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uplatterme · 2 years

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Sit Still, Look Pretty.

a/n: i don’t think the doll fetish is a joke anymore *cries*

cw: sub!albedo, dom!reader, amab!reader (gender-neutral terms and pronouns | dollification, mirror sex, slight feminization, orgasm delay/denial

The alchemist stands there, observing his surroundings as he waits for you to get your things. Your room is like any other, quite simplistic besides the few paintings that decorated the walls, paintings that he’d given you as presents.

He’s been here multiple times and usually, everything remains the same. The stack of books on your desk, the mint flower you keep by the window, your sword which always rested laying on your chair.

Usually, is the keyword here.

Now, he finds himself gazing up on one of the shelves, where a doll sits elegantly on a tiny chair.

It’s oddly…human-like.

“I found last week’s reports that you were looking for.” You return to the room, the notebook in your hands.

He takes it from you and checks, it’s just what he needs.

And while he doesn’t really require anything else, his thoughts are captivated by the expensive-looking doll. So, he asks.

Your face turns into worry, although it soon is replaced by a gleeful smile. He wonders what the reason for this is.

“That, right.” He hears you chuckle.

“I happened to get it from a traveling merchant. It’s quite pretty, isn’t it?”

He feels as if there is something else you aren’t telling him.

“How much was it?” Albedo questions.

“Including the clothes? Well, it’s about…”

Once Albedo hears of the amount, he can’t help but furrow his eyebrows from your purchase.

He hears you laugh again, your eyes looking as bright as they can.

“Don’t you find them appealing, Albedo? Lifeless forms whose purpose is nothing but to sit pretty.”

“I suppose.” The alchemist answers.

He really doesn’t.

“I just think it’s neat. Having no other choice but to obey their owners, wear dresses whether they like it or not, pose in whichever way they’re directed to…” You describe freely, grabbing the doll and placing it in his hands.

“And you know what the best part of it is?” Albedo sees your face lighten up.

He maintains his expressionless face, even if he’s taken aback by how close your face is to him, gazing into your spellbinding eyes.

“What?”

“They do it all with a smile.”

Needless to say, Albedo’s thoughts had become occupied since then.

He tells himself that he shouldn’t bother with it this much.

Your liking of dolls is just like any other hobby, isn’t it? It’s like how Lisa is with her books, obsessive when they aren’t handled properly or returned within the given time.

Still, he sighs. He does receive your tender touch from time to time, but there’s something else that Albedo wants…or needs.

“Which do you think suits her better?”

Albedo snaps out of his thinking to see you holding two dresses right in front of his face.

He absent-mindedly chose the one on the left, and you smile at his choice.

“Cute.” You say.

He feels flustered despite knowing that the compliment wasn’t for him. It was for that doll.

The only thing he can do is watch you pamper it, brushing its hair and using those fingers of yours to undress it and change it into a new outfit.

He sits there, an uncomfortable emotion in his chest as he hears you utter praises for something that doesn’t even move.

“I’m sorry, I must excuse myself.” Albedo stands up from his seat to leave, unable to bear your fondness for the doll.

He needs to do something.

The door to your house creaks in as you unlock it. You hum a tune, stretching your arms, a bit tired from today’s schedule.

You take off your coat, hanging it on the wall. You rethink if there’s something else you have to do before going to bed.

“Ah, my mint flower. I haven’t watered it yet.” You say out loud.

With the glass of water in your hand, you step into your bedroom.

“Archons, you scared me!” You sigh, seeing the alchemist sitting on your bed.

While he’s the only other person who has a key to your house, he’s never been the one to visit of his own accord.

You await his response.

The alchemist stays still and unresponsive, staring past you as if there’s something that you’re not seeing.

“Albedo? Are you alright?” You question the man again, only to receive nothing.

Worried, you come up closer to him.

His eyes looked empty and his breathing was…quiet. There’s nothing wrong with him physically. No signs of any injuries that may hinder his talking nor any sign of trauma to his head.

He looks perfect, actually. And now that you take a look closer, you can see pink powder dusting his cheeks.

Albedo has always been that way. Beauty and brains, truly a perfect mix

You direct his face to yours, wanting him to look at you as you speak.

Albedo hasn’t blinked throughout this whole ordeal.

You get a hold of his chin and bring his lips to yours, wondering if that’ll execute a reaction.

Unfortunately, no results are to be seen.

He doesn’t open his mouth when you kiss him, confusing you since he usually does.

It’s as if Albedo has no sentience. A lifeless being, somewhat similar to that of a statue that served no other use but to be stared at.

…

No.

You deny your thoughts.

Surely, Albedo isn’t doing what you think he’s doing, right?

You trace your fingers on his thighs, its smoothness surprising you. Almost as if it were made from porcelain, you observe.

“Albedo, you cannot do this to me.” You scold him, each second passing by with him in this state is not good for your heart.

“You don’t know what I’m capable of,” You stare at him, wanting to see if he’ll say anything.

“I’m afraid I won’t be able to stop myself if things get too far.” You admit, caressing his emotionless face.

Extraordinary.

“To think you would be that jealous of a doll. It’s adorable, my love.” It’s too good to be true, you think. Albedo presents himself as if he is one too, just so he can garner your attention.

He’s always been smart and reckless like this. He knows this will work. Now, to see how far this ambitiousness will push him…

“Well, a new doll needs a new outfit.” You say to him.

Albedo tenses up at your words.

This is proving to be much more difficult than he expected. Your lingering touch makes him want to buckle to his knees. The kiss on his lips, that led to the core in his chest tightening up.

Has he always been that soft?

Only having a limited field of vision, he cannot see what you’re doing. But from what it sounded, you were likely looking for something to put him in.

“Ah! Here it is!” You bring the dress to his eyes and he immediately regrets playing this role. This is a bit…embarrassing.

“This was supposed to be a gift for Sucrose’s birthday, but I’m sure you’d do a better job modeling this than her.” You explain.

It was getting difficult to maintain his quiet breathing, especially when you ogled his body as you took off the clothes that he has now. He wants to tell you that you should look away, that he can do it in your stead.

However, he ignores it. He ignores the embarrassment and the warmth rushing up to his cheeks.

“Your white underwear suits you, Albedo. Although, don’t dolls have no need for undergarments?”

Your voice sends a chill to his spine. He sits there helpless under your fingers, awaiting what you’ll do next to him.

“You’re so perfect, my doll.” Albedo bites back the need to whine.

“Should I set up a mirror so you can see?”

He stares at himself through the mirror, the fluffy dress reaching just above his knee. It’s not of Monstadt creation, that’s for sure. Perhaps it’s a dress from Fontaine?

“Do you like it?” He watches you brush his hair.

“You know, I’ve always been amazed at how gorgeous you are. To think I’m this lucky to own you…I’ll make sure to take good care of you, dear.”

Albedo wants to bury himself underground. He’s enjoying this more than he should be.

It’s strange. He doesn’t get why he’s enjoying this at all. Isn’t his sole purpose to be that of living as a human? Why would he succumb to regressing himself like this?

Your arms envelop his body, your hands traveling on top of the fabric.

They’re warm.

Albedo seethes when he feels you tug his nipple. No talking, he has to remind himself, even if you fondle his body like this without warning.

His throat is itching for something, a word, or any kind of sound. He hasn’t said a single thing since he stepped into your abode.

He can do it, he reassures himself.

“My doll isn’t giving up this early, no?” You whisper directly to his ears.

Your fingers slip under the dress and he’s forced to be reminded that you’d taken off his underwear earlier. No! If you touch there, he’ll surely—

“Hmm…”

Panic settles on his face when the noise unconsciously slips out of him.

“Is my doll malfunctioning? That’s a shame. I thought you were perfect. Do I have to throw you out already?”

No, no… He stresses.

Give him one more chance! He pleads in his head.

Your thumb rubs the slit of his tip, playing with the already oozing precum. His thighs slightly tremble and he’s begging you to not notice it. He can’t —It’s physically impossible for him to stay still!

Your fingers now move to his shaft, stroking his cock slowly and giving him the right pace that he needs.

Albedo’s mind is getting hazy. It feels so damn good, he’s this close to moaning loudly if not for the fear that he’ll disappoint you.

He bites the inside of his cheek, his eyelids shutting close every now and then.

Your pace hastens, each stroke getting rougher and faster. He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to hold in his scream when he cums.

“Mmgh–”

His breaths are getting heavier and deeper, his cock ready to burst at any second.

And then he feels your grip tighten.

You stop your movement, letting his worry go to waste. It’s painful, being stopped when you’re so close to reaching your high. Still, this is better. He can’t imagine what he would do if he actually did crumble beneath your hands.

Albedo shivers when he feels you touch his tip again, replicating the same movements you had done earlier. His thighs are sticky, the insides of the dress damp and warm.

The alchemist breathes. Coming to a conclusion that he’ll make less of a noise this way. He hears the way it squelches with each stroke, the noise leaving him greatly humiliated.

His cock aches for a release, the emotionless facade that he wears slowly shattering as he gets closer to an orgasm.

He bit down on his lip, ready to contain the noise, when you immediately stopped. His cock twitching from being suddenly released from the friction.

This happens five more times.

Albedo can feel his sanity going away. He needs to cum. Let him, please. He’s been doing so well, hasn’t he?

His legs have stopped shaking, already used to the same torture that you keep putting him under.

He wants it already, impatient at how long he thinks you’ll keep doing this. Albedo wants it to be all over, he’ll do anything. He’ll suck you off with his mouth if you want, no matter if it ends up with him choking at the end.

How long will he have to bear this?

“You really don’t get it, do you?” You ask the worn-out alchemist.

“You’re already perfect, Albedo. But isn’t there something you’re forgetting?”

What?

“I’ve given you so many chances to guess, and yet you still won’t remember?”

Your fingers cup his chin, and his mind relishes at the fact that he could forget about the one thing you told him that you enjoyed the most.

“Smile for me, doll.”

Albedo’s a wreck as he gets his insides wrecked with your length. His body every now and then writhes as he lets you handle his body even if you push inside him so far that he can feel it inside his guts.

He’s not allowed to move. He’s a doll, he keeps repeating to himself.

The smile on his face looks whorish instead of being elegant.

He doesn’t know whether it’s because of the mirror but seeing you penetrate him, his hole opening up graciously for you has the poor alchemist wanting to scream. But since he can’t, his emotions overwhelm him and tears start flowing down his cheeks.

Being used like this, as if he’s just some object to be thrown around sends a thrill in his head. Perhaps it’s because of the fact that he would have been, if things didn’t go his way.

Albedo ejaculates on the bed, the dress sticky with his cum.

You don’t stop, his walls being mercilessly pounded through, wanting to see how far his limit is until he finally begs of you to stop.

Well, you did warn him before, didn’t you?

His body is weightless in your arms, using his body as if it’s your personal sex doll, you grab him by the sides of his waist, thrusting and hitting his sensitive spot each time.

He loves it.

He’s yours and you have every right to decide what he can and cannot do.

He won’t mind.

Not at all.

#sub albedo #dom reader #sub genshin impact #sub genshin #dom!reader #genshin impact smut #genshin impact x reader #albedo x reader #sub!albedo #plattered writings

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blackpilljesus · 4 months

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The rise in popularity of single childfree women should signal that we need to start preparing. I've spoken about this before but want to address a common concern of safety regarding maIe retaliation. At this point some women may think they'll be safer trying to get a maIe but the statistics show otherwise. There's a reason women fought for rights in the first place, we all know that maIes as a collective are horrible beings. If maIes were pleasant to be around & reproduce with, they wouldn't need to force women into it.

Now I dont have all the answers in terms of what to do in the face of maIe retaliation but where to start:

1 - Move in silence. MaIes dont need to know our every move. MaIes have enough power as is, them knowing our strategy on top of that wont help. Hell, play dumb sometimes. This also applies to other women, if they push marriage & kids bs be measured in your response, in the end you know your truth. At the end of the day most of these women are also aware of the danger maIes pose.

2 - Organise. This is tough, extremely tough i can't lie. For one we're scattered all over the world & people in our real lives wouldn't have the committment to this nor believe in deviating from the nuclear structure but it is something needed. Even if it's just online, find or build networks with likeminded women. I say this as a lone wolf but infrastructure & network is needed because the government will make it harder to survive alone so some would need to be able to lean on each other for support even if it's just verbal. Practice separatism as far as you can. Take up learning how to defend yourself. If you're serious about this; be prepared to break the rules at some point because playing nice & by the law wont work. These things are set up by men for men and it wont help us. I'm not saying go out there & purposefuly break the law or put yourself in harms way, just saying prepare. It sounds far out now but the current system cant be counted on, blind eyes are turned when maIes abuse women, women are punished for defending themselves under the system. Even if you dont want to go down the route of community, learn to take care of yourself & hold your own down.

3 - Stop arguing with maIes. This doesnt mean that xys are right, I say this a lot but maIes are fully aware of everything. Arguing with maIes online is a waste of time, time that can go to building for yourself or likeminded women. MaIes denying female oppression is part of the game to keep you wasting your energy on them as opposed to working on yourself. It's to keep you in their hands; doesn't matter whether you're right or not, how many statistics you throw at them, you're still biting their bait.

4 - Stack up on resources & money. If you have resources & money and the priviledge to save then start now. If/when things go downhill it wont be a snap thing but a transition so this window needs to be used to the best of our advantage. Take advantage of the privileges you have now to set yourself for the future because that could very well be gone.

I doubt we'd win tbh but I'd rather die trying than live submitting. I will mention that I know it's scary but we have to think forward. Bear in mind the system has never worked for women, some will say things like "but when women leave maIes get more violent" but there is no safety in the first place. Women are sexually harrassed & assaulted any where at any time with no protection already. Women are constantly told of all the things they should or shouldn't do to avoid maIe violence and it doesnt work anyways, maIes will continue to abuse women & girls. No amount of listening & obeying has helped women because it doesn't matter what the reason for maIe violence is, if they cant find a reason they'll create a reason because their motive is to make women suffer in addition to reproduction & having labour.

Now I know many will speak about the violence of maIe retaliation which I'll address in part 3. This is part 2 of 'the rise in single childfree women' group of posts.

Part 1

#There'll be 4 parts if anyone is wondering.#female separatism #female separatist #6b4t #4b #childfree #single woman #single women

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howtofightwrite · 9 months

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Do you have any tips for how a smaller person should look for advantages while fighting against someone bigger than them? Both in height and weight (from a normal human perspective and, if possible, also from like, as an example, an average human man against a nine foot tall humanoid).

I know I'm going to sound like a broken record here, because we say it a lot, but having a lower center of gravity is a significant advantage in its own right. It makes throwing or knocking down your opponent much easier, and conversely, makes disrupting your own stance much harder.

The theoretical advantages you'll often see dragged out, like, “greater reach,” or, “superior strength,” don't really matter in a human vs. human match-up, because the differences aren't really that pronounced.

Someone who's nine feet tall is a little more significant. Match-ups like that are really hard to generalize in abstract because a lot of assumptions don't necessarily hold true. If the humanoid has significantly longer reach (which is likely) that could pose a real problem for any unarmed combat. Similarly center of gravity and strength could be significantly different from what you'd expect in a human. When you remember you're talking about a being that is 50% larger than you are, the problems start stacking up. You're talking about someone who will have over a foot of reach on you. If their physiology is exactly the same, and joint locks work without meaningful adaptation, that might give you some options, but the less human their physiology is, the harder that prediction becomes. For example: If they have a structure more like a gorilla, with very heavy, and significantly longer, forelimbs, that fight could become completely unwinnable. (At least, without developing specific martial arts to deal with that foe.

A joke I've made in the past is, “there no martial art designed for fighting bears,” but when you're dealing with non-human combatants, that absence would become a real problem.

-Starke

This blog is supported through Patreon. Patrons get access to new posts three days early, and direct access to us through Discord. If you’re already a Patron, thank you. If you’d like to support us, please consider becoming a Patron.

#writing reference #writing advice #writing tips #how to fight write #starke answers

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gomzdrawfr · 5 months

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Omg, can we have that We Bare Bears stacking pose? But with Bear! Ghost, Bear! Price, and Bear! Raven/Gomz?

gotto be one of my fav ask

#i know red panda are not considered bear but itS CUTE IDC #yES and i know polar bear are bigger than grizzly buT SHHHHHH FICTION MAGICCCC #HAHAHA #ask response #thanks for the ask <3 #gummmyart #doodle #cod oc #cod oc art #[oc]Raven #GhostRaven #PriceRaven #PriceGhostRaven #Simon Ghost Riley #captain john price #Simon Ghost Riley x oc #captain john price x oc #john price x oc #captain price x oc

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nohoney · 1 year

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♡ crumpled photographs of me ♡

notes: the first part to the teddy bear series! it stays somewhat in the canon universe of bnha, while hawks still works for the commission. i remember reading a lot of ‘secret relationship with hawks’ fics when i really started to like his character and of course want to add my own silly little contribution.

♪ Now I'm finding knives under the sheets / Crumbled photographs of me ♪

warnings: yandere hawks (more soft tho), reader is very distressed, somewhat dubcon-ish (nothing explicit) but it’s how the reader has to cope with her environment

words: 5.6k

synopsis:

All photographs of you.

