#I was just flipping through my books and saw them together and started weeping

[bitteraristocrat]

Them. (Volume XXVII)

[chronically-ghosted]

stay gold, baby boy

rating: 18+ (expliiiiicit)

pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader

word count: almost 6K

summary: six months into your friends-with-benefits situation, you institute a new game. A gold star on the board every time Dieter is a good boy. Today, he gets bingo . . . for wearing real pants. 

warnings: friends with benefits (with more feelings), oral (m receiving), dom/sub dynamics (guess who subs today!), talks of edging, hair pulling, creampie, piv sex, praise kink, my mother raised me to have better taste in men but fuck it

a/n: remember when i posted this picture? And then this one? Remember how you could hear me yelling from space? Well, @sp00kymulderr has added fuel to the fire – Dieter and stickers. I can’t explain myself except that I was horny and I wanted to take his pants off with my teeth. So I did. 

✨gif credit goes to the ever incredible, talented, and enabler of my dieter fantasies @perotovar! she saw me floundering with the header and immediately was like 'hold please i can make his baby cow eyes even better'✨

🤍Masterlist

With your foot on the low table, your ass firmly planted on the middle poofy cushion of the dumpster bin couch at the back of the trailer, thumbnail nibbled between your teeth, you have to admit it’s starting to get a little embarrassing. It’s honestly such a bad look.

Not that he would ever shame you for it. In fact, he’d probably like it. 

And it’s not like you waited for him here all day. You had things to do as one of the co-screenwriters on this film. You had things to do and people to see and stuff to organize – all of which had nothing to do with Dieter fucking Bravo.

Okay, so a lot of it actually had to do with him. Lots of scene rewrites, lots of notes from the studio, lots of instances where the two of you had to put your heads together and come up with a solution that made the studio happy and didn’t make you want to claw your eyes out artistically speaking. 

Which had led to this. 

And the past six months of whatever this is. Working together led to seeing each other (outside of work), to eating with each other, to fucking each other – with the line firmly drawn there. 

Whatever you may say about Dieter, the man could compartmentalize in a way that would make Marie Kondo weep with joy. By the way he treated you on set, no one in their right mind would ever have guessed he knew what you looked like naked. Or that he knew your left nostril twitched just before you came.

The same could be said for you too. Out of boredom one morning in the grocery store, you bought a trashy magazine with his face emblazoned across the top – Dieter Bravo and His Lonely Hearts Club. You weren’t one for the gossip rags, but flipping through it, not a single one of his “club members” mentioned his raging praise kink. You bought the damn thing on the spot, giving them all a consolation prize of some sort. Sorry, ladies, guess I win. Ha. Ha.

But, at the edge of the cushion, eyes occasionally flicking between the door and the failing darkness outside, you didn’t feel much like you’d won anything. 

In fact, you’d lost. Big time. When all of this had been your stupid idea in the first place. 

It had been your idea (and your initiative) to buy a packet of gold star stickers. Like the kind teachers use with their first graders. Actually, exactly like the ones teachers use for their first graders. You couldn’t form words when the woman at the education supply store ringing you up asked, “oh, what grade do you teach?”. You just tossed a twenty at her and booked it, your face painfully hot for a fairly innocuous purchase. 

But all of that was his fault for dropping a praise kink and a teacher kink on you all at once the night after you jokingly spanked him with a ruler in front of the director, in-front of his co-star, because he wouldn’t agree to a line change, and he had to excuse himself from the room. 

A month later and he forgoes touching himself for a gold star. He agrees to your line changes without argument for a gold star. He picks you up in the morning and drives you home at night for a gold star (you could drive yourself, but there’s always that last minute thing you need to talk to him about so you do it just because it’s easier, really).

He lets you come, over and over again, and keeps nothing for himself – all for a gold star. 

Someone is bound to figure it out. They have to. Six months in and you’re getting sloppy. Obvious. What the fuck would you be doing in his trailer at seven o’clock at night after a full day of shooting unless you’re fucking him? 

But you, worryingly, can’t find it in you to care. 

You had lost your mind, that’s what you lost. Because tonight is the night Dieter gets his final gold star. It’s his reward but you’re about to vibrate out of your skin with want. 

(It didn’t matter that you hadn’t seen each other in two weeks and by the third day, an ache had settled in behind your breastbone, one that clutched your phone in your hand, and forced your eyes to the screen every minute, checking for a new text message. 

He called on day five, by the way.)

Your neck snaps up when you hear voices outside of the trailer. Laughter, his. 

You suddenly feel the need to flatline against the floor in case anyone might see you.

Fuck, and how are you supposed to explain yourself if the someone he is with follows him into the trailer? Too many frightfully bad scenarios and you’re rooted to the floor, unable to make a single decision. 

The metal latch clinks and his trailer door swings wide open.

“Yeah, man, I’ll catch you tomorrow.” 

You can hear a deep, “see ya” from the other side (maybe Daryl from craft services?) and the scrap-metal trailer squeaks, as the lock clicks shut. 

Dieter scratches his cheek, surveying the trailer as if some part of him knows something is different, but his conscious mind can’t figure it out. 

Until he turns. And nearly leaps out of his skin.

“Fuckin’ – what are you doing in here? Wait – I thought you left town to scope out the new location in San Diego.”

You want to answer him. You know how – open your mouth and tell him the trip’s been delayed for a few days, nothing serious, timeline bullshit – but you can’t. 

It’s officially embarrassing.

It’s embarrassing how turned on by Dieter Bravo you are.  

Hair in all kinds of directions, skinny cloth bracelet loose around his wrist, he had pushed up the sleeves of his henley shirt, exposing the thickly drawn triangle over his forearm and the clear one near his wrist. His hand with the rings hangs by his side and something inside of you silently whines. 

But what really sets you off, what really makes this embarrassing and terrible because there’s no bluffing here, no hiding your cards and folding – nothing you can do to keep spit from flooding your mouth the longer you look –

He’s wearing pants. 

Black with loose belt loops. Zipper and all. A silver button sitting between his hips. Fuck. Just like you told him to. Fuck fuckfuck.

You’re briefly aware when he says your name and you have to make a physical effort to tear your eyes away from that glinting silver eye winking up at you.

Dieter’s frowning, knowing silence isn’t really your thing. 

“Are you okay? Why are you –,”

As though it had called his name, his gaze drifts from your face to the table between you and him. Where his scorecard rests with four stars in the Good column, and shockingly, none in the Bad.   

His mouth parts, eyes going dark, as the realization hits him like a mack truck.

“Delays,” you say suddenly, preemptively, knowing that normal people usually have some sort of preamble before tearing each other’s clothes off. You stand up a bit straighter, tilt your jaw away from him, gaze leveling him from the end of your nose. You have got to get this thing under control. “Frank ran into some scheduling issues with the boat for the lake scene so, until further notice, the trip to San Diego has been delayed.” 

He blinks slowly as if he’d been struck over the back of the heat, mouth parted. He has such fucking gorgeous, fucking perfect lips –

“So you’re here?” he asks, his voice low, disbelieving. 

You scoop up the scorecard and step over the table, your shoes long since gone. It’s like his vision narrows the closer you come; he is transfixed, gaze on you as if molded at the seams, as you step up to him. You tap him on the chest once with the corner of the scorecard, excitement and nerves and that ache making you tremble despite your confident appearance. 

“So I’m here.” 

“On the last day of the week.” Words thick, as if all the moisture had been sucked out of his mouth.

“On the last day of the week.”

“When I,” he swallows thickly, “when I should get my reward.” 

God, this kind of power trip should not be making you this wet. 

You lift your gaze from his chest, taking in his beautifully dumb-struck face. 

“You will.” You nod. “And do you know why?”

His breath quickens, lip between his teeth, when you scratch off the final star from the package and stick it to the Good column. 

“Because I was a good boy?” 

You toss the scorecard behind you, it clatters onto the table, and you cup the back of his hot neck.

“Because you were a very good boy.” 

He stumbles back, knees unsteady, when you kiss him. You see his eyes a split second before you close yours and hot electricity swoops down to the pit of your stomach. It would be mortifying if you just fucked him right here and now – he does deserve something extra special – but fuck – you want his whole hand inside of you.

His warm palm slides across your jaw, pulling you into him, and Dieter breathes, deep and long, inhaling as much as he can. You don’t think he realizes that he’s picked you up off the ground with his arm around your back until he opens his eyes, vision hazy and off-center. 

“Go lock the door, baby.” 

He nods and puts you back down. You slip off your jacket as he bolts the trailer door shut.

Dieter’s mouth drops open when he turns around and sees you on your knees.

Shit, you should have stolen some knee pads from the costume department. 

“Really?” 

You smile at him because he asks like a kid that just got offered a puppy for Christmas. You reach towards him and he takes your hand, unsteady on weak knees

“For as long and as much as you want.”  

You palm him and Dieter groans, mouth-closed at the sensation, the hard ridge of the metal zipper not one he is entirely familiar with. At least, not like this. Beneath the warm press of your palm, you feel him thicken, harden, and you press more, digging your fingers into his thighs. The muscles in his legs tense, his mouth falls open, as his hips cant forward, desperate for the new weight of the zipper. 

“And I won’t make you wait, Dieter,” you say, eyes tripping up from where your hand sits, up to the flash of exposed tummy where his pants have ridden down and his shirt slid up, into his almost surprised gaze. “You’ve been very good, wearing this for me, but I want you to learn why it’s important to wear pants with buttons.” 

“I-I t-t-thought,” he tries, voice abruptly cutting off when you nuzzle the constrained bulge in his pants. He tries again, eyes slamming shut as if to stifle the sensation of your warm breath so near to where he needs you the most. “I thought i-it was so I d-din’t – didn’t look bad.” 

Your face still pressed into his crotch, you briefly massage his calves, then the backs of his thighs. You cup the curve of his ass through the starchy back pockets, which is remarkably prominent now that he’s in something else than baggy sweatpants.

You shake your head, nose dragging along his hot length, against the space between his hip bone and his cock, smiling. 

“Baby, you know I like how you look. I always want you to be comfortable.” You look up and meet his eyes. The remaining brown not yet wholly consumed by a blurry, heated darkness softens. Somewhere beneath the hazy, disarming feelings of lust currently filling his head like a bike tire, he’s still your Dieter. Or – well, wait – at least the Dieter you know. The Dieter you have impossibly fun times with. The Dieter who makes you laugh like no one else. The Dieter that can make you fall apart until you’re a gooey, dripping mess and he still manages to stitch you back together. The Dieter that keeps you up at night thinking he might possibly want something more. “But this is so much more fun.”

Grounding your chest against his thighs, holding yourself against him as leverage, you sink your teeth into the corner of the fabric fastening his pants together. Eyes up at him again, you tug and his cock is pushed up against your tits from the force of the pull. He rocks forward, an airy gasp escaping his mouth, and the button gives, the lip of the fabric sliding back as the silver disk slips through the hole. Now your touch is unimpeded by rough fabric when you lean forward and kiss him just below the waistband of his black boxers. 

It takes you a second to realize that Dieter Bravo is wearing underwear at all and you smirk up at him.

Something about your gaze makes the tips of his ears go red, as if he had been caught being very naughty. His big hand cups from your jaw to your ear, as if trying to placate you, beg you not to be mad this close to his cock. 

“You said I had to dress u-up,” he says, eyes wide and round. God, he’s trying to be so good. One week of the rating system and Dieter Bravo is a trembling mess. Despite your wildly beating heart, you smirk, your thighs shaking briefly at the sudden rush of tenderness you feel for the man in front of you. You hide your own blush by mouthing that open spot just below his tummy and above his cock, wetting the black material with your tongue. Before he can whine about it, you pull back just barely, enough to curl your fingers around both his black underwear and the pants he wore for you. Just as you begin to pull down, you nip the zipper between your teeth and slowly, slowly, rubbing your nose against him, tug the metal teeth apart. His pants open and Dieter groans loudly. He’s already so sensitive. 

For a mouthy, ego-driven bastard, he really did have a magnificent cock. Flushed at the base, thickest you’d ever had inside you, and he’s leaking silvery threads from the head. The vein thickly pulsating on the side makes you wonder how he hasn’t passed out from all the blood rushing to his cock. 

You lick that vein, that beating pulse, and his knees buckle. His massive hand grips your shoulder and Dieter shakes his head, his mouth wrenching open.

“Please, please — mhmm — don’t tease. I-I can’t – you haven’t – please.” 

As if you would be cruel to him. You feel rather dizzy, elated on the idea that you wield this much power over him. That he trusts you with all of him. There it comes again, that arching ache in your chest. 

“I’m just trying to get myself ready for you,” you confess quietly. “I’m not trying to hurt you.” 

Dieter swallows something large in his throat, panic receding from his eyes. His smile is small and his touch on your cheek is light.

“I know.”

And you weren’t lying. You’d never forget the sound of your jaw popping and cracking the morning after you sucked him off three times before you let him come. Dieter is shockingly big, annoyingly only when he uses it against you or makes you tell him over and over just how big he is before giving it to you. For now, you just want to remind him how very appreciative you are that he gives it to you at all. 

Eyes decidedly looking away from the warmth on his face, you squeeze the backs of his thighs as you relax your jaw as much as you can. Above you hear him huff with his mouth shut as you start to take him in, your tongue wetting that soft skin on the underside of his cock. One move forward and you’ve wet him halfway, tongue massaging that vein. Another drop of your head and you’ve taken him completely.

“Fuck,” Dieter murmurs, the hand on your shoulder tightening. Your heart pounds in your chest all the harder when he takes his other hand and knots your hair with his fingers. By the twitching of his thighs beneath your palms, you know it’s taking every ounce of his restraint to not buck his hips forward. “That’s it that’s my girl you take me so fucking good you feel so fucking good.”

The thing about your mouth that is markedly different from your pussy: you can’t release your gag reflex to take more of him. But fuck, you want him to fuck the back of your throat – you just might drown before it happens. 

He smells surprisingly clean as your nose inches closer and closer to his skin. With each pull, you slide your tongue down the other side, until it pokes through and licks where you haven’t reached with your mouth yet, inches from his pelvis. He shudders when you use the tip of your tongue. 

“Oh my god, your mouth, baby, your mouth.” The words dribble out of his slack mouth, fingers flexing in your hair as if he can mimic pushing your head down further. You pull all the way off him, tongue catching the rim of his cock and he drops his head back against his shoulders and moans. The sound of it makes your pussy throb and you breathe out your nose to stifle your own noises. This is about him. He did good. He was a good boy the whole week. 

You replace your mouth with your hand. Sufficiently wet from the way you slobbered all over his cock, you use a fist around his flushed head to smear pre-cum all the way down to the base of him. You brush his balls with your knuckles, just as you fit the tip between your lips, sucking – and Dieter bucks, hard. 

“Ngh – shit! S-sorry!” His nails dig into his thighs, eyes squeezing shut as silvery threads spurt out from his cock. 

Maybe you’d gone too far with the whole sticker thing and he really thought this was another test. His cheeks are burnt pink, his chest heaving and it’s one of the most beautiful things you’ve ever seen. 

“Dieter,” you cry softly, gently, comfortingly. He still doesn’t open his eyes, not even when you resume stroking him. You lick the soft skin of his balls and his gasp punches the air out of his lungs, his eyes splitting open. He looks down at you, thighs trembling and you squeeze him gently. Not to edge him or punish him, but to make this last a bit longer for him. “Dieter, take your shirt off and sit down.” 

He can’t move fast enough. He yanks the henley over his shoulders, the collar scraping his hair up in wild directions. He goes to sit but his thighs are shaking too much and he just sort of tumbles onto his ass. Smiling, you take your own shirt off, hoping to save this particular bra reveal for another time, but fuck, this time is as good as any. Despite his panting and squirming, his gaze rolls from your face to your tits. Emerald green with black lace, this is far too nice for a work bra and it properly communicates to him that you were going to fuck him whether or not he was going to get that final gold star. The realization is visible as it crosses his mind, bleeding hungry black in his eyes. 

You take off his pants all the way, before sliding your own jeans down and to the floor. His roving gaze catches the matching panties and the noise in his throat is deep, like a smothered grunt. 

“Now, I’m going to suck you off no matter what,” you say as you crawl in between his legs, before leaning back and sitting on your heels. You smooth your hands down his thighs, near his red, stark cock, but not touching. Dieter’s breathing hitches in anticipation, not sure where to put his hands or his gaze. “But I want you to answer one question for me first.” 

He nods rapidly, spreading his knees further for you as if to remind you there’s other places he could be fucked. 

“Why did you think I was going to punish you today?”

You’ve asked this question paraphrased a dozen times, usually when you both know the answer: he came without asking, or he came by himself, or any of the dozen reasons Dieter liked to push your buttons, only for you to break him as far as he can go. But today, there’s no sultry edge, no double meaning. Your question is sincere and it takes him a moment to understand. He swallows as his eyebrows tug down on his forehead, something vulnerable flashing in his eyes before a look of uncertainty crosses his face.

“We’ve never had sex just to have sex.” He says it like a question. He settles into the floor one hand going behind his head, the linear tattoo on his forearm dark like a third eye. “Not that I’m complaining but it’s always a competition, or because we’re bored, or you wanna work out some personal shit because of the costume department. I know this is my reward, but I figured there had to be some kinda catch to it.” 

You frown deeper than him. “There’s no way we haven’t had normal sex.”

Something like a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Define normal sex.”

Now it’s your turn to go warm across the cheeks. “I mean, like . . . outside of . . . our roles. Where there aren’t roles at all. It’s just . . .”

You break off for the third time, the look in his eyes forcing you to snap your mouth shut before you say something incriminating like, just us. 

Dieter shakes his head. “No, we haven’t.” 

“You’re telling me in six months, that’s never happened once?” You adjust on your heels and cross your arms. “It’s not like you can remember every time we’ve had sex.”

“I do.” This, coming from him, is not a question. It’s an irrefutable statement that you don’t seem able to refute with a no you don’t. There is no room for arguing. 

Driving right on through the heat of your cheeks, that ache returning, you shake your head. “Then doesn’t that get old? Having to play games every single time?” 

Dieter pouts as he thinks, eyes on the roof of the trailer. “Sometimes, but I don’t mind. Not enough to want to stop fucking you.” 

“So, after a week of nothing, you were totally willing to let me edge you within an inch of your life? Let me treat you badly?”

Dieter smirks and it suddenly feels like you’re the one under him. “Sure, but you like me too much to keep it going for too long. And you like watching me come.” 

Your teeth grind together at this very bold accusation, your entire face blazing. Weren’t you supposed to be domming him today??

His feet slide out beside you and Dieter is the very picture of arrogance, his arm still tucked behind his head. He drums his fingers on his stomach.

“If it makes you feel any better,” he says, the smirk around his mouth soft, “I like you too.” 

It doesn’t. Not really. Not when his words spear through you hot and hard, landing in your chest like a landmine. Fuck. 

Fuck.

“Oh, so this is all for me, then?” You ignore the fact that you’ve slipped back into your role in active defiance of talking about this anymore, and crawl forward until your forearms frame his head. That teasing contentment fades from his face as he watches you, eyes following a line that only he can see from your nose, lips, chin, throat and tits. Your hair slips off your shoulder, darkening the light on his face when you straddle his waist. “But what about you? Don’t you want to come?”

He nods, slower than before, but only to keep from breaking eye contact with you. Light as feathers, Dieter trails his fingers up the backs of your thighs, over the curve of your ass, to settle into your hips. His mouth parts in anticipation, pink tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip. 

“I do,” he says, rolling his neck as if he can see more of you this way. “I really fuckin’ do.”

“What a coincidence.” You shift down, dragging the wet patch on the emerald green underwear beneath your drooling cunt, shift until it slides across his half-hard cock and Dieter’s hands dig into your hips, a groan breaking off in the back of his throat. His eyes slip half-closed, a thick, smoky black enveloping that beautiful brown. “So do I.” 

Grinding down over so slightly, you roll your hips once more – Dieter tenses, his hands easing to the tops of your thighs – before sitting back on his knees. 

“Now relax, baby, you’ve earned it.” 

You drop forward over his hips, open your mouth, and slurp him up between your lips. 

The noise that comes out of his chest is broken, knocked loose, split down the middle. You take him all in one, down until your nose is tickled by his coarse hairs, and you swallow. He is immediately, instantly, rock hard and dribbling. You swallow again and his hands dive into your hair, knotting the strands around his fingers, the way a rider draws up the reins of his horse. He goads you down with just gentle pressure, needy and demanding all at once, and you take him, and you take him, and you take him until the blunt head prods the back of your throat and you gag, throat constricting, and Dieter’s eyes roll back in his head. 

“Shit, that’s too fucking good.”

You breathe out your nose, pulling up just enough to keep him off your reflex, but instead you hollow out your cheeks and suck, tongue pressing up against him and around that hammering vein. 

And here, here comes the sound you’ve wanted from him all night –

Dieter whines, high and keening, his neck straining, your skull pinching from where he pulls. Between your thighs, the emerald green is completely ruined, buffed out dark in the wet. 

The vein throbs again and you nearly drop onto your elbows, not caring if you choke or drown or sputter, you want him in your mouth, you want that salty, gooey taste of him that you find you can’t seem to lick up enough. You want him inside you –

With a grunt that morphs into a groan as it rises up his chest, he tugs hard enough on your hair that the pain splits your mouth open, head tugged back enough that he slips out of you, a thread of pre-cum from your puffy lips to the tip of his blunt head. 

You lied. This wasn’t entirely for him. 

