#your day is coming and oh so delightfully soon

[grandisknight]

at your service | rafayel

summary: Gaining the upper hand in Kitty Cards has its benefits, which solely consist of making the loser (Rafayel) comply to the winner’s choice.

tags: nsfw (mdni), established relationship, kitty cards (derogatory), teasing, gn!reader (no specific descriptors), 'miss bodyguard' name mention, thomas mention, maid!rafayel, sub!rafayel, costumes, roleplay, maids, photography, kissing, praise kink, ‘master’ kink, brief mouth fucking, finger sucking, handjobs, m!orgasm, ejaculate, implied/suggestive ending

wc: 3.0k | ao3 | kinktober in deepspace masterlist

a/n: don't ask me what happened but just know i will die on the hill that is maid!rafayel

You couldn’t believe your luck. 

And Rafayel couldn’t understand his lack of it. 

The Evol kittens were no better in-between the two of you—some were happily purring or fast asleep, comfortable in their colored teacups. More importantly, unbothered and unaware of the two players on opposite spectrums in their aftermath.

Out of the nine creatures, an overwhelming majority belonged to you. After a long, arduous dual and third round sweep, you had overshadowed Rafayel with a score of thirty-two points to his measly eight sum. He held a quarter to your victory.

“This game sucks,” Rafayel sulks. His frown mirrors one of the red Evol kittens closest to him, rounded tears blobbing down its cheeks. Both defeated, worse for wear at the outcome.

You let out a small laugh. “You say that, and yet you still play with me every week.” 

You poke the cheek of a cheery green Evol kitten, who nudges against your touch in turn and meows. “Isn’t that right, little fella?” It delightfully purrs back at you, the accordance only rubbing more salt into Rafayel’s poor wound.

“Hmph.” He doesn’t fight you there, chin resting in the palm of his hand and averting your teasing gaze.

You collect your hand and his, returning all cards to the discard pile with a satisfied hum. No sooner did a café worker come by to clear your table, leaving the two of you to your devices.

“And you know what that means, don’t you?” You lean forward, reaching to his sulking demeanor. Catching the sleeve of his blouse, you lightly pinch the silk between your fingers, putting on your own petulant expression. “Unless you forgot so soon.”

As long as he breathed and lived, it was actually Rafayel who would constantly have to remind you of things said and done in the past. Less of the forgetful one between you, he takes pride in his memory retention.

Even so, he couldn’t stay upset with you for so long. His shoulders relax at the sound, back straightening and taking your hand into his. A scoff of, “Puh-lease, of course I remember,” answers your questions.

“Loser does what the winner wants,” he tacks on in confidence. 

It was the terms agreed upon when stepping into Meow Meow Café earlier that day—he didn’t think much of it at the time, confident he would win today’s rounds. 

But, that wasn’t the case. Right. You won the first, he the second, and as for the third…

Rafayel pauses then, dual-chromed eyes now narrowing in suspicion. “Wait a minute. I’m the loser.”

You nod, a grin plastered to your face. “Today you are, yeah.”

“And you’re the winner,” he follows up. 

(If you look close enough, you could make out swirls of equations and calculations floating around his head.)

“Two for two, you’re absolutely correct.” With a gentle tug and rise from your seat, you string along a bewildered artist in tow. 

It came altogether then. A sense of dread at your unrevealed schemes quickly fills his tone, face already draining of its color. “Oh no,” Rafayel groans.

“Oh yes,” you chirp. “I have a wish that needs to be granted, and you’re going to help me out!”

—

“Are you sure you don’t need my help?” 

You stood outside the bathroom door, which was currently (and firmly) locked from within. Not that you were going to barge in unannounced, but surely it warranted some concern when Rafayel hadn’t stepped a single foot out since entering. Only the rustles of clothing and hushed utterances echoed the acoustics of tiled walls; you couldn’t really make out any of the finer details otherwise.

And it’s been ten minutes.

You clear your throat, wondering if he missed the first time you called out. “Ra—fa—yel—“

The door swings open then, the man of the hour greeting you with, “Yeah, yeah. I hear you.”

It took a second to register his reappearance, and your mouth fell slack taking him in. “Woah,” you breathe out in awe.

No longer in his casual blouse and accompanying slacks, the artist stood before you in a newly picked attire. 

White knee-high socks stuck to his calves, with the edge of their supporting garters partially hidden and neatly wrapped all the same. A frilled apron of ivory linen rested neatly above his kneecaps, blanketing the black satin of a dress in an equally-met length underneath. Sleeves puffed around his shoulders, and a pointed collar was tastefully unbuttoned in fashion—undoubtedly of his own doing, revealing the flush of his chest and collarbone that homed one of his many beauty marks.

To which, he instinctively covers up with a defensive cross of arms and ears tipped in a bright red. Embarrassment follows his rather meek stance. “So like, that’s all, right? Can I take this off now?”

You take a step closer, hands clasped behind your back in observation and hum. It was well-fitted to his body, hugged neatly in all the places where it mattered. Thomas came in clutch when you asked him the other day, catching him at Flux Arts during one of the slower viewing hours. 

“His measurements?” The agent pondered your request. A couple swipes to his tab later, he adds on with a smile, “Sure thing. If it’s for Rafayel’s sake, then I’ll send them over.”

A little secret kept between the two of you, unbeknownst to the wearer. It was probably for the best, you wouldn’t hear the end of his moping otherwise.

Rafayel whines under your scrutinizing gaze that was lost in thought. “Hey—“

“Not yet,” you say with a shake of your head. “Indulge me for a while more. You took forever in there all by yourself, anyhow.”

You reveal a matching headdress between your once hidden fingers, a row of pleated ribbon swiftly placed amongst his wavy locks. The final piece of the puzzle, a maid in all his glory and in the comforts of your humble abode. A sense of glittering pride holds your gaze to his.

“You’re enjoying this too much,” he points out.

Your shoulders raise in a slight shrug. “Of course I am, it’s the winner’s right.” A hand trails down to the curve of his jaw, holding the face that continues to pout. With a light snicker and compliment in attendance, you tell him, “You look very cute, by the way.”

Rafayel’s pout twitches for a second, slyly revealing his enjoyment to the compliment. He clears his throat, saying, “Yeaaah right. Take a picture, I’m sure it’ll last longer.”

Oh, but he spoke too soon. His eyes widen when you actually take out your phone, much to his better judgment. “Hold on, you’re not planning on really keeping a memo, are you?”

“It would be a shame if I didn’t,” you counter. He said so himself—might as well take his word for it.

Swiping to the camera app,  you position the lens inches away and see his furrowed brows through the viewfinder. You gently tug him forward, fingers fully curled underneath his chin. On the other hand, he purposefully sways back and forth in an effort to blur your captures.

You tsk. “The more you squirm, the longer I’ll have to keep trying to take a shot.”

“What, you don’t like my blurry faces too? They’re all handsome,” he huffs. Though a squish to his cheeks cuts him short, stilling him long enough for a ring of shutters to seal the deal.

“Alright, alright,” you coo to console his woes. “I think I managed to get a good one.” 

You lower the phone in observation, scrolling through the new gallery additions. The flurry of dark lavender and hazy skin aside, a few select shots captured the paused moment of time where he did behave. 

Device neatly tucked away into your back pocket, your attention turns back to the subject of your newest wallpaper. Even if this was a reward for you, he deserved just as much in compensation. 

A soft kiss to Rafayel’s jutted lip melts some of his tension, brows no longer scrunched together. You smile at his relaxing shoulders and opening arms when you give another. 

You shower him in adoration, butterflied smooches and his closing eyes soon pressing against the closest wall. Your hands run over the frills of his skirt, smooth to the touch and gently laid out atop his thighs. The barrier of fabric did nothing to hide the amount of warmth emanating through, the effect of your touches having a clear reaction on him. 

You wondered if there was more to be seen—only one way to find out.

Shifting, you drag your lips away from his and to the sweet spot where his jaw and earlobe meet. You ask in a low voice, “So, what do you think?” His blush steadily follows into the very space, worsening when you blow gently over the affected skin. “Dressing up like this for me.”

“My thoughts?” 

Whether it was in disbelief or furthered embarrassment—perhaps a fine condition of both—Rafayel could only exhale. You could feel his legs pressing together in unspoken confirmation, and a bashful turn of his head carries his murmur of, “What do you think I’m thinking about when you touch me like that?”

“Well,” you trail off. “I’d rather show and not tell.”

In a blink, your fingers bunch up the skirt fabric into messied pleats that reveal the answers you sought after. And it truly was a lovely sight to see—you let out a low whistle, impressed at the state he’s in. Through the sheer lace of white trim, a curved tip as red as his ears was weeping quietly, soiling the undergarment dutifully.

“Don’t look,” he whines, attempting to cover up his hardened arousal with the satin.

“Would you prefer if I touched instead?” You tease, catching his wrist in apt timing. You guide his hand over where his body couldn’t lie, and he noticeably twitches. “Oh? Maybe you prefer touching yourself.”

“I can’t do that,” Rafayel weakly counters. It breaks into a low moan when you slowly inch him closer to the beads of precum pulsing past his slit. He hisses when your thumb slips against it, purposefully smearing his come against the lace. “You’re so, so mean, Miss Bodygu—“

“Ah, not so fast.” You tut, drawing back and a string of his arousal follows. He gasps at the unexpected loss, protests shaping his lips before you continue your turn. “That’s not my proper title.”

Confusion tints the hues of red and blue that, already, were far dipped into the seas of lust. “I call you that all the time though.” 

In hindsight, you are his Miss Bodyguard. Have been, for months on end, and with generous bank statements stamped with his name as a source of proof. One who graciously accompanies him when your schedules allow it, to even sightseeing trips for both business and pleasure.

He pauses, then notably gawks with the cogs of realization spinning. “You… Don’t tell me, you want me to call you that?”

It wouldn’t be the first time this particular name has come up in conversation, but the circumstances were vastly different. You bring your soiled thumb to his lips, swiping it across and allowing it to settle into a thin layer of gloss. 

“You can’t be serious,” he says.

“Sorry, are you talking to me right now? I only listen to those with manners.” His eyes only grow in size, yet you feign indifference to it. Of course you would hear him out—though only with the proper name.

Ignorance was never bliss, but rather a crude form of torture for Rafayel. “M… m…” The word laid on the tip of his tongue in a hesitant sound, before a quick mumble follows.

“I can’t hear you.” Your fingers curl themselves once more in a grip over his chin, directing his gaze to go nowhere else but to you. And your eyes were steadfast, committing his flustered face to memory.

“Speak up,” you encourage.

The air above sea had never felt so suffocating yet enticing all at once. Rafayel couldn’t help but enjoy the heat, and the root cause of it, to which he says in a low groan, “Master.”

“See? That wasn’t so hard, now was it?” Your faceted praise comes with a tilt of his head and a kiss to reward his newfound diligence. He sighs into your warmth that welcomes him, though it shifts to a whine when you pull away too soon.

Rafayel nudges your nose with his, a pity show pooling in his eyes. “More, Master.”

“More of what, exactly?” You contemplate, before a decisive, downwards push of his lacey underwear has him sighing. 

His length stood proud against his abdomen, way past a softened state, firm and twitching to the exposed air. You draw a fine line from base to sensitive head, gauging his reaction. The other hand toys with the closest garter on his thigh, fingers dipping past the fine leather. “My sweet Rafayel,” you purr. “What should I do with you?”

“Want you to touch me,” he strains, an edge of impatience to confession. His lips move to mouth at your collarbone, no longer hiding his neediness and taking it in stride. It was rare for you to see this side of him, so vulnerable yet entirely reserved for you—a face he wouldn’t dare show anyone else.

Rafayel spoke with heat in his voice and hazy stars in his eyes. “Master, please. I swear I’ll do anything you want.”

“Anything,” you muse, squeezing his thigh thoughtfully. “And all you want me to do is touch you.”  You can’t help but chuckle when his enthusiastic nod only adds to your point. 

You could see his illusory fox ears flatten in disappointment when you pull away, against his wishes. He lets out a small yelp when your fingers release the garter and smack against his skin.

“Master, I—“

“Open,” you instruct, fingers searching his lips once more. 

And Rafayel does, choking a moan when you place them against his tongue. Carefully, you stroke his warm cavern, to which his mouth closes around and sucks with zeal. He swirls his tongue against the pads of your fingers, determined to please you.

His canines briefly graze your skin when you depart with a faint string. Now finely coated in a layer of his saliva, you dip your hand downwards—curling the sticky fingers around his nearly-neglected cock. Rafayel cants his hips immediately, supporting the salaciously wet noises that echo in tune. 

You squeeze his length in warning, pressing the other hand to his abdomen. “Stay still,” you scold, feeling him contract beneath your pressure. “If you can’t follow a simple order, I’ll leave you high and dry.”

“No, no, no,” he whimpers, shaking his head adamantly. His hands grip the skirt, desperate and knuckles almost turning white from their strength. Something to keep him grounded, to make sure he listens well to his beloved—“Master, I won’t move, promise.”

You purse your lips. “We’ll see about that.” 

Up and down, you tenderly attend to his arousal in generous strokes. Steady rubs and an occasional swipe to his sensitive head last for what feels like an eternity to Rafayel. He was so well-behaved when his orgasm was threatened, all in the palm of your hand.

“You’re close,” you observe with a particularly firm flick, “Aren’t you?”

“Mhm, ‘m very close,” Rafayel quickly admits, his breaths ardent and changing in pitch. He looked so beautiful like this, prettily wrapped around your fingers and a sweet song of your name resonates from his throat. 

Abandoning the languid strokes, you angle your elbow to reach him sooner—faster. “A good, honest boy,” you coo. His blush only deepens at the sound, and his keens grow in volume. You’d apologize to the neighbors later. 

“Should I let you come?” You ask knowingly.

“Master, Ma—ah—ster,” he cries out. “Can feel it, I’m about to—“ A tear rolls down his cheek, matching the one threatening to bead past his slit. “Please, please.” Overwhelmed and in a desperate need for relief, Rafayel’s expression stirred a flame within you.

“Let it out,” you coax, pace unrelenting and threatening to cramp your fingers. The finish line was only a step away, and you say with a smile, “Do it for me. Come undone, my little maid.”

Blissful orgasm wrecks his body, accompanying his labored whines and pearls of white leaving his spent cock. Both the fabric of his outfit and your hand became victims to the viscous liquid, with the air equally met with nothing but the scent of it. 

Rafayel was boneless by the time he was nothing but dribbles of cum and a wrinkled skirt, slouching against the wall.

Your dry hand finds its way to his face, kindly stroking his cheek and adding a kiss to his relaxed brow. “You did so well, Raf.”

“Course I did,” he manages to jest in a hoarse voice. He eyes the state of his clothes and your dirtied hand, to which he nods towards. “Give me your hand.”

“What?” You look down, before raising it between your faces. It glistens, brought to the light and sinking into the creases of your skin. “Why—Ah.” 

Obediently, Rafayel takes your fingers dripping in release to his mouth. He licks in strides at the leftovers as if it were a swirl of ice cream on a hot, summer day.

“Cleaning up the mess you made,” you muse, though make no movement to stop him. “What a dutiful maid I have.” 

He nips your now unsullied fingertips at the comment. His hold on your wrist brings you closer—you stumble unexpectedly, letting go of his face to steady a hand to his chest.

“Raf—“ Your voice stutters when you feel his knee rub between your legs. Purposeful and angled, the pressure stokes the forsaken flames in your abdomen. “Rafayel,” you breathe, attempting to collect your bearings. 

“I hope you know I won’t easily forget all the things you’ve done,” Rafayel murmurs, eyes glimmering in mischief. “I won’t let you off easy, Master.”

[the-case-book-of-fanfiction]

Crawl Home To Her

Ship: Astarion x fem!Tav/reader

Summary: As awful the feeling of blood on the skin is, sometimes it can be helpful, you have to admit. At least, when it comes to Astarion, blood is always helpful. You'll have to take his word for it—and that's oh so easy bathing with him.

Word Count: 5,461 words

Warnings: sexual content (18+) blood, gore, nudity, sexual & non-sexual touching, bathing each other, soft Astarion, established relationship, brief mention of past sexual encounter, dealing with past trauma, teasing from Karlach, mention of dismemberment, fluff & smut mix

18+ Warnings: brief fingering (f receiving), tiny bit of a hair kink, sensual touching, semi-public sex/nudity

Note: Part 2 of Burns Like Rum is coming soon! But here's a little something to tithe you over until the sequel (Sweet Like Rum) is ready!

☟ Continue below the fold ☟

Shafts of pale sunlight fell on your face as you walked through the forest, your arms swinging at your sides, small critters running amok in the bushes around you. Birdsong filled your ears, pleasantly light and summery, reminding you distantly of a childhood memory you couldn't quite reach. The weather was warm enough that you were thinking you might have to change into something lighter. The few weapons you had on you were already starting to make you break out into a sweat.

For a day that had started with murder, the weather was surprisingly nice.

You hummed as you walked—the song pulled from your childhood, the words long forgotten but pieces of the melody clunking around in your head. You strung them together the best you could, tapping out a rhythm against your leg.

You were on your way to the waterfall you'd spotted several days ago while hunting. It was small and nothing too violent. The pool it fell into wasn't deep enough to drown you, nor was the flow of water all that fast. You trusted it—and the rock ledge behind it—would suit your purposes quite nicely.

Coming upon the pool was like stepping into one of the fairytales you had heard in your youth, sitting upon your father's knee in a tavern, listening to a traveller tell a story you weren't sure was entirely true.

It was guarded by willow trees with branches that swayed in a breeze you hadn't felt until you came upon them. Pushing the curtain of branches away revealed an almost perfectly circular clearing, the ground covered in vibrant green moss that squished delightfully beneath your feet and sprung back up when you stepped off of it. Patches of flowers sprouted all around, pink and yellow and purple blooms that grew up to the sun. The pool was as blue as the sky above, clear and shallow, surrounded by a few feet of soft white sand. The water shimmered in the sunlight, rippling over the pebbles that covered its floor. From the pool, the water flowed into a thin river that could hardly be called a river and out into the woods.

You sat by the pool's edge and pulled off your boots. They were just as bloody as the rest of you, the sticky and quickly drying substance staining the black leather. You splashed water over them and scrubbed with a cloth you had designated for this purpose that had once been grey.

Only after your boots were clean did you stand back up and step into the soft sand. You wiggled your toes, smiling at the feeling. You breathed in the crisp, sweet air. It smelled faintly of flowers and citrus, a scent that was familiar, though you couldn't place it.

You stripped slowly, hissing and wincing as you tugged at the places where blood had stuck the fabric to your skin. It acted like glue when dry, staining your skin and leaving a mottled pattern across your flesh. The fabric of your shirt had grown stiff with semi-dried blood.

