#thank you so much for asking! always glad to discuss this musical

[redfoxwritesstuff]

A Misdemeanor Of The Heart, Chapter 2 (Human!Alastor x reader)

Rated Adult for adult themes, triggering content and sexual content. I wouldn't say this is dead dove but it's dead dove adjacent. Chapter Trigger Warnings: Aftermath of domestic violence, talk of human trafficking, drinking.

Want to listen rather than read: Nyx productions brings you this Audio chapter. Part 1, part 2, part 3

Masterlist AO3 KoFi

The music was rich in the air, energy from the band wrapping the space in the electric energy that poured from the instruments. Ice clanked in the glass as Alastor spun it in his hand, absently watching the room as he tapped his foot along with the music. Sharp eyes moved from one face to another, watching bodies move and mouths form words, lives wasted. 

There were a few faces that stuck out to him, a few faces he had been monitoring, watching. He wasn’t actively hunting, not at Mimzy’s speakeasy. That would be far too dangerous. However, if his targets were themselves here, it would be sloppy not to take notice of them. 

“Hey, Al,” Mimzy slipped into the tall stool across from him, obscuring his view and demanding all his attention regardless of if he was ready to grant her it. That was how she was, always demanding someone’s full attention regardless of if they wanted to give her it at the moment. 

“New supplier working out well?” Alastor asked, clinking the ice around his glass after taking a small drink. Tonight wasn’t a night for overindulgence. 

“Well enough,” Mimzy made a show of humming, causing Alastor to raise an eyebrow. She had something she wanted to discuss and from her show, he would not like it. 

“What’s the issue?” 

“I’m so glad you asked!” Mimzy shifted, falling into what Alastor considered her damsel in distress position. She had always been easy to read, at least on the surface level. Alastor knew well that more went on below the surface than Mimzy let on, however. It was that hidden depth that made her tolerable in his eyes. 

“You see, Laurence was running next week’s supply last night. It was going great but you know how it goes- he got stopped, got off with a slap on the wrist thanks to his pretty face, but they took his goods and left him with a hefty fine.” 

“That so?” Alastor hummed as he sipped his drink, leaning back in his chair and crossing his leg over his knee. “Do you need help with supply again?” 

“No, no- Nothing like that,” Mimzy watched as Alastor’s shoulders relaxed, counting on that for what she had actually intended to ask. “The thing is, he can’t float the fine and his debts.” 

“How terrible for him.” Alastor knew what she was getting at but wanted her to say it, anyway. 

“He needs a loan from someone who isn’t a shark. Someone who’s a real stand-up guy who won’t run him around.” Mimzy leaned forward, closing some of the distance between them. “I know you got some green stashed away, and he’s as much of a stand up fella as you are. If he goes bust, I’m out a supplier again too.” 

“How much?” Alastor sighed as Mimzy took his glass out of his hand, motioning for a refill for him. 

“Well, you see- it’s not a lot a lot.” She said a lot of words while she stalled, waiting for his topped off drink. It was her opinion that you only asked for a favor from a man when he had a drink in his hand, no matter how well you knew the man. When Alastor again had his glass safely in hand, she got to the point, “A few hundred. Float him the loan, he’ll pay it back with interest. I promise he’s good for it.” 

“Oh, well- if you promise he’s good for it than I have no choice,” Alastor’s smile twitched, “but to say no.”

“Oh, come on, Al!” Mimzy pleaded, leaning on her palms as she leaned up out of the stool and onto the table, “If he can’t settle this debt, he ain’t going to be able to keep supplying me. Either you float him the loan or you’re stuck helping keep me supplied. That’s all there really is to it. You don’t want that and I don’t want to hear you flapping your yap about how much you don’t want to do it either.” 

“Mimzy,” 

“He’ll be good for the money. Just-” Mimzy waved across the room as Alastor’s eyes followed her attention to a tall man with blonde hair and a decidedly square face, calling him over. “Just talk to him? See what he can offer for collateral? Work out a deal?”

“And if I don’t want to?” 

Mimzy just looked over her shoulder at him and smiled before directing her whole energy to the man approaching, “Laurence!” 

“Mimzy! How are you, Beautiful?” The man’s voice was deep and rich, the type of voice women flocked to though Alastor found his imitation of the mid-atlantic accent to be rather sloppy. 

“Oh you,” Mimzy smacked his chest as his arm snaked around her waist, pulling her flush against him. “Such a flirt. Everyone’s such a flirt. You fellas see little ol me and can’t help yourselves.” 

“That’s exactly it,” the man said, basking in the attention the short woman was lavishing on him. 

“Laurence, dear-” Mimzy patted the man’s chest again before directing her attention to Alastor, “This is Alastor, one of my dearest friends. Al, this is the one and only Laurence.” 

Laurence held his hand out for Alastor to shake. Alastor took it after unfolding off the barstool, standing to his full height and looking down on the blonde man. There wasn’t a huge height difference, but it was noticeable enough that Alastor wanted to ensure the other man felt smaller. 

“A pleasure to meet you. Quite a pleasure,” Alastor said, firmly shaking Laurence’s hand, long fingers easily wrapping around the other man’s smaller hand. His smile twitched a little wider. Alastor watched the blonde man grimace as he felt the metacarpal bones in the captured hand shift under the pressure of Alastor’s grip. 

“Likewise,” Laurence rubbed his newly freed hand before thinking twice and hiding his discomfort, not before Alastor noticed. 

“Al here,” Mimzy’s hand rested on Alastor’s shoulder before wrapping her arms around his arm, pulling it against her plump chest. “And I was just talking about your situation and he is willing to float you.” 

“A loan.” Alastor added, “The details will need working out of course.” 

“Of course,” Laurence’s smile spread, threatening to challenge Alastor’s before fading. “Of course.”

“I’ll leave you two to it,” Mimzy patted Laurence’s shoulder as she walked by, looking over her shoulder and throwing Alastor a wink on her way. 

“Mimzy said you needed the loan because you got busted?” Alastor offered, opening the conversation. “Why should I loan you funds if you’re sloppy enough to get caught?”

“That’s an oversimplification,” Laurence tried to laugh off the critique. 

“Typically, in this line of business, one would hold enough funds in reserve to cover losses such as this.” Alastor leaned back in his chair, taking a long drink from his glass as he watched Laurence, taking in the uncomfortable shift of his position and the twitch of his jaw. “How can I be assured you’ll repay this debt? Mimzy seems to believe it will not be an insignificant sum you’re here to grovel for.” 

“I’m not groveling!” Laurence slammed his fist down, rattling the table as Alastor made a show of standing up. “Wait.”

Alastor’s smile twitched higher as he lingered half out of his seat, looking back at the red-faced man as he raised an eyebrow and cocked his head. Mimzy wasn’t the only one who could put on a show. 

“I’m not here to grovel.” Laurence said again, calmer this time. “I need the funds. I’m in a bit of a spot, but I’m good for it.”

“And what can you offer for collateral?” 

“I can offer a man’s most prized possession.” Laurence’s smile turned slimy. 

“And what would that be?” Alastor settled fully in his seat once again, picking up his glass as he refused to let his smile fall wholly from his lips. When Laurence answered, Alastor nearly choked on the drink in his mouth. 

“My wife.” 

“That hardly will compensate me for any lost funds. I’m not sure what sort of man you are under the impression that I am, but I do not deal with the buying and selling of women.” Alastor’s voice was hard, cutting with his displeasure. 

“That’s not-” 

“It’ll take a few hours for me to get the funds together. If you’ll have me over for dinner tomorrow, we can finalize the details. You have until then to think of something more appropriate for collateral.” 

You sat at your vanity, looking into the face of a woman that looked like you but didn’t feel like you in the slightest. Your nightgown hung from your too thin frame. Stress and pressure to be perfect both from Laurence and from society pressed in around you as tears ran down your cheeks and dripped off your chin. 

“Laurence is a good man,” you whispered to yourself, shattering the silence in the room with the bold-faced lie told in the face of the irrefutable evidence that he was indeed not a good man. “Laurence is a good man.” 

Your arms were stiff, sore as you forced the muscles to function. Dark bruises wrapped around your biceps, evidence of his harsh hands grabbing you, shaking you. Green and yellow covered your ribs, no longer actively paining you but a visual reminder of what happened when he thought you talked back. Your shoulder ached, but that was so often the case that it felt like a constant pain.

Those marks would all be covered by your dress, at least. There were small blessings. The bruise around your wrist would be harder to cover, but first you had to cover the redness in your face. 

Your eyes were puffy, skin irritated and uneven, both from a night spent crying and from the back of his hand striking you. The blows hadn’t been too bad, sending you to the floor the night before, but it could have been worse. What was your infraction last night, anyway? You couldn’t remember. 

Your face didn’t hurt much, not as much as the rest of you. More often than not, he kept his hands off your face. Facial bruising drew too much attention. Too many marks where others could see it would shatter the impression of perfection he worked so hard to maintain. 

Cooling cream felt good against your skin as you willed the tears to stop. Now wasn’t the time for tears. What good did tears do you, anyway? Tears didn’t change your life and what was there to cry about? 

It was a good life, when you didn’t upset him at least.

He was your husband. He supported you, cared for you, and provided for you. All you had to do was shut up and do what he said. Trust him and stop asking questions. Just stop thinking. 

But that wasn’t who you were. You were a woman who liked to think, to learn and to use your mind. 

It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter in the slightest who you were or what sort of woman you were. It didn’t matter what sort of woman you wanted to be.

He was your husband. He would be your husband forever. Even if he wasn’t, you couldn’t marry better than him. He had come from a good family, bringing you financial security above what you could have hoped for. Your parents were proud of the match they had arranged, beaming that your beauty and countenance secured you such a step up in the world for yourself and, in time, your children.

With one last look in the mirror, you decided your work was good enough. Your blush was too bright, not keeping in with the trends and your eyeshadow not smoky enough. Laurence wouldn’t give you the money to update to the latest trends, saying that you didn’t need it. Instead, you did the best you could with what you had.

Your dress, laid out on the bed and waiting for you, was likewise just a touch out of fashion. It was longer than that of your peers, but that was alright. Laurence said it flattered your figure better than the newer styles. You wouldn’t be able to pull off those newer styles, your frame was simply not thin enough. 

You were not enough or too much in some way or another according to him, for the latest looks. 

This was better for you. 

Laurence knew best. 

As you stood, the world spun around you. The floor felt like it was tilting under your feet. Fingers dug into the solid surface of the vanity as you counted down from five, eyes clenched shut with a deep breath between each number.

Once the world felt steady, you made yourself drink some water. Hydration wouldn’t fix everything, but it was a solid place to start. Some water, some crackers and smoked meat that you kept in your bedside table, and you’d be right as rain again.

You just needed to get dressed first. 

Joints ached as you took slow, careful steps toward the bed and slipped the dress over head. Carefully, you used your good arm to pull your sore arm through the sleeve, trying to avoid moving the screaming shoulder joint any more than needed. Once you had accomplished that feat, you switched your focus on dressing the rest of yourself, pulling the zipper up while holding your sore arm close to your body. 

You’d take something for the pain too, you decided as you rolled the stockings up your legs, one at a time. That would make you right as rain. 

The more you moved, the easier it was to move. You told yourself you were just stiff, that was all, as you slipped bangle bracelets over your wrist. If you put enough on, maybe they would obscure the dark marks on your skin. More and more you added until it was enough. 

Looking at yourself one last time, you pulled your painted lips into a smile. You were happy; you told yourself. Your marriage was wonderful. Laurence was a wonderful husband. You were lucky. 

You were lucky.

Laurence swept through the front door like a gust of wind, a wide smile on his face. Flinching when he kicks the door closed behind him, you step away from the wall you had been using as support and stood up as straight as you could. 

Laurence quickly crossed the living room and swept you up in his arms. You cringed back in pain as he spun you around without a care in the world. 

“I’m sorry. Did I hurt you, sweetheart?” Laurence stepped back, hands soft on your shoulders as he looked at you with a surprising amount of concern. 

“My shoulder- it’s just a bit tender is all,” you answered carefully, forcing yourself to relax in his hands. 

He was in a good mood. He was happy. This was good. You were safe, at least for now. It’ll be a good night. Well, as good of a night as you could hope for.

“I’m sorry, you know. I am.” Laurence’s hands ran down your arms, thumbs caressing the soft fabric of your dress. “I- it wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t talked back to me. A man wants a meek wife, you know that. You can be that for me, right?”

He rested his palm against the same cheek he had backhanded the night before, and you told yourself that he was right as you forced yourself to lean into his touch. Laurence was a good man, and you were lucky to have him. Why didn’t it feel like that was true? Why did it feel like you could have had better?

“Let's go out for dinner, yeah?” Laurence offered, “You won’t have to worry about making dinner or cleaning up the kitchen. How’s that sound?” 

For all the good that came with Laurence’s good mood, there was a negative side of it, too. His hand was heavy on your thigh, thumb caressing you in the theater’s shroud of darkness. 

This was another song and dance you knew well and would rather not take part in. You were not sure what was worse, if you were being honest with yourself, romance with Laurence or violence with him. 

Still, you fought back the grimace as he pulled you in for a kiss in front of the cinema after the show had ended. This was as much your duty as it was to do the washing. 

“Let’s get home, Sweetthing.” Laurence wrapped his arm around your waist, not caring about how that jammed your painful shoulder right into his side as he held you to him. 

“You’re in such a good mood,” you cringed as he jostled you into his side more, swallowing the pain.

“Well, yeah- I’ve got a business deal falling into place and we’re celebrating.” 

That was news to you, though Laurence rarely spoke of business with you. You knew sometimes when things went well and you knew sometimes when things went bad, but never the details. Women were not to know the details of business in his eyes. Their hormone filled brains simply couldn’t handle the complexities of the professional world.

Things had gone badly a few days ago, terrible, but he hadn’t told you that. You didn’t need a conversation around business to tell you that when the information was written in his mood and his fists. It was better now; it seemed and business would birth a different sort of pain for you tonight. 

“Tomorrow we’re going to be having a dinner guest,” Laurence’s grip on you kept the pressure on your shoulder and there was no part of you that thought for a moment that he wasn’t aware of the pain he was causing. He just didn’t care. Appearances were more important to him than something as trivial as your comfort. 

“That’s such short notice,” you protested, thinking better of it only when the words were already out of your mouth. 

“Don’t ruin this night for me, Doll.” His voice was deep with warning, “You’re going to make a lovely dinner and my associate is going to come over. I’ll seal the deal and you’ll show him how perfect of a wife you are, however I decide is needed.” 

You didn’t know what he was getting at, but it sounded like a threat. It wasn’t something you wanted to discover, however. 

“Hey, Al-” Mimzy tugged on the sleeve of his coat, drawing his attention from the stream of people exiting the theater. He would lose sight of his mark, but that was just as well. He wouldn’t strike tonight. Tonight was simply for observation. “That’s the pretty face of the tailor, ain’t it?” 

“It seems so,” Alastor feigned surprise as his eyes followed her gloved finger. 

He had noticed them the moment they filed into the theater. Timid little thing, meek with her shoulders slumped and his arm around her. What a magnificent turn of events to find the timid little thing appeared to be Laurence’s wife. 

Did she know her husband was willing to offer her up like cattle as collateral on a loan if he needed it bad enough? Or did she think her marriage was sacred under the cover of her husband’s rough hands?

“Is that Laurence she’s with?” Mimzy broke through his thoughts.

“Told you she had a man,” Alastor looked away, directing his attention to his companion, ignoring the way the woman’s shoulders slumped more under her husband’s touch or the way she flinched every time he grabbed her. 

“Should we go say hi?”

“Let them have their night out on the town. There will be plenty of other chances to talk business.” Alastor looked back at his friend, her eyes lingering on the couple a few moments longer. “Shall we?”

Tag List: @xalygatorx, @charlottemorningstarsdarling, @honestlyshamelesskid, @lilith-jae, @catticora, @alastor-simp, @alastorthirsty, @rainydaysmut, @nyx91, @goyablogsstuff, @kaylopolis, @sirens-and-moonflowers, @diffidentphantom, @yui-onnero, @lunarmango, @uhhhimbored, @loveameripanshipperlove

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[beyondthesefourwalls]

Remember You Even When I Don't (8)

Summary: A training accident, the doctor had told him. A nasty one that led him here, laying in a hospital bed with a splitting headache and an inability to remember the woman sitting beside him. What he did know, though, was that you were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and you felt important to him. That, as it turns out, would become an understatement.

Words: 5.5K

Pairing: Bradley Bradshaw/Reader (no use of y/n, so can be read as unnamed oc)

Warnings: angst, hospitals, memory loss, language, suggestive themes, smut

Notes: Please note the updated warnings. These next few chapters are a new stage of Bradley and Pumpkin growing back together, and while I'm very excited about it, I know it may not be for everyone. For everyone who sticks around, please continue to comment and reblog, and my inbox is always open! I love to talk about these two :)

This was inspired by a one shot by the lovely @roosterforme and would not exist without her assistance. If you haven't read any of her stuff, please check out her masterlist - you won't be disappointed! All of the thanks to her and @mak-32 for being the best cheerleaders and friends I could ask for!

-------

You’re working today. You hadn’t wanted to, but a local congresswoman you had requested an interview with months ago finally agreed to a conversation in her office, and Bradley wouldn’t let you pass it up. It was only for a few hours, but he finds himself missing you while you’re gone. 

This is the first time he had really been alone in the house for a long period of time since he got back from the hospital a month ago, and he didn’t quite know what to do with himself. He had tried to read a book, or get lost in a movie, but nothing had really kept his attention. He was laying on the couch, the news on the tv in the background, aimlessly scrolling through his phone. He hadn’t fully dove into all that it contained, and he figured now was the time to do it, even if you weren’t here to answer any questions that he might have. 

It’s interesting, seeing himself this way. Groupchats where he was an active participant, talking about parties or plans he has no recollection of, or discussing flight schedules for the week. He swaps Star Wars and Harry Potter trivia with Fanboy and gym regimes with Hangman and sends music back and forth with Coyote.  

