#and clearly closer than the rest of the gang

[cowboygenesis]

18+ knuckle up | astarion x reader

summary: after a drunken night and a dumb bet you're left in an emotional (and physical) chokehold by your favourite vampire companion.

pairing: astarion ancunin x afab!bard!reader tags: 18+, smut, fluff, switch dynamics, m/f, fingering, unprotected sex, resolved tension, playfighting, sex after training session. word count: 7.8k notes: this fic was SO fun to write even if im a gale girlie myself. this is my first attempt at writing ANY bg3 character, so i really hope i did okay. if not, let me know! comments help me improve my writing (and warm my heart, seriously, thanks to anyone taking the time out of their day to comment). anyways gang, no beta as ALWAYS, you know how we roll. ENJOY! masterlist.

It still made little sense to you.

You had honed your skills at the most prestigious music schools in Faerûn for years, pouring your heart into every note, every chord, only to find yourself shamelessly ridiculed for an entirely different kind of performance. And by a man you’d grown to like, no less.

"Get up, darling," Astarion’s voice drips with amusement, the self-satisfied smirk tugging at his lips with infuriating smugness. His crimson eyes watch you with a predatory glint, locking onto your vulnerable form sprawled in the dirt—a definitive result of his frustratingly agile moves.

You groan lowly, propping yourself up on bruised elbows, wincing as a dull ache pulses through your body. A stray lock of hair falls in front of your face, and you blow it away in frustration.

"I’m starting to think this isn’t educational at all." You glare at him with all the venom you can muster, eyebrows furrowed as his arms cross.

Your eyes absentmindedly scan down his body, taking note of his slightly disheveled shirt and tousled hair. He looks… good. Beautiful, even. Basking in the soft moonlight seeping through the vast greenery above, he stands there like he’s in his element.

He chuckles, seemingly unbothered by your vapid tone. "Oh, but it is, my dear. Think of it as a new, humbling experience. Valuable in its own right."

You bite back a retort as he offers you a hand, his expression making your eye twitch. You never thought you’d fall for arrogance, yet ironically it’s your own conceit that might have brewed your upcoming downfall.

After a particularly boisterous night of drinking in camp—brought on by the recent victory over a pack of gnolls—you foolishly accepted Astarion’s challenge to best him in hand-to-hand combat. Your alcohol-addled brain had been more confident than your body, and now, after a series of harsh jabs and sidesteps, you were being taught the harsh reality of “real” combat.

Defeated, you eventually obliged a quick lesson from the master himself, which he had (admittedly suspiciously) made you take after losing your bet.

At the very least, the bruising would rid you of your lingering hangover once you were done taking the thrashing. Plus, you hoped it would bring you two closer. Figuratively and physically.

He raises an eyebrow, clearly enjoying your hesitation. "Come now, my dear, don’t be so stubborn. You seemed so eager at first,"

"You told me you’d teach me to fight, not fall on my damn face," you lament, but begrudgingly accept his help, allowing him to pull you to your feet.

His grip is firm, and the coolness of his skin sends a small jolt of electricity down your spine. You had often imagined what holding his hand would feel like during the colder nights alone in your tent, and while the circumstances ended up being less than ideal, it was good enough for you. For now.

You rub at your sore arm with a frown and catch that Astarion, unmistakably, stands completely unscathed, his pale complexion almost glowing in the ambient light.

"I’m thinking…” he muses, glancing at the weathered lyre resting peacefully by the roots of a tree. His lips curl into a smirk, and you can feel the teasing jab sting your pride. “Perhaps you’re better suited to the more... delicate aspects of life,"

Your jaw clenches. While bards famously went underestimated— a fact you were reminded of frequently— it hurt more coming from someone you so badly wanted to fuck.

"Oh, I don’t know," you say with a saccharine tone, brushing the residual dirt from your pants; your favorite pair, yet you’d probably end up having to toss them out after your poor performance today. "I think a harp string could make a fine garrote in the right hands."

Astarion’s laughter rings out clearly, and your heart skips a beat unbeknownst to you. "Dully noted. Fortunately for the both of us, we’re stripped of any weaponry in our current pinnacle."

Your eyes roll, running a hand through your disheveled, sweat-slick hair and adjusting your posture to the one he had taught you: one foot forward, back straight.

"Again," you demand, squaring your shoulders. If he wanted to mock you, fine— but you wouldn’t go down without a proper fight.

Astarion’s eyes widen, but his smirk never falters. He sighs in faux exasperation but quickly matches your posture. "So eager to be tossed into the dirt again, darling."

Your face flashes with heat at his painfully languid remark, your mind going places it probably shouldn’t. You knew the pet names were simply an inherent part of his vocabulary and that he used them generously, with everyone, yet a part of you liked to imagine they were reserved for you, and you only.

“Try me again,” you reply curtly, lowering your gaze as you feel the tension sprawling through your aching body.

He shoots you an arrogant smirk, his gaze penetrating your soul with an intensity you didn’t think possible. He bares his fangs, licking over his bottom lip lazily. “Let’s see it, then.”

Astarion approaches, but this time, you’re ready. As he moves to close the distance, you anticipate the first jab, ducking low before he can catch you off-guard. You dart to the side, aiming a swift thrust toward his midsection. It’s clumsy and unpracticed, but it seems to work.

Your fist connects with his toned stomach. He topples off-balance, but only for a fleeting second. His reflexes are too sharp, too honed through his century-long life for you to overcome with your pitiful attempt.

He catches himself with a graceful pivot, turning the stumble into a curt spin that has him facing you once more.

"Fast learner, are we?" he muses, watching you closely through his fists. "I might actually have to try now."

"Don’t flatter yourself," you shoot back, heart racing. At that moment, you recognize you can’t win. Not this time, probably not the next. But you don’t want to forfeit, even if it means enduring a day or two of terrible muscle soreness.

Every sidestep, every deflected blow, brings you closer, the air between you growing heavy with static. You aren’t sure if it’s the heat of the fight or the dangerous proximity, but you can feel it—an irresistible, undeniable pull.

"Careful now," Astarion purrs as you barely miss his face with a rugged swing. He catches your wrist, holding it tight as he leans in, breath ghosting over your ear. "You wouldn’t want to harm me, would you?"

You swallow hard, your body tensing under his tight grip. The closeness is intoxicating, but you force yourself to stay focused, pushing back against the growing heat in your chest.

"Maybe I would." You don’t.

For a moment, neither of you move. The world seems to narrow, the charged atmosphere thick with tacit suspense. You can feel your pulse hammering in your throat, senses sharp, attuned to every breath he takes as they intermingle with yours.

"Darling," a dramatic pout creeps onto his lips, only to be replaced by a sly grin seconds later. You feel his grip on your wrist loosening just enough for you to slip free. It’s a calculated move, once he grants you himself. "You wound me with your words."

You take a step back, breathless. This isn’t over, not by a long shot, yet your muscles fight against that thought. They scream at you with pain, worn and stretched by what feels like hours of sparring.

“Sounds like you’re the one trying to wound me,” you taunt, shooting him a lowered gaze. “Why’d you take me out here? Trying to make your next kill less obvious?”

The vampire had insisted you two train away from the bustle of camp, even if it meant missing out on tonight’s feast. While the rest of your companions enjoyed the finest ale Baldur’s Gate could offer, you were stuck trying to prove something to your crush.

Astarion's grin widens, his eyes flashing with amusement as he takes a slow, calculated step forward. “Now, now,” he purrs, voice dripping with mock innocence. “If I wanted you dead, you wouldn’t have seen it coming— no need for childish theatrics.”

You hold his gaze, refusing to let him see the slight tremble in your legs from the strain of the sparring—or maybe it’s from something else entirely, you can’t be sure. You know he’s dangerous, that this game you’ve been playing with him has always had its sharp edges. But there’s something about that edge, about the way he dances so easily between teasing and threatening, that weakens your knees and makes you breathless every damn time.

"Then why are we here?" you challenge, taking a step back to match his forward one. Your voice is steady, but your pulse is hammering in your throat. The woods feel like a world apart from camp, the sounds of chatter distant as you sit in your isolated little bubble of the world. “It’s a little… intimate, don’t you think?”

Astarion tilts his head, studying you with a curious twinkle in his crimson eyes. “That sharp tongue again,” he says quietly, “Do you truly believe I’d go through all the trouble of bringing you out here just to end you? If I wanted your death, I’d make it enjoyable for both of us.”

Your breath catches at his words. His words drip with venom, but somewhere deep down, in the depths of his blackened heart, you swear you feel an instance of temptation.

“What’s the game then?” you ask, holding his gaze despite the anxiety twisting in your chest. “Because by the Gods, I know you love those.”

Astarion’s smirk softens, but the intensity in his eyes never falters. He steps closer again, until there’s barely any space between you, his presence intoxicating. “Maybe I just wanted to see what you’re capable of,” he murmurs, his voice low and velvety. “Maybe I wanted to see how far you’d let me push you before you push back.”

His hand hovers near yours, fingers brushing lightly against your skin, but he doesn’t make full contact.

“And maybe,” he continues, leaning in just enough that his breath grazes your cheek, “I’m curious what could happen once we both stop playing.”

Your heart is racing now, and you’re not sure if it’s the adrenaline from the sparring or the charged air between you that’s making your head spin a hundred miles an hour.

“You’ll never know,” you murmur, meeting his gaze with a boldness you don’t quite feel. “Because I’m not backing down from this.”

His grin widens at your rebellion, and with a swift, fluid motion, the man’s playful smirk turns into a vicious one. Before you can react, he spins you around, movements smooth and practiced, making you lose your balance.

Your back hits his chest, and within seconds he wraps one arm around your neck in a tight headlock— his grip is firm, but not painful. Your mind strays to his other arm, feeling it press against your waist to keep you securely against him.

“Such a feisty little thing,” he purrs into your ear, his breath warm against your sweat-slick skin.

You struggle against his hold, trying to twist free, but his grip is relentless. “Fuck you,” you manage to scowl, though the words are strained by the pressure on your throat.

Astarion chuckles softly, and you feel it reverberate through your body. “Oh, she bites back,” he teases, his voice a dark, seductive buzz. “Are you taunting me, darling?”

You try to shift your weight, to find a way out of the headlock, but his grip doesn’t waver. “You’re projecting,” you growl breathlessly.

“And you’re persistent,” he replies, “Suits you well.”

You feel a warmth spread through your belly, tickling your nerve endings and making your thighs squeeze. You thank the Gods he can’t see your flustered face right now.

And suddenly, he releases. Not fully, but his grip weakens enough to allow you a moment to slip out again, stumbling over your own feet as you face him.

“Here’s your second freebie,” he chuckles, getting into position again. “Careful, next one might come at a price.”

“Like I need a third one,”

You recalibrate, then in the spur of the moment, pounce. Your arms extend as they barrel toward him. His eyes widen, but he manages to catch them mid-air; his hands clasping into yours and pushing against you.

“Fair strategy,” he commends, and you sense it might at least be partially earnest. “Desperate, but fair.”

You strain against him, breath hitching when he periodically pushes back. Whenever he does, you feel his gaze boring into you with a crazed intensity.

Then, you try not to think about the fact your digits fit together really damn well— and fail. Take what you can get, right?

“What’s wrong, my dear?” he sneers, slender fingers tightening around your palm. He leans in, your chests threatening to collide. “Getting distracted?”

You grit your teeth, leaning in with your full body weight, but he barely budges. “You wish,” you shoot back breathlessly.

“I feel it,” he corrects in a whisper, leaning in just enough that his lips hover dangerously close to your ear. “It’s in your eyes. You’re not even thinking about our little lesson anymore, are you?”

Your breath hitches at his words, the undoubted truth in them cutting through the haze in your mind. He’s right. The bet, your lesson —somewhere along the lines, your sparring posture went lax. All that matters to you now is the palpable closeness, your hands in his, and his hot, idle breath on your neck. Your throat threatens to cast a strained groan, but you withhold.

“I—” you start to protest, but your voice falters. His chest is now pressed flush against yours, pushing you forward.

“Admit it,” he murmurs, his voice low, seductive. “And I’ll let you win.”

Your hands tremble in the small space they lock with his, the smoldering red of his gaze telling you he knows exactly what he’s doing—how his actions leave you a mess in body and soul.

“I won’t, I— I can’t,” you manage to stutter, but the words sound weak and unconvincing even to your own weary ears.

He chuckles softly, the sound reverberating through you like a slow current. “Liar,” he whispers, and you catch a glimpse of his pearly fangs in your hazed peripherals. “Not a good one, either. Another thing I should school you on.”

Your eyes roll, but the implication accelerates the growing tension within your guts. “Just how generous you are.”

His head tilts gradually, and you go pale as you catch his tongue running along the length of his bottom lip.

“No, darling,” he purrs, “I haven’t shown you generous just yet.”

And then, you catch his eyes darkening. There’s a certain mania to them when they widen, pupils blown out like a cat’s when he suddenly pushes firmly against you. Your feet stumble backward, staring into him as a wild grin plasters on his face.

You yelp when you lose balance, lips ajar and eyes closed shut as you feel your back crash into something soft, or at least, soft enough to leave you un-bruised.

When your eyes flutter open, he’s on top of you. You study his broad shoulders, the pale neck between them, and finally let your half-lidded gazes connect in a silent, tension-filled juncture.

The ambiance of dusk quiets down to a soft murmur, crickets chirping in the distance as his strong body hovers inches above you, hands placed firmly around your wrists to successfully lock you in place.

“Seems to me you’ve lost our little bet,” he purrs out, and your breath hitches as one of his legs slides between yours, slowly inching to put a distance between your knees.

All you can do is stare up at him hungrily, desperately, drinking in his weathered features and pray he’d let you run your fingers through his flaxen locks at some point in the night.

“No clever retort? That’s not the little bard I know and love,” he teases, and your hips almost buck into him at that one word. You know he doesn’t mean it, yet your teeth still clench when your body jolts in response to his familiar lilt.

“You’re playing dirty,” you finally breathe out, cringing at how strained your voice sounds as you lie under his weight.

“No one ever said this would be a clean game,” he retorts, his crimson gaze boring into you before gradually disappearing into your neck.

His lips hover over your skin, hot breath tickling the soft spot near your pulse point as you gasp quietly. You feel him hesitate, arms tensing and releasing over your own as if soaked in apprehension. You strain your muscles, eyes shutting in preparation for the inevitable, sharp bite coming onto your poor vein. Gods, was this his plan all along?

But then, you feel the grip on your wrists loosen.

Your eyes flutter open, and you quickly catch the tousled white locks in your neck as the vampire looms over you.

“Here’s your chance to run,” he hitches, and somehow he sounds just as out of breath as you do.

You lie on the blanket of moss, chest heaving and gaze tracing languidly over the treeline as you feel your body go limp. He’s giving you one last opt-out before… before something happens, be it a bloody massacre or... Or?

Your mind shrieks at you: take advantage, prove yourself on top in this stupid bet— but the little voice in your heart urges you to stay under his firm body; find out if your instincts rang true after all.

You stay. Not only that, but you let your hands slip out of his, one of them snaking down his shoulder while the other runs through his waves. They’re silky, and soft, and when you catch a whiff of rosemary in the air, your grip tightens.

“Astarion,” you whisper, voice surprisingly steady as your heart beats a constant rhythm into the space between you.

His body jerks abruptly, albeit subtly, and you feel him smirking— smiling— into the soft flesh of your neck. “So I was right, after all.”

His face withdraws from you slightly, the residual condensation of his warm breath leaving you shivering. You catch his gaze, half-lidded and scanning your expression with apt concentration.

“Feisty, spirited little thing,” he continues, inching towards you again.

Your stiff body jerks, grazing against him as your shaky hand snakes to his cheek. You cradle it gently but with urgency, and there’s a beat of silence before you finally understand what to do.

You inhale softly, catch his questioning gaze, and crash your lips onto his.

He groans softly when you meet in the middle, lowering himself with his arms. Your chest thrums with the beat of your heart, shooting waves of dopamine down your worn spine.

When you feel his nimble hand on your jaw, your lips part with a sigh. He matches your buzz with his own self-satisfied murmur, stroking your cheek with the pad of his thumb.

You smile. He’s sweet and bitter, and you whine gently into the kiss when you recognize brandy on his tongue.

This is what you’ve been waiting for all these lonesome months.

The culmination dawns on you like a powerful current, making your eyes squeeze and your hands tremble in his waves.

He seems to notice your tremor, but instead of slowing down or (Gods forbid) stopping, he dives deeper. You moan into his mouth as he wriggles a hand around your waist, holding you close to his hips and suddenly, you feel a steady pressure grinding into your crotch.

The movement is slow, precise, practiced. His hips buff into yours in a controlled rhythm, making you sense his already taut erection through the thick material of his linen pants.

“Do you get it now, darling?” he murmurs, breaking the kiss to stare lazily into your glassy eyes. “Look what you do to me.”

His hand snakes to your blouse, and before you can register what’s happening, you hear three ivory buttons pop off followed by the cool, evening breeze tickling your heated skin. You don’t need to open your eyes to know your nipples are standing taut in the chilly air, yet the image makes you redden.

“How— how unceremonious,” you croak out, moaning softly when his large hand begins palming at your right breast.

His thumb and forefinger squeeze at your erect nipple, toying with it in smooth, tactile movements and relishing the way his name sounds coming out of your kiss-swollen lips.

“Mm, forgive me,” he chuckles darkly, planting a quick, ardent kiss on your lips before lowering his face to your chest. His tongue licks a slow, tender strip up your sternum before he looks up to smile at you; it’s a genuine look of satisfaction, untouched by the plague that is his faux arrogance. “I’ll make sure to be good next time.”

’Next time?’

You look at him lazily, gaze puzzled and lips ajar to ask but he doesn’t even offer you the chance. His hand dips from your tits to the band of your pants, sliding underneath it with his finger, the coolness of his skin making you gasp.

His mouth assaults your other nipple with sucks, nibbles, and gentle bites, making you mewl under him as his hand continues to travel down the soft flesh of your thigh. He rubs it gently, lovingly, starting under your hip and slowly stroking his way toward the inner region, where you’re most sensitive.

“Divine,” he mumbles against your chest, pressing a kiss to your rib. “So divine.”

His free palm moves to your exposed belly, massaging it gently. You sigh at the slow, consistent pressure, moving your trembling hand to the back of his neck.

When your one eye pops open in curiosity, you see him snug against your body, face contorted with empathic fixation as he labors down your body. It’s intimate, yes, but also… loving. His tongue is warm against your breast, and his palms caress your skin with slow, delicate strokes; the same hands you’ve seen wield blood-soaked daggers and longbows.

He runs two digits along the stretchy fabric of your bottoms, lip caught between his teeth. He catches you staring and smirks up at you.

“Enjoying yourself?” he husks out, and you’re desperate enough to nod wordlessly.

He chuckles at your enthusiasm, hand smoothing down the waistband of your panties that peers from behind your bottoms. Not even your cutest pair, but oh well. He doesn’t even seem to notice, as his digits play with the elastic.

