#the brain worms made my brain smooth

[lionblaze03-2]

Drew some of the cats from cats!

(Munkustrap, Jennyanydots and Old Deuteronomy respectively <3)

two of these were drawn like two years ago and one was drawn tonight! Can you guess which is which? Hint; it’s the one with a drastically different lineart style oops it’s incredibly obvious

[textmel8r]

[ DRABBLE ] 𝐎𝐅𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒 ! ( fourth installment ) in which you are forced to plan a corporate event with your office enemy .

୨୧˚ part; one. two. three. four. five. six. seven. eight. nine. ten. eleven.

୨୧˚ incl; kento nanami

୨୧˚ cw; smut (?) , dub-con , alcohol consumption , profanity

( flashback; ) Wreaths and holly plants decked the usually barren, white walls of the seventh floor office level, and soft Christmas music looped on the overhead speaker in attempts to induce a jolly spirit. Colleagues conversed, discussing plans for December break over plastic cups of spiked cider. Everyone seemed in high morale; even Gakuganji, who donned a cheaply made Santa suit, still wrinkled from its time being folded in a package. Your first ever office party was about as much as you expected–not the worst time, but certainly not the best time, either. It didn’t help that you were still technically the “newbie” despite having been a member of the company for a few months at that point. Man, it was hard to make friends in an office full of stoic suits.

You remain near a far wall, slumped against the oversized copy machine with a drink in hand. Nobody had even appreciated your dress; a modest crimson thing with white, cottony trims to mimic Old Saint Nick. Figures. You pout into your cup, knocking back a heavy swig.

“Woah-ho, you sure went all out.”

The dialogue was unexpected and you sputter on a swallow of liquor, startled. A preemptive hand pats your back, something like a mother trying to burp a newborn. You swallow your spit at last, recollect yourself, and whip your head up to follow the source of the voice that nearly killed you. There stood a man tall and spindly in his stature with the most beautifully long, goldish hair drawn back into a ponytail. He is dressed down, wearing a simple pair of dark jeans and a sweater in favor of the suits nearly everyone else sported. 

“You shouldn’t sneak up on ladies,” comes your meager reply. Your free hand smooths down the skirt of your dress, and you clear your throat. “You scared the shit out of me.”

The man smiles apologetically. “Ah, I noticed. My bad.”

“It’s okay. Just… just don’t do it again.”

“Roger that.” He has his own drink, and you manage to catch a glimpse of it over the rim of the solo cup. It’s a dark, murky color, much more amberish than the cider that was being served. “I haven’t seen your face around before, it made me curious.”

“I secured a position here during spring.” Now that you think about it, he was unfamiliar to you as well. You would have definitely remembered that ponytail. “Are you–I mean, do you work in this building?”

He shakes his head. “Nah, they got me holed up in the Shibuya location,” he winks, leaning in. “I make it a habit to come to all the office parties, though. I can’t resist a little holiday cheer.” Two bony knuckles move to brush delicately against the trim of your dress. “I’m Haruta Shigemo, and you’re…?”

“Not interested.” 

Shigemo juts his bottom lip out. “C’mon, don’t be like that. I can’t know your name?”

Holding an index finger to your chin, you pretend to think about it. “What will you give me in return?”

A smirk worms its way onto Shigemo’s thin lips. He angles his hip toward you and pulls up the hem of his knitted sweater, gesturing to the uncanny flask half sticking out of his jeans’ pocket. “I brought good stuff,” he sings quietly, away from prying ears, and suddenly you understand the reason for his drink being a couple shades too dark. “And I’m good at sharing.”

Yeah, maybe it wasn’t the wisest decision to accept unknown liquor from a virtual stranger, you should’ve really considered all of the possible outcomes to this situation. You’d already had a little over two cups of warmed cider, rotating on the axis between tipsy and full on drunkenness. Your foggy brain didn’t care much to think about how some of this so-called “good stuff” would only lead to an inevitable, total inebriation. Or, a less likely but just as concerning scenario, Shigemo’s flask could be chock full of poison. Either way, you were itching to turn a less-than-okay party experience into a fun one.

“Y/n L/n,” you said finally, and Shigemo looks pleased. Strategically as to not give away the secret, he stood before you and widened his shoulders to create a makeshift cover while he poured a solid few glugs from flask to your cup. Immediately, the booze reeks of something strong like industrial glass cleaner. Your nose wrinkles as the stench singes the hair from your nostrils. “Smells fucking rancid.”

“Maybe you’re just not used to top shelf liquor?” Was that a dig? You’ll show him that you’re plenty accustomed with expensive booze (you’re not. not at all).

So you drank it. The taste of piss mixed with vinegar nearly made you retch, but after your second glass and an assload of determination, it started to taste… good? Maybe this Shigemo guy wasn’t too bad. The rest of the night was a blur of silly dancing to dumb Christmas songs, ugly laughing at the horse calendars pinned to the wall, and… well, the bathroom.

“We shouldn’t be doing this.” Your tone was breathy, a cross between giggly and pure apprehension. There in the men’s restrooms, you were perched up on the sink counter. That festive dress was slipped up around your hips by two slender, greedy hands, and a tiny waist worked between your thighs. Shigemo kissed you into silence.

“Why not?” He kisses you again, fumbling with his belt buckle. He’s nipping down your neck, whispering, “The risk is so fucking hot.”

And oh goodness, was he a man on a mission. Tearing the collar of your dress down beneath your breasts, fingering holes into your sheer stockings, stuffing a fist inside your panties… You were in no state of coherence to stop him.

Had it not been a professional obligation on his part to attend this year’s Christmas party, Nanami finds himself fantasizing about all the ways he’d much rather be spending this brisk winter evening. Probably soaking in his tub, nursing a glass of red wine and working on that book he’d been putting off thanks to the ungodly amount of work on his plate as of late. Then, he’d exercise those cooking skills he seldom had time to use and prepare a meal that had much more to offer than these feeble, sugary snacks at this party. Seriously? Cookies and cake? They were adults for goodness sake.

The floor was stuffy and claustrophobia-inducing. Everywhere he turned, Nanami was accidentally bumping somebody with his shoulder or his elbow or some other limb he lost track of. And the conversations were abysmal. Nanami has always been good with his words—he had to be in a profession like this—but Christ, talking to his zombies-for-coworkers was a worse fate than death itself. They drone on about office assignments, about deadlines and paperwork with no hint of light behind their eyes. Is that what he looks like to others? A worrisome thought, that Nanami was just as much of a slave to the corporate world as they were.

The deep train of thought is cut off before it spirals when red catches his eye. A dress red as rubies sticks out like a sore thumb among the sea of blacks and blues and grays of suits. You’re dressed in a silly get up, like those Mrs. Claus actresses in the malls that take pictures with children. Y/n L/n, Nanami recalls your name. He knows you, the newest employee in the office. He’s had very few chances to speak with you, and when he did it mostly consisted of him relaying orders from Mr. Gakuganji. But even in those brief instances, Nanami saw it plain as day: you were different. The first lively fool he’d seen in a while, eyes still glinting with the prospects of optimism and naive hope for the future. Foolish indeed, but he couldn’t bring himself to hate it. You were a breath of fresh air, but Nanami knew that it was only a matter of time before you were beaten and battered into another mindless cog in the corporation's machine.

A strange urge bloomed within the hollows of the man's chest; an urge that told him to initiate communication with you. Perhaps just a "hello" at the very least, seeing as you were his direct subordinate. It was the polite thing to do, right? Or maybe that was just a weak excuse he convinced himself of because Nanami didn't want to admit that you intrigued him in every sense of the word. You would provide an interesting back and forth, something Nanami desperately craved in the throes of this tedious party.

Golden eyes scanned the room. But no matter how long and meticulous he stared into the mass of bodies, Nanami could not locate the shade of red that had incited this search to begin with. There was a muted pit of disappointment the settled heavy in his stomach when he came to the realization that you simply were gone. He didn't doubt the probability that you ditched, no, he'd commend you for doing something he could not. Nanami sighs under his breath, lets his shoulders droop, and takes the last swig of his drink (water of course, the spiked cider was much too sweet for his tastes) before maneuvering through the crowd towards the bathroom. A five minute breather alone in a stall sounded like Heaven on Earth.

He shouldered through the metallic door, eyes closed, fingers tugging the knot of his too-tight tie as he stepped inside the restrooms. Only the sound of a feminine gasp was what pried his heavy eyelids open.

All three bodies froze: Nanami by the entrance with a slack jaw and wide eyes, a man he vaguely recalls from the Shibuya district stood between a pair of opened legs with his jeans tugged down to mid-thigh, and you. You, with your stupidly red dress in disarray, the neckline dipped below your bare breasts and the lower hem bunched up around the curve of your waistline. There you were, sitting up on the sink completely exposed... God, that bastard's hand was still buried down the front of your panties.

As if time suddenly unfroze, said bastard rips his hands away from your most delicate parts in favor of pulling his jeans back up. Nanami blinks once before cocking his head to the side at the unnatural speed of light, focusing on the faux plant in the corner, the uneven tiles beneath his dress shoes, the cracks in the eggshell paint on the wall... anything besides your indecent self.

"Whoops, would ya' look at that?" Shibuya fucker laughs halfheartedly as he fumbles with the button on his jeans, flustered and giggly. "Guess we got a little carried away there, my bad man!" He slinks towards the door, towards Nanami, but pauses. "Hey, you're Nanami Kento, right?"

"Yes." It's a cold response. Nanami doesn't look to the other man, instead he keeps his eyes trained down as to not get another eyeful of you.

"Aha right! Well," Shibuya fucker sweatdrops, clasping a hand over Nanami's shoulder. "Let's keep this a secret from the higher ups?"

The elder grimaces. "Please don't touch me."

The hand is ripped away. Shibuya fucker shows his palms in sort of a defensive stance as more anxious chuckles erupt from his throat. "Good seeing you, then!" And with that, he slips out of the bathroom leaving you high and dry. The prick didn't even bother to stay and help you get recollected.

"I'm decent." You sound meek, a tone Nanami has yet to hear from you thus far. It sounds small. Humiliated. "You... you can look now."

So he does, only to regret it. There you are, hopped off the sink and standing before him in a pitiful display. Your slender neck was tainted with love marks, darkened bruises bit into flesh with little artistry. Your stockings were shredded carelessly, bits of plumpness squishing through the holes. Your hair was mussed, forehead sweaty, lipstick smeared and... why was Nanami so irritated by the sight?

"What..." He starts, trying to find the words. "What is the matter with you?"

You gawk. "Nothing."

"Nothing." Nanami scoffs, hands pressed to his hips. "How careless could you possibly be? Fucking at a work event? I mean, for fuck's sake Y/n."

"I'm sorry, okay?" Your words are clipped. As if you have any right to catch an attitude with him right now.

"Sorry doesn't change the fact that you..." His sentence trails off into a tiny, frustrated growl scratching from the back of his tongue. The man takes his nose bridge between his thumb and forefinger. "The door was unlocked. Anyone could've walked in and saw you like that!" Exposed. Bare. Vulnerable.

"I don't know what else you want to hear other than sorry." Nanami doesn't miss the microscopic vocal crack in the word sorry. You hug yourself tight, forearms crossed over your chest. Your shoulders stutter, and your lips are sucked between your teeth to hide the wobble in them. "I'm... sorry."

You dress strap hangs off your shoulder. Nanami can't peel his gaze away from the strip of fabric. He takes a slow step in, gauging your reaction to it. You don't show any signs of discomfort, so he advances closer. The red strap is dainty against his rough fingers, so he cautions himself to be extra gentle when slipping it back up into place.

"Thanks," you sniffle.

He shushes you. Nanami isn't done yet, far from it. You still look disheveled and sad and weepy and he can't fucking stomach it for some ungodly reason. So he gets to work, first wetting a paper towel in the bathroom sink—the same one you'd been getting groped on a mere few minutes prior—and gingerly swipes away the smeared makeup from your kiss-swollen lips. Then, he's taking it upon himself to straighten out your hair. You let him stroke down your baby hairs without pushback, limply letting him rearrange your appearance as if you were some sort of life sized doll.

Nanami steps back to admire his work. The evidence of foreplay was nearly gone, save for the dreadful state of your stockings and those ugly teeth-shaped indents down the side of your neck. “Take those stockings off before you leave the bathroom,” he utters. “They look…” Slutty is the word that comes to mind first, but he’d never say it aloud. So he leaves it at that.

You’re looking at him with an unreadable expression. If anything, Nanami discerns a little concern in the way your brows turn upwards. “Are you going to tell anyone about this?”

He wants to oh so bad. To be the lame tattletale and snitch to Mr. Gakuganji because fraternization is wrong, and fraternization in the workplace is double wrong. “I should report you,” there’s a pregnant pause, “but I won’t.”

Why? He asks himself.

You seemed to have read his thoughts. “Why?”

Nanami doesn’t have an answer to that. Where is this slice of mercy coming from? All he knows for certain is that staring at the trembling woman in front of him any longer will have him blow a fuse. “Go home, Y/n.” It’s the last thing he offers before turning on his heel and walking back out into the Christmas function, swallowing down each and every confusing feeling swirling around his brain.

likes and reblogs are appreciated !

tags . • @justbelljust @amnmich @ti-mame @silkija @maddietries @vyntagei @ebrysteria @aesukuni

[strangerstilinski]

sharing a stiles thought i keep thinking bc brainrot and sharing bc you’d appreciate it

he would beg you to do the spiderman kiss and immediately fall as soon as it actually happens

i know this wasn't technically a request of any sort but oh boy did it tickle at the nearly nonexistent inspiration in my brain, so.. here we are. just a very short fluffy little thing that made me feel all warm inside. x

You tug at the sleeves of your sweatshirt in an attempt to cover your cold knuckles as you take an overly-cautious step out onto your front porch, hugging one arm around your ribs as a shiver wracks your body all while your grip tightens around your cell phone.

“Stiles, if this is one of your jokes-” A sigh escapes you, a wispy cloud of fog pushing past your lips as you look around for your boyfriend. There's a familiar blue jeep parked at the edge of your driveway, but the owner doesn’t seem to be anywhere in sight. You tut softly into the phone, “I think your pranks are cute, baby. Really, I do, but I need to study-”

Your socked feet carry you that much farther outside, shuffling slow across the smooth planks of wood underfoot while you cautiously scour the yard for his familiar figure.

“I'm right-” There's a scratchy crackle against the speaker just as you hear a scuffle from somewhere to your left. Stiles' yelp meets your ears twice, once from the dark emptiness at the edge of the porch, and then again half a second later through the phone.

It's just as you're just stepping up to the edge of the porch, hand falling to grip the railing as you squint into the darkness, when something drops down from above and makes you flinch back with a small scream.

“Here!” Stiles grins, the momentum of his body still making him sway forward and backward for a moment as he hangs upside down in front of you. He's dangling from the roof overhanging the porch, his torso curled around the edge in a way that can't possibly be comfortable, but he's grinning like he couldn't be more pleased with his current position.

“Stiles!” You scold, reining in the urge to punch his shoulder and instead redirecting the motion to simply grip at his biceps when he reaches out for you. The slow motion of his swinging slows under your steady hold, “Are you insane? You're banned from climbing on the roof! We- We have talked about this-”

“Neh, eh, eh,” He interrupts with a goofy grin, “The rule was that I can't climb on Scott's roof-”

While you don't remember the specifics, you have no doubt that your boyfriend would have been clever enough to worm some sort of loophole into his previous promise. Your nose scrunches up in annoyance while your heart continues thumping wildly in your chest, both from the scare and from the panic pooling in your gut as you watch your boyfriend shuffle and slip another inch or so over the edge of the roof.

“Sti, babe, please,” You whine anxiously, fingers digging into his arms a little meanly, “Stop moving around, alright? You're going to fall!”

“I'm not gonna fall,�� Stiles rolls his eyes and he reaches a hand out to brush against your cheek, his pinky brushing the apple your cheek as his thumb presses lightly into your jaw, “Come on, don't you wanna know why I'm up here?”

You sigh softly, a small smile pulling at the corner of your lips while you release him with just one hand so that you can run your fingers through his floppy hair where it hangs loosely beneath his head. Your hand scrapes lightly though the soft strands, your cheek pushing imperceptibly into the warmth of his palm.

“Why are you on the roof, Sti?” You ask begrudgingly.

“Spiderman.”

“Spiderman?” You repeat slowly.

“Spiderman!” Stiles grins, “You know, the first one. The Raimi one-”

“Like.. Andrew Garfield?” You clarify with furrowed brows.

“What?” Stiles scoffs, “No! Toby Maguire! Baby, we watched them together-”

He looks appalled, mouth gaping just slightly in incredulity.

“Well, we watched the Andrew Garfield ones together too-” You defend with a small laugh, amusement filling your chest at just how worked up he seems to be getting by your mistake.

“The first one!” Stiles repeats in a huff, “Because that's the one where it's raining and he saves MJ and he's hanging upside-down in the alley and she pulls his mask down to kiss him as a thank you-”

“Ooh, a wet, New York City alleyway,” You tease, “How romantic.”

Stiles groans woefully, “This was supposed to be romantic. You are totally ruining this for me, right now, you know-”

His words do make you feel a little bad. He'd clearly put some thought into the idea. He'd climbed all the way up onto the roof of your porch, though you're still not quite sure how — there's no ladder in sight.

You plaster a sweet smile on your lips, slipping your feet up onto the rung at the bottom of the railing to boost you up another few inches, until your nose is level with Stiles' chin.

“I'm sorry, Stiles,” You murmur softly, chin tipping toward your chest so you can look into his eyes, “You wanted a big, superhero movie kiss?”

His adam's apple bobs when he swallows, his body reacting naturally to the familiar teasing lilt in your voice, “Uh huh.” He nods.

“Well gee,” You sigh wistfully as you drag a finger up the side of his cheek in a slow trail toward his mole-speckled neck, “You are awfully brave for climbing up there. And you did do it with the intention of wooing me..” Your teeth pull lightly at your lower lip and his eyes track the movement, “Maybe I could show you just how brave and sweet I think you are. Maybe.. I could show you how grateful I am, that you were willing to risk getting hurt for me.”

Stiles is nodding along, eyes wide with anticipation and cheeks flushed dark from a combination of your words and the blood rushing to his head in his current position, “Yeah.” He rasps weakly.

Your fingers curl around the back of his neck, your lips catching against his in just a light brush of skin, teasing. His lips part beneath your own and your warm breath mingles in the narrow space, the scent of spearmint overtaking your senses for a moment.

The hand on your cheek drags you closer in a gentle nudge as he grows impatient, and your mouths meet in a slightly awkward press of lips. Something about the new angle with such a familiar action scratches at the back of your brain, and you tilt your head just slightly when your mouths separate and rejoin only a second later.

Stiles presses his thumb softly into the hinge of your jaw in a silent request for you to open your mouth, his tongue catching on your lower lip before pressing inside and meeting your own.

Your tangle your fingers in the soft hairs at the nape of his neck. Another wet peck to his lips has him shuffling forward to chase your mouth the moment you ease back, and he seems to slip just a little further over the edge of the roof.

“Careful.” You warn softly.

“'m always careful.” Stiles whispers, his upturned nose pushing into your jaw as he kisses you again.

You lean back after allowing him another moment of indulgence. Stiles seems to follow the movement again, pitching forward as you go back like you're two magnets, but this time around he slips just a bit too far to allow for recovery. You can only watch on with wide eyes while he comes tumbling down from the roof and crashes into the bushes below with a small scream.

“Oh my god!” You gasp, leaning over the railing to watch your boyfriend roll into the grass with a groan, “Are you okay?”

“Never better.” Stiles manages weakly, voice hoarse.

“You sure about that, Spiderman?” You tease hopefully as you watch him drag himself to his feet, brushing himself off to free the small bits of branches and leaves and dirt that are now clinging to his clothes.

“Yeah,” Stiles sighs, “Yeah, 'm good.”

“Good,” You grin, beckoning him closer when he finishes ridding himself of yard debris and meets your eye, “You should get yourself a mask though. I hear masked superheroes tend get more than just kisses and I have to admit, I think it's kinda hot-”

“Noted,” Stiles agrees with wide eyes, tripping over his own feet and the porch stairs as he rushes toward you, “Fucking- Shit, I am so on it.”

[moonselune]

Could I please request headcanons or a Drabble for postgame Tailor!Astarion x reader? The worms are eating my brain I can’t stop thinking about him pinning dresses on his s/o with a measuring tape round his neck

The brain worms entered my head as well upon reading this

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Tailor!Astarion xf!reader | The Most Beautiful Mannequin

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Astarion worked with a meticulous grace, his hands sure and steady as they roamed over your body, pinning fabric here and there. It was strange, to see him in this domestic light. Gone was the battle-hardened vampire spawn with his daggers and shortswords in hand, now replaced by a man who had found peace in the art of tailoring, his fingers just as deft with needle and thread as they’d been with blades.

The light of the afternoon sun spilled through the window of your shared home, bathing the room in a warm glow. You stood in front of the mirror, dressed in little more than the fabric he’d carefully draped over you, while Astarion worked around you like an artist with his masterpiece.

He was muttering something to himself, eyes narrowed in concentration as he adjusted the hem of the dress. A length of measuring tape hung around his neck, and a handful of pins were tucked between his lips, their metallic gleam catching the light. Every now and then, he’d pluck one from his mouth and secure a fold of fabric, his fingers brushing against your skin in a way that sent a shiver up your spine.

“You know,” he said around the pins, his voice slightly muffled but still carrying that familiar, teasing lilt, “this would go much faster if you could stay still for even half a minute.”

“I’m trying,” you protested, though the soft laugh that followed betrayed your amusement. “It’s not easy when you keep poking me with pins.”

“Well, if you didn’t wriggle so much, my dear, I wouldn’t have to poke you,” he countered, raising an eyebrow as he removed the pins from his mouth and placed them on a nearby table. “Honestly, you’d think you’d never been fitted for a dress before.”

“Not by someone like you,” you murmured, letting your eyes linger on him for a moment. He wore a simple linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up, exposing the pale, smooth skin of his forearms, and there was a casual elegance to him that made your heart skip a beat.

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” he replied with a smirk, though you could see the faint flush that crept up his neck. “Now, arms up. I need to see how this falls.”

You obliged, lifting your arms as he instructed, and he stepped closer, his body brushing against yours as he adjusted the fabric over your shoulders. You could feel the warmth radiating off him, the gentle press of his fingers as they smoothed out a crease. His touch was so light, so careful, as if he was afraid that one wrong move might tear the delicate material—or perhaps tear you.

He took a step back, scrutinizing his work with a critical eye, before making another adjustment, his fingers brushing against your waist.

“Much better,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. “You know, I must say, you do make for quite the lovely mannequin.”

“Mannequin?” you repeated, giving him a mock glare. “I didn’t realize I’d been reduced to nothing more than a glorified coat hanger.”

“Well, if you could refrain from moving every other second, perhaps I could start seeing you as something more,” he teased, his lips quirking into that familiar, devilish grin. “But alas, you’re not making it easy, darling.”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re adorable,” he shot back without missing a beat, stepping closer once more.

This time, his hands rested on your hips, his touch lingering, and you felt your heart skip a beat as he leaned in, his breath ghosting against your ear.

“Besides,” he murmured, “it’s not every day I get to play dress-up with the most beautiful person in all the realms.”

You felt a blush creep up your cheeks at his words, and you bit your lip to keep from smiling too widely.

“You’re incorrigible,” you muttered.

“And yet, you adore me,” he replied smugly, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck before he pulled away to continue his work.

For a while, you stood there in comfortable silence, letting him work his magic. Every so often, you’d catch him stealing glances at you in the mirror, a soft, almost tender expression crossing his face before he quickly masked it with that practiced smirk. It was those moments that made your heart ache with affection, that reminded you just how much he’d changed, how far you’d both come since the days of endless battles and bloodshed.

“There,” he said finally, stepping back to admire his handiwork. “What do you think?”

You turned to look at yourself in the mirror, your breath catching in your throat. The dress was exquisite, the fabric hugging your body in all the right places, the cut and stitching flawless. It was a work of art, and you couldn’t help but marvel at how perfectly it suited you, as if it had been made for you—and in a way, it had.

“It’s beautiful,” you breathed, turning to face him, your eyes shining with gratitude. “You’re amazing, Astarion.”

