#so sweet your teeth will rot

[littlejuicebox]

The wish spell worked.

Pairing: Astarion x F!Reader/Tav

Summary/Setting: 10 years post BG3. Follows my HC for spawn Astarion arc. See my other fics for more information, but otherwise the title speaks for itself. :)

Rating/Warnings: PG / allusions to sexual behaviors / fluff / in-game spoilers / lightest bit of angst if you squint but not really / this is self-indulgent af and idc / so sweet it will rot your teeth

Word Count: 2.2 K

A/N: HAPPY 400 FOLLOWERS POST! Thank you to everyone who likes my stories and provides encouragement. I love you all! I originally wanted to post this as a New Years Eve/Day special, but I couldn't get it quite right by then. After several reiterations, this is what we finally have! Hope it was worth the wait and multiple edits for you guys! :)

-----

If anyone had told Astarion Ancunin a decade ago that he would one day hold Gale Dekarios on a pedestal nearly as high as the one on which he held his darling Tav, the immortal elf might have actually died from laughter. The strange irony and wicked life lessons of fate were not lost on the retired rogue. Unbelievably and annoyingly, Astarion eventually found himself indebted to the wizard in a way he could never repay. 

The wish spell worked.

It had taken years for Gale to feel absolutely ready to cast the spell. Astarion waited — exasperated, impatient, and impetuous — for what felt like the longest ten years of his ageless lifetime to be given the gift of mortality. 

More than once, in the pale elf’s tearful fits of frustration, he accused the wizard of intentionally stringing him along or simply not having the skills to perform such a spell and not wanting to admit it. More than once, you had to calmly remind your husband of the great lengths Gale had gone to find information regarding the act and the even greater risk to both the vampire and the wizard if the spell was not cast perfectly and mindfully. 

It had been a long decade, waiting for that impossible possibility, but the wait had been more than worth it.

Just over ten years after you met that silver-haired rake on the beach, Astarion was miraculously returned to his living, breathing, heart beating, mortal elven form. Surprisingly, not much changed about his appearance. Most notably, his eyes turned a gold-flecked green, and his complexion took on a constant soft pink undertone, permanently tinged by the circulation of his own blood by his own heart. That beautiful undertone caused a delightful blush to creep across his cheeks and ears whenever you teased or aroused him, and you took an even more significant liking to both these behaviors, just to watch that gorgeous rosiness creep across his skin. 

And while you dearly loved that blush, your favorite part of the change had certainly been the steady beating of his heart. You would rest your head on your lover’s chest for hours to savor the sound if he let you, wrapped tightly in the new found warmth of his long limbs.

While you became obsessed with Astarion’s steadily thrumming heart, he’d become obsessed with his reflection. As soon as he’d been able to see himself, your husband had taken to having you sit on his lap while you primped and preened. He would stare into the looking glass with you for long lengths of time, his limbs coiled around your waist and chin often resting on your shoulder as he studied the mirror with a besotted, hazy smile on his face. 

After a few weeks of this, you finally asked your silver-haired husband why he seemed positively obsessed with this new behavior. Astarion’s response had floored you.

“Darling, in my over 200 years, I never imagined I would have a love of my own, nor did I ever imagine what we would look like together. I couldn’t have envisioned such a thing even if I thought it a possibility or wanted to. I simply couldn’t envision myself at all. But now seeing it? I want to commit everything to memory exactly as it is… because it’s the most precious vision in the world to me.”

And really how else could you respond to that apart from kissing your sappy, bleeding heart of a husband and allowing him to continue the practice?

Of course, the two of you behaving as innocent love birds hadn’t been the only thing Astarion wanted to see in the mirror. On more than one occasion, he’d easily charmed you into the throes of passion in perfect view of a reflective surface. Your husband’s darker, more carnal half had become obsessed with watching you two in the act and it certainly thrilled you to know he was trying to commit those sensual sights to memory. You were quite happy to oblige. 

As such, you’d soon found yourself carrying the byproduct of one of your many erotic couplings.

“That was a big one.” Astarion murmurs, and you see a smile creeping across the reflection of his face in the mirror as he glances down and runs his long fingers across the swell of your abdomen. His arms are looped around you as you sit front of the vanity mirror, placing the final touches on your appearance. 

You agree with a gentle hum, moving a hand to your pregnant belly and rubbing circles on the stretch of skin, hoping to calm the young life stirring within. You coo softly to the rolling babe as you finish your primping, “Surely you aren’t thinking about breaking out of there yet, my little love. You have a few more months to go.”

Astarion’s now-warm hands cover yours as the little one seems to do somersaults in response to your voice, causing you to wince slightly as they jolt against your ribs. He presses a tender kiss into your shoulder and chuckles, “This one is strong like their mother and impatient like their father… we may be in for a spot of trouble in a few years, my love.”

You laugh in response as you stand with a pitiable amount of effort and quite a bit of assistance from the supportive arm of your husband. “I believe you’re right… but surely we’ve taken on scarier and more difficult things than a stubborn babe.”

Astarion hums in agreement before pressing a kiss to your swollen stomach, which is hovering just in front of him now, “Surely, darling. Now let us all go say hi to Uncle and Auntie Ravengard. I’m positively famished.”

-----

You are almost out of breath as you walk the final steps toward the entry of the Duke’s home. Astarion had practically begged you to take the carriage all the way through Wyll’s estate, but you waved him off, adamant that a bit light exercise would be good for the baby. The walkway was fully paved, how hard could it be?

As it turned out, you’d severely overestimated your abilities. Though it was just under a quarter mile to the front doors of the manor when you’d decided to exit the carriage, you were no longer the young, lithe woman that traversed the wilds with a petulant vampire a decade ago. The weight of your belly slowed you down more than you would admit. Astarion implored you, more than once and with growing concern and exasperation, to return to carriage. You refused each time, forcing the driver to follow behind at a snail’s pace.

“Gods, I hope this child does not take on your stubborn streak. I will be constantly overrun in my own home.” Astarion huffs, dabbing at the few beads of sweat on your brow with a silken handkerchief as he helps you climb the small flight of stairs at the entryway of Wyll’s home. He rolls his eyes as you laugh, breathlessly, and lean into him for support as he presses a kiss at the meeting point between your cheek and ear. “But, my sweet, as much as I would have preferred we stayed in the coach, you know I adore the way you look with your cheeks all flushed after a bit of… exertion.”

It’s your turn to roll your eyes at your husband as he traces his hand over your flushed cheek, his expression practically brimming with desire. The flush on the tips of his ears is a telltale sign of his salacious thoughts. If he had it his way, he’d be dragging you into the carriage right there for a quickie. But, he knew you two were nearly running late for dinner with the Duke and forced himself to push all desires aside. For now.

Wyll and his beautiful wife, Euphemia, greet you with a flurry of excitement and hugs. Their two twin toddlers run around in the entryway, a nursemaid trailing behind them.

Wyll wears a kind, soft smile as he addresses the both of you, “Dinner should be just about ready… shall we make our way there? I hope you two don’t mind. We are having work done in the dining room — my beautiful flower insisted upon remodeling — so dinner will have to be served in the Great Hall.”

As the four of you head towards the larger of the two dining areas in the Duke’s estate, Astarion wraps his arm around your waist and runs his hand along the side of your nearly bursting belly once again. There is a subtle pause at the doors of the Great Hall, and your husband’s eyebrows crinkle in a silent question before you gently press a kiss into his cheek and whisper, “Happy Rebirth Day, my love.”

Today marked one year since Gale successfully cast the Wish Spell. 

The oak doors burst open to reveal the faces of everyone you hold dear, all of them shouting, “Surprise!” in unison. Wyll and Euphemia are laughing with delight as the four of you enter the room. Astarion is obviously shocked and overwhelmed as he takes the scene in, but a toothy smile is plastered across his face nonetheless. The elf could not believe that the significance of the date had slipped his mind, nor could he believe that you all went through such great lengths to plan a spectacle on his behalf. 

Everyone showered your husband with a plethora of well-wishes and congratulations. The food was heavenly, and the silver-haired elf dined to his heart’s content. Just as Astarion loved to watch you both in the mirror, you adored seeing him eat and savor real food. You’d pursued cooking as a new hobby in the past few months, just to watch the delight on his face as he tasted any number of delectable things you placed in front of him.

“Have you thought of any names for the baby?” Karlach asks through a mouthful of food as she continues to tear into the lamb shank in front of her.

You smile knowingly. This topic has piqued everyone’s interest and they all turn their gazes in your direction, “Yes, actually… Astarion picked it out. It works well for a boy or a girl, and I think it’s an excellent choice.”

The elf smiles shyly, that subtle flush of his cheeks and ears crawling across his face as you turn your gaze to him and urge him on, “Go on, my love, and tell them the gorgeous name you picked.”

“I… I decided we should name the baby Gale.” Astarion reveals, his hand immediately moving to graze against your swollen stomach as he meets the flabbergasted expression of the wizard sitting across the table with a round-eyed, nervous gaze, “If… that’s okay by you.”

