#please enjoy my meagre offering

[annissdraws]

close up under read-more <3

[blaisenova]

hello, my beautiful, awesome, coolest husband.. ♡

I demand a killer x dust fic !!! do it!!! It's an order!!

thank you ❤

your wish is my command and all that

putting this one under the cut since it's got some vulgar language and is just generally pretty toxic. y'know, it's killer and dust. all par for the course LMAO. also i would just feel bad taking up too much of someone's dashboard if they weren't interested XD

as usual, the link to this fic on ao3 will be in the reblogs, and if YOU want a fic like THIS!!! my requests are open. i cannot promise swiftness, but i do my best

please do enjoy :)

or don't. i can't make you

“Oh, lover boy!”

That lilting voice was carefully crafted to be as infuriating as it was unmistakable, and the reaction it evoked was equally instinctual; the tensing of the shoulders, and the crackle of magic. Dust didn’t have to turn around for Killer to know exactly what expression would twist his features: one of undeniable annoyance; thinly veiled fury that Killer knew exactly how to pull taut until it snapped.

The moment he laid his hand on Dust’s shoulder, the skeleton whirled around, hand wrapping around Killer’s neck as he slammed him into the wall. The impact was enough to rattle the glass lantern mounted high above them, providing a meagre amount of golden light that was just as quickly swallowed up by the castle’s darkness. 

Nevertheless, Killer didn’t even flinch. In fact, his grin widened. “Geez. Handsy today, huh?”

And, there was the snap; just as sudden and quick as it always was.

A growl erupted from Dust’s throat as his grip tightened enough to hurt. “What the fuck do you want, whore?” he snarled, sounding every bit as furious as he looked. “Haven’t you been indulged enough today?”

Indulge he had, but wasn’t indulgence the point of their missions in the first place? Nightmare had plenty of negativity to not only survive on but, also, to thrive, but that never stopped him. Plentifulness, Killer had learned, was naught but a tool through which to obtain the true ecstasy of life: shameless, unnecessary indulgence. 

Gluttony was one hell of a sin and, often, Killer found, lust went right alongside it. Pleasure of the body was far holier than pleasure of the mind, for not even the most powerful of deities could take away the physical sensation of pure instinct; not even his own, innate numbness could douse the heat sparked between one body against another (or, more, if he was really feeling shameless).

Whore, Dust had said, and wasn’t it true? 

He knew how to use his body to draw attention, and he did just that. He’d pluck the frayed string of his soul and offer it to whoever would take it so that they could pull him apart at the very seams, and, then, he’d thank them. There was nothing quite like the feeling of being unravelled, over and over again, and, so, Killer indulged in it. If that made him a whore, then he’d be one gladly.

“Oh, stop, you’re making me blush,” Killer drawled, undeterred. “I’m afraid I’m entirely insatiable, as always.”

As if disgusted – and maybe he was; Killer was never sure – Dust immediately released his grip, backing away and grimacing at his hand like it had been contaminated. Then, his vitriol turned right back towards the source, and he made a point of keeping eye contact while he wiped his hand of Killer’s filth. “Do you care about anything other than getting your dick wet?”

Absentmindedly, Killer raised a hand to rub at his neck; it would surely bruise, but it wasn’t as if he minded the idea. “Sure I do,” he hummed. “I’ve got a pussy, too.” Then, he grinned, wide and sharp. “And a mouth.”

Scoffing, a soft purple tinted Dust’s cheeks. “Didn’t have to mention your mouth with how often you fucking use it.”

“I have a lot to say,” Killer said, snickering.

“Yeah, and all of it is needlessly vulgar,” Dust hissed in return.

Gracefully, and too quickly to be stopped, Killer stepped around Dust’s frame before pushing the shorter skeleton up against the wall, switching their positions. The motion was notably more gentle than the furious pin of earlier, and Killer’s arms boxed Dust in on either side without touching. Purple rushed to the hooded skeleton’s face in an instant, and it almost would have been unnoticable in the dark shadow cast across his face if Killer hadn’t known it would be there. His fingers curled into fists against the wall while Dust’s hovered uncertainly in front of his chest, as if he hadn’t quite decided whether or not to push him away.

“I’m thinking all sorts of dirty thoughts right now, actually,” Killer finally agreed. “Wanna hear them?”

With a shaky inhale and eyelights pointedly avoiding Killer’s face, Dust nodded.

“Are you sure? They’re absolutely filthy,” he breathed.

“Just spit it out already,” Dust hissed.

And, with all the tenderness in the world, Killer took Dust’s hand into his own. Their fingers interlocked perfectly, like they were made for one another, and it would have been impossible to miss the way that Dust’s breath immediately hitched at the contact. His eyelights stared at their union with an uncharacteristic longing, and Killer relished in it. 

Then, he snickered, and the sound made Dust jump. “See?” Killer chirped. “What’d I tell you? Premarital hand holding. We’re fucking disgusting.”

The almost reverence that had beheld Dust’s expression fell away into complete and utter distaste. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Not in the slightest!” He wiggled his fingers, testingly, enjoying the feeling of them against one another. It wasn’t a new sensation, by any means, but, nevertheless, it never got old. “I mean, my god! Is this lewd or what?”

Again, Dust scoffed, though he didn’t attempt to pull away. “You’re not funny.”

“I think I’m hilarious,” Killer mewled.

Like the words were a spark to gasoline, Dust immediately bristled. His grip on Killer’s hand tightened, their bones grinding together achingly. “You’re leading me on,” he hissed. “Why? Because you think it’s funny?”

With an over-dramatic gasp, Killer placed a hand to his chest as if he’d been scorned. “I’ve never led you on. I’m just getting started.”

“Oh, yeah?” he asked, voice dripping with sarcasm. “What’s next? Premarital kissing?”

All at once, Killer yanked Dust’s hand, forcing him forward and against his chest. His other hand wrapped around to press against the small of Dust’s back. He smiled wickedly down at the other skeleton, and a fresh wave of flushed purple magic dusted the other’s cheeks. It was a pretty shade, Killer had to admit, and he’d always loved that wide-eyed, unabashed desire that the slightest touch seemed to elicit.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he purred. “Not before premarital eye-contact.”

“I hate you,” Dust snarled, though his furious expression was subdued.

Laughing, Killer pulled Dust along in a half-hearted, clumsy sort of dance through the hallway. The floor was plush against their feet, and the walls were too narrow to allow for any sort of grace in their movement, but it was enough to be pleasant; enough for them to dance anyway. Each time the warm, orange light of the hall’s lanterns shone onto Dust’s face, Killer drank in every expression he tried to hide beneath his hood, or harsh words, or violence, and it was enough to be pleasant; enough for it to feel like love.

Clutching tightly to Dust’s hand, he spun away, then allowed himself to be pulled back, flush with Dust’s chest as they continued down the hall, and he smiled down at him wryly. “You wanna kiss me so bad it makes you look stupid.”

Dust pressed his head against Killer’s shoulder, shrouding his face from view, and, when he spoke, it was almost too quiet to be heard. “I just want this.”

Browbones furrowing, he snickered, though there was something about Dust’s tone that made his soul wobble and the sound of his laughter come out hollow. “What, terrible dancing?”

“No,” Dust immediately corrected, and there was more insistence to his tone this time. “To be held. To be with you.”

And, Killer’s smile widened. And, he ignored the way that it didn’t reach his eyes. “And, nothing more?”

“Isn’t that enough?” he asked, and it sounded like a plea. “Aren’t I enough?”

It was difficult to speak around the inexplicable knot in his throat. The one that always showed up when it came to conversations like this. “Of course you are.”

Slowly, their dance came to a stop; the hallway couldn’t go on forever, so neither could they. But, neither of them released one another, still clinging to what they could reach as if they were afraid for the dance to end. To dance without movement is simply to embrace, but there’s something more intimate about that, that Killer cannot face.

“Then, why…” Dust choked, and the words were lost, but they both knew them anyway. 

Why are there others?

Why isn’t enough enough?

Why does this have to be indulgence?

Why can’t this be love?

“Let go of me,” Killer whispered.

Dust scoffed, and there was something rueful in it. His grip on Killer’s shoulders tightened. “Thought you never led me on.”

“Get off,” he hissed, and he pushed away from Dust as if he’d been burned. Feeling the way that his bones buzzed, he couldn’t be sure that he hadn’t been. Something burned in his chest, and it must have been fire. There was no other explanation. “Go fuck someone else if you need it so bad.”

Stumbling backwards, Dust caught himself on the wall, and his eyelights glowed dangerously when he looked back up, shining ever brighter as they reflected off of unshed tears. “Fuck you,” he spat, venemous. “I’m not some fucking slut that sways his hips to get the attention of strangers. I’m not like you. I don’t need that. Enough is enough. You are enough.”

“You’re making this into something it’s not,” Killer breathed.

“Fuck you,” he repeated, even harsher. He stepped forward, and Killer fought off the instinct to step back in tandem; another dance. “Why isn’t it?”

“It can’t be,” he said.

And, there was the snap; just as sudden and quick as it always was.

Again, Killer found himself pinned to the wall by his neck, feeling an awful lot like cornered prey, with his teeth gritted into a smile. His hands wrapped around Dust’s wrist, though he didn’t attempt to pull it away. Sharp fingertips pressed into bone, almost as sharp as the look on Dust’s face; features alight with magic that sparked between his joints and made the spots where there was contact tingle unpleasantly, like a warning. Maybe it was one.

“I love you,” Dust said, and it sounded an awful lot like a damnation.

Killer didn’t answer – couldn’t find the words, or, maybe, refused to. His grip on Dust’s wrist tightened as the hand around his throat turned vice-like and stole the breath that he didn’t really need.

“Say it back,” came the demand.

With a laugh that came out more like a wheeze, Killer spat thick, black determination into Dust’s face. “Or, what?”

All at once, with a crack that Killer wasn’t sure was entirely in his head, his skull connected harshly with the wall. He bit back a noise of pain and forced it to come out as another laugh. Once the stars cleared from his vision, he was met with another furious flush of purple and white hot tears as Dust wiped at his face, and he wished that it meant anything to him.

“You think I won’t kill your little side hoes?” Dust hissed. “You think I won’t make you fuck their dust?”

Wasn’t that indulgence, too? To kill that which got in your way? It wasn’t necessary. It was strictly something done because it felt good to. Wasn’t that, by the definition of the word, indulgence? Maybe Dust hadn’t spent as much time under Nightmare’s care as Killer had, but, clearly, he’d learned something. 

Violence, which clung to indulgence’s hand in the same way that lust did; equally disgusting; equally unnecessary; equally beautiful. Killer couldn’t help but to laugh at the thought.

Dust cut him off with a growl. “Is this funny to you?”

“It is, actually,” Killer purred. “You’d find a way to be jealous of a pile of dust if I gave it attention in front of you.”

A choked sound fell from Dust’s throat, and, for just a moment, he averted his gaze, hand squeezing Killer’s neck harshly and drawing a matching noise from him. Then, it loosened, and his eyelights bore into Killer’s empty sockets once more. “I love you,” he said again. “Say it back.”

“Or, what?” Killer wheezed again, undeterred.

“Or, I’ll kill us both,” came the response.

His expression was carefully even, sockets half-lidded and mouth smoothed into a thin line. Magic crackled dangerously through his form, making his eyelights flare that same bright, terrifying purple, and the glow of his magic reflected prettily off of his tears. His touch burned like fire; the same one that burned in Killer’s chest that not even the instinctual, icy dose of panic that flared in his soul – because both of them knew that Dust wasn’t bluffing – could put out. It was perfect. Disgusting, unnecessary, beautiful indulgence.

“God, I love you,” Killer breathed.

And, in an instant, their mouths crashed together in a sloppy, desperate kiss, pressed up against the wall like art.

[lychniis]

Here’s a brainrot for Huli Jing Yuan:

What if, at some point, the roles reverse a little in your dynamic: namely, you’re the one he seeks out for help once huli jing temples are ordered to be destroyed by the Emperor (inspired by the order to destroy fox temples by Emperor Huizhong during the Jurchen invasion (saying this like I didn’t just look it up on Wikipedia. Please be correct Wikipedia please be correct please be co—))

Anyway, so, one day you find a familiar little silver fox on your doorstep, which is immediately strange because you’re the one who seeks him out, not the other way around. You probably connect the dots yourself, and before you know it, you’re hosting a divine spirit in your meagre home. (Extra points if he turns up a little injured or something and you nurse him back to foxy health.)

Maybe Jing Yuan shares some stories with you he’s picked up over the years while he stays with you; you tell stories to him of your own mundane life in return, which he, for whatever reason, finds utterly fascinating. And maybe, just maybe, you find yourself growing closer to this strange spirit, even though all your better senses scream at you to take more caution…

fic in question.

OH MY GODDDD YES-

*ahem* and the added caution that comes with the instinctive knowing : that this man is not wholly human and may never be. it's in the way he narrows his eyes and smiles, or in how he watches you as his wounds heal.

jing yuan though, is maybe rather fascinated with your silly, mundane human tasks. he learns how to cook congee from scratch, how to sew a new set of robes, how humans bandage up their scrapes and bruises. he has his own cautions as well, to be fair, keeping his distance, calculating and quiet in his little spot at the corner.

when he lets you closer, he lets you touch the hem of his robes first. maybe pull on it when you need him. you let him hold your hand ( it's warm. the human-warm. and there is that old instinct to tear into your but he's a little curious, and maybe a little fond ).

then he lets you lean into him on colder nights where the snow piles up by the doorway. then he lets you touch his tails ( you count eight of them. he's two hundred years shy of ascending into the celestial realms and naming himself a proper deity ).

he finds himself enjoying the mundanity. he finds his smiles soften around you.

but there are his own instances to remind you of his inhumaness, no matter how warm his eyes are, his hold is. the animalistic glint, the way his pupils dilate, his twitching ear, the scrape of his claws, that uncanny stare of his-

but he's kind to you. and a little soft. maybe smitten ( he's silly about it, offering you flowers, fruit, bringing you hunted food - you must be fed in his opinion. and healthy. you were happiest then ).

( and you're happy to share what you have too. it's how it started anyway. )

[siravalondulac]

that silhouette | j. snow x fem!oc

summary: and then she was here and jon knew - he would be safe in her arms. always.

warnings: smut, p in v, woman on top, bottom jon snow

Silken drapes swayed softly from the canopy above him. The open balcony doors let in a cold breeze that chilled him to the bones. Rays of light from the crescent moon offered him a meagre look at his surroundings.

Jon didn't know whose bed he was lying in. Nor did he know whose room he was in.

The mattress dipped beside him, and before he knew it, she entered his view.

“Elle.”

Her braid fell over her shoulder, the brown almost black in the darkness. The blue of her eyes seemed to glow before him, making his heart beat faster. She smiled.

“Hush, my love.” She lowered her face towards his. “We do not want to wake the Others, do we?”

As his chest rose it touched hers. Only for a moment, and with layers of clothing between them, but still.

Her left hand came up to his face, her fingers lightly ghosting along his jaw, before laying down on his cheek.

Jon’s breath hitched, and then she closed the distance between their lips.

She was cold and soft and gentle, slow and controlling and wonderful. He would never let himself forget the taste of her lips, how they moved against his, the way she slowly coaxed his mouth open with her tongue. He obeyed, of course. She could do whatever she wanted with him, and he would let her.

Sometime during this, Elle had straddled his lap. He only realised after she had started grinding herself against him, burying both of her hands in his hair to get a better grip. She swallowed his moans, never once detaching herself from his lips.

Jon's hands clutched the blanket beneath him. He was getting hard, and uncomfortably quickly at that. His hips started bucking upwards, meeting Elle's halfway.

She moved her mouth away from his, allowing him to catch his breath, if only for a moment. Because soon afterwards, she started sucking on a spot right over his throat that made him let out a moan.

