#she might have gotten away with it. iykyk

[eastgaysian]

still and always thinking about wyllstarion divorce < average succession enjoyer. i prommy that i do also enjoy happy relationships. sometimes. but divorce is just like catnip to me there truly is a secret level of romance that can only happen after divorcing badly. the lingering affection and familiarity of someone you've loved who's loved you AND the distrust and anger between two people who can't possibly coexist on a fundamental level. the monster hunter turned monstrous duke and the monster hiding in plain sight within high society. wyll feeling responsible for what astarion's become and astarion dismissing the idea entirely, not to comfort him but out of pride because he has to believe he made himself. what if i wanted you back but was too proud to admit it. what if i wanted you back but that version of you was gone. what if after everything you were the only person i ever trusted what if you were the person who betrayed my trust in the worst way i'd ever experienced. mfw the castle halls are lonely

[violetsandfluff]

Holiday Homecumming

summary: a student from your cousin’s college spends thanksgiving with your family

a/n: I got distracted while writing something else, so here we are !! this includes bits of the poem, sonnet 18 by shakespeare. also, kindly don’t criticize the title. i really [almost] tried.

tw: smut… family gatherings… stressful stuff, iykyk ; ) annnd this is written by a girl who has no clue how to write smut. that aside, i sincerely hope you enjoy!!

word count: 5k

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Family gatherings around the holidays were always a stressor for you. You had heard countless nightmarish stories of family gatherings gone wrong, and you weaseled your way out of every holiday you could, blaming an overload of work at university for your absences. After three years away, though, your family’s pleas for you to join their holidays once again seeped under your skin. In one moment of begrudging malleability, you agreed, and there you were in the back seat of your parents’ sedan, acting as a barrier between your two younger brothers.

Had Thanksgiving been a private event at your parents’ house with just your father, mother, and brothers, you would have attended in a heartbeat, but things could never be so simple. Your mother had bribed you to drive nearly three hours from your school’s campus by saying the event would only include your immediate family. She had then gone behind your back and reported that the five members of your immediate family would be attending Thanksgiving at your aunt and uncle’s house.

Having Thanksgiving with extended family is a nationwide tradition, but that didn’t make it any more bearable. Plus, the fact that your mom and aunt had been feuding until recently didn’t help anything. Your mother and aunt both had stubborn, inflexible personalities, making it nearly impossible for them to get along over extended periods. You just hoped the weekend you were to spend in close quarters with them wasn’t too much.

You had gotten up at the crack of dawn to get ready, pack your belongings for traveling, and make the journey from campus to your hometown by nine o’clock. At nine o’clock on the dot, you rolled into your parents’ driveway, where they instructed you to unload your car and pack your luggage into their trunk before you caused them to run late.

Repacking things into a small, travel-sized bag rather than a suitcase at such short notice proved to be stressful at best, and a few necessary items were foolishly forgotten in the haste of the moment. You hadn’t counted on riding in the same car as the rest of your family, even less on refereeing your brothers’ arguments during the two-hour drive, but against all odds, you arrived in one piece.

As soon as you set foot in the stuffy living room, you wanted nothing more than to run away and never return. The tiny house was already brimming with people bustling busily about, bumping into each other and apologizing over the noise of the kitchen and football game. In fact, everything was so noisy no one noticed your family’s arrival.

You had assumed Thanksgiving would consist of a smaller group of people, but alas, it seemed your dad’s entire side of the family had decided, stupidly, you might add, to cram themselves under one roof to give half-hearted thanks for those they pretended to love.

At family gatherings like this, people usually divided themselves into four distinct groups. There were those who worked in the kitchen and dining room, cooking food and setting the table, and those who locked themselves in the guest room and gossiped until the food was ready. There was a group who planted their asses on the sofa to watch tv until dinner, and a group of children who ran around like a pack of rabid, bloodthirsty coyotes. These games always ended in someone crying and others screaming their sides of the story, desperate for their shrill voices to be heard. Needless to say, they never learned, or they wouldn’t partake in such activities repeatedly.

There was never much peace during family gatherings and you thrived best in silence. The constant ruckus made it difficult for you to concentrate on any given task and it made your head pound in frustration. On top of that, the heat of all of the bodies crammed into one house meant that the heat was turned down if not completely off, making for a cold night as it kicked in again.

The only good thing about the situation was that you, as an adult over the age of twenty, no longer had to sit at the kids’ table with your cousins. Instead, your grandmother set you a place between your aunt and your younger cousin, Sadie, the only person at the table under the age of twenty.

When the whole family had been rounded up and seated, there was someone you didn’t recognize. At first, you assumed he was a cousin you hadn’t laid eyes on in a while, but you soon realized that all of your cousins were there as well. He was seated directly across from you, meaning you had a good view of his features as you tried to recall who he was.

He wasn’t even vaguely familiar. He didn’t share features with any of your family members, nor did he share verbal traits or characteristics. He had a low, smooth voice and a surprising accent that only served to fascinate you more. You nearly asked who he was, but if you asked, he would probably turn out to be a long-lost cousin or something. So you held your tongue, listening to every bit of conversation happening around you in hopes that some fragment of speech would jog your memory.

At one point during the meal, your cousin, Joshua, who was seated next to him, noticed that he’d hardly said a thing all day. It finally dawned on him that no one knew who his friend was.

“This is my friend, Harry,” Joshua stated as soon as he had everyone’s attention. “I met him at uni recently and all of his family is abroad, so he’s staying with us this Thanksgiving.”

Harry had skillfully tousled brown hair and gorgeous green eyes. His face was dizzyingly pretty; every piece of it fit together immaculately. His dimples complimented his smile flawlessly. He was wearing a simple pair of black jeans and a white shirt that would show off his toned body and tattoos had it not been for the flannel he wore over it. You had many questions for him, and it seemed as if everyone else did, too.

Inquiries began bombarding the guest as he tried his best to answer each one. Where was he from? How old was he? What was he studying?

By the end of the meal, you knew his full name was Harry Edward Styles, occasionally nicknamed Hazza by his friends back home. He was only twenty-two years old, studying abroad from London, and going to school for a master’s in psychology. He had a proper, educated way of speaking and an air of insight laced his every word.

“He seems incredibly dreary,” you heard Sadie mumble under her breath. Oh, how wrong she was.

Something about him, whether it be his presumable intelligence or mysterious green eyes, drew you in. Many times he caught you staring at him, and each time you were forced to make an excuse on the fly. Questions raced around your brain at thousands of miles per hour. Was he staying overnight? Did he have a girlfriend back home? Would he be attracted to a girl like you who, in a flurry of haste, forgot her toothbrush in the back of her car?

You told yourself not to be ridiculous, but your questions weren’t at all ridiculous. When a strange, attractive man shows up to your family’s Thanksgiving, you have every right to ask questions.

After the meal was over, you and Sadie disappeared into the kitchen with your mother, grandmother, and several aunts while everyone else returned to their cliques. Josh, Harry, and some of your other cousins retired to the basement where all of the video games were kept at such gatherings and the stampede of wild children resumed where they’d left off before the mid-afternoon meal.

Your grandmother put you in charge of wiping down the chairs at the children's table, out of presumable spite, but you did as you were told, not wanting to rock the boat. After you finished, you strode reluctantly back to your grandmother for another task. Instead of asking you to help put away dishes or store leftovers, she took you aside to the quietest corner of the dining room.

“Y/N,” she said diplomatically, “you are twenty-one now. Correct?”

“Yes,” you replied with a nod.

“You are no longer a teenager, therefore you have no reason to spite our family. It wouldn’t hurt you to attend gatherings and parties every once in a while. I’m sure you’re out doing it with your friends every other weekend. It’s your life and I can’t tell you how to live it, but just know you have choices. You can spend holidays with your family, those who love you, or your friends, those who only want you to get drunk.”

“Grandmother, I mean this in the most respectful way possible,” you began, “but I’ve spent the previous two Thanksgivings alone in my dorm with a weekend of homework.”

“I’m sure that’s true,” your grandmother agreed, “and I appreciate your hard work. However, I believe that family should come before your studies.”

You certainly did not expect that from your grandmother. All you could do was nod and utter a sincere apology before asking if there were any more tasks that needed doing.

Though there were no jobs left to be done, you remained in the kitchen with the rest of the clean-up crew, as you had labeled yourselves. Every other part of the house was overrun with sugar-hyped children, grumpy men passed out after eating more than their fill of turkey, and busybody women reliving their peak high school years through gossip from twenty years ago.

Standing in the kitchen, listening to the others bickering and griping was completely draining, but there wasn’t anywhere else for you to go except the bathroom. You felt guilty occupying the house’s sole bathroom for a prolonged period, but if someone knocked on the door, you would pretend to flush the toilet, wash your hands, and come out.

Unfortunately for you, your plan wasn’t so foolproof. You made the mistake of leaving the door partially ajar as you sat on the edge of the tub, fully clothed, killing time with your phone.

Harry pushed the door open thoughtlessly, gasping and apologizing immediately upon seeing you.

“I’m sorry,” you stuttered as he pulled the door shut. “You can come in. I’m just wasting time.”

You scurried out of the bathroom and back into the kitchen, cheeks flushed in embarrassment. You kept your head down so as not to attract unwanted attention from your family.

~~~

Later that evening, after many of your relatives had left, you went outside to where your parents’ car was parked in a vain attempt to carry all of their baggage in singlehandedly. Two trips later, all of your family’s suitcases, as well as your measly backpack, were soundly inside the house. After the luggage was secured, your aunt sat down to enlighten you about your sleeping arrangements.

The guest room would go to your parents and your brothers would spend the night in the living room. The accommodation made for you was Sadie’s bedroom floor.

You had spent enough nights in a room with Sadie to know that she snored comically for a girl her age. As funny as it was, though, the humor vanished from the equation quickly when your exhaustion was factored into it.

“Can’t we sleep in the basement?” the elder of your two brothers pleaded. “The couch down there is comfy enough.”

“Josh and Harry can join us,” your youngest brother pressed. “They can make sure we don’t get into mischief.”

Your aunt cast your mother a contemplative gaze and your mother shrugged. “Your house, your rules.”

“I suppose,” your aunt declared. “You can sleep in the basement, so long as Josh and Harry go with you.”

“Why do Josh and Harry have to come with us?” your brother pouted.

Your mother cast him a stern glare. “Because aunty said so.”

Your brothers rolled their eyes in simultaneous resignation as you internalized a cheer of your own. Your brothers sleeping in the basement freed up the living room sofas for you to nab.

“Do you mind if I take the couch out here?” you asked nonchalantly.

“I don’t see why not,” your aunt responded. “You’re an adult now, y/n. You can choose where you sleep.”

“Don’t you want to share with me?” Sadie frowned.

“I would, but I haven’t been sleeping well lately,” you fibbed. “I wouldn’t want to wake you if I got up in the middle of the night to use the restroom or get a drink.”

Sadie shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

~~~

Around ten o’clock, your parents sent your brothers, Josh, and Harry downstairs for the night as they took their turns in the bathroom getting ready for bed. Going to sleep that early proved to be quite a challenge for you, especially considering the fact that homework didn’t allow you to sleep until past two am on good nights. By the time it was your turn in the bathroom, you realized that many of your toiletries had fallen out of your bag when you’d repacked earlier that day.

You were lacking face soap, hair ties, and worst of all, your toothbrush. You made do with what you had, using makeup remover and water to clean your face and you gargled toothpaste in a crude attempt to freshen your breath. You assumed your position on the couch feeling less than satisfied with your nighttime routine, but there wasn’t much else you could do without using anybody else’s toothbrush.

You settled into the couch cushions, pulling your blanket up around your chest. The couch was positioned close enough to an outlet that your phone charger could reach, so you decided to busy yourself with your phone until you were tired.

Time flew by as you checked in with friends, played various games, and listened to your favorite music. You almost didn’t notice when the basement door clicked open. You turned your phone’s volume down all the way, just in time to hear a flushing toilet and running water in the bathroom. You craned your neck to see who it was. Your breath caught in your throat as you made out Harry’s silhouette in the darkness, which was lit up only by streetlights. He appeared to be wearing only a pair of boxers and a tight, long-sleeved shirt, and his hair made it evident that he hadn’t so much as laid down all evening.

“Can’t sleep either?” he asked, noticing the blue light radiating from your phone.

“No. I’m not used to sleeping this early.”

“Me neither,” he admitted. “Uni really fucked up my sleep schedule, y’know?”

“Tell me about it,” you laughed, your chuckle turning into a choke in a matter of seconds as he sat down at the end of the couch you were sprawled out on.

“What are y’going t’school for?” he inquired politely, turning his body to look at you more comfortably.

“English,” you croaked.

“What year are you?”

“I’m a senior.”

“Graduating soon, hm?”

“Hopefully,” your voice wavered.

“Not going so well?”

“I mean, it’s going fine. I’ve just been a pessimist lately,” you rambled.

“I get it. Any idea what you want to do after graduation?”

“Teach, most likely.”

“Any age in particular?”

“High school. What about you?”

“What age would I like to teach?”

“Um, no.” You cleared your throat nervously. “I know you’re going to school for psychology, but what do you want to do once you graduate?”

“Psychology,” he grinned.

You sat up against the foot of the couch so you and Harry were facing each other. You pulled the blanket tighter around your lower body, trying desperately not to stare at him. Even in the moonlight, you could make out his gorgeous features.

Harry nodded. “What’s y’favorite aspect of English and literature?” he asked.

The question caught you off guard. You took a moment to process his inquiry before answering. “Poetry,” you said after a long pause, hoping you wouldn’t come off as a complete idiot.

“I love poetry!” Harry’s eyebrows raised. “D’you write poems?”

“Sometimes,” you admitted.

“Can I hear them?” Harry begged.

You cleared your throat and licked your lips slowly, feeling a wave of heat rush to your face. “They’re not very good,” you managed, “but I know other people’s poems.”

“That’s alright. You don’t have to, ’m just curious.”

A comfortable hush fell over the room as you racked your brain for poems to recite. You had memorized them by the dozen when you were in high school, but something about Harry made your memory glitch. Inhaling a sharp breath, you began reciting the only poem you could think of; nothing less than Shakespeare’s Sonnet 18.

Harry listened to you with his ears and his eyes, which were intently fixated on you. He pierced your eyes with his beautiful green ones like you were the only person in the world. He waited in silence for a moment after you finished, allowing the words to sink in before scooting closer to you. “Tell me another one.”

Next, you told him a story that your grandmother had read to you as a baby, a lengthy poem interpretation of the story Thumbelina.

He listened intently as you described the events in the way they had been told to you years ago.

“You’re a fantastic storyteller,” he said genuinely when you finished. “Can I hear one more?”

You opened your mouth and recited the first poem that came to mind; one that you had written. The words spilled from a place deep within you, establishing a connection with Harry that the others hadn’t. Even he could sense the difference between that poem and the last. Your poem’s words came from a vulnerable, genuine place within you that only you knew… until then.

“Wow.”

“Did you like it?”

“Yes,” he gushed. “Who wrote it?”

You hesitated for a moment before reluctantly admitting, “I did.”

“You’re amazing,” he breathed in awe.

Harry lowered his face until it was nearly touching yours. His lips came breathtakingly close to yours before you suddenly placed your hand on his chest and pushed him away.

“I haven’t brushed my teeth,” you blubbered. “I left my toothbrush in my car and my car is at my parents’ house. But I remembered my toothpaste.”

Harry chuckled in amusement. “Don’t worry about it,” he grinned, moving closer in an attempt to kiss you again. “You can use my toothbrush f’you want.”

“Really?” you squeaked, praying he couldn’t hear the hammering of your heart. “I wouldn’t want to, you know…”

“I don’t mind,” he persisted. “Let me go get it.”

“You don’t need to,” you stammered.

“If it will let you kiss me, I do.” He ducked into Joshua’s bedroom, which was conveniently empty thanks to the basement slumber party, and removed his toothbrush from his backpack. He made his way back to the living room on tiptoes so as not to disturb anyone who was asleep.

You accepted his toothbrush gratefully, taking it into the bathroom to clean your teeth as thoroughly as possible in the little time you allotted yourself. Once you were satisfied with their cleanliness, you returned to the couch, passing Harry’s toothbrush back to him.

He wasted no time lowering his lips to yours and kissing you deeply. His tongue dipped in and out of your mouth, exploring it gingerly. His left hand roamed up your back, settling in your hair while his right hand remained steadily on your lower back.

As wonderful as the kiss was, you couldn’t help but crave more. You poked your fingers into the waistband of his underwear, and he took the hint. A hint of wariness gleamed in his eye, but you assured him you took the pill religiously.

Soon, you were both pantless and more ready for each other than anyone else.

You barely got any time to admire Harry’s naked body before he aligned himself with your glistening entrance and thrust in. He shifted his body until it was under you before bucking his hips up into you.

You both gasped at the sensation.

Harry’s hands were both positioned at the lowest part of your back with his thumbs on your hips, digging into them slightly for grip.

He drove his cock into you, pulled it out, and thrust it back in, letting its sharp point pierce your entrance repeatedly.

“You’re so tight,” he mused as he felt your walls flutter around his length. “My love, is my cock getting to you already?”

You shrugged in partial embarrassment as he let out a soft chuckle.

“No shame in that. Your tight little walls are making my tummy feel full, too.”

Just as you were about to respond, your eyes fell on his nipples. Your head was resting just above the first set, so you hadn’t noticed the second, less prominent set below.

Your hands were sandwiched between Harry’s warm, smooth back and the velvety fabric of the couch, meaning you couldn’t exactly move them to play with his nipples. Instead, you resorted to pursing your lips together and blowing to create a more concentrated stream of air.

“I can feel your arousal dripping all over me already.”

Throughout his dialogue, Harry’s thrusts became weaker and more bearable, but as soon as the last word was out of his mouth, he gripped your shoulder and began pushing his cock in harder.

You moved along with it, shifting around him and bucking your hips into his to give him maximum friction, coaxing a strangled sort of moan out of him; the first of the night.

“Feels… good,” he breathed shakily, trying to keep his thrusting pace constant. “Fuck, darling, just like that.”

You shifted on top of him so his cock speared directly into your g-spot. You couldn’t help but moan as his lips traveled to your ear, where he began to pepper you with microscopic kisses, breathing sensually into your ears all the while.

A shiver ran down your spine as his nose nudged into your ear, but you could hardly enjoy the sensation before his cock re-entered you from a different angle.

“Sit up, lovie,” Harry instructed. “Want you to straddle me now.”

Soon, you were sitting on his lap with your legs crossed behind his back as his girthy cock pulsed deep inside you. The new position gave you both a better view of what was happening to your bodies.

“Look how puffy your little clit is,” Harry remarked, his face breaking into a wide grin. “My darling bud of May.”

Your cheeks flushed a deep shade of red, thinking about him remembering the poems you’d recited earlier.

“Recite the whole line for me, love,” Harry requested as he lowered his fingers, along with his cock, to your entrance.

“Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, and summer’s lease hath all too short a date.”

Harry’s fingers began working at your clit as his cock continued thrusting into you.

A soft moan escaped your lips as your head fell back against your neck, but Harry urged you on.

“Sometimes too hot the eye of Heaven shines, and often is his gold complexion dimmed. And every fair from fair sometime declines, by chance or nature’s changing course untrimmed.”

Harry smirked at the unintentional innuendo as he jabbed his dick harder into you. “Keep going, darlin’, please,” he coaxed.

“I… I can’t, Harry, please,” you stuttered breathlessly as you tried to recall the famous poet’s masterpiece from deep within you.

“Need me to slow down?” he asked understandingly.

