#this will never not be goblin music to me

[tsupertsundere]

It’s gallant char Monday HOLY SHIT IT ENDS WITH TOBE GUNDAM CHAR THAT IS SO INTERESRINF ANOTHER MAN’S THEME ENDS UP INSIDE YOURS

[sciderman]

tb2 the spark of my spider-man hyperfixation - not a movie or a comic, but an aerial silk performer at a cheapo circus who was dressed as spider-man shout out to him 

[jamiebluewind]

Oh no, I'm old

[marymaylarry]

'Tis the Season for Holiday! We can't only talk about the issues; we need to work together to find solutions in order to support this youth group that is at risk! WE are grateful that you are assisting them beforehand!

 www.natecomicinc.com, or use CashApp: $NateComicInc

[swordsandholly]

Treat Me Gently (Because No One Else Will)

Ch 1: The Arrangement | next | masterlist | Ao3

Ghoap x reader | MDNI 18+ | cw: PiV sex, fingering

You yawn and stretch, back popping all the way up as you finally give it some reprieve from your hours of sitting at your low coffee table that doubles as your work station. As much as you try to stop hunching like a goblin, you always slip back into it. It’s hard when your mind gets lost in the words and the pages flying by. Good posture seems to equal bad writing, unfortunately.

Your knees pop slightly as you stand up from your cushion that doubles as a ‘chair’, decidedly clocking out for the evening. Really, you should have stopped two hours ago, but you just can’t get this one damn scene right. You sigh, heading to your dresser to change out of your “work” clothes and into a ratty, oversized shirt and pajama shorts. Your phone dings just as you go to stand in front of the fridge that you already know is practically empty.

S >> Come over?

S >> I got takeout.

You snicker. Perfunctory and presumptuous, as usual. He timed it out for when he knew you’d be done with work - even taking in your propensity to go well passed your designated office hours. He probably knew you were out of food, too. Not that you’d ever expect less from Simon Riley.

>> Give me 5

You pad across the the hallway between your flats, the dangling of your keys echoing off the old walls. The floorboards always creak, announcing your presence before you could even knock on the door. Simon’s place is bigger than yours - a one bedroom as opposed to your studio. Both have small balconies, his furnished with only two fold-out chairs. You’ve tried to convince him to get a plant or something, but he just insists it will die in a day despite that being literally impossible. The whole of the apartment is sparsely decorated - the main features being that of his well worn L-shaped couch and the fancy surround sound system Simon installed. The rest of it made up of shelves lined with physical media and books.

“Evenin’.” Simon says from his kitchen as you let yourself in. He stands at the island, broad shoulders hunched as he fiddles with something.

The lock clicks behind you when you shut the door. Some soft classical music drifts from the speakers. You don’t recognize it, but you also know that asking will result in a lecture that will undoubtedly become a pop quiz at a later date. You don’t need another Tchaikovsky incident on your hands.

“Sushi?” Your brows raise as you eye the rolls and sashimi. He really went all out. “What’s the occasion?”

Simon shrugs, plating the food up on his uniform black, square plates. Yours sits neatly on a plate of it’s own, soy sauce and all. Sometimes you wonder if he keeps an index of your take out orders or if his memory is just that good. “Shipping out soon. Figured I’d get it while I could.”

You grin and move behind him. He shivers slightly as you push your cool hands up under his shirt to run along his strong core. “Doesn’t have anything to do with the whole aphrodisiac thing?”

“Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, bird.” Simon feigns ignorance. The corner of his mouth briefly quirks up before he forces it back down.

“Sure, sure.” You retract your hands, wandering over to pick up the TV remote off the well worn coffee table. “Which movie are we on?”

“Blackwell Ghost 5.”

You settle in your usual spot on the couch, leaning on the right armrest. Simon has always liked the middle - he says it’s the best for his back. You know it’s just because he likes to manspread five miles wide. It doesn’t bother you, as you generally prefer to curl up in the corner with your feet tucked. The movie rolls and you eat in comfortable silence, humming around the fresh food. He really does spoil you, sometimes.

You eye Simon while you eat. With anybody else this would all be pretense - an unnecessary preamble to imply, somehow, that this is more than a booty call. Not with Simon. Never with Simon. This is just as important as the rest of it. You watch the way his hands practically dwarf the single-use chopsticks, the way his body melts into the cushions. Your eyes rake over the strong planes of his face littered with various scars; his nose broken one too many times, the ear that’s been slightly clipped by a bullet. His hair has grown out and more stubble sprinkles across his jaw than he usually allows.

“Wotcha lookin’ at?” Simon mumbles around some tuna.

You tilt your head, smiling. “You’re fun to watch.”

“Creep.” He nudges your foot with his knee.

“Freak.” You push back.

“’ow’s the book goin’?” Simon asks.

You groan, shoving your last piece of sushi in your mouth while you debate your answer. “S’fine. Slow. My agent is being a real pain in my ass.”

He hums, that slight smirk gracing his lips. If you knew him any less you might have missed it entirely. “Need some inspiration?”

You sputter out a laugh, placing your plate on the coffee table. “Very smooth, Riley.”

“C’mere.” Simon rumbles, wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you over his lap. It’s almost uncomfortable how far you have to stretch to accommodate his hips, but its so worth it as his hands rest on your waist, grinding you down against him. You gasp, giving him entrance to press his lips to yours - tongue flicking over your lower lip.

One hand tangles in his hair, the other caressed downward, shoving his shirt up and tracing the lines of muscle across his torso. You’ve always loved bodies - loved taking in their shapes and texture, their variety - and Simon’s has so much to take in. Ridges of muscle and scars, plus that little plush layer over his middle he gets while home from deployment. You tug on his shirt, only breaking the kiss long enough to yank it off and toss it somewhere on the floor.

“Y’so fuckin’ pretty…” Simon mumbles, hands wandering from your waist, to your hips, to knead at your thighs and the curve of your ass.

You squeak as Simon lifts you, locking your legs around his waist. No matter how many times he does it, his strength still catches you off guard. He doesn’t unlock from your lips, moving back to his room purely based on muscle memory. You have to resist the urge to tease him about the time he knocked your head against the doorframe in this exact position.

Your hands drift over the curvature of his broad shoulders as he lays you back on his bed. You can’t help but be fascinated by him - all hard muscle and sinew. So different from your own soft figure. Even the pads of his fingers are rough as they push under your oversized t-shirt, kneading at the soft layer over your middle.

“This okay?” Simon mumbles in your ear. You nod vigorously as his hands move up, up, up until he’s pulling your shirt and bralette off in one swift motion.

Simon buries his face in your chest, nipping at the sensitive skin before taking a nipple in his mouth. You arch into the touch, unsure of where to put your hands and opting to let them wander.

“May I?” He murmurs, fingers catching in the hems of your underwear and sleep shorts. Again, you nod, forgetting that isn’t enough for him at this stage. “Use your words.”

“Yes! Please, Si.” You whine, rolling your hips against the too-light touch.

Simon chuckles at you, pulling your bottoms off and dropping them onto the floor somewhere. He runs his fingers between your folds, obviously reveling in the way your breath catches and your chest heaves when he finally circles your clit. His lips connect with yours, swallowing every gasp and moan as he presses a finger inside.

“Fuckin’ tight t’night, bird.” He grumbles into your mouth. “‘ave I been neglecting you?”

Quite the opposite. If anything, he’s fucked you silly this past week, but you can’t exactly argue that when he presses against your g-spot and retakes your nipple between his teeth.

“Oh, fuck!” You moan as a second finger joins the first. Your nails dig lightly into his shoulders when he pressed his thumb against your clit, moving in short circles to the rhythm of the fingers inside you. You swear he’s too dexterous to be human sometimes.

You keen, body tensing as stars dance behind your eyes. You can feel the slickness of your cunt on your thighs, the squelch of Simon’s slowed movements almost too lewd.

He only disappears long enough to shuck off his pants before he’s hovering back over you, tucked into the crook of your neck. Simon gives you a moment to come down, cooing praises in your ear. “Doin’ so good f’me. Always so good f’me.”

He sits back to lightly tap his cock against your pussy, sending jolts up your spine, obviously enjoying your reaction. He grinds his cock against you, sliding easily between your soaked folds. “Christ.”

Simon reaches into the nightstand, plucking a condom out from their designated spot. He hands it to you for inspection, as always. You don’t really understand why he still does it after the two of you have had this standing agreement for so long, but it’s not a gesture you’re going to call into question. Some of Simon’s sexual habits are simply best left as they are - they’re always for your mutual benefit, anyway. You flip it over in your fingers briefly before passing it back.

No matter how many times you take him, it’s always a stretch. He’s not the biggest you’ve had, but thick enough the sensation would teeter into pain without any preparation. That’s another thing he insists on: pain has no place in intimacy.

Your lips fall open in a pitchy moan - hands fisting the sheets on either side of you. Simon falls onto his forearms resting on either side of your head. You revel in the way he cages you in, the way his tongue laps at the sweat-slicked skin of your collar bone. You both sigh in sync as his hips finally settle against yours.

You wrap your legs tightly around his back as he begins to move. A solid rhythm slowly turning into something more desperate. Simon sits up, his weight suddenly off you. Just as you crack your eyes open his hands grab tightly onto your hips, lifting them just off the bed. The new angle ruts him against that spot inside you, pushing you over the edge into another orgasm faster than you can process it.

He eventually lets go of your hips, one hand braces by your head, the other tracing your body. Plucking at your nipples, kneading at the flesh of your thighs, pressing onto your soft stomach to emphasize the fullness with him inside you.

“Give me another.” Simon demands, thumb pressing to your clit. His eyes bore through you, watching your every minute expression. “C’mon, one more, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart. A rarer pet name - one you’d probably be pissed about coming from anyone else. With Simon it melts into your bones, pooling at the base of your spine. Your eyes roll back, pathetic sounds and babbling falling from your lips as you cum again in such a short span.

“Fuck.” He grunts, voice low and breathless in your ear. “Cunt feels so fucking good when you cum f’me.”

You whine, useless under him. Your limbs are utter jelly. Even as you try to roll your hips with his, your movement is stuttered. Uncontrolled. You know he enjoys how sensitive you are, how pliant you become. It feeds his ego - the part of him that needs to do things right. Your body shudders under Simon’s as he groans, all depth and gravel, his hips stuttering and slowing as he cums.

You both stop, for a moment, foreheads pressed together as you catch your breath enough for Simon to push himself up, tying off the condom and tossing it before falling into his back beside you.

A silence lapses over you - the only sound in the room is that of your breathing with a slight pitch difference between your breaths. You’ve always loved this part. The quiet afterglow. The gentle way Simon will reach over to soothe down your hair while you lazily meet his eye. No words, no expectations. Just existing with someone in your vulnerability. With someone you know is safe.

“Go piss.” Simon points to the bathroom as soon as his breath is even.

You snort, pushing yourself up on slightly shaky arms. “So demanding.”

“So considerate.” He quips back. “It’s important.”

“Fine, fine.” You throw your hands up and pad off to the bathroom. You pause, looking at yourself in the mirror. What is it about Simon’s bathroom that makes you so much more beautiful than your own? Your skin glows nicely, your hair shines even as it’s mussed up from getting fucked six ways to Sunday.

When you come back Simon’s sitting up against the headboard, scrolling through something on his phone. You crawl back into bed beside him, flopping on your back and staring at the ceiling fan as it circles, circles, circles.

“When do you have to leave?”

He sighs, dropping his phone back onto the nightstand. “End of the week.”

You nod, accepting the oncoming semi-dry spell as usual. You’ve always wondered what he does when he’s gone - if he has another you out there. Another arrangement. You can’t imagine Simon going more than a couple days without someone. That’s what brought you into this in the first place - a mutual benefit. You don’t truly feel the need to ask; it’s more curiosity than anything and you don’t want the question to go misinterpreted. Not that Simon would, necessarily, he’s always been good about taking your words at face value.

With a sigh, you roll onto your side to face him, head propped on your hand. “Know where you’re heading?”

“Mexico.” Simon grunts in that tone that signals you to stop asking questions.

You trail your fingers over his chest, through the dusting of blonde hair. “Wanna go again?”

“Fuck yes.” He rolls over. You can’t help but giggle as he knocks your knees apart and eagerly plants himself between your thighs.

banner by @the-aesthetics-shop

[theostrophywife]

if u have time could u do theo taking care of a drunk reader?? thank u sm ❤️

here (in your arms).

pairing: theodore nott x reader.

song inspiration: here (in your arms) by hellogoodbye.

author's note: in a soft fluffy theo mood. don't text.

The boisterous sounds coming from the common room party filtered through the empty corridor of the boy's dormitories, making you sway to the beat of the music as you lifted your fist to the door. You rapped against the wood three times—your signature knock to let your best friend know that it was you on the other side.

