#not much to say in this one. i like the pink that's in the form's initial coloration. that's about it

[unconventional-lawnchair]

okay, because you broke my heart with everything is blue, I want a barty x potter!reader where it's the mauraders seeing how barty and the reader love/take care of each other. I need to be healed, I might die

They'll Be Alright

Barty Crouch Jr. x Potter!Fem!Reader

AN: I've taken out all the stops to mend your heart

WC: ~5k

Summary: James Potter learns to like tolerate his sisters taste in men.

Warnings: Grumpy James, Snogging, cursing, tooth rotting fluff, self indulgent, this is literally the cheesiest things I could come up with

“I can't do this much longer, I'm going mad.” James hissed as he sat on the grass, watching from across the courtyard as you stood outside the Quidditch pitch with a bit of a pacing form. You were sitting with your big brother and his friends just moments ago, but RavenClaw was out for practice and you just couldn't wait for your precious boy to leave the stands.

“I think it's cute.” Lily sang sweetly. “She's as obsessed with him as he is with her. Only a Potter could match a Crouch’s insanity.”

James groaned, dragging his hands down his face dramatically as Sirius burst out laughing, collapsing onto the grass beside him. “It’s not cute, Lily,” James hissed, throwing a wild gesture toward you. “It’s deranged. She’s my little sister, for Merlin’s sake! And she’s practically glued to the sidelines for him. Him! Of all people.”

“She’s not glued, mate. Look- she’s pacing,” Sirius pointed out helpfully, grinning as he threw a snitch up into the air and caught it lazily. “And, to be fair, Barty’s just as bad. Didn’t he travel all the way from Hogwarts to the Potter Manor once just to say, what was it? Right!” He sat up sharply and threw in some jazz hands. “Hi, to her over winter break?”

James groaned louder, flopping onto his back in the grass. “Don’t remind me. He’s the one who’s mad, and now she’s gone mad too. My family’s turning into a bloody soap opera.”

“It’s not madness,” Lily argued, her voice soft with a knowing smile as she plucked a daisy from the grass. “It’s love, James. Messy, consuming love. And if you can’t see it, then you’ve forgotten what it was like when you were chasing after me.”

“Oh, don’t start,” James grumbled, sitting up to glare at her, though his face was tinged with a hint of pink. “That’s completely different.”

“Is it?” Lily asked, raising a brow as she tucked the daisy behind her ear. “Because I distinctly remember you doing some insane things for me- like charming the entire Gryffindor common room to play my favorite song every time I walked in.”

Sirius let out a loud bark of laughter, nearly choking on his snitch when he forgot to catch it. “Oh, that was brilliant! What was it again? Some Muggle tune about sunshine?”

“‘Here Comes the Sun,’” Lily said smugly, her smile widening as James grumbled under his breath. “And I’ll remind you, Potter, that it worked.”

“That’s different!” James protested again, jabbing a finger in your direction. “I wasn’t a bloody Crouch!”

Remus, who had been quietly reading nearby, finally looked up from his book with a raised brow. “And what, exactly, is wrong with being a Crouch?” He asked calmly, though his tone carried a faint edge of amusement.

James floundered for a moment, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “You know what I mean! He’s- he’s- he’s bloody Barty! He’s reckless, obsessive, and- and-”

“And utterly devoted to her,” Lily interrupted firmly, her eyes softening as she looked toward you across the courtyard. “He’d send us back to the stone age if she complained it was too busy, James. And she’d do the same for him. That’s not something you get to stand in the way of.”

James sighed, his shoulders slumping in defeat as he ran a hand through his messy hair. “I just want her to be happy.” He muttered. “And safe.”

“She is happy,” Lily said gently, resting a hand on his arm. “And as for safe- well, that’s why she’s got you, isn’t it? To make sure nothing gets in the way of her happiness. I'm also quite sure if anyone is to defend her like you have all these years.. it would be him.”

James let out a long, slow breath, watching as you finally stopped pacing, your face lighting up as Barty appeared at the top of the Quidditch stands. Even from across the courtyard, the way your shoulders relaxed and your smile softened was undeniable.

“She looks so bloody happy,” James mumbled, almost to himself.

“She is,” Lily said softly. “Just like you were when you finally got me.”

James turned to her, his face scrunching up as though he’d tasted something sour. “Don’t make me feel good about this, Evans.”

Lily just laughed, leaning her head on his shoulder. “Sorry, love. It’s my job.”

Remus chuckled. “Just watch mate.”

~~~

“My dazzling girl!” Barty called down from the steps as he hurried down. You couldn't help but feel a humiliating bubbling of excitement in your chest. Normally, you wouldn't be so shameless and public with your affections, but since dating the brazen Bartemius, you had forgotten what it meant to hold private affections.

“My brilliant boy.” You cooed back and he hurried across the yard to meet you. “How was it?”

“Dreadful. Humiliating. Humbling.” He rambled and stepped closer to you, taking your hand and kissing it, before slowly leading the kiss up your arm to your neck. You laughed and attempted to free yourself, only for him to wrap his arm around your waist and pull you in, flush against him. “You simply must make me feel better.”

“It was only practice!” You laughed and cupped his cheeks in your hands, stilling his unconventional attack before it could reach your face. He gave you that signature woman eating smile with dimples that pressed so far into his cheeks you could about die. “It couldn't have been that bad.”

“It was, you see.” He started and gave you a playfully firm dip before he spun you around to scoop you back up to a proper stand. “There was this dazzling girl-”

“You've used dazzling for today, Barty.” You teased and he gave you a wolfish grin.

“This beautiful, magnificent, breathtaking, awe inspiring-”

“Barty!” You laughed and he leaned in with a flurry of kisses to your cheek, effectively freeing himself from your hands.

“Irresistible, bewitching, stunning-”

“Barty-”

“Absolutely exquisite witch who promised to watch my every game, and yet, not this one.” He moped and you shook your head.

“That was practice, my love.” You muttered and he gasped.

“And thus it does not deserve your full undivided attention?”

You couldn’t hold back the giggle that escaped your lips, your hands playfully swatting at his chest as you shook your head. “You’re insufferable, Bartemius Crouch.”

“And yet, you’re still here,” Barty countered, his grin widening into something wickedly charming as he tugged you closer. “Which makes you either as mad as me or utterly bewitched. Shall we flip a coin to decide?”

“Bewitched, obviously,” You teased, raising an eyebrow as you leaned in closer. “But don’t let it go to your head, Mr. Crouch.”

“Too late.” He replied with a laugh, his lips brushing your temple before trailing down to your cheek. “My head’s been full of you for years, my star. You’ve left no room for anything else. I think it's only fair I consume your every thought from now on.”

“Sweet words don’t excuse your theatrics.” You teased, your hands gently slipping to his shoulders as you pretended to push him away, though neither of you truly let go. “You’re going to give James a heart attack if you keep this up.”

Barty’s grin turned mischievous, and he tilted his head to glance toward the courtyard where your brother and his friends were undoubtedly watching. “Good,” He said with mock seriousness, his tone laced with humor. “If I can survive Quidditch practice, he can survive the sight of me adoring his sister.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to keep the smile off your face as you sighed dramatically. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re perfect,” He murmured, his hands sliding down to rest on your waist. “So I think that makes us even.”

“Even?” You repeated with a laugh, shaking your head as you leaned your forehead against his. “I think it makes you a menace.”

“I’ll take it,” Barty replied, his voice softer now, his green eyes locked onto yours with a sincerity that made your heart skip. “As long as it means I get to keep you.”

For a moment, the playful banter between you faded, replaced by the weight of his words and the warmth of his presence. You knew the world saw Barty as reckless, obsessive, even dangerous. But in moments like this, when he looked at you like you were the only thing grounding him, it was hard not to feel the same pull that had always drawn you to him.

“I’m not going anywhere.” You said softly, your hands brushing down his arms before entwining your fingers with his. “Just… promise me you’ll try not to antagonize James too much. He’s already halfway to pulling his hair out.”

Barty smirked, his dimple deepening in that way that always made your heart flutter. “No promises,” He teased, though the glint in his eye told you he’d try- for you, if nothing else.

“Bartemius Crouch,” You huffed, feigning sternness as you tugged his hand. “I mean it.”

“And I mean it when I say you’re irresistible,” He countered, spinning you again for good measure before pulling you back into his arms. “Now, my alluring, charming, pretty girl- are you ready to make James’s day a little more unbearable?”

You let out a laugh, the sound bright and lighthearted, as he laced your fingers together and led you back toward the courtyard. You could already see the exasperation on James’s face from across the field, but Merlin did you hear it. Him and Lily.

“I wasn't THAT bad!”

“Oh yes you were!”

~~~

It was a quiet afternoon in the Gryffindor common room when James finally let out a dramatic groan, throwing his head back against the couch. “I can’t take it anymore!” He exclaimed, startling Lily, who had been peacefully reading beside him.

“What now?” She asked, though the amused quirk of her lips showed she already knew the answer.

“It’s them,” James hissed, pointing toward the window where you and Barty were clearly visible in the courtyard below. You were both sitting on the edge of the fountain, laughing at something Barty had said as he carefully wrapped a scarf around your neck, adjusting it as though it were a delicate treasure. “They’re insufferable.”

“They’re adorable,” Lily corrected, leaning over to peek out the window. She sighed softly, her expression turning fond as she watched Barty tuck your hair behind your ear and press a quick kiss to your temple. “Look at him. He absolutely dotes on her.”

“Exactly!” James groaned again. “Dotes! It’s unnatural. He’s supposed to be a Crouch-brooding and conniving, not… not whatever that is.”

“Love,” Remus supplied calmly, not even looking up from his book.

“Obsessive devotion,” Sirius added with a smirk, throwing a piece of popcorn into his mouth as he sprawled on the armchair.

“Same thing,” Lily said with a shrug. “And besides, James, weren’t you the same way with me? You practically worshipped the ground I walked on.”

“Still do,” Sirius muttered, earning a glare from James and a stifled laugh from Lily.

“That’s different,” James argued, his voice petulant. “I wasn’t… that. Look at him! He’s practically wrapped around her finger.”

“And she’s wrapped around his,” Lily pointed out, motioning toward the window again. Sure enough, Barty had pulled you to your feet and was holding your hand as he led you toward the castle steps, pausing every few moments to make you laugh with his animated gestures.

“He carries her books half the time,” Sirius added. “And she carries his cloak when he forgets it.”

“She fixes his collar when it's crooked,” Remus chimed in. “And he charms her quills when they snap.”

James groaned louder, dragging his hands down his face. “You’re not helping.”

“Prongs,” Sirius said with a chuckle, sitting up and clapping him on the shoulder. “You’ve got to admit, they’re good together. Annoyingly good, yes, but still.”

“Annoying is an understatement,” James grumbled, but his protests faltered as the portrait hole swung open and you entered the room, Barty trailing behind you with an armful of books and an easy grin on his face.

You turned to him with an exasperated laugh. “You didn’t have to carry all of them, you know. I can manage.”

“Nonsense,” Barty replied smoothly, setting the books down on a nearby table before tugging at his crooked collar. “If I can’t carry a few books for my treasure, what kind of wizard am I?”

“A dramatic one,” You teased, stepping closer to him to fix his collar with practiced ease. “There. All better.”

“And this is why I adore you,” He said, grinning as he caught your hand and brought it to his lips for a quick kiss.

James let out a strangled noise from the couch, causing you to turn with a startled look. “Everything alright, Jamie?” you asked, tilting your head.

“Perfectly fine,” he said through gritted teeth, glaring at Barty, who had the audacity to wink at him.

Lily leaned over to whisper in James’s ear, her voice low but teasing. “Admit it, James. You’re just mad he treats her as well as you treat me.”

James’s face turned scarlet, and Sirius howled with laughter, nearly toppling out of his chair. “Got you there, mate!”

~~~

The clatter of hurried footsteps echoed down the stone corridor as you stopped in your tracks, turning just in time to see Barty sprinting toward you with an energy that bordered on reckless. His tie was slightly askew, his school robes flaring behind him as he called out, his voice full of dramatic flair, “Treasure! You simply must hear this- you’ll have no choice but to reward me with a kiss once you hear of my heroics.”

You furrowed your brow but couldn’t suppress the amused smile tugging at your lips. He always had a way of making everything sound like the most exciting tale in the world. As he skidded to a halt in front of you, panting slightly but grinning ear to ear, you took a moment to properly look at him.

For once, Barty had made an effort with his appearance. His robes, usually a little wrinkled or hanging off his shoulders in that endearingly careless way, were perfectly straightened. His tie was knotted neatly (if a little loose), and his hair was slicked back in a way that made your stomach twist, the gleaming coil of one rebellious strand falling charmingly over his forehead. He was maddening, and he knew it.

“Oh?” You replied, your voice playful as you arched a brow.

Barty straightened, smoothing the lapels of his robe with an exaggerated air of importance. “Correct me if I’m wrong- I hardly ever am- but you look like you might just kiss me unprompted.”

Your cheeks flamed at his words, the boldness of his statement making your heart skip. “Crouch!” You hissed, swatting lightly at his chest in mock indignation.

He caught your hand easily, holding it against his chest with a dramatic sigh. “See? Even your instincts betray you. Your heart is telling you to reward me already.”

“And what exactly did you do to earn this so-called reward?” You asked, your tone laced with amusement.

He tilted his head, his dimpled grin widening as he leaned in slightly, lowering his voice as if sharing a great secret. “I managed to survive an entire Transfiguration class without turning our professor’s patience into dust. Surely that deserves a small token of appreciation.”

You laughed despite yourself, shaking your head at his antics. “That’s your big heroic tale? Restraint in a single class?”

“Not just any class,” He countered, pulling you closer with the hand still held captive against his chest. “A full fifty minutes of maintaining decorum. You, of all people, should know what a trial that is for me.”

“Decorum, huh?” You teased, your lips twitching as you fixed his slightly frazzled lapel. “Then why are you so out of breath, running down the halls like a maniac?”

“Because the faster I reached you, the sooner I’d get my reward.” He grinned, tilting his head closer to yours. “Now, treasure, let’s not delay-”

“Barty!” You cut him off with a laugh, stepping back to put some space between you. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here you are, utterly smitten,” He said cheekily, but there was a softness in his eyes that made your chest ache. He reached out, brushing an errant strand of hair from your face, and you felt your heart skip again.

Before you could respond, a voice broke through the moment, sharp and incredulous. “You two are going to make me lose my mind.”

You both turned to see James standing a few feet away, arms crossed and a look of pure exasperation on his face. Sirius was behind him, grinning like a Cheshire cat, and Remus stood a little further back, his book tucked under one arm, an amused glint in his eye.

“Honestly, mate,” James continued, throwing his hands up. “Must you be this dramatic? She’s my sister, not the bloody queen.”

“And yet,” Barty said smoothly, not missing a beat as he turned to James with a smirk, “she deserves nothing less than a royal treatment.”

James groaned, dragging his hands down his face as Sirius burst out laughing, clapping him on the back. “He’s got a point, Prongs.”

You shook your head, trying to suppress your own laughter, but Barty caught your chin with gentle fingers, turning your gaze back to him. “Pay no mind to the peanut gallery,” He said softly, his tone dropping to something more intimate. “I’m only interested in you, treasure.”

Your heart swelled, and for a moment, you forgot all about James’s groaning, Sirius’s laughter, and the knowing look Remus was undoubtedly giving. All you could see was Barty- your boy, maddeningly confident yet infinitely tender, his green eyes locked onto yours as if you were the only person in the world.

And as maddening as it was, he certainly did deserve that kiss.

