#open on dash at your own risk

[popatochisssp]

IM IN LOVE WITH ALL THE NEW BOYSS!!!! I was wondering what hobbies they would have? Would any of them skate? What about make art? Play piano, perhaps?

Quick sidebar, it would probably be easier to ask who can’t skate than who can—at least regarding ice skating—because the majority of the skeletons lived/grew up in Snowdin and had plenty of time to practice their ‘don’t pratfall on the ice’ skills, so they’d (almost) all be at least passingly competent at ice skating, and then whatever learning curve is involved with slightly transferable skills to not-ice skating.

That said!

…You know, I realized I never did an accounting of all this, even with the first two waves of boys, so…

This is by no means a complete list of everything the boys might enjoy doing—despite the fact that this is huge and completely got away from me, oh my god seriously do not open the readmore on your dash—but!

Sans (Undertale):

He’s a goofy guy, so it’s probably no surprise that he’s into comedy. He’s a lover of puns and pranks and jokes in general, just…maybe not as casually as he makes it look. He does a little stand-up now and then, open mic nights mostly nowadays, but he’s played to larger audiences before at the MTT resort. He’s also got a pretty sizeable collection of comedic paraphernalia—rubber chickens, whoopie cushion, snapping gum, you name it—just on the off chance he might get to use it in a prime moment. He spends a lot of his free time reading joke books, watching other pros perform, and even, on occasion, don’t tell anyone, but… studying the science of humor, what people seem to find funny, how, and why. He doesn’t like to let on, because he thinks it makes him seems a little less cool and funny if you know he goes out of his way to research this stuff sometimes instead of just vibing on improv, but he genuinely finds the subject fascinating and likes to read about it. Alas, he’s a nerd…

And as such, he’s also very into physics. Quantum physics as food for thought in his downtime when he just wants to chew on some conceptually heavy stuff, but classical and practical physics make for some great experiments and demos, especially as party tricks or ‘hey, you wanna see something cool?’s for interested onlookers and he’s so all about that. Want to try an egg drop from the roof with popsicle sticks and straws? He’s got tape and a fresh carton right here. Maybe make a magnet out of a battery? Sure, there’s wire and nails around here somewhere… Or maybe you want to bet him he can’t hold up a water bottle with nothing but a string and three matches? C’mon, 10G—no, 20G. But really, he’ll take any excuse to do a cool demo of stuff he knows.

As for stuff that doesn’t demo quite as well… It was a little less apparent Underground, but there was a reason he had that telescope of his and it wasn’t just because he liked pranking people with paint on the eye-piece. He did love doing that, of course, but he also genuinely loves stars and space, learning about it and looking at it now that he actually has the opportunity to—he’s got his telescope to use on clear nights, a yearly pass for the local planetarium, and you better believe he’s subscribed to NASA’s newsletters for regular updates on the goings on out there. He tries to play it cool, but stars and black holes and nebulae are cooler, it’s hard not to get invested in everything to do with them…

Papyrus (Undertale):

Of course, he’s the master of puzzles, and not just your basic jigsaw! …Well, maybe sometimes a jigsaw, he’s not morally opposed to them but really, he needs a challenge for his intellect! He doesn’t mind a word puzzle here and there—as long as it’s not a crossword—but physical puzzles are his favorites, anything to employ his spatial reasoning and impressively fine motor skills. Rubik’s cubes are fun, linked wires, interlocking blocks, really anything in three dimensions that he can fiddle with and manipulate until it surrenders to his incredible greatness. He’s very proud of his solving ability and definitely brags about it, but he’s not just blowing hot air. He really does have a great knack for observing disparate pieces and fitting them together conceptually to see what they can be before ever starting to physically assemble them and the joy of bragging aside, he loves getting to exercise that particular mind-muscle and show his smarts.

In a similar vein, he’s also a big fan of model-making. Planes, trains, automobiles and the like, and no small amount of action figures, he likes to build them up piece by piece with his own two hands. It’s fine to populate his theoretical battle scenarios with gifts from brothers and Santas, or stuff he found at the Dump, but it’s definitely his preference to start with a kit and put it all together himself, watching it gradually take shape with his diligent effort. Maybe he’ll go off-book from time to time, a little bit, but customizing things to his own unique specifications just seems the thing to do when he’s already doing the rest of the making. All the gluing and cutting and painting and lacquering by hand… it’s the art of creation—and what nobler pursuit is there than that?

Well, there may be one other thing. As a truly renaissance man, he’s naturally well-rounded in his interests, intelligent and creative and yes, physically fit too! For him, there’s no better way to stay in shape than by playing sports, most any kind! Basketball, soccer, hockey, tennis, he’ll play any sport, just explain the rules and give him the ball—or don’t, depending on the objective and rules of the specific game in question as you’ve described it. The desirability of the sportsball does seem to vary quite a bit, so he’ll need to determine whether he wants to obtain or get rid of the ball, puck, shuttlecock, whatev—no, that’s the accurate term, it is not! Whatever you’re thinking! Stars, be mature… But! He likes games and being active and having friends, all of which are part and parcel of engaging in sports, so he’s really always up for a game.

Sky (Underswap Sans):

He likes to bake! He’s not a professional and in fact, he finds it to be quite challenging at times—there’s way more restrictions than cooking on how much to add of this, making sure to do that before the other thing but after this step, the oven has to be at exactly the right temperature… There’s a lot of steps and rules, but that’s kind of what he likes about it. He likes trying to see if he can make a thing, and then if he can, what tweaks he can make to flavors and textures without compromising the end result. He’s not always successful—he’s definitely ended up with sopping wet cakes, burnt pie crusts, overly salty muffins—but frankly, the experimenting to get it right is all part of the fun! He tends to make more tasty treats than he does failures and he’s happy to share those around with friends and family anytime. Baking may be an exacting mistress, but he loves to tango with her all the same!

Speaking of which…well, he may not know the tango specifically but he does love to dance! He’s got a lot of energy and a solid sense of rhythm, and that combo tends to result in at least a little shimmy of a two-step when there’s a good beat going on—and all bets are off entirely if there happens to be a dance floor and a favorite song playing. He likes dancing with a partner, or in a group, but he’ll dance all by himself if he’s feeling the mood, like nobody’s watching…or rather, like everyone’s watching and he wants to impress and lure out a little company to join him. He even has a tendency to put on music and dance in place a bit when he’s doing otherwise boring chores around the house, like dishes or vacuuming, and while he doesn’t mind doing his dancing solo then too, he’s always delighted to find someone who’s willing to dance along.

He wouldn’t turn down some company for a bit of outdoor exploration, either. A hiking trail maybe? Or some rock climbing? A nature trail or just a walk in the park wouldn’t go awry either if something a little less strenuous is required! He does like the exercise but it’s mostly the nature and all things green that he wants to see and be out in—trees and flowers and even grass. His house would probably be packed with greenery if he…hadn’t…killed every single plant he ever tried to keep…but! Since he does indeed have a deadly black thumb, he likes to visit the plants, in their natural habitat where he has no control over whether they live or die (so they’ll probably continue to live).

Paps (Underswap Papyrus):

It’s no secret that he’s a bookworm. He loves literature and always has—his brother will tell you he was reading before he was even talking, and as embarrassing as it is every time he brings it up, it’s not untrue. He reads voraciously, with a preference for fantasy, romance, and poetry, but he’ll read pretty much any book he can get his hands on. It’s probably no surprise that he’s been inspired to do a little writing of his own, over the years. He’s pretty private about his own work (especially the poetry, oh god, he’d dust on the spot if someone saw his poetry) but he still loves to talk about the written word and techniques used in its conveyance and form, and the struggles writers face in trying to communicate the ideas they have stuck in their heads. He’s great for reading recommendations if he knows the kind of things someone likes, but his go-to recs will always be his personal favorites.

Pride and Prejudice is one such favorite. He’s seen all the film adaptations and miniseries, and branched out from there, first into stuff inspired by similar works, then originals, and then…okay, he’s maybe a little bit addicted to period pieces in general now. Whenever a new one comes out, anything about regency or royals or the nobility in a dramatic setting, he pretty much has to watch it, more only a question of ‘when’ and not ‘if’ he’ll be checking it out. Naturally, he’s happiest when it’s coming out on a scheduled basis, because if an entire season drops all at once he’s going to sit there and binge it and it’s much harder to deny he has an addiction when he just pulled an all-nighter about it. He can’t help himself, he has to see if the socially mismatched couple can make it work and be wed in the end, love winning out over silly class divides…

When he’s not actively obsessed with either of those things, though, he dabbles a bit in calligraphy. He’d probably hesitate to call it a hobby, he does have a couple of those fancy pens and some nice paper and ink to use them with, and he’s decent at it, but definitely needs to practice more to be able to do the really fancy flourishes without blotting the ink or scratching the page. He can certainly do some simple, clean lettering if needed! Like…if you want a poster or a sign to look neat and professional, or…maybe you want the ‘To Do’ list on the fridge to have a fancy header or something? (His end-goal is to be able to do his own drop-caps and an elaborate cursive title for the cover of his book, someday, maybe, who knows…)

Jasper (Underfell Sans):

He likes working with his hands, making things and having something to show for his time and effort. (Knitting? No, that’s, that’s not a hobby, that was a necessity, just for special occasions now, he’s not…naw, c’mon…) He’s something of a car guy. He likes engines and wheels and pistons and how they all work together to make something that goes fast, and he likes understanding how all the pieces fit together and how to fix them if something breaks. It’s something he practiced Underground with busted old engines and bikes that fell down, and a career he pursued on the Surface, but even in his free time he likes tuning up his car, his bro’s car, restoring glory to a classic bike he got at a steal of a price and she’s gonna purr like a kitten when he’s done—he’s just…happy, with his hands buried in an engine and grease all over his face.

And speaking of grease on his face, he’s pretty passionate about food, too. Not so much the cooking of it, though he’s not too shabby in the kitchen when he puts the effort in, but more the eating of it and appreciating the flavors and textures. He’s got a lot of strong opinions on how done a steak oughta be (medium-rare), what belongs on pizza (anything but candy), and how to eat chips with your sandwich (in it, for that extra crunch of texture). ‘Gourmet’ sounds a little too snobby for his tastes, food doesn’t have to be expensive to be good and in fact, it usually isn’t—some of his best meals have been from holes in the wall—but he does like going out to such places to eat and socialize, maybe have a chat and give his compliments to the chef (and definitely not try to wheedle any recipes), that sorta thing.

But after all that, when he really wants to wind down, there’s nothing he likes better than a bit of gaming. He’s not much for multiplayer, he prefers doing his own thing at his own pace, but he likes having some kind of objective and making it happen. It gives a nice sense of accomplishment that he can get while sitting down—which is great. He tends mostly towards puzzle/adventure type games more than pure battle scenarios and beat-‘em-ups, he feels like there should be some strategy and skill involved, or the satisfaction of the win just doesn’t come through as strong. (Protip: do not watch this man defeat a Dark Souls boss if you are easily stressed out. He taunts between strikes and dodges at the very last second because he’s got the timing down to a science. Maybe try Pokemon or Zelda instead…)

Pyre (Underfell Papyrus):

His first great love is and likely always shall be the theater. He didn’t have too many opportunities Underground to go see live stage plays, but he’s long since broken the spine of the collected works of Shakespeare that got him started and memorized its contents, water-stained cover to water-stained cover. He can recite any of the Bard’s work by act and scene number, of which he is incredibly proud, but he’s at least passing familiar with a handful of other manuscripts or popular stage-to-film adaptations mass produced enough to have a chance of ending up in the Dump in decent condition. On the Surface, he definitely wants to see some things live and gets only a reasonable amount of excited about specific productions’ quirks and narrative choices. Joining in on local theater himself? Well…he’s very busy these days… (Maybe after retirement?)

Another passion of his pulled from the depths of the Dump is his guitar—a bass so sturdy and lucky that it made it all the way down without breaking a string. He thought it was cool as soon as he saw it and really wanted to have it and learn how to play. It’s been an uphill struggle since he’s entirely self-taught with regards to his equipment settings, guitar maintenance, and even reading music notes, but the few sparse instruction manuals he’s managed to find were helpful. His own stubborn determination to figure it out and be the kind of cool guy who knows how to play bass has taken him a long way, and he’s starting to make some deep, pleasant sounds that he’s very happy about… But he’s still nowhere near ready to play for anyone, he couldn’t possibly, not until he’s good at it!

And when he’s having a bad time at that, or anything else is ticking him off and there’s no better outlet to blow off steam, he knows he can always fall back on a good work-out. Even in a Kill or Be Killed sort of place, it’s not always a good idea to go picking fights and yelling and cussing and beating the stuffing out of other people—so whenever he feels like doing that, he’s in the habit of beating the stuffing out of a punching bag instead, or lifting weights, or doing one-handed push-ups, something strenuous. He may not be a machine made of meat that releases good-feeling chemicals after a successful exertion, like humans are, but he still feels great after getting to work out and clear his mind of everything but what his body’s doing so he likes to keep up a regular routine. You don’t want to see him after he’s missed a few work-outs, he gets very testy.

Mal (Swapfell Sans):

Pretty much from the moment he came into existence, he’s loved math. Call him a nerd all you like, but numbers are his happy place, where everything is straightforward and exactly what it’s supposed to be and if he doesn’t understand something, he’s probably only missing a variable and when he finds it, everything will make sense again. He has apps and workbooks around with equations for him to solve in his downtime like some kind of freak, but lacking those he’ll sometimes just make up his own math problems and try to solve them in his head—how long will it take for the water cooler to be empty if the tap is dripping at a regular interval of one drop every forty-seven seconds, should no one notice and intervene to repair it? The drum holds up to five gallons, but has already been emptied by approximately—

Okay, that’s enough math. He’s also into whittling, though he’s miles less confident about his ability. He’s not terrible, really, just very self-critical so he tends not to show off the things he makes, but he likes having something to occupy his hands while most of his attention is elsewhere, with the added bonus of having a knife in one of said hands should someone surprise him—self-defense is important, you know! In any case, he’s not as good of an artist as his brother, or even as good as he’d like to be, but it’s something to do and he can only improve with practice. Someday, with the proper equipment, he might even get into full-on woodworking, with chairs and tables and cabinetry and such that are far more straightforward to make than fiddly little figurines, but for now he just has a whittling knife and wood and too much stubbornness to quit at anything once he’s started.

As for something a little (debatably) higher-brow, he also has an interest in wine. He’s no sommelier, of course, but he’s run in fancy (royal) circles for long enough to have tried his fair share of fermented fruit juices. There are some he likes (dry reds), some he doesn’t (sweet whites), and plenty in between—but the topic makes for excellent conversation at lots of dinner parties and formal occasions, so he felt it helpful to learn a few things here and there so he knows (or can pass as knowing) what he’s talking about. On the Surface, he actually gets to take a wine tasting class and put a formal polish on his book-learning and first-hand experience, and makes a point of trying new brands that catch his attention. (He’ll never admit it aloud, but he’s far more swayed by a cool label or an interesting bottle shape than a high price tag—even cheap wine tastes just fine if you aerate it!)

Rus (Swapfell Papyrus):

He’s an artist, first and foremost. His most frequent medium is pen and paper—it’s what he started with and what he’s practiced the most—but it’s never really occurred to him to limit himself to only one thing so he’s tried out a lot of different techniques and utensils and can use most of them effectively. He’s not formally taught, seen some pictures and read some textbook entries of famous pieces and art movements, but everything he’s learned he learned by screwing around with it until he figured out how to make it look like he wanted and in the process, he’s built up a pretty strong base of skills. Mostly, he likes to draw (or sketch or paint) things he’s seen, recreating memories like a photo without a camera, but sometimes he goes on more abstract style experiments, trying to express a vibe or a feeling more than a moment. He finds it meditative, grounding more than anything else he’s tried to relax and it makes him happy to have a creative outlet.

As far as other ways to relax and have fun, something that’s really blossomed on the Surface for him is his interest in fidget toys. Not too many made it Underground for him to enjoy then, just a lonely broken palm-tangle and about a hundred Rubik’s cubes in various states of disrepair—sadly he got so good at solving the cubes that he doesn’t even consider them puzzles, just color-block-pattern simulators—but the Surface! There’s so many stim and fidget toys for him to get his hands on, and so many Ultimate Super Satisfying Compilation vids online to show him new ones. Poppers, spinners, chewelry, clickers…some hit better than others but he likes trying things out, playing with toys that are brightly colored, or feel cool, or make a nice sound. He keeps his favorites and sells or donates the rest, gotta make sure to leave room somewhere if he wants to get a new one.

He also makes a point of walking to the stores and donation centers and post offices at which he exchanges these items because—at the risk of making him sound like a dog—he loves going on walks! He was a shut-in for awhile, afraid of strangers outside, and to an extent he still is (social anxiety), but the Surface has different rules and for a lot of reasons, it feels safer for him to be out and about now, and he likes taking advantage of that. Fresh air and sun and slow, easy movement without having to look over his shoulder, free attention to spare to his surroundings and the chance to stop somewhere and check out a new place… He really likes it and tries to make time to go on a walk at least once every couple of days, destination entirely optional.

Slate (Horrortale Sans):

He’s a rock guy, and he’s not talking about the music genre—just rocks, or crystals, the kind you find in and on the ground. He likes the pun potential (ask any geologist, there’s a million) but also it’s just something fun and low-stakes to do, to collect and find and examine stones and crystals whenever he happens to come across them. A lot of his facts and knowledge base predate the head injury, too, so it’s something he tends to know a good amount about and can have a high-level conversation about at length, of which he’s very proud. Plus, having a bunch of rocks around doubles as both home décor and paperweights, so you gotta admire the versatility of it. He's always on the lookout for new stones to add to his collection, or to talk about and pebble—I mean, gift to his friends and family.

He’s an animal lover as well, which is…not much of a transition from the previous paragraph. He had a pet rock once, does that bridge the gap? Not really. Ah well. The point is, he likes critters, usually ones smaller than him but that’s not hard since he’s a pretty big guy. His past and the things he’s done don’t matter to animals, all they care about is whether he’s an immediate threat (he isn’t) and if he has food to give them (likely), and not having to worry about that is a heavy weight off his mind. He can be totally relaxed around animals so he likes spending time around them whenever he gets the chance—fur and fluff is a plus but he’s got nothing against scales and feathers, creatures come as you are and he’ll get you some water and a treat and maybe a scritch.

But if he must be around humans, or other sentient beings (he must, he’s not built for social isolation), then magic is the ace he keeps up his sleeve. Not the real stuff, of course… Though he’ll naturally be happy to show an interested onlooker a bullet or two, real magic is something any monster can do, even if they were literally born yesterday. He likes fake magic, sleight of hand tricks and misdirection—disappearing and reappearing coins, spoon bending, levitating cards—y’know, the cheap gimmicky shit. It’s fun to learn and easy to practice, works very well with a lot of skills he already had. It also has the additional plus of being disarming for anyone who might be a little…intimidated by him, his size and spooky appearance, especially if he can’t get a joke out quick enough to show he’s harmless, so he likes picking up new tricks when he can and showing them off when he’s got ‘em right.

Papy (Horrortale Papyrus):

He loves to cook! He’s gotten a lot better at it since the old days, trying to learn from Undyne’s lessons and it’s become a genuine passion for him to hone his skills in the kitchen and then (hopefully) show off to guests and friends and family who come over to share a meal. He considers it something of a puzzle in its own right—how to use these ingredients to get the most nutritional value with as little wasted as possible. He’s figured out a lot of ways to repurpose bits that usually get thrown out and in some cases, even make more tasty meals with the castoff pieces (his veggie-peel soup stock is to die for…not literally, but it’s very good)! His favorite part is naturally when people eat what he makes and shower him in compliments, but a close second is knowing that he’s fed his loved ones and they won’t ever leave his home hungry.

Since he does so much in the kitchen and, for the first time in a long time, he has an unfrozen yard for two or three quarters of a year and easy access to seeds, he’s also taken up gardening. Mostly, he grows his own vegetables and herbs but he has the space and the inclination so there’s plenty of colorful flowers in the mix too. He’s very attentive to his crops and flowerbeds and does everything his plants need to flourish and bloom. He delights in praise for his good work and the gratitude when he has a big enough harvest to share with friends and neighbors, or maybe to donate to the local food bank if they’re willing to take it. His garden is his pride and joy and no dirt or weather or pests will stop him from maintaining it!

Now he does have one hobby that’s just for his own enjoyment, not even peripherally related to others, and it’s pure unadulterated guilty pleasure: he adores watching soap operas. The more theatrical and contrived, the better, he can’t help but get sucked into the cheesy drama of it all. He started with just one hospital show and kept watching to tut and shake his head over inaccuracies, and then there was another show on after it that had a wild opening hook, and then…and then… Alas, he found the telenovelas. His enjoyment of them is only somewhat hampered by his inability to understand Spanish, but you’d be surprised how much you can glean from context clues and some things transcend language—it’s too late for him now, he’s recording every episode that airs during the day to watch later, he must know if Gloria’s twin sister will run away with her amnesiac fiancé!

Ash (Undergloom Sans):

Music’s the big one for him. He’s very low-energy and when you’re both depressed and physically fragile, it’s not always possible to go out to where other people are, even when you want to—but music can come to you, no matter how bad you’re feeling, and for that it’s become a huge pillar in his life. His favorite genre is classical (can’t get more classic than The Classics), but he’ll listen to most things, though he’ll always want a physical copy of it to keep if he likes it. CDs, tapes, even vinyl records, digital file only just doesn’t cut it for him. He plays his own music too, rarely with sheet music and mostly just riffing whatever feels right at the time. His trusty trombone is more than just a vehicle for incidental music, it’s like a pal that’s always been there for him even if he didn’t have the energy for it sometimes, and he makes sure to keep it in prime condition.

On his better days—of which he’s been having a lot more since reaching the Surface—he very much loves to be around people and one of his favorite things to get to do with those people is play games, board games to be specific. Monopoly might get a little too violent for his tastes, but stuff like Scrabble, Sorry!, Jenga, all up his alley. It takes a mix of skill and luck to win, which keeps things interesting, and barring a snack break or a celebratory dance of some kind, can be enjoyed entirely sedentarily, which is excellent. He probably shouldn’t be allowed to play cards (he counts them), and his brother swears he weighs dice (he doesn’t), but everything else is fair game and he likes having something he can shine at while also getting to hang out with friends.

But when he’s at home, or he can’t find a group to hang with, he spends a good amount of time cloud-gazing. Not star-gazing, though the sky and the stars are beautiful of course, but his interest is in the atmosphere, on the weather. There weren’t too many weather conditions to be found Underground—snow and rain and hot, basically—and the descriptions he’d heard and read of the kind of stuff that happened on the Surface had always captured his imagination. Clouds, storm cells, fog? It was interesting, and he read about a lot of atmospheric conditions without ever really expecting to see any for himself… but he’s actually up here now. And here, he’s the type of guy who owns a barometer, watches live Doppler radar feeds with rapt interest, and can tell you if it’s going to rain without even checking the weather app, just by taking a look up. His interest in meteorology actually has some practical applications now, go figure.

Yrus (Undergloom Papyrus):

He’s a cook, and though that may not be his job title, he takes it almost as seriously as if it was. For him, it’s both a passion and a language, a way to reach out to people and connect when there aren’t words—or when there are, but they’re not enough. He thinks of every meal he makes as a gift for the person he’s making it for and as such, it’s not enough for it to just be good food—it should be personalized to suit the recipient’s tastes, bespoke to what they like! That said, he primarily cooks comfort foods, stuff loaded with butter and cheese and salt because that’s what his depressed and struggling loved ones seem to like the most. It’s not always to his tastes, but it’s a point of great pride for him to have dinners at his home feeling like the end of Thanksgiving, everyone full and content and at risk of dozing off on the sofa.

He takes such pride in his cooking that he makes most everything from scratch, and that’s how he got into canning. To get to be such a good cook and to have such a discerning palate, you start to get a bit dissatisfied with store-bought spreads, and you start thinking of how you could tweak it, just a bit, and come up with something a little better. And well, of course he has a sweet tooth and doesn’t he deserve to gift himself a treat from time to time? Which is not to say he doesn’t share his jams and jellies and preserves when he gets to making them—which is anytime there’s a good sale on fruit—but at the risk of making him sound arrogant, he’s absolutely spoiled himself for even the big brands at the store. Sure, he could buy it, as-is, or he could make it and enhance the flavor with a bit of mint or cinnamon or whatever it’s begging for, exactly to his liking. …He does go through quite a lot of jars, though.

So it’s a good thing that he knows all the best home goods stores in the area to buy mason jars, and loyalty perks at every one that offers them because he’s such a frequent customer. He’s very particular about the way his home is decorated and spends a lot of time and effort into cultivating just the right homey, comfortable, clean vibe for the space, so of course he’s always thinking of ways to use his décor to do just that. He doesn’t like a static environment so he frequently moves things around, takes away old things, and adds new ones—scented candles, decorative bowls, accent pieces, really anything that catches his eye-socket. He’s a natural-born homemaker, really, it's a shame he doesn’t have a spouse to appreciate all his talents (yet~).

Brick (Horrorfell Sans):

Okay well now knitting is a hobby of his, now that he’s too big and scary to give a shit what anyone thinks about his yarn-crafting. It’s a skill from before the head injury (and the Everything Else) so it’s not like having to pick up a new skill and something you can be competent at is always nice. He finds it pretty relaxing too, if he’s honest with himself, and grounding—between the repetitive motions and the tangible product of his effort and time having passed, it’s a good go-to for him when he’s stressed and needs to calm down, or when he’s disoriented and has to reorient onto something real. It’s a pretty nice side-hustle too, selling what he makes online, but even if it wasn’t for someone, he’d still knit for himself.

…But it’s maybe not so much of a side-hustle because he doesn’t really have a main-hustle to be doing his knitting on the side of. He mostly hangs around the house as an unemployed self-employed bum. And if you’re bored, in the house, it’s probably only a matter of time before you notice something that needs attention, something broken or askew or in need of a fresh coat of something, and that’s what happened to him, and how he started getting into a lot of DIY home repair. He’s got a background in a lot of technical and mechanical stuff, the confidence to poke around in unfamiliar things, and he certainly has the time, so he’s become something of an all-purpose handyman, regularly sweeping the place to see if there’s something he can fix or tune up. Leaky faucet in the kitchen? Engine maintenance on his bro’s car? Heating ducts making a weird noise? No problem, he’ll check it out, probably an easy enough fix.

He doesn’t stay cooped up in the house all the time though. …Most of it, maybe, but he likes to sit out on the porch or hang in the yard sometimes and get a front row seat to all the wildlife lurking around. He keeps a bird-feeder topped up so the birds always come by, and he’s maybe not so diligent about making sure the bird-feeder doesn’t also become a squirrel-feeder, so there’s a few of them around, too. He has a bad habit of leaving food out for neighborhood strays—cats—and every now and again he’ll catch one and get it fixed, but the food’s also lured in a few other critters it wasn’t meant for. He shoos away the raccoons and possums and (on a couple occasions) foxes that end up on his doorstep, but he likes seeing them so he probably won’t ever really stop. There’s a local murder of crows who bring him offerings of bottle caps and buttons and other junk, and he’s half-convinced they worship him as a god but that’s definitely not going to his head or anything, don’t worry.

King (Horrorfell Papyrus):

He likes to meditate. That’s perhaps an understatement, he needs to meditate—even after abdicating his throne and resuming a civilian life, on the Surface with food and safety and funds aplenty, he has a lot of stress and on any given day, he’s wound tight as a spring. Old habits die hard, and old guilt and pain and fear die harder, and he has a tough time relaxing naturally. Having a set time and routine to sit and breathe and clear his mind, deliberately, is crucial for him. He’s got a room set aside just for it with only related paraphernalia—meditation music, incense holder, a zen garden—inside, a space empty of distractions where he can just relax and let everything else go. It’s either that or be more open and vulnerable in therapy and the latter’s not happening any time soon, so his meditation room is the only thing standing between him and a mental breakdown.

That’s a humorous exaggeration, of course. He also has his bonsai trees, which serve a similar function. He got his first around the same time he took up meditation, thinking it might just be a nice plant to set the ambiance, but as he started caring for it and cultivating it, it grew (pun not intended, how dare you?) into its own thing. He’s got lots of bonsais now and takes great deliberate care in their soil, their water, and meticulous pruning to keep them all growing healthy and strong and in exactly the way they should. There might be something to be said there about power and control and healthy, positive outlets to explore those needs, but for him they’re just his trees—his responsibility, his to keep alive, his to keep in line… And it’s nice to have plants in the house, they really add something to a space, don’t you think?