He shrugged, though you could see the pride in his eyes, the way his chest puffed out just a little.

“Well, I do try,” he said, though his voice was softer now, more genuine. “I’m glad you like it.”

“I love it,” you corrected, reaching out to take his hand in yours. “And I love you.”

He blinked, his eyes widening slightly before he let out a soft laugh, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.

“Always so sentimental,” he teased, though there was no bite to his words, only warmth. “But for once, I suppose I’ll allow it.”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips.

“Thank you,” you said, leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek. “For everything.”

He hummed, a pleased sound rumbling in his chest as he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you close.

“Anything for you, darling,” he murmured against your lips, his eyes shining with a love that made your heart feel like it might burst. “Anything at all.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Oh I actually adore Tailor!Astarion so much, and I hope you guys adore him too! - Seluney xox

If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x

[lixies-favorite-cookie]

Pretty like poetry ◦ l.f

-felix always tended to hate the freckles that adorned his face, believing they were blemishes that deserved to be hidden under layers of foundation, but what will he do when you convince him that his freckles were pretty—pretty like poetry?

Paring◦ Lee Felix x Fem!Reader

Words◦ 2681

Genre ◦ Fluff with i think some hurt and comfort low on the hurt heavy on the comfort

Warnings ◦ Felix being kinda dramatic, he's also really insecure(felt), Weird dialogue (I wrote this half alseep please bare with me, babes), honestly there's nothing in here but some cute hurt and comfort where you spend the night at his house and you catch him barefaced🤷, spelling errors and shitty punctuation (you're on my page what's new).

A/N ◦ to all the people that say felix's freckles are like stars I promise I'm not targeting you guys I'm just yapping and that's what my brain came up with please don't like come at me 😭🙏 this is just a silly little fic I wrote to try to practice my "poetry" skills idk what half of this is but hey what can you do 🤷 also I really fuck with the mood board on this REMBER IF YOU LIKE IT PLEASE TELL ME I GET REALLY INSECURE ABOUT MY WRITING okay enough yapping for one night hope you enjoy pretty <3

Your relationship with Felix was still budding like a freshly planted flower, waiting for the petals to unfurl. You liked Felix. You really, really liked Felix, but there were still a few things you hadn't done with him yet, like bake brownies, sit under the stars while you secretly stared at him instead of the sky, shared an ice cream cone under the hot summer sun, but spending the night at his house was long past due, especially after the 4-hour movie night filled with giggles, kisses, and popcorn being thrown all over the place, your throat was still sore from the amount of laughing you two were partaking in. He made you feel safe, happy, loved, and that's all that matters right now, that, and when he shyly offered for you to spend the night, how could you refuse, with his red ears and fidgeting fingers making you just want to fold him up and stuff him in your pocket, never letting the gross evil world dull his sparkle.

You rub the towel over your hair before hanging it back up on the rack and walking out into the bedroom, fresh from your shower. You smirk, noticing the way his eyes widen, scraping over your body, adorned with the baggy clothes he lent you.

He isn't getting these back.

You flop onto the bed, bouncing into his arms.

"Hi darling," he beams, looking down at you with sparkling eyes and, well, sparkling cheeks too. You squint, wondering if what you were suspecting was true. As he tilts his face away from yours, you notice it in the glint of the light.

He still has his makeup on.

You furrow your brows. "Are you going to take your makeup off?" You ask, words feeling heavy on your tongue.

"Oh," his eyes linger away from yours. "No, I'm too tired," he smiles, but it's weak, fitting weird on his mouth. Concern worms its way into your bones.

“You shouldn't leave makeup on your face overnight, Felix; it can hurt your skin,” you say, carefully grazing a finger over his smooth cheek. He grabs your wrist gingerly, watching you with wide, glittering eyes.

“I just want to hold you right now. Can I do that?" You stare at him cautiously, debating whether you should press the issue further. “Please,” he whispers. You can tell in the soft hues of his irises; he's begging you to drop it, so you do, reluctantly, of course.

“Fine,” you sigh, your eyelids drooping as you pull the covers over your shoulders, shimming into the mattress to get comfortable. His muscular arm wraps around your waist, dragging you into his warm chest.

“Don't be mad, please,” he mumbles, leaving soft kisses on the top of your head. You turn over to face him, your brows turned in worry.

"I'm not mad, I promise Lix, I just don't want you to be uncomfortable.”

“Trust me, darling, I'm anything but uncomfortable, especially with my beautiful girlfriend lying in the same bed as me.” He tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear. His deep voice makes your cheeks flare with heat, flustered beyond what should be scientifically possible.

“Will you stop trying to rizz me up and go to bed?" You shriek into his shirt, he chuckles, the sound rumbling from deep in his chest.

"Rizz is an interesting word to use; I like that, actually."

"Turn the light off." You whine, pulling the cloth over your eyes.

"Flustered, baby?" He teases.

Oh, it's on.

He wants to battle; he's getting the whole war.

You don't know what came over you as you snaked your hand under the hem of his tee shirt, running your fingers across the hard ridges of his abs. His breath hitches in his throat. You tilt your chin up, resting it on his chest.

“Flustered, baby?” Your tone is smooth and sultry, his eyes are screwed up, lip curled into his teeth.

“Baby,” he chokes as you slip your hand higher.

"You sure you don't wanna turn off that light?"

"Yep, yes, on that r-right now," he stutters, scrambling to turn off the lights, especially as heat crawls up his ears, flushing across his cheeks. You giggle as the room spills into darkness, butterflies filling your stomach when he pulls your head back on his chest.

"You know, I'm surprised I still have a neck with the amount of whiplash you just gave me. I mean, there you were, all red cheeks and all of a sudden boom! Fingers, abs, and me, red cheeks," he rambles, squeezing you closer. "Your duality is truly insane."

You chuckle, loving the way his body engulfs you, pulling you under the waves of warmth and slumber. Silence creeps between the two of you until-

“Thank you for staying,” He whispers.

"Always.” You manage to utter right before-

You

D r o w n.

You don't remember when you woke up or what got you to the bathroom; you just know you're there, and with the need to pee becoming pretty overwhelming without thinking, you go to turn the knob.

"Wait," Felix screeches, slamming his body against the door.

 “Fuck Felix” You jump back, your heart practically hopping out of your chest. You gasp, holding yourself onto the door frame. If you were even a little bit sleepy then, you are wide the fuck awake now, your heart still thumping wildly in your ribcage.

“I need to pee. Can I come in?”

“No! Don't come in here, please!” He begs.

“Why? Felix, you only have one bathroom; if we aren’t close enough to use the bathroom in front of each other, that's fine. I just really need to pee. Now, can I please come in?”

He stops, waits for a few moments.

“You can’t turn on the light, and you have to shut your eyes."

“Felix, what?” You ask, exasperated, almost ready to just open the door and make him explain why he's tripping balls over something so trivial as using the bathroom. “What's really going on?” You're met with silence before a small whisper lingers from behind the wood. You could almost see it, his insecure frame curled into itself.

"I'm barefaced." Your gaze softens

"Felix,” you chuckle, “do you really think I care about something like that, especially at this time of night I can barely see my toes, let alone you, please?” You beg, your voice airy and light trying to dull is anxiety for the sake of your bladder and his dignity. “I'm coming in.” You turn the knob, but its quickly met with the door locking.

"No, stop it, y/n, I'm serious."

"What's the matter with you?" You huff, annoyance creeping into your veins, no matter how hard you push it back.

"I'm not ready to show you what I look like without makeup yet, okay!" He snaps, aggravated over something that seems so trivial to you. He should know you would never care about something as shallow as his bareface. He's gorgeous, with or without makeup. You know that, apparently, he doesn't.

"Felix," You sigh, your voice Is laced with sympathy, hoping to coax him out of this insecure rut he has himself in.

"Please," You lean your head on the door. Sometimes you wish you could serve him your heart on a silver platter—show him that it will only ever beat for him. Then, maybe, it would be enough to prove that no matter what he looks like under all those layers of foundation, it will never be enough to cut the little red string that ties your souls together.

The gears of the lock click under your hand.

"Okay, ground rules, before you can come in-"

You groan, banging your forehead on the frame.

"Felix," you whine, "I'm not kidding, I really need to pee."

"Y/n please," he whimpers, a desperate tilt in his voice, you can almost taste the anxiety in his tone, you cave, your heart cracking in two.

"Okay… You can't laugh at me-" You scoff, folding your arms in front of your chest defensively.

"You know I would never do that I-"

"See that's the thing! No, I don't, okay, I don't, so it's taking everything in me to open this door, so, please," his voice cracks slightly, "just let me say my piece... no laughing, no comments," he stops for a second as though he's thinking up another bullet to add to the list. "O-Okay, I think that's all," he says, words tumbling out in a nervous rush. You hear footsteps moving away from the door.

"Is it safe to come in?" You ask.

"Yeah," he clears his throat, anxiously. You pull the door open carefully, easing your way into the threshold, acting like you're walking into an active warzone. As soon as you reach the edge of the door, a hand covers your eyes.

He doesn't know why he did it; in a nervous fit of insecurity, he slapped his palm over your face.

"Felix," you yelp, "what the hell!"

"I-Im sorry, I-I just-" He feels so stupid—so pathetic—wondering why hes acting so childish about something as simple his bare face.

"Felix, can you take your hand off my eyes." He knows you don't mean it mockingly, but the way you tilt your words like you're talking to a rabid dog or an anxious toddler, makes embarrassment rip in the pit of his stomach.

"Fine," he mumbles taking his hand off your face, "J-Just remember! No laughing and no comments, o-okay, promise me!"

"I promise." You mutter as your lashes flutter open.

His heart pounds wildly in his chest, eyes darting to the floor. The last fraying string of courage he's desperately grasping at is enough for his feet to stick to the floor, but definitely not enough for him to look into your eyes. Heat crawls up his cheeks under your gaze, curling into himself—he feels so foolish like this—anxiety flooding his stomach, making his hands shake behind his back, something so minuscule, and yet he's having such a physical reaction.

You assess him, taking him all in, and as your lingering gaze stays on his face for a few seconds too long, he wants to die, fold himself up a million times. Just enough so you wouldn't look at him like that, just so he could ease the burning sense of vulnerability that rages underneath his skin.

Why are you looking at him like that?

Why aren't you saying anything?

He really wishes he didn't make that no-comment rule because now you're here, and you're looking at him, and you're perfect, and you're not saying anything.

You raise a finger to graze the freckle, which just rests underneath the fragile skin of his eye. His breath hitches, flinching away from your touch.

"Your beautiful, Felix." you gasp, voice filled with sincerity.

what?

 The earth tilts on its axis as he stares at you like you're the biggest dummy on the whole planet.

"Really?" his voice trembles with the weight of his vulnerability. It shouldn't be this big of a deal; one simple Google search and you'd be flooded with images of a barefaced Felix, but seeing it in person seemed more real, more raw. It's easy to be vulnerable behind a screen of faceless, screaming fans, but when it's you, it's different. No matter how much your eyes fill with admiration, his thick skull can't seem to sink it in, the weight of his insecurity blocking all contact with the truth. 

For years, he was told that his freckles were blemishes—that his skin needed to be flawless, a pristine, perfect white; Grade school, trainie camp, JYP studios, every fan-sign, photoshoot, concert, and music video. It felt like everywhere he looked, he was being judged, but getting it from you would feel like a paper cut turned bullet wound. 

"Your pretty Felix, but, b-but-" You search for the words, but they can't seem to come to you, an unfathomable emotion sinking into your soul.

"B-But, but what?" he stammers, nervously wrapping trembling fingers around your wrist to pull your hand away.

"I don't know how to describe it" you whisper, brows scrunched in such a deep concentration it makes him sink into himself, wishing you weren't looking at him so hard, like he was a puzzle you were trying to solve. Time seems to blur between the two of you; nothing else mattering, but the beating of your heart and the words you are trying to weave together in an attempt to make a metaphor viable enough to suit what you are trying to express, but you always came up short—sentences seeming superficial, inept, under your careful consideration.

You always knew he had freckles, the way they would shine underneath thick layers of foundation when the sun hit his face just right; they had always reminded you of stars, but stars felt overused, worn out.

Stars died.

Stars faded.

Stars were a million miles away.

Stars were something physical, but what he made you feel wasn't physical, it was spiritual, it touched you unto the deepest depths of your soul, only a feeling some form of art could invoke. His freckles were unique, his freckles were little promises on the skin, little angel kisses.

He was pretty like poetry, cause poetry wasn't supposed to be perfect; it was supppsed to make you feel something.

"W-What?" he whispers, eyes shining with a deep form of admiration—pure joy dancing on his features like a weight had been lifted from his chest, and he could finally breathe again.

"Did I say that out loud?" you chuckle, your cheeks turning a light shade of pink, bashful about your cheesy insights. Your lips must have loosened when you searched too deep in your head, "S-Sorry," you stutter, suddenly feeling incredibly stupid for making such a statement.

You're pretty like poetry, what the hell does that even mean? You turn your head to dig it into his shoulder, groaning into his skin and wrapping your arms around his waist.

"Thank you for that." He whimpers, voice crackling with emotion as his lips linger on the top of your head. You don't realize he's crying until you feel water dripping on your hair, you reel your head back surprised.

"Oh my gosh, Felix!" you cup his face to wipe his tears; it was as though a button was switched in your brain to go into full comfort mode.

"I'm so sorry if what I said hurt you, I didn't mean-" you begin, your heart crumbling into a million little pieces in your chest, knowing that the words you threw around so carelessly hurt him. He interrupts you, softly holding your wrists in his hands.

"They're happy tears, I promise." He sniffles, wiping his cheeks with the back of his arm, "T-Thats just the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me" he hiccups.

"Maybe that's because everybody was too enamored with your beauty to know what to say?" He lightheartedly shoves your face away, pulling a giggle out of you. "If you don't shut up, you might just make me fall for you." You snake your arms around his neck, ghosting your lips over his, "and what if I want you too?" you whisper, sparks crackling between the two of you, "what if I already have?" you beam, finally pressing your lips to his.

Fiction always used to tell you that a true loves first kiss was all fireworks and electricity, but even fairy tales forgot to mention, when your lips lock for the first time it isn't just the fire that ignites your soul, no, it's the overwhelming feeling that you could be separated by raging seas, roaring oceans, stretches of time, lumps of land, you could be placed on different planets divided by spills of stars surrounding the milky way galaxy, and he would still find a way to love you. It was cheesy, yes, but it was Felix, and with Felix, everything felt like poetry, because poetry wasn't supposed to be perfect it was supposed to make you feel something.

[c0la-queen]

Whispered Words | Red Leader x Reader | MDNI

Uhh, so I got the brain worms for this at midnight last night and finished it this morning when I woke up! I love soft Red Leader <3 I'm gonna try to go through my inbox later today, after I hang out with my sister this morning! Thank you all so much for your patience with me!

Words: 1.8k

Warnings: Soft spice, P in V, not super descriptive, wife!Reader, soft Red Leader, MDNI!!!!!

--

The cries of a baby pulled you out of the deep sleep you were in. Despite it being muffled by the wall, those instinctual parental feelings had you waking up anyway. You groaned softly as you stretched your legs out against the mattress, the expensive sheets smooth under your skin. The coldness of the bed made you sigh, eyes fluttering open to take in the empty side of the bed.

Red Leader had been away on a mission all weekend. It wasn't a normal occurrence, most of the time he left the field work to his trusted soldiers. But there were the rare occasions where something came up that was important enough for him to be directly involved.

You understood that it was his duty, but you couldn't help but miss him. It was easier before, earlier in your relationship. When you could hang out with other soldiers throughout the day, fulfill various duties around the base to keep your mind off him. But now that you were married and had a baby? You couldn't run away from the anxiety that plagued you. Rubbing the heel of your hand over your eye to dismiss the last ropes of sleep, you silently wished to the universe for his safety.

The sudden quiet made you pause. The baby had stopped crying. Why had she stopped crying? A spike of panic split your chest, making your heart hammer against your ribcage. Had someone broken in? Was there any way that one of the Red Army's enemies had managed to slip past the many security systems installed in your bedroom door alone?

Your hand creeped under the pile of pillows, finding the handle of the combat knife hidden there. For emergencies, Red had insisted. Seems like he was right.

Slowly, silently, you crept to the open doorway leading to the nursery. You hid the knife behind your thigh, tightening your grip on the handle. You held your breath as you approached the doorway, slowly peeking in.

A figure was standing in front of the cradle.

You raised the knife, prepared to protect your baby. Your muscles tensed as you got ready to lunge forward....

...only to freeze when you heard the whispered Norwegian words that slipped from the figures lips.

It was your husband standing there. Still dressed in his mission uniform.

All the tension poured out of your body at the sight. There was no intruder. You leaned against the doorway as the adrenaline faded away.

"Darling?”

Red Leader swiveled in surprise. He blinked at the sight of you, half asleep and disheveled in your maroon silk nightgown. His expression softened.

"I was hoping not to wake you."

You sighed and set the combat knife aside on the bookshelf next to the door. Red's eyebrows raised at the sight of it, sending you a questioning look.

"I got worried when Hilde stopped crying. I didn't realize you were home."

Red smiled softly, holding your daughter against his shoulder, patting her back gently to soothe her.

"Clever girl. I got back not too long ago. We decided to push the debriefing back until the morning."

As Red continued to coo in his native language to the fussy baby, you walked closer, wrapping your arms around him from behind. The sight was so sweet to you, seeing the big, strong army leader cradle his little daughter in his arms. You laid your head against his back.

"Are you hurt?"

That was almost always the first question you asked him when he got back from missions.

"I'm fine, min dronning."

You hummed, enjoying having him there in your arms. A smile slipped onto your face when you noticed Hilde falling back asleep, eyelids fluttering closed. Since she was up on her father's shoulder, you had to stand up on your toes to reach her, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.

"Goodnight, Hilde."

Red Leader chuckled softly, setting her back in her cradle. Once she was settled, he stepped away, turning back to you. His silver eyes drifted over you, taking in the full state of you. Despite the amusement glimmering in his silver eyes, you could see that he was tired. Dark circles sat under his eyes, and his shoulders hunched.

"You should change out of that uniform."

"I couldn't agree more, love."

Once back in the bedroom, you climbed back into the bed, settling back into your spot. Red kicked off his boots, tossing his jacket and belt onto the work desk pressed against the wall. He sat down on the edge of the bed before peeling the turtleneck off his torso.

Your breath hitched at the sight of his torso. Fresh, dark bruises littered his abdomen, splotches of burst blood vessels standing out from his beautifully pale skin.

"Who did this to you..?"

Red 'tsk'd, tossing the shirt into the hamper nearby.

"Just a little disagreement during the mission. I was hoping to hide it from you a little longer."

You crawled closer, a frown forming on your lips as you looked over the bruises. Tentatively, you reached forward, brushing your fingers feather light across the darkened skin. Red groaned softly.

"Poor thing..."

He chuckled breathlessly, setting his hands on your thighs as he pulled you to sit in his lap.

"I've had worse, min dronning. There is nothing to be concerned about, I assure you."

He leaned down, pressing his lips softly against yours. You sighed, mumbling against his lips.

"I still don't like it..."

Red's shoulders shook with laughter. He mumbled back, matching your low tone.

"I know how to take care of myself."

You deepened the kiss to shut him up, which he happily accepted. Your fingers slid into the back of his hair, fingernails gently scratching his scalp to soothe him. His fingers splayed over the skin of your thighs where the nightgown rode up, one warm flesh and the other chilled metal. Teeth nipped your bottom lip, wanting more of you, of your existence, of your warmth and softness.

You rolled your hips against his, causing him to pull his lips away from yours. A groan sounded from his throat, his silver eyes clouded with desire.

Gently, being careful of his bruises, you pushed him back, coaxing the Leader to lay on his back. He did so eagerly, looking up at you with what you could only describe as utter adoration. It made your heart skip a beat.

"Let me help you relax, min konge."

You leaned down, pressing your lips to his chest, tracing the various scars that you found. Red smiled, carefully squeezing your thighs.

"After a mission like that? I need it. Plus, how could I say no to my sweet girl~?"

A giggle bubbled out of your lips, sitting up to pull his trousers and boxers away. Too lazy (and too cold) to take your nightgown off, you simply slid your panties off and tossed them aside. Red's eyes glimmered as he took you in - though, they quickly fluttered shut at the feeling of your hips rolling, sliding your wetness along the length of him. He sighed, sliding his fingers up and down your thighs lovingly.

You reached down, slipping your hands underneath his and intertwining your fingers together. A soft whine escaped you as you moved, taking him inside of you slowly and leisurely, no rush whatsoever. The whine mixed with Red's hissed exhale, which turned into a groan from the feeling of your wet heat. His back arched off the bed slightly, comforted by the familiar feeling of you tight around him. This was safety. This was peace. This was home.

"Ffuck... min kjærlighet..."

Soft pants fell from your lips as you found an easy, sensual pace as you bounced your hips. The moonlight filtering in through the windows is your only light, bathing you both in the silvery blue glow of the Norwegian winters.

Red leaned his head back, giving soft, shaky groans. Not once did his eyes leave you, drinking in the sight before him. In his mind, he was going through a list of every deity he could think of, silently thanking them for the gift of his wife, so ethereal in the light of the moon. His hips rocked gently to meet yours, causing soft whimpers to spill from you.

"Du er så vakker min kjære...Min perfekte manglende brikke..."

It wasn't long before your pace began to falter. Three days of being apart was built up inside you both. Three days of waking up alone, three days of longing for each other, three days of yearning. A light sheen of sweat covered your skin from the effort of riding him, cooled by the cold air in your bedroom. The fire had long faded out in the fireplace, nothing but glowing embers and charred remains.

Red's breathing was ragged, body quivering from the mounting tension that was building up within his body. His hips continued to meet yours, making warmth pool below your stomach. Red's back arched again, gently squeezing your hands between his.

"Come on, min kjærlighet... come on, baby..."

Soon, that tension snapped within you both. Your hips stuttered to a stop, soft moans muffled into your intertwined hands as waves of pleasure flowed through you. Red hissed at the way you clenched around him, finding his own release.

When you collapsed against his chest, tired and panting, Red immediately wrapped his arms around you. His fingers slid soothingly along your spine. He peppered kisses all across your face, his heart filled with nothing but love and adoration.

Praises were whispered into the quiet night air, breaths mixing together as you both came down. You dragged your lips against his lips lightly.

"Feeling relaxed?

Red's shoulders shook in laughter. He pressed his lips against your forehead, smoothing the damp strands of hair away from your skin.

"Consider me completely boneless."

You both laughed softly, enjoying each other's presence. After a few minutes, you sat up, humming in content as you carefully slid off him. Red's eyes fluttered, but he remained where he was.

He hummed softly as he watched you fish your panties off the floor. His eyes traced over every curve, admiring and memorizing every acne scar, stretch mark, and sun spot.

"Vakker..."

You pursed your lips at him, tossing a pair of fresh boxers over his face.

"You need to sleep."

Red chuckled, pulling the black fabric off his face. He sat up with a groan, pulling the boxers on.

"Probably."

He moved, laying back against his pillows, before extending his arms to you like a lazy cat. You smiled, climbing into bed and cuddling up to him, allowing him to wrap his arms around you.

"Hi."

Red ran his fingers through your hair, brushing out any knots.

"Hi yourself."

"Sweet dreams, min dronning."

He rolled you both into a more comfortable position. Your back to his chest, one of his arms over your shoulder with the other underneath your pillow. His hand splayed over your stomach - a habit he developed when you were still pregnant. His legs curled up, tucked underneath yours, almost like you were sitting on his lap while laying down.

His voice was soft, lowered to a whisper.

"Sweet dreams, darling."

[inkykeiji]

character: todoroki touya | dabi x fem!reader

genre: smut | dark academia au

notes: this was technically supposed to be for the ‘ravens and crows’ prompt but it grew and it grew and it grew and so!!! here it is! set in my dark academia au!

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, toxic relationship, rough and messy facefucking, semi-public, dubcon, dacryphilia, cum swallowing

words: 2.7k

The air in the library is sticky, humid and heavy with the heat of late summer. The casement windows, made of crystal and wire, are opened wide, letting streams of setting sunlight paint the aisles unhindered. It turns the library a hazy gold, highlighting the dust motes wandering aimlessly between the shelves, dislodged from their cozy homes of old paper and rotting canvas by curious hands. 

