#but this fic is part of it! and special to me

[romugh]

THE WIDOW'S LACE - NR

pairing- stripper!natasha romanoff x fem!reader

cw- 18+!!; top!reader, bottom!natasha, strappie (n rcv), strappie suckie (r rcv), fingering (n rcv), oral (r rcv), rough'-ish' sex? - i think that's all!

wc- 7.7k (of pure smut) I'M SORRY I'M TRYING TO WRITE SHORTER FICS I PROMISE

a/n- part 1, because YES i have THREE parts ready for this. have fun reading! (big shoutout to @traveler-at-heart; your post made me go feral, i adore you)

synopsis- you find yourself in a stripclub, then suddenly you find yourself in a stripper.

taglist- @lost-mortemanghel - dm or comment to be added to my taglist! x

Natasha wasn’t just any stripper. She was the stripper. The one everyone fell in love with the moment she stepped on stage. Her body moved like sin wrapped in silk, her confidence radiating like a flame that drew every pair of eyes in the club to her. She knew exactly what she was doing, and more importantly, she knew exactly what effect she had on people.

Men and women alike couldn’t help but stare, their lust and admiration hanging thick in the air as they watched her every move. She thrived off it, fed off the power she held over them. They came in hoping for a glance, a smile, a touch. And she delivered—just enough to keep them coming back, but never enough to give them what they really wanted. That was how she liked it. She held the control. Always.

But tonight, something was different.

Amidst the usual sea of desire-filled gazes, she noticed you. You weren’t like the others. Your eyes weren’t filled with the same desperation, the same helpless longing. You weren’t staring at her like she was a goddess to be worshipped. No, you looked at her like she was a challenge. Like you could see right through the seductive veil she’d carefully crafted. It made her stomach twist in a way she hadn’t felt in years.

As she danced, her eyes would flick to you now and again, curious and intrigued. She was used to adoration, not this steady, controlled gaze that almost felt like it was pulling her in. And when the set ended, when her body stilled but her heart raced, she found herself making a decision she hadn’t made in a long time.

She led you to the back room, a place few had ever been. Not because it wasn’t allowed, but because Natasha rarely felt the need to take anyone there. She didn’t need the intimacy the room allowed for, she didn’t crave connection. But there was something about the way you looked at her, like you were waiting for her to slip, waiting for the moment her confidence faltered, and it made her want to see how far you’d push her.

The door clicked shut behind her, the faint thrum of bass from the bar fading into the background as the two of you were swallowed by the dimly lit room. Natasha leaned back against the door, her chest still heaving slightly from the exertion of the performance, but her eyes were as sharp as ever.

“You think you’re something special, huh?” she asked, her voice smooth but with an edge of amusement, her lips curling into a teasing smirk. She tilted her head, watching you carefully, as if expecting you to crumble under her stare like everyone else did.

But you didn’t. Instead, you stepped closer, your movements slow, deliberate, the weight of your presence filling the small space. The air grew thicker with tension, and for the first time in a long while, Natasha wasn’t sure if she was the one in control anymore.

“Do you?” you countered, voice low and calm, your eyes never leaving hers.

Her smirk didn’t falter, but the challenge in your words sent a thrill through her, one she hadn’t expected. She straightened, pushing off the door slightly, closing the gap between you even more, her body mere inches from yours. She could feel your heat, and it made her pulse quicken despite herself.

“You’re not like the others,” she said, her voice dropping an octave as her gaze raked over you, taking in the steady confidence in your stance. “But you’re still here.”

“So are you.”

The silence that followed was heavy, charged with something that neither of you wanted to name just yet. Natasha could feel the tension, thick and suffocating, like static in the air before a storm. Her body was taut, her skin prickling with anticipation, but she refused to show it. She wouldn’t let you see the effect you were having on her. Not yet.

Then, in one smooth movement, you closed the remaining space between you, your body pressing into hers, pinning her gently but firmly against the door. She gasped, her breath catching in her throat at the sudden proximity, but she didn’t pull away. Her pride wouldn’t allow it.

Instead, she lifted her chin, eyes defiant even as her pulse raced beneath her skin. “What’s your plan?” she asked, her voice still steady, but with a hint of breathlessness now, a tremor that betrayed the control she was so desperately clinging to.

Your lips were so close to hers now that she could feel the warmth of your breath against her skin. But instead of kissing her, you hovered, the tension between your mouths almost unbearable. She was used to people taking what they wanted from her, always rushing to close the gap, always desperate for her touch. But you held back, and that restraint was driving her mad.

“You’ll see,” you murmured, your voice a low growl that sent shivers down her spine.

Natasha’s heart pounded in her chest, her body betraying her, a flush rising in her cheeks as the weight of your presence pressed down on her. For the first time in a long time, she wasn’t entirely sure what would happen next, and the thrill of that uncertainty coursed through her veins like fire.

Then, without warning, your hand tangled in her hair, tugging her head back, forcing her to look up at you. Natasha gasped, her lips parting in surprise, but her eyes remained defiant, daring you to do more, to push her further.

“You want this, don’t you?” you asked, your voice steady, commanding.

Her lips curled into a smirk, though her breath hitched slightly under your firm grip. “Maybe,” she replied, her voice dripping with defiance, even as her body arched toward you, craving more.

“Then show me,” you demanded, and with that, you released her hair, watching as she slid down to her knees with a fluid grace that still spoke of her control, her pride. Even now, on her knees, she wasn’t submitting. She was choosing to allow you to do this, and that made all the difference.

She looked up at you, her eyes gleaming with that familiar challenge, and then her gaze flicked to the strap you had tucked out of your pants. Without a word, she leaned in, her lips brushing against the tip of it, soft and teasing at first, like she was still testing the waters, still holding on to that last shred of control.

But the moment she tasted it, something shifted. Her tongue darted out, swirling around the tip before she took it into her mouth, her eyes never leaving yours. She wasn’t rushing, no, the Black Widow never rushed for anyone. But there was an urgency now, a tension in the way her hands gripped your thighs as she worked the strap deeper into her mouth, her cheeks hollowing with effort.

You watched as she swallowed her pride along with the length of the strap, her eyes watering slightly as she struggled to take it deeper. But she didn’t stop, didn’t pull back. She pushed herself further, her throat constricting around it, her breaths coming in short, ragged gasps as she gagged softly around the toy.

“Is this what you wanted?” you asked, your voice laced with dark amusement as you thrust your hips forward, pushing the strap deeper into her mouth. Natasha’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment, her body trembling as she struggled to take more.

Her nails dug into your thighs, her breath coming in short, desperate bursts as you fucked her mouth, the wet sounds filling the room. Her control was slipping, piece by piece, and you could see the frustration in her eyes when she looked up at you, her gaze filled with a mix of defiance and need.

You pulled back suddenly, the strap slipping from her lips with a wet pop. Natasha gasped, her chest heaving as she panted, her lips swollen and red from the effort, saliva glistening on her chin. She looked wrecked, but not broken. Not yet.

“Something wrong?” you teased, raising an eyebrow.

She narrowed her eyes. "You could help," she murmured, trying to regain some of the control she was losing, had already lost. 

“You want help?” you asked, your tone low, teasing. You pushed her head back toward the strap, watching her struggle against her own desire for dominance. She needed this—needed you—but she wasn’t ready to admit it, not fully.

Natasha’s lips parted, taking the strap back into her mouth, but you didn’t let her have it easy. Your hips thrust forward, forcing her to take it deeper than before. Her throat constricted around it, her eyes watering slightly as you pushed deeper. She gagged, her nails digging into your thighs, but she didn’t pull back.

"Is this what you wanted?" you asked, your voice harder now, more demanding. Natasha’s eyes fluttered shut, her body tense as you fucked her mouth, using her. The wet sounds filled the room, mixing with the faint bass from the bar outside.

Natasha choked slightly as you pushed in deeper, but she didn’t stop, her body trembling as she tried to take more of it. But you could see it—her frustration. The realisation that she wasn’t fully in control was pushing her over the edge.

Her breath was ragged when you finally pulled back, saliva glistening on the strap as she panted, lips trembling with effort. Her eyes met yours, and for the first time, she looked... needy. Desperate, even.

“You need more, don’t you?” you asked, gripping her hair tightly. “You think you can handle it?”

She didn’t answer right away, her throat working hard to swallow her pride along with the saliva pooling in her mouth. And then, quietly, she nodded. Just once.

“Yes,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Please.”

That was all you needed to hear. You yanked her up by the hair, spinning her around and pressing her up against the door. Natasha’s breath hitched, but she didn’t protest. She wasn’t giving up, but she was giving in.

You crashed your mouth against hers, devouring her in a kiss that left no room for doubt. This wasn’t about control anymore—it was about possession. You bit down on her lower lip, eliciting a sharp gasp from her, her body arching toward you as if she couldn’t help herself.

Natasha's gasp filled the small room, her lips bruised and swollen from your punishing kiss. She should have hated it—the loss of control, the way you commanded her body with nothing more than your presence—but instead, it made her burn. Her skin was flushed, her breath coming in short, shallow pants as you pressed her firmly against the door, your hand still tangled in her hair, holding her exactly where you wanted her.

Her body betrayed her, arching into you, her hips moving instinctively, desperate for any friction to relieve the building pressure inside her. She was wet—soaking, even—and you hadn’t even touched her properly yet. The realisation made her cheeks flush hotter, though whether it was from embarrassment or arousal, she couldn’t tell.

You pulled back just enough to look at her, your eyes dark, predatory, as they swept over her flushed face, her heaving chest, and the slight tremble in her legs. “Look at you,” you murmured, your voice a low rasp, sending shivers down her spine. “All that control you like to have… where is it now?”

Natasha swallowed hard, her throat bobbing, but she couldn’t find the words. She had no clever retort, no sharp quip to throw back at you. She was too lost in the way you were looking at her, too consumed by the need coursing through her veins.

Your grip on her hair tightened, pulling her head back slightly, forcing her to look up at you. “Answer me,” you demanded, your lips brushing against her ear, your breath hot against her skin. “Where’s all that control, Natasha?”

She shuddered, her eyelids fluttering as her body arched toward you once more. “Gone,” she whispered, barely audible, her voice trembling with the weight of her admission. It was a small crack in her armour, but it was enough. The moment you uttered her off-stage name, the one no one else knew, Natasha’s brain short-circuited.

You smirked, satisfied with her answer. “Good girl.” The praise made her stomach flip, a rush of heat spreading through her as the words sank in. She didn’t realise how badly she had wanted it—needed it—until you gave it to her.

Without another word, you spun her around, pressing her chest against the cold, hard surface of the door. Natasha’s breath hitched, her hands splaying against the wood as she tried to ground herself. You stepped closer, your body pressing against hers from behind, your fingers tracing a slow, deliberate path down her spine.

She was tense, muscles coiled tight, every nerve ending on fire as your hand slid lower, lower, until your fingers dipped beneath the waistband of her panties. The moment you touched her, a low moan slipped from her lips, her hips bucking back against you, desperate for more.

“Patience,” you murmured against her ear, your lips grazing her skin. “I’m not done playing with you yet.” Your fingers teased her, slipping through her slick folds, but never giving her enough pressure to satisfy the ache between her thighs. Natasha groaned, her head dropping forward, her forehead pressing against the door as she struggled to keep herself together.

But you didn’t let up. You kept her right on the edge, drawing out every gasp, every shiver, every desperate sound she made until she was trembling beneath your touch, her body begging for release.

“Please,” she finally whispered, her voice barely audible, but it was enough for you. You leaned in closer, your lips brushing against the shell of her ear as you pressed two fingers deep inside her without warning.

Natasha gasped, her whole body jolting from the sudden intrusion, but she didn’t protest. She couldn’t. All she could do was moan, her fingers curling against the door as her body surrendered to the pleasure you were giving her.

You moved slowly at first, your fingers thrusting in and out of her with a measured precision, building her up, making her crave more. Her hips moved in time with your hand, her breath coming in short, ragged bursts as she chased the release that was just out of reach.

But then, just when she thought she might finally tip over the edge, you stilled your movements.

“No!” The word slipped out before she could stop it, her body still writhing, desperate for the release you kept denying her. She turned her head slightly, looking at you over her shoulder, her eyes wide and pleading. “Please, don’t stop.”

You chuckled softly, your breath warm against her neck as you leaned in closer. “Look at you,” you murmured, your voice a low, dangerous rasp. “Begging for it. You really are desperate, aren’t you?”

Natasha bit her lip, her cheeks flushing hot with shame and arousal. She should have hated the way you were toying with her, should have fought back, but she couldn’t. Not when her body was burning like this, not when she was so close to falling apart beneath your touch.

Your fingers curled inside her, pressing against that spot deep within her that made her see stars. Natasha moaned, her hips bucking back against you, her whole body trembling as the pleasure built to an almost unbearable level.

“Come for me, Natasha,” you whispered against her ear, your voice soft but commanding. “I want to feel you fall apart.”

It was all she needed. With a sharp cry, her body tensed, her muscles clenching tight around your fingers as she came hard, her release washing over her like a tidal wave. She gasped for air, her body shaking as you worked her through it, your fingers never stopping, drawing out every last bit of pleasure until she was a trembling, panting mess.

When it was over, when her body finally stopped trembling, you pulled your fingers from her, a satisfied smirk tugging at your lips as you watched her slump against the door, her chest heaving, her skin flushed and glistening with sweat.

“Good girl,” you murmured, your voice low and soothing now as you brushed a strand of hair from her face. Natasha shuddered at the praise, her heart still racing as she tried to catch her breath.

Before she could fully recover, you turned her around again, pressing her back against the door as your lips crashed against hers in a bruising, possessive kiss. Natasha moaned into your mouth, her hands gripping your shoulders, pulling you closer, her body still aching for more, even after the intense release you’d just given her.

Your hands roamed her body, your fingers skimming over her bare skin. She shivered at your touch, her breath hitching as your hands moved higher, teasing the edges of her red corset.

“Do you want more?” you whispered against her lips, your voice dark and teasing.

Natasha nodded, her fingers tightening on your shoulders. “Yes,” she breathed, her voice soft and desperate.

She was still trembling, her breath ragged as she tried to recover, but you weren’t done with her yet. Not even close. You pulled back slightly, your lips brushing over her jawline, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. Her head fell back against the door with a soft thud, her skin flushed, pupils blown wide as she looked at you with a haze of lust clouding her gaze. You could see how desperate she was, how badly her body was craving more, needing to be filled.

Your hand slid down her thigh, strong fingers curling around her knee as you lifted her leg, pushing it up to her chest. The position opened her up to you in a way that made your mouth water, giving you the perfect view of her already slick and swollen entrance, quivering and glistening with arousal. Her panties had been soaked through long before, but you ripped them down her legs now, tossing them aside without a second thought. Natasha whimpered, her fingers clutching at your shoulders as her body arched, her hips instinctively pushing toward you, searching for the friction she so desperately needed.

“Look at you,” you murmured, your voice low and dark with desire as your hand travelled back up her thigh, tracing the sensitive skin with teasing slowness. “So fucking wet and ready for me.” You reached between your bodies, gripping the base of your strap as you positioned it at her entrance, the thick head brushing against her slick folds. Natasha’s breath hitched, her whole body tightening in anticipation, her hands curling into fists as she pressed back against the door, trying to steady herself.

“Please,” she breathed, her voice barely audible, but dripping with need. “Please, I need it.”

You gave a low, satisfied chuckle, your eyes never leaving hers as you leaned in close, your lips brushing against her ear. “I know you do, sweetheart,” you whispered, your voice a low rasp that sent shivers down her spine. You nudged the strap forward slightly, just enough to let the tip press into her, but not enough to give her the relief she craved. Natasha whimpered, her hips bucking toward you, desperate to take more.

“Shh,” you cooed, tightening your grip on the back of her thigh as you pressed her knee further against her chest, opening her up even more. “I’ll give you what you need, but I want to hear you beg for it.”

Natasha bit her lip, her cheeks flushed with a mixture of embarrassment and desire, but she couldn’t deny how badly she wanted it—needed it. “Please,” she whispered again, her voice trembling. “Please, fuck me… I need it so bad.”

Your smirk widened, and without another word, you slowly pushed forward, the thick head of your strap finally pressing into her tight, wet heat. Natasha gasped, her fingers digging into your shoulders as her body jolted at the sudden intrusion. She was tight, impossibly tight, her walls clenching around the silicone in a way that made it difficult to press any deeper, but the resistance only made you want it more.

“Oh fuck,” she whimpered, her voice a high-pitched whine as you continued to push inside her, every inch stretching her further, forcing her to take more of you. “You’re—too big,” she panted, her head falling back against the door as her hips jerked forward, trying to accommodate the stretch.

“Shh,” you murmured against her neck, your lips grazing the sensitive skin as you gave her thigh a reassuring squeeze. “You can take it, baby. I know you can.”

Natasha whimpered again, her walls fluttering and clenching around the thick strap, trying to pull it deeper, even though it was almost too much. You could see how tight she was, almost feel how every ridge and fake vein on the strap dragged against her slick walls, sending shivers of pleasure through her body with every inch you pushed inside. Her breath came in short, ragged bursts, her chest heaving as she struggled to take more of you, her body trembling with the effort.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” you groaned, your own voice strained with arousal as you finally bottomed out inside her, the base of the strap pressing against her soaked folds. Natasha cried out, her fingers digging into your shoulders as her hips jerked forward, trying to take you even deeper. She was stretched so wide around the strap, her walls clenching and pulsing around the intrusion, desperate for more.

“Look at you,” you murmured, your voice low and rough with desire as you glanced down at where your strap was buried deep inside her. The sight was sinful—Natasha’s leg pressed high against her chest, her pussy stretched around your thick strap, her slick juices coating the silicone and dripping down her thighs. “You look so fucking good taking all of this, baby.”

Natasha whimpered, her head tilting forward just enough to look down at the obscene sight between her legs. She could see the way her walls clenched around the strap, the way her slick arousal dripped down her thighs, and it made her body burn with embarrassment and desire. She was so full, so impossibly full, but she needed more—she needed you to move.

“Please,” she begged, her voice a high-pitched whine as her hips bucked forward, trying to get you to thrust inside her. “Please, I need you to move.”

Your smirk deepened, your other hand sliding up her thigh to grip her hip as you pulled back slightly, the thick strap dragging against her sensitive walls with agonising slowness. Natasha gasped, her whole body shuddering at the sensation, her head falling back against the door as her fingers dug into your shoulders.

“You’re so fucking tight,” you groaned, your voice low and breathless as you thrust back into her, the strap filling her once more. Natasha cried out, her body jolting at the sudden movement, her walls clenching around the silicone as you began to thrust into her with a slow, deliberate rhythm.

Natasha’s breath came in short, ragged gasps, her body trembling as the pleasure built with every thrust. She was so full, so stretched, every inch of the strap dragging against her sensitive walls, making her burn with need. Her hips bucked against you, desperate for more, and you were all too happy to give it to her.

