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beelmons · 2 years ago

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Luxury Poker Nights pt. 2

Pairing: Hotch, Reid, Morgan x fem!reader Rating: Explicit, smut (18+, minors do not interact with this story) Word count: 5,806 cw: unprotected sex (do not recommend), sex-servant kink, voyeurism, multiple partners, non-vegan food options, slight degradation, free use kink Summary: It's Aaron's turn to host the poker night, and he figured it would be a great move to invite the entertainment they all fervently enjoyed last time: you. A/N: This was so highly requested I hope it lives up to expectations. Prompted by an original blurb found here Tag list: @illumi3 @ash-recs @canyonmooncreations @howabouticallyou @unlikelyqueenninja @kay-moranguinho and my always honorary mentions: @ihavemanyhusbands @cassiemartzz

Meeting Aaron Hotchner was nothing short of an absolute pleasure. Gentle, kind, considerate, funny when he finally got rid of the stoic boss facade, everything you would love in a partner whether casual or serious. All these reasons played a role in deciding to partake on a very specific contract: to serve as his servant, sexually speaking.

"Hey," Aaron greeted you before leaning in to press a friendly kiss to your cheek.

"Hey, Mr. Hotchner." you replied.

His head tilted and eyebrows raised with playful offense "I've told you, if you don't want to call me Aaron, at least go with Hotch."

Every so often he would call you in, mostly to a very beautiful house owned by a man you knew as Rossi, and you'd come for the sole purpose to act out your role. To serve and please them.

This time, however, he was hosting in his own apartment. It was the classic bachelor pad, the adult version, barely decorated but tidy and resourceful. You had been in there only once, but you had memorized the area pretty well. He also looked especially handsome, navy blue polo shirt and denim black pants with casual sneakers, you could notice his toned biceps in that outfit.

"What are my instructions for today?" you asked as you got in, taking a look around to remember the layout.

"The usual. Although, I might ask you to take charge of the kitchen for a little bit. Bring snacks, beverages, nothing too complicated. Oh, and…” he began to say, reaching for a bag that was laying by the entrance “this.”

From it, he pulled out what seemed like a traditional maid apron. You could tell he had it tailored for your body, and that the lace around it seemed to be fine, not the cheap ones costume stores had. You reached for it and pulled it from the strings you were supposed to tie, you hovered it over your body to catch a preview of what it would look like, the man had a good eye, it sure made you feel hot.

“Of course, if it makes you uncomfortable, we can ditch it.” he tried to reassure you, seeing how you kept admiring the piece.

“It’s alright, Mr. Hotchner. But a maid outfit? I thought you preferred me in the bare.” you teased.

“Don’t worry, we still get plenty of access to the parts of you we love the most, being that the apron is the only garment of the costume you will actually wear.” his hands slipped in his pockets, his face lighting up with a smug smile “You can change in the bathroom, the guys should be here soon.”

You made your way to the mentioned room to obey your first order of the night. Aaron waited patiently in the kitchen, putting together a couple more things so that the serving part of your job would be easier. Nonetheless, a knock on the door distracted him from his duty. He hurried to open, immediately being greeted by Morgan and Reid.

“Hey, where’s Dave?” he asked, noticing a missing member.

“He said he’s got something to do but he’ll catch us—” Morgan’s eyes fixed on something behind Hotch, and his train of thought completely disappeared “—later.”

The boss turned around when he noticed Spencer’s perplexed eyes, similar to Morgan’s, and he smiled to himself as he turned around to watch you already in your ‘uniform’, to call it some way. The apron was comfortably secured around your waist, the length of it barely covering your front to the middle of your thighs, your back absolutely exposed, being that the fabric of the apron was only on the forepart, your upper body out in the open, with your nipples already perked from the cold air conditioning hitting them. And to them, you were the most beautiful of monuments.

“What’s your safe word?” Aaron asked, his eyes immediately scanning your body.

“Cacao.” you said confidently, your head nodding in reassurance.

Aaron looked back at Spencer and Morgan, making sure they caught what you had said. They both shook their heads in agreement, and so he locked the door behind them “Let’s begin poker night, then.” he ordered.

“I’ll get some drinks for you guys.” you said, and you were about to move to the kitchen when Hotch’s voice stopped you.

“I believe I haven’t given you permission to speak.” he emitted in a commanding voice.

You understood his words for what they were: a warning. He had been clear enough, when you were there to work, you had to be diligent. Always keep yourself busy, available, and quiet, those were the rules you had signed up for. Your hands folded on your lap and you bowed your head slightly in response.

Once they were out of your sight, you headed to the kitchen. You gathered a couple of snacks that Mr. Hotchner had prepared; some peanuts, pretzels, and cut up fruit, added with three open beers. He had let a tray out for you as well, possibly with the intention of making everything easier. By the time you got to the table and began to spread the food and beverages around they had already dealt the cards.

You settled the empty tray on the side on a random surface, and Mr. Hotchner spread one arm in your direction indicating you that he wanted you to join his side; you did as he desired and his arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you to sit on his leg. As if ritualistic, the hand that was closer to his body was grabbed and brought to his lips, a gentle kiss landed on the back of it, and then he guided it to his member, that at some point he had already exposed. It was an instinct, you already knew what to do. Your hand began to slowly massage the barely hard shaft, and you could hear him exhale particularly hard at the sensation.

“Rules will change for tonight. You can’t bet ‘All in’ unless you have at least fifteen chips, and you can’t bet two rounds in a row.” Aaron began to say.

“Isn’t 15 a bit expensive?” Spencer’s eyes narrowed with doubt.

“Not at all, given that an ‘all in’ winner also gets 10 minutes to command our servant as they please.” his hand dragged upwards, purposely taking his time to brush your skin with his fingertips, nipple included, until they landed on your chin, tilting your face to have you look in the direction of the other two men “And you could agree, she’s worth the risk.”

Your breath hitched in your throat at the way they hungrily stared at you, but they didn’t say anything further, both Morgan and Reid simply went back to looking at their cards.

The game began and you hadn’t been given permission to move, you had to remain on Mr. Hotchner’s leg, caressing his member. He seemed unbothered by your steady movement, but you could feel him throb every so often, and it would fill you with cocky pride. That was another rule: you weren’t allowed to go rogue, they came when they wanted to, not when you caused them to. If you acted too smart and tried to make them climax before they wanted to, you were sidelined, given the silent treatment. That was more punishment than doing anything else to you, because chances were you were going to enjoy whatever else.

You would steal a glance at random times to notice his tip swollen and reddened, even when he tried to keep composure, and continued to play his hands normally, you had learned the little twitches his dick made whenever he was getting close. His head turned to place a chaste kiss to your shoulder blade, giving you permission to keep going. Your hand trailed down to give his balls a gentle squeeze, which caused a loud groan to come out of his throat, and after a couple more fast strokes he began to spill his seed.

Mr. Hotchner had been clear that he did not like messes; his entire member was coated in his semen, and some had spilled over his pants as well. You reached for one of the pockets the apron had sown on to find a handkerchief that you recognized as his, in seconds, you were on your knees, you wiped clean the fabric of his pants, his shaft, on the other hand, didn’t require the cloth, you grabbed at the base and licked a strip up, repeating the same movement until he was clean, and hard yet again.

“All in.” Morgan’s voice snapped everyone’s attention, and since you hadn’t been given indication to do otherwise, your mouth kept working Aaron’s dick.

“Already? You’ve only won one round.” Spencer asked, his math not quite adding up.

“I’ve got enough.” he clarified.

“You got exactly 15, though, if you lose this, you don’t get any more.” Hotch looked in his direction.

Morgan’s head tilted slightly to the side, catching sight of your still bobbing head. He smiled as a response to his boss’s explanation, pushing the chips forward to the center of the table.

“She’s worth the risk.” he said, a wink sent to Spencer. You couldn’t help but blush at his words, even if you weren’t able to stop your current activity unless indicated.

The other two men exchanged looks, if they didn’t raise, they would still lose, perhaps that was part of Morgan’s scheme, but they weren’t about to just give you up by default. They pushed the corresponding chips to the pool in the center, and Reid was the first one to open his cards. Full house, nines over jacks. Hotch was in a slump, two pairs, queens and kings.

“Full house.” Morgan said before he opened his cards, and Spencer’s attention was specially perked “Aces over sevens.” he finally said.

Spencer let out a soft curse under his breath as Morgan laughed in pride, he was certainly rejoicing on having made that play. You received a light tap on your shoulder that indicated you it was time to move masters, and so you stood up and directed to stand next to Derek.

“Actually, sweetheart, I will need you in the kitchen for a bit.” he said, his hand nonetheless landing on the skin of your rear, gently squeezing it “Peanuts and pretzels are a bit hard on my stomach, do you think you could make me a quick sandwich?” he asked ever so chivalrously.

“Anything in particular you would like?” you asked, taking his question as permission to speak.

“Some ham and bacon would be excellent, thank you.” with a soft slap of your ass he sent you your merry way.

Kitchen duty was on the original arrangement, although you didn’t quite picture yourself making sandwiches, Derek’s smile was so charming you would learn gourmet cuisine just to please him.

You gathered the required stuff, bread, some mayonnaise, and the ham and bacon. Being that you were topless, using a pan was out of the question, so you used the tray on the small electric oven that was next to the stove to cook the pork strips. You were too entranced by the silly way in which the meat shrunk to notice that Derek had walked into the kitchen, only becoming aware of his presence when he leaned next to you against the counter.

“You make a great maid.” he pointed out, and you bolted up a little from the surprise. His hand instinctively reached for your waist, trying to keep you from falling back “Easy, you might hurt yourself.”

Even when he made sure your feet were steady, he didn’t remove his hand from where it was, in fact, he simply took a couple of steps closer.

“I enjoy servicing.” you said, eyes traveling south. You could see his cock already hanging out from his zipper, and you tried to reach for it in an attempt to caress it. His free hand, however, stopped you.

“I can see that. You also take initiative, that’s impressive.” he began, his hand bringing yours up to press a kiss to it in a similar way Hotch used to do, but instead of allowing it to stroke his member, he directed it to the kitchen utensils you had laid out “But I believe for things to be done right they have to be done with the utmost concentration, so why don’t we focus on that sandwich, huh?”

You pouted a little and he let out a light chuckle at your disappointment. You went back to the task at hand, getting a dull butter knife to begin spreading the mayonnaise around the slice. You felt the warmth of his touch leave your waist, and you were about to complain yet again until you felt one of his fingers sneak between your legs and trail up your slit.

You shuddered and your legs instinctively closed. He tsk’ed his tongue in disapproval, and you understood to return them to their original position. Derek wasted no time, the two fingers in the middle of his hand slipping into your cunt. He was fixated on your face, absorbing every expression as you melted due to his digits, your hands gripping on the surface, leaving the sandwich unattended.

“I haven’t told you to stop working, have I?” he whispered commandingly.

His fingers began to curl upwards inside of you as they continued to move inside and out, getting coated with your juices. You tried your best to keep yourself still, your hand shakily reaching for the rest of the ingredients. He didn’t stop his movements even when you dropped the knife on the counter from the way he hit the back of your cunt.

“Careful.” he warned at the clinking sound, you peeked over your shoulder while you grabbed the utensil and out of the corner of your eye you could notice his hand moving over his now hardened cock “Come on, beautiful, keep going.”

You shook your head a little in an attempt to clear it, even when his relentless fingers weren’t giving you the opportunity. You finally managed to pay attention and began to assemble the deli meats. You barely noticed when he moved behind you until you felt his tip rub against your entrance.

His hands ran over your front as he pushed inside of you, slowly, and they landed on your breasts. A pleasure mewl slipped past your mouth, but you cut it short.

“Come on, now, I’m not Hotch.” he complained while he gave you the chance to adjust to his member “You don’t gotta have my permission to talk, let that voice out.”

His hips snapped rather roughly against yours, a loud slapping sound echoing around the kitchen; it caused a loud moan from you, one that you were sure could be heard from the other room. “That’s a good girl.” he praised.

His initial rhythm wasn’t slow, after all he was in a hurry. It made assembling the sandwich all much more difficult, you struggled to open the door of the electric oven, almost getting burned thanks to the way his cock so deeply pushed inside you, all while your throat was unable to keep quiet, intermittent noises unsteady from his thrusts.

One of his hands slipped down and in between your legs, the tip of his middle finger rubbed at your clit with a gentle speed, almost unmatching to his hips. You sensed him look over your shoulder to check up on the status of his food, and your hand trembled as you set the bacon down to finish it up. He laughed with pleasure, and his fingers dipped on the skin around your hips.

“Can you take it, baby?” you could feel his thick member erratically twitching inside of you as he asked, and you nodded your head fervently “Of course you can.” he reassured.

He snapped a couple more times, rough enough to make you lose your balance and press up against the counter, before you heard him grunt and felt your cunt being filled with his spill. The sensation of his cock pushing your walls sent you over the edge, and you began to drip with your release, a loud moan accompanying the blissful sensation. He pulled out with ease, not waiting for you to come out of your high, and stepped away to grab the meal you had prepared.

“Thank you, beautiful, looks delicious.” he winked at you with his signature charming smile before he began walking out of the kitchen “Oh, and pretty boy said he wanted some iced tea, be a doll and bring it after you’re done cleaning up, thanks.”

Without further word, he vanished from your sight. You had to take a second to catch your breath, desperate for a bit more friction. You considered touching yourself, but if Mr. Hotchner were to catch you, you wouldn’t be able to come again all night, he would make sure of it.

You could feel Derek’s cum beginning to drip, but the cleanliness of the kitchen was a priority. You abided by the task that you had been handed, after a couple of minutes of cleaning up, since you hadn’t made a big mess, you prepared the beverage for Dr. Reid and headed back to the area. You settled the glass of iced tea next to the man that had requested it.

“All in.” as soon as you stood next to him, you heard the youngest of the group exclaim, he then muttered a casual ‘thank you’ at the gesture of having his drink brought over.

Hotch and Morgan exchanged playful glances. They knew he was rushing, his decision possibly prompted by the fact that your breasts were so close to his face; they noticed the bobbing of his adam’s apple, and Aaron had paid attention to how he palmed his bulge while he heard you get taken in the kitchen. Logic just flew out of the window when you were around, and his coworkers adored seeing that side of him.

“You got me.” Morgan said as he folded his cards, and Reid cockily took a sip off his drink.

“I’ll play.” Hotch mentioned before adding his chips to the pool.

“Two pairs. Kings and Queens.” Spencer opened his hand.

On his part, Hotch could simply scoff while he threw his cards on the table. “Jacks and Queens.” he said with pretend defeat.

The blond man boasted with his expression in pure pride. He didn’t use to be the kind to order you around, unlike the other two who had gotten very comfortable, and preferred you took the initiative during game sessions.

This time, nonetheless, he looked quite eager to take control. Once he noticed you looking at him expectantly, waiting patiently for your command. He narrowed his eyes, ever inexperienced, trying to come up with something, or rather trying to find the right way to ask.

“Could you…” he stopped to try and analyze his next words “Could you bend over?” he motioned towards the table.

It took your entire strength to not laugh, you weren’t making fun of him, he was just ridiculously adorable, and it made hard contrast with the whole situation in the first place and his actual sexual interests. You obeyed, not wanting to make him self-conscious, moving Derek’s plate out of the way elegantly before resting your entire body face-down against the piece of furniture.

You let out a quiet whimper from the contrast in temperature; your ass was left up and exposed in his direction. He finally stood up, and you looked back to peek at what he was up to, his hips had lined up with yours, his member was still clothed, but that didn’t stop him from grabbing at your asscheeks and pressing his bulge against your dripping cunt.

“Why don’t we change the game?” his eyes were glued on your skin wrinkling up with every push, but he kept talking to his coworkers “How about blackjack? Hotch can play house” he proposed.

“Reid, it’s literally illegal for you to play blackjack in two states.” Hotch pointed out.

“That’s true. You have an unfair advantage.” Morgan added.

“Card counting can only be done with extreme concentration and observation of the cards being dealt.” his eyes didn’t leave your body, his palm gently massaging your skin as he kept rubbing himself on you “And I happen to be too busy to pay enough attention.”

“Alright, but blackjack is a fast game. The player needs to win at least three rounds to claim their prize. Draws don’t count towards the winning number.” Aaron clarified.

The rest of the players nodded in agreement. Mr. Hotchner was the dealer, since he was playing the role of ‘the house’, and he began assigning the first round of cards. Before he got to Reid, though, he noticed there was no space on the table, your body occupying most of it, and so he resolved he would just put it over your naked back.

You gulped in surprise and your body seemed to get hotter, you surely weren’t expected to be used this way; your nipples brushed against the surface of the table, and Reid noticed how you pushed back against him slightly.

The doctor pulled away, satisfied for the time being with the friction that he had gotten, and realized there were a couple of white-ish stains.

“Come on, Morgan!” he exclaimed once he noticed it was semen “Can’t you clean up after yourself?”

Derek could only break into a laugh, and you noticed a small smirk on Aaron’s face as well.

“Sorry, kid.” he simply said, waiting for Hotch to open his second card.

Reid made an unamused expression and crouched down to observe the situation. You still had some drip down your thigh, and your slit still had some traces of Morgan’s release.

“I’ll help you out, but I need you to do something for me.” he said, palming at your ass to let you know he was talking to you; you hummed, replying that you were listening intently “I won’t be able to use my mouth, so if I suck, it means hit, if I insert, it means stay”

You furrowed your brows with confusion, but he didn’t give you much time to understand. You felt his tongue trail up your inner thigh, taking the liquid that had spilled over it with it, and shortly the muscle pressed against your slit, taking a lap at your entire sex.

Your hands gripped at the side edges of the square table, on your right side Derek Morgan was looking intently at his cards, on your left Aaron Hotchner was paying close attention to the youngest’s movements. He snapped back to the game once your pleased noises started flowing, his hand darting out to land on top of yours and rub at the back of it slightly. Aaron dealt the second round of cards and Reid’s landed on your back once again.

“14.” the older man said.

A little distracted by the way his tongue teased your labia, you didn’t pay attention to the words the dealer had said until you felt Spencer’s lips wrap around your clit and intensely suck the air in. The sensation, which was foreign, made your legs go weak; the man pressed his face against your rear to keep you up, and it only made the interaction so much hotter.

“Hit me!” you exclaimed in between moans.

“8. Adds to 22.” Hotch said calmly.

Reid grumbled against your cunt, his tongue going back to your entrance instead, superficially licking, taking his time to taste everything around it.

Morgan was busted as well, which meant the house took the round. Spencer kept a steady and slow pace; you felt the cards being removed from your back and, almost immediately, a new one was added.

“20.” Hotch said again.

The youngster’s hands had been placed against the outer sides of your thighs in the meantime, however once he heard the number they traveled up. He pulled away and you slightly whined at the lack of contact, his thumbs spread the outer part of your pussy open and his tongue immediately slipped inside your entrance.

“Stay.” you struggled to let out, only coming out as a shaky breath.

Hotch opened a couple more cards, Derek was busted again, so there was a chance for Reid’s win.

“21 for the house, house wins.” Aaron exclaimed.

Your head defeatedly laid against the wooden table, the man buried in your rear could feel your walls clenching and your hips slightly moving to grind against yours. Your shaky breaths didn’t only alert him that your second orgasm of the night was coming, the other two men could also tell.

“Reid, your time with her is almost up.” Aaron pointed out after taking a look at his watch.

Spencer pulled away once again, to your discomfort, and narrowed his eyes pretending to think.

“I’ll tell you what, win this round and I’ll let you orgasm.” Reid proposed to you.

You trembled a little with anticipation, feeling your orgasm edging on. Instead of allowing his tongue back on you, he simply pressed open-mouthed kisses to your labia, making sure he wouldn’t touch any sensitive areas.

Aaron dealt another round of cards over your back, not even paying attention to your begging face.

“16.” he notified you since your eyes were tightly shut with irritation from being so close yet unable to release.

“Hit me.” you commanded, still feeling Reid’s wet lips kissing your sides.

“3. Adds to 19.” He clarified as he threw another card against your back.

“Hit me.” you said once again.

Aaron and Spencer exchanged looks, it was a very risky move, statistically heavily improbable.

Hotch opened the new card against your back, and he let out a pleased chuckle. “2. Adds to twenty one.”

Reid laughed with incredulity, but he was a man of his word. His lips clasped your sensitive nub once again, and he sucked the air in as his tongue moved rapidly from side to side. A high-pitched moan at his movements, and you couldn’t help but to release your juices over his face. You could hear an erotic slurping sound from the back, he was abiding by his promise of keeping you clean.

“Well played!” he beamed at you and cleared the cards from your back “That was a very unlikely pull, I’m surprised you made it.”

“Certainly.” Hotch reassured as he dealt the next round of cards.

Reid had sat back down on his chair, and as the pieces of carton landed on you, you decided to stay put on the table. Spencer’s eyes would travel from his cards to your ass from time to time, almost as if he was pondering his next move after he won.

However, he wouldn’t be as lucky, and neither would Derek, since the next round was won by the house, which meant Hotch was back in control. You were about to stand back up and his hand laid on your bare back, stopping your movement,

“Actually, honey, why don’t you remain there for a little bit more?” he commanded and you obediently remained “Reid, move.” he said standing up.

The younger furrowed his brows with unintentional defiance “But this is my seat…” he quietly complained.

“You can have your seat back once I’m done with her.” Hotch said, his tone was as imposing, but you could tell he was a little more gentle. You didn’t know the exact nature of their relationship, but you had figured Spencer was a soft spot for him.

He finally obeyed and stood up and away from the chair, leaving enough space for Hotch to stand behind you. You could immediately feel the tip of his member prodding at your entrance, after what Reid had done to you, you certainly didn’t need any more preparation. You were overstimulated as it was, but his cock was always welcome, and he could tell by the way you were clenching around nothing simply by having him so close.

He smirked to himself at the feeling and immediately allowed himself inside of you. You grunted with pleasure as you felt him enter, your fingers, tired from gripping on the sides of the table, beginning to curl around in the air.

“Here, you can grab onto this.” the ever so chivalrous Derek Morgan reached out to intertwine his fingers with yours, giving you a soft area for you to squeeze trying to not lose control.

Mr. Hotchner wasn’t going to pretend being gentle, his thrusts picking up speed as soon as you had gotten used to his size. He moved his shirt slightly aside, enjoying every second of watching himself disappear between your contracting walls. He let out a soft groan in pleasure, and you could tell he was beginning to lose himself in you. His hand gripped at your buttock, squeezing roughly to help him move your hips back and forth.

The other two participants didn’t seem to move a finger, they could only stare, with pleased expressions on their face, at the way tears began to prickle on the corner of your eyes. Reid reached to land a hand on top of your head soothingly, and his kindness was always appreciated.

Your obnoxious sounds were a delight to the three of them, therefore they dreaded the tune of a ringing phone interrupting the melody they adored. Hotch reached for the gadget within his pocket, furrowing his brows at the caller ID.

“Yeah, JJ?” he said and made a ‘shushing’ sign to Spencer and Derek.

