#i probably made him like maybe a decade ago?

[darkdragon768]

Hey, it's me!

(was about time that I do a ref for my fursona)

[gutsby]

Watch Your Mouth

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: Joel teaches you to keep quiet during sex.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v. Silence kink. Size kink. Breeding kink. Age gap. Joel is a lot more experienced (!) Finger sucking. Orgasm denial. Soft dom!Joel x10000.

Word count: 1.9k

Maybe a hand was too much.

A kiss to stifle your cries, a tongue between your lips to steal any trace of a whimper before it could ever leave. Joel knew by the way your wet, pliant hole stretched wider and wider for him with each thrust that you’d eventually quiet down—but he needed silence now.

And he’d get it when he clamped his palm over your mouth. At first, your brows lifted with surprise, then pinched inward like you didn’t understand, then twitched again, involuntarily, when the head of his cock cleared a path straight toward your cervix. You whimpered into his hand and made a point to dig your heels even deeper in his back. Joel had promised he’d be better about that.

“‘M’sorry,” he mumbled.

Another stab. Another whimper, only louder this time.

“Sorry, baby, I’m—” Joel stopped to fight back a groan of his own, before pressing his palm down with even more force, “—sorry, jus’ need ya real quiet right now, okay?”

You tried to nod, but the weight and stricture of his grip were as heavy as lead against your face. Add to that the soft, sawing motions of his cock going in and out of your cunt and the nudge of his oversized tip at your cervix, and it was all you could do to just lay there and take it. Joel knew this was brand new to you—he’d been your first not too long ago and the only partner since—so he eased back and lifted his hand when you gave it a tug.

Grey stubble was already licking at the corners of your mouth with Joel’s minuscule kisses of reassurance when you giggled and squeezed him tighter between your legs:

“I’m tryin’, Joel. Really, I am,” you whispered.

“I know, sweet pea,” he whispered back, “I know.”

He took the palm he’d used to stifle your moans and smoothed it over your cheek, coming to rest at one side so he could kiss you fully. Maybe a hand was too much.

He’d inculcate restraint some other way, and if it didn’t come easy, a few more fucks on the forest floor like this one would probably do the trick. Your mouth opened up for his tongue just like your cunt would open up for more of his cum and the rest of your body would surely follow suit, learning to control the noises of pleasure as needed.

“Good girl,” Joel murmured against your lips, feeling you clench around him and expel a breath rather than whine. He withdrew himself to the tip, then plunged back in, “Such a good, perfect girl for me, ain’t ya, sweetheart?”

At length, you yelped into his mouth. You couldn’t help it. Rather than reprimand you with words or smother your lips with his palm, though, Joel kept fucking you gently.

“‘S’okay, pretty girl, it’s okay. I know that feels good.”

His mouth was next to your ear now, praises audible to no one else but you. It added a whole new dimension to your pleasure; Joel could tell from the way your walls constricted around him and choked him, sucked him in. The feeling nearly elicited a groan from his chest, but of course, he had all the resolve of a seasoned professional. Decades and decades of practice had done that for him.

“Joel,” you mewled.

Your face was screwed up in a grimace, eyes likely to be brimming with tears any second now. Joel slowed his pace once more, felt a pang of guilt for how big he felt inside you—how those decades and decades of practice set you drastically apart from each other in experience—and this time, he didn’t try to muffle your whines. He just stroked the top of your cheek with one thumb, and with the other, snaked a path between your body and his.

Admittedly, Joel was still learning about yours. He wasn’t sure if the whimpers you’d made were born wholly of pleasure or just a sense of being stretched out and filled. Because you yourself were still learning to be vocal, Joel figured he’d give the latter a stab. He started thumbing your clit in an attempt to alleviate some of the pressure.

It worked, and it didn’t.

Your walls parted easily beneath the quiet ministrations of his thumb, opening yourself more to Joel’s thrusts, but they also tore a scream out of your throat—the kind that was liable to stir the leaves on every tree and alert any clicker within a two-mile radius to your presence.

The kind of outcome Joel had been trying to prevent when he’d brought you on patrol with him in the first place. The kind of sound he was trying to fuck out of your body completely; teach you to keep quiet and still for when the two of you inevitably got bored during perimeter watch and rolled the sleeping bag out to fuck.

Joel tensed above you and cast a quick look around. Sure, he’d picked a decently safe spot, but then you—

“Joel, I—”

Without thinking, the man stopped and stuck the first thing he could possibly fit in your mouth: his thumb. Whatever you’d been trying to say to him was promptly lost in a hum against his knuckle, lips enveloping the thick, callused digit like some tangy-flavored lolly. Joel’s hips sank back into yours, slowly, and he felt the reverberations of another moan spill over his finger.

He swallowed and stared. That shouldn’t have been nearly as sexy as you’d just made it seem, especially when your life and his hung in such a precarious position.

Joel dragged his cock back out and happened to graze a sensitive, spongy ridge inside you, which made you moan again. You hollowed your cheeks and gritted your teeth a bit more against his thumb, gripping Joel’s forearm for support as he continued to fuck you.

And, had you stayed like that a moment longer, you probably would’ve seen a shiny string of drool start to pool and stretch and fall out from one side of his mouth. Instead, Joel switched hands and popped the thumb that had been toying with your clit into your mouth, eyes glazed over with desire as they drank in the sight of you sucking his thumb again. The tip was still soaked with your warmth and slipped easily past your parted lips.

Another sound bubbled up your throat when you got a taste—Joel had always been in the habit of kissing you after eating you out, so you were well-acquainted with the flavor, but never had he fed you your own arousal on his finger. This felt obscene, something more than just pornographic as those deep, brown, lust-addled irises remained glued to where your lips closed around him.

“Y’like that, huh?” he said, voice reduced to a whisper once more while you nipped and suckled at the skin.

You bobbed your head to indicate yes, opened your mouth to tell him softly that you liked it so much—loved the taste and grit of his finger on your tongue, in fact. You wanted to show him you could be vocal, too, when Joel’s frame rose over yours a little more and seemed to blanket it entirely. Like he wanted to shield you, in a way.

