#This game has a grip on my brain. (Appropriate)

[ruby-static]

Me when beating Psychonauts 2

That was the best fucking game I've played for real-

[peachetteprice]

The Ever-forgetful John "Soap" MacTavish,

Who just happens to turn the kitchen tap on during your shower, at the exact point in which you need the release of hot water on your skin, and - as a requiem of British plumbing - it sucks the warmth from the water until you're left shivering, ballooned by half your weight in suds alone, and crouched like a beggar before the shower-head until it returns to lukewarm; at best. Naturally, you've told him time and time over never to put the tap on; never to fill the kettle to boil, never to flush the toilet or wash his hands whenever you needed to clean yourself - it was common decency.

Now, he asserts this would be possible if you kept your showers short, though, you'd learnt by month three of your relationship that what he meant by short was a thirty-second (nary a minute) hop-in, hop-out with a bottle of three-in-one doused, rubbed and subsequently rinsed from every crevace and hair follicle on one's body, as he had done between training sessions, spat at by a man whose impatience rivalled that of WW2 bomber over London during the bloody Blitz.

Anything north of that - thirty-seconds, that is - is free game. Hence, what should have been a thirty-minute 'everything' shower becomes something of an Irish jig, tip-toeing back and forth like a naked man on hot coals, hissing, hoo-ing and hah-ing as you deliberate the numerous ways you might enact a similar torture on him. Hair-dye in his shampoo? Moisturiser instead of toothpaste? Refusal of any and all bathroom-related sex?

It's the thought that plagues your mind as you exit the shower, dissatisfied as if there still exists an itch on your back that can not be reached, that you've been aimlessly swatting at for the duration of your shower, wrapping a hasty towel across your torso to meet him in the kitchen.

You barely sniffle at the wet footsteps along the hardwood floors, though it's exactly the sort of foolishness you'd slap his shoulder for leaving, after you'd so dutifully mopped them the previous week. It'll sink in the grain, don't you know? The wood fibres will pick it up like a sponge in the rain, and you'll be left with damp-smelling floorboards that creak in the summer and crack in the winter, and there'll be no getting those mould stains out!

...Is the sort of vitriol your brain spills as you enter the kitchen, expecting to see Johnny fiddling with the kettle to perfect just the right amount of water for two cuppas - oh, none for him, only two for you, one right after your shower and another, ten minutes after the first.

But he isn't there. He isn't anywhere, in fact. The kettle isn't warm, and there are no used tea bags on the tea bag-catcher, seeping their remaining liquid onto the work surface so it stains.

But there is, however, one long green hospipe trailing from the kitchen tap, hooked taught on its end, out through a crack in the window, through the rear garden. And, whisked away by curiosity, you follow its trail.

There he is.

Watering the plants?

"Johnny?"

He turns. Almost points the hosepipe in the same direction, too, with that giddy smile of his, but he has just enough tact in himself not to do that - not after you've just showered. "Y'cannae be comin' outside in tha', Bonnie, you'll catch yer death!"

"Is this what you've been doing whilst my shower's been running cold?"

Johnny turns into an imbecile with that daft frown on him. Never has a man with such a large brain looked so terribly confused by something so simple. What were you talking about, what he's been doing? Cannae ye see?

"Not quite." His brow furrows. "Oi... I told ye to get back inside, lass. Never mind yous flashin' the neighbours." Then pauses for a moment as he re-adjusts his grip on the hosepipe. "Aye, ye might wanna watch this, though."

And watch, you do.

As he sheds the seriousness from his face, dons a more appropriately pleased smile, lifting the hose up to the neighbours fence - just so that the curve of the water arches over the panels - he sends a fledged stream over top of the boundary.

You're about to shout. Really. You're about to put on your mummy-voice (that's what he calls it), perhaps the only instinct you have in you to shout 'John MacTavish', in the most disappointed tone you can muster - reminds him of his Mam, it does, when he used to steal biscuits out of the biscuit jar when he wasn't supposed to - until he ceases everything that could possibly have warranted it in the first place.

Though, just as your lips part, you watch something black - maybe a dark brown, actually - dart across the stream, rendering it effectively useless in its spread.

Johnny turns to you, eyes wide, mouth agape. "Tha' was a good'un, did ye see that, love?!"

He knows you're confused. He can see it in your eyes.

So he does it again.

And it happens again.

A black - no, it's definitely brown this time, just soddened by the water enough to resemble tar - thing leaps past the spout of water. You can hear it chomping, jingling, panting, and it soon dawns on you what the shadow is;

It's a dog - it's the neighbour's bloody dog.

Johnny waits for your reaction - he hopes it's similar to his: complete awe. Imagine his shock - he was only watering the hedges! But you can only relinquish a sigh and a slightly (emphasis on slight) amused chuckle as you note;

"That's what you've been doing for half an hour whilst I've been in the shower? Playing with the neighbour's dog?"

"Yeah!" He gave the fence another squirt, and sure as the rain, the pup came rumbling after it, jaw agape for maximum bite. "An' I don't even like dogs, but ye cannae be mad at him, look how happy he is!"

And, as you step back through the kitchen with a tired laugh, feet still dripping with water, goosebumps prickled along your skin (and although there will be words to have later in the afternoon), you know his words hold some semblance of truth;

That you can't be mad at him, look how happy he is!

| Masterlist |

[mammalsofaction]

SIKE! GET LOVED IDIOT

Rating: G

Relationship: Heinz Doofenshmirtz & Perry the Platypus, Heinz Doofenshmirtz/Perry the Platypus

Add tags: fix it fic, rewrite the unmentionable chibiverse episode, the destiel-fication of Perryshmirtz, this is an excuse for me showeing Heinz with love and aftercare.

AN: Many thanks to my lovely, sleepy beta @agentlizardofowca, who sent me the video through discord so it could be the first thing i would see upon waking up so we could both yell at each other about it. They fucking destiel-ed him.

---

"Perry the Platypus!"

There is a brief, but meaningful applause as he descends in appropriately melodramatic way. The stage is well built, and the mic doesn't screech. Perry keeps an eye on the prize, even as he swallows the given pill.

Heinz looks…wary. He did not, at least, have his arms crossed, but over the course of the last few hours Perry notices how he's grown to hunch further into himself, curling into his seat. His brows were deeply furrowed, like he was waiting to be physically hit at any moment, which still might be likely.

The pill goes down smooth as butter. There is a discernible electrical buzz, from his insides. As he coughs, he expects himself to belch smoke. Instead, as he approaches the mic, he speaks with a voice that was his-and-not-his-own.

"Well, hello there!"

Heinz yells in disbelief. Perry blinks.

"Oh, that is weird, hearing you speak,"

It's an even weirder sensation, Perry thinks, to be able have Heinz firmly understand him speak. He grips the edges of the podium tightly, then forcibly relaxes.

"Heinz," he laughs nervously. It still sounds like it came from someone else. "What can I say, about my greatest frenemy? I'd take my hat off to you, but then you'd have no idea who I am,"

A chorus of laughter follows . Heinz harrumphed, briefly looking away to stubbornly insist that he "Doesn't get it." But Perry does not miss the distrustful twitch of his lips.

God he can't do this. Perry takes in a deep breath.

"There are many things you continue to surprise me about, my friend," Perry continues, and he watches in real time as Heinz both blooms and flinches in anticipation of his next words. "But most astonishingly is how you…can twist your mind into such horrible directions."

A confused silence ensues. Someone yells out a demanding "What?" that breaks the man's confused daze.

"Yeah, what?" Asked the man of the hour. "Are you saying I think in a really evil way, or are you just calling me dumb?"

The former, Perry knows, would be a compliment the man sorely needs, but it would not be an accurate one.

Perry isn't interested in playing this stupid game. "Neither. Heinz, look around you. Don't you see?" Perry's mouth pursed tightly. "You are surrounded by friends."

There is a perceptible change in the air, punctuated by muttering and distressed whispering. Perry exhales loudly. "Do you really think all of us genuinely think so lowly of you?"

Heinz scowls, confused. His eyes dart to and fro, but they eventually land back to him. They always do.

"Some friends. I don't have any friends.That's half the point we've been making all day."

"I'm your friend." Perry says, a little desperately, but it isn't about him. "Heinz, you insist that the people you surround yourself with think of you in ways you already think of yourself in that too big brain of yours, that you don't see the affection and respect of the people who like having you around. This event is your idea. Do you think people would have thought about anything cruel we've said if you hadn't said you wanted to hear it? "

" There were plenty of volunteers."

"We're an outgoing group who like to help one another! Heinz, look," Perry scowls back. "I don't agree with everything Darcy said, but she was right about one thing. Your biggest enemy is, and always has been, yourself. You tend to think of yourself as a being a failure, as being hated. But that isn't true."

"Yeah!" Marcy yells helpfully from the crowd, followed by some pointed hushing. She doesn't seem to notice. "I do actually think you're talented, Dr. D!"

"I think you're really fun!" Someone adds.

"You always know when to stop when we ask."

"You really rock a labcoat, too, Dr. D!"

"I actually like your shoulders!"

The auditorium grows loud, as more and more chibis cheerfully add their kind, honest opinions of the man in the throne. It seems to throw him off, and he looks panicked, shocked, and heartbreakingly, astoundingly confused.

"Wait, WAIT! Everybody STOP. You guys were supposed to make fun of me!"

"We can keep making fun of you if you like, Dr. Doof." Star answers happily. " If you want, but it's all in good fun, right?"

"That doesn't mean we don't think you're also really cool, Dr D. " Mabel adds cheerfully. She has her little piglet in her arms, rocking him affectionately back and forth. " I do it with my brother all the time! I still love him to bits and bits."

From behind one camera, Dipper makes an embarrassed sound. He's still smiling, and Mabel comes around to tug him into a hug, sandwiching Waddles in the middle.

"But that-," Heinz began to sputter indignantly. Somewhere far below, there is a grinding, whining noise. Perry frowns. "But you-! But what about-what about-what about my, hey, what about my doctorate, huh? I bought it off the internet for 15 bucks! My teachers hated me! Im not actually a Doctor."

"We both know you never needed one to prove yourself more than capable of breaking the laws of physics on the daily." Perry chirps drily. There is another chorus of laughter for the not-quite-insult. "And I'm the last person to make fun of you for enjoying a spot of alliteration. Hello, Perry the Platypus?"

"Hey!" Heinz shouts, as the crowd continues to giggle. "This is my roast! Get in line!"

"Oh, I'm sorry," Perry coughs into his fist, hiding a smile. " Where were we? Ah, yes, embarrassing you."

Heinz harrumphed, slouching back down into his seat in the assumption that the self loathing party was about to continue apace. Perry clears his throat. "Let's talk about how much you love your daughter."

Heinz shoots straight up, hands clenched into the sides of his seat. He looks, for a second, genuinely hurt, and angry. But Perry meets his gaze dead on, and the man eventually unclenches himself enough to speak, taking a deep breath as he looks away. "Fine. Fine. Whatever. There's nothing you're about to say that will make me feel even a little bit ashamed of how much I love my Vanessa."

"Yes, that is quite the pickle, isn't it? You, Heinz Doofenshmirtz," his voice turns soft despite his best efforts, feeling his cheeks burn fondly in reminiscence. "Are one of the strongest, kindest, sweetest parents I have ever had the pleasure to meet in my life."

Heinz blinks, caught off guard once again as the crowd goes "Awww,"

"You are embarassingly loving, you never let yourself forget the things she tells you she enjoys, even if they're gifts she asked for when she was barely a child. You are protective and vindictive of anything that could possibly come to hurt her, and you have never, ever, ever once forgotten to throw her a birthday, even when you've never had a decent one yourself in all your life,"

And finally, finally, Heinz blushes. A tint of red for being pleasantly flustered instead of the ashamed flush from before. The chibis laugh, coo and yell in playful disgust. Perry smiles smugly, pleased for having turned the tide of the event on its head.

From beneath their feet, the rumble grows, and the whining increases in fever pitch. Chibis begin to jump in surprise, the sounds of joy and celebration turning into ones of distress. Quite tellingly, Heinz looks perfectly unbothered, arms crossed petulantly. Perry raises an eyebrow.

There is a distant boom, muffled by a safe wall of dirt. One part of the stands collapses in on itself, and the chibis get off of it hurriedly. There is an ensuing silence.

Perry and Heinz had not, even once, looked away from one another. Perry leans on his elbow on the podium, raising his second eyebrow. Heinz slumps down his seat.

"Fine. I had an inator that was being charged by the negative energy of insults to take over the chibiverse, yada yada yada. It was supposed to be Platypus proof, because I didn't have time to put a self-destruct button. You jammed the energy input and made it explode by calling me nice things, happy?"

"Delirious." Perry answers, as the crowd cheers in celebration, another scheme thwarted, and another day saved.

The crowd climbs the stage in droves, chanting his name. Perry lets them have their fun, though he's not particularly enjoying being thrown into the air and carried over their heads, off the stage, to the backstage buffet.

He slinks off the second he was able to get away with it, to where Heinz was still curled on the throne in the auditorium hall, scribbling into his inventions book. He's not noticed Perry approaching, peeking over his shoulder to see he was already brainstorming his next scheme for molecular chibiverse domination, muttering angrily to himself.

"-tupid to think he actually meant what he was saying, I should've kept my lid on the plan better, hide my blueprints-,"

"I did, you know." Perry interrupts, and Heinz jumped, clutching the notebook close to his chest. "Meant them, I mean."

Heinz sighs gustily, posing like he's meant to retort something clever, but he's not sure what it is, yet. To render Heinz Doofenshmirtz speechless was no easy feat, adding another tally to Perry's accomplishments this day.

Not that he was ever unappreciative of Heinz's chatty nature.

After opening his mouth and closing it a couple more times, the doctor blurts; "I don't think I'll ever get used to that. You, talking, I mean."

Perry shrugs, self-conscious. Heinz adds, hurriedly, "I didn't say I didn't like it."

Perry tilts his head in question.

"I'll get used to it," Heinz assures, a bit shyly. It's making Perry blush too.

The agent shakes his head. " I don't think…, "

Heinz frowns. "You don't like it? "

Perry shrugs. "I don't need it. " He looks down. "I have you. "

He's not looking, so he isn't able to tell what expression Heinz might be wearing in the following silence.

Heinz breaks it eventually. "You keep doing this, you know?"

When Perry looks up, Heinz had donned a poorly executed scowl. It makes him smile. "Reminding me about the good things. Call me nice, I mean. That's not right. It's ruining my street cred."

The idea of Heinz having a street cred makes him laugh, and even if he does not enjoy most of the actual talking for now, this was nice. Laughing together, and being able to communicate, thoroughly and well, what exactly he adored of his best friend, uninhibited of Heinz's own self-esteem issues.

I love you, Perry wants to say, desperately. He wants to say it more than anything in the world, but even with all the communicative technology at his disposal, he is still hesitant, still scared, of putting his vulnerability into words.

Later, he keeps telling himself. Soon. Eventually. He reaches out to hold Heinz's hand in his own, leadened with all the words he can't bring himself to say.

Heinz smiles, and squeezes like he understands him anyway. Like Perry would have all the time in the world.

It can wait.

