#i like how the flames turned out though!!

[wings-of-fire-confessions]

So... Flame. Sure, fans love to hype him up as this big, bold skywing hero, but let's be real here: he's got some major issues. Like, dude's ego is huge, and he's got this whole superiority complex that's just not cute. But what's even worse? Some fans eat it up, totally ignoring how his behavior reinforces all these messed-up power dynamics.

And don't even get me started on his fanbase. They're just as problematic as he is, if not more. They defend his every move, no matter how shady, and attack anyone who dares to call him out. It's like they're blind to his flaws or just don't care because he's their precious skywing idol. But here's the thing: turning a blind eye to Flame's problematic behavior only perpetuates the toxic culture he thrives in. We need to hold both him and his fans accountable if we ever want to see real change in the wof fandom.

I've got to be honest, you need to breathe in, breathe out, and chill out.

Also, "Messed up power dynamics" where are you getting that from. Was the messed up power dynamic when he was under Morrowseer's control because of the false prophecy, or when he was (possibly) forced by Darkstalker to kill Stonemover? He's never been in a true positon of power, and though he has done bad things, its never been because of the power he holds over others - in fact, it is that he feels like he lacks power that causes him to do what he does.

Same thing with the "toxic culture he thrives in". It's not like Flame lives in a patriarchal society where he abuses a girlfriend and that's why he's a villain and should be "held accountable". He tried to kill a dragon because he got mad that the dragon wouldn't heal his face. It's not that complex.

Sorry for inserting my opinion so much into this. I try and stay objective and let people come to their own conclusions on my posts, but this just made me really confused and annoyed.

[mewcury-chaos]

📻🍎𝐑𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐨𝐀𝐩𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐖𝐞𝐞𝐤🍎📻

{𝐄𝐧𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐞𝐬/𝐏𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 + 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐥/𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝}

+ type: oneshot + note: swearing + note: this also probably applies for day 3 - deal/blood + artwork: @deer_mn221b

synopsis: Lucifer stumbled upon a rather, intriguing, sight.

**************************************************

Alastor can be a variety of things, being a pain in his ass is one of them.

“That pompous skinny little bitch.” Lucifer growled, claws scraping at the staircase as he stormed up to his tower.

“How fucking dare he??? I’m the KING of Hell, I’m in CHARGE of this entire shitty hole, I’M the BOSS of HIM, so how—”

He swung open the door and slammed it shut with a loud ‘THUMP’.

“ —how does he keep doing this to me…”

The blond sighed wearily, his back propping up against the wooden door, dragging a hand through his messy mop of hair.

“I did what now?”

Static buzzing reverberated around the walls as none other than the Radio Demon himself materialized from the shadows. Along with his shit-eating grin.

“Oh fuck off Albert.” 

Alastor brushes off the specks of dust on his coat.

“I’m simply here to remind you of our dear Charlie’s dinner plan. Though, feel free to forget, my king.”

The slim figure dissipated back into the shadows, the phantom of his presence unexpectedly chilled Lucifer’s spine.

Alastor can do a variety of things, that includes humiliating him.

“Dad!? Can you get the plates for us please” Charlie called out mindlessly, setting up the cutlery for dinner. It’s not necessary for demons to eat, however, the daughter of the Morningstars was determined to gather everyone round once a week for a meal.

“Certainly certainly. Of course darling!” he answered back happily and headed towards the cupboards of the kitchen. 

Lucifer reached a slender hand up, then realized…….

“Can’t open it?” Alastor snickered right behind him, the radio filter prominent in the deer-demon’s voice.

“Oh cut it will you Aiden.” He grumbled back and tried the second time. The odds weren’t in his favor that day, because STILL, Lucifer, the big boss of hell himself, can’t even reach anywhere remotely close to the tiny knob.

“Allow me~~”

Alastor mocked a croon and clicked open the cupboard with ease, a gloved hand pulling out the china plates and dropped it right into his arms.

“Pathetic” the demon murmured as he finished off picking out the dishes.

“Excuse me?” Lucifer snapped a finger in retaliation…

‘CRASH’

The ceramics now lay smashed and shattered on the floor. 

The blond instinctively attempted to pick the shards up from the tiles.

‘OW’

He had stupidly cut himself.

“Do you need a tutorial on how to pick up shattered plates, sir?”

Alastor rolled his eyes and with a swish of his arm, the plates gradually pieced themselves together, like a puzzle, then floated elegantly onto the counter.

The Radio Demon caught a glimpse of the glowing blood seeping out of his porcelain skin. The once flaming red eyes morphed into pitch black, tiny radio dials twisting and turning slowly as he eyed the wound in such a way it made Lucifer shiver.

Alastor quickly shook his head, his scleras back to the usual crimson.

“Ah, we shan’t get sidetracked now, yes? Dear Charlie is waiting outside”

The demon abruptly turned his back to him and with a clack of his heel, he left.

Lucifer stared after the demon, baffled and dumbfounded. Then glancing back at the slash on his palm. He should really get the band-aids.

Alastor can turn into a variety of things, like shadows. And quite fortunately, like not turning up.

“Let’s dig in.” Charlie cheered, with a few disapproving mutters from some of the crew. Definitely not Lucifer, he wouldn’t pass up the chance to have a decent evening with his daughter any day.

And Alastor’s not here, so he’s extra happy.

“Where’s Alastor?” Niffty popped up suddenly, her head barely higher than the table itself.

“Oh yea, where’s sir fancy talk creepy face going.” 

“Angellll, be nice. He’s probably somewhere, doing………. business.” Now Charlie was starting to wonder where the guy went.

Lucifer groaned, holding his knife and fork in mid-air. The once pleasant dinner might be turned into a search party for this damned guy, again.

“I could’ve sworn I asked him to go after you. Do you know where he is dad?” His daughter asked, he shook his head.

“Nope, met him, then just left. We should probably eat now, ya know Char-char. The food’s getting cold.”

Alastor owns a variety of things, such as power, and souls, but he didn’t expect…….

Lucifer yawned and stretched out his arms. Another day over, another night in his apple-shaped tower. To be honest, Lucifer would’ve prefered a bedroom in the shape of a duck, but………

He sniffed the air. A strange scent wafted into his nose. 

“Interesting…” he thought.

Intrigued, he followed the trail, out of his room, into the hallways of the Hazbin Hotel, and……

…….. in front of the ladder right under The Radio Demon’s lair.

The scent is getting even stronger, striking up his nose and forced down to his throat.

Should he risk it?

Wait, he’s the king of Hell, he could do whatever he please.

Isn’t that invasion of privacy?

Does he care about privacy?

Lucifer murmured a quick “Fuck it” for good luck and climbed up, opening the trapdoor — the entrance to Alastor’s room.

His eyes quickly widened in shock as the sight beforehand petrified him.

Alastor, the Radio Demon, one of the most powerful overlords Hell has ever seen, sitting on the edge of his bed, coat off, shirt half off, grunting back the pain as the demon bandaged the deep gash on his chest. His hand was soaked with dark dark blood.

Lucifer let out a tiny gasp, he immediately recognized the wound had been delt by an angelic weapon. And one worse than the scars he owned after his fall. How is this dude still alive?

“Get out.” Alastor hissed as he swiftly finished the already crimson bandaging and covered himself up with his coat.

Play it cool, Lucifer.

Play it cool.

The blond let himself into the room and whistled casually.

“Wow, disgusting mark you got there.” 

“What part of ‘get the fuck out’ did you now understand, sir?”

“I mean, I’m just saying, it looks painful.” He kept on rambling,

“Used to deal with a lot of those, back in my day, ya know? Impressive you still survived. Ya still got blood flowing out, and stiches won't help.......”

Alastor seethed, yet not a single word uttered from his mouth as he clenched his teeth and bit back the searing ache in his chest.

Was it from the gash?

Or was it from pure annoyance and loathing boiling within him?

“Look, Anton, or whatever,” he rolled his eyes and waved a hand, gesturing at the demon vaguely, “How about we make a deal? I heard you like deals.”

“Only when I’m offering them.”

“Well it doesn’t seem like you have a choice in here, does it? Now, swear on your soul you will NOT hurt my daughter in any way possible in existence. NO strings attached. In exchange, I will heal that eyesore you got over there.” 

Lucifer flashed a sinister smile, his pearly sharp teeth glowing in the dim light. He offered a hand, grinning. The blond knew he had already won. He could sense the throbbing pain in the deer-demon’ voice. As far as Lucifer knew, Alastor, for the first time, was desperate.

“Soooooo, do we have a deal?”

The other hesitated for a singular moment, before firmly taking the hand.

Glowing yellow strings floating up from their grasped palms, each of them circling and twirling dreamily in the air for a moment before settling themselves inside of the two’s wrists.

“What was…… that?”

“Ahhh, glad you’ve asked Axel. Turns out, a deal with the king of Hell himself has a tiny bit more perks.”

Lucifer explained no further.

“Let’s get you healed up, shall we?”

Alastor knew a variety of things, like how angelic steel has the potential to kill angels. But he hadn’t known that to heal this wound, he would need to let the king of Hell hover right over him on the bed, so as to reach the deep slash on his chest.

Alastor hadn’t known that it would sting so much, and the hand would need to stay exactly in that position for an hour before he was released from Lucifer’s grip.

He hadn’t realized, that fateful day, a piece of his obsidian heart had leaked a tiny drop of white-hot lava. And the King of Hell, had scraped the surface of his dark soul.

***

[ {masterlist} ]

p/s: to those who does NOT tolerate alastor ships. look deep into my soul and tell me their dynamic isn't fun to play with. and also, why are you here??? p/ss: [ {EP.3 - PT.1: ???} ] of 🎡🎠charlotte in wonderland🎠🎡 coming out in approximately 2 days!!!

eat, sleep and stay hydrated <333

[fortheloveofwonderland]

Rusty | Chapter 15 | S.R

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Summary - Spencer’s birthday continues to not go entirely as planned. An argument leads to Spencer’s biggest confession yet which in turn leads him to decide he is finally ready to take the next step in recovery.

A/N - @andiebeaword brought to my attention a scene from Hart of Dixie for which their stable scene is loosely based around.

Pairing - Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader

Category - strangers to friends to lovers | angst | smut minors DNI

Warnings - drinking, arguing, mentions of dissociation and self harm, swearing, detailed talk of past sexually assault and use of “rape”, making out, fingering, handjob, penetrative, unprotected sex, cock warming, oral sex (f receiving), cum play(?), self deprecating thoughts.

WC - 5.7K

Chapter 15 - Heavens Just a Sin Away

Everything you had assumed would happen when the fuel of alcohol was added to the flames of your anger, did happen. The more you drank, the more enraged you felt towards Spencer and it showed. 