You’re already so exposed, but nothing can prepare you for what he does next.

With a few more kisses to your breasts, he tugs at the two waistbands, pulling down your pants and panties in one go.

The material slides off your legs and you hiss out, feeling the coolness caress your slick core. Your hands instinctively reach to cover up, but you’re stopped in your tracks by a strong grasp around your wrist.

“Oh no, no,” He looks up at you with an arched eyebrow, and somehow, despite his collected mien, you catch a soft dusting of pink across his cheekbones. “Don’t you dare deny me this view. Not after I’ve waited for so long.”

Your face heats up at the brazen comment, but that only seems to draw him closer. Your eyes flicker down to his lips, and he takes the hint immediately.

You connect in a heated kiss, and this time, Astarion is the one groaning against you. You work in tandem, like a gentle, effortless dance, heavy breaths intermingling in a sweet symphony of hums and sighs when…

You feel a touch against your heat. The contact is almost impalpable, yet your eyes flutter open in shock as the man’s fingers trace over your slit.

He withdraws from your kiss, hovering inches from your lips with a soft smile.

“S’unfair,” you slur, gazing up at him with a pleasure-drunken gaze. He exhales loudly, and you gasp. His fingers dip in, rubbing slow circles around your clit. “You— Gods—”

“Yeah? Tell me,” he taunts lowly, continuing his torturously languid movements with a devious smirk plastered on his perfect face. “What’s got you so bothered, my sweet?”

He dips down, teasing your entrance with his index. You pant softly at the prolonged stimulation, trying your damn best to stay focused on furrowing your eyebrows in mock anger.

“Got me so exposed and—” you trail tensely as his finger probes your entrance. “—And you’re still in your damn clothes.”

He hums in acknowledgment, but you doubt he’s even listening to you by how he surveys your body, bottom lip caught between his fangs. “I’m about to show you ‘generous’, like I promised.”

And then, he bottoms out. You moan, feeling two of his digits sliding into you, the slickness of your opening making it an easy feat.

You squeeze around him, and he pumps into you once, then twice for good measure. The sound of his movements is unbelievably and utterly obscene, making your stomach knot in delight.

“So wet already,” he purrs through a smirk, watching you writhe under him, “Don’t tell me our little sparring session got you this bothered.”

You roll your eyes, thighs squeezed tight around his wrist as you move your hips in tandem with his rhythm.

“Come on, talk to me,” he taunts again, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek and letting his fingers fuck you in a steady, purposeful rhythm. “Now’s not the time to get coy.”

He switches gears, stopping his movement so he can curl his fingers inside you. He presses against the sweet spot, his thumb reaching to simultaneously rub slow circles against your swollen clit.

You cry out at the newfound pressure, the warmth in your belly twisting into a vortex of fiery delight.

“I—” you mewl against him, wrapping your fingers into the soft fabric of his shirt. “I’m gonna— c-cum—”

His movements quicken at your desperate words, digits working hard against your favorite spot.

“Cum then, my darling,” he taunts firmly, his free hand roaming under your jaw and holding it in place. “Cum for me. Let me— let me look at you, sweet thing.”

Your glassy eyes struggle to focus on his face, but once they do, he hits something white-hot inside you.

His lips crash desperately onto yours, but you struggle to kiss him back through the blinding pleasure of your climax. It thunders down your legs, up your belly, making you cry out against his mouth as everything melts away into a wonderful oblivion.

The last thing you see before your muscles go lax is red.

He rubs your clit methodically through your high, letting you ride it out peacefully as he burrows into your neck again.

When your breath steadies, you feel his fingers slowly withdraw. The emptiness that follows makes you cry out softly, helplessly watching as the man runs his palms up and down your sides.

He presses a soft, soothing kiss against your swollen lips, and you can’t help but glare when you see that he’s still fully dressed, even after your heated orgasm.

He catches your pouting and raises an eyebrow.

“Yes, darling?” he purrs, pulling away to take you all in. You’re caught speechless when his hungry gaze scans down your nude body; starting at your smitten face and ending with a lingering glimpse at your spent pussy.

“Please,” you mewl out, raking your hands down his clothed abs. “Gods— Please take these off, I can’t—”

He does.

His hands momentarily withdraw from around you, and with a swift, deft move, he tosses his shirt off.

The silken cloth comes flying into the night like a phantasmal figure, and you watch it catch onto a stray branch to your right.

Your gaze skims hungrily down his sculpted body, watching his muscles tense and release with every little movement. Yes, you’ve seen him shirtless before, yet the context of your current predicament somehow makes it feel like it’s the first time all over again.

Unbeknownst to you, his hands work at his bottoms, swiftly unbuttoning the waistband and letting it sit loose against his hips. You catch a soft, white trail against the edge of his undergarments, leading down to a straining, tented mess below.

Your hand reaches out absent-mindedly, still drunk off the high of your climax and so, so desperate to finally feel him for yourself.

“Not so fast, darling,” he scolds, gently slapping your hand away and letting it wither at your side.

“Let me touch you,” you retort desperately, but he only chuckles as his fingers begin working at his waistband.

“You lost our bet,” he explains, sliding a thumb under the elastic and letting it lower. You catch the very base of his straining erection, and that taunting alone makes you gasp. “Gives me the upper hand.”

“Says who?” you hiss under your breath, failing to give him the glare he deserves as your eyes bore into his.

He gives you a once over, gaze drawing languidly over your exposed body, and only then does the extent of your nudity finally dawn on you.

“Don’t make me laugh.”

You shift under him, shimmying within the small space he allows, and he takes your brief distraction as a moment to unravel his pants completely. They drop to the ground behind you, leaving him in his undergarments, and you bite your lip at how dangerously lax they sit around his hips.

“I think I’ve left you waiting long enough,” he mutters, and your lips go ajar.

The thumb hooked into his briefs starts sliding down his waist, lower and lower until you’re finally even in terms of undress— and you’re ever so starstruck by the sight of his bulging cock hovering over your belly. It stands thick and taut within arm’s reach and you find the fact makes your mouth water.

Then, before you can think of touching him, you feel him place either hand below your knees. He looks up at you with a sly smirk, and you gasp softly when he pushes your thighs flat against your torso, feet in the air and scandalously exposed in front of him.

“You’re playing with me,” you mutter breathlessly, hissing as you feel his length stroking against your inner thigh.

His arms compress you tighter as you feel him lowering, the underside of his cock slapping against your tummy. The gasp that leaves your throat at the sudden contact widens your eyes, and he catches your gaze with his self-satisfied one.

“Do you like that I’m playing with you?” he follows up without a beat, his hips rutting forward. The movement is gentle, yet the pressure is enough to make you whine out in desperation— it’s also the only answer you manage to choke up for him before his cock slides between your wet folds.

“A-Ah— you fucking— fucking prick,” you hiss at the vampire, and so he bears his fangs at you through a wide grin. You find that it makes your breath hitch even amidst your despair.

“Now, now,” he reprimands, words syrupy, “bold words coming from someone so vulnerable.”

His nails dig into the soft flesh of your legs as he slides back and forth, taking meticulous care so that the head of his cock butts against your clit with every dip. The stimulation feels electric, and soon enough, you feel your still-sensitive body ramp up with heated energy for a second time this night.

A minute passes, yet it feels like an eternity. The air between you is thick with tension and the soft, repetitive harmony of your strained moans and his little gasps. You watch his eyes close in concentration, and despite his otherwise relaxed facade, you can tell he’s struggling to resist you by the way his eyebrows knit in the middle.

“Fuck me,” you breathe out, one of your hands extending to claw at his withholding forearm.

When your gazes meet, he looks surprisingly spent; eyes glassed-over, mouth ajar, and the slightest hint of sweat glazing his pale forehead. You realize that his domineering act seemed to come at the expense of his stamina: a resource you had slowly replenished in your comfortable position.

“Not— not yet, darling,” he hitches out, but the words appear tender and helpless to your trained ears. “I— I want to enjoy this— enjoy you—”

Your grip on his forearm tightens, making the bucking of his hips stutter. His eyebrow raises at your touch, but before he can shoot you a witty comment, you’re pushing him forward.

It happens within seconds.

Your knees straighten, feet slamming into his abdomen. He coughs at the sudden, unexpected impact, and you take the opportunity to grab tight onto his forearms. He falls backward, and just before his spine hits the soil beneath, you use the momentum to push yourself onto him.

When his eyes flutter open, you’re straddling his waist.

He blinks in brief confusion, surveying his surroundings before the crimson gaze finally turns to you.

He surveys your face, and you let him. The moment is like a silent meditation, heavy breaths intermingling as he takes your raw beauty in; the longing in your eyes, the soft dusting of pink across your nose, and ultimately, the plush of your lips he had ravaged mere moments ago.

Next, he moves to your body. His eyes scan down your taut nipples, down your tummy, and to the softness of your thighs squeezing his midriff to the ground. When he reaches the junction between your bodies, your hips buck as if on instinct.

“My, just how courageous we are,” he purrs under you, hands reaching to rub down the outside of your thighs. “I wouldn’t be so nice about your dirty tricks if I didn’t find this view thoroughly delectable.”

You shiver at his honeyed words, yet your gaze stays determined on him. Your palms go to rest atop his, marveling at the eccentric softness of his knuckles and the polarizing edge of the nails.

“No one ever said this would be a clean game,” you grin playfully, rocking your hips back to feel his hard length against the curve of your ass. When a soft hiss escapes his lips, you feel your ego inflate. “Sound familiar?”

His eyes roll, but the grin creeping onto his lips deceives him immediately.

His head tilts at you, fangs bearing in the soft moonlight. “You’re trouble.”

The mischief of your smile spins into a warm fondness. Your cheeks warm, and your heart swells, but you don’t quite understand why. “Oh how rich that is coming from you.”

And then you’re rising on your knees, hips hovering over his throbbing erection. Your palms connect, digits intertwining with his as you lower yourself onto him.

You test the waters first, letting his tip brush over your slit with feather-like touches. You hum gently at the teasing pleasure, and so does Astarion.

When you feel your tummy tightening with anticipation, you dive in. With a light shimmy, you line your hips with his, and with more desperation than you planned, you slide down.

You both hiss as the head of his cock penetrates you, the stretch making your palm tighten against his. You bend at the knees, eyes rolling into the back of your head at the delicious sensation of being filled to the brim after such a long, lonesome time.

Finally, you let your hips slam against his. The sudden, harsh movement makes you gasp out into the tantric air as his tip pokes against your womb. The dull pain quickly shifts into a flat, resonant pleasure, and you waste no time.

Your hips begin to buck against his, building a slow, steady rhythm until you’re confidently riding your vampire lover with a self-satisfied smirk on your lips.

Each thrust makes you mewl, moan, and cry out into the night, that pleasant angle of his cock hitting that same spot his fingers did just minutes ago.

His head rolls back into the ground, and with the remnants of his energy, he issues an occasional, quick rut into you. As it’s rare, you decide to savor it. You squeeze around him with the thrusts, and soon, you feel yourself running out of breath.

“I— I could let you do this for—hells— forever,” he hisses out, and suddenly, you feel his hands unclasp from yours and snake around your waist. “Where have you been all these centuries?”

Your upper body is dragged forward, your tits colliding with his toned chest when he pulls you into a tight, possessive embrace.

You gasp at the warmth between you, and your eyebrows soon furrow when you realize the position limits your hip movement. As you’re forced into a pause from your delirious riding, his lips crash onto yours.

Your tongues share a private, slack dance, heads tilting to adjust as you both hum and groan into the fiery kiss. You attempt to rut into him, and soon enough he gets the hint.

Keeping you immobilized against his chest, his hips pound up into you. The first few smacks are scandalously loud, and you revel in the newfound angle.

You’re lost in him, completely and utterly. When he moans, you respond with a hum— when his embrace tightens around you, you kiss him harder.

The familiar, fiery heat in your tummy bubbles up again. You feel it amp up, grow, and send jolts up your spine when suddenly, you’re being pushed up. When your eyes flutter open, you catch his still closed.

His chest stays firm against yours as he positions you upright, letting you straddle his hips as you’re both left sitting in the soft patch of grass and wildflowers.

With your body regaining its mobility, you start grinding against him again. The position allows for a deliciously intimate closeness, his cock burrowing deep into you as you resume riding him.

The pressure within you grows, emerging as a knot— threatening to unravel with every other thrust. Your clit rubs against the base of his groin, amplifying the pleasure into a sensation you’ve long forgotten about.

“A-Astarion—” you mewl out between kisses, and his hot breath tickles your face when he chuckles.

“Cum for me,” he sighs out, and the assertion comes off soft and pleading as it settles into the groves of your heart.

“O-Okay— I… I—”

He tightens his hold on your waist with one hand, as the other moves to cradle your cheek. His touch is unbelievably delicate and affectionate, and out of all the stimulation he had so graciously provided you this night, it’s that soft touch that sends you over the edge.

Your lips connect in one last kiss, and you moan throatily into his mouth. Your hips still, thighs squeezing as your pussy tightens around his cock in a moment of pure bliss. The steadily rising pressure in your belly finally tips over, sending a wave of bliss down your entire being.

Still, he keeps moving. You almost want to scream against him as his hips begin pounding into you again, the soft slaps quickening as he slowly peaks with you.

Withdrawing from the kiss to lean against your neck, he cums. Hard.

Your slowly declining climax seems to slam the gas pedal as you feel him release deep into you, the warmth spreading through your body like a genial embrace, a fact that makes him groan loudly against your mouth. Your breath stills in your throat, before finally releasing into a long, guttural moan— it echoes into the night, and your vision blurs.

White-hot bliss envelops your body, and you melt into Astarion’s for solace. You feel him grip you, caress your face, kiss away your adrenaline-fueled tears, and pant softly against your lips as your pussy spasms again.

Your orgasm envelops you in slow, pulsating waves as it withdraws, and you’re soon left huffing into the vampire’s flaxen locks. You think you hear him speak, but the ringing in your ears is too potent to know for certain.

Then, as the ringing finally retires, you hear him whisper your name. It’s a soft, patient call against the burning skin of your neck, one you commit to memory as you’re finally awarded your senses back— if only partially.

The forest feels exceptionally silent as you fall into his arms. You recognize the soft chirp of crickets in the distance, perhaps a distant hoot of owls, but it all seems to blend into an indecipherable blur as exhaustion floods your system.

Your head falls into the crook of his neck, and your mind sinks into the soft, languid thumps of his heart. His hand caresses your back, and you sigh deeply.

You sit there for what feels like hours, drinking each other in. You’ve waited so long, and finally, you’re at ease— it’s a feeling you wish to cherish, and if it wasn’t for the pesky passage of time, you’d choose to stay in this damned forest for eons; with him.

You feel him shift against you. His hands withdraw from your waist, and he whispers softly against you. “Come, my love.”

You hum in disagreement, face burrowing deeper into him. Yes, rosemary and brandy— now it’s clear to you.

He exhales sharply, and you smile into his neck. He waits for a beat, before placing a soft kiss to your temple. “Wait here.”

You nod gently and finally allow him to withdraw. The separation makes you sigh, your body shivering in the newfound cold of the night, but you persevere. In the longing to hold on to the moment for a little longer, you keep your eyes closed and hope he’ll return before you open them again.

You hear him shuffle around, walking from left to right, before finally returning to face you. “Hands up,” he mutters softly, and you do as you’re told in your pleasure-drunken stupor.

You feel him drape something silken over your sweat-slick body, the soft material draping your hips before coming to a stop at your thighs. When you breathe in, you immediately realize it’s not your shirt, so you grin.

When you’re comfortably wrapped up, he leans in. Once you finally sense the familiar warmth of his chest, you lean against his shoulder and breathe in his scent.

You’re surprised he does this for you. Tenderness is not exactly something you’d connect with a man of his past, of his skill. Yet, when his hands move to rest under your knees and back, you don’t resist.

He lifts you off the ground, letting your fatigued frame rest against him. He takes it upon himself to get you back to camp, safe and sound, and only slightly perturbed.

You drink in everything you can, letting yourself be greedy for once. The steadiness of his breath, his warm chest, the crinkling of leaves under his feet— it’s an image you swear to place, no matter what difficulties might threaten to befall you in the future.

And he’s silent up until you reach the campgrounds. The chatter of dinnertime has long died down, and when you open your eyes, you spot the crackling embers of firelight flickering away among a circle of stones. The flames cast a soft, warm light onto the closed tents, and you revel in the intimacy of the moment.

“Everyone met their bedtime while we’ve been naughty sneaking out,” he murmurs with a chuckle, and you close your eyes hurriedly in hopes of feigning slumber. Still, you can’t help the smile that creeps onto your face at his brazen comment.

You reach the outskirts and finally spot his tent just below an old, sturdy oak tree. You recall the talks you had out front so many times before, back when your feelings were just sparks of something much stronger and much, much warmer.

He crouches down and with an unsurprising agility climbs into the little shelter with you still in his arms. You lie slack against him, letting his arms lay you gently onto his woolen mat. You melt into the warmth almost immediately, sighing out dreamily when you feel his presence beside you.

It’s silent for a moment, and when your eyes finally flutter open, you catch him staring at you. His gaze is thoughtful but warm, lingering over your form with a certain glimmer.

“I guess it’s official, then,” you sigh out, closing your eyes again and letting a lazy smile drift over your features.

He pauses for a moment, then clears his throat. “What… what is?”

You chuckle softly at his awkward tone, shifting to the side and letting one of your eyes pop open to glance at him.

“My victory,” you state matter-of-factly before quickly shifting to your other side, facing away from him just to let a satisfied grin creep onto your face.

You don’t witness it, but his expression goes from tense, to disconcerted, to irritated in a matter of seconds. His eyes roll, and you suddenly feel a flat slap against your ass.

“Woah there, hey!” you gasp, followed by a cheeky giggle. Your head turns to face him from your comfortable position, and you catch him mirroring your grin.

“Quiet, now,” he commands softly, pivoting to lie beside you. His arm comes over your waist, pulling you into his chest. “Bet’s over, darling. I’m sorry to say, but you’ve not proven yourself capable. Shame, really.”

You blow a raspberry through your smile and shimmy closer to him, your body melting perfectly into his— a fact that has you near to falling asleep.

“Shame indeed. The look on your face was priceless when you ate dirt,” you shrug nonchalantly, “At least that’s the version I’ll be telling everyone come morning.”

He scoffs, the low rumble of it vibrating against your back, but his arm only tightens around you. You feel his face in your hair, breathing in your scent.

“If you do that, I might just have to kill you,” he mutters, but despite the intensity of the words, his voice is soft and loving against your head. His hand drifts to your belly, fingers tracing lazy circles against the soft skin there.

“You would never.”

He’s silent for a beat. Your lips open to build on your clever retort before you feel his sharp exhale on your neck.

“Sleep, darling,” he reprimands, squeezing your midriff gently.