[firenati0n]

year in review: favorite lines! :) <3

hello hello! I was tagged by the lovely @anincompletelist in this adorable tag game where we share our top favorite segments from our published fics and/or wips! :)

I only have one published fic LOL so here are some of my favorite pieces from that and three out of four wips right now (four is buck wild to me considering i had zero like ten days ajflakjfds).

i saved some of my real faves for y'all to read in worm fic (i didn't want to spoil my favorite paragraph at the end LOL). I have linked the fic as well as the tags with wip snips :)

from our world, mine and his alone (the midnight train to go)

Deep breath in. “By the way. Digging the cardigan, Henry. Very…” He rifled through his extensive vocab for literally any appropriate adjective. Refined? Boring. Professional? Practical, but also boring.   “Very…?” Henry raised an eyebrow, long fingers wrapped around a cup of tea. Earl Grey, Henry had said a while ago, but Alex couldn't be sure. He had been terribly distracted by said fingers, wondering where else those fingers could— What Alex’s distracted, useless worms in his left temporal lobe decided to supply him with as a response was: “Slutty-English-Literature-professor core.” Alex was going to jump off the train. He was going to change his name. He was going to get a lobotomy, as a treat.  “Excuse me?!” Henry sputtered into his tea, turning red alarmingly quickly. His sexy-librarian cardigan was collateral damage, tea splattered down the front. 

from the full spectrum of human emotion (WIP, The Proposal (2009 movie) AU, eta 2024):

And selfishly, he’s pretty fucking scared for his career trajectory if it doesn’t work out. He can’t start over, he can’t. His resume can’t take it, and neither can his ego.  He can already hear Oscar clicking his tongue and shaking his head, practically taste the disappointment in Ellen’s pitied gaze and outstretched hand. He absolutely cannot give them the silver bullet that goes clean through his erratic heart and wrenches him back home. He loves Austin, breathes it, and yet…and yet. He just can’t return, not when he’s so close. He still has so much to prove, so much to hold up to the sky and say I’m here, I can take it, I did it, I’m good enough. It almost swallows him whole—his overwhelming love for his family, his nostalgia for the Texas sun. But it’s just not enough to—

from queerano de bergerac (WIP, Cyrano / The Half of It (2020 movie) AU, eta 2024):

“Amber, everyone thinks you’re pretty, it is an objective fact. Irrefutable, even.” “Aw, Henry! That’s so nice of you to say, thank you.” She flashes him a genuine smile. She’s sweet, Henry is loath to admit.  “You’re welcome. But. This letter…we need to workshop it a bit. Make it more personal? More about who Alex is as a person, and not who we see him as. What’s below the surface? What are his hidden depths that you are willing to explore? How do you show you’re in love, not just tell?” Amber raises an eyebrow. “Okay. How do I do that?” She sniffs. “I thought I was being so obvious when I asked if he had lunch plans.” “...You asked him if he had lunch plans during our…one lunch period at school?” “Okay, fine! I’m not the best with fancy words like you, Mr. Future English Literature Major.”

from untitled continuation of worm fic (WIP, eta 2024):

If Alex could land Henry's phone number (a bit forcefully, if he remembered Henry's tone correctly) using sheer fucking charisma, he could nail a date with the guy. Easy peasy.  Except. Except for the fact that Alex's brain seemed to rapidly degrade in every conceivable way when faced with Henry's fairytale hair and anime-worthy blue eyes. Henry's presence was lethal for every ounce of Alex's grey matter. With every blink of his doe eyes, Henry obliterated another one of Alex's (already fucking limited!) brain worms. They would writhe in agony, unable to shake the vicelike grip of Henry's charisma, doomed to a slow and sensual death. Alex was so fucked, and not in the fun, safe, and lubed way. 

+

no pressure tagging @ninzied @inexplicablymine @anincompletelist @myheartalivewrites @suseagull04 @priincebutt @sparklepocalypse @kiwiana-writes @onward--upward @nocoastposts @user-anakin @wordsofhoneydew @littlemisskittentoes @happiness-of-the-pursuit @matherines @lizzie-bennetdarcy @celeritas2997 @sherryvalli @gayrootvegetable @ssmtskw @affectionatelyrs @tinyarmedtrex @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @14carrotghoul @orchidscript @rmd-writes @dustratcentral @eusuntgratie @magicandarchery @leaves-of-laurelin @songliili @cricketnationrise @msmarvelouswinchester @leojfitz @dragonflylady77 @cha-melodius and open tag for anyone else wishing to share! have fun :)

xoxo roops

[odetoviscera]

Baldur's Gate 3: The Evil Experience

on the recommendation of @leupagus: My Very Special Evil Boy, Vexation. don't worry about the blood, it's a fashion choice.

if you've been wondering how evil you can be in baldur's gate 3, wonder no more-- So Evil.

so beginning at the beginning, i of course chose the Dark Urge (obvious serial killer) origin, who is conveniently customizable, so i also made him Drow and a Lolth Worshipper and a Warlock (all of which has made him only marginally more evil, tbh, mostly the related dialogue options make him a smug bastard, although OCCASIONALLY this will give him a "hmm what if i enslaved you" option which people do indeed react to as if he's an evil maniac and they should flee and/or try to kill him. this goes great for them considering i'm the protagonist.)

i wake up on an illithid ship with no memories, as one does. i befriend a walking talking brain, by which i mean i lobotomize it so that i can more easily control and manipulate it, as one does. i may not know who i am, but i definitely know that i am powerful, mean, and more important than everyone here. also i have a great old one in my brain giving me eldritch blast, so the tadpole wriggling around in there seems normal. i crash the ship sort of accidentally and am set loose on my merry way to wrack the Sword Coast with terrible mayhem. probably. as soon as i figure out if i'm about to turn into a mindflayer.

the first sign of my uncontrollable evil mania was when i tried to talk to a squirrel in act one (actually, i tell a lie, the FIRST sign was when i was tempted to hack Gale's hand off instead of dragging him out of the portal he got stuck in, but i decided i needed a wizard more than a dismembered hand) and the narrator informed me i had been Gripped By A Compulsion and promptly dropkicked the squirrel into a tree. it died, obviously. i was given the option to decide if i cared about this and decided that my opinion was a frankly inappropriate level of malicious glee considering the heights from which i, clearly child of murder, have obviously fallen to get amnesia and get tadpoled and fall out of the sky on a dying illithid spaceship. anyway this set me up for Being Maximally Deranged, however there is No Karma Meter or any equivalent system to MEASURE your evil or limit your dialogue options-- i have free reign at all times, i COULD decide that suddenly i'm going to be a Repentant Murderer, i can do Nice Things if i want the reward or the exp or i am exercising my single scintilla of compassion accidentally inculcated by my eventual three simultaneous romances (one of which is with the mindflayer who lives in my brain/an artifact stopping ME from becoming a mindflayer. this game is so horny, very classic dnd "i roll to romance the villain". except i am also the villain.) at this point i have no romances, though-- at this point my companions watch me kick a squirrel to death and their collective response is "well… that seemed… excessive."

i also have the option to tell every single one of them individually that i am driven by a blood mania to murder and destruction. opinions of this range from "well admitting you have a problem is the first step!" to "that's nice, just point it at the enemy instead of ME". no one seems appropriately concerned about this. they'll learn.

anyway the next sign of my uncontrollable evil mania is that when i decided to be nice to a bard for no reason and she showed up at our next long rest to Join The Party (oh we do get a bard companion, that's nice, i said, like a fool.) i promptly murdered her in the night. as in i woke up covered in blood with her corpse ritually slaughtered at my feet and said "hm. probably shouldn't let anyone else find out i did this" and then sulked when no one gave me proper respect and rewards for murdering her. fortunately the next day my Evil Butler materialized to do just that, and proved he wasn't a figment of my imagination by giving me an Evil Cloak that lets me turn invisible everytime i murder someone. i spend the next half an act or so convinced i'm going to slowly kill off my party, but fortunately i develop the ability to control myself. now i only murder when I WANT to murder.

the rest of act one i am SORT OF a good boy-- i do deliberately get a child killed but i don't PERSONALLY kill her, i get a druid's snake to do it, so does it really count against MY soul? yes but only me and daddy bhaal know it so i am able to continue playing Goody Two Shoes for the rest of the act. (i don't know he's my daddy yet, but like… i know it. i, the player, know it. in my soul. i've played these games before.) delightful fallout, my child murder gets the druid killed after i Helpfully Save The Tieflings by telling the opposing force i'll totally help them break in and kill them all, then betraying them at the last minute. i kill so so so many goblins. i get an inspiration point for how many goblins i kill. goblins are still sentient. It's Still Murder.

act two, however, empowered by all my Blood And Chaos, i turn over a new leaf. sure sure being lauded by the tieflings was fun and all, but i do somewhat regret not killing EVERYONE. i'll do better this time. this shadow-cursed hellscape is really vibing with me. it's also trying to eat me every time i'm not carrying a magic lamp but you can't win 'em all. i pretend that i'm with the antagonists (can you call them villains when I'M the villain?) so i can get their lamp. it's carried by a drider who does not appreciate my sincere compliments about how beautifully fucked up he is. his loss, i'm down to fuck anyone. i'm already fucking a githyanki and a vampire spawn.

when i get to the Big Bad Tower where supposedly they'll know about my tadpole, i discover they know something WAY MORE IMPORTANT: who the fuck i am. everyone here recognizes me. no one will tell me anything. several of them are appropriately terrified. this is infuriating but also promising. the Big Bad is a smug dick and i want to eat his heart raw. i daydream about this.

my butler arrives to tell me if i murder a Special Girl i'll get a treat. i like treats and i LOVE murder so i go looking for her. she's maintaining a Magic Selenite Moon Shield over the single not-shadow-cursed place here, which i hate on principle-- also it's a harper outpost and i hate them too, they'd probably disapprove of murder. some rando minion with wings drops in to tell me the Big Bad of the region wants to kidnap her (ALIVE, he specifies) so obviously i now double want to kill her. i kill her in one round. the magic shield collapses. EVERYONE dies (including the tieflings i saved in act one! full circle.) and then i kill their shadow-cursed undead corpses again, for good measure.

my treat is getting to turn into the slayer. i KNEW i was a bhaalspawn.

behold my true glorious visage. (with blep.) my only complaint is that i can only become this hulking death machine once per long rest. it is, however, not a turn-limited form, i can stay in it Forever if no one kills me as long as i'm willing to Just Murder No Talking. also it has a spectacular ladder-climbing animation, this bitch goes down ladders face-down like a lizard, i love him.)

anyway i don't go back to the Big Bad Tower bc presumably they'll be mad about the dead girl (i'm guessing she's Big Bad's dead daughter miraculously resurrected. i'm totally right by the way.) but the last time i was there i got a quest to find the Big Bad's Relic, which is obviously his phylactery or something since he's got a whole death aesthetic-- after a whole Temple of Shar sequence it turns out his phylactery is a captive aasimar actually. my companion wants to murder her for shar-related reasons, so i give her the go-ahead since i don't have any SPECIAL reason to kill her myself. my companions should get to be evil occasionally too.

with his phylactery dead, it's pretty easy to mow through the Big Bad Tower, especially since i can now turn into the Death Machine. i don't have to talk to anyone here. i can Just Murder.

nearly kill the Big Bad but he flees to his basement, where it turns out there's an mindflayer colony, big deal, we've all got tadpoles in our brains (i've been eating other tadpoles for extra power along the way, because of course i have) okay fine it's a slightly big deal bc there's an elder brain here that my Special Mindflayer Friend is shielding us from whatever. it's under the control of the Big Bad who's death aesthetic turns out to be that he's the Chosen of Myrkul, and also here are reps of the other Dead Three, Bane and My Daddy. i hate bhaal's chosen on sight, as is traditional for a bhaalspawn. i will murder her someday. i will murder her SO GOOD.

unfortunately she and the baneite fuck off with their elder brain to lay siege to baldur's gate while i'm daydreaming about it, so for now all i get to murder is Big Bad Myrkul Edition. moderately satisfying. he turns in an Avatar of Myrkul in the second half but i destroy him so quickly he doesn't even get to regenerate with the hojillion corpses in the area. nobody murders like vexation.

off to baldur's gate to save the city/get bigger hunting grounds!

i do cure the shadow curse on my way out though, because i'm never coming back and i've left the place a blighted wasteland, why not, it gets me a pet druid.

there's also some drama with githyanki and vlaakith, as usual, turns out the Rebel Prince Orpheus is actually how my particular mindflayer (who is finally revealing that he's a mindflayer, a thing i have suspected all along because of all the psychic shit he does) is doing the shielding, etc. etc. also i let my mindflayer boyfriend turn me in a half-illithid, which means i get no tentacles but a BUNCH of new mindflayer powers to make me an even better murderer. can't wait to see who wins in the tug-of-war for my mind, body, and soul--the illithids, my great old one beyond the stars, a devil who keeps trying to get my attention, my vampire boyfriend who wants to ascend to vampire god, or Murder Daddy. my bet is murder daddy.

anyway we get to baldur's gate, where i break in bc i don't want any guards to know i'm here-- just jumped and flew my way up the side of the bridge past the checkpoint. easy peasy now that i have illithid flight powers on command no cooldowns just Psychically Levitate wherever i want to go. also i can turn into a displacer beast. that's right, i now have to option to become TWO DIFFERENT terrifying horror beasts and rip through mobs like papier-mache. my patron really needs to keep up, warlock powers are falling behind. (no they aren't, i've hit level 10 and can now eldritch blast three times in one round and every hit knocks enemies back and terrifies them. i'm gonna chew this city up and swallow it one bite.)

however, first thing when i get into the citadel: the baneite is being coronated Archduke, bc of course he is. so i head up to see if there's a chance to murder him and a room full of peers, BUT. for the first time EVER-- this little shit is willing to tell me Who I Am. Assassin of Bhaal, former high priest of His Temple, and ONE OF THE INVENTORS OF THIS CONQUEST PLAN. that little bhaalite chosen is my bhaalspawn sister (obviously) who fucking tadpoled me, gave me amnesia, and discarded me before making sure my corpse was cold. this will be a mistake! FOR HER.

in the meantime the baneite wants me to know that he is a big fan of mine, would i like to murder my sister since i already murdered the myrkulite, and then he and i can rule this city together with an iron grip and a blood knife, since he's sure he'll have a lot of use for an assassin as a tyrant. mind-reading and my brain-illithid agree that he is actually on the level about this, at least for the moment, so of course i agree. i will rule this city. and then i will murder him. and then i will murder EVERYONE. in THE WORLD.

so now i'm hunting the current chosen of bhaal so i can kill her and steal her place-- my butler is sending me divine visions of it, SHE can't turn into the slayer, i am evil daddy's favourite. she's also kidnapped one of my companions and is threatening to kill her if i show up but i care about that less.

and that's where i am so far! will report on Future Evils.

[1mnobodywhoareyou]

'What would your rather find living in your attic? 1000 roaches or one person?' for Sunset Curve because you know they would all have strong opinions. Plz and thank you!

This spiralled completely out of control 😅 i... have no idea who is going to be more surprised at the turn this took. I never saw it coming. though, in hindsight... Maybe I should have.

“Okay, next question: ‘What would you rather find living in your attic? A thousand roaches or one person?’” Reggie asks, reading from the card in his hand.

Alex groans, “I need more information!”

“That’s not how the game works, Alex. Rapid-fire,” Bobby explains. 

“The only rapid-fire my brain does is worst case scenarios.”

“A thousand roaches,” Luke chimes in, more cheerfully than is probably appropriate. 

Alex’s face screws up in disgust. “Why?”

“You just gas ‘em out and clean them up and they’re gone, right?”

“I don’t fucking know.”

“I’d rather a person,” Bobby declares.

“Okay, but is it a stranger or a person you know? Are we ALLOWED to remove them or do they have to be there eternally? At least we know they’re alive, I guess.”

Bobby throws his hands into the air, “It doesn’t matter! Just pick one!”

“Maybe I’m in your attic, Alex,” Luke teases, leaning close to get into Alex’s personal space. 

Alex pushes his face away. “Ew, gross. Stay away from my attic.”

Reggie giggles, “That’s what she said.”

“That doesn’t make any sense!” Alex cries. “This game isn’t any fun, can we do something else? Please?”

“Truth or dare?” Reggie suggests.

Alex rolls his eyes, “We know everything about each other. It’s just dare. And you know I don’t like those.”

“Never have I ever!” Luke proposes.

“Dude, what did I JUST say?”

A nervous laugh escapes Reggie. He quickly claps a hand over his mouth but is too slow. All three of his friends turn to look at him.

“What?” Bobby asks. 

He shakes his head. “Nothing,” he mumbles from behind his hand. 

A teasing grin takes over Luke’s face and he crawls toward Reggie. “You have an idea!”

“No! Nope. Nuh uh,” Reggie says, shaking his head vigorously. 

Luke reaches out to grab Reggie’s wrist. He tries to pull Reggie’s hand away from his mouth but is met with more resistance than he expected.

“C’mon, Reg! What is it?”

Bobby eyes Luke and Reggie intently. “It’s just us, man. It can’t be that bad!” Bobby assures him.

Luke finally manages to wrench Reggie’s hand away from his face.

“Just tell us,” Alex pleads. 

“What, do you want us to kiss you or something?” Luke asks cheekily. 

Reggie’s face turns bright red and the grin on Luke’s face grows. 

“No,” Reggie mumbles, staring at the floor. 

“You do!” 

Alex and Bobby share an apprehensive look. Alex has been out to the band for a while now but nobody else has ever said anything about being anything other than straight. But if there’s something they know with certainty, it’s that Luke will do anything for the bit.