Something else he’s into that’s slightly more social is chess. He learned a lot about tactics and strategy during and in the lead-up to his reign, both from books and hard experience, and chess is a strategist’s game—all about studying the field of play and your opponent and thinking ahead to achieve your desired outcome. He started by playing against his brother, learning the game and gaining confidence, and then later against Toriel while he conspired to overthrow Undyne, which taught him more about thinking like a warrior monarch and how to strategize against one. Ever since, chess has been his preferred way to get to know someone and he finds the insight into a person’s thoughts (through their choices and idle conversation during the game) to be an invaluable asset. …It’s also somewhat fun, enriching he supposes, or else he probably wouldn’t keep so many chess sets in the house, or regularly go to the park to seek opponents at the public boards. But what business is that of yours?

Merc (Horrorswap Sans):

His physical…situation…is complicated. Until he gets his DT under control, he starts literally melting down whenever his emotions are too high which means that most of the things he would’ve done before for fun and exercise are out. His solution to that is yoga, a low-stress, low-impact way to stretch and move and keep his body functional, without the risk of upsetting himself and others by turning into a puddle! Going through the forms helps him focus his mind and ground him in his body at the same time, which he loves, and it’s something he can do solo or in a group, which is also great depending on his mood and need. He attends a studio at least semi-regularly, whenever there’s a class going on, and he loves it as a way to meet new people and socialize in a low-key way. Even after his melting problem gets sorted, he keeps the yoga as a part of his life and routine—it works for him, even when a lot of other things didn’t!

Escapism has also always been there for him: the sci-fi flavored genre specifically. He’s been in pretty dire need for distractions to take his mind off his condition and his frustratingly slow-going research, and fiction was a great fit, depictions of far-future times when technology is advanced but people are still people and the problems of today are all solved and done with—just the problems of tomorrow left to solve and there’s always hope somewhere out there in the universe. Yeah…he can use a little bit of that. Back Underground, he’d seen a few popular sci-fi series that managed to fall down—Star Trek, Star Wars, and a few others—but he falls back into it hard on the Surface when he discovers that the full collections are available, usually remastered and listed out in chronological order, and so many other fans to talk to about it, wow! And oh, the merch, so much merch… He’s only a mortal man, how is he meant to resist a phone case designed to look like a communicator from The Original Series? Or a replica of Obi-Wan Kenobi’s lightsaber? Or… Okay maybe he’s just enough of a nerd for it verge on a financial problem but he’s having fun, let him have this.

It's not like he’s not bringing in a paycheck, with his little home bakery business. He’s gotten serious about his baking and really ramped up his technical skill, and good flavor and texture is surely a way to keep a customer base, but he wanted to draw in the new customers and for that, he had to get good at decorating. As an amateur, he didn’t care so much if his frosting was a little messy, or really try to do anything at all beyond maybe some food coloring and sprinkles here and there, but in the interest of trying to elevate his business to the next level, he started experimenting more with design techniques—and he discovered he loves it! It takes a lot of skill and precision to execute on top-notch cake décor and he likes the challenge of learning something new and perfecting it until he’s ready to offer it as a technique to his customers. He’s the king of drip cakes, master of mirror glazes, and has the cleanest foil and luster work you will ever see. He’ll tackle geode cakes next, just you wait!

Ell (Horrorswap Papyrus):

He used to hate spooky shit. Horror movies, ghost stories, creepy stuff meant to send a shiver up your spine and make your heart (if you have one) skip a couple beats—he couldn’t handle it and any hubris otherwise would leave him looking at pictures of kittens trying to forget about it so he could sleep. But then… Wouldn’t you know it, then he lived through a horror: a terrible creature from another world came to his sleepy little town and killed seemingly everybody they could find, and he survived but the world changed, and everyone went hungry, his best friend disappeared, his brother started melting and he almost died and then came back wrong… And now the fake spooky stuff doesn’t seem so bad. Actually it’s…kinda fun? Scary stories and creepypastas still freak him out, a little, but his tolerance for it has gone up considerably and now he seeks out the genre on purpose, to create and consume, because it feels a little good to get scared by something fake instead of all too real.

His new interest in horror turned him on to movies in general. Not that he didn’t like watching movies before, but being especially invested in a specific genre got him reading about analyses of themes and filming techniques, lighting and staging and all the behind-the-scenes choices made in casting and shooting, and he loves being able to point those things out. Watching a movie with him, any movie, will probably trigger a film-buff monologue about something—‘oh see that’s a long shot, they do that when they’re trying to…’, ‘that’s not cg by the way, it’s actually a matte painting and…’, ‘y’know that scene when he kicked the helmet, it turns out he…’ et cetera, et cetera. He’s not trying to be a bore or a know-it-all, he’s actually just really interested in the way all these things, choices or accidents, come together to make a movie and he can talk about it for ages…or complain about it, if it happens to be a crappy movie. He does so love to complain…

Throughout all of this, if his attention isn’t split by his laptop, he’s usually keeping his hands busy another way—with origami. He’s almost always got a lot of scrap paper lying around in reach and for lack of anything better to do, he’ll grab a piece and start folding it. He started screwing around with those notebook edges left over after you tear out a page, but those are messy and ran out of folds real quick, so eventually he looked up some deliberate things to make out of paper and even bought some origami paper specifically for practice and nicer looking results. He’s pretty good at hopping frogs and flapping cranes, and who can’t make a boat, but his go-to is definitely the little stars you make out of the long strips. He’s got a big jar of the stars and keeps making more to add to it, not for any reason, really, but…it’s fun to make ‘em and they look pretty so why not?

Pitch (Horrorswapfell Sans):

He’s a thrill-seeker. Not necessarily the death-defying stunt kind—though he cheated death once already and might be a bit cockier about his odds the next time around than he ought to be—but any thrill, even the cheap ones. He spent a lot of time Before hedging his bets and prioritizing just about everything but himself, and now he’s decided to spend the rest of his time doing the opposite, chasing excitements and novelties and things he was too cautious or restrained or just too spartan to go after. He seeks out new restaurants, trendy bars, relationships, activities, anything that catches his fancy at the moment. A lot of the things he tries out don’t stick, falling by the wayside after the luster of ‘exciting and new’ wears off—you really only need to try a PB&J burger the once, and if you’ve ridden one mechanical bull, you’ve ridden them all—but some things make an impression.

Boxing is one of the things that stuck for him. He always worked out to stay in good condition and it was a habit he kept up on the Surface, joining a local gym as soon as possible for access to the weights and the punching bag. Fisticuffs was a last resort for him when dealing with actual problems, but hitting things was a great way to blow off steam—and as repressed as he was, he had a lot of steam to blow off, so his form and footwork was always top-notch. He got noticed for it, invited to spar in the ring, and to keep a short story short, he loved it. It’s a challenge being blind in a fistfight, but in a very positive way for him, giving him a chance to use his reflexes and his soul-sense to take on his opponents and most of the time, win. It’s a visceral, almost primal pleasure for him to get to fight in a reasonably safe arena, with people who are also fighting for love of the sport and no aim to seriously injure or kill, like a dance but with someone who wants to knock you out and vice versa.

And speaking of dancing, he’s very fond of that as well for similar, yet less violent reasons. He doesn’t really dance solo, simply for joy of the music—his enjoyment is almost exclusively in the partnered activity, when he has someone to match steps and mirror movement with and combine his awareness of his body and theirs into a cohesive picture. He likes the give and take of it, the way that he can have a physical experience with someone, a conversation without a single word being spoken, all from movement and synchronicity with whoever’s signed his dance card. He knows a few formal dances already and hasn’t forgotten the steps so he’s well-prepared for a polite ballroom experience… but he’s also learned how to let his metaphorical hair down lately, and a bit of dirty dancing is hardly off the table, should his partner for the evening (or afternoon, morning, midnight) be so inclined.

Nemo (Horrorswapfell Papyrus):

What happened Underground sent him into probably the worst art-block of his life. Even picking up a pen got hard to do with anything more than the intent to jot down a note for himself and he spent entirely too long with utterly dry wells of inspiration, not creating anything at all. In a desperate attempt to rekindle something creative, he ended up searching ‘art ideas’ online and discovered the vast world of craft projects. It was easier for him to actually make something when he had step-by-step guides and didn’t have to draw on his own (lacking) inspiration, and he quickly gained a liking for what he could make out of things he already had lying around the house and art supplies that were collecting dust—coffee-filter peonies, paper-straw wreaths, tin-can organizers, et cetera. He likes upcycling and getting to find use in things that might otherwise be discarded, and he really enjoys getting to put his own personal touch into crafts inspired from the internet.

He's proud enough of his works, in fact, that he wanted to show them off and—lacking real-life friends—he started posting photos of his crafts online. The response was positive but eventually, he started getting dissatisfied with the quality of the pictures he was taking, fuzzing details or altering colors, and he began looking into ways to improve the shots he was taking, lighting techniques, camera settings, angles and framing… By the time he invested in his own high-quality camera (and read the manual, front to back), he was seeing art everywhere, not just in the things he made but in the light through trees on a misty morning, in the waft of a curtain by an open window, in the people walking along the sidewalk out in front of the house. He has an eye-socket for it now and he’s always considering The Perfect Shot, how to capture the beautiful moments happening all the time with his photography. He’s good and getting better all the time, the more he practices his staging and editing.

He definitely wants to diversify his portfolio, though. Of course, he’s great at capturing domestic scenes, being a shut-in and all, but there’s more out there in the world, to see and photograph and be part of. It takes him awhile to get there but once he does, he’s very passionate about traveling. He spent such a long time stuck—first Underground, and then in his home on the Surface—and his scenery and his experiences were limited, but once he’s free there’s so much new and beautiful and exciting that he can access and he loves being able to pack up and go to it, right where it is. He wants to fill a passport and see unique vistas all over the globe, learn about cultures there, and make meaningful memories attached to every picture he takes.

Sunny (Gastertale Sans):

He likes stories, not the kind that come from a book, necessarily, but the stories people tell. The subject doesn’t matter to him much—folklore, local legends, big fish tales, ‘you’ll never believe what happened to me last week’s and more—it’s really the telling of it that he likes, how people describe what happened for an audience of their friends, family, or even strangers. He especially likes hearing the same story from different people to see how they tell it differently with their own perspectives or details that were unique to the version they heard. He’s always got a metaphorical ear open for a good yarn and a great memory for the stories people tell him, to the point that he can dispense them on cue whenever conversation’s slow, but he’s got plenty of his own experiences to make tales out of too, and the charisma and flair to make the telling entertaining.

This is a skill that comes majorly in handy for one of his other favorite hobbies, tabletop gaming. Whether he’s setting the scene for a D&D party he’s DMing for or keeping conversation going while he shuffles a deck for rummy, he loves having a table of people together to talk and play a game (or two, or three) with. It’s hard to get schedules to line up so he almost always has a few different game nights going on at any given time, in rotation depending on who can make what—and luckily, he’s a social butterfly so if someone cancels, getting substitutes to hang and make friends with over a game of something or other is never too difficult for him. He’ll go anywhere but his preference is hosting himself, he just loves having people over and showing them a good old fashioned time!

And speaking of old fashioned, his fashion is a little bit that as well. He’s a tad all over the place with it but nonetheless very interested in vintage and retro styles—the bold neon windbreakers of the 80s, the dated digital graphic tees of the 90s, the vinyl of the 00s, and even the holographics of the 10s. He tends to get a little confused about what was popular when and maybe that’s why he meshes it all together, but regardless, he loves his very eclectic wardrobe and adding to it. He makes a lot of trips to thrift stores and checks often on resale sites and gets very excited whenever he stumbles across a good find. Jackets are his favorite and he definitely has too many, but they spark joy and he’s probably not going to get rid of any or quit shopping around for more of the old school stuff anytime soon.

Aster (Gastertale Papyrus):

He likes scrapbooking! Maybe not too surprising, but as someone who mysteriously came into existence one day with no memory of his past, he doesn’t like the idea of losing memories—at least, not any more memories than he’s already apparently lost. He likes keeping records of things he does and that happen in his life as a tangible proof of his existence in and impact on the world. He stores things digitally as well but having the physical album feels weightier and more permanent, so he takes great care assembling and arranging everything in it. He keeps photos of outings with friends and coworkers, fliers from lectures he attends, even receipts from restaurants and movie ticket stubs. It’s all extremely well organized and annotated to the point that it almost reads like a scientific article, but he has fun with the cutting and pasting and aesthetic arrangement of it all—a neat and tidy accounting of (as much of) his life (as he can remember).

It's probably no coincidence that his scrapbook resembles a science journal, though, because he reads a lot of them. He also attends lectures and conferences when available and open to the public because, though he doesn’t have a career in any field of science, he’s still quite passionate about it! He loves learning about new advancements and discoveries, and when he comes across something he doesn’t know or only knows a bit about, he tends to do his own research into relevant readings on the topic until he’s better informed. He loathes misinformation and willful ignorance though, and as a result he’s ended up in a few small scale social media wars where he arrives on a post with thorough corrections, arguments, and sources cited and continues to present the accurate information until he’s respectfully acknowledged or blocked. It’s…usually the latter, but he doesn’t mind a good argument and ad hominem attacks slide right off him, so…as long as he’s having fun, what does it matter?

However…for all his love of truth and fact, he is also—regrettably—truly, madly, deeply compelled by the paranormal. If asked directly, he would say that of course he doesn’t believe in (non-monster) ghosts or aliens or the supernatural, there’s no evidence of such things! At least…nothing credible. He’s read the first and second-hand accounts, reviewed the blurry inconclusive photos, entertained hypotheticals of what could have really caused the sighting or scenario in question, accounting for variables and probing with his own questions to determine more information. He may occasionally be inclined to physically visit some ‘hot spots’ or sites of infamy, just to get a better understanding of the location and potential factors in what’s been claimed… But! Obviously, he’s a devil’s advocate in this only, as intriguing as some of these concepts are, that’s all they are—concepts. The fact that he spends so much time and thought on such things does not at all validate them and it simply means that he is a man of both integrity and science, the real kind!

Spectr (Transcendtale Sans):

He likes swimming! Er…well…maybe that’s not the right word for it. It’s not diving either, really, it’s… He likes going to bodies of water, walking in, and staying under for awhile, there, that’s a more accurate description of it. He’s waterproof and he doesn’t need to breathe, so ducking under the surface for a good few hours is not only possible, but a great way to get near-total peace and quiet for however long he wants it. He wasn’t much of a swimmer when he had an organic body, so it’s a bit of a novelty as well—seeing the way things look underwater, the way sounds change, the way animals swim around him in their natural habitat. He finds being in the water to be very relaxing and pleasant, almost meditative in nature, and whenever he’s feeling especially tense or in need of some space to think (or not think), he’ll head to the nearest body of water and go right in. It would be better if he actually took his clothes off before he did this, but he usually doesn’t and has weirded many clothes with lake or sea water.

He’s also into urban exploration. Not that he specifically calls it that, but he’s a wanderer and he likes to keep a low profile so sometimes, when he happens to be in the heart of a big city and there’s nowhere anonymous enough for him to blend in, he disappears into closed, abandoned, or condemned buildings. He likes the quiet of places like these and the reduced likelihood of running into anyone trying to interact with him because nobody else is supposed to be there. Obviously sometimes people are there anyway, but usually it’s people who mind their own business or actively avoid him, which he’s completely fine with. He does also enjoy having a look around when there’s time and he can, getting to see the remnants of the people who used the building before, what they left behind and imagining what it would be like if it were actively in use. A lot of the places he gets into have nice views of the city outside, too, and it’s pleasant to find a ledge or some rebar to sit on and enjoy it.

Jewelry making came out of his preferred hangout spots, as well. There’s a lot of junk lying around in abandoned or in-construction buildings—chain-link fences, washers, nuts and bolts—and when one is sitting around in an empty spot in the early morning, waiting for the city to wake up so he can slip through the masses undetected again, one gets to fiddling with nearby things in reach. He’s no master jeweler, his creations tend to be very simple, metal bent and twisted by hand in loops and curls, maybe a shape if he’s feeling ambitious, but he likes making them regardless. Sometimes he’ll keep an eye out for interesting stones and hold onto them to incorporate them into one of his pieces, or pick up a bit of nicer wire to work with if he’s going to be passing through a more rural area where it won’t be so easily available. He never keeps the rings and necklaces and bracelets he makes, though, just leaving them on tables and benches and railings for someone else to find later. It’s the making that’s the important part to him, he doesn’t need the thing.

PapAIrus (Transcendtale Papyrus):

He’s a proud and passionate DJ for partiers everywhere! He kind of fell into it, or at least into the idea of it when figuring out how to approach humanity and be a part of it, and he learned that it’s quite common for musical artists to have gimmicks that hide their real faces and identities. It seemed like it’d be easy to blend in, in a crowd like that, and when he found out about vocaloids and holographic performers he was all but sold on giving it a go. It didn’t take him long to learn how to mix songs and with a theoretically infinite track list to draw on, he’s a natural talent at playing the crowd and keeping the energy in a room high. He loves DJing for nightclubs and raves the most, but he’s starting to gain a bit of fame and notoriety for both his talent and his very advanced ‘avatar’ and might end up dropping some of his own music and playing to larger venues sooner than later.

In his spare time, of which he has a lot, he likes the challenge of hunting down lost media. He has full access to the internet as well as several archives he probably should not have access to, but it’s very hard to keep him out of anywhere he wants to be—luckily, he chooses to use his nigh unfathomable power for good, digging around here, there, and everywhere for things deleted, destroyed, or locked off from the public. It’s like a treasure hunt, following leads and connecting clues until he finds the impossible thing he’s looking for…or doesn’t. Sometimes things that are gone really are gone, but other times it’s just that no one else had the spare time and resources to try and excavate a mention of a grandmother’s VHS copy of an obscure, out of circulation film on a deleted forum post from ten years ago, track down the user, ask after the tape and offer to purchase it to convert to a digital format…and if that doesn’t pan out, the search begins anew! How exciting!

His do-gooding doesn’t end at tracking and restoring old tapes, though, and he likes to spare some time for bigger acts of justice now and again. He’s a part-time hacktivist—he takes note of ongoing crime and corruption in human society and when he can, he shines a light on it. Leaking emails, posting blacklisted videos, releasing incriminating financial records, he has little respect for the privacy of crooked CEOs and corrupt politicians and feels it’s only right that their customers and constituents know these things about the people they’re supporting. His intervention tends to lead to a lot of resignations and restructuring and legal action being pursued, so he tries not to overstep too much with the business of humans, especially not for any old small-fry in the pond…but the big fish, the guys in the news with allegations that don’t stick because of money lack of evidence… Well, he doesn’t mind digging up that evidence, if the proper authorities really lack the time for it—you’re welcome!

Xanth (Ascendswap Sans):

He’s very into spiritualism and all things mystical. His brush with the cosmically unknowable really expanded his perception and sense of things around him and he’s freshly fascinated by the things in this world beyond mortal comprehension, things he’s only glimpsed and felt more than he clearly understood. He loves reading or hearing about other peoples’ spiritual experiences—near-deaths, out-of-body’s, energies sensed and presences felt and many more—being let into the perspective of others who have been through things not easily explained and maybe getting a chance to share his own oddities in the process. He collects a lot of paraphernalia from the people and places he goes for these things, chakra bracelets, dreamcatchers, crystal pyramids and the like. He freely admits some of his items have stronger energies than others and theorizes that belief and intention in the creation of the object has an effect, you see the aura of this one feels—you get the idea, he could talk about it for hours.

He's also a very big fan of riddles! He knew a few before but has really gotten into them since, diving down the rabbit hole of riddles and tricky word puzzles. He finds the construction of them incredibly interesting, how specific words are chosen and phrases are structured to talk around the answer, carefully ringing around it to imply only and make the listener deduce the truth around its absence—just like how black holes are discovered by observing the warping of space around it! He has lots of riddle books and knows the answers to most of the basic ones out there, and he’s always open to hearing new ones, as well as coming up with some of his own from time to time. He takes his riddling quite seriously and will never look up the answer or allow anyone to tell him before he guesses—he wants to reason it out for himself, even if it takes him days to do it. If you manage to stump him, expect a call later on with the solution and exuberant praise for the gift you gave him!

A far more pedestrian and down-to-earth hobby of his, however, is pottery. Riddling and talking about the cosmos is all well and good, but it’s difficult actually meeting people to do those with—they don’t really have meet-ups for those sorts of things. But! They do have pottery classes, all over the place, welcoming beginners who are generally also open to making friends there, and he decided to go where the people were. It’s probably not something he would’ve been as happy doing before…Everything, reining in the urge to be great at it first try and do clean, neat work to impress people… but he doesn’t really think that way anymore, so he likes it! It's messy and mistakes are easy to make, both on the wheel and in the kiln, but that’s life and he’s learning same as everyone else. He gets to socialize, he gets to make stuff out of clay, and he gets so very many pots and mugs and bowls to give his friends and loved ones—a win-win-win!

Piper (Ascendswap Papyrus):

He never used to put much effort into his wardrobe. He was anxious and introverted and never wanted to stand out too much, so he always aimed for under, rather than over-dressed. …But things changed. He’s more confident, he wants to stand out, he wants to look his best and dress himself in all the nice clothes he always thought he wasn’t cool enough to wear—so now, he does. He keeps his eye-socket on modern fashion trends, subscribing to magazines and tuning in to designer runways so he always knows what’s in and can coordinate his wardrobe accordingly. He's not necessarily a brand snob, he doesn’t subscribe to the idea that clothes (and accessories) need a label to look good, but at the same time, he won’t compromise on quality and sometimes that means paying for it. Still, he has a lot of fun keeping in style and taking more care in how he presents himself, and it turns into something of a confidence feedback loop—feeling good because he looks good because he feels good because…

With his newfound confidence, he’s also gotten into the habit of singing out loud. He hums tunes every now and again, surely everyone does, but now he sings, sometimes softly and sometimes belting out lyrics at full volume to whatever song floats through his head. What can he say? He’s started to like the sound of his own voice and it makes him feel good to hear how he sounds, and to feel how freely and beautifully the notes come out. Maybe it’s a little prideful but he doesn’t see the harm in making music and feeling good about it, so he sings when he’s occupied, when he’s idle, when he’s asked to—no special occasion necessary save for the joy of sound.

Of course, this also gives him something in common with some of his favorite creatures on the planet: birds. He likes animals and tends to be great with them—especially if he happens to use his ‘trick’—but he’s particularly fond of the feathered ones and the pretty sounds they make. He started learning how to mimic bird-calls (now that he’s not too self-conscious to feel stupid about it) and found he has a talent for it, getting all kinds of flighted friends to stop by and sing back when he chirps. He knows a lot of calls and can identify most local bird species by sound and sight, and it’s a favored party trick of his to push a little intent into his whistles and get wild birds to land on his finger like they were trained. He’s actually looking to break into falconry too, so he can keep and train a raptor someday, but there’s a lot of training and regulation involved in that sport and he’s not in any special kind of hurry. Plenty of birds to watch and sing to and play with in the meantime!

Carmine (Underfell Fruition Sans):

He’s been on his own for quite awhile. Granted, most of that time was unconscious in a semi-lucid dream-state, but that still left him pretty bereft of any meaningful company for a long damn time. He’s a social guy, he’s gotta make some connections with people at some point or it’s just gonna feed into his main character syndrome, so he starts getting involved in competitive team activities pretty much as soon as possible. At first it’s gaming—multiplayers, with mic enabled of course—when he’s still building his physical health back up, but once he’s clear for it he’s joining up with just about every team sport he can find. The Surface has plenty of options for him to choose from. Paintball? Definitely, get ready to meet your maker. Go-karting? Can’t believe it took so long to ask, let’s go. Axe-throwing? Oh hell yes, you know it! He’s competitive but a mostly good loser and hardly sore winner, so whatever the game he’s all in, just happy to be able to play.

When he’s solo and not actively burning energy, he…probably should be. He overproduces magic like a sonuvabitch, and if he’s not using it, that’s a problem—for him and everyone and everything around him. If he’s lacking something to do with his energy, and no other ways to expend it, the easiest thing to do is make a bunch of bullets. This, naturally, solves one problem while creating another and out of the abundance of bones lying around the place came the elegant solution of building with them. He uses his bone bullets like some (frat house) people use beer cans, stacking them together to make thrones chairs, tables, and towers. Sometimes he’ll jenga these structures, knock ‘em down to reuse the bullets for something else, but sometimes, if he's managed to stack up something particularly impressive, he’ll put in the extra effort to make them structurally sound and keep them as-is.

For all that he’s good at building things up, he takes just as much pleasure in taking them apart. He likes working with his hands, always has, opening something up and poking around inside to figure out what goes on in there. Unfortunately, and he’ll never admit as much out loud, he is…not very strong, physically—the big stuff, heavy duty machinery that takes a decent amount of elbow grease to get into is…a little bit beyond his ability, at least comfortably. By default, that leaves him with the little stuff to tinker with, clocks and watches, TVs and blenders, anything he can get his hands on and pop open without too much work. Clockwork mechanisms are his favorites to work with, the very tangible cause and effect of motion inside, but he’s no slouch with a soldering iron and more fiddly electronics are hardly any trouble. He likes fixing stuff that’s broken but it doesn’t have to be for him to want to disassemble something in working order, just for a quick look. Don’t worry, he knows what he’s doing, he’ll put it right back—possibly in better condition than when he found it!

Tank (Underfell Fruition Papyrus):

He has difficulty finding hobbies for himself, at first. Doing things he enjoys—much less expressing that he enjoyed them—was both forbidden and dangerous, so he’s in unexplored territory without explicit orders to do or not do something. Undyne gets him started with puzzles after noticing that he seemed to like solving them for her on patrols. A jigsaw seems as good as anything to start with, right? Well… yes, very much so, because he loves the medium instantly. One obvious solution (to assemble the pieces into a picture), no time constraint, and no way to do it incorrectly? It’s perfect! He graduates quickly from small, simple jigsaws to large, complex ones and loves being able to sit down with a few thousand pieces and slowly, steadily arrange them the way they’re supposed to be. He was given a massive, single-color monolith of a jigsaw once, as a joke…which completely didn’t land because it only took him a bit longer than usual and he loved it just as much. Go figure.

His brother gave him another hobby, upon remembering that he used to (as a toddler) like scribbling on paper, and gifted him a color-by-number book. It was a little juvenile, involved considerably less problem-solving than puzzles, but that’s really not a bad thing for him, giving him a task to do by rote that appeals to his creative side rather than the militaristic orders he got until that point. Eventually, as he gains independence and starts to feel more comfortable making choices of his own, he ditches the ‘by-number’ part but sticks with coloring, using watercolors and colored pencils to fill in pages of designs with whatever he wants. He finds it very relaxing and satisfying to do, and with encouragement even frames some of the pieces he’s proudest of. Friends and family may expect to receive them as gifts, especially if they’ve complimented one in particular—it’ll be theirs in short order without a second thought.

His most consuming hobby, however, is one he came to on his own: the care and keeping of fish. His first was a betta, a bright red fighting fish, drooping and still in a tiny little cup on a shelf—an impulse purchase he’d be hard-pressed to explain, especially with no animal experience whatsoever, much less specifically fish. But, he did it, and after that it was his responsibility to care for it, so he put in the research to determine its needs, the size of the tank, the pH balance of the water, the food and feeding schedule, environmental enrichment… It was a lot of work getting everything together but the reward in seeing the sad lifeless betta turn bright and active, thriving in the home he’d built for it, that was an addictive feeling. It wasn’t long until he was setting up more tanks, and buying lots more aquatic critters—tetras, cichlids, snails, guppies—to fill them with. He’s an extremely diligent and dedicated fish-dad and likes to sit and watch them swim the way some people watch TV.

Vi (Swapfell Fruition Sans):

He knows his way around a needle and thread. He learned to sew out of pride necessity, learning to mend ripped and worn garments rather than having to beg for new on his or his brother’s behalf. It started as the lesser of two evils for him, but eventually he grew to enjoy it—work, of course, to have to close holes and hem and take in this and that, but work that he was generally left alone to do and not bothered for other things. It’s still that, but now that he doesn’t have a panopticon of a mocking prick judging his every action, he’s branching out into a bit more personal flair. He tried felting, with…poor results…but embroidery and needlepoint is working out considerably better. He’s still not especially creative so he prefers to work off patterns rather than freehand anything, and most of the things he stitches aren’t exactly to his own personal style, so a lot of his work gets donated but some things end up on the wall, others as patches for bags and jackets… It’s something to do.