The wind howls gently, gathering stray leaves in its gusts and hurling them in swirls at the bricks, disturbing the tap of the ravens and the caw of the crows; a warning. 

Summer will be dead soon.  

A breeze meanders through the window, cool on your damp neck, and you hum softly, fingertips trailing along the spines, looking for the gaping space to wedge this recently returned book back where it belongs. 

You’re so lost in thought that you don’t notice him; don’t hear his Balenciaga boots or his soft breath, don’t see his shadow creeping up behind you, slow and steady as it engulfs you, don’t realize anything until it’s too late, until one arm is wrapping around your hips and the other is slapping a hand over your mouth. 

The sudden action startles you, a jolt of surprise coursing through your entire body and yanking a yelp from your throat, only to be muffled by the palm clasped tightly over your lips. 

He’s laughing in your ear, low and smooth, dark and decadent, a sound that pours over your body like a slow, thick syrup, leaving trails of chills in its wake.

Bigger than you, stronger than you, smarter, faster, better than you, he spins you around with ease, trapping your body between his and the bookshelves, the sharp wooden edges cutting into your back. 

“Surprise,” his breath wafts across your face, stained with cedarwood and smoke, word drifting through a lopsided smirk. 

“Jesus, Touya,” you’re nearly panting out, chest heaving against his. “Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

“Why not?” he asks, a slight pout to his voice. “You’re so cute when you’re scared.” 

“Very funny,” you roll your eyes, attempting to push past him and back to your book trolley. 

“Hey, where you going?” his hips shove forward, forcing your legs to part, the jutting bones  carving into your inner thighs, effectively keeping you pinned. “I’m not finished with you yet.”

And although his voice is amicable enough, the glint in his eye is sharp, shimmering as it catches on the setting sun, the ghost of a shiver climbing the notches of your spine, leaving each vertebra icy with dread.

“I don’t care whether you’re finished with me or not, I have to get back to work.”

“Aw, come on, you can hang out with me for a little longer.”

“Touya, I need this job. My father doesn’t own a tech company like yours does. If I’m caught—”

“Then I will pay for whatever you need, simple as that.”

“Yeah, right,” you snort. “And con me into being indebted to you for eternity? I don’t think so.” 

“Doesn’t sound so bad.”

“Sounds like hell.”  

“I can think of worse.” 

“I don’t think I want to know what goes on in that head of yours.” 

That gets him to crack a smile; genuine, terrifying. Sapphire sweeps your face, slow and scrutinizing, gears of his brilliant brain beginning to shift in thought. A beat of silence passes before he speaks again.

“Gimme a kiss and I’ll let you go.”

“God, could you be any more cliche?” you struggle against him again, trying to worm your way free, and he pushes back hard, forcing a short, high pitched cry from your throat.

“I didn’t say on my lips.” 

“Oh, fuck off—”

“You’re brave, talking to me like that.” 

“Touya,” you say, and although it’s supposed to be a warning, firm and sharp, the name trembles on your tongue, wavering with fear. “If we get caught—”

“Look around you,” he says, eyes gleaming as he raises his brows in question. “Do you see anyone else?” 

No. You don’t. 

You don’t, because you’re in one of the furthest, deepest corners of the library; secluded, hidden, and utterly trapped. 

He’s been waiting for this. 

It dawns on you then, that he must’ve been following you, tracking you, stalking his prey and biding his time until the opportune moment to strike—when you were alone, unassuming, and entirely unarmed. 

His smirk has grown into a grin, stretched unnaturally wide across his handsome face, tinged with a deranged sort of glee. His eyes are soaking it all up, every little micro-expression that morphs your features as you realize the full weight of the situation.

“C’mon,” he breathes, hips rutting against your inner thigh in barely there gyrations. “I’ve been waiting all day for this.”

“You have?”

And you hate the sheer desperation in your voice, the question breathed out in a single breath, quick and airy on your tongue. 

“Of course I have,” he knocks his forehead against yours, malicious smile still in place, the words said like a slap to the face, like you’re so fucking stupid to think otherwise, but it’s so fucking precious how eager you are for the confirmation. “Don’t you want to be good for me and give my cock just a teensy tiny little kiss? It misses you, you know, can’t you feel how much?” 

And he sounds so fucking genuine as he shifts his hips between your thighs and presses his cock, now hot and hard, into your core, grinding up against your clit. It forces a moan from your chest, soft and pitchy, lips pressing together firmly in a pathetic attempt to silence it. 

“Don’t let me down now, sweetheart.” No, not after all the trouble he’s been through, all the watching and waiting. 

Oh, you would never, could never, even if you wanted to—no matter how badly you wanted to.

Glowing sapphire watches as you slide down his body and sink to the floor, kneecaps on his toes, delicate fingers making quick work of his belt, picking at the heavy chrome buckle and tugging at the strap. It clinks together as you undo the zipper of his jeans, the weight of the buckle pulling his pants open further, denim folding over. 

And God, his cock is so fucking pretty, dusty pink and smooth as velvet, save for that one big, thick vein that runs, almost perfectly straight, along the bottom of his shaft. 

Your mind is already beginning to evaporate into a dense fog of lust, starved for his praise and eager to please, torrents of saliva beginning to collect in the cavities of your cheeks and pool beneath your tongue.

A thick bout of shame surges through your veins, but it isn’t nearly enough to dispel the hedonistic haze Touya casts over your brain.

He holds it steady for you, a slender hand wrapped around the base, pupils gaping and unhindered as he watches you inch forward, puckered lips pressing a sweet, sloppy kiss to the tip of his cock. 

It’s open-mouthed, tongue swiping over the slit in a swift caress and collecting a weeping bead of precum, bitter and salty as it seeps into your tastebuds. 

Pulling back, you stare up at him with desperate desire slapped across your face, lips parted with panting little breaths, a glimmering thread of precum keeping your mouth connected to him, and holy Christ, he’s breathing as he smears the sticky substance across your chin and your jaw with the steadily leaking head of his cock, painting you in stringy webs of him, that’s so fucking hot.

It’s being shoved past your lips and down your throat without warning—there never is any, not with Touya—and you sputter around the unexpected intrusion, a film of reflexive tears shielding your eyes. 

“Good girl,” Touya breathes, and your jaw automatically stretches wider, peering up at him with a sort of insatiable devoutness. “Take it all for me.”

And so, you do.

Because he’s hypnotic, his presence an instant, addictive, irresistible pull, his praise and respect even more so. They’re drugs you gorge yourself on, drugs you vie and scratch and scream and claw for, drugs that make you feel pathetic, but drugs you can’t stop using nonetheless. 

Because praise from Touya makes you feel like you’re on top of the fucking world. Praise from Touya is a hard, precious, valuable resource to come by, rare and not easily doled out. You have to earn it, he had once told you. You have to really deserve it. 

“Yeah, yeah, s’it,” he encourages as you endeavour to swallow him more, to suck him down further. “S’a good girl for me. Go on, make me proud.”

It’s always speckled with a hefty dose of sugared degradation, cooed yet condescending. But the praise that falls from his mouth, cracking with sincerity as his head tilts back, strong jaw on display, the lines and ridges of his neck moving with his voice, soothes any sting his insults could bring. They make it all so worth it. 

Because Touya has what you wish you had, what you want to have, what you will have, according to him, if you stay his good little girl. Touya has executive access to that exclusive, elusive upper class world; a place you’ve always been able to worm your way into with pretty smiles and batting eyelashes, but a place you’re consistently pushed out of. 

Touya can make it permanent. Touya can find a spot where you belong, where you snap perfectly into place, cozy and comfortable as if you were always meant to be there—easy, effortless, effaced.

And, really, that’s all you want. That’s all you’ve ever wanted. 

Acceptance, belonging, community. 

So you take him down your throat with ardency, wretch your jaw open further, hinges straining with a dull, dense ache, doing anything and everything he says in an effort to make him proud, just like he asked you to.

You’re barely able to get a few good pumps in before lithe fingers are curling around your skull, palms pressed to your temples and thumbs digging bruises into your cheekbones as he grips your head tightly, holding you in place and wedging his cock down your throat.

The pace is brutal right from the start, the pounding of his hips so powerful that it has the tip of your nose repeatedly slamming against his pubic bone, swollen lips leaving crude kisses of saliva streaked across his skin.

The slap of your face against his groin is grotesque, paired with the sick squelching each thrust procures and the pathetic, embarrassing sounds oozing from the corners of your lips—choked off gags and snuffed out whimpers and those pitiful little sniffles, hiccuped with each hitch of your chest. 

But they all feel so good around him, baby, you feel so fuckin’ good, so you don’t try to stifle them, borderline weeping around him, unbridled and unreserved. 

Your fingers curl in the waistband of his jeans and briefs—a small comfort to hold onto as he fucks your mouth raw, hips snapping rough and fast and downright ruthless.

A condescending coo slips from between his lips, as if it’s precious that you need something to ground you while he ravages your throat, knuckles pressed firmly against flexing thighs as you cling to him, and he takes it as an invitation to speed up, movements turned vicious.

Your head thwacks off the edge of the shelf behind you, sending thorns of pain searing through your skull. A loud whine vibrates around Touya’s cock, the sound rammed back down your throat by the head, and he groans, deep and guttural, Adams apple quivering with the sound.

The sharp agony radiates, a deep ache that burrows into your neck, and you can feel the sore spot beginning to swell. It knocks against the wood again, your eyes snapping shut with a wince, tight enough to crinkle your lids, the motion dislodging tears from the corners, cascading down your face in fat, sticky streams.

“No, no, no,” he’s panting. “Keep those pretty eyes open for me.” 

Your lids spring open again, an involuntary reflex, a zealous attempt to appease their master, lashes heavy and weighted with tears, sparkling crystal drops clinging perilously to clumped spikes. 

Anything, anything, anything for him. 

And, oh, how those eyes shine for him. Such pathetic, pious dedication.

“Fu-Fuck,” he nearly whines, the curse hoarse as it splinters in his throat, eyes voracious as they drink you in, soak you up, swallow you down. “Yeah, yeah, jus’like that.”

It hurts, but it’s over quick; only three more pistons of his hips before he’s holding you flush to his gut, his whole cock jammed down your throat as it spurts hot, thick cum, that one vein throbbing on your tongue.

You’re absolutely sobbing around him, strings of snot infused drool dribbling from your lips as you suffocate on his flesh, lungs beginning to burn, shriveling to ash in your chest. Instinctively, your head wrenches, desperate for oxygen, but he growls, the sound so deep, so dark you swear it rattles his ribcage. 

“Hold it, hold it,” he keens, hips twitching a little as his fingers strengthen their grip, stamping bruises into the already puffy contusion, blunt nails carving deep crescent indents into the back of your scalp. Your struggling stops almost instantly, coughing harshly around his cock, and his hips jerk, a moan shattering on his tongue. 

You can do nothing but take it, take it all for him, just like you were told to. What a good little girl he’s caught himself. 

It’s only after he’s emptied his balls into your stomach, forced all his cum into your tummy, full and bloated, that his grasp finally lets up, tugging you off of him with knuckles rooted in your hair, groaning a little at the thick ropes of milky saliva tethering your mouth to his cock.

You’re sputtering the very moment he lets up, whole body shuddering as you gulp down razored air.

“You look so fucking perfect on your knees for me, baby,” he’s rasping out, collarbone shimmering with perspiration as it heaves. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a prettier sight.” 

A whine slips from your lips, and he takes a moment to admire you, sapphire sweeping across your face in slow, deliberate motions, almost as if he’s cataloguing your expression, outlining it all—the tear-stained cheeks and the spit-slicked chin and the sheer devotion spilling from your lashes—and searing it into the fabric of his memory.

“You’re a piece of art all on your own, aren’t you?” 

Maybe you are, with streaks of glittering salt soiling your bruised cheeks and crystal dewdrops suspended in your spiky lashes and his cum, ivory and pearlescent, oozing from the corner of your lips to roll down your chin in thick dollops of cream. 

His pupils are cavernous, carnivorous, ragged little pants exhaled through parted lips, stare unblinking as he watches drops of his cum drip off the line of your jaw in sticky, viscous cords, mixed with your saliva, drizzling onto your bosom and soaking the unbuttoned collar of your shirt. 

“What a fucking mess you are,” he breathes, thumb and forefinger grasping your chin and yanking, forcing you to look up at him. “What a fucking mess I’ve made of you.”

All you can do is whimper and nod, fingers clinging to his waistband as you paw at him, a pitiful attempt to get closer.

A masterpiece. His masterpiece.

“Aw, what’s the matter? Did I fuck the brains from your skull?” he tuts his tongue, mouth fashioned in a mocking pout, eyes shining with amusement. “Where’s that smart, snarky little girl now?” 

“Wanna be good for you,” you drool out, looking up at him with lidded, bleary eyes, glistening with admiration, with awe, as if he’s the most magnificent sight you’ve ever seen, as if he’s a fucking god. “S’all, Touya, s’all.”

“Oh, precious,” he murmurs, thumb caressing a rapidly developing bruise, gaze following his movement for a moment before connecting with your own again. “I know. And you will be.” 

He promises, you will be.

Outside, as the light dims, sun devoured by the rapidly encroaching darkness, the ravens and crows pick at carcasses and caw into the night.   

[avastrasposts]

Big Sky Country - ch. 9**

Hi!

I'm sorry this chapter took so long! I totally blame Marcus Acacius, I was taken in by that rugged general and had to write the brain worm that had been in my head since last summer. Hopefully chapter 10 won't take as long but I can't promise anything.

Anyway, four weeks ago we left Frankie and Aisling in the truck after talking it out and spending a day on the ranch and we're going jump straight into some much awaited smut as they go at it again for the first time since their hook up in Brooklyn.

Almost 7k and spicy.

He was painfully hard by the time they got out of the truck. Aching. Yet he couldn’t stop kissing her and move them faster across the yard. Grabbing her hips, pulling her as close as possible, he was losing himself in her as they stumbled towards the cabin. She managed to get the door open behind them while he pushed her against the door frame, kissing the sweet smelling skin just under her ear. She moaned under him and his cock twitched, the sound shooting through his body like a live wire. When her hand slipped down and palmed his throbbing length, he growled, pushing himself into her hand. 

“Please, Ash,” he begged, “if you touch me, I’m not gonna last.” The last words came out as a low whine as she stroked him, cupping her hand around him. He had his eyes screwed shut, and he could hear her soft giggle as she ran her nails across the zipper of his jeans. 

“Poor, Fish, so tightly wound. Maybe I should take care of you first before I let you go down on me again?” 

Frankie could only shake his head as she continued to tease him, low gasps escaping when she popped open the button of his jeans and slid her hand straight into his boxers. 

“You feel so good, Frankie,” Aisling mumbled into his ear, wrapping her fingers around the smooth, warm skin of his hard cock. He was being incoherent, head tipped back as he spluttered something in Spanish, his teeth catching on his wet bottom lip at the last word. 

“So good, Frankie,” she whispered, gently squeezing his solid length and pulling another groan from him. 

“Please, hermosa,” he mumbled, “I’m gonna come in my pants, I wanna…” he trailed off as she pulled her hand from his paining cock, hissing at the loss of contact. 

“I wanna take care of you first, in bed, properly,” he mumbled, pulling her mouth to his as he wrapped her arms around his neck, control coming back to him when she was no longer stroking him. 

“Will you let me ride you again, I’ve been practicing all day,” she smiled and he huffed a laugh. 

“Anything you want, Ash, just let me make you feel good first.” 

“Take me to bed then,” she replied, making him open his mouth to her tongue as he guided them towards his bedroom. 

He was as good as she remembered, and then some. She’d been wondering if she’d exaggerated in her head how good he’d been before, if she’d built it up in her mind as something more than it had been. But then he settled himself between her legs, after pulling off his shirt, and groaned loudly as he dipped his tongue into her slick folds. He had her arching her back off the bed, his mouth closing around her clit with a low hum that reverberated through her nerves. When he slipped two thick fingers into her liquid heat, she tangled her hands in his hair and gasped at the stretch as he curled his fingers up. 

“Fuck…Frankie,” she muttered, fighting to keep her eyes open so that she could see his dark eyes looking back at her with a pleased expression. He doubled down, flicking his tongue over her clit as he increased the pace of his fingers, his eyes burning up her body as he watched her responses to the way he touched her. Her soft thighs were around his ears and he used his free hand to hold her open for him, he could feel her muscles tremble and shake as he teased her nerves. An extra firm stroke made her cry out, her fingers tightening around his curls, and he did it again, spurred on by her increasingly breathless moans. 

When she came, he watched her mouth fall open as she squeezed her eyes shut, a violent shudder running through her body. He had to hold on to her hips to keep her down while he worked her through every shred of the orgasm, he could hear her pant his name while she slowly came down. 

He lapped gently at her folds, skirting around her sensitive nerves, before he kissed the inside of her thighs, moving up her body, pausing at the pale freckles on her breast, kissing them softly while he played with the nipple on the other. Her fingers were carding through his curls and she let a deep sigh escape with a small chuckle. 

“At the risk of inflating your ego, you’re really good at that, Frankie,” she said and he moved up, smiling down at her as he held himself over her on his forearms. 

“I like doing it, especially when you let me know how good it makes you feel,” he replied, leaning down for a soft kiss. She slipped her tongue between his lips and tasted the salty tang on his tongue, the thought of where it came from made a tendril of heat curl through her core again, even though she was still coming down, her body relaxing. 

“Can I repay the favor?” she mumbled against his lips, feeling the very hard outline of him against her hip. He was not too discreetly grinding his erection against her. 

“Yes please,” he mumbled back, still trying to keep his composure as his aching cock begged for attention, “Let me just get th….fuck…no….” he suddenly sighed, slapping his hand on his forehead in an almost comical gesture. “I don’t have any condoms,” he said, “I-I haven’t exactly had much use for them since New York…” Frankie gave her a crooked smile as a pink hue crept up his neck that had nothing to do with his arousal. 

“Did you get a check-up?” Aisling asked, stroking her fingertips over the sweet blush of his skin, “I have an IUD and I got myself tested after you.” 

A brief look of pain flashed across Frankie’s face, he winced at the idea of Aisling feeling that he was such a pig that she needed to get tested even though they’d used a condom last time. 

“I'm sorry,” he said, rolling off her and onto his side, rubbing a hand over his face, “that you had to get tested because of me.” 

“Meh…” Aisling shrugged, rolling over so that she was facing him on the bed, “It wasn’t how I expected our hook up to go, but better safe than sorry you know.” 

“Yeah, I get that. And I got tested after I came back here, after Eva, I wanted a clean slate,” Frankie said and Aisling gave him a soft smile. 

“Was this a total mood killer conversation?” she asked and he chuckled in that warm low voice she loved. 

“Nah, necessary conversation, now we know,” he replied and she shifted herself closer, pushing him onto his back. 

“Ok, good, because I can see the outline of that pretty cock of yours in your jeans and I’m dying to get my hands on it,” she grinned as she began unzipping him, “Lift those hips, Fishy.” 

“Ok, ‘Fishy’ is off the table,” he snorted as he did as she said and she laughed. 

“Noted. How about ‘Fish sticks’?” 

“Only in private company,” he smiled, “it’s cute when you say it.” 

“So ‘Fuck me, Fish sticks,’ works?” Aisling looked down at him, noting how his eyes were darting between her face and where her hands were brushing against his cock still inside his pants. 

Frankie lost his train of thought as she pulled down his jeans, hooking her fingers into his boxers and sliding them down at the same time. His cock bobbed free from its confines and he groaned as it bounced back on to his belly. 

“N-no, no ‘fish sticks’ in the bedroom,” he huffed out, laughing in between hisses as her fingers closed around his painfully hard erection. 

“How about ‘Francisco’?” she asked, swinging a leg over his hips and settling down just over the flushed red tip of his cock, shiny with precum. 

Frankie bit his lip and nodded, his eyes fixed on her hand wrapped around him as she held him just by her entrance. 

“Anything, hermosa,” he muttered. He would’ve said yes to anything as she slowly sank down over him, the heat of her slick folds enveloping him as she sighed in pleasure at the stretch. 

Aisling grabbed his shoulders, steadying herself as he filled her, and he tipped his head back, eyes screwed shut, as she began to rock her hips. He slid in and out, his hard cock slick and hot and she tilted her hips, letting him hit that spot deep inside that made sparks shoot through her body. It made her let out a low whimper and she dug her fingers into his shoulders to stop herself from collapsing over him, resting her forehead against his, the familiar tingle of ecstasy already beginning to make itself known. 

His large hand cupped the back of her neck and pulled her lips to his as they rocked together. Tongues slipped in and out and he sucked her bottom lip into his mouth. His cock was aching, buried deep inside her, and with a groan he thrust up into her, she arched her back as he panted into her mouth. She could hear him mumbling under his breath, his hands finding her hips and matching her rhythm. 

“F-fuuck…t-t-win t-tu-urboshaft,” he gritted out between clenched teeth, taking a deep breath, “fuck, Ash, too good…M-m t-two thirty…” 

“Frankie,” Aisling asked, panting as she slowed her movements, and he gritted his teeth, “w-what…what are you saying?” 

A strangled laugh, half moan, half chuckle, escaped him as he seemed to bite back a louder moan. 

“Parts of the Apache helicopter, I-I list the parts in my head when I don’t wanna come too fast,” he said, smiling at her as she began to giggle, “I didn’t realize I was saying it out loud.”

She let the laughter bubble up through her even as he took a new hold of her hips and began thrusting his hips up into her, forcing her laughter into a moan with the feel of it. Heavy, thick, stretching her out, every nerve ending in her core was begging for more as he drove up into her.  

One hand left her hip and he slipped it between them, the rough pad of his finger deftly finding her clit and circling it, teasing as she gasped. 

“Please, Ash, come for me again, I’m so fucking close,” Frankie mumbled, his fingers sliding over her sensitive bundle of nerves, “I need to feel you come on my cock, give me one more.”

He pulled back and looked at her, meeting her hooded eyes, half closed, as he drove her pleasure higher. A whimper escaped as it suddenly crashed over her, the force of it making her cry out for him and her muscles froze under the onslaught of pleasure radiating from where their bodies joined. Frankie felt his insides tighten as Aisling’s body arched and clamped down around him, with a gasp he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close and jerking his hips, pumping his spend as buried his face against the hot skin of her neck. He could feel his own heart thumping as his cock twitched and pulsated deep inside her. Her pulse was thrumming just under his mouth as he tried to contain his need to suck a mark into her skin. He could hear her whimper his name as her body relaxed in his grip, and he whispered her name back to her, finding her warm mouth, and breathing her name against it. 

He held her tight, arms wrapped around her, as their heart rates slowed down and she caressed the damp curls at the back of his neck, her head resting on his shoulder. Frankie hummed under her touch, the slow drag of her fingers soothing, but he also realized he didn’t need soothing. There was no anxiety, no itch in his body and his mind was quiet, just filled with a feeling of contentment. He was no fool, he knew it would come back, both the itch and all the other shit that his mind threw at him after all the years of abuse. But for once, it was silent, and he relaxed into the feeling of Aisling's hands, her presence keeping him calm. 

Aisling shifted her weight, letting Frankie slip out of her as she pulled him down with her, stretching out on the bed. Unlike the last time, he scooped her up, his arms winding around her and she put her head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. 

“How are you feeling?” she asked quietly, not wanting to disturb the peace of the room. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, he knew what she meant. 

“I’m good, I feel good, it’s very different this time,” he replied, “Different situation, different place.” 

“Different you?” 

“A little bit, yeah,” he said, “but mostly it’s a better situation. Being honest with you, about it all, makes it easier.” 

She tilted her head up so that she could meet his soft brown eyes looking down at her, his hand slowly trailing up and down her back. 

“I’m glad you told me, I knew we had a lot to talk about but I never would’ve guessed all the stuff you’ve been through. It couldn’t have been easy, Frankie.” 

“I was nervous telling you, but it felt good afterward, lighter. And Herb said something when I came back, about making sure I learned the lesson so that I didn’t make the same mistake again, with you, if I was lucky enough to see you again. And I’ve tried to live by that these past few months. I didn’t think I’d ever see you again, but the least I could do was to learn something about my mistake this time.” 