“N-no,” you replied, “I remember now. But thy eternal summer shall not fade, nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st. Nor shall death brag thou wanderest in his shade, when in eternal lines to time thou growest.”

“Good memory, bunny,” Harry praised. “You’re walls are fluttering so much. Do you need to cum?”

“Yes, Harry,” you whined.

“Finish the poem, then we can cum together.”

You took a deep breath before shooting out the final two lines as fast as your lips, teeth, and tongue would permit. “So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, so long lives this and this gives life to thee.”

“Good girl. Cum now.”

You relaxed every muscle in your body, allowing all of the arousal to spill out of you. It mixed with Harry’s, creating a milky pool on the blanket beneath you.

Your eyes fluttered shut and your body twitched uncontrollably as your insides relaxed to let every last drop of arousal out. Your abs ached and your head throbbed as you waited for the climax to wear off.

“Atta girl,” Harry rasped, inhaling an unsteady breath. “You did good, doll.”

“So did you,” you replied awkwardly, cupping his pecs in your hands as you faced him.

“D’you like what you see?” Harry teased good-naturedly. “Are you more of an ass or pecs girl?”

“Pecs,” you responded after a moment’s contemplation.

“Coulda guessed,” Harry shrugged. “Me too. I’m more of a tits guy than an ass guy.”

“You know what I like more than asses and pecs?”

“Dicks?”

“Thighs,” you giggled, tracing your fingers down the insides of Harry’s smooth thighs.

He was practically purring as he watched your fingers roam freely around his sensitive thighs. Goosebumps prickled all over his body, stemming from his thighs.

“Feels good, hm?”

He gave you a lopsided smile, cocking his head to the side as he looked at you through smiling-squinted eyes. He held his arms open for you and you were in them immediately, hugging him back with your face buried in his shoulder.

“What are we going to do about this?” you asked sluggishly, beckoning to the soaked blanket beneath you that had acted as a barrier between you and Harry and the soft red velvet of the sofa.

Harry looked around in the relative dark for a moment before snagging the extra blanket from the back of the couch. “Did they give this to you to use?”

You nodded, swallowing nervously.

“Take this for tonight. I’ll make up an excuse for why this needs to be washed.” He pulled the soiled fleece from under you and folded it tactfully so its contents were on the inside.

“Kiss me one more time?” you begged softly, suddenly aware of the fact that you and Harry could be walked in on at any moment.

“No need to ask twice.” Harry smiled boyishly. “You’re delicious.” He wrapped one arm around your back and placed his other hand on the back of your head to steady it.

Neither of you wanted to break the kiss, but you mutually agreed to back away from the kiss lest anyone walk in on you.

“Here’s y’shirt,” Harry said cheekily as he handed your crumpled camp t-shirt back, giving your breasts one final jiggle.

He pulled his long-sleeved white shirt over his head and you took the opportunity to ruffle his hair affectionately.

“‘M gonna go back downstairs now,” he commented sullenly, forcing a smile onto his face. “So… I’ll see you in the morning?”

You nodded faintly, hoping he wouldn’t notice the tears welling up in your eyes.

He noticed, but he didn’t address them directly. Instead, he let out a low hum before pressing a hot kiss to your forehead. “Lie down and roll over,” he instructed gently.

You rolled over so you were facing the back of the couch, spooning one of the decorative cushions your aunt had given you to sleep on.

Harry pulled the blanket up to your chin and busied himself combing out your hair with his fingers. He organized it into a messy braid, tied it off, and gave your shoulder one final pat.

“Can I have your number?” you asked, your voice wavering as you struggled to contain your tears. “My phone’s on the bookshelf by the outlet.”

“What’s your password?”

As soon as Harry was into your phone, he added himself to your contacts and turned it back off.

“Text me as soon as you wake up, but for now, it stays off. Okay?”

“Thank you, Harry.”

There was no response. All you heard was the basement door opening, then clicking shut. He descended the staircase as quietly as possible with the bundle of blankets secured in his arms.

The digital clock on the other side of the room informed you that it had been less than an hour since Harry came up the stairs for the first time. Somehow, it was still earlier than you usually fell asleep, but that was alright because Harry had exhausted you.

A few hot tears trickled down your cheeks as you wondered if Harry was actually into you or if he’d given you his number out of politeness. You wondered if you would unknowingly be the cause of some innocent girl back in London being cheated on. You hoped not.

You also hoped that no one would find out about your and Harry’s late-night encounter. Either way, though, what was done was done and there wasn’t much you could do about it. You snuggled farther into the couch cushions, pretending they were Harry, and fell into a sound sleep.

Even in your sleep, though, the memory of the night you’d spent with Harry haunted you. The sex alone wasn’t any more pleasurable than anything else you’d previously experienced, but the natural connection between you was undoubtedly there. All you could do was hope and pray that you would get the opportunity to do it again.

Taglist: @madybeth21 @groovychaosavenue @fishingirl12 @sortingharryshairclip @mrspeacem1nusone @tenaciousperfectionunknown @cayleyhannha-blog @whitemancumslut

[mon4504]

Strange Experience

This post is kinda all over the place lol but I promise it will make sense in the end.

So I have always been around a church growing up and my family has pretty much always gone church. But as I have gotten older I grew away from the lord.

Now the point of this post is to get others views on what they might thank.

So I had started a new job the same day that my coworker(who is a big part of this story) had started so there are now 4 adults in the room. So pretty much from day one I had got a weird feeling in my gut from her. But I couldn't really put my finger one it. Until one day she told me that she was a practicing witch. Now for some context she felt comfortable telling me this because we had kinda bonded over watching the same people on youtube. ex Sam and Colby, CelinaSpookyBoo, and Kallmkris. Also for references this was around the time that Sam and Colby Series came out iykyk.

But the point is a few days later while we were both at work we got to talking again and she opened up to me that she could see "things/people" now I believe her on that kinda for ex. she described one of my great grandams that had been dead before I could even drive keep in mind I am 20!

Now up till that point i hadn't really thought about her as much as I do now , but the reason I say that was because of what she told me. She told me that my deceased great grandma would just show up around me while we were at work and she(my deceased great grandmother)told her that she was always just kinda with me like a Guardian angle way. I was honestly so shocked in a way and was also kinda happy that she was still around me of all the people in our family (its a big family she had 6 kids who each had 2-4 kids themselves and so on).

On another kinda side note kinda not. But I was talking to my grandma today who is her daugther. She said that she was one of the 3 oldest and that her mom (my great grandmother) favored the 3 youngest, and that she didnt really care for the 3 oldest that much which i truly beileve. But it could also be a generational thing possibly because I am 20 so my grandma is 72 and her mother (my great grandmother) has been gone for some years now but passed in her 80s. So I wanted to give some background on my family and me as it will come back up later.

Back to me at work.

So my coworker and I had been talking about possibly going ghost hunting sometime together. Keep in mind she is a practicing witch and she can see things and so on. Also around this time was getting closer to the Lord like I was seeing signs of the lord. So I confident that I would be just fine, that the lord would protect me and them. (But as you'll read I do not think I was as strong with the Lord as I thought I was.) Anyways, she asked if she could invite her friend that was a "baby witch" her words NOT MINE! So I was completely fine with it because her friend also works in our career field so it made me feel more comfortable. Now with that being said we had planned to meet up that night to ghost hunt.

Im going to skip a little bit ahead because im leaving out minior things that DON'T matter.

So we get to where we a ghost hunting. (in like a wooded park area) and all 3 of us go under a shelter to sit at the tables. Then my coworker like (went under with headphones on and eyes closed) iykyk. Also it is dark out like an hour before the place we were at closed. Anyways I sat down with the (baby witch, yes this is what I am going to call her) while her friend/my coworker was under. But as well started to ask questions it didn't really make any sense as usual. But then as we were there longer we started to get things. Which honestly started to scare the (baby witch) because whatever/whoever we were talking to was saying things about something that would happen to one of her siblings. Which I know this because when my coworker (big witch, yes that is what I am going to call her that lol it will make it easier I promise) came out of being under. So we started to talk about everything that had been said, so that started to freak us all out. Like ALL 3 of us! Then the big witch said what she saw while she was under(keep in mind her head was down and eyes for closed and covered) which was something that was not something we should be talking to or even be near at this time because of how vulnerable we were the whole time we were out at the first place. Yes, I know we should have learned from that, that we should have stopped but of course we didn't. STUPID I KNOW! Anyways we ended up running to the car stupid I know but we started to hear things around us and the big witch said that we needed to get out of there right now because something was coming for us and I 100% that because I heard it coming as well.

Just an FYI the thing that we were running from was something that we should not have ran from also something that I won't say out loud or even through this post so iykyk but if not then DO NOT WORRY ABOUT IT! TRUST ME YOU DO NOT WANT TO!

Now we finally get to the second and final place we were going to that night. Now I would just like to say that it was at an old folks home but like in the parking lot far away from the building as to not to disturb anyone alive.

So we got started and it said things like "hurt" "her" "month" "accident" "months" "train" "building" "room" "head".

Along with many other things that didn't make any sense then and still doesn't now. But then it started to talk about (baby witch) about something happening to one of the silbings again so we tried to get more answers but could not. To the point it started to get super dark and we all decided to end the session and say goodbye. Also I prayed over all of us at the end as well.

Now fast forward a few days into the work week I was injured at work. Which all the words that we had gotten which I quoted above. They all made sense to me now a month after it all happened because I ended up getting a head injury that kept me from thinking because it hurt too much.

So a month after all this I have been thinking as well as been praying and talking as well as getting closer to the Lord that I understand. I understand now that it was all a lesson from the Lord himself.

But what I am not sure about is what the big witches intentions are not since that night. For the reason of getting physically sick just being around her and talking about things from that night. I feel like I just really have not been myself since then.

So if anyone has any answers, questions, ideas, or comments please feel free to do so.

[ofduskanddreams]

Inked Lilies pt. 3

Summary: The tale of flower shop owner Gwyn and tattoo artist Azriel climaxes and concludes in this third installment ;)

Warnings: NSFW (18+ only please), references past SA

Here are the links for part one (by @headcanonheadcase) and part two (by @shadowsingerofnight) and the acotar writing circle masterlist.

Okay, this is 10.6k words. Yeah, I know it's not short—whatever; there was a lot of ground to cover here. Listen though, it's 50% filth okay? Enjoy. Thank you my besties @damedechance and @hlizr50 for being such lovely betas (🤠 iykyk)

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It feels like that one time in middle school gym class during their soccer unit when Gwyn had been playing goalie and she’d jumped to block a shot and hit her head on the metal frame of the goal in the process. 

The world is bleary and fuzzed, like her mind was replaced with dandelion down. There’s a ringing in her ears. The cartoons where someone’s head is crashed between cymbals suddenly make a lot more sense.

“What do you mean? ‘That you could do nothing to save Catrin too?’” Gwyn hears herself ask, the words as slow as syrup poured straight out of the fridge.

Azriel clears his throat. Gwyn pulls herself up to sit on the counter she’s been leaning against.

That darkened hazel gaze flits to the floor before meeting her face. Her inhale is sharp. His eyes are anguished.

“I was the one who found you in the alley and brought you to the hospital.”

I was the one who found you.

Gwyn had been telling herself that it was her imagination.

That it was a simple coincidence Azriel’s scars reminded her of the ones on the hands of the man that helped her.

“They’d already left by the time I found you. And Catrin.” He adds, not meeting her eyes so she watches his Adam's apple bob with a hard swallow. “I called the police but the hospital was blocks away and you were in such bad shape. I—I checked her pulse first.” A muscle in his jaw jumps. “Then I checked yours.”

The words are painful for him. She can hear that much. They are like shards barely held together by half-dried glue. They claw at his throat and make it hoarse at the same time that they shred through her, lodging themselves in her lungs and making air an excruciating thing to consume. 

“You were still alive.” His voice cracks. “I left her there. I fucking left her.”

Azriel turns away from her, raking both hands through his dark, wavy hair. 

“She was dead.” Gwyn hears the stilted words walk off of her tongue and fall flat on the herringbone wood floor.

“Because I was too late.”

“What do you mean?” She asks again, not understanding.

Gwyn hears him make a pained, exasperated kind of sound. His sculpted shoulders are heaving in the shadows cast by the orange streetlamp and watery moonlight. 

“I mean that, if I hadn’t gotten distracted and stayed out so late, I might have made it there in time to save both of you.”

The sheer arrogance of this man is enough to jumpstart her back into crisp reality. 

“Bullshit.”

“What?” Azriel whips around.

“Bull. Shit.” Gwyn makes sure to enunciate. “Unless you’re somehow Batman under all of… that.” She gestures to, well, all of him. “Or you illegally carry a gun.” She shivers at the memory of cold metal against her bruised skin. “There is no way in hell you could have taken on all five of them.”

Something in Azriel’s lamplit eyes shatters. Maybe it implodes. 

So very slowly, he sinks into one of the chairs near the door and lets his head fall onto the arms crossed on top of his parted knees.

“She was already dead.” Gwyn says again, as much as the reminder kills her. “But you got there in time to save me.”

Azriel shakes his head, like he doesn’t believe her. 

“Do you want to know what the nurses told me when I woke up in intensive care?” Gwyn jumps down from the counter and stalks towards him. She will make sure he hears this even if he doesn’t want to. 

“They said I was only alive because I had a guardian angel.” Remembering that afternoon when the world came into slow focus and she was missing half of herself is like walking through a briar hedge, no roses all thorns. “They said if I’d gotten to the hospital even ten minutes later than I did, if I hadn’t gotten an anonymous blood donation, I would have died.” 

Gwyn’s teal eyes narrow as she looks at his golden brown arms, exposed by the short sleeves of his expensive looking gray t-shirt. At the veins standing out, blue-green beneath the black swirls of his tattoos.

“Anything else about that night you’d care to share while we’re at it?”

Azriel whispers something under his breath.

“I didn’t hear you.” Gwyn knows she should try and rein back the bite to her words. But honestly? She’s livid. 

Years. It had taken years of therapy for her to forgive herself for not making Catrin leave the club earlier that night, so that they could have walked back when the streets were still bustling with people. It had taken years to speak the words to her reflection, ‘It was not my fault. It was no one’s fault but theirs.’

If she wasn’t allowed to blame herself, there was no way she would let Azriel shoulder that corrosive guilt either. No fucking way.

She stops less than a foot in front of him, waiting.

He looks small like this. All backlit by the outside lights, crumpling inwards, hunched shoulders and hanging head.

A part of her wants to prompt him to speak again, but she knows this is like that first day. That Azriel just needs a minute to collect his thoughts. It’s the remembrance that she thought he needed to feel safe before opening up that has Gwyn sinking to crouch before his bent knees.

The urge to comfort has her freckled hand stretching out to rest lightly on Azriel’s forearm. His skin is so hot… no; Gwyn’s hand is freezing. She tries to snatch it away, but Azriel moves with a feline grace, a predatory speed that makes her heart flutter as he grips her hand with one of his own and makes a summoning motion with the other.

She gives him her other hand without really thinking through the action. A pleasant shiver sparkles up her spine as the warmth of Azriel seeps into her icy fingers.

Finally he lifts his head and looks her in the eyes, briefly. One deep inhale, his shoulders rise and fall. Hazel eyes fixate on a spot near her shoulder. That’s okay.

“You had already lost a lot of blood when I got you there. One of the nurses pulled me aside and asked if I would donate because the hospital had a shortage. I said yes—I’m O-neg so I donate monthly. It wasn’t a big deal. I’m just….” That muscle in his jaw twitches and Gwyn half wishes her hands weren’t trapped so she could smooth away the tension with her thumb. “I’m so sorry, Gwyn.”

The four words are a penitent whisper.

She responds with four of her own, laced with steely conviction. “It’s not your fault.”

Azriel scoffs.

“No.” The ferocity in her voice surprises her. It makes Azriel meet her eyes again—good. “You were a passing stranger, a good samaritan. The only thing you were responsible for that night was saving my life. Blaming yourself over ‘what-ifs’ is pointless. Believe me—I spent years doing it.”

Gwyn pauses to take a deep breath. “If you hadn’t pulled me out of that alley, Catrin and I would both have died that night. But because of you here I am, years later, opening my shop and making Catrin’s dream a reality.”

The edges of her vision are blurred with unshed tears. Azriel’s too are lined with silver.

“You did nothing wrong. You saved me. Do you understand?” Gwyn asks.

Azriel bites the inside of his cheek as he searches her face. His eyes squeeze tightly shut, a single tear escaping past his thick lashes. He nods. A single jerk of the chin up, then down.

Because her hands are still held tightly between his, Gwyn leans forward onto the balls of her feet and captures that tear in a butterfly light kiss before it can reach his jaw.

At the press of her lips, his eyes fly open. The moment stretches out between them as Gwyn draws back just enough to look at him. It’s heavy and foretelling like swollen clouds darkening the sky. Teal searching hazel, and hazel searching teal; they are close enough to share breath, but neither is breathing. 

Gwyn recalls the astronomy class she took in college. One diagram on the textbook page about stellar collisions is clear in her mind’s eye. Stars are moving things with set trajectories. Two things can happen when two stars, on their predestined paths, collide. If their meeting is violent, both are reduced to stardust and hydrogen gas. Nothing remains.

However, if the collision is slow, if the stars have been nearing each other for some time, they merge. They come together to form a new star; hotter and more brilliant than either had been on their own.

She thinks that this is the closest she’s ever come to knowing how that feels. The heartbeat’s pause before two stars meet.

“Gwyn,” He sighs her name, “Please. For—”

She doesn’t want to hear it so she silences him the only way that makes sense with her hands still trapped away. 

His lips are just as warm as his hands. Warm and pillowy soft and shocked-still. She presses her lips against his more firmly, an invitation to yield. One that he accepts. 

The kiss is soft and firm and slow and hungry all at once; each using their lips to say what words can’t adequately capture.

I hate that you carried this around with you for years. Stop being so stubborn. I’ve never felt about a person this way I feel about you. It scares me, but I want you too much to be afraid. This is so fast but I feel like I’ve known you forever. This feels right. Gwyn hopes he can understand.

Azriel breaks the kiss with one last near-reverent peck. At some point, his hands had left Gwyn’s to cup her face. She steadies herself, still crouching on the balls of her feet, by holding onto his thighs. Firm muscles shift under her palms.

“I can’t forgive you Azriel, because you’ve done nothing requiring my forgiveness.”

“Nothing?” He arches an eyebrow, a playful spark returning to his gaze.

Gwyn huffs a little laugh, “Okay. I forgive you for running away the other night and abandoning me half-naked in my office. Better?”

“Mhmm,” Azriel hums in agreement as he strokes her cheek, softly smiling. “That was rather stupid of me, wasn’t it.”

“It was.” Gwyn agrees, a light flush warming her cheeks and the top of her ears.

“It was hard to think straight with my hands on your skin, Gwyneth.”

God, the way he makes her name sound sinful….

“How do you know my full name, Azriel?” She draws out his own, a little smirk tugging up the corners of her mouth. “Have you been researching me?” 

Her pulse rushes faster at the wicked little grin forming on his mouth, still flushed from her lips. “It’s printed at the bottom of your receipts. ‘Cashier 1: Gwyneth B.’”

“Ah.” Anticlimactic. 

His grin widens. Her eyes narrow.

“If it’s so hard for you to think while you’re touching me, should I really trust you to give me a tattoo? Maybe I should ask Cassian instead.”

Gwyn watches the emotions play out on his face: indignation, confusion, rage, and finally a heart-stuttering determination.

