#not a single moment of peace it's actually mind blowing

[lunarheslwt]

.

[rhaeheartzsquirrelz]

Sea Salt Cigarettes

Wife Sevika x Female Wife Reader (Fluff + Modern AU)

Not Proofread!! MEN DNI!!

Summary: On a honeymoon at the beach, you and your wife smoke a cigarette on the balcony of your suit.

Contains: Sexual tension, suggestive topics, and Sevika having both her arms.

A/N: Writers block is a reallll thing, but IM BACKKK!!

` 𓂃 ོ𓂃 `

Early mornings on the beach were beautiful.

The cool, summer breeze blew past you and your wife as the two of you looked out over to the sea from the balcony of your suit. The water was still and peaceful, so was the rest of the resort. You enjoyed the solitude with Sevika, for there were no crying children, no men, and not a single soul on the soft sand. The beach was bare and gorgeous.

Not to mention just how happy you were.

It had been a long night after your wedding, you knew it’d be. Getting your back blown was exactly what you’d expected, and you had to beg for her, your wife, to soften up, for that woman was going to tear your pussy open.

Staying up all night was a blast, really, and that’s what led you to lean against the railings of the balcony to smoke a cigarette. Sevika didn’t let you use your hands, she held the joint inbetween her fingers and did it for you. You didn’t mind, less work on your part, and you got to watch as the sun rose and shone it’s orange light onto the glistening, blue water.

You were a disheveled mess and were sure if anyone saw you they’d think you were a ghost. But even with your hair roughened up, mascara and lipstick smudged, tanktop thrown on without a bra, Sevika thought you looked stunning. Not to mention your stained shorts. Your wife, however, looked neat. She had on her usual wife beater, the only thing she’ll be beating is your pussy, and her casual shorts; the two fabrics covered her toned and muscular body. Her hair was out and about, flowing with the soft breeze that flew past the two of you.

She wrapped an arm around you as she held the cigarette to your mouth for you to pull the air into your lungs. Your wife only smiled before running her big fingers through your hair to even it out. “You alright?” She murmured, voice soft and gentle as she pulled closer and pressed a kiss on your head. “Yeah, why?.. Is it my makeup?” You, knowing her answer, gave her a playful smile. The smoke left you to get carried away by the wind. “Yes and no. You’re less chatty than usual..”

“True that.” You were “less chatty,” only because of the ache in your back, all that arching had came to bite, and the sore in your knees; which would give out if you tried moving too swiftly.

Your wife pressed another kiss on your head before turning her attention onto the cigarette in her hand. You follow suit and look down at the hickeys on your ankle, the two of you really went all out. There was a moment of comforting silence, the only things breaking it were the seagulls flying by and the waves crashing onto the shore.

“I thought honeymoons were for couples trying to get pregnant.” You, breaking the silence, playfully whisper out and elbow Sevika. “You’d be pregnant by now if I had a third leg.” She returned, her hand moving to pull you flush against her side. “Oh, like hell it’d be that big.” Your words were chuckled out as you leaned forward to take another inhale of the joint.

It would be big. Probably too big for you to handle.

Your wife only scoffed and turned her head to you. “It would, actually. That’s why I wasn’t given one, I’d be unstoppable.” You groan and cringe at her retort before blowing the smoke in her face for her to smile at. “Watch it, doll. I can have you right back on that bed again.”

Again, she was right, one wrong word and she’d throw you over her shoulder and fuck the audacity out of you.

“Yeah, alright..” you stare out at the sea, it was a sight you couldn’t get enough of. The sun had just come up and the sky was painted with oranges and reds. “Anyways..” your wife gave your waist a pat, “my earlier question; you okay?”

“My back hurts.” You answer, and, almost immediately, Sevika’s large hand traveled to your lower back to rub soothing motions on it. “Figured. Thought you’d break it on the bed earlier.” She teased, leaning closer to press a series of kisses on your head. “You’re gonna smother me with those,” “you don’t seem to mind.” She had you there. “I don’t. I’m just surprised you’re still this eager.”

You’d think Sevika would be satisfied with the amount of sex the two of you had, satisfied with the amount of different positions and the number of orgasms the two of you had shared, but no. The woman could go for more.

She flashed you an amusement smile all the while extinguishing the cigarette and turning to face you completely. “Eager? How could I not be?” Her tone full of fondness, she tilted her head. “I’m married to the prettiest woman alive, you expect me to be.. what? Casual?” With a huff of a chuckle, Sevika pulled you flush against her muscular chest and leaned down to close the distance between your lips and hers.

Her dark lips pecked a kiss onto yours and she pulled back, though she was still a breath away. “I.. really.. want you in that bed again..”

Like hell you’d say no to that.

“You have my permission to break my back.” You cup her face and let her kiss you towards the bed; where she’d, again, fuck you sore.

Your spine was screwed. Completely and utterly fucked, just like you were.

⋆｡𖦹 °. 𓇼 ⋆❀˖°

[hanihazeljade]

Three Weeks

As the snow fell into the streets of Gotham, covering her land with white sheet, he stepped out of the plane. He shivers. He missed the deadly coldness of his hometown. The pollution never seemed to change back when he left 7 years ago. He sighed, white mist blowing out of his mouth. He will only need to stay here for three weeks. Three weeks and he will go back to Japan.

After many years of being away to his adopted family, Tim comes back to Gotham for Cassandra and Stephanie's wedding.

(CW: flashbacks, negligence, swear words, a badass Timothy)

Next Part - Three Idiots

Part Three - Three Hopes

Tim looks outside of the bus. His eyes watch the streets of Gotham. Christmas lights are on as it was 5 days away from Christmas. He watched and watched, like he always did, as classical music blasted to his airpods until the bus hit the stop to Bristol.

In all honesty, he could ask Alfred to fetch him but the man is now too fragile to his liking to be doing him favours. He rather takes the 40 minute walk from the station to Wayne Manor. He doesn’t mind the cold, he actually prefers to be freezing every single moment of his life. He doesn’t want to be reminded of the burning desert in Iraq.

With his suitcase on his tow, he started walking to the peaceful street of Bristol. The snow gently falls into his face and quickly melts but some falls into his lashes and brows and he couldn’t bring himself to wipe it off. He likes the small blur on his sight, it shows that he doesn’t have to stay vigilant in this city. Twenty minutes into the walk, he saw the Drake Manor, still in its pristine shape, hopefully. He walked as he tried to look past the gates of the once house of his, snow is piling up but he will be visiting it once he gets his stuff unpacked.

As he starts to get closer and closer to the Wayne Manor, nostalgia hits him. The good memories flood his mind. Bruce giving them a small pat or rarely hugs, Dick trying to spoil all of his siblings, Cass putting glitter bombs to the most unique places together with Stephanie, Jason joking his death again and again, Damian giving them Alfred the Cat as a stress reliever, and Alfred giving them hot cocoa on the worst days and cookies on the best.

But obviously, if it's all just good memories, he will not leave Gotham. The bad to the worst memories starts to resurface. The threat of Arkham, the throat-slitting episode, the pushing to his death story, the I choose to follow Batman rather than to be honest with you thing, the hellish training with Lady Shiva and many more that he couldn’t remember. He shook his head to remove those memories. It’s been more than a decade since that happened and he has healed already. No need to reopen old wounds.

His time in Japan definitely made him more aware that he doesn’t need other people to love him. He can just do it himself. He starts to sleep for more than 6 hours a night. He eats three times a day, sometimes with a balanced diet, sometimes just pure sodium for ramen or just straight up scooping Nutella out of the jar. He now prioritises himself over others. He works for himself and not to get approval from anyone. He is now him, just Tim. A simple Tim that loves to photograph and now be the object of his photographs. 

Many things change over the course of time. He forgives the Waynes but he will never call himself one. Waynes never treats him like family, except for Cass, bless her pure heart, and he is now giving it back, the treatment of an acquaintance. Not family. Not friends. But acquaintances. That’s all the Waynes are to him now. Because god forbid that his teenage self is simply obsessed with them. He rolled his eyes on the thought.

As he was letting his thoughts wander, he finally arrived at the prestigious Wayne Manor. The gates are open so he let himself into the other five minute walk of the driveway. As he stared at the old oak wood door, he sighed, trying to compose himself as he will be in their presence for the next three weeks. After trying to console himself, he knocks hoping that it will be Alfred who will open the door for him. After a few minutes of waiting on the porch, the door opened, revealing the foyer of the Manor and Alfred standing in front of him.

“Hi, Alfred.” Tim smiled at the old man.

Alfred, still in shock but smiled back to him, “Welcome back, Master Tim.”

And then suddenly there is a commotion behind Alfred, making the two gentlemen on the doorway look. It shows Damian and Jason. Seems like the two are trying to race to see which one will get to the door first. Childish competitions, like what brothers do. Jason and Damian look at them, first to Alfred and next to Tim. And he looked back at them, giving them a gentle smile.

“Hi, Timmerly. You look different.” Jason spoke out of the blue.

“Thank you, Jason.” He said, “You look different, too.” he added. Jason has indeed changed. The white stripe of hair due to the dip is still there but the face and the body itself evolved. Jason looked taller than he last saw him, The tight wool sweater emphasises the bulk body of Jason. And that face of his, is always exceptional but more relaxed.

There he heard a cough and gave his attention to the person. “Timothy, you look alright.” Damian said, standing in his glorious 6 foot 3. His tanned skin is honeyed perfection and his build is more similar to Bruce and Jason. Green eyes looked at him like it was captivating his soul. The Demon Brat is gone and was replaced by a hulking man.

He was shocked for a fleeting second before replying, “Thank you, Damian.”

“Young Masters, as much as I like that the three of you are conversing like normal human beings, Master Timothy needs to go inside first. It is freezing out there.” Alfred interrupts them and tells Jason and Damian that he is still indeed on the porch. Jason without waiting a moment, went and grabbed his suitcase and he proceeded to go inside the manor. 

Tim asked Alfred, “Where will Jason put my suitcase?”

“In your room, Master Tim. I mean, your old room.”

“Oh.” He just said as he took off his scarf and coat and gave it to Alfred, as he left the three on the foyer.

He starts walking into the Manor and walks past the library with the rest that didn’t meet him on the door. Steph and Cass are cuddling each other on the couch while Bruce is on the loveseat fiddling something in the tablet, probably about Wayne Enterprise, and Dick is on one of the bean bags that is scattered in the library. The first one to notice him is Cass, of course.

“Little brother, welcome.” She said as she reached out one of her arms to him. Her acknowledgement of his presence makes everyone in the room aware of his existence.

“Timmy!” Dick shouted as went to him and hugged him. It kinda still startled him a little bit, but he awkwardly hugged Dick back. 

Bruce gave him a smile, “Welcome back, Tim.”

Steph hit his back, “When Cass actually told us that you will come for our wedding, we didn’t believe her.“

Tim touched the spot Steph hit, “I would not miss it for the world.” Then he walked to Cass, “Hey, sis.” Cass smiled back at him. “Winter wedding, really?” 

“Hey, winter weddings are beautiful. And Cass will look like an angel.”

“And you are the demon that made Cassandra fall down from heaven.” A voice joined them, it’s Damian.

“Hey! That’s mean!”

The chaos and noises are relatively relaxing but when he yawns, he excuses himself. “Going to sleep, Timmy?” He nodded and replied with, “Jetlagged.”

Tim tried to remember where his room was. And thank god, he found it with no anomalies. He entered the room and saw the room that he left. The room is completely gone with cans of energy drinks or packaging of junk foods. The bed is comforting as he remembers, he saw his suitcase next to the nightstand. He opens it and gets a fitted cashmere turtleneck and fleece sweatpants. He took a quick shower and changed. He laid down on the bed and let sleep take him.

 He woke up the sun already down and darkness already took the city. He grabbed his phone and looked at what time it was. 8:05 am. Huh?? Oh, his phone is still in the Japanese Time Zone. He quickly changes it and freshens up. He looked at the wide mirror in his bathroom, and assessed himself. He knows he changed when he moved to Japan. His toned body was dissolved into a more lean one. His hair was maintained into a shoulder length, but his hair is shining with a red undertone in the right light. He has an ear piercing. His face was more round and yet still sharp. He got taller but still the smallest to Wayne, even Cass is taller than him. No, he is not salty about it.

He scooped up a handful of water and splashed his face and hair. Once he could feel his rationality and sanity came back to him, he dried his face and went down to the kitchen. He needs something to ingest in his body, anything. He saw Alfred was making something in the kitchen.

“Master Tim, you are finally awake. Will you please call the others for dinner?”

“Sure, Alfred.”

He found everyone in the largest living room. Damian and Dick playing chess, Damian is winning. Stephanie is doing something together with Duke. Bruce is with Cass flipping in the catalogue of whatever they still need to add to the wedding.

“Hey, Alfred told me to get you all. Dinner is ready.”

Dinner is rather peaceful, but rather uncomfortable. Whenever his eyes linger for a little second longer on a dish, Dick is already putting it on his plate. Damian kept on giving him a piece of whatever Damian thought he liked. Jason is spoon feeding him on dishes on what Jason thinks he will like. If this continues, he will be fat and as a model he would rather not have that. The Japanese Modelling World is so strict when it comes to thinness of their own.

But after that dinner, he sighed as walked to his room, he grabbed a velvet box and went to what he thinks is Cass' room.

He knocked, then he opened the door. Waynes are known for just busting your door open before coming in, because apparently, privacy is a social construct. Tim is not a Wayne anymore and also he is one of the decent people who actually knocks before coming inside of someone’s personal space.

“Hey Cass. I got you something.” he said as he looked at his sister.

“What is it?”

Instead of answering, he pulled a velvet box and gave it to Cass. Cass accepts it and opens the blue velvet box, revealing a silver hair comb pin. Cass looked at him with huge eyes. He smiled at his sister, “My mother wore that at her wedding. She says my grandmother and my great grandmother also wear that to their wedding, and I feel like I am not the rightful owner of such a piece.”

Cass hugged him. He missed how tight Cass hugs him. The comfortable warmth that brings pleasant memories only, none of those scorching heat of Iraq. Maybe, maybe he can stay here for three weeks for Cass. For Cass.

[icequeenlila]

Context: they are driving in a convertible (Max is driving), Bradley lowkey has an existentional crisis right before this scene, and Max snapps him out of it without even realizing.

"Powerline!"

Max voice was loud and excited and all consuming.

Suddenly loud music blasted from the speakers, shutting down every thought Bradley could have possibly had, ripping his attention away from himself and his thoughts, until there was only Max and his loud, goofy voice, singing (shrieking) along to some random song.

Bradley blinked against the whiplash. It was like being thrown into cold water. Disorienting but refreshing.

"Open up your eyes, take a look at me. Get the picture fixed in your memory", Max sang along, his eyes leaving the road for one short moment, brows wiggling at Bradley.

His mind was still trying to sort out itself, so all Bradley could do was to look at the boy with wide eyes, not even able to frown or complain about Max being an irresponsible driver.

Bradley kept staring, watching Max thrust his head back and forth, the boy's eyes concentrated on the road, not missing a single word of the lyrics.

"Some people settle for the typical thing. Livin' all their lives waitin' in the wings."

Wide, green fields passed by them, the sun standing high, shining down hot on them. At some point Max had put on sunglasses. His sunglasses! And Bradley was only noticing now.

"You gotta believe that I got what it takes!" Max's voice was peeking and breaking in a way that should have been embarrassing but the boy didn't care at all.

"To stand out! Above the crowd! Even if I gotta shout out loud!"

He turned to look at Bradley, nodding his head so the Gucci glasses slid down his nose a nudge, reaching out a hand towards him and balling it into a fist as he kept shouting the lyrics.

"Till mine is the only face you see! Gonna stand out..." He pointed a finger at Bradley. "’till you notice me."

Heat to Bradley's cheeks, ears burning and heart picking up a beat. Because of what? Because of a crappy song and piercing dark eyes?

Why did he think of Max' eyes as piercing? Why was he thinking about them at all?

The answer made him angry, and anger was a way better feeling than whatever he had going on only moments ago.

Bradley finally found his voice again.

"What the fuck, Goof!?", he shouted over the music, wind almost swallowing his voice. "Focus on the road! Put down my glasses! Do you call that singing!?"

Max didn't follow any of his commands, his voice now filled with laughter as he kept singing along to the lyrics, not missing a single beat.

"If the squeaky wheel's always gettin' the grease. I'm totally devoted to disturbing the peace."

Max was totally ignoring him, head nodding up and down as he kept driving, the car not swaying once.

"And I'll do it all again when I get it done. Until I become your number one!"

"Don't you ignore me!", Bradly shouted, but the glare on his face was wavering.

Max just kept half singing, half shouting the lyrics at him. The more Bradley complained the more Max struggled to keep his voice even, as laughter shook his entire body.

All the while, wind was tugging at them from all sides, blowing their hair in and out of their faces.

In his euphoria, Max was half performing to the song, nodding his head, shimmying his shoulders and pointing fingers at Bradley, trying to make him part of his ridiculous performance.

"I'm under a spell, I'm in over my head."

Max kept wiggling his brows at him and it looked so ridiculous that Bradley actually had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning.

"And you know I'm goin' all of the way till the end- Get ready, Brad!"

Max drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, leaning slightly forward in anticipation.

"Pfft!"

Bradley shook his head, trying his hardest to keep from grinning. Seeing Max in such high spirits did something to him. His chest felt wider, his breathing easier. He stopped clenching his jaw and straining his shoulders.

"To stand out above the crowd! Even if I gotta shout out loud!"

Max was singing at the top of his lungs now, hair blowing in the wind, Gucci glasses lopsided on his nose.

"Till mine is the only face you'll see! Gonna stand out till you notice me, yeah!"

And Bradley couldn't keep in the laughter anymore. He let himself fall back against his seat, arms crossed over his stomach, as he just let go.

It was ridiculous. He'd been pretty much questioning his entire life mere moments ago and now he was crying from laughter. He was crying for god's sake!

And all just because Max was singing along to a song, not caring if he was hitting the right notes, goofing off and making a complete idiot of himself.

This was a new low. But he really didn't care.

"Oh my god", Max' voice sounded next to him. He had stopped singing. "Is he laughing?"

Bradley turned to look at him and his vision was swimming. It made him laugh even harder, because it was so stupid.

"Do you need a hospital?", Max asked, stupid grin on his face, eyes jumping between Bradley and the road. "Are you feeling all right?"

Bradley wiped the tears from his eyes, trying to compose himself and failing.

"What?"

"This is the first time I hear you laughing without any murderous intent in your voice", Max said.

Bradley shook his head, not able to stop smiling.

"You're an idiot", he said, and he sounded horribly out of breath.

"But I made you laugh." Max shot him a satisfied grin. "I knew you would warm up to me."

"I'm just laughing at you", Bradley argued, but there was no malice in it.

He managed to stop laughing but his voice was still breathy. His belly hurt. His guts feeling tingly.

"Just admit that you like me." Max nudged him against the shoulder, eyes staying on the road.

"You're an idiot, Goof", Bradley said, swatting at his hand.

"Max."

"Huh?"

"Call me Max. I like it when you say my name."

No, Bradley didn't blush at that. It was totally the summer heat. And only that!

"I will call you by your name as soon as you manage to remember mine correctly", he retorted.

"Goof it is then."

Bradley giggled. He couldn't help it. He felt too good to care.

"You're an idiot, Goof."

"You already said that", Max glanced over at him briefly. "Also, you're a snob."

Bradley blinked, sitting up straight in his seat. "Excuse me? I'm not a snob."

"The snobbiest snob I've ever encountered", Max said, chuckle in his voice and grin on his lips.

"Take it back!"

"No can do."

"Goof!", Bradley warned, but his voice betrayed him as it trembled with suppressed laughter.

"Brad." The grin on Max' lips seemed to be glued on.

"Stop calling me Brad!"

"Admit you like me."

"I don't."

"But I like you, Bradley."

And Max' voice was soft when he said it.

His breathing stopped. For a few moments, Bradley couldn't do anything but stare at the boy.

How was he so bold? So carefree? So completely and brutally honest?

Heat spread from his chest and traveled higher. And this time it definitely wasn't the sun.

Max' eyes were constantly jumping between him and the road, searching Bradley's face, waiting for him to say something in return.

But Bradley couldn't. Not when he felt his heartbeat in his throat. Not when his tongue felt dry as the desert, his entire body burning with a tingly heat.

"Look at that", Max said, and at some point, he must have turned down the volume of the radio, because his voice was soft. Gentle. "Bradley has lost his words."

And somehow, Max sounded almost fond. The look in his eyes, the curve of his lips. It seemed all so honest and genuine, and impossible.

It made Bradley's gut clench in a half tingly, half painful way. It felt good, but it hurt. It was confusing, because Max was confusing him. Bradley was confusing himself. Whatever!

It was definitely too much to feel at once, and he needed Max to stop looking at him like that.

"Eyes on the road", he said, his voice way too breathy, way too soft.

"But I like looking at you more", Max said, not missing a beat.

And Bradley's heart was fucking pounding against his rib cage, like it wanted to jump out of his chest and right into Max' arms.

He could not have that!

He reached out his hand, placing his fingers gently against Max' jaw, forcing him to look forward.

"On the road", he repeated, voice slightly trembling towards the end.

Because there was the faintest scruff of beard stubble beneath his fingertips. Max' skin felt warm, the line of his jaw firm. Bradley withdrew his hand.

And his heart was beating, beating, beating quickly inside his chest.

"Also stop at the next store we pass", he added, forcing himself to breathe evenly.

This couldn't be happening. This so couldn't be happening.

Max grinned, keeping his eyes on the road like Bradley had told him to.

"As you wish, Brad."

And Bradley didn't have the breath to argue on the nickname, too occupied to keep his stomach from clenching, his fingers from fidgeting.

This couldn't be happening. This couldn't be possibly happening.