“You feel very different, Frankie, different in a good way,” Aisling said, pushing herself up so that she was level with him, “You’re calm here, and you feel more in control, balanced. Whatever you’ve been trying to do these past few months, it’s working, I can see that.” 

“Thank you,” Frankie replied, reaching up and cupping her cheek with his warm palm, and it struck her how even his simple thank you was different. His look didn’t waver, his gaze was steady on her, and he accepted her assessment of him, not downplaying it or brushing it off. 

“We’re gonna be ok, Frankie,” Aisling said, putting her hand on top of his, “I know we’ll be fine, I trust you.” 

A small smile pulled at his lips at her words, “Thank you,” he said again and she returned his smile, meeting his kiss as he pulled her closer. 

Aisling woke the next morning with the unfamiliar feeling of Frankie splayed on his belly next to her. His arm was flung over her middle, pinning her to the bed, and when she tried to wriggle free, he huffed and pulled her closer. 

“No sneaking off,” he muttered, his eyes still closed and his face buried in the pillow. His voice was rough with sleep, but she could hear the smile in it. 

Aisling chuckled and rolled over, pushing her nose into the unruly curls by his neck, and kissed the warm skin. 

“I need to pee,” she mumbled into his hair as he hummed under her. 

“Me too, but I’m too comfortable like this.” 

“What if we go pee and I promise to cuddle you just like this when we get back?” She nuzzled closer to him and kissed more of him, reaching his scruffy jaw and feeling the gray beard tickle her lips. 

“You wanna watch me pee?” Frankie mumbled under her, “Is there something you’re not telling me?” 

“Ok, smart ass,” she protested, mock anger in her voice as she pushed herself away and Frankie started laughing, holding on to her waist and pulling her down again. He was smiling widely at her as he rolled her over and got on top. His heavy weight pushed her into the mattress as he caged her in, smiling down at her with those warm brown eyes and messy curls creating a halo around his head. 

“I’m just trying to figure out if this is a thing that turns you on,” he laughed, dropping a kiss on the tip of her nose as she smiled up at him. 

“This,” Aisling said, pointing between them in the small space created by their bodies, “turns me on. But I also really need to pee.” 

“Me on top like this turns you on?” Frankie asked, his eyes taking on a darker shade as he dropped down on his forearms, his mouth only just hovering over hers and she whined in protest. 

“Yes, it does, you’re too fucking strong the way you just roll me over and push me down and it’s so fucking sexy but I really need to pee!” 

She wriggled under him and with a satisfied smirk Frankie let her go, rolling over on to his side as she hurried to the bathroom. 

“Such a menace, Francisco,” she threw over her shoulder at him and she could hear his laughter as she closed the bathroom door. 

Frankie made good on his promise to take them out on the trail up to one of his favorite spots after breakfast. He got Clover and Dolly saddled up down at the ranch as Aisling watched him move around the stable with ease. Again she was struck by how much at home he looked here, calm around the horses, comfortably chatting with them in a low voice as he tightened straps and checked the equipment. He really was a very different version of the man she’d met in Brooklyn. The same Frankie, but more confident, collected and stable. 

As she watched him, Aisling wondered how long it would’ve taken before the issues that plagued him in New York would’ve become too much to handle if he’d stayed, even if he’d stayed with her. Would’ve she had started seeing him the way Eva did? Start distrusting him and resenting him? It was hard to imagine, he’d seemed uncertain of himself, divided and troubled by something back there, but she’d still been drawn to him, attracted to him from the start. But how much hadn’t Eva been through before she gave up? 

Aisling ran her hand through her hair and watched how the muscles of Frankie’s broad back moved and flexed as he picked up Clover’s heavy saddle and lifted it onto her back. How would she have reacted if this seemingly so stable man came home high one day? How many chances would she have given him if she was in love with him back then? She sighed as she realized she probably would’ve given him as many chances as Eva, it was hard watching someone you love, lie and cheat. Picking up and leaving the first time it happened only seemed easy to those on the outside. 

“You ok, Ash?” Frankie asked as he noticed her far away look when he came up to her. He gently put his hand on her cheek and she smiled up at him. 

“I was miles away, thinking about Eva, actually.” 

“About Eva? Why?” Frankie said, feeling the familiar jolt of fear shooting through him at the thought that he’d somehow fucked up already. 

“I can see your panic, Frankie,” Aisling smiled, taking his hand and giving it a squeeze, “it’s nothing bad. I was just thinking that when I see you here, how different you are, I understand how hard it must’ve been for her to see you struggle in New York. It couldn’t have been easy for her to have to choose between living here with you or in Brooklyn without you.” 

“It wasn’t,” Frankie shook his head, “I asked too much of her, but I didn’t realize it.” He absentmindedly stroked Dolly’s neck, “I’m really trying to not repeat that mistake with you,” he said and Aisling stepped closer to him. His eyes had shifted into something more worried, a flash of the man she’d met in Brooklyn, “I’m still scared I’ll fuck things up with you.” 

“I’ll tell you, Frankie,” Aisling soothed him, her hands wrapping around his middle, “I promise I’ll tell you if anything shifts or changes, we’ll work on it together before it gets out of hand. But you’re so different now, that’s what made me think of Eva. I can see how different you are now compared to back in Brooklyn, but maybe she never saw that, I don’t know who you were when you first moved out here.” 

“A fucking mess…” Frankie sighed, “A real fucking mess, barely hanging on to my sobriety, pushing everyone away except her and Herb. I thought I got better pretty fast but that was an illusion, it took months for me to get a grip on things for real. I thought she was happy until it was too late and she left, but I don’t blame her. I didn’t see what she was going through properly, I was too focused on myself.” 

Frankie sighed and leaned his forehead against Aisling's as she moved her hands into his hair, “I promise I’ll do anything to not repeat that with you.” 

“I know you will, and I’m willing to help you, Francisco, as much as I can.” 

She gave him a kiss, her soft lips molding against his and he smiled into it, relaxing as her fingers ran through his hair, caressing his neck. 

“Thanks, Ash,” he mumbled as Dolly gave an impatient huff next to them, shaking her head and breaking the moment. 

“Let’s get this lady out on the trail before she loses her cool,” Frankie chuckled as he patted her neck and Aisling giggled at Dolly’s impatient look. 

The early hours of the day were cool even though the sun was out, early fall was starting to make itself known, and Aisling was grateful for the sweater Frankie had lent her. She was swimming in it but he’d rolled the sleeves up before he’d helped her up on Clover’s back, making sure she was secure before he swung himself into Dolly’s saddle. The sight of him so effortlessly pulling himself up made her smile and bite her lip to hide it. His strong legs gripping Dolly’s sides was enticing and he made it look so easy as he firmly guided her around to face Aisling before they set off. 

“All good?” he asked, making Dolly halt next to Clover and putting his hand on hers. 

“I think so, as long as Clover follows you and doesn’t take off with me on her own adventure,” she replied, patting Clover’s chestnut neck. 

“She’ll follow me, don’t worry. And we’ll just walk today, take it nice and slow.” Frankie smiled at Aisling, he was excited in a way he hadn’t been in a long time, he’d nursed an impossible dream about taking Aisling up into the mountains, showing her what he loved the most about this place. Now it was finally happening, two days ago he’d thought he’d never even see her again, but now she was here. 

The trail heading up into the foothills of the Rockies was wide enough for them to ride side by side at first. Aisling tried to copy Frankie’s relaxed riding style, sitting deep in the saddle with his hand hanging loose by his side. Dolly seemed to know what he wanted her to do without him doing anything, just a small movement of his hand and she adjusted her course. Clover on the other hand just followed Dolly, keeping her gait smooth and steady as Aisling gripped Clover’s sides with her legs and held on to the pommel. Frankie glanced over at Aisling and smiled, she looked more confident in the saddle with every passing minute and he reached out and squeezed her thigh, feeling it move under his fingers. 

“You’re doing great, hermosa, you’ll be ready for a lope soon,” he said and her bright smile lit a fire inside him. She looked happy when she smiled at him and he almost pinched himself to check that this was real. 

As the trail narrowed Clover dropped back and followed behind. The landscape changed, the trail passed between high cliffs and then through fir tree forests as the horses climbed higher. Eventually the trees dropped away too, and as they emerged out into a high mountain valley Aisling gasped, taking in the wide view. 

Frankie turned in the saddle and checked that Aisling was still ok. 

“All good back there?” 

“Yeah, this is amazing, Frankie,” Aisling sighed, “It’s so beautiful, I can’t believe this is real…” 

Frankie smiled and looked at the landscape through her eyes for the first time. He’d been awed when Herb took him up here the first time, and he still saw the beauty of the place. But to see Aisling's wide eyed reaction made him appreciate it even more. The narrow valley was covered with tall grass and scattered with the last of the late summer flowers, creating a mat of gold dotted with reds and blues that gently sloped up towards the truly tall, snow capped, mountain peaks to the west. On either side, the foothills climbed up, covered in thick conifer trees, framing and protecting the valley. 

“I thought you might like it,” Frankie replied, slowing Dolly down so that she was level with Clover as they slowly rode into the tall grass, leaving the trail behind. 

“I feel like I’m in an old western or something, minus the outlaws and guns, getting ready to go panning for gold.” 

“You look like a real cowboy, Ash,” Frankie chuckled. He’d picked out a hat for her before they left, tilting it down to protect her eyes, and now she gave him a two fingered Clint Eastwood tap to the brim of the hat. 

“Partner,” she chuckled and Frankie did the same with a grin. 

“Ma’am.” 

He pointed to a small clump of trees about halfway up the valley, “We’re heading there, the stream curves around the trees and it’s a good spot to water the horses and have lunch. How’s your muscles feeling?” 

“Stiff, but nothing compared to what I think they’ll be tomorrow,” Aisling replied, following the direction of Frankie’s finger. 

“They did actually pan for gold up here,” Frankie said, “There's a small cabin further up the valley where someone staked claims back in the 1860’s. Herb has a whole lecture he gives the guests about the gold rush era.” 

“Did they find gold?” 

“Yeah, most of western Montana was settled because of gold, silver and copper, and there was definitely gold in these mountains.” 

“I’ll keep an eye out at the creek,” Aisling smiled, “that’d be so cool, to find an actual nugget.” 

“You might find something, I’ve got two tiny nuggets at home that I found up here. And Herb’s got a bunch too. But we’ve all found them in the spring so we think the spring floods bring them down from higher up when the snow melts.” 

“I’ll come back in the spring then,” Aisling replied as Frankie pulled on Dolly’s reins and made her come to a halt. With a smooth movement he dismounted and grabbed Clover’s reins, putting his other hand up to Aisling. 

“I really hope you do, Ash,” he said, and the look he gave her made her smile widely as he helped her down. 

“I want to come back, I’m having an amazing time here, with you,” she said and Frankie caressed her cheek. 

“Honestly, Ash, I don’t want you to leave at all, I just want you to stay.” 

“You really want me to stay, cramp your style, get between you and Dolly?” Aisling asked and Frankie snorted as she put her arms around his waist. 

“How many times do I have to tell you? Stay for as long as you want, you can stay permanently and I’ll be the luckiest guy ever, just stay with me and Dolly, Ash.” 

Dolly gave a low whinny as if to agree, and Aisling giggled as Frankie nudged his nose against her cheek before he kissed her. Humming into her mouth he pulled her closer and nipped at her bottom lip. 

“Dolly wants you to stay too, and I’m sure Clover agrees and you can’t say no to them.”

Aisling pushed her hands into Frankie's curls and scratched the back of his head while he kissed her again. 

“Are you using Dolly and Clover as emotional black mail,” she laughed against his lips. 

“Is it working?” 

“You don’t need to black mail me, I’ve already agreed to stay.” 

“Thank you.” 

Frankie stroked his thumb over her cheek and pressed a soft kiss to her lips again before he straightened up.

“Go explore, I’ll get the ladies sorted,” he smiled. 

Frankie tethered the horses and made sure they had water and some snacks, before he followed Aisling down to the creek. She was sitting on a flat rock by the water’s edge, peeling her socks off as he sat down next to her. 

“Going for a swim?” he asked, letting his arm rest along her shoulders, when she leaned into him, he kissed her temple. 

“I didn’t bring a bikini, will you be scandalized if I skinny dip?” she asked, wiggling her now free toes.

“If you skinny dip I’m not responsible for what happens next,” Frankie replied with a serious tone, giving her a mischievous wink when she looked over at him, “but you’d better test that water before you commit to swimming in it.” He nodded at the crystal clear stream that bubbled past them just beyond the edge of the rock. 

“It’s not safe for swimming?” Aisling asked but Frankie just chuckled and nodded to the water again. 

“Oh it’s safe alright, just put your feet in it first.” 

Aisling frowned at the expression on his face and then scooted to the edge of the rock and dangled her feet over the edge. The water level wasn’t very high and she gingerly put the toes of her right foot into the water. 

“Oh fuck!” she shrieked and rapidly yanked her foot up again, “That’s ice, Frankie!” 

Frankie laughed behind her as she carefully dipped her foot into the water again, squealing as the icy cold water rushed over her toes. 

“Oh shit that’s cold, so cold, so cold, so cold,” she gasped, putting her other foot into the water. 

“So pull them up again,” Frankie laughed, but Aisling shook her head. 

“No, I just…shit…need to get used to it. It’s k-kinda nice,” she stuttered, both feet in the water now. 

Frankie scooted forward and yanked his boots off, tossing them behind them together with his socks. 

“If I lose a toe to frostbite, I’m blaming you, Ash,” he chuckled, taking hold of her hand and dipping his feet into the water next to hers with a loud gasp. 

“Fuck me that’s c-cold,” he gasped as Aisling giggled and grabbed hold his arm, kicking her feet in the water to keep her toes moving. 

“W-why is it so cold, it’s the end of the summer?” she asked as Frankie tried to keep his composure and not pull up his feet straight away. 

“This creek comes down from the mountains up there,” he said and pointed towards the highest peaks in the distance, “They are snow capped all year around and I’m pretty sure some of the glaciers feed straight into this creek. It’s never warm, not even in the middle of summer.” 

“I’ve never felt glacial water before, but this feels about right, I can’t feel my toes,” Aisling replied and shook his head.  

“Ok, that’s enough,” he said and pulled his feet up, shaking the water from them as Aisling caved and pulled up her feet too, “Give me those ice block toes,” he said and motioned for her to put her feet in his lap. She swung her feet to him with a smile as he grabbed the hem of his shirt and started rubbing her toes between his warm hands. 

“Five star service at this ranch,” she smiled and cupped her hand around the back of his head and caressed his soft curls. 

“Only for you, Ash. And the horses, the three of you are my favorite girls,” Frankie replied, tweaking her pinky toe with a grin that made Aisling feel warmth rise up in her chest for entirely different reasons. 

“I’m flattered,” she said and scooted closer so that she could kiss his cheek while he smiled under her lips, “If you can also provide lunch, I will leave a five star review on Yelp.” 

“I can provide sandwiches and hot coffee,” he replied, still rubbing her feet. 

“Deal! That sounds great.” 

“Next time I’ll plan a bit more and we can cook some food up here, light a fire and make some ‘smores,” Frankie said while Aisling got to her feet and gave him her hand to stand up. 

“Can we come out here and camp overnight? I’ve never done that,” she said. 

“Yeah, for sure! That would be awesome,” Frankie gave her a big grin while they went back to the horses and his pack. “We take guests on overnight camping trips all the time. I’ll plan something before it gets too cold at night.” 

“But if it’s really cold, maybe we need to share a sleeping bag?” Aisling winked at him and Frankie chuckled. 

“Hermosa, it can be a heatwave, we’re still sharing a sleeping bag.” 

Lunch was peaceful, the serene valley a perfect backdrop to just sitting on a blanket with Frankie. Aisling scooted close to him, leaned against his side as he put his arm around her, coffee mug in the other hand. 

There really wasn’t any need to talk right now, all the big things had been said, all cards on the table. Frankie felt light but grounded in a way he hadn’t in many years. His mind was quiet and calm, he found he could even think back on how he’d ended up here without too much pain. It was like he could finally pick up the pieces of the different choices he’d made in his life and see how they all fit together, one decision jacking into the next to create a path that led him here. He’d made bad decision, terrible ones even, but at least they’d all led him here; sitting on a blanket, sipping coffee, with his arm around a person who made him feel complete and nothing to do but to go home, spend the night with her and then wake up tomorrow and work with the horses. 

He briefly closed his eyes and reminded himself to commit this moment to memory, to keep as a token when things weren’t as easy, to have as a mental talisman. The sun was warm on his back, the breeze mild, he could hear birds nearby, the soft sounds of the horses feeding and next to him, pressed to his side, Aisling and her sweet scent. He could even feel how a few loose strands of her hair were ticking against his neck and he leaned into it, seeking out her hair with his nose and inhaling. 

Aisling leaned her head against Frankie’s shoulder as he buried his nose in her hair, and reached up to scratch his scruffy beard, trailing her fingertips over the bare patches, tracing the outlines. Frankie put his coffee mug down and pulled her down with him as he laid back, her head on his arm as a pillow.

“Nap time,” he said, “it’s tradition.” 

“If you say so,” she smiled and tucked herself into his side with her arm over his soft belly, he curled his around her shoulders. She glanced up at him and his eyes were already closed, his face relaxed. She shifted up a little bit and placed a soft kiss on his cheek, it made him smile without opening his eyes, and she settled back down and closed her own eyes. 

The sun had moved in the sky when Frankie stirred, about an hour had passed, he calculated. Ash was still curled into his side and his arm had fallen asleep. He glanced over at the two horses who were standing in the shade of the trees, Dolly was affectionately nibbling on Clover’s withers while their tails swished to keep the flies at bay. Frankie looked down at Aisling and gently stroked her cheek. 

“C’mon sleepy girl, time to get a move on,” he mumbled softly, watching her stir and blink awake, looking confused for a moment. 

“Sleep well?” he smiled at her as she yawned and nodded. 

“Went out like a light, best nap ever,” she smiled, “You’re a very comfy pillow.” 

“You’re a very comfy blanket,” Frankie chuckled and she pushed herself up so that she could kiss him. His mouth was soft, warm from the sun, and she could feel him deepen the kiss as he cupped his hand around the back of her head, his tongue slipping between her lips. She softly hummed into him, relishing the sleepy feeling of the kiss until he slowly pulled away. 

“C’mon, we have a bit of a ride back too, but next time we’ll stay up here overnight,” he smiled. 

He pushed up to his feet and gave her a hand, soon they were in the saddle again and heading back down the trail. 

“I can already feel my muscles starting to protest,” Aisling laughed as she adjusted her seat in the saddle, “My thighs are stiff and my butt hurts.” 

“You can have a hot bath when we get back, that’ll help,” Frankie said, turning in his saddle to look at her. “How do you feel about trying to lope? There’s a nice flat stretch coming up.” 

“Ok, just don’t laugh when I fall off!”

“You won’t fall, just grip with your legs and hold onto the pommel, Clover will do the rest. She’ll follow Dolly,” Frankie slowed down so that he was next to Aisling as the trail widened, “Ready?” 

Aisling nodded, looking a bit nervous, and Frankie smiled at her, putting his hand on her thigh and giving it a squeeze. 

“Just remember to squeeze her sides and follow her motion with your hips, ok?” 

“Ok.” 

“Ok then, c’mon Dolly, nice and easy, just a slow lope.” 

He smacked his lips and Dolly picked up her pace, breaking into a rolling lope as he moved his hips. 

“Oh shit,” Aisling gasped as Clover followed, gripping the pommel tight.

“You ok, Ash?” Frankie called back, turning in the saddle while Dolly loped on, his body moving effortlessly with her gait. 

“Y-yeah…j-just a little wobbly,” Aisling stuttered and tightened her grip with her legs. 

“Relax a little, just like when she walks, follow her movement.” 

Frankie let Dolly lope for another minute, then he slowed her down, coming to a walk while Clover did the same and Dolly walked next to the buckskin mare. 

“You did great, Ash!” Frankie exclaimed, beaming at her as she puffed a laugh and exhaled. 

“I feel shaken, but it was fun!”

“Wanna do it again, maybe a little bit longer this time?” 

“Yeah, sure!” Aisling beamed back at him, her eyes bright from the thrill and Frankie wanted nothing else but to kiss her as he grinned. 

“Let’s go then,” he laughed, and once again signaled Dolly to break into a slow lope. 

The ride back was faster as they alternated between loping and walking the horses. Aisling felt more and more confident as Clover kept a steady pace and she got used to following her movements. But it was hard work, by the time Frankie slowed down as they neared the ranch, sweat was running down her back and her muscles were aching. But she beamed at Frankie as he came alongside her and gave her leg a squeeze. 

“That was amazing, I wanna be a cowboy when I grow up,” she laughed, “but I won’t be able to walk tomorrow!” 

Frankie laughed too and halted Dolly, “Let’s walk the rest of the way, it’ll help your legs to recover.” 

With the horses ambling behind them, they walked the last stretch down to the ranch and Frankie couldn’t help grinning when Aisling put her hand in his. The two dogs, Whiskey and Benny, came sprinting down the trail when they spotted the horses and happily bounded around them the rest of the way. Once back, the horses were taken care of and put in their stalls, the dogs were given final scratches, and then Frankie helped her into the truck for the drive back to the cabin.

“Are you hungry?” he asked as they started nearing home. The sun was dipping behind the mountains, painting the sky in brilliant pinks and oranges as the shadows grew. 

“Yeah, absolutely, wanna DoorDash?” Aisling asked and stuck out her tongue at Frankie when he raised his eyebrows, “I’m joking, no DoorDash out here.” 

“City slicker,” he teased, “I’ve got burger meat in the freezer, how about I fire up the grill?” 

“Sounds perfect, but I think you might have guests?” Aisling nodded at the rental truck that was parked outside the cabin. 

“What the…?” Frankie mumbled, his eyebrows pulling into a frown as he slowed the car to a halt and killed the engine. 

In the gathering darkness they could see three men stand up and walk to the edge of the porch.

Chapter 10

Tag list: @harriedandharassed @inept-the-magnificent @sheepdogchick3 @readingiskeepingmegoing @noisynightmarepoetry @survivingandenduring @vabeachazn @amyispxnk @oberynslady @amyispxnk @thewiigers @lady-bess @missladym1981@peppermintfury @typewriter83 @anoverwhelmingdin @vabeachazn

[taesanluv3r]

lost in love songs.

han taesan x reader

a short, three part, friends to lovers story.