One by one, you pulled off belts and straps holding weapons, the gloves you protected your hands with, your shirt, your trousers—until you were standing naked at the pool's edge. You gave yourself a cursory inspection, searching for any wounds you had acquired in the fighting this morning that you hadn't noticed; it wouldn't be the first time you'd walked away from a fight and realized you were injured only hours later. But, this time, there was nothing.

Usually it was Astarion who noticed you were injured, catching your smell in the air when it shouldn't have been. But you were drenched in so much blood already that you imagined it would have been very hard to pick out your distinct scent.

You waded into the pool, taking your clothes with you, and sat at it's deepest point. Standing, it reached your knees; sitting, it almost came to your shoulders. You scrubbed the blood from your clothes, using the soap you had brought with you.

You watched the blood and soap swirl together in the water and flow toward the river, a thin stream of red and bubbles slipping away from the crimson cloud surrounding you. You almost felt bad to ruin the clarity of the water, but the others—back at camp—were taking far too long to wash the blood from themselves with your limited store of water. This was better, in the long run.

Astarion would have a field day with this if this wasn't goblin blood, you thought to yourself, staring at the blood drifting just below the surface. He would drink it, from time to time, but never happily.

You scrubbed at your clothes until your fingers were stiff and sore and the blood was no longer coming out of the fabric. You inspected them and deemed them clean enough to put back on the moss, spread out so they would dry faster.

To clean yourself, you headed toward the waterfall. You climbed up onto the stone ledge behind it, reveling in the surprisingly gentle spray of water that reached you and the stillness of the water that it fell into, high enough to reach your knees.

You stepped under the water. It cascaded over you, dousing you in its coolness that reminded you of the first time Astarion had ever touched you—

—gentle hands, cascading down your sides—fingers lifting your chin so you would meet his gaze—a kiss to your forehead—a hand on the small of your back—his lips on your own, warmer than you had anticipated—his fingers in your hair, keeping your head off the ground—his hand slipping between your legs—his little giggle when you shuddered beneath him—the pleasured sigh from his lips as he slid inside of you—

Stepping out from underneath the water, you shook your head, banishing the memory. You had spoken recently about all of this. He'd told you, "I don't think I want you to think of me in terms of sex." He'd said, "I don't want to be just a body for you, darling." And though he'd teased you that you were more than welcome to "sustain yourself" (his words) with your memories of him while he took time away from intimacy, some part of you still felt like you violating his wishes any time it was his body that you thought of, rather than of, well, just him.

You wiped the water from your eyes and knew your tears had mixed in with it; Astarion had been very vulnerable with you, so you knew his reasons for it all. You had two responses: either unbearable sorrow that he had been forced to endure it all (which the current cause of the crushing weight in your chest), or blinding rage that birthed the desire to see Cazador's head on a spear.

You carded your hands through your wet hair, trying to work out the tangles. Your fingers came away covered in watery blood.

"Mind if I join you?"

You jumped, eyes flying open, and looked up. Leaning against the stone wall was the vampire himself, a gentle smile on his face. Gods, how you loved that smile. In this light, you couldn't tell his eyes were red and his fangs were hidden. If you didn't pay attention to how pale he was, you could imagine he was just an elf again—the life he deserved.

Astarion still wore his clothes, which were slowly darkening as they soaked up the spray of water and splattered with as much blood as his handsome face, but his boots were placed neatly next to yours on the moss. He'd cleaned them already; how had you not heard him before?

While he waited for your answer, aware of your admiring gaze on him, he pulled his shirt off over his head, mussing the curls you loved so much. He stripped quickly, nearly falling over when his trouser leg caught on his foot, and left his clothes in a pile on the rock ledge. Perhaps you were imagining things, but his skin looked paler than it had this morning, when you'd been rudely awoken by a horde of goblins invading your camp.

You held your arms open to him. "I'd like that very much."

He stepped into your arms, wrapped his own around your waist, and buried his head in your neck, breathing in deeply. "My love," he whispered, his lips against your skin. He kissed your neck softly and pulled away, cupping your face in his hand, to look into your eyes. "Are you alright?"

You nodded. "I'm okay."

"No injuries this time?" Astarion's eyes slid down your naked body, examining, his gaze concerned when it had once been sensual. You felt yourself relax in his arms, at ease with his concern. It felt real, honest in a way you hadn't had a chance to be yet. It was natural, somehow, to be checking each other for injuries in the time you finally caught together, away from the others.

"Not this time," you said, leaning into him. More watery blood dripped from your hair and across his chest, leaving streaks that made it look like he'd just returned from a rather messy feeding.

He kissed the top of your wet head. "Good." He leaned away to smile at you. "I was worried you'd run off to take care of your injuries by yourself, if only to keep me from smelling the blood."

You shook your head. "If only we'd been attacked by something you could drink from, satisfy your hunger for a few days." He smiled weakly and you knew the thought had been on his mind, too. "What about you? Are you okay?"

He spread his arms and did a little twirl for you. You giggled at his antics, glancing over his skin, pleased he was comfortable enough to even be naked with you. "Yes, darling. Not a scratch on me."

The two of you looked at each other, your hair already damp and clinging to your head, and his curls slowly being matted down by the thick mist of the waterfall. His ears poked out, more noticeable than normal.

Astarion bent and picked up your bar of soap. "May I help you wash off all this grime?"

"Please," you said, your voice soft but as loving as you could make it, your eyes fixed firmly on his.

He lathered his hands with soap and scrubbed gently at your skin. His nails, kept trimmed and neat, were hardly more than a light sensation as he worked at the dried blood until it crumbled away from your skin and ran down your body in red rivulets. His touch was soft, caring where it had once been lustful and groping. You leaned into his touch, enjoying the sensation of his fingers digging into your tired muscles, and held him. You adjusted your hold on him as he moved across your body—an arm draped across his shoulders, a hand on his bicep, your fingers against his chest, your head on his shoulder.

You looked up at Astarion, blinking quickly to keep the water out of your eyes. His gaze remained fixated on your hips as he gently washed off the blood, but he smiled, aware of your stare.

"See something you like?" he asked, tone playful.

"Someone I love," you corrected. He looked up at you, a tender smile growing on his lips. "Someone I love dearly." You leaned close, cupped one side of his face, and kissed the other. "I love you, Astarion."

He kissed your cheek, too. "And I love you." His lips found yours. He kissed you with a sweetness that simultaneously broke your heart and mended it. You wrapped your arms around his waist. He hummed happily into your mouth and cradled the back of your neck.

The pair of you fell into a tight embrace. You felt the adrenaline drain from you and leave you limp in his arms, your hot skin going cold under the water. Despite how suddenly you must have slumped against him, Astarion held you with ease. He gave the crown of your head a quick kiss, then made an unpleasant sound of surprise from the back of his throat.

"Darling, do you mind if I wash your hair? There's an awful lot of goblin blood in it."

You forced yourself to stand up straight on your own, still holding his sides for support. "Oh, yes—that would be from Karlach throwing one she'd just chopped into over my head." Even as you said the words, you felt the blood splattering into your hair again and shuddered.

Astarion grimaced. "Let me help you with it, then." He lathered his hands and put them in your hair. As he fell into a rhythm, you closed your eyes and let him doing the work, your thoughts drifting...

At first, you weren't sure why you had even woken in the first place. The light coming in through a crack in the tent's opening was still the watery and grey color of pre-dawn, much earlier than you usually woke. You frowned and pushed back into Astarion, his arm squeezing you tighter, sleep once again tugging at your eyelids.

And then you heard a shout, vicious and loud. It was close to camp, maybe even in camp. The shout came again and you realized it was Lae'zel's war cry.

All at once, the sounds of a battle filled your ears. You jerked awake in an instant, clambering onto your knees and shaking Astarion awake next to you. Of course the one day Astarion decided to indulge in the very human activity of sleep was the day you and your friends were attacked.

"What's going on?" he mumbled as his eyes flickered open, his words slurred together.

"Come on, grab your knives," you said, pulling your lightest set of armor on over your clothes. You were suddenly very relieved Astarion had decided skin to skin contact was a bit too much for him last night. "I think we're under attack."

He woke just as quickly as you had. He swore, dragged a quick hand through his hair, and grabbed his knives. He waited until you had your own weapon in hand before he opened the curtain flap of his tent.

The camp was a sight to behold. Already it was trashed and overflowing with goblins. Some were already on the ground, their blood oozing everywhere in the dirt and grass. Gashes from Lae'zel's sword seeped blood and gristle, if she hadn't horribly disfigured the corpses and turned them into little more than lumps of flesh. Many of them bore scorch marks that ranged from minor burns to melting flesh. It smelled horrendous and nearly acidic; you bit back the bile in your throat.

A dismembered arm fell at your foot. You kicked it away on instinct, looking up to see Karlach ripping a second goblin limb from limb.

"Now that's just vile," Astarion said, still looking at the arm, a fang poking out over his curled lip.

"Complain about it later," you said, grabbing his chin and giving him a quick and customary 'good morning' kiss. "We've got to help the others."

"If you insist."

Astarion ran to Karlach's side; you headed for Shadowheart and Gale. Wyll was approaching, too, cutting a path through the goblins.

"Morning, you two!" you said cheerily. "How'd this happen?"

"We're not sure," Shadowheart said, kicking a goblin in the face as it ran at her with a scream. "Lae'zel said they came from the north, just over those hills."

"Odd. I wonder if we camped too close to them for their liking, and now they're trying to do something about it. Are goblins territorial creatures?"

Gale grunted, casting another fireball. "Enough chatting. Let's just kill these things and figure out where they came from and why later. Got it?"

"Fair enough," you decided. "Whoever kills the most chooses dinner for a week."

"I'll take you up on that," Wyll said from behind you. "I'm dreaming of a good meal for once."

Astarion's hands sliding out of your hair abruptly brought you back to reality, to his body pressed against yours and the waterfall at your back, shielding the two of you from the world.

"Where'd you go?" he asked, voice soft. You could feel his fingers toying with the ends of your hair, curling it on his fingers.

"Back to the fight," you admitted. "I just keep wondering how they snuck up on us."

"No matter now," he said. "We'll let Lae'zel criticize us all for not anticipating every possible disaster when we get back, but not yet. Not here."

He went back to massaging your scalp, despite the blood being long gone, and your sighed happily. He smiled and kissed your forehead, adding pressure. A content whimper slipped from your lips and you blushed instantly as his eyes lit up; he'd heard far more obscene from you, yet still the slightest sounds you made embarrassed you and delighted him.

"My, my, the noises you make for me, lover," he teased, giggling. He wrapped his hand in your hair and tugged, hard enough to draw a loud moan out of your chest.

Astarion covered your mouth with his hand, his eyes playfully wide. "Shhh, unless you want the others to come looking. We're not that far away from camp."

Heat rushed through your body. "Oh, gods, Astarion, I'm— I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to— And I certainly didn't expect it to be that...that loud—! I..."

He swallowed your frantic apologies with a kiss. Against your lips, he whispered, "If you can keep quiet, though...I can grant you all the pleasure you want. You need only ask, darling."

Your heart skipped several beats in your chest. You put your hand up to his face. "Oh, I don't... Star, I don't need you to, I wouldn't want you to...feel obligated." He pulled his forehead away from yours to see your face. "We agreed not to do anything until you're ready. And that wasn't that long ago, so... I don't want you to be uncomfortable—"

Astarion cupped your chin with his hand, dragging his thumb across your lower lip. The words died in your throat. He met your gaze, his crimson eyes open and honest, and said, "Your pleasure is a gift. Even if I don't want to be touched yet, that's not stopping me from touching you. Only you can stop me from touching you."

"Star..."

He pulled you into a tight hug. You wrapped your arms around him, suddenly too aware of the raised scar you felt against your arms. "I trust you. Wholeheartedly. I trust you to...to respect my boundaries. To check in with me. To see when I'm uncomfortable. You've already done it, again and again, and proved that you're worthy of that trust. And do I look uncomfortable now?"

You studied him. His pupils were blown. His eyes told a story of contentment. The tenseness you had once noticed laying deep and dormant in his muscles was gone. He looked at you with a fondness you realized now was a profound trust and he stood utterly relaxed in your arms.

So you answered him honestly. "No."

"Exactly, darling. I'm not uncomfortable. I want to do this for you, if that's what you also want. I feel...safe with you. I've never felt like this around anyone before," he admitted, a bit of sadness creeping onto his face, "and I don't want to ruin it. I don't know... I don't know what I'm doing, but I'm going to try to do right by you. So if you want me..." He placed his hand low on your abdomen. Your stomach did flips. He put his lips against the shell of your ear. "Tell me, darling, because I certainly want you. All I ask is that you not touch me, not just yet."

You whimpered. "Please, Star. I promise not to touch you, I promise. But please touch me."

"That's my girl," he whispered. "Spread your legs for me, no need to be so nervous."

You readjusted your stance, widening the space between your previously clenched thighs. His hand filled the gap, cupping you gently. You sighed, leaning your head against his chest again, looking down to watch his ministrations.

Astarion pressed his palm to your clit. You watched his wrist move as he slid his fingers along your slit, teasing you and never quite touching you where you needed him. You whimpered as his fingertip lightly ghosted your entrance, just barely dipping inside before he moved his hand back up, his fingers toying with your clit.

"That's it," he whispered in your ear. "Make those quiet, pretty sounds for me. Show me how you feel."

You rocked your hips against his hand. "Astarion, please..."

He kissed your temple. "Feeling good?"

Your broken moan was your answer. He chuckled, sliding his hand up your side, taking your breast in the palm of his hand. He rolled your nipple between his fingers, making you gasp and buck your hips against him. He closed his lips around it and sucked gently.

"More," you whispered. "Please. I need...I need you."

"Alright, darling, alright," he said against your skin. He rubbed your entrance for another moment, then slid his finger inside you. You clenched down on him as you sighed your pleasure. He curled his finger inside you, rubbing away at your walls, and you gasped loudly.

Astarion grinned. "Make those noises. Moan for me. I want you to show me how good this feels, show me you want me." You gripped tightly onto him, one hand on the back of his neck and the other on his hip. Your breaths grew heavy and your whimpers louder. "Yes, that's it! Be loud for me, my sweet, the loudest you've ever—"

A branch cracked in the forest. A voice called out your name, then Astarion's. You jumped a mile and Astarion's finger slipped out of you. You stared at each other with wide eyes.

"D...did you hear that?" you asked. "Or am I hearing things?"

As if an answer, the voice—Gale's—shouted again, "I know you're over here, I can see your boots!"

"Shit," Astarion sighed. He craned his head to peer around the curtain of water. "What the hells do you want?"

"Is she with you?" Gale asked. "Shadowheart sent me to find you both, the rest of us have all finished washing up! There's water left for you."

"That's what we're trying to do, Gale!" you called, reaching an arm through the waterfall and waving at him. "Use the water for something else, we'll make do here."

He harrumphed. "If I had known this was just a few minutes away from camp, I would have come to wash up here ages ago."

You and Astarion exchanged a look. So much for a secret getaway spot.

"Be back soon, or Karlach will start worrying," Gale said, in the tone of a chiding parent. "And no funny business!"

"Oh, shut up!" Astarion shouted, the tips of his ears turning a deep pink. He ducked behind the water again and holding you close. You barely held back your giggles while the two of you listened for Gale to walk away. One slipped out and Astarion hurriedly covered your mouth with his hand. You licked his palm and he pulled it away quickly. "You weirdo!"

You wrapped your arms around him and leaned into his chest. "Yes, but I'm your weirdo. You love me anyway."

Astarion pushed a strand of your wet hair behind your ear. "I love you anyway," he admitted, with a fondness that turned you into mush in his arms. He held you close for several moments, then asked, "Do you want me to continue?"

You thought about it, then shook your head. "Not just now. I suspect Karlach will be on her way to investigate the waterfall I didn't have the decency tell anyone about very soon."

"Very well," he said. "I'll finish you off later in my tent, then. As long as you can keep quiet for me, darling." He gave you that charming smile that made your stomach do flips.

"I thought you liked me loud," you teased.

Astarion rolled his eyes, playful and flirtation in such a comfortable way that it warmed your heart more than any of his touches ever could, delightful as they were. "Only when I have you all to myself, lover." He nipped at your neck, his fangs scratching but not breaking your skin. "Your moans are mine."

You stood together like that for several more moments, his hands on your hips and your arms looped around his neck, your foreheads pressed together. You exchanged dainty kisses, basking in each other in the few minutes left you had alone.

At last, you planted one firm, lingering kiss to his lips. "Let me clean you off," you said. "Though you're going to have to crouch for me to get your hair." Most of the blood and grime had been washed away by the waterfall's spray, but his silver hair was still speckled with it all, and you could taste it on his lips—sour and gritty. No wonder he only drank from goblins as a last resort.

Astarion bent his head down, pressing his forehead into your shoulder and holding you by the waist. You ran your fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp and smiling (but saying nothing) every time your touch managed to pull a soft whimper or moan from him without him realizing it.

You washed his body anyway, wiping away the remaining grime and massaging his muscles. You enjoyed the way he relaxed in your arms, quietly asking for more or less pressure.

"My back," he said, voice quiet and almost timid. "Can you...?"

"Are you sure?" you asked, frowning.

He nodded and turned in your arms, exposing his back to you. You started slowly, massaging his upper back and shoulders before working your way down, giving him plenty of time to tell you to stop if he needed to. But he leaned into your touch and responded with more of those gentle and timid—but happy—sounds.

You kissed the nape of his neck when you were finished, rested your head against his back, and wrapped your arms around his waist. His hands found yours and laced your fingers together.

"Thank you, my love," he said. "I've never... No one has ever done that for me before."

You hugged him tighter. "Any time you need me—I'm here. I will always be here." You stepped away and guided him out of the water with a hand. "Come on, we should head back."

The pair of you helped each other dress, though neither of you were wearing anything that required the help. You suspected Astarion just wanted to keep you close; when he got into his cuddly moods, it lasted for hours at a time. You would sleep wrapped up in your vampire's arms, safe and comfortable, tonight.

You were both pulling on your boots when Karlach found you.

"There you are!" she said. "Why didn't you tell us where you'd run off to?"

You shrugged. "I wanted the peace and quiet," you said honestly. "Besides, you all take forever to clean off."

Astarion snickered. "She's right about that."

Karlach sat on the moss, staring at the waterfall. "Well, you're right about one thing, soldier—this place is peaceful."

You hummed your agreement. "Yes. I'm glad we camped near it, or I never would have found it."

"How did you find this place?" she asked.

"Hunting," you said.

"Really? I assumed it must have been when you and Astarion sneak out so the rest of us can't hear you having sex." You choked on air and she laughed. "What? He found it easily!"

Astarion spluttered. "Because I could smell her!"

You sighed. "Karlach, we stopped sneaking off ages ago. We don't need to, we sleep in the same tent now. Rest assured, if anything is happening, it's happening silently and the rest of you are none the wiser to it."

"That doesn't make me rest assured."

You laughed. Astarion smiled at you, the kind of smile that made his eyes seem a little less dark and made you really remember that he was an elf.

