#one day I shall do the tandem read

[acourtofquestions]

Y’all, I guess absence does make the heart grow fonder cause imma be honest EoS is doing something to my brain and I miss Chaol😅😂😭🤣

[sweetpascal]

— 𝐛𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐨𝐫

pairing: general marcus acacius x fem!reader

summary: unsure of whether or not your husband is alive leading his army's invasion, the only method of tranquility is by reaching into your past memories as a necessary distraction.

warnings: MINORS DNI, wife!reader and husband!marcus, mentions of TW: miscarriages, (probably incorrect) roman history, mentions of TW: blood and death, making love, sweet nicknames (carissima/me - dearest, dulcissima/me - sweetest, meum cor - my heart, melculum - my little honey), marcus has a big dick, creampies, tender softness, probably ooc marcus ??

wc: 4.4k

notes: oh booyyyyyyy. so we all collectively agree that general marcus is scrum-diddly-umptious ?? all the pics, videos, and gifs dropping does not ease my obsession. so.. i turned my obsession into a work of art for all of you to read ^.^ idk squat about the roman times, but i did do my best to research !! divider from @saradika-graphics 🤍

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It seems like the days have been mixing in with each other the more time has passed. Unsure of which day started and which day ended, you lost track of time. It had been one month, maybe two at this point. The sun rose and set, the moon and stars following in tandem. It was almost like a dance. It was amusing, to say the least. It reminded you of your relationship with your husband. With the light color dress wraps and delicate gold jewelry you'd wear around your neck compared to his permanent scowl, it's clear to civilization who's the sun and who's the moon. But you both complement each other in more ways than one.

You're able to calm him down with a simple touch on his arm, causing his boisterous voice to quiet down and his heart to steady its pace. Marcus' presence looming behind you around others, everyone already knows how dangerous he can become if someone even looks at his wife the wrong way.

Now, without his presence and his voice and his touch, nothing feels real. Pacing around in the dining hall of your home, you rubbed your hands tenderly over your barely-there baby bump over your soft blue wrap dress that Marcus surprised you with the last time he had come home from a previous battle for more land. He had won, of course, because General Marcus Acacius never loses. The mere thought of him losing a battle led by him with his army in tow is one of your greatest fears as his wife.

Staying inside your home and wallowing in your fears was no good for you and your unborn child. You couldn't go through the stress of worrying after your husband and deal with another heartbreaking loss alone. The night that Marcus had come back, you had broken down in front of him, shakily telling him through your thick tears that you had lost your son.

"A son?" He had quietly asked you, his eyes wide and heartbreaking.

"The teller that settles by the river," you told him with a broken voice. "She had confirmed it with her readings."

You remember it clearly as day; the look on his face equivalent to that of a broken man. You had choked on your tears, begging for his forgiveness for not being more careful, for not being a dutiful mother that was supposed to protect their child. You had knelt down in front of him, grabbing his knees and pleading to him and the gods for forgiveness and punishment, your hands pressed together in a prayer.

"Carissima," he had whispered quietly to you, slowly getting down onto his knees to remove your tight hold on his dirtied pteruges. His hands, trembling and unsteady, tenderly hold your cheeks to look into your heartbroken eyes. "I shall never strike a hand upon you, need you deserve it or not. I shall never lay blame on something the gods have brutally stolen from us. Oh, my dearest wife." His last whisper had you gripping onto his arms and crying your heart out into his shoulder. He said nothing more, nothing else. On the ground that day, all he did was hold you, and that was more than what you needed.

Breaking out of that distressing memory, you busied yourself with around-the-house distractions. In your hands was a handmade wicker basket you had purchased at one of the markets. The owner was a sweet, older woman that knew of your reputation amongst the others. She always treated you with kindness and looked at you with excitement every time you came by and not fear. She also gifted you a handmade blanket sewn with intricate patterns of the moon and sun.

"I gift this to you as a thank you for your kindness," she had said, pushing the blanket further into your hands when you had protested. She lay a wrinkly finger against her lips and drooped her eye to a wink.

Stepping outside with the wicker basket in your arms, you traveled a short distance to a small pond with many bushes, trees, and delicate flowers all around. This was your happy place. And this was also where you and Marcus had made love for the first time so long ago. The tree, the rock, the patch of grass. All of it held a distinct memory of your first time. Thinking back to it brings a smile to your lips.

"Tell me to stop, and I will. Tell me to stop right now and I shall go back to where I rest and I will not pursue you any longer," Marcus had told you breathlessly against your jaw. He had you laid on the soft grass underneath the moon, the light shining against the pond in a way that makes the gentle movements look like glitter. Your dress was hiked up around your hips as he rested heavily between your trembling thighs, your hands squeezing on his strong biceps that flexed in response to your sizzling touch.

"Marcus," you sighed prettily in his ear, and it sounded like the sweetest song he has honor of ever hearing. "My need for you has not gone away. It will not go away unless you take me right here, under the moon and stars, until I'm singing for you in pleasure."

The look in his eyes was that of desperate hunger and wanton need. When he had slid himself into your cunt for the first time, all of your prayers to the gods have been finally answered. Marcus was made to be yours. And you were made to be his. Hushed moans and frantic thrusts, Marcus fucked like how others perceived himself – like a barbarian. Some women would disagree and find it appalling and dirty, but it was perfection. He wasn't scared to touch you. He touched you as though if he were to let go you would float away, for he would no longer be able to taste you on his tongue or feel your tight warmth wrapped around his thick cock.

A touch to your shoulder had you gasping and dropping the basket onto the ground. You spun around and laid a hand on your chest and one on your bump, staring at the poor maid that scared you accidentally.

"I deeply apologize for frightening you, miss," she stares at you with her hands up in defense as though she was staring at a frightening animal backed into a corner. "General Marcus has arrived and he asks for your presence in your bedroom."

"No, no, it's quite alright, dear. My head was in the clouds again," you offer her a gentle smile and a brief laugh, laying a hand lightly on her shoulder to ease her worries. "And Marcus, is he...?"

The young maid recognized your worry and shook her head as an answer to your unspoken question. You hand her the wicker basket of plucked fruits from the bushes and politely tell her to wash and ready them, and to bring them to your bedroom when the task is done. She nodded and hurried off immediately.

You carefully, but also hurriedly, made your way into your home. Nodding and giving polite smiles to the people inside, you walk up the spiral marble stairs. When you reached the top, there stood a statue of yourself sitting atop a stone with a statue of hour husband on his knees and his lips pressed to your knees. There were intricate details in the statue, like of Marcus' fingers gripping your thighs or the soft rolls of your body. Your husband preferred a large home such as this for his growing family. You preferred something quainter and more personal, but what your husband says, goes. You recognized his large, dirty footprints leading to your bedroom, another young maid already on her knees scrubbing the stains.

"Aureia, there's no need for that," you tut softly at the young girl, and she looks up at you with wide eyes. "Leave that alone for now, alright? As for this moment, will you please gather the others and bring pails of hot water for a bath?"

"Right away," she nodded and hurried off. It brings a smile to your face at how eager the young maids are to please. Unlike the other men and women that have maids in their homes, you treated yours like people. They respect you and in return, you respect them. Marcus used to disagree until he remembered how you grew up when it was just you and your widowed mother, along with the reputation of being poor. Realizing that you see yourself in these young maids, your husband made it a point to allow you to be in charge of them and do whatever you see fit. Having that much power can be overwhelming, only because of the fear of having your kind heart be taken advantage of. But those that work for and with you know to never cross you, for they'll have to deal with the consequences your husband has waiting for them.

When you entered your private bedroom, there he sat, still dressed from head to toe in his armor. He sits with his back facing the door, his sights focused on the large window that overlooks the garden which circles around the empty thermae. You slowly move around the bed and finally stand before him, essentially blocking his view of the window. Marcus doesn't look up at you just yet. So, you stay silent and let him do what he needs to, let him think what he needs to think.

His hands, still caked with dirt, grime, and dried blood, move up to your stomach. Your bump is within his line of sight. Both of his hands rest on either side, feeling the firmness and shape of the bump. You watch as his eyes shut and his jaw clenches. His face was also caked with dirt, grime, and dried blood. The ends of his hair are curled with sweat from the heat of his long journey back home to his family. Marcus says nothing when you stroke his jaw silently. Neither of you register the door opening and four maids coming in one by one to empty two pails each of hot water into the tub that sits in the corner of the room. They know better than to interrupt.

When the door shuts, Marcus moves to rest his head against your bump. His ear is pressed into your soft flesh through the dress adorning your body. He can faintly hear the thumping of your heart and that brings him back down to earth, back home to you. Your hands, warm and gentle, card through his messy, graying curls. Damp with dirt and sweat, you don't care. Feeling him right here, right now, was all that mattered.

"It's over," he finally speaks, his voice rough and low. His hands move down to find a home on your wide hips, fingers just barely digging into the shape. "The war is over. I made sure of it." And he leaves it at that.

Your eyes shut and you let out a sigh of mixed relief and heartache. You couldn't imagine what your husband had to go through, as a leader, to make sure that he and his army of men make it out alive. You couldn't imagine the number of bodies that are lying out there, hundreds of miles away, torn apart and bled out, mangled flesh and bone. You couldn't imagine your husband possibly being one of them. Bending down as best as you could, you tenderly wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders and kissed the back of his head. You briefly sniffed his hair and pulled back.

"Let's get you inside the bath, hm?" You whispered softly, hands lovingly scratching at his scruffy jaw as you pulled his head up to look into your eyes.

When he stands, you almost forgot how imposing he was. His height was a strong factor. The bloodied armor he wears makes him look much broader and more dangerous. The exhausted look on his face makes him look much more mean – evil, even. But he's neither of those things, at least not to you. He stands as still as a tree as you begin to unclip and pull off his armor one by one. From the thick leather chest plate bound with protective metal underneath, all the way down to the thick leather arm-wear covering his forearms. Unsheathing his sword from its belt, you unclip that from around his waist as well. Having done this a million times, it's muscle memory.

He stands before you, naked, dirty, and exhausted. You reach behind your neck and slowly untie your dress wrap. It pools at your feet, your naked body now on display for him to see after months apart. Marcus' eyes take in every detail. The delicacy of your collarbones, your perky breasts, the curve of your growing belly, the soft curls of your pubic hair, those thighs that Marcus loves being in between, all the way down to the dangling anklet he gifted you.

"Come on," you whisper softly and take his hand to lead him to the filled tub. Steam sits above the water and Marcus' aching muscles scream out to it.

He enters first, hissing at first from the heat but then moaning gruffly once he sinks further into the hot water. Almost immediately, his sore muscles begin to relax. He could fall asleep right this instant. He feels a gentle push on his shoulder. He scoots forward and allows you to enter behind him.

"What are you doing, dear wife?" He doesn't hear an answer to his question. He's about to turn his body, but then he feels your hands massaging his tender scalp and washing his dirty hair. His eyes shut almost instantly, and he groans huskily with parted lips.

You wanted to laugh at his reaction but decided against it. Marcus never had time to relax and wind down. He was always on his feet, always discussing the next steps of battle, always readying his army men with hardcore training. It pained you to see him like this, especially at a distance. He never wanted you around to witness his leadership. Not wanting to induce stress onto you early on in your pregnancy, not wanting a repeat of your last pregnancy, he had given you strict instructions to let him handle everything.

"Meum cor, you do so good with taking care of your husband," Marcus quietly tells him, his entire body shuddering when your nails tenderly scrape the sensitive parts of his scalp. "I know the other men are envious of the treatment I receive from such a divine woman."

"Mm, I know, my love," softly laughing at his goading. You reached over the side of the tub to grab a small wooden bowl. Using that to pour water onto his soapy curls, you gently tipped his head back and did just that. You kissed the side of his head and gently cleaned away the dirt and grime on his beautifully tan skin. You paid extra attention by lovingly kissing the scar on his right cheek.

For the next hour, you put all your focus into washing his body. No longer was he a filthy barbarian. No, he was now your clean, fresh smelling husband. His damp hair curled elegantly behind his ears and neck. You had maneuvered onto his lap to focus on his front. There were more prominent bruises on his chest and arms, as well as some cuts that have begun its healing process. You gave him a small pout, to which he tuts and lovingly cups your chin between his thumb and forefinger.

"I could ride into the sun and still come back to you in one piece, meum cor," he tells you quietly, moving his face much closer and shifting you to sit comfortably on his lap. "No man, no sword, no army could ever strike me down and take me from you."

Holding onto his scruffy jaw and peering into those dark chocolate eyes of his, he looks at you with such tenderness that no stranger will ever witness. Your bump is resting against his own stomach, and he feels every breath you exhale. Heads lean closer, his aquiline nose resting on the side of yours, lips just a hair away. There's distant chatter outside in the gardens, the curtains swaying gently from the warm breeze coming through the open windows. The water in the tub is still warm and steaming, the clearness of it was now murky from the dirt you cleaned from his aching body. You have half a mind to drain the tub and call out for more pails of fresh hot water, but you're so comfortable and safe in the arms of your husband.

"Do you recall the night I took you underneath the stars?" Marcus asks you huskily, both hands gripping your hips, strong fingers digging into your plushy flesh. He forces your hips closer to his, thick thighs tensing underneath your own. "The way you begged me to keep going, even when it began to rain down upon us."

Your lips parted to elicit a soft gasp when you felt his hardness on your thigh, thickening and rising with each second that passed. You do remember that night like it was yesterday. The soft rain pattering on your naked, writhing bodies. Your nails had dug deep into his skin to keep him from moving away. You had cried out to the gods for more, more, more.

"I do believe I may have scars from those nails of yours," Marcus joked lightly against your jaw, pressing a kiss to the bone with his plush lips.

Giggling quietly in his ear, you held his head close to your chest as his kisses traveled south. "I do believe you're creating tales, carissime."

He hums disapprovingly, holding you tighter on his lap when you shift. The steam from the water made his skin feel sticky and warm. You tasted salt on your tongue when you kissed below his ear. It was intoxicating, to say the least. Tasting him, trailing your tongue all over his molten hot skin, licking over his scars and freckles. There was a quiet minute when you both looked into each other's eyes again. Marcus can see the light hasn't died. He can see the adoration you have for him in the way your pupils dilate, and breathing quicken. And you can feel the love Marcus has for you in the way his eyes get slightly wide as he takes in your features, most likely mapping out which ones he hopes your unborn child takes from the both of you.

"Take us to bed, meum cor," you beg him. No longer able to keep looking at your handsome husband and not do anything about it, you leave it all up to him.

Without another word, Marcus stands with a hoarse grunt. With one strong arm wrapped tight (but not too tight) around your waist and his other hand under your thigh to keep you up and against his body, he steps over the tub and makes his way over to the bed. Neither of you care if your wet bodies are soaking the sheets. As he lays you down and rests on top of you, nothing else matters at this moment.

"Melculum, you look like a goddess with the sunlight kissing your naked skin," he whispers to you, lowering his head to kiss at your breasts and collarbones. You gasped and arched your back, further pressing your breasts into his mouth, to which he sucks a sensitive nipple between those lips.

Marcus rests on his forearms on either side of your head with his big hands tenderly cupping the crown. Your feet teasingly trail up and down the backs of his thighs, and you feel his hardness twitch between your bodies. Whispering his name in a needy voice, he looks up at you and catches the look in your half-lidded eyes. The flush on your skin makes your skin glow. He would never disrespect his gods and goddesses, but Aphrodite does have a competition on her hands.

Feeling too eager, you take charge and yank his neck down to finally kiss him. After months of not feeling his body, hands, and lips on yours, you powered all your emotions in this kiss. It was messy and desperate and hard. Tongue, teeth, garbled whimpers and heavy breaths. Marcus suckled at your bottom lip, letting it snap back against your teeth to then suck and bite at your neck. Your hips were shifting to slot his hard cock between the silky lips of your wet cunt. Grinding up and down, the thick vein that rests on his hardness glides easily against your swelling clit.

"Marcus," you weep quietly in his ear. "Oh, my husband. I need you more than life itself. Oh, you're the bravest, strongest soldier known to man. You're so... powerful, so dangerous. You keep your family and your people safe, my love." Saying this all while you're grinding your sweet cunt up and down the length of his hardness has Marcus growing erratic by the second.

He looks down between your bodies. Your cunt lips open like the blooming petals of the sweetest flower. The soft dark curls of your pubic hair rubbing against his own. Your small belly bump that keeps your unborn child safe and sound. Marcus uses his thumb to guide himself inside your cunt, breathing shallowly when the warm tightness sucks him in, inch by inch. Your mouth falls open to let out quiet, needy moans.

"There we go, melculum," Marcus grunts lowly in your ear, lowering his hips further down into yours and his thick cock slides deeper inside your leaking hole. The heat, wetness, and tightness of your cunt has him spiraling already. The knot in the pit of his stomach further unraveling the deeper he gets. "You were made for me," he breathes deeply, the heat of his breath fanning over your sensitive neck.

When he starts fucking into you, he was mindful to not rest his entire weight on your belly. He repositioned himself in a way that had his back curving to drive his hips deeper, faster, and harder into your own. The action had you arching and gasping. Your soft breasts and feet bounced gently from the movements. Marcus lovingly strokes down your temples with his thumbs and kisses you hard once again. Your fingers curl into his hair, now drying and curling beautifully. He looks like a god. It makes you want to cry. But then, his cock starts punching against the one spot that makes you scream.

"Oh! Marcus!" You yelped, eyebrows furrowed and lifted up as your mouth fell open and moans started pouring out. "Right there! Right... there. Ri-ight the-ere!"

He slows his thrusts until he's grinding so deep and so slow. Your moans turned into whimpers. He was able to hear the sloppy noises of your cunt soaking around his hardness. He grins down at you, his dimple deepening when you twitch and writhe.

"So beautiful," he whispers against your jaw. "So ethereal underneath me, writhing and begging for my cock." Marcus sharply drives his cock into your cunt unexpectedly. You let out a long, wanton wail that has his grin widening. He does it again, and again, and again. It was driving you absolutely crazy.

Your slick is most likely dripping out of your hole and onto Marcus' balls which slap against you. You can practically feel the weight of them, so heavy and full of two months' worth of cum. He drags his cock in and out of you slowly now, allowing you to feel every vein and every inch. Your thighs spread wide for him, eager for more. He answered your silent pleas and fucked you at a quicker pace again.