Elle smiled against his skin.

“You are allowed to touch me as well, my love. It would be a shame if you did not.”

His hands soon found their way underneath her shirt, gently running up and down her sides, making her shiver. And somehow, that reaction made him proud.

Her mouth left his skin as she quickly discarded her shirt and then helped him get out of his. Their pants followed.

She sat bare above him, and Jon could do little else but stare. Stare at her beautiful body, her small breasts, her strong legs.

He raised his hand and let it run down the underside of one of her breasts. Her breath hitched, and something in her smile changed. Not for the worse, thank the gods. No, it became a tad softer, more intimate - a smile shared between lovers.

As if in response, Elle moved her hips, and he wanted to pass out on the spot. Her centre rubbed over the underside of his cock, her wetness making it all the more pleasurable.

She lowered her mouth back on his, quieting his moans as he gripped her hips with both hands. He didn't even know what he wanted to do, stop her or encourage her to keep on moving, please keep on moving, never stop moving.

Her left hand travelled down his body, her nails raking over his stomach and drawing dangerously close to his dick. She smiled against his mouth at the increased movement of his hips.

“Please”, he begged quietly. “I need you.”

“Whatever you want, my love.”

Her hand encircled his dick, pumping once, twice before she raised her hips above it.

Jon held his breath.

The moment his tip was enveloped by her walls he almost came. She was so soft and warm and wrapped around him so perfectly. But he forced himself to hold back. He needed to enjoy this while it lasted.

Slowly, ever so slowly, she sank down on him, her mouth never once leaving his.

How did he come to be so lucky? Never once in his life had anyone ever spared him a second look and now he was in the arms of the most beautiful girl he had ever laid his eyes upon, being treated like he was worth more than all the gold in the kingdom.

He finally bottomed out inside of her. Elle pressed their foreheads together, apparently needing to catch her breath as much as he did.

They fit together so perfectly. His dick sat snugly between her walls and her chest pressed against his so closely, he could feel her beating heart.

One of her hands found his, still gripping her hips tightly, and interlaced his fingers with hers. She pulled both of them upwards and laid them gently onto the pillow beside Jon's head. So gently, never letting go, as if it was the only anchor that kept her in this world.

Elle moved her face away from his and opened her eyes. He had never been able to fully nail down what shade they were, appearing intense like ice one night and deep like the ocean the next. But now, with the way they glowed through the darkness, neither seemed like an apt way to describe them.

Then, she started moving.

Jon breathed in deeply in surprise, his mouth dropping open. It took everything in him not to moan loud enough to wake the entire Keep.

Her hips moved around in circles, slowly at first, then gradually increasing their speed. Her walls clenched around his cock, making him whimper and buck his hips upwards. She smiled, and started moving properly, her hand never once letting go of his.

He didn't know when or how it happened, but Elle's hair had come loose from her braid. It now fell in gentle curls just below her shoulders.

A crown would suit her well, he thought. One made of the finest of golds, inlaid with rubies the colour of blood. And her hair would be decorated with blue flowers the shape of stars, like the ones he had seen in Winterfell's glass gardens.

She bounced faster and faster on top of his cock, the slapping resounding throughout the room. His moans had turned into soft whimpers long ago. And yet, throughout all this, her eyes had never left his.

Jon was close, so close. He could tell Elle was too, the way her breathing had quickened just like his, the way her walls started spasming around his dick.

He knew he would never leave her. They belonged together, like sun and moon, like wolf and lion, like ice and fire. As long as he was with her, nothing would happen to him.

Just a bit more, he was standing right at the edge. Everything inside of him felt so good. The sweat and tears would all be worth it. He only needed one last push, then he would come. And once he did he would make Elle his-

Jon awoke with a jolt.

A dream. It had all been a dream.

Thankfully, he tried telling himself. He had not broken his vows. Even if he, technically, hadn't taken them yet.

His clothing was drenched in sweat and his dick was so painfully hard. He wanted - needed - to relieve himself, but even thinking about that brought his mind back to his dream. Back to Elle and how she fit so wonderfully-

No! He would not think about her, especially not in that way. He was to be a brother of the Night's Watch, and she was his friend. Maybe. Hopefully.

Jon looked around the room, studying his friends’ faces, wondering if he had made any sounds in his sleep that would have disturbed them in their sleep. But no one seemed to be awake.

He took in a deep breath and fell backwards onto his pillow again.

(The bed in his dream had been softer.)

He turned around and pressed his hips into the mattress, pleading for his hard-on to go away quickly.

(Much like how his dick had gotten hard so quickly as soon as he had seen her in his dream.)

His uncle had told him he would regret joining the Watch at his age, before he had experienced any of what made a man. Jon had wanted to laugh at him back then. But he didn't want to laugh now.

Why did his life have to be so difficult?

note: if you are intrigued by this one-shot and elle, might i direct you to the story this is inspired by: meet me in the dark, kiss me in the moonlight?

[raineandsky]

#126

An older man steps forwards towards the altar, a rather simple thing, barren of any offering. A golden chalice sits aloft in his hands. “A gift,” he proclaims, “for our beautiful goddess.”

He places it carefully upon the altar’s surface, stepping back patiently. This is the part where whichever god he’s offering to takes a look at his gift, decides whether he’s worth helping, gives him their divine intervention. He’s done it before. He knows what’s coming.

What he doesn’t expect is a skittish presence to wrap him too tight with an awkward “… you don’t have to do that.”

Most of the gods the man has met are warm, intimidating, bright. This one is… well. Clearly rather tame—for a goddess, at least.

“My goddess,” he says with genuine surprise, “I seek your advice. A gift in return for your wisdom.”

The air is humming with nervous energy. It’s making him anxious too. “I enjoy passing on my knowledge,” the goddess says a little desperately. “There is no need for bribery.”

“No, I’m not trying to—” A trick, perhaps? The gods are known for toying with their followers. “No, my goddess, I simply aim to create a mutually beneficial transaction.”

“If you so wish, although the chalice is quite lovely in comparison to what I can offer you.” Something of a nervous laugh, forced and painful. “What is it you seek?”

The goddess of the travelling merchants. A small god, and a rather niche one, but a god with a loyal following none the less. From her title alone, the man can picture the types of people coming here to worship her.

“I am but a humble pelt seller, my goddess.” The man points rather unnecessarily to the chalice he’s laid on her empty altar. Now he’s thinking about it, he can see why her altar’s empty, given her attitude. “My wife is due to bring us a child. I want only the best life for them both.”

A tense, uncomfortable silence. “I do appreciate you seeking my guidance,” she starts slowly, “but I fear I am a little out of my depth with such a request. The goddess of fertility is in the temple down the street. Or, perhaps, if you seek fortune, the god for that is in the next town—”

“Please excuse my interruption, my goddess, but that is not what I came to ask for.” The man turns his eyes down to his feet, like he’s trying to avoid her gaze, as if her eyes aren’t everywhere. “My pelts are the business that gives my family life. Please, with your blessing, I could sell enough to create the life I want for my wife and my child.”

“You want a blessing but still want to work?”

“It would mean something to know I did it myself, even if I did it with the blessing of our beautiful goddess.”

“Oh, stop, please.” The goddess hums thoughtfully. “That is sweet. I will bless you—of course—I will bless you and your cart and your pelts and your donkey, if you require.”

The man bows as low as his rickety back will let him. “Thank you, my goddess. That is really too much.”

“Not at all.” An awkward laugh ripples through the air that cringes the man to his core. “My blessings are rather meagre compared to other gods, anyway. It is only fair.”

He’s never met such a self-conscious god in his life. Aren’t they meant to be powerful, self-righteous creatures? The man would almost believe her to be human, if not for the overwhelming presence to give her away.

The goddess blesses him, his cart, his pelts, and his donkey, as promised. He bows again in thanks before he turns to take his leave. He can feel her uncertainty before she speaks.

“Your chalice,” she says hurriedly. “You appear to have forgotten it.”

“As I said, my goddess,” the man replies, “it is my gift to you in return for the kindness you have shown me. Please, accept the compassion you have allowed me and keep it.”

She may be a goddess, but she can’t stop him from turning on his heel and continuing on his way back out into the town.

The man doesn’t visit her again—he has no need. His business flourishes, his worries vanquished, his wife and newborn child healthy. The goddess of travelling merchants cannot help the merchant who has already found success.

If only he’d needed to visit her, though. He would see that, after all this time, she has started accepting gifts. Small tokens of appreciation she has learnt to take instead of disregard—blankets and teas and gemstones.

And amidst it all, her prized possession—a bright, golden chalice.

[legolasbadass]

Italian Holiday

Summary: A few weeks before Richard leaves for Boston, he and Lorelei go on holiday in Italy to make the most of the summer and the time they have left together.

This story takes between the penultimate and last chapter of Office Hours and contains major spoilers for that story, so make sure you read it first!

Relationship: Richard Armitage x OC (Professor AU)

Word Count: 3.8K

Rating: E

A/N: Hello, dear readers! You guys didn't really believe I was done writing about Richard and Lorelei, did you? I love them too much to say goodbye so soon!

So how about a fluffy (and smutty - it is Richard and Lorelei, after all 😈) story about their Italian holiday in the summer before Richard's departure to Boston? Special thanks to my dear @lathalea for her support and feedback on this one 💙 Please reblog, like, comment - I will post more chapters if there is interest!

P.S. This chapter is veeeeery smutty. You have been warned 😈

Read on AO3

A chorus of seagulls welcomes Richard and me to our Italian paradise. After a long day of travelling, I am absolutely exhausted, and the humidity takes my breath away as we make our way through the streets crowded with tourists, our suitcases rolling on the uneven cobblestones behind us. But nothing can stop me from admiring the beauty of Monterosso. 

As we walk through the Old Town's narrow streets, marvelling at the pastel-terraced houses cascading down the hillside against the cloudless azure sky, we pass by countless quaint cafes and trattorias. The hubbub of conversations mingles with the clinking of glasses as hints of garlic, tomatoes, and freshly baked bread hang in the air. My stomach suddenly growls, reminding me that I only had a meagre lunch at the airport hours ago, and I reluctantly walk away from the alluring scents. 

Richard and I rented a small flat for the week, and as we unlock the door to our sanctuary, we step into a room that embraces the essence of seaside tranquillity. Pale, billowing curtains adorn the large windows, filtering the golden sunlight that spills onto the pale green walls and the soft furnishings. Tucked into one corner next to the sitting area is a small but well-equipped kitchenette; I already look forward to cooking simple meals to enjoy on the balcony, which offers a stunning view of the sea. But right now, all I can see is the large bed adorned with white linen and plush pillows. Kicking off my shoes, I throw myself onto the bed with a relieved sigh, too exhausted from travel and the unforgiving heat to care that I am still wearing the clothes I wore on the plane and on the train. 

Behind me, Richard chuckles, then playfully pinches my bum before walking away. The patio door slides open before he calls out, “Oh wow—come look at the view!” 

“Hm,” I mumble in response, pressing my face deeper into the cool linen. 

“Lorelei.” Richard speaks my name slowly in a playful reprimand. The creaking floorboards warn me of his approach, but I am still surprised when he lifts me off the bed. 

“Richard!” I exclaim, half groaning and half giggling as he carries me onto the small balcony and sets me back on my feet. 

I gasp. Beyond the terracotta roofs of the city and the rugged cliffs to our right lies the sea, its lacy waves sparkling under the late afternoon sun. As I admire the scenery, Richard wraps his arms around me from behind, pulling me flush against him, and I smile as he presses a soft kiss atop my head. 

“I’m so happy to be here with you,” he says tenderly. 

“Me too,” I reply before turning around to face him. 

Though the view of the coastal town is mesmerizing, Richard is even more so; the wind tousles the soft waves of his hair, and the golden sun highlights the silver streaks in his beard, making it impossible for me to resist him. Raising myself on my tiptoes, I wrap my arms around his neck and press my lips to his in a languid, open-mouthed kiss. This holiday is meant to be a retreat during which we can ignore the rest of the world and our jobs and pretend like we have all the time in the world to devote to each other. And yet, as his tongue caresses mine, I am reminded that each kiss, each tender touch we share, only brings us closer to his departure.

Oblivious to my thoughts, Richard breaks the kiss and nuzzles my nose before saying, “If you keep kissing me like that we’ll never leave this place.” 

“I don’t see a problem with that,” I reply with a chuckle, causing him to smirk. 

“I’m starving, and I thought you were, too,” he points out.

“Well, I do need to take a shower before going to a restaurant…” I say as I suggestively run a hand down his chest, stopping just before the hem of his trousers. 

Richard’s eyes darken. “What a coincidence, so do I,” he replies with a mischievous grin, and before I know it, our lips meet again in a heated kiss as we stand under the water, pressed against each other in the small shower. 

***

“Are you sure you don’t want to go back and change into trainers?” Richard asks, glancing at my heels as I nearly stumble on the uneven cobblestone. 

“No,” I reply, holding onto his arm more tightly. “I want to look nice!” 

Richard frees himself from my grip to wrap his arm around my shoulders instead, pulling me close as he says, “Sweetheart, you are always the most beautiful woman in the room, regardless of what you wear.” 

I should be accustomed to his compliments by now, but I cannot help but blush. “Well, heels also make it easier to kiss you.” 

He chuckles. “Is it not attractive when I have to bend in half to reach your height?” 

“Bend in half—I’m not that short!” I retort, and our laughter echoes through the narrow street as we continue to tease each other. 

After a short walk, we arrive at a quaint restaurant with a view of the beach, now bathed in the soft pink glow of the setting sun. The scent of grilled seafood and garlic wafts through the air, enticing our senses while the waves murmur softly, providing a soothing soundtrack to the evening. We take a seat at a table outside and begin by ordering a plate of antipasti and drinks to alleviate the scorching heat. Soon, the waiter returns with our food, a colourful array of bruschetta, marinated vegetables, cheese, and olives, along with our much anticipated Aperol spritzes. I am impatient to take a long sip and dig into our food, but first, Richard raises his glass. 

“Cheers, love!” Richard says and clinks our glasses.

“Cheers!” I echo before taking a long sip of the bitter orange cocktail—the perfect remedy to the Italian heat. “Here’s to the start of our holiday!” 

He smiles softly, then reaches out for his phone. “I want to take a photo of you.”

“Why?” I ask with a frown. He knows how much I dislike having my picture taken. 

“Because I don’t ever want to forget how beautiful you are tonight.” 

Despite my embarrassment, I soften at his words and nod, offering a shy smile as he frames the shot. 

“There. Now I’ll be able to look back at this moment whenever I miss you while I’m in Boston.” I try not to let my pain show, but he catches my eyes and frowns. “I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have said that.” 

Swallowing past the sudden tightness in my throat, I say, “It’s okay. We can talk about it. I mean—it’s such an amazing opportunity! I don’t want you to feel like you have to pretend it’s not happening for my sake.” 

Still gazing into my eyes, Richard reaches out to grab my hand, caressing my knuckles with his thumb. “I know. And thank you for being so supportive—I don’t know what I’d do without you.” We share a tender smile. “But I don’t want to stress about all that this week. While we’re here, Oxford and Harvard don’t exist. It’s just you and me.” 

“I like the sound of that,” I reply softly as I squeeze his hand, then let go to take another sip of spritz. “So, what would you like to do tomorrow?”

“We could hike to one of the other towns.”

“In this heat? Are you mad?” 

Richard chuckles as he takes a sip from his own drink. “Well, if we’re going to be drinking wine and eating pizza, pasta, and gelato all week, we have to burn calories somehow.” 

“I’m sure we can find other ways to burn calories.” He raises his eyebrows suggestively as his knees brush against mine under the table, and I have to bite my lips to stop myself from smiling. “Swimming! I meant swimming, of course.”