“Shhhh, shhh…keep suckin’ like that. Stay still, okay?” Joel murmured, and it didn’t take a rocket scientist to work out that this was a test. He was nodding, rutting gently between your legs, wedging his thumb deeper inside the wet, velvety contours of your mouth and waiting for a look from you to say that you understood.

You weren’t sure if you did, but you nodded anyway. Joel’s thumb made a wonderful sort of makeshift gag as he continued to thrust inside of you, his body somehow lowering to get even closer to yours. When he’d gotten sufficiently near, he pressed a kiss to the side of your mouth—now stuffed with his thumb and leaking spit—and muttered something about how good you were for him, how nicely you fit around his cock. Then he tilted his hips and proceeded to pound you into the ground like an animal in heat. The only thing separating your ass from the patch of grass underneath it was a flimsy little blanket, and the only thing tethering you to earth, it seemed, was Joel’s cock. Your ankles locked behind his back, and his nose settled next to yours, breathing hard.

Even if he knew how to suppress his moans, the panting and strangled gasps were far beyond Joel’s control—as were the filthy, perverse words pouring out of his mouth.

“‘S’all mine, ain’t she, hon? Tell me this pussy’s mine.”

“Tell me she’s mine to fuck, stuff full’a cum, right here.”

And he gestured to the spot where your body stopped and his began, squelching noises punctuating each new thrust. Neither one of you minded the sound right now, especially when you knew where this was headed next.

Joel was grinning against your skin before he kissed it.

“She wants a baby, doesn’t she, honey? Wants me to put a baby in her and make that belly swell up pretty?”

You knew just as well as Joel that neither of you wanted children in a world like this—thoughts of breeding only occurred to you both when you were about to cum. Particularly when Joel’s thumb was slipping out of your mouth and his fingers were pinching either side of your face in a single grip, lips moving above yours. Making you meet his gaze as he squeezed your cheeks in a pout.

“You want my babies, baby?” Joel mumbled.

You felt a familiar twitch in his cock. You nodded.

Joel pinched harder and shook his head, unsatisfied.

“Say, ‘I want your babies, Joel.’”

“I want your babies, Joel.”

“Say, ‘I’ll be nice and quiet if you cum inside me.’”

“I’ll be nice and quiet if you cum inside me, please, Joel.”

Your voice was already hoarse from how low you had to whisper, how hard Joel’s broad and hefty stomach was pressing into your own, stealing the breath from your lungs and wreaking havoc on your brain as you struggled for air and imagined a world where your tummy was a little rounder. Plugged up with his cum one day and growing bigger with his child there inside you the next. The thought was dizzying in the abstract, enticing to the slightest degree in reality, and if you had to guess from the expression of the man currently sweating, grunting, and rutting into your body, you’d bet he felt the same.

It really was a shame you had to stay so quiet.

But, whether a clicker was five miles away or standing directly over his shoulder, Joel didn’t seem to care at all. Soft, silent reserve cast aside for the time being and hips slamming a bruising pace against your own, Joel seemed fine to let out sounds to show he was right about to cum. Grunts and whimpers were spilling left and right off his filthy, pretty tongue; his eyes were all but rolling back.

Truly, he couldn’t look more magnificent if he tried.

“Fuck, baby, I’m— I’m so close. Gonna fill you up.”

Featherlight clusters of soft grey hair were now darkened with sweat. They rested comfortably across his forehead. Under them, two thick brows furrowed in concentration.

“Gonna knock you up,” he added through gritted teeth.

That part was not a threat, but a promise.

You felt a tug and a pinch in your own stomach, signaling your oncoming release. You spread your legs wider for Joel, pressed a kiss to his jaw when he leaned in closer, made room for him to spill his load just how he wanted, and when it seemed he was a second from his peak—

A twig snapped nearby.

Both of you froze in place.

[ode2rin]

1 | ANYONE BUT YOU .ೃ

summary. as lines get blurred, hearts get flustered, and a scheme ensues, your brother's best friend suddenly seems way more interesting than he used to be.

content/warnings. 5k+ wc (part 1/3) reader has little to no college friends | reader hates kaiser's guts | PROTECTIVE kaiser lol | | pet names (dollface) & a lot of profanity (it's kaiser) | minimal proofread

💭 masterlist | next part

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I can go with you anymore.”

Your ears were ringing.

After the words hung over the line, a heavy silence descended, punctuated only by the dull thud of your heartbeat echoing in your ears. The phone line seemed to distort, and the world beyond reduced to a distant murmur as a disorienting ringing filled your ears. Yet, despite the shock rippling through, you managed to maintain a facade.

“Ah, I see. It’s no problem. See you around!” Your chirped voice made you cringe internally, but it was a better front than sounding like a defeated kid whose mom said no over a piece of candy at a grocery store.

Before he could say anything else, you clicked the end button faster than he could spew some tacky excuse. Throwing your phone to the side, you settled onto your bed, lying on your back, staring at the uninteresting ceiling of your room.

Sure, it was no problem at all— the music festival was just six hours away, and your date had just canceled on you over the phone. It’s no big deal facing your college blockmates without a companion as initially planned, and it’s totally not a problem that you will most likely be a third– hell, a seventh wheel, actually, and have them talk behind your back – speculating about why you're going alone or if you were just making it up that you had someone to bring.

Yes, it’s not a fucking problem at all.

You don’t even like the artist lineup, anyway (maybe you’re mildly interested with one band that’s attending).  You wouldn’t bother if you weren’t just a sophomore still trying to find a group of friends you can call your own. It's embarrassing enough that freshmen even had it better than you. It’s not a race, for sure, but in college– the truth lies blatant that support systems help. A lesson you learned the hardest way.

“Y/N? Are you in there?” Three soft knocks on your door and a muffled voice, surely coming from your older brother, interrupted your pity party.

“Yes. Come in,” you confirmed. The door creaked open, revealing a mop of magenta hair leaning over your door frame.

