#it really should not have taken me that long

[thinkinonsense]

COLORS₊˚⊹☆

old man!logan howlett x young fem!reader

cw: angst!! nsfw content but no smut

a/n: this has been in my drafts for sooo long

masterlist

you knew better than to be alone with logan. it's wasn't his fault that you couldn't control yourself around him but you couldn't resist his salt and pepper look.

"can i get a beer, honey?" his deep rugged voice asks over the bar counter.

"yeah, one second." you meekly reply.

the two of you met through his son, jack. for months, you knew jack had a crush on you but you always had eyes for his father, logan. when you first saw logan visiting his son on the college campus, you thought that maybe it wouldn't hurt to go on a date with the nice boy.

"here you go." you nod, sliding him the glass bottle. his fingers entrap yours around the bottle, stopping all of your movements.

"thanks, pretty girl." he tries to smile at you. your knees feel weak. logan can smell your arousal leaking in your underwear and down your thighs.

"no problem, mr. howlett."

blush coated your face as he releases your hand around the bottle. logan lets you get back to work, watching your every movement.

"ya' know, jack has been asking about you." logan says after a few sips.

the older man saw right through you. he knew why you suddenly became interested in his son. logan was a bad man who formed bad habits; one of those habits was entertaining your fantasies.

almost every night after work, logan came into the bar you worked at. a bar that was forty-five minutes from his cabin home. he loathed the city however, he liked how the lights twinkled in your eyes whenever you joined him for a smoke outside.

"i've been busy." you shrug. not really feeling bad for canceling plans with jack again.

"hm.." logan huffs, watching you pour liquor into a glass for another customer. "noticed you've taken up more night shifts."

"college is expensive."

"jack mentioned that your folks help pay your tuition." he had you right where he wanted you. "you aren't ditchin' him for some other college boy, are ya', honey?"

air trapped in your lungs at his question. you were torn on if you should look up at him or not. besides the beer in his hand, logan was also drinking in your appearance. always in these tight low-cut tops with tiny skirts and cute sneakers.

"too busy for boys." you reply, taking a sip of your diet coke to the right of logan.

it's been two months of dancing around your attraction to each other. logan loved his son but he knew the poor boy didn't have a chance with a girl like you. you needed someone to tame you, protect and provide for you. jack wasn't mature enough to see that.

"what time do you get off?" logan asks, finishing off his glass.

"thirty minutes."

you bite back the smile forming on your lips. he could hear your heart beat increase causing him to chuckle and shake his head.

"you know the routine, doll face." he puts down some cash and leaves you a nice tip. "meet me in the limo in thirty. no panties either."

"yes, mr. howlett."

was it wrong? maybe, but nothing felt better than logan's hands all over you.

[moonstruckme]

Idk if you’re still taking requests for your bake sale (which is the cutest idea btw) but if you are… apple pie, prompt number 31 with Steve? (three people sat on a two-seater sofa)

I was! This probably wasn't what you had in mind but I thought it would be silly so here you go :)

cw: alcohol

Steve Harrington x fem!reader ♡ 693 words

“Stay still.” Steve’s voice is low, a smile teasing his lips. “I’ve almost got it.” 

You roll your eyes at him, but your own smile is just as poorly repressed. You still love it when he flirts with you. Even when you’re at one of his friend-of-a-friend’s parties where everyone wants to talk with him, Steve only has eyes for you. 

“I don’t know how you missed it the first three times.” 

“Does it seem like I’m fucking around? It’s tricky, babe.” 

“Seems like you might be fucking around a little bit…” you tease.

Steve swipes at something under your eye. “Got it. What’d I tell you?” 

You beam at him. “Okay, I take it back. My hero.” 

His grin widens, but he squints at your face. “Yeah, except now you’ve got makeup on your cheek. Sorry.” 

“Really.” You frown, wiping at where he’d touched with your finger. It must have smeared your mascara. “Can you get it off?” 

“Yeah, just a sec, you’ve gotta make a wish first.” Steve holds up his finger in front of you, your eyelash balanced on its tip. 

You roll your eyes again, but neither of you are buying that you’re anything other than totally besotted with him. You inhale, holding your wish in your head. 

You blow the lash harder than you mean to when you’re jostled from behind. 

Steve frowns over your shoulder. The guy behind you has found a new and innovative way to make out with his girlfriend, him leaning over the edge of the couch and her on the beanbag below. The two of them set up camp long after you and Steve had been sitting on this couch, and the limited space means he occasionally bumps you in his enthusiasm. 

“We should move,” Steve says, not for the first time. 

“No way,” you reply again. “We were here first.” 

“This couch wasn’t made for three people.” 

You huff, irritated. “Yeah, but all the other seating is taken.” 

“I’ll get us a nice patch of carpet,” he bargains. “We’ll treat it like a picnic.” 

You shake your head. You know you’re being stupid, but it’s the principle of the thing. You want the guy who’d squeezed onto your couch to have to share it with you. “It’s not fair that we have to be the ones to move,” you say. 

Steve sighs, but his expression is fond. “Fine. At least swap places with me.” 

You raise your eyebrows at him. “Your funeral,” you say, but you scoot into the spot he leaves vacant when he stands.

Steve presents a stronger front than you had, sitting up instead of leaning away from where the other guy is infringing upon his space. 

“Alright, c’mere,” he says, reaching for you. “Let me get your makeup.” 

You lean forward happily. Steve uses the condensation from his beer to wet his thumb, rubbing at your cheek concentratedly. It’s then that your couch companion chooses to sit up. Evidently, he really had forgotten he was sharing the couch with two other people, because he knocks right into Steve, causing your boyfriend to lurch forward and for a bit of his beer to spout over the lip of the bottle and into your laps. 

You press a hand over your mouth, laughing, while Steve expels an incredulous breath. 

The guy looks back as though surprised to find him there. “Sorry, man.” He claps a hand on Steve’s shoulder, wandering off. 

“Quick,” you urge, “scoot back!” 

When Steve doesn’t move fast enough, you get up and move behind him, taking up the other side of the couch and stretching out your legs so there’s no space for anyone else. 

“What an ass.” Steve still looks in shock. 

“At least we held down the fort,” you say gleefully. “We won in the end.” 

“We won?” He laughs. “You’ve got beer on your pants, baby.” 

You shrug, ignoring the cold on your legs. “A small price to pay for victory.” 

Steve huffs, but he’s grinning, crawling across the couch to meet you. “You are so—” he kisses you firmly “—stubborn.” 

“Mhm, yeah. Now get back in your place before somebody takes it.” 

[worriedvision]

Ajaw ruins his relationship with you - Kinich

Gender neutral reader, angst. No happy ending here, borderline crack BC Ajaw is a cracky character let's be honest. Ajaws a little shit here

--

Kinich had, somehow, caught your eye enough for you to successfully land a date with him. One date becomes two, and the third one ends in you inviting him over for a drink. He accepts, and before you know it your home becomes a place for him to call home as well. While Kinich wasn't very emotive, he seemed to smile just a bit around you.

However, the couple affections you would expect from him in a relationship weren't coming. Nothing like kissing or hugging, and for a while you think it's because Kinich was not a touchy person. You also knew he was very busy with his work, which was why the first few times he left and told you not to wait for him you didn't think much. At the time, in fact, you were more attracted to him because he was honest with you.

"Don't wait up." He blankly states, every morning he leaves. If you're lucky, he comes back at night time only to sleep - he doesn't make himself any food or drink from your home.

You got suspicious of him when you were hanging out with Mualani, and she brought up the fact someone called Ajaw wouldn't stop nagging at Kinich. When you ask who Ajaw was, rather if this was his boss, Mualani laughs.

"Ajaw probably thinks so, but they bickering too often to do any work together." Mualani tuts. "Do you never hear Ajaw? That voice is so... Annoying to hear!"

"No...I've never met this Ajaw." You hum out, Mualani gasping.

"Tell me your tricks!"

--

Once you get home from your interaction with your friend, you've had enough time to think. After some long thinking, you come to a decision. You move the stuff that's Kinich's, leaving them by the front door, and add temporary locks in addition to the one your key locks until you can change the lock.

To your surprise, Kinich sounds surprised when he notices his bags out. You refuse to open the door, having more than enough time to waste as you had a day off, and Kinich defeatedly picks up his few belongings before leaving.

--

"Hah! You should see your face!" Ajaw jeers, Mualani and Kinich groaning out at Ajaws harsh words. "Good thing _ wisened up and realised they can do a lot better than some mortal being that can't even get himself a group of companions!"

"Because you always ruin things." Mualani sighs.

"Hey, I can't take credit for this one! I never even once spoke around _!" Ajaw shrugs, putting some sunglasses on.

"I was hoping to finally get to spend some time with them. I've finally got enough cover for a few days." Kinich states, seeming to realise what Ajaw did. "...Mualani, you know how annoying Ajaw is. Do you know if -"

"Oddly enough no! Honestly, I'm jealous. Ajaw doesn't know when to shut up."

"...It seems they do." Kinich massages his temples, Mualani making eye contact with him.

"...Do you think they were suspicious you were seeing Ajaw? Yuck!"

"Hey, I can hear you, ya know?!"

"It makes sense though. They don't know Ajaw isn't even human, and also isn't mortal."

"Hahaha! Oh boy, even I didn't think keeping my mouth shut around your potential love interests would give this benefit!" Ajaw cackles, seeing Kinich's hand flying towards him. "Hey, what are - AHH!"

--

You keep getting asked if Kinich is single, each time you saying he wasn't seeing you anymore before they seem excited to pursue a taken man. It's quite concerning, really, you think theres little dignity in being the other person in the relationship.

Kinich tried to talk to you, but each time you saw him you'd make an excuse for being too busy before hearing some weird child cackling and screaming in retaliation to someone reacting to them. As much as his hurt expression spoke to you, you still knew in your mind that Kinich was in a relationship.

Even if he wasn't, you would know in your mind that you were the second choice.

[squinch-depraved]

I was watching a chuckle sammy episode today and there was a part where Schlatt said he would hire a hot secretary just to keep him company. I'd love a story about that if you're willing.

The episode is the zodiac one the part I'm referring to is exactly 1 hour in.

this is reallllly yummy i hope i did it justice for you

it was supposed to be just a joke. just a bit for the podcast, a few sentences about hiring an attractive secretary and nothing more. but they stuck in schlatt's mind and hung heavy over him for the rest of that night. he really was lonely. and ted had a point, hiring someone to just be around (and look pretty) was looking like a better and better idea every second. so he finished off his bottle of benedictine, not that there was much left, and tossed it to the side, stretching out further on the couch while he pulled out his phone and set to work searching for an assistant.

it wasn't long before ted heard about his search, and the two men bantered in a call for a few minutes about it before the older of the two stopped his jokes to suggest, "no, but for real though, i have a friend who just moved back to new york, you might remember her, she was on the set for this past chuckle week helping in the background. y/n?"

schlatt's pupils dilated and he took in a breath. "yeah, i remember her," he replied coolly. "thought she was in school though?" he played with something on his desk.

ted lit up. "yeah, she's studying, but i'm sure she'd be willing to work something out with you." his voice was laced with knowing. he had seen the way schlatt sized you up the first time he laid eyes on you, the way he could never meet your gaze and how he always looked to you first when he made a joke. "i'll send you her info, you should reach out, man. she'll be happy to hear from you."

that last line was the only reason schlatt did it. he cursed himself for letting ted convince him now that you were here in front of him. you had been invited to a coffee shop to discuss the job details, and when you finally showed up, he looked incredibly uncomfortable sitting at a small table. but you sat down in front of him, smiling up at him and pushing your glasses up on your nose.

"hi schlatt!" you greeted him, reaching out to shake his hand. he gripped you a bit too hard and grimaced when you made a small noise, shaking your hand out when he let go. "thank you so much for the opportunity, i was really worried i wouldn't be able to find a good job for a while with my school going on and everything."

he nodded hastily and pushed a pastry he ordered for you towards you on the table. you smiled and yanked it towards you, beginning to eat as he spoke. "basically, i just need you to get any random tasks i need done, done. just, paperwork, if there ever is any, usually it's all digital, uhh, anything that slips through the cracks. i just need someone to be there and make sure my shit is taken care of."

you raised a brow. "sounds like you need more than an assistant," you responded with a smirk. his face reddened and he looked away, trying to shove down the thoughts of why you were really here. you were making a joke, but it wasn't funny to him. not when you didn't know you were right.

"shit, i'm sorry schlatt, i didn't mean to insult you-"

"'s fine. not insulted. i need you in the office whenever i'm there, sometimes i get work done at my apartment, so here's a key to both. feel free to get your own shit done whenever you're working unless i need you doing something. pay's fifty an hour. can you start today?" he slaps two keys down onto the table as well as two addresses written down on a half-crumpled napkin. you stare up at him in shock before snatching the keys and paper.

"fifty bucks an hour???" you whisper-screamed at him before the startled look on his face pulled you back into reality. "what about this job is worth paying me that much? i'm accepting it, no takesies backsies, but why so much, schlatt?" you tilted your head at him as you asked.

he scrambled for an answer to your question that wasn't "i want to spoil you until you can't think of anything else in the world you want," but when he opened his mouth to talk, nothing came out. you sighed and answered his previous question instead.

"yeah, i can start today. let's go ahead and get to work, boss," you said, standing up and collecting all your school stuff you brought in with you. "take me somewhere i can dump my stuff!"

weeks passed, you fell into rhythm with his fucked up schedule easily, quickly learning when to fetch him more caffeine and when to take away his alcohol. you kept him organized, boosting his productivity and helping him with almost anything he needed. you learned a few days in the fifty an hour was for no good reason other than maybe ted had told him you were struggling to pay for school (he hadn't) because most of your job was sitting at another desk, sometimes in the same room, sometimes separated by walls, parallel playing with schlatt as he filmed or streamed or edited or did whatever he needed to do while you worked on schoolwork or a fun hobby you were into. you were being paid to do minimal office work, study and relax, and best of all, care for your hot boss. he loved when you called him that, boss, it always made his cock twitch and his brain flood with thoughts of you under him.

the worst part of the job was how attracted you were to him. it made doting on him inevitable when your whole source of income was reliant on you making sure he was "taken care of." he noticed you acting more lovingly for the first time when you brought a water bottle to his desk while he was editing and massaged the back of his shoulders before mumbling, "you need to take a break and stretch soon," and leaving the room. he was stunned, skin burning under his sweater where you touched him. secretaries don't do that. he quickly opened up his messages with ted and began typing.

"dude. i fucked up. shouldn't have hired y/n. help." every sentence was a different message. moment later, ted eased the pounding of schlatt's heart a bit by replying.

"what happened??"

schlatt typed quickly. "she massaged my shoulders idk man i can't think around her"

"oh dear heavens, the damn harlot massaged you?"

schlatt didn't dignify that with a response. a few moment later, ted typed again.

"she's really into you dude, you should go for it. i promise she's not the type to sue you if it doesn't work out"

his main fear erased, he closed the chat and got off the computer, heading to find you in his apartment kitchen, going over the schedule for the days to come. music played from a speaker on the counter, and you paused it when you saw him come out.

"sorry, was it too loud?" you asked, looking up at him.

"nah," he shook his head. "you've been workin' for me for a few months now, y/n," he began.

you started shaking your head, backing up into his fridge. "schlatt, please, no, i need this job," you started to babble.

"shhh, nonono, not that at all, doll," he assured you, gliding across the floor to caress your cheek. the pet name made your stomach turn as you let him cup your face. "was gonna say somethin' else."

"what is it, then, boss?" you batted your lashes at him. he inhaled sharply and kissed you, absorbing the high pitched moan you let out. when he pulled away, you flicked your eyes down from his to his mouth and back up to meet his gaze before pulling him back in.

he tasted like whiskey, and he growled against your neck when you slid your hands under his shirt. "hired you just to keep me company but i can't keep my hands off you, doll." the nickname made you nervous for the second time that night.

"then don't keep 'em off me," you panted, puling your shirt off over your head and adjusting your skewed glasses. he drinks you in, inhaling the scent of your perfume (that you recently had to buy another of because he stole your first bottle to smell while he pumped his thick cock in his hand whenever you were gone). after a moment, he peeled your leggings off and picked you up, setting you down on the counter before he kneeled between your legs and looked up at you for permission to begin tasting you. you nodded, running your fingers through his brown curls while he started to lick and kiss at your cunt. much to his enjoyment, you didn't hold back your noises, letting your moans and cries bounce off the echoey walls of his apartment.

he slid a finger in you as he sang praises about how good you tasted for him, working his way up to two, and eventually three. you were crooning about how amazing he felt, knotting your fingers deeper into his hair and pulling it when you felt your high getting close, which made him moan directly onto your clit. you clenched your thighs around his head and ground down onto his face as he drew an orgasm from you.

once his face was thoroughly soaked with your juices, he pulled away and came up to kiss you for a bit before pulling you off the counter and spinning you around.

"i promise i'll fuck you properly, in a bed, next time, i just gotta have you now, toots." he bent you over the counter and slid his pants down, stroking his length a few times before slowly pushing into you. you both moaned, adjusting to each other, and he started thrusting, gripping your hips fiercely as you shrieked and adjusted your glasses again, to no avail because you were being shaken and throttled like a toy.

"god, you're so good!!" you screeched, moaning further when he smacked your ass in response.

"fuck, you look so cute, bent over on my counter like that, lettin' me use you like the good little assistant you are," he snarled. you let out a guttural whine at how hot he sounded. "you're so good at assisting me, baby."

your knees began to buckle and he grabbed you tighter to help hold you up.

"almost there, toots, c'mon. doin' so good."

you cried out one more time and his pace quickened, growing unsteady as he got closer to finishing. he thrust forcefully a few more times before pulling out to come all over your back and ass.

quiet settled over the kitchen as you both panted, and you heard him quietly snap a picture of you with his seed all over you before he grabbed a paper towel and began to clean you up.

"sorry," he mumbled.

you shook you head and turned around to kiss him. "can i stay the night?" you asked him.

he nodded, relieved, and slipped his pants back on.

"can i get paid for it?" you looked at him with a sly expression, glasses smudged.

he laughed. "absolutely."

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Words: 7,252 (oof, this one got long!) Pairing: Negan Smith x Reader Reader pronouns: largely unspecified (but Negan does refer to reader as doll and darling which could be considered more feminine terms of endearment) Warnings: language haha, frightening scenarios, references to past violence Summary: Months have now passed since Y/N began taking on Negan as a "project" and the reader suggests an even longer run outside the walls. A/N: This is part of a series! Find all the parts on the Negan Master List. Previous Part here! “It’s been months,” you said. “There hasn’t been a single time that I’ve felt unsafe, and both of you know I never let my guard down.”

Daryl was leaning up against the wall beside the door, his arms crossed over his chest. His expression was serious but largely unreadable. Michonne leaned forward on the table, considering your words.

“We need to think long-term here. Are we just going to keep him locked up forever? Or is there some version of this where he gets out and either integrates as much as possible or—or goes on his way?”

Michonne sighed and shook her head. “I’m not sure any of us have the answer to that yet,” she said.

“I know. I still don’t,” you said. “I’m not sure what the future looks like for him, but I know we have to do more than just letting him out to pick tomatoes every once in a while. So, that’s what I’m doing. And with you two stuck here dealing with the wall and the kids—and the pantry and medical supplies starting to run low, well… let’s kill two birds with one stone.”

Daryl sighed and straightened up. “I ain’t gonna say I like it, but I trust ya and I’ve seen your judgment play out too many times to doubt it. If ya think it’ll be alrigh’, then—well, ‘m good with it. But ya gotta show us exactly where you’ll be and when to expect ya back in case we need to come lookin’.”

“Yeah, of course. I’ll mark it all on the map. We should be able to make it out and back in a single long day. Leave early. Get back late.”

“And no weapons for him unless it’s an absolute emergency,” Michonne emphasized.

“Of course,” you agreed.

“Alright,” Michonne nodded. “When will you go?”

“Tomorrow,” you said. “I’ll get everything ready today.”

“I’ll walk ya out,” Daryl drawled, watching as you grabbed your bag and shouldered it. “Listen—” he started.

You looked over at him and smiled, already knowing you were about to get a worried Daryl Dixon lecture. “Mhm?” you prompted him.

“The hell are ya smirkin’ about?” he growled, his brow furrowing.

“Nothing,” you laughed. “Go ahead.”

“Well—if somethin’ happens out there… if it comes down to you or him…” he trailed off.

Your brow furrowed deeply now to match his. “It won’t,” you said seriously.

He shifted anxiously. “But if it does…”

“Daryl. It’s not going to,” you insisted.

He relented and nodded, chewing on his bottom lip thoughtfully. “Okay. C’mere.” He pulled you into a hug and you smiled as he folded you up against him. “I just want ya to be safe, is all.” “I know. I will,” you agreed.

He nodded, pulling back. “Wish I could go with ya… I’d feel better about it.”

“I know. But it’s going to be fine. You’ll see.”

_ _ _ _ _ _

“You’re shitting me, right?” Negan said, his breakfast still in his hand, not a single bite taken.

You stared at him and then let out a dry laugh. “That’s not exactly the reaction I was expecting,” you said.

“Well, shit. I mean… a real scavenging trip? That’s what you’re saying?” Negan said. He ran a hand back through his hair and stood, pacing a tight circle in his cell. “Who else is going?”

You cocked an eyebrow at him. “Why? Someone specific you want me to invite? Want me to ask your old pal Gabriel? Or wait—Eugene?”

He laughed but looked vaguely shocked. “Well, I’m sorry but I’m just—a little fuckin’ surprised, doll.” You’d eased some on scolding Negan for the pet names over the last few weeks and generally just ignored them now unless it was something really egregious. (You’d nearly hit him for calling you ‘princess’ one day, so he had at least not tried that again.) He seemed to enjoy taking full advantage of you turning a deaf ear to them now. “Just you and me? Out there?” he clarified.

“You and I have already been out there alone how many times, hmm? I don’t see why this should be any different,” you said, digging around in your pack.

“Well, it’s farther. I mean, farther for you to get help if—”

You straightened up and fixed a skeptical gaze on him. “If what? If you suddenly decide to attempt to murder me? Attack me? Steal the car and leave me out there? I’ll still be armed and you won’t. Besides, I’ve been through more shit out there than—”

He laughed again. “I was just gonna say in case any number of bad fuckin’ things happens out there. And we both know that they do.”

“Yeah. You used to be one of those bad things, remember?” you shot back quickly. He sighed at your deflection and you couldn’t help but laughing. “I am having to sell this harder to you than I did to Michonne and Daryl. What is going on? What are you worried about?”

“I’m not worried! Although, it would be fuckin’ nice to have something to defend myself with in case of the dead or unexpected assholes…”

“ ‘Unexpected Assholes’?” you repeated. “What is that, your one man play?” you quipped. “Let me guess—you’ll be playing yourself.”

Negan couldn’t resist a hearty laugh at that, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “That’s good. You’re fuckin’ hilarious as usual, doll.” But he looked serious again the next moment. “Anyway, about me having some way to defend myself…”

“Yeah, that’s not happening,” you said lazily. “I’ll let you have, like, a stick if you want,” you smirked. He only stared back at you. “I told you that I’ll protect you! You think I’m just gonna let a walker wander up and bite you?” There was a thick silence for a moment where he just stared back at you.

“I’m not worried about one walker. I’m worried about all the random, rogue shit that can happen out there.”

“Well, you’re just going to have to trust me! Do you not want to go or what?” you pressed him, perplexed at his reaction.

He paused, drew in a deep breath, and let it out. Then that damn smirk showed back up on his face, sending his hazel eyes sparkling. “Are you asking if I want to go spend some quality time alone with you? Just the two of us? No one to interrupt… Completely at your mercy for whatever you may decide to do with me… or to me…”

You rolled your eyes, catching onto his tone immediately. “That could include killing you,” you cautioned him, eliciting a low laugh from him. You hated that the deep gravel of it gave you goosebumps. You did your best to ignore it.

“I don’t know… I’m starting to think this is just a ploy to get away with me where nobody can easily interrupt us,” Negan said. “I mean, shit. No need hide your true intentions from me,” he grinned. “I am absolutely 110% on board with that. Use me all you want, doll,” he grinned, now gripping the bars of his cell door. “God, I’d love to be fuckin’ used by you.”

You crossed your arms and fixed a stern look on him, hoping that your face wasn’t flushing bright red. You cleared your throat. “Sounds more like wishful thinking on your part. It’s a scavenging run, Negan, not a fucking romantic getaway,” you said.

“Are you sure you said that right? I think you meant romantic fucking getaway. Emphasis on the—”

“Negan! Stop! I will cancel this whole thing! Jesus Christ!”

That shit-eating grin was still on his face and he laughed again, thoroughly pleased with himself. “Alright, alright. I’m done. I think…”

You pinched the bridge of your nose and sighed. “Scavenging. Run.” you repeated.

“Yeah, we’ll see, doll. We’ll see. So, where are we going exactly?”

You forged ahead, ignoring his last comments in favor of moving on. “There are some old houses and other structures we’ve only ever done a cursory search of. Probably not going to make a huge score but there’s always something left behind, something hidden. But who knows? Maybe we’ll get lucky,” you said.

“Fuck me, I’d love to get lucky…” he laughed again.

“Negan!” you exclaimed again.

“Alright! I’m sorry,” he chuckled.

“So, are you in?” you asked, slightly exasperated.