“Of course.” He winks, then reaches under the table to caress my thigh through the thin fabric of my dress. Gazing back into his eyes, I grab an olive and bring it to my lips, making sure to slowly lick my finger in the process. Richard swallows heavily, and I can tell he is about to say something tantalizing that will keep me frustrated for the rest of the evening—but then our waiter arrives to take our orders. 

The night unfolds in a series of lingering glances and teasing touches, and wine flows freely as we indulge in delicious food. As the last of our dessert disappears and the bill is settled, Richard wraps his arm around my waist, and we make our way back to our flat. The air hums with desire and anticipation as we fumble with the keys, and no sooner than the door is unlocked, I find myself being pulled inside and pushed against its hard surface as it is shut closed. 

Richard’s lips find mine in a fervent kiss that leaves me breathless, our tongues tangling together as his large hands roam my body, caressing the curve of my hips. One hand slides higher, finding the swell of one breast and squeezing it, causing me to arch against him. I can feel his warmth through my clothes, and my nipple hardens, demanding his mouth’s attention. The alcohol flowing through my veins enhances every sensation; I already feel myself growing wet for him, and when he coaxes me to wrap my legs around him and tentatively thrusts against me, the whole room seems to spin around us, and a desperate moan escapes my lips. 

He abandons my mouth to seek my neck and playfully bites the sensitive spot below my ear, causing me to whimper. Impatiently, I reach for his shirt, but I only manage to unbutton it halfway. He, too, is growing desperate, and when he brings his hands to my bum and lifts me into his arms to carry me to the bed, I am certain he will pin me to the mattress and immediately indulge in the pleasure we both seek. 

But Richard has other plans. 

He carefully sets me down on the edge of the bed, then kneels before me on the floor, looking up at me with a tender smile that makes my heart flutter despite the hundreds of times he has smiled at me in this manner before. I should not be surprised; Richard has a way of making every glance, every touch feel like the first time, as if he is discovering me anew with each moment, and as he wraps his hand around one of my legs, caressing it softly before moving down to my ankle, I sigh, my heart thrumming wildly in my chest even though he has barely begun. 

Unhurriedly, he undoes the straps of my heels, letting his fingers caress my skin, then carefully sets the shoes aside. He is still watching my face when he lifts one foot to press a lingering kiss on my ankle, then on the other, with a nearly overwhelming level of tenderness. Warmth spreads through me as his hands move higher, slipping under my dress to knead the muscles of my calves and thighs, paving the way for his kisses. He smirks when a trembling sigh tumbles from my lips. Damn him. He knows exactly what he is doing—knows exactly that he can turn me into a puddle with only these gentle touches, and he is fully abusing this power now. He also knows I cannot stop myself from begging for more. 

“Richard…” I whisper as he presses a series of kisses on my inner thigh, my skirt now bundled on my lap. “Please…” 

He chuckles against my skin, then looks up to meet my gaze. “You can beg all you want, sweetheart—I’m taking my time with you tonight.” 

I whimper in frustration, losing all ability to speak as he fumbles with my skirt to kiss higher along my thighs. To my delight, he soon grows frustrated and seeks the hidden zipper at the back of my dress. Once the fabric is loose enough, he pulls it over my head and tosses it to the floor along with my bra, leaving me completely bare before him save for my green lace knickers. He hastily removes his own clothes, keeping only his black briefs, before joining me in the bed as I lie on my back. But then he returns to taking his damn time, leaning back to admire me under the low light of the bedside lamps. 

“God, you’re beautiful,” he muses, slightly breathless as he eyes my heaving breasts. Almost as if he cannot stop himself, he reaches out to flick one nipple with his thumb, and it hardens obediently under his care. 

Swallowing back a moan, I look up at the ceiling and gather the strength to say, “So you’re punishing me for it?”

Richard laughs, then leans in, letting his beard scratch my skin as he whispers in my ear. “You’re so impatient.” His voice has reached that dangerously low timbre, and the lust coating it is reflected in his eyes when he meets my gaze, now so close that his nose brushes against mine. 

He does not give me a chance to respond before capturing my mouth in a searing kiss, tugging on my bottom lip with his teeth. As his tongue tangles with mine, I wrap my arms around his neck, and he lets me pull him closer before focusing his attention on my jaw, then my neck, and down toward the valley between my breasts. He lingers on my nipples, and I arch into him, craving more of the pleasure he offers me so passionately. 

After covering my entire body with kisses, his tongue grazes my navel. I spread my legs in anticipation, and he smirks against my skin in appreciation, kissing the delicate skin where my thigh meets my hip, then my inner thigh, slowly inching closer to where I need him the most. He looks up to meet my eyes when he finally reaches for my soaked knickers, letting the lace caress my legs as he tugs them down, sending shivers down my spine. 

The first touch of his lips on my clit is sweet and electrifying, leaving me panting and begging for more. He caresses my folds, coating me in my slick arousal before slipping his tongue inside me, his beard grinding against my delicate skin. 

“You’re better than any dessert, darling,” he says in a low, rumbling tone, his voice vibrating against me. 

Breathless, I somehow manage to laugh. “What a cheesy line—surely you can do better than that.” Richard raises one eyebrow. “Oh, I know that look. It’s the ‘I’m in trouble’ look.” 

“You sure are,” he growls in response, gently nipping the inside of my thigh. “Maybe I will punish you after all.” 

I chuckle, but the sound turns into a desperate moan when he returns to feasting on me. His tongue continues to lazily circle my clit, and I hold onto his hair and move against him, demanding more, even though I know he will not change his tactic. And indeed, he immediately grabs hold of my hips, his strong fingers digging into my hipbones as he pins me to the bed. This is what he wants. He wants to take his time, to tease me mercilessly and make me beg, and it is not a hard game for him to play; he knows exactly how to make me squirm, where to lick, and how to press his tongue to have me on the edge of release in no time. But just as I am on the verge of shattering, he pulls away, leaving me panting and aching with need. 

“Richard!” I whimper in frustration, throwing my head back into the mattress, my body thrumming with arousal. 

He has the nerve to smirk. 

“I just love watching you squirm and hearing you beg,” he says, sending heat rushing through me. I want to hold back in punishment for torturing me so, but my body betrays me as soon as he slips two long fingers inside me, slowly pushing in and out, and my hips helplessly move against him as my mouth falls open. “That’s it. Just like that, sweetheart.” 

He continues to torment me, his fingers curling inside me with precision while his thumb circles my clit with maddening slowness, only to stop once more when I am on the edge of climax. He brings me to the brink and back down like this twice more before he removes his briefs and crawls atop me, allowing me to feel just how much he desires me. By this point, I am so aroused and sensitive that the mere weight of his body sends shivers through me, and when he finally pushes his hips forward, I groan, the sweet friction of his hardness unhurriedly sliding into me nearly too much to handle. I am already so close, and he knows that. He knows it, yet he still will not give me what I want; he will not relinquish control, not even when I wrap my legs around him, inviting him deeper. And as if he has not teased me enough, he stills, letting me adjust to him, waiting until my whole body hums with the need for release, and then he pulls almost all the way out only to slide back in, remaining painfully slow, purposely avoiding any steady rhythm that I could ride to my satisfaction.

I hold onto his broad shoulders, my nails digging into his skin hard enough to leave marks, but I am too far gone to worry about hurting him. Nothing else matters but his powerful thrusts and the rapidly growing tension in my loins. I am barely aware of what I am saying between gasps and moans, devoid of any conscious thought other than not wanting him to stop. I am begging him with my whole body not to stop, to please let me come at last. 

“You’re so desperate, aren’t you?” he groans, raking his teeth along the shell of my ear. 

I whimper, not knowing how much more teasing I can stand. “Richard, please…” 

He smirks. “Please what?” 

“Please, Richard. Please let me come.” 

He quickens his pace ever so slightly, thrusting deeper into me, and for a moment, I think he will finally give me what I want. But just when I need him the most, he slows down and pulls out, and I nearly sob from the frustration. 

I gaze up at him with pleading eyes before he captures my swollen lips in a kiss that is equally rough and soothing, a promise that he intends to give me all the pleasure I seek and more. Then, to my confusion, he rises from the bed. I only understand his intention when he urges me to turn around so that I am on my hands and knees, and I shiver as he spreads my legs open, pushing down on the small of my back to cause my bum to arch. 

The hairs on his thighs brush my skin as he grips my hips firmly, pressing himself against me with a low growl. I cling to the white sheets as his hardness teases my entrance, and then he pushes inside without hesitation, and I cry out from the pure bliss of being stretched around him like this. Pleasure coils tightly in the pit of my stomach as he fills me completely, overwhelming my senses. 

“You’ll be a good girl and come for me this time, alright?” he rasps out as he starts to move, pushing in and out. 

I whine helplessly, nodding my head. My hair is now a tangled mess around my face.  

“Say it.” 

“Yes.” 

He chuckles. “Yes, what?” 

“Yes, I’ll be your good girl, Richard,” I say breathlessly, my voice breaking, and he moans, a low and throaty sound that reverberates through me. 

“That’s right, you’re my good girl.” 

I have no idea how he can still be in control of himself when I feel like I am losing my mind, ready to shatter at any moment. He starts to thrust into me for real now, and I moan his name, surrendering to him and the pummeling force of his body. I find myself moving helplessly along with him, reduced to an animalistic need for release. 

“You’re doing so good, Lorelei. Such a good girl.” 

He pounds into me with renewed urgency, his movements becoming erratic as he chases his own climax. With each pass, he grazes that spot that makes me see stars, and the tension deep within me is almost unbearable, so much so that I cannot even beg anymore. 

But then, finally, the words I have been pleading for caress my ears. 

“Come for me, darling.” 

My body obeys him instantly, and with a strangled cry, I shatter, the heat coiled in my belly exploding into stars. My muscles clench around him as I continue to move against him, riding out each tingling wave of pleasure. Richard soon follows me over the edge, his body shuddering against mine as he spills himself inside me with a guttural groan. 

For a while, there is nothing but the wild thrumming of my heart echoing through me, my body humming with the aftershock of my long-overdue climax. I am barely conscious of Richard pulling away until I feel a damp cloth between my thighs and then a soft kiss on my hip. A few moments later, he takes me into his arms and lays me down at the head of the bed, tucking me in before pressing himself against me.

“You alright?”

“Hm.” 

He chuckles and kisses my forehead. 

“For a moment, I thought I might pass out,” I admit with a soft giggle as I wrap one arm around him, burying my face in his chest. 

“Yeah?” I can hear the pride in his voice, and I raise my head to playfully bite his neck. 

“So how many calories do you think we just burned?” 

His chest rumbles with his laughter. “Probably enough to make up for tonight’s dessert. But maybe not enough to justify the pastries we’ll have for breakfast tomorrow.” 

I laugh, his husky tone leaving me with no doubt as to his meaning. “Oh, no—whatever will we do?” 

Richard grins mischievously and leans in to grace my lips with a tender kiss, one of his hands caressing my back as I hug him tight. We remain in this embrace for a long time, exchanging soft kisses until, eventually, the exhaustion of the day catches up to us, and I snuggle even closer to him, letting the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest lull me to sleep. 

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[attollogame]

Summer Festival Burst Event

Running from July 15-Sept off of patreon (accessible for all tiers), the summer festival will consist of 6 short stories surrounding the Attollo Summer Festival occurring at Lovers Square!

Smash bottles, get lost in a horrible fun house, take a boat out on the ocean (with assistance), and enjoy the fireworks over some snap shots with the core cast.

------

Contrary to belief, Attollo is not always the dreary, destitute location that many perceive it to be, and you discover that when summer officially begins.

The smog that so often hangs above the city soon becomes a means of trapping the heat between the buildings and the concrete roads. You can see the shift in the population, as well; more people spend time indoors with their air conditioning—rendering some parts a ghost town—while others gravitate towards patios and store overhangs to bask in the warmth. 

You're surprised to see that even the sun appears to be combating its way through the clouds in a more proficient manner. 

The thing that really interests you about the shift into summer, however, are the posters that begin popping up around town on various telephone poles and building walls. With a bright, colourful theme, it greatly contrasts the usual aesthetic you find yourself subjected to—which is why you yank one off of the wall as soon as you see it. 

Your eyes narrow in suspicion as you read over what’s advertised. It’s a summer festival—apparently one that comes around every July. You flip the poster over in case there’s anything else advertised, but only a white sheet greets you back. 

Doubt still creeps in your mind as you pull out your phone and skim through the list of contacts you have available. You wanted to do a little status check on this thing, in case it’s Attollo’s version of a lure trap to just get all of the meagre amounts of money you have available. 

Your tongue sticks out a little as you thumb through who’s active. 

DW

Operator

Pariah

Suha

Sysba

Vasilisa

SYSBA EXCERPT

...

When you glance to the side, you spot Sysba lounging on one of the chairs, their feet up on the table and a glass of something red and questionable in their hand. They’re wearing a pair of dark sunglasses and staring intently at the bar across the street. You approach with an amused, albeit slightly confused, look. 

“Did something happen?” You ask as you sit in the chair next to them. Sysba hums and takes a slow sip of their drink before speaking. 

“Did you know they opened their patio after I did?” They finally say, moving their straw around their drink as they keep staring at the bar across the street. “Not only that, but they’re offering the same deals I’m offering my clients, they’ve started a throwback Thursday, and they’re doing renovations like I am.” 

You raise an eyebrow with a smirk. “You know that a lot of clubs and bars do deals and throwback nights, right?” 

At this, Sysba snaps their attention to you, and you can feel their glare even though their glasses conceal it. “They’re copying me, and it’s pissing me off.” 

...

SUHA EXCERPT

“Do you want to do it again?” Suha immediately asks, which has you sending her an incredulous look; or, you would have sent her this look, if your eyes were able to focus on her properly. You feel her hand lightly grab your arm again as she guides you over to a nearby bench and urges you to sit down. She stands in front of you and tilts your head back so that you’re looking up at her.

For a moment, she looks genuinely concerned.

Then she speaks.

“If you plan on vomiting, please do it in the trash bin and not on me. I didn’t pack paper towels.”

...

DREAMWALKER EXCERPT

“Nothing to concern yourself over.” He sighs before shifting in his seat. He reaches down and pulls a ball cap out from under the table, which he then pulls on his head. This is quickly accompanied by a pair of dark sunglasses, and after a moment, you’re looking at someone who is trying to be inconspicuous in the most conspicuous way. 

You stare at him, and he stares back as he crosses his arms over his chest. “What?” 

“You look ready to rob a bank.” You reply with a little grin. Either that, or hack the mainframe. Dreamwalker has a talent at blurring his features when he’s doing his whole ‘terrorize in your dreams’ spiel, but you’re still pretty sure that at least one person will recognize him based on demeanour alone. A scowl like that can only belong to one man. 

...

PARIAH EXCERPT

“My, oh my! Don’t we have ourselves a sharp shooter here?” The worker whistles slowly before stepping back and pointing to the rack above them. “Well, what would you like to claim today, then?”

Pariah looks up at the rack and puts their hands on their hips. After a moment, they point to a cat with large eyes and a permanently shocked expression on its face. The worker pulls one down and hands it to them with a cheery smile.

When Pariah steps down and goes back to where you are, they shove the stuffed cat in your arms. “Here. You two are wearing the exact same expression right now.”

Your expression shifts to a sardonic one as you wave the cat in the air and follow along after them. “Thanks. You really know how to make me swoon.”

“You think I’m trying to make you swoon?” They glance back at you with a cheeky grin. “Please, you look like you’re about to collapse in my arms from the heat alone. You think I need to work for this?"

...

OPERATOR EXCERPT

“God, I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this,” you muse as you squint up to the cavernous ceiling above. It truly is an architectural feat, to craft an entire metropolis below ground. It’s an act that would usually take years to complete, but you figure that the perk of having powered abilities probably got it done a lot faster. Operator pockets his keys and comes to stand beside you.