You quickened your pace, each thrust harder and deeper than the last, the sound of your bodies colliding filling the small room. Natasha’s cries grew louder, her hands clutching at your shoulders, her nails digging into your skin as her body shuddered with every thrust. Her walls clenched around the thick strap, trying to keep you buried deep inside her, but you kept up your relentless pace, fucking her harder, faster, until her whole body was trembling, her breath coming in short, desperate bursts.

“Fuck, you’re taking it so good,” you groaned, your voice rough with arousal as you watched the way her body shook, the way her pussy stretched around your strap.  Natasha’s leg was still raised high, your grip on her thigh unwavering, giving you that sinful view of her slick, swollen pussy stretched wide around the strap.

“Please,” Natasha whimpered, her voice a breathless moan as her body trembled beneath you. “Please, I’m so close.”

You leaned in close, your lips brushing against her ear as you thrust into her even harder, the thick strap filling her completely, dragging against every sensitive inch of her walls. “Then come for me,” you whispered, your voice low and commanding. “I want to feel you come all over this strap.”

Natasha’s breath hitched, her body arching into you as the pleasure built to an unbearable level. And then, with one final, deep thrust, she shattered. A scream tore from her lips as her walls clenched tight around the strap, her whole body trembling as the orgasm ripped through her, leaving her gasping for breath.

The moment Natasha came undone, her body arched beautifully against the door, trembling violently as the wave of pleasure crashed over her. Her walls clenched so tightly around the strap that you could feel the pressure even through the silicone, and the sight of her falling apart in your hands only fueled the fire raging inside you.

You didn’t let up, not even for a second.

With each pull of your hips, the fake veins on the strap dragged against her sensitive inner walls, teasing the oversensitive flesh until Natasha was nothing but a writhing, gasping mess. Her eyes rolled back, half-lidded with pleasure, and her lips parted in a soft, helpless moan every time you thrust back into her. You could feel the way she pulsed around the strap, her orgasm still crashing through her, each thrust prolonging the pleasure, edging her closer to that line between unbearable ecstasy and delicious torment.

“God, you’re so good for me,” you groaned, your breath hitching as you felt the silicone slip inside her once more, filling her to the hilt. Natasha whimpered, her head falling back against the door, her nails biting into your shoulders. Her leg quivered in your grasp, and you couldn’t help but smirk at how utterly wrecked she was beneath you.

With a low growl of satisfaction, you pressed her thigh even higher, opening her up even more, pushing her to the very limit of her flexibility. The new angle had the thick strap sinking impossibly deep, and Natasha gasped, her entire body jolting at the sensation. As her free leg instinctively wrapped around your waist, anchoring herself to you, you felt the shift in her balance—she had nothing keeping her standing anymore, fully depending on you.

“Fuck!” Natasha cried out, her voice cracking as you pulled back and slammed forward again, the wet sound of your bodies colliding echoing through the room. “I— I can’t— it’s too much!” You pressed her up against the door even more, using your strength to hold her in place as her body trembled under the onslaught of pleasure, the desperation in her voice only igniting your need for her further.

Her whimpers were nearly incoherent, her face flushed with exertion, but you could see the glint of desire still lingering in her eyes. She was teetering on the edge of overstimulation, but you knew she craved every second of it. She wanted to feel all of it—the stretch, the burn, the fullness. The way the strap forced her walls to accommodate the thickness, how each and every detail of your faux-cock dragged along her inner muscles, heightening her pleasure with each stroke.

"You take it so well, baby," you cooed, your voice dripping with confidence and dominance. "You’re doing so well. Look at you—fucking yourself on my strap like this."

Her breath hitched again at your words, a shiver of arousal rolling through her already trembling body. She was utterly at your mercy, and you loved it. You loved how she fought against the overwhelming pleasure, how she clenched so desperately around the strap, trying to draw it deeper into her slick heat. Her need for more, despite the delicious torment, was written all over her flushed face, her parted lips, her half-lidded eyes filled with lust and desperation.

You picked up your pace again, your hips snapping forward with a relentless rhythm that had Natasha gasping for air, her nails scraping down your back as she arched off the door, her body shuddering with each deep, powerful thrust.

“Oh god—oh fuck,” she whimpered, her breath coming in short, ragged bursts. The leg wrapped around you trembled, barely able to hold on as her body shook under the intense pleasure you were giving her. Her thighs were slick with her arousal, her pussy dripping with how desperately wet she was, and you couldn’t help but groan at the sight of her coming undone again and again.

“Good girl,” you whispered, your voice soft but firm as you leaned in closer, pressing your lips to her ear. “Look at yourself. Look at how fucking good you look with my cock buried inside you.”

Natasha’s eyes fluttered open, her gaze hazy as she glanced down between your bodies. The sight made her moan—a deep, breathless sound that sent a fresh wave of arousal crashing through her. She could see it—the thick, veined strap disappearing into her, stretching her wide, her swollen folds glistening with her arousal. Every thrust made her slick pussy tighten around the silicone, and the sight of it only spurred you on.

You adjusted your grip on her thigh, pulling her leg even higher, pushing her closer to the door as you thrust harder, deeper, the wet sound of her slick arousal mixing with her breathless moans.

“Oh god—fuck!” Natasha cried out, her walls fluttering violently around the strap as you drove her toward yet another climax. “I— I’m gonna—fuck, please don’t stop!”

Her entire body tensed, her head falling back against the door as she teetered on the edge of another orgasm. Her walls clenched around the strap, trying to milk every inch of it as you thrust into her with a brutal, unforgiving force.

“That’s it,” you groaned, your voice low and commanding as you felt her walls begin to spasm around the strap, her breath hitching as her climax built. “Come for me again, Natasha.”

With one final, hard thrust, Natasha shattered, her entire body jerking as a scream ripped from her throat. Her walls clamped down around the thick silicone, pulsing wildly as her orgasm tore through her, sending wave after wave of pleasure crashing over her. She was trembling, gasping for air as her body convulsed beneath you, her slick juices dripping down her thighs, soaking both of you.

You kept thrusting into her, slow and deep, prolonging her pleasure as you rode out her orgasm with her. Natasha’s body jerked with each thrust, her breath coming in short, desperate bursts as her hands clung to your shoulders, trying to ground herself in the overwhelming sensation.

When her trembling finally began to subside, you slowed your pace, easing her leg down from where it had been pressed against her chest, her body slumping against you in exhaustion. Her head fell against your shoulder, her breath hot and ragged against your skin as you gently pulled out of her, the slick strap glistening with her release.

As Natasha’s trembling body sagged against you, her breath still coming in ragged bursts, you could feel the way her grip on your shoulders loosened and her leg let go of your waist. The aftermath of her climax left her shaky, her muscles quivering from the overwhelming pleasure you’d just wrung from her body. But even in her exhausted state, you could sense her lingering need. It simmered beneath her flushed skin, a wantonness that never quite faded, even when she was wrecked like this.

Without a word, Natasha sank down, her legs buckling as she willingly dropped to her knees. The sight alone was enough to send a fresh surge of heat coursing through you—Natasha, her thighs glistening with her release, her hair dishevelled, and her lips parted as she knelt between your legs. Her eyes, half-lidded and dark with desire, flickered up to meet yours, a silent plea for permission lingering in her gaze.

Your hand instinctively found its way to her cheek, fingers brushing across the warm skin as you gently tilted her face up. Her lips ghosted over your knuckles, her tongue darting out to taste the salt of your skin before she shifted her focus downward. Her gaze dropped to the strap still glistening between your legs, slick with her arousal, and you could see the hunger spark in her eyes.

“Natasha…” you whispered, your voice thick with a mixture of affection and desire.

But she didn’t need any further encouragement. Her hands, still trembling slightly, reached for the base of the strap, steadying it as she licked her lips. The tip was soaked in her juices, glistening under the soft light, and Natasha stared at it for a moment, almost mesmerised by the evidence of her own pleasure. Then, with a soft moan, she leaned forward and wrapped her lips around the head of the strap, sucking it into her mouth with slow, deliberate movements.

You groaned softly, your hand moving to rest on the back of her head, fingers tangling in her hair as you watched her work. Natasha’s tongue swirled around the head of the strap, tasting herself on the silicone, her mouth moving in languid strokes as she took more of it into her mouth. Her release coated her lips, shining as she sucked the slickness off, moaning low in her throat as she worked to clean the strap.

Her eyes fluttered closed, her focus entirely on the task at hand as she bobbed her head, her lips stretching around the girth. You could feel the pressure of her movements even through the toy, the way she sucked and licked with such dedication. It was intoxicating—the sight of her on her knees, her mouth filled again with your strap, the faint, almost sinful sound of her moans vibrating against the silicone as she sucked her own release off of it.

“My good girl,” you murmured, your voice low and full of praise. “Look at you…so eager to clean up after yourself.”

Natasha whimpered in response, the sound muffled as her mouth slid down further on the strap, her cheeks hollowing as she sucked harder. Her hands came up to cradle the base, stroking it gently as her tongue flicked over the veined surface, cleaning every ridge, every dip, savouring the taste of herself.

You could feel her submission in every movement, the way she surrendered completely to this moment. Her mouth moved with such deliberate care, as if this was another way of showing her devotion, her gratitude for the pleasure you’d given her. The way she worshipped the strap was almost reverent, her tongue lapping up every drop of her arousal, cleaning it with slow, sensual strokes.

“Does it taste good?” you asked softly, your fingers tightening slightly in her hair.

Natasha’s eyes fluttered open, her gaze locking with yours as she pulled back just enough to speak, her lips still wrapped around the head of the strap.

“Yes,” she whispered breathlessly, her voice hoarse with lust. “So good…”

And with that, she took the strap deeper, moaning as her mouth stretched again to accommodate it. The sight was almost too much—her lips wrapped around the thick girth, her tongue working tirelessly to clean it, her eyes dark and hooded with lust as she looked up at you, completely at your mercy.

You couldn’t resist. With a low growl, you tightened your grip on her hair and gently guided her head forward, watching as more of the strap disappeared into her mouth. Natasha didn’t hesitate, didn’t resist. She eagerly followed your lead, sinking down on the strap with a soft, muffled moan as she took it deeper, her tongue swirling around the silicone as she sucked harder.

The wet, obscene sounds of her mouth working the strap echoed in the room, mingling with her soft whimpers of pleasure. Each time she pulled back, her lips glistened with slickness, her saliva mixing with the remnants of her release as she diligently cleaned the strap. The sight, the sounds, the intoxicating feel of her submission—it was overwhelming, and you couldn’t help but groan in response. It felt so different from just twenty minutes ago, the air now thick with an emotional tension that left both you and her craving more.

“Such a good girl…” you murmured, your voice thick with desire. “You love this, don’t you? Love tasting yourself on my cock like this?”

Natasha moaned again, her eyes rolling back slightly as she nodded, her mouth still full of the strap. Her fingers tightened around the base, her tongue swirling with renewed intensity as she sucked harder, her moans vibrating against the silicone in a way that had your own breath hitching in your throat.

You tugged her hair gently, pulling her back just enough to see her flushed, eager face, her lips even more swollen and slick from her efforts. She looked up at you, her eyes filled with lust and devotion, and the sight of her—completely wrecked, completely at your mercy—made your heart race.

“Finish it, once more,” you whispered, your voice soft but commanding. “Clean it all up, baby.”

Natasha’s breath hitched, and with one last, eager moan, she sank down again, taking the strap as deep as she could, her lips stretched tight around the girth. Her tongue worked tirelessly, lapping up the last remnants of her release, her fingers stroking the base as she cleaned every inch of the strap with slow, deliberate care.

By the time she finally pulled back, the strap was glistening with nothing but her saliva. She looked up at you, her eyes hazy with pleasure, her mouth hanging open slightly as she panted for oxygen.

Natasha’s chest heaved, her lips still glistening as she knelt before you, a blend of exhaustion and determination in her eyes. Her body was clearly spent, trembling from the intensity of everything that had just unfolded, yet even in her weary state, a flicker of something more shone through. That relentless desire, the insatiable need to please you, to reciprocate the pleasure you had so generously given her, burned bright within her. It was as if the connection between you two transcended the physical, igniting a fire that she couldn't ignore.

With a shaky breath, Natasha reached for the harness still strapped to your hips. Her fingers, though trembling from exhaustion, worked quickly to undo the buckles, each one coming undone with a soft click. You could feel her need—this wasn’t just about giving; it was about showing you that she was still capable, that she could offer you more. Her eyes met yours briefly, the unspoken plea for permission lingering in their depths before she yanked the harness off completely.

Without a word, she tossed it behind you, the strap landing on the floor with a dull thud, completely forgotten. What mattered now was you—your pleasure, your release.

“Natasha, you don’t have to…” you started to say, but your words were cut short as she leaned forward, her hands gripping your thighs with surprising strength, anchoring you in place.

“I want to,” she whispered, her voice hoarse but resolute. “I need to.”

Before you could protest further, Natasha dove in, her mouth finding you with an eagerness that made your breath hitch. Her lips latched onto your sensitive folds, tongue immediately parting you as she licked a slow, deliberate stripe up your centre, savouring every inch of your heat. A low moan escaped your lips, and as soon as Natasha heard that first sound of pleasure, it was like a spark ignited within her.

She dove in deeper, her tongue working you with relentless precision, swirling and flicking against your most sensitive spots, teasing and tasting in a way that had your head thudding against the door in front of you. Her hands gripped your thighs tighter, keeping you spread open for her as she devoured you like she couldn’t get enough. Each stroke of her tongue, each gentle nip of her lips, sent sparks of pleasure shooting through your body, and it didn’t take long before you were moaning openly, your hand tangling in her messy hair as you rocked your hips against her mouth.

“Fuck, Natasha…” you gasped, your voice thick with lust and awe. “Just like that…”

Your praise only fueled her further. Every moan, every word of encouragement that slipped past your lips made her work harder, her tongue moving faster, her lips sucking greedily at your clit. She was completely lost in it, lost in the way you responded to her touch, in the way your body trembled beneath her mouth. It was like she couldn’t get enough of your taste, couldn’t get enough of the sounds you made—the way you were falling apart for her.

And as you moaned her name again, louder this time, Natasha whimpered softly against you, her hips involuntarily bucking as if she could feel every ounce of pleasure you were experiencing. The connection between the two of you was palpable, an unspoken bond that seemed to tether your bodies together, each of your reactions sending waves of sensation through both of you.

She could hear the way your breath hitched, feel the way your thighs clenched around her head, and it drove her wild. Your pleasure was her pleasure, your release was her reward. Natasha’s own arousal was building again, the slickness between her thighs only intensifying as she tasted you, her own body responding to the rhythm of your moans, the raw, unfiltered sounds of your ecstasy.

“Oh fuck–Natasha…” Your breath was ragged, your body on the edge, teetering precariously close to that release she was so desperate to give you.

With a final flick of her tongue and a deep, sucking pull at your clit, you came undone. The orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, pulling you under in a flood of overwhelming pleasure. Your hands clenched in her hair as your back arched off, your thighs squeezing her head tight as you cried out, your voice echoing through the room in breathless, blissful moans.

Natasha didn’t stop. Even as you writhed above her, she kept her mouth on you, lapping up every drop of your release, savouring every moan, every tremor of your body as you rode out your orgasm. And as you came, something shifted in her—something broke free inside her.

She felt it—the sudden, uncontrollable surge of pleasure that washed over her as your moans hit their peak. It was the mere sight of you, the way you fell apart for her, the way your body shook with pleasure, the way you moaned her name like she was the only thing that mattered that set it off.

Her own release hit her like a lightning strike, her body going rigid as her climax overtook her without warning. Natasha gasped, her mouth still pressed against you as she came, the shock of her own orgasm freezing her in place. The pleasure ripped through her, stealing her breath, her thighs quivering uncontrollably as she came just from the sight of you.

She pulled back from you slightly, her lips still wet with your release, her eyes wide with disbelief as her body shook with the aftershocks of her own unexpected orgasm. Her chest heaved as she tried to catch her breath, her mind reeling from what had just happened. You were both wrapped in the warmth of the moment when suddenly, your phone rang loudly in the silence.

You reached for it, reluctantly pulling away from Natasha’s gaze. “Yes, I’ll be there in ten minutes, Pepper,” you replied, your voice a mix of disappointment and urgency.

Natasha smiled softly at you, a bittersweet feeling bubbling up inside her as she leaned into your touch, your hand gently stroking her cheek. There was a warmth in the gesture that made her heart flutter, an affirmation of the bond that had just blossomed between you two. She felt seen, cherished, even amidst the whirlwind of everything that had just transpired.

“Tell him to prepare some dessert,” you teased, a smirk tugging at your lips. “I haven’t had the chance to have mine here. Hopefully next time I will, the menu looks promising.”

Natasha’s cheeks flushed a deep shade of crimson as she caught the glimmer of mischief in your eyes. You could see her heart racing, a delightful mix of embarrassment and exhilaration washing over her. The intimate nature of your exchange lingered in the air, and the thought of your teasing words sent a rush of warmth through her.

“Next time,” she echoed softly, her voice barely above a whisper, as the realisation settled in that you would be back for her.

With a final glance at her, you turned to leave, a flutter of anticipation sparking between you two. As you made your way towards the door, Natasha’s eyes followed you, filled with longing and excitement for what lay ahead. And as you stepped outside, you left behind the strap, a tangible reminder of your connection, a symbol of what you had shared.

The door clicked shut behind you, leaving Natasha alone in the room, her heart racing as she thought about everything that had just happened. She picked up the strap, feeling its weight in her hands, and a wicked smile spread across her lips.

She couldn’t wait for your return. She was already crafting ideas for the next time you’d come back, each thought fueling her desire for you even more. Because this was only the beginning, and she was ready to embrace whatever came next, knowing that you would both find your way back to each other, intertwined by the widow’s lace.

[monstersflashlight]

Okay, hear me out: Oviposition with your insect-morph or alien partner that can go either to a cnc/dubcon play space if you want, but like...reader slowly becomes addicted to being a broodmother. Bonus points if reader is a fembunny with strong breeding instinct? :3

A/N: Hi there! This was hella fun to write, I though it would make more sense not to make reader a bunny hybrid but hope this meets all your expectations, I personally think turned out pretty good. (Also want to recommend this Stardew Valley fic because it’s the first time I read brood-mother kink and it def changed my perspective). Enjoy!

Brood-mother

Insect-monsters x fem!reader || oviposition, free use, heavy dub-con, breeding, brood-mother kink, aphrodisiacs

You walked into that cave without idea, without knowing what the fuck you were supposed to do there. When the wizard hired you for a special mission, going as far as looking specifically for you because apparently you had everything he needed, you didn’t argue much. He said some cryptic stuff as he gave you instructions to walk into the cave and look for something, he only said you’ll know when you found it, and you, silly you, accepted. It was good money, and it seemed simple enough, even if the wizard was creepy as fuck and you didn’t even know what you were looking for.

You had been walking in the cave for less than ten minutes when you felt something against your back, and you fell face down to the ground. You didn’t have time to turn around, didn’t have time to react before you felt some slimy substance around your hands and ankles. It was disgusting and you tried to get it off but you couldn’t move, the substance pinned you down to the ground. You were panicking, unable to move in any direction… and then you felt it. It was like tiny pokes against your back, against your legs, and buzzing sounds that made you shiver. What was that?

