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penascigarette · 1 month ago

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smooth operator ch 2. this bitch bites

Joel Miller x f!phone sex worker

➴wc: 7k | summary: you accidentally send a picture of yourself to joel which results in a video call

➴warnings: mdni, fxm phone sex, m&f masturbation, dirty talk

➴an: hi! tysm to everyone for all the love on the first part of this silly little series. I've been having so much fun writing and interacting with everyone. y'all are the best. feel free to come scream with me about this or anything <333

masterlist | series masterlist

For the rest of the night, your mind plays your conversation with Joel on repeat.

Elliot is asleep when you barge into his room, itching to share your dirty little secret. His limbs are sprawled like a starfish, his mouth hanging open, a light snore escaping him. He looks so peaceful that you decide against waking him. Instead, you sneak back to your room, feeling as if you'll explode if you don't tell someone soon. You’re a talker, and keeping this bottled up feels like pure torture.

Blowing a breath out, you stare up at the ceiling. How you feel isn’t easy to explain.

Your body is more satisfied than it’s been in a long time, aching for more.

Your heart agrees, thrilled at the thought of a forbidden relationship with this sexy, mysterious man. It hasn’t felt much since your last boyfriend—only pain and disappointment.

Your head, though, is another story. It reminds you how much trouble you could get into. Jane has a strict no-relationships rule between workers and clients, fearing the temptation to give free "sessions" or show favoritism. She’s all business, no play.

Dread swirls in your stomach. What you’ve done is dangerous, even if it was ridiculously mind-blowing. Joel wants a repeat; if you deny him, he could tell Jane.

You could always deny it… say it was just part of the act.

But your heart hates that thought. Even considering letting Joel down makes it ache as if you’ve already done it. How can you feel so much for someone after one phone call?

Because it’s exciting, the bad girl in you whispers.

You’ll get into trouble, your rational side argues, but it’s outnumbered.

Think about how amazing he made you feel, your body chimes in, tingling in remembrance. You came harder than ever, and he didn’t even touch you.

“God,” you groan, pressing your palms into your eyes until they hurt and you see funny lights. “I need sleep.” With no way to figure it out on your own, you know you need Elliot. For now, you push the thoughts away and try to rest.

Before you open your eyes, you know you’ve woken up ridiculously early. Something feels different—a sensation you can’t quite place.

You don’t have the cozy, half-asleep feeling you usually enjoy. The blankets aren’t warm or soft enough, and you’re itching to get up and do something. So, you throw the covers off, get dressed, and spend extra time on your hair and makeup. The effort gives you a bounce in your step, though the knot of unease in your gut remains.

Grabbing your phone, you head to the bathroom, use the toilet, and brush your teeth. There’s no noise from Elliot’s room—you doubt he’ll wake up for another hour. You go downstairs instead.

The kettle is still full from yesterday, so you flick it on and get your coffee ready. You debate making breakfast but decide against it—eating without Elliot feels wrong.

Less than a minute later, the water boils. You pour it into your mug, watching the steam rise before curling up on the sofa.

Being awake this early makes you feel like you could get so much done. Maybe you’ll work out after coffee, or tidy up and throw out the takeaway boxes before more clutter piles up.

But your mind drifts back to Joel. You wonder about his morning routine. Does he put effort into his appearance because he’s good with women? You imagine him with a six-pack… God, you hope he has one.

No, stop, you think, shaking your head. What does it matter? But the thought of him only makes your fantasies steamier.

Your plans are forgotten, and you spend an hour imagining every inch of him. You don’t even notice your coffee going cold until Elliot flops onto the sofa beside you.

“There you are,” he says groggily, rubbing his eyes. “Ooh, you made coffee.” Without asking, he takes your mug, grimacing after a sip. “This is cold. How long have you been sitting here?”

“About an hour,” you admit with a shrug.

“Oh.” His brows lift. “How come, honey?” Concern laces his tone.

“I have something to tell you.” Finally, the words spill out, and you shift to face him.

“Did you finally shave your legs?” he asks, deadpan, taking another sip of coffee.

“Shut up. It hasn’t been that long, okay? This is serious.”

“Fine.” He smirks. “Go on.”

“I had phone sex last night.”

His brow furrows. “Sweetie, phone sex is your job. Are you feeling okay?” He places a hand on your forehead.

You roll your eyes, batting his hand away. “Not like that! I got off with him.”

Elliot’s jaw drops. “You… you flicked your bean to a client?”

Guiltily, you nod. “In my defense, he has the sexiest voice I’ve ever heard. And he’s amazing at talking dirty. Better than me!”

“Really?” Elliot’s skepticism is written all over his face.

You nod, leaning closer. “He said things like… ‘spread yourself open’ and ‘you’re such a good girl for me.’ He even told me to force my clit out of its hood! Most guys don’t even know what a that is!”

Elliot blinks, grabbing a cushion to cover his lap. “I completely understand.”

You laugh, though the thought of getting in trouble dampens your mood.

Elliot waves dismissively. “Just don’t tell anyone. I won’t either. In fact, I expect details from future calls.”

You snort. "I don't know if there will be any more."

He looks at you like you've grown another head. "Why?"

"Because I don't want to get in trouble for this," you admit, biting your lip for a moment. "Even if it was incredible."

"You won't get into trouble." He sounds so sure. "Seriously. I may or may not...have done the same thing. More than once," he mumbles the last part.

"What!?" you exclaim, wondering how the hell you're only just hearing about this. "Why haven't you told me?" You poke your bottom lip out at him. "You're keeping a lot of secrets from me lately."

He pinches your lip between his thumb and forefinger, forcing you to pull it back into your mouth. "I didn't think it was that big of a deal. I don't tell you every time I jack off to porn, now do I? As for my date with Danny, I told you as soon as I had the balls to."

"But it is a huge deal," you argue.

"Yeah, to you, but...you're a bit of a prude."

"I am not. How can you be a prude when you work as a phone sex operator?”

"You are," he teases lightly. "When you had that one-night stand after you and Ben broke up, you cried for three days."

Your shoulders slump, and you mumble, "I was ashamed."

"Well, you shouldn't be," he says firmly. "There's nothing to be ashamed of. Sex is beautiful. And fun."

"That's easy for you to say," you point out. "You're a man. Women get labeled and judged." And oh boy, do you hate being judged. It's why you don't tell people what you do for a living.

He softens at that. "You shouldn't be so worried about what people think of you. You only live once."

"I know," you mumble, not knowing what to say to that. Because it's true—you shouldn't be so concerned about others' thoughts of you—but it's not something you can just switch off. You change the subject. "So tell me about the times you've...you know." You know it’ll make you feel better.

"Well," he licks his lips and puts one hand on the back of the sofa while the other holds his coffee. "The first time, I can't even remember his name. He called when I was in the middle of getting off, and we ended up getting off together with my porno playing."

You both laugh at that.

"The second time," he continues, a certain fondness in his tone. "Was this guy called 'K.' I don't know why. There was just this... attraction, and we did it. Then it just became this thing."

You frown in confusion. "A thing? Does that mean you still do it?"

"Yep," he pops the 'p' with a grin. "He doesn't call very often, though."

"I can't believe..." you break into a breathless chuckle because here you are, worrying your ass off, and it's actually no big deal. Well, as long as Jane doesn't find out. "This is crazy."

"Maybe," Elliot shrugs and then wiggles his eyebrows. "But isn't it so much more fun that way?"

You have to agree.

___________

That night, you find yourself itching for Joel 's call. You’ve even stripped yourself naked in preparation. If that’s not eager, you don’t know what is.

Every time your phone rings, your heart leaps into your throat. It's ridiculous to act like this because of a man you don’t even know, but for some mysterious reason, he's caught your attention, and you're not letting him go anytime soon.

When it turns out it’s not him on the other end of the line, you find yourself entertaining the idea that he lied when he said he’d call again tonight. Maybe he only said it to keep you happy, or he hadn’t known what else to say.

Although he seemed interested. Interested enough to ask for your real name...you’re not counting him out quite yet. The night isn't over.

It takes another two phone calls before his name finally flashes on your screen.

Almost immediately, your stomach twists with excitement, and an ache starts to form between your legs. You're nervous but in a good way. It reminds you of the very first time you had phone sex with a client. When you manage to calm yourself down, you answer the phone, trying to sound as casual as possible.

"Hey, you." Does that sound okay? You hope so.

"Hey," he greets, his voice wobbling just a little. Maybe he feels the same way you do. "How've you been?"

You blink, momentarily stunned. Did he really just ask that? None of your clients ever ask how you’re doing. Not that you’re complaining—it’s nice to be treated like an actual human being instead of just a way to get off.

"I'm great," you say honestly. "What about you?"

"Much better now," he replies, and you bite the corner of your lip to keep a goofy smile from breaking through. "I have to say, I've been thinking about you all damn day. Do you have any idea how hard it is to walk around with a near-constant boner?"

You’re already gushing down below. Squeezing your thighs shut at the image he’s planted in your mind, you reply breathlessly, "Can't say I have, but I know what it's like walking around with a fountain in your panties all day long."

His laugh is dark. "A fountain? Sounds like someone's been thinking naughty thoughts."

"More than one, actually."

"Mm," he hums in approval. You hear rustling in the background as if he’s settling in. "Tell me one of them."

There are so many to choose from, but one stands out. "Okay," you say, licking your lips. "But you can't laugh, okay?"

"I wouldn't dare," he assures, though you can hear the amusement in his voice.

"Right." You take a deep breath. "So... it's a student-teacher fantasy."

"Ah," he responds knowingly.

"Yeah, so, you're the teacher, and I'm the student." Christ, you can’t believe you’re actually saying this. It feels stupid and embarrassing—so much easier to talk about other people’s fantasies than your own. "I have detention, and it’s just you and me in the classroom. You’re looking over schoolwork, and since you’re distracted, I decide to, you know."

"Say it." It’s a command, and the increase in his breathing tells you this is getting him just as hot as it gets you.

"I play with my pussy," you admit, scraping your teeth along your bottom lip. "I slip my hand down my panties, find my clit, pinch it, and rub it. I hold back my moans because I don’t want you to hear." Without realizing it, your eyes shut, and your hands wander down your body, acting out the fantasy. You’re already wet—so wet it surprises you, soaking your thighs and dampening the sheets.

"Fuck," he draws the word out. "You think you’re being quiet, but you’re not, Princess. And your pussy’s so fucking wet I can smell it from my desk."

"God," you choke out, your breath hitching. "I don’t care that you know. I’m too close—I don’t even care if you see." You’re not lying; you’re so close, but not ready to finish yet. Leaving your clit alone for a moment, you slide two fingers inside yourself—they glide in easily. "In fact, I move further down the chair and spread my legs so you can see what I’m doing."

Both of you are worked up now. You hear him stroking himself hard in the background.

He growls dangerously. "I know exactly what you want, Princess. I come over to you, throw the table out of my way, and sink to my knees. You’re so fucking wet I can see everything through your white panties. It’s clinging to your slit and your poor swollen clit."

"God."

"My whole mouth slots over your creaming cunt, and I suck the sweet juices through your panties."

Your pussy clenches hard around your fingers. "Jesus Christ. You’re so good." Your hand is practically swimming in your own cum.

"Your hard little nub doesn’t stand a chance against my tongue, and I have you gushing into my mouth in under ten seconds."

You have no self-control. You don’t want to come yet, but your hand has a mind of its own. Before you know it, you’re going over the edge.

"Ohmygod, Joel !" you squeak embarrassingly, thighs shaking around your hand as you rock your hips, trying to prolong the sensation.

"Did you come?" he asks, both amused and proud.

"You didn’t give me much choice," you reply weakly, tiny waves of pleasure still coursing through you as your hand lingers.

"Hey, I’m not complaining, trust me," he says. "The sounds you make when you come are heaven, baby."

You blow a stray piece of hair off your face and finally pull your fingers out. "Have you come? Do you want to keep going?" you ask. "I didn’t even get to the part where I give you an epic blowjob."

"Please, by all means, continue."

You grin. "All right. So after that mind-blowing orgasm, I kiss you so I can taste myself on your lips."

"Fuck, that’s hot, Princess." You hear him stroke himself faster.

"And I grab your tie, walking you back to your desk. I make you sit down." The thought of touching him excites you all over again, and you circle a nipple with one finger. "I kneel between your thighs and unzip your pants. Your dick is so hard it’s leaking pre-cum through your underwear." God, you’re desperate to taste it. You tell him that, too.

"Keep going," he orders, his voice strained.

You do. "I lick the fabric, but it’s not enough. I grab your cock and bring it to my lips. God, you’re fucking delicious. I rub the head all over my lips, needing to taste more of your cum." Shamefully, you mean every word.

"I’m so close, Princess," he groans, his pace quickening. "Just a little more."

"I take you into my wet, warm mouth. You’re so big and hard I can barely fit my lips around you. I hollow my cheeks and suck like I would a lollipop, my tongue stroking underneath your shaft. I can feel you getting close because you start pulsing in my mouth. I go faster, wanting to feel you spill down my throat."

He finally releases with a harsh moan. "Damn, Princess."

You blurt out your name correcting him before you can stop yourself.

He’s still catching his breath. "What was that?"

You repeat your name, unsure if this is a good idea but knowing it’s too late to turn back. "It’s my name."

He repeats it smoothly, the name rolling off his tongue. "Pretty name for a pretty girl."

You scoff, rolling your eyes to stop yourself from smiling. "You don’t know if I’m pretty or not."

"I don’t have to see you to know you’re beautiful."

His words touch you, but you doubt he’s worked all this out after just two phone calls. You humor him anyway. "That’s sweet of you to say."

"I better get going. Gotta get up for work in the morning," he says with a genuine yawn.

"Oh?" you ask, curiosity piqued. "What do you do?"

"I’m a fireman."

Your eyes widen, and you instantly regret asking. Now you’ll be up all night fantasizing about him in uniform. "Oh god, that’s sexy," you blurt out.

"I’m glad you think so," he chuckles. "Maybe we can work it into our role-play tomorrow?"

"That’s a fantastic idea," you agree eagerly.

"All right," he laughs. "Seriously, I gotta go. Sweet dreams princess."

"Yeah," you reply, already looking forward to the next conversation. "You too, Joel."

__________________

"Tell me how big you are," you demand lightly, still tingling blissfully from your orgasm. You finally remove your hand from between your legs and use your damp fingers to trace circles around your hard nipples.

Joel laughs, the sound a mixture of arousal and embarrassment. "It's probably going to sound like I'm bullshitting, but... seven and a half inches."

You decide to believe him. Sure, he could very well be lying—lots of guys do. Practically every man you talk to claims to have a big dick. It’s all part of the fantasy. But Joel feels different. "Wow... that's huge."

Your body responds instinctively, a clench of anticipation as you imagine how full he could make you feel.

"Yeah... well, I've had no complaints," he says, sounding both bashful and proud.

"You sure?" you tease. "I bet there have been a few comments about you being too big or going too deep."

He laughs again. "When I was younger, yeah, but I learned pretty quickly that every woman is different. I like to get a feel for her using my fingers first, see how much she can handle."

You can’t help it; a vivid image of his fingers working you over, his muscular arm straining against your thigh as he tests your limits, flashes in your mind. Jesus, you could come again just from that thought. You stumble out a response. "Oh, I, uh... yeah, that’s good of you."

"Only fair. They're lettin' me have sex with them, least I can do is make sure they damn well enjoy it."

What a gentleman, you think. How many men actually care if a woman is enjoying herself? In your experience, they get off without a second thought for you.

"I wish more men were like you," you tell him honestly.

"Well... I wish more women were like you."

That catches you off guard. "Really? In what way?"

"I don’t know... you’re just so open. Sexually, I mean. You’re not afraid to tell me what you like. You’ve got a great laugh, too. And you’re so damn easy to talk to. I feel like I could tell you everything."

The words make your heart flutter. Compliments from clients are nothing new, but they usually run along the lines of, "You’re so good at talking dirty," or, "You made me come so hard." None of them are as sweet or genuine as what Joel just said.

And none of them make you think about how easily you could fall for him.

As soon as the thought enters your mind, you push it away. How ridiculous. There’s no way you should be falling for a man you’ve never met. You don’t even know what he looks like. Having a crush is one thing, but love? God, I’m turning into one of those women who fall for anyone just because they say the right things.

And the saddest part? You’re pretty sure Joel isn’t even trying.

"Princess? You still there?"

His voice pulls you from your spiral. You don’t know how long you’ve been silent, but the realization is both embarrassing and unprofessional. You’re wasting his time—and his money.

