#“I wonder what sort of fucked up nonsense he's up to this time!!”

[lastoneout]

honestly I know like less than nothing about Dragonball Z/GT/USB/Whatever and I have no desire to actually read or watch it BUT I do find Vegeta endlessly delightful and I refuse to examine what that might say about me

[softbeej]

Rule Number One (You Gotta Have Fun)

Alastor x Reader Smut. U break his only rule and bother him while hes tryna work. Enjoy. :} Requests open btw.

Alastor had locked himself up in his radio tower for what felt like days. He was truly a workaholic, and loved to be busy. This was fine, except you found yourself actually sort of... missing him?

No sight of him creeping down the hallway or the impending feeling that he was about to catch you doing something prohibited at the hotel. It all felt too empty all of a sudden, and you wished he’d be back down soon, even if just to make you uneasy with that eerie smile.

So, you decided to break the number one rule set by him.

“Under no circumstances is anyone to ever enter the radio tower without my express permission.”

Well, what are rules if not to be broken, right? And that’s where you found yourself, climbing up into the prohibited area.

Ears pressed back, he turned to face you. There was no other way to put it, Alastor was fucking pissed.

You shouldn’t of come up here. You should of listened to his stupid rule, and busied yourself with something else. Maybe you had time to turn around, and pretend you made a wrong turn.

“I trust you have something important for me? Something that would be worth you coming all the way up here without my say so, hm?”

His voice was even more staticky than usual, his tone dripping with sarcasm. You were thinking up a response when he stood up and strode over to you. He jabbed his microphone stand under your jaw, albeit gently, and forced you to look at him.

“Well, deary?”

You only shook your head, hair bouncing on your shoulders.

“Then why, pray tell, are you up here? And use your words this time, yes?”

Within those few words, you suddenly understood why he was so feared. Just from the way he spoke, he could make you feel tiny and stupid.

“I, um, was just wondering where you were, is all...”

“Oh?” He released the microphone stand and you faced the floor again, feeling like a child about to get scolded. “You did know where I was though, didn’t you? So, I’ll ask once more. What brought you up here?”

He had retired back to his chair, and was watching you intently as you squirmed at his questioning. His smile never once left his face.

“You know what, I should go-“

Slam. His shadow had closed the door.

“Has no one ever told you it’s rude to ignore someone, darling? I’m just asking you a simple question, what’s the need for all this attitude? Why are you here?”

Blush rising to your face, you picked at skin around your nails still not wanting to look at his shit eating grin.

“I was bored. Missed you.”

“Ah, there we go! You see how easy that was?”

You nodded, “Can I go now? Sorry for interrupting...”

“Nonsense! You missed me, did you not? You came all the way up here for me, desperate for my attention. Well, dear, my attention you have got. Come, sit, sit.” He patted his thigh.

Oh, how you wished the world would swallow you up right now. But the worst part of this was how turned on you were at his lecturing. You think your reaction was doing the same to him, given the way his ears were perked up and pupils blown.

You walked over to him, gently perching on his knee, before he pulled you down by your waist so you were properly sitting in his lap. He continued working, tapping buttons and twisting dials, as you could only sit there and pray your heart rate would soon go back to normal.

"If I did not know any better, I'd say this encounter has you quite excited, darling! The way your pulse is rising, and not to mention the fact I can smell the arousal on you!" He laughed. "You'd tell me, wouldn't you? If I had brought out such emotions in you."

Your blood drew hot in shame, he knew.

You nodded and tried to save face, "Yes, Alastor. I'm fine, just- my pulse is high from the walk up here, that's all."

"And if you were to stand up, your answer would be the same, I presume?"

Confused, you cocked your head. He didn't say anything, just wrapped his hands around your waist and stood you up.

There it was, the evidence he was looking for. A wet patch on his thigh. Right from where you were sitting. Your wetness had leaked through your panties, leaving a spot on his dress pants.

“Well, look at this mess. And my best pants, no less! Do you have anything to say for yourself, dear?”

You shook your head, never so embarrassed in your life.

He tutted, "First, you lie about why you came up here. Then you lie about this? Darling, have you no manners? Or am I to teach you them myself, hm?"

His eyes were half lidded now, ears twitching.

"I- uh. I think you need to teach me, Alastor..." You admitted, not able to take your eyes off him.

“Finally! The right answer! You’re getting the hang of this now, eh?” He laughed, and patted his thigh - the one you’d dirtied, “Back up here. May as well see how much more you can ruin them.”

Legs shaking, you stood up and straddled his thigh. He leaned in close, “Now get yourself off. You can do that, yes? If your mewls at night are anything to go by, I’d say you’re to be a natural at this!”

The thought of Alastor hearing you play with yourself through your bedroom door sent shivers down your spine, in a good way. He grabbed your chin, angling your head to face him.

“I said you can do that, yes, dear?”

You nodded, hands reaching up to his shoulders to steady yourself as you started grinding down on his thigh like your life depended on it, maybe it did. You could feel his cock hardening. His hands trailed down your body to your hips where they stayed, helping you slowly ride his thigh.

“Theres a good girl, hm? See what happens when you behave?”

You nodded, breathing heavy, “Uh-huh.”

Alastor nodded, his hips gently bucking up for friction. Your hand went to zipper to help, but he brushed it away.

“This is your lesson. Not mine.” He winked.

So you kept riding his thigh, until your own thighs were weak, and you were close. And he knew it.

“If this were a proper lesson, I wouldn’t allow you to cum. But you’ve been so good, so good for me... You may cum.”

You nodded into the nook of his neck, letting out a pathetic whiny mewl as you came, soddening his pants. From the sound of it, he came too, letting out a staticky grunt that would of hurt your ears if you were paying attention, but you were too busy grinding your way through your climax, as he shushed you gently.

He helped you stand up, your thighs shaking and almost giving out under you. A sharp finger pressed into the stain on his pants, before he collected some of the wetness and licked it off.

“Head off to my bedroom, now, love. Get yourself cleaned up. I’m nowhere near done with you yet.”

The walk to his bedroom was strange to say the least. Your knees shaking and panties wet, of course Angel was going to say something.

“Christ, you look like you been fucked good, sweets.”

“I have, I think...?”

“Oh yeah? And whose the lucky son of a bitch, huh? He knows not to fuck with you, right?” He winked, ever protective of you.

As if on cue, Alastor appeared, strolling carelessly toward you both. A hand on your shoulder.

“Sorry to interrupt, Angel, my dear, but I’m afraid we have something to take care of. If you’ll excuse us...” He guided you away, towards his room.

[theminecraftbee]

Joel turns around. Martyn is standing there. His eyes are a burning red that gives Joel the heebie-jeebies. If anyone would know to be scared, it's Joel! He would! He'd recognize a mad dog if he saw one anywhere!

Anyway, all of that is to say that his high-pitched scream had been totally justified. "Oh my word Martyn what are you doing here?" he says, clutching his hand over his heart, several feet further back than he'd been thirty seconds ago.

Martyn snorts. "Is the sign not for me? Figured there was no one else it could be for."

"The what?"

"The sign."

Joel turns around. Outside his base, the other Mounders have hung a helpful banner: "SORRY EVERYONE YOU LOVE IS DEAD <3".

He'd told them it was kind of rude, hanging that up. Sort of made light of the whole thing, really. His wife and Mumbo and Jimmy had died, guys, don't be idiots about it. Bdubs had loudly told him that he was TRYING to be helpful, Joel, geez, why don't you appreciate his efforts? Pearl had shrugged and said they don't exactly make cards for this kind of thing. Joel's pretty sure they do, actually but...

Sorry everyone you love is dead. Hah.

"My wife is dead, Martyn," Joel says.

"Who, Lizzie or Jimmy?" Martyn says, weirdly dark. "Anyway, my husband's dead, so--"

"Your what?"

"Mumbo and I got married one time. Everyone forgets that for some reason."

Joel has to think about it a while. "Huh."

"Yeah. Anyway, you've still got the other Mounders, huh? Don't know what you're crying about. Thought the sign had to be for me. Thought I'd show up. Get cake. Kill some people. You know how it is."

"If there's a TNT minecart in my base, the first thing I do after I turn red is kill you," Joel says.

"That's not really how it works this time," Martyn says.

"Yeah, well, screw you," Joel says. "Also, they didn't make me any cake. I should ask them for that next. Hah. A cake."

"You know, maybe don't ask for that? Parties tend to go wrong in this game."

"And who's fault is that, huh?"

"Hey, don't look at me! Or, do. Since I'm going to kill everyone, on account of everyone I love being dead and all. Really convenient excuse for murder, that. I should use it more often, if it didn't involve the crippling grief," Martyn says.

"Oh, please. At least you tend to have people to love in the first place," Joel snaps.

"Oh, right, that is your curse, isn't it?" Martyn says. "Sorta broke it last time, but you do tend to get isolated and a bit crazy. Hey, I wonder if we're the ones who traded, actually what with the whole wolf thing."

Joel blinks. "What?"

"Oh, we're all cursed," Martyn says. "After all, They like it better that way. Hey, do you think Jimmy's curse transferred to Lizzie, got cancelled out by the fact Lizzie tends to die stupidly, or got broken? Personally, I'm thinking random fluke, when it comes to canary nonsense."

Joel stares at Martyn. His throat is dry. "What?"

Martyn stares back. "Hey, I'm the mad dog this time," Martyn says. "You probably shouldn't be the one growling."

"Well then, you should stop saying stupid shit," Joel says.

"Stupid? Please. It's obvious everyone is cursed. Nothing to be done about it but to play into the--"

"NO ONE IS BLUMIN' CURSED," Joel shouts, his vision suddenly red and blurry in a way it shouldn't be when he's still on yellow. "NO ONE IS BLUMIN' CURSED. THERE'S NO SUCH THING! YOU'RE JUST, JUST MAKIN' UP REASONS IT ISN'T ALL A TRAGEDY THAT EVERYONE I LOVE IS FUCKING DEAD, MAKING UP REASONS THAT IT--NO ONE IS CURSED! IT JUST HAPPENS! IT JUST HAPPENS! IT JUST FUCKING HAPPENS! AND WOULDN'T IT BE BLUMIN' NICE IF THERE WERE A HIGHER POWER BUT THERE ISN'T SO SHUT THE FUCK UP ABOUT CURSES!"

He's panting. Martyn is staring at him. He stares back, a snarl on his teeth, the echoes of wolves and of grief, grief, grief, grief playing at the back of his throat.

"Joel?" Martyn says, hesitant.

"My wife is fucking dead. My best friend is fucking dead. One of my new possible best friends is fucking dead. Sorry about your husband, I guess? Get out."

"Bold thing to say to the guy who can kill--"

"I SAID GET OUT!"

Martyn stares at Joel a moment longer, and Joel finds he's not scared of the madness in his eyes at all.

Martyn leaves.

Joel realizes he's crying. The tears turn into giant, ugly sobs. Sorry everyone you love is dead. Sorry everyone you love is dead. Sorry everyone you love is dead.

"I blumin' hate caring about people," he says to no one at all through choked breaths, and he kicks a rock at the banner for good measure. It pokes a little hole through it and bounces off the dick-shaped tower behind it.

"Someone really should have made both of us a blumin' cake, they should," he says next, and he sits down until Pearl runs over, having heard the shouting. His face is red and his vision is still swimming. She stares at him, gathers him in her arms, and cries with him, and for the life of him, he doesn't know if that's any better.

[gojosprettyprincess]

Guys yk that Tiktok trend "Everybody knows that I'm a good girl officer" I can't stop thinking about doing it with Officer Toji.

He's just standing at the side of the road talking to one of his colleagues when you go up to him and was like "Hello sir! I was just wondering if I can make a TikTok video with you in it? you don't need to do anything, just stand there that's all" you asked nervously blushing at the way his bigger frame was towering over yours while his eyes are scanning your figure.

"Don't have time for all that nonsense sweetheart, sorry" he replied, attempting to resume his conversation with his colleague, just for him to hit him in the arm with his elbow playfully, nodding his head towards you.

"Come on man just do the video, She's literally fucking hot" his colleague teased him, Toji just rolled his eyes looking over towards you.

"Alright fine, I'll be in your video sweetheart, make it quick" he scoffed, looking at you.

"Omg thank you so much!" you replied your eyes lit up as look towards your friend, who was smirking at you, you signaled her a thumbs up and got closer to Toji, waiting for the audio to start playing.

Then you start lip-syncing the words as it played and he has his big beefy arms crossed, with the outline of his bicep muscles popping out since his uniform isn't doing any justice hiding his figure, a big smirk plastered on his face after he heard the lyrics, thinking about all sorts of things he'd do to you, he looked over to his colleague to see if he heard what he's hearing.

After you're done you thanked him nervously trying your best not to make the fact that you're blushing that obvious, God he was so attractive, but before you can even leave he goes "What'd ya say you give me your number princess?".

You swore your heart skipped a beat when you heard that, you sheepishly nodded your head, trying to contain all the excitement you were feeling, you pulled out a piece of paper from your bag to write your number on then you handed it to him.

He took the paper and hid it in his pocket. "I'll catch ya later princess, look out for my message" he said with a smirk while he winked at you.

You felt like you were gonna melt right there, you hurried off to your friend to tell her the good news and walked away but before you could turn to the other corner you decided to look back at him, but just to see him staring at you.

[crookedkryptonitebeliever]

Yandere coworker (part 11)

Tw: afab reader, this chapter is just some fluff and exhibiting a softer side of this problem man

Masterlists, part 1, part 12

All eight of you ordered the steak. Therefore, eight identical dishes were presented in front of everyone.

When it arrived, Cyprus spent no time cutting his slab into smaller pieces while chatting amicably with his friends. You wonder what for, because he usually eats larger chunks as he has a bigger mouth.

You began eating your fries and vegetable sides first, not wanting to tackle the meat. You're too mentally exhausted to work on it.

But before you could pick up your next fry, Cyprus swapped plates with you and you felt a sense of deja vu wash over. The meat was perfectly cubed to your bite size.

"Damn it, you ate most of my fries." He mumbled, stabbing the steak with his fork and slicing through it with his knife.

Your brain was on automatic, so you apologized and immediately transferred some of your chips over to his. Not realizing that you never asked him to cut the beef up for you and this technically wasn't your plate that you ate out of.

You're just too tired. Too tired to notice that he said, "Thanks, princess." As he pecked you on the temple and stroked you on the head.

Too tired to realize that you weren't acting mean towards Cyprus, proving his friends' point about how you're wonderful for him and you're not someone Cyprus should dump.

Neither of them mind that you were suddenly deathly quiet. As Cyprus had explained to them earlier that you tend to shut down after having too much social interaction for the day. They looked at Cyprus as if he grew two heads when he mentioned about your "social battery", because they considered that term as some sort of internet nonsense and your boyfriend is the last person they expect to unironically use it. Initially, it was embarrassing for Cyprus, but eventually he explained it enough for everyone to understand.

The women gush over how romantic it was that Cyprus cuts your steak up for you without hesitation or much thought. It's so natural for him to treat you like royalty. In turn, pressuring the men to do that for their girlfriends too.