When he opens the text thread he has with you, the only one pinned to the top of his messages, his breath catches at the last message received. 

 I love you so much. Please don’t leave me.

It was sent the day of his accident, and he knew by the time stamp that it was sent after the crash. You must have texted that to him while you were waiting for news on his condition, and not for the first time, he feels both guilt and gratitude go through him; he’s so sorry that he’s hurt you like this, but he’s so glad he’s here now. 

He scrolls for a while, reading you rambling to him about your work day and bouncing ideas for articles off of him, jumping from one topic to the next while you know he’s in the air or teaching a class so he doesn’t have his phone on him. Based on his responses that come later on, he knows he never minded the almost nonsensical messages. Even now, he finds it adorable and enjoys reading through them. There are conversations about dinner and what true crime documentary the two of you were going to watch that weekend. 

There’s a little bit of everything in these messages between the two of you, but his brow furrows when he gets to a point about a week before his accident. 

I’m on my way home, he had texted you, You better be ready for me, Pumpkin. 

He scrolls further up, trying to find the beginning of the conversation that led to that, and he almost wishes he wouldn’t have. 

You had texted him earlier that morning, when he barely must have left the house to go to base, a picture of you. There was a playful smirk on your lips, and you had what looked to be the cap from his formal dress whites perched crooked on your head. That in and of itself wasn’t what made his breath hitch, though. It was the fact that you were still in bed, your arm draped over your chest where he could see everything but everything, you hanging onto only a single shred of decency. 

Fly well today, Lieutenant Commander. 

It had descended into a day full of teasing from there, each message dirtier than the one before. Descriptions of what you wanted him to do to you and him warning you of what he would do when he got his hands on you. He feels flushed all over, but he keeps scrolling up. He bypasses recipes you wanted his opinion on and a reminder of what the Hulu password was, and eventually finds more pictures. Some are more risque than others, but all of them make him feel like the temperature in the room rose by multiple degrees. 

There’s a tickle in his brain again, and he finds himself closing the messaging app and going to his photo albums. There’s a locked album there, and he knows, he just knows what it’s going to contain. 

He shouldn’t. He knows that he shouldn’t. It feels like a strange invasion of privacy. But he’s wracking his mind to try and remember what the code would be to get into it anyway, and he curses when he gets it wrong first once, then a second time. He enters your birthday on the third attempt and groans out loud when he’s immediately met with the filthiest images he’s ever seen. 

It’s a whole gallery of you, or the two of you together, and Bradley can’t stop himself from looking. He bites his lip as he takes in the photos, his mind so overrun with thoughts of how fucking stunning you are that he can barely think straight at all. 

He stops at one in particular, clicking to enlarge it, and loses all thoughts entirely. Neither of your faces are in it, but he doesn’t need to guess that it’s the two of you. You’re sitting back against his chest, his ankles hooked over your legs, forcing them wide for him. He can see your nails biting into his thighs, but it’s his own hand that draws his attention. With the hand that’s not taking the selfie style photo, his fingers are gliding through the wetness gathered between your legs. You shine against the dark wedding band on his left land, one that’s noticeably absent from his finger now. He’s practically panting as he stares. 

He’s so hypnotized by the way the two of you look together that he doesn’t hear the garage door open or the sound of you walking into the house. 

“Baby?” 

Your voice makes him jump so high that his phone goes flying out of his hand, a curse leaving his lips. He scrambles to pick it up when he sees you reaching for it as well, and your eyebrows are raised high as you look at him in surprise. 

“Hey,” his voice cracks, higher pitched than normal, and he blushes. Your eyebrows raise a little bit higher. “Hi, sorry. Didn’t hear you come in.” 

“Are you okay?” 

“Yup,” he nods, faking a cough so he could try to clear his throat, his face flushed. “Totally fine.” 

It’s not difficult to see how skeptical you are, and it’s hard for him to maintain eye contact with you and not let his eyes flicker down your body now that he has an idea of what rests underneath the smart dress you wore. 

You eye him suspiciously, “Are you sure?”  

He contemplates for a moment, trying to figure out a way to get himself out of this conversation, because the longer you looked at him like that the hotter he became under the collar. He took a deep breath, nodding again. 

“I was looking at messages and pictures,” he says all in one breath, not liking the idea of completely lying to you. He rationalized that a different version of the truth was okay, even as the pictures flashed in his mind again. “Trying to see if anything jogged my memory.” 

You search his eyes, and he tries his best to appear innocent, willing the hardening in his jeans to go down before you took notice. He suspected you already might have from the hint of a blush on your cheeks. “Did it?” 

If he thought hard enough he swore he could almost feel you. Your back against his chest, how soft your inner thighs left. How warm your wetness felt against his fingers as he took you to the edge. 

“No,” he stutters out after a moment, shaking his head, his face burning, “nothing yet.” 

________

He finds himself rubbing his thumb against the fading tan line on his left ring finger, something he had seen you do time and time again. He hadn’t really wondered up until this point where his ring was, but ever since he saw the picture with it so clearly against your skin, he couldn’t get it out of his head. 

He’s helping you in the kitchen a few days later, mesmerized as always by how efficient and easy you made everything look. You roll your eyes when he comments on it.

“It’s cookies, Bradley. Nothing fancy.”

“But they’re from scratch. The dough isn’t pre-made. That’s fancy!” 

You laugh at him in response, shaking your head. You take the rings on your left hand off, sitting them beside the sink as you wash your hands before the two of you get started. It raises the subject back to the forefront of his mind. He had been desperate to ask you for the last few days, but hadn’t built up the courage to do it. But he can almost feel it on his finger now, can feel a ghost of your fingers as you slide it into place, and it’s suddenly more of a need to know. 

“Can I uh…can I ask you something?” 

“Of course.” 

“What happened to my wedding ring?” 

You pause from where you’re cracking an egg into the mixing bowl, your eyebrows raised high. You set it down gently, turning to face him. 

“Does it bother you…that I wear mine, still?” 

“No!” he insists, hating even the idea of you taking it off. “It doesn’t bother me at all. I promise. We just have never acknowledged mine? I know that I wear one - I remember wearing one, and I’ve seen it in pictures, too.” 

“You love your ring,” you tell him softly, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. 

“We don’t have to talk about it,” he says, not wanting to make you uncomfortable. But you give him a small smile, though he can see the pain in your eyes, and shake your head. 

“You don’t fly with it on,” you explain, “you tried, at first, but you had been flying so long without anything on your hands that you couldn’t get used to it being there when you were operating the controls.” 

He thinks for a moment and the words come to him slowly. “You were the one who told me to start taking it off when I fly.” 

“I was.” 

“Why?”

Your lips quirk and you shrug. “I’m more worried about you flying safely than wearing your ring at all times. You keep it in one of the pockets of your flight suit when you go up in the air now.” 

Of course you were more worried for him. He should have expected nothing less from you and the way you effortlessly care for him. He can also picture that, he thinks. It’s easy to imagine not wanting to be separated from the physical reminder that he belongs to you, so even if he couldn’t wear it, he’d at least have it on him, in the inner chest pocket right above his heart. 

“So..” He doesn’t quite know how to ask his question, but you must read it on his face. 

You twist your own ring on your finger in the way you always seemed to do to center yourself. Pain flashed across your face and Bradley knew you were remembering, too. “They uh..they had to cut your flight suit off, before you went into surgery. You weren’t breathing and were bleeding…” you cut yourself off, squeezing your eyes shut and shaking the visual from your head. “But it was still in your pocket. So. I have it.” 

He sets down the bag of chocolate chips he had been holding and walks the few steps to where you’re standing at the counter. When he holds his arms open, you don’t hesitate to step into them. He presses a kiss to the top of your head as he breathes in your scent. 

“I’m so sorry I put you through that,” he whispers into the strands of your hair, and he feels the way you squeeze him in response. 

“You’re okay now,” you speak into his chest, and he thinks he might feel you press a kiss there, directly over the spot where that inner pocket of his flight suit would be, where he kept you when he had no other choice. 

The two of you stand there wrapped up together for a long moment. When you lift your head, your eyes are glassy, but you give him a smile and a small kiss to his lips. 

Later, after the cookies have been made and devoured, you join him on the back porch. You had taken to sitting on the swing together and when you sit beside him tonight, he sees you rolling something between your fingers. His breath catches when he sees exactly what it is. You’re staring at it too, your gaze intense and pondering. He doesn’t speak, not quite knowing what to say. Eventually, you break out of your haze and meet his eyes. 

“You don’t have to put it back on,” you tell him, holding your hand out to him. His wedding band sits on your palm, shining against your skin. For a moment he sees you in white standing right in front of him, wildflowers in your hair.  

His fingertips brush yours when he takes it from you, admiring the piece of jewelry he wasn’t aware that he missed until it was back in his possession. 

“But it’s yours. I want - I want you to have it.”

He rolls it between his fingers, contemplating for a moment. He swallows, suddenly overcome with emotion he hadn’t seen coming and that tingling that’s starting to become familiar to him. You had picked it out yourself and he knows when he looks, he’ll see an engraving of your initials beside his. He was always so proud to be able to wear this, knowing that it symbolized being with you, a small way of telling anyone who saw it that he was lucky enough to be your husband. 

But he wasn’t him - not yet, not completely. Everyday brought him closer to thinking that he could be, though.

“Pumpkin, I…” he trailed off, not sure what to say. 

“Hey,” you murmur, cupping his cheek and turning his head to meet your eyes. You didn’t look mad, or upset, and you’re giving him the gentlest, kindest look anyone ever had. But your eyes didn’t hold pity or sympathy either - just a trust and love that he’s still not sure what he could have ever done to deserve. “Whenever you’re ready. And if you never are-” 

“I will be,” he cut you off; he wanted nothing more than to be ready. “I just…I still have something to prove to myself.” 

You nod, and Bradley leans forward to kiss you softly. He leaves his forehead pressed against yours when he pulls away, relishing in the calm you brought him. 

“I’ll get there,” he says, “I promise.” 

—------

He’s spent time alone, but he hasn’t spent time away from you with other people. He’s hesitant to accept the invite from Mav to visit the hanger he had here. But planes and his godfather had been a staple of Bradley’s childhood, an influence on his whole life, really. He had been cleared to drive earlier in the week, so that Saturday, he leaves early. He’s anxious at the thought of being away from you but he knows that the him from before wouldn’t have said no to the invitation and he was so determined to get back to who that was. And he knows that you have a life outside of taking care of him, too. You’re getting brunch with Nat and Coyote’s wife later and he knows you’re excited, even if you hung onto him a little bit longer than a normal hug when he said goodbye. You had made him promise that he would call you if he needed anything and the whole way to the desert, his fingers twitched, wanting to call you just to hear your voice. 

Mav greets him with a large smile and a tight hug, “I’m glad you could make it.” 

“Me too,” Bradley says. He means it, even if he does miss you already. He looks around the hanger, taking note of the few planes and motorcycles throughout the long stretch. It was a lot more than the collection he had when Bradley was 17. “What are we working on today?” 

Mav gives him his signature grin. “I want to show you something.” 

He follows him to the end of the hanger, where a large blue tarp is covering what can’t be anything but a plane. His godfather gestures to it. Bradley raises an eyebrow but walks up to it, grabbing hold of the tarp and yanking it back. Like he suspected, he’s greeted by a Cessna. It’s a classic 172 by the looks of it, a smaller four seater. It’s a sleek white in color with subtle burnt orange line work. Bradley whistles. It was beautiful in a way that only planes like this could be. 

“When’d you get this one?” 

Mav smirks, shaking his head. “I didn’t.” 

“What?” 

“Take a look at the other side.” He nods his head, urging Bradley forward. Confused and intrigued, he follows the instructions, walking around to the other side of the small plane. He gets what Mav was saying, then, and sucks in a breath. Right there emblazoned on the side, in an elegant script, was Pumpkin.

This wasn’t Mav’s plane; it was his. 

“You got her about six months ago,” he says softly when he joins him at his side. 

Bradley reaches up and runs his fingers over the name. It’s foggy, but he thinks he can remember now. He had always wanted to own his own plane since the first time his godfather took him up in one at 6 years old. It was always a pipedream, though. He was never in one place for long enough, and while he was generally good with saving money, it was a bigger purchase than he had ever made. But then the two of you got married and a permanent station here in California. Between both of your savings and what he still had of his parents life insurance, the funds were there. It was you who had made the suggestion of finally pulling the trigger, and it was him who had suggested a four seater instead of a two seater so that if the two of you ever had children, you could all fly together. You cried when he showed you the name he had painted on it. 

“Still needs some work done before she’s flyable. I thought maybe you’d want to work on it today.” 

An eager smile appears on his face and he nods, already peeling his jacket off and heading toward the toolbox. If Mav noticed that he didn’t need to instruct him on where it was, he didn’t comment on it. 

The two work in tandem for hours. It had only been six weeks since his accident, but he couldn’t recall a time since flight school that he had gone this long without being near a plane and it felt good doing so again. It’s easy, getting into the rhythm of twisting bolts and tinkering with the engine wires. He thinks it won’t be long until he can get this cleared to go in the air and he knows without a doubt that you’re going to be the first passenger. 

His phone buzzes in the early afternoon and he doesn’t hesitate to put down the wrench he was working with and dig it out of his jeans pocket. You had sent him a selfie earlier when you had gotten to brunch, sunglasses on and a bright smile on your face with a mimosa in your hand, and he hoped it was another picture. His eyebrows furrow when he sees it’s Phoenix calling him, instead. He picks up, bringing the phone to his ear. 

“Nat?” 

“Your wife got stung by a bee. We’re on our way to the hospital.” 

He can feel the dread as it settles over him. His heart beats faster in his chest. “What?” 

She sighs on the other line, and he can hear commotion in the background. “She’s severely allergic, Rooster. We sat outside at brunch and we didn’t even realize it happened at first. She didn’t have her epipen on her so we had to call an ambulance. She’s going to be fine, but you should get here anyway, okay?” 

He feels like he can barely breathe, like the room is closing in on him a little bit. Mav must notice the panic written all over him because he’s quick to come over and take the phone out of his hand, taking over the conversation. He can barely hear him over the roaring in his head. You were hurt. He knew you were extremely allergic to bees. That was something he had remembered. You were supposed to carry an epipen on you at all times. He can’t remember if you’d ever gotten stung when he was there. He can’t remember how bad it got if you ever were. But now you were in the back of an ambulance and on your way to a hospital and he could feel his fear all the way down to his bones. 

“Bradley, hey. Look at me.” 

Mav is in front of him, hands gripping his shoulders. He meets his eyes and tries to breathe, but all he can see is you, struggling to catch a breath and being loaded into the back of an ambulance. 

“I’ll drive, okay? Let’s go.” 

He follows him to the car, not really calculating anything other than the fact that he was almost an hour away from you and what if there was traffic and why didn’t you have your epipen on you? 

“She’s going to be okay.” 

“But-” 

“Phoenix said the paramedics administered epi as soon as they arrived, and it didn’t take them long to get to her. She was awake and was already breathing easier when they left for the hospital. Didn’t even need to use the sirens.” 

That doesn’t make him feel better. Not really. Knowing that trained professionals weren’t panicking must have meant that you were okay, but he knows how serious anaphylaxis is, too. 

He can’t reconcile everything that he’s feeling right now. He has never, ever felt like this before. The thought of something happening to you is scarier than any mission he had ever been on, any enemy he had encountered in the air. 

“Mav I can’t - I can’t lose her. I just got her.” 

“You aren’t going to.” 

Bradley doesn’t say anything, can’t think of a single thing to say, and instead buries his head in his hands from his spot in the passenger seat. You were going to be okay. You had to be okay. Because he may not remember everything about the two of you, but he did know for certain that if something ever happened to you, he would never, ever recover from it. 

He doesn’t wait for Mav once they get to the hospital, the older man opting to drop him off at the front before going to find parking. He’s practically sprinting as he goes through the emergency room doors and vaguely, he remembers you telling him about the time this happened before, when you took yourself to the hospital and ended up needing surgery. He can almost feel that panic now, and it makes what he’s already feeling worse. 

“Can I help-“

“I’m looking for my wife. She was brought in because of a bee sting-“

“Sir-“

“She’s really allergic and-“

“Sir!” The nurse behind the counter snaps, raising her voice over his to get through to him. “I need your wife’s name if I’m going to find her for you.”

Oh. Yes, he thinks, your name. They need your name. 

It’s the first time he’s said your full name, and your first and his last name feel so right coming off his tongue. But he can’t focus on that right now, giving all of his attention to the nurse who is typing so slowly. 

Before she can even hit enter, though, he hears his callsign echo behind him. He spins, heart racing with anxiety, and spots Nat making her way over to him. She gives the annoyed nurse a kind, charming smile as she grabs Bradley by the arm 

“Sorry about him, ma’am. I got him from here.”

She pulls him away without another word, heading toward the hallway off the packed waiting room. 

“Is she okay? Nat, is-“

“She’s fine, Rooster. Coming down from the adrenaline rush that the epinephrine gave her, but she’ll be okay.”

“What about-“

Nat stops in front of a closed door, lowering her voice. “Bradley. She’s okay.” 

He’s pushing past her before she even finishes, spotting you on the bed through the glass and half drawn curtain. You look so small amongst the crinkly white sheets, still in the clothes you wore to brunch. Your makeup is a bit smudged and your eyes are red and he hates to think that you were scared enough to start crying. You’re holding an oxygen mask in your hand at your side. 

“Hi baby.” Even your voice sounds more pitched. He’s quick to make it to your side. 

Your breathing is slightly elevated, and the heart monitor is beating a little bit faster than he thinks is normal. He grabs the hand holding the mask, placing it over your mouth to start providing you with the supplemental air again. You make a small sound of surprise, but take in a deep breath of it anyway before pushing his hand away. 

“I’m okay.”

But your hands are shaking and your eyes are wider than normal. The skin that he can see is splotchy with hives. 

He looks back at Nat, who is still hovering in the doorway, an eyebrow arched and a small smirk on her face. He ignores the look. “Can you grab a doctor?”