"Sorry, Joel," you apologize. "I totally zoned out. I -I’ll refund you for the call."

"Don’t worry about that," he says quickly. "Please, be honest with me. Did I make you uncomfortable? I didn’t mean to overstep—"

Oh, god, he’s so sweet. You cut him off. "No, no! I swear, you didn’t. I was just... surprised, that’s all," you reassure him. "I really appreciate it. And... I feel the same way." You bite your lip. You hadn’t meant to reveal so much, but the words tumble out before you can stop them. "I feel like... I’ve known you forever."

"I’m glad," he says, relief evident in his tone. "Was worried I’d freaked you out."

"Not at all," you reply with a soft smile.

The conversation settles into a comfortable silence. The reality of your situation dawns on you: You’re discussing feelings—real feelings—with a client. A man you’ve never met. You don’t know his last name. It’s been, what, a week?

But you want to know him. Desperately. Maybe you’re crazy. Maybe you’re just lonely. Or maybe you need something deeper than the physical connection you’re used to.

The sound of a beeping line breaks the moment. "Damn it," Joel curses. "They need me at work. I’ve got to go."

Immediately, you feel a pang of guilt. He didn’t even get to finish. "Listen," you say impulsively, "I’m going to text you my personal number, okay? When you have a chance, call me, and we’ll finish what we started."

There’s a pause. "Wow," he says finally. "That would be amazing. I could text you throughout the day, too... only if you want, of course. Don’t wanna cross any boundaries."

If anything, it's you crossing boundaries. “I’d love that." You respond honestly, your heart fluttering and a fuzzy feeling settles in your belly. You really like him, don't you? Crap.

He chuckles, and you can almost hear his grin. "Good."

—-------‐

How'd the baking go? You still alive?

You breathe out a laugh as you open and read Joel's text. It's been about a week since you gave him your number, and you haven't regretted it for a second.

Like shit, I can't have cooked it long enough because it was still gooey in the middle. But we're all still alive...for now.

You send the text before glancing over at the modeling shoot, which is now where your living room used to be. White material hangs from metal frames, creating a backdrop for the pictures. Standing lights are positioned opposite. The photographer your mom hired is here, and your house is his studio.

Elliot is currently looking through the outfits he and your mom spent all of yesterday shopping for, now hung from a clothes rail. Some of them are latex and kinky as hell, others flimsy and revealing.

Your mom is busy pulling on a gray mini skirt. She’s already wearing stockings, a white, revealing blouse, and a tight gray blazer that cuts off at the elbows. You know she has a pair of glasses to complete her sexy secretary look. All she needs is a messy updo, and she’ll be ready to go.

You have to admit, the fake breasts she bought five years ago look fantastic in that shirt. You’re almost jealous. They look better than yours.

Elliot, meanwhile, is shirtless, with a pair of leather pants covering his bottom half. He looks amazing. His hair is messy, like he just had sex, and he’s debating with your mom whether or not he should use some eyeliner to make himself look darker and more mysterious.

You remain firm in your decision to stay out of the photo shoot. Even though you wouldn’t have to be naked, the idea doesn’t sit well with you. People could recognize you—friends from school, old work colleagues, or that bitch who stole your favorite hair clip in swimming class when you were a teen. The thought of any of them knowing—or worse, judging—what you do for a living makes you die a little inside, even though you know in your heart it’s nothing to be ashamed of. You’re just too sensitive, you guess.

Your phone vibrates in your hand, signaling an incoming text, and you glance down at the screen, your attention no longer on the shoot. It’s Joel again.

Ah... remind me to do all the baking if I ever work up the courage to ask you out.

Your lips part in shock before they curve slowly. He wants to ask you out? Wow… you trap your bottom lip between your teeth as you type your response.

Deal. You finding that courage any time soon?

You hesitate, then press send before locking your phone and leaning your elbows on the counter in front of you. Your eyes follow your mother’s movements as she practices poses in front of a large, stand-up mirror. You’re on kitchen duty since you’re neither a model nor a photographer, which means it’s your job to keep their coffee topped up.

“What do you think?” Elliot asks, his question floating to no one in particular as he studies himself in a small pocket-sized mirror. A black eyeliner pencil sits in his other hand.

You tilt your head, examining his eyes. One is framed in sharp black, while the other remains untouched. “Go with the eyeliner,” you say after a moment. “It matches your leather look.” You gesture toward his trousers.

Without looking up, Elliot starts lining his other eye. “Thanks, babe.”

You curl your lips in a faint reply, even though he can’t see it. Your phone buzzes again, and you quickly check the message on the screen.

I'm working on it ;)

Good. I'm looking forward to it ;)

You bite your lip, trying to hide your excitement. You don’t want your mom catching onto your texts; without a doubt, she’d know you’re talking to a guy. Then she’d question you until you gave up the goods.

A ping behind you sounds, reminding you that you were in the process of making another round of coffee. Slipping your phone into your pocket, you decide you’d better get the coffee addicts their fix.

The photo shoot ends up being a success—not that you were expecting anything different. They could have been real models, and it makes you wonder why they didn’t pursue a career in it. They’re honestly naturals.

And oh my god, your mom—you’re laughing now—manages to get a date with the photographer. He has to be about ten years younger than her. Not that it stops him, of course. You and Elliot can’t help but exchange glances and giggle knowingly when it’s your mom’s turn to be photographed. The poor guy can’t take his eyes off her.

You hope it goes well, of course, but you doubt he’ll end up being anything more than a fling. Your mom just isn’t one to settle down. Not since your dad walked out when you were a baby and left her with a broken heart. You think she lost her faith in men after that.

Not that your experience with men is much better. Your ex was an asshole who killed your confidence and then cheated on you with someone you had considered your best friend at the time. Pretty clichéd, you know. But unlike your mom, you still have hope that a Prince Charming will come along and sweep you off your feet.

And just maybe, that Prince could be Joel.

Yes, okay, it was still early days to be thinking like that but sometimes...you just know, you know? There’s a fluttering in your stomach—a warmth, a feeling of pure happiness, safety, and understanding. It’s not the same as those first-date butterflies you had with your ex, when everything was exciting and new. No, this is something different, something deeper. You can’t quite explain how—it just is.

"Hey, you’ve got a package down here!" Elliot sing-songs from downstairs, pulling you out of your thoughts.

A package? What could it—Oh! You remember the top you ordered online and let out an excited squeal. Quickly, you step out of the shower. You were finished in there anyway.

"Coming!" you call down to Elliot, quickly drying yourself off and slipping into your plain black bra and underwear. You rub the towel through your hair, barely giving a thought to your state of undress as you head downstairs. Elliot wouldn’t care, anyway.

As you step into the room, Elliot whistles from the sofa, his legs tucked underneath him and one arm draped along the back. “Looking hot, girl!” he teases, flashing you a playful grin.

“Thanks, babe.” You lean over the back of the sofa and snag the package from his lap. Tearing open the grey plastic bag, you start digging through it eagerly.

“What’d you get?” Elliot asks, his curiosity piqued.

“Remember that top I showed you and Julie? The white one with ‘This Bitch Bites!’ written on the front?” Your fingers brush soft material, and you pull it free with a triumphant grin. Tossing the plastic to the floor, you hold the top up to admire it.

Elliot throws his head back in laughter. “You didn’t!”

“Oh, I did.” You flip the shirt around, showing it off with a dramatic flourish.

Elliot gasps as if it’s the most magnificent thing he’s ever seen. “I fucking love it! Do they have it in my size?” He reaches out to pinch the fabric between his fingers, giving it an approving nod. “Ooh, I like the material, too.”

“Yeah, I think so,” you say, gathering the shirt in your hands and pulling it over your head. You smooth it down and strike a pose, hands on your hips. “What do you think?”

"Your boobs look awesome in that." Elliot nods approvingly. "Oh! Gimme your phone. I'll take a pic, and you can send it to Julie. I bet she'll wanna see it." He holds out his hand, wiggling his fingers expectantly.

You instinctively reach for your pockets, but your fingers brush against bare skin, reminding you that your clothes—and your phone—are upstairs. "I'll go get it," you say, heading off.

After sending the picture, you grab a quick snack before making your way back upstairs. Your hair is still damp from the shower, and you know you need to dry it before it starts frizzing.

You sit at your dresser, plug in your hair dryer, and get ready to turn it on when your phone vibrates with an incoming message. Setting the dryer down, you pick up your phone to check the text.

Damn, I hope she does, was the response, leaving you confused.

Julie doesn’t text like that. You know how she is—always shortening her words until they’re barely readable, leaving you and Elliot to figure out what she actually means. And commas? Forget it. She probably doesn’t even know what one is.

You scrunch your nose, confused, your thumb hovering over the screen to text her back when another message pops up. This time, it’s from Joel.

You're fucking beautiful, by the way.

Okay, so that’s kind of creepy. How the fuck does he know what you look like? That’s when it hits you— the previous text was from Joel, not Julie like you’d assumed.

“Oh no…” you breathe, your fingers scrambling to scroll up through the conversation. And there it is. The picture Elliot took of you. You, wearing nothing but your white this bitch bites! shirt and black panties, your chest pushed forward so the writing stretches smooth across the fabric. And that picture? It’s been sent to Joel. Not Julie.

You growl out loud, “I’m going to kill Elliot,” your heart pounds like crazy. You spring to your feet, panic surging through you as you pace back and forth, trying to form a coherent thought. Did he do it on purpose? No, surely he wouldn’t—okay, yeah, he probably would. You groan loudly, covering your face with your hands before falling backward onto the bed. You land with a bounce.

And just when you think it couldn’t possibly get any worse, the realization hits you. “I’m not even wearing makeup, Elliot!” you shout, your voice full of despair.

You know you should respond to Joel, but you're way too busy freaking the hell out.

He knows what you look like. That’s bad. So very bad. Why exactly it’s bad, you’re not sure. But the black hole churning in your stomach insists it is.

He thinks you’re beautiful, a calmer part of your mind whispers blissfully. Without makeup. That part makes you ridiculously happy. But it’s still bad…right?

Gnawing on your bottom lip, you try to think clearly. So what if he knows what you look like? It’s not like he can track you down with just an image. Sure, okay, he also knows your first name, but you don’t even have social media. Good luck with that, buddy!

...Really? Come on.

You shake your head at yourself. You know Joel wouldn’t do anything like that. You’re just freaking out and thinking irrationally. He’s a good guy, and you trust him. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t have given him your real number.

Breathing in deeply, you lift your phone to your face and read his messages again.

Damn, I hope she does.

You're fucking beautiful, by the way.

This time, you allow yourself to smile, embracing the warmth that fills your stomach at his words. He’s so sweet, with just the right amount of dirty. He hopes you’re a biter... Naughty pictures flood your mind, and you squeeze your thighs together. You’d be a biter for him any day.

Your thumbs hover over the touch-screen keyboard as you consider what to respond to him. Deciding that honesty is the best policy, you go with:

Sorry about that! It was meant for my girl friend but my other friend is a total dick. I don't make a habit of sending half-naked pics to guys. I'm glad you like it though :)

A thought pops into your head, and you quickly type:

Since you've got a pic of me...maybe you'll be open to sharing one of you?

You nibble at your fingernail as you wait for his response. You hope you didn't make him uncomfortable by asking for a picture, but you honestly do want one of him. You're curious about what he could look like. You have an image of him in your head, but you dare say it wouldn't look anything like him. A few seconds later, you get a reply.

Ah, that makes sense. I did think it was a bit odd since you never mentioned anything about us exchanging pictures. I'm glad it happened, though. Maybe I should be thanking your friend ;)

Your lips curl as you get ready to send him a response when another text comes through.

Sure, you can have one of me as long as you'll excuse my appearance. It's It’s been a rough day at work, and I haven’t had a chance to shower yet.

Again, you start typing your reply, your heart jumping into your throat at the thought of finally seeing his face when yet another text comes through. But this time, it isn’t words; it’s a picture. The picture you’ve been waiting for.

Your lips part and your heart falls back into your chest, doing a funny little dance. A slow breath escapes you as you can't tear your eyes away from the selfie he sent you.

Gorgeous doesn't even begin to describe him. whiskey-colored eyes, lips so full it almost looks like he's pouting. A day or two's worth of stubble covers his lower face.

He looks tired but still manages a small, lopsided smile for you. His hair is a mess as if he's spent a good portion of the day running his fingers through it. Full lips and dark eyes. The picture is taken directly in front, and you can see his large Adam’s apple and broad shoulders. His shirt, from what you can make out, is completely white.

“Oh my god,” you mutter in astonishment. Honestly… the guy looks like a model. You find it hard to believe someone like him needs a sex operator to get off. He must have women falling all over him. He's a firefighter for fuck’s sake. It's like every girl’s wet dream.

It makes you wonder if he's telling the truth, or if he's been lying all along and knows exactly how to draw a girl in.

Worried and paranoid, you bite your bottom lip and finally text him back.

Is that really you? Or are you screwing with me?

His reply doesn't come in the shape of a text. Instead, you get a notification about an incoming video call.

Your eyes widen, and your first instinct is to reject it. Having just gotten out of the shower, your hair is wet, and your face is make-up-free. You don’t want him to see you this way, but then you remember that he’s already seen the picture you—well, Elliot—sent him. So, you accept it. It can’t have put him off that much since he's still talking to you.

It takes a moment for the call to connect, and you bite your lip harder.

And then there he is, looking just like he did in his photo. This proves that he'd definitely just taken it moments before, and it was definitely him. You feel guilty for doubting him.

"Wow." His full lips twist into a big smile. "Hey there, beautiful."

Your butterflies return with a vengeance, and you grin back so hard your cheeks hurt. "Hey, handsome." You know your face is burning but you don't even care. You're nervous and aren't afraid to admit it. This is a big step for both of you. Who wouldn't have some kind of nerves? The hand holding your phone up shakes slightly.

He chuckles, rubbing his fingers over his lips. "I can't believe I'm actually looking at you. It's crazy. You're so gorgeous. You're perfect."

Your entire body buzzes at his words, warmth filling you. "Coming from you? You're so fucking sexy I thought you'd sent me a fake picture!"

You both laugh, the sound full of excitement, anxiety, and amazement. "No, no. I would never do that. I'm glad you approve though, I was worried I wouldn't be your type."

You splutter, "Dude...you have to be everyone's type." The nervous laughter continues. Neither of you really knows what to say or how to react, but you can't stop looking at each other with goofy expressions. "How was your day?" you finally decide to ask, figuring that maybe a more casual conversation might help you both get over the shock.

"My day?" He was grinning still, shaking his head. "My day...this has got to be the best day of my damned life."

It’s so sweet you could almost cry. Almost sobbing with tears in your eyes, you respond, “I know the feeling.”

You’re both too overwhelmed to have a normal conversation. You stay on the phone for hours, mostly admiring each other, smiling like idiots, and commenting on your disbelief of the situation. You’re in awe of each other, that much is obvious. Time quickly flies by, and you notice Joel starts to grow more tired by the second.

"Why don’t you get some sleep?" you suggest softly, one hand tucked under your cheek as you lay on your side, snuggled up underneath your duvet. You continue to hold the phone in front of you.

He groans and rubs his eye with his knuckles. It’s adorable to see. "I should...I really, really should." His hand drops, and he focuses on the phone, flashing you a sleepy smile. "But that means hanging up...and I don’t think I’m ready to leave you yet."

You giggle quietly, feeling genuinely happy. "I know the feeling," you say. "But it's getting late, and you have work in the morning. I promise we'll talk again tomorrow night. Plus, I'll be texting you all day, you know that."

He chuckles. "Damn, I just can't get rid of you, can I?" He teases.

"Nope." You pop the 'p', grinning back. "You're stuck with me now."

He sighs dramatically. "What have I gotten myself into?" You both laugh once more. "I'm joking, of course. Who'd wanna get rid of a gorgeous girl like you?"

You hide your face in your shoulder. "Stop, you'll make me go all giddy," you warn him, half serious.

He grins. "That's not gonna make me stop, princess. You're too cute when you're all giddy."

"Oh, Joel ," you sigh lovingly before you realize what you're doing. You can't help it though. He makes you feel so good. So joyful. You can't ever remember having this feeling. It’s as if you're on top of the world.

"Darlin," he purrs back, and your belly flutters. You fall into a small silence, and for a moment, just smile at each other. It’s actually pretty cheesy.

"We should go," you whisper reluctantly.

He nods. "Yeah, you're probably right."

"Good night, handsome." Moving the hand tucked under your cheek to your mouth, you blow him a kiss.

He chuckles and acts as if he grabs it before placing it onto his lips and blowing one back to you. "Goodnight, pretty girl."