You turned your head to the side in time to see a bunch of crawling-insects running in your direction, you were about to scream when something was shoved inside your mouth. You didn’t know what it was, but it tasted amazing and you latched to it, sucking strongly to get more of that substance. The reaction was fast, your whole body getting hotter as you felt the first insects getting to your body.

The tore your clothes off, your body being stripped as you groaned and moaned against the weird thing in your mouth, unable to scream, unable to stop sucking that sweet nectar that was driving you slowly insane. You barely remembered the words of the wizard when they said you would be prepared and ready when they arrived. What seemed cryptic at the moment made total sense when you realized they were preparing you for them, they were making sure you were fertile and breedable for them.

They needed a queen… and they found you.

That was your last thought before you felt something akin to a cock was shoved into your pussy without preamble. It felt weird, ridged and harder than a human penis, but it rubbed against your walls in a way that made your head dizzy with pleasure as you got wetter and wetter. It didn’t take long before you felt the appendage parting inside of you, the side pressing against your G-spot, the tip probing at your cervix before something was inserted into your uterus. An egg. They were laying eggs inside of you. You wanted to run away, to scream… to care. But it felt so good. It felt too good and your brain wasn’t even yours anymore, you could only think of pleasure and breeding, of being full of them so you could be their queen. Their real queen.

That cock was pulled out and another took its place, thrusting into your body without mercy as you squirmed in pleasure, your pussy convulsing as you came around it. Another egg was pushed inside you. And another dick shoved inside your dripping pussy. An egg. A dick. An egg. A dick. It was an intoxicating circle that drove your brain and body into a frenzy.

You’d never felt something like that, being at the complete mercy of creatures you couldn’t even name was making you aroused, aroused to the point of juices pooling under your body. Maybe it was the aphrodisiac, but deep down you knew you were just perverted, and the fact that you were just a fuck-hole to breed for them… it made you hot. The idea that you will be pregnant with all their eggs… it made your clit tingle harder as another egg was pushed inside of you. It was intoxicating.

It continued for hours, they pumped you so full of eggs you felt about to explode, your stomach distended pushed your body into an awkward angle that only made your pussy more available for the next round. So many of them filled you, you lost count of how many eggs there could be inside of you. You came so many times you couldn’t keep your eyes open anymore.

But then the buzzing stopped. “Shush little explorer, I’ve sent them away, they already did their job… They found the brood-mother,” the creepy voice of the wizard resonated inside your half asleep brain as you felt the slimy restrains disappear and he took your body, too tired to fight back.

[rhenuvee]

Pretty Privilege [Alhaitham x reader]

A/N: not Alhaitham managing to sneak his way into my drafts for a third time, reader is from Kshahrewar, lovesick!Alhaitham (Alhaitham's a jerk to everyone but you, might be ooc), lowkey could connect to my other Alhaitham fics

Warnings: drinking mentioned but not alcohol, reader gets a little emotional if you squint (not used to affection)

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

Your boyfriend Alhaitham was... something else. You were new to the whole relationship thing, so adjusting to the dating life was something you had to get used to. What you still couldn't fathom were the "perks" Alhaitham has granted you, as his partner.

"Alhaitham, what is this?"

His roommate Kaveh stood with his arms crossed, looking at the scene before him: You were sitting on the couch, meticulously making your model of your project due soon. It was clear from your eyes that sleep wanted to overtake you, but of course you couldn't give in. But the worst part was Alhaitham, who was sitting next to you- though it was more like behind you by the way he rested his chin on your shoulder.

Kaveh is all for supporting your relationship, and on a normal day he'd treat you guys like friends (he'd never say that to Alhaitham). But in this situation, there was something particular irritating.

"...what do you mean." Alhaitham asks in a bored manner.

"It is almost midnight and you're still up."

"So?"

"So, you're usually asleep by at least two hours ago."

"And?"

"...You- You'd usually complain about something like this! How many times have you bashed me for working on my projects this late, and now you're here with (y/n) staying up! Nothing against you (y/n), you know I'd understand." Kaveh adds in the last part quickly, seeing as his complaint might seem directed towards the wrong person.

"All good." You reply robotically, yawning right after.

"Remember what you said a few weeks ago about the lows of Kshahrewar? I sure hope you have something to explain that and the spot you're in right now, particularly taking back what you said."

"Mhm, Kshahrewar is the best darshan..." Alhaitham mumbles halfheartedly in a monotone voice, almost nuzzling his head closer into your neck.

"...Somehow I don't feel satisfied with that." Kaveh sighs, arms loosening from their crossed position. It was clear that the Scribe didn't actually mean it, or at least was occupied with other things that made his answer seem insincere. The architect leaves, not finding any solution to the issue.

However, the obvious bias doesn't end here. Something similar happened the next week, except the victim wasn't Kaveh (for once). You were waiting in line at a restaurant near the Akademiya.

It sure gets busy during lunch time... You think. And even busier because of the special gift they were giving away…

"(Y/n)." A familiar voice calls to you. You look up from your daze and realize it's your boyfriend.

"Alhaitham, what are you doing here?" Suddenly, you start to feel pairs of eyes drift to your conversation.

"More like what are you doing here." He replies sharply. You internally giggle at your boyfriend's sassiness, but don't fault him because this time there is an abnormally long line this time.

"Well... they're giving away a free TCG card with their new sandwich." You say shyly. You feel a sigh coming from him for lining up for a little thing, but...

"Why don't you just ask the owner? I know him." He replies.

"...What do you mean, ask the owner? You mean just go up to the front?" You ask.

"Yes."

"-Alhaitham. I can't just do that, I can't cut in line." You stammer. You can't believe your boyfriend would actually condone this type of behaviour. He shrugs and walks off. You huff, thinking how sometimes you can't read him.

A few minutes later, you see him walk back with... a sandwich and TCG card in hand.

"Alhaitham." You cross your arms and look right at him. However, of course it doesn't intimidate him, as he just stares right back with the same deadpan eyes.

"Yes?"

You walk out of line, quickly pushing him until you both reach a less crowded area. Because you're behind him trying to shove him by his stupidly large torso, he secretly smiles at how cute you are, trying to take control of the situation and how you puff your cheeks out because of it.

"Alhaitham, you did not just go to the front and ask for the sandwich." You say, starting to scold him.

"I got the card too." He says, waving it. You tsk, snatching the sandwich and card out of his hand. He snorts at your slight frustration in his literalness.

"Alhaitham, you didn't have to. I could have waited in line like a normal person." You pout, trying to make him see the bad sides of his actions.

"The owner would have kept one for me anyway. And I wouldn't let you stand outside for so long. Especially with how heavy your bag is- don’t Kshahrewar students carry bricks?" He explains, sitting down on the stone.

"That's not really the problem..." You say, even though that last part was quite true. "Even though the owner kept one aside, the people in line who saw that would have felt really mad at you for cutting."

"Why should I care about what they think?"

"Alhaitham!" Sometimes you hate how quick and honest his responses are. You sigh again. By now you already knew about your boyfriend's habits and how straightforward he thinks- and most of the time he is right. But at least you know he had good intentions.

"Don't do it again, please?" You say, sitting and putting your hands on his chest. "At least not without asking me first."

"Okay, fine." He's willing to make compromises, especially when you look at him so dearly. You eat your sandwich in peace, giving Alhaitham a few bites here and there, and talk about things that happened today.

Buuttttt, it still doesn't end there. A couple months later, the semester ends and you decide to go out and have drinks with your friends. Alhaitham also mentioned he was going to be there with his friends, but he'd be at another table. It's a win-win, plus it's good to have him there for safety.

"And then, he just brushed everyone off! So I don't think I'd ever have a chance with him." Your friend says sadly.

"I don't think anyone has a chance with him." Another chimes in. You and your friends laugh at the wittiness, happy to be enjoying each others presence after a long semester of working and studying.

"I've seen him carry an anemo vision." You say from passing by him a few times.

"I've seen that too!" Your friend remarks, and the rest nod along. "He's probably very strong."

"I hope you guys have been enjoying your night!" A waiter says as he comes to the table. "Here are your bills."

The waiter hands your friends their bills, but doesn't hand you one.

"Excuse me! You didn't give me mine." You say quickly, before he leaves again.

"Oh! Your boyfriend has already paid for yours." The waiter says, pointing to his table, then heading off. Your friends coo at how sweet you guys were, and suddenly you have a sense of deja vu. After your friends pay their bills for the night, you immediately walk over to Alhaitham's table.

"Alhaitham."

"Yes?" Once again, you're hating how deadpan he sounds when you know he knows what you're about to say.

"You didn't have to."

"I did." You frown again.

"I'll be outside, saying bye to my friends." You say after sighing. Alhaitham nods, and his friends can only smile when they see another occurrence of him spoiling you.

"Why is it that (y/n) gets much better treatment from Alhaitham, yet also doesn't approve of it?" It's Kaveh's turn to pout now.

"I think it's more of 'acceptance' for them, and let's be honest I'd have a hard time accepting kindness from Alhaitham." Cyno says matter-of-factly. Tighnari's ears perk up at Cyno's blunt yet witty remark, while Kaveh can only grumble in agreement. Alhaitham, surprisingly has a small smirk on his face despite the little jab from Cyno. Kaveh's frown deepens.

"I need another drink." Kaveh crosses his arms. Tighnari and Cyno look at each other confused.

Alhaitham abruptly bids his goodbyes, walking off with a satisfied smile. He joins you and catches up, hearing that you've just said goodbye to your friends as well. After a few minutes of walking, Alhaitham breaks the silence.

"The boys think I've been treating you a lot better than them." He says. You turn and look at your boyfriend, a little surprised that he's starting the conversation this time. Usually when you have time alone, you're the one who starts talking. But you close your eyes and smile, taking this as a sign that he's had a good time- even if he won't admit it.

"It's because you do." You say. You’re surprised he brought this up. You're aware of Alhaitham spoiling you since your relationship started, and it has pushed you into a realm of affection you didn't know of. It's still hard to grasp for you, since it is your first relationship, and he makes you happy.

"Is there a problem with it?" He asks.

"...no." You say shyly. The question he asks has a bit more of a unsure 'no' for an answer than you say, but Alhaitham seems to catch on. "It's just hard to get used to."

"Hard to get used to? You deserve it though." Alhaitham says. And you almost want to cry the way you know he's being genuine, but the words feel foreign to you. He senses your emotions, and brings you to a stop, just a few steps away from his house.

"Alhaitham..." You can barely croak out a sentence. He gives you a soft kiss on your forehead, running his fingers near the spot, soothing you.

"And besides, what they don't know is that I do treat everyone fairly. Including you." He says. You cock your head in confusion. His statement sounds normal, but you can't help but think he means otherwise. "Remember your overdue library book? I did hold you accountable that time."

You quirk your head in confusion. You do remember that, and how panicked you were when you realized after he pointed it out. But you were certain he did not hold you accountable, which was terrible especially with his role in the Akademiya now.

"No you didn't." You remark.

"I did. I told you to give me a kiss."

"Wh- a kiss is a romantic thing, not transactional! You mean to tell me that was conpensation?" You sputter in disbelief. He nods, and you can't stay mad to him. "Alhaitham, you're so mushy-"

"I agree. Add insufferable to that as well." A voice interrupts. Your head snaps to the source, which is of course a mopey looking Kaveh. "Also remind me next time, to walk twenty meters behind you guys instead, when walking home."

You open your mouth to say something, but end up staying silent when you watch Kaveh drag himself inside your shared home. You frown, and Alhaitham looks at you, knowing what you're thinking- the same you've thought several times by now.

"Do not." He says abruptly.

"I will buy Kaveh a cake." You say, not paying attention to your boyfriend. You were aware of their bickering, but a lot of times you can’t help but feel bad for Kaveh. Since you’re in the mix now, you feel partially responsible for the privilege you get from Alhaitham- even on his good side, it’s hard to watch others get ignored by him.

"No."

"And a coffee."

"No."

"Yes." You childishly protest against your boyfriend’s lack of empathy (which he does on purpose) towards who’s supposed to be, his best friend. “Tomorrow I will go buy him a cake and a coffee.”

“He can get his own cake and coffee.” He says sarcastically.

“Yes, but I’m sure it’ll make him much happier if he received it as a gift.” You explain.

“You don’t have to.” Alhaitham says, this time with a little bit of softness. You smile, recognizing his efforts to try and persuade you because you know he doesn’t understand why you care about these things. But this time, you won’t waver.

“But I will.” You retort, walking towards the entrance and grabbing the doorknob. “Besides, you said you hold me accountable, won’t you?”

Alhaitham smirks at your cheekiness as you sway your hips when you walk to leave him standing by himself, a satisfied look on your face after referencing the past conversation. He sighs and shakes his head, thinking of how bold you’ve become. He likes it.

“Of course I will.”

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

Me: I love Diluc, he is my husband.

Also me: *writes 3 long ass finished fics on Alhaitham*

[kedsandtubesocks]

drive ╏ roll-a-trope fic challenge

Joel Miller x F!Reader

summary: An early birthday celebration trip for Joel arrives & you’re excited to tag along… there’s just something you’ve been meaning to tell him about

prompt: #2 - road trip

warnings/tags: no explicit warnings but all my writing is 18+ only so MDNI, no use of y/n, pre-outbreak canon, established relationship, brief pov switch, light gendered language usage, Sarah Miller being the best, thoughts of marriage & children, hidden/surprise pregnancy, fluff & then ending angst (I’m sorry)

word count: 2k

a/n: thank you so much to @burntheedges for putting on this challenge for us, I’m so grateful to be a part of this thanks again Kate! Divider by the amazing @saradika-graphics (thank you & ily) & to you, if you’re reading this - thank you so much ♡

The drive from Austin to Corpus Christi was not one Joel took often, but this time it’s special.

This is first road trip with his girls, you and Sarah. It’s an early birthday week celebration for him. And honestly? He could just be on the road, driving around all day with no destination, and he wouldn’t mind a damn minute.

You by his side, Sarah in the back singing along to the radio - he never thought he’d ever find this slice of heaven before him.

He knew how nervous you were about the trip, knowing this would be another big step in the relationship. But with how effortlessly natural it was seeing you wake up in his bed, help pack the truck, even make breakfast for Sarah… a settling sensation filled his chest like you were always meant to be here, like realizing you were a finishing stitch into Joel’s life.

It’s a perfect early birthday treat he wants to savor forever.

With the windows rolled down, the traces of the morning sunlight illuminating the air, the beat of the radio, and you laughing at something Sarah said, Joel Miller is beyond content. The scenery from the Austin city limits blurs into soft hills that turn into stunning stretches of green. Then the towering palm trees arrive.

The few benefits of the Texas heat is still getting beach days in mid September.

The shimmer of the ocean already in sight perks Sarah up, and Joel beams.

“Dad, we have to go to those beach shops first please.” She urges, then eagerly explains to you the lure of the way too ridiculous tourist trap spots.

“Some even have these huge fake sharks in front you can take pictures with.” Sarah paints the image with brilliant excitement.

You’re glancing back at Sarah, hanging on her every word with graced patience, and Joel thinks his heart might melt out of his ribs.

He’s found something special here with you. He almost feels selfish at how badly he wants to hold onto it tight, never let you go.

As promised, before heading to the shoreline, Joel stops by a tourist shop that has a very large plastic shark wide with its teeth open before the door.

You laugh, twinkling and brilliant seeing it.

“See I told ya!” Sarah laughs happily.

“Oh we gotta take all the pictures with it.” You eagerly suggest and Joel wonders…

If maybe inside he grabs one of those ridiculous sea shell rings and propose to you right here and now.

-

The shop stands coated in a unique type of plastic over coated painted wonder. There’s a painted mural of seagulls flying over a bright pink sky on the wall. Another wall is coated top to bottom in various t-shirts that make you and Sarah giggle. So many wind chimes made of seashells hang from above.

You can’t believe your eyes trying to soak it all in.

“They even have hermit crabs here?” You’re a bit surprised at the rows of take home creatures that crawl around in their containers.

“Yes, ugh I’ve been trying to convince dad to let me get one for years.” Sarah sighs slightly pouting. “But he isn’t a fan.”

“Say it’s his birthday present.” You joke, and Sarah snickers.

You adore Joel’s daughter. Sarah is bright, incredibly clever and sweet, a pure wonder you’re grateful has allowed you into her and her dad’s life.

She even has been secretly telling you what she might be getting Joel for his birthday.

“I think I’m gonna just end up fixing his watch for him. I know he won’t ever do it himself.” She’s a considerate and deeply caring soul. Something she takes after her dad beautifully.

“Well if you need me to cover for you or take you, I can help.” You offer.

Sarah turns to you wearing the kindest smile and thanks you for the offer.

“But I think I got a plan. If it doesn’t work out though, trust me you’re my first alibi.” She nods firm.

“I’m honored, just don’t have me breaking you out of jail just yet.” You grin, and she playfully nudges you.

It’s affectionate. You learned fast the Millers love to tease, love showing their affection with quick wit and deep bonding. You’re grateful to be a part of that now.

Sarah eventually wanders back to Joel. You wonder if she’s really going to try and persuade him to get a hermit crab.

Wandering on your own now, you stumble across more clothing.

Specifically, you find yourself gravitated to the baby clothes section.

The small little onesies with dolphins on them, and the few cute shirts that say my first beach trip, all tug at your heart.

It takes everything in you not to grab one.

But you don’t want to spoil your birthday gift to Joel, not yet. You just found out earlier this week after all.

You just had to wait a little longer. You hope it will be worth it.

Before Joel or Sarah can spot you, you try finding one of the Millers first. Sarah of course chats with one of the cashiers at the hermit crab counter, and you snicker walking towards Joel. He stands surveying the kitschy fish wall decorations.

“I think we’re going to be going home with an extra little crawling critter. Sarah’s persistent.” You smirk.

Joel rolls his eyes.

“She can try all she want, but we ain’t taking a damn crab home.” He drawls out with a classical grumpy Joel pout. “Unless it’s fried.”

You snicker moving to lean against his side while an indescribable affection, a cotton candy delicate sweetness, blooms in you and you haven’t even gotten to the beach yet.

Joel must sense it too. His arms immediately draw you into him more, and he kisses the top of your head.

“Glad we took this road trip.” He mutters soft.

“Me too.” You agree rubbing his back.

“Sarah said we should make it yearly thing.” He adds.

“We should. Good way to celebrate your birthday early.” You fondly say.

He huffs. “Don’t want any crazy celebration I told ya. Just my girls, Tommy, and maybe a cake, that’s all I need.”

“Nothing crazy huh?” You tease soft.

“Baby, haven’t had a crazy birthday since I was twenty and ain’t wanted one since.” He snorts.

Now slight fear tugs at you. Maybe you should tell him your surprise now, or sooner than expected.

“Hey,” Joel’s soft warm hand moves to your face letting his thumb softly rub your jaw. “Y’okay, darlin’?”

You swallow hard, but nod with a smile.

“Yup just ready to get to the beach.” You half lie.

