#ty very much for this mouse... :]

[shapeless-lord]

it's May 9th, which means that Cheezer the mouse is turning 23 today!

happy birthday Cheezer!!

[luveline]

helloooo, how are you? i’ve been rewatching criminal minds and i finally got to the post-prison part, so i’m really missing shy!r and post prison spencer <33 if you’re felling up to writing something for them again, i would love to see it!! maybe when they kiss for the first time or something else (completely up to you, i would love anything that you write hahah) but if you’re not really feeling it at the moment, please don’t worry about it, it’s so understandable 🩷 have the best day!!

ty for your request I love first kisses <3

Spencer takes you for a walk and explains a couple of courting rituals. shy fem!reader, 1.5k

Profiling is still very hard, but seven months into your new job at the BAU, you’ve become proficient in Spencer Reid. You can tell when he’s eager to work, when he’s down about something, when he’s feeling good. He holds himself differently on his good days, he takes care to coil his hair and wears a clean pair of shoes. 

In the bullpen, he’s sitting at his desk beside yours, craned over a desk covered in loose papers, books, and files. You attempt to hide your approach, lest he startle. 

“Good morning,” he says. 

“Good morning.” Can’t hide anything. He’s been an agent for ninety percent of his adult life. “What are you doing?” 

“Just reading.” 

You sit at your desk, clearing a space for your bag among your own mess of files and books. Your monitor turns on with a nudge of the mouse. Your screen is filled swiftly by notifications and Outlook, then the FBI messaging system, and then the ‘filing cabinet’ Garcia built to help you understand the insanity that is the BAU online system. It submerges you every morning regardless. 

“What are you reading about?” you ask. Your emails can’t wait, but you don’t want to read them, so you won’t for another ten minutes. 

He stumbles over a breath. 

“Spencer?” 

“It’s courtship rituals.” 

You regret asking. Whenever you and Spencer talk about feelings, or love, or romance, you end up hot as a kettle on a stovetop, steam billowing from your ears. You choked on a mouthful of lukewarm tea a few days ago when he’d mentioned America's developing hook-up culture. 

He doesn’t tell you any more, which is unlike him. Spencer Reid loves to talk, or loves to share what he’s learned. You looked it up —it’s called info-dumping, and it’s usually because the person telling you is so deeply fascinated by the topic they’re investigating that they can’t contain it. It’s a common symptom of ADHD, or autism, or both. Spencer’s done it since the day you met, which is nice. You feel like he trusts you. 

And so you’re wondering now if you’ve done something to make him think he can’t do it today. Or maybe he’s not feeling well. 

You prop your face in his hand and watch him. 

He doesn’t look upset, only focused. 

You hate quiet. You love not talking, but gaps of silence have you overthinking things. Maybe he’s mad. Maybe you’ve finally pissed him off. 

It’s scary because he’s amazingly kind. Overwhelmingly nice. He’s lovely and good looking but it’s his heart that shocks you every time, how he’s looked after you, defended you.

“Spencer, are you okay?” you ask. 

He blinks to attention. “What?” 

“You’re not talking.” 

He grins. “I’m thinking.” 

His smile when he looks like he’s about to laugh is everything. 

“Don’t think too much,” you say as you play with a button on your coat. “Isn’t that what you always tell me?” 

“Don’t think too much because you think about things you don’t need to,” he amends. “You worry about everything.” 

“Well, so do you.” 

“Exactly. I’ll worry enough for you, too.” Spencer gives you a smile you don’t understand. “Will you come to the archive with me? I want to talk to you about something.” 

“Spencer…” He just acknowledged that you worry about everything. 

“Sorry,” he laughs. “Something with no pressure. I’ll explain it as we walk.” 

You shed your coat and walk together out of the BAU offices down a long hallway. You take the elevator down to the ground level, spring air in the hallways, early morning sunshine lapping at your shoes where it’s settled golden against the marble floor. Spencer professes that it’s nothing to worry about again, but he doesn’t elaborate, and your heart begins to pulse too quickly. 

You can’t look at him. 

“I’ve been reading about these courtship rituals and… looking at which ones are the best. There are thousands of them, but contemporary courting isn’t easy. It confuses me. With my last, my only girlfriend, we wrote each other letters. But I wanted this time to be different, because– because love is different?” He grimaces. 

“Love is different,” you agree. You’re not sure who he means, your chest panging in two different beats. Is he… talking about you? “It’s different every time.” 

“I was looking for the more subtle rituals. I kept thinking I’d find the right one, and that I’d know it when I saw it, but I can’t find anything suitable and I might need your help. Um, if you even want to help me.” 

“Of course I do.” 

Spencer slows just outside of the archive’s door. “Everything I read about feels like it would just embarrass you. I picture buying you flowers and I feel like you’d just– just explode.” He says it with affection and apology alike. “I wrote you a poem. Emily told me not to give it to you, though.” 

“You wrote me a poem?” 

“I made you a love spoon, too, but I can’t whittle, and it looks terrible. I even cut my hand, and if you rejected me you’d have to give the spoon back and I think that would make it worse.” 

You turn completely still. The last thing you expected that morning was for Spencer to confess. And he is confessing, a small smile on his face, patience, nervousness, close enough to feel the heat of him beside you. You short circuit in an attempt to compute the magnitude of it; Spencer wants to court you, and you can’t handle it. 

Your exhale shudders out of you. Goosebumps attack your arms. 

“Sorry,” he says quietly, “are you okay?” 

“Spencer, I don’t think you could ever find a way to tell me that wouldn’t make me feel like this.” 

“How do you feel?” 

“How am I supposed to feel?” 

Spencer’s smile fades a touch. “I don’t know. You can feel how you want to feel, it isn’t up to me. But I have feelings for you. I thought you knew.” 

It’s like knowing that the lottery numbers were chosen specifically to match your ticket. The thing he’s talking about doesn’t make sense. 

“Are you kidding around?” you ask. 

“What? No.” He holds your wrist gently. “Of course not.” 

You swallow a lump and try not to overreact, though you’re already doing that. This is a good thing, it is, but he’s him and you’re you and every time he touches you it’s like fireworks are bursting warm and tingly over your skin. You smile at his chest, cheeks dimpling from how wide it stretches. 

“You don’t have to court me, um. Not in any way like that. I’m just like every other girl, you know? I like flowers. I,” —your cheek lists down toward your shoulder bashfully— “probably would feel a little embarrassed, but I like flowers. I can get you flowers.” 

Spencer really laughs. “You want to get me flowers?” 

“Maybe?” 

He laughs again. His eyes lock onto you and his open hand closes on the opposite arm, putting you face to face. “It was my idea,” he says, playfully argumentative. 

“Okay.” 

“You want to hear the poem?” he asks, quietening again. 

You nod slowly. “N’I wanna see the spoon.” 

“Can I please kiss you?” He takes a breath, like he’s been running. “I know this isn’t the right place, but I didn’t expect to want it this badly.” 

“I don’t think there’s a wrong place…” 

“So I can?” he asks, lifting a hand to your cheek, to hold you with care. 

You nod into his approach, find yourself kissed and held tightly in a split-second of warmth and warm smells. His nose touches yours in a kiss of their own, his lips part lightly before pressing in again. Two kisses lend to a third, but then he pulls away to look at you. As quickly as it started, it’s over. 

“You're overheating already,” he says, thumb rubbing a sweet path under your cheek. 

You don’t know what to say. He ducks his head just that little bit to make sure you’re okay. Understanding flows between you both. His hand falls behind your back to pull you in for a hug. 

“I’ve never been the confident one in any of my relationships,” he admits. 

“I usually am.” 

Your deadpan lights him up. His hug turns strong armed, and he walks you back, giggling, arms a comforting vice around you. “You can be the shy one this time,” he says, seemingly unaware of how his using the word ‘relationship’ has thrown you for another loop. 

You’re hot as a furnace all morning. Spencer makes excuses for you, but Emily’s amazing at her job. 

“Jesus, Spence, you didn’t read her the poem? I told you it was too much.” 

[transformers-spike]

AH IM SO SORRY. TY FOR LETTING ME KNOW THO, IM THE ONE THAT ASKED FOR THE TFP MEG X CYBERTRONIAN😭🙏

BUT YES IM FINE WITH OMEGAVERSE HUMAN HEAT CYCLE OR WTV ITS CALLED. TY🥹💕💕💕

No prob fam, I had fun making this because holy fuck I haven't been able to write anything wholesome with TFP Megatron in a long time.

You are a precious thing, gazing up at him with naive trust. What started off as a temporary experiment has turned into a unique pet project. Useless to the Decepticon cause, yet irreplaceable to him. You quietly sit in his lap during meetings, arching your back to meet the digit petting your helm as his commanders avert their optics from your tiny frame. The presence of his beloved pet on the Nemesis is disquieting to his troops, and he delights in their discomfort, savoring the jitters of their EM fields whenever they catch sight of you. Recently however, the soft pulse of unease has turned into a low but intrusive buzzing. The sweet smell of your arousal is unlike anything he’s ever experienced. In two meager cycles you've become a quivering mess, loins begging for friction. There's no denying it, you've reached your reproductive cycle. When he brushes a digit over your cheek, you're burning with desire, sheepishly avoiding his gaze as you struggle to contain your eagerness and avoid rubbing up against his servo.

Is this why the Autobots are fond of humanity? To indulge their sweet heat cycles? How many human mates has Optimus taken for himself? It seems as though their motives to protect the natives were never altruistic, much less noble.

When he strokes the wetness between your legs, you buck into him, euphoria carved into your soft features. He entertains your instincts, holds you down and frags you with a digit until you overload. The sounds you make are to offline for. He decides at that very moment you are worth the energon he's about to waste.

Mass displacement has seen its uses during the war, but the drawbacks among a shortening supply of energon has rendered it volatile and thoughtlessly wasteful. Yet, under these circumstances it proves more than necessary.

You are no Cybertronian, but the softness of your flesh renders your differences obsolete. The transfluid welcoming his spike sends a wave of charge down his spinal struts. You grip his servo, desperate for more than you can take.

“Eager for my spike, pet?” he purrs as he nuzzles your neck.

Your scent is endurable for his species, but he cannot deny its intoxicating properties. How many other humans have you mated with? He cannot imagine anyone resisting the sweetness of your loins. Your entrance struggles to take a spike of his size, and yet it swallows him with an eagerness he cannot bear to lose. It makes his spark radiate with pride.

The adoration in your optics sends a new jolt of charge to his member. You cup his face in your servos and kiss him harshly, scrambling to satisfy your all-consuming hunger, his sharp denta dangerously close to your lips.

He frags you slow and steady, savoring the noises you make as you desperately cling onto his frame, digits finding seams in his plating and burying themselves in the soft mesh of his protoform. A hiss loosens from his vocalizer, optics narrowing as the charge breaches his limits It takes all the entirety of his self-control to stop himself from destroying your poor human interface. Still, he frags you like never before, hard and fast, slamming his hips into you with enough force to bruise. You cry out, hardly an innocent party, clenching around him until your little body is full of his transfluid. When he pulls back, you’re shaking under him like a glitch mouse caught between a cybercat’s paws. It’s enough to pull the scarred corners of his lips into a smile. He reaches out a servo to languidly stroke your cheek, and he allows you to grab hold of it and place a tender kiss to his palm. His spike twitches inside of you, transfluid pooling between your legs. And yet, you haven’t stopped bucking against him. A squeak escapes your voice box when he wrenches you against him and buries himself up to the hilt. Evidently, one round isn’t enough for your kind; humans are no better than beasts in heat. But if you want to be bred, who is he to refuse? You grip onto him as though the Nemesis is about to crash.

On a purely biological level, you are completely incompatible. And yet, it doesn’t stop him from craving something more. A hypothetical seed he yearns to plant inside of your frame, one you will carry graciously, for you have lent him your very being.

Overload after overload, he has left you a shivering mess, servos balled up into fists as you fruitlessly attempt to steady your tremors. He smiles against your neck, servo forcefully keeping your thighs spread while his digits scoop up stray transfluid and stuff it back into your insatiable body.

[cyxnidx]

HI HI HELLO! I saw ur cat n mouse gamr for Wriothesley and loved the idea so much! I would like to request f! Reader x wanderer (genshin) playing a cat n mouse game as well hehe. And if you dont mind please do write more on the smut part I am very curious on how itll play out 🫢 TY!

CAT & MOUSE 2 !

character pairing: wanderer / scaramouche x f!reader

warnings: smut, degradation(use of 'slut, whore') + a little praise, oral (m!receiving), cat & mouse game, slight bondage (ropes🤭)

a/n: Hi~, apologies for such a late response :(. had to get some sort of inspo flowing. i'm glad you enjoyed, & hope you enjoy this one even more <3.

"where are you, slut." wanderer's tone echos throughout the house.

you're hiding - hiding, being bratty, as usual. getting your boyfriend all riled up, only to leave him to deal with his boner himself.

not this time, though. it seems you've gotten him a little too riled up today.

you slap a hand over your mouth when you hear his shoes against the hardwood floor, hoping he doesn't find you.

now you're realizing its foolish - and your hiding place doesn't make it any better. under the bed, really?