“I’m better than Cassian. At least for the style you want. I have a more… delicate touch.” The word is saturated with a different kind of quality assurance that makes her stomach clench. “Besides, I’ll be wearing gloves during the actual tattooing—it’s protocol.”

“Okay.” Gwyn says, standing up. She shakes out the stiffness in her legs from crouching for so long.

Azriel rises too, looking down at her incredulously. “You want to do it tonight?”

“Were you joking earlier?” She mimics his intonation. 

“No, but—”

Gwyn places her hands on the hips of her jeans. An auburn brow arches in challenge, and Azriel (smart man that he is) shuts his mouth.

“Good. Now,” Gwyn glances around the still dark tattoo parlor, “Where do we start?”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“This will be your first tattoo, right?” Azriel asks as he hands her a consent form on a clipboard.

Gwyn nods, crossing her legs beneath her on the black vinyl table. The lights are on now and they are near the back of the shop. 

She had been expecting bright, fluorescent lighting but that’s not the case. The lights are dimmer and cozier than she remembers; the collection of neon signs decorating the walls create a pleasing haze of colors. There is a small spotlight looking thing next to Azriel’s cart that she assumes will be how he can see her tattoo clearly. 

 Everything is very clean and the smell of antiseptic slowly fades from the air, replaced by the warm cedar scent of the candle Azriel lit while he was wiping everything down.

“Normally, I would advise against this placement for your first tattoo.” Azriel speaks clearly and calmly, his voice radiating assurance that he knows what he’s doing.

This is him in his element, Gwyn realizes. It’s….

Really fucking hot, Mind-Nesta finishes the thought for her.

He takes a step closer to the table as he continues speaking, “I’m not trying to scare you, but most artists and patrons agree that tattoos on the ribs can be some of the most painful.”

Gooseflesh erupts in the wake of Azriel trailing the back of a finger down her bare arm, like he can’t keep himself from touching her. He’s looking at her for a confirmation that this is okay.

“I know.” Gwyn nods. She’d been researching the idea for weeks. 

“Since some of the tattoo will be near scar tissue, it’s possible that the damaged nerves in the area will dull the pain. It will also help that all you want is an outline, no colors or shading. The tattoo itself should only take forty-five minutes tops.”

She glances at the aqua neon digital clock on the wall. It’s 8:51 PM.

“Take a second to read and sign the form. I’m just going to grab a few things.”

With that, Azriel disappears through the curtain that acts like a door between the parlor and the offices behind it.

Gwyn is a jumble of emotions. Excitement and anticipation buzz in her veins, mingled with a little trepidation. She knew that it would hurt, but the scar was evidence of a much greater pain and she’d made it through that. Besides—this is Azriel. Gwyn knows that he will do everything he can to lessen the sting.

The form covers all of the basics she knew that it should from her research so she signs her name with the black pen hanging on a string tied to the metal clip.

Azriel returns holding a stack of textiles in his arms. He places the square pillow on the table beside her, “Since you’ll be laying down.” The navy blanket he hands her is so soft and fuzzy and… it smells like him. “So you don’t get cold without a top on.” He explains, not entirely successful at suppressing his smile.

“And those?” Gwyn tips her head to the two shades of folded black fabric still in his hands. 

Azriel shakes out the thinner piece first. It’s a t-shirt, a very large t-shirt. The second one is a hoodie that looks like it will swallow her. 

Her brow furrows and she looks up at him quizzically. 

“To wear afterwards. I don’t want you to wear a bra for the first eight hours. After that, if you have to, pick something on the looser side so that it doesn’t press into the tattoo too much as it heals.”

He says it all with that business-like tone, but Gwyn can’t help the blush creeping onto her cheeks. She supposes that Azriel has probably given a lot of women the same speech before a tattoo. Gwyn suppresses the irrational jealousy blooming within her at the thought.

“Where did you get these?” She asks, deciding that she needs to think about something other than how many other girl’s Azriel’s had his hands on.

To her surprise, a rosy color stains Azriel’s cheeks as he reaches an arm to rub the back of his neck self-consciously. 

“I uh….” He takes a breath. “I live in the apartment above the shop.”

Well that explains why the blanket smells like his cologne—it’s his. As are the clothes.

He’s watching her carefully, trying to gauge her reaction to this information.

“Thanks.” Gwyn offers him a smile, as he re-folds the clothes and sets them on a nearby chair. Once his hands are free, she gives him the signed form. “What’s next?”

He puts the form into a drawer of his cart and walks over to stand directly in front of her before answering. Watching her face, Azriel lifts his hand and slips a finger beneath the straps of her bra and tank top where they rest on her left shoulder. Slowly dragging them towards the freckled precipice where her shoulder becomes her arm, there is a smile on his lips.

A warm shiver rushes up her spine. His golden-green-brown eyes look the same as they did the other night when he’d reached for the hem of her shirt.

“Next,” Azriel says, his voice lower than it had been a moment ago. “I get to take these off. If that’s alright with you.”

With the sound of her pulse pounding fast in her ears and the concentrating heat behind her navel, it’s all Gwyn can do to swallow and nod.

Her hands clench into fists, gripping the blanket in her lap so that she doesn’t reach for him. There will be time for that later.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Goddamn mother-fucking fuck.

The stream of vibrant curses in her mind is endless. Gwyn doesn’t let any of them escape through her gritted teeth. Not that she can unclench her jaw at this moment, even if she wanted to.

She tries to focus on two things, and two things only. First is controlling her breathing—in through the nose, out through the mouth—in and out and again and again. Second is the sensation of Azriel’s gloved thumb tracing soft circles on her side as he holds her skin steady beneath the tattoo gun buzzing in his other hand.

‘Buzzing’ isn’t the way to describe it. ‘Slicing her open with red-hot metal over and over’ or ‘taking a barbed jackhammer to her bone marrow’ would be more appropriate.

Her knuckles are white where they grip the blanket covering her bare chest. A single tear tracks down her cheek and she lets it, wanting to stay as still as possible. It’s gravity pulling that droplet out of her tear ducts and dragging it down the freckled and flushed skin. Simple physics, not the pain. 

“You’re doing great, Gwyn. I’m almost done.” Azriel tells her. Beneath the encouraging words, his voice sounds…strained.

Pointedly attuned to every sensation regarding her body, Gwyn registers the softest brush of his lips against the back of her shoulder.

Another saline drop splashes onto the table. 

But it’s worth it—turning pain into beauty, a scar into art. She reminds herself of this with each measured exhale. Catharsis hurts before it heals.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“I’m fine. You don’t have to carry me.”

A clear plastic bandage covers the thin black lines decorating the reddened skin of her ribs beneath the world’s softest and best smelling t-shirt and hoodie. The tattoo is beautiful, following the upwards curve of the scar towards her back. The clothes are lovely too. Gwyn wonders if she can make them permanently go missing from his wardrobe.

“Your lips are pale and I forgot to restock our downstairs fridge.” The no-nonsense edge of Azriel’s voice and stare make Gwyn realize that arguing will get her nowhere.

Before she even finishes letting out her resigned sigh, Azriel’s arm ducks beneath her knees as the other reaches around her back and he pulls her into his arms, mindful of the tender flesh beneath the bandage where it brushes against his chest.

Gwyn isn’t a small person. She’s five-foot-nine barefoot and works out at least three times a week. She’s proud of her curves and hard-won pounds of lean muscle. But Azriel scoops her off that table like it’s nothing. It makes her heart dance a funny little jig.

Jesus Christ woman, relax. Just let Adonis reincarnate carry you up to his apartment— 

I got it, mind-Nesta. Gwyn interrupts her friend's cerebral commentary.

—then jump his bones. 

If she were alone, Gwyn would roll her eyes. At least the mental version of Nesta is as much of a horndog as the real one.

“Hold onto me.” Azriel whispers the order low into her ear.

Even if she didn’t want to (which isn’t the case) Gwyn’s body responds before she fully processes the words. The arms she already has draped around his neck tighten.

Her heart stutters again, like a car backfiring, when Azriel holds her against him with a single arm and opens the door at the top of the stairs. 

What Gwyn had imagined his apartment to look like—it wasn’t this. 

Four massive, arched windows punctuate the far wall, grouped in pairs. There is an expanse of wall between the middle two, matching the space where the parlor’s front door is below. In the darkness, she can make out a flat screen mounted there and a cabinet beneath it, a large sectional that faces the tv, two doors on the right side of the apartment and one on the left.

Azriel doesn’t let go of her until light illuminates the clean lines of the modern kitchen to the left of the door and Gwyn is sitting on the marble countertop directly across from a double door stainless-steel fridge that she suspects is twice, if not three times the size of her own. 

All this does is add another layer of mystery to the man backlit by the bright light of the refrigerator as he looks for something inside. Tattoo artists didn’t make this much money, did they? He has to have a side gig or something.

Eyes on the prize, Berdara. Mind-Nesta reminds her.

The prize being the sculpted ass in front of her; that loose-but-not-loose fitting vintage jeans do nothing to hide.

Yeah. The other thing that had helped her live through the forty-five minutes of inky needles searing into her side was thinking about that kiss earlier. Between that memory and Azriel’s steady encouragement of words and touches throughout the process, Gwyn’s underwear is quickly becoming an near-uncomfortable level of damp.

It doesn’t help that she is braless, wearing his clothes, and sitting on his kitchen counter like they skipped ahead a few steps in the order of operations that Gwyn would be more than happy to check off before the sun rises.

“I have orange juice or grape juice.” Azriel turns as the fridge door swings closed with a soft snick.

She blinks quickly to focus on the two juice boxes held out before her, reaching for the purple one.

Azriel snatches his hand back before her fingers can find purchase on the cardboard.

She is getting angry, about to fire off a snippy remark, when he pulls the plastic-wrapped straw off the side, unwraps it and stabs it through the foil dot. Then he hands it back. Casually. Like he hadn’t just opened her juice box for her and given it to her with a smile that went straight to her ovaries. Damn.

Gwyn takes a long sip. The grape juice tastes like second grade: recess kickball, scented markers, and pea-gravel from the playground denting her palms. It makes her smile.

“How do you feel now?” Azriel asks, leaning against the spot of the counter beside her. So close that his arm brushes her shoulder.

Gwyn takes another sip of juice before answering. She hates being wrong but Azriel had been right. The grape juice is nectar coating her veins and coaxing her back to life. Her blood sugar really had dropped more than she’d thought while getting the tattoo.

“Better.” Gwyn leans into his arm, just the littlest bit. “Thank you. For…”

For the juice? For the tattoo? For opening up to me? For saving my life? 

“This.” She decides that’s the safest option.

The arm she is pressed against, gives her a playful little nudge. “Of course.”

That silence stretches out between them again, like the taste of lightning in the air before a late August thunderstorm. Gwyn finishes her juice box.

According to the little clock on the oven, it’s not yet 11PM. 

The tension, like electrons zipping between their cloth-covered skin, has Gwyn remembering the feeling of Azriel’s lips moving hungrily against hers. Her thighs press together half-consciously seeking a hint of friction. She feels Azriel’s body stiffen beside her.

Before Gwyn can wonder what that means, Azriel pushes off of the counter and comes to stand in front of her, bracketing her in with a thick, corded forearm braced against the marble on either side.

“Hi.” The surprised, reflexive greeting escapes her lips before she can stop it. Her face warms.

It’s worth the embarrassment when Azriel cracks a smile that brings out a dimple on his left cheek.

“Hi.” He repeats the word softly, reverently. Those hazel eyes lazily look at her, from one eye to the other, to her lips, then back up. He’s clearly amused, even as his palms come to rest on her knees and she lets him draw them apart so he can stand between them.

Gwyn scoots closer to the edge of the counter, decreasing the space between the button fly of his jeans and the zipper of hers.

“So, does this tattoo count as one of the flowers in that bouquet you were talking about?” She asks playfully.

Azriel takes a half step closer, his hips flanked by one of her knees on each side.

“No. Trust me Gwyneth…”

Damn him with the “Gwyneth.”

“When I ask you out, my actions will make that very, very clear.” 

“Good.”

“Good?” Azriel arches a dark brow. The gravelly drawl to his question swirls molten low in her stomach.

I blame you for this boldness. Gwyn silently curses the Nesta who has taken up residence in her mind.

She swears she hears her friend’s laugh. 

“I don’t go home with people on first dates.” Gwyn’s teal eyes fall to his lips. To his lower one, bitten to suppress a smirk. “But here we are.” There’s a breathless quality to her last phrase.

She finally pulls her eyes up back to his. The green-golden-brown irises are being overtaken by the spreading black of his pupils as he searches for something in her gaze. His throat bobs as he swallows, his body and hers drifting closer and closer. It almost feels like there is a thread tied behind her ribs, tugging her towards him.

“But here we are.” Azriel’s voice is quiet, like he’s speaking in a cathedral and these are holy words.

Her forehead presses lightly into his. She’s aching to be kissed. The sparks from their dinner caught hours ago. What was at first a low fire burning, the past two hours have fanned into the brilliant flames licking up her bones. It’s almost incomprehensible how much she wants him.

But Azriel doesn’t move any closer and Gwyn has never been a patient person. 

Her hand snakes through inky waves and she tilts her face up at the same moment she pulls his lips down to hers. 

This kiss is different than before. Where Gwyn seeks to move faster, Azriel’s lips move infuriatingly slow. Gwyn runs her tongue along the seam of his lips and Azriel pulls away, taking her lower lip between his teeth and biting. Hard enough to sting, the little hurt is soothed away with a peck as something close to sternness filters into his gaze.

“Greedy.” Azriel says, brushing her slightly swollen lip with the thumb of the hand gripping her jaw.

“Is that a problem?” Gwyn levels him a challenging look in response. 

“Hmmm,” Azriel hums in smug contemplation and the sound goes straight to her clit, his thumb stops stroking and presses into her lip lightly. There’s a possessive quality to the way he touches her and she can’t get enough of it; of the way his eyes and his hands make her feel like the star in his solar system. 

“Tonight it is.” He drawls, sending a shiver up her spine that makes his grin widen.

Her lower lips juts out in a pout at his words, “Why?”

“Because tattoos are an invasive procedure. I need to make sure you don’t do anything to mess up my hard work.” Gwyn can see the playful spark in his eyes, the shadow of a dimple near the left corner of his mouth, despite his serious tone.

It’s odd. She doesn’t feel nervous or hesitant with this, with him. The last time she had sex with a man (because sex is consensual and what happened in that alley wasn’t) was a few weeks before Cat’s death. 

Gwyn has wanted to reclaim this part of herself for a while now. Well—reclaim what she hasn’t been able to on her own, this final rung to climb. She was just waiting for the moment, the person to feel right. And he does, astonishingly so.

“Well,” her hand drifts down from his hair, tracing the line of his throat, down past the crew neck of his shirt, across the hard muscles of his chest that she can feel beneath the fabric. It comes to rest on the side of his ribs—the exact spot where his ink now marks her skin. “We can’t have that now, can we? I’m already too attached to it.”

She can feel his heartbeat thundering behind the flesh on his bones. Gwyn knows that he is just as affected by her—it sends another thrill up her spine. 

“No. We can’t.”

And, with those three words spoken roughly, Azriel pulls Gwyn into him, kissing her hungrily as his palms run up her thighs and beneath them. Then Gwyn’s arms are wrapping tightly around his neck as he pulls her off of the counter, carrying her out of the kitchen and through one of the doors she spotted from the entry.

“You taste like grape juice.” Azriel says, the words breathless as he kicks the door closed behind them, still moving forward.

Gwyn is giggling as she tries to catch her breath so she can be kissing him again. “You gave it to me,” she says in her defense.

“I like grape juice.” He replies with a wicked little grin.

“Hey!” Gwyn squeaks in surprise as she is tossed away from Azriel’s body effortlessly. She’s in the air for half of a heartbeat before a mattress indents beneath her. A bed that smells faintly of cedar and the warm spicy-fresh aired scent of his cologne.

I’m in Azriel’s bed. 

He laughs at her indignant squeal and it’s one of the best sounds Gwyn has ever heard.

“What did you just say about being gentle?” She points out as Azriel crawls onto the bed until he is hovering over her, keeping most of his weight suspended above her.

“I never said anything about being gentle, Gwyneth.” His voice is so low it rumbles a growl as he kisses a spot just below her earlobe. “I suggested that you let me take the lead—if you want, that is.”

Fuck. A fresh wave of heat concentrates between her thighs.

Azriel pulls back, cupping her cheek to really look at her. “You’ll be in control the whole time. You tell me to stop or—” he takes her hand and raps her knuckles against his chest three times “tap out and we stop, no matter what or when.”

And she knows he means every word he’s saying. Knows it from the open honesty in his face, the vulnerability in his eyes; she knows it in the marrow of her bones. 

So Gwyn says the word she’s been holding back since he called her greedy, since he kissed her downstairs, since that day in her office when he first touched her skin. 

“Please.” She tries to arch up and kiss him, but a scarred hand gently presses her back into the mattress where he can see her face clearly.

“Is that a yes?” She’s glad that his voice sounds as saturated with desperation as she feels.

Her hand finds its way back into his hair, nails raking gently against his scalp as she draws him down towards her. 

“Yes.” She says, the words brushing her lips against his.

Before the last constant fades, his lips bridge the gap, tasting and teasing and consuming until all she can think about is him and how he tastes like purple Mr. Sketch.

Her fingers find their way beneath the hem of his shirt, palms exploring the shifting planes of warm, hard muscle.

“Thank fuck.” Azriel says as their swollen lips part, both of them panting. He grabs the back of his t-shirt and pulls it over his head in a smooth motion. 

I’m so screwed. Is the only thought repeating between Gwyn’s ears as she takes in the muscled expanse of his torso, the scrolling black tattoos winding up his arms and across his chest. Azriel clothed is already a devastating thing to behold. Azriel shirtless…. Yeah, she’s screwed.

But something in the blood-red, beating thing behind her ribs tells her that she doesn’t need to worry about Azriel ruining all other men for her. That it’s him. That she doesn’t want, won’t want anyone else.

The rush of her pulse in her ears sounds an awful lot like ever, ever, ever.

Kneeling over her, his warm hands reach for the bottom of her borrowed sweatshirt. The question is clear in his eyes. Gwyn nods. Absent is any of the self-conscious hesitancy she would have expected from herself. 

Maybe it’s because their conversation before the tattoo had felt more intimate than any physical act she’d ever committed. 

Maybe it’s because this is Azriel. The hunger in his eyes is for her. He thought the ugliest part of her was beautiful.

The room is comfortably warm but Gwyn’s nipples are already peaked as Azriel discards his hoodie and t-shirt somewhere beyond the king-size bed.

“Thank fuck.” His whisper sounds devout. His blown pupils take in her breasts, the rosy-brown nipples aching for attention, the galaxy of the freckles across her skin.

She can’t withhold her laugh, “That’s the second time you’ve said that.”

Azriel punctuates his words with kisses down her neck and collarbone. “I’ve. Wanted you. Wanted to kiss you here. And here.”

His kisses bear the shape of a smile. He moves down, trailing his lips towards the valley between her breasts. “And here. And here. For weeks, Gwyneth.” 

Goosebumps rise at the sound of her name, practically a growl his voice is so low. 

“Just let. Me be. Grateful.”

Whatever comment she was going to make is replaced by a long moan as Azriel’s lips come down around her nipple and he flicks the sensitive peak with his tongue. Her back bows off the bed as one of his hands reaches for the other one, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger and sending lightning strikes of pleasure to her needy clit.

His lips and fingers swirl and pluck until her body is taut and thrumming with want, writhing and aching to be played.