You sigh contentedly, your lips brushing against the pillow as you settle deeper into his embrace. The tent is cocooned in warmth, but you feel the cool kiss of the evening breeze filtering in through the small opening at the entrance. Outside, the campfire crackles faintly, the last embers glowing like distant stars before fading into fine ash.

As you drift closer to sleep, wrapped in the steady rise and fall of his breathing, the world around you blurs into the peaceful haze of near-dreams.

Just as the veil of slumber begins to pull you under, you feel his lips press against your hair, a soft whisper brushing against your skin.

“As long as I'll live, I never could.”

[atinystaypixie]

Lesson of Rejection

Summary: You are a princess, and as a princess, you don't take rejection well. When your top guard does reject you, its only natural you teach him a lesson.

WC: 2.5k+

CW: 18+, MDNI!!, gang bang, spit roasting, unimplied unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, especially in these situations), cumming in pants, oral (m&f receiving), bondage, public (ish) setting

Requested by: @princeasimdiya12 thank you for waiting luv!

Nanami is a well respected man. Every subordinate looks up to him, all fellow guards admire his strength, and no one is trusted like him. Your father adores him and is the only man he allows to be close to you.

He is always close to you, watching you, and if you look close enough, admiring you. In the comfort of your room of the large palace, you wear minimal clothing and his eyes will occasionally scan the enticing skin of your body. You are a smart girl, and can clearly sense when a man is interested in you. Especially when the well reserved man is caught with the tips of his ears turning red from helping you undress.

You had stormed to your room in a fit of anger after the meeting with your father and your supposed future husband. The man he introduced to you made your skin crawl. A creepy smile, weird stitches across his forehead, and such a disgusting way of talking down on others. But for some reason, your dad couldn’t stop praising him.

“I mean how could he?! He didn’t even ask if that’s what I wanted! Marry THAT man? That disgusting man? How dare he?!” You exclaim stomping around your room and throwing your jewelry about. He told you to come your best dressed and you took your precious time getting all pretty just to be met with this bullshit.

“Don’t just stand there! Help me get this off!” You directed your anger towards Nanami. He understood you were upset, so he didn’t take offense to you raising your voice at him. Usually the maids would help you with this task, but in your fit of rage you told no one to enter your room and that meant only Nanami would be near you. He always is there with an open ear when you go on tangents.

“He’s just marrying me off like some kind of property! Am I not human?” His callous fingers work the laced up ribbons undone. Your dress slipping off your body leaving your backside completely exposed to him. The panties and bra leaving little skin covered. His mind wanted to be respectful and look away, but his eyes stared longer than what could be considered an accident.

“I will not-,” you stop ranting as you turn around. He’s closer than expected and his eyes are hooded. It’s not for long and he quickly changes back to his professional poker face, but it was long enough for you to catch. He turns his head giving you the view of his ears. You suppress a smile and go back to blowing up about your father. Tonight’s events aren’t even a worry anymore, it’s being exposed and forcing Nanami to stay in close proximity for as long as possible.

For at least ten more minutes, Nanami was forced to endure your nearly bare figure strutting around. Your words go in one ear and out the other. His eyes were doing the best to not land on you, but you were making it difficult by making sure to stay in his line of sight. You finally stop dramatically in front of him. The jiggle of your breasts catch his lowered eyes.

“Nanamins, I refuse to be given to that man. He’s not even my type.” Your voice is lowered and dripping with seduction. A well manicured finger pressing against his firm chest through his clothes. It was fine until you started dragging your finger lower at the end of your sentence.

Any other man would have folded right at that moment, any other man would have gone in for a kiss, but Nanami was not any other man. His hand wraps around your wrist halting your actions.

“Miss. I am afraid you are extremely frustrated. It is best if you get some rest. Have a good night.” He gently releases his grip and turns on his hills. This did not sit easy with you. Yes, you were teasing the man and didn’t truly expect for things to go far, but the fact he completely just rejected and left you? That was not going to fly over well.

Nanami didn’t release the effect his actions had. He didn’t realize the fire pit that being professional and sticking to his duties had thrown him in.

It wasn’t until he found himself in the current predicament that he released just how bad you didn’t like being told no.

He entered the training room with powerful strides as usual. You had ordered a special session and without question he showed up along with the other higher ranked guards. He was informed on the information while having tea with you. You were close to him and would often ask him to drink with you. It wasn’t as if he could truly refuse, he was your personal guard and would have to be in close proximity while following every order anyways.

“Today, I would like to do something different.” Your head held high and you spoke to your guards. Nanami internally raised an eyebrow, his curiosity never playing across his face. He knew something was completely awry when you ordered each of them that this session would be kept from your father. “With this session, I want to practice, how should I say,” you do a humming sound of thought, “rejecting.” A smile etches onto your face. The word spikes Nanami’s attention. He was top guard for a reason and his wit was a part of that reason. Unease wasn’t an emotion he felt often, but after the events of the other night, he couldn’t help but feel as if that night and this session tied together.

“Yuki,” you call to the female guard who acts like more of an assistant than anything to you. “Pass me what I asked you to bring.” There is a silk covering on what appears to be a cart. “Gojo,” this time your attention is directed towards the tall, white-haired guard, “take off your pants.” If his eyes weren’t covered, they would be seen popping wide before relaxing again.

Gojo couldn’t say he quite understood the command, but either way he liked where this was going. It was no secret that most, if not all, the guards had an attraction to you. So if you commanded the man to take his pants off, he would gladly do it for you. He was almost too eager, making you swallow a scoff. Your deviant eyes flicked to Nanami and he was still standing straight and at attention without a noticeable shift in demeanor. He wouldn’t be like that long.

A series of orders were thrown out. The guards moved quickly and swiftly as each had a separate one directed towards them. In all their time of training, in all their time of serving, none of them expected to ever be in this situation.

Gojo and Sukuna stuff you full as Nanami is tied with his hands behind his back. His cock straining against his pants as he watched your pussy wrap around Gojo’s dick and your pretty lips soak in your own spit as Sukuna fucks into your throat. You knew that Nanami was suffering, and suffering badly at that. The tea you had him drink this morning had more than sugar added to it.

“Such a slut, Princess.” Gojo spoke, still pistoning his hips forward aiming to reach the deepest pits of your insides. The squelching of your pussy sounds every time his hips connect to your ass, skin to skin filling the room. At this point your eyes were glazed over and sweat was coating your skin. Any moan you had was immediately caught by Sukuna’s dick, turning into gurgles.

Your ears perk at the deep whine that just graced them. Despite having two cocks filling you, your senses immediately clear and your eyes snap to the blonde haired man. His eyebrows tightly scrunched, chest rising and falling heavily, and a red tint to his cheeks. The moans leaving you turn into a choked laugh.

Sukuna groans when he feels your hand push at his hips, removing him from your mouth. “Nanami, was there something you wanted to say?” Your neat eyebrow raises as your hand wraps around the long dick in front of you, your tongue swirling around the tip as you hold eye contact with the restrained man.

“-ease” his words are breathy and low. His body is in so much need of even the simplest touch that he can barely speak.

“Speak up.”

“Please…please, Miss.” The hips that were once rocking into yours stops, Sukuna’s focus is no longer on your plump lips, and Yuki’s face is showing clear shock. They had never heard Nanami sound so needy, so submissive. Their head guard speaking without the normal command in his voice threw all of them off and they didn’t know what to do. “Please, I need relief,” he begged.

“Hmm…,” a heavy pause weighs in the room, “no. We’re working on rejection, remember? I know you are all too familiar with it.” A smirk plays on your lips as you signal Gojo and Sukuna to get back to work. Their egos boosting from getting to fuck into you while the one man who has infinite access to you suffers.

Your walls squeeze around Gojo making his head fall back and eyes clamp shut, “fuck! Princess, if you keep doing that I won’t be able to hold it.”

You release Sukuna with a pop, “go on. I’m not stopping you,” is all you say before going back to sucking. That’s all he needs to feel his balls tightening and dick twitching. He hurriedly pulls out of you and covers your pussy in his seed. The white substance landing on your puffy clit and pussy lips. He lets out deep moans and grunts as he strokes all of his cum onto your cunt.

Sukuna wasn’t far behind, your mouth was so warm and wet around him and it didn’t help that your hand was stroking the parts of him that you couldn’t fit. Your tongue running over his sensitive tip at just the right times had him in the same position Gojo was in moments ago. His eyes were clamping shut and his lips were parted releasing moans.

“Princess, I am close. Please.” He said in broken breaths. The hum you did around his dick letting him know that he could sent him over the edge. His abdomen clenched as he released his seed on your tongue.

Nanami couldn’t take seeing two men release their seed onto you. He was on the verge of cumming without even being touched. Although his skin was hot and his dick was angrily throbbing, he noticed that you hadn’t come. But he didn’t need to say it, because you were already getting up and walking over to him on shaky legs. You grabbed his chin and made him look up at you.

“Look at you,” you scoffed. “Clean me up.” He felt your fingers grip the locks of his hair and before he can say anything, your cum covered pussy meets his lips. If he was in his right state of mind he would have immediately resisted, but he wasn’t. Your clit hitting his nose and his tongue greeting your used hole had an animalistic moan rising out of his chest. He couldn’t bring himself to care that he had to clear another man's seed to get the full taste of your pussy, his body was in so much need that even sniffing your used cunt was making him spiral more.

“Good fucking boy,” you bit your lip as your eyes stayed focused on him. The view was perfect. Your legs widen and his face directly between them as you humped on his face. He was licking at your cunt like a starved man, his tongue lapping up your slit and catching your clit before pushing back into your hole. Gojo and Sukuna might have just got done using you, but Nanami’s tongue was making your body weak. He was making sure to catch every drop of your juices and the pleasure you were feeling was obvious from the way you were moaning. Your moans making the two already spent men feel their dicks start twitching again.

You felt the coil in your stomach getting ready to pop. Your fingers gripping tighter at the blonde strands between them and your hips bucking with more aggression.

Without warning, you cum in Nanami’s mouth. The taste of your release making his dick immediately spurt cum into his pants. His body was shaking while whimpers and moans fell from his lips. His hand rested against your thigh as he caught his breath.

The laugh you let out as you moved his head from your thigh was condescending. You lower to in front of him and unzip his pants reaching your hand in. “You came in your pants,” you stroke his sensitive dick causing another whine to come from him before pulling your hand back out. “I mean look! You made such a mess and I didn’t even touch your dick!” Another laugh left you, off to the side small chuckles could be heard from Sukuna and Gojo.

Your laughs die down and you lean close to his ear and whisper, “the next time you reject me, I won’t be so nice.” You pull away and wrap your cum covered hand around his chin, “thank Nanami for today’s session. Clean up and continue with the day,” you look at Nanami again, “except you. Stay like this, cum soaked pants and everything for the rest of the day.” You gather a robe off of the cart you ordered Yuki to bring you earlier and exit the room.

In passing later, you see that the guards have all returned to their fixed attires and two especially have wide grins on their face. As Nanami returns to you, you see he has done as you asked. The proof being the clear stain at the front of his pants.

“Miss, I am sorry for rejecting you and I have reflected, but could you please allow me to change so I may look appropriate in appearance.”

Your answer comes quickly and without a bat of the eye, “no. Everyone feels the need to tell me what’s going to happen despite my wishes lately. I don’t like it, so in a start to correcting it, you’ll stay like this until the end of the day.” He didn’t protest or speak further after that, he knew it would only make it worse. In any other situation he would have tried to talk you down, but he had suffered enough embarrassment of the day. Before returning to you, Gojo, Sukuna, and Yuki had their fun mocking him. It wouldn’t be the end of it either because he still had a training session to lead later on in the day.

But Nanami was the head guard for a reason, he was the guard entrusted to be close to you for a reason. He couldn’t be deemed the top guard if he didn’t realize the tea he had with you countless times before tastes different. A small aftertaste and the heating of his blood gave away all he needed to know. The guards may have something to mock him about now, but they won’t be the ones inside of your tight pussy for many nights to come, nor will they be the reason your pending marriage will fail.

✨

Thoughts of a Slutty Virgin ~ 🧚🏾‍♀️

Whew it has been a while! This was requested so long ago and I really am thankful for the patience. I will continue to work on the requests that I have yet to put out. PIXIE'S BACK!

ENJOY! Reblog, like, and comment💜

Pixie's Masterlist

Taglist: @444ghosty @un-lawliet @tophamhat-kyo @nobianna @viisgrave

Wanna join my taglist?

Purple dividers at the top made by me. Pictures used are not mine. Support banner made by @/cafekitsune.

[lordofdestructionm]

The not so subtle sentimentality of Mordecai Heller

With the Lackadaisy Short Film  teaser trailer hitting over 800K views one line from Serafine got me thinking about a side of Mordecai that is not often discussed but is crucial to his character and may play a key part in the comics story before the end

Though it is easy for both other characters in the story and readers to see Mordecai as just a cold killer that cares more about stains on his shirt than ending multiple lives in grizzly ways (and that is true for anyone who makes the mistake of getting in the way of him completing his work) a closer look reveals that, while reserved for a short list of people, there is a strong streak of sentimentality hidden behind the buttoned down aloof professional persona he tries so hard to maintain

His Mother and Sisters

Mordecai was dealt a very bad starting hand in life. With his father dying when he and his sisters were still very young, despite his loving and hard working mother doing her best to provide for them, the family lived in poverty in the slums of New York

As a result Mordecai has to start working at a very early age and being naturally gifted with numbers he becomes a book keeper and soon enough gets drawn into running the numbers for gambling and loan sharking gangs.

All of this was done to try and make life better for his mother and his sisters. In a flashback to when he was on the run from the criminals he had been working for after being caught embezzling funds from them, his life is in danger and he needs to get out of town in a hurry and so jumps on a train in either 1920 or 1921.

Despite this he fixates on writing a letter to send to his mother in which he explains the location of his ill gotten savings and urges her to move with his sisters to cleaner better ventilated housing.

Because the money wasn’t primarily for his benefit

Mordecai clearly loved his sisters very much and they could break him out of his reserved bookish demeanor. We can see even as an adult Modecai holds the memory of his childhood with his sisters, impoverished and hard though it clearly was, very close. Close enough that thinking about them are enough to bring out his very small but very genuine smile that could not be further away from his “ice pick look”.

Atlas

The next imporant relationship in his life is with Atlas May. When on that getaway train he soon realized that cut throats from his former employers are already in the carriage waiting for their moment to pounce

Mordecai is 100% certain that he is about to get a bullet to the head and the tunnel will provide the hitmen with the perfect cover as the darkness and noise descends.

Only for a ray of light to suddenly appear

Atlas gave Mordecai the means to survive, not just by literally giving him what he needed to escape his would be murderers, but by employing him and providing a new purpose when he had nowhere else to go and no idea what to do.

Atlas being dead by the time of the main story, by design we know very little about his personality and relationships with others except for what the people who knew him have to say.

But is is very clear that Mordecai felt a deep loyalty to Atlas. It may even be speculated that he became a surrogate father figure for him, having lost his own father so young and having been moulded while working for him from the scared youth in shabby second hand clothes to a dapper professional bookkeeping bootlegger

This loyalty has not ended with Atlas’s death. He is determined to get to the bottom of the mystery of his murder. This is despite the fact it would be a much smarter move by far for the sake of both professionalism and survival to let dead former employers lie and simply carry out his new role with the Marigold gang no questions asked

Instead it is clear the entire reason he has abandoned The Lackadaisy is not, as Mitzi and the rest think, cold self interest but so he can investigate if the rival gang had any role in his mentors death

Even discussing the topic causes his cold passive exterior to crack and makes him look broken and overwhelmed

Viktor  (You knew this was coming)

As anyone who has followed this account will know this is one of my (and many other fans) favourite dynamics in the series

At fist it seems there is little reason for these two to have any kind of bond. Mordecai is pretty much obsessed with good grooming, high quality tailoring, correct grammar, and tends to go on one-sided rambles when perturbed.

 This clashes hard with the surly Slovak who is often unshaven, relatively casual in his attire, speaks a broken English, and hates people chattering or “noise, noise, noise” as he calls it. Indeed the two often bicker and act as if they can’t stand the other

However for whatever reason, in spite of these big differences, the big bruiser mechanic and the fussy nerdy sharp shooter are able to work very well together and soon become key weapons in Atlas’s arsenal

And in spite of their differences there is evidence, that over the course of the roughly six years they were working together before their bosses death, that these two extremely anti-social personalities actually began to form an unlikely rapport

On the one known occasion when Mordecai actually drank strong alcohol, and predictably got hilariously drunk, one of his chosen topics of conversation is his “friend” Viktor and how “great” he is (including a possibly telling comment about his large physique *cough*)

Mordecai also, despite being the type of person who you would assume would just radiate Scrooge energy, makes a point of buying Viktor a Christmas/hanukka present. Though he keeps up appearances by presenting it as another criticism of Viktor’s fashion sense

Tellingly Viktor voluntarily wears the tie for the rest of the day, something only Ivy (someone Viktor treats as a surrogate daughter) is able to get away with as well.

The two also not only work well together in a professional capacity, but seem to truly look out for each others welfare when on the job. Not only does Mordecai save Viktor from being shot while distracted, Viktor then goes out of his way to retrieve Mordecai’s pince-nez from the staircase of a burning building

While a hilarious moment as Mordecai fails to react in the “correct” way to having just survived a bloody shoot out, it also sums up his entire attitude to people, that he separates the world into those who count and those who don’t. The former are a short list

Viktor, along with the others on here, counts for Mordecai

This is made clear at his chat with Mitzi at the lunch meeting.

Mordecai may have kneecapped Viktor when he left the Lackadaisy gang, but from what we know now this was clearly an attempt to get Viktor out of harms way by forcing him to retire from bootlegging, and quite possibly to avoid Marigold putting him in a position where he would have to fight Viktor if he was told to finish off the failing speakeasy. Something he could hardly refuse if he wanted to keep investigating Atlas’s death

Mitzi seems to know Viktor is a chink in Mordecai’s armour, and of course exploits that to the fullest. When she informs him that his theft of the Lackadaisy arsenal put Viktors life in danger Mordecai’s face makes less than neutral expression

As Mitzi keeps twisting that screw Mordecai knows he is in danger of giving something away and with Asa right next to him he needs to restore his barriers.

In this case quite literally using a menu to cover his face to ensure he doesn’t slip up again

It seem to work as Asa laughs of the idea of Mordecai having a heart beneath the cold exterior (something we know is a big mistake)

Even when the attention is off him and the topic of conversation moves on his gaze remains firmly fixed down at the table.

Until Atlas lets slip some crucial information about Atlas’s last days. So much for there being “no heartstrings to tug on”

I am sure the Lackadaisy Animated Movie is going to be amazing and hopefully will only lead to ever more popularity and attention for this amazing world and its characters

[callme-holly]

Hii thereee!! I was wondering if you could write smth Soda related. Maybe a first date with him like a picnic maybe? Or something like that. That's all!! Hope you have a great day/night and your writing is so scrumptious omggg🙏🏽😭

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞 [𝐬𝐨𝐝𝐚𝐩𝐨𝐩 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐬 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫]

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 - I apologise that this isn't exact! I started off following the ask and then everything kinda took a turn and this happened... Im also on a trip for a couple of days so I won't be able to post. Anyways, hope ya'll enjoy and as always

my asks are still open for requests!!