The band, the Lonestar Gamblers were average at best but it didn’t stop you from dancing along to their country western melodies, trying to encourage Spencer to join you but continuously being shut down by mumbles of “I don’t dance.”

The more you observed him, the more your resentment grew. He was subconsciously running his fingers over the arm sling as though he was in pain and trying to take his mind off of it. But if he was in pain, he had no one to blame but himself. 

And you couldn’t move past it, no matter how much you wanted to. 

Perhaps that was why when you felt a strange and warm body pressing up against you from behind while you danced, you didn’t question it. You let the person snake their arms around your waist, grinding against you from behind. 

You didn’t even mind when they turned you in their arms to face them. The man was fairly young and moderately attractive. He dressed as was the norm for these parts. He had blonde hair which was swept back off of his face and large blue eyes which were staring right at you.

“Howdy there little lady,” he spoke, his hands returning to your waist and swaying you in time to the music.

“Hi,” you replied, letting your body be moved by the man's strong hands. 

“You are far too beautiful to be up here dancin’ on your own.” He smirked at you.

“Well I ain’t alone anymore am I, stud?” You returned his smile, using the nickname you usually reserved for Spencer.

“No ma’am you ain’t.” He chuckled deeply, pressing his body flush against yours. 

The whole thing only lasted a minute or so before Spencer was at your side, gripping your shoulder and pulling you off of the blonde cowboy. It was all too reminiscent of Grant and your encounter with him.

“She’s with me.” He spat at the man. 

“Didn’t look like it to me.” The other man folded his arms across his chest in what was supposed to be an intimidating fashion. Spencer was not perturbed. 

“Well, she is. So hit the road.” Spencer scoffed. 

The blonde rolled his eyes and unfolded his arms with a huff.

“Whatever, ain’t worth the hassle.” He shook his head, soon turning on the heels of his cowboy boots. 

Once he was gone, you turned to Spencer with an unamused look on your face.

“What the hell was that about? I was just having a little fun.” You growled at him.

“Trying to make me jealous?” He cocked an eyebrow at you. 

“Not everything has to be about you.” You suddenly pushed past him, making a beeline for the front door.

Spencer ground his teeth before following you, this situation all too familiar to him. You pushed your way outside and Spencer was hot on your heels. You didn’t stop, just kept walking in the direction of his ranch.

You were tipsy but not so drunk that you didn’t know where you were going. You didn’t sway on your feet or stumble. If Spencer didn’t know any better he would think you hadn’t been drinking at all.

“Would you slow down?” He called after you, impressed you could walk so fast in your high heels.

“Nope.” You spat over your shoulder, and if anything you picked up your pace. 

Spencer grunted, hurrying after you like a lost puppy. Even when he caught you, you wouldn't look at him. 

“This is still about what happened yesterday, right? My dissociation, my self-harm.” He watched the side of your face as you both continued to walk. 

“You’re suicide attempt you mean?” You bit back, eyes trained straight ahead. 

“Accidental.” He corrected you.

This gave you pause and you suddenly halted in your tracks and faced him glaring wildly at him.

“I don’t care if it was accidental or not, Spencer!” You raised your voice. “I am never going to get that image out of my head. I tried to put it aside to give you a good birthday but I can’t ignore how fucking angry I am!” 

“You aren’t the only one.” He scoffed. “You think it didn’t make me angry seeing you dancing with that guy? On my birthday?” 

“I can’t dance with someone?” You played innocent.

“There’s dancing and then there's dancing, Y/N. What you were doing was more just than dancing and you know it.” Spencer rolled his eyes. 

“Well with any luck he might not be as much of a fucking mess as you.” You spat, causing Spencer’s eyes to turn dark. 

“Fuck you,” he growled with a shake of his head. “You think this is easy for me? To find out I opened my home to a goddamn murderer! I’m going to have to leave my ranch to keep you safe, do you know that? As long as Luke knows where I live, you aren’t safe. We’re going to have to flee and I’m going to have to leave everything behind that I’ve been building for the last two years. If I can give up my entire life for you, the least you can do is cut me some slack over my goddamn mental illness!” 

He was yelling loudly, thank god there weren’t any people on the street. You scowled at him as angrily as you could but inside you wanted to cry. You should have known he would use that against you, throw it back in your face. Spencer liked to act like the nice guy, the caring guy, but ultimately he was just the same as everyone else, wasn’t he?

“Go to hell.” You snarled. “You don’t have to do anything. First thing tomorrow I am outta here, on my own. I don’t need you, I don’t need anyone.” 

You turned to storm away again as you felt the first rain drop hit your exposed shoulder. You’d barely taken three steps before the heavens opened and it started pouring.

The sound of the rain as it slammed against the asphalt assaulted your ears as the water almost instantly soaked you through. You looked back at Spencer as he was reaching towards you. 

You let him grab your wrist and soon the two of you were running a little way down the street. There was an old, slightly dilapidated stable up the road which you’d passed countless times but never paid much attention to. 

Spencer let go of your arm so he could wrench open the rickety door. He moved his hand to your back and hurried you inside before he followed, quickly closing the door behind himself.

It was immediately clear that the stable was disused. All the paddocks were empty and all they remained was piles and piles of hay and a lone rusty pitchfork hanging on one wall. 

Spencer grunted as he got the large door closed and turned to you. His overgrown hair was drenched, hanging limply around his face as water beads dripped onto his shirt. 

His shirt was wet through, clinging to his body the same way his jeans were. You could feel your dress also bonding to your skin with the water. 

The rain beat heavily on the tin roof, almost aggressive in its downpour.  The two of you stood a few feet apart staring at each other for several long minutes, lost in the sound of the rain. 

He moved his good arm to his neck when he unfastened his saturated sling, peeling it away from himself and dropping it onto the floor.

He flexed his fingers a few times, his face creasing in pain.

“I really think you should keep that on.” You huffed. 

“It’s fine, it doesn’t hurt too much.” He shook his head in defiance. “I guess there’s a storm coming.”

“No kidding.” You rolled your eyes, running your hands over the sopping fabric of your dress. 

Spencer exhaled, straightened up and dared to take a half step closer to you. 

“I don’t want you to leave.” He croaked. “Not without me. I love my ranch but I love you more.” 

“What happened to you?” You asked, seemingly ignoring him. “Why are you like this? Trust me, I know all about prison being stressful but there is more to it than that. You need to tell me right now what it is you’re keeping from me or I swear to god Spencer, I will leave and never look back. I love you but I have to know what I’m up against here. You almost killed yourself and I deserve to know why.” 

Spencer averted his gaze towards the dusty, hay riddled floor and scuffed the toe of his boot in the dirt. He knew that he owed you an explanation but it didn’t mean he readily wanted to give you one. But he knew it was time. 

He knew if he wasn’t honest with you, you were going to leave him. You may even leave him once you knew the truth. But at least if you had all the facts you could make an informed decision and maybe, just maybe you would choose to stay despite what he’d been through. 

He looked back at you and you could see a wealth of sadness hidden behind his eyes. You already knew what he was going to say was going to be huge. He took a long breath in, held it for five seconds before exhaling it and then he spoke the words he wished to never have to say out loud again. 

“I was sexually assaulted in prison.” He said, ripping it off like a bandaid. “Technically I was raped. Three different men forced me to perform oral sex on them. Because of the crippling fear, I got an erection and they berated me for it. 

“I have not had sex since. The most intimate I have managed to be since has been with you. Before I met you I couldn’t even get erect, let alone orgasm. I couldn’t kiss Luke without feeling sick, nevermind anything else. My dissociation seems to happen the most often after intimacy as it leads me to think about what happened to me.

“We, uh…were amorous and then you left. What I needed was comfort, just someone to be there so I didn’t go off of the deep end like I did. But you couldn’t have known that because I didn’t tell you and I should have. I should have been honest with you the first time we kissed and I pushed you away but I didn’t. I couldn’t. 

“Talking about what happened to me is the hardest thing I have ever done and the only other person I have told is my therapist. Luke knew, he said he saw my prison medical records, I’m sure you heard that when you were eavesdropping on us. My old boss knew too for the same reason.

“But saying it out loud is…there isn’t a good enough word to describe how difficult it is. I was raped. I was assaulted by three fellow inmates who saw me as weak and subservient. That’s why I have PTSD, that’s why I dissociate sometimes and that’s why there is some part of me that apparently wants to die, okay? Now you know.” 

He became irate towards the end, pacing back and forth in the stable and not allowing himself to look at you for fear of what your reaction might be. 

For a minute or two after he stopped talking, you were silent and you digested his words. You’d had your suspicions about what had happened to him but hearing the words out loud caused you to wince. 

You watched him pace, trying to think of any words that might help him but knowing there were none. You had no idea what he was going through, no idea of the damage that kind of trauma did to a person. 

You cautiously stepped closer to him, stepping in the path he’d been walking back and forth which forced him to halt in his tracks. His eyes flit up to yours, full of unshed tears. You reached for him, careful not to touch him before he gave you a soft nod. His flinching at unprovoked touch made so much sense now.

When he nodded, giving you the green light, you raised your hands and placed them on either side of his face. Skin on skin, help keep him tethered. He seemed to relax at your touch, closing his eyes for a few seconds as he exhaled through his nose. When he opened them again, the tears hidden there previously were gone.

“I’m so sorry that happened to you, Spencer.” You whispered, only just loud enough to be heard over the onslaught of rain on the roof. “I wish I had the magic words to say to make it better for you but I don’t think there is any such thing. What happened to you is horrifying, no one should have to go through that. I’m sorry I forced that out of you.”

“I figured I’d have to tell you eventually, I just…I hate saying it out loud, it makes it so real.” He swallowed, nuzzling into your touch. 

“I’m sorry.” You repeated, at a loss for what to say. “And you know we never have to do anything you aren’t comfortable with or that you’re not ready for.” 

Spencer nodded, nuzzling further against your hand. His stubble was getting long and was less scratchy than it was previously on your palm. 

“I don’t want to keep letting them win.” He sucked in a breath. “I can’t keep letting them win.” 

Before you could respond his hand was on the back of your neck and he drew you close before crashing your lips together. 

You gasped at his sudden kiss and his tongue plunged between your parted lips. He started moving you backwards while keeping a firm hold on the back of your neck. 

He kissed you fiercely, moaning into your mouth like you’d never heard him before. He continued to move you until your legs hit something and a second later you were both topping backwards onto a bundle of hay. 

Spencer kept his lips on yours while his hand that had been on your neck moved between your bodies. His body weight was pressing into you, his left arm too weak from his fractures to hold himself up. 

His hand glided down the fabric of your dress before disappearing under the hem, shimming the garment up your legs and soon his fingers were brushing over your panties clad core. 

You hissed into his mouth and he tore his lips away, resting his forehead against yours instead. His eyes were full of a combination of lust and fear. 

