#(I promise I didn’t go into this planning this to be so dark but worm boy just has… so many fucking issues)

[reesiereads]

Lucas and the Worms (Goosebumps 2023 Analysis 4/5)

If you haven’t yet read the previous parts I’ve written of this analysis I highly recommend you do. However the jist of it is that I believe each haunted object linked to the kids was chosen deliberately by Biddle and symbolically represents a major struggle the kid linked to the item is dealing with.

This time let’s discuss Lucas. Fair warning, this one is a fair bit darker then the other sections. Trigger warnings for discussions of suicide and self harm.

(Spoilers below the cut, I seriously recommend watching the show before reading it’s worth it)

Lucas is the fourth point of view character, staring in the episode Go Eat Worms. Prior to this episode three things about Lucas are made apparent: He’s reckless, he’s (seemingly) laid back to the point he doesn’t seem to care about much of anything, and he’s extremely socially awkward/unaware.

Now Go Eat Worms emphasized all these traits but it also portrayed the reasoning behind them which changes the perception of Lucas from a burn-out skater boy who couldn’t give less of a fuck to someone who is… well, all of that as well as excessively self-destructive.

While a lot of Lucas’ social awkwardness seems to come from a genuine struggle of not knowing what to talk about or what would be socially appropriate I believe a part of it also ties in to his laid-back attitude. In The Haunted Mask Isabella rips into a multitude of Lucas’ insecurities, one of the most effective being when she insults his “jackass facade.”

Based on Lucas’ reaction here, which is something close to a flinch or a cower, we can tell Isabella hit the nail on the head. Lucas deliberately gets himself intro trouble and then ignores the worry or anger that this behavior ignites. The perfect example of this is in Go Eat Worms when Lucas drags his bike to the school roof and rides it down straight into Colin Stokes car. He severely injures himself in the process but he brushes off Colin’s shouting and Margot’s fretting in the exact same manner: essentially giving the impression he could not care less.

While this reaction is partially affected by the worms in general this is in line with Lucas’ previous behavior, as he reacted similarly when he first got in trouble for destroying Isabella’s drone in The Haunted Mask. At first he comes across as simply an asshole, uncaring of the damage he is causing around him. With the added context of his recent Dad’s death however, alongside some of Nora’s lines (such as her line to Colin in The Haunted Mask about how she “assumed he’d be sad after Dennis died, not reckless”) which all imply that this behavior goes deeper then just simple impulsive trouble making.

It becomes increasingly clear over the course of Go Eat Worms that Lucas is dealing with a severe amount of grief… badly. We open the episode with him attempting to talk himself into performing the same trick his Dad did when he died where Lucas ends up fighting off tears. It’s implied Lucas spends a lot of time in his Dad’s old shed and he has a poster of his Dad’s stunt work on his wall right over his bed. When breaking down at the Booms of Doom Lucas states that “we’re (meaning his Father and him) so similar. We’re Father and Son.” His grief is quite literally consuming him and only a few minutes into the episode something becomes very clear: Lucas is severely depressed.

The other important thing about Lucas’ behavior that’s elaborated on is his most obvious trait: his recklessness. Lucas’ introduction is quite literally skateboarding off a roof and giving himself a possible concussion. Throughout the other episodes we continue to see him perform other unsafe acts: Skateboarding down the stairs, jumping at a tall height to catch a drone and landing on the pavement, and attempting to eat a worm (not necessarily as bad but still shows a disregard for his health and general well-being). We know Lucas likes skateboarding and other dangerous stunt stuff due to his Dad however the amount at which Lucas gets Injured is notably excessive as Nora quite blatantly calls it reckless. Lucas is also extremely nonchalant about his actual injuries, one of his first lines being: “it’s fine Mom, it’s just my head this time.”

Not all of Lucas’ disregard for himself can be blamed on grief however, as it’s also subtlety implied throughout the show that Lucas is insecure. Specifically, Lucas is extremely insecure about his own intelligence. The first we see of this is actually at the Halloween party, when Lucas makes a joke to Margot about coming as a guy with brain damage. While this can be taken as a dig at his penchent for injuries his tone seems to imply something else, it’s too serious. We see it once again in The Haunted Mask when Isabella is digging at Lucas. While her comments about him pretending to be a jackass get to him the comment he has the worst reaction to is her first one: “This moron.” There is a noticeable shift in Lucas’ body language here, he is no longer calm or nonchalant. It’s the first time we see him openly upset. Then, in Reader Beware, Lucas states: “You make me feel so dumb, but not in a bad way like… literally everybody else.”

Lucas also tells Margot here that he once broke six bones in his hand at the age of six, implying his reckless behavior has been something he’s struggled with for a long time.

All of this is to say, Lucas in Go Eat Worms and throughout most of the show is dealing with both severe grief, some sort of depression, and what seems to be a fair amount of insecurities. He’s in an extremely bad place mentally and his self-destructive behavior shows this.

Then he finds out about his Mom’s affair and eats the Biddle worm.

The Biddle worms work like this: once one is consumed the consumer will begin to feel ill. While unconscious the other worms will work their way into the consumer’s body and burrow under the skin. They will make the consumer completely unable to feel pain both mental and physical, and will heal any wounds the consumer receives, even broken bones. The only way to expel the worms from the consumer’s body is to put the consumer through intense mental anguish. The worms will attempt to reenter the consumer and the only way to avoid this is to physically destroy the worms.

Before we get into the worms themselves let’s discuss Lucas’ reaction to them. Once discovering that he feels no physical pain Lucas’ first reaction is to slam his hand so hard into his locker that all his fingers snap (keep in mind that when he did this he had no idea if they would heal). Once he realizes his healing factor he then drives his bike off the school roof into Colin Stokes’ car, where it’s shown he severely hurts his shoulder in the process. Thanks to the worms these wounds heal, however the most interesting part of this is Lucas’ line to Margot when she tries to check on him. “I feel fine! I know you’re in pain Margot but that’s the wonderful thing about pain, you can choose to turn it off!”

Lucas is in a severe amount of emotional turmoil, finding out about his Mom’s affair is essentially his breaking point. It becomes clear through this line and his behavior that Lucas distracts himself from mental pain by physically harming himself: he is quite literally self-harming.

Lucas shows no indication of suicidal thoughts prior to the worms driving him to the Booms of Doom (though he does perhaps show a softer version of it. The whole mentality of “walking across the street without looking, not actively seeking death but not avoiding it either” sort of idea). However, as the worms emphasize Lucas’ reliance on recklessness and physical pain to bury his mental pain, the worms also broadcast how quickly that behavior can spiral into something more. While I don’t believe Lucas goes to the Booms of Doom looking to kill himself he also does try to proceed when Nora tells him that’s exactly what his Father did.

The worms are then expelled as Lucas is forced to face the grief he’s been trying to bury. However, they attempt to take him back and Lucas is only able to fight them off with the help of his Mom and Margot.

The message of this one is clear: Running from grief or insecurity and trying to deal with it through self-destructive means will not fix the problem. The only way to genuinely begin healing and moving forward is to rely on the people around you and face the feelings, no matter how difficult they may be.

[charliemwrites]

Part 5 of Mister(s) Steal Your Girl

Long awaited, but no Johnny smut just yet. Soon, I promise. (And Kyle will be back. It's been so long since he's gotten to smooch our dear reader.)

Also! A little reminder than you can check the queue to see what I plan to post for next. I try to update it often as the worms wiggle. Next I plan to do the final chapter of Greater Bad. (Unless I get my not-so-secret, no-longer-a-surprise oneshot out first)

Lastly! Please note that I wrote the "posts" from his perspective. So inconsistencies with the actual story and any grammar/spelling errors were purposeful or for "authenticity".

Content: Brandon.

r/CakeEater _OnBrand_ I asked my fiancé for an open relationship before marriage. It worked. A while ago I posted on r/adultery about the affairs (yes, multiple) I was having behind my then-gf’s back. We’d already been dating for ~4 years and I was seeing one of my coworkers (my “work wife”) regularly and one of her coworkers on and off. People on my other post were critical and called me all sorts of things like selfish and pig. I know it’s not traditional, but I genuinely don’t think I could ever be satisfied by one woman. My work wife (Rachel) and fiance’s coworker (Lucy) provide things my fiancé just can’t but I still love my fiancé. She’s the woman I’m going to spend the rest of my life with. When I posted on r/adultery I was trying to figure out how to propose without her finding out. I knew she’d expect me to help with stuff and possibly want to look at my phone more often. It would have been harder to sneak off to meet up with Lucy or Rachel with wedding planning and I was sick of being stressed she would find out. Some nicer people on the post suggested I ask for an open relationship. I took their advice and sat her down to sell the idea. It’s a good thing I’m so good at sales (top 3% in my company for 5 years in a row) because she agreed. Yes, actually agreed. At first she got kind of pale and her eyes got really big and blank. I thought for sure she was about to start crying and run off. Maybe even kick me out. She doesn’t really get angry but she gets upset and it freaks me out. After I explained everything about how good it would be for us though, she agreed. This is my official unlimited hallpass. I’ve been seeing Rachel on weekends and Lucy once or twice during the week for drinks. Tonight I’m going to sign up for every dating site I can. Tinder, Bumble, Hinge. If anyone has other suggestions, I’ll check those out too. Fiance has been kind of off but I think it’s just an adjustment period. Sometimes I can tell she’s been crying but she hasn’t come to me about it so she’s probably just being emotional about all the changes. At least she’s got our house to focus on while she gets used to things. I feel a little bad about running out every night but she’s just so mopey and sad all the time and it’s not enjoyable to be around. I know she probably feels like I’m abandoning her a little but once she starts getting back to normal I’ll spend time with her again. You really can have your cake (all the cakes heh) and eat them too. Edit: no, I never told her that I already had Lucy and Rachel and I’m not going to. What good would it do? She’s already agreed to an open relationship and telling her that I didn’t have permission first would just hurt her for no reason.

Kyle’s been gone for two (long, lonely) weeks when he finally gets a chance to call. So far, he’s only been able to send scattered texts at odd hours. Always something sweet – telling you he’s alright, or that he’s thinking of you. Sometimes you even catch him for a brief exchange before he apologizes and “goes dark” again.

Not that you begrudge it. This is part and parcel of dating him and you knew that going in. You’re not complaining when he’s putting his life on the line so that the public can live in blissful peace.

That doesn’t stop you from missing him though. His hugs, his smile. Getting his voice - even roughened by distance - is a nice compromise though.

“How have you been holding up, chickadee?” he asks after the initial reassurance that he’s whole and hale. 

“Easier this time!” you answer proudly. “I know what to expect with you gone and Johnny’s good company.”

“Yeah?” he asks, sounding pleased.

You can just imagine him now, leaning his hip against the nearest surface, arms crossed over his broad chest. He tends to duck his head when he smiles, and you unintentionally grin to yourself, thinking of him hiding into his phone. God, you miss him. 

“Mhmm! We found a board game bar that you’re going to love. Oh, and we’re going to the Hay Festival this weekend.”

He hums. “I’m sorry I can’t be there to take you, luv, but I knew Johnny would be good to you.”

More than good to you, really. There’s not been a day he doesn’t call to check up on you - if he doesn’t see you in person, that is. Dinner, movies, coffee. He’s somehow both a gentleman and an incorrigible flirt, but only with you. He’s nothing more than polite to anyone else, keeping his focus on you and whatever the two of you are doing.

You don’t know what to do with the undivided attention. If you didn’t know better…

“You two are getting close,” Kyle observes.

“I think so,” you admit, then hesitate. “Is… that okay?”

“‘Course, luv. I’m glad.”

You blink. “You are?”

“He’s my best mate and you’re my best girl.”

An odd pang of anxiety pierces your chest. Johnny calls you that too. His “best girl.” You love hearing it - but maybe you shouldn’t?

“It… doesn’t bother you? That we’re spending so much time together.”

He snorts softly, but it’s not derisive. It’s a noise he makes whenever he thinks you’re being silly, but his voice comes out soft and warm. Not an ounce of condescension.

“No, baby, I’m not fussed. You spend your time with whoever you want, however you want. Yeah?”

Your chest floods with warmth. “Okay.”

“There’s a love. I’ve got a brief, so I have to go. I’ll call soon as I can.”

“Be safe, Ky.”

“Do my best. Give Soap a smooch for us, aye?”

You blink as he hangs up. That’s a new one.

You ponder over it while packing on Thursday night. Was it just a joke? A tease at the little crush you’ve developed for Johnny?

Because it is a crush, you know it is. It’s impossible not to be attracted to him. Not with that smile, that laugh, the goofy humor and sweet mannerisms. He still sends you flowers every few weeks - just as the previous ones are about to die. It’s so thoughtful; you’ve started feeling a bit warm every time you look at them.

But you feel greedy, being even remotely interested in anyone else. You have Kyle and Brandon (even if you two are going through a… patch) and that should be enough for you. Shouldn’t it? You’ve never been with more than one person at a time before; it took you weeks to shake the compulsory guilt when you first met Kyle. It feels almost unforgivably audacious to want Johnny too, especially since he’s Kyle’s best mate.

Still… Kyle’s not a jealous or passive-aggressive guy. You’ve been with him long enough now that you know he’d just tell you outright if he was unhappy about something. And he’s been with you long enough that he can surely tell you’re more than a bit fond of Johnny.

Maybe that’s why he made the joke about “smooching” him.

Regardless, you want to talk to him about it. Things always make sense when you think out loud to him. His levelheaded and practical approach to difficult topics always straightens your panic spirals out into neat lines.

Plus, it’s not as comforting to hold your own hand. (God, when is he getting back?)

“Where are you going?”

You blink up at Brandon, folded pajamas in hand.

“The Hay Festival,” you answer.

Speaking of - you slip past him into the bathroom. He doesn’t follow, rooted to the spot spinning his phone around in his hands.

“Alone?”

You snort. “Of course not, I’m going with a friend.”

The allergy pills are at the bottom of the medicine basket beneath the sink. You really need to organize it the next time Johnny’s too busy to hang out. There’s no way you need three bottles of paracetamol. 

“I need that suitcase.”

You toss the bottle in and pivot for the dresser. “What for?”

He shifts, eyes sliding away. “An… overnight.”

Ah. That’s what he’s calling it now?

You snatch a few (too many) pairs of underwear from the dresser.

“Just bring them here,” you say over your shoulder.

There’s a long, tense beat of silence but you’re too busy rummaging for socks to break it first. Will it be too warm for thigh-highs? Eh, you’ll go with the sheer ones; the little lace roses match one of your dresses anyway.

“Bring who here?” Brandon asks slowly.

When you turn, he looks paler than usual. You shrug, trying to project casual comfort.

This is a totally normal and reasonable conversation to have. Just a couple in an open relationship, discussing a stranger coming to the house for a shag. Nothing to make a fuss over.

“Whoever you need the suitcase for? I know you’ve had people over before anyway, and I’ll be gone all weekend.”

He stutters, color returning to his face in bright pink blooms. “Why do you think I’ve had people over before?”

You arch an eyebrow. “I do the laundry, remember? And there was lipstick on one of the wine glasses.”

That had sent you into a tizzy at the time, disgusted that some stranger was in your bed, with your fiancé. You washed the sheets twice on the hottest setting and tossed in a bit of bleach for good measure. Hadn’t been able to look at him the whole week - not that he was there much to not look at.

Now, though, you seem to have adjusted to the idea, even if you’re still not thrilled. Brandon can have his… whoever over, and you’ll goof around with Johnny in Wales.

“Just toss the bedding in the wash afterwards,” you add.

“I thought you do the laundry,” he sniffs.

“I’m not traveling all day just to do chores when I get home,” you answer. He does a double take like you’ve started speaking a new language. “You’ll be here all weekend, I’m sure you’ll have time.”

He opens his mouth, and you can tell already that he’s about to argue - though you don’t really know what about. It’s not like he can’t do laundry or dishes, after all. He lived alone before you moved in together.

Thankfully, his phone distracts him before he can form the words. He spins away to tap at the screen and shuffles out of the room, shoulders till tense. You go back to packing and teasing Johnny about the amount of hair gel he’ll bring.

Friday afternoon can’t come fast enough. Even though you’ve taken a half day from work, the few hours seem to drag. You’re practically daydreaming about the food and drinks, music and activities. There’s a baker’s dozen art stalls you want to check out as well, and a gift to pick out for Kyle…

“Hope yer thinkin’ o’ me when ye make tha’ face.”

Your head snaps around so fast, you nearly give yourself whiplash. Johnny grins down at you in all his casually handsome glory – ripped jeans, green tee, and brown boots. Angels are singing somewhere, you think. Or maybe that’s just your nosy coworkers ogling from their own cubicles.

The reality of him sinks in a moment later and you leap up from your cushy chair – and right into his arms. He’s like a furnace compared to the cool, conditioned air of your office, a welcome source of warmth for your chilly fingers.

“What are you doing here?” you giggle. “Who let a rowdy guy like you in?”

He smells like bergamot and pine. It takes active thought to resist pressing your face into the crook of his neck. It looks cozy there.

As always, he squeezes you a bit tighter just before letting go.

“Hey now, Marcy’s a discerning lady. She knows a fine gentleman when she sees one.”

You snort, belied by the smile curling your lips. “She may need new glass then.”

“Och, don’t go talkin’ poor about my second-best gal now.”

“Is it that easy to get in your good graces?” you scoff, glancing at the time on your computer. It’s later than you expected; no wonder he came up to retrieve you. You spent so long daydreaming that you’ve lost track of time.

“Aw don’ be green, dove, you’re still my number one. Send ye flowers ‘n all.”

You roll your eyes at him. “Yeah, and now I’m wondering just how special that is.”

He stands close, proclaiming his case for how obviously special you are while you shut everything down for the weekend. You’re only half listening to the bit, admittedly. Mostly just basking in your excitement for the mini road trip and the weekend to come. You have no doubt that it’s going to be fun, even if it would be better with Kyle along too.

“Where are you headed off to?” Lucy asks.

“Hay Festival,” you answer shortly.

You’ve never been a big fan of Lucy, but lately she’s been insufferable. Talking over you during meetings, leaving you out of emails, throwing away papers at the printer. (Okay, you haven’t seen her do that last one, but you know.) Worst of all, she can help but make backhanded comments about every flower delivery.

“You’re not taking Brandon?” she simpers. “Something wrong?”

“He’s hanging out with a friend this weekend too,” you correct, “and he doesn’t like hay.”

“Shame that,” Johnny adds, sounding like it’s not a shame at all.

You haven’t told him much about Brandon – but you’re sure that Kyle has. From the face Johnny makes the rare times your fiancé comes up in conversation, he doesn’t think much of Brandon.

“Have fun you two!” your manager, Selene, calls.

You wave and shoot Lucy one last, unimpressed glance before stepping onto the elevator with Johnny.

r/CakeEater _OnBrand_ My fiancé is going on a weekend getaway with another man. I’ve posted in r/adultery and r/cakeeater before. I’m not looking for judgement or insults here. I really just want advice.

A little context: my fiancé and I are in an open relationship and it’s been like this for a few months now. I originally asked her to ope the relationship and for a while she was weird about it but lately she’s been getting sbetter. I thought she was finally getting used to me going out with other women and things were getting back to normal.

A few weeks ago, I noticed she was on her phone more. Like, all the time. Even at dinner when she used to be really picky about phones at the table. One day I came home from work and she was talking on the phone to someone. Giggling and laughing. When I turned the corner she was kind of blushing too. It kind of bothered me but I figured she was talking to a friend and just hot from cooking or something.

Lucy texted me pissed off one day, asking why I was sending my fiancé flowers but not her. I told her I hadn’t sent any flowers. I think they’re way too expensive for how long they realistically last and that they take up a lot of unnecessary space. But I thought it was weird that someone was sending my fiancé flowers and got kind of uncomfortable. That’s a pretty romantic gesture and her family isn’t the type to randomly send flowers either.

I tried taking her out on a date but she was all mopey again and turned her phone to ‘do not disturb’ so I wouldn’t even see if she was texting someone. We don’t have much to talk about now. I love her but she’s not a good storyteller or into very interesting things. All her ‘funny stories’ are just mundane things that happen during the day. We’ve run out of interesting topics about because we’ve been together so long. (That’s why I like having more than one partner.)

Yesterday she randomly started packing for a trip. I don’t even think she was planning to tell me until I asked her. She was packing a bunch of cute clothes too. Like dresses and tights and things like that. Stuff she only used to wear on our dates. I asked who she was going with and she just said ‘a friend’ which is weird because she would usually say the name of someone even if I don’t remember who they are.

Well today Lucy sent me a picture of my fiancé leaving her job with some guy. I couldn’t see his face because he was turned away, but I could see the side of my fiancé’s face and she was smiling at him. I got this awful sinking feeling in my chest like it was hard to breathe. It took me a few minutes to process that she’s going away for a weekend with a complete stranger.

Doesn’t she know how dangerous that is? Where did she even meet this guy? They’ll be gone all weekend so are they sharing a room? A bed? I nearly threw up thinking all these things as I called her.

I asked her to cancel her plans and come home. She seemed confused and reminded me that her plans were with someone else and it would be rude to ditch last minute. I told her I wanted to spend the weekend with her and that I’d been missing her. She seemed surprised and said that she’d see me on Sunday night, but she was looking forward to the festival with her ‘friend’ and wanted to go. As a last ditch effort I asked if her friend was more important than me, nearly begging at that point. She must have heard the desperation in my voice, but she just told me that she was already on the road and it was too late.

My fiancé doesn’t like lying but it’s hard to believe this guy was just a friend. Even if she sees him as a friend I know how men think and I doubt he sees her the same way.

She said some other weird stuff before she left about having someone over while she was gone. I don’t get it. How could she just casually invite someone else into our house like that? Has she had other people over? Is she dating now?

I’m not sure what to do. I don’t like that she put this trip over me. Should I talk to her about how bad this makes me feel? Should I call again and tell her to come home more forcefully? Am I blowing all of this out of proportion?

Edit: she doesn’t know that I’ve been seeing Lucy. I haven’t told my fiancé about any of the women I’ve been seeing. (mostly just Lucy and Rachel. I’ve done a lot of texting through apps and gone on a bunch of first place, but most women don’t put out right away and I usually can’t be bothered to get to know them better). Even then, I wouldn’t tell her about lucy. They don’t get along and never have. It would cause a lot of unnecessary drama.

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[koalamuffin01]

Made For You- Chapter 1

Full Story Summary: Tav is a High Elf, Life Cleric of Corellon Larethian, from Baldur’s Gate, who was kidnapped by a mindflayer ship. Now she must save herself along with the other infected she meets along the way, one of which she feels an inexplicable tie to. What does Corellon have planned for her? What is the connection she feels with Astarion mean? Does he too feel this bond? Will she be able to save them all?

Chapter Summary: Tav awakes upon a ravaged beach and finds her way towards a handsome elf.

Ratings: Eventually, full story - E - Explicit(only suitable for adults) Chapter 1 - T - Teen and Up

Warnings: Chapter 1: Canon BG3 Typical Violence, Act I Spoilers Full Story: Violence, Abuse, PTSD, Nightmares, Astarion’s Backstory, Cazador, Terrible Parenting, Force Marriage, Assault, Sexual Assault, Domestic Violence, Sex, Eventual Smut, BG3 Spoilers, Probably More (Will Update With Each Chapter)

Word Count: 932

A/N: This is my retelling/head canon of how my original play through went with my Tav, Tav. Tav is a High Elf, Life Cleric of Corellon Larethian. Her backstory will remain a bit of a mystery for plot reasons but will eventually be revealed. She romanced Astarion. For posting schedule, I’m just going to try and post when chapters are ready. I already have the first two chapters done, so I will post them about a week apart. This is the first fan fiction I’ve ever written, so please be kind. Please let me know what you think in the comments. Thank you, bless.

The Pale Elf

The elf was the most beautiful man Tav had ever seen. Granted, she had not seen many, but his very essence seemed to reflect the sun that shined on him. He was simply radiant, and her heart skipped as she slowly made her way towards him as if guided by the divine. Nothing could stop her from approaching him, not her decorum, or teachings, and certainly not the half-elf who seemed to be wary of anyone who wasn’t them.

“Hurry, I’ve got one of those brain things cornered.” The elf gestured with his head towards a brush he was standing next to.“There, in the grass. You can kill it, can't you? Like you killed the others.”

Tav took a step forward. The elf drew closer. She just nodded, not trusting her voice around the man. “There, can you see it?” She put her hand on the pummel of her short sword and tried to peer around the bush to find the intellect devourer.

A mad dash of a wild boar who was hiding in the grass. Tav jump a little, put her hand on her chest, and let out the breath she had been holding only for it to be taken away when she felt the cold steel of a blade at her throat. She tried to run, but was swept from her feet to the ground by the elf.

“Shh. Not a sound. Not if you want to keep that darling neck of yours.” He looked up to where Shadowheart was standing. “And you - keep your distance. No need for this to get messy.”

“I need her alive - stow that blade or I'll show you just how messy things can get.”

Tav’s heart started pounding even harder in her chest. She didn’t particularly trust Shadowheart not to make the situation worse.

“Promises, promises. But I have other business, I'm afraid.” He turned his head back to Tav. “Now, I saw you on the ship, didn't I? Nod.” He said as one might to a child or someone they felt was intellectually inferior. Tav, terrified of doing anything that would cause the man to slit her throat, obediently nodded. “Splendid. And now you’re going to tell me exactly what you and those tentacled freaks did to me.”

“You’ve got it all wrong-” she started, finally finding her voice, but was cut off by the man.

“Don't lie to mel I-agh.” A shooting pain took over Tav’s mind. She felt the worm wriggling inside her brain connecting to the one inside the elf.

She was in a dark alley, late at night, peering at people who were talking, laughing, drinking outside what appeared to be a tavern, and was overwhelmed by a feeling of hunger.

As soon as it came, the vision and the pain inside her mind was gone. She was back on the beach in the man’s arms. “What was that? What's going on?”

“It's the mind flayer's worm - it connected us.”