Keigo sat on the couch when you walked further into the apartment, just nonchalantly taking pictures out of a photo album from your apartment and crumpling them first before throwing them aside.

“I want these to be filled with only us now, okay? I don’t like thinking that you had a life before me.”

There was a time that you were willing to pose in front of a camera and smile for a picture. You weren’t exactly always prepared for your picture to be taken but you at least knew how to angle your head in a flattering angle and give a little smile that made it seem like you were picture ready. Back then, you preferred your photos taken in private. A few photographer friends would ask to use you as a subject on occasion or on the rare moments that you decided that you needed to update your resume photo, most of your best pictures then were taken in a more controlled environment with someone to guide you.

For a while, you had a small appreciation for film cameras.

There was a nostalgia to getting the film developed and then seeing how the pictures came out with no preview aside from just trusting the lighting through the viewfinder and a little flash.

It was a silly little thing that you enjoyed with him at first, going through stacks of developed pictures and picking out the best ones and laughing at the worst ones. Even if you could never take photos out in the world like a regular couple, you still cherished being able to have this special privilege with the number two Pro Hero, whom the outside world would only know as Hawks but to you he was Keigo Takami. It felt special to be photographed by him and to be the only person in his camera roll.

You had started to feel much differently about that fact when you had decided to end the relationship.

Loving Keigo was a choice that you made, starting a relationship despite the risks that came with dating a Pro Hero was a choice that you made, and walking away from Keigo was the hardest choice you had to make when it proved too difficult to attempt to maintain a normal relationship with him. It was already hard enough with all of his duties that were expected of him on the daily and it was even more difficult trying to circumvent the commission that had trained and raised the beloved winged hero of the country. You wanted to believe that his wings would always shield you from the prying eyes of the outside world and it would block out anything that would come between you.

“We can try harder. I know this is tough on you but please, I want you by my side.” Keigo was gently pleading to you while you avoided his heartbroken gaze. “Don’t you know how crazy I’ll go without you?”

At the time, those words were just a phrase that you didn’t take very seriously.

Thirteen days after the break up, you didn’t think Keigo would be standing in front of you again but with the most eerie gaze you had never seen him sport before. He threw a folder onto the countertop of the kitchen with pictures sliding out easily. Pictures of you that he’d taken in intimate moments, pictures that you agreed to be the subject of when he had brought you to a sexed up high and thought it would just be good fun. “What are these?”

“My favorite pictures of you.”

His tone was so soft yet his gaze on you was so hard. You remember how he slowly looked over the photographs with an intensity that left you unsure what to do. Nudes and sex selfies of yourself had never made you self conscious during the relationship but you worried if this was meant to be some sort of blackmail. Keigo didn’t seem the type for revenge porn but the possibility of it still hurt you.

“You never pose for me anymore, dove. It makes me a little sad. I miss that part of our relationship.”

There was nothing playful or joyful about getting your picture taken anymore. Keigo had ruined that beyond repair. He frightened you into being scared of being photographed by him. Just because you weren’t willing to have your picture taken by him doesn’t mean that you were allowed to deny him however. The first few times you resisted, you were learning about Keigo’s true temper underneath all the easy-going breeziness that was instilled as a means of masking his true intentions.

If you had to take a few measly photos then you’d deal with it, it was just Keigo’s impeccable timing that made you reluctant to cooperate. It was often at times that you weren’t prepared mentally for the task because he insisted on candids. And when he takes a photo with you looking upset, Keigo in turn gets his feelings hurt that the pictures don’t come out like they used to. If you were going to make him happy, you had to gather the mental energy to do so.

Taking photos then and taking photos now was so different.

Thinking about this, your chest tightens and you feel an invisible pressure on you that’s weighed down on you since you were locked away in this luxury apartment.

You remember being escorted through the hallways to the front door of your prison, the men around you hired from the very people who had trained, raised, and invested in the beloved Pro Hero Hawks. It was an agreement that you had no choice but to agree to. It was of no issue to shackle down one quirkless girl to keep their invested project from going rogue.

Your job was simple enough: keep him happy.

Keep him happy and you will be cared for, none of your personal information would be ousted.

They threatened to make you a pariah with just a click of their fingers and all because Keigo didn’t know how to handle a breakup. If you had known that it was going to be the result of falling for Keigo Takami, you would have never looked his way in the first place. You wouldn’t have been lulled by his quick wit and humor, and you would have never unknowingly signed your life away to a Pro Hero that all of the country fawns over. Even though he is the other half of the relationship, the public would immediately take his side because he is someone important and you are not.

When you stepped into the luxury apartment, there were balled up pieces of trash that littered the floor. There was a crinkling that you could hear further down but you were reluctant to investigate at first. Your escorts provided no help, only having done their job and promptly shut the door to your prison. When you picked one piece up, you slowly unfurled it only to find it to be a photograph of yourself a few years ago. It was taken with a group of friends for a going away party for one of them. The next one was of you just lounging in a beach chair and then another was of you captured when you were mid-laugh.

All photographs of you.

Keigo sat on the couch when you walked further into the apartment, just nonchalantly taking pictures out of a photo album from your apartment and crumpling them first before throwing them aside.

“I want these to be filled with only us now, okay? I don’t like thinking that you had a life before me.”

You had a life before him, one that was fulfilling even if it did come with some painful parts. There were regrets and mistakes before but it was your life and you cherished it. Truly you had wanted to fit Keigo somewhere inside your life, tried to realign his piece where you thought it should fit but the two of you were from different worlds. He had an invisible hand hovering above him to tell him how to navigate his world both on the surface and underneath, and you had freedom.

You had freedom but it was dashed away the moment you decided to break things off with Keigo.

He took it away.

These words have rung throughout your mind ever since Keigo locked you into this prison. They weigh heavily on you as you stare out the floor to ceiling windows, looking out towards the other high rises and down to the concrete ground where the civilians, other heroes, and sidekicks walk with no clue that you wished you were among them. It repeats over and over as you scrub yourself underneath the shower spray and lather fancy soaps and shower oils into your skin.

Keigo had gone to his agency upset with you.

He had woken you up with the flash of his camera and it had disturbed you. All he had wanted was just a simple photo of you sleeping, that’s all. The only thing you had to do was just close your eyes and play the part but you turned away with a quiet plea to let you rest. Even with your eyes shut, you must have still looked stressed so you didn’t look the part of a peacefully sleeping girlfriend when Keigo tried to ready the camera for another photo.

The film camera was slammed down on Keigo’s side of the nightstand and he left home without another word.

When he used to take pictures of you sleeping back when you were happy, you’d rouse with a playful ‘fuck off’ but happily pose for Keigo. Now it just felt violating when he tried to recreate what you thought was innocent before. Even with all the disgust you have, it’s still expected of you to do as he wants.

Keigo still wants the relationship to continue on as if you’re not threatened by the safety commission to remain with him, to act like this is all your own will.

You managed to salvage photographs of your old life, it’s the only thing you can hold onto that reminds you that you had freedom and your own will to do things. They’re hidden in your own special place, a little area that you’re sure to never give away because Keigo would be mad that you held onto something of your life before him. Photos of you living your life before Keigo Takami ever came along.

The ruined lines of the pictures make you upset since they were so pristine before but it’s all you have.

Staring at the you in those pictures makes you jealous but then also with pity.

If only she’d known what was in her future. If only you could touch this photo and tell yourself in the past, “Do not fall for the Winged Hero Hawks.”

You can’t allow yourself to wallow though; Keigo will be home soon and you need to put him in a good mood.

So you tuck your old pictures away and go through your walk in closet. There’s a drawer of intimates that are specifically Keigo’s favorites. He appreciated all forms of lingerie on you but his favorites were sheer nighties with the matching colored thongs. So you pluck one out from a drawer and discard the silk robe to dress yourself instead. You build up the mental strength for when Keigo will come back home and you’ll need to do your part to make sure that he’s a happy man.

“Keigo! Ew, what if it comes out ugly! You have to tell me when you’re taking a picture of me!”

“Nonsense baby,” Keigo would chuckle and ready the camera again, “you always look perfect to me.”

You do miss the happy times with Keigo but you couldn’t recreate them anymore after everything that happened.

Inside the apartment you can hear Keigo having just come home so you take in a breath to steel yourself before presenting yourself to him. Taking the film camera on his side of the bed, you hold it in your hands as you walk out to greet Keigo. You try not to be scared when his eyes naturally look to you coming out from the hallway, his eyes drawing up and down before he sees the camera in your hands. “I’m home.” He announces as is the usual custom of any person returning from the outside.

“Welcome back Keigo,” you greet him and slowly pad your way over to him, “thank you for all your hard work today.”

Not that you know what his work always entails now that you know the hero commission is the one that handles many of the biggest cover ups and secrets that are supposed to serve the interest of society. The world of a hero was a much darker place than you had imagined it to be. It was more than just taking down bad guys in the streets and being a symbol of protection; there were dirty and bloody secrets kept at bay to keep the image of hero pristine.

You are one of them after all, a dirty secret to keep the number two hero happy and compliant to work under the commission.

“What’s all this?” Keigo asks with a touch of wariness but also an excitement that you’ve learned to recognize in your time together with him. He’s shrugging off his jacket after dispersing his feathers off and discarding his gloves as you approach, some of his feathers tickling your face as they float around you when you get close enough to him. “Lovebird?”

Keep your composure. Make him happy.

“I… I’m really sorry about this morning Kei. I was just in a bad mood and I took it out on you. Lemme make it up to you?” You ask in your sweetest voice. You reach one hand up to take off his glasses and headphones, setting them aside on the most nearby surface before brushing your hand through his feathery hair.

Waiting with bated breath, you wonder if he’ll be happy or if he’ll still be upset.

When he turns his face to kiss your palm, you’re relieved that it will go in a good direction.

“You really hurt my feelings this morning but I forgive you. You’re so lucky that I love you so much.” He forgives you, adoration shining in his eyes but you can see the twisted affection that’s mixed in as well. It does not sit well with you, it stirs uncomfortably in your stomach, but you can not fight him nor could you run away.

You agreed to this after all, to be his caged bird and let him believe that this life was the best for you.

Taking him by the wrist, you walk with him past the windows that overlook the city. The city that he protects, the city that you wished to be a part of again. You guide him to the bedroom where you’ve set up for what looks like a romantic date. There’s flower petals sprinkled onto the bed and candles lit, two wine glasses sit on a fancy wooden tray along with the wine bottle.

It almost looks like you’re on a honeymoon.

“Oh lovebird, all this for me? This is why you’re the sweetest.”

God, you wish you could just smash that glass over his head and run out the door. You wished there was some place you could hide and never be found. You wished that Keigo used to be his normal self before this.

You hand him his glass and clink yours against his, taking a sip to at least make you a bit more relaxed so that you could give him what he wants. “Easy baby, don’t drink too fast.” He reminds you after sipping and swirling the red in his glass. But you need to do this fast, get this over with so that you can rest as peacefully as you can.

“Sit on the bed for me, drink it slowly okay.”

Keigo sets down his glass on the wooden tray and readies the camera towards you. You had a friend that would take boudoir photo shoots, you’d attended with them before to watch them direct the model to look sultry and sensual. Thinking back on the memories, you can hear their guiding voice as you pose for the first photo.

The wine glass is emptied and your mind is fuzzy already, you’re grateful that you’re a lightweight. All you needed was just that first glass to get through the excruciating start. It makes it easier to do all this, tilting your head a certain way, posing your hand against your lips, lifting the sheer skirt of the mighty to tease with a flash of the pretty lace underneath. At one point your glass is refilled and you’re grateful that more alcohol will make it easier on your poor, stressed mind.

Photo after photo taken until Keigo is satisfied.

“Fuck baby, you turn me on so much. I’m glad we did this.”

Strangely enough, you’re turned on too but you believe that it’s the wine that makes your head swim with desire. Your drunk mind sees Keigo’s glass that he hasn’t bothered to pick back up and drink, mindlessly reaching and going for a third glass for the evening. There’s too much enthusiasm in how you attempt to polish off Keigo’s drink, a drop of the wine dripping down and then falling onto the sheer nightie. “Ah baby, slow down. You got some on you.” Keigo chastises you lightly.

Keigo takes away the glass along with the tray off the bed. Wiping at your mouth with the back of your hand, you lick off the traces of wine first before looking down and sighing down at the single drop of red wine. You lick at your thumb and see if you can rub the spot off even though you know that it needs to be treated with club soda first before giving it a wash.

“Baby, let’s get that off you alright? Can’t have you wearing this now.” Keigo’s hands are gentle as he slips the nightie off of you and a few feathers carry it to the laundry basket inside the walk-in closet. More feathers slowly separate from his wings but fall gently down on top of your body as you lie back. They tickle you and feel so soft as they land on top of your skin. With the wine in your system and your inhibitions lowered, you look exactly how he’s wanted you to when taking photos.

Soft and vulnerable, almost close to the person you used to be before you became a prisoner.

All that’s missing was the love in your eyes but he’ll settle for your stupid, drunk gaze at this moment.

“God, you drive me wild… you know that right? I thought about you all day,” Keigo mutters more to himself but you manage to catch his words, “I was so mad at first. I just want us to be happy but you’re so much more difficult these days. I do everything for you and I can’t believe how ungrateful you were!”

Your eyes watch as a feather takes position in his hand and recognize how it hardens to a sharpened edge. His feathers are soft but they can cut through stone like butter if he willed it. It’s held close to your neck and you instinctively cower from it. You’ve never seen his feathers do any harm and you wouldn’t like to know what it would feel like. “I’m sorry… I said I was sorry!” You start to sniffle, “Keigo, I’m sorry…”

His anger melts away and then suddenly he’s dropped himself on top of you with the feathers softly dropping by your head. His head nuzzles into the crook of your neck and he grips the bedsheets right by your head. This is what it’s like with Keigo now, to stand on your tiptoes around him and be ready for any mood swing he has. And he seems to only have two: either insanely lovesick or just resentfully in love with you.

You’re not comfortable with either but you know which one you would rather deal with.

When he barges into your personal space and nuzzles you with affection even when you don’t want to be touched, you’d prefer that over when he’s disappointed in you. That when he gives you the cold shoulder and he gazes at you with a lot of love and just as much disgust when you don’t act right, it’s more stressful to make up with him and make him happy with you again.

Because in the end that’s what you are there for.

It’s what the hero commission demanded of you.

Make Hawks happy and keep him happy.

So you hold Keigo close to you, your hand curling to the nape of his neck while the other rubs circles over his back. Your touch makes him melt and you hear a happy little sigh from him that it’s almost relieving to hear. When you feel his lips press to the pulse of your neck, you turn your head so that Keigo has more access to do as he pleases. The wine makes it easier for you to allow this to happen but it also makes you a bit more sensitive. He elicits sounds out of you that you aren’t sure yourself are acting from your end or genuine. Because Keigo has a talent for blurring the lines for you.

Underneath the fear you have for him, there’s still a bare string of love that hasn’t died. Love for him that he doesn’t deserve with what he’s done to you, but it remains even when you cry in your prison.

You tell yourself that relying on that last shred of affection of who Keigo used to be is what will be your survival tactic.

“Wanna kiss you, c’mon.” Keigo is capturing your lips before you have a chance to say anything. It’s not like you’d have the option to say no to him anyway. The wine in your bloodstream makes you a little lazy, just letting yourself receive his kisses rather than show equal enthusiasm. But your hands wander up his arms, touching his shoulders before sliding down to a zipper that lies at the back of his shirt.

This part is familiar to you as it is to him.

It’s an easy chore for him to move his feathers out the way when he either dresses or undresses himself. It’s what comes with having a quirk like his and it’s not something he’s had to think about at this point in his life. You pull the zipper down from the back and Keigo does the work of undressing the top half of his body, shrugging his arms out the sleeves before tossing the shirt aside. One hand presses into the space beside your head, the other hand taking yours right at his belt buckle. “Undo it for me.”

Your fingers are a little clumsy but you complete the task, pulling his belt from the loops and tossing it off the bed.

“This is yours, I’ve been waiting to give it to you.” Keigo mutters lowly as he smooths his hand over the print of where his cock lies. “Do you deserve it though? After making me mad this morning?”

You don’t want to be reminded of how upset he was nor do you want him to bring it up. You’re doing what you’re supposed to; being soft and compliant, wearing the clothes he wants, and just trying to avoid making him angry. The wine, the camera, and lingerie are all for his pleasure and none of yours.

“Is this… not enough?” you ask, your mind struggling to find the words at first, “You’re not happy that I did this?”

You’re given a gentle smile and he chuckles, like he thinks you’re being silly. His hand cups at your breast, the pad his thumb ghosting over your nipple and awes how it hardens under his touch. He says nothing to your question, he’s allowed to not answer your questions but you have to answer every one of his.

So when he asks, “You want me happy, right?”

You reply, “Yes, I want you to be happy.”

Keigo tells you, “Say you’re mine and that you love me.”

You have to repeat, “I’m yours and I love you.”

Keigo melts over your words and for now, it smothers the scary glint in his eyes that you’re too wary of. He’s sick on whatever his version of love is for you and you need to make him happy. The tip of your finger draws along the lace of the panties you still wear, catching his attention and a lustful groan breaches his lips. “‘M horny Kei… want you.” you mutter.