Gale coughs in surprise, nearly choking on the wine he’d just sipped from a goblet. For a moment, you watch as he blinks away tears. You are beginning to truly believe he might leap across the table and tackle your husband in a hug when he rapidly nods instead.

The wizard’s voice cracks with emotion as he speaks, “Y-yes. Thank you, Astarion. That is such an honor.”

Ten years of friendship between two men that once seemed entirely at odds with one another, honored by a namesake given to a precious babe. Fate was a truly remarkable thing.

“It’s an honor you are quite deserving of, Gale.” You respond, reaching your hand across the table to give the wizard���s hand an affectionate squeeze. “May our child have just as much heart, wit, and skill as their namesake. We will be truly blessed.”

A cake with candles is brought about at the end of the meal and placed in front of Astarion as everyone sings an off-key birthday tune. While your husband always seemed to thrive on being held at the center of attention, you noticed with a bit of amusement that his ears and cheeks were flushed pink as everyone focused their eyes upon him. 

While the others continue to sing, you lean closer to your husband and whisper, “I know we will never surpass the wish you made last time, my Star. But go on and make one anyway.”

Astarion’s gaze roams around the room, taking in all the friends he collected this past decade. Then he turns to you and grins, pausing to etch every bit of this moment into his memory before closing his eyes and blowing the candles out to a cacophony of inebriated cheers and whoops.

The elf wished for the only thing he could: a healthy child and a long life with his little love. Fate had already gifted him with more than he could have imagined for himself back in those dark, dank dungeons he once called home. Astarion found himself in want of nothing but the health and happiness of the woman beside him and the safety of their offspring. 

Though he knew it was another selfish ask, and he’d been blessed far more than he had ever expected, Astarion prayed to the gods that he once never thought would answer to grant him this last wish. And just in case they did not hear him the first time, he would be sure to make the same wish every year, until his very last. 

[alittlebrownbat]

if you are not reading Let’s Play Pretend by MsAlexWP, please I beg you why not

[thereareeyesinsidethetrees]

stan: why does everyone always ask for hugs from me? are my hugs better than everyone else’s for some reason??

mabel: they’re comfy and warm and the way you do it, i can tell you really love me!

stan: …no one else’s hugs do that? 🥺

dipper: i’ve gotta agree with her on this one, no one else’s hugs come anywhere near close to yours

stan: …ford?

ford: …if i tell you why i seek you out for hugs specifically, the kids will never let me live it down

stan: kids, get outta here

mabel: aye aye, captain! we’ll be eavesdropping from upstairs :]

stan: …yeah, i really don’t think there’s any way you’re getting out of that one, six. anyway, why do you like my hugs more than anyone else’s?

ford: you’re going to think it’s stupid

stan: mm, i don’t think so

ford: well, one, it’s to steal your body heat

stan: of course

ford: two, it’s…well. it just feels like everything drops, you know? all the paranoia and anxiety and overthinking and heaviness of it all, it just goes away for a moment. i get to just feel like…me. no interruptions, no distractions, just living, enjoying the present. no one else has ever been able to do that for me. your hugs make me feel like i don’t have to be on guard or afraid, for just that little bit

stan: …

ford: …did…did i say something wrong?

stan: you can’t just hit me with something silly and follow it up with the kindest thing anyone has ever fucking told me, holy shit

ford: are you crying-

stan: it’s a really dusty room, ford!

ford: soos cleans it regularly, i thought?

stan: …it’s fire season, lots of fires, smoke…smoke everywhere. yep

ford: mm. the smoke. that is definitely there. okay, i’ll take your word for it

stan: wh- really? you’re not gonna press at all?

ford: i like being able to just enjoy the moment with you

stan: hey, stop! you’re making the smoke worse!

ford: heheh >:]

[jessiesjaded]

I really, really wish people who don't have the capacity to properly take care of animals would simply accept and acknowledge that about themselves. This isn't even a post of me trying to be mean or judge anyone, I'm sure most people go into getting an animal with good intentions, but intentions and actions are different. If you don't have the time and the space and the care an animal needs, the animal will suffer. The fleeting joy of having a kitten or puppy or anything else doesn't last forever and they aren't toys to be put down and forgotten once you've moved past the inital excitement. If you don't have the ability to properly care for an animal, just accept that and simply admire them from a distance.

[baronessblixen]

Fictober Day 5: A New Beginning

Prompt: "It's a new day, let's go"

After their New Year's kiss, Mulder is ready to start the new day and their new life. Scully on the other hand? Would like some sleep. Rating: T, wc: 1,030

Tagging @today-in-fic @xfficchallenges

“It’s a new day,” Mulder’s voice echoes from somewhere close, “let’s go.” All Scully can do is groan; it’s entirely too early for words. The sun, she thinks, is still hiding, too. And that’s exactly what she’s planning on doing, too. Five more minutes is all she needs.

“You said that five minutes ago.” Minty puffs of air hit her cheek and she’s reminded of her dog Queequeg, though his breath never smelled this good.

“Didn’t,” she says into the pillow, her eyes still firmly closed. If she doesn’t open them, she can pretend she’s still sleeping. This is nothing more than a dream. After all, Mulder stars in most of them. The number of times she’s woken up after dreaming about Mulder and his mouth is outrageous.

“You did.” In her dreams, though, his mouth is usually otherwise occupied. They don’t talk much then. Or at least he doesn’t. She sighs, smiling as she remembers a particularly nice one from a few nights ago when she was missing him at Christmas.

“I heard that.” His voice is warm and so very close. She leans in, craving his closeness, figuring that after last night, she is allowed to indulge. They did, after all, sleep together for the first time. Sleep was all they did, however. Doctor’s orders. Mulder’s arm needs to heal until he’s allowed more strenuous activities. He pouted and she has to admit she almost gave in, but she knows how he gets, and she doesn’t want to risk it. Selfishly, she wants their first time to be when Mulder is capable of using both his arms.

“Mulder, the new day just started,” she mumbles into her pillow.

“Not just a day new day, Scully. A whole new year and anyway, I’m awake.”

“Why? We went to bed late.” It was long after midnight when they finally got here. Helping Mulder with his sling, stealing a few kisses here and there, didn’t help. Neither did Mulder’s stomach grumble so loudly that they shared a plate of scrambled eggs at 2 a.m. before Scully took his hand and led him into her bedroom.

It had been dark, but Mulder’s expression, even with painkillers running through his system, was solemn. This was a big step for them. He had made the first one when he kissed her in public at midnight. She was making the next one. The final one, she figured, they’d take together. Once Mulder was fully healed and not a second sooner (but also not a second later).

“I know you’re not a morning person,” he says softly, and all her exasperation just vanishes. This is the man she’s been in love with for longer than she cares to admit. She cracks open an eye and he might be a bit blurry, but there he is next to her with a big, toothy smile and spiky hair. His happiness is contagious.

“I started making coffee,” he says, pressing the softest kiss on the corner of her mouth.

“Mulder, morning breath,” she complains.

“I brushed my teeth.”

“But I didn’t.”

“I don’t care, Scully. You’re delicious either way.” She laughs at this, feeling freer than she has in a long time. Her laughter dies down, but a soft smile remains on her face, mirroring Mulder’s. Who, quite frankly, looks drugged.

“Have you taken your painkillers yet?” she asks him, her hand on his arm, gently stroking it. He shakes his head.

“Wanted to see you wake up.” He smiles sheepishly at her, making her want to kiss him again and again.

“In how much pain are you?”

“Right now? None. I’m looking at you.” Any other time, she might have rolled her eyes or call him crazy, but he’s so serious, so earnest.

“You still need to take them, though, all right?” He nods at her.

“Doing everything you say, Dr. Scully.”

“Since when?”

“Since last night.” Another toothy grin and she finds she can’t get enough of them. She can’t get enough of Mulder. Being woken up like this – even if it’s too early, even if she does not want to get up just yet – is preferable to him calling her in the middle of the night, saying she needs to get ready for a case in the middle of nowhere.

“Is that your New Year’s resolution?” she asks, scooting even closer to him. Soon, she’ll be lying on top of him. Somehow she thinks he wouldn’t even mind. His shoulder, however, might.

“I want that shoulder to heal as quickly as possible. I have plans.”

“Do you?” He nods, not taking his eyes off of her. He leans closer and captures her lips in a short, but thorough kiss.

“Morning breath, Mulder,” Scully repeated, winded. “Again, I don’t care. I couldn’t wait to wake up and kiss you again. Well, I couldn’t wait for you to wake up. You took your sweet time.”

“Some of us need more than four hours a night.”

“So, breakfast is out of the question? Last night you’d say we should go visit your mom today.” ‘We’. That simple word warms her heart. And he had listened to her.

“We should,” she says softly. “She’s going to be happy, seeing you.”