“There’s food downstairs. We ordered your favorite.”

“We?”

“Kaiser is downstairs.”

Of course, he is. 

Your brother’s best friend must have really taken it to heart when your mom told him he can treat your family as his own. Too deep into his heart, if you could comment. You see him around the house more than you see your parents, and if that wasn’t tiresome enough, he’s literally a damn superstar in your university. Every corner, every room, in halls and library, everyone can’t seem to be over his name like a broken record.

You wouldn’t be this annoyed, hostile even, if said man was just as nice as your brother. But instead, he was far by the most obnoxious, foul-mouthed, arrogant prick you’ve ever known. Alexis should have never kicked some ball with that conceited oaf a decade ago. Life would have been so much better. But no— reality is, the bane of your existence in the form of blonde hair and sharp blue eyes, is in your house’s kitchen, probably gulping down your favorite drinks in the fridge. 

If you can’t seem to have friends, your older brother seems to be goddamn bad at picking his.

“Hey, dollface. Missed me?” Speak of the damn devil and he shall appear.

The first thing you’re met with after coming down is a sight of Michael Kaiser, sitting high and comfortably on one of the counter’s bar stools. Your gaze trails down to his hand where you see a peek of his crown tattoo— and would you look at that? He’s holding a can of your Coke Zero.

“Oh, so that’s why my life was going sideways again,” you feigned a sigh in disappointment, making sure it was loud enough for him to hear, “because you’re back.”

In your unwanted years of knowing this guy, you’ve soon realized that none of your words, no matter how sharp or snarky they get, would ever faze him. Evidence would be how he just openly chuckled at your remark. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I missed you and your smart mouth, too. Don’t worry.”

“Trust me, worry is not in the list of emotions I would ever feel for you.”

“Well, does attraction make it to the list?”

Years ago, perhaps it would have. Not that he needs to know—no chance. Your silly childhood crush on him was your deepest, darkest mistake. You might be overdramatic, but this was Michael Kaiser, and god, you would rather get caught having feelings for anyone but him.

Rolling your eyes at him, you sneer, “You wish.”

“Oh, trust me, I do wish,” he mocks your tone.

“Fuck off.” 

“That won’t get rid of me, I’m afraid,” he shrugs before winking at you. You shook your head in annoyance.

You took the seat across from him and settled. You were about to lean to reach the box of pizza at the other end of the countertop, when Kaiser reached for it first and placed it in front of you.

You turned to look at him, half expecting a smirk or yet another wink from the blonde, but instead, he was preoccupied browsing on his phone as if his body moved on its own to attend to you.

You shrugged off the weird occurrence and turned all attention to the pizza and its heavenly scent sipping through the gaps of its box, just in time for Alexis to take the seat next to his best friend. You drowned the noise of their conversation as they started talking about last away games.

Your brother and Kaiser had been the most valuable players of your university’s soccer team for as long as you’ve remembered. They were two years older, so by the time you entered university, they were already making big names in the field. Rumors had it that there were already offers lining up at their feet.

If you come to think of it, it wouldn’t be this hard making friends if you would just be vocal about being Alexis Ness’ younger sibling, but the limelight and pretentious popularity it came with was something you wouldn’t wish upon yourself. You wanted real and genuine friends, not people who wanted to be around you because it was a step closer to your brother and his best friend.

Like earlier, Alexis’ voice came reaching your eardrums, snapping you out of your thoughts. After hearing what he had to ask, though, you wished you had a way to physically block out his words.

“Are you not going to get ready for the festival?” your brother asked, meanwhile, his dear friend seemed to take great interest in what you’re about to say as both of them peered over you.

“Not going anymore,” you said, as nonchalant as you could to play pretend.

“Why? You’ve been looking forward to it the whole week.”

Heat crept into your ears and cheeks as embarrassment filled you. Sure, you might not be prancing around being all excited about it, but if your brother was able to notice it, your enthusiasm must have been evident then. God, you felt like an utter fool now.

“It got canceled,” you looked away from them.

Alexis looked at you with furrowed brows, “What do you mean? It’s not–”

“My date canceled on me. I’m not going anymore to save face and not make a fool out of myself. There, happy?” you snapped.

Before you could even feel the guilt from bursting out unprovoked to your brother, you swiftly got up from the stool heading back to your room, leaving the two of them in the kitchen looking concerned contrarily. One with worried eyes glancing at your room hesitantly, and the other one with a clenched jaw and narrowed eyes.

It seemed everyone was testing your patience today, as for the second time, your ears rang—not from a last-minute cancellation this time, but from the persistent sound of your ringing phone.

Your heavy eyes fluttered open, weighed down by the sleep from your ignoring-the-world nap after the exchange with your supposed date and your brother. Disoriented and groggy, you reached out, fingers fumbling to check the caller deserving of your unrelenting fury.

Kaiser, the screen read, and suddenly, the urge to throw your phone at the nearest wall almost overwhelmed your senses.

But you answered the call anyway, because logic says that he was still your brother’s closest, and sometimes, that warranted a call that might be about him.

“I swear to god this better be important–”

“Get ready,” he interrupted.

“What?”

“Look out your window.”

Groaning, you rose to your feet, moving your drapes aside to see what awaited outside.

Outside your house’s gates, a midnight blue sports car, all too familiar, was parked across the driveway. Its owner leaned lazily over its door, one hand in his pocket while the other held his phone pressed to his ear, looking right back at you with that shit-eating grin.

“What the hell are you on?” you muttered into the phone.

You instantly closed the drapes after meeting eyes with him.

It’s infuriating—He’s infuriating. But damn, does he look good when he smiles like that. And it’s not helping your case that he was clad in loose-fitting denim pants and a black shirt, sufficiently showcasing both his tattoo and his lean yet toned build.

It’s sorcery how he makes simple and ordinary clothing look like it was screaming high-end and luxury. Only he can do that, you admit.

“As I said, get ready,” he repeated over the phone, “We only have less than two hours before your music festival or something starts.”