Reid gently moved his hand from your head to your mouth, initially he was simply going to cover it with his palm, but an impulsive thought beat him to it: his index and middle finger slipped inside your mouth and pressed against your tongue.

“Suck.” he ordered in a whisper “It will help you keep quiet.”

You obeyed the doctor’s order, however, focusing on coating his digits in your saliva; your sounds were kept muffled in your throat, but they escaped your lips from time to time, since Aaron was not giving you a second of rest.

“Can’t it wait? I see. It’s fine, Reid and Morgan are with me, call Dave, we’ll meet you there in 15.” Hotch continued instructing. He was doing his best to appear unbothered, and he was purposely hitting deeper each time, almost making it a challenge for you to keep your sounds down.

“A case?” Morgan inquired as soon as his superior got off the phone.

“And urgent.” he put the device away once again and leaned slightly over you. His fingers glued themselves to your clit, circling it slowly, he was trying to, most likely, rush your orgasm. The pleasure it brought to you was a little painful, being that it had been the part of your body that had received the most attention during the night. You whined at the sensation, and Reid had to slide his fingers further back to keep you from screaming.

“You know, Hotch, there’s a question that I’ve been meaning to ask for a while.” Spencer suddenly emitted, and Aaron looked curiously in his direction, prompting him to inquire “Are you really paying her?”

The question caused Hotch to chuckle slightly “No, it’s more like an arrangement.” he confessed, still focused on pounding your cunt.

“Then what does she get out of it?” his eyes narrowed as he observed you, fucked out of your mind, swallow your cheeks around his fingers.

“She gets to come,” he clarified “as many times as she can take.”

As he spoke, his hand raised to land a loud, yet not utterly strong, slap on your ass; he did that sometimes when he allowed you to release. His hips snapped one final time, pressing all the way in to spill his cum inside of you. Your third orgasm of the night was divine, your teeth slightly gritting against Reid’s skin.

You laid there, absolutely exhausted, for a couple of minutes as they gathered their things and fixed up their clothes. Once you had recovered your energy enough to stand up, you felt your knees betraying you almost immediately. Morgan bolted from his nearby spot to offer his body as support, his arm surrounding your middle.

“You alright?” he asked with concern and you nodded.

“Here.” Spencer came closer with a wet wipe that he handed to you.

“I’m sorry we can’t see you off, but this is urgent.” Hotch came out of a random room with a briefcase on his hand and his pristine suit already on “Rest as much as you want and help yourself to anything in the kitchen, just make sure to lock the door when you leave.”

Without saying any further he leaned closer to you and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips. He muttered a ‘let’s go’ directed to his subordinates and almost dashed outside the apartment. Morgan simply took a quick peck at the side of your head and told you to ‘take care’. Spencer stood there awkwardly for a second; you could see in his eyes that he was trying to do something, anything, but he couldn’t find the right gesture. Unable to take it much longer, you curled your hand into a fist and offered it in his direction. He bumped it with a fist of his own, and both of you laughed with a bit of embarrassment.

“Listen,” you said before he could move away, slightly entranced by his hazel eyes “the arrangement I have with Mr. Hotchner…” you diverted your gaze, suddenly slightly embarrassed “...it’s not exclusive.” you finally said.

Spencer’s eyes opened and eyebrows raised in surprise, were you insinuating what he thought you were? His mouth opened and closed in search for an answer, but he struggled to make sense of anything, too scared to diffuse the interest you had shown in him.

“You don��t have to agree right now,” you reached behind you, to the side table that had the landline phone on it, to grab a pad and a pen and immediately wrote down your number “if you want to explore a contract of your own, give me a call.” you said with a smile handing the paper over to him.

“I will!” he said with almost too much excitement.

“Reid!” Morgan yelled from the corridor.

Spencer let out a quick curse and wrinkled his face with frustration “I’ll call you.” he said before he left in a rush.

You giggled a little with teenage-like excitement, a feeling that you hadn’t experienced since you first started your dynamic with Mr. Hotchner. New guy, new conditions, new games. Perhaps poker is not the only way to have fun.

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deanwinchestergf · 1 year ago

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and why would an angel rescue me from hell? good things do happen dean. not in my experience. i'm not here to perch on your shoulder. i was getting too close to the humans in my charge. you. to everything there is a season. you made an exception for me. you're different. for what's worth, i would give anything not to have you do this. i learned my lesson while i was away, dean. i serve heaven, i don't serve men and i certainly don't serve you. but you guys aren't supposed to be there, you're not in this story. yeah, well, we're making it up as we go. i'm hunted, i rebelled and i did it all, all of it, for you. so what i'm thelma and you're louise and we're just gonna hold hands and sail off this cliff together? i need your help because you're the only one who'll help me. that's a pretty nice timing, cas. we had an appointment. what happened to you cas? you used to be human, or at least like one. but cas, you'll call right? if you get into real trouble? this is cas, guys. he has gone to the mat cut and bleeding for us so many freaking times, don't we owe him the benefit of the doubt at least? it sounds so simple when you say it like that, where were you when i needed to hear it? i was there, where were you? i'm doing this for you, dean. i'm doing this because of you. but we were family once, i would've died for you, i almost did a few times. i've lost lisa, i've lost ben and now i've lost sam. don't make me lose you too. cas, you child, why didn't you listen to me. you used to fight together, bestest of friends, actually. if you remember, then you know you did the best you could at the time. the very touch of you corrupts. when castiel first laid a hand on you in hell he was lost. i'd rather have you, cursed or not. well, i'll go with you. i prayed to you cas, every night. cas, we're getting out of here, we're going home. i mean you kept saying you didn't think it would work, did you not trust me? cas, it's me. we need you, i need you. i won't hurt dean. cause you didn't trust me? you didn't trust me. please, man, i need you here. nobody wants him here more than i do. you gave us an order, castiel, and we gave you our trust. don't lose it over one man. you really believe we three will be enough? we always have been. his true weakness is revealed. you draped yourself with the flag of heaven but ultimately, it was all about saving one human. i'm glad you're here, man. how are you, dean? and then you'll kill the angel, castiel. now that one, that i suspect would hurt something awful. and when you turn, everyone you know, everyone you love, they could be long dead. everyone except me. i'm not gonna send lucifer into battle inside cas, what if he doesn't make it? it's not an it, sam. it's cas. but you're always there, you know? i could go with you. you mean too much to me, to everything. i'm gonna cure you of your human weakness, same way i cured my own. it's a gift, you keep those. you mean we? yes, dumbass, we. we lost everything and now you're gonna bring him back. we got cas back, that's a pretty damn big win. just don't get dead again. it's good to hear your voice. so this is goodbye? but i swear if he did something to her, if she's- then you're dead to me. either get on board or walk away. i don't know what's god and what isn't, and it's driving me crazy. dean, you asked what about all of this is real. we are. you used trust me, give me the benefit of the doubt, now you can barely look at me. i think it's time for me to move on. you didn't deserve that. since when do we get what we deserve? maybe if you didn't just up and leave us. i left but you didn't stop me. i should've stopped you. you're my best friend but i just let you go. and i forgive you, of course i forgive you. i'm sorry it took me so long, i'm sorry it took me til now to say it. you did it cas. okay, cas, i need to say something. you don't have to say it, i heard your prayer. well, here's to being right. you know what every other version of you did after gripping him tight and raising him from perdition? they did what they were told, but not you.

#destiel #paula.txt

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ellecdc · 8 months ago

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Nsfw!

Moonwater is a bit new pairing for me and i love it too much but i always wonder how the dynamic are in the bedroom, i really dont think both men are anything other than rough.

I mean when needed the boys would be gentle but most of the time i dont think so? Remus, maybe? could be gentler but during full moon he’s an animal but regulus tho, i dont see him as the gentle type.

What do you think?

oooou ok ok I like it, I like it; let's discuss below

CW: discussing sex and dynamics, NSFW, mdni 18+

So, this first part is going to be my own personal opinion based off of who I am as a person, and my views may not be shared within the fandom. I personally struggle with super abrasive dom/sub dynamics where a male character is very overbearing, controlling, etc. THAT DOESN'T MEAN I DON'T LIKE ANY DOM/SUB DYNAMICS, just that fics where a male character is being super aggressive and demeaning and such really aren't my vibe, if that makes sense?

I personally struggle imagining our sweet, sad boy Remus as being super mean in bed? Doesn't mean I don't think he's in charge, especially in poly!scenarios because when there's that many people in bed, someone has to run the show lol, but I don't see him as super bossy and assertive.

Now, keeping in mind that this is my interpretation on a character who literally doesn't exist (which is so sad wtf), my version of 'dom!remus' looks more like a very assured, confident guy in bed; he knows what he's doing, he's good at it, and he knows how to get everyone where they're trying to go (i.e., orgasm city, obviously). He takes care of everyone in bed, and (in the case of poly!marauders or poly!wolfstar) he certainly redirects anyone's naughty (bratty) behaviour (read: sirius), but I think he'd also be super communicative and understanding that it's a dance, not a battle which adds to his assuredness and confidence in bed because people feel safe with him - they know that he knows what he's doing and can let go because they trust him with their safety and their pleasure - and he's in bed with his partner's, not his adversaries.

I've often imagined his love language (how he shows love) to be acts of service and physical touch, which I think goes hand in hand with how he is in bed; when he's in a relationship with these ships, he's making love, not just fucking

HOWEVER.....

I think you're right...some things definitely change around the full moon. I think leading up to the moon (depending on if it was a manic moon or if he was moonsick) there'd be a very noticeable change in him. For manic moons - he'd be a little more desperate, a little rougher (while still being our sweet guy as mentioned above lol), and I think there would be way more sex. He'd be insatiable and obsessed with you; "come on dovey, one more for me, yeah? you're so good, so good for me; i know you can do one more". Good luck trying to pry him from between your legs.

if he was riddled with moonsickness (immediately after every moon or leading up to a bad moon where he is sore and such), i think he might be a bit of a switch? He'd want to be held and cherished and taken care of - he'd nearly cry in awe every time you got on your knees to give him a lazy, gentle blowjob, or if you were in the mood, he'd lay back and let you ride him (he actually loved it - thought you looked beautiful up there)

Now for Regulus lolololololol

No one who grew up in the dynamics Regulus did is vanilla in bed, I'm sorry. (and I come from a place of authority in this - I relate a little too well to Sirius [though not as violent, obviously]). Honestly? I could see Regulus being mean. And not in a super demeaning way that makes you feel small or embarrassed (again, this is my preference), but he takes pleasure in surprising you by suddenly flipping you over and taking you from a different angle. By suddenly and without warning changing the rhythm of his thrusts from soft and slow to deep and punishing. He'd love marking you up - possessive af and making sure everyone and anyone knew that not only were you taken, but you were his. In the same vain, I picture him as a bit of a sadist/masochist but again, not in a super violent or demeaning way. He'd like for the fuck to be a little rough, a little hard; he loves the mixture of pleasure and pain - wants to be bit so hard he bleeds and wouldn't mind doing the same to you if you asked for it. I also think he'd be willing to try a lot of new things in bed, and some of his favourite sex is when you fuck him with a strap [if you're fem or afab].

Together?

I think Rem is still in charge - again, he's confident and assured in the bedroom and everyone trusts his authority and trusts him to keep them safe and satisfied. He would keep Reg from getting too rough or going too hard and would constantly check in to make sure you were still good with everything going on. He'd also be able to satiate any need in Reg regarding his masochistic tendencies. I believe Reg would bottom in the dynamic, but again, I think sometimes depending on the moon and how Rem is feeling mentally - he'd experiment more fluidly with Reg.

I've also mentioned before that I believe Purebloods have a breeding kink and with Remus' animalistic side due to his lycanthropy, that he would too. So I think there would be a lot of using cum as lube, taking turns filling you up with their cum, maybe some snowballing??? jesus christ I'm a sick fuck lmfao. anything to do with cum would send those boys spiralling, "no no babygirl, don't waste it" Rem would coo as he used his fingers to push cum back into your hole. or "whose do you want next, amour? Mine or Rem's?"

And I think you're right, when the time called for it, these boys would be so fucking good at making you feel nothing short of fucking worshipped. The soft, hungry gazes, the lingering and soothing touches, the praises falling from their lips as they gave you everything they got. I'd cry I think; they'd reduce me to tears for sure.

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rallamajoop · 9 months ago

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That time Heisenberg stabbed Ethan with a rusty fencepost

Thanks to this one fic project that needed a pornographically detailed list of Ethan’s most memorable injuries, I've spent some time trying to figure out exactly what Heisenberg stabs him with when they first met. Working mostly from a free-camera version from youtube, I settled on calling a metal pipe with a square profile.

Tumblr: I was wrong. The reality is so much worse.

Having cracked the game files and installed my own free-camera mod, I tracked down the original asset for this thing, and, well...

No, really, this is it! Check out those matching cross-bars if you doubt me.

FWIW, it isn’t actually a spear. Those semi-mangled crossbars flag it instead as a spear-headed fence-post. (This may not be a distinction that Ethan would find very comforting after being stabbed with the thing, but there it is, regardless.)

In fact, if you poke around the cemetery area just outside the castle gate, you can even find the fence it presumably came from.

Look in on the cemetery near the church from the lane leading up to the Duke's shop beside it, and this is what you'll see.

It's not a perfect match (in fact, it's even worse viewed from the opposite side, because someone has clearly stuffed up the textures on different sides of the same asset). I'll also note that if you go back to this fence again after meeting Heisenberg, you won’t find any suspicious gaps in it where a post was recently ripped out. So I’m going to just go ahead and assume this particular piece was lying in a pile of surplus scrap in the cellar somewhere, and Heisenberg did not, in fact, drag the thing all the way there from well outside the whole damn building. I mean, at that point, you’re just showing off.

The fence post is, admittedly, pretty hard to get a good look at in the actual game. Unlike all the other crap Heisenberg already has levitating around him in this scene, the fencepost doesn’t appear at all until Heisenberg stabs Ethan with it. It actually seems to emerge at speed from between a couple of barrels at the back. But if you’re enough of a lunatic to play around with the various slow motion/rewind settings that came with the free camera mod, you can get a decent shot of it in flight, cleaning up any remaining doubt that this is the same asset that was used in game.

It even freaking spins in the air as it moves. FTR, yes, it does go in pointy-end first. And the whole fucking spearhead ends up buried in poor Ethan. (Please feel free to insert your own dick-joke here.) Those paying really close attention might even note that the blood on Ethan's shirt is present even before the spear hits him, but that's just going to be virtual-stunt-coordination having a normal one.

I can offer you no similarly definitive insight into why Heisenberg would think stabbing Ethan with this thing was a good idea. I can’t even tell you if he knew for sure that it was Ethan Winters he was talking to at this point (maybe he's just playing dumb, pretending not to recognise him. Or maybe he legit didn't know that Ethan himself had made an appearance until Miranda told him. Sure, he's already got that whole conspiracy board, but finding real pictures of this Ethan-guy is surprisingly hard.) But whether Heis was already testing out Ethan’s ‘interesting body’, or whether he’d just generally assumed that anyone who could survive a full lycan assault on the village wouldn’t be too seriously inconvenienced by a little stabbing, hoo boy was this one way to make a first impression.

I’m not even sure which of these losers is the bigger idiot here: the one who imagined Ethan might still agree to work with him even after inserting a very convincing imitation-spearhead into his intestines, or the one who never thought to seriously question how he keeps shrugging off injuries just as exciting as this one.

They probably deserve each other.

#Karl Heisenberg #Ethan Winters #RE meta #winterberg #Resident Evil Village #Resident Evil #RE assets #not to soapbox but that's also why the popularity of AO3's 'soft' Heisenberg tag makes me roll my eyes so hard #this dude is 'soft' like a fencepost to the gut

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augustinbluex · 1 year ago

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shoplifter

Pairings: Step Dad Mark x Security Guard Jeno x afab Reader

Summary: when you got caught stealing in a sex shop, you thought you'd earn another lecture from your stepdad. however, the lesson was not what you’d excepted

Genre: smut

Warnings: noncon elements, unprotected sex (be safe!), anal sex, rough sex, threesome, stepcest, double penetration, face slapping, pussy slapping, humiliation, degradation, fingering, dirty talk, spanking, squirting, creampie, overstimulation.

Word count: 3k+

THIS IS NOT YOUR TYPICAL GIRL DINNER. READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION

You sat there, your gaze fixated on the ticking clock, the anticipation clawing at your nerves. The wait was killing you—you’d been caught in this stupid fucking store, having maybe tried to leave without paying. The rent-a-cop had seized you, dragging you into the dimly lit backroom, but you managed to pull the name of Mark Lee out of your pocket like a desperate trump card. A way to escape the clutches of this predicament. The guard had glowered at you, reluctantly agreeing to make the call.

Mark would undoubtedly give you hell for this, yet he would also ensure that this embarrassing incident remained hidden from prying eyes. He wouldn't want the world to know that his step-daughter had been caught in the act of petty larceny within the confines of a sex shop.

So, all you had to do was wait.

The guard had given you a hard time when you dropped Mark's name. As if your father—no, your stepfather, you had corrected him—being who you claimed, he was automatically invalidated any suspicion. According to the guard, if your lineage held true, you could afford those tantalizing toys and bottles of lubricant. And perhaps, on some level, the thrill of doing something forbidden excited you. You had made sure to emphasize that point, emphasizing both the ‘naughty’ and the ‘excited’.

Too bad your criminal career apparently went bust on your first heist.

Voices echoed outside the closed door. There was an edge to Mark's voice, a tone that sent a shiver down your spine. The guard, on the other hand, seemed to find immense amusement. Telling the rich and powerful that their children got busted stealing sex toys probably was the highlight of this guy’s week.

"Hi, Mark," you greeted him, mustering a demure smile as the door swung open.

"You have no idea how disappointed I am in you," he responded, his gaze cold and piercing. Gesturing towards the desk, he continued, his voice laced with disdain, "I've already had a chat with Jeno here... but I'd like to hear it from you. Did you steal these items?"

His eyes settled upon the incriminating evidence displayed on the desk—the dildo and the bottle of lube, silent witnesses to your foolishness. You merely shrugged, a nonchalant gesture that seemed to catch him off guard.

He sucked in a sharp breath. "You've been acting out, breaking rules since..."

"Since my mother died," you finished his unspoken words with a bitter edge.

The truth was, you had been defying rules long before that tragic event shattered your world. It was just that Mark had finally taken notice of your rebellious streak, particularly after he started sending you to that exclusive, expensive school and footing the bill for your reckless driving tickets. It had hurt, realizing that he only seemed to experience distant emotions—distant disappointment, distant pride, distant everything. But it wasn't you who had changed when the loss struck.

Still, you couldn't help but resent his attempt to guilt trip you using your mother's death. "Save the 'since your mom died' lecture for the drive home," you said sharply.

Mark scowled, a realization dawning upon you that you had never seen him truly angry. He had always kept his emotions at arm's length—detached disappointment, detached pride—those were the only versions of him you had witnessed lately. "Why did you do this?" he demanded, his voice laced with frustration.

"Because I wanted the damn dildo," you replied matter-of-factly. Your words hung in the air, unapologetic and unyielding. It didn't faze Mark. You even contemplated mentioning how lonely this summer would be since he had forbidden you from seeing those he deemed "bad influences."

"I understand, you know," Mark said, his voice devoid of its usual robotic tone. “And you could’ve paid for it, you have the money. I wouldn’t have judged you. We all need a release.”

You maintained your stance, reiterating and emphasizing your reasons. He just simply nodded. As you prepared to urge him forward, his hand landed firmly on your shoulder, and Jeno, the guard, promptly shut the door.

“Mark, wha–”

Confusion tinged your voice as you questioned what was happening, but the air in the room suddenly grew colder, the atmosphere thick with tension.

"As I mentioned, I spoke to Jeno," he began, his voice chillingly detached. "He won't pursue legal charges, and I've taken care of the stolen merchandise. However..." He paused, his words hanging ominously in the air, "I believe it's time for you to learn a lesson."

In an instant, the fabric of your shirt was torn away, leaving you gasping in surprise. Before you could react, Mark forcefully maneuvered you across the room, bending you over the edge of the desk. Shock and fear coursed through your veins as you struggled to comprehend his actions.

"What are you doing?" You exclaimed, your voice trembling with a mixture of confusion and fear.

He leaned in close, his grip tightening on a fistful of your hair. "Sweetheart, we all have to control our desires and restrain our darker impulses," he whispered, his words laced with an unsettling intensity.

Your voice quivered as you registered the pressure against you, feeling something hard pressing into you. "What?!" you managed to utter, your mind reeling from the sudden turn of events.

“I’ve watched you prance around, debasing yourself, and I tried to reign myself in, thinking you just needed time. Time’s up.” With a forceful grip, he tore your skirt away, leaving you exposed and vulnerable. "You've continued to defy me, and now it's time for you to understand the consequences of letting others have their way."

You tried to twist and strike him, but the guard grabbed your arms, wrestled them behind your back, and cuffed them. “Your daddy paid for some more toys as well.”

You struggled in vain, yelled your head off, and screamed when a hand dipped underneath your underwear and rubbed your pussy. It was only when Jeno cut you off by forcing a cloth into your mouth that you realized that it was Mark’s. You thrashed and moaned when a finger entered you. Your body shuddered, going very still when the next one entered, stroking inside.

“I wonder if this will be an effective punishment. She seems to be enjoying it.”

You shook your head and let out a furious growl until Mark pulled you up, working you over with his fingers. “You’re already wet, huh?” He asked, though it didn’t feel like a question. It felt like an observation, like he’s commenting on the weather and not your obvious arousal. “Jeno, come look at her. She’s so needy.”

“Fuck, she’s so turned on by this.” Jeno said, licking his lips as he looked down at you. He grabbed your bra and tugged, straps biting into your skin until they gave way. You squealed when he pinched a nipple. Sobbed when, while fondling that breast, he put his mouth on the other.

You shook your head. This was not happening. Your stepfather and some rent-a-cop were not raping you in a backroom at a sex shop. You were not, despite Mark’s assertions, ‘dripping wet’. You did not like being manhandled by two guys who knew what they were doing.

This was not happening.

You looked up, seeing Jeno pull his shirt over his head and toss it aside. Your eyes immediately went back to the odd stains in the ground when they landed on Mark. You were certainly not intimidated by seeing your stepdad’s cock.

“This is your place of business, Jeno. So I’ll let you pick, which hole do you want?”

Okay, he had humiliated you, fondled you, but your stepdad wasn’t going to fuck you. He wasn’t going to team with some random asshole to fuck you.

“Ass.”

“Grease her up.”

You stiffened at that. Jeno tossed a bottle—that lubricant you stole, over to Mark, who had managed to wrestle your panties off you as while warding off your attempts to kick him. You tried thrashing and wriggling when they held you down and two slick fingers pressed into your ass. You never let anyone there before, and you were not going to let it happen now. You tensed, clenched, and let out a cry as the man forced his fingers inside you. Someone slapped your ass hard.

“It’ll hurt more if you keep being a stubborn bitch.” Jeno growled.

An angry, forced cough from Mark, and he corrected himself. “It’ll hurt more if you keep being stubborn.”