Taglist: @pedrito-is-punk7 @bitchytimetravelqueen @wh0reforbucknasty @joelsrose @justajoelsreader

@guelyury @bbyanarchist @untamedheart81 @ro-nahime-things @peepawispunk

#joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fanfiction

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killerpancakeburger · 7 months ago

Text

KNIGHT IN SHINING KHAKI

Gif by @bastardcompany

SUMMARY: You've angered the wrong officer. You think you're a goner when Johnny sweeps in to save the day.

PAIRING: Soap x f!Reader ("her" is used to refer to reader once, that's it) (+ Reader's hair is long enough to grab)

TAGS: Civilian!Reader, Depressed!Reader, Insecure!Reader, Angry!Soap, Protective!Soap, GuardDog!Soap, canon violence, hurt/comfort, swearing, blood mention. Ghost makes an appearance as a matchmaker lol. The love is requited they're just insecure idiots. Making Shit Up for the Plot/military inaccuracies.

WORD COUNT: 2.7k

A/N: My original prompt for this was: civilian!reader sees Soap in action and gets Horny. No Scared Just Horny.

Then I found out that Soap canonically beat up an officer. I am also obsessed with this video.

Part 1. Part 3.

This is it, you thought to yourself.

This is how I die.

The day had unfolded like any other. Your shift was over and you were locking up your office, as usual. Your attention was focused on your hands’ motion, your guard dropped, your back exposed.

This explained why, when the stranger grabbed your hair and bashed your head against the door mercilessly, you didn’t see it coming in the slightest. The fact that you had zero combat experience while the person manhandling you was a decorated military officer obviously made matters worse, but at the moment of the assault, you didn’t know that.

The thud of the collision was eclipsed almost immediately by the pain exploding in your face. Half-stunned, all you could comprehend at the moment, every single signal sent by your brain was compacted in one word: suffering. Sharp, all-encompassing. You yelped, your hands vainly pushing against the cold, hard surface to get away.

“I've finally found you, you little snitch. Didn’t think you'd get away with it, now did you?”

Despite the blood thumping in your ears, and how groggy the hit on your head made you, his words reached you perfectly. They were seeping with fury and disdain. His voice didn’t ring a bell, so you tried to turn your head to glimpse him, if only at the corner of your eye, and he granted you some leeway to do so.

Perplexity filled you as you finally caught sight of your aggressor: you've never seen that man before.

“I don't even know who you are,” you winced.

Talking back in your situation would be judged stupid and reckless by a majority of people. Laying low assured more chances to avoid harm.

However most people hadn't been mugged at knifepoint like you had been, and most people valued their lives way more than you did.

Once the confusion and incredulity subsided, the pain still vivid but manageable, you were left with frustration and anger towards your interminable bad luck and the man behind you. His aversion was harder to take seriously when it seemed to have no foundation.

The grip on your hair tightened, making you grit your teeth.

“I'll refresh your memory, then.”

One part of you managed to be pleased to know that this mystery would be solved; the rest was ringing alarm bells when hearing the underlying threats in his tone.

“Weeks ago, you filed a report for embezzlement.”

You frowned, having no recollection of his claims, before a memory emerged. You saw them in flashes: the sudden, abnormally high spendings, the certificates full of anomalies, the incoherent dates; all this lead you to complete a reporting form, just as your job required you to. It was just a formality. You hadn't even even paid attention to the name attached to the expenses, therefore the officer was still anonymous.

Your aggressor scoffs menacingly, easily reading on your face that you remembered.

“They're gonna strip me of my rank and throw me in jail because of you. I'll make you pay even if it’s the last thing I do.”

That last sentence was finished in an almost shout, making you flinch, wishing you could pass through the door.

You quietly resigned yourself to your fate. No one was coming for you. You were no stranger to the inner workings of the military - no one would dare cross an officer that high-ranked for your sake.

I've lived a good li- well, no. A pretty shitty life, actually. But at least I can say I did the right thing.

Just as you closed your eyes and braced yourself, hoping this wouldn’t drag on, a Scottish-accentuated roar resonated in the empty hall.

“Get yer hands off her-”

You had never heard Soap sound so enraged, nor his pitch so gravelly. Relief flooded through you at the sound of his voice, blended with gratitude. Tears stinged the corners of your eyes.

All of a sudden the unyielding grip on your hair was gone, the sound of something violently hitting the wall punctuating your newfound freedom.

“-ye fucking bastard!”

You immediately turned around to see what was happening, leaning against the door behind you. Your legs were too shaky to be reliable. The harmed side of your face was throbbing in pain as you took in the scene with wide eyes.

Johnny had pinned the officer against the wall with one forearm across his chest. He dealt him a punch to the face powerful enough that the resulting thud made you grimace, despite not feeling any sympathy for his target.

He managed to administer a second blow before his adversary snapped out of his stupor, and the advantage he gained from taking him by surprise ran its course.

As your assailant defended himself with the strength of someone backed into a corner, you couldn't help but fear for Soap's safety for a moment. Despite knowing that one's rank didn’t reflect their fighting prowess, a rush of anxiety passed through you at the idea that he could lose that confrontation.

Nonetheless, he quickly put your mind at ease as his skills proved to be largely superior. The gap between the two was deep enough that it was obvious even to a neophyte like you.

Paralyzed, you couldn’t do anything but stare at the display of violence with a mix of morbid fascination and sadistic satisfaction. Honestly, if you could borrow Soap's body, you would without a doubt inflict the same treatment on that man. Maybe worse. Fair payback for the threats, the smashing of your face, the probable trauma you'd get from this. Maybe not that fair. But maybe for once you'd stop trying to act like a paragon of virtue.

You should have been scared, you realized. You had never been involved in a fight before. You had never witnessed firsthand the brutality Johnny was capable of, despite being aware of it, between his status as a soldier and the reports you read. The dog tags jingling from his neck and the khaki of his uniform were like so many visual reminders that he was a killing machine. His ferocious wrath, his yelling and his punches should have made you cower in fright.

However the only feeling inhabiting you was safety, as paradoxical as it sounded. Soap was safe, you were convinced of it, consciously or not.

This whole ordeal felt like it lasted an eternity and a minute at the same time. You blinked and out of nowhere, Johnny was straddling the officer on the floor. Blows kept pouring in but they were one-sided - the sergeant had gained the upper hand. The rhythm of his strikes seemed attuned to the beatings of your heart. Each resonated inside of your ears with your skull as their echo chamber. The noise was loud enough to cover your own thoughts.

As you focused on your breathing, you managed to slow down your heartbeats, and the blood-fueled pump between your ribs no longer felt like it could burst out of your chest at any moment. You failed however to contain the tremor in your hands.

You chose to focus on Soap's hands instead. They were soaked red from blood spilled, but not his. Specks of crimson sprinkled his hair, his face, his neck, his t-shirt.

There was a certain sort of lethal beauty to this brutal display that you couldn't help but contemplate in reverent silence: the way his bicep swole when he threw his arm back before hitting his target. The tightening of the muscles beneath the tanned skin of his arms. His icy stare. The harsh line of his jaw. His stern, inflexible expression, one he usually wore in meetings or after Price gave the order to leave.

The expression of someone who would stop at nothing, provided a bleak little voice in the back of your mind. The idea didn’t bother you nearly as much as it should have.

“Not gonna make him stop?”

The familiar grunt of Ghost's voice almost made you jump out of your skin. You pivoted and the behemoth of a lieutenant was there, in casual clothes, right by your side. You had no idea when he arrived or how long he's been standing there, quiet like a shadow.

Something dark flashed in his brown eyes as his gaze lingered on the hurt side of your face.

“Why would I show mercy to someone who would have granted me none?” you scoffed bitterly.

“Someone's bloodthirsty.”

“You're one to talk.”

“Didn’t say it was a bad thing.”

You turned your attention back to Soap and Ghost did the same.

“I doubt he would listen to me.”

“He would,” stated the masked man, with the assertiveness of someone announcing a conviction.

“But if ya don't believe me…”

A beat, then.

“Oï, Johnny!”

The shout was nonchalant, like it was something he did often, calling off his sergeant from some prey like the Scotsman was his personal attack dog.

The effect was immediate.

Soap abruptly froze, blinking a couple times as if awakening from a trance. Then he perked up, and turned around, eyes searching. The first sound that left his lips was a call of your name. His gaze latched onto you and didn’t let go as he stood up and rushed towards you. The naked vulnerability, the raw openness in his voice and on his face were so earnest that they felt like a Cupid's arrow shot straight between your lungs. It left you devoid of speech and motion, so as Johnny reached for you, all you could do was try to convey your reassurances through your eyes; that you were mostly fine, and so grateful, but worried for him, that he made everything better-

His arms closing around you made the outside disappear, and suddenly the whole world came down to Johnny, and only him. His embrace was enjoyable for a second before the pressure of his body against your face woke up your contusions. You let out a muffled cry of pain and he released you immediately, swearing and apologizing. However his hands didn’t leave you, grasping your shoulders.

“C'mere hen, lemme have a look at ye.”

“Oh, I'm fine, you should worry about-”

Your voice pathetically died in your throat as he cupped your face, leaning over, way too close for your heart to not start stammering uncontrollably.

The combined attention of his fingertips on your skin and the turquoise of his eyes roaming your visage turned your cheeks into a blazing inferno.

Unable to maintain eye contact, your gaze wandered over his own injuries, a split lip and a couple of bruises.

Suddenly he grabbed your chin between his thumb and index, tilting your face one way and the other. Your skin flared up at the contact, pleasant yet nervous tingles scattering all over your body.

“Ye sure he didn’t hit ye on that side? Yer a wee bit red.”

You bit back a whine of complaint at that comment. He couldn’t be that oblivious.

“Yer makin’ it worse, Johnny.” sneaked Ghost, the amusement manifest in his voice - at least to you.

Soap looked up to him, frowning in incomprehension, indignant.

“The hell ya on aboot L.T.? How am ah makin’ it worse?”

You panicked.

“Shut up Riley!” you hissed, in a desperate attempt to put a stop to his shenanigans, forgetting that you were supposed to be severely intimidated by the masked man.

That drew a gruff chuckle out of him. Your sudden outburst caused Johnny to release you.

“Not that I'm not glad to see you, but why are you two even here, anyway?”

You were kind of proud of your ability to change the subject.

“Was comin’ tae get ye fer a game,” smiled Soap, and it reminded you of a pet proudly presenting its owners with its findings.

“This one wasn’t coming back, and neither of you were answering your phones, so we figured somethin’ went wrong. And we were right. This poor fucker is wanted. Called in reinforcements to deal with him.”

Footsteps’ noises caught your attention. A group of soldiers in uniform seized your aggressor and brought him to his feet, before unceremoniously shoving him in the direction opposite of you.

“Gotta tell Gaz the game ain't happening tonight.”

By the time you took in what Ghost had said, and turned away from the procession, he had already disappeared.

“This isn’t over,” menaced the officer, passing by your spot as he was hauled away. “When I get out-”

“Shut the fuck up,” snarled Soap instantly, protectively positionning himself in front of you.

“Found yourself a faithful guard dog, uh?” the other man taunted.

One one hand, that last remark wasn’t so far from the truth - he had been acting a lot like that: barking threats, baring his teeths, standing between you and the menace, reducing a man to a bloody pulp for hitting you…

But on the other hand, letting that piece of shit talk to Johnny this way was simply out of the question.

Before thinking, you found yourself walking in front of the sergeant and retorting.

“What, jealous he's ten times the man you'll never be?”

Fortunately for you, he was dragged away before he could snap anything back. That didn’t prevent you from regretting your snarky comment immediately. It had been a purely impulsive urge, the kind that could make you feel heavy remorse for days, if not years. As if this seasoned combat expert needed your aid to defend himself. The idea was ludicrous.

You didn’t get a moment to mope around however, as Johnny proceeded to grab you by the hips and press you flush against him with a jubilant smirk. You couldn’t do much except prop yourself with both hands on his pectorals to avoid stumbling.

“My hero.” he praised like a smitten damsel in distress.

“Look who's talking.”

You lowered your gaze despite yourself, mumbling your reply, a half smile on your lips, embarrassed but amused.

“Going after bastards is mah job, not yours. You gutsy little thing.”

You refrained a sarcastic laughter at the nickname - gutsy and little were two things you have never been called, as far as you can remember. But you weren't about to argue with the man who just saved your sorry ass.

His fingers pressed into your flesh, sending tickles at the bottom of your spine.You were about to ask him to let you go, the position too incriminating for this public setting, when you noticed how dilated his pupils were. He had to be high on adrenaline from the fight.

You may have let yourself get lost in the blue pools of his eyes, until his expression turned grave.

“Ye sure yer good? Yer too calm about this. No need tae put oan a brave face fer me, aye?”

The genuine, serious concern in his eyes made the inside of your stomach twist.

“I'm good. You arrived just in time,” you assured.

How peculiar it felt to be the one to comfort Johnny, rather than the opposite; that the lionhearted, superhuman sergeant Mactavish might even need such a thing; that he might require it from you, of all people.

“He didn’t get to do much.”

His pretty features contorted into a scowl at the reminder of your attacker.

“That sonuvabitch… raising a hand on ye in broad fuckin’ daylight… if he ever touches ye again, I swear I’ll…”

As he kept fulminating against your assailant, you couldn’t stop an endeared smile from spreading on your lips. Listening to one of Soap's rants brightened your mood; it was familiar. The sincerity in his words and his tone was welcome. He wasn’t able to fake those emotions even if he wanted to; they spilled out of him like a waterfall. His honest worry and righteous ire towards someone who hurt you was… flattering, in a sense. It made you feel cared for, like you mattered.

Then red started dripping.

“Johnny… your nose is bleeding.”

He wiped it negligently with the back of his hand, only succeeding in smearing it over his face. You couldn’t hold back a snort.

“Bend over. It will stop faster.”

“Buy me dinner first.”

He punctuated his quip with a suggestive wriggle of his eyebrows. You rolled your eyes.

“Let's just go to medical already.” you grumbled, starting to walk decisively, albeit stiffly, in the right direction.

“Aye, aye,” acquiesced your savior, jogging a bit to catch up to you.

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bizarrelovesquare · 8 months ago

Text

Dan posted this video that gave us a HUGE peek into Martin's notes about episodes they're working on...

Screenshots (with about 90% ID of what's visible, bless his handwriting) under the cut! Fair warning, it's long, but there's a lot going on here, and it's so much to think about!

picture 1: ????? chicken head funnier

picture 2: (first page) Reactionator

? Speakers all over town People's phones Therapist Doof & Candace

Therapist thinks she is crazy but is tactful

The shrink is delusional ? ? exercise that is the catalyst for Cand. being delusional

Candace "It's A Wonderful Life" -- After actual bust C sees everyone doing much worse she feels sad

Family - I think you discuss it Cruise Ship - P&F Van/Doof Last chance to Candace A / Perry back

(second page) Doof's DEI W/A C's Therapist

Doof same therapist

Ferb is next a speech therapist

Doof trauma-dumping on therapist

Therapist "The real self-destruct button is in your head"

Therapist does ex(?)nemesis - therapist

Therapist sees - "WAIT, I GET IT, what Candace is doing gets taken away by what HE'S DOING--"

(note going down side of page) GUEST ON DOOFENPUSS

Doof ? regular ? ? - but she can't ? this because of C ? Confidential ALL DANVILLE Doof and Vanessa on cruise ALL CHARACTERS ? Reactionator blackmail secret I ever tell you w/Lindana whose solved mysteries

picture 3: (script on the table) (our first potential season 6 title?) PHINEAS AND FERB

"VANESSAY"

Written by Martin Olson & Olivia Olson

picture 4: Vanessay

Change tennis to playground

Roger & slushy guy not zapped

Rog. - reflects ray w/ his teeth - set up teeth first Doof: strong jaw -

Agent T thumbnotes "Up the chimney is a weird visual pun" Stacy: "You know we have a front door."

C & Stacy w/ambient sounds joke sequence - cut down?

Mono - "Four seasons of this show" Why did I ? ? ?