He’s taking me to it? “Why?”

Only one word in response, yet the two of you understood what you’re pertaining to. Silence filled the line for a moment before you heard a subtle click of his tongue.

“Because you look ugly when you sulk,” and he hung up.

You should be irritated at him hanging up abruptly and calling you ugly, but for some reason you don’t know, it puts a smile on your face. 

The first one today.

Kaiser wishes he had a bigger car— which one would deem ridiculous, given that his car could easily match the price of two or even three minivans.

But if it meant having you sit not so close that your scent infiltrates his senses beyond his sound judgment, he’d gladly trade his lambo for a minivan any day.

You were intoxicating— not akin to the grip of liquor, because it would be inadequate in comparison. But rather intoxicating in the same way as the irresistible magnetism that beckons a madman to its vices.

And he must be really mad because you weren’t even sitting shoulder-to-shoulder close to him. You’re sitting comfortably at the passenger seat, a good distance in between, and yet he acts like a raging teenager who got locked up with his crush in the utility room. It is absolutely embarrassing, even for someone like him.

“Did Alexis ask you to do this?” you suddenly inquired, your gaze fixed on your side of the car.

Thank heavens you broke the silence first, because who knows what ungodly phrases he would come up with in an attempt of small talk with you?

“No. Though I bet he would have taken you himself,” he snorted, of course your brother would, “If our coach weren’t so pissed at him these days.”

Ah, so that explained why you hadn't seen Alexis around the house before hopping into Kaiser's car.

Momentarily, you turned to him. It was so swift that he might have missed it if he wasn’t so hyper aware of your every move in this damn confined space. “Is he in trouble?” you inquired to the blonde, your voice concerned and hesitant.

“Nothing you have to worry about, doll.”

“Stop with the nicknames,” you hissed, attempting to intimidate. 

Unfazed, he countered with a cheeky “Make me,” under his breath. His smirk practically audible, even without you glancing his way.

Silence overtook between the two of you once more. You fixated on the road ahead, noting the nearing destination as the glow of the festival stage lights peeked into view.

It’s your chance— your chance to release the words that have lingered at the edge of your tongue since he urged you to get ready almost an hour ago. You stole a glance at the man driving beside you. His eyes focused on the road, his left hand steady on the steering wheel while his timepiece-adorned hand rested comfortably on the gearshift. In another frame of mind, you might have found yourself lost in the rhythm of his long, slender fingers tapping against it. You snapped out of it before he could point it out.

You stole one last glance before turning away to whisper, “Thank you… Kaiser.”

Instead of saying welcome like a polite person would, your companion would of course, choose to say something as, “You owe me something now.”

Of course, you thought. Mentally rolling your eyes, you ask, resigning to his antics, “What do you want?” 

“Call me by my name.”

“Did you not hear? I said, thank you Kai–”

“The one you used to call me.”

Mikka.

It was a silly nickname you gave him– back when Alexis first brought him home for snacks nearly ten years ago. He and Alexis were eleven, and you were barely nine.

You remembered the blonde kid, all sweaty in his mud-stained clothes, clutching a worn-out ball by his hip, his gaze fixed on you with curiosity. “This is Kaiser,” your brother introduced, but the blonde stranger approached you, extending his hand.

“I’m Michael.”

“That’s… long.”

“What?”

“Your name– it’s long,” you echoed, looking up at him, “can I call you ‘Mikka’?”

“What?” Kaiser’s deep voice sliced through your reminiscence. “You had no problem calling me that before,” he pointed out.

“That’s before you beat up the boy you knew I like,” you scoffed at him, a familiar pettiness clouding your mind.

He chuckled at your retort, seemingly lost in his own memories. “Beat him up on the soccer field, you mean,” he corrected, though he wouldn’t particularly mind if it were an actual fight.

“Same thing.”

“Oh, come on! It was highschool!”

“Your point?” you countered.

“He was a snotface, anyway.” he rationalized.

“He was nice to me!”

“I suggest you rather get a dog instead— if nice is all you need. I heard dogs are fun to be around,” he sneered, “What do you think of pomeranians?”

You brushed off his question, preferring the depths of silence over the hypothetical responsibility of tending to a pup that bore more than a passing resemblance to him, both in appearance and, perhaps, in demeanor.

“I knew agreeing to come here with you was a mistake,” you sighed, exasperation lacing your words.

Surprisingly, Kaiser offered no retort. Taking his silence as a cue for your own, you settled into quietness, hoping for a peaceful remainder of the drive. Minutes drifted by until Kaiser broke the stillness with a whisper loud enough for you to catch.

“He was a slimy jerk,” he began, pausing as if hinting his careful choice of words, “and he was nice to you because he was trying to get into your pants.”

“How did you know?” you asked, meek and shy, fumbling with your fingers in your lap.  Seeking love advice and opinions from none other than the mighty Kaiser seemed absurd, but maybe, wisdom might sometimes fare well with age.

“Trust me when I say I know how boys can be,” he scoffed, a displeased furrow settling in his brows. “He wasn't the gentleman you thought he was.”

“And you? Are you a gentleman?”

Before you could stop your thoughts from escaping your rebellious mouth, the words spilled out like water through a breached dam. The lack of response from him compelled you to chew on your lip and fix your gaze on the road, refusing to spare even a glance his way, despite feeling his stare burning into the side of your face.

Meanwhile, Kaiser was aware he might be staring too long at your side for someone controlling a vehicle, but he couldn't help it. Not when you caught him off guard with a simple question, and especially not when you were trying so hard to avoid looking at him, your discomfort palpable in the air. You looked so cute—it made his mouth twitch.

Staring ahead at the road, he contemplated your question, needing no more than a minute to reach his conclusion.

When a man looks at his best friend's younger sibling in a way he shouldn’t, he’s not deserving of the title “gentleman.”

He was far from it, he concluded. With one last glance thrown your way before bringing the car to a full stop, he muttered in an uncharacteristically soft tone.

“Especially not one, doll.”