Luke looks at Alex and then back at Reggie, “Do you want Alex to kiss you?”

Reggie raises his eyes to look at Alex, quickly averting his gaze again.

“Or is it Bobby?”

He repeats the motion. 

“Or…” Luke crawls impossibly closer, “me?”

Reggie squeaks. 

“Luke! Stop. Be nice,” Alex chastises him. He reaches out to grab Luke by the arm, pulling him away from Reggie.

Bobby takes Luke’s spot in front of Reggie. Though he maintains a respectful distance. He dips down to catch Reggie’s gaze. 

“Hey,” he says gently. “It’s okay.”

Reggie lifts his head up to acknowledge Bobby. “Yeah?”

Bobby shrugs, “Yeah. I mean, I don’t get it, but you can want to kiss whoever.”

“I want to kiss so many people,” Reggie admits quietly. 

“There’s nothing wrong with that, you know,” Alex chimes in from where he’s sitting. He’s still got a solid grip on Luke’s arm, holding him in place. 

Luke shakes Alex off with a glare. Or at least his best attempt at one. Alex somehow manages not to laugh.

“I’d kiss you if you wanted,” Luke offers. 

Reggie’s eyes widen as he looks up at Luke. “Really?” he asks excitedly. His blush deepens. He puts a hand on each of his cheeks to feel their warmth. “Really?” he asks again, keeping his voice level.

Luke nods, “Yeah.”

“Okay.” Reggie’s voice is small but he maintains eye contact with Luke. Bobby moves out of the way as Luke crawls back to where he’d been before. 

Luke brings his hand up to cradle Reggie’s face. He looks down at Reggie’s lips and then back up at his eyes. “Do you just want like a peck or…” he trails off, suddenly uncertain. 

Reggie doesn’t let the uncertainty linger, leaning forward to press their lips together. 

Luke kisses him back almost immediately. His hand shifts from Reggie’s cheek to the back of his neck, pulling him closer. Reggie’s hands find their way to Luke’s waist, causing Luke to jolt slightly at the skin to skin contact. 

Reggie laughs into their kiss but doesn’t break it until Bobby’s cough startles them both. 

Luke pulls away from Reggie and looks back at Bobby. “What? You want a turn?”

Bobby’s face turns an uncharacteristic shade of red. 

“Well, c’mon then!” Luke reaches out for him and pushes him in front of Reggie. 

Luke looks at Reggie. “I mean, if you wanted it too,” he clarifies.

Reggie simply offers a small nod.

“Well, alright then!” Luke says. “Get to it. Then it’s my turn.”

Bobby chokes slightly but lets Reggie pull him in for a kiss of their own. 

“You next?” Luke whispers exaggeratedly to Alex. 

Alex gapes at him, eyes wide. He stammers for a moment and Luke grins. 

“I’ll take that as a yes, then.”

“You’re not the boss of who Reggie kisses,” Alex hisses at him.

“Yeah, well, maybe I should be. It’s working out great!” Luke directs a pointed look Reggie and Bobby’s way.

They let the pair get lost in their makeout session for a few minutes before Luke lets out an obnoxious cheer. Bobby and Reggie startle apart, both directing glares Luke’s way. 

Luke pushes Alex toward Reggie. “Alex’s turn! And I want to kiss Bobby.”

“Maybe I don’t want to kiss you,” Bobby counters.

Luke scoffs, “As if. I’m an excellent kisser.”  

“You’re a pain in my ass.”

Luke smirks, “I could be.”

Bobby rolls his eyes but switches places with Alex. They watch as Alex gently pulls Reggie in for their kiss. 

“Sexy, right?” Luke whispers. He looks up at Bobby who’s still watching the others. He laughs lightly as he straddles Bobby’s lap. The sudden contact startles Bobby and he stares at Luke. 

“What are you-?”

“Let me kiss you? Please?”

Bobby sighs. He winds his hand through Luke’s cutoff and onto the small of his back, pulling Luke closer to him. “Fine.”

A cocky grin takes over Luke’s face. Bobby rolls his eyes before firmly planting his lips on Luke’s, wiping away the self-assured expression. He kisses Luke deeply, relishing in the moans that escape. 

Both couples pull apart to breathe within moments of each other, gasping for breath. 

“That was…” Reggie starts to say.

“Yeah,” Alex agrees breathlessly. “That is NOT where I expected tonight to go.”

Luke chuckles, “Can’t say I’m mad about it”

“Should have done that ages ago!” Reggie enthuses, looking between his friends. His face crumples up in concern when his gaze reaches Bobby. “Wait! Alex hasn’t kissed you two yet!”

Bobby puts his hands up, “It’s okay, I don’t-”

“Do you WANT to kiss Alex?” Reggie asks. 

“Well, I…”

Luke looks at Alex, “Do you want to kiss Bobby?”

Alex’s face turns pink. 

“Go on then. Or I am.”

Bobby rolls his eyes and pushes Luke off his lap. He settles in front of Alex, pecking him on the lips before pulling away.

Reggie’s face falls. “That’s all?!”

“Yeah, I’m good,” Bobby says.

“So not into it,” Alex agrees. “No offense,” he directs at Bobby.

“None taken.”

Luke’s bouncing on his toes, somehow still balanced in a crouching position.

“Can I kiss Alex now?” he asks impatiently. 

“God, you’re so needy,” Bobby groans. He moves away from Alex and lets Luke take his place. 

Luke hastily pulls Alex into a kiss. As it deepens, Reggie whimpers from behind them. 

“Oh!” Bobby exclaims with realization, “You haven’t gotten to watch yet.” A grin to rival Luke’s spreads across his face. He moves to sit beside Reggie. “What’s better?” he whispers knowingly.

Reggie audibly swallows and Bobby chuckles. “Both. I like both.”

[blackjackkent]

(Jarringly, if you go straight to a long rest from Gortash, the game forgets about all the Karlach drama and she's all like "HEY! ^_^" when you go to chat with her, but then the next morning she has an exclamation mark over her head and is plot-appropriately sad again. As I mentioned in that drabble earlier, I'm just leaning into this and deciding that Karlach basically didn't come back to camp all night, wandering around the city and finding someone private to cry/process/scream at the sky. Hector, meanwhile, lies alone in their tent and has an incredibly unsettling interaction with the Emperor and his own meltdown.

So we will say this is the next morning, with a slight tweak to Karlach's opening line to reflect this.)

"Hey, Soldier. I'm back..."

The sun has barely crested the horizon when Karlach comes wandering back into camp. Hector is the only one awake, having given up on trying to get any rest an hour or so earlier; he's sitting next to the campfire with a mug of tea and staring into the flames; the raw emotion of the night before has faded and he's conscious only of a sort of empty hollow feeling in his chest.

But empty as he feels, the warmth that floods him at hearing her voice is unchanged. He looks up with an involuntary slight smile, meeting her gaze in the morning half-light, though his eyes still hold something of the haunted look that he's had for the last two days.

"I've been worried about you," he says, and his voice is ragged but steady. "Are you all right?"

She smiles slightly and walks over to sit down next to him, putting a hand gently on his knee. "Yeah," she answers. "Despite my best efforts." She manages a soft laugh; it's shaky but sends light through him anyway. "I kept trying to flop over and give up, but Karlach just wouldn't let me."

He feels a little tug of a smile at his lips in response. She really is the strongest person he's ever known by far - even when everything feels so terribly dark, even when she is so beaten down that it seems impossible to rise, she is still always looking for something to smile about, something to hope for. Even when the world hasn't deserved her good opinion of it.

He puts his hand over hers, and she shifts to interlace their fingers together; he feels the familiar steady pulse of heat through her palm and it soothes him a little in spite of all the things it implies. "Did I miss anything important?" she asks softly.

He shrugs. He wants to tell her about the Absolute's scream in his brain, about the Emperor's taunting in the Astral Plane... but what good would it do? It changes nothing and would just make her feel worse. "Not really..." he says quietly. "But I missed you." He lifts her hand and presses his lips against her knuckles.

"I missed you too." A long pause. She looks at their interlaced hands against his mouth, and her throat convulses around a sharp swallow. "You know, I wouldn't have bothered falling in love with you... if I'd known saying goodbye would be so hard." She tries to laugh but it doesn't quite come out.

He looks back into the fire, lets out a heavy breath. He knows the right thing to do would be to joke back, to show her that he is being strong, that he is ready to play this the way she wants to, no matter the cost. But he doesn't quite have the strength in him just now. "I know what you mean," he says softly. The tears are gone; he won't break, he won't cry. But the words are as empty as he feels. "I'm scared of you leaving me behind..."

She gives a sharp shake of her head, and her grip on his hand tightens abruptly. "I don't want to leave you behind," she whispers. "Not ever." A long pause. Her eyes close, squeezing out reality for a moment. "If I had my choice, we'd do it all together. Life - a long life. And then we'd slip away one night... side by side... wrinkled and grey, warm in our bed..."

The ache that rises in his chest at this mental image is almost more than he can take. He tries to take a deep breath and feels it catch in his throat. Gods... I would do anything... anything to wake up next to you for the rest of my life...

"But that's not in the stars for us, my love..." She leans sideways against him, rolls her head so her face is pressed into his neck. "Ours is a short story with a few good twists... and a banger of an ending..."

He wraps his arm around her shoulders, pulls her fiercely against his side. "Karlach..." He hesitates. He knows the answer already, before he even asks it... but he can't help himself, one last try... "Would you ever consider going back to Avernus? Just for a while, just to buy yourself more time?"

He knows why she won't say yes. He knows, even, why it's right that she not say yes. But he has to ask... just one more time...

"No," she says at once, muffled into his neck. "I can't. I'd rather die here in Faerun -- my home -- than live in service to a devil."

He nods slowly, his cheek rubbing against the top of her head. "I understand," he mutters. And he does. He wishes he didn't; he wishes he were a more selfish man, who could demand she think about him and not herself. "I just... wish there was another way..."

"So do I," she mutters. "I've done the calculus a hundred times. There's no permutation I can find that doesn't end in me dead, or wishing for death..." Her arm slips around his waist, her fingertips dusting over his hip, his arm, his upper thigh. "This is it. This is all we have. Each other, and all the moments we have left..."

He says nothing, but turns his head to press a gentle kiss into her hair. For a long few moments they sit in silence, while the sun slowly rises over the camp.

After a while, Karlach stirs and speaks again. "Speaking of which... there's something I wanted to ask you..."

He grunts softly, questioningly.

"Will you stay with me? When it's time. For me to go..." Her voice is suddenly thick, hoarse with emotion. "I think I can do anything if you're there. Even die..."

His heart twists in his chest with the stab of grief that goes through him, somehow fresher than it has ever been. He squeezes his eyes shut and his arm tightens around her, crushing her into his side.

He wants to run, to run far away from all of this, from everything she is making him feel. It's not admirable, it's in fact horribly unfair. But nothing in his life has ever prepared him for what she is asking him for now...

Gods, what if I am not strong enough?

But what can he say, other than yes? How can he be anywhere but at her side, right to the very end?

"Of course, my love..." he whispers. "Of course..."

She draws an unsteady breath, lets it out heavily. He can feel some of the tension go out of her as she sags into his side. "Thank you..." she says softly.

A long pause that seems to hang heavy with all the feelings they have no words for.

When she finally speaks again, her tone is lighter, though he can hear the effort behind it. "Now. Enough tragedy. I'm not gone yet. And our schedule is packed with important heroics, isn't it?" She laughs shakily. "Plus, if I cry any more, I'm going to run out of tears and start leaking motor oil."

She sits up, not pulling from his embrace but turning in it a little so that she can cup her palm against his cheek and kiss him-- soft, slow, lingering. "Thanks for everything, darling," she mumurs, and rests her forehead against his. "I love you. A lot."

[yeehawbvby]

Falling Away With You | Ch. 34

Sebastian x F!Reader and M. Rasmodius x F!Reader

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Chapter Summary: You and Sebastian go on a date! You two mingle with some new and old friends, play some games, and adopt a son.

Author’s Note: Thanks to TheLastSaskPirate on ao3 for giving me the idea to add the fortune teller from TV into the story :D I’d love to hear your thoughts on her/the chapter overall!

Hope you enjoy, and take care x

Table of Contents + Work Summary

Check it out on ao3!

Prev | Next

Never having been to the desert, I’m amazed as we drive on Seb’s bike through Calico. There’s sand and dunes for miles upon miles, practically glistening under the moonlight. A pretty reminder that all sand is, is ground up minerals. 

The air is cool and stilled without the sun beating down. Not even many bugs around to liven up the atmosphere. The only semblance of life are the occasional merchants that line the road. Oasis – a large and very pink shop appropriately placed next to what looks like the most botanic and serene body of water you could ever come across in a fucking desert – wasn’t far from the tunnel connecting the countryside to here. 

There are a few cute traders set up as well. All of them are in carriages of sorts, with some type of animal loyally ready to pull when need be: Plenty of camels, a few horses, and some boars scattered into the mix. Takes every ounce of restraint in my body to not ask Seb to stop so I can go pet them all. I hope there are animals at the main event.

The Calico Night Market takes place on a plot of land that seems like it would be barren normally, much like the rest of the desert. There’s a roped-off area for people to park their vehicles on one side of the highway, while on the other is the bustle of tourists and passersby alike funneling in and out of the event.

At the entrance is a large black pergola, with vivid purple wisteria hanging between the bulbous lights strung across it. On either side are huge screens — the type you’d use to divide a room, when walls aren’t available — to hide everything from the outside. Once you pass through, the market has the energy and layout of a Gotoroan festival – or, at least like the ones you see in anime. Despite that, it still maintains the mysterious aesthetic I recall a Pelican Town Night Market having when I went as a child.

On-edge due to the amount of people here, I cling to Seb’s side. He slides a comforting arm through my own as we slowly walk past the tents and stalls, taking in everything this market has to offer. 

“You doing alright?” he leans down slightly to whisper in my ear.

I nod, smiling up at him. “Too many people, but it’s cool to see all this.” I look around a bit again, continuing, “I’m sure I’ll feel better once we actually, like, do something.” 

“I gotcha,” he agrees. “Why don’t we go play some games? I think I see some tents set up for it down that way.” Seb nods in the direction he’s describing, but I can’t see it for myself over the crowd. 

“Fuck yeah.” As we’re making our way to the new destination, I feel an ethereal tug. It’s a similar feeling to when I would first approach Magnus’ tower. “W-wait a sec.” 

We slow to a halt, so as to not knock anyone into us. “What’s up?” 

Not knowing how to explain myself, I peer around, trying to figure out where the aura is coming from first. I wonder if this is what Magnus means, when he says he can sense arcane energies… following the buzz that’s rattling my brain, my eyes land on a fortune teller’s tent. 

Huh.

“Can we check that out?” I ask Seb, pointing towards the psychic.

He shrugs. “Yeah, I don’t see why not.” He tilts his head. “I didn’t know you were into that kinda thing.”

I shake my head. With the hand that’s fidgeting with his sleeve against his bicep, I tighten my grip on the cloth. “Sorry to get all magicky right now, but I think whoever’s in there is trying to lure me over.” My brows furrow as I look up at Seb briefly. “I could be wrong, but I dunno. If it’s something important, I don’t wanna bail on them.”

Nodding, Seb responds, “No worries, do what you gotta do.” He grins at me. “It’s kinda sick that you’re getting so much more… in-tune with this stuff, if that’s the right phrasing.”

“Right?” I laugh. “It’s still surreal as fuck, but it makes me feel badass.”

As we near the stall, the fortune teller locks eyes with me. Agh. Making me feel weird. 

“Do you feel okay being involved, or do you wanna, like… I dunno. Wait somewhere, maybe…?” After a deep breath and some thought, Seb winces, “I’ll just check out the stuff nearby, if that’s okay with you.” 

I kinda wanted him to stay with me – I really have the heebie-jeebies, right now – but I’d rather not put him through anything he’s not keen on. “Okay,” I nod, offering a reassuring grin. “I’ll come find ya when I’m done.”

I leave a kiss on Seb’s knuckles, as he plants one against the crown of my head. Then, we depart.

I slow my stride as I approach the tent. Before I can speak, the psychic – I feel like I recognize her from somewhere – verbally observes, “I see you’re more harmonious with the elements than you appear, young mage.” 