To Liv for Vanessay Playground - see how ? ? trap sets scene - a handled window box

Stacy: "Hey ? I ? ANIMAL NOISES!" CUT TO BLACK

Stacy pushes ? out of doorway

Dimin: after "Shorty" - No prize is worth this!

picture 5: T For Teen For Liv - SC 916 Perry leaps into air & does triple flip & lands ready to fight

Pitch n buttons for each

Exec note - Thurs - T For Teens 1:48 end of C/Stacy annual ? sudden cut to end ? w "napkins"

MEAP - PT2 S&P CONCERNS

(I cannot make this bit out to save my life. Martin what in the world my dude)

picture 6: Meap pt 2 - thumbnotes

22 to Meap - "Uh-uh! An ship ? us away!" (clumsy)

Fix pronunciation "St. Lois" joke C is shushed by Meap

Tidy up - don't have everyone say "Don't forget to flush"

C pressing red button to explode ? ship sucks

Brenda joke sexist "No one tracks you through the universe more than your wife"

picture 7: 501 PT1 Exec notes - bigger intro of Doof instead of him on yearbook 10:27 Buf. throw away Constitution Irving beat #2 too quick to nerd

Deconstructing thumbatic

Instead of "psychosis" "phantasma"

607 - Isa hair - 704 OWCA shredding SC

C feels good - "? ? that every day"

12 min: Viewers see The Murder Board

Biblio Blast anim. notes Perry incompetent - smashes into Doof's roof Cut down - plants surrounding/attacking Cut down Doof/Per table start w/Doof "We have to HIT SELF DESTRUCT"

picture 8: (page 1) song by the paver the wind makes love w/each other again

around us - it all seems so real meaning confounds us - cuz nothing's revealed we're SW in love w/each other again

Middle 1: From nothing we hustle Towards each other again Our love seems to circle Without any end

V3: The cloud of unknowing has such beautiful colors But where is it all going ? towards one another? we're SW - in love w/each other again

Middle 2: We seek out each other Every time we appear Sometimes we find another Before we disappear

INSTRUMENTAL W/DANCING SKELETON

(page 2) Middle 3: The breeze says to hug her And show how we feel Slowly healing each other Every turn of the wheel

Repeat V1: So basically - We're SW Along by the river We sit on a porch and The wind makes us shiver We're SW in love w/ each other again We're SW in love w/ each other again

JOSH - The paver of

picture 9: While Dance

says to hug her how we feel healing each other turn of the wheel

Repeat V1: (So basically)

We're SW Alone by the river We sit on the ? and The wind makes us shiver We're SW In love w/each other again

picture 10: Swampy

is trapped

back build something

element

State Triangle

"It's like the Berm[uda Triangle] totally different

(Teen lounge) & P&F build

too much like

Dan wants PLANE to

Doof is the ship

Jon said we turn strong where Doof is in the clouds - there's

picture 11: It's a whole new summer Perry (reblog if u cried)

Earthquake

Mom is laughing so hard she can't look

Staring contest - Try not to laugh

Candace has to be ? at Jeremy's larping tournament but she laughs

picture 12: Perry sick, "Can you take

Candace P&F canoe race

Laughtrack-inator Start ? - reveal Doof hits them w/a Doof keeps cranking it up

Doof rises wall of ? behind at ?

Laugh-inator Cut to surgeon heart

Norm: Good mg. sir Doof: But I programmed you to

picture 13: (this is another view of the page in picture 2, but this one reveals slightly more at the bottom, nothing too noteworthy added except for this)

LINDANA 80'S COP MOVIE - GUEST ON DOOFENPUS

#phineas and ferb #this took hours to transcribe btw. the things i do for this dang show <3

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writewithmiaaa · 7 months ago

Text

Jasper Hale X reader

Chapter one: Guarded Grace

Pairings: Jasper Hale x Female reader

Warnings: None 💗

Summary: When James runs into the ballet studio, there is a girl in there, practising her barre. How will Jasper react?

Type: Fluff and a pinch of angst💓

The ballet studio was dimly lit, the only illumination coming from the faint glow of the streetlights outside. Y/N moved gracefully along the barre, her every movement fluid and precise. She had always found solace in ballet, a way to express herself and escape from the mundane worries of life. Tonight, the studio was her sanctuary, a place where she could lose herself in the dance.

As she executed a flawless arabesque, she heard the distant sound of a door creaking open. Pausing, she glanced toward the entrance of the studio, her heart skipping a beat. Her pulse quickened when a tall, menacing figure stepped into the room, his presence filling the space with an aura of danger. His blonde hair was long, and an evil grin plastered his chiseled jaw.

He moved with a predatory grace, his eyes locking onto her with an intensity that made her blood run cold. "What a delightful surprise," he said, his voice smooth and chilling. "I was looking for someone else, but you'll do nicely. I’m James."

Before she could react, another figure burst into the studio, moving with inhuman speed and precision. This time, the man had golden eyes which were fierce, and medium length hair. He smelt of oak and cinnamon. The mystery man quickly positioned himself between Y/N and the danger.

"Get behind me," he ordered, his voice low but commanding.

“What the hell is happening? You ruined my perfect barre.” Y/N sulked, a pout covering her pretty face.

“I said, get behind me.”

Y/N had no idea what was happening, and so she instinctively trusted the intensity in his gaze. She backed away, pressing herself against the mirrored wall as the man squared off against James.

James's smile widened, showing his sharp teeth. "Two for the price of one," he hissed. "This is going to be fun, isn’t it Jasper?"

Jasper's stance shifted, his body poised like a coiled spring ready to strike. "You won't touch her, she’s human.” he growled, his voice filled with quiet fury.

“Oh Jasper, but that’s half the fun.” James mock pouted. The two vampires began to circle each other, their movements a deadly dance. Y/N watched in a mix of terror and awe as Jasper's military precision met James's raw ferocity. The air crackled with tension, the threat of violence palpable.

Suddenly, James lunged, and the room exploded into a blur of movement. Jasper met him head-on, their clash echoing through the studio. The mirrors shook, reflecting the chaotic struggle as they grappled, each trying to gain the upper hand.

Y/N's heart pounded in her chest as she watched the fierce battle. She had never felt so helpless, so vulnerable. But then, in the midst of the chaos, she saw something extraordinary. Jasper's movements became more fluid, more controlled. A feeling of calm washed over the room. How did that happen?

With a final, powerful blow and barred teeth, Jasper sent James crashing into the barre, breaking it in half. The defeated vampire snarled but didn't attempt to rise. Instead, he slinked back, eyes burning with hatred.

"This isn't over," James spat, his gaze flickering to Y/N before he retreated, disappearing into the night.

The studio fell silent, the only sound the ragged breathing of the combatants. Jasper turned to Y/N, his expression softening.

"Are you alright?" he asked, concern lacing his voice.

Y/N nodded, her legs trembling from the adrenaline. "Yes, thank you. What was that about?”

Jasper offered a small, reassuring smile. "Don’t worry about it darlin’, you’re safe now. Want me to walk you home?”

As they stepped into the cool night air, Jasper stayed close to Y/N, his presence a comforting shield against the lingering fear. The streets were eerily quiet, the distant hum of traffic the only sound.

"Where do you live?" Jasper asked gently.

"Just a few blocks from here," Y/N replied, her voice still shaky.

They walked in silence for a while, the tension of the encounter gradually easing with each step. Y/N couldn't help but steal glances at Jasper, still amazed by how he had come to her rescue.

"Thank you," she said finally, breaking the silence. "For everything."

Jasper looked at her, his eyes softening. "It's my duty to protect the innocent. I'm just glad I was there in time."

As they reached her apartment building, Y/N felt a pang of reluctance at the thought of parting ways. "Will I see you again?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Jasper's smile was warm and reassuring. "I'll make sure of it. You're part of our world now, and we take care of our own.” He handed her a note with his number on it. “For emergencies ma’am.” He winked, and with a final nod, he watched as she entered her building, waiting until she was safely inside before turning away.

#the twilight saga #Twilight #Jasper hale #jasper x alice #jasper x reader #twilight poly #twilight saga #cullen romance #jasper hale x reader #twilight x reader #twilight imagine #twilight story #masterlist #edward cullen x reader #james twilight #carlisle x reader #esme cullen x reader #rosalie cullen x reader

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ink-n-shadow · 4 months ago

Note

Plz plz plz write some Gaz smut! Yes I am begging. Yes I am desperate!!

can we talk about boyfriend’s ex best friend!gaz x reader? is that a controversial au—

𝜗𝜚 pairing: boyfriend's ex best friend!gaz x afab!reader (reader has afab!genitalia) 𝜗𝜚 cw: smut (minors—DNI), infidelity (but your boyfriend cheats on you too so it's justified?), lowkey power dynamic?, oral (reader!receiving), thigh riding, sweet!kyle, unedited

like your boyfriend and kyle have a falling out one night, and you stop seeing kyle showing up when your boyfriend hosts boys’ night at your shared apartment. your boyfriend brushes it off, simply labeling kyle as a douchebag and telling you not to worry about it.

and you don’t even think about kyle ever again until one night when he mysteriously shows up at your door. it would be a nigjt your boyfriend had gone out with his other friends, leaving you alone at your shared apartment with nothing more than a kiss on the cheek.

you’re confused as to why kyle’s even there until he’s showing you a photo on his phone, and although it’s quite grainy and shaky, it’s unmistakably a photo of your boyfriend at a bar downtown. there’s some blonde woman perched on his lap, her arms strewn around his neck and their tongues plunged down the others’ throat.

“dunno how long ‘s been goin’ on for—figured you deserved to know though,” kyle murmurs softly as he pockets his cell phone once more, eyebrows pulled up in a sympathetic grimace when he notices the tears quickly beginning to crest in your lashes.

he was fully planning to leave after showing you, but when you all but stumble forward and crumble into his arms with a wavering sob, he can’t help but lead you over to the couch and comfort you with soft words and gentle caresses.

and neither of you are fully aware of how you ended up here, both fully naked and you grinding needily against the rippled muscles of kyle’s thigh. the tears that had slicked your cheeks are long since dried, mainly thanks to the way kyle gently lapped them up with his tongue as his fingers trickled down your heated flesh. kyle has his teeth buried in your throat, nipping and marking the sensitive skin as you cover his thigh in your slick.

“y’don’t know ‘ow long i’ve been wantin’ this, petal,” kyle pants hoarsely against your throat, honeyed eyes fluttering up to meet yours as his hands grip tightly at your hips and pull you further against his thigh. “just wanna treat you right—lemme treat you good, pretty.”

and you can’t help but let kyle spread you out across the sofa, swollen lips mapping down your body as he shuffles between your spread thighs. he doesn’t even let you take a moment of reprieve before he’s diving tongue first into your blistering heat, the lewdest moan ripping through his chest as the flavor of your cunt explodes on his tastebuds. he can’t even fight the way his eyes roll to the back of his skull, fingers tightening around your inner thighs to keep you still as he pulls you apart with his lips and tongue.

you’re so lost in the heat coiling its way through your nerves that you don’t notice the front door being opened with a key, don’t notice the way your boyfriend is stood in the doorway with his jaw on the floor and fire burning in his pupils. you’re too busy falling apart on kyle’s tongue that you don’t realize the way his eyes are locked on your boyfriend as he licks you clean, the look of pure hatred in his eyes enough to send your boyfriend scurrying back out the way he came.

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diejager · 10 months ago

Note

just hear me out for one second.... what if hunter was a titan?... yk like aot (attack on titan)

reader looks totally normal, nothing indicating that they were something other than human. Even laswell wasnt 100% sure on what reader was. A stirring mystery within 141 that they all collectively decide to ignore.

then one day, they were out on a mission that was going horribly, horribly wrong.. incorrect information, sabotage, dangerous illegal weapons, low ammunition, scarce supplies, severe injuries, etc.. you name it.

141 was backed into a corner. definitely not the first time something like this has happened in their career...but they always manage to find a way out. Always making it back home, injured sure- but safe..alive.

this time it wasn't the case. there was no way out, none. death was knocking on the door and soon they had to answer.....

and unfortunately reader was the first to greet death.. a clean shot to the head by a sniper

one minute reader was laying in a pool of their own blood and the next they turn into this gigantic humanoid beast.

in a fit of rage, reader starts to completely destroy the battlefield. not a damn soul alive besides 141.

bodies scattered from the sea to the forest and heavens above ..nothing but pure gore and blood.

reader standing over the battlefield bloodied from head to toe, watching the devastation below.

(This is really long im sorry)

Cw: implied death, blood and gore, Canon-typical violence, titan!reader, gun violence?, tell me if I missed any.

The last thing Horangi remembered hearing through the angered hisses and growls, Price screaming at Laswell and her informants through the coms to find a way out their thick predicament was the shuddering shot that boomed through the air. The hair of his arms raised when he watched you turn towards the sound, your wide eyes and choked breath. You flinched back and lurched forward, hands grasping at your bleeding throat, choking and gurgling on the blood that rose from your wound. He rushed to pull you into cover, biting his lip at your pained expression, you were choking on your blood, dying by the thing that substained you, that cycled life and oxygen through your body.

Your words were sputtered, splattered crimson on Horangi’s mask as he fussed over you, your pinched brows and scrunched nose, the angered gleam in your dulling eyes and your bloody and sneering lips. You pushed him away, stumbling forward with one step at a time, risking being shot a second and third time, but you kept marching away from them, ignoring their attempt to stop you and reach for you.

“B- bast- ard-!” He heard you screech.

He didn’t know if some God or Gods favoured you or if you were extremely lucky for still being alive, a second bullet landing by your feet and a third scratching your arm. You raised a bloody hand, palm facing you, the crease and groves of every fold a dark red, then you bit down on it. Hard. He admired the strength behind your bite, the crunch of your skin breaking under your teeth and red exploding, he could only imagine how painful it was, but you were already in so much agony, your body’s probably numb.

And suddenly, lighting sparked around you, bright yellow and loud, scarily close to you before one thick and dangerous one struck where you stood. Within seconds, he gaped at the mass of muscles, red fibres interlocking and sticking to ligaments and fat that kept it together, tying themselves to bone and tendons, wrapping away the red and white with a wide array of red and blue, building a system of veins that were finally covered by skin. In your place was a giant —a titan, one that he’d heard through the grapevines of black markets and hushed whispered and rumours from the underworld when he gambled his life away.

The titan - you - let out a loud scream, head thrown back and arms reeling back, fingers clenched in anger, deep sated vitriol that carried you around them. He could only stare on in amazement as you trampled over the surrounding enemies, bending down to grip a man, your thick fingers clenching around him and squeezing the life out of him, leaving his entrails spilling out of his broken abdomen. You moved around stepping and squeezing them to death, a trail of carnage behind you, bodies strewed about, spines broken and heads rolling.

He let you go on without a word, his breath stolen away by you when you slumped over, your nape breaking open with a loud hiss, steam billowing up the air from how hot your body ran, you arched out, body curled backward with a loud sigh. Horangi stared at you, unmoving and unbreathing, and only moved when Price rushed to you, climbing your titan body to pull the rest of you out, your arms and lower body still attached to it by thick, red muscle. Your feet stuttered, eyes blinking tiredly while you leaned on Price, groaning and rubbing the tension out of your temples.

He realised the blood that was supposed to stain your skin and clothes were gone, evaporated in the heat of it. Your wound healed and energy spent, you were tired and grumbling about wanting to sleep, face pinched in irritation or annoyance, something he could feel. And without any complaints from them, Price had called for evac and waited at the LZ, everyone huddled around you, sharing the same amount of awe and surprise in their expression. You were a wonder to him, a beast of legends that Horangi had only heard of, but he had many, many questions and curiosities that he wanted fulfilled.

Taglist: @craxy-person @crowbird @dead-cipher @iwannabealocalcryptid @iizx7y @mxtokko @capricorn-anon @perfectus-in-morte @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @angelcakes-22 @ramadiiiisme @ramblingsofachaoticthinker @im-making-an-effort @love-dove-noora @jinxxangel13 @daisychainsinknots @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @mul-pi @danielle143 @beau-min @makayla-666 @urfavsunkissedleo @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @luvecarson @petwifed @randominstake @heartelysia @jggykhug09090 @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @call-me-nyxx @sans-chara @cod-z @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @thigh-o-saur @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami @cassiecasluciluce

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cheqorb · 11 months ago

Text

A Change of Heart.

A change in your rival's personality is be nothing serious. So, the look of longing in their eyes, the comments that seem more flirtatious than threatening, are fine, right?

FEAT. Isagi, Shidou, Kaiser

NOTES. maybe everything is oaky

Making an enemy out of ISAGI is surprisingly straightforward, considering his more laid-back personality compared to everyone else at least.

Simply just be a bit of a diva (become Kaiser 2.0). Confidently brag about how much better you are than him and he’s a bit hopeless, isn’t he? It won’t be long before he begins to get pretty irritable around you, feeling a strong urge to curse you out anytime you speak.

It’s not the ego he minds, really, but you’re just so you.

────

With a smirk, you peer over his shoulder as he struggles to catch his breath in practice. "Is that all you've got? Whatever happened to the genius on the pitch?" you taunt, wearing the smug expression he oh-so-despises.