You stepped back as the door swung open, revealing a disoriented Theo. His ruffled hair flopped over his eyes, the brown waves slightly flat on the right side, which you knew was his preferred side to sleep on. A twinge of guilt tugged at your heart as you watched the sleepy boy before you, his Chudley Cannons sweatshirt and light grey lounge pants indicating that you had probably interrupted his slumber. A rarity, given that your best friend suffered from insomnia more often than not.

Rubbing his eyes, Theo adjusted to the darkness of the hallway and glanced down at you. In your tiny little dress, you shivered in the cool air of the dungeons, wrapping your arms around yourself in an attempt to chase away the goosebumps.

"Hi Teddy," you whispered. "Did I wake you?"

"You did, but I don't mind." Theo said softly, rubbing up and down your arms to provide some much needed warmth. "What are you doing still up?"

"Pans convinced me to play another round of beer pong," you confessed. "You should have seen us. We obliterated the boys. Malfoy threw a fit."

The silly giggle that you covered behind your hand made Theo smile. If your constant swaying wasn't enough of an indication that you were currently inebriated, the deep red flush on your cheeks, neck, and arms told Theo all that he needed to know. You were absolutely sloshed.

"I'm sorry I missed it, dolcezza." When your body temperature refused to thaw, Theo shrugged off his jumper. For a brief moment, you caught a glimpse of his toned stomach, his olive skin glimmering in the dim lighting. You bit your lip, averting Theo's gaze. Luckily, he was too preoccupied with pulling the jumper over your head to notice. "Come in, let's get you warm, yeah?"

"Mmkay," you murmured in agreement. You trailed behind Theo, almost knocking into the doorway until he laced his fingers through yours, guiding you inside his dorm.

"There's a door there, amorina."

"Don't make fun, Teddy." You huffed, pouting as you followed closely behind. "Your room's too dark. How can you even see anything in here?"

Theo chuckled. "Sure, let's blame the lack of light instead of the fact that you're smashed."

"Am not," you countered, plopping onto Theo's large, plush bed. "I'm perfectly sober, thank you very much."

"Fine. Then who was the Minister of Magic during the Goblin Rebellion in 1752?"

"There were two ministers at the time. Boot was in office first, then he resigned due to mismanagement. Basil Flack replaced him." You smirked at your best friend, feeling rather smug. "Just because I'm bevvied doesn't mean that you'll catch me lacking, Theodore."

Theo raised a brow. "So you admit you're drunk?"

"You tricked me!"

"Guilty as charged." Theo admitted, plopping down right next to you. "So, did you bail on the party just to hog my bed?"

"It's not my fault that yours is much more comfier than mine," you mumbled, cocooning yourself underneath his comforters. "Plus, the party wasn't as fun without you there. I needed my partner in crime."

"I thought you'd be glad that I studied for the History of Magic exam instead of getting shitfaced. You're the one always telling me off about partying too much."

"Yeah, but I didn't think you'd actually listen."

"It's you," Theo said with a smile. "Of course I listened."

"I never thought I'd live to see the day when Theodore Nott is more responsible than me."

A smile tugged at your best friend's lips. "Well, one of us has to be. You're a mess, Y/N," he teased. "But you're my mess."

"As if that's not the pot calling the kettle black."

Theo chuckled as you buried yourself in his blankets, hiding from him entirely. He snuck underneath the covers and scooted closer until you were face to face.

"Hello," Theo whispered, wrapping his arms around your waist. He buried his face in the crook of your neck and hugged you liked he hadn't seen you all week. "I've missed you quite terribly."

"It's only been a few hours, Teddy." You replied, giggling as you brushed his hair back. It was getting so long, but you loved how soft and fluffy his locks felt as you ran your fingers through it.

"Says the girl who snuck into the boy's dorms to see me."

"Okay, so maybe I missed you too."

"That's what I thought."

You stayed intertwined for a moment, your hearts beating in sync as you clung onto one another. When you yawned, Theo patted your leg. "Come on, love. Let's get you ready for bed."

"But I'm already comfy," you whined, burying your face in his chest.

"I know, amorina. But you'll feel so much better after you've washed your face." You pouted in response. "I promise I'll make it quick. Then we can cuddle, okay?"

You nodded. "Okay, Teddy."

Theo smiled before giving you a piggyback ride to his private bathroom. Setting you down on the counter, he pulled out the makeup wipes that he kept in the drawer for this exact reason. You swung your legs in the air as he wiped the foundation off your face. With his brows furrowed and his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth, you'd never seen Theo so concentrated.

You grinned and pinched his cheek. "You're so cute when you're focused."

He quirked a brow as he helped you wash off the remnants. "Only when I'm focused?"

"No, you're cute all the time. It's infuriating." You lamented as Theo patted your face with a face cloth. He hummed, spreading serums and moisturizers on your skin like he'd seen you do a thousand times over.

"Oh? Care to share?"

"Hmm," you hummed, leaning into his touch. "I think it's cute when you hook our pinkies together in the hallway so I don't get overwhelmed by the crowd. Or when you get crumbs all over your face and grin like a little kid when I catch you raiding my cookie stash. Or how your eyes light up when we're watching the stars at night."

"You noticed all of that?" Theo asked softly.

"It's you," you answered, mirroring his words from earlier. "Of course I noticed."

The shy smile on his face made your heart flutter. "For the record, I think you're cute too. I think you're the cutest girl I've ever seen in my entire life."

"Sounds like you have a crush on me, Teddy."

"I have for the past six years. Thanks for finally noticing," he said with a chuckle.

You groaned, burying your face into his neck. "Don't say that to me when I'm drunk. What if I don't remember it tomorrow?"

Theo kissed the top of your head and carried you off to bed. "Then I guess I'll just have to remind you in the morning, love."

With a grin, you kissed the tip of his nose. "Thanks for taking care of me, Teddy."

Theo smiled. It was so beautiful that your heart ached to bear witness to it. As he tucked you into bed and wrapped his arms around you, the boy that you loved pressed a kiss to your temple and spoke a promise into the night.

"I'll always take care of you, Y/N."

Taglist: @annaisabookworm @marina468 @yaraasthings @the0doreslover @bubybubsters @moony-artemis @natasha887 @lucyysthings @criesinlies @bunnymallowo @niktwazny303 @letmedownslows @siriuslyalovergirl @wordsarelife @clairesjointshurt @daydreamingabthar

[hazelfoureyes]

before i never really interacted with blogs(cuz anxiety and very toxic friends had my tumblr, who ive gotten rid of now) but now i literally interact with every post bc of you, you are god and i will worship you, your smut is poetic af and has my legs SHAKING(.literally.)

i am ON MY KNEES❗

also, alastor and his rivals(vox or lucifer) x reader smut? like i know alastor would be petty asf and have them watch as he fucks the living out of their beloved, im curious, do you have any ideas regarding that?(cuz your ideas are delicious and im hungry for that)

You’ve left me speechless which is quite the accomplishment, Darling. I am just a little goblin! Or like the tooth fairy, but instead of teeth I take praise and instead of money I leave filthy smut 🥺 I am so glad you removed the toxic friends and are interacting more. 💖 you deserve better and your interactions are a joy. Thank you for brightening my day! I am so far away and yet you’ve got me blushing like a fool.

oooh yes okay so! Here’s some ideas 👀

•───⋅⋆⁺‧₊👑₊‧⁺⋆⋅───•

Energy for me is Lucifer: Here to please. Alastor: Here to win. I imagine Luci brings you to the hotel for Charlie’s Birthday party, already having a precious casual fling once or twice before. All the guests are there, everyone is dancing and drinking and having a good time. Alastor notices how you call him Luci, how Lucifer cant keep his cool when you lean closer to him when you speak. Naturally, Alastor sees an opportunity to fuck with Lucifer so he asks for a dance. He is uncharacteristically sweet and loving, willing to do anything to get under the king of hell’s skin. He changes the music to something slow, holding you close he whispers in your ear during your dance, “How can any man maintain composure around you? I feel my manners slipping through my fingers every time you look my way.” When you leave the party to cool down, Alastor follows, finding you in an empty room trying to decompress. “Would you hate me if I kissed you? Be forewarned, once I start, I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop…”

Lucifer walks in to see you absolutely melting under Alastor, lipstick smeared and face flushed. But Luci adores you, your pleasure is his pleasure and he’s compelled to stay and watch, even as Alastor makes you moan and scream his name. “Who do you belong to, sweetheart?” “Whose cock are you made for?” You’re reduced to incoherent babbling by the time Alastor is finished toying with Lucifer. Lucifer can’t take it anymore and finds himself crawling onto the bed to swallow your moans and shower you in praise.

•───⋅⋆⁺‧₊🖥️₊‧⁺⋆⋅───•

I can see Vox bringing his beloved personal assistant to an overlord meeting for note taking, and Alastor notices your glances to him. Vox adores you, and is always on his best behavior around you to impress you. Alastor waits for you outside of Vee Tower that night for a “chance run in”. “What luck! Allow me to buy you a drink, as a welcome to hell.” Charms you as any good southern boy could, and suggests you both go back to your office for privacy. Knowing full well Vox has cameras all over the office, Alastor fucks Vox’s assistant on his desk while maintaining eye contact with the massive collection of screens there. Vox catches sight of this while skimming through the feeds but can’t break away from the video. Alastor keeps your back to the displays while bouncing you on his cock, smirking at Vox the entire time as he leans back on his desk chair. Vox is seething and finally rushes to his office to find Alastor gone and you lying on your back, still out of breath and cum dripping onto the desk.

Vox keeps you, but gets rid of the desk. He can’t let Alastor have the satisfaction of making him lose his prized employee. For weeks after, while zoning out in board meetings, his screen flashes images of Alastor smirking from over your shoulder as you ride him. He’s entirely unaware that it’s happening and everyone is too scared to tell him.

[aurorawritestoescape]

DESTINIES INTERTWINED

General Marcus Acacius x f!reader x Lucilla

Summary: you spend a passionate night with your lovers.

Tw: 18+ mdni, smut, fluff, mff, unspecified age gap, soft!Marcus, soft!Lucilla, polyamorous relationship, praise, f!oral, unprotected piv, creampie, breeding, mention of lactation, power imbalance. Sorry for any inaccuracies about Ancient Rome. Pics are only for the mood, reader has hair, but no other physical description.

Word count: 3k

A/n: should I even explain myself? A horny goblin inside me wrote it. Hope you will like it! Love you all!💖

Soft Marcus kiss to @milla-frenchy for beta-ing😘 Dividers by @saradika-graphics 💕

MASTERLIST

You hear him before you see him. His heavy steps echo through the vast halls of the palace and reach your ears even through the soft music that the servants are playing. Then the bedroom doors loudly open and he enters the room— a warrior, a leader, a conqueror, ready to discard the worries of his day, to offer rest to his mind and soul.

Lucilla and you lying on the bed, leaning on the pillows and holding each other close. You two have been kissing and talking quietly from time to time but the atmosphere, a perfect image of leisure and softness mere moments ago, gets electrified, charged with masculine energy. The servants leave immediately, knowing well that General Marcus Acacius does not allow anyone to see what he does to his women.

You can never believe how generously the gods blessed you. After a life of slavery and abuse you are now cherished as if you’re of noble descent. Even better, you feel loved.

Marcus freed you from the brutal hands of your owner and though you still are enslaved to an outside eye, you have never felt more free.

The General made you his servant first and you welcomed his order with gratitude. You were happy to serve such an honorable man. He and his wife were kind masters and they did not see an object when they looked at you. They saw a person. Not much time passed before you found yourself in bed with both Marcus and Lucilla. You three quickly became one, regularly drowning each other in pleasure and adoration. So you were not surprised when Mercus suggested intertwining your destinies forever.

You shouldn’t be nervous, having had plenty of time to get used to the General’s overwhelming presence. But his power, his strength, his intelligence and beauty struck you every single time like the first. Your heart is fluttering and you squirm against Lucilla’s shoulder, and always attentive to your mood, the woman envelops you in her arms tighter, sharing more of her warmth with you, while nothing but thin nightgowns separate your bodies.

“Soften your expression, my love. You’re scaring our little rose.”

Marcus pauses discarding his gear and turns to you, eyes piercing and dark reading your features.

“Is it the truth, my beautiful girl? Am I still a scare for you?” he asks, walking up slowly to the bed. His voice is gruff, molded by countless battles, but for the two of you it’s silky and soft.

“No, General.. Marcus,” you reply in a soft voice, big eyes looking up at the man with adoration and piety. The sound of his name on your lips and your devoted gaze do the trick— his face softens and he gives you a warm smile. You smile back shyly and Lucilla pecks your temple, laughing,

“Our General can be quite intimidating. Yet you and I know that he is as gentle as a warm summer breeze. For us.”

Marcus smirks and continues taking off his gear and undergarments and soon he’s standing naked next to the bed— a broad torso, strong, defined muscles glistening softly in the dim candle light, his big heavy cock swaying with every move. The sight of him takes your breath away.

He leans down and kisses his wife first as his chest hovers over you and the scent of rose oils caresses your senses.