“Yeah? Can you show me? Go back to the pillows and show me, okay?”

You crawl towards the headboard where all the soft pillows lay. He doesn’t see how you’re blinking to get your bearings in order, flopping against the pillows and opening your legs for him. Pulling the panty to the side with one hand, you shudder as you drag a finger against your pussy and keep your eyes lowered rather than on him.

One finger teases into you as you hear Keigo unzip his pants, deciding to discard the rest of his clothes and he wraps his hand around his cock. He slowly strokes himself while his eyes are trained in between your legs.

Keigo watches as you finger yourself for him, drinking in all the whines that you yourself are unsure are for his entertainment or if you actually are enjoying yourself. Because it does feel good to finger yourself but it’s only being done since you had to make it up to him. There is no such thing anymore as Keigo apologizing to you for when you’re upset.

“Baby, you are such a pretty thing.” He mutters more to himself than to you. A feather floats into his hand and he crawls towards you. Just like before, the feather suddenly sharpens and you become scared. Your body seizes and you’re about to beg Keigo to not hurt you but he shushes you before anything is said.

He slices off the panty you were wearing, careful not to knick you and pulls the flimsy little thing off you easily.

You’re relieved when the feather softens and it drops gently to the top of the bed.

“Why were you scared?” Keigo asks, his tone of voice hard and his eyes narrowing at you.

Oh god, maybe you shouldn’t have drunk all that whine to relax you. You stutter over your words, speaking before your mind can actually produce a thought. “I thought you were gonna punish me…”

“Punish you?”

You nod your head dumbly, “‘Cause I made you mad today. You were right to be mad. I made you mad.”

A few tense seconds pass.

His hands are gentle as he rests them on your thighs, his touch reassuring and he coos over you. “You are such a good little bird. What did I do to deserve you?” He asks, pulling your hand towards his lips so he can suck the slick off your fingers.

You don’t deserve me. You took me away from my life.

“I um… don’t know. I’m just me.”

“And that’s all you have to be. You don’t have to think or do anything for yourself anymore. Just be you.” Keigo states for you. He moves to lie on his stomach, making himself comfortable as he starts to lick at your pussy with his hands resting on your lower belly. He does it gently, he’s always done it gently first before he gets more enthusiastic, working you up until you end up a whiny mess.

The sounds you make as he eats you out are real. They’re not made from an intention to lull him to a sense of calm; they are actually real. Keigo has always been genuine in wanting you to feel good, it’s where he puts most of his heart into. Everything else has changed but him wanting you to still enjoy sex has remained the same. He’s a giver in this sense but you can’t forget how much he’s taken from you.

“Oh god… oh fuck…” you whisper, one of your hands tangling in his hair and the other grasping his hand. Your hips shift in want, writhing and grinding onto him as you get closer and closer to that peak.

If only this were like before everything had changed. Before he locked you away with all your rights taken away. As giving as he was, even if you hadn’t planned to break up with him, would he have taken away your life eventually? Done it little by little until it was too late to notice?

If you could fight him, you would.

“Oh fuck, I need you right now. So badly, you want me too right?”

But you let him take from you in order to live another day. To keep your sanity in check, you pretend when he kisses you that it’s the old Keigo that used to make you feel safe. He brings you to that high even though your mind is swimming. Your head is in a daze and you’re drunk and dying for him to let you reach that peak of heaven.

He drags you by your hips to pull you closer to him. Keigo wants to be in missionary and your brain rattles a little inside your skull. You’re drunk, whining as you attempt to focus your gaze, feeling feathers on the bed and just wanting to rest now at this point. You haven’t done much but you never have much energy these days when your mind is so stressed out. “Keigo. Kei, ‘m dizzy…”

“It’s okay, I won’t be too rough then.”

He leans down to give you a little peck before readying himself before you. The tip pushes in and you groan, feeling how he shallowly thrusts into you, like he’s teasing and making you want it. You’re not sure if you do but you have to act like it for him. So you beg him in the way that he likes, your voice a little pitched and breathless, telling him that you’re aching to be full of him. Missed you, I missed you, I miss you.

“Okay dove, okay. I’m here, see? Feel me here?” Keigo punctates the last word, sharply pushing himself into you with a grunt. He’s sheathed fully inside and he’s absolutely lovesick all over again as he looks down at you. “You miss me?”

I miss the old you.

“Mm-hmm… don’t leave me. Stay here.” you beg of him.

Words you used to say to him before everything changed. When you and him would make love before and you knew that he had to go back to the outside, you’d beg him so much to stay another day with you. To leave all the work to his sidekicks and make another sex video or take nude photos to put away in a secret box. Your head replays old memories of before as Keigo fucks you slowly, the sensual way in how he moves his hips into you making your eyes roll to the back of your head and you realize that you’re not acting anymore in the moment. “I’m about to cum, I’m gonna cum!”

He’s brought you to heaven in this hell.

Keigo tells you to keep cumming for him, rocking harder into you, cursing how good you feel around him and praising you for being such a wonderful little thing for him.

Your mind goes blank, voice catching in your throat, and your toes curl.

And then he’s rough, fucking hard into your cunt to meet you where you’re at.

Even after everything, Keigo still is beautiful to you as he cums. His eyes get lidded, the sounds he makes have the butterflies fluttering in you, and you can pretend for just a few seconds that it used to be like before. He used to drop down next to you, breathless but happy, and you’d revel in the short time you had together with him before you had to return to the daily routine of maintaining the life you built.

But now all you have is time to do nothing and all you are is just a bird in a cage.

“I just want a comfortable life for you. I love you, you don’t have to do anything.”

He claims to love you.

That’s why he didn’t like it when you broke up with him, because he says he loves you. That’s why he had to get the commission involved, because he was too heartbroken to continue his hero duties and obsessed even harder over you. That’s why he wants to erase any life you had before him and just fill it with him only in the same way only you consume his thoughts.

Just Keigo.

The high of an intense orgasm has you gasping for breath, almost emotional as you hiccup and tears come to your eyes, and you don’t know where all these emotions are coming from. You try to stop crying because you’re scared Keigo will take it the wrong way. He needs to be happy, it’s why you put yourself through all that.

“Shh baby, it’s okay. You were so good.” Keigo hushes to you without coupling with his usual tender touches. You wipe at your tears, looking up at him just in time to see the camera poised in his hand.

Flash!

A few days later, you look at the photos that were taken of you from that night. Your stomach burns uncomfortably as you look at the pictures, unable to recognize the girl in them knowing fully well that it was you photographed. The very last was Keigo’s favorite, the one of you with tears on your face and looking… beautiful actually.

You look at the photo, admiring it briefly before you turn it over.

For a while the camera goes missing. Keigo finds it later hidden inside your drawer of underwear, but he decides to let it go. All the pictures he took were accounted for, which was what mattered more to him.

#hawks x reader #takami keigo x reader #yandere hawks #hawks smut

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ghosttotheparty · 11 months

Text

a mess of holy things 11 also on ao3 // prev // next cw: slight dumbification; brief gagging/choking; they’re both Kinda Weird

“No, I’m telling you it’s not something I can tell you about in public.”

“I’m aware,” Robin retorts, keys jingling as she leads Steve down the hallway. “I just think you could lower your voice if you tried really hard.”

“It’s not my volume I’m worried about,” Steve says, scoffing. “I just know you’re going to scream or something.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, I’m so calm. All the time.”

“Lies.”

She makes a noise that means she’s sticking her tongue out at him as she unlocks her door, and he follows her inside, looking around. There are two beds on the opposite end of the room, facing opposite directions, and Steve doesn’t even have to ask to know which side of the room is Robin’s.

Her bed is unmade, a colourful quilt folded back to reveal white and yellow striped sheets. Her pillowcases are mismatched, one dark blue and the other spotted with bumblebees. There are posters on the wall above her bed, but Steve doesn’t recognize any of the people on them. His eyes skim the words, the letters all bold, loud. Sonic Youth, Green Day, Sex Pistols.

Robin kicks off her shoes and nudges them toward her desk, where they join her other shoes, scuffed and dirty Converse All-Stars and worn leather boots with mismatched laces, one shoe yellow and the other purple. Steve copies her as they drop their backs, looking at her desk. It’s a little cluttered, pens scattered across it, an origami bird on a small stack of books. There are post-its on the wall in front of her desk, colorful and vibrant. Her handwriting is messy.

Robin throws herself onto her bed as Steve takes off his jacket, looking at the other side of the room. There are a few posters but nowhere near as many as Robin has. One is of a handsome man, smiling softly, and when Steve looks closer, he finds text on the corner of it that reads Tom Cruise. Another is of a few teenagers all posing together with The Breakfast Club at the bottom.

The bed is made neatly, the blanket soft pink and tucked in. The pillows have matching pillowcases, also pink with lacy frills, and there’s a teddy bear resting against them.

“Steve,” Robin says sharply from her bed. “Stop looking around like you’re in a museum and tell me what’s up.”

Steve exhales heavily and goes to her bed, tossing his jacket to land on her desk chair as he falls onto his back in front of her.

“I don’t know how to say it.”

“Words would be preferable.”

He scoffs and sits up, moving to sit cross-legged, tugging at the quilt so it’s not folded against his leg.

“Okay, I…”

His face is already hot, and Robin is already grinning, and he hates this.

“Did you fuck?” she says excitedly, and he groans loudly.

“Okay, we— No, we didn’t have sex, we…” He pauses, face hot, cheeks sore from smiling so widely. Robin’s eyes are wide and shining as she grins at him, shifting so she’s kneeling across from him, bouncing up and down. “We did… something. It wasn’t sex. It was…”

“Tell me,” she says giddily. “Tell me, tell me, tell me.”

“Okay, I…” He covers his face, sighing heavily. “I was— I was curious. So I asked if he… does it.”

“Masturbates,” Robin says pointedly, and he rolls his eyes, letting his head fall back.

“Yes. That.”

“Okay,” she says, eyebrows raised.

“And he said he does. So I…” He winces, looking away, squishing his cheeks between his palms. She reaches out and pokes him. “I asked if I could see.”

She stares at him, jaw dropped, grinning widely.

“So he jerked off in front of you?”

“…Yeah?”

She claps a hand over her mouth, staring and staring and staring, and he waits, still wincing.

“Oh my God,” Robin says brightly when she drops her hand. “You’re kinky.”

“…I don’t know what that means.”

She lets out a loud squeal, covering her face before she falls onto her back, cackling. She kicks her legs out, and Steve dodges them, laughing.

“God, I am so glad I get to be your sex ed teacher,” she says when she finally calms down, sitting up.

“I’ve had sex ed,” he says. “I just… I’m just inexperienced.”

“Oh, I know,” she says. “Look. Kinks are things that people especially like during sexy times. If you can think of anything, someone’s got a kink for it.”

Steve pauses.

“Okay.”

“So your man— Wait, what’s his name again?”

“Eddie,” Steve says bashfully, suppressing a smile.

“Eddie…” Robin coos. “So Eddie jerkin’ it while you watch is called voyeurism, and it's a whole thing.”

Steve blinks. Processes.

“Are… Are kinks only sexual?” he asks hesitantly.

“Generally,” Robin says, tilting her head. “They can be non-sexual, I guess. Why?”

Steve looks at her, pausing.

“We, uhm…”

Her eyes somehow widen even more, and she leans forward, bouncing up and down again.

“Tell me.”

“He spits in my mouth.”

She gawks, and his face flushes with heat again. There’s a long stretch of silence as Robin’s mouth stretches into a slow smile.

“You’re kinky,” she says again.

“Oh my God—”

He shoves at her, but she catches his arm, tugging him so he falls against her, and their limbs tangle as they laugh. Her mouth is right by his ear, and it’s so loud it hurts, but he’s never laughed like this with anyone before. He laughs so hard his stomach hurts and his cheeks are sore, and the two of them roll over so Robin is on top of him. She tries to sit up by pushing on his face, and he squeezes his eyes shut so her fingers don’t poke them.

It takes a long while for them to finally calm down and separate, untangling their legs and pushing each other away as they catch their breath. But every time their eyes meet, they burst into giggles again. They’re both red-faced, and Steve’s stomach hurts, but he feels light, like he doesn’t have to worry about anything at all.

And they keep giggling as they talk, sitting against the wall, hugging Robin’s pillows to themselves. Robin talks him through a lot, stumbling through words and definitions and hypothetical scenarios, which makes Steve kind of want to die, but she’s so casual about it all that he can’t really even be embarrassed.

“Okay, look,” she says finally, her knees drawn to her chest, looking at him intently. “The point is, it doesn’t matter if you know what you’re doing or not, right? As long as everything is cool with both of you, it’s all fine. There’s nothing wrong with anything you like.”

Steve nods, looking down.

“Steve,” Robin says, leaning toward him. Their shoulders touch. “There’s nothing wrong with it.”

“I know,” Steve says softly, eyes still downcast.

“Do you?”

Steve is quiet, pausing. His fingers twist in his lap, and he squeezes, forcing his knuckles to crack.

“I do,” he says quietly. “I just… It’s hard sometimes.”

Robin sighs softly, and she lets her head fall to rest on his shoulder. No one’s ever laid on Steve’s shoulder before.

He lays his head on Robin’s, closing his eyes.

He can smell her shampoo. It’s sweet and citrusy, and it somehow smells more like home than the hallway of his parents’ house.

“Eddie knows about it,” Steve says after a few quiet moments. “That I… I don’t know. Struggle with it. He actually noticed first.”

“How?” Robin asks, almost whispering, her head shifting so she can sit closer.

“He, uhm…” He hesitates. “We were kissing, and I just… I don’t know. Panicked.”

“What happened?”

Somehow he knows her eyes are closed too.

“He kind of noticed I was freaking out first, and he… asked if I was okay. So we stopped, and I… I couldn’t really breathe, and I just felt so… Bad.” He pauses, and Robin is quiet, waiting patiently. “He helped me calm down and then he… said to take my time.”

“He sounds really great,” Robin says softly after a moment.

“God, he is.”

“You love him?”

Steve scoffs. His throat is suddenly tight.

“Fuck, maybe.”

Robin coos, poking him in the side, and he giggles, slumping over and trying to dodge her as she pokes at him again, and again, and again, until he’s laughing so hard his eyes are squeezed shut and he’s falling onto his side. Robin climbs on top of him, digging her fingers into his ribs. He tries to push her off, but her legs are tight around him, pinning him in place.

He snatches one of her pillows and swings it at her, but she grabs it and shoves it in his face, muffling his laughter.

He finally manages to sit up when she cackles, and he pushes her onto her back. Steve smacks her hands away, his face hot as they jostle on the mattress, and neither of them hear the door open until there’s a gasp before it slams shut.

Robin tilts her head back to look at the door upside down, and she laughs loudly.

“We’re not fucking, Nance!” she calls loudly, and Steve bursts into laughter again, rolling off of her and leaning against the wall again as the door opens again.

“Well I didn’t look long enough to know,” a girl says as she comes inside, making a face at Robin, who sits up and tosses her hair out of her face. The girl looks like Robin’s polar opposite: her hair is styled perfectly, curls into neat spirals, bangs spread across her forehead, and she’s wearing a plaid skirt that reaches her knees with a loose, fluffy-looking cardigan. She’s carrying some books in her arms.

“Steve, Nancy, Nancy, Steve,” Robin says. “Roommate. Best friend.”

“I’m your best friend?” Steve says, looking at her as Nancy toes her shoes off with a scoff. She sets her books on her desk, watching them.

“Unfortunately, yeah.”

“That’s sad.”

They’re distracted by someone else coming through the door after Nancy, and Robin lights up.

“Jonny boy!”

“Robin,” he says dryly, his voice smooth and calm. He doesn’t look like someone that would be hanging out with Nancy, his hair falling in his face, his shirt unbuttoned and dishevelled, but he kicks his shoes off without sorting them neatly like Steve did, and then he goes to Nancy’s bed and flops onto his back, sighing heavily. Nancy rolls her eyes.

“Steve, that’s Jonathan,” Robin says, pointing at him like Steve can’t find him.

“Hi, Jonathan.”

“Hi, Steve.”

Robin rolls onto her stomach, looking across the room as Nancy takes off her cardigan and drapes it over the back of her desk chair. Steve clicks his tongue and smacks her leg when she kicks him.

“Robin,” a voice sings from the doorway, and Robin gasps as another boy comes in, his long hair billowing behind him. He looks nothing like Nancy or Jonathan; he’s wearing vibrant, tie-dyed pants and a teal and blue striped hoodie, and his pants are rolled up to reveal colorful socks that are spotted with smiley faces.

“Argyle,” Robin sings back, tilting her head back to look at him upside down, and Steve cracks a smile, watching, amused. She attempts to wave at Argyle, but she ends up waving at Steve, disoriented from being upside down.

Argyle tosses something to her with a bright, cartoonish whistle, and it lands on her stomach as she gasps, sitting up to look at it and look at it. It’s a package of gummy bears, and Robin lets out an excited noise like she’s a little kid.

“Ugh, Argyle, you’re the love of my life.”

Argyle lets out a wry laugh and he plops himself onto the ground, grinning up at Robin.

“I love you, too, broski.” His eyes look at Steve, brightening even more somehow, even though his eyes still seem to be at half-mast. “Are you Steve?”

“I am,” Steve says lightly.