“Me too,” then he leans down closer to your ear. “Can’t wait to see how fuckin’ sexy you’ll be in that swim suit of yours-”

“Joel Miller.” You cry playfully aghast and swat his chest.

Joel rolls his eyes, yet a smile tugs at his lips.

Soon enough Sarah calls out for her dad causing you and him to slowly pull away.

The beach is calling too after all.

-

The rain patters a soft steady melody against the truck. You’re thankful everyone got in a few good hours in the waves, soaking in the nice weather, before the rain drops began. A downfall to Texas weather is its unpredictability.

Sarah sleeps soundly in the back tired out from enjoying the beach.

Sitting in the passengers detached in the cozy warmth of the truck, you even catch your eyes dropping shut every now and then.

“Get some rest, sweetheart. We still got a few hours on the road.” Joel, ever considerate, softly says over the radio.

You decide to maybe just rest for a little bit, settling into the seat more.

“Sorry we didn’t get to spend a full day at the beach.” You mutter, closing your eyes.

“Don’t be sorry, honey,” Joel reassures warm. His hand slides over to squeeze your knee closest to him across the counsel.

“Today was great.” His voice is thick, earnest in the buried emotions waiting for you to sink into. Now opening your eyes again, you glance over to Joel.

The soft stormy lighting coats him dreamy and cozy. His hair is even still fluffed up from the sand and sea, the picture perfect dreamy vacation man or possibly a mythical sea god you’ve luckily caught onto land. He’s incredibly handsome, your Joel.

“Thanks for coming.” He adds above a soft whisper.

“Thanks for letting me tag along.” You reply back just as soft, delicate.

“Of course,” his eyes flicker to you briefly. “Here’s hopin’ to many more trips together.”

Your heart swells, and you wonder if you might just get swept into the current of Joel Miller forever.

“Here’s to more trips together.” You repeat, solidifying his words into your soul.

You hope he’ll be happy with the news you have. You’re still hesitant about it, but right now, simple tender peace envelopes you right now in this moment.

“Love you, Miller. Happy early birthday.” You say half asleep as the exhaustion creeps in.

“Thanks baby, love y’too.” His voice floats in with the rain drops, and it's beautiful.

Your eyes glance out at the misty road blurring before you and how the rain paints the world in a water color soaked dream. Closing your eyes, you decide to get some sleep on this drive.

Maybe you will tell him about your surprise when you get home.

Then Joel’s phone buzzes.

From what you catch, it’s Tommy. Must be something about work because Joel’s voice low takes on his contractor big brother boss tone.

“Yeah, I’ll check it out when I get home.” He sighs annoyed, tired.

Joel’s been so busy this month. You even know how much it took for him to take time for this trip.

A heaviness weighs you down, and a slight edge of guilt follows. Maybe you’ll wait to tell him on his actual birthday. Surprise him with the little longhorn onesie you bought ready to show him and of course Sarah.

In the truck, you simply slip into the cocoon of crystalized peace here. You already dream of another beach trip, the next time maybe with a baby car seat in the back and Sarah happily cooing over her sibling…

And your hand holding Joel’s staring out at the road ahead, hopeful for this new path with him.

-

Sarah’s morning knock jolts you and Joel up wearily out of bed.

“Didn’t know we slept in so late.” Joel mutters, dragging you closer into his sleepy hold.

“Mhm, early birthday sex would do that to ya.” You reply with a grin.

Today’s the day.

“Happy birthday baby.” You whisper adoringly, pressing your lips to his, basking in this moment with him.

“Thanks sweetheart.” His warm sleepy voice drips molten sin, and it’s hard fighting the urge to call into work today and begging Joel to do the same.

The morning is eased, perfectly Joel. Sarah even cooks eggs for everyone and soon enough Tommy joins.

A part of you wants to blurt out your announcement now with all the Millers here, but then contract work again takes over the focus of the conversation. Then the weird news announcement about Jakarta shifted the conversation. But you try not to worry about it.

Today would be a good day.

It’s Joel’s day after all.

As Joel talks to his neighbors, Sarah makes an excuse about forgetting something then drags you off to the side.

“Dad’s gonna forget a cake, I just know it.” She sighs knowingly.

“Don’t worry, I’ll pick one up.” You reassure her warm.

She beams warm then hugs you tight.

Normally Joel drives you to work, but now with the mission of picking up the cake, you use the excuse of needing to stay late as to why you take your car.

Joel pouts but gives you a sweet see you later kiss.

Tommy almost seems to know something is up cause he winks knowingly at you.

It’s a soft morning, a rare beautiful day already with Austin traffic being somewhat manageable.

You happily reassure yourself you’ll tell Joel about the baby when you get home from work. You hope to

surprise him with a cake and then the little extra sweet announcement with it.

Still sitting in Austin traffic, the radio again discusses the news of Jakarta now going on lockdown. The somber tone sends a chill up your spine. You simply change the radio to another station.

You let your mind return to that possible dream of the road trips to come, and of the little onesie sitting in your work bag waiting.

Today is going to be a good day. You just know it.

[itwasrealtome]

THIN ICE

Olivia Benson x fem! reader

⚠️ DO NOT READ IF THIS MIGHT TRIGGER YOU

ANGST | Olivia Benson x fem! detective reader | Masterlist

Summary : Detective Y/N Y/L/N, part of Olivia Benson’s Special Victims Unit, faces a life-threatening situation during a suspect’s arrest, chasing this one into an ultimate falls to his death. Injured but alive, Y/N finds herself in an hospital room, receiving stern words from Olivia about her reckless actions.

Content Warning : Mention of stimulants to stay awake | Mention of a breakup | Mention of police work | Mention of jumping off a building | Some police man being a jerk | Usual SVU talk : Abuse, murder, violence, weapon and kidnapping | Y/N getting into a fight | People falling from a building | Injuries | Death | Hospital | OLIVIA BEING MAD | HEARTBREAK

A/N : Hello my loves. I'm finally sharing this first Olivia X reader with you. I hope you like it. Please let me know what you think. There are a few people I can't identify in the taglist, I'm sorry.

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•••

This afternoon, the streets seemed even more crowded than usual. The vehicles flooded the roads, coming from every corner and blocking the main way out.

Behind a queue of about ten of them, a police car came to a sudden halt. The alarm was on, and the blue and red flashing lights blinded anyone who looked in that direction.

But no one moved.

Not even the sound of a horn persuaded the citizens of New York to get out of the path.

Amanda’s grip on the wheel only tightened. She had never been able to understand the reason behind people’s insensitivity to this kind of thing. It was such an easy thing to understand. Besides, someone’s life often depended on it. Yet, there she was, turning furiously midway, her partner gasping in surprise, her shirt now stained with hot coffee.

— Dude, can’t you just warn before doing that kind of thing?

The blonde gave a brief glance to her passenger. She expected to find her glued to the door, her fingers clenched around the top handle, but she didn’t.

Y/N was desperately trying to absorb the contents of her cup on her worktop. The wipers provided with her order, finally finding their use.

While most people would have been annoyed about staining a piece of clothing, the young detective was not. She seemed much more upset about losing a few drops of her beverage. The former could still be replaced, but the latter was definitely needed.

— Sorry about your shirt.

— Yeah, well you owe me a coffee.

The driver’s smile only widened when she heard her partner muttering complaints. She knew her well enough to say that it had nothing to do with that slight accident. It was cute. Of course, it was. But Amanda could see through it. She knew it had nothing to do with the coffee. Sure, the days were long and their job involved finding stimulants to stay awake, but Y/N was never acting like that. Something was different. And who better to notice than someone who practically lived with her?

— Sure you’re okay?

— Rollins, it’s just a shirt. I think I can get over it.

Amanda gave her a knowing glance. She expected this kind of answer from the young officer. Everyone knew what kind of person she was.

Committed, she was always the first to arrive at the precinct and the last to leave. She was practically married to the job by now. And though Kat had trouble following orders, Y/N did not. She was the perfect partner. Amanda couldn’t remember a time when Y/N had lost control. But these days, everything seemed to fall apart.

It began with a couple of small comments, here and there, a bit too harsh coming from Y/N’s mouth. Next up, her silence during the team talk was a concerning factor for Amanda. If anyone always had something to add to the investigation, it was her. This ranged from a simple detail no one had noticed, to scientific or sociological facts. It was often complicated to keep the detective quiet, so her lack of involvement was bound to catch the eye. That and the fact the blonde had seen her leave the bunks two mornings in a row at the exact same time.

Sure, it was just the addition of minor details. But the older woman’s gut was not wrong, not about this. Something was wrong with her partner. And it had nothing to do with a simple lack of caffeine.

— Oh, don’t give me that kind of look.

— But you’re not telling me the truth, Y/N/N!

Y/N huffed quietly. At times in her life, she hated being around people whose job was to investigate. She cursed them all equally. She just couldn’t help herself the last few days. Her anger was aimed at a specific and unique person, but that person being in law enforcement themselves, it was almost overwhelming to go to work every day. Time seemed to run too slowly there. The only moments she enjoyed were those outside the building. The cold New York weather allowed her to clear her mind and take a deep breath. And she always had something to do, after all the city never slept.

—Like you don’t keep anything to yourself, huh?

Amanda faintly spluttered. Everyone knew she had had difficult times, but she wasn't the only one. And now that she was honest with herself, she knew she had made mistakes. One thing’s for sure, she did not want her partner to replicate these.

— I made some mistakes, most of them I don’t want you to repeat.

— I seriously doubt you did this one.

That was all she could get out of the young detective. Amanda knew it as she watched her turn toward the window. The mere reflection of her face gave her a glimpse of what she was really feeling inside, a sweet mixture of anger and bitterness. Whatever the problem was, it wasn't something they could fix with a drink. And this worried the blonde even more.

— Just promise me you won't do anything stupid.

These words captured the passenger's interest again. She arched an eyebrow at her partner, a smile forming at the corner of her lips. Knowing their duo’s dynamics, she had dozens of retorts on the tip of her tongue, all of them a little more mischievous than the last. Instead, she just shook her head gently. Amanda didn't have to know how upset she was about the whole thing. She didn’t deserve to worry so much. And Y/N certainly had no right to be such a burden to her partner.

— Like what? Jumping off a building? y/n chuckled at the blonde’s glare. Relax. I won’t do anything of that kind, I promise.

At that very moment, the young detective genuinely meant it. She had not gotten up with such an idea in mind. If jumping off a building was regarded as a very stupid gesture, she considered her routine more so.

It was in the way the precinct’s bunks were beginning to feel like home. And how she spent every second of her days with the badge on her waist. She had no idea when she had last stepped into her apartment for more than a shower. Her desk was overflowing with paperwork and books in which she always found a way to bury herself. It was much more than a way to distract herself. At all costs, she avoided raising her head, out of fear of meeting the gaze that froze her every time. The path she was on was, for that matter, significantly more dangerous than whatever stupid thing Amanda was thinking about.

But she could not say that to her.

To anyone, actually.

— Weren't we just called to make sure that this jerk wasn't prowling around the residence?

In any other context, Y/N would have felt like a fool. Her back nearly arched as she tried to make out what was going on in a street they weren't even close to yet. She may have lacked sleep and insight into her personal life, but her cop intuition never failed her.

— You'd be sure of that if you'd listened to a single word the captain said.

— Something’s wrong.

Amanda brought them to the next intersection before momentarily stopping the car. The sight over her partner’s shoulder sent a chill down her spine. Despite years of experience, she couldn’t help but feel a rush of adrenaline every time. The crowd of cops down the street certainly wasn’t helping. They were everywhere. Mostly hidden behind their vehicles. But their vests did not go unnoticed and neither did their weapons pointed at a specific target.

— Crap, I hate when you’re right about this stuff.

— Hum…what was that you were saying about our captain again? y/n faced her friend with a teasing smile on her face. She couldn’t help herself. Always listen to what sh–

The sudden acceleration of the vehicle silenced Y/N. She felt grateful once again that her belt was keeping her safe. No day went by without her being in some kind of danger, but she never thought she’d have to worry about dying while Amanda was behind the wheel.

— Would you please stop doing that? cried the younger detective, her hands still clutching the top handle. And since when do you drive so badly? Damn it.

— Guess now you’ll stop driving like a maniac if I let you get behind the wheel.

The door swung shut before she could react. She stepped out of the car herself and walked over to Amanda. A vest was tossed in her face before she could even think about opening her mouth. But anyone who thought she would have given up so easily was wrong.

— I do not drive like a maniac.

Her friend gave her a knowing look as she closed the trunk. Now was definitely not the time to have this kind of conversation, but Amanda was glad her partner hadn’t lost everything that made her the person she was.

She was relentless, both in her work and in her personal life. To be defeated by a suspect in an interrogation room was a rare occurrence. Within the profession, many officers wondered about her career choice. They could imagine her leaving the field to terrify judges in a courtroom. Perhaps because they were themselves scared to death to face her. Seeking victory in a debate with a woman like Y/N was a waste of time. She knew when she was wrong, and would always acknowledge it. Nevertheless, she also knew when she was right. And in those moments, Amanda was the first to grab a bag of popcorn.

— That you do.

The detective’s hands found the velcro on the vest from memory as she was too busy glowering at her friend. The protection weighed on her shoulders. It was almost enough to give her a reason to fall apart. That, and the weight of life that was beginning to take its toll on her.

Slightly defeated, she stomped over to Amanda to catch up with her. She knew the other detective was right. Her anger was evident in the way she drove. Since then, she was assigned the role of co-pilot. It was okay. But she loathed being deprived of her usual distraction. It was starting to loop in her mind. She needed a way out.

— Detective Rollins and Y/L/N, Special Victims Unit.

Amanda shoved her badge in the man’s direction, half-expecting him to tell her to piss off. He dominated the scene with his large stature and a rank evident to all. The rookies were following his orders and keeping their mouths shut. Something that obviously wouldn't work with Olivia Benson-trained agents. He didn't seem to mind, guiding the two detectives as close as possible to the scene. But then, the mere idea of having to send men into the building made him raise his chin in an authoritative, disapproving manner.

— Our only witness is trapped in this building, Rollins began the fight, finger pointing accusingly. I don't care how, I want that man in custody.

If one of them had looked up for even half a second, instead of fighting over who had the biggest –which was obviously Y/N in this situation– they might have been able to stop the young detective in her tracks. Amanda had had enough of listening to the man's whining as he waved his rank in her face. And her colleague, the one she was supposed to look after, was tired of simply waiting.

As discreet as a mouse in the middle of the city, Y/N circled the building and quickly found a fire escape. It wasn't exactly what she'd had in mind when the impulse to walk into the building first came to her, but she couldn't really say she'd given it much thought. With a bit of imagination, and a little help from a trash container, she managed to pull herself up to the top. Now, maybe that was the beginning of a crazy idea. She could already imagine her partner and captain scolding her - if, and only if, she managed to get out of there alive and intact.

At the top of the stairs leading to the third floor, the detective stopped dead in her tracks at the sound of their suspect's agitated voice.

Thomas Patterson, 45, suspected of having violently abused his wife before killing her, and of abusing his stepdaughter - Johanne Morales. The man's profile was clear: a respectful-looking husband and father-in-law, loved by all, carefree, but once the door was closed he turned into a control freak with urges he simply couldn't escape. He clearly hadn't planned to kill his wife. The autopsy had revealed signs of haste and mistakes that a man like Patterson would never have made if he had prepared properly. But he had made mistakes. His blows had been too violent, Johanne had interrupted him, and he'd had to finish the job quickly - too quickly, in order to hide his crime.

Y/N had studied his profile carefully. That's what she did best, that and avoiding her captain. She knew he was restless, nervous, ready to do anything to cover up his actions. The final piece of the puzzle was to eliminate the only witness, the one who would go all the way to court to see him take the fall. She had an advantage over him. She was there, so close to the goal, and he was unaware of her presence. At least, that was until Amanda's voice came through the radio.

— Y/L/N, you've got two seconds to get your butt over here.

The young detective could have banged her own head against the wall. Boy, had she been stupid on that one. She clenched her jaw, the urge to bite her fist growing cumbersome as she prayed Thomas hadn't heard. But he definitely did.

A front door opened slowly, the creaking hinges betraying the building’s condition. The man was probably armed, the sound of the guard echoing in the empty corridor. Each of his steps shook the wooden floor and sent a current of adrenalin through Y/N's veins. He was getting closer. She could smell him and his perfume. Him and her fear.

As soon as he was close enough to round the corner of the stairwell, the young detective took this as her cue. She charged at the man, her hands reaching for the 9mm held firmly in his rough, bleeding hands. In a split second, the magazine slid out and collapsed on the floor. She sent it tumbling down a few steps with her boot, before landing a knee into the suspect’s parts. This only confused him for the briefest moment. He was on her again before she could even flinch. Her body hit the wall with a heavy thud, the vest shielding her body from the heavy impact. However, the man’s hands found her neck and tightened their grip, pulling her head violently forward and then pushing it back, slamming it against the concrete wall.

He repeated the motion twice more, the detective’s pleas of pain provoking a feeling he himself could not begin to describe. Y/N wasn’t done with him yet. He clearly wanted to lash out at a woman and had a nasty habit of underestimating them all. Only, today wasn’t his lucky day. He was forced into the apartment where he had deliberately tied up the young Johanne. It was his turn to bang into something. The dresser barely tilted behind him, but the vase crashed hard against the top of his skull. He felt the water run down his face, the smell of freshly bought flowers wafting through the air.

Back in a corner, Johanne tried desperately to struggle out of her bonds, her words puffed out by the duct tape over her mouth. She could only witness the struggle between her back-up and her assailant. Watching as Y/N unloaded all her pent-up anger on the man who had dared to cause so much harm. In one smooth motion, Thomas grabbed the detective’s gun, a triumphant glint in his eyes. Hope was soon lost, his chances of getting out of there alive and free close to zero. His opponent was relentless and had no intention of letting him slip away. His only option, he realized, a flash of light reflecting off the window, was to drag the detective with him in his fall.

Outside, Amanda was still arguing with the man in charge of operations. He hadn’t given up and neither had she. Only when, as the argument continued to escalate, gunshots were heard, followed by the shattering of a window pane, did they come to an agreement. The plan didn’t even have time to take shape before two bodies flew out of the building.

First, the blonde saw the man she recognized as their suspect crash hard to the ground, the collision knocking him down instantly. Then came a tremendous thump and the shrill sound of a car alarm. Straight ahead of her, on one of the patrol cars, had landed Y/N. The height of the fall meant that the roof of the vehicle had been crushed and some of the windows smashed. That wasn't what Amanda was most worried about. Her partner, the one who'd promised her she wouldn't do anything stupid – like jumping off the third floor of a building, was sprawled motionless on the broken glass, blood on the back of her skull.

— Oh my God, Y/N, in one stride, she was as close as she could get to her friend. Call an ambulance. Now!

For once, the man made himself useful, radio in hand, as he asked for help. He now stood with one, maybe two, even three victims to deal with if the detective didn't make it. He could already imagine the damage it would do to his career. Besides, he knew Captain Benson very well and had no desire to mess with her.