You can feel your lips twist into a snarl. “Dieter, what are you –,”

He kisses you with such a force, that noise in his chest is transferred to yours, a collision that sparks a causal nexus and his own desperation bleeds with your own. The kiss is messy, dizzying, spit and pre-cum smearing across swollen lips and wet tongues. He twists his fingers deeper into your hair, as if he can consume you through the bowl of your skull. 

Your name is something that tumbles, falls, drips from him, his mouth tilted a fraction of an inch away from yours. Eyes dark, full, a beast that howls for the moon in your eyes. 

He’s going to fuck your brains out on the floor of this rickety-ass trailer. 

Dieter tugs you forward, drags you onto your knees over him as he settles beneath you. Your fingers knock with his in a fight to reach your panties first, to shove them down your hips and thighs, get them to the floor. 

Dieter’s flushed, pupils dark, big hands grappling against the weight of you as he pulls you onto him. You are so aroused, so sunken into the smoke of lust, you go as you are moved, his cock smearing apart your wet pussy. Dieter sits up, eyes locking onto where you’ve nearly become a single creature, and then he hesitates. 

Sanity seems to ring his bell, for just a moment. Without waiting, he sucks two fingers into his mouth, coating them with his spit, and you can see what he’s about to do just before he moves. You shake your head, knees aching from carrying your weight against the flat trailer floor, and sit up off him, your fingers digging into his shoulders.

“Don’t need it,” you mutter before licking into his mouth. He drops his head back to let you sink your tongue between his lips. Both hands wrapped around his jaw, you thumb his earring and he grunts out the side of his mouth. “I want –,”

His big hands settle and it’s like he dropped a thousand pound weight between your ribs. You drop, right onto him, his cock forcibly shoving you apart in a single thrust. Dieter barks out a moan, his hands clutching your spine, teeth going for your shoulder to muffle anything else that threatens to escape him. 

You swear your nerves are on fire.

He always takes his time with you, for your benefit, and his. He can be maddening and incessant and demanding, right up until this part, the part where he could actually hurt you. Right then, he waits. Lets you come to him. Let you take as much as you want and he holds you tight.

But this, this is you taking all you want and then some. 

In the split second you allow for your bodies to recognize the give and the take, the swell and the invasion, you meet his gaze. 

No roles. No games. No landmines. 

Exposure. 

Blistering and brittle.

Safety. 

You curl your toes underneath you, grip his shoulders, and slide up on an inhale. On an exhale, you thrust down and you don’t know who cries out louder. 

Dieter pulls you to him, arm banded around your back, the other to balance as he leans back to meet your downward strokes with his upward thrusts. His fingers pinch the clasp of your bra and the straps slide off your shoulders, your frantic bouncing knocking those emerald cups loose. 

“Oh, yeah, oh fuck yeah.” He mouths at your collarbone, tonguing the sweat that blooms across your skin. Your short huffs have your chest trembling, a shudder disrupting your breath when he uses the blunt edge of his teeth against the soft curve of your breast. His nose against your skin, he turns his head and licks your nipple into his mouth. He sucks, licks, your rapid rise and fall catching your sensitive peak against the tops and bottoms of his teeth. He uses the barest hint of pressure and your back arches. He sucks your other nipple into his mouth, repeating that same pattern with his tongue, while his fingers flick your hardened bud. 

You think you’re going to melt, fracture and ooze into this hot pool of pleasure that hums between your legs. 

“Fuck, Dieter,” your own voice is unrecognizable, breathy and high, cut short every time his hips meet yours in a harsh slap, “I can’t –,” 

He rubs up against something truly devastating inside of you and immediately your legs give out. You topple into him, arms around his neck, nose pressed up against his jaw. You feel his overheated skin, a balm, a solidifying force, against your cheek. The whirling inferno in your head soothes. A drop of sweat from his hairline trails down by your eye and you lick it. 

“Make me come, Dieter,” you whisper for him, of him, beg in a way that only he can hear. You nuzzle his earring and he keens. “Please – I need it – n-n-need you.”

Open-mouthed, breath hot, flush down to his chest, he slithers the hand against your back between your warm bodies and finds your clit. Drags his thumb across it as his hips pound up into you – you can’t hear what he says in your ear, the edge you’re dangling over loud and pulsing – and then there’s a softness against your throat.

The white spark between your thighs erupts and you come so hard you scream. A release. Controlled and contained brightness now spilling out everywhere, you can feel it as you soak his lap. It drips and winds down, and it drunkenly slides off you. Finally, you curl into him, a muddled tingle radiating out across your nerves. 

You sink into your skin again and hear him, still whispering, still talking.

“You’re so fucking beautiful when you come it’s okay baby I’ve got you I’ve got you I’m here – I’m gonna – g-gonna –  oh, shit,”

His hips thrust up one more time before a full body shudder yanks his words and the air right out of his mouth. You melt as his cum floods your insides, the warm pulses intoxicating in the place he so forcefully claimed for his own. His shoulders curved towards you, his hand pinches the knot of your spine as if to steady himself, palm scalding against your skin. In your exhaustion, your sweaty forehead falls against his. 

He doesn’t seem to mind.

Seconds mold into minutes, minutes into maybe hours then days. 

Dieter’s trembling elbow finally weakens and with his arm around your back, he tips you both backwards. 

His cock rubs up inside of you in a new way and your cunt clenches involuntarily. You both groan when his cum leaks out of you, squeezed out by the contraction. You shift your hips to lay fully on him, and his cock slides out, but his arm around you remains.

It remains long after your breathing settles, long after the sweat dries and your exposed skin grows cold. The longer you lay together, the more you feel he’s going to start stroking you, touching you in a way that a fuck buddy shouldn’t. But he doesn’t. He keeps you close but doesn’t move. 

The feeling, the ache in your chest. It’s soothed and hastened by the beating of his heart beneath yours, your ear lying flat against his chest. It beats so loudly for you.

For some unfathomable reason, you glance up at the window. It’s dark out, the sun set and gone. For all you know, you two might be the only two people on the entire lot.

“Dieter.” His name sticks in your mouth. “Dieter, I –,”

“Five stars?” 

You blink, lifting your head for the first time in ages, sweat on his skin almost suctioning your ear to his chest. He’s grinning, curls matted and damp against his forehead.

He reaches up to the table behind him and snags that stupid bingo card, along with that packet of shiny gold star stickers.

This feeling, you can contain it. 

For now. 

Smirking down at him, you peel off one of the bigger stars and with your thumb, you press it into the center of his forehead. 

“Five stars, Dieter. Five star dick.” 

His smile widens. 

[plutoscosmoss]

Fire Inside ➸ c.4

Warnings: This series includes themes of violence, death, smut, childbirth and childbirth complications (if I forgot to mention any please let me know)

Pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x OC

{Series Masterlist}

Previous Chapter

Chapter 4: Library Talks

After her encounter at the training grounds, Revna sought peace in the library. While roaming the shelves, she looked for a book about the North. More specifically a book about wisps. Her father would tell her stories of the wisps, how they can either bring doom or luck. 

Her mother, Gilliane, encountered one once according to her father. Her mother had gone for a walk at the end of her pregnancy with Renva. She came upon the last wisp, reached her hand forward and it disappeared. Looking up from where the wisp was,  she spotted an evader from the wall. Gilliane had hid behind a tree, in hopes of not making herself known to the evader. Unfortunately he had spotted her, startled Gilliane had broken into a slight jog. It was hard to run being at the end of her pregnancy, but she knew exactly the way she came. 

It didn’t take long for the evader to catch up to her. He latched onto her left arm and spun her around. Scared for her unborn child, Gilliane had started weeping. 

“They’re plotting, the cold blue eyes. Tell the King. We will be done for.” The man had sputtered out, fear showing in his eyes. Confused, Gilliane stayed quiet, “Please you have to tell someone. We need an army, they just keep rising, ple-” The man got out before an arrow lodged itself through his eye socket into his skull. 

“My Lady are you alright?” A guard from the wall had tracked the evader and stumbled upon him with Lady Stark in his grasp. “Thank you. Can you please help me get back to my husband?” Gilliane wiped her tears as the guard approached her. “Of course my Lady.” That was the day that Renva was born. Due to the stress of her encounter, Gilliane had gone into early labor. After the birth of Renva she was never the same, Rickon noticed it before his children did. 

It was as if she saw something else that day. She would stare off into space mumbling things about having to tell the King about the knight with cold blue eyes. Rickon had no idea what she meant. Eventually she broke free of whatever trace she was in, but it was too late. The maesters would pay her visits daily. Gilliane struggled with walking long distances, it then was hard for her to even get out of bed. She knew her time was coming, so she wrote letters to all of her children. In them she wrote about her hope for their future, things about herself so they would be able to look back and remember what she was like. Gilliane wrote what she looked like. Every miniscule feature she could remember about herself, she wrote down. 

She passed not long after Renva’s second name day. It was a sad and quiet time in Winterfell. Rickon mourned for his wife, along with not knowing if he was good enough to raise his three children. Cregan seeing his father mourn, made him want to be able to protect his family. Cregan practically begged his father to start training him at the age of eight. Rickon accepted, which led to them spending most of their time together in the training ground. Ranvir and Renva would spend their time together, forming their sibling bond. 

Renva believed deeply in the wisps abilities. After the stories told by those in Winterfell, she wanted to learn more about them. Flipping the book open she started reading about them. She was almost done with the first chapter when she heard footsteps approaching. Glancing up from her book she spotted Princess Rhaenyra. 

“Your grace.” She spoke nodding her head and addressing the Princess. 

“Revna, I did not expect to find you here. What is it that you’re reading?” She pulled up a chair and sat next to her. 

“It’s a book about Wisps. Those of us in the north believe in them, we believe that they either bring doom or luck to those that encounter them.” Renva explained, showing her the page in the book where there was an illustrated wisp. “My mother encountered one the day of my birth, after that she was never the same. My father thinks the wisp doomed her, she would keep mumbling about the ‘cold blue eyes’ but no one knew what it meant.” Renva continued as she closed the book. Picking at the skin around her nails, she glanced up at the Princess. Making eye contact, Rhaenyra took Renvas hands into her own. 

“I never met your mother but if she is anything like you I believe she was a wonderful Lady.” Rhaenyra consoled the young girl seeing her eyes tear up as she spoke of her mom. 

“Thank you, your Grace. I never really knew my mother, so being able to honor her last wishes is what I can do to feel connected to her.” Renva said, glancing up. 

Rhaenyra felt sympathy for Renva, she having lost her own mother was challenging. While Rhaenyra got to know her mother and bond with her, Renva barely remembers her. Rhaenyra couldn’t fathom what she would be like having not known her mother. It made her respect for Lord Stark raise if anything. 

“If you ever need a mothers opinion on anything, you can always come to me.” Rhaenyra pulled Renva in for a hug. As the two hugged Rhaenyra could feel the young girls’ body shake trying to withhold the sobs from coming out of her mouth. Rhaenyra herself let a few tears spill from her eyes, making sure to wipe them before the two separated. Rhaenyra knew in the moment, no matter who this girl chose, she would be there for her. 

“Thank you for this conversation, your grace. It means a lot, however I must be on my way. I promised to meet the Princes and my brother after their training. It seems I have lost track of time so I must make haste to meet them.” Renva said, wiping her tears and collecting herself. 

“Of course darling, and remember what I said.” Rhaenyra spoke, watching Renva slowly depart, giving the Princess a slight bow. 

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

next chapter

[rhapsodyred-writes]

“Find me again.” For Poppy please? I have the cute idea that maybe Reader leaves notes around the room/house for them to find that would lead them to where the reader is and they have a cute picnic or something >:3

When Poppy got home, you weren't there. This was not especially concerning - you sometimes went out during the day to pick something up or to spend time with friends. Usually you weren't out long. Today though, they could sense that things were different somehow. And it wasn't just because of the note on the fridge.

It was clearly in your handwriting, but they'd never known you to...speak in riddles like this. The note read:

I have four legs and a head, but cannot walk.

This was an old one, one Poppy had heard many times. They headed off to the bedroom with the first note in hand, and found the next note stuck neatly to the headboard of your bed. This one read:

I have a spine but no bones, and plenty to say but I never speak.

A lesser mind would have been stumped, but Poppy was just as sharp as they ever were, and made their way to where all of your combined books were. Luckily they didn't have to look far. The next clue was stuck right on the spine of Advanced Puzzle Construction for Critical Minds. It read:

What vegetable is the life of the party and the one everyone wants to hang out with?

Poppy had a niggling feeling at the back of their mind - they were sure they'd heard this one before, and equally sure they had forgotten the answer on purpose. With a careful motion, they flipped the note around to find the answer:

Fungi.

Poppy experienced several emotions in rapid succession. Shock, followed by annoyance, embarrassment, and - begrudgingly - amusement. They wanted to argue the semantics of your joke (because it was more a joke than a riddle), but that would have to wait until the end of this hunt you'd made for them. They knew there were mushrooms in the fridge from the last time groceries were picked up, so it was back to the kitchen. Stuck to the bottom of the mushroom container was one last note:

What can run but never walk, has a mouth but never talks, has a head but never weeps, has a bed but never sleeps?

Find me again. ;P

Poppy was mostly astounded that you'd actually drawn a winking emote on a sticky note. The riddle itself was simple. There was a river that ran through a park not far from where the two of you lived, so Poppy got their shoes back on, locked the house and went off in search of you.

They fully intended to greet you with criticism over your awful joke - truly, it was something Violet would come up with - but when they saw you, that thought fled their mind.

You had laid a blanket down on the ground to sit on. Beside you on the blanket was a cooler. You waved at Poppy when you saw them.

"Did you like my scavenger hunt?" You asked with a sly grin on your face as you opened the cooler and started pulling food and drinks out of it.

Poppy thought about the complaints they were going to raise about that joke, but knowing you'd thrown together a picnic for the two of you, they just couldn't do it.

"Yes," They said with a smile as the settled beside you on the blanket. "I Really Did."

[siriusmydeer]

Sirius x twin!reader where he runs away and doesn't say goodbye or anything, and they've always had a bad relationship because reader is like regulus and sirius is, well, sirius. baso angst where the reader is now ignoring sirius at hogwarts and sirius is trying to talk to her which is strange because before it was the other way round. she snaps and tells sirius how he knew what would happen if she ran away, and it was that she would get twice as many bad things to make up for sirius not (1)

the forgotten sister

sirius black x fem!twin!slytherin!reader

summary: sirius leaves you with aching despair the the faults that comes with being a black heir.

word count: 2.7k

warnings: child abuse, arranged marriage, angst, mentions of being imprisoned, mentions of death, mentions of violence, being disowned, mentions of death eaters, bad mental health, insinuation of depression, insinuation of a panic attack and bad sibling relationships

a/n: rate this cuz idk how to write angst but this has been sitting in my inbox for so long i’m so sorry

despair.

dejection.

guilt.

it was clear as day in your thought-stricken mind, without a second thought it ran thickly through your families veins for generations. every single heir of the noble house of black had the one ranging emotion of anything in a malicious, loathsome, vile and horrid context.

brothers, they were suppose to protect their siblings, love and nurture them above anyone else. they were suppose to kiss your forehead when you were sad, play with your barbies till they wanted to rip out their eyes because you had nobody else to play with, they were suppose to show another emotion than trepidation.

twins, the bond shared between them in unmatchable to any other sibling, they shared a womb for nine months, a direct bond, no seperation for nine months, thirty nine weeks, two hundred and seventy three days, a total of six hundred, five thousand and seventy hours together. a bond that should last a lifetime, of happiness, absentminded chuckles, homeliness, and love.

that’s what it should have, that’s how it should look in the peering eyes of anyone who had looked upon the similar featured siblings.

sixteen years, the only thing you had receiving in attempts of happiness, absentminded chuckles, homeliness, and love; but not everybody got what they wanted, in return you had received the raw sickly end of despair, dejection and guilt. what could such a young girl do to upset her brother from the very second her life begun? since the first weep that left sirius’ mouth, it almost felt like a duty ringing through your brain like a recurrent lullaby rather than a curse to be ignored by your family, and to only serve them when they deemed necessary for your forgotten presence.

rather than the lullaby on how a spider ran up a web, the only word familiar words in your brain since the ripe age of six was ‘crucio.’ the red tinging flare that sped across your living room like a jolt of lightening from the sky had just become a familiar sight to see at while your panic stricken figure strided through your house for just a few seconds more of peace.

dense words could be shared with your twin, not even a ‘good morning’ on most days. maybe a subtle nod when he first saw you as you both woke from your slumber if you were lucky, maybe even a sparing glance once or twice throughout the day. the first and last born female at the hands of walburga and orion black was simply ignored, a nobody, absolutely and completely nothing.

atleast sirius was there, he may not have spoke to you, or even looked in your direction but his presence in the dreadful household could’ve been enough, enough to put your blearing mind at ease for the night. that you had survived another day, that the next passing day his presence still comforted you because he was still there, that even though he didn’t protect you; he could protect regulus when he deemed fit, and as much as it put you in a absentminded agony, you appreciated his efforts to your youngest brother.

the following morning you woke up, his presence was diminished. his aura had vanished, the pungent smell of nicotine had left no trace on the stygian walls, the husk smell of expensive leather no longer enveloped in your ventilation and the irritating scent of his nose itching cologne was in absentia.

twin-tuition the muggles muttered, when two siblings who shared a whom could know almost everything and anything about each other without a second blip of thought. the walk to his room was excruciating, because in your heart his comforting presence had fled. the pink floyd and beatles posters had been torn from the walls, the mahogany wood from his drawers had been completely dismembered and his closet had been utterly ransacked.

he had left; he had left you.

that was the feeling of despair.

not even a note in his absence, not an explanation, not a second thought, sirius was gone; and sirius was not ever coming back.

the duration of the winter ‘holidays’ had seemingly passed slower than usual with the absence of your brother, the dismembering two weeks had finally been put on hold on your mind. finally finding the will to get out of your bed and put your mental health back to where it could’ve functioned at a less than normal way, the usual way. except you were sent back onto the hogwarts express only clinging onto the younger brother you had left, mind you he would’ve went off the second he stepped aboard but three seconds with your brother could’ve put you off for nine hours.

there was no will to try, no persuasive black ‘i get what i want’ attitude left churning in your system, the feeling of disgust trembling through your veins that your family would never accept you as long as you remained ‘y/n’ and not ‘y/n black,’ so you had to do what was right to protect regulus. because even though his nurturing feelings were inattentive, you would still do what was necessary to protect him.

if you weren’t the keen resemblance of your family you could’ve believed that you were adopted, having no will to become a follower of the dark lord, and no will to produce dark magic.

yet, you did what you had to do, an action that in no way would have been thought about for you; but you had what the other noble heirs lacked, compassion.

every corner you turned you had no will to search for the gryffindor brunette, your eyes didn’t erratically search for his searing silver irises, you didn’t attempt to decipher the red and gold colours from the green and silver that could’ve been crowded amongst the library, or the great hall. any will you had left for the receiving end of love from your family had utterly vanished.

that was the feeling of dejection.

sirius knew that prior years to hogwarts that you had rapidly searched for him in every single corner, mind you even there was a possibility he wasn’t there; you never faltered, you still gaped intently. it gave him the slight aching pain that he carried with himself, but the viridescent green you wore had him believing that you were simply no better than lucius malfoy or evan rosier.

it began to itch at his neck that you no longer had the need to know if he cared, if he was in the same room as you, if you even had the decree to call him your brother anymore. seemingly, you were always in between the walls of the library, a vermillion, maybe amber hued book sturdy between your hands in your grasp as you flipped the pages.

if you hadn’t shared the infamous last name, people would have never believed the two of you were what you called siblings, twin brother and sister. the epitome prankster, outgoing, and womanizer of hogwarts, the timid, skittish, quiet pureblood slytherin; and they just happened to share the same blood.

the female twin adorned reading, not because each book had different words carved upon its ivory paper, and not because there were hidden messages upon the words she so happen to enjoy deciphering but she loved reading partially because it allowed her to cry over someone else’s sadness when she could no longer identify her own.

her heart left sunken, submerged into somebody else’s misery because her own feelings enough weren’t able to bare.

he was silent for once, his mouth not barking up a laugh with his mates, he wasn’t sauntering around like he owned hogwarts himself, he was timidly walking into the depths of the library that were hidden from students. he was suddenly thoughtless, but his mind was not clear, and now face to face with the ghost of his sister; someone whom he had no intention to know, but now the wave of empathy ridden into his bloodstream as he saw the sudden tears glaze her eyes.

“you— you don’t look for me anymore. i noticed that, you don’t try and, try and look.” he started almost rudely, the first sentence he had ever uttered to his sibling was assumably how she didn’t care for his presence anymore. he was unable to produce many words at his shock, his nimble fingers anxiously shoving themselves into the grey slacks he had boughten for this years semester.

“i tried, at first. but you’re not worth a look anymore, sirius, because everywhere i go, the shadow of you is all i see.” as you contributed your words they only continued to be more broken, and stammered. the whimper in your tone clear as day as you spoke to someone you once called family, and now a sudden stranger.

“you left sirius, you left your sister, you left your brother. you left the people that needed you most because you’re selfish, you were thinking of you, not of us. so you don’t fucking deserve to be considered anymore, you don’t earn my respect on being thought about, sirius,” you were tired, achingly tired of fighting. you were tremendously exhausted of trying to fight for just a tinge of acknowledgments from your family members.

“you knew if you ran and you didn’t take us with you it would get worse, and you did it anyway. that makes you a coward, i guess the sorting hat does make mistakes after all.” you concluded, now wearied from your brother suddenly giving you the time of day when you don’t care to yearn for it anymore. his decisions affecting you single-handedly the most, your emotions no longer considering his aching feelings as his sister dismissed him at the similar treatment you had recurrently received.