“Even with this?” He points at his arm still in its sling. “And this?” He gently touches the abrasions on her throat that she’d forgotten about.

“That’s what turtlenecks are for.”

“Happy to know you own turtlenecks.” He waggles his eyebrows at her.

“We don’t have time to discuss possible uses of turtlenecks if you’re serious about getting breakfast and visiting my mom.”

“We could save time showering together?”

“No shower for you today.”

“Do you think your mom will still accept me when I stink?”

“She loves you,” Scully says, stretching. Mulder’s eyes follow her every movement, hoping to catch a glimpse of naked skin. “Let’s get you your painkillers and then we’ll see what happens today, okay?”

“Can I get a kiss with my painkillers?” Scully bites her lip to stop another smile.

“If you let me brush my teeth first.”

He lets her; it's not just a new day, she realizes, but a whole new beginning.

[spidersins]

𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑   𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄   𝐀𝐒   𝐀   𝐂𝐔𝐏𝐂𝐀𝐊𝐄    !

angel: a strawberry cheesecake themed cupcake !! rich, indulgent, and ready to make you crave more after just one bite.

consisting of a crushed pink velvet cookie crust base, strawberry cheesecake filling, topped with silky mascarpone frosting, and for decoration, a sprinkle of white chocolate flecks, and a drizzle of raspberry coulis in the shape of a web, with a strawberry on top for that bold, dramatic touch.

tagged by  : @allstag

tagging  : @allcluia , @gamblins , @partyqveen , @diistortion , @lcftcult

[isleepinjeanss]

little things you've noticed about dating kenma.

[ things you’ve noticed about kenma while dating him ] you’ve been dating kenma for a few months, and you’ve begun to notice 5 things that he does.

his hands

the way he always finds a way to hold your hands. you could be doing something and just feel something warm and bigger envelope your hand, letting out a hum. “kenma..” you start, closing the gap between you two.

he lets out a hum, his yellow eyes staring at you with such intensity that you began to feel warm. "um - do.. do you wanna go to the mall after you're done with whatever you're doing?" you said, smiling up at to him, feeling him drop his head on your neck, rubbing his cheeks against you, opting out a soft airy laugh out of you. "we can go now."

you blink at his words, "huh? don't you have things to do now?" you furrowed your brows. you didn't want to be a bother if he has things to do.

"i'll do them later, [name]." he said, straightening himself to his full height, tightening his grip on your hand, "let's go." he began to drag you out of the house, and you owlishly stare at him before smiling and walking beside him.

"okay!"

2. his hair

the way kenma parts his hair whenever it's becoming bothersome or when he puts it in a messy low bun or ponytail (which you gush about).

your hands gravitate to kenmas' mop of hair, letting out a sigh. "your hair is so soft, kens." you say, playing with the strands of his hair. he lets out a hum, laying back to you to get more comfortable.

"cause i take care of it." he simply said, a teasing tint to it if you squint just hard enough. you let out an offended gasp, "what are you tryin' to say?! i take very good care of my hair, thank you very much." you huff out, pursing your lips.

"do you now?" kenma looks up to you, eyes half lidded as he smiles to which you playfully slap his shoulders.

"you know i do!"

3. his eyes

the way his eyes always seem to relax whenever kenma sees you. it's quite cute! you always find a way to squish his cheeks just to see his cat like eyes stare up at you in admiration. which you look away in a flustered manner, furrowing your brows. "..you can stop looking at me."

kenma titled his head against your hold, "hm..? why not?" he mused, eyes drooping in awe and admiration. you flush at his teasing, huffing out as you let go of his cheeks. "it's makin' me not focus!" you quickly say, voice rising.

"you can do both, can't you?" he teases, a small cat like smile adorning his lips. his hands grabbing yours to lead them to his cheeks.

you flusteredly stutter out, frowning at his words. “so annoying..” you muttered out.

“but you love me..” he mused, squeezing your hands against his.

4. his lips

the way his lips always seem to find your cheek, lips or anything to place a lovin’ kiss onto. you could be parting your hair, braiding it into twists as you felt something warm and soft on the back of your neck. “kens..” you start out slow, pursing your lips as you paused on what you’re doing. “don’t do that, your lips will be covered in castor oil, babes.” you huff out playfully, feeling him sit on the couch as you were in front of him.

“it’s fine,” kenma says, feeling his cat like eyes on your head. “do you want me to help you finish your hair?” he asks, already getting a loose strand of your hair to twist.

“yeah, that’ll be appreciated.”

5. his nose

the way he always noticed if you used something different on your hair or used a different perfume. you could be trying out a new smell and this mf will appear outta nowhere n be like “u smell nice, are u tryin’ smth new?” while being like 🧍‍♂️… it has been giving you mini heart attacks.

you sprayed some new perfume you bought for the summer, humming as the fruity fragrance floated around and remember the time softly played in your room.

“oh that’s a new smell, are you trying something out?”

and you let out a shriek, turning around to face the cause of your fright. then low and below, your loving boyfriend staring and standing at you in front of your bedroom. “jesus kenma! you can’t just do that!” you huff out, closin the perfume bottle to put it on top of your drawer, putting your hands on your hips as you pout.

kenma walked to you, bringing his hands to rest on your waist, bringing you closer. “sorry princess.” he hums out, not seeming that sorry as he rest his head on top of your head. you roll your eyes at him.

“sure you are kens..”

hi y’all i’m not dead!! sorry if it’s short 🥲 js been doing some stuff regarding w my personal life..! anywayss hope u enjoy this lil’ headcanon??

till next time luvs!! aldo typos?? oopsiee..

[dagger-n-ravvi]

Chapter 1: A Friend In Need

Trey Clover has a lovely bakery, a nice apartment, and a calm, idyllic life.

What a shame he's caught the attention of a stalker who will have him at any cost. Its up to him to find out who the faceless perpetrator is, before they come after him again.

This is a story-heavy one, so we have added summaries to the end-notes of chapters in A03 that contain sexual assault for those who would prefer to skip those chapters. There will be a link in the chapter header.

This is a whump - or a story in which a character is put through physical, mental, and emotional hell. Read with aftercare and caution.

We love comments and feedback! Feel free to let us know what you think. ^_^

Next Chapter | Fic Index

A03 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49350448?view_full_work=true

Shortly after graduation, Trey started his own bakery. It was located in Hightopp City in the Queendom of Roses, on a quiet little street named Garden Avenue. He proudly named it ‘Clovers.’ 

Ha ha, okay, fair. A bakery is not the first occupation that comes to mind for a graduate of the prestigious, Night Raven College, but Trey doesn’t really mind. His diploma is safe inside its cardboard sleeve, and tucked into a bookcase. His ceremonial robes hang unused in the back of his closet. His magestone pen is more often in his pocket than his hand, and even then, he’s usually just adding a hint of magic to his pastries. It’s a quiet life and a good one. Plenty of polite, well-behaved customers, and more than enough money to comfortably live on. He misses Riddle sometimes, but he understands why he hasn’t visited. They’re both busy.

Very busy.

It’s five AM, and a crisp, spring morning. Trey walks down the stairs from his apartment above the bakery, and lets himself into the kitchen through the back door. He flicks on the lights, pulls an apron over his head, and stretches with a satisfied sigh. Time to start finishing the pastries that have been rising since last night…

”Wheeeeere are theyyyyyyy?” 

A familiar voice reverberates off the countertops and bare walls, making him jump a solid foot into the air. 

“Chenya?!” He clutches at his chest with a long exhale. “Oh my god, don’t SCARE me like that.”

”Wheeeeeereeeeee~” 

Chenya’s disembodied voice takes on a pleading tone, and a warm cheek rubs against his shoulder. “Pleeeeeease?”

A pair of disembodied hands tipped with glossy, purple fingernails appear in the air in front of him, cupped together in eager supplication.

“Chenya, you’re too early. I haven’t even MADE anything yet.” Trey picks up a spare apron and drops it into the floating hands with good-natured exasperation. “Here. You can give me a hand since you snuck in and scared the daylights out of me.”

“For one of your cinnamon rolls? Anything~” Chenya fully appears, standing in front of him with an enormous smile. “Good morning!” 

He gives Trey a hug around the waist and then tosses the apron on, eagerly bouncing in place. Trey accepts the excitement with a good-natured eye roll, and a flustered grin. 

“Come on now, they’re JUST cinnamon rolls. The recipe is about as basic as it gets. Go wash up,” he nudges his chaotic friend toward the sink.

“You don’t understand. I’ve been CRAVING your pastries from the moment I woke up this morning,” Chenya mourns, then glares down at the sink. “We meet again…”

He makes a face, neurotically curls up his fingers, and then flinchingly begins to wash his hands.

“Don’t skimp on the soap! I can use some help brushing tops.” Trey calls over his shoulder. He begins preheating his ovens, then pulls a carton of egg-whites, buttermilk, and butter out of the refrigerator. He pours each into a separate bowl and sets a few pastry brushes nearby. He needs to melt the butter…

“Okay…” Chenya makes a face and shakes off his hands with a spasmodic twitch. “Evil, evil water.”