“You’ll get used to it, trust me,” he sighs. “The more you come and visit, the more it’ll feel like entering any other city—other than the several hazards this area poses. Like stray dogs, for example.”

He gives you a pointed look before turning and beginning to walk down the street. You grimace as you follow behind. Stray dogs… it feels like he has no intention of letting you live that down any time soon.

In fact, you wouldn’t be surprised if he had a recording of your standoff saved on his hard drives downstairs.

...

VASILISA EXCERPT

By some miracle, you actually survive until you hear the familiar put, put, put, of Vasilisa’s car pulling up. You’re pretty sure it’s an import from outside of Attollo, and you’re also pretty sure it was made in the early 90’s. It’s a wagon with manual roll down windows, and yet she looks so happy as she pulls up and tugs down her sunglasses to peer at you.

“Well? How’s your first Attollo summer?”

You send her a look before circling back and getting into the passenger seat. You make sure your seat belt is on real secure before happily accepting the ice cold drink that she offers you. “I think I speak for everyone when I say it’s weather to melt in.”

[korok-system]

Villains Don't Love

Warnings: Mentions to dissociation/derealization and heavy implications of a panic attack/anxiety/mental illness.

Fandom: MHA/BNHA.

Characters: Tomura Shigaraki.

Content: Written in 1st perspective, GN!Reader, SFW, Reader is apart of the LOV, Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Comfort, Confession, Adult Reader, Tomura needs therapy.

Synopsis: Tomura is convinced that he is unworthy of ever experiencing love due to his youth and affiliation with AFO.

A/N: This was a drabble that I wrote a while ago, but I like how it turned out so I hope others enjoy it too. :) This is my first published story so please excuse any imperfections.

I loathe the approach we’ve contrived as a society.

I loathe that we, as a society, are provided a system where it is normalized to openly discriminate towards someone entirely on their quirk or the absence of one- Where children are being raised as a pig to slaughter and it is exclusively at the fault of the idealistic culture of ‘Heroes and Villains’.

The entire structure of this civilization bothers me… Because as I watch Tomura fidget with the deceased hand of his Father, I also watch how that ‘Hero and Villains’ concept brought failure and despair to someone who could have had his innocence conserved and his stability reunited.

 He paused abruptly, all fixation remained with the fragile hand within his possession, his silence just as deafening as it was terrifying.

Shigaraki’s incoherent agitation was left unceasing, every movement calculated and precise so as to avoid inflicting any more damage upon the delicate artifact.

“Would you like some help?” I offered silently, barely at a conversational volume, but enough to fill the void that had been separating us for the last 20 minutes.

The absence of his response could indicate a variety of things, either urging silence or motivating pursuit- And with so much unattended grey area it was difficult to dictate which of the two he desired. So, I rose from his bed with an unsettling feeling of prudence.

His hands, parched and flawed from years of villainous conduct, resumed their tentative ordeal as he examined the most minute details of his Father’s dead hand; concentrating balance with only three fingers- The other two, fore and middle finger, delayed any contact as Tomura raised the hand to his face.

“No, I’m fine.” The tone of his voice was enough to discard the topic to the confines of history, instead recalling another method of conversation to ease the unnerving tension circulating the two of us.

Shigaraki was situated at his desk, chair turned to face his desktop while his meagre body performed a rather gauche structure, hunched in a formation begging to conceal himself from view. I closed the distance with a mere step, and Tomura ceased his movements entirely.

As per usual… Shigaraki was overthinking. His confidence was a narrow road that branched off into even slimer alleyways. As sturdy as that narrow road was, there was always a branch that would fall and force you down one of those alleyways… Meaning, his descent into evergrowing subconscious doubt and anxiety was unavoidable.

“What are you doing?” Surprisingly, he had been the first to establish a conversation.

“Oh- I just…” My voice trailed into an empty silence- Thoughts caught in my mind without a method of expression, overflowing yet shoved underneath a heavy lid to block them within… Inert I stood, my brain crying at the lack of physical response to the situation I knew how to resolve; mouth clutching to the three words craving to be exempted.

 I love you.

“You just…What?” He inquired, patience running thin as he finally turned the chair around to grant him proper access to observation, his red eyes unblinking as they gazed beyond his Father’s fingers with the expectation of a response. 

Behind the hand, however, was a rather disparate version of perspective. One galvanized by a sickening feeling of culpability- He had reacted belatedly, somehow oblivious to what should have been the initial detail of notice. 

Whether clear or not, he hadn’t meant to come across as demeaning or harsh.

To put it simply, to retain someone’s inclining companionship was something of a foreign concept to Tomura; granted… He had shaped relationships with each of the League members, and in doing so had established a familial bond with each of them- But these efforts were left in vain.

Tomura appreciated each of them respectfully… Yet they were unable to provide that pivotal sense in his stomach, the one that churned in angst at the absence of the one thing he desired most in this world.

Deep down… Underneath that searing rage and that psychotic semblance of what remained from Shigaraki’s youth… Was a boy, Tenko Shimura.

And that boy begged for love.

All For One, his Master, would gift Tomura anything he desired in return for obedience and success- Fortune, dominance, power, destruction; it all lay firmly within his grasp whenever he so asked for it.

But despite this, powerful or not, AFO was unable to provide that warmth and tenderness left absent in Tomura’s life… Substituting that tenderness with vile hatred and malice, masking his craving for love with horrendous acts of violence and disregarding every friendly advance with hostility; berating them without a second of consideration. 

Love was a weak sorrow.

And yet all he wanted was to experience that tranquility.

Tomura had fallen into a desolate state of silence, his Father’s hand providing aid with obscuring the growing grimace tugging at his expression, heavily dissociated, eyes strawn to the computer screen though devoid of conscious thought about doing so.

He was in his bedroom, he was aware of that, but as his mind ran marathons it became more difficult to have that hold on reality.

Tomura thought that the warmth he suddenly felt was an incorporation of his imagination, like a sickening reminder of his loneliness and unloveable nature, a torterous choke of-

“Tomura…” A voice was all it took to separate him from his derealization.

That warmth… He was being… Hugged….?

“Tomura,” I recited. 

The mental restraint had left him frail and miserable, almost as though his mind had returned to that unstable mindset of an abused child; fearful and desperate for comfort. His body melted against mine, accepting my hug in a heap of emotion, not returning it physically yet clearly inviting its gesture.

"I'm here Tomura, it's okay."  

And in that instant the world merely ceased to halt… Offering whimsical time for him to truly accept the new affection.

“Y/N…” He fell silent the moment my name fell from his lips, as though in that instant his mind alerted him to panic, searching frantically for how best to continue.

I only smiled, and the air returned to a comfortable tune of silence.

“I love you,” 

And his eyes closed. 

The leader of the League Of Villains succumbed to a restful sleep in my arms. Finally at ease.

“I love you too, Tomura."

[bangtaninborderland]

RISK IT ALL (26) - Old Friends

Genre: Chishiya x f!reader | eventual smut | angst

Warning: none for this chapter, there is mentions of stitches and wounds though!

A/n: I uploaded this on wattpad first, if you see this there then great but if not then enjoy!

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Sleep hadn't been something you could grasp much of over the course of the night, every time you rolled over you woke up, worried about hurting Chishiya.

Chishiya had groggily asked if you were in pain but you simply brushed his worries off, silently laughing at the man who once claimed to dislike you in every way possible worrying about a meagre bullet graze.

You spent most of the day alone, Chishiya only rousing as the sky became a dusky gold. "You didn't wake me."

"I figured you needed rest." You mumbled, spooning canned fruit into two separate bowls. "You should be in bed."

He hobbled slowly over to the chair, sitting down with a groan. "It's fine, exercise helps."

"You'll rip your stitches open." You argued back, sliding the bowl across the table along with a spoon.

"Here I thought I was the doctor." He attempted a laugh foregoing it when it sounded more like a cry of pain. "I will go back to bed after this."

"Thank you." You hid your smile behind your spoon. "Did yo-

The door knocking cut you off, your eyes widening. "Who?"

"I don't know." He whispered. "The window, check out the window, stay low." He instructed.

Wordlessly you slipped from the chair, crouching low as you peeled back the curtain just a fraction, your body going ecstatic with joy at the sight of the people outside the door. "Oh my god."

You ignored Chishiya's questions of "who" and "what" as you tumbled over yourself in a rush to open the door.

"Fuck I'm so glad to see you." You were pulling Kuina and An into your arms ignoring the slight shooting pain the action sent tingling down your arm. "How are you here right now?"

"Someone got a message to us that Chishiya had been hurt, didn't take us long to find the place after it happened." An examplained. "Where is he?"

"Through here." You guided them through the house, Chishiya making a sound of surprise at the sight of them both.

"Why are you here?" He scowled, pushing away his empty bowl.

"Oh, my dearest friend how I missed you." Kuina laughed, relaxing into the empty seat. "You got hurt."

"Attacked but I'm fine." He rolled his eyes, making to stand only to collapse back in his chair with a groan. "Fuck."

"Let me have a look." An offered. "You know I know how to deal with injuries."

"I'm fine YN stitched me up."

"Thought you said I wasn't a doctor." You interrupted, the fight from Chishiya fading as he noticed the serious look in your eye. "Just please let her look."

"Fine only if it gets you to shut up about it." He spits, you try not to feel sad at the way he returns to being spiteful as soon as there are others around you but you can't help it, a subtle frown fitting over your face.

You sit at the table as An and Chishiya disappear towards the bedroom, Kuina waiting until they are both out of sight to talk to you. "How are you? Has he been treating you okay?"

"He's been fine, I don't know why he's acting like this now. We've been through a lot, when the shooting happened my arm got hurt, just a bullet graze." You added at the newfound worry in her look. "But he took care of me, he was kind, we spoke, grew closer."

"So you're okay?" She asks again, just for good measure.

You muster a smile. "I'm okay. What about you?"

"It's been..." she huffs, biting her lips to hide a smile. "Fine."

"Oh come on." You laugh. "Spill."

"When the shooting broke out me and An ran together, and ended up hauled in a caravan hidden in the forest, we kept moving but when we heard the gunshots getting further away we made a break for it here, we weren't followed. We see Arisu and Usagi, he wasn't doing too well." She rubs a hand up and down her arm, and you notice the holes in her clothes, probably from all the running.

"Was he hurt?" You asked, slightly relieved as she shook her head. "Emotionally not great, I think some of us handle it all better than others."

"I hope I get to see him again, he was kind to me." You hated the beach but you were grateful for those it brought to you, the idea of going back to the regular world without them made your heart ache in ways it shouldn't. "Have you been managing to eat?"

"Not much, it's not been safe to go out. The caravan had a weird stockpile of outdated coffee and that managed to hold us down for a while." You felt bad at the luxury you'd had, food, heat and water had all been things most people in the borderlands would have killed for but the thought that you were sleeping in a bed whilst your friends were scavenging to make do with whatever provisions they could find left a bubble of guilt in your stomach.

"We have everything you could need here, feel free to stay. There's water and food, are you hungry?" She nods. "I'll make you something to eat you can go and wash up, it's just out the back, past the small couch there's a door just there." You explain with a smile, already moving to make both her and An something substantial to eat.

"Hey?" She calls out softly from her space in the doorway. "I'm happy you're alive."

"Me too, me fucking too." You smile, letting yourself be pulled into another hug before she slips away to freshen up. "Now the food." You mumble to yourself.

You didn't have much-canned meat left, another week's worth with Kuina and An here, stocking up on spam had been the smartest thing Chishiya had done. You pulled out two tins, heating them on the small stove along with some canned black beans and a tin of soup, it wasn't a meal you'd be proud to serve but that's something you promised to rectify once you figured this world out.

"Something smells good." An whispers from behind you, and you jump dropping the wooden spoon on the floor. "Sorry." She laughed, bending over to pick it up. "Where should I put it?"

"It's okay, just in the bowl there." You point to the small red bucket you'd been washing dishes in, pulling out another. "How is Chishiya?"

"You did well with the stitches considering it's regular thread and needle, it will heal okay. The only issue is that the skin may heal over the stitches, realistically we need some dissolving stitches but he won't die." She explains, wiping her hands. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"No, sit please, you've been through enough the past few days just rest and I'll take care of it all." You wave her off. "How are you?"

"Doing fine, Kuina explained everything I guessed." An asked, fingers fiddling with the corner of the placemat.

"Yeah, she did." You mumble, still not happy with the conditions they were in. "I'm so-

"I didn't intend to kiss her it just happened." An rushes to explain, lips in a small pout.

Your body froze, Kuina had definitely missed out on that detail. "You what?" You spun on your heel, nearly knocking the pan over.

An looks at you, expression confused. "Kissed he- did she not tell you?"

You shook your head. "She did not."

"Are you upset?" It takes you a second to realise why she's asking, why she thinks you'd be upset.

"You think I'd be upset because you're both girls?" You almost laugh at the absurdity. "Of course not."

"Really?" Kuina asks from the doorway. "I was afraid to tell you."

"No I'm just happy you finally figured it out." They hadn't exactly been the most discreet about their feelings for each other, even if they were both oblivious to the other's feelings. "Let me finish cooking and then I want to know everything."

"Did you shower?" You hear An ask, and from the corner of your eye you see her taking a strand of Kuina's hair between her fingers. "is it okay if I have one?"

It takes you a second to realise she's asking you before you nod in response. "Of course, anything you find here is yours as much as it is ours."

"Talking of ours." Kuina clears her throat, lazing her body over the small counter. "Wanna catch me up on whatever's going on between you two?”

You laugh at the implication of her tone. "Absolutely not."

"Oh come on I'm already depressed here give me something to be excited about." She groans, throwing her head back playfully.

"Fine fine." You huff, moving the food into the set of small bowls you'd left on the side earlier. "Let's talk whilst we eat, let me just see if Chishiya wants anything."

"Such a great housewife." Kuina giggles.

You glare at her before rolling your eyes. "I will put you outside. An here is your food." You smile, passing her the bowl. "Kuina yours is up there." You gesture to the counter.

"Rude." She huffs, you bite back a laugh as you trot your way to the bedroom.

It's weird to see the door to the small room closed, you knock just in case, waiting until he calls you to come in before entering. "Hey."

"Having fun?" He asks, voice raspy. You felt guilty for disturbing him when he was so clearly tired but food would help him recover.

"Yeah." You perch on the end of the bed. "Do you want to eat something?"

"No I'm still full from earlier, go and spend time with them." He groans, a hand to his wound.

You hated seeing him in pain, truth be told you hated seeing anyone in pain but this sucked a little more so. "Is there anything I can do to make you feel comfortable, to ease the pain?"

"I need painkillers." He mumbles, eyes glassy as he looks at you. "Can you get them?"

"Yeah, yeah of course." You were quick to pop out three pills, one extra wouldn't hurt. Uncapping the water to save him the unnecessary strain before handing them both to him. "Here."

He grumbled his appreciation, taking them swiftly. "You should go be with them."

"I will I just wanted to check on you." You huffed. "You've got to let me worry sometimes."

"I'll be fine you don't need to worry." He reassures, pulling the blanket up more. "How long are they staying."

"As long as they want to." You respond, slightly worried he would send them away. "Why?"

He shrugged. "I won't be responsible for them too."

"You know it's funny you say that like An didn't come in here to make sure you weren't dying. You can't survive here alone Chishiya." You argue back, tired of rehashing the same conversation every few days.

"I didn't ask her to come and help." He retorted, his face calm as he closed his eyes and rested against the headboard. "Didn't ask them to come and eat my food, use my water or risk outing our location."

"Oh get over yourself!" You shout, furious that he would be so callous to those you considered friends. "If you didn't want them here they wouldn't be here, how did they find out where we were hm? I'm the only person who knew you were hurt apart from you and I didn't tell them. Whether you admit it or not you like them, and care about them. Maybe not An as much but definitely Kuina. The only person you hurt acting like a stupid angsty loner teenager is yourself."