“now i’ve got this penetrating, life altering ink on my wrist, because of your foolish actions. i have to pay for it, and a husband awaiting me. so now that you’re going all cry baby on me because i don’t try and find you anymore, you can stick your dreary where it came from because your damage is done.”

he had no thoughts, no words, completely ambushed. his older twin sister, someone whomst he adorned as his role model as a young boy, something he would never admit to as a child due to his stubborn nature, was now a death eater and profused in an arranged marriage because he couldn’t give a thought about his despairing twin. but now sirius had finally revived the raw end of the final emotion,

he had felt the emotion of guilt.

because even though he was trying to scoundrel some effort of empathy towards you the only thing displayed in front of him was the way your eyes spoke a thousand words but no one ever took the time to read them.

he never took time to read them.

“you need to leave— you need to run! w—why are you still there?” he started to hastily question as he peered at you erratically. his mind suddenly starting to boggle with questions as to why you would keep yourself in such a harmful situation, why you wouldn’t just run like he did.

it was simple to you, you weren’t selfish, you weren’t sirius.

“because i cannot leave regulus in that god forsaken house, the dark lord and his pesky followers would find me, and our parents would torture me, and murder me without remorse.” you finished, saying it too him like you had scribbled it upon a paper and practiced reading it every night like you were preparing for an exam, as if you would be questioned and persuaded to leave under the hands of your parents.

“i heard you— with regulus, you wanted to take him but not me. you almost brought him with you to the potters,” you revealed to the gryffindor, finally having the will to tell him clearly, on how he had wronged you in life and that there was absolutely nothing he could do to fix his actions.

“why do you never pick me sirius? why do you not want me as your sister? ‘ve always tried to protect you, why haven’t you done the same?!” at first your tone was monotone, almost dead but as your words continued your patience grew shorter and your rage grew larger.

your hand further having to clasp over your mouth by the end of your sentence before your classmates would’ve have gotten curious, and nosy at the altercation that was happening between the death eater and the disowned behind the shelves.

“i don’t— i don’t know, i just, s’different.” he was left thinking in confusion as to why he treated you differently, maybe it’s because you were the eldest, maybe you were female and in his eyes you possibly resembled his mother, maybe he had absolutely no idea as to why he treated you different.

“you dont— you don’t know? suddenly when i don’t give a shit about you, your yearning for your older sisters love. well guess what sirius, you’re not going to get it. your damage is done and there’s nothing to reverse it; so bugger off with your gryffindor mates, and your new family. if you want regulus to have a decent life from what he can live left, take him now before they take him too.” you concluded,

your first and last conversation occurring with your brother, several words left unsaid as you left him dumbfounded in the library, feeling the shoulder on shoulder collision as you left.

breathe in, breathe out. simple, again, again, again. the valley of tears were almost screaming at your waterline to let loose, to cry, to scream, to do something, anything. perhaps instead, you stood astonishingly still inside the girls lavatory, thinking, just thinking.

‘what did i do in my past life to deserve this now’ it was a simple and clear question, one that could never be answered, one without an explanation.

but yet you yearned for such a simple, yet complicated answer, maybe in another life sirius had the will to know you, your parents had the decree to love you, and maybe you weren’t sent down a path of affliction.

but that was another life, it wasn’t yours.

time went by, seconds, minutes, hours, weeks and years. they flew by, and now you were no longer that sixteen year old girl. you were eighteen, dressed in ivory with a small train at your feet, makeup painted on your eyelids, a small veil placed onto your head and your hands throughly squeezed in another’s; with the dreadful matching injected ink into your inner left fore-arms.

as the years had flew to that moment, lost was a lovely place to find yourself, but it simply wasn’t enough; it would never be enough. you had to wear the mask, ever noble heir of black had their own personal one, the one that covered every detailed flaw of you.

because after watching both of your brother’s, your supposed nurturers, your protectors, the ones that were suppose to love each and every bit of your aching soul left, you never realized how strong you had to be until being strong was your only choice that remained.

because in essence happiness is just blissful delusion, that esentially wouldn’t last forever no matter how exceedingly much you pleaded to merlin for it too last a second, maybe a minute if you were lucky.

but noble heirs of black weren’t lucky, they were cursed. and now you were finally brought upon to carry the tradition your children would be barred with, now carrying the last name of ‘dolohov.’

still remembering clear as day, like the sun was beaming into your viewpoint that one conversation you had shared with sirius in the library. the despairing love still left in your heart for your brother, your brother who stood up for regulus.

no matter how much they dismissed you as their protector, as their sister, as someone who loved them, you would always carry love for them in your trembling heart. after the amount of curses you took in their place, the screaming threats, the weeps from both of your brothers that stained your clothes, the times you had to face your parents in their absence.

you still had love for them, even if it wasn’t returned.

perhaps someday when you found the courage you crawl back home, beaten, defeated, maybe half dead. but not as long as you could remember the mark of family embedded into your heart, and your arm.

the noble heir’s of black, imprisoned, dead, and married off.

taglist: @fific7 @wisedreamcatcher @kittykylax @ronbrokemyheart @aspiringsloth20 @georgeswh0re @amourtentiaa @msmb @fangouria @five-cups-of-coffee @dracofknmalfoy @emmaev @serenitywilderness @artemis1orion @sirius-animagus @famdomhideout @hufflepogue @kirascottage @luvvninaz @miraclesoflove @black-like-my-soul

[creativeashproductions]

Curiosity // Luke Patterson

Summary: After filling up another journal designed his songbook Luke is left empty handed. With the offer to a shelf of blanket journals is given he’s immediately choosing. But Luke’s curiosity leads him to a discovery. In other words Luke finds Perfect Harmony in Reader’s bedroom.

Requested: Yes by @averyharrypotterlife​ 

Warnings: None.

Words: 1.7 (including lyrics)

A/N: Thank you from the bottom of my heart for the 5000+ followers whether it was years ago and you didn’t unfollow or in the future. Thank you for enjoying and interacting in something I’ve always loved: writing.

TO BE TAGGED SEND AN INBOX PLEASE!

Masterlist

Luke’s always been a curious person going as far back as his early childhood. The most consistent evidence being during the Christmas holidays. Until he was ten, yes, he’s aware that his friends stopped believing in Santa way earlier. The young lad would stay up hidden in the living room waiting to catch Santa. Without fail, Luke would wake up in his outer space planet sheets having fallen asleep in his mission.

When he was twelve years old, he was left at his aunt and uncle’s house for the weekend due to a work-related thing. His older cousin was eighteen at the time and at college, so Luke stayed in his bedroom. Luke couldn’t help but snoop through Bryan’s personal items, and in a drawer with a false bottom, he discovered magazines.

Luke had a lot of fun that weekend diligently going through the magazines his mother would skin his hide even knowing about them. He may have had to use the excuse of having a cold for the entire box of Kleenex missing. No one was the wiser on that weekend.

Now when Luke was fourteen years old, he had snuck into the Rated R film Candyman with Alex and Reggie. Luke’s parents had been strict in their rules and definitely had shot down the question of seeing the film. The three didn’t sleep with the lights out for a month after that, and the truth came out when no lie was sufficient to their concerned parents.

Luke Patterson didn’t care about boundaries. Why ask for permission when you can just ask for forgiveness? It worked with going through Julie’s dream box, but all personal items got hidden from the ghostly guitarist.

“No!” Luke exclaimed flipping through his song journal once more in hopes of a blank page. The frustration in his body snapping the pencil he had been using.

“You good?” You questioned glancing up from the essay you graded as a teacher’s assistant for an AP course. Luke’s frustrated brown met yours with a cute pout on his lips.

“I’ve filled my journal up. I hate using loose-leaf, but no money means no buying things.” Luke roughly scrubbed one hand on his face.

“You could always just forever borrow one from the- “Luke quickly shot that down with a look of absolute horror, “Okay…so stealing a no.”

“I did listen to my parents on certain aspects. I would never steal anything, other than the food when we didn’t have enough cash.” Luke’s brown hue had softened back into the hazel that caused flutters in your heart, “I have no respect for thieves.”

You nodded before scribbling a suggestion on the paper in dark red, “I have a shelf in my room dedicated solely to blank journals. If you want to, you can take one free of charge.”

With a quick smile, Luke disappeared from the room to your personal domain he sometimes hung out with you in. You had no misgivings on the teen finding solace in your room and gave him free rein; your prized possessions hidden very well.

Luke appeared in the soft blue and lilac bedroom with the queen white iron wrought style bed in the middle. A white desk in the corner with a multitude of bookcases and shelves in the room. The desk chair neatly pushed into the desk as well he went straight to the shelf.

Journals of all colours and styles with a label on the shelf noting them as empty. It was packed with dozens, but it was the midnight blue one that called to the boy. In his reach, he bumped an emerald green one off the edge. It opened having hit the edge of the desk.

As he leaned down, he noticed notations in the margins, now remember how Luke is a curious guy? He only hesitated a second before he was reading the pages of words in your signature script.

The guilt flared for a second before he justified it as being on the shelf you declared free game. So Luke settled sitting criss-cross against the side of your bed reading the words so eloquently written. Even notes allowed Luke to hear the melody in his mind.

Assignment: Write a piece of literature from two points of views. Genre doesn’t matter as long as it is a minimum of one page and not exceed eight.

Step into my world

Bittersweet love story ’bout a girl

Shook me to the core

Voice like an angel

I’ve never heard before

The words took his breath away, recalling a moment he gushed to Alex on how he had caught you singing. He had described your voice as being angelic, and it took him by complete surprise. He remembered Julie, and you entered the room shortly after with a nervous feeling if you had heard. Now Luke had his answer. His phantom heart pounded in anticipation for the reply to this first point of view.

Here in front of me

They’re shining so much brighter

Than I have ever seen

Life can be so mean

But when he goes, I know he doesn’t leave

The smile threatened to split his face with the elation as he continued reading with a subconscious hum. His fingers tapping the sides of the paper as his hazel irises tinged green ate up the words.

The truth is finally breaking through

Two worlds collide when I’m with you

Our voices rise and soar so high

We come to life when we’re

In perfect harmony

Whoa-oa-oa, whoa-oa-oa

Perfect harmony

Whoa-oa-oa, whoa-oa-oa

Perfect harmony

The world faded as Luke distinctly heard your angelic voice singing the parts he could easily recognize as perfect for you. There was something so powerful in this incredibly personal song only intended for your eyes and your teachers.

The next handful of lines left him breathless and astonished as he visualized not sitting across from each other. But engaging in another art form that can be so incredibly intimate for people; he imagined singing this while holding you in his arms.

You set me free

You and me together is more than chemistry

Love me as I am

I’ll hold your music here inside my hands

We say we’re friends, we play pretend

You’re more to me, we’re everything

Our voices rise and soar so high

 We come to life when we’re

 In perfect harmony

 Whoa-oa-oa, whoa-oa-oa

 Perfect harmony

 Whoa-oa-oa, whoa-oa-oa

 Perfect harmony

Luke went from humming to softly singing to the heartfelt tune with a flutter of butterflies deep in his stomach. When Julie saw Unsaid Emily, he had denied it as an experiment, and it was the truth. Luke wrote rock anthems and rock-pop with his living friend. He never dabbled into romantic ones.

He’d never read something so poetically beautiful it felt him weeping at the sheer amount of feelings.

I feel your rhythm in my heart

Yeah yeah yeah

You are my brightest burning star

Whoah whoah oh

I never knew a love so real (so real)

We’re heaven on earth

Melody and words

When we’re together we’re

In perfect harmony

Whoa-oa-oa, whoa-oa-oa

Perfect harmony

Whoa-oa-oa, whoa-oa-oa

We say we’re friends (we play pretend)

You’re more to me (we create)

Perfect harmony

His eyes found the last line of the song setting him back in a dead silence returning to the start to reread it. On his third read, he found the notes from your teacher on a separate page.

Y/N, in my years of teaching, I’ve never read something with such meaning behind it. The longing, passion, respect and love you artfully encapsulated is rare. To have written, this means you’ve felt this. No corrects needed, and I felt compelled to not mark on the piece. Thank you for being vulnerable with me, for letting me step inside your mind and please never let this emotion fade.

Your grade is A+.

Luke’s lips pulled apart at the genuine words your teacher had written because it indeed was a word of art. Carefully Luke returned the notebook back to the shelf to retrieve the blue one that caught his attention. AS he turned, he found you leaning against the door frame with a soft smile.

“I am so sor-“

“No.” You replied, walking into the room, “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for. I told you any notebook on that shelf. I can’t get mad, and I’ve seen you can’t leave something half-read.”

“Probably why my book reports were insanely well done in school.” Luke joked as you stepped in his personal space. The tension faded from his shoulders as he took in your features, “You got a perfect grade.”

“I did.” You simply spoke, staring up into his eyes, “You helped me with it.”

“How?”

“You told Alex what you felt about my voice. You looked nervous when I walked in, so I let it go. It wasn’t the time to bring it up. It’s called Perfect Harmony.” You told the ghost gently grazing your fingertips on his hand. The feeling sends shudders down his spine.

“I guess it just wasn’t the right time. With the band and-“

“-the whole soul owning thing. Too much but now that you’ve read that…what do you feel?” You hesitantly asked because reading it and discovering how someone feels is another to if the feelings are reciprocated back.

“That I was always meant to live in 2020. That I was meant to love you with every atom in my very being.” Luke murmured before he crashed his lips onto your own in a searing kiss that had your toe-curling.

The midnight blue journal dropped to the floor as his large calloused hands cupped your face to feel the warmth. The very journal would be filled with songs all about this person, Luke adored not matter his state as a ghost. Two worlds collided just as two souls came together in perfect harmony.

So, wrapped up in each other Luke didn’t notice something magical encased in the warm love. In the bedroom, the two teens were kissing in had two distinct heartbeats with a glow emanating from Luke Patterson.

Tag List (PLEASE SEND AN INBOX TO BE ADDED! I CANNOT GUARANTEE YOU WILL BE ON THE LIST VIA POST COMMENTS!)

@safehavenmuse @siennanoelle01 @whiterose291 @mell-bell @blackhood5sos @ficrecsideblog @ifilwtmfc @deadpoolgirl23 @crappy-unicorn @sunsetcurve-h @elioelioeli0 @lovesanimals @popcrone818 @lolychu @deepsleepnat @tenaciousperfectionunknown @aunicornmademedoit @just-a-writer-here @simp4reggie @parkeret @faithiebrock01 @overlyhypedup @differentsoulrascalsalad @aesthetic-lyss @versaceapa @carleywhittaker @lostgirl219 @itsalexx21 @elllaoo4 @merxxleighann @mediocremunge @fantomlovesjuke4ever @dpaccione @oswin05 @kaylinfayezink @aberette13 @faithie-brock-gillespie01 @eharvey0218 @overlyhypedup @benstormy @auriandthepussicats @sarcasticsagittarius1998 @whothefuckstolemykeds  @siriuswvrld​ @princessvader15​ @xoxbloodreinaxox @heimdoodle​ @joshy-obx​ @lovesanimals​ @oopsiedoopsie23​ @am3l1a-24 @flying-solo-without-you​ @jaskiers-sweetkiss​ @lostrandomfangirl​n @must-be-a-weasley-92​ @jatp-holland​ @ilikealotofpeople-younotsomuch @dxlanhxlland​ @dasexydevitt13​ @ifilwtmfc @arianagrandes-things @kinda-really-lost​ @marinettepotterandplagg​​ @ssprayberrythings​​ @morgandamrose @thedarkqueenofavalon​ @zukoshonourr​ @crybabyddl @spooky-season-bitch​ @kcd15​ @morganayennefertyrell @magnet-girl​ @all-in-fangirl​ @kinda-really-lost @tenaciousperfectionunknown​ @badwolf00593​ @blowakissbabe​ @talksoprettyjjx @thesweetestsinner​ @kaitieskidmore1​ @writerinlearning​ @aiofheavenandhell​ @sageellsworth05

[random-imagines-blog]

Perfect Skin {Remus Lupin x Reader Oneshot}

Requested by: @soularsmate Wordcount: 2570 Summary: Sometimes, a little jealousy can go a long way. Notes: Andrew Garfield as Remus Lupin.

To say that Remus got a little testy near the full moon was an understatement. Even James and Sirius knew to keep their joking and pranking of their best friend to a low around those times. It was like he already transformed into a wolf with how he snarled at anyone who poked fun at him. Even you. It wasn’t even like you had said anything mean to him, you just complained a little about a scar that you had from falling off of your broom the last time that you played Quidditch with James. “Why are you even with me if you hate scars?” He asked, making you and your group go quiet. He wasn’t loud enough for others in the Common Room to overhear over the sound of their own chatter, but he was getting there. “If you hate them that much, then I’ll solve the problem for you. I can’t hurt you if I don’t see you. We’re over.”

“Remus,” You protested, trying to reach out for him. Usually a hand on his shoulder or a kiss on his cheek was enough to calm him down somewhat. But he wasn’t in the mood for that today. He backed out from your touch, refusing himself that little bit of comfort. And refusing you that comfort as well. It hurt like hell when he got up and left the room, the cloud of bad temper over his head. You just watched, mouth agape, the sweet boy that you had been dating for four months, walking away like you were nothing.

“I’m sure he didn’t mean that...” James said, running his fingers through his eternally-messy hair.

“Yeah, he cares about you a lot,” Peter added in.

“It’s just his moon time, you know how he gets,” Sirius insisted.

But despite them staying with you and trying to convince you that everything was fine, you felt that sting in his words. He had meant them. You shouldn’t have been so stupid as to bring up scars, knowing that they were an insecurity for him. He often went on and on about how you had such perfect skin. It was like he was ignoring that you had scars of your own. That you went through your own pain and troubles and got to the other side of them. Nothing as intense as his of course but - it wasn’t a competition. It shouldn’t have felt like one.

“I don’t want to be here when he gets back,” You said, getting up after a couple of minutes of the boys trying to cheer you up. “Even if he didn’t mean what he said, he still said it. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You left the three boys looking sheepish and upset - they rarely ever saw Remus snap at you like that and it left them feeling uncomfortable. James eventually got up and said he was going to go look for Remus, Peter went up to do some homework before the sunset and they would be going out, and Sirius sat there and stewed. He was close to both of you, closer to you than James and Peter were, anyway.

Remus was going to regret this when he came back to his senses after the Full Moon but Sirius had seen the hurt that was on your face, and wanted to make him regret it even more. A plan started to come together in that devious head of his, and he knew he had to talk to you first thing tomorrow.

-

“That’s ridiculous,” You said at breakfast, watching as the sleepy boy piled food onto his plate. The full moon was a rough night for everyone. You weren’t like the others, you didn’t change your form to try to be with Remus, but you spent the whole night worrying about him anyway. You tried not to, you tried to stay mad at him for attempting to break up with you over something as silly as scars but you loved him too much for that. You stared out the window of your dorm all night, waiting to see the weeping willow freeze and the boys come out of it. So you were much too tired to put up with Sirius’s strange ideas.

“No it’s not,” He said, stabbing a breakfast sausage and shoved it in his mouth. He spoke with his mouthful, making you grimace. How did so many of the girls in this school find this attractive? “It’ll work, I’m serious.”

“Yes, yes, we all know you’re serious,” You said, rolling your eyes at his weak attempt at a joke. “Look, best case scenerio is that he’ll come down for breakfast, he’ll apologize and everything will be okay. Worst case scenario is that he won’t. Why do you want to make an absolute worst ever scenerio by trying to make him jealous?”

“Jealous always works, haven’t you noticed? Plus this will totally help me score a date with that blonde Ravenclaw. Hogsmeade is coming up,” He sang, grabbing the maple syrup to drench his food. “We’ll be doing each other a favor!”

“Sirius...” You said, shaking your head.

“I do love the way that you say my name,” Sirius said, blowing kisses at me. The thought of kissing him, and knowing where those lips had been, made me grimace. But that soon abated when scruffy haired Remus walked past him, bumping into him, and continued down to the end of the table to eat with some third years. Sirius had gotten a head start on the plan before you even realized that Remus was in the room.

You watched him as he sat down and only took a piece of toast for his breakfast. You frowned, getting to your feet so you could tell him to eat more, but Sirius lightly put his hand over yours. “Just let him be for a little while, it was rough last night.”

“You’re one to talk about letting things be,” You said, but lowered yourself back down to continue your breakfast. That didn’t stop you from shooting looks back to Remus though. He looked so lonely down there. Peter eventually joined him, while James bothered Lily near you. He seemed to be trying his best not to look back at you. If he was going to be stubborn, there was nothing really that you could do, except for wait it out.

And that’s what you would do. You’d wait for Remus until the end of the world if you had to.

--

You finally gave into Sirius’s plan, but only because it meant that you wouldn’t have to walk alone to class or study by yourself in the common room. He kept you company, and was a laugh most of the time. He’d tell you about some of the pranks that you had missed out on the group doing, paying careful attention to Remus’s part in them. It had already been two weeks since the full moon, and he still had not spoken to you. You got to the point of trying to send him a letter through your own but Sirius stopped you from doing that.

“Don’t appear too clingy, it’ll blow the plan,” He said, grabbing the parchment from you when he caught the name written on the top.

“I just want to make sure that he’s okay...” You admitted.

“He’s fine,” Sirius said, rolling the parchment up between his fingers. “My brilliant plan is definitely working, though. You should have seen the way that he glared at me after I hugged you goodnight last night.”

“Yeah, why did you do that? It’s not as if the Ravenclaw girl was around to see it.”

“I like to throw myself into the role. Call me a method actor,” He ran his fingers through his hair, flipping it back behind his shoulders. “Plus I like the practice. This girl might actually make me settle down, if I can just get her to notice me.”