~~~

The firelight flickered warmly in the Potter living room as the group gathered for the holidays. Snow had blanketed the grounds outside, creating a cozy atmosphere inside the bustling house. You were curled up on the couch, a blanket draped over your lap, a steaming mug of hot chocolate in your hands. James sat nearby, watching with a sharp eye as Barty leaned down to adjust the blanket around your legs, making sure you were tucked in properly.

The sight grated on James- he was used to being the one to look after you, his little sister, not this Crouch boy who had somehow wormed his way into your life. But then Barty turned, sitting cross-legged on the floor beside you, and James found himself watching the interaction more closely than he’d care to admit.

“You didn’t have to go out into the cold to fetch the marshmallows, you know,” You said softly, your voice filled with affection as you sipped your drink.

“Of course I did,” Barty replied, grinning up at you. “Your hot chocolate isn’t complete without them. It’s a crime to deprive you of anything less than perfection.”

James rolled his eyes, but Lily elbowed him gently, a knowing smile playing on her lips. “Watch,” She whispered.

As if on cue, you reached for the plate of marshmallows to pop one into your drink, but Barty’s hand shot out to stop you. “Ah, ah, allow me,” He said with a dramatic flair, picking out the largest marshmallow with precision. He placed it delicately into your mug before handing it back with a flourish. “Perfectly placed, as all marshmallows should be.”

You laughed, a bright sound that made James pause. He couldn’t deny that it was genuine, the kind of laugh he hadn’t heard from you in a long time. And the way Barty looked at you in response- like your happiness was the only thing that mattered- made James’s chest tighten in a way he wasn’t prepared for.

As the night went on, James watched the two of you more closely. It wasn’t just the over-the-top gestures or the playful banter; it was the way Barty noticed the smallest things about you. How he shifted your mug away when he noticed you leaning too far forward, how he reached for the book you’d left on the side table before you even asked for it, how he listened intently to every word you said, his focus unwavering.

Merlin even their parents loved him.

Later, when the others had dispersed to different parts of the house, James found himself in the kitchen with Barty. The younger boy was rinsing out a mug, his usual bravado toned down in the quiet moment.

“You really care about her, don’t you?” James asked suddenly, his voice steady but curious.

Barty looked up, surprised by the question. But then his expression softened, and he nodded. “More than anything,” He said simply, his tone devoid of his usual dramatics. “She’s everything to me, Potter.”

James leaned against the counter, his arms crossed as he studied Barty carefully. “You know, if you hurt her, I’ll-”

“Spend every waking moment trying to kill me?” Barty interrupted with a small, knowing smile. “I know. But you won’t have to. Because I’d rather tear myself apart than see her hurt.”

James blinked, caught off guard by the raw sincerity in Barty’s voice. For the first time, he saw past the theatrics and charm, and what he found there surprised him. There was a genuine devotion, a steadfastness that even James couldn’t deny.

“You’re good to her,” James said finally, his voice quieter. “Better than I thought you’d be.”

Barty smirked, but there was no arrogance in it this time- only a quiet confidence. “She deserves nothing less.”