You protest from the bed, but Bradley doesn’t waiver. With a fond roll of her eyes, Nat disappears from view. 

“Bradley. Sweetheart.” You grip his wrist, trying to get him to focus on you. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m fine.”

“You’re in the emergency room because you went into anaphylactic shock. You are not fine.” 

“But I am,” you insist, smiling softly at him, even as your body trembles as it works to burn through the adrenaline that was injected into it, “medicine worked just fine.” 

The door slides open before he can respond, an attending doctor who looks like he’s been up for longer than is healthy and in wrinkled green scrubs introducing himself as he walks in.

“Is she okay?” Bradley demands immediately, and the tired man looks startled for a moment at how abrupt the question was. Bradley stares at him, his eyes wide and unblinking as he waits for the answer. His heart is still pounding in his chest. He feels you tangle one of your hands with one of his and he squeezes back when he feels the pressure from you. He knows you’re trying to reassure him. 

“And you are…?” 

“I’m her husband,” he answers easily, the words falling off his tongue like he had said them a thousand times before. You suck in a small breath and tighten your grip on his hand again. 

“Ah,” the doctor hums, flipping through the chart he’s holding. Bradley wonders if all non-military hospitals move this slowly or if it was just because of how anxious he is at this moment, but he really, really needs him to answer his question. 

“Is she okay?” he repeats. 

“Bradley,” you murmur, but he keeps his eyes trained on the man in the scrubs and white coat. 

“She responded well to the epinephrine that was administered by the paramedics who brought her in,” he finally says, looking up from the chart and taking a step toward your side. He stops when he sees that Bradley doesn’t move an inch. He sighs, switching direction to go to your other side instead. “How are you feeling Mrs. Bradshaw?”

You answer his questions as they come, Bradley paying rapt attention the whole time. Your throat doesn’t feel tight anymore. You aren’t lightheaded, but you do feel a little shortness of breath. You feel jittery - wired, almost. You’re both assured that it’s completely normal as the drug works its way out of your system. They can give you something to try and calm you down, and they want you to stay for a few hours to make sure you don’t go back into the allergic reaction once the epinephrine has worn off. The thought makes his blood run cold. 

“Should she stay overnight?” he asks, but the doctor shakes his head no. 

“The standard observation timeslot should be just fine, Mr. Bradshaw. But we’ll make sure you both know what to look out for when you leave.” 

He walks out without saying much else. Bradley feels you tug on his hand, his name leaving your lips in a whisper. He meets your gaze and he watches as your eyes soften even more. 

“Sit down, honey.” 

He listens to you, dragging the chair beside your bed as close as possible. He rests his elbows on the mattress beside you, holding your hand tightly between both of his. 

“I’m okay,” you repeat again.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your fingers and taking a deep breath. “I…this really scared me.” 

“I’m sorry for scaring you,” you say softly, running your thumb over one of the hands holding yours, soothing the skin and helping his racing heart. Your touch is like magic to him, providing an almost instant calm that he desperately needed. Guilt curled in his stomach, knowing that even now, you’re the one helping him. 

“I should be the one comforting you, not the other way around.” 

“We comfort each other, baby. That’s how this works.” 

“Why didn’t you have your epipen on you, Pumpkin? Don’t you normally carry it?” he asks quietly, a touch of urgency still in his tone. He couldn’t stop thinking about what would have happened if you were alone and this happened, with no one around to call 911. He could have lost you, all over a silly little bee sting, and he can’t wrap his mind around that. He just got you. He had had you, he knew. But he was just getting you back. 

“I switched bags this morning and forgot to take it out of the pocket of the old one, I guess. I haven’t had to use one since college. I forget about it, sometimes.” 

He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes and trying to rid himself of the worst case scenarios. He’s the one that normally reminds you to always have it on you, he thinks. He vaguely recalls having a spare in the glove compartment of the Bronco, and in the drawer in the kitchen and maybe one in the bedroom, too. 

Not for the first time, he curses his memory and the accident that took it from him. 

When he opens his eyes, his look is intense, “Never again, okay?” 

“Okay,” you say, but Bradley shakes his head. 

“No. Promise me. Please?”

Your lips part and you stare at him for a long moment. His gaze never waivers from yours. He needs you to listen to him. To hear him. 

“I promise,” you finally whisper. 

He rises from the chair, pressing a kiss to your lips. He keeps his forehead against yours, breathing you in. 

“Will you lay with me?” You ask quietly, shy in a way reminiscent of when you asked him to say I love you on the porch all those weeks ago. He hates that you felt you even needed to ask. 

With no hesitation, he maneuvered himself into the small bed beside you. He kisses your forehead once, twice, three times, holding you as tightly as he could. Your body still gave the occasional tremble but they had lessened now, your breaths coming a little bit easier, and he felt the tightness in his chest ease. 

“Sorry for being a mess,” he whispers into your hair. 

“Don’t,” you whisper back, and he feels you shake your head from where it’s tucked into his chest. “It means you care.”

The words are there, right on the tip of his tongue, but he can’t say them, not yet or here. You deserve more than a frantic hospital room confession.

-------

Part Nine :: Series Masterlist :: Main Masterlist

Notes: I hope you liked this one! We're nearing the end, but I think everyone is really going to like the next chapter. Would love to hear any thoughts you may have :)

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[viperwhispered]

I just wanna take a moment to say thank you for always being around to chat since I don't have many to talk to about TWST. I also suck at characterization so I don't write many fics. But I was very happy when you used one of our discussions for Revel in You. I don't mind if you use our convos to write, just be sure to credit the source.

On that note: saw your smut posts. Here's an idea: Jamil celebrating his promotion to being a Housewarden.

It's Friday, there's an enormous party going on to celebrate Jamil and Kalim's new roles and the successes of the first month with this new dynamic. While Jamil is more accustomed to the spotlight, he still gets "tired out" and leaves it to Kalim to keep the party going and organize the clean up crew. After all, he's due for a more private celebration of his own.

Fun fact: for a good chunk of snake species, the male will bite the females neck to hold them down while mating.

Imagine Jamil relentlessly taking his beloved from behind, deciding they're wriggling a bit too much. Delighting in the sounds they make as he pulls them towards him by the hair, he just bites the back of their neck as his body pins them to the bed. They'll probably be annoyed by morning, but Jamil's already got some concealers beforehand.

Did I forget to mention it's a Friday, Jamil no longer has roomates, and pretty much the entire dorm is still partying to loud music several hallways away?

Also worth mentioning that, as a healthy mature couple, all of Jamil's jealousy and possessiveness is addressed in a healthy manner so the relationship never turns toxic. This statement does not apply to the bedroom.

Aww thank you, always happy to talk with you too 😊 Plus like, if you’d rather talk over messages sometime in addition to the asks, feel free. (And this applies to anyone else reading this post too.)

Yeah iirc I was thinking a bit if I should ask you about using that ask as a jumping off point for To Revel in You, but I figured I was using it more as inspiration rather than rewriting anything you wrote or anything like that. And that since you sent that ask in the first place, I did kinda assume it would be okay to build off it. But good to hear I wasn’t wrong in thinking so, and glad you liked it.

As for characterization & writing: it really is a matter of practice, I’d say. Plus, like, everyone is bound to interpret the characters in a different way, or focus on different aspects of them. Which can be freeing, in a way, knowing that you can bring to the table something that no one else can, certainly not in the same exact way you would.

Also I was actually thinking of asking for some writing prompts since the current wip seems to need a bit more time to marinate, and here you are with perfect timing.

So let’s see what I can do with this concept.

If it wasn’t obvious: smut ahead. Written with fem / afab reader in mind but I think this could be read gender neutral as well since the only specific body detail mentioned is that reader has hair long enough for Jamil to grab.

The day - and the week, and the month - had been such a whirlwind that even Jamil had had trouble keeping up with it all.

Tonight, Jamil had basked in the praises from his dormmates, their congratulations and glowing words - and noted the cautious looks of those who still had not forgotten the events of his overblot.

He had enjoyed food that was not made by him, watched others fuss over the preparations and the serving - well, as much as he had been able to keep himself from giving direction. Still, even he had not been able to oversee every single detail, as much as he wanted to.

After all, both you and Kalim had been quite insistent, in your own ways, that this celebration should be for him, not by him.

So Jamil had danced, eaten, drank, listened, talked, so much so that now when the night was beginning to turn towards morning, he had more than had his fill.

Besides, tired as he may be of the crowd, there was still something on his agenda that he was more than happy to indulge in.

You had been teasing him with promises of a more private celebration - starting from when the party was decided on all the way to when you had been dancing together earlier - and Jamil intended to finally collect his reward.

You were outside for a moment of fresh air and quiet when Jamil found you, wrapping his arms around you from behind and nipping your ear.

“I remember someone promising to be mine tonight,” he murmured, voice low and husky.

You shivered, feeling Jamil’s lips on your neck. You’d half expected him to be too tired to turn your teasing into action. Yet, you certainly welcomed this turn of events, your own tiredness washed away by Jamil’s eager touch and his tempting whispers.

“You know me. Always love - ahhh - spoiling you,” you said - your words turning into a gasp when Jamil licked the side of your neck.

In no time at all you found yourself in Jamil’s room - as easy as it was to be distracted by each other, you both still preferred the privacy over lingering in the common areas of the dorm.

Jamil’s mouth was hungry on yours, his hands working quickly to rid you of your clothes.

Sometimes you wondered just how much Jamil was holding back in the presence of others, for him to get so ravenous as soon as you two were alone.

Not that you were any different, pulling away that long belt from Jamil’s hips so that you could slip your hands under his shirt, your lips covering every available bit of his skin with kisses.

It was always delicious, your naked bodies tangled together. That heady feeling of each other, both of you grasping and kissing wherever you could, like you could never quite feel enough of the other.

“So what would mister housewarden ask of me tonight?” you asked with a playful grin, nuzzling your nose against Jamil’s.

There was undeniable hunger in the way Jamil looked at you, yet also the warmth and softness of your lover that always filled your heart to the brim.

“Just all of you, albi,” Jamil murmured, pushing you down onto the mattress.

You’d entertained ideas of a celebratory blowjob, of taking care of Jamil tonight. But if he’d rather help himself to you, you were certainly not going to say no.

A few orgasms later and Jamil was pounding into you, firmly holding onto your hips while your face was pressed onto the sheets. His cock was invading your insides so hard, so deep, leaving you nearly senseless. You jolted helplessly every time Jamil slammed his way all the way in, the pleasure bordering on pain as it shot through your nerves.

“Ahhh, Jamil…” you whimpered, barely aware of the spot of drool you’d left on the bed.

“Too much?” Jamil muttered, one of his hands leaving your side to instead trail a soothing path along your spine.

“...No.”

It was a lot, your senses nearly overtaken by the intensity of it all - yet you didn’t want anything less.

Still, you couldn’t help squirming, your body twitching with every thrust, yelps and moans pushed from your throat no matter how much you tried to hold them in.

“Hold still,” Jamil grunted. 

He gathered your hair in his hand, making you gasp when he tugged. You could feel the pull on your scalp, almost like Jamil wanted to rein you in - or pull your face away from the sheets so that he could hear your cries more clearly.

“You’re all mine tonight, aren’t you? Mine to have, mine to enjoy,” Jamil breathed to your ear.

“Yes, yes, yes…” you whined, aroused beyond belief.

Always his, just as he is yours - but you had no time to vocalize that thought before Jamil’s weight pushed you prone on the bed.

Your gasp was cut short, turned into a sharp cry when you felt moist pressure at the back of your neck - a bite, you realized, some instinct telling you to keep still.

Not that you had much of a choice in the matter. Jamil’s hand, still gripping your hair. His mouth, latched onto your skin. His body, holding you down.

The weight of him against your back was almost suffocating, yet in a delicious way. Like you could be closer to him like this, more connected than just skin to skin contact - or penetration - could provide.

You could feel the rolling of Jamil’s hips against your backside, the way his cock was dragging along your insides. Not as harshly as before, yet intense enough to keep you trembling and whining with the little breath you could take.

And Jamil’s mouth, his teeth, never letting go. His muffled groans such a delicious sound, making you clench around him.

Such sweet torture, and you never wanted it to end.

Taglist since this turned into fic: @colliope @crystallizsch @diodellet @jamilsimpno69 @jamilvapologist @perilous-pasta @twstgo @cannedpickledpeaches

[missjashin]

Steve spending the night at Eddie’s because his parents are home and they’ve been arguing so he doesn’t really wanna be at home. Didn’t go to Robin because her parents might not let him stay the night and also Robin has work tomorrow and Steve doesn’t. The odd case of them not having shift together.

So he ends up with Eddie and in the morning he is having breakfast with Eddie and Wayne and they discuss their plans for the day. Eddie and Wayne have some plans for the day. You know, to spend some quality family time maybe? Or maybe they have just some errands to run, stuff to figure out because of all the shit that went down during spring break.. Whatever, they have plans for the day and Steve.. doesn’t want to intrude any more than he already is so he is not going with them. Even when they say he can come too.

And it’s summer time so the kids are busy with whatever the teens are busy with. And Steve loves them dearly and loves spending time with them but he tries to give them space and not smother them with his worrying so yeah he can’t spend the day with them either. They’ll come to him if they need him.. He could always go bother Robin at work but going to your work place on your free day because you have nothing better to do sounds a little sad.. So maybe he’ll just have to suck it up and go back home then.

But then Eddie offers that he could stay. You know he doesn’t have to leave just because Wayne and Eddie do. Like he could stay, it’s fine. They’ll be back by 6 or so and they could have dinner together then? And since Steve really really really doesn’t want to go home right now he accepts (after asking about thousand times if it’s really okay tho).

So soon he is left alone with a “Feel free to educate yourself with my music collection while we’re gone” and see you laters. Steve didn’t really have any plans for today and he kinda left in a hurry too so he didn’t bring much stuff with him but oh well he’ll figure something out.

He starts collecting the breakfast dishes and well he could wash them. He has the time and it would be just nice little gesture since the Munsons let him stay and all. And then it just makes sense to wipe the counters and the table after that. Like who would wash the dishes and then just leave crumbs all over the place? Oh. And I guess he just got some of those crumbs to the floor now. Well it’s just a quick little sweep. Could vacuum the whole place now too since he started. But first he needs to declutter a bit because goddamn Eddie why are your clothes and books just everywhere. Might as well do some laundry while he’s at it.

When Eddie and Wayne come back home around 6pm the place they’re in for a quite a shock. Not only is the place spotless but they’re greeted with the smell of food as well. “Oh you’re back! I’m making dinner, it’s just about done” Steve welcomes them enthusiastically but start to doubt himself a little after seeing the surprised faces. “I.. hope that’s okay”

Only then Steve realizes he may have got little carried away with his cleaning spree. Like maybe cleaning the windows was a tad bit too much.. Ugh he so hopes they’re not too weirded out.. Honestly he didn’t even realize he basically spent all day doing household chores that and it’s not even his own house. He glad the Munsons don’t comment on it too much tho, other than “you didn’t have to” and slightly awkward thank yous.

They start eating and now they drown Steve in compliments. (“Wow this is so good, what brand is this?” “Uhm.. it’s not a-.. I made it” “…Like from scratch?!” “Yeah..” “Holy shit dude this is seriously so fucking delicious” “Language. But he is right son, this is fucking delicious”)

At some point during dinner Wayne makes a comment about it starting to rain and Steve lets out a shocked gasp “my laundry!” and rushes out to collect it from outside where he hung it to dry. Wayne asks amusedly if Steve is a housewife or something, just ready to crack little jokes there but then spots the dopey smile on his nephew’s face, gaze still lingering in the doorway where Steve run off to. He smiles knowingly at Eddie when he finally looks back at him, now starting to blush and trying to stammer some sort of reply.

Steve comes back in and they finish dinner and hang out a bit together until Steve and Eddie go to Eddie’s room. Steve again apologizes because he got so carried away and hope he didn’t cross any lines. Eddie little amusedly asks if Steve really thinks they’d be mad at him for tidying up the place? Just helping them out a little so they can relax? Like in all seriousness, after all that shit show that happened during spring, Wayne could use a little break and just relax.

(“And you couldn’t?” “Well sure I could, but in this case he needs it more. If you haven’t noticed I’m not much of help in the cleaning department” “Oh yeah, I’ve noticed” “Hey!” “What? You asked!”)

Eddie then asks if Steve “educated himself” with the music. Steve tells to educate him himself. Eddie takes that as a challenge.

Steve spends the other night.

[misc-obeyme]

hi, CC!!! congrats on your milestone!!🎉 for your event, may i suggest prompt "Your heart is beating so fast right now." with Mammon

Hi, Lotus!! Thank you so much! <3

I'm so glad someone requested Mammon! I don't get to write about him too often and I need more practice with his character lol. I'm also completely obsessed with his car, so that ended up being part of this too.

Thank you for participating!

1,000 Followers Event!

GN!MC x Mammon with prompt "Your heart is beating so fast right now."

Warnings: none!

The school day was finally over and you were sitting in the passenger seat of Mammon's Demonio 666 Lexura, watching the Devildom streets going by. The radio was on, but the music was low. Mammon was humming along to the song, his eyes on the road, one hand on top of the steering wheel, the other one resting on the gear shift.

You tried not to stare at him, but it was proving to be a little difficult. There was something about the way he was when he was driving. He was focused, but it was also obvious that it was easy for him. And there was a happiness about him, a calmness that seemed to come over him when his attention was on this task. Mammon seemed to be in his element in a way that you only really saw when he was calculating financial figures.

The first few times you had ridden in Mammon's car, you had expected him to go too fast or take turns too sharply, but he surprised you. He would sometimes creep up to higher speeds, but it seemed like the moment he remembered you were with him, he slowed down again. Like he was conscious of protecting the passenger sitting beside him.

You didn't know where he was taking you. After school, he asked if you wanted to go for a drive and you had agreed immediately. It was so nice to be alone with him in his car like this, listening to music or talking about your day. He was focused entirely on you and there was no one else around to disturb you.