"Well, I don't know about you two, but I'm going back to camp," he said. "I'm sure there's much to discuss about these...impertinent creatures who keep attacking us." He kissed your cheek and whispered into your ear, "I'll see you tonight, darling. What we do is up to you."

Before he could leave, you reached over and held his cheek, kissing him firmly on the lips. He smiled into it.

"Lovebirds," Karlach groaned, rolling her eyes, "will you please get a room?"

"The next time we stop at an inn—yes," Astarion said, winked at you, then disappeared into the woods.

You gulped. "I pity whoever is in the room next to us."

Karlach snorted. "I pity you and your poor cervix!"

"Karlach!" You splashed her with water and she roared with laughter.

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding! Only slightly."

You huffed, scooped up your weapons, and started back to camp. Karlach followed.

"I mean, in all honesty, you two were so loud that first time we all heard you at camp, even though you snuck away. Kept us all awake, but you sounded like you were having a good time. So clearly he's doing something right, but can you take all of that every time? You were walking with a limp the next morning—"

"Okay, let's change the subject," you said loudly, heat racing through your body. Remembrance pulsed through you again, ghostly touches and reminders of just how easily Astarion made you scream.

She giggled. Gods, she was spending too much time with you and Astarion; he was rubbing off on her. "Oh, yes, because what would poor Gale say if he heard?"

You rolled your eyes. "It's not Gale I'm worried about, it's Astarion. If he hears you, he's going to become insufferable."

"Isn't he already?"

You whacked her with the flat end of your sheathed dagger. She laughed, putting her hands up in surrender.

The others were cleaning up camp when you arrived, scrubbing blood from tents and carpets and hauling away corpses and severed limbs.

Gale waved when he saw you, then jerked his thumb toward Astarion. "Didn't he just wash?"

You looked over at your vampire, only to find him feeding on a goblin. He looked up at you and grinned sheepishly, a trickle of blood sliding out of his mouth and down his neck.

"I just washed him, actually," you said dryly. "Astarion, you aren't that messy of an eater. What on earth are you doing?"

"Oh, so now you deign to eat the goblins," Karlach scoffed.

He shrugged. "What? I'm hungry!"

You spluttered. "You could have just asked me!"

Astarion wiped his mouth with a feral grin. "Well, I'll keep that in mind later, darling." He winked at you and then blew you a quick kiss. He shoved the carcass into the woods and went into his tent, closing the flap behind him.

Gale sighed heavily before looking back at you. "That one. Are you sure you want to choose that one?"

"Yes, Gale, I want that one."

He shrugged. "Suit yourself."

~❊~

Night fell. One by one, the others retired to their tents. Only Karlach and Gale remained awake when you left the fire and slipped into Astarion's tent.

He was laying on his side, reading and drinking blood, the picture of leisure. He closed his book immediately when you laid beside him and pulled you flush against his body.

"There you are," he said, snuggling into your shoulder. "I was beginning to wonder if you were coming."

You reached up and dragged your fingers through his perfect curls. "You don't have to wonder about that ever, Star. As long as I live, I'll be coming home to you. Even if I have to crawl."

"Gods, I love you," he said, wrapping himself around you. You kissed the top of his head.

"I love you, too," you whispered. He sighed happily and cuddled into you, sliding one of his legs between your own and settling there. A few minutes later, you felt the pressure of his knee against your clothed crotch. "What are you doing, mister?"

He grinned at you, showing both fangs. "Finishing what I started," he said cheekily. He began undoing the lacing at the front of your pants. "Now, just lay still for me, dear. And please do your best to keep quiet—I'd hate to have to cover that pretty mouth with my hand. Again."

☞ ❊ ☜

[Image Caption: I do not give permission to repost, translate, or publish my work on any other site or app by anyone except myself. I do not give permission for my work to be fed into AI (for audio, art, or writing).]

Baldur's Gate 3 // Astarion Acunin

Taglist: {comment and let me know if you'd like to be added to the Astarion taglist!} @wayward-hel @cheeslyy @ofmyth-andmagicart @neetheslayer @whispering-depths @freesidexjunkie @lightsinmycity @the0ldmann @gobbodoggo @oooof-ifellforyou @beeblisss @fangboner @aquaarietes @fiercest-eigengrau-skies @niqhtfell @call-me-nyxx @lueji-m @ceres-xiv @tricksy-trinity @graynstairs @rosa-rubus @ynisthatyou

[pawpiefawn]

𝓼𝔀𝓮𝓮𝓽 𝓵𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽 𝓸𝓯 𝓼𝓹𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰 .𖥔 ݁ ˖

❤︎ alhaitham x reader 0.6k words cottagecore au reupload + edited from my previous blog.

your cottage, before you moved in, was a house.

your little red-brick house was something that you’d see from an english period movie, the imagery of little children frolicking and playing in the countryside — it almost seemed more so a prop piece for a show set rather than a cottage in the woods. juniper green ivy climbed the walls, sweet poppies and sunny marigolds sprouted from the earth to say hello – your land was cheerful.

you love collecting the flowers from your garden; they always seem to reappear as soon as you pluck them. the flowers are good, gently held and pressed in between pages of al-haitham's favourite novels as bookmarks – also cheerfully and playfully weaved into al-haitham's hair. seeing the blooms you picked always brought a smile onto his face.

the fresh stream that lives nearby is home to small fishes that travel with the currents – squint hard enough and perhaps you'd see arrietty waving from behind a river plant. the water – cool and sweet, bore witness to much of your laughter and splashing him each other on salty, sweltering summer days.

and your garden – oh, your garden. how blessed you are; a garden so colourful and fruitful. spring bears witness to the sweetest apricots and cherries ; summer says hello to sweet mangoes and fresh strawberries ; fall greets crisp apples and tart cranberries – and winter is the period of frantic churning and mixing of jam and compotes, all ready for the chilly winter to come.

your garden; home to herbs and vegetables that you grow to supply hearty meals to your table. the sweet radishes that are lovingly tended to in the autumn finds its way to harvest baskets . . . baskets that are sweetly put together as presents for your neighbours.

al-haitham always picks the best of each harvest to give away. there's something preciously sweet about it – perhaps you've rubbed your childlike kindness off onto your husband. the best we own should be given to others.

now, your cottage – home to sweet laughs that spill from your husband's mouth that you were always greedy for. his soft touches, a pleasant and constant reminder that i am here ; ever so fleeting of his warmth meeting yours.

a home so full of love and the sweet light of spring... a home of laughter, and warmth, and constant intimacy of tender kisses on your cheek and the resting of your forehead against his.

"good morning."

"hayi! good morning!" you find yourself squealing as al-haitham peppers your face with his sweet kisses, giggling as he kissed your reddened cheeks – then your forehead – then your nose – and your supple lips.

"mmmph." he rests his head against yours and leans in, soaking in your warmth.

how rare is it that he gets a morning with his sweet darling, all to yourself?

"what do you want for breakfast?"

you watch him, hands on his hip and peering into your fridge stocked full of food. it's almost comical how homely your husband is now as compared to his younger self – you stifle a small giggle.

"..."

"what?"

"nothing!"

"tell me." al-haitham turns to look at you.

"i said it's nothing!" a petulant whine slips past your lips. delightfully soft giggles fill the room as al-haitham makes his way over to you – a comfortable, light morning.

"tell me." your husband gently pokes your sides, playfully frustrated with your refusal to tell him what was so funny.

"it's just . . . you look so cute like this." you grin sweetly up at him.

"...like what?"

"like my husband!"

a soft silence fills the room – thoughtful contemplation as he takes in your endearing excitement – before al-haitham breaks out into rare, unbridled chuckles. you're too cute for him, he thinks. how did someone so seemingly opposite of him fall so deeply in love?

indeed, it's true – your cottage, so filled with love and the sweet light of spring, is a home.

[obsidianpen]

These questions about Lightning make me wonder what direction you plan to take it. I know you don't use the same things in every story, which makes them so delightfully unique. This is just my wishful thinking for you to explore the prophecy more. I know that in the books the power that defeats V is love, but for some reason I feel like there's something more to it than that. Harry is the chosen one, and that could mean so many things. Jamie, have mercy on me and please tell me something about this new story of ours 🥺🥺

omggg what me ramble about my the plot of a fic im not writing? Please

okay so

SPOILERS in case I ever do get around to writing Lightning

Here’s what I know so far about how the beginning of the fic is going to go (and I may, ofc, change my min entirely):

Harry, a young auror in training, goes back by accident, due to a dark ritual involving the ring, an illegal time turner and human sacrifice that he Ron and Hermione attempt to bust on their own, ignoring ministry protocol. Things go very awry, Harry ends up in 1950 ish, alone. Oh and he has a ton of gold, thanks to an interaction Draco that happens earlier that day - how lucky

Harry carries a terrible blood curse with him, and knows immediately that this shit is going to kill him and soon if he doesn’t seek medical help. But he also knows that time traveling like he did, no matter the circumstances, will send probably him to Azkaban, if not off as a test subject to the DoM. He knows they’ll look into his memories if he comes off as suspicious at st mungos, because it’s a real dark curse, and he’s a horrible actor and he’s awful at Occlumency and he knows it, so

harry concocts a ridiculous plot that allows him to pull out alllllll of his memories but with a plan in place to get them back after his curse is lifted, and sets things up so he wakes up right outside st mungos, where he knows they’ll take care of him

he is well taken care of, the poor lamb, to be attacked on Christmas Eve!!! and spends a few days there, maybe makes some hospital friends who have also had their memories fucked with

they assume he was the victim of some awful mugging, and that the perpetrator wiped his memories after and did such a terrible job and that’s why Harry can’t even remember his own name (they deduce his first name is ‘Harry’ only because he wrote it on the inner tag on his robe beforehand; a healer tells him that next time he writes his names on his personal belongings, he ought to put his last name, too)

but he still has his wand - how lucky! So they tell him he should go to ollivanders, as it looks like one of his (man remembers every wand he ever sold, ten galleons says he’ll remember you)

so Harry does, and the moment he asks, ollivander’s face goes slack - he’s clearly been confounded. He goes into a back room, hands Harry a moleskin bag, and bows him out of his shop without another word.

Harry goes back to the room he’s renting, and it’s NYE btw, and he opens the bag to find a shit ton of galleons and two vials, both glowing silver, one so bright it’s almost blinding. There is a handwritten note on each one. ‘Before you died’ and ‘after you died’

another note reads something along the lines of, ‘hi Harry, these are all your memories. I’m not even sure if you should take them all back or not; it might be better if you didn’t. It’s not often you get a chance to start over. But I know you - ha - so you’ll definitely end up taking them back. Maybe think about it first. It’s not great. I think I’d take the do over. really, think about it. Oh, and while you’re considering it - avoid Knockturn alley.’

harry does indeed find this all ominous, and assumes he must have been a horrible horrible person. He probably stole all this gold! What if he killed people for it! So he takes his sad amnesiac self down to the Leaky and starts to day drink heavily as the new year approaches

he is friendly with the young bus boy named Tom, who swears he’ll be running that pub someday.

as if gets busier later in the day, quite crowded, Harry gets more depressed. At one point, half the bar seems to cheer when a new person arrives. harry looks. He’s tall. He’s very handsome. He immediately makes Harry’s mind go on high alert and he’s instantly anxious and doesn’t know why.

tom the busboy tells him that if he keeps staring like that, the bloke is going to notice. Sure enough, he does. Harry looks away and is having a crisis (why am I staring at that handsome man? Why do I keep calling him handsome? Am I gay, and I forgot? Wtf is wrong with me)

so he goes to leave, but Tom the bus boy got busy, so he shouts to get his attention so he can say goodbye to his bestie. “Tom!”

”…Yes?”

wrong Tom. Harry is suddenly eye to eye with the very tall very handsome very scary man. He’s staring down at him, looking confused. “Have we met…?”

harrys body acts without his consent. He moves in ways he did not know he could move - in a flash he has his wand out, pointed at this man’s temple, has him backed up against a wall, his elbow across his throat, pressing on his windpipe.

about a dozen people around them are ready to kill Harry at once, but mystery tall man calls them off with the barest gesture. Harrys heart is pounding and he is having all these horrible confusing thoughts, like ‘should tear his head off, lock him up, stop him now, ruin him’

And he’s looking right into his eyes while thinking all these things, so TR is just drinking it all in, unbeknownst to him

Owner of the bar yells at harry. Harry, so very confused and too guilty and panicked to even apologize, just leaves. he goes somewhere far away for a bit… and decided to take the first vial of his memories then

mental crisis ensues

aaaaaaand I actually have a lot more than that semi planned but that’s the exposition 🥲

[fandomwritingbit]

The scarf fic was amazing! Short but gold. I absolutly loved it and I think it has huge potential for a series or a longer fic. Pervy william is what I *need* rn, seriously requesting a continuation;-;

Thanks for this request, it was much too nice to revisit prevy Will. Here's a little continuation, I might get around to some corruption smut in the future ;)

Lost Property - pt. 1 here

William Afton x fem reader

“Bugger.” You say to yourself as you lift up the few garments on the coat hook in search of your scarf. How can you have lost it already? “Bleeding ridiculous…” You mutter: it’s not there. Some fucker has probably swiped it, though to be fair you should know better than to leave anything unattended here, people’s belongings have a nasty habit of just ‘going walkies’ when not under lock and key. 

You’re feeling pretty defeated until the thought strikes you that maybe somebody handed it in to the office. It’s at least worth a check. And so, not before putting your stuff in a locker, you take a breath and knock on your boss’s office door. 

There’s a pause before his gruff and impatient voice lets you know that someone is in. “Yeah. Come in.” And you do.

“Hey Mr Afton…” You smile at him as you usually would. Not the kind of faux-bright grin you give customers but a more special self-deprecating one, reserved purely for colleagues. He actually smiles back, though it’s slow to spread across his face.

You are just a pleasure to see, especially wearing the same skirt as last time, the one that’s a couple of inches too short and delightfully skin-tight. The skirt that he thought about when he made the rota, always putting you on the shifts that he was supervising just so he can see how good you look in it.   

“You alright, y/n?” He grins, eyes eventually finding their way to your face, the cool gaze making your face hot. 

“Uh not too bad- I just wanted to ask if any scarves have been handed in? I left one here the other day and it’s not on the hook.” 

…

Oh dear. He might have known this would happen. Your scarf certainly wasn’t handed in, in fact he knows precisely where it is and you definitely aren’t getting it back any time soon. Hell, no one’s having it, lest they pry it out of his cold, dead, horny, hands. 

He sniggers briefly and you feel left out of some joke. “No, there’s nothing in here.” He prides himself on how naturally that leaves his tongue, because it’s not technically a lie. Then the most devilish idea appears in his mind. “... But I’m not sure about lost property, you could look there.” 

And where is that, Mr Afton? 

“Right. I haven’t looked in there before, where is it?” 

The grin on your boss’s face becomes particularly wolfish and you swear his eyes sparkle. “Here, love. I’ll show you.”  

~

After a short walk, spent behind your boss trying not to be put off by the way he towers over you, he shows you into a small room, little more than a cupboard. There’s shelves up the wall with boxes and baskets and shit, and on the floor a large clear bin full of clothes. He holds the door for you and stands aside to let you in. You throw him a polite smile over your shoulder, expecting him to leave you to it. But when you turn your back and crouch down to open the bin, you don’t hear any footsteps behind you. And turning around only confirms his lean frame still in the doorway.

You brush it off as maybe he just wants to be out of the office for a bit, and start rifling through the fabrics, looking for the distinctive light blue silky texture of your scarf. But with the amount of stuff in here it’s going to take a while. 

William leans against the frame, taking in your perfect form, sitting there on your feet. That skirt stretched thin around all the best parts of you. This is the best idea he’s had in a while and he isn’t going to let it go to waste. So he pulls his phone out from the front pocket of his trousers, careful to keep flicking his gaze on you, and opens his camera to start taking a few photos of you down on your knees.  Knowing how grateful he’ll be to himself later, when he has the opportunity to act on the stiffening of his cock just from the sight of you. It’s hard for him not to touch himself right now, but he’s not that careless, a sweet thing like you would need breaking in.

“I don’t think it’s here… fuck’s sake.” You mutter the last part, though when you turn and see your boss with an amused expression, you apologise automatically. 

“You don’t have to be sorry.” He chuckles, watching you stand to your feet. He pauses as he considers whether to say the next part. “It’s a shame about your scarf though, it looked lovely on you.”

You smile, a little dazed by that comment. It was unexpected to say the least, especially from such a handsome and scary man as Mr Afton, and especially when he said it like that. You’re suddenly very aware of how you were just on your knees in front of him and it makes blood rush to your face. Then it occurs to you that you’ve been quiet for a fair while, so you rush a response, “Uh thanks- my friend is gonna kill me, she only gave me it two weeks ago.” Embarrassment doubles after you’ve finished babbling, god you need to get out of this small room. 

He just laughs, finally moving out the way enough to let you out, revelling in how such a little complement made you so flustered. “I’ll keep an eye out for you, but if it’s been nicked there’s not a lot we can do.” 

“Yeah, it’s fine honestly. I just wanted to have a look.” Right now you just feel silly, like you’ve wasted his time. You just want to get out on the floor and start your shift away from the eyes of this attractive man. And mercifully he lets you go, not without walking you back down the corridors with a large and intimidating hand on your lower back, the gesture now making your hands sweaty.    

It’s only when you’re gone and he’s back in his office that he adjusts himself in his trousers, not a stitch of guilt at the fact that just having you alone made him hard. And the knowledge of those photos made him throb. 

You poor, cute little thing, he’s going to ruin you. 

[lace-coffin]

i feel like sending a rq this sappy kinda harshes the vibe of yr delightfully horny slasher headcanon posts but do you have any headcanons about how bubba’s s/o would fit into the sawyer household? like, how The Brothers might react to her bringing someone home or what day-to-day life on the sawyer homestead with bubba would be like?

Thank you for the rq!! I love writing fluff just as much as I do smut so feel free to send me all ur fluff ideas!

No trigger warnings apply!

Requests are open!

Reader is gender neutral and we’re operating on the basis that nubbins is still alive at the same time choptop is back home bc I love the sawyers

How would reader fit into the sawyer household as bubba’s s/o

You and bubba met one day when bubba offered to come help at the gas station, feeling cooped up in the house and not wanting to be alone. Drayton was more than happy to claim you as a victim as soon as he saw you pull up to the gas pump. This changed after your first interaction with bubba.

She was helping restock some shelves whilst Drayton manned the till. Dressed in a loose white sundress as it was easy to move in and won’t make them overheat whilst working.

You came in to pay, offering a polite greeting to Drayton who was putting on his airs and graces to lull you into a false sense of safety. You decided to get a snack, party because you were hungry and party because the run down station looked like it wasn’t receiving much love nor income.