The dinner went by uneventfully. Cyprus brought you back home earlier and ate the rest of your leftovers because you didn't feel like eating it anymore.

You couldn't really remember what else happened, nothing much must have taken place between the ride home and the time where you found yourself snuggling into his chest as you dozed off.

__

"Wake up."

You groggily grumbled, flinching when Cyprus blew air into your ear. You tried pushing him away, but he simply chuckled and groped all over your body.

"Good morning to you too, beautiful. Now, get up. We're going on a date." He whispered, learning not to overwhelm you this early in the morning. The last time he spoke in a voice too loud and upbeat at the crack of dawn, you burst into tears.

You whined, saying it's too early and it's a Saturday, you want to sleep in. Frowning, you wished Cyprus's energy levels matched yours, he would have made a much better boyfriend then.

"I want to smoke."

You told him to go ahead, because you want to sleep.

"I want to fuck you stupid."

You picked your head up and tiredly opened an eye. You told him no way, but you fell into his trap instead. He encased your lips in a passionate kiss, he must have just woken up too as it was sloppier than usual. But it was enjoyable nonetheless as you knew he had plenty of practice before you.

His large hands rubbed all over your body, snaking them under your (Cyprus's) oversized T-shirt and under the band of your underwear.

He pulled away when your thrashing began to get out of hand, signalling that you're running out of breath. But he didn't retract his hands this time, instead choosing to hold you close to him.

You panted and struggled to keep your heartbeat below the maximum while he hugs you as if you're his beloved stuffed toy.

"I want to get to know you more..." He murmured. There was a sense of softness and yearning in his purr, his fingers got to work soothingly carding your hair.

You said he knew everything there is to know about you. And he deems everything else as a side effect of your internet addiction.

"You never really talked about your friends." He drawled.

You remained silent, waiting to see where this conversation goes.

"I'm starting to think you don't have any." He sniffed your hair. "God, you smell good."

You said you do have friends, Cyprus is stealing you away from them. You pulled away from his hold, which was surprisingly lax and rolled to the end of the bed, furthest away from Cyprus.

"Oh yeah?" He propped his head up by an elbow while lying on his side, staring at you as the singular ray of sunshine coming from a gap between his curtains illuminated his face. You would never admit that he's extremely handsome without his glasses.

"Why don't you get texts and calls from them, then? I've been waiting to pick one up and tell them that you're busy with me." A grin made its way to his lips, fantasizing about how your hypothetical friends would freak out over the news of you having a boyfriend. Cyprus just likes letting the world know that you're his pretty girl.

You said that they have a life and they couldn't check up on you all the time. He narrowed his eyes at you.

"Really? Not even a "Look what I found" text? Not even a "This reminded me of you"?" His free hand found its way to your hips, tenderly caressing it up and down. "You're such a loser." He teased with a carefree smile on his attractive face.

You gulped, not knowing what to say. Cyprus gets calls from his friends regularly and actually cares about him. They want him around just because they love him as family.

You? Usually your friends (actually, colleagues) contact you if they want something out of you or to brag about their life when they couldn't find anyone else to be their emotional sponge or for some political reason.

His words made you reflect on your life. You don't think you have anyone you trust to help you out when times get tough in this city. Ironically, Cyprus would have been the first person you would call to get you out of trouble, because you have a strong belief that he would help you without hesitation no matter how much you think that he's an asshole.

You sunk your head deeper into his pillow, can't think of anything else to say to him without admitting you're more of a loser than you thought.

You wished you had your phone right now to pacify you and distract yourself from confronting the reality that your life isn't that great.

You saw Cyprus's eyebrows raise and knitted itself in concern. He scooted closer to you and cupped your cheeks.

"Did I reopen a wound? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you feel like crap. Don't cry, doll. Come here." He opened his arms and invited you in an embrace.

Don't cry? You were confused why he said that until you began to sniffle and the tickle of your tears was registered in your mind.

Embarrassed, you buried your head in his chest to hide your teary mess of a face from him. Cyprus wrapped his arms around you tightly, cooing about how it's okay and he loves you.

"I took a joke too far, I'm sorry, baby. I didn't mean to come off as a judgmental asshole." He mumbled in your hair before kissing you on the crown of your head.

You progressed to pathetic sobs, the reality that you don't have anyone is dawning on you. And it's horrifying to accept.

You never knew what reaction you would get from him whenever you cried. Most of the time, he would brush it off as an insignificant, silly little tantrum. Sometimes he would drop everything just to comfort you, like right now. Perhaps he could feel that he actually hurt you a lot.

He slowly got up, bringing you up with him. Cyprus then rose to his full height, carrying you with an arm supporting your rear and your legs wrapping around his torso. You clung onto him, fearing that he might drop you and not wanting him to see you still weeping and vulnerable.

"Let's get ready for our date." He gently bounced you up and down, patting your back while he walked out of the bedroom. Of course, not before retrieving his glasses from the nightstand.

You sighed and sagged, there is no way you could worm out of this. So you asked him where he was planning on taking you.

"There's this farmer's market I've wanted to go to for a while now. I think you're going to love it there. I know I will, since you're going to be with me." He opened the door to the bathroom. Cyprus gently sets you down on the cold tiles, making you frown in discomfort.

He smiled at you, his bed head making him look less well kept than usual. It's charming in its own right.

"You can make hell seem like heaven by just being there." He ruffled your already messy hair. "You're so fun to be with, you know that?"

He bent down and pecked you on the lips, hushing you when a gush of tears started flowing again. Cyprus took the time to wipe them off with his thumbs.

"Go on, get ready. I'll be preparing breakfast for the both of us and I'll come back in ten minutes to check up on you."

You nodded, sniffling and wiping your face with your hand.

Satisfied, he kissed you on the forehead. "Crybaby."

He pulled away, only to dive back in to give you another kiss on the lips. "But you're my crybaby. Remember that."

He laughed when you tried hitting him and missed.

[irkimatsu]

Filling a request for @christinaatyourservice92! She requested a Husk x Reader where Reader "cleans up nicely", so to speak.

Husk/Reader, featuring Angel as an enthusiastic wingman. Some other characters kind of exist I guess. Reader is wearing a dress but otherwise their gender isn't specified; we're friendly to mascs in dresses here. Nothing further than dancing and kissing, anything with Husk is going to be a slowburn. But I love a good slowburn.

I'm still new to this fandom and haven't written most of these characters at all before, so please be patient with me! And feel free to send requests; I can't promise to have something for all of them, but who knows what could happen if you strike my fancy! (Probably only answering Husk related ones for now, though. Fuck I love Husk. Give me some Husk time for a bit. Husk... ahem.)

A ball wasn’t the worst bonding idea that Charlie ever had.

Granted, calling whatever was going on in the lobby of the hotel a “ball” was a bit of an overstatement. There weren’t that many guests, for one thing; the hotel didn’t have enough people for that, even including the employees. The decorations were set up quickly and cheaply, making the whole thing look more like a child’s birthday party. Entertainment was provided by Alastor, who stood off to the side and played instrumental ragtime music through his staff, presumably wondering what kind of nonsense this whole affair would lead to.

It had already led to Niffty dancing through the lobby with a “partner” made of bug carcasses, dust bunnies, and assorted other unmentionables, so that was a start.

Husk didn’t have to put in any sort of effort for this mess, but something had inspired him to clean himself up for once. He’d changed into a full suit and forgone the top hat, and he stood by the tables gently sipping a glass of red wine instead of chugging whiskey like it was a water bottle.

Angel, of course, noticed the discrepancy.

“Ooh, lookit you, all fancy,” he remarked as he took a spot beside Husk. Angel wasn’t too keen on the whole event, but he’d taken the opportunity to dress up in a nice skirt and wig, not one to waste a chance to play with his appearance. He certainly wasn’t giving up the chance to show off his legs, given how short his skirt was. “What’s the occasion?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Husk asked. “Not like I’m the only one dressed up.”

“Yeah, but I was born to look good. I ain’t showing up to even the shittiest party without showing off what I got! You, on the other hand, look uncomfortable.”

“It’s these wings,” Husk said. “It’s so damn hard to find a shirt that fits ‘em.”

“So why not take the shirt off?” Angel suggested, sing-songy tone confirming that he knew exactly how that sounded. Husk merely smiled and rolled his eyes at his friend’s sense of humor.

“Have you seen Y/N?” Husk asked.

“Ohhhhh.” Angel chuckled. “Ohhhh, I see what this is about…”

“Have you seen them?” Husk responded, his expression not changing.

“Someone like them at a ball? Uh-uh, ain’t no way they’re comin’ down here. You know they’re too much of a recluse for this fancy dress-up business.”

“You really think so…?”

“Aw, what’s got you lookin’ so down, Whiskers?”

Husk ignored Angel for another sip of wine, his desire to maintain some semblance of class preventing him from downing it as quickly as he’d like.

“Right. Be right back.”

“You better not be thinking about what I think you are!” Husk called after Angel as he walked away, but Angel didn’t respond.

—

You’re not going down there. You are not going down there. Not in this.

It’s not like it’s a revealing outfit or anything. It’s just a frilly, floor-length red dress. You’d picked it up when Charlie first announced the ball, fully intending to wear it that evening.

This is the first time you’ve looked at yourself in the mirror while wearing it, and the mirror is doing nothing to convince you to leave the room in this thing.

Even when you were alive, you were never particularly feminine; being feminine required being cute, and that just wasn’t something you were ever comfortable considering yourself as. Your appearance became even less of a concern after you died, with clothing being more of a suggestion than anything else. But a formal occasion sounded like the perfect chance to change that status quo.

What a stupid idea that was.

“Hey, Toots!” That voice along with three simultaneous knocks could only be one person. “You comin’ downstairs?”

“I’m fine! Thanks!” you call back without another thought. Why couldn’t you have gotten a nice outfit that was more gender neutral? Maybe you could change to your plain clothes and join the party that way…

But you know his tastes, and he might be disappointed to see you showing up for what’s supposed to be a major event in casual streetwear…

Better off not risking it.

“Aw, but it’s borin’!” Angel called from the other side of the door. “We could use some company down there!”

“Go ahead without me!” you assured Angel, preparing to change out of the dress and spend the evening to yourself in your room.

“But Husk wants to see you!”

The sound of his name makes you freeze.

It’s not a surprise that he wants to see you, really. You two have been getting along well, talking about your shared appreciation for music and the performing arts. Even the other members of the hotel have commented that Husk never softens quite as much as when you show an interest in his stories of his days as a performer in Vegas. He really does seem to like spending time with you.

But to hear it spoken out loud…

“You okay in there?”

You slowly open the door to see Angel standing there. At least you don’t need to worry about being overdressed; Angel’s got you beat in that department. He’s always impressed you with how he can take an outfit that should be so, so tacky on paper and yet make it work.

His eyes widen at the sight of you, and he lets out a whistle. “Well, damn. You in a dress. Never thought it’d happen.”

“I look stupid,” you mutter, holding your upper arm as you turn your head away. “I have no idea how to wear this thing…”

Angel scoffs. “You kiddin’? Look at me, honey. You know the types of people I hang out with, and let me tell ya, there is no one who can’t pull off a dress if they wanna.”

“Do you think Husk will like it?”

Angel laughs, and you immediately regret letting those words escape your mouth.

“Um, not that I… it’s just, he went to parties like this all the time, right? When he was alive, and when he was an Overlord, so he knows what people are supposed to wear… we’ve been getting along, but it might look bad if I’m underdressed…”

“You could go down there in a brown paper bag, and ol’ kitty cat down there would still be staring at you,” Angel assures you.

“Are you sure…?”

“Jesus Christ, you two are clueless.” He takes your hand in two of his and starts tugging you toward the stairs. “C’mon. You’re gonna go give Husk something to do besides finish off the wine all by himself.”

—

The reaction you get when you reach the lobby is less than you expected. Charlie’s happy to greet you, which you appreciate, but hers wasn’t the reaction you were looking for.

The only reaction you get from Husk is a briefly surprised glance before he turns away to refill his wine.

Is that really it…?

Angel must be equally unimpressed with the response. He storms over to Husk, and while you can’t really hear the conversation, you can see that it involves a lot of arm flailing from Angel and tail lashing from Husk.

The only phrase you can pick out is Angel saying, “Well, forgive me for trying to get you some-”

Should you go back upstairs? Husk doesn’t seem as happy to see you as Angel implied he would, and all you’re doing down here is standing in the middle of the room like an idiot. While you try to decide whether to run off and never think of this again, you notice Angel approach Alastor. He’s talking to Alastor with the same animated arm motions, while Alastor listens on in mild amusement. As Angel walks away, Alastor rolls his eyes and shakes his head, then gently taps his staff against the floor.

The bouncy ragtime music abruptly shifts to a downtempo jazz number.

Husk’s ears perk up at the sound, and as he looks up to figure out what’s going on, he locks eyes with you. You’re looking back at him, maintaining eye contact for far longer than he had when you first entered. He can’t just ignore you after that, can he?

Indeed, he can’t. Slowly, he walks toward you, uncertain at first but progressively gaining confidence. Angel flashes thumbs up signs that he can’t see behind him.

“Good evening,” he greets you, his deep voice so much more smooth than anything he’d shown as recently as thirty seconds ago. “You look nice tonight.”

“Thank you,” you respond, flashing your best smile. “You, too.”

Husk in a suit… you could get used to this.

His smile is surprisingly gentle when he does it without teeth. He holds out his paw. “Shall we dance?”

You take his paw in one hand, and he takes your other hand in his other paw. The two of you gently sway together, not making much contact, but even this proximity is making your chest pound. His confidence has grown considerably; he’s clearly used to things like this. He’s perfectly on rhythm, not holding your hands too loosely or tightly.

As if it’s the most natural thing in the world, he places a paw on your shoulder and pulls you close to him. You’re at a loss at what to do with your now free hand. It finds its way to his hip, and instantly your face starts heating. No, that’s way too much, way too quickly-

He doesn’t say anything about it. He only smiles.

Maybe it’s okay.

You stop focusing so much on where his hands are, or how he’s moving his feet. Your only concern is the gentle look he’s giving you as he dances with you, leading you in a perfect rhythm.

His arms have found their way around your waist at some point. You’re too lost in the moment to question it.

He whispers your name, and is it just you or is his face getting incredibly close? You raise a hand to stroke the fur on his cheek.

His lips are on yours, so chastely but they’re there, and you’re so floored by the action that you barely even register Angel whooping in the background. The kiss only lasts an instant, but you’re both a little more breathless now than when you started.

It’s the only time you kiss for now, but you spend much more time swaying together. You don’t know where one song ends and another begins; it’s only the underscore for one long dance, where the sliver of space between your bodies feels like a chasm.

No… not tonight. Not here. Not while they’re watching.

—

If it were up to you, that dance would have never ended… which is why it’s probably for the best that the sultry saxophone music abruptly changed to a loud swing number.

Alastor looks rather pleased with himself for the interruption.

You’d spend more time with Husk in the lobby, but not only is the music giving you a headache, but Angel keeps on staring at you with a raised eyebrow and a grin, and you don’t want any more time to think about what he’s theorizing in regards to your personal life.