He slowly released her, and she rolled away in order to stand and face him. “You're not one of them. They took you, just the same as me.”

Tav nodded and pleaded with her eyes for him to believe her. “And to think I was ready to decorate the ground with your innards. Apologies.” He stood up straight, put the dagger away, and then flashed her a charming smile.

How was she supposed to react to that? One minute he is threatening her life, the next he acts as if it can happen to anyone. Luckily she didn’t have to respond, he continued the conversation himself.

“Please, allow me to introduce myself. My name’s Astarion. I was in Baldur's Gate, when those beasts snatched me.”

“I’m Tav, and this is Shadowheart,” she gestured to the half-elf beside her, “we were both on the ship when it crashed. Well, actually, we were kind of the ones who made it crash.” She said with a small smile.

“My, my, you've been busy.” He put both of his arms on his lower back and leaned slightly towards her like he was wanting to hear some sordid gossip. “So do you know anything about these worms?”

“Yes. Unfortunately, they'll turn us into mind flayers.”

His arms and face fell. His eyes got as wide a saucers with what appeared to be both fear and sadness. “Turn us into - ha. Hahaha!” Astarion looked away and started cackling as if Tav had told him a funny joke. “Of course it’ll turn me into a monster. What else did I expect?” He said more to himself then them. “Although it hasn't happened yet.” He turned to Tav. “. If we can find an expert - someone that can control these things - there might still be time.”

“Control it? We need to get rid of it.”

“Well yes, of course. But first things first.”

Something pulled inside of Tav’s stomach. It felt as if someone or something was tying a string from her to Astarion. Tav had never felt anything like it, but knew she must listen to it. “You should travel with me. Our odds are better together. We’re going to look for a healer.”

“You know, I was ready to go this alone, but maybe sticking with the herd isn't such a bad idea. And you seem like a useful person to know. All right, I accept. Lead on.” He said with a little bow.

Tav turned to Shadowheart who gave her an incredulous look. Tav just shook her head and shrugged as if to say, “Even I don’t know.”

[fkitwebhaal]

Fic: Violence Forgiving Steel

Ship: The Dark Urge/Enver Gortash and The Dark Urge/Haarlep but it's not the focus.

Fandom: BG3

Warnings: non graphic rape/non-con, non graphic dubious consent, self destructive behavior, suicidal thoughts

Rating: M

AO3

Summary: 

"In the end, it’s a nightmare that makes you decide to leave." After Gortash tells the party who the Dark Urge truly is, the Dark Urge leaves the party in the middle of the night. That doesn't mean they abandon the promises they made their friends. Or the Dark Urge goes on a one sorcerer mission to right their wrongs and save their friends from the shadows. Its goes both better and worse than expected.

Notes:

See those warnings. I am not fucking around with those warnings. Nothing is graphic but if you see anything there and go “I don’t know” maybe skip this one. This is pure angst and one squid joke.

The Durgetash here is entirely dubious consent.

Fic is below the cut!

In the end, it’s a nightmare that makes you decide to leave. Everything else, the day you’ve had, the revelations you’ve heard, are just added reasons to go.

You put your tent farther from the others to rest the night after you’re revealed to be behind the absolute plot. Your lover doesn’t ask to share your bedroll tonight and you’re afraid to ask if it’s because they know you want the alone time or if they’ve decided you're not worth sharing a bedroll with. When you dream, it is of blood covered hands and your companions scattered around you in pieces like Alfira. 

You wake up choking on a scream, the image of a collection of severed fingers in your hand making you feel nauseous. Every second you stay in camp, you are a threat to them all. You’ve known this for awhile, how could you not, but until today you’d been able to tell yourself that the companionship your friends enjoyed was more of an asset than the risk you posed. 

Now, after shouts about your past betrayal, that argument seems flimsy. 

You start packing as you think out a plan. It’s ludicrous, and will likely end in your death, but you’re not sure if that’s such a bad outcome. Gortash wants you to be his partner again, and while you refused him, should you fake a change of heart, he might trust you enough to let some information slip. You doubt it would be easy, he’s not a complete moron, but his delight in seeing you again is an emotion you can exploit and you are quite the talented actor. 

If you pull off playing turncoat for just a day, you could learn the location Wyll’s father, maybe even break him out yourself. Maybe you could even scope out the fortress for storming it layer, sabotaging some of the traps that are sure to lie in wait. 

And then, once that was done, you could see about helping your companions other issues. Many of them are hurting from issues you caused and the rest you promised to aid when you made it to the city. There is no need for you to break that promise, even should you not be physically at their side.

An elaborate plan forms in your head. Given what Gortash said hours earlier, you used to be quite talented at those. Hopefully the worm in your head and the injury that put it there haven’t reduced your capacity for scheming that much. 

With the plan sketched out in your mind, there’s one important aspect you need to test first. So you mentally reach out to the man who has watched you this entire journey and poke gently.

“Yes ?” The Emperor’s voice echoes in your mind. 

You have a hunch he’s been manipulating you this whole time. It’s not a new suspicion, you’ve suspected since Moonrise, but it’s solidified in the wake of his true appearance. He had appeared to you as a blue tiefling, familiar in a way that didn’t provoke the horror like your other memories. You are not so naive to think that was a coincidence. 

Now that you know what you are, you know the advantages to hiding your fangs and claws among the flocks of sheep. 

Thankfully, you’re a talented manipulator yourself. The Emperor might think he pulls your strings but you now know enough about him to pull back. 

“ The prism will hold as long as we both stay in the city ?” You ask mentally as you pack the last of your supplies. He takes a moment to reply and you wonder if it’s because he’s actually thinking through your answer, or that he wants you to. 

“ Yes, but removing yourself from your companions is unwise .”

“ They don’t trust me anymore .” You think to how Karlach raged at you, tears clinging to her cheeks, how Lae’zel sneered at you like she hasn’t since the first day of the crash. Hopefully those memories will suffice to mask your true feelings on the matter: that you still trust them, that you are leaving to offer them peace. “ If I work on my own, we can solve this faster. But you can’t tell them where I am.”

There is no reply. You go for the killing blow, the string you think the Emperor is most susceptible to being pulled by. “ You’re the only one I can still trust.”

That’s what he wants most. Your devotion. You offer it up to him on a silver platter and hope he doesn’t see the knife behind your back.

“I will do as you ask.” You nod, throwing the last of your supplies into your bag and think that his willingness to believe you is the more convincing of the pretense of his soul than anything he’s told you. 

Digging your hand into your bag, you pull out 300 gold. It’s a small chunk from the party funds but you do feel a little guilty about taking it.  But if you want to pull this off, you’re going to need some help, and while Wither’s is cheap, you doubt he’ll give you a massive discount for hiring in bulk.

The last thing you do before packing up your tent is writing a few letters. The first is to the party as a whole, explaining you are not abandoning their cause but seeking to aid them. That you know you betrayed them, and you will make it right, if it’s the last thing you do. That your absence is intended as start of that penance, not cowardice. 

That you refuse to make them rest with the person who put them through all of this. 

The other two letters you write to Wyll and Astarion respectively. Both of them responded to your revelations with empathy, though it’s empathy you couldn’t help but second guess given Wyll’s tendency to put his feelings last and Astarion’s situation possibly making him reluctant to tell you how he truly feels. However, you write neither of your letters because of their reactions. 

For Wyll, it is to stay his hand while you recover the Duke. You can guess what Mizora has planned, it’s not hard to guess, and you will damn yourself before you allow him to damn himself again for a man who cast him aside. 

For Astarion, it’s a reminder of a promise you made him, one you have no intention of failing. You will see Cazador dead when Astarion decides to confront him. As soon as he casts a sending scroll your way (which you ensure to leave for him), you will be waiting in Cazador’s halls to fight beside him. Even if he doesn’t believe you. 

With that thought, you leave your tent and begin to pack it up. Within the hour, you have left Withers your letters and hired yourself three souls of the dearly departed to aid you in what’s to come. He tries to talk you out of it, but when he realizes you can be swayed, he accepts the messages and promises to deliver them. 

You take only one look back at camp before you walk out into the dark of night.

______

Withers’ ghosts are not good company. They don’t talk at all, merely phantom warriors who follow your every command. It’s a loyalty that churns your stomach. 

Sadly, you do need them. If you wish to accomplish anything, you will need help. This whole plan of yours partially relies on Gortash thinking you without allies. So when you arrive at the fortress, you leave them far outside the gate, each with their own instructions on how to proceed. 

Inside the fortress, you request an audience with the new Grand Duke. You get one and when you make it up the stairs to the hall, you find yourself in the aftermath of a bloodbath. All the nobility from earlier are slain where they once stood, blood spilling out upon the floor like the tide coming in. The blood staining the swords of the Steel Watch makes it obvious who the culprit is. However, not all of them are dead yet, having hid for safety. When they spot you, they run out of their hiding place, making their way towards the stairs. They must think you an ally, given the tense words you exchanged earlier in front of the crowd. As the two run at you, you know what you have to do if you want to pull off this con.

You’ve murdered so many people. Two more should be nothing. But when your lightning bolt runs them both throw, their eyes growing wide from the shock, the smell of burnt hair filling the room, you still want to crawl in a hole and die.

“I see you remain as deadly as ever, old friend,” Gortash says, eyeing you as he walks down the hall. He claps slow, like a man does when he sees an impressive trick and you despise him so. “But I thought I said I didn’t wish to see your face again until you provided me the stone.”

“The situation changed; your little display of my history has left me without a place to stay. And since you proposed we become allies, I decided it was best to ask for your generous hospitality.”

He shakes his head. “Ah, I see. Follow me to my office.” 

When you get up there, you tell him the story you concocted. The revelation of you being Bhalspawn and behind the absolute was too much. They couldn’t bring themselves to kill you, but they couldn’t have you stay either. Out of allies, you have crawled back to Gortash’s door in order to forge a new alliance; he leaves your former friends alone and you will help him defeat Orin and give him the stone.

It’s a tough act to sell. You do your best to appear reluctant to be there, devastated by your friends betrayal enough to still care for their safety, but furious enough at their reaction to be willing to team with their enemy. The key is to appear just the right amount of vulnerable that he’ll think that he is manipulating you and not the other way around. 

Gortash worships the God of control. You hope to give him the illusion of controlling you to keep him distracted should the Duke still be in the fortress and in need of rescue. 

You don’t think he buys it entirely but you suspect he wants to. He eyes you up and down slowly; appraising, before he leans back on his desk. 

“Is all of our arrangement back in place or just the business one?” He asks smiling, and you think it’s intended as warm even though it makes your skin crawl. “I understand you remember little of our previous arrangement, so please disregard should you not be interested. I know you’ve been through a lot today and partially on my account.”

You suspected as much about your relationship, but you’d been hoping to be proven wrong. This is partiality a test and you know it; he wants to see if you’ll do something your allies would never approve of. If you refuse him, you can still pull this off, absolutely. There’s absolutely an angle here to go here of mutual mistrust, and you can pull this off even with it in play. But if you spread your legs, you can play up a different tale: that you are so wrecked and ruined by what you were and how your friends have treated you, that you’re willing to fall to your knees at a scrap of kindness. Plus, you can probably get him to leave his office alone. 

You already know which you’re going to pick.

“And if I’m interested?” You say, trying to sound unsure and a bit conflicted. “Only for fun, nothing else.”

Gortash walks past you, and whispers in your ear. 

You shudder. You hope he mistakes it as lust, but if he takes it as the disgust it truly is, you’re sure that wouldn’t be a turn off for him. 

“Then take what you want.”

Pushing the thought away of sweet kisses you shared mere days ago with someone who held your hand and saw you despite your urges, you grab Gortash’s collar and pull him in for a kiss that’s mostly teeth. 

(You hope Karlach doesn’t hate you for this, for giving your body to a man who put her in chains, regardless of your ulterior motives. You hope Astarion doesn’t hate you for this, for offering yourself up freely to be used when you have the opportunity to say no). 

While you “entertain” your old friend, you keep your mind focused on anything else but what you know is happening under his nose. One of your ghosts, pretending to be one of Gortash’s right hand men, is figuring out where the Duke is located from some loose lipped Banites. Another is checking the top floor and Gortash’s office for traps and, should everything go to plan, sabotaging them just enough so they’ll fail quickly without being obviously disarmed. The last is in charge of making a map of the fortress with all the secret entrances and exists they can find. You plan to copy it to send to your friends, Gortash might restrict their access now that you are not among their number. The original you plan to keep to yourself; once Gortash wises up to what you’re up to, you too will need other means of entry. 

After, when he’s asleep, you throw back on your robes and look out the window. It takes ten minutes, but eventually the raven summoned by one of your hirlings flies by with a red and green ribbon around its leg. It’s a code you agreed on beforehand. The red ribbon tells you the Duke is no longer being held in the fortress. The green tells you the other tasks you assigned are complete.

You look over your shoulder at Gortash. You could try to kill him now, but all his guards are outside. You’re not so foolish to think you can take them all on, including the Steel Watch. You’ll just have to trust Karlach and the rest will get the job done better than you ever could.

With that, you misty step into the roof of the fortress that you can see from the window, cast feather fall on yourself and jump off the edge to meet your fellow ghosts on the shore.

____

You lose one of your ghosts freeing everyone from the Iron Throne, along with some of the Gondians. 

All things considered, you did a far better job than you could have hoped. But the death of some of the Gondians sting regardless, especially remembering Gortash’s words over the com. If you had your friends with you, you could have probably saved them all. 

But if you had your friends with you, there would be no way you could know all this within 4 hours. They would have never approved your plan to use yourself as a lure to bait Gortash into a trap.

The Emperor expands his protection to the Duke with little prodding which is nice. When the man recovers himself,  he asks about who you are and you don’t think much about your answer. 

“I’m a friend of your son.”

It’s the wrong thing to say. It never occurred to you that Wyll’s name would inspire any reaction other than awe or happiness. An apprehensive scowl crossed the Duke’s face, and he looks to you like you told him you had a poisonous snake for him. 

“That doesn’t provide me much reassurance.”

You really shouldn’t snap at him. Wyll will be mad at you later for it, you know this, and you don’t really want to upset him. But you are tired, freezing from dirty water and running on fitful sleep. So, you hope Wyll might forgive you when you cast hold person on his father to hiss right in his face. 

“Listen,” you hiss and you can hear the growl of the Urge in your tone, the beast that insists you tear this man limb from limb despite all the effort you made just to save him. “Your son has done far more for this city than you could ever dream of. It’s only out of regard for him that you’re not drowning in a watery grave. So I suggest you pay fucking attention to what I’m about to show you.” And with that, you throw the memories Wyll showed you of his deal straight into the Duke’s head, taking no care to soften up the harsher bits like roaring pain of a lost eye, or the despair when the one person Wyll trusted to aid him slammed a door in his face. 

When you release  him from hold person he doesn’t even try to attack you back. He just steps back and collapses into one of the submarine chairs and you turn away from him before you give into the temptation to flood his mind with some of the horrors you have locked away. 

You walk the Duke back to camp yourself, not willing to risk Gortash or Mizora appearing and spoiling your work. When the camp is in sight, you turn invisible and tell the Duke to head forward without you. You watch as he enters and the camp erupts into chaos, Wyll running at his father to touch his shoulder, ensure that he’s real. When the man looks up to look in the darkness of the night, you take that as your cue to depart and tell yourself he wasn’t looking for you.

____

The book isn’t hard to get, all things considered. You do injure yourself quite a bit getting through the traps, but the ghosts help enough to ensure you make it in the first place. 

You steal a scroll of find familiar while you’re there, conjuring an owl. It feels a bit risky to strap the records you’ve stolen to a bird along with some of the rarer spell scrolls you found, but you can mentally follow the bird until it reaches its destination, so you decide it’s not a terrible idea. 

You include a note too, scribbled down on the back of some parchment you found in the vaults. 

“Do what you may but remember: I prefer Gale Dekarios over any God. I think the world would agree with me.”

You watch as the bird flies to Gale, who the owl locates investigating a murder outside the temple of the open hand. It drops the contents of its package into Gale’s awaiting arms and then goes to perch on Astarion’s hair, deciding his curls look the most comfortable. 

Gale opens the package and inhales a sharp breath as he takes in the contents. To your surprise, he doesn’t instantly go to pour over the contents of the book or the scrolls and instead reaches for your note first. You watch as he reads over the words, once, then twice, before he inhales softly. When he looks up to your owl, his mouth is formed to say the first syllables of your name. 

You break the connection at once and dismiss the familiar before summoning the owl in front of you. It chirps once, irritated to be moved from Astarion’s curls, and you wait for it to complete its tirade before it jumps back on your shoulder. 

____

You don’t get the sending from Astarion when he goes to confront Cazador. You can guess why: if he asks and you don’t show, then he has to deal with another person letting him down. If he doesn’t ask, he can keep the hope you would have shown had your known.

Thankfully, you know the bastard pretty well by now. The owl familiar is a dedicated snitch and when it sees the gang heading out toward Cazador’s manor, it reports back to you dutifully. 

When you make it to the manor, they’ve already started their invasion and you follow the trail of bodies to an elevator that leads deep below. Seeing the party up ahead speaking to someone behind what looks like a cell, you tuck into a side room as to not be noticed. In that side room, as you hear a story from a skull, and read notes on the nature of vampires, you feel almost sick with dread. You don’t like the pieces of this puzzle you have started to put together. 

When you hear the doors open to the ritual chamber, you drink a potion of greater invisibility on yourself (thank you Lorekan for your generous unwilling donation) and follow in the shadows. You take in the cages upon cages of spawn with dawning horror, hating you are here in the shadows rather than at Astairon’s side. Stepping into the grand chamber, you look forth just in time to see Cazador teleport Astarion across the circle into magical restraints just like the rest of his fellow spawn. 

You don’t think. You twin daylight and dimension door despite your exhaustion from the last few days. The daylight you cast right in Cazador’s stupid staff, causing him to drop it as he screeches away from the beam. The dimension door you cast on yourself so you appear, still invisible, right in front of Astarion.

You work at his bindings. He seems to notice and flinches, clearly afraid of invisible hands and you mentally prob his tadpole just enough so he knows it’s you. With that, he relaxes somewhat, and looks down and to the right, a few inches off from where you’re actually located. 

“So you meant it,” he whispers, a disbelieving smile on his face. “You really intend to help me.”

The awe in his voice hurts, but you know it’s deserved. He has every reason to doubt you, despite the letter that you left. Not because of anything you’ve done but because of his own history, that has taught him hope is for fools and burns harsher than the sun when it turns. You wish you could tell him that you’d never leave him to Cazador, he could have spat and raged at you for what you were and you’d still be in this dusty tomb because no one should experience what he’s gone through. That none of your friends deserve any of this. 

But you don’t have time for that. So instead you break the last of his bindings and step back. Infuse your voice with enough confidence that you hope he can believe in it. 

“Like I would miss killing Cazador.”

When he’s freed, he rushes into the fight, daggers in hand. You join as well, using your invisibility to your advantage as you thunderwave Cazador’s minions off of his poorly designed platform. Karlach shouts your name, excited, but you force yourself not to pay her too much mind.

When the last of the minions has fallen, you cast regular invisibility on yourself before the greater version wares off. You head towards the stairs and watch as Astarion stands over his tormentor, requesting that Shadowheart, Karlach or Lae’zel show him an image of his back. They all refuse and he turns his gaze towards the platform where he last saw your thunderwave. You know what he’s asking you.

So you send him three thoughts via the tadpole, the first two being memories. The first is what you learned from the skull and papers in Cazador’s quarters, about what happened to the souls of true vampires, how he might be falling into a cycle. You then send him the image of his back, the cruel contract marked there, should he decide to carve it into Cazador’s flesh. Lastly, you send him your own words, and hope they still hold weight. 

“You can be more than he made you.”

You can hear him saying something as he loops over Cazador and then he starts stabbing widely, ambitions of ascending vanishing with every stab. With that sight, you make your exit, though you do send him a picture of the waiting Gur in the elevator as you leave it so he knows what awaits him. 

Later, as you take a rest in an abandoned slum, you hear a voice in your head. A sending spell. The voice that echoes in your mind is not that of your companions who know how to cast the spell, but instead Astarion. He must have found a scroll of it. 

“You’re more than what he made you too. Come home.”

You curl your knees to your chest and bury your face into your robes. They smell like sewer and shit. You wish desperately that you were back at camp, back home, where you could check on Astarion after the day he had and then Wyll could give you advice for getting smells out of fabric. The desire pulls at your gut to reply, to tell him that he used the word home, that you are so proud of him. 

Thank the Gods you’re so used to resisting your urges by now. Otherwise, you might have caved.

_____

“Am I allowed to tell the others of your status? They are badgering me.”

You’re knee deep is sewer water and half of your robes are covered in grease. The headache you’ve had for the last two days makes you hiss whenever you pass a torch. The last thing you want to deal with is his royal squidness. 

“You can’t tell them where I am.”

“I know that,” he sounds rather irate and wow, they must really be bothering him if they’ve gotten under his skin. “They merely wish to know if you’re alive. They found your attempt to access the foundry.”

Ah, right. That had gone poorly: the Watcher’s had spotted you before you could even enter the first floor and you barely got away with all your limbs intact. The whole affair cost you another one of your ghosts, at large amount of blood, and a good deal of healing potions. It served you right for thinking you could take on something that required brute force with clever spell work. 

“Are they alright?”

“I am not a messenger pigeon. But you did not answer my question.”

You figure they have to be mostly alright if they’re able to pester the Emperor. You tell him he can inform them of your status and continue to muck through the sewers, to locate your father’s stupid murder tribunal. 

One dead holyphant later, you emerge from the sewers to find the foundry nothing but smoke and rubble. You almost cheer in the middle of the lower city.

_____

You get a sending from Gortash the same day he dies. The fact he bothered at all catches you by surprise. 

At the time, you’re trying to figure out how to free Orpheus, which has mostly been an exercise in frustration. Figuring out how to smash whatever bindings that cage the prince is beyond your knowledge base. You’re halfway through another useless tome you bribed the shopkeep to let you skim without buying when Gortash’s voice echoes in your mind. 

“I’ll see you in Avernus, traitor.”

You look up, convinced for a moment he’s bothered to leave his tower behind to hunt you down. But the bookstore is empty save your friendly ghosts and the shopkeep. 

You don’t have to think long about your reply.

“Looking forward to it, old friend.”

You don’t know if he heard your reply before Karlach slays him, but Gods you hope he did.

______

You make an effort to steal the hammer by yourself.

The contract Raphael offered you was tempting (he tracked you down in an alley somehow)but you know giving the demon the crown is far too risky. This entire solo endeavor you’ve embarked upon is about cleaning up your messes, not creating more. So you take the portal to Raphel’s gaudy excuse for a house and try not to scream when you learn you can’t gain the hammer without Raphael coming to call.

You can’t win a fight with a cambion by yourself with only one ghost to help you. So instead, you decide to at least map the place for threats so you can send it their way. A scouting mission is better than nothing.

That’s how you find the Incubus. You stop dead in your tracks when you see Harleep on the bed, and for a horrible moment, you think Raphael is not only home, but dressed to psychologically scar you. When you learn they are an incubus it’s a relief until they make you an offer. 

“We play a game and I’ll tell you the passcode. You’ll have more fun if you lose.”

You’re not bad at games. This could be a way to help your companions. “Alright on one stipulation: you tell my friends the code instead.”

The incubus agrees. You get naked as requested, and it isn’t until they ask what form you’d prefer that you realize this game Harleep wants to play is not naked poker. The realization makes you feel rather stupid. You blame the lack of sleep, compounded exhaustion, hunger and unhealed injuries for the oversight. 

You could back out, this you know. Orpheus’ fate is not something you’re to blame for, one of the few things your past self did not ruin. But Lae’zel turned on her God, her people, partially because she believed in your word. You trust her with your life. The idea of letting her down is physically upsetting. 

You suppose you could fight and torture him for the information. That’s an option. But you are tired, and worn weary, and you’ve already used your flesh as a bartering chip for information with Gortash, so what’s one more time? 

(It’s not like you care about your own fate anyway).

You keep your soul in the end, but barely. When it’s done and you’re picking up your clothes from the floor, you realize you have another request. 

“Can you not tell my friends what I did to get the passcode?”

The incubus looks like you now, wearing that same stupid harness. It makes your skin crawl seeing the outfit on your body. They shake their head and click their tongue.

“Not in our original terms and conditions, I’m afraid.” And with that he vanishes.

You have not bothered to bathe properly since this all started given your limited funds, but when you leave Avernus, you spend some coin on a bathhouse. As you wash, you try not to pay much mind to the bruises left by clawed hands.

 It’s far easier said than done. 

_____

Finding the cloister of Shar is easy, in the end. All you had to do was look lost and depressed in a disguise among the refugees and you had a location by the end of the day. The House of Grief is such a Shar name your eyes could roll out of your skull. 

You’re not quite sure how to best help Shadowheart while not overriding her ability to make her own choices. You’d sneak in behind the party again like you did with Astarion, but you’re almost positive one of them has see invisibility cast on themselves at all times, so that’s no longer an option. And you don’t have the ability or the desire to lay waste to the place without Shadowheart’s input. 

(A part of you is aware how ridiculous you’re being. They clearly want you back, you get multiple sendings each night asking you to return. Your excuse that your distance is for their sake only relies on your nightly fits as the sole piece of evidence in its favor. The real reason you’re still staying away gnaws at you when you let your mind drift. The person who left them is not the person you are now. You were Bhalspawn then too, sure, but you hadn’t cozied up to Gortash and killed someone to gain his trust. That version of you had not strangled a hollyphant to death, nor had that version of you written off some Godians as an acceptable loss. The person you were merely days ago was someone dumb enough to get sucked into a deal with an incubus of all things.

Your distance now is entirely out of fear that you will return and they will hate what you become in your absence).

