#would take maybe centuries to disappear from her skin

[wcrstarter]

pretty much everyone on my dash is posting HC about injuries/scars/traumatic events their muses went through. tempting to do a meta on scars/old injuries and the ways vampiric rapid healing complicates that for sonja.

[oceantornadoo]

ch7 something borrowed something blue (mafia!price x simon's sister!reader)

tw: oral sex both ways

masterlist | next

John Price thrives on routine. His days are filled with meetings and bloodshed, negotiations and betrayal. Routine keeps him sane.

Unfortunately, that resolution crumbled the moment he gained a wife. It’s getting harder and harder to leave in the morning, to ignore the fluttering of your eyelashes as you feign sleep. That’s what he blames for this break in routine.

The morning after, he stays for ten minutes instead of five. Counts the ticks of the old clock in the corner of his room as he memorizes the scent of your skin. You always end up with your head in the crook of his neck, legs tangled around his torso. He’s never been much of a back sleeper, but now it’s the last thing he cares about. It’s the sound of your breathing, the plushness of your skin, the brush of your chest against his. When he eventually gets up, he doesn’t look at the bed until he’s ready. If he glanced back at your eyes in half-slits, shifting closer to his pillow to soak up the remaining warmth he left in the bed, he would never leave the room. 

At night, though, he succumbs to his weakness. He creates a new routine.

It’s the start of a new week after the getting-off confession. John had business in Glasgow over the weekend, lonely and cold in his hotel bed, but now he’s back.

“So Laswell sent me the contract. I definitely have enough to pay in full, but I’m thinking of paying half and then doing installments for the rest so I can have enough for immediate repairs. What do you-John?” John’s nodding along to your rant, disappearing under the covers to the place he’s been thinking about all weekend. The blanket’s a bit heavy, limiting his breathing, but it’s worth it for the sight of your clothed cunt, waiting for him.

“Keep talkin’, sweetheart.” Instead of following his orders, you peel back the cover until his head peeks out. “What are you doing?” He rubs circles into your thighs, reveling in their softness. John moves upwards, teasing the fabric of your pajama shorts. “You miss me this weekend?” He murmurs, not sure if he’s talking to his wife or her cunt. Both seem happy to see him, if that’s any consolation.

“No, I actually got the best sleep of my- hey!” He shoves his face into the triangle of your lap, sniffing with wonder. “Fuck, I missed ya.” You’re silent at his admission, but your hand finds a hold in his hair. “You did?” It’s soft and unsure, forcing him to rip his focus away from your pussy. “I did.” You bite your lip adorably. You tug him forward, gripping his scalp hard, until his face is in front of yours. 

“Maybe next time, you take me with you.” Absolutely not. He was meeting with a new prospective manufacturer, shady and dangerous. He was not putting you in any sort of danger. John shakes his head, heart clenching as your face falls. “Not the kind of place fer you, baby. Gonna let me eat you out now?” You nod, but your face is still hard with repressed emotion. He kisses your forehead, trailing down to your cheek, then nose. “Give us a kiss then.” It’s the first time you’ve ever kissed him first, the notion sending blood straight to his cock. The kiss is short and sweet. Can’t believe how quickly you’ve gotten him under your spell. Two bloody weeks. He pulls away, a final kiss laid to your jaw. “Keep talkin’. Don’t mind me.”

The new routine continues for weeks. He gets you off a different way every night, from fingers to tongue to plain old grinding. And then he goes to sleep with you tucked to his side, taking care of himself in the morning. John needs you to be the one to ask to fuck, to reciprocate. The alternative leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. Plus, every time he gets you off, you fall asleep immediately, like it’s the only way you’ll go to bed. It’s terribly endearing.

A month in, he starts noticing changes. The furniture in the sitting room, for one. They used to be 18th century relics, designed to make sure a guest didn’t overstay their welcome. Except now they’re eclectic, blue and green against the cream walls. The couches look comfortable, like you could spend a whole day there. The paintings change as well, from Rembrandt to Monet and Picasso. The impressionist works, blues and greens and yellows, work well with the new furniture, making his flat seem like a home. When he asks you, all you do is shrug and say something smart about updating his old man apartment. He leaves bite marks on your thighs that night. 

It’s a beautiful Friday night when John gets home early, around 9. He usually gets text updates from Terrance, your commandeered security guard that Price assigned to you full time, about your movements. You’ll usually get home at 7, but nothing yet. Two hours late. He calls Terrance and gets his voicemail. Highly unusual. Calmly, he presses on your contact's name, and it goes to voicemail. Three times.

Fingers shaking, he calls Kyle.

“Sir?”

“Where is she?”

“Who?”

“My fuckin’ wife, Garrick.”

“Isn’t she with Terrance?” “No one’s answerin’ their goddamn phone.” Gaz sighs on the other end, like this is an inconvenience and not his wife they’re talking about. Keys click, then a mouse, before Gaz answers. “They’re at the bookstore. Been there since this mornin’, sir.” John drags a hand down his face, then grabs the keys to the car he barely uses. 

“Garrick, this is the last time you take more than three seconds t’ know where she is. I want a full team on ‘er at all times. I won’t hesitate t’ assign someone else as my Head of Security, someone who isn’t lettin’ their judgement take over their goddamn job. Copy?” He hasn’t dressed down one of his men, especially Kyle, but he’s tired of the man’s judgement on this marriage. What’s done is done. “Yessir.” John hangs up, too miffed to say goodbye. He’s got a wife to find.

-

Your bookstore is coming along well. It’s been over a month since you’ve been married, a month of John’s fingers and tongue loosening you in more ways than one. You swear you’ve developed stronger thigh muscles, simply from the orgasms he coaxes from you night after night. And then he just goes to sleep. You’ve felt his cock in fleeting touches, brushing against your thigh or hard in his lap as you grind on him. He never takes it out, never drags your hand in that grueling way men do with shady eyes and slimy smirks. Every night, he asks you if you hate him, and every night, your lie convinces him less and less. 

And every night, you think of how adamant he was against you joining him. His insistence that it “wasn’t the kind of place for you.” Your old problem with him has faded, a mess of childhood fears rolled into new ones. In its place are your insecurities, the word bastard floating through your head every time you think of his rejection. The clause in the marriage contract. It rolls together into a simple thought: he doesn’t trust you. That’s why he’s barely let you in on his business, content to stick with late night chats and orgasms. It should be fine, it should be what you wanted, but instead you feel a hollow hole in your heart where the word ‘friends’ lives. Even friends should share their secrets. 

But back to the bookstore. Your new baby. This first month was full of cleaning, dusting out odd corners and greasing creaky door hinges. You listed a hiring notice on online job boards, looking for an assistant to help with the grunt work. Which landed you Phil, a wonderful addition to the team. He was around your age, an American with sandy blond hair. Handsome in a basic way, something you noted and never thought of again. Terrance ran a background check on him, something you gladly consented to, and insisted on helping you interview him. It took a week of recon, but he was officially your new assistant as of two weeks ago. An amazing help around the store, handy with tools. You’d told Phil that you were the daughter of a lord, a minor lie to explain the bodyguard. He shrugged it off, the ex-pat seemingly used to the oddities of London.

Now that the space had been cleared, it was finally time to paint. Terrance insisted that he couldn’t help too much, his main duty too important, but with the help of Phil, you convinced him to paint the walls with you. You all left your phones in the half-fixed office, donning plastic sheets to protect from paint splatter. Your business plan, formed from your downtime during the day and shaped by your late-night conversations with John, was to have a store section and a community section. The community section would be at the front, with a beautiful light blue accent wall, perfect for book influencers. It would be surrounded by comfy couches and warm lighting, complete with a cafe space you intended to build out. Your idea reminded you of the library waiting hours away, with its own fireplace and furniture. You decided to recreate that cozy feeling and bring it to the public.

Farther into the building there would be bigger shelves for rows and rows of books, organized by type. The color scheme was influenced by the one in your home, as you decided to hand paint metal shelves light blues, greens, and yellows. Most would be bought, but you were planning a book drive far out for people to donate old books and get discounts on new ones. It’s an idea you had wanted to do in Manchester but never got around to.

Now that the front of the store was cleared out and bare, it was time to paint. The hours fly by as you paint the light blue wall while Phil and Terrance work on a cream wall on the other side. When you blink, the sun is already down, and your watch is flashing 10PM at you.

“Guys it’s almost ten! I think we ought to lay down the brushes for tonight.” Phil opened his mouth to respond but is cut off by a harsh pounding at the locked front door. It was supposed to be clear, but there was newspaper on all of your windows to prevent the glass from getting paint on it. Frowning, you moved to open the door, but Terrance stopped you with his arm out, his other hand reaching for his gun. “Go into the office, ma’am.” You followed his command reluctantly, Phil following on your heels as you went into the back office. It didn’t have any windows, so it was a space you did not want to be in for a while. Phil looked nervous, running his hand through his hair and tapping his foot on the ground.

“I’m sure it’s fine, Phil. Probably one of the neighbors complaining about our music.” You insisted on a jam session as you painted, blasting music from a speaker you stole from the Castle. “Shady things happen in London no matter what time, boss.” You shrug, picking up your phone to quell your nerves. A glance at your notifications explains everything.

Oh no.

You burst from the office, phone already returning one of your many missed calls. That’s when you ran into your husband, face hitting his hard chest with a harsh oof. “Christ, sweetheart, gave me a near heart attack.” John steadied your shoulders with his large hands, anchoring you in his grip. His brow was furrowed, eyes crinkling in worry as he scanned you up and down like he was looking for injuries. “You didn’t answer-” “Everything good out here?” Fuck. Phil.

“Who are you?” It was a tone you’d never heard come out of John’s mouth. You imagined it was his mafia man voice, gruff and short like he had a better place to be. John shoves you behind him, reaching for his gun. You rolled your eyes, hand covering his to stop a potential shoot-out. 

“John, he’s my-” “Assistant, sir. Good to put a name to the face, I’ve heard a lot about you.” You could practically hear Phil winking, laying on the Southern charm. You wrestled out of John’s grip, stepping out from behind his back. Phil’s hand was out for a handshake, but John hadn’t taken it, scanning the man up and down with suspicious eyes. “Funny, ‘cause I’ve never heard about you.” John tore his gaze away to catch yours, eyes slanted in anger. “I don’t have to tell you everything, John. I’ve got my own life, you know.” He looked almost hurt at your words, which couldn’t be true. Sure, you were fucking, but it’s not like this was a normal marriage. You knew he wouldn’t have wanted Phil working with you, just on the basis of him being a man. You didn’t want to be micromanaged by your own husband, so you simply hadn’t got around to telling him. 

“C’mere.” John tugged you towards the office, his grip hard. You could hear Terrance telling Phil to go home and wait for an update. Probably for the best. You imagined Terrance following him out, then debriefing with John’s driver about how much of an asshole their boss was.

“Why didn’t ya tell me?” John asked, arms crossed and face red. He’d shut the office door but remained standing since there wasn’t any furniture yet. “Because I knew you’d get like this.” You spit out, crossing your arms to mirror his. “Fuckin’ concerned fer the security of my wife? Tha’s a bad reaction?” You took a step back from him, crossing your arms tighter so you could pinch your waist, a reminder to stay strong.

“Controlling and caveman. This is my place of work, John, and you’ve embarrassed me in front of my coworker.” He doesn’t meet your eye, staring at the door so hard it might burst into flames. He looks like a predator ready to pounce, muscles trembling from restraint. “Ya don’t realize how many enemies I have. Every person needs t’ be checked.” Did he think you were stupid? “I had Terrance check him out. I know you don’t want me around your work, but I’m not an idiot, John.”

His rejection of your offer to travel with him weeks ago had stung more than you cared to admit. He clearly didn’t trust you, only seeing you as someone to fuck around with. You didn’t realize how far that lack of trust went.

“He should’ve reported it to Gaz.” John mutters. “He did. I know that for a fact.” John ran a hand through his hair, then dipped down to tug at his tie. “He didn’t fuckin’ tell me. Christ, he’s worse than I thought.” You wanted to ask what that meant, but you bit your lip instead. He obviously didn’t want to tell you.

“Look, I know I’m a bastard and you had that goddamn clause in the contract, but you can trust me. I’m not running around behind your back.” That got John’s gaze to snap back to you, eyebrows raised in disbelief. “Tha’s wha’ ya think this is about?” You nod, suddenly unsure. “Sweetheart, that was Gaz’s idea. T��� see if you’d argue. I intended for you to ask fer another cheatin’ clause fer me, but ya didn’t so I let it go. ‘S nothin’ like tha’. Plus, I didn’t know ya then. I know ya now.” Oh.

“So you trust me?” What about the trip? You wanted to ask, but you figure that would show your hand too much. John nods slowly, uncrossing his hands to put them on his hips. “Don’t care tha’ yer a bastard. ‘M not fuckin’ anyone else, either. I’m just concerned fer yer safety.” He takes a few steps towards you, gauging your reaction to see if you step back. You don’t, uncrossing your arms and praying they don’t shake. He grabs your hands in his own, blue eyes swimming with openness. There are so many things you want to ask him about: your childhood, his father, the future. They all fall to the wayside when he leans down to kiss you, a gentle brush of his lips against yours. “If I didn’t trust ya, ya wouldn’t sleep in my bed.” He kisses your forehead, then cheek, before pulling back. “I need ya t’ believe me.” He demands it seriously. A sudden rush of affection hits your heart. He looks so truthful, so concerned, and you want to show him that same care back.

You lower to your knees. John steps back, unsure. “Sweetheart, ya don’t have to.” You shake your head, beckoning him to come near. “I want to.”

John tugs off the blazer he’s wearing, folding it into a light pillow. He squats down on his haunches, eyes on yours. A warm hand brushes your knees, urging you up so he can slip the blazer under them. He then stands; blue eyes dark as he brushes your cheek with his thumb. “Go’on, baby. Take whatever you want.”

You reach for his black belt, unfastening it with trembling hands. It unclips with ease, and John’s hands, hairy and veiny and strong, cloud your vision as he unfurls it from his belt loops. You continue downwards, undoing the midnight black of his button. You unzip slowly, licking your lips in anticipation. His fingers brush back the creases on your forehead, trailing down to brush the shell of your ear. “Feel ok?” You nod at his question, cupping him through his boxers. John releases a sharp exhale, a heady sense of power coming over you. You work the pants down fully to give you room, petting him this way and that.