The two of you were separated by only the iron bars and a small buffer of space, hardly a foot. He was still smiling at you and you hated that the thought that he was handsome flickered through your mind. It wasn’t the first time you’d thought it—but the thought always surprised you, like it came from somewhere outside of yourself, not by your conjuration alone. “Fuck yes, I’m in,” he answered, interrupting your thoughts.

“You promise to listen to everything I say? If I tell you to run, if I tell you to hide—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I promise,” he said, smiling. “If I don’t, you’ll shoot me in the fuckin’ knee or some shit. Can we skip the pep talk?”

You gave him a stern look but unlocked his cell and tossed him the spare pack you’d brought. You dug into your own bag and handed him some supplies, including some outerwear. He tucked them into his bag and looked up at you expectantly. “Where to, warden?”

You rolled your eyes again but couldn’t help the tiniest smirk. “Car is right outside. Let’s get going. The sun is starting to come up and it could be a long day.”

“Great. Can I drive?” he quipped, shouldering his bag. You only shot him a look that made him laugh again, but he saw the slight curve at the corners of your mouth.

The drive to the crumbling ruins of the neighborhood was slow, but uneventful. The sun was up and filtering through the trees overhead as you and Negan climbed out and started toward the buildings. You were quiet, focused, and Negan couldn’t help admiring your efficiency and care as you went about your mission.

The two of you stopped at the edge of the crumbling street, concealed in some taller brush. The street was overgrown with weeds and lined with dilapidated houses. It was almost eerily quiet.

“Alright,” you breathed quietly. “We’ll go building by building, down one side and back up the other. Pay attention to signs of walkers or people,” you said softly, gripping the straps of your pack. “Follow my lead and stay close.”

“You got it,” Negan replied, slipping his hands into his pockets as he followed alongside you toward the first house. “I gotta say, it is really uncomfortable being out here without a damn weapon. More so here than in the woods,” he commented, his eyes shifting around to study the other buildings, scrutinizing for a sign of movement. “I feel like I’m naked,” he said.

“I guarantee—” You paused to tap on the wall of the house the two of you were standing beside, listening for anything inside. “You’re not. If you were naked, I would not be this fuckin’ calm, Negan,” you said, half-distracted.

He chuckled and licked his bottom lip, smirking.

“What?” you asked, cocking an eyebrow at you.

“I don’t think that sounded how you meant it to sound,” he laughed.

Your cheeks flushed. “Oh, shut up. You know what I meant!”

“Your brain is saying one thing but your lips are sayin’ another, darlin’,” he teased you.

You rolled your eyes and pulled the front door open, stepping cautiously inside. The smell was of mildew and stagnant air as you stepped inside. A heavy layer of dust and dirt coated everything; overturned furniture, books standing or tipped over on shelves, a stately chair still positioned in front of the fireplace. Somewhere deeper in the house, water was dripping. You had your gun out and started clearing the lower floors. Negan ghosted behind you.

You made for the staircase to check the upstairs when there was a soft thump overhead. Your eyes and Negan’s went to the ceiling.

“Alright… maybe someone is home after all,” he commented, giving you a concerned look.

“It’s gotta be a walker,” you said. “Maybe an animal.” You proceeded cautiously toward the staircase.

“Hey,” Negan said softly. “Be careful.”

You turned and looked at him for a long moment before you started up the stairs. He seemed genuinely on edge, worried. He stayed right on your heels as you climbed the steps, the muscle in his jaw tensed as his teeth clenched together.

You cleared two bedrooms and finally came to a closed door at the end of the hall. As the floor creaked under your boots, there was the sound of more movement behind the door. You reached for the door knob, gun ready in your other hand. You took a deep breath and quickly turned it shoving the door open and aiming the muzzle of your pistol inside.

An opossum let out an angry hiss and then scrambled up and out of a broken window. It had been rooting around in some debris on the floor. A huge sigh of relief escaped you and Negan watched your shoulders sag. You laughed a little as you turned to look back at Negan. He gave you a relieved look.

“I gotta be honest,” he said. “I fuckin’ hate this shit. I feel completely helpless without something to use if something bad happens. What am I supposed to do if you need help?”

You gave him a somewhat sympathetic look, thinking about how it would feel to be in his place—the unknown behind every locked door with no knife, no gun… completely vulnerable and reliant on someone who was essentially his jailor. “Well,” you said. “I have a feeling if something really did go wrong, you’d figure something out.”

He considered your words for a moment. “Yeah. I hope so.” He thought about what he would do. What if they ran into some bad men? Bad people? What would he really do if you were in danger? He didn’t have to think hard to know the answer. Anything. He’d do anything he needed to. The thought seemed to dig deep into the center of his chest and sit there, heavy. “So, now what? House is clear.”

You holstered your gun again. “Now, we search. See if there’s anything left. A lot of people hid things, right after. There’s always something left behind. You take the upstairs. I’ll go through the downstairs.”

Negan nodded his agreement and turned back to the trashed bathroom, the sound of your steps fading away down the staircase. He searched every room, every cabinet, every closet, under beds, under loose floorboards, but came away with nothing of interest except for half a bottle of isopropyl alcohol. He headed downstairs where he could hear you rummaging around in the living room. “Hey,” he greeted you, stepping over the threshold. You were standing completely frozen now at the shelves, looking down at something. “Y/N?” he said again. You still didn’t seem to have heard him. He wandered closer. “Find something?”

You startled a little and turned to look at him, a picture frame in your hand. “Oh. No, not really. You?”

“Half a bottle of rubbing alcohol. I stuck it in my pack.” He nodded toward the frame. “What’s that?”

You looked down at it again. “It’s nothing. It’s just this—this family portrait. I wonder if they lived here—” you said thoughtfully. Your voice seemed to drift away a little. “Or what happened to them, you know? Did they make it? Were they ever safe again after the outbreak?”

Negan looked on with a thoughtful expression, his dark brows furrowed over his eyes. He nodded and moved closer to get a better view of the photo behind the cracked glass. He smiled at it, chuckling a little. “Hmm. Mom, Dad, and three kids. A perfect nuclear family,” he said.

“Looks like the 90s,” you laughed. “Check out the clothes.”

“Yeah, they probably went down to JCPenney to take advantage of the fancy photography studio,” Negan remarked. “Dad looks like an accountant, doesn’t he?”

“Mmm, I’m getting more of a bank manager vibe. Mom probably stayed at home when the kids were little and then goes back to work as a teacher once the youngest is in kindergarten,” you replied, now smiling a little too.

Negan ran a hand back through his hair thoughtfully and cocked his head. “You know—I was a teacher,” he said suddenly. “I’ve never really told anyone that since things went to shit. Kind of lessens the mystique,” he laughed dryly.

Your eyes snapped over to his face, one of your eyebrows arching gracefully with the question on your face. He laughed again. “Yeah, I know… hard to believe, right? How could such an asshole be a teacher?” he said.

A slight wince flickered across your face for a brief second at his words, as if you didn’t like the way he’d talked about himself. But that couldn’t be right… “What did you teach?”

“I was a high school P.E. teacher,” he said. “Coached some of the school teams too. Basketball. Football.”

“P.E.?” you repeated. “And you’re not even going to make a ‘physical education’ joke?” you teased him. “Wow. Are you feeling okay?”

He laughed lightly. “You beat me to it,” he said. He glanced back at the picture and sighed. “Should we get going? Lots of buildings to search,” he said.

You nodded and stared down at the picture for another moment.

“What’re you doing?” Negan asked, watching you take the back off the picture frame. You fumbled with the backing and then removed the family photo from the damaged frame.

“I just—feel like someone should remember them, you know?”

Negan’s gaze was fixed on you, flickering over your face. There was something so soft in it at that moment that you felt slightly unbalanced. You distracted yourself by bending to slip the photo into your pack. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” he said gently.

You deflected, laughing as you shouldered your pack again. “Oh, you’ve got no idea,” you said sarcastically, again ignoring the heat in your face. “Come on.”

The two of you went on, searching each home and several stores, working your way down the block and partway up the next. You’d managed some good finds, including a hidden cellar that clearly had belonged to a survivalist type (who had apparently “opted out” and his corpse still watched over the hidden entrance). You’d have to make a few trips to the car in order to get all the supplies and gear back, or otherwise figure out a way to get the car in through the overgrown side road. The two of you piled the finds in a safe place in one of the rooms on the main floor, stacking Rubbermaid tubs full of helpful items in neat piles.

“Fuck me,” Negan sighed, setting the last one on top. “Well, when you’re right, you’re fuckin’ right, doll. There’s always somethin’ left behind.”

You wiped at the sweat near your hairline. “Yeah,” you sighed. “Not bad.” You had a satisfied smile on your face. It felt good to do something concrete that would help people back home. You glanced out the window, assessing the light outside. It’d taken quite some time to get things moved up from the cellar and you wondered if you should keep searching the rest of the houses or call it a day. “I think it’s starting to get late,” you said, remarking mainly on the way the light already seemed like it was fading.

“Mmm,” Negan hummed, going to the front bay window and looking out. His eyes had been searching the street all day, vigilant, as if waiting for some psychos to suddenly burst out of one of the houses. But the only signs of inhabitation or squatting you’d found were clearly from long before, now covered in dust and debris or otherwise moldering in damp corners or on top of filthy mattresses. Now, as you were busy drinking from your canteen, Negan’s shifting suddenly stopped. “Hey, doll—I’m no meteorologist, but those clouds look like bad fuckin’ news.” It had been overcast all day, but you could tell by the tone of his voice that this was something else.

You capped your canteen and went to the front door, your brow now furrowed heavily to match his. You pulled the door open and peered at the sky. Ominous didn’t even begin to cover it. There was not a sniff of wind at the moment and the air seemed to hum with electricity. Negan appeared next to you in the doorway, squinting at the low and heavy sky.

“I’m pretty sure when the sky turns fuckin’ green, there’s some bad shit coming,” he said. He glanced over at you.

“Shit,” you swore under your breath. “Yeah. Yeah, green sky is… tornado weather. Fuck,” you muttered, glancing back at the pile of supplies.

“What do you want to do?” Negan asked.

You sighed, pushing a hand back through your hair. “Even if we head back to the car now, we probably can’t outrun that… the old highway is FUBAR in some places. It’s not like we can drive 60 mph all the way back to Alexandria. And that would mean leaving all these supplies here.” As if on cue, the complete stillness in the air broke as a rushing wind approached like a tidal wave, creaking and cracking in the trees and swirling dust and dried leaves across the open ground until it reached the two of you standing on the porch. Your hair lifted and blew back from your face.

“I’ll ask you again,” Negan said, speaking louder now over the roar of the wind, “what do you want to do?”

You hesitated, glancing from him back to the quickly approaching menacing clouds. The little light left was fading fast. “Fuck,” you muttered again. “I—I think we’re better off weathering it here than in a car out there,” you said.

“I definitely agree with that,” Negan said.

“Once the storm clears, maybe then we can try to get the car in here and load up the supplies and get home. We’ll be delayed a bit longer than expected but—I think it’s the best move. Hopefully, we’re just stuck a couple more hours.”

Negan nodded. “Alright. Where are we holing up? Because this shit is about to kick the fuck off,” he said, surveying the street again.

“Here is as good a place as any,” you said. “There’s a basement and almost all the windows are intact or boarded up. Come on. Let’s get inside.”

Negan followed you in and shut the door on the wind. Your eyes were already on him when he turned around again. He was trying to decode your expression but it was largely unreadable. He unshouldered his pack and set it on the floor, taking a seat on the stairs across from where you were now leaning up against the wall. The ambient light from outside was quickly waning and before long you could hear raindrops start to pound the roof. They increased in size and then seemed to be blowing across the roof in waves of water.

You could hear the huge cottonwood trees creaking and cracking in the wind. You tried to peer out through the boarded slats over the window to see if they were dropping branches but it was too dark. Behind you, Negan pulled out a flashlight from his pack and clicked it on. It had grown extremely dark with the heavy storm clouds gathering and unleashing the torrents of rain. You were still standing right by the window, looking out, when he spoke again.

“Hey, maybe we should move away from the windows, doll,” Negan said, worried. He didn’t like how close you were standing to all that glass, even if it was mostly boarded over. His voice was deep and resonant in the space between you with just the raging background noise outside.

“Yeah. Maybe,” you said. You bent to grab your pack when you suddenly heard a loud thud against the side of the house. You straightened up, your eyes widening. Negan had heard it too, his eyes were narrowed, ears strained, listening. It was difficult to hear anything over the storm.

“What was that?” you asked, your voice breathy. “Some debris blowing against the house?” you asked.

Negan shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said, standing from his place on the steps and going to the doorway of the room the sound had seemed to come from. The roaring storm seemed to reach new extremes. The wind sounded like a train bearing down on the little dilapidated structure the two of you were sheltering in. Rain and hail lashed the siding and the roof. There was another thud from outside, this time on the window.

“There. Again,” you said, anxiously pacing toward Negan to stare into the room. His flashlight was still on. Another thud, and then another. You squinted, trying to distinguish anything through the boarded windows but it was too dark. Then, a flash of lightning shot the sky outside with blinding white and you couldn’t help the soft gasp that left you at what it illuminated.

“What?” Negan asked urgently.

You couldn’t speak. You just reached for the flashlight. Negan looked down as your hand landed on top of his. He could feel you trembling slightly and for a moment he was so shocked by your touch that he didn’t understand what you were doing. With your gentle grip, you directed the yellow beam of the light slowly to the window. As it came to rest between two of the boards and shone through the glass, Negan registered that there were walkers clawing to get in, rotting faces pressed to the glass, bloody fingertips, snapping teeth. Dozens. “Ho-ly fuck!” he exclaimed, jerking the flashlight off the window and quickly shutting it off. You and Negan stood in the dark for a moment, neither of you moving, now keenly aware of the pounding noise and dull thuds on the exterior of the house, cutting through the wind and rain. Were you imagining it or was the pounding increasing, getting louder? More frequent? Negan could hear your breath beside him in the dark. “Well, that shit was straight out of a fuckin’ horror movie,” he remarked in a low voice.

“Yeah,” you whispered back. “Where the fuck did they come from? It sounds like we’re surrounded.”

“I don’t fuckin’ know. Seems like they rolled in with the storm.”

“Maybe they can feel the barometric pressure changes or something. It’s almost like a migration,” you commented, feeling your heart rate and breathing finally start to slow down after the shock of discovering the herd.

Negan chuckled beside you and you heard him shift. “Who do you think you’re talking to? Eugene?”

You let out a dry laugh. “Okay… so, now we just have the storm of the century and a fucking herd to deal with. Great. Okay… let’s think…”

Negan finally clicked his flashlight on again but kept it pointed at the floor. “This place seems sturdy but maybe we should barricade ourselves better.”

You glanced toward the basement where you’d discovered the hidden cellar. Your eyes next drifted toward the stack of supplies. “Basement is pretty much ready to barricade thanks to that dead survivalist guy, but if they do break in we could be trapped down there for fuck-knows how long.”

“Not sure we have any better options. We don’t want to be upstairs either. We’re sure as shit not going out on the roof in this if they get in and if there is a fucking tornado and we're on the top floor—” Negan broke off.

“Yeah,” you agreed, nodding. You dug into your own pack and pulled out a headlamp, quickly turning it on dimly. “Grab some of these. They have food and medical supplies, some other gear and odds and ends,” you said, grabbing one of the many Rubbermaid containers and heading toward the stairs down to the basement.

“Man, I’m so glad we carried all this shit up here,” Negan joked, picking up a stack of two big containers.

“Sorry. Next time I’ll consult my crystal ball,” you quipped, but right then there was the sound of shattering glass and the storm and the growling got slightly louder. One of the windows in the next room had broken. Negan could see hands and fingers reaching in around the boards.

“Let’s go. Downstairs,” he urged you, his voice intense and thick with concern.

You started down, but shot back at him over your shoulder. “Aren’t I the one in charge here?”

“I don’t see you disagreeing with that idea,” Negan said, setting his containers down beside yours. “Stay here. I’ll go grab a couple more boxes,” he said.

“Whoa. Me stay here? What is this? You don’t even have a weapon!” you argued.

He gave you an exasperated look. “Fine. Then by all means, come with me, darlin’!” He turned and rushed back up the stairs and you had to hurry after him, one hand on your knife in its sheath.

“Negan,” you snapped at him in a low voice as you rounded the doorway back onto the main floor. But he wasn’t by the supplies. You glanced around and could see the dim glow of his light in the next room, the one where the walkers had broken a window. Rain and the occasional hailstone were puddling under the window among the shards of glass. “What the fuck?” You nearly collided with each other when he turned around and started back toward the door. “What are you doing?! Put that down!” you growled.

He had an iron fireplace poker in his hand. That’s what he’d been doing in this room, grabbing it from the set of fireplace tools. “Don’t you think this qualifies as kind of a capital “E” emergency?” he argued.

You stared at him, intense, your chest heaving, and to your annoyance, he smiled at you.

“Goddamn. You look fuckin’ hot as shit when you’re pissed off! I mean, you’re always hot but ho-ly shit! I'm scared and suddenly all tingly downtown!”

Your hand went purposefully to your knife again and you stared him down. “I said. Put it. The fuck. Down.”

“Doll, just hear me out—”

“Negan.”

Another crack and the sound of shattering glass behind him and you saw more arms reaching through between the boards of another window. “Okay, we don’t have time for this right now. You can stab me or whatever downstairs,” he said. He breezed past you and grabbed a couple more boxes of supplies. You had no choice but to begrudgingly follow after him.

He turned, straightening up as he heard your boots hitting the bottom steps, and he opened his mouth to say something, but you were already on him before he could get even a syllable out.

You kicked him hard on the inside of one of his thighs and he dropped sideways onto his knee. The poker dropped from his hand and rang out on the cement floor. You kicked it away and it slid into the far wall with a harsh scraping sound. Your knife was unsheathed and pointed at the base of his throat before he knew what was happening. To your amazement, once he recovered from his pained grimaces, he fucking smiled again.

“Do you know what you’re doing to me right now?” he asked in a low, gruff voice.

“Shut the fuck up and listen to me. When I brought you out here, you said you would listen to every fucking thing I told you to do. This is your one single second chance. Next time you fuck up, it’ll be my knife going into your thigh instead of my boot. Got it?”

He gulped, still on one knee at the point of your knife and still, to your annoyance, vaguely smiling. “Oh, I got it,” he responded, his eyebrows lifting.

“Good,” you said, backing off and letting him stand up. “Now, go pick up the fucking poker. I’m gonna lock up the door…”

“Wait‚ what?” Negan laughed, still rubbing at his leg where you’d kicked him. “After all that, you’re letting me have it?”

“Yes,” you said. “This does roughly qualify as an emergency. Or at least, the border of one. But those kinds of decisions? They’re not yours to make, Negan. You’re not the one in charge here.”

He looked both stunned and amused. “That is becoming more and more clear every fuckin’ day,” he said softly, looking at you with some expression you couldn’t completely discern.

You gave him a perplexed look and then headed up the stairs to seal up the door. There were heavy brackets on the back of the reinforced door (thank you, dead survivalist man) and you spotted a thick board leaning up against the railing. Once you’d closed and locked it, you heaved up the heavy wooden slat and dropped it into place in the brackets, adding extra security in case the walkers did get inside and try to push through. As you removed your hand hastily to head back downstairs, a jagged corner on one of the metal brackets sliced into your palm. You jerked it back and stared as a long crimson gash began to leak fat drops of blood onto the steps below you. You pulled in a hiss of breath through your teeth. “Great,” you sighed, cradling it in the other hand and trotting back down. Overhead, you could hear the storm still raging, but as a low hum now.

Negan stood up from his seat on one of the containers of supplies as soon as he saw you. A concerning amount of shockingly red blood was dripping off your hand and onto the floor. “What happened?” he asked, moving closer as you attempted to dig into your pack with your other hand, blood now running down your forearm. “Jesus, let me help you!” He grabbed your pack away and dug around inside until he found a small kit with spare bits of cloth for bandaging, some gauze pads, and a few other assorted odds and ends for first aid. “Wait, I’ve got that alcohol in my pack. We should clean it up first.”

“It’ll be fine,” you argued, pulling off your headlamp and watching as Negan clicked on a lantern he’d found in one of the boxes.

“Would you let me help you with this at least? Can I? Please? I’m asking permission now,” he joked, shooting you a goading expression.

You cocked your head at him and tried to look annoyed, but you conceded, taking a seat on a plastic container across from him.

Negan dug out the alcohol and poured a generous amount out onto your palm. You gritted your teeth together at the burn and winced. “Sorry,” he said, pressing a gauze pad down over it, holding it gently on his own hand now. “But better than an infection, right?”

“Mhm,” you hummed, feeling strangely on edge with your hand in his.

Negan used some of the long, clean strips of cloth to bandage it up and hold the gauze in place, tying it securely but gently before relinquishing his hold on you. “Should have the doc take a look at that when we get back,” he said. “Pretty deep. Might need some stitches on that one.”

“Yeah. Maybe,” you said, finally sighing as you suddenly realized how tired you were. Now that you felt more secure and safe, a strange thing with Negan sitting a mere foot away from you with no dividing bars between, the adrenaline had run out. Exhaustion was starting to set in. You took stock of the space. Your eyes wandered from the door into the hidden cellar where you’d found most of the supplies, back to the corpse of the survivalist in the far corner, over to the boxes next to Negan.

He was putting the first aid stuff back into your pack when his fingers nudged something and he paused; a thick stack of glossy photos. He pulled them out, curious. On top was the first one, the one in the very first house that the two of you had talked about, but there were more along with it now—many more. He flipped through a couple until you noticed and shifted where you were sitting. His hazel eyes lifted up to your face. “These are all from today?” he asked.

You nodded and tried to clear the sudden lump in your throat.

“You kept them? All of them?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

He sighed, shaking his head vaguely, and thumbed through more; families on vacations, some guy holding a big fish, a young couple smiling in front of the Statue of Liberty, babies and kids and dogs and cats, an elderly couple posing in front of a studio background.

Your voice suddenly cut into him. “Did you ever stop to think that every person you put under your bat, they probably had photos like this? Were in photos like this?” you said suddenly. A particularly loud rumble of thunder boomed and rolled, as if on cue. Your eyes, clear and steady and striking even in the low glow of the lantern, felt like they were seeing straight into his core.

He frowned. The lines on his face seemed to become more pronounced, and he almost cringed. “No,” he answered honestly, the gravel in his voice heavy and gritty. “I didn’t think about it at all, most of the time. I think that was a lot of what I was doing. Not thinking. I know that's a shit fuckin' excuse. It's not an excuse... but I didn’t—want to think about the hard stuff.”

You were curious, interested, and felt that same vulnerability he seemed to be giving you more and more rolling off him in waves. “Like what?”

He gave you a sad smile. You could hear the wind whistling above you and the pounding of the rain. “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”

But now you were the one to back away, ducking your head, avoiding his eyes. Negan saw that there was hurt there, deep hurt. “I don’t think we’re quite there yet,” you murmured, fiddling with the bandage on your palm. “I mean, I’m not…”

“Hey, I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again,” Negan replied, “you don’t owe me a damn thing. But can I tell you somethin’, doll?” He hesitated for a moment. “I—I like you. You kicked the shit out of me and held a knife to my throat about ten minutes ago and I still really like you. Genuinely. As a person, as a badass, as a—”

“Negan—” you interrupted him.

“If I had to be trapped in a basement with a corpse, a tornado and herd outside, I can’t think of another person I’d rather be stuck with,” he said.

“Negan—” you tried again.

“No, listen to me. I’m trying to tell you—”

“You don’t like me, okay? You just feel that way because I’m the only person who really talks to you, who spends time with you, who brings you your meals, and looks after some fraction of your well-being. It’s like—it’s like trauma bonding, okay? That’s all it is.”

“No. It’s not just that. See Gabe was doin’ all that same shit and I still didn’t fuckin’ like him… I mean, not as much as I like you.”

As usual, when what you were feeling was becoming overwhelming, too many thoughts, too many emotions, you deflected with humor. “I’m cuter than Gabriel.”

Negan laughed and this time the sound was warm and almost comforting. “Yeah. No argument there…”

You allowed yourself a half-smile and then sighed, rubbing your hands over your face. “Fuck, I’m tired. What a long fucking day…”

“There are those sleeping bags in one of these boxes I think,” Negan said, starting to pull at the lids.

You laughed. “I can’t sleep,” you said.

“Why not?”

“Besides the insane storm outside and the horde? Uhh… I don’t know, you?” you offered, your tone a little sardonic.

But Negan’s face was perfectly serious. “The storm and the horde—can’t do shit about those companions and I agree that they are crappy house guests, but they’re not fuckin’ goin’ anywhere soon from what I can hear. That’s not changing whether you’re asleep or awake. As for me—” he tilted his head and gave you an appraising look, “I do not want to hurt you. And I won’t. And I’m not running away with the dickhole party outside so, you may as well catch some shut-eye. I’ll keep watch.”

You considered him for a long moment but finally shook your head. “No. No, I can’t sleep now…”

Negan sighed and rested the fireplace poker across his knees. “Well, then I’d say it’s going to be a long night… Got any ideas about how to pass the time?”

The mischievous sparkle came back into his eyes and you shot him a stern look that was apparently not enough of a deterrent. “Don’t—”

“We still do have those sleeping bags. I can think of some activities for a makeshift bed that don’t involve actual sleep.”

“Negan, there’s literally a corpse in the corner and a horde outside and that’s where your mind goes?”

He laughed. “Can you blame me? I’ve been in jail for, how long now? Five, six years? And trust me, Gabey Baby wasn’t giving me any action.” He paused at the look on your face, laughing again. “Come on, doll. I’m just kidding. Though it would help pass the time, you deserve far better than a sleeping bag on a dirty basement floor.”