At first you thought he was just driving aimlessly through the Devildom, but it seemed like he must have an actual destination in mind. You couldn't help being curious.

"So where are you taking me?" you asked.

Mammon glanced over at you with a grin on his face. "You'll see."

You huffed and folded your arms. "Oh, come on, just tell me!"

But Mammon only shook his head at you. "Ya just gotta be patient, MC! We're almost there."

You sighed, but then you smiled. The way he was grinning was so cute, like he could barely contain himself.

The rest of the ride went by faster than you expected. Mammon was chatting with you the whole time, complaining about how Levi wouldn't let him borrow any more money until he paid back what he owed. You responded as you always did to this familiar dilemma. It was a comfortable conversation, an ever evolving discussion that never actually solved anything. You had discovered that a lot of times, Mammon just needed to talk. He needed to tell you what was going through his mind, but he didn't necessarily need you to fix anything. He simply trusted you with his thoughts.

When the car finally stopped, you found yourself in a part of the Devildom you weren't very familiar with. You had been there before, but only passing through. It was a section of the city that was far enough from the House of Lamentation that you just didn't find yourself there too often.

At first you were confused. There didn't seem to be anything of interest here. Just a handful of old buildings, some convenience stores, and one really tall apartment complex.

"C'mon," Mammon said, getting out of the car which he had parked at the curb.

You got out and looked around, trying to find something noteworthy. It seemed like the kind of place where you might find a casino. That would make sense and explain why Mammon had brought you here. But there wasn't one that you could see.

"Where are we?" you asked as you walked around the car to join him on the sidewalk.

Mammon offered you his hand. You looked at him, but he wasn't looking at you, clearly trying hard not to look embarrassed. You took his outstretched hand and watched the blush that bloomed across his face.

He didn't answer your question, only pulled you along with him toward the apartment building.

When you got to the door of the complex, Mammon took a shiny brass key out of his pocket to unlock it.

You frowned. "Um, what are you doing with a key to an apartment complex? Do people live here? Mammon, what is going on?"

Mammon glanced back at you, the same grin from before on his face again. "I won this key playin' poker last night! The building's not bein' used."

The door opened and Mammon pulled you inside. The lobby was a little shabby, but it certainly could've been worse. It had a decidedly goth feel, clearly sharing a decor aesthetic with the rest of the Devildom.

Mammon didn't give you time to really look at it, though, immediately pulling you over to the elevator.

"Hang on," you said. "The elevator is working? I thought you said nobody was living here."

"They're remodelin' right now," Mammon said. "Didn't ya see the lights are still on? It's fine, c'mon. You can trust the Great Mammon!"

The pleased look on his face made you laugh. You couldn't really say no, not to him. So you let him pull you into the elevator.

You started to question your decision when you saw him hit the button for the 50th floor.

"Okay, seriously, this is getting weird," you said. "Why are you taking me to the 50th floor of an empty apartment building?"

Mammon waggled the key at you. "Just wait until ya see what else this unlocks."

You were getting incredibly suspicious. Was he about to bring you to some penthouse suite where some demon had stashed a safe full of Grimm? But why would anyone leave their money behind in a building that was closed for remodeling?

You were still trying to puzzle things out when the elevator dinged and Mammon pulled you along behind him to a set of stairs that ended in another door. Mammon used the key to unlock it.

The minute you followed him out the door, you understood why you were here. The apartment building was tall and you were now standing on its roof.

The roof was flat with a little wall all around the edge. It was obvious that there had once been a small garden up here, but there were only remnants of pots and plant boxes now. They were empty, surrounded by grey concrete.

But stretching out all around you was the Devildom, fading into the horizon where it met the dark sky. The city twinkled beneath you and the stars twinkled above you and it was the most beautiful thing you had seen in a long time.

Mammon tugged you along closer to the wall at the edge of the roof. He looked back at you, a grin on his face, a light breeze rustling through his white hair. His eyes seemed to glitter with the lights all around you. The blush returned, tinging his cheeks as he pulled you closer to himself, putting his arms around your waist. And while the view was stunning, you couldn't help thinking that it didn't compare to him.

"I told ya to trust me," he said, his voice soft beside your ear.

You shivered, not from cold, but from the overwhelming sweetness of his touch. "You should have just told me where you were taking me. I was started to get really worried."

"That woulda ruined the surprise, MC," Mammon said, pulling you even closer so your body was pressed up against his.

You smiled and shook your head then looked out over the wall and down.

"Your heart is beatin' so fast right now," Mammon said quietly. "Ya scared of heights?"

You looked back at him, meeting his blue and gold eyes. "No," you said. "I'm not scared of heights."

Mammon watched your eyes, seemingly a little confused about what you were trying to say.

You decided to make it clearer and kissed him. His grip on you somehow tightened for a moment before he melted into you, the kiss growing heated and a little desperate. You knew you were making your point - that he was the reason your heart was racing.

The Devildom spread out around you, the lights of the demons living there on full display, but all you could focus on was Mammon. The feel of his lips, the warmth of his embrace, the way he had brought you out here to see this amazing view. He could have done all sorts of things with the key he had won, but the first thing he thought to do was take you to the roof, to show you the lights of the city and hold you in his arms.

1,000 Followers Event | masterlist | Thank you for reading!

[chaifootsteps]

comments roundup on Arteice's vid

Frankly, it’s pretty upsetting that Stolas acts like a victim just because he was raised with royal blood and is a hypocrite when he dismisses Blitzo like he’s one of his servants

^This person makes an excellent point, actually. Blitzo specifically calls Stolas out for treating him like a butler - an inferior - and instead of wanting to apologize or offer discuss it with him at a later date when his emotions are running less high, Stolas just evicts Blitzo from his house using magic, essentially dismissing him. It's giving royal "remove him from my sight" sort of vibes - insead of rectifying the behavior Stolas just proved Blitzo's point (again). I guess at this point we should be glad the writers had the comment sense not to have Stolas squeeze Blitzo like a stress ball until his eyes popped

How much of a bad writer do you have to be when you make a character so unsympathetic and unlikable that fans convince themselves that it was intentional to make him come across as this much of a narcissistic abuser. Yes I’m sure Viv wants you to see Stolas, the guy who cries constantly and even has a music video about how sad and in love he is, who constantly has excuses thrown his way for his behavior like neglecting Via and having power over Blitzo, who was literally retconned in season 2’s premiere episode to be some naive lovesick idiot with a wife so comically abusive the best photos they could take of her was her choking puppies. That Stolas.

Well,I have to agree. Stolas really needs to take the L,get his shit together and stop always always victimizing himself seriously.

Stolas is victimizing Blitz, Blitz couldn't consent. All that sex they were having made Stolas a monster, then Stolas cries BECAUSE Blitz didn't fetishize or romanticise the abuse the way Stolas did

Thank you for standing up for blitz, stolas is unbearable at this Point

Since watching the Sarcastic Chorus breakdown of the episode, I can say that I am holding onto a sliver of hope that the hypocracy is intentional and will be developed upon soon. However, I can't lie that while watching the confrontation in Full Moon, I was become more and more irate at the idea that Stolas sings about the break-up in the next episode. They better call him on his bullshit SIGNIFICANTLY. Although that may be just me relating to Blitz more than Stolas rn.

What made this inevitable for me is the fact that Stolas is kind of placing all his eggs in one basket by relying on Blitz for his happiness. He seems to believe that if they get together, it’ll magically solve all his problems such as his faltering relationship with Octavia, and the threat of the Goetia bearing their full weight down on him. To me it felt also like he was testing Blitz by seeing what kind of reaction he would have by being freed from their contract. He’s placing a lot of expectation on someone who is never going to be able to live up to what’s being asked of him

Stolas got that "21 year old closeted gay college Student trying to discover his sexuality" vibes, you know what i'm sayin'? The thing is… he's a grown ass man in his mid to late 30s with a daughter. He needs to grow up

Posting this sanity now so we can all fortify ourselves for what's coming tomorrow morning.

[alilixx]

Please please pleaseeeeee write more Hugh Laurie x reader!

I adored it so much!!!!

Haha, I love the comments and requests. They really make me happy, even though sometimes I run out of ideas and get stuck. But really, thank you so much for the support! Whether it's for Cuddy or Hugh, you're here, and it makes me want to keep going! So yes, I'll write everything :)

Warning: Mature, NSFW, Teacher's pet, smut, school system.

Pairing: Teacher! Hugh Laurie x Student!Fem Reader

"He is hot," were the comments you had heard about one of your teachers, Professor Laurie. He had been your teacher for two years, during your first and third years. He was handsome, but to say that out loud? You could understand it though. He had charm and played it up, always joking with people, teasing them. Your classmates didn't have boyfriends, so that could explain it. The hand that touched your shoulder brought you out of your thoughts. It was your group of friends, a small group of four or five people, but you knew they were there for you.

"Hey, are you coming?" asked your friend behind you, one of your closest friends, giving you a knowing smile.

"Yes, sorry, I was daydreaming," you replied, returning her smile. You headed together towards Professor Laurie's classroom, where you would spend an extra hour for a catch-up class.

The room was already half full when you entered. Professor Laurie was sitting at his desk, looking through some papers. He looked up when he heard the commotion and a smile spread across his lips when he saw you. "Ah, Miss Y/N, glad to see you here," he said warmly.

You felt your cheeks heat up slightly under his gaze. "Good morning, Professor," you replied, taking your usual seat by the window.

The class began, and as always, Professor Laurie managed to capture everyone's attention. His passion for the subject was evident and contagious. You often found yourself admiring the way he explained concepts, making even the driest topics interesting. But today, you noticed something different. His glances seemed to linger on you a bit longer than usual, and you wondered if you were imagining the sparks in his eyes.

At the end of the class, as you were packing up your things, Professor Laurie approached you. "Miss Y/N, could you stay for a moment? I'd like to discuss your last assignment," he said softly.

Your heart skipped a beat. "Yes, of course, Professor," you replied, trying to hide your unease.

Your friends gave you curious looks as they left the room, but you reassured them with a nod. Once alone, Professor Laurie sat on the edge of his desk and looked at you with an intensity that made you shiver.

"You did a great job, Y/N. Your last essay was particularly impressive," he said, his smile widening.

"Thank you, Professor," you murmured, feeling a wave of warmth wash over you.

He leaned in slightly, his gaze fixed on yours. "You have a natural talent, and I think you could go very far if you keep working as hard as you have been. If you ever need advice or extra help, don't hesitate to come see me."

"I will, thank you," you replied, your heart pounding wildly.

As you left the room, you couldn't help but think about the way he had looked at you. Maybe your classmates were right after all. Professor Laurie was indeed "hot," and it seemed you weren't the only one who thought so. But there was something more in his gaze, something you couldn't quite define yet. And that thought made you smile as you headed to your next class. Unfortunately, this class was much less interesting. It was the subject where you had the worst grades. The teacher was terrible, just like the subject, but you had no choice but to endure this ordeal if you wanted to graduate. So, you did your best all morning, eagerly awaiting the break.

During your break, you and your friends gathered in a music room. You had recently mastered both the piano and the guitar, so you took advantage of it, although you were more often at the piano than the guitar. This time, it was "Every Breath You Take" by The Police. A friend played the guitar while some sang.

The piano notes resonated in the room, creating a soothing atmosphere. You lost yourself in the music, letting your fingers glide over the keys with natural ease. The melody, both soft and mesmerizing, seemed to capture everyone's attention. Your friends sang in harmony, and for a moment, you forgot all your worries.

The music room door opened slowly, and you looked up just in time to see Professor Laurie enter. He leaned against the doorframe, a amused smile on his face as he listened to you play. "That was truly beautiful," he said softly once the song ended.

You felt yourself blush under his gaze. "Thank you, Professor," you replied with a shy smile.

"I didn’t know you had such a talent for music," he added as he walked into the room. "May I sit for a moment and listen?"

"Of course," you replied, surprised but flattered by his interest.

He took a seat on a chair near the piano, his eyes fixed on you as you began a new melody. This time, it was a personal composition, something you had never shared with anyone. The music seemed to flow naturally from you, each note expressing a deep emotion.

When you finished, Professor Laurie clapped softly, admiration shining in his eyes. "That was wonderful,Y/N. You truly have a gift."

"Thank you, Professor," you murmured, touched by his words.

He stood up and approached you. "Keep nurturing that passion. Music has the power to touch souls and heal hearts. You have that power within you," he said softly, his eyes locked with yours.

These words stayed with you as he left the room. Your friends, too, were impressed by the exchange and looked at you with new eyes. The break ended, and it was time to return to class, but you felt different. More confident, more determined. Professor Laurie had managed to ignite a flame within you, a flame you had no intention of letting die out.

As you headed to your next class, you promised yourself to keep working hard, both in your studies and in your music. And maybe, just maybe, this new motivation would help you endure the most boring classes and the most unpleasant teachers. After all, you now had one more reason to push yourself.

In the evening, not wanting to go home, you decided to return to the music room. It was a place where you always felt comfortable, surrounded by instruments and melodies that allowed you to forget your worries. As you approached the door, you heard familiar guitar notes. Intrigued, you entered quietly and discovered Professor Laurie, sitting on a chair, playing "Just the Two of Us" by Grover Washington Jr. and Bill Withers on the guitar.

He looked up when he heard you enter, a warm smile lighting up his face. "Good evening,Y/N," he said gently, continuing to play. "I didn’t know you’d be coming back here tonight."

"Good evening, Professor," you replied with a shy smile. "I didn’t want to go home just yet. May I join you?"

"Of course," he said, nodding towards the piano. "It would be a pleasure."

You sat at the piano and let your fingers graze the keys, gently joining the melody he was playing. You quickly found a common rhythm, the notes from the guitar and piano blending harmoniously. The song, soft and enchanting, seemed to create a bubble around you, isolated from the rest of the world.

You played together for several minutes, losing yourselves in the music. Each note seemed to strengthen the connection forming between you. When the last note faded, a soothing silence filled the room.

"You play wonderfully," he said as he set down his guitar. "It’s a real pleasure to play with you."

"Thank you, Professor. You’re incredible too," you replied, your heart still racing from the shared musical emotion. He smiled at you, and you continued to talk about music, your passions, and your dreams. This shared moment in the music room became one of your most cherished memories, a spark of mutual understanding and connection.

It quickly became a habit. After classes, you often found yourself in the music room with Professor Laurie. You played together, improvising pieces or revisiting classics, and each session strengthened your bond. He offered you advice, encouraged you to explore new styles and techniques, and sometimes shared stories about his own musical experiences.

One evening, as you were playing a particularly complex piece, he set down his guitar and looked at you with a new intensity. "You’ve made so much progress, Y/N. It’s incredible to see how passionate and dedicated you are."

"Thank you, Professor," you said with a smile, touched by his words. "It's because of you. You truly inspire me."

He nodded, visibly moved. "Music has always been a big part of my life. Sharing it with someone who truly understands is… special."

"I feel the same way," you admitted, sensing a deep connection between you.

The musical sessions became your refuge, a space where you could be yourselves without the constraints of school or social expectations. One evening, as you finished playing a particularly moving piece, he told you how he had started playing guitar and what music meant to him.

"I started young, but it became more than just a hobby. It's a part of me," he said, his gaze lost in memories.

"I understand," you replied softly. "It’s the same for me. Music is my way of expressing myself."

He smiled at you, and for a moment, it seemed like he wanted to say something more, but he hesitated. "It’s getting late. We should probably head home."

"Yes, that's true," you replied as you gathered your things.

As you left the music room, you felt lighter, as if the music had dispelled all your worries. You went home, your heart still warmed by the moments shared with Professor Laurie. Once at home, you immediately started on your homework, knowing you had class with him again the next day.

The next morning, you woke up with a special sense of anticipation. You got ready quickly and headed to school, a smile on your face. During Professor Laurie’s class, you felt more attentive than ever, every word he spoke seemed important. He also seemed to have noticed, as he gave you several looks and smiles throughout the morning.

After class, as you were packing up your things, he approached you. "Are you free tonight for another music session?" he asked, his warm smile lighting up his face.

"Yes, of course," you replied with enthusiasm. "I’d love to."

"Perfect. I’ll be waiting for you," he said before heading toward the faculty room.

The day passed quickly, each class bringing you a little closer to your musical appointment. By the end of the day, you found yourself back in the music room, eager to begin. Professor Laurie arrived shortly after, guitar in hand.

"Ready?" he asked as he settled in.

"Ready," you replied with a smile.

You spent the evening playing and chatting, each note and word strengthening your connection. Music seemed to be a language you shared, a way to communicate beyond words. When you finished, he looked at you with a gentle and thoughtful expression.

"These moments are truly special for me," he said softly. "Thank you for sharing them with me."

"Thank you, Professor," you replied, touched by his words. "It’s an honor to play with you."

As you left the music room, you felt more connected to him than ever. You had found something rare and precious, a shared passion that bound you together. And with each day, each music session, you found yourself drawing closer to him, in the shadows.

Classes with Professor Laurie were always a highlight of your day. His teaching was captivating, and he had a unique way of making every subject interesting. His deep, calm voice commanded the attention of the entire class, and his explanations were always clear and precise. He had a talent for illustrating the most complex concepts with relevant anecdotes or examples, making learning more accessible and enjoyable.

He also had a way of looking at you when he explained something, as if he were speaking directly to you. Those moments made you feel special and gave you extra motivation to excel in his classes. Sometimes, he would ask you questions directly, challenging you to think more deeply and actively participate in discussions.

Outside of lessons, there were always those fleeting moments when your gazes would meet, when a knowing smile was exchanged. These moments, though subtle, strengthened your connection. Your classmates didn’t seem to notice these subtle interactions, or at least, they didn’t pay them any mind. To them, he was simply the charming and competent professor they all admired.

Sometimes, during group work, he would approach your desk to check on your progress. His light fragrance and the warmth of his presence always made you shiver slightly. "Very good work, Y/N. Keep it up," he would often say, his voice soft and encouraging. These praises pushed you to go above and beyond.