“I wanna go back upstairs,” you tell Husk. Before he can look too disappointed, you then add, “You can come with me if you want.”

After you shout a good night at Charlie and Vaggie and Husk flicks a good-natured middle finger to the smirking Angel, the two of you head upstairs, and after some brief discussion, you agree to spend your time in Husk’s room. The two of you sit on the edge of his bed for a while as he shows you his collection of vinyls, and you discuss the possibility of the two of you possibly performing some of his favorite songs as a duet, with him on his saxophone and you singing.

“It’d be nice if we could sing together, too,” you say. “You have a really nice voice.”

The compliment flusters him enough that it takes him a moment to respond. “Maybe… but most of the duets I can sing are love songs.”

Now it’s your turn to blush, and it’s a lot more obvious on you than it is on him. You can’t hide the truth; you might as well say it out loud.

“I’d like singing a love song with you.”

Husk looks at the ceiling and smiles to himself, his thoughts elsewhere. “It’s been a long time since I’ve done a duet. Singing a love song with someone, and meaning every word of it… there’s nothing like it. I wouldn’t want to sing a duet like that with someone who doesn’t mean it.”

You snap him out of his daydream by placing your hand over his paw. “What about me? If I did mean it?”

He chuckles to himself. “You’d mean it? This soon? You just got here. We barely know each other.” Despite his words, he turns his paw around so he can hold your hand in return.

“You’re the one who kissed me down there,” you remind him.

“A single kiss isn’t love. Love takes time.” His body language doesn’t seem to be matching his words as he squeezes your hand. “It takes patience. Compromise. It’s not gonna fall into place easily. It’s easy to screw up… I’ve done it before.”

He’s looking at your face again, a once-unseen vulnerability in his eyes.

“...I don’t want to screw it up again. Not with you.”

“We can at least try.” You stroke his cheek again, now more focused than ever on the white hairs in his dark fur and the bags beneath his eyes. He’s been around for so long… he’s been hurt so many times.

If you could be the one to help him with that hurt…

You press your lips to his, and he accepts the kiss, holding it much longer than he did while you danced. He wraps his arms around you, not pulling you as closely as he could, but still letting you share in each others’ body heat.

It will take time, but you hope that someday, the two of you can sing that love song.

[ghouljams]

Okay but I feel like Fae Konig is going to be genuinely sad he doesn’t had a bracelet. Liebling gets tired of him pouting so she half heartedly makes him one🥺

Love continues to make Liebling's life harder.

"And Ghost made this." You clarify, looking at the daisy bracelet Love is wearing. She'd practically shoved it under your nose when she walked in. It isn't an engagement ring, you don't know what the big deal is. It's cute though, you can admit that.

"I made one for him too!" Love beams, grabbing Ghosts arm to hold it up. He's wearing a, you hesitate to call it a friendship bracelet when they're clearly dating, but it's got little pink skulls on it and the same "Love" beads. You wonder if the name thing was an issue. Ghost doesn't look at you as Love shows off her work. Probably for the best.

"Cute," You tell her, not sure what else to say. There's the very distinct sound of splintering glass from the other side of the shop. You look to see what the hell just happened and find König holding the remains of a vase. The rest of it seems to be in shards on the floor.

He and Ghost are staring at each other. Something you are starting to think is just their natural state, which is weird because you've seen them get along well enough in the past. Sometimes you think they're almost friendly. Now though...

You glance back at Ghost. Even through the mask you can tell he's grinning, König's fists clench. Love leans around Ghost to wave at König.

"Hey Big Guy! Always nice to have you 100 yards from me." You don't know what the fuck she's talking about but Ghost tries to cover his laugh with a cough. God. You really hate to admit that they're a cute couple.

König wanders to the back to clean the glass out of his hands while you and Love finish your weekly meeting. He doesn't come back out until the door closes on her and Ghost.

"What's wrong with you?" You ask him, he's wearing his sad eyes. You wish he wouldn't do that. You also wish he would've cleaned up the busted vase himself instead of making you do it while entertaining Love.

"They have exchanged cords, you do not give me gifts."

"Exchanged- König they're friendship bracelets not wedding rings."

"What is the difference?"

"They're not getting married?" You tell him incredulously, "And what do you mean I don't give you things, I give you plenty of stuff."

"They are already married why would they do so again?" König tips his head to the side, inquisitive clicks making you press your palms against your eyes just for any sort of pressure release.

"Oh my God." You groan, whatever nonsense König has cooked up today you're not feeling it, "What do you want from me, I'm not marrying you."

"You're so cruel to me Schatz," König sighs, you glare at him between your fingers.

"I'm not crafty, it'll look like shit," You tell him, he nods, "I mean it, it'll be so shitty and bad, you won't like it." He nods again, a little more excited. "And you can't bug me about this again if they come in with matching tattoos or something." König hesitates then nods a final time.

"I will think of something more permanent, don't worry." He tells you, and see stuff like that is exactly what makes you worried. What makes you think König has never been told 'no' in his life, because you know he means it. Permanent. The thought makes you shudder.

[yuri-is-online]

Returning to the previous Yutu post with his father with no Rizz. Do you think Yutu will try to give his father's unconscious advice to better flirt or Courting Yuu?

It would be a pretty hilarious situation. XD It would be much more comical if Grimm out of pity or because being the agent of chaos that he is decides to join the operation "Teach Dad some Rizz" with Yutu. Only so that said boy, when trying to apply the advice they give him, ends up making tremendous nonsense and shows that he really doesn't have Rizz.

Grim and Yutu giving a facepalm seeing tremendous comic tragedy Rizz's attempt

While Yutu and Grim wonder if love really didn't blind Yuu because they really don't understand how Yuu loves that airhead.

no rizz yes, but context

Yutu in general tries not to mess with the timeline too much. His parents got together on their own the first time... right? Right? Of the dad's on that list the two who I think Yutu would try to give advice to would be Sebek and Silver.

With Sebek, it's because his attitude makes him extremely angry. How dare this guy talk about his parent like that after everything they've been through. I think Sebek! Yutu probably had a really good opinion of Malleus before coming back in time and he still does sort of but all his dad's talking about him is stressing him out. It's less "let's teach dad some rizz" and more "let's teach dad some basic fucking manners" and Grim, who has a very different opinion about what basic manners involve, absolutely gets involved. Sebek is absurdly offended by this because he thinks he is the perfect image of a gentleman, that's why he stumbled over all of his words while trying to compliment Yuu. Because failing to make eye contact and telling someone they "look acceptable today" is peak romance.

Now Silver. Silver, I can see Grim taking it upon himself to teach him rizz and roping Yutu into it because Silver is genuinely interested in taking his advice. Silver knows that he isn't the most educated about courtship techniques, let alone ones that a person from another world would be receptive to, so why not ask the two people who know Yuu best? I feel like Yutu would tell him to "just be himself" and Grim would say something about how gifts are important but the instructions are unclear to Silver so he tells you something about "giving you himself" as a gift... which could be a romantic line but the severe look on his face and the fact it came out of nowhere makes Grim and Yutu want to scream because of how creepy it is.

Except Yuu is clearly flustered and playing with their jacket and giggles about it to both of them later. Maybe they should be more worried about Yuu and not Silver... at least one of them knows what a red flag is.

[awyeahitssam]

Harry giggles. His limbs feel lighter than usual, almost as if bubbles are making them float a bit. He can still control them, but it's a vague, interesting sort of control. Fun.

Harry lets sleep take him. The world whirls around him in sparks of disorienting colours, and Harry watches with a broad smile. It should make him dizzy, but he feels in the middle of something fantastic—a watercolour painting come to life. It's brilliant. Elating.

It stops as suddenly as it starts. Voldemort stares at him from across a desk. "Harry Potter," he sounds almost surprised.

Harry blinks at him. He still feels light, like he is floating, but also distantly sad. "Are you okay?" he asks thoughtlessly.

Confusion masks itself behind anger. Voldemort masks everything behind anger. "Pardon?"

"I’d never felt as good as I did a moment ago," Harry confesses, drawing closer to the Dark Lord. Red eyes track him suspiciously. Harry's chest aches. "But now, looking at you… it makes me so sad."

Thoughtlessly, Harry reaches out, and Voldemort lets him. It’s how Harry knows this can’t be real. That it’s just a silly, drunken dream. Their fingers intertwine, though Voldemort’s hand remains stiff and cold in his gentle grip.

"Aren’t you lonely?" Harry wonders. "Is that yours I feel pressing in, or my own? Even without you," Harry smiles, crooked and small, brushing an irreverent thumb over his scar, "I’m sure it’d be there. People always isolate the freak."

Voldemort’s hand twitches in Harry’s, and he hums, focus dropping from red eyes to trace the long fingers with his own.

"Everybody’s frightened of you. You isolate yourself from friendship, from love, from time itself... don’t you want, Voldemort? I can feel that you do—you’re never satisfied, are you? Will it ever be enough? The world at your feet, no attachments, nobody to challenge you—is that your dream, or your nightmare?"

"You’re speaking nonsense, boy," Voldemort says, but it comes out odd. Stilted. "You presume much."

"Is it presumption when I feel you?" Harry asks genuinely, brows drawing together, hand lifting to press over his heart. Voldemort is dragged with him, pulled a bit over the desk, and Harry blinks in surprise before realizing he still has a grip on the other’s hand. He lets go slowly, and Voldemort pulls back with a scowl.

"You are drunk," the wizard snaps with disgust. "You know nothing of what Lord Voldemort feels."

Harry finds the words… annoying.

"You feel so loudly, though," he returns sharply, moving forward, sliding onto Voldemort’s desk. Ink spills over—Voldemort hisses in annoyance and the stain is gone with a thought—dreams are a magic of their own—Voldemort’s forehead is cold and smooth. Harry bears the man's mark. He presses his scarred head to the smooth. Long, clawed fingers are wrapped around his wrist. His throat.

"Right here, always pressing in," Harry continues, heedless of his position, precarious as it is. "You feel so much it hurts, Voldemort. You hate so much. You’re never just happy. And I was, am, could be. So just take some, won’t you?"

Red eyes are narrow, intent, fascinated as they dart over Harry’s face, trying to gather his meaning. "How do you propose I do that?"

"How does one normally take pleasure?" Harry wonders. Voldemort grimaces, pulling away quickly, and it takes Harry’s bubbling mind a moment to put what he said to context.

"No," he chokes on a laugh, "I’m not asking you to—to snog. To fuck. Just open yourself up. You’re so good at taking, usually, but all you’re doing is giving. Don’t you want to feel like this? Light? Thrilled?"

"You don’t even know what you sound like, do you?" The question is rhetorical. Voldemort’s hand tightens over his throat, until Harry’s breathing grows thinner. "You wish for me to let your happiness pass my Occlumency, as though you have not just slipped through yourself. As if you have no method to make Lord Voldemort feel your pleasure; as if you want to give Lord Voldemort pleasure at all."

Harry touches the hand on his neck, slowly tightening with Voldemort’s rant, and a spark lights his fingers. Voldemort’s hand spasms before it drops. Harry takes a deep breath, glaring balefully. His light-hearted air has faded.

"Perhaps I would give you pleasure so your misery would be all the worse for it," he bites out. The world is fuzzy, but no longer from alcohol. From being choked. Even in his dreams, his life is threatened by this man.

"A pretty plot," says Voldemort. There is something very condescending in his voice; he is clearly looking down on Harry. Doubting him. It’s nothing new, but it makes the sting of anger grow in him. "Very well. If you can conjure happiness as you peer into the face of your death, Harry Potter, then do. Make me feel it, if you can."

Harry’s nails bite into his palm and release. He takes a breath and lets his eyes flutter closed. He focuses.

Happiness. What does it feel like? Like floating, as he was moments ago, or like getting an anticipated hug—not his first, not all the ones he flinched away from, but a hug from Hermione when they’ve almost just died. An arm around Ron’s waist as the boy drapes one around his shoulder. Laughing, hysterical and joyous, by the fireplace. Finding his wand. Finding out he was escaping the Dursleys. Happiness is a brief thing, drenched in the shadows of his life. Happiness is contentment, even if it is a momentary thing. It is the pleasure of a perfectly prepared cuppa; from—nonono, not going there.

Harry wraps the sensations up, one by one, like he’s re-wrapping hard candy, and throws them at Voldemort. Into Voldemort. All but one—his favourite one, his happiest one. That, he grasps, and it’s actual candy in his hand, a sweet that he looks down to, and then unwraps, and he’s moving forward, intent eyes raising, and Voldemort is already gasping, a bit, at the suddenness of it all—of pleasure.

Harry’s lips curl and he pushes the candy into the slightly agape mouth of the Dark Lord a bit cruelly, shoving it deep. He pulls back quickly, before sharp teeth can gnash on his fingers, and watches on as Voldemort experiences pleasure. As Voldemort softens, and sighs, relaxation in every hard line of him, mouth sucking almost greedily around the treasure that Harry has placed within it. Now he’s drunk on it, Harry thinks, horribly pleased to see Voldemort this way.

It’s not real, but still, he hovers on Voldemort’s desk and observes the pink brushing his cheekbones with fascination. He observes the way red eyes roll back a bit, and the way a long, pale throat swallows convulsively down on a slowly dissolving candy until there is nothing left.

Lashless eyes open, dark and suddenly staring. Red barely peeks out from behind the dilation of his pupil, and Harry’s smile is a smug thing.

“There’s your pleasure,” Harry whispers to him, like a secret. “I hope you enjoyed yourself. It can only get worse from here.”

“Worse?” murmurs Voldemort, staring at Harry intently. “You think there is worse you can do, Harry, then give me that and take it back?”

Belonging, thinks Harry, quite suddenly. He’d given Voldemort his favourite thing, the thing that he had been looking for, for a very long time. Longing, and peace, and laughter, and a burgeoning happiness that had very rarely managed to emanate past its conception. He had given Voldemort, too, his desperate hope for things to get better—and then he’d made them get better—and now Voldemort had lost it all.

Suddenly, impossibly, Harry’s eyes are liquid. I’m cruel, thinks Harry, gaze falling from red. There is nothing so cruel as what he has done, and he had done it so carelessly, so happily, so smugly, because he had felt slighted. Had felt wronged by this man who had ceaselessly wronged him.

Slowly, Harry looks back up at Voldemort, who is watching his tears with an expression of keen interest. 

“Has it made you sad to give your enemy your pleasure, Harry Potter?” Voldemort asks, gripping his wrist and drawing him near enough that Harry barely keeps his bottom on the desk rather than Voldemort’s lap.

“It makes me sad to treat you with such cruelty,” Harry corrects, “when I know you will never allow yourself to experience such pleasure again.”

“Would I not?” breathes Voldemort, eyes still dark instead of bright.

“You won’t,” whispers Harry. “It'd require you to trust someone. To have faith in them. And that, I know you’re incapable of, because you are a man but don’t see yourself as one, and gods do not have friends, nor equals.”

“Equals?” Voldemort’s breath brushes Harry’s brow, his stinging scar. “But what if Lord Voldemort were to draw you from the depths, Harry? Raise you from the pale mortality until you, too, are exalted? Then you may give Lord Voldemort what he so deserves; give me pleasure, Harry Potter,” Voldemort enunciates awfully. “Give me it all.”