“With a dead guy watching,” you added.

“With a dead guy watching,” he repeated, scratching absently at the stubble on his face. “That is pretty fuckin’ metal though,” he smirked.

“Negan, saying that I deserve better than that is really saying nothing. Anyone deserves better than that,” you sighed, standing up and pacing. “So yeah. I’d say it’s going to be a long night.”

[defmaybe]

What would this kkura do to you?

The silk proving to be a thin and yet effective barrier, keeping you on the edge craving for her touch

Up close all in your personal space, the scent of her body lotion is mesmerizing. That tummy, those shoulder ,all within your reach but you're not allowed to touch or sometimes even look at them.

Her foot teasing your inner thighs, just to see your erection bulge uncontrollably

And that outline certainly isn't helping...

She's going to give you a reward in the end right? Riiiight??

I'm one lustful individual, Frisky, here's a quickie lmao

Midnight Blues

LE SSERAFIM's Miyawaki Sakura x Male Reader

1k words

It’s mostly your moans, really, as Sakura grins under the soft light from your television playing some fuckass Netflix rom-com, eyes focused on your torture. You can’t quite pinpoint where it started, but it’s like you’d care with her feet rubbing on your clothed thighs, anyway.

She hasn’t taken her shower yet, still in the midnight blue leather dress she wore for her stage today. White streaks of light are painted on it, and sweat can still be seen on her face. The smell of her rosy lotion and exhaustion permeate the room.

You shift on the couch, letting out a frustrated groan, “S–Sakura, please.”

“No, baby, I have a title. Say it and I’ll do it.”

Her soles contacting the clothed your sensitive area are trying to pull the words back inside your needy, slutty throat. “M–Mis–,” is what you can choke out.

“Mis–what, baby boy?” She asks in a sultry voice, the edge of her toes grazing your sacks, giving some expectations of what’s coming.

“Mistress.”

She lunges at your pajamas’ waistband, pulling it off to reveal your raging erection in a swift motion.

“Hard already?” Sakura chuckles, before sinking back onto the leather couch. It cries as it rubs against her suit.

“Y–Yes, mistress–ngh!” She grabs your cock with her bare soles. She strokes you while being careful of her long nails.

The room is filled with your slutty moans under the ministration Sakura is giving you. It has always been her expertise, really. There was a high-speed incident where it left you with your semen on the dashboard—to which she tastefully cleaned it up. Or the other time in the first class, where you had to suppress your moans to avoid waking up the other fellow passengers. Good thing she had her mouth on your cock by the time it spills your essence.

“M–Mistress, you’re s–so good at this,” you whine, hands gripping the poor fabric of your sofa.

“Thank you, baby,” she responds with a giggle, biting her finger while doing so. Fuck, if the footjob isn’t so damn good, you’d have leap onto her right now. 

She ups the ante, rubbing your erection even quicker. And you can only moan out her name, “Mistress S–Sakura~,” as her heavenly dexterity continues to send electricity through you.

Again, she giggles at your pleasure. Her grip remains soft but tight on your length, at a moderato tempo. “Want me to go even faster, baby boy?”

“Y–Yes, mistress,” you reply in a haste.

She complies with your plea by speeding up her feet on your cock. Each stroke remains careful, yet so unrelenting at making you cum just for her, spreading your seed everywhere (but mostly, she prefers it inside her warm, welcoming mouth; she says that she loves your taste.)

“S–Sakura,” you say, trying to deliver something.

“Hey, my title, baby, remember?” Her voice laces with playful aggression, lower than it should be.

“No, I–I’m just gonna say t–that I love you, babe.” 

And Sakura beams at your words.

“Aww, that’s so sweet baby, I love you too. Still,—” she moves in her seat just a little, trying to accommodate the pace she’s giving on your digit. “—you’ll have to cum for me, so let’s do this, alright, baby?”

You gaze back at her busy feet, seeing her rubbing your cock like that just sends shivers through you, doesn’t it? “Y–Yes, Sakura.”

The tempo is fast; it’s enough to make a sound louder than whatever the characters in your television are moaning right now. You can feel your impending climax from afar. It’s there, it’s there.

Sakura is probably feeling your orgasm coming with the tensed thighs, “Gonna cum, baby?”

“I–I think I–I’m close, mistress.”

“Wanna see more of me before you’re there, baby? Consider this a small gift,” she asks, hands seeming to toy with the zipper at the back. “Well, it’s not small, really.”

You let out a small laugh with the moan as you sheepishly nod at her proposal.

“Alright, baby.” She then unzips her leather top, still putting an effort into rubbing your raging cock. She slowly peels it off, revealing more bare, porcelain skin of hers at each second—neck, collarbones, cleavage. And then there’s the main course—her supple chest that you’ve always loved. Fuck, she even wears nothing underneath her sheer top. They look so smooth, so mouthwatering. Her brown, salivating nipples sitting atop of them is the best part of it, really.

And as it comes undone, she tosses the garment away, giving you the view of her bouncing, delicate breasts at each stroke.

“M–Mistress,” you involuntarily utter.

“Well, I don’t mind you staring, baby.” She laughs.

And with a few more strokes, you can feel it—the impending climax. It builds up inside your lower stomach. It seeps within your body like a plague—one that you’d let it destroy you.

“I’m gonna cum, mistress,” you mutter.

She smiles, before lifting off her seat, sinking to her knees in front of you. And within a whim, she easily swallows your cock, eyes focused on the target. You can do fucking nothing but moan.

“Yes, baby, moan for me,” Sakura says with your length being inside her cavern. “Cum for me.”

It’s almost there. Your thighs tense up, your grip on the couch has never been tighter, so is the tightness of her mouth. Her cheeks are hollowing just for you, creating such empyrean suction none can compare. She bobs her head up and down to push you to it—the orgasm you’ve always wanted.

“S–Sakura,” you utter, before giving in to your orgasm.

You spill loads and loads inside her wanting mouth as her eyes roll upwards to meet yours—so lost in the throes of pleasure. Your hips rock at each spurt, making your flesh hitting the depths inside her cavern. She silently yelps at each hit, jaws locked by your slutty cock.

It slowly dissipates, and you’re panting along with the descent. She laughs with your cock still stuffed within her mouth, before slowly, agonizingly, pulling herself out of it. You groan at the drag.

“Hmm, tastes good as always, baby.” She pulls her tongue out—all clean, unstained. She fucking swallowed it all.

“I always taste good, babe.”

Sakura stands up, smiling. “Wanna cuddle?”

“Definitely… maybe, after round two.”

[msschemmenti]

sing with me please

emily prentiss x singer!reader

prompt: reader and emily are dating and she’s a rising artist on her first small tour. she’s been gone for weeks but is back in dc for a show. obviously emily is there and reader begs for emily to come on stage and sing their song with her to close out the show.

a/n: au inspired by this picture of paget and this series i’ve been writing for myself about a singing reader/oc. also this is not proofread at all. let me know what you think— and if you’re interested in more stuff like this :)

song featured : juna - clairo

“God, i can’t wait to see you.” y/n breathed down the phone quietly.

“Oh trust me, I’m right there with you. I’m starting to think I should’ve just taken the time off and gone with you.” Emily groaned into the phone from her desk.

“Oh I don’t want to hear it, I tried everything I could to get you to come along. And I mean everything. But you’re married to the job.” y/n replied with a tease.

“Aw, come on. I feel like I haven’t been here long enough to take three months off to follow my pop star girlfriend on her first-ever tour. Plus, it’s not like the world knows who you write all those love songs about anyway. And stop saying I’m married to the job, you know I hate that.” Emily all but whined.

“Right right right. Well, none of that matters now, because in just a few hours you’ll be front-row being serenaded for a good two hours.”

Emily grinned at the thought of having her girlfriend’s attention in a room full of fans. “Having my favorite singer’s attention in a room full of her adoring fans, sounds like a dream come true. What time should I get there?”

“Looks like this shoot is going to run over, so I might not be able to see you before the show. Either way, DeeDee has your name on the list already so you’ll be taken to your seat as soon as you’re there. Are you bringing anyone with you? I can give DeeDee their names too.” y/n rambled in thought.

Emily eyed the bullpen curiously, she hadn’t exactly thought to ask if anyone wanted to go with her. It felt a little too personal and after all this time on the team, she feared Garcia’s reaction to her having a serious girlfriend without her knowledge. “No, it’ll just be me. I’m sure everyone has plans. It is Friday after all.”

y/n chuckled softly at her girlfriend’s words, “Okay, make sure you text me when you get to the venue so I can let everyone know.”

“Yes ma’am. And after the show?” Emily asked hopefully. She really missed having her girlfriend home.

“I’m DC based for the next three months.” y/n grinned.

“Oh thank God.” Emily sighed in relief causing y/n to giggle softly.

“You can thank DeeDee for convincing the label to let me write and record here.”

“Well DeeDee has a very expensive bottle of wine with her name on it.”

There was a bit of shuffling on the other end of the phone and Emily knew the signs all too well, “Listen Em, I’ve got to go. They’re ready for the next outfit. Remember to text me.”

“Okay, I will. I’ll see you later.” Emily smiled.

“Yes, see you later. Love you.” y/n whispered before ending the call and handing her phone back to her manager.

-

“Hi DC.” y/n spoke into the microphone with a bright smile. The room filled with cheers almost instantly as she spoke and her cheeks grew red under the praise. “Oh you all are too sweet. How are we feeling tonight?”

y/n scanned the audience waving happily until her eyes fell on the VIP area she’d requested for Emily. Her eyes lighting up instantly as she caught Emily with her hands cupped around her mouth cheering with the other fans in the room. Sending a wink in her direction y/n spoke in the mic, “You all look so beautiful tonight. Thank you so much for coming out to my final show on my first tour. It’s been so fun meeting and talking to everyone but I’m very happy to be home. With that being said, let make this the best show yet!”

-

Emily was on cloud nine. She was absolutely beaming with pride and she couldn’t think of any place she’d rather be. When y/n said she’d be serenading her all night, she really hadn’t been kidding. As much as she could without making it too obvious, she practically spent the last two hours gazing lovingly into Emily’s eyes. And Emily felt mighty special. Her favorite voice, just for her.

“DC you’ve been so amazing tonight. I don’t think I’ve felt this happy in a long time. My favorite city, in a room full of my favorite people. It’s so so good to be home.” y/n spoke as the band set up for the last song of the night. “As you all know, we’re on our very last song and as much as I hate to end this night– I’m so excited to sleep in my own bed.”

y/n sat on the stool center stage and shuffled some papers on her music stand with a smile. She looked over to Emily with a mischievous smile that had her heart trying to beat out of her chest.

“This last one is very very special to me. It’s my biggest song and the reason I’m even on this tour. But more importantly, it’s about the most important person in my life. My love, my light, my muse.” y/n spoke eyes trained on Emily the entire time. The room awed and cheered happily at the mention of their favorite artist’s secret girlfriend. “I’m lucky to have her here with me tonight and I know she’s going to hate me for this but I wanna do something a lil different for my last show. Em, will you sing with me?”

Emily’s face was beyond red. She was staring at her girlfriend in shock and awe. Not only had she just told this room of people she was the muse for most of her discography but now she wanted her to get up on the stage to sing with her. She was shaking her head in disbelief and fear before she could even think about it. And she looked at her girlfriend like she’d grown a second head.

This only made y/n smile more, “Please Em. You’re my favorite duet partner and I’ve missed singing with you more than anything.”

Emily was cracking. Between y/n’s words and the adorable pout she was sporting there was only so much more she could take from the woman she loved before giving in.

“Everyone, let’s give her some encouragement. Can we chant ‘Emily!’? y/n asked the audience and like the loyal fans they are, their screams filled the room. And there was really nothing Emily could do at that point. Throwing her hands up in surrender, she walked toward the stage looking extremely nervous as the room cheered.

y/n moved to help Emily up the stairs and onto the stage with a blinding smile. “I can’t believe you just did that.” Emily grumbled softly as she rested her forehead against her girlfriend’s.

“Kinda surprised you came up.” y/n grinned so hard her cheeks hurt.

“Well, you unfortunately know that i will do anything for you baby. and you sure know how to milk it.” Emily replied and smiled as y/n pulled her toward the stool. She sat Emily down and turned toward the crowd.

“Alright everybody, this is the last one. If you know it sing along.” y/n placed the microphone on the mic stand. She could practically feel Emily’s nerves radiating off of her but knew once this moment would live with them for as long as they lived. y/n stood between her legs and placed a kiss on her nose lovingly before cueing the band to start the song. “Just you and me, like at home.” She coaxed before she started singing the opening line of the song.

“Come to me slowly. It's when you talk close enough that I feel it on my skin, breathe it in.”

The room buzzed in anticipation when y/n nudged Emily softly and stroked her cheek in encouragement. Emily was nervous but she truly felt like she could do anything with her girlfriend’s eyes trained on her. “Most of these days I don’t get too intimate. Why would I let you in? But I think again.”

y/n smiled instantly, throwing in some of the background vocals while Emily sang. She started timidly but with the love shining in y/n’s eyes, she grew more confident with the words. Plus the cheers from the audience helped quite a bit. They joined together sweetly, Emily taking the melody and y/n harmonizing with her as they went. “I don’t even try. I don’t have to think. With you, there’s no pretending.”

When they got to the chorus y/n smiled and turned her head to the crowd, “Come on everyone, You know me, you know me. And I just might know you too.”

The smiles on both women’s faces were permanent as y/n pulled Emily up to dance with her across the stage. In a room surrounded by people who loved her girlfriend, she knew without a doubt that none of them could compete with her. They finished the song with the help of the crowd and when the music came to an end, everyone screamed their appreciation. y/n grabbed Emily’s hand and pulled her into center stage with a laugh.

“DC, give it up for the love of my life!” And despite y/n’s hand on the small of her back, Emily timidly tried to hide from the praise. The applause died down a bit and they wished everyone a farewell before heading backstage.

Finally in the quiet of her dressing room, y/n pulled Emily into a bruising kiss. Pulling away was not a priority, but when it became a necessity their foreheads rested together.

“DC give it up for the love of my life?” Emily teased.

“Yeah. That’s you.” y/n shrugged with a smile.

“Mmhmm, is that so?” Emily asked, squeezing her waist.

“It better be so. I’m sure it’s all over the internet by now babe.”

Emily groaned, “Of course it is. You are so lucky I love you.”

y/n shrugged with a smile and reached up to pinch Emily’s cheek, “Oh I know baby, and I wake up every morning so grateful. And lucky me, I get to wake up in your arms for the next three months.”

Emily sighed happily, pulling the singer into a hug. She mentally prayed for the serial killers of the world to chill out for the foreseeable future and kissed y/n’s head. “Welcome home my love.”

-

y/n

liked by prentissemily, and 9,000 others

dc, i love you. but not as much as i love em.

thank you for an amazing first tour. my heart is so full and i can’t wait for the next one. y/n 2 loading…

ps. whoever took that second picture— i owe you my LIFE

pennythegreat @prentissemily — rue when was this?

prentissemily literally what does this mean?

prentissemily my superstar xx

y/n my muse xx

[saphfix]

THE ART OF WINNING

01. WINNER’S MENTALITY

“WHEN YOU HEAR THE PHRASE WINNER’S MENTALITY, WHAT IS THE FIRST THING THAT COMES TO MIND?”

“Uh…” Anastasia nervously laughs, her mind shooting to one specific moment in her life. “Pretty much being told at sixteen years old that I wasn’t good enough, and never would be good enough.”

The interviewer nods, signaling for Anastasia to continue on. She shifts uncomfortably before clearing her throat to continue.

“Getting invited to USA Basketball was my dream come true. For a young basketball player—even for older basketball players—it feels like a rite of passage, a message to yourself that you’ve made it.”

Anastasia fiddles with her hands, the memory flooding back to her. “And that was the case for me, except, it didn’t take very long at all for it to end up becoming my worst nightmare instead.”

MAY 25TH, 2017

OLYMPIC TRAINING CENTER

COLORADO SPRINGS, COLORADO

The first day jitters were not wearing off. All day long they’ve seemed to have only gotten worse. It amazed Anastasia how people could connect with one another so easily.

One person in specific, Paige Bueckers, had everyone’s attention. The girl was already a well-known name, and was as close as a 15 year old could be to a professional.

But what really intrigued Anastasia about her was her charisma. How she managed to form friendships with some of the other girls who were also trying out in just a span of hours.

It took Anastasia years to connect with her highschool teammates back home, and she still isn’t nearly as close to any of them as they are with each other.

She watched on alone in the corner of the cafeteria, sliding her food around her plate in circles. Paige on the other hand, somehow had a full table of girls surrounding her, every single one of them laughing and reacting to whatever show she was currently putting on.

It was never that easy for Anastasia, and she fears it never will be.

When practice resumed, she instantly felt much better. That’s the beauty of a basketball court, when you’re on it everyone is the same, at least to a certain extent. It’s safe to say there are levels to it all, just like everything else in this world. Some people turn into an entirely different person when they step onto the laminated wood, but Anastasia doesn’t have that switch. It’s the thing that sets her apart from everyone else.

She’s static, always the same.

After returning to the bench for a group rotation, Anastasia was quick to notice the body language of the girl seated next to her. As soon as she sat down, the girl slightly turned away, as if Anastasia disgusted her or something.

Anastasia ignored it, wondering if she was thinking too much of it. That is until she realizes the girl seemed to be itching to tell her something.

“Do you have something to say—”

Almost immediately the girl cuts her off. “You’re too tense.” She says.

“Too tense?” Anastasia responds, taken aback. She screws the lid to her water bottle closed before setting it down. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

The girl never once looks in Anastasia’s direction, her eyes glued to the court. “When you’re bringing the ball up, you’re too tense, that’s why your shots not falling. You’re also not releasing them quick enough given your power is unbalanced throughout your whole body.”

Anastasia stares in disbelief. Her audacity is mind blowing.

“It should be effortless, a more fluid motion.” She continues on. “You should use more of the strength in your legs because right now, you look like you have a stick up your ass.”

“Excuse me?” Anastasia finally asks. It was almost scary how she was saying all of this with a straight face. She really meant every word leaving her lips, leaving Anastasia feeling more insecure than ever.

The whistle blows, meaning the next group was being rotated in. The girl stands to her feet, finally looking in Anastasia’s direction. “Just watch.”

And though Anastasia is still fuming with all the words she was ready to say looming around her mind, she watches. She watches as the large 223 painted across the brunettes practice jersey fades further away onto the court.

As soon as she gets ahold of the ball, she handles it like it’s not even there in her hands. She’s careless, almost too careless. You can tell by her stance, her gait, that confidence radiates off of her when she’s on the court.

She has the switch.

It almost feels like a slap in the face when she effortlessly pulls left and chucks up a 3 pointer at least five feet behind the arc, leaving her defender diving in an attempt to block. However, she comes up short, leaving Anastasia to watch in both awe and despair as it rattles in. The whistle blows faster than ever before, leaving some of the girls on the court and even some of the coaches jaw dropped.

She just ended a play in seconds without the ball ever entering anyone else’s hands.

Later that night, Anastasia found herself FaceTiming her parents, telling them about what she had seen earlier today. I mean, it was unforgettable.

In all honesty, it made her a little scared. These girls were all so good. She was starting to feel like maybe she was in over her head. That maybe making the team was just an unachievable and unrealistic dream.

“Honey, if you didn’t deserve to be there, you wouldn’t be.” Her dad comforts, the empathetic smile evident on his face.

He was always so understanding, so supportive. A far different approach from her mother, who always manages to crash the moment.

“You can’t just always live in fear.” Her mom routinely chirps up. Right on time. She always has something to counter what her father says. "Comparison kills." Her mother adds on.

“I don’t—" Anastasia begins, but sighs. As much as she hated to admit it to herself, she knew her mom was right. She wasn't going to admit it out loud though. "It’s not living in fear or comparison to acknowledge the fact that some of these girls are better than me."

“And who says they’re better?” Her mom asks.

Anastasia chews on the inside of her cheek, staying silent. She has a point.

Her dad sighs before deciding to weigh in again. “You made it to next round with the rest of them meaning you’re just as good as they are, don’t forget that.”

Anastasia nods, her mind going back to the memory of what happened earlier. The way the girl’s eyes locked onto hers as she walked off the court, leaving Anastasia unsure if she was taunting her, or simply making sure she saw what she wanted her to see.

“Well, we love you Stas, You should get some rest." Her dad says.

“Yeah, I probably should. Love you guys too.” She says before hanging up.

MAY 26TH, 2017

58. Out of the 133 girls here yesterday, 58 remain. More than half of them were cut, leaving Anastasia feeling a little better about being invited back for day two.

Caitlin. Caitlin Clark was her name. Anastasia had finally figured it out after hearing it what felt like a million times today.

They’d been playing 5x5 all morning long, having gone through at least hundreds of different group combinations. During their break, Coach had conjured up a list of 12 assigned groups, each having what she felt was the best fit for all position combinations together.

Paige was assigned the PG for group one, Caitlin for group two, Anastasia for group three, and so on and so forth. Given there were 58 of them, each team needing five players, they were just barely short.

“We’re two short.” Coach informs everyone. “Groups 11 and 12 both need a shooting guard, any volunteers want to make this decision easy on your poor coach here?”

At first, no one says anything, everyone looking around at one another. The bystander effect was in full action.

“Don’t all jump at the opportunity at once.” Coach mumbles jokingly.

Anastasia studies both groups left, wondering if she should do it. Her mom’s words began echoing around her head. You can’t just always live in fear.

“I’ll do it.” Caitlin volunteers. Everyone now looks at Caitlin, some whispering picking up around the room.

“Shooting guard.” Coach reiterates. Caitlin shrugs, her face stoic as if she doesn’t care one bit about the minor difference in position. “Well alright.” Coach says, impressed.

“I’ll do it too.” Paige and Anastasia say at the same time. Anastasia looks over at her before stepping forward further. “I’ll do it.” She says again.

Paige throws her hands up concedingly. “Ight, you got it.”

Coach claps, satisfied at the resolved issue. “Perfect. Groups one and two are going first. Winners and losers bracket, you all should know the ropes.”

The groups dismantle, groups one and two staying on the court, the rest heading to the bleachers. Anastasia begins on her way after everyone else, before she notices footsteps following behind her.

“Why did you do that?” Caitlin asks.

“Why did I do what?” Anastasia asks continuing to walk towards the bleachers.

Caitlin grabs onto her arm, pulling her to face her. “Why did you volunteer?”

Anastasia looks down at Caitlin’s hand before snatching her arm away. “Someone had to.”

“Paige tried, you should’ve let her.”

“And why’s that?” Anastasia asks, crossing her arms over her chest.

“I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but just stay out of my way.” Caitlin threatens.

“Or what?” Anastasia asks without hesitation. Caitlin almost looks taken aback by the response. Almost. “Or what?” Anastasia repeats.

“Caitlin, come on!” Coach calls from the court.

Caitlin stares her down, before slowly turning away, lightly jogging back to the court.

What the fuck was her problem?

Anastasia finds a lone seat on the bleachers, making it her own personal mission to study every inch of Caitlin’s gameplay possible. More specifically, what she was best at, and what she was worst at.

It didn't take much time for Anastasia to pinpoint her fatal flaw. Defense. The girl couldn't play defense if her life depended on it. Actually, it wasn't that she couldn't, it was like she just didn't want to. She looked miserable whenever she didn't have the ball and it showed. Bingo.

Anastasia notes that to herself, while also making sure to study her shooting and passing patterns, which seems to be her strong suit. She will make sure she goes against Caitlin in the final match, whether it be in the winners bracket or the losers bracket. Hell, maybe even both.

Caitlin's group manages the win over Paige's group thanks to some lucky out of this world pass Caitlin managed to just barely get inside to her post player.

"Alright groups three and four next!" Coach yells out from the whiteboard while writing group one into the losers bracket and group two into the winners.

Anastasia stands up, walking her way down the bleachers. She comes into earshot of Caitlin and Paige's conversation as she walks by.

"Damn." Paige curses once they're off the court, Caitlin giving her a gentle pat to the shoulder.

"Better luck next time." Caitlin laughs. "I bet you'll kill 'em over in the losers bracket though."

Anastasia wonders what magic Paige is really working with to get into Caitlin's good graces.

Maybe Anastasia was the problem.

Anastasia meets up with her group, and they quickly go over a few potential game plans. She can still hear Caitlin and Paige's conversation continuing on behind her, their laughter and banter a little more distracting than she'd wish it to be.

Once her team decides that they've got down few good plays, they head towards the court.

"Hey, you!" Paige calls out. Anastasia contemplates turning around but doesn't, figuring there's no chance she was talking to her. "Number 120!" Paige yells out again, Anastasia freezing in her tracks. She double checks her jersey number before slowly turning around.

"You better win so you can avenge me." Paige smiles.

Caitlin shoves Paige halfheartedly, letting out a laugh. She doesn't say it very loud, but Anastasia is fairly good at reading lips, and she swears Caitlin says, "No chance."

"I got you." Anastasia yells back to Paige, Caitlin's smile immediately wiping off her face.

She was going to destroy Caitlin Clark.

“HUMILITY, CAITLIN, IT’S SOMETHING YOU FOUND HARD TO LEARN EARLY ON IN YOUR LIFE. WHAT IMPORTANCE DOES IT HOLD NOW, AND LOOKING BACK, DO YOU WISH YOU HAD MORE OF IT THEN?”

“I’ve always had humility.” Caitlin defends. “I was young, yeah. Naive, sure. A nuisance, possibly…but I was never not humble.”