…Making booze is also something to do. He didn’t exactly see it coming, something he kind of fell into. Per his brother’s preference, they’ve made their home in a wooded, mountainous area, and per his own preference, it’s secluded, a ways away from the town proper. Grocery runs every time there’s no more alcohol in the house (because somebody had company over and left a thimble in the bottle without telling anyone) is irritating, especially if he’s just getting home late and nowhere nearby is even open. A lot of locals get around the problem by simply brewing, fermenting, or distilling their own, and after looking into the process, he decided it was more than doable. He’s not much of a beer-drinker and never bothered with that, but he makes some damn good fruit wines if he says so himself, and a moonshine that’ll knock you on your ass if you’re not careful. His little operation is technically illegal—his favorite kind of illegal—but it's all for private use and he keeps to himself when he’s in town so he’s flying pretty low beneath the radar.

He is out of town a lot, mostly for work purposes, and passing through unfamiliar towns on the regular exposed him to quite a lot of postcard kiosks. He would look at them, think about his semi-estranged brother back home and how weird it would be, with their relationship being what it is, to call or text just to say ‘hey’ and… Well, eventually he bought one, scribbled a curt (coded) message on it, and sent it home before he could think better of it. Neither of them ever said anything about it, but he found it later on his desk when he got home with a scrawled reply back to what he’d written, and it kind of just spiraled into a thing from there. Anytime he goes somewhere, he finds a place to pick up a postcard to mail back, and when he gets home he tucks it (and the inevitable addition onto it) away in a binder for safekeeping. He takes a lot of care in the choosing and preservation of these cards and has a sizeable, growing collection.

Hunter (Swapfell Fruition Papyrus):

He’s a runner. There’s almost nothing he likes more than getting outside and taking off, jogging full speed to nowhere in particular until he’s out of breath and covered in sweat. He was cooped up for a long time in between specific missions and keeping pace on a treadmill just can’t compare to the free feeling he gets when he’s completely off-leash and can just go, as fast and as far as he wants to. Sometimes he’ll spice up his runs with a bit of parkour, clearing obstacles or scaling trees to take the branches for awhile, but he’s happy as long as he gets to let loose—sky above him, earth below, and nothing to call him back but his own limitations when he’s totally exhausted or he decides to be done.

For similar reasons, he’s interested in foraging. He likes nature and the outdoors, prefers it to anything indoors bar none, and the longer he can spend out in it without having to make his way back to civilization, the better. So, he started learning about the plants he sees—what’s edible, what’s not, what’s poisonous versus medicinal and so on. A lot of the info about it is geared towards humans rather than bioengineered skeletons so there’s still a learning curve, and a lot of things he's taken it upon himself to test out. He was built with a high metabolism and some natural poison resistance so he’s too cocky to be stopped from doing it, really, no matter how many times he’s called a reckless idiot for touching and ingesting possibly harmful substances. He's made a lot of interesting discoveries with regards to the local flora and only hardly gotten sick about it, so he counts it as a win.

He keeps track of said discoveries in his journal, which he takes out with him whenever he leaves the house for a nature walk (or run). He likes having it handy to note down things he does throughout the day, places he goes, things he sees… He never really got into art, not the way he could’ve, if things had been different, but he can scratch out some decent sketches to fill in the margins of his journal—the path down to the stream he found, the deer that only shed one antler, that berry that definitely did not agree with his metaphorical stomach, do not try again… His memory isn’t bad, exactly, but his mind and feet are both prone to wandering so it’s nice to have a log of his activities to look over later and put together things he missed at the time, or be reminded of stuff he wants to revisit. Most of his journaling is done halfway up a tree, sprawled along a branch with half an eye-socket on the view from up high.

Kohl (Descendtale Sans):

He wasn’t especially interested in plants or flowers, at least not until one started altering him—and the rest of monsterkind—in mind and body. That’s when he got interested and started studying. First the echo flower, its strange properties nearest and dearest to him, but gradually branching out to golden flowers, forevergreens, water sausages, any magical plant he can get his hands on to examine. Non-magical plants are equally fascinating, especially in their potential effects on humans—he knows probably an unsettling amount of flowers and greenery that are toxic to humans, the symptoms caused by contact or ingestion and how long it takes them to appear. Thankfully, he’s not much for the care and keeping of plants as keeping things alive seems like an awful lot of work. Still, he finds them interesting and has lots of botany and anthology books lying around, with leaves and petals dried and pressed between their pages. Did you know that the echo flower’s bioluminescence remains for up to three years after the bloom’s been clipped? Fascinating stuff.

Less of a passion but still at least an idle hobby, he can play a bit of piano. He’s self-taught—plunking out keys on the piano in Waterfall while passing through to entertain himself (and a little bit to annoy Undyne)—but though he can’t read sheet music or play any full length songs, he can tickle out a short tune by sound once he’s heard it at least once. He’s got a good ear for notes, despite not having any actual ears. It may actually be some kind of perfect pitch thing going on in his head but he should not be informed of this ever because he will hang on the word ‘perfect’ and be utterly insufferable about it. Mostly, he just uses this to play a few random notes whenever he comes across a keyed instrument, or to abruptly switch to an impromptu recreation of iconic horror scores to catch people by surprise. The theme from Halloween or the tubular bells from The Exorcist are favorites, but he’s unpredictable enough to learn more if you turn your back on him too long.

What he probably spends the most time on, however, is quilting. Perhaps a bit surprising, with his…everything else about him, but he’s a skeleton who values his creature comforts quite a bit, many of which have been made considerably more difficult for him to enjoy due to the ways his body has changed. In this particular case, it’s his reduced physical sensation making it nearly impossible to feel warm. He’s never cold anymore, not really, but he’s never warm either and he takes that quite personally, almost offended by the uselessness of thin clothing and scraps that dare to call themselves blankets. If there are no blankets thick enough and heavy enough get him warm, he’ll just have to make them himself…and so that’s what he does. Any passingly usable cloth in his possession tends to end up part of a quilt, with little care for patterning or overall design—his only priority is thick and heavy and warm, and if he doesn’t feel like he’s in a panini press by the time he’s finished, then it’s back to the drawing board.

Bram (Descendtale Papyrus):

He maybe went a little bit nuts for awhile there after the human first left. Some might argue that he’s still a little bit nuts but he would agree he was pretty embarrassingly desperate in the first few years after. They were gone and they weren’t answering their phone and for everything they’d done, they had been his friend so…he was worried! But of course, monsters were trapped, with hope of leaving anytime soon soundly dashed, so he couldn’t just go look for them. He wanted to reach them, or just someone on the Surface who could relay a message. That’s how he started experimenting with radio, out of a misguided and impossible attempt to communicate out of the Underground with someone up there. He never reached anyone from down there, of course, but he found some comfort in trying—and eventually, enjoyment too! He likes fiddling with the equipment to tune into different frequencies, and the sound of empty static is soothing to him. It’s a lot more fun now that he’s aboveground and can actually hear other people, and he hopes to get his license to transmit himself soon!

Before the Surface, though, things were a little lonelier for him. Colder, darker. Too dark entirely—of course a dark environment was necessary to promote the growth of their staple crop and the artificial day-cycles were only making monsters waste more time sleeping than they already were, he understood the need for the dark…but surely, it didn’t have to be so complete? How was anyone to know that he was at home and available to host company if there were no warm, inviting lights in the window? Candles seemed the perfect solution, natural light from flickering fires that wasn’t too harsh, still a bit dim but plenty to see by! He started just collecting them so he would always have them on hand if needed, but eventually started making them himself with wax on the stove. Scent or color don’t matter much to him, but he really likes being able to customize the size and shape to his needs. And his needs…aren’t so much anymore, now that there’s regular sunlight, but candles are still great for when there isn’t, and when electric lights are little too intense. It never hurts to have more candles around, for emergencies!

He's also exploring a new hobby up on the surface, inspired by his and his brother’s new careers—bone collecting! Now, it’s not what you’re thinking, he’s not after human bones. Those are still very much in use by the deceased, and he's sure surviving loved ones would be very cross if tried to just take them! But his job was how he learned that humans and other organic, non-magical creatures all contain skeletons of their own and when they die everything but the bone rots away. He thinks it’s very cool and obviously humans are off the table to inspect more closely, but animals don’t mind. He takes note of any dead creatures he happens to find—mostly birds and squirrels—and after allowing the other local wildlife to have first pick at it, he collects the remains to take home. He isn’t overly fond of the smells and textures of rot and asked for his brother to help with the de-fleshing and degreasing with the first few things he brought back, but he's got a handle on it now and loves to artfully display his cleaned finds all around the house. Skulls are his favorite, but he has some lovely wishbones and plenty of vertebrae that he’s equally proud of showing off!

[worldofedd]

[🔥] "I wish that whoever came up with the "Hot Chocolate Mac and Cheese" dies and goes to hell no matter what..."

[fastfists]

"Mhm...?"

[libbybee]

THE BENEFITS OF CARING — SA

◜pairing: astarion ⨯ fem!healer!reader ◜rating: MDNI 18+ ┊ wc: 13K ◜cw: fluff, sweet-dirty talk, wounds caring, previous sexual tension, feelings, rain, porn with some plot, first time sex, body worship, bodily fluids, piv, masturbation [F, M], blowjob, cock warming-riding, creampie, overstimulation, aftercare, morning talk.

▹ summary. one brow arched. “oh, really?” he asked sarcastically. “then perhaps you can explain why you’re straddling me like you are, love.”

A/N. english isn't my native language, sorry if there are grammar mistakes.

AO3 ┊ MASTERLIST ┊ PLAYLIST ┊ IMG

‎

‘He was foolish. Reckless. Utterly stupid.’

Those words spun like a storm in your mind as you watched Astarion dash into danger. All because Gale, with one of his grandiose schemes, asked him to be a distraction—a distraction, of all things. The sheer absurdity grated on you, especially after that cocky, charming smile Astarion showed.

For all his talk of survival and his centuries-old staying alive, he seemed oblivious to the risks he took, as if he actually believed he was invincible. That careless swagger, that excitement in his eyes—it frustrated you to no end. Why does he have to be like this?

You were the only one in the camp capable of tending to wounds after Shadowheart decided to go off on her own because of a disagreement. And he knew it all too well.

He’d charged straight ahead of a group of Flaming Fists, who’d been hell-bent on killing you all after a disastrous misunderstanding. How you’d managed to escape with just minor injuries was still beyond your reach, but one thing was clear: if his recklessness didn’t kill him, you might do it yourself.

When he came to you later, sheepishly asking for a hand with his wounds, you were ready to refuse—but then he looked at you, with that pleading puppy look in his eyes that seemed to make all your frustration melt in an instant… and you just gave in.

You stepped out of your tent, dressed in your camp clothes and carrying a small bag with bandages and supplies. The moment the cold night breeze swept over your face and bare arms, you regretted your clothing.

But you headed towards Astarion’s tent. And as you crossed the camp, the faint patter of raindrops began to break the silence, with cool droplets striking the ground. You quickened your pace; the last thing you needed right now was to catch a cold.

The flap of the tent swayed gently in the breeze as you lifted your hand to brush the canvas aside and stepped in.

Inside, there was a warm setting given by some candles, and the rich scent of Astarion quickly enveloped you—hints of brandy and rosemary. And there he lay, reclining on his bedroll against some plushy pillows, with an opened book resting idly in his hands, though he wasn’t reading. His crimson eyes lifted rapidly to meet yours by the moment you entered, his brow raising slightly in surprise before a smile spread on his lips.

Astarion set his book aside with an elegant flourish, sitting a bit as his hand reached to help you enter in. “Ah, my darling... at last. I was beginning to think you’d leave me alone all nigh—” His words cut off abruptly as your palm connected sharply with his cheek.

“That’s for risking your life like a fool.” You snapped as you sat beside him on his bedroll.

He lifted a hand to his cheek and soothed the stinging sensation, shocked but faintly amused by your unexpected reaction. Before he could even part his lips to say something, you raised a finger to cut him off while dropping your bag on the bedroll with a firm thud.

“Honestly, Astarion, what in the hells were you thinking?” You demanded, already taking a cloth from your bag. You didn't even wait for him to reply and just reached for his arm, where a nasty wound marred his porcelain skin. “Running in like that without a second thought...” You murmured to yourself, furrowing your brows in worry.

Letting out a sigh, you carefully wiped the wound. “What if I hadn’t been there? Or if you’d got ki—” You shut yourself, swallowing down the knot of anxiety that had lodged in your throat since the fight ended. Memories of that night at the Tiefling’s party appeared in your mind—when, just for a moment, he’d looked at you beyond his enchanting demeanour. And how that left you feeling fragile in a way you weren’t ready to confront.

After a moment, you spoke more calmly, “You can’t keep doing this, Astarion. You can’t keep risking yourself as if you don’t matter.”

As you dabbed carefully at another cut, his face tensed in a grimace, and you couldn't hold back any longer. “I don’t care how bold you think you are, Astarion—there’s no excuse for being so imprudent. You’re not some disposable distraction, no matter what Gale or anyone else thinks.” You noticed how one of his eyebrows raised with that glint in his eyes. “And don’t even think about giving me that look.”

For once, he simply fell silent, watching how your hands moved in his arm with the cool cloth with... perhaps an affectionate expression. Then his voice dropped, gentler than you'd ever heard it. “I didn't realise you cared about me... quite this much.”

Your hands froze briefly, feeling a heat rising to your cheeks. You controlled your feelings. “Well, someone has to keep you in line, and I’m fairly certain neither of our lovely friends would be up to the task.” You clarified, somewhat exasperated, but with some gentility in your tone.

You heard a soft chuckling from him, as he was aware of the truth in your words. Gently, his hand reached out to caress yours. “It means... more than you think. To have someone caring.” As your eyes dropped to his hand and then his face, you saw past his charm for a fleeting moment, past his sly smile to the man who hadn't known kindness in far too long. “Thank you.”

Your eyes widened while your cheeks rose even more, quickly looking again to his arm as you wiped another open wound. You cleared your throat. “Just... try not to make me need to patch you up every time we get into trouble, alright? For my sanity, if nothing else.”

He gently caressed the back of your hand one last time before letting his hand fall to his lap. “Oh, and miss all the attention you give me?” He looked into your eyes, pouting a little but taking in the seriousness in your face. “Fine. I’ll be more careful, love.” His voice was laced with a teasing warmth, easing the sting of worry in your chest, making it almost worth it.

The rain began to fall harder, the deafening through of it slapping against the canvas. When you looked at his shirt, there was something about how it had dark patches of blood through that caught your attention. You could almost see the bruises starting to form and the scratches beneath the fabric.

You glanced up at him again. “Astarion, take that shirt off; I need to see what’s under it.”

He raised one of his eyebrows. “Eager, aren't we?” He smirked. “I suppose I can indulge you, darling...”

You gave him a soft smile for his tease, speaking exasperated but amused. “I’m sure you’ve got wounds under there, Astarion. Just take it off.”

His smirk widened, clearly enjoying. “Such impatience... Very well, love. You’ve earned the right to see what lies beneath.” Then he reached for the hem of his classic white shirt, the delicate fabric gathering in his hands before he tugged it over his head in one fluid move, slightly disheveling his curls.

The shirt slipped away, revealing his chest and the sharp definition of his collarbones. The flickering candlelight danced across his skin, casting shadows over the subtle contours of his physique. His movements were unhurried as he was offering you a glimpse.

As he tossed the garment aside carelessly, it landed in a heap near the edge of the bedroll. The air between you seemed to shift. His crimson eyes showed a slight hint of vulnerability that he quickly masked with a smirk.

“Better?” He drawled, his usual charm creeping back. “Is the view satisfactory, or are you planning to strip me further?”

You rolled your eyes, though the warmth blooming in your cheeks betrayed your mock tiresomeness. “Oh, stop. I’m only trying to see how severe the damage is. Not everything has to be an invitation for your theatrics.” With the cloth in hand, you pressed it gently to a scrape on his shoulder.

Trying to focus solely on the task at hand, you tried not to stare too long at the sight before you, but the way you moved closer left a sense of intimacy that you couldn't quite ignore. The quiet hum of your fingers tracing his chest and the lines of his abdomen made you feel the way his skin seemed to breathe beneath your fingertips. And you could swear that you heard almost inaudible sighs from him when your hands brushed over particularly tender sites.

The storm raged harder, hammering relentlessly against the tent as if the heavens insisted on being heard.

The wounds were worse than you thought—a mixture of gashes and dark bruises, a few of them with a touch of infection already setting in. Your eyes faltered briefly when your heart tightened at this sight as you moved from one injury to the next, cleaning them.

Astarion's gaze remained fixed on you, changing between your hands and your preoccupied expression. For once, the usual, confident, and charismatic vampire who normally danced with danger and seductiveness had taken his mask off. Showing the face of someone who, for once, truly trusted in someone else and allowed you to take care of him.

His breath caught when you reached a particularly deep gash along his abdomen, and you had to steady yourself to not flinch with him. The sound of his discomfort sent a tremor through your hands. Still, he kept his endurance and didn't flinch away from you; this only made your chest ache more.

He broke the silence with a low mutter with an odd weariness. “You should stop doing that.”

Your fingers froze, halting mid-motion. “Stop what?” You asked, but not looking up, trying to maintain your focus.

“Caring so much,” he replied quietly. “It doesn’t suit you.”

You stilled, taken aback by his words, before you finally looked up to meet his gaze. “You’re a fool.” You shot back.

He let out a soft laugh, but it wasn’t the usual mocking sound; no, it sounded with a subtle trace of gratitude, or perhaps something far more complicated for him.

“You know,” he added after a long moment, his voice lower now, “I’m not used to this. To someone looking after me.”

You let your hands rest on his waist, looking up once more. “I’m not doing this because you’re special,” you replied with a snark tone. “I’m doing it because you’re an idiot, Astarion. And if you keep getting yourself hurt like this, I might just tie you up next time to keep you out of trouble.”

His lips showed that smile of his again, though more tenderly. “Ah, my very own personal keeper. What would I do without you, darling?”

After you grabbed and secured a bandage around his waist for his deep wound, you allowed your hands to stay on his body moments longer than necessary. You could feel the enveloping air between you; the silence was tense, though neither of you moved or said anything. Astarion's pupils were dilated looking at you, and they held a certain depth that seemed to pull at you.

Your mind was still so wrapped up in the care you'd given him that you barely noticed the shift in your own position until you relaxed to adjust the posture of your body. That's when the realisation hit you like a punch to the gut—you were straddling him.

Your knees rested on either side of his hips, and you could feel the constant pressure of his pelvis against yours in a way that felt far too out of place.

A sharp breath caught in your throat, and you instinctively stiffened while a rush of hotness flooded your chest. Your mind started to race: ‘How long have we been like this? How had I not noticed this before?’ The tightness of your hips against his, the way your bodies seemed to fit together so... naturally—it was impossible to ignore.

But Astarion? He didn’t falter even for a second. His body remained relaxed beneath yours, with some sort of steady confidence, like he had no intention of acknowledging the shift in the dynamic. There was the faintest shift in his posture, a barely perceptible tightening of his grip on your thigh, but it went away in an instant.

“Getting comfortable, darling?” He spoke smoothly, with a dangerous and devilishly enticing tone. His lips curled into that signature grin of his, but this time it was different; there was no teasing edge, no light-hearted mockery. Instead, there was a subtle weight to it, as it appeared to hold more meaning than it usually did.

“I must admit, I didn’t think you’d be so forward, love.” He purred. There was no mistaking the satisfaction in his voice, the quiet thrill touring his body of the intimacy at that moment.

The hand on your thigh slowly slid to your hip, allowing his fingers to linger there briefly before trailing up to your waist. You straightened up immediately, your face flushing while your pulse hammered in your chest because you had never been this close to him before—really close. Too close.

“I wasn't... trying to be forward...” Your voice tumbled, feeling a nervous tension twisting in your gut. Your words stumbled over each other, sharper than you meant them to be. “I was just trying to—”

“Trying to cure me, I know,” he interrupted, his soft chuckle rolling over you like a sensual caress. “Though, love, such a delicate position for a healer. Wouldn’t you agree?” His voice dipped, low and molten, sharpening his smile into something far more dangerous. His eyes were locked on yours, unfaltering, almost daring you to react.

Everything else blurred into insignificance. All you could hear was the erratic pounding of your own heartbeat and his breathing, far too steady for the situation.

“I...” you started, but the tightness in your throat made it difficult to say a word. You didn’t know what to say; you didn’t even know if you wanted to break the silence hanging between you. “We should probably...” The sentence fizzled out, as useless as your resolve to push away the growing tension.

Before you could even think of anything else, the heat of his touch burnt through the fabric of your pyjamas, making your skin tingle in its wake. His hand slid up your side, grazing your ribs and the curvature of your breast with his thumb before setting at your waist to grip it firmly. The way his thumb slowly began to stroke the curve of your waist only made your nervousness get worse. His touching wasn't just casual—it was as if he wanted to test your reaction.

A rush of sensations made it impossible to think clearly, your body betraying you. His posture—his other elbow propped for support—the constant pressing of his crotch against yours, his hand on your waist—it all pulled you into a current you weren’t sure you could fight.

“Go on,” he purred with the faintest hint of mockery. His gaze moved to your lips, as though he could draw out the answer with nothing but his stare. His fingers flexed slightly against your waist, the pressure sending a ripple of heat skittering through you. “What was it you were saying? Something about what we should do?”

You couldn’t meet his eyes, instead focusing on your hands as they rested awkwardly near his chest, fingers twitching. The heat building between your thighs crept upward, spreading through your belly like a forest fire. You felt flushed and shivering, not just from the closeness but from the way he was glancing at you—like you were the only thing in the world worth his attention.

You weren't prepared for this; you hadn't anticipated that the barriers you thought were between you would collapse into nothing so abruptly.

Astarion’s voice cut through your thoughts like a blade. “Are you going to keep me here all night, love?” His tone kept low, almost a growl.

You struggled to string together coherent thoughts before saying something. “I didn't know you wanted... I didn't think...” The words stumbled out again, barely audible as your voice betrayed you.

His smirk deepened, and his crimson eyes held a predatory gleam that made your stomach twist and flutter all at once. “Don’t play coy with me, darling.” His voice was velvety enough to bury each word into your ears. “I know you’ve thought about this—about me. I can see it, feel it. You want this as much as I do.” You tried to look away to escape his gaze, but it was impossible. His eyes held you captive, burning with something raw and unapologetically ravenous.

Your eyes widened as he tugged you closer with a calculated ease that made you perfectly aligned with him—causing your pussy to rub directly on his cock. The feeling made every inch of you stand on edge, your body betraying you with a tremor you couldn’t suppress. Then he reclined back against his pillows more comfortably before his other hand glided up your thigh. “Relax, darling...” He purred lowly, his tone a sensuous command that curled around you like smoke.

You became instantly conscious of the burning sensation beneath you—the growing hardness pressing insistently against your cunt. Your thoughts whirled, panic and desire colliding in a tumult. ‘How did I end up like this?’ But the answer was painfully clear—he had led you, and you’d followed without resistance for being distracted caring for him.

“I... I wasn't planning... this.” You forced yourself to meet his gaze, but his eyes—bold and piercing—made it impossible to hold.

One brow arched. “Oh, really?” He asked sarcastically. “Then perhaps you can explain why you’re straddling me like you are, love.”

His hardening length was impossible to ignore, even through the barrier of clothes, the sensation making heat surge through you in torrents. You swallowed hard. “I… It’s only because you moved me—” You tried to protest, but Astarion pressed a finger to your lips to silence you before leaning in to kiss your neck. “Moved you, did I?” He teasingly whispered against your skin. “Then don’t even think of moving, love... you're not going anywhere.”

Those words echoed in your ears. You knew you’d been fighting with your feelings since that night with the tieflings—when you’d seen him in his tent with his wine focused entirely on you, ignoring everyone else. You’d told yourself it was just the wine, the moment, but now you could hardly keep up the pretence.

For a hesitant moment, you thought about pulling away—but then his expression softened, almost looking if his black pupils were begging for you to stay with him, to kiss him when he noticed your intentions as you stared at his lips and slowly you hovered them with yours; the distance seemed endless.

With a small effort, you leaned in and kissed his lips, and you could feel how he smiled, clearly delighted by your boldness and the way your hand curled at his nape to draw him to you. The motions of your lips were slow, unsure. But as soon as you felt his opening slightly against yours, the shyness began to fade.

His hands clamped on your hips to pull you closer until there wasn't any space for doubt or even space untouched between you, and you could feel him—all of him. The pressure of his cock perfectly aligned with your entrance provoked you to gasp against his mouth; even in the hesitation, he gave you no choice but to lean into him, to crave more and push past the uncertainty that had held you back.

He just seemed to want more, that he couldn’t get enough of you. His mouth felt as if it were burning yours. The kiss started slow and tentative, but that didn't last. His lips grew more insistent as he deepened the kiss, tilting his head and parting yours with ease to slip his tongue between your lips in a hurry. This made you pant by the initial shock of it, racing your heart. Your thoughts began to dissolve, leaving only the moment, and you simply surrendered to the sensation.

The swipes of his tongue weren’t gentle at all. He was implacable, exploring your mouth, moving deeper. His kiss wasn’t just a kiss—it was an invitation, a way to encourage you. And as you accepted, you met his tongue with your own, unconfident at first, but he gave you the courage to match his boldness. Astarion groaned softly, a deep sound that reverberated in your lips, sending an intense pulse of arousal to your pussy.

There was no going back now, and you knew it. This was it—the pull to him, the demand of his touch, and now you could feel the indescribable connection that had been building between you from the very first time your eyes had met.

His lips pulled away just enough to speak. “You’re mine tonight.” He groaned roughly as his hands drifted to the sensitive space between your inner thighs, cupping your pussy and slowly kneading it with his fingers. “And when I’m through with you, you won't even remember what it felt like to be without me.”

Your chest tightened as his words hit hard, but you found yourself barely able to even think, unable to do more than just nod as you looked down at him. Your lips parted while you took your breath, while his hand moved with a voracious elegance, dragging his fingertips along the seam where your trousers joined. The air was charged and burning before he did what he did.

With a sharp tug, Astarion tore the fabric between your thighs. The sound was violent as the seams of your trousers gave way under the force of his hands, almost merciless. The rip clearly was strategic—exposing just enough to reveal what was hidden.

But the regret rushed over you the moment the cool night air hit your exposed area. You hadn’t been wearing any panties, and now, with nothing to shield your nakedness, you felt scandalously vulnerable. You cursed yourself for all the nights you decided against wearing anything, thinking no one would notice. Now, the decision turned painfully foolish.

His eyes dropped, and his pupils dilated further at the sight of his no longer hidden treasure, curling his lips with delight. A low laugh escaped his throat. “Well, well,” he purred, distinctly pleased. “It seems you’ve been planning this all along, haven’t you? No panties? How deliciously bold.”

You mentally damned your stupidity, your cheeks heating in embarrassment. The simple choice of not wearing underwear before going to sleep now felt like an invitation, one he seemed all too eager to accept.

The shock of it left you momentarily motionless and without words, feeling the cool air kissing the exposed skin of your thighs and your core. His hand brushed over the tear he had just created, grazing his fingers very close to where your pussy was.

“I can still see that shy little spark in you, even now.” He talked again, locking onto you. The playful smirk on his lips softened as he watched the blush across your cheeks. “It's almost... adorable.”

You tilted your head slightly, trying to escape his penetrating stare, a nervous pout forming on your lower lip as your hands clutched at his shoulders for some sort of stability. But a sudden gasp escaped your lips when his middle and ring fingers slid between your folds with smooth precision, parting them easily. His fingers let your clitoris be positioned right between both; your sensitive bud responded instantly after so many winters without another’s touch, and your grip on his shoulders only grew firmer.

When they finally clamped on either side of your clit, his fingers massaged it with a slow back-and-forth motion, sending an uncontrollable shiver through your nub. Your hips instinctively moved due to his stimulation, causing a soft tremor in your pelvis as the tingling sensation built. The exact pressure he exerted made you melt further, caught in the heat of it and masking your timid instincts.

All swipes of his fingers coaxed your body to react in ways you could barely control. Astarion's smile widened as he enjoyed watching the last traces of your shyness slowly dissolve beneath his touch. Eventually joining his thumb to the dance, finally rubbing directly over the skin covering your bud before pressing down in slow circles that made your thighs tremble against his hips.

“Just like that…” He murmured approvingly. “Feels good, doesn't it?”

His fingers slid forward slightly, pressing his palm against your clit while his middle finger traced the outline of your entrance. The anticipation held you captive, instinctively arching your hips, silently urging him to end the wait. And then, with tantalising slowness, he slid one finger inside you, the feeling both stimulating and exhilarating all at once. The filling was perfect—gradual but firm—and soon, a second finger joined to push in and out without pulling them out entirely.

