing for you to come back and just let him tell you how much he loves you. That's all he really asked for—was that he could've just told you how much he loved you.

That he would've torn the sun from the sky itself if it would've made you happy-or maybe you wanted a scorching hot star? He would've flown into space and grabbed one—letting it burn his hands to a crisp, but that would've been ok. Because it was for you, and if it made you happy then his pain didn't matter.

He remembers that you liked the sun, you bathed in it every day. Even when you got sunburnt you still went out and enjoyed it -he called you his sun girl. You acted like the sun too-always so ready for the next day and excited. You were the brightest star in his sky—the only one really. You were the reason he got up in the morning and the reason he had a smile on his face. The second you left-so did that smile, that smile you loved so much and adored. He lived in anquish and sorrow now-no light shining through his life. Nobody saw him smile—actually nobody really saw him at all. He never went out—he never ate—he never went on missions—he never did anything. Not without his sun girl

Taglist: @jennieskimichi @addictiontowardstheinternet @rawegggohan @raaaaainn @horror-cassettes @adrunkskeletonsduck @nejirehh @222a1yssa @beiroviski i @lana-4life @ladyfairenvale

[foundtherightwords]

The Hollow Heart - Chapter 1

Pairing: Hellcheer, Gothic AU

Summary: To escape her mother's control and the stifling society of Gilded Age New York, heiress Christabel Cunningham impulsively marries Henry Creel, a charming and seductive stranger, and accompanies him to his remote mansion on the West Coast. There, as Henry grows cold and cruel, Christabel must uncover her husband's sinister secret before it's too late. But can she trust Kas, her husband's enigmatic assistant, who seems to be her only ally in this strange place, or is Kas's loyalty to his master stronger than his attraction to Christabel?

A/N: This was inspired by the moodboard for "Vecna's Bride" by @a-strange-inkling. I saw the title and the Gothic imagery and my imagination just ran wild.

I changed the names to differentiate them from my Regency AU and better fit the Gothic vibe, so Chrissy is now Christabel (after the poem by Coleridge; the fic title and chapter titles are also quotes from the poem) and Eddie is Kas, because I took some inspiration from the D&D lore of Vecna and Kas (big thanks to @waterfallsilverberrywrites for helping me with that!) When I did a poll, the consensus was that Eddie's Gothic name should be Edmund, but... I prefer Kas :P (I already have plans to use Edmund for another AU.)

Chapter warnings: none (but Eddie doesn't appear in this chapter yet... please bear with me)

Chapter word count: 3.9k

Chapter 1 - At the Old Oak Tree

Christabel ran.

In the distance, she could hear the shouts and cheers of the hunting party, the excited barking of the dogs, and the occasional gunshots, cracking sharply in the crisp autumn air. She was not far enough. Lifting her heavy wool skirt above her knees, she pushed deeper into the bushes. The dead leaves from years past formed a soft carpet under her feet, muffling the sound of her steps, while the leaves of this year, despite having turned all shades of gold and crimson on the trees, had not yet fallen, so she need not worry about being discovered from their crunch underfoot. She hoped the party was not headed this way. After all her endeavors to snatch a moment alone, she intended to savor it to its fullest.

Christabel Cunningham hadn't had many opportunities to be alone in her twenty-three years on Earth. The only daughter of a wealthy New York businessman, she had been since birth surrounded by nurses and governesses and servants, who took care of her under the watchful eyes of her mother. Her father had died, quite suddenly, of a heart attack, when Christabel was only a child. Christabel did not miss him. To her, he was but a dim, distant figure, always away on business trips, or holed up in his study when at home, hiding from his wife, leaving Christabel to bear the brunt of her mother's nagging. The sole mark he'd left on Christabel's life was her name, given to her by him in a fit of romanticism, much to the disapproval of Mrs. Cunningham, who preferred classic names like Elizabeth or Catherine or Amelia. His death didn't leave much of a void behind.

Her mother, an ambitious and exacting woman, embittered by her failure to have a son and by becoming a widow so young, had poured all her affection and thwarted dreams upon her daughter, smothering the girl with them. She dictated everything Christabel wore and ate and read and play, and all the friends Christabel made and all the parties Christabel attended had to be approved by her. And so Christabel had grown up with her books and her dolls, lonely but never alone.

In truth, she hadn't been allowed to attend a lot of parties. As she grew up and learned more about her father's will, Christabel discovered a more mercenary side to what she'd once thought was her mother's overprotectiveness. As the trustee of her daughter's inheritance, Mrs. Cunningham could enjoy a lavish lifestyle, a townhouse on Fifth Avenue, a summer cottage in Newport, the latest fashion in her wardrobe and the most luxurious dishes on her table. But as soon as Christabel was married, she would be in charge of her own fortune, and Mrs. Cunningham would be left with half of what she was used to. Christabel believed that to prevent this, her mother would have locked her away forever, like Rapunzel in her tower.

But social standing has its advantages. Afraid of the wagging tongues of the town, the whispers behind closed doors that she was keeping her daughter from society to hold on to her money, Mrs. Cunningham had reluctantly allowed Christabel to make her debut when she came of age. Since then, her days had been filled with balls and theater trips in the winter, tennis matches and yacht races in the summer, giggling friends and fawning suitors, still under the watchful eyes of her mother. It was tedious, but Christabel had endured it because it was better than staying at home, surrounding by the dark walls of her room and feeling her mother's disapproving stare on her at all times. Besides, that was what was expected of all the debutantes. Smile, dance, flirt, ride, sketch or sing a little, play a little piano, speak a bit of French, a bit of German, be amusing but not sarcastic, be vivacious but not feisty, be modest but not withdrawn, and hopefully make an advantageous match, and then have daughters and watch them go through the same thing, over and over again.

Christabel knew she would not break free of this cycle. Her whole life she had been taught to do what she was told, to never question, to never put a foot out of line. But as her own, feeble form of rebellion, she made it a point to refuse every proposal she'd ever received—and there had been plenty of them. With her delicate features, dewy skin, wide blue eyes, and strawberry blonde hair, Christabel always turned heads in every room she walked in. It was true that her nose was slightly upturned and her front teeth were slightly crooked, but these flaws were seen as charming, not defective. And if her manners were at times rather listless and uninterested, well, her inheritance could more than make up for it. So a lot of men had fallen in love with her, or at least with her beauty, or with her money, and had proposed, but she had refused them all.

When Mrs. Cunningham found out about these refusals, Christabel always had a believable reason to convince her mother of her decision—the family had an unpleasant reputation, their fortunes were not equal, or the boy himself did not have a promising enough prospect. Mrs. Cunningham was appeased, for a while, but after two seasons and Christabel remained unmarried, she began to grow uneasy and warned her daughter of the perils of spinsterhood.

To all her admonishment, Christabel said nothing. It wasn't that she wanted to be an old maid for the rest of her life, far from it. But unlike other young women, who dreamed of marriage as a celebration of love or even as a way to further their social connections, Christabel saw it as a means to freedom. And none of the men in her circle could give her that freedom she so thirsted. They all grew from the same stocks, the same root. If she married one of them, she would move in the same circle, lead the same life, beating a tired circle from Manhattan to Newport and back again, perhaps with the occasional trip to Europe, but still seeing the same faces, doing the same thing as everybody else, and never be free of her mother.

For that summer season, Christabel had tried to convince her mother to go to London or Paris, or, if they had to stay, then she was secretly hoping—as hateful as it sounded—to catch the eyes of a European aristocrat, many of whom were flocking to America in search of an heiress to restore their family fortune. Europe would be the ultimate escape. However, her mother disliked traveling, and although Christabel's inheritance was sizeable, it was not large enough to draw the attention of an impoverish earl or baronet.

At least her mother had accepted Mrs. Carver's invitation to their summer mansion in Tuxedo Park for two weeks of English-style country party. There were to be riding and shooting and picnics in the woods, all culminating in a costume ball on All Hallows' Eve. They had just come back from Newport, worn out and looking forward to some quiet days to recover before the winter season, so Christabel had been afraid her mother would refuse, knowing her dislike of the outdoors. But an invitation to the exclusive Tuxedo Park was hard to come by, and when Mrs. Cunningham learned the party was thrown for Mrs. Carver's eldest, Jason, who had just come back from Yale, nothing could have kept her away.

Jason Carver. Christabel sighed. All the debutantes were in love with him, though to Christabel, he had always been just a good friend, nothing more. She'd never imagined he would set his sight on her, not when he was always surrounded by so many other girls. So it had come as a complete shock when, after a dinner party at the Carvers' mansion, Jason had asked to speak to her alone in the gazebo overlooking Tuxedo Lake. There, while the moonlight rippled over the water, turning the surface of the lake into a broken mirror, he had taken Christabel's hands in his and, tremblingly, haltingly, asked her to marry him.

For the first time, Christabel had hesitated.

Jason was one of her few childhood friends her mother had approved of, as the Carvers' Manhattan residence was not far from the Cunninghams'. He had always been kind and attentive to her, and unlike some men, she knew he cared not a jot for her inheritance, since the Carvers was one of the richest and most prominent families in the city. A marriage between her and Jason would send her mother to Heaven.

That was the problem, of course. Christabel never wanted to do anything her mother wished.

"If we are to marry, can we live here?" she'd asked. It sounded as though she had accepted him already, but she didn't care. She looked around at the untamed parkland of the mansion, with the woods surrounding it on all sides and the sparkling lake in the distance. It may not be far enough from her mother, but it would be something.

"Of course!" Jason had said, squeezing her hands. "We'll come here for the summer, and—"

"No, you mistook me. I don't mean for the summer. I mean permanently."

Jason had laughed at that, thinking it was a joke. "We can't possibly live here! I have my business in town, and there's nobody here for half of the year anyway. Why would you want to live here?"

Christabel had tried to say that she wanted to live in Tuxedo Park precisely because there was nobody there for half of the year, but one look at Jason and she knew he wouldn't understand. Nobody would.

"I'm sorry, I can't," she'd said and withdrawn her hands.

She'd half-hoped Jason would try to get her to change her mind, that he would say they could live anywhere as long as they were together, but he had only shaken his head, said, "It's not meant to be then," bowed, and gone back inside, leaving her alone on the shore of that moonlit lake. Of course. No amount of love could be enough to compel a man to throw away his whole life like that, and even if he had made the offer, she couldn't possibly have accepted such a sacrifice. Perhaps it was for the best.

Still, that hadn't stopped things from being rather tense and awkward between them when they set out for the hunt that morning. Christabel had never enjoyed hunting, but she jumped at any chance to be outdoors, to be able to walk and run and move freely without being criticized for not acting ladylike enough. And another reason—her mother, having no interest in hunting and riding, always stayed behind on such occasions. That morning, though, Christabel could feel Jason's mournful eyes on her whenever she turned. She'd only wanted to be alone with her thoughts, but it was difficult when she was surrounded by the hunting party with their guns and dogs and servants. It was only when they came across a flock of partridges and the others' attention was diverted that she managed to slip into the woods.

Now, as she walked through the trees, Christabel pondered her situation. Would it be so bad, being married to Jason? It would at least let her be mistress of her own life... except that life would still be tied to another's. No, if she simply wanted to claim her inheritance, she would've married the first man that proposed and had done with it. This regret was simply because she had started to feel anxious about her future. Could she go on like this until her mother died? Could she live as a spinster, becoming brittle and bitter in her old age, facing the pity and contempt of others? Christabel felt the old, helpless anger toward her father blaze up inside her once more when she thought about the predicament he'd placed her in. What was the use of ensuring no one could touch her inheritance, if she had to saddle herself to a man to claim it?