I wrote this one of the first times I ever drank, and just expanded upon it a bit. I'm honestly really fond of finding these little things I've forgotten.

[idyllcy]

in sickness, in health - tim drake x reader (pretty bird countdown #10)

"You know, Damian, calling me out into the middle of Gotham U is sketchy asf." You hold your phone to your ear, raising a brow at the series of arrows on the ground. "Is this your way of getting Tim to propose to me?"

"I have no idea what nonsense you're sprouting."

"Watch." You turn around, Tim falling right into your arms, and you suddenly get the vibe that you're in some sort of Kdrama. "Caught ya."

Tim stares up at you, eyes wide as he laughs. "You caught me, pretty bird."

"See? Now, what is the nonsense you were telling me about? If you guys are planning a wedding in the middle of our university, I highly advise you to do it in the Wayne backyard or summer home instead."

You blink as Damian hangs up.

"We're flying out. They just wanted us to host a small wedding where they get to watch us exchange vows. Remember the letters you used to write to your future husband? Your mom mailed them all to me." Tim hums, fingers brushing over your wedding ring.

"WHAT THE FUCK???" Your eye twitches, horror written all over your face as you wince. "How did she even find them??"

"Apparently she dug them out when you told her that you got married."

"Mm." You grimace. "Do I have to read them in front of your family?"

"No. Just the two of us. I asked them for private vows. It's the least they can do for us"

"And it's a gala?"

"The party after is at the gala. No worries, Bruce didn't tell anyone why there's a fourth gala this year."

"Are you sure?" You raise a brow.

"I promise. We can stay in my old room the entire time if you want it that bad."

"Can we play Hades?"

"You and your fifty seven hours on a game because you want to fuck the main character." Tim rolls his eyes.

"Okay?? And?? Listen, my husband is hot, but fictional characters are still fine as fuck." You huff. "Besides, my vows are to you, no? I hope you them since I didn't get to tell you at the courthouse."

"Hey, how about reading them to me after the wedding so I can pick it apart?"

"What is this? Literary analysis?"

"Yes." Tim laughs. "To show my love for you."

"Then shall I frame your vows?"

"No need. You can keep the original draft on a USB."

"Yeah?"

Tim laughs. "Yes. That way, each time you wonder if I still love you, you have proof that the choice I made was to love you until I return to the dust of the earth."

"That's absolutely insane to say to me."

"Oh, hey. There's the helicopter." Tim looks up, leading you back as it lands in the quad.

"Is this... legal?"

"Nothing a little money can't handle."

"Great day to be marrying rich, I guess?" You raise a brow. "Where are we even having vows?"

"In private." He holds out his hand for you, helping you onto the helicopter.

"Did you plan this?"

"Just the vows part." Tim hands you the headphones as you pop them on. "We'll land at home."

"And then?"

"And then, we'll read our vows as we help each other get dressed for the gala."

"My wedding dress is nowhere near appropriate for the gala after all that sand got on it."

"I have another white one that we ordered. It's more casual." Tim grins, taking your hands again. "Everything I have is for you."

"You sound so sappy it hurts."

"Love you too." Tim snickers.

You find it strange. Tim finds it strange. You wonder just what kind of a life you led in your past life that had led you to end up with him. He is flawed, but you find that it's fine or whatnot. The world could stop spinning for him, and you would still stay by his side — until the earring rusts and your ring finger is worn down by the on and off before and after bed, he would be engrained into a part of your soul, hums gentle against your skin as the rain splatters against the window. There would be a fixing, until the two of you are withered and frail with age, until you can no longer fix each other and return to dust as one.

"Ehem." You make the dramatics of dropping the rest of the paper as Tim helps you lace your back, laughing. "To my dearest, sweetest, loveliest, future husband. At the time I am first starting this page, I am twelve and have a thrashing obsession with Robin. As with all of my hyperfixations, I expect this to last no longer than two months. Even if it continues, I hope this is whatever the hell my classmates won't shut up about... the invisible string theory? I wonder if that means I'm gonna marry Robin's girlfriend or something. Oh, maybe even another hardcore fan of his—"

Tim holds back a laugh, back shaking as he finishes with the bow. "My girlfriend?"

"You weren't bi at that point in time. At least not to us." You snort, continuing. "Regardless of whoever I end up with, I'm fine if I never end up married too. I keep hearing all of this nonsense about how women are having less kids and shit and I think it's a good time to never have to deal with it. Hopefully you don't want kids either. Or, maybe you're down bad like those men in all of that fanfiction I've been reading. Regardless, if I end up marrying a man who can't respect my boundaries, I want a divorce. Fuck this, man."

You move down the paper, and Tim runs his hand through your hair.

"You're doing my hair this time?" You raise a brow. "What's next, my makeup?"

"I will be attempting to do your makeup today." Tim purses his lips. "If you'll let me?"

"Sure." You hum, moving your head to make sure he gets all of your hair. "Dear future husband, here's a few things you need to know if you want to be my one and only all my life."

Tim holds back a laugh, but you feel him shaking behind you anyway.

"I have a Robin addiction. I know he technically assaulted me or whatever on the rooftop the other day, but oh my god he's got such a feminine-shaped face that I think I am never going to reach that level of pretty. Even if I do, somehow, I don't think I could ever have a figure that nice. Do I look better now? Maybe I do. I don't know. Hopefully I'm the prettiest girl in the world to you even when I'm old and wrinkly. I got scolded by mom because of... nearly losing my camera but.. boo. I hope you're Robin. I really hope I end up marrying that guy because my friends may not be able to marry Jungkook but I at least have a chance of marrying him. Are you Robin? The one that has pants? It sounds so romantic... please take me out on midnight swings." You pause, blinking at your next words.

"I bet it's something about how you'd let me fuck you six ways from sunday." Tim reaches for a brush.

"Wow, you're like, psychic." You snort. "I also hope whenever I look at you like I'd let you hit fourteen different ways, you catch the cue. Or, maybe the idea of sex grosses me out now. I don't know. I wouldn't know. I can only keep hoping and praying that you're Robin. Oh, also, please let me grate cheese on your abs if you have— I CAN'T."

"No, keep going." Tim stops, hair still in his hand as you shake from laughter. "KEEP GOING."

"Please let me grate cheese on your abs if you have abs. Oh, also, is it possible to cut my finger on your jawline? Maybe you'll let me bite into your collarbone until I draw blood. Okay, that was oddly kinky and weird. I am sorry if future me has to read this to you. I might be insane or something. I wouldn't know." You close your eyes for the next part. "Regardless, I want a big fancy wedding that costs a billion dollars where you'll fly all of my friends in and we'll party until sunrise. That was sarcasm, by the way. I want a small wedding where it's just family and friends. Maybe a second one to host more people if you're a socialite or something. I hope my future in laws love me more than they love you. Mom's been teaching me how to cook lately, and I might have a talent for it. I hope you enjoy every single Chinese dish on the planet, because I can not live with white people food for extended periods of time. Kisses! Xoxo."

"Yeah, I think that last part is apparent." Tim finishes with your hair, reaching for accessories. "The ironic part is that you DID manage to marry that Robin."

"Yeah, I bet she'd be having a crazy ass moment." You hum. "Ehem, dear future husband. my parents are divorced now. I'm in high school at this point in time. Robin seems rather chummy with me now, but I still don't think he sees me as a potential romantic partner. I think he only recognizes me if I have my all black clothes on. Regardless, I think he's a funny guy. Also, I caught him kissing Spoiler a couple days ago so I don't think I have a chance."

"Makes me nostalgic, almost." Tim hums, looking through your jewelry. "What colors for accent?"

"Red." You hum. "For good luck for the bride and groom."

Tim laughs.

"You know, maybe you're one of the other Robins. Maybe you're the second one.. that like. died. or something. I heard there's a new vigilante running around. Red Hood? I think he's more of a crime lord, but his build... I MEAN. I MEAN IM NOT LIKE UNFAITHFUL OR ANYTHING. I JUST THINK HE'S HOT. Yeah. Anyways. I still run a twitter for Robin, but I think he's rebranded as Red Robin. His fit is kinda fire. Don't tell him I said that, though. I don't think people pay me enough for this nonsense, honestly. My current friends are alright. I don't think I find them particularly entertaining, but it's not like I'll see any of them when I move away for college. Is it wrong to dislike your friends? Probably. They drain too much energy whenever I hang out with them. How are your friends? I hope you have a great relationship with your family, or else I am royally fucked."

"Tilt." Tim hums, and you raise your ear, letting Tim pop your studs off for the rubies. "I should get you a new pair."

"Maybe." You laugh. "I have two more pages. The two of them are addressed to you."

"Both?"

"Dearest Tim Drake." You hum, straightening your back as Tim helps you put on your necklace. "I really fucking hope you're the guy I marry, cuz I will burn this letter if not."

"I'm so glad this lived to see the light of day." Tim mumbles, starting with your makeup. "Is this alright?"

"Yes, birdie." You hum. "I remember most of it."

"Good." He grins. "Because I have a letter for you too."

You beam at him, eye closed as he pats your foundation on. "I genuinely can not believe you had sex with me. I do not radiate sex appeal, have an addiction to a Japanese green tea brand, and probably do not study half as much as I should. I have a crippling addition to Red Robin, nearly kissed him at a Halloween party, and once on the rooftop of my dorm. I do not understand why you brought me to a place that I felt I did not belong in, and I wonder if you had just picked me because I seemed like an easy target."

Tim frowns at the words.

"Regardless, I think you're the one. I think it's becoming more apparent just through the assignments I've been writing. Do you love me? Do I love you? Is this called love? I don't know. I haven't loved someone in a long time. I think my best friend calls it a delusionship. A one sided, delusionship. Hopefully they'll be there at our wedding or whatever. Will you buy me an apartment building for our wedding gift? A reverse dowry of twenty billion dollars? I don't even know how much money you have, tch. I just want a nice apartment to live in. The bar is actually in hell. Yet, I find myself catching up with interviews and news about you, desperate to learn more about you and understand just what about you draws me in. You know, I really wonder if you genuinely loved me when you said good morning to me. Maybe you did. Maybe you don't anymore. Human emotions are fickle, after all."

"Lips." He hums.

You open your mouth, jutting out your lip as he helps you apply lipstick.

"Any more?"

"Human emotions are fickle, yet I find myself clawing at my heart when I think of you. Maybe I do love you. Maybe I am nothing in myself, and I need someone to love me. Maybe you showed me love. Maybe, just maybe, you are the one. Yet, I dare not promise it. So, I go back to where I began in this letter, wondering if you would receive it. No kisses this time. May you be the one to send me those instead."

"I think I'm done." Tim takes a step back, lips curled upwards.

You turn to look in the mirror, grinning. "Yeah, birdie?"

"Yeah." Tim hums. "I'll read you my vows next, I promise."

"This one's my vows." You hum, folding the paper back up and cutting open an envelope. "Ready?"

"You wanna sit on the couch before the car gets here?"

"Not gonna say no to that." You stand up, Tim leading you as you get used to walking in the dress. "Wow, I keep forgetting how annoying it is to walk in these dresses."

"You're the star of the show tonight." Tim hums. "Depending on whether or not you want to give the paparazzi a show, I can carry you for the whole night too."

"I'll be fine in the heels, I promise." You sit down as Tim lets go of your hand. "Ready for my vows?"

"Of course."

"To beloved birdie, Timothy Jackson Drake Wayne." You hum, smoothing out the paper. "We did not get to have proper wedding vows at the courthouse, so I am writing mine down knowing that you will definitely host something at the complaint of your family. I vow to love you until the sun rises from the west and the moon is eradicated — until the moon becomes the sun and the sun becomes the moon, I vow to cherish you even unto death. I vow that when you are sick and dying, when you are struck with illnesses I have never heard of, I will be by your side. I vow that even if the paparazzi decide to tear their claws into my skin to ruin my life, I will stay. I vow that when you are struck by pollen and in need of release, I will be there for you. Until the world collapses and you are no longer red but old, and even when one of us leave, I promise I will be by your side and follow you until there is nothing left in this world but us. I vow that even on the days where we can not stand the presence of each other, we will find each other again. In this universe, the next, and in every universe out there, I vow that I will find you. I vow that even in the worlds that we are not together, I am nearby. I vow that in sickness and health, in richer or poorer, for better or worse, to love and cherish you even unto death. Love you lots, your pretty bird."

Tim holds a napkin to the corner of his eye, blinking to get the tears out of his eyes and onto the napkin, careful to not ruin his makeup.

"Birdie?"

"I can't read my vows without crying right now. Give me a second."

"I'll touch up your makeup if you do." You laugh. "I vow to be by your side through every gala we attend, your makeup forever next to mine, my heart forever yours to hold."

"You're awful." Tim sniffs, laughing as he manages to calm down, unfolding his own letter to you. "To the prettiest bird in every universe. To my beloved wife, I, Timothy Jackson Drake Wayne vow to protect you until crime is no longer in existence, to hold you until we both return to the dust of the earth, to love you even after death. I vow to hold only you when I am in need of help, and to seek you out first amongst a crowd of people I have known all my life. I vow that my love for you will not fade, and that I will be infatuated with you for all the days of my life and death, and that on both good and bad days, I will be the person by your side. I vow that even when we are old and wrinkly, I will bring you items that remind me of you, flowers that bring a smile to your face, my whole self for you alone. When you ask of something, I vow to do my best to grant it, and when the end of the world comes, I will shield your body with my own, and in every other universe that I accidentally end up in during missions, to every other version of myself that is not me, I will stand as proof of love to them. May we be tangled in each others' lives throughout all our days."

"I don't know, birdie." A smirk makes its way onto your face. "I'm starting to think I was a lot more dedicated than you were."

"Psh." He rolls his eyes. "I'll read you my letter from the morning after we started going out eventually. "

"WHAT."

"Come on. The ride is here." He holds his hand out for you, and you raise a brow.

"And when will I be reading that letter?"

"One day." He laughs.

You click your tongue as he kneels down to help you put the heels on.

"And that day is?"

"I promise, pretty bird," he hums, sliding your shoe on with a kiss to your hand. "You will read it."

"If you say so." You mumble, yelping as he carries you.

"Ready to scare Gotham shitless?"

"Oh, I've been ready."

[y-rhywbeth2]

Hello I love bane totally normal amounts, so do you have any favorite fun (or fucked up) trivia facts about my emotional support god of tyranny?

I might've mentioned some of this before, but here's some trivia (and sometimes my musings upon it):

He has absolutely no indoor voice when he's excited. -

If you're invited to pray with the Banites and refuse, expect Bane to curse you with constant debilitating pain that prevents you from being able to cast spells (too much pain to concentrate) or fight, or walk very fast. This doesn't go away until you get a cleric to cast remove curse on you. If you do join them in honouring the Black Lord then your alignment will magically switch to lawful evil and you basically convert to Banite on the spot (if you're a priest then your god fires you immediately and won't take you back); this is either 1e nonsense or a sign of Bane brainwashing you, and either is just as likely. -

He - in his own words - has an "ever-gnawing hunger for miracles and wonder". He also has 10 levels of wizard, which might tie into that. -

He seems to have a monster making hobby. There are so many monsters and monster variants that have been copyrighted by Bane it's ridiculous: banedead, baneguard, baneliches, banelar nagas... I'm pretty sure that Bane is actually credited with creating the beholders ("eye tyrants") of Toril, though I don't have the time to go looking for a source on that.