Apparently his stepdaughter was not a bitch, even if he was going to rape you. That was almost funny. Then your ass was slapped again and again. Mark fingered you roughly, forcing his digits in and twisting. Eventually, you yielded, relaxing your muscles. It did not go unnoticed.

“See, baby? You can be a good girl.”

Jeno stood up and walked over to the chair, sitting down and motioning towards himself. With a grunt, Mark hoisted you over his shoulder—damn, he was in shape—and approached. As much as you tried to break free, you couldn’t. Then Mark positioned you, and Jeno put one his hands on your hip. Something much thicker than those fingers pressed against your ass. You let out a muffled attempt at a “no” as you were pulled down.

He was big.

You yowled, planted your feet on the floor and tried to stand; only for Jeno’s arms to loop around your waist and pull you back down.

”Goddamn… Relax your stiff little body, you bitch… My cock won’t fit if you are so tight.” Jeno grunted into your ear and then moved his hand to your chin, taking out the gag. His thumb slipped inside your mouth, pressing at the back of your throat.

Somewhere in the back of your head as you were lifted up and down, you were thankful for that—hopefully he wouldn’t last long.

You didn’t think you could last if he didn’t finish right quick.

“Tell me how good I’m fucking your greedy little ass.” Jeno growled into your ear, a hand flicking down to rub your clit.

Your legs were struggling to stay wrapped around his, and you whimpered against his neck. Getting no response, his hand that was rubbing your clit now slapped you across the face, and his thrusts slowed yet got harder as he slapped you once more.

“What the fuck did I say? Tell me how good I’m fucking your ass!” He yelled, grabbing you by the chin to look up at him.

Your eyes stung with hot tears from the pleasure, already feeling the all too familiar knot in your stomach forming. “Please! It feels so good! M’want more!” You said through gritted teeth, whining in pleasure as he slapped you across the face once more.

“You dirty fucking whore, giving you my cock and you still want more, hmm?” Jeno knew you were close, he could tell from the way you tightened around him and from your breathing pattern. Your eyes flicked over to Mark, who now was walking over to you.

“Oh? Seems like our little whore’s enjoying this better than I thought.” He said, “I had a feeling you had the makings of a true anal slut here.”

You heard a loud ‘smack’ followed by a sharp stinging sensation exploding all over your pussy as you were suddenly spanked. Causing it to clench around nothing.

“Shit. You were right man, she’s so fucking tight. She really might be an anal slut by the end of this.” Jeno grunted, laughing. His hips never stopped moving.

“Really now,” Mark chuckled as he cupped your chin, “Anything you want to say to that, baby?”

“Th-That’s not-” You knew you were full of shit, but your pride didn’t want to admit to something embarrassing like that. With a gasp, you found yourself in a headlock. Your back was pressed against Jeno’s front, his forearm applied pressure on your windpipe.

“Now, now, it’s not good to lie like that.” He licked your face, gnawing at your earlobe. “Bad girls like you should be punished.”

“I-I’m… N-Not a bad…” You tried to deny it, but the harsh grip around your neck made it hard to get the words out. Yet in some ways, you could only think about how good this was feeling. Causing your pussy to quiver and your ass coiling around.

Mark smirked with an amused brow, “I’m sorry, don’t think we caught that.’

“I-I’m…”

The man leaned in closer, “Hm?”

“I’m… bad… girl..” You uttered.

They glanced at each other and grinned while Jeno grabbed and groped at your breasts, giving your chest a nice fondle.

“Speak up slut,” he twisted a nipple causing you to moan, “So that we could hear you.”

You looked up, tears started falling down your face. “I’m… a bad… girl…”

“That’s our girl,” The two cheered, laughing loudly at how cock-drunken you were. “Glad to see you’re finally realizing your true calling.” One of them said.

“With that said, I think it’s high time I gave you a little reward.” An evil smirk curled Mark’s lips. You wriggled, trying to get off as he traced his fingers against your pussy. “Just as a curiosity, have you ever taken two cocks before?”

“No,” you said, out of breath.

“Yeah, thought so.” He grabbed onto your hips lining his cock up to your cunt, while Jeno leaned you back a little.

Fuck. Mark smirked and watched as your face twisted into something horrified.

“Look at that, your old man is coming to join in. You gonna behave for him? Hmm, princess?”

With those words leaving Jeno’s mouth, it sent you over the edge completely, nearly screaming as you came right when Mark shoved his cock in your pussy. He hissed with how tightly you were clenching around him. Your back arched high, and Jeno continued to pound into your ass. You choked and gasped for air, the pleasure became too much for you to handle.

“P-please… S-stop!” you stuttered pathetically, squeezing your eyes shut and trying to push Mark away with your legs.

You were stuffed past the point you thought you would burst. They started out uncoordinated, being bounced up and down the big guy’s cock while the other slammed in awkwardly. But they soon found a rhythm, each withdrawing at the same time, and slamming you down on their cocks tougher. Over and over.

It was overwhelming.

“Look at your slutty fucking stepdaughter, Mark. Such a little whore,” Jeno laughed, continuing to abuse your ass with his cock.

Mark smirked as he flicked your nipple, “Does your daddy’s cock feel good inside you, princess?” then gave it a painful twist. “Wanna be a little cumslut?”

You just moaned in response, unable to form coherent words.

“I think,” Jeno reached up and pinched at your other nipple, “your daddy asked you a question.”

“Yes! Yes, I wanna be your little cumslut, please.”

Everything happening all at once was making you lose your breath. You could feel the coil tightening in your stomach. Both of the cocks hitting that sweet spot inside you. Before you even had time to react, you saw white. Your whole body lunged forward as you came around both of their cocks again, soaking them. Words couldn’t even leave your open mouth, your brain not working properly.

“Jesus Christ,” a voice said, and you couldn’t register whose. “Did you see that?”

“Yeah,” another one came. “She squirted with two cocks fucking her. Such a dirty slut, aren't you?” Several slaps landed onto your face. You assumed it’s Mark because of his position.

You couldn’t think straight anymore, body shaking pathetically under him.

“T-too… much,” you whimpered through gritted teeth, your knees moving to try and push Jeno away.

Mark roughly forced his cock back in your pussy, his own orgasm so close. With sporadic quick thrusts, Jeno bottomed out inside your ass, and you could feel it all, warm and coating every inch of your walls. You were screaming, and he held his cock inside you for a few moments before slowly pulling out of you, grunting and panting as he regained himself.

Mark’s hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing hard and grunting as you clawed at his hands. “Gonna fill you up with my cum, and you’re gonna take it all, right princess? Gonna be stuffed full of our cum?” He growled into your ear, before straightening again.

You couldn’t think straight anymore, sobs and moans escaping your lips as he fucked your sensitive cunt. Within seconds, Mark thrusted one last time into you before you felt his thick load spurting inside of you. He let out an animalistic growl as he came, grinding his hips slowly against you.

When he finished, he paused a while, nipping at your neck. Then he pulled out, and you were shoved off Jeno, sent sprawling into your stepfather. He gently laid you on your side. You laid there, face pressed against the filthy floor as clothes rustled.

“Again, thank you for calling me in on this, fuckface.” Mark said. The hell? He knew the fucking rent-a-cop.

“No worries. I didn’t believe her when she dropped your name—the picture you showed didn't quite match up.”

Picture? You forced yourself to look at the two, both half-dressed.

Mark had opened his wallet. “It is a few years old. She started dying her hair shortly after it was taken. Started wearing contacts, too.”

“What?”

“Ah, baby. Yes, me and Jeno go fairly far back.” Mark said, nodding. “I have a lot of business interests, and that means a lot of varied social circles.”

“So… about her…” Jeno said, trailing off.

Mark shrugged, contemplating the situation. "I'll leave her in your hands while I head home to fetch a change of clothes for her. Once that's done, we can make a few calls to ensure the lesson continues."

A whimper escaped your lips, particularly as Mark referred to leaving you in Jeno's "care." As if on cue, he dumped a bag containing chains and clamps onto the desk, casting a wicked grin in your direction. You instinctively tried to edge away, but Mark leaned in closely, lowering himself to one knee.

"Luckily for you, summer vacation has just begun, so you won't miss any school while you're grounded," he stated firmly, his tone holding an unusual warmth. You shook your head, refusing to accept what was unfolding before you.

"Baby," he continued, "it's crucial for you to learn that actions come with consequences. However, you're a smart girl, and with proper guidance, I'm confident we can improve your behavior."

#mark lee smut #mark smut #nct smut #jeno smut #nct mark smut #nct jeno smut #nct 127 smut #nct dream smut #kpop smut #kpop fanfic #nct fanfic #mark fanfic #jeno fanfic #mark lee fanfic

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mothandpidgeon · 1 month ago

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Nine Lives (witch's familiar!Ezra x witch!f!reader) - Part 1

Moth's Masterlist // follow @mothandpidgeon-updates and turn on notifications to stay updated with my fics!

SERIES MASTERLIST

pairing: witch's familiar!Ezra x witch!f!reader

rating: T (evenual E) MDNI

summary: As you came into your powers and your curves filled in, Ezra realized he feelings for you were more than just affection. The only problem? He's a 300 year old crused witch. Oh, and he's a cat.

contents: age gap (like 300 years), slow burn, yearning, soft!Ezra, probably anachronistic witchy stuff, love triangle (quadrangle?), reader is a millennial but otherwise not described, Ezra is a cat, he won't be forever, this isnt a beastiality thing, moth never uses y/n.

wc: 3.1k

a/n: This one is for all my Thackary Binx girlies. I've had some version of this story in my brain for years now. I'm very excited slash nervous to be sharing it with you!

Thank you @moonlitbirdie and @lowlights for the beta and help with witchy stuff. Thanks @tinytinymenace for suggesting the title and @schnarfer and @whocaresstillthelouvre for listening to me ramble about this.

🐈‍⬛

Connor’s mouth is on you before you can get your key in the door. He’s lucky he’s a good kisser because he spent most of your date talking about his music. You’re lucky you don’t have a guitar because you’re pretty sure he’d serenade you.

“Sorry. I’ve wanted to do that all night,” he says after you press him back.

You laugh, triumph blossoming in your chest.

“At least control yourself until we get inside,” you tease.

You hold his hand as you let yourself in. It’s quiet and dark now save the little reading lamp beside the faded, floral sofa. You’re relieved, maybe nobody’s home.

“Cool place,” Connor says wandering in behind you.

He’s taking in the details of your little apartment— a small kitchen tiled in green and an equally cozy living room. The attic ceilings slant with the roofline. There are pressed flowers and astrological charts on the walls, their frames outlined by the vines of overgrown philodendron. You pull him into another kiss so his eyes don’t linger too long on the books on your shelves, before he wonders why the spice rack is full of jars of belladonna and blackthorn instead of garlic and cinnamon.

He squeezes your hips and your hands lace through his hair. Connor might not be the one but that’s not what you’re looking for. He’s exactly the kind of guy you won’t feel guilty about ghosting. Until then, he’ll be a good lay.

He’s got his hand up your shirt when you hear your bedroom door squeak on its hinges. Out saunters Ezra, stretching out his long, black body like he’s just woken up. He was probably dozing on his favorite spot in the bay window.

“Hi, Ez,” you say, stepping out of Connor’s arms. Your cheeks heat, feeling like you’ve been caught doing something obscene.

Ezra brushes against your shins, a move that’s more territorial than it is affectionate.

“Did we wake you?” you ask, scritching him on the white patch between his ears.

“This your cat?” Connor asks.

To call Ezra your cat as if you owned him doesn’t feel right. Even calling him a cat seems inaccurate. Ezra’s been your familiar since you were 18, passed down through generations of your family, but he was once a witch in his own right before being cursed to live in this form for 1000 years.

“That’s Ezra,” you say, sidestepping the question entirely.

“Ez, this is Connor.”

“Hi, kitty. Pss pss pss,” Connor tries, crouching down to offer a hand for Ezra to sniff.

Ezra does no such thing. He merely looks at him disdainfully, then his golden eyes shift to you with a look that says you’ve got to be kidding me.

“Want a drink?” you ask, pulling Connor’s attention away.

“Yeah,” he says. He takes off his jacket making himself at home.

Ezra never approves of any of your dates and he isn’t shy about letting them know it, scratching up their jeans and hiding wallets under the couch. Once he left a hairball in a pair of new sneakers. As much as it drives you insane, you can’t be angry with him. It’s his job to not only be a companion and do your bidding but also to protect you. Now it feels like you’re bringing dates home to your older brother. Your older brother by a few centuries. He was turned sometime before the country existed.

As you pour two glasses of wine, Connor slips his hands around your waist and his lips graze your neck. You’re already working up incantations for passion, whispering the words to yourself as he kisses down to your shoulder. The one good thing about being a witch is you can mask even the worst sex with a little bit of magic. Not that you have low expectations for Connor. There’s a promising bulge where you grind your ass back into him.

A crash rouses you from your reverie.

“Ez!” you bark.

Ezra has swatted Connor’s phone to the floor. He sits on the counter with a mild defiance on his feline face.

“That’s ok,” Connor says, retrieving it and turning it over. “He didn’t mean it. Right bud?”

You’re not sure that cats can roll their eyes but Ezra does whatever the equivalent is before turning away with his tail raised to give Connor a full view of his asshole. He hops gracefully to the floor and retreats back into the other room.

“Sorry. He doesn’t really like…people,” you say.

“That’s ok. As long as you like me,” he says, pulling you back into his body.

You laugh at him before you let him kiss you.

—

“Should we go to the bedroom?” you ask.

You’re straddling Connor’s lap on the sofa. The strap of your black, lace bra dangles off of your shoulder.

“Huh?” he replies, as if he’s been roused from a trance. “Yeah.”

You chuckle to yourself. His lips are kiss swollen and eyes dazed. There’s a reason why witches are known to be seductive. Mortals can’t resist the magic.

You slide off of his lap and guide him up towards your room.

Ezra’s sleeping on your pillow, curled into a soft little ball.

“Wait here,” you tell Connor, depositing him on the edge of your bed. “Let me just—“

You scoop Ezra up and he lets out a yowl in displeasure. You take him to the living room, set him on the back of the couch and he blinks up at you, groggy and annoyed.

“Exiled once again,” he complains, his human voice a silky southern drawl.

“Just for a couple of hours. Can you stay out here?” you ask, your voice hushed.

“Have I not suffered enough?”

“Youre right. It’s so terrible.” You roll your eyes. “I make you sleep on the couch instead of the bed.”

“Two hundred and fifty three years in this feline form—“ he goes on.

“Keep your voice down,” you hiss.

“ —And the true curse is listening to you fornicate with a cavalcade of dim witted mortals,” he goes on.

“Did you say something?” Connor asks.

You whip your head around to find him standing in your doorway.

“Not to you, hun,” you say. With a flick of your finger, he turns on his heel and goes back inside. You’ll have to cast another spell to rid him of any magical memories.

“I live here, too, little mage,” Ezra says.

“Well, when you start paying rent, we’ll get a two bedroom,” you quip.

“That little jest never gets old,” he grumbles.

He leaps down from the couch and heads to the entryway.

“Where are you going?” you ask, keeping your words as quiet as you can.

“Leaving you to your debauchery,” Ezra says over his shoulder and he disappears through the flap in the bottom of the front door.

—

In the morning, you wake up alone.

Of course, you got rid of Connor as soon as you were sated. He asked to see you again to which you have a noncommittal answer.

You’d expected Ezra to return, though. He might complain about being kicked out of bed but he knows nobody stays the night.

“I only sleep with one man and that’s you,” you joke all the time.

Each night you rest your chin on the top of his head, his warm body pressed back into your chest. It’s hard for you to fall asleep without Ezra purring beside you.

You linger for a while after getting dressed, sitting in the bay window and watching the leaves begin to fall. The apartment feels so empty without Ezra in it. It’s too quiet. That damned cat has two centuries worth of stories and you’ve heard them all ten times. You’re constantly begging him to shut up. Right now, you feel oddly lonely.

Eventually you decide that waiting around for him is silly. You’ve got to get to work. Fortunately, you only need to venture down the back stairs and you’re there. Your apartment is in the attic of The Arcane Page.

You let yourself in and you’re immediately hit by the smell of leather bound books, old paper, and the drying herbs Aunt Margot has hanging from the ceiling. The shop is packed so tightly with rows of bookshelves and oddities, it’s almost impossible to tell that this used to be a proper house. What had once been confined to the front rooms grew to take over the kitchen and sun porch, up the stairs to the bedrooms until the whole thing functioned as the store.

The old Victorian is just off the main street that’s filled with quaint cafes, gift shops, and antique stores. It attracts all sorts— wannabe spiritual types looking for selenite wands, academics in search of rare books, and old ladies drawn in by the lush garden out front. Witches, too. The basement is full of spell books and strange ingredients, off limits to mortals.

You hear aunt Margot’s jewelry before she comes into sight, Her gold earrings tinkling, bracelets jangling.

“Morning, dear,” she says, without glancing in your direction. She knows you’re coming before you arrive and not just because she can hear you on the back stairs.

She’s behind the counter in one of her regular linen dresses, dark hair streaked with silver falling around her shoulders. She pours from her porcelain tea pot.

“Has Ez come down here?” you ask, glancing around the bookshelves to all of his favorite hiding spots.

“No?” she says. She pushes one of the cups your way. Delicate and decorated with spell work, the scent of assam wafts up to your nostrils. “Percy, have you seen your friend Ezra?”

A little white mouse appears on the counter, paws clutching one of Margot’s rings. He scrunches up his pink nose at the suggestion he’s a friend of Ezra. Margot’s familiar has never gotten along with him. Despite the fact that one of them is a demon and the other is a cursed witch, the old cat versus mouse thing is somehow universal. Ezra’s threatened to eat Percival a hundred times, sometimes leaving dead chipmunks and mice at the threshold of the bookstore just to amuse himself.

Percy shakes his head haughtily and then wraps his body around Margot’s steaming teacup.

“He’s mad at me,” you sigh.

“How come?” she asks, an eyebrow arched curiously.

“I had company last night.” You put the cup to your lips as soon as the words leave you.

“Let me guess. Another mortal.” Margot rolls her dark-lined eyes. She leans on the counter and sips her tea.

You just shrug.

“Then I don’t blame him,” she says.

“It’s not the ‘50s. I can date a mortal. Didn’t you read Harry Potter?” you ask, knowing it’ll get a rise out of her.

“You millennial witches and Harry fucking Potter.

A mortal—“

“Killed my great great great great grandmother. I know,” you say. As if you haven’t had that fact drummed into you since you were old enough to walk. You decide not to mention how hypocritical it is that Margot dislikes mortals when she’ll happily take their money. It’s not worth it. The two of you have had this argument a hundred times.

“I like mortals. They’re uncomplicated,” you tell her.

“Uncomplicated? They’re boring.” She sets down her tea cup. “Have you ever been with another witch?”

Your cheeks heat at the question. Not because she’s your aunt. You’d tell her just about anything and, considering the fact that she raised you, she knows pretty much all there is about you. You’ve had plenty of sex but you’ve never done it with a witch, a fact that makes you feel like a virgin all over again. It’s not for lack of trying. There’s just not a whole lot of hot, single witches in your area. And while you’ve talked about going somewhere where the witches are in excess— Salem, New Orleans, Portland— you’ve always found some reason to stay in the Catskills screwing mortals.

Luckily, you don’t have to answer Aunt Margot’s question because Percy squeaks and she says, “I know but she won’t.” Then she turns her attention to you and translates, “Percy says you ought to just summon Ezra.”

You frown at him. You could. A simple spell would compel Ezra to return to you but you can never bring yourself to cast it. Maybe if he were just an ordinary familiar, not a witch with his own desires, you might feel more comfortable using magic on him like that, but he has so little of his own. The least you can give him is the freedom to be alone if that’s what he wants.

“You spoil him,” she tells you. Sometimes you’re not sure if Margot can read your thoughts or if she just knows you well. “He’s your familiar not your roommate.”

You finish your tea and put the cup down on its saucer.

“You know what? I’m going to shelve some books downstairs,” you say.

“Oh would you look at that,” Margot says, peering into your empty cup with amusement on her lips. “Maybe there is a witch in your future after all.”

She holds the teacup out for you to see the wet leaves have formed a clump in the shape of a heart.

—

Ezra’s limping by the time he returns home. The sun has already begun to dip below the trees, painting the sky autumnal shades of purple and orange. Though he resents the idea he’s turned into a house cat, he’d much rather spend the night on the couch than have to do another in the damn woods. No matter how much it hurts.

“Where the hell have you been?” you ask when he slips back through the cat door.

You’re immediately kneeling beside him, concern cutting your pretty features. Shame settles between his shoulders. As your familiar, he has no right to disappear for an entire day. He almost wishes you’d punish him— dunk him in an ice bath or beat him with a hair brush like some of his old masters had— but he knows you won’t. You’re too good to him. That’s where he went wrong and fell in love with you.

It happened slowly. You treated him more like a pet than a servant. From the very beginning, you let him sleep in your bed, drifting off to sleep as you stroked his belly. Sometimes he thought you were the one purring. You talked to him. Not just about magic but you shared your entire life with him. No witch had trusted him, called him a friend in all the time since he’d been cursed, not until you.

As you came into your powers and your curves filled in, Ezra realized this was more than just affection. You were beautiful and bold. And he couldn’t do anything about it.

You’re off limits in every way. In human years, you’re not young but you’re practically a child compared to his 300 years. The bond between witch and familiar is sacred, a line even a witch as forward thinking as you would never dare to cross. And, of course, there’s the little matter of his being a cat.

“I was getting really worried,” you say.

“You requested solitude,” he responds.

You sigh and pick him up, setting him on the counter.

“You hurt your leg,” you tutt, taking his paw in your hand so you can examine his injury.

He spent the night prowling the forest, anything to save himself the agony of hearing you with that mortal. In this self pity, he’d picked a fight with one of the feral tomcats that lives in the old graveyard.

“This is why I don’t like it when you stay out all night,” you chide as you disappear into the bathroom. “Those cats are vicious.”

You return with a small jar of healing ointment you brewed specially for him.

“I’ve walked this earth a cat longer than those mangey beasts. Longer than I was human,” he says.

You begin by cleaning the cut, his fur now matted with blood and leaves. Your touch isn’t unfamiliar to Ezra yet he still wonders what it would be like to feel your skin, the softness of your cheek and plush thigh without a layer of fur in between. To hold your hand with one of his own.

“I’m sorry I kicked you out last night. You’re right. You live here too. And I know you don’t like mortals,” you say, as you clean his wound.

He’s let you believe that that’s why he’s so petulant when you bring your suitors around. Mortals have never been his cup of tea but he absolutely despises the ones that you bed, humans that have no business being with any witch let alone one like you.

“They’re below you. You deserve a proper witch,” Ezra says.

That’s a far more painful reality. Even if he were in the running, which he never will be, There are thousands of witches more worthy of you. One day you’ll find one and Ezra will watch you fall in love. With someone else. He’ll stay the same just as he has all these years, and be your loyal familiar even as you inevitably share less with him. He’ll watch you age and fade. Eventually, he’ll lose you entirely. Perhaps you’ll have a daughter that will take him on as her familiar but he can’t imagine caring for any other witch half as much as he loves you.