She passed through the line of trees and came to a clearing on the side of a hill, gently sloping toward a small glen, where an old oak tree spread its cape of gold leaves over a murmuring brook. It seemed something straight out of a Washington Irving story—all that was missing was a covered bridge. Tucking her skirt into the top of her gaiters, Christabel threw her arms over her head and sprinted down the slope, letting the cool air fill her lungs and clear her head.

Near the bottom of the slope, her skirt slipped out of the gaiters and tangled around her legs. Her ankles twisted under her and sent her tumbling down. She rolled head over heels the last few feet before skidding to a stop right by the oak. Luckily, the hill wasn't steep, and her fall had been more embarrassing than painful. She cursed under her breath. When they received Mrs. Carver's invitation, Christabel had begged and begged her mother to let her have a split skirt for the occasion so she could move about with more ease and perhaps even learn to ride a bicycle, as some of her friends had, but Mrs. Cunningham had insisted that her old riding habit, with its long trailing skirt, would do just fine. Christabel shouldn't do much walking or moving about anyway, Mrs. Cunningham had argued. Men wouldn't be interested in overly energetic girls. And as for riding a bicycle, showing off her legs in those newfangled bloomers, like some common hoyden? Forget about it.

"Are you all right, miss?" a voice said somewhere over her head.

Christabel looked up and saw a pair of blue eyes. A man had stepped out from the other side of the oak tree and was looking down at her. She suddenly became aware that she was sprawled on the ground with her skirt hiked up over her knees. She bolted up and pulled her skirt down, face burning crimson.

"Yes, yes, I'm perfectly fine, thank you," she sputtered, struggling to her feet.

Her ankle turned painfully. The man reached out a hand to help her. His grip was firm and strong.

"Thank you." Christabel peered at him more closely. He was dressed for a day out in tweed and stout boots, but with a walking stick, not a gun. "Are you with the Carver hunting party?" she asked, for she did not remember seeing him. He was a little older than Jason and her circle of friends, in his late twenties or early thirties perhaps, tall, with a fine-boned, elegant-looking face. But what startled her the most was his eyes, as clear and blue as the sky above, fixed upon her with an expression of fascination and interest quite unlike anything she'd received from her suitors. She reached a self-conscious hand to her hair, trying to dislodge any dry leaf that may have gotten stuck there.

"Carver? No, no, I'm a guest of Dr. Brenner."

Christabel's eyebrows shot up. Dr. Brenner was an eccentric who had inherited one of the largest fortunes in New York, but rather than continuing to run the family business, he had devoted his time to studies of the occult and other esoteric sciences. Unlike most of the residents of Tuxedo Park, who only kept their mansions here as holiday homes, he lived in a cottage deep in the woods year round, engaging in all sorts of obscure experiments, never interacting much with his neighbors. They tolerated him out of respect for his family name; some saw him as a harmless old fool and even invited him to some of their parties to show him off to their out-of-town friends, much like the ornamental hermits that the English aristocrats of old often kept on their grounds. Unfortunately, the Carvers were not one of these open-minded people, so Christabel had never met Dr. Brenner. She had to admit that she sometimes felt envious of him and the male privileges that allowed him to give up his family business, but not his wealth, and pursue his true passion. Alas, no such luck for her.

And here was this man, claiming to be a guest of the mysterious doctor! Her curiosity was pique immediately.

"Are you?" she asked, with interest. "I didn't know he ever invited anyone here. You must be a man of science or some sort of scholar, for him to allow you to encroach on his solitude. What is your business with him?" Then she colored again, realizing how intrusive her question was. Usually she never allowed herself to behave so casually with a gentleman, but there was something about this man that freed her from the confines of propriety. Or perhaps it was the scene around them, the wild woods and the open sky that had no use for etiquette. Still, the habits of upbringing were hard to shake off, so she cast her eyes downward and murmured, "I beg your pardon. I didn't mean to pry."

"Not at all," the man said with a friendly smile. "As a matter of fact, my family came from this area before it was developed, and Dr. Brenner is helping me to research our history. I'm just looking for the ruins of their village."

"Oh. That sounds very interesting."

"And if there's anyone who must be pardoned," the man continued, "it should be me, for I have been so presumptuous in talking to you without so much as an introduction. You must allow me to make amends, Miss—"

"Cunningham. Christabel Cunningham," she said.

"What an unusual and beautiful name." The man looked into the distance. "The lovely lady, Christabel, whom her father loves so well. What makes her in the wood so late, a furlong from the castle gate?" he recited in his rich, musical voice whose reverberation seemed to reach Christabel's very core.

She laughed to hide her blush. "A very fitting quote. Only it's not so very late, and while the Carver mansion is grand, it is far from a castle," she said. "And I'm simply taking a walk, not praying for my betrothed. In fact"—the noise from the hunting party had ceased, and she realized it must be nearly time for luncheon—"I'm just heading back now."

"And alas, I am no Geraldine," the man said. "But may I accompany you anyway?" He extended an arm toward her.

Christabel hesitated, thinking what her mother would say about walking in the woods with a stranger. But surely, there was no harm in it. The hunting party was not so far away, and she could always tell the truth—that she had gotten hurt, and this man was helping her. She took the proffered arm, and they started walking toward the Carver mansion, not following the route Christabel had, but taking the longer way, along the lakeshore, Christabel hobbling to keep up with the man's long strides. There was a dull ache in her ankle, but she bit her tongue, not wanting to complain.

"I see that you are an admirer of Coleridge, like my father," Christabel said.

"Your father must be a man of great taste then."

Her smile disappeared. "I wouldn't know. He died when I was very little." She caught herself again. Why was she telling this man, whom she met not five minutes ago and whose name she still didn't know, all these things about herself?

"Oh, I am so very sorry." The man took off his cap, revealing longish blonde hair that fell over his forehead in soft curls. His eyes were full of sympathy. "I know how difficult it is, losing one's parents. My own parents—" His voice hitched. "They died when I was very young as well. An earthquake, in San Francisco."

Christabel's heart panged with sympathy. "That must be horrible."

Those brilliant blue eyes dimmed for a moment. "It was."

"So you live in San Francisco?"

"I do, yes."

"What is it like?" she asked eagerly. Outside of Newport and occasionally the Catskills, she had never been anywhere. She had never even left the state of New York.

Before the man could answer, she put her weight on the sore ankle by mistake and let out an involuntary yelp. He turned to her, all solicitous concern. "Have you hurt yourself in the fall?" he asked.

"I must have," she replied reluctantly.

Tucking his cap into a pocket, he knelt down, took her ankle in his hand, and gently turned it this way and that. "Does this hurt?"

"Only a little," she said through gritted teeth.

"Oh, that won't do." He put one arm around her and the other under her knees, scooping her up easily as though she weighed no more than a feather. "I should have noticed sooner," he said. "I'm sorry."

"It's quite all right." Christabel was feeling a little dazed. None of her suitors had ever picked her up like that—indeed, none of them ever touched so much as the hem of her skirt without asking for permission first. She found that she didn't mind being handled, didn't mind the lack of permission-seeking. Nestling against his chest, she glanced shyly up at her gallant rescuer. Despite his slender frame, he was carrying her across the uneven terrain with no effort at all. The sun was shining upon his blonde hair, turning it into a gold helmet, and his blue eyes sparkled as he smiled down at her. She was glad they were taking the longer route.

But all too soon, the shingled walls of the Carver mansion appeared behind the trees, and the hunting party came into view. Christabel was afraid her rescuer would put her down the moment they came upon the others, but if anything, his hold around her seemed to tighten.

"There you are, Christabel," Jason said, stepping forward. "We were about to send out a search party—" His countenance changed upon seeing her in the arms of the stranger. "What happened?"

"Miss Cunningham had a bit of an accident," the man said. "I happened to come across her and took the liberty of escorting her home."

"How fortunate," Jason said, his voice icy. He all but yanked Christabel out of the other man's arms, as though she was a child, or worse, a doll, a toy to be fought over.

"I'm perfectly all right, Jason," Christabel said, fighting to put her feet on the ground. "It's just a sprain."

Jason relented and put her down. Christabel turned to her rescuer, who was replacing his cap on his hat, preparing to go. "Thank you so much," she said. "I hope I haven't delayed you from your quest."

"It was my pleasure. It's not every day a beautiful lady fell from the sky and landed at your feet, is it?"

She couldn't stop a smile from spreading across her face. "I still don't know your name."

"Haven't I told you?" He looked confused.

Christabel frowned, trying to recall. "No, I don't think so."

"Ah." He tipped his cap at her. "Henry Creel, pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"Will I see you again, Mr. Creel?"

He flashed her another of his dazzling smiles. "You can count upon it." Then, with a bow in the general direction of the hunting party, who was staring at him, he turned and disappeared into the woods.

Chapter 2

As usual, if you want to be tagged, drop me a line! Any likes/reblogs/comments will be greatly appreciated, thank you!

[oogaboogasphincter]

would u do a part 2 of after the beep when bunny gets home from work? because it’s very much delicious and i ate it up with a little salt and pepper

Stress Relief | Dieter Bravo x f!reader

🩷 hiii anon! 🥺 i can’t even begin to apologize for how long this took me to get to you, i’m so beyond thankful for your patience <3 i hope i delivered for you! 🫶

After an agitating day, your boyfriend Dieter helps melt all your worries away by delivering on the dirty promises he left in your voicemails earlier that morning.

word count/warnings: 4.9k+ words EXPLICIT 18+ ONLY MDNI! // hurt (reader has a terrible horrible no good very bad day) then comfort, reader and dieter have a verbal argument (in which reader throws a pillow at dieter) but it’s quickly resolved, phone sex mention, dieter threatens to blackmail your boss lol, anal play (f!receiving; fingering, licking), anal sex (f!receiving), masturbation (f), oral (m receiving), recreational drug use (weed, reader and dieter both use but it’s not a factor in their consent), insane amount of pet names (baby, kitty, bunny, sweetheart, sugar, lady, girl) // ao3 link

(this can be read as part 2 to after the beep but it can also be a standalone!)

“Dieter!?”

You shout as you wrench the door open with your rain-slicked hand and kick it closed behind you, leaving a muddy bootprint on the crisp white wood. The roaring thunder fails to drown out your enraged call, but you’re left unanswered nonetheless. The house Dieter is staying at - one of his actor friend’s vacation homes - is darkened by the storm outside and seems to sigh at your anger, upset that you roused it from its storm-induced slumber. But Dieter’s rental car is in the driveway, so you know your boyfriend is here somewhere. You yank your soaked jacket off and don’t bother finding a peg for it, throwing it on the hideous accent chair that probably cost more than your rent. 

Despite the boisterous thunder, the quiet inside swells to an intimidating glower. By now Dieter should’ve come lumbering out of whatever pit of candy wrappers or wrinkled pajamas he plunged himself into, but the air remains undisturbed. You keep your footsteps light as you walk around the unfamiliar house, peeking in and scanning each room for him. 

“Hey, Diets?” you ask another room, devoid of any activity. Your anger has softened now, eaten away by a growing concern of what Dieter could’ve possibly gotten himself into between when you left to go to work this morning and now. You know he was upset that you were leaving, but he always is. Hell, his voice gains a whiney edge when you just want to leave his grizzly embrace for all of thirty seconds to go to the bathroom. He left you those deliciously vile voicemails earlier in the day, detailing exactly what his erotic plans were for you later this evening, but it had been radio silence since then. 