Finally, you peel down the dark fabric of his boxers. He’s hairy but well-maintained, similar to his fuzzy torso you’ve felt in bed. His cock is thick and heavy, wet with precum as it slaps against his upper thigh. You tuck his boxers down to give you room, then start exploring. Kitten licks to the base of him, his hair tickling your nose. Your hand joins you to squeeze his balls, eliciting a sharp groan. John tugs on your hair, more out of instinct than control. “You feel ok?” You throw his words back at him, a cheshire smile growing as he moans again.

“Christ, those fuckin’ hands.” He responds. You move to start stroking, licking him from base to tip. He tastes like salt and musk, but clean with the scent of pine. It’s the most addicting scent on earth. After he’s wet and leaking, you steady yourself with a hand on his upper thigh and the other on your husband’s cock.

You finally take him in your mouth, tongue swirling around his tip. You hum and his grip on your hair tightens. “‘M gonna fuck yer mouth sometime.” You let go of him with a pop, leaning backwards. “Not tonight?” He shakes his head, reaching down to pump his cock in your absence. “I’m a few strokes from cummin’, sweetheart. You look too goddamn good on yer knees.” That earns a grin from you and a renewed sense of vigor.

You suck him hard this time, your hand making up the length you can’t cover. You work yourself into an easy rhythm, up and down as he cradles your face. It’s much softer than you’ve ever experienced from a man, careful and protective. He wasn’t kidding about how close he is, harsh pants emitting faster and faster from his chest. “Where d’ya want me, baby?” You don’t respond, keeping him in your mouth. All you do is blink sweetly, willing your eyes to look bigger than usual. “Fuckin’ perfect, my wife.” That sends a jolt to your heart, and you have to stop yourself from accidentally biting down. Instead of responding, you stroke faster and faster. His abs tense, and you pull back just slightly, letting him coat your tongue and lips. It’s salty but not bitter, a marker of how fucking healthy he is. You lick your lips, swallowing thickly. His thumb brushes off a bit from your nose, pushing his thumb into your mouth. You suck hard, like you did the night he first fingered you. He continues cleaning you up, careful and quiet in his movements. John tucks himself back into his pants and offers you a hand to help you off the floor.

“Your knees sore?” He whispers. You shake your head, suddenly feeling exposed despite not having taken your clothes off. “C’mere.” He tugs you into his arms, tucking you under his chin. “We good?” He asks. You want to say no, want to ask him all the questions swirling around in your head, but all you do is nod and hold him closer.

-

In the car, John’s hand on your thigh, your phone vibrates. It’s Phil.

Everything ok?

Yep! Marital problems, all good.

Your husband is intense.

He’s a sweetheart for me, all that matters 🙂

Good to know. See you tomorrow.

His tone is odd, but you shove that thought from your mind. John squeezes your hand, and you tuck your phone away, content to focus on your husband. Phil is the farthest thought from your mind.

-

um. smut. now they're like friends with problems? idk enemies got boring.

-

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[envy-of-the-apple]

pretty please—a beauty & the beast au except reader is the beast??? and pretty boy gojo/geto is oh so helplessly 'trapped' in said 'beast's castle? and reader (or shall we call her Ms. Beastie) wants nothing to do with 'em and is sulking about her curse. she very openly tells him to leave if he'd like, but for some reason he sticks around like some bugger. i'd love to see your take on this au, please and thank you :3 it would also be very funny to throw furry accusations at gojo/geto, but maybe that's js me loll

oh! how about Miss beast thinks Gojo is beauty, but he's actually Gaston.

You find him out in the snow, half-dead, surrounded by wolves. Maybe its your remnant of humanity left, but you take him back to your castle and nurse him back to health.

As soon as he wakes up, he's a nuisance. Cocky, full of himself. Even when he's too weak to feed himself, he's shamelessly flirting when you're feeding him yourself. At times, you have to hold yourself back from dumping the soup on his face.

You hate him. Mostly because he reminds you of yourself. He's egotistical and selfish, and what you used to be like before the curse. It's jealousy too. He has flawless skin and isn't covered in disgusting hair.

He mocks you, lying to you. Tells you you're beautiful when you and him can both see the claws. The teeth. You hate him.

You've had enough when he tells you he loves you.

You kick him out when he's fully healed. He stays right outside your gates for hours, but you don't care. You need him gone. You needed to forget what you could have been.

He leaves later that day; he returns with an army.

He's talked about his village before, but you never once thought he's something like a prince there too. Fighting against Gojo would have been easy. Trying to hold off 20 men with spikes and daggers?

You stand no chance. You're tied up like the animal you are, dragged out of your castle like a hostage.

He's not scared of you. That's another thing you hate about him. From the day he first saw you, he's never been afraid. Even when your growl and thrash within your binds, he coos like you're a sweet puppy.

His endgame becomes clear when he brings in the witch you saw a century ago. She looks worse for wear, courtesy of Gojo's minions. It takes next to nothing for Gojo to get her to undo the spell. Your binds get looser, as do your clothes. your fur disappears, its replaced by skin. Human skin. You're back.

A few days ago, you would've been happy.

Now, reduced from a beast to a mere pet, you can only watch in horror as Gojo's grin gets more feral.

You realize too late that it wasn't a curse, it was protection from the real beasts.

[ahhhwomen]

I don’t know why I bite.

Vampire Empire

Part 1

Pairing: DarkVamp!Wanda Maximoff x DarkVamp!Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

A/N: We are going to ignore how long I disappeared, okay thank you. Also, y/n will not be in a proper relationship with the girls, she will very much be viewed and treated like a pet not a partner, but she will obvi still get the love.

Disclaimer: English is not my first language. All mistakes are my own.

AU Warnings: Human pets, abuse, violence, possessiveness, probably incorrect vampire lore, angst, panic attacks, hurt/comfort, kitten play (?), also this is not a Carol positive fic (I have nothing against her, but I needed a villain), death (later on)Minors DNI 18+

Summary: Your Master is a cruel woman, but you would never stand a chance against her, but what if they can?

Word Count: 3.5k

The keys jingle in a pattern.

With each step, the clash of metal calls out. It changes tune, depending on the day. If she’s tired, she drags her feet, it’s a slower melody. When she’s angry, there is a harshness to the smashing of the chain against her belt and a thud to her heavy boots.

You don’t know what her happy steps are, you think the sound would be smooth. Maybe, like she´s floating?

You wonder if you are ever going to hear it? If you are being honest with yourself, you don’t really know if you want to. At least her other behaviors are predictable, you can handle predictable, uncertainty however, that is an entirely different game. Not one you are very keen on playing.

Today, her steps boom like thunder, and her keys shriek like lighting.

Chills run down your spine; you press against the cold concrete wall. It scratches your skin. You press harder and cower closer.

You are shaking as she sweeps around the corner of your prison; she’s frowning today.

But…?

It hurts.

From yesterday. It still hurts.

She always gives you a day.

It still hurts.

You need a day.

It doesn't matter. You know you can’t stop it.

You close your eyes and submerge yourself in the void. You don’t like the dark, but she doesn't like it when you see.

Your cage opens with a shriek. You flinch as she touches your face, she is breathing down your neck and you feel yourself panic as she struggles with your collar.

It's never good when she takes away your collar.

Before you do something stupid, like fight back, a soothing voice guides you. It’s a whisper, that only you can hear. Drag in slow breaths, in for four, hold for seven, out for eight. Rinse and repeat. You do as they tell you.

You're in a sunflower field.

The heavy feeling in your stomach is from the big dinner you had, half an hour earlier.

The sun is setting, and you are smiling and laughing as you run through the field of flowers. They're ginormous, almost bigger than you. There is a weight to them as you push past. They scratch and irritate, but it's only temporary, so you keep laughing to yourself.

There is a whip to the wind, the sound loud and frightening. The flowers are louder, so you pretend not to hear. They rustle and dance in the harsh wind.

It's dark, but the yellow glow of plant life guides you. You don’t know where you are running to, maybe home, maybe the ocean. It matters not. You are happy, just you and the flowers.

When the wind calms and the sun peaks over the horizon you know it’s time to leave.

You trek through the soil and ignore the sharp stones that prick your pale skin, you wish you could stay, but it’s time to return.

You open your eyes when she leaves. She almost killed you today.

It's okay.

You deserved it.

Tomorrow, you rest.

Maybe.

Natasha smirks over the rim of her whisky glass. One would think the blonde would be professional after almost a century of doing business, yet she still stomps around like a child throwing a tantrum when she doesn't get it her way. The redhead almost feels bad for the poor pet that was going to be at the end of Carol's rath tonight, almost.

“Knock, knock.” Wanda stands in the doorway, her knuckles lightly tapping against the dark oak.

She’s dressed modern today. Her suit is fitted to perfection, it hugs her waist and expands her hips. She also went for a smokey makeup look, her eyeshadow a mix of dark brown and black, her lips a deep amber, just like her suit.

If attraction could kill Natasha would be one dead woman.

She smiles at her wife before signaling her in with a wave. She’s surprised to see Wanda, her wife comes by occasionally, and she has always dressed nicely, but this is new. Due to her desk stealing her view, Natasha can't see, but she can hear her wife's high heels as she passes through the threshold. Same color as the suit she imagines.  

“What brings you here?” Natasha questions as she pours her wife a drink.

Wanda settles herself in the plush chair in front of her wife before bothering to answer. “Do I need a reason lovely? Maybe I just want to see my beautiful wife in her place of work.” Wanda grins while the other redhead hands her a glass of whiskey. Neat, just how she likes it.

Natasha scans her wife with suspicion, she wants something. She can tell by the way Wanda leans her body slightly to the left while her lips lift into a flirtatious half-smirk.

The shorter redhead lifts her eyebrow. “As nice as that may be, why are you really here?”

Wanda deflates slightly at her wife’s accusatory tone. She is right, of course, but Wanda was hoping she could butter her up a little before getting to that. Wanda will have to ask her out on a date soon and make herself a little less predictable.

She is ashamed to say it's been a while since their last dinner date, or movie night for that matter. However, it's hard to find the time when you have been married since the eighteen hundreds, and you both work more than any human would be capable of.

Which brings her to her point.

Wanda pulls in a breath, “I want a pet.”

Before Natasha can get a word in Wanda continues to ramble all in the same breath, “And I know, I know, we have already gone over this. But I'm lonely. The business has been slow since the Stark clan agreed to our peace offering. And while you are busy here, I want someone to come home too.” Wanda keeps her tone open and light.

She wasn’t here to accuse her wife of not giving her enough attention, they both knew that their different work would keep them apart, but while Wanda would spend long nights in her home office, Natasha would spend them in her company office on the other side of the city.

Natasha drums her fingers sharply against her desk, she wants to shut the idea down immediately.

Having a frail human pet would mean having a weakness. Natasha knows her wife well. She knows her wife will get attached, and she knows it will never end well for either of them.

On the other hand, she understands her wife's needs. Natasha spends most of her days in the office, working to uphold their cover, while Wanda spends her days all over the city settling their other business. Their schedules never align either, Natasha works days, Wanda nights. She has to admit, it doesn't sound half bad to have someone to come home to the few nights she can afford it.

Wanda is waiting with bated breath as her wife concludes.

“You have already set up the meet, haven’t you?”

Wanda gapes slightly but conceals it before her wife sees. She knows her too well indeed.

She slumps into her chair, “Yes.” She lifts her finger to stop Natasha from commenting, “In my defense, I was coming here to get your approval.” Natasha chuckles to herself.

“And if you didn’t get it your way?”

Wanda smiles bashfully, “Then I would go without you.” Natasha has to blink away tears from how hard she laughs, she is gripping her stomach, wheezing while answering, “I would expect nothing less my love.” She rights her posture and wipes a tear from the corner of her eye. She glances at her wife hiding her blush behind luscious red locks.

She can never say no to her.

Clapping her hands together, she responds. “Fine, you win.”

Wanda practically shines with mirth and joy, “But,” her companion eyes her carefully, nodding to confirm she´s listening. “I get to pick the name that goes on her collar.”

The other redhead huffs, “Fine, but it better not be something stupid.”

Natasha shrugs and her wife leans over the table to slap her shoulder in warning. Natasha smiles all the same and shakes her head, “Yeah, yeah, nothing dumb.” As much fun as she is having with this, she is a busy woman.

She runs her hands down her black suit, thinks of what paperwork to finish, and mumbles a question about when they need to leave while sorting through the latest update about their progress on Project X. Wanda, without missing a beat, states a simple, “Now.”

Nat drops her pen and pinches the skin between her eyebrows. Wanda shrugs half apologetically as Natasha fixes her with a hard glare.

Rolling her eyes, Natasha grumbles a short, “Right, we better get going then.”

It's been almost a decade since she has set foot in one of these shitholes. Nothing has changed, the cages are just as small, and the odor stinks the same, alcohol, blood, and fear.

Wanda shifts uncomfortably as they wait for the salesman to get his spreadsheet, Natasha silently watches from the sideline as he sorts through a mess of paper and fast-food containers to find what he is looking for. She chastises Wanda for not finding a better establishment. Back in their time, this was the usual, but nowadays they have far better alternatives.

Wanda leans against Natasha to whisper, “It was the only place by a few miles Tash, and it’s the only place we have time for.” Natasha stays unimpressed. Wanda smirks at her wife and tucks a strand of loose hair behind the other redhead's ear before discreetly licking the shell of it and whispering sweetly, “I will make it up to you.” Natasha shivers under the attention and the salesman grunts a weak, “found it” before leading them into the main hall.

The ocean swishes in the background as you lie on your blue, shark-themed blanket in your modern bikini. The sun gleams over your head. Your skin stings and you shift onto your stomach, you must have forgotten sunscreen again.

Nonetheless, you purr under the shine of good weather; you wish you had taken a book with you. Maybe next time. For now, you stretch out and lay your bare arms against the warm sand. It will be stuck in every crevice, but it's nice.

A light breeze passes you.

You suck in a big breath, it burns, but you ignore it. It smells of salt and….. salt… and….?

Ice-cream.

It smells of salt and ice cream.

You think you may stay for a while today. You might visit tomorrow, but you would rather not.

If it doesn't burn too much, you hope to sleep tomorrow through. After all, if you are really lucky, you may not wake up again.

This place is even more depressing than Wanda had anticipated.

She and the other redhead had been to a similar place a few decades ago, but this was just sad. Not even the potent scent of blood can get her to ignore the uncomfortable sound of churning, empty, stomachs.

If they lived in a different city she would have taken her wife to a more humane operation, but with limited time comes limited opportunity.

The male and female sections are separate, in the left hall she can smell the odor of young men eager to please, while in this hall she can see the curious and smell the fearful. The gruff man showing them around had introduced them to a few pets by now, but she had to admit they were not what she was hoping for.