“Don’t you dare lick your hands. It is not the same as washing, and I will make you wash them again,” Trey warns, rolling a proofing cabinet over to the counter to unload the trays of sweet rolls beside their respective surface finishes.

“I am aware,” Chenya mopes, then walks over with his hands held out in an awkward, unhappy splay. He shakes them with a shudder, then slips off his ring and tucks it into a pocket. “I hope you don’t mind too terribly that I skipped the line outside~” 

"Egg white goes on the croissants and danishes… wait, a line ?" Trey pauses his unloading for a moment, looking back at Chenya. ”I have a line?!"

“You do! Last I looked there were about twenty people in it. I neglected to show them my personal shortcut, lest we become overcrowded.” Chenya cheerfully begins painting egg white onto a tray of croissants. “You didn’t start slipping addictive drugs into your batter, did you~?”

"What? No, don’t be ridiculous." Trey rubs the back of his head as a little spike of anxiety tightens his chest. If there’s already a line outside, then he needs to work faster. His cupcakes should be ready and cooled after baking last night, so he can start decorating... 

“Ah, then it’s in this lovely substance!” Chenya gleefully holds up the pastry brush to let the egg white drip off of it in long, slimy strands. “That ensures it will be the first thing on the tongue. I approve~”

“No .” Trey snorts gently, setting a tray of cupcakes on an adjacent counter. “I spent all my money on vanilla from the Sunset Savanna, and a new mixer. There was no money left for addictive drugs.”

“A pity,” Chenya sighs.

“Shush.” Trey snorts. He begins squeezing chocolate ganache onto the cupcakes from a pastry bag, and then follows it up with a sprinkle of white and dark chocolate shavings. Across from him, Chenya moves the croissants into the oven, and then starts on the danishes. They work in amiable silence for a while, and Trey zones out, losing himself to the simple, but satisfying task. They’ve just about finished when his alarm beeps, warning them that it’s only half an hour to the eight AM opening time.

"Chenya can you start putting these in the display cases?" Trey sets the pastry bag aside to point out a dozen, freshly baked tarts. "And start some coffee?" 

“Just medium and dark? You don’t do anything fancier, do you?” Chenya looks back at him from the cupboard, tail flicking back and forth in amiable little circles.

"Nothing fancier, unless a customer asks for an espresso. That one is easy to make quickly." Trey explains. He pulls out his magestone pen and casts a charm on the sprinkles, chopped nuts, and frosting to finish the decorating. That’s ten cakes, three dozen cupcakes, thirteen large tarts and plenty of small pastries. Hopefully that’s enough…

Chenya loads all the coffee makers, then picks up the tarts and walks out to the front with them. Through the open door, Trey can see him carefully loading the display cases, sorting them from left to right by some, unknown quality. Probably in order of the ones he likes most to the ones he likes least, if he had to guess. Oh well, the organization doesn’t really matter…

Chenya finishes that, then returns to the kitchen and eagerly peeks into the oven where the cinnamon rolls are still baking. “Are they done? IS IT TIME??” 

"Yes, they should be ready. Let's get them out." Trey smiles, then gets his oven mitts, and opens the door. The sweet, comforting aroma of cinnamon and rich milk bread rolls out with a wave of steamy air. Trey inhales deeply and then exhales with a happy sigh. He always loves this part. 

"I’ve got the icing ready. Help me get these onto cooling racks?" 

Chenya cheerfully reaches in to take a baking tray with a bare hand.

“Augh! Treachery and betrayal!” He dances backward, shaking his burned hand. “I feel so silly, my apologies.” 

"Chenya! Put it under cold water," Trey nudges him toward the sink and turns on the faucet. "Are you okay?"

“My pride is wounded. AGK-“ Chenya yanks his hand out from under the water with an affronted mewl and gingerly licks it instead. “I feel faint. I require… cinnamon. And sugar~”

He pulls out his own magestone pen and flicks it at the ovens. The trays of cinnamon rolls lift themselves into the air, and float smoothly onto their cooling racks. Trey closes up the ovens and gives Chenya a fond, but exasperated look.

"You'll be fine, especially if you let the cold water help, and not your tongue?”

“That monstrosity has already had its way with me ONCE today,” Chenya pins his ears back, glaring at the faucet in open distaste. “Not a chance.”

“Geez. Well, stay there then, and do NOT touch anything with the hand that you’re licking. I'll get your cinnamon roll as soon as I finish."

A little magic helps the rolls cool down, spread themselves with icing, and then pop themselves into decorative papers for sale. Finally, with only three minutes until opening time, the baking is complete, and Chenya has his oh-so-precious cinnamon roll. 

"Well? How are the alms for the injured?" Trey sits down beside him to take a breather. Chenya makes a happy noise, and gently licks the steaming roll. 

“It is… so hot~” Chenya blows on the pastry with a deliriously happy expression. “The heat, it slows my nibbling, though I wish to fully bite. Soon we shall unite, but until the manna cools, I endure. Sweet, sweet torture~” 

He takes another tiny bite and rubs his cheeks with an enormous smile, purring ecstatically. His burned thumb and index finger are lightly wrapped in a purple, tie-dyed handkerchief, and don’t seem to be causing him any noticeable discomfort.

"You're ridiculous, but I'm glad that it wasn't as bad as it could have been." Trey snorts softly, then gets to his feet. “I’m going to go open up now. If you can, I’d love a hand with the customers once you’re finished.”

“Of course~” Chenya takes another sticky, blissful bite.

Trey shakes his head and heads out to unlock the door. Now that he’s at the storefront, he can absolutely see the line that Chenya mentioned before, and it is long . He takes a deep breath, then turns to look over at his display cases one last time. Cookies, cupcakes, cakes, tarts, bread loaves, rolls, coffee, and seasonal pies. All freshly baked and laid out on the display shelves with their prices marked up on the blackboard in green chalk.

He's as ready as he’ll ever be.

He turns the sign over to open, and unlocks the door.

It’s absolute mayhem for the first hour. Everyone is thrilled to be buying his pastries, and for some reason, the cupcakes in particular? He sells out of them almost immediately, and has to keep explaining over and over to disappointed customers that they’ve run out until tomorrow. It’s about noon when the rush finally slows, and thank goodness for that. Chenya has hung around, and is helping with small tasks around the shop floor, tidying up after customers and managing complaints. He’s not the most self-directed help, and Trey is absolutely lighter by a few more cinnamon rolls than he should be, but he’s better than nothing.

‘Wow that was a lot…’ Trey slumps as the last few customers trickle out, looking forlornly at his display case. He badly wanted to go bake another round of cupcakes, but then who would manage the front? As much as he hates to admit it... he needs help. 

Taking advantage of the lull, he sneaks into the back and pulls out a sandwich made on freshly baked rye bread. After a moment, Chenya walks in with a stack of dirty coffee cups, humming softly to himself. 

"Chenya... be honest. Should I get an employee?" He stares tiredly at the sandwich.

“Trey, my friend. The way I see it, there are two paths laid before you,” Chenya stacks the cups into the dishwasher. “On one path, you obtain help, and are able to cope with the increased workload of your wonderfully successful shop. On the other, I finish eating my fifth cinnamon roll of the day~” He holds up another pilfered cinnamon roll with such a deeply satisfied smile that he might be looking into the eyes of a lover. “And I watch you work yourself into a spiral of true madness from which there is no return.”

He takes a bite of the roll and closes his eyes, chewing the treat with a deep, rumbly purr.

“... Noted." Trey takes a bite of sandwich, then washes it down with his third cup of coffee for the day. "Also, you’re paying for the four cinnamon rolls you pilfered." 

“The five~” Chenya corrects him agreeably.

“Wait, five? But you…?”

“Helloooo~! Trey-Trey? Anyone home?” Someone calls from the front of the shop.

"Huh? Now that's a familiar voice." Trey gets up from his chair and walks back out to the counter. "Hello! Is that who I think it is?” 

“I dunno, who do you think it is?” Cater giggles and waves at him from the other side of the counter. “Wooooow, looks like I caught you in a lull huh? Your goodies are super picked over.”

There is only one cupcake left in the display case. Its top got heavily smeared when Trey accidentally dropped another cupcake on top of it, and despite the rush, no one had wanted to buy it.

"Cater! I’m sorry, but I gotta close up pretty soon. I didn't expect to sell out this fast. I got a lot of people all of sudden this morning. And cupcakes! All of them wanted cupcakes." Trey shakes his head with a sheepish smile. "I was literally just thinking about hiring an assistant just to keep up with demand."

“It’s no biggie~ I was mostly dropping by to catch up anyway. But hiring! That’s exciting. You put out any feelers yet? Gonna try and get someone local to the QOR?”