More calls, no answers. Your mind races with options, getting more worrisome as your brain’s overthinking cogs are given more unresolved time to spiral with. Did he go meet up with a friend and forget to text you? Did he get let go of by a project, a studio - god forbid it isn’t his lawyer - and he’s drowning his sorrows with some chosen vice? Did he make one too many wrong friends on one of his many esoteric adventures and they have come back to haunt him? 

You circle back to the living room, taking out your phone to call the friend that owns this house. Maybe Dieter got picked up by them to have drinks and that’s why his rental is still here? You dial the number with a crease in your brow, and as you lift the phone to your ear and it starts to ring, you spot your dastardly lover: dead asleep on the couch, curled into himself. Only his muss of graying curls bobs from the surface of a sea of pillows and blankets with every light snore.

Your rage is rekindled to its fullest extent as a bolt of lightning cracks across the sky outside. You swear you can feel your eye twitch as you stand drenched from head to toe in rain before your dozing boyfriend, swaddled in cozy, dry warmth. 

“Dieter!” You take one of the pillows and lob it at him, hitting him right on the head. You don’t feel bad because you know it didn’t hurt him and it irks you when his eyes burst open, holding his hand to his forehead like it did. He blinks slowly, his eyelashes sticking together with sleep as he mumbles quietly, “What the fuck?” Then his eyes - those irritatingly gorgeous puddles of melted chocolate - widen when they take you in. His expression morphs into compassion and he shakes the blankets off, stumbling to his feet with lingering drowsiness.

“Bunny, what happened?” he asks, reaching for your arms to hold you. You take a step back from him, still steaming with anger. You get even more irritated when you feel the hot tears that prick your eyes every goddamn time you get upset. Stifling them back, you straighten your back and unleash your anger. 

“What happened? What happened is that I stayed late at work, even though my boss was being a fucking asshole, and when I went to leave, my car battery died, and since I stayed late, everyone else had already left, and my boyfriend didn’t answer my fucking calls!” You jab a finger into the air, aiming at his chest. “So I had to leave my car at work because no tow or rental company would help me, and I walked here in the fucking pouring-down rain!” 

You turn on your heel and slip against the marble floor, which you honestly should’ve seen coming but you’re too irate to think rationally right now. Dieter reaches his arms out again, wanting to steady you, but you beat him to it and stomp away angrily. With your face hidden from his sight now, you let your tears silently flow down your cheeks and blend with the fat raindrops on your neck. Dieter follows behind you, quickening his pace to match yours and subsequently slides in his slippers in your wet wake. He tries to get you to stop, sympathetically calling out to you by name. 

You beeline for the bedroom and lunge into the adjoining bathroom. Just as Dieter catches up to you, he’s pleading, “Bunny, wait, just let me-” 

You shut the door in his face and lock yourself in, leaning your back against it and crying into the darkness. You let yourself sob out loud, releasing all the pent up anger, frustration, sadness and shame you’ve been holding in all day and that hit its climax when you started arguing with Dieter. 

Your sweet, beloved boyfriend. 

The two of you haven’t officially labeled yourselves as of yet, but you know it’s more than the booty calls it began as. You… care about him. You never thought you’d see the snarky, charming jerk as anything but. However, over the past two and a half years you’ve shared a bed with him (among various other furniture and locations), he’s revealed a soft vulnerability that you were convinced he faked in order to come off to the public as empathetic, intellectual. But he’s the real deal; all those philosophical musings, whether fueled by questionable substances or not, were spoken from his heart. That four letter word that scares the daylights out of you both rings in your head, but you can’t bring yourself to say it. 

Just because you don’t have the wherewithal to vocalize your feelings right now, it only serves to engorge the guilt you have for shutting Dieter out, both literally and figuratively. He’s only trying to help you, trying to provide a safe space for you to lash out, cry, or forget about your grievances, like he always does. With a sniffle and a deep sigh, you open the door and jump a little when he’s standing right there; he was waiting for you to be ready. He never left. 

His genuine care for you makes your eyes well up and flood again, your voice hoarse as you begin, “I-I’m sorry, I just…”

Dieter holds his hand up in a sign of peace and softly interjects when you trail off, “Hold on. Before you say anything more, sweetheart, know that you have nothing to apologize for.”

Your last bit of resolve is blown to smithereens and you practically fall into his arms, where he catches you and envelopes you in his warmth. Openly sobbing again into his chest, Dieter presses his warm mouth against your temple and just holds it there for a moment, letting his touch calm you as he caresses your damp hair away from your face. When your spluttering gasps subside, he speaks quietly and compassionately, “I’m the sorry one. I had the balls to bother you earlier, knowing you were stressed and busy, and then being the lazy asshole I am, I fell asleep and was dead to the world for hours. I’m sorry.”

When you fish your face out of his shirt, the damp spot that your eyes made on the fabric makes you cringe. Dieter reads your discomfort and rubs his big palms up and down your back, silently pardoning you. He’s had much more vile substances on his person before, a few tears from his lover isn’t anything to make a fuss over. You shrug and collect your thoughts that finally have some sensibility to them, “It’s okay. I just had a bad day at work, they gave me so much extra shit because I scheduled a few days off so they were trying to wring me for all I had and were even pushier than usual and were yelling at me even when I was doing all the right things and what they asked and- and then my fucking car-”

You cut yourself off with a gasp, not having realized that throughout your spill you didn’t stop to breathe. Dieter strokes your cheek with the back of his fingers as he coos to you, the cool metal of his rings grounding you, “Hey, shhh. It’s over now, right? You just relax, baby, okay? Focus on taking some deep breaths, like we practiced. In through the nose and out through the mouth, remember?”

If you weren’t so distraught, it would make you chuckle. You were the one that had given him that technique to calm his own anxiety, and here you were forgetting your own advice. Dieter sets an example for you, breathing slowly through his nose and out through his mouth, and you follow along until your sobs stop catching in your throat. His hands never stop stroking you, sending waves of comfort through you. Soon, your body has stopped trembling because of your volatile emotions, but you shake in your skin from the cold rain that has seeped into your bones. 

He notices and chuckles breathily, rubbing your arms to instill some heat into your blood. There’s a hint of mischief in his smile, one that you sense will swell into some menacing devilishness as the night deepens, “Let’s get you warmed up, hm?” 

He sidesteps you to go deeper into the bathroom behind you, going to the bathtub which he takes a seat on the edge of and turns the faucet on. With his palm upturned, his forefinger points at you and wiggles in an upward motion. 

“Off,” he instructs. His eyes rake over your dripping frame, following the cold droplets’ paths over the rain-soaked clothes that mold to every delectable curve of your body. His yearning stare wedges an extra beat into your heart rate and makes it hard to swallow. 

Despite the unceremonious manner of your strip, your locked gazes are brimming with passion, ferocity, boiling with the heat of the night to come. Your sopping clothes land on the floor with a splat and Dieter sighs at your figure in all its nude glory, moving his hand to palm himself unabashedly through his pajama bottoms.

He leans back and swishes his finger through the water once the tub is filled, checking the temperature. He jerks his head toward the warm pool, “Come here, sweet thing.” 

His fingers graze along your bare hip as you step into the bath and retract back to his cock when you sink down out of reach. The water feels heavenly, and fulfilling Dieter’s wish without the need of verbal instruction, you lean your back against the slope of the tub until the water’s surface meets the underside of your chin, letting out a deep sigh. You’re about to close your eyes when he brushes a stray hair out of your face, wrangling your attention to the sweet smile that graces his lips. 

His voice is soft but firm in its sincerity, “I’ll have your car picked up and checked out.” Knowing you better than you know yourself, you’re about to pipe up to offer that he really doesn’t have to do that, that you’ll pay for the rest even if he insists on covering the tow. He leans in closer, so close you can taste his breath on your lips, robbing you of all thoughts other than the ones that spiral around him. “Don’t worry about any repairs it needs. I’ve got ya, sugar,” he supplies with a wink. 

“Your boss will be receiving an unsightly letter to treat you better or else. There’s also a blackmail package available, featuring a rather smelly, heaping pile of a ‘substance’,” his fingers scrunch in allusive air quotes, “that Bravo Enterprises can’t disclose only for the purpose of ensuring surprise for the recipient, of course, that can be left on his desk. If the lady so desires.” You’re giggling before he’s finished, smacking him on the bicep that leaves a wet handprint on his t-shirt sleeve. 

“I appreciate the offer, but no thank you. I don’t want to be fired, or jailed, depending on what this ‘substance’,” you mimic his air quotes, “is you speak of.” 

“But,” you look up at him from underneath your lashes, shyly, “how could I have known my boyfriend would send in a letter of complaint?” 

He kisses your forehead proudly, stroking your cheek with his thumb affectionately, “That’s my girl. Now, I want you to sit back and relax for a while. Let the stress of the day melt away.” His hands dip shallowly into the water to rub his thumbs into your collarbone, moving onto your shoulders to massage soothing circles there after that. His voice drops an octave, with a satisfying rasp that runs parallel to velvety smoothness, “I need you relaxed for what I’m going to do to you later, anyway.”

With your eyes closed, you smirk in anticipation. He gives a parting kiss to your cheek, leaving you to shed the stifling stress of the day on your own time. Before he does, he asks, “Want some?” 

You peek one eye open and are being offered a little white rolled paper with a twist at the end. 

“No thanks,” you shrug, “Maybe later.” 

A little while later, there’s a knock on the door so soft you don’t hear it. Dieter pokes his head in, his boyish scruff rearranging into a smile when he sees your eyes still closed in peace. He quietly lays a folded bathrobe on the counter next to the sink and steals one last admiring glance at you before he ducks back out. 

When the water has lost its warmth, you exit the bath and shrug on the thoughtful, fluffy robe with a smile, knotting the belt loosely around your waist as you go into the bedroom. Dieter is lying on his back on the bed, toying with a vibrator in his hands. The scene makes you chuckle and the playful sound draws his gaze. He swings his legs over the side of the bed, “Get over here, sweetness,” and you oblige, standing in between his parted thighs. The robe you’ve had on for all of sixty seconds becomes a redundant heap on the ground. Dieter’s hands cup your asscheeks, pulling you closer to him so he can envelope your nipple with his tongue. He bites down on your pert bud softly as you do the same to your lip, moaning through your teeth. His tongue drags a path across your chest to your other breast, where he laves his desperate tongue against the erect little peak there too. When he pulls back, he looks drunk off of you already. 

He pats the center of the bed, his tone gruff and lost in his allegiance to your pleasure, “On your knees.” 

Dieter puts the weight of his palm on your back, sculpting you into an arch. You’re on your knees but you’re also on your forearms, too. He kneels before you, sitting back on his haunches, and lifts your gaze up to his with a finger underneath your chin. “You remember what I said on the phone?” he asks, using his free hand to squeeze his bulge through his boxers. You nod, resting your cheek on his thigh and batting your lashes up at him. “Mmhm…,” you lick a stripe up the seam of the crotch, “You said you were gonna fuck my throat.”

He pulls his underwear down to his knees, freeing himself. The thick heft of him lightly smacks against your nose and a pornographic moan rumbles up from your center, whose emptiness is gnawing away at you. “Until I gag,” you tack on, remembering all his erotic details. His shoulders deflate with a sigh, his eyes shine with rapture, “Smart girl,” and he feeds you his cock. 