"come out, come out, wherever you are.." he calls again, obviously teasing you. hes so close, so near, yet you don't have sight of him.

the adrenaline rush is addictive. it's probably the main reason you're doing this to begin with. the rush of hiding, and the chance of being caught, and fucked to oblivion?

its addicting.

you notice it goes quiet. it doesnt seem like the wanderer is walking anymore, nor is he calling for you.

theres only one conclusion you can come to when this occurs.

and before you know it, you're yanked up by your ankles and pinned to the ground.

you've been caught.

you fight him, for the fun of it. to give him a hard time, not that you want to win. not necessarily. the whole point is to get under his skin.

finally, he gets you under control, and thats when you notice a rope being held between his teeth. he holds your hands above your head with one hand, while with the other, he works to tie your wrists together.

"scara - let's talk about this!" you whine, only adding fuel to the fire. you knew he wouldn't wanna talk - why would he?

without a word, he throws you onto the bed you once were taking cover under. "not another word, you hear me?" he demands. "say anything more, and I'll stuff that pretty mouth with my cock."

your eyes narrow, analyzing his. lust swirls in his pupils, a gaze of daggers stabbing you. though, despite the betting stare he's giving, you take it as an opportunity to provoke him more.

"well, if you're so bold, do it-"

you're basically cut off at the last syllable of your sentence when he moves you off the bed. his grip is harsh on your waist, and you were on the ground before you knew it.

"open your mouth," he says in a haste, unbuckling his pants and fiddling with his zipper.

"wha-"

"open. your. fucking. mouth." he demands, stroking the bud of precum over his cock as he waits. you let your tongue fall out of your mouth, mouth wide, awaiting to be filled by his cock.

not taking more than a minute, he shoves his cock down your throat, immediately fucking you.

"you," he pants, the warmth of your throat hitting him like a truck. like a pressure he never knew he needed for the minute. "fuckin' slut. always rilin' me up n', shit."

he continues to shove himself down your throat, your gags filling the otherwise quiet house. he grabs a harsh fistful of your hair and your hands go to massage his balls, tempting him to cum down your throat.

his head tilts back. "god, damnit. you're sucha little slut, fuck, taking my cock like a good little girl. mmh, g'na let me cum down your slutty little throat? huh?"

you attempt to moan in response, the tightening gesture throwing scaramouche over the edge, filling your throat with his seed.

he waits for you to finish sucking every little bit off his cock before moving you to the bed. "good little slut, you must like to be used." he mumbles, turning you over on your stomach and arching your back. "g'na treat you how you want, yeah? like the little whore you love to be."

[lovebugism]

Hello there! For a blurb, could I request either Steve or reader making a mixtape for the first time for the other? Also, hope your brain is able to get some good rest!

ty for your request anon! — steve's shy gf loves to spoil him 'cause he deserves to have nice things (established relationship, fluff, shy!reader, 1.1k)

fictober (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)

When you first started dating, Steve learned two things about you, very quickly.

One, you’re not great at expressing your feelings. And two, you love giving him gifts.

Both are equally hard for him to stomach.

He hates when you don’t tell him how you feel — when you choose to suffer alone rather than let him in on your suffering. It doesn’t matter how many times Steve tells you that you’re not burdening him or that he’d swim oceans to appease you. You keep to yourself most times, very rarely vulnerable.

What you lack in your ability to communicate, you make up for in gifts. And not the “here’s something shiny because I’m trying to buy your love” kind of gift his parents always got him. What you give him is far more sentimental. The full-blown, hand-made, holy-shit-this-took-a-lot-of-effort sort of gift.

You paint things for him when you have the time. He’s got a dozen tiny, vibrantly colored easels decorating his desk and dresser. You make him jewelry, too, out of pretty pastel beads. Steve wears your initial, along with various hearts and stars and circles, on his wrist every day. 

You wear his, too — on your pulse when you visit him at Family Video. 

Closing shift, Saturday night, a billion other things you could be doing, and you’re spending it with him. It makes suffering the graveyard shift a lot easier on his heart.

You’re there for half an hour before you work up the courage to pull your latest present from the pocket of your jacket. “I made you something,” you tell him, finally, somehow quieter than the already quiet store.

Steve’s smiling before he knows what it is. His rosy lips curl into a crooked smile. His tired honey eyes blink up at you. “Yeah?”

He sits behind the bulky computer, slouched in his swivel chair and barely focused on the catalog he’s supposed to be mining through. You’re sitting on the counter beside him, legs hanging off the edge. His right hand lazes on the computer mouse while his left idles on your leg — long fingers curled around your calf, thumb rubbing absentmindedly along your shin.

You nod sheepishly and motion to the cassette tape in your hand.

“What’s this?” he wonders as he takes it from you.

“A mixtape,” you answer with a curt shrug. ‘Cause it’s easier than telling him, “Oh, it’s just tape I spent hours making you so I could compile every song that could maybe come close to describing how much I love you, but even that came up short.”

Steve’s still grinning when he reads what you’ve written on the front of it. 

best songs ever for the best person ever, you’ve scribbled on a sticker you decorated with pink and red hearts. The bottom reads, everything i can’t tell you.

“Babe…” he hums quietly, lovesick eyes flitting up to you. “This must’ve taken you forever…”

Again, you shrug and duck your warming face down to your lap. “It wasn’t that hard…”

Steve’s hand is still caressing your leg, squeezing softly along the back of it. He knows it took work. He knows you won’t admit to it. So he just smiles — a tiny, tight-lipped thing that makes his dimples peek out.

“Thank you,” he mutters with a honeyed fondness. “You know you never have to give me anything…”

“I like doing it… You deserve to have pretty things,” you answer sheepishly.

His grin widens. “Well, I got the prettiest thing right here, so…”

He rises from the cushioned seat to stand in front of you, back aching and legs groaning in protest. 

Your nose scrunches in disdain at his words.

“Too cheesy?” Steve squints and positions himself between your legs. His palms are wide and warm as they settle contently on your thighs.

“A little.”

“Sorry,” he apologizes, though he doesn’t really mean it. He just uses it as an excuse to press a kiss to your burning cheek. When he pulls back again, he’s still nose-to-nose with you — still smiling and sparkling at you. 

“I get off in, like, thirty minutes. Maybe I can drive us to Lover’s Lake, and we can listen to the tape and stargaze or whatever. You know, all the stuff people disgustingly in love do.”

“Then why would we do that?” you quip, still shy in your way.

“Very funny.”

You conceal your grin by pursing your lips to the side. “I don’t know… I wasn’t really expecting to listen to it with you.”

“Why not?”

“‘Cause it’s embarrassing.”

“No, it’s not!” he protests, almost offended you would even say so. “What’s gonna be real embarrassing is when I sing all the songs at the top of my lungs to you.”

“Oh, god…” you groan quietly to yourself. 

Sometimes, you think social anxiety is scared of Steve. He’s not afraid to get stared at, especially not when it comes to you. It’d be way too easy for him to roll down all the windows, turn up the radio, and belt all the cheesy love ballads you’ve compiled for him.

Steve grins, pink and crooked. “Exactly, baby.”

“Just promise you won’t make fun of me,” you murmur, gaze turned down to where your anxious hands fiddle with a rogue thread hanging on the hem of his shirt. You say it in a lilt like you’re joking, but you’re still sort of serious.

“When have I ever made fun of you?”

“You know what I mean…”

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” he echoes tenderly in return. 

Because he does. 

You’re trying to tell him that you don’t want to talk about it. You don’t want him to analyze all the lyrics and make jokes when one of them is particularly cheesy. You want to pretend like you’re just listening to the radio and not like every single song is handcrafted specifically for him and the way he makes you feel.

“I’m gonna be too busy kissing the life outta you to say anything, anyway,” Steve promises, wide hands squeezing the outsides of your thighs.

Your face flares hot again. You think if he pressed another kiss to your cheek, you’d burn him.

“Promise?” you press.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he huffs, almost sympathetically, already leaning closer to you. “You’re gonna have to pry me off of you by the end of the night.”

Before you could promise him that you’d never because you want him to kiss you forever and ever and ever, his lips are already on yours.

He kisses you soft at first — several tender little pecks to warm you up like he’s giving you ample time to pull away and tell him you’re not in the kissing mood. It only makes you go deeper. You get more languid, more confident.

Steve lets you kiss him how you want. His mouth is soft and pink and obedient for you. His hands are warm and wide and welcoming, rising from your thighs to the curve of your waist.

You barely make it to Lover’s Lake that night.

[odocoiileus]

Hello! I'm not sure if you write for him, but can I have some hcs for RZ Michael Myers with a very silent s/o? (Like almost mute but can still talk, can be gn or any gender u want) Ty!!

pairings: rz! michael myers x gn! reader

warnings: mentions of murder, blood/gore,

a/n: of course anon! I write for any slasher for the most part. I'm also a huge fan of rz michael lol

talk about a match made in hell heaven, both of you are as quiet as a mouse.

it's a miracle that michael didn't kill you, though I fully believe that the reason he spared you in the beginning is because of how quiet you were — maybe he saw himself in you. either way, you're glad to be alive

it definitely took awhile for you two to get to know each other, considering you are both very very silent.

somehow, it still works out.

I imagine the both of you bond over doing arts and crafts, if you like those. such as mask making, drawing, letters confessing your love (seeing as you don't like to talk, this is probably the easiest way to express your feelings other than physical touch or gift giving, acts of service)

on the very rare occasions you do speak, it's usually only when Michael comes into your house soaked with blood, staring at you like a wounded dog. even then, it's probably only uttering his name.

you'll bandage whatever wounds he has (which isn't very often, I mean, the mans a tank) in silence, it's a comfortable silence. besides your irritated glare, of course.

you don't need to talk for him to be able to understand your anger when he's covered your floor with blood, which you'll have to clean up later

I think another way you could bond would be doing his hair, either braiding it or simply running your fingers through it. possibly even trim the dead ends.

this would be further into your relationship when the two of you are fully comfortable. I like to headcanon that Michael has a very high pain tolerance, but is tender headed. beware of knots!

I think Michael would be happier with a silent significant other such as yourself than one that's constantly yapping. it makes the connection much more genuine and deeper.

[simplyreveries]

hii hru? i hope your doing good! you dont have to do this request if you dont want to idm. anyway maybe an au with Jade, Vil, and Rook where the reader is a thief and their a detective. and they have trouble catching them while the reader makes fun of them??

just ignore this if you dont want it. have a great day. :)

im good thank you! ty for the request, it's cool!!!

jade leech

jade actually seems to enjoy how much of an effort you have to make him do, that he has a chase. its entertaining to him to say at the very least. he seems to be quite confident in himself and his own abilities to catch you- in fact there are times where he could so easily get you but he kinda lets you slip away so he can continue hehe.

anytime you make some snark or playful comment towards him he always manages to have the same energy back only in a more playful (sometimes they're unnerving because its JADE) but he likes this. he grins as he muses how much he banters back- it's different from what he is used to, and he loves it. he usually chuckles to himself when he hears you poke fun at him.

genuinely has and does try to outsmart and trick you in some ways as his plans to successfully capture you. he views this all as some game to him, that he is absolutely loving.

vil schoenheit

he isnt the most impressed with your games and playful demeanor about the whole situation, he scoffs and thinks it's a childish waste of time. vil is someone that does not want to be caught in an endless cat and mouse chase... is what he thought until he kind of started to like the retorts and comments you two have against each other. he finds it interesting and different, like jade.

vil is almost upset because he does hold himself up to a standard, seemingly prideful that he is good at his job and what he does for his line of work. the fact that he has such trouble catching you frustrates him at times.

being stubborn as ever will only continue again and again to make every attempt to successfully get you. sometimes you'll find him having his proud moments where he is able to stun and just barely able to get you- only for you to quip and tease him as you're able to escape once again.

rook hunt

oh lord, he may even be enjoying and loving this more than jade. he finds the chase so exhilarating- he doesn't always want it to be so easy for him. he gets to exercise his talent in hunting down and chasing and he will gladly do that. seems to find the thrill and joy of doing it even more.

he might even compliment your skills while he is after you, giving you an amused smile amazed that you've actually made it as far as you had. trying to get away from him was no easy feat for others like you in the past. he is pleasantly surprised and is excited for anytime he finds you. "ah, so close! ill get you soon enough, trickster." he'll usually say chuckling in defeat.

there are so, so many times with him where it'll be such close calls with him getting you- still you manage to slip away from him. he'll admit you're clearly no amateur, you know what you're doing. and he loves it.

[jaidens]

If you special requests are still open can I have a hot chai latte with extra whipped cream under name Darrel Curtis? Only if ur ok with that!

So scarlet it was Maroon, The mark they saw on my collarbone

pairing [s] : darry curtis x reader

warning [s] : mentions of : sex, hickeys, drinking, riding, making out | wrap it before you tap it |

a/n [s] : ty for requesting, I'm sorry for how long it took!

It has almost been a month without your fiance. Darry had been booked for every single day, and suddenly nurses had become extremely needed everyday for your hospital. You were riled up and upset that your shifts hadn't matched up with Darry's which ended up in only seeing him passing in and out of the house. You were the night shift, and Darry had been the morning shift. You took care of the gang when Darry couldn't, becoming the casual mom of the group when you were around.

As you shift the small ring around your finger, tapping against the table as the clock clicks closer to your shift ending. As soon as it hits twelve, you jump up, grabbing your bag and Darry's jacket and run out of the hospital while saying goodbye to your coworkers. The air is cold as it nips at your nose. You open your car door and turn the car on, the cold air hitting you as it attempts to start up with a rumble. The radio plays quietly as you start to feel giddy at being able to see your boyfriend after a month.