"Oh wow. I’m not sure,” he admits. “I haven't even put up a sign. Seven… I have to think about interviewing, and how I want to split up tasks, and hours, and how much I can afford to pay..." 

Trey holds his head with a long sigh. He’s getting a headache just thinking about it, and he’s half convinced that this whole thing is one, bad hire away from becoming a giant mess. "Maybe I could double the amount I usually make instead? Agh, no, I’d still run out of time for decorating and finishes. When am I even going to find the time ?"

“Whoaaaaa, stress vibes,” Cater sympathises, lightly tugging at the hair behind his left ear. “You’re seriously running this place a hundred percent solo? Brutal. I know it’s kinda out of the blue, but I hit a hiatus in my own work. Could give you temporary hand, since we’re old buddies and all~”

"You want to work in a bakery? But you hate sweets. And I thought you were doing a social media travel blog?" Trey looks up at him tiredly. Aghhh, and he shouldn’t have unloaded on Cater, that was rude. Now he probably feels like he HAS to help…

“Nahhhh, that’s why I’m on hiatus,” Cater rubs the back of his head with a rueful smile. “I’m back in the QOR for a couple weeks for a break. And yeah, I don’t like sweets, but I know how to do basic prep stuff! You probably need someone to handle people and sales and tables anyway, yeah? That way YOU can do all the working with the sweeties.”

“You lack a sweet tooth? How on earth do you survive?” Chenya appears in the air above the cash register, lounging upside-down with his legs crossed. He gives Cater a curious look, licking cinnamon and sugar off his fingers.

“Just fine, thanks,” Cater gives him an annoyed smile. “Probably better than someone who eats half of what they make, just guessing~”

Trey snickers at the catty response, but the idea is sorely tempting. He likes Cater well enough, and if Chenya comes to help every now and then, he could even have time to finish his work and take a small break during the day.

"Alright, alright I'm convinced. But Cater you'd have to come in at six AM. We close at three PM, and I stay after to do prep. If that’s not a dealbreaker, then I'd be happy to have you. It'll be like old times.” He smiles. "And don’t worry about Chenya, he- Oh! That's right, have you guys met?”

“Not formally,” Chenya flips right-side up and drops to the floor, standing politely on his feet.

“Chenya this is Cater Diamond, and Cater this is Chenya. Or Artemiy Artemiyevich Pinker, but just call him Chenya. Don't worry about him, he's paying for all the cinnamon rolls he ate." 

“Ohhhhh, THIS is Chenya,” Cater smiles warmly. “Trey-Trey told me all about you sneaking over to Heartslabul to pester him and Riddle. Nice to finally see you in person.” He holds out a hand to shake, appears to remember that Chenya was just licking his hand halfway through, and then quickly turns it into a little wave. 

“And you as well! I saw you painting roses once with that marvelous unique magic of yours. Very handy.” Chenya beams, then leans forward and continues in a stage whisper. “PLEASE do help Trey. He’s going to run himself ragged doing this work all on his own. He’s quite incredible, but not THAT incredible.”

“Yeah, he is,” Cater smiles back. “Besides, I’m hella jet lagged, so getting up at five is basically gonna be my MO for a couple weeks anyway. Might as well have some fun with a friend~”

"Hey now! I can hear you guys!" Trey looks away with an embarrassed smile. "As long as you’re sure that the early start is okay! I don't want you getting overloaded."

“Yeah, I’m sure~” Cater beams.

“Okay…” Trey tilts his head to one side to crack his neck, then gives his shoulders a little roll. "Okay. I‘m going to close up for today. I barely have anything left to sell, so I should get a head-start on prep." 

“Awwww, bummer. You want me to start like. Now? I didn’t really have plans for later anyway.” Cater offers.

“Mmmmm, how generous~” Chenya opens up the till to pay for his cinnamon buns. giving Trey a pointed side-eye as he does. Coming from him, it’s the visual equivalent of screeching ‘ ACCEPT HIS HELP, DUMMY!!’  

"Well... I..." Trey trails off, then shakes his head and gives Cater a rueful grin. "Yes. I would like that very much. If we can get tomorrow's prep all wrapped up, that will mean an easier morning." 

“Awesome~” Cater beams. “What should I do first?”

It isn’t until Trey is locking up the bakery for the night that he realizes it was a little weird for Cater to just… jump in and help. Not that Trey isn’t very glad he did! But still… he didn’t negotiate a salary, or discuss hours, or perks, or anything. Chenya is one thing. His family is extremely wealthy, and Trey is pretty sure that they gave him a trust fund early on in his childhood. Also he’s CHENYA. Mischievous and thoroughly willing to play pranks, but ultimately he’s kind. He’s so kind that it’s almost a little scary. He literally just put in a decent day’s work for giggles, and unlimited access to cinnamon buns. THAT HE PAID FOR. A real employee would run him at least twelve madol an hour, plus perks like free lunches and leftovers to take home.

Cater, on the other hand, is not rich. He’s never willingly worked for free, and even then, he often had an ulterior motive, like taking pictures for his magicam feed, or avoiding Riddle’s ire. Does he have an angle here…? 

Trey walks up the stairs to his apartment with an exhausted sigh. He’ll have to ask him in the morning. Twelve hours on his feet is a looooong time...

[the-ghost-king]

solangelo (imo) is not a very pda heavy couple and the extent of their pda is holding hands but they're the couple who when they're truly relaxed doesn't intertwine their fingers or go palm to palm they just grip fingers with their whole hand the way babies tend to do? also they're definitely the "brushing my thumb back and forth over the back of your hand or inside of your wrist" hand holders too

[hexiewrites]

fic rec: fourteen ways to say I love you

read it on ao3!

I was lucky enough to beta this amazing story written by a great friend as a gift for another. its 26,000 words of sap and delight, and I think you should all go enjoy it too.

summary:

There’s a huge cardboard box on the coffee table, with an envelope propped up in front of it. He slips his finger under the flap and pulls it open. There are 2 sheets of paper folded inside. By the end, Eddie is biting his lip, his heart thumping erratically in his ears. He allows himself a moment of just… staring. Coils a strand of hair around and around and around his finger as he takes in an entire box filled with Steve’s love.

OR

Eddie is facing the run up to the most romantic time of year (which also happens to be his and Steve's anniversary) alone. Or at least, as alone as you can be when your husband is on another continent.

Turns out, though, that Steve has arranged a series of surprises. Fourteen of them, in fact; one for each day up to and including Valentine's Day.

(rated E, 26k, 14/14, complete)

read it on ao3!

[betta-phish]

so you know how a lot of the characters use another pet name other than their main one sometimes?

for example:

Gavin: Deviant/My Love

Vincent: Lovely/Little One

Elliot: Sunshine/Baby

so yeah i feel like Lasko would use a set of dear, hon/honey, and sweetie it’s just so….him

also i desperately need to hear it

[theintrovertbean]

Three more weeks (including this one) and I'll be free of this torment (university, at least until my exams begin). Three more weeks and the Nadia x Dara pre-game story might come to life (not Spellbound Desires, this is something entirely different.)

There will be forbidden romance, angst, mutual pining, friends to lovers, and a shit ton of horniness because Nadia please let me smash.

Their story has been forming in my mind for almost two years and I NEED TO WRITE IT

[smallz-o]

Hi sweetie peaches here gone not forgotten 🦆🦆🪦🪦🪦🦆🦆🦆

Tubhalo = gay homosexual gay gay homosexual gay homosexual

Nah but seriously. Tubhalo cuddles. I think after his death tubbo is always warm because of the lava he rested in when revived. Like to the point his skin feels like there’s fire beneath the surface. Bad, on the other hand. Is always cold, ice cube cold. So they balance each other out, usually.

Another thing, angel tubbo, or fallen angel/demon tubbo. Imagine him showing his wings to bad for the first time. Messy and disjointed. And yet bad takes them in his hands as though he’s holding something precious. He doesn’t care when the holy energy singes his skin. He rights them as gently and carefully, positioning feathers back in place as they once were. Tubbo’s rigid, nervous posture eventually relaxes. It feels like he can breathe again, like he’s safe enough to show his wings without harm

Anyway, they should kiss

PEACHES COMING BACK FROM THE DEAD TO DROP THE MOST ATOMIC FUCKING TUBHALO BOMB

[blakelywintersfield]

I want to add two things to this:

Firstly, the insinuation that the medicated version of you is different from the unmedicated version of you is a false narrative. We are not 2D creatures. We are extremely complex beings. There are many "versions" of you and they're all you. The only way to actually become inauthentic is to literally have your brain destroyed in a matter that removes your entire personality (think: lobotomy). Medications do not do this. Drugs in general cannot do this unless they destroy a part of your brain. There are so many different things that make you the person you are (your likes and dislikes, your memories, your mannerisms, etc.) and no medication is capable of taking all that away. People will focus on the things they've "lost" and believe "I am no longer really me", when the reality is that it's simply what they were known for that was lost. And oftentimes what they were known for were the severe symptoms of their health issues.