Oh god. Straight to the point, huh?

“Uh–”

“Forgive me.” She smiles softly. Due to her blue, hooded cloak, all that’s visible of the woman’s face is her mouth. “It is rare for me to meet my kin so spontaneously. I find it quite difficult not to be enthusiastic at such an opportunity!”

“O-okay,” I stutter, sill recovering from having been fucking flashbanged by her. “Did you bring me here for a reason?” I hope that didn’t come out as rude as it felt like it might have.

Seemingly unbothered, she holds out her hands for me to take, nodding. I look back and forth between what’s visible of her face and her hands before cautiously placing my palms on hers.

“My name is Welwick, if you are not familiar already,” she explains, her voice slightly raspy, yet soothing and sweet. “I am an old friend of your mentor, Master Rasmodius.” 

Oh? 

“Given my connection to him, I sometimes foresee tidings of his endeavors. You, young mage, hold more significance in his life than you may expect.”

I blink, not knowing how to respond. “I-I mean,” my voice hushes a bit, “if you’re referring to, like, that whole soulmate situation, I know about that already.”

She gasps. “By the spirits!” What even are the spirits? Like, gods to elementals? “No, I was unaware of that prior to our meeting.” 

As a kid holding a lit-up balloon walks by behind me, I can make out some deep wrinkles around Welwick’s endearing, yellow-toothed smile. She must be fuckin’ ancient, if she’s (most likely) an elemental and has such visible signs of age. 

“Congratulations on being connected to your partner in time. Please pass on my regards to Master Rasmodius as well, if you will!” 

Oh god, why does it sound like I just announced a proposal or some shit? I feel my cheeks flush with embarrassment.

“O-oh, thank you, sure.” I shrivel into myself. “So, what do you mean, then? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“All I can reveal is that you must make the most of your training with the young master.” So vague…

Also, she’s definitely a super old elemental. It would be too weird to refer to someone who’s hundreds – maybe thousands – of years of age as young, otherwise. 

I offer a curt nod, smiling despite the confusion. All this just to tell me to keep up the good work, basically? Whatever. “I’ll do my best.”

It seems as though Welwick is getting ready to part ways with me, but a thought comes into my head. “Uh, can I ask you something, Lady Welwick?” She seems to like formalities, but it still felt weird to tack the “lady” title onto her name.

“I cannot guarantee an answer, but of course! Anything, young one.”

“I’m, uh… I’m an oracle, too,” I mutter, my eyes lowering to our hands, “But it’s new to me, and my visions seem to only come in dreams, so I never know what’s going to be real and what’s…” I shrug, “You know, just a dream.” I look at what’s visible of the psychic’s face again before asking, “Do you have any advice on controlling that sorta thing?”

She shakes her head, and I feel my shoulders fall. “Unfortunately, the arcane is brimming with disorder. There are magically imbued artifacts that may assist one in better honing their skills, but all other aspects are merely revealed with time.”

I tilt my head as I inquire, “Where can I get something like that?” 

A deep breath releases from the woman, before she stands from her stool. Her frame barely surpasses mine with her mild hunch, standing at maybe 5’3” or so. 

“Just a moment, please.” 

Welwick turns her back to me as she shuffles around in a chest further inside her set-up. She pulls out a small wooden box, and brings it back over with her. After casting a spell of some sort on the box— maybe to unlock it?— she opens it, presenting its treasures. 

There are two necklaces, one silver and one gold. The silver one has some sort of small, bioluminescent blue gem hanging from the chain’s center. The gold accessory has a ruby in the same place, glowing as if filled with pure lava. Several rings lay in the box too, all of which resemble the ones that Magnus often wears; thick and intricate bands, each with a large mineral encased in the middle. Finally, a set of earrings made of what looks like opal and silver lay in the box as well.

“I don’t often share such relics, but any friend of Master Rasmodius is a friend of mine,” she smiles. “Feel free to claim any one of them that you please.”

“Oh!” I shake my head, waving my sleeve-mittened hands a little. “I couldn’t do that–” 

“Please, I insist, young mage.” She holds up the bioluminescent necklace before adding on, “You seemed the most drawn to this one, yes?” 

She’s right, ugh. That thing’s fucking gorgeous.

Plus, it reminds me of those cute berries Magnus grew over the summer.

“Uh… yeah, but are you sure?”

“I’d be a fool to offer such things if I wasn’t! Here,” Welwick holds out the necklace to me. “Go ahead, try it on!”

I do as she says, clasping it around my neck. Almost instantly, I feel a pulse – similar to those I experience when spellcasting – course through my veins. Whoa.

“Let me pay you for it, at least,” I offer, twirling the intricately woven pearl-or-whatever between my fingertips as I admire the way it glows against my skin.

“My only wish is that we meet again.” I look back up towards her, and she continues, “I’ll be in your orbit once once more for the Stardew Valley Fair next week. Please, stop by!”

I nod, my smile widening. “Sure, of course.” 

After closing the wooden box and placing it somewhere beneath her table, she begins her goodbye. “I’ll see you then, young mage.”

Coming to my senses, I finally offer her my name. Why didn’t I do that earlier? 

After introducing myself, awkwardly apologizing, and thanking her again, I bid the old elemental my farewell. “See you soon, Lady Welwick!”

As I turn to begin looking for Seb, I peer down at the necklace again. I tuck it into my shirt to make sure it won’t get ripped off or something. Given how easily I’ve lost jewelry in the past, I don’t think I’ll ever remove this one on purpose… would hate for my carelessness to be the reason Welwick lost something so special.

I finally spot Seb after a few minutes of weaving through the crowd. He’s talking to two girls. 

One’s roughly my height and ghostly pale, with pastel pink hair that falls in loose curls just above her shoulders. The other is an inch or two shorter, with a brown – almost black – pixie cut, and warm hazelnut skin. They’re holding hands, and their opposite fists are occupied by some street corn they must’ve just bought.

As I approach, Seb locks eyes with me and smiles. Can’t tell what he’s saying, but he nods in my direction, prompting the girls to turn around. The pink-haired one smiles at me softly, looking nervous with her natural brown eyebrows upturned. The brown-haired girl practically beams, presenting as much more extroverted. 

Fidgeting with the strap of my fanny pack, which I have draped comfortingly across my body rather than around my hips, I smile at them before returning my gaze to Seb’s.

“Welcome back, baby,” he greets me, holding out a hand for me to take. 

I promptly weave my small fingers through his larger ones, smiling up at him. Feeling shy, I can’t say much. Seeming to understand, Seb provides introductions for us. 

“This is Scarlett and Sophia.” Oh! I’ve heard of Sophia! “Scarlett and Sophia, my lovely partner (y/n).” My heart flutters at how proudly he’s presenting me. 

“It’s nice to meet you two,” I manage to squeak out. God damnit, great first impression you’re making, lady.

“Likewise!” Scarlett smiles. Her voice has a little bit of a drawl that I didn’t expect to hear. She must be from Grampleton. “I heard you’re a farmer?” 

Seb already told them about me? I blush thinking about it; both with flattery and embarrassment.

“Mhm,” I hum. “I’m still new, though.”

“I’m sure you’re doing great!” I like Scarlett. Something about how enthusiastic she is makes me feel comfy. “I’m a farmhand over in Grampleton,” she adds, “but I travel out to Pelican Town sometimes when extra help is needed.” 

“Oh, that’s cool!” 

I debate asking Sophia if she has plans to come back too, given she has a whole vineyard waiting for her should she want it; but unsure if she wants me to even have knowledge of the things I do, I opt out. “What do you do, if you don’t mind me asking?” I ask her in lieu.

“I-I’m a cosplayer, for now,” she responds shyly. Her soft voice is super pretty, but it’s incredibly hard to hear. “I model, a-and make appearances at cons, and things like that.” 

I can practically feel the way my eyes gleam thinking about it. Being a pro cosplayer sounds hard, but it’s also so fucking cool oh my god?!

The four of us talk a bit longer, and I can happily say that it seems like Sophia warmed up to me by the end of our time meeting each other. When we split up, Seb and Sophia part with a long hug after exchanging their Discords. I guess he’s closer with her than he might’ve been with Scarlett in the past; we kinda just oddly stand on the side and watch with grins on our faces. 

Mine doesn’t subside as Seb and I walk together, hand-in-hand, towards our original destination. 

“Sorry about that,” he apologizes. 

“What do you mean?” I look up at him, and he seems to visibly relax when he sees that I’m happy. “They were great!”

“I’m glad you think so,” Seb laughs, squeezing my palm. “I was worried you’d be annoyed at me for taking time away from our date to focus on other people, or whatever.” 

“That’d be very shitty of me, considering I did the same.” I lean on his shoulder for a moment, but lift myself off when I realize how uncomfy it is to do that while walking. “I’m happy you got to see Sophia again. She seems awesome.”

“Me too…” Seb sounds like he’s getting a little choked up. I look up, and the man’s eyes are glossed over a bit.

“Whoa, what’s up?” I softly wonder aloud.

He smiles, his beautifully deep orbs focused on where we’re walking. Good call. I face forward myself, scooching a tad closer to him. “I’m just… really fuckin’ glad that she’s okay. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever get to talk to her again, ya know?”

I bring Sebastian’s hand up to my lips, pecking it. “After what Sam told me, I can imagine it probably feels good to know she’s doing well. I’m really happy for you.”

Ditching my hand, Seb drapes an arm around my shoulders and leaves a quick kiss on my head. “Not gonna be so happy when I kick your ass at that ring toss over there…” he mutters before fully straightening again.

I roll my eyes. “The way you can transition a conversation so easily is mind-boggling.”

“Gotta keep ya on your toes, babygirl.” Oh, that one’s new. Has me all flustered… “I’ve got a mind like a steel trap.”

“I don’t think that’s how you use that phrase—“

“I am a loose cannon.“

“Sebastian—“

I peer up just as he’s raising his opposite fingers to his lips. Placing his pointer against them, he hushes me. “Shhh.” He pets my head. Giggling, I swat his hand away from my scalp with both of mine.

When we finally approach the games, Seb and I try our hands at a few. Any that can be made into a competition becomes one. He won the ring toss, much to my chagrin, considering the shit he talked beforehand. The balloon darts worked out in his favor too. Ugh. 

I wound up beating Seb at a fake fishing game though, and winning a real fish by proxy. We had the choice between a goldfish or a betta, and knowing Cannoli is too curious for a fish to be safe in my house, the decision came down to Seb, who took the latter option. 

He chose one with beautiful, dangerous looking red scales and fins. Looks badass. He named it Gerard, after Gerard Way’s Danger Days-era hair… fuckin’ emo.

There was a conveniently placed stall selling pet supplies right next to the fish game, so we grabbed an absurdly overpriced bowl and some flakes to tide the little fella over until we can get him a bigger and filtered tank with proper food.

Not wanting to cause conflict in front of our new son (but more so being sick of the crowd), Seb and I gave up on trying to destroy each other in games. That brings us to now: we’re back at his motorcycle, sitting in the sand next to it and chatting over some coffee after having devoured a few taiyaki. 

“I didn’t really get a chance to ask, how’d your conversation with the fortune teller lady go?”

“It was, uh… it was somethin’.” I still don’t really know what to take away from it. “I think she was just excited to sense another magic-user in the crowd, more than anything. I wound up getting a cool gift out of it though!” I pull the necklace from beneath my collar, holding up the little stone for Seb to see. “Check this puppy out.”

“Oh shit,” he mumbles. “S’pretty. What’s it do?”

I shrug. “It’s imbued with potent magic, apparently. Can help me get better with controlling my visions, or some shit.”

“Does it, like… hurt?” my boyfriend asks, tilting his head. 

I laugh. “Felt a little weird at first, but it’s nothing painful.” I contemplate for a sec before offering, “Y-you wanna try it on?” 

After a short inspection, Seb nods, grinning at me. “Yeah, why not.” I take it off my neck, then secure it around his. His skin feels staticy for a moment, and we both flinch at the sensation. “Whoa, what the fuck?” he stammers.

“You alright?” 

“Yeah,” Seb reassures me, twirling the glowing gem around in his fingers similarly to how I did earlier on. “Just felt weird. I haven’t done anything like this in a long-ass time.”

“I wonder if that changes its effects at all.”

Seb shrugs, then takes the chain off and clasps it back onto me. Smirking mischievously, he says, “The thing’s probably confused, if anything… moving between so many necks in one day.”

“What a little slut, this thing is.” My voice drips with mock-disgust, as I sneer down at the jewelry. 

He takes a sip of coffee, then points at me with the same hand that’s holding the cup. “Ay, watch it (y/l/n).”

“Why? You think it’ll attack me?”

“You never know!”

“It’s alright, I can just fight it back.” I put my fists up, throwing a few air-punches Seb’s way. “I’ve got hands.” 

“Congratulations,” he mutters, before breaking into a giddy laugh. It’s contagious, and I lightly shove him by the shoulder. “Not in front of the child!” he warns, putting a protective hand near the pseudo-tupperware the fish is floating in. “We should probably get this guy home sooner than later.” 

“Yeeeah.” I sigh, frowning as I inspect the poor thing. It’s swimming in its own shit… if you can even call it’s mostly-stationary fin-flapping swimming. “I feel so bad for these little guys. Wanna take ‘em all home.”

Seb leans his head onto my shoulder. I can’t contain my smile at the simple action as I lay my cheek against his hair and wrap an arm around his shoulder, playing with his soft, raven locks. 

“At least Gerard’s got us to look forward to,” he mutters against me.

“Y’know, it’ll be a crime if we don’t decorate his tank to look like a desert, with spiders and shit.”

“I could probably get a little helmet or mask for him to hide in, too…”

“Holy shit,” I chuckle, “This fish is gonna be so rad. Our little Killjoy.”

“Hell yeah he is.” Seb picks up the container with Gerard and positions it in his lap, admiring the lil’ guy. “As long as he doesn’t croak before we get him home…”

I wince. “Fish from places like these do tend to die pretty quickly.”

“Yeah… At least we’ll be able to say we tried.”

[aforerime]

Despair poured in with the approaching gloam. Uraume sat in the corner of the forlorn building, suffocating in the dense, dusty air as they cowered from the strands of light that bled from crevices of the room. The extension of the city blurred into apocalyptic mystique, an appropriate environment for Uraume’s conflicted heart. They had known turmoil and loneliness their whole life, depressingly idling for their… the gaping maw in their soul plagued their memory, and whatever existed there became a blank slate.

Whatever had fled their soul left Uraume drowning. Their limbs ached, their brain churned in acid— their lungs burned for life with every breath, and oxygen could not satiate their desire. The helplessness, hopelessness, it all became noxiously numbing, threatening to nullify their existence.

Search for what has been lost.

They must see with eyes unclouded by ignorance , yet how could they venture when groping in the dark was all they had left? Uraume gripped at their robes, twisting the fabric in their hands. What meaning had filled them drained and left them as empty as their vessel. Uraume lowered their face into their knees and mourned in the silence of the abandoned city.

Sun rise and sun fall lengthened the days, and bound them to grieving the unknown. The void filled with sunstreams and speckled starlight above beckoned them to envision new potential, yet they failed to ascend their eyes, fearing the creeping unworthiness that ultimately crippled them.

A violent cry for help below the slanted building alerted Uraume’s senses. First movement in days, they stood from their corner and dragged their feet to the edge of the room that hung above the abandoned streets. Uraume spied through the crevice on the wall, blinded by the fleeting sunlight of dusk. Their vision adjusted and they saw the shambling man crawling from the brute that stalked him. The feeble man begged for mercy, sweet surrender to live another day. The brutish man uttered no words as he straddled the smaller man. Beastily, ghastly hands gripped the man’s head, and with a harrowing scream, blood splattered from the cranium. No remorse, no hate– solely unadulterated power tipping the scales. Uraume’s eyes widened as visions of a fox gnawing on an ivory rabbit, terror of the man who bought their body for future pleasures subdued their mind.

Unsullied vehement power manifested its foundation once more in the structure of their soul. Their existence persevered an eon through concrete strength. Uraume studied the brutish man, who cleaned the sanguine gore from his hands on the victim’s shirt and stood in triumph. He succeeded and his victorious spoils was to live. He was strong and the other was not.