He looked back at Max and his stomach felt tingly. He looked at him and there was heat everywhere. His heart was ready to explode.

It couldn't be. It couldn't be. He couldn't have a crush on Max.

+

This is from chapter 4 of my fic Good Luck, Babe! on ao3

[stardust-poet]

Stars.

Pairing: percy jackson x gn!reader

Warnings: slightly vivid gore descriptions, not proof read

A/n: wrote this at midnight, so... might be a little incoherent

Enjoy!

You and your friend percy sat next to each other, percy sitting with his legs crossed and you with your legs dangling off the side of the rooftop of cabin 3, watching the stars peacefully.

You were the one who invited him to do this at such a late hour. Percy didn't mind much, though. He was a little concerned about getting too cold and turning into a perseus-popsicle. And the harpys tearing the both of you to bits.

You had called percy on the demigod-safe phones Leo Valdez had made for Camp-Halfblood as well as Camp-Jupiter all the way in California.

Your voice was shaky, and your words were stuttered over and repeated. That was when percy knew something was wrong.

Percy had always been plagued with nightmares since he had been thrown into the demigod life. That's what he suspected happened to you tonight. You might've been plagued with the horrors of both wars or some of the quests you've been on with other campers who may or may not have made it back in one piece.

Either way, he was here for you.

Percy had a crush on you. It didn't affect whether or not he would've come. He would always come when you called.

His little crush started out small. Holding stares just a little longer, more aware of how warm hugs from you were, admiring your appearance.

But soon, it got deeper and more passionate. Noticing every little quirk you have, memorizing your 'system' whenever you perform a task, slowly falling in love with every part of you. Your eyes, your smile.

Gods, he loved that smile.

Percy hardly focused on the stars tonight. His entire focus was you and you alone. You were the only star he ever needed. Until his own brain reminded him that you might not have the same feelings, and as of now, you aren't in the greatest condition to confess to. He had planned to confess tonight.

The silence was deafening yet peaceful. You felt like everything was crashing down on top of you. You felt the weight of it all, but you weren't crushed. You couldn't tell if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

Earlier in the night, you woke up from a nightmare.

Not the usual kind, where it was maybe a monster chasing after you and having to run for your life with the overwhelming fear that it might catch up to you.

This time, it was memories.

Memories of the wars, bloodied guts, and other bodily parts everywhere from countless people you knew and some you didn't, mangled bodies spread throughout the area, people who were barely alive and hoarsely crying for help.

It felt as if everything was a thousand times worse in the nightmare then it had been in the actual moment.

Was it like that because you were so desensitized to this stuff? That you had to re-experience it in a dream for it to kick in?

What if you can't change this? What if every single bad, traumatizing, gut-wrenching thing that happens to you is something you'll blow off in the future?

What if you go cold?

What if you go numb?

What if—

"Are...you okay?" Percys soft whisper broke through the silence. Breaking you out of your downward spiral.

You hadn't realized it, but hot tears were streaming down you face. You hated the fact percy had seen you like this ... unless he didn't.

It was dark enough, right? Maybe he couldn't see you falling apart from your own thoughts.

And, percys whisper was just quiet enough for you to ignore it. You could blow this off, right?

"The stars look lovely, don't you think?"

Wouldn't this be confirming the one thing you feared?

"...that doesn't answer my question." Percy whispered, looking to you with a frown.

When he heard you faintly sniffle only a few moments ago, he got a wave of panic and fear flooded through him.

Were you alright? Were you crying? What had really happened?

That was when he saw the tears and asked if you were alright, resisting the urge to hold you.

"I don't wanna lie to you, percy." You whispered, your voice cracking as tears threatened to stream out of your eyes.

You wiped away the few tears that spilled out, feeling colder and alone despite a human next to you.

Then, percy pulled you into a close hug.

It was warm. You nuzzled into his chest and sobbed quietly, not really caring if anyone would hear.

Percy smelled like the ocean breeze and the beach. His hug was comforting and not like anything else you've ever felt.

Percy held you closer when he saw your shoulders heaving in rhythm with your sobs, pressing a small kiss to your forehead.

"It's okay, I'm here. It's okay, I promise you're safe. It's okay, you're safe. You're safe." He whispered sweet nothings that meant everything to you.

After your sobs had died down and been reduced to sniffles, percy asked:

"Do you...wanna talk about it?"

You shook your head against his chest.

"Okay. Okay, that's okay." He whispered, placing another kiss to the top of your head.

Maybe someday he'll get to confess, but surely not now.

Someday.

°•~《☆》~•°

.

.

.

Kinda mad at myself for not making them kiss ngl :/

Based on a writing prompt from (I think) Bookingitonthedaily on Instagram

[chouxsardine]

He Would---Danny Wagner x reader

A/N: A soft Danny thought, inspired my way home from the grocery run this afternoon and the infamous “If he wanted to, he would”. A little warm-up for Valentine's Day. I hope you like it. Enjoy!

Warnings: none; fluff, boyfriend! Danny; sound sensitivity; slight description of anxiety, unhinged cheesiness

Word Count: 2491

🎧: More Than Words by Extreme

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

You are very sensitive to loud noises. Since you were a little kid, all your friends have known that a jump scare is a guaranteed win to get back at you for a prank war. You would scream like a banshee, most definitely fall on your behind, and actually need a moment and several deep breaths to rein in your pounding heart back to normal.

Sure, it’s an annoyance and can cause inconveniences sometimes, but you have lived with it for years and can usually get it under control. Therefore, you never really mentioned it to Danny after you two are together. As the attentive and caring lover that he is, he picked it up all by himself.

The first time that he noticed it, it was a quiet afternoon. You were having a lazy weekend at your apartment, minding your own business respectively—you were nose deep in your chunky historical romance novel, Danny was working his way folding a pile of laundry fresh out of the dryer—the comfortable silence draped over you. He was stealing glances at you from time to time. He couldn’t help it—the sunlight that trembled on your curls with your breathing, the unintentional swaying of your legs that were stretched behind you and bent at the knees, and the way that you were completely unaware of your own natural and effortless beauty. He was just so in love with you. However, the love bubble is punctured abruptly by the noise from a power drill coming from your upstair neighbour. Naturally, you both flinched. Fortunately, the sound only lasted for a few seconds before the peaceful and tranquil atmosphere was restored. Danny noticed that your head was still tilted towards your left shoulder as if flinching from a tickle and your fingers were still pressing into your ears. He opened his mouth, wanted to check in with you, but despite your actions, you seemed completely unbothered, already getting back to your reading. Your hands stayed there for about another twenty seconds, and after that, you were completely normal, as if nothing had happened.

After that, the evidence has been piling up quite self-evidently. There was that night when the storm was particularly vicious. Danny was drifting in and out of conscious, bothered by the thunder and the pouring rain blowing against the window. He felt you stir in his arms. He looked down, and you didn’t wake up; it didn’t seem like you were having a bad dream either. There was just that flinching again—your eyebrows furrowed, your neck craning to the left. Danny carefully reached out and caressed the left side of your face, his thumb brushing feather-light strokes on your cheek. To his relief, you stopped frowning and leaned into his touch subconsciously, nuzzling his hand like a kitten. Danny made sure your breathing went back to normal before he fell asleep again.

There was also that time when you and the boys went to see the fireworks for New Year’s Eve. You were largely distracted by the visuals. The sounds only caught up with you when some of the single-shot aerial salute were fired towards the end. Upon that first loud bang, Danny’s black earmuffs were already around your ears. You turned your head, giving him a grateful look and flashing him a smile. He only squeezed your shoulder reassuringly as the people around began counting down. It happened so naturally that it skipped how he has already not only noticed, but also learned your way to deal with it.

Sure, Danny could have directly asked you. A simple “are you sensitive to loud sounds?” would suffice, but he prefers to let you take the lead. You should be the one who decides when it feels right and comfortable to tell him about it. This is the principle that Danny holds when it comes to most sensitive topics between you. He knows that it takes you longer to open up, so as long as it’s not something urgent, he always waits patiently.

And it did take a while for you to realize that. But once you began connecting the dots, things became abundantly clear. Danny always manages to find a way to make his presence known. The loud ‘honey, I’m home’ every time he dropped his bag at the doorway, the sliding of a steaming mug into your sight when your eyes are glued to the laptop screen and your fingers are flying over the keyboard, the keeping your Adblock software up to date especially during Halloween season so the unscrupulous jump-scares from the horror movie trailers would never get you. You have even joked with Danny how you have stopped accidentally breaking plates or glasses ever since you guys started dating. God knows how many broken ceramics or glasses you had to sweep up when you were with your ex. Danny would never creepily appear right behind you and then scolded you for being dramatic when you are genuinely jumped out of your skin. When he wants to get your attention in the middle of your little dance party, he always changes or turns down the volume of the song that you are playing and lets you notice it yourself.

You also remember that time when Danny found you minutes before he was about to go on stage.

You were about to go to your reserved spot at the side wing when you heard Danny calling your name. “Danny! what are you doing here?” He was all dressed up, the makeup sparkling around his eyelids. He looked so divine, but his breathing was quicker, and he looked a little flushed as if he was in a rush. Well, duh, of course, he was. Curtain was in five, he was not supposed to be here.

“Here,” he dropped something into your palm and spoke again before you had time to see what it was. “I knew you said you’re fine, but I want you to have them just in case.” “Okay, babe.” Given the tight timing, you decided to play along. Plus, you trusted him anyway. With that, he gave you a kiss with pouty lips so as not to mess up his makeup and hurried away at the stage manager’s anxious urging.

When you got a chance to look at the objects in your hands, you recognized it was a pair of earplugs—not two pieces of bright orange foam you found at the dollar store, but the proper ones, the “standing-right-behind-the-barricade” kind that you saw photographers and security guards wear. And they are in your favorite colour too. Your mind instantly went back to that conversation you had when you finally told Danny about your sound sensitivity. He was nodding along attentively and you could almost hear the gears in his brain turning. “What?” You asked, feeling a little self-conscious. “No, no. I was just thinking. You said loud sounds…What about the drums, do they also…” “Of course not!” You laughed, “they are quite the opposite, honestly. I was referring to like, more erratic noises. You drums are nothing like those!”

That was one of the earlier shows that Danny took you to, and those earplugs have been with you ever since.

Whenever you go to concerts, no matter if it’s at the crowded, overwhelming pit, or in a low-lit, intimate bar, Danny always stands behind you — not only to protect you as a human shield from strangers’ unnecessary physical contacts (accidental or not), but also to hug you from behind so that he can sway with you gently along with the rhythm, steal a kiss when the song comes to your favourite part, and catch the tears that slide down your cheek with his thumb when you are so deeply touched by the lyrics.

Today, you were walking down the street with Danny. As a firm believer and the loyal executant of “the sidewalk rule”, Danny was walking on the traffic side of the sidewalk, his right hand is stuffed in the left pocket of your coat, his fingers tangled with yours. This has always been your little tradition when walking together. Danny jokingly named it “save a glove, hold hands”, derived from that infamous cowboy phrase. It was late afternoon, there were few people on the roads. The air was crisp, delectable of the food smell coming from the bistros and restaurants nearby. You were telling Danny about one of the movies you recently watched and was about to get to the juicy reveal of the plot twist when you heard the siren of an ambulance in the distance. Your heart instantly sped up your fingers twitched slightly.

You hated the sounds of sirens; terrified, you’d even say. Among all your noise triggers, they are probably the worst. You have hated it since you were a child; when your cousins would whip out their electric firetrucks and police car models on a playdate, the flashing light and clanking noises always made your skin crawl. Oh, just wait until you find out about the real ones screaming and whizzing by while you walk. It’s not only the high pitched sound, but also the instant reflex in your brain alerting that “something is wrong”, some one is hurting, someone needs help—a fire? a robbery? A car accident? Or could it be an abduction case? Did some grandma slip and fall in the shower, or is a mother unexpectedly going into labor? Images flash before your eyes: blood, yelps, a doctor performing CPR in the moving vehicle… To make matters worse, your deceptive brain offers you to consider the possibility: what if someone you knew is in that vehicle right now? What if they are the ones that was anxiously waiting for the help to arrive? Sure, life is not some soap opera or Lifetime original movie, but….what if?

“Ummmm…and then…then…”

The sound was getting louder, the ambulance was rapidly approaching. You tried to brush it off, faking a cough when you stuttered in your narration. “Come on, get it over with. You’re not going to have a panic attack mid conversation just from hearing some noise. No adults behave like that.” You scolded yourself silently, blinking rapidly as you turned your head away from the street. Just as the howling was becoming unbearable, the next moment, you were wrapped in a hug. Before you knew it, you were tucked in between Danny’s arms. His hand that was previously inside your pocket now snaked around your waist, his other hand holding your head against his chest, his palm covering your ear.

For the next twenty seconds, Danny became your senses. You were engulfed in his scent—mahogany cologne, musk, and the lingering smoky smell on his scarf from the restaurant you just left; his hand pressed against your ears—his big hands, strong fingers, palm dry and warm, radiating his body heat; the sound are all muffled, it was as if you slid into a warm pool—with a protective medium in between, you were safe from the noises. It was reassurance in every possible way.

You felt Danny’s hand gently rubbing your back, his familiar tell-tale sign to slowly welcome you coming back to him. His movements were gradual and calculated. He lifted his palm from your ear little by little, as if peeling open a tub of newly-opened yogurt, letting the exoteric sounds flush back slowly, the slow inflation of a ballon. Gone was the ambulance, along with your anxiousness.

You blinked, forgetting when you squeezed your eyes shut, and collided right into Danny’s eyes—the kind brown paired with the faint hue of an earthy green limbal ring—the undivided attention that makes your head swoon and your knees buckle.

“Hi.” He tucked a strand of loose hair behind your ear.

“Hi.” You shyly replied, pulling his hand back to your pocket as you resumed your walk, lacing your fingers with his.

People were still hurrying to and fro. The cars swooshing by behind you. No one took notice of a hugging couple on the side of the road, or if the did, they would just think it was some cheesy PDA. No one would understand the utter care, gentleness, and intimacy you have just experienced.

Of course he would’ve noticed. Just like he always did. Naive of you to assume that you can fake or hide anything from Danny, your Danny. Little did you know, throughout his time with you, he had trained himself to become the curator of an archive that was you. He could cite chapter and verse of your preferences and abhorrences. He enjoys every minute of it and he is always excited to discover more; he never sees it as a chore or an ordeal, but a labor of love instead; because if he wanted to, he would.

It was by then that you fully understood what Danny really means when he says he loves you with his whole body and his whole heart. It wasn’t the sex or the booze talking, nor the post-show adrenaline. What he means is that he loves you so much that it has become part of his instinct. You are wired into his thought process and will always be part of his consideration for whatever problem he is facing, a constant in the equation. In between choices, you will most often be firmly chosen by him, and in the rare cases that you weren’t, he would have legit reason, which you are certain that you would be sincerely convinced of because you understand that a relationship is about both giving and taking, and that you would do the same for him without any hesitation.

“Oh, Danny.” You sighed contentedly, slightly shaking your head, from the disbelief that a heart is capable of love with such depth that it will permanently mark your soul, from that annoying little voice in your head that makes you wonder what you have done to deserve such a lover like Danny, and from the epiphany which makes you realize that you are smitten by him and will most likely be stuck with him for the rest of your life. It’s a blissful surrender, you wouldn’t have it any other way. There are so much feelings in your heart, but no need to express them at all; because one glance at Danny’s eyes looking back at you with oozing adoration tells you that he fully understands every word you wanted to say down to the punctuations. So much was conveyed in the telepathic silence. There was honestly no greater communication. You know this was the perfect moment that calls for those exact three words, and Danny has already said them to you first, leaving you no choice but to chuckle and say it back.

“I love you, Danny.”

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

Yea! You made it! Thank you so much for reading :)) Let me know what do you think or if we want a taglist. Any comments, thoughts, and feedbacks are GREATLY welcomed and appreciated.

My other works: Permission to Fall || Mariner's Complex || Ticked (all my boxes) || Love is a four-legged word || The Lucky Ones || Coming back to me || Warm Honey

[bianotbia]

— 𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐇 [𝐬𝐞𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐦𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐬]

˗ˏˋ unholy thoughts start to cloud your mind and father michaelis takes the matter into his own hands ˎˊ˗

⤷ a/n : this was another fic I already had on my drafts, now that my summer vacation started I finally can go back to my creative self and write more so stay tuned :) hope you enjoy my unholy thoughts

⤷ contains : nun! reader x priest! sebastian, nsfw, religious themes, someone gets slapped [wc: 2.4k]

⤷ now playing : monochrome kiss by SID

A wind of monochrome blows

Through our colorless encounter

I shall entrust my pain in its entirety to you

Painfully delineating my old scars,

The merciless autumn has arrived,

And it entices me with its cold fingers

The faint morning sun reflects through the stained glasses of the countless church windows, like colorful spots dancing on the cold stone floor. As usual I woke up, ate breakfast with the sisters of the convent and together we did our morning prayers. After this shared moment, they all start their daily duties but I like to stay a little bit longer and enjoy the vast silence and peace of the house of God. My eyes were closed and my lips soundlessly moved as I recited my prayers alone, however the air seemed to change and I could now feel an eerie presence watching over me, still when I looked around no one could be seen. Out of a wooden door comes the priest of our church – Father Sebastian Michaelis – his piercing eyes fall on my figure and I feel the heat taking over my face, anyway I shake off any intrusive thoughts and promptly head to my morning activities. With imponent arches towering above me I walk down the corridor on my way to a class of little kids waiting for me, yet the feeling of ominous eyes still lingers on the nape of my neck with every step I take.

I am like a burdensome piece of ice

That has just melted into a puddle

You scoop me up gently

and fondle me playfully with your lip

After dinner everyone went back to their rooms, candles were extinguished one by one and the white stone walls now reflected the bright moonlight. A few candles still dance upon my table and cast shadows on the walls as I write about my daily thoughts and feelings in my diary. Lately a dark desire clouds over my mind and stains my soul each second it passes, day by day this unknown sensation seems to take over my heart. Countless prayers, thousands of words written every night, endless hours of work, it was worthless paying attention to any other thing for even after doing everything to stop this feeling my mind still wanders back to him… Father Michaelis. Unaware of the sin that crawls under my skin, I recall the many moments that in the middle of the Sunday worship his words would slowly fade away and a tingling feeling would spread over my core. I shivered and writtled while kneeling on the ground, praying for the sisters to not notice my trembling figure as unholy thoughts flooded over and dirty images got imprinted inside my brain. Every night my mind wanders off to those moments and haunts me in my deepest longings, once again my fingers travel under my nightgown and caress away the desire under my skin. Shrouded by the shadows of the night I can only hope that the all-seeing holy eyes don't watch over me this time.

Nevertheless, I search for a single drop of love

I look into your eyes that have never once cried,

They tell a tale beyond time

If I could, I'd like to be shrouded in this pain and simply let things end

Hiding within the night,

We have covered up our pale skin under the moonlight

On this gloomy autumn morning, I was once again dealing with my hauntings on my lonesome prayers. The other sisters were already out doing their daily chores, however I still could hear some young novices gossiping on a secluded corner of the church, there wasn't many people around, actually we were the only ones there so some snippets of what they were so heatedly talking about made it over my ears "... he's so hot for a priest…" a choir of quiet giggles echoed in the air "... isn't saying those things kind of a sin?" the giggles got louder and so did my hammering heart "... I'm certain God would understand me since he made Father Michaelis so fine like that. Don't you imagine what's under his pants?". That's enough. Anger boiled inside me, my short breathing got louder and louder as a dark presence took over my body and unconsciously directed me to the group of novices. "Aren't you ashamed of saying such things inside the house of God?" I blustered and the three whispering girls turned over to me with surprised faces, the one seeming to be the oldest lifted her chin "Why? Are you jealous that I can say those things while you are trapped in that Virgin Mary thinking?". Anger traveled through every inch of my flesh, my mind went blank and I could only hear a loud snap echoing through all the church halls, followed by a stinging sensation on the palm of my hand. The girl was crying and clutching her reddened face, the other two ran off, probably to snitch to some higher nun what just happened, as for me, I walked away feeling as light as the white feathers of the Holy Spirit.

Many nights have passed since then,

And my love for you only grew stronger

In the sea of obsessive dependency,

I have forgotten even to breathe

I heard a knock on the door of my room and went to open it, another young novice was standing there with scared eyes "The-they sent me here to say that Father Michaelis wants to meet you at the confessional" I looked at her shivering figure and questioned myself if she was scared that I was just gonna slap her for delivering the message "If that's all than you can go, tell whatever nun that sent you that I'm already on my way" the girl shook her head and ran down the corridor, with a guiltless mind I went the opposite way thinking about what could I possibly tell him to clear this situation. As I arrived at the stall and closed the door behind me a deep voice broke away the silence "Hello sister, please tell me what afflicts your soul. May God, who has enlightened every heart, help you to know your sins and trust in His mercy". Shivers went down my spine as my once steady hands made the sign of the cross "Bless me Father for I have sinned. It has been" a sigh escapes my mouth "... three years since my last confession. These are my sins." I gave a pause after saying that and considered lying about what happened to spare myself and the girl of a lecture later, yet something told me to say the whole truth "I felt anger… so much anger… lately I feel like all kinds of sins are taking over me. It seems harder and harder to concentrate and feel at peace" words unconsciously dripped through my tongue "What did the girl say to make you so angry?" with nervous hands I crumpled my habit "That she had impure thoughts about you sir". That dreadful silence seemed to last countless hours "Did you want to punish her for thinking that way?" words got stuck on my throat "... I-I was jealous of her'' a satisfied hum traveled through the division of the stall. "I don't know… it felt like something was crawling under my flesh… anger, greed, envy perhaps" an expectant silence floated in the air "Aren't you forgetting another sin, child?" I could hear the grin on his lips as he waited for my reply "... Lust?" I hope he can't hear the deafening sound of my heart bursting through my ribcage "And how often do you feel it?" "Everyday". Even though the stall was secluded and closed it still felt like a thousand eyes were pointed at me, piercing through my raw flesh, specially those I felt behind my neck lately "Well, I think that's all I need to know for now" his voice seemed different but still I continued "I am sorry for these and all of my sins" he hums again "Why don't we go to my office? So we can talk about this more thoroughly".