Then it is your turn and he watches your face for a few seconds before he greets the beginning of a passionate night with you, planting a gentle kiss on your lips.

“How are my loves?” He asks, sitting down on the bed, facing you two, as you lick your lips, savoring his taste.

“She’s ready. Bona Dea favors us— the time is perfect,” Lucilla hurries to inform him, excitement painting her every word, “I played with her during the washing. She must come as much as possible for the seed to stick.”

Your cheeks start burning and your chest is heaving as you avert your gaze from the man in front of you but Marcus pinches your chin and gently lifts your face to his, searching for your eyes.

“Nothing to be shy about, my heart. You will give me.. give us a son, my heir and our destinies, mine, yours and Lucilla’s will be intertwined forever.”

His lips curve in a warm smile and you relax, taking a big calming breath. A whimper escapes your lips when his hand slides from your face to your chest and then belly. He puts his palm over it, rubbing it with his thick thumb and the heat of his touch, warming your skin through the sheer fabric, ignites your core and paints your face with need and desire.

“Yes, Marcus. I wish for nothing more.”

“Sweet little rose,” he coos at you and hunches down so he could press his face to your covered mound. The General takes a deep breath and you open your legs wider so he could revel in the scent of your arousal.

“Our beautiful rose,” his wife echoes, “Give her one more before we start, my love. I shall assist you.”

You turn your head to look at Lucilla’s gorgeous face, your eyes full of lust and gratitude and you reach for her to kiss you. She smiles and soon her soft lips are caressing yours, her tongue is licking into your whimpering mouth and you gasp against her lips when her husband latches onto your bare cunt.

Bunching up your nightgown over your waist Marcus is feasting on your sweet nectar, flowing generously from your clenching hole. Lucilla drew an orgasm from you mere minutes before and he’s reaping the fruit of her labor.

When he starts sucking on your puffy clit, you part from the woman’s lips and direct your gaze at the General eating you out, his lips and tongue celebrating your pussy, methodically bringing you to your high.

Overwhelmed by the sight of this man, strong and powerful, sliding his warm tongue through your glistening folds, you softly moan. Soon your whimpers fill the room as you're writhing in bed, running your fingers through his silky curls.

"She's close, my love, do not stop," Lucilla tells her husband and her hand slithers to your chest and pulls down the neckline of your nightgown.

She gently cups your breast and her fingers twitch your pebbled nipple. You moan as her touch sends a new surge of wetness to your entrance for her husband to lap up.

Marcus’s obsidian eyes flick up to the sight of his wife playing with your tits and he parts from your cunt to ask,

“Will you give me an honor to taste your milk when it’s time, my little rose? I would love your sweet breasts to nourish me, just like your little cunt is nourishing me right now.”

You moan at his words and eagerly nod, biting your lower lip, and Marcus’s slick-coated mouth curves into a content smile.

Lucilla whispers, “We love you,” against your temple and they continue pleasuring you, her hands kneading your breasts, his mouth on your soft pussy and soon you’re coming, shaking against Lucilla’s body, as she’s praising you throughout, while Marcus is quenching his thirst with your plentiful juices.

When he lifts his head his bearded chin and mustache are shining with the evidence of your ecstasy and you reach your arms towards him to pull him close and lick it off his face. Lucilla rushes to help you and soon the three of you are kissing, tongues and lips moving passionately in this lustful dance of three. You’re comforted by their bodies, caging you against each other, and you wish for this moment to last forever.

They give you only a moment of respite before Marcus takes your nightgown off and wraps his throbbing cock in his big veiny hand. He pumps it with a few languid strokes and you swallow loudly, watching his huge manhood grow even bigger. Marcus cups your cheek with a free hand and coos,

“Don't fret, little rose. You’ve taken me before. I promise to be slow and gentle.”

“Lie down between my legs, my love, so I could feel every thrust Marcus gives you,” Lucilla purrs, helping you to shift and you happily lean your back on her chest as she wraps her arms around you.

“This time it will take, I know it,” Lucilla continues, as her palms are gliding over your shoulders, breasts and belly in a calming gesture but your cunt tingles again at her soft touch.

Marcus lies between your spread thighs, his hard cock pressed to your mound, and gifts you another heady kiss, reminding you of his love and care.

“You’re strong, my love. You shall receive my seed and grow a new life for us three. You shall be mine forever.”

You breathe out a quiet ‘yes’ and he brushes your cheek with his lips at the same time pushing the tip of his cock into your soaked hole. You already feel the dull stretch and grasp Lucilla’s arms enveloping you and she whispers,

“I shall help you, little rose.”

Her hand slithers between Marcus’s and your bodies and she finds your throbbing clit, soaked with your cum and her husband’s saliva. She begins rubbing it in tight circles, murmuring in your ear,

“Relax, my precious, open up for him. Let Marcus fill you up with his seed. Sometimes I wish I had a cock too so we both could make you full with cum.”

You mewl, hearing her words, while the General thrusts in, close to bottoming out, and the fullness, the stretch that he bestows on you, quickly overwhelms you and your head whips to the side as your needy eyes search for your female lover.

“I need you,” you admit with a weak voice and she smiles down at you and moves your torso slightly to the side, freeing her chest.

She takes her breast out of her sheer nightgown and brings your face closer. You take a sharp breath at the sight of her beautiful tit and latch onto her puffy nipple. You flutter your eyes shut with pleasure, enjoying the sweetness of her skin, as she’s holding you close to feed you her breast better, while her husband’s cock prods deeper and deeper inside your wet hot cunt.

Her bud hardens in your mouth and she starts moaning while you’re licking it, swirling your tongue around and then suckling on the nipple. She knows how much you love it, the feeling so comforting and ecstatic, you whimper as your pussy gushes around Marcus’s cock.

The man grunts and growls, thrusting his fat stiffness little by little inside you,

“Oh gods, you are just as tight as our first night together. Remember, little rose, how long it took me to fully sheath my cock into your sweet cunt?” You move just your eyes to glance at him, not parting from his wife’s tit, and hum in agreement.

“I shall be slow now as well.” His voice is strained and he grinds his teeth, trying not to pierce you with his girthy length in one go, desperately wishing to bottom out but holding up for the sake of your comfort.

Finally his heavy balls slap your ass and you both moan loudly as his tip gives a kiss to your cervix. You feel so full and happy, your lips leave Lucilla’s breast and you take Marcus’s face in your hands to kiss him. The giant man moans as your soft mouth thanks him for the gift of his cock and you can’t make yourselves part from one another, reveling in the taste of your love and desire. He twitches deep inside you and not tearing his lips from yours he begins rolling his hips, fucking you slowly and gently, massaging his length with your snug walls and it feels like he fucks into your belly, into your soul and heart, so deep that you hold your breath, afraid to move, scared he will split you in two with the might of his manhood.

Judging by her soft moans, Lucilla senses his thrusts, as if he’s fucking both of you, and soon she starts grinding her pussy against your ass and you feel her wetness smeared on your skin.

Marcus’s heavy cock drugs in and out of your hole, caressing your core and pushing on the pleasure spot inside you. But you can not be that selfish as to enjoy this beautiful and hopefully fruitful night without your other lover so you part from the General’s mouth to murmur,

“Lucilla, I want—.”

“What is it, my love?” the woman behind you asks and Marcus pauses his movements to let you speak.

“I wish— wish to feel you on my tongue.”

Your voice is barely audible as shyness overtakes you but it’s loud enough for your lovers to hear.

“You wish to…,” Lucilla starts but you interrupt her. “Yes, sit on my face. Please,” you plea as you turn your head to look at her.

They’re quick to fulfill your wish and soon Lucilla gets from under you and plants her knees on the sides of your face. Her cunt is hovering over your mouth, as she’s facing her husband, who’s still buried deep in your heat. She discards her sheer nightgown and you take a sharp breath, as her gorgeous naked body blesses your vision. Her glistening folds are calling for you to taste them. So you pull her down with your hands on her thighs and, after opening up as wide as possible, you cover her cunt with the warmth of your mouth. You hungrily lick a path from her clit to her hole and gather all the wetness off her hot skin. She doesn’t let you wait long and soon she’s gushing more onto your waiting tongue.

“My little rose!” She gasps, surprised by your eagerness and lust, “So good to us,” she coos at you while her fingers are running through your hair. The woman moans when your tongue prods her hole and you slide it deeper while your hands knead her asscheeks and thighs.

“Is it nice, my love? Is our little rose making you happy?” Marcus asks his wife, who’s moving her body up and down now, fucking herself on your tongue.

“Oh, yes,” she breathes out and throws her head back in ecstasy.

You don’t see Marcus but you feel him, so much of him as he’s thrusting his cock into you with steady and deep strokes.

“You two are perfect and you’re mine,” he growls, “I am thankful to the gods for giving me both of you.”

Then you feel his big hands on your breasts and he begins caressing your nipples with his calloused fingers, making you whimper against his wife’s cunt.

“Wish your tits were full of milk already. The warm nectar would trickle down my hands right now,” he accentuates his words, kneading your breasts, “When you bare my child I shall make sure to have you on my cock and in my mouth every day, to devour your sweet cunt whenever you wish.”

His words make your heart and pussy flatter and he grunts, as his cock twitches deep in your core. Marcus increases the pace at which his stiffness is spearing you again and again and you grab Lucilla’s thighs to keep yourself from sliding up the bed.

“My love, her mouth is heaven,” the woman moans, addressing her husband and the next moment you hear their lips moving against each other. His cock, stuffing your soaked cunt, your tongue in her wet hole, the sensations pull you to the heights of pleasure and, overwhelmed with ove and lust, you come, moaning loudly, your sweet noises muffled by Lucilla’s cunt.

It sets a chain reaction and your walls, clamping around Marcus’s cock, make him explode and he begins shooting his hot load deep into your contracting core. He quickly fills you up and soon you hear the lewd noises of your cunt, squelching with his every thrust.

You desperately wish for Lucilla to come with you too and, still trembling with ecstasy under their naked bodies, you wrap your lips around her clit and suck, lick, flick it with the tip of your tongue bringing her higher to meet Marcus and you there. Soon you’re successful and she cries out your name until Marcus kisses her and drinks her moans.

When she stills, her cunt leaves your mouth and she lies down on the bed next to you.

You finally set your eyes on the General and marvel at his beauty — his strong muscles are bulging, the skin, dewy with sweat, is almost glowing in the warm candle light, his curls are tousled and some have fallen on his forehead. Your lover is panting heavily, descending from his hard climax. He gives you a warm smile as he coos,

“Look at you, my beautiful rose, your lips are coated with the evidence of Lucilla’s love for you. Let me…”

With that he leans down not pulling out and kisses you, licking the slick of your lips and chin.

“Do not spill the seed, my love,” Lucilla warns him and he hums against your mouth.

“Never, not a drop shall fall,” he mumbles, as his lips part from yours, “Your full cunt shall be plugged by my cock all night, little rose.”

You nod, barely having any strength to do so, and he carefully lies down next to you, gently turning your body on your side and you feel Lucilla’s arms embrace you from behind. Marcus’s manhood is still in your stretched hole and he puts your leg over thigh and bucks his hips to plug you better.

You revel in their warmth, adoration and love, resting between your lovers. They start talking about your future together, your baby and how they are going to take care of you two and you drift off with a happy and hopeful smile on your face.

Thank you for reading! Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed the fic! Your feedback motivates me so much!❤️

Masterlist

General tag list: @milla-frenchy @harriedandharassed @iamasaddie @nervousmumbling @bbyanarchist @stevie75 @puduvallee @auteurdelabre @mountainsandmayhem @senoratess @flamingochick55 @theoraekenslover @schnarfer @mermaidgirl30 @staywildflowahchild @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @evolnoomym @keylimebeag @joelmillerisapunk

Tagging some lovelies who commented on the Wip post @ozarkthedog @fruityreads @604to647 @corazondebeskar-reads

If you'd like to be tagged in my future fics, let me know!💕

[steveseddie]

go for it

steddie | rating: t | cw: none | wc: 4,6k | tags: eddie and steve have a crush, they finally do something about it, the hellfire club is there whoops, first kiss, getting together

for my stficbingo: “This is a dictatorship and I’m in charge!”

click here to read on ao3

***

“You drag yourselves out of the tunnels and find what seems to be a friendly tavern in the woods,” Eddie narrates in a low voice, his eyes sweeping over everyone sitting at the Harrington dining table. They’re all at the edge of their seats, collectively holding their breath, looking suitably daunted yet excited as they brace themselves for some other twist in the story. “The innkeeper welcomes you with warm food and offers you a place to stay. She assures you that you’re safe.” 

He pauses for dramatic effect. Watches as Henderson bites his knuckles, Wheeler squeezes his eyes shut, Jeff covers his face with his hands-

“Tonight you get to rest,” he finishes with a flourish of his hand and the party sighs in relief. 