“That’s big for you, congratulations.” You said, more than a little surprised. Sirius Black, being serious? Almost unheard of. “But you know, just asking her out might be better than all of this-”

“I already asked you out, I don’t need anyone else,” Sirius said, his whole demeanor changing. He took hold of your hands, running his thumb over the back of them. He didn’t have to tell you that Remus was in the room for you to know that Remus was in the room. “Besides, who could focus on anyone else when there’s you?”

“That’s enough,” Remus’s voice came out in a sharp tone from behind you. You turned your head around, and saw that you were finally able to catch his eye. But instead of the warm, honey look behind them that you were used to, he looked angry. Downright pissed off, actually. “Sirius, what the hell? You could have any girl you wanted, why y/n?”

“I’m sitting right here,” You said, starting to stand up, but once again, Sirius had a good grip on your hands, pulling you back down.

“Calm down, pumpkin,” Sirius said, eyeing his friend. “It’s not my fault you gave her up, mate. She became fair game the minute you broke up with her for whatever stupid reason-”

“You’re a bastard,” Remus said, shaking his head, glare evident. “You’re a bloody bastard, Black, and I regret that I ever thought you were my friend.”

“Remus...” You said, breaking out of Sirius’s grip as the dark haired boy sat dumbstruck. “It’s really not what you think-”

“Save it,” Remus said, the anger in his voice turning to hurt as he addressed you. “Looks enough like you moved on.”

“I didn’t - let me explain, let me talk to you...” You pleaded. This was getting the attention of the others around the common room, and both you and Remus paused as you noticed the stares. “Please.” You said, one more time.

“Fine,” Remus said, taking your hand and pulled you up towards the boy’s dormitory. James was laying out on his bed, passed out, a book about Quidditch resting on his chest. Remus pulled the curtains over him so that he couldn’t see, then sat on the edge of his bed, watching me. “Why did it have to be Sirius?”

“Wow, he must be a better actor than I thought he was, if he had you fooled,” You said, crossing your arms. “Sirius, seriously?”

That usually got the guys to chuckle, but there was nothing this time. Remus’s eyes still looked at you coldly. You sighed. “He’s trying to play you and some Ravenclaw girl into being jealous. I was against the idea, by the way. But then Peter took your side, James was obsessed with Lily and I had no one else to hang out with so ... I sort of went with it. But I didn’t like it. It got all weird when he was start playing with my hair or trying to hold my hand. It never felt right. Not like it did when you did it. Now can we just put an end to this ridiculous mess, and be together again?”

Remus stood up, and paced in front of you. His usually sweet face was contorted into something angry. As confused as you were, and as much as you were wanting to be over, it was pretty hot. He came in close, his warm breath on your face, and took your chin between his calloused fingers.

“All of that - was a ploy - to make me jealous? Is that really what you’re going with?”

“It’s the truth,” You said, unable to look away from his eyes. “There’s absolutely nothing between Sirius and I. I swear.”

He gave a little grunt, and you couldn’t tell whether that meant he believed you or not. After a long moment’s silence, still gazing into one another’s eyes, he finally spoke. “Good, because seeing you with him...” This time a growl came from between his lips.

“Does that mean his plan worked?” You questioned.

“That smart bastard,” Remus muttered. “He knows that you’re my weakness. Seeing you with anyone else makes me a little crazy.”

Rather than feel angry, you felt a bit happy. Relieved. He still cared about you. He still had your chin between his fingers, and he pulled your face in towards his to meet him in a kiss. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling yourself in even closer. Chest to chest. He surprised you even further by letting go of your face, just to go for your  legs, pulling them up so that they were wrapped around his waist.

Sweet Remus Lupin. You knew that he had something of a dark side, becoming a wolf whenever the moon was full, but he was in between cycles right now. This was all him and yet - there was something animalistic about it. Sexy about it, even.

He took a few steps backwards, turning you so that you would fall onto his bed while he was on top of you. With barely a wave, the curtains closed around the two of you, granting you privacy from the sleeping Potter in the next bed. “I thought I was going to go out of my mind,” He admitted, his lips detaching from yours for just a moment. “You’re mine, y/n, and seeing Sirius’s hands on you. Thinking about what you might have been up to...”

“Absolutely nothing, my love,” you said, keeping your legs wrapped around him so that he couldn’t get away from you again. “I’ve always been yours.”

He pressed possessive kisses all up and down your neck, down to your collar bone and then back up. Right at your jawline, he sucked, kissed and nibbled harshly, leaving marks. You didn’t mind at all, but rather you moaned beneath each and every touch of him. Two weeks had been much too long without him. And he clearly felt the same way about you. Hands were running over your ribs, over your chest. He was repeating your name, his arousal felt between your own legs.

The amazing moment of your reunion was interrupted by something bumping against the curtain, and falling down upon the floor.

“Great, you’re back together,” James’s sleepy voice came through. “But do you mind keepin’ it down? Trying to sleep over here, bloody hell.”

“Sorry James,” You giggled.

“I’m not,” Remus grinned.

“Gonna go sleep in the common room then,” James mumbled, and he disappeared out of the room and down the stairs.

The reunion commenced, and you didn’t mind this new jealous side of Remus that sometimes came out. Though afterwards, as he curled up in your arms, you were the one who comforted him that there was no one else out there in the world for you. That he was your one. And that no matter how many scars he had, or where they were, he had the most perfect skin in the world, because it was his.

[violetarks]

Hello!! I saw you were asking for fictif requests and was wondering if you haven't already, may I have some general fluffy headcanons for Felix? I hope you have a wonderful day💕

General Fluff Headcanons

Game: Fictif

Character: Felix Iskander Escellun

Most definitely craves physical contact

But its that kind of thing where he thinks the more he desires it and stares at you, the more of a chance the universe will tell you to walk over and hug him

It takes you a while until you turn your head, bc you feel like someone is burning holes into your head :))

But all you see is felix flipping the page of his book

Felix: "is something wrong?"

You: "do you... need something?"

Felix: "pardon? no, i dont need anything."

But you know better

He's blushing, embarrassed that you caught him or nearly did

And you can see it as he adjusts his glasses, clearing his throat

Anyway, you do hold his hand, hug and kiss him if he feels comfortable

You hold his hand through portals and in market, bc he doesnt want to be separated from you

Kissing him in public is fORBiddEN bc he'll get all flustered and not be able to function right, resulting in glaring your way and pouting

Hugging him is okay, as long as you dont see his face, so youre usually hugging from behind or digging your face into his shoulder

Speaking if which, it takes a while for him to get used to it all

The first time you grabbed his hand out of the blue, he jolted and squeezed your hand really hard, making you pull away

He apologised over and over again as anisa looked over your hand to check for any injuries (none)

Anisa only did that bc of how much felix was overreacting

He felt so bad that he avoided you for some time

After that, you walked up to him and held his hand again, just casually and this time he didnt freak out, just staring at you

Love :)))

Calls you darling or dear, bc he's old timey like that

But that only happens every once in a while

He'll be distracted or so relaxed that he doesn't notice, but everyone else does

First time, went like

Felix: "love, are you finished with my spellbook?"

You: "i... uh..."

Anisa: "what did you say, felix?"

Felix: "hm? I asked about the spellbook y/n borrowed from me."

Sage: "oh my goodness, you're so bold, felix. i supposed youre different behind closed doors, huh?"

He's so confused??

And you just hand him the book and dont talk about it until after dinner

He's blushing wildly before announcing his return to bed and hiding under the covers

His sarcasm is limited to sage and anisa, and only sometimes you

Bc he usually uses his sarcasm to show how annoyed he was

But with you, its more or a joking matter

Sage gets sad bc you get some privileges over him :((

You two do get up to some mischief tho

Like you both go ahead and make felix blush owo

But sage once convinced you to steal felix's giant coat, and you two ran around the building just playing around

Anisa and felix found you two on top of on of the highest balconies, trying to see if sage's spell for making objects levitate would work on just felix's jacket

Felix: "what do you think you two are doing???"

You, standing on top of the railing as Sage is about to push you off with only Felix's coat above your head like a blanket: "nothing"

Felix then cast a spell where sage becomes invisible to you and you cohldnt hear him at all

Anisa told felix to rake the spell away since sage was weeping in the corner

Sleepy felix :(((

He's at his desk and doing stuff when he falls asleep

You either drag him to bed or pull up a chair to sleep next to him

Although he is a night owl, he goes three days without sleeping and passes out for nine hours

Felix likes to sit next to you at dinner

Sometimes you use your magic to prank or tease felix

But it really never works since he's taught you all you know

He'll be looking for his spellbook and then sigh,, looking your way and just raising a brow

Felix: "drop it this instant, my darling."

You: "fiiiiiine..."

The book drops from the ceiling, right into his palm

Another thing

Felix feels the need to return the gestures

So he will kiss you on your forehead when you get giddy for completing your spell just right

And then look away hastily

Or he'll grab your hand and pull you away when youre about to bump into something

And he just wont let go

Sleeps next to you and once he knows youre asleep for sure, he kisses your palm or kisses your cheek

There are times when he doesnt know what to do

Like when youre upset

Maybe you felt extra sad this morning, or you were feeling homesick, or just not that great at all

Felix does not know how to deal with other people's emotions

The best you'll get is

Felix: "are you feeling well, my dear?"

You: "oh, yeah. i'm fine, felix."

Felix: "alright."

And he's screaming inside bc he cant ask you again now, he's embarrassed to

He knows for sure that something is dead wrong when you go to bed

Maybe your grip on him is too loose, or youre not holding him at all

And he's just thinking about what he can do

Sometimes you start crying and felix cant take it anymore

He turns around and digs his face into your shoulder, arms around your torso and pulling you close

He's holding you so tight that he thinks you'll break if he lets go

You slowly hug him back, crying into his hair

Felix: "... i dont know of what has happened, but you are free to tell me whatever it is that is bothering you, my darling. i... i can help, in some way..."

You: "thanks, felix. i appreciate it."

N e way :))

The most common thing to happen between you two is probably for felix to brush against you a lot

He's trying not to be suspicious so you dont see it, but its when he doesnt watch where he's going that he messed up

Felix, hitting his hip on the corner of the table in an attempt to step closer to you: "my lord, oh my goodness..."

You: "felix, you can just ask me to stand next to you."

Felix: "... i dont know what youre talking about."

Out of everyone in the group, he probably trusts anisa to take care of you the best when he's away

Sage and you almost always get into trouble and he can not handle the energy you two bring out to open

Anisa keeps you contained and helps felix feel at ease bc she can definitely beat a bitch or two

Felix likes having your head on his lap when he's reading

Its one of the only ways you can be close together like this once someone is busy

He's running fingers through your hair and up and down your arm, other hand holding his book as he reads through it

Felix: "are you already asleep, my darling?"

When you don't respond

Felix: "I love you..."

...

You: "I love you too, Felix"

Felix: "i knew it"

You play with his glasses sometimes

He'll be looking for another book or something and you steal his glasses from his desk and just play with them

Or if they're around his neck and you're sitting in front of him

You'll tug him from the chain of his glasses to give him a quick kiss

He burns red and then pulls his glasses on to continue reading

Wrapping your arms around his torso makes him putty in your hands

He immediately leans into you

Kiss him when he's annoyed

Just a quick smooch on his cheek

He' calm down and just dig his head into his hands

You're so warm and so kind to him

He feels like he doesnt deserve it but you assure him that he does, he deserves the world :))

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

By the king’s hand 🐍 XIV

Warnings: dubcon/noncon/rape

This is dark!fic and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You try to adjust to life back at the palace.

Note: Let me say this is torture to write sitting with my bf because I wanna jump his bones but whatever. Anyways, this chapter is kinda just porn but you know we have some plot coming so enjoy while you can hahah.

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

Loki was reluctant to leave you and when he did, he left Hal in his stead. It wasn’t subtle. The boy watched you with his bright eyes and every time you stood and paced the room, he asked if you were well. It was rather irritating even if the boy meant well.

You sighed and dropped onto the chaise. You looked around the chambers and hunched forward as you held your face in your hands. Finally settled, as much as you could be, you were restless and you dared to admit it, bored. Hal sat in the armchair and held the same book he’d had in the carriage. You tilted your head as you admired the worn spine.

“Is there nothing I am allowed to keep me from going mad from this tedium?” You asked.

Hal looked up and blinked. He closed his book and rested it on his leg. “Can I ask you a question?” He wondered. You squinted but nodded. “You, by your own words, are a peasant. How come you speak so well?”

You shifted. You hadn’t expected that. You were unused to talking about yourself or thinking about your former life. It was so distant it felt as if it had never been yours.

“My uncle,” you said softly. “I worked in his pottery shop. We never made anything fancy, nothing for any noble patron, but when he was an apprentice, he was employed by a jeweler. Peasants don’t buy jewels. My uncle always said that a merchant should speak all languages, high and low, if he is to be successful, so he always reminded me to enunciate and use big words.” You scoffed and almost laughed at the thought, “Seems ridiculous now. He never made a pot for anything more than a modest holy man, and you know it is unseemly to accept coin from one anointed by the gods.”

“You made pots?”

“And chests, and plates, bowls, cups. We used clay, wood, we even worked some glass.” You explained. “My uncle’s wife died before he could have a child and my mother left me with him before she ran out.”

“And your father?” Hal leaned forward and winced at his own words. “My apologies, I shouldn’t--”

“My mother never married him proper.” You shrugged. “So I suppose, I’m a bastard too.” You touched your stomach. “Only entirely common.”

“I didn’t mean…”

“You don’t have to be sorry.” You let yourself smile, “You’re the first in this godforsaken place who’s even asked about me. No one else cares what I’ve done, only what I can do for them.”

There was a pause as Hal flipped the cover of the book open and closed. His cheeks coloured, as they often did when he was thinking. “If you are bored, you might read?”

“Read?” You laughed, this time aloud. “Peasants don’t read. We can keep a ledger of debts but letters, those are beyond us.”

He was embarrassed. His whole face turned red and his blue eyes rounded. “Well, I… I don’t-- I didn’t--” He cleared his throat, “I could… teach you?”

You almost laughed again. You were kept from it as a knot formed in your chest. It was a kindness you hadn’t known in your time at the palace. Sure, the king had brought you charcoal and paper, but he didn’t care that you couldn’t draw. Aside from that, he expected you to wait around until he required your service.

You were suddenly overcome. You felt as if you would weep and quickly blotted your eyes with your sleeves. You sniffed back the threatening deluge and sat up. “You would teach me?”

“If I can,” he said meekly, “I’ve never taught anyone but I could try.” He stood and set aside the book. “Would you want to?”

“I think… but what is there to read?” You asked. “I always just thought books looked so...complicated.”

“Oh, there are wonderful stories,” he chimed, “Of princesses and knights and kings and queens.” He went to the writing desk in the corner and shuffled through the loose leafs, “Even stories of commoners; of the poor out in the cold and the lowly soldier marching with his liege.”

He turned with a handful of untouched parchment and an inkwell in hand. He set it on the table and retrieved two pens from the desk drawer. He pulled a chair away from the table and looked to you.

“My lady,” he said.

“I told you, that is not my title.” You rose slowly and groaned as your hips ached.

“May I call you it anyway?” He asked. “I think it fits you.”

You chuckled at him and patted his shoulder as you sat in the stiff-backed seat. “If you must.”

“Well,” he sat and placed a pen in front of you, “I think it is best to start by writing out the letters. That is how I began.”

“Alright,” you took the pen and rolled it between your fingers. He slid a sheet before you.

“Just repeat as I do and we will go over the sounds of each letter.” He explained, “Don’t forget the ink.” He uncapped the well and shook his head at himself. “Better I am not a tutor. I think the sword might be better held in my hand.”

“Oh, but Hal,” you said, “A knight should have patience and I expect, you’ll need much with me.”

🐍

Your lesson was long and frustrating. Hal seemed much wiser than you as he assured you that you must be twice his age and so it might take longer for you to catch on. It did not help as you only felt even duller. The boy was patient, to a fault, even, as finally you drew out your entire alphabet and named all the letters by heart. He advised that you looked them over often and repeat them when you could until the next lesson.

He shuffled up the parchment and cleaned the pens. He tucked it all away in the broad drawer as you moved to the chaise and reclined as your lower back rang with pain. He snapped it shut and resumed the armchair.

“The king writes in his solar often,” Hal said, “So you might assume that desk in his absence.”

“Is that what he does when he is away?” You rubbed your stomach pensively.

“He reads, he writes, he meets his council and gives his decrees,” Hal said, “He is a king who keeps himself busy.”

“You would think he’d long for solace when he is not at his duty,” you sighed.

“I think a king is often lonely in his own way. His nobles only expect favours of him and he cannot meet any on even ground.” Hal mulled. “Perhaps, he might feel as you do; that they do not ask after him, only what he can give them.”

“Hmm,” you hummed. How much did Loki give to any? It seemed as if he only took. “Perhaps from his eye.” You tapped your fingers on a wrinkle in your gown. “How long have you served the king?”

“Since I was only eight years.” Hal said. “My father is an earl and Odin saw fit that I take service in the palace for my education. His own son needed an attendant. The king, a prince at the time, did think me too young.” He chuckled to himself, “He said I was as sweet as a maid and I would make a poor lord.”

“That isn’t very kind,” you huffed.

“Ah, but the king is only one who needs proof of one’s worth. He did see my loyalty and my diligence. He has kept me on and has made me squire. I cannot be more grateful.” Hal expounded, “When my training begins, I will no longer be expected to feed or dress him.”

“Oh,” you said glumly, “And when does he intend on that?”

“In the spring, when he is wed,” he answered, “When the snow has melted and the yards are not so treacherous.”

You were quiet. You sat up and turned your legs over the edge of the chaise. You leaned on the low arm and kept a pillow under your elbow.

“You will see me still, my lady,” he said, “I promise that.”

“No, I don’t think I will. I will be round and ready to burst by then and you will have a new duty.” You picked at the edge of the cushion, “And the king will have his wife. I think I mightn’t be here then.”

“Where would you be?” He asked.

“I don’t know. Hidden away so that the king’s shame cannot be known,” you shrugged, “What should a wife, a princess, think if her husband does keep another in his bed?”

Hal reddened and you almost giggled at his embarrassment, not thinking before you spoke. 

“I’m sorry,” you looked down.

“No, it is only… I am almost a man, I know of these things,” he insisted, “It is only, well, I cannot think of how he should have both.” He twiddled his fingers. “It makes me sad to think he might have to be rid of you. To think that things can change so quickly.”

“So is life,” you threw your hand up, “Nothing ever stays as it was.”

“I suppose,” Hal swallowed and opened his book, “But I would not dwell on it.” He flipped through the pages, “I’d rather enjoy things as they are now.”

You peeked over at the boy. As you watched him put his eyes to the page, you felt a bittersweet churning inside. He was so young, you recalled yourself at his age. You’d never been one for dreams or whimsical aspiration. Your uncle called you his little miser as you always saw the worst in the best. Life had yet to dispel your pessimism.

As he turned the page, another peculiar pang settled in you. You thought of your child and who they should be. You hoped they did not inherit your acrid gloom or their father’s malice. You hoped they were like the boy before you. You hoped you could give them dreams you never had. You hoped, you hoped, you hoped…

The door kept you from drifting further into your fears. You looked up as Loki entered and dusted the last of the melting snow from his shoulder. Hal was on his feet in a second and helped the king out of his damp cloak. You rose in turn, anxious as you bounced on the balls of your feet.

Loki’s pale skin was pinkened with the bite of the cold. He sniffed and bid Hal to fetch him tea. The boy flitted out obediently and left you to greet the king.

Loki rubbed his hands together as he went to the fire and warmed them over the flame. He didn’t look at you as he stared into the flames. “You may sit.” He said, “You should not tax yourself thus.”

You lowered yourself as he leaned on the mantle and brushed his fingers through his dark hair. He was still at his work in his head. You wondered why he’d returned so early as you expected he had much to do.

“I took my lords to arrange Tyr’s Hall for my brother’s arrival,” Loki said, “The snow has brought a tree down and damaged the roof.” He spun and his hands went to his hips. “We will have to relocate to the theatre. It is the only building spacious enough for the council and the jury and judges.” He paced and shook his head, “My father renewed that damned theatre over the courthouse. He always did like his shows. And now I must put my brother on trial as if it is some comedy!”

You watched him. He never spoke so much of his courtly troubles. You weren’t sure what you could offer. You knew little of what he did or could do.

“Ugh,” he stilled himself and held his hands out, “But I did come to clear my mind of these things.” He lowered his head and exhaled. He strode over to you and sat on the chaise next to you. “For all the nonsense, I could but worry for… the child.”

You nodded. “And me? You leave me with the boy so he can keep me from trouble?”

“I leave him as company. You needn’t be alone so much.” He leaned back on his hands and pushed his legs apart. “You don’t like him?”

“No, he is a sweet boy,” you assured him, “But I don’t think it fair to keep him locked up with me.”

“He does as I will,” Loki rolled his eyes, “As you do.”

You clamped your mouth shut. His usual mood had returned. You only suspected it to worsen as his brother’s presence loomed and the trial edged closer. 

“Your baker’s daughter did relent, at least,” he sneered, “Another witness for our cause though the word of a common whore will do little against a prince.”

You frowned. You didn’t want to think of Gilla or your visit to the dungeons. It made you shiver and you hugged yourself. He waved his hand in the air and chewed his cheek.

“There I go again,” He turned his head to you, “I did retire for the day and yet I cannot think clearly.”

You hummed. He sat up and rested his hand on his thigh, a tight fist as he shook his head at himself. He stretched out his fingers slowly and reached over to touch your stomach. It seemed to calm him so you let him.