The car ride isn't long, but not very short. After twenty-five minutes of no traffic and long, twisting roads, you pull into the driveway of Darry's house. His truck is sitting next to your car, and the lights are still on the inside of the house. Grabbing your stuff, you run into the house and shut the door quietly behind you. Two-Bit and Steve are asleep on the couch, snoring as Mickey Mouse is playing on the television.

You smile at them, shutting off the television and lights. You walk to the kitchen, hang up your keys on the hook, and set your bag down. Your stomach rumbles after hours of being unable to eat due to the rush on the hospital. You pull out some food and heat it up, and bite into it and moan out. Darry’s cooking was always amazing, after years of practicing after the loss of his Mom and Dad. While you're eating, strong arms wrap around your waist and pull you into his hips.

With a gentle kiss to your neck, you smile and twist your body around to be in front of Darry. He's smiling widely, his tongue darting out to like his lips. “Oh, Darry..” You mumble out and he pushes you against the counter and his hand falls underneath your thighs as you follow his movements with your lips. Your hand runs up his shoulders and to the back of his head and you grip onto his messy, ungreased hair. He smells like aftershave and his minty shampoo and conditioner.

You're mumbling out his name every time he pulls away from your lips to let you breathe. “Not here, love. Bedroom c’mon!” You're whisper-shouting, as he picks you up off the counter and carries your bridal style to your small, shared bedroom. The bed is messy and fluffy with blankets as you try and beat the November weather that was attacking Tulsa. The television is on and plays a random show that Darry had liked, but you didn't understand it half of the time.

You crawl onto the bed and pull on the waistband of his pants and he falls on the bed on top of you, not crushing you with his thighs taking his fall. You're wrapped up in the kiss you've been waiting for, deep and full of delicious passion. His lips slide from your mouth to suck against your neck, kissing and biting gently. His name is a prayer as it falls from your lips as you slide against him, his hand tickling against your waistband.

You pull his shirt off and throw it on the floor, staring at his delicious muscles and abs that stretch and pull in every time you touch his warm skin. “Missed you so much.” Darry gasps when you pull him up and push against the wall.

—

When you wake up the next morning, your legs are sore and your back achy. The bed is cold and alone with Darry's side is put together and cleaned up. Your side however isn't as you get up from bed. You're in a big t-shirt of Darry's with a pair of underwear. You grab a pair of shorts and put them on. You stretch out your body and crack your hands. You fix up the bed and straighten out the sheets and fix up your hair. You put your slippers and rub your eyes. When you look at the mirror, you see all of the purplish and dusty pink bruises that litter your neck and down to your collarbone.

You grab a big hoodie and pull it on and it covers most of them up, but it would be impossible to cover all of them. You open the door to leave and you hear the boys that are somehow rowdy at eight-thirty in the morning. Two-Bit and Steve are ones that you can pick out, teasing Darry and Ponyboy about something you couldn't hear. You walk into the kitchen and you feel people's eyes on you. “Well! Well, how-dy here!” Two-Bit teases and taps against the maroon bruise that's underneath your jaw. “What’s that lil ol’ thing, Y/N!?”

You cover your neck and start to get embarrassed. Darry immediately pulls into protective mode and pulls you into his arms. You smile at him and he kisses the top of your head. You're forced to follow him around to stay in his arms. “Did you fight something last night? What's all over you—oh ew Darry!” Ponyboy says before covering his eyes and gagging. You laugh at him and serve him a plate of food. “Oh hush you too!” Darry shouts when Two-Bit and Pony start to giggle and conspiring about what happened last night.

You kiss Darry and he deepens it softly. “I’m off work today. Charles was being nice by not scheduling me.” You tell Darry and he smiles at you, letting his hands naturally wrap around your waist. You lay against his chest as you both fall into a natural sway. One thing about Darry is he didn't have two of the same feet, he was an amazing dancer and naturally would always be moving gracefully somehow.

You're both lying like that until Ponyboy says he's ready for school. You smile at Darry and hand him the truck keys, giving him a long kiss and twirling the curls around his neck on your finger as he walks out the door. You're smiling at the door when you hear the sound of the refrigerator opening, clicking of glasses, and two pops. “Really Two-Bit!? Beer at nine in the morning?”

“Hey young-lady! We both had fun, you got it earlier than I did. Now, let me enjoy this!”

[absolutebl]

Hey. Ty very much for your posts. As a woman in my 30s I got hypnotised by the beauty of the novelists and was wondering if you had similar high heat intense recommendations (also watched the samurai one "taboo"), bi or mlm with older leads and non fluffy storylines.. Moody atmospheric and venomous is my weak spot

Moody, atmospheric & venomous BL

Like, the Novelist? really?

AKA Pornographer movie series AKA The Novelist, Mood Indigo, Pornographer Playback (Japan 2018-2020) - emotional manipulation, cheating, obsession, seduction, May/December, kink, touch of necrophilia, explicit.   

Okay I got one right off the bat: seek ye....

The Cornered Mouse Dreams of Cheese

AKA Kyuso wa Chizu no Yume wo Miru (Japan 2020) - obsession, cheating, breakup, reunion, then break up again, explicit, mature characters. 

Now let me think about some more:

high heat

intense

non fluffy

older leads

The last one is a doozy, so I'm not gonna use it as a qualifier. BL is most, well, about "boys" not men.

Some others that might work for you but don't meet all your criteria:

Your Name Engraved Herein (Taiwan 2020 Netflix) - this movie is fantastic but it is also seriously depressing, it’s a self acceptance journey, but if you wanna wallow in high quality acting and serious gay drama, this’ll do it. 

Innocent (Taiwan 2021 GaGa) - mental health, childhood trauma, actually kinda sweet. 

The Eighth Sense (Korea 2023 Viki - This isn’t in the KBL bubble, there’s sharp edges and lots of triggers. For a KBL the darkness of the content left me feeling unsettled but it's really damn good.

My Personal Weatherman AKA Taikan Yoho (Japan 2023 Gaga) - Basically: boys who fell in love in college end up living together but both are so repressed they actually don't realize they're in love. They're hot, young, in love, and total idiots.

I Feel You Linger in the Air (Thai 2023 grey or YT) - IFYLITA is an exquisite BL, elegant and classy… from Thailand which normally doesn't even try for classy. The main couple (both as a pair and individuals) were excellent, it gets hot more that explicit, but it does have sharp edges.

Tokyo in April is AKA Shigatsu no Tokyo wa (Japan 2023 Viki) - Two young men with a shared tragic past reunite and fall in love all over again, but the past will not stop hunting them. It’s Japan in full on soft focus which means it gets emo, abusive, and chewy. These two characters are giving parts of their souls away in a desperate attempt to shape themselves to the expectations they have of each other it's heavy and cutting.

Moonlight Chicken (Thai 2023) - I enjoyed this complicated little show, even though it’s spectacularly messy gay with lots of shrapnel and authentic pain. EarthMix turn in their most compelling performance to date.

Bed Friend (Thai 2023 IQIYI) - Office frienamies transition a flaming hot one night stand into a f-buddy relationship that is built on a puppy/cat dynamic (and kinks into it at one point). Our puppy is loyal, smitten, and protective with endlessly longing eyes, while our cat is snarky, prickly, and deeply damaged (ALL THE TRIGGERS). NetJames give lovely high-heat with excellent chemistry and tuned-in performances of surprising depth.

Big Dragon (Thai 2022 Gaga) - This is a decent execution of true enemies to lovers, these two spy on and bully each other, exploring darker themes and self worth issues. The way the leads transition between anger, resentment, titillation, and flirting (and the way, with kinksters, this can all be the same thing) is really well done. A pairing that proved itself to be a lot more sophisticated than I expected with excellent chemistry, but something went askew around plot, directing, and ending. Still if you're in it for the sexy, go to, they did.

My Beautiful Man AKA Utsukushii Kare (Japan 2021 Gaga - One of the most Japanese BLs to release in the last decade, as weird and as messed up as any 2000′s yaoi: emo af and hella warped, entirely true to itself with no attempt made to modify its POV for modern sensibilities or current BL fandom. It used seriously old school problematic and kinky tropes, like whipping boy, for a truly uncompromising piece that also manages to hit up themes of communication, consent, and self acceptance. It’s a wonderful BL but uniquely dirty and harsh, in the best possible way - Japanese cinema, uncompromising.

End of the World With You

Junjou: Pure Heart

The Egoist

No thoughts on those three, not my thing.

You also might consider some of the stuff on this list:

Hope that gives you some options!

[pastshadows]

Shadows of the Past

Chapter 4: Magic and Mischief

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

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

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

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

Setting: Post End-Game. Mostly canon compliant.

Word Count: 7K

Content: Explicit 18+ - intended for mature audiences.

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

Spoilers. Mentions of in-game missable content. Violence. Sexual Assault [not in currently posted chapters; possibly upcoming - I haven't decided] Past Trauma. Murder. Death. Longing. Sexual themes. Smut. Blood drinking. Angst. Innuendos. High use of sarcasm. Completely fabricated camp interactions.

You hear the beating sound of wings, and your bed lurches, causing you to drift in and out of your trance. Your eyes flutter, but you continue to bob between the waking world and your meditative state. Pressure on your chest pulls at the edges of your trance, and it crumbles down around you. You groan in lamenting protest at the intrusion on your rest. You urge your eyes to open and see Tara’s round green eyes staring down at you. Her little face is twisted in a fuming scowl.

“Your vampire is in a petulant mood this morning.”

That’s nothing new.

You stifle a yawn, “What do you mean?”

“I was hunting a mouse in his room, and he hurled a pillow at me! The audacity!”

Better a pillow than a dagger, I suppose.

Blinking, you rub the sleep out of your eyes, “Are you okay?”

“Oh yes, he was far too slow.”

Your still half-asleep mind processes her words sluggishly.

Too slow…

Wait.

Too slow?

A swell of unease tightens your chest, causing your heart to palpate sporadically, and worry creases your forehead.

What did she mean by too slow? Astarion was never slow. Unless… 

“I’m sorry he did that, Tara. You might want to consider his room a no-hunting zone. I will speak to him.”

Her tail sticks straight up, and her ears pin back, “Be sure you do. That kind of boorish behaviour will not be tolerated.”

She jumps off your bed with a furious huff and skitters out of your room through the small opening of your door, where she no doubt let herself in to apprise you of the vampire’s ill-mannered behaviour.

Too slow…

Tara’s words echo, reverberating off the boundaries of your thoughts. The only time Astarion was too slow was when he was hurt or starving, but he had seemed fine last night when he came to check on you. Without the daylight from the windows streaming in, it’s hard to discern what time it is, but it can’t be much later than early morning.

He typically isn’t even awake this early.

You slip out of bed in a flurry and slip your housecoat over your nightwear, tying it tight around your waist. You trot down the long, dim hallway. The wooden parquet flooring creaks under you, and your heavy footsteps echo off the walls. In your rush, you don’t even bother to light the candles to illuminate the space.

You knock on his door lightly, “Astarion?”

“Go away.”

His voice is unusually tense, bordering on strained. Your perception strikes like lightning, awakening all your senses in a sharp trill of foreboding alarm.

He doesn’t sound like his usual cavalier self.  

“Astarion, what’s wrong?”

“Please, just go away.”

Something is very wrong.

“No. I’m coming in.”

Swinging the door open, he scowls at you in a haunting grimace, “I said GO AWAY.”

Did he actually just yell at me?

Astarion had shouted at you before, but not often with such a pointed edge of malice tingeing his voice. If you were not so worried about him, it might have given you pause, but you shrug it off without much thought. Astarion would never hurt you.

Well… not physically or purposefully, at least.

The darkness obscures your vision, and although you can naturally see in the dark to some extent, it limits your ability to see details.

You whisper a cantrip, and fire combusts from your palm, forming a bright glowing sphere that hovers and revolves as if you were holding a small star in your hand.

Astarion barely reacts to the sudden emittance of fire. His eyes squint slightly at the unexpected bright light, and he looks from the fire to you with an unspoken query.

Narrowing your eyes, you peer at him observingly, studying him. His body is taught. All his muscles are tense as if he’s ready to fight. He trembles so violently you can practically feel him vibrating the air around you. His jaw is clenched hard, making the muscles in his neck protrude unnaturally. His eyebrows knit together in a frightening expression that makes your hair stand on edge.

He closes his eyes with a grimace and struggles to make himself appear relaxed, but you can see his knuckles strain and tremor under his death grip on the door. His other arm is bent behind his back, and even though you can’t see it, you know it’s clenched in a tight fist as he battles with himself.

“Darling, please, leave me be.”

You recognize this look. When you had first entered the Shadowlands, you had been so focused on trying to find a way to survive that horrid curse that no one had clued into the fact that there were no animals in this place for him to eat. Astarion never mentioned it to anyone and instead had suffered in silence until you found him in the furthest corner of the camp one night, away from everyone.

You toss and turn on your bedroll. The shadows of this place whisper and taunt from beyond the light that keeps them at bay. The corruption here is strong. It leaves you feeling unsettled, making slipping into a meditative state almost impossible.

Walking around camp as quietly as you can, you check on your friends, hoping it will ease some of the anxiety you feel. You mentally check them off in your head as you walk around.

Shadowheart. Gale. Wyll. Karlach. Lae’zel. Halsin. Scratch. Owlbear cub.

When you get to Astarion’s tent, he’s not there, and you look around the camp, confused for a moment.

Did he go hunting?

But how would he survive the curse?

Wait… What would he even hunt? Nothing survives the curse here, which means even if he could go hunting, there’s nothing for him to eat.