“You’re so cool, man.”

“…Thanks?”

“I talk about you a lot,” Robin says, already ripping open the gummy bear bag.

“Is that a good thing?”

“Only heard good things so far, my guy,” Argyle says, his voice slow and sage.

“Are you guys already high?” Robin asks, glancing up at Jonathan, tugging the head of a red gummy bear off with her teeth. She holds the bag out to Steve, who takes a few after looking. Jonathan just giggles at the ceiling. “Oh, that’s a yes.”

“I drove,” Nancy says dryly, rummaging through a drawer. “Don’t worry— Jon, where did you put the edibles?”

“I don’t remember.”

Nancy huffs and rolls her eyes.

“You need to stop keeping your shit in my room.”

“They search the guys’ dorms more often than they search the girls’.”

“Not my problem.”

“It would be, because then you wouldn’t have weed.”

“…’S true.”

Steve watches them all curiously, how easily they exchange their words, leaning against the wall, drawing his knees to his chest, nibbling one of the gummy bears in his hand. Jonathan keeps giggling at the ceiling, splayed out like a starfish over Nancy’s bed, his worn and ragged flannel contrasting the soft shades of pink of her bedspread. Nancy sits on her desk chair as they talk, her skirt primly draping over her legs before she gradually leans back, relaxing, swinging her feet in the air. Argyle leans against the side of Nancy’s bed, and he gets distracted by Jonathan’s hand dangling over the side of the bed. He tangles his own fingers with Jonathan’s, smiling softly, playing with his hand quietly.

Nancy is a journalism major, Steve learns after a while.

She complains about one of her teachers, who keeps contradicting his own instructions, telling them to do one thing and then demonstrating by doing the opposite. She groans in frustration, looking up at the ceiling, letting her head fall back, and then she gets up and goes over to her bed. Steve watches curiously as she flops on top of Jonathan, who catches her with a startled Oof! before he wraps his arm around her, keeping his other hand down to hold Argyle’s.

“What do you study, Jonathan?” Steve asks, watching the way he runs his hand over Nancy’s curls and then down her back absently. Her face is hidden in his shoulder.

“Film and photography,” Jonathan says, his eyes visible over Nancy’s hair.

“Like movies and stuff?”

“Mmhmm.”

“God, that sounds so much more interesting than business.”

“You study business?” Argyle says like he’s aghast.

“Yeah?”

“Nah, man,” he says disappointedly, shaking his head in a way that makes it look like he’s dancing, swaying his hair back and forth. “You’re an artist, dude.”

“Am I?” Steve says, tossing a gummy bear in his mouth as Robin snorts.

“Oh, yeah,” Argyle says seriously, nodding. “I can feel it. There’s art in your heart.”

Steve hums thoughtfully.

“That’s nice,” he says lightly. Argyle nods in agreement. Robin snickers into Steve’s shoulder.

─────────────────

Eddie’s fingers drag through Steve’s hair slowly, catching on tangles and undoing them.

His other hand is on Steve’s throat, holding him loosely, lazily, his thumb stroking over Steve’s Adam’s apple, and he smiles when Steve hums softly.

Steve’s legs are across his lap, his hands tucked between the two of them. His fingers are curled into the fabric of Eddie’s t-shirt, pulling him back every time they part for breath. He feels like he’s floating, like the inside of his head is full of cotton, shivering from the slick sounds of their mouths.

“Alright?” Eddie whispers softly when they part with simultaneous gasps. Steve nods, tugging at his shirt, and he’s probably stretching the collar out, but Eddie doesn’t complain.

“Yes,” Steve breathes. “Feels good.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhmm.”

Eddie’s thumb strokes his throat again, and his nose nudges against Steve’s.

“Like making you feel good,” he murmurs. “My sweet boy.”

Steve nods even though Eddie didn’t ask him a question, and Eddie’s hand tightens on his throat. Steve keens, his head falling back a little bit, his lips parting to let out a weak noise.

“So beautiful,” Eddie breathes, and Steve’s eyes flutter open. His vision is blurry as he finds Eddie in front of him, and his lips curve into a smile. Eddie grins, jostling him back and forth gently by his neck. Steve’s smile grows.

Eddie’s lips are reddened and shining. His hair is a little tousled, and his cheeks are pink, and Steve’s stomach flutters.

“What are you thinking?” Eddie asks, touching their foreheads together, playing with Steve’s hair. Steve shrugs a little bit, closing his eyes, and he sighs, breathing Eddie in. He had a cigarette on the way home from work. Steve can smell it, but he doesn’t hate it the way he used to.

He sighs again, his hands shifting on Eddie’s shirt. When he tugs the collar down a little bit, he can see the edges of the tattoos on his chest.

His lips part to speak, but he stops himself.

“What is it?” Eddie whispers, because he doesn't miss anything.

“I…” He hesitates, cheeks flushing with heat, and he fidgets with Eddie’s shirt, tugging it down until he can see the head of the crow. “I touched myself. Thinking about you.”

He hesitates again before he meets Eddie’s eyes, head still ducked, bashful, and Eddie is smiling, head tilted like he’s fond.

“Did you like it?” he asks softly.

Steve nods.

He runs his fingertip over the top of the crow’s head, traces the feathers, and he bites his lip.

“It felt good,” he says quietly.

Eddie hums, running his fingers through Steve’s hair.

“Did you come?”

Steve shakes his head, meeting his eyes again. Eddie holds the back of his head and leans in to kiss him gently. Steve sighs as Eddie lingers there, kissing him slowly, nudging their noses together.

“Why?” Eddie whispers, and Steve shrugs again, running his finger over the crow again, touching Eddie’s chest. He’s so soft.

“Started freaking out,” he says softly. “Panicking.”

Eddie hums quietly, kissing him again, and Steve moves closer, letting his lips part for Eddie’s tongue, pulling at his shirt. Eddie tilts his head, fingers pressing into the side of Steve’s neck, squeezing gently, like he’s trying to reassure him that he’s there.

“Do you want to?” he whispers against Steve’s mouth. Steve exhales.

And nods.

Eddie kisses him harder, deeper, holding the back of his head, pushing his fingers into his hair, and Steve lets out a weak whine.

“I don’t know how,” Steve says when they part, gasping for breath. His lips brush Eddie’s.

“Got an idea,” Eddie whispers. Steve’s stomach flutters. “You know your colors?”

“Yes,” Steve breathes.

“Come sit on my lap, baby.” Eddie pulls away, leaning against the back of the sofa, and Steve is helpless to follow, stumbling over himself as he untangles his limbs from Eddie’s so he can find his place on his lap, knees on either side of his hips. Eddie’s hands find his waist, squeezing. “Okay?”

“Mhmm,” Steve hums softly. “Like sitting here.”

“I know,” Eddie says, smiling. “Me too.”

Steve lowers his head and kisses him, sighing, relaxing against his chest, tugging at the collar of his shirt again before he pulls away.

“Eddie?”

“Yeah, baby,” Eddie says softly, almost purring. Steve could swoon.

“Can you… Can you take your shirt off?”

Eddie smiles, his eyes dark and shining.

“Yeah, ‘course.”

He has to lean toward Steve to get his shirt off, tugging it out from where it’s caught between his back and the sofa, and Steve waits, heart pounding in his chest as Eddie’s skin is revealed.

He’s paler than Steve is, and in the dim light of the lamp and the shifting lights of the city outside, he looks like he’s glowing. His skin is marked with dark ink, and Steve gazes, in awe, tracing it with light, tentative fingertips. Eddie waits patiently, looking up at him.

There’s a dragon across his stomach, its wings stretching over to his waist, its tail dipping into the hair that’s sneaking up from under the waistband of his sweatpants. Its scales look delicate somehow, despite the bold, black lines it’s drawn in.

“His name is Dorian,” Eddie says, watching Steve stare, and a laugh bursts out of Steve. He looks up at Eddie, whose eyes are sparkling at him.

“Really?”

“Mmhmm. Isn’t he pretty?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, pressing his hand over Dorian, spreading his fingers to take up as much space as possible, watching Eddie’s eyelashes flutter. “Pretty.”

He kisses Eddie, sucking on his lower lip, and Eddie hums affirmatively, a hand pressing into the small of his back. Steve’s breath catches in his throat as he slides his hands up Eddie’s chest to his shoulders, but his skin is smooth and soft and it feels so good that Steve’s hands can’t stay in place for long, sliding across his chest again.

“Tell me about it,” Eddie whispers between kisses. Steve’s breath catches again. “What’d you think about?”

“You,” Steve says breathlessly, hands finally coming to rest on the sides of Eddie’s neck. He can feel his heartbeat under his skin. It’s fast. “How you— How you touched yourself. How you touch me. How you talk to me.”

“How do I talk to you?” Eddie asks, like he doesn’t know, like he’s not doing it right now.

“Like I’m stupid,” Steve whispers.

“You know I don’t think you’re stupid,” Eddie says lightly, running his hands over his waist.

“You make me feel stupid,” Steve says weakly, looking at him. “Can’t even think— Fuck.”

Eddie smiles at him, and Steve feels like he’s overheating, his stomach fluttering. He closes his eyes, dropping his head, letting out a weak sound.

“Tell me what else, honey,” Eddie says softly, squeezing his waist, leaning in and tilting his head to kiss the side of his neck. Steve lets his head fall to the side, wrapping his arms around Eddie’s neck, shifting on his lap. “Come on, baby.”

Steve whines.

“I…”

“You…” Eddie teases against his neck, tongue brushing over his skin. “Hm?”

“Wanna be good for you,” Steve says weakly, lightheaded, his throat tight suddenly, holding the back of Eddie’s head, his other arm wrapped around him tightly. “Wanna be your good boy.”

Eddie groans quietly into Steve’s neck.

“You are,” he whispers, his voice right by Steve’s ear, his breath against his skin, cooling his own spit. “My good boy, my baby.”

Steve moans softly, shivering.

“Oh, shit.”

Eddie pulls back and looks down, gazing at where Steve’s dick is now tenting his sweatpants, and he smiles brightly, looking back up at him.

“Good boy,” he whispers, like Steve is in control of this, like he did it on purpose. He holds Steve’s cheek and guides him into a kiss. Steve kisses him desperately, messily, pushing a hand into Eddie’s curls, holding him tightly. “Go ‘head, baby,” Eddie breathes into his mouth.

“I don’t— I don’t know what I’m doing,” Steve confesses, even though he knows it’s obvious. It makes Eddie smile.

“Just do what feels good,” he whispers. He holding Steve’s hips and tugs, gently forcing him to press down against Eddie, and Eddie is hard too, and he’s pressing right against Steve, and—

“Oh, god—”

“Alright?” Eddie asks, and when Steve doesn’t respond, he squeezes his hips. “What’s your color, Stevie?”

“Green,” Steve gasps, shifting on Eddie’s lap again, rubbing against him, and he hugs Eddie’s neck. “Fuck, Eddie.”

“That’s it,” Eddie praises softly. “Feel good?”

“Mmhmm,” Steve hums, his voice too high, nodding. He’s desperate, hands shaking as they slide over Eddie’s chest, running over the soft hair on his skin. “Feels so good, Eddie.”

“Go a little harder,” Eddie instructs gently, pulling at Steve’s hips, his voice sweet and kind, and Steve is helpless. He follows directions blindly, his vision blurring, and he closes his eyes, rolling his hips harder, more confidently, because it feels good. Eddie’s breath catches in his throat. “There you go, good boy.”

Steve lets out a soft moan, rocking against him, humming when Eddie’s hand slides to the small of his back.

“Eddie,” he whines, and he doesn’t even recognize his own voice. Eddie nods, rubbing his back.

“You’re okay,” he says softly.

“‘M okay,” he says weakly, mumbling, breathless.

“‘S right, baby boy, I got you,” Eddie whispers. Steve whines again, shifting against him, eyes fluttering, his mouth falling open, and he’s going to start drooling again, he just knows it. But he’s barely in his own head right now, and he can’t think, and Eddie is making him fucking stupid. His hands pressing against his back, his tattoos, his skin, his hair, his voice, his dick—

“Eddie,” he chokes, flushing with heat, rolling his hips hard and staying down, pressing against Eddie, feeling how hard he is, feeling how much he wants Steve, and he lets out a noise he’s never made before. It rips its way out of his throat, and he’s embarrassed in spite of the grin that spreads across Eddie’s face.

“Fuck,” Eddie breathes before he lets out a quiet moan. “You’re okay, you’re doing so well, baby, I’m so proud of you.”

Steve’s eyes sting, and his lip quivers. Eddie nods, lifting a hand to touch his face, caressing his cheek, cradling him, and Steve feels delicate in a way only Eddie has ever made him feel. His eyes flutter shut, letting a tear fall down his cheek as his hips press to Eddie’s, slowly, rhythmically, steadily. Eddie’s thumb swipes over his chin, and Steve whimpers as he processes how slick it is.

Eddie smiles at him fondly, his other hand spread against the small of his back, tilting his head. His thumb, wet with Steve’s spit, brushes against his lower lip.

Steve’s jaw drops and he lowers his head, pressing his hands against Eddie’s chest, covering his tattoos with his palms, and Eddie’s smile widens. He presses his thumb into Steve’s mouth, nodding.

Steve lets his eyes fall shut, closing his mouth around Eddie’s thumb, sucking gently. Eddie’s fingers curl around his chin, holding him, nodding as Steve whines, grinding against him, almost rolling his body against Eddie’s. Eddie slides his thumb out a little bit before he presses it back in, sliding it over Steve’s tongue, and Steve’s eyes roll into his head.

Eddie laughs lightly, almost giggling, pressing his thumb into Steve’s tongue until it pushes his mouth open, and Steve lets out a guttural groan, hands sliding to Eddie’s waist. His fingertips press into his flesh.

“That feel good, baby?” Eddie says sweetly. Steve moans weakly, groaning a pathetic Yeah around his thumb. “You want more?”

Steve nods desperately.

“Go a little faster for me, sweetheart,” Eddie murmurs, slipping his hand under the hem of Steve’s shirt. His hand is cold against Steve’s skin, but it still feels like it’s burning through him. Steve shifts his weight to his knees, lifting himself up to move faster, desperately. “Fuck, that’s good. Open your mouth for me.”

He’s breathless, and Steve whines, listening closely, opening his mouth, groaning as Eddie presses his index and middle fingers into his mouth. He’s so gentle, watching like he’s in awe as Steve sucks on them, holding Eddie’s waist tightly. Eddie presses them in and out, smiling proudly.

Steve catches his wrist as he starts to pull his fingers out, leaning forward so they slide back into place.

“Alright?” Eddie asks softly, whispering. Steve looks into his eyes, pulling his wrist, tilting his head down, forcing Eddie’s fingers in deeper until they’re nudging at his throat. And he sees stars.

His back arches as he suppresses a gag, and he closes his eyes, moaning loudly.

“Jesus fuck, Steve.”

“Mm.”

Steve’s spit is dripping over Eddie’s hand, and he briefly wishes Eddie was wearing his rings.

“You like that?” Eddie asks breathlessly, leaning up to kiss the side of Steve’s neck, biting gently. “You like my fingers in your throat, baby?”

“Yeah,” Steve gasps, and he feels debauched. Fully dressed and so hot he feels like he might die. Eddie’s fingers in his mouth, his dick pressed against Steve’s. His voice is muffled by Eddie’s fingers, slurred and mumbled. “Feels so good, Eds, I— I love your hands s’much.”

“Baby,” Eddie breathes. He slides his tongue up the side of his neck, slowly, lingering at his jaw, and Steve keens, whining, his head falling back, and he knows he’s being noisy, knows he hasn’t stopped making noises this entire time, desperate, weak, pathetic noises, but he can’t stop. Can’t shut himself up.

“Fuck, I— I need more.”

“Take it,” Eddie says, biting him. “Take what you need, Stevie, make yourself feel good.”

“Oh, God.”

“I got you, baby, you’re okay.”

“I’m okay,” Steve says breathlessly as Eddie’s hand falls from his mouth. Eddie nods, lifting his fingers to his own mouth, sucking Steve’s spit off. Steve whines, leaning back and looking down at where they’re pressed together. The front of his sweatpants is tented, and there’s a damp spot. “Shit.”

“It’s okay,” Eddie tells him, reaching to hold his hips. “I got you, babydoll, you’re doing so good for me.”

Steve shivers, pressing against him harder, biting his lip, whining again, and he knows it sounds like he hates it, but he doesn’t, he fucking wants it, so, so so, badly. He sounds pathetic, whimpering and whining and crying as he uses Eddie’s body, as Eddie lets him. He wraps his arms around Eddie’s neck, hugging him tightly, moving against him desperately, whining loudly, his voice high in his throat.

“Eddie—”

“Yeah, baby,” Eddie gasps, pressing a hand into the arch of his back.

“Fuck, it’s so much, it’s so much, Eddie, I—”

“What’s your color, Stevie?” Eddie checks, pulling back to look into his eyes.

“Green,” Steve gasps, grabbing at Eddie’s hair. “Green, don’t fucking stop, baby, please, it— it feels so good.”

“Jesus.”

Steve sobs, pressing his forehead to Eddie’s, gasping for breath, trembling.

“You’re so close,” Eddie says softly, encouragingly. “You’re gonna come, baby boy, don’t stop.”