There had been one pet she took a slight liking to; a young woman, in her mid-twenties, she was in the puppy section, an enthusiastic little thing. But in the end, she was a little too pushy for Wanda’s liking, Natasha hadn’t seemed too keen either, so they left it there.

The kitten section wasn’t too bad, but every time she thought she was building a connection, Natasha would step into the pet's line of sight and they would cower away one by one. She knows her wife is putting on a stern face to test the poor little things, but it was starting to piss her off big time.

Wanda rolls her eyes as the feeble man struggles with yet another lock, she lifts her suit jacket and checks the expensive gold watch ticking away, fifteen more minutes or they will have to come back another time. Given that this was the only available time she and Nat had had in a few weeks the dire truth of not getting a pet today was settling in.

“Here she is, now she's not much to look at, but since you wanted to see them all,” the man shrugs and Wanda has half the mind to bite his head off. Before she can do anything of the sort Natasha takes her by surprise by stepping into the cage before her.

Nat ignores her wife as she steps into your cage, she has seen you before.

You were Carol's pet, or at least she thought you were. But it seems you were a less permanent part of the blonde’s life. Your cage was different, it was slightly bigger, the poorly dressed man had said something earlier about you being a leased pet.

You look horrible. She is studying you from a few feet away and she can still see the horrors you must have been through.

She knows Carol is violent, it's why she has spent so long trying to negotiate with blondie. Their clans were never on the same page and yes, threats were constantly made, but this was something else. Natasha would never think the pathetic woman would do this just because she could.

She hears Wanda step in and gasp at the sight of you.

You are lying on the hard floor with your back turned to them, a rag the size of a hand towel barely covering your bottom. Your hands are stretched out under the lamp, the only heat source you have, you have been beaten to a pulp. There are deep lacerations covering you, your entire body is one big bruise, and dried blood covers every crevice of both your skin and even part of the walls. But that was not what caught either of their attention, no, it was the lack of life they could sense from you.

Natasha kneels a few feet away from you and studies you carefully.  Her hand rests against her cheek as she tries to focus on your heartbeat. It beats, but there was something off about it. It's slow like you are asleep, but she can hear in your breathing that you are still conscious.

She tilts her head and talks off-handedly at the man behind her.

“Is she sick?” She hears him scoff but ignores it in favor of closing her eyes and trying to feel you.

“Of course not-“ He waves his hand, “all that,” he gestures at your body, “was her own fault.”

Before Natasha has time to reprimand the pig, she hears a crunch behind her followed by a heavy thud.

She huffs and raises herself slowly before opening her eyes and looking at her wife with her peripheral vision. “I thought we agreed to not kill anyone today.”

Wanda stares at her with empty eyes. “No. We agreed on not killing any innocent people tonight. As far as I am concerned, I am just following his logic, after all this was all his fault.” Wanda gestures at the dead man's body.

Natasha turns to her wife while rolling her eyes.

Wanda ignores her wife's sass and looks past her to take you in once more. “Who is she?”

Natasha shrugs and gazes at you over her shoulder. “She was Carol´s plaything, but I guess Carol never owned her like I thought.” Wanda raised her eyebrows in surprise and stared at Nat, “That’s y/n?”. Her eyes move down to you again, “last time I saw her she sure as hell didn’t look like that.”

Natasha nods and crosses her arms in thought, “well it seems Carol is an even worse owner than she is a negotiator.”

The last time Wanda had seen you was when she joined one of Natasha’s meetings a few months ago, you were a new thing back then. You had scars, but they were pink and healed, you were a skittish little thing, but you ate, you had some color to you, and you sure as hell didn’t feel like this.

You could feel their eyes all over your body. You hated it, you never liked it when people looked too hard or thought too long, it always meant the same thing. They were assessing whether or not you are a feasible option as a pet. You know you aren’t, you know they will scoff and turn their backs to you as if you disgust them, like you don’t deserve to breathe the same air as them.

You get it though, they are probably right.

Usually, such a thing wouldn’t bother you, you are used to it by now, but there was something about their scents that put you off, you felt out of place even more than usual, and you hated it.  

You were too focused on pretending to be asleep to assess what the heavy thud against the concrete could have been.

Whatever it was, must have had something breakable inside of it as you could hear a clear crack as something bounced off the floor. You decided you didn’t care, you only cared about the sudden voice that took over all the space of your enclosure. Powerful enough to command any and every room, you know this voice. It belongs to one Natasha Romanoff, and suddenly the voice behind her made sense too. You had only seen the redhead once, but you would remember her anywhere, just as commanding as her wife, and even more scary, Wanda Maximoff.

If you weren’t scared before, you were positively shitting your nonexistent pants now.

You try to keep your breathing even so as to not show any hint of awareness, you have no idea what they could be doing here. Had Master sent them? Were these the last moments you would have, were you going to die in this tiny, claustrophobic hellhole?

You were panicking, and you know they can sense it. Feel it. No matter how many times Master called you such, you weren’t an idiot. You know what they are, you know what they can do, what they will do.

As you hear one of them take a step closer you turn into a stiff board. You stay completely still as you feel your lungs start resisting the air you desperately try to force into them, you have this sudden need to flee or to bear your neck and beg for them to finish it quickly. Right after the thought passes your mind you shrink in shame, Master will kill you for ever thinking of bearing your neck to another.

You can hear them pause for a moment as you feel their eyes on you again. You have been made.

You don’t know what comes over you, you don’t know where you suddenly find the strength, but before you even know what you are doing you are leaping towards the women, your hands ready to claw out their eyes if need be.

You know they are stronger, faster, and smarter than you could ever wish to be, but this is a survival instinct, nothing makes sense, nothing matters. And as you collide into a warm body and start ripping into it, to the best of your ability, you realize, you have no idea what you are doing.

Natasha knew what you were about to do, possibly before you, and as you crashed into her and started scratching and ripping at anything you could get your hands on, she realized that maybe you still have a chance at this life. For the first time during their little visit, she can feel something in you, it’s small, scared, abused, but there is a will there, a will to live, a will to fight. That is more than most in this bleak city.

She holds you gently as you rip apart her coat, tear at her skin, and bite her hands. She hears Wanda take an uncertain step toward the both of you, unsure of what to do. But Natasha waves her hands nonchalantly and asks Wanda with a calm voice to stay back.

Natasha understands that to her wife you must look positively rabid. You were in the kitten class, but you were fighting Natasha as if you were a fighter dog. All teeth and claws. However, compared to Natasha, you might as well have been a mite.

No matter how hard you try, you can’t pierce her skin, can’t topple her balance, you can’t win.

Your fingers dig into the soft skin, your nails gripping and tearing, but nothing happens. There is no skin underneath your nails, no blood, no sight of damage against pale skin. You bite the hands that hold you, and you can hear your jaw creek as you strain your weak body, but the skin doesn't break, the only blood you taste is your own.

You are scared, you don’t know what to do, there is no sunflower field to hide behind, no sea to drown in, you feel powerless, even more so than she makes you feel.

You don’t know what they want, you don’t want to die like this.

Even after all your effort goes to waste you can’t give up, you have to keep trying, you have to-

“Stop.”

Wanda looks at you with an unreadable expression, you look up in terror as you realize you can’t move your body. One simple word, in one simple tone, has made you paralyzed.

[professional-yapper]

Aonung x Albino reader? 🙏🙏

Burn

Aonung x Albino! Reader

Warnings: sunburn ig?, awkward Aonung (he can't flirt to save his life this is true James Cameron told me himself), teasing as flirting, the tribe they're from is giving cult x

"This is stupid, Vipka," you huffed, ducking under a branch as you followed your twin brother's ghostly figure closer and closer to the edge of the dark forest that your tribe inhabited.

"Don't be a wuss!" he called back, flashing you a sharp grin. "We might find something cool!"

You rolled your eyes. "Yeah, or we'll find something dangerous, get ourselves killed, and end up in the Nothing. Eywa's word is that we stay here, in the Dark, where it's safe."

Vipka rolled his eyes right back, bounding towards you, grabbing your arms and giving you a little shake. "That's what the elders say. If Eywa wanted us to stay here, she wouldn't have made me so curious about what's out there."

You gritted your teeth, but couldn't find a proper response to that beyond a muttered, "That's blasphemous." And you relented, following your stupid, reckless brother towards the edge of the forest.

Not that you were sure there even was an edge. After all, no one besides the elders actually knew. You and Vipka were only heading in the direction that the elders went in when they left the village for reasons you and Vipka weren't allowed to know.

It really could just be the forest, going on forever and ever, and you would keep going until you went crazy.

A silent prayer formed on your lips, to Eywa, who had cared for your people even after they had been foolish enough to burn their Spirit Tree down. All that was left of the centuries-old catastrophe was a charred old stump held in reverence.

Once, your uncle had whispered a story to you of tribes far away, where the sun shone brightly and their Spirit Trees grew strong, and they could even connect with their dead through the Trees themselves. It seemed fantastical to you, who had grown up knowing upon death your people would go into the Nothing and never be heard from again. Eywa's punishment for her disobedient children.

But after all... You wondered if it could be true. If you and Vipka walked far enough, would you find a tribe with no Nothing, with a Spirit Tree that grew and flourished and kept their ancestors safe?

You didn't know whether to hope so or not. Would you even be able to return home once the elders discovered yours and Vipka's disobedience? Perhaps Eywa would punish the tribe again. Maybe your family personally.

Once again you called for Vipka, but he ignored you and his pale, slender form disappeared into the trees, running now, fuelled by the adrenaline of doing something so forbidden.

Not that this was forbidden, just wandering through the Dark. But it wasn't really the Dark, anymore. The dark green of the foliage had bled away into a lighter hue, punctuated with bursts of colours. Flowers and plants and fruits that you shied away from, eyes wary as you picked your way through this new world.

You shielded your eyes against the strange light filtering through the trees, golden and hot against your skin, which was already taking on a queer pink tint that you recognised vaguely.

The elders were often this shade when they returned to the tribe. Vipka had overheard them calling it... the Burn?

You couldn't be sure, but you covered your flushed arms with your hands and kept going.

A squeal suddenly pierced the warm silence, and you froze, ears dipping and tail waving with brisk worry. "Vipka?" you called, taking a few stilted steps towards the source of the sound.

Another squeal, but definitely not Vipka. An animal of some kind. And voices. Loud, cheerful, calling to one another as they got closer, evidently following the squealing thing.

Hunters, maybe.

Not from your tribe, for sure.

You began backing up, preparing to turn and run like hell all the way back home. Vipka could keep going for all you cared, could be caught and eaten alive by the tribes beyond the Dark.

A large animal burst out of the undergrowth and you shrieked in fright, leaping back and colliding with something or someone, falling down in a jumble of arms and legs.

The animal veered away at your cry, thundering in a different direction.

"Damn!" the thing that had fallen down with you swore, shoving you off unceremoniously. "You scared it away, skxwang!"

"Fuck you!" you spluttered furiously, climbing to your feet and rubbing your lower back. You were angry. Fucking furious.

But then the strange Na'vi stood up, and you considered that it might not be a good idea to square up with him.

He was built like a tree. Broad and muscular and a weird shade of blue. Twice your size, at least. Could absolutely crush you into dust.

You didn't want to stick around and find out.

But before you could run, he grabbed your arm, pulling you back, staring at you hard with his weird pale eyes, dark curls plastered to his brow, entire body covered in sweat. "What are you?" he asked.

You shoved him in the chest, but he barely shifted, which was a solid blow to your ego. You were one of the stronger members of the tribe, and it scared you to think Na'vi of his size and strength were roaming wild out here.

Why would the elders ever come out here?

"You're one of those white Na'vi, right? From the deep forest on the other side of Awa'atlu?" he prompted, ears flattening as you kept quiet.

You stiffened. "How do you know that?"

"Your people- what do you mean, how do I know that? Your people come and talk with my dad all the time. You should probably cover up, by the way. You guys burn real easy," he added, tone almost friendly as he released your arm, seemingly realising it wasn't helping.

He knew? He knew of your people. He knew of the Dark. He knew the elders.

"But you're, like, my age," he continued, tilting his head. "I thought your people were all old and wrinkly. That's why you're white, yeah?"

You frowned. "Only the elders ever leave the Dark," you said slowly, wondering just how much you should tell this boy.

He chuckled, a surprisingly reassuring sound, even though he was holding a spear with the other hand. "What's the Dark? Is that what you call the place you're from?"

You nodded.

"So you guys don't see the sun much, huh?" he said carefully, glancing up at the blazing white spot in the sky above.

A swift shake of the head, and you didn't bother to follow his eyes. You could feel the sun well enough as is. Your skin felt flushed, hot, and it stung when you touched it.

Though the pink was a nice colour, you had to ask. "Is it poisonous?" you asked, trying to keep the distress out of your voice, running your fingers down your arm.

Another warm chuckle, and now he was looking at you with interest, which made your heart beat a little quicker. "No, you're just burning. Sunburn, you know? Cause you don't see the sun much-"

"Ever," you interjected briefly, stealing a glance above, at the great blue mass above you that went on forever, careful to keep your eyes away from the sun, though spots still danced in your eyes when you looked back at him.

He blew out a breath, curls jumping off his forehead briefly. "Okay. So you're from a freaky tribe where you've never seen the sun and live in the dark all the time, in the forest where the leaves are so thick the sun can't get through... What are you doing here? Did you run away?"

"Kind of?" you said, wondering what he was doing as he turned and scooped up a knife off the floor, then turned and started walking. Should you follow him?

"Are you coming?" he called back, gesturing for you to follow. When you caught up, he gestured for you to keep talking.

"I was following my brother Vipka. Leaving the Dark was his idea. He wanted to know where our elders go," you continued, tongue growing looser the more time you spent with this strange boy. Which might've been a bad thing. "Eywa cursed him with curiosity."

The boy nodded slowly, absorbing this. "And where's your brother now?"

"He ran ahead and I lost him," you shrugged. "But he'll turn up, either at your village or back home, if he gives up."

"I'm Aonung," the boy said briskly.

You told him your name, and he repeated it back to you carefully, grinning like it was an inside joke between you two.

"I'll take you home with me, then," Aonung shrugged. "My mother will know what to do. I- we can look after you till your elders return to my village." The tips of his ears flushed and you smiled, pleased with the sight, though you didn't know why.

"Sounds good," you hummed.

"Are all girls in your tribe as pretty as you?" he asked abruptly, looking straight forward as if scared to see your expression.

You blinked, then smiled again, wider, flushing, though you thought he probably wouldn't be able to tell since you were so 'sunburnt'. "Dunno," you chuckled. "I'll bring you home with me one day and you can see for yourself."

"I don't think they are," he said, glancing down at you and smiling, lips curling downwards.

"You haven't even seen them yet!"