Ebony brush strokes decorated rice paper underneath warm candlelight. They witnessed a vision that occurred an epoch ago, so antiquated yet unfiltered emotion blossomed anew in their chest. They leaned in to read the scribed and in their combined ages concurrently uttered what they read: ❝The weak are meat; the strong eat.❞

Uraume's eyes widened and they retreated from the crevice. The master’s golden call beckoned them to return to his side and they heeded. Renewed design manifested in their soul and they sought to chase the radiant lights that disgorged the forlorn room, leadening it with newfound hope. 

They smiled. Festering rime spidered from their spot, freezing the fulfilled room. They recaptured their purpose, and with it, their divine right to return home. Uraume’s joyous smile twisted to malicious intent. 

❝A worthy quarry for my Lord.❞

Those who once ate soon become meat, that is the golden law, the law they abide by. Uraume pushed the frozen, crumbling wall and untethered from their grief, opening their eyes to the warm, inviting sun. They sadistically stalked their new prey with their eyes, and with a chuckle they stepped off the side of the building.

Ceremoniously, Uraume laid the vibrant, red game across the roiling hot pot. They crooned a song of the ancients, notes riddled with pauses, welcoming the strumming biwa that serenaded within their head. Distant padding footfalls caught their attention, tempering their cadence until the sound of boiling broth filled the bedroom. The bedroom door slid open, and graciously, they turned to welcome their lord, bowing their head low to the ground.

❝I have returned, and with a meal befitting your palate and merit.❞ Uraume raised their body gracefully and turned to the portable stove that heated roared the hot pot to life. They served the cooked thin slices of meat into a shallow bowl and spooned the broth in. Then, returned to face their master, lifting the bowl for him to indulge.

❝What had ebbed with the tide remains lost... but what shored with the flow brought forth new vigor,❞ with growing smile they gazed up to meet their master's eyes, ❝and with new life, renewed purpose.❞

[aether-writes-things]

Pinned lmao

Hello! You can call me Aether :3 My pronouns are they/them primarily, but I also use he/him. I'm queer and make queer art.

I'm 21+, live in the U.S., and am married. Yes, my husband is my beta reader lmao, I love him sm

I'm nonbinary/transmasculine/genderfluid or some kind of bs like that. Labels are hard lmfao. Sense of self? We don't know her.

I write stuff. And things. Sometimes nsfw, but not all the time lol

Current works posted: 1 (not complete)

WIPs: don't ask atm lmfao

Fandoms I write for: Legends of Zelda / Original Links Meet AU, Marvel (sometimes, lol, the Deadpool and Wolverine brainrot has a vice-like grip on my brain rn and it's distracting me from other fandom...oof)

If you want to see me spew nonsense, just look for the tag aether yaps because I do a lot of yapping.

My works will be tagged as aether's stories.

I write both short and long form fiction. My AO3 handle is AetherWritesThings.

More randomness under the cut! (You can also find DNI related inquiries, more on fandom, and what kind of tags to block if you don't want to see certain types of works on my blog, as well as general content warnings for my non-adult/YA work.)

Backstory timeeeeeee

I've been writing fanfiction since the autism really started autisming back in 2010. Yeah, I've been writing fanfic for 14 years and I haven't had an AO3 until now. Sad innit lol (Also yes, I am actually autistic, amongst other brain problems lmfao) I started in a spiral bound notebook, writing Twilight Princess fanfiction by hand as a child.

I fell off the writing wagon in 2020, when my writing buddy and best friend ghosted me for being queer. Since then, I've done a lot of growing up, changing, and deep introspection. Besides learning how to handle my mental illness, I've also learned to take my time and enjoy the process of creation, rather than just slap something on a page and hate it for the rest of my existence. I've also learned that, sometimes, it's ok to put down the original work and just enjoy some self-indulgent fanworks sometimes!

I haven't gotten his permission to tag his account here, but my lovely beta reader is my very own husband, the only person in my life that I feel comfortable sharing my works with. (It's different if it's strangers on the internet or writing buddies, which I don't have anymore, lol) Shoutout to the hubby <3

I don't really do DNIs because I don't post anything that could be DNI-able. (And by that, I mean I will avoid posting or reblogging triggering or DNI-able content, such as political or deeply controversial content). Most of my works are intended for young adult audiences, but sometimes the ship brainrot seizes me and I make adult works as well. I will tag everything appropriately. If you don't want to see NSFW content, but still want to follow, feel free to just add jeepers that's smut to your blocked tags! That's what I'll tag any and all of my adult-themed works with!

General content warnings DO apply to my sfw content, so as I post / think of more, I'll add to the list here. Current Content Warnings / Trigger Warnings: violence, blood, medical procedures, emeto/vomit/illness (non-graphic, I am emetophobic lol), death, strong language

And some stuff just for fun!

I have two cats, both of them orange. They're so dumb <3. My favorite color is green. I have been in the Legends of Zelda fandom for going on 15 years now (I'm old). My favorite three Legends of Zelda games in descending order are Twilight Princess (ily Midna), Skyward Sword, and Wind Waker. I have also played Majora's Mask (ITS SO HARD), Ocarina of Time (screw the Water Temple fr), Phantom Hourglass, Breath of the Wild, and Tears of the Kingdom. Why do I feel like I'm missing some? Idk lol

Feel free to message me or ask me stuff! I should be posting some writing soon, so be on the lookout for more silliness.

Last Updated: 9-25-2023

[fintexeccoach]

Trading Psychology - The Crucial Principles

Many trying Forex merchants end up scared of joining the positions because of normal misinterpretation that Forex exchanging is excessively troublesome or surprisingly more terrible - a horrible game. This is truth be told false.

One more method for saying it would be that by applying a few extremely simple to carry out strategies, the Forex exchanging game could be easily won.

The way that I see it and all through my experience as a Forex mentor these procedures closely relate to the broker's outlook. I like to allude to these methods as Forex exchanging brain science. It has been said that exchanging brain science represents 90% of a merchant's prosperity. I view this as totally obvious.

In this article I wish to address a few of what I view as the main ideas that each Forex broker necessities to address. Applying these procedures will have a beneficial outcome in any dealer's general execution; completely understanding these strategies will make any merchant effective for life paying little mind to what the market does.

An effective trader psychology coaching generally exchanges with a pre-decided plan.

A broker that has fixed objectives and a strategy that is back-verified to procure reasonable returns over the long haul is many strides in front of a dealer that exchanges in light of hunches or a technique that has factors.

By having a strong and point by point Forex exchanging plan any merchant can know precisely exact thing is sensible to expect and unequivocally what to do constantly to accomplish these foreordained objectives. Likewise, by having such point by point plans one dispenses with faltering as well as the extraordinary greater part of 'shocks' that the market tosses at the person in question.

Passages are clear, stops depend on rules and reason and a leave system is set up. This is finished before an exchange is executed. That a broker should simply follow the arrangement realizing ahead of time that this plan is productive over an extended time. This implies that a particular exchange may be a failure, however by and large the triumphant exchanges will make up for the horrible exchanges and make money.

A fruitful merchant is focused

Since it is now so obvious what should be finished - get it done!

Sounds simple yet an excessive number of Forex brokers experience this to be a truly troublesome errand. I can guarantee you that it's not. Assuming that you have a decent arrangement that is back-tried and objectives that spur you being focused becomes simpler.

In time you will figure out how to really get a grip on your feelings and defeat imprudence. Albeit this is to some degree a test, I realize that you can make it happen - anybody can.

An effective Forex dealer follows a sound cash the board system

'There are striking brokers and there are old dealers yet there are no strong old merchants'. Forex dealers that don't keep cash the board guidelines lose everything. This ought to be essential for your Forex exchanging plan yet I compose it independently for good measure. Appropriate cash the executives rules are essential, don't disregard this significant issue and obviously be focused!

[seiyasabi]

Murder of Crows

(Here’s a Yan Crowley x Virg Fem Reader story :P The gender wasn’t specified, so I went based off of the game lol, and the MC is kinda viewed as female, so I’m sorry if this wasn’t what u wanted and if it sucked lol. 

Tw: !Noncon!, abuse of power!, !breeding kink!, nesting!, bird bastard behaviour!, !ovipositor?!, homie pumps eggs into u!, mentions of concussion which makes it had for you to get away!!!, kind of body horror bc he’s built like a bitch!!!!, etc.. 

Please proceed with caution!) 

Laughing in discomfort, you try to move away from the masked man, “I’m not sure what you’re doing, but I don’t think it’s appropriate, Headmaster,” Dire had lead you to a dark room under the pretense of finding a way to your home, only for you to stumble upon a massive heap of comfortable blankets and shiny trinkets. 

“There’s no need to be nervous, Little One. I won’t hurt you,” His tall form tries to approach you, but you back away from him. Your back is in the direction of the room’s locked door, leaving an opening for you to make a break for it, “I only wish to take our courtship a step further.” 

“There is no courtship, Headmaster. I’m sorry if I unknowingly lead you on, but I honestly want nothing to do with you. If it weren’t for me needing your help to leave, I’d never have approached you. You make me very uncomfortable.” 

He giggles at your words, seemingly unfazed, “Us crows do come on a bit strong, don’t we?” You don’t answer, continuing to back up towards the door, “But don’t worry, mating is fun for both parties! See, I even made a nest for you,” He motions towards the pile on the floor, “Your ovulation makes this the perfect time to breed, ensuring we’ll have many wonderful chicks.” 

“I’m sorry, but I need to go home. I’m sure one of the boys here has a sister that’s perfect for you. I really cannot stay any longer,” If he needs an incubator, there’s bound to be a good substitute. But, the bird-man just laughs in your face. 

“I can’t breed just any woman, silly!” I’m a flash, he’s standing before you, caging you against the metal door behind you. The fancy engravings on the door dig into the flesh of your shoulders, causing both fear and pain to plague your senses, “Crows mate for life, Little One, and I want you with me forever!” 

A cold sweat coats your body, as you shiver in fear, “I can’t be with you forever! I need to go home!” You try to shove him off of you, but it’s to no avail. All the large man has to do is push you harder against the thick door, causing you to arch away from the metal in pain. You’re certain that the flower design is now imprinted on your skin, “Get off of me! Find someone else-“ 

He grabs your face in one hand, practically halting all jaw movement with his harsh hold, the other still pushing you by the chest into the door. In a sing-song voice he cuts you off, “There is no one else, no one can compare to my Darling Mate,” One of your hands grip at his wrist, trying to pull him off of your face. He loosens his hold just enough for you to speak. 

“What do you gain? I have no magic ability, I’m not in perfect health, and I most definitely do not see myself being helpful to you in any way,” Once again, the bird-man giggles like a love-sick school girl. 

“There’s no need to be self conscious, I think you’re perfect,” He clearly didn’t understand what you mean, “Now, get in the nest, and I can show you just how much I adore you.” 

“I’m not getting in the nest, Headmaster! You told me you found me a way home! Let me go home!” His grip on your jaw tightens once more, but you’re able to punch at his unguarded upper half. You’re able to land a few good hits, causing the man to grunt in pain, before you’re suddenly thrown in the middle of the nest at full force. Your head hits the side of a gemstone covered box, blood immediately gushing from your wound. The entire experience jostles your brain harshly, making it hard to think or even see clearly. A whimper escapes your gasping lips, as you try to sit up. You find yourself unable to, which causes a blade of dread and fear to imbed itself in your tummy. 

“Now, now, let’s not get hasty. I didn’t lie to you- I found a way for you to get home! The moment you have a family, is the moment you have a home-“ The pumping of your blood throughout your body drowns out the rest of what he says, as panic sets in. You pathetically slap at the blankets below you, trying to move away from his approaching form, “Oh no, you’re bleeding!” 

His gloved hands wipe at the wound on your head, trying in vain to stop the bleeding. Nervous chirps escape his throat, as he sits you up, drawing a pained groan from your lips. He notices how glassy your eyes appear, showing that there’s something very wrong. But, Crowley can’t bring himself to tear himself away from your perfectly fertile pussy. 

This entire ordeal would be a lot easier if you can’t refuse, right? 

“Don’t worry, Little One, I’ll be as gentle as possible. Afterwards, I’ll be sure to have Trein take a look at you,” Grabbing a random throw pillow from the large nest, he rests your head on it, before moving himself between your legs. 

“Nu-no-“ You weakly refuse, “Sto-stop I-it,” It hurts to think, head pounding horrifically. You have a feeling that you’re severely concussed, so you try as hard as you can to stay awake. You’re certain that if you sleep, you’ll die. 

“Shh, let your Mate take care of you,” Dire pushes up your uniform’s skirt, exposing your modest panties. Mouth immediately salivating, he shoved his masked face into your clothed core. His mask rests over the area of your womb, as he takes long sniffs of your covered pussy, “Oh my, you smell absolutely divine! I knew that you were the one for me,” He licks over the cotton covering you, as you can only lay in shock. 

His hands clumsily unbutton your dress shirt, exposing your bra clad chest. His face refuses to leave your cunny, as he unhooks your bra, before he forces the sleeves of your coverups off of you. Your entire torso is bare for his prodding hands, which immediately find your nipples, pinching them between forefinger and thumb. Weak whines of discomfort and mild pleasure are heard throughout the room, along with Dire’s heavy breathing. 

He grabs your panties between his teeth, dragging them down your perfect legs, before he spits them into the nest surrounding you. His mouth immediately attaches itself to your ripe cunny, sucking on your pretty clit. He sucks and licks over your nub messily, wanting so badly to taste your yummy juices. 

In no time, his wants are met. Against your will, your pussy drips onto his tongue, causing the both of you to moan. Tears brim your tired eyes, as you begin to plead with him to stop, “Do-don’t du-do it, I-I’m a vi-virgin,” Your words slur together, but the meaning is clear. It’s like the bird-man’s body takes a screenshot, as he suddenly comes to a stand still. 

He removes his face from your throbbing core, trying to make eye contact with your fluttering orbs, “A virgin?” A creepy grin stretches across his lips, eyes flashing a bright gold, “You saved yourself for me? That’s wonderful,” He hooks a finger into your wet cunt, forcing you open, and causing you to whimper in discomfort, “You’re perfect, a perfect mate for me. Your womb will only know my seed, as the universe always intended.” 

It seems your pleas have fallen on deaf ears. 

His thumb rubs against your swollen clit, forcing his finger in and out of your inexperienced hole. His fingertip rubs against your g-spot triggering a loud whine to escape from deep within your chest. Your fingers twitch with the want of pushing him away, but your body refuses to move. 

He quickly forces a second finger inside, trying to stretch you as open as possible. His thick cock is too much for your tiny pussy to handle, but his need to pump you full with his eggs outweighs the worry he feels, especially when he hears you moan so sweetly. 

You wish so badly to close your eyes and fade away, but you know that it would be signing your death sentence. You don’t want to die while you’re being violated, you wouldn’t be able to rest peacefully. 

So, when you feel his wide, slick cockhead bump against your virgin hole, you can’t help but go rigid, “Don’t worry, Little Mate, it’ll hurt for a moment, but I promise I’ll make you feel good,” With that, he forces his way in. There’s a harsh resistance at first, your tiny pussy’s opening protected by your thick hymen. But, it’s not enough to keep him out. 

With one swift buck of the hips, Dire is fully sheathed in your previously unused cunny. A strangled scream escapes your lips, as the pain comes crashing down on you. Your mouth is twisted open in a pained expression, tears drip down your face, as Crowley tries to comfort you with lustful kisses on the lips. 

“Don't cry, I love you and your perfect pussy so much! I’ll fuck you nice and full,” His thumb rubs against your clit it fast movement, as he rests his heavy cock inside of your fluttering walls. 

His tip is directly at your cervix, practically digging into your womb. When he finally pulls his hips back, it feels like he’s ripping your pussy out of your body. 

You cry loudly at the feeling, but he continued to kiss and fuck you silly. Crowley gushes precum inside of you, trying to mix your juices together to make it easier for you. Luckily for you, it works. 

His constant rubbing against your clit and g-spot is enough to loosen you a bit, along with making you drip like a leaky faucet. 

You practically gush around his huge length, as he picks up the pace. He pushes your knees up by your shoulders, constantly battering your poor cervix. He grunts and groans at the feeling of your gummy walls, somehow falling even deeper in love with you, “You’re so perfect for me, accepting my cock so well. I just know that you need my chicks inside of you.” 

You want to say no or even shake your head, but you can’t. All you can do is lay there and hope to survive. 

Without warning, his tip rams harshly against your womb opening, pushing his fat tip through the thick ring of muscle. Another scream escapes your throat, as he forces his tongue into your mouth, silencing you. 