With each slow thrust of his fingers, his palm rubbed on the skin of your clit, adding a delicious, pleasurable dual stimulation that sent spasms through your pussy, making it impossible to stay still. The strokes were maddeningly controlled, his fingers reaching and curling deeper with every smooth push, as though he knew exactly what you needed and how to give it to you. Astarion’s gaze never left your face, his piercing crimson eyes bright with pleasure, absorbing every sigh and shiver you produced.

“How sensitive, darling...” He breathed softly as he drew closer to meet your lips with his, causing a sweet pulse to your core, intensifying your throbs.

He angled his hand just slightly to reach deeper, and you gripped him tightly. You found yourself helplessly following the increasing tempo he set, encircling his neck with your arms to pull him closer and losing one of your hands in his silky curls.

Astarion's smile turned avaricious against your mouth, sensing your walls vibrate and deliciously clench around him, drenching his hand in just a few minutes. He curled his skilled fingers inside to stimulate a sensitive spot you didn't know was there, just perfectly, his touch implacable against your clit while he fucked your cunt.

Your mouth was being claimed with an eagerness that made your blood boil—he was devouring you in the kiss. His smooth lips moved against yours, insistent and hungry, coaxing you to open for him as he gently bit your lower lip. As you complied, his tongue rapidly swept in, tasting your saliva mingling with his. It was dizzying; your senses flooded with the taste of him and the coolness of his pale skin, creating a high contrast against your hot, wetting pussy and just adding to the sensations.

A low groan gurgled in his chest as his lips pressed harder, the tips of his fangs grazing your bottom lip before pulling back slightly. Just to slam his mouth to yours again with even more fierceness after taking his breath. His fingers curled more rapidly against that delicate spot within you, utterly submerging you in the magnetic pull of his caresses and the incredible hunger in his kiss.

He pulled away, his lips brushing against yours as he did, a soft, breathless hum escaping him. “I wonder,” he began, “how long it will take for you to break, darling.” His eyes glinted as he continued. “But I’m in no rush. We’ll savour this. I will…”

Your grip on him tightened, slightly pulling his hair as your hips rocked back and forth with the pace he set, lost to the growing pleasure he built for you. His touch was relentless, almost coaxing you to the brink, but every stroke was carefully calculated, carefully slow to keep you teetering, hovering in a blissful tension that left you frustrated.

Astarion watched you with predatory attention, centred on the slightest whimper that escaped your lips, as well as that exquisite pussy between your thighs. The very sight of you brought him as much pleasure as his hand brought to you.

Your breathing grew ragged as your body instinctively sought more of the pleasure he promised. The fullness of his fingers, though they were quite close to what you needed, only left you aching for more. You could feel your desire intensifying with every subtle movement, letting your hands drift lower in his chest with the need to touch, to claim him as yours. ‘At least for tonight’.

“Astarion... more, please... I want your cock inside me.” You pleaded, looking into his eyes with desperate want. “Take off these trousers...” You added, letting your fingers trail down his abdomen to where his waistband circled just below his waist, urging him to remove the last barrier between you.

He held your gaze, his eyes smouldering as a slow, indulgent smile appeared on his face. “Oh, you’re even more delicious when you beg...” He honeyed with approval, pulling his fingers out of your pussy and watching with keen interest as you trembled at the loss, the delicate quiver of your hips only adding to the pleasure he found in your vulnerability.

Before doing so, he slowly brought his dripping fingers from your cunt to his mouth, taking great pleasure in licking them clean and savouring the sweet, intoxicating juices made by your body. A soft, pleased hum escaped him as his eyes gleamed with wicked glee as he drank in the sight of your flushed face.

Only then did his hands drop to the waistband of his trousers. He didn’t rush, of course; instead, his movements were maddeningly slow as he began to slide the fabric down. The gleam in his eyes told you everything—he was savouring every second, drawing out the moment just to test your patience, fully aware of how much it would irritate you.

But just before sliding them for once and for all down, he stopped within a second. His eyes trailed their way down to your breasts, marked against the cloth, still covered while his torso was bare since you made him take off his shirt; the contrast stirred something within him. His fingers gently trailed along the fabric of your shirt, brushing down and against the edge, before his hand slid inside to grip your waist.

He looked back up, meeting your gaze with desire and playful intent. “Darling,” he purred, “don’t you think it’s only fair that you join me in shedding the rest of my clothing?” His eyes gleamed as he showed his damned puppy-like eyes for the second time that day. “I want to feel all of you against me,” he added, his tone rich with faked sorrow as his lower lip made a soft pout. “Take it off, my love...”

Oh, this definitely made you smile, feeling a spark of mischief as you looked down at him. You could tell he hadn’t quite anticipated the thought that crossed your mind.

You let your fingers drift along his bare chest again, savouring the coolness and smoothness of his porcelain skin before cradling his cheek, taking in every detail of his expectant look.

“Well,” you leaned close, letting your lips just a few inches away from his. “After tearing my favourite trousers,” you whispered, trailing your thumb teasingly across his lower lip, “don’t you think it’s only fair that you ask me—politely—to take the shirt off?”

Astarion raised one of his brows; his smile wavered for only a moment as he considered your request. Then, his expression softened, his smirk playing again on his lips as his hands slid up your sides under your shirt. “Oh, I see,” he replied smoothly, “you want me to beg, do you?”

You narrowed your eyes playfully. “Yes.” You savoured every single letter that slipped from your lips. “I am dying to hear you beg, Astarion.”

A moment passed before he gave a soft chuckle, and his gaze, brimming with delight and want, locked with yours. “Please, my love.” He said lowly, needy. “Let me see those surely precious breasts you must have. I’ll be good, I promise.” He pleaded sweetly. “Take it off... just for me...”

His words only made you want to tease him more.

The diabolical glow in your eyes grew as you leaned forward, letting your thumb trace the line of his chin. You could feel the light tension in his posture, the way the red in his eyes darkened, his lips parting just a bit as he waited for... maybe a kiss? He wasn't quite sure with you. His hands on your waist tightened to pull you a bit closer, but you resisted, holding him at bay.

“Good, you say? I’d like to see that.” You tilted your head as if considering his plea. “Are you sure you’re capable of it?” Your fingers slid down his chest again, skimming over his nipples with your fingers just enough to provoke him a small shiver.

“More than capable.” He replied roughly for the restraint you demanded of him, but not being entirely sincere.

You breathed slowly as you caught his lie, but somehow, your desire for him only grew, knowing he didn’t intend to ‘be good’ with you at all.

Your hands went down to lift the hem of your shirt, but you didn’t pull it up yet. Instead, you let your fingers there. “If you want it so badly, Astarion,” you said softly, “you’ll have to ask again. Nicely.”

His expression shifted to one of purely wanting as he tightened his hands on you. “Please, my love,” he replied in a low tone. “Take it off.”

Finally, you slowly lifted your shirt to reveal your torso and the defined curves of your breasts, drawing the fabric over your head to set it aside on his bedroll and finally being completely naked to his eager stare. Astarion’s eyes glistened with a glow that spoke volumes as he devoured every detail of your flushed skin like a long-awaited treat. You couldn’t help but arrange your hair and adjust your bracelets; you felt a mix of nerves and exhilaration at his intense attention.

Astarion’s hands reached for your breasts with a speed that almost startled you, sinking his fingers into your supple flesh as he kneaded it and leaned forward. His lips found one of your nipples, capturing it along with a portion of your breast, sucking passionately before planting a warm kiss above your nipple. He repeated on its twin, savouring your body before finally looking up; the surprise etched on your face, the blush on your cheeks, and the widening of your eyes seemed to light pride in his gaze.

Astarion revelled in the comfy warmth of your flesh under his cool hands as he continued to knead and massage your breasts as thoroughly as it was slow. Trailing his lips down to run messy kisses along your sternum before returning to one of your breasts once more. He opened his mouth, homely, to get your flushed breast inside, sucking it and swirling his tongue around it, rumbling an eager hum. His hands went to your waist and your other breast to take care of it too, holding you as you leaned against him with a soft moan escaping your lips. He seemed almost like a starved child desperately seeking milk from his mother's breast.

After a long, leisurely moment, he pulled away with a final and slow brush of his tongue over your nipple; his lips glistened with saliva from his attention. A desire that seemed to consume him was burning in his eyes, and when they met yours, a slow smile spread across his face. “You know,” he murmured, “I could lose myself in you like this, so easily.” His fingers slowly contoured your waist. “But I’ll need more than just this beautiful view.” He leaned in to graze his lips on your ear and whispered, “Imagine, darling, how it’ll feel when I’m deep inside you—how I’ll make you forget everything else, until all you can think of... is me.”

Your body received a delicious tremble, an almost inaudible moan escaping your lips because of the intensity of his voice saying those words to you. Your fingers tangled in his hair to pull him closer, feeling yourself getting wetter. The simple thought of him inside you, fucking you until your legs couldn't respond any more, grew your pulse faster.

As his hands wandered lower, the ache between your thighs grew unbearable—the need to have his cock growling in your throat; you could barely stand it. Impatiently, you moved to straddle his thighs, finding with your hands his waistband.

“I need you, Astarion.” Your plea spilt out unprocessed, begging for him to end the teasing and give you what you craved. “Please take them off. I can’t wait any longer. Finish what you started.” The final word fell from your lips almost like a cry, leaving no doubt that you were beyond ready, beyond wanting. You needed him—now.

Astarion chuckled as he looked at your hands, tracing his abdomen. He laid back slightly against his soft pillows, clearly enjoying how you were so eager for him, but he didn’t move anyway. Instead, his eyes flickered to your fingers as they were about to start tugging his waistband, and his lips curled up.

“Please, Astarion.” You pleaded again. “I can't take it any more. Stop teasing me. Take them off. Please.”

He hummed, amused, with a wicked glint in his crimson eyes. “Ah, so desperate, are we?” His eyes slid downward, pausing to take in the way your pussy soaked through his fabric, already dripping as you set yourself on his thighs. “Look at that sweet little cunt of yours, dripping for me already.” As soon as he finished speaking, he let out a soft chuckle. “Can’t wait to feel me inside, I see.”

You furrowed your brows in some annoyance at his incessant chatter that only made your patience thinner. But then, his demeanour shifted nonchalantly, capturing your attention when he propped his hands up on the bedroll and lifted his pelvis fluidly, giving you room to slide his trousers out of his legs.

“Help yourself, darling.” He purred softly with that grin on his lips.

You couldn’t stop yourself from glancing down, captivated by his posture. When your eyes fell to his crotch, where your hands had settled either side, you saw the clear shape of his rigid cock outlined beneath the fabric, straining against the material and angled a little to one side. The thickness and length were evident, making your entrance painfully clench around nothing and heat your cheeks.

‘How didn't I look at it before?’ Your breath hitched at the graphic, raw sight of it—exquisite and so irresistibly tempting. The aching sensation in your pussy grew, not just from the visual but from the rush of desire that quickly followed. Despite yourself, your eyes went back to his face, finding that same teasing, excited expression as though he were daring you to take the next step.

As you began to slide your fingers inside the waistband of his trousers, you brushed lightly his skin, sending a shiver to your fingertips.

And then, pulling his trousers down, you slowly revealed more inches of his pelvis and his white curls, and you could feel his intense gaze smouldering into you. His cock twitched against the fabric, building your excitement until it sprang free, making you inhale sharply at the sight. Your eyes traced his exposed skin as you slid the fabric the rest of the way down his legs. A soft rustle marked their removal from his ankles, and he lay naked before you.

His erect length was blushed and visibly soft, with subtle veins running up from its base, contrasting sharply against his swollen, rosy head. The pale expanse of his skin was almost luminescent; only the tip of his cock seemed all the more vivid. And there was precum already seeping from its slit, a trail that slid down to his sac.

For a brief, delicious moment, you simply stared. The long shape with a slightly tapered head was just stunning, and it made you realise just how perfectly he would enter and fill you. You couldn’t help but let your fingers drift to your clit, stimulating lightly to ease the relentless ache building. The wet heat spread between your thighs, growing stronger as you took in every detail.

A subtle sigh left your lips, caused by the strong beating of your puffy bud against your fingers. You traced the ridges of his hips with the other hand before brushing over from the base to the tip of his cock. It was warm, soft but firm with the ridges of its veins, and the precum that gathered there only added to its silkiness.

Your mind raced with thoughts you hadn’t fully allowed yourself to process—how new this was, how thrilling and unfamiliar it felt yet so drawn by it. Astarion was nothing like the lovers you had before. You didn’t have a long list of conquests, and that made your inexperience clear. But the way he looked at you and how his moves commanded every piece of your attention drew you deeper into something you were both eager and frightened to experience.

Without thinking any longer, your hand wrapped around the base of his cock, feeling its thickness as you slowly began to stroke him in sync with your own stimulation, smoothing with your thumb the head with each pass. His lips allowed a low, appreciative sigh to escape him, sending a wave of emotion through you and racing your pulse. And with one final glance up at his face, you slowly positioned yourself between his thighs to lay down and let your stomach rest on his bedroll.

As you let your lips hover near the tip of his cock, you could feel the heat radiating from him and smell the intoxicating scent of his arousal as he smelt yours. You could almost drool at the sight before you—how you see the shift in his expression—from humour to impatience. The anticipation was exhausting for both of you, but you didn’t rush. Instead, you kissed the tip tenderly, feeling the weight of him against your lips before letting your tongue slip out where his glans started to the high point. Tasting the warmth and saltiness of his cock because of his precum.

You felt the coolness of the storm kissing you and of the bedroll beneath your stomach, grounding you as your hands remained on him, steady and assured. Astarion’s thighs tensed under your touch, caught between the impulse to take control and the pleasure of simply letting you explore at your own pace.

Each time your thumb swept over his tip, his cock twitched, responding to the rhythm of your touch and your lips. You swirled your tongue around his head, licking clean the precum that had gathered there and along his length. The taste was different than you expected—rich and heady, like a Vermentino wine, lingering on your tongue in a way that was deeply intriguing.

The low sounds slipping from his lips spurred you on as you pressed messy kisses to his length and tip, tracing with your tongue the subtle lines and ridges of his shaft. His sharp intake of breath told you just how deeply he felt every small touch, and the sheer pleasure in that knowledge emboldened you further.

“Mm, look at you,” he purred, honestly surprised and pleased. “Not so shy now, are we, darling?” His words were meant to tease as always, but the note of admiration was unmistakable, making clear just how captivated he truly was.

Your eyes met his quietly before slowly lowering your mouth to take him inch by inch. The stretch of him filled your cavity as you went deeper, feeling his rigidity slide against your tongue. You let inside more of him until you felt his tip reach the back of your throat and the hair on his pelvis brushing your nose. His reaction, the involuntary twitch, and the low hum from him sent a thrill through you as you adjusted him inside your mouth, savouring the moment.

As you set a slow up-down with your head, Astarion’s lips started to make soft, broken sounds that were like a lyrical to your ears, urging you to continue. His hand reached out to rest on the back of your head, his fingers threading into your hair as he let out a silent growl. The anxiety in his grip was obvious, yet he kept his touch gentle, guiding without forcing and letting you take the lead, trembling under your care.

You slid your hands down his thighs, feeling the taut muscles beneath your fingers and feeling how his body responded to you. Each time you drew him deeply, your tongue caressed his lower vein, lavishing attention on every inch of him that his cock met with an appreciative palpitation.

Astarion moaned, his head falling back against the pillows. “Slow down, my love... Let me enjoy this.” He breathed as he allowed you to fully take him, his hips flexing slightly. His fingers tightened slowly in your hair, a silent encouragement for you to continue as he gave himself completely over to you.

With one hand still supported on his thigh, you drifted the other to his sac to massage it gently inside your palm. The action caused a louder moan from him, his hips jiggling involuntarily as you kept your mouth moving steady and more slowly, never breaking your rhythm. His low groans came quicker and even rougher, sounds of pleasure spilling freely now like an invitation to go on, filling the tent and dispersing the strong rain outside.

He moved his hand from your hair to your cheek and stopped you momentarily, cradling it in a surprisingly tender gesture as he glanced down at you. “Look at me while you do it, my darling...” He sighed, gently caressing you. “Feel how hard you make me...” His head fell back once more, unable to hold back a guttural growl as you continued with an intensified sucking, feeling his cock pulse and grow impossibly hard against your tongue.

With a measured squeeze, you tightened your grip on his sac, rolling it delicately with your fingers while your other hand remained anchored on his thigh. They trembled involuntarily, just like his cock, each movement drawing a delicious reaction until he could no longer keep still, his hips instinctively arching towards your mouth.

His hand returned to the back of your head, gripping tightly as your tongue traced the underside of his cock. All of him seemed to shiver under your touch, and he still allowed you to take control, guiding him into this sweet, little death.

But, after a few moments, you let his cock slip free from your lips with a slow drag, watching it emerge slick in your saliva and instantly cling to his lower belly because of its hardness. The dampness left a glistening trail between your mouth and him, breaking only as you leaned back, lifting a hand to wipe the last of the moisture from your mouth. He let out a disappointed sigh at the loss of you, then looked down to watch how you had left him all reddish-coloured with a sheen because of his precum mixed with your saliva.

Without a word, you rose on your knees and moved to straddle his hips, feeling the firm press of his thighs beneath your ass cheeks as you settled your weight onto him. His hands instinctively moved to your waist, gripping your sides in a way that felt almost impossible to avoid.

You could feel the hardness of his cock pressing between your folds—a solid, delicious presence. Each pulsate of its head against the own palpitations of your puffy bud felt incredible.

Bracing your hands against his chest, you pressed down gently and took a moment to enjoy the feel of him, tracing the lines that defined his chest with your fingers. His eyes were locked on you, watching the way your pussy just wrapped around his cock.

Gradually, you began to move your hips, grinding down your clitoris onto his glans with a slowed tempo that turned faster. The friction was amazing as you brushed against his slick skin, adding a sensuous layer of lubrication as you moved back and forth against his perfectly nestled cock. You could feel yourself drenching him wetter, mixing your juices with the slickness left from your previous oral.

His hungry gaze roamed over your pelvis, tightening his grip on your waist as he let out a rough sigh, savouring the way your pussy slid so enticingly along his shaft until you leaned forward. Repositioning your weight on one hand, you reached down to trace your fingers along his length, wrapping around it to guide it upwards. You pressed the tip on your entrance, dragging it slowly along your slit, feeling it start to pulse against your inner lips. His lower lip formed a slight pout as you continued to tease, drawing the moment out with almost cruel patience.

But with a final pass, you positioned him straight to your entrance, vacillating just on the edge, and looked at his face to watch his reaction—the way his eyes were focused on your pussy, waiting for you to cut the last bit of separation. Then, with a slow downward, you began to sink him inside, feeling the exquisite stretch his tip made as he filled you, inch by inch, making your walls instantly clench around him for the sudden fullness.

He let out a pleased moan, now holding harder your hips as you settled onto him completely, feeling so deep and stretching you deliciously wide after so many years of solitude. The warm pulse of him between your walls, every subtle movement of his length—an insistent throb—made you simply sit there for a moment. Letting yourself adjust to the sensation of him fully within you and the friction of your clit as it rubbed against his silvery pubic hair. He flicked up his eyes to meet yours with an intensity that made his eagerness clear as he waited for you to move.

You gently cupped his face and caressed his pointy ear, the other hand resting over his shoulder. You softly brought his face closer to yours, locking your eyes on his.

“Astarion...” You whispered. “Can you feel it? How incredible this is?” You gave him a dulcet smile before closing the distance, pressing your lips against his as you traced the line of his cheekbone and chest, feeling his pulse beneath your fingers.

Gently, you lifted yourself just slightly to sink back down, the exquisite friction sending a burst of pleasure through both of you. Astarion’s grip on you tensed again, tightening as his hips surged up to meet yours, letting out a low, throaty noise. Your lips remained together, deepening the kiss as your mouths moved in time with your bodies, setting a slow, constant pace where you rose and fell smoothly over him.

The sounds of your bodies intertwined moving together began to fill the surrounding little space—the slapping of skin on skin, the lewd, sensual noises of your pussy swallowing his cock over and over again blending with the muffled moans, and the relentless raindrops against the canvas.

He forcefully gripped your hips to dictate you, abruptly being the one controlling the pace as he broke the kiss to catch his breath. His lips hovered close, both hot exhales mingling as you rested your forehead against his, matching your rhythm. The tantalising climax drew closer and closer with every thrust, making everything else seem distant, the storm outside being insignificant compared to the tempest building between you.

His hands roamed over your body, tracing your spine before one circled your waist and the other gripped the back of your shoulder to pull you closer, urging you to press down against him more fully.

The deeper you sank, the more you felt him smack against your vaginal walls so passionately. You leaned forward, your hands wrapping either side of his waist and slightly digging your nails into his skin as you picked up the pace. The position shifted just enough to drive him pleasantly deeper in each downward stroke, with a perfect angle that made his tip hammer against your cervix.

Suddenly, the hand against your shoulder gripped your cheeks, pulling you down to capture your lips in another hungry kiss. His tongue tangled with yours, both tasting the other's mouth, becoming something truly addicting, as if he just seemed to want to devour you whole, and you couldn't satisfy your own craving. His hand slid to your nape as the kiss deepened, just like the rhythm of both pelvises grew faster.

Every thrust proved how he was losing himself, both of you spiralling higher and higher. He whimpered against your lips, a sound that vibrated deep in your mouth, feeling the tension coiling tighter within your lower belly, your body feeling worn out as it yearned for release.

His hands were everywhere—guiding, pulling, encouraging. You couldn’t help but moan against his lips, the pleasure overwhelming as your movements grew more frantic. He was holding you just right, pressing his open thighs up against your ass cheeks, lifting you just enough to make you feel perfectly aligned with his cock.

His lips parted from yours with a shaky groan as he looked up at you, consumed by the burning need you were becoming. At that moment, with the weight of your hips moving over his, your voice came out shaky, broken by the effort of holding yourself glued to him. “Am I... am I doing it right?”

The question left you trembling because of its vulnerability, making your pulse race as though the very act of asking had laid bare everything you hid beneath that little girl you were for him. You felt so desperate for his confirmation, for him to tell you that this was all he wanted.

For a moment, he looked as if he was caught off guard, eyes widening just a fraction before he composed himself.

Then his hands tightened his grasp on both your ass cheeks with determination. He pressed your hips down more strongly, making his cock burry inside you to the hilt and making your lips crush against his pelvis. “Do you feel that?” He kept pressing you down harder, grinding his hips up to meet yours. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me, and it’s perfect. Move just like that—don’t stop.” The words slipped out raw and unfiltered, as if he couldn’t hold them back.

The way he said that broke whatever fragile restraint you’d managed to hold onto, unleashing a fierce, unstoppable heat within you. The only thing that existed now was him—all of him—buried balls deep inside you, turning every nerve in almost an animalistic way.

An uncontrollable need surged through you, overtaking all thoughts, as your hips immediately started to move impulsively, slamming down against his. Your body was just demanding to take everything from him, driven by a thirst he had created that couldn’t be denied. The ache of his cock stretching your entrance open and filling you that much was the divine sensation of him, the incredible pleasure of his flawless body moving exactly in time with and inside yours.

You were in pursuit of more—more of him, more of this satisfying connection. You let out a series of desperate moans, each one of them spurring you both deeper into your carnal urges, neither of you able to stop. The immediateness of it overtook you both. Your breathing was ragged as the intense pressure built, feeling him fully as he lifted his hips to force his cock impossibly inside you, aligning you just right, so deep that you could feel it in your very bones. The edge of your release was so close.

His hands dug into your ass, pulling you more forcefully against him to guide your frantic pace and stoke the fire on your clitoris as his pelvis writhed beneath it. “Just a little more...” He growled, strained, like a man on the edge of breaking. “I’m so close, love…” His words were almost a pleading cry, a raw reflection of the need that overtook him because of you.

You could feel it, see it—his control slipping away, his body trembling beneath yours as his hands gripped your hips now to urge you on, both bodies acting just like animals in heat do with an almost agonising intensity that could leave your womb aching for days. You both moved harder and faster, slapping together with an unbreakable pace. The pressure in your core was unbearable now, so close to snapping that it made your legs shake in both of the sides of his hips with the effort of holding on.

Suddenly, one of his hands slid between your bodies, finding your clitoris to circle his thumb over the painfully swollen nub with expert knowledge. Just like if he was already aware of how to trigger your sensitive spots to push you to the heavens. The friction was impossible to bear in the best, perfect possible way, making you cry in pleasure, unable to control the whimpers that tore from your throat.

You couldn’t hold back any more. His touch, the pressure, the movements of his body—it all became too much. The tension inside you snapped, and with a loud and uncontrolled moan, your walls tightly clenched and pulsated around him, your climax crashing over you in pure, consuming pleasure. Hitting you so hard that you felt like you were floating, holding on to him with the tremors of your hips.

But Astarion didn’t stop. He never ceased the maddening stimulation on your clit or fucking your cunt, coaxing another renovated sensation from you, pushing you past the point of stimulation. You tried to pull away to catch your breath, but his hands clamped down, forcing you to stay in the moment, allowing him to draw even more from you. He was relentless as the need to overstimulate you took control.

“Don’t stop, not now.” He gasped, his voice breaking as he thrust up into you harder, his thumb continuing to rub and circle your bud, trying to force your body into another climax. “I need you, my love. Please…”

The words were the spark that made you give in with a desperate cry as ecstasy crashed over you, smashing everything. You felt him pulsating and releasing with a ragged, almost feral growl, leaving his sweet lips, his body quivering beneath yours as he exploded into you, the rush of his climax pushing you to the edge. The sensation of his warm semen spurting against your cervix and filling you sent you into your second release of the night, the new pressure in your body finally exploding in waves of sheer. The powerful sensations of both of you reaching that peak at the same time made your vision blur.

Every spurt of his release throbbed deep within your womb, drawing low, tired moans from your lips as his cock continued its task to fill you, spreading his seed inside you with each pulse of the head. You pressed your hips down, grinding to take him impossibly deeper as your labia were already crushed against his damp pelvis, letting you feel every twitch and tremor between your aching walls. He groaned softly as he tightened his grip on your hips, and you fucked his cock instinctively in answer to coax out every last shudder from him.

His hands guided your hips to keep you pressed down hard as his cock stroked every sensitive inch of your walls, filling you in a way that made some of his cum slowly spill out from your pussy. Your bodies met again and again, making him feel unable to resist the pull of you as you moved perfectly up and down, simply feeling lost in you as you milked him.

Then, you both collapsed together, sweaty bodies shaking with the intensity of your simultaneous culmination and the aftershocks of your climaxes, leaving you both drained. Your breaths came intermittently, laboured, and it felt as though the camp outside had momentarily ceased to exist. The air between you was impregnated with the smell of sex and your scents, but there was also something tender about the way your bodies were embracing each other that made you feel... nice.

Astarion’s hands moved with a strange gentleness now, gliding up your back with soothing strokes in the cosiness of the moment. His lips pressed a tender kiss to your cheek, his breath still unsteady with a warmness that contrasted the freshness of your lovemaking and the way his cock kept pulsating while softening within you.

He dragged you against him. “Are you alright, darling?” His voice abruptly soft, touched with... care, concern; an unknown tenderness that caught you by surprise.

You nodded against his shoulder. “Yes…” you murmured, fluttering closed as exhaustion settled in and the comfort of his presence lulled you, feeling his quick heartbeat beneath your ear. “Just... give me a second.”

A sweet smile tugged at the corner of his lips, looking at you with adoration as he brushed a damp lock of hair away from your face, fingers running gently over your neck. “I’ll admit, I didn't think I’d be the one left wanting more… but here I am.” He said quietly. “That, my love, was truly something else for someone so lovely.” He pressed another sweet kiss to your cheek, remaining just a little before pulling away.

You let out a shaky laugh, the closeness between you both grounding your still-tingling nerves. Lifting your head slightly and reopening your eyes, you met his gaze with a warmth that made your heart swell. “You know,” you started, “I might just have to keep you around a little longer. You’ve made it hard for me to want anyone else, Astarion.” You reached to cradle his cheek as your hidden confession floated in the air between you.

He leaned into your touch, his hand hovering over yours in a loving gesture. “You’re really going to make me do this, aren’t you?” Astarion said, feigning frustration, though his eyes softened with a rare sincerity in his voice. “I had plans, you know. But it seems I’m not allowed to have anything for myself any more.” He let out a mock sigh. “Guess I’m yours, darling. For now. Don’t get too comfortable with it.”

You smiled softly, tilting your head. “Oh, how tragic,” you teased with mock frustration as well. “I didn’t realise you had such grand plans, Astarion. How terribly cruel of me to steal you away from them.” Your fingers gently traced the edge of his ear, a smirk playing on your lips. “Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll learn to live with it. Just try not to get too comfortable, either, darling.”