“Az!” Gwyn moans, half-delirious with pleasure and frustration as his lips and hands don't stray below her waist, where she really wants him.

He releases her breast with a wet little pop, pulling back to look at her. 

“Beautiful.” Azriel says the breathy word like he’s talking to himself, just as he did in her office when he saw the scar. 

His chest rises and falls with each long pull of air. Gwyn feels the loss of his touch, its absence almost painful. She sits up, her hands tracing the elastic band of his underwear that peeks over the top of his jeans. Gwyn’s hands stall of the buttons of his fly as she kisses the black swirls of ink on bronze skin. Beneath her lips she can feel his breathing grow more labored. She reaches down.

Holy fuck. Is her first thought as she palms him through his jeans. The man is at least six-foot-three and he held her up with one arm, Gwyn knows she shouldn’t be this surprised by the size of him. Azriel is hard. So hard and long and thick and… fuck.

“Fuck.” The gasped curse falls from his lips at the same time it echoes in her mind.

Gwyn presses the heel of her hand into him again, watching his eyes shutter while his hips jerk towards hers.

Her fingers tug at the top button of his jeans. Azriel’s answering nod is instant, his eyes a little needy. 

She likes him like this. The quiet, composed man she met that day of the opening already coming undone at the touch of her palms.

The buttons ripple apart as she peels one side of them towards her. Azriel hops backwards off the bed, kicking the denim down his legs and ripping off his socks and then he is back on the mattress, pushing her down into the comforter and nipping at her bottom lip.

Through the delicious haze of lips and tongues and softly biting teeth, Gwyn reaches for him again. She strokes him through the soft cotton of his boxer-briefs, eliciting a growled moan that dances from his tongue to hers.

Azriel’s hand wraps around her wrist before she can do it again.

“Hey!” Gwyn wants to whine. She wants to touch him, to feel him and what she makes him feel. He doesn’t let her.

He collects her other wrist and pins them loosely above her head with a single hand. The other traces a line over her lips before cupping her jaw.

Azriel’s hard gaze manages to admonish her at the same time it makes her feel cherished. “None of that, beautiful.” He ducks down and tugs her earlobe with his teeth; his voice is authoritative, amused. “I have plans for you. I can’t have you getting ahead of them.”

“What plans?” The words come out in a rush of air as Azriel’s lips close around a spot where her neck meets her collarbone and he sucks. 

Pleasure blooms from the spot, making her squirm. Then that weight he’s been holding up descends and he grinds against her. His erection presses the fabric of her jeans and panties into her clit, making her gasp and wriggle to try and move her hips to get more friction. 

Azriel chuckles as his lips finally release the sensitive skin. It’s a dark, heady sound filled with promise. Gwyn knows that there’s a purple rose blossoming near her throat and she loves that—the idea of his marks on her skin. A calla lily and a rose.

“Beautiful.” Hazel eyes track the movement of his calloused finger tip dragging across the mark as he whispers that damning word again before meeting her eyes. There’s a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, his eyes are a little glassy.

“What plans?” Gwyn asks again, her annoyance at his inaction seeping into the words. Her body feels like the fuses to a thousand fireworks, all sparks and heat and anticipation. She’ll implode if he doesn’t start touching her again, she’s sure of it.

“I’ll tell you, Gwyneth, if you promise to hold still.” He leans towards her; his breath is warm on her lips.

Golden bursts burn brighter. Hold still? How can she hold still like this? She wants to kiss him, he’s so close. She needs his lips, his tongue, branding themselves on her skin, her soul.

“Can you do that for me? Can you try to be good, beautiful?”

She has to bite her lip to stop herself from tipping forwards and tasting him. Gwyn manages to nod.

The hand pressing her wrists into the mattress lifts away, grazing the sensitive skin on the underside of her arm, trailing lightly down her side, up and around to….

Oh God.

His thumb and forefinger pinch her hardened nipple, rolling it and it takes more concentration that she thought she was capable of to keep her wrists above her head as her back arches off of the bed. 

“Look at me.” Azriel’s words fan against her lips.

Gwyn’s eyes open, she’s not sure exactly when she squeezed them shut.

“Good girl.”

There’s stardust gathering in the corners of her vision as Azriel finally closes the distance between them, kissing her roughly as he palms her other breast and grinds his hard length against her again. His praise is like a flint strike, a little fire jumping and lighting her up synapse by synapse.

“My plan.” He drawls, teasingly as his hands leave her skin. “Is to taste you. To make you come on my tongue with my fingers inside you, beautiful. Then, when you’re soaked and begging for me, I’m going to fuck you until the only name you remember is mine.”

“Okay.” Gwyn nods rapidly.

Azriel chuckles again, arching a single brow, “Okay?”

“Yes.” She adds when he doesn’t move to touch her. “Please?”

His smile grows and, to her disappointment, he leans back to straddle her with a soft shake of his head.

Gwyn is a heartbeat away from begging when he pops the top button of her jeans and tugs the zipper. 

Thank God.

Then he’s backing away from her, stepping off the end of the bed and pulling her towards him gently by the backs of her knees.

“Hands.” Azriel warns her when she tries to push herself up to watch.

Her wrists flop back down above her as she huffs. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re kinda bossy?”

“Hmpf.” Azriel snorts, letting go of her ankles once her ass is nearly hanging off the edge of the mattress. “All the time.”

She can hear the smile in his voice.

Gwyn gasps when his hands wrench her jeans and underwear down her hips and thighs and cast them aside once her feet are free. And then Azriel is kneeling before her. A large, scarred hand wrapped around the inside of each of her thighs as he parts her legs.

The familiar warmth of self-conscious embarrassment rushes to her cheeks and she tries to close her legs. Those strong hands don’t let her move an inch. Those hands—the ones that saved her, held her up, and turned her skin into a work of art—keeping her bared to him.

Gwyn lifts her head as much as she can without moving her hands. Azriel’s eyes are dark and sparkling, she can see that his cheeks are pink in the soft light of a little lamp near the window curtains.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a bit of a brat, Gwyn?” His voice sounds rougher as he takes her in. She’s never felt so exposed, but she likes the way he’s looking at her, the way he wets his lips.

Seeing him there—kneeling before her—Gwyn shudders at the thrill that runs through her. It’s a sensual kind of powerful feeling she can’t put her finger on.

“All… the time.” Where she finds the coherence to volley his words back, she isn’t sure. But it’s true. Nesta likes to joke about it.

Azriel smirks at her. She watches as he leans closer, close enough that she can feel his breath against her pussy. Then those eyes flick back to her core. He isn’t touching her yet, but the heat in his gaze is stupidly erotic. It’s teasing her with a phantom touch as Azriel whispers, “Fucking beautiful.” 

She’s lost count of the times he’s spoken that word tonight, each time more to himself than to her.

But numbers and counting and words and thoughts fly out of her mind like thistledown at the first stroke of his finger up and down her slit. Colors swirl behind her eyelids at the first long lick of his tongue from her entrance to her clit.

“Oh….” The shocked sound escapes her parted lips as his warm tongue leisurely swirls around her clit, teasing.

“Fuck, Gwyn. Already so wet for me, beautiful.” Azriel’s words are the gasoline to her fire. His mouth descends upon her like she is the only thing that can satisfy his unappeasable thirst.

Her whole body flushes with heat and need as his tongue explores her, tasting and tempting. Already, she can feel that tingling heat concentrating near her lower spine. She tries to grind against his face when his tongue circles that bundle of nerves without touching it. Gwyn nearly comes at the sound of his dark chuckle rumbling through her as he pins her hips to the bed. His tongue finally flicks her clit at the same time he slides a finger into her, knuckle deep.

“O—fuck.” Her words are half gasped, half moaned as her body bends in towards that touch.

Azriel drags his finger out slowly, pausing to circle a spot that elicits another keening sound from the back of her throat. Gwyn is faintly aware of the fact that she is panting. That her legs are thrown over his shoulders. That she has never felt this turned-on in her life, and that she is feeling things she didn’t think were possible.

A second whorled finger joins the first and they press into her, stretching her, filling her. 

“You’re so damn tight, Gwyneth.” Azriel’s voice sounds hoarse, restrained. Those fingers push further, twisting and his lips seal around her clit, sucking.

Gwyn flies apart.

Those fuses burn up. 

The whole world pauses in that half second that her body tenses, freezes and then a thousand fireworks explode. Cascading waves of heat and color and unbelievable pleasure consume her. 

Slowly the stardust and sparks of her condense and her senses return. Her head is thrown back against the mattress as she rides Azriel’s slowly pumping fingers.

“Fuck.” Gwyn exhales sharply as her body tingles back into focus. “Azriel. Fuck.”

She can’t stop the convulsion that overtakes her as he presses a soft kiss to her sensitive clit, those fingers still moving lazily in and out.

“Use your hands, Gwyneth. Watch me.” Azriel’s gravelly voice demands.

Gwyn pushes up on her elbows. She’s barely done it when Azriel stands and clasps the nape of her neck, pulling her to him without breaking his rhythm.

“Good Girl.” He whispers against her lips. Then he’s kissing her, consuming her senses. She can taste herself, a little salty, a little musky, and underneath it all is the faint sweetness of grape juice.

Another sharp breath wooshes out of her as Azriel adds a third finger.

He freezes, his eyes search hers in concern. “You alright?”

“Yes.” She grinds herself down onto his fingers impatiently. “Az—God—don’t stop.” 

Gwyn thinks he whispers thank fuck again, but she can’t be sure becuase her tongue is in his mouth, demanding more, drawing a low groan from Azriel’s throat.

“Look, beautiful.” He pulls away from her, watching his fingers disappearing into her slick core. “Look at your pretty cunt taking my fingers so well.”

Gwyn whimpers as she looks down.

She’s never whimpered before in her life, but this is apparently a night of firsts.

The sound is desperate, needy. Then again, so is she.

Nothing has ever felt like this. Ever.

Nothing has ever looked as beautifully obscene as Azriel’s long, scarred fingers glistening with her arousal as they fill her, getting her ready for him. He twists his wrist with every push and pull, brushing her g-spot as his thumb starts to circle her clit.

Azriel pulls the next orgasm out of her, even more dizzying than the first because it takes her completely by surprise when his teeth close lightly around her oversensitive nipple at the same moment his fingers curl up and his thumb presses down.

She only stays upright as her body pulsates tight and loose and tight because his free arm is wrapped around her back. They are both breathing heavily as he drags out her pleasure until she’s mumbling nonsense interspersed with the words “Az” and “please.” 

She shivers when his fingers finally pull out of her, and the void they leave behind feels…incorrect. The past however many minutes of pleasure have felt more right than anything she can remember. 

“Fuck, beautiful. Look at you.” Azriel holds his wet fingers up with wanton reverence. Gwyn bites back a moan as he meets her gaze and sucks the first finger into his mouth. Okay, correction. That is the most obscene thing she’s ever seen. 

“You taste….” He releases his ring finger with a disbelieving shake of his head. “Damn perfect.”

He licks his middle finger before drawing it between his lips. Feeling like her mind is moving half a second behind her body, Gwyn stands up on her shaky knees on the bed before him. She places a hand on his chest to steady herself, wrapping her other one around his wrist before he can clean off his index finger.

Gwyn doesn’t really know what she’s doing. She’s going off of instinct and years of porn and erotica but this is what she wants to do.

Never breaking eye contact with Azriel, her tongue traces a trail up his slicked forefinger and then she draws it into her mouth, looking up at him through her lashes. A moan sounds in the back of her throat as she tastes her arousal and the salt of his skin, a sound that Azriel echoes as his eyes darken while he watches her.

Gwyn rocks back onto her heels when his finger is thoroughly cleaned, reaching out to palm him through his black boxer-briefs.

“Can I touch you now? Please?” She wants to taste him. The idea of going down on a guy never really appealed to her before but her mouth is watering at the prospect of him. She just wants to make him feel a fraction of what she just did.

Azriel’s answer is to hook his thumbs into the elastic and pull it down without hesitation. 

Fuck. 

Gwyn has no shame in admitting that she’s seen a fair amount of erections through a screen and a few in person. None of them, none, have been so… pretty.

That’s the only word she can pluck out of the cottonwood fluff of her thoughts as she takes in the red-lavender head weeping a dew drop of precum, the dark veins pulsing beneath brownish pink skin and making his cock bob before her, beckoning.

Azriel takes a step towards the bed; Gwyn reaches out and wraps a hand around the base of his cock and—ohsweetmother—her fingers barely touch he’s so thick. She forces her eyes up to his face, to see his reactions as she drags that hand up, squeezing lightly. His eyelids flutter when she presses her thumb into the glistening bead at the slit of him and she spreads the precum down as she makes another pass, gripping a little harder.

“Yeah—a little rougher. Shit, yes. Just like that, beautiful. Oh… fu-uck, Gwyn—yeah.” Her strokes grow more confident with each hissed praise and curse.

He’s standing at the edge of the bed now and she’s back on her knees. Azriel’s eyes are screwed shut, his cheeks flushed with pleasure. So, without warning or preamble, Gwyn leans forward and wraps her lips around him. Her tongue swirls over the swollen head of his cock and Azriel moans loudly above her.

“Gwyn.” Azriel chokes out her name, his hand snaking into her hair and pulling her off of him.

She doesn’t get a chance to protest because Azriel is kissing her. How it’s possible that this kiss is even hungrier than the last hundred, Gwyn isn’t sure. He’s climbing over her, drawing her up towards the headboard and pressing her down.

“I was… just getting started.” Gwyn pants as they part for air.

“You promised. Beautiful.” He kisses the bruise above her collarbone with a delicate sweetness she feels in her toes. “I’m going to come while I’m fucking you. Remember my plan?”

“I do.” Her hand cards through his hair. “You never mentioned when you were coming. Only me.”

His thumb presses into her lower lip, she opens her mouth in response to the pressure. He looks almost wistful as he says, “Don’t worry. I’ll fuck this smartass mouth of yours soon enough, Gwyneth.”

Goosebumps break out all across her skin. “Fine,” she huffs, “then fuck me now.”

“So impatient.” Azriel croons, even as he leans in and kisses her smiling. “But you’ve been a good girl.”

Gwyn shivers. He grins, “You like it when I call you that?”

“Mmm Hmm.” 

“Noted.”

She can’t help the stupid smile on her face as Azriel drops a kiss to the tip of her nose before leaning over and opening a nightstand drawer. 

Her gut clenches with anticipation as she watches him tear the foil packet with his teeth. How she is ready to go again after already coming twice, Gwyn isn’t sure. She’s just going to accept that things with Azriel lie firmly in the realm of subverted expectations and be done with it.

He rolls the condom down his cock and Gwyn swallows. He’s really big. Even after three fingers…. No, she wants him more than his size gives her pause. She knows he wouldn’t do anything she wasn’t ready for. Just knows it. Like she knows there are stars in the sky even when it’s cloudy.

That thought makes a fluffy warm feeling explode in her chest. He settles over her again and her hand is in his hair and her mouth is slanting over his as he grinds himself into her slit, coating himself with the slickness he drew out of her. 

He reaches between them and she can feel the head pressing into her, but then it’s gone and rubbing against her clit in a way that makes her writhe. He does it again. And again.

“Stop teasing me.” Gwyn gasps into his mouth as he sinks into her half an inch and withdraws. “Just fuck me—please.”

That earns her another dark chocolate chuckle.

“Well,” He rubs his erection between her pussy lips, then presses the head against her clit in another long slide that has her eyes fluttering closed. “Since you asked so nicely.” 

Azriel pulls his body away from hers a little, so he can watch her. He nudges her thigh with his knee, spreading her wider. Then he guides himself to her entrance. There is no teasing, no more patience, as Azriel slides into her with a single long thrust.

“Oh, fuck—Az!” Gwyn gasps at the same moment Azriel hisses “Fuck, beautiful.”

She’s pretty sure her eyes roll back into her head. If that’s physically possible and not just an expression.

Never. She’s never felt anything half as good as this—Azriel stretching her walls, filling up every millimeter she has to give. Fuck.

Her eyes are squeezed shut so she can’t see the way his green-brown-golden eyes shutter as he slowly draws back before pushing back in.

“Az. God.” Gwyn manages to open her eyes despite the molten gold swirling in her core. She needs to see him, kiss him. So she does, pulling him down to her so that she can feel the heat of him radiating onto every part of her.

“Gwyn.” His voice sounds a little strangled; eyes look a little wild as their swollen lips part. “You’re so fucking tight.” 

She nods rapidly, “You feel so good.” He’s so exquisitely hard that every press of him into her strains her sensitive flesh, pushing her towards that blinding pleasure just this side of pain.

Her imagination is not up to trying to guess how incredible this feels for him if this is how it feels for her. Even though his thrusts are slow, they bring stars to life behind her eyelids. 

He pulls out to the tip again, then slowly sinks back into her and she writhes against the strictly controlled movements. She suspects he is holding himself back. That’s the last thing Gwyn wants.

“Fuck me harder.” Gwyn tells him, leaning forwards to say the words into his ear.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” Azriel grits out.

“You won’t. Azriel—please.” That golden light is still circling low in her gut, but she needs more. As much as he can give her—she’ll take it all. “Please.” Her ankles press into his lower back, trying to draw him further into her.

His next thrust is a little faster, a little rougher. As is the one following it. She watches him watch her as he carefully builds up speed. He’s intoxicating. The intensity with which Azriel approaches everything is focused solely on her and she needs more.

“Azriel.” Gwyn wills some steel into her thready voice. “I need you to fuck me.” She kisses him again, fierce and desperate, hoping he can feel just how sure she is about this, about him, about whatever this is between them.

Her message, spoken by lips meeting lips and tangled tongues, must get through to him because she feels a hand go to her left thigh. He hooks that leg over his shoulder, pushing it forward and tilting her hips so that he’s hitting a new angle. It’s deeper; every hard push reaches her innermost wall.

“Yeah—just like that—oh….” Suns burst behind her eyes as Azriel finally starts thrusting into her with powerful strokes.

The only sounds that fill the room are their labored breaths, the wet sound of Azriel’s cock pounding into her, and their mingled moans and curses.

The light eddying in her core grows brighter with each snap of his hips. Her nails rake down his back, pulling him as close to her as she can. Gwyn understands now—why the French word for orgasm means “little death,” because she already knows that her life will never be the same after tonight. That she can feel herself falling to pieces with each thrust, and she knows Azriel is crumbling as well. 

There are no more walls, no more guarded eyes. Just them, at their most raw. Beings composed from the dust of primordial stars. 

Azriel’s arm comes around her leg over his shoulder and he starts circling her clit with his thumb as his other four fingers press her stomach down. 

Her eyes want to close, to narrow down the amount of sensation that her mind is trying and failing to process but she forces them open. She wants to see him—see them—when they fall from that quickly approaching peak.

The digits splayed across her stomach push her down onto him as he drives into her and her building climax feels like sparkling lightning, white and electric up her spine.

“I can feel you getting close. Feel your tight little pussy quivering around my cock.” Azriel breathes. Even flushed, his skin covered in a sheen of sweat just like hers, he manages to look smug. “I fuck you so well, don’t I?”

She would roll her eyes if they weren’t already rolling for another reason. Gwyn is close, it's like gravity dense and low between her hip bones. Gravity drawing her in towards Azriel. The inevitable pull of slowly colliding stars.

She bites Azriel’s lip as that searing light burns hotter and she feels it pulling her up. Higher and higher she floats, suspended in all of him. His scent, his eyes, the little groans he makes in the back of his throat, his hands, his cock. Azriel. Azriel. 

“Azriel!” Gwyn moans around his tongue. “I’m—I’m going to—”

“I know.” He tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Me too. Let go, Gwyn. Come for me, beautiful.”