While I'm captivated by your gaze,

You've left behind only some dull warmth

I despise your habit of quitting at your convenience

As well as your arrogant kiss

The path to his office was dead silent and every sister that passed through us either looked away or whispered something to their friends. As we arrived he politely motioned for me to enter and sit on the chair in front of his table, as I sat over a faint click on the door could be heard, I turned to him and met his ever unreadable eyes and mysterious grin "We don't want those nosy eyes bothering our talk, do we?". He sighed deeply and sat in front of me "This situation is not much like you sister" my eyes fell to the ground while he gazed out of the window continuing "I remember when you were just a novice. Such a pure heart… yet so aware of the evils of the world". Silence reigned over his office and I said with a quiet voice "You still didn't give me a penance sir" his grin grew wider letting out a chuckle "Don't worry about that child" he stood up and calmly walked behind me "I don't believe you're entirely wrong. All these things might be considered sins in the eyes of God, but I preach that for one to spread virtue must first know sin to warn other pure hearts of the evils of the world'' his slender fingers traveled along my shoulders and up to the nape of my neck. "Don't you want to protect your precious students from what's out there? For this you must feel sin on your own skin" he whispered over my ear and the tingling sensation on my core starts to spread through my body once again "Go to your room and pray ten Hail Marys. By midnight I will visit you so we can finish your penance" my breathing gets hitched and I crumple even more my already messy habit "Why don't you do it now?" he chuckles "Patience is one of the virtues you need to start working on, now go child". I lift from my seat and walk over to the door "It's locked…" he hums and unlocks it while gently trailing his finger along my chin whispering "Well forgive me sister, sometimes I too can give in to dangerous desires" with those words echoing inside I return eagerly to my room.

Don't leave me alone

Please understand me and stain me with bright blood

No matter what I say,

My words will only slip right through your room

I'm already disarrayed and falling asleep,

So won't you teach me something else?

Only the moon is looking at my sighs lost in your smiling inquiries

Hours passed and the moon was already high in the sky, I paced around the room thinking about what could possibly happen in the next few minutes. A knock was heard on the door, standing before me under dim light was Father Michaelis and his gaze that as always seemed to reflect every uncertain thought I had. I greeted and welcomed him inside which he calmly did "Did you pray the ten Hail Marys I asked you to?" I shook my head and he sent me a kind smile "Then let's begin your penance. Please take off your habit" my eyes widened and I felt my face heating up. "Why the surprise? I told you before that I believe you need to experience sin to finally be enlightened by virtue. I as your holy representative will help you on this task, or did you already take the matter into your own hands before I came here?" involuntarily my thighs clenched over and he cooed "What a dirty girl. Seems that the matter is worse than I thought, perhaps your penance will be a bit rougher then". He helped me undo the buttons of my habit, feeling the fabric slide down my body I then lay on the mattress while he also takes off his clothes and hovers over me with his bare body "The only thing I ask is for you to recite the Prayer of the Penitent and when you finish it… everything will be over" I shook my head and started it.

Once the clock's arms point straight into the ceiling,

You will no longer be with me,

For I will no longer be needed

"My God, I am sorry for my sins with all my heart" his warm hands gently traced the sides of my body while moist lips sucked the skin on my neck "In choosing to do wrong and failing to do good" the hot breathing on my flesh sent goosebumps all over it. "I have sinned against you whom I should love above all things" slender finger traveled down to my core and caressed my soaked folds "I firmly intend, with your help to do penance" as he slowly inserted himself inside me I could feel his length filling up empty spaces I never believed to have. "To sin no more, and to avoid whatever leads me to sin" with a rhythmic pace and synchronized breathings he opened up my raw heart to the holy sight "Our Savior Jesus Christ suffered and died for us" we clingged on each other, shivers went through our bodies as sin dripped over and mixed up with our overflowing fluids "In His name, my God, have mercy". He did the Prayer of Absolution and finished it over with a deep moan "Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good" even breathless I still manage to continue it "His mercy endures forever" and with a faint sigh he ends our blessing "The Lord has freed you from your sins. Go in peace". Cloaked by the shadows our intertwined bodies finally sink deep into the stained mattress, with a worn down feeling I can feel my eyes closing and my lightened mind slowly drifting away. His lukewarm hands trail unknown patterns on my back as his fading voice travels through my slumber "Such a pure soul stained by sin… Can't wait to feel your luscious raw taste entirely inside me. This penance isn't over my darling".

Nevertheless, I search for a single drop of love

I look into your eyes that have never once cried,

They tell a tale beyond time

If I could, I'd like to be shrouded in this pain and simply let things end

My wish echoes hollowly,

While the night still brings in the dawn

With your tender, passionate, yet shamelessly sly kiss,

Please stain me, in this moonlit final night of demise

the images aren't mine! all rights reserved to © bianotbia 2023. please do not claim, translate, copy or modify any of my works as your own. reblogs are appreciated! ₊˚⊹ ᰔ

[writingmuses]

Love Potion 

Request: Based on a request for an IC x Reader, either a sex pollen fic or a magic potion fic (I may or may not do a sex pollen fic in the future 👀)

Elain x Reader, Nessian X Reader, Azriel x Reader, some mentions of Lucien X Reader (maybe I’ll do a prequel?) → a little bit for everyone. 

Warnings: SMUT, 18+, minors do not engage. Self-pleasure, fingering, grinding, breast play, p in v, biting, mentions of being under the influence. 100% consensual. ANGST.

Use of she/her for the reader. The reader is Rhy’s sister. 

Literal Porn with plot for the sake of porn but there is a lot of potential angst to turn this into an actual fic if anyone's interested by the end (so much drama to unpack). 

Synopsis: Reader accidentally drinks a love potion.  As desire courses through Y/Ns veins, and her inhibitions lower, she encounters the different members of the Inner Court.

Word count: 15.7K (WHOOPS)

-MOR-

“What is it?” Mor asks, gently tapping on the side of the glass pitcher. She brings her hands to her knees and lowers herself down to eye level with the fluid inside. She watches the plum-coloured liquid swirl within the glass, glimmering with tiny flecks of gold, dancing around one another to music that does not exist, suspended in infinite motion. 

She must admit that it is beautiful. That, however,  just makes her all the more suspicious. Mor blows an annoying stray curl out of her face and swivels to meet her cousin’s eyes. Rhysand’s violet gaze is clouded and dark, full of irritation. That means, Mor notes, that her dearest cousin is already aware of what’s inside the pitcher that has been gifted to her High Lady. 

“Yes, Lucien, do indulge my cousin and tell everyone about the swill you have brought into my home," Rhys voice clips. Lucien had arrived at the River House mere minutes ago, holding a large oak tray. On that tray sat the pitcher containing the mystery liquid, one ridiculously bejewelled challis, a single red rose, and, a note addressed to the High Lady:

Dearest Feyre,

I hope you are well and safe.

I apologize for my dismissal of your title as High Lady earlier this year. You are more worthy than any other female I have come across in my many centuries. 

I understand now that you would make a wondrous High Lady in any court. 

I am sending this note with Lucien along with my finest tea as a token of peace and as a toast to you in your new role. I would love for you to sample the wine and write me back letting me know how it made you feel. 

Please do not tell Rhysand of my gift to you, for I fear he would not understand this gesture between friends. 

I count the seconds to your reply.

All my love, 

Tamlin 

Lucien is quite pale. His normally bronzed skin looks ashy and his eyes are sullen. “Rhys… I-I know what you must be thinking.” The male clears his throat, worrying his bottom lip,“I’m sure he just wasn’t in his right mind - or maybe he didn’t know the properties of the liquid. Tam-” 

Darkness begins to creep out from behind Rhys, his face stony.“Do not mention that name in my house right now, Lucien. I have half a mind to winnow over to Spring and gut the coward where he stands.” Rhys holds the note in his hands and quickly crumples it into a tight ball. “Do not make excuses for that vile creature.” His eyes burn with fury as he sends the balled up note careening through the air, and right into the roaring fireplace.

Almost all of the inner court was gathered around the two males, standing tense and mystified at this interaction. Everyone is dressed in fine clothes and gathered at the River house for family dinner. “I’m confused,” Mor queries again, “Rhys, please tell us what is happening?” 

Feyre approaches her mate, resting a gentle hand on his bicep. He turns to look at her. Their eyes locked in a way only a pair of mates could. The two converse internally, and after a moment, Feyre gasps aloud. “A love potion? Rhys, truly?” 

“What the fuck?” Cassian chimes in, brows furrowed, attention turning to the ginger male. “Why the fuck would you bring this to us,” Cassian takes a lumbering step towards Lucien. Mor takes a step forward as well, gripping the General's arm, not in the mood to have dinner ruined just yet.  “Were you in on it?” Cassian barks to the son of Autumn.

“Cauldron no!” Lucien slinks back a step, eyes glued to his worn leather boots, trying to dissipate some of the tension in the room. “I brought it here to show you that Tamlin is desperate - and not above resorting to such vile means.” He clears his throat and looks up to Feyre, a small, apologetic smile on his lips. “I brought this here to warn you that Tamlin will likely try again and that you need to be on your guard.” 

It is Mor now, who takes another step forward, rage simmering beneath her skin. “Likely story you prick. I’ll-” she starts, but she is cut off by a hand on her shoulder. The High Lady had made her way over to Mor, now gripping her shoulder with a delicate hand. 

“He’s telling the truth,” Feyre concludes. She eyes Rhys, another one of their private discussions taking place within the confines of their own minds. “Lucien showed us.” 

“Feyre darling is correct," Rhys sighs, "Our dear friend Lucien here, while foolish - meant well.” the anger in his eyes disperses as Rhys nods a brief thanks to the ginger fae. “Besides,” he ponders, “ this love potion would have no ill effect on our dear High Lady.” 

“Now how’d you figure that Rhys?” Mor raises a brow at her cousin. 

“Because the High Dunce of Spring still believes I have Feyre under my evil spell.” Rhys wiggles his fingers at his mate, dry humour dancing in his eyes. “You see, the particular love potion good ol Tam picked out is called Affectus Revelare, also known as Feelings Revealed." Rhys gestures at the pitcher. "The potion itself is quite rare and rather ancient even by fae standards, which is why I'm not surprised none of you recognized it. Even you Az.” Rhys nods to the shadow singer in the corner. Azriel, who prides himself on his diverse knowledge of poisons, spells and potions, nods in thanks, upset with himself for not having been able to place the potion immediately. 

“I think I've heard of it,” Mor muses, all eyes on her now. “It works to remove inhibition. To allow those who drink it to reveal their true feelings? It is strong, and able to cut through most other potions or spells. Which is probably why Tamlin selected it." Her cousin nods in agreement. She continues, "However, to my knowledge, it went out of favour a long time ago because of the side effects.” She turns back to her cousin and he nods in agreement. 

“What side effects?” Cassian asks. 

“Think of it as a magic truth serum. However, this truth serum removes  any suppression of morals and makes its drinker uncontrollably horny.” Rhys says in a strained voice. “Unstoppably so. The only way to get the urges to dissipate is to have a way with the object of the drinker’s strongest affections.”

The jaws around the room hang low. Cassian lets out a startled cough. Azriel is the first to recover from the uncomfortable silence, his shadows flying around his head as he quickly mutters to them. Some of his shadows disappear into thin air, Mor assumes they are presumably off to keep further tabs on the High Lord of Spring.

“So Tamlin thought what? That I would drink this so-called love potion, break the “evil curse” you’ve trapped me under, again, and then come running back into his arms?” Feyre was full-on laughing now and it was contagious. She wiped her eyes as tears formed as she fought to control her deep belly laugh. 

“And right into his bed.” 

Rhys slings an arm around Feyre’s shoulder and starts to turn her away from Tamlin’s ‘gift’. He kissed the top of her head, a signature smirk returning to his face. His eyes were clear and bright once again. “All that potion would have done is make you find me even more irresistible than I already am," he coos. 

“I don’t know how that could be possible.” 

“Oh Feyre darling, please, we have company.” Rhys groans and nuzzles deeply into his High Lady’s neck, laying kiss after kiss along her pulse point. He pulls his lips from her neck with great effort, and only after poor innocent Elain clears her throat uncomfortably. “Let’s bring this up to the House of Wind for now, we can further investigate the source of this potion tomorrow. I would be very interested to find out where Tamlin was able to source such a thing.” He nods to Cassian who scoops up the tray and heads towards the door. “Everyone meet back here for dinner in 10.” 

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

-CASSIAN-

“I’ll drop this off, I need to pick up Nes anyways. I’ll be right back.” Cassian walks out the door and spreads his wings wide. With powerful strokes, he is up and into the air. In a few short minutes, he touches down on the stone balcony of the House of Wind. Not a single drop of the potion has spilled, and he smiles triumphantly. Nesta sits at the table, a smutty romance novel gripped in her hands. She looks up at him with a smile but worry quickly crosses her face and her eyes drift to the tray in his hands. 

“Don’t worry Nes,” he reassures her. “I didn’t get you anything. This was a gift for your sister, I wouldn’t dream of such a sweeping gesture. I know that you much prefers other methods of celebration,” Cassian says with a wink.

“Who’s it from?” Nesta closes her book, and rises from the table. 

“From Tamlin, of all males.” He sets the tray down on the tabletop, the bejewelled challis rattling against the pitcher at the sudden movements.

“A gift? From Tamlin?” 

“It’s a long story. Let’s head down to dinner, I’ll tell you on the way.” With that, Cassian scoops his beautiful mate into his arms. Her arms lock around his neck as he shoots off into the sky and back towards the River House. The love potion left on the table to be dealt with tomorrow. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

-Y/N-

You winnow out of the sky a number of feet above the House of Wind and begin to make the unceremonious crash down to the balcony. You quickly generate a tiny cloud of sparkling night with a single thought to slow your descent.

I am so running late. 

You had been away in the Summer Court for three weeks visiting your dear friend, Tarquin. The High Lord of Summer and you had bonded over your shared love of the ocean, gossip and fruity drinks many decades ago. He now invited you every couple of months for a visit to his vacation villa, where you would swim, eat and share the juiciest, most jaw-dropping tidbits from your respective courts. You are the only one of the inner circle ever to be invited. This, of course, made Cassian infinitely jealous. 

You loved your visits with the High Lord of Summer. The weight on your shoulders would slip away, even if it was just for a few days and you would both be free of responsibilities. However, this visit had been mostly diplomatic and unfortunately, you had found yourself roped into weeks of dinners and meetings. Working on updating trade agreements between the courts, while important, had been dreadfully boring. So much so that as you had left, Tarquin made the promise that this trip didn’t count and that you would meet up again in two months' time for a redo.

You feel dead tired. What you truly need is a hot bath and good long sleep. But tonight is family dinner and you are excited to see everyone. No work talk, that would wait until tomorrow, but it was rare to have a moment where we were all together, wine flowing and laughs ringing through the River House. You wouldn’t miss it for the world. 

You pass into the dining room and drop your large satchel on the table beside one of Nesta's books. Beside her book, sat a pitcher of tea you assumed Nesta had made for herself during her afternoon reading session. You giggle at the rose laid out next to it. Nesta truly was a romantic at heart. You scoop it up and admired the luscious red of the petals. It was just like Nes to indulge herself in the finer things, especially amidst one of her reading frenzies. 

You twirled the delicate blossom in your hand and inhale the scent deeply, when suddenly you hiccup in pain. Looking down at your hand you realize one of the thorns had sliced your finger. You quickly drop the flower and bring your finger to your mouth, sucking the coppery drops of blood. The cut is shallow and heals instantly, the tiny pink scar disappearing right under your gaze. With the flower now forgotten, you turn your attention to the tea. 

You quickly scan the room, as if Nesta would appear out of thin air at any moment and berate you for taking what wasn’t yours. The thought made you let out a nervous chuckle. If Nes is putting out fancy flowers with her drink, then the tea she selected must be simply divine. 

Don’t mind if I do!

You grasp the gaudy bejewelled challis in one hand and picked up the crystal pitcher with the other. You pour yourself a large cup. As the liquid pours from one vessel to another, you can’t help but admire the way it sparkles and shimmers, almost like stardust suspended in liquid - not unlike your own magic. 

With a little cheers in the air, you take your first taste.

A low moan erupts from the back of your throat. Never have you tasted anything so divine. Hints of rose and lavender, honeysuckle and almond, rose and hibiscus. But also something deeper, and tangier, a musk of dark earth and fresh rain. It tasted of desire and warmth, of friction and longing. The flavour overwhelms your senses, and becomes all-encompassing. 

You take a second small sip. Another groan involuntarily passes your lips. 

Then a third and fourth sip, both larger, more eager.

You take a fifth, and down the rest of your cup.

Now, in a frenzy, you refill the challis and drain it all in one gulp. 

Again. And again. And again. It is as if you are in a trance, unable to stop yourself, needing to feel the sweet nectar pass your lips, and slide down your throat. The mesmerising liquid burns deliciously as you drink and drink and drink until the pitcher is empty. 

As quickly as it had begun, it was over. With the pitcher empty, your desire to consume was gone. Your hands shake as you place the challis and pitcher back onto the tray. Your memories of what has just transpired are hazy. In one breath all memory of drinking the tea was gone. In the next breath, you remember it is family dinner. You quickly grab your bag and shuffle up to your room. Throwing the bag into the corner, you turn to the mirror to address your appearance. The dress you don is a light sea foam green, a slit running all the way up to your hip bone, and a low V neckline descending down almost to your navel. As it was currently winter in Velaris, you would need to change into some warmer clothes. As you reach around to unclasp your dress, you are suddenly hit with an intense feeling of warmth. Your face flushes and in the mirror you see sweat form at your temples. It lasts only for a second before your temperature begins to regulates, but it was enough to convince you to stay in the cooler summer garment. I must just be tired. 

You head back out to the balcony ready to go meet your family. You leap off the ledge and as you enter a free fall, you sigh in relief, letting the chilled air cool you down as you let out a blissful sigh. You catch yourself on a cloud of starlight, pulling out of your free fall and making your way towards the River House. 

You land just outside the border of the River House. As you pass through the boundary and up the front steps you are hit again with another wave of heat. This time it is stronger. You brace yourself on the handrail. Did I spend too much time in the sun? you pondered, thinking back on your time in the Summer Court. You had not spent more time than usual. 

I must just be overtired from my long trip. Right as you reach this conclusion, the heat rapidly dissipates, returning your body to normal once again.

 There was no further time for contemplation as the front door swung open and Cassian comes into view. "Oh, mighty adventurer,” he mocks with a salute, “welcome home!” He bellows loudly. You jump up the last two steps and he immediately pulls you in for a deep hug. Your face buries into the side of his neck. You had missed him dearly while you were away, but of course, you would never tell him that. 

But, what starts as a friendly welcome home, quickly changes course. 

Suddenly, the smell of sandalwood and crackling embers surrounds you, invading all of your senses. This was Cassian’s scent, something you smelt daily for 400 years, and have never thought twice about. But now all of a sudden, he is the only thing you want to smell. You huff in his scent and feel your body warm and tingle.  What the hell? you cry internally. You know you should pull away. But instead, you have the irresistible urge to lick the thick, long column of his neck, and you nearly do. That’s not the only thing that’s long and thick I want to be licking, you muse, and your core throbs. You have no idea what is happening. Cassian, Cassian, Cassian your mind repeats over and over. Lick him, bite him, claim him. You bite your lips, teeth surely drawing blood. Anything to keep your mouth from latching onto him. You need him. You take a shuddering breath, his scent dancing in your lungs as you- 

You’re pulled out of your twisted mind as Cassian adds, “Now, get the fuck inside before you catch your death.”

 You quickly pull away from the General and look down. You had forgotten that you were still in your summer attire. An outfit that while gorgeous was not equipped to handle the Velaris winter you were currently experiencing. You risk a glance back up to Cassian, he smiles gesturing inside the house. Luckily he didn’t seem to notice the massive loss of judgement you had just experienced. You do not have feelings for Cassian. That much you know to be true, at least not anymore. Right? You reassure yourself once again that you must just be tired, that your brain was playing tricks. 

You shake your head to clear your thoughts as you step through the door. You failed to notice how Cassian’s nose flared as you passed him.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Everyone greats you as you enter the dining room. Luckily, your head seems to remain on straight, as no further desire of Cassian clouds your brain. Your brother and his wife offer you both a quick hug, with the promise to debrief tomorrow, you all take your seat at the dinner table. You have strategically placed yourself as far from Cassian as possible, sandwiched in between Feyre and Mor. You hear the chair across from you slide out and you look up to meet the shadowsinger’s eyes as he slips into the chair. You had not seen him when you arrived. But now you see him - more clearly than ever before. 

He offers you a small smile. “How was your visit to Summer, Y/N?”

You don’t hear his question. You are too busy staring at his mouth. Plump lips, tinged slightly red from the cup of wine he’s been sipping out of. His tongue darts out, coating his lips in a glossy sheen. You wonder how those lips would feel against yours… against your breasts… against your core. You blink slowly, noticing his lips are still moving. Oh, the things those lips could do. Suddenly, you feel a hand squeeze your elbow. You yelp and turn to see Feyre grasping your arm. 

“Are you alright Y/N?” She frowns softly, concern dancing in her eyes. 

“P-perfectly” You mutter, blinking rapidly, looking anywhere but towards the shadowsinger. 