You can feel small lumps traveling up his length, effectively massaging your g-spot whilst he pinches your clit. You squeal, cumming around him, walls sporadically massaging his cock. 

The feeling of his eggs plopping in your womb is a weird one, making you feel bloated and full. He gathers your knees with one hand, before resting the other on the area above your womb. He can feel his young inside of your perfect body, which makes him moan into your mouth. 

More tears drip down your face, as more and more eggs fill you to the brim. It feels like a century before he stops laying them inside of you, basking in the feeling of your tight cervix around him. 

Removing his mouth from yours, he smiles down at your crying face, “You look so pretty like this- bred full, your entire body accepting me,” he bucks into you, groaning at the feeling, as your face screws up in discomfort. He’s still rubbing and pinching at your clit, as he cums inside of you. His thick, fertile sperm coats your gummy walls and the eggs inside of you, effectively sealing your fate. 

He moans prettily, you note, as you finally start to drift off. Your mind feels like goo, you’re most definitely pregnant with your rapist’s baby, and your entire body feels like it was set on fire. Maybe death would be preferable, after all. 

Noticing your declining state, Crowley starts to panic. Did you really get that hurt from falling? 

Standing to his feet with you still balanced on his cock, he grabs a random blanket from your nest, and runs to find an unsuspecting Trein. 

He won’t let you die. 

Crows mate for life, and the two of you still have a long one ahead of you. 

[parkers-gal]

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMeHva3Te/

This could be so good with Tom. Imagine you’re shopping with the boys as well 🤍

stop 😭 😭 he’d get so flustered bye

( for those of u who don’t wanna watch the tiktok, it’s captioned “when your boyfriend wears sweats to target so you try to get him hard at every chance u get” )

(that being said, this is a warning for major boners & boner related talks, lol)

wc: 1.3k

—

A quick trip to the supermarket meant neither you nor Tom (or any of the other boys, for that matter) bothered with changing into appropriate clothes. You basically went in your pajamas — for you, that meant Tom’s hoodie and flannel pants. For Tom, however, that meant his favorite jumper, a beanie, and a sexy pair of grey sweatpants.

Tom sits beside you in the driver’s seat, once again debating with Harry if the house needs another set of ridiculous pots for the backyard garden. It’s been an ongoing debate of “we need fairy-themed ones!” to “the ones we have are perfectly fine!” You’re not sure if you should get involved at all.

A buzz in your pocket alerts you that someone must have texted you, so you pull your phone out. In a text, your friend had sent you a TikTok and added her own message.

aisha: this is so something u would do

Intrigued, you tap on the link. It successfully takes you to the app, and after impatiently waiting, you watch as the girl in the video teases her boyfriend in various places in the supermarket. You smirk to yourself, glancing up to make sure nobody else has managed to see what you’re viewing on your phone. Quickly, you save the video and text your friend back.

you: im so doing this. we’re heading to the store now. i’ll update with the vid soon.

Not a second later, she responds.

aisha: you’re evil.

aisha: and i envy you

The next ten minutes go by in a blur. You figure out how to format the video and, after brief bickering between Sam and Harrison about who gets to sit in the cart, the six of you pile into the store.

You head to the produce section first. (You’re not sure why. Every single time, you tell them the delicate vegetables should be piled on top of everything else, meaning you attend to this section of the store last. It seems like nobody else cares about squished tomatoes, though.)

The boys split up; Harry and Tuwaine team up on the broccoli section, managing to get the gross Brussel sprouts Tom loves more than you. Harrison goes off towards the fruits and Sam stays put in the cart.

Tom manages to take control of where the cart is going and he parks in front of the barrel of onions. Sam holds open the bag while Tom picks and chooses the ones he wants. Pondering how to go about this, you finally decide to just go for it.

“Don’t get that one,” you interject, stepping forward. “Get this one, and the one over there.”

Tom nods, not thinking much about the situation. You decide to keep moving forward, but instead of going around the cart, you squeeze yourself in between the shelves and Tom, successfully rubbing up against his crotch. Faintly, you hear his breath hitch, and after walking away, you quickly turn around to see Tom. You’ve ducked from his view, but he’s staring at where you just were, exhaling deeply and trying to maintain his composure.

You know this “look” better than anything. Quickly, you whip out your phone and begin recording the first part of your TikTok. You snicker to yourself, watching as Tom sets the bag of onions in the cart and quickly puts his hands in front of his crotch. You’re knee-deep in your own laughter when Harry and Tuwaine curiously come up to you.

Hastily, you shut your phone off and shove it in your pocket, standing up straight and acting as normal as possible.

“What was-”

“Nothing. Did you guys get the lettuce?”

“Yeah…” Harry trails off suspiciously. They decide to let it slide, and the three of you make your way back over to the cart.

“We done here?” Tuwaine asks. Murmured yes’s float around and the six of you leave the produce section and head off to the pharmacy section of the store.

“Do we need more toothpaste?”

“No, but we need more floss.”

“Ugh. Mouth stuff,” Harry groans.

You step closer to Tom, phone in hand, and you lean close to his ear. “Maybe we could do some mouth stuff later.” You whisper.

Tom’s eyes go wide and he looks at you in shock. You wear a proud smirk and grip your phone tighter, leaning close to him again and getting ready to record his reaction. “Y’know? Maybe I could suck your-”

“Stop it, Y/N,” he says firmly, eyeing you. You shrug in response, still wearing a proud smirk.

“What?” You say innocently.

Tom gets desperate and, after a few seconds, puts his hands on his knees for support — and paints it as if he’s leaning down to look for something on the shelf.

“Tom, mate, you good?” Harrison asks.

Tom looks up, exhales harshly, and nods. “Yep,” he stands, waddling off to another part of the aisle where you record, away from everyone else.

“What are you doing?” he whisper-shouts at you, still somewhat leaning on his knees.

“Nothing, daddy,” you say innocently. His eyes widen and he groans again, this time looking up at the ceiling in despair.

“Whatever game you two are playing, I really don’t want to be a part of it.” Harrison strides over.

“Yeah, you two have been acting weird all day. What’s up with that?” Sam asks.

You turn to Tom, teasingly clicking your tongue as a motivator for him to respond. “Yeah, Tommy. What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” he says through clenched teeth and a forced smile.

Harry rolls his eyes and moves the cart to the next aisle, the rest of the boys trailing behind him. You and Tom linger a little longer.

“What’s on your mind, Tommy?”

“Nothing,” he seethes, leaning over again to conceal any bulge that may be visible.

“Oh yeah,” you stroke his cheek with a giggle before running a hand through his curls. “What’s going through that big brain of yours?” He only eyes you, and you bite your lip. “Something dirty?” You whisper.

“Y/N,” he drags on, whining.

“What?”

“Why are you doing this to me?” He squeezes his eyes shut.

“What?” You whisper back. “It’s not my fault you’re thinking of fucking me.”

“Jesus Christ love,” he goes back into his leaning position. You giggle again, being another recording for your tiktok.

“Shouldn’t have worn sweats,” you say quietly. “Why did you wear sweats?”

“Because I’m stupid,” he groans an “ugh,” and wipes the sweat off his forehead. “I’m a div, that’s why.”

You chuckle again, “Yeah, you are.”

“You’re evil,” he looks up. “And you’re recording this! I can’t believe you.”

“What?” You tease. “Not my fault you’re hard.”

“Yes it is!” he gasps, locking eyes with you. “Is that why you’re teasing me? Is this another one of those tickey clock things?”

“What?” You laugh in bewilderment, looking at your boyfriend as if he’s crazy.

“You know what I mean! Those- those prank your boyfriend videos!”

“...Yes…”

“Y/N!”

“Sorry!” You exclaim with a smile. “It’s just fun to see you all flustered for me,” you run a hand through his hair, and he eventually stands straight, successfully calming himself down. “You good?”

“Mhm,” he nods at you, reaching for one of your hands.

“Good,” you smile with a glint he almost recognizes.

“What’re you-”

“Let’s go to the lube section.”

“Y/NNN!”

[moonrazeeclipse]

Day at the Amusement Park.

The last time I went to an amusement park was when I was 12 years-old. My memories have been mostly shaky, but what I can remember was the happiness and joy I felt with my mother and father.

It’s been tough for me to have fun these days. Being a 23 year-old working a typical nine-to-five shift made it difficult to have time for myself. Stressed about the quotas, the numbers, job stability, and everything else in between. Good sleep has eluded me for months.

Then I look at my girlfriend, Nicha, and my hope has never been brighter.

Ah, Nicha. Everyone else knew and recognized her as Minnie, but the closest to her called her by her real name. If I thought an average office job was a grindfest, then hers was a gauntlet. Idol life meant she had to be up as early as 3 A.M. and she’d run through several sets of makeup, practice, interviews, and appearances. During one of her off days she and her members visited my building while I just so happen to be on coffee break. One funny stare and the next thing I knew, we were hiding our relationship from the whole world.

No matter how exhausted she got, she kept that same positive, happy energy as if she had unlimited battery life. Each occasional glance as I drove to the old amusement park, she was beaming, singing along to the songs on the radio, like she were a child. This was one of her rare off days where they didn’t have any schedules, so maybe that’s the reason why she’s extra joyful too.

The park itself hadn’t changed much since I last visited all those years back. The entrance looked rusted and devoid of any life or color. There seemed to be way fewer people visiting as well. Nicha offered to take me to that newer park with those virtual reality simulators, but I turned it down with a chuckle, saying that I wasn’t making enough money to spend a day there. Regardless, we entered the place, her hand holding mine, dragging me with the brightest smile on her face.

Whatever she wanted to do, I followed along. Nicha ran ahead of me, acting like a child and not a famous, recognizable idol. Being around me must be freeing for her; she could be herself when I’m with her. None of the rides were renovated or refashioned, which gave me that nostalgic feel. Because there weren’t that many visitors, waiting only took less than ten minutes for each ride. Despite my motion sickness, I powered through the first roller coaster without a problem. The second one? I recalled hurling up minutes after getting off that one as a child. Nicha screamed her heart out on the first coaster, but was overcome by fear on the second. She leaned into my chest while I was fighting every urge not to puke mid-ride. I sought a barf bag once we got off, making her laugh.

“Ahaha! You look hilarious!” Nicha mocked.

“Why are you gloating? Don’t act like you were hiding your face on my chest.” I retorted. She blushed in embarrassment before pretending to run away. No matter how much she loved to make fun of me, I couldn’t get upset. Her wholesome smiles made her a great person to hang out with.

Walking along the park, we came across a row of booths. These booths offered challenges in exchange for prizes. Dad won me a basketball as a reward back then. Even with age, one of the game masters somehow recognized me by my eyes.

“Hey, hey! It’s been a long time! You’re all grown now!” He said, calling my attention.

“Oh, hey. How did you recognize my face?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“You have your father’s eyes, that’s why! How’s he doing?” He changed the subject.

“Umm, great I guess.” I honestly didn’t know how to answer, since I haven’t spoken to him in years.

Nicha suddenly came in from behind and hugged me. The game master’s eyes lit up with excitement.

“Oh! Is this your girlfriend? Why don’t you step up and show her your father’s talent?” He challenged me on the spot. I sighed as Nicha moved right next to me. Her beaming eyes and bright smile gave me more pressure to do well.

I was poor at sports, so I wondered how bad I’d mess up at ring toss. I didn’t have deft hands like my dad, and I wasn’t practicing at all. I’m better with keyboards, I murmured under my breath as he gave me the rings. First toss. The ring hit the bottle. My eyes widened. Second toss. The bottle was a little more distant than the first. I threw the ring and to my surprise, it hit too. Shock drowned out my girlfriend’s cheers and the yell of the game master. One more ring, one more toss. The bottle was placed at a greater distance compared to the earlier ones. I was doing better than I thought, so maybe my luck would run out on this turn. I flung the last ring, and time seemingly slowed down as I released it from my grip.

One, two, three, four, five. Bingo.

Nicha hugged me in celebration. I made all three tosses as the game master applauded me. Wow. Honestly, that may have been divine intervention, considering how awful I am at these games. It must have been five minutes before I moved because I stayed frozen in place, unable to let my victory sink in.

“You do have your father’s genes in you after all! Go ahead and pick a prize.” The game master said, snapping me back to reality.

I turned to Nicha, implying that she could choose the prize. She took the hint and pointed at a gigantic brown teddy bear. The game master grabbed it from the shelf and handed it over to me. I gave the stuffed animal to her, and she buried her face on its belly.

“Aaahh it’s so fluffy! You’re really good at this, Minki!” She cuddled the bear as I just chuckled and waved goodbye to the game master.

The rest of our day at the park was just riding the rest of the attractions and eating an ice cream sandwich along the way. Nicha and I had so much fun together, refusing to let go of the teddy bear. The sun had set and nightfall came, and our time was almost up. But before we left, there was one more ride we hadn’t gone in. The ferris wheel.

The passenger cabins were suited for four people, so we hopped on one, including our stuffed animal. She placed the bear next to her as the wheel began moving. From where I sat I could see the bright lights of the highway, overlooking the specks of people thousands of feet in the air. Nicha looked out the window before turning to me, taking my hand.

“I’ve had so much fun with you today,” she said, caressing my hand gently and pecking it. “Thank you.”

I gazed into her eyes, gleaming brighter than the stars in the night sky. She stared back at me, looking at me the same way. Then something sprung in me to lock lips with her. Nicha sunk into the kiss, pulling me close and our tongues swirled with each other. She was sweeter and tastier than dessert. I cupped her cheek and she placed her palm on mine, running it across her face.

She broke the kiss and slowly spread my legs. I panicked a little because of the situation we’re in. Nicha feigned ignorance and unbuttoned my pants, pulling them down alongside my boxers.

“Nicha! We’re still in public, remember?”

“Your cock says otherwise,” she replied, slapping my hardened cock with her hand. “I’ve been missing you so much. I can’t help myself.”

She seized my balls, giving them a rub. “You’re full. You’ve been missing me too.”

I groaned as she kissed me from my balls, making her way up to my tip. Her soft lips felt so good on my shaft. She looked at me with widened eyes, satisfied with the pleasure she’s giving me. I slumped into my seat and closed my eyes, allowing the euphoria of her swirling tongue to override my brain. If that wasn’t enough, she added her sensual moans into her slurps, giving me tingles up my spine.

My hands flowed through her black locks, while the rest of my body just numbed in pleasure. I didn’t realize she took me in her mouth, hollowing her cheeks. Nicha bobbed her head back and forth, coating my shaft with her saliva. We didn’t care if anyone caught us in the lewd act. Nicha had her way with me and my body happily fell under control.

Pop. She released me from her mouth after blowing me off for a while. I was really sinking into that excitable feeling too. Appropriate timing too, as she finished up just as the car was about to reach ground level. I quickly buttoned up my pants as she pretended like she didn’t suck my cock leaving the pod.

We reached my car just as the park was closing, and she gave me a few pecks on the cheek. “When we get home, I wanna fuck you so bad.”

“Sure, baby. I’ll let you fuck me wherever you want.” The thought of her splayed body already riled me up and I couldn’t be any more excited to drive home.

I turned the key. Rough gruffs roared from the engine. Again. Gruffs. In frustration I slapped my hands against the steering wheel. The car couldn’t start. Fuck.

“I just had it checked last week,” I grumbled. It was second hand but I didn’t have any excuse. Nicha giggled. She was still smiling as she watched me suffer and curse my car out. Oh, no matter how terrible a day gets, you’re always the jovial one.

Conveniently there was a subway station nearby whose line started and ended at the park. We both got out of the car and decided to take the train home. Nicha still refused to let go of the teddy bear.

Entering one of the cars, we sat at the back end of the left row. All the walking wore our legs out, so I slumped down in my seat. Nicha set the bear at the corner chair before sitting beside me. Drowsiness began kicking in and soon enough, I fell into a deep sleep holding my girlfriend’s hand tightly.

I felt a sensation below my chest that woke me up. My eyes opened slowly, vision blurring my sight. I looked to my left and saw only the teddy bear. She probably went to the bathroom, I thought. I tried going back to sleep, but I felt that twitching in my stomach again. I looked down and to my surprise, my pants were on the ground. Nicha was on her knees, sucking my erect cock.

“Nicha! What did I say about doing this in public?” I whispered, trying to avoid causing a disturbance with the nearby passengers.