He cracks an eye open, face smug. "Stupid angst loner teenager?"

"Shut up." You huff, your cheeks blushing red. "I hate you."

"No, you hate that I don't act the way you want me to. I don't know how they figured out we were here, I didn't ask them to come but I won't send them away." You had learned to read his expressions enough to know when he was close to smiling, the light tension in his lips betrayed him, you were sure the second you walked out the door he would break into a grin. "Go and spend time with them, I'll rest and join you later."

"Okay." You agree, pinning the non-argument argument for now. "Sleep well, call me if you need anything."

"Perfect housewife." He teased, you only had Kuina to blame.

"Go to sleep so I can smother you with a pillow." You pout, pulling the door closed slowly.

"I sleep with one eye open." He shouts back before you pull it closed, the tiniest slither of space allowing you to watch him, sure enough, he lays with a smile on his face as he closes his eyes.

"Creep." Kuina is whispered behind you, making you jump. You weren't entirely used to being around anyone other than Chishiya.

You silently pointed to the kitchen, not wanting Chishiya to hear you.

You both break out into a giggle when you get away from the bedroom, An eyeing you both questionably as you explain what happened. "So, there is something between you two?

You contemplate saying anything, Chishiya would complain to Earth's end if everyone knew how soft he was but you couldn't exactly help yourself, it's not like you had an abundance of people to talk to lately.

"Let's sit so you can finish eating and I'll explain." You give in, Kuina moving to take the seat beside An with you opposite them. After a few minutes, you begin explaining.

"He has grown to be really caring, he takes care of me and although it is in his own way I think he genuinely cares. We've done...stuff. I'm kind of scared for whatever happens when we are out of here, if we get out of here. I don't think I'd be okay if he died." You don't let yourself think too hard on that last thought, the mere idea was enough to have your stomach churning.

"To be honest I didn't think he could care about someone other than himself." An replied honestly. "Tsundere doesn't begin to explain him."

Kuina shoves An lightly with her elbow. "What she means to say is that I think you've softened him a little bit. I'm pretty sure he would still shove me to my death before he let you die."

"Don't say that!" You scold, not denying its truth. "I'd kill him."

"You wouldn't." An observes with a smile. "I think you love him."

Your eyes widen at the accusation. "You literally kissed each other."

"I bet you've done way more." Kuina teases, wiggling her eyebrows.

"Okay enough, we are not discussing that." You laugh. "Did you manage to find anything else out about the card games? Chishiya hiked to see if he could see anything but all he found were blimps. I think he wants to join the next diamond game."

"Do you have enough days on your visa?" Kuina asks, smile falling just a little only to widen when you nod. "Good, I think these are the last games but the rules are different, I don't think there are really rules."

You frown, wrapping your arms around your frame. "That's what I'm afraid of."

"But I heard another game was going to start in a few days." An looks up through her lashes.

You swallow, fingers crossed under the table that it wasn't the game of diamonds. "What one?"

"The Jack of Hearts."

You breathe a sigh of relief. "Oh."

"And some guy was predicting we will have the King of diamonds."

Oh.

[vera-king-hrfl]

Second part of the thing I did. This one is more porny. Soft dom Zev, Rolan on his knees... 🏳️‍🌈

As you weave your way through the darkness, heading toward the river, you reflect on everything that has happened since the fall of Elturel. That city had been restored, but your people had been blamed, and you were no longer welcome. It made little difference to you. You’d rarely felt welcome anywhere until Cal and Lia decided that you would be their brother, and share in their love. But Zevlor, also, had always been there. He had broken his Paladin oath to keep you all safe, to protect you. Abandoning his city, his post, his duty and his gods, choosing to lead a pack of feeble refugees into the wilderness to find a new home for you all. You owed him everything, more than any of you could ever repay. But he asks for nothing in return. His life has been nothing but pain since then. You want to give him what he’d given you. A feeling of belonging. Of comfort. Your body and your feeble skills are a meagre offering, but you will give gladly, if he will only accept. The kiss, earlier, burns in your mind. The heat and power of him, the staggering effect he has on you. You have never wanted another person this badly, and the longing to give him pleasure spurs you onward despite your nervousness. You will not measure up. You can’t. But by all the gods above and below, you will try.

He is there. You see him in the distance by the soft gleam of moonlight on his horns, the pale streak of the white shirt he wears. He is out of armor for the first time in weeks, standing at the water’s edge, his back to you. His head is bowed, hands curled at his sides, shoulders seeming tense. You call his name when you draw closer, but he’s already turning, sensing your approach. Sneaking up on Zevlor would be no easier then besting him in combat. The nobles of Elturel has driven out their greatest treasure, their most devoted servant, to slog along a dirty dangerous road, caring for people who did not deserve his loyalty. People like you. You feel shame again at how you had treated the dignified older man, but you’re here to make that better, if you can.

He smooths his shirt when you draw near, touching his hair, his horns, looking quite nervous. Your own heart is beating like a trip hammer, and you think you know how he feels. “You came,” is all he says before turning again to study the reflection of the moon on the dark water.

You smile as you reach him, taking his hand and standing next to him, remaining silent, enjoying his closeness. The moment stretches, and you feel more comfortable the longer he presses your hand. “I couldn’t stay away,” you whisper finally. “Do you want to talk about this? I don’t really need to, but if you’re apprehensive…”

He glances at you and sighs. “I must admit… yes, I am. This… these feelings. I never imagined that I would allow anyone to affect me like this again. I thought all that behind me. My purpose…”

“Yes, I think I see. Zevlor, I want this. I want to spend the night with you. But I won’t push you if you’re not ready. I thought it might make you feel… but I have to tell you, I have little experience. Some, but rather outdated. There have been other more pressing concerns than… that.”

He looks at you again and this time he holds your eyes. “For me as well. Perhaps at one time…” He chuckles softly, “But I know how to please a man. I can still make this good for you. I may be a bit rusty, but if you will only tell me what you enjoy, I will do anything you want. But let me lead. Please. I am more comfortable...”

You grin at him, lowering your head. “You like to be in charge. I have no problem with that. And I have a feeling I will enjoy anything you do to me. Put me on my knees. Let me call you Commander. I know I act like I have everything handled, but usually I’m just fumbling for purchase, for my place in the world. For tonight, you can control my body.”

He looks rather startled for a moment. Understandable, given your previous aggression, but then he smiles, “Then I will do my best to liberate you. Come, there is a place nearby.” He turns then and leads you away from the shimmering river into a deeper darkness beneath a copse of trees. There seems to be the unspoken agreement between you that this remain secret, but you don’t mind that. He has placed a bedroll there, and he stops, turning to catch you by the back of the neck and drawing you to him. His mouth covers yours and now he is not hesitant, but confident, the kiss almost fierce, so great is his need. You moan, melting in his strong grasp, releasing your tension and putting yourself completely in his hands. His tongue plunges between your lips, his other arm curling around you and pulling you against him hard. You feel your cock start to stiffen immediately. The shy, reserved man is gone. This is the Hellrider, the Zevlor you once knew and secretly fantasized about, the one you’d heard the older folks mention in hushed tones as a miracle worker in the bedroom as well as on the battlefield. His kiss is hot, hungry, and he pulls the tie from your hair and grips a handful, pulling your head back so he can kiss and lick your neck. Every shred of hard-won poise deserts you then, and you whimper, clutching at him, pushing your pelvis forward, wanting to feel every inch of his solid, muscular body. You feel his sharp teeth nick your skin. “May I?” You nod, begging for his bite, and he sinks the fangs deep, drawing blood and a sharp cry from you. He holds you while you twitch, licking at the wound, then lifts his head and reclaims your mouth, coiling his long tongue around yours. He is not much bigger than you, but harder, stronger, with more infernal blood, and his tongue is deeply forked while yours is only lightly indented. You feel the power of that heritage when he pulls your head back again and grins. “Take off your clothes.”

He releases you and you step back, hastening to shrug out of your robe and underthings, and you shiver with delight when he looks you up and down with seeming approval. He pulls his own shirt off and your breath catches. It is dark, but your night vision is good, and you let your eyes trace every ripple of muscle, every ridge, every deep slashing scar on his beautiful torso. The Commander is modest around others, and you’d never seen him shirtless before. You start to approach, wanting to touch him, but he holds up his hand and you halt, trembling.

“On your knees.” You hit the ground almost before you can think, the weight of his command overwhelming, desiring nothing more than to obey, to please him. “Do you want to taste me?”

“Yes, Commander. Yes, please. I’ve dreamed of this.” His authority sets you on fire and you reach around behind him to release the clasp of his pants and drag them down his heavy thighs. His scent hits your nose when his hard shaft springs free, clean and fresh, but with a hint of something more. Dark, spice, animal. You groan when he tangles his fingers in your hair and allows you to lavish the length and crown of him with your tongue, kissing, licking, needing his taste. You had never particularly enjoyed this in the past, hadn’t been very good at it, but tonight your own cock twitches in sympathy when he eases into your mouth. You grip his hips, opening, letting him sink deeper until he’s lodged in your throat. He’s quite large, but you have a wide mouth and you are able to take him with only a little strain. Despite his show of dominance, he is still being careful, not pushing you too hard, and his deep groan is beautiful to your ears. The idea that you are drawing such a sound from him winds the tension in your groin near to the breaking point.

He seems to notice your crisis and growls, “you can touch yourself while you suck me if you want.” But you don’t release his hips, instead simply letting him pull your head back and then hold you still, pumping into your throat again and again, slowly, dragging the ridges of his length against your tongue, making your eyes water. You don’t need to touch yourself. You are already close enough, and when he loses himself a little and shoves deeper with a growl, you gasp through your nose and release onto the ground, shuddering and moaning. He continues for a few more seconds before pulling you off of him and looking down at you, stroking your hair. “Did… Rolan, did you come just from that?”

You close your eyes, licking your lips to savor his taste. “Yes I did. You… it’s so good. Wanted this so badly.” It is liberating, to allow him control, to know that he is going to use you, without you having to think, having to perform.

He chuckles. “Good boy.” You smile at the praise, feeling warm and content. “My, you are enjoying this. Who would have thought… do you want to continue?”

“Fuck yes. I want to make you feel good. Want to make you come. Use me, Commander, please.”

He growls again and grabs both of your horns, pulling you back down his cock, and starts to fuck your mouth more vigorously, challenging you to keep your breathing controlled and your teeth away from his skin.

“Oh gods, yes… fuck, Rolan. So good… you’re doing so well… suck a little harder… oh fuck yes yes just like that… close, going to come down your throat. That’s it, you can take it. Just a little more.” His words are magical, his moans and whimpers delectable, his smell and taste and the feel of him yanking on your horns making you hard again, wanting him to spill into your mouth, wanting his pleasure, needing it. You feel his cock swell, twitching, and then he cries out, forcing your face to his belly and filling your throat with hot spurts of his seed. You choke a little but control yourself, managing to swallow every drop. He gasps and snatches his hands away, but you rise slowly, drawing his climax out until he’s shaking and whimpering, fisting his hands at his sides. You finally release him with a sharp pop and grin, looking up. He pants, eyes blazing, and then groans and stumbles to the bedroll, dropping down on it and lying on his back. You follow, stretching out beside him and caressing his chest.

Eventually he turns a bit and kisses you, pressing his forehead to yours with his eyes closed. “That was incredible,” he whispers, “I haven’t felt anything like that in more than a decade. I still have no idea why you’re here, but I am glad I did not lose my nerve. It was a near thing, you know. I was going to send you away and come over here, get myself off, and go to sleep. But you were so sweet, holding my hand. So pretty…”

You snort, “that doesn’t sound like much fun. I’m happy that my own courage didn’t fail me. And I’m glad you enjoyed it. I wanted to be able to do this for you. To make you feel good. At first, I really just wanted you to fuck me, but this was so good that I am certainly not disappointed. We can do that another night if we get the chance.”

His eyes open then, and he raises his brows, “Oh, sweet boy. You think I’m finished?” He laughs and sits up, reaching for a bottle of water and taking a long drink before handing it to you. He bites his lip, grinning and looking you over as you sip. “I may be getting up in years, but I think I can outlast a cranky little wizard. I would still like your pretty ass, if you think you can take it.” His smile grows darker. “I’m not sure you can.”

You hear the challenge in his voice and growl. “Yeah, yeah, I know. My jaw is already aching a bit and I probably won’t be able to walk properly afterward, but that’s what I’m here for. I’ve been so fucking stressed… I think if you pound me until I can’t see straight it might improve my mood. At least for a little while.” You think it also might serve as a personal penance for how you behaved toward him earlier, but you don’t mention that.

He chuckles and shakes his head, “you make a convincing case. We’ll have to get you ready first. I’ve been told I can be a little… intense… when I’m doing that. And I know I’m a bit bigger than average, but if we start slowly, I will be more than happy to fuck the attitude out of you.”

[starry-eyesanddaydreams]

December 24: Christmas Party

Colonel Brandon x Reader

Last entry for @deepperplexity 's Rickmas2023!!! The second part of "Snow Prints". Not my best but I wanted to get this finished before new years, lol. I hope everyone had a wonderful Christmas and that the New Year brings you wonderful things.

It was the night of the Christmas party Christopher was hosting. You watched Delaford house from the carriage window. The beautiful house was brightly lit and the warm glow from the windows cast across the surrounding snow, making it look like a chandelier in the night. You were wearing the finest dress you owned, wine red with gold embroidery. You had a very special reason to be excited for tonight and to want to look your best. A few days ago, Colonel Christopher Brandon had come to your house and asked permission to court you. Your aunt and uncle had happily granted their consent and you’d felt like you were walking on clouds ever since. Christopher met you as the carriage with you and your aunt and uncle arrived at door. By the look on his face when he helped you down from the carriage, the lengths you had gone to in your appearance were appreciated and you felt your cheeks heat in a blush under his gaze.

It was a wonderful party. The house was beautifully decorated with garlands and candles, music and chatter filled the air and everyone was in a jovial, festive mood, fuelled by fine food and Christmas punch. As the night went on, he spent as much time as he could by your side. As much as his duties as host would allow him. Young Margaret Dashwood had secured a dance with Christopher at one point and the sight of him dancing happily with the child endeared him to you even more. Since your first meeting where he had rescued you from your long walk through the snow, you had seen each other many times and written often. You knew you were easily and quickly falling in love with him. And while exchanged letters and time spent in the company of your family warmed your heart, you also longed to be close to him again. The feeling of being held close to him as you’d ridden double across the fields that day had stayed with you and you needed to feel that closeness again.

You had danced together several times tonight, happily becoming lost in the music. After a while, when you said you could use a rest from dancing and the crowded room, Christopher offered to show you some more of the house. You walked together and ended up in a picture gallery, lined with beautiful paintings. “Are you enjoying the party?” He asked. “Very much. It’s a wonderful evening. I’ve enjoyed dancing with you.” “I’m glad. You dance beautifully. But I’m afraid most of the popular dances are a bit fast for my meagre skill.” “I think you’re a very fine dancer. You have travelled a great deal, do you know of other dances.” “Well, these is one I like, called the waltz, but I fear it may cause a scandal when it reaches England.” You were intrigued now, “What would make this waltz so scandalous? Please, tell me.” Christopher took your right hand in his, the warmth of it soaking through your glove as his large hand wrapped around yours. “It’s danced between two people, and you must hold each other quite close.” “Show me.” You almost whispered. Christopher took a breath before answering, “You place your left hand on my shoulder”. You did as he said and almost gasped as his right hand settled on your waist and pulled you closer.