"Wrap your arms around me, Marcus. Oh, please, please, please!" You sobbed quietly, tears prickling at the corner of your eyes. He follows immediately. His strong arms wrap under your back and he rests some of his weight onto your front. Your thighs widen to accommodate his size, allowing his cock to nudge deeper in a way that steals your breath. "Just... like... that," you whimpered after each thrust Marcus gives.

He feels dizzy and overwhelmed in a good way. The smell of the homemade soap on your skin, the softness and warmth of your naked skin against his, your sweet moans like a pretty song in his ears, the slick tightness of your cunt sucking him in repeatedly. Feeling, smelling, and hearing all of these at once was enough to finally let him spill out his moans without holding back. His chest vibrates against your bare breasts with each grunt that passes his kissed-raw lips. The vibrations on your sensitive nipples tickled you erotically.

"You are intoxicating," he moans heavily against your sticky skin, his scruff scraping deliciously and his lips and teeth leaving little love bites. "Non possum satis de te." I cannot get enough of you.

With your eyes rolling back and your thighs trembling around his wide hips, you simply cannot control what your body does. Marcus catches you off guard by messily kissing you, his tongue intertwining with your own, tasting each other's saliva. The taste of him had you whining into his mouth. There was a faintness of wine on his tongue. Although you obviously couldn't drink while you bear his child, the lingering taste of it on your husband's tongue was enough to drive you wild. Your hands, originally placed on his shoulder blades, trail down to his tapered waist and finally cling onto his perky bottom. You squeeze the tender flesh and briefly dig your nails into the skin, feeling the muscles clench and unclench with every roll of his hips and cock driving into your cunt.

"Tu parum desperatus es, huh?" Marcus' voice sounded cocky and the grin on his face didn't help. You're a desperate little thing, huh?

One of the things that made your husband a respected leader was his arrogance was never wrongfully directed. He loved to gloat, about anything and everything. But when it came to you, his wife, his ego inflates to the point of popping.

That's when you felt it. The coil in the pit of your stomach gets tighter and tighter, forcing your gooey walls to twitch around Marcus' thickness. He moans lowly at the feeling of it. He hooks one of your thighs over his arm, bracing your knee into your chest to fuck you deeply. The position change had you shuddering, more slick leaking out and staining the sheets below your bodies.

"I'm... I'm... fuuuck!" With one final cry out to the gods, you scratched down Marcus' skin and braced yourself for impact.

Your orgasm washed over you like one of the strongest ocean waves known to man. Your body wouldn't stop twitching and writhing underneath his massive body. The squeezing tightness of your cunt wouldn't let your husband fuck you any longer. He drops down and lets out a final rough grunt before spilling inside of you. He has a entire body shiver as his cock twitches repeatedly, his thick cum spilling out every few seconds. It finally stopped after a whole minute; yes, you were counting. The tickle of his cum hitting you deep inside had you giggling drowsily.

"You should be thanking your husband for giving you a well-needed release, not laughing at him," he hums against your skin, the vibrations of his voice and bristles of his scruff tickling you further, causing you to laugh louder. He feels your belly jumping from your shaking body and he can't help but to smile.

Being in the arms of his wife after a long journey of war and death, there really is no place like home.

[astarioffsimpmain]

Did I miss the Gale prompts? I wanted to see Gale + “pet”. Sorry if I’m too late ; 3 ;

Hi Anon! No, you did not. You were right before the deadline! I think there was one person after you? But I'm not writing these in order, so.. 😅 Anyway, thank you so much for this prompt! I, too, would love to be petted by our darling wizard. So I decided, "Let's do it!"

♡♡♡

His tent was roomy, warm, and softly lit by a Dancing Lights cantrip when you entered for the first time, poking your head through the flap. "Ah!" Gale looked up from his book and beckoned you in with a smile on his face. "Come in! I thought you might have decided to forsake our promised evening for some well-deserved rest after the trials of our day." He chuckled sheepishly, rearranging several pillows to create extra space.

"I wouldn't miss this, Gale." You chuckled in return, your cheeks warming at the subtle admission.

"That's good to know." He paused, his warmth-filled gaze now resting on you. Each time those chocolate brown eyes graced you with their focus, you felt akin to the embers in a slowly dying fire: crackling, melting, fusing, and pleasantly flushed. You held his gaze for a few moments, basking in his glow, before finding your sense and ducking your head in renewed embarrassment.

He coughed. "Well, uh- please, take a seat! I can't wait to begin. This volume is one of my absolute favorites, and I am truly honored to share it with someone who has never had the pleasure of reading it before. Being here to bear witness to your first time is quite a privilege."

You lowered yourself onto one of the soft pillows beside him and giggled softly at his remark. "I'm afraid you're a bit late to witness my first time, Gale, but perhaps the second or third." You chittered colloquially and he gave pause.

"But you said you hadn't read- oh!" It was the wizard’s turn to flush. "I never would have guessed your propensity for double entendre, my friend." He chuckled, turning his head to shuffle through a pile of books beside him.

"In that case, I am full of surprises." You laughed.

"Mm, so you are." Gale said as he turned back to face you, a wicked smirk on his lips. "Perhaps I ought to match your wit one of these nights."

"Oh, how delightful a thought is that." You giggled and his smile widened.

"Alright, before we stray too far from the topic at hand. Let's get started, shall we?" He flourished the book in his hands, and you chuckled.

"Indeed, let us begin."

"Far above the skyline of the Terniff's kingdom rest a Wyvern with a scepter cast from bone..." As Gale's rich-timbred voice filled the tent with life, you lost track of where you were and when you were. You floated high above the kingdom of Terniff with the lonesome Wyvern and felt both its freedom and its sorrow in tandem.

You didn't realize you had allowed your eyes to close until you felt the soft brush of the pad of Gale’s thumb wipe across your cheek. Your eyes fluttered open, and you were met with your wizard’s face, open and understanding. "I wept the first time, too." He murmured softly, his thumb chasing another tear down your face. Before you could stop yourself or even grasp your own actions, you were surging forward.

The Wyvern was Gale. Of course it was. It was Gale, and it was you: desperate to be recognized, with all the visual trappings of accomplishment and stability. But the ever-present loneliness ached and throbbed in the hearts underneath.

Your lips met his, and the palm of his hand found the back of your head almost immediately after, pulling you closer; fingers tangling in your hair. You were lost in him, lips and teeth and tongue clashing and dancing and pulling you closer like a riptide. When you finally parted, pupils blown and breath heavy, Gale’s fingers loosened and carted through your locks; then again, and again, as he continued to hold you close.

You tucked your face into his neck without a word and he pulled you closer, settling you into his lap and running his other hand down your spine, then back up again. "I have been craving your kiss for some time now." He murmured softly onto your scalp.

"Then why haven't you kissed me?" You asked, your voice muffled against his skin.

"I have feared losing you; losing this. Your closeness, your kindness. You are quite special to me."

"You're special to me too, Gale."

He coaxed you up to look at him, and with a tender smile and a stroke of your cheek, he kissed you again, pulling away only to murmur against your lips.

"I am so very glad."

♡♡♡

No edits or revisions. We die like women with severe brainrot. 💕

[the1975attheirverybest]

The First Time

A/N: sweet Ace ( @ughgoaway ) being sick and lacking sick fics has made me realize that every time I see a mutual fall ill, they, too, post about there being a lack of sick fics in 75blr land. That, and, the period fic I posted a couple of days ago wasn’t good so I’m giving yall this instead. feel better, Ace 💗 And also anyone who may be reading this while ill in the future.

Warnings: none.

Matty dabbed a few drops of aftershave around his neck and freshly shaved face, singing to himself softly. ”baby?” He called out to Amelia, turning the bathroom lights out and shutting the door behind him. “Do you think the no facial hair look makes me look boyish? I mean I’m nearly 35 I think-“ he stared at her, frowning, as she rummaged through her makeup bag. “Excuse me, what exactly do you think you’re doing?” “doing my makeup?”

“you’re not meant to be doing your makeup. You’re meant to be in bed. Resting.” He rushed over to her, placing his hands on top of hers to stop them in place.

“Matty, im fine!”

“you hear that ‘d’ sound that your blocked nostrils added to the end of ‘fine’? Yeah, that’s not meant to be there.” He stated emphatically. “You’re not fine-d”

She rolled her eyes, prying her hands out of his. “I have a meeting. I’ve been working on the designs all week. Todays the day we show it to them.”

“You can email it to someone else and they’ll fill in for you, can’t you?”

“Matty, Please-“

he moved in tandem with her, blocking her path every time she attempted to take a step.

“Get out of my way; please.” She rubbed her red nose.

“I can’t do that I’m afraid.” He shrugged. “Get back to bed.”

her arms crossed over her chest defensively, “I don’t want to and you can’t make me.”

“‘course I can, Darlin.’” Matty grinned, charming as ever. “I’m being gentle right now just cuz you’re ill and all that. But if I have to be rough, I will. Not letting leave the bedroom.”

“Matty-“

“You’re running a fever, baby.”

she could hear the concern in his voice. His determined features softened as he looked into her glassy, tired eyes. “Please, Amelia. I hate seeing you in so much pain.” His hands squeezed her shoulders. “Please, baby? Take care of yourself. Do it for me.”

*** Matty set a tray down on the nightstand. “Got you some tea. Careful it’s piping hot.” He warned as she reached for the mug, “right, shall we get you into something more comfortable?” from the dressed, he pulled out her favorite graphic tee of his, and a pair of joggers, proceeding to dress her. “oh my- this tea tastes like shit.” Amelia groaned, nearly spitting out the beverage. “I can put on my own clothes, you know.”

“it’s…medicinal. No caffeine or any of the good stuff.”

She stared at him, mouth agape. “what?”

“nothing, i just- never pegged for the kind of guy who drinks medicinal shit tea.”

“I don’t. Bought it on my way home last night cuz I noticed you sniffling.”

“you-“ Amelia placed a hand on her heart. “Aww, you noticed me sniffling?”

Matty crawled into bed next to her, pulling her into his arms. “Drink your shit tea. It’ll help.” He kissed her forehead. *** “Can’t tell if you’re crying or just sniffling.” He glanced down at her. “b-both.”

Matty’s brows shot up. “You’re cryin’? I was joking! Amelia, are you alright ? What hurts baby tell me please??”

“N-no, no. Nothing hurts.” She giggled, wiping her own tears with the back of he hand. “It’s good. Good crying.”

“what the fuck?”

She laughed again. “Okay, this is embarrassing, but…I used to fantasize about this.” She blushed at her own words. “When, you know….Back when we were fucking. I wished that you were my boyfriend. And whenever I would get the flu or something, I- would daydream about you being there. To comfort me. To look after me. And now…. This is the first time that either one of us has been sick since you asked me to marry you...i love you. That’s all.”

Matty’s heart fluttered. With her head resting on his chest, she couldn’t see the huge smile on his face. “loser.” He said. She jabbed her elbow into his chest. “Fuck off.”

he kissed her head.

“I’ll deny all this tomorrow. It’s the fever talking. None of it is real.”

he chuckled. “Amelia?”

“yeah?”

“I love you, too.”

*** Amelia’s eyes fluttered open, startled by the cool sensation over her forehead. She stirred, a damp wash cloth surprising her by falling off her head.

“s-sorry. Should’ve wrung it out a bit more. Did I wake you?” Matty whispered softly. she shook her head. Still half asleep, scanning her surroundings, trying to piece together the details. “you hungry? I’ve made soup”

she sat up, readying herself to receive the bowl, Matty promptly fluffing up the pillows and stacking them behind her back. “Thanks, my love.” She smiled up at him.

He watched her take her first sip, excitedly, then quickly looked away. “oh my god. Matty!” She squealed. Turning around, he hid his satisfied smile. “that’s- that’s my grandmothers recipe, isn’t it!”

Matty could no longer play it cool. He turned right back around hopping onto the bed next to her. “Yes, yes it is. Do you like it? Is it accurate? Called your sisyer. She helped me out.”

Amelia set down her spoon. Knowing Matty lived and died by her praise, this was a moment worth remembering. “Matty- I- if we weren’t already engaged, I’d ask you to marry me right now.”

[invinciblerodent]

speaking of strongmen and actors doing unhealthy shit for The Shirtless Shot, that kind of reminds me how one thing I actually love an unexpected amount is that I managed to nab a recording of Astarion's first romance scene like... literally just before they would have altered the character model to make his muscle definition softer and more realistic.

Even though I vastly prefer that softer look (could stand to be softer still. just my two cents.), it just fits so well with the story for him to look, that first time, like he's been vacuum-sealed into his skin.

At that point (in my game at least), he's only been free for like... less than a tenday. He's only fed on my girl, his first thinking creature, literally the one, singular time before then, and that was at most two days ago. I cannot overstate how everything there went extremely fast, and the "I drained a whole BEAR" scene, I believe I got either on the previous, or the next long rest.

My guy is deeply dehydrated when he first puts on his "look at me, I'm a sexy, rakish scoundrel, and I'm about to whisk you away to have my wicked way with you~😏" act. That first night, depending how early one gets it, his skin probably looks and feels like parchment, his lips are awful dry (so kissing him isn't like transcendent-great, it's probably just... okay. it's decent. kinda whatever.), maybe the mental fatigue that comes with dehydration is even part of the reason why it's that clearly noticeable that he's not "fully there".

Seeing his body's contours soften as the game progressed (like how even in the scar-reading scene, his body already looked softer) was really a great little metatextual addition for me. It's like there was an actual, physical change being reflected in the game, based simply on the fact that my guy was actually the best fed he's been in two centuries. Under those circumstances, with both beasts and thinking blood being freely accessible (whether given by a willing "victim" "in exchange" for a facsimile of intimacy, or taken by force from others), it's perfectly natural that the guy would quickly put on a bit of weight.

My guy might not be able to see himself change, but fuck if I don't love the thought of his personality and his body softening in tandem.

(also I like the thought of Iona just assuming that the cottonmouth, and oddly dry, shall we say, bits, are another "vampire-thing", and I definitely like the thought of her only finding out that she was very wrong about that later.)

[tarisilmarwen]

RobStar Week 2023, Day 5 - Movie Night

(Short and sweet and cute.)

---

Robin pinched his eyes down at the cover of the DVD and then let them flick up at his girlfriend.

"Are you sure?" he asked. "Last time we tried watching this series it was a bit, uh..."

Starfire tucked Wicked Scary 4 against her chest. "Harrowing, I know," she finished for him. "Because of Raven's powers going haywire. But Raven is not here right now and I have read the reviews and people are much agreed that this is the best one yet. Besides," she added, turning the case around and pointing to one of the back cover insert images, "this one has my favorite Earth actress and I am curious to see how she does outside of her usual body of lighthearted romantic comedy work."

Robin bit his lip, but couldn't really deny her logic. Still, he pulled out his T-communicator and double-checked the position of Raven's tracker.

"I have already forewarned her that we would be watching it," Starfire told him. "She has promised to stay downtown until given the all-clear."

Sheepishly, Robin stowed his comm again. "You should have led with that," he joked.

"Perhaps I should have," she agreed with a chuckle. "Should Raven be offended by your apparent skittishness?" she teased.

Robin shuddered. "Just not keen on having slimy cold mentally projected tentacles dragging me into a wall again," he said. In the immediate aftermath of the incident he had played calm, collected leader, but he couldn't deny the events had still kind of creeped him out. A little.

Grinning, Starfire held out the case to him.

"I shall begin making the popcorn if you will set the movie up," she offered.

He took it in his hands and passed on her left, as she headed for the kitchenette area and began opening cupboards.

***

Forty-five minutes in found them shoulder-to-shoulder, laying on their stomachs on the floor, popcorn bowl forgotten to the side as they stared, enraptured, by the flickering blue screen of the TV.

After a long moment of tension the speakers popped with a loud noise, in tandem with an intense jump scare that happened in the film.

Both teens shrieked and grabbed the edge of the blanket draping their backs, flinging it over their heads to hide.

After a moment, hearts pounding, their eyes met.

Tension broken, they laughed, adrenaline rush inside them turning happy rather than frightened.

"That was rather silly of us," Starfire commented.

"It was a good scare," Robin countered, peeking out through the gap to check and confirm that, yes, they were in another harrowing chase scene now. "My heart's still racing."

She nudged him in the shoulder. "Are you sure that is not due to the pleasant company you are keeping?" she asked with a cheeky wink.

He laughed shortly, blushing and ducking his eyes. "Company is nice," he mumbled. He reached over and set a hand on her waist, tugging her closer.

She happily snuggled into him, leaning her head against his ear.

They sat there in contentment for a moment, before Robin lifted the edge of the blanket, sneaking his hand for the popcorn bowl. "So what's the assessment so far? Does Darsha Williams deliver?" He was vaguely familiar with the actress from some of Starfire's other favorite movies; she usually played much whackier than the role she'd been cast in now.

Starfire hummed thoughtfully. "Her expressions are a little bit exaggerated," she decided, "but she does appear to have the range. I was not sure I would believe her performance but she is making for a very credible Final Girl."

Robin popped a few kernels into his mouth, both of them lingering under the cover of the blanket, choosing to talk for a moment instead of watch. "They've definitely cleaned up the camerawork," he said. "Shakeycam in the original was a bit hard to parse sometimes."

"And I believe the monster may have a new leitmotif."

He sidled a look at her. "Since when do you know about musical leitmotifs?" he teased.

It was her turn to look away bashfully. "I have been doing the binging of videos on YouTube." Her own hand darted out from under the blanket to capture a handful of popcorn. "Tamaranian musical composition has some things surprisingly in common with specific genres and styles of Earth music."

"Remind me to let you take me down that rabbit hole sometime." He drew up the blanket corner on his side, checking the movie. "Okay, I think the chase is over now, we good?"

She nodded. "We are good."

He stretched the blanket back over their heads to uncover them, sliding his hand comfortably into hers, entwining fingers. He pressed a kiss into her hair and then settled in again, their sides flush against each other's as they returned to their viewing.

[dr3mvaalmar]

Together | Kinktober Day 11

Pairing: Solomon x reader

Prompt: Shopping (sfw)

Summary: Cocytus Hall feels... off. Solomon and the reader decide to go out together to get decorations and groceries. This simple excursion brings the two of them closer than ever before.