There were also those moments after class, when the room gradually emptied. You often waited until most of the students had left before packing up your things, hoping for a few extra minutes with him. Sometimes, he would ask how your other classes had gone or if there were any particular subjects you were struggling with.

"If you need any extra help, don't hesitate to come see me," he would kindly offer. You would nod, grateful for his support.

These daily interactions and evening music sessions became a source of comfort and motivation for you. They helped you overcome challenges and moments of doubt. The passion you shared for music had become a common thread, weaving a unique and secret relationship between you. And each day, you looked forward to these shared moments, hoping they would continue for a long time.

Days passed, and your connection with Professor Laurie only grew stronger. The classes became even more intense and enriching, and you eagerly anticipated every moment spent in his company. One day, after one of your music sessions, he proposed something new.

"You have a lot of potential, Y/N. I’d like to help you go even further. How would you feel about taking private lessons with me?"

Surprised and flattered, you immediately accepted. "I’d love to, Professor. Thank you for this opportunity."

The private lessons began shortly after. They took place in a small music room at school, a secluded space where you could work without interruptions. These sessions were even more personalized and detailed. Laurie guided you through complex compositions, gave you specific exercises to improve your technique, and encouraged you to explore your own creativity.

One evening, after a particularly productive session, he looked at you with a glint in his eyes. "I think we’ve reached a point where we could explore more advanced ideas. Would you be interested in coming to my place for our next session? I have a music studio at home, and we’d have access to many more resources."

A mix of excitement and nervousness washed over you. "Yes, that would be great," you replied, trying to hide your unease.

On the appointed day, you went to Professor Laurie’s house, your heart pounding. His home was charming, tastefully decorated, and warm. He greeted you with a smile and led you into his music studio. The room was a true paradise for any musician: instruments of all kinds, sheet music, and professional recording equipment.

"Welcome," he said, gesturing for you to sit by the piano. "I thought we could start by working on a composition together."

You spent hours playing, writing, and discussing music. The closeness, the intimacy of the setting, and the shared passion created an electric atmosphere. Each note played seemed to resonate louder, each exchanged glance more intense.

At one point, as you worked side by side, your fingers brushed his on the keyboard. You felt a spark pass between you, and he turned his head to look at you, his eyes filled with an emotion you couldn’t ignore.

"You’re really talented, Y/N," he whispered, his voice suddenly softer.

"Thank you," you said, breathless, feeling that something inevitable was happening.

He leaned in slightly toward you, and before you could react, his lips touched yours. The kiss was gentle, hesitant at first, then more confident. You let yourself be carried away by the moment, forgetting everything except the sensation of his lips against yours and the warmth of his body close to yours.

When you parted, he looked at you with a new intensity. "I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…"

You stopped him by kissing him again, your lips finding his with an urgency that left no room for doubt. His hand slid gently behind your neck, pulling you closer. The kiss, more passionate this time, erased all hesitations and uncertainties.

Seconds stretched out, and the world around you seemed to disappear. The warmth of his hand on your neck, the softness of his lips—everything felt perfect. When you separated again, your breaths were labored, your hearts beating in unison.

"I wanted to say that I'm sorry for making you wait so long," he murmured, his eyes locked on yours.

You smiled, feeling a wave of relief and happiness wash over you. "There's nothing to forgive. I waited because it was worth it."

He looked at you with infinite tenderness, his hand still resting behind your neck. "I'm glad you feel that way," he said softly. "You’re amazing, and I want you to know that I really care about you."

"Me too," you replied, feeling that those words didn’t quite capture everything you felt, but they were a good start.

You spent more time together that evening, but music took on a new dimension. Every note played, every melody created now seemed to carry a piece of your shared emotions. You worked in harmony, your glances and gestures speaking as much as the notes you produced.

When it was time to leave, he walked you to the door, his fingers brushing yours. "Come back tomorrow, okay? We have a lot more to explore, musically and… otherwise," he added with a tender smile.

"I’ll come back," you replied, a bright smile lighting up your face.

The next day, you acted as if nothing had happened. You didn’t have class with Laurie for once, but your body desperately sought him out. You wanted to see him, but you knew you couldn’t spend too much time together for fear of drawing attention. So you contented yourself with eagerly awaiting the evening, knowing you would meet him at his place.

The day was long and monotonous, each minute seeming to stretch on endlessly. You didn’t see Laurie even once, which only heightened your impatience and dismay. Finally, classes ended, and you headed to his house, your heart racing.

When you arrived, he greeted you with a warm smile and a tender kiss. You settled into his living room, and he pulled out a lesson on pre-Hilbert spaces, a topic you found particularly challenging. Mathematics wasn’t your strong suit, but Laurie had a way of explaining things that made everything clearer and more understandable.

As you struggled with the complex concepts, you felt frustration mounting. "I don’t understand any of this," you sighed, glancing at the notes in front of you.

Laurie leaned in and placed his lips on yours, a soft and soothing kiss that melted away your frustration. "Don’t worry, we’ll get through this," he murmured against your lips.

The tenderness of his gesture instantly calmed you, and you soon found yourself straddling him on the couch. Your kisses grew more passionate, and you felt the warmth between you intensify. But before things could go further, he gently held you back.

"I won’t do anything until you get your degree, sorry sweetheart, but it’s important to me," he said, his gaze filled with sincerity and determination.

You looked at him with a pout of disapproval, but before you could protest, he quickly kissed you several times on the lips, quick and light kisses that made you smile.

"For each correct answer, I’ll give you a kiss. Does that sound good?" he proposed with a mischievous smile.

A smile spread across your face. "Alright, it’s a deal," you replied, determined to earn as many kisses as possible.

With this new motivation, you dove back into the math problems, each correct answer rewarded with a tender and encouraging kiss. Laurie guided you patiently, explaining each concept with a clarity and gentleness that almost made you forget the difficulty of the subject.

The evening passed quickly, filled with laughter, kisses, and studying. Laurie’s promise not to do anything until you got your degree added a layer of respect and support to your relationship, motivating you even more to succeed. Each moment spent with him only strengthened your determination to reach that goal, knowing he would be there to support you every step of the way.

The six months that followed were an intense and transformative period, both academically and emotionally. Each school day was marked by demanding classes, moments of personal reflection, and precious time with Hugh. Every morning, you woke up with a mix of excitement and anxiety, preparing to face a new day. Classes took on a new meaning for you, as you knew that every piece of information, every concept learned brought you closer to your goal: obtaining your degree. Your professors noticed your diligence and active participation. Even the subjects you found most difficult became more bearable thanks to Hugh’s constant encouragement and your in-depth study sessions. Study sessions at Hugh's house became an essential routine, and you thanked him each time. You had established a detailed revision plan for each week, which allowed you to focus on one subject at a time without feeling overwhelmed.

Advanced mathematics, where Hugh excelled in making complex concepts more accessible. Pre-Hilbert spaces, topology, and differential equations, subjects that once seemed unreachable to you, became clearer thanks to his patient explanations and practical examples. Each correct answer was still rewarded with a kiss, a sweet motivation that made each victory even sweeter.

Although you enjoyed Physics and Chemistry, Hugh turned his garage into an improvised laboratory where you conducted practical experiments together. These sessions allowed you to visualize and understand theories that were difficult to grasp in class. The experiments, sometimes spectacular, made the lessons memorable and much more engaging.

His course, Literature paired with Philosophy, was equally captivating. Your discussions on great literary works and philosophical concepts were exciting and profound. Laurie had a unique way of bringing texts to life, helping you see beyond the words to understand the authors' intentions and historical contexts. These exchanges not only enriched your academic understanding but also deepened your personal relationship.

Music remained a central element of your relationship. Musical evenings were moments of relaxation and connection. Playing together allowed you to escape the stress of studies and share intimate, creative moments. You composed new melodies, interpreted classics, and experimented with different musical styles. These musical sessions strengthened your bond, with each note played weaving the fabric of your relationship and providing relaxation.

Beyond studying, you shared simple but precious moments of life. After study sessions, Hugh often prepared simple yet delicious dinners. You talked about your days, dreams, and aspirations. Laurie shared anecdotes from his youth, stories filled with wisdom and humor that made you smile and think. Your walks in the park, spontaneous outings for coffee or a movie, were stolen moments from routine that made each day a little more special.

Like any intense preparation period, there were moments of doubt and discouragement. Sometimes, you felt overwhelmed by the workload and the pressure of upcoming exams. Laurie was always there to support, encourage, and reassure you. His soothing words and comforting smile helped you stay on track. He often reminded you why you were fighting and how much you had already achieved.

As the exams approached, the pressure increased, but you also felt more prepared and confident thanks to Laurie’s constant support. Your sessions became even more intense, with every minute counting double. Laurie worked tirelessly to prepare you, organizing comprehensive reviews and mock exams to ensure you felt ready. But of course, he took care of you, bringing you breakfast when you stayed at his place, while still keeping his promise.

The final weeks before the exams were the most intense. You and Laurie spent long hours revisiting the most complex topics, refining details, and ensuring you mastered every aspect of the syllabus. These moments were often filled with laughter, deep discussions, and those small, tender gestures that had characterized your entire relationship.

Finally, the day of the exams arrived. You felt nervous but ready. Laurie held your hand before you entered the exam room, his eyes filled with pride and encouragement. "You’re going to do great," he said confidently.

The exams were a challenge, but you felt prepared at every step and for every question. Whenever you doubted yourself, you recalled the moments spent with Laurie, his teachings, his encouragements, and his unwavering support.

On the evening of your success, Laurie wouldn’t let you go home. After celebrating at school and with your friends, he waited for you at the entrance, a mysterious smile on his lips. "I have a surprise for you," he said softly, gently blindfolding you. He guided you to his car, and the drive to his house was filled with a conspiratorial silence, punctuated by the palpable excitement in the air.

Upon arriving at his place, he carefully guided you to his bedroom. "Wait here for a moment," he murmured before briefly disappearing. When he returned, you felt a silky fabric slip between your hands. "I saw this dress in a display window, and I knew you wanted it. I hope you like it."

Your heart raced as you felt the exquisite fabric of the dress. "Put it on and come back to me after," he added, placing a quick kiss on your lips before closing the door behind him.

You slipped into the dress, feeling the fabric mold to your form with perfect elegance. Standing in front of the mirror, you felt both beautiful and moved, touched by his thoughtfulness and care. Once ready, you opened the bedroom door to find Laurie waiting for you with a blindfold in hand. He smiled at you and placed the blindfold over your eyes. "A little more patience," he said with infinite tenderness.

He guided you again, this time to his car. The drive was filled with Laurie’s gentle murmurs, reassuring you and keeping you in a state of joyful anticipation. Finally, the car stopped, and he helped you out carefully. "Don’t peek," he joked as he led you through what seemed to be a hallway.

When the blindfold was finally removed, you found yourself in a Michelin-starred restaurant, luxuriously decorated and brightly lit. The tables were adorned with immaculate white tablecloths, sparkling chandeliers, and elegant floral arrangements. Surprise and joy filled your heart as you took Laurie’s hand, your eyes shining with gratitude.

"Congratulations on your achievement," he said, looking at you with undisguised pride. "You deserve this evening, and so much more."

He led you to a reserved table in a private corner of the restaurant. The impeccably dressed waiter greeted you with smiles and gourmet menus. You ordered exquisite dishes, each bite a symphony of flavors, paired with perfectly chosen wine.

The evening unfolded in an atmosphere of happiness and intimacy. You talked about everything and nothing, your future dreams, and past moments. Laurie shared amusing stories from his own school years, making you laugh heartily. You reminisced about the past six months, all the progress made, and every little moment shared that had brought you closer.

At one point, Laurie took your hand and held it gently. "I’m so proud of you," he said with emotion. "You’ve worked so hard and achieved so much. Tonight is for you."

The meal concluded with a sumptuous dessert, a culinary masterpiece that delighted both the eyes and the taste buds. Laurie raised his glass for one last toast. "To you, to us, and to all the wonderful moments to come."

As you left the restaurant, he pulled you into his arms, holding you close under the stars. "This is just the beginning," he murmured in your ear, his voice filled with promises and tenderness.

Back at his place, the evening continued with sweet conversations, laughter, and cuddles, each moment filled with deep affection. However, a tension had built up during the drive, as Hugh’s hand had remained gently teasing your leg. As soon as you crossed the threshold of the door, Hugh grasped your face and kissed you passionately.

A moan escapes your lips as you melt into his embrace. Your hands move up to his neck, gripping him tightly, determined not to let him slip away. The kiss, which is the most languid and passionate, triggers an explosion of sensations that ripple through your entire body.

He quickly lifts you with apparent ease, and you wrap your legs around his back. He moves through the house, and you focus only on the moment and the contact of your lips, as your tongues dance together. Hugh eventually sets you down, and you realize that you're in his bedroom. In the near-total darkness, you rise on your tiptoes to kiss him again, deepening the kiss as you feel his hands on the small of your back, pulling you even closer to him.

“I want you so much right now…” he said between two kisses. You didn't respond but gently caressed the hard bulge that was showing through the pants. A few raspy sounds escape his throat, prompting you to go further. You quickly unbutton his pants before pulling them down, just like his boxers. You grab his hard cock with one hand and a warm feeling greets you. Hugh flinches under your fingers and drops his head back against the wall.

“Fuck…” he hisses through clenched teeth. You end up taking it in your mouth and start going back and forth. Hugh grabs your hair with one hand and you intensify each movement in unison with his desire.

When you get up, Hugh gently pushes you onto his bed. Exhausted from the evening, you let yourself fall on it and you look, or rather admire, the man who leans over me. You welcome back his lips, then his tongue and thousands of butterflies appear in your stomach. "May I ?" he asks, ready to take off your dress.

"Yes." are the only words you can pronounce. Quickly, your dress is on the floor, not far from his boxers and his pants. Then, Hugh comes and kisses every part of your body until he takes off your clothes. You watch him slide your panties down your thighs then his gaze locks on yours. Now you are both naked, ready to end this beautiful evening as it should be.

In your bubble, you wait for one thing: for it to finally start. And without you having time to see it coming, Hugh plunges his head where your fire is throbbing, and you very quickly feel the most beautiful thing you have ever felt in your life. You jump when his lips come into contact with your soaked sex but you immediately arch your back when his tongue brushes against your clit. Your mouth opens and closes with each of his licks and the pleasure drags on as you hoped.

“I want you Hugh… now…” His crooked smile excites you even more and when he comes back to me, he doesn't forget to kiss you full on the mouth. Her lips which are so soft and so feverish.

It made him laugh and very soon, you felt his hard cock near your cock. In just a few seconds he was entering you and it felt so good. He was truly a god in bed and damn, this guy wasn't just handsome.

You begged him to go faster, enjoying each of his thrusts inside you. It felt like you were having the best night of your life. You were so well accompanied, and let's be honest, he was one of the best lovers you’d ever had. Maybe even the best. It felt so good that you moaned before letting out a long cry of pleasure. The wave of pleasure was quickly shared, and you found yourself in a fog of anesthetic vapors.

As you tried to catch your breath, you felt him move up to you and, unsurprisingly, he kissed you again. He finally collapsed on top of you, and you caressed every inch of his back while savoring the contact of your two naked bodies.

"Y/N, you are so perfect," he said as he gently pulled back. You didn't respond but smiled foolishly, your gaze locked with his. You ended up lying in bed, still naked. You nestled into his arms and welcomed his multitude of kisses on your hair, forehead, cheeks, neck, and shoulders.

[marimayscarlett]

Hello lovely!

Because I love your takes and posts on the eternally beautiful, wonderful Richard Z. Kruspe, I was wondering what your top five random weird facts about him are - like silly things he’s said or other people have said about him (e.g. Khira’s post on insta complaining about all the naked lady art in the house!)

TY! 😘

Hello my dear and thank you so much for your ask! Glad you enjoy my posts, this means a lot to me 🥰

This one took me a while (had to comb through several interviews for this), but I shamelessly used this ask to create two little lists - one with weird little facts/moments and one with interesting little facts in general. Not necessarily my top five (would be super hard to pick them), but moments which I think about currently. A lot 😄

Random weird facts and moments:

Literally this interview. He had absolutely no restraint and some pick-me-vibes going on, especially in these moments: - Interviewer: 'On the surface, the title A Million Degrees seems to suggest heat or that you are implying that the music is hot or on fire.' RZK: 'Or just me!' (laughs) - Interviewer: (speaking about the possibility of Emigrate opening for Rammstein) 'Isn’t it physically exhausting, too?' RZK: 'Yeah, it’s like having two women in the same night!' (laughs) - Interviewer: (after explaining her thoughts about the title "A million degrees) 'So, out of curiosity, what was your intention with the album’s title?' RZK: 'I always knew that women were smarter than men!'

me reading this entire interview:

That recording an album with Rammstein can be quite exhausting is something Richard (and sometimes also other members) mentioned several times. They discuss a lot, sometimes have verbal fights, etc. - but Richard admitted that he sometimes wished for proper "Wild West" fist fights because that maybe would've also solved some problems 👀 (as I mentioned some time ago, how about some anger management my guy) (source)

Poor little lad does not understand the concept of strip clubs, plus since he doesn't drink alcohol, it's apparently abysmally boring for him in these locations 😪 Better write a strip song, fitting for a good striptease, and that's how we got the song "Get Down" (source)

Widely known, but still: this moment from this interview: - Interviewer: 'What would you spend your last £20 on?' RZK: 'How much is that in Euros, about 20? A nice blowjob! Actually, change that - a handjob. Yes, they're easy to get near where I live. I could get 20 minutes for 20€, that's good value!'

2. Random interesting (at least for me) facts in general:

In this podcast Richard mentions that the Emigrate album "The persistence of memory" essentially was a therapeutic project for him. In 2019, he fell into a heavily depressive episode after the tour and even contemplated quitting music completely. So he started to sift through his old compositions and songs he had on his computer, some dating back over 20 years, and somehow found his love for music again through those memories - and this album, which was not at all planned, was the result of this process. This is the reason why we have songs like "Freeze my mind" for example, which dates all the way back to 2001 and was written by Richard and his then-wife Caron.