Your face was mere inches from his. Your softness under his hands was entrancing and Christopher wanted nothing more in that moment than to abandon all propriety, to wrap you up in his arms and kiss you. You felt yourself leaning closer towards him, drawn to him as if by an invisible spring. Softly, sweetly, your lips met his arms wrapped firmly around your waist as you clung to his shoulders. It was an intoxicating mix, the feeling of warmth and safety you felt in his embrace mixed with the dizzying thrill of his kiss.

A burst of chatter from the nearby doorway startled you both away from each other. Christopher’s expression was hard to read, “I’m…”he stumbled over his words, “I’m so sorry. Please…forgive my transgression.” “There’s nothing to forgive.” You said softly, “I was hoping you would kiss me. I’ve wanted to be held by you again since the day we met. Is that to forward of me?” Suddenly feeling vulnerable at your confession. Christopher took both your hands in his, “No. You are wonderous.” He wanted to kiss you again, but he couldn’t risk your reputation. Thinking clearly now, anyone could have walked passed and seen your passionate embrace. “We should so back before we’re missed.” He said. You nodded, still a bit breathless. And he linked his arm with yours and you headed back to the party, where you found some of the guests had started a game of Snapdragon. As you and Christoper watched the game, amused at the players antics, you thought to yourself how you didn’t need any game of Snapdragon to tell you that you would marry your true love soon. _____________________________________________________

Hope everyone who reads this enjoys it. (Snapdragon was an old party game where you'd light a bowl of brandy-soaked raisins on fire and try to grab them out of the bowl. The one who gets the most was said to marry their true love within a year) Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!!!!!

[karatekels]

TIGmas Day #7 – Yule-Tied

Happy New Year everybody! Hope you had a restful and/or exciting (your preference :P) break that’s got you feeling happy and ready to go in 2024.

Today’s TIGmas story gets me well on my way to one of my New Year’s Resolutions: writing more TIG characters! @mrgriffiths has requested a Terry McCain fic, and I’m looking forward to seeing how I do. Thanks for all the pretty pictures and edits of TIG that you do, @mrgriffiths, and I hope you enjoy!

(also special thanks to @argum3ntativ3dr3amgirl for helping me come up with the title after I had been struggling with it for an eternity – I love a good pun!)

Summary: You manage to get Terry to swear off work for a whole week to come with you to visit your family in New York City for the holidays. He has (unsurprisingly) charmed his way into everyone’s good books, so you decide to reward him with an early Christmas present when you get back to your hotel room the night before Christmas Eve…

TW: bondage, teasing, dirty talk, oral sex, graphic sex

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Yule-Tied

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Terry’s POV:

His fingers glide across the keys with practiced ease, and he smiles at the loud cacophony of singers – in varying stages of drunkenness – he’s heard a lot worse at Deja Vu before. He’s partially surprised that he still remembers the Christmas carols; he doesn’t think he’s played them since grade school. The instrument was there to greet him the first time you led him into your parents’ house a few days ago – his eyes seeming to seek it out like an old friend – and immediately gave him a sense of comfort; a sense of being home.

The two of you were spending the week leading up to Christmas in New York City so that you could introduce Terry to your family for the first time; you’d been together for almost a year at this point, and had decided you were serious enough to take this next step. You had greatly understated your family’s wealth, the three level brownstone in Nassau County, and Terry spent the first few days feeling incredibly out of place, sticking out like a tall, blue-collar sore thumb. It had made him a bit embarrassed about his own tiny Chicago apartment over the jazz club. He can’t provide you with a life like you were used to on his meagre salary…

But gradually, your family had welcomed him into the fold, once your father had gotten the stern, not-quite-threatening “don’t hurt my daughter” talk out of the way that first night. Ever since, his self-professed charms had been at work – he wasn’t afraid to lay it on a little thick to please the people who would hopefully one day be his future in-laws, his new family.

And it had worked.

Your mother dotes on him constantly, offering him seconds and thirds, he’d bonded with your father over football and whiskey, and he’d overheard your female relatives – from great-aunts to young nieces – all giggling as they gossiped about his dimples. Even your little nephew was crazy about him, thinking that he was nothing short of a superhero because of his job as a police officer.

His charms had also been at work on you, it would seem. He’d caught you staring at him more than once over the past few days, reading to the younger children or helping his mother in the kitchen – he’s been on his very best behaviour, after all. In some ways it was a good thing that the two of you were staying in a hotel (your parents too traditional to allow you to share a bed under their roof before you were married), as you were desperate to get your hands on him every night this week.

He doesn’t have much family of his own these days, but if being on good terms with yours earns him treatment like this then he’s all for it.

He catches you doing it again now, halfway through leading your family through an ironically raucous rendition of ‘Silent Night’. Flushed cheeks, bright eyes and part of your lower lip in your mouth as you try to bite back a smile over the rim of your rum and eggnog… he loves the way that you look when you want him.

The moment the song is over, he hears you let out an exaggerated yawn and bites the inside of his cheek to keep from cracking a smile. You were so predictable and a terrible actress, but he finds it endearing. You were his source of comfort.

“Well, I think we’d better head out for the night; it’ll take awhile to get back into the city,” you announce, clearly trying not to sound too excited at the prospect. Your family moans in protest all around you, but you’ve already given everyone the slip, presumably to go and call for a cab.

“Oh, but can’t we just keep you both?” your mom asks, wrapping her arms around him from behind and laying a sloppy kiss on his cheek that has him blushing in embarrassment.

“I promise I’ll have her back here bright and early tomorrow, Mrs. L/N,” he reassures the woman, gently freeing himself from her grip as he rises from the piano bench.

He says his goodbyes, and you join him partway through once the taxi is on its way, and before long the two of you have bundled up and made it out of the house and into the snowy night. You’re quiet and maintaining a few feet of distance between the two of you. He presumes it’s in case anyone from your family is peeping through the curtains, but even after you get in the cab you’re keeping your hands to yourself, staring pensively out the window. What was going on with you?

He resolves to investigate further once he gets you into your hotel room.

Little does he know that you’ll be doing an investigation of your own.

Reader’s POV:

You can tell that Terry is getting suspicious of you, but you’re trying to keep him from dragging the truth out of you. But you need to get him out of the room for a little bit to accomplish what you had planned. You know that Terry thinks you’re so predictable, and you really want to prove him wrong, and that you know him just as well as he knows you… while giving him a show in the process. Maybe you could send him down the hall for some ice?

“I think I’m going to take a quick shower before bed,” Terry says, coming up behind you and wrapping his arms low around your hips. “Would you like to join me?” he purrs in your ear. Perhaps you’d been a bit too sexual in showing your appreciation for him this week, if he’s come to expect it the minute you two get some privacy. You can’t say you mind it, with the exception of it interfering with your plans right now.

“I’m pretty tired, honey. I think I’ll just wait for you in bed…” you trail off, turning in his arms to give him a (relatively) chaste kiss before wriggling out of his grip, shooing him towards the bathroom.

The minute he closes the door, you spring into action, moving over to his suitcase and digging around. He had promised that this week would be just the two of you, no work, but you know him better than that by now. Sure enough, tucked into a pair of his socks is his badge and a pair of handcuffs. Giggling to yourself you take the restraints and close Terry’s suitcase again, hoping it still looks undisturbed.

Hopping onto the bed, you crawl to the headboard and thread the cuffs around one of the iron bars before concealing them with a pillow. You know that Terry will need to consent to the cuffs before you put them on – if he’s paranoid or stressed for any reason he won’t tolerate being incapacitated in such a way – but that doesn’t mean you can’t make them a bit of a surprise.

Returning to your own suitcase, you dig through your clothes, looking for the new lingerie that you bought for this trip. Hearing the shower turn off, you quickly change into it and throw your robe on overtop just in time.

Terry comes out, his long dark curls wet and dripping down his bare chest. He makes a beeline for you, but you barely notice, too fixated on how he’s only wearing a towel around his waist. As soon as you’re within his reach he pulls you into his arms, kissing you deeply. He’s already hard beneath the towel, his erection pressing insistently against your belly.

“You certainly aren’t dressed like you’re ready to sleep,” he murmurs against your lips, running his hands up and down your sides. His hands move to the tie on your robe, and you immediately put your hands over his, stopping him.

“Not just yet, Mister!” you exclaim with a giggle, shyly pushing him towards the bed. He follows your lead, sitting at the foot of the bed, pulling you close to stand between his legs.

“Not yet, huh?” he asks, giving you a playful pout. “What are we waiting for?”

You take a step back, suddenly shy, toying with the hem of your robe. Terry always took the lead when you were together, and switching roles has you nervous but excited, especially at the thought of how he’ll respond.

“Well, you’ve been so wonderful this week, Terry, and I’m so grateful. So I was thinking about giving you an early Christmas present…”

His nostrils flare at the implication, his eyes gleaming with interest. You can tell that he’s trying to guess what your gift is – he can’t help but investigate anything and everything.

“What did you have in mind, sweetheart?” he asks in a low, husky voice as he keeps his eyes locked with yours. Not wanting to lose your nerve, you decide that it would be better to show, not tell.

Closing the distance between you, you kiss him passionately, pleased by the groan he lets out into your mouth. You move your hands to his shoulders and press against them, guiding him to move towards the headboard, and as he obeys your wishes you keep your lips locked with his, following him until his back hits the headboard. You straddle his hips, making out with him until he’s trying to hold you down and grind himself against you. You stop toying with his damp curls, sliding your fingers down his strong arms and taking one of his hands in your own, lifting it up to kiss it sweetly. He gives you a soft smile, seeming almost hypnotized, and allows you to move it to the mattress and where the cuffs are hidden.

Not breaking eye contact, you pick up one of the cuffs and run it along his skin until he recognizes them by feel. Once he does you see his eyes widen in surprise before he gives you a coy smile, his dimples on full display.

“Now, where did a good girl like you get those?” he asks, and you fight the urge to blush. Part of the game was you being in control, after all.

“I stole them from your suitcase,” you tell him bluntly, giving him a cheeky smile that he returns with a chuckle.

“Little thief. I should take you in for something like that.”

“Let me put these on you and I’m more than happen to do the time afterwards, Officer.”

His tongue darts out to lick his lips, and he gives you a sly grin as permission to move forward with your little scheme, and you cuff him securely to the bed. You slowly slide off of him, taking his towel with you and leaving him bound and naked.

Biting your lip, you move to the room’s stereo system and put on some sultry music, feeling a little self-conscious. You hear Terry let out a dark chuckle from behind you and it helps you relax a bit. You didn’t need to be nervous around Terry; he wanted you just the way you were.

You toy with the tie on your robe for a moment, watching his eyes hone in on the movement, like he was trying to will your fingers to move. You slowly untie the knot at your waist and slip the robe off your shoulders, gradually revealing a dark red lace and silk nightgown that is form-fitting around your breasts and flows loosely to the tops of your thighs.

You watch Terry roll his shoulders, muscles bulging as he tests the strength of the cuffs and the bed frame; his whole body is leaning towards you like he’s being pulled to you by a magnetic force.

“Now, does this mean I’ve been naughty or nice this Christmas?” he asks, his eyes roaming your body hungrily.

You turn, swaying to the music as you do so. You barely need to bend forward for the bottom of the lingerie to ride up, revealing your butt clad in a matching red thong. “You tell me, Terry” you say coyly, looking at him over your shoulder. A low growl emanates from his chest and you feel a heady sense of power wash over you as you start to grasp just how much he wants you right now.

You slowly walk up to the foot of the bed, your rolling your hips exaggeratedly and look up his body at him. His entire body is tense with desire, and you can tell that he’s fighting the instinct to break free and just take you.

“Sweetheart, my present better not be looking and not touching, because you’ve got me crazy for you right now.”

Terry’s POV:

When Terry first started seeing you, people asked him why he had gone from dating a beautiful supermodel to a pretty but unremarkable ‘girl-next-door’ type. The answer was simple:

Anna was a model; You were a woman.

You were expressive, and passionate, and he knew that everything you did, every sound you made for him when you were together was organic and real and a result of what he did to you.

After your first kiss, he had never wanted a woman more than he wanted you; he was completely under your spell.

You straddle him in your sexy little nightie, purposefully not touching him, though the silk of your lingerie brushes up against his abs as you lean over to give him a scorching kiss. He rolls his hips, trying to grind up against you, but you move out of reach with a mocking pout.

“I’ll make you a deal, Terry,” you purr, fisting your tiny hand in his curls and tilting his head to make him look at you. When had you turned into a little dominatrix?

“The more you’re good for me, the naughtier I’ll be for you. Sound good?”

“Sounds like heaven, baby,” he groans appreciatively. “You can have your way with me any time you’d like,” he adds, giving you a wink.

“That’s a good boy,” you murmur, running your hands along his chest possessively. “Now let me taste you.”

You kiss him with everything you’ve got until you give in to your desire, lowering yourself onto his lap and grinding against him. He can feel how wet you are, your skimpy underwear already soaked, and curses under his breath but fights to stay still.

“You’re being so good for me, Terry,” you say approvingly, rocking your hips against his. Scooting down his thighs a bit, you start toying with the straps of your lingerie. “Do you think you’ve earned a bit of a show?”

“If I haven’t, just tell me what I need to do,” he replies hoarsely, his mouth dry. You teasing him has him nearly feral for you, the loss of control only heightening his arousal. You were the first and only person he’d ever let himself be at the mercy of.

“Good answer.”

Your sinful chuckle sends a pleasant shiver down his spine, and he holds your gaze as you slide the straps down your arms.

“Will you help me take this off?” you ask innocently, and he tugs pointedly against the cuffs, arching an eyebrow at you. Your lips twist into a cocky smirk and he feels himself get even harder, twitching against your inner thigh. “I guess you’ll have to work a little harder for it,” you add huskily, moving so your breasts are right in front of his face.

He immediately takes the hint, grabbing the top of your nightgown in his teeth and tugging it down with a growl. You pull it off the rest of the way once he gets it below your breasts, and he resists the urge to latch onto you, faintly remembering the need to behave himself. You hum with approval, your own hands moving to your chest to touch yourself. He bites his lip, watching you with hooded eyes.

“Watch what you do to me, love,” you demand in a soft whisper, grinding your hips as you roll your nipples between your fingers. “You get me so hot!”

“God, Y/N,” he hisses through his teeth; you have him feeling like he’s got fire running through his veins. “You’re so fucking sexy. Keep going, babygirl – make yourself feel good.”

You let out a needy whine, sliding down his legs and spreading yours to either side of him. Christ, he loves when you act like a desperate little whore for him.

“I’m so wet,” you groan, parting the pathetic excuse for underwear to the side to touch yourself, your other hand still teasing your nipples. His eyes start to roll back into his head, but he forces himself to focus; he doesn’t want to miss a second of this.

“Show me how wet you are. How many fingers can you pump inside that needy little pussy?”

You let out a depraved whine, throwing your head back as you easily slide three fingers inside yourself, grinding your hips in a slow figure 8 pattern and moaning his name again and again.

“Fucking hell sweetheart! I wish you could see how good you look right now.”

“We’ll make sure we have a camera next time,” you reassure him with a wink, and his brain shorts out.

Terry takes a minute or two to mentally recite as many Illinois Criminal Codes as he can remember to keep himself from shooting his load all over your chest and body; he hasn’t been this turned on without physical touch in… forever. He needs to be inside you, and it needs to be now.

“I don’t want to come without you inside me,” you inform him innocently as you get back on your knees, and he nearly loses control again. You’ll be the death of him if you keep this up…

“Can I clean your fingers for you, Mistress?” he requests, looking up at you pleadingly from under his lashes. A sheepish smile spreads across your face at the nickname; only you could be so innocent while being so fucking filthy. But he needs to keep you away from his dick for another few minutes if he wants to last, and by God does he want to last.