“Come on. You act like you never seduced a mortal,” you say.

The peppermint oil of the ointment tingles on his tender leg.

“There was an art to such things in my time. One had to concert more effort than opening an app,” Ezra says.

You smirk as you finish bandaging him.

“I got you something. To make up for it,” you say when you’re finished.

You glance towards the coffee table, a cheeky smile playing on your lips. Ezra follows your gaze to find a tray of take out sashimi waiting there. His stomach growls. Perhaps he is a house cat. He’d forgotten to catch himself dinner.

You bring him over and lift the plastic lid off of the container and Ezra sniffs at the glistening fish. It smells glorious.

He wishes he deserved you. You know what he is, what he did to be convicted of such a harsh curse and yet you care for him like no other witch has.

He swallows down the lump in his throat.

“Is this tuna belly?” he asks.

“Your favorite.”

“I suppose I could find it in my heart to forgive you,” Ezra says though you’ve done nothing wrong.

You scoop him off of the table, cradling him like a baby.

“Easy on the wound, little mage,” he complains but secretly his heart swells.

You laugh and kiss the white patch on his brow.

“I love you, Ez.”

🐈‍⬛

Part 2

I'd love to hear from you! Don't be shy!

#ezra prospect #ezra prospect fic #pedro pascal fic #ezra x f!reader #witchy #ezra prospect x f!reader #prospect fan fiction

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thankskenpenders · 11 months ago

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Sonic Prime Season 3: Final episodes, final thoughts

Well, here we are. The final seven episodes of Sonic Prime are out on Netflix, concluding the story of Sonic's adventures in the Shatterverse. I've previously shared my thoughts on the first and second seasons, which I was pretty mixed on, but there were still glimmers of hope. The fluid animation, Shadow being fun in all his appearances, Nine being fairly interesting as a jaded alternate version of Tails, etc. There was enough to make me believe that after some highs and lows there was still the possibility that this show could end on a high note - or at least a decent note.

This did not happen.

Sonic Prime's final season sucks. The ending sucks, and the road to get there sucks. It's left me wondering what the point of all this even was. There are still moments I like that I'll try to highlight, and the animators and voice cast are still clearly giving it their all, but these efforts sadly don't outweigh the overwhelming mediocrity of the story. I would barely even recommend other Sonic fans who are on the fence go out of their way to finish it. I won't begrudge people who got more out of this show than I did, but I think overall I just really, really dislike Sonic Prime.

...The problem, of course, is that all other discussion of the show has been overshadowed by needlessly hostile arguments over its place in Sonic's canon. So we've gotta talk about that, too.

(This post will contain full spoilers for Sonic Prime.)

The show's out of ideas but they've gotta stretch that shit out to hit the 23 episode mark somehow

Season 2 ended with the big twist that Nine decided to betray Sonic and Shadow, taking the Paradox Prism for himself so that he could go turn the empty world of the Grim into his own little paradise, since he doesn't believe he'll fit anywhere else. Nine has made himself the true big bad of the show.

The main impact this has is that now, instead of fighting endless identical Eggforcer bots and members of the Chaos Council over and over, the good guys and the Chaos Council have to fight endless Chaos Sonic-style robots sent by Nine while he goes "grrrrr I need Sonic's energy to stabilize the Paradox Prism." This continues for six whole episodes until the series finale, when the show decides it's time for Sonic and Nine to quickly make amends, fix everything, and send Sonic and Shadow home.

That's pretty much the whole season.

I cannot emphasize enough just how much of this final season is just fight after fight after fight against Nine's bots, and how fucking boring that gets. The season feels like one long, drawn out final battle that did not need to be nearly this long, but Nine had his big heel turn 2/3 of the way through the show and we've gotta fill up the rest of the time somehow. The novelty of the bots being based off of Sonic's friends (including the Chocobo-sized Birdie from the jungle world) really wears off quickly when they're just used as generic, silent mooks that the good guys have to fight by the dozen like it's the climax of an MCU movie. The first episode of the season with Sonic and Shadow fighting the new bots is pretty good, especially because Sonic and Shadow's dynamic is one of the few redeeming aspects of this show's writing, but after that it just gets boring. Three full episodes in a row are spent showing all the characters fighting robots in an empty wasteland while Nine scowls next to a big beam of energy. I found myself missing the in-your-face attitude of Chaos Sonic so much. He truly was one of the best parts of this show.

While the cast is busy fighting all these robots for what feels like an eternity, various things of varying levels of interest happen. There's a halfhearted attempt to have some kind of rivalry between Shadow and the main Grim Sonic throughout the final battle, but it completely falls flat because Grim Sonic has no personality whatsoever. It's like Shadow beefing with an above-average Egg Pawn. (Actually, no, that would be funny.) There's also a death fakeout with the two other versions of Tails, where they make a makeshift bomb and throw it a little too close to themselves on the battlefield and seem to get vaporized. If they had actually died there they would have had the funniest, most pointless deaths in the entire franchise.

I also realized at one point that they were trying to do the Avengers girl power fight thing with the three versions of Amy fighting a bunch of Rouge bots. This was very funny to me. Actually, so much of this is just following the tired MCU formula to the letter. Fighting over a macguffin, two armies just kind of running at each other and clashing in a big empty field, constant one-liner quips instead of actual jokes, the need to take out key targets to make the whole enemy army disappear, a villain who has a point but has to randomly hurt people so that there's an excuse for the heroes to fight him. When combined with how shit the multiverse stuff is, this whole show really is just Man of Action tackling some of the most played out storytelling tropes in modern pop culture in the most bland way possible. What a bunch of hacks.

By far, the one truly fun thing that happens in this protracted final battle is when a giant robot based on Big appears. It doesn't have arms or legs, but it can swing itself around to use its tail like a giant mace, and it can also shoot Froggy-shaped missiles out of its mouth. I wish the rest of the show was even half as fun as this. Again, Sonic Prime has just enough good moments to make you mad that the rest of the show isn't better.

The thing is, all this repetitive (but well-animated) action and the thin excuse plot would be totally serviceable if I just gave a shit about the characters involved. But I don't. I don't care what happens to the pirate version of Amy who goes "arrr." I don't care about what happens to Hipster Eggman. And unfortunately, by the end, I didn't really care about Nine, either.

Nine as a villain

It's hard to criticize the story here without it coming off as a broad condemnation of the tropes at play. The thing is, I like many stories that try to do similar things. I love clashes between heroes and villains that are really just fantastical exaggerations of more personal conflicts. I love stories where a tragic, sympathetic villain lashes out at the world as an expression of the pain they feel, and a compassionate hero just has to get through to them. I eat that shit right up. Undertale is my favorite game ever made. Shit, I love other Sonic stories that do these exact things. And Sonic having to fight an alternate timeline version of Tails also has so much potential for drama!

So I can very easily imagine a version of the show where all this works for me. That just isn't the version we got.

Like I said last time, Nine's motivation is just too sympathetic and understandable for his sudden turn to supervillainy to make any sense. He just wanted to start over somewhere where he can be happy after a childhood filled with bullying and loneliness. Nine betraying Sonic and stealing the Paradox Prism to go make his own world? That tracks! Especially since we don't even know if Nine will still exist if Sonic goes through with his plan to restore his original world! But trying to kill everyone in New Yolk City by tilting the world 90 degrees, intentionally targeting the civilian population because it'll get to Sonic? Nope! Sorry, that's a bridge too far. I don't buy it. He's jaded and antisocial, but he doesn't strike me as cruel. Writing in an excuse about him needing Sonic's energy to fix the Prism does not make this make more sense.

This was really just one of those conflicts where it felt like everyone should stop and talk it out. Instead we got six episodes of fighting before one of Sonic's many, MANY attempts at reasoning with Nine throughout the season finally works. This isn't me pulling some Cinema Sins bullshit where I complain about characters in a work of fiction not always behaving rationally - the real problem is that it's just so damn repetitive waiting for this conflict to resolve. This could have been wrapped up in two or three episodes and instead it takes seven.

A brief aside about that weird Dorkly-ass Sonic Advance 3 flashback scene hacked together with mismatched sprites where Gemerl happens to be present, presumably just because he's a part of the sprite for the Sunset Hill boss, and seeing him briefly makes me remember the extended cast from the games and how much I wish they had just made a cartoon about them instead of a bunch of stock characters wearing the skin of Sonic's friends, but then Gemerl just explodes with the boss machine at the end while Eggman is shown to get away so I guess Gemerl just dies in this flashback

Yeah that sure happened huh

The ending

Despite having a final battle that felt like an eternity, Sonic Prime is a show that just kind of... ends. And that ending is weird and haphazard.

The understanding I had was that Sonic's normal world had "shattered" when the Paradox Prism was destroyed, and from those remnants these new worlds were created. This is why they use terms like "Shatterverse" and "Shatterspaces" and why there's shattered glass/crystal/whatever imagery everywhere. This is a broken, fragmented version of the real universe. Right? Right?? Isn't that the entire premise of the show? And therefore, if the universe has been shattered, then fixing it means putting all the shattered pieces back together. Which I would assume means that the Shatterspaces cease to exist.

So, in the ending... Sonic's world seems to just exist as another Shatterspace. Restoring the Paradox Prism doesn't seem to combine the worlds or anything, it just fixes the broken portal to Sonic's world that exists alongside all the others. So... what exactly was the point of all the shattered glass symbolism?

Things only get more confusing as the ending progresses. Shadow brings Sonic through the portal before the draining of Sonic's whatever energy makes him disappear, and they're transported back in time to right before Sonic broke the Paradox Prism. Only Sonic seems to remember what happened (Shadow might remember, but he doesn't say anything), and with the Paradox Prism never shattered, it's unclear if the Shatterspaces exist now.

I'm not particularly hung up on the time loop ending. It's very much in line with all sorts of classic morality tales like A Christmas Carol or It's a Wonderful Life, where the flawed protagonist goes through some kind of magical experience and then returns home with a new appreciation for the people in their life. It's always been pretty obvious that was the type of story they were telling. I'm more bothered by the fact that there's no time whatsoever spent on whether or not the other worlds and the characters in them continue to exist. Sonic seems to act like the worlds will go on without him before he leaves, but it's not like we get an ending scene that shows how the other worlds are doing, so they really truly might as well not exist anymore. Sonic just wraps up the adventure from the first episode when he gets home, and before he can explain what happened from his perspective he's interrupted by a mysterious energy wave from off-screen and it's off to the next adventure.

(Despite this odd cliffhanger ending, the show is extremely over and not coming back. I have to imagine this is just a "the adventures never end" type ending and not a hint that more shit is going on with the Paradox Prism.)

This ending is also a terrible resolution to Nine's whole arc, despite him being the driving force of so much of the show. The way I see it, there are are three possible fates for him:

The Shatterspaces continue existing, and things go as Sonic expects them to go. Nine is allowed to make the Grim into his own little utopia, and everyone else leaves him alone instead of punishing him for all the trouble he caused. Instead of finding love and acceptance so he can heal from a lifetime of bullying and loneliness, Nine is allowed to run away, isolating himself from every other living being in the multiverse, and live alone as the god of an empty world with only his own creations as company. Sonic was his only friend, and he's gone forever now.

The Shatterspaces continue existing, but because of the time travel ending, most of the events of the show never happened. Sonic never helped defeat the Chaos Council, so they still control New Yolk City. Nine is back to living in this dystopian city with no friends. He never met Sonic.

The Shatterspaces have been erased. After fighting so hard for his right to exist as his own person and not just a "wrong" version of Tails, when the timeline is altered, he just... stops existing. Along with almost every other character in the show.

Do I even need to explain why these are all unsatisfying?

Misc. thoughts

I skimmed over this, but a lot of the final season is just spent seeing Sonic's friends bicker with the Chaos Council and then Sonic has to beg them to get along to save the universe. It gets old.

We also never really got an explanation for why the Chaos Council exists. They can't have come from other Shatterspaces because there ARE no other Shatterspaces. If the original Eggman was just split into five guys or time travel was involved or whatever, it never comes up. I can live with this, but it seems like an odd omission for a children's show that's constantly bogged down in technobabble explaining the mechanics of its extremely small and finite multiverse.

I have no idea where Shadow was for the first part of the final battle. I figured Nine must have captured him off-screen after Sonic first left the Grim, but Shadow was just... hanging around until his cue in the script, I guess?

Sonic saying "help a brother up" to Shadow was funny

Hipster Eggman pointing to one of the few nameless extras who tagged along for the final battle and going "Who are you? Seriously, does anyone know who this is?" was the only funny thing he did in the entire show

Mangy Tails randomly pressing buttons on the Chaos Council's generator like a curious animal and managing to improve its output was cute

Rusty Rose randomly realizes that the Birdie in her chest actually isn't being used as a power source, and that the Chaos Council was just... using that to manipulate her, somehow? I don't really know how that works but whatever

The Sonic Advance 3 flashback uses the actual boss music from the game, but they can't use the real Sunset Hill theme because they didn't wanna pay Masato Nakamura for using the Green Hill motif, I guess

To my fellow fans of bad games: did you know that Man of Action wrote the story for the bizarre Square Enix game The Quiet Man? The one where the lengthy FMV cutscenes play out with muffled audio and no subtitles because the protagonist is deaf, so you can't tell what's going on? And you had to do a New Game+ playthrough to actually hear the audio and understand what's going on? The worst-reviewed game of 2018? That one? I only learned that recently and it blew me away

So yeah, that's the end of the show. I didn't like it, and I don't think I liked the show much as a whole. I am far from alone in this sentiment, but the reasons why people dislike the show... those vary a bit.

The canon conundrum

More than anything else, it seems like most other discourse surrounding this show has been consumed by one talking point:

How can this be canon? Why is it canon?

I want to state very clearly up front that I, too, am a person who's noticed and complained about the inconsistencies with the games in Sonic Prime. Some of the characters are a bit off - or, you know, completely unrecognizable when discussing the writing of some of the AU counterparts. I think it's lame to say Sonic and friends all live in Green Hill and act like that's the entirety of their world. That sort of thing. But if Sega says it's canon to everything else? Sure. Fine. There's weirder shit in the canon.

Really, most of this can be explained away pretty easily. The show was written at a time when Sega was still figuring shit out and there were looser restrictions. Why does Sonic act a little more immature? Probably just because Prime is aiming for a slightly younger audience than the games or the IDW comics. (And also it's, y'know, written by Man of Action, who people have accused of only knowing how to write one kind of protagonist for years.) Why do Sonic and friends live in Green Hill? Because that's the most recognizable location from the games, and the game world doesn't get enough screentime to justify modeling multiple different environments, so they just focus on Green Hill. Why is this considered canon to the games? Because this is the first Sonic cartoon that outright references events from the games as things that have happened to Sonic in the past.

But announcing early on that Prime would be canon certainly let fans' imaginations wander. It was one of the few things we knew about the show before it premiered. People wondered if characters from the games and comics who had never made any appearances in Sonic cartoons might get their time in the spotlight. We wondered if it would tie into the lore or any existing storylines in interesting ways, like the IDW comics do. But above all else, we hoped that its canon status would mean that Sonic Prime would finally be the Sonic cartoon that was faithful to the source material with no catches. We've literally never seen the actual world of the games brought to life in a TV show. Sonic X came the closest, but that still took its liberties. And so hype built for this Canon Sonic Cartoon.

And then it actually came out, and after a brief intro in Green Hill based loosely on the games, it spent most of its running time focusing on things like "what if there was a version of Eggman who was a bratty teen who just wanted to play video games?" The disappointment among fans is understandable. I am disappointed. Look at how much I've bitched about this aggressively mid cartoon.

Some fans, however, came up with an elaborate theory about the series. You see, when asked about the show's place in the game timeline during a live Q&A, Ian Flynn (who only served as a consultant on Sonic Prime and did not write any of it) said this:

"I cannot answer because I know the answer, and you haven't finished watching the show yet."

A couple days later, when answering another question about Prime's place in the timeline and also about a writing discrepancy, he said this:

"As to where it fits on the timeline, I can't speak to it because that would spoil the show to a degree. So you're just gonna have to wait 'til it's done. Towards the other point, I don't know how much I can say, so it's probably better that I not comment. That's a really dissatisfying answer, I know, I'm sorry, but my hands are kinda tied on that one."

I feel the need to quote Ian directly here, because these very basic statements about how he can't talk about behind the scenes shit or anything from unreleased episodes was GREATLY misinterpreted by the fandom. People clung onto Ian's claim that we had to keep watching like a life preserver. Some took it as Ian saying that the ending would explain everything. Finally, we'd have a definitive answer for every little discrepancy and the apparent differences in worldbuilding. An explanation for why Sega and the producers repeatedly insist this show HAS to be canon.

And to these fans, the only explanation that made any sense... would be if the ending of Sonic Prime pulled a Flashpoint.

As this theory explained, the Sonic we were following in Sonic Prime wasn't the Sonic we know from the games and the IDW comics, and likewise the world he comes from isn't really the game world. This is a different Sonic who fights a different Eggman in a world that's literally just Green Hill. It was a hint that something was off all along! But in the end of the series, this Sonic would sacrifice himself to merge all of the Shatter Spaces together and form a brand new world, and that would be the more visually diverse world of the games and comics. According to this theory, Sonic Prime was canon because it was a new origin story for the entire franchise.

I want you to really stop and think about how asinine of an origin story this would be. Really drink this in. The idea that there was another, slightly different version of Sonic who went on a kinda shitty multiverse adventure and then sacrificed himself to create the real Sonic that we've known since 1991. People convinced themselves this made more sense than the simple explanation that a different team of writers got some stuff wrong and Sega didn't make them change it. Interviews where producers talked about drawing on Sonic's "mythology" (ie: they reference the games in the show) were taken very literally - they must be saying that Prime's story is mythological in nature, and that this show would be integral to the games' mythology. Why bother making a show that's canon if it's not going to be crucial to that canon, after all?

The final episodes dropped, and none of this happened. Because of course it didn't. It was all Sherlock fandom-level copium. But fans were left confused by the lack of a grand reveal of where Sonic Prime fits in the timeline, believing they had been promised this, and they turned to Ian for an explanation. Ian's answer:

It doesn't matter, b/c Prime wipes itself out. It's sometime after Advance 3*, but otherwise, it's moot. I didn't want to sour anyone's expectations or investment by spoiling how Prime resolves, that's all. If you enjoyed it, awesome. Savor it. If you didn't, then you can safely ignore it. Simple as that.

* About a trillion people have um, actually'd Ian to point out Orbot and Cubot briefly appear in the show, but if we're really being pedantic here we don't actually know how long before Colors Eggman built Orbot and Cubot, so it wouldn't be fully accurate to say a story featuring Orbot and Cubot couldn't be set before Colors. Either way, a story set anywhere around Colors, or at any point later than that, could still be described as "sometime after Advance 3." Advance 3 is just the most recent game that has specific in-game events referenced in the show. Yes I can feel myself morphing into the nerd emoji before your very eyes

Anyway, this is the latest reason Ian is getting death threats on Twitter. This time it's over a show he barely even had any input on!

I'll cut to the chase. It is truly wild to me that people are getting this heated over canonical inconsistencies in a series as historically inconsistent as Sonic, to the point that they think threatening Ian is justified. The aesthetics of the entire world Sonic inhabits change every other game. Sonic Chronicles may no longer be canon due to the Penders lawsuits, but it was canon at one point, and it took huge liberties with Sonic's world, moving Green Hill off of South Island and reinterpreting Station Square as a tiny outpost in a snowy alpine forest region. Characters' personalities change from writer to writer and based on what Sega wants at the time, with some being WILDLY different across different games. One game Sonic will be stoic and cool, the next he thinks "Baldy McNosehair" is the funniest thing ever. Sega's STILL trying to figure out what Amy's personality is supposed to be. We still don't have the explanation for how the two seemingly contradictory backstories for Blaze can fit together. There have been multiple huge, sweeping retcons, and retcons to those retcons. Sonic Forces claims that Classic Sonic is from an entirely different universe than Modern Sonic, and the plot only makes any sense if that's true - otherwise, Modern Sonic would have already known Eggman was going to beat him and take over the world when he did, because his younger self had already lived through that war. All of that makes no sense in the newly reunified timeline, but Forces is very much still canon.

For fuck's sake, we're talking about the series where Eggman blew up half the moon and then it looked completely normal in every other game after, explained away as "the moon just rotated so we can't see the destroyed side from Earth." This has never, ever, ever been a franchise where everything lines up perfectly with no issues. It's not that serious.

The real core problem with Prime isn't that things don't line up 100% with our current understanding of canon, or that Sonic's characterization means this can't be the real Sonic, or anything like that. The problem, as I've been saying this whole time, is that the story is bad. None of these discrepancies would truly matter if the story was better. They'd just be nitpicks. The fact that Sonic and friends live in Green Hill would be the farthest thing from my mind if the drama was more engaging, if the villains were better, if the jokes were actually funny, if more of the alternate universe counterparts of Sonic's friends had more than one generic character trait each, if the multiverse was more creative and varied, if the final seven episodes of this show didn't devolve into the third act of an MCU movie and then just arbitrarily end, if Nine's character arc actually had a satisfying conclusion instead of ending with either isolation or nonexistence. Maybe we'd be seeing people talk about more than just whether or not it should be considered canon if the writing was any good.

"Canon" is not real, and it sure as hell isn't worth sending people death threats over. It's a storytelling tool. Real human beings decide what does and doesn't go into that canon, or how much they do or don't want to draw on past stories, when creating a new story. Serving that canon is secondary to creating a story where the emotional truth resonates with the audience. And Sonic Prime failed to do that. That is its true failing.

And finally, to close out...

Since people will ask, here are my current ranking of the Sonic TV shows, now that Prime is finished.

Sonic Boom

Sonic SatAM

Sonic X

The Adventures of Sonic the Hedgehog

Sonic Prime

Sonic Underground

Yes, I'd say Boom is my favorite. It's far from my ideal Sonic cartoon, but it gets a lot of points for being as funny as it is. But the top four are all shows I'd say I like, more or less. They all have their pros and cons.

So now, uh... I guess let's hope the live action Knuckles show coming to Paramount+ is better than the underwhelming synopsis of "Knuckles helps deputy sheriff Wade train in the ways of the echidna warrior" would imply? Maybe we'll get lucky?

#tkp post #other media

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kcrossvine-art · 2 years ago

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hi friends! :D y'all voted and fought neck and neck for this SO- heres the first entry into our little cooking journey of J. R. R. Tolkeins fictional food for his fictional little guys he puts in fictional turmoils for our enjoyment and awe!

Before we get started i wanna say i owe my heart to all the LotR fans who upkeep the wiki, debate the cannon, and create their own versions of the foods mentioned. Both because of my love for people who LOVE (passionate people)(passion about anything) and because my own knowledge of this series is a little dusty. I've never seen the movies but I did read the books growing up. I'll be learning and remembering things from a fairly newbie standpoint, so no worries if you yourself arent familiar with the series! (and if you are familiar, hopefully youll forgive me!)