As an anecdote, I was known for constantly being bitter about being alive to the point that I made it a joke. A bitter joke, but a joke nonetheless. "I can't die, the gods won't let me because I'm their favorite thing to point and laugh at as I suffer" was basically the attitude I was known for. On the surface, it was a bit, but the reality was I really wanted to fucking die and I was miserable waking up every single day.

To add to that, I was also known for sleeping. Constantly. I also made a joke out of that but I was genuinely tired 24/7. I never felt awake. I never felt rested. "Gotta get my quad shot coffee and three Red Bulls plus a Rockstar Energy for my Sleepy Bitch Disease" type deal.

I was also the alcoholic. I wasn't an aggressive or angry alcoholic so it didn't seem like a major problem to many, and I handled my alcohol well (only blacked out once, only threw up five times in the entire decade I'd spent drinking). My go-to spirits, my boisterous and jubilant behavior (around others), and my ability to drink people twice my size under the table and still be able to walk straight were key personality points for me.

All of these things practically defined me. Whenever I'd do DnD with friends, those traits were always key to my characters. These were the first things most people got to know about me. One could say they were the authentic me.

And they were killing me.

Sure, those were definitely authentic parts of who I was; I wasn't faking any of it, I wasn't putting on a show for fun. But they were unhealthy and actively inhibiting my ability to actually live my life in a fulfilling, meaningful manner.

Nowadays, the "Sleepy Bitch Disease", which is now officially diagnosed narcolepsy, medicated with a very heavily controlled substance. I still get sleepy, I still take a nap every now and then, and I can still sleep 14 hours straight, but I no longer need enough caffeine to kill a horse to get through the day. I no longer have to take two hours to wake up. I can get out of bed and be awake within 15 minutes. I no longer have to take a coffee break or get an energy drink every two hours. I'm no longer known for downing so much coffee that people question how I haven't had a heart attack.

Today, I'm no longer known for downing half a bottle of vodka just to catch a buzz. I don't do tequila shooters and go nuts. I'm not a rambunctious alcohol-pounding party boy who still can't get drunk enough to get past his self-esteem issues to tell the dude he thinks is cute "hi". (I would never be able to get that drunk, even now.)

And the chronic suicidal desire and the feeling that life isn't worth living are handled with medication and therapy -- which leads into my second point.

Sometimes medication isn't enough, which means to say that it can help, but you may need therapy in junction with medication. This is common if your condition is more severe (though all levels from mild to severe can benefit from the med/therapy combo). And most people who say "medication isn't for me / medication doesn't help" tend to be the same people who say "therapy doesn't help" as well, and are the same people who tried at most two different medications and talk-therapy.

Therapy is expansive. There is a wide array of therapy. And just like the doctors that provide medication, if you have a therapist and they aren't helping, find another! Look for therapists who specialize in certain conditions or certain forms of therapy! Look for different therapy groups! Try hybridized therapies!

Sometimes medication alone can help, and that's wonderful! And don't think that just because your condition is severe, you have to find a specialized therapy to help as well -- if medication does the job and you're able to live your life comfortably, that's good! But if medication seems to be only doing so much, on top of seeing about trying a different med, look into therapy as well. I hit a wall with medication with the chronic suicidal behaviors/ideation -- but therapy (specifically Dialectical Behavioral Therapy or DBT) helped me change my pattern of thought (along with teaching me coping and communication skills). That, alongside medication which helped on the chemical side (sorta; biopsychology is a complex study and the chemical imbalance theory is extremely simplistic but unfortunately the easiest way to explain medication) resulted in me being a happier, more productive person. And I don't mean productive in capitalist terms (well, kind of; I can actually hold down a job now) but I can actually write, and plan trips, and spend my whole day doing errands and going out and having fun! I couldn't do that before as the so-called "authentic" me. The friends I have who've been with me pre- and post-DBT/medicine all still love me, and the feedback has been unanimous: they're all happy to see me happy and healthy. None of them have hinted at me being fake, or not myself (and they would -- I've specifically asked that they watch for any behavior changes that seem out of the ordinary, just in case). I've gone off my meds before and it was always hell, every time. Your unmedicated self isn't more authentic than you medicated self. Your unmedicated self is your unhealthiest self.

Is the person using a wheelchair not being authentic? Is the person taking antibiotics to clear an infection not being authentic? Is someone with breast cancer undergoing a double mastectomy not being authentic? Change is authentic to the human condition, especially when that change is to better yourself and your life.

Stagnation is death. Don't be afraid of change. You will not lose your authenticity, just the chains that keep you down.

90s movies: Psychopharmacology is as good as a lobotomy. If you take pills to treat your mental illness it will literally murder your imaginary friends and you will become a boring, lotus-eating conformist drone.

Me after taking my meds: drives the scenic route home to see if there are any geese on the pond and does a little dance in line at the grocery store and comes home to throw everything​ in my fridge into a stew pot because I can finally taste food again while singing songs at my birds in which I replace all the instances of "she" with "Cheese" and doing a Dolly Parton impression on the phone to my sister

[dagger-n-ravvi]

Chapter 15: Bad Ending, Happily Married

Trey does not trust Chenya.

Trey doesn’t think to poison himself.

Cater gets to finish what he started.

Chapter contains blatant noncon porn, rape, bondage, kidnapping/implications of long term imprisonment, gang rape, non-consensual photography and videos

Previous | Next Chapter | Fic Index

A03 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49350448?view_full_work=true

Trey is lying on his side, naked with his wrists and ankles bound snugly together. There's a wad of cloth in his mouth, and a few wraps of duct tape across his face to keep it in. 

‘How… how did I get here?… ’ He blinks woozily into the darkness, trying to concentrate past the throbbing in his temples. He can remember going into the warehouse at Carpenter Beach… and then Cater…

He whimpers softly into the gag and closes his stinging eyes. Cater drugged him. Forced him through some twisted parody of a wedding, in return for Chenya and Rook’s freedom.  He remembers the ring… 

His finger twitches in memory. He can still feel it there, a rigid sense of pressure against his left, ring finger. It’s a flat, gold band inset with twelve, tiny magestones. The moment Cater put it on him, it shrank into place, locking itself on, and completely preventing him from using magic. It's similar to the anklets that police use to hold mages in prisons, but this one has intentionally, and sickeningly been shaped like a wedding ring.

“Mnnnffff…” Trey grunts, weakly flexing his arms and legs. His mouth is dry, and his tongue is gummed uncomfortably to the cloth. He takes a deep breath through his nose, and then rubs his cheek against his shoulder, fitfully trying to roll the tape back enough to get his mouth clear. The moment he starts moving, a heavy, intensely distracting pressure blatantly makes itself known inside his ass, exactly where he would prefer it NOT to be. Did Cater stick some kind of toy inside him?! He twists his wrists around and awkwardly tries to reach back to feel…

The pressure inside him immediately transforms into a deep, thuddy vibration that spreads clear down the insides of his thighs and halfway up his spine. 

“Mmmph!” Trey jolts, reflexively squeezing his eyes shut. His core muscles reflexively tighten, making everything feel even more intense. He quickly gives up trying to feel around for the toy, going limp on the floor and panting as his cock starts to twitch and stiffen…

As suddenly as it had turned on, the vibration turns off again, leaving him with only the stretch, and now his gently throbbing cock. 

“Mmmm… mmm…” Trey turns his face to one side, whimpering softly and forcing himself to focus. He's lying on something soft and cushioned, but unless he can get his hands free, the best he'll be able to do is squirm around. He braces himself, and then gives his wrists a hard tug to try to break the tape.

“Hhhmfffff!” Trey cries out, writhing as the vibration surges across his body’s most sensitive areas again. The plug is long enough that the tip presses firmly against his inner sensitive spot whenever he clenches up, and it feels as though it’s getting somehow even more sensitive the longer he’s teased. His eyes roll up nearly into the back of his head. He can barely concentrate.

‘Oh… ohh… nnnghhh… ’ Trey moans into the gag. His thoughts fog up, and head gets floaty. His discomfort is slipping away, pulling his mind more and more firmly toward what is happening between his legs with a creeping sense of addictive pleasure. He can’t think… just feel… 

“Nnn- nnnnn … hhh… hhh…” Trey whimpers as the vibration shuts off again, leaving him aching even worse than before. Sweat has coated his bare skin, and his face is flushed. He barely has the strength to react when he hears Cater’s cheerful, bouncing footsteps begin to approach the space where he's lying.

Click~ 

A bar of light appears under the edge of a door just a few inches away from Trey's nose, revealing that he is currently lying on the floor of a small, empty closet. Cater's footsteps approach the closet, and then the shadow of his shoes appear just past the crack beneath the door.

"Trey-Trey, are you being naughty?" He asks in a playful, muffled voice.