Fuck! How could I have been so blind?

You jog around but refrain from calling out to him. The others need their rest. You had been travelling through this damned land, fighting off all manner of creatures, and everyone was exhausted.

“Withers, where is Astarion?”

You pray the answer out of his mouth isn’t a demand for coin to cleave soul to body once more, but he simply points to an obscured area at the furthest edge of the camp.

You take off in the direction Withers is pointing in a hurry. As you turn a shallow corner, Astarion finally comes into view. He’s lying on the ground, curled up and writhing on the spot. His arms crossed over his stomach, his eyes squeezed shut, his forehead creased in the unmistakable grimace of agony.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

You skid down and fall to your knees beside him, reaching for him, but he lurches away like a coiled spring, finally snapping free from the pressure.

“Stay away from me.”

“Astarion…”

He snarls at you like a wounded animal trying to protect itself from further harm. His mouth is set in a hard line. His jaw clenched so hard he can barely speak, teeth grating together with such force you can hear them rasping.

“How long has it been since you’ve eaten?”

“Who’s counting?”

His voice shakes, tinged with a pain you’ve never heard in it before.

“How long, Astarion?”

“A ten-day, give or take a day, or two, or three. Time itself stills in this place.”

“Hells! Why didn’t you say anything? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It didn’t seem important.”

“Not important!? You are important! You should have said something!”

You bare your neck to him, “Here, feed on me.”

“No.”

“What do you mean, no? You’ve never had a problem with it before.”

“You need your strength. In this place, everything is hungry.”

“Don’t be foolish!” You chastise him, “I… I need you.”

You haven’t yet told him about your feelings for him. They remain a secret, sitting uneasily and unspoken in your heart.

“I said no.”

“Please don’t make me do this, Astarion. I’m begging you.”

He shakes his head at you, his arms wrapped around himself as he trembles like a leaf in the wind.

You sigh, “I’m sorry. You leave me no choice.”

The last thing you want to do to him is take his agency away from him, but he cannot go on like this. He can barely speak, let alone continue travelling through this cursed land. You won’t, can’t, allow him to perish here.

With a quick maneuver, you unsheathe his dagger from his hip and slice a deep gash into your wrist. Blood rushes, gurgling out of the wound, dripping onto the dirt. Breath hisses from him harshly as his eyes focus on the bleeding cut.

You bring your wrist close to his face, “I need you, Astarion. Let me help you.”

His eyes dart to yours before he gives in with a growl, and his lips wrap around the bleeding slash. You can feel him draw your blood from you in large gulps. He moans low in his throat, and his body starts to relax, bit by bit, limb by limb.

You can feel yourself start getting lightheaded as he siphons your life out of you. Your skin starts to cool and pale, and your eyes feel heavy. Your heartbeat starts to slow to a feeble thump.

With a snarl, he throws himself back, detaching from your hemorrhaging wrist. Bright red blood is smeared on his lips and dribbles down the sides of his mouth.

He looks at you with alarm in those vibrant scarlet eyes and scrambles back to you. Astarion grasps your wrist tightly, elevating it above your heart. You waver slightly on your knees and then fall backwards into him, eyes fluttering towards him.

“Do you know how stupid that was? I could have killed you!”

He’s angry with me.

“I trust you, Astarion.” 

He growls, “You shouldn’t.” 

“I shouldn’t do a lot of things. It’s never stopped me before. I don’t see why it would now.”

His eyes bolt to your wrist. Despite his death grip putting pressure on your wound, blood is seeping out from his hand, gliding smoothly down your arm, painting your skin red.

“You cut too deep.”

“I’m fine, just a little tired.”

You close your eyes and float.

He jolts you, “No, wake up!”

“It’s okay, Astarion.”

You’re cold, you drift, and you feel your consciousness slipping.

He bellows, “SHADOWHEART!”

Astarion tries to swing the door shut on you, but you slam your hand into it with a loud thud, causing the fire to vanish instantaneously. Scowling defiantly at him, you push past him and barge into his room. The door rattles violently on its hinges as he slams it behind you.

“What do you think you’re doing?” He seethes.

His room is dark, and you hurl fire into the fireplace, lighting the room in a warm glow.

You turn on him savagely, “You’re hungry, nearly starving by the looks of you.”

“I’m fine.”

“Don’t lie to me!”

He sighs loudly, “I may be a tad hungry.”

“A tad? Look at you! You’re trembling all over.”

You reach out to him, desperate to comfort him, but he backs away. Dropping your hand, you let your eyes dart to the floor so he won’t see the crestfallen look in them.

Why does he always hide things from me?"

“Haven’t you been hunting?”

“Of course! Well… I’ve tried.” He groans, “This damn city is too large and entirely too noisy. There isn’t exactly a ton of food readily prancing about.”

“Why didn’t you say something?”

“I… I’ve visited enough pain upon you.”

Oh, for the love of… Not this bullshit again.

“I am not a child, Astarion!” You roar, “How do you ever expect us to work if you keep treating me like some wounded babe that needs coddling?”

The harsh look on his face lightens, “Us?"

Did I just say us?

You sigh, “You need to stop hiding things from me. I want the truth from you, even when it hurts.”

No more running.

"If you can do that, we will see if there can be an “us” again in the future.”

Astarion runs his hand over his face, “As you wish, my dear. I will endeavour to be more open with you going forward.”

“Good. Now, come with me. You need to eat. You’re grumpy.”

He laughs, “Grumpy, am I?”

“Very grumpy.”

Taking his hand, you lead him to your room and close the door, locking it behind you. You light the candle on the dresser with a whispered cantrip.

“How long has it been since you ate?”

“Oh, not too long.”

“The truth, Astarion.”

“Ugh.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut so hard his forehead creases, “About six days. Why?”

“I wanted to assess which strength Potion of Healing I’m going to need.”

“Healing potion?” He blinks, “Why do you still carry those around?”

“Old habits, I suppose.”

You pull the potion out of your bedside table and set it down before removing your housecoat. Throwing it on the bed, you take a step closer to him. You watch his jaw tense and relax repeatedly, and his hands clench into fists.

“You can’t go on like this. Feed on me.”

“I-,”

“Don’t make me get another dagger.”

He snickers, “You do have awfully terrible knife skills.”

“And Shadowheart isn’t here to save me from my own grave ineptitude.”

“You frightened me that night, you know. I hadn’t been that scared in,” he pauses, thinking, “decades. Not even when Cazador would pull me into the kennels…”

He steps closer to you.

“Astarion…”

“You wanted truth in all things, darling.”

Astarion grabs you by the waist, tugging your body flush against his. Bowing his head, he runs his lips down your neck and along your collarbone. As it always does, the temperature contrast sends shivers shooting up your spine, and you gasp. You roll your head to the side, exposing your neck to him further.

Astarion delicately kisses your neck, “You’re a gift.”

You feel that familiar icy pinch as his fangs sink in. You inhale sharply. The sudden stab of pain makes your hands go to his biceps, anchoring yourself, squeezing hard. The sharpness of the pain dissipates rapidly and becomes nothing more than a dull throbbing ache.

He groans against your neck, and you feel your essence being drawn out of you in steady, calculated pulls.

His tongue laps at your neck, savouring every drop. Astarion’s grip on your waist tightens, and he bucks his hips into you. His arousal is obvious, and he wants you to know it - feel it.

With a moan, you can’t help but gyrate your hips demandingly against him in response. You’re full of fevered need for him while he fills himself with you.

Your life spills into him, and you can feel yourself flowing through his veins, powering his muscles, sating his raging hunger. It’s an odd sensation - like you are one person inhabiting two bodies simultaneously.

Or perhaps that's the light-headedness talking.

Your head swims dreamily, and you close your eyes and let yourself begin to drift into him, enjoying the familiar serenity of this moment. The act of him feeding on you has always felt intimate. Your body shakes excitedly, and your heart croons the siren song of desire.

It feels like it ends too soon as Astarion removes his fangs from your neck carefully. He places his cool palm on the wound, putting firm pressure on it to staunch any residual bleeding. He reaches over to the bedside table and uncaps the healing potion with his teeth before bringing it to your lips.

“Drink.”

You do as you’re told, and Astarion pours the viscous sweet liquid into your mouth in deliberate increments, giving you time to swallow until the bottle is drained.

“Good girl.” He purrs as his thumb slides across your lips, wicking away any drops that may have spilt.

His eyes are lidded heavily with a carnal lust you would recognize anywhere. The crimson hue of his irises is so vibrant that they look like polished glinting gems, and you’re captivated by the dazzling incandescence.

Astarion eases the pressure on your neck momentarily, checking to see if the bleeding has stopped before reapplying it.

“Did I hurt you?”

You shake your head, “Gentle as a babe.”

The tapered points of his ears are flushed rosy-pink, and his body is no longer clenched unnaturally. He looks happy, the way you like to see him, and you smile at him.

“What are you smiling at, my dear?”

Sighing softly, “You.”

“And why ever would that be?”

“You look happy.”

His eyebrows rise, and he cocks his head, “Perhaps, I overdid it.”

“No, you didn’t.” You bring your hand to the one he’s holding firmly against your neck and slide your fingers around his wrist, “I just like seeing you like this; the points of your ears flushed, your body relaxed, smiling. I like seeing you happy.”

His voice softens into a low, seductive timbre, “Is that so? Do you know when I am happiest?”

“Elbow deep in gore, if my memory serves me correctly.”

He chuckles, “Oh no, my love. I’m happiest when I’m deep in you.”

Promptly, you once again become exceedingly cognizant of his hard length pressed firmly against you. Using his index finger, he gently tilts your head so that you’re meeting his gaze. The passionate intensity in his eyes makes your heart leap, and you draw in a sharp breath. Your lips part intuitively as you stare back up at him, letting your eyes devour his beauty.

I should stop him.

He lowers his mouth to yours in a tender caress, and your eyes flutter closed. Your tongue traces his lips, and he parts them for you with a deep moan, allowing you to taste him. His mouth harbours the metallic tang of you, and it only pushes your arousal higher.

Your fingers nimbly pull the hem of his shirt free from his pants, desperate to feel his satiny, cool skin. Your hand glides up the contours of his lithe body greedily. You let out a shuddering breath as you feel the aching need in your already swelling flesh.

Astarion hugs you firmly to him as he walks you carefully backward until you’re anchored between him and your bedroom wall. His erection presses into you, and you grind against him, desperate for the gratifying friction. He groans, driving his hips further into you with an eager whimper.

He breaks the kiss off, nipping playfully at your lower lip, and looks down at you with heated eyes, half-lidded with arousal.

“Tell me what you want, my love, and it’s yours.”

What do I want?

Him.

Just him… forever.

You tremble against him, and your voice comes out in a breathless pant, “You.”

He trails his finger down your neck, featherlight across your chest and between your breasts.

Oh.

“You’re beautiful like this, you know. Skin flushed, teeming with need, begging to be tasted.”

Fuck.

His finger continues its lazy route down your stomach and over your belly button. Your skin prickles at the sensation, and tension coils hot in your abdomen. You can feel your knees buckle as the walls of your core spasm and contract.

So close.

He continues his relentless teasing advance. His fingers sweep under your night shirt and brush over the silk shorts covering your swollen clit, and you let out a shuddering breath.

“Fuck.” He hisses under his breath, “Tell me you want this. Tell me you want me.”

“Astarion…”

“I want to hear you say it.”

You feel bashful all of a sudden, heat rising to your face. Your voice quivers pleadingly, “I want you.”

Astarion pushes his hand past the waistband of your shorts, and his finger slips between your folds. You have to stop yourself from crying out at the decadent sensation of his bracing fingers cooling the fiery heat pooling between your legs.

The pad of his finger teases your clit, drawing leisurely circles around the swollen, pulsing bundle of nerves. You moan, bucking your hips, and sag into him.

Your bedroom door rattles loudly, and Gale’s muffled voice rings behind it, startling you, “Are you in there? Tara told me something is wrong with Astarion, and he’s not in his room.”

“Gods, his timing is horrendous,” Astarion whispers near your ear.

Or it’s perfect. I let that go too far.

Your entire body whines with displeasure as Astarion stops the delicious onslaught of sensation and withdraws his hand.

It takes you a moment to regain enough of your composure that your mind can coherently put words together again.

“Just a second!” You finally manage to call out.

You grab the robe hanging over the chair by your bed and slip into it in a rush. Astarion sits on your bed, hiding the obvious erection still prominent in trousers.

Your fingers still tremble from the adrenaline coursing through your veins, and you fumble with the lock on your door. Gale’s concerned face is awaiting you when you finally manage to open it.

“Were you still resting? I didn’t mean to wake you, but Tara-” He cuts off as his eyes fall on Astarion sitting casually on your bed, “Oh… I hope I’m not interrupting?”

Before Astarion can get a word in, you blurt out, “No, of course not. Tara woke me to say Astarion seemed unwell, so I went to check on him. Everything is fine.”

“Unwell?” Gale eyes the fresh bite mark marring the skin of your neck, “I see.”

Fuck. I forgot about that.

Feeling the need to explain yourself, and by extension Astarion, you continue with your hasty word vomit, “He was just hungry. Apparently, there aren’t a lot of animals roaming the forests around Waterdeep.”

“Hmmm, I’m sure,” Gale says skeptically, eyeing Astarion.

“Your neck is safe, wizard.”

“Yes. I see you’ve already found one to dine on.”

You don’t like the austere intonation of Gale’s voice or the weariness in shaded in his eyes.