You take it greedily, engulfing it in your hot, warm mouth. Harsh, helpless breaths escape his chest as he stumbles through the foggy abyss of ecstasy, regaining enough consciousness to thread his fingers in your hair and glide against your waiting tongue. “Fuck,” he whispers on every thrust, taking the time to rut in and out of your mouth until enough saliva collects to aid his descent down your throat. You take it all like a good girl, his good girl. His stubbly balls nestle against your chin when he reaches that impossible smoothness at your end and he anchors himself there, waiting for that godsent sound of- 

You gag wetly around his length. Tears spill from the corners of your eyes as you try to look up at him, despite the compromising position. He helps you out and leans back so he can stare at you in amazement; his wrought expression has you dripping from both ends. 

He ruefully retreats from your cavern and a thick string of saliva leaves the two of you connected. He swipes it from your lip with his thumb and drinks you down as he shuffles on his knees behind you. 

Planting himself at your opening, he sighs contentedly as he settles in to patiently work you up until you go crazy. “Open up for me, kitty,” he rubs the backs of your thighs and you concede to lay your head down on the bed, splitting yourself for his ravenous eyes. You wiggle your ass back and forth when he doesn’t do anything but sit there admiring and your antics earn you an abrupt, satisfying, open-handed slap to your ass. 

In his voicemail smut, he promised he would open you up, nice and slow, and he does just that at a tauntingly sluggish pace. His languid, sensual tongue draws rivulets up the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, before his warm breath ghosts across his tight destination at the peak of your apex. Your breath catches in your throat delightedly when his wet curiosity finds your hole at last, tracing it with his tongue then deftly swirling it around your perimeter. It makes you bite your lip and your breathing come more strenuously. You’re tight, you know that and he knows that, but you don’t doubt his capability to unravel you until you can take his whole length with no resistance. 

His raspy, comforting voice murmurs into your cheek, echoing his promise, “Don’t worry, bunny, I’ll open you up. Nice and slow…” He starts with his tongue again, lubing your backdoor entrance until you can feel his heavy saliva slide down to your aching folds. You rub at your clit lazily while he massages your hole with his thumb, gradually exposing you to increased pressure. Your resistance fades in time with his patient ministrations, to the point where he can lick into you. You both groan out in relief, him at your taste and you in dire pleasure. He reaches to swap your hand for his and draws perfect circles around your clit while his tongue works magic against your hole, bringing you to the peaks of two orgasmic heights whose blissful slopes have you feeling relaxed afterward, like jelly. It takes a little while of licking into you for him to be able to slide his thick finger in there, wriggling it around. 

It tickles more than you expected, making you giggle before you’re choked out with a moan as the ticklishness ignites into absolute pleasure. The tingles crawl up your spine, fizzing out in the base of your neck and skittering sparks of dopamine all over your brain. 

He squeezes a second finger inside in between contractions of your muscle, convulsing and expanding in time with the merciless waves of ecstasy that pour over you. Dieter watches with rapt attention as you stretch around him, your impeccable body adjusting to him deliciously. When your body starts to pull him back in on every retraction of his fingers, his cock twitches. You’re ready. 

He gets to his knees, stretching over to the bedside table to grab the lube - just for extra comfort. You whimper ceaselessly underneath him on all fours, your body on fire for him. You squirm with impatience, a fiery need for him to fill you to the brim thrashing through you. Hurried by your mewling, Dieter’s fingers slip against the bottle and knock it to the floor. “Fuck!” he spits, bursting you into pieces with laughter. 

He regains possession of the bottle and settles your devilish attitude with a single smack to your asscheek. The cap pops open, the cold gel runs into his palm, and he warms it up in his hands before he coats you everywhere you’ll need it. Dieter gives himself a few additional strokes too, groaning at the thought of what’s about to come (quite literally). 

He pushes his tip against your hole, testing you, relishing in the remaining pressure your body still keeps. It feels so good to be broken by him, like he’s knocking down a barrier you don’t have the strength to keep up anymore. You want to surrender and he lets you. 

He pushes inside and you gasp sharply, immediately followed by warbling babbles of how good he feels, how big he is, how good it fucking feels! He eases into you slowly, gliding deeper until his hips are nestled against your cheeks and all he can see is his hairy base above where he’s buried inside you. His splayed hand runs from the nape of your neck down your curved spine. “Shh, bunny,” he soothes. His hand comes to a stop just above your tailbone, pressing into the small of your back to arch you further beneath him. You bend to his will and groan as the new angle seats him impossibly deeper inside. 

Your pussy drips for him, warm and fresh, and your hips wiggle of their own accord to make his intrusion a pleasurable one. His fingers wind around your pelvis and hold you steady, tongue tutting at you over your shoulder. 

“Move, goddamnit,” you seethe, on the verge of tears. You feel helpless beneath him, a prisoner to your own desire, and your voice comes out just as vulnerable despite its biting rage that he still hasn’t moved. 

Upon hearing your desperation, he doesn’t make you hold out any longer. His first thrust is gentle, experimental, opening you up even further. Breath heaving, whole body shaking with every inhale that squeezes you tighter around him, “Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck…”

“Holy fuck,” he blurts out in an echo to you, staring down at his thick cock lodged in your tight hole. 

Even as he starts to gain pace, he maintains a consistent degree of gentleness to his thrusts so as not to hurt you - that’d be no fun for anyone involved. 

“Feel so good, bunny,” Dieter whispers breathlessly, neck craned up to the gods with eyes closed and imperceptible, breathy oh, oh, ohs flowing from his mouth on every plunge. Meanwhile, your face is smashed into the sheets, squealing with a sensation so pleasurable that is ill-monikered by “an itch that needs to be scratched”; this is more like a firework in the night sky that you jump to catch every singing ember of. 

You grip at the bedsheets with white knuckles, grinding your teeth together. Dieter splays his hand on the crown of your head and lifts you up to release your stifled, heavy breaths, “Let go, bunny,” he encourages. Your resolve instantly weakens and your orgasm overtakes you swiftly, knocking you without warning. Wracked with blinding pleasure, every breath you take is either a scream, a desperate moan, or a wrecked sob for him to keep going! 

He does, fucking you until you’re a mess beneath him. You faintly remember his threat on the phone, something like he’d pull out midway through your release and make you gape. But thank fucking god you appealed to his sympathy enough tonight that instead he treats you, keeping his length nestled in your ass for you to pulse around, choking on air as your heart pounds in your chest. 

Not too long later, your reverie is dissolved when he lands a smack to your ass, “Good girl,” he purrs. He leans over your body, his breath cool on your feverish skin as it tickles your shoulder in a whisper, “Your turn.” 

You whimper when he pulls out and stay stuck in your feline position, back arched like a cat and wishing he was still hitting it. Dieter lies down in front of you, his cock resting erect against his tummy and his stupidly big, pleading eyes beg for you. “Please, baby,” comes whimpering from between those plush lips. 

You nearly choose to leave him dangling on the edge; after all, you know how much he likes to be cucked (and how much you like to cuck him). But you want him too badly. Like in his dirty dreams this morning that he analogged for you, you mount him and begin riding. His big palms ascend your sweaty skin to cup your breasts that bounce as your thighs work to propel you up and sink you down in quicker succession. He leans forward to take one plush mound in his mouth, flicking your nipple with his tongue - but you twist your fingers in his ruffled hair and tug him back. It felt good, but the devastated crease between his brows makes you feel even better. This push and pull, give and take of dominance and submission always had to equalize with you two; your egos were too prideful for the game to be finished with a clear decision. 

With the score tied, you finally find the patience to slow down; you gyrate your hips, grinding down on Dieter and meeting his shallow thrusts in a symphony of movement. That is, until that biting urge deep in your tummy needs another orgasm thrown to it to be satiated and stop growling at you for more. You resume bouncing, not going as fast as you could but opting for a poignant, striking rhythm instead. 

“Sweetheart, I’m gonna-” he chokes.

“Fuck yeah baby, do it,” you hiss like a temptress, watching the restraint drain from his eyes and give way to the unstoppable bliss that erodes him until he’s nothing but. You lift your hips up for him to pull out and he takes himself in hand, pumping feverishly as white hot cum spills into his lap. The muscles of Dieter’s stomach jerk in tandem with his spurting, even after he’s reached empty. He runs his hand down his sweaty, wrecked face, breathing haggardly as you roll off his lap and lower your mouth to his hips to lap him up. He tastes mostly salty with a hint of sweetness, viscous and easy to swallow down. It might not be your arousal your tongue cleans him of, like he fantasized earlier, but the sinful sight drives him up the fucking wall regardless. 

Both of you lie there, him on his back and you on his chest, for a long time, just trying to catch your breath. Dieter reaches over to the nightstand for a joint and raises his eyebrow, asking your permission, which you give with a nod. He lights up and passes the smoke to you through parted lips, before handing over the rest of it for you to finish off. The thing about weed’s specific effect on you, that Dieter is very familiar with, is that it makes you feel warm, cuddly, and… aroused. With a mischievous giggle, you grind your wet folds against his thigh, asking for more, to which he grunts and gives a dry chuckle. 

“I’m not 25 anymore, bunny, you gotta give me a little bit of time to recover.” 

“What do you think I was trying to get off work for?” Your fingers waltz up his ribs with a mission to tickle him, but he catches on and swats you away with a smile. You love that shit-eating grin he gets, but it tarnishes your own when you’re hit with the thought that… you’ll miss it. 

You turn your face away to look down at the burning paper, trying to disguise the disappointment in your voice, “You’re leaving soon, right?” 

He sighs bitterly, but not at you, “Yeah, I am. But I was thinking…”

Your ears perk up so that you don’t mistake not even one word in his soft, raspy voice, “If you could, if you wanted to… you could come stay with me for a little while.”

You meet his eyes to gauge if he’s fucking with you - to your delight, he isn’t. “I have that fuck off huge house that production gave me with nobody in it but me and some makeup and costume people who are in and out for a few hours each morning. Ha,” he chuckles, raising his eyebrows in time with his words, “In and out.” 

He can never take anything seriously for very long, but that’s the Dieter that you fell in- nopedon’tsayitthatwordistooscaryheonlyinvitedyoutocomestayforalittlewhilethatdoesn’tmeananythingseriousthatdoesn’tchangeanythingbetweenyoutwo. But the softened glimmer in his eye… it’s not a high from the weed. 

“I’d love to.”

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[kazimakuwabara]

I Like You Jealous: (rated T) Written for @sanusoweek . Sanji get's jealous... and Usopp kinda likes it. (about 1k)

***

Sanji was kissing Usopp.

He had stormed into Usopp's workshop, scared Usopp enough to make him scream, and then kissed him.

Was still kissing him.

And what a kiss!

Usopp clung to the man as he pushed him against his workbench, his mouth firm and seeking. His tongue had slipped through Usopp's lips and was tracing against his tongue guiding Usopp into the kiss. Usopp clung to Sanji's shirt, wrinkling the crisp pressed button-up with his intense tugging. When Usopp, as unpracticed as he was, slid his tongue against Sanji's, Sanji groaned and drew Usopp closer, slotting his legs between Usopp's shaking knees. A moan burst from Usopp's mouth and Sanji ate, and savored the cry, before he too moaned into Usopp's mouth.