“Thank God!” Gareth says, slumping back on his chair and wiping his brow where beads of sweat started gathering during the final moments of the campaign. “I thought we wouldn’t make it.” 

“Holy shit, me too,” Sinclair agrees, shaking his head in disbelief. He’d been one bad die roll away from dying by the time they finally defeated the goblins that attacked them out of nowhere. “That was brutal!” 

“It was fucking awesome!” Henderson says with a squeaky laugh and everyone around the table heartily agrees.  

Eddie grins widely, resting his chin on one hand and doing a flourish with the other one in lieu of a bow. “Glad it pleased you, Master Nog.” 

The kid flashes him a toothy smile and then he and the rest of the party start discussing tonight’s campaign- the best moments, the ones where they thought they would all die, their predictions for what will happen next week. 

They’re so caught up in their conversation that they don’t notice when Eddie slips away from the table.

The Harrington house is easy to get lost in, bigger than any house Eddie has ever been to. Even after weeks of being friends with Steve and coming over for movie nights and pool parties, Eddie isn’t sure he’s seen all of it. He knows there’s a third garage somewhere and he’s only been to one of the three guest bedrooms and that was back on the first night he slept over. 

(Since then, he and Steve realized that they sleep better when they have company and Eddie never saw the inside of that or any of the other guest rooms again, sharing Steve’s bed with him whenever he spends the night instead.)

Eddie has been to Harrington kitchen plenty of times though, so he makes his way there easily. 

As he gets further away from his friends and their noise, Eddie’s ears pick up on the music coming from the Harrington kitchen, which further guides him in the right direction. He belatedly recognizes the song as part of the mixtape he made for Steve a couple of days ago in an attempt to improve his music taste. When he gave it to him, Steve eyed it warily (“It’s real music, Stevie, not a rabid animal, it won’t bite you!”) before shoving it into his car’s glove compartment. He didn’t bring it up since then and Eddie assumed he forgot about it. Knowing that Steve didn’t forget and he’s actually listening to it now fills Eddie’s stomach with butterflies. 

Those butterflies flutter pathetically when he finally reaches the kitchen and finds Steve doing the dishes. 

He’s standing in front of the sink, his hips moving with the music (not heavy metal but some soft rock that Eddie thought might be more Steve’s style while still being cool) and there’s a flowery apron tied around his waist which matches the rubber gloves he’s wearing. Both were a gag gift from the kids, Steve told Eddie the first time he saw him wearing them, one that actually turned out to be quite useful and now he wears them often. 

For a moment, Eddie lingers at the kitchen doorway, giving himself a few seconds to stare at Steve, filing away how he looks for later when he’s daydreaming embarrassingly domestic fantasies of a life with Steve. Then he raps his knuckles twice on the door frame to get his attention. 

(Eddie knows better than to sneak up on him now. The one time he did Steve had him pinned against a wall before Eddie could even realize what was happening. He thought it was hot more than anything, but Steve had been mortified. He spent the rest of the night apologizing and acting like a kicked puppy around him. He didn’t relax until Eddie reminded him that the first time they met, Eddie did the same thing, only he also held a broken bottle to Steve’s throat. So now they were more than even.)

Steve’s head whips around at the sound and his face lights up when he sees Eddie leaning against the door frame. 

“Hey!” Steve says, grinning like he’s delighted to see Eddie. Like he missed him, like he didn’t see him less than forty minutes ago when they all took a break to have dinner. “You finished early tonight.” 

Glancing at the clock on top of the fridge, Eddie realizes that Steve is right. “I figured they had enough for one night,” Eddie says, stepping into the kitchen and joining Steve by the sink. “Usually the brats would throw a fit, but I think they were actually glad this time.”  

“That bad?” Steve asks with a snort.

“Wheeler rolled four nat ones in a row, Steve, four!” Eddie says, dancing in and out of Steve’s space until Steve hip-checks him out of the way with a chuckle. 

“Four, huh?” 

“Mhm, the odds weren’t in their favor tonight.” 

“Well, it was nice of you to let them off the hook for once, Mr. Dungeon Master,” Steve says, crinkly eyes meeting Eddie’s momentarily before looking down at the sink and picking up another plate. 

“I’m always nice, Stevie,” Eddie says, leaning back against the counter, arms crossed over his chest.

Steve gives him a bitchy face. “Dude, I’m pretty sure I heard you threaten to chop off Dougie’s hand.” 

“That was the goblin, not me!” Eddie protests, wagging his finger in front of Steve’s face. “Who Jeff killed shortly after, so who’s the one that isn’t nice here?” 

“Right,” Steve deadpans. He takes off the rubber gloves after rinsing the last plate and picks up a dish towel to start drying. “You can always get your revenge next week I guess.” 

“Oh I will, Stevie. I will,” he says, grinning manically. Oh the things he has planned. Eddie hops on top of the counter, right next to where Steve stands as he dries plates and glasses and everything else he used to make the most delicious lasagna for the party. His feet dangle from the counter and he lightly nudges Steve with one. “Hey, thanks for letting us play here. And for dinner.”

“You know you don’t have to thank me every time, right Eds?” Steve says with an exaggerated sigh, but his annoyance is downplayed by his playful smile. The lopsided one that makes Eddie want to kiss him stupid. 

After Spring Break, Principal Higgins was quick to shut down Hellfire once and for all, leaving the party with no place to hold their campaigns. Eddie wasn’t surprised but like everyone else, he was pretty fucking bummed about it. No one in their party had enough space at their house to host their campaigns, and the only two that did, Wheeler and Sinclair, failed to convince their parents to let them use their basement for their alleged satanic cult gatherings. 

But just when they thought their club was done for, Steve swooped in like the knight in shining armor that he is and offered up his house, which is why for the last couple of weeks they’ve been gathering at the Harrington residence where Steve not only hosts their campaigns and puts up with the noise and the mess they leave behind, but he also cooks or buys them dinner every week and makes sure to stock up his fridge with each of their favorite drinks, even indulging in Gareth’s weird obsession with Bubble Up soda because he is unreal and the nicest fucking guy Eddie knows. 

So Eddie can’t not thank him every time. Contrary to what people might believe, he has manners. He also likes the pretty pink flush that covers Steve’s cheeks whenever he does it.

“Hm, I think I do,” he says, nudging Steve’s leg again. “Hellfire would be over if it wasn’t for you, sweetheart.” 

“And what a tragedy that would be,” Steve jokes but aha! There it is- that pretty pink blush. 

“Hey! I know for a fact that you don’t hate it as much as you pretend to,” Eddie says, shaking his finger in a reproachful manner. “You sat through the whole session last time and didn’t even yawn once!” 

Last week, Dustin begged and pleaded so that Steve would sit and watch their campaign instead of retreating to the kitchen or his bedroom. Steve held his ground admirably until Eddie joined in on Dustin’s pleas, batting his eyelashes and pouting exaggeratedly until he caved, sighing in defeat and sitting down next to Eddie. He didn’t expect Steve to make it through the whole thing, but he did and while he did look a little confused at times and complained that there was way too much math involved, he also seemed to actually enjoy himself. 

Steve shifts from one foot to the other and bites his lip. “Yeah, I guess, but that’s because I was watching you the whole time,” he shyly says.

Eddie blinks. “Me?” He remembers Steve’s eyes on him while he led the campaign, but he didn’t think much of it then. But now Steve’s shy admission that he enjoyed himself because he was watching Eddie makes his heart stutter in his chest. 

Flushing deeper, Steve keeps his eyes on the glass that he’s drying, not meeting Eddie’s gaze as he says, “Yeah, you, uh. You’re very good at doing those voices and you know, drawing people into your stories. It’s, um, fascinating.” 

Fascinating. No one’s ever used that word to describe Eddie before. He can’t help the way his breath catches when Steve Harrington of all people calls him that. 

“Oh. Well, thanks,” he stammers out, feeling his own cheeks match Steve’s flush. “And here I thought you were going to say I’m just pretty to look at,” he adds with a slightly shaky laugh.

And that’s what he expects Steve to do- laugh it off. Instead, he finally meets Eddie’s eyes and says, “Well, that too.” 

Eddie’s jaw drops. Holy shit. 

Steve does laugh then but not because it was a joke. He laughs at Eddie’s reaction which consists of him gaping like a fish because Steve Harrington just called him fascinating and pretty. 

And it’s not that Steve hasn’t given him compliments before or hasn’t flirted with him before. He plays along most of the time- sometimes with a playful smirk and sometimes with that baffled puppy look that Eddie saw for the first time after calling him “big boy”.

The thing is he’s never flirted like this- shyly, without a hint of a joke. And it’s- 

Well, it’s a lot. 

But if Eddie learned anything after Spring Break is to roll with whatever the universe throws at him, which in this case isn’t an army of hell bats or an apocalypse, but Steve Harrington finally, maybe, possibly making a move. Something that Eddie has been waiting for after weeks of the two of them dancing around each other. 

He couldn’t see it at first, or rather he refused to, afraid to get his hopes up only for his heart to break when he turned out to be wrong. But there are things that not even his cynical eyes can ignore. The way Steve gravitates towards Eddie in any group setting or the way Eddie catches him staring when he thinks he isn’t looking like last week when they went swimming at the quarry and Eddie took off his shirt or like two weeks ago when Eddie tied his hair up to keep it off his face while he played his guitar. Or the way Steve’s eyes seem to dart to Eddie’s lips constantly when he talks and the way he can’t go more than a day without seeing him before he’s knocking on Eddie’s door to spend time with him.

It would be slightly easier to ignore all of this if it wasn’t for the fact that Eddie acts the same way when it comes to Steve. And Eddie is halfway in love with the guy, so. It makes him wonder. 

But despite all of this, Eddie still hasn’t made a move. Steve either. Until now maybe. 

Eddie clears his throat, finally finding his words. “Well, as entertaining as it must’ve been to watch me.” He grins. “You’ll have more fun if you actually play with us. Maybe next time I can finally convince you to join.”

Hazel eyes narrow at him. “If I play, will you threaten to cut off my hand too?”  

“Nah, I promise to go easy on you since it’s your first time.” He winks and Steve’s eyes widen, the blush from before making a wonderful return. 

“I- I haven’t said yes-”

“Yet.” 

Steve huffs. “What makes you so sure that you can convince me?” He asks with an arched eyebrow. “The kids have tried and failed and you know how relentless they are.”

“Yeah, but I can be very persuasive.” He gestures at himself with a hand flourish. “You know, as a cult leader and all.”

Steve hums. “Of course.” He leans his hip against the counter, only an inch away from Eddie’s thigh.

“There’s gotta be something I can do to convince you,” Eddie says, moving his thigh until it touches Steve’s hip. “Something I can give you in exchange. To make it worth your while.”

Steve’s eyes immediately dart down to Eddie’s lips. Eddie’s stomach swoops. There it is.

“You’re right,” Steve says, and in one quick movement, he pushes himself away from the counter and moves to stand between Eddie’s legs. Holy fuck. “There’s one thing.”

Anticipation bubbles up in Eddie’s stomach. “Yeah? What- what is it?” He asks with a suddenly dry throat. 

Steve ducks his head, glancing at Eddie through his eyelashes. “A kiss from the Dungeon Master?” He asks in a shy whisper. 

Eddie stares at him for a second, lips parted in surprise because goddamn shitting fuck. Then-

“Not the goblin?” He asks in his stupid goblin voice. Like a fucking loser.

As soon as he blurts it out he slaps a hand against his face. “Fucking Christ, I can’t believe I just did that. That was so lame. I’m just fucking nervous, sorry.” 

Steve wraps his fingers around Eddie’s wrist, lowering his hand. His eyes are sparkling with fondness. “Don’t be, it’s cute,” he says with a soft chuckle. 

A nearly hysterical giggle bubbles up in Eddie’s throat but it abruptly cuts off when Steve places his hands on Eddie’s thigh and leans in. 

“Eddie.”

“Yeah?” 

“Are you gonna give me that kiss or what?” Steve asks oh so sweetly.

And Eddie doesn’t waste a moment after that, he finally goes for it. He cups Steve’s cheeks and tugs his face closer, pressing their mouths together, feeling his chest explode with warmth as he thinks finally and pinch me and holy fucking shit. 

The kiss is sweet and slow. It starts a little tentative, just lips slotting together, Steve’s bottom lip fitting perfectly between Eddie’s. But then something shifts- Steve’s hands settle on Eddie’s waist, his thumbs digging into his hip bones while Eddie’s fingers find their way to Steve’s hair, scratching at his scalp, tangling with the soft strands, tugging on them. The last one makes Steve’s mouth fall open in a gasp, just enough for Eddie to press in, catching Steve’s lower lip between his teeth and biting down hard enough to earn himself a small whine. Then he lets it go, easing his tongue across Steve’s lip and licking into his mouth. 

He loses track of anything else that happens when Steve’s own tongue licks into his mouth in return. 