ੈ✩‧₊ hidden love unfolds when taesan's ipod nano accidentally ends up in the hands of his best-friend, yn. a certain playlist catches her eyes, revealing the true feelings kept within the depths of the boy's heart.

part two: about a girl.

reader goes through an overwhelming amount of emotions (shes crying 😿), some cuss words, myung jaehyun (reader's older brother) comforts her <3 lowercase intended, excuse any spelling mistakes / grammatical errors! enjoy :3

wc: 2,009

masterlist 𖦹 part one 𖦹 part three

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖

"damn, can't believe that dork writes songs about my loser sister…i say we give it a little listen and-"

jaehyun's words are interrupted, "get out of my room" yn says sternly, a finger pointing out the opened door and her face dead serious. her brother rolls his eyes, "whatever, i'll leave you to it i guess. weirdo…maybe you two are meant for each other" the girl flips him off, climbing off of her bed to forcefully push her annoying sibling out the door, slamming it shut behind him. she sighs, turning back around and staring intently at the silver device that remained on her white bed-sheets. her stomach hurts as she sits down beside it, her heart pounding straight out of her chest, though she doesn't know why. yn takes a deep breath as she holds her friend's ipod in her hands, the size of it unfamiliar to the girl who was so used to her larger phone. the wired earphones were tangled and grey from how worn out it was, she hesitates for a moment, wondering if it were really a good idea to be listening to the song her friend made a point to keep hidden from her. but it was right there, staring at her with her name written on it, literally. yn scoots, her back making complete contact with her pillows, a fluffy cloud-shaped plush toy sandwiched between her chest and her knees. she sticks an earphone into her left ear, beginning to do the same on the other side when the ping of her phone stops her. turning over to the device, she blinks slowly at the contact name on her screen.

han taesan.

she watches from afar as countless texts and a few missed calls came in, her arm reaching out to grab her phone. yn contemplates for a moment, his urgent warnings forming a sense of hesitance as she falls into a dilemma. once again, she sighs, turning her phone on do not disturb, ignoring the guy's begs and pleas before she averts her attention back to the ipod nano. blocking out all outside noise, the other side of his earphones find place in her right ear, a finger grazing against the white buttons that decorated the silver music player. yn exhales, finally pressuring the tips of her nail, pushing play on the very first track,

'about a girl.'

the name directly stolen from a song by his favourite rock band, the girl fully expects her friend's usually grunge-y sound. however, yn is taken by surprise when a soft guitar acoustic hits the surface of her eardrums instead. the rhythm of the track almost as sweet as the lyrics that he begun to sing. taesan's voice is smooth like butter, matching perfectly with the rather simple strumming pattern of the stringed instrument. being fully produced in his bed-room on a cheap microphone he got at the thrift shop, the girl finds herself smiling slightly at the shuffling sounds she could still hear in the background, breath hitching when she finally processed the words.

i listen to love songs in hopes they come true. i listen intently to conversations with you. my mind turns into mush and i can't seem to speak. in seconds i'm out, the door shuts with a creak. i could talk about her for hours on end, i could talk with her, or maybe not, it depends. cause she drives me insane, and i've got worms for a brain. and i can't get her out of my head.

the girl doesn't know what to think. it just all sounds so…foreign. the taesan she knew never wrote songs like this, or at least none that she knew of. the shy and reserved boy would never be caught dead showing this much emotion in real life, his honey-like voice fades out as the instrumental gets louder, giving the girl a moment to think. a million questions swarm into her head. he wrote this song…for her? she's lost in the music for a moment, her mind racing as she goes through about a billion thoughts per second. her heart fluttering at the very idea of this whole thing- i mean, it was as if all those romantic dreams she's had were finally coming true. a whole song written for her? frankly, the girl was on cloud 9. yet still, yn can't help but doubt herself, does he really feel this way for her? her best-friend since middle school? the ever so introverted han taesan who's never even spoken of love, this is him? as the questions swim through her brain, his soft singing wakes her up again.

this girl that i know, she's a girl that i like. but she won't feel the same, i don't know though, she might. i just can't, and i won't, let her know how i feel. i fear it might slip and it'll all become real. for my mouth only speaks around her, and my mind only thinks about this girl.

after another beat or two, he sings the final words of his love song,

still, you drive me insane. and i've got worms for a brain. think i might like you more than a friend.

with that, the first track in the two-song playlist comes to an end. the room is silent, the only thing she could hear was the quiet sound of her deep breaths. yn's mouth hangs open, her body freezing up like she had just been transported to the arctic without shelter. she doesn't even want to listen to the other song, in fear it'd make her heart beat faster than this one did. unconciously, a single tear begins to run down her cheek. "i know you said to go away but mom's asking what you want for dinner" the sound of her older brother's voice shakes her out of the daze, her eyes blinking rapidly as her head turned towards the door. "are…are you crying?" jaehyun asks, eyes widening as he began to walk over to where she sat on the bed, taking a seat beside her. "i…" she starts but doesn't continue, not really knowing what she was going to or even wanted to say. "so…you listened to that song, huh?" the boy asked, his features softening at the sight of his tearful sister who looked…well, lost.

she nods slightly, "just…just the first one" she mumbles, gulping all too loudly as her hand moves up to wipe at the tears that stained her blushed cheeks. "so? does he like you, or what?" jaehyun's question comes out a bit rushed, like he was impatient to know. "i…i don't know" and before they knew it, the girl had broken down into tears again. she still didn't know why though, the lyrics of her friend's song was nothing but sweet. however, the truth about the feelings he had, the ones he must've been keeping from her this whole time…it made the myung girl overwhelmed, not really knowing how she had to react. "hey, don't cry" her brother coos, a hand stiffly patting against the small of her back as she sobs into her hands. "yn…i know you hate it when i tease you but, don't you think it's obvious he's always liked you?" she lifts up her head, fully looking at her older sibling with confused eyes. "and don't lie, yn. we all know you're a terrible liar. i can tell by the way you smile when you mention him, i can tell by how annoyed you get over silly things about him that you, whether you like it or not, you're just in love as he is" jaehyun lets out a breath after talking too fast, his lips pursed into a line as he hits his sister with the reality of her feelings, and her best-friend's.

"but…" she starts again, stuttering as the salty taste of her own tears managed to seep into her mouth that started to feel a little dry. "but what if it's all a misunderstanding? i mean, what if i got it all wrong? what if this ruins our relationship forever? i shouldn't have…i shouldn't have listened to this. i-" the rambling girl gets cut off, "yn!" jaehyun's voice is louder by a decibel, his hands pressed firmly against his shaking sister's shoulders. "yn, look. there's only one way to find out. and you and i both know that things will only get weird if you don't talk to him about this, right?" the myung girl sighs, nodding at him, a grateful look on her face for her older brother and his big heart- even if he bullied and teased her half the time. "you're right…" another ping grabs their attention away from each other and over to the phone she had tossed to the other side of the bed. "i think that's him…" jaehyun smiles softly at his love-sick little sister, reaching to pass the phone over to her before patting her back lightly. "talk to him, yn. tell him the truth. what's the worst that could happen, right?" he says, earning a half-assed smile in return from the girl.

"besides, he did write love songs dedicated to you- something tells me you two are going to be just fine"

the boy gets off of the bed, "i'll tell mom you're not hungry yet. let me know if you need anything, okay? and if it is all a misunderstanding, which i doubt it is, i'm only a call away and i'll fight the guy for you!" the last part makes the girl giggle, breaking away from her somber state for a moment, rolling her eyes as the older sibling began showing off his non-existent arm muscles. he shot her a quick good luck before he was out the door again. leaving myung yn alone, alone with the thousands of messages and calls from a panicked han taesan.

emo loser (taesan) yn, whatever you do DO NOT touch my ipod. yn answer my calls!!!! yn please. yn, don't do it. it's too late isn't it? yn… i'm sorry.

the girl can't help but feel sick, the guilt of it all making her stomach turn and her heart to swell in pain. she takes a deep breath, the ticks on the bottom right of his messages turning blue, signifying that she had finally read them.

emo loser (taesan) you listened to them, didn't you?

yn's breathing gets heavy and fast, her fingers trembling as she began to type out a response.

i need to talk to you.

she bites her lip, nervously watching as the three dots appear then disappear on his end of the chatroom, like he had started to type but stopped half way through. yn shuts her eyes, opening them to stare at the ipod nano that had turned itself off at some point before. her gaze is turned back to the phone in her hands when he finally texts her back.

emo loser (taesan) meet me at the playground tomorrow? i have so much to say you'll listen right?

yn smiles softly, a sudden feeling of warmth engulfing her previously frozen body. she nods to herself, fingers hovering over the digital keyboard.

tomorrow at 1?

this time, he texts back almost immediately.

emo loser (taesan) i don't think i can wait that long meet me there at 10 unless you're still sleeping, lazy ass.

the boy's teasing joke, after the whirlwind of emotions she had just gone through, comforts her a little. suddenly, the girl feels confident that her brother was right and that they'd be okay after all.

see you at 10 then, weirdo

the conversation ends there. yn hides under her covers that night, her stomach empty though she didn't feel the need to eat, and her body exhausted though she couldn't seem to sleep. she's still in disbelief. the sound of his voice playing over and over again in her head all night. the lyrics tattooed onto her brain as she finds herself lost.

lost in the love song he wrote for her.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖

first of all tysm for 100 followers !!! HEHEHEHE taesan straying away from his usual emo grunge music to write secret love songs for yn 😿 featuring the lyrics that i wrote myself <3 THOUGHTS??? reblogs n feedbacks are highly appreciated!! send me an ask, let's talk abt this 💭 see u guys in the final part!! love, kona.

[thetraumaking]

The Accursed Crown

Other Chapters

Chapter 15: Thief

One thing Azula hated most were thieves. 

Unfortunate souls who could not get a proper grasp on life, stealing from others around them. The scum of the world, pathetic weaklings deserving nothing but waste and scrap. 

As a princess, she had her fair share of encounters with thieves. Petty little servants worming their way through the cracks and ending up in her chambers. Not knowing that they will soon be caught red handed when they’re elbow deep in her treasury. They even had the gall to wear her jewelry, parading around as if they stumbled up to a gold mine. 

She has no tolerance for those who steal. Especially if they take what is hers. 

Especially if they are some petty brat from a primitive nation that still uses huts and wooden boats. No engineers, no notable achievements, no nothing. Beggars who survive off of what little they manage to hunt and bits of ice.  

Scavengers, that’s what they are. 

From the moment she got word that those water fleas would be coming to their palace, she was against it. Honestly, what was her grandfather thinking? Letting these peasants inside their palace. Allowing their poor polished floors be sullied by the mud and grime they track in. 

She burned those lowlives who stole from her, at least they made some nice dummies for her to blow off some steam. A healthy way for her to manage her anger. 

A productive way for her to channel her emotions to make sure she’s under control. 

For the past month or so, it was a great way for her to train and maintain peace within her mind. Though, as she looked at the low life carelessly touching you. 

Oh if she could treat her like how she treated those who stole from her, it would have been grand. Those filthy hands that grab at her belongings should burn like the cinders. Cracked, smoking, and hot. 

‘Having a proper outlet for strong emotions will help you in maintaining a cool head in battle’

Your word rang in her head like a mantra. She couldn’t possibly attack her without repercussions, Yue may be from a back wash nation but she is a princess nonetheless. Maybe challenge her to an Agni Kai? No, she’s not fire nation nor is she worth such an honour. 

Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes. 

Yue currently had her hands placed over your cheek and neck, where the most notable of scars lay. One from the brand and one from the very first offence Princess Ursa had committed where you had to burn off. 

A ball of blue danced on the palm of her hands when she took aim. 

Azula knows she can’t possibly harm the great Northern Tribe’s little Princess, so she curls her finger just so her fire would graze ever so slightly against Yue.

An audible click of the tongue was heard when you dove to save the water girl. Your hand on the back of her head, protectively pulling her closer to your chest to better dodge any more possible “attacks.”

Deducting that her acting skills might need a bit more work, she clasped her hands together. “Oops, I’m sorry, my hand slipped.” Azula tilted her head ever so cutely, feigning innocence. 

Her eyes remained on Yue. If she has a working brain, she should know to play along. An open hostility towards their host nation won’t bode too well, especially if they want their negotiations to go well. 

She unclasped her hands when she saw you help the water girl up. When she got a closer look at you, she noticed that your skin seemed to be looser? Walking up to you, she got a better look. The branded scar on your cheek was healed, the skin looked even and smooth. That’s a first. Though the tattooed number remained intact. And that large scar in your neck was also missing, replaced by smooth skin. The hands that released Yue were quick to be snatched by her, she inspected your palms and only then did she notice the lack of those signature calluses and wounds that littered your hands. The very wounds she used to trace and play with when she was younger. 

She let go of your hands before dismissing you, sending you off to fetch beverages for their esteemed guest. How dare she modify you without informing her. Just because you’re a princess doesn’t mean you can do whatever you want. 

She watched Yue fidget under her gaze, although she’s taller and older than her, nothing but a simple angling of the head can’t fix. 

“I don’t know about you but I’m famished.” When you came back with a tray in hand, she smiled at the girl, “Well? The tea isn’t going to pour itself now is it?” 

Yue wouldn't be able to defy her. They are in their territory and they are the ones looking for appeasement, they are the ones who are looking for financial stability. When she saw Yue nod, she couldn’t help but smile as if a weight had been taken off of her. 

Good. The water tribe’s princess wasn’t a fool. 

Though, she wasn’t the wisest. One should never try to appease the aggressor. But she doesn’t need to know that. 

Yue kept her head down as she raised the cup to her, offering the tea. Keeping her smile on, she brought her hand to raise it, only for glass to shatter and hot tea to spill. 

“Oops, my hand seemed to have slipped once more.” The rich brown stained the white and blue of the princess’s dress. “Pour me another.” Lifting her empty —waiting hand— she smiled. 

The grimace she was rewarded with was quite satisfactory. She waited for the second pour and like before, her hand “slipped.” She heard the lid of the teapot rattle from how her hands shook. Despite being able to follow her father around for political affairs, she’s no good at masking her emotions it seems. 

The corner of her mouth twitched. She was enjoying this. 

Though, sparing you a glance, she lets out a huff. “Geez, you’re no good at this at all, Princess Yue. In any case, why don’t you use your bending to clean this mess.” She lazily gestured to the spilled tea and shards of glass littered across the grounds. 

“But, since my purpose wasn’t to come here to humiliate you–” at first, “It appears that your father’s plea may come to fruition—” there was a hopeful gleam in her eyes at her words, and she was about to crush it. “If he manages to win the duel to show his worth.”

She watches Yue try to suppress her tears, her lips trembling and brows furrowed. 

From what her father had told her, the water tribesman would be going against Zhao. Although he is the lowest ranking soldier that is within her circle, he did manage to land a position as their trainer. He must have some skill if he can, allegedly, fill your position. And your position is nothing to scoff at, rumoured to have royal blood, a young powerful soon to be general, the youngest and fastest to have risen up the ranks, and someone who has survived and thrived within the child officer program that had the mortality rate of sixty nine. *HAH.

Though, even if he did lose, it simply means that there will be a job opening for one fortunate soul. There will be no true losses on their part, a lousy lieutenant is hardly worth anything, besides, it's a small price to pay for the entertainment that they get to have. 

Before she could taunt her more, Yue sped past her towards the direction she came from, the glass teapot shattering upon impact. 

A second passed in silence before she crossed her arms, clicking her tongue, “That girl, she could have at least made herself useful and cleaned up this mess.” She then looked at you, you were still holding the tray. “Does she even know where the arena is?”

You stayed silent. 

Grumbling, she looked down at the spilled tea and porcelain. 

“What a waste.”

[twistedtummies2]

A Day Beneath the King (Kink Fic; LeonaXReader)

WARNING: IF YOU ARE NOT 18+, TURN BACK IMMEDIATELY. THIS IS NOT A STORY FOR YOU, SO DO NOT READ IT, PLEASE. EVERYBODY GOT THAT? GOOD.

Yesterday was International Underwear Day. Yes, really. That’s a thing. I was too late to make anything for that on time, BUT I did decide to finish this complete madhouse of kinky weirdness featuring Leona Kingscholar from “Twisted Wonderland.” For a long time, I’ve toyed around with the idea of ass entrapment; a tiny partner/preything being trapped in/with the rump of their giant-sized beau/predator for a while. I decided, as an experiment (and since I’ve had booties on the brain lately) to write up a trial of a story focused entirely on that kink. And who better to help with this experiment than my God and Master of Fiction, Leona?  This story contains rump smushing/smothering, butt crushing, ass entrapment, implied vore, various macro/micro elements, and general insanity. If none of that sounds like something you want to read, you have one last chance to turn back. If you’re still here...enjoy the ride. I know I did. >///>

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“Hmph. You know, Herbivore…I always thought you were cute, but at this size? Heh…I think even a mouse would say you’re adorable.”

A fittingly mouse-like squeak was the only audible response you had to offer, as you gazed up at your titan-sized boyfriend. When Leona Kingscholar had invited you to his dorm room, with the promise of a special “anniversary surprise,” you hadn’t expected it to be a faceful of Sam’s patented, long-lasting shrinking powder. Now, you were smaller than a rodent, while Leona’s handsome form loomed over you. A smug look of amusement was upon his scarred yet supremely beautiful face, while his green eyes glowed with a keen, almost ravenous sort of gleam…which, to be fair, seemed to be their usual setting. Your heart was hammering hard in your chest, for many reasons. Not the least of them was the fact that Leona was almost naked: it was still morning, and the lazy lion hadn’t yet gotten dressed for the day’s activity. His tanned, toned form leered down at you in all its glory; his well-shaped six pack abs pulsed with his breath, his large, heavy feet planted down on either side of your. His dark mane cast shadows across his face, giving an almost evil yet deeply entrancing veneer to his supercilious expression. “What’s the matter?” he purred. “Cat got your tongue?” He grinned, showing off his fangs as you were helpless to do anything but sputter mindlessly. Your faculties for speech and proper thought were all but kaput…seeing all that warm, inviting, smooth skin…seeing that gorgeous body…seeing those sharp teeth and that hungry look in his eyes… You weren’t sure exactly how small you were - less than three inches, to be certain - but you somehow felt totally microscopic now. As if you were in the presence of a God. You didn’t dare tell Leona that, though: the big jerk had an ego the size of a hot air balloon already, after all. With a rumble that seemed to make the floor beneath your feet quake, one of Leona’s strong, long-fingered hands reached out and scooped you up, carefully lifting you into the air as he rose from his squatting position. He stood at his full height, his free hand resting upon his plush, curved hip, which he cocked slightly as he inspected you within his grasp. His grip was firm yet tender; not painful, but certainly not easy to break. You wiggled instinctively, and watched him grin once more. “Don’t struggle, worm,” he teased, playfully, swishing his rope-like tail. “Now that’s just an uncalled for name,” you muttered, trying not to show how much the demeaning taunt made you blush. You were pretty sure you failed. “Well, I guess you’re right,” shrugged Leona. “If you were a worm, I’d just squish you.” A slightly sadistic shimmer came to his fanged smile as he gave you a squeeze…then chuckled as you squeaked once more. “Such a pathetic little thing,” he cooed, then raised an eyebrow. “How are you enjoying my anniversary surprise so far, hmmm?” “W-Well, I’m…mostly wondering WHY you’ve shrunk me?” you decided to ask, rather shyly. It was clear Leona was in a mean mood, and you really didn’t want to upset him when he was in that state. He could be scary even when he WASN’T in such a mood…but to be fair, giving in to his dominating presence had never exactly been something you tried hard to deny. You loved being his, and he loved knowing that. “I decided to give you a gift,” said Leona. “You’re going to take a backseat position for the rest of the day. Call it a favor: today, you don’t need to do any schoolwork. You don’t have to walk to class, run on the PE field, deal with those smelly chemicals in the lab…” “I’m guessing, at this point, there’s a catch involved,” you drawled. After all, he hadn’t just shrunk you to give you a break. You knew him too well to expect or believe that. “Depends on what you mean by catch,” answered Leona, slyly. 

He then leaned close, and you squirmed as his sharp nose nuzzled against you. You could feel his nostrils flare as he not-so-subtly sniffed, taking in your scent. The intimacy was only enhanced by the vast size difference; you felt as if his nose, itself, was larger than you were. “Mmmm…I’m gonna keep you with me the whole day,” Leona growled, in a possessive sort of way. “No one else gets to see you. No one else gets to FEEL you. For our anniversary, I’m making sure that You’re. All. Mine. So, now that you’re so tiny…” He lapped his tongue over you, making you squeal as saliva was slapped across your side. “Mmmmaaaaah…I’m going to put you away somewhere,” Leona breathed, the warm, humid, meat-scented air wafting over you when he spoke. “Somewhere close…somewhere warm…somewhere dark…heh, probably doesn’t smell too good, probably very tight…but you’ll be safe. For a while, anyway.” You gulped as you saw him lick his perfect lips. “I…I’m g-guessing that ‘somewhere’ is…uh…right down there?” you eeked out, pointing down towards his bare belly. Leona laughed, his free hand rubbing up and down over his washboard abs. “As tempting as that is, not this time,” he answered. “I’ve got somewhere else in mind to hold onto you for the day.” You must have looked quite confused, for Leona’s sneaky smile widened. “I told you before,” he said, his voice dropping an octave in a husky, dusky way. “You’re taking a BACKSEAT position today.” The hand that caressed his belly moved down and around. The fingertips brushed over his pelvis, slid serenely across his hip and his thigh…and you felt something inside you flip-flop as you saw that hand rub up and down over the curve of one of his soft, round, well-padded rump cheeks. “Wait…w-wait, you…what…you…?” “Tch. You really need to stop stuttering, Herbivore,” scoffed Leona. “How can I enjoy you whimpering out my name if you can’t even talk straight?’ “Ass,” was all you could say. Leona grinned wider than ever. “Heh. You got it right,” he chuckled, and then lowered you carefully. “Now, take a deep breath, Herbivore. It’s probably the last bit of fresh air you’re gonna taste for a while.” You felt your eyes widen as you soon found yourself hovering, in an easy grasp, over the small of Leona’s backside. You could see the y-shaped space beneath his supple tail, which acted as the entrance to cleft between his cushioned glutes. Those same glutes were soon plainly visible, as his other hand stretched the back of the elastic band of his underpants, revealing a warm, musky-smelly cave, lined in fabric and flesh. “Wait…w-wait, Leona, LEONA, HOLD ON…!” Leona wasn’t holding on, in any way. You scrabbled against his fingers, but - with a simple tip of the wrist - you tumbled from his hand and plunged straight down into the dark well in the back of his black-and-gold boxers. THWAPP! “Ahhhh…mmmmmm,” moaned Leona, eyes fluttering closed as he trapped you in the back of his underwear. He bit his lip and rumbled, a look of pure, possessive pleasure in his jade-colored eyes as one of his hands lightly caressed the cloth-covered softness of his ass, roaming his palm around the half-spherical curve of one of his plump, plush, well-stacked cheeks. “Welcome to the king’s ‘throne room,’ Herbivore,” he teased. “Hope you enjoy the view, because you won’t be seeing anything else unless I allow it.” Leona gave his butt a firm spank. His cheeks wobbled and bounced against each other from the impact…and against you. You tried to speak, but all you could really manage - at least at first - were muffled, wordless noises. The fat fanny mounds were smushing against either side of your face, your head pressing into the outermost layer of his booty canyon. Your arms were outstretched, firmly pinned between the fatty swells of his blubbery buttocks, and the tight-fitting fabric prison created by his boxers. You tried to move your legs, but they had slid into the crack itself; you could feel the silky, soft skin that lined the crevice swallowing up your feet. All around you was the oppressive warmth of the lion-man’s fat ass, his stacked cake baking your own skin with its heat. You tried to squirm, but Leona growled at your efforts. Muffled squeaking sounds left you, as he flexed his ass HARD around you, the cushioned, pudgy rump orbs cramming down on either side of you, like a vise formed from mattress cushions. “Hmph…MPH! PLMPH STRMPH! LNRMPH!” Your words were an unintelligible garble of noises, mixing panic and flustered frustration together. Your face felt very hot, and not just because of the dark heat of the ass-jail you were now spending time in. Leona grinned naughtily over his shoulder, rocking his hips from side to side, swaying his butt as he looked in the mirror. He could see the outline your body made as it pushed against his underwear…he teasingly ran one finger around the edges, crooning when he felt you squirm so deliciously against his power. It was so easy to own you this way…so easy to KEEP you… “Hope you’re enjoying yourself in there, my little pet,” purred the prince as he patted his posterior. “Because you’re going to spend the entire day in there. From now till I return to my room, you won’t be leaving the depths of my shorts. So I’d get comfortable with ass, if I were you; the two of you are gonna be VERY well acquainted when this is over, heh heh…” Licking his teeth lustily, Leona strode across his room. You squirmed anew as you could feel his butt cheeks bounce and shift with every step…then your eyes widened as, suddenly, your face was forced deeper into his musky cleft. A new tightness seemed to overtake you, and you could hear Leona grunting slightly as he strained with something. The movements and sounds you sensed soon informed you of what was going on: Leona had just put on his typical tight-fitting pants. While you blushed at your situation, Leona fastened his trousers, and once again looked in the reflection. An evil smile crossed his scarred face: the pants completely hid you from sight. Not even he could detect much sign of anything amiss…let alone something as wild as a shrunken human, crammed into the back of his underwear. Chuckling nastily, he quickly clothed himself in the rest of his school uniform. Then, he gathered his items for classes, and began to stride through the halls of Savanaclaw, and the rest of Night Raven beyond. Leona’s walk was a thing of grace and beauty, which you had all but committed to memory; the swaggering strut of an apex predator, which left his hips in constant motion, his thighs pumping as they carried his tall, powerful form all the way to wherever he willed them to bring him. Now, wedged into the opening of his rump canyon, you were experiencing that walk in a whole new way. Grunts and wheezes left you as you felt the butt cheeks grind against each side of your body, pumping like pistons and pounding away at you with their smothering, suffocating heft. The chubby cheeks jiggled from the impact of each step, and each jiggle just seemed to work you deeper into the fat bottom’s inescapable embrace. You shook your head and tried to push away…but it was a fruitless endeavor. The ass cheeks smashed into you repeatedly, with hammering intensity; as long as Leona was moving, escape was totally inconceivable. The thought made you quiver for more than one reason. “L-Leona!” you gasped out, finally getting enough of your face free to speak. “Leona, I’m not sure-MPH!” Your protests were silenced when a flex of the ass forced your head into the crack again. “Shut up,” you heard Leona grumble. “I’m trying to get to class. You stay right there, Herbivore. Trust me…you won’t be going anywhere…” The devilish laugh the lion let out made you want to hate him…mostly because it made you lust for him all the more.