"No, but I trust my gut," he said, slapping his abs with a proud look

"Oh, yeah? Was it your gut that made you run into me, too?"

"That- that was fate. Mother Eywa intended it."

"Or maybe Eywa cursed you with clumsiness. A deadly combination with how short-sighted you apparently are," you teased.

He gave you a little push, laughing. "Shut up! Why were you just standing there, is my question!"

You pushed him back, not bothering to put any effort into it, as the results remained the same and he didn't break his stride. "I've never been this far from home! I was taking in the scenery!"

"Taking in the scenery," he scoffed. "Take in this scenery." He got close to your face, which was probably meant to be intimidating but only made your ears drop bashfully, tail curling against your calf, suddenly shy as his nose almost bumped into yours.

He lingered for a moment, then seemed to realise his theatrics had gone wrong and backed up. "I mean- sorry, that came out wrong."

"No, it's okay, I like that scenery just fine too," you grinned, and he rolled his eyes in embarrassment.

"What?" you taunted, following him as he kept walking, more than happy to tease the hell out of him. "I thought you wanted me to take in the scenery!"

"Shut up."

"Make me."

I'm patenting this tribe actually, this freaky albino tribe, because I want to write lore for it. Let me know if anyone wants to read said lore. Enjoy anon! I had fun with the world-building!

[preciouslittle-bhaalbabe]

Not one to beg.

Soft, sweet and fluffy mostly plotless smut brainrot because these two have made a small hole in my brain and they won't stop kissing ;w;

(this is the first time i've ever legit written any kind of smut so be gentle, if you can)

Ft: Astarion x Named oc (Tomie)

It had been a few weeks since the party. Since the night Astarion and Tomie spent together. Astarion thought it would be just the same as any other seduction. But it wasn't.

Her touch, her skin, her voice, her blood. He craved it like a drug. Not only that, but she made him feel truly wanted. Not just his body, but his company. His time. Every time he insisted they give her neck a break and go hunting, she was right there with him. Tail swishing back and forth excitedly. She could never hide how much she enjoys being around him. He hated it, but he knows he shares the same feelings. She feels like home in a way he hasn't felt in centuries.

When she did let him feed, the rush of desire that floods into him is nearly impossible to bear. He has to stifle moans and keep his body from needily pressing against hers. She must have felt it. There's no way she couldn't. But she never said anything. She hasn't tried to instigate intimacy once since that night. Despite the near constant flirting, small cheek kisses and innuendo exchanged between them. Astarion is shocked. Some nights he had to settle for his own hand just to alleviate the yearning. She was driving him insane and she had no idea. Or maybe she did, and this was all on purpose.

That sly little minx.

One night, Tomie delcared she will be going off to bathe in the nearby lake.

"Alright! Don't take too long, dinner is almost ready" Gale says.

Tomie nods and begins to walk towards the lakes direction with a small towel and some soap. Her tail swishes and she casts the quickest sly glance at Astarion. A hint of a smile on her pretty lips. He watches as she disappears into the treeline. That was the final straw.

"I'm going for a walk" Astarion says. Not waiting for a response from the others. Walking in the opposite direction of Tomie to not rise suspicion. He will double back once he's far enough away from the camp. A few moments of aimless wandering and racing thoughts. Should he do this? Was she avoiding it for a reason? But if that's the case, why would she be teasing him so much? Gods, it's like he can smell her from here. Warm, spicy, indulgent. But wait, how? Did she get hurt? His pace quickened from a casual stroll to a sprint. Now rushing towards the direction of the water he hears small curses and gasps of breath. Not wanting to scare her, he hides behind a tree and peeks at the scene ahead.

She was in her undergarments, washing her day clothes in the lake. She had accidentally sliced her hand a little with a rock. Nothing too serious. She cast heal wounds on it within moments and looked around, making sure the blood didn't draw any predators. Once content, she went back to washing her clothes in the water then wading in herself. Still in her underclothes. She closed her eyes and floated there for a while. Looking truly at peace.

It's now or never. Astarion emerges from a tree, just the same as he did the first time.

"There you are" He says.

"Oh! Hi Astarion! Come to do some washing?" Tomie asks. A sweet seemingly innocent smile on her face. But a small glint in her eye indicated to him that she knew EXACTLY what she was doing.

"Something like that. I was drawn to the scent of your blood, I wanted to make sure you were alright" He tries to add as much velvet to his voice as possible. He's done this thousands of times before. Why would this be any different?

"Such a worrywart, don't tell me you've started to care have you?" Tomie says. Her voice soft as silk, putting his seduction attempt almost to shame. Tomie effortlessly swims to the lakeshore and emerges from the water, dripping, her undergarments clinging to every curve. Her hair wet and slicked back, effortlessly cascading down her shoulders. She was a vision. She gently shakes herself off a little then meets her eyes with his. Her bright red eyes and cat-like pupils shine in the moonlight. He had never noticed that her eyes glow like that before. She approaches him and he finds himself leaning his back against the very tree he was hiding behind. He felt almost dizzy.

"Now, why don't you tell me why you're really here?" Tomie purrs. Her hands behind her back, leaning forward slightly. Her tail slowly waving side to side.

"Well" Astarion scoffs. "Isn't it obvious??" He's supposed to be the seductive one. Making people swoon with just a few words. How is it that this woman flusters him so?

"Not to me. See, I prefer when someone is direct. I want to know exactly what you need from me" Tomie brushes her fingertips against his arm, sending tingles all the way through his body.

"Darling, I'm not one to beg but-"

"No no, I don't want you to beg. I just want you to tell me".

Tomie's torso is flush with his now. Her tail twitches with anticipation as she continues tracing her fingertips against his arm. Looking up at him sweetly. He takes a deep breath and sighs once he realises he hasn't been breathing since she came out of the lake.

He takes her hand and starts kissing each fingertip, Slightly cold from the water. He drops the sensual facade. Neither of them want this to be a performance. In between kisses he admits to himself and to her:

"I need to taste you again, to feel you, to indulge myself in you". He says. His voice earnest and wanting.

"I want the same" she says. There's a hint of relief in her tone as she wraps her arms around his neck. They both rest their foreheads against each other. With a deep sigh he places both his hands around her waist, running them up and down her curves.

"Then why didn't you say anything? I've been losing my mind these past weeks" Astarion says, his voice gentle and low, barely above a whisper.

"I...I never want you to do anything you don't want to do" She cups his face in her hands and rubs her thumbs along his cheekbones. He melts into the sensation. She moves her head back to look directly into his eyes. Her expression so sincere, so gentle.

"I noticed how distant your eyes looked last time, and I know your experiences with sex haven't been exactly...Pleasant. I wanted to wait until you were ready."

"You sweet, generous thing" He places a small pecks on her cheek and forehead while she giggles. In one swift motion, he ducks to the side and spins her around so now she's the one against the tree.

"Ha,déjà vu" Tomie giggles.

He's tired of waiting. He grabs the back of her head and presses his lips against hers. She wraps her arms back around his neck and gently runs her fingers through his hair. He presses his thigh between her legs, causing a soft, sweet moan to come out of her. He slowly removes his shirt in between deep kisses, and unbuttons her damp undershirt with swiftness and skill. He will never get used to that feeling of skin to skin. She is so warm, so soft. Several weeks of pent up desire flood through him as he explores every inch and curve of her body with his fingers. Low moans and growls come from deep within his chest. Finally, he releases her so she can catch her breath. Her lips are pink and puffy from the kisses, her cheeks and ears flush with blood and desire. She moves her hand from behind his neck to his face as he play bites at her fingers. Giving her one last deep kiss then trailing smaller kisses down to her neck, brushing some of her hair out of the way.

"May I, darling?" Astarion purrs.

"Of course, Astarion. Always."

"Gods, my name sounds so sweet coming from you".

Holding the back of her head steady, he licks and kisses the small puncture scars on her neck made from previous encounters. He gently bites down and starts drinking her life essence.

"Hmmph" He groans in pleasure with every swallow. He holds her closely against himself. Craving to touch as much of his skin to hers as he can. He feels the warmth of her blood spreading between both of their bodies. Her blood alone is enough to drive him to madness. He starts to feel the slight buzz he gets when full. He unlatches himself from her neck before he drinks too much, gently licking the beading blood from the wound and his lips.

*sigh* "You are delectable, you know that?"

"You've mentioned it once or twice" Tomie coos.

"You're alright?" Astarion says. "Not lightheaded or faint?" He holds her face in his hands and kisses her nose.

"I'm perfectly fine" Tomie smiles.

"Good. Now where were we?"

He resumes kissing her. The sweet copper taste from her blood still on his lips. They clumsily find a soft patch of grass and lie down, Astarion on top. He presses himself against her skin as if he can't get close enough. They start rolling against each other in a slow, melodic tempo. He doesn't want to rush. He stops kissing her and sits up for a moment. Taking her in. Her chest rising and falling with every breath. Lidded eyes full of love and desire. Her mouth slightly open and lips parted.

"I think I need to taste you again, my dear"

"Oh? I'm not sure I have enough blood for tha- ah!"

He kisses his way down to between her legs. Gently massaging her flesh, and kissing and biting her inner thighs. He slowly removes her underwear, damp with water and arousal, and moves his kisses closer to her aching sex. He looks up at her again from between her legs.

"May I, darling?" Astarion says with a smirk.

"Gods yes." Tomie says, breathless.

"Ah ah, yes what?" Astarion says coyly.

"Yes, Astarion".

A low moan comes from deep within him as he wraps his lips around her slit. His tongue slowly parting her lips to expose her clit. Her sweet juices covering his mouth within moments. He kisses and licks her clit slowly and gently, then with more force. Tomie starts to squirm and shake from the sensation. When he is sure she is about to go over the edge, he stops.

A dissapointed sigh comes from her.

"Don't worry darling, I'm not going to leave you hanging".

He removes his pants and exposes is throbbing length, sopping wet from arousal. He comes back up to meet her lips and presses deep kisses against her. He brings his elbows up to prop himself up while cradling her head. He hooks his leg under hers and brings it upwards. Then slowly slides the head of his cock between her slit tentatively. Rocking back and forth. A frusterated moan comes from her between kisses and with a laugh, he decides they've both had enough teasing. He finally slides himself in. A small whimper threatens to escape from his lips.

"Gods, never make me wait that long again, my dear" Astarion says breathless.

"Never again" Tomie moans.

They rock together in smooth motions, slowly at first then increasing in speed and desperation. Tomie pushes against him and they roll over so that Astarion is now lying on his back.

"You don't have to do all the work you know. Let me spoil you for once" Tomie purrs.

She slides herself back onto his length and begins to thrust her hips in rhythmic motion. Astarion places his hands on her hips to keep them steady. She looks stunning riding on top of him like this. Taking him in completely. She leans forward and they continue to rock and kiss against each other. Small whimpers come from Astarion as he grips her tighter. Thrusting more vigorously. She can't hold herself back anymore and rides into her orgasm. Legs shaking slightly and her pussy pulsing against his throbbing cock. He's not far behind, they both moan into each others mouths between kisses as they pass over the edge of bliss. Tomie collapses onto Astarions chest as they both giggle. Astarion wraps his arms around her and strokes her back. They both stay silent for a few moments. Cuddling into each other and slowing their breaths down.

"So, what do you think Gale made for dinner?" Tomie asks, looking up at him. Astarion lets out a hearty laugh.

"I don't know, but I'm sure it's nothing compared to the meal I just had."

Tomie giggles, then relaxes back onto his chest. He doesn't quite know what they are, or what he's feeling. But he does know that this? This is nice.

[lanitalay]

Cowboy like me

a/n: besties be warned this is my first time writing smut

azriel x reader one shot inspired by the Taylor Swift song

word count: 1.3k

warnings: smut!

Now you hang from my lips like the gardens of Babylon.

Azriel looked at her like he was looking in a mirror. He remembered how she laid on his bed, curled up on her side, snuggling with the thick covers. It had been lifetimes, centuries since they had seen each other. Last he heard she was in the Continent, living as a courtesan. She must have a fortune. With her devastating beauty, quick wits and disarming charm it was never difficult to discover interesting, compromising and incriminating information. That’s why she was one of his most trusted spies. 

He never thought he’d run into her in Adriata. She stood on the main balcony of the Summer Court palace, looking at the ocean. He admired how she could adapt to any environment. In Night Court black she was intimidating. In Summer blue she was dazzling. The wind made the flowy fabric of her dress hug her curves. Her hair was shorter now. Back when they knew each other it came down to her waist. Now, it did not touch her shoulders. He could recognize her anywhere, with any hair, any dress. He could recognize her in the dark, blindfolded.

He knew every inch of her skin. Every scar. Every freckle. 

His wings tighten as he makes his way over to her. She must be expecting him. There is no way she did not know he would be visiting on official business. “Summer suits you” his words reach her before he does. He takes the next few steps slowly as he comes to stand next to her.  “Must be the sun and salt air” he knows she won’t look at him yet. “Night also suits you” his hands are placed behind his back. “Maybe, in another life” she brings her hands to the railing of the balcony. Azriel can’t help but notice there is no ring or any marker that indicates she is in a relationship. It did not surprise him, they were similar in that way. Whatever intimate relationship they once shared had been strictly nocturnal and he was perfectly fine with that. It was only when she had given him her letter of resignation that he yearned for more time with her. The nights suddenly not enough. 

“Are you residing here permanently?” Her lips quirked up at that “permanent is not a word I would use to describe anything about me”. He could use that word to describe how she had a perpetual place in the back of his mind and, if he was being honest, his heart. 

“How long are you here for?” The question brings him out of his head “until tomorrow”. She hums. “You never told me why” he had been wondering ever since she had gone. “It was time for something new” now she turns her head to meet his gaze. “Was it something I did?” She looks away again “no”. “Then what was it?” She breathes, her chest rising from the action. “You know what it was”. He goes to ask again but before he can formulate the question she says “I have a meeting, see you around”. She walks away and into the palace, disappearing through a hallway. 

A knock wakes him up. He goes to open the door, already knowing who’s on the other side. “Sorry to wake you” she says and steps into the room. “It’s alright” she’s in a nightgown “why are you here?” He had never seen her look nervous “you know me better than anyone Az” she said gently and he had a feeling that was the voice she used to get men of power to fall to their knees “and…” she closes the space between them “I’ve missed you”. 

He forgoes the mask of indifference and grabs her face, meeting her lips in a searing kiss. Gods, he missed her. His whole body ached at the thought of her. A surprised sound escaped her as he bit her lower lip and slipped his tongue in her mouth. Her hands instinctively went to his hair, like they had done for years. She pulled him away from her and he could  have moaned at how her pupil had blown out and her lips had gone puffy “what?” His voice was desperate and she smiled “I just have a feeling that this is gonna be one of those things” and kissed him again. He wasted no time in lifting her hips up, her legs wrapping around his waist as he walked back to the bed. 