Warnings/Tags: None that I know of, besides a sexual innuendo

Author Note: This is from Obey Me! Nightbringer. I haven't got very far in the story so sorry for any mistakes! Also, on another note, I can't believe I've gotten this far into Kinktober/Flufftober. The support means a lot <3

Cocytus Hall seemed empty and foreboding as I walked and explored the rooms and corridors. There was little to offer after ending up in the past. The antediluvian mansion lacked the homey essence and charm of the House of Lamentation. Not to mention, Solomon seemed somber without Simeon and Luke to keep him company at Purgatory Hall. The drastic change took a significant toll on both of us.

“(Y/n), good morning,” Solomon greeted, handing me a cup of tea as I entered the dining room. I noticed Solomon woke up early this morning for whatever reason. I woke up a multitude of times last night. I noticed his absence beside me and decided to get dressed. I was curious, as he’s been acting slightly aloof lately. A bit detached but also more protective of me. He would go out occasionally or accompany me wherever I may go. It seemed unusual, considering I was still independent like before. 

“‘Morning,” I retorted, grabbing a snack from the kitchen. It was silent but a peaceful silence. I joined him as he sat at the table, and we drank our tea. Solomon held a book in front of him. I couldn’t read the details, but it felt related to our predicament. Even though we didn’t reminisce about what we lost or talked about the circumstances much, there was still a mutual understanding. Words wouldn’t compare to what we truly felt, nor would it help.

“I’m going shopping for dinner tonight,” Solomon piped up as he set down his tea. “I was thinking we could cook Gyudon. What do you think?”

“Sounds delicious. Don’t forget the eggs,” I replied, sipping the remnants of my drink. Solomon looked at me expectantly. I paused, unsure of his hidden request. Then, it hit me. “Would you like me to go with you?” “Is that a question? Of course. I encourage it, even,” Solomon chuckled, getting up from his seat. “I’m going to get dressed. It won’t be long before we leave.”

I nodded my head, watching him leave. I sighed, the chair below me creaking under my weight. I might as well get ready while I still have time. For some reason, leaving Cocytus Hall excited me. Claustrophobia set in the more I lingered in this building. 

After a short while, we convened in the dining room. We both smiled at each other, finding a distraction from the stifling atmosphere. We finally had an excuse to leave, not as one, but together.

“Shall we go?” Solomon asked, holding out his hand. The edges of my eyes crinkled as I accepted it without hesitation.

“Yes, we shall!”

Despite being the morning, the Devildom was always dark and dreary. A cold, brisk breeze swept past us, causing me to huddle up closer to Solomon. On our way to the shops, I walked in tandem with his steps. Absentmindedly, I rocked our interlocked hands back and forth. I was giddy, as we hadn’t gone out together like this in a while. Something often interfered, whether it was business with the brothers or Solomon was occupied with his own tasks.

“Where do you want to go first?” Solomon asked as we neared the plaza. I contemplated for a moment, our footsteps echoing in the silence. Yet, I perked up when I saw a bright sign in the distance.

“Oh! We should look at Hell Depot,” I said, pointing to a large store. Inside was a variety of furniture and home needs. Since Cocytus Hall seemed so empty, maybe a few items would lighten the mood. 

“We can go, but only if you promise not to spend all of our grimm on pretty trinkets,” Solomon teased, squeezing my hand tighter. I laughed as we walked towards the store.

As we entered, I realized the building was much bigger than it looked outside. They had various styles of furniture and lots of materials for projects. It was so overwhelming. Solomon and I perused for a bit, commenting on the various items.

“Look, these drapes are so pretty,” I said, grasping the end of the display curtain’s fabric. “It would give us a little privacy.”

“I agree, especially for the bedroom,” Solomon said with a wink. I felt my face grow hot but effectively ignored his comment. I tried not to let him see me so flustered, but I could hear him laugh.

As we entered another aisle, I squealed with delight as I saw a plushie on one of the shelves. It was Baphomet. Baphomet had a bad reputation in the human world, but here it was a cute mascot. It reminded me of Hello Kitty from the human world.

“Aw, it’s so cute! I kind of want it. What do you think, Sol?”

“You and your love for soft things,” Solomon said, a playful cadence to his voice. “Though I do admit, it does suit you. You’re both quite adorable, aren’t you?”

I tried to respond, but the words left me. I cradled the plushie in my arms, giving it a firm squeeze. It was so cute and fluffy. It would certainly comfort me at night.

“You’re so silly,” I finally responded. I didn’t dare place the plushie back. “Though, it’s so strange that Baphomet is so misunderstood in the human world. Here, it stands for unity, balance, and cuddles!”

“Cuddles, you say?” Solomon chuckled, grabbing the plushie from me. He observed it for a moment, petting the soft fur. He handed it back. “Well, if you’re buying that plushie, should I expect more competition?”

“Oh? Jealous of a little plushie, Solomon?”

“Only if it gets more attention than I do,” Solomon said as we walked away. We grabbed a few items. Just enough where we could carry them all. Then, we decided to grab some ingredients from the market.

There were some street vendors along the way. Solomon noticed my eyes lingering a little longer than usual on each food stand. He ushered me to one of them. In big, bold letters, it said “Hellfire Roc.”

“Would you like to try some?” Solomon asked as the vendor looked at us eagerly. I was hesitant but plucked a piece from the platter while shrugging. I ate the morsel, throwing away the toothpick. Suddenly, a burning sensation engulfed my entire throat.

“Solomon!” I exclaimed, coughing and sputtering. He only giggled, looking very amused while I suffered. My face felt blazingly hot, both from embarrassment and the spiciness. Solomon held up a finger, rummaging in his pocket for something.

“Here, drink this,” Solomon said, offering a flask. I downed the liquid in an instant, relishing the cool sensation. Despite being only water, it seemed to dispel the pain. Was it a literal fire?

“Devildom spicy chicken,” Solomon said, a bit late to inform me now. “Though, I underestimated how spicy it would be.”

“You could’ve said something,” I groaned, rubbing my sore throat. Solomon thanked the cook before we walked off elsewhere. 

“I’m sorry, but you have to admit, it was quite the experience.”

Solomon and I went to the market, finally procuring the ingredients for tonight’s dinner. The more I thought about the Gyudon, the more my mouth salivated. Yet, my stomach felt queasy from the sample we tried.

We gathered everything up in a basket, balancing the already-bought decor with the food. It was a bit of a handful, but we managed. We took everything to the cash register, a demon looking at us a bit too eagerly. This demon had incredibly sharp teeth pulled back into an intimidating smile.

“Hello, find everything alright?” he asked, taking our items as we placed them down. We both nodded. As he got to the end of the line, Solomon started counting his grimm.

“Interesting,” the demon commented. I tilted my head. Solomon didn’t heed him as he placed the money in the demon’s hands. “This is good quality demonus. Celebrating something special tonight or just a regular dinner as husband and wife?”

I tried to maintain my composure, the ‘husband and wife’ catching me off guard. Solomon only smirked before pulling me closer by my waist. I tried to make a sound but groaned internally, deciding to play along.

“Yes, my lovely wife and I thought we’d whip up something special tonight,” Solomon retorted sarcastically, kissing my temple. My eyes widened, and I felt even more vulnerable in public. Why would he do that in front of the cashier??

The cashier looked shocked for a moment before he chuckled, “Ah, you got me there! You two are just too good together. I had no idea. But if you do make it official, remember to drop by and let me know. I do weddings on the side!”

“We’ll keep that in mind. Thank you,” Solomon responded, laughing. We gathered our bags and started on our trek home. After we were out of earshot, I turned towards Solomon.

“‘My wife.’ Really?” I asked, furrowing my brows. Yet, I wouldn’t admit that it made my heart flutter when he said that.

“I just thought I’d have a little fun,” Solomon said with a playful wink. “Besides, seeing you all flustered is always a delight.”

I sighed, feigning annoyance, but I couldn’t hide my creeping smile. The whole interaction had my heart beating rapidly in my chest. Even if it was a simple remark.

“I can’t believe you said that,” I said, a giggle rising from my throat. Solomon’s mischievous grin stayed plastered on his face.

“Well, we’ve been living together, shopping together, and basically doing everything together. From an outsider’s perspective, it isn’t that far-fetched.”

As we walked, there was a comfortable silence. The streets started to buzz to life. The noise was a comfortable backdrop as my mind replayed today’s events on repeat. Somehow, the weight of the groceries seemed less cumbersome. Everything fell into just the right places.

Finally, I mustered up the courage to ask, “Solomon, were you completely joking? Or is there a hint of truth in there?”

“Being with you in these times, the highs and the lows, has brought us closer than I ever anticipated. Do labels matter that much?”

“No,” I admitted, but I secretly wanted to say ‘yes.’ “But the intent, the depth of the feeling behind it. I’m curious about that.”

Solomon paused for a bit, conjuring an appropriate response. Every step of ours seemed like an eternity. At this point, I wondered why it mattered so much to me.

“I might not grasp every nuance of human emotion but what I do know is this: You mean more to me than any title or label. What we share transcends definitions.”

Finally, we arrived to Cocytus Hall as I ruminated on his words. As Solomon opened the door for me, I noticed his gaze soft and tender. It made me feel comfortable. Safe.

Without another word, I hugged him, burying my face into his chest. From today all the way to this moment, I will remember it. I cherished every second and wanted to show how much he meant to me.

“Thank you,” I said, looking into his eyes. Solomon’s hand reached my chin, grasping it before placing a soft kiss on my lips. It was simple and brief, yet it held a power that resonated all throughout me. My bags dropped beside me as I reached up to grasp his hair. It was the perfect end to a wonderful day. I didn’t realize how much I needed for this moment to happen.

“Solomon, you mean more to me than any words could convey,” I told him, wrapping my arms around him. “I just want to be together with you.”

“In every realm and timeline, in every twist of fate, it’s always been you. And it always will be.”

[catsafarithewriter]

A/N: and now the fun officially begins! When/if I finish this, I do plan to upload this to AO3, but you lovely folk shall be my guinea pigs ;)

Part 1

x

Haru never meant to fall for Baron a second time but, as it turns out, she has a type – and that type is unattainable immortal cat gentleman.

She hadn't even fallen for him in the same way, which might at least have been understandable. No, this time she hadn't fallen for his suave ways, his chiverous habits, or his ability to save one in the nick of time and look good while doing it (although none of these things had dissuaded her). This time, she had fallen for him while older, allegedly wiser, and working with the Bureau (which, given the number of near misses, might have nullified the wiser claim) in a hundred mundane little moments.

She fell for his laugh (all of them, from his breathless, I'm about to do something reckless laugh that accompanied them on too many cases, to his sheepish chuckle when he was trying not to encourage more of Muta and Toto's bickering, to the silent laughter she could feel while they sat, shoulder-to-shoulder, reading beside one another). She fell for the way he would read aloud whatever passage had caught his humour, voice velvet-smooth, and the way he would listen to her when she read from her own novel. She fell for their conversational cups of tea, for their shared knowing looks, for the rightness when they worked in tandem on a case.

She fell slowly, gently, until one day she realised that there was no place she'd rather be than alongside him and their Bureau.

The only real flaw (okay, perhaps not the only flaw, but the one which was a source of some consternation) was that Baron was... well, somewhat elusive when it came to voicing matters of the heart. (A cruel irony, given that her first encounter with him, so many years ago now, had been the catalyst for her finding her own voice.)

She was... fairly certain he returned her feelings.  77% perhaps 82% on a good day. After all, there were only so many ways to translate the looks he threw her way and her way alone. (At least, she assumed; she hadn't spotted Toto or Muta receiving any such looks, but that didn't entirely rule out it just being Baron being Baron - i.e. being utterly oblivious as to what someone else would consider flirting.) And, had he been anyone else, she might have plucked up the courage to come forward with her own inconvenient, lovestruck emotions, and hope he either swooned into her arms, or did the polite thing and pretend it never happened if her feelings were somehow one-sided.

But he wasn't anyone else. This was Baron, her coworker (boss? colleague?? She wasn't entirely sure what the hierarchy was in the Bureau) for whom the phrase 'needlessly dramatic' had been created, and who had leapt out of a window upon being plied with a love confession at least twice. (And that was counting only windows and only incidences Haru was aware of. She suspected the actual number of times Baron had made a dramatic exit following someone else's outpouring of emotions was probably far, far higher.)

So she knows to hold her tongue, to keep her heart under lock and key where Baron is concerned. And she is okay with this – has accepted this in an adult, mature way (read: complaining copiously to Hiromi, who is rather under the impression Haru is pining after a fellow volunteer at the charity she spends her weekends at) as an unexpected cost of running with the Bureau. After all, the price of a little pining was worth it for the adventure, and magic, and travelling to other worlds which had drawn her back to the Cat Bureau in the first place.

Even if, sometimes, those other worlds don't always agree with her.

She sits on a Bureau armchair now and tries not to bleed onto the furniture. (She had suggested getting fixed up outside, but Baron had informed her in no uncertain terms that she wasn't about to be left on any paving slabs in her current state.) She leans her head back, gently lightheaded from the blood loss, and makes the concious decision to not watch Baron patch up her bloodied shoulder. It wasn't that she was usually squeamish but... well, she didn't really want to think about how much blood she'd misplaced.

"Before you scold me," she says to the ceiling, "you should remind yourself that you would have done the exact same thing if our roles had been reversed."

"Indeed," he replies tightly, "but only one of us isn't going to bleed out if stabbed."

"If I hadn't interceded, he would have burnt you to a crisp. And we both know that that's one thing your Creation tricks wouldn't have saved you from."

"Instead, you take it upon yourself to have a cutlass run through you."

"I didn't mean for it to happen," she argues ruefully. "Strangely enough, I was more occupied with getting the fireglove off him. The cutlass was incidental." Her breath hitches as Baron catches on the wound.

She feels him freeze, and there is an unspoken apology in his next attempt to tend to the injury. "It very nearly wasn't incidental," he admonishes. "A little bit more to the right, and he would have cleaved your heart in two."

"Then it's just as well I dodged left, isn't it?"

"It could have easily gone either way."

"But it didn't. Baron, I know what I'm doing."

"And that is?"

"Well, today it was stopping you from getting turned into ornamental firewood, and only getting minorly stabbed."

"This isn't minor," he grumbles.

"It's not fatal." She rolls her gaze to Baron, raising an eyebrow. "What was I meant to do? Stand back and watch the love of my life be used like kindle?"

His ministrations falter; from this proximity she can see the way his eyes widen, hear the way his breath catches.

Oh.

See, this is why conversations when one is down a pint and a half of blood is a bad idea, she laments. You do stupid things like confess long-repressed crushes and you can't even make a run for it.

"I didn't realise–" he begins. Now he is the one carefully avoiding her gaze, attention fixed doggedly on her shoulder.

"Yeah, well, I did my best to avoid shouting it from the rooftops. Already did that once, it didn't get me very far." She hopes to tug a reluctant smile free with that joke, but his expression doesn't shift.

"How long have you felt this way?"

"About... a year?" Long enough to assure herself she wasn't merely experiencing a repeat of her original schoolgirl crush – that this was, unfortunately, not going anywhere. "I didn't want to make things awkward, and, you know, you don't have the greatest track record with reacting to these sorts of things, so I just..."

"Stayed."

"Yeah." There is a shadow in Baron's eyes which she does not recognise. "Look, I'm an adult. I'm not going to let it get in the way of helping here – I mean, you don't seem to have realised I felt this way until now," which, honestly, she's a little disappointed to learn, "so obviously I've been handling it just fine..."

"Is that why you keep returning here?" he asks. His voice is soft in a way Haru doesn't know how to read. "For me?"

She snorts, and then immediately regrets it as her shoulder blazes into pain again. "I mean, way to reduce me down to a one-note lady, Baron. I come here because I like the work we do here – I like the other worlds and the magic and the helping – and I like seeing Toto and Muta too. But," and her body somehow manages to summon up the spare blood for a blush, "I would be lying if I said that spending time with you wasn't also a part of that."

"You nearly died today because of that."

"I've been nearly dying since before we ever met," she reminds him bluntly. "The only reason I ever found the Bureau in the first place was because I ran in front of a speeding lorry trying to save a cat. And then when I was twenty, I nearly drowned trying to haul a kid out of a river. I'm pretty good at nearly dying, emphasis on the nearly."

"One day it may be fatal."

"I'm mortal. That's kind of unavoidable."

Baron is silent for a good long while. He's almost finished binding up Haru's shoulder, when he says, "I'm not so sure this was a good idea."

Haru rolls her eyes. "I did say I was going to bleed all over your furniture if you insisted on me sitting here–"

"Not that." He pins the bandages into place and his hand automatically lingers there, before making the concious decision to break the contact. It feels pained, somehow. "Your being part of the Bureau."

Haru snatches a breath; her shoulder flares up again but she barely even notes it. Baron's words feel like a kick in the ribs. "Because of some near miss? Come on, Baron; I think I've proven that I can handle myself."

"Love makes us reckless," Baron says. His gaze is on his hand. Blood stains the ginger fur; already it's starting to dry a russet-brown. "As it did today. You didn't know you would survive the altercation today – but more importantly, it didn't matter to you if it meant saving me. And I cannot be responsible for that."

"You say that like it wasn't my own choice."

"Then let me rephrase: I don't want to see you throw away your life for me."

"Then look away," Haru says curtly.

"I have." His eyes crinkle, shame lining his brow. "I've chosen not to see the sacrifices you make in your human life to be with the Bureau – the lies you've had to tell, the secrets you've kept, the moments you've missed."

"I haven't–"

"It was your mother's 60th last month," he says, "and you spent it with us, trying to track down an assassin in the Shadow Kingdom."

"To be fair, I didn't know that case was going to overrun so badly."

"I know you had an offer of promotion at your work, but you turned it down when it meant less flexible hours you wouldn't be able to change if a case turned up."

"So I like having more control over my days off, so what?"

"You lie constantly to your best friend to cover up the scars you suffer while working here."

"What am I meant to tell her? That a ghost pirate stabbed me? It's fine, Baron. I have everything under control."

"No," he says, "you don't. But you will soon."

Unease creeps beneath Haru's skin. "What do you mean by that?"