Your shit-eating grin only widens at the sight of his furrowed brows and clenched teeth that betray his frustration, he’s so predictable, it’s almost sad!

────

Which is why he would describe it as complete and utter humiliation, when he realises he's starting to feel something beyond mere dislike towards you.

The discomfort between the two of you only worsens as he grows awkwardly silent at your blatant insults or even the mere mention of his name within earshot. Seriously, is he just ignoring you? And if/when you condescendingly pat his head, calling him a sorry excuse of a striker, he just… stands there — his face tinted a touch redder than usual.

Well, you conclude he could’ve just finished practice so he’s red because of exhaustion. Stupid Yoichi got ahead of himself in training and tired himself out. Yeah, that must be it (cue everyone visibly shaking their heads and sighing very loudly)!

────

Before your fingertips even make contact with his head, Isagi already knows it's you standing beside him. "Still not giving up, huh? Just how much do you enjoy losing anyway..." You pause.

He doesn't swat your hand away or offer a retort like he would have a few weeks prior to today. You’re confused, not having a clue as to what’s changed and your little one-sided dynamic has lasted for ages at this point. He’s trying to embarrass you by acting as if you’re not there, isn’t he?!

But then, much to your absolute shock and horror, he absentmindedly responds with, “Right. Yeah.”

With your hand still resting on his hair, you don’t even notice how he leans into your touch while you’re still processing what just happened in your mind. How sneaky!

Now, this one’s unfathomably easy. SHIDOU is someone who thrives on stirring up trouble with anything unlucky enough to catch his attention; be it a stranger bumping into him or even a dog walking off its leash.

Though, to capture his interest and earn his respect in earnest, you need to demonstrate the ability to ‘explode’ on the field but also able to play by his ‘rules’. but to truly kick off his fascination with you (pun intended), maintaining a nonchalant demeanor/keeping a distance between you two also helps. He seems like he’d be drawn to people who are on the more mysterious side of his interactions with Sae are anything to go off of.

────

Approaching with his trademark flamboyance, Shidou’s voice boomed as he made his way across the pitch. "Hey, you! That was some seriously impressive play out there!" he declares, "I mean, seriously, those moves were—”

He goes off on a tangent about cells, explosions — stuff you couldn’t be bothered to listen to.

“…Thanks,” you say with a neutral expression on your face before he tries to jump on you??? Almost breaking your nose in the process, if you hadn’t dodged in time.

────

His personality is both captivating yet a little too boisterous for anybody’s taste, and you can’t help instinctively retreating if he gets too close. Even if he is one of the few players who willingly praises you outright.

But Shidou isn't deterred by your nonchalance; if anything, it only fuels his excitement. Someone that so brilliantly fits his character, (seemingly) couldn’t care less about him. Anyways in terms of romance, he operates on a vastly different wavelength from conventional views on love. I don’t think he’s the type to recognise feelings of being flustered or the desire to shower someone with tender care and attention.

Since it is still love at the end of the day, he’s still experiences a certain pull towards you, driven by instinct rather than conscious understanding. But besides that, he remains largely oblivious/doesn’t feel the need to dig deeper into the complexity of human emotions.

Just understands being around you = more fun for him.

And unless you’re exceptionally perceptive or are somehow able to understand his underlying motives, you're likely to interpret his actions as a signal to maintain a safe distance.

────

“You’re always so hard to pin down, you know that?” Shidou calls out, watching as you continue walking — unfazed by his presence. He debates on whether or not to smash your face into the ground but then, he pauses.

A rare moment of contemplation for him.

Despite everything, there’s something undeniably exhilarating about being around you. A sense of freedom, a release from the constraints of his existence. Being with you makes him happy. It’s a thought that prompts another; how nice it’d be if you felt the same way about him… huh. Oh well.

For KAISER, it's also decently easy. Either defeat him on the soccer field or simply refuse to conform to his philosophy of everyone revolving around him; just don’t be a pushover. He’s someone who’ll gladly take any opportunity to crush someone whose ego far outweighs their abilities, but when confronted by someone with the skills to match their confidence? He becomes both intrigued and slightly irked.

Especially if they’re someone who can’t stand him (which to be fair, isn’t all that difficult) or simply wants nothing to do with him.

────

As you catch sight of a familiar head of blonde hair fading into blue entering through the doorway, you internally groan.

It’s Kaiser who saunters over, flashing his signature smirk. "Well, if it isn't my most favourite jester," he drawls, his tone dripping with arrogance. "You're looking rather defeated today. Are you finally coming to term with the fact that you'll never match my level?"

If it wasn’t clear, you don’t have much enthusiasm when it comes to whatever he says.

────

As time passes however, he’ll slowly find himself being more…involved in your life — forcing to make an appearance himself if need be.

Even noticing the small details about you. the way your eyes lit up when you seemed to figure something out, the subtle quirks that made you, you. Eventually (and I mean eventually, this will take a while), the realisation that his actions were out of love dawns on him. He’ll certainly try to deny it, brushing off the unfamiliar feelings as mere annoyance or frustration, but as he catches himself stealing glances in your direction and seeking out opportunities to be near you, he can’t help but admit defeat.

Michael Kaiser, the arrogant and self-assured soccer prodigy, had fallen deeply and irrevocably in love with some nobody.

He wants to impress you, to be the one that makes you grit your teeth out of frustration, to be the best version of himself for you to look up at. And, what began as subtle glances and fleeting touches soon evolves into more obvious displays of affection.

He finds excuses to brush against you or in close proximity of you, his hand lingering a fraction longer when shaking yours or his fingers grazing yours when passing objects. He also seems to be fond of leaning close towards you nowadays, his face mere inches from yours. It’s a lot worse if you’re visibly flustered when he does these things too.

Additionally, your pet name has been upgraded from jester to ‘liebling’…whatever that even means. must be weird if it makes his teammates raise a brow every time he says it.

────

With the match coming to an end, you mentally prepare yourself for a certain someone’s inevitable reaction to that last play of yours. What you don’t expect is for him to suddenly take out your earbud with a creepy smile on his face. Kaiser’s always weird, but this is a little outlandish even for him.

“Ich liebe dich.”

You raise a brow at whatever he said (not that you could understand of course) but judging by the others looking completely lost for words, you can only assume it’s pretty awful.

#cheq. writes #cheq. bllk #blue lock x reader #blue lock x you #bllk x reader #bllk imagines #blue lock headcanons #bllk headcanons #isagi x reader #isagi yoichi x reader #isagi x you #shidou x reader #shidou ryusei x reader #kaiser x reader #michael kaiser x reader

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alphajocklover · 2 months ago

Text

When I first started this blog — and started reporting on transformation in general — my first report was on a strange phenomenon I called ‘Supernova Transformations.’ It’s where any wish made upon a certain star, an unusually bright and mysterious supernova, would be granted in a twisted, sexually charged way. I haven’t talked about it in a while, since lately I’ve been focusing more on mysteries a little closer to home, but I’d be lying through my teeth if I said I wasn’t still intrigued by the seemingly magical exploding star. I think every reporter, TF or regular, has a special place in their heart for their first story, and I’m no exception. That fondness is part of the reason why I recently decided to look further into the Supernova itself, which has led me to discover something… fairly strange.

I once theorized that the light from the supernova was what was granting wishes and transforming people, but new evidence I’ce found suggests that is only half right. The light is magic, and is of the power of the supernova to grant wishes comes from, but the light isn’t actually what transforms people. Because the magic of the light actually travels faster than light itself.

Part of what defines magic is the fact that it does the impossible. That’s why when someone wishes on the mysterious supernova, the wish is granted quickly, instead of taking the years it would take for light to travel from a distant star. The magic itself travels much faster, comes to earth, and grants to wish in a sexually charged way.

But… that doesn’t mean the light isn’t also coming to earth. And while the magic is faster… the magic infused light is much, much more powerful. And once it reaches earth… Everyone will be transformed. By all the wishes made on the star, all at once. Or, in other words…

When the light of the supernova comes to earth, everyone will be transformed into dumb, horny sex gods.

I didn’t believe it at first. I mean, I’ve used a Time Machine before, I’ve been to the future! I know not everyone is transformed. But… after taking a closer look at my Time Machine, I realized I’ve never been that far into the future. In fact… it won’t take me that far. The people who gave me the Time Machine, the Douchebag Revolution, they must have programmed the machine not to go to that time period. I’ve reached out to them but they’ve been weirdly quiet about the whole thing.

The good news is we have plenty of time before the light gets here. By my calculations the light still has another 100 light years to travel. So, we have time. But… in about 100 years, things are going to get really crazy.

It might not last forever, and we might figure out a way to stop it from happening at all, but if we don’t? The world might just end with a huge worldwide orgy.

Not the worst way to go out.

**hey everyone! Sorry this took so long! I’ve been kind of depressed lately but I’m getting myself back in the swing of things, and getting back to writing! I hope you guys like my 100th story, and how it relates back to my first story. Stay tuned for more!**

#muscle growth tf #muscle tf #jock tf #jock transformation #jockification #supernova tf

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quilly72 · 16 days ago

Text

Bree grew tired as she finished up her last game. “Alright guys last game before the stream ends.”

She hit ready up as she read over her chats messages answering some of them. “No I’m single… I’m 22 why do you ask… I can’t say where I live” she smirked as she waited for the game to queue her into another match. Her computer acting slowly as she saw the wait time surpass a minute.

She turned to her second monitor again as a text caught her eye. “Do you want to be bigger?”

“well yeah I would like to have more viewers on this channel for sure.”

The mysterious stranger sent a link in chat as she thumbed her mouse over it. She wasn’t sure if she should click it but her game seemed to not be any hurry do she opened the link.

Up popped a Google forms sheet with one question. “How much bigger.”

She scrolled through the vague answer ranging from 1x times bigger all the way up to 100x

“well I would certainly like to be as big as I could so I guess..”

She clicked 100 times as her screen brightened blinding her. She squinted her eyes as she tried to lower her brightness. Her arma covering the screen as it flashbanged her room. Suddenly a bright light shot out hitting her in the chest as she flung back. Her swivel chair rolling halfway across the room. “Did anyone see that.”

Her chat didn’t as they said the screen had glitched. “

Bree questioned her sanity as her waiting hit 2 mins. She reloaded as she hit the ready up again resetting her time. “Well anything else guys…”

Bree grew distracted as she felt her stomach drop as if she had reached the top of a roller coaster and just saw how far she had to fall. “Humpff sorry guys I feel.. weird”

She clenched her teeth as her body tightened. Coiling up as it stored energy. She clawed at her skin as she heated up. Her breathing intensifying as her skin grew tighter across her body. “Something’s happening… To me… Guys you might wanna… Gety help. ”

She folded down clutching her stomach as the pain intensified. Her body breaking a fever. Her skin sweating. She grunted as her muscles and body churned. “What’s happening. I’ve never felt this before. Somebody call 911”

Bree focused on fighting the darkness that surrounded her vision. Holding her breath as she tried to stay conscious. The pressure built her body ready to explode. Her vision grew darker and darker. Her eyes focusing on the ground as she felt the energy release. Her eyesight widening as she shot up. Hnnnrng

Bree popped back into frame. Her eyes wide with fear as she up higher. Her clothes constraining her as she reached up and touched her chest. She peered down as she yelped. Her boobs were. Huge.

Her previously average cup size swollen into massive f cups as she rested her hands on them. Her shirt strap digging into her skin.

She examined herself further. Her pants now capris resting on her tight calves. Her ass strectching her yoga pants thin as her panties were visible underneath. She seemed to be acouple inches taller as her eyesight rested above the monitors. She stood up from her chair leaning over her desk

Her chat catching her massive cleavage as she did. “Guys what just happened..”

She read over the comments half of them saying magic. The other half saying mommy. She rolled her eyes as she caught one message saying your welcome.

Guys seriously what if something is wrong with me. I mean that’s not normal.

She waved her as pointing at her new body for emphasis. As she did her stomach dropped. She bent over her boobs hanging down for the camera as her viewrate started going up. Bree winced as she felt her body tightening. “It’s happening.. again . Someone pleas.. ah ah ahhh ahhh mmmppffff.

She moaned as she soared upwards. Her bra popping off under her shirt as her yoga pants tore behind her. Her boobs heaved forward as her eyeliner shot up several inches. Her feet. Inching across the carpet. She readjusted her shirt as her bra dropped to the floor. Her viewers enticed by their new content. Clips of her growing being shared across the internet. Her nipples poked through her shirt as her straps dug into her shoulders. Her back bent as she was weighed down.

Bree hyperventilated

"This can’t be happening it’s not real. It’s all a dream. She pinched herself with no luck.

Bree shimmied over to her bathroom to grab a measuring tape. She shimmied back over to her wall to prove to her chat. "Guys this is serious. STOP MAKONG MOMMY COMMENTS”

She rolled out the tape. Accidentally showing off a little cheek as she revealed her ripped pants. She covered herself as she turned back around and measured herself. “5'8” guys I was 5 ft even like 20 minutes ago

She rolled her eyes again when all she saw was her chatters talking about how her panties were barely visible.

“that’s it stream over. She reached for the end stream button as her stomach dropped.” “No” she whimpered.

Her body tightened. She stepped back as she clutched her chest. Her body heating up as she gritted her face. Her eyes shut tight as she started shaking.

Hmmmmmpf

Bree shot up. To 6'4”

Her yoga pants raced up her legs as they strectched into pants. Falling above the knee. Painfully thin and transparent. Her panties snapped off as she covered herself. Her genitalia visible through the fabric. Her shirt turned into an I’ll fitted bra as her cleavage bulged over. Her arm struggling to push it back as she wobbled. Bree reached for her phone. Her boobs jiggling as she shimmied forward. Her pants tearing with every step as her butt and thighs ripped the cloth. She tried to dial for help as she dropped her phone. Her body tightening again. Her eyes wide with fear as she whimpered. “Someone get help.. please. I can’t stop.”

Her chat ignoring her as more viewers tuned in and started recording.

Bree winced her body pinging off again and again. Her body felt like a bomb as she felt her insides push out against her skin. Her clothes the final line as they strained against her. “I’m… Gonna. Grow… Please… Ah ahhh ahhmp ahhhhhmpfff.”

She shot up to 7 ft tall. Her pants and shirt flying across the room as she tried to cover herself. Her arm barely covering her massive bust as she held back her cleavage. Her boobs swelled over and under her arm as they jiggled with every breath. Her butt pressing flat against the wall as she leaned on it for support. Bree tried to calm down. Her head rushing with vertigo as she looked for anything to cover herself.

She winced as she felt her body brace itself. She barely had time to prepare before she sprouted up to 9 ft tall.

“DONT LOOK"SHE SHRIEKED as her boobs pushed her arm aside. She reached up to touch the ceiling as she felt her body tighten again. Not done with it’s spurt.

AaaAaAaAAaaahmmff

Her head hit the ceiling with a thunk

She dropped to her knees as she searched for more room. “It’s not stopping please I need help.”

She stared at her monitor the text to small to read as she felt her body rumble and grow. Her hair brushing the ceiling as her height shot up again. “Too tall.. I’m way too big” she leaned forward squinting at the chat. “YOU PERVERTS GET ME SOME HELP BEFORE I .”

She grimaced. Her body shooting out. Her boobs covering the camera as her computer was buried in her cleavage. Her back pressing against the ceiling. Her legs pushed the furniture against the wall as it creaked and groaned her thighs smashing anything in their way as she winced.

Bree felt her stomach drop again. “No no no I can’t too big too big”

She clutched her body as she braced against herself helplessly. Her body lighting up as she bent her ceiling on half. Her back rushing through the opening as she peered out over the suburban landscape. Her body 30 ft tall.

Bree groaned. Another growth spurt sent her thighs and butt smashing her old room. Her legs bursting the wall down as she grew to 50 ft.

Her neighbors peered through their windows as they saw the gamer girl grow up doubling her height. Her butt smashing her entire house. Her head barely on view over her massive bust. Bree groaned as she grew again

Her legs spilling into the neighbors houses as she leveled half the neighborhood.another growth spurt sending her to 500 ft tall as she finally rested

“it… Stopped I’m done."she shrieked as her arms host out into the sky. She told up to her full height as she realized her foot was easily the size of her late house. She saw a helicopter in the distance as she muttered. "I guess I got a bigger audience after all.