“Sp-Spencer,” you moaned as he stroked you through your panties again.

His lip quipped into a smirk as he pushed the material aside and with no warning plunged two fingers inside of you. 

You moaned so loudly it rivalled the sound of the rain still drumming down on the tin ceiling. The sudden movement caused you to jerk on the bed of hay, scratching your arms but you didn’t have time to dwell on it. 

Spencer’s fingers buried inside of you, brushing up against your cervix as your walls fluttered around his digits. He was already painfully hard just from the feeling of you around his fingers. 

You were already soaking, coating his hand in your arousal but the rain drowned out the sounds as he moved in and out of you, scissoring his fingers. 

His wet hair fell in his face, framing his sharp features. The bulge in his slacks was even more noticeable through the rain drenched fabric. 

You reached for him but stopped short before you touched him. He roughly thrust his fingers back inside of you, jerking you on the hay bale again whilst nodding his head. 

You fumbled a little with the button of his jeans as wave after wave of pleasure flooded your body. When you got it undone you reached straight inside the wet fabric and pulled his shaft free. 

He scrunched his eyes close as you hand wrapped around him, his fingers stilling momentarily. You watched him take a few deep breaths and his lips moved ever so slightly as though he was talking but no words come out. 

In his head he repeated the words he’d penned in his therapy session some eighteen months ago. 

I was sexually assaulted, but I am not a victim. I was coerced but I am not weak. I am in control of my own body, of my own mind. I will not let them win, I will not let them ruin my life. 

I didn’t deserve what happened to me. I am a good person. I am a strong person. I will move past this. I won't let them break me. I am still worthy of love and affection. I am still whole.

I am still whole. 

I am still whole. I am still whole. 

His eyes shot back open and he looked down on you, withdrawing his fingers. You whined as he did so, worried he was imminently about to freak out. 

Instead he parted your legs wider, took his shaft from your hand and held it in his own as he moved in closer to you, moving your panties aside once more. 

“Spencer,” you panted as the head of his cock moved between your legs. “We don’t have to do this. I don’t want to rush you.” 

“I'm ready.” He spoke with as much confidence as he could muster. “I am still whole.” 

You let your legs fall further open as he pressed his thick head at your slick entrance. He kept his eyes on you, manoeuvring your hips a little and you arched your back, allowing Spencer to glide inside of you swiftly. 

His eyes widened and the most feral sound you’ve ever heard left his lips as your slicken walls caused him to plunge all the way inside he was entirely sheathed in your cunt. 

You noticed his stomach clench through his shirt, his weight balanced on his one good arm but it was shaking. For a moment or two he didn’t move, simply stared down at you in incomprehensible awe. 

His breathing was heavy and rapid, his chest heaving with each inhale and exhale. His eyes suddenly glossed over with tears and you felt his cock twitch deep inside of you. 

“Oh my gosh.” He spoke, his sentence punctuated with heavy pants. “I…I…” 

“It’s okay,” you cooed, reaching up to brush his damp locks out of his eyes.

“Y/N, there is not a single word that exists in any known language to accurately describe what this feels like.” He whined as he spoke. “The closest I can think of would simply be…heaven.” 

You smiled at him, hand now on his cheek. You let him take his time, grow accustomed to the feeling and gather his emotions. 

Every now and again his cock would pulse and cause you to clench which would in turn make him moan. 

For a while you just laid there listening to the sounds of his heavy breathing and the rain that continued to fall outside. The bed of hay was uncomfortable and itchy but you barely noticed. 

After a while you shifted slightly, wrapping your legs around his lithe waist and locking yourself in place at the ankles. His hips rolled in a slow and steady movement as he readjusted himself. 

“I love you,” he whispered, placing a chaste kiss on your lips.

“I love you too.” You spoke in equally hushed tones. 

Steadying himself on his good arm, he gradually pulled his hips back until barely an inch of him was still inside of you before leisurely thrusting again until he bottomed out. 

He did this a couple of times, careful, calculated movements and each time you whimpered when his blunt head tapped against your cervix. 

He slowly started to increase his speed, delirious from the way you stretched around him each time. It didn’t take long for his hips to start working of their own accord and soon he was snapping back and forth, pounding into you harder and harder. 

You moaned with every thrust while Spencer was making grunts of appreciation. A bead of sweat gathered at his temple and your legs tightened around his waist. 

He kept his eyes on you, not looking away for even a second. You arched back off of the hay bale and he growled at the new angle, somehow managing to get even deep inside of you. 

He was heavy and thick between your legs, forcing your body to accommodate him in ways you’d never experienced before. You were bending to his whim, and it made him dizzy. 

Hips still bucking back and forth now somewhat rampantly as he chased both of your highs, he could feel you clenching around his length and his legs buckled slightly. 

He was panting so heavily you could barely hear the rain anymore. The slick sound of your arousal as he dove in and out of you echoed around the empty stable. 

He bowed his head and kissed your jaw sloppily, never letting up on his ministrations. 

“I’m, uh, embarrassingly close.” He panted against your skin. “I'm so sorry, it’s been so long.” 

“Hmm,” you hummed as he slammed inside of you again. “M-me too.” 

He lifted himself on his one good arm again so he was hovering above you. He could feel the tell tale pinching and coiling in his stomach, the tightening of his balls as his body prepared for his release. 

Suddenly your eyes rolled back into your head with a particularly hard thrust and your lips parted for a string of moans and curses to escape. 

You reached for him blindly, grabbing hold of his good arm and digging your nails into the damp fabric of his shirt. He could feel you clenching harder than before. He knew what was happening and that was confirmed when you screamed, “fuck, fuck I’m…oh god!”

The pleasure rippled through your body, causing you to convulse on the hay bale beneath you. Seeing your own orgasm flood your features was enough for Spencer to allow his own cord to snap. 

With a couple more rough thrusts he reached his peak and fell on top of you as his cock twitched inside of you as he filled you with his seed. 

His hips continued to lazily buck as he rode out his release, expelling every little drop of himself inside of your still fluttering walls. 

When he finally stilled, he didn’t pull out, instead he peppered kisses across your jaw and cheek before finding your lips. 

He kissed you messily, tongue roaming your mouth with no real precision or finesse. You returned the kiss in much the same way. 

You wet clothes clung to each other and your legs fell from their position around his waist as though you were a rag doll. He still didn’t withdraw, he was starting to slowly grow flaccid inside of you but still didn’t move. 

You could feel the combination of both of your arousals leaking down your inner thighs, pooling on the bed of hay beneath you. 

Spencer pulled back from your lips and buried his head in the crook of your neck, breath tickling your sensitive skin. 

“I just wanna stay like this forever.” He mumbled sleepily. 

“Me too.” You agreed, stroking his messy hair. “You’re okay?” 

He exhaled, slowly lifting his head so he could look at you. He had a tired smile on his lips as he nodded his head.

“I think so,” he rolled his lip between his teeth. “I feel more free than I have in a long time. But I’d be lying if I said I don’t still have a slight guilt gnawing on my chest.” 

“I imagine that it will take some time to lift completely.” You smiled a little sadly at him. “But you don’t…regret it or anything?” 

“Not in the slightest.” He was quick to reply. 

“Good.” You nodded, wiggling a little beneath him as he became soft inside of you. “You’re gonna have to move eventually.” 

“Hmm, probably.” He agreed with a small chuckle. “You just feel so fucking good.” 

You drew him close for a kiss and while his tongue was traversing the planes of your mouth he cautiously slid out. You whined against his lips as it caused more of his arousal to drip down your thighs. 

He sat back and unashamedly glanced between your body, seeing the slick coating your skin. He tucked himself away and buttoned his jeans before surprising you by dropping to his knees on the dusty floor.

He grabbed you by your ankles and tugged your body closer to the edge of the hay bale. You gasped when his tongue flattened against your inner thigh, lapping up the mess he’d left behind.

You propped yourself up on your elbows so you could get a good look at him. He glanced at you through his lashes as he moved his mouth to your other thigh and offered it the same treatment. 

You squirmed as his face ebbed closer to your core, your panties still pushed off to the side. You stared down at him, chest heaving. 

“What are you…what are you doing?” You panted. 

“What does it look like I’m doing?” He sat back a little, smirking at you dangerously. “I’ve gotta clean up the mess I made.”

He quickly leaned in close again and shifted your panties so they were completely out of his way before he tongue dove between your folds. You moaned so deeply the walls shook, wriggling and writhing beneath him at the feeling of his mouth on your sensitive area.

Spencer didn’t seem to notice and collected all of your combined arousal on his tongue before wrapping his lips around your swollen bud. Your legs hung next to his face, shaking at the overstimulation.

“F-fuck Spence So s-senstive.” You whined, still staring down at him in shock. 

You felt him laugh causing a vibration to tear through your whole body. His tongue was rapidly moving against your clit in desperation to bring you another orgasm. 

Before long you felt two fingers between your legs and he plunged them inside of your throbbing cunt making another rampant moan leave your chest. His fingers moved in and out of you needily, his tongue flicking back and forth over your clit. 

You were especially responsive, every tiny flicker of his tongue and thrust of his fingers causing your body to jerk and shudder. It didn’t take him long at all to bring you to orgasm for a second time, already incredibly tender from the previous one. 

He knew it was happening before it washed over you, your walls clamping around his fingers and your body thrashing on the pile of hale while you moaned under your breath, “S’too much. S’ too much.”

When you came a second time your skin blanched at the overwhelming pleasure pulsing through every nerve ending of your body. You tried to push him away when he didn’t move, but he remained stalwart, determined to clean up every last drop of your arousal. 

Eventually he relented, sitting back on his haunches and looking up at the mess he created. You had a few tears rolling down your cheeks, your face blotchy and flushed. You were breathing so heavily you looked as though you’d run a marathon.

Spencer smiled to himself as he wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his flannel shirt. He got to his feet and took hold of one of your hands in his good one, pulling you to a sitting position on the hay. 

You crumpled almost immediately, your body collapsing against his chest and he was quick to wrap you in his arms. A twinge of pain spread up his left forearm as he wrapped it around you but he ignored it. 

You seemed so small and fragile at that moment. You rested against him, he was the only thing holding you upright. Your body heaved in his arms as you tried to catch your breath. 

This was without a doubt what heaven must feel like. You were the angel waiting at the pearly gates, he was sure of it. What he felt for you right then was bigger than simple love, he couldn’t put a word to it, but love wasn’t enough.

After a little while he felt your breathing start to return to something akin to normal and you forced your head up to look at him. 

“You okay?” He asked with a soft smile. 

“I t-think so.” You nodded slowly. 

“Sounds like it's stopped raining.” He nodded his head towards the door behind him. 

You inhaled, focusing your hearing and it was only then you realised that the downpour on the tin roof had ceased and all you could hear was your own breathing. 