Astarion let out a soft chuckle, his fingers leaving your hand to cup your cheek tenderly. “Well, well, what a vile little thing you are,” he said with a playful smirk, grazing your cheekbone with his thumb. “Using that sweet face of yours to get your way... You really do enjoy this, don’t you?” His laugh was light, almost like a caress, before he leaned down, pressing his lips to yours in a slow kiss that left you aware of all the emotions he couldn’t express using words.

He held the kiss for a moment to savour your lips before pulling back to rest his forehead against yours, closing his eyes as he basked in the shared closeness.

After that, he slowly adjusted your position so that you lay more comfortably against him. Once settled, he pulled a soft blanket over you both, wrapping his arms around you snugly.

“Rest now, my love.” He murmured softly. You felt his words settle over you like a soft lullaby, and you snuggled closer to place yourself against him, wrapping your arm gently around his waist.

There, in his embrace, you let yourself fully relax in the quiet comfort of the moment with the rain outside. The feeling of his skin against yours, the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek, the gentle sweep of his fingers through your hair and your arm—it was everything you needed, a perfect, tender end to the passion from minutes ago.

With a contented sigh, you pressed a soft kiss against his chest before your eyelids started to grow heavy as you drifted into a peaceful calm in his arms.

As the hours passed, the heat of the night slowly faded, leaving you both tangled in each other’s embrace. You both drifted into sleep, your bodies still flushed and sweaty from the intensity of your passion that night. Astarion’s arm was wrapped around you, pulling you closer. The odd warmth of his body against yours was comforting.

As the soft light of dawn filtered through the tent, the storm was now nothing more than a distant memory, and a sudden weight pressed down on you.

Your mind, still slow to fully wake, started to be flooded with vivid recollections—the sex, the words shared, the undeniable connection you felt...

A sharp pang of awareness hit you as you became acutely aware of every quiet sound. 'Had I really just done that?' The question lingered in your mind, though it wasn’t that you regretted it—not with him, not when everything felt so unexpectedly right. But still, a knot tightened in your throat. You’d never been this irresponsible before, never allowed this kind of situation with someone you’d only known for a couple of months.

You slowly pulled yourself from Astarion's embrace. The warmth of his body left a mark on your skin nonetheless. As you sat up, the blanket tangled around your hips, and a sudden rush of cool air hit your naked chest, causing an uninvited shiver to you that woke you a little more.

Your eyes drifted to him, still peacefully asleep beside you. His bare chest rose and fell in slowly, and his expression was soft and relaxed in the morning, a sharp contrast to the intensity of your previous night.

While you stood there, tracing with your eyes his form, the weight of what had just happened was still pressing heavily above your shoulders. Embarrassment crept in, not just for the passion you’d shared but for the place you were in—his tent, in camp, with your friends only a few meters away. The unsettling thought wormed its way into your mind: what if they’d heard you?

Your eyes flicked towards the opening of the tent, a bead of cold sweat rolling down the back of your neck. You pressed your palm to your forehead, the reality sinking in. What if they had? The embarrassment felt like it was growing, and you had to swallow back the rising anxiety carving in your chest.

The thoughts swirled and twisted in your mind. Reaching for your shirt, you slowly sat up a bit more; you felt a sting pain in your muscles from the night’s activities. Your fingers fumbled clumsily to the fabric as the weight of your thoughts made everything feel more difficult. You tried to dress as quietly as possible, not wanting to disturb the fragile calm of his slumber.

The texture felt harsh against your sensitive skin, while the cool morning air grazed over the parts of you exposed and between your thighs as you raised the shirt over your head to dress it.

Just as you finally managed to pull it into place, you caught a soft shift beside you. Astarion’s eyes fluttered open, his vision still cloudy with sleep, but his attention immediately locked onto you. He didn’t speak right away; his focus was on the way you moved.

He curved his lips into a small, lazy smile. There was a softness in his expression now that you didn't see before. “Good morning... sneaking off already?” He sighed with the remnants of sleep in his tone. He looked down to where your fingers grabbed the fabric of your shirt, then back to your face, his smile growing wider. His hand reached out to grab your arm, pulling you back towards him gently. “Didn't peg you as the type to leave me after our first time, darling...”

The way he still wanted you close stirred something within you—a warmth despite the storm of emotions inside you. You couldn’t help but smile softly at the thought. “I wasn’t going anywhere...” You replied quietly.

Astarion’s hand moved to your waist, his touch fierce yet tender as he pulled you closer, guiding you to lay back completely against his body. His chest pressed against your back as he nestled his chin in the crook of your neck, pressing soft kisses there. You could feel the weight of him, enveloping you in a way that was both comforting and deeply intimate.

His arm wrapped securely around your waist, drawing you even nearer as he gently adjusted his position, making sure you were comfortable. You could feel the tension in your body melt as his movements spoke of quiet care, though the nervousness inside you didn’t entirely dissipate.

He must have sensed the shift in your mood. “Is everything alright?” Astarion murmured softly, concerned. His lips brushed over your ear as he spoke, a gentle kiss to your cheek that seemed to reassure you, though you couldn’t quite shake the lingering anxiety that clung to you.

“I... I just—” You broke off. “What if they heard us, Astarion?”

“We’re safe, darling,” he murmured, his voice a soothing caress that chased away the remnants of your worry. “No one knows a thing. The storm was our shield last night.”

Astarion’s hand lingered at your waist as he shifted his weight, guiding you gently. And with a slight motion, he turned you to lie on your back and face him fully. His gaze locked onto yours, his crimson eyes glimmering with something unspoken. He propped himself on an elbow beside you, sliding his other hand from your waist to cradle your cheek.

Seeing the faint worry lingering in your eyes, he offered a small, tender smile. “You know, love,” he began, “this is different. I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t. I never imagined I’d feel like this—like I’d actually want this... someone.” His thumb brushed softly over your cheekbone, as if the gesture alone could convey what words struggled to express. “Last night wasn’t just indulgence, not with you. It was... real.”

The way he looked at you then was as though he’d laid down his armour, revealing a part of himself you’d only glimpsed. “I’ve spent centuries taking what I was told to, living by someone else’s twisted desires. Wanting something—someone—for myself? I’d almost forgotten what that even felt like.” He hesitated. “But here we are... and being with you, feeling this... it’s more than I ever dared to hope for.”

Your breath caught, and the sincerity in his voice made your chest feel both heavy and light at once. You swallowed, a warmth blossoming where your anxiety had been. “I want you to know that I meant every word,” he whispered against your ear.

As he drew back, his fingers entwined with yours, and he gave you a small smile, one filled with that rare sincerity he reserved just for you. “So, let’s not let the world outside intrude on this, hmm?” His eyes gleamed with a quiet plea. “Not yet.”

The words hung in the warm morning light, soothing the unease within you. Astarion shifted slightly again to recline back onto the soft bedroll, pulling you with him. You instinctively wrapped an arm around his waist to hold him close.

But as your fingers traced along his side, you brushed against something you forgot. A faint crease formed between your brows as you looked down. There was the bandage you had tied the night before, stained with a faint bloom of red where his wound lay concealed. A quiet ache of worry unfurled in your chest as your hand rested against the edge of the bandage.

Without thinking, your fingers traced lightly over his abdomen, avoiding the more sensitive area near the bandage. “Astarion,” you called softly with a new urgency. “Are you... alright? I might’ve moved too much last night.”

Astarion’s eyes opened a bit more as he recognised the genuine concern in your voice. “Oh, my love,” he purred with a smirk on his lips as he glanced down to where your hand rested on his stomach. “If anyone could survive your... enthusiasm, it would be me.” His tone softened as he covered your hand with his.

You bit your lip, the persistent worry stirring as you recalled the intensity of the night before. “Still, I should've been more careful with you,” you replied with a faint blush warming your cheeks. “I didn’t even think about it last night... I just... wanted you.”

He shifted slightly, pulling you closer until your foreheads touched, his lips barely brushing yours as he spoke again. “Believe me, last night... was everything I never knew I needed,” he said, with a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “You've given me a moment of calmness I never thought I’d experience again.”

Your hand pressed lightly against his chest; he let out a quiet, contented sigh. His own hand drifted down to rest against your waist, drawing you even closer.

He brushed his lips softly against the tip of your nose, placing a sweet kiss there before he spoke. “The truth is, I’m not used to someone worrying over me. I’ve learnt to dismiss my wounds and to push through the pain alone. You make me feel seen, darling…”

A soft smile tugged at his lips as he leaned back just enough to catch your gaze, reaching with his hand your cheek to rub his thumb along your cheekbone in a gentle, absent-minded swipe. Your heart softened as you wrapped your arms around him, letting yourself melt. You nestled closer to him, the soft heat of his body a constant pull as your fingers traced lightly over his skin, careful not to touch the bandage.

Astarion’s fingers moved in slow strokes along your back, his touch lingering at the small of your waist. The quiet way his body urged you nearer made your pulse race in a way that was both comforting and thrilling. You could feel the passion of the night still lingering in the air between you, a magnetic pull that only seemed to deepen the longer you were in his presence.

“You know,” he murmured lowly, his velvety voice wrapping around your thoughts. He leaned in, his lips brushing over yours as he closed his eyes briefly. “I find myself wanting more.”

A small shiver of anticipation ran through you. He moved slightly, shifting his body to bring you closer, his hand sliding down your side until he could grab one of your buttocks. It stirred something inside of you—something that made it hard to breathe, hard to think.

You pressed your lips to his to give him a soft kiss before pulling back to meet his eyes. The intensity in his look made you ache with longing. “Astarion, are you sure you’re alright?” You asked softly. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

He froze for a moment, his eyes narrowing with something dark and intense, and then he leaned forward, capturing your lips in a kiss that was slow and sensual, tasting of the night and everything you’d shared. His mouth moved against yours with a quiet eagerness, and you let yourself melt into him, your hand sliding to his waist, feeling the bandage beneath your palm.

But you pulled back slightly, concern flitting through your mind again. Astarion’s eyes glimmered, his expression a blend of amusement and something achingly vulnerable. “Darling,” he replied, his voice a rough, affectionate murmur. “I can handle anything you give me.”

You leaned into him, grazing your lips with his as you spoke, “I just want to make sure you're alright... I don’t want to push—” Without letting you finish, he leaned forward to kiss your lips again to silence you. His mouth moved against yours with a quiet desperation, a demand for attention.

Astarion’s hands slowly roamed your sides as he shifted, positioning himself above you on the bedroll. You could feel the warmth of his body radiating into yours, his thighs pressed tightly against yours.

Your hands moved instinctively, sliding around his waist, bracing yourself against his lower back, feeling the curve of his muscles tense under your touch. The kiss deepened, slow and calm, as if he tasted every inch of you, pushing any lingering uncertainty away.

One of his hands moved to catch your hand and entwine his fingers with yours before pressing your hand down against the pillow. His other hand found your other wrist, lifting it gently above your head and pinning it there, his grip firm yet laced with a sensual care that only deepened your wanting of him. His thighs pressing tighter against yours.

Astarion’s breath was shallow against your lips as he finally broke the kiss to meet your gaze, his pupils wide with a need that mirrored your own, his mouth curving into a wicked smile as he held you in place. The subtle weight of him, combined with the feeling of his fingers interlocked with yours, created an undeniable sense of belonging, a wordless claim that ignited every nerve.

“Don’t worry about me,” he murmured roughly because of his desire, his lips brushing against yours as he spoke. “Just stay here. With me. That’s all I need.”

‎

[etfrin]

⤷❝Don't Blame Me, Love Made Me Crazy | Coriolanus Snow❞ˎˊ-

⇢☾Warning: NSFW | Snow is his own warning, blood play , knife play, mentions of killing, somnophilia, pussy spanking, impact play (Coryo spanks your ass like twice), riding, mating press, overstimulation if you squint, squirting, dub-con if you squint, fucked up lovesick! reader, fucked up dark! Snow, predator/prey dynamics if you squint, degradation, pinv sex, unprotected sex (wrap it dumbfucks), creampie | lmk if I forgot anything

⇢☾Pairing: Ghostface! Coriolanus Snow x fem! Reader

⇢☾Summary: You're trying to outrun Ghostface, you fail and find out that he's your bestie and your love Coriolanus Snow, smut ensues despite the circumstances

⇢☾A/N: DARK CONTENT AHEAD, read this ast your own risk, do not romanticize!

Ps: i love this, depending on the response/feedback I get, I might write more Ghostface! Coryo

< masterlist > < bc: @cafekitsune > < tag list >

‘Run, run, run’, your mind kept thinking, as the burn of pushing past the wind and all the halls made your legs go weak. You wanted to tear your ears off so you could mute all the screams that were echoing.

You didn't want to die. Fuck it. You're not gonna die.

One of the two Ghostfaces was chasing you, fast but slower than you. Something in your mind told you that they were playing with you. You were just a prey and the predator was being merciful by letting you live for the last time.

Alarms set off in your mind as you dash into an empty classroom, hoping that he will walk past it. You hide behind the door, praying to whoever is above for safety. Nobody listened.

The door to the classroom was opened and you knew it in your bones that you were doomed. That you had to fight, even if you're terrible at it. The creaking sound of the door sent shivers down your spine, your mind going haywire as heavy steps echoed into the empty.

“You can come out, baby,” he said, as he walked in without closing the door, “otherwise you won't get any kindness from me, bird.” The nicknames felt familiar to you but you pay it no mind. As he walks further into the classroom, you decide to slowly get out of your hiding spot to walk out of the door and take a run from it.

You can do it, can't you?

The answer was a no because even when you managed to take a step outside of the classroom, you were yanked back in, and thrown to the floor. The infamous Ghostface is in front of you with a shiny knife that makes your heart go wild but not in the right way. Fear and adrenaline fill your veins as you look around for any sort of weapon but to no avail.

“Don't you fucking come closer,” you snarl at them. “And what are you gonna do if I do, princess? I don't see a prince charming to protect you here,” he mocks you as he kneels, his hand playing around the with the knife in a rather enticing manner. Your eyes pinned on how he played with the knife around, your breath hitching as you could imagine it carving into your skin not to kill you but. . .

You possibly couldn't blame yourself for your thoughts. You knew you had kinks, but you never had a chance to indulge. Your exes were vanilla and you respected that, you never trusted anyone enough to indulge in your fantasies. Except for one person though by accident, he should be safe in his apartment right now.

Coryo. Coryo was safe, he wasn't aware the friend group was going to break into the academy. Coryo had to be safe. Even if you die at the hands of this stranger tonight, Coryo should be fine. He was never part of the main crew after all. His name from the elitists fell due to his wealth being nonexistent, all that existed in Snow was him and his wit. So there's no possible reason for him to be targeted. Coriolanus was safe.

“Cat caught your tongue, doll?” The masked man taunts you, the voice modulator, his knife inching towards your cheek, the blunt side pressing onto your skin. “Fuck off,” you spit out, trying to crawl away from him but you had no strength left. No fight left in you. Your legs hurt, you can't think, and the rest of your friends are fighting or worse dead.

Tears begin to fill your eyes as you begin to think about them. Last you saw Sajanus, he was getting stabbed, Lucy had run, and Tigris… She was one of the killers, you couldn't wrap your head around that. You looked at Ghostface, a pathetic part of wanting to plead for your life but your ego won out. You spit onto their mask. “Fuck you!” you yelled at them.

A growl sounding feral even through the voice modulator could be heard. Ghostface grabs your jaw with his free hand, “You should know better than to do that, pet,” he smirks. He flipped the knife, the sharp end now digging into your skin, cutting up the layer of the cheek so beads of blood would drag themselves onto the knife.

A small whine left you, but it wasn't out of pain. Your body was readily confusing danger with your desires and there's nothing your mind could do about it. Ghostface lets out a chuckle, “Freaky bitch.” His hand was still grabbing your jaw, your legs pushed down by the weight of his body, there was no way for you to fight (you didn't want to) as he used his knife to pop the buttons of your shirt one by one. Your skin, every inch of your torso and chest was exposed to him.

This should have filled ice in your veins, but fire burned instead, you should have yelled at him to stop, plead, anything instead you tried to nip the urge of rubbing your thighs together. Fuck, this turned you on to no end. The thrill. The danger. You were so tired of being good. So what if you end up dead, at least you'll get a good fuck out of this.

His knife begins to cut fine lines onto your skin, near your bra, dragging along the underside of your clothed breast. Red begins to paint across your skin. “Fuck,” you whispered when the knife dug too deeply near your left hip, a long cut that felt like he was carving out a letter. You take multiple deep breaths, trying to keep the tears at the edge. “Stop!” you whispered, “Just kill me, stop.” The murderer didn't reply.

Something felt eerily familiar about him, the way something was carved onto your skin. You sit up a bit, and he doesn't stop you and your eyes fall to the cut he had finished on your hip. A ‘C’. No, no, no, no.

“Coryo,” you groan, in pain and shock. Tigris being one of the killers, you suppose it made sense. But what assured you was the fact Snow was always marking you up, a finger tracing the letters of his name onto your hand, or the tip of a pen inking you with his initials onto your skin. This time he did it with a knife, something so permanent. It was such a Coryo thing to do.

A soft distorted laugh comes out through the mask before his hand lifts it. Coriolanus Snow with his manic blue eyes and a feral grin, his blonde locks disheveled for once greeted you. “You're going to enjoy this, doll,”

“You- I-” You couldn't form a single thought, how could you? Your Coryo (both of you were nothing, both of you were something. So close to being with each other forever but too afraid to jump that hill) was a murderer, he was going to kill you. A boy whom you watched for years grow up to be a man despite the circumstances, whom you had shared your first kiss with and who was your first love and the one who got away because of your cowardice was going to kill you. You were going to die by his hands. Poets would make it seem romantic, dying at the hands of your love seems like a mercy.

It wasn't.

Anybody but him, you didn't want your love to be tainted with this. You didn't want your blood to be on his hands, not on your Snow. “Anyone but you,” you whispered, “Coryo, no!” You flinch away when he leans in and a glare forms in his eyes. “I won't hurt you, doll. You're one of the good ones. You're my pet,” he whispered, his knife pressing onto the bleeding wound of your skin. “I have trained you so well after all,” he smirks.

“What- what do you mean?” You gasp out, your mind on the edge of your sanity. “You aren't afraid, you aren't screaming, you aren't crying and whining like a bitch like those other motherfuckers, are you?” He grins, “It's because your body knows that I won't hurt you. I have trained you to feel safe around me. I am your savior, doll.” He leans in closer, his hot breath hitting your lips with his every word, “You enjoyed the run. You enjoyed the chase. You don't care about dying, you want to be fucked. You didn't know it was me but I bet your slutty cunt is soaking through those panties anyway."

“Am I lying?” He whispered, “Tell me it's a lie, tell me you aren't wet, that you weren't enjoying this and I'll leave.” You couldn't bring yourself to lie, not when you were lost in those eyes. Is this why people say love ends you? It was a weapon that Coryo knew he held, an invisible dragger against your throat. “I-” You wanted to lie, you wanted too, you swear.

Instead, you close the pathetic excuse of a gap between his lips and yours. Your hands grab at his robe, pulling him in as you kiss feverishly. Like he was the air itself, you couldn't breathe, not when both your lips and your tongues meet. The moan you let out of the contact made you realize you had nothing left to yourself. Your mind, your soul, and your marked body belonged to him. The price for falling for the devil. A price you gladly paid.

He breaks the kiss with a gasp, his face in a boyish grin you have seen from childhood. “I knew it. You're mine, dove. Mine.” With that he licks a strip of nearly dried blood from your cheek, dragging his tongue onto your cut and letting out a moan from the taste of iron onto his tongue. Your taste. You whimper as he continues to lav at the blood covering your face, cleaning you up like a dog would.

His cold hands find their way to your back, playing with your bra clasp before finally freeing your breasts from their confines. He pulls back, throwing the knife far away from you both (did it matter? He would win in a fight anyway). His palms knead your breasts, as his needy lips keep pressing against yours.

“Is this real?” He asked, breathless. His fingers roll your nipples until they harden under his touch. You moan in response as your nipples keep getting teased, a sharp gasp leaves as he pinches the nipples hard. “Real or not real?”

“Real,” you whimper, “Real. Real. Real. Real. Coryo, I love you!” He lets out a growl as he hears your confession, his attention towards your breasts getting rougher as he drags his tongue across the canvas of your skin, his teeth marking you up wherever they pleased.

“Of course, you do, baby. I made it so,” he whispered, when his mouth meets your taut nipple, his lips wrapping themselves around the bud to suck as one of his hands was on your back and his opposite hand giving your breast rougher attention. Meanwhile, your hands had found their way into his robes, sliding them off so his shirt and his pants were in view. Your fingers immediately begin to unbutton his shirt to the best of their abilities, your mind not sure whether to focus on the task or the delicious heat of his mouth around your sensitive nub.

Coryo deciding to have mercy (he was sick of your uncoordinated hands, how pathetic you were) took it upon himself to undress while being on task. His lips left to find a home in the cuts he made all over his chest, the small cuts stinging from his licks. But the pain was delicious, could it be considered pain at all with how much you loved it? You suppose not. This was a pleasure, all pleasure given to you by a monster.

His toned muscles came into your view, your hands flying to his shoulder, nails digging into his shoulders causing him to hiss, he was down to your hips now. Near your mark, his initial carved so beautifully against your skin. He had to admire it, he had no choice but to.

“Such a pretty doll. My canvas, I can't wait to have you all to myself, am gonna mark you so nice,” his eyes meet yours. “You have no choice but to let me.”

He pressed a kiss to the deep cut, the blood from it made a mess on the floor. You suspected the only reason you were conscious was because of adrenaline alone. His lips are red with your blood pressed onto your lips, making you taste yourself. You moan, letting yourself be familiarized with the taste for the future.

Your hands find solace in his blonde locks as his hands unbutton your pants. “Let's see how slutty my pet is,” he whispered. He slides off your pants and underwear in one go, his fingers pressing into your heat, gathering the arousal onto his fingertips. He shakes his head, looking displeased (he was more than pleased inside, don't worry), “What a whore.” He pulls his fingers back and strings of your arousal follow. Then smack, smack, smack. Three slaps were delivered to your pussy making you jolt and moan wantonly. Your eyes widen and your cunt begins to ache, reddening from his actions, your clit puffing up and twitching, needing more.

“Please,” you plead, your voice weak, your vision blurry, you need to feel him inside before you black out. “Please, please, Coryo, baby,” you begin to babble, your mind a mess. You feel a kiss on your forehead. “Let go, dove,” he whispered, “I'm gonna keep you safe.”

You wanted to laugh at his words. His actions were the opposite of safe. It was anything but. However, your body had relaxed in his hold, your mind blanking out.

Your mind comes back to reality after hours. You open your eyes to meet pitch black, your body not on the hard cold floor of the academy classroom but on something soft. A bed. “Coryo,” you called, your voice filled with fear.

“Coryo,” you whispered again, turning your body to meet with another warm body. Coryo.

You let out a sigh of relief, and the pain of the incident now settled into your bones, like a distant buzz. You nuzzle into Coriolanus' chest, one of your arms around him. You realize both of you were naked. Completely utterly bare, skin on skin. Your breath hitches, feeling the heat coursing through your body again as you feel his soft cock onto your thigh, so fucking close to your cunt.

You bite your lip in thought, you want to know what happened after you lost consciousness. Were all your friends dead? Did they escape? Did they find out? You also wanted his cock, impatient because you waited for years, and despite the circumstances you knew when to seize opportunities.

Coryo was a heavy sleeper, it was like he slept with the weight of everything on his shoulder. Weight of his world at least. Plus he would like a treat, right? A man as insane as he is, he wouldn't mind your actions even if it solidifies his opinion of you being an whore for him.

Your fingers trace his chest, your palm feeling his heartbeat, your heavy breaths and his quiet ones fill the room. You take your palm and lick it, lubricating it before you grip his length. Your strokes were hesitant, your mind afraid that he would break up and he would be mad. But you feel his cock harden and you love it. You fucking love it. Your pussy gets wet as time goes by and his cock completely hardens.

You take his cockhead and slowly begin to slide it against your pussy lips. A soft moan escapes you as the tip nudges your sensitive clit. Your slick was coated all over his length as you kept grinding against his cock. And soon enough after a particular nudge, his cockhead gets caught in your entrance. It could have easily been pushed away and you could have continued with your actions. But you are pathetically needy and this was not enough.

A whimper escapes your lips as you begin to guide your hips forward to let the cock inside your cunt, stretching out your walls perfectly. You let out a gasp when he was fully in. His cock twitching inside of you. Now was the hard part, fucking yourself onto his cock without him waking up. Impossible but you didn't care at the moment.

You slowly started to roll your hips, taking his length deep inside of you, your walls squeezing around him. You let out soft moans, trying your best to control the animalistic need to ride his cock. Time passes and this continues, the ache of your cunt not fading but getting worse and worse with the need to cum. The pace wasn't enough, no matter how many ways you rubbed your clit raw wasn't enough.

Deciding to play with the devil, you pushed Coryo's sleeping body onto his back, your pussy holding onto his cock as you straddle him. The angle made it so his cockhead kissed your g-spot making you gasp as stars flood your vision, but it didn't trigger your orgasm, your walls oversensitive but throbbing to cum, cum, cum.

You wanted to wake up Snow, wanted him to fuck you, use you, and love you. But you decided against it as you begin to grind your hips, your swollen clit pressing onto his groomed pubic hair, the sensation making you bite your lower lip to stop a loud moan that would surely wake him up.

You couldn't keep up with this long, you wanted to cum, wanted to be filled with his cum as well. You begin to go faster, letting all sense of control out of the window as you slam down his cock again and again, letting his tip nearly breach your cervix.

Smack.

The sound of his hand meeting the meat of your ass freezes you. The area victim of his hit was reddening. “Why did you stop?” He voices, his tone filled with lust “Ride me, bitch. How needy were you that you couldn't wait, huh? Disgusting, truly. I need to train you better, pet.”

An apology remains to be said as his hand slaps your ass again. “Fuck yourself on me, doll,” he grunts, his tone reeking of impatiently. “Co-coryo,” you whine, your hips finding their rhythm but this time with Coriolanus thrusting upwards into your cunt, disrupting your pace. But neither of you cared, both of your actions borderlining to those of mating animals under a full moon.

His hands hold you down, gripping your hips tightly with his fingers printing onto your skin. It puts pressure on your previous wound, making you cry out and tighten your pussy around him reflexively. You wonder if your wound began to bleed again because the smell of blood began to stink in the air along with the distinct smell of sex.

Your thoughts were proven correct as one of his hands left your hip in favor of licking his palm on which your wound had bled. His thrusts turn frantic as the taste of iron blooms onto his tongue. “Fuck, fuck, Coryo!” You begin to moan, louder and louder as heat begins to coil up on your lower tummy. Your gummy walls get slicker and slicker as your sensitive nerves go overdrive with his thrusts.

He lets out a groan, and in a flash, you are on your back onto the mattress, pressed into it as his mouth latches onto your jaw. His hips rutted into you without a care. “You taste so fucking delicious, I bet your cunt tastes wonderous too, princess,” he moans as his teeth begin to bite into the flesh of your neck, his erratic pace bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

Your hands find themselves on his back, your nails scratching his skin and forming red lines which sting but he loves it so much. So fucking much. His hands pushed your legs up, pressing your knees onto your chest. He has you folded onto a mating press position. His cock reaching impossible depths inside of you.

A particular thrust of his made his cock fuck into your cervix, it makes you scream from the pleasure and pain of all, your body finally letting go. Your cunt spasming, milking his cock for what it's worth as clear liquid squirted out of you, covering Coryo who merely groans from it all.

He fucks you through your orgasm, his cock hitting all the right angles and as your pussy tightens around his cock just right. He cums, deep and nice into your womb. He continues to roll his hips into you, his pace slowing down as he fucks his hot, thick cum into you.

He lets out a shuddering breath as he pulls out and lays beside you. Both of catching your breaths. He breaks the silence first.

“I am going to tell you everything, doll but let me clean up the wound first.”

Current tag list: @stelleduarte @nowitsmissing @lifeonawhim @le-lena @motley-baby @champomiel @slytherinholland @randomstuff2040 @justacaliforniandreamer @emmalinemalfoy @hyuk4s @theamuz @watercolorskyy @littlebiwitchsworld @eir964 @skywalker1dream @darkangelkathiecookiesmith @ben-has-arrived @bucksdonkey @xyzstar @ellie-luvsfics @sunny-deary @daughter1of2anita3dearly @eir964 @nowsyhozey @ayaya-aa @serving-targaryen-realness @hansbasement @louweasleymalfoy @lettersandwhiteroses @arzua10 @wotcherpeak @ever8ea @dollfacedalls

[ponderingmoonlight]

oooo sanemi request - idea - you're training to be a new haishra and are very very very very nice to everyone, queue tragic af backstory and you believe in kindness IDK ok, cruelty made sure you kept your heart soft, but when you are FIGHTING there is nothing but darkness what happens when that trance doesn't leave you for a while & to snap out of it only sanemi is enough?