#giantess growth #giantess #gtsgrowth

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hey-august · 11 months ago

Text

Turn off the lights and turn off the shyness

Word count: ~1.5k Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, buggy x GN!reader, no use of Y/N, insertion sex, love "confession" during sex, a bunch of sappy lovey-dovey mush. A/N: This is my last minute Valentine's gift to you all! Or, if you're not fond of Valentine's Day (valid), this is my appreciation for all of you. ❤︎❤︎❤︎

Title from "Of All the Gin Joints in All the World" by Fall Out Boy

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Buggy talks a lot. A lot. Words and crumbs fall from his mouth while he eats. Days are filled with endless narration of thoughts and actions that are tuned out by most. Even during slumber, his mouth is awake and whispering along with dream-state monologues. The only times Buggy is quiet is when he’s kissing or drinking, and even then, he’s not silent for long.

And one of his favorite topics is you. He’s turned many conversations into soliloquies about you. It’s a skill of his, really. A mystery glinting on the horizon is no match for the sparkle in your eyes. Running low on rations is a problem, although there is plenty of your favorite food, so it’s not an urgent issue. Yeah, that was a funny joke, but listen to this one that had you laughing even hours later.

With the stampede of words forever running out of Buggy’s painted mouth, there were three words his lips haven’t uttered in a specific order - I love you.

He’s come close many times. You are his favorite thing to talk about, which includes talking about all the things he loves about you.

“I love your smile.” “I love how the moon is reflected in your eyes.” “I love it when you yell at me.” “I love your morning breath. Not.” “I love the stupid face you make when you’re concentrating.” “I love how you taste.” “I love the way you say my name.” “I love your butt. Lemme smack it, sweetcheeks.”

But he hasn’t said that he loves you. You. Buggy has only shared his adoration for the things you do. How you look. Just pieces of you, not the whole.

You didn’t expect to hear those words you craved while being pounded on top of the captain’s desk.

Your ass hung off the wooden edge as Buggy pressed his hips into yours. Each hard thrust jostled the desk, knocking over pens and paper, and sending shockwaves through your sensitive body. The slap of damp skin making contact overlaid the sporadic deep creaks of wooden legs moving against the rough floor.

Buggy’s humid breath tickled your neck and fell down your chest, with the cotton breeze dragging across your hard nipples. His tongue trailed along your skin, the taste of salt filling his mouth. Puffy, kiss-bruised lips graze your racing pulse, keeping track of how quickly you were approaching the finish line.

His desire to consume still unsatiated, Buggy sank his teeth into the meat of your shoulder and wrapped you in his embrace. A strong hold full of heat and fire.

Desperate to throw yourself into the flames, you fell into him. You melted against Buggy’s body, against his touch. All you wanted was to feel him. To feel his hardness deep inside. To feel his passion. To feel his devotion.

Buggy groaned deeply as your body continued to mold to his movements, pulling him further inside. His lips moved on your skin, saying everything and nothing. Bountiful praises, filthy adoration, lewd and lustful comments laced with profanity. How much he loves your body. He loves how you feel. He loves how well you take him. He loves…

“I love you.”

His voice was clear and the words were finite. They’re not followed by anything else. And he repeated them. Again and again, with each thrust. Filling your mind, body, and soul to capacity, until you overflowed. Until tears leaked from your eyes. Until you clawed at Buggy’s shoulders, pulling him ever closer. Until you cried his name. Until you exploded.

You erupted with an intensity that triggered a chain reaction. Buggy let out a choked moan as he released inside you with stuttering thrusts that slowly came to a stop.

Your body trembled with aftershocks that Buggy tried to soothe with gentle kisses. One to your neck. Your cheek. And your forehead. With the third kiss, you let out a long exhale and your body relaxed.

Later, you two laid entwined in bed. Buggy used your shoulder as a pillow with long blue hair fanned out behind him. Your arm was wrapped around him, not yet numb from the position. The pirate had hooked one of your legs between his, which he rubbed lazily like a cricket. A comforting weight from his crooked arm rested on your chest. His large hand rested just below your other shoulder, also moving idly. Pat, pat, pat, then a soft swipe back and forth, followed by another trio of light pats. A calming pattern that would often lull you to sleep. But not tonight.

“You know, that was the first time you said you loved me…” you murmured.

It was a comment. An observation you wanted to share with him. Not to complain that you hadn’t heard it before - you knew he loved you - but to acknowledge the milestone.

“Mmmh…” Buggy’s voice was rough as he pulled back from the sleep that was enticing him. He rubbed his face against your skin, grinding into his cushion of hair. You could just barely feel the scratch of his facial hair as he moved side to side to side. “First time out loud, I guess.”

The response didn’t make sense. Maybe Buggy was more tired than either of you realized. His hand was still moving, in the same slow pattern of hand-pats. You kissed the top of his head and inhaled, welcoming his warm, lightly musky, scent. He hummed softly and tilted his face to respond with three quick kisses. He seemed conscious enough, so you prodded further.

“What do you mean by out loud?”

Buggy pulled away just enough so he could look you in the eyes. Confusion was plastered across his unpainted face and he searched for understanding.

“With words. But I’ve told you loads of times that I love you,” he said, nodding slowly as he finished speaking - as if you needed the reassurance.

Rebounding his confusion with a squint, you responded in a measured tone, “I don’t know what you mean.” You two stared at each other, thoughts traveling on opposite, parallel tracks. “Buggy, what do you mean? How do you say it without actually saying it?”

Buggy scowled. “What do you mean? You’re the one that started it.” He had been following your lead. Why were you acting like you didn’t know? Like he hadn’t been professing his love to you every single day?

“I-I still don’t understand. Explain it to me,” you asked. “Please?”

Ocean eyes stared into yours, looking for shadows of insincerity. But there were none. You really didn’t know. You hadn’t heard his silent proclamations.

“I tell you like this,” he said in a gruff voice, patting your arm with more intent. Pat, pat, pat. “Or like this…” He leaned in and gave you three kisses on your forehead. “Like this…” He rubbed a hairy leg against your trapped one, three times again. Always three. I. Love. You.

“When you say it, you always squeeze my hand or rub my back or give me kisses three times. I thought that…” A surge of embarrassment overcame Buggy, drowning the rest of his words.

He saw the comprehension on your face as he spoke, but not recognition. You weren’t doing it intentionally. That’s why you didn’t realize. He just made it up.

Feeling a prickly heat travel up his chest, burning his cheeks and the tips of his ears, Buggy sat up. He hid behind his hands and wallowed in the awkward silence.

“Is that why you always put 3 sugars in my tea?”

He nodded.

“And you sneak me three cookies?”

Another nod.

“Three flowers…” Nod. “Is…is that why there’s 3 pillows on the bed?” Nod. “When you hug me, you squeeze three times…” The statement was followed with another nod.

He was right - Buggy always told you he loved you. Within every touch and every thought that involved you was his love. If his hand was on your shoulder, his thumb tapped in bursts of three. When he smacked or pinched your butt - threes. You thought it was a quirk of his, not something he chose to do. But he did.

Your heart was bursting at the seams, and the excess emotions that did escape trickled out your eyes. Bowling over the morose clown sitting on the bed, you knocked Buggy back and began to smother him in kisses and tears. Most of which landed on the hands still covering his face.

“M’sorry, I didn’t know.” Kiss. “-was just so happy to hear it out loud.” Kiss. “I love you so much.” Kiss. “I’m sorry, Buggy.” Kiss. “Thank you for telling me.” Kiss. “I love you so so much.”

You paused and tallied up the kisses. Five. Tugging his hands down, you deliver the final kiss on his lips. Six. Double threes. I love you, times two.

“Please, don’t ever stop. That makes me really happy, Buggy. It makes me feel loved…”

Buggy nodded. Three times. The blush that continued to deepen on his face managed to spread to yours. Two crimson-faced fools in love.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Definitely had @feral-artistry's blushing Buggy art in my head during this. ❤️❤️❤️

#buggy smut #buggy x reader #buggy the clown x reader #buggy the clown #buggy x you #x reader #buggy op #opla buggy #one piece buggy #buggy the clown smut #hey-august buggy fic

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crookedkryptonitebeliever · 1 year ago

Text

Best and Worst of both Worlds (part 1)

Tw: yandere oc guy, but i dont think this chapter shown that yet, but readers a fuckin stalker loser this time, university horrors

Okay guys so this story im literally pitting Yves and Montgomery together, gonna be a little slow burn but we r gonna get 2 da conflict like eventually

Also da settting in university cuase its da most relevant 2 me 💯

Enjouy

PART 2

He's so beautiful and ethereal. The man has been plaguing your mind for the entire week, you're being distracted from your assignments just because of this unbelievably gorgeous man with silky, long hair and dressed to the tens.

You grinded your teeth and scratched your skin, you know where he frequents. The university's library. And you obviously want to get closer to him after he caught you from falling. You slipped on a sheet of paper that you dropped and this mysterious stranger was there to catch you by the waist before your body could make any devastating impact. Unfortunately, your stacks of textbooks and other miscellaneous documents were scattered to the ground.

"Are you alright?" He asked, his voice was smooth and pleasant with a unique, suave accent to it.

You were reduced to a nervous, stuttery mess. He gently brought you back up to your feet, he helped you gather your things and even arranged it by size and weight, so that it would be less likely for it to topple over. The man took a further step to smoothen the frizzles of your hair, fix your collar and sleeves. He even zipped your backpack up, you were unaware that it was open in the first place, adding to your embarrassment. You couldn't really push him away because your arms are occupied with your belongings.

It was hard to look into those stunning emerald eyes without flustering yourself even further, so you looked away while you stammered a "thanks" to him.

"Be careful." He said as he tilted your head by the chin to make direct eye contact. You know that you're as red as a tomato, but he didn't comment on it. The man lets you go before walking away, he fixed the handles of his luxury bag on his shoulder. Luscious curls bouncing with every step.

You felt like you wanted to explode right there and then, it took you a while to regain composure, other university personnel wondering why you're just standing in the middle of the path like that. Aren't you tired of holding all that stuff? It looked heavy.

You were snapped back into your senses when someone who you assumed had a bad day, told you to get out of the way. You scurried along the traffic, having the incident fresh in your mind.

You wonder who that man is, a student? A professor? A staff member?

You came to know that he's in the library for a few hours every weekday afternoons. He doesn't have a particular spot, the mystique spontaneously appears in random but fairly secluded reading spots in the library.

You felt like a stalker, but that's what you are. Too shy and afraid to talk to him, yet content with watching from afar. His ears are covered by his hair, so you don't know if he had any earbuds in. Fuelling your hesitance to make any contact first.

He could be reading a thick novel, handwriting something down on his notebook, or he could be typing away on his sleek, black laptop. In either instances, you have no idea what he's doing, it's either in a foreign language, full of numbers or completely made up of technical jargon.

You don't know why you're doing this instead of studying for your midterms. You're never like this to any of your crushes, not this obsessive over a real person, so why now? What compelled you to become this... creep? It's like you can't stop. You're scared of rejection but you can't get rid of the butterflies in your stomach.

You had no one to talk to about it because university is a very lonely place. At least, for personality types like you. You didn't want to bother your other friends, they have their own problems to worry about.

It reaches a point that you tried following him out of the library, wondering where he will go next. Before you could step past the automatic sliding doors, you looked at the book in your hand.

'Wait a minute, this is fucked up.' You thought to yourself. This isn't like you, exams are in spitting distance and you're subjecting this poor person to this harassment just because of a singular interaction.

You made a 180⁰ turn and marched back to your all-time favourite seat. Which happened to be occupied by the stranger earlier, maybe that made you a little peeved because you "claimed" it first at the start of the year. But he took it for the day.

To your surprise, there lies his notebook on the ground. He must have accidentally left it. You picked it up and looked around to make sure the coast was clear, then you flipped through it.

You were blasted with numericals, diagrams, words you weren't sure if it was written in English or otherwise and even floorplans of a building of some sort. You couldn't understand anything.

"Excuse me."

You whipped your head to the whisper. It was him! Your blood ran cold as he caught you snooping through his item. You opened your mouth, but no sound came out.

You struggled to form a coherent sentence as you pointed at it, you're done for, you're going to be confirmed a creep. But he only watched you with the utmost patience.

There came a point where you gave up, placed the closed book on the table and pushed it towards him.

Luckily though, you didn't have to say another word.

"You found my notebook. How careless of me to have dropped it." He pulled a chair opposite of you and sat down. You watch him place his handbag on another chair.

He elegantly picked the journal up and slid it into his bag. You were sweating at this point, the dread is about to make you vomit on him and that's not great. You wished that he would go away now, but seeing that he's locked onto his seat, it's highly unlikely.

You prayed hard for it though, he finished his business for the day. There shouldn't be any reason for him to linger.

"Thank you for keeping it safe. I hope you found whatever it is you were seeking from me." He continued, crossing his legs and resting his hands on the table.

What.

You asked what he meant by that.

A teasing smile made its way to his rouge lips.

"You were watching me." You grew pale and you scrambled to explain yourself, but he raised his index finger to signal you to let him continue.

"Your tact could be improved upon; I could see you trying to hide behind the shelves, I could hear you mumbling to yourself, and you shouldn't think so lowly of yourself." He propped his head up on one elbow.

Your cheeks felt hot. That is true, you were berating yourself for being too wimpy to go ahead and talk to him. You just didn't think you were that loud.

"I would have enjoyed having a chat with you. I wouldn't have thought that you were-- and in your own words, a 'creepy, loser-freak'."

Oh. He heard that too. You wish that you could disappear this instant.

"I'm flattered that you thought highly of me. However, I was disappointed that you thought that I was intimidating." He pouted playfully. "I won't bite." He twirls a lock of his hair around his fingers.

Your nerves are frazzled as he leans in. You didn't know what to say or what to do. He seemingly picks up on that and continues leading the conversation.

"Let's start with names. Tell me yours and I'll tell you mine." You felt his shoe brush against your leg.

You almost forgot your own name as you watch the bead of sweat drip down your nose in horror. He must think you're a stinky slob.

But all he does is stare straight into your soul while drumming his fingers against the table.

You told him your name, with a severe stutter. Each passing second felt like a serrated knife slicing through your flesh.

He repeated it, syllables rolling through his tongue wonderfully. He pronounced it correctly on the first try despite your cripplingly anxious enunciation.

"Yves." He replied. Finally, you have his name. You're totally not going to use that to dig for more information on him.

"You have a beautiful name." He complimented.

You nervously returned the compliment and let out an awkward laugh. Trying your best to ignore the growing sweat stain between your pits.

"How charming of you, (name)." He stood up and pushed his chair back under the table. Yves collected his bag and turned his attention back to you.

"I'd love to talk longer, but I must go now. I believe you have an exam to prepare for. Best begin your revision now, I hope our brief conversation has helped to quell your worries."

...and you mumbled that part about yourself too. It's pretty safe to assume he heard all your thoughts.

Yves extended a manicured hand to you. Taking this as a clear request for a handshake, you accepted it.

Only for him to bring it up to his lips, tenderly and fleetingly kissing your knuckles. This entire time, his piercing gaze never left your eyes.

You wanted to claw yourself out of your flesh and die out of embarrassment.

"Study well."

He lets your hand down and presses it momentarily with his larger ones.

You watched him saunter away with his back turned against you.

You brought the back of your palm to your sight.

There is a faint, reddish tint on it. It must have been from his lipstick.

You're not sure if you ever want to wash your hand after this.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere oc #yandere male #yandere concept #tw yandere #yandere x you #yandere oc x reader #male yandere oc x reader #oc yves #oc montgomery

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pastshadows · 1 year ago

Text

Shadows of the Past

Chapter 3: Escape & Evade

Summary: After a year of blissful cohabitation, Astarion disappears without a trace, leaving behind a heartfelt letter explaining his departure. Determined to find him, you traverse Faerûn in search of your lost love, only to realize that some absences are meant to be permanent.

Returning to Waterdeep, you find solace in the company of Gale as you come to terms with Astarion's absence. But just as you begin to heal, Astarion reappears, begging for a second chance at love.

The question looms: can you forgive his abandonment and trust him once more? As you grapple with your emotions and trauma, a sinister force lurks in the shadows, targeting you for unknown reasons.

With danger closing in, you must navigate the treacherous waters of trust, love, and betrayal to uncover the truth behind the mysterious entity's motives. Will you be able to reunite with Astarion while facing the demons of your past? Can you unravel the secrets that threaten your very existence?

Setting: Post End-Game. Mostly canon compliant.

Word Count: 6.7K

Content: Explicit 18+ - [Intended for mature audiences]

Warnings: [Additional tags will be added, but expect mature content / read at your own risk.