“I offered, Gale.”

“Yes, of course you did.”

Astarion stands abruptly, “Thank you for the meal, darling. I’m feeling much less… grumpy. I best get some sleep. I am ever so tired .”

Astarion kisses your cheek and whispers in your ear, “This isn’t over.”

Gale watches Astarion with reservation as he disappears into his room.

“No animals in the forest, hm? And you believe him?”

“He can hear you, Gale.”

“I’m well aware.”

“Yes, I believe him. He has no reason to lie, and we have no reason to doubt him.”

“I would argue that your blood is a rather strong incentive to be untruthful.”

You shoot him with a warning look, irked by the judgemental undertone. It was your neck, your blood and your choice. Whether he believed Astarion or not was inconsequential.

He sighs, “It’s none of my business. You know him better than I, after all.”

Tara lopes down the hallway, rubbing herself on Gale’s legs as she weaves through them.

“Did you speak to the vampire about his conduct?”

“Yes, of course. He said he was ever so sorry, and he won’t throw anything at you ever again. He even promised he would warm your evening milk.” You raise your voice slightly even though you know you don’t have to, “Isn’t that right, Astarion?”

His voice echoes down the hall, muffled by his closed door, and you can hear the displeasure in it, “Indeed.”

Gale excuses himself, proclaiming that he has business in the city he must attend to. Closing your door, you rest your forehead against it, taking deep breaths.

That was too close, but at the same time, not nearly close enough.

Your body is still humming with anticipatory tension, yearning for his intoxicating caress. Your skin crawls with the prospect, and you shake your head, trying to dislodge your titillating thoughts. With a grumble, you ready yourself a bath in the large oval wooden tub and soak in it until the water becomes too tepid.

You spend the rest of your day doing idle chores, trying to keep your hands and mind busy enough that your thoughts stop drifting to what had occurred in your room that morning.

I will never be able to look at that wall the same.  

By late evening, you’re sitting by the fireplace in the grand hall, engrossed in your book. Tara lounges sprawled out in front of the hot flames leaping about in the fireplace.

You twitch, jolted by a light kiss placed on the top of your head.

“Sorry. Did I startle you?”

“You could make some sort of noise when you move about, you know.”

Astarion cocks his head, “I could… but where is the fun in that?”

He sits in the heavily padded chair across from you with a cunning smile on his roguishly handsome face.

Gods. He really is something else, isn’t he?  

“You delight in scaring people?”

“Darling, I’m a vampire. It’s in my nature.”

You roll your eyes at him, “Did you sleep well?”

“Like the dead.”

“Very funny.”

Astarion leans forward and eyes you raptly. The ambient light increases the cardinal lustre of his red eyes. Striking shadows cast bewitchingly over his debonair expression. A small half smile quirks up one side of his lips.

You cock your head at him, “What?”

“Come out with me tonight.”

You close the book, “Do you need help with something?”

“No, darling. I want to take you out… on a date.”

“A date?”

“Yes. Allow me to court you.”

“Court me?” You giggle, “You sound old.”

He chuckles, “Love, I AM old.”

“What would we go do?”

“Go to a tavern, go on a crime spree, rob someone. The possibilities are endless really.”

You nod, “Okay.”

“Truly?”

“You sound surprised. Did you expect me to say no?”

His finger comes to his lips, “Last I checked, friends don’t go on dates.”

I have let my misery shackle me for far too long. I’m sick of being afraid.

“They don’t,” you say bluntly, “But there’s something you must do first.”

“Anything.”

“You owe Tara warm milk.”

Astarion sags in his chair with a loud groan.

Tara’s head pops up, eyes suddenly alert, and her tail vibrates happily straight into the air, “It’s about time, vampire!”

He points at Tara, “This is your fault.”

You beam an angelic smile at him, “I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Go get ready. I’ll warm the…,” he pauses, “Tressym, her bloody milk.”

“A man of his word.”

He lowers a haughty glower at you, his mouth twitching with the hint of a smile, “Go.”

You trot up the long staircase to your bedroom giddily. Butterflies carouse in your stomach and your heart flutters in tempo with the beating of their wings.

A date? We’ve been out countless times together, but Astarion has never asked me on an actual date.

You slip into a yellow, body-hugging sheathe dress with long sleeves. The delicate fabric is adorned by an embroidered dragon twirling from your chest, down your back and around your midsection. You pick a dress with a high neck to cover the fresh bite marks gracing your skin. Checking the mirror, you comb your hair and freshen your makeup before going downstairs.

You hear Tara scold Astarion, “It’s not warm enough, vampire.”

You have to stifle a laugh as you walk into the kitchen. Astarion is standing with the bowl of milk in 1 hand, and his other is pressed against his forehead, lamenting exasperation, as Tara stares at him scathingly through narrowed eyes.

“Having trouble?”

He hits you with an impatient look that slowly dissolves as his eyes explore you from head to toe and back again.

His mouth drops open, “You look exquisite.”

You giggle, soaking in his praise, “Let me help you with that.”

You slip the bowl of milk from his hand as he stands there in stunned rapture.

Fire springs to life in your palm, and you hover the bowl just above the licking blaze, warming the milk quickly. Placing the bowl on the ground, Tara starts to lap the warm milk with happy, resounding purrs.

“Astarion?”

“Yes?”

“You’re gawking.”

“Right. Apologies.” He bows shallowly, “Shall we go?”

“Lead on.”  

You and Astarion stroll through the dozing city. The streets are dimly lit by tall lanterns burning in precise increments on each side of the thoroughfare. You’re thankful this night feels warmer than most, or maybe it’s just your feverish excitement keeping the cold at bay.

You banter back and forth while you make your way into the center of nightlife here in Waterdeep. The walk is long, which takes longer as you and him stroll casually, enjoying each other's company.

The stars shine brightly overhead and flicker captivatingly as you stare at them. You feel Astarion’s hand bump up against you. You smile as his hand slides into yours, and your fingers interlock.

“I can’t believe you had me warm milk for that cat.”

“You threw a pillow at the TRESSYM.”

He huffs, “She was thumping about in my room!”

“I don’t see the problem. You warmed her milk the other night, did you not?”

He nods, “I did.”

“Why?”

“I needed her to deliver a message to a lovely, fiery sorceress. She needed convincing.”

“Why ask her to deliver the message at all?”

“I did not want you to think I ran off again.”

Oh…

He kisses the back of your hand, “You know this city better than I do. Where should we go get ourselves into trouble?”

You flash him a wicked smile, “I have an idea.”

“Oh, intriguing.”

“This way.”

You walk hand-in-hand, leading him through the winding avenues until you’re standing in front of the tavern called The Grinning Lion.

“This certainly looks upscale.”

“This is where the nobles come to overindulge. I want to play our game.”

His eyes widen in surprise, a devious grin stretches across his face, and he drags you, giggling, into the tavern.

The tavern is busy, as it was most nights. The walls are adorned with dark, heavily lacquered wood panelling. Opulent scones decorate them, casting their softly rocking illumination. Cabinets of obviously fraudulent battle trophies line the walls. Finely dressed nobles, patriars, and other well-off citizens pack the crowded room. They hoot and holler, calling out lascivious jeers.

Astarion smiles fiendishly, “Oh yes, this will do nicely.”

Astarion’s hand comes to the small of your back, and he leans close, “What would you like to drink?”

“Something hard.”

“Someone is feeling adventurous tonight. Find us a table. I’ll get the drinks.”

You nod to him and start to meander your way through the befuddled crowd. You turn your head slightly, but not enough to look at him.

Under your breath, you whisper, “And Astarion… Red jacket, blue piping, unsightly hat, greying beard.”

You weave your way through the throng, getting bumped into from time to time by some roaring drunk noble stumbling about. Finding a small table in a dim corner, you sit in the overtly pretentious chair and scan the rambunctious room.

It isn’t long before Astarion walks up and slides your drink over to you. You pick it up and take a small sip. Elquesstria, imported from Evereska - your favourite. He hits you with a striking, playful smile.

You lean back in your chair, “Did you manage?”

“What do you think?”

You hear the recognizable jingle of coin, and he smirks at you with a guileful expression, “We should endeavour to thank him before we retire.”

You giggle, taking another long sip of the succulent liquor. This was a game you and he had invented purely for amusement. You’d pick a mark for him, and he would relieve them of their coin or whatever else was in their pockets.

You point him towards progressively more difficult marks, trying to give him a challenge. If he successfully picks the pocket of every target, he wins; if you point him at someone and he either declines or gets caught, you win. The prize was whatever you two decided on after.

You have never won.

He was too good, an expert Rouge through and through, with centuries of practice and mastery of his skills behind him. His stealth and dexterity are unmatched.

You finish your glass in long gulps when you see the waitress heading for your table. Her eyes graze over Astarion, and her hips start to sway lewdly back and forth. She straightens herself elegantly and tugs on her shirt, revealing more of her ample cleavage. You stop yourself from groaning.

And it starts already.

The waitress puts her hand on the table, leaning close to him, closer than she needs to, “Can I get you something, Saer?”

He glances at your empty drink and orders you another. She nods curtly at him, “And for yourself?”

“Nothing for me.”

He stares straight past her, watching the crowd, and she huffs in frustration and stomps away. You can feel the alcohol going to your head already, and you giggle at her vexation with his complete dismissal of her transparent flirtation.

He cocks a brow at you and leans in, “What?”

Surely, he noticed that, right?

“Nothing.”

“Alright, love. Who is next on your hit list?”

Your finger idly taps the table, and you keep your eyes focused on him, “Light blue shirt, short blonde hair, ugly shoes.”

He nods, “You remember how to play well.”

It was something he had taught you so that you didn’t rouse suspicion. Scan the crowd, but don’t stare at any one person for too long. Pick a mark and watch from your peripheral vision to pick out the details if more are needed.

“I had a good teacher.”

Astarion sips his drink, “The best,” he winks, “I’ll be right back.”

He gets up from his chair and scans his surroundings, no doubt planning his route.

You keep your voice quiet. His sharp ears will hear you even in this raucous commotion, “Astarion.”

He hesitates but doesn’t look at you. He lowers his head and straightens his jacket - a signal to you that he’s listening.

“And the waitress.”

Astarion strides away into the crowd, and you keep your eyes cast down at the table. You want to watch him, but you know that would make it far too obvious. If someone were to notice your intense gaze following him, it would hamper his ability to slink through the rabble.

The waitress reappears and sets your drink down with a loud thud. She looks around, obviously looking for your earth-shatteringly handsome company, and then slaps you with a catty half-smile.

You look at her with the sweetest smile you can muster, “Thank you.”

She takes off with a huff and vanishes. You shake your head, laughing to yourself.

My jealous streak is alive and well, it seems.

Taking another long draw of your drink, you savour the slight burn as it slides down your throat. Your limbs start to tingle, and your inhibitions dwindle. You settle into this moment comfortably without fear and insecurity gnawing at you.

Astarion dodges around a particularly inebriated man awkwardly lumbering and takes his seat gracefully beside you. He grabs his drink and takes another small sip.

“The waitress hardly seemed a worthy target.”

You rest your head on your hand, “Is this your way of telling me you lost?”

He scoffs, “Hardly. A mere observation. I’m curious, why her?”

“She was stripping you with her eyes. I thought it only fair you strip her of her coin.”

His eyes meet yours, and he smirks, “You’re a merciless, jealous thing, aren’t you?”

Taking another gulp of your drink, you smile and shrug at him innocently.

“If you keep drinking like that, the night will be over far too quickly, darling.”

You bring your hand to your chest dramatically, “Are you insinuating I can’t hold my liquor, Astarion?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had to carry you home.”

“Unlikely to be the last too.”

He chuckles, “Promises. Promises.”

You glance around the room, “Enlighten me, Astarion. Who would be the hardest mark here?”

His eyebrow cocks, “Asking me to give away trade secrets now? How very bold.” He smirks, sipping his drink, “I’m not sure I should. I do want to win, after all. I have my prize all picked out and everything.”

You drain your glass. You know that look and the suggestion intonation along with it.

The waitress appears at Astarion’s side with a bright grin and a tempestuous, sultry gaze, “Can I refresh that for you, Saer?”

She doesn’t even look your way, let alone meet your eyes, and you feel your palm warm with the unmistakable heat of your envy physically manifesting. You can’t help yourself, and you scoff out loud at her.

Astarion keeps a keen eye on you, ignoring her proximity to him, “Another drink for my wife.”

He takes your hand, placing an affectionate kiss across your knuckles. You sputter, nearly choking on the air, and the heat emanating from your palm retreats with the rush of astonishment.

His wife... Gods, why does that sound so good?

The waitress shoots herself upright, her face flushes, and she backs away from him swiftly, “Right away, Saer.”

She scurries off in an uncoordinated hurry. You would laugh had you not been staring at him in bewilderment.

“Your wife?”

“Don’t worry, friend, you’re all but green with envy, not to mention that twitchy palm of yours. I thought you might enjoy seeing her flounder.”

You stare at him, mystified. The spirits make your head feel fuzzy, and your heart feels like it’s shot up and lodged in your throat. Your thoughts revolve dizzyingly.

The waitress returns and plunks your glass in front of you with a fake smile. He nods to her curtly, and she hurries back off.

You grab your glass and swallow several big sips, draining half of it, before returning it to the table.

Astarion looks around, anxiously glancing away from you and back, “Did I overstep?”

Your voice comes out in a breathy sigh, “No.”