Either way; he has a lot of beholders in his service. -

I'm pretty sure I remember something about his inventing his own traps during his stay at Zhentil Keep, so there might be an engineering hobby in there somewhere. -

He's a nerd about human biology and geeks out about blood cells and neuroscience - not that he'd admit it because the idea of being thrilled by mortality terrifies him (also I think he just hates positive emotions in general). Before the Time of Troubles he used to enjoy possessing mortals as hosts instead of manifesting avatars, which would presumably allow him to experience what they did and geek out about it while pretending he wasn't (although he didn't look after them very well and inevitably ran them into the ground - basic human needs are beneath him). -

He seems to like using black and red lightning of some sort as a kind of signature. -

(...I think this guy would be very happy as a supervillain living in his secret lab somewhere, performing mad scientist experiments as he plots to take over the world.) -

His domain can be annoying to pin down, because technically it started off in the plane of Acheron, but he's also supposed to be rooming with Loviatar and Bhaal in the Barrens of Doom and Despair in Gehenna, so who knows! -

He has a pet raven called Koravis, who he has a mild telepathic connection with. This raven is actually a fiend in the shape of a raven, but that pretty much just means he has an evil pet raven.

It's been stated that in his mortal life his character class was Blackguard - or an evil paladin, in 5e terms, dedicated to the service of evil powers. I suspect his patron was his master, the primordial Maram, who he served as a battle slave. As the evil pet raven is a Blackguard class feature (fiendish servant) I suspect he had Koravis when he was mortal. The bird/fiend was likely given to him by Maram (much like a warlock's pact familiar comes from their patron) and I guess the bird stuck with the winner. -

He managed to piss off the earth goddess Chauntea at one point, trying to destroy her sacred pools/portals in the Moonshaes. I can't find the sourcebook for the details at the moment though (it was successful enough that his followers still have the moonveil spells though). Bhaal was also trying to kill her over there at some point, so I wonder if that's connected?

[kimchikrust]

You Made Me Into This (2099)

check out this cool ass Venomized Miguel (Rapture) by @ramshackledtrickster . It gave me some inspo for some contamination!au

tw: mentions of rape

series list

“Ew, pervert,” you hum nonsensically, a teasing smile pulling at your lips. Miguel shoots a look at you, but you’re suddenly too lost in thought to care. “So, you’ve seen everything?” You can see in the corner of your eye how Miguel’s expression falls into something sad. 

“Yes,” he says with finality, but your interest is peaked. 

“The night I met Venom?” You wonder tentatively, turning slightly to get a better view of his face. He nods once but avoids meeting your eyes. 

“Had to locate your first interaction.”

“Of course,” you murmur, brows furrowing as a confusing feeling begins to stir in your stomach.”Has it happened before?”

“What-”

“You said you oversee and travel the multiverse. And you’ve come across other versions of me,” you start talking, and your mind begins jumping to different conclusions. “How-…How many times do I go through that night?”

Your stare burns into the side of Miguel’s face as he refuses to look back at you. 

“The night you met Venom, you were supposed to die,” he says quietly, and the definitive way he tells you makes your chest tighten. There’s a long silence as you attempt to ignore Venom’s whispers as you sort your thoughts. 

[Saved you. Protected you.]

You were supposed to die, though. Miguel confirmed your nightmare, and you felt a wave of nausea, lurching as you suppressed a gag. You hear Venom hiss your name. 

“Does it-…” You’re gasping quietly for air. “In all of them?”

“Every universe.” 

You feel sick learning about your fate, the alternate versions of you suffering horrifically before dying slowly in the back of an alley — in every universe. Your knees buckle in shock, but you catch yourself, freezing up when Miguel finally turns to look at you.

You’re suddenly overwhelmed with emotions you’ve repressed for years as you catch the guilt swimming in Miguel’s amber pools. It feels like you’re back that night, crowded and unsure what to do. It all feels too familiar.

Your fear. 

Anger. 

Betrayal.

“How many times have you let it happen?” Your voice gets tight as you grind your teeth, pleading inwardly to Venom that you’re wrong. “If you know it happens in every universe, what do you do to stop it?” 

Miguel’s eyes close like it hurts him to look at you, and his fallen expression tells you everything you need to know. 

It’s hard to breathe, and it makes your head spin. Stepping away from Miguel, you catch his jaw clench, and his brows twitch – he’s trying to school his face. He’s trying to shut you out.

“You allowed it to happen. You could’ve saved me,” you whisper. Reality sets in as you touch your chest and try to control your racing heart. “Look at me.”

When his nose flares and his chin tilts away from you, you almost think he’s trying not to cry. And it makes you flare with rage. 

“Fucking look at me!” He dares to look at you with watery eyes, and you’re not sure if the goosebumps that spread wildly around your collarbone and neck are from you or Venom. Your eyes narrow at him, and you have to ask, dripping with malice, lacking all sympathy–

“The fuck are you crying for?”

“Please, understand,” he croaks with a grave voice. “I’ve already made the mistake of intervening in canon events. It affects the entire universe.”

“Did you try?” You wonder, desperate for details. 

“I couldn’t risk it,” he insists pleadingly. 

You’re left breathless, your heart fracturing. You thought you could trust Miguel for a moment, but it was all bullshit. “You let it happen to me in every universe. You let them hurt me. Leave me for dead.”

Miguel twitches where he stands, moving forward to reach for you, but stops when you step away with a wide stance. He whispers your name, but the ringing in your ears drowns him out. 

“Venom was right,” you murmur through your teeth, glaring at the floor as you dig your nails into your palms. “I should’ve never listened to you.”

“Please-“

You summon Venom before Miguel can finish his sentence. The black symbiotic suit grows over your torso and limbs, Venom’s face falling over yours to mask your teary eyes. You reach Miguel’s height, intimidating for a man that towers over everyone around him.

“You need to separate from Venom,” he implores, holding his palms out to placate you. Venom hisses at Miguel’s claws, and your fingers manifest into talons. “You have to return to your universe. For the sake of everyone.”

His words make you shiver, deepening the crack in your heart.

“Fuck you, Spiderman,” you snarl. “I’m leaving with Venom.”

Miguel sighs deeply through his nose. “I can’t let you do that,” he says quietly.

“What are you going to do about it?”

He pleads as he calls out your name. “I don’t want to fight you.”

“Then fuck off.”

You leap at him, catching him off guard when you backhand him into the wall. Without checking if he stays down, you race in the opposite direction, flying over buildings at Venom’s speed.

It pulls up the interdimensional watch and prepares to open a gate, but Miguel tackles you to the ground before it’s able.

“Think of all the people you’rejeopardizing!” Once again, his mask is materialized over his head, and he attempts to restrain you before Venom kicks him off.

“Think of all the versions of me that are raped and murdered!” You roar as Venom manifests a boulder at the end of your arm and swings a heavy blow into Miguel’s side. 

He flies through the air with a pained grunt, shooting out webs to assist his landing. Before they can hit anything, Venom is before him, grabbing him by the neck and slamming him into the ground, twice for good measure.

“The universe has done nothing but infinitely torture me, so why should I give a damn?” You sneer, holding him up and landing a heavy fist on the side of his face, knocking him back and making him roll over the ground. 

“Do you know how scared I was that night?” You ask him as your voice breaks. “How desperate I was for someone to help me. Save me.” You watch as Miguel weakly pushes himself off the floor. 

“I needed you,” you wheeze, tears held back behind your mask. 

[Not anymore.]

“I’m sorry,” Miguel desperately gasps. “Please. I’m so, so sorry.”

You feel a little relief at the anguish in his voice, but it’s not enough. It’ll never be enough.

“Fuck you, and your stupid-ass club,” you croak. “You’re not a hero, you’re a fucking prick.”

Miguel doesn’t move from his spot on the ground, his head hangs low, and Venom’s senses aren’t tingling. You take it as your opportunity to leave. 

When the gate opens, you turn to look back at him.

“Don’t come after us again,” you warn him. His mask is gone, and a few tears have escaped his eyes as he watches you. “Next time, I’ll kill you.”

He blinks, and you’re gone. 

a/n: send in hc & requests for venom!reader !!

[creelteeth]

I wanna straddle Steve’s torso facing his cock and edge him until he cries. His legs would shake and he’d whine and babble “baby let me cum please let me cum, I needa cum”. His cock is so pretty I just wanna play with it and have my way with him 🥹 (I saw a porn video of this and I could not stop thinking of Steve… I know baby boy is bigger than the guy in the video and harrier but it looked and sounded so much like him)

god pathetic steve is my favorite steve. :(

18+ , sub!steve , f!reader, overstim, ruined orgasm (kind of)

because he’s so serving, he’s very quick to give up control. seeing as all he ever wants to do is please you, the idea of being in your hands rather than the opposite drives him absolutely insane. it starts out pretty simply, letting you ride him. letting you be the one to tell him what he’s allowed to do to you— but eventually you realize just how much he really likes it. the way his eyes glimmer when your tone with him stiffens just a bit. the way his cock instantly goes hard when you jokingly tell him what to do. all of that leading you to now.

you’re sitting on his lower tummy, pussy bare and leaving a mess of slick all over the trail of hair that leads down to his cock. you’d been taunting him for what felt like ages. one hand rolling his balls between your fingers, squeezing and tugging gently on the tight heavy sack. the other hand working his incredibly overstimulated and swollen cock— switching between ruthlessly fast tugs and painfully slow ones. his thighs shuddering and twitching under your touch. his hands grabbing tight fistfuls of the bed sheets, hips eagerly and pitifully trying to rutt upwards into your sticky wet palm. every time you feel his hips lift off the bed you pull your hand away, pulling choked wines from his mouth.

if you were facing him you’d see the miserably fucked out expression on his face. his feeling so full of cum it was beginning to hurt— stomach muscles spasming from the amount of built up tension in his bottom half.

“please. please let me. please. “ he babbles, dark red tip of his cock oozing pre-cum. begging for some sort of release.

“let you what?” you question, hand gently wrapping around the excruciatingly sensitive tip. thumb rubbing into the slit causing him to mewl out.

“fuck— “ he gasps sharply this time his hips attempt to pull away from the taunting touches. “baby. baby please let me cum. i need to cum, can’t hold it.”

his begging quickly turning into nonsense babbling when your pace picks up again. you spit covered hand jerking his throbbing cock quickly and harshly. his body writhing underneath you, he’s hardly able to contain himself. begging himself to keep it in because he knows if he cums too soon this exact treatment will continue on into something even worse.

“i dunno.” you reply, yanking your hand away to feel him go limp under you. biting back a grin at the sight of his cock jumping, practically quivering. “do you deserve it?”

“yes!” steve nearly cuts you off, his muscular thighs tightening. he was doing everything in his power to not cum, though he was certain the next time he felt your touch would be all he needed. “please, baby. please let me cum.”

if it weren’t for the way his voice began to break, sounding like he was on the verge of tears you might not have let up so soon. proud of the length at which he’d held out without letting go you decided to be nice. lifting your hands up to your mouth you spit in both your palms— reaching down to stack both of the at the base of him terribly achey cock making a few slow and tight strokes. the return of contact making him seethe, biting down on his already swollen bottom lip. it was a wonder he didn’t make it bleed by now.

“go ahead.” you state plainly, carrying on the gentle strokes.

he was doing his best to not cum, though when he got your go ahead all that went out of the window. he began to fuck his hips upwards. head fallen back against the headboard, fingers curling into the mattress.

“oh fuck— oh my god.” he sputtered, body overtaken by shivers as hot milky ropes began to spill out of his dark red tip.

“thank you. shit. thankyouthankyouthankyou.” he repeated, chest heaving up and down, trying his best to ride through the high.

you’d never seen him cum so much. white beads continued to ooze out of him for what felt like ages to steve, leaving a mess all over his thighs, stomach, and your hands.

you smiled down at the mess, leaning over to clean it off him. using your tongue to lick over his thighs and cock, a weak whine coming from him at the feel of your lips around the top of his cock collecting the rest of his remnants. once he was all cleaned up you turned climbed off him, turning around to see a very rosy cheeked and dazed looking steve slumped against the mess of pillows. his half open eyes watching you climb up to sit next to him.

“one more thing.” you spoke, leaning in to kiss him, making him taste himself on your mouth.

he kissed you lazily, tongue licking into your mouth, humming at the taste. eventually pulling away, you let him settle in against your chest. his body relaxing fully into yours.

“you’re such a good boy, stevie.” you praised, causing the half asleep boy to smile, cock jumping ever so slightly under the sheets.

[pikapeppa]

Karlach/Dammon: Burning Blue

A wish fulfillment fic to answer the question: what if Dammon was the lucky guy to break Karlach's ten-year celibacy streak?

NSFW smut, ~7500 words, from Karlach's precious POV. This takes place the same night that Dammon makes Karlach very touchable again. 🥰 Read here on AO3 instead.

*****************

I’m nervous. Gods, I’m fucking nervous. No, no, don’t be nervous, Big K, you’ve got this. It’s nothing you haven’t done before! It’s just a good old-fashioned come-on, that’s all. Just a good old-fashioned invitation for Dammon to do the beast with two backs with you. No sweat, nothing to worry about, no reason to feel like your engine’s gonna thrum its way right out of your chest.

Ugh, fine, I’m nervous. I’ll admit it, all right? I’m nervous. But how can you blame me? It’s been a decade since I laid a finger on another living soul. One who wasn’t a hellspawn or trying to kill me, I should say. Yeah, the Avernus kind of laying-a-finger-on-someone is really not what I have in mind right now.

All right, there he is. I mean, of course he’s there, it’s his smithy setup in the barn, where the fuck else would be be? Shit, I’m so nervous. What if he says no? What if he doesn’t want to hit the bedroll with me? I might just crumble up into a pile of ash on the spot if he turns me down…

Ohhh, no you don’t. No more doubt. Not another negative word, you hear me? We’re doing this. Come on, soldier, shape up, be confident, all right? Just be your usual big beautiful bold badass self, just like Brynn said. Back straight, head high, tail-barb up: come on, girl, you can do this.

“Dammon! Hi! How’s the hammering going?” Nice, good start. Solid greeting, nothing weird about that.

“Karlach!” he says. “You’re back. I thought you were off to camp for the night.”

He’s smiling at me. Gods, does he ever have a nice smile. It’s like his whole face gets lit up with sunshine. And those eyes? Phwoar. I wonder if anyone’s ever told him how pretty his eyes are. Like two big blue jewels. Or like lightning turned into jewels. Wait, what’s all this nonsense I’m saying? I think I’ve been spending too much time with Gale. Ha, saying something would be a good idea right about now, wouldn’t it?