He finally meets her gaze, and the apology in his eyes is overshadowed only by his own surety. "It means, Miss Haru, that from today onwards you are free from the Cat Bureau." He stands, and the distance between them is only a foot, but it might as well have been a mile. "We will not be needing your services again."

[senanatheskenana]

Evermore- Pt one

Xiao x reader Beauty and the Beast AU

Masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~

In a faraway place, there lived a beautiful prince. He lived in a beautiful castle surrounded by beautiful gardens that sprawled out as far as the eye could see. The prince held balls often, and parties for the high society however, the prince's subjects were treated unkindly. While he and others lived lavishly, the people were left to work all day in poverty to pay the high tax imposed on them.

On one stormy night, the prince was visited by an old woman, soaked and begging for shelter from the storm. However, despite her pleas, the prince did not want the old woman to be an eyesore in his home. He denied her access and with no other option, she offered him the one thing she had.

She held the rose up to him with shaky fingers, "I do not have much prince Xiao. All I have is this rose but you may have it if you are so gracious as to let me stay a night in your huge castle."

But the prince did not give in. He sent the crone away and before his eyes, saw her transform from a frail old lady into a beautiful enchantress. The prince begs her for forgiveness but like he, she does not yield.

"You have grown selfish," she speaks, glowing gold, "Your subjects hunger and yet you do not feed them. You must learn a lesson in humility, so I, Ningguang, will curse you!"

And so, the prince felt his bones stretch and saw the fur on his arms grow like seeds. When he finally saw himself again he was disgusted.

"Only shall the spell be lifted when you learn to love and are loved in tandem."