In this interview Richard mentions that these four songs are his favourites (at least at this point in time): - Hurt by Nine Inch Nails - Babe I'm gonna leave you by Led Zeppelin - Sin City by AC/DC - Personal Jesus by Depeche Mode

The book "Perfume" by Patrick Süßkind (which explores dark themes of obsession and power, linked with the sense of smell and emotions), which he read as a teenager, was the reason why he wanted to create something which REALLY moves a crowd, like the perfect song. (source)

Here Richard mentioned that when his daughter Khira was younger, he played her a lot of the Rammstein tracks because he knew she would be brutally honest and give him straightforward feedback. This didn't work anymore after some time, since as a teenager she later learned how to please him and get what she wanted (let's be real, we've all been there). Plus, he's apparently a rather strict parent, believing that you have to make a lot of experiences to get forward in life and that self-discipline helps a great deal.

In this interview, Richard mentions that he likes to pick out an audience member to get an connection to through eye contact (at least this was the case back then) - and this eye contact helps him to put on a good show, most likely to play the concert for this particular fan. Plus he thinks about doing mediation after a concert, as a vent to balance out all the energy he's absorbed from the crowd.

I hope these lists are at least a bit like what you had in mind as an answer 😊 Thanks a lot again for this ask 🤍

[sordidmusings]

Update! (Again lol): plans, loss, and music

Howdy doody! I’ll get to the fic stuff lickety split cuz I imagine that’s the most pertinent for most. Next TLC soon to be posted and the part after that under way again! Just have to finish up checking up the next section as it was done before but was one of the fics claimed by one of my cringy “want to delete my existence” moods 💀🤡 that’s where my ao3 and masterlist went too so whoops lol did save my stuff from getting posted under someone else’s name once so sometimes that cringe instinct works out for the better 👌🏻 still trying to kick the habit tho 💀 but yeah just gotta clean it over and get it back up again! Thank you for your patience 🤍

Comfort fic with Croc is well underway! Sorry that that’s taking longer than expected and an even bigger sorry to the request for Croc and reader team bonding smut cuz that boys been taking ten million years. Both of you, I appreciate your patience too and hope to make it worth the wait!!

X Marine reader headcanons almost done in their first part! Doing the first installment as general headcanons/vibe and the backstory for them, the second being a detailed how they met, and the third being a big event for the relationship like a confession or one saving the other or coming to terms with the relationship being doomed etc etc. it kinda spiraled out of control on ideas as I have a tendency to do sorry 😅

Besides a Law fic, those are the priorities right now tho there’s also kinktober to discuss. I’ve always always wanted to do kinktober but I’m still not good enough. I’ve been trying to do some prep for it and think I may be able to get many headcanons out for the month on it but again I’m not at a quality or in life circumstances where I can make it happen with actual fic this year.

And with life circumstances, yeah there’s business with jobs and obligations and taking care of people and trying to take care of myself, but my great struggle for the past stretch of weeks and onwards is the death of my mentor, friend, and father figure who was my piano teacher. He was older but it was very sudden and we’ve all been scrambling to contend with the loss of him and try to keep all the programs he was running afloat and keep his memory and influence alive. His reach in the music community and the genuine depth with which he connected to others is now a huge wound for many of us. He was a person of exceptional quality and heart. There’s a memorial concert for him mid October that I’m one of the performers in and I’m glad it’s forcing me to practice because piano has been really hurting. Everything has been. I was already struggling to keep on top of things and in the face of this I really am floundering pretty bad, despite trying to take care of it myself cuz I know I was already asking much of others having to listen to me sometimes and most people go mute in the face of death and I don’t want that to be my experience with others right now.

So to share something more positive in this experience, here is a snippet of the piece I’m polishing back up for the memorial concert.

You’ll hear me mention briefly in the middle a “church bells section”. I was talking with @gingernut1314 about this piece while showing her some other stuff and so I gave context about why I chose it for his memorial. For ease imma just pop in a copy of that lol

{This is from the piece that I’m polishing back up for Ian’s memorial concert! It’s the second movement of Debussy’s Images for Piano. I finished learning all three with Ian. The first is likely my favorite, the third is a MONSTER (but that atm just kinda makes me want to get that back up again too to Conquer it lol), but the second one has the right mood for a memorial and is the one I spent the most time working on with him for expression (took forever to get it right and some of it was still only like just almost there when my recital came around 🤡) and it was the one I think he was happiest with how I played in the end. The final bit of the movement is just breathtaking and peaceful tho it does end sad. Ian talked about his time studying in Europe and visiting France and church bells echo on the mountainside there and that that’s the type of imagery to evoke there. He was a devout man himself and I thought that that being the end to something I play for his memory would make him happy.}

Thank again sweet pea for your time listening to me play and talk about classical piano and such in general!!! I appreciate you 🧡🧡🧡 and thank you to any of you who give this vid a listen and have this post a read. I hope to bring actual substance and treats to you all soon!!! I working on it I swear 💀💀💀

On a final note that sums basically all this shit up, that mentioned Law fic is something I’ve been mucking through to process some by engaging with a death that isn’t related to me. So! It is a fic where reader helps Law finally open up all the festering feelings and thoughts he wouldn’t let himself express around Cora’s death. I’ll give a more proper shout out there, but thank you to the people who have shown me kindness and understanding and friendship in the past couple months. You all know who you are (hopefully haha) - I try to impress these things directly to you as well but it felt right to say it here as well. Interacting with you all has impacted me positivity and you all make the world a more welcoming and loving place 🤍🤍🤍

I’d also like to extend a thank you to anyone interacting with any of my posts! I often feel invisible and unworthy so acknowledgements even small and passing are a nice !!!! to my brain and I appreciate it❣️

Talk to yall soon!

Oh and as a stupid ps cuz I forget things and have nowhere else to put this random thought - expect some One Piece crochet content sometime dhdjfhkdnd I’m finally almost fuckin done with a damn Bepo design that’s been fighting me forever 😤😤😤 same with a Cora swan lol might sneak some regular crochet and more piano in there too for shits and giggles but we’ll see - anyone else get The Guilt when you post things that don’t feel like the thing you promised or should ehcjfjldmccl cuz this bitch do and it keeps me from doing like anything cuz I’ve got a clinical case of the Brain Sillies 🤷🏼‍♀️ anyway - smooches!!!!

Oh and if you’re afraid to comment or like cuz the death topic - I won’t think anyone is being an ass for not mentioning it lol I brought it up for context and because he is so important to me not because I expect people on a post to do something about it. So as with all my content, no worries!! This is a Chill Zone that just so happens to have sad hours semi regularly but we vibe lol

[sitkowski]

in smoldering embers ( girl!nicholas x girl!folio )

pairing: girl!nicholas x girl!folio

cw: 18+ MDNI ⚠️ genderbent characters (always a girl nicholas and folio), d/s undertones, recreational drug use, shotgunning, face slapping, discussion of safwords/hand signals, sensory deprivation (usages of noise canceling earbuds and blindfolds), wartenberg wheel, teasing, dirty talk, oral sex (f receiving), vaginal fingering, overstimulation, praise kink, squirting, subspace.

word count: 3k

author's note: my first fic for kinktober in the concrete jungle! this one was for the prompt of sensory deprivation. also for confusions sake, Nicholas is Nichole, and Folio is Nicki. thank you so much to @ladyveronikawrites for hosting this thing with me and being an excellent motivator and writing companion throughout this whole thing! the title comes from "lune" by periphery. divider by @saradika-graphics ✨

⇉ masterpost || taglist signups || read on ao3

The day has been too long and Nichole is done with it. Agitation simmers beneath her skin as she deals with a lack of caffeine because she was late for work, two girls who wouldn’t understand why she wouldn’t tattoo them after they'd been drinking, and her lightboard died on her. It makes her snappy with everyone, and she’s pretty sure she’s never been so glad to get out of the shop in her life. The minute she’s in her car, she yanks her hair out of the messy bun she’s had it up in, knocking her head back against the headrest in frustration. She feels itchy, like her skin is too tight. Nichole starts the car and cranks the music as if feeling it in the center of her chest will help. But she knows that isn’t what she needs.

It’s not as if her mood magically dissipates when she gets home, but being there helps a little. She greets the cats, abandons her things on the counter and tugs off her boots. She can hear the drone of the television from the living room but ignores it. As much as she’d like to curl up on the sofa and watch some mindless show with her girlfriend, she feels like she needs a shower first. Nicki calls out to her to see if she’s home, but Nichole ignores her. Something she doesn’t do often.

The shower does little to make the feeling go away, and she’s trying to figure out how to articulate what she wants by the time she emerges from the bathroom. Maybe she should just go to sleep, try again the next day. But when she comes out, Nicki is sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at her almost expectantly.

“You saying hi to the cats and not me is a sure sign that work was shit,” she says, and Nichole feels her fingers twitch where she’s still holding up her towel. “So what do you need me to do about that?”

That’s the thing, Nicki always knows. Whether it’s while they’re out on the road with the band and it gets to be a little too much or while they’re home and the pressures of the tattoo shop work their way under Nichole’s skin, she always seems to know exactly what she needs. And she might be asking her a question, but Nichole knows that Nicki’s only giving her the choice now because she’s curious what she might need. All Nichole has to do is say the word, and Nicki will take that choice right from her.

“You choose.”

All of the air seems to leave the room once Nichole says it, and all Nicki does is nod and stand up. She doesn’t come over to her, instead walking over to the opposite side of the room where there is a small chest of drawers. Anticipation simmers in Nichole’s stomach and she takes off her towel without prompting, moving over to the bed. Nicki brings a handful of things back to the bed, as well as a joint tucked between her lips. She pays no mind to the fact that Nichole is sitting there naked at first, instead dropping everything at her side and looking around for a lighter.

Nichole eyes what she brought back with her greedily. There’s a thick black sleep mask, a pair of earbuds that she knows drown out every bit of sound, and a metal pinwheel with a delicate handle. She feels fingers slide through the damp strands of her hair, and tilts her head back to look up at Nicki. Smoke filters around her as she takes a hit off the joint and exhales. Those fingers in her hair tighten and Nick tugs her head back a little more, until Nichole gives in and lies down flat on the bed.

Nicki crawls over her, straddling her hips. She lets go of her hair, only to grasp Nichole’s jaw and pry her mouth open enough to blow the next hit of smoke into it. Nichole starts to reach for her, but Nicki pulls back, slapping the back of her hand. “Nope. You’re just gonna lay there and let me take care of you. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Nicolette.”

Nichole only full names her to get a rise of her, and she sees the way that Nicki’s eyes narrow in challenge. She takes a longer drag, this time giving Nichole’s cheek a quick, sharp slap. It draws a surprised moan from her throat, and Nicki smirks and raises her eyebrows, silently waiting. She opens her mouth obediently, lets Nicki blow more smoke in. It leaves her loose and relaxed in a way that she hasn’t felt in hours. When Nicki reaches over her to put the roach out in the ashtray on the nightstand, the feel of her shirt brushing against Nichole’s skin tickles and she finds herself laughing lightly.

“Aren’t you gonna get naked?” she asks, trying not to pout.

Nicki pulls back, shaking her head. “Nah, this is all about you, honey.”

Dragging her tongue over her bottom lip, Nichole nods. She knows what’s coming, and she lets her eyes roam over her girlfriend, taking in every detail of her as if it’s the last time she’ll ever see her. As if she doesn’t have every tattoo memorized, or the way her little cross earrings glint in the late afternoon light. The silver chain peeking out of the neck of her shirt with the too big holes from when she cut the sleeves off. She takes the time to pile her hair up on top of her head, her go-to when they play so it’s out of her way.

“Be as loud as you want, okay?”

“Yeah.”

“What is your safeword if it gets to be too much?”

“Stardust,” the word falls automatically from her tongue. “And if I can’t speak, I tap you three times.”

“Good girl. Okay, let’s go then.”

Nichole lets herself sink further into the mattress. She watches as Nicki picks up the earplugs first, and puts one in each of Nichole’s ears. The sudden absence of sound is jarring, not in an entirely unpleasant way. She can hear herself breathing, an odd echo inside her mind, each inhale feeling deeper than the last. Next, Nicki grabs the face mask, gesturing for Nichole to lift her head so she can slip it on over her eyes. The material is thick enough that she’s now totally blind, on top of not being able to hear, it’s an intense experience. She still feels the weight of Nicki astride her hips, but she jolts when she trails her fingertips down Nichole’s throat.

Nicki teases her with her fingers for a while, drags them over every part of her skin. Occasionally she’ll drag one of her calloused palms over her hip, her nipples, she uses the very tip of her tongue to trace tattoos here and there. Nichole squirms restlessly, still not quite settled into it yet. Every pant of air she lets out seems louder than it probably is to Nicki’s ears, and her heartbeat thuds in her temples almost like a headache. She feels the need to touch Nicki back, but knows that she can’t. She can move around as she wants, make all the noise she wants, but she has to keep her hands to herself. It’s an unspoken rule, and she honestly likes the challenge.

The handle of the pinwheel is cold when Nicki presses it to Nichole’s mouth, a sign that they’re about to really start. At Nichole’s nod, she pulls it away, only to replace it with her lips. She can’t help but kiss her back, smiling into it. Nicki’s teeth nip at her bottom lip before she backs off, and then Nichole feels the edges of the pinwheel roll down her throat. It’s teasing at first, and she squirms, a few breathless laughs escaping her at the feeling.

Nicki follows the same path as before, keeping the pressure light. It tickles, and Nichole longs for more. Her mouth feels dry and it’s as if her head is stuffed full of cotton candy that’s melting slowly with each pass of the pinwheel.

“Harder.” she says, her voice sounding distant. “Please?”

She doesn’t even think that she actually said it out loud. Not until Nicki presses the pinwheel down on her upper thigh with purpose. She knew it was coming, but the sting still surprises her. The next roll of it comes across her lower stomach and Nichole sighs, arching up into the pressure. Nicki’s body weight leaves her, only for her to nudge Nichole’s legs apart and glide the pinwheel up over the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. At the same time, she drags two fingers up her slit. Nichole doesn’t need to be able to see or hear Nicki to know she’s making some comment about how wet she is. Her entire body goes taut as she slides those fingers into her, curling them upwards. The moan that Nichole lets out reverberates through her own chest.

Time begins to slow to a steady crawl until Nichole doesn’t know how long this has actually been going on. Nicki’s fingers twist and spread inside of her as she leaves stinging lines across her skin. She can feel it, the moment she starts to sink away, not quite achieving it but close enough for everything to feel blurry around the edges. Her first orgasm rolls over her in a soft wave, leaving her trembling and pliant beneath Nicki’s touch. Wetness grazes her bottom lip, and she’s dimly aware that it’s just the two fingers that Nicki had inside her. Opening her mouth, Nichole licks them clean.

She doesn’t realize right away that Nicki’s taken off the blindfold, but then she’s blinking at the brightness in the room and looking up at Nicki’s face. When Nicki pulls out the earplugs, Nichole realizes that she can hear how loud she’s gasping for air.

“Are you okay? Do you need anything, honey? C’mon, use your words.”

Nicki’s petting her fingers through her hair softly, and Nichole reaches up to drag her hands over her face, surprised to find her fingertips damp from tears on her cheeks. It hadn’t even felt that intense. She looks down at herself and sees little red lines littering her hips and stomach and the curve of her breasts. A few of the lines on her thighs are dotted with blood. She laughs deliriously.

“I feel amazing,” she admits honestly, turning to brush her lips over Nicki’s. “Can we keep going?”

She knows part of it is the endorphins talking, but they’re not really doing anything heavy here. Nichole feels like her body is heavy, in the best way. She can see that Nicki’s looking for any signs that she might be saying that she’s good when she’s not, but Nichole knows her limits. They haven't reached them yet.

“Do you want everything back?”

All she would have to do is say no, and they’d keep going without any of it. “What if it’s just the blindfold? I want you to talk to me.”

“Of course,” Nicki picks up the sleep mask and slides it back over Nichole’s eyes, plunging her back into darkness. And then she leans down, letting her lips brush over her ear. “But for the record, I was saying some really filthy shit before. You just couldn’t hear me.”

Nichole whines, fisting her hands in the blankets beneath her. “I wanna hear you now.”

“Don’t worry honey, I’ll tell you everything I’m gonna do.”

Her teeth nip at the curve of Nichole’s throat and she shivers, bringing her arms up above her head to grasp at the blankets as if it’ll keep her grounded. The tip of Nicki’s tongue circles one of her nipples and she sighs, lifting up into the sensation. “That’s not talking!”

The bite of the pinwheel across the thin skin of her collarbones startles her and she sinks her teeth into her bottom lip. She already knows what she’s going to do before she does it, but the breath she draws in through her nose does not prepare her for the metal teeth scraping her nipple, the little twinge of pain she feels making her shudder and clamp her thighs together.

“You were saying?”

“You said you were gonna tell me everything you were gonna do.”

Nichole knows she’s pouting, and she expects some sort of repercussion for it. Instead, Nicki laughs softly.

“You’re right, I did say that. I’m sorry,” Nichole can’t see her, only feels the occasional brush of fabric against her skin as Nicki moves around her. “Here’s what I’m going to do now. I can either keep teasing you with this wheel or I can eat you out—”

“Please!”

Nicki puts the pinwheel down on Nichole’s stomach, and the metal feels hot on her skin from being in her hand. “You’re not letting me finish, honey.”

“I’m sorry.”

“As I was saying,” Nichole gets a nip to the curve of her breast and she jumps and giggles. “Since you obviously prefer the second option, I'm gonna make it so you have absolutely nothing left in that pretty little head of yours by the time I’m done with you. Just let me take care of you.”

Nichole feels a sudden swell of emotion and swallows hard. She doesn’t have the words to tell her that she already takes care of her in every way she can, even when they’re playing like this or when they play harder. It’s always exactly what Nichole needs, Nicki always takes care of her.

All she can do is nod her head. She hears nothing but silence at first, but then the mattress shifts beneath her and she feels Nicki lift the pinwheel away before she moves down Nichole’s body, trailing lingering kisses as she goes. Her mouth drags over a few of the marks that the pinwheel left behind, and she sinks her teeth into the meat of Nichole’s thigh before she’s pushing her legs open and shouldering between them. 

