#the sheer emotion in her voice is wild

[evermoredeluxe]

again, i know WAOLOM is self-written, but the final recording is literally the same as the demo, im amazed by her all the time

[crescenthistory]

e.9 w/ regulus pls, i'm on my knees 😭

this is technically a steamy prompt, but gosh this grew real sugary sweet really fast lmao. hope you enjoy the drabble, love<3

Prompt: E.9 "Use your words, sweetheart"

Words: 1.3k

Warnings: implied smut (mdni), not proofread, loads of cursing, talks of sex, background dorlene and rosekiller, established relationship, slight implied d/s dynamic where reader is d, regulus is a Quidditch Player™ but also easy to fluster, marlene is not a quidditch player in this (blasphemy, i know), gn!reader

Note: i could make a part 2 with actual smut, but this is what came to me rn

Perhaps your favourite part of your boyfriend is how multifaceted he is.

Because when you first met him, in all his moody brooding, repressed emotions, dry sarcasm and school-orientation, you never could have imagined how fervent Regulus Black could get about quidditch. The same Regulus who rolled his eyes painfully hard at his brother and friends's jock habits, as he referred to them as, the same Regulus who polished his Head Boy pin multiple times a day. Somehow, it was the same Regulus you saw run into a slam-hug with Barty on the field once they landed, with wild eyes and tousled hair after catching the snitch that just barely secured Slytherin’s victory against Gryffindor.

“Bloody fucking yes!” You could hear the boys’ exclamations clutter against each other in the air as they hollered their celebrations. 

A wide grin was glued onto your lips as you cheered and clapped with the crowds surrounding you in the stands. Marlene’s voice was bursting your eardrums as she cheered specifically only for Dorcas while grumbling over Gryffindor’s defeat – a complicated day for the blonde.

On the field, Regulus turned from his friends to scour through the stands before his eyes found yours and somehow he smiled wider. Your heart soared every time you saw his carefully crafted mask slip to reveal true enjoyment. His smile grew cheeky as he blew you a kiss with a flourish you knew he would never let fly so publicly had it not been for the adrenaline coursing through his veins.

“Breaking from Slytherin’s passionate celebrations, Regulus Black is taking the opportunity to show his wonderful partner some love.” Pandora’s soft voice booms through the amplification spell as she wraps up her commentary for the game. You grow bashful in your cheering, especially when Marlene elbows you with her wolfish grin, but you don’t cease your clapping – and you don’t break eye contact with Regulus as he walks backwards towards the locker rooms, only tearing away when he has to.

The team are some of the last people to enter the Slytherin common room for the rager that always follows matches with Gryffindor. This time, it was put together by a few fifth years who seemed to consider them their personal heroes – you had overseen some of the decorations just to ensure there were no pictures of Evan with hearts drawn around them, lest Barty get murderous in his partying. 

They were a sight as they walked in with their wet hair from showering and still that crackling atmosphere of sheer joy and perhaps a twinge of earned arrogance.

Dorcas is the one who announces their entrance. “We won, bitches!”

The room erupts into cheers as Marlene runs to lift her girl up, twirling her around as they giggle through kisses. You would have smiled at them in admiration for longer, had your own attention not been reserved for a certain set of black curls.

Regulus is at the very back of the group, just behind Evan who had Barty all but draped over his shoulders, a small smile seemingly etched onto his lips. You were torn between petrifying his face so it could never move from that beautiful expression, and hiding it from the world with an array of kisses. You had a feeling he was partial towards the latter. 

“Nice of you to finally show up at your own party, love,” you say cheekily, as he greets you with a murmured amour before pulling you into his arms for a tight hug.

He smells like his soap and cologne, having cleaned himself up as attentively as he always did. Maybe someday you could convince him to sit in the sweat for a bit, reeling in the victory.

“The hero who caught the snitch.” Your voice is low and teasing, only really intended for Regulus as your arms around his neck.

Barty is never one to miss something though, head picking up from his huddle with a maniacal grin. “Hells yeah,” he yells, cutting through the lively chatter of the room. “Reggie, our hero!”

Everyone erupts into cheers, hoots and whistles – definitely not for the last time of the evening – as Regulus bashfully hides his face in your neck, still not broken away from your embrace. You giggle into his ear, clearly pleased with the teasing attention he receives, to which he pinches your side. When you yelp and swat at him, he comes out of his hiding with a smile that he finally presses to yours.

His kiss receives some more hollers, but they are nothing but murmurs to you as his soft lips mould to your own. You deepen the kiss, trying to get impossibly closer as your blood warms. You’re sure he can feel it emanate through your clothes pressed to his or your palms in his hair.

“Hi,” he whispers when you pull back, foreheads pressed against each other.

“Hi there, seeker. Ready to go celebrate your acts of valour?”

His eyes remain trained on your lips as you speak, which only makes your smile more teasing. He doesn’t answer you right away, holding you close by the small of your back as the party picks up around you. 

“Or did you have something else in mind, player?” You cock an eyebrow at him.

He realises you have read him like the books you bond over, and gives you a few rapid pecks to make up for it. “You know me too well,” he laughs.

“I think I know you the perfect amount.”

“Then you know the only one I want to celebrate with right now is you.” Regulus’s eyes are a beautiful mix of dark and soft as he stare at you, adrenaline seemingly ebbing out of him as he just melts into you and his prescribed lovesickness.

“Silly boy,” you whisper against his lips before giving him a slow, open-mouthed kiss where you tug his bottom lips between your own. “You already have me.”

“You know what I mean,” he all but whines back between kisses as you move to his upper lip. 

“Hm, maybe.” He recognises the glint in your eyes as you pull back to look at him. “Use your words, sweetheart.”

Almost all softness seep from his face as it takes on a hungry quality that his reserved for only when you use that tone.

“Minx,” is all he whispers before his hands slide to find yours, squeezing them as he begins to pull you through the crowd.

“Oi, Black!” Dorcas yells as she sees your figures sneak your way between people with apparent haste. “The fuck you think you’re goin’?” Just from her voice you know Dorcas has had a drink, as her accent has thickened. 

Before either of you can respond, Evan drags her down by the elbow to the sofa he’s sprawled across as he drawls, “They’re going to celebrate dearest Dorc.”

A spat ensues between the two at the use of her least favourite nickname. Regulus has the decency to grow slightly pinkish at that, but his hold on you remains close and you can all but feel his jitters through his touch.

Barty looks at you two upside down from where he lays balancing on top of the sofa. “You nasty fucking pigs,” he grins. “Enjoy yourselves heartily, but get your butts down here to have fun with us too when the adrenaline wears off.”

You snort as Regulus only grows more red. You give Barty a wink as you begin leading the way, dragging your boy dumbly behind you. “We will, Junior, don’t you worry.”

“Bye, Treasure!” Barty calls behind you as you run up the stairs towards the boys dormitory. Regulus’s hand is hot in yours and your stomach tingles in anticipation – but more importantly, your heart aches with pride and love for your hero seeker.

[luvzshy]

hi bby!! could u do smt w teaser and billie like going to sleep later or smt and just having like deep talks? (fluffy pls)🙃

a/n: hi baby so idk if this is what u wanted but i tried 😣😣 enjoy ml

Whispers in the Dark

The moon hung high in the night sky, casting a soft, ethereal glow through the sheer curtains of your bedroom. The atmosphere was charged, a mix of anticipation and warmth as Billie lounged on the edge of the bed, her presence drawing you in like a moth to a flame. She wore an oversized shirt that hung loosely on her frame, accentuating her curves, and her hair cascaded around her shoulders like a dark waterfall.

“Are you planning to take forever, or are you coming to bed?” Billie teased, her voice playful yet sultry, laced with a hint of longing that sent a thrill through you. You turned to her, pretending to consider your options with an exaggerated sigh.

“Maybe I’ll keep you waiting just a little longer,” you shot back, knowing full well you’d never leave her waiting. The playful banter was your way of keeping the night light, even as the air thickened with tension. You finally joined her on the bed, the sheets cool against your skin as you settled in beside her.

Billie’s fingers brushed against your hair, her touch sending tingles down your spine. “You know I can’t resist you,” she murmured, leaning closer until your breaths mingled in the intimate space between you. Her lips hovered just above yours, teasingly close, igniting a fire within you that demanded more.

“Then don’t,” you whispered back, your heart racing as you closed the gap, capturing her lips with yours. The kiss was electric, sending sparks through your entire body as you melted into her embrace. Billie responded eagerly, her hands roaming down your sides, pulling you closer, her warmth enveloping you as if she were a blanket shielding you from the world.

As the kiss deepened, you found yourself lost in the moment, the outside world fading away. You could taste the sweetness of her lip balm mingled with the lingering warmth of her breath, and it drove you wild. Your fingers tangled in her hair, pulling her closer as the kiss became more fervent, more desperate.

When you finally broke apart, both of you gasping for air, Billie rested her forehead against yours, her eyes bright with a mix of mischief and sincerity. “I could get lost in you forever,” she whispered, her voice barely above a breath, filled with an honesty that made your heart swell.

“Good,” you replied playfully, your lips curling into a soft smile. “Because I wouldn’t want to be found.”

Billie’s expression softened, her eyes reflecting a depth of feeling that made your stomach flutter. “You make me feel things I didn’t know I could feel. Every moment with you is like discovering a new piece of myself,” she confessed, her voice rich with emotion.

You smiled, warmth radiating in your chest. “You inspire me, Billie. You make me want to be better, to explore and grow. Being with you feels like coming home.”

A flicker of vulnerability crossed her features, and you could sense the weight of her thoughts. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way about anyone. It scares me, but it also feels so right,” she admitted, biting her lip as she searched your eyes for understanding.

“Then let’s not rush it. We have all the time in the world,” you promised, brushing your thumb over her cheek in a gentle gesture that sent shivers down her spine.

Billie smiled, her eyes sparkling with a mix of gratitude and something deeper. “Okay, but if we’re sharing secrets, I have one for you,” she said, biting her lip as she took a deep breath, the tension between you thickening. “I think about us all the time—what this could be. I want to build something amazing with you.”

Your heart raced at her confession, the weight of her words sinking in. “I want that too. More than anything.” The vulnerability in your voices hung in the air, drawing you closer.

Billie’s hands found your waist, pulling you against her. You could feel her heartbeat, steady and inviting, and the connection between you deepened. “Let’s take our time tonight,” she whispered, her breath warm against your ear. “I want to savor every moment.”

Nodding, you allowed yourself to relax into her embrace. Billie’s fingers trailed down your back, sending electric jolts through your body. The gentle pressure of her hands ignited a fire within you, urging you to explore every inch of her.

Your lips found hers again, this time more urgent, filled with a yearning that had been building since the moment you’d met. The kiss deepened as you explored each other, tongues dancing in a passionate rhythm that felt as though it had been choreographed in the stars. Billie’s hands roamed over your body, sending shivers of pleasure coursing through you, each touch igniting flames in places you never knew were waiting to be awakened.

With a low moan, you pressed your body against hers, feeling the heat radiate off her skin. Billie’s hands slipped under your shirt, her fingers grazing your waist as she explored the curves and angles of your body, each caress igniting sparks beneath your skin.

“God, you’re beautiful,” she murmured between kisses, her voice thick with desire. You could feel your cheeks heat at the compliment, and you pulled back slightly to meet her gaze.

“Only because you make me feel this way,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper, filled with a mixture of shyness and boldness.

Billie smiled, her gray-blue eyes glimmering with mischief as she leaned in for another kiss, this one slow and deliberate, drawing out every moment. You could feel the connection between you, deep and raw, as if the universe had conspired to bring you together in this moment.

With a gentle tug, Billie pulled you further into the sheets, her body molding against yours as you both sunk deeper into the bed. You could feel her warmth enveloping you, and it was intoxicating. The outside world faded into a distant memory, leaving only the sound of your shared breaths and the soft rustle of sheets.

As the kisses grew more heated, you felt yourself surrendering completely to her touch, every caress igniting a fire within you. Billie’s hands explored your body with an eagerness that sent shivers of pleasure through your core. She traced delicate patterns along your skin, sending waves of warmth cascading through you, leaving you breathless.

“Can I show you how much I want you?” she whispered, her breath warm against your ear. You nodded, your heart racing with anticipation.

With a playful glint in her eye, Billie pulled you in for another kiss, this one laced with a fervor that took your breath away. As her hands roamed over your body, you could feel her warmth radiating through you, every touch igniting a spark that spread through your veins.

The passion between you two built steadily, a slow burn that made your skin tingle with anticipation. With each kiss, you felt your bodies melt together, the world outside forgotten as you lost yourselves in each other. Your hands tangled in her hair, holding her close as your kisses deepened, more desperate, more fervent.

“Billie,” you breathed, your voice thick with desire as her lips moved down your neck, trailing soft kisses that sent shivers coursing through you. You could feel her smile against your skin as she explored, a mix of sweetness and hunger in each movement.

“Just relax,” she murmured against your collarbone, her hands exploring every curve of your body. “I want to take my time with you.”

With each lingering kiss, each soft caress, you felt your heart race, the world around you fading into nothingness as you lost yourself in her warmth. Billie’s touch was electric, igniting flames of passion that made you ache with desire.

As you surrendered to the sensations coursing through you, the intimacy deepened, becoming a dance of souls intertwined. With each breath, each kiss, you felt a connection that went beyond physical desire—this was raw, real, and undeniably beautiful.

The night stretched on, filled with whispered secrets and deep talks as you both surrendered to the moment. You shared dreams, fears, and laughter, each word weaving a tapestry of intimacy that bound you closer together.

“I love this,” Billie confessed softly, her fingers tracing circles on your arm. “Just being here with you, feeling like we can share anything. It’s like… magic.”

You smiled, a warmth blooming in your chest. “It is magic. You make everything feel so special, so real.”

Billie’s gaze softened, her expression filled with sincerity. “You have no idea how much you mean to me. I want to hold onto this, to build something incredible with you.”

With a gentle tug, you pulled her closer, your lips brushing against hers in a tender kiss that spoke volumes. “Then let’s take this journey together, one step at a time.”

The night wore on, the soft glow of the moon illuminating your intertwined bodies as you drifted off to sleep, wrapped in each other’s warmth. In that moment, you knew you were building something beautiful, one whispered secret and shared dream at a time.

[remembrancer-of-heresy]

The Killing Moon (Magnus The Red, Leman Russ)

Summary: There's nothing worse than a smart savage animal.

Magnus The Red/fem!Reader, Leman Russ/fem!Reader

Warnings: yandere, obsession

Word count: 896

Song: Echo & The Bunnymen - The Killing Moon

Did you think that crazy yanderes would only be traitors and heretics? :) It turned out quite small, but tasty. Ah, Leman, you have every chance of getting a long fic.

You were one of Magnus' remembrancers. Not a psyker and thanks to you for that. Still, he couldn't stand weak upstarts of your kind. Give them an ax and they will help. But the Emperor decided that they would contribute “in another way” and Russ had to come to terms with their presence.

He actually had to come to terms with a lot. Parades in honor of warriors, drinking mjød with his sons and hunting xenos are one thing. Real fun for his soul! Meetings with powdered aristocrats and chirping remembrancers are sheer horror. The only thing he liked was that Magnus was even more bored than the fenrisian. Well, when Jaghatai wasn’t around, he became completely despondent.

But with your appearance everything changed. The one-eyed sorcerer still did not like mandatory events. But now you were at his side. Leman was famous for his character, his bestial nature, if mortals willed it. But like a wolf he could watch. Track. Study. Wait. Right before delivering the killing blow.

You kept yourself apart from other remembrancers. Just like they are from you. You were a calm and almost sad girl. Felt out of place. Of course, until you looked into Magnus’s only eye. Oh, the fenrisian was sure that you two would happily run away from this event like lovers from the old ballads and hide in the library. But instead of... intriguing activities, you would probably just read ancient tomes.

The primarch found you a little better than other remembrancers. Useless. Besides, you clearly loved psykers, something Leman didn't approve of. Still, he had fun for a while, looming over you like a wild animal. He joked about obscene topics and breathed directly into your face after a sip of mjød, enjoying how your eyes watered and you coughed.

Leman was sure that he would soon get tired of you and he would stop pestering you while Magnus wasn’t looking. Moreover, you clearly did not complain to your patron. But time passed and Russ continued to pull you out. And he continued. And continued. Until one day the conversation turned to the one-eyed primarch.

Either he called him a coward, or a witch, or he called him a freak, couldn't remember. This is how Leman would begin his story before mortals, but he was a primarch. He remembered very well that he had complained that the Emperor still kept the psykers and had not killed the red-skinned lord's legion. He also remembered how you threw the contents of the cup on his face. He could taste the sweet mead. Tasty like you.

“Don’t you dare say such things about him!” - you screamed, your eyes were burning, and your face was twisted with anger. - “He is kind and sensitive. The smartest person I knew. He believes that only a better future awaits the world. And you, and you..."

Your index finger rose in a threatening gesture. And if Russ were the size of a mortal, you would probably poke your finger right into his eye.

"SAVAGE!"

You scream as loud as you can, but your voice, not used to such emotions, lets you down. You were supposed to sound like a lioness protecting her lover. But looked more like an angry little kitten. He just wanted to take you with one hand and squeeze.

Stamping your foot, looking at the fenrisian with the most contemptuous look, you leave the corridor. He feels, he sees in your gestures and posture the hope that this was your last meeting. Russ feels an anticipatory smile coloring his face and he wants, terribly wants, to lick his teeth.

What a disobedient doe. Leman wonders what he needs to do to get you to let your emotions out again? Magnus probably treats you like a lady. Sickeningly tender and neat, like a feather. This was alien to Russ. No, he would throw you over his shoulder and carry you to his den. He would take you roughly so that everyone could hear your screams. They knew you were his.

One day Malcador told him about an ancient Terran virgin goddess. Mistress of the forest and patroness of hunting and the moon. The doe and the bear, whose naked beauty enchanted the mortal hunter. Then the goddess turned the man into a deer before the dogs killed him.

You were not a warrior or a huntress. But your graceful beauty turned into righteous anger... excited him. And aroused. Never before had Russ thought that he would be seized by the desire to possess and subjugate a mortal girl. Flexible and thin as an arrow. Daring to stand up to him despite her weakness. Just to protect the honor of your loved one, and he knew that you loved the damned psyker, even if he was a primarch.

Yes, you belonged to a witch. Well, another reason for enmity with the one-eyed brother. Who apparently did not understand that with his unreasonable actions with the warp he was only digging his own grave harder. And when he retreats, takes the wrong and disastrous step... then Russ will finally be able to deal with him. He will put psyker in the dirt and take you to him. He will even be gentle with you. To care and cherish. At least after you satisfy his... “savageness” with a tiny voice.

Yes, that would be nice.

[eternal-kosmo-ghoul]

Could you maybe write an established relationship sodo x fem reader smut with breeding kink and knotting with romantic fluffy after care??

Thank you🖤🖤

“darling amour”

❤︎ Synopsis — Sodo’s a mess of emotions— an unpredictable storm that never knew the touch of gentleness and tender care… until he met his current mate. With her, he can learn to be sweet… caring, and shower his lover with so much affection he never knew he had within him.