He smiles, “I do not often see you lost for words. What’s going on in your head?”

“Nothing, just…” you shake your head, trying to get a hold of yourself, “Nothing. You were about to enlighten me before we were rudely interrupted.”

“Was I?”

You find your confidence, “Yes, I believe you mentioned something about trade secrets.”

“Oh no, darling,” he tuts, “I mean to win tonight.”

“Consider the game won.”

“I win?”

You nod, “If you teach me what a Rogue looks for.”

“And my prize?”

“We can discuss that on the way back.”

“Deal.”

Astarion reaches over, grabs the spindly leg of your chair, and drags it across the floor until you’re right beside him. He leans in close, and you inhale his intoxicating scent.

“Do you see the man sitting at the large round table in the middle of the room? Tan shirt, sweat stains, grotesquely stiff moustache?”

You quickly scan the room, not allowing your eyes to linger too long on any particular area, “The large man?”

He nods, “The very one.”

You look at him quizzically and tilt your head just enough to see the man in your peripherals, searching for reasons he would be the toughest mark here. All you can make out is that he is stationary, and due to his location in the room, a number of people are huddled around him.

“Care to elaborate?”

Astarion’s eyes are full of beaming delight. He always did love teaching you his craft, even if you were terrible at it. It makes your heart leap.

“Tell me what you see.”

“He’s in the middle of the room, naturally where most of the people congregate, and he doesn’t move from his chair often, if at all.”

“Very good, darling,” he purrs, “he’s in the pathway for the waiters and waitresses, meaning they check in with him most often. The counter is in front of him, so there’s always someone observing. There’s also an oil lamp on the beam to the left that brightens the area, which, naturally, people will gravitate to.”

You nod your understanding and wait for him to continue.

“As you so astutely observed, he doesn’t move often - in the dark, that would be an advantage, but not in well-lit areas. Also, his coat and pants are rather… tight,” his face twists in disgust, “and wet. I don’t have to explain that one to you, surely.”

You giggle at the revulsion twisting his face, levelling a challenging glare at him, “Are you saying you couldn’t do it?”

He snickers, “With time and patience, anything can be done, but I would not touch that man if he had all the coin in Faerûn. He’s positively sodden. I can smell him from here.”

“Even if it meant you would lose?”

“For you, my dear, I would do anything, but surely you don’t mean to go back on our deal?”

You polish off your drink, “No. I am a woman of my word. You win… for tonight.”

“Good. Shall we go? I fear the walk back will take us until sunrise as you stumble about.”

“You have no faith in me, Astarion. I would always cast Fly.”

He snickers at you, “You would likely Fly straight into a building.”

You can’t help but laugh.

He’s probably right.

“I’ll go settle up.”

You nod, “I’ll wait for you outside. I’m not sure how much more obnoxious yelling I can handle.”

“Don’t stray too far, love.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

He grins and departs, once again lost to the crowd. You twist your way through the unruly horde and let yourself out. The crisp night air feels refreshing in your lungs, and you drink in it. The tavern air felt unnaturally warm, carrying the sour fragrance of stale spirits and body odour.

Chilled by the breeze, you cross your arms over yourself and wander a little way towards the street.

“My wife.”

You hear Astarion’s voice in your head and smile to yourself giddily. Perhaps it’s the liquor influencing you, but you finally feel like you’re ready to stop running from him, from yourself, and your feelings. You hope you wake up in the morning with the same unwavering resolve.

The unsteady slapping of hard-soled boots on the pavement wrests you out of your hazy thoughts.

“Saer, I thought that was you.”

With a cringe, you turn and see a heavily wavering man. He looks almost like a sapling tree caught in a high wind as he sways from one side to the other on his feet, stumbling to keep his balance.

“Aldous.”

AO3: [Cross-Posted]

Chapter Master List - Shadows of the Past

If you're interested, I also write fanfic for Ascended Astarion x Spawn Tav - Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Small Notes:

Thank you to all those who read/like/comment/follow/reblog/etc. It gives me the confidence to keep posting, and I am grateful for the support!

I am SO tempted to write more date nights for Tav because this was incredibly fun!

[slaymitchabernathy]

The Type of Man

Coriolanus Snow is the type of man who loves towering over his girlfriend. Being tall has always had its advantages, he can easily scan the room, come off as more intimidating by his sheer size, reach the highest shelves with ease.

But being taller than his girl is probably his favorite advantage.

The fact that he can look over her shoulder to see what book she’s reading, what page she's currently on. How he can always be the hero who gets her favorite pair of heels down from the high shelf in her closet. When he can simply scoop her up whenever he pleases because why not?

Coriolanus Snow is the type of man to love letting his girlfriend wear his clothes. Maybe it's because he’s possessive—he doesn’t think so—or because of how adorable she looks.

How his button up shirts fall past her thighs and she has to roll up the sleeves. And whenever she wears one of his pullovers she’s practically drowning in them, burrowed in his scent of roses. If she ever forgot her mittens then he gladly let her borrow his, ignoring how they engulfed her small dainty hands.

Coriolanus Snow is the type of man who loves teasing his girlfriend. Whether in the bedroom or just day-to-day, he loves to tease her, poke her, rile her up.

He loves calling her little pet names that he knows will get a rise out of her. Little mouse, doll, bunny, angel. They get a completely different reaction in the bedroom but outside of it, they get little glares and huffs. And he loves it. Loves seeing her roll her eyes and remind him that she does have a name.

In the bedroom she loves it as much as he does. How his low, timber voice drawls them out while he pounds into her, the words dripping out of his mouth like thick, warm honey. That’s when she loves it. And he loves the way she moans when he says them, how her perfect little cunt tightens around his cock whenever those names strike a nerve.

Coriolanus Snow is the type of man who despises tears. Happy ones or sad ones, pleasurable ones or painful ones. They’re all the same to him. In his eyes, it’s a sign that you lack control of your emotions.

How can you possibly go through all those feelings internally and still feel the need to cry? To physically prove what you’re feeling is true? But when his girlfriend cries?

When she cries from being sad he’s all over the place. He’s bringing her roses, kissing her all over, giving her hugs—and he’s very selective on who gets hugs from him—singing her songs. The man will do absolutely anything to cease those tears.

When she cries from pleasure he’s cocky. He knows he’s good in the bedroom, but to make someone cry from pleasure? Well, there’s a sick sadistic side in him that enjoys it. He loves knowing he’s the only one who will see these tears. Knowing that the shape of his cock, the tempo of his thrusts, the overwhelming feeling and sensation of him is causing these tears is a great boost to his ego. He’ll wipe her tears eventually. First, he’ll tease her about it, degrade her a bit. “Already crying doll? Too much for my sweet little mouse? Is my cock too big for you angel?”

It’s when she cries from pain that he truly despises tears. For who could ever cause harm to his sweet, precious angel? They’d have to die. Simple as that. It’s more difficult for him to manage when it’s something like a menstrual cramp or if she stubbed her toe. For what can he do? Yell at her uterus? Chide the coffee table for being in her way? He’d do anything to make the pain go away, he’d take it on himself if he could.

Coriolanus Snow is the type of man who absolutely needs sex. He craves it honestly. And he needs it from her.

He needs to hear her little mewls of pleasure. Needs to watch her eyes roll back when he hits that sweet spot inside of her. He needs to watch her take it over and over again, absolutely dumb with it. He needs that control, that power. Even if it means tying her up. He’s willing to make that sacrifice. He loves watching her struggle to free her wrists from the confines of his necktie while he fucks into her right little cunt, hard and deep.

Knowing that she’ll be sore drives him mad, so sore that he’ll be the one to bathe her after they’re done and be the only one who knows why she’s limping the next day. He loves when she gets overstimulated, sobbing and begging for him to stop as he continues fucking her stupid. It’s only then that he’s truly got her where he wants her, stuck on his cock, his little fuckdoll.

Coriolanus Snow is the type of man to be selective with the kisses he gives out.

On the lips is for certain times of the day, moments in both their lives where it’s simply expected. Like waking up. That deserves a good morning kiss, doesn’t it? Before he leaves for work calls for another, they won’t see each other for quite some time and he needs all the motivation he can get.

On the nose is for when she’s simply too cute for her own good. These kisses are quite rare in the grand scheme of things. He feels a little silly pecking someone’s nose of all places. But he adores the way she giggles when he does it, the way her eyes close and her smile widens. He indulges in those every so often.

A kiss on the cheek is casual yet calculated. He saves those for when he’s out in public with her. For when he needs people to know she belongs to him. He does it when they’re all some fancy gala and quite a few men are eyeing her up, too much for his liking. He enjoys it when she gives him a peck as well. Mainly because she has to get up on her tiptoes to do so and you won’t ever catch him bending down so she doesn’t have to.

A kiss on the neck is a question. Will she or will she not let him fuck her into the bedsheets until she’s a screaming, withering mess? It’s a simple question really and he’s mastered asking such a thing by pressing light kisses to her neck. It’s when she leans into them that he knows he’s got her.

Coriolanus Snow is the type of man to promise to burn the world to the ground should anyone ever hurt his precious girl.

If only he knew he’d get burned in the process.

| tumblr oneshot/drabble |

[mordremrose]

HAPPY ART PARTY!! May the Fourth be with you and joyous mermay upon thee

Its been a Hot minute since ive drawn entirely in pen so these are sketchier than my usual but it was fun, and i love the mischief these parties create so much

EU draws are Ashelin Falstaff (ty for hosting as always!), Igna Earthvein, Mistwarrior Hala, Nomad Masika, Damai Vespati, Cosmia Emyr and bonus goofy doodles ft Sage Ani, Finnagäin and Big Women Big Fun

NA draws are Killéén, Mouse the Pleasant, Rhianwen Deathbloom, Kleo Kaliope, Hranne and Chello Dear (thank yall again too for letting me be mischievous w the noodle thievery) + a very small Zadien Silversmoke and the Largos Circle

[opossumloverr]

✪TURTLE BROS X SNOW LEOPARD YOKAI READER✪

Summary:

Turtle bros with a snow leopard yokai reader ♡

Warning(s):

None! Maybe some swearing?

A/N:

I posted the one with the ask so I had to delete it cause it wasn't finished yet 💀 I'M SO SORRY, this is the person who requested this @saltydoesstuff TY FOR THE REQUEST! (Gender-neutral reader, can be platonic or romantic)

《RAPH》

Raph loves cats

He probably shields cats with an umbrella from the rain

So, to him, you're just a really big kitty cat who deserves a bunch of praises and pats

Loves to just cuddle with you

Scratching your sweets spot while churring in your ear

And for fun, he likes to count all of your spots

gets mad when he loses count though,

"64, 65…" Raph murmured in silence,

You chuckled in between sentences, "Big red, what are you doing?" Raph replied with a huff.

"Shh, I'm trying to count all of ya spots"

You questioned, "For what?" Raph groans in response

"Ugh! I lost track!" He huffed as he laid his head on your stomach, you looked at him in confusion,

"I'm sorry Raph, would you like some chin scratches as an apology?" you asked,

"Yes that would be very much appreciated, thank you sweets"

He can't stay angry at you for long, you're his weak spot

《LEO》

Beware, this man is a nose booper

So whenever you're around, expect him to get close to you, lift his finger up, and touch your nose while making a 'boop' sound

It's an obsession, he can't help it

So you've grown into the habit of hiding from him whenever you sense him approaching

Fun fact; Snow leopards can jump really high, one leap can send them almost 50 feet in the air

So you take this skill to your advantage

Jumping into high places so he can't find you/reach you

But he will always find a way

"C'mon [NAME], come out! I swear I won't boop you again" You hear Leo's voice all the way in the movie room, You're currently hiding in the kitchen, on top of one of the high shelves, You hear his footsteps walking away, You sigh in relief but it was short-lived as you feel your tail bump into a plastic cup causing it to fall down to the hard concrete floor,

"Damn it!" You whispered to yourself

"Oh, so you're hiding in the kitchen?" Leo says, you can practically taste the grin he has on his face, almost instantly you see a blue portal next to you, with Leo's hand sticking out of it to grab you by the scruff of your neck and pull you into said portal,

You were then met with his face, a victory smirk plastered all over it. He raised his hand with his index finger out and pressed your nose.

"Boop"

Damn it, Leo, you lovable jackass

《DONNIE》

He wants to be around you and hangs out with you a lot

Just let him unwind around you

Will occasionally indulge in 'play time' with you

Messing with you by pointing a laser pointer at random objects

He once pointed the laser at Leo's face and watched in amusement as you pounced on him

He actually has a box full of cat toys just for you

Finds it absolutely adorable when you eye down that plastic mouse

Spends hours playing with you even if it means ignoring his brothers for a while,

Donnie watches you run for the red-beaming laser as he rapidly slides it to the floor while grinning amusedly. Just then, he hears loud footsteps and voices outside the room.

One of the voices yells, "DONNIE!"

"DONNIE, WE NEED YOUR HELP!" the second one claims

The door swings open, revealing Donnie's brothers, Leo and Mikey, frantically flailing their hands about in some terrified manner, he groans.

"DONNIE PLEASE HELP, I WAS HELPING LEO MAKE SOUP FOR DINNER, I TURN AROUND FOR ONE SECOND AND HE MAGICALLY BURNED THE WATER AND NOW THE STOVE IS ON FIRE," the turtle exclaimed, Leo gasped dramatically,

"IT'S NOT MY FAULT, I NEVER KNEW THAT WATER COULD BURN"

Mikey responds, "I DIDN'T ETHIER-" before being cut off.