Those words are all it takes to shatter her. She chokes on a gasp, her airway constricting as everything seizes. Her head falls back into the mattress. Golden white light edges her vision, suffuses every cell. She’s falling. She’s flying.

All she knows is Azriel. Azriel’s arms banding around her and pulling her against him as they fall apart together. Azriel’s throaty moan “Oh Gwyn,” as his release takes hold of him and they shudder together, pulse together. As one. As two souls linked in that moment. Two stars burning, merging, flaring; her and Azriel, until she isn’t sure where he ends and she begins.

“Azriel. Azriel. Azriel.” The shower of stardust settles back into the marrow of their bones and Gwyn realizes she’s whispering his name. A litany, a prayer.

“Gwyn.” The exhausted, content smile on Azriel’s face above her as he whispers her name might be the best thing she’s ever seen.

They lay entangled until their breathing has slowed. Azriel slips his limbs out from hers, going through a door Gwyn assumes, when she hears water running, is the bathroom. Then he’s back and handing her a glass of water, followed by a warm damp rag. 

“Stay the night?” Azriel asks once they are cleaned up. He’s laying on his stomach beside her, head resting on his crossed arms as the closer of his two hands toys with a lock of her hair spread out on the pillow.

“I was hoping you would ask.” Gwyn responds softly. 

He turned the light off before getting back onto the bed, but the moonlight diffuses through the semi-sheer curtains over the large window. It’s a dreamy kind of light, faded and glimmering. Sudden dread courses through her.

“Pinch me.”

“What the hell—why?”

“Goddamnit Az, just pinch me.” Gwyn holds her arm out to him in the moonlight.

“Oh.” It’s a sound of realization. He huffs a laugh, “Think I’m too good to be true, Gwyneth?”

“Shut up,” Gwyn grumbles to the ceiling, thinking they are past the subject. She doesn’t deny it though.

“Ack!” She can’t help the startled squeak she makes when Azriel’s hands suddenly flip her towards him, drawing her into the solid warmth of his chest.

Laughter rumbles through him as Gwyn squeaks again when she feels a sharp pinch on her bare ass cheek. Then his palm is caressing the spot gently, rubbing away the pain.

“Hey!”

“You asked me to pinch you.” His defense makes a mockery of innocence.

“I meant on my arm.” Gwyn rolls her eyes though she knows he can only see the top of her head, her nose is somewhere near his sternum.

“I liked my version better.” Azriel teases back, the offending hand drifting sweetly up and down her spine.

“You’re a dick.”

“You like my dick, beautiful.” His chuckle vibrates right into her sternum, filling that space in her chest with another warm rush. When Gwyn doesn’t deign to respond he asks, “How does the tattoo feel?”

“Until you brought it up, I forgot it was there.” She answers honestly. That hour she spent downstairs as Azriel’s canvas feels like another night so much has happened since then.

“We’ll take the bandage off in the morning and I can show you how to clean it.” Azriel rolls onto his back, guiding Gwyn’s head to rest on the soft space between his shoulder and chest.

“You could just ask to fuck me in the shower you know? No need to wrap it in the guise of professional courtesy.” Gwyn yawns as soon as she finishes her sentence.

Azriel’s laughter is cut off by a yawn of his own. Gwyn traces the grid of muscles on his abdomen as a quiet settles over them. She can feel herself drifting off. The heavy tide of sleep tries to pull her into its lull.

“Just one thing—” She yawns again, “—before we fall asleep, Az?”

“Hmm?” He grunts, the sound rough and sleepy and it makes her smile.

“Don’t forget—you still owe me a bouquet, and a date.”

----tagging:

@azrielshadowssing @vikingmagic33 @booknerd87 @velidewrites @the-lonelybarricade @violet-shadows @thehaemanthus @mystical-blaise @houseofhurricane @carol-pisarro @the-bookish-valkyrie @amandapearls @lifelessdollinthesea

[marvelouspeterparker]

all worth it

pairing: tom holland x interviewer!reader

summary: tom is an actor, doing interviews is a part of his job. but there’s just something about you that makes him feel like the stress that comes with press tours and interviews is all worth it.

warnings: none, just fluff

notes: literally got this idea from looking at an onward interview gif (the one where he recites the lines from back to the future, iykyk) also imagine the pandemic never happened in this jfskgh

so tom loves his job, obviously

he gets to be his number one favorite superhero, make people happy, do what he loves, and more

but that doesn’t mean that there are no downsides to his career

there is actually a lot of stress that comes with being in the limelight and that includes people constantly watching your every move, being critiqued, questioned and put on the spot

and the perfect time for all this to occur? during interviews

now some of the time, interviews are nice, sometimes they’re even fun

but unfortunately a lot of the time, the same questions are asked in each and every one, one after the other, for hours on end and it honestly gets very boring and very draining very fast

so to be quite frank, he wasn’t expecting much when he walked into the next room for his last interview of the day

but when you walked in, he couldn’t help but perk up a bit

you were pretty and you seemed very nice as well, greeting everyone, including the crew as you made your way over to tom, jacob and zendaya

some of the interviewers would just walk straight to their seat and start the questions almost immediately, no warmth in their manners––but you, you were different

you shook each of their hands, smiling wide as you said hello

you couldn’t really contain your enthusiasm, you were a big marvel fan, and a fan of each of them, so you couldn’t tame your smile even if you wanted to

your energy was infectious and tom was more than grateful for it

when you reached him, he looked into your eyes deeply and you had to snap out of your daze before you made a fool of yourself

���hello darling’ he licked his lips as he looked up at you, a gracious smile on his face and you blinked a couple times before responding

‘hi it’s––so nice to meet you, i’m a big fan.’ you turned to look at the others, ‘of all of you, really.’ 

they all ‘aww’ed and accepted your compliments, thanking you as you took your seat

when you were given the green light to start, you gave a curt nod to the crew behind the cameras and started right away

you were professional and good at your job, making the cast feel welcome and at ease after a long day of work

you told jokes, asked interesting questions that others hadn’t and since you were a marvel fan, you were able to ask specific questions that showed your genuine interest in the comics, the films, the plots and more

tom could feel himself getting more comfortable as the interview went on and the smile never left his face throughout the entire thing

when it ended and they turned the cameras off, you all felt a bit disappointed that you would have to say goodbye so soon, you were all having a good time and genuinely laughing so hard that your cheeks hurt 

you thanked them all for their time and jacob was quick to wave you off

‘no thank you––i think we can all agree that we saved the best for last today.’ he looked to his friends and they nodded along

zendaya chimed in ‘for real, this was fun.’

you smiled, honored that you managed to make their day a little better and tom spoke up quietly, making you turn to look at him

‘yeah this, this was really great. thank you y/n.’

you could feel your cheeks heating up but you nodded, smiling as you tried your best to calm your raging heartbeat ‘my pleasure’

tom would have loved to speak with you more afterwards honestly, but unfortunately as soon as he exited the room, he and his friends were being ushered towards the next location for the day, preparing for the long week they still had ahead of them

though you had hoped to see more of tom, you only had one interview with him, so you wouldn’t be seeing him any time soon

or so you thought, anyway

your boss surprised you with a chance to go to the premiere, and interview some of the cast and other actors on the red carpet of course (since you were there for work)

you honestly thought that if tom did see you, he would only give you a small wave, maybe a slight head nod at best since you’d already interviewed him, but to your surprise, when he saw you, he smiled immediately and made his way over to you, swerving away from his entourage (which consisted of his brothers, assistant, and others you didn’t recognize)

‘hi love, how are you?’ 

his eyes were shining under the bright lights on the carpet and there were hundreds of shouts and conversations going on around you, but he somehow managed to make you focus only on him, from his voice and presence alone

‘good! how are you? you excited? nervous?’

he laughed, tilting his head, ‘both, but you know, i’m really proud of this film and i’m ready for people to see it’

you didn’t have much time to talk since there were plenty of other interviewers, journalists and on top of that he had to take pictures so you wished him good luck and he thanked you genuinely

‘i have to run, but be sure to tell me what you think of the movie afterwards, yeah? i know you’re a marvel fan, wanna see if it lives up to your standards’ he winked and you stuttered for a bit, agreeing as he walked off 

you were shocked that he wanted to hear your opinion, but granted there was a camera on you both, which you might have forgotten about while you were talking

but you couldn’t help but think, was that flirting? does he really want to know what i think?

you tried to push the butterflies down and focus on the film as you watched and honestly, it was easy to forget about everything else once you looked at the screen

the film, the plot, tom––everything was so captivating and entertaining, you couldn’t look away even if you tried

it wasn’t until after the film had ended, and you’d stayed for both end credit scenes that you realized you had no way of contacting tom

surely he would have things to do after this, after parties maybe? so you most likely wouldn’t see him outside

and it’s not like he followed you on instagram––he probably wouldn’t even see your dm if you sent one

as you were on your way out, thinking about all this, you felt a hand tap your shoulder and you turned, a smile on your face

but soon realizing it wasn’t who you’d hoped, you tried to not let the disappointment show on your face but as you looked clearly, you realized the man looked familiar

‘hi’ he smiled, ‘i’m tom’s assistant’ you nodded, greeting him a little confused

‘tom’ he started, pulling a piece of paper out of his pocket, ‘wanted me to give you this’ he handed you the paper and you opened it, feeling your stomach jump when you realized a number was scribbled on it, signed -tom ;)

without even realizing, you stared at the ink on the paper for a few seconds silently before his assistant snapped you out of it

‘he wanted you to know that he’s not a dick and he would have come if he could’

you laughed and looked up at him

‘honestly he felt really bad he couldn’t come himself, trust me.’

you nodded and put the paper in your bag, ‘thank you, i’ll be sure to use this’ you smiled

he smiled too, ‘tom hopes you will’ 

you had a feeling that tom would be busy that night, and probably hungover the next morning, so you waited a couple of days before contacting him

and during those two days, tom was honestly freaking out inside...and outside

were you not interested? was he too forward? did he do something wrong? did you get the wrong idea of him?

he was even texting harrison, jacob and zendaya about it in their group chat

tom: i’m an idiot aren’t i

zendaya: yeah but we already knew that

tom: 😑

harrison: i’m sure she’ll text you, maybe she’s just busy

jacob: yeah man, you’re a total catch

jacob: and anyway if she doesn’t want you, i’ll have you 😏

tom: thanks babe 😘

zendaya: i’m just gonna go––

tom: but anyway, i don’t think i’ll ever shoot my shot ever again because this is just embarrassing

not even a full minute passed before the he send the next text 

tom: nevermind she just texted me

tom almost dropped his phone when he saw the message pop up

maybe: y/n: hi tom! this is y/n :) i’m free to give you my thoughts on the movie when you are

you felt like you were going to be sick when you hit send on the message––you didn’t want to bother him, it’d been several days, what if he changed his mind? 

and you––nevermind he responded immediately

tom: hi darling :) i’m glad you used my number 

tom: i’m free to talk now actually, we could facetime if that’s easier? only if you want, of course

you paused when you read his text, luckily you had showered and gotten dressed today so you didn’t look a mess but you opened the camera just to check if you looked alright

were you really about to facetime tom holland?

when you finished fixing your hair, smoothing down your eyebrows and licking your lips, you swallowed your nerves and replied

y/n: sure, i’d like that

he took a deep breath and hit the call button, eagerly waiting for it to connect when you answered

when you both came into view, you smiled, greeting each other shyly

‘was a little worried when you didn’t call me that night’ he admitted sheepishly

your brows raised, surprised ‘oh i just––i assumed you would have been busy you know, after parties and all that’ you laughed and he joined you, a small smile on his face

‘darling even if you called me during the party, i would have left just to talk to you––missed hearing your voice honestly’ 

when you paused to answer a blush coated his cheeks and you couldn’t help but think how cute he looked

‘sorry was that lame?’ he laughed nervously and you shook your head, biting your lip to suppress your smile

‘no––that was, really sweet actually. i––like talking to you too, it’s really nice’ 

soon you get to talking about the actual movie and you couldn’t stop the praises from flowing

‘honestly it was incredible tom, you were incredible, i loved it’

‘thank you love, i’m really glad you enjoyed it, i was hoping you would.’

and the way that tom smiled bashfully and blushed, even pointing the camera away from his face to hide at one point had you swooning more than ever

after that, you and tom texted here and there, sometimes even facetiming, and he wouldn’t hesitate to compare you to his other interviewers and even tell you about it

‘had an interview today, can’t even compare it to yours, love’ 

you just rolled your eyes, a smile on your face ‘oh shut up, tom’ 

you talk often but due to both of your busy schedules, months go by before you see each other again

you run into him at red carpets for other marvel movies, and there’s never a dull moment between the two of you

‘‘there’s my favorite interviewer’ his smile was wide as he walked up to you. ‘you excited for this one?’

you scoffed, fully having a conversation with tom as though you weren’t on camera ‘of course i am, it looks amazing’

‘even better than my movies?’

you raised your hands in surrender, ‘legally, i can’t answer that’

he put a hand to his chest, acting dramatically offended ‘wow well, i guess it’s time for me to go then’

‘at least save me a seat?’ you joked

‘you know i will’ he smirked

by the time ‘the devil all the time’ press came about, you hadn’t told tom that you were assigned to interview him, honestly it was a last minute schedule change 

honestly, he’d gotten good at hiding his bad moods from the public, but you’d known him for enough time now to be able to see when he wasn’t at his 100%

which is why you could see him visibly brighten up when he walked into the room and saw you

‘what are you doing here?’ he asked, clearly (pleasantly) surprised as he hugged you 

‘uh, my job?’ you joked, ‘you didn’t actually think i only interviewed for the mcu did you?’

he blushed, ‘well i uh––no, obviously not’ he said unconvincingly but you brushed him aside as you got ready for the interview

once you started, tom couldn’t help but smile as he watched you, you were just really good at your job and he enjoyed being with you, even when it was for work

‘so obviously audiences are used to seeing you as peter parker, a rather lighthearted character, despite all the hardships he’s had to face––would you say approaching a character as dark as this was challenging in any way? mentally, emotionally, or just in regards to the fact that the public would be seeing a new, more sinister, villainous side to you?’

‘i mean it was a little daunting, definitely. but i was excited to sort of branch out mentally and challenge myself emotionally for this role––the story was fascinating to me and i was just so proud to be a part of this project, i tried not to think of any downsides.’ 

he paused and licked his lips, a glint in his eyes. ‘and honestly, we all have a little bit of a dark side, don’t we?’ 

you paused. of all times to flirt––

‘well hopefully not to the same extent of your character,’ you joked and thankfully the conversation smoothly transitioned elsewhere

now the fans took notice of your bond with tom

they noticed that tom seemed to smile the brightest and laugh the loudest during your interviews, even jumping into other conversations and answers to questions that were directed to his costars

there were dozens of videos, hundreds of edits––

‘tom falling for his interviewer for 9 minutes straight’

and you’d seen them––it was sort of impossible for you to not

you’d been tagged in so many of them, even your friends sent them to you

i mean you weren’t blind, tom was attractive and he did make your heart flutter but you assumed that he didn’t want a relationship since his career was only progressing, skyrocketing either––it would probably be difficult to maintain a solid relationship, or maybe he just wasn’t interested in you so you said nothing

it wasn’t until he had a break from filming that he asked you to hangout, and still you thought nothing of it, until he asked what time he should pick you up

you paused, and he even thought that you froze when really you were just processing what he said

‘like a––date?’ you asked hesitantly

he smiled, scratching the back of his head nervously, ‘yeah? yeah i––like a date.’

you smiled, ‘i would love to tom. but aren’t you worried about pictures spreading online? headlines and all that? i wouldn’t want to add any more stress––’

‘i promise love,’ he interrupted your worried rant, ‘you make it all worth it.’

[kekoma]

— kageyama as your boyfriend.

milk boy🥛is typing... hope you enjoy.

milk boy only knows how to do 2 things.

find good yogurt/milk and play volleyball.

relationships? he doesn’t know what that it is.

ahh just kidding~

anyways, dating tobio? 

it’s definitely possible but you gotta have patients.

promise his mind isn’t always focused on volleyball and becoming the best— OR about milk based products.

tobio here developed a crush on you just like any other normal boy and of course he somehow made his way into a relationship with you.

but he did go over if his emotions for you are true or if it’s one of those moments where he simply finds you attractive and you’re starting to take effect on him beforehand. (different meanings here. iykyk)

has spent countless nights with you running through his mind and days where he finds himself daydreaming about you along with the cute things he wants to do with you as well.

after countless days that turned into a few months (just 2), tobio finally found himself acknowledging that his crush for you is real and he actually wants a relationship with you.

now the confessing part could go two ways;

a) he’s bold enough to tell you straight up “i like you and i want you to be mine.” 

or.

b) there’s no second option... he knows what he wants and that’s YOU so why sugarcoat it.

jokes again~

b) he’ll come to you with a blush and confess his feelings with something along the lines like; “please go out with me. if you’re free this weekend then i would like to take you out.” (if you look at his ears, bet they’re redder than his cheeks)

bonus choice c) you confess first and he can’t help but become super flustered. most definitely accepted your confession in a heartbeat.

boom! new couple alert. (that we stan and love)

although... in the beginning, the relationship was quite odd.

nothing too extreme that you’re like “damn... sir i’m five seconds away from ascending from how awkward things are.” 

but just know it’s... weird.

he never attempted any kind of skinship or did much of anything that was consider couple like.

it’s not because he wasn’t interested or anything, he just had to go over the pros and cons of showing it with you since nothing was discussed about it.

tobio’s constant thoughts were; “would it be okay to just go for it...? what if i end up getting slapped or punched. but if i don’t go for it then would i be a bad boyfriend? what if she wants to already and i just haven’t picked up the signs...”

literally spent some days just analyzing you just in case he really did miss any hints you gave and when he’s unable to find any (if you haven’t made the first move already) the first few weeks, you two showed no true notions of dating.

although he did make up for the lack of skinship by bringing a second yogurt drink and giving it to you.

“here.”

“hm? what’s this?”

“a drink. i may have brought a second one.”

“on accident or on purpose~?”

“do you want it or not..? b-because i can easily drink it without your teasing.”

“i’ll take it. thank you for being so sweet~”

“whatever.”

proceeeds to give his cute little pout while looking away.

although after a while he brings it up and you two discuss what’s allowed and what’s not allowed.

even then, he’s still bizarre about it because he’ll randomly grab your hand and hold it strangely or say out of no where “please... hold my hand.”

could really go on and on about the awkward stage but you didn’t come here for that.

so let’s discuss the relationship currently. probably been dating for a few years now.