She responded by taking more of me into her mouth, making me moan with her humming sounds. “Mmph, I can’t help myself. Your cock rubbed on me as we slept.”

It took all of my willpower not to submit to pleasure, but I was able to scout the area. There weren’t a lot of people on this late train ride home, except a man wearing a business suit calling someone on his phone seated on the opposite aisle.

I slowly hopped from one chair to the next using the rail, keeping Nicha busy on my shaft without her letting go into it. My free hands lifted the stuffed bear from its seat and placed it to where I was sitting. The prized toy was huge enough to act as camouflage from unsuspecting train-goers.

“Yeah. Let’s discuss the business trip to Japan at the cafe. I’ll move up so you can spot me as I get off,” the man said as he stood up from his seat and trudged to the front.

I sighed a breath of relief, but that was only a temporary win. I looked below to see how Nicha was doing and my eyes widened. She stripped off her overalls as her bare legs were now exposed.

“Nicha!” I almost screamed, panicking at the situation she’d got us into. She giggles at my reaction before kissing my tip with her soft lips.

“While you were busy covering us up I took my overalls off. I really can’t wait for you to fill me inside.” She said matter-of-factly.

I groaned in annoyance but I couldn’t help myself. She was opening herself and I guess my patience ran out too.

“We still have a few more stops to go before our stop,” She added, stroking me with her fingers.

My psyche crumbled under her control again. I resisted her lips, but not her hands rapidly pumping my cock. I threw my head back and allowed the pleasure to jack my brain, grazing my hands on her hair again.

I must have drowned deeply to the delight of Nicha’s handjob that I ignored the dings and voice of the operator over the speaker indicating the train’s destination. My eyes, struggling to open, somehow caught a glimpse of a few new passengers entering the car. Quickly I bent over and took her overalls as well as my large coat and veiled my crotch. She continued jerking me off under the covers, eager to get me to orgasm. The commuters gave me either  weird or neutral looks as they walked by. I gave them a gaze of exhaustion, pretending as if I was ill. I just hope they didn’t notice the suspicious bulge below me.

Most of the travelers moved onto another cabin but some of them sat a few rows behind or ahead of ours. Thankfully none decided to sit in the same aisle as us. My hands, which were positioned on my lap, were grabbed by Nicha. She led it down to her clit and I felt her wetness. Even with some bush she was clearly dripping.

“Fuck me, please,” She whispered, each word laced with lust. “I’m so wet for you, babe.”

I hoisted her from the floor and she wrapped her legs around my waist as I rose for a minute before sitting down with her on me. I carefully lined my shaft against her crotch before burying my cock in her walls. She let out a lengthy, low moan as I started ramming into her tight pussy. My hands snuck through her shirt, pinching her taut nipples, making her squeal.

I could feel her juices cream my hair as I grinded back and forth, making sure she feels every inch of my length. One hand escapes her shirt to cover her mouth, preventing her from letting out wild screams. I pulled her face close to mine, her features indicating pleasure as our lips met for a shaky, passionate kiss.

As we continued making out my eyes caught a glimpse of a stewardess slowly making her way across the cabin, punching passengers’ tickets. I broke the kiss off and drove Nicha into my chest, bundling our bodies with her overalls and my coat. The attendant reached us, her formal smile shifting to a confused look at the weird image ahead of her.

“Oh I’m sorry, is she okay?” She asked matter-of-factly.

“Y-yeah. She’s just a little ill, so I’m warming her up, that’s all.” I answered, nodding repeatedly.

Nicha sold my act by freezing in my arms. I reached into my coat and pulled out two tickets. She punched them and smiled as she walked by, believing my lie.

My girlfriend looked me in the eyes, lust ridden over them. I squeal as her finger reaches my cock, still buried in her soaked cunt, stroking me off. Through the pleasant sensation I managed to keep my eyes alert, watching the passengers slowly leave one by one at the next stop. Now it was just the two of us in this cable car.

“We’re alone. Fuck me,” She said as the train started moving again.

Perhaps her eagerness drove me to thrust into her a lot faster than I thought. I rocked back and forth on the chair, drilling her with my shaft. Nicha closed her eyes and let the pleasure fill her, her mouth making a wide ‘O’ shape. At this point we ran out of care for our surroundings, made clear by our audible moaning. Her hands claw my nape and hair deeply, her slender figure bouncing up and down my lap.

The tightness of her pussy, as well as her soft, seductive moans made it hard for me to keep control. I was losing another round to her lewdness and this one would be the hardest of them all. I was all but ready to climax, only slowing down my pumps to keep the euphoria last longer.

“F-fuck, I’m going to cum,” I whispered.

“On me. Fill me, please. Fill me with your cum.”

One. Two. Three. With a heavy groan I reached my peak. I felt shots of warm semen fill her womb. I pumped through my orgasm, shooting flecks of cum in her until I was drained. My hips stopped grinding. I put my head down in exhaustion over that intense, risky session. She cupped my face then kissed me on the cheek.

“T-that was s-so g-good. I can’t wait until we get home for more.”

There’s a clear trail of white on my chair and on my pants. My cock slipped out of her slit as I set her down on the ground.

“This is the last station! Thank you for riding with us.” The operator announced over the intercom. We’re almost at our destination.

I pulled her overalls off my coat and threw it at Nicha. “Put these on, we still have to walk home.”

“I don’t wanna,” she pouted. “I want to go home with your cum dripping down on me.”

I sighed. Nicha decided to be bratty on the way home, when everything was almost perfect and after all we’ve been through. But what else can I do?

I gave her my coat as I took her overalls and placed it in my bag. We got off the train with her wearing my coat, our mixed juices still running down her legs. We enjoyed our little walk home, having forgotten the prized teddy bear that she was attached to all day long, but that didn’t matter. As soon as we reached home, we stuffed our bodies into each other throughout the night.

—————

And that’s my first work done. I didn’t do a lot of editing as I was excited to publish this one. I finally decided to jump into the world of smut writing after being inspired for a while now. Thank you for reading!

[heli0s-writes]

Clumsy

Summary: Serendipity, it’s the only way Steve can describe it. His ma was right: he’d always been slow.

Pairing: Steve Rogers/Reader

A/N: Fluff with a tiny sprinkle of Steve angst because I love one sad boi. Written for @wkemeup​​‘s 4K Challenge like an entire year ago!! I’m so sorry, Kas!! The prompt was Bright Eyes’ “First Day of My Life”. 2.8k words.

It was supposed to rain.

Thunderclaps rolled in the distance all morning. Moisture hung heavy in the air and the earth smelled like wet already--- salty, thick, sweet. The app on his phone blinked gray clouds straight across the screen. Seventy-three degrees and a nine-five percent chance of precipitation. Winds NE 20 miles per hour.

But at 2:30 in the afternoon when Steve slides into the car, it’s clear and blue.

So he figures it’s coincidence and poor meteorology when the engine quietly rumbles to life. He fixes the collar of his shirt, checks for hotels around the midway point, and sends an uneasy look to the empty passenger seat.

Then, he makes his way to where you are.

-

The two-lane country road stretches on. Winding and curving, pitch-black and howling with wind and wildlife. Bugs splatter on the windshield and he mechanically sprays a bit of fluid, wiping them off, the squeaks giving his radio a bit of rhythm in all this late-night talk. It’ll be another half hour before he gets to the hotel and he’s still wrestling with himself if he should even break.

No reason to now. He can drive all night. No reason to other than his pride.

“So what is it?”

There’s an imprint in the seat. An outline of a warm body folding soft creases in the leather. Late night talk radio fizzles out, and he’s tired, so he can’t get too upset at his brain for seeing the shape even though it’s been months since anyone’s sat there.

He chances a look over, then quickly back ahead because sure—the sedan is small, but this tiny strip of pavement feels even smaller. Too right and he’ll careen into the woods, too left and if another car’s coming around the bend Steve would roll out alive, but he’d be the only one.

He looks again.

Legs folded. Bare feet. Ankles crossed on the dash. Casually sitting with one hand on your phone and the other one behind your head, face lit incandescent by the screen. It was the first time he’d been alone with you after New York; he remembers this.

You hadn’t even given a glance sideways at him, still fixed on the screen, thumb sliding up and focused on mission details in a perfect picture of indifference.

“Your whole thing. Mister Red-White-and-Broody, most eligible bachelor in all of America—which, by the way, is so far up your ass all fifty states might as well be coming out of your mouth—”

“Stop it.”

“Okay, Rogers.” A smirk. His last name slipping between your lips like military title. “Fine, you’re all gilded in the front, suffering in the back. So—” You turned finally, pulled your feet back and tucked them under your body, “What is it?”

Steve pretended to think, left hand clenching a fraction tighter on the wheel, feeling its strength beneath his grip. His face remained impassive and dedicated forward, turning the seconds in his head, counting down the appropriate time for his reply.

It was a game, certainly. Your assertion, your poise, hand propping up your head—all of it. Your entire being was a foil to one Steven Grant Rogers and he was strapped with you for half a week. Already the car ride was beginning to foreshadow what was quickly seeming to be a long assignment.

“It’s my job—”

“So weak.”

“I’m busy—”

“Are you even trying to lie?”

You were known to do this: lay out a path of questions that only gave your company the pretense of a genuine conversation. You’d lead them like a wrangler leading horses to water, knowing they wouldn’t drink, but giving them just enough time to stare at their own reflection in the pool before you’d yank the harness elsewhere.

It was always a short path, but what you lacked in subtlety you made up for with honesty.

Agitated, Steve snapped before he could rein himself back in.

“What are you, my psychologist?” Horse.

“You don’t have one. You are the only Avengers Tower resident who has run off every psychologist on Stark’s payroll. So--” a twist of your torso, your back pressed up against the door handle as you stared at the outline of his side profile. Wrangler.

The question dangled in front of his gritted teeth. The answer he’d known long ago was behind two perfect calcium rows, pressed up, trying to find its way through the cracks.

What’s your thing? We fought together. We live together. We suffered a cataclysmic event in the form of aliens together---so why doesn’t anybody know you?

You leaned forward, body tilting until it almost touched your former footrest. Your head sloped to find his face and when he flicked his eyes sharply to yours, Steve knew it wasn’t sharp enough.

“You don’t want to be vulnerable.”

You’d led him through the brief route of your inquisition and had seen all you cared to see. Your voice bounced off the window when you closed your eyes and turned away.

“Steve,” you sighed, mouth going to the side in a smile. “Vulnerability is clumsy, but it’s the only thing worth anything.”

He had thought: No, it isn’t. He’d spent too long being vulnerable already, and he couldn’t afford it again. Twenty years of a miserable half-life and seventy years of sleep and suddenly the world was new and different and strange. Coming back into his body was new and different and strange but it was the body that afforded him invulnerability.

Mostly, anyway.

Steve decided, then, at least he could make up for that lump of mortality—that lump of weakness—with performance.

So, he became the blacksmith to his feeble Brooklyn boy heart. Forged carbon steel, gold-plated, immaculately polished like his own shield at press conferences. Smoothed himself into a monumental display of impeccable posturing and hid the boy away where no one could reach him. Let him go back to sleep, too. Frozen in a time long passed, long forgotten.

He wasn’t Steve Rogers anymore because no one knew Steve Rogers anymore; it was the only way he could carry on. Didn’t you know?

No, he supposed, you didn’t.

On the ride back you surrendered yourself to the backseat, laying down in the most comfortable position the sedan would allow, and chatted his ear off the entire ride home. Called him Steve and looked at him through the rearview mirror. Eyes met eyes, and yours crinkled at the edges with some secret knowledge.

By the end of it, all he could think about was how he didn’t mind the conversation and that his first name even sounded a little nice coming out of your mouth.

You shimmer in the passenger side until your hair hangs a little longer. His brown leather jacket is around your shoulders. A stretch of your arms. A stretch of your lips. Months passed and Rogers befell the man you knew during the Manhattan Crisis while he became Steve.

Steve on missions and in the field—On your six, Steve! Keep up, old boy. Steve at the tower and Steve in the gym— don’t touch my weights, Steve, you’ll throw your back out.

Steve getting the door and pouring the whiskey and letting you wear his jacket when you were cold. Finding you across rooms at parties because there was an easiness to your presence that calmed the crowd. Shooting pool and watching movies. Up late and out late and laughing until the early hours.

He was Steve, your friend, because he finally allowed himself to have a friend.

You change. Shimmer again until your hair is pulled back from your swollen face. A hospital gown crinkled around your shoulders. Asleep, cold. Too close to death, too close to him. He couldn’t even sit by your bedside, only standing by the door, shuffling from one wall to the other and watched the monitors with a too-loud and static-filled brain.

He was hesitantly Steve when you stepped too close to him on the balcony nights later, hand precariously hovering over that fragile boy heart, finally pressing down on it, feeling his delicate pulse thawing and crawling towards you. Tipsy smile and you tasted like whiskey and easy joy.

The kiss was clumsy, like you’d said. Vulnerability threw him back to the 40’s, all gangly limbed and ill, his lungs malfunctioning, his breath smothered in his mouth. He stumbled, but the banister held him up.

You didn’t mind that his knees felt boneless. You chalked it up to too much drink, but the touch of your still-bruised cheek abruptly burned down his throat—warm and smooth and cataclysmic until he caught sight of the way you winced as his hand cupped your tender face. Steve stepped back, then, and apologized for what he said should have never happened.

There was a small quiver from your shoulder before you quietly went back inside.

He cursed himself on the balcony. Cursed letting it all happen in the first place. Captain Rogers watched your retreating steps, burying the spark and the fire. And the boy must have cried in his ice-block coffin when he buried him again, too.

“Don’t look at me like that.” God, he’s going crazy. Poor night-vision and an addled brain causing him to scold an empty seat. “You stopped talking to me.”

His grip on the steering wheel tightens the way it does when you’re too deep in his head and he can’t get you out. Days without hearing from you smeared together in careful steps of a cagey dance. Comments always presented as half-truths—riddles he struggled to deconstruct. Breadcrumbs never leaving enough of a trail to lead him anywhere. He wants the harness back. Wants back your confident hand.

“You could have said something.” Steve scoffs, because you always had something to say. “Anything. You could have said anything. We were—friends.”

And hell, doesn’t that sound stupid out loud? Maybe it’s best that he’s got nothing but infinity beyond the sedan’s glaring brights and a million thoughts of unsaid words. It’s all useless, anyway. Best that he can get it all out now, talking to your ghost. It keeps all his thoughts in his head and keeps him from yelling every time he sees you not-looking, not-smiling, not-talking to him.

Steve flicks the wipers on again. Shuts off the radio. Shuts off the navigation. Takes the car off cruise-control to give himself something to do. He’ll stop overnight, after all.

Suddenly then, in the distance, two glowing eyes greet him steadily. Measured paces, in a firm and crisp trajectory, growing closer and closer. Glaring and vivid, beating the monotonous grind of nighttime out of him. His pinky moves, and his high beams flip to low beams, white giving way to yellow and the glistening road signs and tree-shadows in the distance slowly diminish.

Bleached spectral glaring of leaves and road signs soften ochre and brown, indigo dark. For a fleeting moment, even Steve’s enhanced eyes feel half-blind again as he readjusts to the pitch-black night barely lit. The car coming toward him does the same, highs blinking low and they pass each other in quiet understanding. In blind trust on the dark road, dependent on each other’s good faith to see it through.

He thinks of Sarah Rogers in a tiny Brooklyn kitchen, floral wallpaper yellowed and peeling behind her. One hand on an apron-clad hip, cooking interrupted by her son stumbling in dripping blood down his shirt, her other hand clenched around a wet kitchen rag.

“Steven Grant Rogers! Oh—wretched! What else can I say,” she’d sigh as she pressed it to his nose, “You do whatever you please, anyhow. You just put this on your face—and don’t think it’ll get you out of doing the dishes, either.”

“But—” he’d attempt.

She’d put up her hand, “Lord have mercy on any young woman that’ll have you. May she have your poor mother’s patient heart.”

His ma always called him slow. A dolt through and through. Quick to temper, but laborious to do much else. Common sense always took its sweet time-- took the long path home to get to Steve Rogers. In seventy-odd years, he hasn’t changed.

Better than coincidence and better than poor meteorology. Serendipity. It’s the only way he can describe it.