“Y/N! Over here!” a familiar voice cut through the cacophony, prompting you to scan the crowd until you finally spotted them.

Relief flooded over you at the sight of a familiar face amidst the crowd. Checking your phone had proven to be a wise decision; otherwise, you might have spent the night searching aimlessly through the vast expanse of the venue.

The venue stretched out before you was a kaleidoscope of sights and sounds that danced upon the senses. Laughter and chatter mingled with applause and the occasional roar of approval as performers graced the stage. 

Everywhere you looked there was movement and so much life. Yet amidst the bustling crowd and pulsating music, one figure occupied your thoughts more than anything else.

Kaiser's towering 6-foot frame loomed behind you, his broad shoulders carving a path of confidence through the crowd. He stood behind you like an immovable rock amidst a rushing river. And if your senses weren't deceiving you, you swore you felt the occasional brush of his hand against the small of your back, gently guiding you forward.

He was so close behind you that his breath on your nape soaked into your skin like ointment— warm to the touch, yet icy on your spine.

“Where's your date?” one of your blockmates inquired after the initial pleasantries were exchanged.

The question lingered, and suddenly, all eyes were on you. Mentally counting heads, you realized you were really on track to be the seventh wheel if you attended without a companion. Speaking of companions— you turned behind you with the intention of introducing Kaiser (not that they didn’t know him already), but your intention faltered when you noticed the scowl on his face.

“I’m the date, if you couldn’t tell,” he interjected. 

From his vantage point, he observed the widening of your eyes at his declaration. Yet, when he didn’t hear any immediate retaliation from you, he flashed you— and everyone else watching— a lopsided smirk. He sensed your blockmates’ curiosity lingering, some perhaps wondering if he was truly dating you. But none of them dared to probe further—maybe because he wasn't exactly the approachable type.

After a few murmurs of ‘oh’ and ‘really’ from your blockmates, they returned their attention to the stage, where the next performer was beginning their pre-performance monologue.

You, on the other hand, look like you were out for his blood from how you’re glaring at him. “Are you out of your mind?” you hissed under your breath, just loud enough for him to hear.

Yes. Perhaps he was. Irrationality had seized him upon hearing the question. After all, he was there with you, visible for all to see. Did they not see him? Did he look like a fucking chair to those people? Common sense must be a luxury these days, given its absence in this situation.

Yet, a small voice of reason within him attempted to intervene, suggesting that the question might have stemmed from genuine curiosity.

As his best friend's younger sibling, seeing the two of you together wasn't an unusual occurrence for those who attend the same university. They likely concluded that your presence with him at the music festival was simply a matter of normal friendship (which it was, but they don’t have to know that, nor does he desire for these extras to reduce it to just that).

“I’m helping you save face like you said earlier,” he tells you, still wearing that annoying smirk.

“How does telling them you’re my date help me save face?” If anything, you'd be hiding on campus after his stunt. You could only hope words won’t travel fast.

“Would you rather I tell them I'm chaperoning you because some jerk canceled on you?”

Your words stalled at the base of your throat, unable to counter his remark. That shut you up, much to your chagrin. He was right.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought,” he quipped, grinning at your silence. “Come closer, there’s a lot of people.”

You huffed in irritation and decided to ignore him behind you, determined to make the most of your experience here. You’d let this slide for now. After all, he was here because of you.

But it wasn’t too long before you realized that ignoring him would be as futile as trying to pluck roses without being pricked by the thorns. You knew very well that this man thrives in getting under people’s skin.

“You should be flattered.”

Genuinely appalled, you ask, “I’m sorry?”

“Accepted.”

If it wasn’t night time and the blaring lights were replaced by the sun, he could have seen the twitch that your eye did at his retort.

At this point, murder is a tempting option. Sure, he’s taller and much bigger in physique terms, but you have the rage for it. Just one more insufferable antic—one more word— from this man and the whole university will be mourning their star player’s demise first thing tomorrow morning. 

You took a deep breath to calm your murderous nerves, “Is that so? What part of telling people— oh wait, our schoolmates who are probably whispering behind our backs— that you’re my date, is flattering to you?”

The asshole had the audacity to shrug, “Calling me yours was.”

“Well then, you should be flattered. Not me.”

“You don’t know how flattered I am to be yours,” he mused.

If you didn’t know any better, his attempt at flirting might have sent warmth to your cheeks. But this was Kaiser— no one can tell when he’s being serious or just being his usual menace self talking shit like he’s employed to do so. Good thing you had better plans than spend it on his guessing games.

Just when you’re about to berate him once more, words halted on your throat because of a sight you least expected to see.

Han— the guy you’ve been talking to for almost a month now. The same guy who was your supposed date, to be more specific.

“What? Cat got your tongue, doll?”

If cats come in the form of a familiar man who’s a few good meters away, clearly having the time of his life dancing with someone, and clearly showing no signs of unavailability to go to a music festival he asked you to, then yes, it got your tongue.

You stayed silent far too long for Kaiser’s patience. Your lack of snarky clapbacks were starting to unsettle him more than he would allow. Shifting closer to you, he followed your line of sight to see what got you stunned in silence.

Recognizing what, or rather who, got your attention, he turns to you, his voice coming out too indignant, “Do you know that guy?”

“Do you?” you counter, picking up on his tone being all too casual as if they’re acquainted. 

“He’s last week’s opposing team’s goalkeeper,” or was it ‘striker’? He couldn’t recall, so he’s more or less incompetent to him. One thing he remembers, however, “and he hates me.”

You threw him a glance, “Not surprised.”

“And do I give a fuck,” he shook his head, “Why do you keep looking at him?” Don’t fucking tell me.

Your answer wasn’t any better to what he was starting to imagine, “He was… supposed to be my date to this music festival,” you mumbled, looking down at your feet.

You didn’t want to see the look on Kaiser’s face, fearing you might see pity, and so you nailed your gaze to the ground. Totally oblivious of the man peering over you rather softly.

“Why can’t he then?” he asks, voice an octave lower.

“He said they had late notice training, so he can’t come.” 