Nichole almost wishes she’d said no to the blindfold again, because a part of her wants to see. She can feel Nicki’s warm breath against her cunt, the way her fingers stroke over her inner thighs before her tongue slides between her folds. The press of her thumbs as she opens her up to lick inside. Nichole gives up on not touching her, blindly reaching down until she’s got a hand in the fabric of Nicki’s shirt. She moans brokenly as Nicki’s tongue strokes over her clit, at the same time she twists two fingers into her.

She rocks up off the bed against Nicki’s mouth, squirming so much that she has to press a hand against Nichole’s stomach to try and keep her down, and when that doesn’t work she just presses her thighs against her chest, nearly folding her in half as she slides those fingers in deeper and faster.

“Knew I should have tied you down,” Nicki teases, speaking right against her cunt, and Nichole chokes out a sob at the idea. “Next time, then. Why don’t you go ahead and come for me, honey? Get this one out of the way.”

Her words don’t make sense, but nothing really makes sense right now. Not when all Nichole can do is grind up against her tongue, rock down on her fingers and beg mindlessly for whatever she’s being given. Her second orgasm is sharper and quicker, and she squeezes her eyes shut beneath the blindfold, feeling tears well up in her eyes again.

Nichole tries to catch her breath, but Nicki doesn’t stop. “Again, seriously?”

“You can still say words, so yeah, again. C’mon, I know you’ve got it in you.”

She doesn’t give her much time to agree, fingers curling up inside of her at a quick pace that leaves Nichole unable to do much more than toss her head back and wail. Her hands claw at Nicki’s shoulder, the bed sheets, whatever she can. She feels Nicki above her, keeping her legs up while she presses down on Nichole’s lower stomach again. The sound of her own wetness is loud to Nicole’s ears, and she’d be embarrassed about it if she could think about anything else other than coming a third time.  

Nicki’s speaking to her, but she doesn’t understand any of it. If she wanted to drive all of the thoughts out of Nichole’s head and leave her a mindless mess, she’s doing one hell of a job. The inside of her head goes blissfully white, her entire body going taut like a rubber band being twisted around Nicki’s fingers and shaped to her will. Lips brush her skin and she feels that band inside of her snap. She screams, feeling the intense feeling give way to a rush of wetness that soaks the blankets beneath the both of them.

It takes her a few minutes to come back to herself, gently pushing Nicki away from her and curling up on her side, shaking and panting for air. She feels the mask lift from her eyes, and she finds her girlfriend giving her an almost smug look.

“Thought I lost you there for a minute.”

“Fuck right the hell off, Nicolette Folio. What the hell?” She makes a delirious sound, trying to sit up and failing. Nicki chuckles, shaking her head. “I’d offer to return the favor, but you’ve kind of broken me here.”

“I didn’t do that for reciprocation, honey. Don’t worry about me.”

“But—”

“The fact that you’re arguing with me after I made you come three times concerns me,” Nicki slaps at Nichole’s hip and rolls out of the bed. “I’m gonna go run you a bath, and then we’re gonna order some takeout and rot on the couch for a few hours. Sounds good?”

The way she says it tells Nichole she doesn’t really have a choice but to just go along with it.

“Sounds perfect.”

⇉ taglist

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@dsireland86

if you ’d like to be added to the taglist, you can find the form at the top of this fic! thanks for reading/reblogging 🩷

[thezombieprostitute]

Music in the Air

A/N: Written for Vee's Holly Jolly Challenge (@sstan-hoe). Reader is implied fem, "girls like me". No physical descriptors used.

Prompts: Bucky Barnes - My house, my rules. The Christmas music stays on.

Summary: You and Bucky discuss poinsettias.

Bucky's arm was having problems. Again. In all the years he had the arm he never really got to understand how it worked. He could figure out how to fix a lot of things, but his arm wasn't one of them. That's why he was glad he had you to turn to. You had quickly become his go-to engineer in the Avengers Tower. You were a rare and delightful combination of "not afraid of him" and "not overly friendly". You would smile, but let him initiate the conversation when he wanted.

At least, normally you were his favorite. Ever since December started you only every played Christmas music in your lab. He was still trying to get used to how much the holiday had changed and the music was, well, a lot. Especially when you were always listening to some kind of heavy metal Christmas music and he had only ever heard Christmas music sung a capella or maybe a church organ.

"Do you really need to listen to that music all the time?"

You smiled while working, "I did the respectful thing and waited until December before I started listening."

"Yeah, but it's just so..." he struggled to find the words.

"Non-traditional?"

"Jarring."

"Well, Sergeant Barnes," you reply, setting your tools down, "My house, my rules. The Christmas music stays on. However, I am willing to switch it for something that's maybe a little more your speed."

You walk over to your laptop and open up your playlist. It takes you a minute, but you finally find the song you're looking for and press the play button. As the speakers sing a lighter, slower tune, you turn back to Bucky, "you should be grateful. I don't turn off Trans Siberian Orchestra for just anyone."

Bucky blushed as he smiled, listening to the song. It was very different from what you had been listening to. For a start, there were lyrics. They told the story of a poinsettia named Percy and how had been overlooked and abandoned but grew and shone when given love. He almost smacked himself for having empathy for an imaginary plant.

To distract himself he said, "I'm surprised you like this song. It's so different from what you were listening to before."

You smile and respond, "it's a childhood favorite. This song just really hit my heart in a way no other Christmas song did. It stuck with me so much that, even in college if I saw my flowers for sale that were wilting or on their last legs, I'd buy them. Just to make sure they had love before they fully wilted."

Bucky looked at you with a softness in his eyes before you shook your head, "I know, it's stupid. I was an adult, I should've known better but some things just stick with you, you know?"

"Yeah," he whispered. "I know. Did you stop buying flowers because you kept getting them from dates or something?"

You chuckle, "I stopped because I had to prioritize my budget. I can't remember the last time I had flowers in my apartment. But thank you for the compliment."

"What do you mean? The guys you date don't give you flowers?"

"Girls like me don't get dates, Sergeant. I'm not whatever enough for guys to ask me out. Whether it's my size, my intelligence, my hobbies, there's just always something that keeps guys from asking me out, let alone bringing me flowers. But, again, thank you for the compliment."

You set down your tools and start putting them away, "your arm is all patched up. Hope this fix lasts you at least through the end of the year. I've got a lot of projects to finish up before the end of the year so I might not have the time to take care of you."

"You're not staying here for Christmas, are you?"

"I am," you nod. "My family celebrates holidays on days that aren't the day of so that we can avoid traffic and last-minute shoppers. So I set up an office lunch for the people who either don't celebrate, have nowhere to go, or whatever other reasons. Mr. Stark has been very generous with the budget for that."

"I'm glad you won't be alone on Christmas," he gives you a gentle smile.

"How about you," you ask. "You're welcome to join us if you'd like."

"Sam is insisting on taking me to Louisiana," he replies.

"Good," you assert. "I'm very glad you also won't be alone on Christmas."

You really shouldn't have been surprised to see the poinsettia on your desk the next day. There was no note, but you suspected. It wasn't very big and it had started wilting, but you loved it nonetheless. You gently hugged the plant and promised to give it the best of care for as long as it needed. After a week it was like a brand new plant, bright and strong. Doesn't hurt that you asked the biolab techs for help and resources.

It made Bucky's year to see how big your smile was, watching your poinsettia grow and how much you clearly loved it. It took him a while after to gather his courage and ask you on a date but your quick "yes" reassured him. Neither of you would ever be alone on Christmas.

[welcometoteyvat]

fake ga-ming voicelines (prerelease, some more delusional, some less. please give more hcs about him)

edit: apparently voiceline leaks just dropped so PLEASE no spoilers <3 if these are wrong that's too bad they're canon in my heart!!!

About Yun Jin: Besides being a great opera performer, Sir Yun's taste in tea is impeccable! Although she keeps asking me to join her at Heyu Tea House... their tea just doesn't have the same flavor as the tieguanyin from Xinyue Kiosk. Speaking of her, one of our clients has just developed a new strain—I promised to bring some for her when I come back to Liyue Harbor!

About Xiao: You mean Senior Xiao! Hehe, so you know him too! Next time, can you bring him along with you to one of my performances in the harbor? I've been trying to get him to come for a long time, but he always refuses... oh, good idea! Next time I'll hold it at Wangshu Inn, just for him!

About Xiangling: That girl always by Guoba's side, right? Man Chai seems to like her a lot, especially the cornbread buns she makes! To be honest, some of the things she cooks are a little too spicy for me, but otherwise she’s an excellent chef with unmistakable talent. No wonder her companion is a minor deity… wait, what? A major deity?

About Keqing: Thanks to her invitation and sponsorship, our Mighty Mythical Beast performances have been getting more and more attention in the harbor! She's very straightforward and speaks her mind about everything, and always has novel ideas! Although we haven’t talked much, I really admire her mindset and determination. It’s not easy to forge your own path forward, especially for someone of her standing.

About Chongyun: I've run into him once or twice on the road to Liyue Harbor. He didn’t seem to like talking that much when we met, but I’ve heard he’s actually quite outgoing! He wields a greatsword too—maybe he can train with me as the suanni’s tail? Of course, I wouldn’t force him to do anything he doesn’t want; I'm sure he's already busy! It would just be nice to have a wushou partner for once.

About Xinyan: I managed to catch one of Xinyan's performances when I had some free time after work. There weren’t many people in the audience, but her music was so energetic it completely made up for the quieter atmosphere. Originally, I was thinking about asking her to join our lion dance troupe as a drummer, but I’m glad to hear she's made a name for herself since then! I should properly introduce myself sometime!

About Zhongli: He once asked me whether I've heard about the legend of the solitary suanni after one of Iron Tongue Tian's stories. When I said yes, he launched into a really detailed discussion of Chenyu Vale's local belief system, and even told me some stories I haven't heard about a carp adeptus. It's amazing that he has so much knowledge on all sorts of folklore, as a funeral consultant no less!

About Xianyun: ... Who? im sorry i was going to put something about the adepti here but gave up trying to think of something and now it's just a joke line. suggestions welcome tho 🫶

About Yelan: Ah, that lady—sometimes I see her lingering around Yanshang Teahouse. They place regular orders of tea leaves from Yilong Wharf. She's very polite and even petted Man Chai once or twice, although I feel like there's more to her than meets the eye... well, business is business, and they've never caused any trouble for Sword and Strongbox, so whatever she does isn't much of a concern to me.

very long notes:

generally i feel like what's mentioned in chara voicelines tend to have a lot less substance than the actual relationship, so in my head some of them are closer w gaming than i wrote.

always welcoming suggestions!!!!! PLEASE share the brainrot with me i'm dying here OTL please please.

i'd like to write an "about xingqiu" but i bully my richboy son and he's already had like 12 other people comment on him in canon it's fine if ga-ming doesn't know him

everything's just for fun etc etc. don't take it too seriously

watch all of these be completely wrong!!!

similarly if any of these end up being right, i will SCREAM

the only ones i really really want to happen are with yun jin and xiao if they don't have voicelines i'll die

senior xiao comes from my headcanon (copium) that they'll keep the mentor disciple relationship (?) from that one concept art if you know you know. it also comes from this absolutely delicious fic

[yelenasdiary]

https://www.tumblr.com/yelenasdiary/725457051446329344/okay-hear-me-out-this-is-giving-me-undercover?source=share

Can you do an hc about this? Undercover yelena with target's daughter reader? Thank you!

I'm so glad we can all see the vision 😏

This is kinda long, I hope this is along the lines of something you were after 🥰

Your mother owned an art gallery and would often run fundraisers to keep her name clean from the illegal activities she did while working for HYDRA.

She asked you to work a fundraiser to make her look good like always, so you did it with plenty of eye rolls, sighs and huffs.

Yelena had her eyes locked on you from the moment she walked into the room.

She was dressed as if she was a rich married woman from uptown, somebody your mother would get along great with.

She wait for the perfect moment before she came up and introduced herself to you, her hand was warm and soft. Her eyes sparkled in the room lighting, she was beautiful and you hated that she was probably just a snobby bitch like your mother.

Yelena asked to be introduced to your mother, saying she had something she wanted to discuss.

Yelena and your mother spoke for a few moments before you heard them arrange plans to have a further discussion after the fundraiser over some red wine.

After the fundraiser you could hear the chuckles from the two women coming from your mothers at home office, Yelena left after two hours max.

Yelena & your mother became close rather quickly over the course of a few short months. You didn't mind as much as you liked the blonde's company.

When your mother was working late and you had the house to yourself, sometimes Yelena would drop buy with a pizza and keep you company even though you reminded her that you're an adult and can look after yourself.

Things became off when Yelena stopped coming by to have a weekly bitch session with your mother. You noticed your mother was becoming stressed about something she didn't want to talk to you about.

You would text Yelena asking her if she knew what was up with your mother but she didn't reply, you just figured the two had a falling out and did your best to forget about the blonde.

One night while you were up late, listening to music with your earphones in, Yelena startled you. She was wearing a complete black outfit, spy wear basically. You asked her what was going on and she asked you to trust her.

She got you to safety where you met her friend, Kate.

When Yelena returned, she told you that you the truth about your mother in private. This broke your trust with her, now knowing she was undercover. It made you think she didn't actually care about you or the many times you both watched trashy movies over pizza.

Over time, you began to forgive Yelena, especially after Kate spoke to you and gave you a little insight to what HYDRA was and what they did to people.

During an argument with Yelena, she let slip that you were also supposed to die the night your mother did but she couldn't bring herself to do it because she had feelings for you.

Taglist: @red1culous | @bentleywolf29 | @jeyramarie | @lissaaaa145 | @high--power | @parkerdaramitzzzz | @mmmmokdok | @wackymcstupid | @kiwiana145 | @valiantmugcowboyscissors | @observeowl  | @nattyolw | @ripofflizzie | @get-the-fuck-outta-here | @goofy-goonie | @makegoodchoices | @apollo2907 | @marvelfan98 | @wandaroman0ff | @dumb-fawkin-bitch | @lovelyy-moonlight | @santana1437 | @fluffyblanketgecko | @puta1 | @inluvwithfictionalwomen | @tintedrose12 | @jaymieflorissssssss | @tita001 | @youralphawolf72 | @crescent-witch | @randomnessbecausewhynot | @natashamaximoff69 | @a-dorkier-book-keeper | @hehehehannahthings | @secrettoallofyou | @romantic-slaps-on-the-asss | @marvel-fan-2021 | @mmmmokdok | @riveramorylunar | @ripofflizzie | @toldthatdevil | @itsmv3 | @katiemay-025 | @maria-403 | @boredandneedfanfics | @wandamaximoffspuppup | @xox-little-troublemaker-xox | @irishhappiness | @music-4ever | 

[emmy-dekarios-bg3]

Heart of the Weave - A Baldurs Gate fanfiction

CHAPTER 15

Nobody tells you how quickly time flies by when you’re a parent. Jenevelle is already three months old, and she’s been nothing short of a miracle in our lives. She’s still so small yet so full of life; full of smiles and laughter throughout the days, and hardly cries. Gale and I finally have her transitioned to her room in her crib now, which was so hard – not for her, but for me. Having her in the bassinet by our bed gave me a sense of comfort, knowing I could easily check up on her and make sure she’s breathing. On another note, I’m grateful for our friends, but especially since she’s been born. Karlach will come and babysit once or twice a month while Gale and I go out and have a night to ourselves, which has been so nice. At first, it was an adjustment leaving her for the first time, but I’m glad we are able to get a break every once in a while.

The morning sun rises, and I notice Gale isn’t in bed with me. He does like to wake up rather early and enjoy the dawn, drinking his warm coffee and watching the sun rise. That’s when he has his best ideas for research. I get out of bed and notice Gale on the balcony, where he’s holding Jenevelle and they’re both enjoying the outside world.

“Ah, there’s my love,” Gale says, smiling as I sit down next to him. He leans in for a kiss as the morning sunlight pours over our skin. “Good morning. I hope I didn’t wake you.”

“No, of course not. I was just ready to get up and start my day. I’m glad you are both having a quiet morning.” He gently bounces Jenevelle in his arm and takes a sip of his morning coffee with the other.

“Indeed. I’m just happy you got to sleep in some. I got so much done this morning. I had some sort of…morning epiphany that caused me to wake up and get a jumpstart on the day. I did some of my studies, made breakfast for us, which is sitting on the kitchen table by the way, and I got Jenevelle up, dressed, and fed…” As he continues to speak, I can’t help but admire him. “...and I just wanted to make your morning a little easier since I don’t teach today.” His brown eyes shimmer, transitioning into a tint of golden honey as the sun shines upon his face at a perfect angle.

“I appreciate you and how considerate you are. I truly love you more than words can define,” I tell him as I stretch my body, releasing all tensions held within me. He smiles, trying to fight that cute chuckle he always does.

“Thank you. That means the world to me. I love you too.” As we sit here enjoying the peace, the gentle breeze of Waterdeep air brushes the messy hair out of my face. As I look down at the town square below us, I see there’s a festival going on with various vendors and some bards playing some tunes for a large crowd. I actually notice Shadowheart, believe it or not, and it’s as if she’s looking for something in particular. She’s probably doing some shopping. I’m thinking about going down and buying Jenevelle a crochet owlbear or maybe a quilted blanket.

“Are you thinking about the festival?” Gale asks, studying my face.

“Erm, no…”

“You want to go, don’t you?” I laugh lightly, but then hide it with a fake cough. Is it silly for a grown woman to want to go to a fun festival?

“Can we?” He smiles and hands the baby over to me as he stands up from his seat.

“Of course. Let me go get dressed and we can head out. I’m going to avoid a robe this time, just in case some of my students are there. As much as I enjoy discussing the physics of magic and teaching others how to perform it correctly, I’d rather spend my time with my family enjoying the beauty of Waterdeep and its festivities.”