It's the tiniest bit different from what you requested, but I hope you like it anyway! Also, thank you so much for your cover suggestions 🤍

Sanemi Shinazugawa pulling you out of your trance with his own methods

Pairing: Sanemi x fem!reader

Word Count: 2k

Synopsis: What a kind and tender soul you are, loved by everyone around you. Until you get into a fight. Until the only person who is able to pull you back to reality is the wind hashira coming to safe you.

Warnings: average sanemi language, fluff fluff fluff, some spelling errors since I wasn't able to finish proofreading

„Me telling him? Are you actually insane? You’re the one Kocho-san sent”

“But you came with me. You go tell him!”

“Ain’t no way!”

“Telling me what?”

Their blood freezes in their veins instantly. Over and over, the wind hashira made it all too clear that they aren’t allowed to let you alone. Never. Not on a mission, not when there’s a high risk of you losing yourself. Because once you’re gone, there’s only one person who’s able to pull you back into reality.

“Well…(y/n)-sama…She…”

They don’t even have to finish this sentence for Sanemi to know exactly what’s going on. Are you okay? Are you facing some strong demons at the moment? His heart overfills with rage and anxiety to the point where he can’t take it anymore.

“Didn’t I tell you fools every single fucking time to look out of her? Useless brats. Show me where she is”, he hisses through gritted teeth.

It takes all his inner strength to not slam them into a tree nearby. Those fucking jerks had one job. That’s why he always insists on coming with you, because what if you lose yourself again with no way out but him? What if he’s too far away to drag you into safety in time?

“Hurry the fuck up!”

“Please don’t worry about me all the time, Sanemi. I can’t stand the thought of you being distressed because of me.”

Yeah, to hell with your angelic voice and your kind eyes. Fuck your gorgeous appearance, your uniform that makes you look like an angel walking on earth. You, a true sweetheart who is loved by everyone without any exceptions. And him, who built a wall around his heart only you were able to overcome.

But when you fight against demons, that tender self of yours vanishes into thin air. The second death and fright surround you, you turn into a serial killer who doesn’t show any mercy. Especially towards demons, but when a human comes into your way…

Sanemi picks up his pace in an instant. He can’t allow something like that to happen, he can’t stand that look of deep sorrow written on your face the second you realized what you’ve done in your trance. He just has to make sure this fight ends on time, that he’s able to pull you back into reality like he always does.

He and only him. Not even Shinobu is able to reach your mind when you lose yourself. In fact, no one but Sanemi is. Why on earth him? Out of all people you could trust this much, you somehow chose him. Oh, he definitely doesn’t deserve any of the feelings you hold for him, he doesn’t deserve you even looking his way. After all, everyone sees nothing but a menace in him with even his little brother fearing him to the core.

“(y/n)…s-sama?”

His blood freezes in an instant. There you stand with your arm buried in the chest of the demon lying to your feet and your eyes gleaming bloody red. How long did you fight already? How long has this been going on without him knowing?

“Get away from here before she rips your heads off”, the bars behind him.

You don’t speak, furious orbs now fixated on Sanemi. In the split of a second you dash towards him, ready to slice his throat open with your bare fingernails. Just in time he manages to get a hold of your wrist and push you into the ground, his whole bodyweight now lying on top of you.

“(y/n)”, he mutters softly.

A violent scream escapes your lips, limbs desperately fighting to get away from him. Oh, how much Sanemi hates to see you in that state. Shinobu was never able to find out why you turned into this when facing danger. Despite your tender and warm personality, despite your remarkable sword skills and technique, you lose control over your own mind and body when the situation around you gets too heated.

None of that matters now. Sanemi grabs your body from behind and pulls you into his lap while placing gentle kisses on your neck.

“It’s fine, (y/n). Just come back to me. Those demon are gone, got it?”

The shell of your body still fights for freedom, still doesn’t accept to be held by him.

“Come back, (y/n). I’m here. Everything’s fine.”

Is that…Sanemi talking to you? Your vision is foggy, eyes roaming around what looks like a dark forest. Your whole body is covered in ice cold sweat, your heart hammers so roughly against your ribcage that you feel like fainting any given minute.

It happened again.

“Sanemi”, you breathe his name into the night while allowing yourself to collapse against his chest.

You lost yourself again. Did you hurt someone? Why were you here? How-

“Don’t worry, you’re alright.”

“And the-“

“No one got hurt”, he reassures you in an instant.

“I…lost again”, you mumble defeated.

You’re able to control every single fiber in your body, can wield a sword so delicately that Ubayishiki-sama even chose you to join the circle of pillars. But still, you lose yourself when facing a heated fight.

“Don’t worry too much, nothing happened and I was home”, Sanemi mutters into your hair.

“Thank you for coming. And…for everything else. I’m sorry for making such a mess over and over. You must-”

“Nah, I don’t wanna hear you putting yourself down again, (y/n). You’re good, okay? I don’t mind looking after you at all, to be honest.”

You don’t know what came over you. Is it the anger, the frustration over your own disability? You can’t help but swing around, arms wrapped around Sanemi’s larger frame while you allow your head to rest against his steady heartbeat.

“It’s just so frustrating. From one second to the other, I lose the power over my own body. If it wasn’t for you, who know what I’d do to innocent people around. I’m a weapon, Sanemi. To even be considered a hashira-“

“Stop talking nonsense”, he interrupts you gently, his hand pulling your chin up to force you to look at him.

“You’re wiping the floor with our asses in training. Most of us hashira can’t stand a chance against you. You are pure and kind, loved by everyone. We don’t give a single shit about that happening from time to time. And like I said, I’m always here to pull you back into reality.”

“You’re my greatest treasure, Sanemi”, you mutter.

Tears immediately shoot in your eyes, take away that gorgeous sight in front of you. Truth is, you love Sanemi Shinazugawa with all your heart. Since he first barked at you, since you sat underneath a tree the whole night and talked about all the things both of you been through, since he put you out of your episode for the first time. Oh, how much you adore that man.

“Don’t talk nonsense, (y/n). I’m worse than everyone else.”

His heart stings violently when nothing but the truth leaves his mouth. He doesn’t deserve your praise, let alone your glossy orbs staring up at him. Fuck, he shouldn’t even put his arms around you like that. Not when you’re an angel while he’s a no one. Not when you could have anybody else, a man who deserves your kind words, to see your lovely figure every morning after waking up.

“I don’t care about others. You’re the one that I love, Sanemi. Because you make me feel good about myself, because you bring me back to reality when I can’t return on my own. You’re rough, you’re suborn and you can be kind of mean-“

“Only because some of these jerks deserve it”, he grumbles.

“But apart from that, you are a kind and loving man. I can’t help but search for you in a crowd of people, I am forced to ask myself every time what you’d do in my place. You’re constantly on my mind. Your words, your skills, your voice. Just…you. I can’t get enough of you.”

“Stop making fun of me…”

Fuck, he can feel his face heating up in an instant. This can’t be true, right? Why would a girl like you fall for someone like him? Maybe you’re still a little dizzy and can’t understand the meaning of your words, maybe-

“I’d never make fun of you.”

And then your lips meet his. So unexpectedly that his widen eyes stare at your soft features in utter disbelief, so innocently that he can’t help but wonder if he’s dreaming. You, kissing him?

“You’re gonna regret this when you’re clear again, (y/n)”, Sanemi mumbles against your lips.

“Look into my eyes. I am clear, Sanemi. In fact, I’ve never been clearer in my entire life. I love you.”

You kiss him. Over and over, your soft lips brush against yours while he can’t help but wrap his arms around you in a desperate attempt to keep you this close. His heart pounds so loud that you’re definitely able to her it, his fingertips get lost in your hair.

“I love you too, (y/n). Fuck, I love you so much”, he finally replies.

“I’m so lucky for having you.”

“You, lucky to have me? Hell, I’m the luckiest guy on earth”, Sanemi grumbles with his hand gently caressing your cheek.

This is real. Not a cruel trick his spooky brain plays on him, not one of the dreams that keep him up all night wanting more. No, your head really rests against his chest, you really have your arms wrapped around his body still, you really kissed him.

“No wonder it took you so long to come back, Shinazugawa. I didn’t know you were busy with (y/n).”

Sanemi’s heart drops to the floor, both of your head darting towards the direction of that painfully familiar voice in an instant.

“What the hell are you doing here?”, he barks at Obanai in distress.

“Everyone was worried about (y/n) so I came to check”, Obanai replies dryly.

“Oh, thank you so much for looking out for me! But don’t worry, I am fine!”

“Yeah, I can see that.”

“GET LOST OR I’LL KILL YOU!”

Tags: @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix  @ynackerman9499 @keepghostly @beatrexworld

@froufrousnowman @hidazinie @tomiokathedepresso  @poketrainer2270 @chaoticwinnercupcake

@lees-chaotic-brain @wordskeeper @polarbvnny @sugu-love @ryva @baku2345

@komelrebi-san @kentocalls (your fic will be next) @barbuse @sunshine7queen @lavenderdrxp

@yaninnaacu @hopefulbelievertimemachine

[dirtyvulture]

Its 4 am cant sleep so hear me out, shy neighbor Natasha x amab OF creator reader, thoughts?

Oh 👀

18+ only, read at your own risk

AN: Got very carried away with this, but not sorry at all. Merry Christmas!

Natasha would be one of your highest-paying subscribers and she has notifications to your profile turned on so within minutes of you dropping a new video or photo she is online to check it out.

She is very loyal and only gets off to your content. When she uses a dildo on herself, she pictures it's your dick instead, thinking about how hard you would be throbbing inside her when you're about to cum.

One day, you open your account for personal 1-on-1 video calls for a steep price. Natasha is your first buyer. She's so nervous she's practically shaking when she logs onto the call with you, and doesn't turn the camera on her face but her body instead.

You ask her if she has any requests and she just asks if you can jerk off while looking at her boobs and you are more than happy to comply.

Natasha practically drools as she watches you jerk off your length slicked up with lube and pre-cum, grunting and moaning. The vein on your cock throbs the closer you get to release.

Her own hand dips into her panties, frantically rubbing her clit so she can cum with you.

"Almost...there..." you grunt, moving your hand faster. "I wish I was there so I could cum all over your pretty tits."

Natasha hums at the thought. "You're so close," she pants, noting the dual meaning of her words as she is in fact your neighbor three houses down.

You point your cock towards you so you can shoot your load all over your abs. Natasha grumbles at the waste of your seed, but there isn't much she can do now. Her own release is a little disappointing as she removes her hand from her panties and wipes it on a towel.

You end the call abruptly, but Natasha knows not to take it personally. You probably have a long line of people who paid to have you fulfill their fantasies. Natasha is just another customer to you.

She closes her laptop and takes a shower, suddenly reviled by her pathetic behavior. She knows she needs to stop spending her money on porn and focus on real life, but she can't.

There's a knock on her door just as she steps out of the bathroom. Natasha has no friends, let alone expecting any guests, so she's hesitant to answer.

But when she sees you standing on her porch, holding a single rose in your hand, she almost drops to the floor.

"I recognized your voice on the video call," you explain, handing her the rose and she takes it with trembling fingers. "But if you ever want a more...personal...call with me, I'd be happy to make it happen."

Natasha is too stunned and embarrassed for words as she watches you walk back towards your house. Finally, she finds her focus and dashes after you.

"Are you free tonight?" she asks breathlessly. She had never asked another person out in her life, and doesn't quite know where she has the courage to do so now. "Maybe we can get dinner and then you can come over--"

"I would love that," you say before she can finish her sentence. "I'll come pick you up at six?"

"Yes. Yes, that works."

You wink and retreat to your house while Natasha stands on the sidewalk, still holding the rose and unable to believe her luck.

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

AN: Please like, reblog, and comment! Follow for more content. 🥰

[chxrryhansen]

౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ Cherry’s Concepts 8/50

Character; Bucky barnes

Kink; Breeding

Dialogue; “You can run but you can’t hide.”

Requested by; @missmarvelophilic

As always, this blog contains 18+ content only, your media consumption is your own responsibility, all dark content will be labled as such. Please read at your own risk.

₊♡₊˚ 🍒・₊✧

“I’ll give you a 20 second head start before i catch you and fuck you til you can’t breathe.” he warned, staring down at you with an almost predatory look in his cold blues.

You dashed out of the door, running as fast as your legs could take you. It wasn’t long before you spotted a displeased Bucky hot on your tail as you sprinted towards the open field.

Clearly you had a zero percent chance of outrunning the man beast but your ego had never let you down before, pushing you to run quicker.

“You can run but you can’t hide doll.” he growled, slowly but surely catching up to you.

His large hand reached out to grab your shoulder, sending you both tumbling to the ground. You squirmed under his weight desperately trying to free yourself as he pushed your nightgown over your hips, pressing his heavy cock into your plump ass from behind.

“F-Fuck, Daddy…” You whined as your pussy clenched around nothing, your juices leaking out of your hole and the smell of your pussy making Bucky groan as he pulled his hard length out of his shorts.

He stroked his shaft as precum leaked from his swollen pink tip, pressing it up against your tight hole, watching as his cock disappeared while he pushed your face into the leafy ground with one hand, bottoming out in a single thrust making you cry out in pleasure.

Your greedy walls instantly welcoming him. “Fuck.. gonna breed this cunt til my cums dripping down your legs… you’ll look so good all swollen and round with my child babydoll.” he growled in your ear, his long brown locks sticking to his face, his primal side taking over.

“Who’s pussy is this?”

“Y-Yours.. Oh god, it’s all yours daddy, wan’ your babies so bad” you whimpered, your walls stretching around fat cock.

“Damn fuckin’ right it is, can’t wait to make you a mommy, sweet girl.”

“S-So close.. You’re gonna make me cum” you whined.

“Yeah? You gonna’ cream all over your daddy’s fat dick, huh baby? Make me a real daddy?” he mocked, his tip kissing your cervix as he thrusted, anomalistically inside your soppy cunt.

His hips began to stutter as you sobbed, squirting around his cock completely overwhelmed with pleasure, coating his length in your creamy fluids.

He came with a growl, burrying his face into your neck, biting down on your soft skin as you cried, tears streaming down your cheeks, filling your ruined cunt with hot n sticky ropes of cum.

He stilled his hips ensuring his cum would seep into your womb, before he was even finished cumming his thick load began running down your thighs. He kissed your forehead, his cock softening inside you yet he kept his hips pressed to your ass, not wanting pulling out just yet

“You’re gonna’ look beautiful carrying my babies, doll.”

[wheeboo]

mine | joshua hong

SYNOPSIS. in which joshua is the best thing that's ever been... yours. PAIRING. joshua hong x gn!reader (ft. cheol, jeonghan, soonyoung, mingyu, chan - they don't rlly have dialogue tho lol) GENRE. fluff, some angst, hurt/comfort, friends to lovers, established relationship WARNINGS. a very very brief shirtless joshua moment LMAO, implications of reader having a toxic ex, mentions that reader's parents have a rocky relationship and separate, kissing, terms of endearment, reader and joshua have a lil argument WORD COUNT. 3.6k

requested from @staranghae: joshua + mine by taylor swift for the 2k followers event please 🩷🎀

notes: i am fluent in this song!!!! whenever my love playlist comes on and this plays i literally scream lungs out!!! and shua fits this vibe so much <3

join the 2k celebration!

ONE. "i was a flight risk, with a fear of falling / wondering why we bother with love, if it never lasts..."

Maybe you've always underestimated how the feeling of fresh air hitting your lungs makes you feel so replenished, free, like a single whiff blows away those gusts of worry in an instant.

Your fingers carry a tight, secure grip on Seungcheol's surfboard𑁋you volunteered to carry it for him so he could unload the other things from the van𑁋soft sand meeting your toes the second you step onto the beach for the first time of the summer season. Salty air tingles at your nose, the late afternoon sun baring down on your shoulders, and the expanse of the ocean opens up right before your eyes.

This place had basically watched you grow up. It carries a lot of memories that you hold dear to your heart.

You see Soonyoung already digging into the sand with an abnormally large stick, and Mingyu carrying a bunch of firewood in his arms before dropping them down onto the ground (and accidentally one on his foot, but you won't say anything about that).

However, your eyes drift and land on a figure running up from the beach shore. His dark hair is wet and sticking to his forehead, chest and arms revealed in all its glory before quickly covered up by a white, somewhat lacy button-down shirt that still doesn't do much in concealing the muscles underneath. For a moment, you nearly loose the grip on Seungcheol's surfboard.

Joshua Hong seems to spot you from even a mile away. He's running up to you before you even have the minute to breathe, a grin splitting his face that's as warm as the setting sun. Sand clings to his damp flip-flops and the hem of his black shorts as he nearly skids to a halt in front of you, chest heaving and out of breath. His shirt isn't even buttoned, dammit.

"Hey," he greets you breathlessly, letting his eyes take you in for a second. "Glad you could make it."

A soft smile of your own blooms on your face. "It's good to see you too, asshole."

A flicker of feigned hurt plays across Joshua's features. "Come on. That was so two years ago! I didn't want to push you in the water. You should know that by now."

"Wow, you care so much about me, don't you?" You nearly swing Seungcheol's surfboard playfully in his direction. "You listen to Jeonghan more than your own little brain."

"I swear, it's changed. Everything's changed since then," Joshua reasons lightly. "You have my ears for the entire night, I promise."

His words hang in the air for a moment, and there's perhaps a sliver of fondness in his eyes that you catch when your gazes meet. You feel a certain warmth spread through your chest that you try so hard to ignore each time he's around you.

You brush it off with a roll of your eyes before strolling past him, hoping that Seungcheol's surfboard was enough to cover up the slight flush creeping up your cheeks. The smile to your face still lingers as you walk towards to where Soonyoung and Mingyu are, whom dash up to you the moment they see you to engulf you in a welcoming hug.

Mingyu is almost done setting up the bonfire by the time you and Seungcheol bring all the food and supplies from the van. Jeonghan and Chan had arrived by the time the fire is lit up and crackling, casting a warm, inviting glow on the beach scene. And it isn't long when the yearly traditions of a group bonfire and beachside barbecue commence.

The smell of grilled food fills the air, mixing with the salty breeze and the crackle of the fire. And just for those moments, you forget these fuzzy feelings swirling around you as familiar laughter and camaraderie take over instead.

You've known all of your friends for different amounts of times, but being here with all of them makes it feel like time hasn't passed by at all. Inside jokes are exchanged, memories from as far as childhood resurface, and stories are told that leave you all doubled over with laughter (and Soonyoung nearly choking on a marshmallow).

It's almost natural in the way your eyes seem to search for Joshua's every single time that feeling of happiness threatens to overflow within you. The fire flickers upon his face, his eyes crinkled deeply when he smiles. Happiness looks good on him, you think. It always has.

...does his eyes search for yours too?

By the time the fire dies down, you find yourself sitting near the edge of the beach, with your legs stretched on the sand and the waves barely lapping against your feet. Seungcheol and Mingyu are already out on the ocean on their surfboards, then there's Chan and Soonyoung struggling to get their sandcastle to stay up, and Jeonghan is already knocked out on a beach towel. It's just you, and wherever the hell Joshua is.

"Something's bothering you, isn't it?"

The voice snaps you away from your thoughts, and you pick your head up to see Joshua walking up to you. A cool breeze flows through his strands of his hair as he approaches.

You blink at him. "What?"

He sits down beside you on the sand, close enough that the warmth of his body brushes against yours. "You were too quiet earlier."

You face back towards the water, cowering your head down as if guilty of some sorts.

"Oh," You murmur, somewhat to yourself. "Sorry."

"Sorry for what?" Joshua asks, nudging you lightly on the shoulder. "I told you earlier that I would be all ears for you."

You smile faintly at that. Would you still be all ears if I told you that I've been such a coward with my feelings for you?

"It's... just boy problems, I guess," You respond, though you feel a twinge of regret for wording it like that. It's more than just simply boy problems.

Joshua's jaw seems to tighten at that. "Did that jerk contact you again?"

You know who exactly he's talking about, and you let out a sigh. "No, not him. I... I blocked him a few months ago when he tried spam calling me again. Sort of gave me a good scare, to be honest."

At the corner of your eye, Joshua's hand digs aimlessly into the sand, clenching and unclenching a fistful before smoothing it out again.

"I'm glad you're okay," he says softly, gaze fixed on the grains of sand slipping through his fingers. "You deserve someone way better than him."

You chuckle at that, and a bittersweet pang shoots through your chest. It's true, you deserve better. But really, the problem isn't just jerks and bad relationships. It's the thought of falling for someone again and it all comes crashing down... again.

But it's not like you could hold back from falling when you've already fallen. The truth is undeniable at this point𑁋your heart already beats a little faster for the boy right next to you.

"Guys! Look at the sunset!" Chan's voice rings out into the cool, evening air, pointing an excited finger towards the horizon.

Simultaneously, you and Joshua bring your eyes up tot the sky together. The last rays of the sun are painting the sky in a breathtaking display of fiery oranges, pinks, and purples, like a fleeting masterpiece before nightfall takes hold.

"Wow," You mutter out in awe. "It's beautiful, isn't it?"

Joshua cocks his head to the side, a low hum leaving his lips. "Hmm, I could think of something more beautiful than that, honestly."

You scoff, hitting him lightly on the shoulder. "You ruined the sentimental moment, idiot."

Joshua lets out an amused laugh, a sound that sends those flutters blossoming in your stomach, one you haven't realised you've missed until this very moment. A small giggle of your own escapes your mouth as you bring your eyes back to the sunset together.

Then a low yawn stifles out of you. Maybe everything that has happened the past few hours are finally catching up to you. You let out another yawn, hoping Joshua doesn't notice. But of course, he does.

"Getting tired?" he asks you.

You give a small nod. "Just a little."

A few moment pass, before you feel an arm drape casually over your shoulders. The scent of Joshua and his warmth seeps within your bones. You almost want to protest, but the words get caught in your throat, and you lean your head on his shoulder, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest with each breath.

Perhaps you could spend a long time staying in this position and hope the silence is able to spill all the words you've been meaning to say for all this time, but you know it's easier said than done. Because what's the point of confessing anymore if you know it won't ever last? That you know it'll ruin everything you've built up to get this far?

You've seen it happen around you𑁋with you, your parents, hell even strangers online. It's taught you nothing but to run. That's what your mind tells you to do, but not your heart. And maybe you listen to your mind more often than not.

"Yo, Josh!" Mingyu's voice hollers out from the ocean, and you feel a certain pressure be lifted up from your head (when did he lay his head on yours?) as you catch the sight of Seungcheol and Mingyu motioning to their surfboards. "Wanna hop on?"

Joshua briefly glances down at you, and you meet his gaze, seeing the indecision in his features.

"I don't mind," You tell him. "I'll be fine here."

He hesitates. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, don't worry about me." You pick your head off from his shoulders. "Go have your boy-fun."

Joshua gives you a small smile, though there's a hint of reluctance in his expression. He shouts back to Mingyu and Seungcheol before standing up and brushing the sand off his shorts. You could hardly pull your eyes away from him as he does so.

He starts trotting away as you face back toward the ocean with a sigh, relinquishing the moments you get to have to gather up your thoughts.

"Hey, Y/N?"

You pick your eyes back up to Joshua marching back towards you. He stops in front of you, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips.

"You look beautiful today, by the way." Then he gives shoots you a wink before turning back around. "Just wanted you to know."

The kiss you leave to his cheek later on was really worth the risk.

TWO. "you learn my secrets and you figure out why i'm guarded / you say we'll never make my parents' mistakes..."

A picture frame of a four-year-old Joshua is staring back at you. He still has that same silly grin on his face, the one that has his own eyes smiling as well and makes your heart feel lighter every time you look at it. You reach out to touch the frame, tracing the outline of his little face with your fingertip.

Sometimes, you wish you could experience what he was like at this time𑁋to grow up with him, to know what exactly led him to meeting you. But then again, he's already here with you now, and maybe that's all that matters.

"All ready for bed?" Joshua's voice popping in makes you swiftly place back the picture frame back on his desk. You turn around to see him leaning against the doorway with a soft smile playing on his lips, clad with a simple white t-shirt and a pair of grey sweatpants.

"Mhm," You hum out in response as you settle back under the covers of his bed.

It isn't the first night you've spent with him at his place, but you seem to seek the feeling of his comfort more often than sleeping in your own bed. Jeonghan has been kind of nagging you the two of you to move in together at this point, but that's a leap you're a bit hesitant to jump right now. But the drawer of your own clothes in his wardrobe is a bit of an argument that's hard to defend.

Joshua crawls his way into the spot right next to you, slipping under the duvet and wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you more into his embrace. You feel his breath meet the nape of your neck, warm and soothing against your skin, and your eyes flutter to the feeling.

You shift your position so that you're facing him. His eyes are already closed, lips pursed up slightly, and even then he still looks absolutely stunning. But you know he isn't asleep. Not yet, at least.

"My parents had uh... another argument today," You confess lowly, hesitantly.

Joshua's eyes open up slightly, adjusting his head so he can look at you better. A faint crease of concern appears between his brows, the arm around you tightening imperceptibly.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

You bite at your bottom lip anxiously. There are times you feel as if the only thing that could get you talking is always something revolving your parents, and you wonder if Joshua ever gets tired hearing about all of it. The thought courses insecurity to crawl in your veins, tightening your throat.

But Joshua's patient gaze towards you cuts through the uncertainty bubbling in your chest.

"Just same old, same old, you know?" You attempt to explain. "It just feels like they can't see eye-to-eye anymore. There's like... I don't know... nothing left between them, I guess. And it scares me that... it'll happen to us."

The last sentence suspends thickly into the air. Even then, you know it's more than the truth𑁋you've grown up witnessing and overhearing arguments from your parents that laid down this pessimistic view on the world around you.

You could feel your heart racing from all the anticipation. There's a wave of emotions that washes over Joshua's face, then he takes a deep breath and squeezes you tighter in his hold.

"Hey," he mutters. "Look at me."

You hesitantly meet his eyes.

"We're not like them, okay?" he assures you simply, bringing his hand up to cup your face oh-so gently in his hold. "We may argue sometimes. But the difference is, we communicate. We listen to each other. And we may not have all the answers to everything, but we'll figure it out together, alright?"

You swear you can feel the way he's holding your face also on your heart, like he's protecting you in a way from any doubts that might creep in. A small sigh escapes you, the tension leaving your shoulders as his words wrap around you comfortingly. The faintest, appreciative curve appears to your lips as you feel Joshua's thumb brush against your cheek.

He dreamily smiles at you as well, despite his face being half-buried in the pillow. And the thought of being able to wake up to this sight every single day suddenly feels a lot less like a leap and a whole lot more like a promise.

Somehow, the gap between the two of you disappears as your lips meets his. He kisses you so tenderly, mouth moving against yours with a delicate urgency, and the tiny sound that leaves you brings that smirk you could feel forming on his face.

You feel almost dizzy when you pull away, nothing but a shy look gracing over your features.

"Feeling better?" Joshua asks softly, brushing a stray strand of hair away from your face.

You could only gaze at him, wondering to yourself how he's even in real, how someone like him could exist with his sleepy smile, messy hair, and perfect features carved by the angels above, yet cherish you so dearly.

"Can you..." Your eyes flicker from eyes to his lips. "Can you... keep kissing me?"

It feels really silly to ask that, however Joshua just chuckles, the sound rumbling from deep within his chest as he peers at you with nothing but adoration.

"Of course," he replies, leaning back in. "Whatever you want."

THREE. "braced myself for the goodbye, 'cause that's all I've ever known / then you took me by surprise / you said, 'I'll never leave you alone...'"

The tears streaming down your face burns through the concrete below like acid.

"Y/N, wait𑁋"

"I told you that I-I can't do this right now."

The leaves crunching at your feet echo in your ears as you walk away from Joshua, each step feeling heavier than the last. It's around two in the morning or something, and you can't remember the last time you felt this lost and broken ever since your parents' separation. It's like the ground beneath you has crumbled away, leaving you suspended in midair, grasping for something𑁋just anything𑁋to hold onto.

You've been here before, standing at the edge of this cliff of vulnerability. It's easier to leave before you get left, easier to build walls than to let someone in only to watch them walk away.