James nodded slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction. For the first time, he found himself believing that maybe- just maybe- Barty Crouch wasn’t the worst person his sister could have chosen. In fact, as he watched Barty quietly return the mug to the cupboard, James couldn’t help but think that she might have chosen someone who truly knew how to love her the way she deserved.

~~~

The tension between you and Barty had been simmering all day, ever since that small disagreement in the courtyard earlier. It wasn’t anything monumental- just one of his reckless decisions clashing with your cautious nature- but it had left you feeling irritated and, perhaps, a little hurt.

Now, as you sat at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, picking at your dinner, the weight of the silence between you lingered in the back of your mind. Barty hadn’t come to sit with you, choosing instead to stay at the Ravenclaw table. Every so often, you caught him sneaking a glance your way, but neither of you made a move to close the distance.

“You’re brooding,” Lily said gently, nudging your arm with her elbow.

“I’m not brooding,” You replied, though your tone lacked conviction.

“She’s brooding,” Sirius confirmed from across the table, earning a glare from you. “You’ve got that ‘he’s an idiot, but I still love him’ look all over your face. I'm very familiar."

You rolled your eyes, but before you could retort, Remus leaned in, his voice calm and measured. “You know, he’s been sulking at the Ravenclaw table since lunch. Practically hasn’t touched his food.”

“I don’t care,” You muttered, stabbing at your mashed potatoes.

“Sure, you don’t,” James said, his tone laced with sarcasm as he leaned back in his seat. “That’s why you’ve been glancing at him every five minutes.”

“I have not,” You snapped, though your cheeks flushed in betrayal.

James smirked, folding his arms across his chest. “Look, I’ll admit it- he’s an absolute pain sometimes. But he’s your pain, and frankly, I’ve put a lot of effort into liking this one. Don’t break his heart.”

The entire table froze. Lily’s fork clattered against her plate, and Sirius let out a loud, exaggerated gasp, slapping a hand over his mouth like he’d just heard the most scandalous news of the year.

“Did… did you just admit you like him?” Remus asked, his tone full of disbelief.

James shifted uncomfortably under the weight of everyone’s stares. “I didn’t say I like him,” He grumbled, though the tips of his ears burned red. “I just said I’ve put in the time.”

“That’s the same thing, mate,” Sirius said with a grin. “And we’re never letting you live this down.”

Lily laughed, nudging James playfully. “I think it’s sweet. It only took him months of watching them make heart eyes at each other to admit it.”

“Shut it, Evans,” James muttered, though his scowl softened as his gaze flicked to you. “Seriously, though. He’s mad about you. Don’t let this stupid fight ruin something good.”

You blinked at your brother, caught somewhere between gratitude and shock. “You really think that?”

James sighed, his expression softening. “Yeah. I do. Just… go talk to him, alright? Put me out of my misery.”

You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped you as you stood, smoothing out your robes. “Fine. But if he’s still being a prat, I’m blaming you.”

“Fair,” James said, though he shot you a rare, encouraging smile.

As you crossed the Great Hall, you could feel the weight of everyone’s eyes on you, the murmurs from the Gryffindor table blending with the soft hum of conversation around the room. When you reached the Ravenclaw table, Barty looked up, his green eyes widening in surprise as you stopped beside him.

“Treasure,” He started, his voice tentative, but you held up a hand to stop him.

“We need to talk,” You said firmly, though the corner of your lips twitched upward.

Barty stood immediately, his end of the bench scraping against the stone floor. “Anything. Anywhere.”

You nodded toward the doors, and he followed without hesitation, leaving behind his untouched dinner and a flurry of whispers in his wake.

Back at the Gryffindor table, James let out a heavy sigh of relief, leaning back in his chair. “Finally.”

“I can’t believe it,” Sirius said, shaking his head in mock astonishment. “Prongs has feelings. Actual, human feelings.”

“Don’t push it, Padfoot,” James muttered, though the faint smile on his face betrayed him.

Lily rested her chin on her hand, watching as you and Barty disappeared through the doors. “I think it’s sweet. He finally gets it.”

“Better late than never,” Remus added with a small smile. “Though I’m sure he’ll deny it by morning.”

Sirius, smirked devilishly and Lily’s smile twitched just a bit.

“It's almost like we didn't catch them snogging a few days ago.” He sang and James's face turned pale and his eyes widened.

James shot up from his seat so quickly that his table toppled backward, the loud clatter echoing through the Great Hall. “WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?”

Sirius threw his head back in laughter, nearly choking on his pumpkin juice, while Lily covered her mouth with her hand, clearly enjoying the chaos.

“I said,” Sirius repeated slowly, his grin widening, “it’s almost like we didn’t catch them snogging a few days ago. Almost.”

“You- you WHAT?” James sputtered, looking between Sirius and Lily with a mixture of horror and betrayal. “And you didn’t tell me? Evans! You’re supposed to be on my side!”

“I am on your side,” Lily said, struggling to keep her composure as she shrugged innocently. “I just didn’t think it was a big deal. They’re dating, James. What did you expect?”

“What did I- what did I- NOT THAT!” James shouted, flailing his arms toward the doors where you and Barty had disappeared. “I didn’t expect him to be sticking his tongue down her throat in public!”

“It wasn’t public,” Sirius said with a mockingly thoughtful expression. “It was a little alcove near the library, actually. Quite private. You’d be proud of them, Prongs- very stealthy, very romantic. A solid 9 out of 10.”

James groaned, dragging his hands down his face dramatically as Remus finally chimed in, his tone calm but amused. “James, they’re in a relationship. This isn’t exactly shocking.”

“It is to me!” James snapped, glaring at Remus as if he’d just committed treason. “And you lot just sat on this information like it was nothing?”

“Mate, you’ve been watching them practically live in each other’s pockets for months now,” Sirius said, still grinning. “I figured you’d have put it together by now.”

Lily patted James’s arm consolingly, though her eyes still sparkled with mischief. “I think you’re just mad because you’re starting to like Barty, and this makes it harder for you to yell at him.”

James opened his mouth to argue, but the words caught in his throat. He closed his mouth, glaring at the table as his face turned an impressive shade of red.

“Admit it, Prongs,” Sirius said, leaning forward with a gleeful grin. “You like him. He’s grown on you.”

“I don’t like him,” James muttered, though his voice lacked its usual conviction. “I tolerate him. For her.”

“You tolerate him enough to tell her not to break his heart,” Remus pointed out, his lips twitching.

James groaned again, collapsing back into his seat with the air of a man defeated. “Fine. I don’t hate him. Happy now?”

“Ecstatic,” Sirius said with a wink. “Though I’d be happier if you didn’t look like you were about to throw a fit every time you saw them hold hands.”

Lily leaned in closer, her voice soft but teasing. “He loves her, James. And she loves him. That’s not something you need to fight.”

James sighed heavily, running a hand through his messy hair. “Yeah, well… if he hurts her, it’s still open season.”

“Fair enough,” Sirius said with a laugh. “But you’ll have to get in line behind her. She’s got a mean right hook.”

The table erupted into laughter, and even James couldn’t help but crack a small smile. Somewhere beyond the Great Hall doors, you and Barty were likely making amends, and for the first time, James felt a reluctant sort of peace about it.

He still didn’t like Barty- he probably never would- but he could admit, quietly and only to himself, that the boy made you happy. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

[chronicowboy]

nursing our wounds | 2.8k

When Casey brings The Issue into the exec room, nobody bats a fucking eye. Which, sure, she hadn't expected much from the gaggle of old white cishet men being told their audience is a little bit pissed off about their lack of queer representation. She'd known that was going to be the case ever since she had suggested that the new firefighter they brought on in season 2, Santiago, be gay. The execs had simply blinked three times in perfect unison before saying "... but he had a wife."

So, Casey was on the front lines of this fight alone. Or not alone exactly. She had two writers from the team and Santiago's actor consulting on the PowerPoint presentation with her and ready to present by her side. But it was Casey who had been dismissed from the boardroom with a hand wave and a "have a camp man choke on some fruitcake or something".

Well. Fuck that.

Casey takes laps around set to destress, listening to a meditation podcast to stop the vein in her forehead from bursting. By the time it finishes, she's stumbled into another one of her headaches.

The shoot where Brad had insisted on three real life firefighters trying their hand at acting in what was supposed to be one of the most emotional scenes of the season. Instead, Casey has to watch one of them stumble through lines stiff as cardboard, the other inject some real telenovela hair flipping energy into pulling his mask down and the third give Goldblum in The Fly a run for his money.

Jesus.

She parks herself at the end of the craft table with the extensive donut collection and starts picking at an original glazed before giving in to the siren song of the triple chocolate monstrosity staring her down.

Maybe she should quit and become a reclusive hermit haunting the Hollywood sign. Maybe she should burn HQ to the fucking ground and ask Brad to attempt putting it out. Maybe she should politely tell each of the execs to try sucking the homophobia out of each other's dicks.

She stuffs the donut into her mouth in one go just as telenovela nurse approaches the table. Casey scrambles for a napkin and presses it over her mouth like it'll hide the way her cheeks are bulging like a chipmunk's, but, fuck, telenovela nurse is hot. And, look, she works in Hollywood, she's become desensitised to hot, not to mention the lesbian pin on her lanyard, and yet. Telenovela nurse has got something going on.

"You motherfucker," telenovela nurse throws over his shoulder as he makes a beeline for the donuts. There's real venom in his voice, but he offers Casey a kind smile on the flip of a dime, raising his eyebrow at the box of donuts by her hip. She nods and pushes them towards him with a smile she belatedly realises is hidden behind her napkin.

"Eddie, c'mon," cardboard nurse whines, practically draping himself over Eddie's back. "I didn't know they'd make me Nurse Number One."

"Oh, I'm sure," Eddie scoffs, stuffing half a doughnut into his mouth at once. Casey likes him. "Hm," he hums and turns to his friend. "Not as good as yours."

Cardboard nurse ducks his head and smiles, a pretty pink blush dusting his cheeks.

Interesting.

"Seriously, man, I bet it's just because of our names. Like-like alphabetical or something," he says. "You know, Buckley, Diaz. That's probably all."

"Sure," Eddie drawls. "Definitely aren't laying it on thick with all the accent compliments to Brad or anything."

"I just think it's cool!" Buckley insists. "You know I went down that sociolinguistics rabbit hole a few months ago. And, hey, did you know that accents might actually start developing before we're even born?"

"Wait, really?" Eddie asks.

"Yeah!" Buckley nods like a dog with a chew toy. "This study found that babies might even cry differently depending on their mother tongue. These German babies cried with a falling melody, but the French babies cried on a rising note. They think it's because the babies are trying to imitate their mothers to form a bond which is just adorable to think about."

"Chris pronounces scientific words the same way you do, you know?" Eddie says, squinting between the half of a glazed donut in his hand and the one in the box decorated with froot loops. He hands the glazed one over to Buckley who takes it like an instinct and then just kind of holds it in his limp hand. "What's that constellation you can't say right?"

"Auriga," Buckley mumbles. Casey narrows her eyes at the pink flooding his cheeks.

"Yeah, that's the one." Eddie grabs the froot loop donut. "I've corrected him a dozen times, but he still says it the way you taught him."

Buckley, all six foot two of beefy firefighter, melts.

Casey doesn't know where Brad found these two, but she might have to kiss him for it.

"Excuse me, man," Santiago's actor, Jones, says as he leans around Buckley for a sandwich. "Hey, Case." Casey's almost too invested in the way Buckley gets a little slack-jawed at the man's biceps to realise he's speaking to her.

"Hey." She rolls her eyes at herself and swallows her mouthful of donut, wiping at her mouth with the napkin. "Hey, how's it going?"

"Good. Got that scene with April later, if you wanted to watch," he teases, wiggling his eyebrows.

"Oh, fuck off." She scoffs.

"Yes, ma'am." He offers her a little salute, winks at Buckley and retreats to his chair.

Casey watches rapt as Buckley has to pick his jaw up off the floor and physically tear his eyes away from Jones.

"You should ask him out," Eddie says and, damn, maybe Casey underestimated his acting abilities. It sounds genuine enough, enthusiastic even, but she's been around actors long enough to hear the tightness in his voice, to see the suddenly tense line of his shoulders.

"W-what? Oh." Buckley blushes a deep red and rubs a hand over the back of his neck. "No, I'm not... I'm not ready for anything yet."

"Still thinking about Tommy?"

"Tom-" Buckley frowns. "Oh, yeah, Tommy. Right. Um, no, not really."

"That's good, Buck." Now, that's genuine. Overwhelmingly genuine.

"Yeah." Buck nods, the slightest twist to his face. "Good," he echoes hollowly.

"We're going again!" the director yells.

"Shit." Eddie shoves the rest of his donut in his mouth.

"Besides." Buck leans into Eddie's shoulder. "His mustache hasn't got anything on yours."

A plan begins to form in Casey's mind as she watches Buckley bound away like a gangly deer whilst his friend tries not to choke on his donut.

In the thirteen takes Brad drags everyone kicking and screaming through, Casey manages to scheme to completion. She's got the two writers in her pocket working on it and decides against sending an email to her bosses. Ask for forgiveness, not permission or whatever they say.

When Brad is finally happy, Casey drags Eddie and Buck aside before they can drift away to their fellow firefighters.

"Did we do something wrong?" Buck asks, shooting a look at Eddie.

"No, no, not at all." She slaps on her best, most winning smile. "I was just hoping you two could help me out with something."

"We can try," Eddie says, raising his eyebrows at Buck.

"Great!" She claps her hands together. "So, my bosses are a bunch of bigots, and the show is currently getting slated for having no queer characters which I'm doing my goddamn best to change, but." She rolls her eyes. "Anyway, they said, and I'm paraphrasing here, that we can shove a couple of rainbow flags in the background. Would you two be interested in being my flags?" She takes extra care to pronounce the L.

"Uh... w-what?" Buck blurts out.

"You two are gold. Your chemistry is crazy. Two of the interns are already giggling about the nurse one nurse two fanfic they're going to be reading when this episode comes out." Casey decides it'd probably be kinder to all of them to pretend she can't see the matching shade of fuchsia they've both turned. "So, this is the start of a gunman in a hospital storyline. Brad's going to save the day fresh off his coma obviously. But there's this scene where one of his firefighters gets shot on their way to visit him, and we need two nurses to tend to him in a hospital storage room."

"So, we'd just be... patching up a firefighter?" Eddie asks.

"Well, we'd give you a couple of lines. Then, one of you hears a scream and goes to help. Self-sacrificing trope and all. And you'd have a little reunion kiss at the end of the episode, if you guys would be comfortable with that. So, what do you say?"

"Oh, um, w-well, see, I'm... But Eddie isn't... So, he'd probably... And a sniper... W-well, that's not... We don't really want to—"

"We'll do it," Eddie says. Buck flinches like he's been shot.

"Um, we-we will?" Buck whispers. Eddie shrugs at him.

"Sure, why not? It'll be fun."

"But the sniper—"

"It's a TV show, Buck." Eddie rolls his eyes and nudges their shoulders together. "We'll be fine."

"So, you'll do it?" Casey asks. Eddie looks to Buck who looks to Casey like a cornered animal trying to figure out how to escape. He deflates. Casey just about manages not to jump in joy.

"We'll do it," Buck mumbles, red as a fire engine.

"Great." Casey nods over at Jones who does a little fist pump for her as he gets out of his chair. "We're actually moving straight onto that scene now. So, I'll introduce you to your patient whilst they set everything up."

"Hey," Jones says, sidling over. "I'm Tyler. I play Santiago. You guys gonna be patching me up?"

"Yeah." Eddie nods, offering his hand out. Tyler shakes it with the smile he uses on the cute intern whenever he wants one of his overly complicated coffee orders. "I'm Eddie Diaz, and this is my partner Evan Buckley."

Tyler shoots her a little look at partner. Casey bites her lip.

"B-Buck," Evan says as he takes Tyler's hand. "Call me Buck."

"Copy that, Buck," Tyler murmurs, eyes dragging over the both of them. Casey watches Eddie clench his jaw so tight she gets kind of worried he might grind his teeth to dust.

Luckily, that's when one of the interns appears with three thin scripts. He hands them over to Casey, and she gives one to each of them.

"You've probably got about," she checks her watch, "fifteen minutes to learn those. If you need a quiet corner to run them, Tyler can show you where to go."

"We could run them in my trailer if you wanted," he suggests. Casey has to stifle her laugh into her elbow. "The three of us," Tyler clarifies when Eddie stiffens like a rubber band stretched to its limit.

Twenty-five minutes later, Casey thinks she might be a genius as she watches Nurse One press his hands over the wound on Tyler's leg.

"He's loosing too much blood," Nurse One says, still a little cardboard-y in his delivery. "We need a tourniquet."

"Yeah, well, unless you can magic one out of thin air," Nurse Two shoots back.

The fans are going to adore them. She almost feels bad that they're only one-off characters.

"My belt," Santiago groans. "Use my belt."

Nurse One and Two stare at each other for a beat too long. Nurse One nods. Nurse Two gets to work on Santiago's belt, a little flush staining his cheeks. They work together to turn it into a tourniquet, and Casey actually recoils at Tyler's grunt of pain. Goddamn.

There's a scream from offscreen, and the three of them turn to listen to it. Nurse One looks at his partner.

"Don't you dare," he hisses. Nurse Two drags his eyes away from the door and offers a pleading look at the other man.

"Devon..."

"No, E-Ned." Devon shakes his head. "If you go out there, you're gonna get yourself killed."

"I can't just leave them-"

"You can't just leave me!" Devon snaps. The cardboard of his delivery has vanished, replaced instead by a desperation that spears right through Casey. She's struck fucking gold.

Ned recoils, but it's not in the script, so Casey thinks it might just be Eddie that recoils.

"I'll come back," he promises, something deeper than desperation to his words. "I swear, I'll come right back to you."

"Or you could just stay," Devon rasps.

"It sounded like a kid," Ned breathes brokenly. "The only reason you're not already out there is because you're holding his femoral artery closed."

"God." Devon ducks his head, makes himself smaller than should be possible, looks back up with an expression so devastatingly real that Casey thinks she might be ruining these two perfectly nice men's lives. "Don't you dare die out there, do you hear me?"

"I hear you," Ned breathes with the smallest of smiles. "I'll be right back, okay?"

"With no bullet holes in you."

"With no bullet holes in me. Scout's honour." Ned presses his forehead to Devon's for a beat, two, three.