100% more stable with no miscommunications about anything.

all the doubt and worrying about what’s okay is no longer evident on him and he’s actually more relaxed in a way.

but do expect him to be honest with you straight up now and he would like if you do the same from as well.

since you two have been together for so long, it’s only right to be completely honest anyways, yeah?

anyways kags is extremely— let me say it again... EXTREMELY caring towards you.

it’s not noticeable off the rip since he’s still going to be a bit closed off and sometimes pretend he isn’t huge softie for you, but the way he shows that he cares is through subtle things.

like picking up what you like, dislike, what kind of people you tend to avoid and/or tolerate temporarily, funny habits you’ve developed when you were younger and etc.

occasionally he’ll go out of his way to buy you something if you mentioned it and gifts it to you one day. 

you don’t even have to say ‘i wish i could buy this’. tobio either saw the item from your screen one day or you just so happened to have asked his opinion about it (with no true intentions of buying it) and he’ll remember.

there’s never a dull moment where he isn’t being attentive you.

yet something to point out is that his true personality is there still.

it’s just more water down and only makes a true appearance when someone decides to flirt with you.

vv protective and a bit possessive too.

tobio won’t right away put whoever is hitting on you in their place if it looks like you’re confident enough to handle it on your own.

but it’s quite easy to tell when he’s a little irritated by someone trying their luck with you due to the atmosphere around him (so dark).

however, if it looks like you’re extremely uncomfortable and can’t handle the situation then he’s already making his way towards you.

he’ll wrap his arm around you before telling the person off. sometimes you gotta stop him because he won’t hesitate to make them cry.

besides that; another part of his personality that occasionally makes an appearance in the relationship would be his short-temp.

which brings us to the topic of arguments because of that temp ties in with it.

not gonna say they happen often since they don’t and he constantly works on that part of himself for you (and himself).

but when arguments do happen, then tobio will end walking away from you to chill off if he feels that things are getting pretty heated since he’s capable of saying something extremely hurtful.

honestly he can’t stay mad at you long so when he’s back to normal then best believe he’s coming back to you and saying sorry.

even if it’s not his fault, he’s still going to apologize.

might take you out to eat/buy you snacks in hopes you’ll forgive him faster.

really tries his best to not let fights occur and may even try talking them out if he’s able to.

moving along~ 

if you expected this man to be an grade A flirt... it’s not happening.

no matter how long you’ve two been together, he hasn’t gotten the flirting aspect down to a pack completely.

but does he still try? of course he does. will he ever stop? probably not even if it’s embarrassing.

the only thing you can do is just accept it and like it. A for effort.

bonus: he probably asks his teammates about advice on flirting... just don’t be surprised when he uses one of the pick up lines he learned from noya and tanaka. 

def the loyal type.

if girls finally decided to notice him and shot their shot at him then he’s quick to shut them down.

could literally offer this man all the money in the world just to stop being loyal to you and he would decline.

we stan and love loyal boyfriend tobio <3

because of you, he does better in school. although he hated the thought of studying, he actually starts to love it since you’re the one teaching him and if you incorporate rewards (like a kiss or milk candy) then he’s completely down to work harder.

plus kageyama loves it when you praise him for making high test scores.

also want to add that he’s also the kind of boyfriend who’s interested in anything you like.

since you’re apart of what he likes, volleyball (if you decide to ask him about teaching you about the spot or just showing up to his games), then he’s always down to show interest and support for the things you like.

quickly let’s get into nicknames. top ones for you are 🥁🥁🥁  dummy/my dummy, babe, my love/love and chipmunk (don’t question the last one.)

pda. pda. pda. 

everything is the same in both the public and private department. he’s down with holding hands, kissing you, cuddling and something he LOVES doing the most with you is headpats.

don’t know why but he loves doing that and he also during lunch (and at home), he loves when you two are alone so he can finally rest his head on your lap and take a short nap or just generally lay there.

could go on about public affection too but let’s briefly move to dates.

dates with tobio consist of you bike riding, going out to eat, walks in the park, picnics and just generally anything cute but also simple.

literally treats you like a goddess and as much as i would like to make a whole essay about dating him— i’ll cut it short here.

tobio = best boy & best boyfriend.

© all content belongs to kekoma 2020. do not repost, modify or translate.

[takoyakitenchou]

“Don’t look at me like you’re sorry. You’re not sorry.” (akisako...?)

iykyk.

When she pulls her key from the ignition he’s already opening his passenger door for her. Wordlessly she slides out of her car into his, noting dryly that he’s gotten a new ride since back then. The seats still smell of new leather, and despite the absurdity of the situation, she immediately feels herself start to relax.

Hayama Akira has parked conveniently so they can watch the brilliant molten sunset, and for a moment that’s all they do.

��Arato,” he says finally, and Hisako nods in response. He takes that as license to continue, and he asks, “You know why I called you here?”

It takes everything in Hisako’s power not to scoff. “To show off your Jaguar,” she replies laconically. But to her surprise, her voice is not sharp at all. It’s soft, softer than the sunset. 

“We broke up,” Akira says, and the image of a tall, pretty girl wearing a modest cocktail dress flashes in Hisako’s mind. For some reason, she can’t seem to hate the girl, even after everything that’s happened. “I thought you should know.”

“And why should I care?” Hisako points out, but her words are laden with the burden of a different collection of phonetics. If only. “We’ve been over for a while.”

“We were over because of her.”

“That’s not my problem anymore, Hayama. You’ll go back to her the second she apologizes again. And to be frank, I’m fucking tired of waiting for you.”

Akira leans his elbows on the wheel. “So you were waiting for me?”

“Not anymore,” she replies. “Now please give me one good reason why I should be sitting in my ex boyfriend’s car at six in the evening instead of doing all the shit I need to do.”

“Because you still love me.”

Her mouth opens but she remains silent, because it’s impossible to deny. He’s hit the bull’s-eye dead on.

“That’s irrelevant,” Hisako says, and that’s also true. “I might still love you but that doesn’t mean I miss you.”

“You’re not going to give me another chance, are you?”

At this Hisako turns to meet Akira’s eyes for the first time. She stares at those intense chips of jade, ignoring the repressed optimism that’s so painfully evident in them. “Don’t look at me like you’re sorry. You’re not sorry.”

“What if I am, though?” Akira asks. “What if I called you here to apologize and ask you to give me another shot?”

Hisako shakes her head. “It’s too late for an apology.” She runs a finger over the glossy wood detailing on the glove box. Spotless, as usual. The damn perfectionist still hasn’t taken the plastic film off the handle of the gear shift.

“It is,” Akira agrees. Hisako nods but he’s not done. “Then I guess I’ll have to act, won’t I?” In one fluid motion, his hand cups the back of her head and his mouth fuses seamlessly with hers. Automatically she’s thrown back into the idyllic memories of their past, and before she can stop him—or herself—she’s kissing him back, forgetting the reason they’re here in the first place, forgetting the heartbreak, the betrayal, and every other shard of hurt that’s long since shredded her heart into ribbons. The months of tension between them ignite into a scorching passion and the kiss deepens; minutes pass and so do they—back into familiar habits, finding solace in each other across the line between lovers and whatever they were doing until now.

Then her caved resolve rights itself and she jerks away from him. “What the hell?”

He doesn’t even bother to look sorry. “You said you don’t want an apology.”

“You’re right,” she sighs. “I don’t.”

I love you, he says.

Prove it, she replies, and they both know it is over, for real this time.

[consumedkings-archive]

ancient names, pt. vii

A John Seed/Original Female Character Fanfic

Ancient Names, pt vii: anything that touches

Masterlink Post

Word Count: ~6.4k (sorry I’m a clown)

Rating: M for now, rating will change in later chapters as things develop.

Warnings: Language, some “light” religious blasphemy (it’s Far Cry 5). Strong canon deviance from here on out. Uhhh brief mental breakdown that implies disassociation, and also some weird Joseph/Deputy if you squint real hard. Like REAL hard.

Notes: This chapter was a blast to write, mostly because I got to revisit that ICONIC scene (iykyk). That's pretty much the last in-canon thing we're going to have; the dialogue is essentially the same, but it felt important for me to have Elliot's experience of what it was like, when she was still soft and new.

Y'all the HOPELESS romantic in me is SUFFERING through these two but. I swear!! I swear. I SWEAR. Also anyone who tells me John doesn't want a partner who can put his ass in the dirt can fight me in hand to hand combat, because home boy needs it.

Thank you, as ALWAYS, to my sweet talented beautiful incredible @starcrier for proof-reading when this stuff is still in trash stages, and the ever-dutiful and perfect @empirics, who doesn’t even go here and yet???? Still stans and ships like she do. We love.

As always, thank you again to everyone who reads/comments/whateva! I’m so grateful for anything and everything and I just want to make it clear that I would not continue writing without you. Tysm!

John had never felt dread like this.

It was strange, the way it crept upon him as they walked to the trees. It was dark out, but the clouds had cleared so the moon and stars above were perfectly visible; it wasn’t as though he couldn’t see, and the closer they got to the trees, the more assured John felt that the van was there, or had been there. He supposed he didn’t know if the cultists had made off with it or not.

No, he wasn’t feeling dread about the fact that they were on foot, or that Boomer was nowhere to be seen, or that it was dark, or that he didn’t know for absolute certain that he was going in the right direction.

He felt dread because they were alive: because they were free, because there was no cultist in sight. He felt dread because Elliot was clutching his hand in hers, and her other hand was gripping his forearm, and she no longer moved with the surety of the apex predator she had made herself out to be in a very short period of time. Her feet hit the ground with heavy, unsteady thuds, their progression through the field and to the trees painfully halting. He had a very vivid memory of Elliot telling him, I’d rather you let me eat shit when he’d tried to steady her from falling, just a few days ago.

She wouldn’t look at him, either. Not directly in the eyes. He didn’t know if this was another side-effect of whatever they’d laced her with, or if it was Elliot, or if it had anything to do with the way she’d tried to pull away from him when he’d first found her in the field.

“Elliot,” John said, trying not to sound frustrated as her nails dug into his arm, “loosen your grip a little.”

Her lashes fluttered. She said, “Okay,” but then nothing changed, even though she looked like she was trying, as though the faculties with which she normally operated were so severely hindered that she wasn’t even aware if her body was doing the things she was willing it to.

He didn’t bring it up again. Even when he thought certainly her grip was going to bruise, even when his arm began to ache.

By the time they got to the trees, the moon was high in the sky, and John’s legs burned with the effort of merely walking. That was all it had been, walking, but the longer he turned it over in his mind that they were headed into a trap, the more laborious the movements became. They waded through the trees, the moonlight only barely filtering through now, until he saw it: the van.

At first, he felt relief. And then, immediately after, crashing into any good mood he might have left, was the paranoia. Why did they leave it? he wondered, hesitating. A trap. They want us to get back into the van.

But if they were trying to trap them, why wouldn’t they have just... kept them?

“John.” Elliot’s voice dragged with exhaustion. When he looked at her, her cheeks were flushed with fever, and her pupils were still huge—but not as much as before. “I’m so… tired.” Her body swayed a little, her eyes struggling to stay open; she was crashing, hard and fast.

“Stay here.”

Carefully, John pried his arm out of her grip, sitting her down in the nook of a tree’s roots before creeping his way over to the van. It was empty, and open, as though the cultists had just taken them and left it as it was. He wasn’t about to get caught a second time, so he moved quickly—climbed into the back, grabbed the backpack Elliot had filled with food and Tylenol, and reached for where he thought the guns were.

“Fuck,” John said. Gone. Everything else was left, except for the guns. And his glasses. Fuckheads.  

He stuffed the pack of cigarettes and the lighter into the backpack before he slid out of the back of the van and made his way back to Elliot. Her face was buried in her knees, her fingers absently curling and uncurling, something that John knew was just an Elliot thing—he’d seen it when she was at her most stressed, when she was trying hard to stay rooted.

John reached out and touched her shoulder. Even though he’d been clambering through the brush, the gesture startled her, her head jerking up and her eyes looking at him for just a second before diverting.

“We can’t stay,” he said urgently. “Come on.”

She nodded numbly before she took his offered hand, hoisting herself to her feet and trailing after him past the van and out closer to the road side. He thought, briefly, about yelling for the dog, or trying to whistle the way Elliot did, but the idea of making a violent range of noise to fetch a beast from somewhere deep in the woods—if he even was there—did not sit right with him. So instead, he found them a spot that was still within the trees, but pressed into the slope that led up to the road, and sat Elliot down again.

Now that he had a moment to sit, a moment to think, his brain flipped a switch into a necessary, self-preservation panic. Just a little adrenaline, to keep him awake, surely; because he didn’t want to be sleeping any time soon.

John couldn’t push the image of Elliot, pressed against the earth, crying , out of his mind. What had she seen? What did they do? His mouth burned with the itch to ask, but he couldn’t bring himself to, not when her eyes couldn’t stay on one place for more than a second.

“They didn’t—they didn’t do it to you?” Elliot asked him, after she took the tylenol he gave her dry and picked a chocolate chip out of a granola bar. John turned his gaze to her, cocking his head to the side. She still carried with her that dreamer’s sway, that soft loopy tone to her voice that reminded him she wasn’t yet quite herself again, but he thought it sounded like she was clearing up. Hopefully.

“Do what to me, deputy?”

She blinked down at her hands. “Drug you.”

He hesitated. He’d certainly gotten something , though he didn’t think it was anything like what they’d given Elliot. “Not the same,” he said after a second. “But I was asleep, for a while. For hours. I don’t know how long.”

“I wish I had been sleeping.” Elliot’s voice was miserable. She had never been so small, he thought, than in that moment, and she tipped her body over until the side of her face was on the ground. And then, after her eyes had drifted shut and a lapse of silence had passed, she mumbled, “They probably thought I was a bigger threat than you.”

John fought the urge to smile. It only barely worked, and he was glad, because he didn’t need Elliot getting a bigger ego than she already had.

“Yes, Rook, you’re very scary and intimidating. All—what, four feet, eight inches of you?”

“I’m five foot four, you fuckhead.”

A wave of relief washed over him. He rested his head back against the tree, exhaling softly.

“Go to sleep, deputy,” he murmured,  “so you can go back to being the bigger threat.”

For the sake of both of us.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

For the first time in what felt like years, Elliot slept.

It was fitful sleep, to be sure, plagued by a strange, blurring color-scape of nightmares and fever-dreams that haunted the corner of her sleeping vision. It all just lurked around the edges, never an image that she could pin down or find, only ever something that was present enough to fill her with a persistent terror. Voice melded into each other, overlapping; fragments of noise and color drifted in and out of her, like a tree shedding petals in a fiercer wind.

When she woke, light was just beginning to try and creep over the distant mountains. It wasn’t enough to feel like a real morning, like the day time , but enough that the milky glow of it filtered through the tops of the trees; the earth smelled wet and fresh, and her clothes were a little damp from sleeping on the wet ground. The sky stretched, gray and soft as wedding silk, through the tops of the trees. She wiped the water from her face.

I smell: the earth, the rain, the grass and wind. I see: the light, the sky, the tops of the tress. I feel —

“Ah, sleeping beauty awakens,” John said. His voice sounded gravelly; maybe he hadn’t slept at all, this whole time, which somehow made her stomach twist a little even though she didn’t want to care about what John did or didn’t get to do.

“Fuck off.” She groaned, coming into a sitting position and feeling her head immediately swoon with the effort. The back of it pulsed with a splitting pain, and she remembered the red-haired man from before, telling her to go back to sleep just before he slammed her head into the floor of the van. “God—what the fuck —”

“It’s so lovely,” John intoned, and she got the impression maybe it wasn’t lovely at all, “to have you back at full capacity again, deputy.”

Elliot pressed the heel of her palm to her head. “That asshole that works for Ase smashed my head in before he drugged me.”

John’s eyes narrowed. “Let me see.”

She stilled and closed her eyes against the splintering pain at the back of her head; she heard John shift where he was sitting, and then his hands against hers, brushing them away from the back of her head. Elliot tried not to think too much about how warm his hands were, how comforting the calloused feel of them was, or how gentle they were when he combed the hair out of his way. He clicked his tongue a little, hands dropping from her hair, and suddenly Elliot’s stomach plummeted, too; the loss of contact sent her poor little drug-addled lizard brain reeling.

“Well, you’ve got a nasty cut,” John said after a moment, “which is mostly scabbed over. And a bump that will probably be the size of an egg by the time it’s done.” His voice slid her out of her strange little panic, her desire to grab his hands and put them back on her face, even when that exact nightmare she’d had was stopping her from being able to meet his eyes for very long.

Elliot swallowed thickly. “Goody.”

She thought she could hear a smile in his voice when he said, “I’m sure you’ve had worse, Rook.”

“Don’t call me that.” She tried to force more heat in her voice, but she was so tired ; it felt like she hadn’t slept at all. John made a mild noise that might have been amusement, and then shifted where he sat before coming to a stand and stretching. Elliot asked, “Did you sleep?” and then immediately kicked herself ( because why would she care ), but it was too late to take the words back.

Her gaze flickered to John’s face and then immediately away. The strange dream—nightmare?—that she’d had of him, cradling her face, his touch searing through her, my Elliot , lingered on her skin still, heavy like a cinder block tying her down. It made it hard to look him in the eyes; she was afraid she’d see the flowers again.

“No,” he replied, and if it bothered him that she wasn’t looking at him very much, his voice didn’t sound like it. “Someone had to make sure those crazies didn’t come back.”

She scoffed, struggling to her feet. “The term crazies coming out of your mouth is impeccably comedic.”

“I’ll be here all night.”

Elliot shouldered the back pack and glanced around. The forest was quiet, and there was no sight nor sound of Boomer anywhere. She could only hope that he’d been out and away from the van when everything happened, and that he’d had the good sense to stay hidden. He was a smart boy. She tried not to worry too much.

At least, she would keep telling herself that, until proven otherwise. But she wouldn’t be whistling for him anytime soon—not with how easily they’d been tracked down by Ase and her fuckhead assistant.

“I suppose we should go on foot from here,” she said, a little mournfully, regretting the reasonable nature of her statement. She saw John grimace out of the corner of her eye.

“I suppose so, deputy.”

She heaved a sigh, fingers fluttering over the cut on the back of her head absently before she nodded. Her clothes were wet, she was nursing a raging hangover from whatever the fuck she’d been drugged with, and she’d eaten half a granola bar in a little over twenty-four hours. And if the drag of her breaths in her chest — even when she was taking a normal inhale — were any indication, sleeping in wet clothes had done nothing to improve her sickness.

Elliot set off, marching through the underbrush to get out of the woods and closer to the road. They passed the van again on their way out, and she thought, fuck, I’d kill John to get one more cigarette out of there, but she knew she shouldn’t. They probably had some kind of—bomb, or tracking device, or—

But in her heart of hearts, she knew that wasn’t true. They didn’t utilize machinery the same way that Eden’s Gate did. And if they wanted her and John dead, well. They would have killed them already. So even though she knew this, and thought it to herself, she couldn’t bring herself to go back to the car.

I see your color, mor, Ase had said, her voice like a thousand whispers against her skin. Elliot’s throat felt tight. She turned to John suddenly and said, “Hey, do you speak Swedish?”

John brushed past her. “What do you think?”

“How are you so unhelpful, and all of the time? Don’t you get tired of being useless?”

He laughed, and Elliot felt a little spark of indignation light in her chest. All of John’s strange tenderness—and she hadn’t forgotten, even if it was fuzzy, the way he’d held her face and said it’s me, Elliot, like he was supposed to be a comfort to her—

(and he was, now, what a sick thought, )

—was gone, and instead she kept thinking about the stupid fucking expression on his face when he’d said, so you think I’m attractive, then , because there was nothing more irritating than John Seed knowing he was attractive. It wasn’t like he needed her to tell him, so why he’d tried to wriggle the words out of her was beyond her comprehension; although Elliot supposed it could be explained that John hadn’t had anyone chant yes at his face for perhaps twenty-four hours, so how was he still sustaining himself? He must be craving attention, starved for it.

“You are the most annoying fucking person I’ve ever met,” Elliot announced, so that she could abruptly shove any and all thoughts of John’s hands on her face out of her head, huffing a little as she worked to catch up with him.

And then John turned around so suddenly that she careened straight into his chest, his hands landing to steady her shoulders—( warm, she thought absently)—and he said, “I know,” with all of the arrogance that she knew him to have. “Give me the backpack, deputy. If they are tracking us in some sick game of hide and seek, they’re going to hear you huffing and puffing from fifteen miles away.”