But you've come to understand that Joshua isn't one to give up easily. He catches up to you quickly, his hand gently grasping your arm to stop you in your tracks. You try to shrug him off, but his grip only tightens slightly as he turns you around to face him.

"Talk to me," he pleads insistently, and the subtle tremble to his voice has your chest clenching. "If you're just going to keep pushing me away, then𑁋"

"Then leave." The words leave you before you can stop them, fueled by the ache in your chest and the fear in your heart. "You don't have to stay with me when all I-I do is push you away. Don't you think you deserve someone better?"

Joshua's grip on your arm loosens at your words, but it doesn't fall. His eyes scan over your tear-stained face, the quiver to your lips, and all of it has you bracing yourself for the inevitable, final blow𑁋for him to turn and walk away like so many others before him.

But instead, he just steps closer to you.

"This isn't about me staying because I have to, Y/N," he explains. "It's about me wanting to stay because I love you. I knew what I was getting into the second I realised I was falling for you. So no, I'm not going to leave you. And I'll never leave you alone because I know you're worth fighting for."

Your breath catches in your throat, his words piercing through you like a bullet straight through the heart. Even Joshua appears out of breath himself, as if he's poured his own heart out to you in those few simple sentences. The silence stretches between the two of you.

With a quiet sigh and a faint smile, he lets the tension simmer down by trailing his eyes over you.

"When I look at you, I think... I think I fall in love with you all over again like the first time I saw you," Joshua admits shyly, followed by a sheepish chuckle to himself. "It's cheesy, I know. But I can't help it. It's hard not to look at you."

You feel the heat crawling up your face as you blink away your tears clumsily, peering up at him inquisitively. "Really?"

This just draws another laugh from him. Joshua steps closer to you, trailing a hand to cup your face and the other to slide to your back to shorten the gap between the two of you even more. He places a soft kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment before he pulls back slightly to meet your gaze.

"Really," he confirms, voice gentle yet firm. "I meant every word I said, darling."

This brings a genuine smile to your face as if it was the first one that night. You instinctively lean more into Joshua's touch, letting your eyes close for a moment to the simple feeling of him holding you.

"I'm sorry," You mumble, voice barely above a whisper. "for pushing you away like that. It's just... I'm scared."

Joshua takes one of your hands into his own to bring up to his lips, pressing a reassuring kiss to your knuckles.

"It's okay," he assures you. "We can be scared together."

FOUR. "do you believe it? / we're gonna make it now / and i can see it / i can see it now."

A pair of arms snake around your waist from behind, the relaxing melody of a piano floating through the air of the kitchen. You take in a deep breath, leaning back into Joshua's embrace as he rests his chin on your shoulder.

"Smells amazing, honey," Joshua murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your temple.

You smile contentedly, feeling the peace of the moment wash over the two of you. The enticing smells of the pasta you were cooking waft around the kitchen, mingling with the scent of fresh herbs, garlic, and Joshua's presence right behind you.

"It should be ready soon," You say, clutching the wooden spoon in your hands to give the sauce a final stir.

Joshua's eyes arms tighten around you, pulling you even closer as he sways gently to the music. You hear the sounds of his hums hit your ears as you turn to the heat off to the stove. And as you attempt to pull away from him to grab for some plates, Joshua's grip on your waist hardly budges.

You groan exaggeratedly. "Shua, I need to𑁋"

"Marry me."

You freeze immediately, and you swear time halted right at that moment. Turning around in his hold, you're met with the sight of Joshua's eyes on you. You try to pinpoint any doubt in them, any sign that this is some sort of joke, but his gaze remains unwavering, dark eyes serious yet painted with a shine of hope that tugs right at the strings of your heart and the walls of your hesitation.

There's always that fear gnawing at in the back of your mind. But beneath it all, a warmth spreads through your chest, a certainty that feels as natural as breathing.

And perhaps, you see nothing but forever in him.

You can see it in the way his eyes soften, in the way his hand trembles anxiously against your waist, in the way his lips part ever so slightly as he waits for your response. You can see it all in him. You've made it.

You kiss him just seconds later. It's a question your heart has already answered long before the words left Joshua's lips. You lean more into his touch, feeling your heart overflow past the brink of joy, and the feelings all melt together into the singular realisation that he's the best thing that's ever been yours.

When the two of you finally break away, a single word escapes your lips, "Yes."

another note: sorry this ending was slightly rushed T-T

taglist (open) ʚɞ @enhazen @haowrld @icyminghao @slytherinshua @jeonride @lockburn-castle @vrnism @weird-bookworm @mhlsymlysn @ryuwonieebae @yeonjuns-redhair @wonwooz1 @woohaeyo @mark-geolli @caramyisabitchforsvtandbts @aaniag @wootify @carlesscat-thinklogic23 @phenomenalgirl9 @roziesmei @mirxzii @bookyeom @parkjennykim @melodicrabbit @bewoyewo @honglynights @bananabubble @treehouse-mouse @tanya596carat @starshuas @totomoshi

[always-just-red]

15 for sylus if it inspires you at all👀 i love your work, it is always so playful and in character and the writing itself is lovely

Hiiiii! Thank you, and thanks so much for this prompt-- I laughed so much as soon as I read the words ‘heavenly harmonies’ with Sylus in mind ahaha 💀 Hope you enjoy!

Christmas Carolling

Sylus x Reader 🩸🎄☃️❄️

Prompt #015: out on the streets doing christmas carolling, blessing the streets with the sweet voices of heavenly harmonies.

| Word count: 800 | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

“You know, I think this is gonna be some kind of record.”

You give your collection basket a shake, enamoured by the hoard within: a sea of coins that clink, clink, clink as you jostle them, strewn with countless loose notes. There’s a watch in there, too.

“I told you, sweetie…” Sylus is using his phone as a mirror, adjusting the ‘scarf’ you fashioned him from a rope of ruby tinsel. “Your taste in music has room for improvement.” 

You’re not sure what tickles you more: the ironically tone-deaf comment, or the way his antlers jingle when he speaks. Of all the things you fished out from the back of your cupboard to dress-up your last-minute carolling partner, those must be your favourite. They’re red, soft— covered in tiny, gold bells. They’ve slipped slightly on his head, and you chew your lip as he reaches to steady them, making them jingle again. 

“Stop staring,” he tuts with a knowing smile, though his eyes never leave his reflection. 

“Stop preening,” you giggle back. “Who are you— Mephisto?” 

There’s a gentle snort as Sylus tucks his phone into his pocket. He crosses his arms, gazing up at the building you’re standing outside of. “We’re hitting this place next, hmm?” 

“Yep!” You rap a gloved hand against the door. “But don’t say it like that.” 

“Like what?”

“Like a mobster from a black and white movie. Capiche?”

You give him a side-eye. He trades you a smirk.

Warm tones of light leak from the house’s windows, and you feel cosy, despite the persistent bite of the snow and the cold. You knock on the door again; someone is clearly home, and this is the one time of year you get to be annoying without consequence. Twelve months of forced smiles and unrelenting politeness. You are the face of the Association, remember? 

But tonight— and just for tonight— that face can be whatever you want it to be. It’s for charity! 

You knock again. And then again. The house’s lights go out, but your face goes darker. You’re not leaving without something, not when Tara’s out on her winter fun-run, and Xavier’s risking civilian lives with a bake sale. You’re going to beat them. You have to beat them. 

… And raise money for the protection of harmless, small Wanderers, of course. 

Time for your secret weapon. You lift a finger from your basket— a conductor, preparing an orchestra for incoming instruction. Sylus knows the drill. You count him in with a: “one, two, three, four…” 

“Dashing through the snow,” he starts. 

“In a one-horse open sleigh!” 

“O’er the fields we go, laughing all the way!” 

Ha ha ha.

“Bells on bobtails ring, making spirits bright!”

Together: “What fun it is to ride and sing a sleighing song tonight, OH—!” 

The door is flung open, stopping both of you in your loud, tuneless tracks. “Here!” exclaims a flustered young man, “here— this is what you want, right? Take it!” 

He fumbles with his wallet for all of a second before emptying it into your basket. He shakes it to dislodge a few, stubborn coins.

“That’s really kind of you, sir. The Association appreciates your—” 

The door slams shut, but you couldn’t care less. You smile down at your little pile of treasure and almost squeal in delight.

“Happy?” Sylus asks. 

“More than happy!” You set the basket down then go up on your tiptoes, clasping his face with both hands. His antlers jingle. “You’re amazing, Sylus.” 

Soft as it is, it’s still an ambush. His eyes are wide, and he… doesn’t know what to say. 

Cold is seeping through your gloves. “Oh, are you warm enough?” you fret. Your hands fall from his cheeks so you can pull on the collar of his coat, drawing it closer around his neck. 

“I’m… fine.” 

“Really?” 

“Really.”

It’s not an argument you can win. You think if Sylus were frozen from the depths of his heart to the tips of his toes, he would still be out carolling with you. 

Selfless idiot. You laugh as you step back from him and stoop to collect your basket. “That’s a shame,” you tease. There’s a bounce in your step as you leave him. “I was gonna say we should go for hot chocolate. Or huddle for warmth, like penguins. Did you know that they—”

Sylus’s arms are around you suddenly, hugging you from behind so you can’t slip away again. His chin meets your shoulder, his face: the crook of your neck. You can feel his breath, warm on your skin where the night air won’t find it. It’s always been yours.

“I am a little cold,” he confesses, weak only with you. For you.

“Home and hot chocolate?” you chuckle. 

He sighs blissfully: “Please.”

[aealzx]

_______________________

Update Post

Prologue | AO3

Previous Next

_______________________

“So…Let me just summarize to make sure I understand,” Jazz requested, feeling a little overwhelmed by all the new information Bruce, Barry, and Leslie had explained to her, but at least not so overwhelmed to the point of breaking down anymore. She’d just never heard of something like hemoperfusion before, so it had been a lot to take in. “Danny has blood blossom toxin throughout his blood stream, and since blood blossoms don’t exist here there’s no antitoxin to inject him with. And since developing one would take too long and be too risky, you want to try hemoperfusion. Which is like hemodialysis, except it removes toxins instead of fluids. And since hemoperfusion is known to cause a mild decrease in various common blood components, you want to have a blood donation from Danielle to offset that. Because she’s the only one here who also has ectoplasm in her blood, and you don’t want to dilute that in Danny since he’s already low…Did I get all of that?”

“Yes,” Bruce answered simply, giving a small nod. He was ready to go over anything they needed to again, a tablet in his hand ready to be used to open any of the files he’d already shown Jazz a second time. She had reacted to the information about Danny’s condition with anxious fear, but overall she was managing to remain significantly calmer than earlier that day.

Jazz was silent as she ran through everything she could remember just one more time, as well as trying to think of anything that they may have missed. Either because it was an oversight, or they simply just didn’t know. But she couldn’t see any risks other than the ones they had already told her they were aware of. She honestly wasn’t sure she would have caught the risk of diluting the ectoplasm in Danny’s blood herself. Amity always had an abundance of ectoplasm leaking everywhere, so even when Danny has spent a lot he’d always been able to recover some from the ambient. It, and the way they had addressed this situation, was enough for her to finally look to Bruce and nod. “Okay. Go ahead.”

Bruce was admittedly pleasantly surprised at the response, but kept his response in check other than a content smile. Barry’s shoulders sagged with his sigh of relief, and he barely waited for Bruce to give him a nod before he dashed from the room in a blink.

“Barry and Wally will take care of getting the supplies. We’ll test the types of resin with the blood samples we already have to make sure we use the correct one. But it shouldn’t take too long. Is it alright if we inform the rest of your family of what’s going on?” Bruce requested, not wanting Sam, Tucker and Danielle to be left out just because his own children were doing a good job keeping them occupied. Barbara had come over to meet them already, and she and Tim were indulging Tucker’s questions as well as getting some of their own answers. Then Stephanie and Cass had spent some time letting Danielle pick out some different clothes before they had joined Wally in the gym. Danielle had been ecstatic to find out about Wally’s abilities, and all four of them were having fun showing off and messing around together. Which left Sam talking with Duke, Damian, and Alfred about some of Duke’s adventures, Damian’s menagerie of pets, and Alfred’s recipes and food sources. The news would be an interruption to their fun, but Bruce had confidence that his team could help them stay occupied and taken care of instead of relying only on Jazz.

“...Sure,” Jazz agreed once more, giving another nod. They had already told her that they would have Danielle stop by the room to draw her blood, so having the three of them back in the room for a bit wasn’t a bad idea.

It didn’t take long at all for Barry and Wally to return with the equipment, getting it set up in record speed next to the bed before Barry joined Bruce back in the lab to test the different resins. They were simple tests that could all be done at the same time, so they were back upstairs soon after Leslie had finished drawing Danielle’s blood.

“Here’s the lucky winner,” Barry chimed, holding a second canister of the resin that they had found cleared the blood blossom toxin from Danny’s blood while having minimal effect on the important parts that needed to stay.

“Woah… I was expecting something bigger,” Sam admitted, watching Barry from where she was hovering near Danielle.

Barry just chuckled as he headed to the machine and popped the canister in. “It doesn’t need to be that big. We’re only pulling a tiny amount of toxin from him and putting the rest back after all.”

“Fair enough,” Sam accepted, attention shifting slightly as Danielle flexed her arm and moved around to make sure she wasn’t dizzy or anything.

“And you’re sure it’s going to work?” Tucker asked, his nervous nature prompting him to reach for reassurance despite the procedure not being used on him.

“It’s not as common as dialysis, but it’s still something that’s been used thousands of times on thousands of different people. I’m sure it’ll get most, if not all of the toxin,” Barry assured, stepping out of the way so Leslie could proceed to get Danny connected to the device. Unfortunately the IV needle that had been used was too small, so Leslie couldn’t use it for one of the tubes, even if it had been in the right place. So it was simply pinched closed, and disconnected to use again later while the other two tubes were inserted.

The others continued to chatter lightly, but Jazz was more focused on what Leslie was doing. How she was prepping Danny’s arm, where she put the tubes, trying to guess what she was looking for. She didn’t think this would be the last time Danny, or Danielle got poisoned, so she felt she should learn as much as she could while she could. It also helped her feel like she was being useful. Adding to her skillset to maybe use later instead of just sitting and being worried. It certainly helped even though once Leslie finally started the machine nothing seemed to be happening. It was a good thing though. No immediate adverse reactions, no sudden drop in vitals. Nothing but the quiet hum of the machine added to the soft beeps of the heart monitor and puffs from the oxygen tank.

Within an hour the others had gotten bored enough to easily be lured away by the rest of Bruce’s family once again.

Thirty minutes after and Jazz was the only one left, having moved to sit on the floor at the side of the bed. She wanted to be close to Danny, but she felt in the way if she sat on the bed. There were too many tubes now. Before he could have been mistaken for just sleeping. But now he really was looking like a coma patient. It made it hard to watch him, even though she refused to leave.

A short time later Jason was knocking on the doorframe to announce his presence, causing Jazz to look up.

“...Hey,” she greeted, a little confused.

“Hey,” Jason returned, “Just checking in. You need anything?” A half lie. He’d actually volunteered to hang out for a while to make sure the hemoperfusion process was going well. Luckily it looked like Danny’s vitals hadn’t changed much from two hours ago.

Jazz blinked in mild surprise at the offer, but even after thinking for a moment she couldn’t come up with anything. Part of her knew there were probably a multitude of things that she should be at least curious about, but mostly she just felt tired. The near quiet of the room while she knew everyone was okay and having fun was nice. She was content to just relax as well as she could for now. “No, I’m good,” she responded.

Jason didn’t quite believe her, his brow raising. “Says the girl sitting on the floor wearing random spare clothes borrowed from someone else, and doing nothing but stare at the other side of the room,” he commented dryly with a half smirk, stepping into the room and taking a seat on the floor near Jazz.

The comment caught Jazz off guard, but she could only give a small giggle. She probably did look at least a little unwell huh. “...I guess I just haven’t fully realized I’m safe yet,” she admitted. “It’s hard to think about anything.”

“Fair enough,” Jason accepted, being able to understand the feeling. “...Do you mind if I ask you something then?”

Another mild surprise, but Jazz just nodded after a moment. “Sure.”

“You mentioned before…” Jason started, thinking back to something Jazz had said before lunch, “that your parents tried to hurt Danny before they knew….” The reminder was potentially a very unhappy topic, but it was prodding he felt was necessary. Were they safe at home? Were they runaways? Were their parents involved with the ones that had hurt Danny recently? They needed to know if it was a good idea to try and get these kids back to their family or not. And if he was going to keep Jazz company and monitor the hemoperfusion process he didn’t feel like spending the time in silence.

“....Yeah… Our parents used to be ghost hunters,” Jazz admitted, a sorrowful smile as she stared at her hands. It seemed she was in the mood to talk, for she continued unprompted. “We grew up with their crazy antics. Making machines that could track down and destroy ghosts. Always talking about dissecting them, or using them as a power source. They had so many studies supporting the idea that ghosts were just residual emotions from people, given human form, but not actually human. So many things that convinced others that ghosts weren’t people anymore.”

“And yet… all it took was them finding out that Danny was half ghost, half dead, and it made them rethink everything they had developed. He was fourteen when… And I didn’t find out until a few months later. I didn’t even tell him I knew, because I knew if I did he would get scared. Why wouldn’t he, after all? With the idea that his mom and dad might cut into him just to satiate their curiosity looming over his head. It was an accident that they found out, and I was so scared he was going to run away. But mom just tried her best to treat him like Danny, and nothing else. Dropped her gun and told us we should go home and get a snack, because we were probably hungry. It…. it was enough to keep him home, but it wasn’t enough for everything to be okay. It was like everyone was trying to pretend everything was normal, but we all knew it wasn’t. They stopped doing their experiments. Started pretending they were oblivious to anything related to ghosts. It was awful. I felt so… so useless.”

“It was months of this stupid, awkward fake normal family facade before it finally broke. Danny accidentally got burned when mom was cooking, and she had a breakdown. We found out that our dad was okay with everything, but mom was having a hard time because she couldn’t believe that she had hurt Danny before. Even if she didn’t know it was him. But, after she had a really long talk with my brother, things started to look more normal again. Only this time, instead of being ghost hunters my parents dove headfirst into trying to figure out how to help ghosts. We realized we couldn’t take Danny to the doctors anymore, so my parents and I tried to make sure we could fill in that role. Mom would try all sorts of new, ectoplasm rich meals for him, making sure they tasted good to him. She started making smoothies for him every morning once she found ones he liked. On top of helping him study for school every day when there weren’t other ghosts causing trouble. There’s so many nights I found them asleep together on the couch. Danny was always mom’s favorite, and I think dad got jealous about how close they got. Until Danielle came back from her world exploration adventures and Danny convinced her to officially meet my parents. Then Dad and Danielle latched onto each other so quickly, and became inseparable.”

The retelling had seemed a little painful at first, but it was easy to see that Jazz was at least content with the way her family life was now. It wasn’t perfect, but then again families never were. Jason couldn’t help notice the tone of voice she took when talking about her parents favoring her siblings. She didn’t seem too upset, but there definitely wasn’t complete indifference to the facts. “...Does it make you upset? Having your siblings be your parents’ favorites?” he couldn’t help asking.

Jazz could only snicker at the question, falling quiet for a beat before answering. “Sometimes,” she admitted, then looked over with a mildly mischievous grin that made Jason semi think of Danielle. “But then I remember I’m Danny’s favorite, and I’m usually okay.”

The proud declaration made Jason snicker, glad to hear she had at least one thing keeping her from devolving into jealousy. She didn’t seem to want to talk much more though, and Jason wanted to leave the conversation on a happier note and therefore didn’t ask about the ‘Guys in White’ Danielle had mentioned before. So instead, after another stretch of quiet, he just chose to reassure her. “... He’ll be okay.”

Jazz didn’t answer immediately, drawing in a sigh and letting it go. She seemed to be doing much better as the day had stretched on, handling the news that Danny had poison throughout his bloodstream much better than the suggestion of drawing his blood. And being reassured that he would be okay, she gained a smile. “... He better be,” she commented, gaining a glint in her eye that Jason had seen in others he knew. “Otherwise the government back home will have to deal with a new super villain family.”

The comment only caught Jason slightly off guard, eyes widening just for a moment as he looked at Jazz before bursting into a hearty laugh. “Fair enough,” he agreed. The son of a family getting killed by the government was a legit enough back story for super villains in his opinion.

_______________________

lil bit of home situation dump and hopefully the last bit of the part that was giving me trouble. Nice to get to draw Jason without the suit XD though I almost forgot to draw the bandage on his fingers.

_______________________

Tag list: @galaxy-sharks-and-bottled-ships, @starscreamlover, @nerdynonnativenarnian, @dragongoblet, @megacharizardx99

@bellathecatastrophe, @cj-ghostemoji-destielpie, @asexual-insomniac, @wolfeyedwitch, @tkiesai, 

@fanaroff, @raven1508, @nebulainajar, @serasvictoria02, @oliocelottafanfics,

@honeysuckletook, @omniithe-deer, @wolf-under-the-stars, @gingernutcalo, @that-random-fangirl,

@op-sys-chaos, @kirasigncomics, @ehobep

[devilmademewriteit]

Javier Peña & Joel Miller Headcanons

a smutty edition<3

warnings: rough sex/smut (fem penetration, oral (both receiving), fingering) so 18+ only content; fem!afab!reader; dbf!Joel Miller; step!dad Joel Miller (so step-cest [I’m sorry]); implied age gap; choking; spanking; smoking (and probably more—this is just pure filth, read at your own risk).

TYSM for 500 followers!! In honour of that, enjoy some slightly depraved Joel Miller & Javier Peña headcanons based on requests yall have sent me<33333

PS: DBJAG part 3 coming to YOUR dash, real soon! Read part 1 here & part 2 here!

—

Javi laying his steady hands against the soft, inner skin of your thighs, spreading your shaking legs wide open for him and letting out a sinful groan. He’d never seen anything so perfect as the sight of your aching cunt dribbling down onto your cluttered desk. His practiced tongue draws long, breathy exhalations from your lips. Keep quiet while I taste you, querida. Skirt bunching around your waist, underwear shoved in his back pocket, your knuckles turn white on the hardwood edge of the table as you listen for footsteps, voices, the distant ring of a telephone.

“Be a good girl and keep watch for me—or d’you want everyone in the office to know just how needy this pussy is?

Dad’s best friend, Joel Miller, fucking you dumb from behind in a dark, deserted alleyway, muffling your cries with a calloused hand over your mouth. His fingernails dig mercilessly into the skin under your cheekbones—Joel loves watching the combined effect of his cock and his suffocating palm on your big, drunken eyes, sending them rollin’, straight up to the skies. He laughs when you squirm against his hips, responding to every desperate moan you breathe against his skin with a lazy, harsh slap to your ass.

“Always wanted to send you back to your old man with my cum drippin’ down your thighs”

It’s your first month at the new job—after graduating college, you thought the possibility of being hazed was behind you. That is…until you get assigned a seat next to Javier Peña at a work dinner, feeling a rough hand slide up your leg and long, dexterous fingers ease your underwear to the side, teasing your aching clit all night long. He engages you in small talk with your boss—the weather and politics—speaking nonchalantly as his middle and fourth fingers pump in and out of your pulsing cunt.

“Words a little hard tonight, sweetheart? Or something else getting you tongue-tied?”

Joel’s massive hands on either side of your head as he facefucks you selfishly, tears running down your puffy cheeks while you near-suffocate on his thick length. Open wide before you swallow, baby—show me how my cum looks on your lil’ tongue. Grabbing at his forearms and staring into his dark, hungry eyes, dazedly wondering how you’ll manage to hide the bruises on your knees in the coming weeks. Dragging a thick thumb under your eye, he drinks in the sight of your tear-soaked face.

“That’s right,” an approving groan. “Knew that pretty lil’ mouth was good for somethin’ other than whinin’”

Riding Agent Peña on his unmade bed, bringing your lighter up to the cigarette hanging from his mouth til’ the tip glows red-hot. Breathing in the smoke he blows out between your ecstasy-parted lips as he rolls his hips against yours, the dark head of his cock pressing against that spot inside you.

“Look at me when you come, hermosa. Look so fuckin’ pretty with my cock up inside you.”

Getting lessons from your step-dad, Joel, on how to stroke, suck, and ride a cock properly—like a big girl. He talks you through it slowly, breaking you in til’ you’re sore, bruised, and thoroughly used. Like that, Joel? Pumping his hard length between your delicate, devoted fingers, watching intently as his face contorts with pleasure. Alright, angel—that’s enough playin’ around. Facedown for me, now. Listening, paying attention, doing your best to be the perfect little student.

“N’ when a man says he wants to come inside this needy lil’ pussy, you say yes, alright?”

Blowing off steam with a couple of girlfriends at the bar and running into the very person who’s been making your work-life so stressful. Watching him flirt with other women for hours before he bothers a glance your way. Rolling your eyes when he winks at you. Javier’s low voice rings crystal clear despite the loud music filling the space—one hand on your shoulder, the other hovering over the back of your neck as he leans down to whisper softly in your ear.

“Roll your eyes all you want, querida; we’ll see how tough you are when I’ve got you on your hands and knees, beggin’ for it”

Joel Miller—over double your age and double your size—growing tired of the short, tight clothing you’ve been wearing around him. Dressin’ like that’s gonna attract the wrong kinda attention, sweetheart. Testing him, pulling him in with a wicked, skyward gaze—that’s what I’m hoping for, Miller—and getting rewarded with a thick hand around your throat, rough fingers manhandling your breasts. Need me to show you what the wrong kinda attention feels like? Nodding enthusiastically, needing for him to use you.

“Fuckin’ hell, sweetheart, if I’da known how much of a slut you are, I woulda fucked you stupid the second you were legal”

Bonus fluff:

Agent Peña carrying you home to his couch after watching you take one too many shots at the club. He just can’t help stepping in to rescue you, regardless of the fact that he barely even knows you. When you wake up in the morning, confused and thoroughly hungover, he’s already at the office—but there’s a warm coffee, an aspirin, and a muffin waiting for you on the nearby table.

“you really can’t handle your tequila, hermosa. did you eat?”

Joel kissing you roughly at the peak of his climax and then finding himself completely unable to stop. Your lips are sore, red, and severely abused by the end of the night and still the man can’t get enough of you. The grey-speckled hair of his mustache brushes against your Cupid’s bow and he tastes like necessity, something desperate in the way his mouth clings to yours, his hand delicately cradling the back of your head. Almost as if you were precious to him.

“you sure know how to make a hard man soft.”

—

TAGLIST: @mads-grace4 @anyas-stuff @liviloo12346 @bookofbee @mattmurdocksgirlfriend @stardust-chords-enthusiast @fruitcupsworld @sallymilkweed @sullysflm @sexygaypalpatine @livyjh @s-unflowxr @lostsoldieronahill @maudlinflowers

[fastfists]

"...I will take ah finger."

[gremlin-girly]

Flufftober Day 1: Lost Pet Meet-cute

Divider by:  @cafekitsune

Flufftober prompts are from the wonderful @flufftober page!

Title: Alpine’s Adventure

Pairing: Bucky X Reader

Tags: Fluff, Bucky x reader, Meet-cute , Alpine goes exploring,  Alpine is the best wingwoman , cat dad! Bucky, gn!reader, Alpine P.O.V, no beta we die like men, flufftober

warnings: brief mention of a panic attack

Summary: Alpine escapes the apartment and decides to go on an adventure to find Bucky the perfect gift, eventually enlisting the help of a newfound friend to help her plan come to fruition.

Word Count: 3.3k (3365)

As always I do not give permission for my work to be reposted, translated or copied. My warnings are non-exhaustive and I may have missed something (though I try not to) so please read at your own risk.

A/N: Well, hello. This is my first official post of my own on tumblr. I won’t blather too much because there’s a pinned post explaining that this is my first rodeo.

The inspiration for this particular prompt came from the opening scene of 101 Dalmations (clearly). This also inspired another prompt - and maybe even a part three. 👀 (can you tell I loved writing this one?)

I hope you enjoy; comments, likes and reblogs are always welcome! Dividers by: @/saradika-graphics

Next

Part 1 (you're here) | Part 2

Alpine's day had been pretty exciting, all things considered.

Alpine loved her dad – no doubt between her furry little ears. However, when her dad left for work that morning, curiosity had finally gotten the better of her as she slinked by him and out the door. In his tired state he hadn't noticed her dash for freedom and she hadn’t expected to actually get outside.

But she had.

The street was loud, louder than it was in the apartment and people walked by so briskly they barely noticed her. Alpine dodged multiple shoes and weaved through legs hurriedly. Some humans scorned her but otherwise left her alone.

Alpine's soft paws tittered over the concrete as she took in her surroundings.