“Your majesty,” you said softly. He looked at you again and drew his other hand from his chin.

“Mouse?” He gave a small nod.

“The child will need something to wear with the boots.” You touched your hips as they reverberated with a sudden pain. You held in a hiss and went on, “I can sew. Perhaps you might allow me a needle and some material to work with.”

“I would have my tailors take care of all that,” he drew a circle with his fingertips before he pulled away from your stomach. “I’ve staff to worry for the details.”

“But… but you leave me here without task. Without anything but a boy and the walls.” You leaned forward to take the weight off your hips. “If I had some work to do, the time might pass easier.”

His brows lowered and he pursed his lips. “I suppose you are right.” He looked up as a knock sounded and he called for Hal to enter. “Thank you, boy.” He pointed to the table and the cup was set down. “You may go and return for our supper.”

“Your majesty,” Hal retreated and the door closed firmly.

“I will have some fabric sent to you on the morrow,” Loki allowed and you squirmed as the settee made your bottom sore. “Would you sit still?”

“Thank you, your majesty,” you hissed and stood as you rubbed your hips, “It is the child. It makes me ache.”

He watched you grip your hips and the tension left his face. His eyes roved up and down your body and he rose. How quickly his mind flew away.

“I might help with that,” he purred.

“I’m not sure that is a solution,” you grumbled.

“Do not presume to know my thoughts,” he warned and grabbed your wrist. “Come. Lay down and I will ease your pain.”

You blinked at him and your doubt drew your lips taught. He snickered and tugged you towards the bedchamber.

“Time does you well.” He said as he drew you through the door behind him, “Your old habits do return to you.”

He was irritating you. The slither in his tone, the knowing, the taunting. He was, as he said of you, as he was before.

“And you haven’t changed at all,” you huffed as he sat you down.

“Did I ever claim it?” He winked and cracked his knuckles, “On your side, mouse.”

“I think I only need to recline for a time,” you argued, “Without bother.”

“Oh, a bother am I?” He arched a brow. He bent and came close enough that his nose tickled yours. “There are ways for me to hurt you without affecting the child. So, let us not tread backward, mouse.”

You couldn’t help how your anger spiked. Your emotions grew more and more erratic. You merely gritted your teeth and lowered yourself down across the bed. He spun his finger to have you turn your back to him and you obeyed if only to hide your spite. The morning felt as if it was long ago.

“Just… relax,” his fingers went to your hip and he kneaded the flesh, “Birger says a woman with child is usually uncomfortable, so let me help and you might not be so fickle.”

“Fickle?” You snipped.

“I could think of another word but let us not venture so far,” he teased.

You moaned in surprise as his touch eased your muscles. You heard his low chuckle in response and you went rigid again. He continued to massage your hip, then your back, and your shoulders. He was quiet and you were uncertain as your body eased and your mind raced.

“Turn over,” he bid and you did without resistance.

His hand was on your other hip as your arm fell back and you closed your eyes. If he was the reason for your tension, he was as good at soothing it. You felt sleepy as he carried on and his fingers danced up your side. He touched your stomach again and crawled upward until he was cupping your breast.

You opened your eyes and he was grinning at the sigh of his hand on your chest. You grabbed his wrist and he shook you off.

“Well, mouse, you’ve got me all stiff now,” he looked to his lap and you sighed. “I say, these are bigger with each day.”

“Ah,” you squeaked as he pinched your nipple through the dress, “And tender!”

“All the better,” he groped you again. “You needn’t do anything but lay there, mouse.”

He nudged you onto your back and you resisted until he pinched you again. He caught your hand before you could strike him and shoved it down beside your head.

“Think of the child,” he cooed as he stood and pushed his knee between your legs. “I thought we had an understanding, mouse.” He brought his other knee down and forced your legs apart. “Birger did say that these activities were beneficial to your condition.”

“Oh, he did?” You wriggled your hand as he pinned your other down and stared down at you.

“And it is not so beneficial for you to work yourself up,” he warned, “So you might calm yourself before you suffer for it.”

“You mean let you have your pleasure.”

“If it entails my pleasure, then I cannot complain,” he released your hands and grabbed your tits again. “Fuck, look at you.”

You squeezed your legs around him but made no move to resist. He’d worked himself into a lust and to resist him might undo all his kindness. As it were, his persistence was not so cruel as before. You could bear it if only for the hope of rest in the end. You could bear it for the life inside you.

“I do not know if I can restrain myself as I did last eve,” he grasped the top of your gown and with effort, tore it open, “But I will try.”

You grunted as he jolted your body as he bared your swollen breast. He bent and took a nipple in his mouth and suckled. It sent a tingle deep into your chest and through your core. You gasped and your hand went to the back of his head. He swirled his tongue around your hardened bud as his fingers played with the other.

He moved to your other breast, a trail of spit between them as he relished the way you squirmed. You couldn’t help it as the pain was laced with a sensation more intense than any you’d felt before. He grabbed the top of the tear already rent in your gown and ripped it further. He dragged his lips down your stomach and growled.

You cursed under your breath. You hated that you felt this way. He pushed your legs up as he nestled between your legs and his warmth spread over your pelvis. He dipped his head down and you flinched as he delved into your folds. You dropped your hand from his hair and he pulled it back impatiently as he buried himself deeper in your cunt.

You bit down as your legs curled over his shoulders, his fingers traced your entrance as his mouth teased your clit. He poked inside and you moaned. He added another finger and worked them in tandem with his tongue. You tangled your fingers in his locks and panted as you covered your face with your other hand.

He kept on until you were writhing and whining. You rocked against his face hungrily and the release swept over you violently. You cried out and locked him between your legs as you rode out your climax. 

He slowly withdrew and sat up as he kept your legs against him, resting your feet against his shoulders. He reached to the top of his breeches, hastily snapping the laces and parting the top. He freed his member and angled himself against your cunt.

He prodded you with his tip and slickened his cock with your arousal. Your hand fell to the pillow and you looked up at his dilated eyes. 

He entered you in a single thrust. You exclaimed and he wiggled his hips as he tested your limits. He gripped your thighs as he began to move against you with long, even strokes. You quivered as your walls clenched around him. You felt your arousal spreading across his breeches with each thrust.

He sped up, his nails sinking into your thighs as he groaned in delight. He threw his head back as his breath hitched. The noise of his fucking filled the chamber and bounced off the corners in a lurid echo. Your frantic pants added to the carnal symphony and fed your hunger.

You reached down to grip the loose fabric of his trousers as he rutted into you. His fingers fluttered down to your cunt and he played with your bud as he fucked you. Your feet arched and you felt another orgasm brewing inside of you.

“Please,” you gasped, “Fuck, fuck!” You were dazed from the sheer pleasure flowing through, “Gods, I fucking hate--” 

You came and your voice fizzled to a series of pathetic whimpers. He only thrust harder and faster. He pushed your legs down around him and planted his hands on either side of you as he groaned and grunted. He was close, you felt it in the way he quaked.

He pulled out of you suddenly and grabbed your hand. He wrapped it around his cock beneath his own and made you stroke him until he finished. His seed spilled out over your stomach, a few strings glossed over your tits, and he slowed your hand as he shuddered and stilled against you. He dropped your hand, his cum wet across your palm and rolled his shoulders.

His green irises focused at last and he sat back as he let out a long breath. He dragged a finger along your stomach, stirring his seed as he admired the small curve of your middle. He turned his hand and pressed two fingers against your cunt until you writhed.

“Thank you, mouse,” he rasped. “For a moment, I did forget my troubles.”

[eclecticmiasma]

Human Art (Yandere!Rohan x Reader)

🖤 For the eternally lovely @vani-ya​ 💚

When strange things start happening around your apartment, your kind friend Rohan offers you a place to stay. 

NSFW

[Warnings: somnophilia, rape, mind control, abuse, dead dove: do not eat] 

It started out innocuous enough. Doors ajar that you could have sworn you closed. Missing laundry. Strange bruises. The fact that Morioh had a serial killer running around wasn’t exactly a secret, so you just felt like you were being overly paranoid when little things around your apartment began to go awry. You weren’t always the most mindful person, and a few little incidents did not a serial killer make.

That is, until the open doors had broken locks. Until you found strange stains on your underwear. Until the bruises that marred your hips and thighs began to look like fingerprints.

“Maybe it’s a ghost!” Okuyasu jested, waggling his eyebrows. Rohan shot him a look of deep disgust. Okuyasu’s face fell as he remembered the existence of Reimi, “Sorry…”  

“Well, you’re more than welcome to crash at my place,” Josuke interjected, “Mom’s probably dying to have another woman around-” At this, Rohan let out a snort of laughter.

“Stay at your place? And sleep where exactly?” Josuke chewed the inside of his lip.

“I…I mean I could sleep on the couch…” The mangaka rolled his eyes and set down his coffee with a frustrated clink.

“Am I always the only one with any real solutions?” He turned to you and looked you sternly in the eyes, “[Y/n], I’m sure you’ve noticed that my house is massive. As long as you don’t interrupt my work, the best thing to do is to stay with me for a while,” The gang blinked at Rohan, shocked at his uncharacteristic generosity. Okuyasu got ready to grill him on the fact that he refused to let him and his father stay at his mansion despite the fact that they continued to live in an abandoned shack, but Josuke elbowed him before he could start.

You were hesitant to accept. While it was a generous offer, you never really spoke to Rohan beyond gathering cursory information about the town’s other stand users. He sensed your unease and softened his gaze.

“It’ll be…an adventure. Maybe you could even help me model certain character poses? There is a severe lack of women in my work.”

In the end, you agreed. All of your things were moved to Rohan’s with the help of your friends, and you found yourself much more at ease with someone else in the house. Even if your rooms were fairly far apart, you felt much less likely to be murdered while not living alone. Whether or not that was misguided, you began to enjoy your temporary home.

But, slowly, incidents began to occur at Rohan’s home too. Much like before, they started out small. Bits of hair in your bed that weren’t yours. More marks on your body, covering the ones that had faded. One morning, you woke up with something dry and flaky across your chest and neck. You started to think that Okuyasu was right, maybe you did have some kind of ghost following you around.

When you voiced your concerns to Rohan, he waved them away. The two of you did laundry at the same time, so of course it was probably his hair caught in your blankets. Your aloof nature meant that you constantly bumped into things, he saw it himself. As for the mystery substance on your chest, maybe you needed to buy some new body lotion that wouldn’t clump up in your sleep. He recommended a local brand. Everything you came at him with, he had an answer for. Rohan’s level-headed nature put you at ease, and you were thankful for him.

But then everything fell apart. You don’t know what possessed you, perhaps it was a familiarity with the mangaka’s drawing room after having modeled for his various projects several times, but you found yourself perusing his massive catalogue of books. He had a novel on nearly every subject. As he told you many times, he found it of utmost importance to take inspiration from the real world.

When none of his library piqued your interest, you walked away from his bookshelf and padded over to his desk. Though you were never allowed to look at his unfinished work, curiosity got the better of you. Rohan was much too controlling when it came to his work, you felt. A little peak wouldn’t do anyone any harm.

You picked up a sketchbook and rifled through it, amazed at how detailed his drawings were. Birds, insects around the home, coffee plates, sandwiches, human hands, anything and everything he saw was sketched out to the most minute details. He was absurdly talented. You felt a bit of pride in being his friend.

At the back of the sketchbook were nude drawings. You blushed as your eyes raked over the lewd poses. Some genitalia was drawn, both male and female. The model’s body was contorted in all different poses, many sexual in nature. As you flipped the page, you were shocked to see actual sexual acts being performed. You had never heard of models that were willing to do this kind of thing. Although, Rohan had a lot of money and none of the sketches showed their faces. Except for one.

The sketchbook tumbled to the floor.

The face was yours.

Not once had he asked you to pose nude for him, but there you were. Your full body was on display. Leaned back over the edge of a sofa so that your hair dragged along the floor. One of your hands grasped your breast seductively while the other delved into your core. It was unmistakably you, down to the birthmark on your abdomen. You knew Rohan only drew from what was directly in front of him, so how in the world-

Rohan cleared his throat behind you, and you nearly jumped out of your skin. A devious look danced behind his eyes. He set down his satchel unceremoniously and closed the study door.

“I suppose this was bound to happen at some point,” Your heart raced as the lock clicked in place. Rohan slid off his gloves and threw them on the leather chair next to his satchel. Not once did he take his emerald eyes off of your now trembling form.

“I don’t understand,” You managed to say, though your voice was weak and nearly unintelligible.

“You wouldn’t,” Rohan chuckled darkly, “You’re much too stupid to put two and two together. Now, kneel.”

To your shock, your knees immediately hit the wooden floor.

“Heaven’s Door,” Rohan muttered, taking your face in his palms. Your whole body tensed and something like a book opened in your left cheek, “You know, this charade has been quite fun. I probably could have been happy to keep you as my perfect little pet forever. But, seeing you like this, seeing the genuine fear in your eyes, I’m starting to realize that your inability to remember our time together has honestly been quite boring,” He whipped out a pencil from his pocket and erased something from your pages.

All at once, everything came flooding back. The nights in your apartment where something, someone held you down while you sobbed, marking your body as their own. The way they flaunted your stolen underwear as they huffed it while fucking your breasts. Broken locks strewn to the floor as you screamed.

And at Rohan’s house, memories of him choking you until you complied with his demands, his thick cock stretching your throat. The unhinged glee in his eyes as he came all over your neck and chest. Images of your naked, trembling body on display as he drew you any way he wanted, even while being used by him.

Paralyzed by Rohan’s stand, all you could do was remember and weep.

“There we go,” He said, closing your pages and stepping back, admiring his work, “I even took out the clause that says you have to obey any orders I give,” A dark grin danced across his features, “Now, look at me when I’m speaking to you.”

You couldn’t. Not after the visions that played in your mind. Everything you had feared for months stood directly in front of you, taunting you. Pain erupted on the side of your head as Rohan twisted your hair around his fist and pulled you way from the side of the desk. He used that momentum to throw you to the floor and, immediately, he was on you, tearing off your clothes with practiced precision. Though you kicked and screamed, Rohan was deceptively strong. You cried out as he wrenched your arm painfully behind your back.

“Keep fighting me, and I’ll pop your arm out of its socket,” Despite his warning you continued to struggle, wriggling underneath him for any kind of opportunity to get the upper hand. He let out an exasperated sigh and tugged hard. You cried out as burning agony shot down your arm and the limb fell to your side with a thud, “You really think one would learn after the first twenty or so times. How did you even survive on your own for this long?”

With the rest of your clothing off, he moved his weight from you and ordered you to get back on your knees. Trembling, you acceded, forcing yourself up with your working arm to face him. You watched as he retrieved his sketchbook from the floor. He flipped through the pages with annoyance.

“Not many left. Ah, here’s a spot. Now…what do I need from you…” Rohan’s brow furrowed as he tapped his chin with a fountain pen and looked at your sobbing face. His lip curled in disgust, “Let’s put that mouth to use. Open up,” Your eyes met his and you silently pleaded for mercy. Images of him forcing his way past your lips flashed before you, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to comply.

“I shouldn’t have to repeat myself,” Fury bubbled beneath Rohan’s calculated stare. After you continued to hesitate, he cupped his hand and put it to his ear, “What’s that? You’re begging me to paralyze you with my stand?” You shook your head furiously and opened your mouth for him, ashamed, “Good girl.”

Rohan walked over to you and unzipped his baggy trousers. With pen in hand, he fished out his half-hard member and let it hit your tongue. Fresh tears streamed down your cheeks. His thumb grazed your cheek, and for a moment you thought he might even take pity on you. He only smirked.

“Mess up my drawing, and I’ll throat-fuck you until you have to use a feeding tube,” Fear coursed through you as he started to draw, lightly thrusting his length along your tongue to allow it to fully harden. You barely breathed.

Minutes passed. Ten. Twenty. Rohan sketched the way his cock sat between your lips as if he were sketching a detailed flower. Nothing in his facial expressions betrayed the act in which he was participating. But he was certainly aroused. You fought back the urge to gag when salty pre-cum hit your tongue.

When he slapped the sketchbook closed, you jumped. The sick sense of security you felt while he was drawing melted, and terrified anticipation took its place.

“Get on all fours,” Reluctantly, you did as he said. He came up behind you and slid his hands along your inner thighs, “Spread your legs…Further,” Your face heated up with shame and rage as you felt him grasp the soft flesh of your behind. He toyed with it, massaging it and spreading it apart to examine your innermost parts.

“Wait!” You cried out as something prodded at your entrance. You lurched forward to escape him, but tumbled onto your dislocated shoulder. Rohan quickly caught your hips and dragged you back across the floor. A sharp slap resounded in the room as he reared back and spanked you as hard as he could, “Please, Rohan-”

“Please, Rohan,” He mocked, smacking you again, “Do you know how long I’ve kept myself from burying my cock inside of you?” Burning pain filled you as he thrust himself forward, plunging inside of you with his thick length. Your nails dug into the floor as you sobbed, begging him to stop.

His pace was instantly vicious, dizzying. It was painful, so incredibly painful, but your cries fell on deaf ears. He even chuckled as you writhed beneath him, trying desperately to get away. With a swift motion he grabbed the back of your head and pulled you to him so that your back stuck to his chest. His clammy hands enthusiastically grasped at your bouncing breasts.

“Don’t you wonder why…” He growled in your ear, rolling his hips against you, “…after all the ways I’ve taken you, why not here?” His hand moved from your chest to rub painful circles into your clit. His other hand slid up to your neck and gripped it so tightly that you could barely respond, “I don’t mean to sound sentimental, but I wanted you to remember it. A whore like you should be so lucky to be fucked by Rohan Kishibe.”

Finally, his thrusts slowed and he shifted the angle of your body. Though it was still painful, the new position allowed his dick to plant a cloying feeling deep within your core. Every time he penetrated you, it gave you pause. Combined with the more deliberate ministrations of his fingers on your clit, the realization dawned on you that you were dangerously close to orgasm. Your heart raced at the thought. You wanted to scream, but Rohan’s grip on your neck kept you near silent.

“Cum for me you little slut. I know exactly where your buttons are, so don’t try to fight it,” The world around you spun as lack of oxygen finally took its toll, and everything you had been fighting so hard to stop fell by the wayside. Your orgasm hit you like a freight train, little pinpricks of light dancing in your vision as your body trembled. Rohan cackled psychotically and let you drop to the floor.

While you came down from your high, Rohan fucked you harder. Your knees rubbed the floor painfully as he took you, slamming his cock deep within you again and again and again. You had no energy to hold yourself up, especially with just one arm, and you let him have his way with you as you silently cried.

His own orgasm wasn’t far behind. To your absolute shock he pulled out of you, digging the nails of his left hand into your thigh as his right milked out semen all over the skin of your back.

As soon as he released every drop of cum, there was shuffling behind you. You dared to glance down to see that he immediately went to grab his sketchpad to draw your freshly marked body and abused hole. You didn’t even need to be told to stay still.

When he was finished, he flipped you over. You yelped in shock as he grabbed your foot and held it up to where he could see the bottom of it. Pain shot through you as he took his fountain pen and sliced into the sole of your foot, cutting a thin line.

“There,” he panted, dropping your leg, “You didn’t really think that was our first time, did you?” He cast a smug smile your direction as your face dropped, “That’s it, that’s the face! Hold still,” He picked up the book beside him and quickly outlined your pained expression. He grinned as his pen flew across the paper, absolutely unhinged. “Anyway, of course you believed me. The only person more gullible than you is that buffoon Josuke.”

“But…I saw everything…” Rohan let out a genuine cackle.

“You remember what I let you remember, you stupid bitch. Why would I pass up the chance to break you anew every single day? To let you think that I still had one more line left to cross? The raw emotion…that’s truly art,” You thought you had run your tears dry, but more just kept coming. A choked sob left your lips as you dared to look at the bottom of your foot. It was covered in scars, some fresher than others. There must have been hundreds. Little tick marks that denoted how Rohan had used you time and time and time again.

Before you could process everything that happened, before you could curl up into yourself and howl at the indignity, Heaven’s Door had you between its grubby little hands. Rohan himself sauntered over and scribbled something on your cheek.

“Now, why don’t you go wash your filthy little hole and go to bed?” Your mind went blank as the world around you fell away. Rohan called out to you as you mindlessly lifted yourself up to walk to the bathroom as he bid you.

“Sweet dreams, [Y/n].” *all original work is my intellectual property. do not edit or re-upload.

[mai-sau]

“Please don’t hide from me.” for Russigon (also welcome to the server!)

THANK U FOR WAITING THIS LONG THIS TOOK A WHOLE FOREVER AND A HALF AFHUJKGHNWISGHNLK I had a lot of fun writing this one!! Thank you for prompting (and thank you for the welcome!!), and I hope you enjoy!

Prompt: “Please don’t hide from me.”

It had started out simple enough, really. Maedhros had been resting in Mithrim for a time; his wounds healed as best they would, his kingship passed over to Fingolfin as smoothly as it could, and he was back to attending to business as often as he should. Which is to say: at all hours of the day.

And life went on. It was laughably simple, how easily the days passed. Here, time did not eke out like a sluggish wound for the sheer malice of such a thing. Elves rushed by him in their daily duties, councils convened and dismissed, and the dawns came and went. And Maedhros oversaw these elves, participated in those councils, and welcomed the dawns in the shadow of nightmares.

It was simple enough, really.

Throughout it all, Fingon was a blessing. During the day, he offered both precious wells of laughter and quiet companionship. When he wasn’t off conducting his own duties, he would come find Maedhros in the library (as he often was in his free time, the fuzzy silence of wooden shelves and crisp pages a balm to his nerves) and they would pass hours leafing through tomes, chatting in hushed tones, or simply gazing out the arching windows to the city below. 