"Enough! Can't you see I'm spending quality time with [NAME]?" Donnie states, they all look at you, still trying to catch the laser that has moved from the floor to the wall,

"Don, the kitchen is literally catching on fire as we speak." Leo says,

"Not my problem" Donnie retorts.

Oopsies I made this a little too long, not that y'all mind, right? Anyways the kitchen caught on fire and Raph had to lecture everybody while putting it out

《MIKEY》

'COME HERE PSPSPSPSPS'

Does that ALL the time to get your attention

Yes, it does get annoying, but you'll get used to it, don't worry

Likes to hang out and just chill with you like Donnie,

One of the perks of being a snow leopard is your coat. It keeps you warm during the winter,

So, throughout winter, you'll always stop by the lair to help Mikey stay warm

Using your tail as some sort of blanket, and holding you close

"[NAME]! You're here!" Mikey greeted you with his signature goofy smile, running up to you and tackling you in a tight hug,

"Of course I'm here Mikey, it's the winter. You'll practically die if I hadn't," you return the hug, wrapping your warm tail around his torso, Mikey hummed

"Hmm, so warm!" He sighed in delight, nuzzling his snout into your cozy neck.

I LOVE MIKEY SM YALL DON'T EVEN KNOW

He finds it extremely calming, some sort of stress relief

IRL heated blanket

Call me Coryxkenshin at this point, I'm so sorry for the wait! YK, I'm just dealing with life, and also, writer's block is currently kicking me in the ass rn, I'm the embodiment of never back down... NEVER GIVE UP

Me when no one is around:

[strqyr]

this may sound odd, but V9 really should have leaned heavier on the fairytale aspect. the girl who fell through the world, a fairytale the whole group was familiar with, is a story about a girl who traveled through the ever after to make it back to remnant successfully... except that's not what really happened. alyx didn't make it back to remnant; instead, she was killed because she wanted to fix everything that she had broken, but in the progress broke her promise to the cat.

team rwby wanted to save everyone in atlas. to an extent, they succeeded, but not everyone made it, and those who did make it to vacuo are now without a home to return to, and despite the lengths they went to to save penny's life, she too died.

and so did they. not literally, but it's what they thought falling meant, and with no guarantee they would make it back to remnant, for the people still there they very well might as well be.

i'm not explaining this very well, but like. they all should have been dealing with the aftermath of atlas; how they failed in some aspects, how if falling really had meant death, this would have been the end of road for them, how by taking so much on their plate to "fix everything", they didn't pay attention to "the cat they'd made a promise to". how even the fairytale with a happy ending that seemed to be based on a true story, in reality ended in tragedy.

the real world isn't like a fairytale, but "that's why we're here, to make it better"; but one can't bend reality to their will and expect perfect results just because what you're doing is good. sometimes, bad things really do happen for no reason, but by keeping your focus on small things (like helping a mouse to its food source) and minimizing risks, you can hopefully avoid the worst of it while still making a difference.

just, like. tying the threads between what happened in atlas & the girl who well through the world tighter together, creating a point of discussion that drives change in the characters, if that makes sense?

[herrmannhalsteadproduction]

Fine is a Four-Letter Word (Chapter Five)

Summary: This is Part Twenty-Two of my series A Herrmann/Halstead Production. It is an AU where Christopher Herrmann's mom had an affair with Pat Halstead resulting in a baby. The series follows this OC character (Rebecca "Bex" Herrmann) as she grows up and gets to know her brothers and the various Chicago teams. It is very much an AU, just to underscore that. It doesn't follow the same timeline and characters will follow different paths.

Click here for the Series Rundown where you can find the links to read all of the previous installments (which I highly recommend you do so that this one makes sense.)

Rating: Mature

Relationships: Christopher Herrmann & Original Female Character, Jay Halstead & Original Female Character, Will Halstead & Original Female Character, Jay Halstead & Will Halstead, Greg 'Mouse' Gerwitz/Original Female Character, Will Halstead/Connor Rhodes, Assorted OC Couples

Warnings: Injury Recovery, Trauma Recovery, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Protective Siblings, Family Feels, Team as Family, Kissing, Romance, Mild Sexual Content, Swearing

Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Friday

*** 

Jay

Jay scrubbed a hand down his face as Dr. Fredericks patiently waited for him to, you know, actually talk.

“You know what happened,” he began, figuring she’d at least heard through the grapevine if not directly from a few of her other first-responder patients. “With my sister and my brother.”

“I do.” Dr. Fredericks nodded. “But that doesn’t mean I know how you experienced it. I’d rather hear it in your own words.”

Rubbing a hand over his mouth, he slumped back in his chair, trying to gather his words. Dr. Fredericks waited. Infuriatingly patient, as always.

He couldn’t—he didn’t want to revisit that day. Any of it. But he knew the drill by now—knew he had to if there was any hope of getting a handle on it. The only way out was through and all that shit. Jay took a breath and tried to centre himself.

Slowly, haltingly, he told her everything. Every horrifying minute. Listening to the attack. Thinking that Bex—that she was dead before he could even get to her. Emery. And then Will. How he can’t stop hearing or seeing any of it whether he’s awake or asleep. How he’s trying to keep it together for Bex—trying to keep Bex together while she’s slowly falling apart before his eyes. Pretending she’s fucking fine.

Like any of them are.

They talked through his feelings of ‘misplaced’ guilt—Jay didn’t know if it would be possible to ever fully rid himself of that—and his extremely justified anger at Ty.

“I just—I want him gone,” Jay snapped out. “I don’t want him to ever be able to touch my family ever again. I’m doing everything I can think of to make that happen, but none of it feels like enough.”

Dr. Fredericks tilted her head at him. “What have you been doing?”

“I can’t work the case, obviously,” Jay said, still aggravated about that. “But I remembered my dash cam was on and it caught the phone call with Bex so I’ve handed that over. You can hear Ty pretty friggin’ clearly on that so it should help the prosecutors.” Detective Medeiros kept reminding him how huge a help that actually was.

“Mouse and I have been staying with her so I know there’s always someone there,” he continued. “But—”

“…but?” she prompted.

“We both have to start back at work on Monday,” Jay sighed. “They’re letting us switch our shifts around so at least one of us will be there—most of the time anyway, but I—I don’t know how I’m going to do it.”

“Return to work?”

“Leave Bex,” he said, shaking his head. “I tried to go for groceries on Wednesday and I-I had a panic attack in the parking lot of her building about leaving her alone. And Mouse was still there! I mean—I did it. I went. We needed food, but it…it was hard.”

“That’s understandable after a trauma like you’ve had,” Dr. Fredericks said. “Have you talked to Bex about your fears?”

“I don’t…no, no, I haven’t.” Jay sat up and grabbed the glass of water she’d set out for him. Gave his hands something to do. “Our oldest brother, Chris—he already had a talk with her along those lines this week.” Thankfully Chris had filled him in later because Bex hadn’t said a word. “I don’t—I don’t want to pile my shit on top of all that. I know she knows I’m worried about her. I keep checking on her while she’s ‘sleeping’—”

“Why the air quotes,” Dr. Fredericks cut in.

“Because I’m pretty sure she’s faking it,” he said, heart sinking all over again at the thought. “She went from waking us up with screaming nightmares to total silence in the span of a day. That doesn’t happen. But she’s resting, at least, and that was a huge fight to win.” His lips twisted in a wry smile. “One battle at a time, right?”

“That’s—”

“I know.” Jay held up a hand. “Something I need to talk about with her eventually, but I’ve been in her place, Doc. Hurt and in pain and knowing that there’s nothing you can do to speed up the process. It’s—it’s shitty and sleeping with broken ribs is actually pretty hard. I want to give her a bit of space…on that front, anyway.”

“Okay.” Dr. Fredericks levelled a look at him across the coffee table. “If talking to Bex is off the table, for now, what else do you think can be done to help you feel more comfortable with returning to work.”

Aside from removing Ty Anderson from the face of the planet? Jay blew out a breath as he wracked his brain, running through all of their plans and back up plans and—

“I think…I think we might be doing everything we can? To keep Bex safe, I mean.” He bobbed a little nod. “Aside from rolling her up in bubble wrap or something.”

“Which wouldn’t be good for her ribs,” Dr. Fredericks pointed out with a small smile. Jay popped a finger gun at her. “Fair point.” He let out a little laugh before sighing and running a hand over his face. “Can you just…tell me it’ll get easier at some point?”

“How long have we been seeing each other, Jay?”

“Couple of years,” he said, not bothering with the actual math. “Off and on.”

“So,” Dr. Fredericks said, not giving him an inch. “What do you think the answer to that is?”

Not easier.

Not ever really with the way their lives went, but eased. With time and a hell of a lot of work.

They all had a long road ahead of them.

*** Bex

Bex watched the numbers on her phone turn over and silenced the alarm as soon as it went off. Kol snuffled as he wiggled closer beside her and licked at her chin. She gave him a little scratch behind his ear.

“Good boy, Kol,” she said. “You did a good job.”

He’d snuck into her room on Tuesday night as Mouse was leaving and snuggled in beside her. Bex wasn’t about to turn him away and around one a.m., she was extra happy for that decision when he nudged her awake right as a nightmare was headed toward screaming out loud territory.

She did not need another night of waking up Mouse and Jay and having them burst into her room thinking she was fighting off an attack. Again.

Kol got plenty of treats for his help and now three nights in, they’d managed to keep up their little system. He woke her up before the nightmares got too bad. Mouse and Jay got more sleep—mostly. Jay kept checking on her, but she was pretty sure he was sleeping in between checks. She was only managing to get a couple of hours a night, but it wasn’t like she was exerting herself much throughout the day anyway.

The nightmares would fade at some point. They had to.

In the meantime, Operation Stop Worrying Your Whole Family was under way.

“Okay,” Bex said, pushing Kol away gently. “Time to get up and face the day.” She was workshopping times for how early she could come out of her room and not have Mouse look at her with that tiny little frown line between his eyebrows, asking her if she got enough sleep.

Seven a.m. and eight a.m. were not it. Maybe eight-thirty would be the magic number.

Bex grit her teeth as she leveraged herself out of bed, ribs screaming at her. Most of her body was still one giant bruise and moving, standing, or sitting—everything friggin’ hurt.

Slowly, but surely, she made her way toward her door. Taking a deep breath—ow, OW, ow—Bex pasted a smile onto her face and headed out into the hallway…

Into a quiet apartment.

Hunh.

Will’s bedroom door was open with no Jay inside—right. He was going to therapy this morning. Bex hoped the empty room meant he was following through with that and actually made his appointment. She’d overheard enough whispered conversations between him and Mouse to know they were both still beating themselves over what happened. Like any of the blame fell on them.

She crept out into the living room, shuffling along while Kol pranced beside her. With a bark, he shot ahead, nosing at the balcony door and she finally spotted Mouse sitting out there cross-legged.

“Oh, hey!” He turned around at the noise, scrambling to his feet as soon as he saw her. Sliding open the screen door, he stepped inside, scanning her face with worried eyes. That stupid frown line starting to form. “Did you get—”

“Hey! Good morning to you too,” she said, dragging that smile back out. “What were you doing out there?”

“Ah. I, uh—” Mouse rubbed at the back of his neck. Blushing. Bex’s smile suddenly felt a lot less forced.

“Mouse…” she teased, stepping closer. “Spill.”

“I was trying out a meditation thing that Lucy keeps recommending to me,” he blurted out. “Like a quiet-the-mind-relaxation-thing—”

Because he was stressed. About her. About all of this.

“Did it help?” She mentally crossed her fingers, already planning to send Lucy cookies if it had. Even a little bit.

“Oh, I didn’t—I actually got distracted watching some birds chase a squirrel in the parking lot,” Mouse confessed with a little snort. “I think they were playing? I hope they were, otherwise those were some mean birds.”

Bex laughed, doing her best to stifle the groan that followed as she pressed a hand against her side. Mouse’s face fell instantly.

“Shit, I’m sorry.” He crowded into her space, hand hovering over hers, carefully not touching. “I shouldn’t make jokes. Are you okay—”

“I’m fine, I—I don’t want you to stop making jokes,” she said. “Ever, okay?” She stared at him until he met her eyes again. “Promise?”

Mouse held her gaze before sighing and dropping his forehead to press against hers. “Promise.”

“Good.” Bex moved forward to wrap her arms around him and snuggle into his chest. “Let’s try this again. Good morning.”

“Morning, Bex.” Gentle, gentle arms wrapped around her, holding her close. “How about I make you some breakfast?” Mouse asked hopefully.

Her stomach rolled at the thought and Bex hid her grimace into shirt. “Sure,” she said. “That sounds great.”

***

Connor

Will sighed as his care team left the room and Connor sat quietly beside him, holding his hand while they both absorbed the big news.

“Guess I can cancel the rescue squad,” Will said, cracking a grin despite the dark circles under his eyes.

Connor snorted. “Like Severide would bust you out of here and risk Bex coming down on him.”

“Hey—ugh.” Will’s face fell. “I almost made a joke about how now was the best time since she’s out of commission, but—”

“Too soon.” Connor shook his head and Will nodded solemnly.

“Way too soon,” he agreed. “Think she’ll be coming by today or should we call her with the good news? Oh, we gotta talk to Jay and Mouse about moving stuff around so I can have space to maneuver. Our apartment isn’t exactly wheelchair friendly.”