Usopp pulled away, his lips making a wet sound as he pulled himself from Sanji's mouth so he could take in a much needed breath of fresh air.

Sanji sank his teeth and tongue against Usopp's throat in place of plundering Usopp's mouth, and Usopp arched against Sanji, who snuck his greedy hands to Usopp's buttocks and pulled him fiercely to him. Usopp gasped as Sanji breathed him in, and tasted him, his hands roaming up and down his body as he took his time to memorize Sanji. And all Usopp could do was gasp, and surrender to Sanji's whims, relishing in the touches and desperate kisses.

It was when Sanji pressed his hips into his, and ground something hard against Usopp's own stiffening organ, that the Sniper gasped, "What are you doing!?"

"I can't stand it!" Sanji hissed, clinging to Usopp and holding him tight against him, "I can't stand it."

"Sanji?! Can't stand what?! What is... what?" Usopp fumbled, his heart in his throat as Sanji traced gentled fingers against the baby curls of the back of his neck.

"Letters. The letters!" Sanji growled, kissing Usopp's throat, and then his jaw. "Whoever is sending them, whoever is wooing you, I can't stand it! I can't! I can't keep it to myself anymore!"

"Sanji-"

Sanji grabbed Usopp's face, and he looked him in the eye as he confessed, "I love you Usopp."

Usopp's mouth opened as much as Sanji would allow, considering the firm grip on his chin.

"I love you. I've loved you since... I can't remember when. I think it was sometime when we were on Sky Island, and you looked so scared, but you still came with me to get Nami back from that... that Enel... lightning creep!" Sanji rambled waving a frantic hand as he tried to grasp for details. He sank that hand in into the root of Usopp's hair, and pulled him closer as he rasped in desperation, "It frightened me. Every tender feeling I had, frightened me. But I had them. I had them... and it got worse and worse every day. But I was a coward. And I've been ready to tell you since... since Sabaody at least... but I wanted a perfect time. Flowers, a dinner, a private moment-I don't know... but something!

"But I am a coward. A coward and an idiot, and I've seen you get a letter decorated in hearts every day since docking on this island. And you keep smiling at them, and I can't lose you. I can't lose you before I try. So please... only me. Choose me. Love me. I will make it up to you for delaying telling you in any way possible... just please Usopp. I love you. Please tell me I'm not too late, or that it's not pointless."

Sanji kissed Usopp's mouth, licking against Usopp's lips, and Usopp opened to him. How could he not? Usopp had only fantasized about this for... he couldn't remember when it started. But Usopp had spent many a night thinking of Sanji just touching him... there was no way he'd stop Sanji from kissing him.

"Sanji," Usopp gasped against soft lips, and cupped the chef's face in his hands, "Sanji, look at me."

Like a sad dog, Sanji turned wide blue eyes up at him, his face flushed and his hair a mess. Usopp grinned at Sanji and kissed the brim of his nose.

"Sanji... I love you too... I must if I let you grab me like this! Your hands all over me is really nice, but could have been really creepy if I didn't have feelings for you, you know!" Usopp giggled, his heart light as he lightly lectured Sanji.

Sanji hefted Usopp up and sat him on his workbench. Sanji then slid between Usopp's legs and held him tight. In a pathetic voice, he muttered, "I'm a cad and a pervert... I know. But if I didn't kiss you or touch you or tell you how I felt... I thought I would lose it all."

Usopp chuckled and wrapped his arms and legs around Sanji, bringing him in for a breathless hug. He grinned and nuzzled into Sanji's hair as he softly chided, "I wouldn't choose someone over you. I've loved you for too long."

"How long?" Sanji whispered, sounding awed.

"Mmm... A long time. A long... long... time," Usopp murmured peppering Sanji's face with gentle kisses. Usopp giggled, "I can't believe you getting jealous brought us together!"

"Don't change the subject! When?!" Sanji asked, clearly pouting.

Rather than answering Usopp hummed and sighed, "And all over silly love letters..."

"Silly love letters?!"

"...From a seven-year-old."

A beat of silence passed, and then Sanji pulled back from Usopp's embrace, to shout, "What?!"

Usopp threw back his head and laughed. When he calmed, he cupped Sanji's face, and in a sweet voice explained, "I tried to say before... the letters are from a little girl named Mira. I sewed up the hem of her doll's dress, and she's been giving me letters as a thank you. The letters have heart stickers on them, because she's seven, and kids love stickers."

Sanji's whole face turned bright red. "Can we forget this terrible confession I gave?!"

"Never!" Usopp gasped, pulling Sanji closer with his legs, and securing his arms around Sanji's neck.

The show of strength did something to Sanji. His pupils dilated, and his expression stiffened. Usppp smiled coyly at him, and whispered, "I'm never going to forget this. I'll never forget when you were jealous... for me."

"U-Usopp," Sanji whispered nervously as Usopp tugged him closer for a kiss, "When did you... when did your feelings for me-"

"Shhh... if you're good. Maybe I'll tell you," Usopp lied, before he pressed a searing kiss into Sanji's mouth, the chef practically going boneless in his embrace.

Usopp was a little too embarrassed to admit, that on Cactus island, when the two of them had gotten roaring drunk, and fallen asleep next to each other in a tipsy reverie, Usopp in a half-asleep state had looked at the blond man drooling on his shoulder, and fallen head over heels. Not a terribly romantic way of falling in love, but the truth, and with any luck, and some teasing, maybe Usopp would never have to tell Sanji.

"Mmm Sanji," Usopp whispered nibbling on the chef's ear.

The chef seemed bewildered and delighted, pleasantly surprised by Usopp's boldness. "Hmm?"

"I like you jealous."

[papasbaseball]

Raphael x Reader (Till Death Do Us Part)

+18 CONTENT NOT FOR MINORS. MINORS KEEP SCROLLING

Pairing: Raphael x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Sexual Coercion. You sign a contract without reading that indebts you to Raphael. Mentions and descriptions of torture (flaying(not done to the reader)).

Summary: You went looking for a lawyer to help with your divorce. Always read what you sign or you might end up in bed with the Devil.

Word Count: 2,379

Notes: This was inspired by the CONTRACT THAT WE ALL SIGNED WHEN WE INSTALLED BG3???? Definitely did not read the Terms and Conditions. Someone suggested that Raphael was Larian's lawyer and well... here we are.

AO3 Link

He wanted the house, the new Mercedes you bought last month, and alimony to boot. For a cheater, he certainly footed a high bill.

“And you didn’t get any evidence of his… infidelity?” The crooked frown of your newly acquired lawyer, Raphael Hope, betrayed the polite substitution. His eyes ate into his skull in a fashion that spoke of many a long night and too many encounters with jackasses. Perhaps in private company, he would not be so quick to bite his tongue.

The words came out tightly. ”I came home early from work and that’s when I saw him…screwing my cousin on the brand-new sofa.”

He walked to the minifridge in the corner of the room, fetching a bottle of Evian. He sat it to the side of your consultation folder. You thanked him quietly, letting your shoulders fall as the coolness of the water slipped and soothed your hoarse throat that you had earned from a night spent on your coworker’s couch.

”A pity, really,” he said. “To throw away a marriage to someone as exquisite as yourself? I would not blame you if you thought all men to be fools.”

His words and the bass he put into them forced your gaze to the consultation folder, intent on figuring out if the font of “Hope Law Firm” was serif or not. His eyes glowed a genuine amber that reminded you too much of sparks from 3 years ago.

”I didn’t come here to flirt, Mr. Hope,” you said, taking another sip of water.

”I am a man of facts. It is only the truth.” Putting a black marbled pen to the notepad of his padfolio, he continued, “No evidence will make it difficult to win in court. You are certain there are no texts, no photo-“

”There’s nothing,” you interrupted. The golden nib stopped scratching, fire lighting in his eyes.

”Please-“ He blinked and it vanished, his face set once more in cool professionalism. “We have ways of getting evidence, but most people find it to be out of their price range. Think very carefully, dear.”

The blood crept into your cheeks at the endearment. Your soon-to-be ex-husband had always called you “babe”. It felt commonplace and cheap, the kind of sweetener that a boy might use to get into his college girlfriend’s pants. Raphael's words smoldered on his tongue and felt anything but commonplace. The crisp suit, the soft but styled chestnut hair, the smoky cologne that promised wealth and wins in the courtroom. If Satan had built the perfect lawyer, it was him.

You shook your head.

He sighed, sliding a thick cream-colored paper out from the back of his padfolio and over to you. The page's weight was increased by the bold black letters across the top: AGREEMENT. You flipped the paper, surprised that the back was blank.

”Read it if you would like, but this permits us to do our own snooping. We have a 100% success rate, but our methods are… unorthodox.”

He had no website boasting wins or guarantees when you’d gone looking for a lawyer, but the newspapers had done that enough for him. Win after win gilded his name on every article in the news tab, tales of mob bosses and politicians clearly guilty getting off. You knew this was coming.

Biting your lip, you took the pen that Raphael offered you and scrawled your signature as quickly as you could across the bottom. Better to be fast than to change your mind. A sigh of disappointment from him froze your hand.

”You should really read things before you sign them, dear.”

With a wave, the doors slammed shut, window shades dropped, and sconces gleamed an angry red. The table and chairs vanished in a cloud of ash and smoke that swept up the walls, devouring the dark blue and mahogany into volcanic stone veined with bloodied quartz. Scrambling towards the exit, you watched as the door and handle were soon too devoured by that awful smoke.

”Let me out,” you begged, turning to face him. “You can’t keep me here.”

”Can’t I?” he chuckled. “I must… per our contract agreement of course.” The cream-colored paper floated up into his palm, having survived the incineration of the room. “From this day forth, I do agree to be willingly at the service of Raphael of the House of Hope until he sees fit to relinquish me from his company.” He laughed at this, directing his darkened gaze toward you. “It is not often my servants are so rare in beauty.”

“My roommate-“

”Will not miss you,” he finished. “Nobody at that dead-end job loved you. No husband at home to cry for your absence. No children to weep for their mother’s milk.” His pupils burned hot like dying stars against an obsidian sclera, raking over your body. “At least not yet.”

He stalked you into the corner like a lion, a smile forming when you whimpered as he got too close. Another sweep of the hand and the contract engulfed in flames to reveal a great dagger, golden from hilt to tip—the point nestled under the tip of your chin.

”What should I do with you, little mouse?” He crooned, cocking his head to one side. “So careless. I can’t have that in my service.”

“I promise I won’t tell anyone,” you breathed, trying to ignore the tear that slipped down your cheek. The dagger tip pressed into the delicate skin, raising you until you were standing once more. “I’ll give you anything you want.”

”Of course you will,” he said. “You have no choice.” He drew closer until you could taste the tart cherry undernote of his cologne. “I would like a taste, dear.”

Your fingers trembled reaching for the soft charcoal lapel of his suitcoat that rose and fell with each breath. It stilled for a moment as you looked up into his face. A sharp brow quirked, highlighting those wicked eyes. A weak tug of his lapel earned you a smile and he bent just enough for you to touch your lips to his. His hand slithered up your back as if he had done this a thousand times before, a modest touch enough to set your nerves alight. Your tongue flicked across his smirk, and he parted those unforgiving lips.

Whether he was a devil, a trickster, or some other creature made no difference. His cool indifference sparked something within you, however small. His hand splayed across your back, pushing you into him to be devoured. The sharp line of his nose pressed into your cheek, a small groan as if he were devouring a cake that was soaked in the sweet fruit syrup of the summer sun. You pressed your tongue into his, desperate to taste the honeyed words he’d used to get you to let your guard down so easily. Your legs were soon wrapping themselves around his waist.