How dare this bullying jerk be so drop-dead gorgeous? Life was truly unfair. Finally, you stopped squirming, closing your eyes and simply letting yourself be squished and smushed by the repeated pressing and pushing of the gluteus maximus’ twin moons. Maybe you’d try escaping again later, but for now…there was nothing to but wait. As Leona strutted about, butt rocking and rolling from side to side, his ass cheeks crashing into you like a couple of tidal waves…you soon began to worry about a simple and obvious issue. Leona wouldn’t be standing, nor even walking, forever. Sooner or later, he would have to sit. You blushed bright red, unsure if you should dread that moment or call it a blessing…

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…Experience would not provide you with any clear answers, as your hormones fought a battle with your survival instincts and physicality. It was hard to tell which side was winning. Leona sat boredly in one of Trein’s classes. His position was its usual one for such scenarios: his eyes half-lidded and sleepy-looking, his head leaning in one gloved hand, the other tapping his magical pen slowly against the pages of the book open in front of him…a book he pointedly was not looking in, instead half-listening to the elderly professor’s droning, dry lecture. The handsome half-lion yawned without shame, ignoring the looks some of the other students gave him. For him, it was another bland, monotonous lesson session of information he already knew. No different from any other class with Professor Trein… …Well, he smirked. He supposed it WAS different, but only in a small way. Chuffing through his nose and rolling his eyes at his own mental wordplay, the lion subtly shifted his position in his seat. His right rump cheek stretched and lifted slightly, before settling and splaying out again. His left cheek then did the same. He rumbled as he got comfortable, little flickers of pleasure sparking in his bloodstream as he could feel the warm, soft, pleasant sensation of the puny form pinned beneath his heavy bottom. “Hope you’re having fun down there,” he mumbled under his breath, not sure if you could hear him or not…and honestly not really caring. “Fun,” you guessed, was in the eye of the beholder. Any wiggling you had been able to do when Leona was standing and walking had been stopped completely. The hard wood of the seat pressed through the back of his pants and into your spine, while the much softer, juicier, meatier surface of his giant butt fell over your whole body’s front. It was like being buried under hundreds of pounds of cake dough, the weight bearing down on you with such immense pressure, you were legitimately surprised you didn’t pop like a grape under the strain. You couldn’t see anything, lodged in a place where the Sun never shone. You tried to push up against the fat mass, but the pudge just came drooping down again, pooling over your shrunken form, as if intent on swallowing you whole into its plump padding. Leona did not move much while he sat…but every time he did, you felt it. Every grind of his gigantic butt as he shifted his posterior in his seat made your bones whine. Your lungs wheezed as you gulped in raspy breaths every time you pushed some of the fat away from your face…only for that same pudge to drop down again. The softness of his skin only made you moan and groan; it was like being caressed by a lover…before having your face suffocated beneath a large pillow. Every breath you took was tainted with the heady odor of Leona’s natural, masculine musk. That scent only grew stronger the longer you were crammed under his fat ass; it was summertime, after all, and sitting for long hours could build up some sweat in certain places, even with the rooms well-conditioned. Your own sweat, courtesy of the furnace-like warmth that radiated from the glutes of the prince, speckled your brow, only making things feel slicker. You keened as you could feel a single bead of the stuff slide across the curve of his butt crack and drop onto your head. Your heart was pounding. A mixture of various emotions - fear and ever-growing arousal predominant among them - mingled in your body. This was so humiliating, so demeaning, so generally unpleasant…yet you found you almost didn’t want it to stop. It didn’t keep you from wiggling. Thinking the lion was distracted, you tried a couple of times to squirm…but even if all the weight and pressure had allowed it, Leona wouldn’t. You could alway sense his displeasure, as a low rumble - not quite a growl, but close - would thrum through the body over you…then, he’d flex his cheeks, till your head nearly felt like it might burst. You soon got the message and quit trying to break free; each time he flexed, you could feel yourself sinking into the cleft like it was quicksand. You groaned as Leona shifted his rump more insistently; now he was clearly doing it to directly torment you, smushing his cheeks over you and shifting the rolls of fat over you in waves. “Mmmmmm…” The pleasured moan around you made you blush more. You felt him lift his rump slightly, and felt the tightness around you slacken eeeever so slightly…before he sat fully once more, and you grimaced as you were forced deeper into the crack. Suddenly, you realized…that was the point. Every shift, every flex, every motion…was pushing you further and further into the crevice between the rump cheeks. You tried to squirm, letting out muffled calls for Leona to stop…but even if he heard you, he clearly wasn’t caring, as he just flexed hard. Suction dragged you deeper into the velvety canyon of sweaty, musky rump meat. You clawed at the cheeks, but your fingers just sank uselessly into the chub, and skidded across it without getting any real purchase. “Deeper,” Leona’s voice came drifting down to you, as he had clearly decided to ignore class in favor of dragging your body into his crack by force. “Get…all the way…in there…” Each phrase was accompanied by a flex from his butt. You could feel the muscles bundled together beneath the cushioning pudge, as they worked like a set of toothless jaws to nibble you into the blackness of the booty cleft. “H-Help…help! L-Leona…stop…!” Your words were panting, gasping…totally useless. Leona chuckled, amused at your feeble voice, buried beneath his bulk. “Sink,” he hissed. “You know where you belong.” “Kingscholar!” snapped Trein���s voice, crossly. “What are you muttering about? Are you paying attention at all?” “Yeah, yeah, I’m listening,” grunted Leona. You tried to call out to the professor, but blushed when you found you couldn’t. Too much weight, softness, and plumpness was pushing on your face and your chest. You were sinking into the canyon, your feet wiggling against the silky, sensitive skin that lined the inner layer of the rump region. Your head and one arm were all that remained outside of the crack. You puffed through your nostrils as your crimson face was squished more than ever, your fingers clinging to the fatness as best you could…

Leona - without watching his movements, his eyes on Trein’s blackboard - reached back with one hand while no one was looking. He gripped one of his butt cheeks, and gave it a slight jiggle. He smirked as he heard the faint, barely audible “swulp” sound as your entire body was now completely stuffed into the partition of his posterior. Leona flexed his cheeks once more, just to make sure you were firmly lodged in the crack, then scratched his butt carelessly before returning his attention as fully as he could (which wasn’t that fully) to Trein’s lesson. Your whole body was now totally immersed in assflesh. The musky smell and sweaty sensations were stronger than ever. You squirmed, but all you could feel was the soft, thick, weighty rump chub that surrounded you. You couldn’t tell which way to move to try and find fresh air…and you knew it was hopeless, anyway, since you were still trapped by Leona’s undergarments and the trousers beyond. A moan left you as you could hear the intestines of the lion bubbling somewhere nearby, and you could feel his butt clamp each time you pawed at the bum walls, which came around you like a trash compactor… “It’s useless trying to get away,” Leona’s voice came down again. “I could keep you there forever, if I wanted, y’know. Heh…just think of that…never knowing anything but that. Left to live inside my crack…lost there for the rest of your short, tortured life…not even worth a snack, just a plaything for me to break. Tch. Sounds like it would suck, but I bet it’s making you blush like a rose, right?” “Kingscholar!” “I’m listenin’, alright?!” While the professor and the prince began to bicker, you could only curl up slightly in the canyon. You really hated it when he was right, the rude bully…

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Leona panted slightly as he jogged across a stretch of flat, grassy field. His hair was tied back in a loose ponytail, and he was dressed in his usual PE uniform. The one exception was the usual black sports jacket he had tied about his waist. He had left that in the lockers. The lion paused beside a tree and sighed, wiping an arm across his sweaty brow as he eased himself into the shade. He was carrying a large bottle of water in his other hand. Smacking his parched lips, he opened it up and slugged down a few refreshing swallows of the cool, clear liquid. “Ahhhh,” sighed Leona, as he leaned back against the trunk and closed the bottle up. The tip of his tongue went past his teeth and lapped at his lips. “Damn…it’s scorching today. I’m used to hot weather, but it’s still pretty warm…warmer than usual, I think.” A devious smirk crossed the lion’s face, and his scarred eye glistened with superior, sinister pleasure as he glanced back over his shoulder. His tail lifted and curled itself around one of his butt cheeks, cupping under its weight and lifting it slightly. “Must be absolutely broiling in there, for you,” he remarked. “Heh…try not to drown in all that sweat, if you can. Must be real-huh?” Leona’s eyes widened and his smirk faded as something shifted under his pants. He suddenly felt a shiver race up and down his spine and let out a shaky breath…as his rump visible jiggled and wobbled, as if it had a mind of its own. Finally, the lion’s fluttering eyes opened fully, and he chuckled as the motions stopped. “Well, whaddya know…you actually managed to wiggle free. Gotta admit, I’m almost impressed. Almost.” You couldn’t answer at first. You gasped and choked, desperately drinking in air that wasn’t reeking of lion sweat and musk. Your entire shrunken form was soaked in the same, your hair stuck to your brow, as your upper half dangled over the waistband of Leona’s athletic pants. It had been a lucky break: you had realized, while he had been exercising, that the looser fit gave you a chance to try and break free. The problem was…you hadn’t been given a proper chance. When the lion wasn’t sitting on a broomstick or an exercise bench, he was running or leaping. For all his talk of using mind over muscle, the athletic prince kept a good workout regiment. You felt delirious, loopy after huffing up the fumes of sweat and rump musk that built up over the day, and exponentially increased with the workout. Wiggling free from the lion’s rump and crawling your way upwards left you totally out of breath; it felt as if you’d been swimming against the flabby mounds. You looked up at Leona. You tried to look angry, but you had a feeling you weren’t succeeding; your face was still very red, both from your flustered status and how tired and hot you were. Combined with your sweaty disposition, and the way you so pathetically rested, unable to pull yourself free any further, not to mention how you winced as blessed daylight hit your eyes…you could understand the superior, self-confident smirk Leona was giving your rather pitiful form. “Enjoying our anniversary yet?” “You…are so…awful…” Leona just rolled his eyes. “Say that when you don’t look like a bruised tomato,” he snorted, and took another drink of water, closing his eyes as he relished the feeling of the cold drink descending his esophagus. He opened one eye when he heard a puppyish sound leave you, and smirked around the bottle top as he saw the longing look you gave to the bottle. He pulled it free from his lips and licked them, shaking it teasingly. “What’s the matter?” he mocked. “Thirsty? I’d think you’d be getting plenty to satisfy your thirst back there.” “Are you referring to your sweat, or just to a different kind of thirst?” “Yes,” Leona said, showing off his fangs. You just groaned. “When I get back to normal,” you threatened, “I’m going to spend a whole week waking you up early, whether you need it or not.” “I’m shaking in my sandals,” drawled Leona, then narrowed his glowing green eyes. “Besides, you seem to be under the impression I’ll LET you get back to normal.” You froze up and blinked up at the lion man. “Wh-what’s that supposed to mean?” you squeaked, nervously. “Well, I COULD just crush you between my butt cheeks or let my ass smother you to death,” said Leona, shrugging carelessly and crossing his arms over his chest. His tail lifted up, the end of it twitching back and forth, like the pendulum of a clock. “No one would ever know what happened to you…no one but me. Then I could just gobble up your puny body, and digest the evidence. Heh…bet you’d end becoming part of my ass, too. So I guess, in a way…you’d never escape it. I think that sounds like a great way to finish our anniversary, don’t you?” You knew he was just teasing. At least…you certainly HOPED he was just teasing. With Leona Kingscholar, it was hard to tell. Regardless, you couldn’t help but whimper and cringe. Leona snickered, the sun glinting off his pearly fangs. “You’re way too easy,” he said. “And you’re a fatass and a meanie.” Leona looked bored. “Meanie? Seriously?” he droned. “What are you, five? Not even my nephew uses words like that…often…” “Meanie!” you snapped back, deliberately. You even stuck your tongue out, trying to annoy him with a bit of childishness. You had to get SOME small revenge after all this, after all. The attempt backfired, however, as Leona scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Okay, you wanna be a brat?” he snorted. “Fine: just for that, you’ve lost your rights to air and sunlight…not that you ever had them in the first place. Get back in my ass!” Suddenly, the lion’s tail whipped down, and you yelped as the rope-like appendage worked to push you back into the prince’s pants. Your arms flailed and you let out a series of sputtering sounds as you fought to shove it away, but you failed. The tail twisted and turned, working like a snake to shove you into place. Once more, you found yourself sinking into the sweaty, musky, warm, cushioned folds of the fat ass crack. A final gasp was cut short as you were squelched back into place, the plump butt cheeks jiggling as the tail pulled free and lashed itself back to its proper state. Leona nodded to himself, firmly, finished his water, then tossed the bottle into a nearby trash bin before continuing his jog, leaving you helpless as you felt his rump bounce and grind around you with every movement of his powerful legs.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Afternoon was changing into evening when Leona finally arrived back at Savanaclaw. He yawned as he strolled through the halls of the oasis-like dorm, a cool breeze whistling through his sweat-stained locks. He walked with his eyes closed, hands behind his head, lazily sauntering along as his mind wandered. The housewarden was looking forward to a cool shower and a much-deserved catnap. His ears pricked up when he heard a pair of voices chattering ahead. “Still no sign of them?” “Not so far. You sure you didn’t see them in Ignihyde?” “Nope. Ortho scanned the whole dorm, said he couldn’t find any sign of them there.” “Well, why didn’t you ask him to scan the whole SCHOOL?” “...Oh, yeah. I guess I didn’t think of that.” “Do you ever think at all?” “HEY!” Kingscholar frowned and opened his unscarred eye. Ahead, he could see two familiar Heartslabyul students nervously bantering with one another, clearly out of place in Savanaclaw. “Alright, let’s be smart about this…after all, they can’t have disappeared into thin air,” sighed Ace Trappola “I dunno…at this point, it’s looking like they might have,” mumbled Deuce Spade, scratching the back of his head as he glanced about…then he noticed Leona. His eyes lit up and he waved the lion over. “Oi! Leona! Can we ask you a question?” “I think that counts,” Leona dryly replied, and tried to walk past the pair. “Hey! Don’t just ignore us!” yelled Ace. Leona stopped and glared back at them. He was quite annoyed. “Do you REALLY wanna get my attention that way, Trappola?” he growled warningly, baring his teeth and twitching his tail in irritation. “Sorry,” Ace apologized. “It’s just that we’re looking for the Prefect.” Leona’s tail twitch changed from one of irritation to one of self-gratified amusement. “Really?” he purred. “They were supposed to come help us with a study session earlier, but we haven’t seen them all day,” Deuce explained. “Since you’re in charge here, and since…well…you know…you ARE kinda their boyfriend? We were wondering if you would know where to look for them,” Ace added. Leona grinned widely. Oh, this was just too priceless. “I saw them briefly at PE,” he replied. “Since when do they take PE class with you?” frowned Ace, crinkling his nose, clearly confused. “I never said they did,” Leona reminded him. “I just said I saw them at that time.” “And you don’t know where they could be now?” Deuce checked again. “Psh. I’m not my Herbivore’s keeper. They’re a grown-ass human being, they can take care of themselves, don’tcha think?” “Sure, WE think that,” said Ace, now narrowing his eyes. “But since when did YOU think that?” Leona just yawned. “Is this interrogation over? I wanna get some sleep,” he growled, grouchily. “If you don’t have anything else to add,” shrugged Deuce, then looked at Ace. “C’mon, let’s see if maybe there’s a clue in Diasomnia. They’re pretty close to Malleus, after all.” “Well, we definitely won’t HEAR anything there…Sebek will yell our ears off, I just know it…” Leona chuckled as he watched the pair leave. “If that overgrown lizard has a hint, tell him thanks for keeping an eye on MY plaything,” he called mockingly. The Heartslabyul duo frowned back over their shoulders; they didn’t always like hearing Leona call you that…but they also weren’t TOO put off, as they simply and calmly left. Once they were gone, Leona smirked wider, eyes glowing with a somewhat evil gleam as he looked back over his shoulder and patted his warm, wide buttocks. They wobbled at his touch. “No one knows where you are, my pet,” he whispered, in a sultry, silky sort of way. “Nobody but me. How has it been, huh? Soaking up all my sweat and musk…feeling all my weight pound and squeeze around you…I bet when I take off these pants, I still won’t be able to even tell you’re in there.” He paused, caressing his rear end almost affectionately, a thoughtful, supreme look on his face. “I’m almost tempted to leave you in there. Forever. If it were physically possible, I absolutely would…let you live up my ass. No more daylight. No more air. Only me…all around you…completely and inescapably. No one would ever see you again; I could keep you to myself. My little plaything. My little rump toy.” He growled and flexed his fat cheeks hard; one could see the muscles tighten and bulge beneath the thickly-padded layers of ass cushioning, and dimly hear the keening, breathless sound as the ass tightened around your whole body, burying your face, your hands, every part of you in musky, grimy booty flab. “My. Little. Pet,” Leona said, his voice as dark as it was dominating. Still keeping his ass tightly clenched, he shifted his hips, the cheeks of his bottom grinding against each other like a pair of boulders. He bit his lip and moaned as he heard a desperate, scared, yet EXCITED noise come from your battered body…a little more pressure, and he could easily BREAK you…smother or smush you flat… …He relaxed with a shuddering sigh, and patted his butt…this time right over the crack, as if the pat was meant for you. Then, sashaying his hips happily, he strutted along again towards his room. By now, you were so dazed, lightheaded, and squashed till you ached that you barely qualified as conscious. You struggled for air in the hot, damp cleft of the lion’s rear end. The bouncing and swinging of his bottom had come to have an almost soporific effect, as you were thoroughly soaked in his odor and his moisture. You were beyond struggling, beyond even wriggling; you were no longer even sure if the voices of your friends had been real or imagined. As humiliating, hot, and horrid as it all was…you were blushing. In fact, you were even smiling. It wasn’t fair…it wasn’t FAIR how stupidly hormonally addled you were, or that he was so perfect he could play to those hormones almost without trying. Part of you hated all this…but more and more, you’d come to enjoy it. In a way, you were experiencing Leona’s day in a more intimate, attached way than most would ever find it possible. You might as well have been part of him…part of every step…part of every motion…honeyed thoughts that made it hard to feel angry, as the strength and pure power he displayed (with such crude methods, in more ways than one) was beginning to get you drunk. Or maybe you’d just been inhaling too much of his musk. Neither would be surprising. You were not freed till, suddenly, Leona removed his pants. You FELT it happen, and HEARD it; you didn’t actually see. You were lodged so deep inside his crack, you could not see even the thinnest line of light from the world beyond. So, when a familiar hand burrowed its way in, and pulled your soggy, limp body out, you were unprepared for the flash of surprisingly sterile light that shocked your eyes. When your vision became blurry, you found yourself staring at Leona’s handsome face. His expression was smug and amused, as usual…but there was a hint of affection there, as if seeing you so helpless and soppy, like a kitten dragged out of a rainstorm, was cute to him. You quickly realized that you were in his bathroom…that he was topless…and he was about to enter the shower. You immediately figured out “topless” was not ALL he was, and decided - against your less savory judgment - against looking down towards…certain areas. Ahem. “Heh. And I thought you were pathetic before,” mocked Leona, but the words carried a loving lilt, rather than a sharp bite. He sniffed the air, then grimaced. “Phew! Damn, you stink!” You tried to snipe back a snarky retort of, “Whose fault is that?!” You were so dizzy and so tired, however, all you could manage was a slurred response that vaguely sounded like, “Foosballs are flat.” The lion just smirked. “Didn’t catch a word of that. Try mumbling louder, and maybe I’ll actually care about what my ass sponge has to say,” he taunted. You could only groan. You weren’t sure you could physically blush any more, but your face found a way. Leona rolled his eyes. “Tch. Figures. Seriously, how kinky can you get?” he half-sneered. “I bet you’d like it if I actually did that, huh? Tied you to a scrub brush or something, used you to help clean up while I bathe? Ha! Don’t think I didn’t hear that squeak! You have some serious issues, you know that?” All you could respond with was a sort of weighty nod; you felt like there was a lead weight somewhere in your face, making it hard to raise your head, even as the sleepy dizziness continued to surround you. Leona shook his head with a snort, then a tenderness came to his scarred green eye as he held you in his palms and stepped into the shower, shutting the curtain. “Well, maybe we’ll save that for another time. For now, let’s get you cleaned up. You look like a sick rat,” he said. You certainly were not going to complain or argue. Leona cleaned you up during his shower, in-between rounds of washing his own luxurious mane, and rinsing the sweat and dust from his own tanned, beautiful body. You said nothing during the whole process, but throughout it, you found it hard not to laugh deliriously: you had never expected your first communal shower with your boyfriend to be like THIS.