Maedhros liked staring into the lake most of all, content to watch the sunset gleam and glimmer across its surface. Maedhros thought he was quite adept at the art of staring and mind-wandering, after decades chained up on that accursed cliff, or left waiting for the next torture as his body smeared a stone cold floor ruddy red -

Well. It was simple enough.

And at nights, Fingon would hold him close through his bitter nightmares, whispering sweet assurances that he was safe, he was in Hithlum, he was cherished. Occasionally it was Maedhros who did the holding, his beloved awaking with a terrible shiver that would not cease until long after the sun warmed the skies. Those nights were far worse, in Maedhros’ opinion.

But they went on, and they kept living, and the days kept passing by. It was easy.

Until it wasn’t.

It started with a simple touch. An act of comfort even, which made Maedhros all the more sickened by his own foul reaction. In one of their councils, someone had mentioned the pressing need to discuss the captive elves of Angband, their mind turning, and what it meant for Hithlum’s defenses to have such lethal weapons hidden as friendly faces; under the table, Fingon reached out a hand to grasp Maedhros’ own. 

Why he did Maedhros could not entirely say, perhaps it was to ease any distress at the mention of captivity, perhaps it was to soften the blow of indirect suspicion. All he did know was that as soon as Fingon’s hand - the same hand that had stroked his shaking side on the back of Thorondor, had steadied his spoon when Maedhros was still early and frail in his healing, had flipped the worn pages of their books for the evening - closed around his own, Maedhros was repulsed. 

He tamped the feeling down as swiftly as possible, trying to ignore the prickle of panic that raced through his veins pulsing out from that one point of contact. Nonetheless, for all his effort he could not relax the sudden tension in his body. Fingon had surely felt it, hand in his own. He gave him a concerned glance before squeezing even tighter, likely assuming Maedhros’ distress sprung from the topic of conversation. Maedhros felt the vague urge to vomit.

Afterwards, he was furious with himself. How dare he be disgusted with Fingon’s touch? Fingon, who had done nothing at all to warrant such distress. 

Nothing, except - Maedhros considered, before banishing the thought with such grief and guilt that for the rest of the day he carried around the heavy burden of tears not allowed to fall. He would not allow them to. How dare he weep over such ungrateful self pity - there were far greater things -

But it kept happening: whether a squeezed hand at another council meeting, a gentle hand in his as they made their way to dinner, or even a soft hand laid over his own in the silence of the library, Maedhros felt the same rapid revulsion flood his senses. 

To make matters more confusing, he did not feel like this at every touch he received; perhaps he could have reasoned to himself it was only a shadow of the pain endured in Angband. But Maedhros realized with growing dismay that it was only Fingon’s touch, and only upon his hand.

You know, a treacherous, sad voice reminded him. You know why.

I do, Maedhros thought with no small amount of self loathing. And that is why I must do better.

Fingon, clever as he was, caught on quickly enough.

“Nelyo?” he asked, after another ruined attempt at comfort in the library. He had reached out his hand to rub his thumb across the back of Maedhros’, only for Maedhros to tense as taut as a bowstring once again. And once again, Fingon slowly drew his hand back, brow furrowing as he turned to face Maedhros fully.

“Yes?”

Fingon seemed hesitant, unsure. “Are you okay?”

“Of course I am. I’m here, aren’t I?” Maedhros tried to tease with a grin he knew was half-hearted at best.

“Yes, it’s just…” Fingon bit his lip, before something set in his eyes, and he continued on without hesitation. “Sometimes, you seem to recoil at my touch. Would you prefer I not, from now on? Touch you, that is. It’s alright if you do.”

“No!” Maedhros blurted. Immediately, he quieted his voice at Fingon’s widened eyes and the sound of his own harsh echo through the library - empty as it was - but the nervous twinge remained in his tone. “No, I adore your touch. Losing it - I could not bear such a thing.”

“But Maedhros,” Fingon said. “When I do, you tense so horribly and get the most strained look on your face. Please, I don’t wish to cause you harm or remind you of anything unpleasant.”

“You’re not,” Maedhros lied. “It’s just me. My body endured many… stresses, in Angband. These are just the shadows of the Enemy, nothing more.”

Fingon was silent for a moment. Eventually, he dropped his gaze to the table between them, its surface laden with books of all shapes and sizes that they had been exploring together. With a start, Maedhros saw his eyes begin to glisten, and he looked ashamed. 

“Are you sure,” Fingon said, voice thick. “That it is only the shadows of the Enemy you feel?”

“What do you mean?” Maedhros asked wearily, knowing damn well what he meant.

“Nelyo,” Fingon choked out. “You only hurt when I touch your hand.”

And with this, Fingon burst into tears. Flushed with an entirely new panic at the sight, Maedhros rushed to embrace him. Enveloped in his arms, voice low despite their solitude in the library at this time of the evening, Fingon cried tender apologies into his shoulder.

“I’m so sorry Nelyo, I’m so sorry, if there were any other way, if I could have just broken those damn chains, I’m so sorry -”

Maedhros shushed him, though he felt his own throat grow tight. Guilt crept up his chest.  “Shh, love, you did everything you could. I would be dead if not for your wise decision. You saved me. You brought me home. I love you, and do not blame you one bit. It’s just my own body’s confusion - I am the one who should be sorry, to be so ungrateful -”

Fingon hiccuped and drew back. “Ungrateful?” He asked, incredulous. “Nelyo, I cut off your hand.”

“To save my life!” Maedhros cried. “If it weren’t for you, I would be dead. I begged you to kill me, and still you saved me.”

Fingon’s eyes softened. “Dearest, that doesn’t change the fact that you were hurt.”

“But I understand why,” Maedhros insisted, the frustration of these past weeks spilling out of him. “I understand why, and it was the kindest hurt given to me in those wretched mountains, so why do I only suffer their shadow in dreams, but my body can’t accept the one person who hurt me to help me?”

Wiping at his stinging eyes, Maedhros trembled. He felt wetness on his knuckles, rushing down his cheeks. “I don’t understand why!”

It was Fingon’s turn to reach out as if to embrace him, before his arms faltered midair. “Nelyo - I - can I hold you?”

“Yes,” Maedhros sobbed. “Just please don’t touch my hand I’m so sorry.”

“Of course,” Fingon murmured, and wrapped him tight in a hug. Slow as honey, he stroked Maedhros’ hair, letting his fingernails glide across his scalp and spine. How long they stayed like this Maedhros couldn’t tell, but after a while his tears began to dry and his body became his own again.

“My dear Nelyo,” Fingon said, long after he had quieted. He still ran his hand soothingly through his hair, down his back, and up again. “You are allowed to feel this way, as awful as I imagine it must be. I know you are loving, and grateful, and trying your best. I still hurt you, in a very permanent way at that, and it’s natural for your body to recognize it. It’s ok to be afraid.”

Maedhros breathed in deep, once, twice, like he would during heavy nights. He sighed against Fingon’s shoulder, clad in the smooth cerulean silks of his evening robes. There was a wet patch staining the silk. “This body can be such a bastard.”

“But it is your body, so I love it all the same.” Fingon assured. Slowly, Maedhros drew back, and saw a smile twitch at the corners of his lips. “As I love the bastard that inhabits it.” he teased.

Maedhros snorted. “As always, dearest, I regret to inform you of your dreadful taste.”

Fingon broke into a full grin. “Why, of course. And I regret to inform you that I simply do not care.” 

His face grew solemn again, and he reached a hand up to caress his cheek. Maedhros leaned into the touch. He let his eyes flutter shut. 

“I do love you, you know?” He heard Fingon’s quiet voice. “Love you as the kind, resilient ner you are. You are more than precious to me.”

Maedhros opened his eyes, locking his gaze with the dark eyes of his beloved. “I know. As I love the bravest ner I’ve ever met. So full of courage, to love so wholly.” Saying this, he kissed his palm.

Fingon smiled, radiant and warm. Rising from his seat at the table, he began to gather the books into organized piles. “Well then, it’s getting quite late. I’d say it’s about time for bed, wouldn’t you?”

“Of course,” Maedhros said, and rose to tidy up their books with him. “Oh, can we take this one on gardening back to our room? There was a bit on lissuin I wanted to finish before I forget.” 

“Certainly,” Fingon said, and set it aside. “Nelyo?”

“Yes?”

“I know it doesn’t happen all the time, but… would it be okay if I asked, before I touched you? And if you ever would feel more comfortable if I did not touch you at all, you can always tell me, even if it’s just certain areas or - or -” Fingon paused in his book arrangements, grasping for words. “Just - please don’t hide from me, love. I want you to tell me. I want you to get what you need, even if it’s space.”

Maedhros felt his throat tighten again, though his heart was far brighter this time. “Of course,” he answered. “Thank you.”

The slow, content smile returned to Fingon’s face. Together, they finished organizing the books and gathered them up in their arms to return at the reshelving cart by the great entrance doors.

“There now,” Maedhros said, dropping the hefty tomes down on the cart. “That was simple enough, wasn’t it?”

[jashasedai]

Just Tell Me What You Want

Tame AU(motogp fanfic)

Marc Marquez and his Racing Rider double, Cove

Just Tell Me What You Want

World Motorcycle Center- 2014

[You must like some other hobby besides riding,] Marc told Cove. [Rinsy and Huir like baking. Valentino and Rasoio like to paint their room and dye their hair. Laser, Aleix, Polyccio, and Pol like to cook.]

Cove, better known as 93, stared at him, and didn’t feel anything.

Marc took his hand. [We will try art,] He waved a notepad and took Cove outside to sit on a bench by the trees. [Draw something,] He prompted.

Cove twirled the pencil between his fingers, tossed it up and caught it with a little flourish that made Marc smile.

They sat while Cove looked at the trees.

After a moment, he laid his hand on the page and traced around it. He drew the Honda logo in the middle of the hand shape. Then he held the picture up. [Look, a glove.]

[That’s great, Cove!] Marc flipped the notebook to the next page. [Draw some more.]

The matchable age foals’ practice started up at the track behind them and Cove twisted around to watch.

[Do you want to draw them?] Marc asked.

Cove turned back and stared at him. [Alright,] He said, dragging the gesture out. [Then, maybe we can go and talk to them. I could help them with their form.]

He scribbled two circles with a triangle shape between them and the Honda logo again. He thrust the notebook into Marc’s hands and jumped over the back of the bench.

[Cove, wait…] Marc called. [If you don’t like drawing, we can find something you do like.]

Cove brightened up. He nodded, taking an eager step forward. [I like riding!]

Marc frowned and shook his head. [But...something else. We know you don’t like cooking.] He smiled. [What about music? Blues like music.]

Cove’s smile stayed just where it had been.

He looked toward the track with just his eyes.

[Alright? Music,] He agreed.

Marc took his hand again and they went to the common room. There was a spare guitar there, and Marc took it out of the case and handed it to Cove.

Cove held its body in both his hands. He set it on the bench and tapped his hand, arm outstretched on the strings. Then he looked at Marc, to check his reaction.

[Hold it like this,] Marc said. He demonstrated the proper way to hold a guitar, and then when Cove was holding it right, showed him one of the chords and how to strum it.

The stallion strummed the chord gently in a monotone rhythm until Marc told him to stop.

[That is a nice sound. You can make a whole song like that.]

The smile from outside was back, pinned onto Cove’s face. He nodded. [I will make a song for you, then.]

[Great!] Marc showed him some more chords and a simple rhythm.

It didn’t take Cove long to repeat them perfectly, and to time.

Marc clapped when the song was ready. [This is so good. I am proud of you. I will ask Rev if he will teach you other songs to play.]

Cove lowered his head, like sometimes humans did when they were bashful. [Yes, Marc. I will do what you say.] His head came up again with a big, happy smile. [May we go and ride, now?]

[I know some more notes, and I saw a guide around here, somewhere. Let’s keep practicing.]

Cove looked towards the door to the outside, and then down at the guitar. [Yes, Marc.]

They practiced for a long time, and Cove learned three more songs, with Marc translating from the song book. By then it was dark and the track lights were shutting down. Since Cove had run a morning practice session, Marc decided that he wouldn’t suffer ill effects from staying in the rest of the night. They had a late dinner with Alex and 73 -Splash- and then went back to their rooms.

Marc went to tell Alex and Splash about the guitar, but Cove didn’t feel like socializing, so he stayed in their room.

Marc strode back in, a little before bedtime and found Cove sitting on the bed, facing away from the door.

He wiped his eyes on his sleeves before he turned around to face Marc.

He looked extremely guilty.

His eyes were red.

Marc’s smile disappeared. He hadn’t felt anything through their connection. Even now it was closed to quietness. He’d thought Cove had gone to sleep.

[Why are you crying?] Marc asked.

Blues didn’t lie.

Cove just didn’t say anything. Then after an awkward moment in which neither of them moved, he said, [I should take a shower before bed,] and started for the door.

[I would like to be able to help,] Marc said.

The stallion stood silently, radiating guilt.

[You do not want to play music?]

He shook his head.

[What do you want to do?]

He stepped forward again, eyebrows up. [I want to ride.]

[You do not have to ride all the time!]

He backed away again and put his head down. [I know. I will do what you say. I will play music. I will do what pleases you.] A tear coursed down his cheek.

[You can enjoy other things,] Marc said, more gently. [It is not wrong.]

Cove’s shoulders rose, but his head stayed low. [I enjoy spending time, the set of us, I enjoy coaching. I enjoy dinner.] His shoulders lowered, and he whispered the gestures, [I want to ride.]

[The other stallions like to do other things, Break and Casey are interested in history, X and Jorge are medics, Ricky and Ratchet are mechanics.] This was too hard to understand, and it was starting to make Marc hurt. Why didn’t Cove want more from his life than the companies had forced on him?

Cove raised his head, his jaw was clenched and his neck was straining, and he opened his mind to Marc, sharing his desperation. ‘I want to RIDE.’

[My life is SHORT, Marc. A racing career is] He held his fingers nearly pinched together, [Just a tiny amount of time. Rasoio’s career is not usual. A racer might have,] He held the pinched fingers out for Marc to see, [Just a small time. Until his back begins to hurt, and his knees will not work, until the falls make him afraid, because the pain lasts too long. Rasoio’s sire raced until the last year of his LIFE, Marc, but I...I will not be able to do that.]

He looked down and around, like he was searching for something. [I will not be able to stay with you. You will live the last half of your life without me, and I will live the last half of my life without my career. Just a tiny part of our lives will be riding, and then it will be gone.] He had tears in his eyes again, and they were falling, now. His breath was ragged and his mouth was drawn between his breaths. [It is such a little time.]

He dropped both hands and hung his head again.

[I want to ride.]

Marc raised his own hands. [It is cruel of me to keep you inside when everything you want is outside.]

This time, Cove nodded.

[Is there something else you would like to do, that I can have ready for you, when it is time to retire? Or when something prevents you from riding?] Marc asked.

Cove shrugged.

Marc nodded. He stepped forward and took the weeping stallion in his arms. [If you ever find anything, you let me know and I will make it available, and until then, I will give you what you want.] He drew back and reached for Cove’s sleeping cupboard, and the helmet stored above it on a shelf. [Get ready, we are going to ride.]

[It is night. The track lights are off,] Cove said.

Marc snorted. [You paid for the refit on the new garage this year. I don’t think they’ll tell us we can’t turn on the lights. Send to Ratchet, tell him what happened.]

They got dressed for dirtbikes.

There was a rapid knock on the door.

Marc opened it to find a sleepy Ricky Carmichael standing in the hall, in striped green pajamas and bare feet. He held up a set of keys. “The lights take a few minutes to warm up. Lock the garage and turn the lights off when you are done. If anyone else shows up out there while you’re there, YOU are in charge of them.”

He looked thoughtful for a moment. “As a matter of fact, Marc, you just became our official track department head. Congratulations. Talk to Katja in the morning for your paperwork. Welcome to the board, there is a budget meeting every Tuesday at 4pm.” He smirked. “Valentino will talk to you tomorrow about your buy-in. Shares start at 5 million Euros, and you’ll have to upgrade your Trainer status to class 4 by the end of the year.” He looked thoughtful, then nodded to himself. “I’m going back to sleep. Some of us have stables to run.”

He turned and walked back down the hallway to the stall on the end. Ratchet’s head was peeking out of the doorway, and he gave a rumbly rev.

Marc turned around and smirked at Cove. [Things work out when you just tell me what you want. Did you know that?]

Cove snapped his gaping mouth shut.

[Wake up our brothers. It’s time to ride.]

[fizzyxcustard]

Fear and Loathing (1)

Fandom: seaQuest 2032

Summary: (Part 2 of The Right Thing - this will be a chaptered fic) Captain Hudson knows that you and Lucas are more than just friends, and after changing your shift rotations to make sure you're not on duty together, you take things into your own hands and request a transfer from seaQuest. Before your transfer can be processed, officers and crew begin showing signs of extreme anxiety, anger and paranoia. Some are worse affected than others, you being one of them. Can you fight for not only your relationship with Lucas but your state of mind?

Pairings: Ensign Lucas Wolenczak x FemLieutenant!Reader, Commander Jonathan Ford x Lieutenant Lonnie Henderson (only slight)

Warnings: Language, violence, insecurity, angst, paranoia, anxiety, mental instability, very mild sexual references, age difference/gap. 

Comments: If you wish to be added to my seaQuest tag list, which will be separate from all my other tags, let me know, and I will only tag you in these if you specifically request to be tagged. This is practically a dead fandom now, but I would still like to share my writings with you. If you would like to ask any questions, then by all means just ask! 

For the next two months, you found that hiding your relationship with Lucas from the stern and abrupt Captain Hudson, seemed to keep a spark alight. Time alone together was limited but you both enjoyed it and anticipated the end of working shifts. Practically everyone aboard knew of the relationship, apart from Hudson and Lieutenant Fredricks, who had served for some years under his command before coming aboard seaQuest. You didn’t trust her enough with something this private and potentially career shattering if it was handled the wrong way.

One day you were in your usual seat next to Lucas on the bridge. The two of you were laughing quite loudly when Hudson strolled through the large, steel double doors. “Please do share with all of us what is so amusing, Lieutenant. Has this place turned into a playground? Maybe I should treat you like children and separate you,” Hudson growled, scowling at you both.

“I’m sorry, Sir. It won’t happen again,” you apologised with a blush.

“Make sure it doesn’t!” Hudson instructed.

A heavy feeling sat in the pit of your stomach for the remainder of the morning, until you were approached by Hudson. “A word, please, in my quarters, Lieutenant,” he told you.

The heaviness suddenly got even stronger, feeling like an elephant was standing on your head, pressing you down into the floor. Your legs were weak, but you remained calm and composed outwardly, and followed the Captain off the bridge.

“Close the door and take a seat,” he told you.

With a deep breath, you sat down. You could feel a thin layer of sweat beginning to drop from under your hair, and you prayed that Hudson couldn’t see it.

“Lieutenant,” Hudson began, folding his hands on his desk. “It’s been a pleasure so far to have you aboard, but I’m concerned about your relationship with Ensign Wolenczak. You work well together; there’s no denying that. But you sometimes appear a little tooclose for my liking.”

“We’re very close friends, Sir. We’ve been through a lot together the last two years, and it’s difficult to not bond,” you replied.

“I want to make you aware that if two officers are found to be sharing in a relationship which is more than professional in nature, they can both be stripped of rank and ejected from Naval duty. You are aware, Lieutenant?”

“Yes, Sir. And I can assure you that Ensign Wolenczak and I are only close friends,” you lied.

“Good. I’d hate to lose one of my best officers, and one who is upcoming and showing a lot of potential. Dismissed, Lieutenant.”

“Yes, Sir,” you replied, saluted, and left the room.

On the bridge and you sheepishly sat back down, noticing pairs of eyes watching you in interest.

“What happened?” Lucas whispered, leaning across his seat towards you.

“We need to talk tonight,” you whispered back, your gaze making sure that no one was in close enough proximity to hear you. “I think Hudson suspects what’s going on.”

“What? How?” Shock was present in his harsh whisper.

“I don’t know. Shh!” you instructed.

Lucas looked up to see Captain Hudson come strolling back on to the bridge. He noticed you and the Captain exchange knowing glances.

It was incredibly tense on the bridge that afternoon, just like it had been when you and Lucas first started exploring your feelings. Had someone whistle blown? Surely not. Those who knew of your relationship were close friends with you both. Not even Jonathan Ford, the second in command, would have dropped you into such a tight spot. He may have been professional, sticking to Naval code, but he was also understanding and compassionate. Commander Ford was human, recognising the flaws, yet beauty, of our nature.

When it was time for shift rotation, you walked off the bridge quickly, leaving Lucas behind to untangle himself from his headset and leave his seat in a rush. By the time he got through the doors and you had already turned the corner towards your quarters.

“We need to talk,” he demanded.

You stopped and sighed, feeling tears begin to fill your eyes. “After dinner.”

Lucas’ stomach was flipping from that time onwards, and he knew there was no way that he could eat and keep it down. Your relationship wasn’t going to last and that terrified him. The very thing that kept him happy and helped him get out of bed in a morning was falling apart.

Lucas remained in his quarters for an hour, looking at the photos of him and you that he had kept hidden in a book on his desk. You both looked so happy and in love with life. Behind your uniform was someone who was always laughing, never without a kind word and a keen mind for art, music and literature. There was nothing about you, when out of uniform, that screamed Navy.

Suddenly there was a knock and he turned to see you peep your head around the door. Like him, you were still in uniform. You said his name softly and stood before him. You took his hand and held it against your chest. Tears were falling down your cheeks.