She fell back on the mattress and he swore he had never seen anything more beautiful. He crawled on top of her kissing and biting his way to her lips. He wanted to take his time with her, savor every inch of her skin, every moan and every movement. She had other plans and made it so she was now on top of him. His hardened cock smothered beneath her dripping heat. She removed her robe and nightgown in one motion. Her nipples peaked with arousal. Azriel growled and sat up to bring her right breast to his mouth, sucking and biting with his other hand he pinched and pulled at her left breast. Her head fell back, loving the sensations flooding her but needing more. She pulled him away and took her panties off and threw them at his face. Azriel caught it and breathed in the concentrated scent of her arousal. She got up from his lap and made to undress him. “Az I need you now” he flipped her so she was on her back and at his mercy. 

He pulled out his cock and gave it a few rough strokes. She was aching for him, her cunt fluttering around nothing. He took her in, legs bent and spread wide just for him. He ran a hand up her leg until it reached the apex of her thighs and without warning pushed in two thick fingers. He brought them to his mouth and tasted just how needy she was. “You wanna taste?” She nodded desperately and she moaned as he pumped his fingers a few times before bringing them to her mouth. She sucked and slurped up the liquid. When he took his fingers out she begged “Az, please” he loved seeing her plead for him. “You want my cock?” She nods “say it”. “I want your cock” he thinks he can see tears welling up in her eyes. 

Her pussy is throbbing, he brings his cock to her cunt and slides the tip from her sopping hole to her soaking clit, teasing. Her tears spill “Az, please fuck me”. With one slow, frustratingly slow stroke he sheathes himself inside her. She grabs his face and kisses him, she can taste herself on his tongue. His thrusts turn into pounding. The pace brutal. She moans when he bites her neck and thumbs at her clit. With trembling hands she runs her finger along the lines of his wings, like she knew would drive him crazy. He hisses and bites down harder. Her pussy is throbbing, her climax near. “Cum for me, baby. Be good for me” she has no control as a wave of pleasure crashes into her. She moans his name until it's just incoherent mumbles “where do you want me to finish?” She’s still spinning as she wraps her legs around his waist and pulls him deeper “fill me up” he thrusts into her until he reaches his high, his cum coating her walls. Her legs are still wrapped around him as he bends down to meet her lips. 

“Stay with me” he says, arm draped around her waist keeping her back flush against his chest. She thinks for a moment. “I can stay with you if you promise me forever”. They don’t speak the rest of the night. They drift to sleep in each other's warmth and he knows that by morning she’ll be gone.

[theewritingbea]

Dangerously In Love: Chapter One

A/N: This story has been kicking my ass. Still practicing my writing. The dialogue is ehh, but we move, definitely will improve once it’s all said and done. This is an introduction chapter so there’s a lot of alluding but everything will eventually come together. NOT a Kory v. Barbara type of fic. Their relationship is cordial and will be touched upon. Pls excuse all typos if I keep re-reading I’m going to second guess myself. Story loosely inspired by two amazing stories “Looking Through Your Eyes” & “With Me” by the amazing @trippinsorrows check them out!! Umm think that’s it. ENJOY💜💙

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Darkness illuminated the Gotham night sky. The cool breeze of the air barely registered to his clammy skin. His ragged breath puffed in clouds as he tried to catch it.

He’s dying. The years of living in the dangerous life of Gotham have finally caught up to him.

Tears burn in his eyes as the life drains out of him on the cold concrete. For years he’d live recklessly hoping the Gotham night life would finally put him out of his misery. But now he had a life worth living. It was just like Gotham to take him away when he was finally happy.

As the world started to blur, all Dick could think was “Why? Why now?”

4 months earlier…..

Hell is what Dick would describe his predicament. Sucked back into the life he spent two years trying to escape. Here he sat in Wayne Manor planning what has been deemed the “wedding of the century” with someone he doesn’t feel anything other than platonic about.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. When Dick imagined wedding planning, he imagined it with her. Kory Anders, the love of his life who he hadn’t seen, spoken to or heard from in almost two years. He didn’t even know where she was. It’s like she disappeared off the face of the earth after their split.

He remembers that brutal night vividly. The look on Kory’s face haunts his dreams. He tried to explain that he loved her, that they could still have the life they planned. But she didn’t want to hear it, feeling that he was choosing “the life” over her.

Over them.

And in a way he did. He chose to appease his overbearing father, instead of standing up for her. Instead of standing up for their relationship.

Something he’d never forgive himself for.

“Dick did you hear what I said?” Barbara Gordon Dick’s fiancée's voice questions snapping him back to reality.

“Hmm, sorry what were you saying?” Dick replied

Clearly annoyed with his inattention, Barbara politely dismisses the wedding planner before turning to him.

“Listen I know this isn’t ideal but this is the situation we’re in. I would appreciate it if you at least pretended to care.”

She’s right. The situation was not ideal for anyone. Arranged marriages never are.

But unlike himself, Barbara was better at handling the situation better. For one she didn’t have to leave her life behind.

Born into one of the biggest crime families in Gotham, Barbara wanted nothing more than to follow in her father’s footsteps. Since he’s known her all she talked about was taking over the family business and would do anything to accomplish that. Even if it meant being in a loveless marriage. Business was over everything in her eyes.

“I’m trying here Barbara but don’t you think this whole situation is a lot?” Dick inquires.

“I meaning planning a wed-“

“I’m not talking about the wedding Barbara!”

“Maybe it would be best if I just take over everything” Barbara dismisses. Dick scoffs astonished by her lack of response. This was not the Barbara he’d known.

“You’re ridiculous” Dick angrily gets up to leave the conversation.

“What do you want me to say Dick! You think I want to marry someone I haven’t seen in years just to get my birth right! But this was always the plan since the day we met! You used to want to have Gotham just like me! What changed?”

“Everything! There’s life outside of Gotham, have you ever thought about that!”

“This is about Kory,” Barbara marveled

“It’s no-“ he hesitates.

“You made that choice! I told you from the beginning how it was going to end!”

“Is everything alright?” A deep baritone voice interjects the intense conversation.

Dick knew that voice anywhere.

Bruce Wayne Dick’s adoptive father. The relationship was complicated by all means but in a weird way they still had love for each other as father and son. But in the last year of being home, Dick felt nothing but bitterness towards his father.

“Dick?” Bruce questions again.

“It's nothing Bruce,” Dick coldly responds exiting the room with Bruce right on his heels.

“You want to tell me what that was about.”

“No I don’t, so let’s keep pretending like we always do.”

“Look Dick ever since we lost Jason I feel that I need to be more involved with you,” Bruce sympathizes.

“Don’t use me to clear your conscience about Jason!” Dick shouts. What happened to Jason was a sore spot for the both of them and Bruce knows what heartstring to play.

“What I’m trying to say is talk to me. You’re still my son no matter how you feel about me. Your mad, your angry, I understand I was the same way at this point in my life too. But you have to let it go before it consumes you. That’s a dark and dangerous path that's hard to come back from. I can’t lose another son.”

Dick knows Bruce isn’t necessarily wrong. He needed to let go before it consumed it even more than it already has. Everyday he wakes up mad at the world. Ready for war with any and everyone. He understands carrying all this anger would eventually lead to his demise.

And even though he borderline hated his father right now, he never wanted to see Bruce suffer the way he did with Jason.

But on the second hand, letting go meant letting go of Kory. Letting go of the possibility that one day they would reunite and have their happily ever after. And Dick just wasn’t ready to let go of that possibility.

To let go of her.

He could only hope that wherever Kory was she hadn’t let go of him.

Manhattan, New York City

The early morning light shined through the sheer drapes as Kory stared out into her penthouse living room from the kitchen. She hadn’t been able to have a full night's rest for a while now, so the quiet mornings to herself she’s learned to cherish.

The past year and a half have been a world wind for Kory. It was like overnight the life she had for the past two years had been swept from under her feet.

Grief is what she felt at first. Grieving a man who wasn’t even dead. Grief quickly turned to anger.

Anger at him. Anger at the situation.

Kory knew Dick had his family issues. She understood them probably more than anyone else. The underground life of Gotham was nothing compared to where she grew up.

Being the next in line to take over the Anders family business, she knew what it was like to be raised by an overbearing mob boss father who wanted nothing more than for their children to fall in line. Kory never judged him for his family life, she dealt with it, helped him get over the hurdles. All she asked in return was honesty and that’s all he didn’t give her.

Even so no matter how angry she was with Dick, Kory couldn’t say she hated him.

Though she wants nothing to do with him.

Her trust is something she valued more than life itself. Dick knew of her past trust issues with family, friends, past lovers, and he still broke that trust.

Yet with that she still couldn’t say she hated the man who broke her heart into a million little pieces.

The faint sound of a soft whimper breaks through Kory's quiet morning. Putting the rest of the milk into the bottle Kory makes her way back to her bedroom to start her new morning routine.

Another reason she couldn’t say hated Dick.

How could Kory hate the man who helped create someone who would love her just as unconditional as she loved them?

No matter how hard she tried to forget Dick she simply couldn’t, because every time she looked into the eyes of her daughter she saw him.

[yellowmagicalgirl]

hot day in summer (hot iron touching skin)

Douxie takes his shirt off in front of his boyfriend and accidentally reveals a scar.

CW: references to historical branding and anti-Romani sentiments

AO3

FFN

Krel didn't understand why Douxie refused to use magic or technology instead of physical labor. Why work harder when they could work smarter? They didn't have to drag this table up the stairs to Douxie's apartment. They could have used Krel's wormhole generator. Alternatively, Douxie had already known about this table for a few days. It wouldn't have taken that much more time for Claire to use a shadow portal to transport the table to the apartment before she, Nari, and Archie set out on their quest to leave a few red herrings across South America and Europe.

The air conditioning wasn't working in the halls of Douxie's apartment building, either, which meant that Krel was sweating. He was spending way too much time in his human transduction to be producing this many fluids. Maybe if he drank less water, he wouldn't sweat this much.

Or maybe he'd get another stern talking to from Coach Lawrence and Principal Uhl for fainting from dehydration and lack of sleep. Again. Stupid human bodies.

"Please tell me the air conditioning works in your apartment," Krel said as he readjusted his grip so the table wouldn't slip out of his sweaty hands.

"It's out for the whole building," Douxie replied. "I'll turn the fan on when we get inside."

"Why don't you run the fan all the time in this heat?"

"And spend that much on electricity?"

Krel fought the urge to let go of the table and smack his forehead. Right now would be a great time to have four arms so he could facepalm without dropping the table. He was stronger in his Akiridion form, anyways, but no one wanted any random New Yorkers to learn the truth about space. "Zoe is your best friend. I'm a tech genius. We could easily build you a near-perpetual generator!"

"Near-perpetual?"

"I still can't fully reverse the second law of thermodynamics. Entropy will one day come for all of us."

Well, maybe not for Bellroc, not unless Skrael turned on them.

Maybe Douxie sensed the change in Krel's mood. Maybe he had merely come to his senses after all this unneeded hard labor. Douxie used his magic to unlock the door. The two of them set it down just inside the entryway of Douxie's apartment. As Krel closed and locked the door, Douxie took off his shirt.

Maybe all this hard labor hadn't been a bad thing. Maybe Krel could be grateful to the heat. Maybe -

Krel's blood ran cold. "Who did this to you?"

There was a brand on Douxie's chest in the shape of an angry, red V. Based on how much the burn had healed, it couldn't have been more than a few weeks ago. How hadn't Krel noticed it before? Why hadn't Douxie said anything?

Why hadn't Archie and Nari said anything?

Who did Krel need to hurt?

"Did wha-" Douxie followed Krel's gaze down to the brand. "Oh. That. Don't worry, it's not as bad as it looks."

"Someone branded you."

"Yes. It was about five-hundred years ago, though. One of the King Edwards passed a law against vagabonds. I'm still not sure why I was targeted and not the other poor people of the town - maybe I look too much like my mum? She was Romani, and considering the wording of the law..."

"It doesn't even look five weeks old, much less five centuries."

"That I get from my da. He was part fairy. The brand was made of iron, so it didn't heal correctly. I normally use magic or makeup to make the brand disappear when I take my shirt off; I forgot to today. Sorry for worrying you. Now, let's get this table in the dining area."

You have nothing to be sorry for. I'm sorry for bringing it up, Krel wanted to say, but he could tell that Douxie wanted to drop the subject. "Can we please use magic to finish the job?"

~

Author's Note: Edward VI established the Statute of Vagabonds in 1547. If you were a vagabond or Romani, you were supposed to have been branded with a large V on the chest under this law. Vagabonds also could've been enslaved for two years, although historians were unsure whether this law was actually enforced due to the impracticality of implementing it, and the law was repealed three years later.

[paperbag34]

Hazbin Hotel roleswap au concept? maybe?

Got bored, started thinking about "What if Alastor found Vaggie instead of Charlie", snowballed a little from there.

_______________________

Edit: an expansion: How Deals Work

_______________________

What's swapped in this AU:

For now, only Alastor and Charlie.

Alastor remains largely unchanged. He's still the Radio Demon, the terrifying overlord with a meteoric rise to prominence after killing multiple century-old overlords and broadcasting their screams, then disappeared after a fight with the TV Demon, Vox.

But, now after seven years of. well. Radio silence (lol). His radio has begun broadcasting once more. And unexpectedly, what the voice on the radio speaks of is not the brutal murder of Overlords, but instead, a pet project of his. The Hazbin Hotel, an establishment accepting all, and under his protection, with its insane goal of redeeming sinners.

No one really knows what made the Radio Demon take on such an impossible, foolish task, thuogh speculation is abound. Vox, in particular, likes to ridicule Alastor on his shows to the point where it's a bit of a running gag for his viewers. No one knows anything, except that these days, the Radio Demon is often seen around a winged cat, and an odd, gray-skinned girl.

Charlie, on the other hand, is the Princess Of Hell. To the common sinner, not much is known about her. She's more of an abstract presence since her role has her with responsibilities that don't et her get out as much. What is known is that sometimes appears after an Extermination, you can catch a glimpse of the third-most powerful demon in Hell looking around the devastated circles, cataloging the destruction.

While it's unknown how much of Hell's ruling she actually does, most of the things she attaches her name to have to do with the Extermination, or more accurately, the aftermath. Ways for sinners to get back on their feet after the exterminators pop in and trash shit, for example. Most of the Overlords don't really like having to do this, but even the greatest detractor puts the programs in place with some level of competence, after how the last Overlord to disobey her rules was... Punished.