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 984 words

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - none!!

The sun was hot on your skin, and the warm breeze did very little to cool you off as you sat beside Soda on the front porch of the Curtis home. He has an arm draped around your waist, holding you close despite the oppressive heat, and a can of pepsi held loosely in his free hand. His usually greased-up hair is damp with sweat and sticking up at odd angles, the product of having been run through several times that day. He looks relaxed, seemingly somewhat content with sitting beside you, his fingers tracing idle patterns into your side. 

Normally, he’d be running about the front yard with the rest of the gang and a football, laughing loudly, until Darry called for them to “knock it off and come inside.” Today, though, Soda simply sits on the porch steps, watching with a grin as Two-Bit chases Pony with the hose, Steve jeering him on from the sidelines. Johnny’s standing a couple feet away, a small smile on his lips as he watches the chaos unfold before him, occasionally dodging a stray stream of water directed at him. 

You lean your head against Sodapop’s shoulder, ignoring the heat and the sticky fabric of your sundress, keeping your gaze focused on the group before you. Soda takes a sip of his drink, and you can tell by the way his leg bounces that he wants nothing more than to join the fray. 

A small smile tugs at the edges of your lips. You reach over and intertwine your fingers with his, his leg stilling almost immediately at your touch. He looks down at you, tilting his head much in the same way a dog might when curious, his brow furrowed.

“Everythin' okay?” His voice is impossibly soft, and you feel warmth bloom in your chest. You squeeze his hand and nod, your gaze straying over to where the gang is playing. The hose is now in possession of a very pissed-off and very wet-looking Dallas, whose blonde hair sticks to his forehead in dripping strands.

“You can go join them, you know.” Soda follows your gaze, nodding slowly. 

“I know,” He turns back to you, shrugging lightly as he squeezes your hand in return. “But I promised you a date, and if I can’t give you that, then the least I can do is sit here with you, right?” He gives you a lopsided grin, pulling you in closer so that you’re practically pressed against him. You let out a soft laugh and shook your head, tucking your face into his shoulder. Soda presses a kiss on your hairline, resting his chin against the top of your head and grinning like an idiot. 

The two of you were meant to go out today, taking advantage of his day off in hopes of catching a movie or taking a picnic to the lot. But the extremely hot weather meant that Darry didn’t want either of you out for too long, forcing you to spend your date out in the yard with the gang. 

You watch with fond amusement as Steve tackles Two-Bit on the lawn, the both of them struggling for control over the hose, sending water spraying in all directions. A chorus of yells and laughs fills the air, and Soda fidgets beside you, clearly desperate to join in on the fun but hesitant to abandon you. 

You reach over and gently pat his thigh. 

“It'll be fine,” You reassure him, giving his other hand a light squeeze. “Go join 'em.” He sighs heavily and stands, reluctantly letting go of your hand to walk towards the commotion on the grass. Within seconds, he's lost amidst the throng of boys, and you're left alone on the porch, listening to them scream and laugh amongst themselves. 

Occasionally, Soda turns to flash you one of those blinding smiles that you love so very much, before he's brought back to the game by Steve jumping on his back, the pair rolling about in the wet grass, mud staining their clothes. 

The scene makes you chuckle, and before you know it, you find Soda bounding towards you once more, arms outstretched, his smile just as bright as always. You grimace at his soaked state, wrinkling your nose a little as he tries to wrap his arms around your waist.

“Sodapop Curtis, don't you dare.” You threaten playfully, trying to swat his hands away as best you can as he advances on you. 

His grin turns mischievous. “Aw, Y/N, you're no fun.” He grins wider, grabbing one of your hands and pulling you up from the wooden porch step. You stumble, giggling as he twirls you around before encircling his arms around your waist and pressing his face into the side of your neck. 

“You’re wet!” You chastise him, pushing gently against his chest, trying desperately to wriggle free. He only holds you tighter, and you eventually give in, relaxing in his hold, a content smile tugging at the corners of your lips as he peppers kisses across your neck and face. 

When he finally pulls away, he’s got an impossibly bright grin on his face, his arms still slung securely around your waist. 

“I'm sorry I couldn't take you on that date I promised.” He says it softly, leaning down to press his lips against yours. It's sweet and chaste, and you melt against him, your fingers running through his wet hair.

“Don’t apologise,” You mumble, pulling back slightly so you can look up at him. You brush a few stray hairs from his eyes, and he blinks lazily at you, leaning into the touch. “We have plenty of other days for dates.”

His answering smile is wide, his eyes crinkling at the sides. “Yeah?”

You give him a nod, leaning in to press another kiss on his lips. “Yeah.”

𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬!!

[sovereignjojoz]

Bucci gang + embarrassing nicknames (milestone special!)

Warnings: bizarre activities, one mildly suggestive pun in Abbacchio’s, cringe names, google translate.

Pairings: Bruno x reader, Abbacchio x reader, Mista x reader, Fugo x reader, Bonus giorno x reader, Bonus Narancia x reader.

Summary: some embarrassing nicknames.

Notes-sup. It’s been a while. Narancia’s is the best imo. Happy holidays just in case I take too long with my next post!

Bruno Bucciarati

“Brubooboo!” You called out, peaking your head into the meeting room next door.

Bruno turned to look at you, evidently embarrassed at the use of your unique nickname, a faint pink hue present on his sun-kissed cheeks.

You shook your head amused at his reaction, he seemed to hate the nickname yet he never expressed his displeasure; ever the gentleman sitting there bearing the brunt of your teasing.

“Amore mio,” he smiled, regaining his composure.

You leant forward, resting your elbows on his desk whilst putting your face on the psalm of your hands. “Sup baby?” You asked, the corners of your lips turning upward.

He hummed in response, pinching the bridge of his nose. “What brings you here cara?”

You walked around the desk so you stood beside him, “I was in the area,” you explained, “I thought you’d be done and we could walk home together but clearly my brubear seems stressed.”

You pinched his cheeks, gently pecking each side.

He scoffed, exhaling, “renounce those awful nicknames.”

You pulled his head back so it was facing upwards to look you, “that would mean we’d have to break up.” You teasingly frowned.

“pensi di essere così divertente (you think you’re so funny)?” He muttered, letting out a sigh.

“I’d like to believe so.” You told him “but more importantly do you want me to bring you some dinner, it seems like you’ll be a while, I can just-”

He silenced your rambling by lifting your, interlacing your fingers with his before standing to his full height.

“It’s alright, I’m done for now at least. Torniamo a casa. (Let’s head home).” He stood up, pulling you to the exit by your hand.

You squeezed his hand, drawing closer to him.

“Shall I take out your braids and massage your head when we get home?” You mused, massaging his knuckle with your thumb.

“Sounds perfect.”

Leone Abbacchio

“Bababacchio” you sang imitating the tune of ba ba black sheep as you burst into his bedroom.

Abbacchio closed his eyes, exhaling frustratedly. Recently you’d found calling him the most ridiculously horrific names hilarious and had taken it upon yourself to purposefully make the next one worst than the last.

“What [name].” He asked monotoned, already unimpressed with you although you hadn’t even said anything.

“Chill Habba bubba,” you raised your hands up in mock surrender, “I’m only here to sleep,” you told him crawling onto the bed beside him, “preferably next to you.”

He stood up, bunching his long silver hair up so he could tie it into a ponytail for bed, a hair tie in his mouth as he falsely contemplated what you were saying.

“If you stop with those disgusting pet names fine but say one more and i'm kicking you out.” He warned, as his nimble fingers pulled his hair through the band.

You winked at him, “Fine with me toots.” You told him spreading out on his bed, patting the empty space beside you; inviting him to lay there.

He clicked his tongue at your remark but decided not to act irrationally, using the small bit of patience he had to give you a chance.

You hummed, shifting to move more towards Abbacchio’s side of the bed as he got undressed for bed.

Abbacchio’s chiselled physique just so happened to enter your view frame, a physique which you just so happened to be rather fond of.

You could hardly be blamed for propping your face in the psalm of your hands so you could further enunciate your voice.

“Dangggg! Leone! More like le-own-me!” You teased suggestively raising your eyebrows.

In all your time knowing Leone, you’d never seen his features contort into disgust quicker, you honestly felt rather hurt, that pun had at least been painfully amusing, at the very least!

“fuori. (Out).”

“Wait I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” You apologied breathless, unsuccessfully trying to stifle your laughter behind your hand.

“Hold up! stop, let go of my ankle!” You complained as he lifted you out of his bed, dropping you on the floor.

“Leone I’m sorry, let me back in please!”

Guido Mista

“Mimi, it’s so cold!” You whined, staying as close to him as humanly possible, “and your shirt is too cropped for me to put my hands under.”

“Number one, that’s on you and secondly quit it with that name! You’re gonna ruin my street cred.”

Jokingly, you scoffed, side-eyeing him, “what street cred, you wear zebra print pants?”

He lightly pushed you away, shoving his hands in his pockets as he dragged his feet into the hotel the pair of you would be staying in.

“uscire con qualcuno che hanno detto, sarà divertente hanno detto. che bugiardo. (date someone they said, it will be fun they said. what a liar.)” Mista mumbled a tad bit too loud under his breath, kissing his teeth at the end for dramatic effect.

He kicked the door open with his foot, holding it open as you leisurely walked in after him.

“Oh whatever.” You said rolling your eyes at his dramatics, “stop acting as if you don’t relish in the privileges that come with a relationship.”

He waved his hand in the air, dismissing your sentence, “Well why wouldn’t I, they are there for me to use, right?”

You turned your nose up at him, “Hmph.”

“C’mon baby,” Mista whined drawling out the “y” sound. He encased his hands around your face, kissing your cheeks. “Let’s just have fun tonight, yeah?”

“Fineee.” You took his hands off of your face and dragged him to the receptionist desk.

The tanned male winked at you in response, “yo, could I get a room for two, king sized bed please.”

Fugo Pannacotta

“Fugie pants, fungo, pannana! Could you be a dear and help me with my homework please?”

Fugo walked into the room, mortified, with a cackling Narancia trailing behind him.

“[name]! What did we say about using such vile names!” Fugo exclaimed, positioning himself at your side.

You threw your head back, sighing, “I can’t quite recall fugs.” You answered, biting your bottom lip in an attempt to stifle your laughter.

“[name].” The young male warned curtly, squeezing your jaw so your boisterous laughter would be lessoned.

Narancia wiped his tears of laughter, high giving you as he made his way to exit. “Man, see ya around. Too funny.” Narancia mumbled to himself, his laughter still audible as he departed the room.

“Stop it.”

“But it’s so funny, if you’d just stop reacting I’d stop-”

He pinched your soft lips with his fingers, cutting your sentence off. “no.”

Mini Bonus: Giorno

“Hey Gio.”

The blonde side-eyed you curiously.

You pointed at him with your pencil, “you know if you rearrange the letters in your name you can come up with some pretty interesting name combos.”

He raised his eyebrow, interested, “oh really?”

“Uh huh. Like giovanno, Giovanni, gio-vara, gio-cara.”

Bemusedly, he smiled. “I don’t have a c in my name.”

“I know that giogio, I was trying to be cute with a cute pun.” You groaned exasperated.

“Failure was inevitable.”

“Hey!” You pouted, playfully poking his cheek, “for someone so nice you sure are cheeky.”

Bonus: Narancia Ghirga

The whole week you had been trying, yet ultimately failing, to tease Narancia by giving him an embarrassing nickname.

But despite your best efforts nothing seemed to work, he was seemingly immune to embarrassment.

You thought back on those instances, trying to recall where you had gone wrong.

“Hey my sugar plum fairy cake gumdrop!” You greeted Narancia, kissing his nose.

“What’s up my boo boo bear honey plum nugget.” He responded back with an equal amount of fervour.

You stiffened, cringing in your place, how could he say that so easily. You decided to push through, chanting the mantra “resilience is key.” In your head.

“Nothing my bubble gum sugar cube bub.”

“Alright my sweet peach bubba lover. I love you.”

You mock retched running away, as Narancia chased after you.

Total and utter defeat.

[byllsbytch]

Get In

(Loosely based on MLN - in the sense that Tokio Hotel is in a gang n they have fancy race cars 0-o)

Also disclaimer - it's a lil messy.

After a full night of clubbing and losing all my friends I started to walk home, because it was very logical at the time. My phone was dead, I’d spent all my cash so no taxi’s or phone calls. I stumbled down poorly lit streets with my heels in my hand and my purse over my shoulder. I turned down an alley way for a shortcut and sighed at how dark it was. My head was pounding, my feet were throbbing and I just wanted to get home quicker so the dreaded alley way it was.

I walked swinging my heels on my fingers. The cool air was nice for a change compared to the sweaty clubs. However, that didn’t stop me from running into someones garden bed getting on all fours and spewing my guts up. I was hunched over for a good minute before getting up and wiping the vomit from my mouth. I re-ajusted myself pulling down my skirt from up my ass and fixing my bra straps. I continued walking; turning down another street with no through road. Stupidly enough, I got myself lost and the best I could do was to groan loudly and throw my head back in frustration.

It usually took just over 2 hrs to make my way home from the city. I’d done the trek a few times after work, sober, with a working phone. But now I was fucked. I turned around and found a path that looked familiar and stuck to it. After some more walking I heard numerous car engines rumbling and approaching me. I kept my head down waiting for them to pass me when I heard a familiar voice call my name.

I shot up my head instantly and looked to see Tom and the rest of his gang slow down, Tom pulled up to the curb.

“Y/N! Get in.” He demanded.

“What! No! Why would I!” I yelled.

“Y/N you’re a mess just get in!”

I took two steps to his car, intimidated by his friend sitting in their cars.

I thought I’d take my chances and quickly turned running into the bush to get away from the gang.

“Oh for fuck sakes” I heard Bill yell.

“Just leave the dumb bitch.” Georg Called.

“Don’t call her that.” Tom commanded.

He slammed his hand down on the roof of his car, running his hand down his face. After some time standing there and contemplating he shook he head and began to sprint after me.

I heard his footsteps come closer rapidly, my heart was beating out my chest and I stopped running instead crouching behind a tree with my hand over my mouth. The footsteps slowed, Tom called my name.

He was closer than expected and I jumped startled at his voice. I squeezed my eyes shut in terror, believing I’d just given myself away.

Tom slowly treaded in my direction, not knowing what to do, again my drunkeness had fucked me over. I ditched my heel away from me in hopes to divert Tom’s attention . It’d worked in the movies, but unfortunately this was reality.

“You’re a dumb ass, now you’ve lost a shoe.” Tom shook his head.

He came over grabbing my hands.

“NO TOM! PLEASE”

“I’m taking you home”

“THAT IS NOT MY HOME, WITH YOU THERE IS NEVER A HOME! LET GO OF ME!”

“Aw shut up” He huffed and swiftly flung me over his shoulder.

I kicked and screamed my throat raw, my whole body aching.

“Stop it. You’re gonna hurt yourself.” He said sternly.

I listened to him and stopped struggling.

“You better take me back home.”

He clicked his tongue, “Beggers can’t be choosers Y/N. You’re coming home with me, I can’t leave you in this state.”

“When did I fucking beg?” I snapped. “Fucking King Tom” I mumbled under my breath.

“Language Y/N, your mother not teach you any manners. You’ll appreciate me more when you’re sober.”

It didnt take long till we’d reached his car and I was dissapointed in the distance, evident of my athletisicm.

Gustav, Bill and Gerog all sat behind their wheels clearly annoyed.

Tom threw me into the passenger seat before slamming the door and nodding at the men that were parked around him.

He swung into his seat in the car and sped off picking up speed quickly.

I groaned. “Fuck, can you go slower?” I complained.

“Pfft.” He scoffed “What kind of question.” He mumbled.

We were back at one of Tom’s properties in a matter of seconds. Lights were flashing, music was blaring and people were spilling out from all the windows and doors.

“What the fuck Tom! My head’s banging I can’t stay in your dirty fucking trap house till the morning”

“Fucking relax, I’m just dropping a package”

“Huh, so the big kingpin is getting his hand dirty for the first time in a while.”

“Hush it N/N”

You were taken aback by the nickname, you haven’t heard that name in forever, or since last time you ran into Tom actually.

“I’ll be like two seconds, don’t try running Bill and Georg are parked behind us.”

Tom slammed the door back on me and made his way into the over crowded party house.

I waited in the car holding my head. I’d seen Tom walked out of the house, on his way to the car a young girl stopped him with a embrace, crashing her lips into his.

I felt some jelously deep down, I wasn’t with him and didn’t necessarily want him either. But I dont know what it was. I rolled my eyes at him as he finally got into the car.

“Who’s your new bitch?”

“Don’t be jealous liebe”

I crossed my arms and looked out the window the rest of the drive in silence - Tom didn’t even have the radio on.

We’d drove through the big iron gates into Bill’s Mansion. Georg, Gustav and Bill all pulled into Bill’s underground garage while Tom just pulled up to the grand front doors.

“You’ll be here tonight” Tom enlightened me.

“Yep” I replied coldly.

“Don’t get pissed over some bitch.” Tom spat.

I shut my eyes and took a deep breath.

“Tom, your bitch is the least of my worries, I’ve just been kidnapped off the street.”

“Oh don’t be dramatic. I’m your superhero.”

“Mkay King Tom” I mumbled again.

He got out and opened my door, reaching for my hand which I took and he helped me out the car. I took a few steps before stumbling. In one swoop Tom had literally swept me off my feet bridal style and carried me upstairs to the bathroom.

He placed me on the bathroom floor and started to draw the bath. While he was focused on the bath I’d crawled over to the toilet lifing the lid; vomiting up the remaining shit that sat in my stomach.

Tom ran to me immediately and held my hair back, rubbing my back. I felt like absolute shit, I know for a fact my makeup was running down my face and my ass was hanging out my skirt.

“I’ll be back” Tom said and he left the bathroom,

I rested my head on the toilet seat and felt my self begin to drift to sleep.

Tom was back immediately shaking me with pills and water in his other hand.

“Here have this.” He said holding the items out to me.

“Tommy, I don’t want you’re crack, that shit makes me feel worse.”

“It’s Asprin, just take it” Tom scoffed. “Now get your clothes off, the bath is almost full.”

I slowly looked up at him.

“Yeah, but you need to leave”

Tom sighed, “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before, I’m just trying to help you.”

“Ok, but don’t fall in love with me again.” I slurred grinning.

I pulled down my skirt and undewear swiftly off in one go. I struggled to get my shirt off and just stood there having a tantrum like a little girl.

“Come here.” Tom said as he assisted me in taking off my shirt. He also unclasped my bra and helped me into the steaming tub.

The water was instantly comforting and I moaned at the sensation.