“Fuck, I don’t wanna stop,” Steve cries. “I don’t wanna stop, I wanna come for you, Eddie, please, please—”

“Come for me, baby,” Eddie whispers, nipping at his earlobe. “Come on, Stevie, baby, you got it.”

Steve whines, hugging Eddie’s neck, hiding his face, but Eddie pushes him back, lifting his chin and pulling him into a messy kiss. Steve groans low in his throat, clutching at him, breathing hard, letting out another sob.

He presses down harder, reaching back, his hand landing on Eddie’s knee, and he leans back, using it as a sort of leverage as he moves against Eddie. His eyes squeeze shut for a moment as he swirls his hips, groaning as Eddie’s hand finds his neck, holding him gently.

“Fuck,” Eddie says breathlessly, watching, eyes wide and dark. “‘S my boy, good job.”

“Eddie, fuck—”

“Come for me, baby.”

Steve moans, his eyes rolling into his head as his body flushes with heat, and it’s like the sky is opening up above him, like the stars are bathing him in their light, and Eddie’s hands are holding him, fingers wrapped around his throat. And Steve kind of feels like he might be dying, like this is it, like this is all he’s been waiting for. Like everything in his life has been leading to this moment.

He knows this isn’t it, that he has days coming after this, that the sun will rise in the morning, and as his head falls to Eddie’s shoulder, the thought wraps around him in the form of Eddie’s arms. And then he’s smiling into Eddie’s neck, humming weakly, his voice breaking.

“Are you okay?” Eddie asks softly, running a hand over his back, voice painted with worry. And Steve’s head feels like it’s filled with cotton and dust, but he does his best to respond, nodding.

“‘M okay.”

“God, Steve.”

Steve whines, pressing closer, sliding his hands over Eddie’s chest. He still feels warm, and he’s still squirming in Eddie’s lap, shifting his hips against Eddie, who’s still hard. It feels nice, even though it’s a little overwhelming to Steve, and he doesn’t stop, even as Eddie’s hands find his hips, holding him gently.

“You’re amazing,” Eddie whispers. Steve’s smile widens, and he rubs his nose against the side of Eddie’s neck, making him giggle.

“I’m so…”

Steve trails off, exhaling heavily, shifting again, and Eddie hugs him.

“So…”

“…I don’t know,” he whispers. “I’m like… Tired. But ’s good.”

“You feel good?”

“Mm. Feels good.”

He hears Eddie laugh softly, running a hand across the small of his back.

“‘S sticky,” Steve mumbles absently, and Eddie laughs again, turning his head to kiss Steve’s temple. “Cold.”

“Wanna show me?”

Steve suppresses a sleepy smile and sits up, pausing briefly to press a kiss to Eddie’s jaw, and he hums when he sits up straight, arching his back to stretch it. Eddie watches, eyes shining with something Steve is starting to understand. Something he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to.

He looks down at the darkened spot on the front of his sweatpants, and he hesitates for just a moment before he hooks his thumbs on the waistband and tugs it out of the way,

Eddie tilts his head to look, and Steve’s cheeks are lit aflame by humiliation as he reaches to tug at the front of his waistband. Steve’s come is sticking to his boxers, messy and gross, but Eddie just smiles, looking up at Steve, who’s looking away, embarrassed.

“Good boy,” Eddie says quietly, whispering, lifting his chin to prompt Steve to lower his head close enough to kiss him, and Steve does, exhaling and closing his eyes, letting his lips part for Eddie’s tongue to slip between them. “Baby.”

“Mm.”

Eddie lets go of the waistband, letting it snap against his skin, and Steve snorts, cheeks warm.

“Wanna go take a shower and clean up?” Eddie asks softly.

Steve hesitates, his head ducked shyly. He does want to take a shower. He feels kind of gross (in a way that he finds he doesn’t completely mind), and a shower would be nice, but the idea of being away from Eddie, of a door between them, makes him feel cold.

“…Will you come with me?” he asks quietly, looking to meet Eddie’s eyes. Eddie’s head is tilted like he’s curious, and he lifts a hand to touch his face.

“You sure?” he whispers.

Steve nods. He’s sure. He wants it.

To stand under the spray of water with Eddie, their skin bare and exposed, wet and sliding across each other, their hair tangling.

He wants to see all of Eddie. Wants Eddie to see all of him.

Every bruise and faint scar, every shift of his muscles beneath his skin, every freckle and mole. He wants to see each of Eddie’s tattoos, wants to memorize them all, to see them every time he closes his eyes.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “Please.”

Eddie smiles up at him, eyes squinting as his cheeks rise, and it’s like he’s glowing. Steve’s chest aches.

Steve is wobbly when he stands, holding Eddie’s hands tightly, head fuzzy as he follows him slowly to the bedroom. He watches, leaning against a wall, as Eddie collects fresh clothes, and he knows Eddie is just grabbing clothes from his unorganized drawers, but he’s gazing, watching like he’s in awe, because Eddie’s just Eddie, just a man, just flesh and bone, but Steve feels like he’s on the verge of tears, watching him.

He’s so beautiful Steve’s whole body aches. He makes existing look so easy, tossing a freshly cleaned pair of boxers in the air and catching it with a silly flourish that makes Steve giggle, looking over his shoulder to smile at Steve with an ease that Steve longs for.

“Come on, sweetheart,” Eddie says as he takes Steve’s hand to lead him to the bathroom, his other arm holding their clothes, and Steve clings to his wrist, following him helplessly. Eddie’s hair shifts in the air as he walks, and Steve suddenly feels sick, and he needs to shut himself up before he says it—

He tugs at Eddie’s hand, and Eddie turns, lips already parted to speak, but Steve leans in to kiss him before he can say anything. Eddie hums, smiling against Steve’s mouth, fingers tightening on Steve’s. Steve doesn’t let him go far when they part for a breath, leaning in and catching Eddie’s lips again, because he needs to keep his mouth busy until the urge passes.

Because he knows it’s too soon.

Ridiculously, insanely too soon. He would be stupid to say it, especially now, making out with Eddie in the bathroom after coming in his pants so pathetically. (Eddie didn’t seem to mind, obviously.) But Eddie always makes Steve feel kind of stupid.

Steve groans into the kiss, stepping closer, tilting his head, letting his lips part. Eddie grins, opening his mouth, and Steve licks across his teeth, reaching to wrap his arms around his neck. Eddie drops the clothes onto the counter, and then his hands are pushing under Steve’s shirt, his fingertips cold, his palms warm, and Steve whines. He pushes Eddie toward the counter, and Eddie giggles when his back hits the edge of it, pressing a hand into the small of Steve’s back.

Steve’s eyebrows furrow and he tilts his head, burying a hand in Eddie’s hair and pulling as Eddie’s tongue slides into his mouth. Eddie lets out a soft sound, humming into Steve’s mouth, fingers pressing into Steve’s flesh in a way that would make Steve self conscious were it anyone else touching him, but Eddie’s hands make him feel beautiful.

He moves closer to Eddie, shifting so their bodies are locked, pressed together completely, and Steve’s breath catches in his throat when he realizes that Eddie is still hard, straining against the fabric of his sweatpants.

“Eds,” he mumbles, tugging at his hair again.

“Mm,” Eddie hums breathlessly. “Yeah, baby.”

“Can I touch you?”

Eddie kisses him again, nibbling on his lower lip, dragging his hand up and then down Steve’s back, his nails tracing his spine.

“You don’t have to,” he says softly. “‘S okay.”

“Wanna,” Steve says petulantly, licking into Eddie’s mouth. “Wanna make you come.”

“Fuck.”

Steve hums.

“May I?” he whispers between kisses.

“Go for it, honey.”

Steve grins into the kiss, biting his lip briefly before he pulls away and bites his own lip as their foreheads press. He looks down, reaching for the drawstring of Eddie’s sweatpants. He tugs them down, tracing the hem of his underwear hesitantly. The dragon’s tail dips under it, winding around the trail of hair that Steve pauses to pet, stroking gently.

“Alright?” Eddie whispers. Steve nods, slipping his fingertips under the waistband.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathes.

“So are you,” Eddie whispers, kissing Steve’s forehead. “We’re a good-lookin’ couple, aren’t we?”

Steve giggles, looking up at Eddie shyly as he tugs his underwear down.

Eddie exhales when Steve touches him, and Steve gazes at him, sliding his hand over Eddie’s dick slowly, carefully. Eddie’s eyes close, his head falling back, when Steve tightens his hand. Steve smiles, tilting his head curiously.

“Does it feel good?” he asks softly after a while.

“Yeah, baby,” Eddie breathes. “Feels good. Love how you touch me.”

“I like touching you.”

Eddie lets out a soft noise, and Steve bites his lip, rubbing his thumb over the slit, looking at the way his own skin looks against Eddie’s. They are beautiful together.

He quickens his hand, squeezing, watching Eddie’s face, watching his lips part as he lets out a soft groan. His brows furrow and he grits his teeth like he’s wincing, like it hurts, but Steve knows it doesn’t. Because Eddie’s cheeks are flushed pink and he reaches to hold Steve’s neck, his palm to Steve’s throat.

Steve moans softly, letting his eyes flutter shut before he looks at him again.

Eddie is breathing heavily. He’s leaning back against the counter, and Steve watches his chest rise and fall with every breath. He looks down again, watches his hand shift up and down, watches Eddie’s skin become slick, and then he wants to taste it, wants Eddie’s dick in his mouth—

Which is a thing, he learned recently. Robin told him. Which could have been weird, but it was mostly just fun, sitting in Robin’s bed with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, chewing on gummy bears and giggling and gasping at everything she said. He learned lots of new words.

“Eddie,” he says quietly.

“Yeah,” Eddie says breathlessly.

“Can I use my mouth?”

Eddie’s eyes flutter open, and it takes a moment for his vision to focus.

“You want to?” he asks softly.

“Desperately.”

Eddie snorts, and he pulls Steve into a kiss by his throat, manhandling him forward, and Steve keens, melting against him, his hand pausing. Eddie’s teeth catch on Steve’s lip, tugging at it. Steve is breathless when they separate, and Eddie’s lips brush his when he speaks.

“Get on your knees.”

Steve’s stomach does a somersault. He moans.

He lowers to his knees slowly, mourning the loss of Eddie’s hand in his throat, but then he’s smiling because Eddie is pushing his underwear farther down, and Steve gazes at the safety pin on Eddie’s thigh.

“Pretty.”

“Thank you, baby.”

Steve leans forward and nuzzles against him, burying his nose in the hair at the base of Eddie’s dick, inhaling, sighing when Eddie’s fingers twist into his hair.

“You don’t have to,” Eddie whispers.

“Wanna.”

Eddie snorts, tugging at Steve’s hair gently, and Steve hums, finally lifting his hands to touch him, sliding his hands over his thighs, rubbing, squeezing, before he reaches for Eddie’s dick again, leaning his head back a little to look. When he squeezes, a bead of liquid appears, and he’s leaning in to lick it before he can even think.

“Shit,” Eddie breathes. “Mm.”

Steve hums, doing it again, closing his eyes. He listens to Eddie’s breathing become heavier, lingering close before he takes him into his mouth.

“Fuck, Steve,” Eddie says sharply. “So warm.”

Steve hums, sucking gently, and his head goes quiet. He reaches to hold Eddie’s hip, bobbing his head, humming weakly at the soft wet sounds that fill the air. His blood rushes, and his dick is filling out again. He pushes closer, longing for the feeling of Eddie’s dick sliding over the back of his tongue, for it to nudge too far down, where it shouldn’t go, where Steve wants it most.

He pulls away with a gasp, breathless, his chin slick with drool, his eyes half-shut like he’s sleepy.

“Want it in my throat,” he says absently, looking up at Eddie.

Eddie opens his eyes, looking at him. His cheeks are red, and he looks holy.

Steve melts, and he wants to cry. He falls to the side, legs folded under him like a mermaid basking in the sun, and he holds Eddie’s leg, looking up at him longingly. He wants to beg, to plead, and Eddie must see it on his face. He caresses his cheek, brushing his thumb under his eyes, and Steve turns into his palm, his lips parting to slide his tongue over Eddie’s skin.

“You sure?” Eddie whispers.

“Please,” Steve begs weakly, his voice cracking.

“Oh, baby,” Eddie breathes.

Steve moans quietly, arching his back, absently searching for friction.

“Take it slow,” Eddie says gently, running his hand into Steve’s hair again. “Okay? Don’t force it.”

Steve nods up at him, his heart pounding.

“Go ‘head, baby.”

Steve hums, opening his mouth again, sticking his tongue out, taking Eddie into his mouth again, sliding his tongue over the underside, tracing the vein that somehow tastes like the sky. Steve’s eyes roll into his head as he clutches at Eddie’s leg.

“Fuck, there you go, baby,” Eddie murmurs. “That’s it.”

Steve stiffens as Eddie’s dick nudges his throat, arching his back, furrowing his eyebrows.

Fuck.

“God, Stevie,” Eddie gasps. “You’re fucking amazing.”

Steve’s cheeks flush with heat, and he squeezes Eddie’s thigh, inhaling deeply before he relaxes, moving closer, letting Eddie’s dick push deeper, and his eyes sting as they fill with tears, and the ground is hard beneath him, pressing against his ankles and his hip, and it hurts but he doesn’t care.

He feels filthy.

He feels beautiful.

“Baby,” Eddie gasps, and his other hand finds Steve’s hair, pushing into his hair and gripping it tightly. Steve groans, pulling away to gasp for breath before he pushes in again. “Oh, fuck, Steve, fuck—”

Eddie tugs at his hair, hissing as Steve grips his thigh tightly.

“You like that, baby?” Eddie asks breathlessly, and Steve lets out a garbled yeah. “Yeah, you do. Fuck, you like my cock down your throat—”

Steve lets out a guttural groan, sliding his hands up to Eddie’s ass, pulling so Eddie’s dick pushes deeper, and Eddie lets out a moan, his head falling forward.

“‘S my boy,” Eddie says, groaning. “So good for me, babydoll, you’re so perfect.”

Steve whines, blinking tears out of his eyes. They’re hot as they roll down his cheeks, and he knows he’s pathetic, crying with Eddie’s dick down his throat, but Eddie’s fingertips are light on his cheeks as he wipes them away, carefully, lovingly.

“Fuck,” Eddie gasps. “You’re so beautiful, Stevie, my beautiful boy.”

Steve groans.

He only wants to hear Eddie’s voice for the rest of his life, just like this. Gentle and sweet and tender, echoing off the tile walls, covering him like a warm blanket, like an umbrella in the pouring rain.

He lets out a soft moan when Eddie pulls his head back by his hair, his shoulders slumping. Strings of spit fall from his mouth to his legs, darkening the fabric of his sweatpants.

“Breathe for me,” Eddie murmurs, and Steve does, panting, his chest rising and falling as he holds onto Eddie’s leg. “You okay?”

“Yes,” Steve gasps, looking up at him. “I like it, I like it so much, please—”

“Okay,” Eddie breathes. “I got you, sweetheart, you want it that bad?”

Steve nods pathetically, breathing hard.

“Want it,” he says absently, weakly, and he can’t say anything else because his mouth doesn’t seem to be connected to his brain.

“You want me to fuck your face, baby?” Eddie asks condescendingly, his voice sweet, and Steve’s stomach flips over. He whines, nodding, tears slipping down his face. “Sweet boy.”

“Please,” Steve breathes.

“Please what?”

“Eddie,” Steve whines, crying, hugging his leg, lifting his chin, but Eddie doesn’t let him, his fingers shifting to move his dick away from Steve’s mouth. “Please, baby.”

“Please what, sweetheart?” Eddie asks again, smiling, and Steve wants to pout. “What do you want, Stevie?”

“Eddie,” Steve whimpers, looking up at him. “Fuck my face. Please. Want your cock in my throat.”

“Jesus fuck, Steve,” Eddie says.

“Fuck me,” Steve says again, setting his chin on Eddie’s leg to look up at him. “Please, baby.”

Eddie’s dick jumps, and Steve grins, rubbing Eddie’s thigh gently, humming suggestively, whining when Eddie tugs his hair again.

“Take a deep breath for me,” Eddie says softly. Steve nods, inhaling, shifting onto his knees. “Ready?”

“Yes—” Steve says, just barely stopping himself from adding a soft sir at the end of the word. Which he knows is weird. Eddie is only a few years older than him, and they haven't even really talked about the way Eddie always takes charge, the way he talks to Steve like he can’t think for himself. Or the way it makes Steve melt into a human puddle, the way it makes him feel like he’s falling in love.

Other things make him feel like that too.

The way Eddie touches his waist when he’s passing by him in the kitchen, the way he glances at Steve when Steve glances at him, suppressing a shy smile.

The way Eddie’s voice sounds in the morning, all rough and gravelly and sexy, right in Steve’s ear as he says Good morning, beautiful because he knows it makes Steve shivers.

The way Eddie’s fingers feel in his mouth.

The way Eddie’s sweatshirts and bedsheets smell.

The way Eddie absently presses his fingertips into the soft flesh of Steve’s stomach and hips like he wants to pull him apart.

A lot of things about Eddie make Steve feel like that.