“Yeah, I’m back. I was wondering, do you — are you done for the day?” It looks like he’s done for the day. His forge is still hot, but it’s just coals now rather than a big old fire. Gods, I hope he’s done for the day.

“Yes, I’m just finishing up,” he says (yay!). “Did you need something repaired? I can rekindle the fire, it’s no problem—”

“No, no, all good. Everything’s tip-top, thanks to you. Listen, I was wondering: d’you want to have a drink with me?”

His whole face lights up, and my gods, I swear: if I had a heart, it would’ve done a fluttery thing like something from a romance book. “That sounds great. Let’s go on inside.” He hangs up his apron, and then we’re heading to the inn.

Yes! First step done, we’re off to a cracking good start! Here we go, inside the inn for a drink, just me and Dammon. How great is this? I mean, not that it’s not wonderful being with Brynn and Wyll and all the rest of those adorable little dumplings, but there’s something special to be said about being alone with just you and the person you’ve got mad horns for.

Here we are, at the door to the inn — and Dammon touches my shoulder. “Go ahead.”

He’s touching my shoulder. His hand, that strong callused hand on my shoulder. He’s touching me, he can touch me, and it’s all thanks to him. Gods, I want to ride him until the sun comes up.

Keep it together, Karlach. Stay cool until you find out if he wants this too. Ha, stay cool! I can sort of almost do that now! Enough for touching, at least, which is all I want in the world right now, and Dammon is touching my shoulder, and… and I should probably get inside the inn now.

I step inside — quick little rub of Darkmaw’s paw for luck. Ooh, Jaheira is still awake, I love her, she’s so damned cool!

Dammon leads me to one of the tables near the bar. “What can I get you? Wine? Beer? The beer is even cold, thanks to Jaheira—”

“Cold beer? Sign me the fuck up!”

He smiles — ugh, swoon! — and off he goes to the bar to find some beer. And here I am, sitting at this table, happier than the happiest clam that ever lived in the sandy banks of the Chionthar. Ha, that was a funny line! I mean, I think it was funny. I bet Wyll will, too. I’ll have to tell him about it — maybe he can add it to one of his stories!

Gods, this inn is nice: all candle-lit and quiet since it’s nighttime, real cozy-like. Perfect for telling a certain smith that he’s one of the kindest, warmest, most wonderful people you’ve ever met and that you fancy his pants off — literally, if he wants it that way. Ohh, I’m getting nervous again. It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s going to be fine.

Dammon comes back and sets down two steins. “Are you all right?”

“I’m better than all right. I’m fantastic.” I lift my stein. “Cheers to you, Dammon. For everything. I really mean that.”

Another killer smile. “Cheers back to you, Karlach.” He taps his stein to mine, then brings it to his mouth, and I do the same — ohhh, beer. Cold beer, my gods, I’d forgotten exactly how good this was! I take another swallow and another — okay, honestly, I am so thirsty. And now I’m out of beer, and Dammon is smiling at me, and no, no, I can’t throw myself at him across the table, I can’t.

He chuckles and puts down his stein. “Can I get you another?”

“Naw, I’m good,” I laugh. “This was great, thanks.”

He nods and rests his elbows on the table (hellooo, rolled-up sleeves and forearms). “So what did you want to talk about? Do you have questions about your engine?”

“No, it’s not that.” No fucking way am I thinking about that right now. “I wanted to ask if, um…” Don’t be nervous, girl. You’ve got this. “You said before that I was — that I’m… touchable. Very touchable.”

Oh no, his smile’s fading. “Yeah, I did. I’m…” He rubs the back of his neck. “I’m sorry about that. Maybe I crossed a line…? This is a big — a huge deal for you, I know it must be overwhelming, the last thing you need—”

Wait wait wait! “Hang on, slow down. You think you crossed a line?”

“I… didn’t I? That’s not what you wanted to say?”

“Hells, no!” Woah, voice down, there are people sleeping in the room next door. “Are you kidding?” I say (quietly). “If that’s what you call crossing the line, I want you to cross all the lines.”

He looks gobsmacked now, which is really fucking cute. “You do?”

“Yeah, I do. I really, really do. If you want to, I mean. I don’t — I mean, I know I’m a lot of heat to handle, but I…” Fuck, my engine feels like it’s roaring. Please, gods, let him want this too. “I want to be with you, Dammon. I… It’s been so long since I was with anyone, and — and now that I can be with someone, I… I want it to be you.”

He doesn’t say anything. He’s staring at me like a fish, actually. Oh fuck, am I totally off base here? Noooo. “No pressure, though! No — I mean, if you’re not into… If I’m jumping the hatchet here, that’s totally fine, it’s not a problem—”

“No!” he blurts. “It’s not that. Believe me, Karlach, it’s not that I don’t want to. I mean — what I mean is that I…” He’s smiling again, thank all the fucking gods. “I would love to be with you, actually. I just… I can’t believe it’s me you want.”

I would love to be with you. I would love to be with you. He said that, right? Those were the words he said? Dammon the amazing smith with the amazing sinew-y hands said that to me, right? Oh shit, he’s still talking.

He gestures at me. “I mean, look at you. You’re Karlach. The Karlach, the destroyer of demons and devilspawn. You’re a hero.”

Oh my gods. Is that really what he thinks? “Wha—? Oh come on! It’s not like that.”

“It is like that,” he insists. “Haven’t you spoken to the kids? Mattis and Ide and them? I mean, I know you have, but you know they worship you, right? You’re like a goddess to them.” He looks around like he’s checking for spies, then lowers his voice. “Honestly? I think you’re better for them than a goddess, because you’re real to them. You mean something to them, Karlach. You’ve given them someone to look up to. That’s no small thing for a group of tiefling kids with no parents to look up to anymore.”

Fuck, I’m gonna cry. He doesn’t even know about Mum and Dad, and he hit the nail right on the fucking head.

He touches my hand — oh fuck, he’s not just touching my hand, but holding my hand. Turning my hand over on the table, his fingers sliding over my palm, his fingers curling into mine like he did right after he fixed me… Gods, my entire throat is full of fucking tears.

“I would love to be with you, Karlach,” he says in the softest voice. “If you’re sure this is what you want.”

Oh, hells. He’s going to make me weep. Swallow it down, soldier, gulp those tears down! “Let’s get outta here. Will you come back to my camp?”

“Actually…” Ooh, what’s this cheeky look on his face? Cute! “Would you be interested in a bed?”

What? No way! “A bed? You’ve got a claim on one of the beds here?”

“Sort of. Me and the other grown-ups have a rotation with one of the rooms upstairs. Taking turns having a little peace and privacy for a night.”

“You and the grown-ups?”

“Yeah — well, we offered to the kids, too, but they want to stay together on the main floor, where the Harpers are. Can’t really blame them, either. But anyway, um, what I was trying to say is, um.” He clears his throat. “If you’d rather use a bed than a bedroll, there’s—”

I’m already on my feet. “Bed. You and me. Now.”

He smiles — gods, that brilliant smile. And he’s on his feet too now, we’re heading for the stairs — oh my gods, he’s holding my hand again. Dammon is holding my hand, his fingers are between my fingers, how fucking nice is this? How long have I been thinking about this — no, dreaming about this? Easy, Karlach, keep those tears in your eyes.

He gives me a little smile as we walk up the stairs. “Fair warning that it was Rolan’s turn in the bed last night, so it might smell a little magical.”

What! Is that a thing? Gale and Brynn never said that was a thing! “Really? What does magic smell like?”

“Oh, no, I — I’m just joking.” Dammon smiles and rubs the back of his neck. “It was a bad joke. Sorry. Pretend you didn’t—”

I kiss him. How could I not kiss him? He’s so — oh, gods, he’s kissing me. His lips, my lips, his hands in mine, we’re — we’re kissing, we’re kissing! Dammon the smith is kissing me, and he’s… Would it be naff as all the hells if I said he was dreamy? Fuck it, who cares if it’s naff? He is gods-damned dreamy. As much as his hands are callused, his lips are so fucking soft, and I’m… I am melting. I swear, I’m melting, he’s making my lips melt apart like a hot knife in butter, he’s touching his tongue to mine… Gods, his hands though? How he uses them? This is fucking magic. His thumbs are sliding over my wrists, his palms skimming up my arms, over my shoulders, oh gods, oh gods oh gods…!

His hands cradle my neck, and his tongue slides into my mouth, and I’m — I’m… I can’t think. I can’t think, I can’t — I can just feel. I feel him: his lips his tongue his hands — how close he is, the nearness of his body to mine, I feel… fuck, I feel everything, every touch of his fingers and every stroke of his tongue, and I — he — shit, was that me? That little kitten-y sound: was that actually me? I’ve never made a sound like that in my life.

He breaks the kiss, presses his horns to mine. “Are you all right?”

I’m a puddle. I can’t talk. I just nod.

He smiles (arghhh, as if I’m not melted enough already!). “You’re burning blue,” he whispers.

Huh? “Huh?”

“You’re burning blue.” He rests his palm on my chest — oh shit, I really am burning blue. I… I’m burning blue but — but I’m not burning him!

“You’re…” My hand’s fucking shaking as I press it over his. “You don’t feel that? Not even a little singe?”

“Not even a little singe.” His eyebrows do that little mischief-quirky thing. “I told you, I’m good.”

I laugh. I can’t help it: I’m as giddy as a kid on her birthday. “Oh ho-ho, boy, you don’t know what you’re doing by saying things like that in a voice like that.” I step closer to him.

His gorgeous smile gets even bigger. “Or maybe I know exactly what I’m doing,” he says, still in that voice — oh, gods yes, his hands are on my neck again, so callused and so fucking gentle—

“Ahem.”

Fuck, Jaheira’s right behind us! “J-Jaheira! I mean, uh, ma’am!” Shit, should I bow to her? What should I do? She’s looking at me!

She smiles — the Jaheira is smiling at me! — then tilts her head. “Karlach, is it?”

She remembers my name! Snap to attention, soldier! “Yes ma’am, that’s me.”

She nods to Dammon too. “Dammon. Good evening. Let it be known that no one begrudges you your fun, but perhaps you should have it elsewhere that isn’t right at the top of the stairs. The only stairs that leads to the upper floor…?”

All right, now I’m going to melt from embarrassment. “Of course! Right! Uh, right! Uh—”

Dammon cuts me off, thank fuck. “Sorry, Jaheira,” he says. “We’ll get out of your way. Out of the way, I mean.” He takes my hand again, and I’m following him down the hall to one of the rooms: a simple little room with a nice cushy-looking double bed.

He leads me inside and closes the door. We look at each other. And we just crack up, we just totally — we’re both laughing like loons, just laughing so hard I can hardly fucking breathe. Augh, my ribs are starting to hurt, I’m laughing so hard!

“Here, sit down,” Dammon chuckles. He leads me over to the bed, and I let him guide me there.

Then I push him down and straddle him.

His gorgeous eyes get big. “Oh! Are you—”

I kiss him again — gods, he’s so delicious. Soft lips, hot tongue, strong hands: oh, I could just die for the touch of his hands. They’re circling my waist, they’re gripping my hips, they’re curling around my thighs… Fuuuck, gods, I’m sparking. Feels like everything’s sparking, like everywhere he touches is shooting with sparks, and I can’t… I can’t wait. I can’t wait anymore. I need more, I need his fucking hands, I need his hands on my skin.

I rip off my top and chuck it on the floor, and his baby-blues drop to my tits. “W-wow. I—”

I grab his collar and I shove my tongue into his mouth — fuck, his tongue tangling with mine: mm, just imagine feeling that sweet tongue in other places… Hellfire take me, I need this man more than I need air.

I climb off of him and start unbuttoning the ol’ trousers, and he grabs my hands. “Hey, hey. Easy, Karlach. Slow down. You don’t need to rush.”

Easy? Slow down? He’s kidding, right? It’s like I’ve never known the meaning of the word. “I…” Fuck, I’m breathing hard, I’m breathing so hard, and every breath feels like it’s making me hotter. Easy, Karlach, slow it down for him.

I gulp down a breath. “I hear you, soldier. But I have to tell you, I… Sometimes it feels like I’ve only got two modes: off, and on-on-on. I don’t…” Damn it, Karlach, breathe. “You might need to show me how to do this slowing-down thing.”

He smiles, and I swear, something inside of me absolutely melts. He’s got this way about him when he smiles, like his smile makes his face softer even when he’s showing his teeth, and it just… It’s such a special smile, you know? Like the way it feels when your mum watches you eating your favourite meal that she made? That’s how Dammon’s smile feels, and I swear on my life, if I still had a heart, it would be swelling up to five times its normal size.

He shifts off of the bed. “I’m happy to show you,” he says, and gods save me, he’s using that voice again. “Maybe I can start with…?” He gestures at my trousers and gives me a can-I? kind of look.

“Yes,” I say loudly. “Fuck yes.”

A big brilliant smile, and then he’s — ah, fuck yes, he’s undoing the buttons on my pants. He’s popping the buttons one by one, not even touching me as he does it, but I swear to all the gods, watching him do this is making me hotter than I’ve ever been in my life. And that includes when Zariel first put this fucking engine in my chest. No, don’t think about Zariel, forget about her.

Dammon pops the last button, then looks at me. “Can I take them off?”

“Please. Rip them off for all I care!”

He grins — gods, he’s a stupidly beautiful man. He’s pulling down my shabby trousers now, finally, pulling the damn things down over my hips and my ass and — oh. Oh my gods, oh my gods he’s kneeling in front of me this is not a drill!.

He sighs. “Karlach, you’re… really beautiful, you know that?”

He’s kneeling in front of me. Dammon is kneeling in front of me. He’s looking at me, his hand is curled around my ankle, and — oh, fuck me, his tail-barb is tracing my calf, his tail is coiling around my calf. His tail, his hand, his — even just his beautiful blue eyes on my skin: he’s seeing me, all of me, my bare fucking skin that nobody’s seen for ten fucking years.

“Are you all right?” His tail-barb strokes my knee, his hand squeezes my calf — fuck, I can’t cope with this.

I grab his shirt and pull. “Please, I — please, Dammon!”

He stands up. “What’s wrong? What can I do?”

I kiss him again. I know, I know, I keep fucking doing it, I keep sticking my tongue down his throat, but he’s so… I… Fuck, his hands are on my hips, on my back, he’s — shit, he’s stroking my shoulder blades. His fingers are tracing over my vents like it’s the most normal thing in the world to touch a woman with fucking vents in her skin, and I’m… I feel so… It’s like I’m full, my chest, my tummy, it’s like I’m so, so full — but it just reminds me of how empty I’ve been for so long. And I need him to… I need more. I have to have more. I need him to remind me of how good it is to feel this fucking full.

I grip his collar. “I need you naked. Right now.”

He laughs: argh, that laugh, how soft it is, how sweet! “I thought you wanted me to show you ‘slow’.”

“You can show me slow with your kit off.” I know what I sound like, I sound desperate as all the hells, but I do not fucking care. A river of blue heat is running through my veins, and my skin is fucking vibrating for more: more of him, more of his skin touching mine — gods, I want to slide against him like we’ve both been fucking greased.