In the end, you decide on three things to aid them. The first is information on how to find the house: they probably have it already, but it can’t hurt to add. The second is what is left of your gold, placed in a backpack along with any supplies that aren’t absolutely necessary. You give the backpack to Bex at the refugee camp and she promises to deliver it, though not before she comments on your sickly appearance.

The last thing you do is the both the easiest and the hardest. It’s physically easy, all you have to do it go to the Stormshore Tabernacle. But hard part is what you intend to do when you arrive. 

You stand in front of the Selune shrine, chewing at your lower lip. You are not one for the Gods, you’ve professed to loathe them on the regular, and to make yourself supplicant for one feels like licking the ground. But Selune had saved Shadowheart back in the Shadowed realms, she had granted Shadowheart her new powers and abilities and for that, you can force yourself to kneel. 

“Please aid and guide my friend Shadowheart into the House of Grief,” you say, hating how this position of prayer feels familiar. “Assist her in her quest to find what the Lady of Sorrows has taken from her. See her allies protected and unharmed amongst the shadows.”

You light some incense with a cantrip and leave an offering with the bit of gold you saved for the occasion. You’re not sure if the Goddess hears you, but you have to hope. When your last ghost arrives to tell you that they spotted your companions heading for the cloister, you finally break your prayer and stretch out the ache in your shoulders.

Shadowheart is going to confront her former God. It is about time you did the same. 

____

You lose your last ghost in the stupid trial to enter the damned temple. It’s not a total surprise, you knew you’d be outnumbered, but it hurts all the same to see your last mimicry of companionship go up in smoke.

You’ve felt alone all the time but it isn’t until you stand among the bodies of Bhaal’s faithful that you truly are alone in reality. 

You have to take a rest after the fight which you find obnoxious. It can’t be helped though: with your fitful sleep and busy days, you’re burning on fumes. On the off chance you manage to survive your fathers temple, you’re going to sleep on the first horizontal space you find. Ideally for at least a day. 

For now, you pull out your journal as your body recovers and write down some thoughts, should this go poorly in a multitude of ways. Notes to your friends apologizing for what you’ve done when you regret it, and apologizing for the pain you caused when you don’t. Various thoughts on things you couldn’t find solutions for, leads that Karlach might want to consider for her engine, ideas on how Astarion can still feel the sun. A thank you letter for being a friend to a monster.

You leave the journal on the floor outside the temple doors. Your bastard of a Butler is waiting for you and you resist the urge to shock him when he gleefully addresses you. 

“Welcome home!” He crows, little hands pulling at your robes as if to straighten them.

Home. What a farce. Your home is on the surface among a smartass vampire, an ex-cultist, a former chosen, a lost warrior, a kind devil and a tiefling who’s heart burns brighter than the engine in her chest. But you don’t say any of that. Instead, you enter through the doors.

_____

When Orin transforms, it really sinks in how fucked you are. 

It’s not a total surprise, but you’d been hoping you’d have at least a shot of coming out of this alive. If you haven’t been running yourself ragged over the last few days, you probably would have one; you’re a talented caster despite your magic’s tendency to act up. But you’ve run your well dry, and you know it, so as you try to dodge blows and strike back, you know you’re only buying time.

You hope they won’t hang your body up like decor after she wins. Your companions will likely bury you properly should that come to pass, but you’d like to save them the experience of having to un-skewer your corpse. 

You try to dodge another swipe but trip in the process, landing flat on your ass. the Slayer looms above you and in that brief second, you wince, waiting for the final strike to come. 

You’re convinced you’re dreaming when instead of your head being severed from your shoulders, three eldrich blasts hit Orin right in the chest pushing her away from you. Maybe you’ve gotten such little sleep you’ve started hallucinating.

Gale appearing via a dimension door with Shadowheart in tow is what convinces you this is real. You can only stare as Gale casts globe of invunerbily over you three, saving you all from another slice from Orin’s claws. Shadowheart reaches her hand down to tap your forehead and you feel days old wounds close along with your new ones. When you look up at her, her hand is outstretched towards you, and her eyes are wet.

“You’re so stupid,” she says, voice thick. “When we get out of here, I’m going to scream at you for hours.”

An arrow flies past the globe and you turn your head to see Astarion, Karlach and Lae’zel carving their way through the assembled Bhaalists on the stairs. Karlach shoots you a grin, and Lae’zel gives you a nod when they spot you. When Astarion spots you, he looks relieved for a moment before he yells in your direction. 

“Get up you imbicile. Do you think you can win this fight from the floor!”

A smile pulls at your face. You turn back to Shadowheart and take her hand, letting her pull you to your feet. You’re still exhausted after the week you’ve had, but now that your friends are here, you feel reenergixed almost. Your magic swells in you and you turn your gaze to Orin and the symbol of your father carved into the stone behind her.

Your real home has come to claim you. Bhaal’s blood may run through your veins but your real family stands next to you ready to fend him off.

When you cast shatter towards the slayer and her allies, you expand the range just enough that the stone carving of Bhaal’s symbol in the rock cracks with the spell right down the middle. 

[bythevenus]

ℭ𝐻𝐴𝑃𝑇𝐸𝑅⠀𝔒𝑁𝐸: Always The King, Never My Father.

“We keep losing. My daughter, our Princess, has been captured.” The King’s teeth gritted with rage. His jaw was set and his eyes were as dark as midnight.

He was no longer sitting gracefully on his throne. The throne and the castle, The Shire itself, had been reduced to ashes, leaving us no choice but to hide. Moving underground in secret, hoping that one day we would tear down The Hollow from below. Like some worms.

But with the Princess─my half-sibling─captured, it felt like a brutal blow to us. A reminder of every day we continued to lose people, friends, families, and a tiny bit of sanity. A reminder of every day that we were closer to the end of the 𝘸𝘢𝘳. A reminder that we were on the losing side.

“And the General has only given us useless information lately.” The King’s eyes felt like a dagger in mine, as if he blamed me for everything. For not pleasing the General enough to give us enough information to fight The Hollow back.

But the truth is, that was never the case. I didn’t have to please the General the way the King and his right hand men thought, just to get a piece of information. He took me not for the reason they thought. He didn’t even look at me at first.

Avenging his innocent mother, who had been killed by the tyrant of his kingdom as punishment for his mistake, was all that he needed. And I was just his pawn to gain my kingdom’s trust. For even my kingdom refused to deal with him without a 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘣𝘭𝘦 explanation, and the gruesome end her mother had met years ago was already too long ago to be considered a plausible explanation.

“𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯’𝘵 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘮𝘪𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘧.” I remembered him saying as the snow fell outside the cottage, but the weather was never as cold as the grey eyes that had seen his mother killed and her bones thrown out for the wolves to eat.

Another truth, the useless informations the king had spoken of, had cost the General dearly. And those useless informations had bought us more time to survive. Without those useless informations, we would all have been captured and killed. How often had we almost launched a reckless attack, if only the General had never confided in us The Hollow’s plan?

“It wasn’t useless, he had been─” I stopped halfway when I noticed that all the eyes in the room were gleaming with suspicion as I tried to defend him. I bit my lips hard to stop myself from saying many things I badly wanted to say, of how badly I wanted to defend him.

They had enough suspicions about what was going on between me and the General. I didn’t want to feed them any more informations so they could use it against me or worse: against him. They had agreed to sell me to the General for one piece of information a week, so that was all they had.

Everything that was said and done between me and the General in that hidden cottage of us was to remain a secret; all the truths and all the reasons; all the combat trainings and all the unspoken feelings.

“You must work harder. At your next meeting, force him to bring the information about where my daughter was taken captive, tell him it is the most important information we need at the moment.” The King’s order was final. I bit down on my trembling lips.

How much it hurt to see him doing everything he could for his captive daughter. While at the other end of the table was his other daughter, whom he had sold as a captive to the spy for information.

“Remind him, he owed us his blood and bones, and every blood bound to him.”

Every blood bound to him, that was 𝘮𝘦, by the blood bond we were forced to make before the king almost a year ago, when all this began.

If he failed to keep his promise, the blood would boil inside him and his bones would crack slowly, killing him in the most painful way from the inside. As would I. I nodded at last. Forever the King’s inferior and never my father’s daughter. “I will try.”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀•⠀⠀•⠀⠀•

FULL SERIES IN: THORNS IN THRONES🗡️🌹. . . ❜.

[gendervapor14]

01746 birthday bash ~ day five ~ chapter 50: hopeless

content warnings: heavy angst, alcoholism word count: 577 words brief summary: my take on my favorite scene in law's backstory: rosinante breaking down in tears the night before he becomes just "cora".

happy birthday 01746. my sweet little fucked up story. i can't believe i created you. ♥

Crickets droned on. Law snored softly. Every page was a blur. The sea, the sky, it was all merging together.

Ten hospitals. Six months. All of it, equivalent to nothing.

The fire before him was crackling low, on its way to self-extinguishing. Still hot enough to render paper to ash, little orange worms of hot ember dancing along tattered edges. Lazily, his hand rustled around within the roomy pockets of his coat for any pages left behind. He hardly skimmed them before tossing them in.

“Enemy.” burned quickly. Of course the World Government tainted hospitals. I can’t believe how desperate they are.

“We needed a better plan.” was gobbled up eagerly by hungry flame. So inclined to cover up their own horrible misdeeds, they purposely miseducated trained professionals. People who are trusted with life itself.

“Marines.” fluttered into the fire.  I’ll never wear that justice coat again.

With a defeated belch, Rosinante stared at the sleeping snail planted on top of a stack of sea charts. Receiver firm in hand, anyway. “I wouldn’t pick up if I were you, either. I promised I wasn’t going to do anything stupid.” He mumbled, “Then I quit my mission for half a year. Never called, never looked for you.”

For a moment, he waited for a reply that would never come. Hung his head and let his heavy eyelids flutter shut. “I did exactly what I said I wouldn’t do anymore. I disappeared.”

The receiver hit the dirt without a sound. His hands fisted around the book of sea charts in his lap. His brother’s beloved sea charts. The solution, he thought, the diamond in the rough. He tore out a handful of pages and whipped them over the cliff’s edge, towards the sea. Ancient maps tore and fluttered in the wind until they clung to the surface of the water. Slowly breaking down, deteriorating.

And then, he downed the rest of that sweet bottle of white wine. The bottle he saved for months now, the cure bottle. The celebration bottle. Tasted bitter as hell.

What the hell am I doing…? I’m completely isolated now, forcing this poor kid to relive his horrible childhood, over and over again. I might as well have crucified him outside a church and lit a match. He stared at the blurring waves, legs folded up, moonlight turning dark feathers a glistening violet. His sickness is only getting worse. It’s not even the will of D driving me anymore. I don’t care about that anymore. I’m not sure I ever did.

When he dies, then what, Rosinante? What purpose do you have? You’ve turned your back on your family, blood and otherwise. There’s nothing left.

An aftershock of rage coursed through him. He swayed up to his feet, shoulders trembling. Threw the empty bottle against the rocky surface, hard, internally delighted with the sprinkle of glass, the shattering echo. The heat prickled then, sparked up from his sternum, clogged his throat, his nose. His eyes. I just…I feel so sorry for this damn kid. He’s got Flevance under his skin, his family’s death in his eyes, and my brother’s wretched strings tangled around every limb. He needs help, but it just seems so impossible…and if I give up…if I do nothing…he’s going to become just as miserably dangerous as Doflamingo. But what am I supposed to do? Love didn’t save Sengoku, Tsuru, or Sora from my stupidity. Love won't save Law from White Lead Disease.

read the full story here ♥

previous entry here!

[grimm-rider]

Entry 14

I was anxious about this mission even before we discovered the Winter Collector hidden beneath Ivoryglass. Talsune had called me on it the night before.

Okay, maybe not really ‘called me on it’ so much as checked in on why he was feeling my anxiety. Anyways, since I couldn’t hide it from him anyways, I was honest with him. Those brain monsters from before had set me on edge.

He gave me a knowing look, and asked if I was worried about ‘the other Battleflower’. Obviously! Obviously I am. They might have been hollowing her out and sticking one of those alien brain things into her head while we dicked around, and what the fuck could I do about it? Apparently in the past I had promised her that she would be alright. Some promise that turned out to be. Why the hell had I said that? I could have said any number of things, but I had to go and promise her that everything would be alright before telling her I’d take her away from this planet.

And then I left.

It’s not like she’s the first person I’ve ever left behind. Not even the first person I’ve broken a promise to in doing so. But this feels different. I don’t know. Maybe it’s just because I don’t remember doing it. Maybe if I could remember leaving her, remember making the choice to toy with her, I would feel as cold about it as ever. But…I don’t know. Those weren’t just some small stupid promises like the ones I’d made and broken in the past. Broken hearts are one thing, they’ll eventually get over them and move on, they’re basically meaningless. But why would I promise to get her off this planet if I didn’t plan on delivering? Give her hope of escaping this gilded prison just to snatch it away? That’s…pretty low, even for me. Even worse if I had even an inkling of Yrax’s connection to the Dominion—and how far he might go with it.

Even if I give myself the benefit of the doubt and assume I thought I was going to be coming back for the keys, that was clearly too little too late. And frankly I’m not giving myself that much benefit of the doubt. I have no idea what I had planned back then, what I was up to, why I was going to the places I was. I still don’t even know if I was really on Elvana’s or Baba Yaga’s side in this damn fight. Since I was with Elvana, there’s not a chance I could have taken Cesseer with me back then. Which means either I intended to come back for her, or I intended to abandon her, and I don’t know which it was, and frankly I don’t know if it matters which it was. Either way, I went and lost my memories, and ended up here too late to convince her to leave without fighting for Yrax, and now she might be killed and hollowed out to be puppeteered by an alien consciousness.

I feel…bad. I could hardly force myself to eat, and I feel this roiling feeling inside, and I hate it. I want to hurry up and save her so I can quit worrying and feeling like…this.

These people are making me soft. I’ve never felt like this before. I hate it.

And this was the mindset I was in when Edeya revealed that the machine Cesseer had seen Elvana working on with Yrax—the one I had told her not to worry about—was a Winter Collector. One of the machines used by Baba Yaga to create the eternal cold in Irrisen. An artifact of immense power. Virtually indestructible. Able to freeze over an entire country. Maybe even enough to freeze an entire world if in the wrong hands.

And Elvana had been toying with it.

Wrong hands, indeed.

We didn’t have time to discuss, when all hell broke loose. A shadow fell over us as the hole in the top of glacier leading up into the sky fell dark. Something both technological and mechanical passed overhead—my fractured memories helpfully provided a name: a Dominion Dropship. Almost as soon as I warned the others that it was a Dominion ship, nightmare creatures began to drop from it. Along with two enormous crimson worms, which began burrowing into the ice the moment they touched the ground. From the angle, I had a sinking feeling they were heading for the Winter Collector—and I wasn’t the only one who thought so, as Edeya voiced the same.

All around us, Drakelanders began erupting into monstrous forms. Their Dragonkin mounts began twisting and mutating like Malesinder had. Those who were left shouted in horror and betrayal. I heard someone yell that Yrax had played them. Many fled. Those that were left did the sensible thing and joined forces with the Dragon Legion to defend their planet from the terrors from between the stars. How long this truce will last beyond this battle is anyone’s guess—old grudges and generations of war aren’t buried over a single day’s combat side-by-side. But who knows? Maybe some of them will bury their differences.

Gods that sounds sappy. Like something Nestian would wish for. I’m just making observations. It seems likely some of them might bury the hatchet after this. You don’t fight for your life side-by-side with someone and not come out understanding them at least a little.

…

Yeah.

Anyways.

We had to make a dash for Ivoryglass, but now there was chaos unfolding between us and it. Aenland was the first to move, Nevra flapping forward and the two of them acting as one—Nevra shot a breath of electricity which met Aenland’s arrows, and they shot through the enemies that had blocked their path.

I wasn’t one to be outdone. And I knew exactly how to get across this battlefield untouched. Talsune understood my intent as soon as I began to cast. Screaming flames burst up around the enemies, and Talsune let out a breath of fire to join it, before curling his wings back and diving through the flames, his fireproof scales protecting both of us as we passed through the fire and joined Aenland on the other side.

Greta charged through the enemies in her wolf form, tearing any that were unfortunate enough to get too close apart with her vicious sharp fangs. She was laughing and covered in alien blood when she stopped beside me.

A moment later, Edeya popped into existence beside the rest of us, having teleported across the battlefield with Illivor.

The only person left was Nestian. Our bear friend got into the flying cauldron, and took out Baba Yaga’s Besom. He began flying forward, then flipped the entire thing upside down and clung to the bottom of the cauldron for dear life. Nothing coming from above could touch him, and anything coming from below was beaten back by the Besom. Nestian skidded to a halt with us outside of the gates of Ivoryglass. We saw Captain Bescaylie and Commander Pharamol fly by. Bescaylie held out a hand to a Drakelander, and lifted the former enemy onto Efrixes’ back, to join the fight against the Dominion together.

At the entrance to the fortress, we were met by a Drakelander Seer, much like the Seer on the Dragon Legion’s council. Unlike the warriors outside who understood Yrax’s betrayal and stood to fight against him, this man decided to lay down his life for the dragon.

And lay down his life he did. He only got a single ice-imbued fireball off before Aenland filled him with arrows and left him bleeding on the floor.

Too bad, if he’d been as tough as the sorcerers I’d been considering taking a body to make use of my new Create Undead spell, but he hardly seems worth it.

Still, there’s always the chance that Yrax has another sorcerer or two who are still loyal lurking around somewhere that no one will miss.

The fight wasn’t over just because the Seer was dead. A door to our left swung open, and another of the Drakelander Barbarians charged out at Nestian. I had Talsune swing his blade over our bear friend’s head, catching the Barbarian a couple of times, before I grabbed him with Bomeshaker and tossed him backwards by his own spine. Nestian stepped forward and finished him off a moment later.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t alone. A second one ran out of the building, dodged around Nestian, and went straight for Edeya. He only cut through the magic of her False Life—and left himself within range of both Greta and Nestian’s axes. He wasn’t going to get a second shot at trying to cut down our dear Edeya.

I didn’t get to watch, however, as at the moment a door to our right opened and two more Barbarians ran out—these two taking swings at Nevra and Talsune. However they clattered against hard scales or were knocked aside by swift wings and tails. The one that attacked Nevra didn’t last long, jabbed by Nevra’s lance and shot through by Nestian’s arrows. Talsune followed suit, slashing through the man who had attacked us, and I grabbed him with a second Boneshaker and tossed him aside. A moment later Greta was beside us, and cut through the man with her axe—the other one had been killed by Nestian while we’d been busy.

Aenland and Edeya went into the guard houses and began opening the next door.

Inside were six grand statues, and what appeared to be an eyeless dragonkin sitting in the back of the room. Edeya identified the creature as half-dragon half-destrachan.

Above us, the mirror-like ice shimmered and Yrax appeared, as if using Irriseni Mirror Sight. But that was impossible, because that spell only worked on actual mirrors, it wouldn’t work on ice, no matter how well polished and mirror-like the surface. So this spell was clearly something unique to the dragon, based on the Winter Witches’ magic, but different.

The dragon greeted us and was surprised we’d survived to enter the fortress. Aenland told him that as our host he should come here in person to greet us, as was proper. He and the dragon began going back and forth about what was proper etiquette—it’s far more amusing when Aenland is being Aenland-y at someone who isn’t me. The dragon eventually gave up in a huff and told us that we should meet him upstairs, and there was someone eagerly awaiting us there. Assuming we could survive fighting his son—Iantor.

My blood felt as cold as the ice, wondering if the ‘someone eagerly awaiting us’ was meant to reference Cesseer. I didn’t dare to ask. If it isn’t her, if he hasn’t realized she wasn’t playing her part of spy and that we—I—care what happens to her…it might put the idea into his head if I say something.

I do wonder. Captain Pharamol hadn’t remembered me from my previous visit. Only a vague ‘she had some companion’. So far Yrax hasn’t shown any sign of remembering me, either. Which could be good, if he’d had any idea I’d talked to Cesseer back then. But it’s strange that I was so…unmemorable, to everyone but Cesseer.

I mean, I’m me. I tend to make myself memorable.

At least to everyone but myself, all things considered, but that’s beside the point. At least I assume it is.

Regardless, the ice had turned back into regular ice, and the half-dragon had stood from his sitting position in the middle of the floor. He noted that his father had just said he was to kill us, so that’s what he was going to do.

So apparently this eyeless thing was Iantor, Yrax’s offspring. He was a rather pathetic looking creature, all told. He had the vivid white scales of his father, up until his face, which was fleshy, bald, and wrinkled like a hairless cat. He was eyeless, with a gaping mouth full of needle-like teeth that were in no way draconic. He was built like a dragonkin, but instead of a strong warrior’s body like Talsune or a sleek dextrious body like Nevra, this creature’s body looked almost bloated. Only its wings were impressive—larger and stronger than our dragonkins’, layered in scales and leather.

Iantor declared that he was going to kill us and offer us up to his father. I informed him that wasn’t going to happen, he was simply going to die here, and his father would soon follow.

The eyeless creature snarled, and three of the nearby statues began to crack. At first it seemed like they would crumble—but then it became clear that something underneath was freeing itself. Three Dominion Fossil Golems. The same thing Nazhena had summoned to fight alongside her from within the Dancing Hut, what felt like so long ago now—but these ones were whole, undamaged. And there were three.

Then Iantor flew forward, but rather than attack us, he flapped his strong wings and whipped up a dust cloud—obscuring much of the room in the very debris his statues had kicked up when they’d broken free. It became difficult to make out Iantor or any of the more distant golems, although one was looming over us.

Nestian held out a hand to Aenland in a silent request. Aenland without a word pulled out the Adamantine Warhammer and passed it over to our bear friend. It was the weapon Aenland had once used to punch through the other Fossil Golem’s defenses. In Nestian’s hands against these ones it was going to be deadly.

Nestian stepped towards the nearest golem, taking the hit like a pro as the fists came down on him, and shrugging off the golem’s attempt to fossilize his body.

As yes, the fossilization. The thing that caused us to have to force hair soup down Aenland’s throat to cure him.

Nestian laid into the golem, bashing huge chunks out of its legs with the warhammer.

The golem lurched forward, and took a second swing at Nestian. A direct hit. Then a second fist came down—not aiming for our bear friend. It was coming straight down for me. I braced myself. But the impact never came. Nestian had thrown himself in front of me, taking the brunt of the blow. And by some miracle, still resisting the fossilization. His fur was slick with his own blood, but he was still standing.

I still don’t understand why Nestian always does that. I…appreciate it. He’s probably saved my life a few times. But I don’t get why he gets himself hurt on my behalf.

Still, in the moment he gave Aenland and Nevra an opening to fly around the lumbering thing and out of the dust cloud. Out of sight. But I could hear the crackle of electricity followed by the thwap of his arrows, and see how the golem’s massive form shuddered and finally fell a moment later. And the sound of arrows didn’t stop—another Fossil Golem on the opposite end of the dust cloud, difficult to see through the debris, began to hesitate and shudder.

One of those massive silhouettes moved forward, faster than one might expect of its lumbering form—running straight for Greta. It swung. But it was the one Aenland had damaged, and he had apparently damaged it immensely, because rather than bringing a fist down on my dear Greta, the massive construct’s arm fell off mid-swing.

The last remaining silhouette moved forward, taking a swing towards Edeya, not far from me. Nestian pulled her out of the way, taking the blow just as he had for me. He looked badly battered. There was no way he could keep taking blows like that for us.

Talsune and I stepped away from Nestian and Edeya, lining up the golem and Iantor for a flame breath. Then when they were crispy I Boneshattered Iantor, followed by a Quickened Boneshaker, which I used to brad Iantor down onto the head of the golem by his own shattered twisted shards of bone. With his form forcefully grounded, the dust cloud settled.

Which meant there was nothing to keep Aenland from going to town.

Iantor swooped down, landing before us, and let out the most awful noise. It felt like it tore through my skin and bones with the sound.

It was the last thing he did. His cry had not been loud enough to reach Aenland and Nevra, flying high above us. They swooped down, Nevra impaled Iantor with her glaive, and as they flew Aenland unleased his arrows into the last remaining Fossil Golem (the third one fell at some point in between the dust cloud falling and Iantor howling at us, I missed what exactly happened to it.)

The room fell silent. We spent some time healing, and looked over the room. We found a place for a fourth Fossil Golem that had been absent—our standing theory is that the one Nazhena had thrown at us had come from here. Maybe Elvana had taken it on her way out the last time we’d visited.

Once our wounds were healed to our satisfaction, we continued forward. We quickly came upon a three-way crossroads. We could see up ahead was a chamber with what appeared to be Dragonkin skeletons on display. Edeya quickly dispelled that notion, they weren’t skeletons. They were Bone Golems. Constructs made from the thrown together bones of different creatures, inelegantly given life-like movements. They were an arcane and scientific mimicry of what I do. And worst of all, it was immune to all magic, except negative and positive energy—and negative energy didn’t heal it like a true undead, it hasted it. So my spells were completely useless against it. Even Boneshatter, despite the entire damn thing being made of fucking bones.

I hate golems. I almost understand how Aenland feels about monks. The fact they can just shrug off the one thing I do feels like cheating.

At least monks had to train to do what they do. Golems just get to do it by virtue of existing!

Anyways, we knew the golems were there and they didn’t know we knew. So we got the drop on them, and took them out before they could ever react. Then we took all the loot that was supposed to lure us into mindlessly walking in the middle of four golems.

We were once again at a three-way split. There was a large doorway before us, and a hall to our right and left. As I peered into the doorway I felt a prickling in my head, and had a flood of memory overtake me. I was in that room, looking up at a huge throne, and one much smaller throne. Yrax was at the huge throne, and Cesseer was at his side at the smaller one. There was a beautiful woman by my side…

I resurfaced from the memory. I told the others that we should check that room. It was Yrax’s throne room. Something important was bound to be there.