Like finding a crumpled up twenty in his pocket—or in his case, a five—enough then for a week’s worth of meals. Like having that nightmare— the one right before the plane crashes and instead of going down with it, he wakes up. Like expecting to drive five hours through a storm and stopping overnight, but instead it’s clear and blue as far as he can see.

The rush, the relief, the deafening joy that shuts everything else up and out.

Sarah Rogers was right: he’d always been slow.

So he careens back onto the highway from the service road, steadying his foot on the pedal and flies about fifteen miles faster than the speed limit says he should. The car is vibrating to a thrilled beat inside his chest. Steve can’t help smiling.

-

It was supposed to rain. All the way to the next mid-morning but the sky parts a brilliant orange sunrise and he nearly sprints to the door. He doesn’t wait for it to open all the way before he barrels in. A sliver of parting wood is enough, and Steve throws it wide with his enormous shoulders, kicking it shut firmly with his boot.

The imprint of your body on the couch is still warm—you, halfway across the room in alarm—real and even warmer when Steve gathers you into his arms. He’s been awake for over 24 hours, talking to himself, talking to your hallucination, so he apologizes when his teeth click against yours in a frantic kiss.

“Rogers--!”

You pull away, dazed, a little bit pissed off, but you cow the swirl of emotions into professionalism. “What are you—you’re not supposed to be here until late—did you drive through--”

“Steve,” he interrupts, “Steve.”

He’s so tired of the long road. Can’t stand another second of maneuvering in the dark down winding paths or broken streetlight avenues you’re not at the end of so he keeps his next phrase short: “I really like you.”

You raise your brow and brush the back of your knuckles over your lips, the light from the balcony streaming over your face. His hand tenderly brushes your cheek, the same one he touched all those months ago and you blink in surprise. Quick, calculating movements even as you lean gently into his touch.

“Steve…” you say slowly before your mouth pinches together in a poor attempt to hide the smirk threatening to surface. “You drove all night to… ask me to call you Steve.”

“Well,” he shrugs, “And the mission.”

“Right, the mission. The debrief didn’t mention that it required a lot of… kissing.”

“It came up recently; I haven’t adjusted the file yet.” He grins at your rolling eyes, your swollen lips peeling back to reveal a joyful display of teeth at his stubborn defiance.

“Took you long enough,” you mumble.

You place your hand over his chest, over his heart.

You kiss him and Steve hears himself sighing into your mouth. His cheeks flush with embarrassment, but you’re not letting go, and he presses his lips to yours a little slower, a little firmer, learning the ways you like to feel him there.

“Steve,” you breathe, and it paints him in the most galvanized care. “Steve,” you say again, and his eyes slip shut, like he’s being laid to rest. And maybe he is. Finally weary of lugging around all his armor, all his pretense.  

The boy emerges, thawing toward his name held sweetly in your mouth.

He fumbles with his awkward limbs—a newly birthed foal trying to find its footing—but you’re patient and enduring. He takes in his trembling body—knobby knees and gangly elbows. Inept gait still learning how to be. He takes the sights—white casting over the balcony. You, even brighter.

It was supposed to rain, but you link your fingers through his, leading him toward the open doors, smiling against a backdrop of sherbet swirls. He stumbles, but you’ve got him. A few short steps, just a few more, and Steve kisses you again in the sunbathed daybreak, resurrected and anew.

[roger-that-cap]

meet me in the gardens

summary: being the widow of a decently wealthy lord and sitting on a large plot of land automatically meant that you were a candidate for the program that you couldn’t say not to; the hosting. you had to sponsor a knight and keep them in your home for an entire year, which was troublesome enough on its own. but you never expected your knight to be a woman, and you certainly didn’t expect to have a full on illegal love affair with her, either. 

warnings: lots of emotions, feelings, slightly cynical and bitter reader- she’s honestly just being a realist, we are chugging forward, did not check for typos, format could be fucked up bc i’m posting from my phone quite literally minutes before i clock in- PATHETIC LMAO

word count: 2.7k

this is a short chapter by my standards, but it felt long to me because of the things in it??? this is part five! all other parts can be found on my masterlist, it’s my pinned post!

“What’s got you smiling like that?” Wanda asked while she tied your corset, not even needing to ask whether it was too tight or loose. You looked up in your vanity and immediately tried to wipe your smile away, but it was too late. She knew you better than anyone, and she had yet to see a thoughtful smile on your face, ever. Pietro, who had caught you going back inside the previous night, caught on to the fact that you looked more carefree, and that you just seemed to look like you were carrying around less. 

“Nothing.” 

“Hmm,” Wanda hummed, an entertained look on her face. Something told you that she already had an idea of what was going on, even though there was no way she could have. Besides, you hardly even knew what was going on. “I’ll ask again later.” She looked you in the eyes through the mirror, a slightly mischievous smile on her face. “Maybe then you’ll tell the truth,” she said, flicking you on the side of the head, and then letting it rest.

§§

Natasha was out in the village doing whatever it was the knights did one night, and she was planning on spending the night at a bed and breakfast before coming back in the morning. As disheartened as you were about not being able to see her for your stargazing, you were partly glad for it. You missed being with the twins. 

You had dinner with them alone, sitting and laughing about old memories and scheduling times to make new ones together. You loved the way you could be with them. Your laughter was allowed to go over the volume of a giggle without them looking at you like you had grown seven heads, your silverware were allowed to take a tumble onto your plate with a clatter without a second glance, and you were allowed to use whatever language you pleased. You missed the comfort that you felt with them, the comfort that your brain and the part of you that would always be the farm girl felt with them. 

“And Pietro chased him all the way off, you should have seen how terrified he was,” Wanda recapped, and you couldn't help but grin at Pietro, who was sipping wine with his charming grin. “That boy will never lift another skirt, I can assure you of that.” 

“I’m glad,” you mused, shooting Pietro a look that made him laugh. 

“Enough about me,” he said after swallowing a sip of his wine that was much more like a gulp. “We’re not going to talk about how you’ve been walking on the clouds for weeks now?” 

You nearly dropped your fork again. “What do you mean?”

“We’ve both realized,” Pietro said, motioning with his buttered knife towards his sister, who had a soft smile on her face as she observed your reaction. “That you have been significantly happier. Even with the circumstances-”

“Pietro,” Wanda hissed, but you just snorted and shook your head. 

“It’s like you found your own little pocket of happiness. We were worried about you, but, you’re doing alright.” Ever the blatant one out of the three of you, he leaned forward with his trademark smirk, eyes full of curiosity. “What do you know that we don't?” 

You hesitated for a second, mouth opening and closing twice as you grappled for anything to say, even a lie. And then, you settled on just shrugging your shoulders with a grin, shaking your head. “Honestly, Pietro, I know nothing. I don’t know anything.”

§§

Your heart was beating faster than normal as you looked at the woman next to you, your hand subconsciously itching closer to hers as you sat on the ground, ass on the blanket that you had brought out.  “I would like to… show you something.” 

It was probably the twentieth time that you and Natasha had met with each other, and still, you were entranced by her and everything that she did.  And you were entranced while you stared at her and waited for her answer, just a little nervous as to what she would say. 

As if she would ever say no to something you said. 

“Show me anything you’d like me to see,” Natasha urged on, and you fought back a smile. You stood up, and she did the same, and then you were picking up the blanket and walking side by side with her. It was quiet the entire way there as you walked in step with her, hand brushing against her every few steps and sending tingles down your arm every time it happened. 

The feeling that you got when she touched you made you feel both alive and scared to death. You weren’t stupid. You knew what you were steadily collecting more than friendly feelings for her, and that she may have been on the same page you were on. The game you were playing was a dangerous one, the risk threatening to swallow up the reward more and more by the day. 

You had known that being with her by yourself was bad judgement, ever since the first time you did it. Hell, the look you gave her the first time you met her was far from appropriate. Every single conversation that you had with her was a risk, and both of you knew it. And now that your soon-to-be husband was approaching, it was even more scandalous. No one knew and you hoped no one would ever find out, but hiding forever wasn’t a choice. But what would you be hiding if there were no true feelings? 

You hated yourself for falling for her and her pretty words. 

“I used to come here to escape,” you started, pulling yourself out of your thoughts, voice low as you passed the tree line to get into the thick of the woods. You narrowly missed stepping in a particularly muddy spot on the ground. “This was my spot, before I got the garden of course.”

“The woods?” 

“No, Nat,” you said, slightly amused as you stepped over a fallen branch. You smiled a bit when the sound of running water hit your ears.  “The stream.” 

You knew the exact second that she saw it, because her eyes widened and her breath hitched.  “That’s not a stream, that’s a river.”

“It’s the forgotten part of the main river,” you explained. “It’s much skinnier and more shallow, and it doesn't have nearly as much fish coming through, so people forget about it.” You looked towards her and saw how intrigued she was by it, so you judged her armor free body with a slight smirk. “What? Never seen running water?”

“I lived in the capital, all they had was the ocean. And even then I was never allowed on the harbor if I wasn’t selling clams, and I didn’t sell clams much.”

You felt silence start to grow between the two of you, so you said the first thing that you thought of. “You don’t look like a clam seller.” 

He looked away from the river and to you, a slight grin on her face even as she talked again. “And you don’t look like a petal kisser, blossom, but look where we are today.”

Your heart raced in your chest. “Blossom? Is that what you’re calling me now?” 

“It’s only payback for calling me ‘cherry’,” she said, and you stifled a laugh at the retired name, glancing up at the red hair that you had gotten inspiration from.  

“You didn’t actually mind it,” you said, looking off into the distance, only looking back at her when a warm hand slotted over yours. You blinked and looked down at your hands, which she had intertwined, and then back up at her again, only to see that she was staring straight ahead in the dark at the way the moonlight hit the water. 

“How could I?” She asked softly, a subtle breeze picking up.”You were the one saying it.” She looked at you, and in the dim lighting, you could have sworn that her eyes were saying, you can call me anything in the book, and I will own it proudly. And then, the look changed to something else, something less devoting, and something more passionate. It took you a few seconds to understand what the look meant, and before you could fully register it, she was leaning forward. 

A few seconds came and went where you could feel your heartbeat all over, and you tried to look somewhere other than in her eyes. You couldn't. “Don’t look at me like that.” When all Natasha did was tilt her head to the side and give you an even more intense version of the look, you let out a small sigh. “Please.”

“Why not?” 

She knew why. She knew why probably better than you did after living in the capital. She saw what happened firsthand to people who committed crimes, and those who committed second degree adultery. If you two did what you were wanting to do with your entire heart, you would fall right into that category. “I know where this is going,” you said softly, “and this won’t end well.” 

“Why not?” She asked again, and you turned your head to the side, shaking it slightly and closing your eyes. 

“Because, I’m about to get married,” you hissed, and though you didn’t mean to sound so angry, you did. Natasha was hardly affected. 

She lifted her arms and let them fall against her clothing with a soft slap that still echoed in the night. “You’re not married right now.” 

“But I will be, Natasha,” you said, gripping her hands and squeezing  them softly, begging for her to understand you. “What’s going to happen when I get married to a man who already has a streak for murdering his wives, and he finds out that I have feelings for you? He’ll kill me. He’ll kill you. And if he doesn’t, we’ll both be hung for adultery, after being put into torture camps for being… together as women.” 

“I’m not going to let anyone hurt you, Y/N, you know that.” The fervency in her tone nearly shocked you as she took a bold step forward, nearly surrounding you in her scent and energy. “I would never let anything happen to you.” 

“You’re too important for me to condemn to death and dishonor just because I have feelings for you. It was selfish of me to meet with you in the first place, but I can’t let myself do this. It’s a bad idea,” You said, voice hushed even though no one would have followed you. You were trembling, hand shaking more than anything else as you tried to understand how fast everything was moving; forward and backwards, sewing together and ripping apart all the same. If you were any more attentive to her expression, you would have seen the grin that lit up her face as your confession. “We were just about to cross a line. We’ve crossed quite a few dotted ones, but this one? It is bold and blaring.” 

“Blossom,” Natasha started, and you just shook your head and kept going. 

“And-and what we were just about to do? That crosses the line. We cannot.” 

“Do you really think my feelings for you are going to change depending on whether or not we kiss?” She asked, her voice slightly deeper than usual, almost sounding insulted. “You’re telling me to close my heart off from you, not to not kiss you. And you know that.”  

“What if I am?” You asked, eyes starting to burn with tears. “I’m doing it for the right reasons, Nat. I’m trying to save us from a world of hurt when reality finally sinks in.”

“That isn’t today.” She took another step forward and this time, you couldn't find the strength in you to step back. “And it isn’t tomorrow, and not even within the fortnight. You and I have something, and I know that you know it’s different. It’s special. We would be so stupid to ignore it, so stupid.” 

“I know, I know,” you said, voice tapering off into a whine as you slowly felt your resolve come apart, even though you thought it was stronger. “I’m sorry.”

 “You don’t have to apologize,” Natasha said after a few minutes of pure silence, and you found yourself exhaling. “I just wish things were different.” 

  “I know,” she said, and you turned to look up at the sky, tears threatening to come down on your cheeks. The stars seemed to twinkle and wink at you, talking amongst themselves about a future you had no idea about just yet. 

“Guess they’re never gonna line up,” you murmured to yourself, and then you heard Natasha grumble something from your side, and then she was coming closer, a barreling energy force full of passion and intent, and you knew exactly what she was coming for. For less than a split second, you thought about it. And then you turned your head and met her halfway. 

You would have been surprised by the passion in it if you weren’t just as desperate for the contact. You twisted in her arms, already wrapped around you as she drew you in close, closer than you had ever been with her, and the tears that were welling up before were now escaping for a different reason. Your lips were pressing into hers, moving fluidly and with an air of fervor that she matched equally. You felt wanted, and needed, and you felt loved. You felt the tenderness of the moment with every brush of her fingers on the back of your neck and with every rub of your back over the thin material of your night dress. 

Your legs were shaking, and she noticed before you did that you were getting weak in the knees. She held you up and pulled back slightly, just enough for you to feel her lips brush against yours while she asked if you were okay, like she wasn’t willing to take herself from you just yet. And honestly, you weren’t ready for her to leave you, either. You nodded, and she leaned in again, much slower, and then you had time to think. 

Her eyes weren’t the same shade they were when the sun hit them, they were almost an eerie pale blue, but they were still just as gorgeous to you, especially now that they were slanted with desire. Her hair wasn’t perfect like she somehow always managed or it to be, and you realized that it was because you had gotten a hand to run through it despite the way that she had previously held you like a lifeline. Her lashes were long, and you swore that she was close enough that you could count them. Her cheekbones were accentuated in the lighting, making her look like something straight out of a fairy tale, like a floating fae creature that led people to safety. In that moment, you could have sworn that she was the answer to every prayer you had ever whispered, to every question you had ever asked your etiquette teachers. In that moment, and in every moment to come, she was your ending and beginning, your creation and destruction, your sunrise and sunset. She was Natasha Romanoff, and in that moment, no wedding or murderous man even held a candle to the way you felt about her.

  What a beautiful person. 

“Now you’re looking at me strangely,” Natasha said, her voice quieter than you had ever heard it as the both of you treated over the moment carefully, trying not to break it and leave it in shambles. “What are you thinking about?” 

“How I’m going to have to pretend like this never happened in a few weeks,” you said softly, and part of you hated yourself for bringing up the bad part of the future so soon after you both had just lost all ties to reality. 

“You don’t have to,” she said, stroking your hair. “We can just keep doing what we’re doing, sneaking off in the night and coming back in the morning before anyone realizes. Nothing really has to change, I just want you to know that I… that we can be whatever you want us to be.” 

“As long as we’re in the confines of the garden walls.” 

“And now the woods,” Natasha said, and you couldn’t help but laugh in her arms. 

“And now the woods."

****

this is short, but i couldn’t see anything being tacked on to this. we’re at an important part, and from here it’s gonna be fun!! thank y’all for reading; if you liked it please drop a like and a reblog bc it makes my day!! comments also make me ascend y’all

tags!! : tags! : @teenwonder @saamwilscn @procrastinatingsapphictrash @fayhar @8plasma @slut-for-nat @dontmindmejustreading @swords-are-cool @200605chaeng @thescottishavenger @antidaytime @jenny-song @madamevirgo @natasha-danvers @blackxwidowsxwife​ @shycucumbersandwich @dailyavengering @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @ima-gi--na-tion @chickenhavewisdom

so sorry if i forgot anyone!!!!!