“Oi. Cut that out and stop squirming. You’re gonna get soap in your mouth. Tch. I’d call you a pain in my ass, if you hadn’t felt so good back there…”

Even after being thoroughly disinfected - and dressed in a miniature pair of boxers, which…you felt it was best NOT to ask the origins of (you had a feeling they probably belonged to someone who was now PART of the butt you were so well acquainted with) - you still felt rather loopy after your experience. “Woozy?” teased Leona, noticing the way your body rocked and heaved in his palms as he approached the bed, wearing nothing but (a fresh, clean pair of) his own boxers once again. “I dunno if that’s the word,” you admitted honestly. “But I feel…whatever you feel after going on a Tilt-a-Whirl a few times too many. Except most Tilt-a-Whirls don’t smell like a lion’s butt…” “...Most?” “I went through a lot more than you know, back in my world.” Leona just chuffed with amusement. “Whatever. Bet most Tilt-a-Whirls don’t leave you looking like a beet for almost twelve hours straight either, huh?” Somehow, you found the strength to smirk with a hint of mischief all your own. “Most Tilt-a-Whirls aren’t drop-dead handsome princes, either,” you replied. Leona smirked. He was well-aware of his own rugged good looks…but something the way he seemed to purr indicated he was nevertheless always happy to hear somebody else comment on them. Especially you. You giggled softly as Leona lay on his bed and placed you on his bare belly, stretching his arms out behind his head. He raised the brow arched over his good eye expectantly. “Well? Do you want to rub it, or go inside it?” he growled. “Can’t I do both?” you chirruped. “You are literally the size of a rodent. I WILL eat you.” “Don’t threaten me with a good time.” Leona sighed and dropped his head back on the pillow. “I liked it better when you were shoved up my ass,” he grumbled. You blushed, but still sniggered…yet you obligingly gave the overgrown cat-man the belly rub he desired, all the same. Leona’s smile became one of purest peace as he thumped his tail with satisfaction against the mattress, eyes closed as he enjoyed your tiny hands playing across his belly. “Mmmmmm…almost as good as your wriggling,” he mumbled. “Gee, thanks,” you drawled, sarcastically. Leona just purred in response, then opened his left eye. “So…how was it for you?” he asked. The words weren’t teasing or taunting. This time, it sounded like a sincere question. You hesitated, biting your lip…but finally answered slowly: “It was…um…hotter than Hades. In more ways than one.” Leona snorted with laughter and shut his eye. “Yep,” he grunted. “That’s about what I expected.” “There were moments I was almost afraid you might crush me, or that I might suffocate to death,” you admitted, very softly. Leona’s smile slackened. His eyes remained closed. “You really think I’d take it that far?” he asked, in an even sort of voice. “Honestly, some days I really don’t know,” you admitted, then patted his stomach with a smile. “But right now, it’s safe to say I trust you.” Leona purred a little louder at that. “Had to have been pretty nasty, judging by that funky smell when I let you go at last,” he rumbled. “Oh, it was,” you said. “Kinky little weirdo,” he muttered. “Trust me, you have NO idea,” you chuckled. “I think I do,” Leona said, dryly. “You’ve admitted just about every raunchy, random little fantasy pulsing in that head of yours to me by this point…how’d the reality match up to this one?” “If I say, ‘it was better than I expected,’ will you think I’m a freak?” “I ALREADY think you’re a freak,” Leona said, blandly…then added, with rare affection, “You just so happen to be MY freak.” You gave a blushing smile, and replied, “When I decide whether that’s a compliment or an insult, I’ll tell you what I think.” Leona shook his head in a weary sort of way. “I’m surprised you said that. You were trying to escape an awful lot, it seemed to me.” You stopped rubbing at those words. Leona scowled, looking irritated at those heavenly sensations stopping, but he didn’t scold you. Yet. “What’s wrong?” he asked, instead. “Don’t tell me you didn’t actually like it.” “At first…not really,” you confessed. “But as the day wore on, and throughout the whole experience…I couldn’t deny how…how…I don’t even know what the WORD is, but despite how gross it all was…I did like it. Like I said, it was one of the hottest things I’ve ever experienced. Heh…not sure I wanna spend another WHOLE SCHOOL DAY in the back of your shorts, but…” You trailed off, shrugging one shoulder bashfully. Leona had the self-satisfied smile of a cat that had swallowed a canary. “I’ll keep all that in mind,” he said smoothly. “Great,” you mumbled. Leona chuckled, then a wicked grin crossed his face once more. “Before I clock out for a snooze - and I think you oughta do the same - there’s one more ‘special gift’ I have in store for you,” he said, devilishly. You half expected, in that moment, for him to pop you into his mouth and swallow you down. Given the greedy smile on his face, showing how much he enjoyed HAVING you, you would not have been surprised. But instead, after carefully plucking you up…Leona rolled over, laying on his belly, before dropping you on top of his pillowy posterior. He smirked over his shoulder as your hands and knees sank slightly into the fat of his warm, soft butt. “That’s your bed for tonight,” he said, in a rather firm voice. He yawned, then added, “If I feel you try to move off of it, then I will make you part of it. So try not to wriggle in your sleep too much, got it?” “G-Got it!” you squeaked. “Good,” said Leona, and yawned again. His expression softened as he lay his head on his pillow. His tail curled and flopped to one side, leaving his boxer-clad bottom completely exposed beneath you. He closed his eyes, nuzzling into the pillowcase. “Goodnight, Herbivore,” Leona mumbled tiredly. “Happy Anniversary.” Despite yourself, your own voice was light and tender as you replied, “Happy Anniversary, My King.” Leona’s ear twitched, but the only audible reaction he gave was a snore. In typical Kingscholar fashion, he had fallen asleep in scant seconds. Chuckling softly - and swearing your face would be permanently stained crimson, given how much blushing you’d done that day - you lay down and curled up like a kitten atop the right rump cheek of the lion man. By morning, you would awaken, your normal-sized head resting upon his ass cheek like a pillow…but for now, it was a mattress for your whole body. The musk had been replaced with a fresh, clean, almost floral scent, thanks to the recent shower…and the skin beneath his boxers felt smoother and softer, even more supple than before. It wasn’t long till you yawned, and found yourself drifting off to sleep as well. It hadn’t exactly been a conventional anniversary, at least for you… …But as slumber took ahold of your mind, you could already say you were going to dream about how great next year might be. You would say you were looking forward to it…but, under the circumstances, it was better to say you were looking BEHIND. …Oh, come now. How ELSE would you imagine this writer to end such foolery as this? He has to have SOME fun.

The (Rear) End

[ghost-proofbaby]

She knows him. She doesn’t know how or why. But she swears it on her life, she knows this pale elf.  She can’t explain the echoing hollow ache that rings out at the up-close sight of him any other way. She knows him, knew him, and had somehow lost him.

summary: aruna meets gale. aruna meets shadowheart. but, somehow, none it matters - they're not astarion, and she's beginning to think this astarion doesn't exist.

wc: 5.3k+

warnings: continued memory loss, more canon violence/gore. a lot of gameplay recount. spoilers for the game below (act 1, ravaged beach).

a/n: anyone else fail that perception check when meeting astarion? just me? that's cool. i can't even be mad when a pretty boy holds a knife to my throat. also, if some of this isn't 100% game accurate/lore accurate, do not come for me. we're here for a good time! not an accurate time!

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Aruna and Astarion. Astarion and Aruna. Aruna – Astarion. 

She echoes the two names in her mind an impossible amount of times. The one name, her name, clicks right into place for her. It makes sense. Her name is Aruna, there’s not a single doubt within her regarding that. And even if there had been, she’s already laid claim to it – she’s already introduced herself to the two strangers she’d managed to stumble upon on the beach as such. 

Shadowheart and Gale. Kind souls, a bit guarded but fair given the circumstances. They share a common affliction, one that Aruna hadn’t even noticed in the daze of her awakening on the beach – a worm in their heads. Literally. 

And she should be pondering more about how odd that is, all the squirming in her brain that she can feel, the way that she managed to connect telepathically with both of these strangers upon running into them, but she isn’t. 

Because, apparently, according to this mysterious letter addressed to her, she’s supposed to save Astarion. And neither of them are Astarion. 

Who the hell is Astarion? 

Maybe it could be one of her new companions; either of them could have lied regarding their name easily. But she had seen into their minds, and they had proven trustworthy so far. Hell, Gale was even offering to cook some sort of dinner for all of them in their current makeshift campsite they had chosen. A clearing in the edge of the woods, not too far from the beach, but certainly not wandering any further than necessary into the unfamiliar grounds they’ve found themselves crashed onto. They’d snagged some bedrolls out of random chests discarded by the crash (they had all doubted the previous owners were even still alive), made a makeshift fire pit in the center of the clearing, and declared it home – for now. 

It didn’t feel like home. Felt the furthest from home Aruna could have possibly been, and she didn’t even remember where her home was. Or if she had one before all of this. 

“What have you got there?” Gale asks casually from where he stands over the dinner he was scrounging together, pulling Aruna away from all her stubborn thoughts.

They had turned one of the fallen trees into a bench of sorts. Waist level and the perfect place for him to carefully cut up mushrooms they had found along their way with a stolen knife they’d secured. It was the beginnings of a home, gut feelings aside. 

“Hm?” Aruna hums, looking up from her palm, closing it on instinct, “What?” 

Gale stops all movement, eyes narrowing in her further at her closed fist, “The stone you’re holding. Did you find it during our travels?” 

Ah. The stone. One of two items she had found in the mysterious pouch on her body. She’d been mindlessly flipping it between her hands, fingers sliding over the smooth surface as she had studied it. Her investigation had proven half useful when she’d realized there was a carving on the flattest surface of the stone – a  crescent moon, just like one of her daggers. 

She could be honest. But for some reason, she feels protective over the stone. Especially after noticing that carving, “Oh, yeah. Saw it on the side of the road and it looked pretty unique. I’ll probably toss it away when we start back up on the road tomorrow.” 

Like Hells will I be letting it out of my sight. 

She doesn’t know much, frustratingly so, but she knows that this unusual stone is not the kind you would stumble upon on the road. Gale clearly knows as much as well, looking entirely unconvinced as they suddenly stare each other down in silence. 

He’s giving her an opportunity to be honest. As if she owes him the truth. 

“It’d be a shame to get rid of such an… unique stone.”

It would be. And he clearly believes it’s far more than a stone. But it only makes her fingers curl far more tightly around the opal, feeling the rough edge of the moon pressing into her skin. 

“Maybe I’ll sell it,” she shrugs, trying to put up an act of indifference, “It looks pretty enough to earn a decent amount of gold, right?” 

As if to prove her point, to further sell this careless act, she lets her hand fall back open. The moon carving is safe against her palm and out of sight, and the stone glimmers in the moonlight. 

“Looks like it would be worth more than just a bit of gold,” Gale says, taking a few steps closer to get a better look. On instinct, Aruna nearly bristles. “That- Are you aware of what that is-”

“Is dinner done?” Shadowheart interrupts with perfect timing. Her distraction lets Aruna quickly move to shove the stone away back into her pouch, having no interest in some sort of lecture from Gale. 

She doesn’t know what it is. But it’s hers, and his hungry eyes on the small artifact are enough to tell her to keep it far away from him. 

“Pardon me?” Gale blinks a few times, taking longer than a normal person might to register Shadowheart’s questions. He’s still focused on Aruna’s hand that now rests emptily against her lap. “Oh! Oh, no. Not quite. Sorry, my hungry friends. Just a few more minutes. It won’t be much but, it’ll be something. Excellent fuel to continue our search for a healer tomorrow, I assure you.”

Shadowheart says something more as she takes a seat on another makeshift bench they’d set up, and Gale responds with ease this time, but Aruna has tuned them both out. 

He’s probably right. Tomorrow, they need to find a healer. She needs to worry more about the worm in her head. She needs to reassess her priorities.

But it’s awfully hard when not only that stone, but that letter burns a hole in her pack, and she’s dreadfully aware that as kind and oddly trusting these people have been given their current situation, neither of them are Astarion.

And the letter said to save Astarion. Not Shadowheart, not Gale, not even herself. But Astarion. 

—

“So, what were your lives like before this entire mess and impending doom of ceremorphosis?”

Gale is a chatty traveling companion. Aruna learns this quickly when they wake the next morning and gather their packs, and she’d even had half the mind to begin a map of sorts so she can mark their camp and the surrounding areas they’ve already explored on it. All her sketches, trees and scribbles to depict the Nautiloid crash, are abysmal at best. But it’s something. If they can just be smart, if they can just be aware of their surroundings, they might be able to continue to call their perfect clearing home. 

Besides, none of them really wanted to continue to carry every single thing they had gathered thus far in their packs. 

Whatever they left surely is at risk of being found by others wandering, and they could be robbed blind of any supplies left behind, but Aruna is just glad for the lack of an ache in her back as she adjusts her pack. 

Shadowheart nearly trips over her steps, as if not expecting the question and clearly panicking over what to say, but Aruna decides to speak up first.

“I can’t remember,” she says plainly, monotonous as she continues to confidently stride forward. They’re nearly back to the main path they had discovered, and something is tugging her back in the direction of that damned beach. 

Shadowheart trips again, and this time, Aruna truly can’t tell if it’s due to shock or simply not watching where she was going in her effort to keep up. 

“What?” Gale chuckles under his breath, as though Aruna’s told a joke. He’s keeping pace with her fairly impressively, “I know this entire journey thus far has been fairly startling, but a symptom of ceremorphosis is not memory loss. Surely, you remember at least where you’re from.” 

“I don’t,” Aruna finally slows, letting Shadowheart fall into place on her right as she faces Gale, “I… I have no memories from before the ship. I must have just hit my head exceptionally hard, or maybe that worm is digging around in places in my brain that it isn’t in yours.” 

It’s a bold show of trust. She should feel more resistance towards laying out her troublesome internal quarrel so plainly to Gale, but she doesn’t. It’s almost as easy as fiddling with her daggers by the campfire, or mindlessly flipping around that stone in her pack. 

She should trust him, shouldn’t she?

Yes, something screams inside of her. The thing she felt locked up inside of her finally finds its voice, it seems, as it calls to her, you should trust him. Trust him with all that you have. 

The issue, of course, is that Aruna doesn’t have much. Material-wise nor of internal self. 

She has daggers. She has a pretty stone. She has a tarnished ring. She has a name. She has instructions to save Astarion, whoever that elusive bastard may be.

She doesn’t have much to offer. To trust with. 

“How very interesting,” Gale murmurs as he looks at her with nothing but unbridled curiosity, “Well, as I said, it’s not a symptom of ceremorphosis. As far as I’ve read, at least.”

Aruna eyes him wearily, instinct to trust be damned, “Yes, you seem to do a lot of that.” 

He throws his head back in a laugh and- why does it pull on her heartstrings like something of recognition? Why does something about this very moment all feel so familiar? 

The deja vu nearly makes Aruna sick, Gale completely unaware as he says, “Reading? Why, yes, I do. A hungry mind is crucial to surviving this world, I’ve found.” 

Why is his laughter so familiar? Why does it spark a flicker of warmth in her chest, as though he’s some old friend she’s shared endless laughs with while gathered around a fire? 

It terrifies her. 

It was different, inanimate objects holding that flame of warmth and unlocking pieces of her. Daggers carved with nighttime symbols and a stone to match don’t scare Aruna; real people that she might have real history with do. 

“I’m sure your hungry mind is very happy, then, having been fed a worm worthy of a feast,” she tries to say it snappily, but it still all comes out a bit flat. 

And Gale only laughs more – Gods, she wishes he would stop, so that the waves of a memory she can’t catch will finally recede – and it’s clear he’s not affected by her defenses. 

He finally tilts his eyes back forward, trained on her, a ghost of a smile still lingering, “Ah, well, not quite. I prefer feasts of words, of knowled-”

“You know what else is crucial to surviving this world?” Shadowheart interrupts, shifting her weight from one foot to the other in a clear sign of her losing patience, “Finding a healer, and getting rid of the worm. Shall we carry on?” 

Aruna shares a final glance with Gale, and can’t help but also find the corners of her mouth twitching up, a mirror to his own. For the first time in several days, it almost feels as though she might have a friend. The exact opposite result of what she had intended by trying to be particularly sharp and even a bit sarcastic, but she doesn’t fight it. 

Instead, she nods to Shadowheart, and Gale motions for her to take the front as he bows, “Lead on, as you were.” 

Gale is not Astarion. She has no instructions to save him. And yet, she can’t help but feel her defenses are too weak, given the way he’s beginning to crack them with so few prods. Maybe his inquiry regarding her stone had been in genuine curiosity, a hungry mind as he had put it. Maybe he’s just trying to be friendly. Maybe he has good intentions after all. 

Maybe she does know him, and maybe her letter had just forgotten to add another crucial reminder.

Maybe she’ll add it when she gets back to camp. 

She can see it now, as if the words have already been solidified by pen to paper: P.S.S DO NOT FORGET TO FIND A FRIEND IN GALE. 

—

Shadowheart is far from amused when Aruna leads them back to the beach. Yet, to be fair, it’s hers and Gale’s fault for following her so blindly.

She knows there’s no healer on the beach. But something is calling her back to it. 

“The-” Shadowheart starts the moment the sand comes back into view. Trailings of sand mingle with the dirt below their feet, “We’re back on the beach? Haven’t we already established that there’s no healer on this ravished thing?” 

“Good name for it,” Aruna whispers more for herself than her companions, considering adding that to her map when they retire for the night. She turns to face Shadowheart and forces a smile. A kind, disarming type of look in hopes that the girl will just trust her, “Call it a gut feeling. I just feel like we missed something here.” 

“A gut feeling? We’ve already looted all the corpses. What more could there possibly be?”

“We only checked one side of the beach.”

“Yes, because to get to the other side, we’ll have to go through the damn crash rubble. Filled with those- those brain things.” 

“There’s three of us. I have faith.”

“I-”

Gale’s head turns back and forth, bouncing between the arguing girls. He seems perfectly content to add any commentary, almost at ease with the current argument, until Aruna’s hand moves to her hip.

Aruna is quick to pull a dagger from one of her sheaths. Immediately, all relaxed state of being drains from Gale, him paling and stepping forward to finally insert himself between them, “Woah, now! I don’t think there’s any need to-”

“I’m not going to stab her, Gale,” Aruna huffs. Shadowheart doesn’t look very convinced as Aruna focuses on her once more, dagger still hovering up in their line of sight, “I was trying to make a point – we have weapons. Gale has magic. And you’ve said you’re a cleric, which means you can heal. I doubt those ‘brain things’ – devourers, by the way, is the correct term – will even lay a claw on us between all our varying skill sets. If you don’t want to go to the other side of the beach, then don’t. I can’t force you. But you’ve both put your faith in me this far, what harm can a little more do?” 

The speech works. She doesn’t expect it to. She expects them to laugh at her, or walk away from her, or for Shadowheart to even start a proper fight. 

They don’t. 

They follow her right into danger, no hesitation. The wizard she’d saved from a portal in some cliff-side rock and the cleric she’d awoken on the beach when she’d stumbled upon her, faithful to her to a damaging fault. Even when the intellect devourers do attack, just as Shadowheart had worried they would, neither utter a single word so much as sounding like the well-deserved ‘I told you so’. 

They just use their skill sets. The very ones Aruna had pointed out. Her daggers, Shadowheart’s cleric artillery, Gale’s infallible spells – they use them for all they’re worth, until each of those brains are unrecognizable on the ground. 

And best (or possibly worst) of all, Aruna discovers something new about herself.

Her magic. 

She hadn’t even been sure if she held any useful skills beyond being decently good with her daggers thus far, but as one of those brains had trampled towards her, she had felt it. A warm hum beneath her skin, erratic and wild as can be, begging for release. 

Release it, she did. The final brain falls from the power of the fire bolt that flies from her fingertips, not even leaving her so much as marked. 

Gale notices immediately, Shadowheart still scoping out the area for any more enemies. 

“A fellow magic wielder, it seems,” he grins, motioning vaguely to her hands, “Now, if only we knew what kind.” 

What kind? 

“If you have no memory of your life before the ship, I’m correct to assume you aren’t very knowledgeable in the boundaries of your magic, yes?” She hadn’t even realized she had said the thought out loud until Gale is in front of her, still rambling, a light of intrigue in his eyes, “There’s wizards such as yours truly,” he pauses, and motions over himself in flourish, “As well as warlocks. Those, however, usually answer to a patron. So unless you’ve had any strange callings to any great deities over the last few nights… well, it’s off the table, I suppose.” 

“I haven’t,” she croaks, still looking down at her fingertips in shock. Magic. She still feels it now. Probably could have felt it this entire time, had she not been so distracted by the tadpole, the headaches, the memory loss. It’s fluid and tangible, something bursting through her veins for her taking, “I- What would that even feel like?”

“You’d know,” Gale says most assuredly, “Trust me. Besides, your patron probably would have already found you by now.”

“So, I’m a wizard?” 

Gale is quick to shake his head as Shadowheart walks back over to them, “Not necessarily. It’s certainly an option, and would make you a magic wielder who learned their knowledge of the Weave through studies. But there’s also other possibilities – sorcerers, paladins, clerics. They all have the ability to wield some magic. Druids, too, although theirs are usually more of the healing nature. And, well… the nature variety in general.” 

All words that make little sense to Aruna. She gives it a moment, waits to see if her muddled brain might catch up and offer her a little help in understanding, but it’s all in vain. 

“I should know these things,” she whispers, so quietly that both Gale and Shadowheart have to lean in to hear her small tone. It’s the first time she’s openly shown such emotion with them – something like devastation, laced with frustration. The inability to remember, to know, as they do. “Even if my memories of my life before this evade me, I should know these things.” 

Shadowheart speaks up in a tone unlike any other she had used on their journey, “They might still return to you yet, or there might be a greater reason for it all. Don’t give up hope.”

“And if they don’t return to you,” Gale interjects, the air of casualty returning to him as he gives a lopsided grin, “Well, I can always teach you about it all. I have books back at camp.” 

“You have books?” Out of all the things just said, it was probably the most odd for Aruna to latch onto, but she still looks at him befuddled, “Where in the Hells did you just get… books on all this? Did you loot them off of-”

“Bag of holding,” he answers as though it was obvious. 

Great. Awesome. A bag of holding. Because Aruna totally knew what that was. 

“Let’s just keep moving,” she moves on, letting it go. Maybe she’ll take him up on his offer, maybe she won’t. If anything else, she’ll just inquire more about whatever the Hells a bag of holding is later on, back at camp, “I can see the other side of the beach over there.” 

It’s Shadowheart and Gale’s turn to exchange a look, and slowly but surely, it’s feeling as though more than just the tadpoles in their mind are connecting them. Threads are being spun, small connections that are painfully mundane yet easily connecting these three strangers. They could all be friends, if they really wanted to. It might even make their survival a little bit easier. It might make their travels a little lighter.

Aruna can worry about friendship once she’s found Astarion, though. The faceless stranger mentioned in passing on a letter, the one person she’s been tasked with saving.

She doesn’t even know who he, or she, or they are. This mysterious name – it really means nothing to her. All she has to reasonably cling to it is that ridiculous letter. If she were to confide in her two companions about it, she’d probably get an earful, and truly be abandoned. They wanted to seek out a cure to the imminent danger within their heads, and she was sending them on a wild goose chase for Astarion. 

Does this Astarion even have a tadpole as well? Is that how she’s meant to save them? And if they don’t, does that mean that they’ll help her with her issue first, and then she saves them? 

Does she have to save them in order to rid herself of the tadpole? 

It’s all giving her a headache by the time their group of three is slowly walking up the slope of the sliver of beach they’ve discovered, taking small yet sturdy steps along the side of the crashed ship. Gale, thankfully, has stopped his nervous rambling (because, Aruna realized, that’s what it was. His nerves, controlling his tongue endlessly, trying to fill the dreadful silence for even the smallest bit of comfort. It almost makes her feel bad for being grateful for the quiet).

She must have been thinking about her questions hard enough for some mysterious power out in the Universe to hear her, however. Because they’d hardly been walking for a few minutes, she’d hardly been left to all her confusion and cursing of the damn name for such little time, when she sees him. 

Him. Decent height, pure white hair, pale skin that is nearly blinding in the harsh sunlight. 

Him. With eyes so red, she can see them from this distance. They almost match the shades of crimson that haunt her nightmares. 

Him. Who is currently, pathetically, calling out for help. 

“What the-” Shadowheart begins. And Aruna doesn’t notice it, but she starts to reach out to grab the elf by her elbow before she’s beginning to dart up the hill, falling right into the trap. 

Both of her companions, Shadowheart in her guarded glory and Gale in his perpetual state of anxiety, can’t even stop her. Neither dare to breathe out a word as she approaches the pale elf, but she can feel their disapproval as she comes up beside him. 

“You,” he breathes out, half crouched, eyes darting towards the bushes, “Hurry. I’ve got one of those brain things cornered,” he turns and points towards the bushes, assuming where the said brain thing has been lured, “There, in the grass. You can kill it, can’t you? Like you killed the others.” 

She should have been smarter. She should have been more perceptive. She should have heard Gale’s deep breath as he prepared to warn her against getting any closer. 

But she wasn’t. 

She’s a damned fool, a lamb to the slaughter, as she nods and whispers out an immediate, “Of course.” 

There’s no brain thing that has been cornered. The only thing that has been lured is Aruna; one moment, she’s leaning in to get a closer look into the bushes, and the next, a wild boar is skittering out. 

That’s not what catches her off guard.

The blade to her throat is what does it. Quickly, with unsettling ease, before she feels the elf’s arms wrapping around her and bringing them both down to the ground. 

Oh, fuck me. 

He has her trapped. She knows it, he knows it, and both her companions know it. She was an idiot and got exactly what was coming for her. 

All her survival instincts kick in immediately, causing her to trash in his arms, a painful whine coming out as she can feel the cold metal digging deeper into the delicate skin of her neck. 

And all the pale elf does is shush her gently, “Sh, sh, sh, sh. Not a sound. Not if you want to keep that darling neck of yours.” 

His words do little to deter her. He starts to argue with her companions who have finally come to their senses, keeping a safe distance all while spilling out carefully calculated threats to the stranger, but she can’t hear them over the blood rushing in her ears. One hand feebly grabs onto his that is wrapped around the hilt of the dagger, the other reaching for his elbow. She tries to tug the weapon away from her, but he’s strong. It’s a fruitless battle. 

Aruna swears she hears Shadowheart insist she needs her alive. Gale saying something regarding the way he’ll make the elf regret it if he brings Aruna any harm. She can’t be sure. 

The longer his steady grip on her shoulder lingers, the more familiar it begins to become. His leg, trapping both of hers so that she can’t kick out of his grasp, is also familiar. Familiar, familiar, familiar. 

His lips are moving as he stares up at her companions, but it’s only once his eyes narrow back on Aruna that her heart slows and she can hear him properly once more. 

“Now,” he nearly purrs, voice low, dangerous, “I saw you on the ship, didn’t I?” 