“Greed looks good on you, little mouse,” he said, dipping his head to trail kisses down your jaw.

“You’re a monster,” you protested, voice breathless and hungry for more of his lips and tongue.

He nipped into the crook of your neck. “I can stop if you would like. Denying you your pleasures has its own charm.”

You gasped, grabbing a handful of his soft hair as he licked and sucked. Your mind toyed with the idea of trying to escape, but every time you got close to the plan of finding an exit the thought slipped away into the lust of him pressing you up against the jagged wall, knife still to your chin.

“Mr. Hope-”

“Your Excellency,” he cut you off.

The stabbing points of the rock behind you retracted and you watched the darkened cave transform into a room decked in gaudy red and gold with ceilings high enough to house God. He carried you to the bed made softer than sin, kneeing open your legs.

Light glimmered over him to reveal a monstrous form, complete with horns that looked like twisted stone and demonic crimson wings that served as a terrifying backdrop to your captor. Black claws shredded the woolen skirt, pantyhose, and pink satin panties that you picked out that morning, leaving scratches on your stomach in their careless destruction. A growl at the sight of the warmth that you offered him was all the warning given before he finished butchering the turtleneck and lacy bra.

“I’m going to enjoy breaking you, crushing you until the only words from your mouth are “Yes, Your Excellency”. Given how wet you are, it should not be long.”

You crawl back further onto the bed, away from him. “I’m not.”

“Please. Even a human could smell the way your cunt is aching for me to stretch it and fill it.” He crawled onto the bed after you, pulling your legs apart once more, bringing his face close to your needy sex. “Would you like to see how a real man does it?”

Your ex always had an excuse for refusing to go down on you. One night he’d claim that his jaw locked up easily, the next he’d say he preferred only freshly shaven. They were endless to the point that you had stopped asking. Raphael nipped at the skin of your inner thigh, begging you to answer.

“Are you going to bite me?” you stuttered.

He smiled. “Would you like me to?”

You grabbed one of the rough horns, guiding him towards your pussy. His tongue glided through your folds until it found your clit. The dying stars looked from under his brow in eager sadism as he suckled the bundle of nerves between his lips. Your back parted from his bed and you shut your eyes as bliss clenched through you.

“Watch me or suffer,” he growled before returning to his ministrations.

Your eyes snapped open as you watched him toy and tease, nibbling and flicking in a new and exciting way with each gasp and whine. He would push you as close to the edge as he could before backing off in cruel delight, mocking your weakness as you pulled futilely on his horns.

“Is there something you want, little mouse?” he said.

“P-please.”

The tip of his claw circled your abused clit. “Please, what?”

The pride stabbed in your throat, trying to claw its way out. “Please, let me cum… Your Excellency.” The words tasted like battery acid, but they satisfied that shit-eating grin of his.

His mouth glistened with your juices as he kissed you deeply once more. “I will think about it.”

The shimmering light swept over him once more to reveal his naked form. Despite him being a monster, you whimpered when you caught sight of his cock. It was built for a creature much bigger than you, a deep red of coagulated blood and wrapped in ridges.

“It’s not going to fit,” you pleaded, digging your nails into his biceps as he pulled away. They slipped out of your grasp and he shouldered one of your legs and then the other.

“Relax. You are too tense.” He lined the tip up and slowly pushed the head in, flaring his wings in response. “Gods you are tight. When was the last time you were properly used?”

It was difficult to hold onto the last remaining bits of sanity as he slid in further. You clench in protest, feeling the burning pain as he stretched you fuller still. “I-” You groan as he slips further in.  “N-never..”

His lips brushed gently against the fresh bruises on your neck, picking them over to find a spot unmarked by his hunger. He stopped pushing, letting you adjust to him. “A pity. I can’t wait to flay that bastard after I finish him in the courtroom.”

His hips pressed forward once more until he had buried himself to the hilt. “Would you like that, my little mouse? I can let you watch as I skin slice after bloody slice off of him. Torture him just enough and then make him watch as I claim your cunt and fill you deep with my seed.” He rocked into you, simulating his wicked plan. “I want to hear him scream as I finish what he couldn’t.”

You groaned as he pushed into you again, stretching you even more. He pulled out and buried himself into you again and again. His claws bit into the flesh of your hips. The thought of him torturing your ex as he fucked you mercilessly put a lurch in your stomach, but it was quickly washed away thinking about the power of Raphael at your side in the courtroom. Giving him the just desserts that the legal system refused to give would be the cherry on top of taking everything from him. The rush mixed and intertwined with the lust bringing you closer and closer toward the edge.

“I-I’m…” you said.

He snorted. “So easy.” The amusement in his voice went straight to your core. He quickened his pace once more. “Cum for me, my little mouse.”

His teeth sank into your shoulder and it sent you tumbling, wave after wave gripping him in desperation. The movement of his hips stuttered after a few more thrusts and you felt the burning heat of him as he growled into your flesh, filling you with the filth of a devil.

He removed his teeth from your shoulder and slid out of you, leaving you aching and wounded. Reaching into the top drawer of the nightstand, he pulled out a gilded cigarette, lighting it with a flash of magic. He took a long drag before reclining back on his side of the bed.

You crept close, wincing as you propped yourself up on your injured arm. His eyes were focused on the far-off paintings on the ceiling. “Did you mean it?” you said. “About torturing him and making him watch?”

The devil exhaled the sweet cherry-scented smoke out of his nostrils. “After I beat him bloody in the courthouse, yes.” He took another drag. “Why?”

You plucked the cigarette out of his clawed hand, taking a drag yourself. “I want you to kill him when you’re finished.”

Raphael smiled, snatching the cigarette back. “Till death do us part.”

[psychictheater]

Relationship Weight (Punkflower)

(Hobie starts to gain some relationship weight. Not just because of Miles. But because of Miles and his mother.)

(No Powers AU)

(Hobie is 21, Miles is 19-20)

(Was gonna be part of the Moving Out series but my old account was terminated by Tumblr)

-

Hobie stared at the now too small skinny jeans that wouldn’t move past his upper thighs.

“Miles ?”

“Yeah ?”

“You did the laundry last time, yeah ?”

“It was my turn, so yes.”

“I think you shrunk my jeans, love.”

Miles looked up from his phone to see that Hobie was indeed struggling with his skinny jeans. They seemed to be too small for him.

“I don’t think it’s the laundry, babe.” Miles replied.

“That’s the only explanation.” Hobie rolled his eyes.

“It is not.” Miles challenged. “Because if it is, how come the only clothes that have seemed to mysteriously ‘shrink’ are yours when mine are perfectly fine ?”

Hobie had to admit, Miles did have a point. He sighed.

“Then why are my jeans so small ? What else could it be ?”

Miles stared at Hobie.

“Hobie, the jeans aren’t the problem, I just don’t think that you can fit them anymore.”

Hobie stared back.

“Fuck you mean ? I’ve had these jeans since I was sixteen, there’s no way that they just suddenly don’t fit anymore.”

Miles sighed and decided to be blunt.

“You’ve gained weight.” He said, standing up and walking over to Hobie, putting a hand on his shoulder.

Hobie rolled his eyes and let out a ‘Psh’

“That’s impossible, I’ve been the same size since I was seventeen, ain’t no way.” Hobie said.

“And you didn’t have consistent meals until I moved in.” Miles challenged. “Think about it, you used to eat once, maybe twice a day and they weren’t even meals, sometimes you’d just eat an apple and go on about your day but now I cook you breakfast, I make you lunch, I make you dinner and every Sunday we eat at big dinner at my parents house and end up taking home leftovers.” He said “Not to mention the times Mom ‘coincidentally’ makes too much food and brings it over or when she comes over to cook to ‘give us a break’ you’re eating more than you’re used to and you haven’t even noticed.”

Hobie thought about it and what Miles said was true. When he was younger and living on the streets, he survived off of dumpster scraps and some leftovers some people were willing to give up to him. Then when he managed to get a place with Karl, they were both too busy to cook and too broke to afford take out so they mostly just ate peanut butter sandwiches or a bag of crisps.

And then Karl moved out to live with his boyfriend and Miles moved in and everything changed. Suddenly, the fridge was always full and he had actual meals to come home to and was eating more frequently if not constantly. And his body was changing because of it.

“I don’t like this.” Hobie said, crossing his arms. He didn’t like sudden changes in his body, the body he’s been used to for so many years and he didn’t have time or money to put aside for a new pair of jeans.

“You look great.” Miles assured, wrapping his arms around Hobie’s shoulders. “It’s not that big of a deal and it’s about time that you stopped being so stick thin all the time, it wasn’t healthy that you could slip into the same pair of jeans you’ve had since you were a teenager.” he smiled at Hobie “You look healthy babe”

“I get what you’re saying but these jeans have been with me for a long time, I can’t just get rid of em.” Hobie said with a bit of a whine

“We can try to stretch them out if you want or repurpose them, turn them into a jacket or a vest or something.” Miles said, knowing how Hobie never wanted to throw away things when he felt like there could still be a use for them. “That way you can embrace the change and still keep them around, just as something else, you’re not the only one who’s gained a little relationship weight, I have too, it’s a sign of happiness.”

“I guess you’re right.” Hobie said with a chuckle, placing a kiss on Miles’ forehead. “You’re so smart lovey.”

“Yeah I know.” Miles said, leaning into Hobie. Hobie wrapped his arms around Miles and held him close. They remained like that in silence until both their stomachs growled.

“Hey… we still have any of that cake your mom dropped off ?” Hobie asked.

“We should.” Miles said, looking up at Hobie. “You thinking what I’m thinking ?”

“Why don’t you go grab us some while I finish changing into some pants that fit ?” Hobie asked, smirking.

“You don’t have to tell me twice.” Miles said, letting go of Hobie and running off to the kitchen.

Hobie sighed with a smile of admiration. Maybe gaining a bit of relationship weight wasn’t so bad as long as it was happening with Miles.

[ceapa-mica]

The First Date 💌 - a Thrawn headcanon

I got so many views for my NSFW alphabet, I couldn't keep myself from writing another Thrawn headcanon! 🤗

This one is SFW, there's no mention of Reader's gender.

When Thrawn tells you he would like to get to know you better and asks if you want to spend the evening with him you agree without having to think twice.

Later you find a box on your bed containing a beautiful dress. Somehow it's exactly the right size and in your favorite color. You never told Thrawn either and are not sure how he could have known.

There are two places where a date with Thrawn could take place. One being his quarters on the Chimera and the other a not very well known city on a backwater planet.

Let's start with the scenario on the Chimera.

Your dress turns some heads on your way to Thrawns quarters. It's not regulation after all and the entire 7th fleet will gossip by the time your date is over.

Thrawn wants his private life to remain private. Unfortunately for you, that means lots of secrecy. He won't share words of love and affection in public, no physical touch beyond what is considered ‘professional’ either. You keep a strictly professional relationship during working hours.

Tbh either way, your relationship will be the biggest open secret aboard.

Thrawn assumed the dress would suit you well, but when he sees you wearing it in the flesh his heart skips a beat.

He ordered the good food, none of this mess hall mush, and a large portion too! It's the best food you've eaten since you joined the Imperial Navy. Along with that a bottle of fine Alderaanian wine he kept for special occassions - the expensive one!