Eddie guides his dick into Steve’s mouth, one hand gripping his hair, and Steve moans softly, his eyes fluttering shut. He wraps his arms around Eddie’s legs as he takes him deeper, shifting to sit on his bottom again, holding Eddie’s legs tightly.

It’s gross, the way Eddie’s dick slides down his throat and then comes back out a little bit, the way Eddie grips his hair and guides his head up and down slowly, murmuring quietly. Steve chokes. He gags. His knees are sore from the ground. And he loves it.

His throat makes a clicking sound around Eddie’s dick, and he lets go of Eddie’s leg, reaching to his own lap, rubbing himself over his sweatpants. He moans, gasping when Eddie pulls out for a moment.

“Fuck,” Eddie groans. “That’s good, baby, you’re doing so good for me.”

Steve whines, lifting his chin to beg for more. Eddie gives it to him, moaning loudly. It echoes.

Steve’s hand pushes under his sweatpants, rubbing quickly as he clutches at Eddie’s thigh. His dick is already slick with come, and he groans.

“Fuck, are you touching yourself?” Eddie asks breathlessly. Steve whines, pulling away and gasping for breath, nodding, crying.

“Yeah,” he chokes. “Fuck, it feels so good, Eddie.”

“God, Steve.”

“Please,” Steve says weakly. “Gimme more, baby, please.”

“Open your mouth, baby.”

He does, sticking his tongue out, looking up at him, and it’s like he’s waiting for communion, like he’s waiting for Eddie to bless him.

And that’s exactly what Eddie does.

He presses his thumb to Steve’s tongue, pushing his jaw down. Steve keens, closing his mouth around it and sucking. Eddie smiles softly, curling his fingers under Steve’s chin. Steve squeezes his dick, whining.

“Open,” Eddie says softly. Steve lets his jaw drop. Spit falls down his chin. And then Eddie is sliding three fingers into his mouth, pressing down on his tongue, and Steve groans, closing his eyes. “Okay?”

“Yeah,” Steve says weakly, his voice muffled by Eddie’s hand. Eddie grins, pushing his fingers deeper, stretching Steve’s mouth open. Steve whines, letting out a weak sob.

“That’s my boy,” Eddie says fondly. “Sweet baby.”

He pulls his fingers away, and Steve sticks his tongue out to catch the strings of spit that connect them.

“You want my dick, sweetheart?”

Steve nods, gazing up at him.

“Please,” he breathes.

─────────────────

Steve lets his head fall back as Eddie kisses down his neck, biting his lip. Eddie pushes his hair out of the way, sliding it across his wet skin, and Steve shivers.

He slides his hands over Eddie’s waist, and when Eddie’s teeth press into his skin, he drags his fingernails across his back, humming. He isn’t sure if Eddie hears it over the spray of the shower, but he doesn’t care.

The steam from the shower smells like Eddie’s shampoo, like home, and Eddie’s skin sliding against his feels like heaven.

Steve’s cross is pressing into his chest, but he doesn’t mind. It’s warm from the water, and from Eddie’s skin and his breath, and Steve isn’t even hard anymore (he hardly knew he was capable of having an orgasm, but less two in less than two hours), but he feels so fucking good.

Eddie’s hair slips between his fingers easily, and Steve wraps it around his fingers, pulling so Eddie pulls away. He does, smiling lazily, his tongue teasing his teeth, and Steve lets out a quiet moan.

There are drops of water caught in his eyelashes. His cheeks are pink. His piercings are shining.

“You’re so beautiful,” Steve breathes.

Eddie tilts his head, smiling softly. His hair is sticking to his neck, perfectly swirled over his skin, the dark color contrasting beautifully against his pale skin. Steve reaches out and pushes it away, leaning in to kiss his neck. Eddie laughs softly, letting him.

Steve sucks on his skin, humming quietly, letting Eddie tug at his hair. He bites gently, teasingly, smiling against his skin when Eddie grips his hair and holds him close as his other hand presses against the small of his back. Their bodies press together, their legs entwining, and Steve moans softly, hugging him tightly.

“Sweet lamb,” Eddie murmurs. Steve smiles again.

His cheeks are warm every time Eddie looks at his body.

He’s shy, even though Eddie whispered that he doesn’t have to be as they were undressing. His eyes linger on Steve’s chest, and Steve is self-conscious of how hairy he is, but Eddie is smiling the whole time. He murmurs into Steve’s ear that he’s beautiful, and Steve believes him.

Steve’s skin misses Eddie’s as they part, and he bites his lip to hold back a whine as he watches him turn to get the soap. His hair is stuck to his skin, but it’s parted just enough that Steve can see ink under the nape of his neck.

He reaches up before he can even think, dragging his fingertips across Eddie’s shoulders to gather his hair out of the way, and Eddie lets him, his head turning a little bit like he wants to turn and look at him. He doesn’t, and Steve pushes his hair away enough to see the tattoo.

It’s an eye. Looking back at Steve, shining. It kind of looks like it’s been etched into Eddie’s skin, the lines uneven and a little shaky like it’s a carving. There are lines around the eye like rays of light.

Steve traces it lightly, his fingertips just ghosting over the ink, and then he leans in and presses his lips to it. Eddie hums softly.

“Thank you,” Steve whispers, setting his chin on Eddie’s shoulder. Eddie’s head turns a little bit.

“For what?”

Steve sighs, closing his eyes, wrapping his arms around Eddie’s waist. Eddie’s hands slide over his forearms, and Steve kind of wishes they could absorb one another, that they could melt together.

“Taking care of me.’

Eddie hums again.

“Love taking care of you.” His voice is gentle, breathy, like he knows Steve feels like he’s about to fall asleep. Steve sighs again, tucking his face into the side of Eddie’s, shivering as Eddie drags his nails across his forearms lightly. “My sweet boy.”

♡ permanent taglist: @estrellami-1 @theplantscientist @spectrum-spectrum @carlprocastinator1000 @starman-jpg @romantiklen @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme ♡ holy things taglist: @stevesbipanic @pearynice @ao3whore @slowandsteddie @swordsandflowercrowns @dragonmama76 @mikeys-thoughts @sofadofax @cyranyx @kazalohiku @lostonceandneverfound @strangerfreaks @bitchysteveharrington @nailbatanddungeon @newtstabber (comment to be added/removed to/from either list!!)

♡ art of steve and eddie ♡ pinboard // playlist ♡ buy me a coffee

#!!!#sorry this is late ive been Having A Time #but im back!!#also ignore this if you want obv no pressure but if anyone is thinking ab donating to my kofi i would rly rly rly appreciate it #i have an exhibition coming up and i need to get some supplies #anyway #drink some water #take your meds #eat something yummy #love you love you love you #steddie #steddie fanfic #steve harrington #steve harrington fanfic #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #a mess of holy things

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anonymouspuzzler · 2 years

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HERE'S THE BIG ONE FOLKS !!! a full memory vault for the Uncle Cally AU!! a lot of this has been kind of retconned by Psychonauts 2, since it was drawn well before that was out, but it was still a really fun and interesting challenge that I'm frankly quite proud of!!!!

...hey, wait, you usually get two memory vaults in a level, right...?

(alt text/image IDs under the cut!)

[Image 1 ID: A title slide resembling that of the memory vaults from Psychonauts, reading "The Amazing Caligosto Aquato!"]

[Image 2 ID: A memory-vault styled greyscale image. A young Augustus, holding a broom, is peeking out from behind the drapes of a circus tent to discover young Caligosto, sitting on top of some luggage and clutching his knees, looking miserable.]

[Image 3 ID: Caligosto sitting on a log, being offered a hot bowl of soup by a mostly shadowed, smiling beared figure. Augustus, sitting on another log across from him, is already eating from his own bowl and smiling warmly. One of the Aquatos' caravans can be seen in the background.]

[Image 4 ID: Augustus and Caligosto, both in Aquato circus outfits, practicing their levitation. Augustus is running on the levitation orb like a circus ball, while Caligosto is more bouncing with his legs in the air. Both are grinning.]

[Image 5 ID: An older Augustus and Caligosto, putting a poster up on the back of a wagon. The poster features several Aquato family members, including both Augustus and Caligosto. Augustus, with a hammer in one hand and the other on his hip, looks proudly at the poster, while Caligosto, next to him, clasps both hands in front of his face and grins.]

[Image 6 ID: Augustus and Caligosto back at the wagon, having torn down the poster so all that remains visible is the "Aquatos" banner. Augustus, holding the torn and rolled-up poster in one hand, is visibly sobbing and covering his face with the other. Caligosto stands next to him with a hand on his shoulder, looking down miserably. The background is noticeably darker and greyer.]

[Image 7 ID: Augustus and Caligosto posing, a ribbony banner around them reading "THE BROTHERS AQUATO!" Cal is in a deep lunge, gesturing broadly with both arms, holding onto Augustus' arm with his right hand; Augustus is balancing on top of Cal's right leg, left leg bent at the knee, one hand grabbing Cal's right arm and the other up in the air.]

[Image 8 ID: Caligosto, Augustus and Donatella up on the flying trapeze, with a ribbony banner around them reading "PRESENTING THE BROTHERS AQUATO! featuring DARING DONATELLA". Donatella is swinging freely, held only by one of Augustus's hands, who is in turn being held by the legs by Cal. Donatella and Augustus beam lovingly at each other, while Cal visibly rolls his eyes under the goggles and sticks out his tongue, hanging from the trapeze by his knees.]

[Image 9 ID: The whole modern Aquato family, with a ribbony banner above them reading simply "THE AQUATOS!" They are in a carefully balanced stack, Cal on the bottom in a full split, using levitation to lift a delighted Raz over his right hand. Augustus, balancing on Cal's left leg and holding Queepie on his shoulders, looks over at the psychic display with suspicion. Meanwhile, Donatella balances on Cal's shoulders, Frazie in turn balanced on hers; Dion balances on Augustus' leg, held up in part by Frazie's hand on his arm, while Mirtala balances proudly on one of his feet.]

#anonymous puzzler art #psychonauts #caligosto loboto #augustus aquato #donatella aquato #all the aquatos are there but again I'll tag the most prominent LOL #please stay tuned for the next queued post. smile :)

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kingdomstims · 3 days

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-> jongho + bear & misc themes for 🍮 anon!

[ID: A 3x3 stimboard of 8 warm brown GIFs surrounding a central image. GIF 1: Soft bread being pulled apart. GIF 2: The face of a Djungelskog bear plushie being pet. GIF 3: A cinnamon roll being pulled apart. GIF 4: Bear-shaped pancakes being stacked and decorated with bear faces. Images: Jongho from Ateez posing with the mascot of his bear representative animal. GIF 5: Bear-shaped churros being set on a plate. GIF 6: Cinnamon rolls being frosted. GIF 7: A brown and white teddy bear being pet. GIF 8: Bread dough being folded on itself. End ID]

#kd.boards #kd.o.rq #stim #stimboard #kpop stimboard #ateez #choi jongho #bread #bear #cinnamon roll #plushie #brown #🍮 anon

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caedun · 2 months

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(A friend taught me how to rp on Tumblr. Tagging and reblogging replies, so bear with me).

Valdrakken

Since being raised as a Death Knight years ago and being freed from the Lich King at Light’s Hope Chapel, Tartt Sweetshriek had a second chance, so to speak. She remembered going to Dalaran and answering the call of the Horde- helping the Ebon Blade. Little did she know she would run into a demon hunter. They were just about as outcasted as the Death Knights were, so there was common ground.

Over the years, she had been on numerous adventures and fun places. Beating people in Hearthstone was fun to pass the time. She sat in one of the corners of the Roasted Ram, taking in everything. Q

A broad and angular figure passed through the Ram's open entryway, in the company of two substantial crates propped on either of his shoulders. Kitror waved him down and pointed behind the bar and the demon hunter set to putting each crate down gingerly, stacking them atop each other. He spoke to the waiter briefly, producing a small document from his pocket and acquiring the drakonid's signature before ending the conversation and stepping into the tavern proper.

With his usual looming manner he scanned the patrons one by one, his gaze flitting between them as he took stock of each patron, before settling on Tartt. After a lingering moment he strode over to her, standing at the edge of her table, his arms slack at his sides, his posture upright and stiff.

"You, Death Knight," he addressed the gothic goblin with a rasp, right hand lifting to point a long, sharp finger at her.

"What news do you and your brethren have regarding the time rifts? I assume you and yours are monitoring the state of 'Azmourne,' as it has been coined. I wish to draw comparisons with the fel-cursed equivalent, Azerwrath."

The question was posed flatly, transactionally, and left hovering in the air as his massive form loomed over Tartt's table.

#caedun #writing

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axailslink · 2 years

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One good day

Riri Williams x poc FEM reader

Warning: ⚠️ Mentions of suicide no one is unalived however in this fic.

Summary: During exams you completely forget about your mental well being which sometimes causes you to take a bit of a forward spiral luckily your girlfriend doesn't mind helping.

Depression is different for everyone but your girlfriend can see yours coming from a mile away. There were many tells that let her know the constant sleeping all day, lack of appetite, and the suicide jokes. So when she's done for the day with her assignments and notes she comes to your apartment bearing gifts which of course are cleaning products because if this is how you were acting she knew for a fact that the house was a mess but of course she has snacks too. When she opens the door your dog practically comes running to her "baby! Get Mocha!" She walks in the living room pajamas still on you could just guess she probably hadn't changed those clothes. "Hey mamas" she can see your face fall as you realize why she's here. "I'm fine" she nods "let's skip the part where you lie to me and we just start cleaning and healing" you close the door and lock it snapping your fingers at Mocha "gone I'll feed you in a minute" Mocha wonders off as Riri places the bags down and grabs you in a hug. "I'm sorry I didn't come sooner" you hug her back immediately that's all you've needed recently a hug something to remind you that you're going to be alright. When you two pull apart Riri rolls her hoodie sleeves up and looks around the living room "the living room is fine so we just be cleaning your room" you nod "and the bathroom and the kitchen" she nods and gives you a box of Cheerios "what am I supposed to do with this?" "Eat it let me starts the clean up you put something on your stomach because I bet you'd fed Mocha more than yourself in this past week." She is right of course but it hurts to hear just how much you haven't taken care of yourself. You sit on the couch and open the Cheerio box "I also got some strawberries, bananas and a bit of junk food but eat the fruit first." You sigh as you look at the snacks. "Ole healthy ass" she peeks around the corner at you "what'd you say?" You say nothing and she smiles and goes to the bathroom she starts cleaning with no question knowing exactly where everything should be she doesn't judge you for your messiness right now she would never judge you for this. She could function during exams she'd still get up at seven in the morning and go running before classes start for her but she knew you weren't like her. When she finishes with the bathroom she lets it air out the smell of bleach and Lysol as she walks to this kitchen. Riri changes her gloves and takes in the scenery in front of her half eaten cup noodles stacked on top of each other, candy paper, snack paper usually she'd get onto you for all of this junk food but she says nothing as she starts doing the dishes. You sit on the couch watching her as she hums music to herself as she cleans you couldn't be more grateful for her she is truly amazing. Riri hums to Bohemian Rhapsody this of course causes your face to light up knowing that she's about to burst into song "is this the real life?" She holds a spatula to her mouth as a replacement for a microphone "is this just fantasy?" You can't help but crack a smile at her as you mumble the next line "caught in a landslide" she smiles at you and poses pointing the spatu-microphone towards you "they can't hear you!" "No escape from reality!" She laughs and you stand up continuing to sing with her shaking your box of Cheerios.

The day goes like that the smell of bleach, Lysol and pinesol fills your nostrils as you dance to the music and clean up. When you're both you take a hot bath and she sits on the toilet legs crossed as she shares a box of strawberries with you. "I'm so grateful for you" she nods "don't start that... If someone really cares about you they notice and they do what they can to help. I noticed and now I'm doing my best to help. I know that this one good day might not factor over all the bad days but be happy that you have this one good day." She glances around "do you still have some of my clothes over here?" You nod "yeah of course why?" She smiles as she places the strawberries on the counter and takes her shoes off as she joins you in the tub fully clothed. "Oh my God Riri!" She just laughs as she kisses your cheek and slips behind you putting you in a back hug "I just felt like you needed another hug." If only she knew how right she was about that hug.

A/n: this isn't meant to be depressing I wrote this for me mostly because I never had someone there to cheer me up other than my best friends and this is how they helped. Of course not getting in the tub with me but the cleaning and feeding me part is definitely real. Also mocha is now a new character since she has a dog.

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pengychan · 2 months

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[Baldur’s Gate III] Hell to Pay, Ch. 19

Illustration by @raphaels-little-beast

Title: Hell to Pay Summary: Assassinating an archdevil is a daunting task, even for the heroes of Baldur’s Gate. Some inside help from ‘the devil they know’ would be good, if not for the detail their last meeting ended with said devil dead in his own home. Or did it? Characters: Raphael, the Dark Urge, Astarion, Haarlep, Halsin, Karlach, Wyll. Rating: M Status: In progress

All chapters will be tagged as ‘hell to pay’ on my blog. Also on Ao3.

*** It's all fun and games until you realize you're REALLY about to lose your one (1) bargaining chip to the merry band of adventurers that absolutely curb-stomped you before. ***

When he saw the Lake of Blood at the horizon, Raphael knew time was running out.