He released your hand, cupped your cheeks and kissed you. Both of you became caught up in the waves of passion, and as you parted, you couldn’t help but sob.

“Come here,” Lucas whispered. He took you into his arms and kissed your head. “We’ll sort something. I promise.”

“We can’t carry on, Lucas. Hudson basically threatened me with the fact that if we’re caught then we’ll be thrown off seaQuest and out of the Navy. We’re risking our careers.”

“Fuck my career!” Lucas exclaimed. “I love you.”

Hearing those words made your body jolt. You closed your eyes for a second, composing yourself. “You throw yourself into everything head first and never think of the consequences. You almost resigned from seaQuest for a girl you’d known one night.”

“What are you saying? That I don’t know anything? I’m still a child,” Lucas growled.

“I never said that. You need to think, and I mean well and truly. Think about what you want.”

“Oh, and you don’t need to consider that? I can already gather your answer. I’m not enough. Your rank and career is more important than me.”

“You’re putting words in my mouth, Lucas!” you exclaimed, throwing your hands up for emphasis. “I’d do anything for you, and you know that. I always have. I’ve stayed up with you at night, protected you, loved you.” You couldn’t help but sit down on the edge of Tony’s bunk and weep.

Lucas got down on his knee before you and held your hands in his. “What do you want?” he asked softly.

“To be happy with you. Care free,” you replied.

Lucas smiled as he heard those words. “And I want you to be happy. I’m willing to do whatever it takes.”

You loved that so much about Lucas. He followed his heart and would do anything for it. All or nothing. You leaned forward and kissed him again, and this time he moved upwards and over you, with you lying back on the bed. His confidence had soared to new heights and he often took control of your intimacy, despite it being limited due to circumstances.

At dinner you sat with Lucas and Lonnie. The conversation turned to your chat with Hudson earlier.

“Someone must have told him,” you said.

“I don’t think so,” Lonnie replied. “You know that not one of us would have said anything. I think he’s reading between the lines.”

Suddenly Commander Ford called both you and Lucas to him. He remained silent and guided you down to the Ward Room, which was empty. All of you stepped inside.

“Captain Hudson has requested you be separated on opposite shift rotations. Lucas, you’ll stay on the day shifts that’s running presently.” Then he turned to you. “You’ll go on duty tomorrow night with Brody and Piccolo.”

“Why is he doing this?” Lucas asked.

“You know why,” you replied angrily.

“I’m sorry,” Ford said sadly. “I tried to reason with him but he wasn’t listening.”

Later that evening, Lucas was in your quarters. The two of you were discussing Hudson’s latest move to keep you both apart.

“He’s serious about this, Lucas,” you began. “He won’t stop until we never see each other at all. We can’t keep a relationship going like this. He knows we’re together. This isn’t a way of just making sure; he knows.”

“Even before we were officially together as a couple, Captain Bridger saw us together all the time and never suspected a thing.”

“To him I was your mother hen,” you said softly, smiling weakly. You remembered happier times and wished that they still existed.

***

The next morning, while you remained in your quarters, preparing ahead of your night shift, Lucas was called into the Ward Room with the Captain.

“Mr. Wolenczak,” Hudson said, turning towards Lucas once the door had been closed. “You’re probably aware of why I want to speak with you.” Then he said your name with a sigh. “I’m aware that you two have probably become a lot closer than you should have.”

“If you’re referring to an intimate relationship, then no, Sir. We’re very good friends.”

“Ensign, take a seat.”

Lucas sat opposite Hudson, his hands beginning to shake and sweat with nervousness and apprehension.

“I know how feelings can develop when you’re constantly around the same people. We bond through hardships. And you’re still an impressionable young man.”

“What are you saying, Captain?” Lucas asked, leaning across the table a little. “If you think she’s somehow managed to talk me into…”

“No, I’m not saying that. You’re still young and have plenty of time.”

“With all due respect, Sir, dating and my personal life isn’t really something I’d like to share.”

“While you’re on my boat and under my command, Ensign, none of it is personal,” Hudson countered in irritation. “I’m well aware that you spend a lot of time in one another’s quarters, and you really think I’m that stupid? Take this as a warning to you both to stop this right now!”

Lucas glared at Hudson angrily.

“Dismissed, Ensign.”

Lucas stormed out of the Ward Room, smacking into Dagwood on the way who was busy cleaning the hallway floor.

“Lucas?” Dagwood called innocently after his friend. Lucas never replied and disappeared out of sight of the dagger.

In the Moon Pool, Lucas paced in front of Darwin. The dolphin looked on in interest, his head just above the water. Why was Hudson being such a bastard? Couldn’t Navy officers find love, settle down and be human? And why couldn’t it be with someone they worked with? How else would Lucas have time to meet anyone? It was true what Hudson had said: people bond during hardship. That was exactly what had helped Lucas fall for you as deeply as he had. You helped him through his hardship which was mainly feeling unimportant and lonely. Everything was being ripped away from him and it was at times such as these that he missed Nathan Bridger more than he could express.

Once Lucas finally returned to duty, Hudson was waiting on the bridge. He shot over to Lucas, inches away from his face. “Next time that you decide to just disappear from your duty because you have been told something you don’t like, I’ll have you thrown into the brig for subordination.”

“Lucas, don’t be stupid,” a voice came from behind him.

You were stood just behind Lucas, looking toward the two fired up men. In your hand was an envelope. “I wish to request a transfer, Captain,” you announced.

[royalcordelia]

This Bed of Recall and Recollections (1/1)

Summary: Most of the time, it’s convenient to have your husband as your doctor, except for the times he condemns you bedrest. A very pregnant Anne decides to open her chest of old memories to pass her bedrest time. (A future shirbert drabble). 

Notes: Happy belated holidays @cresmix​! Here’s a little somethin’ somethin’ for you because you and your kind heart deserve it. This was a request that @shirberts-sherbert came up with, so thank you for the idea. (Also y’all follow me because I write well, not because I photoshop well, but I gave it 110%. Even if it does look a lil funky lmao). 

***

Anne knew there were bright sides to her current situation. The bed was impossibly soft underneath her, but stiff enough to support her weight against the headboard. She didn’t have to wear shoes in bed, either - an added plus. Just the thought of jamming her swollen toes into her dainty slippers as she had during the past several months had her cringing. 

You were given your imagination for times like these, she scolded herself. There are plenty of lovely things about being on bedrest. Why, I’ve had time to read all the books on my list, and then some! A bitter voice in the back of her mind reminded her that she’d read all the books on her list already - twice, some of them three times! Gilbert promised to bring home some new reading material soon, but he’d been so busy at his medical practice, that she’d long since stopped asking if he bore her any surprises. 

Now there’s a bright side worth thanking the Lord for, she decided. Not every woman, exhausted with the many weights of pregnancy, got to have her husband as her doctor. Anne argued that Gilbert was better attuned to her symptoms than any of his patients. Perks of sharing a bed with him, she supposed. There was no husband around with more compassion and love for his ever-glowing wife, even with the unpleasant oddities it brought to their relationship. 

But it also meant that when her blood pressure had spiked to dangerous heights, Gilbert had said with very firm stringency that Anne S. C. Blythe - Queen of Conquering Obstacles and Goddess of Fortitude - was condemned to bedrest. At least until the new member of the house arrived. When the decree had been made, Anne was wise enough not to argue. 

“Every time a man speaks like he’s got a sour cranberry on his tongue, it means he means business,” said Susan, their beloved housekeeper, to Mrs. Doctor Dear later that night. “And that you may tie to.” 

Anne knew her husband better than that, though. Gilbert’s word, of course, did mean business, but she knew that a tiny part of him still held onto a poisonous drop of guilt. Susan might have claimed to know the Doctor better than most, but Anne was the one that Gilbert laid his head upon, weeping into her chest that it was his fault their first baby had died. If I had just paid better attention...There must have been something I missed. How could I? My own daughter? Not even Anne’s softest touches through his hair or the honesty of her own unnecessary forgiveness could take away all of his remorse. When she’d informed him of their second chance, he’d been even more attentive than he’d been the first time. 

Thus, Anne was growing into a prisoner in her own bed. Her loving, caring husband, her jailor. 

With a sigh, Anne turned her gaze toward the window. Her soul sighed. It was golden hour, the most beloved time of day, when the PEI sun took a few moments out of its busy day to say hello to her. It always looked so sweet over the garden, the early spring buds glistening as if they had been touched by Midas himself. Against the bedposts, Anne tried to imagine the soft moss underneath her fingers or the richness of the soil of her flowers, but the mental image fell flat. 

Her window, though...Her window was only a few feet away from the bed. If she could just take a glimpse at the garden, maybe her heart wouldn’t feel so starved. 

The coolness of the floor felt wonderful underneath her heat swollen feet. With a careful hand behind supporting her back, Anne gently rose up for the first time in days. Her vision swirled, but she ignored the momentary vertigo and began to creep forward with astonishing stealth. If Susan heard her up on her feet, there’d be hell to pay, especially when Gilbert got home. Just as Anne was able to take a self-indulgent glance at her garden, a familiar voice broke through the bird-song silence. 

“Sweetheart, what on earth are you doing up?” 

Anne jolted, and she staggered like a drunken fool for balance. Gilbert was at her side before she could see him fly over to her, one hand in hers to keep her steady, the other against her back. She could sense a scolding on the tip of his tongue, but he bit his lips against it as he guided her back to bed. Settling at the edge of the bed together, Gilbert rubbed her knuckles with a tender touch. 

He could’ve begun his love-driven admonishment, but instead, he said, “A parcel came from Green Gables today. I stopped in town to pick it up.” 

Just the mention of home was enough for some of the weight on her shoulders to dissipate. Her gaze drifted from the wrapped box at the end of the bed back up to the hazel warmth of Gilbert’s eyes. He gave her his daily “ I’m home” kiss and helped her shift back into her perch on the bed against the headboard. 

“I know that bedrest isn’t the most stimulating activity in the world, so I asked Marilla to send this,” Gilbert continued, placing the parcel in her lap. 

“What is it?” Anne asked, though she had already started tearing the brown paper away. She gasped when she found the wooden box underneath, fingers grazing over the grained smoothness. “It’s the box I kept when we were in college.” 

“I remembered you had a memory box, but you never told me what was in it. I hoped whatever was inside, it could be enough to convince you to sit in bed.”

Anne lifted the lid away and the contents of box overflowed onto her lap. 

“It’s so full because I kept every single letter you sent me over four years. But there’s some sketches from when I asked Cole to teach me how to draw. Oh, and look, a few pictures too.” 

Gilbert settled at her side, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

“If it’s every letter I sent you in college, that’s more reading than all of the Jane Austen books put together. We better start now if we want to finish by the time our new gentleman arrives.” 

Right on time, Susan rapped against the door with her elbow, a tray of tea and biscuits in her hands. 

“I put the tea on the stove as soon as the doctor came home. These are the last of the biscuits you like, Mrs. Doctor, but I’m baking more tomorrow. And there’s a piece of my cherry pie for you, Dr. Dear.” 

Anne grabbed Susan’s hand before she could walk away, and pressed a firm kiss to it. 

“You’re a blessing untold, Susan, thank you.” 

When they were alone again, Anne grabbed the first thing she could find: a letter. The bluish hue of the envelope and the familiar scrawl told her what she already knew. This letter had been one of the later ones she’d received during their fourth year of college. The blue envelopes had been Gilbert’s way of trying out professional stationary, and each letter was monogrammed at the top with the initials GJB. As for the nearly illegible scrawl of her name and address, that was a bad habit he’d picked up from his medical professors. 

“When did I send that one?” he asked, peeking over from his own reading. 

“The April of 1904. I remember it without even needing to check.” 

It took a moment, but Gilbert suddenly remembered what the letter said. He could picture exactly what his desk and room looked like the day he wrote it with the clarity of a photograph. Long lost in fireplace ash, there were several burned attempts that had come before the finished product that Anne know held in her hands. 

“This is a question I had every intention of asking in person, but I find my patience has evaporated with the months our of separation,” Anne read softly. “Say that there was a velvet pouch in my pocket. Say that it contained a peridot ring that my mother once bore on her own hand. (Breathe, darling, I’m not proposing over correspondence. What I mean to ask is - ) Would you find yourself open to the idea of wearing it in the foreseeable future? If there was a fellow who had a question to ask - a plead, a beg really - would you be ready to answer the next time you saw him?” 

The ring of his tender descriptions now rested on Anne’s hand, a little tight with her swollen fingers, but still glistening and lovely just the same. Gilbert took the hand and pressed a kiss to the stone that his father had chosen for his mother, the same stone that was a perfect green on his redheaded wife.

“Do you remember what I replied?” she asked, nuzzling her cheek against his touch. 

“Not exactly,” Gilbert admitted with a fond smile. “I think as soon as I read your response, my entire brain stopped functioning and I all but floated around Toronto for the next month.” 

Her shoulders shook against him as she chuckled. 

“What’s that you’re looking at?” Gilbert revealed the journal that had been placed in his lap. Its leather was the same color as Anne’s girlhood horse, Belle and was tied around the middle with a strap. “Ah, the proof of my stint with art.” 

“You were genuinely talented!” Gilbert argued. To prove his point, he flipped open the sketchbook to one of the middle pages. “This one is my favorite.” 

Of course it was, she thought with an amused smirk. He had skipped over the pages where she’d sketched pink carnations - briefly wondering if he recognized they were the ones he’d brought her during one of his visits - and focused on the page where Anne had drawn one of the Blythe-Lacroix apples. 

“Anne Blythe, Gilbert S. C. Blythe…” he read with interest. “If I didn’t know better, Mrs. Blythe, I’d say you were in love with me!” 

“Oh, be quiet. If I didn’t doodle my feelings like an infatuated schoolgirl, I’d have dropped out of Queen’s and transferred to Toronto.” 

“You wouldn’t have found arguments from me,” Gilbert said with a shrug. 

Anne nudged him with her elbow, but kept flipping through the box with interest. Mostly, she found letters. To his delight, it seemed that not a single one had been lost over time. Each one was a treasure, and she’d treated them as such. Some of his more romantic ones appeared to have more wear, as if she’d found them in her hours of loneliness and reread the words in his voice. There were tear smudges, small rips in the corners, memories of smiles, and residual pining that never actually went away. Some of Gilbert’s later letters admitted the way he’d desired her, craved her touch and counted the days before he could love her in the ways he was meant to as a man. It made Anne glad that Marilla had always respected her privacy. If Rachel Lynde had read those letters and found Gilbert Blythe longing to kiss the soft skin of Anne’s breast, she likely would’ve shipped the young girl to France or England herself. 

Lost in her amusement, Anne almost didn’t hear Gilbert sigh beside her. He held an old photograph in his hands, one that she groaned at the sight of. She’d sat for several portraits during her lifetime, but never before did she feel as unattractive as she did in the one he held.

“I ought to have just thrown that in the fire,” she commented. He gaped at her in surprise. 

“What do you mean? Why have I never seen this one?!” he exclaimed. His eyes roved over the picture, and suddenly he felt like the eighteen-year-old boy losing his breath at the sight of her. In the portrait, Anne wore a demure, neutral smile on her lips and wine red blossoms behind her ear. And her hair ...Gilbert suspected that if Aphrodite or Hera were really out there, they envied the ocean waves of her auburn hair. “Anne, this is breathtaking.” 

Anne paused before finally answering in a rush. “I originally planned to send it to you because you’d been asking for one, and I know how much you like my red hair so I asked the man to hand color for me.” 

“I think he did a fine job!” Gilbert added, still confused. 

“He did a fine job commenting on my hair, too,” Anne stated bitterly. “He said he never saw such salmon hair in all his years. Salmon, Gilbert. There was no way I could send the picture after that.”

Gilbert laughed heartily at this, shaking his head at the stubborn rage of his beautiful, impeccable wife. 

“Well, darling, what’s mine is yours, and what’s yours…” He snatched the picture from her hands and stuffed it inside his jacket pocket. “Is mine! I’ll be holding onto this in my own memory box.” 

Anne might’ve argued, but he rose from the bed with a kiss to her forehead. In any other circumstances, she would have followed him until she could reclaim what was hers, but that would’ve involved rising like Christ from her bed. If she owed her husband anything after all the years he’d stayed loyal through her stubbornness and her flares of anger, it was to heed his word and remain in bed. 

Still, with him gone, she missed his warmth and wondered if she might convince him to sit beside her just a little longer.

“You need to eat, my love,” he concluded. “I’m going to go help Susan with dinner. Drink some tea, alright? You need to be sure you’re drinking enough fluids.” 

“I’m hydrating for two, I know.” 

Right before he disappeared out of the room, he let his eyes linger on her - the loveliness of her white bed gown, the sunlight on her hair, the loving glint in her warm blue gaze. He could taste the words on the tip of his tongue, hundreds of I love yous that he could mutter with all the breath in his lungs. Instead, he exhaled a shaky breath and said, “Let me know if you find anything else of interest.” 

Anne nodded with a smile, finally looking the most comfortable she’d been in days. She reached back down to the very bottom of the box and pulled out the oldest letter she it contained. 

“My Anne, I cannot think of a more wonderful way to start a letter…”

[jq37]

The Report Card – Fantasy High Sophomore Year Ep 17

Then Perish (in which the Plot is Happening No Matter How Many Nat 20’s you Roll Ally Beardsley)

Strap in my dudes. It’s a wild one. 

Last ep, we’d just entered the forest of the nightmare king and things went sideways pretty quickly. All of the non-familiar NPCs have been poofed away and Kalina is currently fully killing Kristen. Riz, recently cured by Kristen (something that seemed to genuinely distress Kalina), can hear Tracker getting further and further away from them in wolf form. He gives Kristen his flare gun, tells her to run, and looks for the pollen they need to make the Kalina vaccine. Kalina disappears and in comes Sandra-Lynn with a weird mandrake-y plant for Kristen to bite. But, with a nat 20, she realizes that she’s seeing an illusion and Kalina is trying to get her to bite and reinfect Riz.  

All of the Bad Kids try to find each other, using all the tricks at their disposal to move faster (Fly, Jump, Dashing, etc). Fabian gets the Hangman to meet them at the edge of the forest with Gilear. Kristen shoots up the flare (presumably to alert Gilear of her position?) and cures herself as she runs, trying to buy time.  Kalina tries to make a deal with her so she and her friends will destroy the photo of her and their crystals but Kristen is not about that at all. She just tells everyone to run. Once Fig catches up with her, she does her one better and Dimension Doors with her almost all of the way out of the forest (after Fabian hits her with some Heroism which gives her regening temp HP to help combat the constant damage Kalina is doing). This cuts down the rounds needed to escape from 44 to a much more manageable 12. She manages to just get out alive after 24d6 of damage and Kalina is stuck at the edge of the forest with a threatening, “Get you next time.” The rest of the Bad Kids also make it out without too much trouble due to all their speed buffs.  

After everyone takes a tight five to be like, “Welp, that sucked,” they head to the Tinkerer’s Hall to enlist help with making tinctures. Overnight (together with Riz--since Kristen has quarantined herself) they’re able to make six doses of the tincture. Meanwhile, Fig learns more about her bass and Gorgug gets a new Ax from the very grateful tinkerers. Fig’s bass does a lot to help her be effective while she’s being attacked by all sides but--most importantly (imo)--gives her a +5 to performance checks, something I think Brennan is gonna live to regret. Speaking of regret, Fig is beset by whispers of guilt for her “fault” in the disappearance of their friends. Let’s put a pin in that. Gorgug gets a choice between a sick lightning ax and a dope gravity ax. He picks the latter, which, among other things, gives him auto-crits on objects (which seems like a plot tease for sure). While this is going on, Adaine makes two days worth of progress on a spell for Ayda. Kristen, who is being understandably sad in the van, prays to “not knowing” and gets her spells back, clearly (to us at least) missing something as she rolls a Nat 1 perception check. 

The gang cures Kristen with a dose of tincture then they upload the video of Kalina Riz took with his tie cam (which, btw, can scan for good and evil while recording and only pings Celestial magic from Tracker and Kristen, Kalina doesn’t ping as either). To my immediate delight, they post the video (respectfully clipped to not include Tracker) as sort of a fantasy version of The Dress, and it very quickly goes viral as people try to figure out why some people can see the tabaxi in it and some can’t. 

Back to Fig for a bit, Fig realizes the whispers in her head berating her aren’t external. They’re internal. She says she’s better than being loud than quiet and attempts to drown them out rather than ignore them. Fig realizes that, now that she’s out of the forest, Ayda’s feather is glowing again. Using that connection, Adaine tries to Scry on Ayda and sees that she (along with Zathriel) are caught in a horrifying web with web going into all of their face holes. Ayda’s eyes are clear because the fire of her eyes burn out the webs but she's full on weeping. She’s also trying to use the bloody earring Fig gave her to teleport back to her (knew that was gonna come back, at least for flavor) but her restraints won’t allow it. This absolutely lights a fire under Fig’s ass and she is ready to go back into the forest immediately. Before they do, Gorgug gives his Van to the gnomes (since it was bought with KVX money) and Riz makes one of the potions into a tranq dart for Tracker.

The journey to the temple Adaine saw in her Scry is two days away which means a bunch of sleep and navigation checks (without the Van or Tracker there to cast a Moon Haven). They sleep in shifts with Kristen, Fabian, and Fig sleeping first. Kristen rolls and 19 and Fig gets a 17 with Adaine’s Portent. Fabian is the low man with a 10. Even though Fig seemingly made the check, we still get dream narration for her as she is met by a pre-horned, 13 y/o version of herself who berates her. But Fig (who has made the check and can leave the nightare at any time) says she’s so much happier now than she’s ever been and boom! She loses her College of Whispers subclass and becomes a College of Lore Bard (gaining the Cutting Words feature). Whispers banished, she finds she’s able to communicate with Gorthalax who tells her being a devil doesn’t just have to be about being “evil”. At its core, being a devil is about rebellion. It’s about flipping off the universe, something Fig can very much vibe with. 