“Maybe not a storm after all.” You mumbled sleepily.

“You think you’re going to be able to walk home?” He took half a step back, helping you up on your shaky legs.

“Hmm, I hope so.” You chuckled slightly. 

He stroked your hair back off of your face and kissed your forehead gently. 

“First thing tomorrow I am going to put the wheels in motion for us to leave Bandera.” 

“Spencer…” you chewed your lip. “I don’t want you to have to leave your ranch because of me.” 

“I meant it when I said I love you more than my ranch. And there is no way I am letting you go, not now and not ever. We’re going to have a clean break, a fresh start. Just the two of us.” 

His words wrapped you in a blanket of warmth and adoration. You knew no matter what, you would be tied to Spencer forever. And honestly nothing had ever sounded sweeter. 

***

Later that night, long after you’d fallen asleep, Spencer sat on the side of the tub in his bathroom, staring at the wall. 

He should feel relieved for finally being able to take that step with you, giving you a piece of himself he thought he could no longer part with. He was partially grateful to have finally gotten over that hurdle but at the same time he didn’t think he deserved to feel that way. 

The guilt spiral hadn’t come which was something of a miracle. Instead he was left feeling numb to it all. 

He should feel guilty, shouldn’t he? How could he let himself get close to someone in that way? He was dirty, broken, used up; it wasn’t fair for you to simply have the scraps left over from those men. 

How could he allow himself happiness, a moment to feel whole when he was fractured and scarred from their abuse? 

What was so wrong with his mind that he couldn’t just let himself revel in the euphoria a little longer? Had they broken him so badly that he could only allow himself to be consumed by the numbness? 

At the very least, it was better than how he’d reacted in your previous intimate experiences. He should be thankful he wasn’t crumbling or dissociating. 

Maybe numb was the best he could let himself feel. Perhaps he’d never be able to cling to that high after the moment passed. 

Those men had ruined him one way or another. Even if he didn’t succumb entirely to the darkness they’d stripped him of his ability to retain happiness. 

And you deserved more than this. You deserved more than he was able to give you. He loved you but he was never going to be able to give himself fully to you. 

He’d thought that once he’d moved past that final stumbling block he would be free of it all, to hand his mind, body and soul over to you. 

But he realised now with startling clarity that there would probably always be a piece of himself that he couldn’t give to you, a piece that still belonged to his three attackers. One he would never get back. 

He sat wallowing in the nothingness for some time before forcing himself back into bed. He slid beneath the sheet next to your sleeping form and watched as you breathed gently in and out. 

A whisper of light slivered its way through the blinds from the moon and cast its glow across your face. You were most certainly an angel sent from heaven but Spencer wasn’t worthy of you. 

You seemed so peaceful and he was a little envious of that. He wasn’t sure he’d ever felt that kind of peace. 

He couldn’t walk away from you, that much he knew for certain. No matter that you were too good for him, he couldn’t leave you if he tried. But that made him selfish. 

He should let you go, let you find someone who was more than a broken jigsaw with a missing puzzle piece. It was the right thing to do, the fair thing to do. 

But he needed you, you were the only one who was able to quell his darkness even if it didn’t seem that way. He needed you no matter how much it hurt. 

It was cruel of him. And yet he would cling to you with everything he had. Because without you there was no telling what kind of depths he would succumb to, what kind of misery awaited him. 

He stroked your hair back from your forehead and you stirred briefly but quickly stilled. His heart was entwined with yours, so deeply entrenched there was no untangling it. 

But there would always be a piece of him he couldn’t give you, a fragment of his heart which had been sorely removed by those men. Physically he’d given himself over to you, but emotionally there would always be a part of himself he couldn’t bestow upon you. 

He hoped that it would be enough, that he was enough. And perhaps one day he would finally be worthy of your love. 

@kalulakunundrum @katrina0-0 @bakugouswh0r3 @prettyboyandthefangirl @zooni92802 @babyspiderling

[thevoidstaredback]

How To Balance Your Daytime and Nighttime Activities So That You Don't Burn Yourself Out More Than You Already Have

The first thing on the day's agenda was to make breakfast. Now, Dick wouldn't exactly call himself a chef, and Alfred's banning him from the Manor kitchen can attest to that, but he'd been cooking meals for himself since he moved out. Were they edible? Yes. Did they taste good? Sometimes. He'll get better! He swears! He just needs some practice.

Danny was in the kitchen before Dick was even awake, apparently, because the kid was flipping a pancake onto a plate. "Good morning!" he said.

"Um, morning," Dick responded.

"I hope you don't mind, but I made pancakes for breakfast."

"No, I don't mind- I'm supposed o making you food, though."

"Why?"

"Because I'm an adult."

A soft snort. "Barely."

"Hey!"

Danny shrunk in on himself, shoulders hunched and head down. He turned off the stove, set the hot pan to the side, and properly plated the pancakes, giving Dick more. "Sorry. I, um, don't have much of a filter in the mornings."

"It's alright," Dick made sure his body language, expression, and voice were all soft. "Not a morning person?"

"Not in the slightest."

He took a bite. "So why're you awake?" He paused before taking another bite. "These are really good."

"Thanks," Danny looked away with a small blush on his cheeks. "I'm here to help you. Part of that includes making sure you eat in the mornings before work."

"You know you don't have to, right?"

"I know, but I want to." He took a few bites of his own breakfast. "From my own experiences, not eating before starting the day can make you really sick, especially if you have a demanding job like you do."

Now isn't that a red flag to add to the growing collection. "You're own experiences?"

"Yeah," Danny said between slow bites, "My parents weren't good cooks unless it was my dad's fudge or my mom's cookies. My sister tried, but, well, she could only do so much with what we had."

"So, where'd ya learn to cook?"

"My friend's parents taught me a few things when I was over at their place."

"Cool, cool."

"Yeah."

Silence took over the apartment as they two finished eating. Despite Danny's protests, Dick insisted on doing the dishes because Danny had cooked. Then, they two set about getting for the day.

Truthfully, Dick didn't want to leave, but he knew he had to. Danny was going to be alone in his apartment all day with nothing to do! A kid's worst nightmare, that is. Sure there are some books in his room, but would Danny like them? More things to figure out.

Danny met Dick at the door just as he was set to leave and handed him some paperwork.

"What's this?" Dick asked.

"Your hour cut request."

"My what?"

"I told you that you need to cut back your working hours from fifty a week to forty. Give that to your boss today."

"And if I don't?" He raised his eyebrow in question. Cutting back his hours would probably be a good thing, but someone else would have to take that time from him. He didn't want to put that work on anyone!

Danny's eyes started to water, going wide and sad as he looked Dick in the eye. "Then I'll be sad." He sniffled for affect. "Do you really wanna make me sad?"

Damn it.

-

Danny had no intentions of staying home all day. In fact, he fully planned on shadowing Dick some more, just closer this time. Partly to check out his relationships with his coworkers, but also to make sure he actually submitted his appeal. He also was going to make sure the chef approved it, but what Dick didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

Part 6 Part 8

Tag List: @flame-343 @ghestie93 @anarinette @aglmry @peachtreewriter @evix-syne666 @loudlypanickinginvenezolano @lumosfeather18581 @blueliac @talia-scar123 @cyber-geist @violet-foxe @currentfandomkick @jaguarthecat @moonchild0924 @tonicmii @bushbees @idekwutoput @justalittleghostkid

[xvysarene]

ℍ𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕥𝕙 𝕒𝕟𝕕 ℍ𝕠𝕞𝕖

Pairing: LADS Men (+ Caleb) x Fem!Reader Prompt: Husband material & domestic life Words: ~1.4k (total) || ~300-400 per LI Genre: Fluff, Comfort, Suggestive (if you blink) A/N: Another request by my sis @brailsthesmolgurl. It's quite a challenge writing in this kind of short format, but I love how it turned out! [ᝰ.ᐟ MASTERLIST]

⊱ 𝕏𝕒𝕧𝕚𝕖𝕣

Xavier keeps a watchful eye, a beacon of reassurance in a world filled with uncertainty.

Regular check-ins during the day such as “𝑁𝑒𝑒𝑑 𝑎𝑛𝑦𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔?”, “𝑇𝘩𝑖𝑛𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑜𝑓 𝑈”, and “𝐻𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑈 𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑛?” are gentle reminders that he’s there for you.

Whether it be a hand on your back, positioning himself on the street side to shield you from the oncoming traffic, or ensuring your comfort before taking a seat, his subtle acts affirm his protective nature.

You won’t feel his watchfulness to be intrusive; he respects your boundaries and independence, believing that his role is to enhance your safety and well-being, not to control you.

Like a ray of tranquility amidst the raging storm, Xavier's composed approach keeps the frictions between you both from escalating.

The flames of anger will be extinguished, restoring harmony, unity, and equilibrium.

Evenings are reserved for cuddles, finding solace from the chaos of the outside world, enveloped in the warmth of each other's embrace.

Though you’re still hesitant to let him near the cooktop or oven, he has mastered the art of preparing hot chocolates for your downtime.

The soft grumbles escaping his lips as you pause threading through his hair brings out a chuckle from you.

Teasingly, you ask what his associates at UNICORNS would say if they witnessed the fierce hunter yielding to a head scratch.

When no reply comes, you assume he has fallen asleep. But in a sudden blur of movement, Xavier is on top of you, one hand firmly pinning yours down.

“𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤, 𝑑𝑎𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑛𝑒𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑎𝑠𝑘 𝑖𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡 𝑚𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑠𝘩𝑜𝑤 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝘩𝑜𝑤 𝑓𝑖𝑒𝑟𝑐𝑒 𝐼 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑏𝑒,” the low whispered words and the scent of chocolate wafting off him sends a delicious shiver down your spine.

As you meet his smouldering gaze, you're reminded once more that beneath his calm exterior lies an untamed passion waiting to be unleashed.

His other hand has embarked on its journey, its touch electrifying, sending excitement coursing through your veins.

⊱ ℝ𝕒𝕗𝕒𝕪𝕖𝕝

Rafayel may be a maestro in allocating his focus and attention to several people at once, a skill developed by his job of entertaining the crowd.

But, when you’re by his side, you can be certain that his attention will solely be on you.

Unabashed physical affection—fingers interlacing with yours, an arm wrapping around you, or giving you a quick kiss—and the variety of nicknames (wifey, doll, babe, among others) he uses even in public leaves no doubt to others that you’re his.

And he’s yours.