Casey flicks through Tyler's script for the direction and wonders if she should hire the entire 118 as consultants. Medical consultant, fire consultant, intimacy consultant.

"I'm making rigatoni for dinner," Devon whispers. "Don't be late."

"Wouldn't dream of it." Ned rushes out of the door.

"Cut!"

"Jesus Christ," Casey whispers to herself.

"Okay," one of the interns says behind her. "I might have to write some fanfiction as well."

Casey rushes onto the set with a grin so wide her face aches.

"Guys, that was so good, holy shit," she tells them. Buck and Eddie flush that matching shade again. "One take wonders over here. The adlibs were amazing too."

"Oh." Eddie's ears turn pink too. "Yeah, sorry about that. I just... I watch a lot of telenovelas with my son to practice our Spanish."

"To practice their Spanish, he says," Buck teases.

"Shut up." Eddie elbows him in the ribs.

"Ready for the next part?" Casey asks. "They're shooting it a few rooms over right now, so I gotta hustle you over there, sorry."

"No, that's okay," Eddie tells her. "What was the next part again?"

"Oh, we're just gonna shove you in the back of the final scene," she tells them, waving a flippant hand as she leads them away. "Eddie, your character will be with one of our cop extras giving a statement. Then, Buck's going to come through the waiting room doors, and you'll reunite."

"R-reunite how exactly?" Buck asks, voice pitched oddly high.

"Well, honestly, I'm happy to let you guys lead with this one. Your instincts on that last scene were gold." Casey pushes through the double doors and gestures to the director. "But a kiss would be ideal. Just so we can't be accused of queerbaiting."

Buck opens his mouth on what is assumably an argument going off the wide owlish eyes trying to jump right out of his skull, but the AD begins shepherding them over to their marks, and Casey settles back against the wall. Tyler sneaks in and settles beside her.

"I hope you know what you're doing," he mutters.

"I'm fighting homophobia," she says proudly.

"Yeah, and I'm pretty sure Diaz is fighting 2000 years of Catholic homophobia right about now." Tyler raises his eyebrows at her. "Singlehandedly. For his best friend."

"Hm," she hums. "You should pick his brains on how to play Santiago."

"You're terrible."

"I'm resolving their sexual tension," she retorts. "I'm a hero."

The director calls for quiet before Tyler can refute that.

Casey doesn't pay much attention to the actual scene. The guy playing Travis calls her honey and sweetheart exclusively in that gross, sticky voice that makes her feel like she's been dipped in tar. So, instead, she watches Ned disassociate in a waiting room chair as a cop takes notes. She watches Devon get escorted into the room by another cop, watches them catch sight of each other at the exact same time, watches relief crash over them in an Emmy-winning display.

Ned shakes the shock blanket off his shoulders and stands just as Devon barrels into his chest. They grasp at each other like they're trying to crawl inside of each other, and then Ned grabs Devon's face, lifts it from his neck and kisses him square on the mouth.

"Cut! Camera issue!" the director calls.

Buck and Eddie do not stop kissing.

"Uh oh," Casey whispers.

"Do they not hear me?" the director asks his AD. He gestures at the megaphone on the props table, and Casey shoots a grimace at Tyler. "CUT!" he shouts through the megaphone.

Buck and Eddie startle apart, chests heaving, lips swollen enough that Casey can see that all the way from the back of the room, faces redder than the fire engine parked in the lot out back.

Oh.

hotshots xyz gets accused of homophobia because it doesn't have any canon queer characters on the show so they pull a rise of skywalker and start doing a bunch of press about an upcoming queer arc meanwhile the execs are cornering buck and eddie and going hey would you mind sharing a smooch in the back of this one scene so we can fulfill our diversity quota...

[mimikyuno]

let's talk about the mizuena costumes from ena5!! because!! there's so much to say!!

let's start with the cards composition overall. the trained versions clearly are meant to complete each other and mizuki and ena are clearly facing each other; we can infer this from the lighting, the background, and the composition. ena extends her hand to mizuki, and mizuki smiles openly at her. they are both crying out of happiness and love. as many have already pointed out, when mizuki's card is placed on the left, the cherry trees and the girls' silhouettes

just as their cards complete and perfectly mirror the other, so do their costumes. in the lighting of the cards, the costumes seem completely white (*cough* mizuena wedding real *cough*), however, they are have accents in a lighter shade of their character color (beige for ena, and pink for mizuki). both ena and mizuki are wearing a wreath of white cherry blossoms and leaves.

mizuki's main headpiece is on the left side of her head, while ena's is on the right. both headpieces feature two white cherry blossoms, close to each other, embraced by cherry leaves. the headpieces and their location complete and mirror each other. both ena and mizuki have a second, smaller headpiece, for both of them on the right side of her head. both the smaller headpieces feature one lonely cherry blossom, which for ena is surrounded by 6 leaves, whereas for mizuki only by 2 leaves.

their earrings also match/mirror each other!! ena has one earring with an incomplete cherry blossom with only 2 petals on her right ear, whereas mizuki has a fully bloomed cherry blossom earring on her left ear. on ena's left ear is an earring that again, features a cherry blossom with only 2 petals and a single leaf. the same earring, but whose cherry blossom only has 1 petal, appears on mizuki's right ear. it's like they got 2 sets of earrings and split them between them!! and they mirror so well! god!!

now let's move down. their dresses match, however they are very different, and showcase their personalities and hobbies. ena's dress has beige accents, and the beige belt reminds me a bit of the painter outfits ena has already got (e.g. the outfit for ena1 or her colofes outfit). mizuki's dress has pink accents, in the form of a pink bow that calls back to her hobby of creating clothes.

on their chests, is a big butterfly. both butterflies only have one wing that is colored, whereas the other is white. again, they complete one another. as someone pointed out, whereas ena's butterfly is completely pink, mizuki's fades from blue to pink. across cultures (including japan), butterflies symbolize change and transformation, and mizuki has often been shown with a butterfly motif. now, everyone in the set (ena, meiko, kanade, and mafuyu) also proudly display a butterfly on their clothes. they know now.

butterflies have many symbolic meanings in japanese culture, but i would like to point this specific meaning out, please cry with me. giving mizuena beautiful white dresses with two butterflies whose wings complete each other...... oh im unwell.

another element from the outfits that matches are the rings that mizuki and ena are wearing on their index finger (on the right for ena, and on the left for mizuki, mirroring one another). the rings are identical, and feature a pink cherry blossom and a silver band. in hanakotoba (japanese language of flowers), cherry blossoms typically mean kindness, gentleness, and stand as a symbol of the transience of life. im literally crying typing this... ena's kindness and gentleness truly reached her and crystallized in matching rings spare mee

notice how meiko (the only other character with a wearable outfit from the set) isn't wearing a ring, and neither are kanade and mafuyu in their 3* and 2* cards respectively. which you know. could mean nothing.

both ena's and mizuki's dress features 4 cherry blossoms on a branch. again! they! mirror! ena's blossoms are on the right side of her dress, whereas mizuki's are on the left. ena's blossoms rise up, and mizuki's run down.

both the backs of their dresses feature an opening (wider for ena and smaller for mizuki), bolder accents in their character color, and matching bows located at the same height. ena's bow is tied together with a pair of white cherry blossoms, and so are her braids... she loves mizuki so much. im okay.

they match down to their shoes!! ena's shoes (on the left) have pink laces and cherry blossom petals and overall pink accents, whereas mizuki's socks are beige.

now let's talk about meiko's dress. for meiko, the butterfly is not on the front of her dress, but on the back. on the front, she has two branches with cherry blossoms. bith branches feature a pair of blossoms, which i like to think represent mizuki/ena and mafuyu/kanade respectively.

as someone already pointed out, meiko's asymmetrical hairstyle seems to call back to ena's and mizuki's default hairstyles: ena's braid and mizuki's long and wavy side hair.

anyway. love is real. i wonder if they are holding the wedding ceremony at the lone cherry tree where niigo went to for their first mystery tour. 🌸🌸🌸🌸

[deadhands69]

Where Kodamas Live

Katsuki Bakugo x gn Reader

Hiking Date

part of a small series I just started, these dates can be read as one shots or all existing in the same universe

see also: [ramen date]

You've never had issues keeping up with people while hiking, but for the first time you could swear it takes you two steps for every one of Katsuki Bakugo’s. On top of the pace, he hasn’t stopped for a break in the hour you’ve been trudging up the hill.

“How much further?” you ask, breath betraying the calm demeanor you’d been trying to put on.

He laughs slightly, “almost there, I promise.”

He said that twenty minutes ago too.

It really is beautiful out here, you think. The golden light layering through the trees. Making the air look heavier than it is. Places like this make the existence of kodamas seem not so far fetched.

When he asked you to go on a hiking date to watch the sunset you weren’t sure where you’d end up. Sure, you know a lot of places but most of the ones with good views would all be overrun with people this time of year. Not the most appealing location for two well-known heroes to go on a date. You’d rather spend time getting to know him than running from the inevitable following you’d attract.

You haven’t seen a single person out here. Although, you’re not completely convinced this is a real trail - most of it is overgrown. He looks confident in his trajectory though, so you continue to follow. 

A few branches brush against your legs but you hardly notice them anymore. You’re getting used to it. Your body is beginning to get used to is speed too, relaxing into the movement. Just as you begin to think you can maintain this, he comes to a stop. 

Stepping over the last few rocks and tree roots, you finally catch-up to him.

The trail abruptly ends, opening to a rocky clearing on the side of a cliff. From here, you can see everything. The forest you’ve just run through. The city gleaming faintly in the distance. 

He pulls a small blanket from his backpack before laying it out on the ground. You take the chance to drink some of your water before taking a seat next to him. 

As the golden glow deepens, the warm light illuminates the tip of every tree beneath you. The river burns red like lava snaking through the valley.

His hand reaches over yours, grazing your pinky before linking a few fingers with you. The touch sends a thrill through your body. Up to now, the rush to make it in time for the sunset masked any nerves you might have had about going on a date with Bakugo. Here you are now, with no distractions. 

Maybe you should say something, you think. The two of you haven’t talked much since getting to the trailhead side of the road. He looks uncharacteristically calm though. Orange and pink light reflecting from his face. Only now does it occur to you why he brought you here: it’s where he can feel at peace. He wanted to share that with you. 

You decide against interrupting his experience with words and opt to tip your head onto his shoulder. He smirks, wrapping one arm around you to pull you closer.

The two of you sit like this until orange fades to pink. 

To purple. 

Into a deep blue, specks of stars beginning to form.

“We should probably head back,” he whispers, thinly veiling his disappointment the moment is ending. The weight of his arm leaves your back, leaving a coolness in it’s absence.

The walk back feels much more leisurely. The lack of a rush allows you to notice more this time around. White wildflowers tucked into the forest glow under your light. Every shadow moving along with you. The way he moves adeptly through the woods like he does this all the time.

By the time you reach the car, you’re exhausted but so refreshed. The drive home continues just as quietly. Not awkward, more tranquil. It’s a nice break from day to day life.

In spite of most of the evening being spent in silence, you leave feeling like you know another side of him.

more Bakugo: masterlist

taglist: @gold24fish

[vvampirelust]

reader x shane with shane on the receiving end of a strap on pretty pls ? maybe with some degrading?

warnings: smut, strap (s!receiving), pink strap 4 life, readers a little mean whoops, not proof read

Shane looks up at you with those round, brown eyes. “This isn’t what i had in mind, you know.” Her expression seeping with nerves yet undeniably still laced with lust. “When we talked about using…that thing.” The strap, she means. Pink and pretty and proudly standing, attached to the black harness framing your hips. Shane’s eyes dart back and forth from your face to the dildo. “And pink? Really?” judgment clouds her voice.

You, biting back a laugh, retreat from her half-naked form. “Oh, you don’t want it?” you ask, teasing her with faux innocence. Shane’s hands are wrapping around your wrists in an instant, tugging you back down on top of her. Elbows on either side of her head, your lips are almost touching. Warm breath fans your face when Shane huffs through a toothy grin, “I never said that.”

“Are you nervous?”

Shane pauses for a long moment, taking in your whispered question. Her eyes search your face, examining the way you watch her. Looking down at her like you wanted to eat her alive. Shane lifts her head, crashing her lips against yours. Muffled moans escape both of you, mingling between clashing tongues. She fights you for dominance, trying to maintain her ego in such a vulnerable position.

You take that as a go to push your hips forward ever so slightly from where you’re nestled between her legs. The dildo slides against Shane’s wet cunt, bumping her clit. She gasps, faltering. You can’t help but grin against her mouth. “I win.” Is what you silently tell her.

Your hand slips down her body, sliding over the tank still covering her upper half. Pausing to palm her tits through the fabric. Shane mmphs out a sigh, looking down to watch as you start to trail lower. Your fingers lightly scratch against the coarse hair on her mound, eliciting a buck of her hips. Spit wasn’t even necessary, as you grip your faux cock, running the tip between her soppy folds. You almost laugh, after Shane being so adamant it should be her fucking you, not the other way around. And now here she was, fucking dripping for it.

“Say please for me,” you say, looking away from her cunt and to her face, where Shane shoots you a hard look. Yet the heavy breathing gives it all away. This time you do laugh, almost harshly. “Don’t act new, Shane. I know how much of a slut you are. I know you want it.” Your last words come out in bites. Shane chokes as you push just the tip of your dick inside her fluttering hole. “Come on, sweetie. Let me treat you like what you really are.”

Shane’s huffs are pretty pathetic, twinges of a whine behind each one. She avoids your eyes, knowing you’re right, she can already feel you beginning to stretch open her cunt. She does need it, feels too good to go back now. Shane lets her head drop back with a sigh, “Please.” Your free hand shoots up to take ahold of the back of her neck, forcing her to look at you. “Now like you mean it.”

Her eyes widen, having never seen you like this before, and god, why does she like it? “Please, baby. Please fuck me.”

With that, you lean down to kiss her. Taking it slow as to not hurt her, sliding inch after inch inside until your hips are flush against her. “Oh, fuck,” Shane breathes past your lips, gulping as she adjusts to the feeling of you so deep in her cunt, stretching her out in a way she’s never experienced before. “Look,” you whisper, breaking from her lips, gazing down to where you’re connected. She does. Watching as you drag your hips back, drawing a low moan from her throat, letting her see the way your strap glistens with her slick. Shane gasps when you slam back into her, finding a steady pace.

Shane clutches onto you, arms curling around your back as her thighs tighten on your hips. Her sounds fall uncontrollably, moaning and whining as you rut against her. “It feels good, shit, you feel so good,” Shane throws her head back, baring her neck for your teeth to attack.

You bite and suck on her neck, marking her with blossoming bruises, moaning against her skin as if you could feel how tight her cunt was, sucking you in so perfectly. Trailing kisses up to the sweet spot just under her ear, you suckle hard to feel her squirm before sitting up on your knees. Your thrusts become faster, more force behind them. Shane’s cunt releasing lewd noises, squelching beneath the weight of your thrusts. She gets louder, near whining as she reaches to grip your thighs, digging her blunt nails into your flesh. You’re watching her face, admiring the way her features scrunch up in pleasure.

Groaning out a laugh after a particularly rough thrust, you smirk down at Shane. “You fucking like this, don’t you?,” hands sliding to take a tight hold of her hips, your head tilts, Shane nodding through her pretty noises, lost in the feeling. “After all that big talk,” you near coo, “Where’s that smart mouth now, hm?”

Shane whimpers, forcing her fluttering eyes to gaze up at you, “I- shit,” you’ve hit that sensitive spot deep in her walls, she moans loudly. You use the grip on her hips to tug her closer, thighs sprawled over your lap. You’re panting, sweat coating your forehead, using all your strength to fuck her thoroughly. “I like it,” Shane manages to tell you, “I like it so much, baby. Please don’t stop.” Her eyes are rolling back, muscles tensing. She’s getting close.

Hand sliding to her mound, your thumb toys with her red, throbbing clit, circling and dragging Shane towards the edge. “I’m not stopping, babe,” you say lowly, watching your cock slipping in and out of her cunt, “I like seeing you like this.”

bosh xx

[ephie-om]

Song: Novacaine - The Unlikely Candidates

CW: possessive behavior, yandere tendencies (it's Levi what did you expect tbh)

Day 3: Leviathan

Levi is doing his best to summon the courage to go knock on your bedroom door. He wouldn't do this for anyone else, you know, but he can't go too long without his player two, and you haven't been responding to any texts or in-game chats. He makes his way down the hall and pauses in front of your door. Should he just… go for it?

Wait. What if there's a password?? He had never bothered to ask if you had one. What would you think of him if he didn't even know the password to your room?!

He catches himself before he starts to hyperventilate. He has to be strong for you. Before he can talk himself out of it, he knocks on your door.

Your voice sounds out, muffled from the other side. “Who is it?”

“L-levi.” He curses himself silently for stuttering. It's silent for a while, and he thinks he hears you sniffle through the door.

“Fine, come in.”

Victory! He cracks open the door and steps through, shutting it behind him quickly. You sit on the floor surrounded by a mess of pink and white fabric, a dress mannequin toppled over in the corner of your room. You won't make eye contact with him, and he's fairly sure you've been crying.

“What happened?” That was a stupid question, wasn't it? He cringes and waits for you to yell at him.

“I, um… it's embarrassing.” You drop your head and fidget with one of the fabric strips on the floor. “I knew you were going to that F3 anime con in a couple months, and you talked about how excited you were for your Mister Boss costume from the Circle games, and I thought maybe you would let me go with you if I dressed up too. So I tried to make Ruri-chan’s costume. And… you can tell how that went.”

Levi listens intently. There's a lot of feelings making a mess of his brain right now, namely embarrassment, hope, and adoration. But the one that shone through all of those is sheer determination.