“Are you sure? Azriel’s been trying to talk to you for a good minute.” 

“J-just tired.” You assure them. “Think I spent too much time in the sun.” You raise your shoulders in a shrug, mumbling. 

“I’m relieved to hear you’re not intentionally ignoring me,” Azriel quips trying to meet your eye once again. 

“Never.” You say, still not meeting his eye, picking up your wine glass and drinking deeply. “Never.”

And it’s true. Normally, you would never ignore the shadowsinger. You had known him for over 400 years and loved him for 200. Being 80 years younger than your brother Rhys meant that you had grown up with the three of them as your primary moral figures. Rhys was your brother who acted like a father, Cassian your best friend, and Azriel your fiercest protector. And you loved them all for 200 years until something began to change. You had developed a crush on Cassian from an early age. With his broad and muscular chest, and his lushes locks, he sure knew how to make a female swoon. But he was your best friend, and that came first. Your bond with Azriel, now that was even more complicated. He had an uncanny way of being able to see you, to truly see all of you. You loved him as something more, something different than the infatuation you felt with Cass. You yearned for Azriel, and for a time you thought that maybe he desired you too. 

But nothing ever came of it. Maybe it was because he had watched you grow up? Or perhaps it was because you were Rhy’s little sister? You didn’t know. But you’ve been a grown female for four mortal life cycles, and both of those excuses didn’t hold any water as far as you were concerned. 

After 150 years of you pining away while he pined away for your cousin, you finally thought he was seeing you as you are, the female who could obliterate enemies with a thought, the female who held the court together while Rhys was under the mountain, the female who was not just her brother’s little sister, but an equal. 

Then the Archerons arrived. 

And you loved them all dearly. Feyre making your brother’s heart sing, Nesta having Cassian wrapped around her little finger, and Elain. Elain, who was a gentle breeze on a warm night. A breath of fresh air amidst the fog. Elain. Who was gorgeous and talented and funny. And while you may have thought those things, so did Azriel. You could only assume as he never did confide in you, but his glances lingered. Yours lingered as well, but more so in appreciation, in lust. Not in love as you suspected the shadowsinger’s did.

And there she was now, sitting beside Azriel, looking perfect as always. Hair smooth and glossy. Eyes big and bright, the richest, most delicious shade of brown you had ever seen. A long slender neck and cleavage that heaved tight against her bodice with each breath, as if her milky flesh was a moment away from bursting- 

The sound of breaking glass yanked you out of your lustful thoughts. You looked around for the source of the noise before you realize that it was you. Your wine glass once, in your hand was now in 100 pieces on the floor beside you, a small puddle of red wine at your feet. 

“Y/N/N are you alright?” Rhys had made his way towards you in the blink of an eye. He snapped his fingers and the glass, and the puddle of red disappeared. He leaned down to your height, pressing his palm to your forehead. “I think you might have a slight fever.” 

“I’m so sorry about the mess, I don’t know where my mind went!” Yes, you do. “ I think I must just be overtired.” You offer a tight smile.  “Too much sun.” you offer as an excuse. Yes, too much sun and now you’re a delirious fool. 

Rhys only nods fondly, “Maybe you should head to bed kiddo.” You’re so eager to get out of there that you don’t even snark back about him calling you a kid. 

“Good idea.” You raise from your chair, and you feel the arousal that had been unknowingly collecting at your core, begin to coat your thighs. You had to get out of there before you were scented. Family dinner nights meant everyone was staying at the River House. Luckily for you, that meant you didn’t have far to go. You turn and hightail it out of there, not noticing how the shadowsinger across from you holds his breath as you scurry away. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Once you are up the stairs and out of sight, you kick off your shoes and run. You run down the hallway and around the corner to your chambers. You swing open the door and slam it shut behind you. Leaning against the wooden door, you take a shuddering breath. What is wrong with me? 

You were no stranger to love and lust. But you had never had quite such a visceral reaction. For so many different fae. At the same time. You are hot all over now and it is as if there is fire in your veins. Your breath is shaky. You need to get a grip. Blinking hard, you make your way to the washroom, and fill the tub with icy cold water. 

Your fingers grapple with the claps on the dress, fighting to release yourself. You give up, snapping your fingers, the dress disappearing, leaving you bare, and still burning. You sit at the edge of the tub before quickly sliding your feet below the surface. The shock of the cold hits your brain and for a moment you stop thinking. But it is not enough as you feel another wave of arousal dripping from your core. You know you are going to regret this, but you also don’t know what will happen next if you don’t. You take a deep breath and fully submerge your body. All you feel is cold. Alll you feel is ice. The fire under your skin tames. The lustful thoughts vanish. It is just you and the cold. Relief floods your bones as your face breaks the surface. 

You lean your head against the rim of the tub, happy to be rid of your dirtiest thoughts. You lay in the cold water until the warmth of your body has rendered it tepid. You finally feel in control of yourself again. You heave your relaxed body out of the tub and wrap yourself in a fluffy white towel. Tucking the ends under your armpit, you move back into your bed chamber. The towel drops to the floor as you walk up to your wardrobe and pull on a simple silk nightgown, as dark as the night sky, dressing cool to avoid any future heat spells, hopefully. 

You hastily scramble into bed and slide under your silk sheets. Exhaustion hitting you. You lay on your back, eyes closed as you slowly drift off to sleep. With not a single thought, your mind is finally quiet.

And then it’s back. 

Heart hammering, your eyes fly open. Searing heat spreads through your entire body. Heat radiates from your core all the way to your fingertips. Your desire is bruning you from the inside. The heat wants to be fed, wants to consume. 

Wants to be consumed. 

Is it that simple? you ask yourself. Would self-pleasure finally rid you of this torment? It had been a few weeks since you had last found release, the time spent in Summer Court kept you too busy for simple pleasure. But it was not like you had not gone this long before, in fact, you had gone much longer and never with any issue. You craved the touch of another, but you suppose your body will hardly care where the pleasure comes from. Your nipples harden at the very thought. Decision made. 

 Arousal is now weeping from your core as your thighs clench together. As if with minds of their own, your hands pull the sheets off your body, exposing your skin to the night air. Your nipples pebble even harder, straining deliciously against the silk of your nightgown. You palm one of your breasts, the action causing shockwaves of pleasure to roll through your body. 

Your other hand comes up and palms the other, a strangled moan leaving your lips. Your fingers dance along your left breast and encircle your nipple over the glossy material of your nightgown.  You were still too hot. You quickly pull the straps down your arms. As your nipples meet the cold air, you could weep with joy. Your hands, finally able to touch your bare skin ghost over the sensitive flesh before your fingers are quickly clamping around your left nipple in a tight pinch. Your thighs clench again, as your core pulses, as if with a heartbeat of its own. You give your nipple another delicious twirl. 

Your other hand travels down and down and down until it reaches the hem of your nightgown. Without a moment's hesitation, you pull the material up to your waist. Your arousal coats your thighs, as your hand move closer to your core, fingers disappearing between your legs. 

The moment your fingers touch your clit, your hips buck wildly, back straining off the bed. Your fingers swirl around it again and again and again, the friction causing strangled moans to escape your throat, hips thrusting up wildly. 

Your skin gleams in the moonlight, the heat building inside of you. Your eyes screw shut in pleasure. This time as your hand swirls around your clit, your other hand, still clinging to your breast, gives your nipple a sharp torturous twist. Pleasure and pain unite and suddenly you’re shaking as release barrels through you, your orgasm so intense your whole body shakes as you ride wave after wave of pleasure. 

As you come down from your high, your body trembles with exertion. 

But it is not enough.

Breathing deeply, your hand, now coated in your juices slides back down between your legs, and this time, you slide two fingers inside. You thrust in and out sharply. Setting a torturous pace and your fingers sink deep into your cunt, curling expertly inside you. In a matter of moments, you are overcome with another orgasm. Again and again and again, you work your body to climax.

It is never enough.

Your body gives out sometime between the eighth and tenth orgasm, releasing you into a dreamless sleep. 

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You awaken groggy, and unsure of your surroundings. The fog clears with a couple of blinks of your eyes and you realize you are in your bed at the River House. Looking down you see you are laid out, your nightgown askew and your thighs sticky.

And then it all comes flooding back. 

How you pleasured yourself over and over again, the pace never relenting, just like the hunger for release did not relent. You had fucked yourself into oblivion. 

But, it appears to have worked. Laying still you realise that your mind has returned to blissful silence once again. Finally free. No thoughts of lust or desire, just calm and slight confusion. Now more awake, you glance out the window and see that the moon is still high in the sky. It was late, but still a long way off until morning. 

Confusion still runs through your bones. The intense need you felt earlier had come on so fast and strong, a hurricane of arousal. But it appears that the skies have now cleared, feeling content and more like yourself you huff and slowly sit up. Your stomach growls painfully, starved from the exertion and the lack of dinner. You could also do with a wash. Food first, you decide. 

No one should be out and about the house at this hour, but just in case, you slip the nightgown over your head. The material is coated in your slick. Already ruined, you use the dress to clean up the arousal on your thighs. You refuse to think about how good the silken material feels against your inner thighs. You make your way to your dresser, and this time you pull out a pair of plain grey underwear and a long black t-shirt. The t-shirt fell down to your mid-thigh. 

You make your way to the door and pry it open slowly, so as not to wake anyone else. Elain also has a room in this wing, and she was a notoriously light sleeper. You begin to pad down the hallway lightly, the marble cold against your bare feet. You feel a cold breeze wafting down the hall. Someone must have forgotten to close the balcony doors, you think. But then again, who would have opened the windows in the middle of winter? Snow had yet to fall, but the cool winter air had definitely arrived. More alert, you slowly make your way towards the open balcony doors, arms close to your sides, fists clenched. 

Your arms lower immediately when you see who stands out on the balcony. You would recognize her shapely figure anywhere. 

Elain stands with her back to you. She is wearing a blush-coloured pair of wide-legged pyjama pants,a shawl embroidered with flowers covers her shoulders. Her hair is unbound and glows like individual strands of gold. You feel your stomach tighten. She looks beautiful. You shake your head, trying to rid it of any other thought beyond concern. You gently rap your knuckles on the doorframe. Elain, still not fully tuned in to her new fae senses, jumps and spins around quickly. Her hand comes up to clutch onto her heaving chest. You could see her breath slow when she sees who it is, hand falling back down to her side. 

You make eye contact with her, deep chestnut eyes meeting your own. And then her chest starts heaving again, and it takes all your strength to keep your eyes from wandering. You look up at the night sky instead.

“Elain, honey what are you doing out here, you’ll catch your death.” She looks at you nervously as you approach. Your feet tingle in protest at the cold stone beneath you. 

“Erm- nothing. I just needed some fresh air,” you reach for her hand. She laces her hand in yours, eyes squeezing shut, “and some quiet.” 

“But it is-” oh. Oh no. She had heard you. Your cheeks flush scarlett as you try to pull away. “Elain, I am so, so sorry. I didn’t realize I was so…” You trail off. Her hand tightens around yours, rooting you into place. Her fingers are frigid from being out here on the balcony for Cauldron knows how long. 

“Loud.” She finishes your sentence. “The walls are quite thin.”

“I am sorry Elain for disturbing your sleep. I’m not sure what has come over me. It won’t happen again, I promise.” Are you happy with yourself? Poor, delicate Elain was awoken by the sounds of you touching yourself. Poor, gorgeous Elain had to escape outside in order to avoid hearing the sounds you made. Poor, delicious Elain- and oh did she look delicious. She wore a thin white camisole underneath her shawl. She wore no bra underneath, her nipples rock hard from the biting winter air. Oh how much you wanted to devour her.

You freeze again and fight against your mind. Not again. Not now. But it is Elain’s next words that have your lustful thoughts winning once again. 

“I wasn’t sleeping.” Elain’s eyes met yours again, darker, more intense. “You, pleasured yourself for over 2 hours, did you know that?” Her sentence tumbled out. “Two hours without stop. Two hours of sheer pleasure.”

“Again, Elain I am so sorry but we should discuss this inside, we’ll catch our deaths out here”. You go to pull her along with you, back into the warmth of the hallway. She releases your hand.

“I never have, you know.” Her voice sounded far away now, mind far away.

“Never what Elain?”

“Never-” She trails off again. You finally catch on, and the fire within your belly reignites. 

“Never touched yourself?” She lets out a slight giggle at your question and looks down at her slipper-clad feet. 

“No, I’ve definitely tried to self-pleasure.” She shakes her head. “In fact I tried just tonight, listening to you.” It is your cheeks that burn red hot now. You swallow deeply at her confession. Did she touch herself to the sound of you? “But,” she continues, “I’ve never been able to make myself…reach completion. Never. I don’t know if there’s something wrong with me. I want to, gods do I want to. But, it just never happens.” Her voice shakes, and as she looks away again, you can see her eyes shining with tears. “I have been getting a lot closer with Lucien. I do think he is an honourable man.. Male, I mean. But I do not wish to saddle him with a mate who does not know what she is doing. He has lived centuries, and I do not even know how to please myself, never mind him.” 

“You do not owe him anything, you know? There is nothing wrong with you, and if he is truly a good male, then he will not be bothered by any experience you do or do not have. There is so much more to a relationship than sex.” She is one of the most perfect creatures in existence. That male should be so very lucky for dirt under her shoes never mind anything else. 

“I do know that. I do. But, I think this is something I have to do for myself first. Before I look towards a future with Lucien.” 

“What is it you need to do?” You lick your lips. 

“I want to feel good like you made yourself feel.” 

“Do you want me to make you feel good, Elain?” 

“I want you to make me feel alive.” 

And then she is vaulting towards you, hands grasping your shoulders, and then her lips are on yours. 

She tastes of jasmine and honey. A taste you never thought you would experience. But here she is, this perfect female, and Cauldron she was kissing you. Her plump, rosy lips are soft and firm. Her nails dig gently into your shoulders, and you can now smell her arousal, sharp and heady. Your core clenches in response. Your arms come around and encircle her waist, pulling her body tight against yours. You can feel her nipples against your own chest. She is freezing, and burning all at once. 

The kiss ends and she pulls her lips away. Foreheads pressed together she looks at you through her brows. Your eyes meet and understanding passes through you. Your heads give a little nod, and she nods her own in response. Your hand finds hers and you gently pull her over to the corner of the balcony, to a long chaise lounge, the cold forgotten. She sits gently, legs swinging up onto the chaise, head tilting back, exposing the pale tender flesh of her neck. Her shawl falls off her shoulders. You now stand at the edge of the chaise, eying her up and down. You can feel the desire within you trying to surge, to consume. But you reign it in. This is not about you. 

It is all about Elain.  ”Let me bring you back to life,” you say as you gently spread her legs, and crawl up in between them. You align yourself perfectly, foreheads touching once again. “If anything is too much El, you let me know.” She nods again and tilts her head until her lips meet yours. The second kiss is slower, and more passionate. Her lips part and your tongue slides in, dancing upon hers. 

After an eternity you separate, a thin trail of saliva connecting you. You pepper kisses to her cheek, her nose, and her chin, working your way down her throat until you arrive at the place just above her collarbone. Your lips clamp onto the sensitive flesh, and you hear Elain moan in response. It is music to your ears. As you lap at her neck, your fingers begin to trace down the length of her torso, eliciting sighs and pleasure. You run your fingertips gently down the valley between her breasts, down past her navel and along her hip bone, stopping at the hem of her camisole. Your mouth comes away and you make eye contact once again. Elain is in control, and you pause, waiting for her consent to continue. 

“Please.” Her breath is coming in quick pants as she begs. Your fingers grab the hem and Elain leans forward and lifts her arms. You make quick work of pulling it over her head, tossing it to the side. Her skin glows like the stars in the sky. Her large breasts are firm and aching to be touched.

Elain’s teeth clench at the exposure to the cold, but the moan that follows is enough to spur you on. Your mouth trails more kisses along her collarbone and down between her breasts. Elain’s hands wind into your hair, holding you close. You look up at her and wink, and then your lips enclose around one of her perfect, pert nipples. Elain lets out a breathy gasp at the sensation of your hot mouth upon her breast. Your tongue swirls around her peak, a chorus of gasps and moans spilling from Elain’s lips.

Your lips detach with a pop, and the cold air blows against the wet bud. Elain lets out another sharp gasp and she cries out “More. Cauldron please, more!” Her chest is heaving. One of your hands comes up and cups her other breast, and you slowly slink down the chaise. Your tongue trails against her skin as it follows the same path your fingers had made, down between her breasts, all the way down to her navel. Your tongue swirls around it, the thin trail of saliva igniting Elain’s skin despite the cold. You continue your path down until your lips reach the hem of her pants. You breathe deeply. “You smell so gods damned good El.” Her hands untangle from your hair and go to grab the hem of your shirt, you quickly stop her. “This isn’t for me El, this is all for you. Let me make you feel good.” Elain nods, briefly and her hands relent, moving up to cup her own breasts instead. You pull the tie on her pants gently and hook your thumbs into the waist. You see a patch of wetness on the crotch of her pants and your question is answered as you gently pull them down her legs. No panties. 

Her pants and slippers are now discarded and you take a moment to drink her in. She is exquisite. Her hair lays around her like a halo of gold. Her skin shines as bright as a star. Her hands work her supple breasts and her eyes are lidded and dark with desire. Your eyes skim lower, to her round hips, thick and shapely. And then your eyes fall to the patch of dark curls above her core, and then further still to the glistening arousal coating her thighs as she squeezes them together. 

You move up to capture her lips in yours once more before you drift lower again. Your hands grasp her thighs and you gently spread her legs. She is so beautiful. You bend her knees and they part, on either side of your head as your mouth approaches her sex. You blow a gentle breath across her clit, and you see her cunt pulse in response. “Gods, Y/N, please. Please!” 

Your hands wrap tighter around her thighs and you taste her. The salty taste of arousal pulls a groan out of your own throat. Your tongue circles her clit, and one of her hands finds your hair again, and her hips buck in response. Her thighs clamp around your head, as you suck her clit hard. You pull her even closer, your tongue travels lower, and traces around her opening, before diving in. Thrusting your tongue in and out of her core, she is moaning your name like a prayer, hips gyrating against your face, fucking your tongue deeper inside of her. She rides your tongue hard, in a state of euphoria. 

Breathless, you pull your mouth away and you move back up to her lips. “You taste divine.” You say simply and then your lips are on hers again, and she is moaning from the taste of her own slick upon your tongue. One of your hands smooths gentle circles against her cheek. “Still with me?” you ask. She nods and catches your lips again. Your hand trails down her side, giving her hips a gentle squeeze before drifting through the thick soft curls guarding her core. Your hand slips between her legs as your fingers circle her clit. A new wave of arousal drips from her cunt as your hand moves further down. You hold her gaze as your finger slowly enters her. Her teeth clamp onto her bottom lip and she groans. 

You start slow and quickly gain speed as her hips rock against your wrist. Meeting you thrust for thrust. You add a second finger and spread her deliciously. Fingers curl inside her, meeting the spongey flesh that makes Elain scream. 

“Oh, oh, gods, yes, yes,” you hear Elain gasp over and over again. You lower yourself back down as your other hand grips her pubic hair tight, your thumb goes to her clit, rubbing at a relentless pace and you watch her come undone. 

She screams in such pleasure, again and again, her core clenches around your soaked fingers. Her juices squirt and coat your t-shirt-covered chest. You continue to circle her clit, extending her orgasm as long as possible. She comes down from her high, her pants slowing, and you withdraw your hands. You lean up and capture her lips with yours once more. 

“Are you ok?” You ask. Looking into her eyes, you see they are alight with pleasure and joy. 

“What does this mean?” Elain worries her bottom lip. 

“It doesn’t have to mean anything El. This was about you finding yourself through pleasure.”

“Gods, Y/N that was- that was perfect”. A smile now shines brightly upon her lips. “Thank you-” You cut off her thanks with another quick peck on her lips. 

“Do not thank me Elain Archeron. Thank yourself for deciding to put your body and your pleasure first. If anything I should be thanking you for allowing me to come along on this journey with you.” Her smile is mirrored on your own face. “Lucien is going to be a very lucky male, El. You are perfect in every way.” 

Sitting up now, she throws her arms around you, squeezing you tight. She pulls away and looks down at the dampness coating your shirt. “I was not aware women- I mean females could do such things.” She traces the dark stain slowly, running her fingers along the slopes of your breast. 

“Some do,” you confirm, “if encouraged enough. Everyone is different, and I know that if you decide to, Lucien will worship everything about you.” She smiles again and pulls you in for another hug. You knew that this was not the start of a fling or romance with Elain. But instead, it had been a self-awakening, and she had allowed you to lead her through it. You were beyond honoured to help. 

“But how do you know that he- Lucien will like it. Like me.” 

“I have a confession of my own El.” You clear your throat, praying to the cauldron you weren’t about to say the wrong thing. “Lucien and I are about the same age. When we were growing up, we met on occasion at different events, and quickly developed a rapport.”  Elain quirked a brow. “We, well, we fucked. A lot.” Elain’s jaw drops. Your core clenches at the memories. Lucien’s mouth on yours, on your cunt. His member thrusting in and out of you, sloppiness and uncertainty turned to precision and strength as the years went on. You fight to tamper the flames of arousal within yourself. This is not the time or place. “We were each other's firsts and we experimented over the years. But that was well over three and a half centuries before you were born. It was so long ago that I don’t want you to think anything of it! We are friends now, have been for the last 300 years, nothing more, I promise.” And it was true.. The memories you had made together, were definitely special, cherished, and enough to turn your crank some days, but the actual male, was your friend and was now mated to another. “What I am trying to say, is that I can guarantee that you are everything he will ever desire.”