“What about USA basketball, were you an asshole then?” The reporter asks.

Caitlin furrows her eyebrows, sitting up even straighter in her chair. “Asshole? What makes you ask that?”

“No reason at all, that’s just a very important staple to your story.” The reporter half lies. “Tell us about your experience there.”

“It was great.” Caitlin lies.

The reporter shakes her head, not satisfied with the answer. “The truth.”

Caitlin sighs. “It’s one of my most regretted experiences in my life, is that what you want to hear?”

MAY 26TH, 2017

Caitlin Clark felt murderous. Anastasia’s team had won, moving them further in the bracket as well. She couldn’t believe Anastasia thinks she can beat her. It was all Caitlin could think about as she watches Anastasia sit at the bottom of the bleachers all alone.

Why wasn’t she attempting to connect with anyone around her?

Paige smacks Caitlin’s shoulder. “Yo, stop staring.”

“I’m not staring.” Caitlin lies. She turns around to face Paige, who was sitting awfully close to another player, Azzi. “Do you think she’s good?” Caitlin asks.

“Well she’s here, isn’t she?” Azzi answers sarcastically.

Caitlin rolls her eyes. “You know what I meant.”

“Come on, ask what you really wanna ask.” Paige says.

“What?” Caitlin asks.

“You wanna know if we think she’s better than you.” Paige laughs.

“No.” Caitlin scoffs. “I know she’s not better than me.”

“Geez, cocky much?” Azzi asks.

“Whatever.” Caitlin’s eyes find Anastasia again, who was now stretching her arms over her head. “Why do you think she’s not talking to anyone?”

“If you wanna talk to her just say that.” Paige teases, kneeing Caitlin in the back. “Want me to call her over?”

“No—”

“What’s her name?” Paige asks Azzi, ignoring Caitlin’s pleads.

“Stop don’t—” Caitlin interjects, just to be ignored again.

Azzi smirks before cupping her hands over her mouth. “Anastasia!”

Anastasia turns around and Caitlin glares at Azzi. “Why the fuck would you do that?” Caitlin asks.

Azzi waves her over and Anastasia stands, slowly making her way over. “Because now you can talk to her!” Azzi smiles.

“I hate you.” Caitlin mutters.

“I hate you more.” Azzi replies.

“Yes?” Anastasia questions slowly once she finally reaches the three of them, a confused looks on her face.

“Sit with us!” Azzi pats the spot in front of her with her foot.

Anastasia looks at the spot, then looks at Caitlin who’s in the spot right next to it. Caitlin avoids her gaze, looking back at the court.

“Okay, I guess.” Anastasia agrees, brushing past Caitlin.

“Where you from?” Paige asks, sitting up to start the conversation.

“Michigan.”

“Oh shit no way!” Paige gawks. “Michigan is sick.”

“Have you ever even been to Michigan?” Azzi laughs.

“Man!” Paige sucks her teeth. “Now you know I live right next door to Michigan, of course I’ve been!”

“What about you guys?” Anastasia asks.

“Virginia.” Azzi answers.

“Minnesota.” Paige says with a fake midwestern accent.

Anastasia nods, letting out a small laugh. “Cool.” She glances over at Caitlin, who once again pretends she doesn’t notice. “What about you?”

“Iowa.” Caitlin deadpans.

“Iowa…that’s a first.” Anastasia says, getting a laugh out of Paige and Azzi.

“Yeah, I’m one of a kind.” Caitlin says.

“Cocky.” Azzi mutters under her breath.

“Corny.” Paige whispers at the same time. The whistle blows, and the four of them look back to the court simultaneously. “Damn group nine won?” Paige asks.

“That’s a shocker.” Azzi says.

“Not really.” Caitlin counters. “Great offense trumps anything.”

“Of course you think that.” Anastasia criticizes, standing to her feet.

“Damn Caitlin, you gon take that?” Paige instigates, receiving a smack to the shoulder from Azzi.

“Stop trying to start shit!”

Caitlin stands to her feet, sizing up Anastasia. “Nah, I’m not gonna take that, I’m just gonna let my work on the court do the talking.”

“Famous last words.” Anastasia says, pushing past Caitlin. “You’ve never come across good D like this.”

“Yo pause!” Paige laughs, receiving another smack from Azzi.

“Stop being a freak!”

“If you think you’re taking both of your teams past quarterfinals, you’re delusional.” Caitlin says from behind Anastasia.

“Do you always speak before you think?” Anastasia asks continuing on her way down the bleachers.

“I speak and think at the same time, it’s called multitasking.”

“Right.” Anastasia laughs. Once she reaches the bottom of the bleachers she turns to face Caitlin, who was still coming down. She blocks her from exiting the last step, offering her a smile. “No matter what happens out there, I want you to remember that you’re a great player.”

“What is this, reverse psychology?” Caitlin laughs, attempting to get around Anastasia.

Anastasia steps infront of her again, keeping her position. “No, it’s good sportsmanship, ever heard of it?”

“Move.” Caitlin demands.

“Good luck out there.” Anastasia says, offering Caitlin a hand. Caitlin looks down at it before pushing past her, continuing onto the court. “Hey!” Anastasia shouts up to Paige who looks down. “This is for you.”

‘THE ART OF WINNING’ MASTERLIST

[suashii]

— 𝒸𝑜𝓏𝓎 𝒸𝓊𝒹𝒹𝓁𝑒𝓈 ౨ৎ

🦚 anon request: "making the house as cozy as possible before they come home" with matsukawa. you can request for my event here!

matsukawa issei x reader. 0.8k wc. ﾉ sfw ﾉ fluff ﾉ shirless mattsun. . . heh :3

Today has not been your day. Not by a long shot.

First, coffee splashed on your shirt before you even made it in the door to work—an accident that the owner of the unlidded beverage apologized profusely for. You think you could have brushed that off if it wasn’t followed so closely by an impromptu meeting that dragged on for an unreasonable amount of time. It left you racing to finish all the other tasks you were meant to complete today, tasks that should have been a breeze if your time had been budgeted accordingly—which it had been before that stupid meeting. 

By the time you’re finally able to clock out, the weight of eight stressful hours is heavy on your shoulders and makes your walk to the train feel twice as long as it really is. You find being squished between countless other bodies in the passenger car more unpleasant than you usually would but the upside is that you’re almost home—away from all of the bothersome inconveniences of the day, free to do as you please.

As you unlock the front door, thoughts of collapsing on your bed until you’re either too exhausted to stay awake any longer or your stomach growls in a noisy request for food are the only ones that swirl through your head. You’re quick to kick off your shoes and hastily hang up your bag when you cross the threshold into your apartment.

Your plan to make a beeline to your bed is put on hold after taking only a few steps in the direction of your room. You were so preoccupied with shedding the worst parts of your day at the door that you hadn’t taken notice of the oddities in the apartment—the scent of vanilla that only ever permeates the room when you take the time to light a candle, the unusual darkness you avoid coming home to by opening the curtains before you leave.

Your eyebrows pull together in a confused frown as you slowly approach the living room. The space that’s typically untouched when you return from work is anything but that. There are blankets messily strewn over the cushions of the couch and, despite the room being empty, the tv shines brightly in the otherwise dark area—one of many streaming service home tabs displayed on the large screen.

Before you can question any of the scene, a voice speaks up from beside you.

“Damn, you beat me out here.” You don’t have to look to tell that it’s Matsukawa—who else would it be? Still, you turn to face him anyway and are met with his large figure. There’s a goofy yet endearing smile on his face like he’s been caught in the act. The rest of his appearance contrasts that of his face—curls damp enough that water continues to bead at the ends, sweatpants low enough that you’re allowed a peek of his v-line. He must have just gotten out of the shower.

“You set all this up?” It’s a silly question that you already know the answer to but you can’t help but gesture to the cozy environment he created.

“Surprised?” he asks, and the smile tugging at his lips turns from goofy to proud.

“A little,” you admit with a nod, but you smile too. He did all of this for you. “I honestly thought you’d be asleep when I strolled in.”

Mattsun huffs out a laugh through his nose before putting his hands—still warm from the shower—on your shoulders and leading you to the couch. He sits you down and takes his place next to you, adjusting the fluffy blankets as he speaks. “How could I sleep knowing you had such a shitty day?”

You didn’t expect that your complaining to Issei throughout the day would lead to such a sweet gesture. It almost makes you feel guilty. “It wasn’t that bad…”

“That’s not the impression all of your texts gave.”

If you went through your message log right now, you’d probably find that the man was right.

“Fine, it was pretty bad,” you concede. But you don’t want to dwell on the negatives, not when Mattsun went out of his way to make sure you came home to something that was sure to cheer you up. You lay your head on his shoulder with a content sigh. “It’s better now, though.”

He’s warm, like a human heater—all the comfort you need bundled up in one person. Your person.

“Good.” Issei gives you a squeeze that you’re sure is meant to be a hug and leans down to place a sloppy kiss on your forehead. “Movie pick is up to you. And I can cook you something if you’re hungry.”

While the offer itself is kind, you can’t help but pull away and level the man with a questioning look. You and he both know that his skills in the kitchen are less than average. 

Without you even uttering a word, Issei chuckles in understanding. “Takeout?”

You nod. “Takeout.”

thanks for reading! if u enjoyed, please consider reblogging or commenting ❤︎

[catboygretzky]

Do I even want to know what happened in the last 24 hours 😭 I'm almost afraid to ask but I'm also insanely curious

You probably don't want to know but I'll tell you because you have no choice. This will be long and...awful. But there are sources so that's fun! Please keep in mind that this was all released within 24 hours on Thursday, September 20th, 2024 and that, unfortunately, I haven't mentioned everything.

But! The GOP was certainly having a wild one yesterday.

To start things off:

The first 'Big News' to break was about Mark Robinson.

For those saying 'who the fuck is Mark Robinson', he's the current (R) Lt. Gov of North Carolina that is running for Gov. Before yesterday, he was best known for openly hating LGBT+ and Jewish folks, being a Holocaust denier, being (forcefully) anti abortion, saying it was better when women couldn't vote, anti immigrant, hating the civil rights movement, etc, just being a hateful Evangelical nasty fascist. MAGA to his core. Trump has endorsed him, saying he should be cherished and calling him "MLK on steroids". (Robinson is Black).

So, yeah, that's bad enough right? Yesterday it got even worse. CNN released a report about some comments he made on a porn site forum 12 years ago, the most prominent being 'i'm a black NAZI'. He also commented that he wished slavery was legal and that he'd own a few, and called himself a 'perv' that used to 'peep' on women in public locker rooms when he was a teenager.

Also the tale as old as time that I'm sure you could guess when I mentioned 'GOP' 'loudly transphobic' and 'porn site scandal' - trans porn was a favourite of his. Because of course.

Also of course - the GOP hasn't taken him off the ticket, and he will continue to be the nominee for governor in North Carolina!

Read the article, there's more about him and the situation in general. Mind the warnings.

-

Now on to our favourite worm brained bear eating anti vaxxer conspiracy theorist, Robert F. Kennedy Junior! I'm putting this under a read more now.

The first thing to drop about him yesterday was the news of an investigation after he allegedly cut off the head of a dead whale and took it home 20 years ago. Now I bet you're thinking, wow that's bad! Unfortunately for RFK Jr yesterday got worse. It was then revealed that he (70) was having an affair with right wing journalist Olivia Nuzzi (31) after New York Magazine suspended her.

Everything I learn about RFK Jr I learn against my own will.

-

Saying goodbye to RFK for now, let's move on to Rep. Matt Gaetz of Florida! This Matt Gaetz, with the botox if you didn't recognise him.

Scary lookin, right?

This isn't a completely new story (here's an article about how he alledgedly paid for sex with a minor) but new court filings were released yesterday alledging that he attended a drug-fueled sex party in 2017 with the 17-year-old girl at the center of the alleged sex trafficking scandal.

Sure is great to have such trustworthy men representing this country!

OKAY, on to the next.

-

This wasn't really breaking news because this is just Trump being Trump but he gave a speech at an ANTI ANTISEMITISM EVENT where he preemptively blamed the Jews for being the reason he'll lose this election, telling them they need to get their head checked if they vote for Harris (that's pretty much part of his stump speech by now though) and saying he'll reinstate his Muslim ban. White fascist blaming Jews? Wow, I did Nazi that coming.

-

I genuinely could go on, I really truly could.

Oh! Kamala Harris went on Oprah and it was really nice and not at all insane and she talked to the family of the first known victim of Trump's abortion ban and it was very touching. Trump's official social media then posted a clip of her talking about her gun and saying 'If somebody breaks into my house, they're getting shot' like it was a snatch when in reality Republicans in the comments are saying 'actually, this would make me vote for her'. Thanks, Trump Team for the free advertising!

Misc:

Chris Rufo (known racist and anti immigration right wing activist) got revealed to have an illegal immigrant wife, and then got revealed to be a user of Ashley Madison (database where people go to cheat on their partners)(Robinson was also on Ashley Madison).

Jasmine Crockett during her thing and ripping white republicans to shreds. (idk this was just fun to me)

Actually Republicans and Project 2025 got ripped to shreds and shut down in general by multiple Congress members.

GOP is on the brink of causing a government shutdown, because of COURSE they are.

Cards Against Humanity sues SpaceX over “invasion” of land on US/Mexico border.

Anyway there's actually MORE believe it or not but I can't remember if it happened yesterday. Thank you for reading, I'm always open to discussing current events. I don't think it's a well known fact that I'm into politics because I don't talk about it on tumblr because people are kinda stupid. Anyway!

[verbenaa]

to eden | chapter 8

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎: “You spoil me darling, really. But I am simple man—” Rin stops him off with a look of admonishment, cutting off his sentence to start her own.

“A simple show for a simple man, then.”She hopes her emphasis on the words will speak loudly enough for him to understand the meaning of them as she mockingly bows towards him.

“I take offense to that assessment, you know.” Astarion huffs with a frown, casting his head aside to instead take a sip of his errant goblet of wine, already forgotten beside him.

𝓅𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔: Astarion/F!Tav

𝓇𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔: E, 18+

𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉: 14.8k 😮‍💨

𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈: mentions of torture/abuse, mild descriptions of blood/gore, striptease (?), fingering, cunnilingus, vampire bites (duh), handjobs, piv sex, multiple orgasms, Soft Dom Astarion returns 😌

𝒶/𝓃: hellooooo, sorry it's taken so long for me to get this written and posted! but it's here now and I very much hope you enjoy! let me know your thoughts about the chapter, too!

ao3

masterlist

MDNI, 18+ CONTENT

The air is quiet, the ever-present darkness lingering around them like a stagnant weight. Rin finds that she quite hates it, no matter how lovely the promise the warmth of Last Light Inn and its alcohol is to be. 

Her fingers are poised on one of the delicate strings of her lyre as she strums it lightly, a low hum reverberating out from the instrument that fills the air with what she hopes will be something that sounds effortless, beautiful, ethereal.

She frowns at the sound of it from where she leans against a conveniently placed rock near the fire, the note falling flat as it dies in the silence of the dark night.

“You’re off.” A familiar voice echoes out from above, the sound of it supercilious and downright annoying, as she huffs out a breath in minute agitation.

With a turn of her head, Rin sends Astarion a withering look from where he lounges, imperious, on the rock right above her; a book held in his hand as he reads by the light of the roaring fire. 

“And so is your stitching, but you don’t hear me calling you out on it, now do you?”

His stitching wasn’t, of course. It was always practiced, perfect, and near precise—Astarion as good with a needle as he was with a knife or an arrow. 

But, as always, he didn’t have to know that. He has enough of an ego as it is and Rin has no intentions of adding to it unnecessarily.

Astarion flips the page with unnecessary force, his obvious agitation dragging a secret smile to her lips that she hides into the strings of her lyre. 

He really made it far too easy to tease him, sometimes.

Astarion hmphs into the nighttime air, looking astutely back down at the book in his lap in an attempt to ignore her as she bites back a laugh that threatens to break free.

Rin turns her attention back to the instrument in her hands, fingers running down the carved edge of it as her mind wanders aimlessly in the silence and she stares out at the utterly boring landscape. 

It was pretty, she supposes, if one cared for a setting devoid of most kinds of life. Ultimately, there was just not terribly much for her to look at, leaving her with nothing but the amusement of her own thoughts, much to her frustration. 

There wasn’t much left for her to do but think, it seemed.

Rin had already eaten dinner while conversing with Gale; engaged in some gossip over a glass of wine with Shadowheart; discussed the merits of carnivorous fauna with Halsin; indulged Lae’zel in a practice sparring session (which she lost quite terribly, much to Astarion’s joy and Lae’zel’s disappointment at Rin’s apparent lack of skill); shared a nice pint from the inn with Karlach; and then watched on as Astarion drained poor Wyll dry of some gold in a game of cards (she’ll have to try to figure out how to get him his money back, one way or another).

She would probably have to beg Astarion to do it—something she was not eager to do, but would for the sake of Wyll and all his noble, princely goodness. 

Perhaps she should try to steal it off of him, instead. It certainly would make for a good challenge, at the very least, provided she didn’t get caught doing it. Rin has no doubt the cost for that particular crime would be steep, one that she doesn’t know if she can afford to pay for.

Astarion already spent enough time in her thoughts as it was, the price nothing more than that of her precious yet dwindling sanity. She already feels as though she is slowly losing her mind every time she replays the events of the other night over in her head, no longer than a mere week ago.

She and Astarion had both quite politely ignored the events of that night, the memory of the closeness of their lips and the things she had said settling into the recesses of her mind as if they were nothing more than a dream, one that haunts her when she lays down her head onto her sad excuse for a pillow. 

It was a lapse in judgment, at the very least. The klauthgrass had clearly addled her mind more than she thought when she looks back on it. It’s the only logical reason she would ever had said the things she did—whether spoken from her lips or written down in a letter never to be sent. 

She also still needed to burn the damn letter, but that was neither here nor there.

What mattered was that they had settled back into their usual camaraderie, trading cutting words and sly smiles back and forth with one another as they had always done despite a brand new, gently simmering tension that now lay just underneath the surface.

But it was fine. 

Rin was nothing if not an expert at ignoring the things that were bothering her, was she not? Their little…situation was simply that. 

A situation. 

One that was easily forgettable once she set her mind to actually forgetting about it.

Rin trades that particular line of thinking out with a deep exhale, shoving it back into a conveniently placed box in a corner of her mind and instead sets to retuning the instrument in her hands, worn pine both familiar and comforting as its weight rests against her.

Her wonderful, familiar lyre that had been with her for years now, through both thick and thin. It hadn’t helped her make terribly much gold, but it had been a better friend to her than any person had over the years.

She turns the pegs on the back of it little by little, tiny twists of her fingers adjusting the strings in a way she hopes will make her next attempt at song better and not worse. 

The night flows by as she sits in the warmth of the fire, the soft crackles of the logs soothing as Rin retunes the instrument until she’s finally happy with what she hopes will be a drastic improvement to the earlier noise it had made.

With a satisfied sigh, Rin moves to strum at her lyre, fingers just about to touch the strings when a biting voice interrupts her.

“I do hope you didn’t make it worse. My poor ears can’t take much more abuse.”

Rin ignores the jab with a serene blink before deigning not to answer as her raised hand closes into a fist, nails biting into her palm as she prays to anyone listening for an ounce of patience.

In lieu of violence—despite him deserving it—she sees a perfect opportunity to turn the conversation from another of her apparent failures onto one of his instead.  

She turns to look at him with a sly look, fixing him with clever eyes alight with mischief. 

“You know, Astarion, I happened to read something quite interesting in one of the books I found at The Waning Moon.”

Astarion turns another page in his book as he feigns disinterest, but his eyes don’t scan the rows of elvish decorating the page in neatly printed rows. “Oh? Do tell, then. Was it something violent? Gory? Scandalous?” 

“Scandalous, certainly. I seem to have come across a small little volume that contained a list,” Rin’s brows waggle conspiratorially. “A list of banned patrons.”

Astarion’s interest is firmly piqued as soon as she says the words, finally looking up from the tome in his lap to focus on her, indifference giving way to a fiendish gleam in his eye.

“You should have said so from the start. Tell me more, darling, what are the offenses? Give me all the sordid details.” 

He leans in closer from his seat above her, Astarion and his flair for the dramatic never failing to amuse her and she can’t help the equally wicked smile that spreads across her lips in response.

“Most of them were ordinary—you know, the standard. Bar fights, skipping the bill, unnecessary wanton activity with a pickle. But there was one that really stuck out to me, quite a striking description frankly. I think it said something along the lines of ‘a pale elf with a snide mouth’ that apparently insulted someone of particular importance. Sound familiar?”

“Well, whoever they are sounds like they had a fantastic time to me.” His smile is devious as he smirks. “In fact, I’d say that whoever it was deserved such words.” 

“Oh, I have no doubt. I’m sure the insults thrown were of the highest calibre, as well.” 

Astarion grin is a roguish one that looks terribly handsome on his features but something heavy intercedes over the amusement in his eyes as the deeper meaning behind that seemingly small and unimportant notation sinks in.

The smirk falls slowly from Astarion’s lips, a slight darkness settling across the features of his face as the corners of his mouth turn down ever so slightly.

Ah. Of course. 

“You have no memory of ever coming here, do you?” She softens her voice, only slightly, but she has no doubt Astarion notices the change regardless.

“No. I’ve already told you I don’t have many memories from my life before Cazador,” He snaps. “But clearly I’ve here before. Obviously.”

Rin had given some thought to the presumed Astarion of before in the rare moments of peace that were few and far in between, when her mind was free to wander before sleep overtook her. 

The Astarion that existed before the tadpole, before Cazador. Back when his heart still beat and his skin was flushed with life. Astarion, with not-red eyes, wearing finely tailored silks and wools, drinking the richest of wines; for he was sure to have been wealthy. 

She had spent many years watching the upper echelons of Baldur’s Gate from her place on the streets, staring up into their windows at twilight to watch them swoon and twirl in their finery, and Astarion moved like the best of them—graceful and elegant, proud and arrogant.

He had been a magistrate, or so he had said. 

She could only trust so many of the words that come from his lips, but somehow the image of Astarion in ostentatious robes handing down whatever judgement he deemed worthy is far too easy for her to envision for her to entirely disbelieve the notion.

But he must have had a family, surely. 

Parents, siblings, friends—perhaps even a lover or two. Or three, knowing him. 

Gods forbid he had sired any children.

But the implication remains all the same. So many questions, almost all of which he may never know the answers to. 

“You should be proud, Astarion.” Rin attempts a tiny bit of levity, though it doesn’t seem to help. “An annoyance both alive and undead. Not many could ever hope to achieve such a thing.”

“Well,” he sniffs with an air of put-on pride, smile weak. “It’s nice to know I’m consistent, at least.”

“You did get thrown out of a tavern last time you were here. Perhaps this trip to sweet, little Reithwin is faring much better than the one prior. Your last visit didn’t have me present, after all.”

“My last visit was probably still more peaceful, I’d wager. I doubt I was busy being vexed by a senseless blonde bard all the while having a worm buried in my head.” His voice raises a few octaves as he narrows his eyes at her. 

She would rather have his ire than his sorrow, it’s a much better sight than the mournful look beginning to creep over his features.

“Presumably weren’t being vexed by a senseless blonde bard.” Rin shoots Astarion a small smile. “Maybe you have a type.”

He only gives a mirthless laugh in response. 

“I am sorry, Astarion. I wish you were able to remember more.”

Astarion sighs, uncharacteristically defeated and the sound of it has her chest tightening. 

“Yet another thing I can add to the unending list of things that Cazador took from me. From us.”

“Us?” Rin muses over the word, the answer to a question she had long considered but never managed to ask, not amongst the seemingly never-ending amount of things that popped up on their list to be taken care of. “So, you aren’t the only one, then? Of Cazador’s spawn, I mean.”

She briefly worries she’s overstepped an invisible boundary, that Astarion will shut her down and storm away without another word, leaving her with no answer to the question.

Her curiosity about him grows with every passing day and she simply wants to know more about him. 

Not the charming, surface level vanity he would normally put forward for her, but the real Astarion. 

The one who tells her and only her small stories about himself and his life, the one who responds to her silly little letters, the one who had thanked her, with actual gratitude, drawing of his scars in hand.

The Astarion who—for some unfathomable reason—no matter how much he may complain or insult her, still chooses her above all others to spend his time with.

Rin turns to look up at him, the straightening of his spine obvious even in the darkness of the camp. Astarion, for his part, takes her question in stride, though there’s a telltale tightness around his mouth that signals his ever-present bitterness at Cazador’s mention.

He nods, the motion stiff as Rin’s brows draw together into a frown.

“There were seven of us, in all. Brothers and sisters, as he liked to call us. Quite the family.” Astarion lets out a derisive laugh, words acrimonious as he spits them out.

Ruby red eyes look ahead, his gaze catching on nothing in particular as he stares at the barren world on the other side of the water, the landscape as bleak as his expression.

“But I was one of his first. He was a monster to us all. Tortured us. Carved the same thing into my back as he did into all of theirs. But Cazador took a special pleasure in my pain. In my screams. He said my screams sounded sweetest.”

And oh, how her heart twists to hear the fragile timbre of his voice as his breath hitches, an undercurrent of agony flowing so readily and truthful from him. 

Rin averts her eyes as his voice breaks on the last few words, settling her vision on one of the red ferns flowing in the ever-present breeze in an attempt to let him keep some of his suffering to himself, to leave some of his dignity in tact.

It’s the least she can do. 