Pairing: sodo ghoul x ghoulette!reader (she/her)

Theme: smut ❣︎ , fluff ✿

A/N: I’m experimenting with a new writing style so I hope it doesn’t seem to weird aaaaa. I haven’t written with a fem reader in a while, and idk if I wrote the breeding kink well … so I hope this suffices

CW: NSFW CONTENT. Established relationship, Sodo has issues but it’s ok because reader is amazing, AFAB reader, Breeding kink, knotting, p in v, vaginal sex, praise kink, love marking and hickeys, probably more I can’t think of, but Sodo gives reader lots of love and aftercare <3

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Sodo was an interesting little thing.

A rather stoic and hotheaded little fellow, the firecracker of Ghost— you’d probably find Sodo’s name in the dictionary under the word “temperamental”.

Sodo never let anyone get too close to him, always keeping his walls closely built around him, and rarely opening up. He had made it clear since day one that he isn’t a man that speaks with his heart, but rather with instinct— always snapping his teeth and growling at anyone who tries to get too close. Many of the ghouls and ghoulettes have learned to not irritate this man, as the outcome that came from it was never a pretty sight.

Of course, he wasn’t a completely heartless monster, Sodo was just… troubled. He had his friends, like Rain, Phantom, Swiss, all of those guys, but even they have learned not to try and pry into the secrets of Sodo’s issues.

That is until she came to his life.

Y/N, She was a new little infernal into the pack, Papa had summoned her to serve as a new member of their strange, yet welcoming family in the ministry. Sodo didn’t know what it was about this ghoulette that got him so drawn to her. Maybe it was her sweet yet gracious hand gestures, or the way that her voice was just so angelic, like a mourning dove singing it’s alluring and enchanting song.

Call him delusional for swooning over this demon the moment he saw her— but maybe love at first sight wasn’t so silly to Sodo anymore.

And it seemed that Y/N took a liking to Sodo as well, as she clung to him the moment she was summoned. Newly summoned ghouls usually take a bit to adjust to the topside, the overwhelming sensations of the human realm having freshly summoned ghouls on high alert and hissing at anyone who dares to step a foot into their direction. Yet for some odd reason, Y/N stuck to Sodo, and he didn’t mind one bit.

This seemed to work in their favor, because one thing led to another, the fire ghoul and the new ghoulette started dating. It was… a new experience for Sodo, to say the least. He’s never opened up this quickly to a fellow infernal— let alone one he just met recently. However, the fire ghoul always found himself drawn to this beautiful beast.

Something lured him in like a moth to the flame— drawing him into her presence like an symphonic melody. And honestly, Sodo wasn’t complaining, because this woman was everything he wanted in a mate.

She was a stunning ghoulette. Beautiful like the flames of Hell themselves, a sexy beast that had any man or woman shaking in their knees just from her sheer presence alone. Y/N was everything he could ask for. His little darling amour. An absolutely kind and understanding mate, gentle to the touch but absolutely wild in the sheets.

And oh boy did Sodo love this woman in bed.

Maybe it was the way she let out those soft and elegant moans, or how her tail would intertwine with his every time she was close to finishing. The way he drilled his cock into her tight heat had her squeezing so tightly around him… and the feeling just drove Sodo over the edge every single time.

Y/N was a freak in bed, and the fire ghoul was here for it.

“Fuck, darling. You’re going to squeeze me dry.” The guitarist panted between sharp and haste moans, moving his hips in a rhythm that had him and his lover panting heavily from the sheer feeling of pleasure.

Y/N just let out her own soft and breathy moans, her claws gripping onto the silk-woven bedsheets beneath her, while her lover thrusted into her slowly and sensually.

“Ngh… good.” Y/N uttered out quietly, but her tone was laced with lust and affection. “That’s how I know I’m doing a good job at getting you off.”

Sodo looked down at Y/N. His forehead was glistening with sweat and his cheeks were flushed a lavender color. His entire body felt hot, and yet he couldn’t help but give his partner a half-smirk if both desire and love.

“You little minx, you just know how to get me all riled up. Fuck I love you so much.” The fire ghoul groaned out, his voice resonating through the bedroom. Sodo’s thrusts only increased in speed, the head of his cock hitting that sweet, sweet spot within Y/N’s walls that had her tail quivering and her legs twitching.

Sodo could feel the ring of muscle tightening around his erection, which only made the guitarist let out a series of moans that almost sounded pornographic. “You’re such a good girl… taking my cock so well… mmmh~ you’re going to make me lose it.”

This… affectionate and tender side that Sodo had to him, he never really knew it was in him. He was so used to being such a hateful and spiteful ghoul, a fierce and snappy infernal who was angry with the world, angry with himself. He didn’t think there was an ounce of love in his body.

But this moment with Y/N… clearly proved him wrong.

Sodo’s hip thrusts were slow and sensual… being sure to hit every inch of Y/N’s insides in a way that had her squirming under his hold, begging for more. He slowly picked up the pace, and his moans only increased in volume while his fingers gripped his lover’s wrists more tightly.

“So… nnngh~ good for me.. love you so much— so, so much…” Sodo uttered out, his speech becoming more incoherent. The fire ghoul could also tell that Y/N was enjoying this as much as he was— due to her rather high-pitched moans that almost sounded pornographic.

As the guitarist’s moans and groans increased in volume, he dipped his head down towards the ghoulette’s neck. Sodo’s fangs were bared as he gently sunk them into the soft flesh of his lover, leaving hickeys and bite marks between his heavy grunts and moans. These marks… were proof of how much he loved Y/N, how he cherished her like a goddess… and wouldn’t trade her for anything else.

And he was going to keep showing that love in all the ways he can, sexual or not.

“Ahh~ Sodo please…” Y/N moaned out breathlessly, her tail moving to curl around Sodo’s tail while Sodo pounded into her relentlessly. “Please.. please fill me up..”

Sodo might as well would’ve just came right then and there. Y/N’s voice sounded so hot when she said it like that, he definitely wanted to fill her up with his seed now— wanting nothing more than to see his own cum dripping out of her tight heat.

“Ohhh baby~ I’ll give you more than just that.” The guitarist grunted out, feeling his semi-hardened length pulsing inside of his lover’s hole— the walls tightening around his cock and just making him crave Y/N’s body even more.

“Fuck—! You’re such a good girl for me… ohhh you just look so goddamn gorgeous under me like this…”

Sodo’s lips moved to capture Y/N’s in a fiery and heated kiss, slipping his forked tongue into her mouth as they made out. His thrusts didn’t stop either, and he felt himself getting closer and closer to that brink of pleasure— that feeling that made him feel the closest to heaven.

“You’re so fucking sexy… I love you so much.. mmmh~ so so so much..”

Y/N moaned loudly into the kisses, feeling her lips go numb from how passionate Sodo was being. She felt like passing out from the pleasure, but each of Sodo’s hard, yet pleasurable thrusts only kept her eyes shot wide open in pure ecstasy.

“Nnngh! I’m gonna cum—! Sodo… Sodo please I’m gonna cum!” Y/N cried out, her mind completely fogged with nothing but more lust and carnal desire. She could feel some of that ghoulish instinct within her begging for more and more of Sodo’s cock.. and she was allowing for herself to experience it.

Sodo grunted rather loudly as he heard Y/N beg for a release, and he just couldn’t resist biting her neck slightly— leaving a dark and bruising hickey on a spot that would definitely be difficult to cover up.

“Oh yeah? You’re going to cum for me? Mmmmh fuck~ don’t hold back now… let me feel that pleasure you’re experiencing!” Sodo panted out lustfully, his pupils shaped like hearts as he stared down at his lover with so much love and desire.

Sodo’s thumb moved down to gently press down against Y/N’s clit, before moving it in a circular motion while he was thrusting inside of her— giving an extra sense of stimulation that had Y/N squirming and screaming Sodo’s name.

Y/N could feel that knot within her abdomen being slowly undone— before she finally let out one last cry of pleasure, releasing her essence all over Sodo’s cock while it was buried deep within her.

Sodo shortly followed after her, letting out a loud groan before thrusting into Y/N one last time with a hard push. The fire ghoul released his hot seed inside of the ghoulette, ropes of thick cum filling her up to the brim completely. His orgasm was so intense, there was a bit of that slick fluid dripping out of her hole.

Both infernals just laid there for a moment, giving themselves a few minutes to catch their breath. Sodo laid gently on top of Y/N’s chest, before slowly pulling out of his lover, feeling their mixed fluids leave behind a trail that snapped off.

Wordlessly, Sodo got off of the bed and went into the bathroom to grab some towels. One for Y/N and one for himself. He then crawled back onto the bed again, before gesturing to Y/N to come over to him.

“Come here, darling. Let me clean you up.”

Y/N just nodded and slowly got up to move over to Sodo. The fire ghoul then wrapped his arms gently around Y/N’s waist and pulled her into his chest— her bare back resting against his chest. Sodo then used the towel to clean up any remaining fluids down between Y/N’s legs, being extra careful and sensitive so he didn’t stimulate Y/N’s aching privates any further.

Sodo’s touch was so gentle and tender. While he was cleaning Y/N up, he’d occasionally leave a kiss or two on the ghoulette’s cheek— which in turn made her giggle from the ticklish feeling.

The sound of her giggles swelled Sodo’s chest with a familiar warmth that he was slowly getting used to.

“Mmmh.. I love how you’re being so gentle..” Y/N whispered quietly, turning her head around to be met with Sodo’s loving gaze. “It’s one of my favorite things about you.”

Gentle. Sodo would never describe himself as a gentle being. But, his lover saw past his cold exterior, and awoken something more sweet and caring within him. He liked being gentle.

“I do try,” Sodo answered back with a smile, before softly kissing Y/N’s lips. He then cleaned up the last few traces of that sticky fluid, before putting the towel down.

“There… all cleaned up. And you still look as gorgeous as ever.” Sodo praised with a chuckle following after, peppering Y/N’s face with sweet and short kisses— which made her laugh in a delighted manner from how Sodo was acting.

“Oh my Satan— you can be so cheesy sometimes.”

“Only for you I am~ and you know you love it too, Y/N.”

“I do. That’s why I’m your mate, you dummy,”

The fire ghoul only rolled his eyes playfully, and pulled Y/N into his arms again— gently laying down on the silk sheets with his mate in his arms, caressing her and pulling her close.

“Yeah… and I wouldn’t trade you for anyone else.” Sodo whispered softly, burying his head into the crook of Y/N’s neck.

He could breath in her scent, and it was a comforting one. She smelt of roses and fresh vanilla, with a hint of sex from what they both did just now … but it was a comforting sense that brought peace to Sodo’s mind.

Sodo just stayed cuddled up in Y/N’s embrace, while he too was holding her closely. Their bare bodies clung together like two perfectly fitted puzzle pieces. Sodo purred softly and nudged his horns gently against Y/N’s jaw, to which she just chuckled and gently stroked them, her tail moving to intertwine with Sodo’s.

“I love you, Sodo...” Y/N whispered into his ear softly. Her tone was comforting and soothing, it made Sodo feel at ease.

For the first time in a while, he felt peace. He felt calm with his mate… because she has slowly broke down his walls, and carefully opened up his heart… to feel loved again.

“… I love you too, Y/N,”

And he just smiled, feeling his eyes flutter shut as he drifted off into dreamland, dreaming about nothing but peace and love.

▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆

[whumpninja]

The Angel of Death, Part 3: Blood and Circuses

CONTENT WARNING: Buckle your friggin’ seatbelts, this one gets real nasty!

Featuring: cage match, forced to fight, vampire whump, mentions of (non-permanent) death, graphic descriptions of violence, muzzle, drugged whumpee, heavy gore, blood (seriously it’s a LOT of blood), violent onscreen death, extremely vague one-sentence throwing up, collar, dehumanization, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK THIS CHAPTER IS A DOOZY

It was out of sheer decency that Keola waited until Mr. Moody closed his office door before she laid into him. Her mother wouldn’t have been pleased to hear her yelling a man down the hallway of his own building, and that was the only reason she waited until they were in his office to shout “What were you even thinking?”

“I-“ Mr. Moody started, but Keola trampled him back down and kept right on going.

“You let me believe I would be doing medical work on a leopard or something, not a freaking vampire! I’m not qualified for that type of work, I could lose my job because of what you just did! And on top of that, you want said vampire to fight in your arena with a fracture in his leg? Are you insane? Completely lōlō?”

“What language is that?”

“Not the point!” Keola barked. “Mr. Moody, you tricked me. And I don’t know whether I should take it as an insult to my intelligence or my ethics. Did you think I would just be so overcome with emotion upon seeing an injured creature that I’d ignore the deceit it took to get me there? I don’t kiss boo-boos and make them all better. I do real, actual medical procedures that took hard work and training. And what I am not trained to treat? People. People like the one you’ve got chained up back there, and don’t you dare try to use the excuse of legal classification or that kind of nonsense! I am not licensed to treat your pet vampire!”

“He’s not a pet.” Mr. Moody’s voice had gotten oddly serious. He pulled up his sleeve and showed Keola a scar on his arm- a long, deep gash, healed into a dark rift in his skin. “He’s not a pet, Doctor. He’s a wild animal. I’ve seen vampires before. I have some other ones here for Saturday, and they’re pretty much like us except for the fangs. I’m not saying they’re people, but they’re not the way Angel is. Angel’s dangerous, take it from me. And that’s a good thing, I need him dangerous. But a doctor is used to treating patients that are calm and rational. A vet knows how to treat patients that aren’t. I don’t have another choice. Not with him.”

Keola blew out her breath. “I could lose my license, my clinic. You’re asking me to risk my job for these fight shows of yours.”

“If that happens, I’ll take care of it. I promise. I’m in good with the police force, they bring me the vamps to set on Angel. I can get them to look the other way. I just- I need you, Doc.” Mr. Moody ran his hands through his thinning hair. “If I lose him-“

Keola almost said no. She almost tore the contract in two and stormed out. She didn’t care if this man lost his brutal business. She didn’t care if he was ruined because she wouldn’t help him.

But she thought of Angel.

As terrifying as he was, he was hurt. He was scared, somewhere beneath the anger. He didn’t know what was happening. She couldn’t leave him to a man who would keep exploiting him with no regard for his well-being, who would make him fight with a break in his leg.

Keola blew out her breath and sat down heavily in the chair by the wall. “If I lose my clinic-“

“You won’t. I promise, Doc. If there are any consequences, they’ll fall on me.”

Keola took her hair out of its bun and redid it, twisting it around her hand. “What about Saturday? If you make him fight-“

Mr. Moody chuckled. “I don’t exactly make him fight, Doctor. He lives for it. Craves it. Born killer, my Angel. If I don’t let him get his exercise, he’ll attack anything that gets close enough.”

“Why?” Keola couldn’t help asking. “I’m not well-read on my vampires, but I don’t think most of them are that…feral.”

“Most of ‘em don’t have six-inch teeth either. Angel’s special. You should see him in the cage.” Mr. Moody snapped his fingers. “You should. Come on Saturday, Doc.”

“What?”

“Not in any official capacity, not yet. Just come as a guest. No charge- I’ll put you right at the front. You can get a feel for what kind of injuries you might be dealing with, and see how Angel fights. See how much he loves it.”

“Mr. Moody-“

“No, no, I insist. Here. VIP ticket.” Mr. Moody banged open a desk drawer and rummaged around, resurfacing with a red slip of paper in his hand which he pressed into hers. “And hey, if it don’t work out it don’t work out. No hard feelings. But just give it a shot, yeah?”

Four hours after she’d been picked up and taken there, Doctor Keola Ioannidis found herself standing outside a fight club with a ticket to Saturday’s show in her hand.

What did I just get myself into?

——————————————————————————

She wasn’t going to go. It was after dark, which meant she wouldn’t risk the sun. And her ticket was free- she’d checked the Colosseum Club website, and the little slip she’d been given would have run her over three hundred dollars if she’d paid for it herself. And taking the contract with the club meant sorely needed extra income to keep her little clinic afloat.

But she wasn’t going to go. She couldn’t. I can’t, Keola told herself over and over all Saturday afternoon. It’s against my code of ethics. Not to mention my own morals. I can’t sit happily in an audience and watch people beat each other black and blue.

She kept telling herself that she wouldn’t go all the way up until she was standing at the door.

The website had said that the main event would be at 9:30 p.m., and Keola had waited until nearly then on purpose. She was only going to observe Angel as a potential patient. That was all. She didn’t need to see…the rest of it.

There was a bouncer at the door, a big man in a too-tight shirt. He looked her up and down disbelievingly. Keola tried to seem like the sort of person that frequented mildly illegal fight clubs, but she knew it would be a lost cause. She shoved the little red slip at the man instead.

His eyebrows went up. “VIP seating? You?”

“Me,” Keola answered. “And I got that from Mr. Moody himself, so if you wouldn’t mind letting me in, I don’t want to miss the main event.”

A smile spread across the man’s face, and he held the door open for her. “Nobody does, missy. Trust me.”

Cryptic, Keola thought.

The little club that had been empty before was now full to bursting with people. And not your average barhoppers, either, Keola noticed- many of the patrons drinking at the bar were rather obviously wealthy. Yet they’d stooped to come to this dingy little club. How popular are these fights?

She didn’t really know what to expect as she made her way to the side door and down the concrete corridor that led to the underground arena. It had been relatively quiet before, but now it echoed with the shouts of what sounded like a very large crowd. As she neared the end, she heard Mr. Moody's voice, bellowing through a microphone.

"And it's victory for Nosferata, death for Overbite! What a show! What an ending! That's gonna be hard to clean up! Mr. Edwards, not to worry, we'll get your vamp regenerated and back on his feet in plenty of time for the next match. As for Nosferata, Ms. Winslow, you should be proud of her, that was one of the most brutal matches we've had in awhile!"

Keola entered the underground stadium and immediately reeled against the wall, gasping. Not from the noise- though that was certainly overwhelming, with the roaring crowd and Mr. Moody's foghorn voice. Not from the sight, though the sea of people in the bleachers was an impressive view.

It was the smell that hit her hard, made her press her head against the concrete wall and dig her nails in for all she was worth.

The smell of blood.

Not human. No, it wasn't the sweet tang of human blood. It was the sharp, acidic smell of vampire blood, and it was everywhere. Her eyes felt hot at the overwhelming smell, and she squeezed them shut, clinging to the wall.

How many vampires have died here?

"Are you all right, miss?" asked a voice. Keola snapped her eyes open and hoped they were green instead of red.

"Yes, I'm fine," she said, smiling at the concerned employee. "Just a little dizzy, should've eaten something before I- Ronnie?"

Blue Goon was in black tonight, but she still recognized him. He squinted at her, and then his face cleared. "Oh! Hi, Doc- the boss told us he gave you a ticket, but we didn't see you at the opening so we thought you'd skipped. He'll be glad you're here! You haven't missed Angel, that's the last show of the night. Should be about a ten-minute wait." He held out his hand. "If you'll show me your ticket, I'll get you to your seat."

"Thanks," Keola said, handing over the red slip.

"Best seat in the house." Ronnie grinned. "The boss must like you."

Keola let herself be led through the bleachers to a box right in front of the ring, just above where she'd heard Mr. Moody's voice coming from. "I'll tell the boss you're here," Ronnie offered. "Can I grab you anything from the bar?"

"I'll take a Bloody Mary," Keola answered almost without thinking. "Dirty."

Ronnie winked at her. "Staying on theme, I see."

As Ronnie disappeared, Keola slumped into her chair and stared at the arena below her. It looked smaller now, surrounded by tall cage fencing. The floor had been covered with a thin layer of what could have been either sawdust or sand.