Needless was his worry. The more Amanda studied her friend, the more she realized how lucky she’s been. Y/N was simply stunned, staring at the New York sky with an uncharacteristic intensity. She began to laugh, full-throated, heartily. It was probably the adrenaline pumping again. Tears joined the party, leaving funny marks on her bloody cheeks. Suddenly, she remembered.

— Johanne. She's alive. Up there. Y/N looked up at Amanda expectantly. She needs help.

***

Captain Olivia Benson had seen enough in her career not to let anxiety get the better of her. She had been beaten, kidnapped, almost died and dragged through the mud in front of an entire courtroom. She had reached a point where facing certain types of suspects no longer made her lose her footing.

But someone was bound to make her lose it.

Briskly, almost to the point of knocking herself off her feet, she made her way through the corridors of a hospital she knew all too well. The distinctive clatter of her heels against the floor blended perfectly with the incessant beeping and distant hubbub of such a place. She wasn't there to see a victim, as she often was. Her hasty and agitated demeanor only aroused the suspicions of the medical staff who had crossed paths with her so many times. It wasn't just a professional matter.

It hadn't been for a long time.

When Olivia reached room 212, she didn't spare a moment's hesitation. One of her youngest detectives and latest recruit was sitting wisely on the edge of the bed, her legs wriggling in the air like a child's. A nurse was visibly busy behind her, dropping more and more glass flakes into her tray as she went. She leaned against the doorframe, arms folded tightly against her chest, eyes focused on the sight that made her stomach hurt in spite of herself.

She watched as Y/N's chest, covered in dried blood, continued to pulsate with every breath, as hematomas were already starting to spread across her face and torso, and as her plain face twisted in pain as soon as the nurse reached for another piece of glass. Just a few days ago, her first instinct would have been to rush to her protégé’s side and calm the agony she knew to be growing in her heart. But she'd vowed to keep her distance and stay in her current position: Captain Benson, unit chief.

All too quickly for the young detective's liking, the nurse finished her treatment and left the two law enforcement agents behind. Olivia had had the decency to wait until the door was closed before lashing out at her, which didn't stop Y/N from rolling her eyes. She'd already imagined this conversation - or rather, monologue - and knew she wouldn't come out of it unscathed. She'd probably lose her badge. No matter, she'd already lost her heart.

— Have you completely lost your mind? You could’ve been killed.

This was the cue for a lengthy sermon that she couldn't escape. The words left Olivia's mouth at a speed that seemed unbearable. She paced back and forth, her arms stretching out in waves of frustration and indignation, her cheeks rosy with emotion. She'd done some stupid things herself when she was just a rookie, but throwing herself off the third floor of a building had never been on the list.

— Are you done? y/n arched an eyebrow as Olivia finally paused. I saved a life today. While Amanda and that jerk were fighting over who had the biggest, which apparently I did.

— No, you refused to follow orders. Not only did you put yourself in danger, you put everyone's lives in danger. Heaven help us again that you were wearing your vest, otherwise it could have been a lot worse.

— I don't know why you care so much, you're just my boss!

Although these words were intended to hurt Olivia, it was Y/N who took the brunt of the blow. It was one thing to know that their relationship had been reduced to this, but it was quite another to admit it in person. The brunette was no longer entitled to worry so much, to ask her to watch out and send her a text as soon as she got home. Whatever had been was no more.

— Right, Olivia broke into an almost scoffing snort. Let me tell you, as your captain, that you won't be leaving the precinct for a long time.

— You’re benching me? Liv, you can’t do this!

— What you did was completely irresponsible. You don't want to follow orders, fine. But you're not leaving this desk without my permission.

The young detective had been holding her breath for a long time– far too long. She'd spent days avoiding conflict, lamenting in her corner, mourning the end of a story she'd thought would last forever. It wasn't just about what had just happened, it was something else, something more personal. She felt as if Olivia had no idea how to express her concern, as if her only option was to play the role of the big bad boss. But she was tired of hiding, of running away, of avoiding confrontation.

— Breaking my heart wasn't enough for you, uh? She rose from the bed, hastily putting on her jacket. If you want me to leave the squad, just say so.

For the first time, she faced her head-on. Head held high, eyebrows furrowed in frustration, ready to stand on tiptoe if that would help reach the brunette's height. She faced those brown pearls with all the courage she had left, her own eyes misty with tears she'd never let flow. This was it, so close yet so far, two souls who knew each other becoming strangers once again.

Olivia reached out with a last ounce of regret, brushing away a tear that had escaped down the young detective's cheek with the tip of her thumb. Her heart urged her to do more, to embrace this bruised woman, to bring her all the comfort she needed. She wanted to take Y/N home, wrap her in one of her shirts, tell her how much she loved her. In another life, where they were just two soul mates, where Olivia didn't have to worry about repercussions, whatever they might be. This was where she could find comfort.

— Go home. Take a few days. Get some rest. We'll talk about it when you get back.

The New Yorker had rarely seen a face shattered in a matter of seconds. Her words had urged Y/N to free herself from her hold, her head heavy and spinning from all the hassle and concussion she'd picked up from the blows. Her shoulder nudged her superior's as she walked by, a gesture of no little importance. She did not look back once to meet her former lover's gaze again.

Maybe she should have.

Maybe she would have seen the same love, the same tears, that Olivia saw in her eyes.

Maybe the ice wasn't so thin after all.

•••

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[aziraphales-library]

Hi!

I'm looking for a specific fic, where Crowley and Aziraphale are both being interrogated as witnesses for a crime, I think? It ends with every officer at the police station (and Aziraphale) playing Bingo with Crowley's shenanigans.

Do you know which one this is? Thanks :)

Hello. I believe you're after...

All of This is Completely Normal Here by TogetherAgain (G)

The events of an entirely ordinary day for one particular police station in London towards the beginning of summer in 2019. ~ ~ ~ Lonnie Clarke was talking to a lunatic. To be fair, that wasn’t really unusual. It was a standard part of police work. This particular lunatic was a special sort of insane, though. Crazy like a fox, this Mr. Fell. Or, just absurdly lucky. Clarke was just finishing up with him — confirming his contact information, thanking him for his time, and so on — when an entirely different and more familiar lunatic came swaggering in with their hands cuffed in front of them. “OI! Who sent a rookie to pick me up all by herself? That’s hazing, ‘s what that is. Thought you lot were above all that.” Ladies and gentlemen, A.J. Crowley was in the building.

- Mod D

[princess-geek]

White Peonies (Part II)

Book: Desire & Decorum  

Series: Unspoken Desires (Modern Desire & Decorum AU)  

Summary: Another peek into the past, this time to lift the veil on Mary’s life and three generations of fascinating women of the Howard family. (Parte I here)

Main Pairing: Vincent Foredale x Mary Howard.  

Word Count: +/- 7572 words

Rating: General (but with light mentions to adult/violent situations, sickness and death).  

Notes: 💖English is not my first language. Please, excuse me for any typos /or grammatical errors. 💖Special thanks to @rosesnink for proofreading. 

💖 This is my submission for @choicesficwriterscreations ‘Fics of the week’  

On the previous chapter...

Hurting her finger, Mary snatched the ring and threw it at him. Her hand was bleeding, but what were a few scratches on a finger compared with the abyss that he had opened in her heart? 

Vincent took the ring from the floor. “Mary, my love, please, don’t do this.” 

“Don’t dare to call me that ever again! Get out of my house! Now!”

Vincent did as she had told him. Tears ran down his face as he collected his belongings. She couldn't look at him. 

As soon as he closed the door, Mary collapsed, crying her pain and screaming her fury. 

The young woman lost count of the hours she spent in that dark hole. When Mary came to her senses, she looked out the window and saw that it was a starry night. 

Her whole body hurt. As for her heart, Mary wasn't sure if it was there or not. She felt frozen. With great effort, she dragged herself from the floor to the sofa, covering herself with a blanket forgotten on the floor. It was impossible to return to the same bed where hours before they had worshipped each other and pledged their love. 

Mary didn't know if she had slept or not, but in the morning, she felt desperately hungry, despite not feeling like eating.  She tried to eat a couple of biscuits; however, her stomach didn’t hold them for long. 

At some point in the day, she heard Vincent at her door. He stayed there for hours, begging her to listen to him. Fortunately, a neighbour threatened to call the police if he didn't leave, and Vincent eventually did. This happened repeatedly all week. 

For days, Mary barely moved from the couch. When her tears dried up until the next round, lethargy took over her. 

Around the weekend, Mrs.  Lemay could persuade Mary to open the door. Although she had not read the article on Sunday, articles about the upcoming wedding multiplied in the newspapers over the week. 

She found her friend a wreck. Mrs.  Lemay was not going to allow the young girl to sink into heartbreak. She made Mary have a bath, changed the bedsheets, and cooked her a proper dinner. 

 

“Luckily, there is not a word about you. At least, you will not be publicly persecuted by this shadow forever.” Mrs.  Lemay tried to console her. 

“Screw my reputation.” Mary mumbled between spoons of soup. 

“Vincent was in my office looking for you, desperate for any information about your whereabouts.” 

“Screw him too! He was at my door several times. I am not interested in anything he has to say.” 

Thinking that it might bring Mary some peace, Mrs.  Lemay told her that there were rumours going around that the Foredale were broke and the marriage was purely a business deal, despite the excitement about the engagement in the magazines. 

“She’s a fat cat widow. It’s the tale as old as time: She gives the money, and he gives the title.” Mrs.  Lemay concluded.  

“It's always nice to know I am worth less than a couple of thousand pounds.” 

“If the rumours are true, he is being sold as a horse. It’s a pity.” Mary mumbled something unintelligible. “I know you are hurt and furious, I’d be too.” Mrs.  Lemay continued. “Nevertheless, this is all very odd, Mary. Vincent is in love with you in a way I've seen few people in love with someone. Since that night at St. James's, I have seen nothing in him but devotion to you. He'd rather lose an arm than make a scratch on you. I can't stop thinking there has to be a reasonable explanation for this.” 

“Of course there is. In that case, there are thousands of reasons… in her bank account.” Mary sulked. 

“He was not convinced when I claimed I couldn't help him. I’m sure he will keep trying to reach you, and I think you should give him a chance to explain himself. You might regret it if you don't,” Mrs.  Lemay insisted. 

“He betrayed my trust in him. I think I would rather have caught him in bed with her than this circus. He has been playing with me for months, like I was a doll. I won't be his or anyone else's doll.” Mary was adamant. 

“Anger and pain are not good advisors. You need to clear your head. Why don't you go spend a few days in your hometown? Some days away from London will help you organise your head and heart.” 

“I will not change my mind.” 

“You may not change your mind, but you need to think about what you're going to do from now on. Life doesn't stop just because your heart is broken.” 

Following her advice, Mary decided to spend a few weeks in Grovershire. 

Mrs.  Lemay was right. Leaving London didn't glue the pieces of her heart together. However, focusing on making repairs to her grandparents' cottage and garden made Mary find some serenity in the midst of the chaos. 

That house was full of so many good memories that even sadness gave her some respite. 

While she was cleaning up things in the kitchen, Mary found her grandmother's handmade 'Moka'. It was one of the few things that Elena had brought with her from Italy. 

“I only had three things in my suitcase: an old coat, the 'Moka' and the recipe book that I stole from my mother.” Elena told her granddaughter many times. 

When she was a little girl, Mary fascinatedly watched her grandmother prepare coffee there, as if it were a magical ritual. Her favourite part was sucking on the spoon after Elena added the sugar. 

It was the best coffee in the world, and Mary could still almost taste it. She ran to the grocery store to buy coffee beans. Replicating her grandmother's ritual made her feel really good for the rest of that day. 

Grovershire itself had little changed. Mary missed many familiar faces and came face-to-face with new ones in the neighbourhood. 

The new and old neighbours were curious about her extended stay, and, of course, theories about it soon emerged through the inhabitant’s small talk. To avoid uncomfortable questions, Mary said that her fiancé, Vincent Ford, had died in a car accident, and she was spending some time there to get herself together.  

Although it was a hoax, for her it was not entirely a lie. She really felt that the man she loved had died on that day. 

Right across the street, George Daly, her former classmate and neighbour, had married Pavarti, an Indian girl who had arrived there in their final year of high school. 

They weren't very close at that time, yet Pavarti was the first to go to the cottage to visit her. Although she was in the last trimester of her pregnancy, Pavarti helped in whatever way she could, especially in the garden. 

Between pulling weeds and planting flowers, there was time for long conversations. A deep friendship blossomed between the two young women. Pavarti was the only one who knew the truth about Vincent.  

George spent many days away because of his work, so it was common for them to cook together. One late afternoon, Pavarti was cooking dinner. Mary suddenly left the kitchen, without saying a word. Pavarti found her on the balcony. 

“If you don't feel like my fish curry and chips, just say so, you don’t need to run away from my kitchen. I have some roast lamb from the weekend in the fridge...” 

“I'm sorry, Pavarti, but I think I'll have dinner. I think the tea house's chocolate cake wasn't as fresh as it should have been.” 

“Are you sure it was just the chocolate cake? You barely touched it. In fact, you have barely eaten.” 

“Nerves are bad for my stomach. It has always happened to me since I was little.” 

“How long have you been feeling this way?” 

“I don’t know exactly, maybe for a few weeks now. Not just the stomach. Everything in me has been messed up since...that day.” Mary still had difficulties referring to the topic. 

“Have you considered the possibility of being pregnant?”  Mary looked at Pavarti as if she had uttered the most absurd of statements. Parvati went away for a while and came back with a small box in her hand. “Take it! You can do it here or at home, but the sooner you know, the better.” 

After spending most of the night looking at the little box, Mary did so. After the time stated in the instructions, the result appeared. She was so nervous that it took her some time to understand the meaning of the two lines. 

Becoming a mother was one of Mary’s dreams. They had planned a family. They joked about having a child born in that millennium and the next in the new one. They agreed on almost everything except where they would raise them. London was off the table. 

Now that dream was real, and Vincent wasn't there. And for the first time, she didn't want him there either. 

This was no longer just about her and her broken heart. On the one hand, she was terrified. It was impossible not to think about her mother's case. More than raising a baby alone, Mary was afraid that something would happen and prevent her from taking care of him or her. Unfortunately, the child would not be as lucky as she was. There were no loving grandparents to watch over her. On the other hand, finding out that a child was on the way was an unexpected comfort to her. No matter what twists and turns life had on its sleeve for her, Mary wouldn't be alone anymore. 

The blood tests confirmed her calculations. The baby would be born around November. 

“When will you tell the father the good news?” Pavarti asked her some days later. 

“I will not tell him.” 

“You should, and, deep down, you know you should. Who knows, maybe this is an opportunity for the two of you to find a way...” 

“If our love was not important enough for him to care and come to me and give a decent explanation for what happened, then I don't consider him important enough to be part of the baby's life.” 

“You are the one who didn't want to give him that opportunity!” Pavarti tried to reason with Mary. 

Mary knew she was contradicting herself, but the young woman was irreducible. Her wounded heart and pride only fuelled her stubbornness. “The wedding will be on May 2nd, do you think there is any point in doing or saying anything, Pavarti?” 

Mary told Mrs.  Lemay about her new situation. Although Mary's absence caused her inconvenience and money loss, she was the first to advise the singer to take a break to take care of the baby and herself.  

The music producers were not very happy with the news. Even though without stating it clearly, they implied that if the baby was her priority at the moment, she would lose the 'privileged place she had on their artists’ list'. 

Mary imagined that would happen. A woman with a baby was the eighth plague of Egypt. Now that she was so close, she was going back to square one. 

Baby Briar came into the world on Easter Sunday, keeping her busy while Pavarti recovered from the tough labour. Around that time, the symptoms of the first few weeks gave her a truce, and Mary began to feel better. 

The most difficult thing was the ban on coffee. When she felt like drinking coffee, Mary opened the ground coffee pot and smelled it until it satisfied her craving. 

Days later, when trying to put on her jeans, Mary became aware of her belly for the first time. It wasn't very prominent yet, but it was already noticeable that things were changing. 

By the end of the month, Mary went to London for a few days. With the wedding so close, it would be very unlikely that Vincent would be there. 

She had her first ultrasound. Hearing her baby's heartbeat for the first time made her worries disappear for a few minutes. She would never forget that beat. 

The midwife noticed that Mary was looking worriedly at the white spots that were appearing on the screen. “Don't worry, my dear, the baby is fine. With a little luck, within a few days, we'll be able to find out the baby's gender. Let me guess: You want a boy, and the father wants a girl.” She smiled. 

Mary pretended she didn't hear the question. The midwife took her hand and placed it on her belly. “You two are already a wonderful family.” 

Her savings wouldn't last forever, so Mary took the opportunity to give some concerts that Mrs.  Lemay had arranged for her. 

Returning to her flat after a concert, Mary found a man in a suit at her door. He was tall, had grey hair and a beard, and had a stern face. She recognised the same shade of blue as Vincent's eyes, but instead of his sweetness, Mary only saw coldness. 

She instinctively covered her belly with her handbag and took a few steps back. Two men grabbed her. 

“Good evening, Mary Howard. I've been looking for you everywhere. I would like to say it's a pleasure to finally meet you, but I hope this is the first and last time we meet.” 

“What do you want from me?” Mary tried to free herself from their arms. 

“Put her inside.” The Earl commanded. 

While one grabbed Mary tightly, the other found the key and opened the door. They dragged her inside and locked the door. She tried to shout, but a hand covered her mouth. 

“I thought that if I saw you with my own eyes, I would understand my son's fascination, but you are not even that pretty.” He mocked, as his eyes roamed her body. Mary noticed that he saw the bump. She felt a shiver run down her spine. “Are you with a child?” He asked. Mary didn't answer him. She could see his fury rising. “It cannot be my son’s!” Mary remained in silence. The Earl slapped her face with such force that if it weren't for the two men holding her, she would have fallen to the ground. “You damned whore, how dare you get pregnant? Wasn't it enough to be a bastard yourself? I can guess what your plan was, but this ends here!” 

For few seconds, Mary could barely hear the insults he spewed from his mouth. Her mouth was still numb from the slap. She felt the taste of blood on her tongue. “My baby will never be a bastard. I will be a mother, a father, and everything my child needs!” She cried. 

“I don't care what you or that creature you are carrying will be. You will disappear from my son’s life forever!”  

“Breaking news, Rupert Foredale: I'm the one who wants my baby to have nothing to do with your family. Unfortunately, I couldn't prevent this child from having your blood. No baby deserves to have a father who is a coward, a cheater, and liar, and much less such a despicable being like you as a grandfather.” 

The Earl was going to slap her again. Luckily, or out of charity, the bodyguards moved her out of the way of his hand. 

“I never trusted people like you. With some luck, the baby isn't even Vincent's. I warned my son several times that he could have fun, but not to be foolish. I should be used to his weaknesses by now. When I was young, I also had a lover who was an artist, a sculptress. She was very skilled with her hands...for everything.” A wicked smile appeared on his lips for a moment. “She was my lover and, I later learned, the lover of every young man in London with any money in his pocket.”  After saying it, Rupert took some papers from inside his coat. “Listen very carefully to what I will say to you, whore: you will sign the papers and disappear from my son's life forever. As I am a good Christian, in return, you will get 10,000 pounds. If you dare to open that mouth of yours about my son or what happened between you, you will rot in jail!” 