Elliot mustered all of the spite she had in her—which was not as much as she would have liked—and said, “I hate you, John Seed.”

“You’re going to have to find a new slogan,” John rumbled, sliding the backpack straps off of her shoulders, “because that one just doesn’t ring very true anymore.”

She let him take the backpack; not because she liked that he was being helpful, but because her shoulders screamed in relief. The more and more sober she became, the more her muscles ached, like she had been involuntarily tensing all night, and now they burned . John might as well have punched her entire body over and over again, with his stupid rings.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she replied, fishing the tylenol out of the bag and swallowing two. John rolled his eyes.

“Look, I can tell when you’re lying to me,” he said. “And I know that I’m irresistible, not only because I saved you—”

“Do not —”

“—but because, as a man of God, I am infinitely more wise than you, as well. If there is one thing that I would know about a woman of wrath, Deputy Honeysett, it’s that the one thing she wants is to feel in control of herself, and I’m exactly the man who can give you control.”

Elliot could have, perhaps, not picked a less-Godly man than John Seed; the only exception would be one of his brothers. His words rattled around in her skull. Was this the stupid shit he told himself? That he could give her control? Here, in the woods—soaking wet, sick, split open, walking for God knows how long on foot—and that’s the sales pitch he was going with?

Her jaw clenched, blistering the headache behind her eyes under an impossible heatwave of pure ache , and she pinched the bridge of her nose. “You’re—fucking—”

John waited, patiently, much to her fury: but the words would not come to her, color fractals splintering even when her eyes were closed, driving frenzied neurons to fire off pain signals over and over again. When she opened her eyes, for a second, an aura stretched across her vision, like someone pulling saran-wrap tight right over her face. She thought she might puke.

“I’m fucking...?” John prompted, and when she only shuddered a breath, his tone shifted a little. She couldn’t tell what to , but his voice was different when he said, “Deputy?”

He sounded, quite suddenly, like he was very far away from her. She tried to open her eyes again. The world wobbled unpleasantly, and the ground stretched beneath her until it felt like she was on a moving conveyor belt. She saw herself , standing there numbly, heels of her palms pressed against her eye sockets in a desperate attempt to quell the migraine.

“Elliot.”

John’s hands came to her face, yanking her back into a painful reality. He was too close now, smelling like wet earth and forest and a little bit like sweat, the rough, warm palms of his hands holding grounding her back to reality. He said, “Earth to Elliot.”

“Yes,” Elliot managed out. She couldn’t muster up any vitriol; one of her hands gripped John’s wrist where it cut through her peripheral. “I’m here,” she added, and she didn’t know why she said it like that , like she’d been somewhere else—maybe because she had. “Just—this head wound is really fucking with me. We have to get moving, and—”

She heard, a few feet away from them, the sound of a car door slamming. Her brain immediately jumpstarted; first, she thought, oh those fucking Swedes, and then her brain tried to say, or maybe it’s Jerome, or Grace, or —

It was neither of them. Through the haze of pain, Elliot heard the sound of Eden’s Gate’s radio playing, the sound of boots hitting the pavement.

“Well,” Joseph sighed, “if it isn’t the lamb and her shepherd.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Joseph Seed is a particularly difficult man to pin down.

She never meets him once, either before she goes off to the Academy or after, and she’s glad for it. After she gets back to Hope County, after she gets cleared by the psychiatrist, after she gets back to life-on-normal, she thinks she’d be happy to never see Joseph Seed. Not because she isn’t religious, but because she doesn’t like his brand, because the doomsday-ing and the wriggling past legalities of owning land or, perhaps, even people make her skin crawl.

Elliot doesn’t think she’d ever be able to walk herself into his compound. She doesn’t think she’d ever be able to look Joseph Seed in the eye, but she doesn’t have a choice , the helicopter planting them squarely in the compound. 

The ground is wet, fresh from a recent rain, and slips underfoot. The night is clouded above with no stars in sight. She feels almost like she’s in a dream, Joey walking ahead of her as the U.S. Marshal bickers with Sheriff Whitehorse, back and forth. She’s barely listening. She feels eyes on them, burning, angry and defiant shouts coming from the onlooking Eden’s Gate members, and she hears the sound of dogs barking in the distance.

They get to the church. Inside, the congregation is singing Amazing Grace, and the crickets match its feverish pitch, sliding along her skin.

“Hudson, on the door and watch our backs,” Whitehorse says, when the Marshal— Burke , Elliot thinks absently, that was his name —acquiesces to doing things the way Whitehorse wants to do it. “Don’t let any of these people get in. Rookie, on me.”

Elliot nods, her gaze focusing sharp again. Whitehorse has taken a risk, bringing her out when she was still so green; she wasn’t going to let him down. 

Not that he has much choice. They’re short-staffed as it was anyway.

“And you—” Whitehorse looks at Burke, his expression faltering, tired. “Just… Try not to do anything stupid.”

Burke claps him on the shoulder. He is all easy confidence, surety of foot, the kind of confidence Elliot wants to have some day. She hopes she doesn’t become tired, like Whitehorse. “Relax, Sheriff,” Burke says, “you’re about to get your name in the paper.”

But Elliot isn’t paying attention to them. She’s thinking about the armed men and women skulking around, and the dogs barking in the distance, and the sound of the singing from the inside of the church.

Joey’s hand briefly touches her shoulder. Her dark gaze is soft, and she squeezes Elliot’s shoulder before she says, “You’ll be fine.”

Whitehorse doesn’t look pleased by Burke’s comment. He doesn’t even look assuaged, mildly. He pushes the door open, and Elliot sticks close to his heel, as the singing comes to an abrupt stop; the church is dimly lit, with most of the light coming from behind the man at the front, his silhouette carved obsidian so that his features are obscured to her.

They walk slow. The man says, “ Something is coming. You can feel it, can’t you?”

His voice is a rich-willow timbre, decadent. The gathering of the cultists turn, their eyes piercing into the trio. Elliot’s heart is slamming against her rib cage. She doesn’t have a gun pulled—would never, not without Whitehorse’s blessing—but she wants to, not to fire but to warn. To keep them away.

“We are creeping toward the edge, and there will be a reckoning. That is why we started the Project—”

They’re dirty, and bedraggled. Elliot’s throat tightens. Why would they choose this? Why would they want to be like this?

“—because we know what happens next. They will come. They will try to take from us—take our guns, take our freedom, take our faith.”

Burke looks back at her, his hand floating and tense, ready to pull his gun at any moment. But he beckons her with a crook of his fingers and she does as he bids. Closer now, Elliot can see that the man is not alone; to the left, a tall, rugged red-head, his arms crossed, his expression stony. To the right, a soft young woman, dressed in white, dreamy. And just behind Joseph, a handsome, dark-haired man; a man that Elliot recognizes as John Duncan, but now is told by Joey is John Seed .

Joseph’s shirtless, which should be ridiculous and comedic but only serves to make him look both polished and feral in equal amounts. Golden light from outside drenches through a window cut to be the same shape as the emblem of Eden’s Gate, and it bathes him; he is golden, soft and sharp all at the same time.

“Sheriff, c’mon,” Burke says, because he is not charmed; he, too, thinks it is ridiculous. Whitehorse holds up a hand to steady him. 

“We will not let them.” Joseph Seed’s voice flexes, furious and controlled. “We will not let their greed , or their immorality or their depravity hurt us anymore. There will be no more suffering.”

Burke is furious that the sermon —if it can be called that, which Elliot would argue that it cannot, knowing the Seeds—has continued this long. She hears him say, “No, fuck this,” and he pulls the paper out and holds up in front of the man’s face.

“Joseph Seed,” Burke bites out, “I have a warrant issued for your arrest, on the suspicion of kidnapping with the intent to harm. Now, I want you to step forward and keep your hands where I can see them.”

Elliot’s gaze flickers. She feels sick to her stomach. Joseph lifts his hands; he is soft, again, no longer fervent, no longer yelling, and his gaze fixes on her.

“There they are,” he says, his voice quiet. “The locusts in our garden.”

Members of Eden’s Gate—armed, ragged, feral —slide their way between them and Joseph.

“You see, they’ve come for me.” Other members are beginning to get angry. They’re yelling, now, as Joseph says, “They’ve come to take me away from you , they’ve come to destroy all that we have built,” and the voices raise in volume, and Burke puts his hand on his gun and Whitehorse yells for him to stand down and Elliot’s fingers itch and she thinks, oh, no, this is when I’m going to have to shoot someone.  

But Joseph steps down from his platform. His hands brush the shoulders of his supporters, and they part for him, quieting the crowd, quelling their noise. Behind him, John steps across the stage, his eyes narrowed and sharp, studying them; he moves like an animal, prowling.

“We knew this moment would come. We’ve prepared for it,” Joseph says, gentle. He ushers them away; they brush past Elliot, her head turning after them, thinking certainly one will grab her, choke her, kill her, but they don’t.

“— and I saw, ” Joseph is biting out, pointing at Burke, and then looking at the sheriff, “ and behold, it was a white horse. ” 

And then Joseph is looking at her. He lifts his hands to her. His eyes are fixed on her, and she feels a strange, uncanny thrill slide through her. Joseph looks at her like she is the only person in the room, like all others have blinked out of existence and it’s only them. 

That’s why, she thinks, the feeling of it making her heart ache a little. That’s why they choose to be this way. To belong to someone.

She knows that’s what it is. She knows that’s how he’s gotten these people to follow him: because he looks at them like this, with longing, like there is nothing in the world that he wants more than to take them into his embrace.

His voice is breathless, soft, covetous, jealously cradling her in velvet swathes: “ And Hell followed with him.”

Elliot feels frozen. Petrified. Her stomach churns. She can feel the eyes of the Seed siblings on her. Burke jerks his hand at her, breaking her out of her reverie.

“Rookie, cuff this son of a bitch.”

Joseph is holding out his hands, obedient and compliant. “God will not let you take me.”

Burke says it again, maybe different, she can’t remember because the blood is rushing through her head, so she does as he asks. Her hands might be trembling. She takes Joseph’s hands and slides the cuffs on them, and he leans into her like he’s going to breathe her in or swallow her whole and almost purrs —

“Sometimes, the best thing to do is to walk away.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

John’s hands slid from Elliot’s face. The first thing he felt when he saw Joseph was relief —sheer, pure relief, that it wasn’t the Resistance that had found them and that it wasn’t Ase and her man again, but that it was his brother. Over his shoulder, too, John could see Jacob in the driver’s seat of the truck, his face stony and hard as always.

The second thing that John felt was dread.

Joseph’s expression was unreadable. It almost always was, he supposed, but now the fact that he couldn’t tell what Joseph was thinking struck a hot cord of fear inside of him, because he was reminded—now and painfully—that Faith was still lost to them.

“Joseph,” John managed out, his hands drifting now from Elliot completely, where before they had slid to her shoulders. “I’m so glad to see you.”

“You could sound like it,” Elliot muttered, and he shot her a look before he turned back to his brother, immediately crossing the gap from him to Joseph, standing on the road. Joseph watched him steadily, and once he was within arm’s reach, John stopped, hesitating.

“We were on our way to you,” Joseph explained, his voice steady, a soothing balm to John’s frayed nerves. “We heard talk on the radios that our sister had been taken, but we didn’t get a response when we tried to contact you at the ranch.”

John nodded. “Yes, it’s—there’s so much to tell you—”

Joseph’s hands came to rest on his shoulders for a moment; and, much the same way that John had done to Elliot, Joseph took his face in his hands.

“We’re so glad you’re alive,” Joseph murmured, his expression softening just that much . John felt the relief flood his system immediately at the gentle contact—merciful, healing, the way Joseph liked to be. “And that our dear deputy is still with you. Compliantly, too, it seems.”

Elliot’s voice was hard as flint when she said, “Yeah, well, you missed the last twenty-four hours where this fucking idiot had us cuffed together.”

Behind the yellow lenses of his glasses, Joseph’s gaze flickered to wherever Elliot lingered behind John, over his shoulders. His brother stared at Elliot for a moment; there was something in the way Joseph locked his gaze on the blonde that made John’s stomach twist uncomfortably, and he couldn’t quite pin it down, either, couldn’t get it to stop squirming long enough for him to figure out what it was.

“And yet,” Joseph said after a moment, his voice a low drawl as his hands dropped from John, “you are here, unburdened.”

John turned to look at Elliot. She still had to be in pain; she might have been trying to hide it, because of Joseph, or maybe even still because of him , but he could see it on her face, in the way her fingers curled and uncurled themselves absently, absently digging her nails into her palms. But this little give-away of hers meant nothing to anyone else, because the lines of her face were sharp and unrelenting.

Elliot’s gaze did not once leave Joseph. John recognized on her face that same odd, cold calculation she’d had when she’d thought about choking that Eden’s Gate guard out. If there was, he supposed, one person that Elliot hated more than himself, it was Joseph; perhaps she was thinking about all of the ways she wanted to kill him , now.

“Well, coincidental, we were on our way to you , Joseph. There’s now a problem one size bigger than your little cult.” Elliot said, her shoulders relaxing. She crested the hill up to the road, her feet hitting the pavement with more surety than she’d had since she’d woken up. It was like seeing someone that she hated had poured adrenaline straight into her body, and now she moved with the same precision she always did—though if the weariness in her expression was any indication, she was only half capacity. “How lucky .”

Joseph gazed at Elliot, as though John didn’t exist—as though no-one and nothing else existed, in that moment, except for her. John’s stomach lurched again, once more, with feeling! a wicked voice shouted in his brain, rattling around, keeping him nice and distracted so that he couldn’t figure out quite what it was that it made him feel.

“Fated,” Joseph agreed. His voice was almost sly. “One could say.”

“One could,” Elliot shot back, “but one shouldn’t, if they don’t want to sound like an idiot.” The words shot a jolt of fearful anticipation through John—not only because he thought, Joseph is only so merciful , but because he was sure that it reflected back on him, the way she felt so comfortable insulting Joseph.

“Deputy,” John snapped, and she glared at him, her brows knitting together at the center of her forehead. Joseph smiled pleasantly.

“Mouthy,” Jacob said from the truck, his voice clipped, “for someone who wants our help.”

Elliot bit out venomously, “Fuck you,” just as John said, “ Elliot ,” their voices overlapping furiously, and she looked at him again. There was something accusatory in her gaze. John wanted to pluck it out of her, break it apart so he could figure it out: but there wasn’t any time for that now. 

Her hands curled into fists at her sides, like she was going to fight Jacob right then and there, and John wasn’t entirely sure that she wouldn’t, pushed enough. He turned back to his brothers and said, “She’s agreed to help and get Faith back.”

“Not for nothing.” Elliot’s add-in was sharp. “I get to use the radios to contact the resistance and tell them to get the fuck out of Dodge.”

Joseph’s gaze fluttered between them, just for a moment—landing on Elliot for a heartbeat longer than it did on John—and then he stepped back, gesturing for them to get into the back seat of the truck. The blonde stepped on without John, brushing past him and flinging the door of the truck open before hoisting herself inside.

“How much do you know?” John asked as he climbed in after Elliot, shoving the backpack behind one of the seats. He tried not to think about the way Elliot’s eyes stayed pinned on Joseph, or the way her body had gone rigid, like at any moment she was ready to throw her fists in the direction of the nearest Seed brother—and certainly now, she had her pick if that were the case.

“Enough,” Joseph replied. He closed the passenger seat door and Jacob pulled the steering wheel of the truck until it was turning around. “But I’m certain you’ll be of more help.”

John opened his mouth to elaborate and give what information he had at the top of his brain when Elliot said, abruptly and without pretense, “You’ve come so unguarded, Joseph. Doesn’t that make you nervous?” and John turned his head to stare at her in disbelief.

Fucking insane, he thought. She wants to die. Does she ever stop?

But Joseph only laughed. Through the rearview mirror, John saw his eyes make contact with Elliot’s, and he said, “Jacob is sufficient protection on his own.” He paused, something slick and cool in his voice when he added, “But your concern is touching .”

“That’s an interesting choice of word. Not what I would have picked, though.”

“When we heard the radio chatter,” Jacob interrupted, before John could will himself to tell Elliot to shut the fuck up while he was still within hitting range, “Joseph told everyone to hunker down while we identified the threat. For once, it wasn’t a little girl playing with a shotgun.”

The accusation lay there, unspoken: Jacob had made it clear many times that he was certain he could snuff Elliot out faster than anyone else, either deeming her useless or shaping her into the perfect killer. If Joseph would just let him, he’d said, he would see.

But Joseph had told him to wait. To let John—persuasion was his specialty. Let John show us.

And John didn’t miss the way that his brother said it; Joseph told everyone. An opinion had been overruled, and it wasn’t Joseph’s, and Jacob hadn’t forgotten.

Elliot’s mouth opened, rearing up to say something; the indignation had been lit in her gaze, furious. He would have been comforted that she was back to normal—no longer trembling, no longer somewhere far away from him—but he knew that Jacob had much less tolerant than Joseph did.

“I grabbed the cigarettes from the van,” John said tartly, before she could get going. “Smoke one.”

The unspoken words lingered. Chill the fuck out. Occupy your mouth with something else. Something that John didn’t think he’d say to her, out loud, unless he was feeling particularly confident that she wouldn’t strangle him to death in front of his brothers.

“Good thinking, honey ,” Elliot drawled. His eyes narrowed at her. She stuffed her hand into the backpack, searching until she found them. The blonde only looked mildly surprised through her rage that they were actually there. 

When she rolled down the window and lit it, John relaxed a little and continued, “We’ve had a run-in with their leader. They’re armed and organized.”

Elliot stayed quiet. She settled back against the seat, deep into the corner of it, closest to the window, as though she couldn’t stand how close to them all she was, and took a long drag of the cigarette. The orange end of it burned until it was a sunspot in his vision.

John’s gaze drifted over her for a moment. Still, she wouldn’t look at him; she only spared him furtive glances through the corner of her eye, but never met his gaze, never going farther than his mouth.

“Ah.” Joseph’s gaze remained fixed on the road, his voice interrupting John’s thoughts. “So there’s now one more breed of locusts in our garden, it seems. Easy enough to exterminate, I think.”

“And how, pray tell,” Elliot asked, her voice sly, “do you plan to get rid of a new breed when you can’t even get rid of the old one?”

Jacob’s fingers tightened and flexed on the steering wheel. John could see a small smile tick the corner of Joseph’s mouth.

“If you get one flat foot on the devil’s wing,” Joseph replied, “you can get him to do just about anything you want.”

[looongcat]

Ozmafia Thoughts

I posted a whole thing on my main but now that I’m using this blog for all things otome, I figured I would try to organize my thoughts because i have so many thoughts.

This is not spoiler free! But I try to label some of the major spoilers.

Caramia

Caramia is the don of the oz family, and it’s his duty to protect his territory, the people who live in his territory, and to sign papers for stuff? Man’s is always signing papers for mafia reasons :) I knew from the start that he would be my favourite. I just love a guy who’s nice. Call me basic, but I just love a man who wants me to be happy and takes cares of me? I love feeling like someone cares about me! He’s also a great cook, and who doesn’t love delicious food? Idk how to explain how I feel about caramia, I liked his personality but I didn’t love his story? I really felt like there was some distance between Caramia and Fuka, like he was in a whole nother world from her. Which you do get to chose whether she’s happy he’s in charge or like she feels lonely. I did however really liked his transfer routes. I did the axel to caramia transfer first, and I felt like it wasnt clear that they slept together, but after I did caramia to axel and I got hit with that axel CG! Anyways, I liked the transfer routes.