Whatever it was, it was doing a terrible job soaking up the blood. All of it was vampire blood, she could tell by the dark color- red so deep it was almost purple. The arena was splattered with it- the floor, the fencing, even a few spectators in the front had stains of blood on their shirts. The spectators were all human, and not a single one looked bothered by the violent sport they had come to watch. Many- mainly those in the front rows like Keola- seemed to have dressed up, in suits and pearls and silk gowns.

The Colosseum Club, indeed.

Ronnie appeared at her elbow with her drink just as the lights went down. "Enjoy the show," he whispered, and gave her another wink as he slipped out of the box. Keola took a sip of her drink and braced herself for what was coming.

A series of floodlights around the arena went up, and a spotlight shone down on Mr. Moody. He'd dressed up for the occasion in a gray suit, and he was beaming. "Hasn't tonight been incredible, folks?" he shouted, and the crowd roared back at him. "What a show! What a bloodbath! But we know you've all been waiting for our last match of the night, so I won't keep you waiting much longer!"

Keola heard metal creaking and leaned down to see a pair of burly men come out of a metal gate, dragging a vampire between them. She hadn't seen the earlier parts of the show, but from the sound of it, the vampires involved had been fighters.

This one clearly wasn't. He was dressed in street clothes, his face bruised. And he looked terrified. There was some sort of muzzle strapped over the lower half of his face.

"This is gonna be a good one, folks!" Mr. Moody announced. "Officer, what was this one's crime?"

One of the guards leaned into the microphone. "Tried to attack a woman outside her own restaurant," he said, his lip curling. The crowd booed, and Mr. Moody shook his head.

"Just because it's a restaurant doesn't mean your kind get to eat there, leech," he said. The other guard took off the muzzle, and Mr. Moody shoved the microphone into the vampire's face. "What's your name, bloodsucker?"

"M-Marcus," the vampire stammered. "But I-I wasn't trying to attack her, I just-"

Mr. Moody snatched the microphone back. "Didn't ask for a sworn testimony, vamp, I ain't a judge and these good folks sure ain't a jury." The guards opened a door in the cage and pushed Marcus through, slamming it behind him.

"But there'll still be an executioner." Mr. Moody grinned and held up his arms as the crowd cheered wildly. "Hey- Marcus, was it? If I were you, I'd start running."

Marcus threw a frightened glance around the arena and started to run, making for the other side of the stadium. A spotlight stayed on him. Mr. Moody let him have a few seconds before he turned back to the crowd. "And here it is, folks! The final match of the night! Marcus versus...the Angel of Death!"

A metal gate at the other end of the arena groaned as it opened. Behind it was darkness, and Keola squinted to see through it. As far as she could tell, nothing was behind the door.

And then Angel charged into the arena.

Keola gasped, gripping the edge of her seat. Whatever ferocity she'd seen from Angel in the basement was nothing compared to this. The vampire was snarling, practically foaming at the mouth. He looked like a rabid dog. His fangs were on full display now, the wires holding his jaw half-closed gleaming in the spotlights. His eyes were pools of glowing red, the pupils shrunk to nothing. His bare chest gleamed with sweat, his short hair dripping with it. He stumbled to the side, reeling like a drunken man, and dropped to all fours. Keola could see the way his chest heaved for every breath.

Drugged, she realized. Heavily.

Most of the crowd were on their feet now, screaming in excitement. Angel shook his head, twisting away from the side he was closest to. The noise must have been overwhelming to the senses of a full vampire- Keola was only a half-vampire and it was hard for her to handle.

And then Angel's head shot up, his eyes finding Marcus.

Marcus had started running for the opposite side of the arena, but as Angel took off after him Keola knew he didn't stand a chance. Angel stayed on all fours, clawing trenches into the floor with every bound. He was fast, too- far faster than Marcus, who didn't even reach the other end of the cage before Angel was on him.

Angel grabbed the smaller vampire around the waist, dragging him down. The pair rolled in the sand, Angel growling ferociously and Marcus crying out in terror. The whimpers of fear turned to screams of pain as Angel dug his claws into the meat of Marcus's shoulder.

As horrified as she was, Keola couldn't look away. Mr. Moody was bellowing commentary or something, but she couldn't focus on the words enough to know what they were. She heard the audience's shouts as if they were in another language.

And then- "Oh, we've got a live one!"- yelled Mr. Moody, as Marcus desperately kicked backward and slammed his foot right into the cast on Angel's leg. The leg buckled. Angel went down with a roar of pain, and Marcus stumbled away, bleeding from the claw marks in his shoulder and chest.

The vampire staggered to the edge of the cage, grabbing at the bars with bloody hands. "Please!" he begged, frantic, desperate. “Please, don’t let- no!"

Angel didn't let him get another word out. Marcus screamed in terror and pain as Angel grabbed him, claws digging in deep, and tore him off the bars, flinging him out into the sand. And then he was on top of the smaller vampire, tearing and slashing and trying with his bound fangs to bite. And Marcus was screaming and gasping and gurgling on blood. And there was the sound of bones being crushed, and flesh being ripped into, and the smell of blood was so much stronger now, overwhelming everything-

Keola leaned down, out of view of the arena, and was sick on the concrete floor.

I can't be part of this. It was too horrible. She couldn't come back to this place again and again, knowing what happened in that arena. She'd thought it would only be death. She'd never imagined the brutality of it- when she risked another glance into the cage, there was nothing left of poor Marcus but shreds of meat and bone and a pool of thick, dark blood.

And when he regenerates, they'll do it again. Vampires could not die unless it was through sunlight, silver, or a stake. No matter how thoroughly Angel destroyed his prey, they would come back to die once more. It was sickening. Keola had never been killed, had never had to regenerate- but she had heard it was painful. Excruciating.

The crowd was still cheering, and Mr. Moody shouted something about it being a great night and a good show. Keola managed to make herself look at Angel. Her brow furrowed.

The feral vampire still crouched over the remains of his prey. His chin dripped with gore, and as Keola watched he bent his head and rubbed his face in the sand, almost lying fully in the puddle of blood. He was gasping, pulling in desperate gulps of air as he tried to cover himself in his victim's blood. The wires at his jaw strained to keep his mouth closed.

For a few moments Keola had hated him, this monster of a vampire who she'd just seen murder one of their own with no remorse. But as she watched the guards grab him, bind his arms behind him, force him up and back through the gate as he thrashed and snarled in their hold, she realized something.

Mr. Moody had said that Angel was feral, a wild thing, so full of rage that he didn't have to be prompted to fight. But what Keola had seen just now hadn't been anger.

It had been hunger.

Angel, with his jaw wired shut, surrounded by blood, had been trying desperately to eat. He wasn't fighting because he was angry, but because he was starving. Vampire blood did nothing to sate a vampire's hunger- it had to be human or animal, something living. But Angel, drugged out of his mind and starved to the point of madness, only knew that there was blood.

Keola left the last two-thirds of her drink by her seat. She didn't want it anymore.

Ronnie met her at the end of the bleachers. "Hey, Doc!" he said, beaming. "What'd you think of the show? Oh, and Mr. Moody wants to see you ring-side."

Keola nodded dully, still too overwhelmed to speak. I'll tell him that I can't be part of this, she decided. He can find a new vet. I'm not going to sit by and let- all of this happen over and over again.

Ronnie escorted her through a locked door under the bleachers, to the space underneath where her box had been. This area was walled off, a tunnel of chain-link fencing and concrete. She realized that this was where the gate in the arena led- the corridor behind them must go all the way back to the cellar she had been in before.

Mr. Moody was just by the iron gate, several of his guards with him. Angel lay at his feet, his arms bound tightly behind his back, that chain leash and a solid metal collar around his neck, the other end securely fastened to a bolt in the wall. As Keola watched, Mr. Moody took a cup from a man she recognized as Red Goon and dipped his fingers into it. Smiling, he held out a hand dripping with blood. Human blood.

Angel lunged, the chain bringing him up just short of Mr. Moody's hand. He crashed to the floor, pushing himself up and trying again. Mr. Moody laughed. "All right, all right, here you go." He dropped to one knee on the concrete and held out his hand again, slipping his fingers in between the wires to let Angel lick the blood off them. "You did so well tonight," he murmured. "Sure gave 'em what they wanted, didn't we? Good boy, Angel."

Ronnie cleared his throat, and Mr. Moody glanced up. "Doc! I was hoping you'd make it! What a show, huh? A real thriller tonight." He beamed at her. "So? Do we have a deal?"

Keola had meant to say no. She'd been prepared to tell him that she couldn't do it, find someone else, it was too much.

But she couldn't look away from Angel, nearly choking himself on the chain leash for a few drops of blood off a human's fingers. He was angry, and dangerous, and savage- and he was starving and hurting and alone. And she couldn't leave him.

"Yes, Mr. Moody," she heard herself say, and saw herself extend her hand to him. "We have a deal."

When they shook on it, her hand came away sticky with blood.

——————————————————————————

Taglist: @i-eat-worlds @softvampirewhump @scoundrelwithboba @rainbowsandwhumperflies @octopus-reactivated

@whumperfultime @pigeonwhumps @handsinmotion @starfields08000 @fleur-a-whump

@worstcasescenariolullaby

Masterlist

[impala-dreamer]

Be My Mistake

A Short Story

~ When Rebekah is asked to write with Jensen on his first solo album, the chemistry extends past the page and bleeds into real life. Both happily married, they tried to fight the spark between them, but some things aren’t so easy to ignore… ~

Jensen Ackles x Rebekah Jordan

6,211 Words

Romance, Angst, Infidelity, Sex and Love and Heartache

Inspired by the song of the same name by The 1975. Written for @jacklesversebingo “Bad Decisions Were Made” was my prompt. I was also challenged to put myself into a fic, so here we are!

JacklesBingo Masterlist

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist  ~  Patreon  ~ Published Works

He kept a guitar pick in his pocket. 

It wasn’t just any pick. It was the blue one with her teeth marks dented into the top. She’d stolen it from him that night on the beach when the wind was gently lifting her long hair and the fire lit the gold in her eyes. Bare toes dug into the warm sand, they spent the evening writing songs and drinking too much wine. The wine was cheap but the lyrics were good. Her voice was soft and blended almost too perfectly with his. It was magical the way she matched his harmonies, beautiful the way her soft lips danced around his words. The flames transfixed them both and he fell deep into her that night. 

He never left home without that pick in his pocket, never let it out of his sight. It was a secret bit of her that he’d stolen, a tangible memory of the feelings she’d sparked within him. 

Maybe it kept him grounded, maybe it kept him from making the same mistakes again. He didn’t really know why, but the reasons didn’t matter. Whenever he felt the prickling hand of anxiety curl around the back of his neck, a touch of that pick was all he needed to push it away. If the stress of home was growing too strong or another woman turned his head, he’d run his thumb across the pick, feel her phantom marks, and remember the beauty and pain of loving her. 

It was hard to keep it a secret, but happy was easy to fake. He smiled for the cameras; laughed when he needed to. He turned up the charm so those around him couldn’t tell he was shattered inside. 

There was sand on the sheets and salt on their skin. 

Jensen pushed up on his strong arms and hovered over her, staring into her eyes and making her blush for the thousandth time. 

Rebekah bit her lip and shied away, unable to stand the way he looked into her heart so deeply, so contentedly.  

“Don’t do that,” she whispered, turning her head. 

Jensen chased her gaze. “Why not?” 

“Because you’re freaking me out.” 

He grinned and drew his pink tongue across his plump bottom lip. “Why’s that?” 

Beka’s throat tightened and her eyes burned. Emotions were too high, she was too drunk, and he was too beautiful. “You’re like… digging into my soul. It’s strange. No one looks at me like that.” 

He sighed gently and sat back on his ankles between her knees. “They should,” he answered. “They’re missing out.” 

Embarrassed, she tried to hide her face in her hands, but he wouldn’t let her. Tender fingers wrapped around each wrist as he lowered her hands and set them down on her hips. 

“Don’t…” 

Jensen dipped his chin and let his gaze sweep over her nakedness. It was dark in the room but the moon sent streaks of pale silver through the sheer curtains, highlighting every soft curve. “You’re beautiful.” 

Her body tensed. She tried to squirm from his grip and grab the sheet, bury her face, and hide herself away. “Stop it.” 

“No.” He released her wrists but held on, slowly sliding his big hands up her arms. “You are. I’m sorry no one tells you that.” 

His hands went higher and her chest grew tighter. She blinked a tear away but he never closed his eyes, watching every flinch, every breath. 

“You should hear it every fucking day.” 

“Jensen-” 

When his palms settled on her cheeks, her protests fell aside. Transfixed by his gaze and the song of his voice, Beka melted into his touch and invited his kiss with a shy smile that drove him wild. 

“We really shouldn’t be here,” she whispered before his lips found their target. 

“I know, but…” He closed his eyes and his lashes brushed across the apple of her cheeks. His hands pushed through her black hair, holding her close. “Just one night. Please.” 

She always turned off the light. 

It felt safer in the dark. She pretended to believe that if she couldn’t see him then it wasn’t really happening and if it wasn’t really happening, no one would get hurt. No vows were being broken, no hearts would shatter. 

She wished she’d kept the lights on. 

Wished she had kept her eyes open, memorized every line on his face, every hair out of place, every tiny smile. She should have studied him closely, tucked away his image in her mind, and savored his taste on her tongue. She should have stayed focused and pushed away the mind-numbing pleasure and the time blindness that adrenaline brings. She should have tried harder to remember every second with him. 

“This just isn’t fucking working!” 

Jensen ripped the headphones from his head and tossed them across the room. They hit the wall with a crackling thud and Beka watched the black plastic pop off the band and shatter. 

He spun away from the microphone and raked a hand through his hair, aggravated at himself and the time they were wasting. His face was red, his jaw tense, eyes wild. 

Beka leaned on her guitar and watched him pace. He could spend hours like this, running his mind through every tiny mistake, desperate to perfect each note. She sighed. 

“It’s not as bad as you think,” she told him. 

Jensen laughed bitterly as he kicked at the broken headphones. “Yeah. Right. Did you go deaf in the last ten minutes?”

She could tell they wouldn’t get anywhere with him throwing a fit. She huffed her cheeks up and let the air out in a half whistle. “Jack?” She waved at the sound engineer watching them through the big glass window. “Wanna take five?” 

A thumbs up appeared and Jack left them alone.

Carefully, she set her guitar on the stand and hopped down from the stool. Barefoot, she padded over the worn Oriental rug to the door and turned the big dial next to it. The overhead lights dimmed and Jensen froze in place. 

“What are you doing?” 

“I’m giving you a break.” 

He balled his fists and rolled his shoulders. His body was tense; his blood pressure was high. “I don’t need a break,” he growled. “I need this fucking song to be done!” 

Rebekah wet her lips and crossed her arms over her chest, waiting. 

“It sounds like shit! Everything I fucking do sounds like shit!” 

She kicked her right foot back and leaned against the door, watching. 

“Fifteen fucking takes and it’s still wrong! The whole fucking thing is wrong!” He threw a punch at nothing, expending a surge of rageful energy that had collected in his bicep. “This is pointless!” 

“I don’t think it’s pointless.” She kicked off the door and took a step into the room. “I think it sounds great so far.” 

Jensen looked up at the dark ceiling and sighed. He waved her away, annoyed. “You don’t get it.”    

“I don’t get what? That you’re a perfectionist and it’s giving you an ulcer?” 

His jaw twitched. Green eyes pierced through her like daggers. “You don’t understand what kind of pressure I’m under all the fucking time! It has to be perfect! I have to be perfect!” 

His voice echoed through the studio but did not escape the expertly crafted walls. It simply bounced back and slapped him in the face. 

Beka sucked her teeth and took another step closer. “You’re right.” 

He balked; eyes narrowing at her. 

“I don’t understand what it’s like,” she went on. “I don't know what it’s like to spend every day working my ass off and every weekend being talked at, screamed at, and touched by strangers.” 

Jensen sighed heavily and shook his head, annoyed. “That’s not-” 

She kept going. “I don’t know what it’s like to absorb a million camera flashes or hear my name said over and over.”

“I don’t mean it like that-” 

“I don’t understand what you go through, Jensen.”

He softened. His shoulders dropped, his hands unclenched, his breath slowed. He closed his eyes.

“But I do understand what I hear in your voice.” She finished closing the space between them, standing only inches away. “I understand what I feel when I read your words.” 

He shook his head, still unbelieving and frustrated. 

Her voice dropped low. “I know what I know when I’m with you.” 

Jensen opened his eyes and met her gaze.

“And what I know is that you are… amazing and talented and truly… incredible.” She smiled and he dropped his head, too tired to fight and needing every word. “You awe me every day, Jensen. Every part of you is simply incredible.” She lifted her hand to his chin and drew his face up to hers. “And if you want to spend the next… forty years getting these songs out of your beautiful mind… Spend a decade recording them over and over again until they’re painfully perfect, I’ll be here at your side until you’re satisfied.” 

A peaceful warmth washed over him and she could see it in his eyes. He grinned. “Until I’m satisfied?” 

She rolled her eyes at his teasing joke. “I should really choose my words better.” 

Jensen reached for her. “I think you chose them perfectly…” His big hand wrapped around the nape of her neck and he pulled her close. 

His lips were cracked and dry but his tongue was hot, wet; hungry. She sighed into him and grabbed a fistful of his shirt, digging her fingers into the soft black cotton. 

“You’re fucking amazing,” she whispered as he walked her backward; his long strides forcing her to keep up until her back was flush against the wall. “So fucking amazing.” 

He licked into her mouth, dragged his hand down her body; rocked his hips against hers. She tugged at his hair and gasped as his teeth scraped over her pulse. 

“We shouldn’t do this here…” 

“I know…” Jensen sucked a mark behind her ear. 

She shivered at the hard pull of his lips. “Maybe… just a quick break…” 

He never slept much. 

The hours just before dawn were the worst. He’d lay awake staring at the clock on his phone, begging the minutes to pass or the kiss of sleep to return. Too early to move, too anxious to rest. He still craved those midnight masses in her arms, those nights when nothing mattered but her breath on his skin and her lips at his ear. Her sacred whispers too blasphemous to repeat but too beautiful to forget. 

Some nights he would wash his face in the blue light of his screen, scroll until he saw her face, and then hug the phone to his chest. Could she feel him across the miles? Did she know she was on his mind? 

A gentle buzz woke her, the vibration of her nightstand made her move. 

Blinking into two a.m. darkness, Rebekah grabbed her cell and swiped quickly to shut off the alert. Her husband snored beside her, halfway across the world in their king-sized bed. 

The light burned her eyes but the message soothed them instantly. 

‘You up?’

Jensen. She smiled and rolled onto her side with the phone clutched tight. 

‘Kinda. why are you? Can’t sleep?’

‘My head’s too busy. Can I call?’

She closed her eyes and took a breath. Hubby shifted in his sleep. 

‘Yeah. lemme go outside’

‘Meet you there.’

Carefully, Jensen slipped out of bed and crept down the hall. He avoided the creaky spots on the floor and held his breath when he passed the twins’ bedroom. 

The night air was warm and he sat on the patio, staring at the moon’s reflection on the surface of the swimming pool, wondering how cold the water was. He thought to stick his toes in, but before he could move, his phone vibrated. 

“Hey.” 