As you browsed the isles your eyes landed on a figure crouched infront of the shelf. Short Soft brown curls tied with a ribbon laid across freckle spattered shoulders. White linen sundress laid gently against his large frame. Arms strong and thick with a fair amount of dark hair. Oh yeah, you were absolutely getting a snack now.

It turns out the snack isle was where the handsome stranger was working, you were going to talk to her regardless but this was a perfect opportunity. You scan over the different snacks available and take your pick. Coughing to get their attention you make yourself known. “I’m so sorry to bother you whilst you’re working but I just need to grab one of these” you point to the item and reach for it. Bubba being the person he is he decides to be kind and get it for you. You both reach for it and your hands bump. you both jolt back in surprise, pausing for a moment before laughing. The moment is sweet and genuine.

You catch sight of bubba’s gold charm bracelet and motion to it. “Your bracelet is so lovely!! Gold is definitely your colour”. Bubba makes a happy noise at this and flaps their hands in joy. Drayton watches the exchange with a soft smile on his face, his soft spot for his little sibling will always be there.

After this pleasant exchange you make sure to stop by the gas station every time you pass by even if you don’t need anything. Bubba isn’t there all the time, only working there on occasion but you still drop by and make comfortable conversation with Drayton. (You often ask about bubba to)

Eventually after bonding over the span of a few weeks and talking about it with Drayton you work up the courage to ask bubba on a date. Needless to say she’s thrilled and excepts immediately. You end up taking him out to a cute American style diner and the rest is history.

How would bubba’s siblings react to them bringing someone home?

Drayton is the least surprised considering he was basically in on it before you even asked his younger sibling out. He’s the one meeting you at the door before dates and giving you the lecture about driving careful and when to have bubba home. He can’t help it, he’s raised them since they were a kid. He’ll deny being protective with everything in his being if you bring it up though. He’ll be happy to finally have you over, cleaning the house top to bottom, he really likes you and wants this to go well for bubba.

Nubbins would be giddy to meet you, having been hyping bubba up before leaving for the gas station. He’s excited to get to meet the person who has his little sibling smitten. You actually might meet him on the road just before getting to the house. He’ll be scavenging for roadkill when you holler out the car and offer him a ride back to the house. Feel free to ask him a few questions about wooing the rest of his family before you get to the door.

Choptop would tease you and bubba, making her groan in annoyance. You take no offence and laugh with him. Chop will be eager to ask you 1000 questions and show you around the house. He’ll drag you straight to his room to see his record collection. Extra points if your alternative! Doesn’t matter what style, he thinks it’s all cool.

Nubbins and chop will definitely tease the two of you, fake gagging when you’re affectionate with each other in front of them. They might act like it’s gross but they’re actually happy for bubba and like his partner, hoping things go well so they can hang out more.

Grandpa isn’t a man of many words but you get on just fine, the conversations are pretty one sided apart from small smiles you see creep onto his face but he’s nice enough and important to your partner. You always make sure he feels included at dinners and family activities.

Grandma is long gone, but I’m sure she’d like you if she was alive 💀

How does reader fit into the house?

You fit in like a glove! It’s like you’ve known them way longer than you have. Drayton may grumble about having another mouth to feed but he really does enjoy your presence. you bring in your own income which is definitely helpful to repair some faults in the house or farming equipment which is very appreciated. You also help lighten his load with the chores, he’s not as young as he used to be and his joints are proving that. If you see him struggling or it’s a particularly bad day for his back then you’ll offer to take up his share of house chores. You spend evenings in the kitchen together washing up after dinner, listening to the radio together.

Nubbins loves to drag you and bubba out of the house to help look for roadkill, if that’s not your thing then he won’t force you but he’d really love it if you did come, using it as a way to bond. He’ll gift bubba bones and pretty trinkets he finds to make jewellery with. Nubbins has a lot of hair, he loves it when you tie it up for him before he goes out so it keeps out of his face in the Texan heat.

Choptop will spend time with you and bubba listening to his records. It’s always fun when you three chill in chops room covered in tapestry’s and mood lighting, the vibe is comfy and calm and complimented by listening to their favourite radio host/station (hi Stretch and LG!)

You often spend most of your day with bubba after he returns from his morning chores, you have more of a choice in your chores. If your good with animals then you’ll be assigned to helping around the farm and with the care of bubbas pet chicken, bond with your feathery friend enough and they’ll eventually start following you across the farm whilst you work. If you’re better with house work then you’ll be helping do more domestic activities whilst Drayton is running the gas station. Sweeping up, doing laundry and dishes, those kind of things. You also might help bubba tend to grandpa, she really appreciates it because it’s not easy carrying grandpa in his wheelchair down two flights of stairs alone. It also means a lot to them since family is everything and he loves his grandpa more than the world it’s self.

After a day of chores you meet back up and go to rinse off, as much as you love seeing her hot and bothered you don’t enjoy being sweaty and exhausted so you help eachother clean off. A few hours after supper it’s time for bed. to start off with Drayton insisted you sleep in separate beds so “no funny business” occurs. Funny business absolutely occurred despite that. You know you were found out when Drayton banged on the ceiling with a broom and yelled for you to “keep it down if you’re gonna be going at it like animals”. The next morning you both sit at the table red faced, nubbins and chop finding it hilarious. After this you moved into a bigger bed together since sleeping apart didn’t really have a point anymore.

You read to them next to the warm light of your bedside table lamp until your eyelids start to get heavy and the words blur together. You snuggle down into his side and let out a sigh of content. With one last sweet peck on the lips you both drift off.

I hope u liked this! Texas chainsaw massacre is actually a special interest of mine so I adored writing this for u!!

[maple-the-awesome]

When Another Finds Out About His Crush Part 3/3

Part 1 || Part 2

Pairings: Warrior, Wild, & Wind x GN Reader

Overview: What happens when someone else in the Chain finds out about his feelings towards you?

Zelda Masterlist 💙Fandom Masterlist

This...is starting to get annoying.

As a captain who has overseen dozens of soldiers and fought in enough battles to last a lifetime (not that they’ll stop coming anytime soon), Warrior likes to believe he's developed tough skin over the years. While the occasional expression of irritation might slip through sometimes, he prides himself on his ability to usually roll with the punches by remaining both calm and patient, although there are certain...'situations' that truly test this inner strength.

"Quit being such a suck up."

"Hylia, is it possible for you to stop making goo-goo eyes for five seconds?"

"We all get it: you're completely whipped. Just shut up about it already."

"Oh, keep it in your pants, pretty boy.”

Ah yes. There is no situation that tests Warrior more than that annoying sour strawberry who's very keen on getting under his skin whenever possible, but lately it seems he really has no better hobbies to occupy his time.

If guessing, Warrior would say it only started a mere week ago when the two were patrolling around camp with you as an added member. There was nothing particularly strange about Legend's character that day, in fact he remained delightfully quiet (as third wheels should be) until a moment when your trio had to cross a small stream. Warrior, naturally, didn't think twice about putting his own life and dry clothes at risk by balancing on top of those slippery rocks himself where he could then help you across with a steady hand.

"What a gentleman!" You had awed, your smile making it completely worth that small leap his heart gave when he almost lost his footing seconds before, although Legend apparently thought there was a more fitting title to bestow upon the blonde which he did so with a roll of his eyes:

"...What a kiss ass…"

Warrior had rolled his eyes as well, figuring the insult was no different from all the others Legend tends to throw his way, but then they continued with an alarming pattern behind them, too. Always around you and always linked back to Warrior's very private feelings towards you.

How Legend came to discover them is anyone's guess. He could have noticed that your always Warrior's first choice in company or perhaps he's simply grown sick of the way you live entirely rent-free in Warrior's mind, your name somehow being woven into every conversation or the cause for that dreamy look in his eyes as his thoughts wander off...Actually, it might not be such a surprise that Legend found out after all, but Warrior really wishes it could've been literally anyone else (minus you, of course). There's no way Time or Twilight or even mischievous Wild would be as cruel as to wave his feelings in front of his face at every given chance the way Legend is hellbent on doing.

"Whatcha writing, Wars?" Finally a voice he loves to hear and a face his heart soars at seeing.

He's been on his own in the corner of camp for a while now, purposefully secluding himself in hopes of catching a break, however he doesn't mind your presence as you practically hang over his shoulder, a grin on your lips as you try to catch a peek at the paper in his hands.

He instantly smiles to himself and opens his mouth to answer that he's currently making a list of supplies, but another beats him to a far more smug response, "He's probably writing you a love poem."

Warrior snarls at Legend whose life is apparently so boring he can't not listen into any of your conversations even when relaxing by the campfire himself with his back turned to you both. Facing you or not, Warrior knows the idiot has a smirk playing at his face as he pats himself on the back for another ‘amazing’ jab.

"Legend just likes to tease. Don't take it to heart," You place a hand on Warrior's shoulder as soon as you notice his growing irritation which you haven't been blind to at all this week. You've long gotten used to Legend's nagging and teasing, not seeing it as anything personal, although you can understand why it might make others upset, "I'm sure deep down he's just jealous that you're my favorite."

Warrior is so busy being huffy that he almost misses your comment, but when it processes in his mind, he's quick to swallow the lump in his throat and mumble, "I'm your favorite, eh?"

You smile sweetly, "...Well, second favorite. First place goes to Wolfie, I'm afraid."

Warrior blinks, his brain almost malfunctioning now, although it manages to catch up with your words which snaps his head towards you with slight offense over your now teasing smirk, "Wait, how could I be robbed of first place by a dog -"

"- A wolf -"

"- An animal! Why him?" Warrior practically whines, yet you can spare him no sympathy, simply shrugging.

"cause he's cute."

"I'm not?"

"You are, but not like 'cuddly-cute'...Unless…" You lean closer, your whispered voice fanning Warrior's face as he licks his chapped lips nervously, "You're willingly to throw in some cuddles? That scarf of yours looks mighty comfy, Captain."

"...W-While I have no real objections, you are aware that Legend will never cut either of us a break then, right?”

You almost look innocent when gazing up at him through your eyelashes, however the way you play with his scarf is anything but, "It's just an offer. If you're too intimidated by little ol' me, simply say so. I must warn, though, if you can’t step up to the challenge, Wolfie might forever hold the spot of being my favorite...Can’t have that, can we?”

Warrior sucks in a breath before responding in an equal whisper, "Hmm. That would be less than ideal..."

"OH MY HYLIA! GET A ROOM!"

"You know, he's found a normal life - despite everything he's been through..."

"Sounds like that's what you want, too."

Wild becomes a bit bashful when Warrior hits the nail on the head, although he isn’t ashamed enough to avoid the topic, instead pursuing it in quiet wonder, “Well, I-I don’t really know, but I did buy a house. It’s in a nice area and I’ve done repairs to it recently…”

Cheek resting against his palm, he dares himself to glance across the wooden table to the person sitting directly in front of him. It’s unclear whether you’re listening or not since your eyes remain focused in awe on Malon and Time who’s relationship anyone could admire. Nevertheless, a part of Wild hopes you did hear him because his curiosity is itching to know your opinion. Does settling down somewhere sound pleasant to you or do you plan for a life on the road like Legend’s insistant on? Honestly, the latter might not be a terrible preference if you allow for the idea of someone special joining you on your journey. Wild isn’t picky.

Despite dying to know your outlook on the future, Wild doesn’t plan on asking you up front. He’s perfectly content relying on his imagination right now as he enjoys the peaceful fluttering in his chest which is often fueled by the mental image of the two of you in Hateno, cooking dinner together then eating outside under the sunset before retiring for the night, asleep in each other’s arms rested in a comfortable bed where everything just feels right with the world -

"- What about you, (Y/n)? I personally think Wild has a point. A life like this would be wonderful, don't you think? Living somewhere quiet, with someone special." 

The Champion is ripped away from his fictitious domestic bliss to rejoin reality with a slight jump to his heart rate after he hears Sky casually ask the very question he’s been too afraid to even whisper to himself. It’s as if the Skylofian has been reading his mind, although his attention is solely on you at this moment as he smiles sweetly while awaiting your answer.

Even you look a bit taken back, having finally turned away from the couple to face those you sit at the table with. Still, you give some actual thought over the topic before answering, proving that you have, in fact, been listening at least partly this entire time, “...Yeah, I guess something like this could be nice. Nothing busy, just peaceful livin’ compared to everything else we’ve all been through. It could be a good change of pace - with the right person, of course.”

Wild swears he can feel his heartbeat in his cheeks, tinting them in red heat he worries someone else might notice if he draws too much attention to himself, thus he adds no comment, merely bowing his head in silence. He does wear a rather dreamy smile, though. Does this mean that, in theory, his fantasies don’t have to necessarily stay just that? He wonders if you have a specific area in mind. Sure, Hateno’s great, but if you don’t care for the atmosphere and perhaps favor something a little more rural, he’d be happy to find a nice patch of land for that. Maybe even ask Twilight and Time for some pointers on how to get a ranch started. Honestly, that makes the image all the better. Living off the land, no close neighbors to judge, plenty of space for the kids to play -

“- Any idea who that would be to you?” Wild didn’t expect Sky to keep asking questions, and apparently you weren’t either. Unlike before where you were simply caught off guard for a second, you feel truly thrown off your feet now. Sky awaits your second answer eagerly, his eyes watching you in a way that almost makes you feel like he already knows the truth and is just waiting for you to admit it. Weird. 

Foolishly, Wild was stupid enough to believe even for a second that your eyes crossed his then, but just like that, they darted away as a blush coated your own face, “I, um…no i-idea. You know, not all of us are as lucky as to find our soulmate right off the bat. I, for one, have been a little too busy protecting my Hyrule than to worry about what guy I want to grow old with.”

“Well, I do consider myself very lucky to have Zelda,” Fortunately, Sky isn’t bothered by your defensive reply, merely shrugging and giving you a supportive smile, “Don’t worry, though, (Y/n). Love can find you at the strangest of times. I’m sure your own soulmate could be a lot closer than you think.”

“Uh, thanks?” This time, Wild knows he doesn’t imagine the way you look at him, giving a smile that pretty much translates to ‘what is he on about’. He shrugs in silent response, returning a similar grin that answers ‘no idea’.

The topic of future life fades into another conversation soon after that, allowing Wild’s poor heart a break as he becomes lost in the laughter he shares with you over dinner as everyone places their own bets on Time’s real age. Only once does he think back to earlier and that’s when he happens to glance towards Sky after making a joke that leaves you snorting for air.

The Skylofian watches with the same look you had when observing Time and Malon’s dynamic - a look of admiration and support. It’s then that Wild realizes just why Sky had specifically chosen you for those specific questions. Honestly, Wild doesn’t know if he should be mad or thankful…Maybe he’ll decide to let it pass so long as Sky doesn’t do anything else to put his feelings on the front line or starts trying to plan your marriage. Seriously, one step at a time, for Hylia's sake.

Wind's home is pretty relaxing compared to the creepy forests or standoffish villages the boys have passed through in recent days. The few inhabitants are very welcoming to their young pirate's friends, happy to allow them sanctuary until they can figure out a proper plan on how to continue onwards seeing as they're kinda stuck on a small island at the moment. Nevertheless, it's a peaceful place, as said. The air is fresh and the waves provide a calm melody that washes away one's stresses. 

Four is particularly keen on spending his time on shore, collecting tiny seashells he can find hidden in the sand which, at least in his opinion, is a far better pass time than drowning in the freezing ocean like some of the others (Sky) seem to be doing.

He's by his lonesome, that is, until Wind himself comes sauntering over. This wouldn't be strange nor would his championship be found annoying seeing as Four actually gets along fairly well with the younger boy, but there's something about his behavior that strikes the Smith as odd. 

He's fiddling with the edges of his tunic in a nervous, impatient fashion, stopping a few feet away in silence yet carrying a certain air to himself that practically screams that he's waiting to say something, however he keeps his mouth shut with pressed lips until Four decides to break the silence himself while standing straight out of the sand, asking for good measure, "Something wrong?"

"Umm…Do you have any good present ideas in mind?”

That wasn't exactly what Four expected the Pirate to say, although it does intrigue him. Confused, but hooked to find out more, "'Present ideas'?"

"Yeah!" In a second, Wind goes from nervous to excited, his face glowing in delight as if by merely echoing his own words, Four had somehow managed to give him exactly the answer he’s been desperately searching for, "You said that your Minish friends leave 'little gifts' in the grass for people, right? I was just curious what those gifts usually are."

Four gives Wind a skeptical look. Perhaps he shouldn’t give him the benefit of the doubt and instead question his motives further considering the trouble some of the Links on his trip tend to get into, yet he ultimately doesn’t think too much about the rather random topic choice. Young kids do typically have strange attention spans and interests, after all. Having been a young kid himself once, Four decides to humor Wind with a shrug as he begins to count the seashells he holds in hand, "Normally they leave hearts and rupees, although it isn't unheard of for them to leave rarer items or little trinkets."

"Trinkets, huh?" Wind gives it some thought, "...Do you think it's possible for them to leave something like this?"

Four looks up from his seashells, noticing that Wind is holding a butterfly necklace proudly in the air - one very similar to what he currently wears around his neck. Notably, it looks newer than his; less worn from years of use.

"I've found a lot of these hidden in different areas when I was traveling the seven seas," Wind explains boastfully, holding the glittery necklace to the light with a hand on his hip. Four shares his smile, reaching the conclusion that he must be asking to confirm where said necklaces had come from.

"It's entirely possible."

Wind's smile then fades into a softer look as he studies the necklace a bit closer. He scratches some of the dust off with his fingernail, making sure it looks good-as-new before glancing over to where the rest of their group hangs out across the beach, "...And do you think if a, um…Minish left something like this in the grass for (Y/n) to find, do you - do you think they'd like that?"

Four blinks...Ooh...Now Wind's random questioning begins to make a lot more sense. Sure, he's noticed the way you both get on well, which has never been a surprise seeing as you seem good with kids and all, but it's honestly really adorable to see the young pirate wanting to do a sweet gesture for you and to be so shy doing so. It reminds Four of a simpler time when he used to do something similar by leaving flowers around for Zelda to find. It didn't necessarily have anything to do with romance, he just liked seeing her smile when she found them. He assumes that feeling is about the same for Wind towards you.

"...Yeah, I'm sure (Y/n) would really like that actually - if 'a Minish' left them a necklace," Four agrees, biting back his smirk when Wind lights up again. Just like that, the Pirate is turning on his heel, his smile going from ear to ear as he grips said necklace in hand excitedly.

"I better go find a good place to hide it then - Uh, I-I mean…You know, for the Minish to find? S-So that they can hide it for (Y/n), of course!"