______________________________________________________________

So, why the change of heart? Why would Alastor suddenly decide to try to redeem sinners? In a word: Vaggie.

During that particular Extermination Day, Vaggie crawls in an alley, injured and in pain. Lute left her alive, but her eye will never grow back, and she left her torn-off wings to rot in a trashcan a few steps away. Leaning against a dumpster, she decides she needs to rest.

Normally, she'd be afraid of sinners finding her, but she knows from the few of her former colleagues that she's talked to that were trapped in Hell after the Extermination ended and had to be extracted, that Sinners actually have a bit of a grace period after an Extermination, where violence is at an all time low. (She doesn't know this, but this is actually a decree by the Princess of Hell).

As she begins to drift off, however, a shadow falls over her. In canon, this would be Charlie, deciding to help what she thinks is a demon lucky enough to escape the Extermination with only a missing eye for it.

Here, though, the responsibilities of the Princess keep Charlie in her office, working and unable to go see what's been happening with the devastation. Here, her eyes snap open as she senses the aura of an Overlord, and right before everything goes dark, she realizes with horror, that whoever this demon is, he knows she's an Exorcist.

_________

When she awakes, she's tied to a table, restrained by dark tentacles that radiate demonic power in a room lit by a single bulb. The demon from before walks in, introducing himself as Alastor, and he asks for her name.

Naturally, she ignores him, instead demanding to know what he wants. She considers threatening him that she could call Exorcists down to extract her, but she knows that she's considered a traitor, and it'd never work. For some reason, the demon acquesious, and he explains that he's curious what exactly managed to harm an Exorcist so badly.

As an Overlord, he's seen and even fought off Exorcists before, and he's seen what happens when a demon harms one. They get back up. Tear an limb off and they regenerate, punch a hole through their chest and they'll be down for a while, but it'll close and they'll keep going. Suffocate one and given time, they'll start to breathe again. Even the more thorough methods of disposal simply result in the Exorcist turning into golden light and reconstituting themself or flying back to Heaven.

So, four years into his "sabbatical", when he followed the scent of an unfamiliar type of blood to the sight of an Exorcist missing their wings and an eye, he was naturally very interested. Knowing what, exactly managed to permanently harm an Exorcist is invaluable knowledge for an Overlord, after all, even though he's on a sort of sabbatical.

He threatens torture if she doesn't tell him how to kill an angel, even proposing a Deal where he won't use the knowledge against her (as long as she doesn't attack him) if she tells him. It's his turn to be surprised, however, when she just laughs, rejecting his deal only to just tell him the answer: the only thing that can harm an angel permanently is angelic power. He couldn't kill her even if she wanted him to, and with the guilt she's feeling and the pain she's in, she actually kind of wants to die.

Alastor, after some prodding, gets her to spill her story, and sensing opportunity, offers another Deal; for her to work under him in exchange for his protection, or if not, she can just leave, and he'll let her go. Demons gain power from having Deals, after all, and having one with an Angel is far too tempting.

Vaggie, believing that this is the best option she has, and that she'd probably not have to do that much more than what she'd have to even if she struck out on her own, accepts the Deal.

_________

Two years later, the two have formed a sort of "friendship?"with each other. It helps that despite Alastor being Alastor, with all the cruelty that implies, since Alastor's basically decided to disappear from politics, he has no real need for any sort of "enforcer" role for Vaggie, and she's more of an assistant than anything. She's also friends with Husk, having bonded over the collective experience of Alastor having them in a Deal, though it is strained at times since Vaggie's Deal is so much more lenient while Alastor owns Husk's soul.

It also helps that Alastor did defend her during Extermination days whenever some Exorcists tried to attack them. He doesn't want to lose his Deal with an Angel, after all!

Eventually, the topic of what goes on in Heaven when they're not down in Hell exterminating demons comes up between Vaggie and Alastor. It's all well and good until Vaggie mentions a woman she knows, and how she talks about her beloved son, and Alastor freezes. That woman? It's his mother. After some talking, Alastor tells her that his only real regret to what he's done (being a serial killer) is that his mother would be heartbroken that he'd turned out like that.

The conversation eventually turns to if Alastor could do someting she'd be proud of now, and, well. He's in Hell, there's not much he can think of right now that'd have the large impact he would want it to have. And honestly, while it does eat at him, he's had decades to make his peace with the fact that his mother would be severely disappointed in him now.

But the idea of doing something that'd make his mother proud stays with him. And eventually, after a conversation with Vaggie he comes up with the idea of redeeming sinners.

And so, one year later, Alastor's radio comes back up, and sinners start hearing of the Hazbin Hotel.

[galpalaven]

in shadow

Pairing: Astarion x Fem!Tav (Miz'ri Jhalavar) Word Count: 2500~ Summary: The shadow-cursed lands are filled with nothing but undead. Miz'ri makes sure that Astarion isn't going hungry. Also on AO3!

The shadow-cursed lands are filled with nothing but undead. 

At first, he holds out hope that they will encounter more cultists, or maybe a mostly-alive squirrel here and there. Surely not everything is dead out here, right? There are animals and people alive and well within the moon shield at the Last Light Inn, of course, but drinking from any of them would surely be met with outrage and hostility.

Not everyone is as understanding as his drow, after all.

He doesn’t need to eat, of course. He’s survived far longer than a few days without blood, but he hadn’t realized how used to being full and sated he’d gotten. As a few days becomes a week, he starts trying to readjust to the feeling of emptiness and hunger that had been his constant companion for the last two centuries. The discomfort greets him like an old friend, as his strength starts to wane and his head begins to feel far lighter than it had in weeks. The sharpness of his senses dulls as the hunger settles into his aching muscles, sinking into the marrow of his bones, taking its rightful place in the forefront of his mind.

It feels almost like it had never left, by the time they start heading for the towers.

The trip theoretically should only have taken them a few hours of walking, but the shadows are hungry and they only get hungrier the deeper into the curse they venture, making it slow going as they keep needing to fight off ravenous wraiths and shambling undead. They haven’t made nearly the amount of progress they were hoping by the time they have to make camp, lining the perimeters with lanterns to help ward off the shadows in the hopes that they can get some rest before they venture forth once more.

Aside from the looming threat of death, the red leaves make quite a pretty sight against the light of the fires burning around camp. They almost look like flames themselves, he thinks, watching the firelight dance. He avoids the main campfire tonight, unable to stand the tantalizing smell of cooked meat floating into the air as Gale cooks dinner. 

He’s almost succeeded in mentally detaching himself from his body entirely when a familiar face steps into his line of sight.

Miz’ri smiles when their eyes meet, and he feels his own lips twitch with the urge to mirror that expression.

The darkness of the curse looks right against her dusky grey skin, he thinks idly, watching her run a hand through her silky, starlight hair, hanging loose around her shoulders for once. The pink of her eyes seems extra soft in the firelight, sending a strange, swooping warmth through his stomach as she clears her throat and starts to speak.

“Would you like to come to my tent in a bit?”

Ah.

The combination of emotions that wash over him — like ice water dumped over his scalp and running in chilly rivulets down his spine — confuses him. There’s a part of him that grimaces, thinking of the inevitable disgust and self-loathing that will crop up some time in the middle of the night, but that isn’t the part that confuses him. The part that’s strange is the excitement and warmth that blossoms in his stomach — the tingling anticipation of her lips on his making him nod before he can actually think about his answer.

Her face lights up, and then she disappears again, darting off towards the campfire with a quick, Great, see you in a bit!

Perhaps this would be a good distraction from the yawning void that is his stomach, he reasons as he forces himself to his feet. Perhaps he can lose himself in the taste of her lips and the gentle caress of her hands, in the feeling of those web-like scars on her back.

Maybe this time he’ll be able to forget himself for a few hours.

Despite the doubt that drapes itself over his shoulders like a cloak, he still makes his way over to her tent where it sits near the edge of camp. It’s more of a real tent now than it had been in those early nights, offering more privacy against their merry band of misfits and protection from the elements. Brushing aside the flap that serves as the door reveals a nice little set up of bedroll and fur blankets that she must have shoved into that bag of holding they found not long after they all decided to travel together. The firelight filters through the tent softly, and the coziness of the set up makes it quite easy to pull his shirt over his head, spreading himself out on the soft furs with a quiet sigh.

As he waits, he tries to busy himself with thoughts of the last encounter they had. Of the feeling of her lips on his neck, her fingers in his hair. Of the way she looked at him while she touched him, murmuring questions about his comfort into his skin. She always lets him lead, but even that first night when they’d both been tipsy on wine, she’d paused whenever she felt him hesitating, checking in with him in a way no one ever had.

He must be losing his touch, he thinks, for her to see through his facade so easily. Not that he didn’t enjoy himself at times — even with the lingering feelings of disgust and unease, there were plenty of moments when he managed to let go of those feelings and lose himself in her warmth, in the sweetness of her lips and the heat of her breath on his skin.

He can do this. The memories of pain are a small price to pay for safety. For someone who will protect him no matter what happens. For—

“Sorry for the wait, I was — oh!”

Miz’ri blinks at him, the flap of the tent half held open with one hand while the other clutches a red apple and a bottle of water. 

He affixes his most seductive smirk onto his face, stretching his arms over his head and arching his back enticingly. He can see the flush on her cheeks as she stumbles the rest of the way into the tent, falling to her knees by his hip and letting the tent fall closed behind her. 

Astarion trails his fingers down the center of his chest, watching her swallow thickly as he smirks and says, “Hello, darling. I thought I’d make myself a little more comfortable while I waited. You don’t mind, do you?”

She shakes her head, clearing her throat as she fixes her eyes determinedly on his face. “I — no, of course not, I just — I invited you over because I thought you might be hungry. It’s got to have been a week since the last time you drank, right?”

…wait.

What?

Astarion frowns, pushing himself into a sitting position as if being upright will help him hear her better. That… surely she didn’t invite him over so he could eat, right? That’s not… that doesn’t make sense. 

“I just needed to grab myself a snack and something to drink for afterwards,” she continues, gesturing to the things in her hands. Her eyes look into his imploringly, full of genuine, honest concern. “You must be starving. I’m sorry that I didn’t realize it sooner.”

He is — without words, for once. 

All he can do for a moment is gape at her, jaw hanging slack as she shuffles things around laying out a towel over her pillow and setting her snacks aside. He watches her tie her hair up into a bun high on her head, and then unbutton her top, slipping it off so she’s left only in her underthings. It’s not sexual, though, as she tosses the shirt aside and settles onto her back on the bedroll.

He still doesn’t know what to say, even as she gestures vaguely at her neck.

“Go on,” she says, smiling a little, “I’ll let you know when I start to feel woozy.”

Astarion tries to shake off the shock, reaching out to gently trace one of the jagged scars on her neck. “Are you sure?” he asks, eyes running over her pretty face, looking for any hesitation or uncertainty.

He finds nothing of the sort.

All his drow does is smile, nodding as she catches his hand in hers and presses a kiss to his fingers. In the low light, his eyes catch on the gentle thrum of her pulse in her neck, and the starving beast in the back of his mind starts to salivate at the sight. His fangs elongate uncomfortably in his mouth, and it takes all of his self control not to lunge at her. 

Instead, he shakes his head slightly and says, “You don’t have to do this. I don’t — I don’t need to —”

“No,” she says, shaking her head. “Don’t do that. You deserve to eat like everyone else.”

You deserve to eat.

His throat tightens something fierce at that, so much so that he doesn’t trust himself to say anything without his voice breaking. Instead of embarrassing himself further, he just lets his touch speak for him, brushing the backs of his knuckles across her cheek. She smiles and leans into the touch, and he’s sure the force behind the wave of affection that washes over him at the sight would have knocked him clean off his feet had he been standing. 

Touched and feeling more seen, more respected, than he ever has in his long, miserable life, Astarion does the only thing he can think to do.

He kisses her. 

And gods, the feeling of her kissing him back nearly steals the air from his lungs.

He lingers there for a long moment, trading short, soft kisses that slowly deepen, before he turns his attention elsewhere, kissing his way up her jawline and down her throat. He presses in close, laving open-mouthed kisses to the scars on her throat, a preemptive apology for the act that follows. With one more kiss, Astarion mumbles, “Thank you,” into her skin before he opens his mouth and sinks his teeth into her neck.

Her blood hits his parched tongue like the sweetest, freshest water. He hasn’t tasted her since that first night he nearly got himself staked trying to bite her in her sleep, and she is every bit as delicious as he remembers. Her blood is smooth and saccharine, reminiscent of the sweetest icewines from the Moonshae Isles, perfect for desserts and quenching even the deepest thirsts. He feels himself groan softly more than he hears it as the taste of her hits him, and he presses in closer, taking a deep drag as she arches under him, leaning into him with a mirroring sigh.

Just when he thought he couldn’t feel any more off-kilter, Miz’ri slips her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck — not to tug or pull him away, but to caress. Her fingers play with the curls at his nape as he drinks, soft and sweet and full of so much affection that he finds himself melting into her. His body feels warmer than it has in a week as her blood pumps through his veins, and with her fingers running through his hair and her other hand running up his arm to wrap around his shoulders to pull him closer, he feels something dangerous.

Astarion wants to kiss her.

The urge nearly overwhelms him as she pulls him close, and it’s all he can do to hastily lick the wound on her neck closed and kiss his way back to her mouth, uncaring of the mess he’s leaving in the process. 

He has never felt anything as sweet as the feeling of being kissed by his drow, of being kissed by his Miz’ri. She grins into his lips as he kisses her, opening her mouth to welcome him when his tongue sweeps across the curve of her lower lip. The taste of her blood lingers on his tongue, he’s sure, but all she does is pull him closer. His head spins, something heady in the pure acceptance and affection he feels radiating from her with every press of her lips, every gentle touch of her fingers. 

For one long, beautiful moment, Astarion loses himself in the sensation of being seen and accepted, of being known and being loved. His fingers dig into the bedroll beneath her as he presses in as close as he possibly can, kissing her deep and hard, desperate to will her to feel how grateful he is and how — how happy she makes him.

His hand has started to wander down her side towards her trousers when she finally breaks the kiss, gasping and tilting her head away with a giddy laugh. She pushes some of his curls away from his eyes as he looks down at her, grinning with amusement and arching an eyebrow in question. 

“Let’s just kiss tonight,” she says, smoothing her thumb across the high arch of his cheekbone. “You don’t owe me anything for dinner.”

He should have known, looking back, that she had long-since noticed his aversion to sex, and that was why they’d only been intimate twice. In that moment, though, the thought doesn’t cross his mind — all he can do is grin and nod, brushing the tip of his nose against hers.