Soon enough, they’d reach the scab which covered the Bleeding Citadel; soon enough they’d force find their way in, and reach the Sword of Zariel. And soon enough, his esteemed traveling companions would have no reason to keep him around - or, indeed, alive.

Haarlep had been unable to say much of what he was expected to do after Zariel was defeated - if they could indeed pull it off. But they had made one thing plain: he’d have to reclaim the other half of his soul himself. He stood no chance of success on his own; the mortals’ help would be vital. If they refused to help, all would be over even if they let him live.

Of course he’d known from the start he was taking a risky gamble, with all odds stacked against him. But on that day, weak and bound in a cell at Last Light Inn, he’d seen no other way out. Any attempt at convincing them to make him whole again first and then learn the location of the Sword had been rejected outright, for a very obvious reason: they would not trust him not to turn on them the instant he had his entire soul and powers back.

“You’re the ones who turned on me,” Raphael had seethed. “My offer was nothing if not fair, and in writing! If anyone should mistrust--”

“If we did not trust you then, with all the paperwork, ” Durge had replied, “imagine now that you have reason to bear a grudge against us, and all that you can give is your word.”

In the end, something had to give - and the simple truth was that he’d been far more desperate than they were. They could yet find another way to kill Zariel, if they’d successfully ended the Netherbrain; Raphael, on the other hand, knew he may never get another chance to even try getting his soul back.

So he’d taken the one chance he had, betting everything on the rather shaky hope that he could, somehow, sway them into wishing to help him by the time they got to their goal. It did seem like he’d succeeded-- We’ll get the rest of you back. And your mother, if she’s still there. It’s a promise. -- but soon enough he’d know for a fact if his gamble had paid off, and he didn’t feel so sure.

If nothing else, Bel’s war horn would get him the support of a few erinyes if they did turn on him. It may give him time to make an escape, at the very lea--

“Raphael?” Durge’s voice snapped him from his thoughts, and he turned to see they were looking over, frowning. “Is everything all right?”

“I-- yes, of course.”

“You were scowling.”

“... Just mulling over a few things, is all,” Raphael replied, glancing ahead. The others were walking a few paces ahead, Ravengard and the tiefling at the front and the two elves right behind them. Haarlep had taken the form of a cornugon, and was currently flying above them, to warn them of potential dangers ahead of time. So far, they hadn’t reported anything.

“Concerning things, by the look on your face,” Durge commented. Raphael bit his tongue.

‘I was wondering whether I should expect to feel the cold blade of betrayal in my back again’ would have been the truthful answer, but not one he could give. So, he deflected. “I was posed a question to which I have no certain answer, and that does vex me.”

“A question?”

“... Astarion is wondering how long you’re going to live,” Raphael replied, voice low enough not to be heard by the vampire spawn in question - who was, it seemed, once again engaged in exchanging barbs with Ravengard, which they both insisted amounted to friendly banter.

“Ah,” Durge said, and was quiet for a moment before sighing. They didn’t sound surprised. “Yes, I know it’s been on his mind. We haven’t spoken of it, but… well. He has been on his own so long already.” Another pause before they spoke again, with a slight hesitation. “And what did you tell him?”

“The truth - I do not know. You are a unique case, made from the flesh of a god and filled with his blood. That may make you close enough to being immortal, or at the very least give you a very long life.”

“Even if I defied that god? He reclaimed his blood, when he killed me.”

“That is part of the reason I am uncertain of the answer. Then again, losing your status as Bhaal’s Chosen did not change the very thing you are made of - your flesh is still his flesh. Unlike even me, you have no mortal heritage,” he admitted. The words left an unpleasant aftertaste on his tongue, but he could bear it. At the very least, he now could leverage that unanswered question to give them an incentive to keep their word.

“When With-- Jergal brought me back from my first death, I told him I should at least remember my victims. He said we could go over the records together, if I wished to, once I died,” Durge said, looking ahead at Astarion, a distant cast to their gaze. “I doubt he would have said as much if I was not meant to die someday.”

Raphael let out a hum. “I suppose not. But I do think there is a distinct possibility you’ll live well beyond the few decades usually afforded to dragonborns with no spark of divinity in them,” he pointed out, and he did mean it. He paused a moment before speaking again, as though the idea had just then occurred to him. “If you’d trade possibility for certainty, I will have the power to ensure that is the case - once I’m whole again.”

Durge raised an eyebrow, and gave a rumbling, brief laugh. “No offense, but I’d prefer not to bind myself to contract or--”

“There would be no contract, nothing owed. Call it a gesture of goodwill.”

“There is no need. I have one life which I fought tooth and nail to make my own. I’ll strive to live it well, so as to have no regrets when it comes to an end.”

Raphael had heard all of it before, of course. Eternal life was not all that alluring to some mortals, who rather chose to be all noble and spew nonsense about living well rather than long. Many feared immortality altogether, the idea of living on as everybody around them died. Raphael always found it idiotic. Now it was getting on his nerves: it gave him no leverage .

“And what of Astarion?” he asked. He knew he struck a nerve when Durge sighed.

“I do hope we’ll have enough time together for him to be ready to move on once I’m gone.”

“Ah, fair enough. I supposed that if it turns out to be too much, he could always step into the sun to join you,” Raphael snapped. Durge turned to look at him, and for a moment someone who was not the savior of Baldur’s Gate flashed on those features, in those blood red eyes. For a moment he saw it again, the bhaalspawn whose fury was a terrible thing indeed.

“Do not,” they ground out, and Raphael had to fight the instinct to take a step back.

“I-- do apologize. That was uncalled for.”

Those red eyes stayed fixed on him. The features did not soften. “Yes. It was.”

Angering them was not a wise move, and Raphael bit his tongue for letting impatience get the best of him. As the end of that journey loomed closer, so did the weight on his chest reminding him at all times that his fate hung in the balance.

So he swallowed, and tried another angle. “... I was raised in the Material Plane by mortals until I was thirteen. I knew I’d outlive them since the moment I could understand what I was, of course. Before being taken to the Hells, I thought it may be my fate after all if my sire did not claim me. An immortal among mortals, forever. It seemed a lonely prospect.”

The Hells were no less lonely, crowded as they were, but that was beside the point. A long breath, and Durge nodded, the anger gone.

“It won’t have to be so for Astarion, l hope. He may find someone else, immortal as he is.”

“Or he may precede you in death by annoying the wrong person one too many times.”

This time, Durge laughed. “Hah! Yes, that’s also a possibility,” they admitted.

The tension was gone, and Raphael breathed a little more easily. Not too easily, though, not with the Lake of Blood growing closer by the hour. If offers of immortality would not do, he’d have to fall back on something else - and fostering that sense of kinship he knew the bhaalspawn felt towards him was his next best chance.

He’d been doing it since the start, after all, and one could argue he’d even had a bit too much success. He had not expected nor wanted it to be mutual, but it was there and it was all that mattered. Once they had the Sword, it may very well be the one thing that would save his life.

“... I answered your question the best I could,” he finally spoke after a few minutes of silence. “So answer mine - why did you defy Bhaal? You were his only pure spawn, far above any he sired on mortals. Bhaal is not known for being a forgiving god, yet he was willing to take you back as his Chosen. It’s more grace than Mephistopheles was ever willing to show me.”

“After I was forced to fight my sister.” A sigh. “I wish it did not have to come to that.”

Raphael almost laughed at the notion. He had more siblings than he cared to remember, many of them long dead and yet more having been sired long after he left Mephistar. He’d had a contentious relationship with most of those he’d actually met … yet the worst of them paled compared to Orin the Red. “The lovely sister who cracked open your skull, stuck a dagger in your brain, and put a tadpole in it for good measure? ”

Durge didn’t smile, their mouth set in a grim line. “She was twisted by Bhaal and Sarevok, and no worse than I used to be. She tried to end me because it was how it was always meant to be, in the end - slaughter among kin was encouraged, in Bhaal’s temple. But without knowing it, she set me free. All I have now, all this freedom, I owe it to her actions. And there was nothing I could do to give her the same choice.” They glanced over. “... You have siblings, I suppose?”

“Half-siblings, I’ve had many. A few did try to kill me. Familial ties are not precisely encouraged in the Hells. None lived as long as I did, however. Most of the youngest ones, I know little of.”

“All cambions?”

“Obviously.”

“I heard Mephistopheles has a consort.”

“A long-standing union that yielded no offspring. Few devils in their position would consider procreating with another devil. There is a saying about such children - tenuous allies at best, active enemies or useful pawns for foes at worst.” Raphael paused for a moment and scowled, the next words leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. “... Half-fiends are not all that more loyal, if you ask me, but there is no expectation we may grow powerful enough to be a serious threat to our sires.”

“Doesn’t Asmodeus have a full fiend as a daughter? The ruler of Malbolge?”

This time, Raphael laughed. “Hah! Glasya is quite the handful even for her sire - and Asmodeus is Asmodeus, whereas Mephistopheles merely wishes he was. Look at Belial, and you’ll know how well that usually goes. His daughter now rules in his stead; everyone knows it even if they claim to be joint rulers.”

“... I thought Fierna was his consort?”

“She is also his consort.”

“Ah.” Durge stared at them a moment, and finally grimaced. “I’m starting to see some disquieting similarities between the Hells and the cult of Bhaal indeed,” they muttered, causing Raphael to chuckle.

“Yes, so do I. Devils don’t have the concept of family mortals do. The vast majority of full-blooded devils are not born from parents in the first place. Incubi do make an exception. They breed true with each other, and often enough compared to others, but that certainly doesn’t make a family unit. Two cambions would produce cambion offspring, but few ever do.”

Durge nodded. “I heard most tiefling bloodlines start with a cambion seeking out a mortal mate.”

“You’ve heard correctly, but I can assure you none of them started with yours truly. I have no inclination to father offspring of any sort.” Raphael made a face at the notion before he realized that the conversation had been quite sidetracked. He cleared his throat, and attempted to steer it back in the direction he’d been going for. “You did not answer my question. Why deny Bhaal, knowing it would mean death?”

They didn’t reply right away. They were silent for a few moments, letting their gaze wander across the desolate landscape of Avernus. “... I remember seeing Bhaal’s domain in my dreams,” they said in the end. “It was different from this - no fire, for one, cold instead of heat - but there was blood, the red sky. A red sun. It’s surreal to think there was a time I wanted nothing more but to go there. By the time Bhaal offered me his blessing once more, I had changed too much to ever be his Chosen. The things I’d done horrified me; I never wanted to be consumed by the Urge again. He was attempting to stake his claim on me, while all I wanted was a life free of him. If I couldn’t have that, then I’d gladly forfeit that life entirely.”

“Some would call it a weak excuse to reject near-godly power, and a place back at his temple,” Raphael muttered. “Mephistopheles acknowledged my existence, but it was as far as he ever went. There was a time when I’d have given anything for him to…” he trailed off, but Durge knew precisely what he meant - of course they did. Who else could?

“Choose you?” Durge asked, quietly.

He burned me in hellfire within an inch of my life, tried to destroy me as Bhaal tried to destroy you, and still I yearned to hear him call me son. Even now, I fear I may yet balk if he only speaks the word, Raphael thought. But he didn’t say those words. Even now, he couldn’t say it aloud.

“Yes,” was all he said in the end. “It’s hard to believe, is it not? That I was young and foolish enough to wish for nothing more than a place at his side.”

Durge nodded, a grim look on their face, and placed a hand on Raphael’s shoulder. “Be glad he gave you no such place. To be chosen by fathers such as ours is to be owned. We both can do better.”

For a moment Raphael almost reached to touch that hand; perhaps he would have, if not for the sudden interruption - Haarlep, landing abruptly just ahead of them to warn of a large horde of demons they’d spotted, headed their way. Bleak as the news was, it was almost a welcome distraction.

Right up to the moment things began to go wrong.

***

As an incubus Haarlep was, by definition, a lover rather than a fighter.

They were a great lover, of course, and it had always served them well. They could count the amount of times they’d had to fight on the fingers of one hand, and none of those fights had been anything more than a scuffle.

That was to say that, once they got their first taste of having to fight off a demonic horde, it took them approximately a minute and a half to decide that they would really rather just stay a lover. As far as they were concerned, summoning a few imps was all that should be expected of him - so they’d done that, and left them to help while they sort of blinked in and out of the Ethereal Plane to escape any direct hits.

Frankly, the mortals who’d defeated an Elder Brain with an all-powerful crown on top of it were probably going to be just fine without their help.

It worked really well, right up to the moment they blinked back in Avernus to see Raphael on the ground, struggling to stand and fumbling to grab the horn at his belt while a balor stood over him with a roar, raising both sword and whip to strike. At a glance, Haarlep knew three things: that none of the others was close enough to help, that Raphael wouldn’t be able to blow that horn on time, and that they were about to very much regret what they’d do next.

With all that well in mind, they launched themself at the balor and put their claws to use.

The demon let out a roar and reared back, turning its attention away from Raphael, as predicted. Just as predictably, it took little effort to throw Haarlep off - and they had no time to react before the flaming whip came down against their side. Fire did little enough damage, but the whip’s force easily split skin, cracking ribs. A slash of the sword opened up their other side, and that was much worse.

Something that was probably supposed to stay inside spilled on the ground alongside the blood, and Haarlep found they barely had enough voice to cry out. They fell back, grimacing, just as the sound finally rang out - Lord Bel’s horn, calling for aid.

Later, they’d be told that the erinyes had made short work of the demons who were still standing. They didn’t get to enjoy the scene; they saw very little indeed other than the burning sky above and, suddenly, Raphael’s face above him. He had a cut on his forehead dripping blood down his face, and his eyes were wide.

“You imbecile, what did you think you were doing?” he snapped, stunned and furious and something else Haarlep couldn’t quite place. They tried to speak - how about thank you? - but all that left their mouth was a gargle. Muttering an extremely impolite curse that somehow involved Asmodeus’ private regions, Raphael pressed a hand against Haarlep’s worst wound and muttered a healing spell.

It helped, but it was not enough; they could see it in Raphael’s expression before he ground his teeth and turned to scream. It was only then that Haarlep knew what it was that they’d tasted in the air, that third thing that was neither fury nor surprise - it was the sharp, spiced tang of fear. “Halsin! Halsin! Help me!”

Ah, the handsome druid. His face coming into their field vision was about as welcome as his healing skills. “We really should stop meeting like this,” Haarlep muttered with a sigh of relief while the healing spells took effect, only for the elf to chuckle and help them sit up against Raphael, the cut on their side now closing.

“There. A night’s rest and you’ll be good as new.”

Around them the battle was over; corpses littered the ground, with no casualties on their side. As most of the erinyes took their leave, some flying off and others teleporting back to Bel’s Forge, their commander lingered - Oreasha. She looked down at Raphael, who was still crouched with an arm around Haarlep’s shoulders. He met her gaze, but did not stand.

“Raphael. My master speaks highly of you. It was my honor to bring you aid,” she said, and raised an eyebrow at Haarlep. “You are in dire need of it, if you’re desperate enough to bring your toy to batt--”

The bolt of a hand crossbow grazed at her shoulder, causing her to trail off with a hiss. She turned, unsheathing her sword, only for the vampire spawn to point the other hand crossbow at her face, ready to shoot. Around him, the others seemed ready to jump to his defense if need be.

“Go on,” he said, baring his fangs in a smile that was no smile at all. Haarlep had no idea what that was about but they could feel it, coming off him in waves - anger. “Say it again. See how it ends.”

Oreasha scoffed. “You will take that out of my face and beg forgiveness on your knees, mortal, or forfeit your--”

“I thank you for your aid,” Raphael spoke up, causing her to glance back. “And I’ll ensure Bel knows you have performed your duties splendidly. But I shall not accept insults or threats against my allies.”

The erinyes’ features twisted a moment, but she did not protest. Her sword went back in the sheath. “... Very well. I do apologize if offense was taken. I do suggest you take cover and regain strength, as you won’t be able to summon us until tomorrow.”

“Duly noted,” Raphael muttered, and let out a long breath when she left. There was a moment of silence before he glared at Haarlep. “That was the epitome of idiocy,” he snapped, helping them back on their feet, passing their arm over his shoulders. “Trying to claw at a balor! Surely even your head cannot be that empty.”

So, no thank you was forthcoming. As usual. “You were on the ground, what was I to do? Start writing a sympathy card for your mother?” Haarlep muttered, leaning heavily on him. Their side was still really hurting. “I told her I’d keep you safe.”

“I was not about to die.”

“Looked like it to me.”

“It was merely taking a calculated risk.”

“I don’t need to remind you how your last calculated risk went, do I?”

“I don’t have to take lip from you.”

“Of course not. Why only take lip when you can have the entire mouth?”

“Ugh-- enough of your nonsense. We should find shelter.”

Haarlep let out a hum, and turned to glance at the vampire spawn. He was no longer looking at them; he was speaking with the dragonborn, quietly, before being pulled into an embrace. He didn’t so much glance in their direction for the time it took to find a place to shelter in against the side of a cliff, and Haarlep didn’t get a chance to ask until later, once they were mostly settled and Raphael was setting up the tent.

“What was it about, if you don’t mind me asking?” Haarlep asked, taking another swig from the healing potion the warlock had placed in their hand. “It seemed to rile you up quite a bit, but I took no offense. I am clearly no fighter--”

“Calling you a toy goes a fair bit beyond calling you a poor fighter, don’t you think?” the vampire cut them off, causing Haarlep to blink.