“Me and Lucien both lost our virginity to the same female?” she questions finally. You nod, eying Elain again. Hoping beyond hope that she does not take the news badly. To your surprise, she begins to chuckle, which turns into a cackle, which turns into a full-body fit of laughter, and you find yourself joining in. You both laugh and laugh while holding each other close. Eventually the fit winds down and with a few last giggles, Elain sighs, “I’m not sure why, but it seems very fitting.” You hum in agreement.

Elain’s eyes drooped in relaxation and exhaustion and she lays her head on your shoulder. 

The next moments happen in a blur. You help her to her feet, gather her clothes and you both make the quick, and risky walk back into the hall and into her chambers. Luckily the hallway is empty. 

You sit her on the bed and start a fire. Heading to her bathing chamber, you wet a cloth with warm water. Returning to find Elain still perched on the edge of her bed, you gesture for her to lean back. She obliges and you begin to cleanse her skin gently. Nothing save for respect and adoration floats between you now. You tuck her naked body gently under the covers and kiss her forehead.  Swiping your thumb against her cheek you whisper softly, “Good night El. Sweet dreams.”

Her eyes crack open and you hear her mumble, “Are you sure you don’t want me to try-” 

 You shush her. “This was a big moment for you El. I expect nothing in return.” She smiles again deeply. 

“Thank you, Y/N. Thank you for helping me find myself.” With that, Elain drifts off to sleep and you head out the door and back to your own chambers. 

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Back behind the closed door of your room, you stand frozen. The last few hours of your night running through your head. From the moment you arrived at the River House, something was different. You were different. Less… restricted. You’d felt no such feelings while away in the Summer Court. Your mind races, searching for an answer but coming up short. 

It was then that your stomach let out a loud growl. You missed dinner. You had been on your way to the kitchen when you encountered Elain. You scoff at yourself and your forgetfulness. You pull the shirt stained with Elain’s juices over your head, letting it join your previously discarded nightgown on the floor. Your panties were damp, but with the way the evening was progressing, you figured you’d end up just soaking another pair later, and opted to keep them on. Strolling over to your wardrobe for the third time tonight, not bothering with another shirt or nightdress, you pull on a simple grey robe. The material is thin but warm, enough to reheat your body after your outdoor escapade. 

Feet still bare, you head back out into the hallway and slowly pad down the empty corridor. You make it halfway down the stairs before you hear it. 

“Are you going to be a good boy, for me?” a female’s voice floats from the kitchen. You grip the railing and take a fractured breath. 

“Yes, my Lady. I promise I’ll be such a good boy.” Your core clenches as you recognize the low gravelly voice. For Cauldon’s sake. You should turn away, head back upstairs and forget the words you had just heard coming from the kitchen. But some unknown force, the same force that had emboldened you all night, urges you forward. Each step has your stomach clenching in anticipation. 

Eventually, you arrive at the threshold to the kitchen and your jaw drops. 

In the centre of the room sits Cassian, arms tied behind him to the back of his chair. His wings flare lightly to the sides. He is dressed in nothing but a pair of black undershorts. His bare back is to you, muscles rippling as he squirms, testing the limits of his bindings. 

On the counter is Nesta. You take in her figure and decide that they do indeed call her the Lady Death for a reason. Nesta lays atop the counter, body barely covered by a tight blood-red nightgown, garters on her thighs and red stilettos on her feet. Her hair is twisted into a crown of braids. She lays on her side, head propped up on her hand. In from of her sits a bowl of strawberries. Her hand dances above the bowl before plucking a strawberry from the pile. She brings it to her lips, tongue darting out to taste the berry. Staring into Cassian’s eyes she takes a bite. You and Cassian gasp in unison. 

Nesta’s head jerks in your direction and her steely eyes lock on yours. Caught in your act of voyeurism, you want to look away, look anywhere but at the female, shame should be bubbling through your veins. But it isn’t. You feel no shame. Only desire. Desire spreads through your body, a familiar feeling over the last few hours. Your cunt pulses with every second you stand there, rooted in the doorway, staring at the scene in front of you.

“Who is it Nes?” Cassian questions, trying to gauge his mate’s response to their intruder. You know he could break his binds easily if necessary. Something glimmers in the eldest Archeron’s eyes. Her nostrils flair and her lips quirk in a smirk.

“I’m surprised you can’t smell her yet.” Nesta answers, pushing herself up and into a seated position. You can see Cassian’s back shift as he takes in a deep breath. 

“Y/N.” 

Fuck. They can smell your arousal. 

“I’m sorry for the intrusion,” you have no idea where the sudden confidence has come from and you surprise yourself as you continue, “I seem to have interrupted a late-night snack.” 

The two mates lock eyes again, a whole conversation happening without words. Nesta eventually breaks the stare and returns her eyes to yours. “You’re looking a bit peckish yourself Y/N. You’re welcome to join us.” Mother above. “Come,” Nesta holds her half-eaten strawberry out towards you, “come have a bite.” Your gut tightens.

Your feet move before your brain can fully process what you are doing. It takes you 10 steps to pass Cassian, still tied to the chair, and another 3 to reach Nesta’s outstretched fingers. She parts her thighs so that your body can slide in between them. You gasp as her hand comes up to grasp your chin. Your legs tremble as Nesta leans in and whispers, “you are hungry, aren’t you?”

“Starved.” You manage to choke out. 

The tension is palpable as Nesta brings her strawberry up to your mouth. She traces the bow of your lips with the strawberries dripping flesh. “Open.” She commands. You do as you’re told and you take a bite of the tender fruit, its juice dancing on your tongue. It is Cassian now who lets out a low groan. In a moment you are flooded with sandalwood and lust as Cassian’s arousal hits your nose, and surges throughout the room, mixing with your own. You finally look over to the Illyrian, and what you see makes you hold your breath. A male who normally exudes strength, the General and Commander of your brother’s armies, Lord of Bloodshed, reduced to a squirming mess. Lust glows in his eyes and he looks from Nesta to you. 

“What do you think General?” Cassian squirms again at the use of his title. “I think she is still hungry, don’t you agree?” He lets out a low whine and his hazel eyes lock back on yours, both a reflection of lust and desire. 

“What do you say, Y/N?” he asks, voice low. The innuendos vanish as he probes you for further confirmation. He is making sure you are truly consenting to join in on whatever this was. You lied to yourself when you were shocked by your lust for Cassian earlier this evening, as you did in fact find him incredibly attractive, only more so now that he was entirely whipped by the bewitching Lady Death. It took you less than a second to answer him, the desire you had walked hand in hand with all evening flaring within you.

 “Yes,” you say. 

Nesta’s hand curls more firmly against your chin, turning your head back to hers. “Delectable,” she says. And then her lips are ghosting yours, breath mingling as your eyes flutter shut. You feel her tongue trace the same path of the strawberry, up and around the bow of your lips, and sweeping across the small gape of your mouth. 

Your hands instinctively come up to encircle her waist. 

Nesta’s lips leave you immediately, and you feel her arm reach down and give you a sharp smack on your ass. The sounds reverberate through the kitchen. You let out a hiss and your eyes fly open. “Unh unh kitten, no touching,” Nesta says, as she pulls your arms back down to your sides “don’t make me punish you.” 

You’re pretty sure your eyes roll into the back of your head at her words, and your thighs clench as wave after wave of desire crashes in you. “Yes, my Lady,” you murmur back. You hear Cassian let out another low groan as he shifts in his chair. 

“There’s a good kitten,” Nesta smiles, “now why don’t we give the General a little treat.” You hum in response. Nesta spins you around so that your back now falls against her. Your head falls into the crook of her neck as you eye Cassian once again. He looks up at the two of you through hooded eyes. You tilt your head slightly to the side and inhale Nesta’s scent of steel and pomegranate. “I want you to ride his thigh,” she says and the world stops for a moment. You stop breathing and you’re sure that Cassian does the same. Are you really about to do this with your best friend? The step forward you take is answer enough. You’re only another foot away from the Illyrian when Nesta’s voice rings out from behind you again, “Oh, and kitten,” you can hear the smirk in her voice, “drop your panties.” 

“Yes, Lady.” You reach under your robe and slowly slide your panties down your legs. You can see the dark patch made by the arousal now coating your thighs. Panties on the floor, the room is awash with a new wave of your potent arousal. Another low growl tears through Cassian’s lips. 

Cassian sits with his legs spread. His thighs are thick and muscular, the tanned skin shifting as you approach. Now standing in front of him, you quickly shift so that one of your legs is on either side of his left leg. Using his shoulders for leverage, you slowly lower yourself down onto the General’s thigh. The heat of his leg causes your breath to hitch. Cassian whimpers as the juices from your bare cunt weep onto his leg. You begin to move then, slow torturous gyrations as you get a feel for the large corded muscle beneath you. As your core soaks the General’s leg, you begin to pick up speed, rocking back and forth as the pleasure builds. 

“Good girl.” Nesta approaches you from behind. “Isn’t she being such a good Kitten, General?” 

“Mhm,” Cassian grunts, “so good.” His breath is coming out in pants, just as forceful as your own. 

“And Kitten, isn’t the General being such a good boy?” 

“Such a good boy,” you squeak out, your clit rubbing against his muscle. 

“I think he deserves a little treat.” From behind you, Nesta reaches between you and Cassian and palms his engorged member, straining painfully in his underwear. Cassian bellows in relief at the touch. Nesta’s fingers dip below the hem of his shorts and pull them down. Cassian’s cock springs free, slapping his stomach. His cock is massive and rock-hard. Long, and girthy with thick veins running along his shaft, his tip a dusky pink. It pulses in time with your ruts against his leg. Your nails dig into the soft flesh of his shoulders as your pupils blow wide with lust. Nesta pumps his shaft once, then again in rapid succession before her hand releases her mate's member. The General whines at the loss of contact, rutting up into the air, desperate for friction, precum gathering at his tip. You don’t dare indulge him without permission from your Lady Death, but your cunt throbs at the thought of punishment.

Nesta’s hands now travel to your body. Her nails graze up your thighs, against your curved hips, and up to your shoulders. She squeezes them gently before her hands travel further, up your neck and into your hair, brushing it all to one side. Her mouth lowers to your neck and she licks a long strip up your sweat-soaked flesh. She hums in delight at the taste, nuzzling the crook of your neck as she whispers into your ear. “Do you like looking at your best friend’s cock, kitten?” 

You let out a breathy moan, not able to form any words as you ride the General’s thigh into oblivion.  Nesta tuts and her hands grip your hips painfully, stopping the delicious friction. It was your turn to whine in protest, core aching at the loss. “Use your words kitten.” 

“Yes.” you whine, as you try to regain momentum. Nesta squeezes your hips harder.

“Yes, what.” Her tone is sharp. 

“Yes, Lady.” And then you are free again, hips moving wildly as you chant Yes, Yes, Yes. 

“Good kitten.” Lady Death places a kiss at the corner of your mouth. “You’ve seen his. Now it’s your turn to show us yours.” With that, her hands descend between you and the General once again, travelling to the tie at your waist. With a sharp tug, the rope comes loose, and your robe opens. Your nipples harden at the exposure. 

Cassian groans and the tip of his cock weeps at the sight. Your breasts rock back and forth in time with your thrusts. Cassian pulls on his restraints, desperate to touch them, to touch you. “Please.” He moans. The General bucks into the air again and again, “Please, Please Lady, Please”. 

Your hips gyrate faster, and you feel your release approaching. Nesta, still behind you, leans down and bites the lobe of your ear. “Come for me, kitten.” 

And then you are toppling over the edge. Your orgasm rips through you and you scream in delight. The General is right behind you, wings flaring and release thundering as he cums all over your chest. Your hips do not slow as you ride out every wave of pleasure. The three of you were so lost in the moment you had not heard the approaching footsteps.

“What the Fuck is this?” 

Your hips still, and from your position on Cassian’s lap, you open your eyes gaze dragging over the tips of his wings and to the doorway. 

And there stands Azriel, shadows swarming around him in a frenzy. 

“Az.” you croak, voice horse from screaming. The look of astonishment and anger in his eyes have you trying to stand up, to go to him and try to explain, but Nesta keeps a firm pressure on your shoulders, keeping you astride her mate. Confusion runs through you as you look up to meet her eyes, and youquickly understand her actions.

Cassian’s wings currently shielded your naked body, now dripping in his cum from Azriel’s view. As if in understanding, Cassian’s wings flare a little wider, ensuring full coverage of his mate and yourself.

“Brother,” Cassian replies, trying to keep the fucked out tone from his voice, “I do believe you’ve caught us at a bad time.” 

“Y/N? What sort of sick-, Why would you-, You know I-, Y/N, really Cass?” Azriel tries to form a coherent sentence. 

It’s Nesta that responds. “She is not your property, shadowsinger. You do not own her.”

“You took advantage of h-” Azriel roars. 

You roar right back. 

“I wanted this Azriel! I wanted this with every fibre of my being. All three of us chose to be here. Nesta is right, you do not own me. We are three consenting adults. The only one who has no right to be here right now is you.”  Your gaze pierces his, and you can see the hurt on his face. “Now, get out,” you spit, and he disappears into his shadows without another word. 

With the shadowsinger gone, Cassian’s wings lower, and your head falls to rest on his sweaty chest. "Well, fuck me." Cassian grunts, his nose burying into your hair. You feel his chest rise and fall, the powerful thumps of his heart slowing with your own. 

“I believe she just did, my dear mate.” Nesta muses, she slinks around the pair of you, coming up behind Cassian, and resting her head on his other shoulder. Your mixed arousal hangs heavy in the air, a reminder of the dalliance that had played out in the kitchen of the River House. 

You want more. You want to feel Cass’s lips upon your own. You want to lick the sweat down his pectorals and taste the cum that was now pooling between your breasts. You wanted to feast upon Lady Death herself, and to have her feast upon you, to feel her sharp tongue against your cunt. This new development in your relationship felt natural. It felt right.  You wanted to spend hours exploring the line between pleasure and pain, exhilaration and humiliation, domination and submission. You want more, and you can see in their eyes that they want more too. 

But the tone has shifted, and you have Azriel to thank for that. 

You sit up straight and push your wobbly legs up into a standing position. Cassian hisses as the air blows across the cooling slick left behind on his thigh. “Y/N,” he mumbles, “that was-”

“Incredible,” you finish for him, “that was pretty damn incredible.” You pull your robe closed and retie the stay at your waist. Nesta leans down and unties the bindings on her mate's wrists, he too rises to a standing position, retucking his spent cock into his underwear. Nesta slides her arm through his and the mates regard you appreciatively. 

“I hope you don’t-”, Nesta trails off, words like glue in her mouth, “have any regrets?” 

“Never,” you confirm. “My only regret is that we were interrupted.” You stare at the small smile that replaces the concern on Nesta’s features. You lean up and give them both a kiss on the cheek. “Good night my Lady. Good night General”. You stand back and give them a wink, “Let’s do this again soon, yeah?” 

Come daylight, there would likely be some serious conversations to be had. But that could wait. For now, you turn on your heels and make your way back to the stairs. 

“We’ll see you soon, kitten.” 

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

-Azriel-

Azriel winnows himself out into the estate gardens. His mind races and his shadows swarm, blocking out the light of the moon. His scarred hands are shaking, and with horror, rage or sadness he is unsure. 

Cassian and Nesta… and Y/N? 

He is baffled by what he saw transpiring in the kitchen. 

He had been out on an after-dinner patrol and had arrived late into the night. He was used to the carnal activities of his brother and his mate and was keen on ignoring their sounds of pleasure when an unfamiliar cry of indulgence had piqued his interest. A third? he had wondered. But as his morbid curiosity had propelled him forward, he had realized that the new voice was not unfamiliar in the slightest. It was the voice of all his desire. The voice that had lived in his mind and in his dreams for the last 250 years. He reached the threshold to the kitchen and his worst nightmare was confirmed. 

There had sat Cassian with his back to him, hands tied to the chair behind him. Nesta stood in front of him, a devilish grin on her face as she watched the events unfold. And there, saddled between the two, was Y/N. Her eyes closed, she violently rocked back and forth atop Cassian. He could not see what was happening in its entirety from behind his brother’s wings, but he could smell the heady scent of arousal oozing from every pore of the trios' bodies. 

Azriel had watched Nesta lean over and whisper something in Y/N’s ear. 

And then Y/N and Cassian were coming undone. Azriel stood, unable to move as he watched the female he loved, cum atop his brother. He couldn’t take it.

“What the Fuck is this?” The question tore out of his throat before he could stop it. 

And then you had opened your eyes and whispered his name, and for a moment he allowed himself to imagine what it would have been like to be in Cassian’s place. To have felt you come undone for him…on him…with him. 

But she hadn’t been with him. Y/N had chosen his brother and his brother’s mate of all the Fae in the Gods damned Court. He could not recollect the words he had spoken after that, anger and despair had blinded him. He was going to be sick. 

He shoots up into the sky and heads to the House of Wind. He needs to be away from them all so that he doesn’t do anything else he would regret. His wings flap hard and fast, the cold air slicing against their membranes painfully. Good, he thinks to himself. He lands on the balcony at the House of Wind too soon, and he drops hard onto the marble floor. He needs to hit something so that he doesn’t hit his brother in the face. 

Azriel stalks his way through the dining room with the intent of heading up to the sparring ring, when a shadow curls around his ear. Stop, it whispers, not right. The table. Azriel whirls back around and surveys his surroundings. His eyes narrow in on the table. On the table sits a book, likely left by Nesta, and the tray Lucien brought. The tray that holds the love potion. Correction, the tray that held the love potion. Azriel seizes the pitcher off of the tray. Empty. His mind races once again. Who would have taken it? Why not take the whole tray, the pitcher at the very least? Maybe, Cerrdiwen or Nuala dumped it out? No, they haven’t been up here today. Azriel has no idea what is going on.

His nose twitches as it perceives a faint scent. He turns back to the tray inspecting it closely. The jug and challis were bone dry, with not a drop of the elixir left. The note was long gone, burned to ash by his brother upon Lucien’s arrival earlier this evening. He turns his eyes then to the rose. The rose, which upon further inspection housed thorns coated in a thin layer of dried blood. 

Y/N’s blood. 

Y/N who was been at the Summer Court until right before dinner, 

Y/N who had missed the discussion about the contents of the pitcher, 

Y/N who had likely stopped by the House of Wind to drop off her bags before joining the family at dinner. 

Y/N, who he had just been riding Cassian into oblivion. 

“Fuck.” 

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

-Y/N-

You once again find yourself leaning against your bedroom door. 

“What the glorious fuck was that?” you ask aloud, letting out a nervous chuckle. You had just participated in a three-sum with your best friend and his mate. Your best friend and his mate. Cassian and Nesta. The General and his Lady Death. 

The names alone make you shiver. 

The memory of your core ground against Cassian’s well-muscled thigh, Nesta whispering sin in your ear makes you clench your teeth, and your thighs. You let out a frustrated moan. This lustful hunger just won’t LEAVE, and the chance of further ministrations was halted by that winged fuck, Azriel. Azriel, whose eyes you had held as you road out your climax. Azriel, who had looked devastated as he saw you astride his brother. Had he been devastated? You wondered, or disappointed. 

He has no right to be disappointed in anything that you do. He held no claim to your body, or to your heart. Well, he held no claim to your body and if he had known about the space he occupied in your heart, after all this time, and still had not acted upon it, well then he did not deserve even a sliver of the adoration you felt. Let him be disappointed, it was none of your concern. 

He was none of your concern. Not his thoughts of your activities, nor his distaste for your actions. His glowing eyes did not deserve to behold you. His plush lips did not deserve to taste you. His rough fingers did not deserve to slip below the waistline of your panties, and- 

Another frustrated groan tears through your throat as your knees quake, thighs snapping together, desperate for friction. You push off the door with a huff, walking towards your bathroom. You need to wash Cassian’s seed off of your body. You undo the tie at your waist and allow the now cum stained garment to join the others on the floor. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you remember that you had had panties on when you entered the kitchen. You can only hope that Nes and Cass had grabbed them during clean-up. 

You draw yourself another ice-cold bath and submerge yourself fully. The cold water distracts your mind as you scrub your body and hair. Once you are thoroughly cleansed, you step out of the tub, wrap yourself in a fresh towel and you make your way back to your damn wardrobe. You pray to the Cauldron that this is your last outfit change of the night. You pull out a blue pyjama set with tight but pliant shorts and a cropped camisole. Not bothering with undergarments you quickly pull your clothes on and flop onto the bed. 

You pull the covers up to your chin, mind blissfully blank from the cold bath… Until those glowing hazel eyes and sensuous lips hurtle around the walls of your mind. You think of his toned chest, glistening with sweat in the sparring ring, the curve of his wings as he holds himself with deadly precision. His intoxicating scent of night-chilled mist and cedar is almost upon your tongue as you imagine what it would be like for the shadowsinger to interrogate you like one of his prisoners. Cauldron boil me. Your hand travels to the hem of your shorts, and then lower still to your already slick slit. Your fingers easily find your swollen clit, and begin to swirl around it delectably. Your other hand comes up to palm your breast, when suddenly you hear a knock at your door. 

Your fingers still.

You don’t answer, hoping that the nuisance will get the hint. You hear another sharp knock at the door, followed by a muffled voice. “Y/N, please let me in. It’s important.” The slight rise in his tone, has you muttering a quick ‘enter’. The door swings open and the shadowsinger slinks in, a fae light bobbing behind him.

His nose is immediately overwhelmed with scent. The heady scent of your arousal was emanating from every surface in the room. It was intoxicating the spymaster, your scent driving him to the edge of his wits.

An edge he is quickly pulled back from as he smells his brother’s scent intermingling, as well as the scent of another, Elain. He eyes the pile of soiled clothing on the floor, the evidence that confirms his suspicions. “Gods, Y/N.” He clears his throat. “I know you were not feeling yourself tonight, but-” he starts. Your eyes widen in surprise. 

“Incorrect shadowsinger,” you stare at him, “I feel more myself than I ever have. Just more-”

“Free of inhibition?” he supplies. 