Beka exhaled a sweet breath into the phone. All nerves and worry faded when she heard his voice. It was always like a blanket around her, warm and safe. “Hey, Jen.” She sat on the back deck under the stars, a bit chilly but it felt good. “What’s got your brain running around?” 

 “Oh, you know. Work. Life. Wife.” 

She laughed softly. “Yeah, I get that.” 

The quiet between them was never hard, the distance never awkward. Just hearing her breathing was enough for him. His gentle hums made her smile. 

“Wrote a new song this morning,” he told her. “One of those ‘in the shower’ moments.”

“I don’t think you can put out a song about jerking off in the shower, sir.” 

He laughed. She could see it in her head: that brilliant smile, his head tipping back, his shoulders quaking. 

“Not like that!” 

“Yeah, yeah. Dirty old man…” 

“So what, you never jerk off in the shower?” 

Her cheeks burned. “I’ve been known to rub one… or two… out in the shower, yeah.” 

He licked his lips, intrigued. “And what do you think about when you do?” 

“You.” 

Jensen shifted, unconsciously spreading his bowed legs. “Oh yeah?”

“Generally, yeah.” 

“What are you wearing right now?” 

She chewed her lip and slid down in her chair. “PJs.” 

He laughed. “Tell me.” 

“Um… burgundy tank top…” 

“Nice… and? Shorts?”

“Nope.”

“Those cute lacy panties I like?” 

She clenched her thighs. “Perhaps…” 

He hummed in lustful approval. 

Beka ran a hand slowly down her body. “And you?” 

“Boxers. Blue stripes.”

“Nothing else?” 

He laughed quietly. “It’s warm here.” 

She moaned. “I wish it was warm here.” Her fingertips grazed her nipple. “I wish you were here.”

Jensen sighed. “Me too, Bek…” 

They watched the sky slowly lighten. He caught the rays first and then a few moments later they hit her face. The hour had come to tear them apart, but neither wanted to move. It was too easy to keep talking, too perfect to give up. 

“The man will be up soon,” Beka said finally. She let out a heavy exhale and sat up, pushing her bare feet onto the old wooden planks. “I should go.” 

“Not yet…” 

Jensen closed his eyes against the light and pictured himself next to her. The pink sunrise glowing on her pale skin, the June breeze lifting her long hair. He wanted to be with her. He wanted to sweep the hair off her shoulder and kiss her there, to pull her close and spend the morning in her arms.

“Jen- you gotta go, too. She’ll be up any minute.” 

He swallowed down the fantasy and huffed. “Yeah… I know.” 

“I’ll see you soon.” 

He smiled sadly. “Not soon enough…” 

His wife was still out cold when he laid back down. Jensen closed his eyes and scrubbed a hand down his face. Calls weren’t enough. Texts were pointless. He needed to see her, needed to feel that rush again. 

Beka rolled toward the middle of the bed and tucked her phone beneath the pillow. None-the-wiser, her husband breathed deeply and woke, stretching his left arm out to catch a hug. She curled into him and won a kiss atop her head. 

“Morning, Princess.” 

She breathed back a tear. “Morning.” 

She always loved the little bottles of alcohol they hand out on airplanes. A few sips of vodka did wonders on a flight from coast to coast. A mini bottle of Jameson masked turbulence enough for the clouds to rattle through the plane without invoking any fear. A nip of Bacardi helped lull her to sleep when the cabin was freezing and her neighbor sat too close. 

Tiny bottles of magic. Magic that made long journeys seem a little shorter, a little easier. They helped lessen the guilt that struggled to hold her back, the pain of wanting, and the fear of the eternal end.

The carpet was thin but her ass was numb. She sat on the floor, leaning against his hotel room door, lamenting her choices and hating her circumstances.  

There hadn’t been nearly enough booze on the flight to Chicago to erase the sins graffitied on her heart, but there had been a liquor store. 

She took a long drink straight from the bottle and hummed as the sweet honey glaze of the whiskey coated her tongue. The sting was long gone. She swallowed hard as the elevator door opened and looked up. 

Through the drunken blur, she saw him. Boots first. The brown ones with two-inch heels, muted gold rivets, and tan laces. The cuffs of his dark jeans were turned up at the ankle and she followed them up his bowed legs. She’d know those legs anywhere. He was so perfectly imperfect that it made her want to cry. Everything about him was wrong in some little way, but it all came together in a heavenly masterpiece. Crooked nose, rocket-fin ears, bowed legs- he was beautiful. 

Tears welled at the thought and Beka wiped her cheek with the back of her hand. 

Jensen stopped a few feet away, eclipsing the light above and casting a shadowy figure over her face. “Waiting for someone?” 

She laughed despite the tears and cleared her throat, trying to hide the emotions running rampant. “Well, I was supposed to meet this guy for dinner but apparently his photo ops ran long and he didn’t feel the need to call and tell me…”

“Fuck. I’m sorry.” He hung his head and sucked at his bottom lip. “Things were crazy today; everything was off schedule. A light popped during solos and the rig almost fell over and crushed Chris and-” 

Beka was staring up at him with disappointment written on her face. He sighed. 

“I’m sorry.” 

She took another drink and shrugged. “Shit happens.” The bottle, half empty, found a nest in the carpet fibers as she dropped it beside her thigh. “What can ya do?” 

“You drink all that yourself?” he asked, crouching down to catch it before it tipped over. 

“Well… yeah.” She sat forward and leaned close. “Ain’t nobody else here, is there?”

He grabbed the neck and she grabbed his wrist, wrapping her fingers around tight. Her bottom lip trembled and a dimple in the center of her chin appeared. She pulled in a deep breath. 

“I really wanted to see you tonight,” she whispered. 

“I’m right here.” 

“You know what I mean!” 

He closed his eyes for a moment as her anger dissipated. She was never mad at him for too long but she needed to let him know she felt slighted. 

“I’m sorry.” 

She nodded. “I know. I am too.” 

Carefully, he took her other hand. He rocked back on his heels and stood up, dragging her with him. She stumbled on a sleeping left foot and fell against him. 

“Oops.” She laughed and wrapped her hand around his neck; nuzzled her lips against his ear. “You caught me… my hero.” 

His laugh tickled her cheek. “You’re very drunk.” 

“No shit.” 

Jensen stepped toward the door and shifted her in his arms while trying to dig the key from his back pocket. Beka held on as if the floor would open up and swallow her whole if she let go. 

“Oh! I got you a present,” she said, remembering the tiny plastic bottle in her pocket. “Lady on the plane gave me gin.” 

“You hate gin.” 

The lock clicked and he opened the door. 

“I know. That’s why I saved it for you and your stupid negronis.” She let him lead her into the dark room and stood still while he flipped on the light. “I know you like those things. I don’t know why. They taste like shit and-”

His hands were on her in an instant, knocking the words from her mind as he spun her around. 

“Please shut up and kiss me,” he begged. “I miss you.” 

“But I’m drunk,” she reminded him, smiling in his arms as his fingertips brushed the bangs out of her eyes. 

Green eyes lured her in, plump lips sealed the deal. 

“I don’t care.”

Sometimes he had trouble remembering. 

One moment, he would be flooded with memory- the taste of cold coffee and stale cigarettes in the diner that first week; the feel of the old, ratty air conditioner blasting down on the back of his neck. The accidental touch of her knuckles as he reached across the table to steal her pen. He’d smile, breathe deep, and linger in the phantom feelings. Then it would all fade. He’d struggle to bring back the taste of her skin, the sound of her humming harmony to his melody. She was slowly fading and he hated it. 

He kept her words in his wallet: a worn slip of paper from the register covered in her handwriting. The first song they’d written together seemed to come so easily in that little diner in the middle of the night. Words and a feeling. Rhymes and a shy smile. 

He missed every part of it. 

The brewery was buzzing with excitement. The crowd was grooving; the band was on fire. 

Jensen clung to the mic stand as if it were the only thing keeping him standing. His knuckles were pale, his cheeks burned bright red.

Rebekah kept her eyes glued to him, ignoring the crowd and the friendly faces that stood out. She watched his stage fright slowly subside as the audience accepted his new songs; saw his shoulders relax and his smile soften. His voice grew stronger and his confidence soared. 

When he looked over his shoulder, she was there just like she had promised. He smiled when their gaze met, so ready to sink into the rich brown of her eyes, the warmth of her body, the taste and smell of her. She blushed and hit a wrong note, her fingers sliding off the strings, distracted by his freckled beauty. 

He had his brewery ballcap on backward and she wanted to reach out and whack the bill, flip it off his head, and let his long hair cascade into his face. She wanted to grab him by the collar and tug his lips down to hers. To crush her guitar between their bodies and lick deep into his mouth, suck gently on his plump lips, take his breath away. 

Applause broke her fantasy and she ended the song with a dramatic sweep over the strings. 

Jensen gave the crowd a little wave and a humble nod. “Thanks so much, guys. Thank you!” He paused and took in the room. The energy was high and so was he, drunk on beer and the moment. He sighed heavily and happily. “Thank you so much for coming out tonight and helping me launch this album. I’m really proud of it and I hope you like it.” 

A pop filled the room and he bit his lip at the adulation. 

Beka was close to tears as she watched him. Incredibly proud. Perfectly amazed. 

“So, uh, I want to just take a second to thank my writing partner…” He turned and waved at Beka who winked in return. “Rebekah Jordan, everybody! Doing everything behind the scenes- writing, singing harmonies, playing drums… badly.” 

“Hey! I told you I wasn’t a drummer!” she shouted back. 

“Yeah, but you didn’t tell me you were so bad!”

She shot up two middle fingers and Jensen smirked. A spark of clear arousal struck them both and he quickly looked away, back to the crowd. 

He cleared his throat. “And- my beautiful wife! Thank you for all the support and inspiration.” He gestured to the back of the room where she stood behind the bar. Arms crossed in obvious displeasure, she simply nodded at her husband. 

“Anyway- this is another new one. Hope you like it…” 

Four simple chords rippled through the air and Jensen closed his eyes. He held the mic in both hands and let his voice float like honey, covering every person there until the audience was swaying in time with the band. 

“So long gone, too far away, 

Spent my life on the road.

Whipping wind and freezin’ rain,

Crossing the river as it overflowed…”

Jensen looked back at her, singing their words and missing her touch. 

She lifted her head to find the microphone, ready to sing behind him, but she caught his eye and gasped. He was too beautiful. He was staring too hard. 

“But ever since I met you I’ve been home.

Doesn’t matter where on earth I roam.

All I have to do is reach out for your hand and I’m

Right back where I’m meant to be…” 

She kept his bandana. Even though she couldn’t look at it, couldn’t touch it without breaking down, it held too much of their time together to get rid of.

The black fabric was soft from years of use, the white design dingy and nearly see-through. It had collected his sweat and wiped away her tears, even staunched the blood when she’d scraped her knee outside of that bar in Pittsburgh. He kept it tucked into the back pocket of his jeans, ready to dab barbeque sauce from his lip or dry a spot for her to sit after a rainstorm. 

It lived forever in a box hidden in the back of her closet somewhere between her winter boots and pants that fit two sizes ago. 

She never took it out, but she knew it was there. 

Ten shows under their belts. Ten small stages knew their chemistry; heard their voices mixing like cream and sugar. Perfectly blended, perfectly in sync, perfectly unable to keep their smiles casual or their eyes from lingering. 

When they sang together it was like there was no one else in the room. Jensen would lose himself in the melody, letting her voice wrap around his mind and heart. She’d be stuck staring at his hands so tightly wound around the mic stand, or the way he leaned back to hit a high note. They were too comfortable with each other, too obviously connected. 

For an hour and a half each night, they were in their own little world. 

For hours after they’d lay in each other’s arms, watch the sun come up over a different city, and share their dreams. 

One Saturday night after a show Rebekah was lingering around backstage, feeling a little out of place around the actors there for the convention. She knew them all from afar but never dared to mingle. It felt strange to insert herself into his life in that way. She was only there for the music, only there for Jensen. 

He was off talking to a short blonde, laughing and enjoying the buzz from being on stage all night. Now and then, he’d catch a glimpse of Beka on the sidelines and smile that secret smile he saved only for her. Every time, it made her heart swell and her cheeks burn. She’d wink back and look away, embarrassed by her girly reaction. 

“Great job out there.” 

She turned to find a shirtless Matt Cohen redressing in front of her as if to impress her. She clicked her tongue and looked around him back at the group. 

“You too.” 

He grinned and followed her line of sight back to Jensen. A knowing smirk turned his lips. 

“You and Ackles are really getting along, huh?” He moved to stand beside her, his back to the wall, mirroring her stance. 

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Yeah, I guess. He’s a great guy.”

“The album is really good,” he went on. “That one song- what is it? Something about the beach?”

“‘The Salt on Your Skin’?” 

He nodded and kicked a foot back against the cement wall. “Yeah. That one. Really nice.”

“Thanks.” 

“Very romantic.” 

He looked over at her. His green eyes were pale but intrusive. She shivered. 

“I suppose,” she replied, trying to hide the nerves growing in her gut. “It is a love song, so…” 

Matt tongued his cheek. “Very… personal, I think…” His eyes flew to Jensen and back again. 

Rebekah tensed up and took a step away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“You do. We all do.” He shrugged and pushed off the wall. “But whatever. Have fun just- be careful.” 

Her stomach dropped as he walked away. His warning wasn’t a surprise; she’d been getting looks for weeks, but hearing it out loud, knowing that people knew- she couldn’t stop the dark shadow of guilt from creeping over her face. 

When Jensen finally broke free of the conversation, she was gone. 

The back of the building was quiet and empty. Fans spilled out around the front, milling about and filling the bright walkways with laughter and excitement. 

Rebekah stood in the dark. 

She closed her ears to the distant noise, replaying Matt’s condemning words and hating herself. If he knew, then everyone knew. 

Everyone. 

Since they’d debuted the album, fans had been whispering online, sharing theories and conspiracies, pointing to lyrics and photographs, spinning a web of fantasy around her and Jensen. Mostly, they’d been wild, elaborate stories about a house at the beach, messy divorces, and a secret love child. 

She barely paid attention, but there was a hint of truth in every speculation, and she knew what had to be done before things got out of hand. 

Lifting her face to the pale half-moon, Rebekah let a tear slip and she closed her eyes. She saw her husband’s face in her mind, heard his voice, and felt his touch. She saw his wife’s hateful stare, her accusing gestures, her utter avoidance. 

Things had gone too far. 

“Bek?” 

She sighed. “Yeah?” 

The security door shut behind him. “You OK?”

She shrugged. 

He moved to her side. “What happened? You just left.” 

“I don’t know. I just… needed some air.” 

Jensen reached for her hand and she flinched away. 

“Did something happen? Cohen say something to you?” The worry in his voice made her turn to face him. His brow was creased, his lips tight. 

“He did,” she confessed, “but it doesn’t matter. It’s…” Her throat grew tight, her eyes stung. 

“Tell me.” 

She shook her head. “No. I don’t want to do this right now. Not here.” 

Jensen leaned in. Worry warped his face, thickened his voice. “Do what? Beka- what happened?” 

Her heart ached. “We happened.” 

The meaning struck him in the chest but he refused to give it attention. 

“What are you talking about?” 

Rebekah spun away and hid her face. 

“Hey, come on-” 

“Us! Jensen. Us. We happened.” She dropped her hands and took a shaky breath. “We happened and everyone fucking knows.” 

Stunned into silence, Jensen dropped his hands to his sides and stared at the light post across the alley. 

“We have to stop,” she whispered, praying the wind would carry the words away and he wouldn’t hear it. 

He heard it. He felt it.

“No.” 

She turned back, brown eyes flooded with tears, pale skin glowing under the moon. “We have to. It’s gone too far and if… if some random soap actor who doesn’t even know me can tell… then everyone can. Everyone.”

Jensen refused her logic. “No. No one knows. No one’s said anything-” 

“Matt did. And who would say something to you? ‘Hey, Jensen, long time no see! I hear you’re fucking your writing partner. How’s that going?’”

He sighed. His shoulders dropping as reality crushed down on him. “OK, so… maybe some people know but that doesn’t mean we have to stop. I don’t want to.” 

A deep breath calmed her tears. “Jensen…” She stepped up to him and stared into the green eyes she dreamt of every night. “If this continues, there will be consequences. Real fucking problems. Your career, our families… it will all fall apart.”

He shook his head. Silent. Unyielding. 

“If we keep going… if we…” She knew what she had to do even though it would rip her in half. “Everyone is gonna get hurt if we fall in love.” 

He winced. 

She swallowed hard. 

He opened his eyes. “If?” 

“Yes,” she whispered. “If.” 

His jaw clenched and he held back a tear. “And if… I’m already in love?” 

It felt as if her heart would stop right there and she’d fall dead at his feet. She cleared her throat, pushing all the pain aside. It had to be done and he wasn’t going to do it. 

“Then this will hurt even more.” 

His tears fell and she held her breath. Everything inside told her to shut up, to take it back, to ignore everything and hold on to him. 

“I love you,” he breathed. “Don’t do this.” 

She dug her nails into her right palm, a bit of pain to keep her on track. She shook herself and put on a mask of indifference. 

“Come on, Jensen. This was never going to be anything more than a dalliance.” 

He stiffened. “A dalliance?” 

“A mistake.”

“You are not a mistake.” Anger lifted his voice. “This was not a mistake.” He pointed at her and then clutched his chest. “Not you and me. Never.” 

Unable to think of anything else, any way to get him to understand, she turned away and wave him off. 

“Go home to your wife.” 

Desperate, Jensen rushed at her, grabbed her upper arm, and swung her around. Her long hair whipped around them both and she nearly lost her grip. 

“Tell me that you don’t love me,” he said. 

“Jensen, stop it.” 

“No!” His fingers tightened. “Tell me you don’t love me and I’ll walk away right now.”

Her jaw dropped but the words refused to come.

“See? You can’t say it because it’s not true! You love me. You do.” He was insistent and breaking, so close to losing it all. 

“Jensen…” 

He grit his teeth, refusing to let her go. “You do. Say it. Tell me you’re in love with me, Beka.”

Shaking, she held his gaze and exhaled a deep breath. 

“I don’t love you.” 

It crackled through the air like lightning and she thought for sure they’d both be struck down.

His hand fell from her arm. He could see the lie written on her face, feel the pain pulsing off of her skin. “I don’t believe you.” 

Slowly, Rebekah pushed up on her toes and pressed her lips to his cheek. She held them there for longer than she should have, breathing in one last breath, savoring one last taste of him.

Without another word, she turned to leave, ready to step into the darkness and leave him alone to pick himself up off of the ground. 

Jensen dragged his hands through his hair as he spun around, confused, hurt, and on the edge of insanity. After everything they’d been through, all the love they shared, all the promises they whispered in the night, he couldn’t let it go. He couldn’t watch her leave without a fight.  

“Fuck you.” 

The words cut right through her and she froze on the spot. 

“Fuck you for doing this!” His shout rang out and shook her to the core. “You’re breaking us. You’re breaking me!”

She tried to stay strong, appeal to his logical brain. “You’ll be fine,” she said calmly. “Your wife loves you. Your family loves you. You’ll be fine.” 

He took a step forward but held himself back from rushing at her and demanding she stay. His voice softened. The tears fell heavy down his face. 

“Please don’t do this.” 

She turned back and her heart shattered. “Jensen, please-”

“Don’t end this,” he begged. “You bring something out of me. Something I haven’t felt in so long. Maybe ever. You can’t tell me that you don’t feel the same. I know you do. We’re better together.”