He knows exactly how devastating costume errors can be. He's been doing this for millennia and sometimes things still come out wrong. Right now you look like him when he had just started. He’d wanted so badly to look like his favorite character from Deathly Fight X that he had nearly given up on cosplay when the costume failed. If there was one thing he could help you with, it was this.

“We can fix this.” You look up at him, questioning. “Trust me. You have me on your side. I'd never let my Henry be defeated by a couple of petticoats.”

You laugh, and he decides that no matter how many hours it takes, he'll hear that sound from you again when all of this is done.

He makes an executive decision to move the project to his room, since the sewing machine would be too much of a chore to lug down the hall. He organizes your fabric onto the pattern you'd printed out online and gets to work. Layers of fabric whoosh by you as he focuses, using his tail to hold a pincushion. He uses the dress form for the first bit, but opts to have you wear it while he sews the details so that he can tailor the dress to you.

You blush furiously as his hands skim over your waist, pinning small pieces in place. You know he would never dare to be this close to you if he wasn't so concentrated. You try to breathe as quietly as possible, hoping to not break this spell over him.

After a few hours of work, silence only broken by Levi's muttering to himself, he asks you to put the dress on one final time. You catch a few quiet words about “no way it'll work”, but you choose to ignore them. You step into the bathroom to change, and when you come out, you're met with a stony-faced Leviathan.

Even his tail has stopped moving as his eyes rove over you.

You're just too cute. He doesn't miss the way a blush heats your cheeks, or the way you fidget with your hands as he inspects you. He wraps his tail around his legs to keep it from knocking anything over. He doesn't move, doesn't smile, doesn't say anything. If he lets even one action slip, he might just end up keeping you in his room forever.

How could he let you go to F3 now? All those nasty gamers, drooling all over you. They would love you, love to have you. But they couldn't have you. Just him. Him, you, and that dress.

He'll go to the convention with you, if it's what you really want. But he thinks it's well within his rights to growl at anyone who looks at you for too long. And if you ask, he'll just tell you that's what any self-respecting otaku would do for a Ruri-chan cosplayer as cute as you.

[romance-rambles]

au - magic/knight!alkaid | can i ask: do you love me?

By a series of accidents involving love potions and cookies, you end up with a boyfriend.

k, fluff + one (1) background relationship, mentions of angst, accidental usage of love potions, reader is mc, series: none

WHEN IT COMES TO THE morality of love potions, there is usually no universally-agreed upon answer, in large part due to the sheer variance in what, exactly, constitutes such a thing.

The law, however, is as full of loopholes as it can be—as long as it doesn't seem to talk, walk, or act like a drug capable of inducing others to fall in love with you, it isn't. And so, if such a thing were to ever find its way into someone's food, it technically wouldn't be a crime.

Then where, you wonder, does the present situation fall under?

With horror twisting your lips into a grimace, you gaze silently at the empty tray of cookies, sat upon the table unsuspectingly. No crumbs remain on its surface, though that speaks more to the character of the man who accidentally devoured them than any skill on your part. Alkaid has always been like this, even when your delicious cookies were nothing more than chunks of coal.

Despite the conclusions you manage to draw so easily, a question—one qualified enough to be called idiotic—slips out of you.

"Did you…" You swallow the lump in your throat. "Did you eat all of these cookies?"

Alkaid chuckles, smiling warmly. "Of course. They were as delicious as always."

On the topic of love potions, sweet in taste as they are, they tend to be amber in color. Sugar turned into caramel, or honey gleaming in the sunlight, as your friend once described it. A treat perfectly suited to her tastes.

Food dye is what brings out the pink hue oft associated with love, and the association is such that there are those who believe that love potions in any other color are simply…

Defective.

It was this same association that led Ehlonna—who came to you in tears, her once-in-a-lifetime request as much a paradox of selfishness and selflessness as she herself was—to request a more natural approach. As the soon-to-be Princess of Leighton, even so much as a hint that a love potion existed in her possession could not only be damaging to her reputation, but would incite needless worry in her brother and father.

Her brother who has just inhaled a plate full of cookies made accidentally with the love potion you crafted for her.

You don't scream. For one, you can't scream, but it is a near thing. The devil whispers in your ear, isn't this a good thing? And it takes a frightening amount of time for your conscience to talk you down.

This is why you don't play around with love potions.

"That's good." An awkward smile. An even more awkward silence. "And you feel okay? They didn't taste…funny?"

The love of your life laughs again. You think it's deserved, a little. A lot. It takes the embarrassing sting off the joke that is your current existence. How does one accidentally put a love potion in a batch of cookies? They run out of sugar and attempt to make due with honey.

How does one mistake a love potion for honey? They put it in an inconspicuous jar and wake up to bake at three in the morning. All because of a nightmare, one as equally like to come true as the opposite, where the groom looked suspiciously like the man in front of you and a blob of colors substituted as the bride.

"Have more faith in your baking," he says gently, holding his teacup to his lips.

On average, knights are not the best at holding their own against magic of any sort. But Alkaid bucks the trend by being startlingly difficult to hex, which, by all accounts, should bode well for him.

Except for the fact that he did, in fact, succumb to the last potion you tested on him. Trust, after all, is a powerful thing. It knocked him out for a week, and when he woke up, it was to the sight of your inconsolable form at his bedside. Even his own family wasn't half as concerned, though his father did advise against using him as a test subject in the future.

"I do," you say numbly, resting your arm atop the chair. Soon enough, it is your entire body that the wooden dining chair—one older than even you—must support. "I really do…"

His amused smile fades, making way for an expression full of concern. Setting the teacup down, he asks, "Has something happened?"

You exhale.

Ordinarily, you would confess everything to him. But everything entails secrets that are not yours to give away. Like the part about Ehlonna nearly taking a lover, for one. How the prospect of marrying for duty terrifies her enough that she would sooner numb herself to the world. How the love of her life vanished at the start of the month, the only proof of his existence being the whispers of the townsfolk and the songs the children sing.

So, you play around with the truth instead, to the best of your ability.

"I think…" You slip onto the seat in front of you with a sigh and a careful bite of your lip. "I think I poured a truth serum into those cookies. It's not where I keep it anymore."

But no one said it'd be a good lie.

His eyebrows nearly disappear under his bangs. You've always appreciated the siblings' willingness to go along with whatever excuses you offer them. Call it gullibility, as some people do, but you think it veers on blind faith.

Whatever questions he has sit on the tip of his tongue—then he swallows them back down and places a hand over his forehead. Gently moving the tray to the side, you lean in close, upper body crossing half the table as you wait your turn.

Alkaid has always made note of your hands. How they often run cold, instead of warm. The telltale increase in body temperature that results from love potions, then, could be obfuscated by that fact.

Frustration knits your eyebrows together. Pinching the bridge of your nose, you ask:

"Do you feel like telling me anything?"

"Not particularly," he answers, looking concerned. For you, you suspect. Then, he takes your hands and squeezes them gently. "It's been a long time since that day. It isn't out of the realm of possibility that I've gained some resistance since then."

Your expression tells him all you'd like him to know. It wouldn't be out of the realm of possibility—if he was anyone else. You'd love to give him some other potion to prove your point, but you can't risk him getting knocked out before the delegation for the Kingdom of Leighton comes knocking on Eden's door for their new princess.

Which is…

Two days from now.

You feel yourself breaking into cold sweat again. The potion takes a month to make.

And Ehlonna is nice. Ehlonna is understanding. Ehlonna is your best friend, and with love troubles of her own under her belt, she will surely understand your circumstances. There's nothing to forgive, her saintly voice echoes in your mind.

On her part, sure.

On your part? Absolutely not.

The smile on your lips grows forced. At the same time, Alkaid reaches out and brushes your bangs out of your face—and you'd love to draw conclusions, but he's always been like this.

"Alright, why don't you ask me a question?" he proposes, half-exasperatedly. "If you've wanted to ask anything at all, now's your chance."

Do you love me?

You swallow the lump in your throat with great difficulty. "What's your favorite color?"

"Green." A lie. The answer is purple.

"What's your favorite season?"

"Summer." A lie. The answer is undetermined—his usual line is, Spring is the season flowers bloom, but Winter is the season we met.

"What's your favorite food?"

"Whatever you and Ehlonna make." A truth. He'd have to be the liar of a lifetime if it wasn't.

This back-and-forth continues for a while longer, his initial reason for visiting nearly forgotten by both of them. It's not as though they'd made any progress on coming up with a fun night for Ehlonna anyways. You'd preemptively rejected places that were sure to remind her of Yin, which left the two of you with almost no options in the nearby town.

Eventually, you run out of questions, but the soft smile on Alkaid's lips does not fade. The devil whispers in your ear, and, for some reason, he sounds a bit like Yin, Ask: do you love me?

You opt for a slightly different question. "Is there a girl you like?"

His eyebrows furrow at the question, and his lips purse. He looks a bit uncomfortable, really. But it's only for a brief moment before he smiles again.

"Yes." A statement, undetermined.

Taking a deep breath, you ask, "Is that a truth or a lie?"

"Which one would you rather it be?" he counters.

Silence engulfs the home you inherited from your mother. It's deep in the forest near Eden's capital, with enchantments cast specifically to keep it hidden from unwanted guests. If someone wants to commission you for a magical product, they must ask during your business hours, at the quaint little art store you own.

The lavender walls of the dining room seem quite intriguing, all of a sudden—even to an eye like yours, which has seen them since birth. There's a few scratches on the table from when you were a child, and the chair slats feel more uncomfortable that usual when you lean back against them.

It would be easy enough to pick the first option, you think. But if the end result is anything like your dream…

Eden—more specifically, you—can only handle one broken-hearted mage right now.

"Who is it?" you eventually spit out, to the tune of your heartbeat thrumming in your ears. Regret instantly floods your veins, but it's too late to back out. Your mother did not raise a coward, nor did she raise someone unaffected by sunk-cost.

"She's…" He pauses, seemingly at a loss for words. "Wonderful. Kind. The most beautiful woman in the world—"

You wonder if you can tune him out.

You wonder if you should.

Every little compliment functions like a dagger, repeatedly stabbing you in the heart. Even so, you count each one and wonder, Could that be me? Who else does Alkaid know who sometimes eats like a slob? You're not proud of it, but hunger often has a way of making you forgo niceties.

And it can't be his cat, either. Sparkles, despite his name, is not a girl.

"Is she sitting in front of you?" you blurt out finally, when it seems like he's about to stop. Then, to make up for your mistake, you bury your head in your hands and pray this ritual grants you invisibility.

"How'd you know?"

When you look up, Alkaid is smiling his usual gentle smile.

THERE IS A LITTLE FOOTNOTE in the banned potion's textbook that provided the recipe for this love potion. You learn about it that night, after pulling the book out of your shelf to occupy your sleepless night in a productive manner.

Half of it is written in a handwriting you've only ever seen in letters your father wrote before his untimely death—the one you modeled the curves of your alphabet after. The other half is written in your mother's handwriting, still in cursive, but with a definitive air of practicality to it, in that it would nearly be illegible to anyone else but you.

It says:

A love potion will not go into effect if the target of the ingester's affection and the first person they see are one and the same. In rare cases, with sufficient willpower, if the two people are separate, the ingester will be able to overcome its effects.

Biting your lips has no effect on your ever-growing smile. Neither does the prospect of having to tell Ehlonna about your mistake dampen your excitement about today's events.

Perhaps that makes you a bad friend. Perhaps wondering if the love potion would've failed anyway, owing to Ehlonna and her brother having an incredible willpower, makes you a bad friend too. In any case, in the following days, it ceases to matter, because your hunch about Ehlonna's fate happens to be correct.

Just not in the form you expected.

When you finally show her and her new husband the textbook—smuggling it into the manor carefully and quietly, though the Duke tends to turn a blind eye to your shenanigans—on the day after their wedding, the three of you can only laugh, as you did in the old days.

— happy (very) belated birthday to @chiefcroissantdeanbanana

[kalmiaphlox]

Damn, this is what it feels like to be you?

COMPLETED!

AO3 Link / Masterlist

Part 1 / Part 2

Love Me Like You Do

Astarion takes his wrist back, rubbing at the tender skin, disappointed. "I thought it would feel better than that…" She blinks multiple times, trying to clear her mind of this euphoric rush that is burning through her now from head to toe. "That was much better than I expected."

Pairing: Astarion x Named Female Tav (Hircine)

WC: 8.2k

Main Tags: Body Swap, Humor, Fluff, Smut, Body Worship, Fashion Show, Unprepared deep throating, PiV Sex, Mild Hair Pulling, is this considered self-cest???, slight breeding kink, a lil aftercare

Stuck as a man and watching her body writhe around in ways that Astarion considers pleasing to the eye is not high on her list of enjoyment. This is not the worst day of her life, but by the gods is it one of the most uncomfortable. 

Seeing it for herself now, Hircine thinks she looks more like a worm undulating a path around the room than some sensuous woman enticing her husband into bed.

Yet Astarion finds it exceptionally attractive, made apparent by the way his eyes linger across her form when she stretches out in bed with her best come-hither stare, lips wet and parted, eager to take his cock. He really likes it when Hircine wears something low cut or open at the chest, and if she squeezes her tits together, then it's ‘delightful’, as Astarion would purr. 

All she sees now is someone desperate for attention. 

These images will have to be scrubbed from her mind if she's going to perform like that ever again in the future. The cringe-inducing revulsion she feels for her own body is too much. 

Hircine would love more than anything to be easily turned on by this. They could have that savage fuck he's looking for so bad and then the focus could shift to something else, something that doesn't require Hircine to look at herself more than she wants. 

She's not unpleasant on the eyes with her pink-hued gray skin and the much too long hair that shines between silver, slate and black depending on the lighting. Her eyes are brighter than she's known them to be, the shining gold ring a touch eerie and too reflective.

No, beauty is not the issue.

I just don't like women.

What if they're stuck like this? Will she have to get used to it?

I don't want to fuck men like this. I don't want to fuck or make love or have sex or whatever with anyone but Astarion. 

But she can't do that when he looks like her. 

All she wants is to please Astarion. When he's happy, so is she, and maybe vice versa, but trying to get turned on by herself has been damn near impossible. She looks at that face every damned day! It's not sexy!

She barely touches herself to begin with, the only time really indulging in such an act is when Astarion requests it of her in that way he does. There's no shame behind it, Hircine just doesn't care for it. 

She is trying! No one can say she isn't! Having a penis attached to her instead of inside her is a terrible fate. She can't even look at it. When Astarion slipped into the bathroom for the business-that-shall-not-be-uttered, Hircine got a feel of herself in his body. It just doesn't feel right to touch anything, and then it's Astarion and all she can think about is him not being treated exactly the way he deserves and she would hate to do something wrong.

With Astarion in her sight, the experience is a little better, but then he is her and Hircine does not want to look at herself look at herself! It's weird and so discomforting. 

Then there's the distinct silence of his mind… She never knew how loud hers was, and maybe she misses Herma-Mora’s buzzing a bit. 

The hunger, now that, Hircine could do without. It's not a noise in the way Herma-Mora is, but a feeling, and it's everywhere. A fierce ache that never goes away, gnawing and brutal. Instead of the hunger being localized in his stomach the way a living being's is, it's this unpleasant itch beneath the skin, an inhuman, hungering maw screaming for more and more and more. Why do her teeth hurt so much?!

Astarion said that it's never ending, and no matter how much he drinks, the burn will go on. 

What a terrible existence that must be. 

And it could be Hircine's forever if—

“My love~” When her head turns towards the sing-song tone, his finger sinks into her cheek. Astarion giggles like she fell into some kind of trap. “May I make another request?”

Oh, gods. “What now, Husband?” She asks, hesitant. 

His cat-like grin is an odd sight on Hircine’s actual face. “Can I try on your clothes? Pretty please?”

Could be worse. “My wardrobe is at your disposal. Let me know if you need help, some of those straps are so… strappy.”

“Not to be rude, my perfect—”. 

“You're always rude.” She says.

He gasps as if she told him his lipstick doesn't match the outfit he's wearing. “That, my sweet, is rude.”

“It’s true.”

“Rude!”

“Rude,” she echoes, dryly.

They stare at each other for a while before Astarion huffs, flicking a long strand of hair over his shoulder, his tone snippy and demanding. “Would you be a good wife and fetch the standing mirror from the storage room? My arms are much too weak now.”

“Yes, milord, whatever you want!” She mocks as she gets up, feeling a pillow thump against her back as she disappears into the hallway and enters the storage room. The mirror is front and center since they bring it back and forth often, maybe they should just keep it in the bedroom, but Hircine likes the room mirror-less. 

She pauses in front of it, finding nothing in its reflection. Alarm wiggles into her brain and Hircine pats down her body to know that she is still there. Of course it is.

This is Astarion's reality.

Back in the bedroom, Astarion is already digging through her closet, making a horrendous mess of everything. Clothes dropped in piles on the floor, skirts scattered about, along with trails of ribbons that she's not quite sure were in her closet to begin with.

Hircine would wager quite a sum of gold that Astarion is making a mess like that just for Lexi to clean up. 

Truly, he is the rude one. 

Settling the mirror behind the privacy screen, Hircine peers into the closet. “Do you need any help?”