He is left with nought but the sparkling blue rose. He weeps over it, for who could ever love a beast as hideous as him?

~~~

A decade has passed and the path to the castle has grown like a wall of ivy. However, the lives of the townsfolk still proceed.

There were many towns and cities, all full of people with normal lives. In some of these cities and towns were remarkable people too. There were blacksmiths and artists and bakers and poets.

In this particular little town lived a girl and her brother. The pair lived together happily in a house outside of the town but everyone in the village knew of them.

"She's a really weird girl," snickers a lady in a green dress at the milk stall to her friends. They all nod.

"Tell me about it! Who wouldn't want the chance to marry a man like Tartaglia- oh he's tall and handsome and strong and rich and-" the girl in the red dress trails off dreamily.

"Oh and her brother- talk about a basket case!" the lady in pink squeals.

(Y/N) pretends like she doesn't hear the gossiping girls, gripping her basket just a little bit tighter than before. After all, they aren't the only people. She greets each person she meets politely with a smile and a wave before turning the corner into a building.

"Ah (Y/N) back again so soon?" the librarian teases her, knowing her routine by now.

The girl laughs quietly and nods, "Yes I finished the book! Have you had any new ones yet, Lisa?"

The librarian shakes her head, her brown hair falling loosely around her face. "I'm afraid not- but you can read any of the others. As long as you return them!" (Y/N) senses there is a vague threat in that sentence but pretends she isn't intimidated by the intense woman.

"T-Thanks! I'll uh, take this one again please" Lisa nods and scribbles the title down in her ledger. Nearly the whole page is filled with only her name.

When she leaves the small corner shop, she bumps face-first into a firm chest. It heaves with a chuckle, and she feels her face pale, recognising the sound like a siren.

"Woah, be careful there, girlie. Wouldn't want you getting hurt, would we?" he holds her hips and grins down at her.

She peels his hands off of her dress, side-stepping the hunter, "I'm sorry, Tartaglia. I wasn't looking where I was goi-"

"Now enough of that formality, I've told you to call me Ajax. What have you got there?" he plucks the book out of her grasp like it's a grain of rice. Tartaglia opens the book widely and she nearly flinches at what Lisa would do if the book tore.  His eyebrows furrow in vexation at the pages, roughly flipping through them.

"Ughh, how can you possibly read these things- where's the excitement? Where are the pictures?" he whines. She laughs incredulously and snatches it out of his gloved hands.

"Tarta- Ajax- you need to read it to get the excitement. Anyway, it's a romance" She huffs turning her back to walk away but finds herself unable to when he grips her forearm.

"Oh, while we're here, I have an important matter to discuss with you, my dear." he pulls her along with him through the village.

"Oh really," she laughs awkwardly, tugging futilely at his grip.

"We've known each other for so long now, and I'm sure you know how much I like you," he grins at her, "And I of course know how I need of a husband you'll be once your brother isn't around."

She looks at him strangely, lips curling in vague disgust, "Ajax I am fully capable of caring for myself. I don't need a husband, I have my own dreams"

"Oh sweetheart I know you have dreams- but dreams are for children- and rich white men. There will be a time when you'll realise that you can't always have what you want, and you will trade those ambitions for the things you need."

"And what is it that I need, Tartaglia?" she questions, unamusedly.

He pulls her hand up to his lips and kisses her knuckles. If it weren't for it being him it might have been charming.

"Why motherhood of course!" he smiles still as if he had not listened to a word of her prior statement.

She finds herself at the door of her home now. Gripping the handle she turns back at him, "I'm not ready for children-" she tries to close the door but his foot prevents her from doing so.

He pushes his way past the threshold of the home and she fumbles backwards.

"Tartaglia-"

"Look I know this is hard for you to understand but you'll need to accept it, like it or not, girlie. It's not a bad life- just picture it;" he trudges into the room. "A cold winter's night, staying warm by the fire, cuddling under furs, cooking my latest hunt for my dinner, all while our children play"

"Ajax, I already said-" he doesn't seem to be listening, caught up in a daydream.

"We'd have at least four- yes four, two girls and two boys, and I'd teach them to hunt and you'll teach them to sew"

"TARTAGLIA," she shouts, catching him off guard. Before he has a chance to say anything he's already being forced back out of the door.

"I know you're tired so I'll come back and we'll talk more about this tomorrow. Good night, girlie" he yells into the open window.

She sighs and leans against the door, closing her eyes. The staircase creaks quietly and she doesn't need to open them to know who it is.

"Everything ok?" her brother, Aether peaks his head out from the corner worriedly, cheeks smeared with oil. She smiles at him and nods.

"Yes, I sent him away myself. I had hoped that I would be able to avoid him a little longer" she sighs, padding silently towards him. "How's your invention going?"

Aether smiles albeit sadly and shakes his head, "I'm not so sure I'll get it finished by tonight, or any night if I'm honest." he leads her down the stairs into the cellar. And just as it was all the other days, it sat on the floor, stationary and crackling like thunder. Seems he hasn't sorted that problem yet...

She tugs his arm, "Nonsense we can do it if we just keep going! Just try your best and if it isn't tonight it can be another time."  

He chuckles and plops down into the chair beside the machine, picking up the Allan key. "If Lumine could see me she'd laugh... getting all worked up over a machine. Pass me the screwdriver, oh now the uh long- yes that's right!"

As if right on cue the crackling stops, the room falls silent and suddenly the mechanism begins its intended motions of chopping. Aether spins on his seat and smiles in excitement.

"If our sister could see us now, she'd be proud," she pats his head before he jumps up and spins her around happily.

"Oh thank the gods, I can- I've got to get ready! I have to leave right away!" he fumbles and nearly drops (y/n) in his hurry but promptly apologises.

"I'll get the horse and cart ready, Aether!" she shouts up the stairs and hears a muffled response of 'thanks'

[quintential]

Ramblings of a 20 yo

I'm writing because, even though it feels like I'm squeezing my mind through a ricer like a potato and just creating- I don't know, mashed potatoes, I guess,

I'm making the choice to write. Because I can't let myself want to write all my life and keep giving up because it doesn't sound right, or it's not coming out right, or it's not good, or things like that. I can't do that to myself. 

Raina believes she is doomed, it's too late, she's fucked it all up already, etcetera. I'm here, still fighting, because I am resilient, to tell her she is wrong. She is not doomed. It is not too late.

She is 20, - i am 20 

years

old

for fucks sake,

I AM YOUNG AND ALIVE, SEE ME WORLD! I want to scream at the top of my lungs to everyone.

This is the fire in my soul that keeps me going. Is that against all odds, I have hope. I try, every day. I will persevere. The world is not easy. We hurt each other. I'm pissed at my roommate. This is ok.

This is word vomit. That's also perfectly ok. When the gates of the mind open, for the first time in a while, don't be surpised when a tidal wave of stuff comes pouring out. I am pouring out!!!

SO, there are some things of focus in my life. A to do list, shall you say.

do cool stuff alone! I want to get into san francisco. be free, explore. may go to the MOMA tommorow.

go out on dates. Even though I'm scared and they may suck, I want to try. I want to try, and try, and try.

make friends. I want to make new friends here. I will compliment people as much as I can, strike up conversations as much as possible. People want to be my friend too. I look cool, so i will start conversations when they compliment me!

make my art. I need to make art! I will make art.

forgive myself.

forgive others.

Pretty good list, huh? I am the vibrancy, the thrum. I also may have a teensy-tiny self obsession problem. I love looking at myself in the mirror, all the time, pictures of myself all the time, etcetera. People are obsessed with me too because I am strange looking and beautiful. See? Self obsession, because I am the center of my world. I want to fall in love so I can let others in too. I let people in... where are they??????

I am always filled with hurt and love always always always.

/later

filled with melancholy,

and other feelings of similar dread related to the usual "who am I " where am I " etcetera, dissasociation,

feelings of complete

aloneness,

loneliness,

it's hard to feel as though i'm apart

when i feel so different from everyone-

of course, this exists in tandem with the knowledge that everyone feels different and that what should bring us together, but...

I reflect back on my conversations with roommate last night,

unpleasant and battleing I was not good either but I she reminded me of my mother too much and I was upset angry and looking to push buttons and fuel the divide between us

and what a divide it is, she and her on one side and me on the other, rooms hand in hand and me apart. 

It's so incredibly hard to feel close to people for me. Usually,  I'm floating on clouds above-

superior and self deprecating all at once it's a bad combination I know

I miss

I always say i miss and then cannot point to when or what i miss. Perhaps it's feeling I read about and see

the silly couple giggling on the street the friends twirling hands the teammates hugging

Yet I cannot let myself be a part I will seperate my heart

sever the tendons

that pulses between us

let you bleed out, you can take care of yourself

sew myself back up

I cannot live- we - cannot live without other but I am very talented at tricking myself into believing

I'm fine I'm fine I'm fine

I cannot even get over a goddamn volleyball game. 

I need to learn I must change I have to be 

better

be

better

be

better

be

better

you cannot shame yourself into changing

can you love yourself ? Please?

You will change for the better I promise.

fuck, what's the point and i know this is getting repetitive but i can't help it that's what life is over and over and over again which is ok but whats the point there is so much bad in the world fuck fuck fuck

[jaspersummerbummer]

Free Write 3/11/24

Language oozes from me like an infected wound. I am desperate to communicate something, yet what exactly alludes even to my unfortunately incurious mind. That particularly may come as somewhat of a surprise, to those younger than the version of myself who wrote these mostly-fictions. A witness to what may appear on the surface to be an outward explosion of raw creativity can easily be seen through by the well traveled mind to be mere artistic ramblings. Not that ramblings lack artistic value, but those who wish to find a voice of a generation may be upset to find that my words are only my own. Unfortunately I am afflicted with this artistic condition, my family and friends speak to me with such reverence that I should expect my life to move upwards. A train moving on its already laid track, my destination appears a roller coaster of impossible possibility. Now I must consider each choice carefully, every note in a song sung without precision yet chosen acutely, and every letter carefully typed into an old laptop keyboard, while I idly pretend I am invested in a lecture on poetry written during the AIDS crisis.

My advisor explained to me very plainly that the best writers are the worst students; would Oscar Wilde be a good student? He asked me, the question obviously rhetorical in nature. These words clung to my neck like a thick rope, the corpse of a heavy bird hung, pulled my neck down toward the earth. Rejection stings like bug bite itch covered with Neosporin. My roommate told me that I will be better remembered in death than life, a fear that she unknowingly stoked back to life. Perhaps if I organize all my writings so that each word I dare scribble into margins of literature shall remain immortalized. Manuscripts unfinished, unpolished, fear of touching my words at risk of raising the fury of my resting corpse. I have no plan of dying, yet the possibility remains tempting. Not because I do not value my own life, but that I see a potential way to cheat this silly game. If I die tragically, my words will be immortalized by my frenzied mother desperate to chronicle every passing thought my unfortunately incurious mind conjures. Repaint these ramblings as words of prophecy and suddenly I am divine. I envy the Albatross. 

First snowfall of March, the eleventh stands tall, two ones combined into the roman numeral. I spotted a poem; To a Dead Graduate Student. Suddenly I am paying attention;

"The whole rich process of twined opposites,

Tendrils round stalk, developing in tandem

Through tangled exquisite detail that knits

To a unique promise - 

checked at random.

Killed, wasted. What a teacher you’d have made:

Your tough impatient mind, your flowering looks

Would you've seduced the backward where they played,

Rebels like you, to share your love of books."

To a Dead Graduate Student

Thomm Gunn

My egomania is my own unique madness. Every great work is really made to be seen by me the moment I witness it. Art made with foreknowledge of my life, so complex and multi-layered that only I can untangle its truth. Perhaps now that I’ve admitted this truth I can avoid it overwhelming my future. That is quite a pleasant thought. One day I will shed this ego like a snake sheds its skin. Perhaps then I can simply read to enjoy the act. I can write simply to enjoy the act. To merely tell a story, instead of trying to solve this artistic condition. 

[mass-piplup-outbreak]

End of the Line - Chapter 3

[first] - [previous] - [next] read it on ao3! if you like the fic, please reblog it!

Chapter 3: Home Ingo finds his way back.

‥

Ingo isn’t sure how much time passes. Walking beside Emmet, even when he’s hanging off of one of Chandelure’s arms, reminds Ingo of something else. Another time, maybe when his mind was a bit more clear and Emmet’s smile was actually genuine. He can almost remember the sound of their steps in tandem on the pavement, together, but all he hears is a loud, deafening train horn.

“Sir, you’re going to have to put the Pokémon inside its ball during the flight.”

Ingo blinks, realizing just then that he’s followed Emmet to somewhere that’s very different from the surroundings he’s acquainted himself with for the past… however long he’s been dead. He’s inside a huge building, bigger than Galaxy Hall was back in Jubilife Village. The ceilings go well above his and Emmet’s heads, and though there are many windows, only the darkness of night can be seen through them. Emmet is standing near a worker at their station, who’s frowning at the scene in front of them.

When did they leave the Icelands?

Emmet winces reflexively, slipping a piece of paper into his offhand to yet again unhook one of his Poké Balls. He holds it out to Chandelure.

“You must be tired by now,” he says, even though there are dark circles under his own eyes. “Please return to your seat.”

Chandelure suddenly freezes in place, before quickly scurrying to hide behind Ingo’s back, as though he were still a physical barrier to anyone. He supposes it must be a bit comical, seeing a Pokémon attempting to conceal itself behind nothing, but neither Emmet nor the gate agent are laughing.

“Please,” Emmet begs, but there’s no force behind his words. He’s had a long, terrible day, the kind where all he wants to do is go home and sleep.

As much as it pains him to turn his back on Emmet, like he’ll suddenly stop existing the moment he isn’t observed, Ingo crouches down in front of Chandelure.

“I’m not going to leave you again,” he assures his Pokémon. Although he means it, Ingo doesn’t completely understand why he’s saying it. “I shall be there when you’re released, I promise.”

Ingo thinks he’s remembering more about how to read Chandelure’s expressions, because it looks absolutely elated right now. It wraps Ingo up in a hug once more, this time with such force that it actually lifts him off the ground. A sudden, freezing shock courses through him, strangely reminding him of when he was younger. It seeps into him like a cold day in the Icelands would, back when he could actually feel a difference in temperature. The fresh air was always his favorite, for some reason.

When Chandelure puts him down, Ingo feels more energized, more awake than he has in centuries. His mind is just that slightest bit clearer, like it’s finally running full steam ahead. Hell, he could probably run all the way back to Unova and still make it there before Emmet’s flight. What is Unova, anyway? And how do flights work? And why are they still not as good as taking the train?

Is this what coffee used to feel like?

“Thank you, Chandelure,” Ingo pats its head in appreciation, still not entirely sure what it is his Pokémon just did. As far as he can tell, it was just the pick-me-up that he needed. “I’ll see you when we arrive at our station.”

Seemingly satisfied, Chandelure leaves the shadow of safety that only Ingo can provide. Emmet nods, clicking the Poké Ball open and returning Chandelure. He stares at the Ball for a moment, running his thumb over its side, his smile faltering just briefly-

“Sir?” the gate agent speaks up, much to Ingo’s annoyance. Clearly his brother is going through something! Give him the respect he deserves! “If you’re going to board, please do it now. The plane needs to take off soon.”

“Right.” Emmet nervously shoves the Poké Ball into his pocket, adjusting the strap of his bag on his shoulder. “I apologize for the delay. I will depart now.”

Emmet hurries down the bridge, but for the slightest second, Ingo hesitates. He may not remember much, but he still knows that this plane trip or whatever is going to take him away from the land that had taken in him ages ago. Hisui may not have been home, but the people there were good to him.

They’re all long gone now, though. He should be too.

“May we meet again, someday,” Ingo wishes. With a slight smile on his face, the kind he never realizes he’s showing, Ingo stuffs his hands into his pockets and follows his brother onto the plane.

Next stop: Unova.

‥

After Emmet pushes open the door to his apartment—just his apartment—he rips his jacket off, throws it and his bag on the ground, and immediately collapses on the couch and falls asleep. He didn’t get even a wink on the plane, and Ingo knows that, because he was with him the whole time. The only thing that Emmet did for the whole flight was stare out the window, with red eyes and a solemn expression. It was quite unnerving.

A few Poké Balls roll out of the bag. The yellow spider Pokémon… Galvantula, right? Galvantula emerges to nudge the front door closed, passing by Ingo as though he weren’t there. He can’t really blame it for that. Eelektross also leaves its Ball, nuzzling up between Emmet and the side of the couch. Galvantula joins them, positioning itself on Emmet’s legs and settling down alongside him.

Their motions are practiced, yet completely foreign to Ingo. He has the distinct feeling that this is not an uncommon nighttime routine for them. The fact that they’re doing it in the wee hours of the morning, when the sun is just barely peeking over the horizon? Irrelevant.

With Emmet down for a few hours, Ingo has the apartment to himself.

It’s… a lot. The environment itself is familiar enough, much like Emmet, but it remains foreign in a way that’s uncanny. Ingo should recognize this place, he knows that much, but the transfer to such a conclusion just won’t happen. He is simultaneously in a place that is new and that he’s longed to return to.

“Chandelure?” he calls out, hesitantly. He can’t pick up the scattered Poké Balls to inspect them, nor would he’d be able to tell which one contained his trusted companion. Luckily for him, one of the Balls pops open, and Chandelure jumps out at him once again. Ingo sighs, holding it just as closely as it holds him. When was the last time someone was this excited to see him? Scratch that, when was the last time that someone saw him?

Chandelure’s flames are warm, and they pass through Ingo’s fingers like neither of them are there. Is that something it used to do? Or would they burn him whenever they touched?

Something has been creeping up on Ingo, the apparent truth that he’d always suspected. With his foggy memory, he’d never been able to confirm whether or not he’d fallen through the space-time rift like Akari had. For all he knew, he was a lost wanderer who had accidentally ended up in Hisui, as absurd as it sounded.

Ingo never got his answers, not while he was alive, at least. Maybe Akari would have given them if they had the chance, but it was too little, too late. But he knew Emmet, once. Maybe. Judging by the towering skyscrapers and flying machines, Ingo has been dead for quite a while, long before Emmet would have been born.

It’s pretty obvious what the answer is. Across space and time, Ingo has finally found his home.

“How long have I been gone?” Ingo wonders aloud. His eyes scan over the numerous pictures hung up on the walls, all with their faces turned away from view. It would have been much easier to simply take them down.

Instead of answering, Chandelure swishes around Ingo and begins to nudge him forward, down the hall at the other end of their living room. They stop in front of the second door on the lefthand side, which Chandelure is able to creak open. Galvantula chitters from the couch, but it ceases its complaints after Chandelure whispers back to it.

The room is dark, even with the bits of morning sunlight that creep in through the drawn curtains. It must be the walls, which are painted a dark black. Several bookshelves, hell, even the desk, are piled high with titles Ingo can just barely recognize. Below the window is a bed, perfectly made, with creased covers and fluffy pillows. The ceiling above it is plastered with those glow-in-the-dark star stickers, their brightness wavering as the light of day begins to shine. All of it is covered in a fine layer of dust.

“This is my room,” Ingo realizes, eyes darting between his books, his bed, his everything. “It’s just as I left it.”

It strikes Ingo that Emmet has been waiting on him for years. Ingo didn’t even know that his brother existed until, what, yesterday? But Emmet kept his space untouched, ready for the day he would return, as if not a moment had passed. It was for him, it was all for him.

As terrible as it sounds, Emmet missed him, and Ingo forgot him.

“This shouldn’t have happened.” Ingo blinks away the blurriness, tears running down his face. He sinks to the floor, and even though he knows the carpet is soft, he can’t feel it. “I made one mistake, a stupid mistake! And now look at me!”

Ingo can feel Chandelure hovering above his head, hear it whispering to him in a language he does not know. When he goes to wipe away his tears, his hand comes back red.

“It isn’t right,” Ingo says, his voice shaking. He leans his forehead against Chandelure as if it could stop him from crying. “I didn’t know who I was, back then. I still don’t.” He laughs to himself, bitterly. “I know this place, and yet I can’t remember it.”

Chandelure floats lower, and Ingo grabs onto it like a lifeline, holding it just as it has been holding him. Of course, a lifeline wouldn’t be of much use to him as he currently is. His Pokémon grounds him, though, keeps him anchored to just one spot instead of letting his train of thought run recklessly down the tracks.

“Why am I still here, Chandelure?” Ingo voices the question he’s asked himself for years. “Why can’t I rest, already?”

Neither of them have an answer.

‥

Emmet only gets a few hours of sleep, which can mostly be attributed to jetlag. He hasn’t left the region in ages, not since he and Ingo visited Kalos and played tourist for a few days. That had been fun. Kalos is a historic land, and Emmet enjoyed getting to see that history in person. The fact that he and his brother had absolutely destroyed any trainer naive enough to face them was just one of many highlights.

They returned only a couple of weeks before Ingo disappeared. In retrospect, it almost felt like a final send-off.

Emmet wakes up to someone banging at his front door, harshly, as though they’re using their whole fist instead of just knocking with their knuckles.

“Emmet!” a voice on the other side shouts. “You better be in there, because you have a lot of explaining to do!”

It’s Elesa. Shit.

Emmet scrambles to sit up on the couch. He’s still wearing his clothes from yesterday, only his tie is looser now and his shirt is wrinkled. Patting the top of his head, he winces when he realizes his hair is also a wreck. There’s no time to fix himself up, is there?

He hears the jingling of Elesa pulling her keys out, and yeah, he’s out of luck. Is it too late to jump out the fire escape?

“Emmet!” Elesa pushes the door open dramatically, only to pause when she sees Galvantula at her feet. “Oh, hey little buddy! How have you been?” She kneels in front of the Pokémon, listing to its chittering and chattering for a few seconds.

Any hope that Emmet had that Elesa would forget about him is dashed the moment she lays eyes on him. The sweet demeanor she saves for Pokémon vanishes, replaced by a glare that Emmet can only associate with pure dread.

“Emmet,” she says.

“Elesa,” he responds.

Elesa silently stands, walks in front of Emmet, cups his face in her hands, and shouts, “Do you have any idea how worried we were?! I was seconds away from reporting you as missing!”