After a while the kiss softens again, turning into something slow and tender until it comes to a natural stop, once they can’t ignore the need to breathe anymore. 

Steve pulls back but Eddie doesn’t let him go far, keeping a firm hold on the lapels of his dorky polo shirt. “Definitely worth my while but-” 

Eddie cocks an eyebrow. “But?” 

“But,” Steve says, his red, wet, well-kissed lips stretching into a wicked grin. “I think I’m gonna need more convincing.”

Eddie grins back. “Oh, I think that can be arranged.”

He tugs Steve closer again and he comes willingly, sighing happily when their lips slot together once more. God, Eddie is so fucked. They’ve kissed once and he’s already addicted to kissing Steve. He’s convinced that he could stay like this forever, lazily making out with him on his kitchen counter, tongues exploring, hands wandering.

And he probably would’ve- if a shrill voice didn’t make them jump apart. 

“What the hell is going on here!” Dustin yells.

Steve whirls around so fast he almost faceplants on his kitchen floor and Eddie jumps back and hits his head against one of the upper cupboards.

He lets out a string of creative curses as he rubs the back of his head, seeing black spots when he opens his eyes. Despite those, he can still see the whole party standing in the kitchen doorway, staring at them with expressions ranging from utter shock (Sinclair and Henderson) to disgust (Wheeler) to smugness (Jeff, Gareth, Dougie, and weirdly enough, Erica). 

“Uh,” Steve says dumbly as he tries to find his words, but there’s no lying their way out of this one and they both know it. They were just caught with their tongues down each other’s throats and Eddie’s hands on Steve’s ass. 

“Well?” Dustin prompts in a bitchy tone.

“I was, uh, convincing Steve to join D&D next week,” Eddie says, which is, technically, the truth. 

Gareth snorts, raising an eyebrow. “With your tongue?” 

Eddie gives a gleeful laugh. “As a matter of fact, yes.” 

“Eddie,” Steve hisses, flushing to the tips of his ears. 

“That’s gross!” Wheeler cries, his face scrunching up which is rich coming from him, Eddie thinks, considering he saw him sucking face with El more times than he would’ve liked in the short time she was in Hawkins after everything. So he knows Wheeler has nothing against kissing and it makes him wonder if he might have something against Eddie kissing a boy, or boys kissing boys in general and Eddie loves the kid, he loves all of them but he will sit him down for some tough love if he happens to not be okay with-

There’s a slapping sound as Erica smacks him upside the head.

“Ouch!”

“Not cool, butthead,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring at Wheeler. “Boys can kiss boys too.”

The corner of Eddie’s mouth tugs up in a smile. Just like that, she’s currently his favorite. 

“What?” Wheeler asks, rubbing the back of his head. “I know that. I don’t care that Eddie wants to kiss guys, I care that he wants to kiss Steve!”

“Hey!” Steve protests with an affronted frown.  

“Eddie is cool and Steve is so lame! And he’s my sister’s ex!” He says with extra snark. 

Eddie can’t help it, he bursts out laughing. Steve’s head snaps in his direction, his offended expression now directed at him. “Sorry, sorry,” he says between giggles. He clears his throat and gives Wheeler a stern face. It’s a much different scolding than the one he thought he would be giving him just a few moments ago and he’s grateful for that. “Steve isn’t lame. Yes, his music taste is shit and he owns more polo shirts than an 80-year-old-” 

“Dude, are you defending me or helping Mike insult me?” Steve mumbles with a pout. 

“But!” Eddie says, ignoring him. “He’s also badass and he’s saved your sorry asses multiple times and he’s nice enough to let you pipsqueaks eat his food and trash his house every week and he’s hot as fuck, so. Show some respect, Wheeler.”

Mike’s face scrunches up. “What does Steve being hot have to do with anything? Ew!”

But before Eddie can reply to that, Dustin takes a step forward, looking between the two. “So this is a thing now? Are you guys a thing?” He asks, narrowing his eyes at them.

Steve and Eddie exchange a look, both of them trying to communicate the same thing- do you want to be a thing? Steve gives him a sheepish smile and a nod, and in response, Eddie wraps his arms and legs around him, essentially hanging off of Steve’s back like a koala and trapping him against the counter. “Yes, Henderson. We are, as you so eloquently put it, a thing.”

Eddie expects more outrage, but Dustin nods solemnly. “Okay, cool. Just- no flirting at the D&D table. And no kissing!” There are nods and noises of agreement from the rest of the party. 

Eddie lets out an indignant squeak. “Excuse me, this is a dictatorship and I’m in charge! And the Dungeon Master decides that there will be kissing, butthead,” he announces, and then to prove a point, he smacks a sloppy kiss against Steve’s cheek. 

There’s a lot of groaning and whining and fake-gagging. 

“Dude, it’s like watching my parents kiss,” Sinclair says and Henderson nods, rubbing at his eyes like it physically hurt him to see Eddie kiss Steve. 

Eddie rolls his eyes- and they call him dramatic.

“Fine, fine, no kissing,” he says and sees Steve pout out of the corner of his eye. “But I won’t be deprived of the joy of flirting with one Sir Stephen.” 

Steve leans back against Eddie’s chest, twisting his neck to arch an eyebrow at him. “Sir Stephen?”  

“I’ve been working on your character sheet for weeks,” Eddie says with a grin. And it’s true, he had the feeling that he would be able to convince Steve to play and he wanted to be ready. If he’d known a kiss was all it took to do it, he would’ve done it much sooner. 

“That’s presumptuous of you,” Steve mumbles, but there’s a smile teasing at his lips. Eddie shrugs, nuzzling his face against Steve’s shoulder. 

“Fine!” Dustin groans, reminding Eddie that he and Steve aren’t alone. “As long as you stay in character.” 

Eddie grins wickedly, already looking forward to flirting with Steve through all his characters, even the goblin. 

“Anyway,” Jeff says, clapping his hands on Dustin’s shoulders. “We were on our way out. We would offer to take the kiddos home, but Dougie’s piece of shit car won’t fit them all.” Dougie protests with a “Hey!” that they all ignore. 

Usually, Eddie doesn’t mind driving the kids around, but right now, a part of him does wish that he could stay a little longer with Steve. The other part can’t wait to get home so he can scream into a pillow. 

“Nah, I got it. Gentleman, lady, grab your things, we’ll head out in a second,” he says, making shooing motions with his hands. 

Sinclair rolls his eyes. “He just wants more time to make out with Steve,” he mutters as they all start to pile out of the kitchen. 

“Correct, Sinclair!”

He and Wheeler make gagging noises, earning a shove from Erica as she follows them. Yeah, she’s definitely his favorite. 

Henderson lingers on the doorway. 

“Any other rules you wish to impose on us, Master Nog?” Eddie asks, raising an eyebrow. 

Dustin shakes his head, curls bouncing. “No, I’m just- I’m happy for you. Both of you.”

Eddie blinks. “Oh,” he exhales softly, touched by the kid’s words. 

“Thanks, Henderson,” Steve says, and he sounds touched too. 

“Yeah, thanks, kid.” 

“And I love you both, but if you get divorced, I will pick sides.” And with one final narrow-eyed look, he turns on his heels and leaves.

“Which side?” Eddie asks, but the little shit pretends he doesn’t hear him. “Henderson! Which side?” His shoulders slump. “Brat.”

“Too bad we’re never gonna find out,” Steve says, turning around to face Eddie without dislodging his arms or legs that are still wrapped around him.

Eddie’s heart stutters in his chest. “Never? That’s presumptuous of you,” he says, echoing his words from before. 

Steve shrugs. “I just know I don’t plan to break up with you- or divorce you like the kid said.” 

Oh yeah, Eddie definitely needs a pillow to scream into right about now. “Um, yeah, me neither, so I guess we’re stuck together.”

Steve nods with a dopey smile. “And we’ll never know who Dustin would’ve picked.” 

There’s a short silence. 

Then, “He would’ve picked me,” they both say at the same time. 

Steve squawks. “Me!”

“No, me!” 

“I’ve known him longer!”

“He thinks I’m cooler!” 

And so on until Eddie gets tired of arguing and shuts Steve up with a kiss. Before they can deepen it though, they’re once again interrupted by the kids. 

“Eddie!” Dustin yells. 

“Stop sucking face and let’s go!” Wheeler adds and Eddie can’t see him, but he knows his nose is scrunched up in disgust. 

“We’re gonna be late!” Sinclair adds, urgently, and Erica mhm’s in agreement. 

Eddie throws his head back with a groan. “Jesus H. Christ! They’re so annoying.” 

“They are,” Steve chuckles, brushing their noses together. “Hey, you wanna come over tomorrow? We can work on that character thing together. Just you and me.” 

Eddie’s eyes widen, lips parted in awe. Steve and D&D? There must be hearts in his eyes right now or bursting out of him like he’s a cartoon. “You’re offering to do nerdy shit with me? God, you’re a dream, Jesus Christ!” He says, hands coming up to cup either side of Steve’s face and peppering kisses all over it- his cheeks, his nose, his forehead, and finally, his lips. 

Steve giggles. “So, that’s a yes?” 

“I’ll be here,” Eddie says with a grin. 

Steve wraps his arms around his neck. “And since the kids won’t be there I expect there to be kissing and flirting.”

Eddie inches closer, smirking. “Hm, you can count on it, sweetheart.” 

This time they don’t even get to kiss before the kids are yelling again, this time in unison. “Eddie!”

Eddie lets go of Steve’s waist and slaps his hands against his face. “Motherfucker!” He groans. Then louder, “I’m coming!” 

Steve shakes his head with a laugh as Eddie hops down from the counter.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Eddie tells him. 

Steve gives him another dopey smile- or rather the same one since it hasn’t left his face at all. “Can’t wait.”

Eddie sweeps in for a quick kiss, one that the kids can’t interrupt, marveling for a second at the fact that he can simply do that now. Then with a final tug to Steve’s flowery apron, he skips out of the kitchen, turning around at the doorway to look at Steve one last time. He’s leaning against the counter, smile firmly plastered on his face and looking at Eddie like- 

Well, exactly like Eddie is looking at him. Lovestruck, he thinks comes close to describing it. And ain’t that something. 

He gives Eddie one of those little finger waves, and in return, Eddie blows him a kiss. Steve’s cheeks turning pink is the last thing he sees before he leaves the kitchen and joins the kids in the living room. 

“Okay, shitheads!” He says, clapping his hands together to get their attention. “Which one of you am I sending home walking?”

[aphrogeneias]

Rockstar!Eddie who has a crush on assistant!reader and has her running after him, after he comes to her with long list of demands and requests, only he doesn't really need her help at all, it's just an excuse to see her.

“These guys realize they're not Sabbath, right?” Rick sighs, “Like, what the fuck is this?”

Your boss barely even moves from where he's sprawled over one of the lounge chairs by the pool. When you arrived, he had to dismiss the girl that was sitting with him — on him, really — just to have you hand him the handwritten note without any preamble.

You don't know what to say.

“I, uh… I have no idea. Some roadie delivered me this and literally ran off. I think it's a prank, honestly.” You sigh.

It's a handwritten list of dressing room demands. A fur rug, expensive champagne, only red M&M's… the list went on. Quite ridiculous for a band on their first solo tour, playing on small venues across the country. Quite ridiculous for anybody.

To be honest, it disappointed you a little. You like these boys, which was more than you could say about the bands you've worked with in the past. Corroded Coffin came from nowhere, and while they aren't going anywhere soon, they are happy to just do whatever it takes to play their music, and you respect that.

This isn't very much like them.

Rick pinches the bridge of his nose, before pulling his sunglasses up, straightening them on his eyes. HE doesn't look directly at you as he gives you the piece of paper back, a silent dismissal. “Check it out with Munson. This bullshit has got his goblin little fingers all over it.”

You're happy the older man doesn't see how flustered you get at the mention of Coffin’s frontmen, and you're even happier to scramble out of there to hide the nervous smile that dares to rise to your lips.

Eddie Munson makes you nervous, more than you'd like to admit.

It's either his intense stare, those deep brown eyes that seem to know everyone's every secret — and you don't doubt they might — or the general aura of danger he exudes. Or, even, the sweet dimpled smile he tried to hide behind his hair, or the doodles he made during long meetings, or…

Maybe it's all of these things, but truth be told, it's probably also the way he makes you feel like you're the only person in the room when he looks at you, when you were supposed to be invisible beside Rick while he does his job.

You wonder if he does that to every girl he meets.

The elevator and the halls are a blur until you reach his door. Room 707, and you can hear the low strumming of an unplugged guitar from the inside, something that sounds like blues. You almost forget to knock, but when you do, the sound stops.

Eddie answers the door, then. “Oh, hi.”

The shirt with the cropped sleeves he's wearing shows off his arms, and the tattoos adorning it. You try not to stare at them as he holds the door open, not sparing you of his charming smile.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”

Instead of answering with the same sweetness, you get too ahead of yourself. “Is this a prank, Munson?”