Aenland asked how I knew this. I told him truthfully that I had remembered something. I don’t think it was my imagination that his voice had a darker edge when he responded…

It’s not like it’s a secret that I was tied up in some dark shit before my memory loss. Nazhena tried to kill me while ranting about me being a traitor, I couldn’t keep it a secret even if I wanted to. At least if me remembering these things can be useful to us he could sound grateful instead of like it throws his trust in me into question.

Oh well.

We entered the room, but not before Edeya identified four more golems within—these made of glass. Still immune to magic, because of course they were. Regardless, we swooped in before they knew what hit them, and still destroyed them quickly in efficiently, with the golems only getting a few hits in themselves before they were nothing but shards of glass scattered across the throne room floor.

I tugged open the enormous door behind Yrax’s throne…and found the passage beyond caved in completely. The white dragon had predicted our path, and blocked us off from this means of reaching him.

Which meant this entire damn venture had been a waste of precious time.

We left the throne room. Nestian declared that ‘right is right’ and we took the right-hand passage. We came upon a library, which I personally wanted to skip past as a distraction from our goal, but Aenland and Edeya wanted to take a look, so I agreed to go in with them. I found a magic book, similar to the Tome of Leadership I had previously read, which we figured would be useful for Nestian. Besides that, there was nothing of note. Just a waste of time, when we didn’t know how much time we had to spend.

We continued forward, and came upon the guest rooms. Two were labelled ‘Cesseer’s room’ and ‘Iantor’s room’. We decided to check Cesseer’s room for any clues as to where she might be. Instead, we found all of her regular equipment stashed away in a hidden stash.

Edeya figured this meant that she had put it here to not fight us at her full strength. I felt that was the optimistic way of looking at it. The other option was that she was a prisoner and had been stripped of all her things and was even now having her brain removed and replaced by an alien consciousness. Edeya decided we should stop talking about it. I agreed.

Despite my impatience, we checked Iantor’s room next, and found a magic ring—finger included.

In the guest room we found a large polar bear looking creature with too many legs conversing with brain collecting aliens from the Dominion called Neh-thalggu. We tried to get the drop on them, but the bear-like creature heard us and warned his companions.

Aenland and Nevra burst through the door, and were hit by a lightning bolt from a Neh-thalggu. They returned the favor with a glaive and a half dozen arrows—immediately slaying that same brain collector.

The bear creature seemed to identify Aenland as the biggest threat. He stood and spoke again—not in his own voice, but in a woman’s voice. He asked Aenland why he left. Aenland’s eyes zeroed in on the bear creature—not thrown into despair like the creature had wanted, but instead focused by anger. I didn’t need to recognize the voice to put two and two together that the creature had somehow used Aenland’s memories to imitate his mother. Which meant it had just guaranteed its death.

Greta and Nestian ran in at the other Neh-thalggu. I directed Talsune to fly in and finish off the brain collector. Then I called up a pillar of flames around the bear-like creature with Flame Strike, followed by a Quickened Boneshaker.

The intention wasn’t the kill the beast, however. This wasn’t my prey to kill. I was merely softening it up to ensure Aenland would get the satisfaction of its death.

Not a moment later half a dozen arrows flew at the beast. Yet it was somehow still standing, its too-many-legs still shakily holding its bloody body up.

In one final burst, Nevra put the beast down with her lightning breath on her rider’s behalf.

Nestian and Edeya checked in with Aenland to make sure he was alright. He claimed to be fine, but he didn’t have his usual gleeful countenance, so it was clear that was not entirely true.

We left quickly after and continued down the hall, until we came upon a room with an alter to some god I’m unfamiliar with. Maybe it’s not even a god worshipped on Golarian—although its unholy symbol looked a bit like it could be a reference to Starfall. We found half an arcane key in this room, in the shape of half a snowflake shaped amulet.

We also had the honor of talking to Yrax through another ice mirror again. I told him exactly how impressed I was with him (not at all), and he had a little tantrum, letting slip something about how impressed we’d be when he destroyed the queen of witches, before he ended his spell.

We discussed if he was planning to try to kill the missing Baba Yaga, or if he intended to try to kill Elvana. I thought he meant Elvana, because we knew he had past dealings with her specifically, and a chromatic dragon backstabbing a former ally was very in character.

We continued down the hall until we came upon a wall, which Aenland identified as illusory—but even upon identifying it, he couldn’t pass through it. The magic was far more powerful than normal. I hypothesized that the key we’d found would let us bypass it, which Edeya agreed was likely. She mused that such powerful magic was likely not put here by Yrax—this was far beyond the magic of even an ancient dragon. This was likely put here by the woman who built the fortress—Baba Yaga. Edeya once again floated the idea that we were caught up in a hit on Baba Yaga’s life.

I agreed that it was entirely possible.

I stayed behind for a long moment while the others continued forward, looking at the wall. It *was* entirely possible that there was a hit out on Baba Yaga’s life. Because there HAD been a hit out on her. I’d been given a contract to kill her, so who’s to say others weren’t foolish enough to try the same?

I caught up to the others as they reached the pool. Once again I felt this was a waste of time, but since we needed to search every nook for the second half of they key, I decided to hurry it up and look.

Big mistake. I should have let someone else take the lead.

When I went to look in the pool to see if the key might have been left under the water, an enormous creature—like a mix between a shark and a wolf—lunged up from beneath the surface and grabbed me in its jaws. I felt Nestian try to pull me out of its grasp, but it was futile. A moment later the thing had swallowed me whole. I could feel Talsune’s alarm, but otherwise I was completely cut off from everyone else. And I was half submerged in a horrible clawing freezing substance.

I knew I wouldn’t last long in there. There was not a chance I could focus on a spell while that substance was freezing me to the bone. The meager healing of Death’s Touch wouldn’t be enough to counteract the frostbite crawling up my skin. I only had one chance to survive. I had to cut my way out, to freedom. I pulled out the Witch’s Knife and began cutting the first thing of flesh and muscle I saw. Straight up and down, straight forward, until I punctured through and water began spilling in. I took a breath and pushed myself out, into the warm waters. Compared to the freezing cold I’d just been in, it felt almost burning hot. But not for long. As I thrashed, trying to get to the surface before my meager breath ran out, strong clawed hands scooped me up. A moment later I was deposited back onto the saddle between Talsune’s shoulder blades. I was soaked to the bone, and badly bloodied, but I was alive.

The large shark-like creature didn’t give up. It had arrows sticking out of it, and a gash down its face where Greta’s axe had cut into it, but it was still stubbornly seeking a meal. It decided I wasn’t an appealing target anymore, and went after Nestian instead.

I decided I wanted this thing dead. Now. I channeled a Harm spell into my hand, jumped from Talsune’s saddle, and stalked over to it, placing the hand onto the creature and causing a pillar of negative energy to erupt through its body. It just barely clung to life—just enough for me to quicken an Inflict Light Wounds to finish it off, carefully nudging Nestian aside to touch the creature with my other hand and snuff out its remaining lifeforce.

There was nothing of note in that room, and once again Yrax appeared to taunt us in the ice. When he saw the monster’s body floating in the pool he said we should pick up after ourselves—as if we were naughty visiting children with no manners and not an invading force here to take his fortress and slay him. He and Aenland got into an argument about proper etiquette again, and Yrax became so enraged he began yelling—unhealthy looking green veins pulsing in his temples, and his eyes turning green. He said something about needing to up his dose to someone we couldn’t see before ending the spell.

It would seem he isn’t just experimenting on others, but letting the Dominion experiment on him as well. So we shouldn’t expect him to be just a regular white dragon when we fight him.

We continued down the hall until we reached the kitchen. Inside, we could hear someone working. Nestian motioned to knock. Aenland and I told him no. Edeya asked why not, it had worked out before. Aenland and I argued that Nestian getting stabbed by whatever was on the other side of the door didn’t constitute ‘working out’.

As we argued, Nestian knocked on the door regardless.

A voice on the other side called for us to come in.

So yes, for once it did work without anyone getting stabbed.

We entered the kitchen, and found an entirely nude woman at a boiling cauldron, cooking some kind of stew. Nestian whispered to us that she was a Nereid, a water spirit who usually wore a shawl that held part of her lifeforce within it. Clearly she did not have her shawl on her.

The Nereid noted that we didn’t seem like Yrax’s lot, to which I agreed—it seemed she was speaking a language only I could understand with Tongues, so I had to translate for the others. Again.

The woman offered us a meal. She was clearly up to something—not something devious, but she clearly wanted something of us. So I came right out and asked her what she wanted in return. She told us she wanted us to return her shawl to her from Yrax’s hoard. A simple task, seeing as we already planned on slaying the dragon. In return, she would cook us a meal, and also tell us anything she knew about Ivoryglass.

Unfortunately, ‘everything she knew’ turned out to be very little we hadn’t already run into. She was able to warn us about some oozes up ahead that made up the disposal system, and told us which rooms were most likely to hold the second half of the key, but otherwise there was little she could tell us. We told her that the beast in the pool was taken care of, and she decided she was going to go take a dip.

We continued on our way. As we walked down the hall I received a message from Keisuke, checking in to make sure I was alright. He must have noticed when I’d been in a particularly bad state after being swallowed by the beast in the pool. I assured him that I was fine, and that the creature that did that was very dead.

Immediately after I sent my message, the building rumbled. Not the first time—it had been rumbling on and off the entire time we’d been in Ivoryglass, because of the crimson worms burrowing beneath it. Only this time it wasn’t the worms below. It was the Dominion Dropship, crashing into it from above. The entire passage ahead of us crumpled in on itself, leaving a flaming wreckage where we’d been just about to step.

All that was left of our path forward was rubble, and the remains of a Dominion Ship.

[diamond-coral]

A Game

Summary: Tony suggests a game that you, the unfortunate intern, get dragged right into the center of: who can make a woman cum the fastest?

Pairings: all dark!: Steve x Reader, Bucky x Reader, Thor x Reader, Sam Wilson x Reader, Tony x Reader, implied natasha x reader

Warnings: DUB-CON/NON-CON (oral: f-receiving, fingering, tiny smidge of analplay) VOYEURISM/EXHIBITIONISM, BLACKMAILING, OVERSTIMULATION. The characters in this story are NOT good people. After reading the warnings, your media consumption is your own responsibility!

As Stark’s party mellowed down and all the guests left, you, the unfortunate intern, were called over to the small group of five Avengers seated in a section of couches.

“Y/n, come!” Thor’s voice boomed.

“Y/n, come!” Sam mimicked, deepening his voice to make fun of Thor’s.

You approached them as the men snickered at Sam’s joke. 

“What can I do for you?” you ask, a fake smile plastered on your face.

Stark cleared his throat and raised a brow at you; a silent command. 

“What can I do for you, sir?” 

“A round of drinks please, and add this to Sir Barnes, Sir Rogers, and I’s drinks.” Thor handed you the flask of his Asgardian liquor and you accepted it, hiding the slight nervous tremble of your hands.

“Of course, sir.”

“Someone’s been learning their manners,” Steve taunted, and it took all your restraint to not snarl at him.

“Easy there, Rogers,” Stark interjected, noticing how your fingers clenched Thor’s flask tighter. “Pretty sure Barnes fucked the brat outta her couple days ago when he came back from that shitshow of mission in Bosnia. Got a lot of pent up rage there, Buck?”

“Mission just put me in a bad mood,” Bucky shrugged. “Either way, I don’t think I fucked all the brat outta her. Got anything left for me, doll?”

“I have nothing for you, you self-righteous, ignorant prick,” you spat venomously.

“There she is. I always love a challenge.” Bucky smirked at how your knuckles were turning white around the flask. “Now didn’t Thor ask you to go fetch us some drinks?”

You huffed, opting to bite your tongue rather than lashing out, and spun on your heel toward the minibar.

Three-months ago, you would never have imagined your internship interview at S.H.I.E.L.D to bring you here. Your interview had been conducted by Captain America himself, and just as things began to look promising, it was interrupted by a sharp knock from Tony Stark. Tony had brought Steve into the hall, leaving the door to the conference room open, and you could only sneak glances through the window of the room, hearing Steve whisper about how it was “a question of morality” while they both kept looking back at you.

You got the position, and the next day, Tony sat you down and gave you an offer.

The Avengers needed to be ‘taken care of’, as he put it, and you being a ‘stress-reliever’ would boost morale around the team. Most of the them never had time for the outside world (apparently saving the world was a big commitment?) and were rarely ever able to make lasting relationships. You could accept the position, be compensated monthy, and get to live in the compound, or you could decline, and walk away with your mouth sealed by the confidentiality contract you signed before the interview.  Something about S.H.I.E.L.D. work being linked to a lot of top secret information, meaning you weren’t allowed to speak any details of the job to outside parties unless you wanted to get sued for every penny you were worth.

You had been on the cusp of taking the second option before Tony mentioned your sister’s job as S.H.I.E.L.D. as an agent. She was half the reason you’d interviewed for an internship. A couple words from Tony about her possibly falling into a fatal accident on a mission, and you took the position offer in a heartbeat.

You almost overfilled the glass while getting lost in your train of thought. Setting down the bottle of expensive whiskey, you placed the last glass next to the others on the silver tray, and picked it up, gracefully yet begrudgingly making your way back to the small gathering.

“Y/n, finally. We were just talking about who here can make a woman cum the fastest.”

The complete utter bluntness of Tony’s words caught you entirely off guard, and you tripped over your own feet, stumbling in your high heels to keep the tray of drinks from falling before Sam reached an arm out to catch the tray and another arm to hold your hip and steady you.

You ripped yourself from Sam’s touch without acknowledging or thanking him, to disturbed by Tony’s previous words to do so. You began passing out the glasses of dark liquid. “And you’re telling me this why?” Your voice was flat in hopes of showing Tony you were completely disinterested in any plans he might have.

“Why, we need your aid, Lady Y/n,” Thor answered a little too cheerfully for your taste.

“I won’t be partaking in your little immature competition of toxic masculinity.” You crossed your arms and continued. “It makes it seem that women are nothing but prizes. Games to be played by boys as they fight over the highscore. Toys.”

“Aren’t they?” Steve cocked his head, eyes glimmering with amusement while a smirk painted his face. The rest of the men chuckled at his reply.

“I think HR would be shocked to hear that Captain America is being a sexist dick to a woman in the workplace,” you bit back, but your threat was weak and they all knew it.

“I think HR would be to busy writing a condolence letter to your sisters family if, let’s say, on her mission with Sam tomorrow in Russia, a stray bullet hit her,” Steve replied. A quick reminder at the stakes. 

Sam clicked his tongue and shook his head in mock sympathy. “Those darn Russians and their careless aim.”  

He abruptly pushed himself off the couch and clapped his hands together. “I wanna go first,” he declared.

“Just remember, you can’t use your dick,” Tony added. “Some of us don’t have super soldier serum enhanced fuckwands.”

“Please never, ever say fuckwand again,” Bucky said, scrunching up his nose. “Besides, the hydra serum didn’t do anything down there.” He waggled his eyebrows while elbowing his enhanced counterpart. “Don’t think I could say the same for this punk here though.”

Steve muttered a ‘shut up’ while the group snickered.

All while they compared sizes like a bunch of teenagers, Sam manhandled you onto the coffee table in the center of the couches. You let out a grunt as you were shoved onto your front, stomach pressed into the tabletop while your pelvis was slammed into the edge.

Sam kneeled behind you and brought up two fingers to your mouth.

“Get ‘em nice and wet for me, baby.”

The men around you went quiet, entranced as you reluctantly took Sam’s fingers into your mouth, sucking on them and swirling your tongue around them.

When Sam finally pulled them out, he looked back at Tony.

“You ready?” Sam asked.

Sam hiked the flowy skirt of your dress up your legs causing you to squirm and pathetically thrash; a desperate attempt at putting an abrupt stop to this stupid game.

“You’re on the clock.”

At Tony’s words, Sam immediately stopped your desperate attempt at worming away from him by catching you by the back of your neck and slamming you back down hard on the coffee table. Much to your disdain, the rough treatment made you wet, and that was the last thing you wanted them to see.

But when Sam pulled your lacy panties down, you could tell it was the first thing he noticed.

“Fuck babygirl, I didn’t need you lubing up my fingers, you’re already drenched,” he noted.

You let out a soft moan as Sam worked two calloused fingers into your pussy. Although they’re thick and long, they were nowhere near the size of his dick and you silently thanked whatever was out there that he wasn’t splitting you in half with it at the moment. Sam released the grip on your neck, moving to settle the hand on your ass before giving it a light squeeze and a slap that elicited another moan from you. While Sam slowly began moving his fingers- twisting, curling, and pumping them- he leaned over you, caging your body under his broad chest, to speak dirty words into your ear.

“Baby, you’re so wet right now, I think you like having them watch you.” Your cheeks burned in shame while he picked up the pace. “You want them to see how well-behaved you are for me? Want them to see how you come on my hand like a good little slut?” he cooed.

Slow pumps now turned to quick thrusts from his skilled fingers and Sam groaned as you fluttered around him.

“That’s it. You’re taking me perfectly.”

Twisting his wrist so his thumb could also strum your clit, Sam was moving so fast you’d easily mistake him for a superhuman.

“Yes, Sam, please,” you cried out, eyes rolling into the back of your head.

“Uh-uh, babygirl. Wrong word,” he scolded, although his pace never slowed as his fingers brutally fucked into you.

“Daddy!” you screamed. “I’m cumming!”

You chanted those words, cunt clamping down on his merciless fingers. He gave you no reprieve, mercilessly thrusting into you, until you squirted, your release coating his hand and dripping down his forearm. Only when you were almost crying, did he finally remove his hand from your abused cunt.

“Now that-,” Sam stated, grinning while he stood. “-is how you make a girl come.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever Birdbrain.” You don’t have any strength to look at Tony as he speaks. “Give her a couple minutes before whoever’s next.”

Whatever the conversation was between them (you couldn’t hear it over the buzzing in your brain), it was much too short to your liking. The few minutes Tony gave you only felt like a few seconds before Bucky was getting up.

“Guess I’ll take a crack at it,” he announced, rolling his head from side to side.

“No one says “take a crack at it” anymore, old man.”

“Keep talking when your in last place, Sam,” Bucky quipped, however, his tone was still light.

You felt a metal hand on your hip before you were rolled over onto your back, now facing Bucky while your eyes pleaded with him.

“Please dont,” you croaked.

Bucky just scoffed, kneeling down between your legs and wrapping both arms around your thighs as he pulled you closer.

“Tony?” His hot breath fanned your pussy as he spoke and you inhaled sharply at the feeling.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Stark said.

Bucky wasted no time the moment the words left Tony’s mouth. He started by licking up from your hole to clit over and over, the lazy stripes already driving you wild. Letting go of one of your thighs to bring his flesh hand to your pussy, he pulled the hood of your clit back, pausing his licking to blow on your engorged bud.

“Such a pretty pussy, doll,” he murmured before turning his head around and speaking louder. “You guys seeing this?” 

He moved his head out of the way to showcase your glistening folds. A couple groans from the men on the couches had you trying to close your legs, but Bucky’s grip was like steel (especially considering his hand was metal).

“Wasting time Buck,” Steve commented and Bucky just rolled his eyes.

“I’m pretty sure I can still beat Sam and have time left over,” he scoffed.

Bucky directed his attention back to your folds, this time, diving in right away. He still had the hood of your clit pulled back as he encased the bud with his lips causing you to writhe at the intense sensation. And yet, you were held down with practically no effort as he methodically played with you. Each time he groaned against you, you let out an embarrassingly loud moan, and by the time he started sucking on your clit, you were wrecked. Your hand found home in his brown locks of hair while he quickly moved his tongue back and forward on your sensitive nub that was trapped in the vacuum of his mouth. The coil inside you wound tighter and tighter, and suddenly, while Bucky began shaking his head from side to side, it snapped. Your clit pulsed rapidly while encased in his hot mouth, and you screamed, legs locking around his head while your hand held his head in place. He worked you while you rode out your orgasm on his face until you could barely move.

Bucky got up from his knees, grinning down at you, so weak, you couldn’t muster it in you to glare back.

“Now I think I really fucked the brat out of you,” he said. “What was that?” He cupped his ear. “Did I hear a thank you sir?”

“Thank you, sir,” you whimpered weakly.

You were so fucked out, all the next events were but a blur.

Thor had feasted between your thighs the same as Bucky but was more sloppy, although, your body seemed to love ‘sloppy’. His tongue was constantly lashing and worming around your clit, the wet muscle accompanied by lewd slurping sounds, and in record time, Thor’s suckling and licking had you tensing and building up so much that your orgasm felt like a waterfall crashing over your body.

Steve was just as methodical and precise as Bucky, also pumping his fingers slowly in and out of your pussy. He was sweetly slow, dragging out your pleasure to the point where you were begging him to come. His warm tongue dragged across your sensitive cunt, while another hand reached up to grab a breast and pinch a nipple. You felt like your body was on fire. It wasn’t until Steve had inserted a thumb into your ass that he finally allowed your body sweet sweet release.

Your head span as finally collapsing on Tony’s floor, listening to the muffled voices above you.

You didn’t even register Stark’s words as he announced Thor had won and Steve had come in last. You barely even heard Steve’s defense that he was just enjoying himself too much in the moment.

Although ten-minutes later you had a somewhat sense of clarity, after hearing their conversation, you wished you were just unconscious. Even better, dead.

“I’m tellin’ you man, I made her squirt. She definitely came the hardest with me.” Sam’s voice rang.

“Dude- she was literally grinding against my face and holding me in a headlock with her legs,” Bucky argued.

“I literally made the brat beg to cum,” Steve inserted.

“I’d say that by bringing her to release the fastest, it was most intense with me,” Thor declared, victoriously.

You were on the brink of tears as they talked about you. Until another voice cut into the room. A female voice.

“What do you boys think you’re doing?”

It was Natasha. Your head jolted up as you felt a glimmer of hope surge through you.

That glimmer of hope was quickly extinguished at her next words.

“Not inviting me to the boy’s party?” she scolded. “You think a girl might beat you by a landslide?”

Nat squatted down next to you, running a soft hand on your cheek.

“Well you’re right. I’ll beat Thor’s record and cut it in half.”

She began unbuttoning her pants.

“And I’ll do it while riding her face.”

[binniedeactivated]

whorehouse. || 💦

➥ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 | 𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐢 𝐲𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐣𝐮𝐧 𝐱 𝐥𝐞𝐞 𝐣𝐮𝐲𝐞𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐡𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐲𝐮𝐧𝐣𝐢𝐧 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

➥ 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 | 𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐬! 𝐚𝐮, 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭

➥ 𝐖/𝐂 |  4k

➥ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 | 𝐧𝐨, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐬. 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐮𝐛𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦. 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞.

➥ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 | 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐬𝐞𝐱! , 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞, 𝐝𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤, 𝐝𝐨𝐠𝐠𝐲𝐬𝐭𝐲𝐥𝐞, 𝐭𝐨𝐲𝐬, 𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥!𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥!𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐞, 𝐰𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐧𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐲 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐭 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲.

multi-fandom ask requested by @light164star​ hope you enjoy this my love!

in any normal university a fraternity represents ambition, passion, and integrity amongst brotherhood. but things were different in your university.

the Sigma Chi (ΣΧ)’s were different. they stayed in this big gorgeous frat house across campus, they threw the best parties and had the best of everything. they had the best selection of everything on campus, even down to the best dining hall. they were very selective to who they admitted. well, judging by the guys you saw leave that building it seemed as if they only accepted the best of the best. the best looking guys, best athletes, the academic powerhouses, the all rounders. every guy on campus wished they were one of them and every girl wished they could be with one of them. but the Sigma Chi’s never dated anyone. that was their number one rule.

and lastly, the sigma chi was rich. not because it was full of a bunch of guys who were spoiled rotten by their parents. not because the university provided them with full ride scholarships. but because the sigma chi house wasn’t what everyone thought it was. of  course it was a house of brotherhood, but they had subscribers all across campus. including you. and the university officials had yet to know that. not that anyone would snitch anyway, they practically had everyone wrapped around their fingers. they even managed to wane off some of the security guards and professors from scoping out their territory, giving them hush money for their loyalty.

i know what you’re thinking. no -- the sigma chi’s aren’t a mafia. despite their ways they’re actually far from a mafia. they were a fraternity. they were a business. and one thing for certain, two things for sure, don’t you ever meddle in the business of the sigma chi’s. no one has ever came back from that little mistake. as far as you were concerned the victims were basically wiped off the face of the earth, complete lost of contact, even their social media accounts deleted and deactivated. no one knew what the sigma chi’s did to them but no one wanted to find out either.

anyway, you held your head low while walking towards the steps of the house. not everyone on campus knew about their little secret but that still didn’t keep you from being embarrassed about yours. you were a happy subscriber and you weren’t going to deny that. sometimes you wondered how your application even got accepted. but it did. you went into the little convenience store they held in the building, waiting for kim seungmin/kang taehyun/ ju haknyeon, either one of them were required to check you in. they worked at the house convenience store but little did anyone know the trio were the brains behind the whorehouse. they didn’t handle much subscribers themselves, but faithfully took care of admissions and payments. oh, and also check in’s. no one could get service or even have access to the whorehouse without going through them first.

the motion detector chimed indicating that they had a customer. you bit your lips looking around a bit, hoping no one walked in right after you. hoping they would think you’re just there to purchase snacks or something. with his sleeves rolled up from handling the store’s stock--coming from the back was kim seungmin. he approaches the back of the counter and does a little head tilt, indicating that you needed to show your identification. you reached your fingers into your wallet and plucked up your student identification card, sliding it on the counter. he reaches for it and opens an app on his smartphone, making sure you were a paying subscriber. lord knows they had enough people behind on payments yet still trying to receive service. even though you knew you were up to date on your payments you still gulped. seungmin never really showed much of any facial expression which scared you. just a sullen, hard expression that made everyone around him think he hated them. 

“you’re all set. sign this slip”.

he grabbed the small notepad full of paper slips he’d printed and specially designed himself, writing the date and his signature signifying that he approved your service. it was your job to sign the bottom line though confirming your consent to anything included in your service. you swiftly grabbed a pen and scribbled your signature.