“Mmnn! Mmm!” Trey protests, even though he doesn’t know what sort of answer Cater even wants. Is he supposed to be naughty? What does it even mean to be ‘well behaved’ when you’ve been kidnapped by a friend who’s revealed himself as a yandere-adjacent stalker?

"You ARE being naughty~ You’re supposed to get good sleep for tonight. No wiggling~"

Cater opens the door, letting light from a large bedroom flood into the closet. In spite of his words, he sounds delighted to have found Trey wiggling, and looks even more delighted as he takes in his sweaty, aroused, and helplessly hogtied body.

"Now I have to punish you~" He crouches down into a low squat, and then reaches out and gently boops the end of Trey's nose. Trey stares back at him, eyes stinging from the light. Cater sounds playful… and happy? Is he actually going to punish him, or…? 

Trey’s ass clenches at the memories of the faceless, black-suited figure with its silky fingers and murmured praise. Is that what Cater wants? To… to do that again?

"I can finally use all of my other me-s!" Cater's form shimmers a little, and then splits three times in quick succession until there are five, gleeful Caters staring down at him. "I had to hold back before I could get a ring on you~"

"A little too trademark, yeah?" A different Cater bends down and nuzzles his cheek. Trey shivers, weakly shying away. Cater’s ‘Split Card’ magic is something he’s seen many times before, but it never filled him with dread the way it does now. “Yah, definitely too trademark~”

"But now that I don't have to do the whole 'hide your face thing…'” “We can have..."

"Some real fun…"

That promise sends goosebumps scurrying along Trey’s back and shoulders. It was bad enough when there was just one. 

His traitorous body squeezes in anticipation.  

Three of the Caters lean forward and lift his bound body between them, hauling him up and out into the open. The room past the closet is simple and spartan. Apart from a king-sized bed in the center, it doesn't appear as though anyone actually lives there at all, and everything smells faintly of new paint. Trey squints around, surprised by the surroundings. Had Cater bought a new house ? The smell is so… fresh.

"Are you thirsty?" The Caters set him on the bed, and then two immediately spoon him on either side, sandwiching his body between them. A third gently works the tape off his face, and the fourth brings over a water bottle with a bendy straw. Trey’s mouth is so dry that the cloth has to be peeled off of his tongue. He’s so thirsty…

He lifts his chin and puts his lips around the straw, moaning softly in relief as the cool, wet pressure soothes his tongue and pulses down his throat. It’s probably drugged, but he doesn’t care, he needs it so badly-  

Shockingly, as he continues to drink, it seems to be actual, real water this time. No undertones of medicinal chemicals. No special herbs or cute 'drink me' labels. It’s a relief, but also a little unsettling that it isn't drugged. Cater must be so confident of his hold on him that he isn't trying to alter his mental state to stay in control. Where did he take him?!

"There, isn't that better~?" One of the Caters lovingly pets the back of his head.

Trey nods reluctantly. He did like the water. 

“Good~ I'm gonna take such good care of you Trey-Trey~" 

Trey feels so small, being cuddled, being taken care of. He can’t keep himself from trembling slightly as Cater rubs his chest, and pets him down. 

"We'll get you some foodies next, but first~ You were wiggling around, weren't you?" The Cater holding the bottle gives him a wicked, playful smile...

Trey balks at that. Should he tell the truth? His cock is enough of a give away, but he’s not sure what kind of game he’s supposed to be playing here. He shakes his head ‘no’ at Cater, hoping to avoid punishment.

Smack-! 

“Aaai-!” Trey gasps as a sharp, heavy swat lands across his backside, jolting the plug and making him jerk against the tape around his wrists and ankles. Giggling, the two Caters spooning him hold him firmly in place. His face flushes, and his cock pulses needily. He feels like a plaything, being handled like this.

"Trey-Trey, were you wiggling~?" The first Cater bends down and beams at him with his hands on his knees, like he's talking down to a toddler.

“Y-yes…” Trey answers very quietly and shamefully.

“Yes you were~” Cater cups his face and presses a deep, loving kiss between his teeth. Fingers trail lightly and teasingly down his backside. “You were supposed to sit still and wait for me! Naughty~”

Trey whimpers quietly, ears burning with humiliation. Even if he’d wanted this to be a kinky, sexual thing, which he very much does not, the accusation is hardly fair-

Another smack lands across his left buttock, and then his right, both angled intentionally inward in a way that sends heat and throbbing pressure through his plugged ass. 

“AAAH-!” Trey jolts, backside throbbing from the playful abuse. He clenches hard, sucking the plug inward and against his inner sweet spot again. The heat, the pressure… “S-sorry! P-please no more!” His cock feels like it’s going to explode.

“Are you gonna cum just from this?”

Smack! 

“N-no I won’t! Cater please-HAA!” His voice gets cut off, ending in a sharp yelp instead. 

“If you do, I’ll have to punish you some more. You better hold back and be good for me~”

He smacks him three times in quick succession, switching sides each time to hit him in a different spot until his entire backside is so warm and tingly that it feels as though it’s glowing.

“S-stop…” Trey cringes, his muscles tensing from the spanking. He isn’t going to cum! He doesn’t want to, he doesn’t he doesn’t he doesn’t- 

SMACK-! 

“N-no more…”

"Shush~" One of the Caters captures his mouth in a kiss, sucking teasingly at his lips and tongue while the one spanking him gleefully kneads his stinging backside, spreading him out to admire the plug before pushing it in until the flat end has bottomed out against his body. 

“Plea-mmmnff-!” Trey moans into his mouth. Every suck sends shivers down his spine, making him keen pathetically. The Caters holding him on the bed giggle in his ears, then begin kissing the sides of his neck as the one at his backside gives him a final, hard squeeze, and then another hard smack.

“Nnnnuu… nuuuuh-“ Trey pants and moans, core muscles fluttering. 

"We don't stop until I wanna stop~" 

SMACK, SMACK, SMACK~! 

“GHHHHHHH-!” The final smack breaks Trey. His orgasm comes in a burst of hard waves before he collapses limply between all the Caters.

"Trey-Trey! I told you not tooooo~" The Cater kissing him pulls back and fondly squeezes his cheeks. "Now all your moaning has gotten me hard for you~"

The ones cuddling him giggle and keep pressing kisses to the sides of his neck. Trey feels like crying… he probably is, given how hot his face feels and how disconnected and floaty his mind has gotten. 

“You… you wanted me to fail.”

“Me? Never~” The Cater behind him lightly tugs on the plug, playfully wiggling it around before completely pulling it out. Trey whimpers, feeling… so empty . His body tightens on nothing, almost as though it misses having something inside. 

He's able to catch a glimpse of a fifth Cater taking the plug out of the room to wash it before the one who was kissing him pulls out a phone and flips it around to show him the screen.

"Look at you~"

Moans and slapping sounds come from the phone's tiny speaker, and the screen shows a video that Cater must have taken of that first, awful night. It's a POV shot with what must have been a body-mounted camera. It shows a figure in black fucking his ass with a firm, rapid pace. He might have missed that it was him if not for that stupid little clover tattoo.

“Th-that’s…” Trey can’t finish his thought, voice cracking. He’s crying now, face red and eyes burning from humiliation and despair. He… he sounds like such a whore.

"It's youuuuuu~" Cater coos, and the two cuddling him nuzzle happily into his chest and kiss the back of his head. "You at your best~"

A firm, insistent pressure rolls over the opening of his ass, slick with lube before pressing against him with a gentle, rocking motion, making him cry out and bite down on one of his fingers.

"Let's make another one~ I wanna have hours of footage of you going all soft and gooey around meeee~"

On the screen, his moans have started to become more desperate, and the figure in black has picked up the pace, hips slapping against his ass with every stroke. His cock is curled up hard against his belly and visibly twitching. Trey looks deliberately off to the side, but he can still hear it, and somehow that’s worse. 

“N-no! L-let’s not make another one! Isn’t one enough?” 

Cater sighs and rolls his eyes. “Mood killer with all this negativity Trey-Trey! Less grumbling, more moaning!”

The clone that Cater seems to be using mostly for little maintenance tasks hands him a large, black ring on a leather strap. He presses it up against Trey’s teeth, see-sawing it gently against his lips. It feels hard, but rubbery, like steel coated with silicone.

“Open wide~” He coaxes as the gentle pressure against his ass continues, and fingers begin to toy ever-so-lightly with the slippery head of his cock. Trey tries to lean back, to get his face out of reach or at least make it difficult for someone to grab him, but it’s laughably easy for Cater’s many hands to force the ring into his mouth.

“And since you’re being such a sour-puss,” Cater holds out a hand and one of his clones drops a little squeeze bottle of lemon juice into it. “You get to be extra sour until I decide to put something sweeter in there~!”

“Aaaiyyy!” Trey chokes as Cater tips his chin up and squeezes a dollop of lemon juice directly onto his tongue. The taste is blisteringly sour, and his mouth immediately begins to salivate so much that he can’t help but let it drip over his chin and onto Cater’s lap in wet, gooey strands. 