“Well, that better be his fucking ghost yapping with a brunette then,” he scoffs, looking straight to the lying man who canceled on you.

Sick of his face and sloppy dance moves, Kaiser turned his gaze back at you, only to be filled with rage because of it.

You look sad— and it made his blood boil. Not towards you, but for you.

“Y’know what? Let’s go there,” he urged, head pointing at where Han was.

Is he fucking crazy? You immediately shook your head at his scandalous suggestion. You might be feeling a little betrayed and angry, but rationality still had its hold on you— and it’s saying to not let Kaiser go with his idea. 

Instead, you tug on his forearm, eyes still on the floor before looking up at him, “Can we leave, please?” 

Kaiser was taken aback by your sudden meekness. He wasn’t used to this— to you, being all deflated and zoned out. He was used to your deadpan expressions and your eyes that seem to roll every time he utters a single word. He was used to you being, dare he say, feisty. 

And he would rather have you stay like that all day long, even when he’s the receiving end of it.

But this? You, saying please to him, of all people? He doesn’t like it. 

If this is how he gets to make you say please, then he doesn’t want it. Fuck that, and fuck that guy. How dare he.

Kaiser didn’t say anything back at your request, but you felt big calloused hands grasp on your hand still resting on his forearm. The next thing you knew, you were walking with him, shoulder-to-shoulder while his other hand was on yours guiding you to walk out of the scene.

“If I see one—just one drop of tear, I swear I am turning this damn car around.” 

Your thoughts abruptly halted at the sound of Kaiser’s threat—his ultimatum, rather. It sounded more like a promise than a threat, and you knew this man well enough to understand that he never ate his words.

You shot him a glance and snickered. There was no way in high hell you’d ever cry in the same space where he was. It was the last thing you’d ever do, even if it meant convincing yourself that what you saw earlier was just a mere look-alike of Han.

“It's nothing. We aren’t even a thing,” you dismissed, your voice flat.

“But you thought you could be,” he countered, and damn if he wasn't right. “How do you even know him?”

“We're kind of talking, well, sort of—”

“Kind of? Sort of?” he scoffed.

“God—it's like a talking stage or something casual, Kaiser! There, got it?”

“That's not exclusive,” he remarked, adding insult to injury.

Irritation bubbled in your throat as his interrogation continued. But even before you could unleash your venom, you caught yourself. He was right. And while this man had never brought you good, it wasn't fair to make him the target of your bad.

“Yeah, it's not,” you admitted, a dry, humorless laugh escaping you. You recalled the brunette he danced with earlier. “I wasn't exclusive material for his reputation, I guess.”

What reputation? “That’s bullshit.” He gritted his teeth, his hand itching towards the steering wheel, clearly tempted to turn back to the festival.

“You said it yourself, he’s an athlete,” you pointed out, “You people never like to go exclusive with someone.”

“You people? Oh, please. Do not insult me by comparing me to the likes of him.”

The sass in his voice drew a chuckle from you. It was amusing how he said it with genuine horror, as if the mere idea of being associated with Han was an insult. “Why? Are you telling me you can commit to someone exclusively?”

“Someone like who? You?” He met your gaze briefly, “Absolutely.”

What the hell. “Stop messing around,” you snorted, effectively ending the conversation.

He was playing a dangerous game, saying that to you. Did he even realize what it did? Did he hear your stupid heart hammering in your chest? It was too loud, too obvious, a frantic drum solo against your ribs. 

And the realization settled— he made your heart flutter. 

His words, so simple, so casually tossed out, had landed like a bomb, sending shrapnel through your carefully constructed walls.

Michael Kaiser, of all people, made your heart flutter.

Suddenly, the air felt thin, the car an echo chamber amplifying the frantic rhythm of your traitorous heart. You knew you should scoff, dismiss it as another one of his infuriating jabs, but the truth was like a hot coal lodged in your throat.

“I’m not though,” he countered, eyes steady on the familiar road ahead. He sounded serious– too serious. 

As you were about to retort back, the car lurched to a stop, announcing your arrival. You glanced out the window, the familiar sight of your house doing little to ease the tension that had coiled tight in your stomach.

“We’re here,” Kaiser announced, his voice a low rumble.

Hurried and flustered by the unexpected shift in the conversation, your clammy hands fumbled with the buckle, the metal cold and unyielding against your sweaty palms. You tugged, then tugged again, frustration building with each failed attempt.

“Easy, doll.” 

Before you could protest, a large hand swooped in, effortlessly unlatching the buckle with a practiced flick. The sudden proximity sent a jolt through you, making your breath hitch. You met his gaze, his eyes a blazing blue as he held your stare for a beat too long before turning away.

Taking a deep breath, you composed yourself. You reached for the door handle, pushing it open and stepping out onto the familiar pavement. Before slamming the door shut, you paused, turning back to Kaiser with a newfound resolve.

Crouching down to meet his gaze, you surprised yourself with the words that tumbled out. “Be careful on your way home and,” you paused, “Thank you... Mikka.”

The nickname slipped out before you could stop it, leaving a blush blooming across your cheeks.

Before Kaiser could react, you slammed the door shut, the sound echoing in the quiet street. 

Mikka. He repeats your words in his mind.

He watched you disappear into your house, a slow grin spreading across his face. Only when you were safely inside did he start the car, the image of your flustered face lingering in his mind.

Damn it, doll.

Meanwhile, you hurried to your room, clutching your chest where your heart still hammered a frantic rhythm.

Why did I call him that? you asked yourself.

The use of his nickname, a name you rarely uttered now, was a stark reminder that the two of you weren’t as close as you were younger.

It’s not a big deal, you tried to reason with yourself. He literally said you owed it to him, and calling it quits would be in the form of a stupid nickname. It doesn’t mean anything. Right— you were just returning a favor.

Your obvious self-deception was interrupted by the incessant buzzing of your phone, tossed carelessly on the bed. Picking up your phone, you opened one of the notifications, your breath catching in your throat.