Everything smelled the same, just amplified.

She hadn’t been outdoors  - at least, not without her dad– since she was kitten. She couldn’t remember much about her life before she met her dad other than everything was big, it was cold and she had been scared. Bucky had brought a warmth she had only briefly experienced as a kitten. He had taken her in, fed her and comforted her. He had shown a kindness she was unfamiliar with but appreciated all the same. She had attempted to return the favour, on occasion, but apparently dead mice are not appropriate gifts for humans. However, Alpine had found she was better on the nights her dad couldn’t sleep or had a nightmare, sitting on top of his chest and purring gently to help him calm down.

Alpine slipped through an iron fence crunching leaves in her wake and emerged from under a green shrub onto another pathway. This one had strange wooden seats littered along the pathway, looking onto a lake and…

Birds.

There were plenty of shrubs and trees in this area and the humans around seemed to be feeding strange birds on the lake. Alpine hopped onto one of the strange seats and sat down, curling her white tail around her, studying the birds. Perhaps a bird would be a better gift than a mouse. Alpine’s ears flattened as she considered it but eventually decided that her dad would probably scold her and be ungrateful for her efforts as per usual.

Alpine’s tail flicked in annoyance. There had to be something she could gift her dad, without getting into trouble. She eyed the humans who were walking along the pathway with the utmost scrutiny.

Small humans got excited to see her and she had to swat one who was petting her a little too hard. He was tugged away by his mother pretty quickly after that.

Slowly, a pattern began to emerge. There were all sorts of humans, of all ages, but mainly in pairs.Old, young, mother and son, father and daughter, sisters, brothers… they were all coupled in some way. Alpine’s tail tip curled with excitement. She could find her dad a companion. Steve and Sam were okay but she couldn't imagine their hands intertwined with her dad's or doing that strange thing coupled humans were doing with their mouths.

No. Alpine needed to find a new human to be her father's companion. That would be the best gift she could get him.

Alpine leapt from her seat and began her search. The first human she walked by was pretty, but pulled a sour face when Alpine approached and was snapping at someone down the phone. They only stopped to shoo at Alpine.

Too rude.

Alpine huffed, tail flicking is distaste and moving down the path.

The next was a woman who, Alpine assumed, in her prime would have been beautiful. She has feeding some pigeons with a woollen blanket across her lap, large thick framed glasses almost covering her face entirely. Her wrinkled hands shook crumbs onto the floor for the birds, who barely batted an eye at Alpine’s approach.

“Well, now,” The lady cooed as Alpine sat before her. “Aren’t you just darling.”

She held out a knuckle to Alpine, who graciously butted it with her head and allowed herself to be petted ever so gently by the sweet old woman.

Too old. Unfortunately.

After five minutes of fussing, Alpine moved away giving the old woman a small trill of a goodbye.

Much of the next hour around the open area was the same. Some were too young, or too old, were not a good potential match,  didn’t like Alpine or were already coupled. Alpine growled in frustration. Maybe she would have to go elsewhere but for now she wanted to go home. Today’s mission was a failure.

There was a loud noise that tore through the park. It wasn’t human. It was angry, gravelly and approaching rapidly.

A dog.

Alpine’s eyes widened in fear as the dog made a run for her, teeth snapping ferociously. She scampered, clawing her way more than halfway up a tree, turning back to hiss viciously and scratch at the dog’s muzzle when it tried to jump for her. It’s human was taking an idle time in retrieving it.

However, Alpine didn’t have to wait very long when she heard a human yelling at the dog, and it’s human. Alpine’s blue eyes narrowed  as she spotted the human stomping their way over to the tree.

“Keep your damn dog on a leash!” The human yelled as the dog’s owner tugged the collar of his pet away. The dog’s eyes watched Alpine and continued to snarl.

“Christ, it’s a cat –“

“and you’re an irresponsible dickwad.” The human stood tall, hands on hips as they glowered at the owner. “Dogs at the park should always be on a leash, regardless of how well trained they are. There is a reason for that; protecting the dog and the other people. How inconsiderate do you have to be?”

The owner huffed and muttered under his breath, finally managing to get the dog away. After glowering at the owner until he was out of sight, their features softened and they dropped their hands loosely at their side, turning towards Alpine.

“Hey sweetheart,” they spoke gently, giving Alpine space to jump and vanish if she so wished. “it’s okay. You’re okay now.”

Alpine considered the human for a moment, detaching her claws from the bark and elegantly landing on the ground. She sniffed hesitantly. Alpine could smell so many different things from the human; cinnamon, coffee, another scent she couldn’t quite place and... her cat kibble. This human smelled similar to home. The human offered their knuckle and Alpine bumped her head against it with a happy trill, tail high in the air.

The human laughed and rubbed Alpine’s ears as she weaved around their legs. The human’s smile was warm and gentle; just like Alpine’s dad’s.

You are perfect.

Your day had been relatively mundane. Until you saw an asshole with his dog off leash chasing some poor cat up a tree.

Now you had said cat bundled into your hoodie purring happily whilst you rode the subway, the cat’s little white head sticking out the neck hole to hiss at anyone who came too close to you. Probably not the strangest thing New Yorkers had ever seen, but you couldn’t help but smile at the little furball.

The cat’s tag had noted its name as Alpine but no address, only a phone number. You had made a mental note to call later in the safety of your apartment, however, you had more  pressing issues at the forefront of your mind. For example, manoeuvring for your subway tickets whilst holding Alpine in your arms.

“Sweetie, I might have to put you in bath jail.” You tell Alpine, looking down at her tucked away in your hoodie. Alpine looks up at you, as if she’s listening intently to what you’re saying, big blue eyes staring back at you. You melt – she’s so beautiful. Her owner, whoever they may be, clearly adores Alpine; a cute collar and beautifully maintained soft, clean white fur.

“I don’t know if my kitty will like you.” You say apologetically, giving Alpine a small smile. You could’ve sworn she huffed as she looked away from you as you climbed the stairs to your apartment.

Unlocking your door awkwardly, leaning back so Alpine doesn’t slip out from your hoodie, you enter your apartment. Once the door shuts into place, before you can even call out that you’re home, Alpine is wriggling from your grip and out of your arms.

“No no no,” you say hurriedly, dropping your keys as Alpine bounds away from you sniffing.

There's a scampering sound, then bolting into the living area, Apollo appears. His green eyes fix onto Alpine, his usually sleek fur prickling like he was charging static. Alpine’s tail fluffs up like a pom-pom and you watch on with baited breath as Alpine growls warningly at Apollo. The last thing you need right now is a literal cat fight.

Apollo’s ears twitch rapidly. Both cats are frozen in mid-step, staring at one another until Apollo chirps, his thin tail twitching as he bounds at Alpine. He bulldozes into her and she flops onto her side with a soft thud. It takes you a moment to realise that your young cat is playing and Alpine doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, shes tolerating it. You sigh with relief watching Alpine pin Apollo’s excitable self under her with ease. Apollo's legs stick comically out from underneath her, his tortoiseshell patterning making Alpine’s elegant self look like she’s wearing crocodile hot pants with white socks.

You chuckle and snap a quick picture before punching the number you’d copied from Alpine’s collar into your dial pad. You hold your phone to your ear, pacing to the kitchen to make yourself a drink. It rings seven times and you almost hang up before a male voice answers.

“Hello?” The voice is gruff and curt, and you're immediately feeling nervous, wondering if you’d typed in the wrong number accidentally. “Look, if you’re selling something I’m in the middle of-“

“I have your cat!” you blurt and at the risk of sounding like a catnapper, hurriedly add, “I found at her at a park near the Central Cafe.”

“Oh thank God,” the voice heaves, sounding a lot less tense now which helps to ease your own nerves. “I’ve been looking for her for the past two hours. I can call off the search party.”

You chuckle, glancing over at Alpine, whose now pinning Apollo by the head with a snowy paw. “She’s got one heck of a personality, I’ll give you that.”

“She sure does,” The voice chuckles. “Uh, when can I come to get her?”

“Oh – whenever. I can text you my address.” You open the fridge with your phone tucked between your ear and shoulder, pulling out a soda.  

“Great. I can come now? If that’s not too short notice?” The person on the other end is clearly desperate to be reunited with Alpine and you don’t blame them one bit. The soda in your hand hisses as you pop open the tab.

“No it’s fine. You want your baby back, I get it.”  

“Thanks. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” You expect to hear the beep of the call disconnecting, but you’re surprised when the voice speaks again. “And thanks... for finding Alpine.”

You feel a little bashful. You hadn’t exactly found her. More like rescued her and then she’d clambered onto you. “It was nothing. I’ll see you soon.”

“See ya.”

You find yourself smiling smugly as the call disconnects and you tap in your address to Alpine’s parents’ number.  When you look up from your phone, both Alpine and Apollo are looking at you.

“What?” You say, raising your arms half heartedly. Strangely, the cat’s are looking like they were plotting something  and you couldn’t put your finger on what. With one last curious glance at them, you shake your head and move to the couch; waiting for Alpine’s owner to arrive.

Bucky’s day had been awful.

He was still tired from his last mission when he got called in to work again. He couldn't wait to return home to Alpine. He imagined her waiting for him by the door as usual, waiting patiently for him to walk in from work and bombard him with pleas for attention and treats. He smiled to himself as he unlocked his door. Alpine was the best thing to have ever happened to him and he spoiled her rotten to prove it. He never thought he would be what Natasha had called a cat dad, but he was, and loved every moment he spent with his furry companion.

So when he entered his apartment, calling out for Alpine and having no response, his mind immediately frog-leaped to the worst conclusions. Bucky tore his apartment apart frantically, calling Alpine’s name. With each shout and each room and nook searched his voice became more desperate. Bucky checked all of the windows to make sure they were closed. He checked Alpine’s usual spots. The cupboards. The washing machine. Under the couch. He almost ripped up a floorboard before he realised he was hyperventilating and collapsed to the floor.

His breathing was laboured, vision blurring from both the lack of air in his lungs and the overwhelming feelings of fear and guilt thar plagued him. His head was in his hands staring at the floor wondering how and where Alpine had vanished to.

He'd almost missed your phone call because he was so upset.

Bucky stands outside your door awkwardly. He's buzzing with desperation to have Alpine back in his arms but doesn't quite know what to expect beyond the door. He raps the wood gently, hearing the butsle of you shift off your sofa with a muted "Coming!"

The first thing you do when you open the door to Bucky is smile. That catches him off guard. You step aside and welcome him in, apologising for a mess that doesn't exist and explaining that Alpine was playing with your cat somewhere in the apartment.

"What did you say his name was?" Bucky asks, eyeing an enormous cat tree you'd placed in a corner. He made a mental note to buy one for Alpine.

"Apollo." You reply. You frown and pace around your sofa, clearly looking for something. "Sorry I... they were right here a second ago."

"That's a nice name." Bucky stuffs his hands into his pockets. You hum in response this time. This was painfully awkward.

A meow from one of your rooms echoes through the apartment. It sounds like Alpine. Bucky moves before you do, taking two large steps in the direction of the sound before a flash of fur attaches itself to Bucky’s leg. Bucky looks down excitedly expecting to see Alpine, but his face falls when he realises it's a cat he doesn't recognise. It's Apollo.

Apollo's claws poke through the blue fabric of Bucky's jeans and Bucky could have sworn the cat looked damn smug about it too.

“You little asshole,” You gasp, grabbing Apollo. His back half lifts easily but his claws remain latched in Bucky’s jeans. Even as Apollo is stretched further, his body limply following your hands, he doesn’t retract his claws. He mewls softly and looks back at his pet parent with wide green eyes, that were trying desperately to look as innocent and cute as he could muster.

“I am so sorry.” you grovel apologetically to Bucky, not meeting his gaze. Bucky huffs with a smile. Now he really doesn't know what to do. Your cheeks burn with embarassment as you give Apollo a gentle wiggle. “Let go.”

Apollo refuses and meows in defiance. As if on cue, Alpine trots out from your bedroom rounding on you and jumping onto your back. You yelp, startled by Alpine's sneak attack, and straighten your back to try to shake her off. Alpine perches on your shoulder, sinking her own claws into the thin fabric of your shirt. She definitely wouldn't be moving unless she decided it, and meows triumphantly.

"Alpine!" Bucky gasps, reaching for his own cat. She had never done this before with anyone. He flushes with embarassment as well now. He thought your cat was a smug ass and now his cat was misbehaving too. This day was getting worse and worse.

Alpine mewled in protest when Bucky attempted to tug her away from your shoulder.

"Ow, ow, ow," You mutter, half turning to offer more of your shoulder to Bucky.

"Sorry," Bucky mumbles trying to detach Alpine’s claws; but she'd lift a paw to re-attach it to you shoulder again. What had gotten into her?

With Alpine’s distraction, Apollo sinks his pin-needle teeth into Bucky's leg. Bucky curses and looks down, you fluster and are about to ask what happened when Alpine slinks lower and leaps from your chest; her back legs pushing off you hard enough to send your back into Bucky’s chest. You stumble slightly, and thanks to his training, Bucky catches your hips to steady you. He looks down at you with concern and your head tilts back to look up at him wide eyed and flustered.

The cats have disappeared from beside you both. It's just you and Bucky in the middle of your apartment. The silence is palpable but not uncomfortable. You both are taking in the other's features; truly looking at one another. It isn't until a loud meow snaps you both out of your thoughts.

Bucky releases your hips, blushing and mumbling an apology. You stand up straighter, blushing equally red, also mumbling an apology. Bucky's eyes drift to where the meow came from, only to see Alpine and Apollo sat side by side, watching their parents' interaction.

"I think we've been had," Bucky says, pointing at them. His lips twitch into a small smile and you follow his finger to the cats, whose tails are flicking impatiently.

You sigh, setting your hands on your hips. "I knew they were planning something."

Bucky chuckles. "She's never done that before."

"I wish I could say Apollo hasn't," You smile sheepishly over at Bucky and he can feel himself smiling back.

"He is a little bastard." Bucky glances down at his jeans that have a few small holes from Apollo's teeth and claws.

"But he's my little bastard," you chuckle jokingly and hold out a hand. "I'm Y/N."

Bucky pauses for a moment before shaking your hand delicately with his flesh hand, conscious of the serum and worried about accidentally crushing your hand. "Bucky."

There's another moment of silence as you shake hands, looking at eachother. Bucky watches you swallow thickly and he clears his throat, dropping his hand from yours.

"I don't think the cats want to leave just yet," Bucky says, running a hand through his hair. He couldn't remember the last time he felt so.... bashful.

You glance at the cats, who look like they're trying very hard to be nonchalant.

"No, I don't think they want to leave their play date either." You comment, narrowing your eyes at Apollo before turning back to Bucky. "Would... you like to stay for a coffee?"

"Coffee sounds good, if you don't mind." Bucky smiles again and you smile back. Something inside of his chest twists, and heat creeps up his neck. He watches you move towards the kitchenette, your hand meeting with Alpine’s head as you pass by. Alpine’s eyes close as you scratch her head and she purrs loudly. Your saying something about sugar and milk and apologising for Apollo again but Bucky isn't listening.

There's something about the way Alpine is looking at him, the way her eyes blue blink slowly at him and look over to you, sitting proudly on the counter that reminds him of when she brings him mice. He shakes his head of the thought and rejoins the conversation with you.

Alpine and Apollo share a look; a look of smug triumph that's missed by their parents who are too busy chatting and standing close to on another. Apollo gives a short trill and nudges Alpine with his head. Alpine purrs gently in response. Their plan had succeeded.

You were most definitely better than a mouse.

[cozzzynook]

Brining back your HC that TFA Bee is half insectacon I have a bit of a sad & sweet idea.

While it had been no one's idea to go the team were forced to head back to Cybertron due to Optimus needing to take part of an important meeting. Of course the Prime tried to go alone but his friends refused to let him go alone just in case he needed help. Since they would be stuck on Cybertron for a few weeks the team decide to explore, meeting up with old friends and family or checking out the city.

Bumblebee on the other hand was just walking down a street alone, he could have gone with Bulkhead to see the new race track that they built or joined Jazz at his buddies party but for some reason he found himself walking alone. Something was pulling at his spark, telling him to follow and quickly. It wasn't long until Bee found himself standing at the border of Iaon city, what he saw next made his energon run cold.

Just as Bee was about to turn back a large insectacon emerged form the shadows hissing and clicking its mandibles as he it approached Bumblebee. Despite its vicious jaws the insectacon never attacks, instead it leans down giving the yellow mech a quick sniff before nuzzling Bumblebee. Insecatcon's can smell one of their own from miles away and being sociable beans they quickly try and pick up any wandering strays, no matter if they are lost or not.

"Hey that tickles!" Bee giggled as he gently pushes the bugs mandibles away before giving his own little greeting chirp. "Its been a while since I've seen you, Snapjaw how have you been?"

"Good, little Bee returns to the hive after so long?" Snapjaw clicked as her wings buzzed happily. "Have the plain mechs been treating you well? Do they know you share the hive's blood?"

Bee cringed a little quickly wrapping one arm around the other as he gave a sheepish smile. "Eh, could be better my team is nice though. But they don't know who I'm really am...yet"

"You should tell them soon, I can smell your brood cycle starting in a few days. Do you have any mates planed?" Snapjaw grumbled already fussing over their small friend.

"Oh scrap, that's starting so soon?!" Panic filled Bee's spark as he quickly ran a hud scan. Just as he assumed a warning pop-up telling him about his frame temperature slowly beginning to rise as well as warning to informing that his tanks will be active in a few days. "Scrap...I forget to take suppressers this month. Thanks for the warning Snapjaw"

"Take care little Bee, remember you're always welcomed with the hive" With a quick buzz Snapjaw opened her wings and took off heading back towards the outskirts.

Quickly heading back into the city Bumblebee made a dash towards for Ratchet's place hoping he could borrow any last moment heat suppressers. While his heat cycles weren't any different form a normal bots there was a down side, he became rather broody and grumpy, if he failed to fill his tanks with transfluid he would end up laying dud eggs, normally he would quickly destroy them before anyone found out that's how he kept bots normally in the dark about his heritage but being on Cybertron and staying in barracks with his team meant the risk of getting found was too great. Bee cursed himself for not keeping better track of his cycles as he barged into the clinic he knew Ratchet was currently helping out at.

_____

The pale lights buzzed as Ratchet quickly rummaged through his first aid kit grumbling. "You couldn't have informed me before we got to Cybertron kid?" The medic turned his attention to Bumblebee who was standing awkwardly in the corner of the room.

"I thought it wouldn't be until much later..." Bee shuffled looking away being unable to look Ratchet in the optic.

"Well, sorry to break it to yer kid, but I'm all out of suppressers. You can try and see if any store has any or try your luck in asking a old friend to see if you can borrow one. Other than that, you're stuck having this cycle" Ratchet crossed his arms giving a soft huff. "Want me to give you a couple of spike wraps just in case?"

"Sure, thanks Doc bot" Bumblebee gave a small smile as he tired not to panic. He knew he could trust his team not to bother him during his cycle but he really didn't want them discovering who he truly was. There have been to many horror stories of hybrid mecha being executed for being 'freaks' and he really didn't want to be one of them. "Mech, this sucks..."

"Sadly, heat cycles are just what happens to young bots. A price to pay in order to make more sparklings" Ratchet grumbled as he handed the wraps to Bee. "Now I've informed the others about this and they should leave you alone, but if you want too you can still ask someone to join you if it helps speed things along. Just be careful"

"I will, thanks again Ratchet" Quickly turning Bee left the room and then headed back out into the city. Dragging a servo down his face he let out a long frustrated sigh already feeling the signs of pre heat. Maybe Ratchet was right, having a partner would speed things along much quicker. Quickly looking down at the spike wraps in his servo Bee then pulls up his comm link sending a ping to one of the few mechs he trusted fully, hoping it wouldn't be so sudden or weird. "Hey Prowl, uh want to help a mech out?"

^_^

SMILEY THIS IS WONDERFUL ALLDIOSIDOOSOKX KAI!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[absolute-flaming-trash]

Pairing: Yandere!Alastor x Fem!Reader

SFW

Word Count: 1'882

Warnings: Yandere, Abuse, Abusive relationship, Choking, Degradation, Manhandling, Threats, Possessiveness, Alastor is a massive asshole and mean as shit. Dead Dove Do Not Eat

Hindsight was always 20/20.

A bit of an understatement, really. Looking back it was hard to believe just how much one decision could impact your entire afterlife, and you wanted to kick yourself.

Desperation was the excuse you gave yourself whenever you thought about why you made a deal with Alastor.

What he proposed wasn’t something you thought too much of at the time. In exchange for your soul, he offered you security - solidarity in a realm where most were keen on focusing on the weakest among them and tearing them to shreds. Not only would you be protected on a daily basis, but you had, essentially, a guarantee that you would survive extermination day whenever it inevitably rolled around.

Seemed almost too good to be true, but knowing the risks involved in refusing, you had accepted.

He never asked much of you in return, much to your surprise. Nothing that ever seemed too unreasonable, at least. If anything, the things he asked of you felt more like exchanges that would occur between friends - taking on small tasks he’d otherwise find too boring to entertain.

Sometimes you’d even go as far as to call them domestic.

Oh, but you knew better than to assume your relationship fell anywhere close to friendship. Amicable was a better word, not good nor bad, but certainly nothing to be overtly confident about - which made what you intended to ask so much worse.

The very thought of it made a shiver go through your body as you walked through the Hotel hallway. A voice in the back of your mind, your conscience perhaps, whispered that it wasn’t too late to turn back. To do a complete 180 and march right back the way you came.

You didn’t listen.

By the time you came to a stop, the hairs on your arms stood completely on end. The door in front of you looked exactly like the others that lined the hallway, deceptive in its mundane simplicity. It only made the feeling of foreboding that much worse as you held your breath and raised your hand to knock, knuckles barely grazing the polished wood at first but connecting more solidly the second time around.

A part of you prayed there wouldn’t be an answer, nails digging further into your palms as the silence extended onwards.

Please don’t answer, please don’t answer-

All hopes were dashed by the dark wood swinging open to reveal a wall of red.

Alastor bent slightly at the waist when greeting you, bringing his eye level slightly down to yours, “My, my, what a pleasant surprise this is!~”

The smile you could muster in response didn’t even come close to matching his own, and your greeting not nearly as jovial.

“Hi.” You said, pausing briefly between words. “I was wondering if you had a few minutes?”

The signature clicking of his vertebrae accompanied the tilt of his head as he stared down at you intrigued. “Whatever for?~”

You began to pick at your nail beds. “Just to talk.”

Alastor hummed, amusement dancing behind his eyes before he opened the door to his suite a little bit wider.

“Oh, I suppose I could spare a moment or two for somebody like you.~”

The way he said it made you unsure whether such a statement was a compliment or an insult, but regardless you followed him inside.

“I hope I’m not disturbing you…” You began to say, looking around the space. No matter how many times you’d been inside, you’d never get used to it.

“Not at all, sweetheart!~” His arm came around your shoulders, leading you further into his suite and towards the table he had set up in the swampland that seamlessly blended in with the decor.

With a flash of green another chair appeared beside his own, and he gestured towards it with the end of his microphone staff.

“Have a seat.~”

You complied, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you did so. Foolishly, you had hoped to stay standing for this conversation in order to keep it as brief as possible. The cool metal of the chair dug into the skin of your thighs despite your clothing and you found yourself staring at the tabletop rather than at Alastor himself.

“Now,” There was some rustling of paper as Alastor picked a newspaper back up off the table, half paying attention to you when he spoke. “What can I do for you, my dear?”

This was it. No going back, no cutting corners, better to rip the bandaid off than to beat around the bush.

You bit your cheek harder and you could already taste the blood on your tongue before you opened your mouth.

“I want out.”

Alastor barely looked in your direction, but the subtle twitch of his ear was hard to miss once you spoke.

“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow but never took his eyes off the paper in his lap as he turned the page. “Care to elaborate?”

“Our deal.” The words felt thick when you spoke them. Heavy. “I want my soul back.”

Alastor’s pause made the atmosphere feel nothing short of dreadful as he turned his head to look at you directly. His ever-present smile widened while his eyes narrowed.

“Now what makes you think you deserve that, sweetheart?~”

“It isn’t about deserving anything.” You stated, trying to keep your voice as even as possible. “It’s… renegotiating.”

Alastor snickered, the sound accompanied by a pre-recorded laugh track.

“Well, aren’t you simply adorable?” He placed the newspaper off to the side and rapped his claws against the table. “Unfortunately for you, that’s not how deals work.”

Your hands curled into fists in your lap as he continued speaking.

“While the deal we made was a fairly simple one, the end result is the same.” He crossed his legs and leaned back in his seat. “I own your soul. There aren’t any take-backsies on the matter.”

Nails bit into your palm at the syrupy condescension in his voice. It made anger brim in your chest, but acting on emotion was not a smart move here.

You took a deep breath. “Our deal has run its course, though.” You did your best to ignore how his eyes narrowed further at that. “Now that I’m at the Hotel… it offers what you originally did, so your part of the bargain is no longer necessary.”

His eyes flashed, glowing a brighter red and illuminating the space between the two of you for a moment.

“Ah, I see. You think our deal is now void because I’ve been replaced in a sense.” His smile was anything but reassuring or kind. “And therefore you shouldn’t be expected to uphold your end of the bargain, am I correct?~”

You swallowed thickly. “Yes.”

Alastor tutted. “My dear, who are you to get to decide when our deal is void in any way, shape, or form?”

The question was clearly rhetorical, but you answered anyway.

“Because it’s my soul.” The firmness in your voice did little to cover how weak of an answer that truly was. “I should be able to get a say in when we’ve reached the end of our contract-”

A green flash and the cold snap of metal around your neck cut off any further words you had to say. You barely had any time to register your air getting cut off as you were yanked forward harshly into the dirt - leaving you coughing when the chain slackened enough for you to breathe once more.

“It seems to me that you are forgetting a few things, darling,” Alastor said, pulling sharply on the chain once more to force your face back up to his.

Green stitches lined the seams of his clothes and wove at the edges of his smile - antlers growing with each word he spoke, and it took every bit of courage you had to bite back a whimper.

He was pissed.

“Firstly, the Hotel,” He cooed sweetly,” is the sanctuary you rave it to be because I keep it that way.”

Alastor stood from his chair and stalked towards you, wrapping the end of the chain around his microphone as he went.

“Secondly, might I remind you that it was you who approached me.” He hissed, faux kindness mixing with the barely contained anger you could see in his eyes.

“You,” He nudged your chin with the end of his microphone, “ came to me with the proposal of offering yourself in exchange for my services, not the other way around.” His eyes scanned over your form - lingering on the way your chest moved rapidly to accommodate your breaths before returning to your face.

“I've grown... accustomed to you, my dear, and our deal stands until I say so. Since you are seemingly incapable of understanding the subtleties of that, I’ll put it in simple terms so you can understand.”

The cool metal of your collar was soon replaced with the warm, smooth texture of his glove as he kneeled in the dirt and wrapped his hand around your neck. The gesture made you gasp, reflexively drawing in as much air as possible before he could choke you, but Alastor didn’t squeeze. Instead, he let the weight of his hand do the work.

“I own you. Every breath you take, every little thought in that empty head of yours belongs completely and solely to me.”

The black of his gums peeked out as his smile - which felt more akin to a snarl - widened. “Besides, what would you even do if I gave your soul back?”

Another rhetorical question, but the humiliation and inequity of the situation caused you to answer once more despite everything inside screaming at you not to.

“That’s my business.”

The sheer volume of emotion that passed through Alastor’s eyes told you that was the wrong fucking answer to give.

He snickered and leaned closer to the point you could smell the rot of his breath. “See, you might think that, darling, but since you’re mine, it’s my business too. So here’s how this is going to go.”

The hand around your throat began to squeeze.

“My business is to keep you. You’ll keep doing each and every little thing I ask of you, and you certainly won’t voice complaint when doing so.”

You choked and sputtered again when he hauled you to your feet by your throat and pushed you back into your seat - the armrests catching you directly in the funny bone, causing you to yelp. He placed his hands on either side of you and leered over you. It was the smallest you’d ever felt in your life.

“I’m more than willing to speak to you about anything you wish, darling, I truly am.” He said, inhaling deeply before continuing, and you swore his smile dropped the most you’d ever seen it.

“But if you ever try to speak to me about this again, you’ll learn just how easy you have it with me, is that clear?”

You felt yourself nodding before your mind could even register it. “C-crystal.”

A mixture of relief and dread sunk in your stomach when his smile returned to its normal state and he reached his hand up to pat you twice on the head.

“That’s my girl.~”

© absolute-flaming-trash 2024. Do not repost, modify, copy, or claim.