You raise your hand, fingers shining with your arousal, up to his mouth, and he stares deep into your eyes as he laves his tongue from your wrist up your palm before sucking one of your fingers into his mouth, savouring your taste and the little whimpers you let out at the attention. He gives your other digits the same dirty treatment, and you’re even more of a trembling mess by the time he’s finished.

“I want you so bad, Terry!” you whine needily, looking up at him with hooded eyes. “I just need to taste you first…”

You slide down the bed between his legs, ordering him to watch before you start giving him the sloppiest blowjob of his life; as if he’d want to look at anything else.

Your mouth is hot and wet as you bob your head, taking as much of him in your mouth as you comfortably can and swirling your tongue around his shaft. He itches to tangle his fingers in your hair and guide your movements, to thrust his hips up so you take him deeper down your throat, but he forces himself to stay still, letting out a litany of animalistic sounds as he endures this sweet torment.

With one last long, lewd suck as you lift your head from his lap, you release him from your mouth, kneeling up beside him.

“Baby, please – I can’t take anymore teasing, I have to take you!”

“I know you do, baby. Let’s get you comfortable, so you can let me do all the work.”

You guide him to move down the bed until he’s laying prone, tucking a few pillows under his head so it’s easier to watch you – you always had to make sure people were taken care of, him especially. He’s come to crave the attention after so long with you, he’s developed a taste for it.

By the time he’s in position you’ve pulled off your underwear and gotten onto the bed beside him, sitting on your knees. Without anymore stalling, you throw one leg over his hips, straddling him and facing his feet. You were going to ride him reverse cowgirl?

He drops his head back onto the pillow with a groan, hearing your answering giggle from further down his body. While you both normally preferred looking at each other, every once in awhile one of you would get the craving for some fast and rough fucking over something more intimate. This was undoubtedly one of those times, and he was completely at your mercy.

“I told you I was going to put on a show for you, sweetheart,” you tell him teasingly, shooting him a cheeky grin over your shoulder as you lift yourself up to line up his cock with your entrance. You sink onto him until you’re fully sitting on him, rolling your hips experimentally until he’s cursing under his breath. “Now tell me how you want me, Terry.”

“Start nice and slow baby, and go deep – I want to watch that ass as you take me.”

You eagerly obey, lifting yourself up until he’s almost fully slid out of you before dropping down again, rolling your hips as you find your rhythm.

“God yes, that’s so hot!” he groans, finally letting himself go as he bucks up against you, your hips working in tandem.

“I want to ride you so good, baby!” you moan, leaning forward slightly with your hands to either side of his legs and somehow making his view even more incredible. “I wanna be your perfect little fucktoy!”

“Oh, you already are, Y/N,” he hisses, fingernails digging into his palms as he thinks about kneading your ass while you’re riding him like this. “And you love it. This ass should be bouncing for me every day, shouldn’t it?” he growls, goading you even as you let out a needy moan as he talks dirty.  The ways that you wanted to be used…

“Fuck, yes, whenever you want!” you wail, your hips moving harder and faster as you get closer. “I was made for you!”

Damn right you were, and he’ll never let you forget it.

“Come for me, Y/N,” he commands, pistoning his own hips as much as he can – you’ve done more than enough for him, tonight and every night. “Come all over this cock, my dirty girl.”

"Come with me, Terry!" you beg, looking over your shoulder with your face a twisted mask of ecstasy. "I need to feel you fill me up!"

"I'm close baby; you gotta earn it. Make me come for you."

He's not even sure what you do - let alone how you learned to do it - but you arch your back just the right way to take him a little deeper, your cunt clenching around him greedily and it sends him over the edge, coming deep inside you with a guttural snarl of your name.

You reach down to your clit, grinding your hips with him still inside you as you give yourself over the edge to a powerful orgasm that has you bending backwards, your hair tickling his chest as you chant his name. He watches you come apart and try to catch your breath and he yearns to hold you.

He's more than happy to let you have your way with him, but he needs to take care of your after.

"Where's the key, sweetheart?" he asks gently, though you're still dazed and riding the high of your orgasm.

"Key?" you echo in a breathy, high voice, your eyes finally meeting his from where you're laying back on his chest. "Oh, right. Sorry!" you chirp, giving him a silly grin.

You reluctantly climb off of him, stumbling slightly as you move to retrieve your robe off the floor, rooting through the pockets for the small silver key. You hurry over to unlock the cuffs, kissing each of his wrists as you free them, back to being his innocent little angel. He slips under the covers with you, gathering you into his arms and laying a kiss on the tip of your nose.

"Does that mean you liked your present?" you ask with a dreamy little smile.

"Just when I think you can't give me any more of yourself you go and do something like this," he replies with a chuckle, taking the side of your face in his palm. "Of course I liked it; I love you."

Your gaze softens and he feels you melt against him even more. "All of me belongs to you, Terry. I love you with all I am."

"Keep talking like that and I'm going to have to do something about it."

"What do you have in mind?" you ask, a pretty blush dusting your cheeks. He doesn't think he'll ever get tired of how you manage to be innocent and depraved. He gives you a serious look, holding your gaze until you're twitching in anticipation.

"Maybe next time it'll be you in the cuffs, babygirl."

---

Now, I *did* have an idea for an extra section to this where you wake up with the cuffs on. Should I write a follow up, or save the idea and move on to something else? Let me know!

[midnightlitterateur]

Rugan likes the puss

Pairing - Rugan/ oc m/f

Summary - Rugan tries to be a gentleman but Leah Keene has other ideas.

Warnings - age difference, m/f, penetration,

18+

The chill of the night air on her face was a welcome relief from the overwhelming noise of the packed tavern. Too many people was fine if you were working in a crowd, you could make a decent living from their pockets but when it came to socialising Leah preferred something a little more subdued. The Blushing Mermaid was anything but. She stumbled out into the darkness, quietly slipping away from the small group of friends that she had been drinking with when she saw a tiny speck of burning pipeweed glowed weakly in the darkness. Someone must have had the same idea and sought a little solitude on the bow of the ship that gave the dingy little grief hole its name.

“Who goes?” the smoker called out into the night. Wary of the intrusion. The night concealed the man like a cloak, only the small ember casting its meagre light lit his lips as he pulled the smoke into his lungs. “I'm not looking for company, so fuck off”

Leah smiled, recognising Rugans voice instantly “What's it to you, Zhent? I’ll go where I damn well please.” she slurred. She liked Rugan, he was a good laugh. They got along well on the rare occasions that their paths crossed. Though their respective organisations would not be too thrilled that they were on friendly terms.

“Sounds like someone had a good night!” he chuckled from his perch, “hows tricks, kid?” he hopped down from the table and headed towards the light of a flaming torch. The creaking of his leather armour was almost imperceptible as he passed her.

“Can’t complain. You?” She answered in a friendly tone as she followed him into the small ring of light. Rugan was smiling warmly, Gods that smile. He was fucking gorgeous. The bastard.

“Same shit different day, mate.” The light of the rolled pipeweed cigarette moved towards her in the dark as he offered Leah a drag. She took a long pull then handed it back, letting the smoke escape from her nose. “I'd ask you if you fancied a pint but I think you might have had enough.” he teased, watching her sway in the shadows.

“I'm not that drunk but I'm not going back in there, too many dickheads. Might just go home.”

“I’m headed that way. I’ll walk with you.” he spoke casually but he didn't like the thought of her walking through the docks at night drunk and alone.

“Alright but I am definitely not drunk enough to drop my knickers for you, Zhent. So don't even try.” she warned as she teetered towards the ramp that led down to the road.

“You wear knickers?” he ribbed, following along behind her, ready to catch her should she take a tumble.

“…metaphorical knickers,” she shrugged, eliciting a chuckle from her companion.

They walked back through the lower city toward Heapside Strand, chatting about everything and nothing, just enjoying each other's company as they slowly headed towards Leah's loft. Even breaking into song at one point much to the annoyance of the sleeping residents of the Lower City. They definitely didn’t want to hear “A wizard’s staff has a knob at the end” in the middle of the night. Finally they arrived at her door.

“Do you fancy a nightcap?” She slurred, leaning against the door fumbling with the keys as she tried and failed to find the keyhole.

“I shouldn't…shipping out at dawn,” he stepped closer, “but I want you to know, there is nothing I would like more.”

“Really?” she whispered, trying her very best to sound alluring. “Seems to me if you're that thirsty…you should drink.”

Their lips met softly, tentatively. Briefly. Rugan pulled away, “You are way too drunk for this,” he said with a rueful smile, “get yourself to bed. I’ll come find you when I get back.”

Leah groaned with disappointment “Oh come on…” she started to complain, losing her footing and taking a tumble into some crates. “Oww,” she sobbed dejectedly.

“Woah,” Rugan picked her up, “come here.” He shook his head with a smirk and took her door keys. He carried her up the narrow staircase and across the room to her bed, which was currently occupied by the fluffiest cat he had ever seen.

Leah turned to see him scratching Crumbs forehead. “Straight to the pussy…” she shook her head, chiding him mockingly.

“Well you know me, lass. I don’t waste time.” He smiled and shooed Crumbs from the bed.

Leah stared at him sleepily in the low light that emanated from a lantern she had forgotten to put out before she left. He was a handsome bastard. Strong and sweet in equal measure. “Stay,” she whispered, reaching out for him as he pulled off her boots and threw them onto the floor.

Rugan froze, mired in indecision. “You are in no fit state, little lady.” He said, full of regret as the words left his mouth, “and Nine Fingers will have my head - both of em.”

“I am a womanly woman, I will have you know! And just because I've had a drink doesn’t mean I can’t make my own decisions. Now get them pants off!”

He took off his boots and unbuckled his cuirass then climbed onto the bed. “You’ll be the death of me, Leah Keene. I swear.”

“Shut up,” she giggled softly as he settled between her thighs. Wrapping her arms around his neck she pulled him in for a kiss. Their tongues pressed and glided over each other in a sinuous dance, their kiss became more and more urgent as they stripped away the rest of their clothing. Rugan's mouth slid sloppily down her neck, dragging his soft lips to her tightened nipples. Her back arched and her fingers tangled in his blonde hair, urging him on with gasps and groans as he suckled gently on each. He began to move lower, aiming to use his skilled tongue on her aching clit but she clutched his hair and pulled him back to her lips. Her other hand reached for his stiff, dripping cock. Pressing the tip into her warmth impatiently. Rugan took the hint and dipped his hips, sheathing himself in her heat with a soul deep groan. Pulling out and slamming into her again and again as she moaned and cursed loudly beneath him. Clawing desperately at his muscular back as she tried to hold on to something as he destroyed her body and mind. Deep red trophies that he would later show off to his fellow Zhentarim.

Their sweat slicked bodies moved together, chasing the high. It coiled low in her belly, the prickly heat behind her trembling knees uncomfortably itchy. The pressure building until it consumed her in an aching release. Exhilarating and electrifying. She sobbed his name lustily into the night as she shuddered with pleasure as the walls of her cunt rhythmically fluttered around his dick.

Leah trembled beneath him, coming down from her peak, breathless and glowing. “Give me a minute,” she pleaded, flinching from overstimulation every time he moved.

Rugan reined himself in not without difficulty. Leaning to claim her lips in a lingering kiss that threatened to become so much more.

He pulled himself up to his knees and looked down upon her, gloriously messy and dishevelled. Her beautiful tits heaving with every breath.

His hands slid down her narrow waist, pulling her hips into his, burying his throbbing cock to the hilt. Her moan sending a thrill straight through him.

“Yes…” she gasped quietly, covering his hands with hers.

He pulled out, repeating his last stroke. Slowly building up speed as he used her to pump his cock. Absolute filth poured from her lips between ragged screams of exhilarated desperation. It was all too much for him.

“Ugh… I’m gonna come” he groaned, warning her of his imminent release, “Leah…oh Gods!”

“Do it! Do it!” Leah looked down between them watching his cock as he fucked her. “Don’t stop, I need it…” she threw her head back with a rapturous groan, clenching tightly around his thick cock as she came for him.

Rugan wanted to pull out, he really did but…fuck it.

Every fibre of his being tensed, deliciously teetering on the edge before following her down deep into complete bliss. It was over far too fast. He slumped into the crook of her neck, breathless and shuddering and a little bit sad.

Leah ghosted her fingertips up and down his back as came to. “You alright?” She asked, nuzzling into his cheek.

“Yeah…that was...” He raised himself up on shaky arms, “better than I imagined.”

“Than you imagined?” She teased gently. “Do you think about this a lot?”

“There were nights I'd go to sleep thinking about this, out there on the road,” he confessed in a soft whisper, his cock still sheathed within her delicate walls. “What it would feel like to have Leah Keene wrapped around my dick.”

She gasped “Rugan! You're old enough to be my…” Leah caught a fit of the giggles. “My…”

“Don’t you dare say it!” He chuckled along with her.

She sniggered and raised her hands cupping his stubbly cheeks and trying to kiss him with taught smiling lips.

Rugan turned his face in faux petulance, “Nah. No kisses for you.”

“Aww no! I prefer older men, Roogs. Someone my age couldn’t fuck me like you just did.” Her palms slid down to his hairy chest, “I just got railed.”

“Yeah, you did,” he pressed his forehead to hers, “and if you're not careful it’ll happen again, little girl.”

Leah squealed with delight “Is that a threat or a promise?”

A heavy silence laced with affection settled over them both and Rugan lowered his lips to hers. Barely feeling the tickle of their mingled breath before the gulls squabbling outside rudely interrupted. He turned to see a sliver of light cutting its way through the gap in the shutters.

“Ugh,” Rugan groaned, “I'm late!”

He hopped out of bed and grabbed his trousers, pulling them on, “I’ve gotta go, princess. Zarys will have my balls.”

Leah turned on her side and watched him dress, mourning the loss of his perfect body, “I thought she already had em,” she jabbed with a smile. “I heard she keeps em in a little pouch round her neck, gives em a little jiggle when she wants you - it’s got tinkly little bells on it.”

“Very funny,” he retorted sarcastically, “You’ve sobered up quick.” He narrowed his eyes suspiciously as he buckled his belt.

Leah shrugged, smirking as she held his gaze. “I might have exaggerated a bit,”

“We’ll have words about this, young lady. Just you wait.” He gave her a quick kiss then jogged down the stairs. It would be a good long while before she saw him again and when she did her whole life had been turned upside down.

[pigeonwhumps]

Friend, lost

Bug and Company masterlist

Taglist: @littlespacecastle @flowersarefreetherapy @whumplr-reader @whumpinggrounds @den-of-whump @painful-pooch @i-eat-worlds @a-funeral-romance @rainydaywhump @febuwhump

Febuwhump alt 7: last words

Sarita has a nightmare.

713 words

CWs: BBU, pet whump, death, grief, manslaughter, nightmare, emeto, implied food deprivation

"No. Please no. Don't die, please don't die."

Her friend coughs, wracking her body, hacking up blood.

"We knew it'd happen," she whispers. "Once they start to use you as bait and employee training you don't last long."

"But you– you can't leave me, please. I can't lose you, Six."

"Sarita."

"What?"

She coughs violently. "It's my name. Sarita. It's all I remember. Can we talk about something better?"

"Okay. Okay. What would you like to..."

"Tell me your ideal holiday?"

They've done this oh so many times. All either of them have are dreams, things they've heard handlers mention. But anything is better than here.

"A beach. A very sunny beach, and it's warm, and we can hear seagulls. We're eating ice creams, but I don't know what flavour because I don't know what flavours exist. We have large floppy hats on. You have ice cream on your nose, and we're laughing and happy and... and..."

She trails off. Her friend's body is still, her eyes blank and staring.

She bends over and kisses Sarita's bloody forehead. "No. I can't go on those holidays without you. Please come back. Please, come on, I can't do this without you."

There's no answer. Of course there isn't. She tightens her grip on Sarita's body, buries her face in her still-warm chest, and screams.