“And now that I’m gone…I don’t know. I pity the other six.” Astarion takes a deep, bracing breath, his sorrow palpable, and Rin’s chest aches again.

She doesn’t have anything to say, and how could she?

Oh, terribly sorry you spent two centuries being tortured unendingly. That must have been awful. You didn’t deserve it, Astarion.

No, any words of consolation she has only seem to fall flat in the face of his misery. He doesn’t need her to tell him about how horrible it is, how neither he nor his siblings deserved the pain, the anguish, the endless torture that Cazador dished out on a whim to bend and break them all to his will.

The only thing Rin can think to give him is her own paltry attempt at comfort as she leans in towards him slowly until her head rests just against the side of his leg in silent consolation. 

He doesn’t like to be touched at the best of times, but somehow she knows he would hate the inevitable pity he would choose to find in her words much worse. 

Astarion freezes, muscles tensing as if in wait for something, sending a sharp look down at the messily braided head now resting against his knee. But when nothing other than the presence of her subtle weight leaning against him ever comes, the only movement she makes the easy in and out of her breathing, he relaxes slightly.

Rin doesn’t dare to look up at him, instead returning her attention back to the lyre still in her arms. With a careful hand, her fingers come up to strum at a string, followed by another and another and another; music flowing out from the instrument in a slow, soft melody.

It’s nothing in particular that the plays; no well-known song or tune, only a series of notes and chords she pieces together with minimal thought that somehow manages to sound more lovely than anything she’s had luck playing the past week.

Eventually, she hears the soft rustle of a page being flipped once more as Astarion returns to his book, no words spoken to break the silence between them as Rin keeps her head resting just against him, playing her song just for him.

✧· · ─── ·✧· ─── · ·✧ 

She should know better, by now, than to ever be surprised by the horrors they come across—and yet, as she had walked into the operating theatre of the so-called House of Healing, her footsteps quiet over the dark, ornate, and rotting woodwork, she still managed to be shocked by what she beheld as she had peeked over the railing.

She had noticed the man first. It was impossible to not have when his blood, a bright red incarnadine, was splattered across the walls and dripping onto the floors in sickly streams. She followed the trail of it to the source, taking in the carnage of his body; eyes no more than bloodied pits and mouth opened in silent scream as he writhes on the table, somehow still alive despite the butchering of his body. 

A moment later, her eyes drifted over to Doctor Malus Thorm in all his horror; elbow deep in his victim’s innards with hands that were no longer quite hands, digits turned instead into some sort of mechanical claws as he lectures aloud to the sightless nurses who stood uselessly around the body.

She had stepped into that theatre expecting a battle, her own blood to be added to all that had already been spilled and soaked into the grooves in the wood over the many years. 

Instead, she managed something quite different. Something possibly worse.

She hadn’t assumed that she would be able to kill him with only her words, not when the menace of him spelled violence and promised pain, a Shar devotee to the bitter end. 

And yet, it was with words that she had convinced him to sacrifice himself to his nurses, a dark turn of events that somehow seemed to fit the narrative of this terrible place all too well. 

She blames the power she feels when his body finally gives its last, miserable breath on the shadow curse, on the innate darkness of this place, on the tadpole. 

Any excuse works, so long as it covers up the fact that she had liked it.

It was the very same power she had felt when the other two Thorms fell; silvered words falling off her tongue to bend them to her will and end them both without her having to lift a single, gloved finger.

It had only been a small inconvenience to finish off the remaining Sisters of Mercy after they had done Rin’s dirty work for her, their trepans and bonesaws no match for her rapier, Karlach’s axe, Shadowheart’s spells, and Astarion’s blood thirst.

Her heart still beats too quick, the sound of it loud in her ears as she stands stock still on a bated breath—in fear, in anxiety, in a strange and twisted excitement.

It’s both thrilling and terrifying in equal measure. 

Rin wants nothing to do with it.

“Remind me not to get on your bad side.” Shadowheart remarks quietly with a laugh from beside her, breaking the silence of the aftermath. There’s a new awe present in the cleric’s voice that Rin hates the sound of.

Rin looks at her friend with a small smile. “So long as you don’t get in the way of me and a good time, we’ll be dandy.”

“I wouldn’t dare after that performance.” Shadowheart laughs, a twinkling little sound, and it breaks up a bit of the nerves that had settled in her chest.

“Well. That was positively sickening. Who knew there would be so much fun to be found here?” Astarion sheathes his dagger with a twist of his wrist, the added flourish elegant as blood flicks off the blade and splatters onto the ground. “Though I do wish for a more satisfying kill. I’m in desperate need of a snack.”

Karlach claps a hand on Astarion’s shoulder with enough force that he only just manages to keep his footing. “Don’t worry, I’m sure we can find something else alive for you to sink your fangs into.”

“Does all that blood not quite do it for you, Astarion?” Shadowheart gestures with a raised brow to the drops of blood still dripping off of the surgical table, a nauseating mixture of both the man's and Thorm’s blending together.

“Hardly.” Astarion crinkles his nose at the thick, dark ichor. “I’ve had worse, but it smells terrible and I can’t imagine it tastes much better.”

Rin glances up at Astarion beside her, taking in his somehow paler than normal complexion and a thought hits her, her brow furrowing in consideration.

When was the last time he had fed? 

And what on? 

He had been subsisting on a diet of—well, mostly her, honestly; along with the occasional forest creature.

Astarion certainly hadn’t tasted her since their last night on the Mountain Pass, longer than he’s ever gone without her blood since his first feed from her all those moons ago.

Rin had become so used to his little visits, popping into her tent during the evening to have his fill of her—blood and more. The absence of them since has felt surprisingly stark, a loss she didn’t realize she would mourn in the wake of the palpable tension that had settled between them no matter how hard they each attempted to ignore it.

For just as surely as he hadn’t drank from her neck, he had not come to taste the rest of her either; their nights spent instead trading remarks back and forth by the fire.

Not that she was complaining. 

Quite the contrary. 

She had found herself growing quite fond of this new aspect of their relationship that they had eased into; trading stories and anecdotes with each other over a bottle of wine or a game of cards, he reading his books while she plays her music, Astarion working on his stitching as she looks on and inevitably bothers him with her presence. 

It was…nice. Normal, almost. 

Or whatever their version of nice and normal was.

Rin snaps herself out of her thoughts with a blink and turns to her companions with a nod, hoping the daze she was in doesn’t show on her face. “Right then. Let’s loot, shall we?”

They meander their way about the rest of the room, navigating their way around the bodies and books scattered about the floor, some of the thin pages now soaked with the blood of the fallen. They don’t find terribly much, some gold here or an interesting text there. 

But mostly, it’s all useless.

Rin thinks that at one time, the quatrefoil tiles lining the floors of this place must have been beautiful—crisp, clean white contrasting against vibrant blue. 

Now, though, they are covered in long streaks of dark, sticky blood, the ichor long staining tile and grout alike; the corners of them chipping as they step over them on their way out of the long hallway at the entry of the building. 

Rin falls back beside Astarion as they make their way onto the uneven cobblestones of Reithwin, gnarled roots threatening to trip her as they grow up in between the grooves. With a small smile and nod, she gestures for Shadowheart to take the lead, the cleric walking ahead as her long braid bounces behind her.

She falls into step with him easily, matching his pace as she keeps her eyes ahead, always on the lookout for what the next danger to jump out at them will be.

“Have you been hunting recently?” It’s a casual question, no accusation in her tone as she stretches her arms behind her back.   

Astarion casts a surreptitious glance her way, eyes wandering across her profile as she stays looking ahead. “There’s precious little living here, my dear.”

“Then why haven’t you come to me? You’ve never cared about bothering me before when you would pop into my tent unannounced.” 

“I-” Astarion looks away from her for a moment before returning his gaze to her. “I assumed you needed a break to…replenish your sources."

His non-answer has one of Rin’s brows drawing up in skepticism, which he readily ignores. However, the thought of him perhaps not coming to her for her own health is almost sweet, if believable.

If. 

She’s not so sure that it’s the truth, but she will take it at face value, for now.

“Astarion,” she leans towards him to give him a slight nudge with her elbow, the touch light. “I think my ‘sources’ have been thoroughly replenished. You can feed on me tonight, if you’d like.” 

It would be careless of her, as a leader, to let him continue to starve himself. She’s only doing the most responsible thing by offering herself up to him again. It’s for the better of their entire party and Faerûn at large, wasn’t it? The Absolute wasn’t going to just disappear into thin air, after all. 

And if it happened to mean she got to spend a little extra time with him—well, that would be nothing more than luck on her part. 

“Well, if you’re offering, sweet thing,” His lips curl up in a smirk, eyes alight with a predator’s gleam at the promise of her blood. “Come find me in my tent tonight, darling, and we shall feast.”

“Feast? Shall there be something there for me then, as well?” Rin releases a breath she didn’t realize she was holding and glances up at him with a small, secret smile that has a corner of his mouth turning up in a smirk.

“Only the best for my favorite little treat.”

“Careful, you’ll spoil me.” If only, she thinks, and the thought is terribly traitorous as she bites down on a corner of her lip in hopes of stopping the pink that threatens to rise to her cheeks. 

But from the answering smirk on Astarion’s face as they venture further into the into the crushing darkness of Reithwin’s destroyed streets she thinks he must able to glean the thought on his own. 

“We can’t have that, now can we?”

✧· · ─── ·✧· ─── · ·✧

Rin steels herself outside the flap of Astarion’s tent, readying herself for whatever waits for her inside. She isn’t sure why she’s so nervous. It wasn’t like he hadn’t fed from her before.

Or slept with her, for that matter.

There’s no flickering flame to be seen from the outside of his tent, nothing to give her any sort of hint of what possibly awaits her inside aside from him, his silhouette undecipherable in the darkness.

With a deep breath, she pulls the flap to the side and steps forward, a familiar scent—rich brandy curling together with earthy rosemary and fresh bergamot—swirling in the air as her eyes land on the vampire in question.

“Well,” Astarion lounges casually against his bedroll as his eyes find her own, leaning back on his elbows with enviable ease as a silver goblet rests beside him. “Hello there, darling.”

Her eyes are drawn to the exposed skin of his chest, the sight of him waiting for her shirtless so reminiscent to that first night together that she pulls up short.

It felt like eons ago, now; her traipsing through the forest outside of the Emerald Grove to find him waiting in a picturesque clearing for her and her alone. While there was no soft grass with charming little flowers to decorate the ground and no glittering moonlight to beam down upon them and highlight their skin as they moved together—she feels just as out of her depth now as she did then, when she had discovered him with his shirt already off and honeyed words just waiting to fall from his lips.

“Hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long again.” Rin snatches her eyes up from his chest to meet his own, a smirk already decorating his lips at her momentary distraction.

“Oh, I’ll always wait for you, beautiful.” Her eyes roll despite herself as she lets out a huff at such trite words.

“Did you need a nibble or should I see myself out?” She points behind herself to the exit of his tent for emphasis, brow arched.

“Let’s not be hasty, shall we?” Astarion answers a touch too quickly as he sits up a little higher, body tensing as if ready to jump up in the event she were to actually leave. “I would so hate to see you go.”

He must be hungry, then, if he’s so desperate for her presence.

Rin smiles at him as she looks around the tent expectantly, crossing her arms in front of her chest as she spies not a single treat aside from an empty goblet she presumes to be for her. “You know, I recall you promising me a feast.”

Astarion has the audacity to not look even the tiniest bit sheepish as her eyes narrow and her bottom lip juts out into a pout, a noise of frustration escaping from her lips. She should have known better than to trust a vampire when it came to procuring treats.

“I’m short on baked goods, pet, but I can promise you something else delicious instead.” His intent is obvious as he sends her a decidedly suggestive look. “Won’t you give me a show first, though?”

“I didn’t realize you were in need of entertainment, Astarion. I could always bring Volo in to recite some poetry while you dine, if you’d like.” 

“A charming idea, to be sure.” Astarion rolls his eyes. “But I was thinking of something a little more…intimate.”

Astarion eyes her form tip to toe as she stands in front of him, but it lacks the casual closeness she’s come to expect from him, something in the forced insincerity of the gesture grating.

“Make yourself comfortable. Stay awhile,” He gestures passively with a wave of his hand through the air towards where she stands as he continues. “Get yourself out of those wretched clothes, for example. You look much prettier without them on, anyways.”

Irritation sparks along the line of her mouth, emerald eyes sharpening as she stares at him. Weeks ago, the words would have had her blushing and the beginnings of desire kindling in her belly; but now they fall lifeless upon her ears, none of the ease and familiarity she has come to enjoy during their little interludes present in them. 

The words are merely mechanic—as calculated and practiced as they were on that very first night.

Worse, it doesn’t even seem like he enjoys saying the words, the sound of them hollow as they leave his mouth and the smirk pasted on his lips halfhearted.

It feels utterly obvious once she realizes what he’s trying to do and she can see through his ill-prepared idea with ease, this little power play of his nothing more than a paltry attempt to control their situation, some sort of damage control after the other night. 

They’ve both given too much of themselves now to return to the shallow, impersonal relationship they once had whether he likes it or not, and Rin will be damned if she lets him call the shots and force them back to the beginning.

But, if Astarion wants to play a game—well, she’s never been one to turn down an opportunity to win.

Rin looks down at her clothes with a pointed look and while they were perhaps nothing fancy—the oversized linen and worn leather may be simple but they were far from wretched. 

“Well. I’d hate to offend your delicate sensibilities.” Her smile is an inch too wide to be believable, betraying her irritation. “Shall I do a twirl for you as well? Or perhaps you would like a little trick?”

Rin holds up her hand, ready to ignis the damned tent if necessary to illustrate her point. Nothing that a few gold and a trip to dear Withers couldn’t fix if she accidentally managed to char him in the process.

“You spoil me darling, really. But I am simple man—” Rin stops him off with a look of admonishment, cutting off his sentence to start her own.

“A simple show for a simple man, then.” She hopes her emphasis on the words will speak loudly enough for him to understand the meaning of them as she mockingly bows towards him. 

“I take offense to that assessment, you know.” Astarion huffs with a frown, casting his head aside to instead take a sip of his errant goblet of wine, already forgotten beside him. 

His eyes are drawn quickly back to the center of his tent when he hears the soft rustle of fabric, returning to Rin just in time to catch a glimpse of her hands running down the front of her blouse. “It’s a perfectly reasonable one, if you ask me.”

Astarion frowns, opening his mouth to protest before quickly shutting it as her hands reach the waistband of her pants, fingers dipping just beneath the worn leather. Rin raises her brow, a teasing smile forming on her lips now that she has his attention.

Any irritation she feels is tempered by the thrill of Astarion’s gaze so set on her, his complete focus hers and hers alone as honest interest finally sparks to life in those red eyes of his.

With little flourish she begins to pull her leggings down her legs, peeling the pants away from her skin with less grace than she would prefer, but it would have to do. She kicks them to the side once she frees herself from them, uncaring where they land as she adjusts to the cool air of the night against newly bared skin that Astarion’s eyes rove.

“Do you think I should take this off next?” She thumbs at the hem of her shirt, examining the fraying stitching at the hem in desperate need of a mend. She’d have to ask Astarion to do it for her, damn it. “Since you find it so offensive and all that.”

“Be my guest, darling.” He gestures with a hand towards the garment, a corner of his mouth lifting. “I’ll even do you a favor and burn it for you for later.”

“How kind of you to go through all the trouble.” 

Rin’s smile is wry as she grabs the hem of her plain tunic and deftly lifts it over her head before dropping it. 

It drifts to the ground, fluttering down softly to fall in a graceless heap beside her bare legs, Astarion’s eyes darkening ever so slightly at the sight of her in nothing more than an unadorned corset and plain underwear, upping her confidence tenfold as she lets a corner of her mouth lift. 

“I suppose you’ll want to burn this too?” She runs her fingers teasingly across the top edge of the corset, her touch light as she brushes against the cotton and the plush of her breasts where they spill out above the garment.  

She hadn’t worn it with the intent of being admired, but when Astarion’s eyes follow every brush of her fingers against her breasts she’s suddenly quite grateful that she had chosen to wear it tonight instead of opting to go without as she normally would have, if only for it to act as a different kind of armor—one last layer to bolster her defenses in a battle she will surely lose. 

Astarion swallows, legs shifting slightly as his eyes caress over her curves. “We can negotiate the corset.”

“Your kindness truly knows no bounds.” Her fingers hover over the looped bow that sits at her breasts, tied in a hurry earlier after she had changed out of her armor.

The corset itself was nothing more than a plain ivory cotton—no expensive satin or fine boning—but when she pulls at the laces keeping the pretty little bow tied at the center of her cleavage, the tiniest bit of her full breasts exposed with the motion, the look in Astarion’s eyes could fool her into thinking it was the finest thing he had ever seen. 

Little by little, she pulls every cross of the laces, freeing more and more of herself with every delicate yank of her fingers as Astarion’s eyes obediently follow every inch of skin exposed until she reaches the last one, tugging it gently to loosen the final cross. 

It hangs loose around her form, the curve of her breasts just visible with the line of skin exposed down her chest. Rin wills her hands to steady under Astarion’s study as she brings them up to the straps on her shoulders, pushing each one off so she can shrug out of the garment. 

With one last push, the corset falls to the ground at her feet and she steps out of the circle of it before sending it aside with a soft kick.

Rin’s breasts pebble in the cool air, heat beginning to curl deep in her stomach under Astarion’s watchful gaze. She keeps her limbs loose, relaxed; her face at ease as she meets his eyes.

“You aren’t quite finished yet, my sweet.” Astarion’s voice is tight as he gestures with a brief nod towards her nearly naked form, gaze moving from her bare breasts and down lower to linger on her still-clothed center.

“You know, I think I’ve grown tired of being your entertainment,” She cocks her head to the side, unbound waves of darkened wheat—the color barely discernible in the darkness of his tent—cascading with the movement. “If you want them off so badly, do it yourself.” 

He raises a brow in question but obliges her nonetheless, moving from where he had been so indolently reclined against his bedroll as he watches her with keen eyes. 

With slow, careful steps Astarion makes his way towards where she stands before him and she is helpless but to admire the way his muscles shift on his lithe form, the grace with which he moves as he stalks closer to her that of a predator on the hunt for his prey.

And what was she, she supposes, if not his prey? It was why she had come here tonight, after all—to let him drink his fill of her blood with his lips at her neck, sucking down her life’s essence to his heart’s content.

She certainly feels like his prey, at least. How could she feel anything but when he moves around her in a slow circle, eyes brushing over her bared skin like a lover’s caress, knowing and intimate.

Astarion moves around her in another perfect circle before he finishes his perusal, stopping to stand behind her close enough to touch, his bare chest almost brushing against her spine. Familiar hands come to her waist as his head lowers to rest upon her shoulder, thumbs rubbing light circles into the skin. 

His lips press a featherlight kiss to her jaw that has her catching a breath. “Who said you were in charge here, my dear?”

His touch is electric against her skin, and Rin resists the urge to lean back into him, to press against the coolness of his chest and relish the feeling of his skin on hers. His mouth is terribly distracting where he adorns her with little kisses across the curve of her jaw and down the line of her neck, and she briefly wonders if he means to bite her just like this, held tight in the circle of his arms.

“Whoever said that you were?” Rin counters back with a glance out of the corner of her eye to where his cheek rests against her shoulder, ignoring the wetness that has begun to pool between her thighs. 

She has no intention of giving into his every want and demand, or at least not yet.

The hands bracketing her waist begin to move despite his protests, sliding down over her hips with frustrating slowness until he reaches the hem of her embarrassingly simple underwear. 

“You really can’t help yourself, can you?” Astarion sighs dramatically against the column of her throat. “Must you be so difficult?"

There’s an unexpected fondness in his voice, an affection that she can’t remember if she’s ever heard so openly from him before that has the air around them changing; shifting from something practiced and performative to familiar and lovely and absolutely perfect.

The sound of it has a shred of something warm blossoming in Rin’s chest—unknown but not entirely unwelcome, she decides. 

He plays at the edge of her panties, fingers toying with the thin cotton where it rests against her skin on either hip, his touch sending another wave of heat straight to her core as she bites back a sigh at the sensation. 

“You should be aware by now that listening has never been one of my strong suits.”

“Yes, well,” Astarion’s fingers hook into both sides of her underwear before beginning to pull, the garment sliding down over her hips and bottom as Astarion sinks down with it. “You seem to remember how to follow my instructions when it counts, dearest.”

He drops silently to his knees behind Rin, dragging her underwear down her legs as he goes, each slide of the fabric against her skin only serving to heighten the heat kindling inside her. She gingerly steps out of each leg, desperately wishing she could see what he must look like lowered behind her in such a manner—the sight of him on his knees surely one that she has seen in her dreams of him. 

But before she can make up her mind to steal a glance or even just turn, Astarion is gliding back up her body, hands glancing against her skin as he goes, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake. 

“You know, I thought I came here for you to feed on.” It’s an effort to keep her voice steady as his arms wrap back around her waist, touch cool against her skin.

His head lowers back to her ear, lips brushing against the shell as a shiver of anticipation runs down her spine. “Oh, you did. But I don’t see why we can’t have a little fun as well. It’s been awhile, darling, and I’ve missed you.” 

A hand traces down her stomach in a teasing touch; long, sweeping lines of his fingertips back and forth across her skin brushing down until he reaches the apex of her thighs. 

Astarion moves at a glacial pace as his fingers dip lower and lower until they find their way to her center, swiping through her folds to spread her essence on the tips of them as Rin’s head falls back onto his shoulder, a sigh escaping her lips as he explores. 

“Miss my blood or miss me?” Rin’s lashes flutter shut as he runs his fingers up and down her, careful to avoid the two places she wants him to touch most as she flushes at the evidence of her arousal he finds.

“Can’t it be both?” His fingers finally find her entrance, tracing around the edge in slow circles as she sharply inhales. 

She’s not ready to admit how much she wants to believe him that he had missed her, had missed this—the easy intimacy they had been building together bit by bit. It’s a dizzying thought, one that has her heart skipping a beat that he surely can hear this close. 

“With you? Unlikely.”

“Why, you think so little of me, darling.” Astarion punctuates his words with the press of a finger slowly in; and were it any other time, the mock outrage coloring his voice would draw a laugh from her. 

This time, however, he draws a moan from her instead as he pushes deeper, seating his finger inside her before slowly withdrawing.

“Give me more to think about, then.” Rin sighs, lips opened as she tries to still her hips.

“Only if you ask nicely.” He smiles into her skin, lips brushing against the column of her throat as he pushes back in, sliding home to the knuckle.

Her mind ceases to a halt on whatever clever words she had been preparing when a hand draws up to her breast and cups it, Astarion’s touch a balm against her over-warm skin as he runs his thumb over the hardened peak.

Astarion’s finger moves only barely inside her, but it’s enough for Rin to feel it, friction building in her core with the simple motion. She should be embarrassed by how quickly he has worked her up, her ire so easily forgotten when wrapped in his arms and at the mercy of his skilled hands.

He’s lucky that she likes him, for she would never allow anyone else such lenience. Though, she would never allow anyone else the opportunity to get quite so close to her, either—a thought that borders on terrifying if she thinks too long about it.

A second finger joins the first, and she welcomes the slight stretch as he finally begins to pump them while he mouths at her neck, moving in a steady rhythm that has a fire burning deep in her core as she moans in relief.

Astarion’s pace is easy and unconcerned as he thrusts in and out lazily, slowly building her up higher and higher with every press forward. Her curls pillow against his pale skin as she sighs at the pleasure coursing through her, that welcome heat billowing deep inside her. His thumb finds her clit and rolls against it in soft circles as her lips open in a low moan, limbs tightening at the added touch. 

The hand cupping her breast runs back down to her waist to wrap around the circle of it, fingertips stroking her skin as he secures her closer to him and the outline of his cock presses hard against her ass.

Rin can feel the grin he hides in her neck as he breathes in the scent of her and his fingers curl, searching for the place to make her fall apart under his hands. He moves them just right, finding that one spot, and she cries out as her hips buck into his palm. 

“Ah, Astarion!” 

“Yes, darling?” He curls his fingers again and she practically melts in his hold, the arm he has wrapped around her waist squeezing tighter to keep her upright. “Did you have something you wanted to say?”

He could finish her off so easily, the bastard; only a few more presses of his fingers and she would be done for, but Rin doubts that Astarion has plans to let her off so easily. 

Astarion has never outright denied her the release she craves, but he certainly likes to make her work for it.

“Only that I don’t want you to stop.” The words come out sounding more wanting than she would prefer, but she’s beyond the point of summoning up a care.

Astarion tsks, and as if on cue his fingers slow to a stop before pulling them from her body. Rin whines in protest as she lifts her head to glare at him, narrowed eyes meeting amused ones as he simply smirks back at her.

“Sorry, dear, I didn’t catch that.”

Astarion spins her around in his hold, her breasts pressing against his own bare chest as his hands run up and down her waist. A quick glance down and she can see the evidence of his own arousal, his cock pushing urgently against her stomach, still hidden by pants that she needs to rid him of preferably sooner rather than later.

“Liar. You heard me just fine.” Rin’s arms wrap around his shoulders as she leans in closer to him.

“It’s neither here nor there.” Astarion begins to walk her back, the two of them stepping together as he leads her towards his bedroll. “There’s no need to rush. Now, lay down.”

Rin arches her brow at his bossiness, but doesn’t argue as she lowers herself to the ground and spreads herself out on his bedroll. She frowns when she sits, the surface not nearly as soft as it should be, an unfamiliar hardness beneath her.