“room 502. make sure you give them that or else you’ll have to leave”.

you nod and place the slip in your pocket, taking the elevator to the floor. you admit you were nervous as hell, this is how you were each visit. when you’re a subscriber you don’t know what type of service you can get. you’re just assigned to a random room and you’re promised a good orgasm-- several even--- by the time you leave. the way university was stressing you out these days that’s all you needed. your feet finally approach the door and you knock hesitantly. the door opens a bit, just enough to show his face and they grey and black silk robe he was wearing. it was choi yeonjun. fuck. you were scheduled with choi yeonjun today. there was no doubt in your mind that you’ll be fucking ruined.

“slip?”.

you fished it out of your pocket and showed him. he took it and nodded before crumbling it and tossing it in the nearby trash can. he opened the door further, you could see the dark room only illuminated by the deep red lights that lined the perimeter of the room. your heart dropped to the pit of your stomach at the sight of handcuffs, a pack of gummy worms and a vibrator sitting on the edge of the bed.

“come in”.

you nervously slipped through the crack of the door while he shuts it behind you. the room smelled like cherries, it always did for some reason. you stood there and swallowed. you could hear yeonjun faintly chuckling behind you, his hand brushing along your waist.

“you scared baby?”.

“y-yes”. you stammer. he kisses your cheek.

“you should be. take those panties off and get on all fours for me”.

“okay”. you stuttered once more doing as you were told. you came here enough to know that clothes always went on the clothing rack beside the door. fully naked you hesitantly crawl on the bed and remain on all fours just as instructed. you could hear the clashing metal of the handcuffs behind you as yeonjun undoes them and hooks them around both of your wrists and around the headboard. the cold metal ring clung painfully tight around your wrists and you gasp a little at how rough he was.  your back was now arched in the perfect bow and anything he wanted to do he could do it, your body was at his full disposal. you could feel his hand slide down your midsection and your breathing hitched. he removes it and lowers himself to the level of your face just to glare into your eyes. you stared into the abyss of his eyes in fear. he takes two fingers and rub them together, smearing the wetness he collected from you before slipping them in his mouth. he then slides it out.

“you’re not wet enough”.

and on that note he shifts to another side of the room and you heard the familiar sound of goo melt into the palm of his hand. you wince at how cold it was when he coated you with it, getting a good rub on your clit before slipping his fingers inside of you just to coat you that way. a subtle moan left your lips when he did so, unbeknownst to you that yeonjun had other plans when it came to your needy noises.

“none of that today,”. he says in response before picking up a pack of long heavy gummy worms. “that’s what these are for”. he ripped the pack open and grabbed a handful just to go over and shove between your lips. “I don’t want to hear any sounds from you today, you understand?”. you nod with the gummy treats in between your teeth. they were so thick you didn’t know how anyone could ever chew through them.

the buzzing noise of the vibrator rang behind you and your feet immediately grew cold. you couldn’t back out now. you paid for this. this is what you subscribed for. you had to take it.

yeonjun clutches your thighs and slides himself beneath you, face to face with your pussy that was practically begging for him at this point. you felt the smooth, thick grey vibrator slip past your slippery folds pushed deep inside you. in an instant you no longer knew how you were going to keep your legs in place this whole time. you started breathing hard gnawing on the gummies as hard as you possibly could. “shaking already baby? you’re going to have a hard time today”.

he steadily holds the toy, sinking it between your folds and pulling it back out slowly relishing the way your wetness coated it. moans awaited in your throat yet you forced them back down. yeonjun loved the way your pussy looked from this angle but most importantly he loved the way your clit looked. plump and glistening with lube. he softly hums and slides his tongue against it. you gasp but this time refusing to exhale.

“mmm”. he hums again and gives it another cat lick before pushing his face closer and coddling it between his lips. you decided to breathe, as shaky as it sounded at least you weren’t making any noises. but fuck you wanted to. the way he was twisting and moving the toy inside you, the way his wet tongue felt curling against your clit, you wanted to collapse. and he knew it.

he groans after pulling away from your folds with a thin spit string to follow but he couldn’t keep himself from going in for more. he ate you like a hungry tiger, each taste of you is like heaven in the coil of his tongue.  that’s what killed you the most. that’s what made your legs tremor the most. yeonjun didn’t eat pussy as if he wanted to eat pussy. he ate pussy as if he needed to eat it. and that made all the difference.

every lick sent electricity straight to his groin. the fact that you were shaking above him unable to do anything but breathe heavy and take whatever he was giving you turned him on. he thought your little lips were so soft, pretty and scrumptious. he slid his tongue around every crease and fold refusing to neglect a sector. he always had an unquenchable desire to please. your insides burned with agony. he told you that you weren’t allowed to make noise yet he ate you like this? you couldn’t take it. your breathing was already heavy and your legs were already on the verge of collapsing so if he didn’t stop within the next 5 seconds you’d be a moaning mess through the gummies in your mouth.

he fucks you with the toy a bit faster,  twisting it inside you while he flat tongued your clit prior to sucking it gently; hallowing his cheeks in the process. your eyes close and the jolts of pleasure made your tummy cave in. your heart rate soars and now your wrists were writhing desperately inside the cuffs. it felt so fucking good. god, it felt so good. your torso was on fire. his fingers dug into your innermost thigh while his tongue further explored you. he licks a particular spot that you weren’t quite fond of anyone licking, sending a bone shuddering moan through the air.

“ ffuckk! please!”.

yeonjun halts his movements at the sound of it. you mentally cursed at yourself. how could you be so stupid?

“what was that?”.

you swallowed. you agreed to keep silent. that was a bad choice. he slipped himself from underneath you and approached your face, grabbing your jaw roughly forcing his attention on him.  “answer me when I’m speaking to you”.

lord knows you wanted to. but he looked so incredibly scary like this your jaw trembled at the thought of even replying. he lets go of you forcing your head to drop back down in between your shoulders. “you don’t want to fucking listen right?”. you heard a barely audible chuckle but you knew he wasn’t chuckling because anything was humorous. “I got something for you”.

the sound of that made your heart drop. you didn’t know what the hell that meant. your mind couldn’t even grasp what it could possibly mean. all you knew was that you were handcuffed to this bed in this dark red room, your body in the position of complete freewill. after a couple of minutes more of drowning in the fear of your own thoughts the door behind you open and close. you heard not one set-- but other sets footsteps creak the floor. your eyes grew as wide as moons. little did you know though, this was all apart of their plan. yeonjun knew you wouldn’t be able to take what he was doing to you.

“since you don’t know how to shut up, I brought some friends who won’t mind doing it for you”.

squatting to your eye level was lee juyeon, another one of sigma chi’s most honorable members. he does this sly smirk before rubbing your cheek with his hand. “how you doing precious?”. your heart began to pound dangerously fast. sliding his hand through your hair was hwang hyunjin, on the other side of your face wearing the same smirk as juyeon. “damn you’ve got a pretty one jun”. he comments. if you weren’t bound to the headboard you’d run out of sheer nervousness. but you couldn’t.

juyeon grabbed your jaw and glares into your eyes steadily, almost as if he were searching for something. with him doing this you hadn’t even noticed that yeonjun and hyunjin disappeared behind you. “you have some pretty lips. you know that? show me how well you can suck my dick“.

he fiddles with the waistband of his briefs, giving you a gorgeous view of his chiseled body and you wanted to melt right then and there. however someone was groping your thighs underneath you and you realized yeonjun was back in the same position as before. and hyunjin was above him, his hands groping your ass and kneading it. he spills some lube into the palm of his hand and shoves two slendery, slippery fingers inside your ass without warning. you choked on your own spit and wince at the pain. he rubbed his clothed dick against you, biting his lips.

“have you ever done anal before baby?”.

you shudder. “nno i haven’t”.

he hums before scissoring his fingers inside you a bit more, stretching you out so his dick could fit perfectly. you’ll admit, you weren’t too keen on anal before hyunjin stuffed his dick inside you and filled you to the brim. yeonjun attaches his lips to your clit again, and juyeon rubs his dick against your lips forcing you to take him in whole. more than anything you didn’t know you’d be experiencing this. being ruined by three men instead of one.

you hummed against the shaft of juyeon’s dick at the feeling of yeonjun’s tongue licking your soft folds through and through, all the while hyunjin’s giving you soft thrusts from behind. the delicious mix of pleasure made you delirious. your tummy caved in and your thighs were trembling once again. and oh yeah, yeonjun got his wishes of you staying quiet. juyeon was filling your mouth so much a sound could barely be audible. juyeon slips his hands in your hair, jerking your head back just so he could see your mouth filled his precum. he grins.

“a subscriber of the whorehouse gets used like a whore. you like this shit don’t you?”.

hyunjin grips your waist harder and chuckles. “she can’t talk with her mouth full. she’s being a lady”.

juyeon smirks and glances down at you trying to suck him as far as you could possibly reach. “is that true? you’re trying to be polite?”.

yeonjun smirks and licks another stripe up your wet swollen clit before chiming in. “if so, shes at the wrong place. polite prissy princesses don’t get fucked and sucked this good”.

hyunjin slams a hand down on your ass, making it jiggle underneath his palm. “they sure don’t”. you groan against juyeon’s length feeling like you could pass out any second. he thrusted himself between your lips steadily loving the sloppy, messy sounds your mouth was making in the process.

“look at you...you suck dick and take it good. who taught you this?”. juyeon growls.

you softly whine, crying in response. numerous moans left your throat but it was a mystery on whether or not they’d actually be heard. it didn’t even matter though because all three of them was groaning loud enough to drown out the sound of yours. you felt like you were going to lose your damn mind being used like this. the pleasure of it all made your toes curl and body shiver. yeonjun’s wet lips were coated in nothing but you precum at this point and hyunjin speeds up the movements of his waist, snapping into you like he’d never get a chance to do it again. well, considering the system of the whorehouse he just might not. and he was making it evident.

“fuck, your pretty ass”. hyunjin groans while throwing his head back and biting his lips, slamming you back against his waist every chance he got. your ass was pretty like this, stemming down from your cinched waist it was plump and perfect from this angle. hyunjin thought he could watch it bounce against him all day if he could. you unintentionally pushed back on him leaving a hum of approval sputtering from him lips. “oh shit”. he grumbled.

“she’s fucking you while riding yeonjun’s face. shit, I like her”. juyeon licks his lips while holding your hair in up a makeshift ponytail. tears jerk from your eyes as he shoves his dick down your throat again before pulling it back out. you gagged enough to spit his precum back over his tip.

“I like her too”. hyunjin mentions, completely stopping his hips just to watch you desperately fuck yourself to an orgasm. a throaty groan became a murmur as your legs trembled and the familiar wave of electricity washed over your whole entire body. you didn’t know how much more you could take.

“she’s pulsating so hard around my tongue I think she’s about to cum”.

“she’s so cute look at her fucking herself. you gonna cream all over us baby?”. hyunjin groans.

your high pitched whine rang through the steamy atmosphere and as if your body listened to hyunjin words you did just that, your juices spilling down his thighs and waterfalls down yeonjun’s chin. hyunjin slips his fingers into the curve of your waist and fucks a bit more until your ass was filled with his cum, and the sticky contents of juyeons fluids were already slithering down your throat. your body spasmed and jerk so hard and yeonjun licks the aftershocks out of you before getting up and fucking your throat until he got a fix of his own. he grunts and roughly pulls your hair while he does so, letting his hot cum spill down your throat after he was finished. your limbs felt so weak. you wanted to just stay there and sleep. but unfortunately you had to walk back to your residence hall in this condition. it was fucking worth it though.

after you were freed from the handcuffs you could see the bruised rings on your wrist from them both. “put your clothes back on, go back to your dorm and take care of yourself baby”. yeonjun speaks just before they all vacated the room.

[lytters]

4:38am || a. mina

warning(s): implied death, kinda dark thoughts?, mentions of death

you have always known you when you were going to die. you didn’t know just how much you’d have to leave behind.

it’s an unfortunate quirk to have, to see someone and know when they’ll die. such a heart wrenching, soul crushing, useless quirk. the only thing it’s good for is preparing you for the worst.

your mother dies when you’re eight, but that’s okay, you’ve known that since you were four. your father goes mere weeks past your thirteenth birthday, and you’re fine too. you’ve been expecting it. you know a child shouldn’t be this desensitized, this detached from the loss of her parents, but you’re no longer a child, not when your innocence, your naivety has been long stripped away.

you’ve had years to prepare for your death now. you’ve saved up enough to cover the costs of your funeral so that your grandmother won’t have to struggle financially. the funeral has been planned, the plot has been bought, and all that’s left is for you to die.

when you were twenty-one, you promised yourself to live like everyday was your last day. you never thought that would lead you to where you are now, staring at the moon from pro-hero pinky’s balcony at 4:38am, where your heart knows her more fondly as mina.

it’s easy to see death as just another phase of life when you have nothing to lose. but when your world, your life has shifted to encapsulate and revolve around a singular, wonderfully imperfect being, death seems more like an enemy.

here, where the sun has yet to rise, where the city is still asleep, your heart breaks for everything you’ll come to lose.

“babe? what’re you doin’ ou’ here?” you can hear the yawn in mina’s voice as the balcony door swings out. she moves to stand in front of you, rubbing her eyes gently. the moonlight is a reverent admirer, casting a gentle glow onto her. not even the night can take away from her beauty, you muse.

“just thinking,” you hum, reaching out to tug her gently into your lap. she nuzzles her head under your chin, curling into a tight ball as you envelop her in the blanket you had brought out with you. “why are you up?”

“you weren’t in bed.” she murmurs back sleepily. “whatcha thinking about?”

your eyes burn, the promise of tears to come. you should tell her, but it wouldn’t change anything anyways. but it isn’t fair for you to leave her with no warning, with no clue that you were going to die and leave her after worming your way into her life.

“babe?” mina sits up to face you, eyes now more alert as warm hands cup your face. “what’s wrong? you’re shaking?”

oh, you are trembling, from the effort it takes to hold back the guilty sobs that fight to rip its way out, from the heartache of knowing you’ll hurt the one person you love the most. she didn’t deserve this, deserve you. you should’ve known better than to let someone fall in love with you, when you were destined to die young.

“i’m sorry,” you choke the words out, barely holding your tears back. “i’ve been so selfish, i’m sorry.”

“hey, hey, hey? what are you sorry for, love? talk to me.” mina’s hands flutter around your face, wiping away the tears that make their sorrowful march down your cheeks, meeting their dutiful deaths in little drops off your chin.

your mouth opens and closes, the words stuck in your throat, choking you on their devastating finality. how do you tell her? how could you tell her?

“hey,” she presses her forehead to yours. “i can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”

“i,” you take a rasping gasp as you close your eyes. “i lied to you.”

mina freezes, and you feel, more than see, the way she forces her body to relax, to melt back into yours.

“what did you lie about?” her voice is deceptively light, a tone you recognize to be one of her many ‘hero’ voices.

“my quirk.”

“oh? what about it?”

she’s going to be devastated by this, you just know it. how cruel you are, to ruin one of the brightest, kindest souls out here with your selfish impulses. but there’s no backtracking now, no hiding this fatal truth.

you open your eyes, meeting her golden eyes head on. you hate yourself for what you’re about to do.

“i told you my quirk allows me to know when exactly a person will die, but i never told you that i know when i would die.”

mina’s breath hitches as she processes your words.

“love-” you shake your head, cutting her off. you need to do this, to let her know everything before you lose the courage to do so.

“i’ll die tonight.” the words settle like a guillotine over your heads, and you wait for the blade to drop, watching for mina’s reaction.

“no.” she finally breathes out, hands tightening on your cheeks. “no.”

“yes,” you chuckle humorlessly. “i don’t know how i’ll die, but i know when, right down to the second.”

“no, love, i- i can protect you, i’ll save you! i’ll be with you the whole time,” she pulls away from you, eyes wet. the blanket falls off, settling on the edge of the chair. it’s going to get dirty. “i’ll get the agency to assign you bodyguards, we’ll have a rotating system, i-”

you pull her into your embrace, arms wrapping around her tightly. it was all your fault. it’s your fault that the love of your life is breaking down in your arms right now, that she’s hurting so much right now, that she’ll continue to hurt after you’re gone. she cries into your shoulder, and you bury your face in hers, tears soaking the thin cotton she’s wearing.

the moon watches in solemnity, the stars blink their condolences. you cry and you cry until you’ve run yourself dry. mina cries herself to sleep, and you continue to hold her tight, tugging the blanket back over her.

“it’ll be okay,” you whisper. “you’ll be fine. i’ll die, and you’ll be sad for a little while, but you’ll get over it. you’ll get over me. and that’s okay. it’s okay because i want you to be happy. i’ll be watching from wherever i’ll end up, and even if i can’t, the moon will watch you for me.”

you press a gentle kiss to her head, staring at the planet in question.

“you’ll look after her for me, won’t you?”

the moon doesn’t reply. it never does. but you nod anyways, tucking your head against mina’s. you’ll hold her for as long as you can, as tightly as you can. it’s the only apology you can give now. you hope she forgives you for this.

[thisisarcanereverie]

Something ‘Bout You (Biker Natasha x Reader) Chapter 1

A/N: Hey this is a new series! I’ve been meaning to write something for her for a while now so here ya go enjoy! 

MAIN MASTERLIST

MCU MASTERLIST

NATASHA ROMANOFF MASTERLIST

REQUESTS ARE FREE AND ENCOURAGED 

SUMMARY: After Wanda announces her engagement a familiar face returns into your life. 

“(Y/n)!”

You heard the familiar chime of the doorbell and the familiar excited voice of your friend fill the relatively empty store. You whipped your head to her just in time to see her barrelling toward you and captured you in a bone crushing hug. 

“Whoa there Wands,” You said as you returned the hug, “did something happen or are you just that happy to see me?” 

Wanda quickly released you from her vice grip, “oh nothing much happened,” Wanda paused before holding up her left hand, “except this.” On her left hand on her ring finger sat a beautiful vintage ring. 

“Oh my god!” You exclaim smiling as you grab her hand to get a closer look at the ring, it was simple in design but it really suited Wanda. ‘When did this happen?!” 

“Last night,” Wanda reveals happily her smile never deterring, “Vis and I were watching reruns of the Dick Van Dyke Show, I told him how Mary’s ring was beautiful and next thing I know he asks ‘is it as beautiful as this ring’ next thing I know he’s down on one knee with the ring in his hand asking me to marry him.” 

“I’m so happy for you and Vis.” You congrat Wanda as you and her continue to talk about her engagement for a few more minutes. 

“Actually Vis and I were planning on going to the city tonight to celebrate, are you busy?” Wanda asks. You take a quick look at your calendar finding nothing but closing the store on the agenda for tonight. 

“Nope,” You respond, “just have to close the store.” 

“Close early and Vis and I will pick you up,” Wanda said, “We’re bringing Pietro, Steve, Bucky, and Monica with us.” 

You hesitate for a bit, but you take one look into Wanda’s pleading eyes, the same eyes that have gotten you into more than your fair share of trouble since highschool, next thing you know you’re nodding your head in agreement.

Wanda lets out a small squeal before enveloping you once again in a small hug before saying goodbye and that Pietro will pick you up by seven. 

As you continue about your day, stacking books and working the register you start to wonder when the last time you actually had a date was. 

During the slow rush you decide to check your calendar again. You flip through each page until finally you land three months prior where you had plans to meet up with the local coffee barista at some bar you can’t remember the name of. What you do remember is that the date ended with you buying a half quart of ice cream and watching reruns of Gilmore Girls. 

You check the clock and check the store to find it empty. You decide now would probably be a good time to close and to start getting ready for the night in the city with Wanda and the rest. 

You turn the sign on the door to ‘closed’ and push all thoughts of dating to the back of your mind. 

---

You had just slipped your shoes on when you heard Pietro knock on your door in the familiar pattern he’s done since high-school. 

You answer the door to reveal Pietro. You always thought he had looked handsome in that mischievous way. But when he wears that white button up and slacks with his hair gelled back he is a special type of handsome. 

“Well damn don’t we look fancy tonight?” You say as Pietro noticeably checks you out in the same appreciation. You did a small turn in your black dress that fell just mid thigh. 

“And you don’t look too bad yourself Princeza,” Pietro said as he offered his arm in an overdramatic gentlemanly style. Which you responded in kind, laughing slightly as you made sure to lock the door behind you before finally heading out.  

---

You were back in your parents backyard, sitting in that hammock with a book in your hands. Nancy Drew had wormed her way into eleven year old you’s heart, with all of her adventures and detective skills. 

Just as you were about to reach the climax of the book you heard a familiar voice. 

“Whatcha reading today?” You look away from the book and spot a familiar blue haired girl the same age. She was the neighbor that moved in about three years ago, Natasha, who quickly became your best friend. 

“Nancy Drew,”

“Again?”

“There’s more than one Natty.” You responded, next thing you know the book is lifted from your hands and Natasha is hovering over you with the book in her hands. 

“Naaat.” You whine as you try to reach for the book only to have her expertly move it away from you. 

“C’mon,” Natasha says as she makes her way to the bushes separating your yard and hers, “adventure awaits.” 

You struggle a little as you make your way out of your hammock and through the lush bushes to Natasha who slips through the crack in between. 

“Nat,” you warn lightly. 

“I promise I’ll give you the book back,” Natasha promises, “but first we go on an adventure! Grab your bike and meet me out front!” 

“Where exactly is this adventure?” 

“Just grab your bike, chatty cathy!” 

You hear her footsteps rush over to her bike as you rush to yours. 

By the time you let your parents know you’ll be riding your bike and get to the front of your house Natasha is already waiting for you. 

Together you both rode your bikes until finally settling on a clearing near the local park. There was this big oak tree and in front of it a huge rock as well covered in green moss. 

For a while both you and Natasha played by either climbing on the rock and proclaiming yourselves rulers of the land, climbing the tree, playing pretend in the most kid way possible. 

However you would catch glimpses sometimes, you didn’t know what, but it made you worry for her. Like how sad she looked, or scared. 

Finally, after being worn out by playing you both lay on the grass beneath you and watch as the fireflies began to dance around the big oak looking like thousands of moving stars. 

You were enjoying the bit of peace and silence when you felt her hand hold yours. You look over and see the blue haired girl still staring at the millions of fireflies with a smile on her lips. 

“Thank you for being my best friend.” She said gently as you looked away from her and continued watching the fireflies dance, until the sun finally set and it was time to go home. 

She never did give that book back. 

---

“Princeza, we're here.” You hear the familiar accented voice say. You slowly open your groggy eyes to see the glittering lights of the city. 

“How long was I out?” 

“An hour.” 

“So the whole car ride,” You say, you could see Pietro nod from the driver's side, “I’m sorry.” 

“What for?” 

“I was asleep the whole car ride, you were probably bored.” 

“No, I wasn’t bored,” Pietro said, “I know you haven’t been sleeping much because of the store.” 

Here it comes. 

“You need to start working less Princeza,” Pietro continued concerned, “you spend all your waking hours at the store, tending to your books, and life is going to pass you by.” 

“Pietro-” 

“I don’t mean to be harsh or rude,” Pietro quickly added, “it’s just I see you all the time at the store and nowhere else lately. I get that the store is demanding, but just try to make some time for yourself. Promise me?” 

You look at him and can’t refuse. 

“I promise.” 

You can start relaxing tonight. 

---

You came to quickly realize that clubbing really wasn’t your thing. 

A pile of random sweaty bodies ground on each other on the dance floor to music that hurt your eardrums. 

It wasn’t that you were judging anyone for liking this atmosphere, it just wasn’t your cup of tea, you preferred to stay on the sidelines and watch your friends dance. 

And the full bar proved that you weren’t the only one. 

You had looked away for a second to order a beer when you spotted someone familiar. 

It was dark save for the flickering lights that illuminated her every once in a while. You couldn’t place where you knew her but you knew that you knew her. It was in the way she walked with a certain grace and her eyes were sharp enough to cut through you and you imagined her tongue was the same way. 

She must have noticed you staring because the next thing you know she’s staring right at you. Your eyes lock and that’s when it hits you. 

You didn’t recognize her without her blue hair. 

Natasha. 

You panic and turn back to the bar to order that beer you were going to order about five minutes ago. You mentally beat yourself up, if you didn’t look like a creep before you definitely did now. 

You were so busy mentally assaulting yourself that you didn’t notice the redhead sauntering her way to you and sit on the empty barstool next to you. 

“Well if it isn’t Nancy Drew.” 

You turn your head and see Natasha there beside you. Her hair was shoulder length and no longer blue. Now her hair was it’s natural elegant red color, her blue eyes sharper than you remember as well as her cheekbones. You noticed hints of tattoos peeking out from the collar and sleeve of her leather coat. 

“You never did return that book.” 

You both couldn’t help the laugh that erupted. Even though it’s been years somehow it almost feels like no time has passed. 

Almost. 

“So what’ve you been up to?” Natasha asked, “still into books?”

“Uh yeah,” You confirm, “I actually own a bookshop back home.” 

You see Natasha smile from ear to ear before taking a sip of what was your beer now it seems to be adopted by Natasha. 

“That’s so you,” Natasha said before taking another sip from the beer bottle. 

“Well what about you?” You ask, “what have you been up to?” 

You could see the hesitancy in Natasha’s face, just as she was about to answer, however you see a light brown haired male come up beside her. 

“Hey Nat, I hate to interrupt but we got a Budapest situation over here.” Natasha swerved her attention to where he pointed at the blonde who was obviously drunk off her ass putting a six foot tall man into a choke hold. Which you had to admire and be impressed at. 

“I guess that’s my cue Nancy Drew,” Natasha said as she took one last sip from the beer bottle before abandoning it. As she was making her way through the crowd but before she got too far you saw her turn around. 

“What was the name of your bookstore again, Nancy Drew?!” She yelled over the crowd. 

“Oh-um- Summertime Stories!” You call out, you catch a glimpse of something in her eyes before it disappears. 

“I’ll see ya soon Nancy Drew!”  

Oh how right she was.