“𝑃𝑎𝑟𝑑𝑜𝑛 𝑚𝑒, 𝐼 𝑠𝑖𝑚𝑝𝑙𝑦 𝑐𝑎𝑛𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑜𝑜𝑘 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑓𝑎𝑐𝑡 𝑡𝘩𝑎𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢’𝑣𝑒 𝑓𝑎𝑖𝑙𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑎𝑐𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤𝑙𝑒𝑑𝑔𝑒 𝑚𝑦 𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒅𝒊𝒃𝒍𝒆 𝑤𝑖𝑓𝑒,” he'll interject, cutting off the words of anyone who seemingly ignores you, letting them know that they have truly offended you and him, “𝐴𝑙𝑙𝑜𝑤 𝑚𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑓𝑦 𝑤𝘩𝑎𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢’𝑣𝑒 𝑏𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑜𝑏𝑙𝑖𝑣𝑖𝑜𝑢𝑠 𝑡𝑜.”

He will ensure you never feel unloved or not good enough for him. Words of affirmation will grace your life, constantly reminding how cherished you are. 

Don’t be surprised by the lavish pampering and sudden romantic, at times whimsical, getaways.

Theme park’s resort hopping? Sounds fun!

Your dining table will always be adorned with fresh flowers, meanwhile, the books are sorted by colour—a quirky habit of Rafayel that you find amusing, especially when he scolds you for misplacing a book.

Rafayel's fiery passion, though, can manifest in heated arguments. Nonetheless, he’ll still acknowledge your perspective, validating your feelings and concerns speaks volumes about his respect.

Be aware of his cheeky personality that will definitely rile you up. He enjoys teasing you, but it's all in good fun.

“𝑌𝑜𝑢’𝑟𝑒 𝑠𝑜 𝑎𝑛𝑛𝑜𝑦𝑖𝑛𝑔!”

Tugging your hand, he cages you with his arms. A mischievous smile on his face as he replies, “𝑌𝑒𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑐𝘩𝑜𝑠𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑛𝑑 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑤𝑖𝑡𝘩 𝑡𝘩𝑖𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑛𝑜𝑦𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑔𝑢𝑦, 𝒘𝒊𝒇𝒆𝒚,” before capturing your lips, turning your complaints into a symphony of moans.

Talented artist's fingers will make you quiver with anticipation. You're his canvas on which pleasure is painted in vibrant shades of desire with each touch.

⊱ ℤ𝕒𝕪𝕟𝕖

Zayne’s stoic nature and stress melt away the moment he steps through the door, replaced with a content smile gracing his lips at the sight of you welcoming him.

On his best days, he greets you back with a kiss, whispering, “𝐼’𝑣𝑒 𝑚𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢, 𝑚𝑦 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒.” A trace of guilt laces his words when your messages from earlier in the day were left unanswered due to his busy schedule.

On the bad days, seeing the lingering frown on his face or sensing the overpowering pressure that he can't quite shake as he walks inside, you greet him with an even warmer embrace.

Sinking to the floor as you hold him tight, the shared silence between you and him is a language all their own, a refuge in a world filled with noise.

And it works both ways.

He’s always ready to be your pillar, holding you firmly through your burdens, sharing the weight when it becomes too much.

Stability and security—that’s how you feel around him. He’s your steady anchor in a turbulent sea.

Whenever he travels out of town for work, you occasionally tag along, and he feels guilty about leaving you by yourself.

A dinner together is guaranteed, no matter how tied up he is during the day. His eyes soften with adoration as he watches you chew your food happily.

“𝐻𝑜𝑤 𝑑𝑖𝑑 𝐼 𝑔𝑒𝑡 𝑠𝑜 𝑙𝑢𝑐𝑘𝑦 𝑡𝑜 𝘩𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑖𝑛 𝑚𝑦 𝑙𝑖𝑓𝑒?” he murmurs quietly, and you look at him like he’s lost his mind.

Here you are, in a burger joint (much to his dismay, but he won’t say no), enjoying your meal in jeans and a shirt, and he says the most romantic thing.

In any relationship, disagreement is inevitable. Zayne, comfortable with his frigid manner, can be icy and distant, often choosing silence over confrontation. The fights are never loud or explosive, but the quiet cuts just as deep.

Zayne will make the first move towards reconciliation if he's the one who isolates himself. You both understand that growth involves learning to navigate and accept each other's flaws.

With that being said, it won’t be rare for the primal need to surface after he bares his raw emotion. When words fail, his touch conveys everything, setting ablaze an ardent fire between both of you.

His hands roam your body with a scorching zeal, each caress igniting a fervent passion that consumes you both.

⊱ ℂ𝕒𝕝𝕖𝕓

Caleb is akin to a familiar melody tuning in the backdrop of your memories—a constant presence in your life.

Growing up, your paths may have diverged, leading you through different experiences.

Even so, he's still the same Caleb you've always known; the caring sweetheart who gently blew on your scraped knee when you tumbled from the bicycle, the kid who held your hand through your parents’ scolding for returning home late.

It's no wonder your deep bond's gravitational pull draws you back together.

A knowing glance, a shared smile, a comforting touch… there’s an unspoken understanding that transcends words.

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee greets you every morning, a routine he insists on keeping since he knows how much you love it.

A framed photo in the hallway shows two innocent kids smiling side by side. Beside it, another picture shows matured versions of the said children, their smiles illuminated with joy and love shared during their first dance as husband and wife.

It’s more than a memory, more than saying, “𝐼 𝑑𝑜.”

The depth of your trust in him is unparalleled. Every fear, every dream—you've shared it all with him, knowing that he will always listen without judgment.

However, due to the deep pool of shared memories, your debates can swiftly become emotionally charged.

His approach with empathy and commitment to working through obstacles together strengthens your bond with each issue you overcome.

Knowing Caleb for a long time also means you can predict when one of his mischievous antics is about to happen by the playfulness glinting in his eyes.

Just like now, as you tease him for losing the pillow fight.

“𝐼 𝑝𝑢𝑟𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑦 𝑙𝑒𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑤𝑖𝑛 𝑡𝑜 𝑠𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑒𝑛𝑒𝑟𝑔𝑦.”

You gasp as he effortlessly pulls you into his lap, heat flooding your cheeks at the innuendo and the blossoming excitement it ignites.

Strong hands glide up your thigh, settling on your waist. His fingers trace delicate, tantalizing patterns on the skin exposed just above the waistband, chuckling as you squirm.

“𝑁𝑜𝑤, 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑦 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑 𝑡𝑤𝑜? 𝐼 𝑤𝑜𝑛'𝑡 𝑔𝑜 𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑦 𝑜𝑛 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑡𝘩𝑖𝑠 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒.” His warm breath tickles your earlobe before you feel him nibbling on it.

Suffice to say, you surrender pretty quickly this time.

[emswritingsstuff]

Pink Lighter (Daryl Dixon x Reader)

Summary: While on a watch with Daryl, you offer to light his cigarette. Small embarrassment ensues. Just a silly drabble!

Warning: Smoking cigarettes (Daryl)

WC: 779

--

The wind sent small chills down your spine, the watchtower not proving to be any kind of shield from the outside air. Taking watch at night wasn’t your most favorite job here, but it flew by depending on who you were with. 

But not tonight though, tonight you were with Daryl. And it could not be any quieter and boring. Nothing against the guy, but you both were different people and had nothing to really chat about. It also didn’t help that he wasn't super talkative in the first place. You could maybe count on one hand how many full conversations you had with him, and you’ve known him since the Quarry. 

He’s never been mean to you, sure he had his moments were was a dick, but was never direct. His company was appreciated though, you weren’t sure what it was about him but you felt safe. Like if anything were to happen, he’d get you both out of it no problem. It's what you liked about him. 

In the midst of your thoughts, you were brought back down with deep grumbles next to you. You look over to see Daryl with an unlit cigarette in his mouth, flicking his lighter but no flame erupting. He angrily flipped the zippos lid down and stuffed it back in his pocket. When going to take the cigarette out of his mouth, you’d remembered the pink BIC lighter you had found on a run. You had never really used a lighter before, but it can’t be super difficult right? 

“Here,” you held the lighter down under his cigarette and he quickly turned to you, giving you both less space so you don’t have to stretch as much. Attempting to flick the lighter a few times, nothing happened. Were you doing something wrong? Probably. 

Retracting the lighter back, you flicked it a few more times before looking back up at Daryl. “Sorry, let me just, uh, give this to you,” obviously embarrassed, you had gotten a tiny laugh out of him, which was a massive win to you. He took the lighter out of your hands and made quick work of lighting the cigarette and handing the lighter back. “Tha’ was adorable,” he said after taking a drag and blowing it out. 

Great, now you feel even more embarrassed. Quickly looking away as you stuffed the lighter that had proven to be useless to you at least. “Don’t ever bring this up again, I’m beyond embarrassed.” He laughed again and patted your back, he did the zipped lip motion and proceeded to focus back on his cigarette. 

Time passed and the silence was more comfortable than it was before, you had no clue when the shift was set to end, but part of you wished it wouldn’t end. It was kind of fun being with him tonight.

You had felt a tap on your shoulder, and you looked over to Daryl, with another cigarette in his mouth. You knew what he wanted so you quickly handed him the lighter. A ‘thanks’ was mumbled as he lit it and handed the lighter back. 

As he smoked, he spoke up for the first time in a while “Why do ya even have tha’?” he gestured to the lighter still in your hand. You looked at it and cleared your throat to speak. “Found it a while back, figured it could be useful for at least something. Or to actually have light when people ask for one.” All Daryl could do was chuckle at your reasoning, it was understandable. But it was dorky, in a good way that is.

“Well ya gotta learn to actually light it,” You rolled your eyes and nodded, “Yeah I know, just never had the opportunity.” He tilted his head, showing he understood. Daryl barely knew about your past before the end, but he knew you didn’t seem like the type to smoke or light random fires. 

Flicking sounds of the lighter filled the room after he’d finished speaking. You were determined to figure this out, and after about 20 flicks later. The orange glow of the flame casted over your face. Overjoyed you jumped up and cheered, probably looking crazy to someone looking into the watchtower. All Daryl could do was smile at your behavior. 

“Look at that! I did it! Finally!” You lit the flame again and pointed at it, showing it off like crazy. “Proud of ya,” Daryl said, genuinely, as he rubbed your shoulder. 

Time had come for your shift to be over, as you both walked to your respective cells Daryl pulled out one last cigarette and gestured you over to him. “Gimme a light?” 

You laughed and happily did so for him.

--

Note: Based off an actual experience I had not knowing how to use a BIC lighter in front of my sculpture professor. I think about it all the time. hashtag humbled. Also, sorry if I barely conveyed Daryl's accent, I struggle w that, but this is all for fun lol!

[scudden]

Blade Barrage

[veiledfox]

} There really is something to good music making things memorable

[kingdomoftyto]

...BIG FEELS AND BIG PLOT DEVELOPMENTS AT THE END OF THAT BOOK, HUH

[imwritesometimes]

So like.... what if I had many ideas for cake decorating? And what if I just bought some stuff to make some cute cupcakes? And this cake idea I have had knocking around in my head? And what if I actually tried?