While Gale goes inside to get ready, I continue to observe the happy crowds from above; people casually dancing to the music, live entertainment of a comedic orc doing stand up, and of course delicious food. Mmmm. I can smell funnel cakes from up here.

We head down to the fun market area for the festival and notice various shops and vendors on every corner throughout the square. So many children are running around playing, eating, and having fun. I almost can’t wait until Jenevelle is walking and can enjoy fun events like this, playing with other children. For now, I have her wrapped in the baby carrier attached to my body, curled up and comfortable as we stroll the calming streets of Waterdeep.

“What a perfect day for such a festival. I clearly don’t get out enough, I feel like I haven’t seen any signs anywhere,” I say, observing the exciting area around us. I do notice a few clowns around us, which immediately brings flashbacks of Dribbles the Clown back at Baldur’s Gate, except we killed him and he was actually a shapeshifter. Long story short, he and several other shapeshifters were sent by Orin to murder me. Now that I look back on it, I feel honored to be such a threat to her.

“Oh, I have a slight inkling this was all planned last minute,” Gale says, chuckling. “Nonetheless, it’s fun to get out and enjoy this time together.”

We grab food and sit down at the music event, where three high elf bards are performing some new music I haven’t heard of before, but they’re pretty good! As we’re watching the concert, I hear my name nearby by a familiar voice – Shadowheart, perhaps? I turn around and notice her approaching us, and she sits down next to me. She has a bag full of items she bought from the various shops and vendors.

“Shadowheart?”

“I know I live like, two blocks down from you, but I saw you two walking and wanted to…give the baby a gift. But then I lost you when I spotted you both at the festival. I didn’t want to interrupt any future plans you might have later, so I figured I’d come by now.” She hands me an adorable pink owlbear plush from her bag, which is almost as big as Jenevelle herself. “The pink owlbear was the last one left. Since I don’t have children yet, I figured I’d spoil your little one while I still can.” I smile, taking the owlbear plush from her.

“Wow, this…is so kind. Thank you.”

“You want children, Shadowheart?” Gale asks. “Man, I wish I knew that earlier. We’d have asked you to babysit if you ever wanted to get the feel of parenthood.”

“I… I do. Now that our adventures are in the past, I’m in a comfortable position where I know I could be a mother. I would adopt, however.”

“A very kind and selfless choice.” I don’t know why but it surprises me that she wants to be a mother. I never got that vibe from her, but I do recall her saying right before fighting the elder brain that she ‘wants to have children once this is all over.’

“Definitely come by when you can. If you’re free tomorrow, maybe you can come by and we can have some tea or coffee while Gale is teaching?” She smiles with pure delight, as if she’s excited to hang out with me for the first time in a few weeks. I don’t know why we don’t get together more often.

“I’d like that. I’ll see you tomorrow then. I better go grab Astarion before he commits some heinous acts in the middle of the square.”

Gale and I shop around, getting new handmade clothes for Jenevelle and various fruits, vegetables, and other ingredients so I can bake a yummy dessert. Baking is one of my specialties, after all. After soaking in the sun partaking in a lovely little family venture, we head home due to Jenevelle getting fussy. However, we get home to put her down for a nap and she is screaming inconsolably. What we thought was her being tired is actually fear; something is causing her to feel sudden fear.

After about thirty minutes of her lying on my bare chest, she calms down and falls asleep. This was unusual behavior for her, especially since she hardly cries, but I’m glad she’s doing alright now.

“My head is throbbing from the screaming. I can’t imagine how she was feeling. I do hope she’s okay,” Gale says, carefully eyeing our sleeping baby as she sleeps in her crib.

“Me too. Maybe she’s just exhausted? Teething? Growing pains?” We watch her sleep peacefully in her crib for a moment, then head down to the living area to relax for about an hour or two. We plop down on the violet velvet sofa next to each other, curled up in a cuddling position. I’m worried about Jenevelle, but I’m sure I’m just being paranoid.

“You might be right about her possibly having pains of some sort, but part of me believes something else is going on. Maybe she saw something that frightened her. Poor baby,” Gale says, followed with a sigh. “I hate feeling daunting like this, but that must be part of being a parent, hm?” He kisses the side of my head for a couple seconds straight, one of the various affections I adore. “I love you. I think we’re doing pretty well as new parents.” I look up at him with my dark brown eyes, staring directly into his as we snuggle closely.

“I love you too. So much. And I couldn’t agree more.”

My love for him gets stronger by the minute every day. It seems like just yesterday I was pulling him out of a portal within a rock and we had an awkward introduction. Look where that unusual encounter got us!

I suddenly remember that Karlach is supposed to come over tonight to watch Jenevelle while Gale and I attend our monthly date night.

“Oh damn, I forgot we were going out tonight. My mom brain sure shows its true colors now,” I mention.

“Do you want to cancel?”

“No, no, it’s okay. Jenevelle will adore seeing aunty Karlach.” I really try not to cancel our date nights since we don’t have them too often; however, Gale’s mom is coming down in two weeks so we may get another one then. She’s been dying to hold and babysit our little girl.

“Good. I look forward to our evening together.”

I smile as I watch the glowing sun set from our living room window, thinking how blessed I truly am. Life is finally perfect again.

[azi-sings-calliope]

Hiii to celebrate my new name, I wrote a little fanfic drabble about Calliope and Dream! (Set after Calliope is freed, they discuss Orpheus)

-----

The grass was unusually soft this time of year.

But then again, Fiddler's Green always had greatly appreciated her presence. The sun shining through the canopy glittered in such a way it hadn't for centuries.

The shafts of light, much like the Goddess across from him, filled him with wonder, bared guilt, and however much he wanted to deny himself he felt it, slight yearning. Perhaps it was because both the light and the woman, though he supposed Calliope possessed her own kind of luminescence, had not been seen in this realm for many ages.

Both of these events, or lack thereof had been of his own accord. Dream remembered this bitterly, remembering the day he closed the gates and held them fast so she could not enter the realm. Remembered the roaring emptiness that was the lack of Orpheus.

As his eyes flicked up to Calliope's face, he wondered why he had ever forced her out, why he had ever felt he could. Sitting before him was a woman just as, if not more, capable than himself of ruling the Dreaming. Anyone, mortal, immortal, dreaming or awake, could not mistake her as anything less than a Goddess.

A dissertation, Dream found when she opened her mouth, to be as accurate as it was simple.

"You said, at our last meeting, Oneiros..." They both winced at the memory. Calliope's voice, even weighed with centuries worth of grief and wounds, stagnant and new alike, had a rich, musical tone to it.

She could insult him, berate him, scream curses in a thousand languages to him and he would gladly listen if only it meant to hear her voice.

But Calliope, even proud and hardened through her millennia of existence, even after their son's death, had always been one to find strength in kindness. Though Dream knew he didn't deserve it, he found no use in pointing that out.

"... that you would invite me back to your Dreaming. And I ask you now, Shaper of Forms... if you wish to speak." Calliope finished. She sat up straighter, warm brown eyes watching his every move, as if she were a statue of a great god and he was a commoner kneeling before her, praying.

Dream swallowed, matching her inky eyes with his own. He searched them, and found nothing but warmth. He hoped she would find gratitude.

He opened his mouth, and found himself at loss for words. Dream did of course wish to speak, but for once his words were not carved into stone, set for eons, and he found himself lost, hoping new words would appear in Lucienne's library, words that would allow him to convey what impossible emotion he could share with her.

"I do... I do wish to speak with you, Calliope." Dream's voice was shaking, with loss and regret and love and gratitude and awe. "I... I wasn't sure if you would want to see me." The last words were a gamble, but a smile played across her lips, and he closed his eyes. It was a reverent action, as if his was offering thanks to whatever gods were listening, though he knew the Endless were unaffected by those powers. Perhaps it was to Calliope.

She somewhat tentatively reached a hand out to his, where it was resting against the grass. He turned up his palm, both their fingers trembling. Calliope traced the lines of his palm with her fingertips, each touch lighter than moth wings against his skin.

Her voice pulled his attention from her touch back to her face. "I am simply glad you invited me." Not a shred of anger in her voice.

"It was never my right to invite you. You have claim to this land, always." Dream stopped himself from speaking further, and they both felt the unsaid words. It was never my right to cast you out.

Calliope's hand stilled in his own. "Would he have had a right?" Her voice remained steady.

Dream's did not. He closed his eyes, which proved to be a mistake. A thousand memories, a thousand dreams of Orpheus played behind his lids like Destiny was flipping the pages backward on his book. As Dream pressed his eyes shut tighter, tears threatened to spill.

But he forced them open. Took a breath, though he did not need to breathe, and wondered if Orpheus was still alive, would they all be sitting under the canopy, listening to him play his lyre? Would he have had a right?

Dream's eyes flickered to the leaves above her, searching for a distraction. But he found none.

"I would have made mountains that scraped the stars if it would please him, and oceans twice as deep as the land was tall if he found it even slightly beautiful. I would give him claim to the wonders this world has to offer, and find those it doesn't." Dream vowed this with certainty, though vows between deities were not often done with shaking voices and grief in a garden.

A tear was trickling down Calliope's cheek, reminding him if the little waterfall where their son had first learned to play the lyre. She made no move to wipe it away, and it remained much like the memory.

Neither said anything for quite some time.

Calliope leaned against a tree to her right, tucking her feet under her and gently sweeping her brown hair behind her ear. The golden, dappled light played across her, making her seem as if she was an angel in a grand painting. She reached out her hand.

"Come, Oneiros."

He came. Dream leaned against the tree with her, the rough bark biting into his back. They clasped their hands, sat with her knees against his upper leg.

It was comfortable. But there was always that missing space between them.

Calliope sighed softly, not one of content but if grim certainty.

"I am angry, Oneiros."

"I know."

She sighed again. "We are angry, the both of us, at the world. At choices that even we as deities could not interfere with. I am hurting, and so are you, and that is our reality." Ever so gently, she turned and rested her head on his shoulder, looking up at him if he ever moved away. He didn't.

This was a way they had often sat, admiring the views of the world, of their son. It was comforting. It was terrifying.

"I've -" Dream's voice cracked. "I've never been very good at reality."

He felt Calliope chuckle slightly against his shoulder. "I've gathered."

Dream closed his eyes again. "So what are we to do?"

She shrugged, sighing again. "Move forward. Never forget the past, I suppose."

Dream's fear, then, was realized, and he had no doubt it was Calliope's as well.

He knew, as it was his function, that nothing was ever truly dead until it no longer appeared in memories, in dreams. The world would dream of Orpheus until the world was no more, and even then.

It felt, then, that in the Green, in their intimacy, that a wound was being prodded at. Not in a torturous way, but in the way a doctor did, before it was fully healed.

"I think, old love, that we confront our realities now." Calliope stood, and Dream sorely missed the feeling of the soft fabric of her chiton against his arm.

"Shall we?" She asked.

"Shall we what?" Dream asked, standing now too.

Calliope extended her arm, as if she were trying to touch the rays of sunlight.

"Come with me -" Calliope said, sure and proud, but warm, still laced with that intimacy shared but seconds earlier. " - to the Waking."

Dream stopped. His world has given him safety, surety. The Waking had left him afraid.

"Why?"

Calliope only smiled. "We may find what we're looking for. Perhaps something we're not."

Dream smiled tentatively, and stepped towards her. "And just what are we looking for, Calliope?"

Calliope's smile turned sad as she flicked her eyes up to the canopy. "Reality, Oneiros."

-----

They had found reality, or some form of it.

Many museums had art, sculptures, all forms of beauty. None possessing the kind she could create.

Dream had asked Calliope to show him what she had inspired. She showed him countless books, read them to him.

The sound of her voice speaking, sometimes singing or reciting words she had inspired was painfully beautiful. He had loved it, but when she sang, only wished for a lyre in the background, to serenade them both.

But there was no lyre for them anymore. The Met held a Greek Myth exhibit, and neither could bring themselves into the Orpheus section. Reality existed, whether they saw it or not.

So here they sat, and Dream had though a million times before, no sight he loved like this.

Calliope sat, with a pistachio cake, her favorite kind, and a coffee in her hand. She looked almost mortal, but gazed with far more age in her eyes than any human would ever be capable of.

Dream knew art. He had spoken to, inspired them. He even considered himself an artist of a kind. But no matter the billions of artists he would meet, no matter how talented, a child with crayons or a Renaissance oil painter, they would always fail. Calliope would make frauds out of them all, for an artist could capture beauty, sound, but they could never capture just what it was like to sit across from her while she picked pistachios off the top of a cake.

They could never capture what it was like to feel her presence when he saw her in the Dreaming for the first time. They could never capture the admiration he felt for her, even while he was all of inspiration itself, and she was a Muse, he never could quite understand how she carried out her role so well, with so much love and care, and still have enough to show him. They could never capture the joy at learning she was with child, and never capture the dread of learning that baby was mortal. They could never capture the grief of losing that son and hearing her scream and see her fall to the ground. They could never capture the regret of learning they had taken the final days of her presence for granted.

They could never capture the emptiness of watching her stand, wiping the pistachio crumbs off her jeans, bidding him farewell, and watching her walk away into the crowds.

And they could never capture the certainty of knowing that she would return.

[roublardise]

tag game - 20 questions for fic writers

YAAAY thank you for the tag @dogearedheart i love talking about my own stuff 💕

i'm unlocking some secret fanfic facts about myself that only two people know about!!

.

1. how many works do you have on ao3?

17 i can't believe it.... only 6 on my spn pseud which is my main one at this point

2. what's your total ao3 word count?

107 433 😳

3. what fandoms do you write for?

i only write for spn rn. the 11 other ao3 fics are from my vld era, and they keep getting kudos it means so much to me.... tho it's not my best works lmao i'm glad it still resonates with some people especially bc i wrote them for trans & autistic teenagers and like, you go ily

now, here's the secret facts: before ao3 and writing fics in english, i wrote many things in french. my main fandoms were Yuri!!! on Ice (i was in the french trenches!!) and Notre-Dame de Paris (the book & musical)

4. top five fics by kudos

i'm done taking the vld fics into account, so it's only spn stats:

You therefore must be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect

It's new - the shape of your body

The Way Home

amidst ashes and feathers

here come the fallen, here come the failed ones

5. do you respond to comments?

i can't really say i do 😔 i TRY to, and sometimes i DO!! i used to reply to some on ff.net and i loved discussing with readers & other writers, but it's very time consuming and i already don't get much writing time anymore

so i take a while especially to longer comments bc i wanna give it justice? idk. i already struggle a lot with responding to my besties' texts so yeh ao3 comments aren't my priority unfortunately. they do mean everything to me and i screenshot them and read them and reread them and read them again like 😭😭

6. what is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

hmmm i think it's my unfinished french Yuri!!! on Ice fic lmao. the ending is still in the drafts but it's very bittersweet bc the main relationship doesn't like, fall in love together and all. i play with that trope of "i'm not gonna fall in love!! *does anyway*" with an aro character and they will not, in fact, fall in love.

but the other character will with someone else and so it's this change of relationship that can get pretty heartbreaking still, bc something is still ending. well, more like evolving into smth else but a huge part of what they've shared is kinda lost and it's sad (<- fic written by a situationship survivor)

7. what's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

amidsts ashes and feathers TO ME!!! The Way Home's pretty happy as well but blablabla they kiss romance whatever, it's an easy answer.

now my Mary's fic is about finding community and she starts to collect every part of herself to be herself and she finally feels welcome somewhere 💕 pretty open ending and it's not much about reconnecting with dean & sam it's about taking steps yipeee

8. do you get hate on fics? i haven't gotten any so far!

not a big enough fanfic writer for this

9. do you write smut?

i've never done it in english.... YET 😏 if/when i drop my bela x meg you'll see. things happen!

i can't really say i've done it in french either tbh bc i never went super explicit but i did write many kinky scenes at this point so it's like. very sensual at least.

10. craziest crossover?

i don't do crossovers

12. have you ever had a fic translated?

not by someone else, but i've translated a few of my own things from french to english!

13. have you ever co-written a fic before?

yes!! i wrote a three-chapter thingy with @littlehaize that i think we deleted bc it was 10 years ago LMAO. it was very fun to do!

14. all-time favorite ship?

well...... no one will ever be destiel. however it's a fanfic ask and i do not write them much, so my fondness goes for sapphic ships and ships that are not canon. always been a rarepair girlie (gn)

15. what's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

oh for sure my dean & sam portraits. i had actually started a kind of sequel to You therefore must be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect, that was like, "From the same soil we've grown and yet he doesn't know"

GOOD stuff in there, but it was back in 2021. since then my spn takes have changed so even if i took it back up i'd have to rewrite it from scratch + i'm not super interested in it anymore. i started this at a specific time in my life, and now i'm onto new things, different issues, same themes but different takes!

16. what are your writing strengths?

poetic prose!! it's about creating emotions and imageries.... lots of my fics are character studies for a reason, i just like exploring ideas and that's what i've been doing for the longest time

17. what are your writing weaknesses?

worldbuiling LMAO. do NOT look too closely into my fics' timeline and chronology, i try my best but there's also a point where i stop trying. sometimes everything is vague bc it says smth with the story and/or bc it goes with the genre, but also bc it's vague in my own head

18. thoughts on dialogue in another language?

i did that!! i think sometimes it's a better choice depending what the story is saying, like slipping some foreign language than one character speak and not the other to say smth (show what a character is still too afraid to say / it's hot / etc). in The Way Home i tried to insert actual ASL in some dialogues, and it felt important both for the disabled rights and bc like, bilingual life sometimes you have the right word in one language and not the other (and again, it says smth)

sometimes it's not quite relevant to actually write it down in the language, just mentioning what it is is enough. different choices for different contexts and stories 🤷‍♂️

19. favorite fic you've written?

The Way Home 💖 i love amidst ashes and feathers so much i have to mention it as well. but ultimately i have a fondness for longer stories bc i have very few of them!! The Way Home is a first in that regard, longest finished work of mine. i spent 3 years with this story and it's gonna be forever with me just like the city i left behind when i posted the last chapter :) it means a lot on a personal level

20. tagging: @littlehaize 🫶