“Astarion, what in the hells is it that I am sitting on?” She shifts to peek underneath the blankets, spying some sort of wooden thing underneath her.

“Are you really going to ruin the mood to ask me about something so stupid? You are truly impossible.” Astarion looks down on her with a pointed scowl as he moves to kneel down before her, his lithe muscles shifting as he crawls over to her in smooth movements. 

“I’m not the one sleeping on a plank of wood every night. Have you no standards for good night’s trance? No wonder you’re so touchy all the time.”

He’s upon her in mere moments, an elegant hand finding the space just below her collar bone as he only answers her with a stern look. This thumb runs along the line of it, brushing against the skin as his eyes follow the motion. 

Rin looks down at the hand poised on her chest, so pale against the sun-warmed gold of her own, and brings her own up to run fingertips down the back of his. She swears she can see him shiver at the touch, a barely noticeable intake of his breath as her hand rests on top of his.

Astarion’s eyes cut up to hers, and with a raise of his brow, he pushes her backwards.

Rin lets him do it, lowering herself back with the help of his little push until her head hits his pillow, a rush of his scent surrounding her as she lays. His hand still rests on the skin of her chest, the weight of it like a scorching brand as she stares up at Astarion as he cages himself above her.

She doesn’t know what he sees when he looks down upon her, hair most likely curling in an unruly halo around her head and cheeks undoubtedly colored an unbecoming shade of pink, but his eyes run over what feels like every inch of her face before his hand begins to move, tracing a featherlight line down her skin. 

Her stomach jumps underneath the drag of his fingertips as his touch stops low, their eyes meeting together in a heated glance as Rin waits with bated breath.

Astarion’s head lowers towards her, and her heart beats a little faster at the thought of his lips meeting hers, the want she has been blatantly ignoring the past week begging to break free from its confines safe in the corner of her mind.

But instead, Astarion’s lips find her neck, placing a kiss on the two pinprick scars that decorate the column of it before running them across her skin—kissing over her collar, upon the peak of her breast, down her ribs one by one.

She gasps at the feeling as he drags his lips down her body, her skin flushed with desire.

He’s kissing the sensitive skin just below her stomach with teasing presses of his lips when she speaks, breathless and wanting. “Astarion, don’t you want to feed?”

Cool hands travel down the curve of her waist and over her hips before reaching her soft skin of her thighs, palms running over the tops of them as he settles himself in between her legs.

“Oh, I do.” Astarion makes to spread her thighs further, pushing them wide. “Don’t you worry, my dear, I’ll get my fill.”

Rin’s cheeks fill with heat as he moves his gaze to her bare center, running claret eyes over her as she sucks in a breath. With little ceremony, his head moves forward and his tongue glides along her center, lapping at her wetness. 

Her hips buck up into Astarion’s face as she reaches down to grab at his soft, downy curls as he circles the pearl at the top of her sex, the tip of his tongue light as he traces shapes along it.

He laps at her clit as she tries to quiet her mouth, holding back her moans and cries as best she can as he works her up ever higher. With a last circle, Astarion’s tongue ventures further down, abandoning her clit to instead run through her folds, groaning at the taste of her before exploring the wetness that has collected at her entrance. 

“Asta—” Rin gasps sharply as his tongue traces around the edge of her, so like he had with his finger earlier—ever teasing. He dips in her entrance, the tip of it whorling against her before pushing deeper. 

Her hands scrabble for purchase in his hair as he licks inside her, eating her out in earnest as her thighs tremble around his head. She swears that she can feel him chuckle against her as he tastes, tongue curling inside her as she grasps his soft curls harder between her fingers.

He thrusts his tongue deep and she keens, back arching off the bedroll as her hips roll against his mouth, chasing the heat coiling deep inside her with every press of his tongue. It’s a different sensation than that of his fingers, but no less welcome or wonderful as the feeling in her belly tightens more and more. 

She’s terribly close when his mouth leaves her, and she mourns the loss of his tongue for mere seconds before he fills her with fingers that press urgently, curling just right as his lips kiss their way to her thigh.

“Do it.” She spreads wider for him, and she can hear his satisfied hum against her skin before he opens his mouth and sinks his teeth in the tender flesh of her inner thigh.

The familiar ice of his bite hurts far too good, the frosty pain warring against the heat surging through her limbs as he drinks from her, blood running in scarlet rivulets down her thigh to stain the worn blanket beneath her.

Astarion’s messy as he drinks, her hips writhing in time with the fingers still artfully working inside her. Her back arches as she tries to quiet her cry, a fist curling into the threadbare blanket below her.

The metallic scent of iron tinges the air of the tent as he drinks and Rin can’t help the moan that falls from her open mouth at the feeling of his lips on her skin, sucking and licking and—gods, kissing. 

“There, please.” His fingers hit perfectly, over and over again, and her thighs tremble. “Please don’t stop.”

Astarion sucks hard at the bite as she begs, fingers keeping pace with the movement of her hips as he drinks down another surge of her blood. With only a few more presses of his fingers, curving just right to hit exactly where she needs him, Rin comes.

A hand unclenches from the blanket to cover her mouth as she muffles her moan into her palm, back arching as precious heat courses through her limbs and her hips writhe. 

Pleasure whites out her thoughts as Astarion fucks her through her orgasm with his fingers; lips and mouth still pullings sips of her blood from her thigh all the while.

She comes back to herself as his fingers slow and he peppers kisses to her leg, lapping up any stray drops as they fall from the wound. Astarion pulls his fingers from her gently, another hum of satisfaction breaking free as he brings them to his mouth and sucks, tongue licking her come clean from the digits.  

She’s still floating in a euphoric haze when Astarion finally rises from between her thighs, appetite sated and pale skin flushed with the slightest hint of pink from the blood that once belonged to her now flowing through his veins.

His mouth is glistening with her—her blood, her arousal, her scent. She’s entranced by the sight of it as Astarion licks his rouged lips, tongue swiping at a small drop of blood at the corner of his mouth that threatens to roll down his chin.

“Did I taste as good as you had hoped?” Rin’s chest heaves as she tries to catch her breath in the aftermath, the words no more than a whisper.

A corner of Astarion’s mouth lifts upward as he runs his eyes over her; from his mark on her thigh, over her sex, and up her flushed form beneath him until he meets her eyes. “Better.”

Rin’s breath hitches as he kisses his way back up her body with warmed lips, leaving a trail of red upon her skin with every touch of his lips, small blooms of her crimson blood like stains of watercolor.

He kisses up the valley between her breasts before turning his head, lips running over the plump curve of one before capturing her nipple, sucking at it before flicking his tongue against the bud. Rin’s back arches at the unexpected touch, more heat already kindling as he gives it a hard suck.

Astarion pops off her breast to kiss towards its twin, her hands burying back in his hair as he sucks at her other nipple, laving it with his tongue as a whine breaks free from her lips before she urges him higher, fingertips running through his curls. 

He obliges, placing one last kiss upon the tip of her breast before moving to bury his head in her neck, licking a line up the column of her throat, the very tip of his tongue tracing a thrumming vein.

Rin wraps her arms around his shoulders, hands running over the corded muscle as he slots himself between her legs, his still-clothed erection brushing against the too-sensitive skin of her thighs.

It simply wouldn’t do, she decides. 

“Let me touch you. Please,” she runs her hands down his chest to dance over his skin until she reaches the waistband of his pants, his cock painfully hard as it strains against the fabric. “I want to touch you, Astarion.”

She’s taking a chance by asking, but it’s one she’s willing to try her luck for.

Despite how many times she’s enjoyed the feeling of him inside her or how well he’s come to learn her body, he’s never quite allowed her the same opportunity to touch or taste him.

She knows enough of his past—he’s told her plenty of the many different people he had taken for Cazador against his will and under duress, his body used without the ability and choice to say no.  

“I want to make you feel good too, Astarion.” Rin peers up into his eyes, fingers no longer trailing along him as she pauses, waiting patiently for a real answer. “Do you trust me?”

His gaze is intense as it meets her own, the heated desire in his eyes tempering for a moment to give way to a tentative vulnerability that crosses over them as he considers her words. 

“I-” Astarion speaks softer than she had expected as he breaks off, gaze intent on hers as the weight of the implication that he has a choice—one that is his and his only to make—bears down on him. “—I do.”

“Only if you want me to. You have to promise me that you want it.” She urges, hands flattening on his abdomen as excitement stirs in her chest.

“Fine. I promise that I want it.” Astarion snaps, but his words lack any real bite as a corner of his lips quirk up into a crooked smile. “Show me what you’ve got, then, if you’re so eager.”

Rin moves slow as her hand slides back down his pants and over the curve of his hardened length, caressing him over the fabric as she feels him, cupping his length softly before flitting back up to join the other still at the waist of his pants.

Astarion’s breath catches at her touch before on his own hands comes down to help as she pushes the barrier down, freeing his length from the confines of his clothes. In a smooth motion, his pants and underwear are down his legs and off, baring his erection.

Precome shines at the tip of his cock as she runs her fingers down him in a barely there caress from top to bottom, his length twitching with the motion as Astarion draws in a harsh breath.

Her eyes stay on his as she grazes the soft skin again, watching for any sign she should stop as she runs her fingers along a prominent vein that runs along the side of him. 

He’s velvet soft under her palm as she wraps her fingers around his shaft, giving him an experimental pump of her hand, touch gentle as she revels in the feel of him.

“Is this alright?” Rin looks up at him from under lowered lashes.

Her hand glides up, brushing over the head of him as she collects the precome leaking from his slit, running her fingers over it before caressing down to the base once more. 

“By all means, please continue.” Rin knows he means for the words to be casual and unaffected, but there’s already a telling breathiness to Astarion’s words that has her smirking.

The weight of him in her hand is nothing short of perfect as she gently wraps her fist around him, stroking him. Astarion moans and it’s the easily one of the most beautiful things Rin’s ever heard, the sound of it sending a spike of heat to her core.

She brings her other hand to her mouth, running her tongue over her palm before it joins the other around his cock and the added bit of glide has Astarion gasping as his hips jump. 

His head falls heavy onto her shoulder as she works him, careful pumps of his length bringing him closer to the edge far faster than she ever thought possible with only her touch. 

His cock weeps as Rin glides her fingers over the crown of him again, collecting more of the precome that glistens at the tip. Her hands move together, one carefully massaging the head of his cock while the other strokes at the base, the breathy moans leaving Astarion’s lips only serving to spur her on further as she works him closer to the edge. 

“Does this feel good, Astarion?”

“Gods, yes.” He shudders in response, lips open against her skin as he presses a messy kiss into her shoulder.

Her palms move faster, intent on his undoing, his pleasure at her hands nothing short of exhilarating. 

Gods, she would let him come wherever he wanted. Onto her stomach, across her breasts, down her throat—the thought is enough to send another spark of electricity to her empty core.

“Ah, darling,” Astarion’s voice is tight as he buries his face deeper into her neck, hips bucking into her hand as she works him from the crown of his cock to the base, his breathing getting harder with every stroke. “Much more and you’ll spoil the main event.”

“I’ll stop, if that’s what you want.” Rin slows her motions as he catches his breath against the column of her throat, so close to his own completion she can practically feel it in the way his body shakes above her own, muscles quivering with the want of release. “But would it be so awful if you were to come like this? On my hands, all over my skin?”

Astarion raises his head from her neck, pupils blown wide and hair thoroughly disheveled as he pants. “Decidedly not, but I think I want to fill that sweet cunt of yours tonight instead.”

“If you say so.” She brings one of the hands that had been stroking him to her mouth, the tip of her tongue peeking out between her lips to lap at a shining string of precome still sticking to her skin, savoring the flavor of him for the very first time.

Astarion swallows hard, eyes fixated on the pink of her tongue as she wraps her mouth around the tip, sucking lightly. She smiles sweetly around it, lips pink and plush, as she sends him a wink.

With a soft pop, she pulls her finger out of her mouth before moving to twine her arms around his neck, running through the soft curls at his nape. “I wouldn’t mind getting to taste more of you, either, if you’d let me.”

“Salacious girl. Whatever am I supposed to do with you?” That same fondness from earlier sneaks back into his words as she gazes up at him with as much innocence as she can muster.

“Hmm,” Rin muses, pretending to think through her answer as her fingers toy with his hair. “Whatever you want, I suppose.” 

“Whatever I want?” Astarion’s brows raise in mock surprise. “You might come to regret those words, darling.”

“I find that sometimes I don’t mind being at your mercy.”

“Your self-preservation instincts need some reevaluating, my dear.”

“Is that what you think?” She laughs as her fingertips abandon his wild curls to dance absentmindedly across the lines of his shoulders.

“What I think is that these wandering hands of yours are trouble.” Astarion leans down to whisper into her ear, a smirk decorating his lips as they brush against the point of them. “It’s a pity I don’t have any pretty ribbon at my disposal to tie them up with.”

Nimble fingers move to find and circle her wrists with surprising delicacy as he removes them from around his neck to instead guide her arms up to rest around her head. 

Desire pools deep in her belly at the mere mention and she doesn’t even try to fight against Astarion’s hold, not when there’s nothing she wants more than to be at the mercy of his hands. 

“So, you’ll just have to be a good girl and keep these up here for me.” His hands encircle her wrists so very easily as he applies the slightest bit of pressure on them to illustrate his point. “Can you do that? I know you have a very hard time following directions.” 

“I’ll try my hardest, but I make no promises.”

His hands slide down from her own where he left them resting above her head as he rises back to his knees, running over her breasts to anchor at her waist before he takes in the sight of her—warm skin and eyes bright and utterly alive. 

He fits perfectly between her thighs as he moves his hips to slide his length through her folds, her slick coating him with every pass.

“No touching,” Astarion tuts. “Don’t forget.”

“Like I said, no promises. But I’ll give it a fair shot.” Rin grinds her hips against his erection, still gliding up and down her slit.

Astarion’s only response is a raise of his brow as he positions himself at her entrance, the head of his cock barely pressing against her as he smirks, moving his hips away every time she tries to move hers forward.

Teasing. Always, always teasing.

Rin rolls her hips against his own as Astarion finally pushes forward, hilting himself inside her warmth in a smooth thrust, twin moans escaping from their lips at the feeling as he fills her completely.

His hands caress down to her thighs where they open for him, thumbs running up and down soft skin marred only by the red of his own bite, the marks smeared with still drying blood.

Astarion’s hips finally move, pulling away from hers only to push forward again until he bottoms out, burying himself deep. Rin relishes the feel of him moving inside her with a soft moan as she throws her head back against his pillow, back arching as he settles his hands on her hips to pull her deeper onto his cock.

His thumbs grip into her skin as he thrusts into her, hips meeting her own with long, deep strokes that have her trying and failing to hold back the little noises of pleasure that loose from her lips.

She yearns to move her hands from where they still rest above her head—yearns to drag her fingers across his skin or wrap her arms around his neck to draw him closer to her—but she resists the temptation, settling on moving her hips instead.

Rin grinds against his cock buried deep inside her as she moves her hips to match his own, thrust for thrust, the slide of him achingly flawless as they move together.  

“Gods, you’re absolutely perfect.” The words slip out of Astarion’s lips, murmured low on a hard thrust. She tightens around him as the praise washes over her, lips opened on a barely restrained whimper as her lashes lower.

He’s more than beautiful in the darkness as he throws his head back on a moan, the drag of his cock smooth as he hits deep and she craves more—more closeness, more of his touch, more of his lips. 

“Kiss me,” she gasps and instantly regrets the words and the desperation of them as her hands still lay obediently above her head, her back arching with every thrust.

Astarion’s hips stutter, losing their rhythm as he looks down at her, fixating on the petal pink of her lips, and Rin’s heart practically stops at what she sees when he looks at her.

A hand traces its way up from her hip to grab hold of her chin, touch firm as Astarion’s eyes move away from her lips to stare into her own, searching for something in the verdant depths of them. His gaze is alight with a precious heat that threatens to burn every inch of her—the fire she’s secretly dreamed of seeing there in his eyes when he looks at her.

His lips crash into hers with no words or preamble, meeting her half way as she surges her head up and their lips press together. Her arms lift, leaving their resting place above her head to wrap around his neck as Astarion’s tongue runs against the seam of her lips in askance, her own parting eagerly for him.

She can taste the remnants of herself on his lips, both the richness of her cunt and the metallic tang of her blood; and it’s heady, it’s divine as his lips chase after her own as they kiss and kiss and kiss, his hips still joined with hers all the while.

The hand that had been poised on her chin strokes upward, running over the plane of her cheek in a barely there touch that has her heart stuttering as their lips move.

Gods, she’d been wishing for the feeling of his lips on hers, and if the only way she can get it is when he fucks her, then so be it. 

It’s not the only kind of kiss she wants from him but it’s the kiss she will take, desperate despite her every wish otherwise.

She’s gasping when Astarion finally breaks the kiss, taking in precious breaths of air as his lips lift only just away from hers. His hips slow and Rin looks questioningly up at Astarion, arms still twined tightly around his neck.

A small burst of panic bubbles up in her chest as she feels him slide out her, hips pulling away from hers to leave her empty; and worry that she had perhaps done something wrong or said something she shouldn’t have fills her mind. 

“Astarion? Is everything alright? Did I—” she cuts herself off as the hand at her cheek brushes a stray lock of hair behind her ear while its twin travels up her thigh to curve around her waist, urging her body upwards with a gentle pull.

“Let’s try something a little different, hm? Now, up.”

His hold is tight—secure—as they both shift to sitting, Astarion helping her along the way until she is upright in his lap, knees on either side of his thighs as she hovers.

“Now, tell me, sweet thing. Have you ever been fucked like this before?” His eyes pierce into her own as a hand curls around the back of her head, fingers tangling in her curls.

“No.” Rin shakes her head from side to side, biting her lip as his length finds her entrance once more, pushing with the barest hint of pressure against her.

“Good.” 

With a swift thrust, Astarion sheathes himself inside of her as his lips capture hers, swallowing her answering moan as Rin arches against his chest. The hand wrapped around her waist travels down, fingertips squeezing into the flesh of her ass to help guide her hips up and down his cock.

They’re on equal footing like this, noses brushing against each other’s as their bodies work, Rin’s hips meeting Astarion’s own in a smooth cadence. The closeness—the intimacy of it—is intoxicating as their lips meet again and again, arms wrapped around each other as their fingertips dig into each other’s skin.

It’s not as fast or as hard as she’s used to, but somehow it’s better—the lack of quick thrusts is made up for instead by hard rolls of their hips, Astarion reaching the deepest part of her core as they hold each other close, not an bit of space between them.

His length brushes against what feels like every inch of her walls, sending sparks through her body as the heat coiling in her stomach rises higher with every move they make.

Rin is only mildly aware of the marks he left on her thigh breaking open once more, tiny drops of her blood leaving ruby red smears against both her and Astarion’s flesh as her hands map the planes of his face and their lips press.

Any other time, she would be blushing at the noise of their bodies moving together, the wet glide of his length driving in and out of her and the sound of skin on skin audible in the confines of Astarion’s tent; but instead she’s unabashed as she moves up and down his cock and he thrusts up to meet her, moans falling freely from both of their mouths as their kiss breaks.

She’s getting closer and she can tell he is too, the intensity of his thrusts only getting harder and deeper as every roll of his hips has his length brushing against her sweet spot as she loses her rhythm against him as her body begins to quake.

“Eyes on me.” Astarion’s forehead presses into hers as her lashes flutter, the height of her pleasure curling around her, ephemeral and just out of reach.

The heat burning inside her reaches a crescendo, his name whispered from her lips on a broken gasp as her hold on him tightens, fingertips digging into his skin.

She’s tremulous as she tightens around him and he kisses her moans from her, quieting the sound of them as her hands grasp for purchase around his shoulders and he pumps his cock, hitting the very same spot that never fails to have her falling apart in his arms. 

Rin sees stars behind her eyes as she tumbles over the edge of the crest, constricting hard on him as she comes on a near silent cry. Her hips writhe as Astarion holds her steady despite the ragged moan that falls from his lips as he watches her fall apart with half-lidded eyes.

She’s clinging to him as she rides out the rest of her orgasm on the hardened length still thrusting inside her, Astarion working her through the waves of pleasure that suffuse through her limbs.

A dreamy, hazy euphoria descends over her like a fog as she finally comes back to herself, her first thought to press another kiss to the pair of lips that still brush against hers. 

Rin takes a lungful of air on a deep breath, beginning to move her hips against his once more despite the contented exhaustion blanketing her as she speaks with a soft, teasing lilt. “I thought you were going to come in my sweet cunt, Astarion.”

“Still the plan, darling.” Astarion’s lost in his own pleasure as he speaks, eyes fixated on her own as his hips snap hard into hers.

The hand on her ass tightens, fingertips near bruising as Astarion’s thrusts begin lose their rhythm in the wake her orgasm, the feeling of her cunt spasming around his length as she had come only serving to drive him closer to his own completion.

Her fingertips run down his cheek as he looks at her, his control breaking on every push of his hips that she meets readily.

“Then do it,” She whispers. “Please come for me, Astarion.” 

Rin presses her mouth to his in a hard kiss, gasping as he changes the angle of his thrusts to hit the very end of her cunt.

At her words, Astarion follows her over the edge, moaning his ecstasy into her lips as he comes. His hips rut frantically against hers, spilling himself inside her with unrestrained thrusts. 

Rin grasps him tighter as his orgasm rushes through him, taking each and every sound that falls from him as he works through the waves of pleasure coursing through his limbs. 

Finally, Astarion’s hips slow to a halt as their chests heave, still locked in their embrace, the haze of the aftermath floating around them. His lips press against hers one last time before he ducks his head to fit against her neck, breathing in the scent of her.  

Rin’s not sure how long they stay like that, both catching their breath as her arms hang loose around him, Astarion’s face still buried in her neck as his fingers grip around waist. 

Eventually, it’s Astarion who moves first, gently pulling his softened cock from her as he lifts his head and leans back towards his bedroll, taking her down with him. 

They lay next to each other on the ruined blanket, a light sheen of sweat sticking to their skin.

“That was—” Astarion starts, running a hand through his hair in an attempt to push it out of his face.

Rin finishes the sentence for him, her heart still beating in a staccato rhythm. “Amazing? Fantastic? The best sex you’ve ever had?”

“Well, you think quite highly of yourself, don’t you?” Astarion turns his head to face her, brow raised.

Rin leans in, bumping their foreheads together in a light touch before whispering her reply on a smile. “That wasn’t a no.”

Astarion rolls her eyes and she laughs, and she swears she can see the slightest hint of pink coloring his cheeks, no doubt from the help of her blood still running through him.

He sits up, stretching his arms above his head, the muscles in his back shifting and Rin lets out an appreciative hum at the sight. 

“Oh, and Astarion.” Rin smiles as she rolls her shoulders, settling further into the blanket. “If you burn my shirt, I will be forced to take action. Possibly with a knife. Just so we’re clear.”

His head whips back to glance at her, a wicked look in his eye. “Flirting again already? Give me a moment to recover, dearest.” 

Astarion’s eyes skate down her naked form, still lying in a boneless heap upon his bedroll. 

“Gods, look at you. You’re an absolute mess.” She can feel the blood drying on her thighs and on the spots where he had left bloodied kisses up her body, his come threatening to spill out of her with even the slightest movement. “Get ahold of yourself, darling.”

“An absolute mess that you made.” Rin peeks down to look at herself, skin still flushed and dotted with red marks in the vague shape of his lips.

“I’d gladly make it again, too.” Astarion turns back to the side, reaching for a spare decanter of presumably water and grabbing a piece of soft cloth.

“I’m sure we can come to some sort of agreement.” 

She takes in the bloodied blanket beneath her as she hazards a stretch, reaching her arms above her head as her feet point, back arching as she comes up to her elbows. 

“Has anyone ever told you that your bedroll is absolutely awful? How you manage to sleep on something so hard is beyond my ability to imagine. We should steal you a new one.”

Even with the awful plank beneath her, it would be so easy to stay on a night like tonight. Too easy to imagine settling into his side, the now familiar contours of his body beside her own as they rested together, limbs tangling. She’s never slept in anyone’s arms before that she can remember, and she wonders how it must feel to spend hours simply wrapped in Astarion’s embrace and then to wake up next to him at first light.

Please ask me to stay. 

The words come from a deep, dark part of her mind unbidden; but the wanting they bring with them threatens to ruin her as her heart beats harder.

“Or you could always come share mine, I guess. I promise I’ll keep you nice and warm.” It’s a risk speaking those kind of words, Rin crossing a line they’ve never dared to before.

Astarion’s body tenses slightly, the line of his shoulders stiffening.

He dips the mouth of the decanter over onto a spare cloth to wet it before turning back to her, expression strangely blank. The sight of it puts her ill at ease, as if the warm intimacy they had shared had been snuffed out like a candle’s flame. 

Astarion runs the cloth over her form, erasing any evidence of him from her skin. His spend, the blood on her thighs, the messy kisses up her chest—all of it gone with a simple brush of water on cloth.

She nods her thanks, her heart sinking as regret burns in her throat. 

“Well, it’s been lovely. You’re always such a treat.” Astarion summons a veil across his eyes, an empty smirk on his lips as he sets the cloth to the side. “You should go get some sleep, darling. Who knows who else you’ll need to convince to kill themselves tomorrow.”

It’s like a slap to the cheek—cold water to wake her from the warm embrace of a dream. It wasn’t the first time he had said such words to her, but this is the first time she realizes that she hates them with every fibre of her being.

“Oh.” She bites her lip, hoping she hides her disappointment well enough; but from the way Astarion averts his gaze to focus on an invisible point on other side of the tent, she doesn’t need to worry much. “I suppose you do need your beauty sleep, don’t you? Far be it from me to get in the way.”