[ohworm-writes]

Worm?! lol. Hiii, I’m new here. Could I please request some head canons for sniper mask (from high rise invasion) with a (preferably) male s/o? (As long as you’re comfortable with it.) I haven’t found any for males sadly. Hope you have a good day! Thanks sm.

Tenkuu Shinpan/High-Rise Invasion: Sniper Mask Boyfriend Scenario

high-rise invasion/tenkuu shinpan masterlist

‼ Sniper Mask Relationship Headcanons with a Male S/o ‼

Featuring: Sniper Mask, Yuri Honjo, Mayuko Nise, Kuon Shinzaki

Warnings: gun mention, violence mention, cursing, blood mention

a/n - i wanted to add a lot of detail since you said there weren't any male readers, so i apologize that it took so long. i also have another sniper mask scenario that should come out soon! enjoy!

content below the cut!

coming to the high rise world was VERY unexpected for you

one second you're about to take a nap, right at the brink of sleep

the BOOM

you're on top of a building!

oh yeah, and there are murderers in masks right on your tail

not the afternoon you wanted, but it was the afternoon you got

you had been running from several masks, three of them right on your tail

you had been backed up near the edge of a building, the three of them circling yours you sat against the ground

when one of them slumped to the ground, dead

at first, you were confused, did he pass out maybe?

but then you saw blood and the other two dropping to the ground

no, yeah, they were all dead

you looked around for who could have done it

only to be met with another mask, a rifle at his side

you would have thought you were going to die if it weren't for the 3 girls by his side

why were 3 high school girls with one of the same kind of people that had tried to murder you?????

"Oh my god! Are you okay, sir?" A dark-haired girl ran forward and knelt down in front of you. You backed away from her, fear still coursing through you.

Your eyes landed on the masked man a few feet behind them, pointing a shaky finger towards him. "You! Why aren't you hurting us?" He stood up straight as all attention went to him, stuttering as the girl in front of you offered you a small smile.

"He won't hurt you, he'll only kill other masks, I promise!" You we're still skeptical of the group but decided it would be better than being stuck out here all alone. Silently, you took the girl's hand, letting her introduce you to the others.

When you were set in front of the masked man, he awkwardly gave his hand out for you to shake. "And this is Sniper Mask! He's scary, but-but, nice? Yeah, nice!" Yuri said, obviously unsure of her own words.

He extended his hand out for you to shake, and though you couldn't tell it, he was nervous beyond belief. He had just saved an extremely attractive guy and now he was no more than 2 feet in front of him!

"H-hey." Well, he fucked that up. You sighed, letting your shoulders slump as you took his hand, shaking it firmly. "Y/n, thanks for saving me Mr. Sniper Mask." You offered him a smile, to which his face instantly flushed, responding with nothing but a nod.

and that's where it began

at first, it was quiet between you and mr. mask

he didn't seem to make any moves to talk to you

hell, he didn't even seem to like being in the same room as you!

at least, that's from your perspective

from the other team, however...

"Kuon I-I don't. The command must of-" "Mr. Mask! You like Y/n! It's not the command, you do!" Kuon had been pestering Yuka for the past 30 minutes about her new idea. Obviously, it was nothing near the truth. It had to be the command malfunctioning.

"Admit it Mr. Mask! You're always looking at him and are fidgety whenever he's nearby!" Yuka sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as a blush crawled up onto his face. "Kuon it's not that I can assure you, I don't-" "If you won't admit it, I'm going to tell him!"

With that, Kuon dashed out of the room to find you. It took Yuka a few seconds to realize what the girl meant before he came barreling down the hall after her. "Kuon! Wait-"

Kuon didn't end up actually telling you that Sniper Mask liked you per se

but she didddd say that he wanted to talk with you more

and when he came up to the two of you, he apologized profusely for Kuon's behavior and dragged her off

but, the ordeal did help him to realize that no, this wasn't the mask's doing

he did actually like you

and little did he know that the feeling was mutual!

oh good gods you fell for him quick

you didn't even know why you liked him, but dear gods you did

you were terrified to confess to him

he barely ever shows emotion, so what are the chances he would show them to you?

well, it took him a while to confess to you, and only after you got injured by a mask did he spill

you had gone out with Mayuko to go find some supplies when a mask holding a machete came running at you two

it had cut your arm pretty bad, but you would live

Mayuko helped you wrap it up with some gauze she had found

when the two of you got back, the others (excluding Sniper Mask at the time) were all over you

you assured them that you could patch up your own wound, so you made your way back to your own room

expecting to be alone, you were surprised when Sniper Mask stopped you right outside your room's door

You held your injured arm close to your stomach, groaning as a sharp pain went through it. Your room was just around the corner, and once you were inside you could patch it up and go to sleep. At least, that's what the plan was originally.

What you didn't expect was the silent being of Sniper Mask to be laying against the door, his head shooting up as he heard footsteps. He turned his head towards you, eyes shifting from yours to your arm, and back to you.

"What happened." He said, but it came out in a much deeper tone than you had anticipated. A small blush found its way onto your face, your words catching in your throat as he leaned off of the door, making his way closer to you.

He was only a foot away, your breath hitched as his hand came towards you. He paused for a second, looking back at you, before grabbing your uninsured hand in his gloved one. Despite the fabric, his hands still radiated heat.

"I'm fine." You stated, but it didn't seem to do anything as he dragged you down the hall and up a flight of stairs. You were going to ask where he was taking you, when he grabbed one of the door handles, twisting it open and leading you inside.

There was nothing particularly special about his room, besides the rifle on his bed, of course. He let go of your hand the second the two of you were in the room, pausing a second after, before going to get a first aid kid.

You sat down on his bed, leaving the rifle alone. Unconsciously, your hands intertwined themselves together, trying to recreate the warmth he did just a few seconds ago. When he came back over, he was quick to take off your makeshift bandages and wipe the wound down.

You hissed in pain, grabbing one of his hands in the process and squeezing it to try and relive it. He gave your hand a reassuring squeeze of its own, quickly sanitizing it and dressing it with fresh bandages.

When he was done, you tried to let his hand go, but he squeezed it harder. You heard him let out a sigh, his face turning upwards as he looked at you. You couldn't see his eyes, but he was lost in yours.

Without thinking, he inched the bottom of his mask upwards with his free hand, just enough to reveal his mouth. Your heartbeat picked up, eyes widening as they flickered down to his lips.

In a second the lips you were staring at were pressed against your own. His lips were warm, the taste of coffee lingering from them. When he pulled away, you did nothing but look at him with adoration.

You cupped his face with one of your hands, your smile growing as he leans into the touch. "Y'know," he started, bringing his hand up to hold yours. "I've been meaning to ask you to become my boyfriend for a while."

"Is that so?" You asked him, earning a hum and a shrug in response. "Now seemed like a good time to ask." You chuckled softly at him, watching a smile form on his lips. "My answer is yes then, Sniper Mask."

it was hard to keep your relationship a secret from the girls

Kuon was glued to Yuma's side almost 24/7, so she caught on first

then it was a domino effect

the three of them were extremely happy for you two

they do tease you both from time to time though

Kuon is especially happy about the relationship

sure, she has a crush on Yuka, but she's happy to see the two of you together

he's very wary about it all at first

his group has been attacked before, and not to mention other masks that could hurt you

yes, he's a strong badass who could protect you no matter what

but it doesn't make him worry any less!

any time foreign masks come near, you better bet your ass they're gonna have a bullet hole (or two) in them

he loves to show off that you're his and vice versa

refers to you as "his boyfriend" a lot

also likes to say "i'm his boyfriend"

absolutely swoons if you call him "yours"

peppers your face with kisses any time he can

just giving you lots of kisses in general

likes to have you by his side most times

he always needs to make sure you're safe

you basically have your own bodyguard

usually sleeps with you on his chest and his arms wrapped around you

then again, he won't turn down being the little spoon~

genuinely fucking loves you and wants to make you know every second he can

[sunnyrosewritesstuff]

Well...I saw this going differently in my head. I hope that it works. 

Masterlist for these drabbles here. Check out the original post/prompt list. And feel free to send me requests if there are any specific combinations/pairings you want to see.

Roommates + Paralegal + "I didn't even realize you were flirting." + Fili/Ori

Ori despised bringing work home with him. However, sometimes, he didn’t have a choice. Balin was going to have a meeting with his subpoenas on Friday, and was counting on Ori to get all of this information organized for the case ahead of time. Well, at least Fili promised to have dinner ready for him. He wasn’t counting on his roommate having anything more than takeout prepared, but that was fine. He didn’t plan on leaving the study tonight.

“Hey Ori! Welcome back.” Fili greeted as soon as the ginger walked through the door.

“Hey Fili.” Ori returned looking around in confusion.

It would have been completely dark if it wasn’t for the candles spaced out on the tables and in the kitchen.

“Do we have power? Did you forget to pay the bill again?” Ori accused only slightly panicked.

“We have power.” Fili rolled his eyes. “I just…I thought it would set the mood.”

Ori snorted as he flipped on the light, ignoring Fili’s wince as his eyes adjusted.

“My mood is ‘finishing this research’.”

“Wait, but…dinner?”

“Yeah, order whatever you want and just bring it to the study.” Ori waved him off already headed down the hall.

Fili looked crushed for a moment before he ducked into the kitchen. Ori didn’t have time to psychoanalyze his roommate’s strange behavior. Dumping his books on the table, he fired up his laptop hoping to learn as much as he could about property law in thirty-six hours. Should be fun.

“You’re entree, mabannamûn (he who continues to get more handsome).”

That was quick. Ori looked over at the plate Fili was holding trying not to grimace. 

“Fili? What exactly is that?”

“Dinner! I made spaghetti.” He stated proudly.

Ori would have accused it of drowning purple worms if the noodles weren’t so stiff. 

“Right. Set it over there, I’ll get to it here in a sec.”

Maybe after Fili went to bed, he could order delivery chinese. 

Fili reluctantly did as Ori asked with a sigh. Ori assumed he would leave at that point, but he had clearly underestimated how much the blonde was trying to get his attention.

“You know, you’re so hot it should be illegal.”

Slowly, ever so slowly, Ori looked up to raise an eyebrow at his roommate incredulously. Feeling encouraged, Fili gave a wide grin as he continued.

“Can you take on a case? Because I think I just had my heart stolen.”

“Did Kili come over today?” Ori questioned.

Fili blanked. “Um…no.”

“Then why are you being…weird? Well weirder than normal.” He snorted.

“It’s just that…you look innocent and I plead guilty of…”

“Fili.” Ori interrupted with a sigh. “I’ve got a lot of work here. If you’re just going to be messing around, can you do it later?”

Red blossomed over the blonde’s face as his brows knit together in anger. Before Ori could say another word, Fili marched out of the room slamming the door behind him. A few minutes later, and the unmistakable sound of the front door slamming echoed back to him. Ori ran his hands through his hair with a groan. Clearly, that could have been handled better. Not that Ori completely understood what was going on in the first place. Vowing to make it up to Fili later, Ori threw himself into his work.

 It was close to 1 a.m. when Ori finished taking a coffee break that he heard Fili return. Poking his head down the hall, he was able to make out the dejected form of his roommate locking up.

“Hey.” He greeted.

“Hey.” Fili returned without looking up.

Ori frowned. Clearly, this was serious if Fili wasn’t over it already.

“Want to talk?”

Fili shot him a glare, and Ori held his hands up ready to beeline back to the study. He had barely turned around before Fili was calling out to him.

“Do you like me?” He demanded.

Ori completely froze in his tracks. Where did that come from? Too afraid to turn around, Ori just remained standing there.

“Because I like you. I have for awhile. That’s the reason for all the…flirting tonight.”

"I didn't even realize you were flirting." Ori cried incredulously, spinning around.

Fili rolled his eyes. “I specifically found lawyer-themed pick-up lines.”

“Yeah, but I thought that was just…you being you.”

“Well…now you know.”

The silence that engulfed them was awkwardly stilted. Fili finally gave a depravicating laugh.

“I guess that answers that.”

“No wait, Fili.” Ori reached out to stop him. 

He looked up into the blonde’s impossibly blue eyes. Apparently it was a trait he got from his grandmother. Ori always found that fact oddly charming.

“I like you.” He murmured. “When you’re not being a total idiot…well maybe even then.”

A thousand watt smile split the blonde’s lips.

“Really?!”

Ori had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. “Yes, really. But you remember that I, um…I don’t do relationships like other people.”

Fili reached down and took Ori’s hand, giving it a soft squeeze.

“I don’t mind.”

“Really?” 

“Ori, we’ve lived together for two years now. Has it never occurred to you that I’m asexual too?”

Ori ducked his head to hide the heat rising up his face to his ears. He had noticed. He had hoped anyways. 

“It’ll be a learning experience for both of us.” Fili remarked.

“Well, in that case. Do you want to go out and get something? I still haven’t eaten.”

“What?” Fili exclaimed. “I made you spaghetti…”

“The noodles weren’t cooked all the way.” Ori accused.

“I’ll admit they were a bit crusty…”

“And did you crush your own tomatoes?”

“Well we were out so I thought I could use beets instead…”

Ori snorted as he bumped the blonde’s shoulder. “Just take me out to eat.”

Fili chuckled as he interwove their fingers. “It would be my pleasure.”

[after-witch]

Baby Mine [Yandere Overhaul x Reader]

Title: Baby Mine [Yandere Overhaul x Reader]

Synopsis:  The first time you laid eyes on your child, you knew: You had to get out. Set in the ‘White Picket Fence’-verse. 

For request: Something with Overhaul + the reader’s children and manipulation (I’m sorry I accidentally deleted the original message so I don’t remember the exacting wording!)

Word Count: 3328

notes: yandere, stockholm syndrome, abuse

From the instant you laid eyes on your daughter, the moment your gaze took in her fresh, wet skin and her small, blinking, uncomprehending eyes, you knew: you had to get the fuck away from Chisaki Kai.

The realization was instant, like a flash, peeling away years of manipulation and training and forced self-acceptance of your situation. Years of justifications and excuses that had wormed their way under your skin, forcing you to see the bright side, to see his side, and let yourself get wrapped up in its candy-coated, fluffy cotton bullshit--gone, ripped away with brutal, exacting force. All that was left was the stark realization, a single driving force shoving you forward: you and your daughter were going to get out.

That was four years ago.

Four years of agonizing pretending. Of forcing yourself to put back on the coat you'd worn before, the false version of yourself that loved him and accepted him and excused everything he ever did to you. It was hard. It was harder to pretend that you accepted this than to actually accept it, to indulge in his control. But every time your resolve weakened, it only took a glance at your child to remind you of why you couldn't just give in.

You had to get out, not for yourself, but for her. To give her a normal life. A life where she could be free, where she could have friends, where she could run outside and not be limited to the house or, if the weather was nice, the secure, high-fenced backyard that Kai had only built within the last year.

Four years of pretending. Four years of planning. And, most difficult of all, four years of waiting. Trust was not easily given by Chisaki Kai, even to the mother of his child.

So you waited.

You waited for Kai to move you two--no, three now--into a house, a real house; not in a populated suburb (another broken promise that you swallowed deep, deep down) but an offshoot of some protected compound in a remote area, where it could be secure and guarded. But what mattered is that its doors connected to the outside, not to some unknown underground bunker.  You could manage, if you were connected to the outside.

You waited for Kai to ease up on the restrictions that built up around you during your pregnancy, rules to keep you under a far more watchful eye, rules that made it harder to find a way out. Inches of trust, gradually earned, which made it possible for you to think concretely about escape.

You waited for your daughter to get old enough to run, old enough to survive without needing to be fed every few hours, old enough to know how to stay quiet when told. Watching her grow up only made you want to leave, more. She had a personality now. Stubborn but accepting when she knew she wouldn’t win; sweet in her own way, an unusual way, likely one that came from a lack of interaction with anyone but her parents and a handful of trusted Shie Hassaikai members.

It was one of those trusted members--you never have learned their name, a secret Kai (nor they) were willing to give--that would be your key to escape.

 They loved your daughter, too, in time. They were drawn in by her precociousness, her insistence on formalities and pleases and thank-yous. But it was her bubbliness and inherent interest in the world and people around her that made them decide to love her, too.Her big eyes and bubbling laugh when you two were allowed in the yard, sometimes under this member’s supervision. 

To your daughter’s delight, they didn’t simply watch you like the handful of others did; they joined in the fun. Just a few weeks ago, she’d convinced him to push her so high on the swing set that she’d gone all the way around--even your heart briefly froze until she’d emerged on the other side, cackling with delight, safe and sound.

They were loyal to Overhaul. Of that there was no doubt. Had they killed for him? Maimed? Tortured? You tried not to think about the things that were done in Overhaul’s name.

Yet they’d betrayed him, all for the sake of your daughter. Part of you feels bitter that they wouldn’t betray him for the sake of you--but then, what was that saying? Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

It was with their help that you were finally able to secure that last necessary piece of the puzzle for your escape: getting out of the secured, monitored gate surrounding the house unnoticed. He told you in hushed, intense tones that he would be on watch duty the night of your escape, that he would take care of the other member assigned that night, and that all you had to do was get out the door at the agreed time with your bag, your daughter, and a good pair of walking shoes. He would drive you as far as he could, and then you two would run, run, run after that.

It was going to work. Your daughter was going to live her life, a real life, not one carefully constructed in captivity. What would you do first, once you were free? The thoughts sometimes made you so giddy that you pinched yourself to calm down. So close, so close to the finish line, and you must be vigilant.

Tonight. You and your daughter are going to leave tonight.

Your daughter is in her bed, tucked in safe and secure. Her eyes are already closed, and Kai is sitting at the edge of the mattress, as always, smoothing down her hair and pressing a chaste kiss to her forehead. You watch from the doorway with your arms casually crossed, a small, tired, end-of-the-night smile on your lips. It's all so normal, so domestic, isn't it.

"Good night," he says, so soft and sweet that, if you hadn't been pulled out of your deluded coping mechanism, you might find it endearing. Instead, your thoughts scream: This will be the last time you ever see her, you fucked up piece of shit bastard. Oh, do you have a potty mouth when your 'husband' can't hear you...

He leaves your daughter to her dreams and clicks off the little lamp on her nightstand. When he crosses the doorway, you make room and he lets you slide your arm around his, linking yourselves together for the walk to your shared bedroom.

"Tired?" He asks, and you nod. You are tired. Not for the reasons he thinks, and not for the reasons you'll give, but the telltale darkness under your eyes belies the stress of planning your escape from a years-long ordeal.

You sigh, as soft and sweet as his voice was earlier. "Mmhmm. She didn't want to focus on her lessons today. I got a bit frustrated. Sometimes I don't think I'm cut out to be a teacher." By now you're in your bedroom and you casually take off your day clothes, dropping them in the labeled hamper in front of the closet. Your stomach twinges with the memory of how he used to look away when you took off your clothes.

But that was long ago, and now he continues the conversation casually as the pair of you strip and change into your respective pajamas. You slip a pink nightie with ruffled bottom over your head as he

"You just need more practice. Are you reading the lesson books before you start class?"

I wouldn't have to read any lesson books if you let her out of this house, if you let her out of school, if you weren't--you stop your thoughts, afraid that they might show on your face. Afraid that you might lose everything at this last, crucial moment.

But you know you look frustrated, so you roll with it. "Yes," you say, voice just the right amount of annoyed in retort. "But if she doesn't want to sit down and focus, me reading the lesson beforehand isn't really going to help, is it?"

He stares at you, and you wonder in a flash if you went too far. But in the next moment, he's simply continuing to button up his shirt. "Is it going to help our daughter learn if you take out your bad day on your husband?" His voice is dripping with the natural condescension that once had you questioning whether or not it was okay to be upset that he'd kidnapped you, and you hate it. But at least it's a sign that he bought your excuses.

You feel a warm flush of shame at the way his condescension still makes you feel less-than. You slide yourself into bed, under the covers, instinctively grabbing the book on your end table and staring down into it like you could simply disappear inside the pages. You can't mess up anything right now. The weight of what you need to do tonight feels so heavy and you can't stop your hands from trembling slightly.

"Sorry," you whisper, voice thick with emotion. "It's just hard sometimes. I feel in over my head."

It's Kai's turn to slide under the covers, though he doesn't bother grabbing his own book. Instead he gently pushes on your hands until you set the book on the covers. You know he wants you to look at him, so you do. He looks so gentle, so calm. Did he kill anyone today? Did he insult some hapless victim who crossed his organization, spewing venom with his words, before kissing your daughter goodnight hours later?

His gloved hands tip your chin up and it's a familiar feeling, an intimate feeling, when he pulls you in for a kiss. When he pulls away, he's smiling softly, indulgently. You aren't in trouble. You're good.

"I'll come home for lessons tomorrow and see what I can do. Would you like that?"

I'd like you to drop dead and make this easier on us, you think.

"Yes, Kai."

You smile. You nod. You let out a shaky sigh and lean your shoulders against his, picking up your book and signaling an end to the crisis. He lets you read quietly for a while before turning off the lamp on his side of the bed; it's a wordless signal that you already know: time to sleep. You're a dutiful wife and you put your book away and turn off your lamp and then turn back to your husband and whisper,

"Good night, Kai."

**

You wait until he's deep asleep to ease your way out of the bed. Every step you take in your padded socks makes you cringe. Will the floor creak? Will you make too much noise? Will you have to come up with a half-assed excuse as he comes to, groggily asking what you're doing? You feel like you can't breathe, but you do breathe, soft and shallow as you make your way to the bedroom door.

 You didn't dare keep anything related to your escape in your shared bedroom. The door feels like it weighs a thousand pounds as you ever-so-slowly open it, keeping your head turned towards the man sleeping on the bed all the while. He doesn't stir. He simply continues to snore, even as the door opens enough for you to slip out.

Your heart is pounding in your chest as you cross the hallway and into the spare room that you used as a playroom and, lately, a makeshift school. The bag you packed is in the closet, tucked behind bags of school supplies that you'd asked Kai to pick up in order to make sure that your escape bag didn't stand out. You grab it swiftly, along with your daughter's outdoor shoes, and make your way to the most dangerous element of your escape: your daughter's room.

She did so well. You remind yourself to praise her once you're away from the house, once you're in a car and making noise isn't a life or death dilemma. You built up the idea of your escape bit by bit over the past few weeks. You couldn't tell her that her father was a monster who kidnapped you, but you could prey on her desire to see more, to go beyond the rules established in her father's domain.

Don't you want to meet other kids? Go to the beach, feel the sand underneath your feet? Meet... your grandma? We'll just take a secret trip, you and me, and then come back to Papa when we're done. Then he'll see that it's safe to leave and come with us next time. But you have to keep it a secret. You can't tell him a thing, or we won't be able to go. You can keep a secret, can't you?

You kneel next to your daughter's bed and gently wake her up, whispering her name and stroking her hair, so she slowly opens her eyes in confusion before her gaze lands on your face and ah, a smile--it's just mom.

"Mama?" She asks, a bit too loudly for your liking.

"Shh baby," you say. "Yes, it's mama. Are you ready to go?" You see the tentativeness, the childish confusion in the way she nods. She doesn't know what real life is yet, she doesn't have an inkling of the freedom that she's lost, but she will.

You don't bother changing. You have a pair of clothes in the bag and you'll change when you're in a safer space. For now, you take her hand and lead her down the staircase, your chest tightening with every step. You can't help but glance back at the still-open doorway leading to your bedroom. You pray to whatever is listening that he won't wake up. Each step is a step closer to freedom. Each step is a terrifying risk that you or she might slip, might make noise, might wake him up.

Your spirits lift when you reach the bottom of the stairs. All you have to do is get out the door and he'll be waiting there with the key and a getaway car and freedom.

You clutch your daughter's hand, your own palm now sweaty; you nearly trip on a toy you forgot to pick up earlier, but thankfully the light in the entryway was turned on (you must have forgotten to turn it off) and you see it just in time to avoid disaster. You squeeze your daughter hand and turn the corner that leads to the entryway of your home--

Where Chisaki Kai is standing, waiting for you, his eyes practically illuminated by the glowing lamp light.

You drop the bag.

"No," you say. "No." Your mind suddenly feels fuzzy, like its buzzing, drowning out all of your thoughts with a pure denial of what you see in front of you.

"How--how did you--" you sputter, unable to continue voicing your question. It was all planned. It was all practiced. You pretended, you waited, you planned--for four years. How? How did he know?

He doesn't have to answer. You know the moment that your daughter's grip slips out of your hand and she runs up to her father, feet thumping on the floor. She clings to his side and doesn't look at you, and he runs a hand through her hair without taking his eyes away from your shaking form.

Of course she told him. Of course she told her papa that you wanted to leave. She loved him. Why wouldn't she? It was all she'd ever known. You were breaking the rules, breaking the structure that dominated her life since she could remember. 

"Please don't be mad at me, mama." Your daughter whimpers against Kai, and you can hear the tears in her little voice, and your heart aches for her in so many ways.

"I'm not," you whisper. "I'm not mad at you, baby." You're just sad, so sad. It hurts. All of it.

"Sweetheart," Kai says, voice surprisingly calm despite the events, "go back to bed while I help your mother unpack your things, all right?"

Your daughter nods and suddenly she's against you, hugging you in a tight, childish way; you only have enough energy to pull your arm around her, limp and heavy, patting her back without really feeling it before she scampers up the stairs.

You're left alone. With him.

He approaches you slowly and you feel like an animal. There's wildness hammering in your heart and the thought comes up, unwillingly: could you still run? Escape on your own? And hope that some day, your daughter escapes and finds you? But the thought of leaving her behind is impossible to indulge in for more than a second, and you know that without her, your life isn't worth living. The thought of abandoning her to Kai Chisaki brings up an immediate sense of revulsion and guilt and shame.

"What were you thinking?"

You aren't looking at him, but you don't have to be looking at him to know that he's glaring at you. Looking down on you with his gaze filled with righteous justifications. You glance and--yes, he is, but there's something darker, something you’d forgotten, underneath. Your stomach suddenly feels loaded with weights and your legs move backwards, pulling you away from him, away from the anger that feels like it's radiating off him in waves.