"Of course. If I see any Minish, I’ll tell them about the plan. Who knows, maybe they’ll hide it in that long grass across the bridge? I know (Y/n) was wanting to explore that area later,” Four has to turn around to hide his expression when Wind glances back at him in consideration. Just as predicted, his course is quick to change, hurrying across the island which gives Four time to go back to collecting his seashells in peace once more, a smirk still playing on his face. Ah, young love…

[jean-vi]

The Volunteer | Jean x Reader

Pairing: Jean Kirstein x Marley!Reader Inspiration: “No, I’m not afraid to disappear” - I Know The End by Phoebe Bridgers Summary: this choice will have consequences. Genre: Rivals (?) to Lovers, One Bed Trope, Angst, Fluff? Warnings: Implied Major Character Death, SPOILERS S4, Non-canon storyline and timeline, map inaccuracies.  WC: 6.3k A/N: DARLINGGG GUESS WHO’S BACK FROM JAIL?!  Other: Masterlist

     Paradis was peace. It was a place where you could be yourself and feel less afraid than before, which was saying a lot considering your drenched skirts. The man before you was nothing more than a rowdy customer who was already rosy with drink despite the early hour. You had taken the early shift this day so that you could explore Paradis without getting the you missed your shift again talk. Honestly, the people in Paradis were nothing like the ones back at home. They were nicer, even when they were leering in your face with slurred words. You were just glad you were alive. 

    “Miss, miss, please, oh please can I have another–” the man groaned and you delightfully plucked the drink from his hands. It was like stealing candy from a baby. 

    “Sir, I think you’ve had just about enough for today,” you chirped happily. The man seemed disgruntled but easily seemed to forget his rage as a buddy slung an arm around him. Soon enough, a merriment filled the air. 

    “Not even noon yet,” Mrs. Wasatch sighed pleasantly as she bustled through and started clearing tables. You jumped in as well, eager to get your duties over with for the day. Mrs. Wasatch was a squat woman with full hips and a wide rib cage. Her dark hair was curled quite fashionably into a bun, the strands falling just right. Mrs. Wasatch helped run the bar and while she had been skeptical of you, Mr. Wasatch was an avid supporter of Eldian refugees from Marley. 

    “You know they never settle, dear,” Mr. Wasatch bustled through the kitchen door and into the dusty bar. The man always wore the same pitch black work boots and broken spectacles. You had offered to get the cracked glass replaced, but the barkeep had refused. 

    “I’m surprised we don’t hear more complaints from the neighbors,” Mrs. Wasatch laughed and you couldn’t help cracking a smile. You swiped at the stains on the tables and kept your eye on the door. If that pesky watch guard of yours showed up, it would be over. Your day of fun would be canceled and you’d be escorted straight back to the camps. 

    “Hun, you must be just itching to go out and enjoy the sun,” Mrs. Wasatch said with a warm smile, “the day is clear, not a cloud in the sky. When I was your age, all I wanted to do was go outside. Of course, the walls mattered a lot more then, so there was never truly any freedom.” 

    “That must have been awful, Mrs. Wasatch,” you hummed, your mind wandering. 

    “It sure was, darling. Probably nothing worse than your situation though.” 

    It was only then that you noticed she’d stopped wiping the tables down and instead was staring intently at you. You hated the pity in her eyes. You’d much prefer the anger of the protesters to this. She reached out and touched your arm, which forced you to keep a pleasant smile on your face. Her touch burned, just like the hands that had touched you before. Everything was always too hot and you felt like you were going to melt. You needed air. You needed to get outside now. 

    “If you ever want to talk about your experience, please, never hesitate to come to me, darling,” Mrs. Wasatch said softly. Then, she dropped her hand, her smile fading as she followed your eyes to the windows, “you may go.” 

    You didn’t need to be told twice. You rushed to the backroom and took off your apron. Then you hurriedly let down your hair and haphazardly combed your fingers through the strands. You breezed past Mr. and Mrs. Wasatch, giving them thankful smiles. 

    “I’ll see you tomorrow!” You called cheerfully as you left the building. You peered carefully around the corner. A sigh of relief. No one was in sight, which meant you were free to explore beyond the walls without a soldier breathing down your back.

    “I can trust you’ll be staying inside Wall Rose?” 

    Dammit. You froze and plastered a wide smile on your face as you turned towards the all too familiar voice. The man kicked off the wall, shaking out his light brown hair. 

    “Jean!” You greeted pleasantly, “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

    “You and I both know that’s untrue.” Jean raised an eyebrow and took a hand out of his pockets to grip your shoulder, “don’t even think of running.”

    “Of course, I wasn’t planning on going outside the walls,” you said with gritted teeth. He didn’t seem convinced, which wasn’t surprising. He rubbed his chin and looked at you intently. 

    “Well, if you need to do errands, I would be happy to join you.” 

    You let your smile drop a little and shrugged off his hand. Not every Marley volunteer had a personal guard to watch them, but not every Marleyan volunteer had escaped into the wilderness three times. Now, it wasn’t out of feeling like a prisoner, that you kept leaving, it was more so out of curiosity. This supposedly dangerous island was probably the best thing that had happened to you. 

    “That’s so kind of you, but there’s no need, Jean.” 

    “I insist.” 

    “No I insist.” 

    “I’ll drop the subject if you tell me where you plan to go.” 

    “The market, of course,” you lied. 

    “That’s so funny, I didn’t know there was a market called ‘outside Wall Maria’!” 

    You shot him a frustrated look and he seemed vaguely amused. He then crossed his arms and sighed.

    “Look, I know you’re interested in what’s outside Wall Maria. I think anyone in the Scouts understands that feeling. It’s safer than before, but somehow the Scouts managed to find you in the restricted areas more than once, so there’s no way we can trust you. I’m sorry, but rules are rules now.”

    “That’s big coming from the faction that overthrew the government.” You smiled, but for some reason a darkness filled his eyes. In fact, the look was somewhat saddened or perhaps nostalgic. The afternoon sun was high and bright, falling over his furrowed brows in a delicate shape. His features were accentuated, the shape of his jaw and the way his nose sloped were illuminated in gold. 

    “Well, I’m going to have to follow you either way.” 

    “Romantic. I like that,” you teased, if only to lighten his mood. Jean had this way about him where he’d go from joyful to serious in a blink of an eye. You’d overheard a few of the other scouts say that he’s been a changed man since learning of the outside world. You looked up, breathing in the chirping birds and the wind that whistled through the buildings. You couldn’t imagine living trapped in the walls, in a constant state of fear. 

    So perhaps now you had begun to feel ashamed, for what you had been taught in Marley. Marley. You turned on your heel and made for the gate out of the wall. The sting of betrayal was still fresh. Your mother’s face, her dreadful face, flashed through your mind. 

    Shaking your head, you waved to the guards, who had seen you pass through enough to know your name, and stepped into the unknown. Well, it wasn’t really the unknown. First, it was a series of Marleyan Volunteer camps and then beyond a rickety wooden fence was familiar territory. You wanted to explore beyond that today. Sadly, Jean just had to catch on to your antics. 

    “It’s so funny, Jean, how these old fences keep Marleyan soldiers tame.” You kicked a log and Jean raised an eyebrow. 

    “They understand that they’re not meant to stay here forever, but it looks like someone didn’t get the memo,” he grumbled. 

    “Well, I can’t imagine this old thing keeping me back,” you chuckled. 

    The man sighed and stepped in front of you. Sometimes it was easy to forget that Jean wasn’t just the little angel singing on your shoulder and was instead a breathing human. He took up space in this world. Did you? It was a question you sought to answer on your adventures. You hiked up mountains, felt the cool air hit your face, and climbed trees. You’d danced in open fields and pressed flowers into a notebook. How could anyone take that away from you? 

    “It’s for your safety. Not just from what’s out there, but also for the people who may not be as happy to see a Marley soldier.” His eyebrows furrowed and while you did admit he had handsome features, they certainly weren’t aided by the saddened look on his face. You wanted to take a wipe to it and bring back joking Jean–the one that would allow you to go out. 

    “Come on, just a little exploration? Just a little?” You smiled and pushed him playfully. He groaned. 

    “You’re never going to let up, are you?” 

    “I was never one to back down on my word,” You gave a mock salute and Jean just rolled his eyes. He ran a hand through his pretty brown locks and then stepped aside. 

    “Fine. I’ll go with you, but only to the wall. If I get in trouble for this, you take the fall,” he eyed you apprehensively, but you couldn’t help seeing a small glimmer in his eyes, “and remember, I’m only doing this so I can keep an eye on you.” 

    “Aw, Jean, I thought we were friends,” you laughed and took his arm as he begrudgingly went and got his horse. You went to untie another, but he made a noise of disapproval. You looked up and he was shaking his head. 

    “Like hell am I letting you ride your own horse,” he patted the space behind him, “you’re riding over here.” 

    You frowned, “I won’t run away, I promise.” 

    “I’d feel a lot better if you just rode with me,” he said and you sighed, walking over. Hopping onto the horse, his hand instinctively went back to grip your thigh for a moment. You bit your lip, but didn’t say anything, “hold on,” he said lowly. 

    And then you were off. You held onto his shoulders at first, but gradually let your arms wrap around his waist as you took off into the open fields outside. It was so wonderful. The fresh air and the breeze. The sun. The landscape was gorgeous in the afternoon as the golden rays of light illuminated the grass. 

    “It’s so pretty!” You shouted over the wind and he glanced back. 

    “What?” He called back. You just laughed. You passed a few villages of people slowly rebuilding since the Scouts retook Wall Maria. You didn’t know how long it would take to reach the wall itself. Then you felt Jean tense under your grip and you looked up. A forest of tall trees. You’d seen it from a distance, but all the times you’d gone on foot it just wasn’t really possible to get there. You’d thought of stealing a horse before, but it wasn’t feasible. Too many soldiers around. 

    “What’s wrong?” You shouted, and this time he heard you. 

    “It’s nothing. Just old memories,” he muttered and it seemed to be mostly to himself, but you still caught some of it. You were quiet at his statement. Old memories. You could understand his tenseness now. You shook off your own ghosts. 

    “You’ve been to the forest before? I’ve always been interested,” you tried to prod a bit more, but didn’t want to push it. He didn’t respond for a long time and then shrugged. 

    “Yeah, I’ve been a lot more than I would have liked.” The horse had slowed to a light walk now and you loosened your grip. You opened your mouth to say more, but he interrupted the silence.

    “It’s getting late. We won’t make it to the wall. Let’s go to a nearby town and find a place to stay for the night. We’ll get to the wall tomorrow,” Jean cleared his throat as he spoke and you sighed as he slowed to a halt. You looked up. The sky was indeed becoming a dusky orange and pink. 

    “Let’s go then,” you said and he was quiet, just turning the horse back towards the last village you had seen. 

    As you rode along the fields, you leaned closer to Jean, “tell me more about yourself, mister,” you teased and he seemed to lighten up a bit. 

    “Well, I’m not sure there’s much to say. I think others would call me a leader of sorts.” 

    “More than your suicidal maniac friend?” 

    Jean’s lips lifted into a grin, “I haven’t heard that name in a while,” he then shrugged a little, “I guess. He’s a different kind of person than I am now,” he glanced back at you, “tell me more about yourself, miss. Like how did you end up as a Marley soldier?”

    You paused at his question and you knew he picked up on your hesitation. You tried to cover it up. You laughed a little, “you already know a bunch about me, Jean. I never stop talking, after all.” 

    He scratched his chin at that as you entered the village. There was still a lively murmur in the air as vendors were packing up their stalls and kids were being ushered back home. Jean found a barn where other horses were being kept and you both hopped off. 

    “Not often we get newcomers,” said the man who took your horse. He had on a wide-brimmed hat and he had this long, white, beard, which he stroked thoughtfully. 

    “Just staying for the night,” Jean said politely, “is there an inn?”

    The man hummed to himself for a moment, scratching his chin, “don’t think so.” 

    “Oh, well, then we’ll head to the next town over–” Jean started, shooting you an apologetic smile. You were just watching the whole interaction with much amusement. It was clear that the man knew who Jean was and was more than happy to have such an important member of the Scouts in town. 

    “Wait, wait, you can just stay with my wife and I! We’ve got a spare room that you and the missus can use,” the man smiled, “and we’ve got two kiddos, but they’re no trouble at all.” 

    Jean raised an eyebrow, “oh, no, we’re not–” 

    “We would love that, sir,” you grinned, interrupting Jean and taking a hold on his arm. Jean seem unamused, but he didn’t contest it as you dragged him along, following the man back to his home. 

    “I’m Peter,” the man introduced as you approached a cozy looking home. The house was a little on the outskirts of the town and had two stories. A yellow candle flickered in the windowsill and you could see two children running around in the dining room. 

    “I’m home! I’ve brought two guests with me, just for the night,” Peter announced as he opened the door. His wife was pretty. She had long brown hair and blue eyes. An apron was tied around her waist as she bustled around the kitchen preparing dinner. 

    “Ah, how wonderful!” She smiled happily and you looked over a Jean. For some reason, he had a forlorn expression on his face, which he easily hid when he noticed you looking. 

    “This is my wife, Greta,” Peter said, giving her a kiss on the cheek and taking a few bowls from the cupboards, “come, come, sit, eat.” 

    You introduced yourself and Jean, which they smiled at. Then you sat down, at the behest of Greta. 

    “How did you two stumble upon this here town?” Greta asked as she began to serve dinner. She ladled big portions of hearty potato soup into the bowls and served you and Jean, then her children, and then herself and Peter. Their children were cute. You estimated them to be about nine and ten. 

    “We’re traveling to Wall–” you began and Jean cleared his throat. 

    “My girlfriend wanted to see the forest of giant trees, since it used to be a big tourist destination,” Jean explained easily and you just followed his lead. You knew he was stressed about people finding out you were Marleyan–even if you were Eldian by blood. People had weird ways of drawing lines. 

    “That’s so sweet, but you be careful out there–although you probably don’t need me to tell you that,” Peter coughed, glancing at Jean’s uniform. You smiled and chuckled, nudging Jean to do the same. 

    “Do you have your swords with you?” One of the kids piped up excitedly. 

    “Yeah! Yeah! Can you show us how to slay titans too?” the other shouted. 

    “Settle down boys, settle down,” Peter said gruffly and Greta shook her head. 

    “I apologize for them, they’ve never seen a soldier in person before,” Greta smiled sheepishly and Jean scratched the back of his neck. 

    “It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” he said. He reached out and ruffled one kid’s hair, “I don’t have my gear on me right now, but I’ll tell you what, I’ll come back soon and show you, okay?” 

    This was met with a chorus of okays. You raised your eyebrow at Jean, but he only met your eyes for one moment. You weren’t sure if he was lying or not, if he’d have time and actually remember. Then he gave a small shrug. Peter and Greta seemed pleased by Jean’s offer and you supposed it was a small price to pay for the graciousness of them sharing their home. 

    “Our town just got some premium wine the other day, you should share some with us,” Peter offered, standing to grab a bottle from the kitchen counter, “just a little glass to end the night?” 

    You were about to accept–you weren’t one to refuse a drink, but Jean intervened. It was unexpected, but he cleared his throat, “actually, we’ve sort of sworn off drinking for now,” he said, feigning sadness. You shot him a confused look, but hid it well as Peter shrugged. 

    “More for me then,” Peter laughed and Greta rolled her eyes. She cleared the table and started ushering the children to bed as Peter got up, “let me show you to your room.” 

    Up the stairs, you and Jean followed Peter. The narrow staircase led to a hallway with three doors. Peter opened the first door on the left. You and Jean peered inside. 

    “It’s not much, but it’s homey,” Peter said with a firm nod. You gave him a small smile. 

    “It’s perfect, thank you, sir,” Jean dipped his head and Peter shot you both a knowing gaze before slipping away to kiss his kids goodnight. 

    Now alone, you got to thoroughly inspect the room. There weren’t any glaring problems with the room except for, well, except for the bed. You saw Jean grimace as he stepped in fully and you nudged him. 

    “Hey, you don’t have to look so upset about sharing a bed with me,” you yawned, going to take a seat on the edge. You looked up at him and he rolled his eyes. 

    “It’s your fault we’re in this mess,” he said, pinching his nose bridge. Then he rubbed his temple, thinking, “I’ll take the floor,” he finally concluded. You stood and walked over to him. You flicked his forehead, making him look at you with surprise. 

    “Took you long enough to come to that conclusion,” you scoffed, “but I don’t think it’s necessary. I’ll just scoot over and it’ll be no problem,” you gestured to the bed. He gave you a funny look and sighed. 

    “It’s unprofessional. I can’t.”

    “And I say you can,” you gave him a disapproving look, “you’re acting like it’ll be the end of the world.” 

    His ears went red and he looked away, “I just don’t think it’s a good idea.” 

    “Maybe not, but the Scouts have had worse ideas, don’tcha think?” You grinned fiendishly and while he initially seemed unamused, you did catch a crack of a smile. Jean was so serious, for as long as you knew him, but you’d heard he’d been quite childish once. Maybe it was before all this Marley and Paradis thing started. Well, really it had gone on for centuries, but it was a relatively new part of Jean’s life.

    It had gotten dark and you went over to the window to light the oil lamp. You had slowly been getting used to the ways of Paradis, but you weren’t completely familiar. You hadn’t grown up here and learning to ride a horse had taken a bit of time. Jean watched you fiddle with the lamp and he went to sit on the bed. He wasn’t putting up any more complaints, so that was nice. Truly, you were suggesting you share the bed because you felt bad for dragging him all this way. 

    There was a long silence as you lit the lamp, basking the room in a warm glow. You glanced over at him, his profile. A sharp jaw and stubble complementing brown hair. 

    “Hey,” you called softly, “I can take the floor if you’re really uncomfortable with it.” You walked over to him, lamp in hand, “I’m sorry I dragged you all this way, Jean. I just wanted to have some fun.” 

    He didn’t respond for a long time. Then his eyes slid over to you and he let out a deep breath. You set the lamp down on the nightstand and waited for him to speak.

    “No, no, it’s fine,” he said as he unlaced his boots and tucked them under the bed. You did the same on the other side and then you both lay on top of the covers like two sticks. He was tense and you were being careful to keep the room. You shut your eyes, but you couldn’t sleep with him just laying there, stock-still, next to you. Finally, he broke the silence. 

    “You’re so tense.” There was a teasing lilt to his voice and when you turned your head, opening your eyes, he was staring at you. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. 

    “Can’t sleep,” you mumbled, turning back to look at the ceiling. 

    “And?” 

    You eyed him and rolled onto your side to look at him. He mirrored you. 

    “I don’t know, Jean. Maybe you should bore me to sleep, as per usual,” you huffed. 

    You could tell he wanted to rebuff you, but he just shook his head with exasperation, “fine. I’ll humor you.” He hummed to himself for a moment, thinking, “I’m going to quit drinking.” 

    You raised an eyebrow, “I said boring, Jean,” you then smiled a little, “so you weren’t lying earlier.” 

    He shook his head, “I just think it’s been something I’ve used as a crutch for a while now, but I should really get out of the habit. Too many things happening lately, I need to have a clear head.” 

    You nodded at his words. He was right. God damnit, Jean Kirstein was right. There was another silence and you averted your eyes, tracing the pattern on the wallpaper behind him with your eyes. 

    “You never really told me how you got in this position,” he said and your eyes flicked back to his. His words made your heart clench uneasily. 