It was a post on your university's gossip page, and there, plastered on the screen, was a picture of you and Kaiser. 

The image froze a moment in time, capturing him standing protectively behind you, his arms caging you against a barricade. Panic clawed at your throat. This picture, out in the open, could be misconstrued in so many ways. 

What were people going to think? Who took this photo, anyway?

Your eyes darted down the comment section, scrolling through a sea of unimaginable speculations, desperately searching for clues about the culprit.

Just then, a knock on the door startled you.

“Y/N? Can I talk to you?”

It was your brother— and his voice suggested he needed answers too.

Shit.

note. first mini series lmao xD will add cw as i go!

[phoward89]

Based on this ask

Young President!Coriolanus Snow x Call Girl!Reader, Dom!Coriolanus

WARNING ⚠️ Coriolanus Snow is in himself his own warning. Dubcon, Noncon, choking, impact play, kissing, degradation, biting, p in v, breeding kink, creampie, talks of sex work, talks of past sex trafficking, talks of poisoning/murder

You stare out the pitch black tinted window as the driver of your black luxury car drives you to your destination, the Presidential Palace. You've been acting as President Coriolanus Snow's personal high class call girl for years. Well, ever since he became Head Gamemaker and saw you in Pluribus Bell’s illicit, but high end sex club.

Pluribus had acquired you when General Byzantine had put you up on the auction block after using you (and literally torturing you) as his personal fuckdoll. Despite looking like a broken piece of shit, hatred and fire burned in your beautiful eyes. According to Pluribus, it was the look in your eyes that made the old man buy you; put you in charge of the girls in his sex club.

So, basically, Pluribus made you a Madame. Not that you minded. Hell, it meant that you didn't have to fuck nutjob, crazy, overly kinky whackjob Capitol men anymore.

But when Coriolanus Snow came into the club, after being invited by Pluribus after breaking off an engagement (why things didn't work with the Cardew banking heir, Livia, you didn't know; didn't care either) and laid his icy blue eyes on you, well, he just knew that he had to have you.

At first you told Pluribus no when he approached you with Snow's request, but then the platinum blonde pretty boy cornered you with an offer you couldn't refuse. A private penthouse, your own car and driver, a black Amex, and never having to work another day if you agree to be at his beck and call as his personal call girl.

His high class girl, as he called you.

That was 5 years ago.

Yea…

At this rate you'll probably be President Snow's high class girl forever.

Hopefully he finds himself a wife so you can move on with your life. Maybe take all that money you have squirreled away and get a nice beach house somewhere in District 4. The weather's lovely there. Maybe you'll even find somebody to settle down with; even have a kid or two.

It'd be nice to be able to retire from whoring. You've been in the game since your family sold you at age 15 to pay off debts. You've been fucking for a living for a decade now; it's getting old.

But at least the President is the kindest out of all the men you've been with, which is saying something because Coriolanus is as cold as his name, Snow.

You're so far inside of your head that you don't even notice the car stop or your driver, Herbie open the door.

Herbie clears his throat, only.to announce, 'Ma’am, we're here.”, causing your self imposed spell over your mind to break.

“Thank you, Herbie.” You simply told him, stretching your hand out for him to help you out of the car.

“I'll be here waiting for you, Ma’am.” Your driver told you, shutting the door once you were out of the car.

“Thank you. I won't be long.” You politely assured Herbie before walking towards the side entrance of the Presidential Mansion, which was marked with a trellis of vining; blooming roses. The side entrance leads straight to Coriolanus' personal living quarters; of course you had the key for it.

Your black designer stilettos loudly echo against the marble as you walk up the white and gold staircase that separates the president's personal living room, sitting room, kitchen, and dining room from the bed chambers, bathrooms, and his private study. You've only ever been in his bedroom and the sitting room. Both were immaculate, so you assume that the rest of his living quarters in the presidential palace must be extravagant too.

One thing you've noted about President Coriolanus Snow over the last few years of knowing him is that he has high class taste. A posca taste, if you'll call it. The more expensive, the better.

And it's that trait of his that has you baffled about why he's kept you around so long to fulfill his needs. Surely he can find himself some young, beautiful, and naive high class twit from a rich family to groom into his perfect classy woman.

His First Lady.

Surely, he must be getting tired of paying for you- putting you up in a high end penthouse that's about a 5 or so minute drive from his palace. Back before he became president your place was literally the next building over from his. Yea, that's how classy and ritzy of a penthouse you're in.

“I'm in my room, darling.” Coriolanus called out to you as soon as your heels clicked against the marble of his second story floor.

No shit, he's in his room. He's always in his room. He's either sitting on the bed end settee or on his ornate sofa, but either way he's donning his waistcoat and smoking while waiting for you. The epitome of regal master.

“I’ll be right there, Coriolanus.” You called back, speeding up your steps slightly to reach the white and gold scrolled double doors of his chambers.

Opening the door and walking inside, you spot him lounging on his cream sofa. His legs are crossed and he has an arm lazily thrown over the back of the sofa’s ornate mahogany frame. Coriolanus’ platinum hair his in its natural curly state, which is a rarity, but also means that he ruined his slicked back look by running his hands thru his hair all day- something he does when frustrated or nervous. And, like always while awaiting your visit, he's smoking.

“Darling, I told you last time you were here to call me Coryo.” The President told you, reaching his arm out to tip his ashes into the crystal ashtray that's on the mahogany coffee table.

“I'm sorry, Coryo. I forgot.” You lied thru a smile, a smile that was so fake it wasn't even funny.

You didn't forget, you just don't want to call him nicknames. Not when you know that your arrangement has an expiration date; one that'll be coming up soon enough.

Sitting up, he pointed to you with his cigarette and said, “Show me what you wore for me tonight.”

He did this every time you came over for his booty call. It was a ritual you're used to. You'd be shocked if he didn't ask you to model the lingerie for him.

With a sultry smile, you untie and unbutton the long red trenchcoat you're wearing. “It's a new set that I bought the other day.” You inform Coriolanus while opening up the coat and letting it fall off your shoulders; onto the floor.