[hoardlikegoldenirises]

just for fun

[bet-on-me-13]

Dan is Trigon

So! The Teen Titans had been chasing down a Cult lately, and they had finally managed to track down their main bases location.

Unfortunately, they got there just a bit too late and the Summoning Ritual they had been preforming was finished. The Being they had been calling crawled up and out of the Circle drawn in Blood on the floor.

And Raven felt her heart Stop. Because that Being crawling it's way out of the Summoning Circle looked almost exactly like her Father's True Form. But also different.

Where her Father's hair was a White Flame, this one's hair looked like Freshly Fallen Snow. Instead of her Father's Blood Red Skin, this being had Icy Blue Skin. And most strikingly, In place of her Father's Piercing Red Eyes, this being had Lazarus Green Eyes.

But even with all those changes, she could still the similarities in the Bone Structure, the shape of the Jaw, and most importantly the Untold Power radiating off of them.

Before they could react, the Being turned its attention to the Cultists.

"Who Dares Summon, the Ghost King?"

"We do, Out Lord Pariah Dark! We Beseech Thee, take this unclean world and tear it down! Cleanse the World of its Filth!"

"Oh Goddammit, not again." Said the Being, "Look, Pariah hasn't been in Power for Centuries. I, am Phantom. And I don't do the whole 'Destroy all Worlds' thing, you want your own constellation? I'm your guy. Otherwise? Bite it."

"Bu-But my Lord! We summoned you to-"

"Yeah how about no." Said the unimpressed God, "Here, let me send you guys Home. I'll give you guys some riches or something as compensation, but that's it."

And with that, the God snapped its fingers and the cultists disappeared.

"Now, who are you kids?" He turned to them.

Robin stepped forward, "We are the Teen Titans, and originally we came to stop them from Summoning you. Now, I honestly don't know what to do..."

"Oh, you guys are Heroes! That's interesting, I don't come across worlds with Heroes very often." Said the Ghost King, "The last one was the one with those Revengers or whatever they called themselves. The Spider Totem was fun to talk to, and Thor is always..."

As Phantom mumbled to himself, Raven stepped up. "King Phantom, I have a Question. Why do you resemble the true form or Trigon so closely? As his Daughter, I can recognize your similarities easily, and I was curious."

The King stopped dead.

"...daughter?"

"Oh, yes. Trigon is my father, though obviously I haven't talked to him recently." She explained.

"...that asshole." He said, "How could he not tell me I had a NIECE!?"

Wait what?

[ceilidho]

prompt: forced throuple au; Ghost decides that you and Johnny are his (part 1; ghoap x reader)

-

Johnny’s been bragging about a pretty bird lately.

Ghost listens because the periods between missions are long and colourless—he fills the time with paperwork, PT, exhausting his muscles in the gym, and dissociating in a booth at the only good pub on base when Johnny drags him along—and it’s better to tune out the thoughts in his head and replace them with something else. Besides, for as much as he gripes about poorly trained dogs barking too much, he enjoys the sound of Johnny’s voice. It quiets the faint ringing that follows him wherever he goes, an agitated humming that leaves him, on his best days, on the brink of rage.

“Tinnitus,” a doctor says when he brings it up during a routine check-up. Can you shut that fucking noise up?

“Best we can do is get you hearing aids.” Apologetic, sincere even. Stained, as always though, by a trembling, noxious unease. It emanates off the doctor in waves. 

Hard not to feel uneasy around a man in a mask, Ghost assumes. That’s all part of it though. He doesn’t cultivate comfort, doesn’t attempt to engender soft feelings or put the mind at ease. His body and persona are designed to put the body and mind on the knife’s edge of fear, and then tip it over. He leaves the sweet talking and charming to men like Johnny, who babbles red language in a tongue like larkspur. 

Ghost’s first language is oil slick. It stains and it covers and it darkens everything it touches. 

And now, Johnny’s talking about a bird.

A couple months after Las Almas, the first picture comes out. Not a folded up keepsake tucked away in the pocket of a bag or a wallet or the inside of his jacket, but right on Johnny’s lockscreen on his phone. He disapproves at first glance. Not of the girl, but at the thought of keeping something so valuable on display for anyone to see. It’s not how he functions. Everything sacred is burned, destroyed, or—if precious enough—buried so deep underground that salt miners might greet it on the way down.

“Pretty, eh?” Johnny goads, nudging Ghost with his shoulder. He’s all wide grin, eyes electric-blue like the flames of Kawah Ijen. 

She is pretty. Pretty as pie. Not a speck of grit or blood on her; if there’s any edge to her at all, it’s tempered by her smile in the photo on Johnny’s phone. A sugar sweet cunt, by the looks of it, sure it’d taste like candy if he got his mouth on it. He angles his eyes with Johnny’s lips and wonders how many times he’s eaten her out, if hers was the last cunt he ate. Likely. His boy’s the loyal kind, hard to shake off once he’s got his teeth in. Swapping spit or blood, he doesn’t leave once he’s got a taste. 

“Where’d you find her?” he asks instead of agreeing, and takes a swig from the bottle in front of him. The bar’s hardly filled out yet; the two of them come early because Ghost’s an old man—that’s what Johnny would say—and doesn’t like to be around people once the sun’s set. It’s a burnished gold now, sun hovering low in the sky when Ghost turns an eye to it. 

“Florist. Met her when I picked up flowers for mam’s birthday.”

Nearly a month then. “And I’m just hearin’ about this now?”

Not in this same pub three times a week since then. Not on the tarmac, suited up and sweating already beneath two layers of gear. Not in the shower beside Ghost’s, fingers reaching over the side for a bar of soap because Johnny can’t be arsed to get his own. Not with his head slumped to let Ghost shave the sides of his head nice and neat, thick fingers splayed over the delicate bone of his skull that Ghost knows would take nothing to break. 

It rankles him until he looks back down at the phone in his hands—the one he’d plucked from Johnny’s fingers even while he whined about Ghost always stealing his shit—and feels his heartbeat slow. It levels out like staring into the scope of a rifle, the molecules of his breath melding with the molecules of the air until even the sound of his heartbeat dulls to the insects around him. 

Johnny purses his lips. “…Wasn’t sure then. Am now.”

“Cunt’s a cunt. What’s there to be sure about?”

“No.” Johnny shakes his head vehemently. “She’s no’ like that. She’s special—I’m telling ye, Lt—” he stresses when Ghost snorts, the sound thick with scepticism, “—she’s a good egg. Smart one. Sweet as pie.”

Sweet as pie. Mutt half-shares his thoughts these days. They must have brought more home than just shellshock and keloids. 

Johnny squawks when Ghost unlocks his phone and thumbs through his photos, trying to wrench it out of Ghost’s hand to no avail. He’s easy to hold back. All he has to do is put down his beer for a second and get a handful of hair and jerk, and there it is. Peace and quiet. A wince bleeding into his peripheral vision while Johnny mumbles something under his breath about him being a mean bastard. 

He snorts again. Even from Johnny, he’s heard worse. 

There isn’t much left of him these days. A tired husk and a taste for Guinness. He bleeds and shaves and wipes it off, smells the viscera still staining his mask that he hardly ever washes, can’t bear to honestly. Waste of fucking time, as far as he’s concerned. Just going to get dirtied again, soaked in blood again within the week. Shaves his head too just to have less to deal with, less to distract him from the single-minded intensity he brings to the job. He’d dematerialize if he could, become a ghost in name and shape, if only the laws of physics allowed. 

Instead he’s saddled with a body that echoes back his age in creaking joints and low back pain. Scar tissue that aches when it gets cold. 

In the months he’s known Johnny, he’s never let himself think about the world outside their bubble. His rank demands a certain level of socialising, and while he doesn’t schmooze with the brass like other lieutenants might, Ghost hardly has the privilege of isolating himself all the time, but still he can count the people he considers close on one hand. 

Not family, but close. The thought of family is sheathed within him; he knows to leave the knife in lest he bleed. Still, Johnny’s fought his way onto the list and now he has to pay with his pound of flesh. 

There’s a switch that’s been off for years, closer to a couple decades, and it flips back on when he finds this man that trusts him without question, that follows his orders and looks up at him with these big, puppy blue eyes. It twists something in his chest. It turns him into a thing that says maybe it’s better to take than just covet. 

There are other photos of the girl in Johnny’s phone, some likely not meant for present company (Johnny flushes red when Ghost flips to a picture of his bird in a pretty little number, lace cupping her tits and ass, sitting on Johnny’s bed back home and looking back at him over her shoulder with a little grin). Still, it interests him to see this side of his boy; he’s maybe thought of it before in abstract terms. He knows that Johnny’s no stranger to a wandering eye, not with the way he’s built and his pretty boy face. He’s well acquainted with Johnny’s dick, hard not to be in such close quarters; it’s a nice, pretty thing, just like him, a good handful. Nothing like the ruddy battering ram in between Ghost’s legs. The one Johnny once got a glimpse of in the showers after a two week long stint in Kyrgyzstan and paled, mouth gaping open while he stared until he could finally laugh it off. 

Ghost remembers thinking detachedly about how lovely that little gaped open mouth would feel around his cock. 

Surprising that it took this long for him to cotton on to his own desires. 

“Bring ‘er around then. I’ll see for myself how sweet she is.”

Johnny scowls at the sudden uproar from a nearby table. “No’ a chance in hell. Dinnae trust any of these fuckers to behave around her.”

Ghost hums. He’s not wrong to be wary; under the table, Ghost runs a hand over his bulge and gives it a squeeze, lifting his thigh to readjust. She has a lovely mouth too. 

He’s been breathing fire and brimstone recently. Hungering to hear something break. It takes Johnny’s hand on his arm to hold him back, every cigarette puffed down to the filter. The pictures on Johnny’s phone make it seem easy though. 

Johnny’s been bragging about a pretty bird lately, preening at every opportunity to show her off. He doesn’t know that it takes approximately eight seconds for Ghost’s brain to file the girl in Johnny’s phone under mine, slotting her right under Johnny in that category and isn’t that just perfect because it also takes approximately eight seconds for Ghost to imagine what she might look like under Johnny. 

He hands Johnny back the phone, face down. “You get one week. Then I wanna meet your bird.”

[ervotica]

hehe dark!rafe fucking jj's ex bc she spiraling after the break up and using hella drugs so he's just degrading & using her however bc she's beneath him and he can't help but record it and send it to the male pouge's

warnings; DARK, smut (18+ only), drug use, dub-con (r is HEAVILY under the influence and not very aware), throat fucking, fingering, slight daddy kink, breathplay, degradation (I may have gone insane with this one I fear)

A cruel hand is splayed against the top of your spine where the base of your neck begins, subduing you enough to keep you from thrashing as Rafe curls his fingers against the spongy walls of your cunt. You're alight with pleasure, the lick of a flame igniting your every muscle as you gargle into the sheets below you; you're not entirely sure how you got here but your drug addled brain is too hazy with the white-hot euphoria he is so kindly granting you.