He suddenly grips your chin with brutal force and yanks your jaw forward, forcing you to look at him.

"I had to kill one of my most trusted men today because of your..." His eyes dart back and forth for a moment, before he spits out the apparently perfect description of your escape attempt. "Hysteria. An absolute waste of potential, all because of your ridiculousness."

Your mouth is dry. Your voice is hoarse. But you speak up, anyway. You've already lost everything.

"It's not ridiculous to want to get out of here." 

The weight of the years seems to press down on your shoulders, pounding into your bones, screaming in your ears. 

"It's not ridiculous to--to want to take my daughter away from the man who kidnapped me and forced me to pretend like I was happy here, like I was happy living in some--" you cough, needing moisture, but not daring to stop to swallow lest you lose your courage. "--glorified dollhouse while you tell me what to do and what to wear and how to act and when to fuck you and when to have a baby and fuck you, fuck you, just fuck you Kai. I hate you. Oh I fucking hate you."

You don't notice as your voice gets louder, emboldened by the adrenaline that's been crashing through you since you opened the bedroom door, until his hand is gripping your upper arm in a show of brute, vise-length strength.

"Lower. your. voice." 

His grip strengthens until you cry out, and then it gradually loosens without letting you go completely.

For the next few moments, you do nothing but stare at one another. Your mind feels hazy, darting from thought to thought. It was all for nothing. The last four years, all for nothing. But you think about your daughter, about what she may have been able to accomplish outside of these walls, and even the fantasy of a free life for her made it worth something--didn't it?

It's his voice that lowered, now, as he lets you go completely and straightens himself up. All business now. But what business will he engage in, this time?

"Perhaps you do need a vacation," he says, finally. Firmly. He's made a decision.

You wonder if he's lost his mind and you're about to ask as much before he continues.

"Did you know this house has a secret room? It's nice and quiet. The perfect place for you to recuperate until you've regained your senses."

The room, the room, the room.

Your hand instinctively claps against your mouth as you cry out.

After all, you don't want to wake your daughter up with your screams.

[a-libra-writes]

How the GoT Characters Propose To You

We’re BACK AT IT AGAIN FOLKS

In this imagine, you’ll be proposed to by: Ned Stark, Robb Stark, Sansa Stark, Jon Snow, Benjen Stark, Jory Cassel, Dolorous Edd, Yara Greyjoy, Daenerys Targaryen, Jorah Mormont, Missandei, Grey Worm, Tywin Lannister, Tyrion Lannister, Jaime Lannister, Sandor Clegane, Bronn, Petyr Baelish, Stannis Baratheon, Davos Seaworth, Margaery Tyrell, Brynden Tully, Edmure Tully, Brienne of Tarth, Ramsay Bolton, Roose Bolton, Oberyn Martell, Beric Dondarrion

NED STARK

In spite of the fact your families arranged this marriage years ago, Ned has to be his usual honorable, traditional self and go along with the expected courting process. That includes a formal proposal, but… that’s not for the purpose of tradition. The way he beams and looks at you with such adoration, you can tell he just really wants to hear you say “yes” to the proposal he shyly talks through. The ring is on the more modest side, combining the direwolf and your house’s sigil. There’s a personal touch on the inside; either an inscription or an engraving that has a special meaning to the two of you. He likely has a matching ring, very unassuming, that he wears whenever possible.

ROBB STARK

He didn’t expect to fall so completely for you during this stuffy courting process. Robb can’t believe how lucky he is, and it’s obvious to everyone how enamored he is with you. He’s ready to jump straight to the wedding, tradition be damned, but oh well. What he does do is give you the ring quite early, and his own proposal, even if your marriage has been long decided. His proposal is straightforward, but there’s love and earnestness in his eyes as he takes your hands and presents the ring he secretly acquired. It’s beautifully crafted, with silver direwolves and gemstones that match your house’s sigil for their eyes.

SANSA STARK

Sansa had thought about this for a long time. Letting that romantic spirit come back, even after you’d been together for a while, was difficult. The whole concept of marriage had become repulsive to her, but together the two of you could make it something different. She gave you an unassuming ring you could always wear, with gemstones that reminded her of your eyes. She tried not to cry with happiness as she gave her heartfelt proposal. You’d say your vows in the weirwoods, where she always wanted to be married. The whole day would seem like a dream to her, like the innocent daydreams she had as a girl, before the world took everything.

JON SNOW

He had it planned out: What he would say, where he would say it, but his nerves and doubts bite at him again and again. You can tell he’s been thinking about something for months, it’s been weighing on him, but you hadn’t expected this. It all makes sense when you both are alone in a godswood and Jon takes your hand … and finally blurts it all out. He had a silver ring made; you don’t know how he managed it, but it’s pretty in its simplicity. There’s a direwolf running across the ring, its teeth bared, and another one running beside it. A pack of two.

BENJEN STARK

The asking and ceremony would be more of a ‘symbolic’ thing - being you both were in the Night’s Watch, and you were in disguise. It’s why when he first asked you, you thought it was some silly jap. “Of course, Ben,” You rolled your eyes. “I would love to be your wife.” Then he took your hand, removed the old woolen glove covering it and put on a small, unassuming iron ring that fit you perfectly. Benjen couldn’t stop grinning as he asked you again. It’s a sweet moment you share high up on the wall, in the middle of the darkness, where it seems like you both are totally alone in the world. Days afterward, you notice the engravings of the direwolf inside the ring.

JORY CASSEL

No matter how long you both were together at this point, Jory gets tongue-tied and stumbles over what he carefully rehearsed. He’s still so sure you’ll refuse him, given the small land and influence his family has. He thought for a long time about what sort of ring to get you, and admittedly, he was thinking about it early on in the relationship. It’s something quite pretty and elegant, and it references your house and personal taste. Honorable and traditional as he was, it didn’t feel right going to your family for “formal” permission. He wanted to know your feelings first, and that you truly wanted the arrangement.

EDDISON TOLLETT

You being his “old lady” was a dumb in-joke you and Edd had for some time. You were disguised in the Night’s Watch, of course, but the way you two (playfully) bickered made everyone call you an exhausting old couple. Even when you both were alone, Edd would use “wife”, though you were increasingly aware it wasn’t a joke anymore. Finally he really asks you, even if it’s pointless, even if it’s while you both are freezing in the middle of a frozen wasteland. And even then, he’s still surprised you say yes. One day he ties a piece of old twine around your finger, blushing the whole time, insisting you don’t have to keep it on if you don’t want to.

YARA GREYJOY

If you were from the greenlands, from the get-go, Yara liked to refer to you as her salt wife. It was half teasing, half telling the other Ironborn to stay away. Whenever she’d say it, she’d keep such a protective hold on your waist, you were half-convinced she was going to carry you off to her ship. Eventually she made good on that promise. If you were Ironborn, Yara would be more willing to be forward. She’d tell you about some story she heard from her uncle about brides of the sea, women who stayed together and never married, though you knew she wasn’t one for fancies. Regardless, she’d have matching necklaces made for the both of you, leather and iron, like most of what she owns. She keeps it protected under her clothes.

DAENERYS TARGARYEN

Oh, she’s brought it up with you plenty of times - how you’ll be her Queen before gods and men, no matter what anyone thinks. The thing is, you both never did a grand ceremony. There were other matters to attend to, but Daenerys always made it clear to visitors who you were to her. She has plans for a wonderful ceremony once she takes her throne back, a celebration of your unbreakable union… Well, until then, you both can have your private vows. There’s dozens of beautiful things she’s given you (mostly from suitors who won’t bugger off), but your favorite is a necklace she had specially made. It’s a necklace of obsidian with dragons in flight, all connected together. The three largest dragons have a ruby, a diamond and an emerald for their eyes - a reference to her children, who are also fond of you. You two also wear matching obsidian bands with small rubies, made from the same stone as the necklace.

JORAH MORMONT

First, you knew this was happening. Jorah wears his heart on his sleeve and that’s even more evident when he’s worried about something. You noticed he was being both especially loving and anxious. You considered saying something, but he was clearly waiting for a perfect moment. Seriously, he’d look ready to say something, then back off at the last second at least a dozen times. Finally Jorah asked you, with the most loving smile on his face, and he was so choked up when you accepted - as if he really thought you’d refuse. You’ve told him before that you don’t need anything fancy, but he still gets you a lovely and elegant ring with silver-black engravings of small bears and another animal you’re fond of. He’s thrilled if you got him a matching ring or necklace; again, Jorah didn’t imagine you’d want such a thing. He’d wear it constantly and it’d become something he’d fiddle with when he was nervous.

MISSANDEI

Missandei would wait for you to pop the question because, in truth, she never imagined you’d want to. She understood that was a tradition in your home country, but you were both women, and she was… well, she just didn’t expect it. But Missandei’s eyes light up with surprise and adoration at your earnest question, and she says yes without even thinking. She isn’t one for anything fancy, but she’d love you both to have a matching set of bracelets, necklaces or rings - something elegant but not flashy, perhaps with stones or engravings that mean something personal to the both of you. She’d always wear it, even if she had to hide it under her clothes for some reason or another. She’s terribly flustered when someone asks her who it’s from and what it means.

GREY WORM

Oh, no no no. He’d grown a lot beside you, and as Daenerys’ commander, but there were still areas where Grey Worm felt like he wasn’t enough. It would take a lot of prodding and reassurance from Missandei before he’d finally start planning. You’d wonder what he was up to, and he’d just shyly say it was a surprise and you’d learn eventually. His proposal is sweet and faltering; he tried to stay serious, but he just couldn’t when you looked at him with those kind eyes. Grey Worm decided to make the jewelry himself - it would be an intricate leather bracelet with gemstones inlaid. He hunted the animal and tanned the leather himself, and spent many evenings hurting his fingers to put it together. He has a matching one, though it’s far simpler.

TYWIN LANNISTER

First off, this was a marriage arranged well in advance, so you didn’t expect any extended courting or proposals. This was Tywin, after all. Still he managed to surprise you a fortnight before the wedding with an absurdly jeweled ringbox. The ring itself was Lannister gold, and you anticipated lions and rubies… but it was your house’s sigil, with your birthstone inlaid, and small lions along the band. It’s far more than you anticipated from such a man. And when Tywin presented it to you, you sensed his expectation, and the heat in his eyes... He would never admit to wanting your approval, but that look was saying otherwise. Some years later, you have more jewelry than you could dream of, but you still wear that original ring most often. You’ll catch him glancing at it when you put it on, or twist it around your finger, then he’ll glance aside like he wasn’t watching.

TYRION LANNISTER

Naturally, he’s been thinking of this and planning it for weeks, maybe months, depending on how in love he is. Even if it’s a marriage of love, Tyrion will still have late-night nagging thoughts that you’ll back out, or you’re doing it out of duty. When he takes your hand and gives you the sweetest proposal you’ve ever heard, he still isn’t sure… until you kiss him and tell him what a silly man he’s being. Of course you’d accept. The ring has beautiful craftsmanship, with delicate flowers, lions and gemstones matching your house. It’s rosegold and silver rather than Lannister gold, and the inscription inside is something of an in-joke between you two, likely a quote from a book.

JAIME LANNISTER

You were concerned when he first approached you. It’s rare Jaime is this solemn with you, and he’d been acting strange the past week. Then he started to speak, and you realized he was nervous. His cheeks were starting to get red, and he was having trouble looking right at you. His nervousness came from the fact that Jaime wasn’t entirely sure you’d say yes, no matter how long you’d been together, no matter how confident he was that whole time. All the doubts would begin to creep, and before you could even answer, he considered backing out. But you said yes, and the smile that grew on his face was so wonderful to see. Jaime doesn’t want anything fancy or ceremonial, tradition and his family name be damned. The ring is gold, naturally, but it’s simple and charming. There’s small, pretty gemstones inlaid beside lion engravings.

SANDOR CLEGANE

At this point, you two have been married in all but name for years. He has his own thoughts on marriage, and you have your’s, and there was never a rush. People in the village already thought you already took vows, so honestly, you might have kids before Sandor starts considering something a little official. It would be something simple, but heartfelt. He’d have a fancy leather bracelet woven for you, or a simple silver ring, if you’d prefer that. He wouldn’t want much for himself, and would be flustered if you made something - but he’d absolutely wear it. Instead of taking the three black dogs from the Clegane sigil, you both would think of something new.

BRONN

He’s made all sorts of stupid jokes about marriage, especially now that he’s a proper lord. You’ve never taken any of it seriously, especially when these sentimental rambles come from when he’s drunk and wanting under your dress. Other times are when you’re out and about and pass a sept - “We oughta made it official, then go straight to the wedding night” - really, you never expected him to be serious about it. One evening he tossed something shiny at you, and you caught it. It was a beautiful ring with a huge diamond … and your first thought is if he stole it. He didn’t look at you, only mumbled something about maybe talking to your family. Maybe considering it for real. Bronn’s terrible with emotions, especially speaking them out loud. His gestures speak louder, and the whole time he’s talking he’s trying not to look at you.

PETYR BAELISH

Naturally he planned out the whole proposal - the right location, what he would say, and a beautiful ring that meant something important to you. It wasn’t big and conspicuous, rather it was something absolutely tailored for you, with a mockingbird etched inside. Petyr starts strong as he takes your hand, but begins to falter in his words when you look at him with such adoration. That undivided attention and love just gets him flustered, though he knew you’d accept. This was all part of his plan, but even knowing it would happen didn’t make him any less pleased.

STANNIS BARATHEON

Your houses had been in discussion about the betrothal for a while, but being the man he was, Stannis still wanted to do the usual courting and formal proposal. His words were blunt, the tips of his ears were turning red and he kept darting his eyes away, but he said it. He remembers the ring when you accept, and you assumed he had it ordered without much thought… Though when you look at it, you notice it’s not just pretty woven gold and black diamonds. In the center of the diamonds is your birthstone, and you wonder if he added that touch - your parents certainly wouldn’t have. Even after you’ve been married for years and have plenty of jewelry to pick from, Stannis gets a little flushed that you wear the first ring he gave you so often.

DAVOS SEAWORTH

Your dear Davos made your ring, a pretty and modest thing he created with the help of a blacksmith friend (you were wondering where those little burns on his fingers came from). You both had been together for a while now, talking about marriage here and there but never actually doing it. When he takes your hand, he’s bashful, though he gets through his words. They’re sweet and honest, like you expected. He knew you’d say yes, but he wanted to say it, and to give you the ring. Even if you don’t want a ceremony, he wanted to give you this. It’s a pretty silver and iron ring with pretty engraved flowers, your favorite, and a loving inscription on the inside.

MARGAERY TYRELL

First off, she’d been asking you strange questions for weeks. You could tell she wanted to get you a gift, and she wanted it to be just right. Then you realized she must have some sort of elaborate date planned… Well, you didn’t expect the wonderful evening to end in a proposal. Even if it wasn’t possible for you by the laws of Westeros, Margaery didn’t care. She had a beautiful ring made for you, and she had her “vows” ready. As far as she’s concerned, your hearts belong together, and the gods will understand. She only cries a little, but she’s mostly beaming as you say yes and allow her to put it on your finger.

The gold ring is made wonderfully, with sculpted roses and a large emerald in the center, with her birthstone around it. Margaery wanted a matching one, but that might be suspicious. So, her ring is your favorite flower sculpted with your birthstone in the center.

BRYNDEN TULLY

All his life Brynden resisted the brides his brother threw at him, absolutely sure he was going to die a warrior and not some lazy lord… Well, you certainly changed that perspective, though he likes to say he’s still too old and you ought to spend your life with someone else. Because he thinks it’s the right thing to do, and you deserve it - and with the upcoming war - he gets the ring. Brynden is actually flustered the whole time, giving you a curt and honest proposal. He wants to be with you until the rest of his days - even if they’re numbered - if you’ll have him. No fancy ceremony, ideally, it’s just the two of you. The ring itself is unusual and also not traditional. It’s cool silver with black etchings, and the sigils are your house’s sigil or a favorite flower. It’s not very Tully, except for a small chain of trout engraved on the inside.

EDMURE TULLY

He’s completely confident in this proposal. And why not? You both adore each other, the marriage has been planned for well over a year now, he has just the right place to ask you… Though he’s so excited, he ends up stumbling over some words while he asks you. The official arrangement had already been announced, but he still wanted to do something private and romantic. It was difficult for Edmure to keep the ring a secret. He oversaw every step of it being made, and when he notices you looking at it, it makes him very happy. It’s an elegant silver ring inlaid with diamonds, rubies and sapphires; the latter being in a wavy formation like the Tully banner. You think it’s a bit extravagant, but he says otherwise.

BRIENNE OF TARTH

She’s been thinking about it over and over… you can tell she’s been agonizing about something for months. Finally she shyly presents you with a pretty and simple gold bracelet she figured you could always wear; stumbles over her words to explain it, then you understand her meaning. Yall find an abandoned sept and do cute lil vows and shes crying lol. You rlly want her to wear something similar and she’s just blushing the whole time but she agrees; she takes extremely good care of the necklace/bracelet and wears it under her armor.

RAMSAY BOLTON

Your parents and Roose made the arrangement, so you and Ramsay had little say in the matter. Still, he loves to play his roles, so he wanted to play the part of the attentive, doting lord, especially in front of your family. Though you’re surprised by the unusual ring he gives you; it’s two smooth rings interlocking with each other. The proposal is a little intense and unsettling, but you notice something when he puts it on your finger. He has small burns on his fingers, like had smithed it himself… And you wonder how he knew your ring size… Later on, when you both are married and living in the Dreadfort, sometimes he’ll take your hand and run his thumb over the cold ring.

ROOSE BOLTON

You both were officially engaged for some time, so he didn’t have to do any sort of proposal. When you both were at a private, quiet place in the gardens, and he took your hand. You weren’t expecting it at all. It was simple enough. He promised to look after you, to ensure your protection and health. It almost seemed… genuine, though those eyes were cold as ever. The ring was another surprise. You realized it was an heirloom, but it still looked impeccable. It was iron that was twisted into an elegant shape, with rubies and morganite. The largest ruby was in the center, shaped like a tear-drop… or maybe that was a blood-drop? You notice afterward he’ll glance at your hand each time you meet, as if concerned you wouldn’t wear it.

OBERYN MARTELL

You both had been paramours for years now, and you didn’t need the ring to be happy or official… So it surprised you when after a wonderful evening of dancing and drinking, and pressing against each other in the gardens, he asked you the question. It was romantic, like you’d expect, but also so earnest. Oberyn always wears his feelings on his sleeves, but this didn’t seem like a spur-of-the-moment passionate proposal. His words seemed like he’d worked on them for a long time. Oberyn is understanding if you want to stay paramours and not an official Lady Martell, as that title comes with trappings and expectations. He just had to ask you and hear your acceptance. The ring he gives you is gold, with vibrant topaz and rubies. The inside is engraved with the spear of Martell. You later learn from his brother that it’s a beloved family heirloom.

BERIC DONDARRION

The two of you don’t have much, but you’ve been in love for a long time and he very much wants a “proper” ceremony to express that. He shyly proposed to you in the moonlight after you both made love, and the almost desperation in his voice surprised you. He gave you a smooth, iron ring with a faint design of interwoven flames. The “ceremony” is a drunk Thoros and equally drunk septon his men found, for a double ceremony! It’s extra luck! Or something like that. Beric insists that makes it even more official, and he’ll marry you under a Godswood too, if you come across one. He’s full of smiles and wants to bridal carry you every chance he gets.

[boxofbonesfic]

Pattycakes (Chapter 1)

Title: Pattycakes

Summary: Like they say, it really does just take one time... Patricia Hodgins knows that better than anyone. She’s got even worse luck when it comes to her child’s father: Billionaire playboy Thor Odinson. He’s selfish and manipulative; and Patty’s not sure which outcome frightens her more—killing him or letting him worm his way into her heart.

Pairing: Thor x Black OFC 

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Manipulation, Possessive behavior, Mildly dubious consent, Breeding Kink, Age Difference (significant but not extreme), Stalking (light stalking though lol), Past Relationships, Class drama, Dad!Thor, Character improvement 

A/N: Hey folks! This is one of my ongoing fics, so I figured it would find a good home here. Definitely the lightest thing I’m writing right now, but who doesn’t love a bit of fluff, right? I hope you’ll all enjoy reading this fic as much as I enjoy writing it 🙏🏾 Character improvement and empathy are really big themes here, as well! I have seven chapters of 16 posted, so this one is a ride! 

This is a work of FICTION, and it is Dark, so I assume once you’ve clicked through the link that you are comfortable with that. I do not give consent for my work to be copied, translated, or posted elsewhere, even if I am credited. This work is entirely mine, and unbeta’d, so read at your own risk! 😘

Chapter 1: “Only Once” 

“Patty. Earth to Patty, you in there?” Wanda’s snapping fingers appeared in front of Patricia’s face, and she jumped back with a shrill, surprised squeak. Patty felt her cheeks heat as her friends laughed at her shock. She couldn’t blame them—she’d zoned out, staring unseeingly at traffic as they waited in line. She took a few steps forward into the space that had cleared up in front of her, and the irritated murmurs further down the line quieted. 

  “Sorry. I spaced. Moving up.” 

  “We noticed,” Wanda replied, laughing. Patricia watched as her friend dug around inside her purse for first a cigarette, and then a lighter. “It’s gonna be worth the wait, I promise.” 

  Behind her, America snorted. “Yeah, whatever. That’s what you said about Two-Five-Three, and the music was wack as fuck .”

  “What, so I’m not entitled to one flop? Look at this line and then tell me I’m just talking shit,” She snapped back, exhaling smoke from her nostrils. Her red lipstick had left a perfect ring on the filter, leaving smudges on her pale fingers as she talked. “Besides, what else were you guys going to do tonight? Play yahtzee?” 

  “I’m offended you’d suggest that,” Patty replied, sniffing. “This is an Uno house, goddamn you.” She poked her friend in the shoulder accusingly. “This blasphemy? I won’t hear it.” 

  They were only a few bodies away from the front of the line, which Patricia was grateful for. It was true that Wanda usually had an eye for the best, most interesting venues in the city, but waiting in line to get inside was never particularly fun. Patricia shifted from foot to foot, her borrowed heels clacking on the pavement. Wanda had insisted on them, of course. 

  The man-killers, Patricia thought amusedly, snickering. She glanced down at them, and wiggled her toes. They were about four inches too high for her, but they looked amazing, the gladiator style leather wrapping halfway up her calf. She wrapped a lock of her kinky black hair around her finger before releasing it—the braidout that she’d planned had come out perfectly, her thick coils framing her face neatly. 

  “Next.” 

  Music boomed loudly in ears as they were ushered inside by the large bouncer, shedding their coats at the door. The base was so deep that her chest vibrated with it, and suddenly she didn’t regret donning the skimpy, milkmaid style dress that America had talked her into buying just weeks before. The air inside was thick and heavy, and the club was packed with bodies. She could see now why there had been so many people in line, including them. The lighting was tinted lavender, and several chandeliers of differing lengths hung from the arched, vaulted cielling. The building clearly used to be some sort of church that had been converted into a nightclub, and they’d kept some of the more religious ostentation, like the stained glass windows. 

  One of her friends tapped her shoulder, and Patty turned to face them. 

  “Bar,” Wanda mouthed, pointing behind her. The bar was on the far side of the massive room, near some very sleek looking booths. Patricia picked her way across the dance floor after her friends, joining them at the bar. People were in constant motion around them, jostling them as they waited for the bartender’s attention. The music wasn’t quite so loud over here, and they could hear one another if they were practically shouting. 

  “Shots?” America asked, and Patricia gave her the thumbs up. They were here to celebrate after all, and she was feeling ready to let loose. America had a propensity for tequila, which Patty normally avoided. A particularly nasty memory from sophomore year served as a reminder not to imbibe too much of that particular poison—but tonight, she was going to disregard that warning. Just for a little while, anyway. 

  When their drinks finally came, Patty linked arms with her two friends at the elbow, each of them holding a shot glass to another girl’s lips. 

  “What are we toasting?” Wanda asked, grinning at them. “I’m accepting suggestions.”

  “Being fucking done with school?” America raised an eyebrow sarcastically. “No greater joy than never having to write another goddamn paper. Or log onto j-stor ever again.”

  “Not finding jobs,” Patricia supplied dryly, remembering just how lacking her job search had been going prior to and now after graduation. Can’t forget that frickin’ gem. “Oh wait, no. Working retail for the next six years while I try desperately to break into my field.” 

  “That’s… way too realistic Pat,” America replied dryly, snickering. 

  With that, they tipped the shot glasses up, swallowing down the burning liquid. Patricia sputtered, clearing her throat as she set her glass back down on the bar face down. It had been a little over week since graduation, and none of them really had the faintest idea what came next. America had a job offer in Philly—some programming thing, but she hadn’t given them her notice yet, or clued any of them in on whether or not she’d be taking it. And Wanda was content to freelance until some graphic design company or other picked her up. 

  Like her friends, Patricia hadn’t really picked a direction. The Museum of Natural History still hadn’t gotten back to her about her application, though her professor had said he’d put in a good word for her. She still had her job at the clothing store, where she’d coincidentally met America and by way of her, Wanda—so it wasn’t as though she couldn’t tread water for a little while. 

  It was a rather strange feeling, a little like standing on the edge of a cliff. There were so many options, so many routes forward… But also a sheer fucking drop, and spiky, painful death if she so much as stumbled on her way down. 

  America pressed another shot into Patricia’s hands, distracting her from her thoughts. She threw it back, closing her eyes and wrinkling her nose as she drank it all down in one swallow. She coughed a little before reaching for one of the lime slices the bartender had prepared for them, along with a dash of salt on the tip of her finger. As she licked it, her gaze drifted up the bar idly, only for ice to run down her spine as she locked eyes with someone. 

  His bright blue eyes wrinkled at the corners as he grinned at her, exposing perfectly straight, white teeth. Patty’s eyes widened. Oh fuck. Without thinking, she stepped aside rapidly, blocking eye contact with Wanda’s head awkwardly. She must have looked stricken, because Wanda stared at her, her expression confused. 