Thrawn is suave af, and sincerely interested in you. When he said he wanted to get to know you better he meant it.

You are the first human he ever dated. It's a new experience for him and it fascinates him how different it is from dating a Chiss. Humans are just so much more expressive with their emotions. While this could be seen as a weakness by others of his kind, he admires it. He admires you.

You tell him about your life away from duty. Your family, your hobbies, your dreams and aspirations.

When, in return, you ask him about his life he starts talking about art. His favorite artists, art of cultures he admires etc. You're a little bit disappointed he leaves questions about his family and general heritage unanswered and skillfully turns the conversation back to your interests or his interest in art and warfare.

This is your first date, what did you expect? Thrawn has a mysterious aura for a reason. For him to tell you about his home you need to establish a relationship first.

It was a pleasant evening. He insists on taking you back to your quarters.

When you arrive at your door and make sure it's just the two of you, he leans in for a sweet kiss.

His lips are softer than you imagined. He tastes like the dinner you just ate and like something that's so distinctively him.

Being so close to him, you notice for the first time that under the scent of standard issue Imperial soap™ and aftershave lies his very own musky scent. He smells different from humans, somehow crisp like a winter breeze.

That moment of closeness passed too quickly for your liking. You wish each other a good night and he leaves you alone in your quarters.

Let's say you won't be able to sleep for a while, his kiss being the only thing on your mind for the rest of the night and the days after.

Now let's look at the other option - going out with Thrawn - a date away from the Chimera.

You meet at a small shuttle at the Chimera’s hangar. You notice it's the first time you see him unaccompanied by his death troopers outside his office.

You blink in astonishment at his attire. Instead of his pristine white Imperial uniform he wears a black civilian suit without the chest candy indicating his rank.

He refuses to tell you where he wants to take you. It's a surprise, but a welcome one.

The city he visits with you is only a short hyperspace travel away. The planet is relatively unknown, but it's rich with culture.

Before you leave the shuttle he takes out a pair of green shaded sunglasses. It takes everything in you not to laugh at his appearance.

He explains that he wears it for safety reasons. Leaving the safety of his fleet puts a target on his back, and being seen in public with you puts one on your back as well.

He takes you to a picturesque part of town to a small restaurant where you sit in a dimly lit corner.

You chat about basically everything I have already named above.

The food served in the restaurant is exotic, unlike anything you've ever tried before. You and Thrawn choose anything that sounds delicious from the menu. The food is better than anything the kitchen droids on the Chimera could ever cook.

Thrawn tells you he heard of this place’s excellent cuisine last time he visited the planet incognito to attend an art exhibition.

Slow jizz music plays in the background and it feels like time has stopped completely, at this moment it's just the two of you, you've only got eyes for each other. (He took off his shades since the corner where you eat is quite secluded) Thrawn feels the same and it intrigues him.

You're a little tipsy from the wine by the time you leave the restaurant. The date night is far from over though.

He takes you to a historic building that houses an art gallery.

It's the middle of the night, but Thrawn notified the owner, who he knows due to his past visits, and they let you in. You have the entire gallery for yourself with no prying eyes.

He explains different art styles and points out details you wouldn't have noticed without him.

You eventually come across a painting by an artist you've never heard of. You love the style, the image itself and how the colors compliment each other. It speaks to you in a way you can't explain.

Of course Thrawn knows all about said painting and answers all your questions.

You wonder why he has become a Grand Admiral and not an art critic.

You tell him how much you appreciate spending time with him. For once not occupied with destroying rebel cells, you get a glimpse of the man behind the stoic facade.

Your words mean so much to him. There's a romantic tension in the air, so thick you could cut it with a knife.

Once the chance presents itself, he pulls you into a dark corner behind one of the large curtains, your faces are close, his gaze wanders from your lips to your eyes for consent.

As soon as you nod, his warm soft lips are on yours, the kiss gentle, but it quickly turns passionate as he deepens it, his tongue begging for entrance.

His hands start roaming your body. It feels like he's everywhere all at once, his unique scent surrounding you and his taste on your tongue. He's respectful though, keeping his hands away from intimate areas. It's your first date and you're still in public, remember?

During your little makeout session you lose your sense of time.

Tbh you wish this moment would never end.

Once you separate for air, he caresses your cheek. For a fleeting moment there is a softness in his scarlet eyes you've never seen before.

From that moment on he calls you 'ch’eo ch’acah' when you're alone with him. You don't know what it means at first. One day he will tell you, and it might be just the first of many Cheunh phrases you will learn from him. (it means 'my darling/beloved')

The evening went by way too fast for your liking. You both agree though that you enjoyed yourselves and want to go on another date in the future.

You return to the Chimera and he drops you off at your quarters before heading to his own.

You don't know where this blossoming relationship is going, but it definitely feels right.

Please keep in mind that Thrawn keeps your relationship secret to keep you safe from harm. Only at the point where your relationship is serious enough (like engagement) will he admit to it to others.

One more thing: A few days after your first date in the city you receive a package. It contains an exact replica of the painting you liked so much. It comes without a note, but you don't need one to know that your feelings for the Grand Admiral are in no way unrequited.

Let's visit a Thrawn relationship headcanon next time! This was only the first date.

Feel free to add to this headcanon! ❤️

[thetimelordbatgirl]

So I just watched rise of red and really, I don't see anything happened, and what prank are they talking about???? 3/4 of the cast are just useless as Aladdin and Jasmine doesn't serve no purpose in the movie and I didn't see qoh hearts apologized to her daughter for abusing her for all those years....why just why????

Its funny we had an issue with D3 and not using a large chunk of their cast that well...when in comparison to Rise of Red, it at least did SOMETHING with the characters, while Rise of Red was out here having literal character introduction the song with characters who overall, don't do anything in the film. Fairy Godmother? She MAYBE has a hint at not being good at magic yet arc, but she don't do anything in film. Jasmine and Aladdin? They that couple from school everyone found cringe and that's all they are, not even being named in present day or the boy they have with them, you just have to assume its them and...I guess make up a name for the boy who you have to assume is their son. Rapunzel isn't named either actually in the past, you just know its her as she stands out with her rainbow hair and she's just there. Charming is pretty fucking useless both past and present, he's just there- though he at least had the most emotional scene when being told Cinderella is dead in present.

Uliana is the only villain who does ANYTHING really, the other villains feel like they just there to be there really. Hades' I will admit I found funny for not giving much of a shit at times, but he's pretty useless, same for Maleficent. Seriously, she's out here shaming Mal in D1 for not doing more at sixteen in comparison to Maleficent, but girl wasn't doing much as a teen, if at all. Generally think she and Hades were just there to nod at Mal lmao. Hook is also just, useless, closest stuff he does is I guess act a ltitle flirty and get his boots stolen at the end. And don't get me started on the king of being useless, aka Morgie- my guy couldn't even suggest ANYTHING in Perfect Revenge, at least the other three could suggest making Bridget walk a plank or pricking her with thorns or burning her to a crisp, all Morgie did was agree with Hades'. He also proved to be the most useless look out in the finale scene.

Even in the main cast you got a character who the writers don't do much with, aka Cinderella/Ella- she literally dies in present briefly after refusing to kneel to QOH (again shout out to Red for joining in on that setencing, film doesn't seem to remember that one to at least show Red feeling guilty....because fuck character development) and in the past, she's just there to a, support Bridget and b, shame Chloe, the films favorite hobby. Her abuse via her stepmother is literally introduced and...that's it. Nothing done at all. You literally could have replaced the Charming family in this film with any other heroes and their family.

And like, I literally don't know what the fuck they were doing with the prank, because how the fuck did they pull it off in the first timeline if the book does THAT to people with evil intentions??? Was it a different prank in first timeline or- this prank plot just left way too many questions, really. And people can call me a bitch but like, making QOH evil over a prank is just the most pathetic motive for a villain yet. They say people laughed at her for it but let's be real, school would be laughing at someone else the next week. There had to be more to what turned her evil then just, "she ate a cupcake that turned her ugly."

And the ending with not even addressing Queen of Hearts having been a shitty mother....just...way to join D3 in being so shit at addressing abuse. Like, they have Red literally confirm how shit her mom is. We saw it on screen even at the start of the film. Yet, just like Ella and her step family's abuse, it's dropped eventually and not addressed. Film just acts like since she's good now with the prank removed from timeline, everything is good now. QOH is not made to face what she did to Red. It's just forgotten and that's it. Hell, the way the film just waved off all the abuse with, "She wasn't always like that."/"An incident pissed her off.", is just such shitty excuses for abuse, I swear.

Why is just an accurate reaction to even watching this film. I mean, we all know the why is because they wanted to milk this dead franchise. But the film is still just such a why even with that answer in mind.

[stabbyfoxandrew]

mer au plsss

WIP Wednesday (9/25) | Mer Roadtrip AU (Part 73)

Once they're back in the car, Abram digs through his bag to pull out a very worn road atlas and passes it to Andrew who turns it around in his hands a couple times. "You really use this thing?"

"Yeah. Got a better idea?" Abram asks, starting the engine again.

"Little thing called a GPS could be handy."

“Never had one. Don’t wanna be traced.” Abram sighs out a breath. “Which is also why I didn’t want a phone.”

"You’re kind of neurotic. Don’t worry, I like it.” Andrew says with a grin. “But I don’t think a GPS would tattle on you.”

"You never know." Abram says, then he takes the atlas back from Andrew and opens it. California is still dog-eared, so he flips to the right section and traces a diagonal path from Santa Monica to Las Vegas, nodding to himself. Finally he looks at Andrew. "Can you read a map?"

Andrew retraces the same route with his finger and shrugs. "We'll see."

-

It turns out Andrew can read a map, but he's absolute ass at giving directions. At least, in Abram's humble opinion. God, he finally understands the many times his mother knocked him in the head for taking too long to determine which road to turn on to. But they make it to the interstate without dying. It's a good sign.

As soon as they're headed in the right direction, Andrew props his legs up on the dash and pops open a can of Pringles. He crunches them loudly, like he's trying to get on Abram's nerves.

Abram thinks he is.

"How long is it to Vegas?" Andrew asks after about half an hour on the road. Until now, they'd been listening to the radio. And Andrew's inane chomping.

"Uh, my guess is about five hours. Maybe... Maybe six. I can't be sure," Abram says, watching a Honda creep up behind them in the rearview mirror. It’s been behind them for a while. “Andrew, who’s driving that blue car behind us?”

Andrew moves to sit on his knees and look out the back glass. “A one-hundred year old woman. Maybe one-hundred and one…”

“Thanks.” Abram lets out a breath as Andrew flops back into his seat. Andrew’s hair swishes as he cracks his neck and he inhales, making a face. “What?”

"Hm. Does this car have a smell?"

"Yeah. Like..." Abram sniffs the air. "I don't know what."

“Oh,” Andrew laughs. "Weed. It smells like weed. It seems dear Brian might've been a toker."

"Are you?"

"No, I just know how it smells."

"Is that sarcasm?"

"Maybe." Andrew crunches another couple of crisps. "I smoked weed once. Gave me the giggles and I ate a bag of chips and an entire carton of ice cream. You?"

"Never."

"I think you should try it, it's supposed to help you unwind."

"I can't afford to unwind."

"It's not that expensive. Besides, I've seen your trust fund. You could buy a marijuana farm. A small one, but still."