“I’m sorry,” is the only thing Emmet can think to say. He’s still half asleep, not to mention his mind is still spinning. It takes him a moment to remember why exactly Elesa would be so mad at him in the first place.

Right. Yesterday. That happened.

“You’re sorry?” Elesa seems unwilling to believe it. “Emmet, you know what we were all thinking! You can’t just disappear on us, not like In-!”

She’s smart enough to stop herself there. Reflexively, she covers her mouth with a hand, as if it could erase what she was about to say. Emmet looks up at her from the couch, expressionless. He really must remind her of his brother, right now.

“Sorry, I’m sorry.” Elesa takes a deep breath before sliding onto the couch next to Emmet. “I shouldn’t have said that. But you did scare us, you know that, right?”

Emmet says nothing. He leans his head against her.

“I mean, I get it,” Elesa continues, used to his quietness by now. She lets her own head rest against his. “You’ve had a lot on your plate, lately. I don’t blame you for taking some time off. You should have told someone before you left, though.”

Elesa is right, and Emmet knows it. He was in such a rush, so desperate to find his brother, that he forgot. Ingo used to be the one to hold him back, to remind him of his safety checks. It isn’t right, it just isn’t right. Ingo is supposed to be here! Right here, on the other side of Elesa. And they should be having fun together, joking and laughing like they used to when they were kids.

How could this have happened?

“Ingo’s dead.”

It’s the first time he’s told anyone.

“Woah, wait, hang on!” Elesa turns to face Emmet, grabbing onto his shoulders. “That’s, uh, quite the different track than you were on the other day!” While Emmet would usually enjoy that she went out of her way to use a train pun, he can’t quite seem to find the humor in it anymore. “What happened?”

Emmet grits his teeth, which only serves to spread an ache through his mouth. His throat is closing up, so he swallows. “Went to Sinnoh. He’s dead.”

“Emmet, I don’t understand,” Elesa’s eyes are shining. Fuck, he’s bad at this. “You were so certain that he would come back. You hated it when people said that-” She can’t bring herself to say it, sniffling instead.

Chandelure floats in from down the hallway. Was it messing around in Ingo’s room again? Emmet hates when it does that.

Emmet abruptly stands, storming over to his abandoned bag and rifling through it. He pulls out the manilla folder that the Historical Society was so kind as to give him, containing copies of every little thing he could possibly want to know about the great Warden Ingo. He drops the folder in Elesa’s lap, falling back down onto the couch next to her.

He’s crying again. Emmet hasn’t cried since his tears dried up back in Sinnoh. He covers his eyes with his hands and just sobs. Elesa shuffles the papers, a small gasp escaping from her lips. Ingo is gone. Ingo is gone, and Emmet is still here.

“Oh, Emmet,” Elesa says after a long silence, and Emmet can just imagine the pitying look on her face. He has to choke back a scream, and it comes out more as a sad whimper.

Elesa wraps her arms around him, and Emmet can feel her shaking just as much as he is. They hold onto each other, and Emmet is simply relieved to have another human to share his grief with. After how clinical they were in Sinnoh, Elesa shows him that people still care about Ingo, no matter how long it’s been.

Back in the day, the three of them went from town to town together. They challenged the gyms one at a time. Emmet and Ingo were known by a few other challengers as Elesa’s cheerleaders, as dreadful as they were at it. Of course, that talk changed once the twins wiped the floor with their competitors, and the trio became known as an up and coming powerhouse.

Everything seemed so simple then. Get your badges, finish the challenge, and then figure it out from there. Where had the years gone? What had time done to them?

What were they supposed to do without Ingo?

When Elesa finally does pull away from Emmet, her eyeliner is smeared down her cheeks. She attempts to wipe some of it away, but it only serves to further the mess on her face.

“How about something to eat?” Elesa suggests. It’s a strange thing to say, but Emmet is starving. “Remember when we were in Driftveil, and you and Ingo almost bought the store out of all of their canned soup?”

“Just the plain noodles,” Emmet reminds her. “It fed us for weeks.”

Elesa nods. “It did. You have some here, right? Why don’t I warm it up for us?”

When Ingo got sick on the road, that soup healed him. Well, that and the medicine they got from the doctor in Striaton City, but mostly the soup. It kept them healthy, kept them together. Emmet promised Ingo that he would never leave him.

Emmet smiles, ever so slightly. “That sounds good.”

[finn-ray-nal-beads]

peanut butter balls w clyde

A/N: ASK AND YOU SHALL RECEIVE ANGEL... @maybe-your-left I HOPE YOU’RE HAPPY WITH YOURSELF! I AM NOW GOING TO UNSUBSCRIBE TO MY OWN BLOG..

Warnings: Voyeurism, BLUE BALLS, tw: pregnancy, tw: breeding kink, cum eating, masturbation, dirty talk, also sweet talk because Clyde is baby, cowgirl style, fondling those BIG BALLS, copious amounts of description of horsecocks, copious amounts of cum (just a swimming pool size full of his cum if you will), just pure fuckin’ smut and fluff because I cannot get off the DadBod train tonight or ever (thank you @in-silks-and-flesh-and-leather I love you forever), tw: mentions of somnophilia, tw: I am back on my bullshit and better than ever bitches! 

The clock read five in the morning as he stared it down menacingly. Having just gotten home from the bar to your sleeping form peacefully huddled against his pillow, inhaling the sweet scent of him while he slaved away at work.

He laid down gingerly, careful not to disturb you as he knew you hadn’t been sleeping too well given the state you had been in over the first few weeks of it all. The vomiting, the tears, the rush of hormones coupled with outbursts of anger and pain from your breasts had all been weighing on you. 

He gave you your space, knowing from his research that the second trimester would be so much different. Hoping the book wasn’t lying to him about that and waiting as patiently as he could for you to come around. 

Those nights he’d find you keeled over the toilet, cursing his name as he stumbled through the door of the trailer. He hated all of it, wishing he could take the ugly parts away for you. But he knew, and so did you, that it was all for the greatest adventure yet, so it was worth the endless tears and heartburn. 

So, on nights like tonight, he’d rub the stray hair from your face, peeking under the covers to place a gentle hand on that growing bump of yours, hoping soon he’d feel a little kick as he teared up thinking about how amazing you were for growing this precious baby. 

He loved you even more than he could count on his fingers and toes, and when you’d both found out, it was both a sigh of relief and joy as you both finally had the thing you’d been afraid wasn’t possible. It was perfect. Except on these nights when he couldn’t sleep. 

When he ached for your luscious cunt enveloping his after a long day’s work. He wouldn’t dare wake you up for it, for fear of the mama bear wrath, but godammit did he wish you were having just as tough a time sleeping as he was. 

He tossed and turned, the light of the clock seemingly getting brighter as he huffed around in the bed. Clad in only his boxers, as he kicked off the sheets in a fit of frustration, his tent very apparent as he adjusted his blue balls in between his thighs, the burning sensation causing a low hiss to leave his mouth. 

“Fuck me,” he whispered, getting up with his good hand to sit his huge frame on the edge of the bed, rubbing his face in it as he let out another heavy sigh. 

He strained up, cracking his back as he meandered to the living room and then the kitchen. Shuffling to the kitchen window, he huffed, looking out into the blackness of the early morning, thinking about making himself something to eat to curb his lack of sleep. 

He padded over to the fridge, grabbing his favorite huckleberry jelly out of the side door, then the pantry to get his bread and peanut butter. Laying out a paper plate as he slowly opened the drawer to grab a knife, making damn sure he didn’t make a peep as he slathered the contents together. He pulled the stool out from the island, straining himself to not scoot it too loud on the tile while he devoured his sandwich in the light of the kitchen. 

He looked around, reaching for some chips you’d left out on the counter earlier, crinkling the bag to get a few out before he became thirsty. He strained back up, the pain in his balls returning with every movement as they hit his meaty thighs. 

“Jesus,” he whispered, gripping them in his hand before he took another step, “I gotta do somethin’ ‘bout this,” gritting out as he got the gallon of juice out of the fridge to cop a swig from it, knowing if you had witnessed it he’d be in the biggest trouble. 

Letting out a huge sigh and a burp, he got back on the stool and finished the rest of his five AM snack, still feeling that dulled pain in his lower half as he tossed the remaining things in the trash and plopping on the couch to turn on the TV as he still didn’t feel tired. 

He mindlessly flipped through the channels, settling on a sitcom before wincing in another sharp pain as he adjusted himself, legs spread wide on the couch. His cock still half-hard knowing your half-naked ass was laying in bed, no doubt the wetness building up from your sleep. He loved surprising you in the morning, feeling that slicked up pussy as he would snake a hand or his tip in between your folds, waking you up in the best way he could think of. 

His dick twitched at the thought, his hand sliding in his briefs as he gripped his thick girth at its base, unveiling it in the brightness of the TV. 

His chest heaved, the sensitivity that had built up over weeks of nothing was too much for him to take at this point. Spitting on his large hand as he spread the slick over himself, his dripping tip mixing with his saliva as he traced his bulged out veins along his shaft. 

Throwing his head back at the feeling, wishing it wasn’t his hand fucking himself, and picturing that pretty mouth of yours covering him from stem to stern. He pumped his hand up and down steadily, setting the scene for himself while he closed his golden eyes.

You were perfect, knelt in between his thick thighs, kitten licking his tip and pecking sweet kisses on his tummy while he begged for you to do more. Your gorgeous eyes boring into his as your lashes fluttered in innocence licking a long stripe from the base to the tip. A beautiful moan escaping your lips as your tits hit his sensitive sac. 

You grip his belly in your delicate hands, kneading and scratching at it for leverage while you shoved your mouth over his length, the gag escaping your chest causing his breath to hitch as he watched you take him like the good girl you were. 

He thrusts on himself sped up, thinking of you bobbing your pretty head on his large cock, the spit, and tears streaming down your cheeks and jawline in a sloppy mess while he pushed up into you. Holding your pretty hair in an iron grip as he lead you down on him more, your one hand snaking down to grip his pained sac and rolling it in your fingers while he exhaled a groan at the sensation. 

“Goddammit baby girl,” he gritted out, feeling the warming of his release creep up slowly as he kept his imagination running on and on. His eyes still closed as he jerked it on the couch, seemingly unaware of how loud he truly was in the moment. 

You had woken up a few minutes after he’d begun, leaning in on the doorframe as you bit your lip looking at your big bear going to town in the living room. His thick cock making the drippage seep out of your bare cunt as you tried to keep as quiet as possible. 

He kept up with his thoughts, blissfully unaware of the mess he was making you feel in the moment. Your lower belly burning for him as you gripped the little bump that had become more apparent as of late. 

Crossing your legs to avoid more leakage, you leaned your head on the frame as well, reveling in the sweet sounds your husband was making on the sofa. His grunts, curses, moans, and groans were enough to make you blush as he repeated your name over and over. 

The strains getting more feral as he neared his orgasm. You inched forward just before he was about to burst, knowing the faces he made so well as you crawled on your hands in knees like a tiger stalking its prey. 

“Holy s-shit, Y/N,” his low baritone muttered out, the speed on his angry cock had picked up as fervently as he could possibly go in the moment, his precious face conjuring up in all signs of pleasure as the sweat dripped from his temples, his teeth gritted while he tried to reach his edge. 

You watched his hand move in tandem with his hips, moving just snuggly in between his tree-trunk thighs as he kept his motions going. Your eyes found those heavy balls of his, watching as they began to twitch from his end. In a fight or flight moment, your hand grabbed them, rolling them so sweetly and delicately as his eyes burst open in terror. 

“Y/N?!” he jumped, the sensation pushing him over to squirt out a thick rope on his belly as you massaged his sac to the end of it all. 

“That’s it, daddy,” you cooed, eyes hungry as he spurt out more and more cum from his tip, his heavy breaths coming in high as he winced more and more of his spend on himself, “cum all over the place big bear,” salivating as you saw the amount that has built up on his stomach. 

“M-mother f-fuck d-darlin’,” he growled out, watching your eyes follow the load as you hunched over his softening cock. 

Your lips touched the warm baby gravy, beginning to lick and suck every drop along with trails of hickeys on his precious tummy while your nails dug into his thighs, the crescents indenting on them as you finished your ministrations on him. 

You lifted your head, licking your lips as you swallowed his whole load, showing your tongue after all was said and done. 

“Where the hell were ya ‘bout five minutes ago?” he chuckled, catching his breaths as he watched you straddle his lap, your precious little bump touching his belly as you closed the gap on him. 

“I was sleepin’ honey,” kissing his lips slowly as you wrapped your arms around his neck, his hand coming to caress your taut skin in your midsection, tracing slow circles as you kissed his forehead, “but I got woken up to a growling bear in the living room,” raising an eyebrow as you leaned back to meet his timid gaze. 

“‘M sorry darlin’,” he whispered, “I jus’ couldn’t sleep an’ I didn’t want ta wake ya up on account a ya not gettin’ that good a sleep lately,” his head bowing down in shame as he continued to avoid eye contact.

“Honey,” you pushed him to meet you again, “I know I ain’t been myself lately, an’ I’m sorry ‘bout that,” the pit in your stomach forming as his pout surfaced on his face, “but if ya needed somethin’ I woulda done it… No matter how late it was,” smiling as you pushed some stray hairs from his sweet face. 

“Psh,” he huffed, rolling his eyes slightly at the thought of waking you from a dead sleep, “baby girl, I ain’t ‘bout ta wake ya up fer ya to suck me off fer ten minutes so I can sleep,” he chuckled. 

“Why not? I know you’d do that fer me in a heartbeat,” cocking your head to the side as you took in his toothy grin. 

“‘Cause I ain’t gonna wake up a mama bear,” laughing out loud as he smoothed a hand on your lower back, “I don’t wanna get bit darlin’!” pulling you into a huge hug as you both laughed. 

“Well,” you got up from the couch, extending a hand to pull your man to bed, “if ya want… This mama bear needs a lil’ lovin’ from her big daddy bear,” winking as you inched him back towards the bedroom, “an’ I got a hankerin’ fer some horsecock right ‘bout now,” pushing him onto the bed while you straddled his hips, removing your t-shirt to reveal your fullness to him. 

His cock straining again under the weight of your slick cunt as it rubbed the length up and down from your grinding on him. 

“Ya like whatcha see daddy?” whining as you lined your entrance with his tip, his groans enough to send you into another stratosphere as you swallowed him inch by painful inch. 

“I love seein’ ma baby girl like this,” he strained again, gripping your hip in his hand as he pushed himself up into to you, “all full a me… It’s ma favorite thing in the world,” gritting out over your purrs for him. 

The sensation was magical. His cock teasing your cervix with every knock as he grunted his motions out while you ground your sloppy pussy over his pubic hair. The movements hitting your engorged clit with every rub and tug from the both of you melting into each other. 

“I love bein’ all full a you big bear,” wailing out as you gripped his huge tits in your hands, your own dangling in front of his face as the sound of wet slaps penetrated the room. 

“Ya?” he growled out, setting an even more punishing pace as he watched your jaw drop and your gorgeous tits bounce, “ya want me ta keep ya like this? Breed ya ‘til ya can’t take it no more?” the words hitting your bud as your spine tingled in your impending orgasm. 

He knew exactly what he was doing. Knew the words and the movements to get his baby whining and moaning like a complete whore under or over him. He may have been a simple country boy, but he knew his way around his wife, and what went straight into her cunt besides his large and in charge dick. 

“G-Good G-God yes daddy!” the tears spilling as you rag-dolled over his large frame, the orgasm spilling over you in an unexpected wave as his words cut to your very core. His motions grew erratic upon feeling your flutters clench around him in the most delicious way. 

He watched your eyes meet his again, the blackout you’d sustained fading away as overstimulation set in. His grip tightened even more as he began to spill into you, his relieved cries reverberating around the room as he felt your warm cunt suck up his spend. 

“J-Jesus baby girl,” he groaned, his balls completely empty as you fell to the side of him in a thud, your breaths coming in tandem with his as he gazed at you. 

“Ya alright mama?” he pet your growing bump with the utmost tenderness, “I didn’t hurt ya ‘er nuthin’ did I?” glancing a look down at your figure in a panic before your hand reached his cheek. 

“Ya didn’t hurt me or the baby at all big bear,” caressing his cheek as you pecked his plush lips, “we’re jus’ fine,” smiling warmly as he exhaled a relieved sigh, his eyes fluttering in his impending tiredness.

“I think daddy needs ta go ta bed, whatchu think baby bear?” giggling slightly as a smile crept over his face in total relaxation, his circles slowing as he stilled his big paw over your baby. 

“Goodnight daddy,” whispering on his forehead as his breath evened out, and his limbs went limp. 

________________

In other news, you ever have a job as a waiter? 

taglist: @maybe-your-left, @safarigirlsp, @clydesfavoritegirl, @emeraldsiren20, @thepalaceofmelanie, @obsessedwiththemadness, @hopeamarsu, @caillea, @historyandfandoms50, @mariesackler, @millenialcatlady, @thepriceofstars, @roanniom

LMK if ya would like to be added to any taglist of mine! All of my love!🖤 

[teddy06writes]

The Phantom Of The Opera AU

requested by this anon: “Okay so I know you’re a musical kid so you have probably listened to/heard of Phantom of the Opera. Picture this: Dream as the Phamtom x Fem!reader as Christine x Sapnap as Raul”

Dream x Fem!reader and Sapnap x fem!reader (with dream as the phantom and sapnap as Raul)

trigger warnings: death, dream being a low key creeper, maybe some swears, my general lack of knowledge of this musical

premise: Phantom AU, not neccicarily the full story, its mainly what I’ve seen/read/listened to that I think is important, and like eight of the songs. Ummm, I feel like the summary above is enough for you to get the general idea.

(y/l/n)- your last name

“blep” regular talking

“Belp” singing

When things are in counterpoint, regular text will be (y/n), (text in parenthesis is sapnap), and {bracketed text is Dream}

if you, like me are unfamilliar with the story, this is the summary that arrived in my inbox last night (thank you so much to the person who sent that by the way, it really helped)  

“So basically phantom of the opera is a love triangle between 3 people, the Phantom (P) x Christine (C) x Raul (R). C and R were childhood friends until R had to move away. C grew up in the Opera house with her dad (deceased) as a music writer. C grows up getting “private” singing lessons from P ( he is literally talking to her through a vent ((Among Us omg)) or something idk). Fast forward into the future to present day. C is a ballerina at the opera and one day, the phantom makes the set malfunction so that the lead female opera singer (she’s a jerk. Forgot her name) can’t preform and C has to preform as the lead instead. Coincidentally, the night Christine sings as the lead is the day R comes to see her show and R is like “ooWooga she be fine now ig”. R and C catch up after the show and R goes away for a minute and then P is like “aight C imma kidnap you for a sec with no purpose whatsoever to the plot except for a cool song” and then C returns to her normal life ig. P them sends stuff to the people in charge of the Opera saying “ayo C be pretty fine, let her be the lead again” the people in charge of the opera were like “nah fam, let’s have the person who was supposed to be the lead be the lead”. Upset by this, during the show, P broke the chandelier and it fell into the audience. C is like “I love you uwu” R is like”let’s get engaged” C is like “let’s keep it a secret so the crazy P guy doesn’t find out” and little did they know during that conversation P was hiding and overheard everything and is now sad boi hours. A masquerade happens and P shows up like “ayo I heard you trynna steal my boo” and R is like “nah she my boo” and they duel or whatever. Idk how it transitions to this but the Opera runs another show and they make C the lead to not upset P. However, during a love song (Past the point of no return, it literally slaps), C realizes that the person singing isn’t the original actor, it is P! And then P straight up kidnaps C after the song, takes her to his lair and is like “boo you gotta marry me or I destroy the opera house with everyone inside it” C is like “fine ig” P takes off his mask and reveals he is hiding burn marks and he kisses C and C kisses back. P is like” my mom never even kissed me” and P let’s C go, telling her to go marry R... or you can just watch this video lmao https://youtu.be/4a5nahw3zi8″

On that note, here we go:

{that only goes for the final scene where its all three, it varies otherwise}

{Things I have learned while preparing this story, 1. the actual phantoms name is Erik, like what a nerd, 2. he’s also not actually a ghost??? He’s literally just some creeper who lives in an opera house screwing with people; also yes Eret is the strict lady who yells at everyone and talks to the phantom, deal with it}

{pls send me more musical au asks I really liked doing this, even if it took me a while}

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The ravenous applause of the audience seemed to echo in your ears, even after you had left the stage. 

You’re debut as the female lead in Hannibal had been a smashing success, and as the rest of the chorus girls backstage were saying, it was all thanks to the Phantom scaring Hannah off.  

Niki practically ran up to you from the rehearsal room, “(y/n) that was incredible!” 

You grinned, “Oh I feel like I’m floating Niki! Thank you for volunteering me for the role.” 

“Don’t thank me, Thank whoever's giving you those lessons,” She bumped her hip against yours, grinning cheekily, “And if what the girls are saying is true you’ll have to thank him for getting Hannah out of here.” 

You chuckled, but before you could say anything else Madame Eret was approaching, knocking the end of their cane of the ground, “Miss Nihachu, you are a dancer are you not?” 

Niki nodded. 

“Then get back to rehearsal,” he waited until Niki hurried off to turn to you, “He is most pleased with your performance, here.”

You took the note from him, reading over it quietly, “Red scarf..... the attic.... little lotte?” 

She simply shrugged, leaving you to turn and head up your dressing room. 

As you changed out of your costume from the show you couldn’t help but hum the song that had earned the most applause, “Think of me, think of me of me fondly, when we’ve said goodbye.” 

Reaching around you found your dressing gown, pulling it on and tying up the front, “Remember me, once and a while. Please, promise you’ll try...” 

Your words faded off as your sat down at your vanity, beginning to brush out your hair. 

“Where is your red scarf Miss (y/l/n)? I hope you haven’t lost it. Not after all the trouble I went through to retrieve it for you.” 

You turned to see a tall dark hair man standing in the doorway, a grin spreading across your face as he continued, “I was only 14 and soaked to the bone...” 

“Because you ran into the sea to fetch my red scarf!” You exclaimed, jumping up and flinging your arms around him excietedly, “Sapnap! How I’ve missed you!” 

He chuckled, pulling away, and offering you a single red rose, “(y/n)... Little Lotte let her mind wander...” 

“You remember that too?” You asked with a giggle. 

Sapnap smiled and kept singing, “Little Lotte thought: am I fonder of dolls,” 

“Or of goblins or shoes?” You joined in, “Or of riddles of frocks, or chocolates.” 

“Those picnics n the attic...” He reminisced. 

You closed your eyes, remembering those long ago days, “Father playing the violin.” 

“As we read each other those dark stories of the north.” 

“No what I like best, little Lotte said, is when I’m asleep in my bed,” You sang, “And the angel of music sings songs in my head!” 

“The angel of music sings songs in my head.” He repeated softly. 