You hand him the piece of paper back, and his expression changes immediately. A pink flush rushes over his cheeks, and he stares at it, as if he suddenly can't keep meeting your eyes.

You'd never seen him like that.

“Oh. Uh. Not a prank, no…” He stumbles over his words, letting out a nervous chuckle. “It's a…”

“Because it's gotta be a joke, and a bad one at that.” You stand your ground. “We couldn't even do that if we had a big budget, but with the one we have? You're lucky we even have water and towels at most venues…”

“It's not a joke, I promise. It's just that…” He interrupts your rant, looking away and sighing, then he moves closer, narrowing his eyes. “Can I level with you?”

“Please do.” You cross your arms, trying not to seem intimidated by his closeness.

“I didn't know how else to get your attention."

Your eyebrows shoot up, “You what?”

“I figured that if I wrote something stupid enough, Rick would send you to confront me because he doesn't have the balls to do it himself,” Eddie's flustered expression recovers into a confident grin, “and I was right.”

Swallowing back the nervous butterflies that seem to fly from your stomach and overflow through your body, you breathe out. “You thought you needed all this just for me to talk to you?”

“It worked, didn't it?”

You take a step back, trying to understand what just happened. His grin is infectious, because you smile despite yourself. “Next time, just say something. You'd be surprised.”

As you start walking away, backwards, still looking at him, Eddie gives you an unreadable look. He nods, though, lips trying to fight a bigger smile. “Next time?”

“For any professional inquiries, of course."

Finally, you turn your back, making your way back to the elevator. You meant what you said, but you know that's not what he meant.

"Professional. Sure."

The door clicked shut once again.

[banj0possum]

Hello, I'm the person who requested the yandere orc and I just wanted to say I loved it! At the end of that request I said I would ask for minotaur if you didn't do orc. But I still want to request yandere minotaur because I am a big fan of how you write yandere stuff. So can you please write yandere minotaur x reader.

(I would like it if the minotaur was just a hunk of muscle that no one would dare mess with, but becomes putty for reader. If you have another idea, use it!)

Flowers For My Cleric

Yandere! Minotaur x GN Reader

Edit!! Nsfw content removed! Replaced with some extra fluff!!

🌾 Ashvan was a part of a clan of warriors, ones that are feared and respected for their strength and brutality throughout the land.

🌾 He's seen fighters of all kinds from the biggest orcs and golitaths to the smallest goblins and kobalts. He's seen almost everything and everyone on the battlefield.

🌾 But nothing prepared him for you.

🌾 You looked so small and soft compared to everyone else. So out of place from the rough and tough warriors with bodies decorated in scars and tattoos.

🌾 It was during a welcoming feast that he first met you. You were the newest member of the clan and everyone welcomed you warmly.

🌾 He asked one of his close friends what your deal was and he learned that you were supposed to be their healer.

🌾 Vibrant music played in the tavern, but all he could see and hear was you and your adorable little laugh.

🌾 Your smile shined like the sun and your movements were so graceful and soft.

🌾 You went around meeting everyone, occasionally healing a fresh wound or two until he came face to face with you in all your glory.

🌾 "H-hi.."

🌾 "Hi!.."

🌾 He's almost crumbling at the sight of you. It's the first time he's ever been nervous.

🌾 Never before has he felt such a feeling, not even when he was facing the deadliest foes. How is a big and tough minotaur like himself shaking at the feet of such a gentle creature?

🌾 You start to laugh awkwardly the more he just kept staring at you. You pat his arm comfortingly before moving on to greet the rest of the clan.

🌾 It felt as if he was touched with the finest silk!

🌾 You'd run into him quite often while in the clan. You'd see him laughing with his friends with confidence and pride in his walk, but the moment you say hello, he'd be reduced to a stuttering babbling mess trying to say hi back. His friends would have to bring him away from you so he won't embarrass himself further.

🌾 "O-oh! Hello cleric! W-we were just uh..going to spar, you can join us if you want..b-but you don't have to! I mean you're probably busy but I would love to have you there..n-not to spar though! I mean you can..but you can watch..I-I'm not calling you weak or anything! You probably can take care of yourself pretty well, b-but if you ever need anyone to protect you, you know..o-only if you want to-"

🌾 He follows you around sometimes, pretending to be doing something else like carrying around some supplies or sharpening his weapon. When you turn away, he would have a lovesick smile on his face.

🌾 If you catch him staring, he'd panic and try to hide behind a barrel or crate, doesn't really help that he's a large minotaur. You'd giggle at the sight of a tall and fearsome creature hiding from you as best as he could with his tail and horns peeking through the crate.

🌾 "M-me? Hiding? Noooo! I-I don't need to hide! I-I'm a warrior!..heheh.."

🌾 His friends would try to help him out, telling him advice that may or may not work. I don't think gifting your crush the head of your enemies is pretty romantic though...

🌾 You would be fixing up your medical supplies when you feel a tap on your shoulder, you turn around and Ashvan would be towering above you, shakily offering you a small, sort of roughed up bouquet of wild flowers in his large cloven hand.

🌾 Some of the stems look a bit bent and most of their petals have fallen off, but it's cute either way.

🌾 "C-Cleric! I uhm...found these uhm..flowers and uh..thought of you!..Well they're small and cute..n-not saying you're small! I-I mean you are because I'm bigger and stuff and uhm...j-just take them.."

🌾 You giggle and thank him, taking the flowers from him. He huffs out from his snout as your hands touch. As you take the flowers from him, he grunts, nodding as he awkwardly walks away.

🌾 As soon as he's out of sight, he's giggling like a little schoolgirl at the thought of you liking his gift, he's going off to get more flowers for you if you don't mind.

🌾 He might confuse normal plants he finds cute as flowers, so you now have a vase full of yellow wheat he got from a field one day.

🌾 The first time he was sent to be healed by you was like being in heaven. He watched you closely as you gently healed the gash on his chest as if it was a seam on a fabric.

🌾 He took the time to study your face, how you stuck your tongue out or pursed your lips when you concentrate, or the way you ghost your delicate fingers over his rough skin, it took a lot not to swoon as you touched his chest.

🌾 "You're uhm...very good with your hands! hahah.."

🌾 Yes he steals your clothes, and its ok because you have more anyway that he'll also eventually steal...

🌾 He would get hurt on purpose to see you again and be touched by you, going to bed that night and fantasizing about you coddling and cooing over him. Hey! Even a big burly minotaur wants to be treated right!!

🌾 But for now, he's just a shy and nervous bull man who adores you from far away <3

[feyascorner]

3 | The Fangs Between Us

summary. You hate him, you think. You want to hate him, at the very least.

“Are you afraid I’ll hurt you?” he asks, his expression indecipherable. “I didn’t realize the great savior of the city could be afraid of a mere vampire spawn.”

“You did try to strangle me last time we spoke."

warnings. angst, comfort, slow burn, reader is a bard, large chunks of italicized texts are flashbacks

pairing. Astarion x GN!Reader

parts. TFBU masterlist

a/n. redemption arc is coming i swear :) this is a whopping 4.7k i got kinda carried away but oh well,, Thank you so much for your comments on these they make my day and i appreciate each one<3

Dance upon the stars tonight

Smile and pain will fade away

“And what might our dear bard be working so passionately on?”

You look up from your notebook, ceasing the messy scribbling of lyrics into its tattered pages. Astarion perches himself beside you, the flames of the campfire flickering in the reflection of his eyes as you stop humming and raise a cautious brow. A vampire spawn. You’d never seen one in person–-only had you heard of them in your childhood tales of the spawn that would sweep away naughty children if they didn’t finish their vegetables. Up close, you can almost see his fangs protruding from the grin he's constantly wearing.

You wonder if it’s a genuine one.

“That bard at the grove today,” you recall. “Alfira? I’m trying to finish the lyrics and write them out for her.”

“Is that so? Surely you’re receiving some sort of payment for these gracious services?”

You train your eyes back onto the pages, shaking your head. “I’m doing this for fun. Her song is beautiful. It just needs—” you squint. “--adjustment.”

He laughs, and you can see the fangs clearly now. They’re sharper than you expected them to be. “I believe that’s a drastic understatement, my dear. My heart felt for those poor squirrels. I’m quite willing to bet that they have an aversion to bards now.”

“And you’re suddenly a musician yourself?”

“It doesn’t take a musician to recognize poor singing, darling Tav,” he returns. “And considering I’ve spent the past few days listening to your music, I’m sure you’ll understand why I considered it such an abomination.”

You narrow your eyes. “I thought you didn’t like me–or my music.”

“You? I'm still deciding,” he shrugs and you roll your eyes. “But I must say that I’m growing rather fond of that lyre of yours. Have you had it for long?”

You give him a sidelong glance before answering slowly. “I’ve had it for ages. Practically when I just started.”

“Explains itself then, I suppose.”

“And you?” you watch as he leans back on his palms. “Do you have any other talents to offer to our companions, or is it just your teeth?”

“Now, don’t be so cruel, dear,” he smiles wider. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re rather fond of them as well. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you staring all the time.”

“I’m on guard,” you clarify.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

You’re not sure if you can sleep with one eye open, much less both of them closed. You’re not sure if you trust him at all, either, but as he stares up at the starry sky, simply listening to the crackling of the campfire, you decide you’d rather save yourself the energy for what awaits tomorrow.

“Why did you do that earlier?” you find yourself asking, and he replies by glancing at you from the corner of his eye.

“Do what?”

“Save Wyll from that goblin arrow,” you mumble. “I thought you didn't care about any of us.”

“And what gives you that impression?”

You deadpan, staring at him with lidded eyes and he laughs out loud. It sounds more genuine than anything else he’s offered so far. It's nice.

“It’s a simple transaction, dear. One where I receive protection in turn for the occasional aid I can give with my own blade.”

You squint at him, but you see no signs of deception. So instead, you simply nod and resume scribbling into your notebook, softly humming to yourself alongside the lyrics. And when you halt, stuck on a particular lyric that you can’t seem to remember, you hear him shift, standing himself back up to retreat to his tent.

“Something about faith and care comes next if my memory serves,” is all he says before striding away. While you watch him in confusion, you click your tongue and try to focus again. And when you look down at your page, you remember the rest of the words.

Somehow, you feel the corners of your lips lift.

“As much as I’d love for this to be a charming, long-awaited reunion, one of the parties imposes a danger to the other.”

You wince at the sarcasm dripping from Gale’s voice. Duke Ravengard’s expression remains solemn, unmoving like a stone, while your companion pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. “We can’t harbor a vampire spawn in our home. We’re supposed to be finding them, not keeping them!”

You hate the irony of the statement because the camp you’d spent so many months in with an uninvited guest in your head, had also been your home. One where you spent your nights in a vampire spawn’s tent. It’s not so different, you keep telling yourself. But you’re painfully aware that the Duke only knows a sugar-coated version of the falling out between you and said vampire. He doesn’t know how his son had to tear Astarion away from you and how your voice had been sore for weeks afterward.

“As much as I have my own opinions with allying with a vampire spawn,” the Duke stares at Astarion warningly. “Wyll did say this spawn saved his life while your party ventured together. For that, I'm willing to see reason if he’s cooperative, rather than restrain him with the Fists.”

You never thought much of it until now. With how many life threatening experiences you and your companions had come across, it felt natural to save one another. At first, it had been out of necessity—fear that one person would turn into an illithid. Yet, with time, you'd all grown fond of each other, one way or another.

You think back to when Astarion had saved Wyll and wonder if that part of him is still in there. Maybe it was never there at all. Maybe it had been another one of his manipulation tactics that you're so prone to falling for.

Gods, you're hopeless.

The wizard standing beside you sighs irritably. “But that was before he tried to squeeze the life out of-”

“How long do we need to keep him?”

Gale balks at your words. “You can’t seriously be considering this.”

“Just until we’re able to locate the rest of the spawns spread throughout the city, which you kindly decided not to mention in our last conversation.”

You shoot Gale a glare, silently questioning if he’d been the one to confess the existence of the spawns underground, but he’s too busy scanning over Astarion, who’s mindlessly fidgeting with his knife. The said spawn seems to feel your gaze, because he glances at you, then grins.

The bastard is smiling.

“The man you killed this morning is a spawn himself, yes?” the Duke clarifies. “There have been numerous reports the past few days about strange figures with fangs throughout the city—I’d known they’d existed, but to the numbers that are being reported…”

“You couldn’t have possibly believed myself to be the only spawn around?” Astarion laughs bitterly. “I do not wish to go hungry, Duke, but I don’t need nearly as many bodies that’s been showing up—assuming that I did drink from anyone, of course.”

Ravengard ignores him, speaking as if he’s not there. “I could still have him detained if that is what you wish. We can continue as we have and search for the spawn without his help.”

You know it’s a fruitless effort if last night has told you anything.

“You don’t even have evidence that I drank from a single person in this entire bloody city!” Astarion spits back, rolling his neck in exasperation.