Tom took off his pants and rolled up his sleeves placing his legs behind me in the tub. I leant forward as tom grabbed the cloth and began to wash my back. I closed my eyes and hummed, I was in peace and comfort. He traced the cloth up and down my back then on my shoulders and down my chest.

“This is a bit romantic Tom. Don’t catch feelings” I smirked.

“Hmph” He laughed and began to move onto my hair, massaging the shampoo into my hair. I rolled my eyes back in pleasure, he had such soft, slow hands.

“Are you staying the night at Bill’s?” I questioned fidgiting with my fingers.

“No, I have business to take care of and didn’t want you home alone at mine. It’s fine the guest room is already set up for you.”

I placed my hands on his, stopping him from exploring my scalp anymore. I turned to face him.

“Tom, please stay the night.”

He stayed silent, and pulled himself from my grasp, grabbing a cup of water and running it down my hair washing out the bubbles.

“Tom.” I uttered in frustration.

“Liebe, if I could I would.”

I spun my body to face tom, I sat on my knees and placed my hands on Tom’s thighs.

“Tom you can.”

He pulled me up to be met with his face, “I’ll come back, I promise.”

I stared into his eyes and leant in closer, our noses grazing one another. Tom closed his eyes pressing his lips into mine.

I pulled away from the kiss and seen Tom’s puzzled expression.

“Not good enough.” His reposnse sent an anger within me, it sobered me up really quick. To say how adamant I was to not go home with him and now I was disapointed in him leaving. I stood up and stepped out of the tub, walking to grab a towel. I wrapped myself and slammed the door behind me walking to the guest room feeling tears begin to form.

On the way there I’d seen Bill and Gustav looking up at me from down stairs. My vision of them was blurry and I walked into the room closing the door behind me. The room was set with candles and a vase of roses, a recurring feature in Bill’s mansion. In the dimly lit room I put on a silk nightgown that was laid out on the bed and brushed my hair; my sobs filling the room.

I put my self to bed and laid in the sheets trying to silent my cries. After a few moments I heard the door creak open and light fill the room.

Footsteps made their way to the bed and I felt a warmth against me.

His sweet side began to shine.

Tom climbed into the sheets behind me, spooning me as he placed kisses on the back of my head and neck.

”Look at me beauty.”

I spun and looked at him, “Oh my beauty.” He whimpered and wiped my tear with his thumb.

“Don’t cry, come here” He opened his arms for me to crawl into. “You’re just over tired and drunk.”

“No Tom.” I replied sternly. “Go, cause you very clearly said you had no choice but to leave tonight.”

“I am going to go, but I’m not going to leave my darling girl like this.”

I laughed at his pet name “Darling Girl”.

He clicked his tongue sticking it to the side of his cheek as he looked away smug and guilty.

“I don’t think you know how much I craved you, and seeing out on that street… so vunerable, it just, I don’t know.”

I placed my hand on his cheek and he closed his eyes embracing my soft hand.

“So why were you so cold before, you surely were not interested 5 minutes ago.”

“Um you just rejected my kiss?” He replied.

“You went to kiss me out of pity!” You called him out.

He raised an eyebrow at me. “I’m sorry for being more interest in taking care of you. I don’t really find that you yakking all over the place is really that intimate.”

I just nodded my head in reply, feeling foolish.

Tom broke the silence, “But, as for me being cold I dont know baby, there’s a lot going on and you know im shit with words.”

I reached out to his hands.

”Well, let me make it clear so you know my intentions I want you Tom, all of you. I want you to have me too.”

“I agree, but not tonight liebe, I dont want to take advantage of you, I mean its the first time we’ve spoken in a while and I don’t think you’re in the right headspace at the moment. But trust me when the moment is right. I’ll be here for you, ma.”

“You need to stop denying it Tom, I’m fully at my senses, I know what I need. Just let it happen.”

“I’m not denying it Y/N, you’re rushing it. Who’s to say you aren’t going to regret everything again? But let me tell you straight off the bat, I’d never have an ounce of regret towards you.”

His words reassured me.

“Y/N are you ok now?”

I nodded reluctantly. “As long as you’re by my side tomorrow,”

“You have my word.” He climbed out of the bed and came around, pecking me on the forehead, before leaving the room.

[lazyneonrabbitt]

Warm & fuzzy

Funny Sonny x Reader

You just love him, who cares what the others think.

Two trailers is enough for drabbles, right? I have nothing better to say than I just love him. Also sorry for the Daryl tags!!!

Sonny went inside the truckstop while you waited by his bike. You were early for the meeting since he picked you up and decided to take you along instead of taking you home first.

"You want me to come along? They've never met me before.." You were unsure how the others would react to you coming to a meetup without being introduced first, but he insisted. "They'll love ya. It's gonna be fine."

So here you laid out in the sun, over the length of Sonny's bike as you listened to the increasing rumble of multiple bikes coming closer. You heard them ride up next to where you laid and quickly question among themselves.

"The hell are you doing on that bike?" One of the men called while another one wasted no time threatening you. "You deaf? Get the fuck off or I'll cut that pretty face of yours so bad your own momma won't even recognise you!"

You knew coming along was a bad idea. You made quick work of sitting up and getting off the bike when a voice caught everyone's attention.

More folks had gathered by now when a loud "HEY!" Sounded from beside the gang.

"Leave her be. You touch her, I'll cut your tires."

With the group turned away from you you jumped up and ran to your boyfriend and sulked against him. "Told you it'd go bad.." You clung to hin as he wrapped an arm around you and walked you back to his bike. "Come on, baby. Tell the boys who they're threatening."

You looked around the group and quickly got anxious the intimidating men all stared you down, but you still managed to give them your name and introduce yourself as Sonny's girlfriend.

The whole group stared in shock while you curled further into Sonny's jacket and he held you proudly.

"You're with him? Seriously?" You nodded yes and softly smiled. Your hands had found the fringe on his sleeves to fidget with while his hand patted your hair.

"You. Are dating the hot chick?" The tension died fast now that they knew you you belonged to one of their group's members and you were welcomed immediately.

"No but seriously, how? Why? That man's a walking mold infestation." One of the younger members kept pressing for answers to questions everyone had.

You just looked at him like he had fhree heads. "What? No! I love him.." you leaned against his side and kissed his cheek on the small patch of skin between his beard and sunglasses.

The group kept throwing what felt to you like inults at you the two of you and you weren't having it. "None of you even think the good might outweight the bad in my eyes?" The glimmer of adoration was clear in your eyes.

"Yeah? Good like what?" A huff of laughter came from the questioning guys yet again.

"Well, he's clearly way more kind than you guys. Less judgy, too." Looking to your side you noticed he was in a conversation of his own and not paying attention.

"Another good thing.." Your hand moved over to your side. "Is this." With a quick motion your hand swooped down and grabbed at his crotch. He jumped at the touch, almost dropping his beer with an "Ey! The hell?" but still sporting a smile, wasting no time to wrap his arm around you to hold you close and pull you into a kiss.

You returned the kiss and made a scene of grabbing at his clothes and deepening the kiss, keeping up till you were out of breath and your point was made.

When you looked back into the group everyone turned their gaze away so quickly you were surprised no one got whiplash from it.

But now you could spend the rest of the time relaxing in Sonny's lap, playing with all the loose bits on his clothes while the group finally went to discuss important business.

~~☆☆☆~~

A/N: I have no clue what to tag this as. Cuz I don't wanna tag it as Daryl??? Sorry for the Daryl tag, folks!!

[meeks-just-wants-to-scroll]

hi 🐊 me again

i figured id ask soneone who actually gives a rats ass about colm since most of my pals dont lol ^-^ last ask posted gave me the push to ask

i think a lot about kieran describing colms happiness as "a ray of sunshine" when speaking about him at the campfire. of course it could just mean that kieran isnt being treated horribly, and thats a ray of sunshine to the him, but i like to think his standards are a little higher even if they never get met.

ive always liked to imagine it as actually meaning something, at least to kieran. its lead me to believe that in an ideal world, kieran was moreso colms personal errand boy rather than just the gangs as a whole, that would make all of the o'driscolls recognizing him make sense. and that would also make the "sunshine" line make more sense too, if kieran was colms own little whipping boy, they would probably have a slightly closer relationship than most. after all, during the camp raid in chapter 1, we do see kieran directly grabbed snd hit by colm.

but im mostly curious about your thoughts on it all, especially as someone whos colm brained (i am trying to get myself there honestly ^-^). id looooove to know your interpretation of that line and what it says about the o'driscoll leader !! its always stuck out to me considering how little they try to humanize colm elsewhere for most of the game, and kieran says it with so much energy that youre stuck believing him.

Oh man, I am glad to get this ask because I love colm discussions. I kind of lagged on answering this because I wasn’t sure if I could actually bring a lot of interesting stuff up to talk about. Colm had so little screen time that it’s hard for me to get a grasp.

Okay. So… sunshine… ☀️

When Kieran said this it immediately made me think of cyclical abuse tactics where there is a period of good treatment followed by destruction.

I believe Colm is much the same as Dutch with having the ability to draw people in and stick with a commonality + a common goal. The O’D are drawn together by the commonality of being Irish heritage (despite Colm being American but has an Irish name). Their common goal is money and the outlaw freedom to do bad and feel invincible in numbers.

Colm doesn’t put a lot of 1:1 time with his gang so I can’t assert how he treats the rest of the gang (likely like a distant boss). But I can make a guess how he treats his close circle of people based off of Kieran’s dialogue.

Why is Kieran selected to stick with the gang? That deserves its own post, but let’s pretend Colm took a liking to Kieran and let him be the personal whipping boy; Someone who showed he was malleable enough to not put up a fight when bossed around (and disposable).

As for the sunshine, I think that could be Kieran recalling the times Colm had treated him well. Not just “he didn’t punch me today. Yay!” But 1:1 personal attention that is so far from what Colm usually does for the rest that it makes Kieran feel on top of the world. Of course he isn’t actually treated well, but it is that friendly talking and ease of laughter that makes Kieran almost forget it’s not sincere.

I think Kieran would be touch starved, and Colm knows this, so he uses brief kind gestures of touch to persuade Kieran. This is me being me but I rlly like Colm touching people’s hair. It is such an invasive and personal thing to do but also 🗣️♥️head scratches and getting your hair played with feels nice‼️♥️. It’s that dissonance between “this is creepy but also I haven’t been shown kindness since my parents died.”

It’s compared to sunshine because Colm’s nice attention is like being singled out by the sun in a cold mountain. It is a spotlight.

The flip side of “when he’s angry, it’s like the devil is upon you” is harder for me to define. I sometimes struggle with media analysis when it comes to imagining things I don’t get to clearly see in the media. Leaving stuff to the imagination is powerful, but I need something of substance to bite into for me to analyze.

I feel like Colm’s anger can be unpredictable. He has the men power and persistence to extend his anger not just to you when he is before you, but to you at all times. I don’t think Kieran was only paranoid, I think he had good reason to fear every moment he was being watched. The one time he let down his guard, he was snatched. There are also letters across the game written by O’Driscolls where they make threats and allude to them stalking people.

Colm’s anger in person is hard to read. I don’t think he yells except in a few cases, he always whispers and talks in such an eerie way. Pardon me as I copy and paste what I told some friends on the topic of his voice…

“He talks in a way that fries my brain because I know I shouldn’t trust him and he DOES sound untrust worthy but I can’t get my claws into what specifically is setting off my radar.

[in blessed are the peacemaker] After the threatening “I liked Annabell” line, Colm is so ominously silent, drawing out the tension moments longer before he just???? Smiles and almost laughs. It’s so playful and harmless sounding (without the context of the situation). Such a fucking 180 and unseriousness. He also says ‘you’ve always liked the ladies,’ as if Colm knows how shallow and fast Dutch likes and falls out with women.

And then the ‘I like that about you,’ whisper is just… Colm. Very colmy. Just whispering something as if it’s some secret or to emphasize it.

Colm is incapable of going one sentence without changing his tone/delivery/pacing/breathiness all to throw off how to read him.

He talks like he is a three headed snake-rat-vulture chimera.”

He turns on a dime when talking to Kieran in Chapter 1 (mission Old Friend? I forgot the name). He holds an amicable conversation for a few moments before something suddenly cues Colm to grab Kieran and give him two quick slaps across the face, then shove him and yell at him. It’s brief, but Colm has been shown to have the capacity to get his hands directly on people, not just use his gang as an extension of his hands. I also want to mention the intentions detail of Colm being atop his horse and leaning down to talk to Kieran. Visual story telling/signifying rank and dynamic. Even when speaking amicably, Colm is in command.

I wish I had more research in my brain of manipulation tactics that would lead to this, but I do think Colm either keeps easy to influence people or already morally corrupt people in his ranks so they’ll easily align with him when he is angry. Hence Kieran mentioning how “he’s mad. And you’re upset and you don’t know why… as long as it isn’t directed at you, you don’t care!”

^ I believe what I am talking about are “Flying Monkeys” in the context of psychology and narcissists. Brief rehashing of what TheraminTrees taught me but it’s when people knowingly or unknowingly are recruited by narcissists to extend their influence / control beyond direct interactions.

I don’t think just anyone could be slotted into Colm’s gang and especially not his close ring of people. That man had an eye for picking people who will easily follow and carry out his bidding.

I don’t think the game could have humanized him a whole lot outside of one of his abuse victims briefly mentioning how colm had moments of good treatment. As the audience (extra: as the audience looking through Arthur’s eyes), there is no good way the game could have made ups sympathize or respect Colm because we ourselves aren’t the kind of people who would believe the sickly sweet lies Colm drip feeds to keep his men by his side.

I do like how they managed to at least briefly allude to a “kind” side to Colm. It would have been so easy to paint Colm as a black and white bad man with no redeeming traits (and I am sure that’s how some fans see him if they missed or ignored Kieran’s camp interaction). But that tiny mention makes him so interesting to me.

As much as I hate how little screen time he got, that’s in character for him. He is elusive, he is hard to read, he is contradictory in how he talks (sounding so humored one minute and deathly silent the next). He is… so. God damn. Slimy.

I love Colm as a character so much it is actually driving me ballistics.

SIGHHHH LONG ANALYSIS BUT ANYWAYS thank you for sending this ask this was a good use of like…. Two hours.

[buccini555]

𝐇𝐢𝐠𝐡 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 - 𝐊𝐨𝐤𝐨𝐧𝐨𝐢 𝐇𝐚𝐣𝐢𝐦𝐞

≡ Getting drunk with your ex roommate who has a crush on you

⁀➷ drunk koko x male! reader

𖥻 𝐹𝑡. Kokonoi Hajime

Discovering that you would share your room with a gang member took you a bit by surprise, you spent hours imagining what he would be like, but when Kokonoi Hajime arrived, he was nothing like you expected to be, Hajime was similar to you, you loved him for privacy and not to say much, after a while and a lot of curiosity, you ended up becoming friends, your coexistence was totally peaceful and full of companionship, your friendship became increasingly stronger, despite this, you couldn't notice that Kokonoi treated you differently than the others, the looks and the compliments on your appearance.

One fine day, when you were still living together because of your studies, Hajime was at home working when you went to take a quick shower, as he was busy making some money, he didn't even notice when you entered the bathroom, so, right after that, he he got up and accidentally opened the door just as you were in the shower, his face turned completely red, Kokonoi just couldn't take his eyes off you. "Oh? Do you need to use the bathroom? It's okay, don't mind my presence" You said, while he just left the place, spending the rest of the days pretending nothing had happened.

A few months later, Koko ended up moving to a bigger apartment, after all, he needed more space, so they became neighbors, bumping into each other on the stairs for a while, Hajime couldn't hide from the other gang members how happy he was to see you even if from afar, he missed you, so, after some time had passed, you were alone in your room and you wondered if Kokonoi would accept getting a little high with you, there were some drinks in your fridge and you didn't want to drink them all alone, leaving his apartment and going to Kokonoi's, you knocked on the door and hoped that he wasn't working, almost immediately, he opened the door "Are you here? How long!" Hajime welcomed you with a hug. "So, do you want to come drink at my house later?" Didn't you waste time in making your invitation? No. "Any party or something?" Koko questioned. "Just you and me..." As soon as he heard you, he smiled and shook his head in affirmation, leaving the door and locking it, together, you returned to your residence.

"Cheap tequila? What the fuck, man? I'll introduce you to fancier drinks." Kokonoi said as soon as he saw you open the fridge and take one of the bottles, making you laugh at his mockery, the first bottle was more difficult, but after that, you drank more and more.

"Shit, I think those drinks went too fast." Looking at him sitting on the couch, you exclaimed, feeling the effects of the drink on your body. "You are right." Koko was also clearly drunk, even more so than you, he couldn't even get up. "Oh, do you want to go to your room?" You made your proposal, without any ulterior motives, you just wanted to lie down. "Where's the fucking room?" Kokonoi said laughing. "Forgot you lived here too?" Laughing at Hajime's speech, you got up and helped him go to his room, you both staggered to the bedroom and lay down side by side.

"I missed you." Hajime turned to you and said, still laughing like an idiot, not unlike you. "I felt yours too, our friendship was really cool." You replied, also turning towards him, noticing him getting closer and closer to you. "What do you want, Koko?" You questioned the same, trying to control your urge to laugh. "Remember when you were taking a shower and I walked into that fucking bathroom?" He muttered. "I remember, I remember your red face." Approaching him closer and hugging him without thinking much, you replied. "I think you're so fucking hot." He said covering his face in embarrassment, all that drinking made him very sincere, you just remained silent for a brief moment, giving a small smile.

"So you think I'm hot?" You started to tease him, without waiting for Hajime to take any action, until he turned around again, leaving your embrace and giving you a slow kiss, holding your face gently as you kissed without any rush, that moment became increasingly getting hotter as they kissed with more and more desire, even without having much control over his movements at that moment, Kokonoi put his hand inside your shirt, touching your chest and grabbing your neck while still kissing you.

"Just friends, right?" Was all he said after the kiss.

[coyotelip]

jegulus microfic: important || canon compliant, angst || @into-the-jeggyverse || wc: 920

“Do you really think you're important enough to shamelessly raise your voice when nobody asked?” Lucius's voice is muffled and sounds like a snake's hiss. 

Regulus can understand him, can see in his raised eyebrows and tense lips how unhappy Lucius is that he's not his master's pet today. That he wasn't the first to offer his help at the Dark Lord's request and didn't get his usual praise. 

The thought of Malfoy's precious ego being hurt pleases Regulus, but his words continue to echo in his subconscious throughout the rest of the day. 

“Do you think you're important?” It depends. Did he think he was important to their dark cause, did he make a contribution to this war? A year earlier, Regulus would have said yes, intoxicated by the feeling of freedom and power. Just come of age, listened to his father's eloquent speeches about the noble future of their family, which now rested on Regulus' shoulders, and having the inspiration to prove himself, the boy believed he was only a step away from success. 

But the bitter truth was that with each passing day, with each meeting of their dark gang, Regulus saw more and more clearly how insignificant he was in the bigger picture. The gazes of his fellow deatheaters turned from curious to bored and didn't even linger on him, as if they didn't even recognize his presence. You can't make yourself important here by being smart enough and sharing the Dark Lord's views. No, what makes you important is your unquestioning service, your willingness to throw yourself into the heat of battle.