“As you wish, my sweet. Let me know if you change your mind.”

She snorts, giggling as he leans down and nuzzles his lips under her jaw, letting his breath tickle the sensitive skin below her ear. 

They spend the rest of the night trading kisses and talking quietly. At some point, they take to holding hands, fiddling with each others fingers as they tell stories in the dark. She tells him stories about her adventures before all of this, and he — well, they talk about their experiences since the nautiloid, mostly, when it’s his turn to tell something. At some point, he ends up with his face buried in her neck, arm thrown over her middle. They drift off to sleep as she traces little figures against the bare skin of his arm, both of them completely and utterly content.

And when he wakes the next morning, groggy but warm and deliciously sated, it’s hard for him to feel anything other than a nearly giddy sense of happiness, watching her doze in his arms.

Later, he’ll worry about how quickly and deeply he’s fallen for her. He’ll try to backpedal in his own mind — fighting viciously against the idea of giving someone else the ability to hurt him like that. He’ll lose that fight the next time she asks if he wants dinner, the next time he ends up in her arms with her fingers in his hair and his mouth on her throat.

Until then, he’ll lay here with his drow, thinking about how beautiful she is when she sleeps and losing himself in the unfamiliar warmth running through him.

[toh-tagteam-au]

Tag Team AU Synopsis – Pre-Canon Events

Synopsis Masterpost Link

Next [Covention]

Alright! Let's get started. This is the beginning of a Very Boring Blow-By-Blow Explanation of the whole Tag Team AU.

Luz falls into the water of the Old Gravesfield cemetery at age 7. Her dad had just died a few days prior – noteworthy because she has not read the first Azura book yet. The water is infused with Titan’s blood, and she is shunted to the demon realm. 

Luz finds herself in the woods near the Emperor’s castle during a storm, and she quickly finds out this place is out to get her. She learns to run first and ask questions later, at least until a 9 year-old Hunter discovers her on a mission. The basilisks broke out during the storm, so the coven has all hands on deck hunting them down. 

Luz and Hunter quickly become friends, once Luz realizes he’s not going to eat her skin. Hunter sneaks her food during the next few days until actual coven scouts find her hiding out. They bring her back to the castle, thinking she’s a basilisk in disguise, and she is brought before Emperor Belos. Hunter sees her brought in, and quickly comes to her defense saying that she’s harmless. 

Belos, confronted with a human for the first time in centuries, immediately locks onto how quickly Hunter comes to her aid. Seeing an opportunity to maybe have a successful grimwalker clone of Caleb this time around, he takes Luz in and gives Hunter full responsibility for her, just as Caleb did for Philip. He lies and says he will look for a way to get Luz back home, but until then she has to keep the fact that she is human a secret – who knows what witches will do to her if they find out what she is.

Hunter does not take this well, and his and Luz’s relationship sours quickly as they’re forced to stay together.

It isn’t until Belos tells Luz around the one-year mark that it may be impossible for Luz to get back home, that Hunter and Luz start actually getting along – Hunter realizes how terrible he has been to her, and Luz starts putting down roots. It’s also around this time that Eberwolf meets Luz and gifts her Backup, the gildersnake. (He probably would have been named stringbean if I had written this part post season 3.)

Meanwhile, Vee successfully escapes the Emperor’s Coven on the day Luz arrives and eventually makes her way to Eda the Owl Lady, who takes her in. Eda worries about Vee being in danger in the Boiling Isles, especially with Eda’s not-very-low profile, and she doesn’t get a solution until one of her ventures into the human realm, where she is suddenly held at bat-point by Camila. 

Camila is heartbroken, having lost her husband and her daughter in the span of a week, and she still believes that Luz is still out there. Especially when she sees a strange woman appear in town doing strange things, and disappearing into a houseless door. After tracking her down to the old abandoned shack, she jumps Eda and demands/pleads for help finding her daughter in the witch’s world. Eda agrees to look for Luz, and asks for help with her Vee situation in return. They make a deal: Camila takes Vee in, and Eda comes by every week or so with updates on if she has found Luz + Vee’s magic food.

Back to the siblings: Luz has been raised as a scout alongside Hunter. She rediscovers Azura at age 10 (Hunter age 12), and organizes a small book club with other coven scouts. Through many shenanigans, it turns into a blown out shipping war that splits the coven apart for 3 months. It only ends when Belos publicly chastises Luz, restricts her creative work, and bans Azura from the castle.

(Link to the Azura Incident fanfic can be found here.)

Hunter, realizing the power and creativity that Luz has from this incident, confronts her. He’s been trying to think of a way to use wild magic to heal Belos, and he wants her help. She accepts immediately, because if there’s a way to save a father figure in her life she’s going to try her hardest. She eventually learns her first glyph with Hunter: Light. 

Over the course of the next few years, Luz and Hunter find the rest of the elemental glyphs, they are officially made into the Golden Guards, and they start experimenting with glyph combos. There’s the Iced-Over Conformatorium Incident, where they create the Super Glyph (the one Eda made in Escaping Expulsion) and have to deconstruct it under pressure while it takes over the Conformatorium, and the Smoke-Bomb Incident, where they try to combine different magic items with the smoke combo glyph to see if Belos could inhale their magic essence that way. They don’t get caught either time, but Lilith strongly suspects it’s them.

Hunter also gets his magic staff when he becomes a Golden Guard, although Luz is told she isn’t old enough to wield one yet. This holds up until she turns 14 – the same age Hunter was when he got his staff – and she is still told that she can’t have one. 

This is where the comic starts. You guys know this to a degree already. Luz and Hunter make a deal with Eda to learn wild magic. Hunter takes Luz’s place in canon, etc etc. Everything up until the end of Teenage Abomination was written in comic form which is WAY COOLER THAN THIS. IF YOU DONT KNOW WHATS GOING ON READ THE COMIC RIGHT NOW. HERE'S THE FIRST PART.

Next [Covention]

Synopsis Masterpost Link

[pricescigar]

Love Bites Pt3

Summary: With Elvira still hoping that she would escape from the wrath of Dracula, he has other plans for her ...

Admin note: After 4 months! I'm bringing this bad boy back to life, maybe because of spooky season, and maybe because I bought a limited edition of Bram Stoker's Dracula..

(News flash I apologise if this particular part is dry, there will be more to come. Calm before the storm.)

It was something about seeing her again that made Price's undead heart stirr again, centuries he had gone without seeing her beautiful face. And here she was again… She came back to him, it almost felt unreal to him while Elvira was currently lying unconscious in his arms. He ran his hand down her cheek, his sharp nails gently grazing against her soft pale skin. Now picking her up in his arms, he took her upstairs into the master bedroom so she could sleep properly. As a Vampire he never really felt any need to sleep, he couldn't remember the last time he slept. Unless he was gravely injured then that's a different story.

He knew she came back to him for a reason, her fate was already sealed the moment Elvira walked through those doors. Now all John had to do was to make sure that she would never leave him again, no illness, no injury. No one… Would ever take her away from him again, not even those hunters would take her away from him again. The only way to keep her safe was in this castle, locked away and in his arms. If her Hunter friends dare to come and get her, then they'll meet the wrath of Dracula himself.

The door opened to the master bedroom, Price strided in carrying Elvira in his arms who was still unconscious. He laid her down on the King sized bed. The linen fabric was soft, and the mattress was comfortable sinking Elvira into it. First thing Price did was to remove her hunters outfit, she wouldn't be needing that anymore. Besides, he's got much prettier outfits for her.

Swiftly he removed her outfit. Dumping it aside for it to be disposed of, in the wardrobe he brought out a black lace nightgown. Putting it over her body with ease, gently guiding her arms in through the holes so it would fit comfortably on her body.

“Perfect…” Price muttered under his breath, he leaned down to her forehead. His beard tickled her skin slightly before placing a tender kiss on her head. His Lips lingered there for a moment before pulling away, after that he disappeared into the shadows.

He wasn't stupid. Part of him knew that her Hunter friends would try to come to her rescue, but little did they know Dracula had a few tricks up his sleeve when it came to dealing with hunters. He had to play the waiting game, and he was okay with that. After all, he had been waiting for her for so long.

The next morning Elvira opened her eyes, rubbing her eyes slightly. Vividly remembering what had happened yesterday, the battle she had with Dracula didn't go well as she expected. Looking around she noticed that the rook was entirely dark, keeping all forms of sunlight out. For good reason of course.

“I need to get out of here.” Elvira quickly removed the bedsheets off of her body, just about seeing the outline of the door. She walked over to it, before she could even grab the door handle. A hand from the shadows grabbed her.

“You know that won't do you any good dove.” Price looked down at Elvira, he continued to hold onto her arm before gripping it slightly.

“You're not leaving.” He revealed himself from the shadows, standing in front of the doorway not letting her escape.

“Let me go, I am not your dove.” Elvira spoke sternly.

“No, I'm not letting you go.” Price shook his head. “You're mine now.’

“I'm not your property-” Elvira then got interrupted when Price grabbed her chin, making her look up at him.

“Not another word from you.” He almost spat at his words.

“You may hate me now, but when I'm finished with you… You'll remember.”

“God, they were right when they said you were insane…” Elvira mumbled.

“Now, sit. I'll go and get you some food.” Price ushered her to sit on the edge of the bed.

“I'll be back.” It was all he said before he left the room, the soft click indicated he had locked the door.

“Of course he'd lock the door…” Elvira mumbled to herself. Standing up, she looked around the room, heading over to the curtains that were draped over the windows. She opened them slightly.

The sun was shining brightly, Elvira tried to open the windows but of course they were locked too. This Vampire was one step ahead of her, clearly she had underestimated the Vampire King.

“Fuck,” She'd say as she backed away from the window, the long curtains hiding the sunlight again. She almost felt herself beginning to panic, but that'll do no good now will it?

She would have to make her escape tonight, she would die trying, she would try to escape from him. Get all the other hunters together and-

Her thoughts were interrupted when Price had returned.

“I do not have Human food anymore, so I hope fruit would suffice.” Price had a small bowl full of all kinds of fruits, along with a goblet full of liquid for her to drink too. He placed it down on the table.

“I won't eat that,” Elvira said, approaching the small coffee table and two chairs that were in the bedroom. “What if you poisoned it?”

“I don't do poison.” Price’s voice was gruff. “If I wanted you dead, I would've killed you the moment you walked through my doors.” His gaze was somewhat different. “But I didn't.”

Price placed down the bowl and the goblet, looking back at Elvira once more, his gaze lingering on a little longer than usual.

“Maybe later.” Elvira didn't give him a definite answer.

“Suit yourself dove.” Price stepped towards the door. “You'll remain here.”

“Wait but what if I-” Elvira watched him leave once more, the door locking again. She kicked the door in frustration. “You can't keep me in here!” She yelled.

Price walked down the hallway not saying anything, he wanted to deprive her. Keep her locked up until she can think of anyone else, but him. His little Princess was back. He held himself back quite well, his primal instincts almost got the best of him. The urge to bite her then and there was strong, but not yet.

He wanted to break her first, to show her that he could only take care of her and no one else.

Price looked to one of his servants who were cleaning the hallway.

“Make sure she doesn't leave that room, I want her to remain in there at all costs.”

“Yes sir.” The two servants replied in unison bowing down watching Price walk by as they resumed back to work after he had left.

Price retired somewhere to “rest.” Leaving Elvira in the large bedroom by herself, with nothing to entertain herself with.

She eventually gave in and ate the bowl of fruit he gave her along with the drink that was there, the fruit tasted good. The drink? Well it had a strange taste to it, she didn't know what it was. But it satisfied her enough.

Evening soon was on the horizon. Elvira knew it was her chance to try and escape, she got a small pin out of her hair and went over to the door picking the lock. Twisting and turning it, she heard the indication that the door was unlocked. Opening the door she stepped out of her room.

Elvira felt relieved that no one seemed to be around, but she still didn't lower her guard. She had none of her weapons, or her crosses, no holy water. She was taking a risk.

“I'm sorry but you cannot leave.” A voice said to her out loud.

Elvira turned over to see a servant. That being Soap. Of course Price would have men roaming around watching her. “I'm leaving.” Elvira said a little more blunt this time.

“Can't have ya leaving lass’ yer Majesty will get mad.” Soap grabbed her before she walked away from him, taking her back into the room.

“Let me go otherwise-” Elvira was beginning to become agitated as she got pulled back into the bedroom.

“There's no point in fightin’” Soap commented, looking down at her. “He's been waiting for ya for ages.”

Elvira held back from saying something she would eventually regret, and so she pulled her arm away when they were back in the bedroom

“I appreciate you keeping an eye on her Soap.” Price stepped forward seeing the two standing there.

“Soap?” Elvira scoffed. “What kind of name is Soap?’

Soap didn't say anything but he left the room in a blink of an eye, leaving Price and Elvira alone in the room.

“I have my trustworthy men.” Price stepped forward into the room. “You'll see the others soon.” He smiled sheepishly. “Did you enjoy your breakfast?”

“Well yes, that's all I've been given.” Elvira spat in anger.

“Now, now dove.” Price tried to calm her down, he was getting closer to her now.

“I've got a special occasion for us tonight.”

“Oh and what's that?” Elvira crossed her arms.

“Now if I say it, it'll spoil the surprise now won't it?” Price grinned.

Elvira stayed silent watching Price saunter over to the wardrobe, taking out an outfit for the evening.

“You'll wear this.” Price commented. “I know it'll compliment your features.” He left the dress on the bed, getting footwear out too to match with it.

“You know nothing about me.” Elvira looked at him with anger in her eyes.

“I know plenty.” Price suddenly turned to look at her. “I know that your father got you up at the crack of dawn, head down on books, fighting outside at midday.” He said as he stepped towards her.

“How your grandfather always made sure you had time to draw, to read…”

Elvira stayed silent. “That is only basically about me-” She then got interrupted by Price.

“Your father killed your mother, but we don't speak about that do we?” Price taunted her.

“I know plenty about you, I know everything. Things that you do not know about yourself either.” His eyes glowed ever so slightly.

“I will show you such wonders, when you're ready.”

Elvira glared up at Price. “I'll wipe that smirk off your face.” She mumbled in anger.

“I'd love to see you try, see you tonight my love.” Price stepped out of the bedroom, closing the door behind him. Allowing one of the female servants to enter to help Elvira get dressed.

“We have a situation.” Ghost walked towards Price, Gaz was with him too as they stood opposite of him.

“We overheard that a large group of Vampire hunters will be here tonight.” Gaz commented. "We scent about fourty of them."

“Then tonight, we feast.” Price responded to Ghost. “And she will watch.” He added.