When Fabian wakes up, not having had a dream, he sees a familiar, tri-cornered hat a little ways away. As soon as he steps away from the group, he is possessed and starts attacking his friends--brutally as per DM’s orders. Luckily, Adaine has a low portent roll to give him, Riz has a net gun, and Gorgug now has a super heavy axe which he simply lays on Fabian, restraining him. They snap Fabian out of it and Adaine can tell it wasn’t an ambient effect of the forest. It’s something that was actively cast on Fabian (the same thing that was cast on Fig when she gem’d Gorthalax). However, it’s probably stronger in the forest. They also realize that when the Baron thing happened, Riz was attacked but not possessed and he also didn’t go to sleep. So, if they go through the forest not sleeping, they’ll be safe from possession at least. The next three are able to sleep without problem (even Riz who rolled a 7) but, in the morning, they don’t do so hot on their navigation checks. Instead of losing time, they decide to push through to the temple.

When they get there, they see that it’s basically surrounded by skeletons, like people just showed up to lay down and die. Something above the entrance has been moved and they also see (from much more recently) three sets of footsteps joined by a fourth set halfway (boots, not talons or paws). Adaine casts Locate Creature on her mom but doesn’t sense her within 1000 ft. Riz takes point and decides to scout the temple and report back. On a Nat 20 for a total of 30 Investigation, he fully cases the joint in less than ten minutes. He sees a brick of Dusk Moss and a bunch of spooky books which he realizes means a ritual happened to take the casters almost further into the forest in some kind of non-euclidean direction. He sees a skeleton of a unicorn filled with webs and egg sacs which died looking at a portrait of a woman in a black robe with black hair but the face is destroyed. 

Riz reports back all of this to his friends and Adaine decides that she’ll shoulder full responsibility for looking at the potentially evil books, trusting her friends to snap her out of it if she gets possessed or something. Equally supportive in their own ways, Fig plays a countercharm for her off to the side and Riz points a gun at her. From reading the book, Adaine is able to piece together a lot about the mechanics of what’s going on. There is a tree in the center of the forest (the broom that was turned into a tree) which helps to boost all the illusions in the forest. Because of this, illusions are all more real. For example, illusory wings created with Disguise Self would actually grant you flight. The Dusk Moss used in the ritual was probably to give them some measure of control over the insane nightmares (as in, “I know this is a dream sorta, therefore I can’t be hurt”). Brennan says Adaine would probably be able to do the ritual with some time and study. Siobhan Galaxy Brains and scours her spell list for spells involving illusions for what she calls, “some fuckery” (“Give me the fuckery,” Brennan says, even the game DM). Adaine wants to use Illusory Script to write a spell that will allow her to do the ritual with the hope that it will become real. Brennan looks directly into the camera like it’s The Office and asks for a DC 30 Arcana check. She doesn’t get it but she does get the sense that the principle behind the idea is solid.  Anyway, back to the other transubstantiations. The Familiar to a Plague is, as we all already knew, Kalina who is controlling the illusions in the forest. The Spellbook is the KVX coin and is (1) aligned with the Enchantment school of magic and (2) responsible for the possessions that have been happening (ie: Fig, Ragh, and Fabian this ep). The Sanctum to Cottage is aligned with the Abjuration school of magic and basically a trap for Celestials coming into the forest and also will prevent certain levels of spellcasting as they get progressively deeper. And now back to the tree (he doesn’t say the school of magic it is and also he says there are four when there are actually 8 so I’m not sure which school it’s supposed to represent--Divination maybe since that’s Adaine’s school?). The forest becomes alive the further in they go. The more safe they feel, the more the paths will move around. The only way to get they can get to the center is by feeling fear and uncertainty--which has got to be simultaneously great and terrible news for someone with major anxiety to get. 

All of that is all going on in the main chamber. Meanwhile, Gorgug is in the hallway and Fabian is in the chapel with Kristen who is checking out the picture of the goddess. Kristen, on international DM’s day, rolls a nat 20 religion check because of course she does. She hears the goddesses’s voice in her head. “Why do you search for me?” Kristen says she’s really into the praise through doubt thing. Brennan makes her roll a Con check with disadvantage--13.  

He says, “I’m gonna describe what Kristen sees and then I’m going to describe what Fabian saw,” instantly activating my Fight or Flight. 

Kristen feels a wave of spite, rage, and betrayal from the goddess and then she feels blinding pain as the unicorn skeleton runs over and gores her through the heart from the back. 

“What praise will you have in death?” the voice in her head says, as she collapses, fully lifeless. 

The unicorn turns to a panicked Fabian (who is only not driven mad by his immunity to Fear) and says, “You should not have come here.” 

In conclusion, AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

Detention

Brennan for Killing Kristen on a Nat 20

Using a Nat 20 to kill a player is such a power move and please do not let this placement make you think I don’t respect the unmitigated gall. 

Honor Roll

Adaine for An Incredible Piece of Fuckery

The fact that it didn’t work doesn’t change the fact that this was a Galaxy Brain connection that she made instantly and will almost certainly end up saving their asses. Mark my words: Before the end of the season, some Looney Tunes-ass painting a black circle to make a real hole type nonsense is gonna happen.

Random Thoughts

Emily’s constant awe at Ally’s dice rolls is so funny to me. She’s like head parishioner at the church of Ally’s dice. 

“Don’t bite the baby your mom gives you.”

Adaine taking pics of Fabian on Gorgug’s back while running out of the forest.

The teamwork shown during Kristen’s rescue? *chef’s kiss*

“It doesn’t protect you from losing all your friends in a forest.” Ow. 

Emily going, “Thank you Brennan,” like a little kid when she got her new bass’s stats.

“All of our girlfriends are in there!”

Brennan, upon being denied a wisdom save from Emily: You have to! I asked. 

Ice feast?????? Ally, what????

There is very much a world where the Bad Kids immediately leveraged Fig’s social media presence to get a better sample size on what was going on with Kalina. I wonder what would have happened if they’d gone viral with it much earlier.  

Ayda was drawn to the cottage with Zathriel because she’s part Celestial apparently. Are Phoenixes Celestial? That’s news to me. 

Also, on the topic, very Concerned about where the remaining NPCs are. 

The fact that Ayda had Fig’s earring in her hand while bound and unable to move much or do a spell that would allow her to get it into her hand implies that her split second reaction when captured was to reach for it and that was the one thing she could do before she was incapacitated which is A Lot.

Kristen keeps asking Riz to hold the tranq gun because she wants to look out for Tracker, which is sweet but you have -3 Dex girl. The kindest thing you can do is never touch that gun and toss Riz some Bless. 

The break they took between leaving the forest and going back Concerned me as it was happening. I was like, y’all literally anything could be happening right now. I had no sense on the amount of tie they realistically had to spare before something unreversable happened. 

Lol at Brennan clearly trying to throw some levels of exhaustion at the party and them just rolling out of it, no problem.  

I feel like Brennan knew Kristen was dying this episode no matter what and I gotta say: (1) I think it’s a great skill as a DM to keep our story on the tracks while also having the players actions matter and have meaningful consequences and (2) I wonder if she hadn’t gotten a Nat 1 when she got her spells back, if we’d get some information that could potentially contextualize what happened. 

I do not remember what the unicorn’s deal is but I remember it was mentioned specifically at the top of the season and I don’t trust anything about it--separately from the fact that it gored our girl. Was it speaking independently or was the goddess speaking through it? Or was it just the unicorn the whole time and Brennan was lying--not for the first time that episode? 

Fig being asked by her younger nightmare self what all the people in her life who had bad stuff happen to them have in common: Aguefort Advenuring Academy?

The image of an angel falling out of heaven and then rising up to flip off God and go, “F You,” is so cinematic that it makes me upset there aren’t animatics for this show. 

I am dying to know whether Brennan thought about the implications of making a setting where illusions are hyper-real in a game where Emily Axford is lousy with illusion magic. Did he consider it? Is there a mechanic to limit this? Or, next week, is Emily gonna say, “I cast disguise self on myself and I disguise myself as a super buff version of me with sick devil wings and I also create a minor illusion of a tiny, fairy, cleric.” What could stop her? Minor Illusion is a cantrip, guys. It’s a CANTRIP. I feel like either Brennan wildly miscalculated and made himself a double edged sword which Emily and Siobhan are gonna use to make him eat his dice OR he’s about to throw some absolutely unfair nonsense at them that even he doesn’t know the way out of and he’s trusting them to harness the power of the fuckery to figure it out. Either way, there are only 3 episodes left so I guess there’s only so much they can break the game in 3 episodes (she said, fully expecting to be proved wrong). 

“Crunch it up bro.”

When Brennan was talking about the ritual, he said, “Your parents and stuff” with regard to who did it, which makes me think Anguin was the fourth figure. But the “and stuff” is vague hedging language which makes me think we’re still being played. Brennan, tell me what’s going on in Abernant-Land, I’m begging you bro. 

One thing I didn’t mention in the main recap because it was getting long is the 4 transubstantiations were done on 4 gifts from the 4 tribes who worshiped the goddess The cat was from the wood elves. The sanctum was holy to the centaurs. I think the sprite was the spellbook which would make the broom from the treents.

Partial credit to @camwritery for this: Brennan gave Gorgug a weapon that, among other effects, insta-crits on inanimate objects. Which is a random ability unless a future plot point involves destroying some items--a la the pylons they destroyed earlier in what feels like a tutorial level in retrospect. And camwritery is the one who pointed out, hey, isn’t there a super important tree in the middle of the forest? Magic axe? Magic tree? Feels connected y’all. 

Everyone getting new gear and spells the past two eps has felt like that scene in Lion/Witch/Wardrobe where Santa shows up and is like, “Here are some weapons kids. Shit’s about to hit the fan!”

The fact that Riz escaped possession on a 7 seems to be explained by the fact that the cursed money is linked to possession and he gave all of his away. Which means Fabian and Adaine are still in danger, along with I think Fig since she kept her tour money which is likely infected. 

Anyone else get Wrinkle in Time/The Boy Who Reversed Himself vibes from all the dream travel talk this ep?

OK, I guess we gotta talk about Kristen dying for the third time in her life. Poor girl. She’s just trying her best to be a good person and earnestly trying to find meaning in the world. And what has it gotten her? Killed three times. And yet she keeps trying! The fact that it’s her makes me kinda more and less worried at the same time, you know? Because she is currently the sole healer on the team which is BAD--if Fabian went down, it wouldn’t be as big of a deal because Kristen would presumably just need to make her fright check and then cast Revivify. K-girl doesn’t have anyone to heal her (barring some illusion shenanigans from Fig or Adaine). However, Kristen’s motto might as well, “Whatever does kill you makes you stronger.” She basically has an at least 1 death per season clause written into her contract. If anyone can face death with grit and come out singing (and prob with some sick new powers) it’d be her. What an absolutely brutal way to end the episode.

She was mentioned in this episode for a hot sec I think--that racist ranger from earlier in the season--I don’t trust her. She could just be a one off NPC but I feel like there’s more to her. 

So I guessed correctly that the photos of Kalina would end up being a bargain chip potentially but somehow it didn’t occur to me that they could just...leave. Lol, I was like, “I guess they’re in it,” and they were like, “Yeah, bye.”

Kalina didn’t come after the gang in the forest the second time except maybe to possess Fabian if she did that directly. I wonder why that was. She had plenty of time.

I don’t like this spider motif. I don’t trust this spider motif. My spidey sense is going off re: this spider motif. I just want that on the record. 

This episode, Adaine rolled 1 Nat 20, Riz got 2, and Kristen rolled 3 but one was cancelled out by disadvantage. Meanwhile, Fig, Kristen, and Gorgug each rolled one Nat 20 each. 

[ohgoddard]

Truth, Justice, and the Symbol of Peace.2.

Musutafu, Japan

“...its unknown where he has gone to, however all heroes are searching for any remainder..”

“...Endeavor made a statement that he would do anything to find All-Might again, however with the new position as #1 Hero, it would take time…”

“... outpost raided, found several vats of strange creatures soon destroyed by on-scene heroes. Even stranger were the numerous hands found, cut off at the..”

A small *click* sounded behind Izuku’s head, turning the t.v. off. He sits on the couch, head in his hands, weeping. His shirt is wrinkled, his hair unkempt, he looks a mess. On the table in front of him are several snot-filled tissues, half drank bottles of water, and his notebooks. Inko walked around the couch and sat down, putting her arm around him. Izuku didn’t even look up. “Izuku,” she said as he put the remote on the table, being careful not to spill anything. “I know this is a hard time for you, but you can’t stay in all day.”

It has been two days since the disappearance of All-Might. The world is forever changed at his absence, but with him he took the ultimate evil as well. However, a void is felt on both sides by their leaving. But the absence in Izuku’s soul was far larger than any geopolitical one.

“I know you looked up to him but Izuku, you don’t have a quirk. It was always going to be a dream. I guess.. I guess it just happened sooner rather than later.”

He still cried.

Inko hugged her son close, burying her face in his fuzzy green hair. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I can’t imagine how this feels. Just,” she pulled away, rubbing his back, “ please take a walk. It’ll help more than you think.” She stands up, kissing him on his forehead, before walking back into her room. A few minutes later, the crying stopped. Izuku looked up from his hands and wipe them off his pants. His eyes were red, but he could cry no more. Maybe his mom was right. He had no powers. He couldn’t be a real hero anyway. His one inspiration to keep going just disappeared. No one else said anyone can be a hero. Just him. And if he’s gone?

Then the dream goes with him too.

After a quick shower and a change of clothes, Izuku was going to go on that walk his mom told him to do. It was rather late, but he needed to cool his head. As he was walking out the door, he spied the notebook on his table still. He stood there, just looking. After a while, he picked up one and walked out the door. A hobby never hurt anyone, and hero watching was a common enough hobby. 

It was late evening in the city, and the walk was working wonders. The lamplights had the small moths nipping at its light. A calm but crisp wind wrapped it’s way around the streets, brushing Izuku’s hair.  I needed this, he thought, Mom was right. I should focus on normal kid things I guess. He pulled out his notebook and flipped through a few pages, updating the drawings with the correct designs and tweaking the stats as he walked. The sounds of fighting made him stop.

Izuku had passed by an alleyway, and from within the sounds of conflict echoed. Being the never-smart child he is and will forever be, he turned to immediately investigate. The alley was dark and dingy, as they usually are. Under the fire escapes and lights of barred windows wrestled three figures. Izuku saw among them some underground street villains he recognized from his studies. Hothead the fire villain and Freezmont the ice villain! Together they were fighting someone, but Izuku could not see who. He moved so fast, and threw such powerful punches. Hothead shot a blast of flame at the man, missing but showing his body. He was huge, but beyond his outline he was still obscured by shadow. His fist connected into Hothead’s chest and the flame villain went into the ground, knocked out. Freezmont spent no time in trying to run away, but it was no use. The shadowy giant merely extended his hand and otu shot a cord, it wrapped around Freezmont’s legs and tripped him. He hit his head on a trashcan on the way down, sending him to sleep.

At this point, some rain had started to pour. But Izuku didn’t care. He was enraptured with this new figure. He had never seen him before! A new hero perhaps? He instantly took out his notebook and started to write down everything he saw, his predictions of the person’s quirk, even a quick sketch. When he looked up again, the figure was gone. Huh..guess he must have left. He turned around, only to bump into someone.

Looking up, he saw only darkness and two bright lights of eyes stare down at him.

“You have it wrong in your book.”

Izuku was speechless. He could not even move. The figure before him was towering, huge. His voice felt like a subwoofer benign dragged through a gravel factory. A dark blackness was around his entire body, wrapping him. All Izuku saw was his strong chin underneath his mask.

“I--I.. who-” “Let me ask a few questions of my own.” The rain started to pick up, the sound of thunder moving over them.

“One : why were you recording my movements and description. Two: where am I? And three: Where is the rest of the Justice League?”

Izuku stared at him and shook, the cold of the rain getting to him. The giant did not move an inch. “Uhh...I’m Izuku Midoryia, and I like recording heroes in my book. You’re in Japan..uhh.. What's the Justice League? And why was my book wrong? It's not going to be completely accurate I know because it's just an eyewitness and you're a new hero and all so-”

“Stop.” The voice cut Izuku instantly. The giant looked up, as if thinking. “I am going to ask you questions, and I need you to answer correctly.” The giant leaned in. “I’ll know if you’re lying.”

Izuku gulped and nodded his head. “Do you know who Superman is?” Izuku shook his head.

“That's all I needed.” The shadow turned from him, and began to walk away. Izuku stepped forward and shouted, “WAIT!” It stopped. “Why was my book wrong?” The shadow turned to face Izuku and raised one of its mighty arms into the air.

“I don’t have powers.”

At that moment, a lightning flash lit up the alley. Before Izuku was a grey suited man. He wore a yellow belt and held in his hand a grappling gun. Around his shoulders and leading into his mask was a cape and cowl. And on his chest, an insignia of a bat. He shot his hook and flew into the city, swinging on rope to swinging rope until he was out of sight. But that didn’t matter. The sight of him was burned into Izuku’s mind, along with his words.

He doesn’t have powers...Does that mean? Is there still a chance that I..?

He turned and ran home. His mind racing a mile a minute. 

There’s still a chance!

Washington D.C., United States

The Hall of Justice was swarmed with reporters. The police had to install a perimeter to keep them all at bay, but that didn’t stop the helicopters from flying overhead. However, the chaos outside was nothing like the chaos within. While the hall was quiet, there was no less tension.

In the meeting chamber, around a giant table emblazoned with the symbol of the JLA sat its key members, save for one empty seat. Each member was staring at the matter of discussion, the giant muscle man at the end of the table, standing next to Superman.

“Thank you all for coming here today, I know it takes a lot to make it happen.” 

“Cut the chatter Supes, we know what we’re here for,” said the Flash.  “Indeed,” echoed the Martian Manhunter. “Let us dispense with the pleasantries and get to the matter at hand”

Superman sighed. “Alright, i’ll let our.. Guest tell you what happened.” Superman gestured for All-Might to step forward. He took one step, and was instantly wrapped in a bubble of green energy. “Now excuse me for being rude here, “ said the Green Lantern as he floated out of his seat, power ring out. “But why should we believe him, Superman? I’m all for trust, but the coincidence is too uncanny!” Wonder Woman rose from seat as well. “I agree with the Lantern. First Batman goes missing, then he shows up in the same amount of time? It is unusual.”

“Hear hear,” spoke Hawkman comfortably from his seat. All-Might just looked around, puzzled at the reception. He thought they would be more welcoming of him, this is an entirely separate emotion. He didn’t often see animosity from other heroes. Different world, I suppose.

“Hey!” Superman shouted, shooting Green Lantern a look. The green energy around All-Might reluctantly left him, and the members took their seats again. “Look, I know it seems fishy. But that is exactly why he is here. And I talked to him before I brought him here. He at least seems trustworthy enough that I give him my go ahead. Please let him speak.”

Wonder Woman huffed. “Fine. He gets one chance.”

Superman turned to All-Might again, giving a nod of his head to continue. “Well, uh” All Might began with confidence. “I am All Might, and this is not my world. I come from a world where everyone has what you call superpowers. I was fighting one that would seek to control all of it , and has done so before. His name is All For One. During my fight with him, before I could land a finishing blow, he must have somehow activated a portal. It sucked him in and I followed soon after. Next thing I know, i’m fighting him in a different city. Then your Superman here helped me dispatch All For One. He then politely, but firmly, asked that I come with him for questioning. That is why I am here. I do not know of your ‘Bat Man’, though I imagine he is a terrifying presence.”

The Flash snorted, earning him a dirty look from Wonder Woman and Green Lantern. 

“Thank you, All Might,” said Superman as All Might stepped back. “So you see, we seem to be part of an impromptu transfer program as it were. We traded Batman for All Might and All For One.”

“What an exchange,” grumbled Green Lantern.

Superman ignored his comment, continuing on. “We don’t know how Batman could have gotten in a portal, as we don’t know where he was before he disappeared.” 

“How do we even know Batman is in this world,” spoke the Martian Manhunter, “Or even transported by a portal at all? This is hardly the first time he has gone without communication for extended periods of time.” A murmuring of agreements fluttered the table. 

“Because he was supposed to meet me and didn’t. And we know how he is never late.” Superman’s comment seemed to chill the table, which was strange to All Might. Scary and on time? I shudder at his power, not even I can do both. 

“We can at least guess with a good amount of certainty that he is in this new world. And from what All-Might has told us, he will not last long. With even the common street thugs being superpowered, it will be tough even for him. As such, I will be researching with Star Labs on how to track where Batman last was.”

Wonder Woman stood up. “And what do we do with him?” She pointed at All Might, who while used to the public spotlight never felt so singled out before. Superman smiled. “Well, I thought you and I could take turns. Keeping an eye on him. Since we both seem to be the only ones capable of being on-par with his power, we stand the best chance of stopping him.” Superman turned his head to look at All Might again. “No offense.”

All Might just nodded his head. “No, I understand. I am a foreign entity at the removal of your comrade. I too would be suspicious if the same were done to me. However, I am not a child. I do not need to be looked over. I fight for peace and justice, just like you all.”

“If it's all the same,” Wonder Woman said, ”we’d like to be cautious.”  All Might nodded, though his feelings were hurt. Usually when I make speeches, people like me. This world is harsh and cruel. 

“Meeting adjourned.”