It takes five handlers to prise her away.

_

Sarita wakes up, heart pounding, tears streaming down her cheeks. It takes her a minute to realise she's not there, she's at Alix's, that was a long time ago. It feels like she was just there.

She can't hear anyone else so she doesn't think she actually screamed. But she can't stay here. The bed's sweaty and she can feel the cold light of their room, her friend's body, the blood on her hands.

She throws the covers off and lurches out of bed, just making it to the toilet before throwing up.

Not again. Not again. She can't keep doing this.

She stumbles into the front room, vision blurred with tears. There's a nice, soft couch there and she can just see through the light of the sodium-yellow streetlamp and she curls up in the corner, grabbing a pen and paper on the way.

She thinks vaguely that it's a nice coloured biro.

Then she starts to draw. Not the blood-covered face, not the one that was still and blank and staring. It's the good one. The one from when they were first put in a room together, and her friend offered half her meagre portion of food and a small smile that had tugged at the corner of her mouth as the only attempt at comforting the new trainee available to her.

One sharing of food too many was the final infraction that made her disposable. Sarita still doesn't understand why that was an infraction, or why rooms were shared in that training facility when nowhere else seems to do it.

Sarita uses half the pad before she's happy with the sketch. And then she moves onto one of her friend's dreams, the two of them in the forest together, eating a picnic and enjoying a waterfall.

It's not fair. It's not right. She shouldn't be dead, she should be alive and here and smiling shyly and able to go on all their dreamed-up holidays.

Sarita notices movement out of the corner of her eye as Oscar places a mug of chamomile tea down in front of her and sits far enough way that it doesn't feel like an intrusion, sipping at faer coffee. She should've noticed fae earlier.

"I'll change your bed," fae murmurs after a while. How many nightmares has fae heard that fae knows to do that? How many of hers?

How many of faer own?

She nods tearfully, not trusting herself to speak. Oscar is... fae's not in charge as much as Alix and Jane, she doesn't think. But she likes fae all the more for it.

She doesn't move for hours, until the sun starts filtering through the gap in the blinds and she realises she needs to move before anyone else appears. So she heads back to her bedroom, curls up under the pile of blankets with an electric candle lantern, and carries on drawing.

[baldurs-gape]

Just want to say I love your work and I’m so excited for the next chapter of shores. You always have me hooked into whatever you are writing :”)

Nonnie, you are a hero in kindness. Please know I love you for being so kind to take the time and effort to come over from AO3 find this blog and leave this ask. Currently I'm writing chapter 13 of Shores and it will likely be 14 chapters long, maybe 15 if I get carried away (we don't mention that it was meant to be a 2k one-shot). But I babble. What I'm trying to say is thank you! You're a gem and have brought me so much joy with this ask. Please have some lighthearted silliness as a token of gratitude. Though if you'd prefer something darker and more gritty, drop me an ask and I'll gladly write that for you too (an ask is basically my excuse to write for someone whether it's a prompt or not).

The Bird, the Bear, and the Bastard

Some days at camp were straight up boring, there was no denying it. There was only so much that could be done in terms of reading, idly tidying around camp and sorting through their packs. Talking was all well and good but even that ran its course when people hit their limits of what they were willing to hare about themselves. Alas, sitting in silence was nice to a point but quickly lost its appeal.

"I'm bored," Astarion sighed for the third time in as many minutes. "You sure we can't take potions of flight and wrestle in the clouds?"

"First, you know that's not how it works. Second, that's such a waste of potions. We might need those later on." Tired of this argument, Gale didn't even bother looking up from his book. "I did offer to teach you a cantrip instead."

"You offend me by suggesting I need a cantrip to get my way. No, I don't want to waste time learning a silly little cantrip for something that already comes naturally to me." After a pause, he sighed wistfully. "I want to fly. And land with the grace of a butterfly rather than a speeding goose."

Book slamming shut, Gale stood up. The furstration in his movements was somewhat dampened by his knees creaking and protesting the sudden change of position.

"Right. Get your bedroll collection. All of it. Pillows, bags, anything soft and pile it overthere." He pointed to the clearest part of camp. When Astarion didn't move, he glared. "Now!"

It was a commanding voice that Astarion had only ever him use when casting and suddenly he perked up, doing as told. Whatever it was that Gale had planned, it was better than doing nothing all day. Within minutes his hoard of comforts was piled up and Gale added his own meagre collection to it. All in all, it looked like a giant bed, big enough for the whole camp to enjoy an orgy on if they wanted. Stepping on it and bouncing a little, Gale nodded to himself.

"Come along, we'll start small." Curiosity won out and Astarion followed only half a dozen steps away. Looking between him and the pile, Gale nodded again. "The landing should be soft, even if you don't land upright. I'll use a very gentle gust of wind to push you. Ready?"

No questions about whether Astarion wanted to do this or if he had any opinions about the matter. As if he would have refused, this sounded like fun.

"Do your worst."

The gust of wind hit Astarion, drove breath from his lungs as it picked him up and threw him back, landing on the soft spread of pillows and bed rolls with a thump. When he could draw a breath again, he laughed and stared up at the sky.

"Again!"

Dutifully, Gale waited until he was back in position and, at his nod, another gust of wind lifted him off the ground before the landing drew a little "oof". Grinning wide, Astarion scrambled to get back into position to go again.

As they repeated the game, things progressed. The distance from the pile got larger, the gusts of wind stronger. Astarion began scoring Gale's accuracy for throwing him into the middle of the pile while his own landings were graded in turn by Gale. They were in the middle of climbing a tree to add an element of height to their game when some of the others returned to camp from their own adventures.

"The little ones used to love being thrown about," Halsin said warmly. "So did I, until I got too big."

Wistful and a little sad, those were the emotions the others could hear in his little lament. It had Gale and Astarion exchanging looks and grinning.

"I'll grab a scroll," Astarion said and hopped out of the tree with feline grace. For once, Gale didn't argue about wasting valuable camp resources so frivolously.

While Astarion jogged to get it, he approached Halsin. "You know, nobody is ever too big or small, it's all in the skill of the one doing the throwing. I'll have you know, I'm very skilled."

"Little mage, you're welcome to try but don't be disheartened when it doesn't work."

All the same, Halsin let Gale position him some way from the pile as Astarion appeared with a scroll in hand. They waited until Gale had tidied up the pile, made sure it was safe for a heavier landing. When he nodded, Astarion lifted the scroll in preparation.

The gust of wind was strong, much stronger than expected and Halsin let out a whoop of a shout as he soared through the air and crashed into the pile of bedrolls. Mage hands supported his head and Gale stood at the side, hand still out from here he'd cast it. Standing up on legs which trembled from excitement, Halsin beamed wide.

"I think I know what scrolls I'll be on the lookout for from now on."

Sidling up to them, Astarion was biting his lip to hold back a smile. "I'll keep you in steady supply, don't worry. Now, want to see what else Gale can do with those mage hands?"

Eyes darkening, Halsin looked between the two and hummed. "It would be my honour."

[lemidnightlitterareur]

The chill of the night air on her face was a welcome relief from the overwhelming noise of the packed tavern. Too many people was fine if you were working in a crowd, you could make a decent living from their pockets but when it came to socialising Leah preferred something a little more subdued. The Blushing Mermaid was anything but. She stumbled out into the darkness, quietly slipping away from the small group of friends that she had been drinking with when she saw a tiny speck of burning pipeweed glowed weakly in the darkness. Someone must have had the same idea and sought a little solitude on the bow of the ship that gave the dingy little grief hole its name.

“Who goes?” the smoker called out into the night. Wary of the intrusion. The night concealed the man like a cloak, only the small ember casting its meagre light lit his lips as he pulled the smoke into his lungs. “I'm not looking for company, so fuck off”

Leah smiled, recognising Rugans voice instantly “What's it to you, Zhent? I’ll go where I damn well please.” she slurred. She liked Rugan, he was a good laugh. They got along well on the rare occasions that their paths crossed. Though their respective organisations would not be too thrilled that they were on friendly terms.

“Sounds like someone had a good night!” he chuckled from his perch, “hows tricks, kid?” he hopped down from the table and headed towards the light of a flaming torch. The creaking of his leather armour was almost imperceptible as he passed her.

“Can’t complain. You?” She answered in a friendly tone as she followed him into the small ring of light. Rugan was smiling warmly, Gods that smile. He was fucking gorgeous. The bastard.

“Same shit different day, mate.” The light of the rolled pipeweed cigarette moved towards her in the dark as he offered Leah a drag. She took a long pull then handed it back, letting the smoke escape from her nose. “I'd ask you if you fancied a pint but I think you might have had enough.” he teased, watching her sway in the shadows.

“I'm not that drunk but I'm not going back in there, too many dickheads. Might just go home.”

“I’m headed that way. I’ll walk with you.” he spoke casually but he didn't like the thought of her walking through the docks at night drunk and alone.

“Alright but I am definitely not drunk enough to drop my knickers for you, Zhent. So don't even try.” she warned as she teetered towards the ramp that led down to the road.

“You wear knickers?” he ribbed, following along behind her, ready to catch her should she take a tumble.

“…metaphorical knickers,” she shrugged, eliciting a chuckle from her companion.

They walked back through the lower city toward Heapside Strand, chatting about everything and nothing, just enjoying each other's company as they slowly headed towards Leah's loft. Even breaking into song at one point much to the annoyance of the sleeping residents of the Lower City. They definitely didn’t want to hear “A wizard’s staff has a knob at the end” in the middle of the night. Finally they arrived at her door.

“Do you fancy a nightcap?” She slurred, leaning against the door fumbling with the keys as she tried and failed to find the keyhole.

“I shouldn't…shipping out at dawn,” he stepped closer, “but I want you to know, there is nothing I would like more.”

“Really?” she whispered, trying her very best to sound alluring. “Seems to me if you're that thirsty…you should drink.”

Their lips met softly, tentatively. Briefly. Rugan pulled away, “You are way too drunk for this,” he said with a rueful smile, “get yourself to bed. I’ll come find you when I get back.”

Leah groaned with disappointment “Oh come on…” she started to complain, losing her footing and taking a tumble into some crates. “Oww,” she sobbed dejectedly.

“Woah,” Rugan picked her up, “come here.” He shook his head with a smirk and took her door keys. He carried her up the narrow staircase and across the room to her bed, which was currently occupied by the fluffiest cat he had ever seen.

Leah turned to see him scratching Crumbs forehead. “Straight to the pussy…” she shook her head, chiding him mockingly.

“Well you know me, lass. I don’t waste time.” He smiled and shooed Crumbs from the bed.

Leah stared at him sleepily in the low light that emanated from a lantern she had forgotten to put out before she left. He was a handsome bastard. Strong and sweet in equal measure. “Stay,” she whispered, reaching out for him as he pulled off her boots and threw them onto the floor.

Rugan froze, mired in indecision. “You are in no fit state, little lady.” He said, full of regret as the words left his mouth, “and Nine Fingers will have my head - both of em.”

“I am a womanly woman, I will have you know! And just because I've had a drink doesn’t mean I can’t make my own decisions. Now get them pants off!”

He took off his boots and unbuckled his cuirass then climbed onto the bed. “You’ll be the death of me, Leah Keene. I swear.”

“Shut up,” she giggled softly as he settled between her thighs. Wrapping her arms around his neck she pulled him in for a kiss. Their tongues pressed and glided over each other in a sinuous dance, their kiss became more and more urgent as they stripped away the rest of their clothing. Rugan's mouth slid sloppily down her neck, dragging his soft lips to her tightened nipples. Her back arched and her fingers tangled in his blonde hair, urging him on with gasps and groans as he suckled gently on each. He began to move lower, aiming to use his skilled tongue on her aching clit but she clutched his hair and pulled him back to her lips. Her other hand reached for his stiff, dripping cock. Pressing the tip into her warmth impatiently. Rugan took the hint and dipped his hips, sheathing himself in her heat with a soul deep groan. Pulling out and slamming into her again and again as she moaned and cursed loudly beneath him. Clawing desperately at his muscular back as she tried to hold on to something as he destroyed her body and mind. Deep red trophies that he would later show off to his fellow Zhentarim.

Their sweat slicked bodies moved together, chasing the high. It coiled low in her belly, the prickly heat behind her trembling knees uncomfortably itchy. The pressure building until it consumed her in an aching release. Exhilarating and electrifying. She sobbed his name lustily into the night as she shuddered with pleasure as the walls of her cunt rhythmically fluttered around his dick.

Leah trembled beneath him, coming down from her peak, breathless and glowing. “Give me a minute,” she pleaded, flinching from overstimulation every time he moved.

Rugan reined himself in not without difficulty. Leaning to claim her lips in a lingering kiss that threatened to become so much more.

He pulled himself up to his knees and looked down upon her, gloriously messy and dishevelled. Her beautiful tits heaving with every breath.

His hands slid down her narrow waist, pulling her hips into his, burying his throbbing cock to the hilt. Her moan sending a thrill straight through him.

“Yes…” she gasped quietly, covering his hands with hers.

He pulled out, repeating his last stroke. Slowly building up speed as he used her to pump his cock. Absolute filth poured from her lips between ragged screams of exhilarated desperation. It was all too much for him.

“Ugh… I’m gonna come” he groaned, warning her of his imminent release, “Leah…oh Gods!”

“Do it! Do it!” Leah looked down between them watching his cock as he fucked her. “Don’t stop, I need it…” she threw her head back with a rapturous groan, clenching tightly around his thick cock as she came for him.

Rugan wanted to pull out, he really did but…fuck it.

Every fibre of his being tensed, deliciously teetering on the edge before following her down deep into complete bliss. It was over far too fast. He slumped into the crook of her neck, breathless and shuddering and a little bit sad.

Leah ghosted her fingertips up and down his back as came to. “You alright?” She asked, nuzzling into his cheek.

“Yeah…that was...” He raised himself up on shaky arms, “better than I imagined.”

“Than you imagined?” She teased gently. “Do you think about this a lot?”

“There were nights I'd go to sleep thinking about this, out there on the road,” he confessed in a soft whisper, his cock still sheathed within her delicate walls. “What it would feel like to have Leah Keene wrapped around my dick.”

She gasped “Rugan! You're old enough to be my…” Leah caught a fit of the giggles. “My…”

“Don’t you dare say it!” He chuckled along with her.

She sniggered and raised her hands cupping his stubbly cheeks and trying to kiss him with taught smiling lips.

Rugan turned his face in faux petulance, “Nah. No kisses for you.”

“Aww no! I prefer older men, Roogs. Someone my age couldn’t fuck me like you just did.” Her palms slid down to his hairy chest, “I just got railed.”

“Yeah, you did,” he pressed his forehead to hers, “and if you're not careful it’ll happen again, little girl.”

Leah squealed with delight “Is that a threat or a promise?”

A heavy silence laced with affection settled over them both and Rugan lowered his lips to hers. Barely feeling the tickle of their mingled breath before the gulls squabbling outside rudely interrupted. He turned to see a sliver of light cutting its way through the gap in the shutters.

“Ugh,” Rugan groaned, “I'm late!”

He hopped out of bed and grabbed his trousers, pulling them on, “I’ve gotta go, princess. Zarys will have my balls.”

Leah turned on her side and watched him dress, mourning the loss of his perfect body, “I thought she already had em,” she jabbed with a smile. “I heard she keeps em in a little pouch round her neck, gives em a little jiggle when she wants you - it’s got tinkly little bells on it.”

“Very funny,” he retorted sarcastically, “You’ve sobered up quick.” He narrowed his eyes suspiciously as he buckled his belt.

Leah shrugged, smirking as she held his gaze. “I might have exaggerated a bit,”

“We’ll have words about this, young lady. Just you wait.” He gave her a quick kiss then jogged down the stairs. It would be a good long while before she saw him again and when she did her whole life had been turned upside down.