It took everything in her to stay standing. She wanted to run into his arms and scream her apology, take every word back and shove them into the depths of their forgotten memory, never to resurface.  

“I do,” she said softly. “But it’s… It can’t go on. I’m sorry.” 

His weight shifted. He started to go to her. 

“What am I going to do without you?” 

She met him halfway. 

“Write me a song.” She smiled sadly. “Write me a song, just for me. And whenever you play it, I’ll know you’re thinking about me.” Her shoulders shook. “And… that will have to be enough. For both of us.” 

The distance between them faded and Jensen lifted her chin with two tender fingers; kissed her lips with undying passion. She lay her hand on the nape of his neck and held on, saying ‘I love you’, saying goodbye. 

He pressed his forehead against hers and clutched her hand between them, locking it to his heart. 

“Every word I ever write will be for you,” he whispered. “Every song I sing… will be yours.”

It was never a mistake, not to him. 

It never felt wrong when he was with her. 

When the days were long and he felt like crumbling he’d pull out that old guitar pick and run his fingers over the dents her teeth had made. When the work was hard and his mind was a mess, he’d read her words and remember the way they were then. 

So lost in love. 

So wrapped up in the melody. 

2024 Forever Tags (Always Open! Send an Ask!)

@alwaystiredandconfused @babysimpala @beardburnsupersoldiers @chenshemesh1 @cosicas-cuquis @deans-baby-momma @deanwinchesterswitch @feelmyroarrrr @foxyjwls007 @hobby27 @impalaspixie @jackles010378 @kazsrm67 @k-slla @leigh70 @lunaroserites @lyarr24 @nancymcl @nix-rose @peachy-vans @pizzagirlxnsfwx @rachiem4-blog @rosecentury @sexyvixen7 @suckitands33 @the-wounded-healer05 

[cynic-spirit]

Fight Turns Ugly

The atmosphere at the Vandals Club was thick with noise—music blaring, laughter echoing, the clinking of glasses. Y/N had been at Benny's side most of the night, but she'd wandered off to catch up with some friends. Benny, seated at the bar with his usual drink in hand, kept an eye on her, his protective instincts always on high alert.

Then, Benny noticed a guy from another club—he recognized the colors—sidling up to Y/N. The man leaned in too close, his smile too suggestive. Benny’s muscles tensed as he watched the guy talk to her, his hand resting on the bar starting to curl into a fist. Y/N seemed polite but uncomfortable, trying to edge away from the guy’s advances.

It didn’t take long for Benny’s blood to boil. His heart pounded with a mix of anger and jealousy. Before he could think twice, he was off his barstool and striding across the room, his eyes locked onto the guy like a predator on its prey.

"Hey!" Benny’s voice was like a thunderclap, cutting through the noise. The man turned, surprise and confusion flickering across his face as Benny loomed over him, his fists clenched tight.

"What the hell do you think you’re doing?" Benny growled, his voice laced with a dangerous edge.

The guy looked Benny up and down, clearly assessing the situation. "Just talking to a lady, man. No harm in that."

"Talking?" Benny spat the word out like it was poison. "You don’t know the meaning of the word. Get lost before I make you."

Y/N quickly stepped between them, placing a hand on Benny’s chest in an attempt to calm him down. "Benny, it’s okay, I can handle this—"

But Benny was beyond reasoning. The guy smirked, and something in Benny snapped. With a swift movement, Benny shoved the guy backward, sending him stumbling. The guy regained his balance and, without thinking, swung a punch at Benny.

That was it—Benny exploded. He lunged at the guy, fists flying. The two of them became a blur of movement, fists landing hard and fast. The sound of fists connecting with flesh echoed around the bar, and a small crowd began to form, watching the brawl with mixed emotions of fear and excitement.

In the chaos, Y/N tried to intervene, shouting Benny’s name, but the noise drowned her out. She stepped closer, trying to pull Benny back, but as she did, Benny swung a wild punch that missed his target and landed squarely on Y/N’s cheek.

The world seemed to stop.

Benny froze, his eyes widening in horror as Y/N staggered back, clutching her face. The room went silent for him as everything else faded away—there was only Y/N, with shock and pain in her eyes.

"Y/N!" Benny gasped, his voice breaking as he rushed to her side. The anger that had consumed him was gone, replaced by sheer terror and guilt. He reached out, his hands trembling as they gently touched her face. A bruise was already beginning to form where his fist had connected.

"Oh God, Y/N, I’m so sorry," Benny’s voice was raw, thick with remorse. "I didn’t mean to... I would never—"

Tears welled up in Y/N’s eyes, more from the shock than the pain, as she looked up at him. "I know, Benny... I know it was an accident."

Benny’s heart shattered as he saw the bruise darkening on her soft skin. He felt like the worst kind of monster, his guilt eating him alive. He gently cupped her face, his thumb brushing away a tear that had escaped down her cheek.

"I’m so sorry, baby," Benny whispered, his voice breaking. "I never wanted to hurt you. Please, forgive me."

Y/N nodded, leaning into his touch, her hand resting over his. "It’s okay, Benny. I know you didn’t mean it."

But it wasn’t okay. Not to Benny. The sight of her bruised face would haunt him, a painful reminder of what his anger had cost. He pulled her into his arms, holding her as tightly as he dared, his body shaking with the force of his regret.

"I love you," he murmured into her hair, his voice full of desperation. "I love you so much, Y/N. I’ll make this up to you, I swear."

Y/N hugged him back, her hands running soothingly over his back. "I know you will, Benny. I love you too."

As he held her, Benny vowed to himself that he would never let his anger get the better of him again. Y/N meant everything to him, and he would do whatever it took to protect her—even from himself.

[vaguely-concerned]

I’m on a Star Wars books roll so here we go with my — unhinged thanks for asking! — thoughts on Dooku: Jedi Lost, specifically the audio play. Short version: I fucking loved this one! For maximum emotional devastation, pair with Master and Apprentice and Padawan the way my stupid ass did and then be sad about it forever I guess that's what I’m going to have to do.

 Long (LONG oopsie) version:

- So. First of all, let’s get the most important thing out of the way on this here old man yaoi website. We all agree dooku and sifo dyas explored each other’s bodies right. Or at least definitely would have if not for the laws of this order etc., potentially. That’s not just me. Good. Thank you. We can now move on 

- Secondly. Well. Guess I’m just going to be inconsolable about Sifo-Dyas forever now. I miss the days in which he was just a throwaway line in AotC spawned by a random misspelling to me, rather than an eternal raw aching wound in my heart

- poor poor ventress just reading through all the proof that dooku absolutely does have it in him to be a good dad I mean master and just — idk got tired of that and went the force lightning route with her. I love the move of having her dead master hang out with her all that time as well (having her slip up and refer to ‘us’ did something to me, god this is so sad. Is he actually there in spirit or is it just her grief dreaming him up because dooku is awful and cold as a cliff  wall and she needs some kind of attachment figure even if she’ll have to reinvent him herself, rebuild him word for word, gesture by gesture. Pain. sorry about your terrible track record with father figures asajj) 

- Lene: (About Averross): He hasn’t changed. 

Dooku: (In the warmest fondest voice you ever heard) And I hope he never does

WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO WITH MYSELF? MUST I SET MYSELF ON FIRE TO ESCAPE THE PAIN???

Another strong showing for Rael in general, btw. He’s so warm and charming as a presence even though he’s also a little chaos gremlin. (He’s quite similar to how Sifo-Dyas was when he was young in some ways, I can definitely start to see what Dooku responds warmly to in terms of character traits.) 

- the fact that good ol’ sheev showed an interest in rael, dooku and anakin… interesting huh! He’s just got a soft spot for the disaster lineage I suppose, maybe there’s an element there of luring yoda’s most direct lineage into the dirt with him without yoda even noticing for the longest time. Also cackling at the idea that he looked at qui-gon ‘too fucking stubborn and insufferable to fall to the dark side out of sheer spite’ jinn and went ‘...not that one tho’ fhdskjfa. And obi-wan is more like ‘that one blorbo all my little guys seem wild about but I just don’t get it guys’ 

IF rael’s refusal to join dooku at the end of ‘master and apprentice’ is the last word (which I am not convinced of ;___; be safe cowboy jedi we never see in mainline canon so far), then he’s the only one who has dodged palpatine’s attentions. Wonderful if true love that for him

ALSO rael is one of the few people we know to be on (or at least to consider himself on despite what palps might think lol) first name basis with palpatine. Hilarious. I concur with dooku never change rael 

- Sifo-Dyas: That’s insane. 

Dooku, deadpan: Yes.

Sifo-Dyas: The worst plan I’ve ever heard.

Dooku, somehow even more deadpan: Most probably. 

Sifo-Dyas: I’m in. 

Crying… weeping and dying………… what if someone could have helped sifo with his unfortunate prophecy propensity and they hadn’t drifted apart. Clone Wars averted methinks if dooku still ended up leaving the order he would have been too busy having tender gay sex with the love of his life (and only person who can call him out on his shit and have him actually listen) to be a war criminal (I am being extremely facetious of course this is very much a ‘time traveler killing baby hitler’ situation where the underlying forces causing this point in history are way too powerful to avert the catastrophe in one move. but at least palps would probably have had to pick someone else to wreck the galaxy through and sifo-dyas would be kissed & held instead of going slowly mad. A net plus some (I, me) would say) 

- I just wanted to applaud both the writing and the voice acting for the characterization of Dooku in this, from his young self trying so hard to be haughty and self-possessed but also being like, y’know, twelve and a dweeb and easy for Sifo-Dyas to pull into trouble, to the dry wit and warmth he shows with Rael and Qui-Gon or his sister later. It took me a little while to get into the voice acting specifically (the actor makes no attempt at going the full Christopher Lee, which in hindsight was probably wise), but now I love it. It gets a bit goofy in places but you know what, I am a long time lover of audio plays, that’s part of the charm 

- “Master, have I done something wrong?”

My heart is clenching… do you think… that master yoda’s deal with leaving his student to try fucking everything to have some kind of relationship with him until he just breaks down in tears of despair… is the kind of thing that maybe started a little bit of a generational trauma cartwheel through the ages. The point that bb!dooku is arrogant isn’t without merit and he strikes out incredibly ungracefully about it (in fact I would be a lot more worried than yoda seems to be that he decides to try to kill a tree about it, ‘I felt like destroying something beautiful’-style)  but I just don’t think a… fourteen year old? A teen anyway, Is going to learn what you think he learns from this. I simply don’t believe that silent treatmenting kids will teach them emotional intelligence I guess especially if they already struggle with that naturally lol 

(It is exactly the same mistake (in my opinion) that Qui-Gon makes with Obi-Wan, too, just leaving the kid completely alone and forcing them to come to you every which way for comfort or guidance instead of meeting them or reaching out to them. Especially once you see that really Dooku’s prime emotion/big core wound right from the beginning is loneliness. And that doesn’t only come from a feeling of superiority (which to be sure is also a big factor), because he has no idea where he comes from until he meets his sister. I don’t think the jedi as a whole were unsalvageable by any stretch of the imagination, but Yoda specifically… you are on such very thin ice with me at this point you little green fuck. You’re very funny and moving in yoda dark rendezvous and that’s all that’s keeping you in my somewhat good graces.)

- Okay, coming back a bit later I think I’ve found the right words to say this. more precisely dooku has two big issues which you can later see haunting all the way down his lineage — loneliness and control. (and not incidentally the intersecting elements of the two haha.) We see from his relationship to sifo-dyas that he’s not incapable of having close mutual relationships with an equal, but that kind of crashed and burned for reasons neither of them could really help and after that it seems quite telling that he has the easiest time with deeper connection in a teacher-student sort of form. I think his affection is unconditional and real, but you can’t get away from the fact that he also has the most control in that relationship structure by default, he gets to dictate what form it takes to a big extent. He doesn’t trust other people — the underlying idea ‘Only I can do this’ that eventually leads him down the Separatist path is there the whole way. It speaks both to a sense of superiority and an utter lack of faith that other people can or will help him. And then that echoes down through the master-padawan line: 

Qui-Gon with his self-righteousness and utter refusal to compromise leaving him isolated among the jedi (only he is right. Yeah the Force told him so. Don’t worry I’ve got a permit *insert parks and rec I can do whatever I want meme here*), Obi-Wan with his anxiety and perfectionism and incredible sense of shame and responsibility that he should be able to carry the whole world on his shoulders alone and beating himself up for failing, all feeding into not knowing what to do with Anakin and his complete lack of control of himself and his desperation to gain and maintain connection and love (which earns him the title of ‘Dooku’s least favorite family member’ fhdsa his immediate disdain for him is so funny and so in character. Repress and go slowly mad like a normal person anakin the way you’re carrying on is just undignified and that is much worse than being evil)… 

- Rael gently telling Dooku to take on another padawan soon… so sweet, so sad, local cowboy jedi looking out for his dad. Also highlights something about Dooku I think is true: that he does much better and seems to have an easier time holding to the light when he’s responsible for someone else. Again, I do feel like Dooku’s core problem is loneliness, but it seems like raising kids is the one point where that relaxes somewhat. Maybe if Sifo-Dyas had stayed in a better mental place and they kept in touch it could have been different.

- Lene Kostana is SUCH a character! Charismatic and deeply fucked up, when it’s revealed how her and Sifo-Dyas’ relationship remains long after his padawan stage is done I felt a little bit sick, to my surprise. Because that could just be kindness on her part, of course, it’s good that he has someone he trusts to look after him when he can’t himself, but also there’s something… queasy about the way it keeps him continually young, in a way. (Notably he still calls her ‘master’ even as an adult, when they’re working together. Not uncommon in Star Wars, of course, but together with everything else going on vibes-wise… hm.) The inherent unreliable narration of this story really worked for me in this regard especially — do we know that young Dooku was entirely wrong when he sensed the dark side in her? She certainly is willing to go to lengths that are… worrying! in her fascination with sith shit, she tempted children into a dangerous place they didn’t understand and couldn’t know the consequences of and she continually puts sifo-dyas in situations that are implied to be a risk to worsening his condition. Run of the mill incredibly irresponsible at best, sincerely sinister at worst. Did she choose Sifo over Dooku because he’s more vulnerable and shapeable? There is an undercurrent of something icky and emotionally incest-y going on with how she relates to Dooku and Sifo-Dyas in general (right down to the ‘NO, no one can know about this’ intensity after the… evil moss cave. I can’t believe I’m this emotional about a book with an evil moss cave). I don’t think she’s a proper sith in any way and I also believe there is real affection there on all sides, but idk something about the whole thing makes me deeply uneasy. Yoda where the fuck are you your son is out there with his irresponsible mom again they’re looking for dirty needles in haystacks and they’re not even wearing any gloves

- dooku telling sifo-dyas he can come back to haunt him if he likes as a joke… well well well I’m sure that doesn’t ring with some dramatic irony at some point down the line lmao

- honestly looking back at master and apprentice after reading jedi lost makes qui-gon's apparent lack of reaction to dooku leaving seem — let's call it highly suspect haha. rael asks him if he's spoken to dooku after and qui-gon is like 'no. why would I. it's literally fine. anyway this topic is done now'. (and rael seems to just go ‘*older brotherly knowing* uh-huh’) meanwhile he's thinking about dooku *all the time* trying to figure out his role as master to obi-wan, thinking about being a padawan himself, the parts of his life he shared with both dooku and rael. The jedi doth protest too much methinks  

ALSO how much of qui-gon thinking the council was too lenient with rael after he had to kill his padawan is about that actual situation, and how much is a ‘our family still likes my older brother more than me even though he Fucked Up so bad and breaks just as many rules as I do’ sort of deal mixed with his own neuroses about how he’s failing obi-wan (to which rael’s situation symbolizes the worst possible outcome, i.e. the kid dies and it’s basically your fault). Many thoughts. 

- moment of silence for jenza of house serenno. Girl your only sin was being surrounded by asshole male family members and I’m so sorry I think you did all you could with what you had to work with here.

Not… entirely sure how dooku’s claim to the title supersedes hers — is he a year older than her? (she’s eleven when they first meet, he might be twelve or older at that point I don’t remember haha) Does she just give up her place in the inheritance order? Are primogeniture and male heir preference factors in Serenno inheritance law? Not the most important thing honestly it works anyway thematically but could have been clarified quickly!

- interesting to see that the council’s restrictive policy against engaging with prophecies had a surprisingly big impact on how things went down. Kostana has a lot of responsibility in Sifo’s fate for insisting he keep it secret, but there is genuine fear for what might become of him if the rest of the order finds out he’s got 24/7 futurevision hovering over him threateningly… listen it’s not like the poor guy can help getting the future constantly pumped into his brain at nightmare resolutions, I think maybe if there had been more willingness to at least engage curiously with the concept of prophecy and how it works, even if you don’t put your faith in the particulars of what the prophecies say, this wouldn’t have had to be such a shitty isolated secretive life for him. hearing him slowly fall apart over the years considering how bright and lovely he started out... oof is all I can say 

- when dooku was a good jedi he was such a good jedi!!! The scene where they’re saving the kids from the collapsing hospital, every time he teaches his students anything…the impulse of someone has to do something about this! that made him so good at saving lives turning dark with the tarnish of frustration and rage over the years… nooooooooo problematic grandpa why did it have to be like this :(

- …do you think infant jedi can sense what’s going on around them in the Force. Because it makes a very sad kind of sense if dooku on some level remembers bodily or in the Force that he was not only abandoned but rejected in disgust as one of the first things he discovered in the world. Oh boy. With all the ways attachment relationships can go wonky in the first few years in real life I don’t even want to consider how much more wrong it can go when the baby is fucking psychic lol

- vaguely related: the way dooku seems to find the very idea of being truly reliant on anyone, emotionally or otherwise, personally offensive, terrifying and humiliating lol. Yoda saves him from being crushed by rubble and he is outraged because that means he can’t save himself (and his newfound sister) without anyone’s help like he thought for one glorious moment he could. The fantasy of perfect emotional self-sufficiency, doing away with all the messiness and risk of interpersonal relationships and cutting off the possibility of really being abandoned again. It’ll get ya every time. This is also a thing you see reflected in his lineage — they’re all quite inward-turning that way until you get to anakin, to different extents and with varying presentations but it is there I think. Qui-Gon turns to the Force, Obi-Wan to perfectionism and shame and rumination, Rael to the bottle and depression and hedonistic apathy, but they all struggle hugely with letting anyone in to help them. Dooku’s line are all much more comfortable being the helpers rather than the helpees, as it were.  