He groans at your blank eyes, breath hot on your skin as he licks a long line against the column of your throat and bites down, taking great enjoyment in the way you wriggle and whine.

"Please," you gasp out, that coil in your belly drawing tighter the longer he keeps his fingers nestled against that spot deep in your pussy that makes you scream.

"Please, what?"

"Please, daddy. Lemme cum."

"Attagirl." His grin is wolfish, teeth pointed and bared like a predator. "Little fuckin' whore, aren'tcha, kid? Bet Maybank never made you feel this good."

You shake your head vehemently, almost incomprehensible where you're drooling into the pillow beneath your balmy face.

He tweaks his fingers once more and suddenly the dull flame of bliss has roared to life, squeezing every one of your muscles like tendrils as you gush and your hole clenches around his thick digits.

The muted roar of white noise is all you can hear for a good while; eyes rolling, lashes fluttering, limp and spent from just one orgasm.

You don't see him next but rather you feel him. A thick mushroom head prodding against your swollen lips, the taste of bitter precum on your tongue as he feeds his cock down your spasming throat. A gag rips through you but he pushes past it, unfazed by your own discomfort as he chases the feeling of your tender gullet tightening around him.

"Yeahhh, that's good," he unabashedly moans, deep and gravelly. His cock pushes at the thin skin of your neck, flesh bulging as he settles your nose in the thatch of hair at his pubic bone, heavy sack pressing lewdly atop your gurgling mouth with every rut of his hips.

Bubbles of spit ooze from the corners of your stretched lips and then you're suddenly blinded by white light. The flash of a phone camera crowds your vision and Rafe doubles down, hips pistoning against your slack face as he groans and grunts, degrading insults pouring from his mouth.

"Dirty slut, all you're good for 's takin' dick, right? Just a filthy little hole for me to use when 'm bored."

You purl and choke around him in an effort to voice your complaints, but all it seems to do is spur him on further.

"G'na have this throat trained in no time, kid. You're my personal cocksleeve from now on."

He wrenches himself away despite being seemingly on the precipice of blowing his load; you gasp and whimper as he turns to prop the still recording phone on the dresser behind him, twisting a large handful of your mussed hair around his hand and dragging you across the expanse of the king sized bed. Your neck contorts in an odd sort of manner as he positions you with your head hanging upside-down from the side of the plush mattress. It gives him ample leverage to use you without care; he's not bothered if you pass out, he'll use you either way.

It's rough, borderline abusive, how he fucks your throat. Hard and fast and unrelenting despite your almost continuous retching and slapping feebly at his thick thighs. The bulge in the divot of the soft flesh only becomes more prominent, his spongy head pushing from the inside as though it's trying to rip through you.

His hand reaches between his own legs to plug your nostrils and a menacing chuckle hits your ears as your vision blurs and your eyes lose focus and roll to the back of your skull.

He lets up just as you're on the cusp of unconsciousness, dick never leaving your warm cavern as he reaches blindly behind him for the phone. Forearms dig cruelly into your ribcage as he props himself up and zooms the camera in on your sopping, swollen cunt, parting your petal soft lips and slipping two fingers inside to bully another orgasm from you.

"If I were you, Maybank, I'd have never given up this tight cunt," Rafe rasps. "Fucked the poor thing dumb, already. 'M keeping her."

He presses send before you can protest- not that you'll ever be able to. You'll be too cockdrunk to ever notice what he's done.

[baldursgate3tempobsessed]

Soft Astarion Jealousy

Now with part 2!

I love Ascended Astarion because he's horrible but the sweetness of the other end of the spectrum is impossible to deny. He's just so in love and grateful I can't 🥺🥺

So here's some jealousy that isn't psychotic. Well it is but not as bad:

Astarion never expected to be the jealous type. He always thought...well. In all honesty he never thought about the reality of having a relationship. He didn't even think it was possible for him, let alone the idea that he would actually want it. Even with you, even after he admitted a fraction of his own feelings to himself, he never thought that he would be so... possessive. Though admittedly, he had very good cause for it.

Because you were frustrating. So, so frustrating. For some idiotic reason, you simply didn't understand how alluring to others you really were. You were a pretty little thing, yes but that wasn't the problem. It was so much more than that. And he knew that the others wanted you. Every last one of them. Lae'zel, Shadowheart, Wyll, Karlach, Gale, Halsin. All of them like moths to a flame. And that wasn't even counting all of the strangers you had met on your journey, the extras that thought they had a shot with your greatness. They all wanted you in ways that made Astarion seethe. And the desire from others wasn't even the kind that he was used to, the kind he understood like the back of his hand. Because you didn't need to seduce to cultivate desire. All you needed to stoke the flames was merely your presence. Experiencing you was all that was required for people to know they wanted more.

Astarion knew that the others weren't just looking for a bedmate, they wanted you for the same reasons he had grown to. Your empathy, your desire to understand those around you. Your fearlessness, your infuriating habit of always trying to do the right thing. They wanted you for your laugh, the way your eyes would crinkle in the corners when your smile was too wide. Your silly jokes, your endless hopefulness for a future. It felt as though everyone around saw you for the gem that you were and it was... concerning. Extremely concerning.

Astarion hated thinking about things like this. He loathed admitting the truth to himself even more. But he was...terrified of losing you to someone else. Especially since it could so easily be done. He was so very lucky that you weren't the brightest, or at least not when it came to matters of the heart. You could do so much better than him, a fact that was incredibly obvious to everyone around you. Everyone but you, a luck that Astarion did not take lightly. But how much time did he have before it ran out? Would it ever?

Perhaps it was delusional, but he was starting to think when all of this was over, assuming neither of you perished anyway, that...it could just be the two of you. Living together, exploring the world, even if it had to be under the cloak of night. Maybe... maybe the two of you could even find a cure for his unsavory condition. The thought itself was incredibly stupid, but then again, it was just as idiotic to believe that there was a cure to the Mind Flayer parasite. But here they were, closer then ever. And if that was such an impossibility turned into reality, perhaps a vampiric cure wasn't so impossible. Or maybe even finding an alternative method for immortality for you, without the downsides of his own. Anything that could just keep you both together, for as long as possible. It was an unrealistic dream, that would never come into fruition. If anything it was dangerous, so very dangerous to even entertain the thought of forever. Especially when your connection was so tenuous.

Astarion would never be stupid enough to thank Cazador for anything but...he'd be lying if he said he wasn't appreciative for his own lack of subtly when it came to seducing you. Even if it originally was for distasteful reasons, it still got him ahead of the pack. If he had been less calculating, less astute, there was a sincere chance that you would be warming someone else's bed at night. Callousness would never be without it's uses, even if it led to uncomfortable situations like his current infatuation.

What would he do when you inevitably wanted to leave? How could he survive after having something so...good. Someone so caring, someone who for some very horrifying reason liked being around him. And the sex... it was fabulous. He was a massive fan of your intimacy, when he was capable of participating in it. He adored it, he adored you, your beauty, the sweet noises he could coax from your mouth, the europhia of being inside of you. Then there was the fact that you could be intimate without any traces of it devolving into lovemaking. He had never been gifted with the ability to say no before, so often and so freely without a single fear of punishment. If anything, it felt like he was rewarded when he was honest with you, when he would share his sudden fits of discomfort in his own body, the memories that plagued him and doomed him to staying stubbornly soft. You would never get angry, never even disappointed. You would just listen and smile, always adorable when you would ask, "But I can stay for a cuddle, can't I?"

An extremely silly question, considering the two of you hadn't spent a night apart from each other since you'd made it to the Shadowlands. Yet it never failed to make him melt.

It was getting worse, these feelings. He just wanted you around, by his side, constantly. Constant enough for him to get the ridiculous urge to hiss at anyone else who dared to come near you. He felt an intense need to protect the closeness the both of you had cultivated, the kind that he had never been allowed before. He had no interest in sharing you with your own friends when it came down to it, let alone another lover.

Which is precisely why his original, mild distaste for Halsin turned into a full-blown hatred the night he had the gall to proposition you.

It had felt like a shard of ice going through his chest when you bounded over to him, laughing about one of his greatest fears coming much too close to reality, "You won't believe the conversation Halsin and I just had-"

"Ah, I was wondering when you were going to ask me about that," Astarion laughed, purposefully interrupting you. He had no desire to hear the specifics of that conversation. He didn't even want to be having this conversation, where you were inevitably going to ask if it was okay to explore someone else.

The answer was no. Never would he be okay with it, allowing someone else to be close to what should have been his. But he needed to think strategically here. To say no could be disasterous. If it became a game of choice between him and Halsin... he's almost certain he would lose. Halsin was everything he wasn't; caring, giving, sharing in your worldviews in a way that Astarion never could. He couldn't risk it, he wouldn't. Having you at all was better than nothing.

"But I'd never even consider something like that-"

"It's fine," Astarion interrupts again, the fakest smile he can muster plastered on his face. The pain was worth the risk mitigation, he was sure of that. But... he still had to ask, "But is this because we haven't...y'know, in awhile?"

A sick part of him prays that you'll say yes. Because if that's the reason, he could do something about it. He could force himself if need be to always tend to your needs. Especially if it meant keeping you to himself. It was such a small sacrifice in comparison to the rest of his life. He would do it in a heartbeat if you demanded, anything to just make you stay.

But that was not the answer he received. Instead you frowned, looking him up and down, "What? No, I-Astarion no. Please don't think that. What we have together is so special to me. The physical part of it is lovely, perfect even. But...it's not what we are."

It's almost comforting to hear you say that. But then why did that make the situation feel so much worse? If it wasn't sex you were after then that certainly meant you wanted more with Halsin as well, did it not? But it was too late to rescind it now.

Astarion nodded, a confused mixture of hurt and gratefulness swirling through him, "I just needed to know. But if you're satisfied with me and just want to explore, go right ahead. I'll be here when you're done."

You nodded slowly, brow furrowed when you asked, "So...we aren't exclusive then?"

"No, of course not," Astarion confirmed, ignoring everything inside of him that was screaming for him to take it all back, "We can be as open as you'd like."

"I see..." You said, trailing off with a frown. You coughed into your hand, looking up at him sharply. Sharp enough for him to be sincerely confused, "Does this mean that you'll be speaking to me before you explore your other options?"

"I-yes? If you want?" Astarion answered, a new type of unease settling in his chest. You didn't seem very happy with this conversation, despite his best attempts to give you what you wanted. Where had he gone wrong? Was he already working to throw you into the arm's of another man, without even trying?