“It was not the kindest way to put it, perhaps, but as you can imagine kindness is not the rule in the Nine Hells. I am an incubus. It’s not that great a difference,” they pointed out.

The elf’s features twisted in a scowl. “You’re no toy but gods, you are an idiot.”

“Now that was uncalled fo--” Haarlep began, only for him to groan and stand abruptly, walking off without another word. They blinked, and held back a sigh before finishing the potion. Ah, mortals - so unnecessarily complicated, asking unnecessary questions. It reminded them of Dalah, asking them if they’d had a name before Haarlep. Like it mattered at all, when Haarlep was as good a name as any.

“The tent is up. If you’re inclined to join me,” Raphael spoke, snapping Haarlep from their thoughts. They turned to see him looking to the side, a frown on his face, and chuckled.

“Ah, little duke, I don’t think I’d be up to get much done toni--”

“I am aware,” Raphael cut him off, still not looking over. “That’s not what I asked.”

Well well well. Wasn’t today just full of surprises. “Are you still angry at me?”

“I am absolutely livid. Now come to rest.”

“Is that an order? Bold of you to think I’ll obey. You don’t own me anymore,” Haarlep pointed out, just for the pleasure of seeing Raphael scowl, but they did stand and slip in the tent. It wasn’t too bad in it, small as it was. They got rid of clothing, force of habit, and settled in on their side. Raphael settled as well on the other end, as far from them as he could get.

Haarlep pouted. “Are you so angry you won’t even touch me, my little brat?’

A snort. “You're in no condition to perform tonight.”

“That's not what I asked,” Haarlep pointed out. The only response they got at first was silence, and then shifting as Raphael sidled close, pressing his face against their throat.

Taking on his form and resting a wing over him like a blanket came without thought - that, too, was force of habit. Haarlep settled with a sigh, waiting to hear Raphael ask for the usual lie.

He did not, breathing quietly against their skin without a word. As Haarlep allowed themself to fall asleep, the slight stab of something a lot like disappointment was easy enough to ignore.

For now.

***

The High Cantor was not someone who often graced the vaults with her presence.

She’d arrived at the entrance just as the supervisors were letting them in for another tedious day of cleaning rooms which couldn’t possibly be any cleaner, just in case the Lord of the Eighth decided to descend in the vaults himself unannounced. Lady Antilia hadn’t so much glanced towards any of the debtors: she’d just handed something to the chief supervisor, a piece of parchment covered in Infernal writing, a seal at the bottom of it, beneath a signature written in an imperious scrawl.

“As you can see, everything is in order. Lord Mephistopheles has authorized me to take the music scrolls retrieved in Kintyre, so that I may study them.”

“Of course, High Cantor,” the chief supervisor replied, bowing his head. Few half-fiends were held in as high regard in Mephistar as Lady Antilia; being hand-picked by Lord Mephistopheles to sing his praises was worth more than pure fiendish blood, it seemed. “One of us shall escort you--”

“No need. Simply tell me where they are.”

“Lady Antilia, the new guardian--”

“I am aware of the new guardian. I am also aware that he’s to keep thieves out. Do I look like a thief to you?”

“Of course not! We worry it may not be able to tell--”

“There is magic to the seal. As long as I have the authorization on my person, he will know.”

“If only for our peace of mind--”

“Your peace of mind is your concern, not my own,” Lady Antilia cut him off, her voice a sudden gust of icy wind. “Direct me to the room where the scrolls are on display, and return to your duties.”

“... Of course, my lady. You.” The supervisor turned to Dalah. “That’s your room to clean. Show the High Cantor the way.”

Dalah did not reply, because she was not expected to: she kept her gaze low, and nodded. Once the door to the vault was opened - a long process that required deactivating several warding spells - she headed for the room followed by the High Cantor, hoping to see her out as quickly as possible. Israfel was never too obvious when he sought her out, but seek her out he did, and Dalah didn’t want anyone to notice--

“You were one of Duchess Baalphegor’s attendants, were you not? Look at me.”

Lady Antilia did not raise her voice in any way, but she may as well have shouted for the pit it opened in Dalah’s stomach. It was never a good thing to be noticed by a devil, let alone now, when she had something to-- keep safe -- hide for the first time in so many centuries. She stopped in her tracks, and nodded in silence, gaze still low. She knew full well she was admitting to two things: to having been one of Baalphegor’s attendants, and to having borne offspring for Mephistopheles.

It was a well known fact that Baalphegor picked her personal attendants among them.

“I said look at me,” Lady Antilia spoke again, a little harsher. “I will not be repeating myself.”

Dalah swallowed, and forced herself to look up. She had caught glimpses of the High Cantor before, but she was certain she had never done anything to attract her attention. So either she’d caught wind of whatever it was that Baalphegor was planning, or…

There was a sigh, and her expression shifted - not in anger or accusation, but recognition. It was easy to tell why: Dalah had felt that sense of recognition herself, when she beheld her son’s human face for the first time in the dungeons. The resemblance was glaringly obvious even through the blood and grime, even with the scold’s bridle fastened to his head.

“Whoever chose to put you to work in the vault with him has a questionable sense of humor,” Lady Antilia muttered. Dalah bit the inside of her cheek and lowered her gaze. She did not pretend not to know what she meant, and the High Cantor did not press the matter either. “... Do show me where the scrolls are,” she ordered in the end, and that was all.

The scrolls were on display in a large case of ice, and Lady Antilia did not open it right away. She just read through them first; even as she began her work, only daring cast quick glances, Dalah could tell she was not truly focusing on them. The scrolls were the reason why she’d been allowed in the vaults, but obviously not the reason why she had come there.

That came lumbering into the room within minutes, preceded by the crackling of flames and the skittering of claws on ice. Dalah held her breath and looked up to see Israfel had stilled on the doorway, all three eyes fixed on the High Cantor. Who, on the other hand, had immediately turned her back to the scrolls to look at the newcomer.

She stared a few moments before she smiled, faintly, and spoke in the guttural yet oddly melodic language of the Hells. It was not meant for mortal souls, and Dalah had no idea what she had said… but Israfel did. He let out a strangled, mournful noise before he stepped forward, head tilted on one side. The High Cantor said something else, her voice quieter, and stepped closer to him, heedless of Dalah’s presence.

When Dalah had watched Mephistopheles approach Israfel, she’d been terrified he’d harm him. Israfel, too, had been scared… but not now. He let out more clicking noises, echoing through his skulls, before hunching lower to let Lady Antilia’s outstretched hand rest on the side of the central skull, where an eye had been burned off long ago.

She brushed her thumb over half-melted bone in what was almost a caress and he leaned into the touch with another low, woeful noise. But it sounded different now - something like a plea. And suddenly, a hand still cupping his face, the High Cantor began to sing.

There were no words to it, in Infernal or otherwise, but her voice alone was enough to fill the vaults, to make Dalah forget all her fear, every thought that weighed on her mind. She’d loved music, once, when it was anything other than means to sing Mephistopheles’ praises; while she had little talent for it, she’d enjoyed playing the lyre nonetheless. With time and practice she’d even gained some skill. Yet nothing she’d ever played could compare to this, to the utter perfection of the High Cantor’s voice, to the slow and haunting tune it weaved in the cold air of the vaults.

Israfel’s eyes slipped shut, his flames burned lower, and for a few minutes he looked peaceful in a way Dalah had never known this form of his could be. He could not voice his agony, but she knew - she’d been told - that each moment of existence in that form was torment. For the first time she saw that torment taken away. It was a mercy, but to what end? Mercy did not belong to the Hells, not without something to be gained from it. And yet…

You know he’s my son. What is he to you?, Dalah wanted to ask. But she did not dare, could never dare, and she said nothing.

She looked on, listening, grateful for that brief moment of respite.

***

Used as she was to blood-curdling screams, Karlach still found them to be the absolute worst way to awaken.

Her body had responded before her mind did, which was maybe not ideal but it had saved her skin a few times. Before she even knew where the screams were coming from she was up, greataxe in hand, looking around for threats and finding… precisely none. She blinked, finally realizing that what she’d heard were not war cries.

They were screams of sheer, utter terror. And they were coming from the tent Raphael had set up to sleep - or whatever else, she’d rather not know - alongside Haarlep.

“No - no, no, no, no, no!”

“Come now, my little-- ow! Raphael, it’s-- stop that - you idiot, it’s me! Haarl--”

“LET GO OF ME!”

“Not until you calm down, I won’t. Come now, don’t make me tie you up again...”

At that point, they were all up and… sort of staring at the tent, not really knowing if they should try to get in. “Haarlep,” Durge called out, taking a step forward, almost close enough to reach out and open the tent flap if they chose to. “What happened? Is he well?”

There was a strangled noise, but it sounded muffled now. Haarlep let out an audible sigh before calling out. "All is good, dear. Our Raphael here had another of his vivid dreams, I think. Happens quite a lot, but usually-- ah, there you are. Feeling silly, aren’t we? I think the polite thing would be apologizing, my little brat. You always make such a show of being polite…”

Wyll cleared his throat, sheathing his rapier. “No apology needed, it was almost time we headed off either way. Maybe we could…uh…”

“I’ll prepare some breakfast,” Halsin spoke up, quickly, and turned to Astarion. “Would you be so kind as to help me?”

Astarion sighed, putting both daggers back at his belt. “Since you’re asking so nicely.”

That left only her, Wyll and Durge sort of standing around the tent, not knowing exactly what to do. After a few minutes during which they could only hear a few unintelligible murmurs coming from inside, the tent opened and Haarlep stepped out, still wearing Raphael’s form and entirely naked because of fucking course they would be. They stretched and shook out their wings to uncrumple them before looking up and finally noticing the three of them standing there.

“Ah, I hadn’t realized you were still here. You’re all so awfully quiet,” they sing-sang, and changed form into that of a nondescript harvest devil. Still naked, but at least not Raphael. “You need not worry, he’s perfectly fine. He just had a very unpleasant dream - not the first time.”

Karlach raised an eyebrow. “What could be so bad that it left a cambion screaming?”

“Not technically a cambion right now, is he? But either way, I do not know. He told me to leave him be and he’s not in a talkative mood. So, where’s the elf? The big o-- ah, never mind, I see him. I’ll go see if he needs help,” Haarlep declared, and walked past. Karlach made a face.

“They could at least put some pants on.”

“I don’t know, I can tell you Halsin is not the greatest fan of pants.”

“Durge, that’s not helping my headache,” Karlach groaned. Wyll chuckled, and tilted his head.

“Would a kiss make it better?” he asked, smiling.

Karlach grinned back. “Make what better?”

“Your headache.”

“What headache?” she asked, because sure enough it had fucked right off the second Wyll had smiled. Still, she very happily took the kiss before they were off to make sure the incubus didn’t bother Halsin too much while their breakfast was on the line.

***

“Raphael. Are you well?”

Durge’s voice sounded close, as though they were speaking from right outside the tent, crouched by the entrance but not coming in. Still wiping the cold sweat off himself with a damp cloth, Raphael pressed his lips together. Part of him - all of him, really, all of the wretched half of nothing he was reduced to - wanted to scream to be left in peace, but he couldn’t do that. Not now. Not when he couldn’t go a moment without thinking how his life entirely depended on their goodwill.

“I am fairly certain I did not come across as someone who is well,” he muttered in the end.

“Is it something you wish to speak of?”

Oh, of course. It was about you, and how you ran me through with the Sword of Zariel the second you had it. Yet somehow it didn’t kill me, because next thing I knew I was in chains before my father’s throne. But it wasn’t him sitting on it - just my own frozen corpse with the sword through my mouth. Yes, let us speak of it. It will make for such lovely conversation.

“No,” Raphael snapped, closing his eyes and trying to chase away the memory. One thing he could appreciate about being human, at least, was how quickly memories of his dreams dulled and faded. For his entire life, dreams would remain vivid in his memory days, weeks, even years later; now, the more minutes passed, the more details slipped away like sand through his fingers. It was a relief. “I do not wish to speak of it.”

“All right.” A pause, and the sound of someone sitting on the ground next to the entrance. Still, they did not lift the flap. “You have been on edge these past couple of days. We’re getting closer to the Sword of Zariel, aren’t we?”

Something clenched in Raphael’s stomach, as though something had grasped his guts and squeezed. “I-- of course we’re closer today than we were--”

“I know you’re concerned we’re going to turn on you. Karlach brought it up. That, and you’ve been particularly unsubtle. That offer of immortality, the comment on how your father’s vaults may just contain some artifact to help Astarion walk in the sun… and for the record, that jest about buying Wyll’s soul back from Mizora? It didn’t sound like a jest at all.”

Looking back later on - much later on - Raphael would be somewhat amused by how amateurish that had been of him, scrambling to secure some kind of life insurance in the face of mounting panic. In that moment, it only felt like that something grasping his guts had squeezed harder. He ground his teeth.

“Can you blame me,” he spat, “given how you landed me in this predicament to begin with?”

“... No. Can you blame us for not believing you would stop at conquering the Nine Hells if we gave you the Crown?”

Raphael inhaled, opened his mouth, but words didn’t leave him right away. Finally, after a long pause, he exhaled. His fingers clenched on the shirt he had yet to put back on. “I wouldn’t have,” he admitted, very quietly.

“Of course not. You’re a devil. Ambition is in your nature. I know better than most how difficult it is, to fight one’s nature - even when life gives you every reason to. And you had none.” A pause, then, “I understand our past dealings mean you cannot quite trust in our goodwill. But we’ve talked about it and there is something we need of you, once you’re whole again.”

“And what would that be?”

“Korrilla Hearthflame. Would you be able to return her soul to the House of Hope?”

Raphael frowned. Of all things he was expecting to hear, that was not it. “What use do you have for her soul?”

“We have no use for anyone’s soul. But it would make Hope very happy to have her back.”

Ah, of course. Hope and her impossible, indomitable, brainless loyalty and love and hope he could never break nor take for himself. This could only be about her.

“... Korrilla’s soul was bound to me. There is an entire process, for the rare cases when a devil dies or is demoted before laying claim on a soul they own, and it’s not a quick one. I know Hope is probably imagining a pit of flames, but odds are that her sister’s soul is currently stuck in a processing facility. Or still in the Shelves of Despond, with how quickly that goes.”

“But once you’re whole again, could you lay claim on it?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Then do it. Lay your claim, pull her out of wherever she is, and send her to her sister.”

Raphael snorted. “You seem under the impression Korrilla would be glad to be sent to her. I have to politely disagree.”

“Not your problem, that. Hope only wants a chance. If it doesn’t work out-- then it doesn’t.”

A sigh. Part of him wanted to raise the issue of the House of Hope and its rightful ownership, but he knew better than to rock the boat now. So he put the shirt on, and opened the tent flap to lean outside, to look Durge in the eye. “Is that really all you want of me in exchange for helping me take the other half of my soul back? Korrilla’s soul returned to the House of Hope?”

Durge snorted. “I’ve already promised to help you and I will, whether or not you believe me. But if it gives you peace of mind, then yes. This is something we all want for Hope’s sake, and it is something you can only do for us once you’re whole again. Half an immortal soul for one mortal soul. Does it seem like a fair exchange?” they asked, and Raphael had to laugh.

“Obviously not,” he said. “This is not in your favor. Half my soul is still worth far more than a mere mortal’s.”

“Even with the Sword of Zariel on top of it?”

“Mph. Still not even close, but an acceptable enough bargain. If you’re willing to take a loss.”

“No issues with that.”

“You’d make a poor devil.”

“Of course I would. I couldn’t even cut it as the Chosen of Bhaal.” A chuckle and they stood, holding down a hand. “So, do we have a deal?”

And really, what choice did Raphael have? It was no absolute guarantee, but it was something at least - as good an insurance as he was going to get. So he nodded, and reached up to take that hand, letting Durge help him out of the tent and up.

“I suppose we do.”

“Very well. Now that it’s sorted, I think Halsin was trying to make--”

“Breakfast!” Karlach called out. They turned to see her waving something that looked a lot like a roasted hellsboar leg.

Durge smiled. “Ah, speak of the-- huh. Did Haarlep even chew that sausage?”

“Knowing them as I do, they didn’t. They don’t have a gag reflex. You understand.”

“I didn’t think they’d need to eat--”

“They don’t.”

“So, they’re showing off?”

“As always.” Raphael sighed, then narrowed his eyes. “...Why is Astarion picking up a sausage now? I thought he only drank--”

“Oh, he’s not going to swallow it. But it looks like Haarlep started a competition.”

“Ah.” A pause, and he tilted his head. “... Well. Remarkable,” he conceded. “But I don’t think I’ll be having that sausage now.”

“I suggest you stick to the eggs today,” Durge laughed, and patted his back before heading off, leaving Raphael alone to turn and stare, in silence, at the horizon - where the Bleeding Citadel and the Sword of Zariel awaited, less than a day’s walk away.

***

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#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #the dark urge #raphael bg3 #astarion ancunin #halsin bg3 #haarlep #raphlep #wyll ravengard #karlach bg3 #haarlep bg3 #bg3 raphael #raphael the cambion #bg3 astarion #durgestarion #wyllach #hell to pay

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