“No,” you purse your lips, finally looking up. “I’ll be responsible for him.”

Gale clears his throat alarmingly. “Now, dear leader, let’s have a private conversation before we make any hasty decisions, yes? Surely, we don’t have to decide right this moment.”

And while you open your mouth to respond that no, you won’t have Astarion rot away in some gross cell, the Duke nods. “Very well.”

Gale pushes you to the corner of the room, with his face clearly paling in disbelief. “Please tell me you’re joking. You want someone who nearly strangled you to death sleeping in the room next to yours?”

“Ravengard wants us to find out where the other spawn are hiding, and the only lead we have is sitting right there,” you defend yourself. “Throwing Astarion into a dirty cell won’t do anything to convince him to help us.”

“The Duke doesn’t know what he did to you!”

“He doesn’t need to. Astarion’s made it very clear he’s not going to spill any information if the Duke is the one asking, and we need a lead. I nearly died last night, Gale. I want to avoid that if I can.”

His eyes soften just a bit, but it’s enough. With a loud sigh, he scrunches his nose. “And you’re sure you’re not doing this for more personal reasons?”

At this, you pause. Your eyes waver, and the look Gale gives you is almost soul-crushing if it weren’t for the fact that you feel like you’ve already hit rock bottom. You know this is not a good idea. You know that being so close to him again after so many months is not a good idea, especially when you’ve just finally begun your journey to forget him.

You curse the gods above for your luck.

The silence prompts Gale to speak. “I’ll tell the Duke we can’t involve ourselves in this.”

“Gale,” your voice almost cracks. “Please.”

He doesn’t want to agree, you can tell. Any sane person wouldn’t invite a bloodthirsty vampire spawn who’s willing to use his own hands to kill his so-called lover into their home. You want to think that you’re void of bias, but you know it’s a pathetic attempt to reassure yourself. Still, the expression on your face must be quite the sight because Gale takes one look, glances at Astarion, then slumps his shoulders. You’ve won.

You hadn’t even realized the door had been swung open, where your other companions had been standing, taking one look at Astarion then to you. While Gale wallows in his own defeat, you turn to the others, eyes glimmering with a kind of hope that they haven’t seen in months.

“Your judgment’s gotten us this far,” Shadowheart sighs. “We’d be fools not to trust it now.”

Lae’zel clicks her tongue. “My blade is ready to slit his throat if need be. Just command me, and I shall.”

“We aren’t going to try to kill him," you retort.

“It’s only right to return the favor."

Dinner is awkward. You’re finally getting to try Gale’s stew, but it’s hard to focus on the taste when all you can feel is the searing stare of the person sitting across from you. He only has a goblet of crimson liquid in the same shade as his eyes in front of him, and it remains untouched as he takes in the rest of the house.

“So,” Gale offers. “What have you been up to?”

It’s not much, but it’s better than sitting in complete silence.

“Wandering the streets at night, mostly. Oh, and murdering half the city, apparently,” Astarion lets out his usual high-pitched laugh at the end, and your fingers tighten around your spoon. Shadowheart glares at him through her lashes, and you think she may lunge at him any second. You want to think you wouldn't stop her.

You feel for her, really. Being the group’s cleric comes with its advantages but also with the unspoken burden of watching your companions in pain. She’d been the one to ensure Astarion hadn’t left long-lasting damage to your throat. She’d been the one to soothe your headaches and cast a sleeping spell on you in hopes it’ll allow you to rest longer than just a few hours. She’d also seen you nearly bleed out multiple times, one of which occurred mere hours ago.

The sudden scrape of Lae’zel’s chair being pushed back catches your attention. She stands, lifting her bowl with her. “The air here is suffocating. Sort out your differences before I sort them out for you.”

The rest of you collectively nod. She doesn’t say anything else before leaving the room.

“The room at the end of the hallway upstairs is yours,” Shadowheart says finally. “Don’t bother me if you need anything else.”

She stands up as well, leaving her bowl in the sink before pacing up the stairs to her own quarters.

Somehow, the atmosphere is even worse now. You don’t dare lift your eyes from your stew, and you honestly hope it explodes before you have to sit here and drink all of it in this silence. Gale, thankfully, does not leave. Instead, he sets down his utensil.

“I suggest we have a set of rules in place–for the sake of everyone occupying this home,” he clears his throat. You shoot him a questioning look, which he dusts off.

“Fine,” Astarion leans back in his chair, now swirling the goblet of blood in his hand. “What do you have in mind?”

“No drinking. From anyone here.”

You blink a few times, then hear Astarion hum in acknowledgment. “Shame. Though your blood was vile anyway.”

“And don’t cause any trouble. One of us will go with you when you need to drink, so you can hunt for whatever animal you prefer these days. Otherwise, unless we say so, you’ll remain here.”

“Why, this sounds almost identical to a prison. Looking for a job as a warden, Gale? A midlife crisis, perhaps. Does wizard life not suit you anymore?”

“It suits me plenty, thanks,” Gale snorts. “We’ll be out during the day to rebuild the city, so you’ll have to entertain yourself in your own room. Don’t touch anything—especially my stuff.”

Astarion grins. “That almost sounds like an invitation.”

The wizard then turns to you. “And you? Do you have any other rules you’d like to add?”

You finally lift your head from the stew, looking back and forth between the two before shaking your head while pushing your chair back. For someone who’d imagined aimlessly for months about seeing your former lover again, you can’t seem to look him in the eye for fear of what you might feel. “I’m going out.”

“I’m going to take that as a no.”

Wordlessly, you pace toward the door, refusing to look back to suppress the urge to sprint back into his arms. You don’t know what you were thinking just a few hours ago, but this was not going to end well. If you couldn’t manage a simple dinner sitting across from him, what could you manage?

You’re in such a rush that you forget to bring anything besides your wallet.

By the time you’re on your way back to the house hours later, you have a backpack shoved full of fabrics with nails and a hammer to go along with it. As you pass by the taverns, you hear music playing from inside, alongside a few cheers and what you can only assume to be a crash of chairs as people applaud. 

You can’t help but peer through the window as you walk past, where a bard merrily plays on his drum, lightening the mood of the entire tavern—even the bartender smiles along as he plays tunes you’ve heard a million times before. And while your hands itch for a lyre—to feel the string snap against your fingertips—you know no good will come of it. You’ll only sit before the instrument, your hands unable to find the emotions to exert in the form of notes. 

As you stare at the bard, you remind yourself you’ve long given up on that kind of life.

So instead, you continue your way to the Highberry’s home. When you knock on the door, a very weary Cora Highberry greets you with bags under her eyes, but a calm smile still stretching on her lips nonetheless. She steps out of the way, inviting you in, and you do so.

“You didn’t have to, dear,” she says as she takes a bag of the city’s finest fruits from your hands. “The neighbors have been oh so gracious to us. They’re helping the children so much, I couldn’t possibly ask for more.”

“I was just passing by, that’s all,” you offer. “I wanted to check on you since I left a bit abruptly last time.”

“Oh, dear, you know how to make a woman feel special. It’s been terrible, really. I haven’t gone so long with my husband in ages…” she laughs, wiping at her swollen eyes. “But we were an old couple anyways…I had some time to prepare my emotions. I just didn’t think he’d go like that.”

You nod as she hands you a mug of hot tea. “But never mind that. I’ve spent the past two weeks talking about nothing but myself, so I’m quite tired. What about you, dear?”

“Me?”

“You look like death themselves,” she frowns. “I’ve lived for quite long…I recognize that heartbroken face anywhere. Has something happened?”

The way she’s staring at you—it’s different than pity. You can’t quite identify it, but she smiles again. It’s not the kind of smile most people give you—not one of anticpation, not one of gratefulness, but just a regular, old smile. And it makes your shoulders untense just the slightest before they tense again. You take a swig of the tea, nearly burning your throat in the process as you set the mug down, splitting a pathetic smile. “No, I’m okay. Just--tired.”

Very, very tired. Not physically, no, but tired of the indecisiveness that is your heart.

Her face falls softly. “How troubling it must be to have the weight of the city on your shoulders."

Before you can answer, there’s a loud thud upstairs. She notices your alarm and shakes her head. “Ah, must be Berry. She’s one of the younger children, and she’s been taking my husband’s death quite hard. Please excuse me, dear. I need to go put her back to sleep.”

And with that, you’re left alone on the first floor of the building again. You contemplate staying to say your farewells but the cries from upstairs convince you otherwise. Taking one last swig from the mug, you gather your things and leave.

When you get back home, it’s well into the night, an hour or two after midnight, you’d think. None of the lights are on, so the first thing you do is light a candle when you step through the door, dropping your backpack onto the dining room table. Dunking all your materials out, you take the hammer and start your work.

There’s something soothing about the darkness outside, with the way nothing seems to exist besides you and your own thoughts in a city that overflows with a sense of community. You try not to think about the man most likely reading in his room just a floor above you and focus on hanging the fabrics in front of all of the windows. The cloths are mismatched in color, and your hammer work is nothing more than sufficient, but it’ll do for now. At least until you can get actual curtains installed.

You worry that some of the fabrics aren’t thick enough to absorb all the sunlight, so you layer another fabric on top of it until you’re sure that even your candlelight cannot be seen from outside. Why you’re going so far for him, you do not know. You prefer to assure yourself that you need him to help stop the spawn from devouring the entire city, but even in your own thoughts, it sounds like a lie.

You wonder if he cares nearly as much as you do. He probably doesn’t.

You hate him, you think for the millionth time today. You want to, at the very least.

You flinch when a splinter in the wooden wall splits your skin open, forming a drop of blood on your index finger. Curse the heavens above, nothing was going right today. You quickly reach for a towel but nearly jump when you hear his voice from the stairs. 

“You really need to stop with that habit of yours.”

You spin around, and he’s already at the foot of the stairs, reaching to grab a towel from the kitchen. But you’re faster, snatching it away and pressing it over your hand while he raises both his own, imitating a surrender of getting any closer. You can’t look at him in the eye—you don’t want to either. “What habit?”

“You’re speaking to me now?” he raises a brow, and you turn away again after shooting him a glare. “I’d thought you’d avoid me forever—scurrying off like a squirrel whenever I step into the room.”

You should avoid him forever. But the words don’t reach your tongue, and you choose to ignore him.

He doesn’t budge. “I meant bleeding around me.”

“What?”

“Every time I see you, you always seem to be bleeding.”

You frown at him. “Maybe you just prefer being around me when I’m bleeding.”

“You might be right." You think maybe he’s done with this painfully awkward conversation until you see him staring at the windows covered with random pieces of fabric, and suddenly, you feel embarrassment creep up your skin. You realize how bizarre your actions must appear in someone else’s eyes, staying up to the break of dawn so that he’ll be able to traverse someplace outside the confines of his own room…

It might make him think you care, and the worst part is that a part of you does.

“I hope you don’t expect me to thank you, darling.”

The nickname feels like a stab to your heart, haunting, even, but you do your best to brush it off.

“For what?” you manage to force out through clenched teeth.

“The cell they would’ve thrown me into is nothing different from trapping me in that room, I’m afraid,” he laughs bitterly, and you want to crawl into a hole from how cold his voice sounds. Distant. Like how he’d sounded the day you found him next to his nautiloid pod. “But I suppose I should be grateful for having a bed instead of having to spend my days rotting away on the dirty floor?”

You bite your bottom lip, brows furrowing. “I don't expect anything from you.”

But you do. Not quite an expectation, but a lingering wish that maybe you can heal. It's pathetic, even in your own eyes and surely everyone else's, but you can't be bothered to care.

It pisses you off a bit. How he seems perfectly unfazed while you continue to drown in your own feelings.

“Are you just here to taunt me, or is there a reason for this conversation?” you snap. This is not quite how you wanted your reunion to go.

He raises a brow. “Taunt you? I'm only answering questions you're afraid to ask.”

“I don't need to know anything about you,” you grit through your teeth. “You left my mind the second you abandoned us.”

What a poor, wishful lie.

“Ha!” It doesn't really sound like a laugh—more a scoff of disbelief. It's like he knows what you're thinking, and for a split second, it feels like there's a tadpole in your head again. “Of course you think I'm the villain of your precious heroic tale! Honestly darling, the irony just writes itself.”

You fight the urge to scowl, but you're not sure if you're successful. You find yourself gripping onto the towel harder, teeth clenched as your chest tightens just hearing his words. You truly hate that he seems to care less than you—it’s like he's not even taking you seriously.

And that damned nickname.

It feels like talking to the Astarion you first met—one who’s only intentions were to use you—but this time, you don't think it’s a mask. He doesn't want anything more from you. Only your own suffering from taking the power that would have made him untouchable.

“So tell me, dear, do you wish for me to grovel at your feet?”

Your eyes widen, and the term of endearment that once made your cheeks flush only makes you feel sick. “What?”

“Do you expect me to drop to my knees, begging for your forgiveness?” he says again, eerily composed while you struggle to come up with words. “Perhaps I would have if we were still staying in that camp. Put on a show, even."