We will be making Lembas ('waybread') today! If you've made your own version of this please feel free to share it, similarly if you have any ideas for what we make next!

(As always you can find the cooking instructions and full ingredient list under the break-)

MY NAMES CROSS NOW LETS COOK LIKE ANIMALS

SO, “what goes in to Lembas?” YOU MIGHT ASKWell so the funny thing is we kinda dont know. At least not entirely? The elves are dicks like that. But heres what we'll be using in ours-

Butter

Self-rising flour

Granulated Sugar

Raisins

A small dried fruit of your choosing

Almonds OR Pecans

EGG

Whole Milk

Heavy Cream

And if you would like for dipping-

Blackberry jam

To the extent i understand this is kinda like hardtack from the bri'ish military, but a fantastical version of it that actually tastes really good. Hardtack was a military provision with the texture of a brick that took a long time to spoil and could be easily carried with soldiers. So the texture we're going for is super dense, packed full with nuts and fruits (haha just lik-), but perhaps not that dense. We want something closer to a dog biscuit than actual tack.

I remembered something about corn being mentioned, thankfully the wiki clarified that no actually the british just referred to any grain as corn back in the day. Thank Fuck! Although I would like to try a version of this using masa in the future.

AND, “what does Lembas taste like?” YOU MIGHT ASK

Took a few tries but eventually got it perfectly chewy and dense

The raisins cook-in like little beads of flavortown sweetness

Cant speak for other fruits but for dried apple it softened up nicely, kinda matching the raisins in the end

Im a big pecan slut, pecans fuck on anything especially here. Crumble them on top after you coat the dough with the egg-mixture for some visual appeal

Somewhat flakey outside

The jam was my idea, it was nice but might be too sweet for some tastes

Would pair very well with a kiwi flavored drink

Or mead

I can see why this would a travelling provision. Its both sugary (a good thing when expending energy) and filling (also a good thing when youre travelling) while not being overwhelming with flavor (if youre prone to motion sickness. Horse sickness? Do get motion sickness on horses?)

Its like how if you're going hiking you want a good mix of sugars and salts, to balance your intake of water.

. If you wanna make it like the illustrations or the movie, use a cookie cutter for either triangles or squares . If you don't have a cookie cutter, an apple cutter also works ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ . try to keep the board you'll roll the dough out onto chilled before you use it, it seems better for the texture of the food though i dont entirely know why

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So from beginning to end, it took about an hour and half for the first attempt. Down to about 40 minutes for the second attempt. These are a real simple recipe because its not like a croissant where the margin for error is nonexistent. Middle-earth be damned my boy can work a grill.

I'd recommend storing in a tubberware container, but if you're deadset on using leaves please rinse and dry them first, and wrap the bread in either wax paper or saran wrap underneath. We dont have mallorn leaves in real life (as far as we know) but most salad greens should work, or as Marie Porter says (linked in the reblogs!) a banana leaf.

I really enjoyed the process of making this recipe, itd be really easy to batch-bake these en masse, and the process of eating said recipe. Like all jokes aside, i think this would be a great substitute for trailmix. Its not going to get smushed and even if it breaks a bit it wont affect the taste. It wont keep you fed for a whole day but pair it with some pickles or a salty snack and yeah itll keep your motor running.

I give this recipe a solid 10/10 (with 1 being food that makes one physically sick and 10 being food that gives one a lust for life again.) Let me know if you think I got something wrong, or if you ran into issues with the recipe. We're off to a strong start, lads!

🐁 ORIGINAL RESIPPY TEXT BELOW 🐁

Ingredients:

6 TBSP butter, chilled

2 cups self-rising flour

1 TBSP granulated sugar

½ cup raisins

½ other dried fruit (strawberry slices, oranges, etc.), chopped

Handful of almonds or pecans, chopped

1 egg, well beaten

½ cup whole milk

4 TBSP heavy cream

Method:

Preheat your oven to 400 f.

Cut the butter into slivers/small pieces. With your hands, combine the butter into the flour in a mixing bowl until the mixture resembles coarse sand.

Chop your dried nuts and dried fruit until it feels right.

Mix in the sugar, raisins, nut, and dried fruit of your choosing

In a seperate bowl, beat the egg until combined, and then mix in the milk until combined. Keep a bit of this mixture to brush the tops of the bread.

Stir while adding the egg/milk mixture and the heavy cream into the flour. Mix just until combined into a soft dough.

Knead the dough until firm on a floured surface.

Roll into a half inch thickness and cut with a square or leaf shaped cookie cutter. (...or in my case, an apple corer).

Place on a lightly greased baking sheet, with about an inch of space between each piece. Brush the tops of the lembas with some of the mixture you saved earlier.

Bake for about 15-20 minutes, or until it turns a soft gold and the inside is chewy.

#cross cooks lotr #lord of the rings #tolkien #lotr art

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space-mango-company · 8 months ago

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Stranger | Chapter 2

Chapter Links: [1], [2], [3], [4], [5]

TW: Descriptions of Violence, Mentions of Cannibalism

Tags: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Atreides!Reader, Arranged Marriage, Eventual Smut (still not in this chapter lmao), No use of y/n, Original Characters, Canon what canon

Word Count: 2k

A/N: So... this was posted prematurely a couple hours ago. This is the actual finished longer version. If you don't know what I'm talking about, thank god. Sorry this took so long, lmao

Just letting you guys know that my knowledge of the lore is purely based off of the movies and the Dune wiki rabbit hole I fell into right after watching part two. I also took a few liberties with the canon here.

I'm super open to constructive criticism, or any criticism at all (feel free to absolutely roast me). Like I mentioned, I've never written fanfic before so I'd love to hear your thoughts!

The evening of your first day in Giedi Prime was celebrated with a banquet where you were introduced to the most important people on the planet. You've heard many stories of the ruthlessness and brutality of the Harkonnens, hence surprised by the courtly welcome during the dinner. Although you did your best to politely ignore the Baron who floated at the head of the table being fed by servants.

You were sat beside his nephew who, despite your mother's education, has evaded your insight. You couldn't quite get a read on him.

Feyd-Rautha whispers to you amid the buzzing conversations of the banquet hall, "are you enjoying the food, little hawk?"

You shoot him a questioning look.

"I like your hairpin," he sneers.

You resist from reaching to touch the Atreides symbol affixed in your hair.

"We don't see such ornaments often here." He quietly laughs in his devilish way, only too amused with himself.

Ah, you realize. He means to torment you.

"Seems early for pet names," you say, picking at your plate, "we've only just met."

"Oh, and yet we are to be wed in less than a week's time," his raspy voice rings in your ear, "I should like to be familiar with my future wife, Lady Atreides."

The marriage pact had been signed when you were only a little girl. Inheriting your father's inclinations, you swore you would uphold your duty, undeterred by the gruesome and abhorrent stories about the Harkonnens—because you knew that centuries of conflict could end within a generation with this union. You were a willing bride.

And yet.

You give him a smile that, to those not privy to your conversation, would seem genuine, "You know nothing of me, na-Baron."

"I should like to learn," you doubt his sincerity but care not enough to discern it. He takes a smug bite of a forkful of meat, "perhaps tomorrow, you shall learn something of me."

The following morning Iassa helps you into another black gown, this time with a veil in anticipation of the black sun.

"Is it not dangerous for Feyd-Rautha to wager his life for a show?" you question.

"The na-Baron is a skilled fighter, my lady. He will emerge victorious," Iassa is straight-faced as she drapes the veil over you.

"Yes, I do not doubt it, but given he is the Baron's heir. Does it not seem a touch irresponsible to even risk it at all."

Not that you actually cared for his life, you just expected that the Harkonnens would be concerned with the preservation of their house regardless of their brutality. You recall your grandfather who got himself killed fighting bulls for sport.

"The na-Baron will be fighting war prisoners. They will be drugged beforehand. It is perfectly safe, my lady."

"Oh." You couldn't decide if you were disappointed or not, "I see."

Iassa seemed intent on dropping the subject, so you do.

You stand before a mirror and take a look at yourself. It is impossible not to be reminded of your mother. She was never one for vanity, but you like to think there was a part of her that always enjoyed the elegant dresses she and you 'had' to wear. You allow yourself a somber smile behind your veil.

"You look beautiful, my lady," Iassa curtsies.

"Thank you," you look at her bowed figure, gray robes made more dull by the stark black choker on her neck. You were sure she was at least 2 standard years younger than you are and it had only been a few months since you came of age. You wondered if she liked pretty dresses too.

Before you can ask her, there is a knock at your door.

The house steward, Jaromir, clears his throat when Iassa opens it for you, "The na-Baron requests your presence before he enters the arena."

Heavy doors open for you in one of the chambers beneath the arena. You are greeted by the sight of a half-dressed Feyd-Rautha being helped into his armor by a servant.

"Lady Atreides," he looks you up and down, "I hope you slept well."

You bow your head in acknowledgment.

"Your knives, master," a large man whom you assume to be the bladesmith presents Feyd-Rautha with two daggers.

The young Harkonnen takes one and caresses the blade with his fingers.

"I've come to wish the brave na-Baron well before his fight in the arena," you say in false earnestness.

He smiles at your inflation of his ego.

"Though I must say, I am relieved it is all for show. I would not like to see my groom wounded before we are wed."

"For show?" Feyd-Rautha tilts his head and you see his arrogant facade show the slightest crack.

"Yes, I've heard your opponents will be drugged will they not?" your voice dripping with innocence, "to ensure your safety, of course."

His grip on the dagger tightens, "and where did you hear this exactly?"

You sense the awkwardness and tension in the servants. The one who had helped don Feyd-Rautha's armor has quietly retreated to the far side of the chamber. There is a subtle tremble in the hands of one holding a plate of towels. You finally notice the three women piled upon a raised platform glaring at you.

"Just voices around the fortress," you shrug.

A deep breath recovers Feyd-Rautha's smug expression. "Call for the warden," he orders one of the guards by the door, "tell him to prepare new prisoners. Sober ones."

"My lord, you need not endanger yourself," you feign worry.

"Nonsense." The na-Baron walks closer to tower over you, "My lady bride deserves to see my true prowess."

He sees through your challenge, but you don't care. Seeing his self-satisfied smirk wiped from his face for even just a second was worth it.

"Besides," he turns away from you to inspect the second knife, "my darlings enjoy meat that's fought for its life."

The three women sneer at this and you see their sharp teeth as they hiss amongst themselves.

You've heard of Feyd-Rautha's concubines long before you arrived on Giedi Prime. Tales of their taste for human flesh were one of the things that tested your resolve in fulfilling the marriage pact. You didn't mind that the na-Baron would keep other women. It would result in less of his attentions on yourself, you figured. It was their perverse appetite that nauseated you.

A look of revulsion hides behind your veil which you sense they would be all too happy to rip to shreds.

"I will see you in the stands, little hawk," Feyd-Rautha whispers to you as he waves for a guard to escort you out.

You do your best to drown out the noise of what seemed to be a countless audience that came to see the na-Baron fight. You could understand now why they uphold such brutal traditions. The people are so excited for it.

On the other side of the arena, you sense Vladimir Harkonnen watching you from the Baron's Box that towered over the whole arena. The blazing sun only helps you avoid looking in his direction. You were sat at a viewing box, still for nobility and separated from the masses, but much lower and closer to the sands of the arena. Jaromir had told you that you were to 'give the na-Baron your favor'.

Before long, the master of ceremonies announces Feyd-Rautha's entrance in Giedi Prime Speech. They are celebrating his betrothal to you and the union of Harkonnen and Atreides, you translate in your head. You wonder if the people care for the politics of the Great Houses. They seemed no less excited to cheer at your name despite the centuries-old blood feud.

Massive doors open as the na-Baron walks into the arena. His arms outstretched holding his knives like an extension of his limbs. He riles up the crowd as he walks towards the Baron's Box and kneels to his uncle. He then rises and walks toward you, smirking under the stark light of the black sun.

You may not fear earning the Harkonnens' contempt, but you were the Duke of Caladan's daughter and you knew that the favor of the people was invaluable.

You stand and walk to the edge of the viewing box. The glowing smile you reveal as you lift your veil draws cheers from the crowd that rival what Feyd-Rautha received. You produce a pure white handkerchief from your dress pocket and make a show of kissing it and waving the cloth at the buzzing crowd. You throw it off the edge and it floats toward the na-Baron who had moved both daggers to one hand to catch it. He looks up at you with what you think could be the seeds of respect and tucks the cloth into the tight armband around his right bicep.

He turns back to the audience and raises his knives in a war cry. The crowd explodes in guttural cheers and applause. Feyd-Rautha takes his position in the middle of the arena as his first opponent is released into the white sands.

You've heard of the Harkonnen heir's aptitude in single combat. It's time to see if the stories were true or if it was just another part of their menacing facade.

You were handed a pair of spyglasses to observe with. The two fighters approach each other, the prisoner wielding a knife of his own. Feyd-Rautha holds a taunting stance. The prisoner was sober, you were sure, but even without the spyglasses, you could see he was weak. You surmised the Harkonnen cells weren't very hospitable. He attempts a swipe but the na-Baron parries with ease. Another and the na-Baron dodges. Zooming in, you could see Feyd-Rautha's twisted amusement. He was toying with the poor man—and the people loved it.

The crowds cheered at the clashing of metal, thundering when the na-Baron drew first blood by slashig his opponent's arm. It wasn't long before Feyd-Rautha's dagger had impaled the prisoner's heart. There was no pause before a second prisoner was brought out to meet a similar fate.

Feyd-Rautha stood unwounded, seething with exhilaration. He enjoyed this; the thrill of killing. He basked in the roar of the crowd. You had never ended a life before, but some deep part of you could almost understand how he felt in that moment.

A third prisoner enters the arena. He looked older than the first two, bearded and taller. He reminded you of Gurney Halleck, the Atreides Warmaster. This man certainly wasn't at his prime but you could tell he would not go down as easily as the first two.

The warrior holds his blade out in a firm fighting stance, refusing to make the first move. You notice picadors in black suits have entered the arena, circling the na-Baron and his opponent. Feyd-Rautha lunges at the prisoner and a quick series of parries from both sides occur. You see the finesse in the na-Baron's movement. He recognizes his opponent's skill and he is taking this one seriously. You were not sure what you expected of the Harkonnen's fighting style but Feyd-Rautha was vicious but precise. The crowd gasps when the prisoner disarms one of the na-Baron's knives. The warrior manages to get a grip on Feyd-Rautha's armed hand and aims to pierce the na-Baron's neck with his blade. The na-Baron struggled against his hold and the arid air was thick with anticipation.

You were unsure what outcome you desired as you stared through your spyglass. Perhaps this warrior kills your betrothed. What then? Would you really be able to go back to Caladan's windy cliffs again? Return to the arms of your mother as if it were all a bad dream? You wonder if when Feyd-Rautha becomes baron, and you his baroness, could you convince him to let you see your family.

The warrior's blade was dangerously close to your future husband's throat when one of the picadors lashes at the warrior. The na-Baron growls at the offending picador as the warrior is weakened. Feyd-Rautha pushes him off and allows him a moment to recover, taunting him to try again. Blades clash once more and after a sequence of quick ferocious movements, Feyd-Rautha's blade slashes the warrior's throat. Blood made black by the infrared of the sun splatters onto the na-Baron. He licks the darkness that landed on his lips. Heaving, he takes your bloodied handkerchief off his armband and raises it to you and the roaring crowd.

You did not even realize you were already standing, breathless at the sight.

Chapter Links: [1], [2], [3], [4], [5]

Taglist: @torchbearerkyle @austinswhitewolf @dreamlandcreations @emeraldsgirl @strawberryfieldsforevermore

#feyd rautha x you #feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha #feyd rautha harkonnen #dune #dune part two #baron harkonnen #baron vladimir harkonnen #house harkonnen #house atreides #giedi prime #austin butler #space-mango-company #fic: stranger

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artbyblastweave · 5 months ago

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So I want to draw out some of the grousings I put in the tags of @phaeton-flier's recent post on Waller's characterization in My Adventures with Superman.

I think the problem you're gonna run into with adapting Waller in 2024 is that they basically nailed her completely twenty years ago in the DCAU Justice League continuity, they already captured the perfect balance of good intentions and ruthless utilitarian amorality. In the DCAU, Waller's arrival on the scene was contextualized by more than a decade of superheroic precedent- she lives in a world where Superman specifically got brainwashed into attacking earth, she lives in a world where Kryptonian war criminals took a shot at Earth, she lives in a world where an alternate-universe totalitarian Superman crossed dimensional boundaries to take a shot at earth. She lives in a world where Superman helped disarm the world's nuclear arsenal at the behest of a guy who turned out to be the fifth column for an extraterrestrial invasion. She lives in a world where the Justice League formed specifically to stop something similar happening again and then tripped over their own dicks when one of their founding members turned out to be a partisan mole for an extraterrestrial empire. She lives in a world where these city-leveling clowns have consolidated sixty or seventy other city-leveling clowns in an orbiting circus that's armed with a city-leveling orbital laser canon. This is just the stuff that would have made the in-universe news, there's even more I'm not mentioning here. In other words, she lives in a world where it's completely reasonable not to trust the superheroes and to want to have contingencies against them.

She does horrible things in pursuit of those contingencies, but they're targeted, goal oriented horrible things. Aside from her usual suicide squad routine she clones and basically enslaves dozens of super-soldiers, which is of course terrible on the face of it, but comparatively easy to justify from the realpolitik cold-equation way in which she approaches things. When her bullshit generates externalities for civilians, it's not because she sics those super soldiers on them. She doesn't declare martial law. That's not what she's after! She just keeps losing control of the bastards, and then she shrugs, and she signs off on additional bastards from scientists and magicians who've proven time and time again that they do not have their shit buttoned down- but what else is she going to do? Roll over? Let the capes treat the world like their playground?

Crucially, the DCAU version is also capable of realizing when she's prioritized the wrong threat- she's capable of re-evaluating and de-escalating. She's got a foil on that show, a guy who starts from the same place of concern as her but isn't capable of course-correcting because he's too much of a belligerent paranoid maniac. That guy is General Wade Eiling. And in a version of MAWS that doesn't need to set Sam Lane up for a redemption arc, I would have Waller as the one in Sam's position, as the well-meaning extremist who loses control of the monster she created and gets frozen out in favor of a significantly less principled hardliner in the form of Eiling. Alas.

The fundamental thing about Waller, at least to me, is that she's uninteresting as a ground-floor antagonist. While I've yet to get around to the original Suicide Squad run where Waller originated, I'm confident in my understanding that it was a postmodern project from the word go, exploiting years of ossified genre convention and rogue's gallery bloat to make the points that it was trying to make. This is part of why I think the first Suicide Squad film went over like a lead balloon- it tried to wish that built-up continuity into existence out of nowhere, whereas the second movie was simply a lot more naturalistic about faking that larger context. This show feels like it's doing something similar on a meta-level- exploiting decades of audience familiarity with Waller and how plots involving her tend to go, in a way that papers over how weirdly early in the progression of this continuity they've brought her into the fray. She usually isn't the joyless jackboot on the frontline trying to snuff out the incipient heroic age- she's the beleaguered repairmen brought in years after the novelty has worn off, after the superheroes have had their goddamn chance, with all the ups and downs and near-misses that entails, so that she can make entirely novel mistakes in reaction to that context. As it stands, she's kind of 0 to 100 in this, and something about it feels off.

#thoughts #meta #amanda waller #also thanks to @maxwell-grant whose big wallerpost a few months ago has been spinning around the inside of my head like a peanut #but yeah the show's been bugging me as of late #on this and on a couple other issues

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nerdallwritey · 3 days ago

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About to Strike (Part 1)

***IMPORTANT, PLEASE READ: ONCE AGAIN I've yapped too much and this chapter became longer than tumblr likes, so I've split it into two posts. It's the same drill as Cheeks All Flushed: The smut is in the other part if you'd rather skip shenanigans and Get To Business. And that's valid! Part 2 is here and also linked down below. Apologies! It IS all in one place on AO3 if you'd prefer that!

Summary: Before Astarion could protest more, you took a sip of the drink. He gasped. “Darling, what do you think you’re doing?” “Building trust,” you said, smiling at Jaheira. Her features echoed your own and she took a sip as well. “Ah, what the hells,” Karlach said. “Bottoms up!” She downed her own goblet. “You’re all idiots and I hope you die,” Astarion crossed his arms. OR The gang finally makes their way into the Shadow Cursed Lands.

Pairing: Astarion x f!reader Rating: 18+ Word count: 21.3k (This particular part is 10.7k) CW: smut, reader is new to sex, piv sex, oral (male receiving), hand job, vaginal fingering, mentions of Astarion's past trauma, blood drinking, mild angst, protective Astarion, soft Astarion, whimpering Astarion, porn with feelings, reader is an idiot (and a bard), so is Astarion (not a bard, just an idiot), lots of party banter, AND JAHEIRA!! Spoilers: Minor spoilers for Act 1 and 2 (in-game dialogue, plot points, etc.), as well as Astarion's plotline Also posted to: AO3 FAIR WARNING: This is PART 6 in my series, "Beauty and the Bard." Find the masterlist here.

a/n: SURPRISE! Part 6 is COMPLETE and she's A LOT. The back half is mainly smut and feelings and Astarion processing emotions a little which we LOVE to see. I hope to the gods that you guys find this to be a good followup to Worth the Peril, but I'm excited to FINALLY be in Act 2 and get into the big romantic scenes that happen there. Thank you all so much for sticking around and loving this goofy version of Astarion and his favorite bard :) You guys are the best and I adore and appreciate every single one of you! Please enjoy these silly little vignettes from the end of Act 1 and the start of Act 2! (Thank you as always to my beta @kermitwazowski for reading!) As a reminder, last time you got Mega Hurt in a fight and Astarion kind of took that personally.

Taglist: Moved to the comment section, since tumblr hates sharing fun with friends - please let me know if you'd like to be added to the list!

“Would you relax?” you whispered sharply to the vampire currently brooding to your right.

“How can I be when this… ancient woman just tried to murder you?” Astarion threw a dramatic hand forward, gesturing to Jaheira, who was walking in front of you towards the Last Light Inn. You all had just arrived at the well lit sanctuary in the Shadow Cursed Lands, only to be interrogated by the High Harper, and vouched for by Mol, who’d managed to find her way here as well.

“I handled it,” you hissed. “It’s going to be okay.”

“While I admire your optimism, darling, I still don’t trust her.”

Karlach buzzed behind you, clearly in disbelief. “Mate, you must be joking. That’s the Jaheira!”

Astarion slowed his pace a bit to meet Karlach’s eye. “And, I take it, you know the old crone?”

“Astarion!” Wyll sounded surprised. “You’ve lived in Baldur’s Gate longer than I have! And you don’t know the tales they tell of Jaheira and her party of adventurers?”

Your crew of seven came to a halt in front of a moss covered fountain to gawk at the elf.

He clicked his tongue. “Mmm… that’d be a no.”

“He’s lying,” Shadowheart rolled her eyes.

“I am not!”