“No! Go sit down while I prepare!” 

She won't argue. Back on the couch, Hircine reclines back with legs crossed, listening to the rustle of fabrics and grunts of whatever is causing Astarion exertion, probably some dress that needs to be tied in a complicated manner. If he and Lexi aren't around, she avoids those. No need to spend half the evening trying to put on one stupid piece of clothing.

“Can I take one of your fans?” Astarion asks from the closet.

“Only the ones in the top drawer.” She says, checking her nails the way she's seen Astarion do so many times. His cuticles are kept clean and the nails are filed neatly just as she expects.

He mutters under his breath, a quiet whisper that, in normal circumstances, would not be heard. “Tch, stingy.” 

“Hey, I heard that!” The hearing in this body is something else, and well, all the senses are so amplified. She can hear Astarion’s heartbeat and smell the perfumes tucked in their bottles, all from her place on the couch. Even her vision is exceptionally sharpened. It really is cheating to be so attuned to everything; there's no chance to hide.

He clears his throat loudly, getting her attention. “Are you ready, my love?”

“Dazzle me with my wardrobe, please.” She deadpans.

“Don't mind if I do~” Astarion sings, one slim leg appearing from behind the privacy screen, the hints of a blue dress Hircine doesn't recognize follow the movement. Stepping out into full view, waving a spread open fan to cast a breeze over himself, Astarion poses languidly against the screen's frame, slightly reclined with chest jutting out, head tilted back. Is that... supposed to be alluring? The dress he chose is of royal blue silk, tight-fitting as all Hircine’s clothes are, with a deep neckline that plunges all the way to his navel, focus drawn to the breasts which are partially covered and threatening to fall out should he lean over too far. “Blue suits you, pet, and so does this dress. Why have you been hiding it from me?”

She drags a finger down her flat chest. “It's not the most work-appropriate.”

Astarion scoffs, “Work wear be damned. Everyone should have the privilege of seeing Belbol and Iiyola in all their glory.”

“You want other people looking at my tits?”

The fan is snapped shut, tapping against his chin as Astarion ponders that, the face that was once hers, screwing up with disgust. “No, I guess not, but they should be displayed more.”

“So, I should walk around naked for you.” She adjusts while re-crossing her legs, holding onto a knee with a quirked brow.

“Then where's the fun in that? I enjoy ripping your clothes off… Also, this is nice!” He reaches up, swiftly pulling the sides of the fabric away so his breasts pop out with a bounce, and then Astarion rocks back on his heels, making them sway. “Are you taking notes? I can get you some parchment. Gods, I could look at them all day!”

“You already do.”

“Actually, no, I don't think so. They're starving for my affection.”

Earlier on the elevator ride down to the mines, Astarion was grabbing and groping at her chest—not that Hircine minds at all. He holds them for ‘support’, for whose benefit, well everyone knows it’s not hers. Most nights in bed, Astarion's head rests on her chest, partially to listen to her heartbeat and then partially for the… pillows. Then there is reading time, a book in one hand and a tit in the other because ‘What if this book is scary, Hircine?’

He's silly. 

“Is this the only show I'm getting, or are you going to try on more?” Hircine asks, having had enough of watching her own breasts shake while Astarion coos in awe.

“Fine. Onto the next.” The dress is already being shucked off as he turns around, disappearing behind the screen once again. Pants—ew, blouses—ew, and a variety of dresses and nightdresses are tried on and flounced around in before Astarion gets to something that he laughs uproariously about. 

She'd much rather hear his actual laugh.

“What’s so funny, Husband?” The laughter is extremely suspicious, and Hircine is ready to burst into the closet before Astarion shushes her.

“Oh, just wait. This is amazing. You've really been holding out on me, you little deviant.”

Now she's concerned. There's a whole assortment of unwanted fabric in Hircine's closet that's been stuffed into the bottom of a drawer since Lexi will just purchase things randomly that fit Hircine’s ‘tastes’, and occasionally they are things that Hircine would never wear a day in her life because Lexi does as she pleases.

She shudders, thinking of shoes. An awful invention. No one should suffer their tyranny.

“Love, can I take your lipstick off?”

Ah, so now Hircine really has to see herself in all her glory. “Yes, go ahead.”

He giggles maniacally from behind the screen and Hircine is now fidgeting in her spot on the couch, worried about whatever he has found.

“Like I said, I hope you’re taking notes!” And Astarion appears, draped in a luxuriously oversized, velvet robe in a deep earthy shade of green with dyed owlbear down cuffs and hem. The sash is tied tight around his thin waist, but Hircine knows something is hidden underneath. “Pet, I can’t believe you don’t wear this all the time!” His white lips are split into what must be a seductive smile.

She shrugs, “Eh, I forgot about it.”

He shakes his head in disappointment, “If you won’t wear it, then I might take it for myself then.”

“Be my guest, Husband.”

Gliding across the floor so smoothly he may as well be floating, Astarion circles around Hircine to the back of the couch, placing his hands on her shoulders and leaning down to place a sweet kiss on her cheek. “There’s more…” 

She knew it. 

Back in front of Hircine, Astarion drags the table out of the way, giving himself a wide area for whatever show he is about to put on. “This, my perfect girl, is what I expect you to commit to memory. Know that I like it, and know that I want it. Understand?”

She nods, reluctant to see whatever he is about to show off. Hircine is racking her brain for what this mystery outfit could be. Knowing that it’s something scandalous, she can only assume it was tossed to the very back of her closet the moment she saw it, never to be unearthed—until Astarion, that is. 

Slowly—torturously, in Hircine’s eyes—Astarion unties the sash, the most smug grin twisting his lips in a way that only Astarion is capable of. He’s careful to keep the robe closed as the sash is fully undone now, the smirk deepening still, the bastard. His fingers tease at the neckline, spreading it ever so slightly that Hircine can tell that whatever else he’s wearing plunges deep, showing off his ample cleavage. “Are you ready?” He asks in a husky voice that drips with an unbearable need.

Just by scent, Hircine can tell how turned on he’s getting from this raunchy display, and since it’s her body, she knows exactly how wet her cunt is. She sighs, waving her hand over his form. “Get it over with, please.”

His teeth dig into his lower lip as the robe is pulled away revealing… 

Can it even be called ‘clothing’ with how little it covers? 

Hircine is unsure of what this exact piece of clothing is called, outside of it being some type of lingerie. A black strip of fabric goes over the shoulders and comes together mid chest to slip right between the breasts—which are both out in the open, nothing hiding them, before splitting off into three thin pieces that go under the bust and down the stomach. There’s a very small, very sheer lacey triangle of fabric that covers just above the belly button and over the crotch… mostly. It’s clear almost immediately to Hircine that they are crotchless. There are more straps and strips and strings over the hips and legs.

Nothing is left to the imagination, that's for sure.

The strappiness of it all is the biggest offender. That’s why Hircine has never worn it. She hates straps, all they do is end up in tangles and her in teary irritation, ready to rip them to shreds. 

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Astarion asks, all heavy-lidded and filled with lust as his hands roam over his body, feathering light touches that has him trembling. “I know why you wouldn’t like this, but wear it for me just once. That’s all I ask.”

“You’re wearing it just fine for me. Is that not enough?” 

He twists around, giving Hircine a view of ass and back, then bends forward.

She blinks, unphased. Yes, that is a cunt.

It's nowhere near as enticing as when he does his seductive poses in his body. “No, because this is me, and not you. I want to see how you move in it.” 

“Do you think it would fit on this body?” Hircine gestures over herself in jest. 

Astarion pauses, head cocking as he thinks about it, maybe a little too seriously. “Would that be something you’d like?”

She doesn’t even have to think about it. “No. What about you?” 

“I bet I’d look ravishing, pet, but I don’t think it’s really my style. I prefer being naked, draped perfectly with a blanket over my cock so you’re left wanting, or fully clothed to the nines! No in between, really.” Moving closer, Astarion points down to Hircine’s crossed legs. “May I sit?”

“Ye—” Before her words have fully left her mouth, Astarion straddles her lap, wrapping his arms around her neck tight and pushing his breasts into her face. Having no energy to fight him, Hircine rests her head on her own tits, humming in pleasant surprise at how soft and comfortable it is. No wonder Astarion loves to use them as pillows. 

"I have to ask… Am I cold to you—in my body, not like this, obviously?"

Hircine shrugs, looking up through her lashes at Astarion. "You're more room temperature, though I guess if the room is cold, then so are you, but it's not a bad thing. It feels nice most days."

"You promise?" Astarion asks.

"Yes, of course. Why?"

He sighs heavily, leaning further into Hircine so her face is now buried in plush tits—there's no use fighting against it. "I-I was worried maybe it made you uncomfortable… or you put up with it for me."

Drawing a hand up and down his back—and finding the lack of scars a little strange—Hircine pulls away enough to speak properly. "No, not at all. I like the way you feel."

"Gods above, my perfect girl always knows what to say." Astarion squeezes Hircine's cheeks in his hands, peppering kisses all across her face. "You're so good to me. Is there anything you’d like to do since I have indulged in… everything?" He asks as he cards his fingers through her silky curls. 

What could Hircine possibly want to do like this? 

While she considers all the options, the steady thrum of Astarion’s heart pounds against her ear, activating some deep-seated ache within her body and fangs. 

No, no, he wouldn’t allow that, would he? Hircine licks her lips, now feeling insatiable in all the wrong ways.

Lifting her head so their eyes meet, Hircine broaches the topic. “Could I… try to drink from you?”

Astarion stills completely once he removes his hands from her. “How do I know that you’ll stop?”

She pauses in consideration. “...You don’t, and neither do I, and if you aren’t comfortable with it, then there’s no reason to. I just—I’m curious, since I can feel your hunger, it’s so strange.”

He holds his chin the same way he does in his own body, putting great thought into this decision. Hircine understands how dangerous this could be for them, how easily she could kill Astarion and her own body if there is no control on her end. 

And with Lexi gone, there is no one to heal him should worse come to worst. 

Astarion grabs her cheeks, eyes blazing with excitement. “Let’s do it, because I also want to know how it feels, you know, when I’m not lying on the ground dying… and also you look so erotic—sexy!—when I bite you just right, I’d like to see how I look when biting.” She nods in his hands, and he keeps talking. “I think the wrist is our safest route, easier to pull away when I’ve decided you're done. I know you like a nice deep drink from your body, but I’d like to keep my wits about me, so maybe two pulls should be enough. How do you feel about that?”

Hircine was expecting an outright no, so this is better than nothing at all. “I think that’s perfect. There are some health potions in the bathroom should I… go too far.”

“No, there will be none of that. Two drinks max, and if you go further, I’ll slap you. Sound fair?” As if a slap will hurt her like this.

“I—Yes, that's fair.” She is absolutely salivating now at the prospect. The smell of blood beneath his skin has been easy enough to ignore, whether from Astarion’s years of control or maybe Hircine isn’t attuned to it with their body-mishap, but now that she is really focusing on it, it might be a little overpowering. Not in the way perfume is when a bottle is spilled, no, this scent is so hard to describe. 

Astarion explained it once, she smells like berries, spices and a natural musk that is present in all living beings. She thought it was her perfume, but he was adamant that it’s her own scent, and sitting here now with Astarion’s in-human sense of smell does Hircine understand. 

It’s under her skin, and to imagine how much more potent it will be when the blood is no longer trapped within… Oh gods. She can’t wait. 

Adjusting himself so he sits next to her on the couch, Astarion offers his wrist, palm up. Never once in her almost one hundred and fifty years has Hircine thought a wrist looked delicious, even when it’s attached to a person with her face, wearing practically nothing on their body. Weird. 

Right when she takes the wrist in her own hands, Astarion speaks up. “Go very, very slow. Stay in control, remember that drinking more will absolutely not stop the ache, and also, please don’t kill me. I will be quite cross with you.”

“Right,” Hircine says, licking her lips. Go slow. 

She doesn’t know how she knows as her mouth is brought right over the spot she should bite. The pulse, while quiet beneath the skin, thunders in her ears, the guiding star of her hunger.

Everything is felt in slow motion—her nostrils flare, inhaling deeper. The room grows brighter, each follicle of hair on the arm she's holding now in hyper focus as her mouth finds its rightful place, biting down, feeling how her fangs easily slice into his flesh.

Astarion tenses with discomfort, but that's all on another plane where her hunger is concerned.

Again, she moves like this is a dance she's learned a thousand times over, fangs pull out and blood gushes into her mouth. The moan that breaks free from her throat is animalistic and ravenous. Has she ever tasted something so good? Hircine can recall exactly how blood tastes in her own body, pungent iron and sharp, not something she'd take a goblet of.

But this… this is the nectar of the gods, ambrosia! How could she live without such an amazing delicacy?

"Slow, Hircine!" Astarion urges, bringing her back to the present. His free hand pats her cheek roughly, not yet a slap, but more than ready to deliver one.

Slow. Slow. SLOW. She chants the words over and over as she swallows her first drink, instantly sensing how the warmth permeates throughout her body—bringing her attention down somewhere that has so far been very unresponsive.

More blood fills her mouth and she will savor this, since it shall be her last. The essence sits upon her tongue, coating it, imbuing it with the life that has been missing when she and Astarion were thrust into the other's bodies.

And then it is also swallowed down, and she will weep at the loss of that enlightening experience. Remembering how Astarion stops the flow of blood, she releases her mouth from his wrist, licking the pinholes where such a feast once lay. Something about the saliva of Astarion's mouth closes the wounds his fangs create, quickly staunching the flow of blood—and it delivers Hircine one last treat.

Astarion takes his wrist back, rubbing at it, disappointed. "I thought it would feel better than that…"

She blinks multiple times, trying to clear her mind of this euphoric rush that is burning through her now from head to toe. "That was much better than I expected."

"Ugh, that's not fair! You always make it look so hot when I bite you! Why was it not hot?" He pouts, crossing his arms as if throwing a tantrum, but the naked tits shoving up at his movements just looks silly, though Hircine is struggling to understand why her eyes are drawn down to them now, the hunger morphing into another kind of twisted burn.

"I didn't like it the first time you bit me… It might be an acquired… taste." She smiles deviously and leans in. "We could try again if you'd like."

Astarion scoffs, swatting her away. "Absolutely not! I will—Oh, now how could I forget about that?" Shoving Hircine back against the couch, he points to her tented crotch.

So that's what she's feeling. Blood lust.

Lavender-gold finds red, wide and pleading. "Can we? I know how long it lasts. Please, Hircine."

"It really is involuntary… I thought it was because you're attracted to me." How sad. She had thought her blood was special.

He pats her face, forcing her eyes away from her now erect cock. "I am attracted to you, never think otherwise, but that isn't the focus right now. Hircine, my darling, perfect love, I need it in me. Please."

"Fine. Hurry!" Before her words are even finished, Astarion is already tearing her shirt off, buttons flinging to the floor, then furiously undoing the ties on the pants she had put on after their nap. It's definitely more sensitive down there than it was earlier when he… helped tuck her penis back into her underpants. The feeling of Astarion's fingers brushing over where the cock lies beneath the clothing is sending bolts of arousal up into her insides.

It's so different yet similar to her own body, inside and outside. What a strange experience altogether.

Pants are stripped and then the underwear does not last long once Astarion gets his hands on it, now flung to some corner of their bedroom. Gods, he moves fast when he wants something as fanatically as this. Positioned between her legs on his knees, Astarion kneads into Hircine's thighs, not quite sure of how to proceed.

Is he drooling? Whatever, as long as he's happy…

"Can I taste my cock?" His eyes flash to hers before returning down to the thing in question.

Who would she be if she stopped him? "I—Uh, go ahead."

Not a moment is wasted before his lips wrap around the head, and Hircine gasps at how good it feels. Hot and wet in all the right ways, tongue slipping along the underside for a few swipes. She fully understands why Astarion is always so eager to have her choking on his cock.

It's amazing on the other side!

Why couldn't she have gotten it up earlier? So much play time wasted from her inability to see past herself.

She likes when his tongue is inside her in their normal interactions, but near all of her cock has been swallowed down by Astarion and Hircine can't help but moan aloud. What a rush!

Tucking hair behind his pointed ears, Astarion bobs up and down her shaft a few times, ringing his other hand along the base in a surprisingly tight grip. Hircine’s breath catches in her throat, strangling whatever noise was trying to escape.

Astarion then just goes for it, taking that cock all the way down—and he chokes. Gagging, he rips his head away, threads of spit connecting his mouth to her sex. "Ho-How do you—You make it look so easy!" He gasps out.

Hircine is stuck, stunned, cobbling back pieces of her mind because what. In. The. Hells. Everything about that was so perfect. She didn't realize how cold she felt until being encased with pure molten heat, and then the velvety mouth-feel…

With a cough to clear her throat, Hircine clears her mind finally, responding to Astarion. "I don't know how you suck cock, Husband, but you can't just take it without thought."

Astarion pauses, eyes widening with something that borders on frenzied. "It's because my cock is so big, isn't it?"

"Yes," she responds instantly. Maybe it is, maybe it isn't. That is not a can of beholders she ever wants opened.

He stares back down at his cock, plotting out his next move and Hircine hopes for more, for anything really. "I'm going to fuck myself now."

Ah, straight to better than anything. "Get on me," Hircine all but begs, feeling her cock give a little kick in anticipation.

Still wearing that horrendous not-an-outfit, Astarion clambers up on his knees, resting them on either side of Hircine's thighs. Placing a hand on her shoulder, their eyes meet. "Are you ready, my love?"

"I—Wait!" Taking a fistful of that scrap of fabric he has on, Hircine rips it off with ease. "I was tired of staring at it."

Astarion's mouth has gone slack, forming a long O. "I'm going to come so fucking hard tonight." He searches out her cock, taking it in hand and lining it up to his sopping wet cunt.

Is that the one upside to a cock is that it isn't as messy as the endless slick she produces? Hircine would still much prefer her vagina back.