You were still frowning at him, your look cold in a way that made him feel particularly ill, "Please do. I'd like to know everything. I'm going to speak to Halsin, get this all sorted. We can talk later."

And then you were spinning on your heel and marching away, like Astarion was the offensive party here. It made no sense. He had done it all right, hadn't he? Agreed to it immediately, didn't make you feel guilty, had tried to be what you wanted. How had he failed?

He didn't wait around to see you go to Halsin. Instead he went straight back to his tent, closing the flap as he laid down. Great. Fantastic. Now he would have to be aware, perhaps even hear you being with another, while simultaneously reliving that horrid conversation in his head for the entire night. The hurt and worry was making his mind wander to uncomfortable places. Perhaps...Halsin could be dealt with in another way if things became too serious between the two of you.

Would poisoning the man be too extreme?

But before Astarion had the time to start thinking of a more detailed plan he was interrupted. Suddnely, moonlight was filling his tent, with your silleoute shining in the darkness.

He blinked up at you, confused, "What are you doing here?"

You frowned at him, looking hesitant in the entry way, "Should I not be? I thought-I can go if you'd like."

"No!" Astarion blurted out, loud and desperate enough to make him cringe. He cleared his throat, trying again, his voice still a touch too pitiful for his liking, "No, no, come here darling. Of course you're always welcome. I just assumed you would be busy."

To his relief you listened, crawling into the bedroll next to him. Astarion didn't waste any time in wrapping his arms around you, relieved to humiliating degrees that you had chosen to come back after the deed. Though...you didn't quite smell as he had thought you would. There were no traces of the floral, woodsy smell of the druid on your skin. Just the sweet, pleasant scent that he had grown so fond of.

You sighed as he tucked you against him, the warmth of you enough to make him relax for the first time that night. You laid together in a pleasant quiet, one that Astarion was actually scared to disturb. Despite the fact that he desperately wanted to know what happened between the two of you.

But you broke the silence for him, muttering into his chest after the two of you were settled, "I'm...sorry for being snappish earlier. I shouldn't have been. You didn't do anything wrong, and I know I don't own you. I shouldn't have assumed."

Astarion frowned, pulling back to get a proper look at your face. You looked hurt, sad even. Like you were the one who had gotten their heart broken. He could feel a curl of distaste settling in his stomach, annoyed that this felt as though the situation was being placed back to him. He had played his part, perfectly. What more could you ask for? What was there to assume?

"I'm not sure I understand what you mean," Astarion carefully said, his eyes fixed on every micro expression on your face, "What did I do that could have been construed as incorrect?"

"Nothing!" You rushed to say, shame coloring your cheeks, "I was being stupid. You never promised me anything. I just...assumed. Wrongly that we were something we aren't."

That didn't-he-what? Astarion frowned at her, his confusion evident on his face, "What did you think we were?"

You looked uncomfortable, avoiding his gaze when you answered, "I thought that we were...together. Alone. Just us. But if that's not what you want I understand. It's fine-"

"What in the hells are you talking about?" Astarion blurted out, his anger and pain bubbling to the surface, "I haven't done a thing. And we were just us before you decided to galivant off with a bear of a man!"

He regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. So much for playing things safely. No, he couldn't even have the self-control to stay quiet. He always had to ruin everything.

But surprisingly, you didn't look angry. If anything you seemed just as confused as he felt, "What? I didn't-we didn't do anything! When did I say I wanted to do anything with Halsin? You were the one saying you didn't care!"

You weren't making any damn sense, "Well why else would you ask me about it?"

"I didn't!" You huffed, glaring at him, "All I was going to say was that he asked me. And I wanted your help on how to best turn him down! And then you jumped at the chance to push me onto someone else-"

"I did nothing of the sort!" Astarion seethed back, "If it was up to me you would never look at another man again! Or woman for that matter!"

It was an odd feeling, to be arguing while holding each other so closely. But Astarion had no intention of letting you go anytime soon, even if he could feel you squirming against his ironclad grip when you fumed at him, "Then why would you say it was okay?!"

"Because I don't want you to leave me!" He shouted back, loud enough to snap him out of his own anger. All of his fury was instantly replaced with fear. Gods, why had he felt the need to say that? To lay his biggest insecurity out on the line. Why not just hand you a stake while he was at it, since he was so eager to give you the tools to destroy him.

But you were still seething, hissing back at him, "Why praytell, would I leave the man I've been in love with for months? Hm? Please, explain it to me!"

Astarion couldn't. He was too busy being shell-shocked at the confession, feeling too many emotions at once. Joy, relief, somehow even more fear than before. You so freely said the words that he had done his damndest to bury, to ignore. But now they were out there, filling him with a horrifying joy.

He wanted to say it back. He did. But he couldn't get the wrecthed words out. Instead he was just staring at you like an imbeicle, his mouth hanging opening at the confession.

But his silence didn't make you falter. Instead you looked determined, near fierce as you grasped his face into your warm hands, "I love you Astarion. You don't have to say it back. That's not what this is about. But I want you. And only you. If you want the same of me then you must tell me. Now."

Astarion let his hands flutter over your wrists, humiliating tears prickling at his eyes. But at least his vocal chords allowed him to answer you this time, "I do. So much more than you know. I want us. Just us. No one else."

The words were flowing out of him, too fast and sincere for him to make the appropriate edits in his head. He was saying too much, feeling too much, giving too much. But the way your eyes brightened at his words, the way you grinned at him before pulling him in for a sweet kiss made it suddenly feel like he wasn't giving anything up at all.

As much as he loathed to admit it, Astarion was exceedingly grateful for Halsin's existence after that night. He would never have had the gall to demand you to himself without a trigger, without the anger you both shared at being misunderstood. Because now, you were his. His alone, the proclamation coming from your own lips. And he was free to stop hiding how much he had wanted it. How willing he was to do anything to keep it. He let himself off his own leash after that, leaning completely into the mutual ownership you had of each other. No more would he silently sit back and seethe as a stranger flirted with you. No, now he'd be upfront and center, with a possessive hand around your waist as he glared them down, more than prepared with a confidence-shattering quip on his tongue.

He started to let all of his urges seep through, taking full advantage of your willingness. If Wyll looked at you for too long at the fire, with a touch of something that Astarion didn't like in his eyes, he'd effortlessly pull you into his lap onlookers be damned as breathed you in. If Gale suddenly had a suspect offer to teach you some new magic in a secluded location, Astarion would invite himself, impervious to any glares sent his way. And when he felt as though all of them were being a bit too flirtaious, he was more than happy to put them in their places at night. Spending hours upon hours making you scream his name in bed from pleasure, loud enough for everyone to hear and know exactly who you belonged to.

He couldn't care less if it added to his own unpopularity amongst their merry-band of rejects. Their opinions didn't matter. Not when you were eating all of the sudden attention up.

You let him do it all because you understood him, in ways that no one else had bothered to before. You knew who he was, what he wanted, the extent to how much he craved your attention. And you let it all happened, reveled in it even. The intense shows of affection. Because you loved him. And he loved you. And one of these days he'd allow himself to admit the obvious.

But for now, he had what he wanted. What he needed. And in the first time in his life, even with disgusting tadpoles squirming his his brain, Astarion was actually...happy.

[peachdues]

Levi Ackerman can and will blow your back out, but he’s also the type to lean in and press his lips hard against your forehead when you’re in the middle cumming so prettily for him.

He has your legs bent and nearly pinned to your ribs beneath the solid mass of his body. His arms are braced on either side of your head, one hand loosely fisted into your hair to make sure you keep your eyes on him and him alone. Every bit of his weight bears down into you, and it strikes you that between the fullness you feel from his cock and the pressure of his body against yours means there is no part of you that isn’t being thoroughly and completely consumed by him.

He curls one arm over your head, caging you in against the pillow while the other shoves between your sweat-slickened bodies. You think he means to play with your clit, but instead his hand presses firmly against your lower stomach as he continues hammering into you, allowing the blunt head of his cock to push repeatedly against that spot deep within that makes your vision turn white and your toes curl.

“There you are — oh,” he smirks at how you begin trembling beneath him, and the vibrations of your body only magnify as he rubs his hand in time with each hard grind of his hips as his cock continues bullying deeper and deeper into your soaking heat. “That’s the spot, huh, pretty girl?”

His smug, mocking smirk is a front; you know it by the way the muscles in his shoulders tense, signaling he’s summoning every bit of his own will power to fight off his own release, far too invested in savoring yours.

You’re also trying to hold on, and he knows that; he can sense it in the way your nails bite into his back, can see it in how your teeth sink into your plump bottom lip.

You want to cum — badly. And he’s more than eager to see you fall apart.

A growl, low and possessive builds in his throat. “Go on then — be a good girl and give me what I want.”

He gives another sharp, pointed thrust of his hips, burying himself all the way to his hilt before grinding against you, hard. “Let go,” he orders, his voice firmer and you know the leash he has on his own restraint is rapidly fraying.

Levi exhales a quiet swear of relief when he feels your cunt finally seize around him like a vice, and he is transfixed by broken staccato of his name that falls from your pretty lips as your climax washes over you like a wave. A surge of pride wells in his chest at how you manage to keep your eyes locked with his, even though he knows your instinct is to let them roll back into your head as you float among the clouds of pleasured bliss only until he can reach in and haul you back down to earth.

“Atta girl,” he coos, and the pace of his hips slow from those relentless, bruising thrusts to a gentle canting, each roll into your heat deep and purposeful. Then, he feels a surge of your wetness gush over him, dampening the coarse hairs of his base as the walls of your cunt continue to flutter and pulse around him, and Levi somehow finds himself becoming even more smitten with you than he already is. “Oh — it’s a big one, isn’t it?”

And when you look up at him with those big eyes of yours — wide and sparkling with tears of pleasure and exhaustion- and you nod, lower lip quivering, Levi can’t help but lean forward to press his lips to your forehead, as he continues fucking you through your high.

“Good girl,” he murmurs against your damp forehead, his groin churning torturously against yours. “Good fucking girl, cumming for me like this.”

Each grind of his coarse base right against your clit sends sparks additional waves of electrifying pleasure rocking through you until your legs are twitching and spasming beneath him. But Levi only chuckles, the sound dark and rich and so distinctly him.

He continues to guide you through the dizzying ripples of your orgasm, and when the last, gentle wave flickers out like a candle flame, Levi imparts one, final kiss against your forehead.

And then he pulls back, but he is not finished — no where near it, in fact. One by one, your legs are pushed over his shoulders until your knees are pressed to your chest, and his lips curl into something between a grin and a sneer.

He leans down and presses his mouth to the shell of your ear, and you’re not sure whether it’s the heat or his breath or the severity of his promise that sends an excited chill down your spine as he hisses, “My turn.”

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