Spoilers. Mentions of in-game missable content. Violence. Sexual Assault. Past Trauma. Murder. Death. Longing. Sexual themes. Smut. Blood drinking. Angst. Innuendos. High use of sarcasm. Completely fabricated camp interactions.

The forest is dim and obscured by a thick, opaque fog. You’re running through it in nothing but your night dress. The viscid milky haze parts around you as you advance, ducking and dodging around thick trees and willowy branches. The cool air is damp, leaving a sheen of clamminess veiling your skin. Your eyes search frantically through the dense foliage.

A profound sense of dread grips you, and tears stream down your reddened cheeks. You’re trying to scream, but your throat is tight, and sound can’t escape your constricting esophagus.

You catch the faintest glimpse of him before he disappears into the dense, chalky vapour like a ghost.

You try to call out to him as you swiftly change directions. Your bare feet skid on the soggy forest floor. Your muscles tighten and twist instinctively, and you regain your failing balance. When your feet finally find purchase, you launch forward. Sharp stones and sticks bruise, scrap, and cut the soles of your feet. Branches batter at your face, pull at your hair and gouge your satiny skin.

He’s not here.

You turn rapidly, wet hair sticking to your face, and your eyes scan the trees again. Your breath comes in heavy, rapid gulps. The muscles in your legs twitch and tremble with over-exertion.

You catch slight movement in your peripheral vision. Spinning, you sprint as fast as your fatigued legs can carry you.

I have to be quicker.

Gritting your teeth, you bolster yourself and try to force your body to accelerate.

You spot him briefly before he turns and disappears behind a tree.

“Astarion!”

You finally find your voice, and it rings deafeningly, echoing in the murky night air.

“Astarion, please! Don’t go!”

He stands still momentarily.

“I’m here.”

His lips don’t move, and his voice sounds oddly far away. He slowly backs off and dissipates into the thick, pasty air.

Your lungs burn with anguish you have never known. You whirl around, squinting your eyes, trying to peer into that dense pale haze.

Movement.

You push your body forward with all that’s left of your energy. Your muscles seethe ferociously, and your heart feels like it’s about to explode in your chest cavity.

You hurtle out of the thick forest to a clearing with a sharp cliff face that drops off into nothingness. Your breath wheezes as you inhale raggedly, trying to devour the air.

Astarion stands at the precipice, vibrant crimson eyes staring at you with a happy smile.

You catch the first glimmer of the golden rays of light brightening the sky behind him.

“Astarion, no! I’m begging you, please!”

The sun breaches the horizon, the brilliant glowing sphere rising fast.

Much too fast.

Astarion’s skin starts to turn grey, crack and fissure.

“Don’t go. Please, don’t leave me!”

He doesn’t move, that unsettling happy smile is still worn on his lips as he begins to dissolve into ash, being carried away by the wind.

You scream at the top of your lungs, “Astarion!”

“Wake up, my love. I’m here.”

Wake up?

“Wake up.”

Launching your eyes open, you surge upright in a cold sweat. Your heart pummels against your ribs and thrums in your ears. Tears cascade in salty streams down your cheeks.

A cool hand touches your face, cradling it, gently directing your gaze towards familiar crimson eyes bathed in candlelight.

“Easy, darling. It’s just a dream.”

“Astarion?” You gasp breathlessly.

You throw yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his neck. Your entire body trembles with the remnants of the nightmare. Astarion wraps his arms around you in a tight embrace. His hand comes to the back of your head.

“I’ve got you, my love.” He whispers, “I’ve always got you.”

Desperate sobs wrack your quivering body as you bury your face into his shoulder, and your chest heaves with rapid, shallow breaths.

“Deep breaths, my dear. With me.”

Of course, Astarion doesn’t need to breathe, but he still can, even if it is not required. He would often breathe to keep up appearances purely out of habit. Cazador had forced his spawn to breathe off palace grounds while hunting their marks so they didn’t raise any suspicions, and it was a habit that he hadn’t been able to shake.

His chest begins to move under you as he inhales slow, deep breaths. He pulls you even tighter to him so you can feel it well.

“In and out, with me.”

You try to sync your breaths with his as best you can.

The door swings open, and Gale shouts, “What did you do now, Astarion?”

“A nightmare.”

“Another one?” He relaxes with a sigh, “They’ve been near-constant since she got here.”

Astarion’s jaw tenses slightly, and he starts rubbing your back with slow, comforting circles.

“I’ve got this, Gale.”

Gale bows shallowly, “I suppose you do. I’ll be in my room if you have need of me.”

“Gale?”

Gale glances at Astarion, “Yes?”

“Thank you for… for taking care of her.”

A small smile creeps across Gale’s face, “Of course, my friend. Anytime.”

The door closes, and you’re left sobbing into Astarion’s shoulder. As the nightmare fades from your mind, so does the intensity of your sobs, and you eventually untangle yourself from around his neck.

Astarion wipes the last remaining tears streaking down your cheeks away with his finger, “How long has this been going on?”

You glance away from him, unable to meet that penetrating glare, “A while.”

“How long?”

You shrug, “Does it matter?”

“It does to me.”

Your shoulders slump, “Does it?”

He left me.

Sadness clouds the sculpted planes of his features, and his brows pull down slightly. He reaches out and slips the strap of your night dress back up your shoulder, such a small gesture but so full of compassion and humility.

“I’m sorry. That was unfair of me.”

Astarion looks at his hands, “I had it coming.”

“No, I-”

He cuts you off, “Apology accepted. There’s no need to speak more on the subject right now.”

“How did you know?”

Please tell me I wasn’t screaming in my sleep this time.

His eyebrow cocks, “Know what?”

“That I was having a nightmare.”

“Darling, you were positively screaming my name, and not in the delicious way I want you to be screaming it.”

Fuck.

You groan and cover your face with your hands as you feel your heart leap again. A muffled laugh escapes his lips, and he sweeps the hair clinging to your wet cheeks behind your ear.

“Sorry about your shirt.”

He smirks, “Don’t worry about it, my dear. I am well acquainted with all of your fluids. Although, I would have preferred happy tears, but beggars, choosers, and all that.”

A small giggle rumbles in your throat.

“There’s my girl.”

Astarion always knew how to make you feel better, and he seldom failed to do so, even when you were at your lowest.

“You should get some rest. You do look terrible.”

You huff at him, exasperated. He slips off the bed, and you’re suddenly terrified to let him go, so you quickly grab a handful of his shirt.

“Please, don’t go. Stay with me?”

Your tone is more pleading than you would like, and your voice shakes with the unmistakable declaration of fear.

“Are you sure?”

“Please.”

You can feel the tears start to well up in your eyes again. You have perpetually relived losing him in your nightmares time and time again. You will never admit it to him aloud, but you need him now.

“Okay, darling. Since you asked so nicely.”

You get up and close the shutters of your bedroom window and pull the drapes shut tight, making sure absolutely no sunlight would be able to filter in. The last scenes of the dream drift through your mind, making you shudder noticeably.

Astarion looks at you with a cocked brow but doesn’t comment further on your strange behaviour. You crawl back into bed, and he slides in easily beside you. He stays above the covers, and you whimper at the barrier between you.

He tucks you in and lays flat on his back, his hand behind his head, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

“Astarion?”

He shifts, rolling over and turns towards you. His face rests on the pillow just inches from yours. Astarion’s crimson eyes drift to your lips with a longing look before meeting yours.

“Yes?”

You can feel your rationality starting to slip. He’s here, right in front of you, so close you can almost feel the chill of his skin and smell that signature scent. His presence is intoxicating.

I’m home.

You sweep his silvery-white curls behind his ear and leisurely run your fingers along the silky skin of his jaw. You search his face for any signs of discomfort but find none.

I should stop.

Astarion runs his thumb tenderly along your bottom lip. Your breath hitches in your throat, and your eyes lock with his. You give him a heated stare, drawing him in. Your heart picks up its pulsing rhythm, and arousal spreads like a liquid flame between your legs.

But it’s been so very long.

His scarlet eyes are half-lidded in a sultry gaze, and you bite your lower lip in anticipation. He leans forward, closing the distance between you, but hesitates when his lips ghost over yours. A moan escapes you at his delicious proximity, and that’s all he needs to spur him on. A low growl vibrates in his throat as his lips meet yours with a hungry fervour.

All rational thought dissolves as he sends your senses spiralling. The coolness of his soft lips on yours, his fingers on the back of your neck, while his thumb sweeps affectionately across your cheek. He is like a black hole, and you’re dragged in, being consumed by him.

His expertly parts your lips, and you sigh, relishing him, soaking in his familiar taste. His tongue explores your mouth, sending waves of pleasure rocketing through you. Every nerve in your body hums, and you drink him in. Your hands grip handfuls of his shirt, and you tug it free from the waist of his trousers. The intensity of his mouth on yours deepens, his tongue teasing and dancing with yours.

The world drops away, and it’s only you and him in this moment of feral passion.

You’re embarrassingly wet, and your clit pulses in tempo with the drumming of your heart. You squeeze your thighs together in a hopeless effort to relieve the intensity of the yearning throb between your legs. A small smile tugs at his lips, and a sonorous, visceral groan resounds in his chest.

He knows. He always knows.

He runs his fingertips up your spine, and you arch your back instinctively. The coolness of his fingers on your heated skin sends a jolt running through you, and you sigh at the sensation of his touch. Your hand desperately squeezes the sculpted muscles of his side.

He bucks his hips into you with a growl, and even through the blankets keeping you apart, you can feel his erection jutting into you, straining against his trousers.

You’re all instinct, passion and desire. You want him, all of him, right now. The longing ache of your clenching core begs for his hard length, and you whimper at your emptiness, hungering to be filled. Your hand falls to the outside of his trousers, brushing his bulging erection.

With a hiss, he breaks off the kiss and jumps out of the bed.

No, no, no, no, no.

“Astarion?”

Astarion squeezes his eyes shut, his jaw clenches, and you recognize that look immediately. You took it too far, allowing your passion and arousal to cloud your judgment.

“Astarion, I’m so sorry.”

“Hush, darling. A moment, if you please.”

Well, this answers one question I had.

You wait for him to collect himself in an awkward silence. His body slowly relaxes, and his eyes finally open to meet yours.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t ha-”

He cuts you off, “This is not your doing. The blame is not your burden to bear.”

“I’m still sorry.”

You know your next question is selfish and one you shouldn’t ask of him, but it spills from your mouth before you can stop it.

“Will you still stay? Tonight, I mean.”

“I’m not sure if I should…”

You swallow the growing lump in your throat, pulling your knees to your chest.

“Right.” You shake your head, trying to part the arousal obscuring your thoughts, “Yes, of course. I understand.”

He turns towards the door, and his hand rests on the handle. The muscles in his forearm tense and relax as he stands there pensively. Astarion glances at you sitting in your bed and his hand drops from the door.

“Move over.”

Move over?

You look at him, and your eyebrows pull down as you attempt to figure out what he means. He comes towards you, and it dawns on you.

You shake your head vehemently, “No, Astarion. Don’t do something you’re not comfortable with.”

You are more than used to him pushing himself to do things he didn’t want to. He had learned to say no and mean it, for the most part. Enforcing his boundaries had always proven to be a challenge when it came to you.

No matter how often you tried to nudge him to tell you what he needed, he consistently kept it from you. It meant you had to try and read his mind, which was a formidable hurdle all on its own.

He observes you with a defiant glower, “Move over.”

With a gentle shove, he nudges you to the other side of the bed and settles himself back beside you.

“Astarion, you don’t have to stay. I shouldn’t have asked. It was selfish of me.”

“I’m fine. Truly.”

You eye him with a probing gaze, looking for all his usual signals that he’s discomforted. As you examine him intently, he glances at you and giggles. It’s an adorable sound and eases the tension that thickens the air and the knot in your stomach.

“You can stop stripping me bare with your eyes anytime, darling.”

Your face twists into a scrutinizing glare, “If I could trust you to tell me the truth, I wouldn’t have to strip you with my eyes.”

Astarion shakes his head at you with a sly smile, “Far be it from me to deny you what your heart desires most.”

Ugh.

“You said you didn’t want to stay. You should return to your room if that’s how you feel.”

“I’m quite comfortable, actually.” He makes a show of further settling into bed, in his usual resting position, “You’ll have to force me to leave if that’s what you truly want. You can cast Telekinesis, no? Throw me out if you wish.”

He closes his eyes, and his face relaxes in a serene expression.

Your eyes roll so hard you swear you can nearly see the back of your head, “You’re insufferable.”

“So I’ve been told, darling.”

You grunt your exasperation and make a dramatic show of rolling over, effectively ignoring him.

Astarion merely snickers at your theatrical performance, “Sleep tight.”

Your eyes peel open slowly. Your vision is still fuzzy, with the remnants of sleep clouding them.

A familiar, comfortable weight blankets your body, and you roll over. Astarion is resting peacefully beside you. His arm is slung over you in an embrace you have not known for some time. His eyes crack open with your movement, and he groans tiredly.

“Well, hello.” Astarion’s scarlet eyes are still heavily lidded with the residue of his trance leisurely dispersing.

“You stayed all night?” You can’t hide the surprise in your voice.

You had expected him to sneak out as soon as he detected the tranquillity of a deep trance overtaking you.

“I suppose I did.”

His voice is deep, saturated with sleepiness, but carries a hint of astonishment.

He wasn’t planning on staying all night.

He clears his throat, “You were positively thrashing about all night. You only settled when I held you. How could I leave?”

Was I?

“Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome, beautiful.”

Glancing toward the window, you see only the hints of sunlight permeating the edges of the heavy curtains shielding the room.

You vaguely recall the nightmare.

Astarion’s pristine ivory skin split apart in glowing fissures.

The half smile on his lips as he dissolves into ash.

The wind that swept past carrying his remains.

You cringe inwardly, trying to force the images from yourself. Your stomach growls loudly, reminding you of your hunger.

Astarion undrapes himself from you and turns onto his back, “Gale is making breakfast.”

“Oh…”

You can’t hide the disappointment in your voice, and Astarion lets out a loud laugh.

“Don’t tell me the wizard's cooking still hasn’t improved. He’s got a whole kitchen at his disposal now!”

You suppress a low laugh but don’t bother answering him. He can surely smell whatever Gale is cooking, and, more than likely, he can tell that the quality of Gale’s cuisine hasn’t improved too much.

You roll out of bed with a shiver and throw on your robe.

“Remember, the upper floors are not curtained.” You remind him as he watches with you with a fixed intensity.

“Dually noted, my dear. Who is up there anyway? I can hear someone pacing about.”

“Gale’s mother lives up there.”

Astarion shoots upright in bed, laughing hysterically.

“The wizard still lives with his mother?!” The amusement dances over his face, “Why am I not surprised?”

You click your tongue in disapproval, imitating him, “Astarion, don’t get any smart ideas.”

He cocks his eyebrow at you in a devious, snake-like expression, “Oh, darling,” his hand goes to his mouth melodramatically, “I would never dream of mocking him… much.”

You shoot him a warning scowl.

“Fine!” He throws himself back to a lying position, “I shan’t mention it.”

“Good. You better not.”

His eyebrow cocks, “Is that a threat?”

“Do you want it to be?”

He looks at you suggestively, “Depends. What would be my punishment for disobedience?”

“Astarion!” You scold him.

“You’re no fun.”

He hops out of bed and straightens his wrinkled clothing, tucking his shirt back in, “I’ll see you later?”

You nod in agreement as he walks to the door. He hesitates before opening it, looking at you to see if you’re appropriately dressed.

Astarion opens the door and peers down the hall. No doubt checking that no rays of sunlight snuck through the heavy curtains. When satisfied that he’s safe, he winks at you and strides down the hallway, vanishing into his dark room.

You waltz down the stairs with more energy than you can recall having in years despite the dreadful nightmare. The manor is usually brightly lit at this time of day, and the darkness takes you by surprise for a second.

The joys of living with a vampire again.

You give Tara a chin rub before heating some water and making yourself some fresh mint tea.

“Good morning, Gale. Would you like some tea?”

You faintly remember seeing his concerned face last night through your blurry vision.

Did Astarion actually thank Gale, or was I still dreaming?

Gale smiles, “I would love some, thank you. I made breakfast. Help yourself."

You look at the soupy porridge and decide to change the subject.

“Thank you for coming to check on me last night.”

“Always.” He hesitates, “Although it seems our nocturnal friend got there before I.”

Your stomach knots slightly at the intonation of his voice. He sounds a little disappointed that he hadn’t gotten there first.

“You can’t compare yourself to him, Gale. He can hear a rummaging mouse a mile away. He likely heard the second my heartbeat started to pick up.”