His heart is pounding a ferocious beat against his chest, eager to escape, and she briefly wonders if it feels painful to him. On his knees like this, Hircine is perfectly eye level with those breasts, staring into the white void that is his firm nipples.

Is she about to do this?

Oh, yes.

Astarion sinks all the way down on her cock with ease from his slippery lips and their moans in unison are music to their ears. It's rapturous, the way her—his cunt swallows her cock whole, devouring its entire length. Soft and wet and warm and delicious. To fill, instead of be filled, now that is an experience.

Their mouths find each other instantly, tongues tangling together. "Oh, fuck!" Hircine gasps into Astarion, and he swallows those words greedily, winding his fingers into her hair to crush their faces impossibly closer.

He pulls away, nipping at her lips as he does. "You'll suck on my tits?"

"Yeah…" Hircine breathes out as she's guided by Astarion to his breasts. His back is arched, offering them up for the feasting. Taking one in hand, Hircine latches on to a nipple, finding it not all that unlike the way she does it to herself—which she is doing, but not really…

Clearing her mind of any erection-killing thoughts, she sucks gently on the hardened peak, the taste of his skin so sweet and intoxicating. Astarion groans raggedly, nails clawing into her shoulders as he rocks in place on her cock, really the only stimulation she can handle right now.

She doesn't believe she's going to last long at this rate.

Shuddering, Astarion begins to move with purpose now, finding a rhythm astride Hircine. She releases his tit, choosing to lean back and watch him ride her like his life depends on it, as Astarion has done so many times when the roles were reversed.

So, it's maybe not that bad being a man. Kind of.

“Oh gods, oh gods, please, I need you deeper. Fuck me with my cock, Hircine, I can take it all.” His head is thrown back, tits bouncing as Astarion rocks up and down his own cock, all sense lost. “Hircine, my love, please go deeper! I need it!” Astarion is petting at her face, kissing her lips, moaning and screaming and begging.

Astarion is rarely the loudest one in the bedroom, always demanding that Hircine let loose as much as possible because it's 'angelic'… The shoe on the other foot is a little weird. "There's no going deeper!" She laughs, taken out of the moment.

"Wha-What?!"

“It's bottomed out inside you, Husband, trust me, I know.”

Astarion pauses his rocking, the lust giving way to more clarity. “How is that it? There's more to my cock, I know it.”

“No, that's all.” Literally. He’s sitting all the way down on it, there’s no more to take.

More of the fuck-drunk—cock-drunk might be more appropriate—haze lifts, his eyes narrowing with intensity. “Are you saying my cock’s small?”

“I have never, nor would ever say that. It's perfect, I swear.”

"My cock's big enough to choke your mouth, but not big enough to stuff your cunt?"

"It does both jobs perfectly, and from where I'm sitting, this cock feels stuffed inside of a cunt right now. You are the one having issues with it! I never have!"

“Well, I need more. Can you magic it bigger?”

She places her hands around his full hips, digging in to the soft flesh. “Uh, no, absolutely not. Having been in that same position, like two days ago if I recall correctly, I assure you that even if your cock were bigger, it would not fit.” For emphasis, Hircine pushes down on his hips, nodding knowingly at the small whimper that escapes his lips. “Do you feel that, Husband? That's the end.”

Astarion's cock could not be more perfect for Hircine. Long enough that it can reach the back wall of her cunt so deliciously just the way she likes, and the girth gives her the most delightful stretch, never painful, only pleasurable. Yet somehow he is begging for more…

His cunt clenches and pulses around her length, thighs baring down on her own. Oh, that's good. She'll take more of that.

“But what if it could go deeper?” His lips are on hers again, tongues dancing as Hircine's head is tilted up and pressed into the couch cushions.

She laughs awkwardly, talking around his tongue. “I promise—you, it can't—”

Reeling back with a pout—he likes this face I make?! It’s so childish!—Astarion persists. “Why not? There’s more room in here.” He pats his flat stomach with a grin.

“Do you need an anatomy lesson? If I—you, ugh whatever, go any further, it'll enter the—That's just not how it works.”

“Well, it should be filled with something. What better than my own cock?”

Hircine cringes internally, trying not to let his words ruin the arousal she's finally built up. Thank the gods Astarion is not a woman. “How about we not destroy my body for your deranged penis obsession, alright? I think that's a fair and normal thing to want.”

“But magic—”

She interrupts him, not allowing anymore of this insanity. “Considering that we are both not how we should be right now, I'd say it could get a lot, lot worse. Maybe turn us inside out, actually implant a slaad egg in our chests… I could go on, Husband, but I think you get the point.” Hircine considers him for a moment before bucking her hips up to meet his, relishing the gasp that's pushed out of his mouth. “Why don't we change it up a bit? I like this position a lot, but it’s not as fun for me at the moment.”

His eyes sparkle with excitement. “Oh, fuck me exactly the way you want to be fucked.”

He already does though… What haven't they done that Hircine would like?

Hmm, well it's not exactly novel, but she won't have to see her own face anymore.

“Get up.” She demands exactly the same way he does. She likes being told what to do when it's Astarion—and so does he, apparently, when he enthusiastically complies. They both groan at the loss of cock in cunt when he gets up, and Hircine is especially surprised at how much she misses that all-encompassing warmth wrapped around her. It'll be back in a moment.

Panting in tandem, they're both covered in slick, all between his legs and down the front of her thighs. Gods her body really has no problems getting wet for this one. 

"Do you want a little roughness?" Hircine asks, running her hands along the curves of his neck.

He hums thoughtfully as their lips meld together one more time. "You're not going to accidentally break me are you? I'm a delicate flower now."

"Hah! Like I said, only a little… It will be just the way I like it."

His glowing eyes sparkle with insatiable desire. "Oh, yes. Yes, please."

Winding her hand into long locks of hair, Hircine pulls back his head tight, baring his throat at an angle so she can watch the pulse pound beneath it. Astarion stares up at her, a veil of caution now layering over his lust. She won't bite, there's no more need for that, as her mouth finds the sensitive skin, scraping fangs down to his collarbones, reveling in the way he trembles like a bird caught in a trap.

Just the way I like it.

A sharp tug drags Astarion further, curving his back so Hircine can take a breast in mouth, suckling the skin harshly to leave a puffy red mark, barely pressing her teeth in, careful not to break through. Astarion keens, loud and long, scrabbling for any purchase on Hircine's broad chest and finding none.

Having enough of this sensual play as it does nothing for Hircine, she takes his chin between her fingers, "Are you ready to be fucked?"

"Ravage me, my love!" He cries.

Grabbing his hair once again, this time with much more force—though nothing that will tear—Hircine guides Astarion to the back of the couch, shoving his stomach up against the ledge. She pushes him over until his feet no longer touch the ground, practically bent in half with his arms holding himself mostly upright on the couch cushions.

"Oh, I like this, pet."

"I know you do, and imagine how much better it would be if I were me and you were you."

His legs wrap around her waist, calves locking her in—or at least trying to with his limited strength. Cock is teased against the entrance to his slit, not entering, just a smooth up and down that makes him quiver and whine like a bitch in heat. Leaning in with her hold on his hair still tight, Hircine nibbles at his ear, whispering as she does, "I love you, Husband."

He sharply intakes a breath at her words, responding in kind. "I love yo—"

Her cock slams inside of him hard, stopping any verbal formations as she rocks and ruts into his cunt aggressively, hips slapping against his bare ass in a powerful rhythm and digging her blunt nails into his slim waist so Astarion won't go tumbling over the front of the couch while her other hand keeps his hair coiled within her fist. Her grunts are barely audible above the wet smacking and Astarion's own high-pitched cries.

How could he ever complain about this not being enough? His cunt walls are strangling her cock, milking it for everything it has.

Pistoning in and out, Hircine's ploughs into Astarion giving him exactly what he so desperately wants while she slowly but surely reaches the precipice of an orgasm.

Thinking back on it now, Hircine cannot believe he has never bent her over a desk or table in their home. Gods, she wishes it were her right now. It's fun doing the fucking, but she prefers to be fucked.

And maybe it's a little too much for Astarion too when his moans turn to something she'd rather not hear.

"Oh, fuck me, Hircine! Fill me to the brim!" His cries of euphoria are sharp against her more sensitive ears, and she is thankful for the soundproofing of their walls. "Ah~! Ah~! Ah~! Pet, give me my come! Make me pregnant! I'll carry my own baby! Let me have it!"

Her brutal pace falters, mind reeling at the turn this has taken. What the fuck is he saying? Is he truly so consumed by his own cock that he would go this far?

Astarion continues with his insane ramblings, "Hircine, please! I need it inside me! Ah~! I'll grow round with child! Breed me! Think of how—"

His words are drowned out as Hircine panics. Nothing makes her dry up—er, go flaccid like talk of children. That is not something they want. He's lost it.

She slows further, looking for any solution because she would never tell Astarion to be quiet… but he needs to shut up or this will all end much too soon.

The lingerie! It's shredded but thank the gods Hircine threw it on the couch with little regard for where it might end up. Releasing her hold on his hair, Astarion falls forward, silenced for the moment while she snatches up the fabric, bundling it up into a ball. Right when he starts to turn in outrage, Hircine shoves the lingerie into his mouth.

In his typical scent-obsessed fashion, his eyes roll into the back of his head as he tastes any lingering wetness there. They can continue in peace.

Returning to burying herself inside of his cunt, which grows slicker by the second, Hircine finds that path of no return, ecstatic at knowing there's an end in sight. She drives with purpose, listening to Astarion's muffled, desperate moans that foretell he must be close too. Gods, nothing gets him off like soaked panties.

The dam is about to break, her cock kicks, ready to release, and Hircine will not stop it, but the build-up is too great.

She blacks out.

++++

Hircine comes to, pinched between a heavy pressure above and then a firm and unyielding object below. She lays face down, ass up in whatever extremely uncomfortable position this is, feet dangling from wherever she is, scalp tingling and her cunt—

What happened?

She tries to get up, but whatever is on top of her keeps her down, unmoving.

And something is… inside her.

Wait, inside?

Hircine's eyes snap open and she is herself once again. Oh gods, she might cry at the relief of feeling so comfortable and whole once again, especially with what she imagines is Astarion’s cock still buried inside her.

No wonder she's so achey down there. How on these material planes did he even complain about his penis? It's perfect!

She tries lifting her torso up, but Astarion's heavy, limp weight keeps her in place, and really, her strength has been sapped by all this wonderful activity. Hircine won't be moving around anytime soon. Her legs flail about, anything to give her some purchase, yet they find nothing. Hircine is stuck until her husband rouses from his stupor.

Are they returned for good, though? She does not believe she can handle the strain of switching back and forth for the rest of her days, no matter how much she loves Astarion.

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Ah! And Herma-Mora is back. Hircine never thought his inchoate chittering would be such a reassuring welcome.

There's no more hunger—of Astarion’s that is. She doesn't mind hers, at least it will go away with some bread and cheese.

He got his wish; she is bent in half, though Hircine did it to herself. Have they been here for long? Her legs are numbing from this position and pinch, and the frame of the couch is digging painfully into her hips while Astarion's body offers an unrelenting pressure to her backside.

How did he wake her up when he found them in the mines like this? A slap might be a little hard in this position… and she doesn't think she could ever hit him.

"Husb—" Her voice is a ragged croak. Hircine swallows and tries again, louder this time. "Husband! Wake up!"

A groan, then a subtle shift atop her follows, so Hircine shouts once more. "Husband, you're crushing me!!"

He lurches before propping himself up on his arms with a groan. "Uughh, what happened?" Then he springs to life, relieving Hircine of his crushing weight—though she might unhappily groan when his cock slips free of her over-sensitive cunt. "I'm me! Gods above, I'm me again!" He's crowing with excitement, probably running his hands along his body, remembering what it's like. As he should. He's a gorgeous piece of man.

"Oh, oh my, what's this beautiful sight?"

She doesn't know what he's referring to until Hircine feels the ghosting of Astarion's fingers across her arse, teasing down along the roundness until his cool fingers stroke at her lower lips. "You're leaking, pet. We can't have that."

Good gods… talk about a never-ending hunger.

A digit sinks inside of her, probably to push their combined spend spilling out back in and Hircine whines sweetly, but not before the sting of her hips returns in full force, reminding her of this great discomfort.

"Husband, you know I love it, but this position is hurting me…" She says, his fingers leaving her instantly. Maybe she shouldn't have said anything, what a way to ruin the moment.

Abruptly, she is pulled off the couch and into Astarion's embrace, kissing her forehead and nuzzling against her cheek. "I'm sorry, love, I got a little too excited."

He's so beautiful, exactly as he should be with his silver curls that catch the light, and eyes that crinkle so softly, sweetly, cutely, when he smiles. It wasn't even a whole day and she can't believe how much she missed that face.

She sighs in his strong arms, elated to be back to normal. "There is nothing to apologize for," but then she remembers his words when she was fucking him. "Actually, what in the hells were you on about? 'Breed me'? Did you lose you mind?"

He freezes, "I, uh, I don't know…" Astarion chews on his lip, lost. "It was like a fog of desire consumed me." His whole body is racked by a shiver.

"I feel like you cursed me." She places a hand over her stomach. "I'll ask Lexi to brew me some tea when she's back. Who knows what this-this switch has meddled with!"

"Good idea, my sweet. Give me a moment now." Dropping her like a sack of potatoes on the bed, Astarion disappears into the bathroom.

While he's gone, Hircine takes stock of her body. Not that she doesn't trust Astarion at all, but she wants to enjoy it and never take it for granted ever again. Every finger, toe and nail is accounted for. Her breasts are well played with, the hickey she left on one still there. How weird.

Rubbing her palms into her hips to soothe the burn from where she'd been pinned to the couch, Hircine waits for Astarion to return, ignoring the empty tenderness of her sex.

They might both be a little too hungry for one another.

Astarion reappears now, holding a damp washcloth in hand though he pauses on his way back, attention caught by something behind the privacy screen.

She wracks her brain for what it could be…

The mirror?

Oh. He finally, truly got to see himself after all this time, and it was only for a short while. Her heart twists for his loss. Hircine will find a way to make it up to him.

Back at their bedside, Astarion gently wipes away their combined fluids from her thighs and stomach, smiling as he does.

"What is it?" She asks.

"Oh, I'm just surprised at how messy it all was. I guess I don't really think about it when my head is between your legs feasting so not a drop is left…"

Hircine laughs, "You're right, men are so nice and dry. One of the few upsides."

"And miss out on that nectar? No, that is where you are wrong, my love, but I'll allow you to be wrong since there is more for me!" Astarion bends down, planting a smacking kiss against her lips.

"Fair enough, Husband."

Once cleaned off, Astarion slides into bed next to Hircine, layers of blankets draped over them and then he wraps his arms around her in a vice grip, and sure enough, his ear finds where her heart beats, strong and steady. "Mmm, I missed this."

"Me too…" Hircine whispers, snuggling closer.

They revel in the peaceful silence of being back in their bodies, everything righted once more.

Astarion leisurely runs a hand along her shoulder and under the swell of a breast, following the smooth lines of her abdomen to stop at a hip bone, finger just barely digging into the bone. "I've known it, but I never truly understood how fragile you are. If I'm too aggressive or pulling you around, please tell me. I hate the thought that I haven't treated you with enough care."

Her heart melts at his words while Hircine squeezes him tight, burying his head into her chest. "I swear you are only ever as rough as I request you to be. There is nothing to be concerned with, Husband."

"Alright. I-I just wanted to make sure." And never one to let sincerity settle between them for two long, Astarion rises, finding the hickey on her breast and wrapping his lips around it with a greedy growl. He's such a wonderfully puzzling creature sometimes.

"Say, would you like to get some more portraits done?" She asks, running her fingers through his messy curls.

His head whips up, red eyes all aglow. "Can we get some from different angles? Maybe a backside one, with me looking over my shoulder like I'm carrying a secret?" Astarion gasps, "Imagine waking up to a painting of my arse every day! Oh, wouldn't that be wonderful?"

"But then Lexi will see it too…"

"And it will be the finest piece of ass that old hag will ever get in her life. Maybe she'll be nicer when she knows I'm built like a god. And what about a nice, tasteful portrait of my cock?"

Hircine sticks her smile in place. "I don't think having your cock plastered on our walls is… tasteful…"

Astarion's face drops, looking like a scolded puppy. "It's because it's small, isn't it?"

"What? No! Oh my gods, fine! I'll make sure we find the finest painter in all of Faerun who specializes in… penises and then your likeness will be captured in perfect detail, bigness and all!"

His usual smirk returns, eyes cat-like and smouldering, and Hircine can't help but feel like she got played. "That's my perfect girl." He returns to his spot on her chest, purring contentedly. "I love this, and I love you."

"I love you too, Husband." She kisses his head, hopefully turning in for a well-earned rest that will be devoid of eldritch tricks.

[kradogsrats]

So whatever is going on with the cut of that suit aside, that teal? Super weird. Accent colors for Soren within the setting trend toward reds—the lining of his cape in arc 1, the whole underlayer of his armor in arc 2... even his pink pajamas.

So why teal? Well, as one person pointed out, it's the color of Corvus's scarf:

So this could be a cute nod to sorvus being endgame, or it could be something like "Corvus dies in s7 and they change the color of the entire Crownguard uniform to honor him." (So be careful what you wish for, is all I'm saying.)

But there's another possibility, because strangely enough, this is actually the second skin in a row that has teal accents for Soren. The other being this one, which we don't really talk about because Soren has a lot of much, MUCH better skins:

And what's going on here is also deeply weird. Not only is red Soren's usual accent color, he's highly associated with red dragons, in the form of Pyrrah and his childhood plush dragon toy. Personally, if I were to design a "Dragonslayer Soren" skin, it would be themed after Pyrrah for maximum irony. Like Caludia's fawn skin.