"You know what I mean. I'm literally being hunted, Andrew. Dead or alive," Abram huffs. "I don't have time for fucking with drugs."

[halevren]

FHJY Spoilers || my live thoughts as I watch episode 9

i got a new job and I felt sick last night so. I'm watching this very late. it has been tough avoiding spoilers but I Have Done So

TTTAKING OVER TEENAGE REBELLION

hiiii one and all!!! hii intrepid heroes!!!!

i have been told stuff happens this episode. I'm so excited

"You're mad we're not doing drugs."

"I think this might be gorgug's worst day of his life."

so much happened last episode

totally healthy adult activity.

VULTURE

THE SPELL-LESS KRISTEN APPLEBEES 😭😭

THE VULTURE DIMENSION

I love the projections

DOMINATE MONSTER NO LONGER EFFECTING RIZ

THE VULTURE KING

I think Brennan is loving being the vulture king

NAT 20 FOR FABIAN

"IT'S THE VULTURE KING YOU HAVE TO KISS HIM!"

"One answer and it's Riz."

"I'm so glad I died on that battlefield."

A crisp 500 dollar bill

I love this so much

This is so silly

THEY'RE HOLDING HANDS

"Hey, I'll kill you, you fucker." "kiss him!"

VULTURES YAY OR NAY?

"Can you bring his parents up here—" "NO."

"Feels like five"

"You wanna be in our crew?"

Kristen is really trying to get her friends to romance the vultures.

"Are you a God of some kind?" "I don't mind man."

This season is just Brennan breaking the PCs

oh good god

MAGIC ITEMS!

"Summons 1d4 vultures, they are not under your command."

no bring us back to the vulture dimension im obsessed with it

fireball

18 damage 😭😭😭

"I'm going to think about that for days."

FIRST STRIKE HITS REAL ONE

"get out of my yard."

(Brennan rolling too many dice.)

the little fireball that could!

THE ROMAN CANDLE YOU SHOT AT THE BIG BAD

THE BALL GAVE FABIAN ADVANTAGE

Concentration lost 🔥🔥🔥

is Ruben only able to give bardic

BRENNAN NAT 20

what are we making dex saves for.

ZERO DEX SAVE. KRISTEN.

"I'm dead from shame."

ADAINE DOWN? NOOOO

29!!

So many dice for Fabian

"Don't worry I got the ones out guys" Emily 😭😭😭

"I'm actually a huge fan."

so now that grix is destroyed does that mean there's no principal?

Ruben's frantically calling for Wanda

"I'm real right?"

"What happened? I was taking a shit."

"Do you have a warrant? Do you have a fucking warrant?"

Adaine is still dead on the ground

THE IDENTIFY SPELL

grix is untampered with

I miss ayda

29 investigation 🔥

GLOWING STINGERS? GROWING RED? LIKE THE SYNOD?

24 points glowing red

Rage connection!!

"Can we get some hot sauce before we leave?"

HE ATE THE VULTURE FOR NOTHING

"Found another glass of water"

Fabian finally getting his kisses in.

Nat 20 history rat check

SEXY RAT

"You know thats triggering for me!"

Rat stores

"There's not a rat world under the school."

Rat World!!!

BabyBojörn

oh god fig gave Fabian a bardic

sexuality inclusivity for cassandra!

aww..... fabian took bardic from fig earlier...

"You are. Cursed."

RIZ NAT 20!!!!

NOOO YOLANDA

Force damage...

Three hours????

ah yes another use of the identity spell!

"You could multi class into wizard!" "Yeah, add it to the fuckin' pile."

AN UNHOLY LAST RITES

NOOO YOLANDA

There's something under the tree?? glyth???

LUCY FROSTBLADE DEAD BODY

I think Fig's bad luck is genuinely effecting Emily too with all these bad rolls 😭😭😭😭

Did.... Did the rat grinders kill Lucy???????

let adaine use the diamonds. finders keepers

divine intervention........

Kristen will have to work so hard to get cassandra back

spies tongue curse???

"Call an adult?"

"You were such a good teacher, I'm sorry I just got a C..." 😭😭

THIS IS SO HEARTBREAKING!!!

LUCY AND YOLANDA'S SOULS HELD HANDS BEFORE GOING TO HEAVEN. ACTUALLY CRYING

BUD CUBBY THE REALEST EVER

FIG NAT 20

level of exhaustion :(

elmville police departments always on fire

"David..."

AGENT CLARK?!?!?!?

did he just take the dirt like a line of drugs?

one becomes a 10 which becomes a 19

*head in hands* "is it okay if I ask you about your case, mom?"

"So I'm unbelievably wealthy. And me and my friends just discovered the site of a double homicide. So....."

Group IV time, or group shock therapy.

Gorgug putting barbarian first

HE'S DOING ARTIFICER SPELLS WHILE RAGING!!!

"We need a word."

Gorgug talking to Porter is so funny

ok. wait this is actually kinda sweet between Porter and Gorgug

"I feel lucky to have you in my class." 😭😭😭😭

MCAT SIGNED!!!

The Last Stand exam?

KRISTEN MIGHT PASS FAIL?

oh god. 4 stress tokens

I wonder if the intrepid heroes are aware of the 5 stress token

"I'm in a lot of school."

Gorgug looking into building a time machine real as hell

Oh my god gorgug is still on the owlbears

"Okay I think I have to lie down."

I'm going to fight the wizard teacher

"I love my life. Everything is perfect."

"... YOU'RE WORKING?"

AELWYN LONELY ARK

10 CATS??

aelwyn and adaine bonding 😭😭

AELWYN IS WORKING FOR KIPPERLILLY COPPERHEAD???

I'M SO EXCITED FOR THE NEXT EPISODE

[poledancingdinos]

A Very Merry Unbirthday

Pairing: Captain Syverson X OFC

Word Count: 1179

Warnings: Fluff

Taglist: @amberangel112 @utterlyhopeful-fics @marantha @kebabgirl67 @littleone65 @omgkatinka @luclittlepond @elizabetharegina @enchantedbytomandhenry @narnianaos @geralts-yenn @peaches1958 @avengersfan25

A/N: Another one from the forgotten WIP file

Masterlist

At oh-five-hundred on the dot, Sy’s eyes cracked open to find sunny rays beginning to light up the bedroom. It was Saturday and he had no obligation to be up so damn early but it seemed that his body had yet to register that he was now a civilian. Instead of staying in bed a while longer like he normally would have, he slowly slipped out from between the sheets and gathered some fresh clothes before exiting the room.

He showered and shaved then went downstairs to get the plastic shopping bags out from the under seat storage at the back of his truck. He’d hidden the contents there, knowing that if he were caught with them in the house, his girlfriend would have his hide.

You wouldn’t think that wrapping paper and ribbon would be the worst kind of contraband he could sneak into his home but it was something she felt very strongly about.

After retrieving the scissors from the kitchen and letting Aika out in the yard, Sy sat in the den and began meticulously wrapping the small box. He marked and folded each side of the paper, ensuring the edges were crisp and neat before placing the box in the center and taping everything in place.

Finally, he pulled out the card he’d had printed specifically for the occasion. He’d been agonizing all week over what he wanted to say and what words to use. He wasn’t very good at sharing his thoughts or emotions, being more of a “show don’t tell” type of guy, but the woman sound asleep upstairs deserved that he at least make an attempt.

By the time he’d finished it was only a little past six. He still had at least two more hours to kill so he made a pot of coffee and kept himself busy by cleaning the kitchen, living room and dining room before setting the table and heading out the door.

It was a quick drive to his chosen restaurant where he placed an order to go. The enticing smells perfuming the place made his stomach rumble, reminding that he’d forgone breakfast in order to eat with his girlfriend once she woke up. Luckily, the restaurant was mostly empty still and the hostess quickly returned with two full bags of food.

Now came the hard part: waking his girlfriend without getting too many pillows thrown at his head.

The door creaked as he pushed it open and his sleeping beauty stirred. He knelt by the bed, pecking her nose and cheeks.

“Mornin’ Sugar.”

She hummed but didn’t open her eyes as she sought his lips for a deep, slow kiss.

“Hey handsome.”

“Happy—”

Her eyes darted open and she gave him a stern frown. “If you know what's good for you, you will not finish that sentence.”

Sy chuckled, giving her another peck between her tightly knit eyebrows.

“Come on…,” he coaxed. “Birthday girls get coffee and food from the good breakfast place.”

He’d hoped the promise of her favorite food would pull her from the bed and he’d been right. She pouted comically as she stood, wearing only underwear and one of his old shirts. Sy watched shamelessly as she walked to the dresser to retrieve a pair of soft fleece shorts, pulling them up her legs.

He followed her down to the dinning room where their breakfast awaited. Though she continued to pout out of principal, the little satisfied sounds she made as she ate let Sy know that she was very much enjoying her surprise breakfast.

When they both finished their meals, Sy cleared the plates and replaced hers with the card he’d prepared.

“Sy…” she warned.

He pulled her chair closer to his and placed his arm around her shoulders.

“I just want to celebrate my woman and know she's as happy as she makes me.”

“Happy would be no special attention,” she argued, leaning into his side.

“What are ya gonna do when it’s our kids wakin’ ya up first thing in the mornin’ by jumpin’ up and down on the bed and screamin’ that it’s their birthday?”

“Our kids?” she repeated, pursing her lips as she pretended not to smile. Sy only shrugged, like it was no big deal that he’d just assumed with so much certainty the two of them would have kids one day .

She focused her attention on opening the card, ignoring the way her stomach fluttered at the thought of her and Sy trying for a baby.

“A very merry unbirthday to you. Yes, you,” she read aloud. She turned the front of the card towards Sy, pointing at the image from the movie Alice in Wonderland. “Okay, I have to admit that’s pretty funny.” She opened the card, reading the inscription.

After a few seconds, she looked up at Sy. “I don’t get it.”

“Maybe this’ll help.” He placed a box on the table which his girlfriend hadn’t even noticed was on his lap.

“Sy…”

“Open it.”

Her eyes flickered between Sy and the box as she reached out and gently peeled back the clear tape until she revealed the black velvet box. She slipped the cardboard sleeve off and slowly lifted the cover.

“Sy…” She didn’t know what else to say. Well, “yes” might be an appropriate response but he hadn't actually asked a question yet.

“I know ya hate birthdays but this is the first time I’m not overseas on the day of… I hope you’ll forgive me, I just wanted to make it special this one time to celebrate the amazin’ woman I’m hopin’ will be my wife.”

If you say one word, I will promise you a lifetime of very merry unbirthdays, the card read.

“So,” Sy continued, taking the ring from the box and getting down on one knee. “Sugar, you are the light of my life. I love you and all your quirks, even if it means I don't get to spoil you on this one day of the year. I am incredibly grateful to wake up by your side every day and I never want that to change. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

“Yes,” she quickly answered, tears beginning to pool in her eyes. “Of course I will, yes!”

Sy couldn't hold back his smile at her answer, nor did he want to. He ran his thumb tenderly over her knuckles as he took hold of her left hand and slipped the ring onto her finger. When it fit almost to perfection, he made a mental note to thank his future brother-in-law for the insider tip.

She let herself be pulled onto Sy’s lap, cupping his face as she locked her lips with his.

“Thank you for waitin’, Sugar. I know I put you through Hell these last few years. I’ve got a lot of time to make up for.”

She shook her head, her nose brushing against his as she remained wrapped in his embrace. “I don’t need you to make up for anything. Having you here now is all I need.”