You smiled at him, an excited fond feeling forming in your stomach as you sank back into your chair,  “Father said, when I am in heaven child I will send the angel of music to you. Well now father is dead, Sapnap. And I have been visited by the angel of music.” 

“Well that is very evident,” He chuckled, taking your hands, “Your performance was wonderful. And now, we shall go to supper.” 

“Oh- sapnap I can’t, the angle of music is very strict.” 

He didn’t seem to understand the urgency in your voice as he laughed again, “Well I shant keep you up late.”

“No- Sapnap, things have changed-”

“You have to change,” He interrupted, “And I have to grab my hat. Two minutes little lotte.” 

As he went out the door you cried after him, “Sapnap! Thing have changed Sapnap!”

But he was out of earshot, and the voice that had become so familiar to you was booming, “Insolate boy! This Slave of fashion basking in your glory! Ignorant fool! This brave young suitor, sharing my triumph!”

“Angel I hear you! Speak, I listen! Stay by my side and gude me!” You begged up to the ceiling, “Angel my soul was weak! Forgive me! Enter at last master!”

“Flattering child, you shall know me, see why in the shadow I hide, look at your face in the mirror, I am their inside!” 

The voice sounded closer now, and you couldn’t help but look around, “Angel of music! Hide no longer!” 

You turned again, finding yourself face to face with what seemed like a mask, floating in your mirror, “Come to me, strange angel!”

“I am your angel! Come to me angel of music!” 

A shadowy figure seemed to appear behind the smiling mask, a hand outstretched to you. In a daze you stood, grabbing his hand and allowing him to lead you away down a dark pathway.

“Who’s voice is that?” Sapnap asked, knocking on the now closed door, “(y/n) who’s in there?” 

“Come with me angel of music!” Dream, the Phantoms voice echoed again. 

“(y/n)!” 

~~

“In sleep he came to me, the voice which calls to me and speaks my name!” You moved quietly through the passages, following Dream, “And Do I dream again? for now I find, the phantom of the opera is there, inside my mind!” 

“Sing once again with me our strange duet! My power over you grows stronger yet! And though you turn from me to look behind, the phantom of the opera is there! Inside your mind!” He sang, turning back to make sure you were following once more.

The walls of the tunnel seemed to widen, and you could almost make out an empty candle lit space. 

You reached out, fingers almost brushing the edge of his cloak, “Those who have seen your face draw back in fear! I am the mask you wear..”

“It’s me they hear...” 

As you emerged into a cross roads of the tunnels, you sang in tandem, “Your (my) spirit and your (my) voice in one combined, the phantom of the opera is there, inside your (my) mind!” 

He helped you into the boat that waited in one tunnel, before casting off, propelling the boat down the slow moving current, “In all your fantasies, you always knew the man and mystery...” 

“Were both in you....” You sang softly as the boat came to dock in a wide chamber.

Slowly you climbed out of the boat after him, looking around the dank space, and at the organ in the corner. 

Dream pulled off his cloak, “And in this labyrinth where the night is blind..”

“The Phantom of the opera is there! Inside my mind......” 

~~

As the people downstairs argued, you tried to think over what had happened. Was it a dream? It didn’t seem like it, but still, a man appearing in her looking glass? Taking her away and singing words of praise, words of love, words that made nearly no sense now that it was day, and a haze covered your memory. 

The one thing that remained clear was the monster she had found beyond the mask.

All too soon it seemed you were being rushed into rehearsals, being told you no longer had a speaking role, as Hannah had returned, and was back to her diva ways. 

Rehearsals that would normally drag on seemed to go quicker now, and soon you and the rest of the girls were getting ready for the performance. 

“This is ridiculous,” Niki muttered as she adjusted her costume, “You should be playing the duchess, not Hannab.” 

“Hannah is the featured soprano. She’s always the lead.” You retorted. 

“But how will Sapnap know to look for you in the chorus?” Niki teased.

You elbowed her, laughing lightly, “Shut up. Besides I doubt the phantom would let him see me again.”

The show had gone well, at least until the fifth scene. 

All the music stopped abruptly as a voice boomed, “Did I not instruct that box five was to be left empty?”

“He’s here: The Phantom Of The Opera!” Niki cried from offstage. 

Your head jerked up to turn and look at the audience, “It’s Dream!” 

“Your part is silent, you toad!” Hannah snapped. 

From somewhere up in the audience Dream frowned, “A toad Madame? Perhaps it is you who is the toad...” 

Hanna opened her mouth to continue on her script, but no sound seemed to come out, save for what was close the a croak. 

The men who had bought the opera house, Wilbur and Tommy were coming rushing down from their box, “Ladies and gentlemen we apologize! The performance will continue in ten minutes time, with Miss (y/l/n) as the duchess!”

Tommy nodded as Wilbur finished, “And for now, we will give you the ballet, from act three of tonight's show!” 

The ballet didn’t last long, as when you returned to the wings dressed for the new role you had been given, someone let out a horrified scream.

“What the-” 

You were cut off as you looked up to see Shlatt, the stagehand in charged of the curtains, hanging from the rigging, a noose fully tightened around his neck. 

“Ladies and gentlemen remain calm! It was just an accident- remain calm!” Someone shouted. 

Through the darkness you could make out Dream’s menacing figure, the smiling mask watching you threateningly as you clamped your hand over your mouth to stop the scream that had ripped at your throat. 

“(y/n)? (y/n) are you alright?” Sapnap had run down onto the stage in all the chaos. 

“We- we have to get out of here,” You choked, grabbing his hand, “We aren’t safe here.” 

He didn’t seem to understand the reason behind your panic, but even so he offer you his arm, “Lets leave then.” 

~~

Twenty minutes later you ended up in an empty park, the panic that filled your chest not yet fading as Sapnap asked, “Why have you brought me here?”

“We can’t go back there!” You exclaimed. 

“But we must return.” He gripped your hands, “Darling their bound to be missing you.” 

You shook your head, “Sapnap- He’ll kill you! His eyes will find us there!” 

“(y/n), don’t say that! It’s okay (y/n), it’s okay!” 

You looked up into the darkened sky, “No it’s not- no it’s not- Those eyes that burn!” 

“Don’t even think it!” He cried desperately. 

You couldn’t tell whether you were trembling from fear, or from the cold, as you sang, “And if he has to kill a thousand men....” 

“Forget this waking nightmare!” Sapnap insisted. 

“....The phantom of the opera will kill.” You sang distractedly. 

He gripped your shoulders, “This phantom is a fable, (y/n), believe me!” 

“And kill again....” You shuddered at the idea of Dream doing anything to Sapnap. 

Both of you sang, “God who is this man, who hunts to kill? (this mask of death?)

“I can’t escape him!” You cried. 

He shook his head, “Whose voice is it you hear...”

“...I never will!” 

“With every breath?” 

His grip on your shoulders tightened, pulling you closer to him as you both sang, “And in this labyrinth where light is blind, the phantom of the opera is there, inside my (your) mind!”

“There is no Phantom of the Opera!” 

“Sapnap- I’ve been there, inside his world of never ending light! To a world where daylight dissolves into darkness, darkness! Sapnap I’ve seen him!” You cried. “Can I ever forget that sight? Can I ever escape that face? So distorted, disformed it was hardly a face!  in the darkness, darkness. But his voice filled my spirit with a strange, sweet sound in that night there was music in my mind And through music my soul began to soar! And I heard as I'd never heard before!” 

“What you had was a dream and nothing more!” 

You could hardly look up at him, “yet in his eyes was all the sadness in the world! Those pleading eyes that both threaten and adore!” 

“(y/n), (y/n)!”  Sapnap exclaimed. 

“.....(y/n)......” A different voice seemed to cry into the night. 

You gasped, pressing yourself against Sapnap, “What was that?” 

He hugged you tightly, before pulling back and singing gently, “No more talk of darkness, forget these wide eyed fears. I’m here, and nothing can harm you, my words will warm and calm you.” 

You relaxed into his grip, listening to his quiet voice, “Let me be your freedom, let daylight dry your tears, I’m here, with you, beside you, to guard you and to guide you.” 

“Say you love me, every waking moment. Turn my head and talk of summer time,” You looked up at him, biting your lip, “Say you need me now and always, promise me that all you say is true, that's all I ask of you.” 

“Let me be your shelter, let me be your light, you are safe, no one will find you. Your fears are far behind you.” He assured you, smiling softly. 

 “All I want is freedom, a world with no more night. And you to always be beside me, to hold me and to hide me.” You admitted. 

Sapnap’s smile grew wider, “Then say you’ll share with me, one love, one life time. Let me lead you from your solitude. Say you need me here, beside you. Anywhere you go let me go too, (y/n), that's all I ask of you.” 

“Say you’ll share with me, one love, one life time,” You repeated, “Say the word, and I’ll follow you.” 

“Share each day with me, each night, each morning.” You sang together as he leaned down to rest his forehead on yours.

“Say you love me?” 

He smiled, whispering, “You know I do.” 

“Love me- that's all I ask of you.” You both sang, before he leaned in to gently press a kiss to your lips, “Any where you go, let me go too. Love me- thats all I ask of you.” 

Sapnap kissed you again, before pulling away, “We could go anywhere- we could be married! You would marry me, yes?” 

“Oh, yes, Sapnap, yes I would. If you’d have me.” You nodded, eagerly. 

He grinned, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

You couldn’t help but giggle, before turning back toward the direction of the opera house, “I must go back, they’ll wonder where I am. Wait for me Sapnap!” 

“(y/n), I love you!” He exclaimed. 

“Wait for me, Sapnap. Order your finest horses and being waiting by the door.” You could go back, and continue working at the opera house, there was nothing left for you to fear while Sapnap was there.

“And soon you’ll be beside me!” He chuckled.

You grinned, “To guard me and too guide me!” 

Sapnap offered you his arm again, and you headed off out of the park, toward the opera house. 

Slowly, Dream slinked from the shadows where he had watched the proposal, “I gave you my music, made your song take wing. And now your repaid me, denied and betrayed me.” 

He groaned running a hand through his hair, “He was bound to love you, when he heard you sing. (y/n)- oh (y/n)-”

He was cut off by the sounds of your voices drifting down the street, Say you’ll share with me, one love, one life time, Say the word, and I’ll follow you. Share each day with me, each night, each morning.”

Dream’s hands flew to his ears, desperate to block out the sounds- he had been so sure that you could’ve loved him, but now Sapnap was stealing you away. 

“You will curse the day you did not do, all that the phantom asked of you!” He bellowed. 

~~

The following weeks at the opera house were a blur of panic masked by busyness, Wilbur and Tommy refusing to let the disaster of the chandelier falling from keeping the company from working on their next performance. 

You kept on working, the ring on the chain Sapnap had given you around your neck helping you to feel safe, even as the chorus girls cited the Phantom for the cause of all the distress. 

Now you were back in your dressing room, getting ready for dinner with Sapnap.

“Wander child, so lost, so helpless,” A soft voice seemed to drift down from no where, “Yearning for my guidance.” 

You looked up at the ceiling, “angel or father? Friend or phantom? Who is it their staring?” 

“Have you forgotten your angel?” The voice murmured, Dream appearing once again in your mirror. 

You turned to him, almost in a trance, “angel, oh, speak, what endless longings, echo in this whisper.” 

Sapnap, having arrived to the opera house appeared in the door, watched as you moved toward the phantom. 

“Too long you’ve wandered the winter...” Dream continued to sing, hand outstretched to you. 

“Once again she is his.” Sapnap sang, as you started to cross the room toward the mirror where the phantom stood. 

“...far from my far reaching eyes.” 

“Wildly my mind beats against you....” You sang, transfixed. 

Behind the mask Dream grinned, “You resist. Yet your soul obeys.” 

“Once again she returns, to the arms of her angel. Angel or demon? Still he calls her, luring her back from the grave. Angel or dark seducer? Who are you strange angel?” Sapnap sang, again, more to himself than you or Dream. 

Dream beckoned you forward again,  “I am your angel of music, come to me angel of music!”

“Angel of darkness, cease this torment!” Sapnap exclaimed, moving into the room properly and drawing attention to himself. 

Dream unbothered, continued to sing, “I am your angle of music! Come to me angel of music!” 

“(y/n), (y/n) listen to me! Whatever you may believe- this thing, this man is not your father!”  Sapnap yelled, “(y/n)! Let her go! For gods sake let her go!” 

Jarred by his sudden yell, you turned, the trance broken, “Sapnap...” 

Dream, unimpressed, began to clap, deadpanning, “Bravo monsieur. Such spirited words.” 

“No more tricks monsieur!” Sapnap yelled, stepping forward to put himself between you and Dream. 

“Oh, but that's not any fun. Why don’t you come closer, sir? Keep coming this way.” 

Sapnap, not liking to be challenged, stepped forward, “You cannot win her love by holding her prisoner!” 

“No- Sapnap don’t!” You grabbed his hand, pulling him back. 

He nodded resolutely, gripping your hand as you both moved toward the door, “Lets go then, no more time will be spent with this monster.” 

“Don’t go!” Dream wailed as you hurried away down the hall, “Now let it be war upon you both!” 

~~

Something was going wrong, of course it was, because when was it not?

Your entrance in Don Juan Triumphant had gone according to plan, but the man who had stepped out as Don Juan was not George, as it should have been.

You steeled yourself, trying to come up with a logical reason.

George must have gotten sick, and a stand in had taken his place, yes that must be it.

“Past the point of no return, no backward glances, the games we played till now, are at an end.” The man sang, “Past all thought of ‘if’ or ‘when’, no use resisting, abandon that thought and let the dream descend.”

Your panic seemed to rise, the double meaning in his words filling you with dread.

“What raging fire shall flood the soul? What rich desire locks the door? What sweet seduction lies before is? Past the point of no return, the final thread hold. What unspoken secrets will we learn? Beyond the point of no return.”

You moved carefully to your next mark, trying to work out who it was in George’s place, “You have brought me, to the moment when words run dry, to the moment when speech disappears into silence, silence.

I have come here, hardly knowing the reason why, in my mind I already imagined, our bodies entwined. Defenseless and silent, now I am here with you, no second thoughts, I’ve decided, decided.”

You just barley stopped from trembling as you realized, it was Dream, “Past the point of no return, no going back now. Our passion play has now, at last, begun. Past all thought of right and wrong. One final question: how long should we two wait, before we’re one?”

“When will the blood being to race? When will the sleeping bud burst into bloom? When will the flames at last consume us?” You finished, taking an only slightly shaky breath.

The phantom grabbed your hand as you both sang, “Past the point of no return, the final threshold. The bridge is crossed so stand and watch it burn, we’ve past the point of no return!”

Everyone in the audience seemed to hold their breath, they too knew that this was not George. The cloak that had hidden Dreams mask fell, and they gasped upon seeing the plaster smiling face.

He grinned behind the mask, and punctuated, “Say you’ll share with me, one love, one lifetimes lead me, save me from my solitude.”

The words stung even before he pulled out a ring, holding it out to you, “come with me, or this whole place will come down upon us.”

Slowly you looked to the audience, Sapnap was standing in the isle, looking worried.

You couldn’t let him get hurt.

You nodded reluctantly, as he continued, “say you want me by your side anywhere you go let me go too, (y/n) that’s all I ask of-“

Slowly, you reached up, pulling the mask off his face, revealing the terribly scared face to the world.

The gasps turned into horrible screams as a curtain was raised, and Georges body tumbled onto the stage.

Almost immediately Dream flung his cloak around you, disappearing.

Sapnap ran up onto the stage, along with the crew, police officers and other patrons.

“Sapnap! Sapnap you’ve got to come with me!” Eret cried, rushing out onto the stage.

“What the hell is going on?”

“Sapnap!” They yelled again, “I know where they are!”

“But can I trust you?” He demanded.

She nodded, “yes, and remember, keep your hand up at eye level.”

“Why?”

“Punjab lasso.” Was all he offered in explication as he led Sapnap away.

~~

Soon enough Sapnap was creeping through the shadows of the phantoms layer, watching as he tried to place a wedding veil on your head, “Too bad pity comes to late, turn around and face your fate, an entirety of this before your eyes!”

You turn to face him, looking up at the mess of scares that cover his face, “this haunted face holds no horror for me now, it is in your soul that the true distortion lies.”

The phantom turned suddenly, to Sapnaps hiding place, “Wait! I think, my dear, we have a guest! Sir, this is indeed an unparalleled delight! I had rather hoped that you would come And now my wish comes true— you have truly made my night!”

“Free her!” Sapnap yelled, stepping into the light, “do what you want to me but let her go!”

“Your lover makes a passionate plea.” Dream laughed at you.

“Sapnap it’s useless!” You cried.

Sapnap shook his head, “I love her! Does that mean anything To you? I love her! Show some compassion!”

“The world showed no compassion to me!” Dream retorted.

He reached out toward you, “(y/n), (y/n), please let me see her!”

Dream grinned maliciously, “be my guest.”

Sapnap rushed forwards, as Dream contiued to taunt, “Monsuier, i bid you welcome, did you think that I would hurt her? Why should I make her pay, for the sins which are yours?” 

As he finished the last words the Punjab lasso came sailing out, and Sapnap barley had time to fling his arm back up as he was dragged back, the only thing keeping him from hanging being the fingers he’d wrangled between the rope and his neck. 

“No!” You cried, struggling to your feet. 

“Order your fine horses now!” Dream yelled, “Nothing now can save you, except maybe... (y/n).” 

You stood, shaking as he turned to you, “Start a new life with me- buy his freedom with your love! Refuse me now and send your lover to his death! This is the choice, this is the point of no return!” 

“(y/n), forgive me, please forgive me, I did it all for you, and all for nothing.” Sapnap sang, looking at you desperately.  

At the same time you turned toward Dream, “Farewell my fallen idol, and my false friend, one by one my delusions shattered.” 

“Too late for turning back, too late for prayers and useless pity!” Dream sang.

“{all hope of cries for help, no point in fighting!} (say you love and my life is over, either way you choose, he has to win!) {for ether way you choose, you cannot win! So do you end your days with me or do you send him to his grave?}”

“Why make her lie to you, to save me?” Sapnap yelled. 

You looked between them desperately, “Angel of music..... {past the point of no return!} (For pity’s sake (y/n) say no! Don’t throw your life away for my sake!) Who deserves this? When will you see reason? {The Final threshold! His life is now the prize you must earn! You’ve passed the point of no return....}”

You looked at Dream, no longer trying to hide the fear that coursed through your veins, “Angel of music, you have deceived me, I gave myself blindly to you.” 

“You try my patience! Make your choice!” Dream yelled. 

Looking back at sapnap for a moment you stepped forward, whatever it would take, you would keep him safe, “Pitiful creature of darkness, what kind of life have you known? God give me courage to show you, you are not alone.” 

Reaching out, you took the mask from his hand, tossing it to the side as he moved closer to you as well. 

Before you could hardly blink he was kissing you, and with little more than a second thought you kissed back. 

Sapnap watched, in partials horror, until the phantom drew back, shaking as he whispered, “No one has ever kissed me- not even my own mother.” 

You nodded, and then suddenly Dream began to move across the room, grabbing a knife from somewhere as he stalked up to Sapnap.

He paused for a beat, and you could feel the terror in the room- until he slashed at the rope, and Sapnap fell the ground. 

You rushed over to him, kneeling beside him, “Sapnap! oh Sapnap!” 

“Take her,” dream wailed, “Take her and forget me, forget all of this! Leave me alone- forget all you’ve seen....”

Sapnap struggled to his feet, holding you close to him as he backed towards the channel. 

“Take the boat, leave me here, go now, please!” 

The sounds of the mob looking for Georges murderer seemed to grow louder as they grew closer.

“Hurry! Now before its too late!” Dream yelled. 

Sapnap hurriedly started to help you into the boat, but you pulled away, moving back to the Phantom, long enough to hand him the ring. 

Then you were off, turning to Sapnap as the current carried the boat away, “I’m sorry Sapnap- I couldn’t let him hurt you- I couldn’t!” 

“Shhh. It’s alright (y/n), it’s alright. He can’t hurt you anymore.” He murmured, pulling you into his arms.

“Say you’ll share with me, one love one lifetime.” You sang shakily.

Sapnap nodded, “Say the word and I’ll follow you.”

“Share each day with me, each night, each morning...” The sounds of your voices traveled back up the tunnel for Dream to hear. 

He sighed, looking resolutly into the distance, “You alone can make my song take flight- It’s over now, the music of the night!”

[caught-in-the-filter]

Smutty CS notion: sweet duckling Princess Emma stumbles on Dark Hook and is too intrigued for her own good...there are some things she just won’t tell Queen Snow 😉

Chasing a Shadow (Chasing a High) - Chapter 1

A/N:Thank you so much for the prompt @karlyfr13s! There is never enough Dark Hook Duckling. 😏 I hope you like it! 😘❤️ Huge thank you to @veryverynotgoodwrites for beta-ing and being awesome. ❤️ And thank you to everyone on the CSMM Discord for all your support! ❤️

Rated: E; Words (Ch1): 3856; AO3 tumblr.: Ch1, Ch2

——

Emma knew how to handle herself. As the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming, who’d since become the ruling queen and king, she’d been well-trained in several ways by which to defend herself and protect the citizens of their kingdom. She could use a bow and arrow, was very skilled with a sword, and knew how to travel amongst others undetected. Whenever she’d asked to venture into the town, her parents were usually agreeable to it.

They didn’t know, however, about the dark figure in whom she’d taken an interest on her last few visits. Curiosity bubbled inside her while she watched him from afar as he swiftly moved through the crowd, the hood of his cloak concealing his face as he rounded a corner and vanished from her sight.

It became a little game she played with herself—finding him, trying to catch a glimpse of the man beneath the shadows, almost copying his swagger as she followed him. She wanted to know where he disappeared to every day as the sun set.

Her desire for answers made her bolder than she’d ever been, determination fueling her next moves.

Emma tracked the mysterious figure to a seedy street a few towns over, sparsely lined with lamps which mostly remained unlit as the day gave way to nightfall, and she found herself squinting in the darkness as she lost sight of the man again.

“A bit far from home, aren’t we, lass?”

Emma jumped at the sound of the sultry voice and turned to face its source. Her eyes widened as she got a good look at the cloaked man for the first time. Dark wisps of hair covered his forehead, and matching scruff decorated his chin, with equally dark kohl setting off his deep blue eyes and making them look that much more wild. An intriguing scar had long since healed on his cheek, and despite it, she couldn’t explain the sudden ache she felt as she scanned his features. He was rather attractive, she had to admit, save for the threat of the sharp metal hook whose tip he held at her throat as he backed her to a wall, the sudden contact of cold stone taking her by surprise. (In all honesty, though, that intrigued her too, the moonlight dancing across its surface as it sent a chill of some sort coursing through her.)

“What is it, love?” he sneered. “Are you here to make a deal or to try to kill me?” He glanced down at her scabbard and loosened it with his hand, shoving it to the ground with a clatter. “Either way, you’re in so far over your head.”

“Please,” Emma croaked, her throat suddenly dry, though from what she wasn’t quite sure. It wasn’t exactly fear, she knew that much. “Neither. I just—”

“Ahh,” he gave her a devilish grin, “or perhaps you’re after something else entirely.” His hand snuck beneath her bodice and seared her skin as he slid it up her side. “Does the thought of the big, bad Dark One turn you on?” He leaned the curve of his hook against the wall over her shoulder and hovered his face just above where it had been, inhaling sharply along her neck and humming against the shell of her ear, making her legs tremble beneath her as they suddenly grew weak. “Ohh, you don’t know what you’ve just gotten yourself into, then,” he growled, “Princess.”