“Suppose I was. What concern is it of yours?” Your lips purse.

“I figured you deserve to know what was happening.” Azriel moves to your bed, sitting on the edge. He reaches into the pocket of his leathers and produces a single crumpled red rose. All of a sudden forgotten memory floods your mind. A pitcher full of plum-coloured starlight. The burn of it on your lips, down your throat. You remember drinking and drinking until there was nothing left. The urge you felt to drink, warped and resurged as the desire for Elain, for Cassian and Nesta, and for Azriel. Your hand twitches at the thought, fingers still primed over your clit. 

“So what was that mystery beverage, you all so lovingly forgot to label?” 

Azriel snorts before replying, “Affectus Revelare.”

“No shit?” Bewilderment shines in your eyes.

“It’s a love potion of sorts-” 

“I’m well aware of its side effects.” And you were, having heard stories of its potency from your brother. “I had just never seen it in person.” 

Azriel huffs, trying hard to keep his face void of emotion. “I’d assume then that you know that any intense feelings of pleasure you acted upon while under its influence, were no fault of your own.” 

“Let me make one thing absolutely clear, Azriel.” Your voice cut like glass, eyes as sharp as steel. “Anything I did tonight, I did because I wanted to. The bullshit spell does nothing but bring to the surface feelings I already have. I have no regrets about what I have done or will do tonight.” Azriel looks as though he is swallowing a mouthful of marbles. 

“Right,” he hastily stands, “I suppose now that you are feeling…better, I should probably let you get some sleep.” He treads to the door, head low, shadows tight against his silhouette. 

You should let him go, let you both stew overnight, and then try talking again. It is the smart thing to do. In spite of that, you curse your horny mouth as it opens and words fly out, “Who says I’m feeling better?” 

He freezes two paces from the door. Whipping around to face you again, his eyes are alight with panic. You pull your stilled hand out of your shorts and sit up. The blanket pools at your waist, your puckered nipples on full display from underneath your shirt. Your hand, still coated in your slick shines under the fae light. He looks from your face to your chest, to your sex-slicked hand and back again. He blinks and his nostrils flare, likely scenting the new wave of arousal that was coursing through your veins. 

In a flash he is back at your bedside, the back of his hand coming up and resting on your forehead. He is mumbling to himself. Cauldron, he’s having more mood swings than I am. “Care to share what the Hell you’re doing Azriel?” 

“It must have been laced with something else,” he grimaces, “another tonic or elixir maybe. Something to increase potency,” he swallows. “Did you… finish when you were in the kitchen?”

“You were there, Az… You saw me… You know I did.”

“Well, it’s not a matter of your partner reaching completion. If Elain and Cassian both-”

You were unnerved that he knew about Elain as well. “Az, what are you trying to tell me?”

“Maybe you need to, erm, try again? Or perhaps, it is Nesta and not Cassian you truly desire? Perhaps if you-” 

“Azriel. Stop with your nonsense ramblings.”

“No, Y/N. You don’t understand! Something must be wrong. Your desires should be satiated by now. Once you bedded the true object of your affection, the potion was supposed to wear off.” His eyes met yours, and you could see that his mind was running a mile a minute. He was still upset, but now concern sat at the front of his mind. 

“I assume you tried with Elain first, and when that didn’t relieve your symptoms, you finally gave in to your basal instincts and realized it was Cassian, not Elain you truly desired.” Anger clouded your vision as he continues to spew utter garbage. “But you should be feeling better after your session in the kitchen. I should wake Rhys, perhaps he-”

You vault up to a kneeling position, shoving him with both hands. He staggers back a step.

“The hell you will! Do. Not. Wake my brother. What would be your plan for that anyways? ‘Oh Rhys, wake up! Your sister can’t stop fucking the other members of your Court! Oh please Rhys, come and get your little sister under control before she gets her horny over us all’ Ya, great plan Az.” Your eyes are burning with rage now, and your cunt  pulses with a heartbeat of its own. You were yelling and you couldn’t make yourself stop. “Even so, everything I did tonight was something everyone involved consented to. There was no primal urge forcing me to finger fuck myself for hours, to fuck Elain, to ride Cassian. It was me. I wanted those things, and they wanted them too. And it was beautiful and passionate, and intense. I desired them all, hell I still do.” You take a deep breath. “But, did you, even for one second use your tiny brain to think that maybe Elain or Cassian or Nesta aren’t the dominant object of my affection? You stupid Illyrian brute.” 

“Who’s left Y/N? Who? Who could it possibly be? Amren? Lucien?” Azriel’s hands fist into the blankets on your bed, his shadows flying, his words disjointed as his mind can’t stop racing. He doesn't notice that he too is now yelling. “Oh, it’s Lucien, isn’t it? I know you used to fuck but come on-”

“IT'S YOU, YOU INSOLENT ASSHOLE.” 

Time stops as you watch the shadowsinger’s mask crack. You see a hundred different emotions ripple across his face, joy, wonder, thrill and love? But then you also see, confusion, anger, jealousy, betrayal, sorrow, and disgust. “Y/N,” he whispers, voice horse and cracked, “Y/N, you don’t want me- you can’t want me.” 

“For Cauldron’s sake Azriel, I have loved you for the last two centuries! I wept and pined for you as you obsessed over Mor, and then I agonized over you as your affection turned to Elain. Not that I can blame you-”

“I have no interest in Elain.” He declares, eyes locked on yours. “I never did.”

“Bullshit.” You snort, “I’ve seen the way you stare at her, the way you follow her around-” 

“I stared because you stared, Y/N. I followed because you followed. Elain is lovely, but it was you, not I, who obviously fell for her charms.”  

You are at a loss for words now. Your jaw twitches. What does this mean? He wasn’t watching Elain. He doesn’t love Elain. Your entire body felt aflame. Sweat was gathering at the base of your neck leaving your hair damp. You wanted to combust, thigh trembling at this admission. Your nipples are taut, pressing tightly against your top. Your breath is shaky, “What are you telling me Azriel?” 

“I-I, okay look,” Azriel grinds his teeth, “It doesn’t matter. What I’m telling you is that you are mistaken. It is not me you want.” He takes a step closer to you, his knees grazing the edge of your bed.

“Oh, I’m mistaken?” You lift yourself higher on your knees, edging closer to the Illyrian in front of you.

“Yes.” 

You can feel his breath on your face. 

“Then prove it.” 

His lips crash down onto yours. The kiss is hard and rough, but his lips are as soft as velvet. His hands are at your waist, and he is pulling you up until you are flush with his chest. You gasp, and Azriel’s tongue surges forward into your open mouth, dominating your tongue with his own. Your hands snake up to his hair and pull hard at his black curls, bringing his body even closer to yours.

You pull both of your bodies back towards the bed, lips never separating. You work to unfasten his leathers, as you do. Agile fingers make quick work, and soon his chest is bare and heaving, his tattoos stark against his skin under the fae light. Tiny scars dance across his torso as his muscles ripple, and he pulls you to the head of the bed. He kneels above you now, one knee between your legs, hands resting on either side of your head as he braces himself. He begins to pull away from the kiss, so you nip his lip, a shrill whine leaving your throat. A bead of bright red blood wells on his lip. His eyes open, and you see that his pupils are blown wide. He watches your tongue dart out to lick the crimson ichor. His mouth clashes with yours once again, his body pinning you to the bed, as the coppery tang of blood mixes in your mouths. The elixir in your veins sings at the taste of his blood. Him. The very taste you craved. 

You roll your hips against him and you can feel the bulge in his pants. Azriel growls, and he brings a hand down to your hips to halt your movements. His hand then travels up your body, leaving a burning trail up to the edge of your shirt. His hand stills for but a moment and you lift your back off of the bed in answer. Your lips separate once more as his hands pull the thin material up and over your head. He beholds your naked flesh as if he were a male damned to the gallows. As if you would be the last sight he sees. You hear him mutter under his breath, a plea or a prayer, but you can’t quite make it out. 

“Az.” 

He unleashes himself on you. 

His lips devour yours, a battle of teeth and tongues. His mouth moves down your neck, leaving hard wet kisses in his wake. He reaches the crook of your neck, mouth suckling your skin. His teeth brush the bruise that is forming there. And then he is clamping his teeth into your flesh. The force of the bite makes your body tremble. The sharp pain causes a scream to rip through your lungs, your hands fly up to grasp his shoulder blades, your nails shredding against his skin. The pain fades to a deep throb, pulsing in time with your needy cunt. 

Your neck stings as his mouth pulls away. He offers you a smirk and you can see your blood in his mouth. He’s on you again, lips trailing down your collarbone to the valley between your breasts. His tongue trails lazy strokes against your dewy flesh before his lips clamp around one of your pert nipples. He groans at the taste of your flesh, his tongue flicking against it. You let out a shriek of ecstasy, your hips bucking up against his groin. You thrust against him, desperate for friction. His hand gives your other breast a rough squeeze in response. 

“Please Az. I need you.” You were gasping the words, stuttering with every hard suck, “I need you inside me. Now.” 

 His lips leave your breast with a diabolical pop. “Patience, little one.” A small smile graces his lips, “Not until I’ve tasted your sweet cunt.” 

The weight of his body leaves you, but before you can question him, you feel two strong hands clamp around your ankles, pulling you to the edge of the bed. Azriel’s thumbs hook into the waistband of your shorts, and they quickly join the pile of discarded clothes on the floor. 

You lay completely bare before him. He spreads your legs, and he falls to his knees, eyes in line with your dripping cunt. Your arousal has seeped down your thighs and to the bedsheets below. He utters your name in worship as he lowers his mouth to your core. 

He feasts like a man starved, drowning in your arousal as your thighs clamp around his head, your core pulsing with the need to be filled. His tongue flicks against your clit, sending shockwave after shockwave of pleasure through you. His scarred hands clamp around your thighs as he pulls you impossibly closer. His tongue thrusts into your hole and you see white. You are so close to the edge, so close to climax.

“Az-. Az! Please, Please Cauldron, please. I’m close.” You’re moaning, pulling at his hair to make him look up at you.  “Please, I want to cum with your inside me.” 

His fingers lessen their grip, and his mouth leave your sex. His lips are glistening with your juices, as his hands travel to the buckles at his thigh, removing the sheath containing Truth-Teller, next he works the ties of his boots and pants, both are quickly discarded. With a tug of his undershorts, the Spymaster of the Night Court stands before you in all of his glory, and he is magnificent. 

His cock throbs against his stomach as he watches you watch him. He fists his rock-hard length and he looks at you with a question burning in his eyes, giving you a chance to turn him away. But you need him, you burn for him. 

“I need you inside of me Azriel.” You can feel the head of his cock brush against your folds, your head falling back and you whine at the contact, “Fuck me. Gods fuck me.” His cock rubs against your sex a few more times, your slick lubricating his length, and then he is slowly pushing inside of you. 

Your cunt stretches, and you’re not sure if you’re moaning in pain or in rapturous pleasure. He stills for a moment, halfway inside you, letting your body acclimate to his thick member. He leans down and leaves a chaste kiss against your lips. 

“Ready?” he asks, voice low, strained with the effort to remain still. 

“Yes.”

He pulls his cock out all the way out, and with a buck of his hips, completely sheaths himself inside of you. Again and again, his hips slam against yours, cock pistoning in and out of you. His cock fills you completely, your cunt stretched as far as it can, and each vein along his shaft rubs deliciously against you. The tip of his cock brushes against your spongey tissue and you whail in bliss. 

“Harder.”

He complies, his hips fracturing against your pelvis, driving him further inside of you. Your hands reach around and grab his ass, driving him even deeper. The fae lights are flickering in and out, the bed is shaking, cracking against the wall, and you are screaming, and screaming, insane from the pleasure.

You plummet over the edge, wailing his name as your orgasm cleaves you in two. 

Azriel follows you over the cliff, his wings flare wide, and he lets out a roar as his thick cum paints your insides. His pace begins to slow as he continues to thrust in and out, prolonging your pleasure. He stills inside of you but doesn’t pull out immediately, taking his time to fully unsheath himself, savouring the feeling of you around him. 

“Y/N…” his voice is hoarse. He starts to pull away, but you just lean in and capture his lips with another kiss. 

“Let’s talk about what this means later Az. For now,” your eyes shine bright in the moonlight and it takes his breath away, “for now, can you just hold me?” He nods and swallows hard. Shimming up to the head of the bed, you both slide under your covers, he tucks you into his side, arm draped around your waist. Your head rests on his chest, and you breathe in the scent of his sweat and musk. 

You can feel his come slowly trickle down your leg. 

You feel complete and satiated. The roar in your veins from the potion has gone, left in its place was love. Your eyes feel heavy and you begin to drift off to sleep. “Told you so,” you mumble. You’re fast asleep now, and miss the look of regret that crosses the Shadowsingers face.

.

.

.

Hours later you awaken to an empty bed. 

[duuhrayliegh]

blowing bartender!eddie behind the bar whilst he makes drinks for the regulars and has to try his best to be cool. His knees are buckling and he's trying his best to suppress those throaty groans, but you're making things awfully difficult. He cums down your throat, and nobody is any the wiser of your filthy activities. He names a drink after you as a reminder of you.

bob on the knob

bartender!eddie x burlesque performer/baby doll!reader

send your request here!

It's a peaceful Saturday night when Eddie thinks that you've officially lost your mind. Well, maybe not completely, but this was definitely something that you weren't typically into.

"You wanna what?"

The words are breathless by the time they leave his mouth. He doesn't know of a single time that he's been baffled, but you can definitely count him bamboozled at this moment.

"Well, I know it’s something you’re into and I’m comfortable exploring new things with you.”

His eyes flick down to your hands which you wring into the excess fabric of the your stolen band tee. Eddie softens at your explanation, and stands from his spot on the bed to approach you.

“If you’re not into it, we definitely don’t have to, but I know that when we talked about it originally you said that you were turned on by it so I just wanted to give us the opportunity to try it.”

He stops in front of you and drops to his knees as his hands land on your hips. Eddie can feel the lining of your underwear through the worn material of his shirt and he twists his fingers into the elastic.

“Baby doll,” he rests his chin on your lower stomach, looking up at you through his lashes and curly fringe, “I want to do whatever you’re comfortable with. I know this is outside of your comfort zone, so the ball is entirely in your court.”

That was about a week ago, and Eddie has been on edge ever since. He can't lie when you first propositioned him, he immediately wanted to jump on the opportunity, but he knows you. If you were willing to lean into Eddie's fantasies, then he needed to give you all the control--especially when it comes to this particular kink of his.

"Hey, Teddy."

You pop up from behind him, hands reaching out to pinch the skin just above his jeans. Eddie jumps away from you with a yelp, his hand coming up to cover his heart dramatically.

“Baby doll," he reaches out to you, fingertips grazing the bejeweled fabric of your most recent costume. "You look gorgeous."

Eddie hates to pick favorites, but he does--and he does so gladly. This glitzy red number that you’re wearing—in what has to be his favorite performance of yours—is definitely in his top three costumes. Just behind the pearl get-up that, in Eddie's opinion, can't really be considered a costume by the end of that performance.

He leans forward and gives you a chaste kiss, something that you've both deemed appropriate for the workplace. Eddie feels your smile against his lips, one of the things about you that makes his heart flutter. You hum against him, pressing your body further into his.

"Excuse me. Can I get some service over here?"

A buttoned-up man was tapping his knuckles impatiently against the bar. Eddie's eyes swipe over the jackass that's interrupting his Baby Doll's time. He squeezes your hand once before fully focusing on his job.

"My apologies, sir." Eddie slings the bar towel over his shoulder. "What can I get for you this fine evening?"

Eddie watches as you wave goodbye from behind his latest guest. He sighs heavily as the man before him begins talking--out of his ass to be perfectly honest.

"Well, you could start with actually doing your job instead of flirting with the dancer girls." Jackass loosens his tie as he throws the comment in Eddie's face.

"I do apologize sir. You have my full attention now, so what can I get for you?" Eddie asks.

"Whisky sour." Jackass stands from his seat to take one of the empty lounge tables. "And keep them coming without distractions if you know what's good for you."

Eddie clenches his jaw, he pulls a face as he makes Jackass's drink. The lights dim and Eddie can see the way Jackass watches the women on the stage perform. Eddie passes the drink off to one of the waitresses and directs them to the intended table.

Having worked in customer service for this long, Eddie has the ability to predict if he's going to have a slow night. Tonight just so happens to be one of those nights. He rolls his eyes as he sees Jackass hold up his empty glass and look back at Eddie expectantly.

Just as he finishes off the second drink of the service, he feels a hand run down his back. Eddie stiffens and goes to turn, but is stopped by your voice.

“Don't react. Just stay calm, okay?" Your perfume permeates his senses and the thoughts running through his head send a shiver down his spine. "Nod once, if you're okay with this."

Eddie's chest feels like it's going to burst as you drop down behind him, hands trailing over his body. The button of his jeans pops open, and thankfully, the noise of his zipper undoing is covered by the booming music of the club.

He leans against the counter while your breath hits his overheated skin. Your soft fingers reach into his boxers to pull him out. He glances down and just about keels over. Eddie takes in the sight of you on your knees, hungrily eyeing his cock.

"Such a fucking goddess for me." He locks eyes with you and tilts his lips upward in a smile.

This isn't the first time he's been able to experience you like this. Every single time you offer him your mouth--because he does love to use you like a little slut, oh so much--he goes weak in the knees. And though this hasn't happened as often as he dreams about it, you both follow a similar routine every time.

Immediately one of his hands floats to your hair, gripping it at the root. The strands aren't as soft as they typically are, he suspects this is due to the amount of hairspray that you have to use for your performances.

Your tongue lashes out against the underside of his shaft, and he shudders as you drag upward toward his tip. Both hands are on the exposed skin of his hips, and he feels the crescent-shaped sting of your nails against the bones.

And just as you give him the pleasure of enveloping him in your mouth--that blissful feeling he hopes never ends--he's snapped back to reality when a glass was slammed on the bar top.

"Oh, Jesus H. Chri--" Eddie starts to whimper.

"Dude. I thought I told you service, without distractions." Jackass huffs the words, and Eddie's eyes widen to a probably comical size. He feels you hum around him, so he pulls on your hair as a warning.

"I'm sor--" he clears his throat as you take him further in yours, "sorry, sir. Another whisky sour?"

Jackass continues to mouth off while facing the stage, giving Eddie just enough time to step back to grab the bottle of whisky off the back shelf.

He slips from your mouth, a string of saliva connecting you to his stiffened cock. Eddie groans as he rights himself before you. He places the bottle on the bar and then reaches under your chin and stuffs himself back into your warm throat.

"God, such a good little slut for me," Eddie whispers under his breath as he settles in front of you again.

Eddie threads his fingers through your hair and uses it as a handle as he guides you back and forth on his shaft. His eyes roll back and his head drops back before he reaches out to attempt to do his job.

He manages to get the drink served with minimal snide remarks from Jackass, but it's without thanks to you. Every second that passes, you've managed to get sloppier and sloppier. He's honestly surprised that he was able to keep his groans quietened long enough for the brief exchange.

"You like being my little slut?" He hazards a look at you again, and it was both a blessing and a curse.

A blessing because he's truly privileged to see you in such a state. Tears gathered at the corners of your eyes, spit coating your chin and he could feel lines of it dripping off his balls and into his boxers. A curse because now he desperately wanted to cum down your throat.

His whole body felt on edge and he could track the sensations as it races through his nerves. One hand had the tips of his fingers buried in your hair, holding you to him while the other hand drifts to your throat. He starts to drive your movements, and Eddie widens his stance a bit.

The lights dim in the room and illuminate the stage, catching Eddie's attention and reminding him of your surroundings. The sound that emits from his throat is a surprise, but it kickstarts his release and his brain.

"Oh god, such a good girl for me. You like being a good girl for me?"

He continued to use your mouth, feeding his cock down your throat and feeling every movement with his hand around your neck.

“No, good girls wouldn't let me use them like this in public, would they? You're my little whore, my pretty little whore. My little baby doll." Eddie is utterly and positively a whimpering mess. Every bone in his body is begging him to fall to the ground.

"My little baby doll. I love when you let me use you like this. You love being my baby doll, don't you? Pliant little baby doll for me."

Eddie's balls tighten and he knows that he won't last much longer. He taps your cheek and meets your bright eyes that are still swimming with unshed tears.

"Not gonna last much longer, baby doll." He bites his lower lip, attempting to stifle his own trembling moans.

"You gonna be a good girl and take everything I give ya?" Eddie mumbles to you as he leans forward again, unable to stay fully upright.

"Oh fuck." He feels the globs of spit and cum gather around his tip as he releases into your throat. Eddie holds your head as close to his pelvis as he could get it and allows the waves of pleasure to engulf his senses.

"Oh my god," Eddie stills and locks his knees to prevent himself from completely melting into the floor. He whimpers as you swallow around his cock. "So fucking good for me."

You back off and begin to clean him up with your tongue. You hum while quietly tucking him back in his pants and zipping him up. Eddie follows your movements as you stand with your hands still on the waistband of his jeans.

He goes to say something but is quickly cut off by your lips. If there's one thing that he finds hot, it's how affectionate and downright clingy you are after any measure of sexual intercourse.

Usually, you would lay in his bed with the pale, thin sheets gracing your bare curves. He would trace your figure with delicate touches and soft kisses. If he was lucky enough you'd put on a small show for him, stripping yourself down from the clothes that you stole from him.

When your lips met his now, he thrust into your mouth so he could taste himself on your tongue. Eddie believes that you're one of the most erotic beings he's ever imagined. You lean back from him only for Eddie to place both hands on your cheeks.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

You giggle after his response and sigh as his forehead meets yours. Eddie presses a multitude of kisses around your face as you melt into a fit of laughter. Suddenly, Jackass is interrupting again, slamming his empty glass on the countertop again.