[sweet-child-of-night]

Not sure if you are a fan of scifi but i have a prompt that relates to that : You're an immortal. She is a time traveller. Every now and then, you two pop into each other lives.

I watched mostly, since i would always forget the beginning and there would be no end, there was little else to do, living felt like playing a pawn in chess, just one step at a time however for a pawn like me death was uncertain. I had no effect and all my actions led to no consequences, anything i built faded away, anyone i met gone, it all seemed inconsequential. I have watched an endless ocean of humanity but none of them memorable.

Except for her.

There was always a "her." A woman who seemed to exist at the crossroads of history. I'd seen her in the shadow of the pyramids, amidst the chaotic streets of the French Revolution, even brushing shoulders with Einstein just before his groundbreaking discovery. Each encounter felt brief and tense, a missed connection in the grand tapestry of time.

The last time we met, it wasn't pleasant. else. She tried to kill me, I couldn't die. Let's just say the cobblestone streets of 18th-century Paris ran red that day. But death, for me, was more of an inconvenience than a threat. So, I decided to disappear, hoping it would appease her.

Now, here she was again. Sitting across from me at a quaint Parisian cafe, a stark contrast to our last encounter. Two shots of espresso, just like before, but her blonde hair seemed duller this time, and her usually bright eyes held a flicker of worry.

"So," I began, the clinking of spoons against porcelain the only sound, "what exactly are you?"

“I could ask you the same. No matter when I am, you look almost exactly how you did before."

“Well what can i say? I have a seven step skin care routine” i say “but seriously, are you like me?”

”what do you mean like you?” She reached for my espresso, taking a generous swig before I could protest.

"Immortal, I suppose. Are you the same?"

The smile vanished, replaced by a grimace. "Not quite. I am an associate of temporal continuum task force, we mend inconsistencies in time."

Intrigue pricked at my jaded soul. "So like a plumber?”

She sighed, snatching my napkin and wiping a speck of coffee from her lip. "Well, we mend tears in time, historical injuries that threaten the flow of things. Consider us like time doctors”

"It's not exactly fixing things," she continued, her voice catching. "We can't rewrite history. But we can nudge it, prevent catastrophes that would unravel the fabric of time."

A sardonic chuckle escaped my lips. "Uh huh. Figures why you're always lurking around during pivotal moments."

Her eyes widened in surprise. "Oh! You remember me?"

"Hard to forget the face of the assassin who tried to snuff me out," I replied with a wry laugh. The memory still sent a phantom tingle up my spine, but time had dulled the sharp edge of betrayal.

"Ugh, about that," she mumbled, cheeks flushing a charming shade of crimson as she averted her gaze. "Knowing what you know now, maybe it's a little more understandable?"

I waved a dismissive hand. "No worries, love. Water under the bridge. Besides," I leaned back, a chuckle rumbling in my chest, "18th century France wasn't exactly a picnic. French or you, someone was probably going to send me to meet the business end of a guillotine."

A tense silence stretched between us, thick with the unspoken weight of our past encounters. I could practically see the gears turning in her head, piecing together the fragments of our bizarre, time-hopping connection. We both nursed lukewarm coffee, the steam curling skyward like unspoken thoughts.

Finally, unable to contain my curiosity any longer, I broke the silence. "So, spill it. Something big's brewing today, isn't it?"

“Yeah there is a tear nearby, I must mend it in time or we lose billions of lives to this monstrosity” she scoffed, a glint of disgust in her eyes.

The weight of her words settled on me like a leaden cloak. She wasn't just an observer; she was a guardian angel. "Sounds...pretty cool…not the tear but your dedication to saving lives" I managed, the words feeling pathetically inadequate next to the weight of her mission.

A genuine smile, tinged with sadness, broke through her worry. "Yeah, it can be. It's what keeps me going."

Suddenly, her watch beeped, a harsh sound severing the fragile connection.

"Damn," she muttered, downing the rest of my espresso in one go. "I have to go. There's a tear in a few hours, and..."

without even realising, i extended my hand holding hers. It was delicate and tender "Let's talk about something else," I blurted, desperate to hold onto this unexpected moment of connection. "Anything but this mission."

She paused, surprised. "You sure? You have questions, right?"

"Yes, but they can wait? You look…burdened."

She didn’t say a word but sat down in front of me again, looking into her eyes made me feel the same way when i had my first bite of that frozen desert.

“Where are you from” i asked in a gentle whisper

"The end of time…”

"Lonely, isn't it?" I said, my voice surprisingly steady. “carrying this weight of an entire universe on her shoulders.”

“It's sorta lonely, I'll admit. We know nothing more is going to happen, ever. Almost takes the fun away from living. But! I get to experience so many different time periods. I get to meet new people, see new things, explore SO many different worlds, so it makes up for it…”

"Sometimes," she continued,"when I have the free time, I like to go out to a nice little spot, a couple of millennia ahead of here and a couple of galaxies away, to this beautiful little ocean planet. There's so many wonders there; I never get tired of looking at it."

She smiled at me, probably happy that she had an equal to talk to in one of these time periods.

"I hope I get to see it one day," I said with a wink.

A small beep interrupted us again, She looked down at her wrist, noting the time.

"I must leave. It'll be soon, and I need to be in position."

I wasn't finished. I wanted to talk more.

"You gonna come around some more? Maybe come by for a chat when you have the free time?"

"Yeah...I'll save your coordinates.”

Her fingers danced across a sleek, metallic device strapped to her wrist, a flurry of light swirling around it for a moment. Locking eyes with me,

"Didn't think about it, but you must get lonely too," she admitted, her voice softer than the whisper of forgotten stars. "Living through all these centuries...makes sense why you'd want someone who gets it."

She waved goodbye, and that was the last I saw of her.

————————

That was...the last I saw of her. Ever. I get the feeling something bad happened that day. It was huge. All over the news. Something about a bunch of bombs...cleared out about 30 city blocks. It's -- I can't get it off my mind. I've had eons to think about this. Literal eons. I watched the world end. I watched the galaxy end. I witnessed the eventual heat death of the universe, and here I am, and I still can't stop thinking about it.

The man across from me drilled his eyes into mine, his gaze as sharp as a shard of obsidian. He continued typing entire detail about in his device

"It checks out, that's for sure. You've..." The guy laughs. "You've really come a long way. I just can't wrap my head around why this woman would stick in your mind for so long."

I don't know either. There's something nagging at me, some bit of the puzzle I need to make sense of. Something she said.

"Look, she said -- she said that you guys were like time engineers or something."

The guy corrects me “time doctors”. He's heard this before. He knows.

"And you guys are supposed to help patch up time. She's been doing a lot of patching. If my memory holds, she's been doing a lot of patching. And I've been doing a lot of living."

I think I know.

"Maybe it's my turn. Maybe there's an injury in time that I'm supposed to heal.

The guy nods at me. He sees sense.

"Well just so you know she left on that exact same mission you talked about maybe two hours ago. I mean she might even be trying to kill you as we speak but i can put you down on her coordinates at...” he flicked some switches on his device which is wrapped around his wrist “well mister i hope you are wrong about it”

I hope I'm wrong too. In case I'm not, then I can do more this time. I know more now.

And if I fail?

I think I won't mind seeing another few eons to have another crack at it…..

[swanimagines]

Hiii, can I request E12 with Alina Starkov please?

Prompt: E12. Sitting by the fire

A/N: I was supposed to publish something else entirely next for a character I last wrote a piece for 4 years ago, but it's Jessie's birthday so I'm publishing this Alina piece instead 🥳

Every year on Alina’s birthday, you went out to set up a camp in the forest over the weekend. It had become a habit since the Darkling died, you didn’t even really know where the idea came from. It just popped into your head one day, a day of relaxing together with your girlfriend. It didn’t have anything special arranged, just being and enjoying each other.

This night was colder than usual at this time of the year, so you set up a fireplace. The fire wouldn’t agree to light up at first, making you struggle, but finally you got it to work and soon, you were adding logs as the flame grew bigger. You sat back, staring into the flames for a moment and then turning your head to look at Alina.

She had wrapped herself up in a thick blanket, and the sight made you chuckle a little.

“I take it you’re cold?” you mumbled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. 

She nodded. “My past Sun Summoner powers don’t really warm me up anymore, it feels like I’m much more easily cold now.”

You sighed, pulling her against you, rubbing her back and side. “Hopefully we’ll be able to sleep at night. Maybe we should have pushed this back.”

She glanced up at you. “No, it's fine. With you here, I think I can manage.”

You grinned and kissed her forehead, pulling her head to rest against your chest. She closed her eyes and you sat in silence for a moment.

“I’m glad we do this, every year,” she mumbled against your shirt. “Coming here, spending the night here. Just simply being, relaxing. Knowing we can have moments like this, me, you, and the silence.”

“Me too. I always look forward to your birthday because of this.” You laughed a little. “I don’t know if that’s silly.”

Alina shook her head, shifting slightly so she could look up at you. “No, not really. We both need this day.”

You hummed, glancing at the sunset that had already started to disappear under the dark blue sky. “It’s later than we planned. We should probably retreat to the tent soon.”

“Not yet,” Alina mumbled. “Just a moment more. Let’s wait until the fire dies down.”

You sighed, but complied. “All right. But only because you’re the birthday girl.”

She let out a soft laugh, more like a snort, before she fell quiet again. The fire still crackled in front of you, illuminating Alina’s face as her breathing slowed down, and you barely kept in a laugh yourself. Getting her up to get to the tent would be its own challenge, one you weren’t particularly eager to conquer. She was a major sleepyhead with you. But to be honest, you weren’t minding it, not really. You could pretend you were, but having her there, against you, feeling her breathing… it reminded you how lucky you were. To get to be with her after all those battles, neither of you had died. Even when you’d grow old and fragile while she remained young for centuries, these moments would be cherished til the end of times.

The fire was slowly dying down, its warmth waning. Alina was already asleep against you, and you knew that you should wake her up in a moment. But, just a moment longer, you chose to sit there and let her rest.

You cupped the back of her head as you brought your lips against his hair. A moment longer, you promised yourself. The temperature was quickly going down, and your skin was already getting goosebumps. It was uncomfortable in a way, but at the same time having Alina next to you like this was addicting, and you wanted to prolong it for as long as possible.

But eventually, the embers were dimming down, and the cold started to be unbearable. You stroked her hair. “Alina,” you whispered against her hair. “Alina, it’s time to go to the tent.”

She stirred, whining slightly, but you shook her, first gently, then with slightly more force. She sighed and opened her eyes, looking around. “Sorry.”

You chuckled and shook your head. “Let’s go before I freeze.”

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you like that,” she mumbled, letting you help her stand up.

“It’s your birthday, you can sleep against me all you want. But let’s just do it inside the tent, where I won’t freeze.”

She hummed, a tired smile spreading on her face. You crouched down to gather the few things you had with you by the campfire — your shared flask, her gloves and the book she had been reading while you struggled with lighting up the fire. You stomped on the embers a few times, hearing the lingering fire hiss, before you turned and took Alina’s hand.

The tent you had wasn’t anything fancy, nothing you could see a literal Saint to sleep in. Alina still didn’t think of herself as a Saint, but that’s what she was in the eyes of the world, and it was a running joke in between you, even when it annoyed Alina sometimes. A few blankets, pillows, thin mattresses. Just a regular tent.

Alina plopped down on the mattress as you zipped the tent back up and by the time you turned, she was already snuggling beneath the sheets, in the progress of taking off her dress. 

You undressed as well and soon made your way beside her, shifting close to her once you both laid down. You tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear again, smiling. No words were needed at that moment, you both knew what the other would say if you spoke. And besides, you were both too tired to talk. She blinked at you slowly as she struggled to keep her eyes open, before shifting again, until she was pressed against you, her face in the crook of your neck. You put your arm around her waist, waiting for a moment again.

“Good night,” she mumbled finally against your skin, and you smiled, running your hand up and down his back once.

“Happy birthday, Alina.”

[saiakv]

❛  i need more time to think about what i want.  ❜

THE SPACE BETWEEN EACH MEET-UP HAS BEEN arranged around a hundred years - a century may be skipped at times, when Kenjaku disappears from the face of the earth for a little while. And each time she finds them, with the same persistence a bird picks at the ground with to unearth the worm. Currently, it was lurking in the bowels of Tōdai-ji temple, where the faithful have gathered fruit and wines to lay before the dedicated statue. An alarming expression cast down on its lacquered visage bares an odd reminiscence to the one on Kenjaku's own features as she sits by the offerings, legs crossed under the flowy robes. She is adorned with gold chains around her veil, and they sit atop the stitch marks as though to embellish them.

The scar has almost melded into her skin. Kenjaku has been living as a Bodhisattva here for the last century, after all. That, too, adds to the note of impatience and the click of their tongue.

❝ Oh, you're slower than pond water. ❞ Comes the retort. She gets up with a huff, bracelets and bead-necklaces orchestrating her frustration as she pats the long robes back down into place. This discussion has been brewing for the last couple of times they've met up, ever since Kenjaku walked away from the compound. Or rather, walked into a new life alltogether. Their faith to Tengen's scripture died with that first transition - the first time they realized that they held the power to deny the natural order of jujutsu. To defeat death; that would be enough to broaden anyone's horizons. Tengen is different - death is not going to come for her. Maybe it's the fact Tengen never quite won over it yet that has placed them in such different mindsets over the years. Still, Kenjaku can't help but experience the same frustration they did back when that conversation was first held.

❝ Tell me, do you enjoy waking up every morning and having your acolytes prepare your tea for you and comb your hair on the porch, same as they did a hundred years ago? Do you find some comfort in the repetition? ❞ Caustic commentary falls over the golden platters as she descends the stairway and comes to stand beside her taller counterpart. They have met her at different heights, from different angles, through different eyes — but the sight is never any less mesmerizing. In spite of being very disillusioned now compared to back then, Kenjaku still sees the enthralling aspects of Tengen's visage that have lead lesser minds to worship her for her purity alone.

The expression softens - hands dyed with ceremonial tar at the fingertips reach out to take Tengen's own ( in other times, they had bigger palms that could fit hers comfortably within them, but in this body that was stolen from a temple maiden, they have naught but slender fingers and soft, creamy skin that hasn't seen toiling under the sun ) There's charcoal painted over their brows, kohl around the eyes, white cream paste on the face and dark cherry lips that exaggerate the pensive expression when they look up to her with a rare spark of sentiment.

❝ Look -- I consider you my one and only friend still. So consider this a wake up call. You don't have as much time as you think. If you are ever going to be a mother, Master Tengen, your time is now. And I can help you. ❞