Mary spat at the contract. “My dignity is not for sale. And, unlike you, I would never sell a child to pay for my mistakes.” 

She was pushing him to the limit. The Earl was blind with rage. He wasn't used to being defied like that. Rupert tore up the agreement. He took a pistol from his pocket and placed it against Mary's forehead. 

“This was your last chance. If you or your bastard ever try to get close to us, I won't be so benevolent. I will make you botg disappear from the face of the earth even if I have to do it with my own hands.” 

In a matter of seconds, the lights went out, and they dropped Mary on the floor. As quickly as they had appeared, they disappeared into the night. 

Mary couldn't believe what just happened. From what Vincent told her, Mary knew that Earl was not a model of kindness, not even towards his own blood. She didn't expect him to rejoice over the baby; However, not even her greatest fears could imagine such brutality. 

After the shock of the first few minutes, the adrenaline subsided. She was feeling a very intense pain, but she couldn't pinpoint where it was. Her baby. The panic set in. If something had happened to the baby, she would kill the Earl with her own hands. 

Supporting herself against the wall, Mary managed to get up and call Mrs.  Lemay. She didn't care about her bruises. Mary just wanted to hear her baby's heartbeat.  

Mrs. Lemay called for a favour and rushed Mary to a private clinic. She refused to be examined without knowing if the baby was okay first. The doctor assured Mary that the baby was fine, but she only calmed down when he showed her the baby on the monitor. 

He was silent for a few minutes, looking at the small screen. Mary was about to panic again. “What’s wrong, doctor?” 

“Don’t worry, Miss. It's nothing bad. Do you know your baby’s gender?” Mary waved no. “I wasn't going to mention it because I am not absolutely sure. I think you are having a girl.” 

Upon learning that the baby was fine, Mary went into autopilot mode. Besides the bruises, the doctor found out she had a broken rib. After taking care of her, Mrs.  Lemay took the singer to her home. Exhausted, Mary slept for hours. When she awoke, Mrs.  Lemay was waiting for her with a light meal. 

“What happened was a crime, Mary. You should go to the police.” 

“I have no proofs besides my bruises. Who do you think they would believe? An Earl or a pub singer? 

“He is dangerous, Mary, and you confronted him!” Mrs. Lemay insisted. “If he was capable of doing this now, there's no guarantee that he won't do it again... or do something worse.” 

“He's afraid I will look for his son and ruin his marriage with the widow. I believe that as soon as they get married and the Earl sees I didn’t lift a finger, he will forget about me and my daughter.” 

“So, what are you going to do now? London is not safe.” 

“I'm going back to Grovershire and staying there for a while. The Earl doesn't know about my grandparents' house, or he would have gone there. It is far enough from London and from them. I need calm and security for my daughter. Then I will see what my next step will be.” 

“Have you thought about names for the baby?” Mrs.  Lemay asked to change to a happier subject. 

“Beatrice.” Mary smiled, caressing her bump. “Vincent would have liked it too.” She couldn't stop herself from thinking about it. 

“Why don't you ask him in person?” 

“Even if I wanted...which I don’t want...I can’t take that risk now. Even if we survive Rupert Foredale's wrath, you know the fate of the bastard children. My child will not be exiled to a boarding school.” 

Mary did as she said. With the help of Mrs.  Lemay and other friends from work, all of Mary's (few) belongings were loaded into a van the following night. As Vincent's forgotten objects appeared, Mrs.  Lemay discreetly saved them from the trash. She was thinking that perhaps the child would later look for a connection with the father. 

Back in Grovershire, Mary kept as low a profile as possible. Trying to camouflage, she began to introduce herself as ‘Helen’. Those who knew her found it strange. Mary justified her choice, saying she was known in London by that name. She had chosen it as a stage name in honour of her grandmother. 

People thought it was eccentric, but they eventually got used to it. 

Her belly was becoming less and less discreet. Comments on her obvious situation were inevitable, as well as comparisons with her mother's case. The most charitable hearts felt sorry for her situation. Losing her fiancé in a tragic accident and now having a child to take care of... It was a very hard blow from fate. 

The poisonous ones were not so compassionate. Their tongues distilled all kinds of gossip about her: that she was a luxury escort in London (the nastiest said directly prostitute), others that she was the rejected lover of a married man, that the child's father was in prison... Mary knew her truth, yet some days weren't easy with that background buzz. Fortunately, she had the Daly’s on her side. 

She didn't like perpetuating a lie, but it was the best truth she could tell. It would be better for both the child and her. Like her, Beatrice would not suffer for someone she had never met. Following her grandparents' example, Mary would make sure her daughter received so much love that she wouldn't miss a thing. It would protect her from Rupert and more heartbreak. 

The following ultrasounds confirmed that it was a girl and that she was growing strong and healthy. 

Meanwhile, Parvati returned to her work as a seamstress. Mary took care of Briar and in return, Pavarti was sewing her a layette fit for a princess. 

During the day, between helping out at the Dalys' house and preparing her own for the baby's arrival, neither Mary's head nor her heart had time to worry about the past or the future. However, many of the nights were full of nightmares about Rupert; others were sleepless, planning all possible future scenarios. 

On Halloween evening, Mary felt the first contractions. While Pavarti was finishing the hem of a dress, she was playing on the floor with Briar and felt an intense pain that paralysed her. Recognising the signs, Pavarti helped her get up and set her down on the sofa. 

That night was just a warning, but on Tuesday early morning, the contractions came back in force. Mary was terrified of what was happening. What the doctor and the midwife had explained, the books she had read, Pavarti's advice...all of her preparation and plans were gone. 

George and Pavarti drove her to the hospital. 

As the hours passed, the pain increased, becoming intense and almost constant. Despite telling her that she was doing great and that the baby would soon be in her arms, Mary was losing her strength. 

During one of the strongest contractions, for the first time in months, she wished Vincent was there beside her. For a few moments, she was filled with a whirlwind of memories with him. She could almost hear his voice smoothing her. Another strong contraction brought her back to reality. There was no use dwelling on the past. Her daughter was all that mattered now. 

After hours of pain and fear, at nightfall on November 2, 1994, her daughter was born. Hearing the sweet shrill sound of her daughter's cries was a relief. Having Beatrice in her arms for the first time was a new kind of happiness she never thought possible. 

Even though she was ruddy and grumpy like all newborns, in Mary's eyes, Beatrice was the pinnacle of cuteness, with her full cheeks, thick brown hair, and big eyes. 

Around midnight, Beatrice fell asleep in her mother's arms. Exhausted, Mary also fell into a deep sleep.  

A couple of hours later, she woke up with a start, thinking she heard the baby crying. Everything was quiet in the ward, including her daughter. However, the door was ajar. Mary saw a pair of eyes watching them through the crack. “Who is there?” She asked instinctively, placing herself in front of the crib. The pair of eyes disappeared.  

The next morning, after making sure that everything was fine with both of them, the issue of the father inevitably arose. Again, Mary told the best truth she could:  she had met the father at a party, they had spent the night together, and they had never seen each other again. She claimed she didn't know any information about him other than his first name. 

While she was trying to breastfeed Beatrice, a social worker with dubious intentions came to talk to her, asking some questions, pointing out the challenges of being a young single mother and the possibility of giving her baby up for adoption.  

Mary was about to lose patience with her when the Dalys came in to visit them. The couple promptly shooed the nosy woman away. Pavarti helped Mary dress Beatrice and put a small pink bow on her head. Then, George took the first portrait of Beatrice.  

Briar was very curious about the new baby, whimpering if they moved her away from the crib. 

Rocking her daughter by the window, the light illuminated every detail of her features. Mary noticed that Beatrice had a lot of Vincent in her. How she wished she could make Rupert eat his words. 

A couple of days later, mother and daughter were back home. “Welcome home, my love.” Mary kissed her daughter's head. “It may not be Buckingham Palace, but we're going to make it our realm.” 

 As long as she was well fed, Beatrice was (most days) an easy baby. Despite some sleepless nights, the many health scares typical of newborns, and hormone shenanigans, Mary felt like she was in a bubble of happiness. Her daughter's birth had not miraculously healed her heart, but she was the glue that was holding the pieces together. 

As the weeks went by, Beatrice was growing healthy and becoming more active and playful.  

Mary's savings were dwindling at the same rate. 

There weren't many job opportunities there, so Mary had to take a job at a local pub. Since Pavarti worked from home, she took care of the two babies during the day. At the end of the day, Mary helped her friend taking home some simpler pieces of clothing and making small sewing arrangements. She had never felt so grateful for the hours her grandmother forced her to learn how to sew. Despite it, she felt like she could never repay the kindness they showed her. 

The young mother felt exhausted every night, but holding her daughter in her arms, playing with her, smelling her sweet scent, seeing how much she was growing day by day gave Mary the strength to carry one each morning. 

Beatrice never lacked anything necessary, even if that sometimes meant just soup for Mary’s dinner. There were many things she wanted to give her daughter, but she couldn't afford them, even if it might be lacking, Mary made up for it with love. 

-----

The year 1999 began full of hope. Although it wasn't technically the turn of the millennium, there was in the air the excitement of the end of an era, with a world of possibilities knocking on the door. 

Now that the girls were a little older, the Dalys were planning to have another child. Mary was considering changing careers. Her idea was to return to the music world by giving private lessons. 

Unfortunately, in April, a series of attacks shocked the United Kingdom and destroyed the dreams of the young family. George Daly was passing through Brick Lane on his way to meet his last client for the month when a nail bomb exploded. He did not survive his injuries and passed away a couple of days later. 

Parvati was devastated. She cried for the loss of the love of her life and the loss of everything that Briar would not have with her father, even though she was too young to fully understand what had happened. 

Mary knew what a broken heart felt like. However, what Pavarti was suffering was beyond her understanding. Despite the troubled separation, the hurt, the anger, she knew that the love of her life was alive and well. There was always a faint light in her heart, even if her mind denied it.  

Part of her friend had died with him that day. Mary knew it would not be possible to heal that wound. For months, every day, Mary fought the darkness that threatened to swallow Pavarti. She was determined to take care of the parts of her friend that remained, just as Pavarti had done with her. 

----------------------- 

All children grow up too quickly in their parent's eyes, and Mary felt that it was in the blink of an eye that Beatrice went from a baby to a primary school girl. 

Apart from the struggle to get her up from bed in the mornings, some occasional tantrums, and some shenanigans here and there, Mary felt blessed. Beatrice was very curious, eager to learn, always exploring the small world around her and asking many questions, some trivial, some more philosophical.  

Even though she was little more than a child, Mary realised that her daughter had inherited her wit and passion. It gave her some peace of mind. Having a sharp spirit would protect her and help her succeed in whatever path she chose. 

Mary wanted to teach her how to play the piano, but her daughter didn't seem to have the muse of music awake inside her, although Beatrice's voice was naturally in tune. 

Nonetheless, as she grew up, the Vincent features stood out more and more in her, and not just physically. Like her father, Beatrice loved books, always asking to read stories. When an adult couldn’t read to her, she made up her own stories with what she saw in the illustrations and told them to Briar or to her dolls. 

One night, Mary was sitting on her daughter's bed, dog-tired, praying for Beatrice to choose a small book. What was her surprise when her daughter appeared in the bedroom with her copy of 'Pride and Prejudice' in her hands. 

“It's too long for a bedtime story.” 

“I didn't ask you to read me everything at once. I was thinking about one chapter per night.” 

“It's a story for older girls. You're going to find it boring.” 

“How older?” Her inquisitive mode had just turned on.  

That was a good question. Mary used her own example to answer, “Girls who are fourteen or fifteen.” 

“I am five, it’s not that different! Plus, you always choose good stories, so I'm sure it won't be boring. I have seen you read it more than once.” 

“You're going to regret asking me for this. It would be much more fun when you read it by yourself.” In vain, Mary tried to change her mind. She started reading the famous first lines. 

“IT IS A TRUTH universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife. 

However little known the feelings or views of such a man may be on his first entering a neighbourhood, this truth is so well fixed in the minds of the surrounding families, that he is considered as the rightful property of some one or other of their daughters. 

“My dear Mr. Bennet,” said his lady to him one day, “have you heard that Netherfield Park is let at last?” 

Night after night, chapter after chapter, Beatrice paid close attention to each line. Sometimes the sleep overcame the girl: however, there was use in trying to trick her. She always knew which page they were on before falling asleep. The reading took weeks, which ended up making story time easier for Mary. 

With the Gardiners, they were always on the most intimate terms. Darcy, as well as Elizabeth, really loved them; and they were both ever sensible of the warmest gratitude towards the persons who, by bringing her into Derbyshire, had been the means of uniting them. 

“The end.” She dramatically closed the book. “So, what do you think?” Mary asked. 

“It's a little like fairy tales, but without fairies? Mr Darcy is a little grumpy for Prince Charming. Her aunt fits the evil witch role, though. But I loved it!” As she tucked her in, Beatrice asked, “Do you think there are many Mr Darcys out there?” 

“If you look for yours, you will find him.” 

“How will I know?” 

“You will know it. You will feel it. Your heart will scream it.” 

“Papa was yours?” 

Mary still had difficulty dealing with questions about Vincent. For Beatrice, she had chosen to keep the narrative of the father who died in a car accident days before their wedding day. Despite her inquisitive nature, Beatrice rarely questioned Mary about it. Probably because the girl saw the pain in her eyes when the subject was mentioned. 

She had only asked her once to see a photograph of him. Mary made up the excuse that all his photos had been lost when they moved to Grovershire. She was sad but didn't ask again. 

“All love stories are different. Like Darcy and Lizzie, there were some differences between us, but, unlike her, I think I loved your dad from day one.” 

Mary had only seen him again in person once. They were visiting Mrs.  Lemay in London for a weekend. Walking through Hyde Park, Mrs.  Lemay was further ahead with Beatrice by the hand. Mary had stayed behind, enjoying the rare moment of peace that a mother of a toddler can have. There was a street stall selling ice cream, and she decided to go over to buy some. As she got closer, she saw him. She saw them: Vincent, his wife, an older boy, and a boy a little younger than Beatrice, buying ice cream as well. 

That sight left her breathless and with a piercing pain in her stomach. It was a difficult feeling to explain. It had been a little more than a couple of years, however, while it seemed like the same Vincent, it was as if their past was just a dream or the delirium of a feverish night. 

The youngest son was throwing a tantrum, and Vincent patiently tried to calm him down. He seemed to have become the fantastic father she knew he could be and that she had dreamed of for her and their children. 

Mary turned away and walked forward, quickening her pace. There was no reason for her to torture herself with the past, suffer the present, and tempt fate. Such an encounter would only make things worse. 

----------------------- 

As soon as Beatrice learned to read, Mary got her a library card. If on the one hand this freed her from the daily bedtime story, but on the other, it stirred even more her daughter's eagerness. Mary often had to go to the library to return books that Beatrice stubbornly brought home, despite not being appropriate for her age. 

Every night, Mary had to go back to her room to make her turn off the light and go to sleep. On Friday nights, she knew that her daughter, after being caught in the act, would read another chapter under the blankets by flashlight, however, she decided to pretend that she didn't know about it. 

----------------------- 

February, 2004 

Sitting in the doctor's waiting room, Mary tried to focus on the gossip magazine. Her limbs were heavy and sore from trying to control her nerves. 

It wouldn't be anything serious, Mary repeated to herself. She had always been a healthy lass. She was just an exhausted mother, like many others. Like Pavarti, who had insisted on accompanying her to the appointment. There was a wedding dress to urgently finish, yet there she was. The years did not expunge the loss, but they brought back the light of her best friend. 

Daughters full of energy in Year 5, long hours of work, little sleep, months without a moment for themselves, bills hard to pay alone, the need to start preparing the girls' future... No wonder they were both in shambles. 

At Pavarti's insistence, there she was, fearing the worst, hoping for the best. 

“Helen Howard!” the nurse called. Mary wanted to get up, but her legs didn't allow her to do so for a few seconds. 

After some small talk, the doctor delivered the news in the politest and least dramatic way possible. “The cancer is aggressive, and it’s in an advanced stage. However, you are a woman in the prime.  The sick cells have used your strength to multiply, but that same strength can be used in your favour...” He proceeded to explain the options available in her case. 

Mary feared the suffering caused by the treatments, she feared the doctor's lack of certainty, she feared death... but, above all, she was terrified by the idea of her little girl being alone in the world. 

Leaving the doctor's office, Mary didn't know what to feel or what to think. It was as if she were possessed by a sharp pain, a paralysing numbness, while at the same time she was diving into a bottomless, icy lake. 

Then the anger and frustration came. ‘Why her? Hadn't she suffered enough already?’ 

As the days went by, Mary wasn’t still conformed to the diagnosis, but took control of what was in her hands. 

For Beatrice and a future with her, Mary made her mind up to religiously follow the treatments. Even if she couldn’t escape, any chance of spending more time with her daughter would be worth every discomfort. 

In the following days, Mary's biggest concern was how to tell her about it. Unfortunately, or fortunately, children are very perceptive. So, it didn't take long for Beatrice to ask her mother directly what was happening. 

Mary stopped chopping the vegetables for the soup and took a deep breath. She couldn't break down in front of her daughter. To buy some time, Mary poured two glasses of juice for both of them. After a couple of sips, the first shaky words left his lips.  

“As you know, I had some medical exams. I went to the doctor last week to get the results. I am very ill, my love.” She tried to find gracious words in the English language, but emotions rushed things. “I have ovarian cancer. I am starting treatments next week.” 

Beatrice was silent for a while. Mary could see in her daughter's expressions that she was processing what she had just heard. “But, after it, you're going to be okay, right?” She looked up at Mary with her big, sweet hazel eyes. 

Mary didn't want to lie to her, but she didn't want to be overly optimistic. "I will do my best. The doctors will do their best, and with a little faith everything, will be okay.” 

+++++++ 

Her grandmother got a similar surgery years ago as a preventative measure; therefore, the operation didn't scare her. Mary knew the secret was to get plenty of rest, so as she did, at least, as much as mother can do. 

On the other hand, chemotherapy treatments were knocking her down. Pregnancy nausea was a child's play compared to what she was feeling. After the sessions, Mary felt so weak that she could barely get out of bed for days. When she finally started to feel better, it was time to do another one. 

If it weren't for Beatrice, Mary was sure she couldn’t bear it. 

As soon as her hair began to fall like leaves in autumn, she decided to cut it very short. Mary had always loved and pampered her hair, and her grandmother was to blame. She loved her granddaughter's hair and spent hours doing elaborate hairstyles. Elena Howard used to say, 'Tira più un capello di donna che cento paia di buoi'' (‘one hair of woman pulls more than a hundred pairs of oxen’). Mary only many years later understood the full meaning of these words. 

However, more than her hurt vanity, seeing Beatrice cry when she faced her like that for the first time was much more painful. 

Since Mary couldn’t afford a decent wig, she chose to wear headscarves. Parvati, using all the scraps of beautiful fabrics, sewed her headscarves in all patterns and colours. 