Gale lifted a quizzical eyebrow. “Come now, Astarion, surely you’ve heard passing tales of the heroes of Baldur’s Gate? Or perhaps read a book of their exploits?”

Lae’zel narrowed her eyes. “I do not know of this ‘Jah-hee-rah’ person. Her heroics must not be that impressive if I have never heard of her.”

“Nor I,” Halsin cut in.

“Yes, well, being freakish outsiders from the Astral Plane and the middle of the forest will deprive you of basic history lessons.” Astarion crossed his arms.

You snorted. “So what’s your excuse?” The others snickered.

Astarion placed an annoyed hand on his hip. “Did you all forget that I was kept as a slave for two hundred years of pure misery and torture?”

The group remained silent for a moment before you stepped forward to kiss his cheek. “You’re still not over that?”

He smirked. “Would you believe it’s taking me a little longer than one might expect?”

“Shame,” you pouted. Then you looked at Karlach who was angling her head around the fountain to track where Jaheira had gone. “You want to enlighten these three, Karlach?”

Karlach looked back at you all and her eyes lit up with glee. “Oh, yes please!” She rolled her shoulders and bounced on her feet as if she were preparing for battle, rather than recounting basic Baldur’s Gate history. She cleared her throat before she spoke. “Years ago - over a century-”

You turned to Astarion and caught his eye. A century! your expression seemed to say.

Astarion shrugged his shoulders up to his ears and unwrapped one of his crossed arms to hold dramatically in front of himself. So what?

You rolled your eyes. So you should have been there!

He narrowed his eyes and shook his head. I don’t know what to tell you.

You huffed some hair out of your eyes and tuned back in to what Karlach was saying.

“-Jaheira was part of a group that saved Baldur’s Gate from Seravok - a Bhaalspawn trying to plunge the city into war.”

Once again, you caught Astarion’s eye. “And you don’t recall any of this?”

He pursed his lips as the others turned to look at him. “Now that you mention it, I vaguely recall tensions being rather high around the city all those years ago.”

“Liar,” Shadowheart accused again. “It had to be more apparent than that. Why don’t you just admit you know who Jaheira is?”

Astarion’s response was venomous: “I was kept on a very tight leash, thank you, so apologies for not getting the names of the heroes who ‘saved’ the city that kept me enslaved for another hundred years.”

You approached him quietly and took his hand. He scowled at Shadowheart but wrenched his gaze away to look at you. His expression softened mildly.

“It’s okay,” you said gently. “I’m sure she would have come for you and your siblings had she known.”

“Yes, probably come to kill us for being abominations,” he muttered, but squeezed your hand anyway.

“Ah, don’t be like that, Astarion,” Wyll said cheerfully. “I’m sure she would have helped you! You’re quite fun once you get past all the prickly bits.”

“Gee, thanks,” Astarion said flatly.

Karlach took the awkward silence that followed as an opportunity to keep fangirling. “My mum used to tell us stories all about them - the legends who protected the city from evil. She said Jaheira was a powerful druid. Adamant. Tough.”

“Probably a good ally to have on our side,” you said. Your companions nodded in agreement.

“I’ve told myself those stories thousands of times since,” Karlach continued. “I never thought I’d meet Jaheira. She’s a hero, and I was always… some Outer City kid.”

“Well, excellent news, Karlach,” Gale said. “Given our circumstances and the path we currently find ourselves on, it’s quite possible that we might be considered heroes one day.”

“Chk,” Lae’zel scoffed. “We don’t even know what we’re up against yet. It is likely some of you will perish before we are able to slay this unknown enemy.”

Shadowheart rolled her eyes. “Charming as always, Lae’zel.”

“I am not charming. I am merely stating fact.”

Halsin cleared his throat. “Another druid you say, Karlach?”

Karlach grinned and nodded. “She’s the best! Can’t believe she wants to talk to us about working together. What a day!”

And what a day it had been.

Or, tenday, more like.

~~~~~

The day after you’d told Astarion’s sleeping form that you loved him, he’d been nothing but clingy.

You awoke to find him still curled tightly into your side, but now he was fully awake, his eyes wide and unblinking. It was unnerving.

“Can I help you?” you asked.

He blinked rapidly before an easy grin rested on his lips. “Just making sure you still have a pulse, darling.”

You snorted. “Checking on your food supply, I see.”

Astarion angled his head to nuzzle his nose along your throat before kissing your pulse point. “What can I say,” he murmured against your skin, “we vampires have two instincts, as we learned from that book yesterday: ‘feed and make little vampires.’” He scrunched his face into a silent roar, baring his fangs and forming one of his hands into a claw. He slashed it through the air playfully.

“Yes well, the latter probably won’t be happening for a little while,” you said, shifting to sit up, but wincing in pain over the wound in your torso.

Astarion was rolling off the pillows within seconds and coming around to help you sit up. His eyes were concerned, but he pouted and his voice was teasingly whiny when he said, “Pity.” He rested his forehead against your temple. “I do so miss being inside of you.”

You nearly choked on your own spit, which had him pulling away from you and laughing.

“Whatever,” you muttered, watching as Astarion pulled his shirt over his head.

“Hungry, my sweet?” he asked, still smiling.

“You’re really freaking me out,” you said, giving him a sideways look, “with how nice you’re being.”

Astarion rolled his eyes. “Fine. Starve.” With that, he exited your tent with a theatrical swoosh of the flaps that acted as a door.

You exhaled a disbelieving laugh, watching as the flaps swished back and forth before settling back into their closed position.

“SHE’S WHAT?!” you heard Karlach shriek, followed by loud, bounding footsteps approaching your tent.

Astarion called after her in annoyance, “Don’t bother her!”

“Soldier!” Karlach’s head and shoulders popped their way into your tent. “So happy you’re awake!”

“Hi Karlach,” you laughed. “I’d get up but-”

Karlach shook her head. “Don’t move a muscle. I’m sure Shadowheart and Halsin will want to change your bandages and pump you full of potions but… I’m so glad you’re okay.”

“Me too,” you said. “Thank you for helping while I was unconscious.”

“You’d do the same for any of us,” she said earnestly, still on her hands and knees in the entrance of your tent.

You heard a dull thump outside that had Karlach yelping in surprise.

“Out,” came Astarion’s sour tone, his tongue putting extra emphasis on the “t.”

Karlach looked back over her shoulder and then over to you. “He kicked my boot, the bastard! Proper hard, too!”

“I’d do a lot worse if you weren’t a walking furnace.” Another thump informed you that he kicked Karlach’s boot again.

Rather than retreat, however, Karlach settled her elbows into the dirt and rested her head in her hands. “Ask nicely.” She met your eye with a mischievous grin.

You heard Astarion squawk incredulously. “Darling, tell her to move!”

Clearing your throat to keep from laughing, you said firmly, “Astarion. Be nice. That’s my dear friend, Karlach, you’re kicking.”

He muttered something you couldn’t make out, followed by a loud groan.

Through gritted teeth, he said, “Dear, sweet, Karlach-”

“Liking the sound of this,” Karlach nodded.

“-would you be so kind as to remove your humongous form from the entrance of my lovely bard’s tent?” It sounded as if the words were causing him physical pain.

Karlach looked back at you. “What do you think, Soldier?”

“He could probably do better,” you said with a smirk. But it was then that your stomach decided to growl loudly.

“Woof,” Karlach said.

You could practically hear Astarion’s eye roll. “You know, if you let me in, I could remedy that little problem you’re experiencing.”

Karlach slanted her mouth to the side. “He’s probably right, Gale left behind a bunch of-” she waggled her fingers, “-magic-y warm food for you before he, Shadowheart, Lae’zel, and Wyll headed out this morning.”

You cocked your head to the side. “And you didn’t go with them?”

“Are you kidding?” she asked. “And miss you possibly waking up?”

You smiled at her fondly. “That’s very sweet of you.”

“Besides, I don’t trust myself around all the explodey mushrooms down here.”

Astarion cleared his throat loudly.

“Alright, Fangs, don’t get your panties in a twist.” Karlach looked over her shoulder at him before looking back at you once more. “Let me know if you need anything. You know where to find me.” She pointed to her temple, referring to the tadpole connection, and winked. She crawled backwards on her hands and knees, purposely taking her time, before she fully exited the tent.

Astarion took her place instantly, crawling into the space with a plate of steaming scrambled eggs, fresh fruit, bread, and a pair of healing potions. He placed the entire thing on your lap, along with a fork, before settling onto the ground next to you.

You blinked at him. “Breakfast in bed?”

He scoffed. “It isn’t as if you can join us at the breakfast table.”

Smiling softly, you reached out a hand to cup his cheek. “Thank you, my love. This is very kind of you.”

He still scowled, but his face softened when he took your hand from his cheek and kissed your palm. “I expect the same kind of pampering in return if I’m ever to practically die as foolishly as you.”

You laughed before picking up the fork and stabbing some egg. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

~~~~~

And for the first few days, it did feel like pampering: Astarion staying by your side at all times - reading to you, laying with you, changing your bandages… He only ever left to feed himself. He refused your blood, citing that you needed it more than him, even though your bleeding had slowed to a halt by the third day.

It all felt very nice.

Until you felt well enough to get back on your feet.

The others had dutifully been wrapping things up in the Underdark; defeating monsters, freeing deep gnomes from their drow and duergar slavers, rescuing the halfling woman’s husband, and exploring an abandoned wizard’s tower and the temple to Shar, to name a few. Lae’zel had even gifted you a new longsword she’d found, Phalar Aluve - a sword with the ability to sing or shriek - claiming that this weapon would not have allowed you to be wounded as fatally, had you had it during the duergar battle in the decrepit village.

On the day they raided the Zhentarim cache Astarion had mentioned all those days ago, he’d remained dutifully by your side, much to your dismay and protests that you’d be fine without him for a few hours.

“Absolutely not,” he’d said, looking down his nose at you. “As if Halsin or Shadowheart could care for you as properly as I have.”

“You forget,” you’d responded, mildly annoyed, “that they’re the ones who taught you how to care for me.”

“And I’m the one who shall continue to care for you,” he huffed, finishing changing your bandages once again. By this time, you could sit up on your own with mild to no pain at all. You were perfectly capable of changing your own bandages, but Astarion had insisted on continuing to help you.

You supposed it was nice that he wanted to take care of you, given how much he usually hated being responsible for anything, but he was taking the job a bit too seriously.

Luckily, Karlach and Lae’zel had lugged some chests they’d been unable to open at the Zhentarim storeroom back to camp, allowing your beloved rogue to take part in the raid, despite not attending himself, and thus allowing you a moment of peace to roll off your pillows and put on fresh clothes without his help.

You emerged from your tent to look at the spoils from the storeroom, standing up straight and walking on your own. Astarion hadn’t noticed at first, too busy fiddling with the lock of a particularly large chest, but the commotion created by your companions forced him to look in your direction.

“You’re up!” Wyll exclaimed.

“Do you need any help?” Gale snapped the book he was reading closed.

“Give her some space,” Shadowheart said, assessing you with her eyes from a few feet away.

Astarion got up and hurried over to you. “What do you think you’re doing?”

You smiled at him reassuringly. “I promise I feel well enough to be out here. I just wanted some fresh, Underdark air.” You looked over his shoulder at one of the open chests. “Find anything good?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Nothing worth you getting out of bed for.” He looked you up and down and noticed your change of clothes. He sighed. “I could have helped-”

“I’m fine,” you maintained, placing your hands on his shoulders and looking him directly in the eyes.

Halsin approached the two of you and nodded approvingly. “It is good for her to be up and moving around. It’ll stretch the healing muscles and allow her to join the fray again much more quickly than if she stays in bed all day.”

Astarion rolled his eyes. “Oh, what do you know?”

“Astarion,” Shadowheart said in warning. “If she says she’s okay, let’s believe her. I’m sure she’ll tell you if something’s wrong this time around, right?” She made pointed eye contact with you.

You held up your hand as if swearing an oath. “I promise.”

He watched you closely, narrowing his eyes and sniffing pompously. “Fine.”

He made no move to leave your side.

You rolled your eyes and walked over to the chest he’d been working on, the thieves’ tools still stuck inside the lock. You patted the top of the chest and said, “Don’t let me interrupt you.”

Astarion watched you carefully before he made his way back to the chest and sunk to his knees.

Not far off, Lae’zel was polishing her greatsword. “Does this mean you are well enough to accompany us to the crèche?”

“Well, I-”

“No,” said every other person at camp at once.

“Chk,” Lae’zel thrust her greatsword into the dirt in front of her. “Heal faster.”

“Trying my best,” you said with a shrug.

Lae’zel rolled her eyes and returned to assessing her greatsword.

“If you’re going to be up and about,” Shadowheart said, “you should probably start packing up your belongings for when we need to enter the Mountain Pass.”

“Augh!” you exclaimed loudly, clutching your side. Astarion was up immediately and you leaned your weight on him, throwing your arms around his neck for support. “So sorry, Shadowheart,” you said in a fake strained tone, “my wound… it prevents me… from hard labor…” You flopped fully into Astarion’s side, closing your eyes and sticking out your tongue as if you’d just perished on the spot.

“Oh good,” Astarion said blandly, “she’s finally dead and I can get on with my life.”

You kicked him.

“Uh huh,” Shadowheart crossed her arms. “Such a shame she’ll never be able to annoy us again.”

“I’ll haunt you forever…” you murmured, wobbling your voice like a ghost.

Shadowheart stepped forward and patted your arm. “I’ll ask for blessings from Lady Shar on behalf of your passing.”

“Thank you…” you murmured again.

Astarion bumped his hip into yours forcefully. “Would you get off of me?”

You pulled back and smiled at him. “See? I’m fine.”

He humphed and returned to unlocking the big chest, only to find it full of more thieves' tools. He sighed heavily and rested his forehead on the edge of the chest. You peered inside and laughed.

“Aw,” you said sympathetically and patted his shoulder. “I’m going to get some food.”

“Let me-”

“No,” you said firmly. “Keep going through your useless chests, my love. I’ll be right over here.” You walked over to the makeshift kitchen area Gale had set up.

Astarion watched you go, and you felt his protective eyes remain on you for the remainder of the night.

~~~~~

It was like that now: Astarion trying to do things for you while you insisted you could do them on your own.

It had bewildered you when he actually helped you pack for your trip back to the surface. He had little to pack of his own, given that he’d more or less lived in your tent throughout your stay in the Underdark. He was relentlessly cautious with you, insisting that Gale cast Fly on you so that you didn’t have to ascend the impossibly long ladder back up into the Goblin camp. And he rarely let you out of his sight, even when safely surrounded by your other companions.

The Mountain Pass was beautiful: bathed in what seemed like permanently golden light that had Astarion blooming in the sun’s glow once again. When your group accidentally stumbled into a hostile party of undead while looking for a place to camp, Astarion had taken your hand and pulled you behind him to shield you with his body.

“I can help!” you’d pleaded, watching your friends sling spells and swords at the skeletons.

“Let us handle this,” Astarion had growled, slashing his daggers through a ghoul that came a little too close to you for comfort. He kept you both to the outskirts of the fight.

Try as you might to help, Astarion held you back, glaring at you for drawing the attention of a ghast when you cast Thunder Wave in its direction. You gave him an apologetic smile before he fatally stabbed the ghast in the chest.

Bloodied and burnt out, you and your companions finally found a decent place to camp, close to the monastery that Lae’zel was sure housed the crèche. She took the lead on making a plan to enter the building and find the cure that had been promised to her all her life. You sat by the fire, listening idly to her plans, knowing full well that no one - except maybe Lae’zel herself - wanted you fighting so soon after your injury. You also knew that, should the cure be legitimate, your friends would happily accompany you back into the crèche where you could have the tadpole removed. You chose not to linger on the thought of your adventure possibly coming to an end so soon.

Unsurprisingly, Astarion sat by your side, mending a pair of pants. His knee was pressed lightly into your upper thigh as he hunched over the fabric to see his thread better.

“You could be doing that in my tent, you know,” you said quietly, watching his fingers nimbly weave the fabric back together with needle and thread. “It’s probably easier to see what you’re doing surrounded by candles from all sides than just this fire. I don’t want you to burn yourself.”

“I’m quite skilled at seeing in darkness, thank you,” he said, not looking over at you.

You exhaled softly and leaned your head on his shoulder, effectively stretching your right side, which housed your wound. He paused momentarily, then kept going.

“I’m okay,” you said softly, barely audible above the roaring fire and the heated discussion of possible battle strategy amongst your companions a few feet away. “I’m not going to get hurt like that again.”

Astarion sighed and halted his work on the pants. “You can’t promise that,” he said, sounding annoyed. He spoke his next words quickly, equal parts irritated and vulnerable: “You have no idea what’s coming and neither do I or any of us and I know you’re capable of protecting yourself but the least I can do right now is make sure you heal properly and don’t get hurt again because if I lost you… I wouldn’t know what to do.” He cleared his throat and looked back down at the fabric in his lap. “Or… whatever.”

You smiled softly and lifted your head from his shoulder to kiss his cheek. “I adore you.”

He exhaled an amused breath through his nose. “You’re fine, too.”

“Thank you for looking out for me.”

He sighed dramatically. “It’s been dreadful.”

You laughed. “I can’t even begin to imagine the sacrifices you’ve made.”

He brought his hands up to count on his fingers. “I’ve barely slept, I’ve been drinking animal plonk as opposed to your delicious vintage, I’ve hardly killed anything in the last few days, and I haven’t been able to sleep with you for just as long, if not longer.”

You were glad he wasn’t looking right at you, otherwise he’d surely see the flush on your cheeks. “You’ve been sleeping with me nearly every night.”

He nudged your unwounded side with his elbow. “You know what I mean.”

You smirked. “I miss you too,” you said. “And I’m sorry. You don’t need to be giving up all of that for me.”

He leaned his head on top of yours which had found its way back to his shoulder. “Just… heal, would you? You wretched thing.”

You reached your hand to rest on top of his knee. “You must be starving.”

“In more ways than one,” he growled teasingly in your ear.

“I’m serious.”

“As am I. But your blood stays off limits until I’m sure you’re done bleeding.”

You made a frustrated noise. “I haven’t bled in days, you stubborn leech. And you nearly killed me the first time you drank from me, so really, what’s the difference?”

“Yes, but we weren’t us back then. You were just some bard that I crash landed on a horrid beach with.”

“Hmm,” you hummed through pursed lips.

Now Astarion bent to kiss your cheek. “I’m just being extra careful, my sweet.” He moved his mouth to your ear. “And… it’ll be all the more exquisite when I finally taste you again.”

“Ah,” you said. “So you’re edging yourself.”

Astarion sputtered, “That’s not-” Then he smirked. “And what would you know about edging?”

You swallowed thickly. “Enough.”

He chuckled darkly. “Noted.”

It was quieter now, as your companions had dispersed to their own tents to prepare for tomorrow’s journey to the crèche.

Still, Astarion kept his voice down. “I have an important question for you though, my darling.”

“And what would that be?”

“Whose belongings should we peruse first tomorrow while everyone’s gone?”

~~~~~

The only interesting items you’d found while snooping around camp the next day were cheap erotic novels hidden among both Shadowheart’s and Wyll’s possessions.

Everyone, minus Halsin, who was sticking around the edge of camp planning a way through the Shadow Cursed Lands, had made their way to the crèche only a few hours before.

“‘The Salty Mermaid,’” you’d said, waggling your eyebrows at Astarion who was rifling through Wyll’s tent.

“You’ll never believe this, darling.” He turned to show you the same book, its illustrated cover even more worn than the copy you’d found in one of Shadowheart’s bags.

“Shut up,” you said, leaning forward to snatch the book from his hand and holding the copies side by side. Both depicted a shirtless man gazing into the eyes of a beautiful, topless mermaid, her torso turned tastefully away from view. Their mouths were parted slightly in anticipation of a steaming kiss, ocean mist spraying over them and the rock they were perched on in the middle of the ocean. Wyll’s copy looked as though it had been read dozens of times over the span of many years, while Shadowheart’s was newer and gave the impression that it had been opened frequently, given the way the cover refused to rest against the first page.

“This is outrageous,” Astarion said, sitting behind you and resting his chin on your shoulder to look at both books.

You turned your head to look at him. “Didn’t take those two for naughty book lovers?”

“What? Oh, no, everyone in this camp is a deeply sad, depraved creature, that’s not it.”

You snorted. “Okay, so what-”

“It’s that they didn’t think to include us in their little book club!” His hand gestured wildly between the covers. “You and I read all the time!”

“We don’t know they’re reading them together,” you pointed out. “Maybe it’s a coincidence.”

Astarion looked at you skeptically. “Do you really believe that?”

You thought for a moment. Honestly, you weren’t sure. Your nights had been occupied spending time with the man currently wrapped delicately around your midsection. You couldn’t be sure that your companions hadn’t started a book club without you. It brought a small smile to your face, imagining your friends bonding with each other without your help.

Astarion didn’t wait for you to answer. “Let’s at least see what all the fuss is about.” He leaned forward slightly, careful not to jostle your right side and took Wyll’s book from your hand. He flipped open to a random page as you set Shadowheart’s book on your lap. You leaned your head against his, which was still resting on your shoulder, and read along with him. He tilted his head slightly to read slowly and seductively in your ear.

“Fabian ran his calloused fingers along Allura’s scales. Her tail quivered in response.” He held out the “s,” as if hissing, and nipped at your ear.

You flinched in surprise and smacked him gently on the side of the head.

He chuckled and continued. “‘Taste me,’ Allura pleaded. Fabian smashed his lips against hers and their tongues twisted together like two eels in the Sword Sea.”

You barely withheld a laugh. “Trying to seduce me with eels again, I see.”

Astarion narrowed his eyes, rereading the passage in disbelief. “Oh, gods dammit.”

You nuzzled the side of his head with your own. “It’s working better this time,” you admitted.

“Oh?” Astarion pulled back and met you with a wicked grin.

You nodded and watched his mouth as he leaned in to kiss you before pulling back just out of his reach. He opened his eyes and gave you a puzzled expression.

“I didn’t say it worked completely.” You pushed his nose lightly to turn his face away from yours and back to the book in his hands.

“Why you-” He dropped the book unceremoniously and brought both his hands to your cheeks to kiss you firmly. You laughed against his mouth before giving in and opening up for him.

“Astarion,” came Halsin’s voice from a few yards away.

Astarion immediately disconnected the kiss and shot a deadly glare at the bear.

Halsin hadn’t been looking. Instead he’d been focusing down at what he was holding - a half carved piece of wood, something that was beginning to look like a rabbit. When he finally looked up, he halted in his tracks.

“My apologies,” he said, holding his hands up in a showing of peace, “I merely wanted to ask Astarion for a better knife. It appears my proper carving tools are lost somewhere within our wares.”

“Hi Halsin,” you said nonchalantly.

Halsin chuckled. “I didn’t mean to disturb your fun.”

“Fun? What fun? We never have fun.” You nudged Astarion who was still staring daggers at Halsin.

Astarion sighed and settled his chin back on your shoulder. “Relax, darling, I’m sure Halsin knows all about the kind of fun we have together.”