Rin doesn’t want to hear what he has to say, she decides, as she pulls herself up to sitting beside him. She’s not certain she can look at him either, not at the cool and aloof expression that seems to have taken residence across his features. 

He hadn’t looked like that when he kissed her. 

No, he had looked the exact opposite, his expression mirroring the longing she knows had been etched onto her own as their lips had met.

Without a word, Rin stands and walks over the blankets heaped along the floor to where her clothes lay discarded in a heap, her footsteps soft against the ground. 

Silently, she redresses, not bothering with the corset as she leaves it unlaced at her feet and pulls the rest of her clothes back on with perfunctory ease. Her tunic is partially over her head when she dares a look back at Astarion, the collar floating down to rest against her skin as she turns her head.

His face is imperceptible as he watches her, sitting still as stone. She forces a small smile, hoping that the dejection she feels doesn’t come across as she speaks to him one last time for the evening.

“Sleep well, Astarion.”

Astarion nods his head, a clear dismissal if she’s ever seen one. “Until the morning, darling.”

Until the morning, indeed. 

Until the morning, where they’ll pretend everything is fine and nothing has changed as they play around each other in some sort of tiring, endless game.

And maybe Astarion can. Maybe, for him, nothing ever did change.

Rin doesn’t know quite what it is that they are building towards; but between the little bits of their lives shared with one another, the tiny little secrets that bare ragged pieces of their souls, the long evenings spent by the side of the fire laughing and talking and playing games, between the kisses and caresses and the meeting of their eyes—it feels like something.

Something more than simply being bedmates.

With a single, deep breath she reaches down to grab her corset, collecting it in hand as she turns and walks out the front flap of his tent without another look back, unable to promise she can keep her expression even in the face of his seemingly cold indifference. 

Rin keeps her eyes ahead as she walks by the campfire, Gale politely looking the other way, not commenting on how she must look or what he must have heard—her hair is undoubtedly a mess, corset rumpled in hand, lips still too swollen to be confused with being anything other than readily kissed.

She withholds the sigh that threatens to break free as she makes her way towards her tent, and she’s grateful that at least there is no one else by the fire to witness the utterly pathetic sight of her as she keeps her eyes straight forward. 

“I hope you know what you are doing.” Gale’s voice stops her before she can step into her tent, and she freezes, shifting the corset in hand in hopes of hiding it better, though she knows it’s useless. “I say this with the utmost respect, you understand. As your friend.”

Rin can hear the slightest bit of judgment in the words despite the kindness of them but she shakes it off. She probably deserves his judgment, in the end.

She pastes a weak smile on her face, squeezing the corset tighter in her hand as she turns to look at the wizard where he sits by the fire, a familiar spell book in hand. 

“It’s all good Gale, nothing to worry about. I promise.”

“I trust your judgement, then. Sleep well, my friend.” Gale gives her a polite nod, but the look on his face says that he’s thoroughly unconvinced by her words.

Such aspiring confidence her companions have in her, it seems.

Rin certainly doesn’t blame him for it.

She can barely convince herself of the fact, after all.

With one last sigh she walks through the flap of her tent, letting it flutter shut behind her as she steps inside the familiar surroundings she now calls home.

It smells like it always does, jasmine and honey hanging in the air, and not a one of her possessions is out of place—however few of them she has. 

But as she drops the corset on the ground, she can’t help but feel that something is missing.

Hands come up to cover her eyes as she presses the heel of her palms into them, hoping to rid her mind of such thoughts, however there’s no comfort to be found as shapes swirl on the back of her eyelids.

If she had any sense at all, she would quit while she was still ahead and could leave somewhat unscathed from whatever this thing growing between them is.

But she knows herself better than that.

She knows that, instead of stopping this and sparing herself the almost inevitable promise of pain that their little affair will bring, she will pull herself back together just in time to face the darkness of the morning and pretend that everything is just fine—all the while knowing deep down that she will keep making the same mistake over and over again and relish it every single time.

[queen-of-the-avengers]

Dangerous Liaisons

Pairing: Loki Laufeyson x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.5k

Warnings: angst, prison!loki

Summary: You do your best to make sure the prisoners of the prison you work at get the utmost care that you can give them. The prison gets a new inmate, one that you see yourself connecting with.

Squares Filled: prison au (2021) for @lokibingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are greatly appreciated <3

x

You leave the prisoner’s cell with a heavy sigh. Most of the time, you like your job because that means you’re healing people but not when they try and kill you, too. This American prison is one of the worst in the country because it houses the worst of the worst, the most dangerous individuals known to man. Your brother often tells you that you should quit and work in the hospital he works at, but you actually like it here as weird as it sounds.

Some of the prisoners are a menace that makes you want to quit your job, but there are other prisoners who think of prison as a rehab and try to get better. They’re still the most dangerous men due to the nature of their crimes, but at least they’re trying to become better.

You’re here to nurse anyone back to health because believe it or not, there are a lot of stabbings that happen here. You do your best to take care of the inmates as much as you can without letting the job affect you that much. Mental health is just as important.

You walk back to your station in the middle of the prison where the other nurses are gossiping. You try not to participate in the gossip especially when it comes to the other inmates, but it’s hard not to when you work so closely with one another.

“What are you two whispering about?” you ask.

“Did you hear? We’re getting another inmate.”

“Really? Aren't we at capacity?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Who is it?” you ask.

Neither women know the answer to that. All they know is that he is probably the worst of the worst, and that’s saying something. It doesn’t take long for the new inmate to get here, and you’re looking out the window for him. A herd of guards walks down the hallway with the new inmate stuck in between them. You gasp when you see the prisoner. You know who that is. You’ve seen him destroy New York while you were safe in your house in another state.

Loki’s chains connect his ankle handcuffs and wrist handcuffs, only allowing him enough room to take a small step forward. He has a metal muzzle on his face, covering just his mouth. He can use magic so they thought putting a muzzle on him was best to keep him from using it. He doesn’t look bothered about being here but maybe he’s really good at hiding his true emotions.

Loki looks at the nurse’s station and locks eyes with you. Even though there is a muzzle over his mouth, you can see the smirk on his face. His eyes are a powerful blue that gives his expressions away. A shiver rolls down your spine from how intense his gaze is. You’ve met and been with men who knew how to take your breath away, but never has someone been able to do that just by looking at you.

Plus, it doesn’t help that he’s extremely good-looking.

From what you can see, he has cuts and bruises on his face from what, you’re not sure. The guards take Loki to the most secure prison cell in the place. The place had been under construction for a while, probably getting Loki’s cell ready. The warden walks into the nurse’s station and approaches you.

“Consider him your new patient.”

“What?”

“I don’t want anyone else but you with him. You’re the best nurse I’ve got on staff, but don’t tell the others,” he jokes.

“Oh...kay,” you say slowly.

“Don’t worry about him hurting you. We have taken extra precautions to ensure everyone’s safety. There are guards in place if the chains fail, but they won’t. Tony Stark made them.”

“Do you need me to do it now?”

Preferably within the hour. We don’t want to give him an excuse to be let out.”

You go as soon as you can just so you can get this out of the way. You don’t know Loki, only what he’s done, but you know more than most that your actions don’t define who you are. Look at some of the prisoners here. They know what they did was wrong and are trying to better themselves for it even though they may never be released from prison.

You gasp when you see Loki chained up like some animal. The muzzle is still on his face and a chain is hooked to the chain connecting his arms and legs. That chain is connected to a hook on the floor so he can’t escape. Loki is a magical being that is over a thousand years old (yes, you did research on him). If he wants out of the chains, he’s getting out. Why isn’t he? Why did they let him take him? The other inmates have free roam in their cells but Loki is chained to the ground.

How is that fair?

You walk up to Loki and look into his blazing blue eyes. They’re like oceans. He looks like he’d be the quiet one even without the muzzle on.

“Hi, my name is Y/N. I’ll be your nurse. I’m here to clean you up and make sure those cuts aren’t going to get infected.” He doesn’t say anything, obviously. “I’ll be by every day to make sure your wounds aren’t infected and to check your vitals to make sure you’re not sick.”

You roll over a table and put your first aid kit on it, pulling out the things you need. You use a cotton swab to clean up the blood around the edges of the wounds before dabbing a paper towel on the wounds gently. He doesn’t seem to be in pain and if he is, he doesn't show it.

“Let me tell you a little bit about me so you’re not uncomfortable with me. I started working here about six years ago. It’s not always the best but I love what I do. My brother who is a doctor wants me to work in his hospital but I don’t think I’d ever leave here. When I’m not working here, I like to do ceramics. I have a kiln at home where I make my own bowls and other little sculptures. I don’t need the money but I like to sell them. People seem to like it.”

Loki has a twinkle in his eyes as he listens to you ramble. You do that when you’re nervous, and he really makes you nervous. You continue to ramble as you clean his wounds, finishing in just over an hour later. You leave his cell and return to the nurse’s station in thought. You did minor research on Loki when he attacked New York, and you set a reminder to do some more when you go home tonight. It doesn’t matter what anyone at this prison has done. No one should be locked up like an animal. Your coworkers don’t share the same views as you, but everyone is entitled to their opinion.

When you return to work the next day, the first prisoner you see is Loki. There are guards located outside of his cell twenty-four-seven but you don’t think Loki will escape… maybe. You walk to his cell but the guards don’t move from their spot. Each prisoner gets an hour of your time each day with the more severe cases getting an extra one. They like Loki to be last so that you can focus on everyone else and not give him special privileges, but there is no way you’re putting his health risks below others.

“Excuse me.”

“We can’t let you enter.”

“What did you just say?”

“The warden said--”

“I don’t care what the warden says. My job is to take care of prisoners with wounds, and Loki has several cuts not only to his face but upper chest. Cuts that if left untreated will get infected causing him to be sick and possibly die. Even if he didn’t have anything physically wrong with him, you have him locked up like some animal so he isn’t getting exercise. His muscles will start to atrophy. Now, do you want me to report that to the warden or do you want to step aside and let me do my damn job?”

Both guards look at each other before stepping away from the door. You lift your nose up and yank the door open before walking inside. Loki looks up when he sees you and almost smiles at the determination on your face. You roll the same first aid cart over to Loki and remove the bandages to check on his wounds.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that. What was I supposed to say to them? It’s not right how they’re treating you.” You grab more cotton swabs and wipe away the leakage that’s expected to come from the wounds. “Anyhow, aren’t Gods supposed to self-heal?” You pause. “That’s what I hear you are. You and Thor. Gods. Norse Gods, actually. Sorry, I ramble when I’m nervous. You make me nervous.”

You grab the stitches to stitch two wounds together since they are deep enough to leave a scar if not properly healed.

“I read about you when I got home last night like some stalker fangirl.” Your eyes widen. “Which I’m not, by the way. I just… I saw what you did to New York on TV. I know what you did in Germany.” His eyes grow sad. “Don’t worry, I don’t think you’re as bad as they say you are. We all make mistakes, right?”

Of course, he doesn’t answer. You take your time in stitching up the two wounds before cleaning the rest of them and putting bandages back on them. Next, you check to make sure the restraints aren’t on too tight because you’d hate if you were the one being restrained and it was uncomfortable.

“Are you uncomfortable?” you ask. He shakes his head in response. “Have they brought you any food?” Another shake. “Are you hungry?” This time, he nods. “Okay, I’ll be right back with something to eat. Any preferences?”

Your joke makes the edges of his eyes crinkle. He’s smiling underneath his muzzle. That’s a good sign, you think. You leave and head to the cafeteria to get a tray of food for him. You sneak in one or two extra items just because you’re feeling generous. The door to the kitchen slams open and the warden walks in with fire in his eyes.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“No, what do you think you’re doing? Are you keeping food from Loki? He deserves to eat.”

“A monster like him doesn’t deserve that. Plus, he’s not even human.”

“If he doesn’t eat, he’ll die,” you glare.

The warden shrugs as if that doesn’t bother him. He looks at the tray in your hands before leaving. You roll your eyes and continue filing the tray until you have more than enough for him. The guards don’t give you any trouble when you return back to Loki’s cell. He looks up and sees the food. He has to admit, he is hungry but he doesn’t think he’d accept any food if it didn’t come from you. You two have only known each other for less than two days but he feels a sort of connection with you that he has never made with a human.

You roll the first aid cart over to you and clear off the top before putting the tray there. With both hands free, you reach up and touch the clasp of the muzzle.

“I’m going to take this off now. I don’t think it’s right that they have this on you like some kind of animal.”

You remove the muzzle but Loki still doesn’t say anything. Since his hands are chained, you have to feed him but he doesn’t seem to mind. You take your time and ramble on about the different sculptures you’ve made, momentarily forgetting where you are.

“I’m not gonna put this back on,” you say about the muzzle once Loki has finished everything you brought to him. “Like I said. I don’t think it’s right.” With the muzzle off, you can see the hint of a smile on his face. Loki shifts and you look at the restraints on him. “Don’t tell anyone, but I’m going to loosen your restraints just a little. They look tight.” You use the master key and loosen his restraints, allowing him some more room to stand properly and move about. “Is that better?” He nods. “I’ll be back later with more food and to check to see how you’re doing.”

You take the empty tray and leave his cell. You spend more time checking on the other prisoners than you’d like only because two of them got into a stabbing match in the courtyard. After you get done with them, you go back to the nurse’s station to grab some snacks from your lunch box. It’s better than eating that slop in the cafeteria.

You’re the last one left in the nurse’s station since all the others have gone home for the day. You have more patients than the others because most of them request you to fix them. It doesn’t matter what someone did, you’ll treat them the same way you treat everyone else. It’s better for your conscious.

All of a sudden, the lights go out in the station only for bright red lights to replace them. Alarms echo down the hallway, and most of the prisoners become erratic from the sound. Someone has escaped. They only put those alarms out when someone has escaped from their cell. It better not be Jacobson. He has a habit of finding new ways to piss off the warden.

You continue putting food on the tray when you feel a breeze a your back. The door is open. You look up and see a figure standing behind you through the reflection on the window. That’s not Jacobson. For one, he’s a very lanky short man. The man behind you is tall… very tall. You’re frozen in fear because you have no idea who is behind you. If he wanted to, he could kill you without a second thought.

“Hello, darling.” The man steps underneath the red light and you see those piercing blue eyes. You turn to face Loki as he walks closer to you. His voice is much deeper than you thought it’d be… much more raspy. You must have loosened the restraints too much. He reaches out to you and tucks your hair behind your ear. “Don’t be scared. I won’t hurt you.”

“I’m not scared,” you say truthfully.

“Good girl,” he grins. “I wish I could stay but I have somewhere I need to be. Believe me when I say I’ll be back.”

He leans in and presses a gentle kiss to your cheek. Just like that, he’s gone. You believe him when he says he’ll be back. Funny thing is, you’re kind of looking forward to it.

x

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[p1nk-b1tes]

Daddy Kink? Embarrassed Gale?

yeah, let's do it.

nearly 2k words of gale discovering he has a daddy kink and being mortified by his new fantasies

Gale might just lose his mind. 

It’s Tav – lovely Tav – who just can’t help but test every ounce of patience and control that Gale is capable of today. It all started when they began their exploration of the blighted village that had been occupied by a never-ending horde of goblins and ogres. And if the arrow that had whizzed past his skull when he’d taken his first few steps past the border wall hadn’t been enough to set his nerves on fire, it had to have been when Tav failed to disarm a simple trapped chest in one of the crumbling cellars simply because they “wanted to try their hand at it.” Their rogue had been there the entire time (more than a safe distance away, understandably) and had nearly allowed Tav to blow themself up before Gale was forced to intervene at the last second before the thing actually went off. He hadn’t meant to yell at them, they were simply trying their hand at an amateur skill, but he’d certainly given them quite the talking-to about allowing Astarion to handle traps from then on out. 

“I appreciate your concern, Gale. I really do. But you don’t have to scold me for it as if you’re my father,” they’d said. 

And that had been the end of that. 

Except it hadn’t. 

Throughout the rest of the day Tav had managed to prove their unique ability to consistently avoid being careful at the worst of times, exhibit their clumsiness at regular intervals, and be generally entirely irresponsible for their own well-being. 

“There he is again – father to my rescue once again,” was their far-too-calm response when Gale politely informed them that they’d nearly set off a pressure plate that had been clearly visible in broad daylight. Astarion had laughed at their sarcasm, and so had Wyll, and Gale had continued forward through the crypt, frowning at the oddly strange feeling in his belly that sidled up to the sourness he felt at their response. He’d only been trying to help… 

And finally, when Tav nearly threw themselves over a crumbling edge into the whispering depths for a useless chunk of agate, Gale would’ve pulled them back to safety by their tunic’s collar if they hadn’t turned to him after he’d practically saved their life and said with their chest heaving from fear and their cheeks flushed crimson from adrenaline, “well shit, that was way too fucking close. Thanks, daddy.” 

Truthfully, Gale doesn’t know why he reacted the way he did. He should have been furious with how the previous hours of their day had gone. They’d nearly walked in circles for hours because of Wyll’s inability to follow a map, and had clawed through miles of cobwebs, dust, and dirt all so that Tav could nearly die three times and so Astarion could stake claim to some stupid dark-magic book they’d found that he knew absolutely nothing about. He should have expressed his discontent, to say the least – or should have shimmied the rest of the way off of the ledge and pulled his companions along with him – but no. Out of all of the things the wizard could have done, he’d frozen in place. Immobile and unable to form a coherent thought with the rest of his companions pressed shoulder-to-shoulder along the crumbling edge of the most terrifying drop he’s ever seen – he’d actually just frozen. 

He could feel his face turn red from the blood and embarrassment that had suddenly flooded into it, and he’d certainly felt it when what remained in his head suddenly rushed right down across his chest and into his dick. 

Tav had only called him daddy – they’d been calling him things like father all day long for his well-deserved scolding and lecturing and that was close enough! So why did that specific word turn his brain to mush and his cock into iron? He realizes with a mortifying lurch that the strange feeling he’d been feeling all day when they’d call him those stupid names wasn’t discomfort at all. He liked it. 

Oh, Gods, no. 

He likes it… 

Poor Wyll had already been shaking in the knees from being so high up above the unknown that loomed below and Gale could barely make out the sound of Astarion giving him quite the ear-full from beyond Tav’s opposite shoulder to “encourage” him to move, but to make matters even worse, Tav reaches out to grab him. They place their hand on his arm first, shaking gently to try and rouse him from his trance, and when that doesn’t work they toss their arm across the span of his chest as if they’re worried that their wizard may just lean forward and plummet all of a sudden. 

“Thanks, daddy…” 

His cock stiffens in his shorts almost immediately, his balls suddenly heavy, and then Gale is shimmying off of that ledge faster than his companions had ever seen him move before like an absolute fool. 

It’s been hours since Tav inadvertently scrambled his brain in the whispering depths and Gale can’t stop thinking about it. How he’d so un-heroically frozen in a terrible position and more so how Tav had allowed that word to slide so easily off of their tongue. They didn’t mean anything by it. It was entirely offhanded and playful, meant to ease the tension of Tav nearly losing their footing on the edge of what would have certainly been death, yet his brain continues to remind him it was anything but.  

Gods above, he can’t get the image out of his head – Tav, breathless and chest rising and falling wildly from the realization of a too-close call, their hand clamped around his forearm as he pulls them back towards the wall to reestablish their footing. And then there it is again. “Thanks, Daddy…” Even hours later his stomach still flips and flutters dangerously. 

Gale’s jaw clenches as he lies back on his bedroll and stares up at the ceiling of his tent. He tries not to focus on what’s happening below his waistband. 

He can’t shake it. His erection refuses to wane. He’s been hard since they uttered the word so nonchalantly and his cock refuses to allow him to forget how it sounded. In fact, his brain has distorted his memory into more of a fantasy. He’s heard Tav’s voice in his head for hours now in every intonation and at varying speeds. Now they’re whispering it into his ear, all slow and sultry like sweet molasses, and Gale is leaking a damp spot into the fabric of his trousers. 

The wizard clenches his fists across his belly and watches the shadows of the leaves as they print themselves into the canvas. His cock throbs. He leaks. He gives in. 

The wizard drops his hands towards his hips to free himself from his trousers and the rush of air that passes through his lips when his flushed, hot length makes contact with the cool air is absolutely divine. 

His companions are not far away. He can hear them as they dawdle around their camp, chatting and laughing about how ridiculously clumsy Tav was today. Someone says their name and Tav begins to laugh. 

“Daddy, daddy, daddy…” 

Gale groans, squeezing his eyes shut as if it’ll block out the noises in his head, and fists the base of his cock, squeezing and teasing himself and resisting the urge to curl in on himself when the pleasure zips up the length of his spine and into his throat. He begins to stroke himself, firmly, slowly, and his knees fall open in a silent invitation to no-one. 

No-one… 

He’s lying to himself again. 

He imagines Tav crawling between them, their hands on his thighs as they descend on his cock with their velvety mouth – that satin tongue… He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth to suppress the noises that threaten to spill from his lips as he wraps his fingers along the bottom ridge of his head and glides the pad of his thumb over his slit. It’s slippery and slick. He drags the wetness down the side of his shaft and continues to pull at himself. 

He’s beginning to lose himself in the pleasure of it all when someone walks by his tent so close that he can hear the crunch of dirt under their boots with every step. He tenses, ceasing in his horrible ministrations as they come closer and closer and finally pass. The breath trapped in his chest escapes him in a quick exhale and he listens as Lae’zel reminds Wyll about some sparring on the edge of camp later. Gale doesn’t care in the slightest about their plans – he wishes that it had been Tav approaching his tent instead, coming to invite themself in so Gale could pull them into his lap and tell them to say that word over and over and over again while they grip at his chest and run their fingers through his hair until he’s begging to allow them to put it inside… 

Gale’s free hand reaches between his legs to cup his balls while his right hand flies over his cock, tugging and pulling wildly as it jerks in his palm and slicks up his fingers. It feels too good to stop now, despite it all being so, so wrong. 

He shouldn’t be thinking like this. Shouldn’t be thinking of his friend in such vulgar terms. Shouldn’t be imagining how they’d look with their lips or their hole around him. And he definitely shouldn’t think about how they’d take it all when he’d cum so hard across their cheeks as they look up at him from the floor with their face beautifully scrunched up in pleasure, cheeks pink and lips swollen. 

“Can I have it, daddy?” They’d say. “Will you give it to me?” 

He’s cumming before he even realizes it, abdomen tense and thighs shaking as he squirts onto his stomach and into the valley in the center of his chest. His tunic is ruined with his cum, but for the first time in hours the fog in his head begins to dissipate. 

And dissipate it does… Quickly. 

The fog clears from Gale’s head and immediately becomes replaced with mortification of his actions. He strips his tunic from his chest, tossing it aside to be cleaned later, and his pants, and quickly changes into something clean of his mess while his sensitive cock deflates. Tav’s voice fades from the forefront of his mind, stored away somewhere secure so that he can function as a normal person again. He pushes away the shame for now and steps out of his tent only to be bombarded by the image of Tav stripped down to their undergarments on the water’s edge, Astarion in similar garb at her side. They’re sprawled on the dirt together, side-by-side soaking in the rays of the sun while their clothes from earlier lay out on the rocks to dry after a well-needed wash. Upon exiting his tent, both of their heads turn to his direction and Gale wants to crawl back in and hide at the slight evidence of a smirk on the vampire’s face. 

“Hey daddy,” Tav says, wholly innocent and full of light. It makes Gale’s stomach churn. “Wanna join us for a bit? We had quite the day today, didn’t we?” 

That smirk grows on Astarion’s face and Gale watches in real time as he catches an elbow to the ribs. 

Tav will be the death of him.

-- i have a ficlet collection on ao3 if you wanna keep up or read more of my stuff

[iolaussharpe-24]

Barbie in the Mojave - Chapter Two

Thank you to everyone who supported chapter one! You're all lovely!

❤️Taglist❤️

(Let me know if you want to be added or taken off for chapter three. No feelings will be hurt.)

@waywardrose, @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction, @lunar-ghoulie, @ominoose, @reallyrallyauthor

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Feel free to ask questions about anything as well. I'm happy to talk about my process with anyone that's interested.

Chapter Two: Bad Smells and Worse Ideas

Barbie and Ken stopped and sat down, exhausted. Both of them were tired and panting. Both of them had sore feet (though Barbie’s were considerably worse because of her heels). Both of them were soaked in water despite never being anywhere near water. Both of them were mourning their perfectly styled hair. Ken’s was drenched and stuck to his forehead, dripping in front of his eyes. Barbie’s had gotten frizzy and wild, sitting on her head like one of the dried out brown bushes they walked past. Her headband wasn’t doing much to keep it under control either. Each and every blonde strand had gained sentience and turned against her.

They had walked a long way. The car wasn’t anywhere in sight anymore. It hadn’t been for a long time. The sea of sand had slowly but surely started to become solid rocky ground with dry plants sprouting from split stones and small animals and bugs scurrying into little holes at their feet as they came near.

The sun was setting behind them, making their shadows stretch out several feet in front of them as the air turned cold and the sky began to change colors overhead.

“Barbie, shouldn’t we have found the speedboat by now? This place is like an endless beach without the beach!”

“It’s called a desert.”

“Are you sure this is the right way?”

“I think so.”

“Well what did Weird Barbie say?”

“We’re doing what Weird Barbie said.”

“Wandering aimlessly?”