“Oh, they certainly think it's important, but to you? What's important to you personally, Reg?” a familiar voice comes to mind. 

The library is empty at this late hour, which pleases Regulus. He knew that sooner or later he wouldn't be able to hide from James Potter any longer, he was too stubborn to be satisfied with a simple farewell note, which Regulus had used to try to end whatever it was between them. 

“You don't understand, Potter.” Regulus is trying to end this pointless conversation and get back to the dormitory as soon as possible.

“Oh, so we're on those terms now? Potter?” his voice was filled with irritation, along with concern. “I don't need to understand the whole situation with those crazy psychopaths and their speeches they're forcing on you. I only need to understand you, and I understand you. You need to have at least some good reason, at least something that is dear enough to you to make this decision. No one is going to join the obviously losing side of a war just because of their parents' imposed views, Reggie.” 

The now familiar nickname threatens to shake the steadiness inside Regulus that he has been building up so diligently over the past few weeks, weighing the pros and cons. Holding himself together, Regulus swallows before answering. 

“You're an idiot to declare victory in a war that hasn't even begun.” 

James takes a step closer to him, and inside Regulus struggles with the urge to either back away or close the distance between them and remind himself one last time how his arms feels. He does not move. 

“I admit, I may be an idiot, but only because you've always been smarter than me. Smarter enough to realize that it's foolish to express support for him now, when he's gaining strength. You are important, Regulus, your name is important, and if you speak out against him, it will weaken his authority. You can do it, you can change something!” 

James gestures expressively with his hands during this impassioned speech, taking another step toward him. As if by getting closer he has a better chance of convincing the guy. 

Regulus wants to respond sharply, wants to make James understand that it doesn't matter what's important to him, only what's right for his family. They rely on him, on the rightful heir, he really is important to them, and Regulus desperately clings to that feeling.

But the words are stuck in his throat under the stubborn gaze of the big brown eyes so close. Regulus presses his lips together and closes his eyes, trying to ground himself again, to find his inner strength and hold on to his own. But the feeling of warm fingers on his cheeks knocks the air out of his chest. 

“You're too important to me and I can't lose you like this, Reg, please.” 

The lump in Regulus's throat grows bigger at the desperation in James's voice, but he only squeezes his eyes shut, forbidding himself to look because he knows he can't take it. The pleading in James's eyes would make him want to drop everything and run away with him anywhere, but he can't do that. 

He continues to keep his eyes closed and remain silent, not letting himself melt at the feeling of the warm palms now holding his face. And his silence is all the answers James needed. 

Sighing heavily, he presses his lips to Regulus' warm forehead one last time, leaving him alone to pull himself together. 

Regulus takes a few moments to pull himself together after Lucius leaves. His fingers cling to the gold ring with the bright ruby, twisting it nervously as the words he heard long ago echo in his mind: 

“You are important, Regulus. You can do it, you can change something!” 

It is only when he is on the very edge that Regulus finally finds faith in these words. 

[pray4jensen]

if there's ever a season 2 of the winchesters, i need an episode where lata decides to summon dean and his magical monster-crushing impala and cas shows up too because apparently when the summoning happened, cas must've been gripping dean tight because he got flung through time and space too.

so the kids are like hey who's this, and dean rubs the back of his neck and says it's a friend.

so they're on the case and they're mid-battle when john's thrown straight through a chain-link fence and mary gets a nice face-to-face with a concrete pillar. so when they finally get out of there, lata brings out the first aid kit, except dean grabs it and rushes over to cas because cas just fell onto paper at that very moment and he's got a devastating 1/8 inch cut to his pinky (it's not even bleeding).

cue carlos looking at them with a very strange expression on his face and the heteronormative viewers watching the show laugh and giggle because haha look how funny it is that dean's mother-henning cas when john and mary are personally on their death beds.

anyway, because the rest of the gang was too busy dealing with life-threatening injuries, it's only carlos who notices the weirdness and for the rest of the episode, the camera keeps cutting back to his face every time dean and cas are together.

they head to a diner and lata accidentally drops her entire burger onto the floor. but cas still feels hungry after devouring a platter of fries so when the waitress comes up and lata's about to reorder because she's literally starving, dean butts in and orders cas an eight-course meal. lata throws him a dirty look but carlos once again has a strange strange expression on his face.

and it's like this the entire day. the monster traps them into a meat locker and cas reports feeling chilly so dean immediately takes the jacket off his body and wraps him up and he's already stripping down to his birthday suit to offer cas his body heat. meanwhile john's hemorrhaging on the floor and his temperature is plummeting and mary and lata are freaking out and carlos...oh boy, carlos. he can't even help. he just stares at dean.

finally, after several more instances of dean's cas-induced incompetence, even the others have noticed, so when they get to the motel room for the night, mary angrily lets them know that actually, they don't need dean's help because clearly dean's more preoccupied with his friendship with cas than the literal monster chasing them.

so dean shrugs and says suit yourself and as soon as they're gone, carlos, who's been having a mental breakdown all day, is like they are so not just friends. mary and john, like the heteronormative viewers watching the episode, are like what and they're confused but lata, the realization dawning on her face, says oh my god and starts looking faint.

so john and mary head to the window and to their shock, dean and cas are parked outside, making out in the impala. as it so happens, the monster they've been hunting is out there, creeping closer, except dean (with his tongue still shoved down cas' throat) picks up his gun and shoots once, the monster instantly bursting into a ball of dust, and john and mary just look on incredulously.

anyway, once they recover, they turn back and say um yeah so those two are definitely not straight and carlos just throws up his hands and looks into the camera like it's the office and the episode abruptly ends there.

but, even as the end credits play, you can see still hear the sounds of dean and cas making out though before it slowly turns into suggestive moaning.

[cheerycherrycandy-resurrected]

What You've Done, You Cannot Undo (Medieval AU)

Chapter 9

The journey north begins. They might be out of danger for now, but will things run smoothly?

I finished this chapter on the aeroplane on the way on holiday, and I was itching the whole time to post it once I was back!!

Rating: M Content: Dew has more issues with self-hatred, none of the ghouls know how to communicate effectively Words: 5143

Links to full fic: Tumblr | AO3

Hi tag gang! As always, lmk if you want in or out! @everybodyshusband @rainsbasspick @revengeghoulette

Read below, or on AO3!

Dew awoke to find a water ghoul plastered along his side. Rain was still cold, but his normal cold rather than the dangerously icy temperature he had been the night before. Dew extricated himself from the bear grip Rain had him pinned in, shaking his long limbs off and crawling out from under the blanket. The sun was beginning to creep above the horizon, bathing the land in a pale grey light. He found Swiss sat watching the sunrise, his eyes scanning the horizon periodically. They frequently lingered on the village in the distance, his gaze sad and wistful.

“Morning.” Dew whispered, sitting down next to him and leaning his head on his shoulder in an uncharacteristic show of affection. Swiss had been more withdrawn than usual the previous night, and Dew was worried about him. The naturally more tactile multi ghoul rested his own head on Dew’s and let out tired sigh.

“I was gonna wake you soon for the next watch,” he muttered quietly, “but you looked so comfy over there, I’m glad I didn’t have to.”

Dew growled lightly at the comment, but there was no venom behind it.

“Let Aeth sleep.” He agreed instead. The quintessence ghoul still looked dead to the world, drooling slightly in his sleep but otherwise unmoving.

“How’s Rain doing?” asked Swiss.

“He’s less cold now,” Dew replied, “but I don’t think any amount of sleep will be enough for him for a while.”

He twisted he head to look up at Swiss. There was a haunted look in his eyes, one that Dew recognised all too well.

“You saw him, down in the cells.” Dew stated. Swiss nodded, his stricken face giving away just how much it had affected him. “How are you feeling now?”

Swiss shrugged.

“Not great. Seeing him down there, especially after the guards attacked him…” he trailed off, pulling Dew closer to him and burying his nose in his tangle of platinum hair. “I was so scared.” He whispered into Dew’s hair, as though letting the words be spoken into the air could make them hurt more.

Dew hummed in understanding; the thought of Rain, quiet and sweet young ghoul he was, stuck all alone in the dark cell had haunted him all the time he’d been gone. Dew had endured hardship before, he was no stranger to suffering, but Rain had always seemed less aware of the evils in the world. He must have known pain at some point, Dew reasoned, or he would still be with his birth clan. Much like Dew himself though, Rain had always stayed relatively quiet about what brought him to run away.

“I couldn’t see anything, Dew. It was like someone had covered my eyes, everything after noon yesterday was just black.”

Dew let himself be pulled closer to Swiss, manhandled like a teddy bear – it wouldn’t be the first time that morning he reasoned, and Swiss clearly needed the comfort.

“I went to see him every day,” he shuddered, “I hated it. Even when he seemed to be getting stronger, just seeing him there but not being able to help…”

Swiss trailed off, his breathing shaky. Dew guessed he hadn’t told the others about these feelings – Swiss was never one to burden others, always putting on a brave face, but they wouldn’t have let him shoulder this alone if they had known. Dew was the only one who could begin to understand what he had seen, who could know the feeling of abject hopelessness at seeing Rain trapped by stone walls and iron bars first-hand.

“It’s alright, we’re all alright now.” Dew said, trying to be as soothing as possible and mask his discomfort. He attempted to make a joke, to deflect from their shared emotional vulnerability.

“At least you didn’t take one look at him and run for the hills, eh?”

Swiss chuckled weakly, the sound was wet and choked, and rang hollow in Dew’s ears.

“When they attacked him, it felt like was like I was the one being struck instead. After days of feeling nothing, it hurt so much.” A shiver of pain lanced through his body, making him twitch violently and squeeze Dew almost uncomfortable tight. “I was so worried we’d lost him.”

Neither of them liked to add that they were worried they still had: despite Rain being slightly more responsive by the time they went to bed and showing signs that he recognised them, he still had yet to speak a word.

“He’s a tough kid,” Dew admitted, “Satan knows I gave him enough trouble before all of this.”

“Marriage turned you soft already?” Swiss joked, mask slipping effortlessly back in place.

“Something like that.”

The pair sat in comfortable silence a little longer. Swiss might have been free with his affections, reflected Dew as he remained encircled in his strong arms, but he was more like him with his vulnerabilities.

“I can see why you left like you did.” Swiss said finally. “If I’d had any idea how to get Rain out, I’d have flown there as soon as possible too, explanations be damned.”

“It was never guaranteed,” Dew pointed out, “just in the moment it seemed like asking for help was the only idea, and there was no time to explain.”

“We’d never have let you go.” Swiss told him bluntly. “We’d have insisted we could get Rain out ourselves, and neither of us need my foresight to know how that would have turned out.”

Dew nodded grimly.

Around them, the birds began to wake up and sing their dawn chorus. On cue, Swiss yawned widely, his jaw audibly popping.

“You should get a bit more sleep,” suggested Dew with a sigh of his own, “we’ve got a long trip coming up. I promise I won’t leave again, you can trust me despite what Mountain seems to think.”

“I know.” Swiss said simply as he stood up and stretched out his legs. “Don’t take his words to heart, okay? He’s just a bit frustrated that he couldn’t take care of Rain alone.”

“You think?”

“Yeah, you know how he is, always thinking he’s the pack leader as the oldest and strongest.” Swiss’s tone implied that he did not fully agree but would happily humour his ego, if asked. “Mount knows what you did was best for the pack, just give him some time to sort out his bruised pride.”

Dew shrugged, but dropped the subject.

Soon after Swiss had wriggled back under his blanket, Dew could hear his light snores drifting towards him. He sat for a few hours more, loath to wake his exhausted pack. With the early sunrise of long summer days, they could rest a while longer before they would risk bumping into anyone from the village on the road.

As the sky grew lighter, he sat and contemplated how his life had changed over the last few days. He was married now for starters. Even though he didn’t believe in any of the humans’ customs, let alone in their God, he still believed in the sanctity of a promise made in front of his pack. He’d sworn in front of all of them that he would protect Rain, so protect Rain he must. For now, that meant taking him to the Abbey and it host of experienced quintessence ghouls, but damn, that journey was going to be frustrating. Dragging his pack of exhausted ghouls who were all prone to bickering northward was going to fray some nerves.

Part of him was anxious about their destination, too. Not only for their reaction to the Abbey and its inhabitants, he realised, but for the ghoulettes’ reaction to his pack. He wanted them to think he had made a good choice with his life, to be proud of him. Dew supposed this was what it felt like bringing home a potential mate to meet your family: the potential of acceptance, of joyfully blending families, but mixed with the fear of disapproval and rejection. He wouldn’t know anything of that relationship dynamic; his mother had made it quite clear to him how hated his father had been by everyone except for her. Instead of bringing home a mate however, Dew was bringing a brand new husband and three additional ghouls who were varying degrees of excited for the meeting themselves. He hoped they would make a good impression.

His thoughts drifted to Rain; to the catalyst of this whole situation. Rain had been the baby of the pack ever since he arrived, even though he was only slightly younger than Dew himself. The difference between them lay in how Dew prided himself in acting more world-wise than he really was, whereas Rain always seemed to be stuck in the past. Maybe neither one of them had the right attitude, reflected Dew. His insistence on self-reliance had led him to bully Rain into taking on tasks he wasn’t capable of, whereas Rain’s dependence on others had made him desperate to prove himself. Providing they got out of this, they’d both have learned a hard lesson.

Who was he kidding, thought Dew. He could try and blame Rain all he wanted, but he felt sure that he should shoulder most of the blame. If only he’d been more supportive when he had the opportunity, they wouldn’t be in this mess!

He felt himself descending into the all-too-familiar spiral of self-loathing. If he weren’t so hateful, he wouldn’t have felt the need to pick on Rain, and if he had been nicer to Rain they wouldn’t be in this situation now. Everything was his fault. He detested the ghoul who walked around in his imperfect skin.

Dew shook his head to dislodge the thoughts and turned to look at his pack: the time for should’ves had long passed, he had a new task ahead of him. Similarly, he couldn’t find it in himself to shift the blame for their situation onto Rain. Even if his inexperience was what pulled the trigger, Dew had loaded the gun. Looking at him now, sleeping peacefully, compared to seeing him in those dingy cells, Dew felt only a rush of protectiveness. Damn those pack instincts were strong.

They were his real purpose now; nothing that came before mattered apart from his pack. He couldn’t undo his actions any more than Rain could have pulled the raindrops back into their clouds, but he could make amends. That meant starting with an apology, and Dew was never very good at those. Staring back towards the village on the horizon, Dew contemplated what to say.

Eventually, the ghouls began to rise. By the time they had rubbed bleary eyes and blinked sleep away there was some activity in the distance, people scurrying around as tiny as ants. They would have to be careful to give the village a wide berth when they left.

“Wha- why didn’t you wake me for a watch?” yawned Aether, the last to wake.

Dew, Swiss and Mountain all levelled him with identical glares.

“What?”

“Aeth, you were exhausted,” Swiss sighed, “you used all your energy on Rain yesterday, you needed the sleep the most.”

Aether didn’t dare argue further.

After a slow start, all five ghouls and one horse had finally eaten and were all packed up ready to leave. They loaded Rain onto the mare, and some of their belongings into her saddlebags and set off. Cautiously, they skirted around the village, keeping several miles between them. Even with the distance, Swiss and Mountain kept a vigilant lookout as they hurried along the small back roads. They would need to stop to hunt and forage at some point, but that could wait until they were on neutral ground. They cautiously navigated their way forwards, taking a large detour to avoid all the small farms and dwellings that surrounded the town. They were especially careful to avoid the stables near the main road north: the townsfolk may not have recognised the horse from a distance, but up close her owners were sure to.

Only once the sun had reached its peak and begun its slow descent back towards the horizon, did they feel safe enough to pause for breath. The atmosphere as they walked had been somber, cut through in brief moments by flashes of tension during their escape. Rain still hadn’t spoken a word, although he seemed more lucid after his warm night's sleep. Ahead of them they could hear the gentle rushing of the river, the sound guiding them back towards the main path north. They kept walking until they reached its shores, the temptation of a cold drink pulling them onwards.

From here, the road forward was clear. Leading off the path was a small slope down towards the water, which partially shielded a small grassy patch from the view of any passing traveller. They picked their way down the gentle incline, collapsing to the soft undergrowth at the bottom.

“Well, that’s the hard part done.” Said Aether, as he helped Rain down from the saddle. He guided the water ghoul to sit on a rock next to the water, and scooped up some water in a small wooden bowl for him.

“Small sips, remember?”

Rain drained the bowl in one gulp and held it out for more.

“Be careful,” murmured Aether, “you’ll hurt your stomach.”

Rain ignored him in favour of unglamouring his tail and gently swishing it through the water beside him.

Aether watched, nodding in approval. The further they got from the village, the more alert Rain seemed. He’d been relieved so see Rain looking relatively human yesterday, no horns or tail in sight, the slight blue pallor to his skin easily explainable by his underground imprisonment. The first thing any young ghoul born topside learned about their magic was how to hide it. Rain had always struggled with that, reflected Aether, but then he had struggled with all aspects of his magic. Maybe some combination of the strengthening tinctures and herbs Swiss had brought to him, and whatever mysteriously unlocked his water connection so violently had helped him finally get it under control.

“We should forage a bit, whilst we're stopped here.” Mountain's low voice shook Aether from his thoughts, as he appeared beside him to collect water from his cupped hands, drinking it and splashing his face. His thick auburn hair was tied back with twine, but beneath it he was still sweating in the heat. “I think I saw some of the herbs you need for Rain's poultice back by the road.” Aether dipped his head in agreement and quickly drunk from the river himself.

“Are you good with Swiss and Dew for a bit, Rain?” he asked, passing another, smaller, bowl of water up to him. Rain nodded, content to continue basking in his element for as long as he could.

Swiss looked up from where he and Dew were sprawled on their backs on the warm grass, heads resting on their packs.

“We’ve got him Aeth, don’t worry.”

Looking like he would continue worrying regardless, Aether sorted through his knapsack taking out all but what he needed. Once Mountain had done the same, the pair headed back up the slope to the path and the wooded area beyond.

Their feet recovered temporarily, Dew and Swiss also migrated to Rain’s spot by the river to get a drink. He sat there, tail stirring the water as he watched the fish swim past. The longing to join them in his eyes was unmissable.

“You wanna paddle?” Dew asked him, thinking the cold water looked pretty refreshing himself. Rain nodded enthusiastically, so Dew helped him roll his borrowed trousers up before doing the same with his own. Carefully, he and Swiss balanced Rain as they waded out into the river. As they got deeper in, the water lapping at their knees, Rain seemed to gain in strength.

“Don’t get your clothes wet,” warned Swiss, “you’ll catch a chill, even in this weather.”