“Ack… eh…” Saliva drips from his mouth, forming a small stream that cascades down his chin, and drips onto the bed. His tongue flexes, trying to scrape the miserable taste off using his teeth.

“Oh noooo, do you not like it?” The Cater who was kissing him unbuttons the fly of his pants and kicks them off. His shirt and underwear carelessly follow, leaving him naked and VERY obviously aroused as he lifts Trey’s dripping face and nuzzles his nose with a smile. “But it got you got all sloppy and wet~” 

“Aaahh…” Trey wiggles, closing one eye. The pets, the half-mocking care. It’s giving his lightheaded overwhelmed body such awful, mixed feelings. He’s being held gently enough, but he knows that things can change. Anger. Fear. Possessiveness…

Cater presses the tip of his cock through the ring gag with a deep, happy sigh. As he does, the pressure at Trey’s ass also increases, sinking inside him in a slow roll of warmth and slick pressure.

“Ack!” Trey winces hard at the taste of Cater’s cock. It’s musky, but better than the lemon. His tongue instinctually rolls over the intrustion, before flinching back with an unhappy gurgle.

“Mmmmm~” The Cater at his mouth bounces experimentally, making extremely lewd, wet sounds as he slips in and out of Trey’s mouth. 

“Ugh! Gugh! Guuhg-“ Trey splutters. The bounces make his tongue react, drawing backward to protect his throat and rolling against the underside of the shaft. He flushes hard in shame and distaste as more drool drips down his chin. The bedspread below his face is soaked, not that Cater seems to mind. He coos and moans eagerly as he rolls his hips, gently questing deeper. Every time Trey’s tongue slides over his shaft, he can feel it twitch and harden, and a little more of the overwhelming lemon taste is replaced by salt and light musk. Weighing his options, Trey reluctantly licks, rubbing his tongue on the underside of Cater’s dick.

“I found that lemon juice trick on the internet~” Cater purrs, petting the back of his head with both hands. “Mmmm, I like it. Got you so wet for meeeeee~”

The cock at his ass draws back and then begins to slowly pump in and out, generously milking his prostate with every stroke. Cater must have used extra lube because every thrust is smooth and achingly pleasurable. Trey’s muscles are already so relaxed that his body almost seems eager to get something back in there…

Out of the corner of Trey’s eye, he sees that fifth Cater again, holding up a camcorder and biting his lip to hold back a gleeful smile. He casually slips a hand into his pants and starts to stroke himself with a wide, blushy grin.

The two Caters who were holding him still peel the tape off his wrists and ankles, and then gently pull his arms down to his sides. One teasingly slips Trey’s own hand down the front of his pants and tries to drag his fingers down the length of his cock. The other presses a line of kisses down the straining column of his throat, sucking a little harder on each kiss before lightly biting and sucking a spot just above his left collarbone.  

“Aaugh-“ Trey chokes at the bite, “Grk, grk, guphk, guhpk, aaguph-”

He’s feeling so hot- his hips are beginning to weakly tilt upward to meet every thrust. He’s accepting the cock deeper into his mouth, letting it push right at the back of his tongue. The more he relaxes into it, the more excited Cater seems to become, both around him, and inside him. A set of hands find his cock and add a slick, rapid stroke to the dual sensations at his ass and throat. He’s speared and sandwiched between all of them, and they all seem to be experiencing the same, increasingly desperate surge of pleasure. Cater does want to take care of Trey. He wants to do it in a fucked up, possessive, and deeply fearful sort of way, but it’s obvious that he’s much more interested in overwhelming him with pleasure than physically hurting him. 

And now that increasingly familiar cock is stroking the sensitive inner walls of his ass again, smacking repeatedly against his lightly stinging backside. The cock in his mouth is rigid, and every time he licks it, Cater’s hips buck reflexively into his throat, getting closer and closer to his own orgasm. He seems to desperately crave Trey’s participation. 

“You’re licking me so good love…” he gasps. “Do you want me to cum inside you~? Do you like feeling me fill you up~?”

‘Ok… ok… change of plans… maybe the best way to handle this… ooh fuck—is to get Cater to cum. If… ohmygod fuck-! Nnngh… if I can get him exhausted… nnnngh… might be my chance-! ’ 

Trey closes his eyes, “Mmm~!” He lets his tongue finally ‘play’ with the thing in his mouth. He licks the entire underside, and swallows around the head. He glances up at Cater, trying to gauge how close he is. 

“Fuck, fuck fuck-!” Cater makes a tight, desperate sound that’s echoed by all the copies around him. The one holding the camera nearly falls to his knees, and a wet spot appears on the front of his pants. The one in his ass buries himself, and hot, wet pressure floods his insides. The one who was using Trey’s hand to rub his cock covers his palm in cum, and the one against his side spasms, and presses a deep, loving kiss into the side of his neck.

And finally, the one at his mouth pulls back enough to keep from choking him, and cum spurts over his tongue. Trey chokes. He’s frozen. Unsure what to do. He doesn’t swallow it, leaving it all pooled in his mouth, and dribbling down his chin.

Distantly, his tongue slowly moves underneath Cater’s softening cock, trying to spit everything out. He’s already made a mess, what’s a little more?

“Hnnnn… mnnnnghhh… “ Cater pants, and one by one, the clones start to vanish, until the only one left is the one at his mouth. He pulls out and gently unbuckles the gag, kissing his cheeks, nose and forehead as he eases it out of his mouth. Trey spits out the rest, weakly smearing the overwhelming mess off his chin with the back of his hand. He feels so disgusting… 

“That was so hot love. Did you cum too?”

“Uh… uh-huh…” Trey weakly falls to his side.

“Awwww, no you didn’t. Sweetie, you don’t have to lie about that to me. Here~”

Cater gently pulls him onto the mattress and tucks an arm around his shoulders, cuddling him close. He kisses him on the cheek, and then takes Trey’s hand and guides it down between his legs. It’s the hand that Cater just came on, so it’s coated with cum.

“Here~” he kisses him again, guiding his hand through the motions of stroking himself. “Keep going.”

Trey swallows and winces at the lingering taste of cum. He lets Cater push his hand downward, following along like a dreaming marionette. Cater isn’t sleepy yet… he can’t attempt an escape until he stops... 

With a clumsy, trembling hand he grasps his length, and slowly moves his hand up and down. It’s very… very intimate , given that this is something he’s only done in private before. A tiny, exhausted part of his mind is upset about that...

He pants softly as he strokes himself. Up and down, he stares at the wall behind Cater’s head, eyes stinging with unspilled tears. He stops for a moment, his stomach tightening.

Cater kisses his cheek, then turns his chin to the side and captures his mouth in a slow, and extremely sloppy kiss. He nudges Trey’s hand, encouraging him to keep going before slipping lower and gently stroking the rim of his ass.

“Hnngh… n-nguhh…” Trey starts moving again, weakly accepting the kisses. He has to… he has to do this. He’s not a slut. He’s just trying… trying to…

The sounds of Cater kissing him are visceral and wet. He’s moaning softly into his mouth as his hand continues to lightly tease at the outside of Trey’s ass without slipping inside, patient and lovingly slow. He’s holding him in an intimate and inherently comforting way, one ankle hooked teasingly around his calf to spread his legs slightly apart. The fingers of his free hand brush gently down his back before pulling him into a snug, one-armed hug.

“Ahh… ha… ha. Haaa… Cater-“ Trey whimpers, not realizing that his hand has sped up. 

Maybe… he can pretend that this isn’t fucked up… 

It might have been easier to believe if the ring that Cater forced on him wasn’t pressing over his cock with every stroke, biting lightly into his finger even as Cater kisses and strokes him with all the tenderness of a consensual lover. No matter how kind and gentle he is, it can’t make up for the cold, bleak reality that he hasn’t given him a choice.

Trey closes his eyes, moving faster and faster. He holds his breath, stomach fluttering before he finally cums all over his own hand. Cater kisses him through the orgasm, rubbing his back and cradling him close as it peaks and subsides. He nuzzles his chin into his shoulder and gently presses a kiss against the little notch where his collarbone starts.

“I love you,” he murmurs.

His breathing steadies and slows, and his eyes drift closed. He’s still cuddling Trey, but he seems to have fallen asleep.

Trey pants shakily, eyes burning with mortified tears as he forces himself to wait for Cater to go deeper into sleep. In a fucked up way, and underneath a lot of powerful, negative emotions… Cater does love him.

He doesn’t know how to feel about that.

He waits for an hour, maybe two… fighting his own exhaustion and light-headedness...

He listens to his own breathing… to Cater’s… 

He closes his eyes waiting for the perfect moment to pass… when Cater is...

…

He falls limp in Cater’s arms and his own breath slows and steadies as he falls asleep.

[starfleet-lol]

i can’t handle the way they all call her sister

BENEDICT & KATE BRIDGERTON Bridgerton | 3x05, "Tick Tock"