“For the last time, she didn’t give me directions! I was told to drive a sports car to a speedboat to a rocket ship to a tandem bike to a camper van to a snowmobile to roller blades and then I’d be in the real world where I’d find my kid by equally unspecified means! I don’t know what I’m doing or how I’m supposed to do it, but I want to get it done so that we can go back home and everything can go back to normal.”

He contemplated that for a minute, then smiled brightly. “And then, when we can do boyfriend girlfriend things together. Right?”

She nodded, just to make him stop asking questions. “Sure Ken…. It’s getting late,” she added with a sigh. “We should probably camp out… somewhere. Get some rest so we can keep walking in the morning. I was hoping to be done and home by now, but nothing’s been going right, has it?”

It was annoying. Very, very annoying. All of it. She felt like she was going crazy. She knew that there were going to be differences between Barbieland and the Real World. She did. It was a logical inevitability that only made sense. After all, they are two different worlds. Different realities that were affected by one another, but still very much separated from each other. It sounded absolutely insane, but it did, for some bizarre reason, make a weird amount of sense. Like old sitcoms with a supernatural or otherworldly element that everybody treated like a completely normal thing.

Ugh.

Ken was crouched down with a pile of sticks in front of him, hitting two rocks against each other repeatedly. Trying to start a fire. Fair enough. Just like how the sun had seemed hotter than they were used to in Barbieland, the night air, in turn, was colder. Even in the winter, when everyone tended to bundle up in thick coats and fuzzy boots, the cold never really affected them. This did. It was making Barbie’s skin break out into a thousand tiny bumps that gave her a weird tingling sensation as they appeared.

Must be another human thing. Another problem to fix. Like the cellulite on her legs. She shivered at that thought. Would this spread too? At least the cellulite was easy to hide. It was just on her thighs and was easily covered up as long as she wore longer shorts and skirts.

Their clothes sat in a heap near the place they’d decided to call their campsite, despite not having a dream camper or a tent or a backpack or even a sleeping bag – which was the absolute barest minimum of camping gear they could have possibly had on hand. They’d been forced to carry everything while they walked who knows how far for who knows how long and when they finally decided to stop, they’d just dumped everything unceremoniously in the dirt and used their skates, pads, helmets, and Barbie’s hairbrush to hold down their clothes.

She reached up and felt her frizzy tangles. Felt like a bird’s nest. Probably looked like Weird Barbie’s hack job of a haircut. So, just to feel like she had some control over something, she picked up her brush and started trying to tame the beast on her head.

“I think I saw a spark!”

Ken did not see a spark.

Barbie didn’t have it in her to tell him though. Instead, she praised and encouraged him to keep trying. Saying, “You’ll get a fire in no time,” and genuinely hoping that he would. Maybe that was what was so wrong with everything. Fear and negativity. Maybe, if she just tried to keep a positive attitude, and kept smiling, and tried to go on like her world wasn’t turning upside down, she’d manifest that reality and everything would go back to normal on its own. Or, at the very least, they might get lucky.

It took hours before either one of the two dolls could start a fire. And, by the time they did, it had already gotten cold. To keep warm, the two of them mixed and matched the clothes they brought to cover up as well as they could since they tiny flame they made wasn’t providing them with any kind of warmth whatsoever.

Barbie was in a pair of hot pink ankle boots that didn’t match her pants, and a baby blue long-sleeve shirt that didn’t match anything. Ken had closed his jacket, put on a pair of low waisted jeans, and swapped his sandals for his neon yellow roller skates, though he removed the neon pink wheels from the bottom to make it easier on him to walk in the morning.

After a few moments of sitting side by side to keep warm, Ken lifted his head and sniffed the air. “Do you smell that?” he asked, his brows furrowed.

“Smell what?”

“I don’t know. Something smells… bad.”

Automatically, Barbie turned her head away from her friend, breathed into her hand, and sniffed. Not great. Not terrible. But not great. Think that this wasn’t what Ken was smelling, she lowered her hand and sniffed as well. That’s when she noticed it. A sour smell in the air.

She scrunched up her nose at it at first.. and then realized that it seems awfully close.

For no real reason at all, Barbie lifted her arm and smelled the underside.

Oh. My. God.

She retched and lowered her arm so fast she was impressed that it didn’t snap clean off at the joint. Ken looked at her, confused, and she forced herself to smile and pretend that it was nothing. Even as she dug her nails into her biceps just to make sure that he arms stayed down in an attempt to keep the smell from coming out.

She didn’t understand what was happening to her. Why was her body doing all these things it wasn’t supposed to? First, she was leaking water, her hair was messed up, then she started getting bumpy, and now she smelled?! And that wasn’t taking the fact that she got lost or the wrecked car into account, or any of things that happened before she left Barbieland. This was all in the past few hours.

What could possibly be going on in this little girl’s life to change her like this? It didn’t make sense. How could anything be so wrong with a human that it punched its way through to another world just to drastically alter a Barbie in so many awful ways? It was like time and space and fate had it out for her or something! Worse than Raquelle at her most infuriating. Worse than-

Her thoughts were cut short by a sound in the distance. It was loud and shrill and, like so many other disembodied noises in the dark, was both familiar and strange. It sounded like a dog’s howl in the middle of the night, but it was twisted. It was wrong. And it wasn’t alone.

More howls accompanied the first like a choir singing a chaotic chorus together. One by one they sounded off, the noise echoing in the distance. Barbie looked out into the darkness ahead, unable to see anything at all. Ken did the same, though for a very different reason. He started walking away from her.

“What are you doing?!”

“Dogs! I want to pet the dogs!”

She stared at him, incredulous. “Ken! We don’t know anything about this place! And that doesn’t sound like Skipper walking a group of dogs to me. There’s no one around. We’re out in the middle of nowhere! This is a bad idea.”

“Hey, when it comes to petting dogs, there are no bad ideas.”

“If we were still in Barbieland where we know all the dogs!”

He wasn’t listening. He was just marching off blindly into the dark, his silhouette growing darker and darker. Blending into nothing.

“Don’t go too far! I don’t want you to get lost!” she called out desperately.

Ken didn’t answer. He might have been too far already.

Despite how annoying he could be, Ken was still her friend. She cared about him. Didn’t want him to get hurt. As of right now, he was the only piece of home she had with her. Well, him and a small pile of stuff she had been forced to carry since the car crashed, but she couldn’t talk to a cute skirt the way she could Ken.

She hoped that he had enough common sense to stay close.

Despite poor Barbie’s warning, Ken couldn’t see any harm in wanting to pet a dog. Or a cat for that matter. Or a horse. He loved horses. More, he suspected, than Western Stampin’ Ken did. Animals in Barbieland were always friendly and cute easy to handle. Always. And the Real World counldn’t be that different from Barbieland. It just couldn’t. Their world was made to resemble the Real World. To fix all of the problems the humans faced. That’s what the Barbies and Kens were made for in the first place. An unfriendly animal, especially a dog, felt nothing short of unnatural to him.

She was just being paranoid. Had to be. He’d never known her to be paranoid before, but he’d never known her to have any malfunctions either. This must be one of them. Yeah, that made sense to him. In fact, it made so much sense that it might have just been the reason why Barbie wanted to do this alone. She didn’t want anyone to see how bad this problem could get! He could understand that. If there was a chance that she could end up like Weird Barbie living away from everyone else in the Weirdhouse with all of the recalled Barbies and Kens, it only made sense that she wouldn’t want anyone to see that. In her position, Ken wouldn’t want that either.

Another howl sounds as he walks. That’s a good sign, right? Means he’s getting close. Like how being far away from something made it look smaller. But in reverse.

Excited, Ken walked faster. He thought about all the dogs he’d met in Barbieland and how cute they were. With their big eyes and black noses and little smiles. He even loved the old Taffy dog with her three puppies. Two of them had bobble heads, and the third one needed to be potty trained. That’s why the Barbie that owned them all always had a few newspapers in her dreamhouse. She always let him pet and play with them when he saw her.

Just as he was starting to smile from the memory, he stopped in his tracks. There was a dog in front of him. A little puppy.

It had tan fur and a cream colored underbelly. Big black eyes that stared straight at him. It wasn’t smiling though, that was weird. But the same black nose he always loved nuzzling his own against. It stood perfectly still, watching him as he watched it.

“Hi there,” he said softly, sinking down to his knees. He slowly held out his hand and cooed, “It’s okay. I’m not gonna hurt you. My name’s Ken.”

The puppy stared at him, then stepped forward, sniffing his hand. It yipped at him and two more puppies came out from around the corner to join the first.

In that moment, he just knew that Barbie was going to be jealous. He’d tell her that he found puppies and that he got to play with them, and she was going to look at him and say, “I wish I’d gone with you.” He just knew it. What else would she say? He was right. There’s absolutely no way that petting a dog can be a-

Grrrrrrrr…

That wasn’t a good sound.

Looking up at the rocky side of the plateau, Ken saw two more dogs. Fully grown ones. Their teeth were showing as they growled at him. The blond stood up straight, still smiling. “Hi! These little cuties must be yours.”

One of the dogs jumped down, still growling at him, it’s ears low, teeth bared. Then the other dog jumped down to join the first. And a third came from behind him.

His smile fell at bit as he watched. They reminded him of something… unpleasant. Something he’d seen in some of the older movies while at the theater with Barbie. Maybe she was right… maybe this actually was a bad idea. He hadn’t thought that was even possible until now.

Oh no.

Ken took a few steps backwards as one of the dogs started to snap at him, still snarling while it did. He raised his hands, showing the dog his empty palms. “Woah, woah, easy. Easy. I’m not going to hurt you. Or the puppies.”

A loud BANG! sounded from the darkness, echoing through the valley that Ken had been walking in. Almost immediately after, one of the dogs let out a pained whine unlike anything Ken had ever heard in his life. The others turned and ran away while the one that cried fell to the ground, a thick red liquid soaking its fur on one side. He’d never seen anything like it before and… wow… he was thinking that a lot lately, wasn’t he? The Real World was so different from Barbieland. Even the things that were familiar were different.

He looked down at the dog lying at his feet. It wasn’t moving. Wasn’t making any noise. It was more like the dogs back home that way. But in a bad way. A way that made him… not happy. Very not happy. It was like how he felt when Barbie turned down his attempts at doing boyfriend/girlfriend things to have a party with the other Barbies but it wasn’t that. This was different. Like everything else in this world.

He knelt down beside the dog and put his hand on it’s snout. It didn’t react. The fur was coarse and warm. But… it was getting cold. Fast.

He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t even know what was happening. All he knew was that he didn’t like the way it made him feel.

Dirt crunched under heavy boots behind the blond while he knelt over the animal. He looked up to see a man wearing a long coat and a hat standing there. The first person he’d seen aside from Barbie since they left home.

“You lost, brother?”

[elysiaheaven]

𝐇𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐬-𝟏𝟏-(The Fox's wedding)

You stood before Feixiao, who listened intently, her sharp eyes trained on you as you explained the situation. Jiaoqiu was beside you, his arms crossed, a deep frown etched into his face. Feixiao's expression was unreadable as you spoke.

"You need to heighten Hoolay's prison security," you told her calmly, though the weight of your words hung heavily in the air. "But, honestly, it might not even help. Hoolay's powerful—more than you all seem to realize."

Feixiao raised an eyebrow, her expression not changing much but clearly intrigued. "You think the Borisin monsters have more in store, don't you?"

You nodded, leaning forward slightly. "Exactly. Killing that man wasn't just because he was planning an attack. It's part of their larger plan. I wouldn't be surprised if the attack on Hoolay's prison is nothing more than a distraction—something to keep your eyes away from the real threat."

Feixiao's lips tightened into a thin line, her gaze turning cold and calculating. "What do you think they're trying to distract us from?"

You shrugged, giving a half-smile, though the tension in the room was thick. "Could be anything. But if I were them, I'd focus on something big—something that would shift the balance of power in their favor. Maybe freeing Hoolay is just the beginning. The Borisin monsters are clever, and they won't stop until they get what they want."

Feixiao stared at you for a long moment, and you could feel the weight of her consideration. Finally, she spoke, her voice as sharp as ever. "You killed the man before interrogating him. You didn't get any more information?"

You smirked, but it didn't reach your eyes. "He wasn't going to talk, and we didn't have time to play games. Besides, I knew enough to know he needed to be taken out."

Feixiao's eyes narrowed at that, but she didn't challenge you. Instead, she sighed and leaned back in her chair. "We'll increase security around Hoolay's prison. But I want you on alert. If this is just the beginning, we'll need to move fast to stop whatever's coming next."

You nodded, satisfied that she was taking your warning seriously. As you turned to leave, Jiaoqiu glanced at you, his expression unreadable. You couldn't tell if he was angry or simply resigned to the chaos you seemed to drag along with you.

You walked out of the room, Feixiao's voice called after you. "One more thing," she said, her voice cold. "If you're part of this plan, or if you're playing some kind of game, I'll find out. And you'll pay for it."

You smiled to yourself as you walked away. Let them think what they wanted.---- You knew the Borisin monsters better than they could ever hope to, and if anyone was going to stop them, it was you—whether they liked it or not.

You walked away from the tense conversation, you could feel Jiaoqiu and Feixiao's eyes on your back. The air was thick with suspicion, and you couldn't help but smirk at the weight of it all. You had done what you had to do, and whether they trusted you or not didn't matter. Not really. You had your own plans, and no one could stop you.

Inside the room, Feixiao leaned back in her chair, her sharp eyes narrowing as she spoke to Jiaoqiu. "She's useful," she remarked, "but something about her doesn't sit right with me. I wouldn't be surprised if she's still working to free Hoolay."

Jiaoqiu crossed his arms, his jaw tight as he stared at the door you'd just left through. "You're not wrong to be cautious," he admitted, his voice low. "She has her own agenda. But I've planned for this."

Feixiao raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

He nodded, his gaze unwavering. "I'll know by the end of today if she's really trying to help us or if she's still aligned with Hoolay and the Borisin monsters. I've put something in motion that should reveal her true loyalties."

Feixiao gave a satisfied smirk, her sharp features hardening. "Good. Because if she's a traitor, I won't hesitate to deal with her myself."

Jiaoqiu didn't respond, but his thoughts were racing. , but he knew you better than anyone. He had to. You were like a storm—wild, uncontrollable—but also strategic. He had to be certain where your heart truly lay before the situation spiraled out of control.

You dragged yourself back to Jiaoqiu's house, utterly exhausted from the day's events. The moment you stepped through the door, you caught the scent of food—he had already prepared dinner. Jiaoqiu stood by the table, looking composed, maybe too composed. You could tell he was acting, trying to keep up appearances, and you couldn't help but think how sweet it was, even if you knew it wasn't real.

"You're so cute," you muttered with a teasing smile, dropping your facade for a moment. "Aya, I'll cook next time."

He didn't say anything, just gave a slight nod as you sat down and started eating. The food was good—too good. You kept eating, taking bite after bite, as the silence stretched out between you. But then, something inside you snapped. You laughed. A loud, manic laugh that echoed through the room, uncontrollable and sharp.

Jiaoqiu's eyes widened, a mixture of surprise and concern flickering across his usually cold demeanor.

You stood up suddenly, the laughter still bubbling from your lips, and before you could stop yourself, you jumped on him. His arms instinctively went to catch you, his body tensing under the weight of your sudden energy.

"What—" he began, but you cut him off with another manic giggle, your face inches from his. The tension in the room was suffocating, your eyes gleaming with something unreadable. He looked genuinely caught off guard, as if he didn't quite know what to make of this side of you.

"You didn't expect this, did you?" you whispered, your voice low, teasing. "I'm full of surprises."

Jiaoqiu stared at you, his expression shifting from shock to something more guarded. "What are you doing?"

You leaned closer, your manic energy still lingering, but your eyes softened, just for a second. "Just playing along, Jiaoqiu. Isn't that what we always do?"

You devoured the food, the once comfortable silence turned eerie, your mind swirling with chaotic thoughts. The taste of the meal seemed to trigger something dark inside you, a spiraling mix of excitement and twisted joy. You laughed, louder this time, uncontrollable and shrill, and before Jiaoqiu could react, you sprang from your seat and pounced on him.

He caught you out of reflex, his eyes widening in surprise as you clung to him, your laughter ringing in his ears. You pressed your lips to his cheek, a soft kiss that felt out of place amidst the insanity in your eyes. Blushing, you leaned in close, your voice breathless with excitement as you whispered, "How did you kill such a good Borisin monster, Jiaoqiu?"

He stiffened at the question, clearly not expecting this sudden outburst. You giggled, your fingers clutching his collar, your grip tightening as if you were afraid he'd slip away.

"Did you hunt it?" you asked again, your voice taking on an unsettling edge. "Did you make it suffer? Did you hear it scream? Oh, Jiaoqiu, why didn't you invite me? We could have had so much fun together!"

Your laughter echoed through the room, manic and unrestrained, as you held your face in your hands, unable to contain your excitement. "I want to kill them myself! Again, and again, and again! It's so thrilling, so satisfying!"

Jiaoqiu's expression hardened, his usual cold demeanor crumbling under the weight of your crazed behavior. He didn't say a word, but you could see the tension in his body, the way his jaw clenched as he tried to process the madness spilling from your lips.

You laughed again, this time more high-pitched, your eyes gleaming with unhinged joy. "You're such a bad man, eating a monster like that! But it's fine! It's so fine!" You threw your head back, laughing hysterically, your entire body trembling with the thrill of it all. "I love it, Jiaoqiu! I love it! Hahahaha!"

Your laughter continued to echo through the room, sharp and uncontrollable, as you lost yourself in the twisted delight of it all. You glanced at Jiaoqiu, your eyes gleaming with a strange mix of lust and madness. His silence only fueled the fire burning inside you, and you leaned closer, kissing the side of his face softly.

But before you could stand up and fully take in the chaos of your actions, Jiaoqiu suddenly pulled you down, his grip firm and unexpected. You blinked, dazed, your breath hitching as you felt the intensity of the moment. His touch was heated, his hand brushing against your back, sending shivers down your spine.

"Do you feel it, Jiaoqiu?" you whispered with a dangerous smile, leaning in to kiss his ear again, your lips barely brushing against his skin. You pressed closer, savoring the tension, before kissing him once more, this time deeper, lingering in the moment. "When will you let me kill a Borisin again?" Your voice was hushed but filled with a crazed longing.

His eyes were distant, as if something had taken hold of him—something unnatural. You paused, your manic excitement wavering as you realized the truth. He was possessed, and it was entirely your doing, an accident born from the chaotic energy you had unleashed. It usually happens without your thinking.. You felt bad.

With a heavy sigh, you snapped your fingers, the spell breaking in an instant. Jiaoqiu's eyes cleared, his expression shifting from dazed confusion to a weirded-out disbelief. He stared at you, trying to make sense of what had just happened.

"Eat," you said coldly, pushing yourself away from him and standing up, your voice suddenly devoid of the madness from before. "I'll sleep on the sofa tonight. Also I'm sorry."

Without waiting for a response, you turned and walked toward the couch, the remnants of your earlier outburst still hanging in the air.

Jiaoqiu woke up first, his expression tense and clearly distressed. The weight of everything from the night before seemed to linger, but as he got up, the smell of something cooking caught his attention. He walked towards the kitchen and saw you, already awake, cooking as if nothing had happened. You looked up with a bright smile, greeting him.

"Good morning," you said cheerfully, your hands moving skillfully as you prepared the dish. "I'm making sweets from my planet. You should try them."

Jiaoqiu frowned slightly, still disoriented. "I don't like sweets," he mumbled, though there was no real conviction in his voice.

You chuckled softly, ignoring his resistance. "You say that now, but this is something I used to do. I used to bake sweets all the time. It's always been a part of me." You turned to face him, your smile gentle. "Besides, you can taste anything I make. I'm blessed by an Aeon."

He raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. "That sounds like a joke," he muttered, but the curiosity in his eyes betrayed him.

You handed him a small portion, your face lighting up as he took a bite. Jiaoqiu hesitated at first, but the moment the sweetness hit his tongue, something shifted in his expression. His eyes widened slightly, realizing what you said was true—he could taste the flavors of the food you made, even though he couldn't taste anything else.

"You like it, don't you?" you teased, moving closer to him. "Here, let me feed you. You're not eating enough." You gently took another bite of the pastry and brought it to his lips. He didn't resist this time, and as he ate, a quiet satisfaction appeared on his face.

"It's good," he finally admitted, his tone softer than before.

Your smile brightened even more as you continued preparing a batch. "I'm going to bake some for the General as well. She'll love them."

Jiaoqiu glanced at you, the tension easing from his features, though a part of him still seemed guarded. "We're supposed to meet her today. Bring them along," he said, almost as if he couldn't resist seeing what would happen next.

Later, when you both arrived at the General's quarters, you presented the sweets to her. General Feixiao, always composed and sharp-eyed, accepted the plate with a nod. Her fox ears perked up ever so slightly, a sign that her interest had been piqued. Without saying much, she took the plate and retreated to a quiet corner to eat alone.

You caught a glimpse of her, enjoying the taste as she bit into one of the sweets. There was a moment of subtle satisfaction in her eyes, but she kept her usual demeanor as she finished, the unspoken approval hanging in the air.

"She liked it," Jiaoqiu murmured, watching from the side, a faint trace of surprise in his voice.

You smiled to yourself, pleased with the small victory, feeling like—for once—things were moving in the right direction.

[forest-falcon]

The Butterfly Effect

Chptr 17

It's been a while since I've last updated this fic, but here it is - the next chapter of The Butterfly Effect. Hope you enjoy! And thanks for everyone's lovely support with this story. Hopefully it won't be as long before the next chapter is out 🤞

No major tags for this one - minor angst, whump and a bit of family fluff thrown in!

💙💚🧡💛💜🐦‍🔥🚒

John was torn. Torn between all those who needed him. Torn between duty and love. But, in the end, the choice was easy. His place was on the GDF carrier headed for Auckland, at the side of his brothers and Grandmother.

The post-mission clean up (if it could indeed be called that), the press, and the rest of the world waiting on them, would simply have to manage. God knows, he was having to.

Hauling himself aboard, he gently touched the painted name of the carrier, before finding a vacant seat next to Tam.

"Welcome aboard!" Colonel Casey greets, over the sounds of the engines, and flicking of buttons.

Val had been good to them. As soon as she had a functional comms line up and working, she'd taken the initiative to pull strings with a number of contacts. Phoenix would be allowed the time off from their regular civilian jobs back home to help with getting International Rescue back onto their feet, if they so wished.

It was a unanimous 'yes.'

"We're here for as long as you need us," her words held a warmth befitting her honorary Aunt status. She'd squeezed his shoulder, before brushing a stray lock of hair out of Scott's face.

"Thanks," John sighed, with a gratitude that somehow furthered his exhaustion.

Although it was in the world's best interest to see International Rescue functioning again, as swiftly as possible; it was good to know that people had their backs when the chips were down.

Val made her way to the front of the carrier and a flutter of garish Hawaiian fabric filled the seat.

Gordon peered over the eldest brother.

"Hey there, Bird Bath! How's the head?"

A groan, but Scott's eyes remained shut.

"Gords..."

"The one and only!"

Scott could hear his brother's Cheshire Cat grin.

"As your brother, I feel it's my duty to tell you that that landing was...*raspberry* stinko, awful...I've seen Rigby land better!" He gave a thumbs down.

"Ah, save it! Yours is the one Thunderbird that doesn't fly," Rigby deadpanned, from the cockpit.

"Make him stop," Scott's hoarse whisper is mainly levied at John, but entreats any and all who can hear him.

"Gladly. Just tell me how," John smirks, finally letting his shoulders drop a fraction.

"Ah, don't be like that... Hey, I know what'll cheer you both up!"

"No."

"A good ole sea shanty!" Gordon whips out his pocket device.

"Veto."

"Aww, really John? Not even, 'Leave her Johnny, leave her?'"

"Especially not that."

"Fine. I've got you..."

A moment passes as Gordon scrolls, then taps; and the hangar bursts into song.

"Eurovision!"

Virgil reopens his eyes to the sounds of...wait, is that Conchita Wurst?

Oh God, Gordon - Rise Like a Phoenix...really? Phoenix. This was definitely Gordon's taste in music - and humour.

Virgil doesn't remember being hover-stretchered to the hangar, but it's good to hear the voices of his family once more.

"Stop your fussing. I'm fine,"

"I'll be the judge of that Mrs. Tracy."

"Matthew Eric Jones!" Grandma starts.

"She middle named me! Did y'hear that Mac? She middle named me!"

"Oooh! Now you're in for it!" Gordon's chimes in, clearly enjoying his inflight entertainment.

"I was a doctor-"

"-And now you're my patient. So, unless you're going to sign an AMA form, you'll sit back nicely, and let me do my job."

"Oooh, I like him." Grandma's voice concedes. "Fine. But if they keep me in, you're bringing the treats! And none of this basket of grapes rubbish. I'm talking chocolate and brandy - neat."

"It's a hospital, Grandma." John's voice reasons.

"And?"

"And you should know - better than most, that they're not gonna let us bring that in for you."

Grandma goes to fold her arms, then winces, with a concealed hiss.

"John. Kid. I'm old! Just stick it in a sippy cup and call it apple juice - they'll never know the difference!"

"Stop tryna...get John...into trouble."

It's a wonderful sound, hearing the deep rumble of baritone. Sally can feel a secondary tightness - one she could not attribute to her injury, leave her broken ribcage.

"Eh. Twas worth a shot." She offers up a warm smile, knowing he cannot see it - both her eldest grandsons sporting large foam trauma blocks; but she hopes he can hear the sentiment within her voice.

"Nice to have you back in the land of the living, kid!"