    “I don’t know what you mean,” you muttered. 

    “Yes, you do. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. It’s just your past, but I doubt it will change what I think of you.” 

    You fixed him with a hard stare for once and he didn’t back down. You let out a breath and rolled onto your back. Your past felt so far away on Paradis, but it wasn’t so long ago that it all happened. You closed your eyes for a moment and then began your story. 

    “My family has been Eldian in Marley for generations now. We were always good Eldians. We never stepped out of line, never talked back. I have a brother and a sister, but they’re a lot younger than me,” you smiled a bit at the thought of them. 

    “You’ve never mentioned them.” Jean said quietly. 

    “Didn’t think it was important,” you shrugged. More like you didn’t want to let anyone know any intimate part of yourself, because that would mean they could hurt you. You’d already been hurt enough. “I was my mother’s favorite. My father was busy trying to support us financially.” 

    You rolled over to look at Jean. To your surprise, he was listening quite intensely, his eyebrows furrowed together. Maybe he could tell that for once you were being truly sincere, that you were telling the whole truth. 

    “The signs were there, but I didn’t want to believe them. My mother started disappearing at night, when she thought no one would notice. But she was my mom, so I always noticed,” you sat up a bit, pulling your knees to your chest. For some reason, recounting your history out loud seemed to bring out this vulnerable side of you, the side that wanted nothing but comfort and love. You didn’t like that. You wanted to be unshakable. 

    You cleared your throat, “and, well, she betrayed us. She joined the rebellion, but she got caught, of course. They threatened to kill our whole family, but I volunteered to join the military instead. And for penance, my siblings will need to join when they are of age as well,” you bit your lip. You couldn’t believe you’d left them. You wondered if they were still alive. 

    “I felt ashamed. I still love my mother, but I hate her for what she did to our family. And then I think I just hate Marley for making things work this way,” you mumbled, burying your face in your knees.

    Things were quiet, but you felt Jean’s eyes on you. And then you felt his hand on your back, “you have every right to feel this way. I hope you can find peace knowing you did the right thing for your family.” 

    You let out a mixture of a laugh and a sigh, “I don’t know if I did. I don’t know if dooming my siblings to a life of serving in the military is any better. I’m just prolonging their death sentence. It’s selfish of me to want to have fun and explore on Paradis while they suffer at home.” 

    Jean nodded a little and pulled your form against his body, enveloping you in his warmth, “You want to know a little secret?” He asked. You nodded silently against his chest, “It’s my job to stop you from wandering off, but secretly I admire you. And I feel encouraged by your energy. It reminds me of all the hopeful Scouts who dared to go beyond the walls in search of freedom. I wish I was still like you. Sometimes, I’m scared to let people in because people in my life seem to die whenever I do.” 

    “You are, Jean, oh gods, you are just like me,” you laughed a little and looked up at him. It felt right to be in his arms, “I can see it in you, sometimes. It’s a flash, but I still see some of the horseface boy that they used to talk about.” 

    His cheeks grew red, “hey, how do you know about that?” he stammered. 

    “I have my ways.” 

    You felt your eyelids growing heavy, “Hey, Jean,” you mumbled, “you’re a really good guy. I hope you know that.” 

    He was quiet as you drifted off to sleep. You heard him reply, but you didn’t register his words at all. 

    The next morning, he was gone. You awoke, bewildered. There was an indent in the shape of him next to you, but you were holding onto nothing. You stumbled out of bed, pulling on your shoes and combing your hands through your hair. 

    “Jean?” You called, testing the waters to see if he was just in the bathroom or something. But no, you didn’t see him or hear him. You cursed under your breath and hurried downstairs. Greta was bustling around the kitchen, preparing breakfast. It smelled delicious, but you didn’t have time to think. You raced to the front door. 

    “Oh, honey, he just left. He said he’d send someone for you, but he needed to leave urgently,” Greta said, but even she seemed to know it was a lie. She gave you a knowingly sad look. You just took deep breaths, chest heaving up and down. It was all reminding you of your mother leaving, your back against the wall as everyone gave you pitying looks. 

    “No, no, he wouldn’t.” you whispered, “no, he was–” you stopped yourself, swallowing, “he was going to take me to the forest of giant trees.” 

    Greta nodded sympathetically, ushering you to sit, “it’s okay dear, these things happen. I’m sure he’ll explain it to you later,” she said reassuringly. She plated you some breakfast, but you politely declined. 

    “Sorry, I just need a moment to think,” you said, out of breath. You felt like you couldn’t breathe properly. It was like the world was closing in. Why did he leave you so suddenly? Was it because you finally opened up? Because he was scared of holding you? Maybe there was something fundamentally and irrevocably wrong with you that caused everyone to leave. 

    “I’ll give you a moment,” Greta murmured softly, swiping her hands on her apron and heading upstairs. 

    The second she left the room, you knew you needed to leave. But how? You stood. You needed to steal one of their horses. You clenched and unclenched your fingers, pacing. Think, think, think. You grabbed the wine from last night and took a swig for encouragement. Then you set it down, wiping your mouth. 

    “Sorry,” you squeaked quietly upstairs. Then you bolted out the door and towards where they kept the horses. Indeed, Jean’s horse was gone. There were two more in the barn and you managed to soothe one enough to let you ride it. You were off not a moment later. You needed Jean to do some real explaining and you were going to kick his ass. 

      But when you got back, they’d assigned you a different guard. Jean was nowhere to be found and you were losing hope of seeing him again. You didn’t know what you’d done to make him so upset, but you wished you knew. 

    After some time had passed, you barely left the bar where you served customers. Mr. and Mrs. Wasatch were growing concerned as your adventurous spirit had dwindled. It made the new guard’s job a lot easier. You just wanted to see Jean again. For the first time in a while, someone had finally made you feel comfortable, and now he had the audacity to rip it away from you? 

    One day, the bar was closing and you were clearing off tables. Mrs. Wasatch was counting the register and Mr. Wasatch was shooing out the stragglers. Then the bell rung, signaling another customer. 

    “We’re closed,” Mrs. Wasatch began, not looking up. But you looked up and saw a swatch of familiar blonde hair. 

    “Niccolo!” You called with a grin. Both Mr. and Mrs. Wasatch looked up. Seeing that you seemed to know the man, they gave a nod of approval. Niccolo stepped in, his usually happy expression shifted to something more serious. You sensed the changed in his attitude and waved him over to you. 

    “It’s been a while, how have you been?” you greeted pleasantly, but Niccolo looked pale, nervous. 

    “Is there somewhere we can talk privately?” Niccolo muttered and you looked behind him at the Wasatches. You then nodded and pulled him into the backroom. 

    “What’s up?” you asked, concern knitting your eyebrows together, “is everything alright, Niccolo? You look…scared.” you reached out, gently steadying him with a hand. He returned the favor, but his grip was deathly tight on your arm. 

    “Have you had any wine?” He inquired quietly, but urgently. 

    You stayed quiet, trying to remember. Then you remembered that morning. The moring after Jean left you. You just averted your eyes as you got the sense this wasn’t the answer he wanted. He could tell. He inhaled sharply and looked at your face. 

    “You need to get out of here. Now.” He ordered, his face growing paler by the minute. 

    “Hold on, Niccolo, tell me what this is all about,” you implored him, now slightly panicked as well. 

    “The wine. It has Zeke’s spinal fluid in it. He wants to turn everyone into goddamn titans when he returns to start the rumbling,” Niccolo hissed and you felt the color drain from your face. Now you could understand what his panic was about. Shit. Shit. Shit. Your eyes must have been wide because Niccolo shook you slightly. 

    “There’s still time to leave.” 

    “I can’t.” 

    “What?”

    “I can’t leave. I still have things to finish up here,” You repeated. 

    “Like what? Talking to that guard? Yeah, everyone knows about you and your guard,” he scoffed, “come on, he hasn’t tried to reach out to you–”

    “He’s just scared,” you bit back fiercely, “he’s just scared of commitment. He’ll come back.” 

    Niccolo’s gaze dropped and he deflated, “I can’t stop you. Just know it’s not the right choice.” 

    But maybe Jean was always the right choice. 

      He didn’t show. He didn’t show when the wine poisoning had been revealed. He didn’t show when you got your armband. You felt like you were being branded again. You just stared. Mr. and Mrs. Wasatch had given you time off as you waited around for the inevitability of your demise. It was a pointless existence. And so you were determined to find Jean. 

    Early one morning, you packed your things and left, bidding a quiet goodbye to the lovely couple who had taken you in. They had, by some miracle, not had a single drop of the wine. 

    It took you a while to find Jean and when you did, you didn’t know what to do with yourself. You couldn’t just confront him. It didn’t feel right. And suddenly you felt foolish for following him still. But he was right there. He was standing, talking to his friends, laughing. 

    You watched for a moment, then you slinked off, finding an inn to stay in for the next few nights. You knew tensions were rising, you just didn’t know what they would end up amounting to. The volunteers were never told much, not even as much as the citizens. The citizens barely knew anything either. You just knew some were behind Eren Jaeger and others weren’t. You were on Jean’s side though. 

    It took another day until you found Jean again. This time, he was alone. It was getting late at night and you were following him, being indecisive of whether to approach him or not. You kept your eyes on the ground, thinking, as you walked. And then you looked up, the cloak around your shoulders swaying a little .

    Dammit. You lost him. And then you felt a breath near your ear and his presence behind you. 

    “Why are you following me?” he said lowly. 

    You turned and his expression softened. He stepped back, “why are you here?” he asked quietly, “how?” 

    You had so much you wanted to say. So much. But the first stupid thing that fell out of your lips was, “you left me.” and it sounded like a kid crying out for their mother. His eyebrows furrowed and he pulled you close to him, but you pushed him back. 

    “Why did you leave me?” You demanded, your voice hushed fury. 

    Jean stared at you for a moment and then he averted his gaze. He had the decency to look guilty, “honestly, I don’t know. I woke up and I just, I needed to go.” 

    “You just don’t like me,” you said flatly and he shook his head. 

    “No, no, it’s not like that at all. I…I think I like you too much. I was scared it would eat me alive and you would leave soon anyway. You have a family back home,” he said softly. You bit your lip. 

    “I believe you, Jean. I really liked you too,” your hand moved up under your cloak to cover the armband that gave away your poisoned status. 

    “Liked?” he whispered. 

    “Yeah.” you turned away.

    “Wait, surely you didn’t travel all this way to just tell me that,” he said, reaching out and grasping your cloak. You pulled away harder. 

    “Maybe I did,” you bit back. You weren’t a violent creature, you didn’t know why you were lashing out at him. The cloak slipped off your shoulders into his hands. You both froze. You both froze because you both saw it at the same time.

    You reached up, quickly covering your arm, “hey, you don’t drink, right, Jean?” you asked lightly, barely turning to look back at him. But you saw his drained expression. 

    “I–”

    “Good.” You whispered. 

    “When did it happen?” 

    “The morning you left. I took a swig for courage, how else?” you murmured. 

    “I’m sorry.” 

    “It’s too late, Jean. I think you just need to let this go. I need to let this go.” 

    “We were never anything at all,” he said, defeat tinging his words. 

    “Maybe that’s the worst part of all.” You turned fully then and cupped his face in your hands, “don’t dwell on a Marley traitor.” 

    “How could I not?” he leaned down, but you dodged his kiss. 

    “Don’t make this harder than it needs to be,” you sighed. 

    “Do you want this?” he asked and you hesitated. 

    “Yes, I do. More than anything. But I–” 

    And he leaned in again, his lips pressing against yours with a needy passion. The kiss of someone who had no time, but he was stretching it as far as he could. You returned the kiss with equal passion and when you pulled away, out of breath, cheeks rosy, he grinned. It was a smile that quickly slipped away when you stepped back. 

    “Bye, Jean.” 

    “Don’t go.” 

    You clenched your hands, “I’m sorry.” 

    And then you were gone. 

Fin.

[chthonicgodling]

and now… (THE NEXT) ELYSIUM DRAMA UPDATE

continued directly from page 1 HERE, now it’s pages 2-11!!

[in this current saga; you are: one • two • three • four • here • six • seven • eight • nine • ten • eleven • twelve • thirteen • fourteen (the end!) ]

featuring: EeL’s menagerie of intimidating children, + Tory & Maci who have gone to them for help and,

…….😦

oh. Oh no.

RECAP: TaKi Fuego, a delightfully secretive ménage à trois of Tory ‘n’ ELoki ‘n’ Maci, that’s maaaaaybe extended a bit 💞mushier past the typical Elysium hookups if you squint, ending up with EeL pregnant but all well and good — until he freaked out and vanished on them.

•Behold our Canon Convo scene as Maci and Tory turn to his kids for help locating him and. UHHH HAHHA ALT TITLE, TORY AND MACI GET EVISCERATED BY PRETEENS?!?!! WELP…!!!! THIS WENT…. BAD!!!

•First and foremost as ALWAYS a crucial and special thanks to Elysium’s better half the hiatus’d @fenixethekid , who’s responsible for Tory and all this wonderful orange dialogue. I am every other unhinged wacko in this room being thrown at him + Maci having a literal meltdown at his side. Tory Tory Tory I love you. We’ll get your precious pet back don’t worry W.,,, we hope

• EeL’s children are ingrained with Trust Issues + a sense of cutthroat diehard loyalty to him, which is not something he’s cultivated on PURPOSE it’s just what happens naturally when being A Child of Loki DOES actually make you an enemy of the public, as it did long ago on Asgard with real consequences. Despite the safety of Elysium, the generational trauma has been passed down across the whole family and uh, gestures WELL. Hhhere we are! SORRY TORY AND MACI!! One day the kids will realize you desperately love their Parent too!!! today is… nnOt that day.

• AND SO, REELING FROM SHOCK OF HOW VICIOUS THIS REJECTION WAS, MACI AND TORY RETREAT, LOKI STILL MISSING - what happens next?!! STAY TUNED!!

• I am sorry about that one cop out page, but I have SO Much else planned to draw next for this saga of events. The next updates might Uh. be a while I. still have to draw them. fgkfkgkgk bear with me. but enjoy PWEASE! the next parts will come as soon as I can get ‘em together.

xoxo ty for readingggg g gg

[littledollll]

Can you do something with thi

Can you do something with this like Brienne getting head from reader, like Brienne having a rough day and reader insists that she relaxes bri, and Brienne refuses at first then finally gives in on the third time of reader requesting. The plot is up to you dear. Love your works

Allow me..

Brienne of Tarth x reader

A/n: this is the first thing I’ve written since- god knows when, I hope it’s alright!

Warnings: bad writing, cunnulings (B receiving), teasing, lots of kissing, a little bit of cuddles.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

“You’re stressed..” It wasn’t rare that Brienne came home exhausted and irritable, she’d try her best to never let that outside stress seep into your home but at times it was inevitable. And that just meant she needed a little extra love, just something to remind her that home is just the place for all those worries and problems from work to slip away.

You tilted your head giving her such a sweet smile as you began helping her remove her bulky armor.. oh how much she truly loves you and that precious smile of yours.. she hates seeing you worry so much about her.

“I’m fine, It’ll pass soon enough.” She spoke as she pulled off her chest plate. How typical of her to invalidate her own feelings. You placed a soft kiss on her cheek when you were all done.

Taking her hand in yours and leading her into your shared room, getting into the bed you pulled her in with you too.

“Come.. I insist you lay in my arms for at least a few minutes. If not for yourself then for my peace of mind, please?” And how could Brienne ever say no to you, specially when you ask so nicely?

Once she agreed there was a few minutes of utter peace.. She actually felt relaxed in your comforting hold. That is, before your hands started wandering..

Innocent enough at the start, your hands smoothing over her scarred yet beautiful skin, letting her bask in your affections before your touch got more possessive.. showing now your true intentions.

“Love-“ her voice was more of a breathless sigh.. but not one in protest.

You hummed in response, nuzzling into her neck so sweetly.. she loves when you do that. Your arms wrapping around her torso as your lips met the back of her neck.. soft kisses littered all over her neck and shoulders.

She squirmed in your hold, her thighs squeezing together giving you just the sign you wanted. You had half a mind to tease her, but today was all about helping her relax.

“Just lay back.. please, allow me..” there was the slightest but of mischief caught in your voice as you said that, a tone Brienne knows all too well. You slipped away from behind her, letting her lay back before you settled between her thighs.

A whimper escaped her lips once you started laying soft kisses all over her stomach and down to her thighs, taking your sweet time to appreciate every inch of skin.

“Please..” her voice was more of a mewl, and how could you ever say no to that?

Your arms wrapped around her thighs, holding her flush against you while you traveled up between her thighs. Her hips bucked as you placed a kiss to her already aching clit.

“Are you gonna be a good girl for me, bri? Be nice and loud for me while I make you feel good?” Your murmur, looking up at her from between her thighs.

Brienne groans at the teasing tone in your voice, letting her head fall back against the pillows on your bed, “yes.. yes. I’ll be good. Just- please.”

In less a second your mouth was on her. Your tongue licking a line down her already dripping slit. Her moans and mewls were nothing short of exhilarating.

It took nothing to turn her into a squirming mess, no more than a few minutes and her chest was already heaving. Her eyes screwed shut and one of her hands tangled into your hair, as she needily grinded against you.

You couldn’t help but moan against her. Her grip was delightfully tight as she held you against her cunt.

You were forced to tighten your grip to keep her from squirming away as sucked on her clit, pulling even more breathless moans from the knight above you. Her thighs squeezed around you as she shook in pleasure,

Gasps and whines filled the room as you continued your ministrations. Brienne felt drunk on the pleasure, her mind was practically empty with every sensation coursing through her body.

“L-love..” her voice came in a low whine, her eyes screwing shut. She couldn’t finish her sentence, but you knew well what she was asking.

You merely nodded against her and she came undone with a loud and almost desperate moan.

That was only the first of many. From the start of the evening, this was bound to be an eventful night.

[space-mermaid-writing]

Consort and King [IronStrange]

Summary: Anthony Stark, King of Midgard, needs a spouse. Whether he wants one or not. So he accepts an arranged marriage with the Prince of Kamar-Taj – a man he has never met in his life to the day they are standing in front of each other at the altar, speaking their vows. Is it possible that the feeling of duty grows into something more? Will their future be happy?

Relationship: Tony Stark / Stephen Strange

Tags: arranged marriage au, royal au, strangers to husbands, enemies to lovers, slow burn, idiots in love, fluff, hurt/comfort, miscommunication, all the good stuff

Author's note: Beta by @kvjjjjjj

Ko-fi | Read it on AO3 | Series Masterlist | Word count: 2.9k | Previous

Epilogue: The Coronation

Tony woke up from a ray of sunlight tickling his eyes. He grimaced at the interruption to his peaceful slumber. He squeezed his eyes shut further in a futile attempt to keep out the light.

Grumbling, he turned from his back onto his side, pulling the blanket with him to shield his face from any further disturbance from the sun.