Dr. Allan was letting him take very short walks, but he had to be careful due to the severity and placement of his wound. He couldn’t stress his abdomen while it was still healing which meant lots of bed rest and using a wheelchair more often than not to get around. At least for the next few weeks.

And Will was right about his apartment. Seemed like it was time for the discussion Connor had been prepping for in his brain over the past few days.

“So,” he cleared his throat. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Mm?” Will glanced at him before continuing to type out a list on his phone, head shooting back up when he registered the serious look on Connor’s face. “What’s up?”

“I think that it would be best if you came home with me instead of your apartment,” Connor said, squeezing Will’s hand gently when he instantly started to argue. “Just—wait, please. Hear me out.”

Huffing out a breath, Will sank back against his pillows, the fight draining out of him as quickly as it had flared up. “Tell me.”

“My place is bigger,” Connor began. “You’ll have more room so you won’t have to worry about bumping into anything.”

“At least if I bump into anything at my place, I’ll know it didn’t cost five grand a cushion,” Will snarked and Connor raised an eyebrow at him.

“What happened to hearing me out?”

Will mimed zipping his lips, making Connor laugh softly as he rolled his eyes.

“Better.” He leaned in and took Will’s hand again. “There’s a ramp to the building and the elevator is solid.” Will and Bex’s place had two steps to get in and Connor had a disconcerting lack of confidence in the elevator. “I’ve got a walk-in shower,’ he continued, trying to hit all of the highlights right off the bat. “It’ll be easy to make it accessible and you can’t deny that my mattress is way better than yours.”

Using his free hand to unzip his lips, Will said, “…I do love your mattress.”

Connor knew that would be a point in his favour.

“I know the biggest issue is that you want to be back with Bex,” he said and Will nodded. “But this would just be temporary and like you said, she’s trying to recover too. Jay and Mouse are there. They’ve got her covered. And I’m pretty sure they won’t be leaving anytime soon so five people trying to operate in your apartment is a recipe for disaster.”

“Five?” Will’s face scrunched up in confusion. Connor fought off the urge to sigh.

“Yes, babe, five,” he said. “You think I’m not going to be with you for every step of your recovery, no matter where you’re staying? I already talked to Goodwin about taking a leave.”

“Con…”

“Out of everything, that is the one thing that’s non-negotiable. I mean it.” Connor blinked back tears as his breath caught. “You don’t—you don’t know what it was like, Will. You got shot. Right in front of me—I was—you almost bled out in my arms. I thought you were going to die, that I was going to lose you and I couldn’t—” He swiped a hand over his cheeks, shaking his head. “It was the worst day of my life and I just…I don’t want to let you out of my sight for a little while, okay? Is that��will you let me do that? Please?”

Will opened his arms as Connor’s voice broke on those last words, letting Connor sink into them—carefully—and they held each other until Will whispered, “Okay.”

Connor sat back up, searching his face for any hint of doubt or reluctance, but he was smiling softly at Connor through teary eyes. “Are you sure?”

“You’re right about all of it,” Will said, chewing on his lip as he considered his next words. “Your space is a better set-up, but more importantly, I think it would be best for us to be together in that space. Mouse and Jay have Bex covered and we can still visit and like you said, it’s temporary. I’m not letting Jay steal Bex as a roomie now. He had his chance.”

Relief flooded through Connor as a week’s worth of tension just…disappeared. “That’s—thank you, babe.” He leaned in for a kiss. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Will said, quirking an eyebrow at him. “I’m calling dibs ‘not it’ on telling Bex about this.”

Connor sat back in his chair with a thump.

Well.

Shit.

***

Jay

Jay walked out of the doctor’s office and blinked at the sight of Voight and Olinsky standing next to his truck. His heart dropped.

What now?

“What’s going on?” he called out as he jogged over. “What happened? Is—”

“Bex, Will, and Emery are all fine,” Voight said, cutting off his immediate worries. “There’s nothing wrong with your family or the team, but we do need to talk.”

“Not here,” Olinsky added.

They both looked grim and Jay had about a thousand questions, but all he asked was, “Where?”

Voight jerked a nod at his truck. “Follow us.” He stalked off toward his vehicle without another word, assuming Jay would follow as ordered. He’d promised Bex and Mouse he’d be back right after his appointment, but something was clearly going down and Jay didn’t want to be out of the loop. Whatever it was, it was serious enough for them to track him down at his therapist’s office.

He shuddered to think of how many privacy laws they’d violated to do that.

Jay got in his truck and followed them out of the lot, bracing himself for whatever shit was coming their way now.

***

Hank

Al was silent beside him as they drove toward one of the abandoned industrial yards that Hank preferred for meetings like this.

Silent and yet incredibly loud in his judgment.

“Spit it out,” Hank growled.

“Is this really the right way to play it?” Al sighed.

“I’m not going to risk someone else breaking the news,” he shot back. “We need to catch him off-guard. See his face.”

“You don’t actually think he had anything to do with it.” Al turned and Hank could see him staring at him out of the corner of his eye.

“I hope not,” Hank said slowly. “But I also know we’re all capable of almost anything when someone threatens our family. And I think I have to see his face to know for sure.”

They rolled along the cracked pavement of the empty warehouse yard with Halstead pulling in close behind. He slammed the door of his truck as he got out, striding over to stand with vibrating impatience as he waited for them to join him.

“What the hell is this about?”

Hank waited until he was right in front of him. Eye to eye. “Ty Anderson is dead.”

Halstead blinked, unmistakable shock crossing his face. Unfiltered.

Good.

“What the—when? How?”

“Stabbed,” Al piped up. “Tuesday night. They did an internal investigation that came up as ‘fucked around and found out.’ Which tracks.” He shrugged. “Detective Medeiros only found out about it last night and came knocking on our door this morning.”

“She said he was found in section of the prison where the cameras were on the fritz,” Hank said, still watching Halstead carefully. “Nobody saw anything. Nobody heard anything. He bled out before he was found.” He waited a beat. “She wanted to know if we’d heard anything.”

Halstead narrowed his gaze. “Asked me what you dragged me out here to ask me.”

“We just want to know if anybody’s gonna hear something,” Hank said, crossing his arms as he stared right back. “Better to do clean up now than be caught with our pants down later.”

Closing his eyes, Halstead shook his head as he took a deep breath. “What?” he demanded, shooting a glare at both of them. “You think I had something to do with this? Ordered a hit?”

Hank shrugged. “Wouldn’t blame you.”

“If I was going to kill him,” Halstead snarled, jabbing a finger at him. “I would have done it that day. At Emery’s. He’s fucking lucky Hailey was there to stop me.” He shook his head and let out a harsh breath. “No,” he said, a little bit more even this time. “I wouldn’t—I didn’t have anything to do with it…but I hope whoever did? Made it hurt.”

The crime scene photos flashed through Hank’s mind. “You got your wish there, kid.”

Halstead went quiet for a moment. Calculating. “…was it you?”

The thought had crossed his mind. Briefly, hours later in the aftermath, when he’d met the sunrise in his kitchen with a bottle of scotch at his side. He knew enough people, had enough money, and was owed enough favours to make it happen.

But Al had shown up, tugged the bottle out of his hand and halted his silent plans with a quiet word. She wouldn’t want that. Don’t put it on her.

“No,” Hank said, meeting Halstead with a steady look of his own. “None of us.”

Halstead nodded, relaxing minutely before flinging out a hand. “Then who?”

“Guy like Ty,” Al said. “The possibilities are endless.”

***

Statesville Correctional Center

Peters

Nathaniel Peters had worked at Statesville for the better part of twenty years and has crossed paths with all kinds of inmates. Mean ones, innocent ones, friendly, scared, pissed off…

All kinds.

But only one had ever truly unnerved him.

Robert Forrest. Or Ramsay as he was better known as. His crimes of record were hacking and embezzlement, but the cops and the feds and the rest of the suits had no idea who they were really dealing with. The other criminals did though and Peters had heard all of those rumours. Witnessed enough violent outbursts to believe them.

Most of the more violent residents at Statesville had a kind of anger that Peters could understand. A rage that burned hot and fast, leaving a path of destruction before flaming out. It passed.

Ramsay. He was nothing but rage. A constant fire that burned cold. Controlled. He wielded his anger like a knife and there was no running once he had you in his sights. The hunt was all part of the game for him. It didn’t matter if he did the killing or if he paid one of his many pawns. As long as there was blood in the end, he was happy.

Peters was very invested in keeping Ramsay happy.

The guard before him had already up and ‘quit’ abruptly. Ramsay paid the warden well enough that he had the run of the place. The way Peters saw it, he might as well play nice and earn his extra money while he could. Stay on Ramsay’s good side…such as it was.

As soon as he had enough for that little fishing hut down in Florida, he was out of here.

In the meantime, he’d be the best damn pawn in Ramsay’s arsenal.

Knocking on the door of Ramsay’s cell, he waited for permission before sliding open the window. “Some detective’s asking questions,” Peters said. “But the warden has it handled.”

“And Mitchell?”

“Says thank you for the bonus,” Peters said, holding back a snort. The other guard jumped on the job as soon as it was offered. Didn’t hurt that he’d been itching to deal with Anderson since day one. “He’s waiting until the questions die down before taking his early retirement. Everything’s holding up so far. Nothing to tie back to him.” Ramsay hummed, pleased. “I do appreciate tidy work.” There was a pause before his face suddenly appeared in the window, taking everything Peters had not to flinch.

“Do you think she’ll be pleased?” Ramsay asked, eyes wide and unsettlingly earnest.

“Who—”

“My songbird, you idiot,” Ramsay hissed. “My Bex. Do you think she’ll like her gift?”

“Y-yeah,” Peters managed to get out. “I think she’ll be real grateful.”

Ramsay backed away from the door with another little hum. “Good. Maybe I should send her some more flowers. To help her recuperate.”

“I’ll get right on that,” Peters said as he slid the window closed. He shuddered as he walked back down the hall. He might be a coward and a pawn…

But at least he wasn’t Ramsay’s girl.

***

  Jay

Grateful felt like the wrong word when someone had been murdered—even someone like Ty—but Jay wouldn’t lie and say he wasn’t relieved.

Ty was gone.

He could never touch his family ever again.

For the first time in a week, Jay felt like he could actually breathe.

“What now?” he asked Voight.

“Detective Medeiros gave us permission to let the most important people know so that’s where we’re headed next,” Voight said, jerking his chin at Jay. “We were going to hit 51, Med, and then your place. Coming with?”

“Yeah,” Jay nodded. “Definitely.” He needed to be there for this. To let Emery, Will, and Bex know they were safe.

No matter how it happened, that part he truly was grateful for.

Click here to read Fine is a Four-Letter Word on ao3 [A/N - please do click over to read on ao3 because there are some important notes at the end of the chapter to read]:

And here is the tag list (let me know if you wish to be added or removed):

@sorry-i-spaced, @thegirlwhowishedeveryonelived, @thewannabewriter, @lexhalstead3

@foxes-and-cats, @sensitivemallysix, @emme-looou, @lookingfortherainbow85

[qroier]

some of my favorite fun spiderbit vods (with links!) now that we're all starting to look dangerously close to your average joker moment image. credit to @/quvctiy on twitter for compiling the original full list of links and vods, I just went through and added dates and picked a few fun ones out like some sort of spiderbit vod tierlist. quvctiy made it so all the links jump directly to when they're hanging out (ty monarch)

May 11 - QSMP day 51 - base guapita: (cellbit) (roier)

June 1 - QSMP day 72 - cellbit rescue and proposal (they don't spend much time together but it has some great moments): (cellbit) (roier)

June 9 - QSMP day 80 - special shout out to festa junina for being particularly impossible to watch at times: (cellbit) (roier)

June 16 - QSMP day 87 - wedding day: (cellbit) (roier)

June 28 - QSMP day 99 - hide and seek with bad and most of the eggs: (cellbit is off stream) (roier)

July 12 - QSMP day 113 - gordinho gostosinho with maxo (miss you every day king): (cellbit) (roier)

July 22nd - QSMP day 123 - THE July 22nd music sharing stream, kindly recreated by @uwillneverknowwho : (cellbit vod with music) (original cellbit vod) (roier is off stream)

August 2 - QSMP day 133 - the church investigation: (cellbit) (roier)

August 17 - QSMP day 148 - special shout out to cellbit giving richas a bath in bobby's old room while roier is distracted watching a kid's cartoon slkdjfk (cellbit) (roier)

August 25 - QSMP day 156 - the cowboy bar investigation and doing richas' tasks (includes gems such as roier stealing a kiss from cellbit, cellbit singing me gustas tu, and more. the entire thing is solidly a category 50 spiderbit moment): (cellbit) (roier)

August 30- QSMP day 161 - giving mouse a tour of the castle: (cellbit) (roier)

September 6 - QSMP day 168 - special shout out to them playing tag with richas after the whole furniture fiasco: (cellbit) (roier)

September 15 - QSMP day 177 - mexican independence event (not the longest by a long shot but i am very biased here): (cellbit) (roier is off stream)

September 16 - QSMP day 178 - touring bagi around the island that first day after she arrived: (cellbit) (roier)

October 7 - QSMP day 199 - hanging out a bit while cellbit works on the ordem base (short but includes the clip of roier looking down from the ceiling singing tempo perdido and them later bothering bagi): (cellbit) (roier off stream)

i still need to finish catching up on purgatory 😔 but another special shout out to all the times they'd manage to sneak off together. and of course shoutout to their lore talks, just wanted to focus more on the fun moments here