  “Patty what’s the problem? What’s up?” She turned this way and that, craning her neck as Patricia tried to stop her. 

  “Nothing, oh christ , Wanda! Seriously, nothing—” Her cheeks were hot. It was already embarrassing having hidden, but when Wanda suddenly snapped back to attention, a sly smile on her face, Patricia felt her mortification double. 

  “I see you’ve spotted your first kill of the night,” She replied coyly, twirling a lock of her hair. America was laughing behind her, and for the life of her, Patricia couldn’t calm the burning in her cheeks. He was handsome—blonde, chiseled features, a playful smile on his lips. She clapped a hand to her forehead. “Ooh, and he’s a little older, too. I always knew you liked them… mature.” 

  “My what ?” She snapped. “We’ve been here like ten minutes.” Patricia hoped the disdain in her voice was more convincing than it felt. She’d reacted like a little kid—and she still was, hiding behind Wanda so that the handsome stranger couldn’t get another good look at her face. In part because of her own frustration at her shy reaction, and mainly because it couldn’t have been her that he was looking at. Patricia took a deep breath and straightened her back. 

  “He’s totally looking at you.” America murmured, digging her elbow into Patty’s sternum. She refused to look for a moment, steeling herself. How embarrassing would it be if he was making eyes at some girl behind her? She peeked around Wanda’s smiling face, and he was leaned against the bar, his chin on his hand as he chuckled. He raised a drink to his lips before putting it down to waggle his fingers at her. Patricia gulped. 

  “Oh shit he is .” She replied through clenched teeth as she smiled back. “Oh fuck.”  He really was looking at her. As she’d poked her head around Wanda’s, their eyes had met again. He’d hidden his face with his hand and then peeked around it, still grinning cheekily at her. Patricia wasn’t sure whether to feel mortified or laugh out loud—obviously he’d seen her shennanigans and found them amusing. 

  Patricia grabbed Wanda’s shot, ignoring the latter’s loud complaint and downed it. “Hey! Those are seven bucks a piece, Patty!” She shrilled, slapping at her hand. “You better venmo me tomorrow.” 

  “Yeah, we’ll subtract last girl’s night from it,” Patricia quipped, enjoying the embarrassed flush that flooded her friend’s cheeks. Wanda held her hands up—a truce. Patricia accepted it with a giggle and a nod. “‘Merica, is he still…?” Patricia asked nervously. She’d turned to face the bar, so that he wouldn’t be in her field of vision. It helped that she was flanked on either side by friends who could scope out the scene for her, rather than her having to risk another embarrassing moment. 

  “A hundred percent. He’s a pretty one, Patty. You’ve got good taste, I always said that.” 

  “How would you know? I thought you said I was your type,” Patricia feigned offense at her friend, who sniggered, slapping her bare shoulder lightly. 

  “I’ve still got eyes. I don’t have to like avocados to know how to make guacamole.” America waggled her eyebrows suggestively, and Patricia snorted. 

  “Yeah, we all know how much you like to smash.” Wanda quipped, signaling to the bartender. America tried to look upset, but the three of them devolved into tipsy giggles before too long. When the bartender finally made his way over to them, he was already holding a drink. He motioned to Patricia, who eyed it suspiciously. 

  “Dark and stormy. Courtesy of the gentleman in the red shirt.” Her stomach tightened nervously, though she accepted the drink with careful fingers. He pointed across the bar to the face Patricia already knew—the blond. 

  He waved again, the cocky tilt of his chin sparking both attraction and irritation in Patricia’s mind. Should I go over? Should I say anything? Surely it would be rude to at least not say “thank you”, wouldn’t it? Patty had never been a big one for clubs—it was much more Wanda’s scene than hers, but it was fun to dress up, to drink and let loose, to dance. But there was a social etiquette involved that she didn’t quite grasp a hundred percent. As she stood there waffling, her choice was made for her. The man stood, his massive bulk rising gracefully from the barstool as he made his way toward them. 

  Wanda, ever gracious, practically spat out her drink. “Oh shit, your kill’s coming over.” 

  “Stop calling him that, he’s not my anything . He bought me a drink after I hid from him like a ten year old.” Patty’s cheeks were still burning, and she took a swallow of the drink he’d sent over. Damn it, it was good. He was tall, and had a foot on her easily, with wavy blond hair swept back into a loose knot at the base of his head. The red button up he wore was rolled up at the cuff, and tucked into his well tailored dress pants. Patricia realized she was eyeing him hungrily, and tore her gaze away, pretending to make conversation with her friends as he approached. 

  “I see you got my drink.” His voice was deep, and somehow easy to hear over the thumping baseline behind them. 

  “It’s all you, girl.” America whispered, squeezing her arm as she and Wanda slipped away. 

  “Yeah, text us if you get into any trouble. Not good trouble. Bad trouble.” Wanda winked at her, grinning as Patricia sputtered. 

  “I-um. Yeah. Thank you for that,” She replied lamely, cursing her awkwardness. “It’s good.” 

  “I’m sorry if I weirded you out, or anything,” he replied, chuckling. The corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled at her disarmingly. “I couldn’t help but notice a pretty girl.” 

  In spite of herself, Patricia snorted. “I think there are a lot of pretty girls here. Did they get drinks too?” She asked, regretting the snarky words as soon as they left her lips. He laughed though, shrugging his massive shoulders. 

  “I don’t think I could afford it, honestly,” He joked easily. His laughter was a pleasant baritone, vibrating in Patty’s chest as they spoke. He leaned over her, his bright blue eyes interestedly studying her face. “But something tells me I made a good call.” He winked at her, before draining the rest of his own glass. “I’m Thor.” He held out a massive hand for her to shake. Patricia found herself smiling. 

  “Thor? I’m Patricia. Patty.” She corrected, shaking her head. “That’s some name.” She said, taking another swallow of her dark and stormy. 

  “Tell me about it. When your dad’s name is Odin, you’ve only got but so many options for your kids.” He leaned back against the bar, and Patricia could feel his gaze on her like a physical weight. God I’m terrible at small talk. 

  “I’m pretty sure my parents just drew names out of a hat if it makes you feel better,” Patty replied, patting his large hand in mock sympathy. “I was almost Phyllis.” She drained her glass, before setting it on the bartop. 

  “Thank God you weren’t.” He said smoothly. “Can I get you another drink, Patricia?” 

  Patty was already feeling the lightheaded dizziness setting in from her first three shots, and she knew she was something of a lightweight. She could practically hear Wanda’s sarcastic tone from here. How many drinks does it take to get Patty hammered? Four. One for her, and three for you while you wait on her to finish the first one. 

  “I think I’m good for now,” Patty shook her head, though she tried to smile appreciatively at him. “I was actually thinking maybe I’d go dance.” Patricia was just making conversation—trying to cover up the nervousness she felt. She’d spent the majority of her time at school knuckling down and studying, much to the chagrin of her friends. Maybe if I’d gone to more parties I wouldn’t be standing here grinning like an idiot, running out of things to say. 

  “Now that’s an idea,” He moved closer, sliding a warm hand around her waist. Patricia started at the contact, a little gasp escaping her lips. “Mind if I join you?” His eyes glittered in the low light, and he tugged her a little closer, his large palm splaying almost the entire distance from her waist to the curve of her hip. Oh fuck yes.

  “Sure! I mean yeah.” He followed her towards the dance floor, his hand loose around her own. Patricia caught a glimpse of America and Wanda pumping their fists and flashing her thumbs up as she passed. They were always urging her to loosen up, to live a little, so she was sure they were pleased to see her cutting loose a bit. 

  Behind her, she could feel Thor’s body pressing closer to her own as they navigated the dance floor, looking for space. He was so tall, she had to tilt her head up to look him in the eyes as the music pulsed around them. He was liberal with his hands, though Patty found she didn’t really mind the feel of his hands roaming, and they didn’t stray too far. 

  As the music changed from electro-pop to hip hop, he spun her, pressing his front to her back and placing a searing kiss on the side of her throat. “I knew you would be a good dancer,” He murmured, his lips just brushing the shell of her ear as he spoke. Patricia couldn’t help the shudder that traveled down her spine at the heat of his words. 

  He was touching her so eagerly, his hands hungry for any inch of exposed flesh he could get away with fondling. It was a heady feeling, having a man like that so worked up over her. 

  “I like to think so.” She wasn’t sure where she found the confidence—probably the alcohol sitting warmly in her belly—but Patricia ground the soft curve of her ass against him, and both felt and heard him groan softly, his hands tightening around her hips. His fingers flexed against her briefly, before he released her. 

  “You can do that any time you feel like it. No need to ask permission.” He laughed as he spoke, but Patricia could tell he wasn’t really joking. The sturdy, possessive grip on her body betrayed that. They danced together for a few more songs, the crowd ebbing and flowing around them like the tide. Before too long, Thor’s smooth lips were pressed against the curve of her ear again, his breath drawing goosebumps up to the surface of her skin. 

  “I was thinking maybe you might come back to my place for a night cap. If you want.” His tone was flippant, but there was real interest in it. Before she could stop herself, Patricia found herself nodding. 

  “Why not?” The words fell from her lips unchecked. “Let me just let my friends know… Come together, leave together and all that.” Patty reached into her purse, digging for her phone. As it turned out, she’d missed three texts from them in the group-chat already, one signifying that Wanda had already left with someone, and that America was chatting up some girl at the bar. 

  P: Going home with Thor. Call the cops if I don’t come home :P

  W: Fuck 12! If you go missing we’re going Saw on that motherfucker. Love ya!

  “Got permission?” He drawled, and Patricia’s cheeks colored. 

  “Just trying to be responsible.” She groused, and he held his hands up in apology. 

  “No, I get it. I promise I’ll return you in one piece.” The cocky grin from earlier was back on his full lips, and he ran his tongue across his canines teasingly. “Or as many pieces as you’d like.” 

  His mouth was on hers before they’d even made it all the way out of the club, pressing her against the stone exterior of the building as they waited for a cab. His hands were hot and insistent, skirting the hem of her dress as he palmed her thigh. They felt searing hot against her flesh in the frigid night air, and a throaty moan escaped Patricia’s lips unbidden. 

  “Is this included in the nightcap or is this a specialty service?” She asked breathily, and he growled against her throat in response, before sucking the flesh at the juncture between her neck and shoulder into his mouth, worrying it with his teeth. 

  “Definitely specialty.” 

  “Uh, sir? The valet…. he um, he has your car.” The timid voice of one of the parking assistants made Patricia’s face burn as she abruptly remembered that they were in public —though this didn’t seem to stop Thor, whose hands would not be deterred. He didn’t even turn from Patty, who could feel herself dying of mortification over and over again with each passing second. He stuck his hand out impatiently without looking. 

  “Keys.” The valet dropped them into his hand and raced away, while Thor continued peppering kisses on Patricia’s bruised throat. “Fuck. I don’t want to stop touching you,” He admitted hotly, the words a growl. Patricia’s head was swimming with heady pleasure. She wasn’t sure what she wanted, every thought was underscored by the hot need he’d lit inside of her. 

  She was embarrassed, she wanted him to stop—and at the same moment, she didn’t. She was enjoying his attention, the raw need he was touching her with. Before Patricia had to make a decision, one was made for her, as Thor pulled away, his eyes cloudy and pupils dark. 

  “Let’s go.” 

  —

  His apartment was nice— nice being the most extreme understatement I could possibly make.   When he’d steered her towards his car, she’d caught the look of enjoyment that had crossed his face at the shock that colored her features—after all, it was her first time seeing a Jaguar in person. She was sure he’d gotten the same look when they’d exited the elevator into his penthouse suite.

  Thor kicked his shoes off in the entryway, motioning for Patricia to follow after him. The foyer was narrow, but opened up into a massive living and dining room, with floor to ceiling windows that made Patty just a little nervous, though the view was… amazing. 

  She found herself padding across the hardwood floors to get a better look. The penthouse apartment overlooked Central Park, and the noise and activity on all the sidewalks melded together to create a storybook photo of lights against the inky dark sky. 

  “Best view in the city,” Thor said softly, his arms closing about her from behind. She hadn’t noticed him sneaking up on her. Patricia nodded. 

  “I’ve never seen it like this.” It was true—she’d grown up here, worked here, gone to school here—but she’d never seen the city from above before—not like this. With one hand, he produced a wine glass, filled just over halfway. Patricia took it gingerly, careful not to spill any. She had a feeling his clothes probably cost about half her rent, and she didn’t much feel like shelling out to replace them. 

  “Then let’s make it better. You want to see the balcony?” He asked, giving her hip one last affectionate squeeze before moving away. He’s so graceful for such a big guy, Patricia thought absently as she followed him across the living room. He opened the sliding door for her, stepping out of the way so she could step outside. It was chilly and windy this high up, but he had been right—it was even better outside. 

  Patricia was grateful when he positioned his warm body behind hers, leaning over her. She wasn’t much into wine, but whatever he’d picked was fruity and sweet, easy to drink. 

  “Wow.” Good one, Patty. A real fucking wordsmith. “It’s amazing. I’m kind of jealous you get to see this every day.” His apartment was easily four or five times the size of her own—and that was just the first floor. Patricia had spied a set of stairs leading up, and she had a feeling there was far more apartment than she’d seen. 

  “It’s definitely one of the perks of living here,” He purred. “You want me to give you a tour?” His breath was hot on the back of her neck, and Patricia had a feeling the tour was going to end abruptly at the bedroom. The thought send another shiver down her back, but this time it wasn’t because of the cold. It was hard not to feel out of her element. An attractive, older guy had taken an interest in her—more than anyone she could think of in the past six months. 

  “I’d love one.” 

  He led her back inside, pointing at the kitchen and living room. Another door led to an office, and a bathroom. Thor made a beeline for the stairs, ushering Patricia up ahead of him. “I won’t look, I promise.” He replied cheekily when she smoothed the back of her skirt down. Thor, for his part didn’t seem bothered by the age difference, grinning up at her wolfishly when she peeked down at him. 

  “That was a very good lie,” Patty replied snarkily, and he chuckled. “It didn’t sound rehearsed at all.” 

  “I’m willing to wait for the main course. Don’t want to spoil my dinner.” 

  Heat flooded the apex of her thighs, but to her credit, Patricia kept it together, her steps steady. There were three bedrooms up here, but he didn’t bother showing her two of them, leading her straight to his room. The floors were all hardwood, and he had an absolutely massive bed— an alaskan king, maybe? — set against the left wall. There was a desk, a small sofa with a coffee table in front of it. The wine glass Patricia was carrying was abruptly plucked from her fingers and placed on the dresser as they entered. 

  Thor spun her around, a soft “oh” escaping her lips just before he crushed her body to his own, his mouth descending hungrily onto hers. His kiss was bruising and needy, and he greedily sucked down any noise she made, worrying her plump bottom lip with his teeth. It was a harsher kiss than the ones he’d given her before, and different from the fumbling of college boys that she’d reluctantly grown used to. He pulled away panting, a satisfied smirk gracing his features as he took in her swollen lips, and ruddy cheeks. 

  “This is a good look for you.” His tone was smarmy as he ran his thumb across her bottom lip appreciatively. She opened her mouth, sucking the digit into her mouth. He groaned loudly, his head falling back briefly before he snapped back to attention. “Again.” Patty swallowed thickly, the movement forcing his thumb against the roof of her mouth as her tongue moved beneath it. She’d never been ordered around like that by anyone—and she didn’t want to like it, but she’d acquiesced almost instantly, and the answering groan made her knees shake just a little. 

  “Good girl.” 

  The husky, growled words sent heat rushing from the top of her head down to the tips of her fingers and toes, and she couldn’t help the moan of pleasure that escaped her at his praise. The self assured smirk on his handsome face grew wider at this, and he lifted her, his hands cupping her ass as he did so.

  “Hey—” He didn’t bother with the propriety any more; openly fondling and squeezing her without preamble. Instinctively, Patty wrapped her thighs around his waist, locking her knees on either side of his torso. He hushed her with a stern look; her mouth snapped shut, the complaint dying in the face of his disapproval. She wanted more than anything for this to continue, for him to keep touching her. 

  He walked backwards toward the bed, sitting heavily on the edge as his knees touched it. Thor’s hands were everywhere—in fact it seemed like he had more than two—up her dress, pulling at her thong, cupping her breasts through the fabric of her dress. It was maddening; like her body was an instrument and he was an expert, playing every note perfectly. He ran his thick finger up the seam of her panties, his eyes locked onto her face. 

  “So wet, babes.” He clucked his tongue. “Wet and messy.” The tip of his finger found its way underneath the edge of her panties, stroking the clean shaven lips of her pussy. Patricia bit her lip and looked away, embarrassed. His gaze bored into her, exciting her and making her nervous all at the same time. She could still feel his eyes on her, even as her own fluttered shut and he slipped just inside her. 

  “Fuck!” Patricia’s voice sounded hoarse and needy even to her own ears, and it scared her. “I-I—”

  “You want more, don’t you baby?” Gentle—but still commanding, a demand for an answer. His gaze turned expectant, and Patricia scrambled to answer. 

  “Yes!” 

  Patricia didn’t consider herself virginal—she’d had sex before, and she’d found pleasure at her own hands more than once—but nothing had ever been like this before. She’d come to detest male bragging, and the cock sure attitudes of her peers, but this was...different. Thor wasn’t just bragging. 

  He was making promises, and he intended to keep them. 

  He sank a single finger inside, curling it. Patricia’s hips moved of their own accord, her legs tightening around his waist as she jerked in his arms, a sharp cry coming from her. Oh fuck, fuck fuck— Thor’s other hand was kneading her ass as he slowly pumped his finger in and out of her clenching warmth. He grunted appreciatively. 

  “Yes, baby. Oh yes . Come on.” Patricia’s head fell forward against him, the stubble of his beard rubbing against her forehead. He was egging her on in that low baritone, making it hard to think and shit it felt so good not to. His thumb found her clit, rubbing at it in slow, deliberate circles. The action sent shockwaves through her body, her pussy clenching rhythmically around his finger as Patricia’s hands found his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin. 

  She’d never been particularly vocal before—in fact, the last guy she’d slept with had accused her of being frigid—but it didn’t seem like Thor felt similarly. He teased every sound out of her with ease, adding a second finger to the first and groaning at her tightness. 

  “You are fucking tight , you know that?” His voice was low, menacing. He scissored his fingers inside her, and Patricia keened. “You are going to feel so goddamn perfect.” His words were strangely predatory and cold, though there was a smile on his face. Patricia pushed away the strange, used feeling it left in her gut, focusing instead on the hot coil of pleasure tightening at her core. His fingers moved expertly through her slick folds, drawing garbled pleas and gibberish from her parted lips as she writhed in his lap. 

  “Thor,” She whined, her hips still moving against his hand without her express permission. He pressed his lips against her forehead, and leaned away, his hand still moving steadily. “Please.” Patricia could feel him, hot and heavy pressed against her through his pants. 

  “You can do better, I think.” His thumb pressed more insistently against her clit, and Patricia felt her body jerk, and her knees tremble, loosening around him. “You want to cum, baby? Tell me that’s what you want.” The sobbed request fell from her lips before Patty could stop them.

  “I wanna cum!” She cried, pressing herself against him as she writhed. It felt like she was on fire, her nerve endings singing with pleasure. When he didn’t speed up, or give any indication that he’d heard her, Patricia began to struggle, whining. “Please, Thor!” He chuckled, as though her efforts were nothing more than amusing. He was so much bigger than her, and stronger too. It didn’t take much for him to hold her in place with a stern hand. 

  “So demanding.” He crooked his fingers inside of her again, still flicking at her clit with his thumb. “I give the orders here, baby.” He stilled for a moment, and Patricia let out another breathy whine. “But I do want to feel that tight pussy suck at my fingers before I sink my cock in it, so I think I’ll allow it.” Thor sounded like he was debating himself rather than addressing her, and for once she was glad for it, because Patricia couldn’t think of any words to answer him with. Her mind was blissfully blank, her hips moving steadily against his hand as he brought her closer and closer to sweet oblivion. 

  Tension built steadily in her belly, pulling taut as he murmured obscenities against her hair. What he planned on doing with her, how hard he was going to fuck her, how perfect and tight and sweet she was going to be wrapped around him—and then Patricia saw white, her body convulsing as she came apart in his arms. Her mind was mush, and it took her a few moments to realize that the slurred, garbled words she was hearing were coming from her own mouth. 

  “Thank you… Thank you… So good…” Patty was still trembling, her legs unable to support her as he placed her gently on the bed. Thor rose to his feet, tearing at his shirt with impatient hands, his eyes dark and hungry as they took in her shaking body. Her dress was all rucked up around her hips, her lacy black thong pushed to the side. As conscious thought returned to Patricia’s head, she began to feel embarrassed—ashamed, even. How must she look? Her soaked pussy on full display for a man she barely knew. 

  Thor didn’t give her any more time to contemplate her current situation as he fell on her again, his impatient hands pulling at her dress as he leaned down to press his mouth to hers again. He trailed kisses down the sied of her jaw and returned to her throat as he grunted with frustration.

  “Is there a zipper on this thing? Or how the fuck do we get this off, babes? I’m dying here.” 

  “Hah. Yeah, one sec.” The zipper was hidden in the ruching of the dress, and Patricia sat up, forcing him back. She turned around, indicating with her finger where it was. It took him a few tries, but he got it down, unhooking the little eyelet at the top. She’d forgone a bra—it wasn’t like she had a whole lot of cleavage to speak of, she was barely a C cup. But Thor didn’t seem disappointed as he cupped her in his hands, rolling her nipples between his thick fingers as the dress slid down about her waist. 

  “So much better. Let’s take this off.” He pushed the sleeves down her arms, and pulled the dress down her legs eagerly. Patricia thought she’d turn over onto her back, but Thor held her hips, stopping her. “No.”

  “But I—”

  “No. Stay like this. You’ve got a great ass, you know that?” He mused, tugging on the fabric of her thong with one finger as he caressed the curve of her hip with a gentle hand. “Fuck, you’re a cute little thing. How old are you, babes?” He asked, and Patricia caught the sound of a zipper over the rustling of the sheets underneath them. 

“T-Twenty four.”

  My birthday was two months ago.

  He didn’t respond, but she felt the push of warm flesh against her ass, hot and hard. Oh my fuck, he’s huge! A needy little whimper wormed its way out of her throat, and Patricia heard him chuckle as he parted her with two fingers. He spread her wetness through her folds with a careful hand, groaning as the head of him throbbed against her. 

  Thor leaned down, his hair brushing against her back as he went. It must have come loose from his bun , she thought fleetingly. 

  “Stay still.”

  He’d barely imparted the command before she felt the length of his cock slide against her, and Patricia fought the urge to jerk away in surprise. He pressed against her opening, and she felt herself stretching to accommodate him. A high pitched whine escaped her as her head fell forward onto the mattress. Thor was unperturbed and continued pressing inside her, murmured curses falling from his lips. 

  “So fucking tight, fuck, fuck fuck —”  

  Patricia had never felt this full. Not with people, not with toys, her own fingers; nothing compared to this. She was glad the weight of his body was pressing her into the bed, his hands the only thing keeping her hips up, because her eyes were rolled up into the back of her head and her mouth was wide open. 

  There was so much of him, and when she finally felt his hips against her own, Patricia was panting loudly, her pussy clenching wildly around him. Then his hand was in her hair pulling her up and against his body, the other circling her waist to keep her up. It felt like an even tighter fit in this position, and the fullness at the apex of her thighs bordered on discomfort. Patricia whined, shifting against him. Thor drew out slowly, before snapping his hips against her, forcing his cock back inside. 

  The angle forced her to stare down the line of her own body, watching as his girth disappeared into her pussy over and over. It felt so good, and her hips moved on their own, falling in line with the pace he’d already set. The hand at her waist traveled up to her breasts, squeezing them roughly as he pulled one of her nipples taut. 

  “Ah! Stop!” Patricia whined, frowning up at him. He licked his lips. 

  “But when I do this—” He tugged again, “you squeeze me so. Fucking. Tight.” He punctuated each word with a hard snap of his hips. It hurt, but… It still felt good, and when he soothed it with gentle strokes after, she felt herself tighten again just the same. His cock slipped out of her, and Patty whined at its absence, craning her neck to see his face. “Turn over, Patricia.” 

  Patricia turned over onto her back, her cheeks hot as their eyes met. His hair was loose and wild around his face, which was ruddy and glistened with sweat. He growled at her, grabbing her thigh with one large hand and pushed it up. He fisted his cock in one hand, pumping it a few times before he pushed into her again, groaning. 

  “You are a fucking gem,” He said, his gaze both lusty and appreciative as he appraised her briefly before sinking in once more. His head lolled back and Patricia mewled. 

  She’d never been able to orgasm more than one time in a row, and almost never with any of the other partners she’d had. But now, Patricia felt that coil tightening again, white hot pleasure shooting up her spine. Thor’s huge hands were bruisingly tight around her hips, pulling her hard against him as he moved above her. 

  “I want you to cum on this cock, baby.” His voice was wild and guttural. “Now.” She wasn’t sure if it was the strength of his command, or the feel of his cock pushing against that rough patch inside her, but her eyes rolled back and Patricia’s body shook. Colors exploded behind her closed eyelids, and her hands scrabbled for purchase against his arms, shoulders, torso as she came hard around him. 

  Thor’s hips met hers roughly as he fucked her straight through it, her nails digging into his skin. He groaned, holding her in place as heat flooded her insides, his forehead dropping to hers as he panted. Patty could still feel him throbbing. She was panting too, her hair a mess around her face as his sweaty weight pressed her into the sheets. 

  After a moment, he heaved a huge sigh, and gingerly removed his still semi-hard cock from her pulsing center, and laid down beside her on the bed. Patty wasn’t sure what to do, but he solved that problem for her by tugging her body against his own. 

  “You can stay the night if you want.” 

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