Kyrie

I knew I would hate this guy so much. I’m just not interested in a guy who’s a fucking tease. Like he openly admits that he likes it when you’re upset. Like I do not want that TYVM. I found him kinda tolerable in his transfer routes however, probably because he does have to try and make Fuka happy in order to get Fuka to break up with her boyfriend. He really said break up with your bf i’m bored! Also I felt it was kinda weird that he was paying for Fuka’s br*th*l visits. I think its kinda weird that he introduced her to it, and was like encouraging it. ESPECIALLY*** (major super duper spoiler here what will be censored lol) if he thought she was *****

I saw some people argue that he might not actually love fuka, but I think that one transfer route ending, kinda shows that he really does love her IYKYK. but i’m so sus about that ending where he becomes a dumbass, i really think this bitch is faking it! I do not believe him for a second!

Axel

I quite like Axel. I personally don’t mind when a guy is at this level of over protectiveness. Plus as I have mentioned, i just love it when a cold guy is soft for you. I absolutely adore that shit (like when he ask Fuka to treat him as an equal and drop the honorifics? that shit gets me T_T)  He also gets extremely jealous very easily, which becomes an area of conflict for him and Fuka and it is up to you whether you wanna forgive him or move onto another guy. Personally, I would forgive him. I would talk to him about it! But I could understand being in your first relationship and not being able to handle your emotions. I think Axel is quite sweet, and he just wants the best for fuka, which is cute.

Scarlet 

IDK how I feel about Scarlet, specifically the part where he straight up states he’s a minor! Like what’s up with that? Why couldn’t he be older? However, I did really enjoy his route. It’s super cute and slow burn-y and nothing romantic actually happens probably because he is a minor. Scarlet is kind, resourceful, caring lol. We always love a guy who’s trying his best to keep the peace among everyone, while still providing for his family.

His route also has a bit of plot. It shows what hamelin was like prior to a specific event that you learn about in robin hood. I dont have a specific order that I think this game should be played but it might be interesting to maybe play scarlet’s route after robin hood.

Caesar

As I’ve said before, I don’t mind a man who’s trynna kill me. Idk what’s up with that LOL. Well maybe I like how you can see them change from wanting to kill you to not...wanting to kill you. One thing I remember liking about Caesar was that he usually called you a woman, as opposed to a girl. Which made me feel a lot better, will elaborate more on that later. I think even though he stayed harsh to her the whole time, I liked how you could see he was slowly falling/becoming whipped for fuka. Like the comedy of him wearing that dumb cloak so y’all could watch the stars together. Or like him working at Soh’s restaurant because he had to earn the money, and not just take Soh’s money. Like I loved that! Plus the ending where he isn’t accepted but he keeps pulling dumb stunts just to see you is v cute lol.

Soh

Idk how to talk about Soh without major spoilers. Soh is so sweet. I like how he’s always striking up conversations with Fuka in all the routes, which is probably good for her, considering almost everyone else is pretty wary of her existence. I honestly liked his route and I guess that's all I can say.

*big spoilers* I know most people don’t like Soh, cause he’s the reason for all things bad LOL. Yes he’s using/deceiving Fuka the whole time, but its not like he drugged Fuka or kept Fuka captive lol. Like most of the time he’s trying to keep her safe, and trynna make her happy, even if its probably so he could gain her trust or something. I also feel like his route was kinda him giving up his grand plan, and wanting to run away and be happy with Fuka, which obviously doesnt happen. Idk i liked that he ultimately treated her right.

Pashet

What’s up with otome games giving you a girl option but not the option to actually romance the girl? Her route was fine, and the friendship that builds between Fuka and her is fine. Sorry that’s a little salty lol. I actually thought this route was really cute. I have my reservations about Fuka being in romantic relationships, so it actually was kinda nice to see her make an actual friend without catching feels. Female friendships are absolutely underrated and I’m glad Fuka was actually able to make a friend who is looking out for her best interest.

Hamelin

I usually try not to use kiss cgs but this is the only couple cg and I like using couple cgs. So sorry if this is spoiler-y to you. But how do I feel about Hamelin... you know what I very much liked him. His route is so short and it’s kinda a secret ending. In that sense his route is a little unsatisfying. It’s kinda unclear how Fuka could love him in that short amount of time... but she does. Hamelin is hard to describe because he’s so different in all the other routes. He’s kinda the main villain in most of the routes, aside from his own. You get to see a little bit more of his personality in Scarlet’s route. I genuinely think he is a good guy, and was trying his best! That’s all you can really ask of anyone right?

*slight spoiler* I’m so sad he didn’t get a redemption? You find out why he did the things that he did, and he just... doesn’t get anything? He like doesn't even appear? Just gone into the abyss. I wish Fuka and him could have gotten a happier ending, since their ending isn’t really... happy

Dr Crow

I do not like Robin Hood. Isn’t Robin Hood about stealing from the rich? Like... why is this man treating everyone the same? Why is this man even apart of the upper class? Okay to keep this brief and spoiler free lol. Dr. Crow here is the town’s doctor. He treats everyone the same regardless of what family they are from. In his eyes you are his patient and his goal is to heal you. He’s quite elegant and seems really dependable and then he hits you with some REDACTED

*spoiler & TW for drugging* Fuck this guy. I think what’s worse is that he did not have to drug fuka, she would have gone along with whatever he wanted probably. I’m guessing he did it so she would be in deep sleep. But still, ew gross. How you gonna love your wife and do that. This man is out for revenge and I dont like it.

Manboy/Dorian/Alfani

I barely like Manboy. Honestly I never heard of Dorian Gray before playing this so I was v confused (and if you heard of it then you probably will be more prepared than I was). I actually played this route really early on because i thought it might be funny. It is in fact not at all funny and I was not okay after finishing it. I am a little glad I got it out of the way though, if I left this for like last I would have been v upset and it probably would have ruined the game for me lol. I do kinda wanna replay the route now that I know about Dorian but idk.. i still hate this route so idk if I really will.

If you don’t know anything like me, this is the br*thel route. Manboy works there more as like a receptionist? Dorian Gray is the ringleader, and there’s Alfani who’s the male escort. Feel free to wikipedia Dorian Gray before trying this route. Not to spoil the story but TW you also get drugged in this route too.

Overall Thoughts

I feel lukewarm about ozmafia. In one aspect I like how each route was different and how the different endings actually like split off. I also enjoyed how there wasn’t necessarily a good ending and a bad ending, they were just different endings. Obviously in some routes, one ending is better than the other, and also in others neither endings are great lol. I also quite enjoyed the transfer routes, it felt different, innovative, like ozmafia really tried something there! And the replay ability, the game adds extra scenes that provide more insight towards what the love interest is thinking, which makes replaying to get the other endings very enjoyable. There also an extra scene before each ending, so you could also replay the same ending too. I really went into ozmafia with like zero expectations, and i was both surprised and underwhelmed? I dont think thats the right word.

*MAJOR SPOILERS* There’s this really great video essay called born sexy yesterday, that really explains why I felt slightly uneasy about the whole story. If you think about it Fuka has amnesia, she’s mentally a child but here she in engaging in adult activities with grown ass men ._. and I know I said I liked the transfer routes, but that was before I found out that Fuka is literally a 10 year old in an “adult” body. LIKE WHEN I SAW DOROTHY I WAS LIKE WHO TF LET THIS INFANT READ DORIAN GRAY? Anyways the fact that dorothy is literally like 10 years old, did not sit well with me. Yknow this story is about wizard of oz, so I did have a feeling Fuka was dorthy, BUT WHEN ISAW HER SPRITE, girl i had to look up dorthy’s age and apparently shes somewhere between 8 and 12. So, throughout the game it was a bit uncomfortable because I did feel like Fuka was mentally a child but I kinda justified it as well she lost her memories, so she’s a blank slate like a child, maybe she’ll mature up with memories but uhhh, that’s just not going to happen.

So there are my thoughts. I thought Ozmafia was really different from other otome games because of how each character got their own story, and the transfer routes felt so innovative, as well as adding the extra scenes in the second playthrough! But there’s some bad born sexy yesterday vibes that make me not okay with it. I would recommend the game though. There’s so much content, it took me like a week to finish it all. Plus the art is quite nice.

[secretadventuresociety]

Episode 31 Recap

Get hype, SASholes! I’m Bren, resident SAStorian and manic goblin dream girl. Welcome to Episode 31: A Long Day’s End.

A Challenger Approaches!

With Mother (hopefully) vanquished and Kerti’s whereabouts unknown, our heroes hear fleeting whispers of ‘they’re coming, she’s coming’ whistling in the icy wind flowing through the cave. Sharing a Let’s-Put-A-Pin-In-That glance, the trio check in with each other because-- lest we forget-- they have just survived a run-in with an evil being who was masquerading as Kü’s mom. Sorry, did I say run-in? I meant battle for their lives. Anywho! They all seem to be physically unscathed, though that emotional trauma will last forever. IYKYK. Kü, of course, is the most affected, though his worries go straight to Kess, who Mother had just tried to strangle and not in the sexy way. Pearce attempts to make light of the situation by telling Kü it couldn’t have been too bad because Kess didn’t black out and see her friend, Ashe.

Which, speaking OF ash, the group starts smelling smoke. All of their combined hackles raise-- each probably thinking of a different entity. They really do be running into a lot of fire-related individuals, so this makes sense. When they actually SEE physical evidence of smoke trailing from further in the tunnel, they realize they might not be alone in this cave. Pearce elects Kü to lead them to the source, stating that he has darkvision and that will be to their tactical advantage. I mean, true, but this is also the helmetless kobold who just lost his ‘mother’ for the second time. I’m begging SOMEONE to give him a break. God, Lathander, DM, anyone?? As they go deeper, however, thin sheets of ice on the ceiling seem to be letting blue-tinted morning sunlight in. This literally lightens the mood until they come to a ledge-- one set up with a VERY recent campsite.

The party can tell right away that this is where the smoke has originated from, and looking closer, they spot a figure. A DANCING figure. What appears to be a four foot tall, staff wielding, gymnast built, olive skinned, winged individual is currently stirring an alluring pot of food while having the best time of his life. Understandably afraid, Kü attempts to summon his Blight Bow-- and nothing happens. Instead, he and Pearce decide to ambush the stranger, one going to the left of him and the other going right. Kü is spotted, and in defense, he grabs a broken liquor bottle (that he has been holding onto since the BEGINNING of this campaign, y’all), and chucks it at the head of his presumed assailant. In this instant, everyone braces for a fight, INCLUDING our guest star, Pongu, played by the fantastic Sonny-- who fans may recognize from the Hollaback Charity&D stream!

The Three Mardostateers

Kess instinctively heals herself as she notices her companions go into a fighting stance; having stayed away from the ledge. She was sure the humanoid meant no harm, but it’s hard to preach benefit of the doubt with a hotheaded gunslinger and a manipulated kobold. Instead of retaliating, Pongu tries to diffuse the situation. He laughs off the projectile Kü hurled and tells the group that they didn’t have to throw things if they wanted food; he has plenty to share. It’s then that the exhausted and hungry group smells the bounty for the first time. It is heavy with spices and looks like some sort of chunky soup. As we all know, food is the way to the heart, and apparently to the trust bone, too. Kess joins our apprehensive duo and the trauma of the past two days comes tumbling out of them.

Pongu listens intently, and when they’re done, calls over a beautiful, starry owl (named Nalani) over to him.  Kü startles, having instant predator flashbacks. With a smile, the fairy tells his companion that this group needs some extra love, to which the creature replies (only to Pongu himself) that they both have a lot to give. Pongu notices Kü’s changed attitude and requests that the owl take some time away from camp to reform himself into something less intimidating, like a cat. The kobold relaxes as the animal leaves, and Kess changes the subject. She begins to question Pongu about his presence in the cave-- and mentions that she thought it belonged to someone she knew. Pongu assures her that he is just passing through, and had chosen the cave to take respite in.

The fairy goes on to explain that he is from the Feywild, and that he has been searching all over-- sailing the seas-- and winding up on the material plane for the ingredients for a perfect fey wedding cake. He used to be an adventurer long ago-- now at an estimated 300+ years of age-- but now is a professional chef and ‘fixer of things’. This draws Kü’s interest, and he wonders aloud if Pongu might be able to repair his mother’s skulll-- but quickly has this hope dashed when Pongu asks if the kobold has all of the pieces. Pearce, feeling Kü’s disappointment, offers to go back and see if there’s anything left, but is denied. Having gotten Pongu’s life story, the group feels the need to share as well. They first attempt to lie (except for Kess) and say their names are Uk and Ferdinand [I will let you guys which one is which] and that they are all three from Mardosta. The truth quickly comes out, however, and Pongu takes it in stride, excitedly asking if Kess (the true Mardostan native) can get him rare spices from the area.

A Lesson in Bonding

Taking a moment for herself, Kess separates from the group and goes to the neighboring hot spring. She discards some of her clothing and jumps in-- drifting to the bottom. Once she reaches the soil there, the druid draws on her inner power and grows a flower. It is still black with a white iris, but the floret adapts to its watery surroundings-- taking on an aquatic formation. Kess takes no time to marvel at it, instead using the rest of her depleting energy to focus on the plant and attempts to contact Ashe. After a bit, she realizes there isn’t going to be a response. So, the changeling flips off the bloom and pushes herself to the surface, dressing once more and cursing under her breath.

In Kess’ absence, Pearce and Kü warn Pongu about Skugamor and give him a head’s up about Kerti (who we really haven’t gotten to know yet). The gunslinger sighs and half-heartedly complains that everyone has voices in their heads except for him. The fairy listens gratefully while taking out a Santa-Claus-worthy bag of toys to keep his hands busy. He explains that he likes to fix up old toys and give them new homes-- and Kü asks if he has a paddleball related plaything. Pongu brightly hands him a Bilboque (I really didn’t want to write cup-and-ball. But you guys made me anyway. Good job) and  takes to it instantly. 

Sensing how worn out the adventurers are, Pongu casts Tiny Hut, creating a dome with a starry ceiling and a light scent of flowers swirling through the air. Pearce sees Kess step into the space and he greets her, hugging her to him as she spirals in a panic attack. He tells her that everything is going to be okay, and that he feels that is true because he has not been this comfortable anywhere but Mardosta. The contact soothes the changeling, and she steps back from Pearce and truly looks at him for the first time after their ordeal. Her eyes widen at the state of his hair; and the gunslinger grabs his things to run to the hot spring himself to shower. Pongu stops him, saying that he thinks he could fix the dirty, snow-wet mess, and Pearce relents. The fairy uses Shape Water as a kind of gel to mold the unruly locks-- and when Kess lets Pearce check it in the shine of her canteen, the gunslinger huffs off; happy with his look but pissed that he has nothing to be pissed about.

Look at the Stars

Using his misplaced anger as motivation, Pearce begins to craft more bullets for Iris from the components he purchased at the Night Market. He ends up making fifteen functional bullets, only wasting one defective try at the beginning of the process. The gunslinger thinks of his father and how Pearce used to watch him go through the same activity, and the fire of his rage is stoked by the realization that he actually learned something from the deadbeat. What was it that Smash Mouth said? When the hits start coming they don’t stop coming? Whatever it was, I’m THERE in this DnD stream. Someone make them stop.

As Pearce is artificing the daddy issues away, Kü tries to bring his Blight Bow out one more time. When it still doesn’t happen, the kobold admits to Kess that he has Good News and Bad News. The good news is that he believes Mother to be truly gone, and the bad news is that this means that his powers seem to be gone. Kess reassures him that they’ll figure things out; and Kü distracts himself by catching Pongu up on their exploits so far-- from Evercrest’s dying king to the vampires of New Hexton. The kobold then switches gears and asks the fairy about his parents-- with whom Pongu seems to have a semi-okay relationship. Kü tells him that he’s just trying to feel out where his trauma is-- and that he wants him to be as broken as he is. Big ouch.

Kess takes over at that point, trying to explain LifeWell water to their new friend. A combination of exhaustion and frustration overwhelms her in the middle of it, however, so she excuses herself to sleep it off. She ends up under a constellation of a scorpion, and Pongu suggests to Pearce that he choose one that meant something to him to watch over him as he slept. The gunslinger curls up underneath an arrow (yes, weapons are soothing, just ask my barbarian) and  Kü doesn’t even bother looking up-- as soon as his head hits the floor, he drifts off into a deep rest. Pongu watches over them for the four hours they stay unconscious, making them a special (giving them ingame boosts!) bready treat. When they wake up, Kess eats hers and Pearce tosses Kü his-- who catches it deftly in his waiting maw. They take in Pongu now making pancakes for the group, and realize they have some decisions to make.

Case Closed

After throwing out their veritable to-do list, Pearce bangs the butt of his gun against the cave floor, commanding the attention of the other three speakers. He makes an executive decision that they should all go check on the Shadowmore family. They have no idea if they are still safe from Skugamor, and Kess needs to speak with them before they either stay for the Mardosta ball or move on to their next task. The Nobodies look toward Pongu, gauging his interest in joining them for a time. The fairy packs up the leftover food from the night before-- leaving a note that anyone who comes by it is welcome to it-- and agrees to travel with the trio. Kess warns Kü before she shifts back into her owl form, which turns out to be large enough to carry her humanoid companions. 

They make a long, cold flight back-- and all seems quiet at the Shadowmore manor. The group makes their way to the fourth floor (you remember, the PARENT wing) and finds it empty. Searching frantically, they finally see them standing in the greenhouse, marvelling over Kess’ new and hydraulic flower. Norse turns around and exclaims her thankfulness for her daughter’s safety, counting the number of still-alive-friends with her, and greets the sunny newcomer. OMG. Did you see what I did there? Sunny cause Pongu is a literal ray of light but also-- Sonny?? His player?! That was COMPLETELY UNINTENTIONAL! WITNESS ME! Fine. I digress. The party catches the elder Shadowmores up to speed just before Brienne, our lovely tabaxi detective, strides into the greenhouse. Pongu introduces himself as Brienne looks over him curiously, and the investigator sighs, grateful that she doesn’t have to question yet another for Xarus’ murder. Hearing of this foul play for the first time, the fairy looks over to his new friends and says, “There’s a lot of death around you three, huh?” 

The Nobodies stammer in unison, attempting to laugh off this outburst. Brienne pays it no mind, pushing forward to ask to speak with the group. She tells them that Xarus was found with poison in his system, and had a snapped neck-- probably from strangulation. The tabaxi had spoken with onlookers at the Underfrost as well as the cooking staff at the Shadowmore estate, who both told her that they experienced a similar phenomenon with shadow magic. It’s then that they come clean, handing the detective the page on Skugamor (which Brienne RIGHTFULLY chides Kess for stealing) and Kü recounts his almost-lifelong-ordeal under her influence. With a small, conspiratorial smile-- Brienne concludes that Xarus’ death must have been a suicide. She tells the group that if they did not take care of Skugamor that she would be unable to protect them-- but if the entity was really and truly gone, she was more than happy to close the case. She bids them farewell, and as they all let loose a breath they didn’t know they were holding (hello, YA roots) and Pongu smiles widely at them. He professes that he will be there for this courageous party until they no longer need him.

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TL;DR

Give a BIG SAShole welcome to Pongu and Sonny! You can find him on Twitter: @SonnyPlays and tell him Bren sent ya!

Wait, where’s my starry owlcat!? How do you pspspspsps a fey being?!

Things are looking up for the Nobodies. Be a shame if something happened...

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Don’t Pearce your pants in anticipation, but you can catch the next session over at twitch.tv/lochness on September 22nd at 7:30CST/8:30EST! If you’d like to watch THIS episode, follow the link below:

https://youtu.be/pXQxmi9dGbg