She presses her lips together tightly, still trying to maintain her struggle to get out of his grasp. Her teeth grit from the effort, arms shaking violently. 

“Nod,” he commands, nearly condescendingly, and synapses fire off in the darkest corners of her brain. 

I know that voice. 

She almost feels as though she has no control over her body as her head nods on instinct, blade dropping from her neck to her chest now. 

“Splendid. And now, you’re going to tell me what you and those tentacled freaks did to me.” 

I know that voice. 

The same thing deep within her chest that had unfurled at the sight of Gale’s laughter, that had called her to the beach, that had lit up with recognition at the sight of her daggers – it’s wide awake now. Staring through her eyes at his own rubies, tracing every outline of every wrinkle, every curve, every imperfection. She knows his voice. She knows him. 

It weeps at the sight of him, and she has no idea why. The same strings that clench when she reads over her letter, when she let her eyes trace over the words ‘My dearest Aruna’ and the heavily underlined name of Astarion, are now pulled taut. 

She knows him. She doesn’t know how or why. But she swears it on her life, she knows this pale elf. 

She can’t explain the echoing hollow ache that rings out at the up-close sight of him any other way. She knows him, knew him, and had somehow lost him.

Her lack of an answer clearly irritates him, but he’s cut off by whatever quip he had perched on his tongue by the sudden connection. She doesn’t understand it, whether it be due to the new rolling thunder of the most intense deja vu she’s experienced yet or if it were a simple side effect of the tadpole, but each connection via the tadpole has become more painful. More intense. 

She’d first noticed the difference between it happening with Shadowheart versus Gale. 

And now, she notices it an impossible amount with this stranger. 

It’s nauseating as their minds connect, sharp and quick as if their two brains had been laying in wait for this very moment. It feels as though it goes beyond the tadpoles, beyond their shared affliction and terrible predicament. 

She sees bustling taverns and lively night streets, yes, but there’s something more there. Something missing. She’d felt it with Gale as well, an emptiness neither of them could seemingly unlock. But with this one, it’s far more intense than it had been previously. Like gaping wounds being presented to her, interspersed with the exchange of both his memories and… well, the lack of hers beyond the Nautiloid ship, she sees gaps. Spaces to be filled. Questions to be answered. 

I know that voice, the thing in her whimpers, I know this man. 

She doesn’t even care to hold onto the memory. She lets it slip away, wishing the pain would, too. 

But it lingers. 

Not just for her, but for him as well. His grip entirely loosens on her as he winces, a soft gasp falling from his lips as he begins to question, “What was that-”

She doesn’t care to listen to his question. In an instant, she’s pulled away, rolling out of his reach before standing steady on both feet. The pain leftover from the connection fuels her as she holds a hand out, and her magic thrums steadily with her heart as electricity crackles in the palm. 

Neither Gale nor Shadowheart make a single move as she holds out that palm, watching the elf’s every moment as he also rises to meet her. But he’s no longer hostile, hand holding his dagger now limp as he lets it rest at his side. 

“You’re… not one of them,” he says slowly, shame briefly flickering over his features before being replaced with something more despairing, “They took you. Just the same as me.” 

Her fingers shake in front of her as blue bolts continue to flicker amongst them, forming spasming webs between her knuckles. She could obliterate him, if she wanted. Right here, right now, she finally has the upper-hand. 

But she doesn’t. And in her hesitation, she can see him still reeling just as she was from their connection. She swears she can hear the pounding in his head syncing to hers, perfectly in time with one another.

The thing inside her claims to know him, but she doesn’t even know his name. 

I know him. Don’t hurt him. 

She sort of hates that internal dialogue. That true monster inside of her that had been the reason she hadn’t hesitated in her running to his rescue. It was the reason that she’d ended up with a knife against her throat, and she’s praying it’s not the reason for her death as she listens and closes her hand into a soft fist, releasing the hold on her magic momentarily. 

He watches her do it. His face relaxes, a charming smile gracing it now instead. 

“And to think, I was ready to decorate the ground with your innards. My sincerest apologies.” 

She highly doubts just how sincere that apology is, but she’s unphased all the same. 

“Apology accepted,” she sighs, swiping her palm on the side of her now dirty pants. Somewhere beneath the dust she’s now covered in, there’s blood from the intellect devourers, but that’s a problem for tonight. Not now, “I would have done the same thing.”

No, I wouldn’t have. From the very first moment I saw you, all I wanted to do was help. Every instinct in me screamed to help you. 

She’s lying, but she really doesn’t care that she’s lying. He has a tadpole. He can join them. She doesn’t care.

Back in the forefront of her mind, even ahead of the damned tadpole and the need for a healer, the need to keep them all alive, her brain is back to whispering of this Astarion. The quicker she carries out this predictable conversation, the quicker they can get back on the road. And the quicker she can find whoever Astarion is-

“I’m out of wine and flowers, so I hope an introduction will suffice,” his blood-red eyes meet hers, and something in her gut twists. As if she already knows. As if she’s just realized that she’s missed the obvious. “My name is Astarion. I was in Balder’s Gate when-”

Astarion. Save Astarion. Astarion. 

All the breath leaves her lungs as she interrupts, “You’re Astarion?”

[ty-bayonet-betteridge]

(~700 words, pearlescentmoon, set during HC10. body horror and scoleciphobia warning as described above. not particularly serious.)

They twisted and climbed over each other, pulling themselves across the unforgiving wooden floors, their disparate minds driven by a unified will that still clung to its identity. The worms, hundreds, thousands, tens of thousands of worms, stretching towards a goal that none of them could understand. But the consciousness that guided them knew its intention as it struggled to pull its new, fragmentary existence up the stairs and to the mirror.

It was only after it had pulled itself up to the mirror, the squirming and quivering mass of annelidic life pulling itself into a pillar, dragging itself up to match the mirror's height, that it realized the problem with its idea.

Oh, Pearl thought. I don't have eyes.

She knew the mirror was there, because the two thick columns of worms she'd come to think of as her arms within the last few minutes could feel it when she reached out. A smooth surface, much smoother than the wooden surroundings of the home she'd built. She knew it was polished to a reflective sheen. She also knew that she couldn't see herself in it. Worms, she came to realize, did not have eyes.

Do they have brains? she wondered. How am I thinking right now?

She could feel through each worm, a dizzying amount of sensation, and she used them to feel up and down the interior of her own form, searching for her brain, the seat of her consciousness. She didn't find it, though she wasn't sure she could recognize it if she did - would the worms, their soft and squishy bodies, be able to tell the difference between each other and the squishy flesh of her own brain? She doubted it.

But she paused when they brushed against something hard. Multiple somethings, each worm that inched past giving her more of a sense of the form of the tiny nuggets of something at the center of her new shape. Twenty-eight little prongs, loose, solid as pebbles.

Are those my teeth?

She willed the worms to shift their forms again. It was hard - none of them could understand the greater form she was envisioning, and so she had to build up the blueprint little by little in her head and urge each worm into the proper place. Slowly, very, very, slowly, she shifted so she had a roughly oval mass at the top of the pillar of grubs that formed her new body. A head, she'd call it. The worms, working together, managed to push each of her teeth up into her head, and held them staunchly in place, arranged in the way they were supposed to be.

It took quite a bit of practice, but eventually she worked it out. How to open up the right cavities within herself to push air out at the right rhythms, how to use the worms to shape that air as it emerged and move her teeth to complete the final steps.

"Thith ith.. quite... ihnconvenient," she managed.

She didn't have a tongue, which made the whole process much more difficult. Still, she preferred talking to herself out loud. It helped her think.

"I mean, I wath uppothed to meet with Joel again today," she said. "Itth not like I can... canthel on him. He'th juth the thort of guy to... mmake it a big... pr.. prod... production," she got out.

She noticed something else odd about her new body - she didn't have an accent anymore. Whatever muscle memory was responsible for that appeared not to carry over to her new form, which she supposed only made sense.

She'd have to practice that too. She was fond of her accent!

"Ah'll juth... um, go oher to hith bathe," she said. "I'm thtill in fine con... condition to argue with im," she said. "I'm alwayth ready to argue with im. I can work on getting my old body back after...aft...afterwardth," she resolved.

She reached out, unsteady, to grab her mailbag. Wouldn't do to leave home without it.

[blackjackkent]

Hector!

6) If your OC is in a fantasy setting, what profession would they be in the modern day?

23) Is your OC reliable? Can I call them up at two in the morning if I have a flat tire?

29) Imagine a mood board for your OC! What's on it? (Make it if you want!)

And Rakha!

2) Who's your OCs best friend? How did they become best friends?

8) What hobbies does your OC have? What do they do to unwind?

19) What's their sexuality? What's their love language both giving and receiving?

(OC Secret Ask List)

6) If your OC is in a fantasy setting, what profession would they be in the modern day?

Ooh, this is fun to think about. :D Let's see.

I mean the obvious answer is that monk is a profession that exists in the modern day as well, so he could just... be that. But that's a less fun answer.

I think honestly the more apropos answer in a modern AU would be librarian at a university (possibly one with religious ties).

I haven't done much modern AU writing but one of these days I do have to get around to it with Hector because I NEED him to take Karlach to build-a-bear. For my health.

23) Is your OC reliable? Can I call them up at two in the morning if I have a flat tire?

Absolutely. Hector would be there on the double. He would not know how to change the tire but he would have brought along a stack of books explaining the process. And he would counsel you about how all hardship passes in time, and you would feel better for it.

In more general terms - Hector absolutely places a lot of value on being true to his word and loyal to those he considers friends. Until his adventures in-game, of course, he's never really had that reliability be tried in any significant fashion, so it's very much a question of having to learn to put his money where his mouth is.

29) Imagine a mood board for your OC! What's on it? (Make it if you want!)

I really love the one that @bladesandbhaalspawn made for me. :D

General thoughts if I were to make one myself - lots of blues, moon imagery, quotes about self-reliance or self-control, flame imagery (re: Karlach), martial arts imagery.

(It's funny that it's already a little weird to see Rakha without the Worm Slurping Lines. XD )

2) Who's your OCs best friend? How did they become best friends?

Rakha's relationships with both Lae'zel and Minthara are complicated, but I think it would be accurate to say that at this point she considers them her closest friends. (Besides Wyll, obviously, who is something more altogether, and Jaheira who has started taking on a role as more of a mentor.)

Both of them reached this level of importance by reflecting something of Rakha's own personality in theirs - her violence, her bloodthirst, her desire for revenge, her blunt directness. But the road hasn't really been smooth in either friendship; Minthara is rapidly losing her credit with Rakha over her desire to take control of the brain and rule, and she and Lae'zel haven't fully seen eye to eye since Rakha didn't reciprocate Lae'zel's romantic feelings.

8) What hobbies does your OC have? What do they do to unwind?

...Huh. Y'know I haven't thought about this much. :D

I think Rakha's "hobbies", to the extent they exist, center around the Weave. The truth is that she spends most of her free time in camp brooding, thinking, putting together bits of the world into a coherent picture, but when she's not caught up in that, she's focused on the magic around her. Playing with it, manipulating it, learning how it works, or just enjoying the beauty of it.

And of course, since Act 2, this has involved playing very atonal and arrhythmic Weird Music with Alfira's lute to see what kind of magic comes out. XD

19) What's their sexuality? What's their love language both giving and receiving?

The more I've written Rakha lately (especially thinking about her going through Sharess's Caress), the more I've come to realize this is a sort of complicated question.

I have in the past described Rakha as bisexual, which is more or less accurate in that she is attracted to all genders equally, but I think I would probably place her somewhere on the asexual spectrum as well, because her interest in sex itself varies wildly depending on the situation.

She requires a great deal of trust and mutual respect before she is even willing to be touched by someone else (hence why Wyll and Lae'zel are the only people who really do), and even then there are days when she doesn't want to be touched at all. The murder urge adds extra complexity as well, making her feel stressed by the idea of both her own vulnerability and losing control, and the other person(s) being vulnerable to her.

I also just... don't think it's something she thinks about very much unless prompted. And I think her interest in it with Lae'zel and Wyll is much more in the vein of it being an emotional gesture of trust and respect and less rooted in physical desire/physical pleasure.

In looking for an answer to this, I went down a bit of a rabbit hole on the Asexuals Wiki (which is apparently a thing). I don't know how widely accepted the terms on that wiki are - some of them seem quite specific - but Demisexual, Askepsisexual, and Acorsexual all definitely had some resonance for Rakha.

Her giving love language is definitely acts of service - more than once in the past she's related to others in the group like a cat bringing a dead mouse to someone it cares about in order to show affection. Receiving... probably words of affirmation? I've mentioned this more than once recently, but someone expressing active pleasure at her being present at any particular moment has turned out to be a REALLY powerful thing and guaranteed to make her pay attention.

[mlobsters]

rewatching dune (1984) which i've seen a handful of times, fallen asleep during the desert scenes more than once, and have a fondness for but also haven't watched it in at least a decade. i want to watch the new movies but wanted to refresh my memory on this movie again first

something very brazil (1985) about this

talking giant brain creature has a vulva mouth, how could i forget

the shields and the slow knife live rent free in my head

let 👏 characters 👏 sweat👏

uh oh paul's gotta fight the spiky dick

paul's dad gave me willem dafoe double take

i think what was so effective for me in this movie was how memeable it was. i read the book and for some reason it was a slog for me, but that plus the movie really drilled these phrases into my daily thoughts. the sleeper must awaken, arrakis dune desert planet, fear is the mind killer, the spice must flow etc.

so i wonder if one of the main issues with this movie that people have is how much it relies on voiceover. i don't know about the complaints, just that it's generally not liked

👄

sweattty

"you are so beautiful, my baron. your skin, love to me. your diseases lovingly cared for, for all eternity." and they say romance is dead

i remember the heart plug pull vividly but the implied sexual assault while he's bleeding out by the baron, not so much. the gays are evil, guys

i feel like jessica and rachael from blade runner (1982) occupy the same place in my brain. another movie that put me to sleep a lot, with that afternoon sun and the smoke. knocks me right out

pulsating, then squirting for spacetime folding, got it 📝

is this not what hentai jizz looks like?

3 squirts and we made it to arrakis, dune, desert planet

i genuinely like how they do the shield effects

i had to go find clips of dean stockwell as al in quantum leap because i was so sure his voice was so much lower in that compared to this. and yes, it is! good job, brain

duke: "damn the spice!" *gasp*

you know, it's been a long ass time since i watched this. and the constant voiceover of characters voicing their thoughts is really getting heavy handed. show not tell, amirite 🤪 maybe it's because i know the story already, but for the most part i feel like the voiceover specifically to the character thoughts wasn't even explaining anything that wasn't already expressed in the scene anyway most of the time

the effects were nice having the sand blowing off, really helped give it scale

and now paul's gotta deal with the itty bitty flying dick of death!

so they make the bad guy fat with visible illness on his face, a murdering gay rapist and he wears nail polish. oh, and red hair. really hitting it out of the park

i think about this poison gas tooth thing on the regular

captain picard shouting "long live duke leto" while holding the pug and rushing into battle, i started cackling

womp womp with the poison tooth fail ;(

jack nance as nefud / bill smitrovich in life goes on (1989-1993)

i keep thinking he's the dad from life goes on

for whatever reason, the thumpers are what always captured my imagination. i think i just like the sounds.

paul: "Remember, walk without rhythm and we won't attract a worm. It will go to the thumper."

anyway, walk without rhythm and it won't attract the worm how did i not realize until this very moment that song was a reference to dune! haha. walk without rhythm is such a strange turn of phrase

tell me of your home world, usul!

also forgot the lusting after his nephew, sting. they really went all out making the harkonnens the most grotesque

baron: "A poison has been introduced into your body, Thufir Hawat. By milking this, this smooth little cat's body, you receive your antidote. It must be done each day."

i think this must be past the point when i usually fell asleep watching this. i know i've seen it all the way through more than once but apparently milking a cat???? didn't leave an impression. also this just never comes up again. but bro made it to the end of the movie so i guess he was successful in milking it

the truly unfortunate green screening is consistently the worst effect, a shame

reverend mother: "There is a place… terrifying to us, to women." paul: "This is the place they cannot look. Traveling without moving."

lol what. silly girls are afraid of teleportation 😔

pacing is all over the place. it was going okay but then paul's making out with chani, his sister is born and is like 8 years old now (heyo baby alicia witt), we gotta zoom through 2 years of war and boop boop now paul's drinking the blue water and going where no woman can go while they all bleed from their face parts

space cigarettes, no problem. but then they gotta go try to make this glowing golden thing and it's terrible

would be remiss to not include the dick shaped harkonnen ships but i ran out of images ;<

this big showdown with the emperor etc i am hanging on by a thread to not fall asleep/close :p truly lost the plot. way too much worm action, way too long of boring repetitive action sequences

using my image last slot for having the baby kill the baron/send him on his way to become a worm snack

LOL the pug is in this big fremen gathering! captain picard managed to survive and keep the dog alive! good god will this ever end. now we're gonna have the world's slowest knife fight with sting

and now it's raining somehow. sure

oh my god. that took forever. ok well, i can see why this movie has put me to sleep more than once and panned. and there's some really memorable and interesting things about it, and i think it goes fairly strong (with some issues like excessive voiceover) for the first 2/3 or so. but oof. i definitely liked it more 20 years ago :p anyway, i'm glad i watched it again so i could take off the rose tinted glasses before watching the new movies

[judging-films-of-all-kinds]

Transformers: Revenge of The Fallen

I haven’t seen this one a long time, but I remember it better than the first one

Optimus is back in the intro 

“Our worlds have met before.” Not haunting at all

That title was quick and smooth!

“Suck my popsicle!” Hahah nice

“His here. I smell him.” I wonder how that works

OH THAT IS A BIG ONE Lol the twins really are brothers

“Man I’m good.” Yes you are Irionhide

OPTIMUS PRIME HERE WITH THE SICK LANDING

“Pull over!” …. Lol Optimus thank you for keeping your sense of humor

“You’ll learn that in college too.” Sir what else did you learn? 

Wow… They really made her sit like that to paint the bike. Taking points from that

Love how they show the symbols being planted into Sam’s brain. That is really cool

Oh great, the blender is alive. Just what we need! Wait… did they just-? They did! Omg the adult jokes in this movie XD

And they just fixed the yard too! Poor Bee just wanting to help

“I want a pool and hot tube! I’m going to skinny dip and you can’t say shit!” Starting to think someone was a bit wild back in her day lol

“You are an autobot! You shouldn't be living in my dad’s garage. You are suffocating.”  Awww Sam

….. Huh okay not expectating Sam to touch Bee’s chin to make him look at him

Sam you aren’t normal and never will be

No idea if Bee is being dramatic or he really is crying. Either way I’m glad it was added to the movie

“I love you, Bee.” and he loves you too Bee

Wow Sam you can tell Bumblebee you love him but not your girlfriend? 

Wheelie :3 

DUDE!! Soundwave’s design is so cool! A one of a kind big time

As a sibling I have heard and said “It’s meant to hurt!” after causing harm to sibling

It’s actually nice that they added the coffins being taken off the plane to show that death is still a huge threat in this movie

As Optimus transforms the music is not holy but more upbeat like a hero kind of deal. Very fitting 

“God made us in his image. Who made him?” Good and fair question. Humans always think they are so amazing till we meet something greater then ourselves

“Don’t tempt me.” Yeah I got mad for you buddy. Don’t disrespect the people that fight for you

I love Optimus looking down at him and saying, “Easy.” He knows he was getting angry. Optimus knows his comrades, even his human ones

“What if we leave, then you are wrong.” THE SOUNDTRACK! That fits so well with his low key warning

“That’s a good question” Awww he's such a cutie!

Sam meeting his new human bestie :D 

DID THE PAPPER THIN CON CUT THROUGH THAT GUY?!

“What size shoe you have?” Haha Sam the Sass Queen is back lol

I love how Optimus main goal is to keep earth safe. He doesn’t want to watch it be ruined like his own home was. Sam just wants to be normal. He doesn’t want this. While they are talking, soft music is playing. Showing the burden both carry and what awaits them. 

MEGATRON LIVES AGAIN Okay this is really cool. We see Megatron put Starscream in his place. Then we see him showing respect to The Fallen. Going as far as calling him master. The Fallen even calls him “my disciple”

I wonder how The Fallen knew that Sam has the knowledge now

Man the CGI in this movie is so good

Poor Sam. He has all that knowledge in his head and his mind can’t handle it

“You're such a little girl!” “I’m not talking to you for ten seconds.” Yeah I wouldn’t either. Good on you Sam. 

What I love about Megatron is that his voice is creepy and yet gentle

Sorry I had to skip the worm part. That was just gross. That lost points for me lol

GET HIM OPTIMUS

The slow down for the bullet is so good

The chanting as the cons chase Optimus and Sam is so good

Why did Sam jump over the log like that? 

“I’ll take you all on!” and cue the uplifting music

That head rip is sooo good

“Sam! Where are you?!” You can hear the fear in his voice. All he knows is Sam has already been taken or worse

“Sam, run. Run..” Even in his last moments Optimus is worried about Sam

Man… I can’t even imagine the guilt Sam must be feeling at that moment…

Sam watching the news with such pain on his face…. He just wanted to be normal

I love the twins so much lol

DON”T DROP OPTIMUS PRIME LIKE THAT

I hate that guy

Yes please give Sam a hug. Sam this isn’t your fault. This will never be your fault

“Don’t tell my mother.” Said every child in history

Ha! Wheelie is the best again. Wait, is that even his name? 

I love how no one bothered to check if the old fart was a con or a bot lol

I love the sound Jetfire makes as he wakes up. His such as old fart, I love him

HA! Leo pushing Wheelie away while they are hiding 

Grumpy old man on the run! “It’s a choice. It’s an intensely personal decision. So much negativity. Who wants to live a life full of hate.” Old man spiting knowledge 

“His faithful, Sam.” Girl I love you but what happened wasn’t Sam’s fault

Wheelie stop humping her you horn dog

“I have my own issues! It started with my mother!” Me too buddy

“Do you know what he transformed into?!” “No!”

“Nothing!”

Haha I love this movie so much

Haha everyone is going flying. Well done Jetfire

MORE LORE

“Only a Prime can defeat The Fallen.”

“Optimus Prime?”

“So, you’ve met a Prime?”

I’m not crying! I have sand in my eyes! 

Man Jetfire’s excitement about hearing a Prime was on Earth is so sweet. He sounds really young with how excited he is. 

Grandpa pointing out the obvious 

“Scared? Scared of your ugly face!” “I’m ugly? Well, we’re twins, you stupid genius!” Perfect sibling insults

Bumblebee is “I don’t care who started it! I’m finishing it!” Big brother at work lol

Oh god the siblings fighting was useful for once

Ohhh that soft haunting sound… Music is stunning as always

It gets louder once the matrix is seen

Sam not giving up is so.. Man… Once he believes in something, he will not back down from it

BAD BOYS ARE HERE Go Jetfire! He still got it! “I’m too old for this crap.” Me everyday 

The balls that started it all

Oh no! Sam! The soft music, the faded voices, everything slowed down… Then you hear his parents' cries. All they know is that their son is hurt. They don’t know he's gone. 

Then there is Bumblebee. They let us see his pain. They let us hear it too. 

The Primes coming to Sam is awesome. They let him know why he is there. Answering his question. Low key telling him his prime. “The Leadership of the Matrix isn’t found. It is earned.”

Aw he finally tells her that he loves her

Of course he came back for you Optimus! You died saving him!.... They died saving each other… 

Jetfire’s joy at seeing Optimus makes me smile again 

Damn The Fallen is powerful

Oh Jetfire… No! Your death will not go in vain!

Optimus can fly now. This is going to be fun~ “Die like your brother!” “They are your brothers too!”

Totally not giving me headcanon ideas

The soundtrack once again being soooo good! Megatron calling out for Starscarem after losing half of his face is interesting

“Give me your face!” and “I rise. You fall.” Are cold af lines and I love them so much

The fight is a bit short but I don’t mind. It’s gore fixes it for me

“Cowards do survive.” That is true. Sometimes in order to win, you must survive first

Yes! Thank you for letting the parents hug Sam. They watched him die and come back! Like man! They need therapy after that

Optimus and Sam standing next to each other is so cute! Dad and son vibes lol

Yay! Sam gets to go to college!

I will rank this movie as 9.5/10