Halsin nodded. “Far be it from me to interrupt a spry couple preparing to partake in one of nature’s greatest gifts.”

“Ugh,” Astarion groaned in disgust and you felt your cheeks go red. “You make it sound awful.”

“It’s only natural-”

“Did you check our Traveler’s Chest for your carving tools?” you desperately tried to change the subject. “It’s possible one of us packed them in there by mistake.”

Halsin snapped his fingers. “Of course! And the Traveler’s Chest would be…”

You pointed in the direction of the chest, which was thankfully on the other side of camp.

Halsin followed your gaze and nodded again. “I shall investigate the chest. Sorry once again.” He started to leave the two of you but turned back around. “Remember to be careful of your wound.” He gestured to your right side and you absently held your hand to the tender area. “Nothing worse than an injury worsened in the throes of passion.”

“Goodbye, Halsin,” Astarion waved him off.

Halsin chuckled once more, then left the area. You and Astarion remained silent for a moment, watching him go.

You looked over at him. “Moment over?”

“So incredibly over,” Astarion lifted his chin from your shoulder and crawled around to sit next to you. “But the druid’s right. You’re still hurt.”

You huffed some hair out of your face. “And you’re still a drama queen.”

Astarion gasped and held a hand to his chest dramatically. “How dare you.”

“I’m fine!” you insisted. “Watch this!”

You stood and leaned your body to the left, stretching your right side and lifting your right arm over your head.

“See?”

Astarion cocked his head to the side. “Impressive. Now stretch the other way.”

You remained upright and ramrod straight. “I don’t want to.”

“Because…?”

“Because…” You rolled your eyes. “Oh, fuck you! You know why.”

“Because you’re still sore-”

“Yes, because I’m still sore.” You sat beside him again and muttered, “killjoy.”

Astarion stood and reached for your hands, holding them in both of his own. “Call me whatever names you like, it won’t change my mind.” He leaned forward and kissed you softly.

You frowned at him. “Asshole.”

Kiss. “Darling.”

“Bat brain.”

Kiss. “Beautiful.”

“Priss.”

Kiss. “My- hey.” He pulled himself back to look down his nose at you. “I’m not a priss, I’m simply surrounded by frumps. And Shadowheart.”

You scoffed and reached up to brush your hand through his curls, mussing them ever so slightly.

“Hey!” he exclaimed, pushing you away and reaching up to fix his hair.

You crossed your arms and raised an eyebrow at him.

He glared back and rolled his eyes. “Did I not just call you ‘beautiful?’”

“One of your frequent pet names,” you waved him off playfully and went to pick up Shadowheart and Wyll’s discarded books. “It means next to nothing.”

Astarion turned to watch you. “That’s not true.”

You laughed. “You call everyone ‘darling.’”

“That’s different.”

“How so?”

If he were still alive, you’d be able to feel his body heat as he stepped closer to you. He looked up towards the sky and moved his hands around as if searching for the correct words.

“‘Darling’ has always been a lovely blanket term of endearment for victims whose names I didn’t bother to learn but needed to entice.”

You stiffened, thrown off by his honest answer. “Oh.” He met your eye. “People like feeling seen, and ‘darling’ does the job quite nicely. Call it a habit now, I suppose.”

You smirked at him. “You know my name, right?”

He smiled sideways in return. “Who are you again?”

“Good answer.”

“Honestly though, darling,” he said, before shaking his head and saying your name instead. “‘Darling’ isn’t anything special to me, that’s true,” he placed his hands firmly on your upper arms, just below your shoulders, “but you are.”

You exhaled a shaky breath, trying but failing not to shrink under his intense gaze. “Another good answer.”

Astarion rolled his eyes and clicked his tongue. “Look at me, please.”

You met his eye again and saw his features soften.

“I’ve never called someone ‘beautiful’ and not meant it.”

You raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “Really. In all the times you had to seduce people, you never called someone you weren’t attracted to ‘beautiful’ just to make things go faster?”

Astarion rubbed absent minded circles into your arms with his thumbs. “In those instances, I preferred referring to them as, ‘striking.’”

You snorted. “You can’t be serious.”

“I could say ‘dead serious,’ but that would be atrocious, so I won’t.”

“‘Striking,’” you repeated, laughing a little at the vagueness of it. “I guess that could mean anything.”

Astarion nodded. “Exactly.” He shifted his hands up to your shoulders. “But you, my sweet, are exquisite.”

You smiled shyly. “I could say ‘aw shucks,’ but then you’d kill me, so I won’t.”

He pushed himself away from you again. “You are infuriating.”

Dropping the books once more, you reached for his wrist as he backed away. “No, no, I’m sorry,” you said as you brought his hand to your mouth to kiss his knuckles. “Tell me more about how beautiful I am.”

He rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically before his features settled into a seductive grin. He reached forward and pulled you closer by the waist. His voice was low and flirtatious when he said, “I told you on that first night I had my way with you that you were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.” He shifted his head to nip at your ear, “I meant that.”

A shiver went through your body and you closed your eyes. “Really?”

Astarion scoffed. “I wouldn’t willingly attach myself to just anyone, darling.” He kissed your neck. “For one thing, there’s this gorgeous neck of yours.”

You let out an amused sigh. “Go on…”

“Your eyes,” he said, shifting up to bear his crimson gaze into yours, “they sparkle like anything. I can’t say I’ve ever seen eyes more lovely.” You blinked at him, unsure of what to say. He continued, “Especially when you’re laughing. Preferably at something clever I’ve said.”

That made you laugh. “You’re not always as clever as you think.”

He smiled back at you. “So long as I keep seeing that dazzling smile, I shall make a fool of myself.” After a beat, he clarified, “But only for you.”

If you weren’t careful, you might cry. “You sweet, stupid man.”

“Speaking of that smile; that mouth of yours. I could eat you right up.”

He bent to kiss you deeply but you pulled away to giggle. “And you have!”

“And I have,” he agreed, succeeding in kissing you this time.

Your mouth moved against his slowly, keeping in time with him, and you brought your arms up to wrap around his neck. As the kiss became more intense, his tongue licking into your mouth, your heart picked up speed, which sent Astarion groaning against your lips.

“That delicious heartbeat,” he said dreamily, breaking the kiss. “It’s as sweet as any song you’ve ever played, my love.”

Your eyes shot open as he brought his face down to your throat again to kiss your pulse point. Based on his body language and the sensual way he continually kissed your neck, you had a feeling he didn’t realize what he’d said. He kept talking.

“Your heartbeat means you're alive,” he placed a kiss on your collarbone. “And that you’re here,” a kiss to your chest. “With me,” a kiss atop your clothed left breast, above your pounding heart. “Not to mention it’s the source of my favorite meal,” he pulled back to look at you with a goofy grin that he quickly morphed into one of seduction. When he saw your bewildered expression, his face fell into one of concern. “What is it?”

You shook your head and blinked rapidly, attempting to keep your composure. “Astarion,” you said, your voice full of adoration, “there’s something I need to tell you.”

“What’s wrong?” His tone was instantly serious and stern. “Did something happen?” He inspected your right side as if you may have started bleeding again.

Laughter bubbled out of your chest at his sudden shift in demeanor. This man cared for you so deeply it almost hurt. And it was so blatantly obvious to everyone but himself.

“There’s nothing wrong, dummy,” you said, tapping the tip of his nose to bring his attention back to you.

He looked at you questioningly and saw nothing but affection in your eyes. “Then…” he leaned in closer, drawn in by the softness of your features, “what is it?”

You leaned in as well, watching his mouth and subconsciously wetting your lips in preparation for what you were about to say. “I…” you eyes began to close, “lo-”

“Tsk'va!”

You and Astarion froze, your mouths inches apart.

“That wasn’t you, was it?” he muttered.

You narrowed your eyes at him, swatting his cheek lightly and pulling away.

Lae’zel was standing not too far off, covered in blood, staring at the two of you with an intense ire that had you both nearly jumping away from each other. “You feeble wretches are delighting in intercourse whilst the Lich Queen lies to her kin about purification and I nearly lose my life as a result.”

Astarion straightened and looked at his nails, bored. “Oh, is that all?”

You gave him a look before stepping forward to offer comfort. “What happened?”

Lae’zel looked between you and Astarion before furrowing her brows and marching off to her tent. “She may yet purify me!” she called angrily, sounding like she was trying to convince herself more than anyone.

The rest of your party stumbled into camp not far behind. They, too, were drenched in blood and looking worse for wear. You approached them immediately, Astarion reluctantly on your heels.

“Is everyone okay?” you quickly looked over everyone and didn’t note any major injuries.

“We’re alright,” Wyll assured and nodded to Shadowheart, “no thanks to Shadowheart.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” she groaned. “Let’s see if we survive the night.” She gestured towards Lae’zel who was angrily shedding her armor and shrieking frustratedly with each discarded piece.

You looked back at the others and repeated, “What happened?”

“Our little dream visitor had some rather enlightening news for our githyanki friend,” Gale sighed, wiping his brow.

“Well hang on now,” Karlach said. “Her people, or rather, some random doctor lady, tried to kill her first!”

Wyll nodded solemnly. “Not to mention that fearsome god of hers threatened our lives.”

You inhaled sharply. Even Astarion looked surprised. “What?”

“Why do the gods favor you people?” Astarion crossed his arms. “They never answered me when I called.”

“Now, now, Astarion,” Gale said, “this was not a meeting on the most benevolent of terms.”

Astarion rolled his eyes. “So were you able to kill her or something? Is that why you’re all drenched in what smells like an absurd amount of gith blood?”

“Kill a god?” Wyll laughed lightly. “Be serious, Astarion.”

The vampire shrugged. “I don’t know what you lot are capable of, we just met.”

“‘Just met?!’” Shadowheart scoffed incredulously. “And you think you could have taken on a god? You and what? Those sharp teeth of yours?”

“If you’d like to see what they’re capable of, darling, you need only ask.” He flashed her a malicious grin.

“Astarion,” you caught his eye and shook your head slightly.

“If killing that overgrown creep were an option, I gladly would have taken it,” Karlach punched at her open palm. “I can’t stand bullies.”

Halsin now entered the fray. “Peace,” he said calmly. “Everyone should get cleaned up and inspected for injuries, then we can discuss the events of the créche.”

You turned to look for Lae’zel, but her tent was empty. You assumed she’d gotten a jumpstart on the cleaning process.

“Why is my book in the dirt?!” Shadowheart exclaimed. “Astarion!”

“I think it’s time I go for a hunt,” Astarion kissed you swiftly. “You can handle this, can’t you darling?” Then he took off at a brisk pace down the side of the mountain.

~~~~~

After Lae’zel and the others had cleaned themselves up and bandaged their shallow wounds, you’d all sat around the fire to discuss what had occurred at the crèche and what the dream visitor had told Lae’zel of Vlaakith’s deception towards the purification process.

That night, Kith’rak Voss and his group of rebel githyanki warriors had visited you and your companions, telling you all that the Astral Prism held the key to Vlaakith’s undoing. He’d also promised to explain more and provide help once you reached Baldur’s Gate.

“Why must they always be so cryptic,” Astarion had muttered to you from where you stood behind Lae’zel, allowing her to take the lead on this. “If the Prism is a source of unnamed power, then I think we have a right to know about it.” He pouted and you elbowed him lightly.

As you were preparing to leave for the Shadow Cursed Lands the next day, Elminster appeared, bearing a message for Gale from Mystra.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you’d steamed after the old wizard left, “you’re not blowing yourself up, Gale. I won’t let you.”

“She’s right,” Astarion agreed. You turned and gave him a surprised look. He shrugged. “Sacrificing Gale to the Absolute is a waste of a perfectly good cult we could be controlling.” When you rolled your eyes, he amended, “And a waste of a perfectly good Gale, I suppose.”

“I am touched, Astarion,” Gale said before turning his attention back on you. “Let’s save such certainty about my fate for the moment such a decision is upon us. You may feel differently, once we know what we’re truly up against.”

Thus your party kept packing up in preparation to leave for the Shadow Cursed Lands, which Halsin had discovered an entrance to, not far from your camp.

Upon entering, the suffocating nature of the dark hit you instantly, and you felt a shift in your party the more you shuffled into the area.

Astarion held out an arm to stop you from going any further, away from the lit fire you’d found near the entrance. “Can you feel that?”

“You mean the impending sense of doom?” Karlach asked. “Yeah, I feel it.”

Astarion ignored her. “The dark, it’s… hungry. Best watch the shadows.”

Lae’zel scoffed. “How can darkness feel anything, let alone require sustenance?”

“That’s not-” Astarion sighed. “Oh, nevermind. Just… stay close to the light.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Wyll said, grabbing a torch from the lit fire near the entrance.

Shadowheart gazed into the distance, straining her eyes to see into the dark. “This place… there’s power in these shadows, I can sense it.”

Astarion snorted. “Shadowheart feeling one with the shadows. A little on the nose there, darling.”

Shadowheart shot him a deathly glare that had him look over at you for protection. You patted his shoulder in response.

“She’s right, though,” Gale agreed. “I’ve never seen such a concentration of shadow magic. We must forge on, but carefully. It will corrupt any who lack the power to control it.”

“Best get a move on, then,” Halsin siad, grabbing a torch in one hand and your party’s ox cart with the other.

Wyll took the lead with his torch, while the rest of you grabbed your own. You and Astarion brought up the rear as you all made your way through the darkness. He was uncharacteristically quiet as you went.

“Everything okay?” you asked him quietly, making sure the others wouldn’t be able to hear you.

Astarion’s eyes were darting around, on high alert, but he looked over at you when you reached for his free hand with your own. “It feels like we’re being watched,” he said, returning his eyes to scanning your surroundings. “Hunted, even. But there’s nothing out there,” he looked in your direction but was focusing on the darkness behind you, “only more darkness.”

You nodded, and joined him in scanning the surrounding area.

“I much prefer it when I’m the one prowling in the shadows, about to strike.”

“Ooh,” you said, shaking your voice as if telling a scary story, “scaaaary.”

Astarion looked at you with a scowl that you could see was concealing a laugh. “Sorry, did you want something?” He stepped closer to you, bringing his face inches away from yours. “Or just looking for a distraction?” He looked down at your lips.

“I-” you looked at his lips as well and watched as his mouth formed into a grin.

“Look alive, lovebirds,” Karlach turned back to face you two. “Movement up ahead.”

Instinctively, Astarion pulled you to him, shielding your right side with his body from possible attacks.

It was then that your party came across a group of Absolute worshippers, seeking passage across the Shadow Cursed Lands to Moonrise Towers with the help of a drider named Kar’niss, who brandished a magical lantern of some kind. You all played along, brandishing your True Soul statuses in order to gain favor and join the cultists on their journey deeper into the shadows. You even offered to play the Spider's Lyre, which Wyll had found and given to you in the Underdark, in order to summon the drider.

Astarion made it a point of keeping you close, despite the cultists giving you no trouble.

“I’m fine,” you murmured, bumping his hip with your own.

He scoffed. “Oh, so you trust the arachnid is totally sane and won’t turn on us at any given moment?”

“Well-” He made a good point. While Kar’niss had done nothing to prove he was an imminent danger to you, his words were erratic and he’d snapped at you earlier for offering to carry his lantern.

“Wait…” Kar’niss hissed suddenly, holding his lantern aloft in front of what appeared to be a long abandoned house. “Something’s wrong, Majesty.”

“He’s right,” Astarion said quietly, drawing his daggers, “I can sense blood pumping in that building.”

“Should we do something?” Wyll asked.

“Shhh,” Shadowheart hushed. “We don’t know where they are, exactly. Do you want them to spring out at us while they still have the element of surprise?”

“Not particularly,” said Wyll, just as Lae’zel said “Yes,” and drew her greatsword from her back.

“Who’s there?” Kar’niss called. “Show yourself!”

From within the house came a male voice, shouting, “Harpers, attack!”

“Harpers?” Karlach repeated.

The man continued yelling orders. “Kill the cultists… and get that lantern!”

“HERETICS!” Kar’niss shrieked. “VILLAINS IN THE DARK!”

“Soldier,” Karlach turned to you, a frantic look in her eyes, “Those are Harpers!”

Your own eyes widened. Harpers were known for protecting the innocent from evils across the realms. It made sense why they would want to attack cultists of the Absolute.

“Wait!” you shouted and ran forward as Astarion called your name, trying to stop you. “We can help!” You spoke to the man leading this gang of Harpers.

The man looked you up and down as Astarion approached you with his knives still drawn, ready to pounce. “Hurt her, and you die,” he growled, dropping into a low stance.

You exhaled. “Sorry about the guard dog.”

“Careful,” Astarion said lowly, “I bite.” He gnashed his teeth at the group of Harpers surveying you closely.

A woman with long curly hair stepped forward. “Prove we can trust you.”

You nodded and took your lute off your back,strumming a quick tune that had the deep purple magic of Shatter sparking at your fingertips. You turned back towards the cultists, who were now sandwiched between the Harpers and your party. You friends took the hint and drew their own weapons.

“What are they doing?” Kar’niss eclaimed. “We thought they were True Souls! Traitors! Heathens!”

“Darling, are you sure about this?” Astarion asked, watching you carefully, checking for any signs that you weren’t ready to fight.

You looked over at him and winked, casting a powerful Shatter that sent the cultists flying in every direction.

The battle that followed was thankfully not as bad as it could have been, thanks to the help from the Harpers. Astarion had remained by your side the whole time, maneuvering the two of you out of the way whenever an attack landed closeby. He dutifully shielded your right side, stabbing the hobgoblin rather brutally when he lunged at you.

When the battle ended and it was clear that no one had been injured too severely, you approached Kar’niss’ lantern and picked it up. Its chilly glow appeared to protect you all far better from the Shadow Curse than your long since discarded torches.

The male Harper who you’d pleaded to at the start of the battle now approached you. “Incredible magic,” he said, indicating the lantern. “I can feel the light lifting the shadows - even those within me.”

Astarion laughed quietly at his remark, and you kicked the vampire in the shin.

“Find us at the Last Light Inn,” the Harper said, pulling out a map and pointing to a small building by the river.

“Thank you,” you said, marking the location on your own map.

“Be safe,” he said with a nod. “And be brave. We expect no less. Thank you for your help.” With that, he and his other Harpers made their way deeper into the shadows, accompanied by their own torches.

“Could we not have gone with them?” Karlach asked.

“Probably had other Harperly duties to take care of,” Gale reasoned.

“We should probably start heading that way anyway,” you said. “My magic’s depleted and I could use some sleep.”

“Agreed,” Halsin said, stretching his arms above his head and grabbing the ox cart once again. “It will be a relief to rest these weary bones upon a mattress for once.”

“Hmm,” Shadowheart mused, “is grass not cutting it for you anymore?”

“Far from it,” Halsin said. “But even I can appreciate the pleasures of a warm bed every once in a while.”

~~~~~

“Unfortunately, there is only one room available,” Jaheira said flatly when you all entered the inn and approached her at her desk.

Astarion scoffed. “Didn’t you just say outside that there were beds, plural, if we needed rest?”

“It would seem I lied,” she said, looking through a book that you assumed showed current room assignments. “Oops.” She didn’t sound remorseful. “Looks like you’ll have to decide amongst yourselves who gets the room. The rest of you can make camp in the back. There’s plenty of room under Isobel’s light to keep you sheltered from the Curse.”

“Thank you, Jaheira!” Karlach said excitedly.

Jaheira smiled at Karlach’s enthusiasm and held out a goblet of wine to her. “Please,” she said, her tone suddenly very kind, “be welcome.” She handed a goblet to you as well. “Have a drink.”

“Oh my gods,” Karlach muttered, sharing an excited look with you.

“To your very good health,” Jaheira said, raising her own cup towards all of you.

Karlach was practically vibrating with excitement next to you.

“You’ll have to excuse my friend, Karlach,” you said with a smile. “She’s very excited to meet you.”

She giggled, embarrassed. “Tsh. Yeah.” Her face fell just then, as if realizing she wasn’t being formal enough with her hero. She stooped into a low bow. “I mean… It's an honor. M’lady.”

“I will gladly drink to your health as well, Karlach.” Jaheira’s eyes sparkled with amusement.

You raised your goblet to mimic Jaheira’s and went to take a sip, but were instead met with the back of Astarion’s hand. Your mouth crushed against his skin.

“You did not seriously just take a sip from a drink given to you by a stranger,” he said in horrified disbelief.

“I was trying to,” you offered Jaheira an apologetic smile. “I wasn’t expecting to kiss the back of your hand,” you said through clenched teeth.

Astarion took the goblet from you. “Give me that.”

Karlach had been just about to take a sip, but thought better of it and watched Astarion.

He sniffed the contents of the goblet. “Klauthgrass,” he said with a wrinkle of his nose.

“It doesn’t spoil the taste,” Jaheira offered, “if that’s what you’re wondering.”

Astarion rolled his eyes and shoved the goblet back into your hand, training his own hands above his sheathed daggers. “She’s trying to feed you a truth serum.”

“Astarion,” you said calmly, as if soothing a startled animal, “it’s okay.” You set the goblet down and reached for both of his hands, pulling them away from his daggers. “She just wants to protect her people. You can respect that, can’t you, my love?”

“Ah,” Jaheira nodded. “‘My love.’ It is admirable that the cub wants to protect his mate.”

“She’s not-” Astarion sputtered. “We’re just-” He groaned loudly. “I don’t trust you,” he pointed an accusatory finger at the Harper.

“Oh no,” her tone was flat again. “How ever shall I sleep tonight.”

Before Astarion could protest more, you took a sip of the drink.

He gasped. “Darling, what do you think you’re doing?”

“Building trust,” you said, smiling at Jaheira.

Her features echoed your own and she took a sip as well.

“Ah, what the hells,” Karlach said. “Bottoms up!” She downed her own goblet.

“You’re all idiots and I hope you die,” Astarion crossed his arms.

Shadowheart laughed. “Isn’t the whole reason you’re being so dramatic because your mate almost died?”

“Watch yourself, cleric,” his words were icy, but Shadowheart couldn’t contain her snort.

Jaheira took another sip. “Well over a century old and yet it hasn’t lost a hint of its flavor.”

“Let’s have a taste, then,” Wyll pushed his way forward and took the goblet from you.

“I must see for myself if Astarion’s suspicions are warranted,” Lae’zel took Karlach’s goblet, “and if the wine is as good as this woman says.”

“No, no,” Astarion said sarcastically, “let’s all partake in the poison! Shadowheart? Gale? Halsin? What’s stopping you?”

Shadowheart crossed her arms. “I’ve packed my own wine that I don’t plan on sharing with you all, thank you very much.”

Gale, meanwhile, appeared to be reading a book he’d found discarded somewhere in the bar. “Pardon? Is something the matter?”

Astarion rolled his eyes and turned to Halsin who held up his hands in surrender.

“I rarely imbibe, the stuff goes right to my head. I doubt anyone wants to see that.”

“Mmm, yes, save it.” Astarion turned back to you and the others. “So we’re all going to tell the truth now, that’s great. Go ahead, Jaheira, ask away.”

“There’s an air about you,” she said, addressing you instead of the seething vampire to your right. “Something… alien.”