“All right,” he chuckles. “You talked me into it.” He takes off his scarf, then starts taking off his vest, and I start working on his belt. I’m just helping, right? Just being a good old helper, that’s me. Ha, his belt is off, his vest is off, just a pesky shirt and trousers now — oh-ho, he’s a fast one with the shirt, we love a man who can strip like a fast-changer at the circus! It’s just the trousers left now. I grab for his laces —

Oh yes, he’s kissing me. His hands on my neck, his tongue so fucking sweet and slow in my mouth — gods alive, kissing is fantastic, so fucking fantastic it’s unreal. He’s pulling me close, his hands on my hips and his chest — fuuuck me Dammon, his sternal ridges are rubbing my nipples.

I can’t fucking cope. I can’t fucking cope, I can’t think, it feels so fucking good, I’m making that noise again like a hungry kitten begging for milk…

He peels his lips from mine. “See? I knew you could do it.”

“Do what?” I whimper. Yes, I whimpered like a kitten, all right? Whatever, shut up about it.

“You’re going slow,” he says in that voice. “You’re doing it right now.”

I’ve not a clue what he’s talking about. I’ve never felt less slow in my whole fucking life. “What do you mean?”

“My trousers,” he says. “You stopped trying to take them off.”

I burst out laughing. (It’s mostly hysteria, I’m fucking telling you.) “It’s not ‘cause I want to stop! I just can’t, uh…” Oh gods oh gods: his tail. His tail-barb is caressing my butt and giving me shivers — gods, what a life! When was the last time I got a shiver about anything? — oh my fucking gods, his tail is twining around my thigh.

I can’t breathe. I can’t think. I’m alive with desire, I’m so fucking alive, and all he’s doing is curling his tail around my upper thigh. But his tail is so close — he’s so close, the smooth heat of his tail curling so fucking close to where I’m burning so hot…

That kitten noise squeaks out of me again. “Dammon, please…” I stroke his chest — my palms on his chest, my fingers on the ridges of his ribs, I’m touching him. I’m pressed against him from thigh to chest, I’m pulling him closer with my tail, I’m petting the ridges of his back and his shoulder blades — ooh, he’s got wingtips!

“You have wingtips!” I gasp. “Aw, how lucky are you? My mum always said these were good luck!”

He laughs that precious little laugh. “My grandmother said the same. Said it means I’ll be able to fly in my next life.”

“Aww, I love that. Makes me extra-wish I had a pair myself.” I trace the sharp little hooks with my fingers, then keep running my hands over the ridges of his back. Damn, skin is amazing. It’s really an amazing, amazing thing, and nobody even bothers to think about how amazing it is. Skin and muscles, too, like these nice wiry ropes of muscles in his upper back and his arms… Phwoar, his arms are bloody fit. I mean, of course they are, he’s a fucking smith, but still: I didn’t realize just how damn fit he was under his clothes. And these veins in his forearms? The way they pop, and the burn scars on his forearms and his hands? He might even have more scars on his arms and hands than I do, which is saying a hell of a lot.

Hellfire fucking take me, he is gods-damned beautiful. The scars, the ridges of his spine and his sternum, the wiry muscle of his smithy’s bod — not just his body, either, but his jaw, his nose, that heart-melting jewel-eyed smile…

Oops. Embarrassing. I went totally silent while I was touching him. “Sorry. Went into my own little world for a minute there.”

Another soft laugh. “Don’t even think about being sorry,” he says, and he lifts his hand… Ohhh, he’s touching my cheek. He’s holding my cheek in his palm, just cradling my cheek like it’s a baby bird… How long has it been since I’ve had a hand on my cheek? A nice hand, mind you, not a blood-covered clawed hand trying to gouge my eyes out. Too fucking long, that’s how: too fucking long with no caring hands to touch me or hold me or hug me when things got fucking rough. But that’s all over now, thanks to Dammon. I can touch and be touched, I can kiss and be kissed, I can climb this rip-roaringly gorgeous man in front of me, and I swear to every god that’s listening that that’s what I’m going to do all night long.

I kiss him and pull him close with my hands and tail. I stroke his spine with my tail-barb, I lick his tongue like it’s the sweetest thing in all the realms, I rub myself against him like I’m some pent-up kid who doesn’t know what they’re doing yet, and it all feels fucking fantastic. And he’s touching me too, his claws scratching my neck so super-gently while we kiss, his hands on my back, my hips — wowee, his hands on my ass! I want that, yes more—!

He palms my backside and pulls me tight to his body — fuck, he’s hard. He’s hard he’s hard he’s hard, I can feel him rubbing against my ladybits through his trousers — augh he’s still wearing trousers, fuck my life upside down!

I break from his kiss. “Take your trousers off,” I beg. “Just take them off already, all right? I need them off, I can’t — I really really want them off!”

“I’ll take them off. It’s all right,” he says in this dreamy calm-soothing voice, and his tail starts uncurling from around my thigh—

Fuck fuck fuck oh my gods yes his tail is sliding between my legs. It’s — fuck, his tail, he’s petting my cunt with his tail, it’s sliding between my legs and stroking me as it unwinds from my thigh and oh my gods it feels so good, how am I supposed to survive—? “Mm ah fuck!”

His tail is gone. His arms are around me. “Was that okay?”

I am fucking gasping. “You tease,” I choke out.

He laughs, his lips close to mine. “Not a tease. I’m going to carry through, I promise.” Mmm, he’s kissing me again, he’s so fucking yummy, and he’s untying his trousers and I’m vibrating and I can hardly keep fucking still—

He pushes his trousers down and his cock is out. His cock, it’s hard, he’s hard — oh my god his cock. It’s gorgeous. I mean, it’s a cock, cocks are always a little funny-looking, I don’t know how folks who’ve got ‘em can cope with them, but Dammon’s is out and it’s gorgeous — fuck me yes he’s stroking it I want to do that.

I push his hand away, replace it with mine, and he gasps. “Ah—”

I kiss him. I’m stroking him, I’m walking him back toward the bed, he falls onto the bed and I’m climbing onto him and gasping into his mouth and stroking this thick pretty cock of his—

His hands are in my hair. “Karlach, slow down,” he gasps. “Slow down for a minute, all right?”

Fuuuck, fuck fuck, I can’t. No, I have to, I have to slow down for him. “Help me,” I beg. “I don’t know how.”

“It’s all right,” he pants, and he presses his horns to mine. “Just breathe with me for a second, okay?”

I nod. Breathe, I can do that, that’s totally something I can do. Just breathe. I close my eyes, I feel the sweet ridges of his horns against mine, I feel his breath tickling my lips because he’s breathing too, I feel — woah yes, that’s his tail. His tail-barb is tracing my lower spine, tracing lower still — eep he poked my bum!

I burst out a laugh. “You rotter!”

He laughs, too: fuck me, I adore his laugh. He’s laughing against my lips, his tail-barb is gliding down over my bum… oh fuck, it’s moving down to my thigh, around my thigh, drifting between my legs, is he going to—? Oh gods Dammon please yes!

“Yes!” I gasp — fuck, his tail, he’s petting my cunt with his tail oh my gods I’m going to explode.

“Easy, Karlach,” he whispers. His hands cradle my neck, perfect callused hands, fuck his tail is petting me, caressing me, touching parts of me that I’ve been dreaming of being touched for years — ah yes that’s the fucking spot right there, right there fuck right there yes!

“Dammon,” I mewl — yes, I fucking mewled like a cat, I’m mewling and my back is arching like I’m a bitch in heat, but really? That’s exactly what I am. I’m in fucking heat for this man. I’m burning for him, burning for more of this, burning alive with his tail petting that red-hot little button of love. Dammon’s breathing hard, too, his fingers gripping my hair and his hips moving under me while his tail-barb does its work between my legs. It’s like he’s getting desperate too, so desperate that he can’t keep still while his tail is petting me, and I love that he’s getting desperate. I want him to unravel just like I’m doing now. I want to hear him moaning, I want to see him bucking his hips for more, I want — I want him so badly, I want this so much, it’s happening right now and I still want it like it’s out of my reach. How does that make any sense? Why am I longing for something while it’s happening right now, right here, with this insanely beautiful man I’ve been fantasizing about since I first clapped eyes on him?

Oh fuck, why am I getting emotional?

He strokes my hair. “Hey, are you okay?”

Oh gods, there’s a moan to his voice already. He’s breathing hard like he’s the one being touched, like he’s the one who’s getting tail-fucked more perfectly than even my best fantasies — ah, fuck me, his touch, the way his tail is rubbing my clit just right, it’s so — he’s so, so fucking perfect, he feels so right, this feels so right: Dammon’s hands in my hair, his body under mine, his tail petting my cunt and his lips breathing into mine… My gods, I’m so… he’s so, this is, I’m… fuck, I’m so close, I’m getting closer, I’m going to fucking blow I’m going to—

Yes. Yes yes yesyesyesfuckmeican’tbreatheohmygods kiss me Dammon fucking kiss me—

His tongue in my mouth. Moaning, is that me or him? No idea, who cares, I’m a fucking inferno. Everything sparking, like lightning under my skin and scorching my throat in the best fucking way, all because of him.

His lips leave mine. His voice, husky and soft. “You all right?”

I whimper. Still vibrating. No words, can’t talk. Need him to fuck me.

He strokes my broken horn, strokes my cheek. “You’re burning blue, Karlach.”

I sure fucking am. Burning blue, burning alive in ways that I didn’t think I ever would again, and it’s all because of him. It’s all him, it’s Dammon — his sunshine smile, his jewel-pretty eyes the colour of a summer sky: I’m burning blue, all because of him.

I nuzzle his ear. “I’m going to ride you until you see stars, soldier.”

He laugh-moans. “Yes please. I’m all for that.”

He’d better be, because I can’t hold back now. I can’t do slow now. I am on, on-on-on like I’ve never been before, and I’m sitting upright on his lap and I’m stroking his cock while he grips my thighs — gods I want to taste him, I want his come in my mouth, no no I’ll save that for later, I need him inside of me right fucking now—

Fuck yes he’s inside me fuck yes. Dammon is inside of me, and he feels like fucking heaven.

He groans, and it’s the prettiest sound I’ve ever heard. “Gods, Karlach!”

I take it back: hearing my name like that is the prettiest sound I’ve ever heard. I stroke his chest — beautiful chest, beautiful ridges of his ribs — then I brace myself on his abs and start fucking him hard.

He groans, arches his neck in a way that makes me want to bite him (ha, don’t tell Astarion!): oh, my sweet fucking gods, he feels amazing. His cock is driving into me so hard, so sweet and hard that I’m making noise with every stroke, and he’s making noise too and gripping my thighs — ah, his tail, it’s coiling around my forearm in a way that makes my tummy flutter, and his eyelids are fluttering too like he’s really letting loose, which I love to see. I love seeing him like this, I love seeing him looking as good as he makes me feel, and fuck does he ever make me feel good. His thick fucking cock, the hot driving punch of it reaching so deep… Holy fucking hells, I missed this, I missed it so fucking much, and it’s so much better than I remembered. Dammon’s solid body under mine, his strong smithy’s hands on my hips and thighs, his tail squeezing my arm like the way he holds my hand, and those eyes: his beautiful eyes, the way he’s watching me under his half-lidded eyes while I ride him like my life hinges on his cock… Fuck me, did it ever really feel like this? Was it ever really this good?

Wait, wait a second: was sex ever this fucking good before?

I’m staring at Dammon now. Just staring at this kind and gorgeous man who’s filling me up within an inch of my life, and I… I don’t know that it’s ever been like this. I don’t know that it ever has been this good before. Sex is always great, don’t get me wrong, but it’s never… My gods, it’s never been like this. It’s never felt so… so close. So right. Fuck, it’s never felt as right as it does right now with him — how fucking weird is that? We’re in an abandoned inn in a place that’s been cursed to the shadows for a hundred years, and it’s somehow the most right that I’ve ever felt while being naked with another soul.

Wait, though: it gets even weirder. I’m with Dammon, an infernal smith who I might never have even spoken to if it wasn’t for the engine in my chest — the engine that’s slowly burning me alive. If I didn’t have this damned thing in my chest, I wouldn’t be here with him. We wouldn’t be here together doing this.

I’m having the time of my fucking life right now with the most wonderful man I’ve ever met because of something that’s going to kill me.

No, no no no, stop it brain, don’t think about it—

“Hey.” He’s sitting up on one elbow — no, he’s pushing himself upright and reaching for my cheek. “Hey, hey now, are you okay—”

I kiss him. I shove my tongue into his mouth and grip his neck, and I fuck him like there’s no tomorrow. I fuck him like this is it, like this is the only chance we’ll have and I have to show him how much this means, how good this is and how good it is because of him, because it’s him, Dammon: it’s Dammon’s body under mine, and his hand and his tail holding me, it’s all him, and I need him to know that there’s nothing I wanted more in this world than to be with him.

He breaks from my lips with the most incredible groan. “Ah, Karlach—”

I nuzzle his ear. “I want you so bad, Dammon. I want you more than anything.”

He groans again — gods, if only you could bottle a noise and keep it for later. “I’m all yours. I promise.”

My gods, what a promise. What a thing to say, what a thing to hear from someone who’s so fucking good. And now I don’t know what to say, my tongue’s a knot, my throat’s getting thick — gods, just fuck him already, just wring the pleasure out of him like he did for you.

I fuck him. I’m riding him hard. I’m bouncing on his beautiful cock and staring at his beautiful face while it crinkles up with pleasure — come for me, Dammon, I want you to. I really want him to, I want his come more than anything in the world, I want him to let it all go inside of me — oh yes, good boy, he’s getting even harder, he’s getting harder inside of me oh my gods fuck I know he’s going to come—

“A-ah, please, y-yes—!” He kisses me, Dammon is kissing me, his tongue thrusting into my mouth and his hand firm at the back of my neck, he’s shuddering and pulsing deep inside — yes, I can feel him giving me his come, and I want it all. I’m fucking hungry for it, for every last drop of him, every little bit of proof that this was me and him together: Dammon and Karlach, Karlach and Dammon, two hells-touched tieflings finding our little place of light among the shadows.

He breaks our kiss and presses his horns to mine again. “Gods,” he pants. “Gods alive. You are… incredible.” He laughs, this husky I’m-out-of-breath-because-I’ve-been-fucking kind of laugh, and I swear I’d give my unbroken horn to be able to hear that laugh every day for the rest of my life, no matter how long or short it is.

He leans away a little and strokes my hair. “How are you feeling?”

Gods, look at him: he’s perfect. He said I was burning blue, but I swear on my life, his eyes are incandescent. They’re the brightest, most electric blue I’ve ever seen in my life, and it’s like they’re scorching my soul, branding this amazing moment deep into me so that it’ll never be forgotten, no matter what comes next.

Fuck, I feel so full. I’m so… my chest, my throat, my entire fucking soul feels full. Oh no, my eyes feel full too, oh no — don’t do this, Karlach, don’t you dare.

“I—” Oh fuck, I’m sobbing. I’m sobbing? Why now, why?