Rain acted like he hadn’t heard him, suddenly dropping into a crouch in the moving water and pulling the other two ghouls down with him. He grinned wickedly at their shouts and shrieks from the chilly shock of the water, before pausing and lunging towards a trout as it swam past his ankles. All three of them were completely soaked.

“I thought you were meant to be at death’s door!” spluttered Dew, pushing sodden blond hair out of his face and plucking at the uncomfortably wet clothes now clinging to his body. Rain snickered at them, and despite their protests, both Dew and Swiss were relieved to see him getting some life back. The water ghoul held the fish out towards Dew with a polite and slightly apologetic head-tilt, and Dew found himself unable to supress a smile.

“F-for you?” Rain spoke with a halting stutter, the first any of them had heard from him in over a week.

"Oh, you have it." Dew laughed, delighted at his progress out of his silent and withdrawn state. Rain licked his lips gleefully, before sinking his fangs deep into the still-wriggling fish. Dew sighed internally at the huge mess he was making; this was going to be his fault, somehow, wasn't it?

Once Rain had polished off the unlucky trout, making a tremendous mess of himself and his clothes in the process, Dew and Swiss tried their best to clean him off in the river still rushing around them.

“Right, let’s dry you off,” announced Swiss, “Mount and Aeth will decide we’re dinner if they see we let you get all wet!”

Ignoring his whine of protest, Swiss scooped up the squirming water ghoul and carried him back to dry land. In his weakened state there was no chance for him to fight back, but that didn’t stop him pouting petulantly the whole time. Dew plopped down between the two and heated his skin up like a space heater, the steam soon rising from his wet clothes and skin and beginning to dry the others.

“Thank you, Dew.” Whispered Rain, so quiet Dew almost missed it, but with a conviction that made the words reverberate around his skull like prayers in a cathedral.

The sun beat down on them from above and, led on the soft grass in the peaceful sunshine, the three ghouls could almost forget the problems they faced.

A while later, Mountain and Aether returned with a few bundles of herbs and some berries they found on their way back.

“Why are you all wet?” exclaimed Aether.

“You should be more careful, he'll get sick,” Mountain reprimanded them, “what were you thinking?”

Swiss rolled his eyes, ignoring the dig at them.

“Relax, he'll be fine. It was Rain's idea anyway!”

Dew however, took the criticism to heart: he'd failed his packmate again. Sure, it might have been Rain's idea, but he should have stepped in and stopped him; he should have been more responsible.

It soured his mood for the rest of the day. Mountain caught them a few more fish using a line and earthworms as bait, and after gutting and cleaning them, they packed up their haul to continue moving while it was still light. Several hours later, the sun was kissing its final farewell to the horizon, the sky fading through a kaleidoscope of colours. Rain hadn't spoken another word since earlier, and Dew began to think he had imagined it. They went to bed in silence, not even making eye contact as they settled on opposite sides of the bedroll.

Dew lay awake in the darkness, thinking to himself. He needed to apologise to Rain, that was clear. He'd missed his chance earlier, too caught up in the light-hearted mood to ruin it with a serious talk. The rest of his pack clearly thought he was to blame; Rain must do too.

Eventually, Dew must have fallen asleep because the next thing he knew he was being shaken awake by Aether for his turn at a watch. Rain had again migrated to the centre of the bedroll, his gangly limbs taking up the limited space and claiming Dew's warmth for themselves. He sat sullenly at the edge of their camp, stewing in his thoughts until morning.

Throughout their second day on the road, the weather broke. The glorious sunshine vanished, giving way to never-ending clouds and cold, drizzling rain. This seemed to be helping a certain water ghoul, tipping his head back to catch droplets of his namesake on his tongue. Rain's strength was coming back in leaps and bounds, he'd finally attempted to speak again, holding a quiet and stuttered conversation with Swiss and Aether from his perch on the mare's back. The pair seemed to be trying their hardest to keep him entertained, Swiss leading a continuous stream of small talk to distract Rain from thinking about his recent ordeal.

Dew, however, was not doing so well. He was cold, his feet were wet, and he had exhausted himself early on trying to keep them dry with magic. He trudged behind the others, dragging his feet forward and moping to himself. After their conversation the previous morning, he had hoped that Swiss would see how much he needed support too, and maybe turn to Dew for support of his own. That didn't seem to be the case at all however: Swiss had his cheerful mask fixed firmly back in place and was laying one hundred percent of his attention on Rain.

Dew had wanted to have a word with Rain today, now he was able to speak again. The guilt that had wracked his mind last night had only intensified while he slept, and he knew there was only one realistic way to settle things. Getting Rain alone had proved almost impossible however: aside from the fact that his two companions never left his side, Rain himself seemed distant. Dew could understand – he would be distant with him too, were their roles reversed.

Mountain was clearly still upset as well, not speaking to Dew unless he couldn't avoid it. He was less bothered by the rain than Dew and was ploughing of ahead of the pack. Dew remembered what Swiss had said, and knew he was likely just stressed, trying to cope with the situation in his own way. He was worrying about where and when to make camp, where to find food, and trying to be the best provider for his pack as possible having felt like he failed to protect Rain before. As Dew trailed along behind his packmates, he thought bitterly that if Mountain paused for a second and thought, he could realise that Dew had made this journey twice over the last week, and remembered most of the locations he had camped in. Rather than offer his advice though, Dew stayed quiet: his input wouldn't be appreciated, so why bother? The rain became heavier as they exited from under a canopy of trees, and Dew resigned himself to several more hours of misery.

From atop the horse, Rain was enjoying the gentle drizzle. They'd been slowly moving forward all day, the monotony of the journey only broken up by Swiss leaping between conversation topics. Rain was grateful for the distraction. His mind still felt fuzzy, like it was lagging several metres behind him and walking alongside Dewdrop. Huh, though Rain to himself. He had seen a new side to Dew yesterday when he helped him wade around in the river: a more caring ghoul who didn't snap at him for wanting to indulge in childish things like paddling on a hot day. Everything had felt like it might be okay in that moment – the cool water and gentle support of his packmates had cleared the cobwebs that shrouded his brain away, and he'd finally managed to form words. This Dewdrop was an entirely different ghoul from the one who found any excuse to gripe at him: this Dew could be expected to pull off a risky stunt to save him from the hangman's noose; would let him cuddle up close at night for warmth.

Now though, that Dew had disappeared. He was back to his familiar and grouchy self, dragging his feet as he brought up the rear. Rain wasn't sure what he'd done wrong, if anything. As he dried off yesterday, the clouds had descended around him again and he had not been able to pay attention to his packmate's interactions, even if he had wanted to. They were only starting to lift now with the tiny sharp shocks of individual raindrops striking his exposed skin, making him alert enough to hear Swiss recounting the time he'd met a dog he thought was half ghoul, but wasn't. Rain appreciated him trying but really, he could have done with some silence in this precious moment of mental clarity. Still, he sensed Swiss was chattering about similarly banal topics more for his own benefit than anyone else's, so he helped him keep the conversation going, replying when he could and enjoying the encouraging smiles it would pull from the multi ghoul.

Rain wondered if he should try to speak to Dew. They would need to have a conversation about what had unfolded in the square at some point, that was clear. However, Dew didn’t seem in the mood for an emotionally vulnerable talk – if anything he seemed to want to be left alone, staying far away from the others. Whenever Rain sensed a chance to catch Dew by himself, the stony frown on his face made him anxious that it would make things between them worse, and all ability to form coherent thoughts vanished as swiftly as he had recovered it.

That night, Dew griped and grumbled all the while as they prepared for bed. Rain had thought he would be pleased: Mountain had declared that they were far enough away from people who would do them harm as to not need a watch anymore. His and Aether’s old senses from their travelling days had come right back to them, and they were convinced they would wake at anything suspicious. Combined with Dew’s fire, Mountain’s protective wards, and their location off the path, they had decided it was safe enough for them all to all get a full night’s sleep.

Now that they had stopped moving, Rain was beginning to get cold in the damp evening air. His affinity with his element only went so far, especially given that he already ran cold and was still severely malnourished. He shivered as he tried to settle on his side of the bedroll, keeping his distance from a frosty Dewdrop. He desperately wanted to shuffle closer to him, to hold the smaller ghoul tightly and absorb every scrap of warmth he radiated. However, stronger than the heat was the anger emanating from him, so Rain kept a cautious distance.

He curled into himself, his back to Dew who was mirroring his position and almost off the edge of the heavy canvas. Rain tried to suppress his frozen trembling long past the time the others had fallen asleep. Dew was still awake however; Rain could hear his breathing. With the clearest head he had had since his actions of the week prior, the enormity of his situation suddenly hit him and his shivering turning into the shaking of silent sobs.

Rain had been trying to put on a brave face since his rescue, not wanting to seem ungrateful in any way when he knew he owed his pack – especially Dew – his life. However, he had barely started processing what had happened, how close he had come to dying, how his actions had killed people. How Dew, the one ghoul who had never warmed to him, had saved his life. How they were married now? It all seemed like a crazy dream, like the ones he had experienced as a kit after eating a pretty, red-spotted frog he had found in the marsh.

Now though, the same ghoul who had apparently cared for him enough to agree to marry him hadn’t spoken to him since the river yesterday. Rain took a shuddering breath, trying to get his tears under control. What was his life coming to? Now, to top it all off, he and his pack were moving across the country to a place he had never heard of before, with none of his own belongings, and wearing a spare set of Swiss’s clothes. All because he couldn’t control his emotions, like he was failing at doing now, and let himself be goaded into attempting something he wasn’t ready for.

He hadn’t attempted any water magic since they left. He certainly hadn’t tried tapping into that alien electrical buzz either; he didn’t even know if he would still be able to now that he was out of direct danger. So much for practicing his skills. Maybe Dew was right, he really was a failure. He would have been better off sticking to his own slow pace, even if that meant being called the pack burden by Dew. His crying intensified, knowing what his mistake had done to his pack and their stable, happy life.

Dew rolled over to face him, a thunderous expression on his face.

“Can you shut up?” He snapped. “Go to sleep. It’s your fault we’re in this situation in the first place!”

Hearing his own worst thoughts out loud only made Rain sob harder. He tried to muffle his cries in the blanket: the last thing he needed now was for Dew to call him weak again or, Hell forbid, disrupt the others’ sleep to make them comfort him.

Rain drew in a shaky breath, and hissed back at Dew,

“No one asked you to rescue me. I don’t know why you bothered, since you clearly hate me so much!”

Dew seemed stunned into silence by Rain’s sudden acquisition of a backbone. He flopped back onto his side to glare into the darkness away from Rain, and pulled the blanket up to his chin.

“If you hadn’t stupidly tried to prove yourself with something you knew you couldn’t handle, we would be in this mess.” He growled.

“Well if you didn’t spend every waking minute making me feel like I needed to prove myself, we wouldn’t be here either!” Rain shot back.

The air crackled with tension and the echoes of both of their deepest insecurities spoken aloud. The pair lay there, stewing in anger. Dew’s thoughts of apologising went out the window – Rain clearly wasn’t in a forgiving mood, what good would it do now?

They eventually fell asleep when their exhaustion won out, as separated as the narrow bedroll would allow them to be. When they woke, they were still on their opposite sides, the space between them cold for the first time since their journey began.

[wally-franks-stan]

Subject 418

Audrey wasn’t sure what she was looking at.

It didn’t really look like the lost ones. Granted, she couldn’t see the front of it since it was sitting with its back to her. But it very clearly wasn’t one. Unlike the lost ones, who are skeletal and misshapen, this was… well-formed. Smooth. Actually shaped almost like a human, and a fit one, if the muscles were anything to go by.

But it didn’t look like Allison, either. Or those twisted butcher gang members. It was unique. 

Maybe that’s why it was in here? It doesn’t look dangerous… all it’s doing is sitting and plucking on a banjo. But then again… that’s a similar line of thought to the one she had when she saw Bendy for the first time.

She only realized just how long she’d been staring when the banjo suddenly stopped. 

At first she thought perhaps it was just pausing to consider what to play next, as it seemed to do quite often. It almost seemed like it didn’t quite know how to play it, but the way it held the instrument, with such care and respect… that didn’t seem right. The ink takes memories. Muddles them up and pulls them away from you. Maybe it took music away from… whatever this is. 

“I know you’re back there,” it—he?—spoke. A man’s voice, low and nearly whispering, almost inaudible through the thick glass. “I can feel your eyes on me.” 

He sounded so… hostile? No, that wasn’t it. Hostility is an active thing, something that is pointed at someone else. This was more… bristling. Like a cornered animal.

Which she supposed, in a way, he was?

Not that she could do anything to him from out here even if she wanted to.

When she didn’t respond for a moment, he turned. Not all the way around, just his head, and she saw…

He almost looked like the ink demon. A wide, toothy smile of jagged teeth, and no other facial features to speak of.

Though as she looked closer, it became clear he wasn’t smiling. He was sneering. He just… doesn’t have lips. Just teeth.

“What are you looking at?” He hissed, turning to face her more fully, and revealing a single wide, glowing yellow eye. “Come to gawk at the “false prophet”? Come to see the fallen shepherd, the demon worshipper, or whatever other names you’ve come up with for me? Are you here to mock me like all the rest?” His voice grew louder as he grew more and more agitated, something rising in it that sounded like more voices speaking, more than just his. 

There was something distinctly strained to it. Defensive and pointed but so very distinctly hurt, and it sounded like he was trying and failing to strangle that feeling down.

“No!” Audrey waved her hands, trying to diffuse some of the tension. “I was just listening to you play! I don’t even know who you are.”

His eye narrowed.

He huffed a heavy sigh, the tension draining from him, and he turned back so only the side without the eye was facing her. 

“You must be new here,” he said, somewhat somberly. “Surprised you haven’t heard of me.”

Audrey shrugged. “Almost everyone I’ve met has tried to kill me. That’s not exactly a good environment for starting conversation.”

And that made him laugh.

Maybe? It sort of sounded like it could’ve been a laugh. 

“If you’re going to listen to me play, stop breathing so loudly.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Do I need to speak up?”

“I was just breathing normally.” 

“Then stop.” 

She could not even begin to parse the request that was being made of her.

“I can’t just? Stop breathing? I kind of need to do that!”

He stared at her blankly for a long moment. “Count yourself lucky then,” he said bitterly.

Man.

What is this guy's deal?

A while passed of him continuing to play, and Audrey trying to breathe as quietly as possible.

He seemed to be getting… frustrated. Hesitating even more often. Arms becoming more tense.

Eventually, he stopped abruptly again, and for a moment she thought for sure he would throw his banjo onto the floor. But he didn’t. He sighed, and gently, gently set it down, with care and reverence and obvious longing.

And then he sat back down in the chair, head in his hands. He didn’t speak, didn’t make a sound. Just sat there.

“What’s your name?” Audrey asked, a little hesitantly.

His shoulders slumped a little, and he turned so his eye was facing her. He had a pupil now. He didn’t before.

“Sammy.”

“Sammy…” She looked at the banjo on the floor, thought about how he treated it with such care, and a few things clicked into place. “Sammy Lawrence?”

Sammy was on his feet and at the window in an instant, eye fixed intently on Audrey and his hands pressed against the glass.

“You know me?” 

“…not personally.”

Sammy groaned, and slid down the window, his hands and forehead leaving inky smears down the glass.

“I suppose it was too much to hope.”

“I’m sorry.”

Sammy just made a noise, something resigned and tired.

“…you have something many of us down here envy,” he said after a few long moments. He had his back against the wall underneath the window.

“What do you mean?” 

“A face. An identity. A self.” He sounded sad. “You know who you are.”

“That’s… not as true as you might think.” 

He gave a bitter chuckle. “No, of course it’s not… nothing’s ever as good as it seems.”

“…why are you in here?” 

“I don’t know,” Sammy said softly. So, so softly. “This Wilson… he wasn’t always in power here. We used to bow to a different power.”

“The ink demon.” This much, she knew. 

Sammy nodded, ever so slightly. “My… my lord. I thought… we thought that he would save us. Set us free… but now? I’m not… sure anymore.” 

She didn’t know what to say.

“I served him. I served him faithfully for so long, and… and nothing. I sacrificed so much. So much for him, and nothing. When we all cried out to him, to save us, to hear us. Nothing.” Sammy’s voice was beginning to shake.

She didn’t interrupt. She just listened.

“And when Wilson ordered all of the ‘demon followers’ to give up their faith or be destroyed. Nothing. And when Wilson’s keepers found the lost harbor, and my flock was rounded up and slaughtered like animals! NOTHING!” His voice split again, just for a moment, before falling away into the sounds one makes when trying not to sob. “They even took my music department. They even took…” he never finished that sentence. Whatever he was going to say was too painful.

“And the Ink Demon still did nothing. Even when we begged for his aid, called out to him with our dying screams, he ignored us,” Sammy spat. “I can see now… how misguided I was. How misguided we all were. But this… we never deserved this,” his voice quivered with his desperate effort not to sob.

“I just don’t understand… why I was different. Why I was spared.”

“Some shepherd I was…” 

“I’m so sorry Sammy…” Audrey said softly.

He just moaned in response. It sounded a bit like a searcher. 

“I don’t think you should blame yourself,” she said, placing a hand on the glass next to Sammy’s head. “I’ve seen what they can do… I don’t think there was anything you could’ve done.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Sammy gave a resigned shrug. “But it doesn’t change anything. In the end, they’re all lost to the puddles. And I’m in here, with nothing to do but think about it.”

“And play the banjo.”

“Oh please. You heard me,” he sighed. His voice was still a little shaky. “I barely remember how. Just another sacrifice…”

He looked at his hands, and upon leaning so she could see them, Audrey saw that they weren’t human. Three fingers and a thumb, like a cartoon.

“I used to be so talented,” he muttered. “So much before the ink’s call is lost to me, but that I remember. And even if I didn’t, the awards on the wall in my music department all have my name on them… but now it feels so foreign to me. My hands don’t remember where to go, and my mind lags behind. It doesn’t feel right to be playing alone…” 

“I wish I could help you,” she sighed. “But I’m an artist, not a musician.”

“I wasn’t asking you to,” he responded, a little sharply. It might seem rude, but given what she’s heard about him, read in newspapers and Joey’s memoirs, this is how he’s always been. Snappy, even when he didn’t mean it all the way. “It wouldn’t be the same.”

Neither of them spoke for a moment.

“The same as what…?”

Sammy didn’t respond for another long moment.

“You know my work, don’t you? Surely you know I was never a solo act.”

She had to think for a moment before a name came to her.

“Jack Fain, right? Your lyricist.”

Sammy nodded, ever so slightly.

“He was more than that,” he said softly, so softly. “I know he was. I don’t remember what we were to each other. But I know he was important.”

He started to shake again. 

“He’s—“ He made a choked sound, curling himself up tighter. She could see him starting to drip. “—he’s gone…”

“Won’t he reform?” Audrey asked, and then realized a moment later that perhaps that wasn’t a very tactful thing to say to someone this obviously distraught. 

“You don’t get it,” Sammy moaned. His voice was shaking, almost a little wet sounding. “Of course you don’t get it, you’re too solid.”