“Can’t imagine why,” Astarion muttered.

“Answer me true and do not lie,” she didn’t flinch when Astarion scoffed, and pressed on. “The parasite is changing you, isn’t it?”

You could feel the effects of the serum willing your mouth to form a truthful answer. You let it. “It’s trying to change me. To win me over. But I’m resisting its temptations.”

Jaheira looked you up and down. “And you’re certain you will continue to resist?”

You nodded. “Yes.” The truth.

“Good,” you saw Jaheira’s shoulders relax. “I will take your word for it. And hold you to it, too.”

You looked over at Astarion, whose arms were still crossed. He scowled at Jaheira who turned to address him this time.

“I have every reason to be cautious.” She exhaled a frustrated sigh. “I’ve traced people like you.”

“Oh, have you.” Astarion rolled his eyes for what was likely the tenth time this evening.

Jaheira tilted her head. “People with parasites in their brains. All the way here from Baldur’s Gate.”

“A long journey, indeed,” Gale said.

Astarion laughed humorlessly. “Good of you to finally join us, Gale.”

Wyll cleared his throat. “And what of the city?”

Jaheira turned to him this time. “The cult of the Absolute is spreading through the Gate. Quietly, quickly, and with unsettling deliberation.”

“Gods…” Wyll breathed. “My father…” Gale patted his arm reassuringly.

“We tracked them to this ancient village,” Jaheira looked down at a map in front of her displaying the entirety of the Shadow Cursed Lands, and pointed to a village not far off, “only to be faced with a man we killed and buried over a century ago.”

“Who was - is - he?” you asked, furrowing your brow.

Jaheira paused briefly when she saw Karlach yawn. “General Ketheric Thorm. Remember that name. He’s the leader of the Absolutists.”

“How can we help?” you stepped forward, determined.

“Ugh,” Astarion pinched the bridge of his nose. “Really, my sweet, is now the time to be playing hero?”

“The vampire is right,” said Jaheira. “We can save this discussion for the morning.”

“Vampire?” Astarion repeated, laughing lightly. “What do you- I’m not-” he slumped. “What gave it away?”

She smirked. “Nearly everything about you. And I have experience with your kind.”

You and your companions snickered, and Astarion shot you all death glares.

“Yes well… it’s been such a delight chatting with you, Jaheira, but I think now’s the time to discuss the room situation.” Astarion turned around so that his back faced Jaheira, effectively cutting her out of the conversation.

She laughed. “When you decide who gets the room, it’s next to the bar, on the right.” Just as she was about to leave and take care of other matters, she turned back. “Do keep it down if it’s you two who get the room,” she gestured to you and Astarion. “The walls aren’t as thick here as you think they are. Those sitting around the bar will hear you and tell me all about it and I’d… prefer to remain in the dark if it’s all the same to you.”

“Jaheira!” Astarion scoffed. “What do you think of me?”

“Prove me wrong, vampling,” she winked at you and went on her way.

Shadowheart placed her hands on her hips. “Go on, Astarion. Make a case for why the two of you are in desperate need of the room.”

Astarion looked at his nails. “Well, darling, it’s just that we’ve had such little time to ourselves-”

Halsin interrupted. “I’m… going to set up camp outside. I yield my claim to the room and will gladly sleep under the stars. Or… I suppose there are no stars here. Regardless-” he turned on his heel and walked out the front door to reunite with your ox cart full of camp supplies.

“I’ll join him,” said Wyll.

“Right behind you,” Karlach agreed.

“Okay,” Gale looked around at those remaining. “That leaves four of us, considering you two as a unit.” He pointed between you and Astarion, the latter of which looked offended, but you grabbed his hand and squeezed it before he had a chance to argue.

Lae’zel adjusted her greatsword in her arms. “It is tradition among githyanki that those who performed best in battle should have the most comfortable sleeping chambers.”

Gale furrowed his brow. “Is that true? I’ve yet to read anything about that in my extended research on the githyanki people.”

Lae’zel shrugged.

Shadowheart spoke next. “It’s just that I drained so much of my magic healing everyone on the battlefield today. I think I deserve to sleep in comfort to replenish my power since we have no clue what tomorrow brings.” Then she quickly added, “Since we’re in her domain, I’d say it’s as if Lady Shar herself wills it.”

Astarion snorted. “Like hells she does.” He turned to Gale. “And what’s your excuse?”

“The knees,” Gale said, bending his knees for you all to hear an audible crack. “Too many nights on the ground will do no favors for one’s aching joints.”

You could see where this was going. There would be a constant back and forth until a loud argument inevitably broke out in the middle of the inn. You knew it was a bit devious, but you decided to get the jumpstart on ending the argument.

You took Astarion’s hand. “Come on, Astarion,” you said with a sigh, “we can rough it outside for another night.”

He didn’t budge. “You can’t be serious, darling.”

“I am serious- Oh.” you paused in trying to get Astarion to follow you and reached for your right side. “Ow,” you said slowly.

Astarion said your name, his voice laced with worry.

“Oh gods,” you blinked your eyes several times, tears filling your vision.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” Astarion brushed hair out of your face and placed his hands on your cheeks.

“I don’t know,” you said shakily. “I suddenly got a sharp pain in my side. I think my wound may have opened again.”

“Oh for gods’ sakes,” Shadowheart rolled her eyes and held out her hand to scan you for injuries with her magic. “You know what, if it’s that important to you, you can have it.” With that, she left after the others.

“Are you alright?” Gale asked.

“I know what would make her feel better,” Astarion said, catching on to your ruse.

“Do not say the room,” Lae’zel glowered at him.

“The room,” Astarion said anyway.

“Chk,” she spat. “Fine. Have your precious alone time. But when they kick you out for pleasuring each other too loudly, I get the room in your stead.”

“Uh… if that’s the case, she can have it after you two.” Gale smiled painfully. “I shall concede as well. If only so I can grab some shut eye without your loud-”

“Ooowww,” you moaned.

“Good gods, man!” Astarion exclaimed, clutching you to his chest as if you were made of glass. “How can you think of sex at a time like this! My precious treasure is wounded!”

“I mean, Lae’zel alluded to it first-” Gale pointed to where Lae’zel had been standing, only to see that she had already left. “Ah. I guess I’ll take my leave as well.”

“Ow! Gods, it hurts!” you wailed. “Get out of here!” Astarion practically yelled at the wizard.

Gale sighed. “Goodnight you two.”

“Goodnight Gale!” you called after him sweetly.

When he turned back to look at you, you were limp in Astarion’s arms, one of your own arms thrown dramatically over your eyes.

“Now look what you’ve done!” It was Astarion’s turn to wail.

“Alright!” Gale turned and held up his hands in frustration. “I’m going!”

When he was finally gone, Astarion pulled you into him for a long, passionate kiss. “You are the perfect woman,” he breathed, resting his forehead against yours.

“I’ll have to remind you of that the next time I annoy you,” you laughed and took his hand, leading him to the room.

Jaheira’s voice sounded from the second floor, “I would appreciate it if you did not yell while my Harpers and our guests are trying to sleep.” Despite her stern tone, her expression revealed mild amusement.

“Sorry, Jaheira,” you whispered loud enough for her to hear you from the railing she bent over.

“Good night, cubs.” She waved her hand and left you and Astarion to settle into your room.

~~~~~

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Unfortunately tumblr thought this piece was too long (WHOOPS!) so I had to split it into two parts. The second part can be found here.

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distort-opia · 2 months ago

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I JUST FOUND OUT THAT JOKER AND SUPERMAN SWAPED BODIES?? (it's a very yaoi plot wtf) HOW IS IT POSSIBLE?? HOW DID BRUCE REACT??WHY DOES IT SEEM LIKE SUPERMAN AND JOKER HAVE A KIND OF UNCLASSIFIABLE TENSION BETWEEN THE PAST FEW YEARS?? 😭 (sorry, just wanted to know if you know which comic that happened in, you don't need to answer the rest, XOXO)

Hah. Yeah that is a thing that happened, in General Mills Presents: Justice League (2011) #9. Fortunately we do see how Bruce reacts, because Bruce swaps bodies with Lex Luthor. It's a fun little issue with some interesting tidbits:

Love how Bruce is like "Joker's got ADHD on steroids, my guy. He can handle your powers." But also, seeing as Joker had no issue with controlling Superman's body, he could've easily done more damage-- but he only chooses to do some ultimately harmless pranks.

Actually, there's been more Superjokes crumbs recently, most notably in Action Comics. In a story arc that has a magic spell turn everyone into a Bizarro version of themselves, Joker is obviously... the only truly sane one left, because he got reversed. Clark goes to him for help in order to stay lucid, to be able to fight Bizarro within his own mind. He dies over and over (a cheeky reference to Emperor Joker, methinks), and seemingly Bizarro has won, when Joker pretty much saves the whole planet by talking Clark back into sanity:

Action Comics (2016) #1063

Did I mention this is some of the most nuanced Joker writing I've seen in recent years? :)

It's all very sad, Clark even calls Bizarro Joker a "friend" afterwards.

I do agree there's a kind of tension between Superman and Joker, simply because they're both important people to Bruce. There's similar narrative tension between Joker and Dick, for instance. Or Joker and Selina. All of them play different roles in Bruce's life, but something Dick, Selina and Clark have in common is tethering Bruce to the light; keeping him sane, helping him walk the line between the best and the worst of himself. It's obviously interesting to put them in relation to Joker, who's... well, trying to make Bruce worse, but also representative of Bruce's darkness, a twisted mirror of him. This is why the premise of Injustice: Gods Among Us is so good, too-- it's literally the product of a Superbatjokes triangle. Bruce thinks Clark is so inherently good and infallible in that goodness, that it pisses Joker off and makes him jealous, so he goes out of his way to prove that Superman can be broken. So then Superman kills Joker, who Bruce cared about, even "loved" (to quote what Clark himself accuses him of). And Bruce can't get over it, despite having excused murders from loved ones before, being quite unreasonable in his treatment of Clark and arguably pushing him further into becoming the worst version of himself... when he could've tried to help. (It kinda sends me that Batman/Catwoman also had Selina kill Joker. But only when Bruce was dead because otherwise Bruce would've been mad. Do you see the pattern here, lol.)

Sorry, ended up rambling. But yeah, Clark and Joker have had some interesting interactions for sure!

#...my headcanon is that afterwards Clark went to Bruce's Cave #and asked “can't the Joker be fixed?? just curious haha”#with Bruce going “NO. I need him to keep matching my freak. mind your own damn business”#asks #joker #clark kent #superman #batman #bruce wayne #superjokes #batjokes #long post

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starry-eyes-love · 11 months ago

Text

Darlin', You're Beautiful

Pairing | Best Friend Joel Miller x Curvy F!Reader, AU (no outbreak)

Summary | After having been stood up from another date yet again, you went to the park with Joel Miller, your best friend, to hang out. You're lost in your own head, not believing that you're beautiful when Joel reminds you of where beauty truly lies, from within.

Warnings | 18+ Minors DNI, age gap (she's mid 20s, he's early 40s), reference to reader being curvy, language, self esteem issues and discussions, terms of endearment (honey, sugar, baby, darlin'), heavy kissing, sexual tension a bit, brief reference to smut, fluff.

Word Count: 2.6K

A/N: This one comes from a space that's been taking up my personal headspace for far too long. She’s a little emotional, but that’s ok. Remember, beauty comes from within. Enjoy :)

Joel's words lingered in the air, “baby, I’ve wanted you for so fucking long,” he whispered, while slowly thrusting inside of you. He was giving you a gentle reminder that beauty, true beauty, was seen from inside a person's soul.

Main Masterlist

Joel leaned back against the old oak tree in the park, the soft rustle of the leaves above him providing a calming backdrop. His heart was pounding in his chest, nerves taking root in his body. Man, she’s beautiful, the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known. And you were, you were beautiful. You were beautiful because you had a beautiful soul.

For all of your life, you didn’t believe that you were beautiful. Society had a specific version of what beauty was, and you felt like you never lived up to that expectation. You were not skinny with a flat stomach, you had a little bit of a tummy on you. You were sitting in the park, watching the Texan sunset with your best friend, Joel Miller, and you were silently scolding yourself yet again. Your second date with a guy last night didn’t go as planned, the man never showed up. Somehow once guys saw that you weren’t the super skinny woman with a big chest, they didn’t want to be with you, and they’d bail on you every chance that they had.

Joel hated seeing you like this, berating and belittling yourself over not being what boys thought were beautiful. And that's who you were attempting to date, boys. Joel, being a man in his early 40s, saw women differently than what men in their 20s did. You weren’t a baby in life, being in your mid 20s yourself, but the men that you attempted to date were. They were too egotistical, caring more about getting laid and the final score at the end of the night than treating a woman with any real respect.

So after sitting with his back against the tree for a bit, and taking in the beautiful Texan sunset, Joel tipped his baseball cap back slightly to look at your face. As he stared at you, he noticed that your once warm eyes that were full of life and happiness, now looked lost. Without giving it another thought, Joel opened his mouth and said the thing that he’s wanted to say to you for a long time.

"Darlin', there's been somethin' on my mind that I wanted to tell ya," he stated, his voice heavy with that slow Southern drawl.

Glancing over at Joel with curiosity you said, “What is it, Joel?"

While grabbing a blade of grass and beginning to twirl it between his fingers, a nervous habit that he had, he said "well, sugar, I've been thinkin' a lot about the type of men that you’ve been tryin’ to date. And well honey, they’re just little boys. Little boys who think they know what’s right for a woman, but they don’t. They don’t know what’s right for ya.”

You told him “ok” in a voice that you didn't quite recognize as your own, one that was so meek and mild. You weren’t the girl who usually got down on herself so much. But recently it had been too much with being stood up on dates, or just being told no in the most embarrassing and rude way possible. Usually a few situations like this wouldn’t bother you, but recently, it has become too much.

Joel, shaking his head, looked back over at you and said “Darlin’, when are ya going to stop believin’ all the garbage these boys say, and start believin’ in something that matters?”

“What matters Joel, huh?” you said, straightening up and shooting him a dirty look with your eyes. This was not the conversation that you wanted to have right now, one that discussed your choices. Yes, Joel was right, but you didn’t want to hear him say it right now. You didn’t want him to rub your nose in the fact that you couldn’t seem to pick a good guy to go out with ever.

“Ya gotta start believin’ it honey, that you’re beautiful, and not waiting on some dumbass guy to say it to you. Y/n, you are beautiful.” Joel said, looking at you tenderly, trying to communicate the feelings that he’s felt for you inside for a long time.

You just stared at Joel, pondering why he would go to this length to say this to you. In the last 5 years that the two of you have been friends, not once did Joel Miller ever say that you were beautiful. It’s just not something that the two of you have ever talked about before. And if you were being honest, you wondered why now he chose to bring it up.

"Joel, you're sweet. But come on, let's be real. I'm not exactly the definition of beautiful." you said, looking over at him.

Joel sighed, trying to make you understand what he saw. "You may not see it darlin’, but I do. I see it every time you smile with the way your eyes light up. Or the way you snort when you laugh, especially when you find something really funny. When you talk ‘bout things that you love, I see you open your heart up to the person you’re talkin’ to. Or even that cute little blush that ya get when you get embarrassed. Beauty isn't just about appearance darlin’; it's about the way you carry yourself, the kindness in your heart, and the way you make other people feel."

Shifting uncomfortably, clearly not used to receiving these types of compliments from anyone, but especially a man and your best friend. "Joel, you're exaggerating. I appreciate it, but I'm not the type of girl people describe as beautiful."

Joel once again shook his head. He wanted you to see what he saw, the beauty that you had within you. "That's where you're wrong darlin’. You have this unique charm that goes beyond what people think is beautiful. It's about you being genuine, and baby, you are as genuine as they come."

“Well, I’ve never felt like it.” You looked over at Joel with soft eyes, wanting to believe everything that he was saying to you.

“Well that’s what’s wrong darlin’. You are the best type of beauty possible. Beauty of the soul. And baby, I can’t get enough of it if I’m being honest.”

“Joel, what are you- what are you saying?” you asked softly, with slight irritation in your voice at how in-depth this conversation has gone.

Joel scooted closer to you, and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “I’m saying that it’s your uniqueness that makes you beautiful darlin’. That it’s something rare to find, that you’re something rare to find. And baby, I find you incredibly attractive because of it."

A soft blush tinted your cheeks at Joel saying that you were attractive. "Do you- do you really mean it?" you asked, trying not to get your hopes up, but secretly hoping Joel was flirting with you. Sure, you two have been friends for five years, but you’ve secretly have had a crush on Joel Miller ever since the start of your friendship. You didn’t think he’d ever look at you the way that you hoped, that he wanted to be with you in the capacity of being ‘more than friends.’ You always thought that he liked women that didn’t have curves like you did.

Joel looking at you with hooded eyes said, "Baby, I've spent enough time with ya to know that there's more to beauty than what meets the eye. It's about the way you make people feel, the way you make me feel. That genuine kindness you show me and others. That’s what makes your truly beautiful darlin’."

A thoughtful silence hung between the two of you, as you absorbed his words. It wasn't that you didn't believe him. But when people, specifically other men, have made you feel less than beautiful for many years, it took its toll. You couldn’t help but slowly start to believe those inappropriate statements by others, when it was others that were constantly saying it to you that they didn’t find you beautiful or sexually attractive.

"Joel, it's not that I don't appreciate your words, I do. It's just that, it's hard to change when other people are mean for so long, and where they have made me feel less than beautiful as a woman.”

Joel slowly nodded, understanding the depth of your silent struggle. After a moment he said, “I get that darlin'', I do, it's just that-” Joel found himself standing at the precipice of no return with you. After contemplating his choices, he decided to throw caution completely out of the window, and he decided to act on the feelings that he’s had with you for a long time. Joel leaned forward and cupped your cheek, gently running his thumb up and down it. “If ya don't believe my words darlin'', then please believe this.” He then leaned forward and gently kissed you softly on the mouth.

What started out as a gentle, soft kiss quickly turned heated. You softly whimpered into his mouth when his one hand went to the back of your neck, that spurred something deep inside him. As soon as he heard you moan he took the kiss a step further and gently ran his tongue along the seam of your lips, asking you for access into your mouth. When you opened for him, he dove his tongue in and started a slow caress. Gentle and smooth strokes, back and forth, inside your mouth, against your tongue. You two were doing a slow dance of passion and love behind your kiss. Nothing rushed, just gentle exploration.

When you moaned into his mouth, that’s when caution once again completely went out the window. A switch inside of Joel had flipped, and his kissing became more heated. Joel gripped the back of your head in a firm hold and tilted your chin up so he could lean forward and deepen the kiss into your mouth. It was at this moment that you realized two very important things. One, Joel Miller was an excellent kisser. And two, you wanted to sleep with your best friend really bad.

As you pulled away, gasping for air, you heard Joel let out a low growl. When you looked over at him he had very dark eyes. His pupils were blown wide, and the air around you two crackled with sexual tension. Joel moved back towards you and started kissing down your neck, nipping and biting over your pulse points and the areas of your neck that he knew were your most sensitive zones. “No one's ever kissed me like that before” you said, while moaning softly at what Joel was doing.

“That's a damn shame darlin''. A beautiful woman like yourself should be kissed like that all the goddamn time.” He said while sucking on your neck and then running his tongue over the love bite that he just made to soothe it.

“I want more” you gasped, moaning again at Joel’s minstrations on your neck.

“Good, you should want more.” He said, moving to the other side of your neck and continuing his exploration. Joel was trying to find out what made you moan, squirm, and call out to him; making sure to keep doing that to intensify what he wanted to do again, and that was kiss you once again. He wanted to make sure that you knew without a doubt what he felt for you, and that any real man would know how to make a woman feel beautiful. And goddamn, you were hot as hell and so sexy that he barely could think straight.

With a slight smile, you gently shook your head while pulling away from him and finally admitting out loud to him, the thing that has been your biggest secret. “No Joel, I want more from you, with you. I have for a very long time.” You then reached out and gently cupped Joel’s cheek, running your thumb over his patchy beard.

Joel looked at you with intense eyes, heart pounding hard and fast in his chest at the realization of what you were asking. Finally, after all these years you wanted him the same way that he wanted you. When you two first started hanging out he didn’t think you’d like him in a boyfriend type of way, as all your interactions were more based on friendship than anything else. Now he felt stupid, hooking up with random women periodically over the years, having you play wingman with him at the bar, thinking that you never wanted more. I’m not gonna fuck this up anymore with her, he thought, focusing on showing you what he wanted.

Joel leaned forward and gently whispered in your ear, “well darlin’, why didn't ya say something. How ‘bout this, I take ya back to my house and show you what a real man does to make a woman feel so fucking sexy. Would you like that baby, for me to show you?”

When Joel pulled back to look at you he saw that you eagerly shook your head yes for him. He tsked at you while resting his forehead against yours and said with his eyes closed, “Now come on baby, ya know better than that. Use your words, darlin’ tell me what ya want, please.”

When Joel pulled away from you gently, you nodded your head and then leaned in. Your mouth was right next to his ear when you gently whispered “fuck me Joel, that’s what I want. I want this, I want you. Help me forget about all those other men.”

Joel's eyes glazed over at your admittance. Pulling back he whispered “filthy girl” but then gave his own head a little nod, telling you that he understood what you wanted. When Joel stood up, he reached out to help you up. As the two of you walked back to his truck, he laced his hand into yours, showing you how much he actually cared. Once inside his truck, Joel kissed you passionately yet again, telling you with his actions of what he intended to do with you when he got back home. As he pulled away he then ran his hand through your hair for a moment, enjoying the quiet intimacy that was present.

“I'm gonna treat ya right baby, the way you should’ve been treated all along. My only wish is that I wish I would've done this a lot sooner. For that honey, I’m really sorry.” And with that admittance Joel gave you another tender kiss on your lips. Once he settled into the driver's seat of his truck, you silently reached over and took his hand in yours. The 30 minute drive back to his house was done in silence. But this silence for once wasn’t awkward, nothing with Joel ever was. You didn't know why you didn't see any of this feelings before, but now you were glad that the two of you communicated.

As the sun faded and dipped below the horizon, two souls were intertwined and connected. Joel's words lingered in the air, “baby, I’ve wanted you for so fucking long,” he whispered, while slowly thrusting inside of you. He was giving you a gentle reminder that beauty, true beauty, was seen from inside a person's soul. Joel spent the rest of his life, and yours, reminding you of this. And with each reminder it always ended the same way, you two wrapped up into each other’s arms. He told you each and every day how much he loved you, both inside and out, with saying just one simple sentence, “Darlin’, you’re beautiful.” And you were, you were beautiful both inside out. Not because a man told you, but because you finally started to believe it yourself.

The End

Taglist: @punkshort @shotgun-shelby @strawbunnyx @orcasoul @pedritoferg @chiogarza @jesfreedark @untamedheart81 @rainbow12346 @nandan11 @swiftpascal @eliza-8 @joeldjarin @vickie5446 @nastiasnow @staywildflowahchild @ratoonstown @l3laze @its-always-420-on-the-moon @kirsteng42

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