- “Thank you for everything, Lene. Tell Rael and Qui-Gon — tell them… tell them the Force will be with them, always”

Emotional terrorism against me specifically and personally. You asshole you just excused yourself from the non-attachment rules there’s literally nothing in the world except you to stop you from reaching out and telling your children you love them yOURSELF why are you like this

- the recurring theme of dooku seeing something beautiful (the tree in the temple, the tirra’taka as a child and an adult) and ending up lashing out to destroy it… but the tree was old and mighty and he was young and new and couldn’t truly harm it, so he was saved from his own impulsivity. And then when he sees the tirra’taka as an adult he loves it immediately. And in the end he still mangles and destroys it. He didn’t mean to, but he did. He woke it up and hurt it just by existing as a child and then he had to kill it as a mercy because he was too powerful at that point for anything to buffer his mistakes. The parallel with the bird he loved that he also couldn’t protect. He starts out with an aching loneliness somewhere at the core of him through no real fault of his own but by the end it is entirely his own fault that it’s worse, because he starts wrecking everything he loves in an almost absent-minded but definitely intentional way, like it’s a nightmare he’s listening to through the door as it happens in the next room over. He really IS the ‘I just felt like destroying something beautiful’ central of the jedi.

at the end qui-gon is dead and through dooku’s own influence, however indirectly. Rael has had to turn away from him. Sifo-Dyas is dead on Dooku’s own orders and so is his sister, he might as well have done it with his own hands. (though I think it’s very interesting that in each case he didn’t do it with his own hands, he consistently uses a middleman.) He lives within the coldness of his sterile empty castle and horrifically mistreats the one person he might have found something like connection with the way he did with his students before (Ventress), deliberately trapping her in a similar state of utter desolate isolation and telling her, essentially, ‘We’re like this as people and nothing can be done to change it. We can’t escape, we’re already doomed, stop trying, it’s too late. You are just like me (and if you aren't already I'll make you like me)’. And that’s the closest thing he gets to love anymore. When he accused Ky of using her ‘as a salve for his own loneliness’ and you’re like well well well mr projection man how’s that working out for you. He is completely, shatteringly alone and he is so entirely as a consequence of his own actions and he's too far gone to understand or care. I’m howling you useless fucking FOOL dooku  

- dooku 🤝 john gaius

“Hm. I have observed that there are in fact many flaws in our society and the government is deeply corrupt. So if I kill a few billion people here and there in order to fix it, is that not basically okay when you really think about it” 

Dooku making salient points about the political and ethical failures of the Republic and then, just when you think he’s onto something, he goes and makes The wildest fucking decisions about what to do about it. Sure. dark magic and genocide are probably the only ways out of this you’re so right bro. If we make enough minuses to add together surely we’ll end up in plus sooner or later

- *head in my hands once more* I can’t believe I am genuinely emotionally invested in someone called Count Dooku with the looks of a knockoff dracula and ultimate moral character to match right now this is terrible. hey. hey dooks. what you have to go and fuck everything up so bad for huh I’m so incredibly sad now

there is something to be said about how getting to see glimpses of what dooku looked like in the light makes it so much more heartwrenching that he never came back. he could have, a thousand times. and every time he chose not to.

[littlejuicebox]

Chasing birds to get high, chasing birds to get by

(Astarion x Original F!Character)

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Chapter number: One Themes: BG3, slow burn, original female character x astarion, dialogue heavy, mostly canon behavior Masterlist: Click here. Song: “Chasing Birds” – Foo Fighters Notes: I used to write a lot, for sheer enjoyment and as a creative outlet, but I haven't in years. This character, inspired by my own Tav, and the storyline of BG3, have really inspired me. It's been nice to get a creative spark back! Even if this goes nowhere, or only one person sees it... I hope you enjoy. :)

----

Wren holds the book up in her callused hand, littered in scratches from today's earlier run-in with the owlbear. She eyes the thick, heavy tome with a grotesque, leather cover that appears to be adorned with a face… purple, glowing eyes of amethyst and a wide gaping mouth shaped into a scream. Her gut churns for a moment as she wonders if the cover is really made from the face of some poor, unfortunate, creature… or just a clever design.

The half-elf turns the prize over to examine it further, dusting off the cover in the process, thick clouds of detritus wafting through the air. It’s clear this magic item has been in this basement, untouched, for a while. Wren may not be the most versed in magic, like some of her traveling companions, but she can still feel the power radiating off of it, the hairs of her arm standing on edge, pulled by the object's magnetic force.

“Curious…. why don’t you take a closer look? I’ll observe from back here.” Shadowheart muses, playfully.

The pale elf to Shadowheart’s right chuckles lightly, but otherwise says nothing, which strikes Wren as a bit odd. Astarion loves the sound of his own voice... but he's seemed a little off today, ever since last night's events, when she awoke to his fangs clasped around her neck. Her body gives a slight, involuntarily shudder at the memory, not in disgust, but Wren would be loath to admit it was from excitement and perhaps a drop of… was that arousal?

‘Gods, no. What is wrong with you Wren?’

She hadn’t spent much time amongst humanoids out in the wilds; her friends had been the trees and the whisper of the wind. And the one night she made it back to Baldur’s Gate, after a year away, she had to go and get herself snatched up by a mindflayer. Though, it was unlikely she would have jumped at the chance, had a man or woman attracted her attention that one night. Grief still cloaked her other emotions, covering even the happiest moments in a blanket of sadness.

Her mind wanders to the events of last evening, a throb in the side of her neck, where still new-fang marks join a smattering of freckles.

'"Can you trust me a little further?" He questioned, his head tilted just-so, as she confronted the handsome, pale devil standing before her, revealing his vampiric nature. Arms crossed, she’d eyed him, appraising his intentions. She was irritated, and violated, sure. But the look in his eyes and the desperation in his voice reminded her of the scared rabbits and feral cats out in the wild… all of whom she befriended with a bit of effort and a heavy dose of speak with animals spellcasting.

And for some reason that she couldn't explain, even now, perhaps save the fact that somewhere in her subconscious she associated that vampire with any number of wild things in need of love, she’d relented and given him access to her neck. He’d almost gotten carried away and nearly drained her dry, but she’d shoved him off in time, and well…

Well, that’s that, secret is out. And, for the most part, the group had been accepting of the revelation... as long as they weren't the ones he sunk his teeth into, of course.'

The side of her neck throbs, and she absently brushes her hand against her new neck wounds, partially covered by her chocolate locks.

‘Focus, Wren.'

Snapped back to the present, Wren turns to look at the raven-haired cleric, rolling her eyes in the process. “Always concerned for my safety, aren’t you, Shadowheart?”

Her female companion laughs, “Well, if something does go wrong with what is CLEARLY an evil book, I need to maintain my distance so I can be sure to heal you… or revive you.”

Wren scoffs in response, too prideful to admit that Shadowheart’s logic is sound. After a failed attempt to open the book, which feels as if it’s practically glued shut, Wren turns to the duo, a befuddled expression on her face. After making a second attempt, the ranger hisses through her teeth, voice full of strain and effort, “The damn thing is stuck shut.”

She gives up, exhales a defeated sigh, and brushes a few wayward strands of hair from her face. “Well then, you two, we should probably head back to camp. It's been a long day. Maybe Gale will have a better idea about how to open the book; perhaps it’s locked with some sort of magic that he's read about before.”

“That looks awfully heavy, darling, why don’t you let me carry it for you?” Astarion asks, extending his hand out as if to grab it from her.

“Oh, that’s okay, it isn’t far.” Wren mumbles absently, shoving the thick tome into her pack. Why is he offering to do something kind for her? Has his attitude toward her changed, now that she's done him a favor? Seems unlikely.

Shadowheart cackles, shaking her head as she rolls her eyes up at the ceiling in the dingy, abandoned cellar. "Don't tell me you've become our knight in shining armor, Astarion, and that all it took was a little bit of Wren’s blood to turn you into a brand-new man."

Astarion fakes a gasp, hand planted on his hip, "You wound me, my dear. I'm nothing, if not a gentleman."

----

'Gale? She wants to ask Gale? What, so he can eat the bloody thing?'

Astarion bristles, flipping rapidly through the pages of his book (though not the book he wished to be reading), trying to control his underlying frustration as he watched their little gang leader talk to that pompous wizard.

He was merely pretending to read the book in his hands -- some dreadfully boring story about Baron von Baron they'd found several days back, in the Dank Crypt not far off from the nautiloid ship -- while his keen ears actually zoned in on the conversation playing across the camp, his peripheral vision just able to make out Gale as he placed a hand on Wren's shoulder.

"Unfortunately, I don't have any knowledge on how to open this book, Wren..." the wizard starts, "But by the looks of it, that thing probably contains evil magic, perhaps it's best if we destroy it. If you'd like..."

'Destroy it? He can't be serious. He really does just want to consume what is obviously a valuable and very powerful bit of magic!'

"Hey soldier!"

'Blast it.'

"I just want to warn you, don't get any bright ideas about biting my neck tonight. Unless you like third degree burns." Karlach appears in his periphery, and Astarion turns, forced to acknowledge the hulking woman's giant, good-natured grin on her face.

‘Gods, what horrible timing she has.'

"I'll keep the warning in mind, darling. Though, to be truthful, I do enjoy a bit of pain with my pleasure now and then, you know." The response is automatic, laced with innuendo and his signature vocal gravel, every bit of the retort designed to deflect from the fact that the vampire was still struggling with the idea that the entire camp knew his secret and he’d exposed himself with his impulsivity.

‘You need to be more careful than that, you fool.'

Karlach howls a laugh and shakes her head, walking off towards her own tent, taking a bite out of an apple along the way.

Suddenly, Wren is making her way towards him, tome in hand. Red eyes flicker briefly to the violet-clad man she left behind, Gale's face the picture of disappointment.

"Here," she says, matter-of-factly, as she extends the ugly thing toward him, "It's yours to keep."

Astarion reaches out his hand slowly, eyebrow lifted in such a way that clearly asks, 'Why?'

Wren shrugs, "Gale can't open it. And anyway, you helped me disarm the traps to get to it in the first place. Finder's keepers."

"You aren't interested in it?" The vampire asks, grasping the tome by the spine and staring into the honeyed eyes of the half-elf woman, trying to hide his incredulity.

"Not really," Wren responds, "You clearly are more interested in it. And anyway, even if we could open the damn thing--"

She stops abruptly, thumb moving to rub the vertical scar slashed just across the left side of her mouth. Her eyes flicker, for the smallest moment, with embarrassment.

Astarion looks at her mouth, her finger touching her dainty scar, and feels his mouth water. It almost feels as if undead heart thrums for just a moment thud, thud, THUD. Gods, he must be hungry, he needed to hunt... the owlbear took a lot out of them.

A small shuddering sigh from his companion catches his attention, and the next sentence comes out so hushed that, without his enhanced hearing (thanks to her generous gift last night), he might not have been able to understand it. "Even if we could open the damn thing, it's not like I would be able to read it."

The silence between them stretched just a hair too long. He was truly caught off guard. What could she mean? His tone was slow, measured, but clearly confused. "You... wouldn't be able to read it?"

Wren pinched the bridge of her nose, slamming her eyes shut, just at the tips of her ears began to flush. "I mean... Gods! I can read, okay. I'm not an idiot. I just... I have a condition. My father had the same one. Reading is difficult for me. The letters flip on the pages, sometimes the words move around, and the more complex the material... the more difficult it becomes to read it. The humans call it word blindness... And, I just -- well, it's clear whatever is in here is awfully complex and the thought of trying to sift through it all is already tiring me out." She ends in a flustered huff.

For a moment, Astarion thinks she is playing a joke. But he can tell by the rosiness of her ears and the quickening of her pulse that she is not.

"Oh. Well... thank you, darling. Your little secret is safe with me." He offers her a coy smile and a wink, trying to find a way to smooth the moment over, "And, not that I think you're an idiot, because clearly you are quite capable in many ways, but who needs brains with a face like yours, my dear?"

Wren laughs at his cheesy line, despite the pit of embarrassment sitting in her chest. "Well, now you know one of my deepest secrets. Seems it's only fair... since I know one of yours.”

“Just a moment, darling.” Astarion calls, book in hand, as the little ranger makes a move toward her tent. She pauses, warm orbs of amber focused on his scarlet ones. “I just— I didn’t get a moment to thank you, for last night. That was a gift, you know, and I won’t soon forget it.”

Astarion couldn't help but let his eyes flicker to the fang marks he left on her neck the night prior, hidden among a smattering of freckles that lined her neck and formed a trail down her collar bone, the rest of that speckled constellation hidden by the bust of her blouse. He'd never noticed all her freckles before, nor really paid any mind to the scar that dashed across her lip. Perhaps the blood of thinking creatures had made him more observant than he already was before.

‘Gods I would love another taste of that delicious neck.’

Wren threw a cautious smile in his direction, another beat of silence passing between the two, both of them thrown by his genuine moment of authenticity. “Yes, well… like we discussed. No more drinking without consent, and only attacking enemies and animals from now on. Though, truth be told, I think I might rather you go after evil humans than my poor little squirrel friends.” She smirked at the last bit, eyes flashing with humor. “Good night, Astarion. And good luck opening that vile thing.”

"Of course, darling, I’ll be a good boy. Cross my undead heart. Good night, little bird." He called after her, tome in hand as he turned and walked to his tent, smirking at the bit of luck he just happened upon as he placed the book amongst his belongings before meandering towards the forest. Perhaps whatever information that magical novel contained would give him the power to save himself. As for how to open it? Well, that was a problem for another day. For now, he needed to hunt, and catch more than just a little bird.

[yanderelinkeduniverse]

Hello, I noticed your inbox is open so I'm hoping to make a request if you're not too busy that is. But before I do I just want to say I LOVE your work, unfortunately when I first found you your original blog had already been gone so i was unableto see all your works and art, but luckily I was able to find some reblogs of your work and I became a huge fan. May I request reader who likes to sing? Maybe they became the bard of chain to help make money? Thank you very much for your time and please keep up the phenomenal work and make sure take care of yourself.

Oh a reader who can sing would be a little bit tricky for the Chain. Not because some member of the Chain dislike songs or singing, but for other, more irrational reasons.

On the one hand, they would love the fact that you care enough about them that you’d utilize your lovely singing voice to help make money to support the group. It just proves to them how kind and amazing you are.

The sheer pride that would fill them seeing crowds gather around you in towns to hear you perform dwarfs the pride they have in themselves for saving Hyrule. If they could they’d show the world how incredible you are, even if the praise you’d receive will never quite be good enough in their eyes.

But on the other hand, when they start becoming more and more possessive, a certain jealousy starts to fill them when they see other people - strangers, no less - listening to you sing.

It’s selfish, they’ll admit it, but they feel as though they’re the only ones who deserves to hear your beautiful voice. Other people wouldn’t be able to appreciate it, appreciate you, in the ways you deserve. They couldn’t care less about the money your singing brings in, they’d rather have your singing be featured in private performances with them as your adoring audience.

But one does not simply cage a bird and expect it to sing on command, Gliph was the one who made that point, so it’s fuzzy whether or not they’d actually succeed in this or if they compromise with you.

Bonus, some members of the Chain have some connections to music and singing.

Based on Jojo’s July art, we know that each member of the group can play at least one instrument so no doubt they’d provide instrumentation to your performances.

Sky specifically seems to be the one who plays his Lyre regularly as a hobby while the others bring out their own for special occasions, so he doesn’t hesitate to play along to whatever song you decide to sing absentmindedly or hum along to.

Meanwhile Jojo said herself that Wild can sing so he’ll totally have a duet with you under any given circumstances. Personally, he doesn’t believe his singing can hold a candle to your own, but that doesn’t mean he shies away from the chance to have a romantic duet or just a silly fun one.

Also, I don’t think Legend has as much baggage from Marin by the time he’s fallen for you, he would’ve healed enough to let go of her bit by bit, but his reaction to your singing was definitely interesting.

In the beginning, he wouldn’t mind you being musically inclined and humming or singing little tunes every now and again, it’s not like every instance of song would remind him of her. But as time goes on and his attachment to you becomes much more romantic, he’ll wonder if he’s essentially *replacing* Marin by loving you.

This plays into his mini arc about not pushing you away and accepting his own feelings for you, but for a time he’ll act annoyed whenever you sing and maybe even say that it annoys him in an effort to stop the conflicting emotions going through his head.

Of course, the moment you get angry at him, or worse, stop singing around him, the guilt and regret will come crashing in and weighing on his conscious. The other heroes glaring holes into him whenever this happens doesn’t help either…

In the end he apologizes and says that he was wrong, saying that he actually loves your singing and would be blessed to hear more of it. And it’s a good thing to since he was pretty sure that the others might kill him if he didn’t, but even if they weren’t affected at all he still would’ve done it.

[shrenvents]

Wild Thing

Pairing: Rick Grimes x Original Female Character

Summary: Orphaned in her youth, Dakota Greene found peace in the quiet rhythms of her uncle's farm, embracing its solitude and honing skills passed down by her Marine father. Yet, her idyllic existence is abruptly fractured when a frantic sheriff, stained with blood, cradling a dying child, races across their golden fields.

Story warnings: Violence/gore, death, slowburn, language, sexual content/acts

PROLOGUE: SUNDOWN _____

13 Years Before the Outbreak

Glancing at the rearview mirror, Annette's curious, yet sullen eyes appear. They scrutinize through the glass with an intensity that makes my body taut. Shifting to the window, I press further behind the driver's seat, hidden from her probing gaze.

I knew very little about Annette, only that she was my uncle's new bride after Josephine passed away. Notwithstanding the initial awkwardness, I thoroughly appreciated her respectful manner. She never pried or pushed for more than a simple greeting, gracefully accepting silence as we drove through Georgia.

Allowing my Walkman to envelop all senses, I close my eyes and bear its comforting weight in my hand. The soulful vocals of Stevie Nicks flow past the cushioning of the headphones. She gently transports me back, to just six weeks prior. To that precious phone call, when my Dad was still alive and we had our last conversation...

"Okay, ready?" My father Donald asks with sheer enthusiasm and anticipation coaxing his tone. "Honey, you're gonna love this one." "Okay, okay I got it," giggling, I mock exasperation. "I'm ready." "Right. On three," he instructs, counting down "...2, 1—Go!"

Swiftly, I press play on the Walkman he recently sent me, from wherever he's currently based.

The sound of Fleetwood Mac's song "Sara"  resonates and Dad instinctively starts humming, droning along to the buoyant tune, his efforts to keep pace with Stevie sadly failing. I burst into laughter and he chimes in, "It's good, huh?" I can almost see his brilliant, unique grin. Even though he can't see me, I nod energetically, "Yeah it is. I love it, Dad."

Pure, genuine delight rushes in, leaving me almost breathless, words lumping in my throat. Just the sound of my Dad speaking sends a tide of emotion crashing through, tightening my chest. "Knew you would, Ace," he utters with that familiar warmth, and tears well up, blurring my vision, threatening to spill. Lying in the stillness of my bedroom, I remark on how that name of endearment still upholds its profound effect, while reminding me that he's not really here.

"Hey, Dad?" My voice comes out in a soft, whispering tone, quivering slightly.

"Yeah?" His voice is strong and assertive, a stark contrast to mine. I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding, evidence of the anxiety knotting in my stomach. "When are you coming home?"

There's a long pause on the other end of the line. The silence is leaden, like it's the weight of the world, plummeting down on me. It's almost audible, that crushing force, widening the space between us. The quiet stretches on, each second feeling like an eternity, amplifying the tension. My heart pounds thunderously, and a cold wave of fear washes over.

"Any day now, Ace..." Though he tries to sound reassuring, his voice carries its typical bundle of uncertainty. The clutch on my phone grows rigid as my mind races with images of him in his Marine uniform, standing tall and proud, regardless of his constant danger.

"Promise?" I urge, murmuring with a glint of vulnerability.

"I promise," he says, and again, I can hear the effort he's making to sound reliable, to give some semblance of comfort. "Stay strong for me, okay? Just a little longer."

"I will Dad. I miss you."

"I miss you too, Ace. More than you can imagine," he sighs, "I'll be home soon." I squeeze my eyelids shut, holding onto his words like a lifeline, hoping and praying that this time, soon, actually means soon.