But now something else tickled him in the face.

Tony opened his eyes in irritation – and noticed a flop of black hair with white streaks poking him in the nose and eyes.

Tony’s lips curled into a relaxed smile. He still wasn’t fully used to this; Stephen staying in his chambers overnight, to him being the first thing Tony saw in the morning.

Tony adored it. And he didn’t want this to ever change, their routine that they had built together. One he wished continued, for all the days to come.

A more than pleasant warmth spread in his chest, slowly radiating into every one of his limbs, filling him with deep-rooted contentment and peace. And love.

Tony could tell the sorcerer was still sound asleep by the steady rhythm of his chest. He didn’t want to wake Stephen yet – although he knew they had to get up soon – so he just put his arm around Stephen's shoulder and buried his face in that dark hair, inhaling the scent of his husband.

Stephen must have been only at the brink of sleep, because he stirred. Slowly he moved his head up, in search of the source of the sensation that had torn him from his sleep.

He noticed Tony and looked at him with sleepy eyes, blinking a few times before having any coherent thought.

It was unbearably cute. Tony had no choice but to kiss him, placing a little peck on the sorcerer’s lips.

“Hmm…” Stephen closed his eyes again and hummed delightfully.

“Good morning,” Tony whispered fondly, a smile permanently etched onto his face.

“Morning.” Stephen's voice was raspy from the lingering sleepiness. It was and will forever be Tony's favorite thing to hear in the morning.

The king smiled and lifted himself halfway onto his arms to lean over Stephen's face. He pressed a soft kiss onto his lips.

“It’s your special day.”

Stephen cocked up an eyebrow. “Oh really? I almost forgot because it’s merely the only thing everyone talked about these last few weeks.”

Tony shoved him playfully. “Douchebag.”

But before he could withdraw to the other side of the bed, Stephen slung his arms around him and pulled him close. Tony's resistance was half-hearted at best and died down fast. He settled against Stephen's chest.

“We could stay in bed all day and reschedule to tomorrow,” he suggested.

“Great idea.” Stephen buried his face into Tony’s soft hair. “You’re the one telling Pepper.”

“Absolutely not.

“It’s my special day,” Stephen reminded him. “So I won’t do it either.”

Tony couldn't argue against that. “We can ask Jarvis,” he settled and Stephen agreed, not taking this whole argument seriously anyway.

He moved his hand into Tony’s hair and started playing with it, brushing his fingers against the scalp. Tony let out a content noise and closed his eyes.

It was the day of Stephen's coronation and there were still a thousand things left to do – yet they couldn't seem to care, basking in each other’s presence.

Until a knock on the door finally reminded them of the world outside these four walls.

Jarvis entered, carrying a tray with breakfast. “Good morning, Sirs.”

“Is there any possibility we can stay another hour in bed?” Tony asked, groaning. He turned his head back to Stephen, who had sat up, putting his feet on the carpet. “Don’t get up. He hasn’t answered yet.”

Stephen rolled his eyes affectionately, and fished his robes from where they hung over the back of a chair.

“I’m afraid duty awaits,” Jarvis dashed Tony's hopes of a lazy morning. “Your bath is drawn and Miss Potts awaits you in the throne room afterwards.”

“I’ll use my own bath,” Stephen told him and the manservant nodded.

“I will inform Wong.”

Stephen saw his husband off by pressing another brief kiss onto his lips. Then he left the King’s Chambers – not without taking the tea Jarvis had brought with him.

By now, he almost slept as often in Tony’s bed as in his own; still he enjoyed the luxury of his own space.

______________

An hour later they met with Pepper in the throne room to go over everything one last time.

As the already reigning king, Tony had taken the role of the officiator, signifying that he approved of the to-be king.

He stood in front of the two thrones, solemnly, facing the room. This area was elevated by a step and since Stephen was standing on the lower level, Tony registered with a sly smirk that – for once – he was taller than the sorcerer.

Waiting for him to speak, Stephen noticed his smirk and raised one eyebrow.

“Consort Stephen, are you willing to take the Oath?” Tony asked, quoting the ceremonial speech.

“I am willing,” Stephen said. He had the easier part of the two of them; he mostly had to answer the questions.

“Will you, Consort Stephen, get drunk with me…” out of the corner of his eye, Tony saw Pepper’s eyes shoot up in a glare next to them as he changed the text on the spur of the moment. His smirk got even bigger. “…before the ceremony, to be able to bear all the people and their long and boring speeches?”

“Tony, please. We’re on a schedule,” Pepper scolded him exasperated. Normally used to his antics, she had been extra stressed these past few days before the event she had basically been planning on her own for months.

Sighing, she turned to Stephen and expected him to step in. Between the two men the sorcerer was usually the more dutiful one.

Stephen's eyes were on his husband. “I’m so glad you asked. Please! I really do.”

Pepper threw her hands in the air, giving up. “Not you too! Fine! If you want to make a fool of yourselves in front of no less than seven realms, be my guest.”

She seemed truly upset this time, which was why Tony stepped to her, raising his hands placatingly. “Pep. My friend. Best coronation planner of all kingdoms. We have been rehearsing this for weeks. Stephen and I know every single word and every gesture by heart.”

His reassuring voice made her take a deep breath, calming her down a bit.

Maybe she was the one needing a drink, she thought.

Tony took her hands, smiling at her calmly. He was joined by Stephen, who stepped next to them. “Everything will go smoothly,” the sorcerer promised.

“Exactly,” Tony agreed. “We’ll make you proud.” Like she was a mother of two not always well behaved boys.

“This isn’t about me.” Pepper was quick to object. And really, this was Stephen’s day. He was going to be crowned a King today.

“But we couldn't have done this without you.”

Pepper tried to hide her blush and the smile on her lips. “Alright. I guess I really prepared you the best I could.” She already was very proud of both of them. No matter how this day would go.

“You did.” Tony let her hands go and she shooed them both away.

“Fine. Enough rehearsal. Go get ready.”

Amused, Tony and Stephen took the opportunity to leave. They still had a little time before the guests arrived and they had to get changed.

“Getting drunk really sounds tempting,” Stephen admitted in a low voice.

“It really does,” Tony sighed. “But Pepper is going to behead us and proclaim a republic if we do that.”

“Vishanti forbid. In the end, she will install a democracy..”

“Just imagine.” Tony clutched his heart, dramatically. “The horror…”

Laughing, they went to enjoy their last hour alone before the palace would be filled with people.

__________________

Finally, the time had come for the coronation. The palace was packed; more so than at their wedding. It was so full that some guests were even happy to just stand in the back of the throne room.

It was a joyous day. The windows showed a perfect blue sky – as if even the gods blessed this occasion.

The guests chattered amongst each other, using the event to catch up with people from the other kingdoms that they rarely saw.

But as soon as the music started, all eyes turned forward expectantly.

Tony entered the room from the side door in the front. Everyone stood up respectfully on his arrival. Tony eyed the front row while walking to the center: it was reserved for family and close friends.

He spotted Donna Strange, who beamed happily. He winked at her. Her brother was about to arrive.

Tony stood in front of the thrones, solemnly, facing the room. The music changed and the big double door in the back opened.

Everyone watched the procession with Stephen as the main act. His ceremonial gowns were still robes in the style of Kamar-Taj but in the colors of the House of Stark. It was an art of red and gold.

One of the pieces looked suspiciously like the red cloak Tony had gifted his husband.

Stephen stopped in front of the king the same time the music ended. A cushion marked his place in front of the steps that led to the thrones, and Stephen kneeled on it, lowering his head.

Tony stood straighter and raised his eyes back to the crowd before he opened his mouth.

“People of Midgard, Allies of Midgard, Friends of Midgard. Before you kneels – humbly – Stephen Vincent Strange, Consort of the King of Midgard, Prince of Kamar-Taj. If you have any objections to his approval as a King of this kingdom, you may object now.”

There was a deafening silence. As if everyone was trying not to make even a noise by breathing.

Tony smiled, his eyes back on Stephen. Even though the sorcerer appeared calm on the outside, Tony knew he was nervous. He noticed the little tells: the shaking hands, the tight jaw, and that he refused to even do as much as glance up to him.

They had rehearsed this many times. Like Tony had said: Stephen knew his words by heart; he didn’t do things halfway.

But the public was unpredictable. There was always a last doubt left; would everything go as planned?

As if the hall wasn’t filled with people that loved and adored the man. Not just friends and family but also nobles and members of the aristocracy, as well as citizens.

There were several royal servants assisting. One of them stepped at Tony’s side, presenting him a golden scepter on a cushion. Tony took it and gave it to Stephen, who took it carefully.

“Consort Stephen, are you willing to take the Oath?” he asked his husband, his voice strong enough to carry even to the last row of their audience.

And Stephen answered, “I am willing.”

“Will you solemnly promise and swear to govern the People of Midgard according to their respective laws and customs?”

“I solemnly promise to do so.”

“Will you – to your power – cause Law and Justice, in Mercy, to be executed in all your judgments?”

“I will.”

Another royal servant brought a pillow on which the crown was resting. The boy tried to hide his excitement, but he was only partially successful; the barely concealed smile betrayed him.

Tony exchanged a quick glance with him. He had personally chosen Peter for this task; it would be his last as a servant boy. Stephen and he had agreed that it was time for the boy to get a full royal education.

It was never soon enough to secure the future of the realm.

Tony took the crown – a beautiful piece made by a master of his craft – and turned back to the sorcerer. He held it in the air right above Stephen's head.

“I hereby declare you, Stephen Vincent Strange, King of Midgard.”

He lowered the crown onto his head. It fit perfectly.

Stephen lifted his face and his eyes met Tony’s who grinned proudly at him. Infected by it, Stephen mirrored it. He elegantly rose to his feet and the trumpet call rang out, signaling that a new King now joined the former as rulers of the kingdom. The royal court offered up three cheers.

“Long live King Strange!”

“Long live King Stark!”

“Long live the Kings!”

The crowd was on their feet and the cheers went on when Tony extended a hand – their fingers entwining – as he led his husband ceremoniously to their thrones.

They turned around like the unit they were, presenting their front to the audience. The cheers grew louder as they sat down.

Midgard now had two Kings.

This marked the end of the official part of the ceremony. Next up, guests would present gifts and congratulations to the new ruler.

Donna was first to step up to them and she lingered in a curtsy. “Your Majesty, congratulations and sincere best wishes on this special occasion. I wish you and King Stark a long, successful and joyous reign together.”

“Thank you, Princess Strange.”

Donna looked up at her brother, so very proud of him. A servant approached them, carrying a casket that was opened in front of Stephen.

Donna gestured to its contents. “I took the liberty to hand-select the gifts to the new king myself.” Her smile turned into a mischievous one.

Stephen spotted family heirlooms from the House of Strange. Most of them were normally passed onto the first born child; but Stephen was sure their parents had never wanted them to leave the Kingdom of Kamar-Taj.

Donna clearly hadn’t told them what she had packed.

Stephen was touched by the gesture. It was a piece of his old home he was allowed to keep.

“Thank you, Donna.” He spoke quietly and more intimately than the occasion normally would allow. “I look forward to your coronation.”

He really did.

The siblings looked at each other, smiling softly. When they were children, they would have never thought they would be standing here in front of each other for this kind of event. It was reassuring that after everything that had happened, they still had each other; even when they belonged to different realms now.

With another curtsy, Donna left, heading to the ballroom, where the rest of the festivities will take place.

Next in line were Thor and Loki; both grinning broadly.

“On behalf of the King and Queen of Asgard, we wish you a long, happy and successful reign,” Thor spoke first as the older one, addressing both kings.

A wooden chest was put down in front of them. Loki opened it with a swirl of his hand, revealing – to Tony’s surprise – an axe.

In his eyes it didn’t seem fitting; while it wasn’t an unusual gift for this kind of occasion – even if there were better choices – Stephen wasn’t known for wielding them. Not with his own hands. Especially a heavy one like this.

But glancing at Stephen, Tony noticed him looking at it with awe.

“The Axe of Angarruumus.” Stephen's eyes moved from the chest back to Loki. The gift had definitely been the mage’s idea. “I see you use your time in Kamar-Taj well.”

Stephen had heard that soon after he had proposed Loki for the position of Sorcerer Supreme, Loki started spending more and more time in the Sorcerer’s Temples. Becoming Sorcerer Supreme was a long process with many tests before he was awarded the title. But Stephen had no doubt the Asgardian prince would manage it; if he set his mind to it.

“Actually, this is from the vault of our father. I believe you can make better use of it.”

“I will. Thank you. I’m very honored to receive this.”

“You should also visit me in Kamar-Taj soon. I’m thinking about redecoration,” Loki added, teasingly.

Stephen smiled and had no intention to bite. He didn’t feel the urge to compete with Loki anymore – at least not in this regard. He was happy where he was – at Tony’s side, ruling the Kingdom of Midgard. Maybe he would make plans to bring magic into this realm; which would be a task for a whole lifetime.

“I’m looking forward to hearing your ideas,” he therefore replied.

Loki’s smile grew more honest, they were past their days of competing and one-upping banter.

Thor and Loki left to go to the ballroom and the next guests in line stepped forward. It would take a while to exchange friendly words with everyone but Stephen couldn't mind less. He was happy; this was a joyous day. Not only because he had been crowned a king, but also because of his fantastic husband at his side.

In a short break between two guests, Stephen took Tony’s hand in his. Brown eyes looked at him, silently asking if everything was alright.

Everything was just perfect.

Stephen kept his voice low, when he asked, “I was wondering: is there something like a coronation night.” He winked at Tony, who caught up immediately.

“Oh absolutely.” His smile became wicked. “I will show you how to be a King outside, and in the bedroom.” His words were husky, promising.

"I look forward to that," Stephen said with a smile of his own. "Your Majesty."

_____________

Taglist: @goopierthenyou (tell me if you want to be added/removed)

That's it, folks. You made it to the end of this fic. Thank you for reading! ♥

[berglietz]

Seasons Greasons: A Meta Analysis based on Caspar's Culinary Palate + Return Gift For Shez's Whistle

AKA: no one should ever 'jokingly' challenge me to write a meta to my irl face. take these 1k words now

THE BACKSTORY:

May 6th, Baltimore Inner Harbor. It was a lovely day—by which I mean the sky was grey and gloomy and decided to start spitting a fine mist down from the clouds as soon as Lucius and I stepped out of the light rail and started our trek toward our destination. Our destination being a birthday celebration for Erica, which obviously made the day lovely regardless of the weather. At this point we had already gotten past the 'hello's and reciprocal 'oh god you really are shorter than i remember's, and had settled into our table at the cafe. Inevitably, the conversation quickly turned to Fire Emblem. We are who we are.

Playthroughs of Warriors: Three Hopes entered the scene, and then discussions of the Merc Whistle mechanic. "I haven't given mine away yet." I said. "Don't they give you a return gift that you can wear as an accessory to use their special ability?"

I pulled out my phone. I learned that Caspar's return gift to Shez was called Seasoning Set. Across the table, past the strangely shaped flasks of hot water and growing number of drained shirley temple glasses, N "Njamin" Von TOAmod smiled at me and said "I expect a meta post about Caspar's seasoning set on the dash by [due date]*" *I do not remember the exact phrasing, nor the initial due date. I am going to say it was 'next month', that way I don't get any of my extremely real roleplayer points docked for tardiness.

And thus, I was committed to the bit. Straight up married to it. Welcome to the wedding. The reception is catered, obviously, and we'll be serving—

Well. I'm getting to that.

THE SEASONING SET

(This is a crunchy screenshot that I cropped myself from my own Switch. Forgive me)

The details of note to me are:

Clarifying that you have matched your bestie/S-support equivalent's sentimental gift with something you "don't need" is so rude LMFAO. I'm glad he is keeping up the same behavior from his story about a girl trying to ask him out to the Goddess Tower in Three Houses where he seems to totally misread a situation and make an ass of himself by dismissing the person/not matching their energy. Really beautiful stuff.

Multiple spices, you say? Looks like I have to come up with more than one. It's not just salt in there.

CASPAR'S COOKING SKILLS

They are bad. He has a big red downward-facing arrow next to his face in the list of candidates for cooking together in Three Houses. If you choose to let him cook anyway, he tells you his pitfalls himself:

"All right! Leave it to me! I'll fry it, grill it, and try not to burn it!" / "Sorry for making you do all the work, Professor. I mess up the ingredients every time!"

With this info, I am taking the text saying "he forgets to use spices" very literally. The impression I get is he gets so overwhelmed by multi-step cooking processes that he loses track of ingredients. He does like some spices in his food and drink, though, so I will presume that the spices in his seasoning set are ones that he would enjoy putting in his food if he ever remembered to toss them in.

THE FAVORED FLAVORS

The easiest spice choice comes directly from his favorite type of tea.

Ginger Tea: "The sharp spiciness of ginger laces the body of this tea, unforgettable and brightening."

Bam. Right there. We can put ginger on the list. For the rest, I'll take a look at the dining hall dishes he likes that fall under the Spicy category.

Sauteed Jerky: "Jerky aged in the monastery and sautéed for a delightfully salty flavor. A perfect snack to go with your favorite drink."

The description doesn't give me any seasoning beyond salt, but according to the resources on serenesforest this dish is counted as a spicy one! When I think of spicy jerky (and look up a few recipes to confirm my memories) I think of a peppery sort of sensation on the tongue—black pepper and cayenne (or other hot peppers).

Sauteed Pheasant and Eggs: "Thin slices of bird meat and shredded cabbage, mixed with scrambled eggs and sautéed with spices. Invention of a certain noble."

This one gave me no hints as to what types of spices. RIP. I relied much more heavily on googling for this one, and settled on interpreting this dish as a take on anda bhurji, maybe?? (literally 'scrambled egg'. it's an Indian scrambled egg dish). Online recipes for this one gave me spices such as turmeric, coriander, red chili, and ginger.

THE SEASONING LIST

Just to have it all in one place, here's all the hypothetical seasonings I've thrown out all put together:

Salt

Black Pepper

Ginger (mentioned x2!!)

Cayenne/Red Chili (or whatever Fodlan equivalent capsacin-haver there might be)

Turmeric

Coriander

Go forth, Shez. Make a delicious spicy scrambled egg dish. Perhaps you can share it with friends for brunch. That'd be a beautiful way to bring things full circle, don't you think?

BONUS: MY BOY HATES FISH

I just think it's so fucking funny that he hates every seafood dish. Look at this list of foods he hates.

Grilled Herring, Fish and Bean Soup, Small Fish Skewers, Spicy Fish and Turnip Stew, Onion Gratin Soup, Sweet and Salty Whitefish Sauté, Fruit and Herring Tart, Cheesy Verona Stew, Fish Sandwich, Super-Spicy Fish Dango, Pickled Seafood and Vegetables, Two-Fish Sauté, Gautier Cheese Gratin, Cabbage and Herring Stew, Bourgeois Pike, Fried Crayfish

Only three out of this list don't have something referencing fish/seafood right in the name, and two out of those three do have fish in the ingredients if you go looking:

Onion Gratin Soup: "Onions stewed with white trout and baked with a layer of cheese on top. Will warm you up from the inside out." Cheesy Verona Stew: "A rich dish consisting of verona and sautéed Teutates loach. These ingredients are boiled and served with two kinds of melted cheese."