"Man, how the hell do you do your job? You need to fucking focus on your paying customers." Jackass emphasized the last two words and cut a look at Eddie's baby doll.

"Watch it, Jackass." Eddie mixes yet another drink for the suited man. "You're still getting your goddamn drinks, aren't ya? Why don't you back off and get back to your little pity table?"

An appalled expression overtakes the man's face, and he quickly collects his drink and scurries away. Eddie places his palms on the exposed skin of your plush hips and pulls you toward his body.

"Thank you." He pecks your lips. "That was everything I could imagine and more."

Your features morph into that smile he loves so much, "I'm glad. That was actually really fun." You brush his long hair behind his ear. "I enjoy watching you squirm, you should be afraid."

"Oh, should I?" Eddie catches your hand and brings it to his lips. He brings his voice down to a whisper, "I think you should watch yourself. I might be more willing than you realize."

"I'm counting on it."

A few hours later you came back to the bar and Eddie presents you with your shift drink. He watches you eye it carefully before shooting him a curious look.

"What's this?"

Eddie's known for creating signature cocktails that Nancy puts as specials throughout the week. Usually, they're reworked versions of classics that draw people's attention. This time is no different.

"This is my play on a cult classic inspired by a recent encounter of mine." Eddie leans forward and whispers his next words while watching you take a swig of the fruity cocktail. "The Bob on the Knob."

You choke on the drink, covering your mouth when an indignant snort escapes your nose. You swallow the sip harshly before exclaiming.

"Oh my god!" Your eyes flick between Eddie's expectant face, awaiting your approval, and the drink before you. "It's actually not that bad."

Eddie laughs loudly as you walk toward the back with the drink in hand. Apparently, you weren't the only one who liked the drink though because not even two days later, it's the club special.

But only you and Eddie knew why it was really special.

--

a/n: anyway...yeah this isn't as good as i thought it was going to be but here we are

[clavissionary-position]

Ikeprinces Ranked By Birthday Candle Extinguishing Skills

*A baseline of 34 candles is used

1. CHEVALIER

You came here today hoping to see Chevalier blow out 34 candles with a single huff of his laugh. You leave here today after seeing Chevalier chuck his sword at an intruding Clavis, where the mere act of drawing said-sword produced a blade of wind so supreme that not only the candles on his cake but all candles in a 10-room radius were decimated down to their quivering wicks.

2. LUKE

You would think Luke would have no problem. He’s a Big Fuccin Lad with Big Fuccin Lungs. And you'd be right, except he gets bored during the process of you lighting 34 candles and decides he'd much rather get to work on devouring you first. Your make-out sesh lasts up until you see the still-burning near-stub shape of 34 candles out of the corner of your eye. At which point Luke does the whole snuffing-a-flame-out-with-one's-fingers thing except it's 34 candles versus his gigantic fist.

3. JIN

You’ve set the cake down in front of him; he’s distracting you with playful acts of misplaced hands and roaming lips; you're both chatting, laughing, and somewhere amidst that revelry he leans over and takes all 34 spirited flames out with little more than a casual exhale. The candles are in the way now, and you two happily work them off the cake before putting the dessert to more stimulating use.

4. SARIEL

Your unwavering faith in him in the face of this celebratory sea of fire is enough to marshal the air in his lungs out through his bewitching, decadently puckered lips. Not that the candles wouldn't have already voluntarily noped off the cake in perfect rank-and-file regardless of your presence, but you being here today makes Sariel lean into mischief. (Candle POV: OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY—*cut off by static*)

5. YVES

He trips while carrying the cake and the candles put themselves out. That's what the preliminary report written by an anti-Obsidian palace minister says, anyway. In reality, Yves strategically and deftly rearranges the candles before you light them. The new formation is much easier to take down with minimal exertion. The most touching moment is not when he takes out all the candles at once, but when he sits back, satisfied, chest puffed out while his eyes are wide with disbelief that he’s actually able to get something right.

6. RIO

Rio can do anything he sets his mind to if you set his mind onto it first. When you surprise him with the cake, he clearly reads the expectation in your glittering gaze. He knows you don’t care if he can take out all the candles in one go or not, but he still has his pride. He pulls his chair closer to the cake before giving you that charming, blue sky of a smile and holding both your hands under the table. At the end of a simple countdown that he gives himself, he wipes all the flames across the board so spectacularly that you feel as though you’ve witnessed a magic trick.

7. LICHT

He blows out 33 but the final candle refuses to yield. Palms on either side of the cake now, Licht leans in, his brow set into a stern line. He draws a deep breath while eyeing you to make sure you're a safe distance away. You don’t see him exchange that fleeting, somber glance with Nokto. It is the hidden conversation of wombmates: if something happens to Licht, Nokto is to look after you. After making peace with his fate, Licht squares his shoulders, zeroes in on the remaining candle, and puckers his lips...

8. NOKTO

He blows out more than half, presumably exhausting his skills, before spontaneously refusing to extinguish the rest unless you do him a favor in return. Apparently this favor has nothing to do with giving him a kiss or letting him get handsy with you because he’s already doing that as he presents the deal. Stripping? You two were naked to begin with. So what is it then? When you ask Nokto to elaborate, he pins you to the bed and asks if you’ll replace the candles with carrots because that would make things a whole lot easier for him. You follow-up with the perfectly valid point of “blowing out burning carrots means you’re rescuing them.” A point which Nokto begrudgingly accepts before quickly blowing out the rest of the candles so he can bury himself inside you.

9. LEON

34 candles is no problem for him, but he would much rather intentionally draw the process out and extinguish only a handful at a time. Poor Leon, he's having suuuuch a tough time of it. You’ll help out, won't you? Sit on his lap while you work together? This cake business is really digging into his private time with you. Wouldn’t it be better to just leave it for now and… He grins at your insistence, suddenly walking off, but coming back behind you and surprising you so astoundingly that your yelp extinguishes the rest of the candles before being cut off by a whirlwind kiss.

10. KEITH

He is absolutely determined not to let his alter switch in for this. If he can't do something as simple as blow out 34 birthday candles then what hope does he have of looking かっこいい in your eyes? After several minutes of tense discussion, both Keiths arrive at an agreement to let Shy Keith have 50 attempts to get it right before Wicked Keith steps in to save the birthday. Of course you’re fully aware that the only reason such a ridiculous margin would be offered is if a certain someone had no intention of interfering in the first place. Nevertheless it takes Shy Keith 49 tries to get every single candle in one go, just as he’s always dreamed. Like a tiny supernova in the darkness of the greenhouse. Before a couple of nearby plants catch fire.

11. SILVIO

He blows all 34 candles out in one flashy exhale, and all 34 candles instantly revive in one sassy flicker. He glares at you, then, as if you and the candles and Rio are conspiring together. But the truth is he's just embarrassed and mad at himself for looking like such a loser in front of you. Carlo gets ordered to produce a second cake with more agreeable candles. You snap at Silvio about wasting a perfectly good cake. You try not to be grumpy about it for the duration of the party, but it’s hard to stay mad when the first cake reappears in your shared bedroom later with a very different fate in store for it… "Dammit, do I gotta spell it out!? I'm sayin' I need you to blow the damn candles out for me first!"

12. GILBERT

He could resort to a simple stage trick to avoid exerting himself at all if he so wanted, but instead he refuses to engage with the candles altogether in favor of casually threatening you to do it for him. When you childishly complain that his birthday wish won’t come true like this, he gently cups your face and assures you that your wish is more than enough to count for his (while also being conducive to the world’s continued existence).

13. CLAVIS

It’s like a music box. Or a self-playing piano. Each syllable of his infamous laughter triggers a subset of the candles to go out. When all is said and done, you push the birthday hellcat aside to investigate, but to your surprise, the candles are totally legita… no they’re not. And why do they smell like that!? Clavis wraps an arm around your waist to give you a tour of how his miraculous candles work… and how edible they are, down to the wick. He gets last-place for using his own materials but first-place for showmanship and inventing edible flammable non-toxic candles in the medieval age.

[sorceresssundries]

REVIVIFY - CHAPTER 1

Gale/Tav - 2577 words

AO3 LINK

Summary:

“He was right in front of you!” Gale’s breathing is heavy. “You could have killed him easily, and yet you...” He grips your arms and stares you down. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to witness that?” You thought you could hear a slight crack in his voice. “You were reckless and foolish and not the level-headed leader I expected you to be.

You lurch upwards and gasp, choking on the air rushing into your lungs. There is an instant of crushing panic, and then just as quickly, peace. Normality. As your breathing steadies, you look around. Your companions are gathered around where you are now sitting up, but the face you're searching for is not among them. You see a flash of a purple robe disappearing behind a tent flap.

“Erm, he’ll be back, I'm sure!” Karlach is looking at you with relief, though there is still a slight worry in her eyes. “I know Withers is some ancient, crazy deity or something, but I still doubted he would be able to do it!” She looks at him a little sheepishly. “Good job, mate! She still looks a bit pale, though. Did you do it right?”

Withers responds with a stern look and then takes his leave.

“Charming,” she turns her golden eyes back to you. “Are you feeling okay?”

You are still trying to process, to remember what happened. Your head aches, and your lungs are sore from the sudden fullness of air. You settle your hand on your chest as things begin to clear up.

“Battle axe to the chest, darling. Unpleasant way to go.” Astarian is sitting on a tree trunk not far away, looking over a recently looted dagger and not seeming concerned in the slightest. “Such a waste of perfectly good blood. It was quite a spectacle, though. And despite your best intentions of getting us all killed, it didn’t take long after you snuffed it for us to finish the job.”

Shadowheart rolls her eyes at him. “Yes, Astarion, what a hero you are. Nothing to do with Gale going full wizard barbarian.”

Memories are starting to pool back into your recently revived mind. You were at the Goblin Camp. You had one more leader to take out, Dror Ragzlin. Weak and spent from your fight with Minthara, you remember having enough energy to conjure one more spell. The hulking Goblin was in front of you; one blast of flame hands and he would be down. But something caught your eye. Gale. He was battling two goblins, firing off magic missiles but not seeing the one rushing behind him. It wasn’t even a decision really; you don’t remember even thinking. You sacrificed the killing blow and fired protective energy at Gale. It was enough; he shimmered gold and had enough protection to withstand the approaching Goblin. You remember a brief hum of relief and then excruciating pain. Then nothing.

“It was quite hot, actually,” Astarion hops down off the tree stump. “I didn’t think our wizard had it in him, but seeing him lose his temper makes me reconsider my thoughts of him being a big old bore.” He looks pensive for a moment. “Do you think he’d let me bite him?”

“Astarion!” Shadowheart chides. “Now is not the time. I think Gale would probably have a stake at the ready if you went anywhere near him right now.” She draws her focus back to you. “After you fell, Gale pretty much finished off the Goblins single-handedly. He sent a bolt of lightning straight through Ragzlin’s skull.”

You feel shame redden your face. Planning this attack had been your responsibility. You should have insisted everyone took time to rest properly before the final battle. You were impatient and reckless and wanted it over. The ghost of the axe wound rips at your chest. You know it isn’t real, but the pain has split you apart. It aches.

“Where is Lae’zel?” You look around for your Githyanki comrade, surprised she hasn’t chided you yet for your failure in battle.

“Hunting, I think. She helped us carry you back. Be warned, she’s said she’s going to go through intensive battle training with you to ‘improve your incompetence,’ her words not mine.” Shadowheart holds her hands up defensively.

Karlach shifts a little uncomfortably. “And, erm, Gale is just in his tent. Resting probably. I’d go check in on him if I were you.”

You stand shakily and look at your friends with gratitude. “I’m sorry. We’ll plan things out better next time.”

“Well, I'd hope so, darling.” Astarion chides. “All this heroic nonsense is bad enough as it is, without the shame of getting our arses kicked by a bunch of goblins.” He puts his hand on your shoulder as he walks past, and the others look at you sheepishly as they go back about their business. They busy themselves sorting out loot from the Goblin Camp and preparing things for dinner.

“Gale?” Your voice sounds small as you stand outside his tent. You hear the sound of a book being closed, but he does not respond. “Please, can I talk with you? I owe you an apology and some thanks.”

The flap opens, and he stands in front of you, grabbing your arm roughly and pulling you into his tent. The air is heated with fury. “I don’t want thanks or an apology.” His usual soft brown eyes appear darker than usual. “What I would like is a companion who isn’t going to get themselves cleaved in half with a battle axe due to pure stupidity.”

You never cope very well with being told off, and the shame and smallness you feel start to subside in reaction to being reprimanded by this arrogant wizard. “He was right in front of you!” Gale’s breathing is heavy. “You could have killed him easily, and yet you...” He grips your arms and stares you down. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to witness that?” You thought you could hear a slight crack in his voice. “You were reckless and foolish and not the level-headed leader I expected you to be”

You pull out of his grasp and glare at him. “I didn’t ask for leadership. I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask for the responsibility and exhaustion and burden.” You feel yourself blazing to match his heat. “Maybe if you’d paid more attention to what was around you, I wouldn’t have had to spend the last of my energy protecting you.”

“Why were you protecting me?” His voice is raised now, and surely the whole camp can hear their arguing. “You were right next to him! Why were you focused on what I was doing? I thought after everything that’s happened so far, you’d have a little more faith in my preternatural abilities. You behaved like a reckless martyr.”

“And you’re behaving like an ARSE,” you snap before turning on your heels and storming out of the tent. It’s frustrating that you don’t have Gale’s cutting use of vocabulary, but you feel as though you made your point.

You stride straight past your campmates, all who look a bit awkward, apart from Astarion who seems positively gleeful. “What a lovely bit of drama we’re all witnessing. It really does get the blood racing, so to speak.”

You hear a thud and an “Ow!” as you leave them behind, and imagine Karlach has probably given him a well-deserved thump. Good.

You approach the edge of the water and sit down. Thoughts are racing and blood is pumping. How dare he! Talking to you like a child. As though you had wanted to get your chest split open. The memory makes you shudder again, and the imaginary wound burns, taking your breath away. You need to calm and ground yourself. You are back, you are alive, you are fine.

You draw a circle in the earth and rough sketches of sacred runes around the outside. You take off your armour and kneel in the centre of the circle in your undershirt, head bowed and palms placed upon the earth.

When Gale had taught you magic and pulled upon the weave, he had conjured it out of the air, as though some celestial force was moving around you and drawing you together. The magic was ethereal, divine. Your druidic magic was different. You drew the feeling of peace and harmony from the earth, grounding yourself and connecting with the cool soil beneath you. If you focused hard enough, you could hear the world breathe around you, as though it was a living soul with a heartbeat beneath your fingertips. You were connected to all living things. Your breaths flow with the wind sweeping across your face, and as you focus on your peace, small white flowers begin to bloom around the edge of your circle. You feel them caress your fingertips as you meditate.

You’re unsure of how long you stay there, drawing upon the earth for comfort and guidance, but when you open your eyes, dusk has set in and the air has grown cool around you, causing your skin to tingle. You give your thanks and pick up your armour, admiring the flowers which have bloomed around you. You decide to walk barefoot back to your tent in your shirt; druids do not care so much about ‘appropriate dress.’ You just want to enjoy the feeling of the soil beneath your feet as you make your journey to bed. Feeling much more relaxed and grounded than earlier. You have been brought back to the earth, and you will be much more careful in the future not to be pulled from it again.

As you slip into your tent, you think of Gale. His tent is not far from yours, which you are now beginning to regret. You remember the evening you spent with him as he summoned the weave and shared a moment of magic with you, how the thought of kissing him caused him to blush and stumble over his words. The contrast between his softness then, and his harshness earlier is dizzying. Your heart sinks at the thought of your connection fading. Slipping away into the night. It had been a shared moment of rapture, and the ghost wound in your chest blazes at the thought it may have been the only one you would ever share.

As you sleep, darkness creeps into your cluttered mind. The void you had been pulled into by the goblin leader swirls its way into your thoughts, inciting nightmarish visions while you sleep. The axe. The pain. The nothingness. The cold steel wrenched you apart, splitting your ribs and cascading your blood on the ground. Gale had watched it happen. Gale. You remember the relief and warmth as you saw him protected, and your dreams start to taunt you. What if you hadn’t seen him? What if your positions had been reversed? Next time you could be the one watching him, his body breaking in front of you, life slipping from his eyes. “No,” you plead to the darkness in your head. “No, I won’t let that happen. Not to Gale.” There is a mocking laugh, and an inevitability pressing against you. He’ll get hurt one day. From a spell, or an axe, or the devastating orb that resides within him. You feel sick, and then you’re awake.

“Tav” Once again, you are pulled out of darkness. This time from the horrors in your subconscious, and not the peaceful calm of death. You’re sweaty and breathless, and you can’t tell if the moisture on your face is from sweat or tears. You have an awful feeling it’s both. You feel a cooling touch on your forehead. Gale. He’s hovering over you, concern etched across his gentle face. You feel fresh tears spill. “It’s okay, you’re safe, I’m here.” He pulls you against him, wrapping his arms around you. You stay like this for a little while until your breathing slows to mimic his, his hand gently stroking your head. You feel him press a light kiss against your hair, and you pull back to look at him.

“I had a nightmare,” you say, as though it wasn’t the most obvious thing in the world.

“I know,” he sits back, taking you in. “You were so distressed.” You can hear the worry in his voice, the sentiment is echoed in the warm softness of his eyes.

“I’m okay now,” you say, not sure which one of you you’re trying to convince. Your hand goes to your chest, pressing the area where the axe struck you. Gale watches intently.

“I’m so sorry, Tav. I was angry. I watched you… I saw…” His breath hitches as he tries to speak. It’s not like him to struggle to string a sentence together.

You take one of his hands and place it on your chest, over your heartbeat. “I’m here. I’m okay. I’m alive and safe. I’m here with you.”

“You said my name, in your sleep. You were crying and you said my name. Was it because of the way I spoke to you, because of what I said?” His hand moved from your chest to cup your face. His thumb stroked your cheek, and you felt your heart race.

“No. I just...” You struggle with what to say next. How do you say it? How do you tell him that the thought of losing him is more terrifying than being struck down with an axe? “I was reliving what happened. You were there. I was scared, that’s all.” You don’t look him in the eyes as you keep the truth close to your chest. “I don’t think I have anything to worry about really; from the sounds of it, you can take on hordes of enemies by yourself from now on.” You flick your eyes up to meet his, and he blushes a little.

“Ah, yes, well, I must admit I did let my emotions get the better of me.” He moves his hand from your face and back into his lap, folding himself so he’s now sat cross-legged in front of you. “I don’t need to tell you how powerful and uncontrollable magic can be, and if I'm out of harmony with the weave, it can lead to disastrous torrents of magic. We were lucky, I think, that it was channelled into the destruction of those foul creatures. But care must be taken, even in the most… emotional… of circumstances. I could have put our little team in terrible danger.” His hand subconsciously moved to his own chest, touching the swirling orb branded into his beautiful skin.

“Well, on the plus side, I think it turned Astarion on,” you laugh lightly at the thought. “You may have found yourself a new admirer. Be careful though; he bites.”

Gale laughs, and the sound soothes you like a balm. “Not really my type, but I'll be aware of any effect I may have on him from now on.” He smirks at you, and you feel relief wash over you. Gale was easy, comforting company. You’re glad he came to help. The thought of him leaving you to the darkness again makes you uneasy.

“Gale,” you shift a little awkwardly, and he takes you in, tilting his head slightly. “Would you mind bunking with me tonight? I think I could use a bit of company.” You feel embarrassed at the request, but he grins at you.

“Of course, anything I can do for you, consider it most enthusiastically done. Let me just go and get my bedroll.”

You sleep soundly for the rest of the night; any worry of losing your connection with Gale drifts into the ether. Your hands are entwined together across the floor, and your dreams are much, much sweeter.

[monstermonger]

Hey!!

I have recently been going through a rough patch with my art. I am not enjoying or liking how I do linework and shading, and in order to remedy that, I'm collecting works from artists I like that I can study/re-imagine.

Your linework and composition is stunning 😍 and I am currently working on a reinterpretation of one of your pieces. This is the most fun I've had with a piece in a while. Beautiful work !! 👏 👏👏

....Er, I've been away from social media for quite a while, and even before that, I was behind on messages... I'm so sorry for my late responses to asks. I wanna say I appreciate ppl taking the time to send them, really :") thanks for the patience LOL

I'll try to condense this - respond to multiple in a single post. So I don't take up too much space in people's feeds.

so first of all @laurikarauchscat I'm sorry to hear you're in a rough patch, and I think your method of overcoming it is on the right track. At least, it's definitely something I do and it really helps me xD Most notably with all the Caspar David Friedrich-inspired pieces. As long as you give credit to the artists you're reinterpreting from (and asking is polite too, if they're an alive artist :D so yes thank you for asking) it seems perfectly fine to me to do so. Good luck and hope it goes well, I'm interested to see c:

More asks under the cut!

@blurred-antics thank you so much for the words ;b; it's validating to hear, since they're definitely emotions I have in mind while drawing lately. I lost both my parents in the last 2 years, and I've dumped a lot of feelings of grief/longing into my pieces since then, including ones that might seem rather cheerful and perfectly peaceful at a glance. I'm happy others can feel the bit of conflict under the surface-- I don't necessarily mind if my art comes across straightforward, since when throwing art into the public it must be accepted that everyone will interpret it how they want, but it does feel nice to know that some people sense the extra bits. Thank you again!

@kinnersonne thank you very much!! Definitely my favorite subjects at the moment c: You're very sweet.

@marinaaniseed I'm starting to get to ... quite old ones, and I worry this was a time-sensitive question :"D I'm very sorry if I'm too late.