Gale chuckles slightly, leaning back in his chair while you put the mug of hot, steaming tea down in front of him.

With the mention of mice, Tara peeks out from behind her fluffy tail, “The vampire better not hunt my mice!”

The aggravation in her voice is tangible, and you snicker.

Astarion’s voice echoes through the halls from his bedroom, “I don’t eat vermin!”

Gale’s eyes widen, and he leans in, lowering his voice to a whisper, “Can he really hear that well?”

“Yes, Gale. I hear everything.”

Gale’s eyebrows shoot up, wrinkling his forehead, and he flushes red, looking sheepish.

I don’t even want to know.

You bring your tea to your lips to hide your amused smile.

Gale’s eyes drift to the floor, “Well, that’s certainly disconcerting.”

You reach out and quickly pat his forearm comfortingly, “Don’t worry, you get used to it… eventually.”

Your fingertips plod along the rough spins of the old books stacked on shelves from the floor to the high, ornately carved ceiling in the library.

Candlelight flickers around the room, and dancing shadows caress the walls. Gale’s collection of rare tomes and books was impressive. You have spent many days and nights curled up in here.

Picking a leather-bound book, you sit on the plush couch, curling your legs up under you, and lose yourself in the story.

You feel Astarion sit beside you on the couch before you hear him, “Do you have nothing better to do all day than sit in the dark and read by candlelight?”

“What exactly did you imagine I do all day, Astarion?”

“Oh, I don’t know, darling. Skip merrily about in the sun looking for kittens, puppies and children who need a hero to save them?”

You scoff at him, “My hero days are behind me.”

I was never a hero.

“Finally, some good news!”

You give Astarion’s leg a nudge with your foot in response to his pretentious tone, and he smirks happily at you. Astarion looks around the library scrutinizingly.

“The wizard has quite an impressive collection.” He shoots you with his best warning glower, “Don’t you dare tell him I said that.”

You smile and wink, “Your secret is safe with me.”

Astarion slides his hand across the cushioned seat, and his pinky brushes against your bare foot. Keeping your eyes on the page, you gently nudge his finger in reply. He beams, and his cool hand envelopes you, his thumb pressing firmly into your sole, massaging it.

Your eyes drift closed at how good it feels. Your heartbeat kicks up a notch, and you sharply inhale. A devious, haughty half-smile quirks the corner of his mouth up, and his crimson eyes shimmer provocatively.

“Are we going to talk about last night?”

You shake your head, “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“I beg to differ, my dear.”

“Let me rephrase that then. I don’t want to talk about it.”

He sags into the couch, leaning back, staring straight at the ceiling. His thumb still skillfully massages the sole of your foot.

He sighs, “There was a time when you would talk to me about anything.”

You slam the book closed and pull away from him, jumping off the couch, “Yes, there was, and then you fucking abandoned me in the dead of night!”

Gale walks in with his book in the crook of his arm, “Sorry. Am I interrupting?”

“Yes,” Astarion says sharply.

“No, I was just leaving.”

Gale’s eyes shift between you and Astarion scrutinizingly.

A disarming smile widens on his face, “If you’re going into the city, would you mind if I joined you? I have a shipment of rare books that needs collecting. If it wouldn’t trouble you too much, I could use some assistance carrying them. I may have overdone it a touch.”

“Of course, Gale. Whenever you’re ready.”

“Lovely!” He bows, “I’ll fetch my boots, and we can be on our way.”

You slide your book back into its spot on the shelf and head toward your room.

Astarion’s voice drifts hauntingly out of the dim room, “You can’t run from this forever.”

I know.

You wind through the high lacquered shelves of Blackwell's Fine Books and Good Tomes while Gale speaks to Mr. Blackwell. It smells pleasantly of sandalwood incense with a slight hint of vanilla. The light in here is dim. Closed shutters garnish the windows to keep the sun’s bleaching rays off the rare texts.

You’ve been here before with Gale when you were searching for books, tomes or any documents relating to vampirism. You never stopped searching for a cure, even after Astarion left.

“It’s nice to see you again, Saer.”

“Good afternoon, Aldous. How are you?”

Mr. Blackwell’s son assisted in the shop from time to time. Aldous had been intrigued by your rather odd fascination with vampires. He had agreed to keep an eye out for anything that may be of interest to you. He was mostly pleasant and well-mannered but obviously born of privilege.

“I’m well, thank you. Looking for more information on vampires? I’m sorry to say we have not received anything new on the subject.”

“No, I’m just here with Mr. Dekarios today.”

“Ah, yes, he had us procure quite the shipment.” His eyes slink over you in a way that makes your stomach churn, “My Father and Mr. Dekarios tend to gossip for quite a while. Perhaps I could interest you in a drink? The Tavern of the Flagon Dragon is not far from here, and I’m sure my father would not want our esteemed guest to be bored.”

Esteemed guest? Spare me.

“No, thank you, that’s quite alright.”

He gives you a haughty look. He was an attractive man from noble money, and you expect he doesn’t get rejected often. His mouth twists into a wicked grin that makes your palms heat up, ready to defend yourself, but it’s gone almost as soon as it was there as he reins in his expression.

“Saer, there’s no reason for us to be dulled out of our minds listening to the languor musings of these two fine gentlemen. It would be my treat, my lady.”

No never means no to the noble class.

“I said no.”

The intonation in your voice is a little coarser than you meant it to be, but you try to plaster on a smile, feigning indifference to his repeated attempt to persuade you.

“Of course. I did not mean to offend.”

His words roll off his tongue in a pleasant and apologetic tone, but his eyes and body language tell you differently. His hand is squeezed into a fist at his side, and his jaw is clenched so hard you’re surprised his teeth haven’t started splitting.

You can’t help but feel a little proud of yourself.

Someone needs to teach this arrogant arse some humility.

You beam a grin at him, “Of course you didn’t. I best check on Mr. Dekarios. It was nice to see you again, Aldous.”

He gives you a shallow, rigid bow, “Saer.”

You stride away confidently, but you can feel the man’s indignant stare boring into the back of your head. It sends a shiver down your spine as if your body is alerting you to a lurking threat.

As you approach, Gale looks at your cross expression and blanches.

“Well, Mr. Blackwell, I best be going. Thank you again for the chat and your hard work obtaining these for me.”

By the look of the small chest, it’s not even a large shipment, but you already knew that. Gale would never ask you out to carry his things for him. He would use magic to do the heavy lifting as he always did.

Gale leans close as you depart the store, “You look rather sour. What happened?”

“Noble hubris knows no bounds.”

Gale chuckles, “Young Aldous, I take it?”

Exasperated at the interaction, you nod, “The man can’t accept no for an answer.”

“My friend, I have no doubt you will teach him the meaning eventually.”

“Someone has to. Gale, what did you really want to do out here? That’s not nearly enough books to require both of our fine magical talents.”

“Things seemed… tense. I thought it best to get you out for some air before you burned down my library.”

You laugh and wait for him to continue. You know what’s coming next.

“And I was hoping we could have a chat. Far away from overly sharp vampiric ears.”

There it is. The real reason Gale asked to join me.

You nod, “I was wondering when you were going to bring this up. Come on, let’s find somewhere to sit.”

You and Gale sit on a stone bench near The Lady Dreaming, one of many enormous statues you could find throughout the city. The sun is hanging low in the sky as night prepares to extinguish its golden light.

“Well, my friend, how are you holding up?”

Running your fingers through your hair to get it out of your face, you look at him with sad, downturned eyes, “I’m a mess.”

“Quite the unforeseen turn of events, eh?”

“I thought he was gone for good, Gale.” You sigh, “I gave up this fantasy. I wasn’t prepared for this.”

“I’m not sure anyone could have prepared for this, my friend. Be gentle with yourself.”

Gale’s hand gives your shoulder a light squeeze, and his brows knit together with worry.

Fidgeting with your hands, you give Gale a woeful expression, “What am I going to do?”

“What do you want to do?”

Be his again.

You shake your head, “I don’t know.”

“You still love him, yes?”

“Always.” Your voice comes out in a whisper as if admitting a secret.

“Then what makes you hesitate? I have seen you run headfirst into far greater danger with far less favourable odds.”

“I don’t know if I can ever forgive him.” You pick at your hands in your lap, “Much less trust him again.”

“You’re still angry with him.”

You rise from the stone bench so suddenly it makes Gale jolt and scan the surroundings for danger, a behaviour remaining from your adventuring days that has never gone away. You pace back and forth, your boots slapping loudly on the paved stone ground.

“You’re Gods damned right I am!” How could he do that? How could he just so easily leave, as if I was nothing as if we were nothing?! After everything we had been through… how could he…”

The flash fire of your rage fizzles out just as quickly as it spawned into life, and your heart suddenly feels heavy and sinks in your chest. Tears brim in the corners of your eyes, escaping the prison you had locked them in.

Gale pulls you into a friendly, comforting hug, “You know, I only ever truly like Astarion when he’s not talking.”

You pull out of the hug and laugh. Gale’s hands rest on either side of your shoulders.

He continues, “But, and I do hate to admit this, it’s obvious that he cares for you deeply. Have you spoken to him about how you feel? Asked him all the questions that have been plaguing your mind since he departed?”

You shake your head, “No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I fear the answers, Gale.”

“Fear… Fear holds us mortals back so often.” He chuckles with a faraway look in his eyes, “An obstacle we shackle ourselves with that stands in the way of progress.”

Stupid wise wizard.

“Do not let it shackle you in your unhappiness, my friend.”

By the time you and Gale return to the manor, night has blanketed the city in its frosty grasp. Tara wakes up from her bed by the unlit fireplace with a stretch and a yawn. She walks over to you lazily, rubbing herself on your leg.

“The vampire told me to tell you he went out.”

You give her a stroke, “Did he? And what persuaded you to deliver this message?”

“He warmed my milk.”

Gale and you look at each other wide-eyed with mutual surprise.

“Surely, he wouldn’t?”

“Are you telling me the vampire gave you milk, and he even warmed it up?”

Tara glances at you as if you are stupid, “Is that not what I just said?”

You look at Gale with an expression of pure bewilderment and shrug your shoulders, “Apparently, he would.”

Gale’s laugh booms, “The wonders never cease!”

Saying goodnight to Tara and Gale, you go to your bedroom. You light the little brick fireplace with the whisper of a cantrip, imbuing the room with a welcome heat and tawny glow. The fire crackles and pops as the timber starts to ignite.

Sitting on your bed, you think back on the day. Astarion had tried to talk to you, and you ran from it, ran from him and the pain his words might bring.

I have gotten so good at running.

You try and remember when that change took place. When did you get so good at avoidance?

I avoid everything these days - my feelings, thoughts, and memories, even slipping into my trance.

You had never been one to run from your problems before. You had always faced things head-on, preferably with fire in hand. You sigh and push yourself to search your memories, looking to pinpoint the exact moment you decided that hiding or just outright ignoring things was an acceptable solution. Your memories are tinged with tragedy and laced with heartache, and you force them back into the depths of your mind with a shake of your head.

Running again.

Looking at the wardrobe, you slip off your bed and walk towards it hesitantly. Your bare feet pad softly on the chilled floor and your heartbeat spikes. This was one of the things you avoided. This silly, unassuming wardrobe had been opened and shut once when you arrived, and you never dared to do it again.

The hinges creak as you open the door for the first time since you got to Waterdeep, and you peer inside. Everything is as you left it, never to look at it again, until now. Reaching in, your fingers tremble as they brush over the remains of your old life.

You pick up the hefty, carefully wrapped mirror. Gold trim peaks out from the cloth, protecting it from harm. Your heart drums so harshly that you can feel the thumping in your head and hear it in your ears.

Lowering yourself to the floor, you cross your legs, anchoring the mirror protectively in your lap. You carefully unwrap it and stare into the blemished reflective surface. Your image is distorted by the deterioration of time.

How long has he had this thing?

A barely audible soft rasp on your door makes you jump.

Propping the mirror against the wardrobe, you throw the cloth back over it before answering. Astarion is standing there leisurely. The low amber light from the ebbing fire reflects off the vibrant scarlet of his eyes.

“Are you okay?”

You blink at him, “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I can hear your heart beating fiercely. I… I was worried.”

You laugh, “Naturally. Untold dangers could be lurking in my room.”

He shrugs, “Perhaps you saw a spider. You always did get squeamish around those and call for me to kill them.”

“Hey! I fought and killed the phase spiders, didn’t I?”

“Oh yes, my dear, I remember it well. You were positively recoiling the entire time, repulsed, and yelping when even the little ones neared. Had I not been there to shield you from them, I worry you, our fearless leader, may have jumped into the chasm to her death to get away from them.”

He laughs hard, “You couldn’t even look at the corpse when we finally felled the bloody matriarch! You made me loot it for you!”

“Made” isn’t the word I would use.”

“Oh? What do you call pointing at it with your eyes squeezed closed, whimpering “Astarion? Please. Astarion, can you?”

Astarion does his best imitation of your whimpering voice.

“That is not what I sounded like!”

“Sure, darling. Of course not. If my memory serves, you even chucked a rock at me when I laughed at you!”

“That’s what you get for laughing at your fearless leader!” A shudder courses through your body, and your face twists into a cringe. “It’s all the legs and beady little eyes.”

“Of course! The legs and eyes trouble you, but not the enormous venomous fangs.”

“You, of all people, should know that fangs don’t frighten me.”

He chuckles, “I suppose they don’t at that.”

“Do you want to come in?”

He smiles, “I thought you would never ask.”

Astarion’s eyes peruse your room. Not having bothered to add additional garnishing, it’s sparsely decorated and furnished, remaining the way it had been when you arrived except for a few scattered books and half-burnt candles. His eyes fixate on the open door of the wardrobe before falling to the floor.

Astarion’s brows rise, and his mouth falls open, “You kept it?”

You follow his gaze. The corner of the mirror peeks out from behind the cloth draped over it—the golden pipping glinting.

“Of course.”

Did he think I would leave it all behind? Leave him behind? Like he left me...

You hadn’t taken many of your belongings when you set out in search of him all those years ago, but you had kept everything he had left behind. His discarded belongings had been the only things you had left of him, and you couldn’t bring yourself to part with them.

He slowly walks to the antiquated mirror and crouches, pulling the cloth covering it away. His fingers gently caress the rough, worn trim with a wistfully nostalgic expression. A small smile quirks his lips up at the corners.

“I never thought I would see it again,” he says in a low whisper.

He was never planning on coming back to me.

Walking over to him, you give his shoulder a comforting squeeze. His eyes trace up to the open door of the wardrobe, halting at the neat bundle housing all his things.

“You kept everything…” He reaches out and plucks the faded envelope resting atop his other belongings, “even this.”

Astarion rises back to his full height, and he turns the letter over and over in his hands, examining it. The yellow colour has faded to a light flaxen hue. Creases are strewn over its once flat surface from all the times you had crumpled that letter up intending to dispose of it.

You had spent many nights staring down at it, willing yourself to relinquish it, burn it, throw it in a chasm, or destroy it in some kind of dramatic fashion, hoping it would make you feel better.

You could never bring yourself to go through with it.

In truth, when his scent had long faded from the articles of clothing he left behind, that damn paper still retained it, and it had brought you some comfort during those lonely years.

Astarion deftly takes the old letter out and unfolds it. The ink has paled over time and, in some spots, has run and become smudged where your tears had fallen on the page.

His fingers graze the blotchy blemishes, “Why?”

“It was all I had left of you.”

“I’m s-”

You put your hand up, “I don’t want to hear it.”

Gale’s words echo in your head, “Do not let it shackle you in your unhappiness”

I need to stop running.

“Not tonight, at least.”

He nods, “I understand.”

Astarion’s jaw clenches as if about to say something, but he stops. Folding the faded letter, he slides it back into the envelope and returns it to the wardrobe.

“You should get some rest.”

“Don’t you want the mirror and your things?”

He hesitates at the open door. Astarion gazes into your eyes intensely. They are brimming with profound love and intimacy.

“Everything I could ever want or need is standing right in front of me. Goodnight, my only one.”

The door shuts with a low click of the latch, and you’re left alone again. You return to the open wardrobe and hesitantly finger the envelope. Carefully wrapping the mirror back up, you put it away and close the door.

He is not going to make being friends easy, is he? But, perhaps, I don’t want him to…

As always, big thank you to all those who read/like/comment/follow/reblog/etc. It really does brighten my day, and I hope you're enjoying reading this as much as I enjoy writing it.

Chapter Master List - Shadow of the Past

If you're interested, I also write fanfic for Ascended Astarion x Spawn Tav - Fangs and Fractured Hearts

AO3: Crossposted

Happy Holidays!

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