Like, honestly, my first thought seeing this was "when has Soren ever encountered a Moon dragon," because another strong teal association that lines up with Soren is the Archangel Lunaris in arc 1:

Like, I wouldn't say they're associated with Soren, but he does keep showing up with them—he's sent out with one to track the Moonshadow assassins, they comically vex him at the caldera moon temple, and they're revealed to have been used to make the illusion of Viren that he "killed." And between the Archangel Lunaris and Lujanne's color palette, I would say that teal is associated with the Moon primal.

And then we have the s7 trailer, where Soren is almost stepped on by a dragon rising from the Moon Nexus. A dragon looking like this:

A dragon whose armored head crest bears a not-small resemblance to Soren's "Dragonslayer" helmet. It's not exactly the same, not having any feathers or hair, but that's actually not a common crest shape among the dragons we've seen. Something even kind of like that only occurs here and on Squeaky. Since this dragon (drake?) is literally just Squeaky's model scaled up:

Could they have based the skin on Squeaky? I... guess? If they did, I'd suggest that the person who picked the colors get tested for red-green colorblindness, but it's possible. It would also be kind of weird to do without a bit more clarification, since we literally haven't seen, heard from, or even heard about Squeaky since s4, and Soren has been riding Pyrrah around for two seasons, instead.

So here's my extremely tinfoil-hat theory: there's a dragon that we haven't seen in full that will be associated with Soren in s7, whether it's the shadow one in the trailer or another Moon dragon, enough so that Soren with teal accents makes sense.

Or else sorvus is endgame.

Unlocked Red Carper Soren!

[h0ney66]

Can you write adam cnc please and tyyy 😊

hope you like it angel <3

“Please Adam, it hurts!” you pleaded between choked sobs, your pretty cheeks flushed pink, lips swollen as you pouted, looking at him with teary eyes. “Ask me if I fucking care bitch,” Adam spat angrily, slapping your face roughly as he fucked into you, his cock moving at a bruising speed.  

You were not one to anger Adam easily, but after coming home in a bad mood and finding you lazily laying on the couch, no dinner prepared, something you usually did for him, he snapped, aggressively grabbing you by the arm, off the couch, and onto the floor. He ripped your clothes off quickly, not caring when you began to cry, or begged him to slow down. He took out his hard length and began slapping it against your clothed, wet heat. “Does this get you off, slut, do you like it when I use you for the only thing you're good for?” He said between gritted teeth, wrapping his hands around your throat. You squirmed under him, the adrenaline coursing through your veins overriding any other feeling.  

“Stupid whore, fucking soaked for me, you’re pathetic”  

You shook you head no, prompting an even faster, more aggressive thrust from him, making your whole body feel like it was on fire.  

“I should break you, see if you like that too, I bet you’d thank me, fucking cumslut”  

With that, he pulled out, standing up and forcing you to your knees, slapping your face and holding your jaw tightly.  

“Open you fucking mouth, gonna fuck your pretty face till its ruined”  

He shoved his dripping length into your mouth with a hard thrust, making you gag and choke, holding onto his thighs, trying to pull away for the air your lungs so desperately ached for. Your struggle only fueled his rage and need for release, now deepthroating you, putting his hands on your throat to feel himself slide in and out of it. 

“So cute when you’re fucked dumb like this”  

“Aww poor thing, is it too much for her tiny body? Look so precious when you struggle” 

You sobbed around his cock, trying to pull away only to be met by his hands roughly pulling your hair and shoving you back onto himself, making your body shake. 

“Quit moving babe, don't want me to hurt you even more hm?” His voice dripped with false kindness, resting a hand on your head, caressing your hair softly. “You know I hate hurting my little angel”  

He pulled out, and you nodded, looking up at him with glassy, teary eyes, running mascara and red marks on your cheeks from his slaps.  

Without warning, he slapped his cock onto your face, rubbing around his precum and your spit. He laughed, watching you in such a degrading position, yet still looking up at him with adoration.  

“My oh my babe, you’re so addicted to me, aren’t you? Can’t live without her big, strong man, hm?” 

You smile softly, rubbing your head against his legs, agreeing with him. You were still breathless, reddened, glistening skin shining under the lights.  

“Stay like that baby, im gonna cum on your face, paint you all pretty.” 

He jerked off above you, looking down at your small figure looking up at him in an almost worshipping manner. 

As he got closer and closer to his release you stuck out your tongue for him to cum on.  

“Please Adam, want your cum, need to taste it so bad” you say, voice whiny. 

The sound of your voice was enough to send him over the edge, cumming all over your face, lips and tongue. You licked it up, and he spread some around your lips, before feeding it to you.  

“My sweet angel, you did so good for me, always know how to make me happy” Adam whispered, his voice gentle and soothing now.  

He grabbed a towel, cleaning you up, before holding you to his chest, caressing your arm softly.  

“I wasn't too rough right my love?” 

You shook your head no, sighing softly, nuzzling your face onto his face. 

“You always do so good, so perfect for me, my sweet girl”  

Your lips formed into a small smile as you closed your eyes, holding onto Adam like a pillow, before drifting off to sleep in your dearest’s arms.  

[ww2yaoi]

I was lame and didn't have anything prepared to post for WGW this week but have a little snippet...

David looks over his shoulder at Joe’s lazing form, unable to help himself from leering whenever he pops into mind. Joe’s eyes are closed, his lashes casting spindly shadows across his cheeks like inverted conifers are growing from his tear ducts. He’s shucked off his shirt and tossed it aside somewhere, the skin pulled taut over his bony sternum flushed pink from all their sunbathing. He raises his half-smoked cigarette to his lips and takes a slow, deliberate drag. David smiles to himself. It’s times like these when he wishes he were better at drawing portraits, not that Joe would ever pose for one.

It’s good to see him like this: content. After Landsberg, he’d retreated so far inward David was afraid he’d never emerge. David had never seen him so quiet. Not even in Haguenau, after the hell of Bastogne, was he that reserved. For once in his life, David knew whatever he said would be the wrong thing — because he’s always saying the wrong thing with Joe — so he had just sat with him in the days following. Sat with him in the truck, sat with him at the billet, sat with him during the meals he picked at, sat with him in the late April chill as he chain-smoked cigarette after cigarette and never so much as offered a word.

It had taken a few weeks, a tardy suicide, and the boozy bacchanal that was Berchtesgaden, but eventually Joe let David touch him again, hold him again, fuck him again. The fucking seemed to help. At least, Joe started talking more. As they had lain in bed, sweaty and spent from letting their bodies voice everything they refused to, Joe had asked David about home, and David had told him.

“You’re staring at me,” Joe says, jolting David back to the present. An opaque plume billows from his mouth. His eyes are still closed.

“No, I’m not,” David replies without averting his gaze.

“Are too, Web,” Joe shoots back, nonchalant.

David lets out a small laugh. “Yeah? How can you tell?”

Joe shrugs and puts his cigarette back in his mouth. “The violent scribbling stopped,” he mumbles around it, pinching the end with his front teeth. “What are you writing?”

“A letter.”

“To who?”

To whom, David corrects in his head. He refrains from saying it out loud; Joe would wallop him.

“My brother.”

“Which one?”

“Frank.”

Joe takes another drag. “Yeah? And how’s the South Pacific? Can he hurry shit up over there so we can end this thing and go home?”

“Wrong brother, Lieb,” David says. “And I don’t think it works that way.”

Joe merely smirks, like he made the mistake on purpose to see if David would be bothered enough to correct him. David reaches over and plucks the cigarette from Joe’s lips, fitting it between his own and puffing on it. Joe opens his eyes a crack to shoot him an unimpressed look, but he doesn’t gripe, much to David’s surprise. Instead, he sits up, scooting over to sit closer to him. He peers at the piece of paper lying flat against the notebook that’s perched on David’s knee, then rests his chin on his shoulder.

“Joe,” David warns under his breath. He tilts his head towards the rowdy troop of swimmers still splashing away in the lake twenty yards away from them. “We’re not alone.”

Joe blows a raspberry. “They ain’t paying attention,” he says, blasé, too preoccupied with trying to read the letter over David’s shoulder. “What are you writing about?”

[rose-ramblings]

@gokutober - Ritual

Did this one ahead of time cuz I saw it so clearly in my head and wanted to recreate it before it disappeared. Anyway, here's Godku shortly after he gains this new power cuz the SSG Ritual was the only one I could think of.

[museincarnate]

For those small, albeit tense moments where Torno and Shuen moved to intervene, the Hero of Hope managed to keep his attention focused squarely upon the Little Rabbit; her touch and holding of his arm keeping him mentally grounded, despite his awareness of everything else going on around them. Even when Torno alluded to violence, something he seldom resorted to anymore, the Paradox Saiyan seemed a bit taken aback; his body tensing a bit more.

A sigh of relief would escape Shuen, however, once Chylli relented, as his Lagomorph friend inquired about the identity of the person named Rhuba; the redheaded Saiyan slightly turning his head so he could catch the Little Rabbit in his peripherals, and offer her a just visible smile. "Rhuba's a Saiyan from King Opart's sect of the universe. Her adaptive genetics gave her an ability that's kind of like a a passive tranquilizer. It'd be easier just to let you experience it, once she gets here. Let's just say that she prevents the royals from getting too nasty."

Given the very purpose of the transporter Saiyans under the employment of the rulers, the retrieval of Rhuba would take no more than a minute or two; leaving little room for much chatter and lingering tension, otherwise. When she arrived, Opart would be the first to greet her, as she quickly bowed her head; her form out of Tater's immediate line of sight, until she was instructed to sit at the center of the council's table. Once she'd done so, both Torno and Shuen would return to their original positions.

"Hi hi, your majesties! It's wonderful to see you all again! Would you like me to cover my ears and close my eyes, while you take care of this meeting?" As if she'd done this several times before, the pink-haired Saiyaness seemed so casual and bubbly in greeting the Saiyan Royals; contrasting Tater's own composure, while also conveying just how positive the girl was. Before she was given an answer to her question, however, she would manage a soft wave to the Little Rabbit; smiling just as sweetly as the moment she arrived.

"I believe this council isn't one that will require such secure measures, Rhuba. Considering the matter at hand, and what dealing with it entails, you have our permission to observe." Empress Scallia would offer a response to the query of the tranquil woman, while Rhuba seemed to beam with joy; nodding her head out of respect and acknowledgement, while taking a deep breath in, and exhaling thereafter.

"We're all good to go then, your majesties. Things should start feeling much better in a second or two, so please don't mind me!" Just like that, it seemed as though the pink-haired girl did... Something, as her tail swayed almost proudly; the tension felt by all in attendance slowly, but noticeably, lessening as it felt as though a surreal calmness crept into each ruler, as well as Tater and her friends.

With that, Queen Chylli took a deep breath in, brought her gaze to the Lagomorph, and exhaled almost blissfully; her body untensing, as the slightest of smiles etched itself on her visage. "Before we allow you to investigate the cultures of our sects of Saiyans, a description of this trio might prove to be beneficial information to take into consideration. You've been rather forward with other details, so I must commend you for doing so, but... There may be a few questions or things you haven't told us." For once, Chylli wasn't being confrontational towards the Representative of Earth, and even paying her a compliment; the Queen patiently waiting for an answer, as if the very atmosphere of the meeting had shifted drastically.

While the reasoning for Tater's standing her own ground wasn't correlated to the outcome that would occur, her conveying of a strong will would cause Chylli's glare to soften just a touch; a slightly amused, accepting chortle escaping her. Was... That a test? The subtle tension between both the Lagomorph and the Queen was so private that none of the other rulers could even surmise an answer to such a question.

The eradication of peace? Such a chaotic, almost heartless motive and goal had all four of the Saiyan royals shifting uncomfortably in their seats, despite even Chylli's previous assumption that Tater implied that the trio was a threat to even them. For just a moment, and nothing more, a deafening silence overcame the room that everyone occupied, until Opart could audibly be heard swallowing air; gulping nervously, as if something of this nature had never happened before.

The matter of where Tater, Shuen and Torno could begin their investigation, however, was a matter that Paragu would get a turn to speak on, as the rotational response system that the four rulers had dictated as much. "If I may, familiarity would be a good start. You are a friend of Torno, so investigating the sect that his brother, King Opart, rules over seems-"

Before Paragu could finish his suggestion, however, Chylli callously slammed her fist against the table; entirely breaching the systematic flow of conversation that was otherwise working rather well. "I humored the idea of allowing this long-eared to plead her case to a council that is reserved, normally, for only our own kind, but I will not sit by and allow a further overstepping of mutually agreed upon decisions!" A finger was quickly pointed at Opart, as her gaze finally left Tater.

"You have some nerve, taking it upon yourself to invite someone outside of our race to something sacred to our people, Opart! Need I remind you, that events relevant to Scallia, Paragu and myself are not ones that you can meddle with, without consulting us first?! Gods above, why don't you just proclaim your love for this Earth woman, and spare us all, from your sudden loss of intelligence? Better yet, why don't I just rid us of her, so you don't forget not to-" As she was shouting at Opart, Chylli would rise from her seat, and turn towards Tater as the subject became more about her; a step being taken by the Queen, as if her temper had gotten the best of her, and she was going to bring harm to the Little Rabbit. Only...

FWOOSH

Two simultaneous gusts of wind signified an almost untraceable movement from two bodies, as Shuen stood protectively in front of the Lagomorph; his tail quickly wrapping around Tater's waist, while his otherwise relaxed posture had tensed considerably... So much so, in fact, that his musculature had swelled a touch. Meanwhile, the Mighty Saiyan had stood himself directly in front of Chylli, as his hands had closed into tightly balled fists; Paragu, Scallia and Opart collectively tensing, as audible gasps left each of them.

"I'd advise reconsidering that train of thought. Coexistence for countless generations or not, it would be a tragedy if royal blood were to be spilled during a council. Wouldn't you agree?" In spite of Torno's ability to be so stoic, and keep himself under control, his tone held an unmistakable hint of agitation and sincerity; venom laced in each syllable that left his lips, as both he and Shuen knew that among all of the Saiyans of their universe, that they were the strongest. Granted, the other royals were in leagues of their own as well, but none were equal to the rivals that ascended to levels of strength equal to godhood, and beyond.

For a moment, it was as if existence stood still, as no one dared speak, move, or even breathe loudly enough to be heard. That was, until Chylli cleared her throat, untensed her posture, and sat herself back in her seat; glaring at Opart, while sighing almost defeatedly. "Yes, well... It's hard to disagree with someone of your notoriety and acclaim, Torno... Not to mention that you are, lest we forget, royalty as well. I don't wish for our kind to come to blows and end the peace we've upheld for so long." Her gaze shot between Opart, Torno, and Tater, before it once more settled on the younger sibling of the Mighty Saiyan. "Opart, if you'll forgive my frustrated outburst, I think it'd be best that you have your transporter retrieve Rhuba, so that we may continue this council more peacefully."

For a moment, Opart would look to Scallia and Paragu, before they would nod in agreement; allowing the King to deliver such a request to his transporter, who promptly teleported from the immediate planet they occupied, to find this Rhuba that Chylli mentioned. Just who was she, though? Would Tater be curious enough to inquire, or would the tension prove to leave everyone in a sort of awkward silence?

[skeletalheartattack]

theres another member of zarbons species in the moro arc of dragon ball super! he transforms into a differentmonster form than zarbon

Yuzun! i know him! or well, i kinda know him. i'm not really caught up or invested in anything Dragon Ball related beyond Buu Saga, but i've learned somewhat about him.

i think he's pretty neat! and i'm really happy they expanded Zarbons race just a little bit with Yuzun. though you hate to hear how he went out... there's no peace for my mans race. i hate this solar system. fuuuck.

[crossbackpoke-check]

wait you got me so invested in the stammer & heddy tailor au....

this is my standard disclaimer that i have never posted a fic on ao3* and for however much i say “au” i truly mean that it’s a universe that lives in my head & i am absolutely delighted to tell you all about, all the time <3 if it helps i ALSO got me so invested in the heddy & stammer tailor au

ok now that the author’s note is out of the way here’s some notes about the not!fic heddy & stammer tailor au:

stammer as the tailor from gent’s playbook, very reserved, quiet, with an excellent eye for details (honestly the evidence i have for his style sense is just that he’s best friends with pk subban so it has to be there somewhere if only by proxy irl) is hired by victor hedman, star of the tampa bay lightning who is every other tailor’s nightmare to dress (huge, opinionated, fashionable)

heddy is decently well-known throughout the league for being very well-dressed & becomes quietly well known for also being one of his new tailor’s favorite loyal customers [heddy has the nicest fabrics. he has his suits the first day a new collection drops & e v e r y o n e is jealous]

stammer’s business booms after heddy takes a chance on him as his first big client & promotes him, heddy sees him grow in popularity & get more clients

heddy also moonlights as a model for stammer’s suits on instagram, initially to help him grow his business because then he won’t have to pay for a model and then because he’s over there all the time anyway because they’re dating (that’s why the model’s face is never in the pictures)

there’s not really a plot to this besides the vague idea of a plot where stammer makes heddy his lucky suit that he wins the cup in & sews a special little tag into the lining of his jacket that says i love you

because love sometimes is picking out the perfect right color pocket square to match your husband’s beautiful suit that you fitted like a kiss to the curves of his huge body

& also sometimes love is making your beautiful husband who makes you beautiful clothing enjoy nice things for himself once in a while, like the fancy watch you bought him or the nice suit you custom-ordered for him (from him) just so you could take it off of him

[ubassembly]

hatched a shiny masuda method tatsugiri waho