"We've arrived, sweetheart," Annette's voice breaks through my melodic remembrance, forcefully yanking me from the depths of a vivid memory.

I blink rapidly, eyes darting around, adjusting to the scenery flashing outside the car windows. The landscape sprawls endlessly, a panorama I've only seen in daydreams. In my mind, I often imagined the Greene family someday, all together. Nevertheless, I didn't anticipate that meeting my estranged relatives would come at the cost of losing the only family I've known. Or maybe I did.

I suspire heavily, lungs expanding with an unnerving distress as I bite my inner cheek. Suddenly, I spot two young girls, one fairly taller than the other, playing, carefree in the lush greenery. Their laughter echoes through the stained glass, like a juxtaposition of the turmoil gripping my gut.

Then, the vehicle leisurely rounds the bend, rolling onto the gravel leading to their home. The green and white farmhouse emerges from behind several big, lively trees. Its quaint charm is disturbingly undeniable, with a porch adorned by hanging baskets of colourful flowers and chimes, glimmering as the descending sun casts a mellow glow across the wooden house. Just beyond the yard-framing fence, there's a weathered, murky windmill, spinning lazily with the faint breeze.

As we come closer, maneuvering to park, a kind-looking older man steps onto the deck. His faded denim overalls cover a checkered shirt, and his silver hair peeks out from under a straw hat. His face lights up with a gentle smile as he recognizes his truck, waving at us passionately. His eyes crinkle at their corners, displaying his years of contentment and wisdom. Quickly, it registers that this must be my uncle, Hershel, as his features reflect my Dad's —the same gentle eyes and sharp nose, that scrunched whenever he saw something for the first time. Seeing Hershel brought a poignant, surreal mixture of torment and ease. It was like encountering my Dad's missing piece.

When the car clips to a stop, Annette turns her head over her dainty shoulder, peering at me with a smile, a guise for support. I miss the chance to return it as she slips out of the truck. Gulping, I jerk the door handle, opening it to set my sneakers on the pebble terrain. I observe as a boy joins Annette, helping her unload my bags, and my brows shoot to my forehead, creasing in discomfort. Pulling one side of my headphones off, my wary voice shakes, "Uh— you don't have to— I can manage." Against my apprehension, they ignore me with a pleasant smile. "Don't worry, we got it," the boy reassures. "I'm Shawn by the way," he mentions, dropping a bag to shake my hand. I take it and his cheer falters, so I jolt my hand out of his grasp. "Sorry," he laughs at my surprise, picking up my bag to resume his work. "You have an impressive grip is all," Shawn praises, completely unfeigned. I try again to mimic a smile but he walks off, entering the house alongside Annette.

"How was the journey?" Hershel queries as he approaches. His brow quirks, upholding yet another smile. I internally grimace at the abundance of niceties. "I hope Annette didn't talk your ear off." At his joke, I remove my headphones entirely, a slight smirk tugging the edge of my mouth. "No," I admit and he huffs a short chuckle. "We didn't talk much, sorry."

His head tilts and it's vaguely reminiscent of how Dad would look at me whenever I missed a shot during our father-daughter, gun range visit. It mirrored his playfulness when he didn't take me seriously or thought whatever I'd done was "adorable" —his words, not mine.

"There's nothing to be sorry for. I'm sure that was what you needed," he clarifies softly. My tense frame loosens, his words skimming some of the burden off my shoulders. His right hand then glides steadily onto my bicep, a comforting touch in the otherwise chilly air. "Let's head inside," he proposes, gentle and reassuring, "I'm sure you're hungry." When his palm moves, the momentary warmth it brings fades.

Hershel wordlessly ushers me forward, guiding me up the porch, before he quickens his speed to open the door. However, a glimpse of the horizon captures my attention, freezing me to place.

A dazzling sunset stretches across the sky. Its radiant hues of ocher and pink ensnare me. With each passing second, the beautiful sinking sun tells me that by nightfall, my old life will be nothing more than a distant thought.

I swallow harshly and release a trembling breath. "Dakota?" My name, spoken quietly, pulls me away from the brink, and I snap my eyes to Hershel, seeing his warm smile, striving to mask a flicker of pain. His gaze, though kind, cannot hide our shared mourning—his little brother, my father. That second, the strength of our shared sorrow passes between us. It's an unspoken acknowledgement that our lives have been altered. Hershel's smile is strained as it offers a silent vow of devotion and care. Together, we stand on his porch, at the threshold of the unknown, bound by the recollection of the impactful man we loved.

"Don had been talking about bringing you here, for quite some time," Hershel broaches, barely above a whisper. The delicate way he mentions Dad makes my lungs constrict. I nod in response, knowing my voice will give out.

Though my Dad never explicitly said it, I knew he despised leaving me with my deadbeat mother's, younger sister. Her place, full of neglect and broken promises, was a poor substitute for a home. But sending me here, to his brother Hershel, came with a sacrifice. Meaning that the few moments we had together would likely be narrowed down to none, or one if we were lucky. Every reunion with my Dad had been great, but brief —a fleeting portrayal of the life I yearned for. Now, the reality of our separation settles like a heavy fog.

Hershel stands square to me, and I feel my stirring pain intermingle with the sight of a healthier future, past the horizon. A bittersweet ache adheres to my heart.

"So," a sincere grin, at last, graces my face. "What's for dinner?"

(continue reading this on wattpad @ shrenvents, I hope u enjoyed!)

[swallowedbyfandom]

When Rae wakes her early that morning she wonders which gentleman has set the fire she will likely have to put out that day. Luckily Rae is an angel sent from heaven, so she brings tea with her tales. Dash it, Rae looks terribly amused which means it involves Bridgerton shenanigans. Of all the ridiculous noble families society has to offer, the Bridgertons remain the ones Rae finds most amusing.

The further she gets into reading the report from Whites the more she debates day drinking. Surely, her mama would understand her need for Ratafia with breakfast this day. She did not expect a Bridgerton in the wild last night. She really thought Ant and Ben would drink with Colin until they all passed out in the study. Yet somehow Benedict ended up starting a bar brawl with Debling over bird pornography? That cannot be right. She must have misread that bit.

Unfortunately she did not misread it. She Penelope Featherington is now a muse for terribly written poetry. She wonders if Alfred chose the bird imagery because her name is Featherington or because he called her his Dove. She also wonders what offended Ben more. That Debling wrote erotic poetry about her or that he wrote bad erotic poetry about her? It could go either way with Ben. She will have to get ready to receive a lot of callers. She can hear the rumors now, Penelope Featherington the face that launched a thousand bar brawls. She accidentally snorts into her teacup. No wonder Rae is so amused. Now to break the news to her mama.

She warns her mama to expect a large volume of callers . She does not warn her mama that half of them may look like they just arrived in from the front lines. She also doesn't warn her mama about the extravagance of Bridgerton apologies. The look on her mother's face when half the florist shop arrives on their door step is worth it. The flowers from Ant all hold a simple card.

I sincerely apologize for my brother's behavior.

I will ensure he acts with more care for your reputation going forward.

Fondly,

Viscount Bridgerton

The flowers from Ben are her favorite as they are as eclectic and artistic as he is. Also because his arrangements carry a card that reads,

Sorry my brother is a dim witted whore.

At least he is very rich and pretty?

Also the rest of us are fantastic.

Fondly,

B. Bridgerton

Oh dear, hedonist Ben calling someone a whore. She cannot breathe through the hilarity of it. She knows that message must have been drafted while he was still half drunk. Still Ben makes the best emotional support brother.

She spends her morning to her mother's sheer disbelief dazzling callers. She pretends she does not know why they are all calling. After all, a gentle lady like herself would have no knowledge of escapades taken in a gentleman's club. She thanks them for coming to check on her after the very public breakdown of her courtship. She is demure and sweet above all.

She plays nurturing and concerned to the injured lords who show up battered from last nights brawl. She is all mischievous deflections with the rakes. She is bold humor and silly tales with the genuinely charming. She is sharp intellect with the business and academic minded. With all her callers, she is guileless in the face of their probing questions. While she would normally never bother with this level of effort for the shallow sheep of the ton, if she is leaving after this season she might as well leave an impression.

Her conversation with Lord Fife is the most fun she has all morning. For it is the only time she unleashes the full bite of her wit. He tries so hard to charm her.

"Miss Featherington, may I say you look ravishing this morning. I see why Bridgerton has attempted to keep you to himself." Fife sips his tea regally.

She arches a brow and allows a giggle to escape, "I am impressed you noticed anything at all with how devoutly you have been eyeing my neckline."

She watches the way his eyes startle up to her face. She smiles at him with chaos dancing in her eyes.

"Contrary to the rumors, Mr. Bridgerton and I have always maintained a chaste relationship. If you were hoping to see how you compare to him perhaps one of the nice working girls you both enjoy visiting would be kind enough to measure for you."

As he chokes on his tea and begins to cough, she continues.

"I am not sure why gentlemen enjoy comparing foils, but everyone must have a hobby I suppose."

She hands him a handkerchief as he continues to cough.

"Leave me out of the games you play, My lord. I am not a light skirt and you are not a husband." She calls over a footman. "Lord Fife seems to be coming down with something, he appears quite flushed does he not? Please escort him out. I hope you recover soon, Lord Fife."

She stands to give a small curtsy. She watches Fife exit with a slightly enamored and dazed look upon his face.

Her mother arches her brows at her in concern. She shakes her head lightly in response. Fife is no threat, who would believe him? She has played the timid Lady for years. She has also maintained a touch of hesitation when interacting with her callers so each gentleman feels like they have accomplished a grand feat when they get her to relax. Each gentleman that has come to call today will swear on a stack of bible about her gentle and virtuous nature. While Fife has a reputation for inappropriate behavior.

When her mama finally puts an end to calling hours she nearly leaps with joy. She calls for a sandwich and cake lord knows she has earned it. She is going to escape for a long bath and nap after this. She needs time to decompress.

Her mama has a terrifying gleam in her eyes. Thankfully she hid everything god awful dress her mama ever picked out. They are boxed and wrapped up with Gen. She never imagined she would miss maternal neglect so much, but here she is. She lets out a sigh. Her mama will have her dancing with suitors all night at the ball she is sure.

"Penelope, where are Mr. Bridgerton and Lord Debling this fine Morning? Are you not concerned"

Of course her mama wants to ask about them as if there was not a house full of desperate men just here, panting after her like dogs in heat. She wrinkles her nose up at the image.

"Lord Debling is likely nursing his injured pride and his injured face. He was involved in a fight of some sort at White's last night. I would be surprised if he showed his face in society for a few days."

"The Bridgertons are all competitive they are not going to let Colin come to call until they are satisfied with his plans for courting. They will all be at the ball but he is likely too ashamed to approach me just yet. He will stand by the dessert table and stare at me all night. His brother's will likely dance with me to keep other suitors away. We will see mama."

[choccy-zefirka]

What better birthday treat for myself than old man smut

It happens just as Zevlor dismisses his scout — the goblins are still out there, she says, in a thin, tired voice; more and more raiding parties fanning out into the wilds from the old temple that devoured Halsin.

He tells her to go rest, as calmly and reassuringly as he can, hoping that the limp, sinking motion of his tail did not betray him. Then, he turns towards the carved stone barrier. Ready to retreat into his little corner. To hide away, tired and defeated, among all those maps and books and with barely a shred of answers what to do next.

And then, the air shifts. Goosebumps prickle Zevlor's skin. Not a shiver of cold: it would take so much more than the grove’s damp drafts to chill a Tiefling... But an instinctive recognition that something has changed. Something is... missing now.

It takes him a few moments to realize what it is exactly. After so many uneasy days in this dubious shelter, it has become a constant background noise, like the distant rush of the waterfalls and the rustling of the leaves. That... That looping, repetitive droning. In different voices, as the druids have been taking turns to rest — but never ending, always present. Until now.

Zevlor turns around again and rushes up the passageway deeper into the caverns. It first climbs up, and then dips steeply down, towards the watery green light of the open clearing. This contrast gets him a little winded; gods, he really is getting old.

He gulps down a lungful of air — ah, this air; despite all the miserable parts of being stuck here, it is so fresh, so clean, so rich with living scents after the acrid smoke of Avernus.

Then, he calls out to the very first group of people he spots: Komira's little family, standing and staring ahead into the green,

"The druids have stopped their damn chanting! What happened?"

Komira's husband Locke turns to him, eyes huge with amazement.

"Zevlor! Yes, yes, they did! I didn't think they would, but — "

"It was Miss Dee!" a tiny voice cuts in, lightning-fast, words cramming into one another like stampeding hell beasts.

"I saw her with my own eyes! She went in to talk to that mean elf lady, and we all snuck in and watched! I was scared of the snake at first, but Mol was there and she squeezed my shoulder and put her finger to her lips, and I was not scared anymore!"

Suddenly, Zevlor feels himself smiling. She kept her promise — that gnome adventurer, covered in burn scars, with cracking white paint smeared round her dark-grey eyes like the sockets of a skull. Brash as a bandit; loudly proclaiming that she does not care about anything except whatever quest that tossed her in here, through sheer chance, like the careless throw of a die — yet somehow, again and again, turning up to help the Grove's children.

She is quite a character, this Dee. The more Zevlor ponders his past conversations with her — a bit of a welcome distraction in his dismal routine — the more he recalls the book he stumbled across among druids' records of the Sword Coast. A memoir of an actor playing a role. What role does she play, with her biting tongue, her sneering lips, her hoarse voice... Why is his mind so intent on circling around her mouth?

Meanwhile, in the real world, Locke gasps, and Komira's tail lashes from side to side.

"Arabella! You promised not to go back in there!"

The little girl, who has been bouncing around Zevlor, shrinks back and presses her arms — flailing with such frantic emotion just a moment ago — together in front of her.

Her tone grows more subdued, and as she goes on speaking, she scratches absent-mindedly at her right palm. Zevlor spots smears of green under her fingertips, and his thoughts snap from idle images of Dee's mouth — so pretty, even when she's swearing; it would be level with his face if he knelt before her — to concern for Arabella. Did she catch a rash from grabbing an unfamiliar plant? Will that halfling near the gate spare a salve, or are his wares too good for the "little hellspawn"?

"I am sorry, mom... But we had to see what was going to happen! Miss Dee is always so angry, and I was kinda hoping..."

Her voice is a sheepish whisper now, and the scratching is more intense. Zevlor even imagines sparks flying from under her little claws... White sparks, shaped like tiny ghostly flowers.

"I was hoping she'd beat the lady up."

Locke slants his eyes towards Zevlor.

"I... I apologize for my daughter... Saying such things! In front of a paladin, no less!"

A familiar pain twists Zevlor's insides.

"I am not a paladin any longer," he says. At least, his voice quivers only once. "And I rather... understand the sentiment towards Kagha. Go on, child. What did Miss Dee do next?"

"She pulled out some kind of letter, and said that she knows the mean lady's secret, and that the lady needs to get her f..."

Arabella's eyes dart to her mother's glowering face.

"F-funny act together before she dooms everyone in the Grove! And the mean lady just stood there, all pale and bug-eyed; and then the cute fluffy rats I tried to save from her snake once..."

Arabella's pitch begins to rise once more, towards a squeaky crescendo of excitement.

"They exploded into this golden goop, and the goop turned into people! More druids, with hard, mean faces... Meaner than the elf lady; she seemed scared of them! They started throwing spells at her, and Miss Dee, and her friends, and all the adults — not us, though, don't look at me like that, pops; we were well hidden behind one of those glowing eagle rocks! Fire, and arrows, and arrows on fire flew everywhere, and glowing green vines snapped like whips all over the place, and Miss Dee got beat up, again and again, but she kept getting up, and blasting her magic! Bright blue and purple and white; it hurt my eyes but it was so pretty!"

"Well, pretty is one way to call it."

A gruff chuckle interrupts Arabella, who leaps aside to make way for Dee herself.

Quite embarrassingly, the tip of Zevlor's tail shoots upwards when he sees her. He always forgets how he's been missing this pint-sized ruffian, until after he lays eyes on her, again and againm during her many trips between the wilderness and the Grove.

True to Arabella's words, she looks a bit worse for wear, with her usual skull warpaint all but wiped off, and her slate skin further darkened by a few bruises. But she is grinning smugly, and playing with a shimmering blot of magic, like Zevlor has seen young Doni play with a lump of clay to calm himself. She kneads the sparkling mass — lightning made into viscous liquid — between her fingers, letting it ooze into her cupped palm and then bounce up again, crackling.

Besides her, stands Kagha; or a quiet, dejected stranger wearing Kagha's face. Zevlor has never seen her so... tame. Her gaze is downcast underneath the strands of her elaborately done hair, which obscure most of her features, save for a sliver of her cheek, sporting a fresh cut.

"Well?" Dee asks her, lightning bobbing faster in her hand. "Spit it out then! Sure, you sided with us against your buddies and shit, but these people have to hear you say! The damn! Words!"

"I... I apologize," Kagha breathes out, and bows her head even lower. "For calling you parasites, for threatening your children, for denying you sanctuary... This is not the Oak Father's way."

"Fuck yeah it isn't," Dee snarls a little, and Zevlor cannot quite grasp why this makes his head swim.

"So yeah. There won't be any more creepy druid finger waggling!"

For a brief instance, Kagha almost returns to her old self.

"It's called the Rite of Thorns," she says through her teeth.

"Whatever," Dee scoffs.

"You Tiefs are welcome to stay as long as you need. The human bloke, Rath, is in charge now. Come to him if you need anything. Now I wanna have a quick word with your lot's daddy over here."

Logically, Zevlor understands what she meant, even if he does not agree. He may come off as the refugees' father figure — to someone unsuspecting how little he deserves the title, how poor of a job he has been doing to ensure that they are safe and cared for. It makes sense that she'd call him... that. But hells, the way she pronounced the word; he cannot be certain that the steep incline of the cave corridors is the only reason why the way back to his stone door has stolen his breath again.

Once they are hidden from prying eyes — bringing him back to the day when she helped him treat his wound, and said nothing to him when her potent homebrew antitoxin made him act... unwisely — Dee takes off her shoulder bag, sets it, clanking and cluttering, onto Zevlor's desk, and dives in.

It does not look quite like a bag of holding, but it certainly is uncannily spacious. After a lot more cacophonous noises, Dee produces a stout, slightly dusty, dark-green bottle.

"I know how you bend over backwards for your..."

For all her nonchalant air, the crack in her voice would be impossible to hide. Yet again, Zevlor almost glimpses the actress behind the role, and the sight nigh punctures his heart.

"...Your family. So I figured, you deserve a little party. Now that you don't have to worry about these druid assholes any more. This looks like good, fancy wine..."

She pats the bottle, almost shyly.

"Nicked it from some dead bloke's basement. Don't worry; he was dead before we got there. Lae'Zel was bloody disappointed as always."

There is fondness in her words; far too much fondness for someone who so loves describing her adventuring companions as "weirdos I got stuck with".

She chuckles to herself, as does Zevlor... But the soft sound is soon smothered by the boulder-heavy memory of what the scout reported to him.

"You have done so much for us, but..." he sighs. "I am afraid there is still the threat of the goblins to contend with."

Dee, who has perched on the desk's edge, nearly falls off with the force of her own arm swing.