You frown, setting your hammer down on the counter. “I’ve never made you grovel. I’ve never made you do anything.”

“Maybe not directly, no, you’re too kind of a soul to do so,” there’s venom lacing the words that feel nothing short of a lie. Somehow, he’s still smiling. “Instead, you made me beg for your help. You accepted—made it feel like I had a choice. Then tore it away just the same, in the cruelest way possible. Impressive, really. I didn't expect such dramatic sins from you.”

The way he looks at you, words dripping with sarcasm, makes you want to melt into the floor, ceasing to exist as a whole. But alas, you continue standing like a deer in headlights, unsure of how to respond. You look down to see the towel stained with your blood and inhale deeply, watching the dark sky lighten with daybreak through the window. “The sun’s rising.”

His smile drops, something foreign flickering in his eyes. He suddenly steps toward you, and as soon as he gets within two feet, you find yourself stepping backward, your fingers tightening around the hammer. You have no idea if you'd even be able to use it, but it's better than digging your nails into your palms.

It doesn't go unnoticed.

“Are you afraid I’ll hurt you?” he asks, his expression indecipherable. “I didn’t realize the great savior of the city could be afraid of a mere vampire spawn.”

You don't want to think he'd truly kill you. Not really, but your mind flashes back to the look in his eyes when he had his hands wrapped around your lifeline, and you grip the hammer tighter, heartbeat pounding impossibly fast.

“You did try to strangle me last time we spoke,” you mutter.

His lip twitches, and he steps back bitterly. You feel like you can breathe again.“Ah, yes, that.”

You swear your stomach drops to your feet at the mere suggestion he’d forgotten what haunts your nightmares every night, forcing you to lurch from your rest in a cold sweat, hands shaking, and having nobody to turn to for comfort. He couldn't be that cruel…could he? You want to scream at him, punch him, kick him, tell him he’s not being fair. You want to defend yourself, say that all you’ve ever wanted was for him to be safe, but even that feels like too much when he’s giving you so little.

“Very well, I’ll indulge you,” he grins again. You realize your time is running out, the sun beginning to peer out from the horizon. “Why did you assume responsibility for me? I can’t imagine why you’d want such a terrible foe in your life living right next door of your own sanctuary.”

For the city, you tell yourself. For Cora's husband and the poor victims drained off their life, all alone in the darkest corners of Baldur's Gate. “...I didn’t do it for you.”

He searches your face for something, his eyes narrowing. He's waiting for you to continue, but there's no more fuel in the tank, and now you just want to sleep for a very long time. You assume he comes up empty when the corners of his lips fall, and he turns to climb up the stairs. Sunlight hits your back as your eyes trail him in his steps, and it does nothing to warm how cold it feels in the room.

“That much I’m aware,” he stops his steps for a brief moment. You barely catch it, but it's there. “Terribly aware.”

And when he finally leaves, you bury your face into your hands.

"I'm nervous."

"What for?"

"What if the ascension goes wrong? Are you sure we should really be doing this, Astarion?"

He brushes your hair out of your face, cupping both your cheeks in his hands. "We'll be okay, my love. I will still be here, and so will you. I'll just finally have enough power to protect what I care about."

He sees the hesitance in your eyes and leans his forehead against yours. You melt into his touch, placing your hands atop his.

"So please, stand beside me for this," he pleads.

And despite the way your intuition screams at you otherwise, despite the way your very being begs you to pull away, you nod, sealing your fate.

"I'll be right here."

Tags:@ayselluna @littleenglishfangirl @bg3obsessedsideblog @iwillpissyourpants @cyberpr1m3 @ukeia-uchiha @snowlotr @road-riot @spacekidnova @madislayyy @lordfishflakes @nicalysm @djarinsway @tinystarfishgalaxy @brainz00 @hopeful-n-sad @ohdeerieme @madisban @chrismarium @chonkercatto Please let me know if I didn't add you to the list or if you'd like to be added!

[captainkirkk]

✩ WEEKLY FIC ROUND-UP ✩

All the fics I’ve read and really enjoyed in the past week-ish. Reminder: This list features any and all ratings and themes. Please look at tags and warnings on ao3 before reading.

The Umbrella Academy

The Longest Roads Lead to Home by assaily (twistedskys)

Five raised his glass to the rafters. “I’m home,” he said simply. “I’d like to take the time to enjoy that, y’know.”

Diego watched him pour another drink, suddenly understanding him. He’d been gone a long time, lost in a really terrible place that probably never felt like home unless he could somehow forget he was the last soul on Earth. ‘Home’ meant a lot to him.

When Five’s glass was ready again, Diego raised his own, still half-full. “To being home,” he said.

That earned him a smile, a real one that managed to soothe the crease in Five’s brow and make him look so incredibly young in its sincerity, and so incredibly old in its deep gratitude. He raised his glass and clinked it against Diego’s. “To finally being home.”

Or: Five gets kidnapped and it goes wrong (for the kidnapper).

SVSSS

two golden lilies float in silence in cool pond waters by texturralize

After watching one's own life bleed away into something entirely unrecognizable- a denigration, an affront, a massacre of everything one believed in- and yet, something happy, something contented, something so easily attained, a soul grows wearied. Cracked, wearied, hurt. A broken man could only live a broken life, something Shen Jiu had seen proven to him. His martial siblings preferred the other "him" - the kind one, the palatable one. The one that was not Shen Jiu.

In death, he can only wrestle with the intersection of his own wrongs and the sins committed towards him that left him such a spiteful and angered person in life. Can being reborn, into the days when he had only just attained his status as Peak Lord, give him another chance to live a life that is happy, contented, easily attained? Can he do what the other Shen Qingqiu had managed to do? Can he make the miserable wretch he considers himself to be into a better person?

Shen Jiu does not think so. He will make a mockery of the spark of something deep inside him that hopes so to try. Perhaps...at least...this time, he can watch over his disciples and live quietly with the music in Qing Jing Peak.

The Favourite by x_los

Demonic Emperor Luo Binghe's reputation precedes him. It's just not very accurate.

The Owl House

unexpected turns by kathkin

If I go back there, he’ll kill me. it had been nagging at him all day, the certainty in the kid’s voice. But if it wasn’t the Day of Unity, then what? What could he have seen in the emperor’s mind that was worse?

What could Belos possibly have been hiding that had the power to so utterly break the loyalty of his perfect little lapdog.

Clone Wars

The inability to accept No by BitterChocolateStars

One man's inability to accept No as an answer saves the galaxy.

Or: Obi-wan turns down Palpatine's date invite. Sheev gets obsessed and salty about it.

The Goblin Emperor

Snowdrops and Bridges by Orockthro

"Serenity,” Csevet says, and his voice is flat and stoney. Maia’s hands feel clammy in his lap. “There’s been an accident at the Istandaärtha Bridge.”

Or: One accident, one flower, one kiss. Not in that order."

[teaboot]

I have to remind myself that my characters don't have to be tortured or dramatic to be interesting.

My first DND character was a balding, paunchy, post-middle-aged human man whose wife had just left him and whose kids had grown up and moved away.

He quit his menial job and decided to take up music, something he'd never been very good at that didn't pay the bills, and become a bard.

He was bad at it. Really, really bad. His instrument was shit and he'd never had any formal lessons. On top of that, he was pretty tone-deaf.

BUT. He could play very, very bad noises very, very loud.

On our first campaign, he was cornered by a sea dragon and had no weapons, but by making a loud, horrible noise, he was able to startle it badly enough to lose grasp of the boat.

After that, he used it to herd a small crowd of goblins into a trap by sounding far bigger and more numerous a foe.

He never got much better, but he did grow his confidence, and won the affection and respect of his companions, who grew to support him in ways nobody else had before.

I had to stop playing him for a while after that, but last I had him, he was developing an interest in color and flare and fashion that he'd never paid much attention to before.

He didn't lose weight, or grow his hair back, or magically become younger, but he felt brighter, lighter, like he had a new lease on life, like he had something to offer and maybe he deserved to have a bit of fun, now and then, with good company.

He began to wonder if that was what he was missing, before. If perhaps that was why his marriage had wasted away. A lack of drive, of hope, of pride and passion.

I don't know where he would have gone on from there. I don't know if I wanted him to reconnect with his kids, or his ex wife, or his home town. Part of me likes the idea of finding his own way- settling and becoming good friends with his ex, something platonic but warm and fond, and reaching out to his kids and being there for his grandkids and someday passing away bright and loud and loved of old age, asleep in his bed, to be celebrated after by the loudest funeral with the worst music played by the most awful musicians his community had to offer, loud and proud and full of good humor.

Maybe they'd throw a festival, after that. An annual one, with firecrackers and trumpets and clanging pots and pans to scare away the monsters like he did, the roaring hero who came into his own a little later than usual, but wondrously all the same.

A symbol to show that you don't have to bend and squish and contort yourself to fit the space you're in- you can find another space, one that's just your size, and exist there exactly as you are

[suiana]

firstly I would like to thank you for feeding the horny goblin in me, now I've come back for more janitor shit and I had the dumbest prompt in mind! I don't know if you've seen White Chicks, specifically the beach scene ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) look it up if u haven't seen it but PICTURE IT:

dumb shy ready is walking along the halls doing something, doesn't see the wet floor sign and slips, on the floor like a starfish and dizzy from the impact; janitor comes and stands over them, reader's vision is blurry at first so they don't realize his junk is all up in their face (cause I imagine he's packing both ways 👀) - I will use this excuse as he's helping us up to cop a feel of his cake, I bet its heavy and I'd need both hands to hold one cheek AAHHHHHHH---

I will pay you to let me touch the butt

P L E A S E

"ugh... my head..."

you grumble, eyes still half shut. what even happened..? you were just walking, trying to get to class... your hands reach up to your face, trying to rub them only to realise that 'hey, it's kinda dark'.

your eyes immediately shoot open, wanting to figure out why it was so dark but to your horror, your crush was hovering over you. with his grey sweatpants... and... prominent bulge....

"shit- ah you're awake! I'm so glad!"

he murmurs, bending down as his worried face comes close to yours. his relieved sighs of relief help him to forget why he was so panicked in the first place. thank goodness you were alright! he'd never forgive himself if his lovely sweetheart died because of wet floor!

but to you, all you could focus on was how his round, plump and juicy ass was just mere centimetres away from you.

'i could touch it...'

devious thoughts swirled through your head as you completely ignored the janitor and his thankful prayers to god. your eyes were blank, filled with silly thoughts as you reached your hand out and...

"my ass- wait are you..."

time slows as you grope and squish the janitor's ass, totally mesmerized with the feeling of it. you didn't stop, no. not even when the janitor tried to tap you lightly with his shaky hands. you were far too lost in the amazing feeling of his juicy ass. only when soft moans flowed like music into your ears did you truly snap out of your drunken stupor.

your hands immediately retract back as your cheeks rush with blood.

"I-I'm so sorry!"

you gasp out, trying to excuse your pervertic actions. but to the older man whose cheeks were flushed, eyes hazy with lust, no excuse would ever be enough.

you tried wiggling away, to escape as usual. however this time, the janitor had the upper hand. he plopped himself down on your hips, toned arms crossed over his chest as he smirks.

internally you were screaming. but on the outside you were only babbling nonsense, trying to comprehend what was going on. what was the janitor doing?! was he mad?! no no no! your chances of being with him had to be in the negatives now!

...was what you thought until the janitor leaned forward, hands beside your head as his... man thing poked you.

"didn't know you were into me too... ah today really is a good day. thought you were scared of me or something..."

he hummed as his lips grazed yours. shit?! what the fuck was going on?!

"now... could you please touch me and finish what you started? consider this punishment for making me worried."

[the-last-teabender]

So hear me out. (spoilers and shit theories follow)

So I saw someone on my Facebook feed theorizing that RTD is warming up to reveal that the Doctor, like Maestro, is a "Child of the Toymaker." And has been saying "please do not do this."

Now. If RTD were to establish that the Doctor, the Definite Article, the Timeless Child, was the Toymaker's child, I'd agree. It's not out of the realm of possibility, but I'm not sure yet if a reveal like this would have any payoff beyond shock value and canon welding.

But I would argue that the he could lay claim to the Fifteenth Doctor specifically as one of his "children." Bigeneration was a result of regenerating in the midst of that "state of play" beyond the bounds of order and chaos. And frankly, everything in this Doctor's era so far has existed in a state of play. Sky goblins. Musical numbers. Fourth wall breaking. Flashbacks bleeding into present action. MORE musical numbers.

I am becoming more and more convinced that the Doctor is not a child of the Toymaker, but that the Fifteenth Doctor specifically was "born" of the Toymaker's influence and thus operates unwittingly as one of his "children." And just as the Toymaker's domain is games and Maestro's domain is music, the Doctor's domain is his own television show.

It's a nuts-ass theory that is absolutely wrong but that's never stopped me before.