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. Come here, it’s okay.” He’s tucking my head against his neck — oh my gods, I’m falling apart. He’s hugging me, his tail is stroking my back like he’s comforting a child, which is funny ‘cause I’m weeping like a baby. No, not weeping: I’m fucking bawling. That’s fantastic, Karlach, that’s just great, let’s just bawl all over the gorgeous smith while his cock is still in me.

Okay, that’s kind of funny, but… Fuck, I can’t stop crying. It’s all just coming out now, everything, all the stuff that’s been going on: the tadpole, my engine, the shadow curse and how fucking awful it is here, Lae’zel almost dying at the crèche and Mizora being a fucking bitch to Wyll and Astarion making his snarky little jokes like he’s not dead-scared of Cazador. I’m just fucking sobbing, I’m howling for me and them and everything, and more stuff keeps coming out: Gortash, Zariel, Avernus, Mum and Dad — everything, it’s just fucking everything, it’s all the things, so much shit I haven’t cried about for years, and it’s all coming out on poor Dammon because he’s hugging me.

Dammon is hugging me. He’s just hugging me while I cry all over him, hugging me tight like I haven’t been hugged in fucking years, and I don’t know if I can stop.

I do stop, eventually, when it feels like every tear in my body is on his neck instead of in my eyes. When I finally stop crying, he speaks. “Are you all right?”

Gods be damned, his soft voice, his hand petting my back… He’s going to make me cry again. “I’m okay,” I say. “Stuffy, but okay.” I lift my head — eurgh, yep, lots of tears and snot on his neck. Real attractive, Karlach, really sexy stuff.

“Sorry.” I wipe my face real quick and start wiping his neck. “Sorry. That’s gross. I’m so sorry—”

“Don’t be sorry,” he says. “You needed that. There’s nothing to be sorry for.” Oh hells, now he’s wiping my cheeks… Did someone make this man on purpose to turn me into the world’s meltiest puddle? He’s wiping my cheeks and looking at me in that so-soft way with his beautiful soft eyes… Oh boy, I’m a goner. If I wasn’t already all fluttery for him, I’m a total loss now.

He strokes my shoulder. “Do you have to head back to your camp?”

No way. I don’t want to go back. I want to stay here with him and make this night last forever. Don’t say that, though, you’ll sound like a limpet. “I can stay for a while,” I say, all casual-like. “If you want, I mean. I — unless you have to sleep? You probably have to get up early for the forge—”

“No, no,” he says quickly. “I can get up whenever, that doesn’t matter. Either way, if you — if you don’t have to get back, maybe…” He clears his throat — aw, he’s looking shy! Why is he looking shy? “Maybe you’d like to stay the night? With me, I mean?”

He wants me to stay? He wants me to stay! “Yes! I mean—” Oh gods, I’m laughing now. “Yes. I’d love to stay with you.”

He smiles — oh gods, that killer smile. He’s going to destroy me with that smile before the night is through, I swear. “Great! That’s — that’s really great. Okay.” He laughs a little and strokes my arm. “Maybe I can take my trousers off, if that’s okay with you?”

“Your—?” I twist around on his lap to look — ha, oh shit, his trousers are down around his calves, and he’s still wearing his boots!

I laugh and climb off of him. “You didn’t take them off? Bit eager, are we?”

“Me? You didn’t give me a chance! So much for slowing down.” He’s grinning now as he pulls off his boots, and he’s so damned pretty that all I can do is smile back at him. Gods, I really am a goner.

He drops his boots on the floor. He’s totally naked now, naked and warm and perfect, and I don’t want to waste another second not touching all of that perfect naked skin.

I straddle him and wrap my arms around his neck, and he smiles and strokes my hip. “Back for a second round already? I’m game, but I’ll need a little more time.”

I press my horns to his. “Dammon, I…” No, Karlach, don’t say it. Don’t tell him what you’re feeling, it’s way too soon. It is too soon, right? It’s too soon to know if this is just lust or if it’s something more, right? Something so much more, so much bigger that it feels like it’s filling my entire damn body… I can’t know yet for sure that this is what I think it is, can I? Fuck, I’m breathing all shaky. Stop it, K, don’t cry again, just don’t.

He strokes my neck — gods, his magical hands on my skin, I can’t get enough. “It’s okay,” he whispers. “Take your time. Talk when you’re ready.”

I nod, and I kiss him. For the dozenth time tonight, I’m kissing Dammon, melting under his soft lips and tasting his tongue and feeling every inch of my skin coming to life under his hands, and I can’t be fucking bothered with talking. Who cares about words or talking or even thinking when there’s this, when there’s him? Not me, that’s for sure. All that matters is being here with Dammon, skin-to-skin with him like all my hottest dreams, and I don’t give a shit about anything else.

Tonight, I’m burning blue for him. And that’s all that fucking matters.

[greenerteacups]

do you have any thoughts on luna and harry as a potential couple post-canon? i was reading your post on harry/ginny and i really loved your perspective on it, especially when you said your vision for harry post war was basically just lots and lots of big dogs (i LOVE that mental image and i agree it would be SO good for him!!) but i was wondering if you'd consider luna and harry to be a good match for each other? personally i have a sort of soft spot for the pairing because of how fond harry is of her in canon, and i think if anyone was going to understand and be unfazed by all the difficult trauma responses and long healing process he's going to be dealing with for years after the war, luna seems like a good fit :)

My love for Harry as a character is kind of unusual to me, considering I go pearl-diving for ships when I read things, and I fall in love with dynamics as a conduit to falling in love with characters. That said, I don't really ship him with anybody. I just genuinely adore That Weird Little Dude. Same with Ron; I'm just as pleased to see them with a range of people, because (A) I believe they're good partners and can have great relationships with many people (Ron Weasley get behind me they could never make me hate you Ron Weasley), but also (B) I don't see either of their canon relationships as Definitive. Some characters I ship together because I sincerely believe they are (non-deterministic) soulmates, in that they bring out parts of each other that make them the freshest, happiest, most interesting versions of themselves. With other characters, I'll look at a couple and go: "Huh. Could work!" and smack my giant rubber [APPROVED] stamp on it, then get back to work on my blorbos.

Luna and Harry are one of those couples for me. As I mentioned in that other post, I think Harry's primary requirement in a partner is someone who can treat him normally, i.e. will be generally chill about the Became Wizard Jesus Twice situation. Which is a big ask. Luna is uniquely capable of doing that because Luna is not normal at all, and so treats all things, extraordinary and ordinary both, as uniformly dazzling and delightful. I believe this is why Harry enjoys her so much in their friendship, because he gets to feel valued and treasured without feeling unusual or othered — a hard line to toe, and one even Ron and Hermione occasionally trip up on. He seems to like hanging out with her a great deal, and I think it says something sweet that he asks her to the Slug Club party instead of any of the girls in Gryffindor from his year, whom he'd ostensibly know better.

Luna is a bit of a cipher to me, I admit. We know she's the daughter of an eccentric and probably traumatized single father, raised without a mother; deeply lonely, because of how she's been ostracized for her beliefs and hobbies, and the victim of some degree of bullying for it; and yet full of a passionate, almost effortless wonder and joie de vivre. She's also intensely loving (cf. painting her friends' faces on her bedroom ceiling) and very hard to embarrass. She likes Harry for understandable reasons; they share most of those qualities (Harry's more sensitive to others' opinions, understandably so), and the only point where they diverge is their actual hobbies and interests. Harry seems pretty fond of her nonsense, and I bet she could sell him on crumple-horned snorkacks given some time — maybe if Hermione took a vacation to Switzerland and left them alone together.

In general, what I find sweet about the idea of these two is they're so chill. These are two people whose chief ambition is to hang out, enjoy their hobbies, and see some cool magical shit. Date night is so fucking easy for these two. Plus, Harry is a hothead a lot of the time, and Luna just... vibes. Literally never bothered. Insane levels of not fussed at all times. Very helpful for Harry, who has a bad tendency to bottle up his feelings and then blow up at the first person to sneeze at him. Conversely, I'd hope that Harry would age into the kind of genial, confident dude who would be able to rock up with a function where people were talking shit about Luna and be like :) My wife? You mean my wise and beautiful wife? Surely you are not talking about my wise and beautiful wife. :) instead of doing what he'd do from age 15-17, which is get mad and stomp around sulking. Which, again: teenager. Orphan. Non-stop trauma gauntlet from age 2-18. Excuses are made. But still. Would think it best if Luna's husband were not perhaps so keenly sensitive to gossip, for Luna's sake.

Anyway, these are just some dissembled thoughts. There's also something in there about Harry, boy under the staircase, falling in love with the magical world and ending up the Most Magical person, i.e., the person who took believing in magic to such an extreme that she imagines magic that doesn't exist yet. And Luna ends up with the one person who's inarguably stranger than she is.

[cuubism]

please please please more silly rabbit au? (eyes)

i... literally had to go write more because there was none XD

more... utter nonsense designed specifically to satisfy @magnusbae 😂

--

The Middle Ages had been getting… weird, lately.

Not the Middle Ages, the historical time period, though that was always reliably weirder than expected, in Daisy’s experience. No, what was truly weird nowadays, and getting weirder by the minute, was The Middle Ages, history and literature class taught by Professor Robert Gadling.

Daisy had heard a lot about Professor Gadling before enrolling in his class. She’d heard he took a common man’s approach to history, focusing at least as much, if not more, on the experiences of average people than on the movements of kings. She’d heard he’d read everything under the sun and was far better than Google if you needed a source for your paper. She’d heard he had a playful lecture style that the burned-out older students, in particular, appreciated.

She had not heard about the boyfriend.

This was, admittedly, a new development, at least according to the gossip mill. Which was feverish, as Prof. Gadling was both well-liked and mysterious, a deadly combo.

But now there was the boyfriend, and what a boyfriend.

If Daisy had been asked to picture what any boyfriend of Professor Gadling might be like, she would definitely not have pictured this pretty goth thing, this being with a preternatural elegance to him. Where did this guy even come from? He even managed to look elegant dressed down and comfy in jeans and a sweatshirt as he was.

The rumors said that he was way younger than the professor, but Daisy didn’t think so. There was something… unaccountably ancient about him, no matter how young he looked on the surface. An old soul, she supposed.

One who just happened to win the genetic lottery and age – or rather not age – like a god.

Morpheus, which was apparently what his name was – and that was a whole other trip – was reclining in one of the seats near the front of the lecture hall. Reclining, quite literally, as he had his feet up on the back of the seat in front of him, notebook balanced on his thighs.

And he was writing with a quill. A fucking quill.

Daisy would have thought he’d just be listening, not being a real student and all (she assumed and also hoped), but he seemed to be taking proper notes, unreadable, swooping cursive notes though they were.

He was also doodling birds in the margins of the page.

Daisy should really stop staring. She forced her gaze back to the front of the room.

Professor Gadling was in the midst of explaining the historical background of the text they were reading, The Book of Margery Kempe. It was a fascinating book, actually. If only Daisy didn’t keep getting distracted by whatever strange competitive game it seemed to be inspiring in her weird professor and his weird boyfriend.

The first time Morpheus had interrupted the lecture with a comment, Prof. Gadling had straight up ignored him, just steamrolled over him, waited until he raised his hand, and then called on him. Morpheus had not seemed embarrassed or chastised about this in the slightest, just blithely asked, “Professor, are we certain that Margery’s visitation from Jesus was a psychotic break, or could it have possibly been a dream?”

Professor Gadling had sighed, hands on his hips. “I think you’re going to have to answer that one for yourself, Morpheus. Also, we haven’t even gotten to that part of the text!”

“I read ahead.”

“Yeah, I’m fucking sure that you did.”

This sort of thing had continued apace for the rest of the lecture.

Then there had been the eye-fucking. Dear God, the eye-fucking. Every time Morpheus made a snarky comment. Daisy wondered if they knew how obvious they were being.

Daisy had to give the prof credit, though. Despite all the antics he never skipped a beat in his lecture. Didn’t miss a goddamn bullet point.

Daisy really hadn’t thought university would be like this, though.

Now it seemed they were again having an argument over the book.

“It’s said that Margery’s tale is the only surviving firsthand account of an ordinary person’s life in the late thirteen-hundreds,” Prof. Gadling was saying, when Morpheus interrupted, very much in a drawl—

“Oh, but I don’t think that’s quite true.”

Prof. Gadling raised a challenging eyebrow at him. “Is that so?”

Morpheus smiled, very snake-like. “Quite.”

“Care to share with the class, Morpheus?”

Morpheus leaned further back in his chair, arms crossed. “I think you know whereof I speak.”

“Oh, I see.” Prof. Gadling’s smile was pleasant. Too pleasant. “You’re talking about that one lost manuscript. Very much lost and not accessible.”

“If that is how you wish to interpret my words.”

“That’s how I wish to interpret it, you git. Stop interrupting the class.”

“I’m simply engaging with the material,” Morpheus protested, pouting. “I believed this was a modern classroom.”

“You can engage with the material later,” Prof. Gadling said, with a significant look, which brought a smirk back to Morpheus’s face.

Oh God, back to the eye-fucking. Daisy did not need this. Right in front of her lecture notes and everything.

“Right,” said Prof. Gadling, forcibly dragging himself back to the classroom and the present. He pointed at Morpheus. “You, quiet. Does anyone else have questions or comments?”

Based on that one class, Daisy might have assumed they had a sort of contentious and snarky relationship. But at the end of the lecture, she caught something different.

She’d lingered behind to ask Professor Gadling a question about the assignment – though she was starting to think that question was better left for office hours later.

As the students were filing out, Morpheus climbed down from his lounging position in his seat, picking his way down the steps until he was standing by Prof. Gadling at the board. Daisy hadn’t noticed before that his notebook had ravens on the cover; why was that so cute?

Prof. Gadling ran a hand through Morpheus’s hair, then let it fall to rest on the side of his neck, softer than Daisy would have expected after their snappy conversation from earlier. “Going to have to ban you from sitting in on lectures, love.”

Morpheus raised an eyebrow. “You would dare?”

“I would dare.” There was something soft about the way he said it, though. Like he was daring to steal a kiss rather than kicking him out of the lecture hall.

Morpheus tipped his head back, looking at Professor Gadling from under his eyelashes. “What if I promise to behave myself?”

Prof. Gadling played with the hair at the nape of his neck. “You can’t be giving away all my secrets.”

“Never,” murmured Morpheus, his free hand finding Prof. Gadling’s jacket. “Though it has occurred to me that your students are missing out on some unique historical knowledge.”

Prof. Gadling sighed. “Can’t do much about that. Such is life.”

“Full of frustration?”

“Full of give and take,” Professor Gadling corrected. “Most blessings require a sacrifice of some kind, too, you know.”

“Oh?” said Morpheus. “And which am I?”

Professor Gadling smiled, fond. “Which do you think?”

Morpheus gave him a look that was sly, mischievous. “Nightmare.”

“Oh, too right.”

Prof. Gadling pulled him into a kiss, tilting his head into it with a hand on his jaw, and Morpheus dropped his notebook to bring his hands up to Prof. Gadling’s shoulders.

Daisy realized she was staring again, and slunk out of the classroom before she could be caught.

Yeah. She’d definitely just be waiting until office hours.