"Oh, fuck me!" she cries out, more dramatically than in anger. "After I made all this effort to pick out the best booze!... Wait, why are you staring?"

Zevlor swallows, which does nothing to soothe his parched throat. He is staring, isn't he?

The expletive has shot through him like some of Dee's own storm magic. Cracking him wide open, and forcing out what has been lurking so deep, deep down.

He has not felt this way for so long. The suffocating loneliness of Avernus' starless nights, the ice-cold revelation that he was now a monster in the eyes of his one-time human friends, the constant anguish of shielding his people from goblin blades — all of this has almost made him forget how thrilling, how exhilarating it is, to feel another's lips upon your own.

And now, she is here, dancing in this titillating spot between stranger and almost-friend. Face, chiseled beautifully from dark granite. Eyes the color of an overcast sky, heavy with a thunderstorm. Voice, low and play-acted to be rude, but hiding a wordless sadness that calls to Zevlor like kin to kin.

She frowns. She has read him; have the flames in his eyes flared up, much too bright, much too greedy?

"It... It was just a cuss word," she finally croaks. Helm's grace, is she afraid? Of him — of the hell-touched creature of sharp ridges and claws and horns and teeth?

From the precious few remarks that she’d let slip about her past life, Zevlor could sense she was a fellow outcast. He... He was hoping that she would understand...

"I know I am not your type!"

"Why?"

The word hurries to his tongue before he can stop and think.

"I, uh, admit that I am woefully out of practice... But in Elturel, in another life, I cherished the attentions of both women and men, and those who were neither."

"As you should!" she blurts out, as impulsively as himself.

"I mean... You are such a good person. Brave. Kind. Selfless. You're from a world I wasn't made for."

She bites her tongue and turns away, a wet strip of slate gray cutting across the last of her white warpaint.

"I have failed far too many times for that world to welcome me anymore," Zevlor murmurs.

"All I can do is fight, one day at a time. And after all you did to join that fight, I do not believe you are as lost a cause as you say."

She jolts up to look at him. Holding her gaze feels like drowning in the sea... And for a little while, away from the world, one step closer to saving his people... He can afford to let go and give himself to the waves.

"Bloody hoon," she sniffles, edging closer and grabbing him by the front of his armor. "I wanted you since you first stepped onto that gate."

With that, comes the swift, demanding pull... And next thing he knows, he as bending down, palms pressed into the desk on either side of Dee; and she is kissing him.

Her lips are as soft as his wandering mind imagined them; until they aren't. Until she bites, devours, teeth knocking against teeth, flecks of her streaking warpaint getting onto his face, like white seafoam splashed onto burning brimstone.

All of his nights alone pile up on top of each other, on top of him, making his knees buckle. She has wrapped her much smaller body, all wiry sinews and old scars, tightly around his. And in her grasp, he feels weak and weightless, melting all the more with every touch: wax for her hands and tongue to sculpt.

His surroundings melt as well, and it is only when his back hits the desk's stone that he recollects them switching places. He is lying down now, like he did when she berated him for not seeking a healer for his wound. She on top of him again. Her mouth has left his, with a parting groan, and she has straightened up to saddle him, hips against hips — which, ironically, is the only clothed part of them by now, as his armor lies in a discarded heap in the corner somewhere, and his fingers are tangled up in the shirt she has carelessly pulled off herself.

The bottle is still here too; she picks it up, uncorks it with her teeth, and takes a long swig straight from the nozzle, stray droplets splashing over her breasts. Under normal circumstances, this kind of debauched abandon would have made Zevlor shake his head in exasperation — perhaps before breaking up a noisy party of younger Tieflings... But right now, all that it incites is a moan.

"You are such a mess," she laughs, lifting the bottle to his lips. He accepts it as eagerly as her potion... And the effect it has on him, once the contents have seared his throat — stronger than he anticipated — is just about the same.

"Take me," he pants, while the heat travels down to his loins, and builds up into a demanding pulse.

"Oh, I have several ideas for that," she whispers, brushing her mouth against his... Not quite a kiss, yet at the same time, kiss-like enough to coax a new moan out of him.

At the snap of her fingers, the trusty shoulder bag slides closer to her, faintly glowing with magic. She distracts herself from Zevlor for a moment — with a bit of comical timing, perhaps, but he is too far gone to care now — and reemerges with a potion vial and a bizarre, smooth, elongated grey... something in her hands.

Instinctively, Zevlor sucks in his stomach, trying to contain the fire that keeps scorching him below the waist.

"Found it on the creepy ship my friends and I were trapped on," she says casually, plopping the vial's gel-like, glittery-blue contents into her palm — not even noticing that she just referred to the "weirdos" as "friends".

"I think I was supposed to use it to set Shade free from the glass thingamajig where they were holding her... But I just smashed that to pieces with lightning. Kept this around as a souvenir; finally it can come in handy!"

"Please," is all Zevlor musters, tongue-tied by the restless greed that consumes him.

Thankfully, it is not long before that greed is sated.

"Pants off, old man. Spread your legs."

He complies, whimpering in anticipation. The sound, to his surprise, reaches its loudest when she snaps her fingers again.

With this motion, the outline of her hand doubles, then triples. Zevlor is ready to accept that his vision is just growing blurry with lust and wine... But she has, in fact, cast a spell. See-through copies of her hand slip off like floating silvery gloves: one takes the dripping, well-oiled object from Dee and carries it down, teasing under Zevlor's tail; while the other glides over his heaving hips and caresses him from the front, translucent fingers encircling his cock.

Dee herself bites into his lips again. Her small frame has slid up his torso, and while the ghostly hands are busy thrusting into Zevlor and stroking him to perfect hardness, her hands of flesh and blood have unlaced the front of her breeches. She has planted her core right over one of the ridges that sculpt Zevlor's chest, and is rutting against it, her little yelps mingling with his own.

"Wait... This might not be enough..." he slurs between kisses, intending to offer his tail to help her to completion... But he is interrupted by the white-hot rush of his two ecstasies, joined as one.

A moment of utter blindness, utter weightlessness; he disintegrates into dazzling giddy light, and then returns to the material plane, body spent, head spinning, heart swollen in elated disbelief. Like pleasure of this kind cannot be meant for him.

The ghostly hands turn to wisps of silver dust, and Dee's face shimmers into focus — heavily-lidded eyes, darkly-bitten lips.

"Well, thanks, old man," she drawls, and now that the glittery smoke in Zevlor's mind has somewhat settled, he realizes, with a flush choking him like a collar, that he must have spilled all over her back.

"Now, what was that you were saying?"

He forces down a cough. Ah. His tail.

He wiggles around on the desk — not without awkwardness, especially since his back has chosen this particular time to remind him that his cock is not the only part of him capable of being stiff — and gently guides Dee where he wants her. Within the reach of his tail's tip, which bobs over her half-exposed thighs, and then parts her folds, slipping into the welcoming wetness, exploring, stroking, now turning her to warm, pliant wax.

Her climax sounds about as he expected — eagerly so — a splutter of curses, a brief crackle of lightning at her grasping fingertips. But when she quiets down, the storm in her eyes ripples with unshed tears.

"Oh hells..." she mutters, wiping sweat off her brown. "Oh fuck... Where do we even go from here?"

Zevlor frowns. A haunting question... And one he does not know how to answer. He never knows, does he? That is what makes him so useless in this whole goblin mess.

"I... I am not certain," he says, feeling a dark spiderweb of cracks spread across his bubble of bliss.

"The Descent has carved such a chasm across our lives — literally — that it feels like aeons since I had a lover."

Dee inhales sharply.

"Is that...? Is that what you want me to be for you?"

The stormy waters threaten to spill over — but she dabs angrily at her eyes, and her usual scowl is back.

"Fuck, I did not sign up for this!" she barks — and those fine cracks grow wider.

"I — you —"

She threshes her arms helplessly.

"Let me deal with the goblins, okay? That part seems easier!"

"Of course," Zevlor assures her, brows arched. His chest has been holding all manner of little heartaches, like Dee's shoulder bag. And just now, a new one has been added to the collection.

"Thank you again."

[vulpisnocturna]

Itachi reaction when he accidentally saw his lover talk to his cousin and few of his ANBU cell, when he search for them to have some time together. when said lover ignore him,his mind start to run a wild. what he didn't know is, yn didn't even saw him as they currently busy making mental check to make sure the surprise they try to make for him success and without any chaos.

after all it is surprise that even they didn't expect to happen so early in both of their life. even Mikoto is excited to hear the result of said surprise that yn about to spring toward her son

I’m not sure I catch your drift for this “surprise” anon, so I went with the first thing that popped into my head lol.

Tags: HAPPY ITACHI 🥰

• Itachi would see that you were talking in a hushed voice with his teammates, and though he hadn’t been inclined to think anything of it, you stopped as you saw him enter the room, your eyes wide. His cousin averted his eyes from you, clearing his throat and greeting you. It sparked his curiosity, because you two had such a close relationship that he struggled to see why you would not want him to hear whatever you had been saying

• he didn’t let it be seen, but that little interaction was eating away at him. They seemed to know something he did not, and it was maddening. It happened again the day after, and you ignored him as he went to ask some of his teammates about a mission they had been assigned to. It was as if you hadn’t even noticed him.

• when he went home that day, even his mother seemed to know something he didn’t. She kept humming a singsong, seemingly happy, and smirking knowingly every time she looked at him. When he asked her what was on her mind, she said she was just happy and asked when he would see you next. He told her he’d planned to spend some time together the day after, and she told him to invite you for dinner

• Itachi was nervous as he stood in front of your door, holding your favourite flowers. He had figured he might have done something to displease you, and was willing to get to the bottom of it and make up for anything. He loved you with all his heart, and he needed to know you still felt the same. When you opened the door and smiled with a pretty blush on your cheeks at the sight of the flowers before you kissed him, he was relieved

• but still, the thought of what had happened was still on his mind. What had you been talking about? What was on your mind as you looked at him and pulled him into your flat, your eyes bright and nervous?

• ‘Itachi- I have something to tell you’ you started, breath slightly ragged. He stared, swallowing. What was it? Did you have doubts about your relationship? Itachi didn’t want to say it now, but he had been thinking of asking you to marry him. He had always known he wanted to build a family with you, to be with you for the rest of his life. But did you?

• Your hand cupped your own stomach, and Itachi’s eyes scanned you, his lips parting. You couldn’t mean…

‘I’m pregnant’ you whispered, your eyes shimmering with tears, a smile on your lips. He gulped, his fingertips trembling at the sheer volume of his emotions as his heart fluttered in his chest.

‘You’re going to be a dad’ you continued. Itachi’s eyes stung. This was what he had always dreamed of. A family with you. A child you’d both made.

‘I- thank you’ he breathed, unknowing of what he should say as his heart filled with more joy than he’d ever felt in his life. He wrapped his arms around you, a tear overflowing from his eyes as he buried his head in the crook of your neck.

‘You’ll be the best father’ you said, laughing softly, holding onto him. He picked you up effortlessly, gently, kissing you and pouring all of his love and happiness into the kiss.

‘Thank you’ he repeated, because he was so, so grateful for you. So in awe of the life you were creating already.

[too-many-rooks]

Spoiler warning: Long rambly notes I took while watching season 3, disclaimer that a lot of this is just character moments/lines I found interesting and initial bones of an au idea for a burgeoning, extremely self indulgent slightly-darker-Alex in season 3 wip I’ve started.

Also it was the middle of the night and I was very tired and wired out of my gourd on some mix of cheap white wine and floods of hyperfixation-sourced dopamine. Also also I only started taking notes at ep 3?

Episode 3

Alex is SUCH a better spy this season than when he began even in the first few episodes prior to SCORPIA training he’s more careful and precise and the team feels better organised - he did so well on that boat I’m so proud of my baby

I’m actually enjoying Tom and Kyra fucking about more than I expected. Tom pulling Kyra together after the boat explosion suprised me by how emotive it was. But I do want them to.. go away. Alex should more isolated/desperate/have NO other choices than SCORPIA.

Everything in Malagosto seems so staged to just see how Alex will react to it all - here’s an unlocked door, here’s an Alex sized vent and a dead spot in the cameras, what are you gonna do about it? +Alex absolutely speaks French I think he’s just not giving that away yet

Oh yes yes lingering bad touch from Julia Rothman hitting the right notes even though that costume is a WILD kaftan moment. Evil carmen sandiago/noir femme fatale aesthetic where are you I miss you so much

Ohhhh Julia saying Ian walked away and abandoned him and that was what hit him worst oh my goooooooooood

(Outfit change from julie mean day change or is she just a multiple outfits a day kinda person. Believable, I guess)

Julia’s gaslighting I ssoooo crazy ‘we trust you. We want you.’ After having his closest people not trust him, and now maybe questioning if Ian even wanted him!

Julia fucking loved this, she’s totally thrilled by her own power. Queen 👸🏻.

God Jones and the department is going THROUGH IT THIS SEASON, just suddenly surrounded by corpses

Julia : offers irrefutable proof, upsets him, then presses him to continue believing what he did before and belittling his objections - very subtle but more firm tone of voice, less motherly/accepting, very clear that the noose around Alex’s neck is always there.

She’s so delighted at the prospect of making Alex into the perfect soldier

Julia: “I want you to meet your tutor”

Me: ‘here he here he comes here he comes.’ And then I threw of my blanket, pushed myself onto my knees, and started bouncing and palm clapping in sheer delight. I basically never happy stim like this but MY GOD the flood of dopamine is IMMENSE.

More manic laughter at the start of episode 4 realising I’m about to see John and young Yassen. Nicuragua! 18 years ago!

God nervous baby Yassen with a gun

HES!! SO!!! BABY!!!

Baby boy already got his colour scheme locked down

Baby Yassen has curls - is it just the humidity or maybe does he have naturally curly hair that he straightens so he looks less cute?

Johns actor has a real resemblance to Ian (and Jack Lowden) but less so to otto

Ohoho scar moment scar moment bc Yassen was nervous and fucked up two people one bullet

“Close your eyes” as I tell these people I’m going to shoot you and have faith

God cut to adult Yassen WATCHING ALEX SLEEP LOOKING SO INTENSE

“Leave the past behind us.” “Ian rider was a professional. It was not personal it was my job.” “Think of this as a school and your dead by the end of the day” (actual honesty for the first time)

Alex not committing to being able to work with Yassen is perfect

Yassen taking Alex TO HIS KNEES so easily besties not been slowed down too much by a bullet to the chest

Soaking wet!!!!!!!!

Alex shooting scene amazing, as was Yassen bursting into his room immediately after for a murder pep talk. Alex has no privacy privileges from Yassen

Yassen removing the humanity from his targets, names/faces/lives are irrelevant, they are just blank targets. “One day you’ll have to murder them.”

“That’s not gonna happen”

Yassen *be so ffr rn face*

Really interesting to see the other side of the department covering up an agent death and lying to the family - I like the department with more humanity/emotional resonance than pure ruthlessness

Shitty Malagosto communal dorm room and matching drab grey hoodies my beloved

Shame there’s no ‘your not afraid of a little prick are you?’ ‘I wouldn’t call you that’ line. (But switching out the ‘getting vaccinated will implant you with secret nano tech that will kill you’ plottline probs a good idea)

Ooooh Julia creepily poisoning him so excited making me think of her delighting in drugging him in a cocktail of ‘let me take care of you’ ways

Yassen pulling rank to break up the fight!!

Ooh Nile wants to take down Yassen so bad.

Toms film skills coming in clutch recording/ documenting things so Alex will be taken seriously, glad to see him be… less of a dead weight to the team

Begrudgingly-impressed-at-Alex Yassen, even with the “come on that’s a bad idea”, “yeah, but!” Teenagerisms

Yassen’s core (suppressed) emotions: fear, doubt, panic

Alex: love, hope, friendship (okay dear, 🙄 but remember you’re literally becoming an assassin why are you so niave all of a sudden?)

Alex insisting John saved him bc he had compassion and was his friend and that Yassen’s rejection of that makes him lonely oh oh my heart my heart

I LOVE how much fun Nile has being evil at his job of threatening children.

Episode 5

Oh my god HIT HIM ALEX where do you think you are? How do you think you’ll actually manage to get those trainees to trust you? Stop whining and hit the man with a wooden sword, christ

Smithers (in reference to Alex) “he’s out there being a teenager because of us” *cut to Alex, very much in danger, contemplating his capacity to kill*

Julia: “no one leaves,” [scorpia, me, interchangeable to her]

mission with Yassen!

Packing for the mission with Yassen!!!

Yassen can’t read his handwriting!!!

“You’ve put… lockpick?”

“I left my last one in Nile. “

Alex bitching about his meagre gadgets at point Blanc 💯

Matching tactical turtlenecks!!!

“I don’t want you to fail. I don’t want you to die.”

Alex and Yassen are a team but Yassen gives Alex command of them oh boysieeeee

Again glad they dropped the vaccine bit: vaccines aren’t dangerous, but vaping is!!

Of on a road trip with Yassen!!

A murder road trip!

Love Kyra seeing the shot and the body - I know why it didn’t happen but I do kinda wish for a more corrupted violent Alex coerced/bargained into firing it himself

That Tom confrontation was great - I do want to see it as like a ‘your getting in my way’ intentional cruelty to push him away and keep him safe when Alex is too deep in SCORPIA to be deluded about thinking he can go home

Alex rejects intimacy with Julia and she cracks down her authority ‘no one leaves’

Ep 6

Love Alex spooky in the cemetery, SCORPIA hot on his heels

Sharing a grotty safe house together god SO GOOD

“We trust each other. You should try it sometime.”

“If it’s not emotional why do you do it?”

“Because it’s my job. (Identity/life/personal connections/sacrificed everything for) I work for SCORPIA. I’m good at it. You could be too.” Olive branch of intimacy - wants alex to be more like him, so they can be equals, can share this life that he apparently finds satisfaction in, not thinking or making decisions beyond how best to achieve his goal/finish the task(/order)assigned to him/subject himself to feeling emotions/thinking about his life beyond his attempts to depersonalise himself as just a weapon - just a professional with no emotions, and that that is fundamentally who he is. Evidently having some inconvenient feelies about Alex tho.

Oh no his delivery disguise makes him look like a caveman. Glad he took off the accessories for the Jones confrontation, his hair actually looks great there all tousled. (Beginning to realise how important characters hair is to me bc I still hate Julia’s I want some dark perfect waves this Bob is ough)

I’m really glad they settled on Yassen NOT knowing about John - he twists it that John didn’t betray him bc he had nothing to gain from being kind to him, so it wasn’t false, but he is so 100% loyal to John, eager to twist any criticism. I do wish we’d seen more of their relationship, but expecting some Russian roulette bits was overly optimistic

“I know my place” he’s IMMEDIATELY off to rescue his boy (actually, where did he go? All of that last episode I was just WHAT ABOUT YASSEN? Was he just plotting a rescue that didn’t need to happen and waiting for his boy to show up?)

Dare I say… good for blunt? Stephen dillane is just so charming I can’t help but like him. And you see some flashes of his ruthlessness like when he talks to Greif but he’s not a 24/7 conniving monster. Also Jones in charge and Alex possibly (definitely) returning to spy work in a couple of years? I like that. Totally abandoning it would have felt unsatisfying.

Loved that moment on the roof - missed opportunity for them to awkwardly wave at each other, but I’m so happy I predicted wrongly and Yassen gets to live and walk away and put down his weapons. There’s so much space for how they can reconnect in that.