“It’s not so simple, no… not so easy for those of us without a real form.” He was still shaking, but his voice had changed. Shifted back to a low whisper. She shouldn’t be able to hear him so clearly through the glass, but it sounded like he was speaking right into her ears. “The puddles are swimming, churning with thoughts and feelings and memories. If one wants to be reborn as themself, they must carefully pick their own mind out of the cacophony. Try to remember where they end, and the puddles begin. All while it tries to pull you deeper, deeper into darkness, the wills of the lost dragging you further, until you lose yourself… like crabs in a bucket.”

“You’re never quite the same when you drag yourself from the well… if you manage to.” His voice shifted back to normal, no longer sounding like it was in her head. “And my Jack… he was never a fighter. Preferred to hide himself away.”

Another silence fell over them, this one heavy. 

Audrey wasn’t sure what to say for what felt like a very long time.

“…he wouldn’t happen to wear a bowler hat, would he?”

Sammy shot up again, face and hands once again pressed up against the glass. His single eye looked a bit like it was melting, yellow trails dripping down his cheek. 

Oh. Those were tears.

“Have you seen him?”

“No. But I did find his hat,” Audrey said tentatively. “And it wasn’t in the music department. So he might be hiding somewhere new.”

Sammy sighed. “Maybe… but I’ve never seen him without that hat,” he slumped a bit, beginning to slide back down the window. “Someone else probably took it.”

“Well… would you like me to bring it to you?”

Sammy perked back up, like a dog that heard its name called. It was… pretty hard to read his expressions. His eye didn’t seem to emote much, and as far as she'd seen, he didn’t open or move his mouth at all, even to talk. 

But that suggestion seemed to brighten his mood. Just a little bit.

For a moment, it seemed like he might thank her.

But then he pushed himself off the glass, and turned his back to her again.

“Do what you want,” he said over his shoulder.

Then he walked over, picked his banjo back up, and sat down again. 

“I’ll be back soon.”

Sammy just made a noise in response, clearly done talking.

The quiet sound of Audrey’s footsteps as she turned and left the pit were accompanied by the quiet plucking on a banjo… just a little bit more confidently than before.

[sanzusslutt]

How about Mikey draken chifuyu and whoever else you like, kissing you for the first time? <3

aww I love this idea <3

Kissing you for the first time♡︎

Pairing: Manjirou (Mikey) Sano, Ken (Draken) Ryuguji, Chifuyu Matsuno x Y/N.

warnings: none :P

fluff ♡︎

Manjirou (Mikey) Sano

Mikey has been avoiding you for the past few weeks but he is now right before you, at the door of your apartment, instantly reddening at the sight of you in your pink short pajamas. "Manjirou? is something wrong?" you asked, opening the door more so he could come inside. "I just wanted to see you..." He came closer, putting his hands on your waist and resting his forehead on your shoulder, trying to hide his blushing red face. "I'm sorry for ignoring you.. it's just that.. you are always so kind and so beautiful" He raised his head, dark eyes looking straight at yours, making you melt and the compliment causing your cheeks to get a bright pink. "I can't resist anymore.." Your faces were so close you could feel his hot breath on your lips. He decided he couldn't wait anymore, nor he could ignore his feelings towards you. He closed the distance between your faces, meeting your soft lips with his. Butterflys started flying in your stomach as you kissed him back and circled your hands on his neck. This felt like a dream. you had the crush on Mikey but he was too blinded to see. he broke the kiss, looking right into your eyes. "God, I love you.." he admitted with a smile. "I'm so fucking glad I hear that".

Ken (Draken) Ryuguji

It was night, almost midnight when the doorbell rang on your apartment. Opening the door you saw draken leaned on your doorframe with his hands crossed. "Ken?" you called. "It's me, princess. May I come in? I kinda need your help.." he asked, voice breaking as he speaks. Once was inside and you locked the door again, you turned and saw the man covered in bruises and an disturbing amount of blood. "What happenend?! Are you okay?!" you panicked. "don't worry, princess I'm alright. I got into a fight and I can't put the iodine on the wounds on my face. little help?" You sighted at his request but you couldn't let him bleed like that. When you took the first aid kit, you made your way to sit on the couch beside him but he patted his hand on his thigh, telling you to sit on his leg cause it would be more comfortable. You made yourself comfortable on the man's lap as he raised his head to give you more access to his wounded face. He rested his big hands on your waist as you felt your cheeks getting hotter. You went closer to see more clearly the wound on his face when the grasp he had on your waist got tighter and his soft lips met yours for a passionate kiss. your body grew hotter and you felt a familiar burning sense on your stomach at the kiss as you putted your hands at each side of his face and you felt his hands lower their motions and grabbing your ass. He broke the kiss as he whispered "I waited for this for so fucking long. damn." you giggled at the statement and continued the make out session he begun...

this came out longer than expected

Chifuyu Matsuno

You were in a relationship with Matsuno for about two weeks now. But Chifu being the gentleman he is, he told you to make the first move whenever you wanted and felt sure. that being said, you had planed a date on the fireworks night with him to spend some alone time since with the gang staff and your studies you haven't seen him much. he was laid on the grass with his head on your lap, as you played with his hair he admired the beautiful sky and your mesmerizing face. When the fireworks started you felt that it was finally the right time to take your relationship one step further. You placed your hands on his chin, making him slightly raise his head as you slowly closed the gap between your and his lips. it took Chifu by surprise but I didn't take long for him to act and kiss you back with the same passion and affection as you did. his hands found place on your face as he got up and sitted on his knees. You took it as an opportunity to sit on his lap and straddle him a little more. his cheeks became a deep shade of pink at your action as you rested your hands on his neck. You broke the kiss and stared at his pretty light blue eyes as broke the silence. "thank goodness, it was so hard to resist kissing you.." you chuckled at his comment and rested your head on his shoulder as he wrapped his hands around you, trapping you in his arms.

[justanotherhh]

Thinking about Alastor and aroace loneliness

was chatting with @creepysora about the feelings of aroace loneliness that occur when one can't fulfill the requirements of relationship structures and connections that are demanded in an amatonormative and allosexual environment -- friendships that end because of being unable to "commit" to more, or because they faded out of ones life in favour of a monogamous romantic relationship, difficulties in finding a shared language through which to form connections in the first place, discomfort with spaces and people that cross sexual boundaries, etc. -- how does one find A Place and A People without entrance into this language and these desires?

this whether or not someone might be along aplatonic and/or loveless, and/or repulsed lines or not

so imagining Alastor (alive and dead) from this perspective, if he did ever feel that, and how he'd have muddled through it in his own particular kind of way (power, control, murder, mayhem, etc)

breaking down his relationships:

mimzy: seems to be quite cold-hearted about their relationship, that is, she turns up when she needs something and alastor has enough of a soft spot that until he was at the hotel/had something "more" to fight for potentially, he let her set those terms. that could indicate some desire for closeness that couldn't otherwise be met, until the hotel? it also suggests there is some fondness for the life he had while alive, although mimzy appears so far to be the only person in hell that has carried through. as for what they were doing while alive outside of drinking and dancing, well, that's still a little mystery. if the hotel gang have become closer to him than mimzy was, then maybe he's starting to feel like he can be involved with people without it simply being about being used. speaking of the gang...

niffty and husk seem to be -- more or less -- on friendly or (in husk's case) at least open terms with him, but he's forcing them into that relationship, so on his side is that "just" power or also a way to keep them with him, to control how and when they stay and leave, to remove the danger of trust. similarly to mimzy, it's not a healthy way to form relationships, but perhaps it's the only way he can be sure to do so on his terms?

rosie -- I think rosie (from what we've seen so far) appears to be the most "uncomplicated" of his relationships, that is, it's not unequal, there's no force, no subterfuge, they don't appear to be "using" each other, they seem to be pretty emotionally honest, and she's possibly the only person who knows he's (aro?)ace (which he doesn't of course, but point is she's seen through some of his barriers and she doesn't judge or try to push, while still clearly enjoying his company). they're colleagues, but they're also on friendly terms, and don't judge each other for how they live their lives (queer metaphor there). is there a teensy edge to it along the lines of overlords generally having an air of "as long as you still have power we're equals, but only as long as you still have power," to them? this a musing, i think carmilla and zestial would be on each others sides through thick and thin from the sounds of things -- would alastor and rosie trust each other to do the same?

the other overlords -- probably not close, but he wants them to acknowledge him/pay attention to him/not forget him

vox. well. vox.

charlie. complicated. joined on as a hotelier, definitely more than a little subterfuge and manipulation involved, and of course now she's made a deal with him. yes, all of this is Plot, but it's also very... alastor-as-person. keep'em guessing, don't let them get close, always have the upper hand, even with someone like charlie, who would probably have been in his corner simply because she (terror of terrors) likes him!

angel, vaggie, sir pentious: aka "the rest of the hotel gang." I think that alastor stiiiiill hasn't integrated entirely into the hotel-as-found-family-concept, although with the reactions to his arrival (save for lucifer and husk) it seems that he's gone from standing on the sidelines (emotionally) to potentially...? accepting that he has a real place there, that he is (scary word used again) liked. which, maybe not quite right putting those three characters in one section, because he had a different dynamic with all of them, but crucially none of them were close with him in s1. they ran the gamut from creeped out (pentious) to creeped out but would still tap that (angel) to open dislike/distrust (and i assume some of that distrust on vaggie's part might still be there, considering the deal, but she does seem relieved that he's Not Dead, so progress). he calls the the hotel gang as a whole friends -- that is, in a way that strongly implies he's still not accepting it/keeping the idea at arm's length "alastor altruist died for his friends" as something almost mocking, but perhaps with a grain of truth...? potentially in s2 he'll be fighting the wish to be sincerely close with these people (minus pentious in heaven), because his instinct is that it's dangerous to be vulnerable, because they could hurt you by taking your soul by turning away when something better comes along or demanding something that you can't give

gen questions: outside of mimzy what did his living existence look like? was he looking for closeness? it does seem like he may have been, considering he does look for that in death/has quite a social circle, considering. business acquaintances that were reading the word "partner" differently, girl friends who "fell in love," boy friends who "fell in love" (less likely considering how he feels about men but still), friends who disappeared when they entered into monogamous romantic relationships, a consistent potential nagging feeling of being left behind, but not knowing how to solve that and so becoming more distant…

and then of course, there's the murders which we still don't know the contexts of and so can project all kinds of things onto -- distaste with how people cross into his or others' boundaries potentially by abusing power they have, betrayal at feeling abandoned, a way to simply keep people close on his terms, (or something completely different. I also like the idea that he murdered racists, which is a different impulse than the vaguer above ideas, but may fit into people who abuse their power/cross peoples' boundaries)

I do think there's something about being Seen (or in alastor's case "Heard" if taken more literally) and controlling the narrative that is about drawing people in in a way he can control, that does feel like it mitigates the dangers that exist in relationships, in a very particular way if you're aroace. either he controls the fabric of the relationship so that they literally cannot leave (husk, niffty, potentially charlie) or he controls the closeness of the relationship so that the terms and conditions are clearly set and shouldn't be overstepped/if they are overstepped he can easily opt out, and/or if they leave, he can't get hurt (the hotel gang, rosie and vox to an extent in that they were/are colleagues which is a very particular Type of relationship, potentially mimzy)

so he is never without people around him, and needs to know they See him/Hear him, and if they don't there's a… twitchiness there. a sense of being forgotten perhaps? of being obsolete? of having nothing more to offer? if you're not pursuing the correct kinds of connections (the only kinds of connections that apparently really matter) then how do you make sure that people don't forget you? that you don't simply disappear?

romance and (to an extent) sex are powerful forces, but in alastor's case they're forces for bad that he's trying to crowbar some kind of place for himself in, no matter how disjointed and strange and even at times cruel his way of doing so may look from the outside

[itskybabes-blog]

The Kiss Of Death

Daniel Garcia x fem!reader

Warning: drinking, still pretty innocent

Part: two

Word count: 1385 words Comments and advice is welcome.

Part one

The shots keep coming and the chat keeps flowing between Daniel and Y/N. 45 minutes past and they’re still talking at the bar, losing track of time.

They shared some aspects of their lives with each other; Daniel tells her about his hometown of Buffalo, New York and how he loves Bad Bunny. Y/N is a little more reserved, simply because she doesn’t know this man well enough to break down her protective barrier just yet. But, he knows that she’s a photojournalist, taking pictures of some of today’s biggest stars on her cameras.

After he told her a corny joke, Daniel admires the glittery smile of Y/N’s as laughter filled the air around them. His eyes linger on her lips a little longer than expected, but when he realised her erratic laughter was coming to an end, his eyes snapped back to hers.

She lifts her eyebrows: she saw that, but she’s not going to make a fuss out of it.

“You are such a comedian,” Y/N says sarcastically, going against her instinct to flirt with this hunk of a man who is clearly drinking in her beauty. The glint in her eyes, the way light bounced off the tip of her nose, the vivid colour and unique cut of her hair made her standout from the rest – how did he manage to grab her attention for so long?

“I should change careers, right?” Daniel replies. A chuckle escapes Y/N before a comfortable silence ensued.

“So…"

"So…"

The two's eyes rest on each other's lips while their bodies inched closer. The music starts to fade out before…

"DG!"

Daniel's head snapped to his right, scowling at a stumbling, slightly intoxicated man approaching the duo. Y/N places her hand in front of her face, trying to shade her eyes from the bright flash darting through the club's low lighting.

"Yo, Danny! You've been gone for a wh- ohh, my bad," the tall and toned man turns off his camera and apologised to the mysterious girl. "I'm sorry! Where's my manners? I'm Isiah."

“Y/N,” you say apprehensively.

The new character stretches his hand out for Y/N to shake, which she did.

Daniel goes red, looking at Y/N with an apologetic look. “I’m sorry about him,” he says, “He don’t know when to quit with all that vlogging shit.”

Y/N offers a sweet smile before brushing it off: “It’s okay! Would have liked some warning so I could check how I look.”

She playfully begins to touch her lips and fluff her hair, as if to correct her looks.

“You look gorgeous, what are you talking about?” Daniel interjects, blushing hard again while Isiah teases him.

“Oh, is Danny tryna rizz you up right now? Oh, oh, I see how it is: you left us to chat this girl up. You left your friends over a girl? Aight!” Isiah lays into Danny as the latter playfully keeps trying to shut him up and pushing him away.

Y/N giggles at Isiah’s sarcastic jealousy, before asking, “Who’s ‘us’?”

Isiah points to the rest of the people in the VIP area. “A bunch of us came to the club to celebrate tonight,” he told the young lady. “You should come dance with us! Danny boy’s taken up enough of your time.”

Tenderly, Danny glances at Y/N as hope sparkles in his eyes. He wants to show off his new friend to the rest of the group.

“Sure, um…” – Y/N’s drinking is playing with her memory.

“Isiah-”

“Isiah! Yes! Sure, Isiah. I’ll come over.”

Danny offers his hand as she get off the bar stool. Her landing was a little rocky because her legs went a bit numb due to the sitting and the alcohol, but she leans into Danny as he protectively walks you over to the gang.

She see a bunch of smiley people having fun in the VIP area behind the DJ booth, and can hear the same laughter emanate from there like it did while Y/N spun the decks.

“Everybody!” Isiah starts to announce to the group, “Look who Danny found at the bar?”

A deep heat rose in your cheeks.

“Hi, I’m Y/N,” she attempts to say over the music but her hushed tone is overpowered by the 808s of the tune playing through the club.

“Huh,” a floppy haired guy said in confusion, peering at her over his shades. The other guys and girls – either standing or sitting around their table of drinks, clothes accentuating their chiseled physiques – stared blankly at you. Y/N must admit that anxiety is starting to settle in.

“This is Y/N,” Danny cuts in, saving her. He then proceeds to point to everyone and says their name.

“This is Tyler- ”

“Call me Hook,” the floppy-haired giant gives her an endearing smile and offers her a head nod.

Danny continues: “This is Andretti.”

A golden-skinned muscle man gives her a huge smile and wave, like a bright burst of energy.

“Ricky”

With an eyebrow raised and his lips pursed, there’s a cheeky expression on the man’s face. His shirt is open, showing off his washboard abs, and he just gives her a confident “Hey”.

“This is-” “CHEESECAKE!” Isiah yells over Danny, causing him to go red again and give Y/N a sorry look. She again giggles at his cuteness.

The authoritative stance of the Cheesecake man told Y/N he wasn’t anyone to play with.

“Lastly, here’s the girls; Skye, Kiera and Willow.”

The gorgeously dressed women wave, smiling back sweetly before continuing their gossip session.

Y/N sits next to Danny on the couch and talk more about life; he breaks it to her that he’s only in town for a couple of days – he wrestles for some “promotion” called “AEW”…

… she plays stupid. Yes: she loves wrestling – have watched it since she was a child and regularly watched the promotion – but she underplays how much she knows. Y/N don't want Danny to think she's being fake and on some crazy fan girl shit, which is ironic since downplaying what you know is “being fake” but anyways.

Y/N tucks her hair behind her ear, allowing herself to hear better. He tells her something about fighting some Adam Copeland guy: he corrects himself.

“Um, you know Edge? From WWE?”

Her eyes widen. Y/N thought she was up to date on all things AEW but she must have miss the thousands of social updates on the fact thee Edge from Edge and Christian had jumped ships to “the competition.” Danny’s in the big leagues – how cool?!

“Yeah,” Daniel chuckles, admiring that same glint in her eye she had earlier. “That guy!”

“Wow, that’s huge. Congrats!” Y/N says back, beaming a bright smile.

She then proceeds to tell him about her crazy day getting to the club: Y/N was shooting Megan Thee Stallion and she got her drunk, pouring D’usse in her mouth so she was already a bit drunk and could really use some food.

“So, let’s grab a bite!” Danny says before downplaying his eagerness. "I mean, only if you want to."

"Ugh!," Y/N jokingly grunts. "Don't tempt me with a good time. I could eat a horse, right now!"

Y/N grabs her belongings and checks her bag as Danny jumps up and says his parting words to the rest of his posse. Just as she finished triple-checking she had everything, Y/N sees a palm appear in front of her adorned with several gold rings that reflect the strobe lighting in the club.

"Come on, my lady!"

Her head snaps up to see her Prince Charming shine his own pearly whites. And it did something to her, something ineffable, something that she hopes to feel again. She felt a tingle in her soul like no other – as if she can feel their souls tying in the pit of her stomach.

She gladly grabs his hand, swings her bag over her shoulder and waves animatedly to Danny's friends. She tries not to think too much about it, but were they smirking at her? Hmmm.

Danny drags Y/N towards the cloakroom to get her jacket before they try their luck at sobering up under the dazzling starlight.

A/N: Thanks for waiting! As I continue this, this might turn into Drabble instead of a flowing story so expect to see loads of time descriptors at the top of chapters. Just so I can write them quicker.

I also just realise I'm switching between past tense and second tense because dyslexia is dyslexing. Pls bare with but each chapter might be in a different tense: fuck it.