+++++++ 

Despite all the ups and downs, Mary was enjoying that summer. 

One more time in her life, she has a lot to be thankful for Parvati. Her friend was being tireless with her, spending the most critical nights close to her, preparing meals, taking care of Beatrice, driving her to and from the hospital... Mary knew she could never repay her, so she prayed that life would reward her with the same kindness. 

Thanks to Pavarti's generosity, Mary was able to dedicate what little energy she had to her little girl, keeping these precious moments in her heart.  

Beatrice spoiled her as best she could, with little gifts and affection. She was always ready to help, no matter the task. It filled Mary's heart with pride. Her daughter's love was what kept her standing. 

The fear of the future often made her think about Vincent. She was sure that Pavarti would look out for her daughter, however, if the worst happened, at least Beatrice would have someone else to turn to. 

Rupert had died a few years earlier, so he was no longer a threat. The years and the paths taken changed both of them, but Mary believed that his heart had not changed. 

She was convinced that when he found out about Beatrice, Vincent would not excuse himself from his obligations. She also didn't doubt that, as time went by, they would love each other very much. 

So, Mary started making arrangements. Since she didn't want there to be any doubt about her daughter's paternity, she took a sample of Beatrice's hair for them to analyse. 

Along with the samples and some photographs, Mary enclosed a letter from her to Vincent in an envelope. It took days, crumpled papers, and many tears to write that letter. Later, she would just need to instruct Pavarti on how to get that to Vincent. 

At the end of September, hope fell away with the leaves. Despite the treatments, the new exams showed that it had spread to other parts of the body. The doctor was almost as dejected as she was. 

“Just tell me how long I have.” Mary asked through tears. 

“I can't give guarantees about anyone's life, Miss Howard. Sometimes there are real miracles in the human body.” The doctor tried to comfort her. 

“I prefer the truth, doctor. Please.” 

“A couple of months, no more than Christmas.” 

“Will it be painful?” 

“There are several ways to make that period smoother, if that's your wish.” 

“Having to go is bad enough, don’t you think?” 

Back home, Mary didn't have the courage to face her daughter. Parvati took Beatrice home for an impromptu sleepover party. 

When the girls fell asleep, Pavarti sneaked over to the Howards' house. It would be a very difficult night for Mary. 

After many cups of tea and many more tears, Mary resolved, “This will take me to my grave, but I won't let it take away the shreds of happiness. My daughter and I deserve better than spending our final weeks in misery.” 

From that moment on, Mary focused on enjoying every minute with her girl, the epitome of her happiness. 

“When are you going to tell her?” Pavarti asked. 

“I do not know how, but not for now. When I feel it's closer. I don't want her to cry before the time.” 

*November 2004*

Giggles were filling the air. Two little girls were playing tag, running around carefree. 

Mary was sitting in her small garden, feeling severe pains, in spite of the medications. She held a mug of strong coffee in her hands, one of the few things that gave her energy. 

The autumn sun in her bones was her only comfort. That and seeing her daughter happy. 

Taking small, warm sips, Mary reflected on the past thirty years. So much had happened! In her short life there were adventures that would fill a lifetime. Losses along the way, setbacks, broken dreams...but also good friends, many happy days...and, best of all, Beatrice. Mary would go all the way again for the opportunity to share her life with Beatrice. 

She was already missing what wasn't going to live with her. Beatrice looks at her and smiles. She is missing two teeth that fell out the other day. Mary knows she won't see her new teeth, yet she smiles back. 

‘How do we prepare a child for our death, Pavarti?' Mary asked her friend, who was sitting next to her.  

@jeanele ❣  @missameliep ​  ❣   @regencylady1810 ​ ❣  @i-put-the-sin-in-sinclaire  ❣ @whenyourheartskipsabeat ❣ @xjustin-ethansgirliex  ❣ @rosesnink ❣  @gardeningourmet❣ @paisleylovergirl  ❣ @dailydoseofchoices  ❣  @rhyssescups ❣   @lorircreates  ❣  @lorirwritesfanfic ❣ @walkerduchess  ❣ @indiacater ❣ @kinkypot ❣ @ezekielbhandarivalleros ❣ @anotherbeingsworld ❣ @hellooliviaolivia ❣ @pixel-writer19  ❣ @sinclaire-ity  ❣ @marlcasters ❣ @bhartigat81 ❣ @lyannacyrill706 ❣ @daddytyrilstarfury  ❣ @secretaryunpaid ❣ @allisonreilynn ❣ @fauxleaves ❣ @twinkleallnight ❣ @kingliam2019 ❣ @iloveethanramsey ❣ @surewhyynot ❣ @yvettegolx  ❣ @itlivesinpixelberry ❣  @chutchoices ❣ @electroniccreatorwerewolf  ❣ @spookycolorpeanut  ❣ @peonierose ❣ @quixoticdreamer16   ❣ @lilyoffandoms   ❣ @tessa-liam ❣ @storyofmychoices ❣ @dutifullynuttywitch ❣ @ladylamrian

[rocksibblingsau]

what’s something about the fic that you wanna share but don’t think you’ll get a chance too?

Some deleted/rewritten scenes!

One of the first scenes I envisioned was a scene of Barb singing Seven Nation Army (in regards to Branch having worries about Trolls not liking him and her reassuring him she'd fight anyone off who did), but I had Branch reveal his trauma pretty earlier on once I started writing and Barb choosing to sing a song would have been massively out of character.

The initial plan for Branch getting his headphones from Riff actually took place in the upper bowl, and would have also been when Branch met Sid, but I changed it to the coffee scene simply because it worked better.

An earlier concept of Chapter 8 had Barb gifting Branch Bobo, but to be honest Branch wouldn't have liked Bobo so he got a new plushie. I also briefly considered the idea of Branch accidentally ripping Bobo, but to be honest Bobo is so destroyed that how could you even tell if you did rip him.

There was a scrapped concept between chapters 9 and 10 that would have had him spending time and watching wrestling on TV, but that was reworked into him watching it live during their special day.

In chapters 11/12, I briefly considered Billy being the one to find Branch on behalf of Barb, but decided to have Barb find him, have a fight with him and then send Billy in.

The nickname 'Twigs' just randomly came to me and wasn't planned, but once I came up with it I wanted to make it their thing.

In chapter 14, I was torn between laser tag and bumper cars but settled on laser tag. I'm happy I did because I don't think bumper cars would have been as special or interesting, and now Branch has a thing he's good at. I also debated who the teams should have been for awhile.

In chapter 15 Branch wasn't originally going to break the CD player, and Demo would have checked over his work, but it felt more in character to me that Branch might have a more violent reaction.

In chapter 19 there was going to be a scene where a large spray of lava was going to hit Barb and Branch, and Barb would toss Branch to Sid to keep him from getting submerged. I realized half way through writing that scene that it was too close to Branch being pushed by his grandma and would more than likely have caused Branch a panic attack, and that chapter was meant to be cute so I cut the scene entirely.

Raff's personality was initially kinda different. She was a more anxious person, with a bit of a defeatist attitude. Canonically that's what she used to be like, before she got therapy.

Branch's revelation about Cooper at one point was planned for when he met Prince D, but I moved it to coming about thanks to therapy.

I cannot stress how last minute Dickory was. Part of why I added him is because Poppy's story was actually kind of depressing without him.

Before I made the plan for the haunted house to go poorly, Branch was going to go to the carnival where there would have been yet another Spider tease.

[swordbisexual]

💕⭐ 💕 hiiiii

Hey hi hello!

Ok, so since I get to pick a fic to ramble about, I'm going with All That You Held Sacred Falls Down And Does Not Mend, because it's got background Vissenta Lore both in fic and outside of it, and this was me working at some Forgotten Realms lore tie-ins I've had kicking around while I was at it!

First of all, I realize that while there's a handful of folks following me who know all about Vissenta, my oldest and most special and most favorite girl, not everyone does. She's an OC I developed a lot over the course of writing about her in the context of The Arcana, and among the things that really defined her were that I gave her a connection to Death and an affinity for swords (queen of swords, to continue the tarot theme). She had some juicy "born leader of a religious/death cult" trauma built in, too, and a mentor/father figure (Reynaud, who she calls Old Fox) who grappled with his own faith in Death and what on earth a child's role could be in being a figurehead.

So, obviously, Vissenta ended up slotting pretty well into being the Dark Urge. (Much better than as a cleric of Kelemvor, which I'd thought about at first; the fondness for swords are what had me pivot to paladin.)

This fic actually began when I started thinking: what if Vissenta was an origin companion? Well, she'd be a paladin in service of Kelemvor, obviously, an acolyte who believed that it was her born duty to serve as a Doomguide. That she has a physical resemblance to Kelemvor Lyonsbane was just a fun bonus, really, and that seemed fun. So I started writing this with the intent of it being her origin character timeline.

Well, what if the cleric who raised her thought that she was born of divine means because of her resemblance to Kelemvor? And then the Dark Urge came back into play, because there's nothing quite like almost having it right, and the tragedy of being wrong.

The feeling I was going for was like a fairy tale within a fable: Reynaud tells a story, which he hopes will tell another story, and here we are being told the story of how it all went wrong. It's laid the foundation for Vissenta's character and her story, I think, along with the seeds of the possibility of her redemption in how she delivers his final rite.

Stylistically, Reynaud has always been one of my more introspective characters. In the stories I have on my drive that I wrote about him, in a doomed city that I created around Vissenta's childhood, he has a poetic streak, and keeps journals recording histories and myths. This was very much in the same vein. Just for a fun bonus, I've dug up some of Vissenta being strange and unusual and unsettling Reynaud as a child, from that particular universe:

Vissenta was undeniably human, and undeniably a pain in his ass, half the time. She’d come traipsing down to the chapel, ostensibly to supplement her education, though why the Oracle needed education in the ways of the Church made little sense to Reynaud. The moment she spotted the first streak of gray in his hair, she’d crowed with delight. “You really are an old fox now!” “I’m not much older than your sisters,” he’d said, gruffly, trying to conceal any sort of familial affection he felt for this incorrigible adolescent who, he reminded himself, bore a mark of power. “And younger than your father.” “Still older than me,” she’d retorted, before she grew suddenly somber as she stared out at the churchyard beyond the chapel’s back door. These turns of mood were far from unusual, and Reynaud almost found them comforting. When Vissenta’s eyes clouded over in thought, when she turned on a dime from giggling to glowering, he was able to rise above his doubts, to rise above thinking of her as anything but the power of the Lady made flesh. He’d followed the line of her stare to the gleaming white marble mausoleum that stood stark and shining above the weathered, tumbled markers scattered about the rest of the graveyard. When she spoke again, it was soft, tremulous, and he was reminded all over that she may very well just be the child she appeared to be. “Do you want to see something?” Immediately discomfited, but intensely curious, Reynaud followed Vissenta to the mausoleum. There was room for several names on the brass plate door, but the sole one inscribed upon it - Catarina - served as a reminder of questions long unanswered. “Your mother?” Vissenta’s fingers traced lightly over the letters, and she shook her head. “No. Something else I found.” And with that, the churchyard faded away.

[couch-house]

Merger AU comic... begin!! I think I've got my comic skills to a point where I want to try doing an STC-style multi-part story. I've got it all scripted, now I just have to do it. It's a lot of work! So erm 👉👈 I'd really appreciate if you'd ♥ 💬 or 🔁 to let me know what you think :)

Confused? Don't go here? Read my fanfiction as a prologue! Or don't! This picks up right after the end of Fleetway's Sonic The Comic, so you aren't really missing much. tl;dr for basic stc lore below:

In the UK Sonic comic, Sonic transforms into Super after exposure to large amounts of chaos energy or in times of great stress. Super is a violent, chaotic monster that destroys everything and everyone he sees until he loses power and reverts back to Sonic. Halfway through the comic, Super and Sonic are physically separated. Super then loses his powers and--briefly--his memories, becoming a nice little guy who wanders Metropolis Zone getting adopted by sweet old ladies. This includes Ebony the Mystic Mog (a witch/sorceres) and Pyjamas the Psychic. They take him in as family and give him a job at Ebony's coffee bar The Groovy Train. As Super's chaos energy fades, he starts dying. Ebony takes him to find the Chaos Emeralds to heal him, but runs into the Sonic Adventure 1 plot. Super absorb's Chaos' energy and becomes evil again, until Ebony seals him away in Sonic's body.

Hopefully some of that was apparent already! The only changes I've made to canon before this point is letting Super choose a new name as Fleet :)

[lancrewizzard]

On one level, I get why people want Rincewind to finally do magic, especially in fanfic. The man's been through absolute hell multiple times, insulted, dismissed, underestimated, and generally used as the universe's chew toy. It only makes sense to want him to achieve his dreams.

But I can't emphasise enough how important it is, thematically and character-wise, for Rincewind to be inherently incapable of doing magic. In a way, he's the inverse of a wizard, in that it would be more accurate to say that magic uses him. One of the eight great spells used him as a portable spell book, he was a sort of grounding rod for excess magic in Sourcery, and he's a tool of the gods, which themselves need the magic weakened reality in order to exist on the Disc.

Rincewind's stories aren't about overcoming one's weaknesses or finding hidden strength. He's not a hero, he's just someone who happened to be there. Rincewind's stories are of survival, and it's important that that's all they're about. At their heart, these are books about a man who isn't that strong or smart or brave or good or special in any way, but he still survives situations that no one should ever have to face and helps others along the way.

Giving Rincewind magic makes him Special TM, and that stops him being special as a character. Discworld is full of inspirational heroes who chose to do the right thing, and so became important from their choices. Rincewind means more to me as a character, because when you're fighting physical and mental illness, surviving is often the only victory that matters.

[highlordofkrypton]

Time for me to say ONE LAST THING on all this drama, but it's important to me.

art is a form of therapy

you do not know other people's trauma, and you sure as hell cannot know a person even if they posted everything about themselves on their blog

no one holds the right to say what is valid or invalid

The ACOTAR fandom has an exquisite way of policing trauma as well as character and ship enjoyment. the fans pick and choose who is deserving of community, kinship and basic decency.

I speak a lot about empathy on my blog because I cannot know what a person is going through on the other side of the screen, and though I don't always agree, I have enough decency not to go out and make rules excluding people, insult others, while calling myself a positive space.

Just because your trauma means that you prefer to avoid certain topics or characters does not make anyone else who enjoys said character a bad person. some people, myself included, work through trauma through art.

My writing has saved my life, and the compassion I choose to give to "fictional "abusers (btw, victimhood and abuse does not come in one absolute form and you CAN be both a victim and an abuser with a capacity to change) is intentional. I do not glorify abuse, but I understand that art and humans are nuanced.

I also think it's a real privilege to look at other people's traumas, especially intergenerational trauma which is extremely hard to overcome, and say that 'nah, that person is just an abuser'.

I think it's hypocritical to claim fight against abuse, and fight for victims of abuse while carelessly flinging 'abuse sympathizers' and other insults to people you don't even know.

You realize that's a form of abuse, too? Invalidating, gaslighting, etc.

But thank you, ACOTAR fandom for teaching me:

Thank you for teaching me my trauma is only valid if I act like the way you think a victim should

Thank you for teaching me that I do not deserve respect, even if I take extreme care to create nuanced and emotional art because you don't like the character

Thank you for teaching me that if I face my abusers through art, I, myself am an abuser

Thank you for reassuring me that your fav, who is closer to my abuser almost to a R, deserves redemption because you love him more, and he is more attractive

I have never used my trauma as a credibility card to judge and be dismissive of real people in fandom. If you want to police something, police your fucking content.

People aren't content for you to consume, and vomit your unfiltered opinions on. It's time people remember what community means, which remembers interacting with other people who are not your abusers. Maybe take a second and fucking learn about other perspectives, grow as a person or whatever the fuck you need to be a decent person.

If you plan to reblog this invalidating/arguing what I've said above because blah blah you're still upset about your fav or ship, please take a second to read the post again 'cause you've lost the plot.

Now, I'm done. Peace out ✌️

Additional note: You know what I fucking do with my trauma? I make beautiful shit for everyone to enjoy. You don't don't have to read or care about my stories full of depth and nuance, but if you laugh at my fucking memes that are for EVERYONE and you turn around and shit on people, you suck.

[letterstoanoldfriend]

Cooking with Cat is, secretly, Jean’s favorite part of the day. He would never admit that out loud to anyone, not even under threat of horrifying punishment, a practice with which he was all too familiar. He is not very good at it, still, but Cat shimmies past him tonight as he is carefully slicing a bell pepper and whistles.

“Those are looking good, Jean! Look at you, knowing which knife to use and using it so well, it’s almost like you’re a real boy,” and she hip bumps him as she continues on her way to the fridge. Jean looks down at his pepper slices. They are uneven in some places, and there are seeds everywhere, and he moves so slowly compared to her fast chopping on the other side of the counter that he sometimes feels as if he’s hurting more than he’s helping, but he feels a sweet tendril of something warm curling up under his ribs at her words, and he feels very much like he might want to smile, if that was something his face was more accustomed to doing. He reaches for the onion, instead.

They work well together in the kitchen, Cat dancing around to the music pouring out of her boombox, chattering away about some of the latest drama with the other Trojans. Jean listens with half an ear, but he mostly lets the sensations wash over him—the sharp smell of spice from the chicken, the dull sound of his knife hitting the cutting board, the warm heat from Cat’s back as she stands at the stove. There is something about being in the space, something about preparing a meal, something about Cat and her music that centers him. He is not hunted, here. He feels safe. He steps up next to Cat, putting the ingredients for their sauce into a battered blender that lives to the right of the stove. She smiles at him as she stirs the chicken into the peppers and onions, asks him how he’s feeling about classes starting soon. He frowns.

“I do not care. Classes are a necessary evil to allow for playing that are ultimately a waste of my time and yours.”

Cat snorts. “You know what I love about you, Jean? You’re just always so goddamn cheerful.”

“It is true,” he argues, “I do not need to know the things in these classes. All I must know is how to play. How to win.”

Cat shrugs. She gestures for Jean to blend the sauce while she grabs plates. He does. When the sound dies down, she takes it from him and shows him how to pour it over the chicken and the veggies on the stove, talks him through how it thickens up over the heat, holds plates while he scoops out portions of rice and ladles the stir fry on top. As she sets the last plate on the counter and switches off the boombox, she points to the meal they made together and says, “there can be more to you than Exy, Jean. If you let there be.”

[velvet-paradox]

Intense

Fandom: Sleep Token (Band) Pairing: Vessel x Female reader x III Length: Long Summary: Your eepy roommates suggest they can help you out. Warnings: NSFW 18 + ONLY, LISTEN UP PUNK I know what I'm about ok and I shouldn't even have to to explain this but for ffs this is for funsies, fictional purposes only. I don't know these British men and I don't claim to! But am I having an absolute ball listening to them everyday day since I heard Dark Signs??? Absolutely. I have not and will not know peace on Earth ever again so with that being said... my lizard brain wants to shoot my shot and get sandwiched between Vessel and III (purely based off their on stage personas) and I'm pretty sure all us worshippers would enjoy kneeling and begging for forgiveness for all the eepy guys. DON'T LIE TO ME; I'll know. ;) One late night thot lead us down this path so here ya' go, we've got: strong language, explicit content, MFM relations, polyamorous activities, kissing, oral (m receiving), p in v, protected sex, unprotected sex (don't do it!), double vaginal, dirty talking, creampie III is a mess, Vessel is along for the ride and you're indulging in the spoils of detailed smut. Tagging: @synnersaint my ride or die

ENJOY!!!