First of all, thank you for asking! I'm honored people like my art enough they'd want it tattooed, it's pretty mind-blowing to me. I've actually had several people ask to use my art for tattoos the last few months and I think overall, I'm pretty okay with it. if you'd like to express support for my art for using it, then you're welcome to buy a print from my shop. It's not required, but it's very appreciated <3 Hope whatever you end up going for (whether my art or not in the end) goes well ^^

@wandersoffdoodling Aw, thank you T.T I'm happy they resonate with you! It's kind of my dream to finish some zines and some bigger projects in this sketchbook/journal art style. So that's very motivating to hear. Thanks again c:

@eldathe once again I apologize for how late I am to respond to questions that were intended to be very quick exchanges lol. First of all, thank you! :") I'm sure this is no longer relevant for how old this ask is, but in case you/(or anyone reading this) would still want to use it as a blog pfp or anywhere, yes, feel free, as long as there's credit somewhere visible! Thank you for asking <3

@starrforge thank you kindly, yours is great too :")

@herebesherlocks Aww thank you so much :") I'm honored it evokes that feeling.

@the-halcyon-effect 100 years later: thank you that's a huge honor to hear :"))))

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

Keep Thinking About Gale x Single Mom!Tav

A/N: Shout-out to @leighsartworks216 for letting me ramble to them about it. I just need to get all this stuff rattling around in my brain out.

I know, I know, Gale repeatedly says he's not father material, but have you considered that I want him to be a dad anyway and it's cute

So in my brain this single mom is named Gwen (Guinevere); a half-elf, wild magic sorceress

She came from a fairly well to do family, married a handsome and acceptably rich merchant and soon had a child on the way

Problems came when she gave birth to a healthy baby girl, who also happened to be a teifling

Seen as a bad omen, both her family and husband wanted her to give up the child, she refused causing her husband to leave her and her family to reject her

She didn't let that stop her though and soon she found a new home for her and Clara

Over the next eight years she worked hard to build a life for herself and make sure Clara never doubted for a moment she was loved

Gwen knew the world would be hard on her girl, so she made a point to build up her confidence and teach her it's never wrong to fight back when people are treating you unfairly; you can't take that shit lying down

Blunt and a bit intense, Gwen has seen and done plenty of shit and thought she finally had a handle on her life; and then she got kidnapped by illithids

Still haven't played the game, so I can't give a play by play of every interaction, but I do know early game she would be a bit distracted

Obviously her first goal is to figure out if her daughter is okay so it frankly is the only thing on her mind until she gets her hand on a sending scroll or something like it

Only after does she confirm that Clara is safe and with people she trusts can she focus on the task at hand

Takes a liking to Gale basically from the word go; he's respectful, he know hows to cook, he keeps making comments about his tongue, there is only so much a woman can handle

Gods know it has been a while since she's gotten laid

He starts rambling about magic and she can't not fuck him

Gale is hesitant at first because first the orb, second Gwen has made no secret she had a child and Gale doesn't see himself as father material, and three because he does really, really like her and doesn't want to make promises he can't keep

I'd say they're able to meet Clara before they head come to Baldur's Gate so Gale and the rest can meet her earlier; and to give Gwen some peace of mind

Clara is a very curious and headstrong, both of which Gale can appreciate; he can see why Gwen was so determined to get back to her, which only makes him admire her more

Also, quick aside about the rest of the companions; Wyll and Karlach would be ready to baby sit at any given moment, Lae'zel admires the child's fighting spirit and absolutely gifted her a sword, Shadowheart enjoys her more mischievous tendencies, and Astarion is classic wine aunt who hates all kids except Clara (he's been helping her stage of coup of the swing set)

Eventually feelings are confessed between Gale and Gwen leading to a proper relationship (and Gwen actually getting laid)

Gwen is absolutely not having it with him trying to blow himself up or becoming a god

Mystra: You must destroy yourself and the orb. Gale: Alright, let me ask Gwen. Mystra: No, that's not--. Gale: She said no.

Once everything is said and done, I'm going back and forth on if they would settle in Waterdeep

Clara has friends and it would be hard to ask her to leave, but I think Gale could compromise and get a position at a different magical university closer by

Either way, Gale settles into the domestic life rather nicely and dives head first into being the best father to Clara he can be

He absolutely devours every parenting book he can get his hands on, only to throw it all out the window once he's actually in it; Gwen did warn him, but old habits and all that

Probably waits a little longer to actually get married to see how they all function as a family together first; plus he wants to properly ask Clara if she's okay with him marrying her mother

I've got other random thoughts, but that about covers it for now, if you want to know more, feel free to drop an ask! I'm up for anything.

[kayawolfhorse]

Day 14 — In the Webs We Weave

—☾—

The chatter fades softly behind Pearl as she marches across the map with stacks of terracotta in her pockets and a mission on her mind. She’s had enough distraction for one session; she’s got to get a move-on with this task if she wants any chance at regaining her lost hearts.

Even still, Pearl can’t keep the smile off of her face. Though it cost her valuable time, she’d be hard-pressed to regret the impromptu get-together.

Her base had been filled to the brim with jokes and laughter as almost the entire server crammed in together, sat upon or sprawled beneath hastily crafted trapdoors. It was chaotic and completely unnecessary, and Pearl’s heart couldn’t have felt warmer, tucked beside Scar on her recently-installed floor.

The feeling lingers between her ribs as Pearl scopes out a suitable hill at the border’s edge to enact her plan. After a glance over her shoulder to make sure she’s alone, she digs out a shallow cave in the hill’s side just large enough to hold a single block and a few instruction-bearing signs.

A perfectly adequate goose, Pearl thinks, stepping back to spellcheck her scrawled writing. Now, for the chase.

With each block added, the lines of terracotta shape into bright red trails looping across the plains, each leading to the cave. If that’s not tempting enough to investigate, Pearl doesn’t know what is.

It’s quiet in this empty corner of the map, and unexpectedly peaceful. The day around her is pleasant, and the task at hand is tedious enough for Pearl’s mind to wander.

Her thoughts turn back to the congregation at her base, and Pearl holds the memory close. She’s never known a base to feel as close to home as her silly little mound did in that moment.

So early into this game, her allies are newly forged and her enemies are hardly made; relationships are blank slates. Nothing and everything matters from previous runs. How strange is it to have sat beside those who have hunted her and those she’s hunted in turn lifetimes ago?

She’d laughed alongside Scott like she had in their shared base deep beneath a cottage covered in moss years ago, even though she’s fallen twice by his hand since. She’ll never get enough revenge on him. She resents how he’s stolen every attempt of it from her.

Impulse was among the first to claim a trapdoor, stacked above Pearl. When she looked up at him, she’d seen the kindness he'd shown her, the axe he’d wielded against her, and his blood dripping from the tip of her sword in another life. Bdubs had died from her blow, too, and now he’s a fellow Mounder.

BigB had been a loyal ally—friend—when Pearl needed it the most after her lonesome win. When he killed her, it was at her demand. In the round before, he hadn’t stopped his soulmate from cursing her name.

Gem appears on the horizon, and Pearl can’t help but wave, before quickly remembering she’s trying to avoid being spotted. She yanks her hand back and drops to a crouch behind the closest bit of terracotta, but it’s no use—Gem’s already started towards her.

“Hey-yyy, Gem,” Pearl says as casually as she can. “Have you, uh, seen this shiny red trail? Very suspicious.”

“Uh huh.” Gem squints at her. “Definitely the thing here that’s suspicious, yep.”

“Glad you agree! Would you, by any chance, be interested in following it?” Worth a shot, right?

Gem snorts. “I actually have someplace I need to be; just figured I’d say hello first.”

“Right, right,” Pearl says. She must look disappointed, because Gem giggles.

“If I see anyone looking for a weird, suspiciously random path to follow, I’ll be sure to point them this way, how’s that?”

“Oh, you’re the best.” Pearl grins.

Gem grins back. “I know. See you around!”

Pearl bids goodbyes to Gem’s retreating back and waits until she’s out of sight to start working once more. She thinks about how much longer it’ll take her to reach spawn. She wonders how Gem will fit into the threads woven between the players and games.

Block by block, her wild goose chase grows. The sun dips lower over the horizon, and by the time Pearl makes it to spawn, the sky is full of twinkling stars.

Pearl returns to an empty mound, clears away enough of the mess to collapse into bed, and hopes someone happens upon the terracotta before she must approach the Secret Keeper in the morning. When she finally falls asleep, her dreams are bathed in red.

[mousy-nona]

All of God's Angels p. 2

I think you will like His newest creation, Gabriel mused. I’ve foreseen a challenge for you. An equal. A partner, tall and beautiful and terrible, and crowned in red. // Or Lucifer tries his damned best to ignore Gabriel's prophecy, then finds Alastor after Extermination Day.

All parts up on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/53800450/chapters/136173307

Lucifer was Not Impressed by his supposed perfect match. 

As he watched Alastor toss a few grunts into his mouth with a glee that Lucifer could only describe as satanic, he broke his resolution to never pray again for the second time in a row and sent a quick message up to Heaven.

Dear Father, he beseeched – nay, begged – Dear Father, for the love of all that is unholy, please let it be someone else.  

Maybe he was wrong. Maybe it was another false alarm, like Lilith had been. Hell was full of red-faced bastards, and as much as he hated to admit it (and as Alastor had so smugly reminded him), most of them were taller than he was. Not Alastor tall, of course, but Gabriel had never specified ye verily, thy fated companion shall be approximately seven feet high, if thou art judging by the imperial system. 

(Curse that stuffy excuse for a messenger pigeon! If he hadn’t been so annoyingly vague, Lucifer wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place!) 

But there was something about the demon that made him think this time – this time would be the one that stuck. 

Maybe it was the way the demon seemed to have an uncanny sixth sense for knowing exactly how to get under his skin. He’d picked on his height, which was a low (ha!) blow, but then he’d honed in on his one true weakness with a swift, savage efficiency even Lucifer had to admire. Within less than a minute, he’d focused all his witty one liners on his relationship with Charlie – or lack thereof. 

Maybe it was the thrill that crept up his back as they fired insults at each other – “that’s why they call it the ‘Has-Been Hotel’!” “It was actually my idea!” – and Alastor didn’t once miss a beat. He returned each one of Lucifer’s barbs with a grace and silky condescension that made his own retorts look clumsy by comparison. He was excited in a way he hadn’t in years, filled with an electricity that could have been hate or delight or anything in between. 

Most importantly, he felt alive . Awake and alert. And when he placed his hand on the apple topping his staff, he felt it vibrate the way it had that first morning, and his mouth filled with the crisp, clean sparkle of potential.

It almost tasted like static. 

It was all too much for one day and Lucifer – the Prince of Darkness, the Morning Star, the Light Bringer – retreated. In front of a former human. 

Time flowed differently for a being that had existed since before the creation of the world. A blink of an eye could last a decade, or it could last a heartbeat of a second. He’d forced himself to get better at keeping track after Charlie’s birth, knowing time didn’t misbehave for her like it did for him. Being a father meant not wanting to miss a single moment – a lesson he’d learned the hard way. 

It was a mark of how badly Alastor had shaken him that he forgot all of his self-imposed rituals. He didn’t set the alarm at night. He didn’t mark off the days on the calendar. He didn’t even bother to darken and brighten the room to match the cycles of Hell. In the half-submerged gloom of his circus tent, surrounded on all sides by mountains of fire-breathing duckies, he could freak out in peace and quiet as the hours slid by like endless grains of sand.

That was why he didn’t realize what day it was until it was almost too late. 

If it wasn’t for the half-dead angel that crashed through the main hall, he might have missed the whole thing altogether. For the first time in days, his mind was strong and clear as he stared at the cherubim twitching on his floor. 

Extermination Day.

Charlie.

It was as if he’d mainlined a lightning bolt straight into his veins. He didn’t bother with a portal. He didn’t even bother to think. His six great wings unfurled and carried him towards the hotel faster than sound itself. And perhaps he hadn’t fallen out of favor after all, because he got there just in time to whisk Charlie out of harm’s way. Adam’s beady little eyes widened when he saw who it was.

Lucifer was so giddy with relief that he couldn’t resist a few jabs as he flew circles around the First Man. Adam fought to keep up, stuttering and spitting out profanities as he struggled to come up with a single clever comeback. 

“You’ve really let yourself go since Eden,” Lucifer couldn’t help but remark, rather sadly. What a shame – even after a millennia, Adam still possessed the conversational skills of a rock. What the Hell were they teaching the humans up there? Less than a few minutes had passed, and he was already growing bored of this exchange. He found his attention drifting to a far more enjoyable battle of wits from a few days ago…

Speaking of which, where was Alastor? 

He was distracted by Charlie, always Charlie, who transformed into a form he’d never seen before to stop Adam’s charge with one hand. An almighty rage that had lain dormant in him since the Fall reared its ugly head, and for a moment, all other thoughts were wiped from his mind. 

He dares? This pathetic, empty excuse for a human being dares threaten my Charlie? 

It was only later, after the battle, when there was time to talk and mourn for the fallen, that he heard Alastor hadn’t been seen since his battle with Adam. 

Alastor…fallen to Adam? It made logical sense, of course – as powerful as Alastor was, he was only an Overlord, and a young one to boot. Adam had had the entirety of human history to strengthen his power, and the angels had afforded him special abilities due to his status as the first human to enter Heaven. But still his mind struggled to comprehend it. It was like trying to understand how a Neanderthal had beaten an elegant war machine. 

A Neanderthal with a huge angelic blaster gun, he groused as he magicked a wall of timber into being. It was a good thing he hadn’t seen Alastor fall — he didn’t think he would have been able to stop himself from gutting Adam with his two bare hands if he had.

But at the same time, his limbs were suffused with a strange sense of relief. If Alastor had been taken out so easily, there was no way he was his fated companion. This was a good thing. A blessed turn of events. His equal match was still out there somewhere, and with any luck they would be free of unsightly defects like pointy teeth and cannibalistic tastes and a predilection for sadism. He was free! 

(So why was his chest aching so much?)

Then Alastor deigned to show his face, his smile as sharp as ever, his suit impeccably pressed, and Lucifer felt his heart beat again. Charlie and the rest of the hotel (except for Husk – strange, that) pressed in to touch him, to hug him, to bask in his strange enigmatic presence. To the untrained eye, he looked as good as new, as if he’d risen from a restful nap instead of a grueling battle. 

But Lucifer had spent the past few days agonizing over this demon. Going over every last detail in his mind until his features were firmly etched into his memory. And he knew, he knew something was wrong. There wasn’t any outward sign that gave it away – Alastor was even better at hiding pain than handing it out – but there was something in the careful way he slipped out of Charlie’s overenthusiastic embrace, the millisecond twitch of his shadow, the grin that was a shade too large that set Lucifer’s teeth on edge.

He’d ignored signs before. He’d tinkered on ducks and stupid useless things as Lilith had disappeared into the ether. He’d missed half of Charlie’s teenage years on projects that he couldn’t even remember. He wasn’t going to repeat the same mistakes again.

He ushered Charlie and Vaggie up to bed, insisting they take the master, brushing away their worried suggestions – “but we should help you get unpacked!” and “are you sure you’ll be able to find your room okay?”

He slipped Cherri a twenty to make herself scarce, and he made pointed suggestions to Husk and Angel Dust about where they could find some of the truly good booze back at his palace. His heart warmed a little as he watched Angel Dust slip a not-so-sneaky arm around Husk’s shoulders and bring him in close. Husk’s hard facade cracked a bit, his lips quirking up a bit as he pretended not to notice it. 

He couldn’t find Niffty or figure out where the odd creature slept at nights (did she even have a room?), but he figured she knew Alastor well enough by this point to leave him alone. 

Preparations complete, Lucifer ascended the staircase. At the top floor, instead of going left, towards his rooms, he took a deep breath and turned right. The hall got progressively darker as he closed in on the menacing radio tower. The shadows were deep here. They breathed and pulsed, as if he’d stepped into the maw of some giant beast. The air was humid, heavy with old mud and the ghostly aroma of a thousand dead bodies. 

It felt like Alastor was all around him, pressing against his bare skin, invading his lungs. A thrill went down his back as he raised his hand and knocked, just once. It sounded muffled in the damp and the dark. 

“Yes?” The radio static was so heavy he could hardly hear Alastor under it. He got as close to the door as possible.

“It’s me.” He didn’t say who it was. Alastor knew. 

There was a pause. “And what does the King of Hell want with a lowly facility manager at this late hour?”

Again, the tone of his voice crackled and popped, as if it was going in and out of signal. It sounded…weaker this time. Suddenly gripped with concern, Lucifer wrapped his hand around the knob and –

“DON’T.” 

The high frequency static ripped through the air like a sonic blast. He winced as a ringing in his ears momentarily knocked him off balance. Something wet dripped onto his shoulder. He swept his finger across it, surprised when it came up red. Alastor had burst his eardrums. 

That nasty, annoying, hard headed–!

“Okay, no more Mr. Nice Demon,” he muttered under his breath. Louder, so Alastor could hear him, he announced, “I’m coming in!”

He threw the door open. Or tried to, at least. Neon green threads made it impossible to open it more than a crack. He could slice them open, of course, but he didn’t really want to strain Alastor any further. 

“Are you serious?” He exclaimed, just a few seconds away from stomping his foot like a little kid. He wouldn’t let Alastor get the satisfaction of pushing him to such depths. “Something’s going on with you, don’t try to deny it. I can help. So let me in.” 

“Why?” The static had abated a bit, enough so that Lucifer could hear Alastor’s true voice. It sounded tired, as if their little exchange had exhausted him.

Because I might have been waiting for you since Creation Day. Ha! That would scare him off for good. Besides, it wasn’t like he was sure Gabriel had been talking about Alastor. No reason irritating them both before he was sure of it. 

“For Charlie,” he said simply. It was half-true. He might have been willing to help the irritating demon for his daughter’s sake even without this accursed prophecy. Maybe. 

To his surprise, the glowing green threads fell away, and the door swung open. The room was darker even than the hallway. He couldn’t see a thing. He stepped inside, flinching when the static washed over him again, as sharp as a slap. 

“Stop there.” 

“How am I supposed to do anything from here?” He asked, frustrated at the unbending wall of darkness in front of him. 

“Look. But do not touch.” 

A swarm of fireflies blinked into being, and Lucifer raged. 

[tater-tot-jr]

I’m making this specifically at the request of @anonym-potato

Anyway, HSR 2.5 yapping. (Spoilers, duh.)

So, that was pretty neat. It wasn’t perfect, and had more glaringly obvious flaws than the last few patches, but it was enjoyable all around. I already know there are gonna be people calling this patch trash. It’s not. Don’t listen to them.

To get down to brass tacks, let’s talk about a few things that really stood out to me. The beginning was very very strong. Feixiao mentoring Yanqing was sweet, and it was funny to watch Danny get dragged back to prison for a third time. It was also nice to get some explanation about the situation with Hoolay’s imprisonment and learn just a tad bit more about what Dan Heng went through. Those three definitely had the side story of the patch, but they served their purpose well.

Before we go further I’d like to talk about some of the issues I had. They didn’t ruin my experience, but they were noticeable enough for me to talk about it. That Hoolay fight was super fucking hard, right? My friends (who have much better teams than I do and have actually put money into the game) also agree it was strangely difficult. I felt like he did too much damage to you and didn’t take enough damage, and that made his whole fight really clunky to play. Additionally, the pacing was a little wonky. Some sections felt like they were too early or too late in the story. The biggest example is the conclusion to the Dan Heng/Jing Yuan/Lingsha story. It felt a little forced and out of place. Although the actual content of the mission was great. Dan Heng just fucking chucking his spear at Taron after he had just spent forever talking about how they wouldn’t dare break the dragon people code was so funny.

Let’s talk characters. Yanqing finally got to complete his arc, and he got a massive W. His growth in 2.4 and 2.5 has been a highlight of both patches. I like how dedicated he is, I like how he’s really seemed to grow up. He had some really badass moments. He probably landed the single biggest blow on Hoolay we’ve ever seen, barring self inflicted wounds. I’m just happy he finally got to grow into himself a little more, if we don’t see much more of him I won’t be upset. He had a satisfying conclusion to his arc.

Okay okay listen, I know this was supposed to be Feixiao’s patch. I know. She was great! We got to learn a little bit more about her and her lore, and I think everyone loves our lacking general. But… she had her patch stolen lmao. Jiaoqiu was 2.5’s baby, he was the bitch of the hour, he was the star of the show. I’m not even mad about it either. Shit was peak.

Jiaoqiu’s arc with Hoolay was the best part of this patch. It was so hard to watch. They really didn’t pull their punches. I mean some of the things they choose to put Jiaoqiu through… Since you’ve gotten this far I don’t care about spoiling you. The way the choose to end his story in 2.5 was tragic. I was sure they were actually going to kill him, I was losing my mind. Him drinking the poison because he knew that Hoolay would want to drink his blood is so unbelievably badass. If he had actually died from that I don’t think anyone would be bashing the writing. I’ve already seen some debate about if they should’ve actually killed him, or if his survival is more interesting. Personally I like keeping him alive as a choice, specifically because they took his sight. The more I thought about that the more I realized how cruel it is. He’s a doctor, and a cook. You can’t really be a doctor while blind, and he probably couldn’t cook meals with the level of complexity he’d like. Not only that, but he’s clearly deeply traumatized by the experience. Wondering aloud if Feixiao is really speaking to him or if it’s a trick to kill him. He said he was content but honest to god I don’t believe him. I don’t think those are the words or the tone of someone who is actually at peace with their decision.

And his VA? Hello?? Brother must’ve had rent due or something because goddamn he killed it. Jiaoqiu kept getting more afraid, injured, and miserable as the story progressed and his VA managed to portray that without going over the top or sounding hammy. There was so much emotion in his voice, it was crazy. That was an all time great HSR vocal performance.

Those are most of my thoughts for now. I suppose I’ll probably be back for 2.6.