Maybe there is something he dislikes about gratin, though, since he dislikes Gautier Cheese Gratin as well. A texture problem, perhaps? Either way, it doesn't feel as prominent a dislike as his thing with fish—the guy also hates the Fishing Float gift. Caspar is a certified fish hater. This makes his participation in the fishing tournament even funnier to me: he will straight up make an exception for his seeming disdain for fishing if it's turned into a competition he can try to win. Definitely no way he was eating his catch though. Maybe he fed it to his cat friend from his supports with Ashe, lmfao

Anyhow, I'll leave off with this silly indulgent little meta here. Thanks for playing along! ilu toa ❤

[sighs-deeply-and-dreadfully]

Lol, I can’t help but imagine how Wally would react to a gothic, kind of grungy, reader. Just someone who wears black and white all the time, maybe with hits of darker blues or reds. I just find the idea amusing since the neighborhood and characters are all bright, fun colors while there’s just this one gothic person wearing spikes or something.

 

Also, something I can picture is Wally painting them because they’re so different from everything else and the uniqueness of their style and makeup is so fun to draw and paint, and the reader feels the same way. I can just picture the two of them drawing each other or something.

(romantic or mutual crushes, please ^^ I've always been a sucker for opposite aesthetic couples)

HAHA!!! I’m also a sucker for opposite aesthetic couples HEHEHE… I’ll strike you a deal; I’ll write both (mutual crushes and romantic)! HAHA

The Raven and The Kingfisher

Wally Darling x GN!Goth/Grunge!Reader

Headcanons Format, Mutual Crushes -> Romantic Relationship

When you first moved in, to say Wally was interested would be an understatement.

He adored your style, he found it very!! Refreshing? He loves all his neighbours and he loves their town, but sometimes something new can be appreciated!! And you were something new, alright!! /pos

After just a few days of talking, he ended up asking if he could paint you— and he loves to paint all his neighbours! But he certainly wanted to give a shot at conveying your style.

All those darker coloured paints (ones that maybe only been slightly used to create new tones) could finally be used >:]

If you were to say no, he’d accept ! That’s alright ! But he’d probably still likely doodle something of your style in private— although not necessarily of you.

If you say yes? He’s over the moon.

He takes great care to make his paintings as accurate as he can!! He’d likely be on yours for a while, just because you introduce a lot of new colours he hasn’t worked with before— the closest reference he has had is Frank and the other things he’s doodled— so it might take a while longer than usual!! But it’s so delightfully fun to experiment and learn.

But the outcome is lovely, and he proudly hands the painting off to you.

He doesn’t make that the last time he’s drawn you, though, goodness no. It almost becomes a habit, to doodle you.

Which his friends begin to notice, when the litte sketchbook he drags around is practically filled with scribbles of you.

At some point, he is with Julie! She ends up glancing over, and giggles at seeing him doodle you yet again, with a soft “Oh, Wally..”

The two had just been sitting around lightly chatting and doing their own things— and Wally was drawing.

Confusedly, Wally would lift his head— what was funny? Had he done something funny with meaning to—?

“You’re drawing the new neighbour!”

He tilts his head. Why yes, he was? How is that funny—? Julie picks up and continues, though.

“You’ve been drawing them sooo mucchhh.. Do you like them, or something? I think you might like them— we all kinda do!“

He tilts his head again. “Of course.. I like them, they’re my friend..?”

But that interaction gets his brain spinning, and eventually— during a hangout with Frank— he just kind of. Pauses.

He mutters under his breathe, and soon whisks himself away with a rushed farewell to Frank— who is just left staring in confusion.

Ah, so maybe like is a loose term. Haha ooooops..

When he steps into Home, who creaks him a hello, the amount he’s been doodling you somewhat- hits him like a truck?

You’re in his sketchbooks, mainly, which— all of his friends were! But his sketchbooks were almost like a direct thread to his “subconscious”. He just doodles whatever comes to mind, or whatever he feels (and his true feelings have a tendency to alter how it presents itself— though really only in ways he can understand). He uses it very much as an outlet.

And you were, basically, on every single damn page of the thing.

.. whoopsie.

With the newfound knowledge that he, haha, maybe has developed a “teensy weensy itsy bitsy” crush—

Heee is now terrified to be around you.

If it was so obvious to everyone else, was it obvious to you?

Wuh-oh.

He doesn’t let this anxiety stop him from talking to you, though. The thoughts of it made him sad— and the thought of him withdrawing making you sad made him ever sadder.

But from beyond this point, he’s a lot.. less collected.

When you two hang out, there’s a small shift in the air— that he is hyper-aware of, and you might be, too.

Wally always did stare— he liked eye contact, and he didn’t really care to learn where else he should be looking during conversations—

So him avoiding your gaze was almost off-putting due to how foreign it was.

He’d glance to his hands, or to his supplies, or To the sky.

Anywhere but you when you looked at him— he couldn’t!! Really bare your reaction!!

He knew it’d be the same way you look at him all of the time, but the thought it might be negative made him.. antsy.

Because, again, if his little crush was obvious to everyone else before it was even obvious to him— was it obvious to you, too?

This keeps up for a few days, and eventually— you just.. ask him what’s been up. You note his change in behaviour, and you express you’re confused— maybe even a bit concerned.

And the dam just comes flooding.

He gives some garbled twist of a confession, nervously wringing his fingers the entire time (something he almost never did).

He expresses it’s okay if it isn’t mutual, and that he just had to get it off his chest before he “exploded” (Barnaby used that word a lot in his jokes— so maybe it’d be funny if he used it, too?)

He’s overjoyed to hear you return the affections though, and immediately just sort of de-tenses and instead starts.. kicking his legs. Very quickly. Stimming. Hehe.

From there, you two fall into a relationship. You had already sort of been recognized as a “thing” by everyone else in the neighbourhood— as you were often seen together.

Now, you were practically always seen together— making the opposites in your aesthetic very noticeable. Two halves of a pair!

When you aren’t together, Wally has a tendency to.. maaaybe.. gush about you, a lil..

Specifically to Barnaby! He knows Barnaby doesn’t mind to listen (especially while consuming his.. “lovely” hot dogs (/sar)).

While the two stand around, Wally cupping his normal hotdog in two hands and Barnaby chewing on his abomination lovely creation, he’ll just go onnn and ooonn about you, or what the two of you have been up to, or what you plan to do later. His words are kinda hummed as he does, and he seems to idly be wiggling his head side to side.

Barnaby is happy to lend an ear! He’s got two very big ones, after all.

.. plus, it’s easier to lull Wally into kind of just.. handing his hotdog to him.. hehe..

Not that he wasn’t going to already give it! He just gets to receive it faster, and Wally pays no mind.

Overall, that little man is head over heels for you— absolutely smitten. He finds your aesthetic very, very pretty— and you in turn just as much.

Expect sappy love letters and even more paintings of you, dear. :]

I FORGOT TO DO AN AUTHOR’S NOTE AT THE END IM SORROY I GOT DISTRACTED HWAHWA

THis was super cute to write and I hope it was satisfactory!!! :D

Have a lovely day!!!!!

[momonyu]

Happy Holidays & Have Fun Decorating! For Your OP In Colours, Can I Please Have Izou + Purple? Thank You Cee ♡~.

thank youu! i finished decorating yesterday and i'm so happy with how everything turned out (can you tell christmas is my favourite holiday lol)

persian indigo.

luxurious silk. porcelain complexions. naked touches. blushing cheeks. timid advances. shy smiles. a line that could be crossed any day now.

"izou, could you- oh!"

you burst into izou's room and regret it as soon as you do. izou stands in the middle of the room, a towel tied around his waist and his hair dripping water onto his bare shoulders.

"trying to sneak a peek?" he teases.

you flush, "oh my god, no. i should've knocked- i'm so sorry, i-"

you're fully aware of your babble but the part of your brain that stops you from doing embarrassing things is apparently non-existent. it's unfortunate that you're too busy stuttering over your words that you don't notice the tender way izou watches you.

you're cute enough to begin with but when you're flustered, izou thinks you're downright adorable.

"-anyway, i'll, um, come back later."

you start backing out of the door but izou calls out to you.

"it's fine. just stay," he motions for you to come in. "what'd you need?"

you take a deep breath, calming yourself. "i was going to ask if you could help me with my kimono."

izou smiles, and you can't help but smile back. he is ridiculously good at easing your nerves, which are currently running wild given the fact that he's barely clothed at the moment.

"of course."

you pass him the silk garment, "i tried asking jozu but all he did was put me in a strait jacket."

izou chuckles, a low and melodic sound, and your heart flutters.

"well," he winks. "you've definitely come to the right person."

you shake your head, "i don't know why i didn't come to you first."

"you should've," his fingers hover yours for a beat longer than they need to. "i'm always here for you."

there's a sincerity in his voice that makes you look up, and you stand there, enchanted by the way he looks at you.

on a regular day, izou's dark eyes are enough to leave you breathless, especially when he meets your gaze from across the room. but up close, it's a whole different story.

maybe it's the fact that this is your first time seeing him in his natural beauty. his long hair loose on his shoulders, falling over his eyes; his skin silky white, still dewy from his shower; and his lips — oh god, his lips.

even without his usual lipstick, his lips are a rosy pink and positively kissable. you wonder if they'd feel as soft as they look before you catch yourself — the errant thought leaves you blushing.

you hope he doesn't notice (he does).

"can you turn around for me?"

oh, thank god.

"sure."

you're relieved for the chance to avoid eye contact for izou, but for him, this is an entirely different test of self-control.

for all his flirting and teasing, izou tries very hard to still be a gentleman around you. you don't realize it but if he had it his way, he would've made you his a long, long time ago.

he slips the kimono around you, enchanted by the way it hangs off your frame. truth be told, he's barely listening to your story about jozu. when he moves your hair aside, he catches a whiff of your shampoo — a fruity, subtle scent. it smells divine, and he wonders if you'd taste even more delightfully so.

he works around you, taking his time, and your story starts to taper off as you lose focus. you've never realized how slender his fingers are, and — as they ghost your skin — you take notice of how gentle his touch is. even through your juban, your skin burns everywhere that izou touches you. it's electrifying and it leaves you craving more.

when you walked into his room, you hadn't anticipated how intimate this experience would be but standing in front of him now, you're painfully aware of it.

"almost done," izou speaks in a low whisper, his breath tickling your neck.

"already?"

izou spins you around until you're face-to-face with him again, and his hands stay on your waist.

"i could undress you again if that was too quick for you," his fingers tug at your kimono.

maybe it's the way he's gripping you that makes you more confident than you've ever been, or it could be your new carnal desire that makes you so bold but you place your hands on his bare chest in response. izou flinches at the contact and it only spurs you on.

"i just think" — you trace his abs and he sucks in a breath — "it's unfair for you to be so naked while i'm" — you bite your lip — "not."

and right there, izou snaps.

"i can change that," he growls.

he kisses you, as hot, passionate and hungry as you'd hoped for, pushing you back until your legs bump into the bed. the two of you fall onto his mattress in a mess of limbs and fabric as you race to undress.

needless to say, it's a long while later that you both emerge from his room with sheepish smiles and swollen lips.

as the two of you join up with the rest of the crew, izou smiles to himself; you're beautiful in your kimono but now he knows how much more beautiful you are out of it too.

thank you for reading!

[lilacwisps]

Love your writing! Could I please have some headcanons of how the boys (Sebastian, Ominis, Garreth) are when they go down on f!MC? Thank youuuu

Hi nonnie, of course 💜 (under cut for obvious reasons though nothing too explicit lol)

Sebastian: 

Sebastian has an excellent technique- this boy's got a silver tongue in more ways than one. 

He loves teasing MC and will spend forever trailing kisses and love bites up her thighs until she's writhing under his mouth, desperate for him to touch her where she wants it most. 

He'll give in eventually, tasting MC thoroughly yet painfully slowly, making her yearn for more. 

Sebastian often fantasizes about MC coming apart under his touch time and time again until she's a trembling mess whimpering his name as she buries her fingers in his hair, pulling him closer to her aching core. 

Unfortunately for Sebastian, he doesn't have the self-control required to bring this plan to life - as soon as MC comes undone even once, all he can think about is burying himself to the hilt in her heat. 

Sebastian's quite the thrill seeker, so he's definitely tried to convince MC to let him taste her when they are alone in an empty classroom or a broom closet. 

Ominis: 

There are few things Ominis loves more than the sound of MC's soft whimpers as he traces featherlight kisses up her thighs, how soft and warm she feels under his mouth, and her delightfully sweet and oh-so-sinful taste. 

Ominis is a quick learner and a very attentive lover - it doesn't take him long to figure out how to please MC exactly how she likes. 

Despite everything they've been through, Ominis still almost cannot believe that someone as special as MC could love him back, so he's determined to make her feel the best she's ever felt.

Most of the time, he's slow and methodical and gentle as he showers every inch of MC's sensitive flesh with attention, tasting and touching her in a way that'll make her come apart under his lips and tongue in no time at all. 

Whenever Ominis gets jealous, it's a different story - jealousy always makes him vicious. He'll spend forever teasing MC until she's a whimpering, babbling mess writhing under his mouth, utterly lost in her pleasure, desperate for him to have her. That makes an odd sense of pride uncoil in his chest - that's right, he's the only one who can make her feel this way.

Garreth: 

Garreth's a sweetheart, so enthusiastic and oh so eager to please - few things make him happier than making MC feel good. While he might not have the best technique, whatever Garreth may lack in finesse, he more than makes up for in pure enthusiasm. 

He can get a little distracted during the process - neglecting the rest of MC's body feels almost unfair, so sometimes he'll pull away from his task to pepper kisses all over her. 

Garreth lives for the moments when MC snakes her fingers through his hair, pulling him closer, moving her hips against his mouth, and when her thighs tighten around his head as he finds a particularly sensitive spot. 

He enjoys going down on MC and is not shy about it - if it's been more than a few days, he'll be begging MC for a taste. 

He loves watching MC as she's lost in her pleasure - she looks so good, so utterly flushed, disheveled, and debauched that the sight alone is enough to bring him to the edge... and over the edge that one time, which, perhaps, was not his finest moment, but in his defense, MC looked and tasted devastatingly delicious.

Like Sebastian, Garreth enjoys a little bit of a thrill, so he's definitely considered asking MC to let him taste her in an empty classroom. 

[nonsenseafterdark]

Day Nine: Threesome

Characters: Gary "Roach" Sanderson, Simon "Ghost" Riley, John "Soap" MacTavish (09)

Word Count: 804

Warnings: None

Notes: Roach is trans in this. Sorry for being late with this, but the next prompt will be posted soon after. As always, this is also posted on AO3, and you can find my list here

Gary was straddled over Simon’s lap, back faced towards him and completely at his mercy. As his hands ran all over his body, his lips kissed at the shell of his ear, humming at the way the sergeant arched into his touches. Meanwhile, standing not far from the bed was MacTavish, palming himself through his jeans as he lustfully watched as Simon spread Gary's legs apart and touched his body sensually. As much as he loved to be a part of moments like this, it turned him on just as much to watch it like a show as well. One of Simon’s hands drifted down in between Gary’s legs, his fingers lightly teasing at his wet entrance. The kiss slowed to a stop as the sergeant processed his rough fingers rubbing in between his folds and eliciting wet sounds. He moaned out, looking down as Simon rubbed him in circles, his fingers soaked already. His eyes eventually gazed up at John, who stared at him hungrily. Fuck, he looked at him as if he wanted to devour him, but he didn’t even budge? 

Gary whined out, biting down his lip to stifle his whimpers as Simon stopped suddenly to slip his fingers in his own mouth. 

He hummed delightfully, “He’s so sweet… Care for a taste, MacTavish?”

“Oh, I believe you, Simon,” John replied, “But I think I like the view from here more.”

Gary let out a choked moan, twitching in the lieutenant’s hold. 

“Well, I think he wants your mouth on him, Cap,” Simon said teasingly, squeezing his thigh. 

“Is that right, bug?” John asked Gary, “You want me to come over there and eat you out?”

Gary was late to reply, but when he didn’t answer initially, Simon delivered a harsh slap to his thigh, “Answer him, bug.”

“Yes…!” Gary moaned out, legs twitching as he fought to keep them apart, “Yes- Fuck, I want your mouth so bad…!”

“He’s so pretty when he’s needy,” John groaned deeply with a smile.

He pushed himself off the wall, crouching down in between Gary’s legs and running his fingers up his entrance. The touch sent shivers up the sergeant’s body, followed by a trembling moan from his lips. Shortly after pressing a few experimental licks and kisses, Gary looked down almost impatiently at John until he finally closed his mouth around him. He flicked his tongue over his dick, sucking and teasing at the sensitive member before focusing back on his wet hole, licking up his juices. Simon looked down over Gary’s shoulder before running his hands over his body, fingers gripping into his sides.

“You should try this view next time, John,” He chuckled darkly before turning to suck at Gary’s earlobe, “What do you say, bug? Next time you’ll be in his lap and I’ll be eating you out ‘till you see stars?”

Gary whined at the thought, which was quickly cut off with a loud moan from his own mouth as he felt John slip two of his fingers inside of him before pressing his lips to his dick once more, sucking while swirling his tongue around. He almost arched off of his lap if it wasn’t for Simon’s firm grip keeping him seated along with John keeping his hips pinned. He curled his fingers as he pumped them furiously, the lewd sounds joining the chorus of Gary’s moans and John’s oral ministrations. He almost sobbed, completely unable to move all while his body was experiencing some of the most overwhelming pleasure he had ever felt in a long time. He could melt in their hold like this, or burst into nothingness. 

Gary suddenly cried out, his body freezing entirely in intense euphoria. John barely slowed down as he continued to suck and pump his fingers in and out of him. His body almost convulsed and twitched as he rode out this long lasting orgasm, wailing out so loudly that the general himself could probably hear him all the way from the briefing room. His moans eventually died down into overstimulated whines as John pressed one last kiss to his dick all while keeping his fingers inside. 

“Holy shit,” Simon huffed out, “He tastes good and sounds fucking gorgeous when he comes.”

“Think you can do any better, Simon?” John challenged.

Gary whined out, barely inaudible, but the two seemed to have heard it as Simon loosened his grip a bit. 

“What color, Gary?” John cooed. 

It took the sergeant a moment, but by the time he came down from his climax, he sat up enough to gently press his rear against the tent in Simon’s pants, “Green…”

“Christ, bug…” John laughed, “Even after all that…”

Gary laughed exhaustively, turning to press a kiss against Simon’s lips, “Go ahead… See if you can fuck me ‘till I lose my voice.”