The Dark One?!

“W-wait—” she pleaded because she knew she should. Panted, really. He already had her breathless as his mouth explored what little skin was left exposed by her modest outfit, while his hand found her laces and worked to reveal more of it to him. “I didn’t know….” She’d heard stories of the Dark One that had made her blood run cold, and she knew the danger he presented.

But the man in front of her didn’t quite fit the description that had been passed along in fairy tales, and all she felt now was heat, pooling low in her belly and blossoming on her cheeks and curling her toes.

“You know who I am?” she questioned, not that her identity was exactly a secret, but she thought she’d done well to evade his observation, though she guessed her current circumstances proved otherwise.

“Aye. Why do you think I led you all this way?” he asked, rucking up her skirts as his fingers brushed the back of her knee, encouraging her to lock her leg behind him as he lifted it and caressed her thigh. “I couldn’t very well take you in the middle of your own town for everyone you know to witness.” His eyebrow raised as he added cheekily, “Unless, of course, you’d like that too.”

“I wouldn’t,” she replied quickly, unamused by his soft chuckle.

“But you’d like me to take you here?” he teased, not waiting for an answer. She gasped into his mouth as he slanted it against hers, his tongue inviting itself between her lips and she found it not unwelcome as it drew forth a moan from deep within her in tandem with his thigh as he nudged her legs further apart and nestled it between them. Without a second thought, she rocked her hips, seeking a friction she didn’t know she needed until each pass both soothed and spurred the throbbing she felt in her core.

“Tell me what you desire, Princess,” he coaxed, breath hot over her lips. “I know you’ve been following me for some time. Tell me what you’ve come to crave, and I shall make it happen.”

“And what would I owe in return?” Emma knew any interaction with the Dark One would have unintended consequences.

“For you, love, I’d make an exception. Consider it my patronage to the crown,” he said with a flourishing bow while keeping his thigh pressed between hers. The timbre of his voice dropped much lower as he pressed his forehead to hers and purred, “With or without magic, you’ll come with no price, I assure you.”

Emma knew it was a bad idea, tried to convince herself to push him away, but her hands and hormones betrayed her mind as she pulled him closer, one hand anchored in his hair while the other splayed against his back and travelled lower to grip his ass with a confident playfulness neither of them had expected. She felt the hard bulge rubbing her thigh through his trousers as she continued to ride his leg and cursed without realizing what she was saying.

“My, what a crude vocabulary for a princess,” the Dark One commented, slowly sliding his hand toward the apex of her thighs. “Beneath the yards of intricate fabric, you’re still just a needy little wench, aren’t you?” He sent a jolt along her spine as his fingers passed through her folds and eased between them, working her more gently than his reputation would’ve led her to expect. “You put on airs of piety, in your castle with your guard and your formal address, but your slickness reveals the truth of your primal desire.” He pressed them deeper inside her, adding another and curling them towards himself, and she arched into his touch with a whimper and another string of curses when he continued to repeat the motion. “That’s it, darling. Fuck yourself with my hand. Show me just how desperate you are for me.”

Emma furrowed her brow at his words, unsure of when he’d stilled his hand and let her take over the pace. Her rhythm faltered, and she canted her hips in protest as he removed his hand from her core, only to watch in stunned amazement as he licked her arousal from his fingers one by one, his talented tongue determined to catch every drop.

“Your taste is exquisite, Princess,” he said. “It’s no wonder you stay locked away at most times. If they only knew what they were missing, you’d never be without a caller begging for even the smallest sample of your irresistible sweetness.”

Emma stuttered over unintelligible syllables, biting back words she hadn’t expected to want to say, a vulgar question nagging to be spoken that she wouldn’t dare to voice.

“Yes, love?” The Dark One pressed his chest flush against her, staring into her eyes, his mouth a hair’s breadth away from hers.

“I, umm—” Emma hesitated. The Dark One simply smiled, waiting.

“You’re a bit of an open book, Princess,” he said. “I can read your thoughts, but to get what you want, I need you to say it.”

Not one to back down from a challenge, Emma worked up the courage to ask, “Would—would you like to taste it directly?”

He raised his eyebrow and hummed his assent, his voice a low rumble in his chest as he prodded, “Is that what you would like, love?”

“Y-yes.”

“Then tell me.”

“I want your mouth on me, Dark One,” she pleaded. “I want to feel your tongue inside me.”

“Mmmm, with pleasure,” he growled as he sank to his knees in front of her and ducked beneath her skirts.

The sinful cry that left her lips echoed down the empty street as he made contact with her wet and aching flesh, and Emma was sure someone would hear it and the equally loud moans that followed. Her legs wanted to cave beneath her, instinctively pulling together and pressing tightly around his cheeks as he devoured her, the brush of his scruff burning her skin in the best way. He chuckled without pausing his ministrations and held her thighs apart with the palm of his hand warming one and the flat of his hook cooling the other. She squirmed at the conflicting temperatures, or more likely at the way he licked and sucked in the space between them.

“Still with me, Princess?” he mumbled into her core, muffled by the layers of fabric cinched at her waist that shrouded him. Bracing herself with her arms against the wall, her fingertips dug into the gaps between the stones as he scraped his teeth against her clit and nipped at her sensitive flesh, his tongue plunging inside her as he drank in her arousal.

“Mmhmm,” she sighed unconvincingly, rolling her hips as she chased her high. A building tension overwhelmed her as the Dark One nosed at the swollen bundle of nerves while his tongue relentlessly found a spot that his fingers had only teased. “Oh gods,” she panted, her knuckles turning white as she heavily relied on the wall to keep her upright, losing the support of his hand and hook as they met his mouth in the middle to bring her to the edge.

“You flatter me,” he muttered, the joke lost on her as her head spun dizzily and fell back against the stone, her eyes fluttering closed while her hips bucked into his encouraging grunts as she came hard on his tongue.

The Dark One did well to catch as much of it as he could, opening his mouth beneath her as he thrust his fingers inside her with purpose and let her release pour into it, licking along her folds and sucking on her clit until she at last relaxed into the wall behind her. He lifted her skirts and stood before her once more, looking absolutely wrecked and feral, his chin glistening with her wetness below swollen lips, his hair mussed from static and sweat, his pupils blown wide with a greater hunger they’d yet to sate.

“I so wanted to make you wait for it,” he growled, chest heaving, “to make you wait for your release until I had you on my cock, but you were just too tempting, my dear. I had to taste all of you.”

Emma’s hands reached up to attempt to tame the haphazard locks atop his head but only served to add to the chaos as she clenched fistfuls of it instead when his lips collided with her own. She melted at the heady taste of herself on him and welcomed his full perusal of her mouth. The Dark One moaned eagerly as his tongue teased hers as it had her core, and Emma boldly took his bottom lip between her teeth as she pulled back for just a moment before she rose on her toes to meet him again.

“That’s it, Princess,” he said as they breathed together. “Take what you want.” He nosed along her jaw, nipping at the path until he bit her earlobe. His hook caught on her neckline and he tugged it down, down until he freed her breasts. The cool night air rushed across her newly exposed skin, teasing her nipples until he harshly palmed one breast and thumbed at the stiffening peak as he asked, “What do you want?”

“I want—” she could barely breathe, let alone think enough to speak. But then, she really didn’t need to think at all, only feel, to feel something more and then keep feeling it until she crashed all over again. “I want your cock, Dark One. Give me your cock.”

“Good girl,” he purred into her ear as he unlaced his trousers and lifted her skirts in the crook of his hook. His hand departed from her breast only long enough to align himself with her entrance and press inside with one steady roll of his hips as his teeth sank into her shoulder.

Emma cried out at the pleasurable pain of his bite and the stretch of his cock, clutching at his back for any sort of hold, finding purchase in the material of his cloak.

The Dark One’s fingers returned to their task of kneading her flesh as his tongue worked to soothe the purpling spot onto which his mouth had latched, and he began to move inside her with deep thrusts that left her almost empty before filling her completely each time.

“Gods, you’re so fucking tight, Princess,” he praised. “Tight and wet and fucking perfect. All for me.”

The small, encouraging sounds she made with every slide echoed the muted slap of his balls against her wet skin, the Dark One’s hungry moans finding their own sort of syncopated rhythm as he kissed along her collarbone and licked at the hollow of her throat before meeting her mouth again.

“Oh, how I’d love to taste every inch of you,” the Dark One groaned against her lips, “to watch your body quiver as I run my tongue all over your skin.” He dipped his head to trail his breath down her chest and suck at her nipple before releasing it with a soft pop. “But alas, we’ve not the time nor is it the place, and there’s a much more pressing matter for us both.”

Emma felt that tension building inside herself again as he devoured her mouth once more, massaged her breasts relentlessly, and slammed into her aching core. His words affected her more than she thought they could, and she writhed against the wall as she moved with him in an effort to bring them both to completion. She could tell he felt it too as the cords in his neck tensed and the force of his hips increased.

“Where do you want it, love?” he asked, his voice little more than a whisper this time as the words caught in his throat.

“Ins—inside me,” she choked between whimpers. “I want to feel it inside me, Dark One. Please come inside me.”

“Fuck, Princess, you are a naughty minx.” His thrusts grew rougher, more frantic as he began to lose the last of his resolve. “As you wish, my darling.”

While she thought he was already as impossibly deep as he could go, the Dark One adjusted his angle so that his legs would give him a stronger foundation as he pistoned his hips with abandon. The change sent her reeling, and she struggled to hold on as the corners of her vision blurred from his merciless snaps.

“Are you with me, Princess?” He breathed.

“Mmhmm,” Emma answered as before, though she knew it wasn’t quite true. Her mind travelled to the edge of another blissful plane, and her body was kept from physically falling only by his pinning hers to the wall.

“No, I mean, are you with me, love?” the Dark One clarified. “I’m so fucking close, sweetheart. Are you with me?”

“Y-yes.”

“Good.” His hand slid its way up to her throat, taking a loose but firm hold. This time Emma did feel just a touch of fear, wondering how far the darkness would go to get him where he wanted to be, but it soon turned to further desire as the Dark One only tightened his grip enough to make her gasp as she relaxed in a mildly lightheaded haze. “Come for me, Princess. Come right on my cock as I fill you with my seed, you naughty thing.”

It did something to her, the way he continually mixed formalities with such vulgarity in equally sultry tones and with an eloquence that made her wonder for a brief moment why there would be any other way to speak when his speech alone could make her feel so good.

Emma’s legs began to quake beneath her when he passed the curve of his hook over her clit in deliberate circles and reminded her that she didn’t have to rely on just his voice to find her release, for which she was most grateful.

The Dark One stifled their moans of pleasure with a passionate kiss, plunging his tongue as deep as his cock as his hips stuttered and stilled and he spilled himself inside her. Their chests heaved as they rested their foreheads together and panted over each other’s lips, attempting to catch their breaths and waiting for their limbs to feel solidified again before daring to move.

“That was wonderful, darling. And I’ll be expecting some… other reciprocation with this pretty little mouth of yours next time,” the Dark One smirked. With a snap of his fingers, he righted himself, leaving her already missing the feel of his cock as his trousers laced themselves.

“Next time? I thought you said I’d come at no price,” she teased, wrapping her fingers around his hook and running them back and forth along the curve.

“That I did. And I didn’t lie, you’ve nothing to repay me.” He took the time to manually fix her bodice, every brush of his fingers lighting little fires across her skin, his effort with the ties as hot as the rest of their prior interactions. “But you withheld the truth from me of just how good of a fuck you are, Princess. You can’t honestly say this was a one-time thing.”

Emma hummed and placed her other hand on his chest as she challenged, “And what if I do?”

“Then I’d hope you’d kindly get on your knees for me right now, and I would assure you that whatever ungodly hour you arrive home will have been worth it.”

Emma’s gaze flicked from his eyes to his mouth and back as she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth.

“As tempting as that sounds,” she said with a smile, genuinely interested in finding out how he tastes and curious to see just how weak she could make the all-powerful Dark One in the process. But she knew she shouldn’t have gone this far to begin with, and fearing the consequences of further pursuit of whatever this was with him, she responded, “I need to get back before my extended absence is noticed, unless you want to deal with the army of guards my parents would send after you if they somehow found out you’ve ‘ruined’ me.”

“‘Ruined’ you?” His eyebrow raised as he scoffed, “Oh love, your innocence was clearly gone long before tonight. We both know you knew what you were after when you followed me here, and you certainly knew what you were doing when you got it.” His voice became darker, almost threatening when he added, “And I can handle the guards.”

“We might know that, but they sure as hell don’t, and I intend to keep it that way.” Emma sighed. “And I know you can handle them, that’s what I’m afraid of. It’s not for your sake but for theirs.” That earned a sarcastically begrudging eye roll from him.

Emma ducked and slipped away from him, picking up her scabbard as she did, and he spun on his heel as he watched her slowly step backward, beyond his reach.

“Goodbye, Dark One,” she said.

“I’m not unwilling to fight for what I want. Don’t think I’m letting you go this easily.”

“I would despair if you did.” Emma took another backward step before turning and taking off in the direction of her castle.

“Goodbye, Princess,” the Dark One called after her, or thought he called, his voice softer than he’d realized or intended as he watched her leave and got lost in the thought of his release still inside her.

It was all Emma could think about too, knowing it was driving him just as mad and grinning to herself at the fact that she could get to him. She could feel the way it dripped down her thighs as she moved. She could feel the way it dried sticky on her skin as she allowed it to remain there longer than she probably should have.

And she could feel it later as she further explored herself when she finally reunited with her bed and imagined what else he might do to her if given the chance, and what she could do to him, the scent of his pleasure mixing with that of her own arousal as they blended on her desperate fingers, which would have to suffice until she could find him again. She bit back moans and struggled to refrain from calling out his infamous moniker as her head fell back with the fresh memory of his mouth on her neck and the promise that she would feel it everywhere else.

Oh yes. Yes.

Yes, she would absolutely have to see him again, somewhere that would allow them a bit more freedom, the potential danger of granting that to him only adding to the thrill of it all.

Recalling his request, she brought her wet fingers to her lips and tested herself to see what she could handle, learning how much could fit and how deeply and for how long before she’d need a break. Just the hint of him on them encouraged her to try more, deeper, longer, as her other hand matched the pace inside her core and her thumb flicked at her clit.

She’d find an excuse for why she’d need to clean her own sheets tomorrow.

As Emma at last relaxed into the mattress, she drifted into dreams of what might be in store for the two of them. There are some things she would never tell her parents, and fucking the Dark One again and again would just have to be one of them.

——

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[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans are Space Orcs, “I Have Seen.”

Wrote something easy and more similar to my original stories today. I hope you like it. 

I have been thinking about taking a couple days off from writing these stories, since I have been working non stop on this and the book for over a year now, so I am considering taking a break for about a week so I don’t burn out. I haven’t decided yet, so we shall see, but I hope you all have a great day.

I have a job no one knows about.

I don’t think anyone would be surprised if they heard about my job. I don’t even think they would care all that much.

None of this explains why my work station is in the basement of a nondescript government bunker on a death planet…. A!36. I can’t explain why I need three codes to get into my office, or why I go through five locked doors, or why I am not allowed to tell anyone what I do on pain of termination and imprisonment. 

You would assume, perhaps that I am a spy, and involved in some covert cloak and dagger espionage against other species and nations: you would be wrong.

You might assume I am a weapons developer, but you would also be wrong.

Perhaps you think I spend my time wire-tapping on important calls between species and recording important information.

None of this is really the case.

In fact, what I do is quite safe and relatively simple, plenty of other non-humans are doing it of their own accord and plenty more humans do it on a regular basis. What I do is not illegal, it is not espionage, it wouldn’t even phase you.

If that is the case.

Why do so many of my coworkers go missing?

Why are there absent desks every few months?

Why can I not make any lasting friends?

Management always give excuses to those of us who are left.

They left for mental health reasons.

THey moved on to a different job.

They are moving up in the company.

They had to be let go.

All things generic and all things that wouldn’t generally raise suspicion… unless they happen so frequently as us.

You may be wondering at this point, what it is I do for a job.

Perhaps, you think, it is very boring and unfulfilling that I would go insane from sheer boredom.

No, I actually find my job quite interesting.

Perhaps you think my job forces me to watch very disturbing and violent things…. And I suppose that could be close to the truth, though no one forces us to watch the videos if we don’t want, and no one makes us read the material if we cannot handle it. In fact, there are those of us who specialize in that sort of thing.

I do.

I am a specialist in historical xenopsychology.

I study human history.

When I say that I study human history, I do not mean as in a passing fancy. I do not simply read their school children’s textbooks and accept everything I see as truth, no, every day , I come into work and it is my job, to learn about everything that has ever happened in human history, to the best of my ability.

It is my job to know the good, the bad, the ugly, and the monstrous.

I work from day to night, cataloguing and filling my brain with all the information I can before recording it as a lecture on aura drives, which are then stored away for future use in a deep backup system under the surface of this planet.

I have followed human history since the beginning of time.

And I have marveled at it.

Much of my research is flawed, I know. Human history has always been biased, history being shaped and molded by the winners of conflict. Much of what else I know stems primarily from scholarly work humans have done on their own species, looking back the centuries and making assumptions about what they were doing.

While this is a good insite -- humans trying to explain the behavior of other humans-- it isn’t necessarily correct.

For this reason, it is my job to study every piece of information that comes across my desk.

Due to a government agreement between the galactic assembly and the United Nations of Earth, I was given access to the rebuilt library of Alexandria and all of its electronic files which include photos and information on the original documents that they keep in sealed vaults below the library.

I have read every account of human history, and every second hand interpretation of human history that I could possibly find in my time working here.

I have read Darwin and his early theory regarding evolution. I have examined his evidence, which include images and diagrams of the human body spanning centuries. My determinations were made just the same as the rest of them. Humanity was a tree-living species that found its evolutionary niche through walking and the use of opposable thumbs.

This ability to walk, in tandem with the use of hands eventually gave rise to the slow swelling of the brain in comparison to other animals. Human evolved primitive tools, and even more primitive religions, societies and rules.

They developed art early on, painting on the walls of their caves, in the darkness of night surrounded by their fires.

I have read about their befriending of animals in that same darkness. Man’s slow molding of the wolf into the dog - a species designed specifically for the needs of man.

I have attempted to read every account of every atrocity ever inflicted on humanity.

I have read of wars, and battles, Marathon, Thermopylae, Kadesh, D-day, Vietnam, Korea, Russo-Japanese, World wars I, II, III,  and IV and the Panasian War. 

I have witnessed in images and first hand accounts the chilling discoveries of natural disasters gone back thousands of years. Pompeii, Mt. St Helens, Katrina, Tsunamis, earthquakes, the fire of london, 1887 yellow river flood, the 3130 California earthquake, and Haiti earthquakes. 

And I have studied and witnessed every atrocity man has ever committed on its own people. The Mongol hordes, the crusades, Mayan and Aztec sacrifices, The Armenian genocide, the Holocaust, mustard gas, 9/11, slavery in the America, the Trail of Tears, The Bataan Death March, the Berlin wall, Civil war, the French revolution, Nanjing, Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

I tore a hole in humanity and looked inside to see your rot. 

I study the maggots that crawl under your skin.

Don’t confuse me with someone who fears you, or is even disgusted by you. You have committed thousands of horrors, yes this is true. But humanity is not a polished gem, it is an uncut stone marred by dirt and debris, but beautiful in a way that can hardly be explained.

You scrub away the rot only to find more underneath, yet you continue to scrub, in a futile attempt to better yourselves.

It is a beautiful thing if not in vain.

I do not judge you for your crimes because I have also seen your achievements. I watched you survive  the dark ages, I learned your philosophy from the greek world which brought the beauty of democracy and equity in later forms. I watched the enlightenment of the Renaissance, and have seen your beautiful artwork from each period of time. 

I have witnessed your great nations and empires rise and fall, Assyria, Byzantine, Rome, Britain, Egypt, Mongole, Aztek, Soviet Union, The chinese Dynasties and the Communist parties. The United States, and the Asian Co-Prosperity Collective

I have seen your bravery and your loss.

I have learned about the good that walks your earth.

Humans who stood up to tyrants.

I have even examined your stories of creation, of deities who molded humans from clay or dust, watched your world come into form in seven days, or ride on the backs of giant animals. I have seen the gods gift you with fire and learned the teaching of your martyrs over the centuries. Men and women slain and stoned or pulled away by spirits. I have learned of crucifixion, death and rebirth as well as reincarnation and a return to the very fabric of the universe itself.

I see everything.

I see everything. I see it all in my dreams laid out before me like a tapestry following each woven thread through the ages. I thought if I looked back, I could know as much as I possibly could. If I dug deep enough, I would be able to see your secrets.

And I have discovered you.

I see you hiding in there.

I know what you are.

Come out, come out.

And I won’t stop until it is all over and your cities crumbled into dust and bone.

…

…

I am being called into my manager’s office. Perhaps I too am ready to go up in the company.

...

I will be back soon…

Deus