You stare at the red numbers on the clock next to your bed. You blink.

Unfortunately unfazed by the hum-drum pace and the position you've found yourself in.

Ugh, how did this happen again?

The man on top of you, circling his hips against your own, balls deep in your cunt should be fun, exciting, a turn-on at least but you just laid there, once again, taking it but not getting anything out of it. You faked it the last three times just to get him to get off you, out of your apartment and out the door so you could finish yourself off with some post nut clarity. Which is what you should've done in the first place.

The first time you had sex with him, you chalked it up to nerves. It'd been a few months for him and a bit longer for you at this point. The second time you excused it as you did go out for drinks earlier in the night and the last one was just plain awful. No foreplay, bit your neck too hard and pretty much gave you a titty-twister which was not fun; at all.

But he's nice! And funny, easy to talk to you and here you are, making more excuses for a man who can't even get you off. This is just pathetic, girl.

You felt bad faking your enthusiasm but even as you moved in unison with him, hearing him huff and grate out oh my fucking god for the fifth time, he didn't even have a clue.

So you dialed it up, two more minutes had passed with him just thrusting inside you, he didn't even notice you weren't as wet as before. What a fucking disaster.

You sighed and made your O face, biting your lip and holding his waist, the slapping of skin sped up briefly before he pulled out with a groan of your name, panting as he jerked himself, tore off the condom and came on the inside of your thigh.

Fucking finally.

Your date was quick to get dressed, mentioning something about an early shift change. He gave you chaste kiss on the corner of your mouth, cupping your face as an afterthought as you followed him out of your bedroom.

"I'll text you when I get home. I-- oh!"

You bounced against his back, stunned as to why he's just stopped like that when you peer around his frame. There on the couch in your living room sat your roommates.

"Oh my-- what are you guys doing home?" You asked, frantically looking between the two sober faces and their luggage by the front door. Well more like the painted chin of one and the eyes of the other. You were hyperaware of the drying cum on your leg and crossed your fingers and toes they didn't hear your activities or what remained to be seen.

"We live here, remember?" Vessel waved one of his hands, III nodding along.

"When you said you had roommates I just assumed they were other girls." Your bedfellow side talked to you as to not alert your boys.

"Is that a problem?" You asked.

"No I just uh," he looked at III when he stood, an attempt to intimidate. "It's fine um... I'll call you."

"Well that was rude," Vessel announced, joining his brother after he left. "Didn't even introduce himself."

"He won't be around for long. I wouldn't worry about it." You dryly chuckled before embracing both of them. Vessel cupped the back of your head, pressing his chin into your hair before letting III swoop you up in his gangly arms and gave you two solid spins. "Put me down! You reek."

"Ah, the mask has seen better days I'm afraid. Can't wait to get a hot shower and something in my belly. Road livin' ain't what its' cracked up to be, ya' know?" III admitted.

"Um, let me get changed and I'll make you guys some food," you jogged out of the living room, calling over your shoulder. "Lord knows what you boys eat on the road!" ....

"Can I ask you something?"

"Of course," You paused the movie and turned to face Vessel on the chaise lounge part of the couch, long limbs sprawled out, ankles crossed and rocking. "What's up?"

Vessel twisted his painted mouth before asking an out of pocket question. "Why do you torture yourself?"

Taken aback you wondered what he meant and crossed your legs. "What? What do you mean?"

"I think you know what I mean." When you showed your genuine confusion, he sat up. "Your little boy toy. Not that III and I have been cheeky little perverts and eavesdropping on your late night escapades but... we can't help but be concerned. Either you're a silent climaxer, some people are and that's totally fine and we're bold to assume or your partner isn't doing it right."

"Excuse me?"

"We've only been home a few weeks and we've heard him far more than we've heard you," Vessel explained, ignoring your anxious fidgeting and cuticle picking. "What we have heard though, is a lot of buzzing after your friend leaves."

Oh. My. God.

Your heart is hammering in your chest, desperate to get out of, out of your body and on the run. Blood pounds in your ears at the audacity of this whole conversation. Your roommates have heard you getting off, know you have toys, know your friends with benefits is lacking the benefits part and that you'd not been taken care of. You wished it was still cooler out and you could grab the usual throw off the back of the couch and hide away underneath.

"What are you guys talkin' about?" III popped in, holding a glass of chocolate milk, an absurdly long and coiled straw was hidden beneath his mask as he sucked dramatically.

Vessel smirked. "Oh just Y/N and how her new beau can't get her off."

"Oh finally! I've been dying for this conversation," III exclaimed and excited plopped down next to Vessel, scooching closer and leaning forward as he drank some more. "So what gives? Give us the goods."

"I don't... he knows what he's doing, it's just--"

"It's just he's bad at it." III giggled.

"I can get off, okay?"

"Yeah, we know that. Just not with him."

"I... fine. It might not even be him you know," you tried. "Maybe it's me. Maybe I can't get out fast enough."

Vessel quirked his mouth. "Get out of what exactly?"

"My own head. I think too much, you know that. I need to feel everything in order to shut my brain off and not worry about how many loads of laundry I need to do, when I need to switch out my sheets, did I pick up my towel in the bathroom? What should I have for lunch tomorrow."

The boys looked between themselves, shrugging and looking bewildered. "You... you think about all that stuff all while having sex?" III snorted and shook his head. "You're a madwoman, you know that?"

"I'm trying not to think of those things!"

"That's what I was afraid of," Vessel took III's now finished drink away from him and set it down. "If you want, we could help you out. Save you the trouble and the energy and uh, some battery power."

You chuckled. "You're joking. You two are gonna' help me out."

"Just say the word and we belong to you," Vessel crooned, licking his top lip. The pink of his tongue was such a juxtaposition to he obsidian black that covered his face, his arms and hands, his body. "This could be a one time deal, if it's not up to your standards, we don't have to mention it ever again or... it could be a three times a week sort of thing."

"Three times a week?!" You screeched.

"That's up to you."

....

"So uh have you guys like... done this before?" Your voice doesn't even sound like your own, shaky, breathy, uneven and higher pitched. You pointed between the duo and yourself. You hadn't but your incognito search history might say you've looked at it a few times.

They admitted their deep rooted feelings about you. Your stomach flipped for Vessel's breathy pet name of Duchess, your toes curled for III's Sweetness. 

With the way they looked at you, you couldn't even remember his name at this point.

Vessel shrugged. "Just with you."

"Just me?" You balked, you knew the guys were close, sometimes skin tight so to find out they'd not acted out was stunning and a major green light. "Oh um, I'm flattered. iI think."

"You should be. III isn't much of a talker, speaks his mind when need be."

"Unless its' dirty." III piped up with a shrug of his own, with the way his eyes wrinkled you could tell he was all smiles under that mask.

"A little tact there, brother!" Vessel scolded him, giving a backhand to his arm. "Don't scare her off."

"What? She should know. You should know. I am dripping with sin."

"III!"

"What? We're all adults here, right? An' we're talking about fucking each other so who cares?! And she might even like it. Do you like dirty talk, sweetness?" III asked with a tilt of his head.

"Uh I um... I. Well..."

"Do you," III stood and got closer, much closer, swaying his way to close the gap between you. He stood with his legs on the outside of your own. He tilted his head the opposite way and kept his eyes trained your face, the heat from the eye contact made you hot. His painted thumb touched your chin. "Like that?"

You'd never felt this kind of intimacy, this heightened level of attraction and arousal and it made you nervously laugh at the thought that it was radiating off your friends like a fucking forest fire.

You swallowed. "Yes."

"Aha! Knew it. Those pretty eyes and that fucking mouth are hiding plenty of secrets, yeah?" III pointed, that thumb of his traced along your jaw before pushing gently on the underside, making you look all the way up at him.

If they wanted to play, you thought, I guess... let's play.

"Maybe."

"Oh! Now we're getting somewhere," III chuckled and looked over at Vessel before touching your shoulder, moving the strap of your sleep shirt back and forth. His hands were hot, scorching your skin as he touched the light fabric. "Should I undress you or should you undress me? Or maybe Vessel wants to unwrap us both. What do you think?"

"I think--" your throat constricted before keeping his ardent eye contact. "I think I want to undress you first."

III liked that idea, he wiggled his shoulders and raised his arms. "I'm all yours, mama."

....

His hoodie is the first thing to go, floating down to the floor. A black compression shirt separates flesh and bone, it comes off easily over his head. He's only half painted there. You can see streaks of his skin, soft and smooth, hidden from view. His stomach tightens when you trail your hand down his chest, foreign to your hands.

"I think about you, ya' know? Not to be pervy or bold but... you are the prettiest thing we've ever seen."

His compliments make you warm, you clench around nothing.

He suddenly grabs your hand and moves it higher. "Feel that. You make my heart fuckin' pound like crazy. The first time I saw you in that green sundress, you know, the one with the little daises on it... fuck me," III admitted and dramatically bit his fist. "I've never been so hard in my life!"

You know the dress in question. It's hanging in the front of your closet. Guess it'll be making a debut and turn III on once again. 

"Oh yeah? Well maybe next time I wear it... I won't wear anything underneath."

III made the deepest of groans, moving your hand down his ribs while he undid his belt. "Fuckin' hell, don't tease me woman."

"You don't like that?"

"I like it too much! That's the problem."

His zipper was so fucking loud, it cut through the room like a hot knife. Smooth and seamless, even Vessel had to clear his throat. You looked over at him on the chaise, legs wide spread, lithe arms outstreatched over the back cushions. With three separate eye holes in his mask, it was hard to tell where he was looking but in this moment you felt them boring straight into your own.

"Keep going," he hummed and visibly bit his lip. " 'm enjoying the show."

With III was just in his boxers, it was your turn. Your disrobing would be a lot quicker as you were in a light pajama set and crew socks. You mmiiced III and raised your arms above your head, his nimble fingers danced over your sides, dragging the material up and over your head. He tossed to Vessel, who out of your peripheral, had inhaled your scent on it. He did the same with your shorts. The rush of cool fan air make your skin prickle, your clit throbbed when you fully noticed the outline of III's cock. Jesus. 

III got on his knees and lifted one your feet, gripping your ankle.

"No. Keep them on." Vessel spoke, pushing himself up off the couch and sauntered over to you, fully nude and on display. He embraced your face, pressing his forehead to yours before slinking behind III when he stood.

Vessel's painted arms looped around III's, locking them behind his back. III made a noise.

"Take him out," Vessel instructed with a low gasp. "Take him out and see what you do to him. Same as what you do to me. Hell, all of us, duchess."

ALL OF US?!

Before you got on your own knees, you touched III's hips, hooking your thumbs just beneath the fabric and dragged them down. His cock made the softest and prettiest thud against his lower belly. Your eyes bounced from their faces, down to his leaking cock and back again.

"He wasn't lying," Vessel chuckled, his chin now draped over III's shoulder. You met his eyes. "You make him rock fuckin' hard, love. Want her to take all o' that? Nah... you need her to take care of that, don't you?"

"Fuck yes." III whined. "Please."

"How are you gonna' help our good boy, love?"

III shook before your even touched him, you on your knees before him was enough to have him looking frantic. Completely at your and Vessel's mercy, you took him in your hand first, getting familiar with his length before dipping your head in worship, opening your mouth. You hesitated for the briefest of moments before angling him deeper and further into your mouth.

It was a good thing Vessel was holding him up because you felt and saw III's knees wobble once you got your stride, gliding your hands up and around his thighs, arching closer with your fingers reaching his ribcage. Your palms against his skin felt every twitch, every jolts, every fucking sigh. The noise that strangled out from his throat when you dragged your nails down his stomach had you clenching around absolutely nothing.

"That's it, you're doing such a good job, love bug. Atta' girl, get 'em off real good, yeah?"

"Yeah yeah, fuck yeah," III whined and bucked his hips, "Your mouth feels so fucking good. Suckin' me off real sweet, mama. Give it to me."

"She's good with that mouth, hmmm?"

"Oh fuck V...wait 'til she oh shit, right there-- wait 'til she's gaggin' on you. O-oh my God."

When III took the Lord's name in vain it sounded so sweet in comparison to your other lover. You could feel yourself getting wetter, more powerful than you ever had with him. You took their words of praise, locked them in a little safe in the back of your mind for safe keeping.

"You're lucky I don't shove your ass out of the way then." Vessel teased and III mewled with delight.

....

III made grabby hands at you, wiggling his fingers as he laid out on the chaise part of the couch. He wiggled, tapped and pointed towards his mouth too.

When you climbed on top of him, his arms engulfed you, bringing you chest to chest. You kissed his face over his mask, startled when he suddenly pulled the chin part of it up to his nose and kissed you for real. You whined and kissed him back harder and faster, tasting his mouth, licking inside of it. He smacked and grabbed your ass, groaning against your lips.

"You two are fuckin divine," Vessel breathed, shouldering off his robe finally, unzipping his own jeans. "Fuckin’ hell, what a sight."

You turned your head to his silky voice, watching him stroke himself.

You were in big fucking trouble.

III nipped your arm. "Want you. I want you so fucking badly. Think it'll fit? Think you can take it?"

You took a breath and held his cock, hot and ready against your pussy. Rocking against the crown, splitting your lips to ready you for him. You licked your lips and lowered down on it, your mouth instantly opening. "Fuck yes."

"Good God!" 

"Shit... a little more, love and you'll take him all the way in. That's it." Vessel cooed and pet your head, then your face. "Kiss him again."

With his heavy hand on your head you kissed III tongue first, the sounds of you two kissing had Vessel praising both of you, leaving him breathless.

III grabbed your hips, rolling and fucking up into you, breathing you in.

You and III stilled at the sudden dip of the couch.

Vessel's hand on your shoulder, his other ghosted and trailed over III's mask and vulnerable chin and mouth behind you. He lost it at that, whimpering against your cheek, a new flood of arousal coating your walls.

"Just relax pretty girl. We've got you, we got you."

"What are you--"

Vessel's thick fingers reached around your front, pressing and swirling down around your clit. "We're both gonna' fit. Just remember to breathe for us, ok?"

Holy shit. This was intense.

III's arm surged up and over your shoulder to touch Vessel, ghosting over his naked hip, gripping his bare skin.

"I've got you both. Trust me."

It was your idea to lift up, empty of III only to arch and take a deep push of Vessel. You frowned and touched III's face when Vessel pulled completely out. You both gasped when he spat. III squirmed and whined, the sudden intrusion of Vessel lining them both up against your hole, wedging their cocks inside you.

It didn't necessarily hurt, more pressure than anything and for fucks sake, you'd never felt so full in your life. 

"Fuck V! Give us a warning, holy fuck." III breathed when the frontman started to rock and move. After a few minutes of fucked out bliss, it seemed like Vessel was fucking III through your body.

He smeared his face along your spine, your shoulder, leaving wet open mouthed kisses along your neck and ear.

"Good fucking God duchess, you are absolutely soaked for us, aren't you? Can feel you really start to open up for us now, yeah? Fuck you're amazing. Isn't she?"

"Ye-yeah yeah. Positively sweet," III's eyes sparkled in an amorous way. You kissed him hard. "Can't wait to have a taste of you, sweetness."

The thought of him working his mouth on you made you keen and fuck down on them.

Limbs twisted and tangled, Vessel nipped a small, incredibly sensitive spot behind your ear before licking the shell of it. Humming and praising you with that gravely timber. He was touching you, holding onto one of your tits for stability and III did the same, using just the pad of his thumb to pebble your other nipple.

You would never recover, that much you were sure of. They were out for pain and pleasure.

On a particularly hard thrust from III your moan slipped into sex drunk chuckle. "I think she likes it."

"I'm in fuckin' heaven." You breathed, reaching back to touch Vessel's thigh, digging your nailbeds in deep.

"That's it, you fuckin' naughty thing." His hand left your breast and found a new home around your throat, turning your head to face him and receive a sloppy kiss. III moaned at that.

"You two are fuckin-- ah shit. I'm close, fuck. Give it, give it to me."

Vessel's laugh against your lips made your walls constrict.

"Just like that!" III practically yelled, digging his fingers into your thighs, alternating to your hips, changing the tortuous pace. "Fuck, 'm gonna' bust, sweetness. Fuckin' cum inside you all nice and deep. Make it stick."

"Fuck me." You hung your head and rode it out, nothing but pure pleasure and bliss was shared between the three of you. And it was worth it. "Oh you guys... aha! I'm gonna' cum."

You couldn't remember the last time you came that hard with a partner and never with two! They both rubbed their hands and mouths over your skin, groping over your sandwiched body. Vessel's chest stuck to your back like glue, III grabbed and pushed both of your breasts together as he came shortly after with a grunt of your name, stringing along a beautiful array of obscenities. 

"I've got you, I've got you both in my clutches now." Vessel's voice sounded like silk on glass next to your ear as he continued to thrust, spearing III's load all over your gummy walls. III reached out a lazy hand and Vessel took it, lacing their fingers together over your shoulder. 

Skin on skin on skin.

III leaned up for another smooch with you greedily enjoyed, smacking your spit and lips together until all you could feel and hear was Vessel shudder behind you.

....

Vessel couldn't stop smiling as you giggled, helped to your bedroom, wedged between them on your bed as they cleaned you up. You would certainly need to clean up that side of the couch later. III was careful of your more tender bits, being stretched out and filled, removing black grease paint of where they were.

He drummed his fingers over your arms when he was finished, molding his body to yours. His head against the side of your neck. III soon joined in the snuggle, jumping into bed and under the covers with you. He gave you another kiss before pulling his mask back down, and pet Vessel's head.

Your phone buzzed when your boys had fallen asleep, you had a feeling of who it might be and if this is how the future looked; there was no way you were gonna' give this up.

[optiwashere]

Huh, I didn't even realize it'd been a year since BG3 came out until I opened tumblr this morning. Kinda wild. I didn't think much of the game's release: I like Larian's games, and I like the BG series. I wasn't ever going to skip the game, but I didn't think I'd play it at launch because I was busy working on a novel in 2023 and not doing well financially.

Thankfully, circumstances left me with a little bit of extra money last year just before launch and it meant I could spend on a video game. I needed a pick-me-up after said 2023 novel failed to go anywhere, and BG3 was right there. Like most CRPGs, I played it in basically every moment of free time that I had and did as much as I possibly could in one playthrough.

It's so odd how these small happenstances can snowball into coming back to fandom, finding some friends I might've never met otherwise, and writing a lot of fanfiction along the way. I'll probably have something more interesting to say/share when it's the 14th, AKA when I sat down and wrote my first fic for this fandom.

Anyways, it's been a lot of fun and I'm looking forward to more years to come 💜

[mylittleredgirl]

i'm so charmed by the letter trapper gets back from his wife in "kim"

louise mcintyre is hilarious actually