President Snow's mouth watered as he took in your form dressed up in a lacy black bustier and matching cheeky panties along with those black stilettos with the red bottoms- the ones that he loved seeing you in. He thought that those heels did wonders for your legs, legs that he loved to have wrapped around his body- whether he was fucking you or feasting on your cunt.

Snubbing his cigarette in the crystal ashtray and rising from the sofa, the president smirked, “I do enjoy it when you go lingerie shopping, my darling rose.” Striding over to you, only to circle you like a predator circle's it's prey, the regal platinum blonde looked at you hungrily. As if he's starving and you're a filet mignon.

Coriolanus stopped right in front of you, only to give you a smoldering look while unbuttoning his maroon waistcoat, his long fingers moving lithely. Shrugging off the vest and chucking it towards a nearby sitting chair, he closed the distance between you. His tall form towers over you; you know what he wants from you.

It's what he always wants from you.

You ran your hands over his chest, which was quite toned underneath his crisp white dress shirt, and pressed your lips to his Adam's apple. As you kissed a tantalizing trail down his neck and to the collar of his shirt, leaving blood red lips tip stains in your wake, his large hands snaked around you. His breathing was husky and lustful as you lifted your head up, staring straight into his baby blues, while unbuttoning his shirt. Your red nails a stark contrast to his shirt.

“I have a business trip I need to attend in 12.” Coriolanus said while you pushed his shirt off of him after opening it up. You just nodded, raking your red nails up and down his chest before tweaking his nipples. Just the way that he likes.

You thought that all talks of his meeting was over, so you leaned forward to kiss him, but he stopped you by lifting up one of his hands and grabbing your chin. “The mining bosses are having some issues with their workers meeting production goals; I'm leaving in the morning and you're coming with me.”

Your eyes went wide. You can't go to 12. No, you won't go to 12. You refuse to go back to that shit hole you once called home, where your family- that sold you into a life of sexual slavery to a brothel for money to pay off drinking debts- lives.

“I'm not going to 12, Coriolanus. We'll see each other when you get back.” You firmly told him.

Which wasn't what he wanted to hear. In fact, he wanted you to nod your head; maybe make a remark about needing to pack, and then get to fucking him. You refusing him was never in the cards.

You just dealt him a hand he wasn't expecting. But, President Snow's an excellent poker player; he'll make due with the cards you've just given him.

Coriolanus' large hand slipped from your chin only to grab your throat. His face dipped so close to yours that his hot breath, which smelt like smoke, mints, bourbon, and coffee, fanned over your face. “I'm not asking you, Y/N. I'm telling you that you're coming to District 12 with me.” His thumb pressed into your windpipe, not hard enough to cut off your breathing, but hard enough to make you wheeze and pay attention to him as he spoke in a cold, authoritarian tone. “I fucking own you, so when I tell you to do something you do it. You don't get to say no to me.”

President Snow looked like a crazed, disheveled mess as he chastised you. And you'd be lying if you said it didn't turn you on. Because it did.

Oh how it did. It might be wrong being turned on by a power hungry zealot who's telling you that you're his property, but the way he looked while doing it. Hot damn, it made your pussy pool; stain your black lacy panties with a wet patch.

Yea…you're pretty fucked up at this point in your life.

The platinum blonde's large hand slid from your hip over your lower belly, only to sneak under the waistband of your panties. He dipped his mouth to your ear, grabbing your pussy in his large calloused hands, while telling you, “I own this pussy, darling, and if I want to fuck it every goddamn day of my business trip then I sure as hell will.” Coriolanus bit your earlobe, hard enough to crack the pearl earring you're wearing.

An earring he bought you in the early days of your arrangement.

He pulled away, only to look at you darkly. Spitting the cracked pearl earring in your face, he pulled his hand out of your underwear. He brought his fingers up to his prominent nose, only to inhale your scent. His eyes fluttered shut and his face contorted into a look of pleasure. He was, for a lack of a better word, getting high off of your musk.

Oh yea, the President sure was something else…but who are you to judge? You're his personal whore, so…

His icy eyes popped open, with a lust filled crazed look, as he sucked his fingers one by one. Savoring the taste of your juices while keeping his tight hold on your neck with his other hand. His tongue swirled around his pinky, the last finger to be licked clean by him. “You taste divine. Too bad you need to be disciplined for your rude behavior and won't be having your cunt eaten by me tonight.”

“Disciplined for my rude behavior? Coryo, the only thing I did was tell you that I'm not going to 12.” You spoke up, standing your ground to your, for a lack of a better word, owner.

Coryo’s fingers pressed hard into your neck, no doubt leaving behind finger shaped bruises that would need covered up by IL MAKIAGE tomorrow. Looks like you'll have to make another trip to Sephora soon if you don't want to have bruises all over your neck shown off to the public. How embarrassing would that be, going to various stores with chokehold bruising all over your neck. You shudder at the thought of it.

“Talking back is rude behavior, baby.” He hissed before pressing his lips to yours in a kiss that was hard and bruising. Biting your lower lip; drawing blood, he pulled away from the kiss. Giving you a dark, slightly unhinged look, the stoic platinum blonde swore, “Bad girls get spankings and you're going to get so many that you won't be able to sit on your red, hot ass tomorrow during our damn train ride.”

Coriolanus is sitting on the red velveteen settee at the end of his gold and red velvet framed bed. You're bent over his knees, ass up in the air while your head rests on the settee. Your arms are outstretched; your hands arm firmly grabbing the end of the red velvet material for purchase as the President smacks one ass cheek and then the other.

*Smack, smack*

Coriolanus chuckles at how red your ass is. He's been at this for a while now; both of you have lost count of how many times his hand has come down on your cheeks. He rubs the sting out of your red ass cheeks before raising his hand high up in the air and bringing it down on the right cheek, only to repeat the action on the left cheek.

*Smack, smack*

Your designer black heels are still on your feet, so they sway in the air as you kick out of reflex due to the spankings. God, he would make you keep the heels on for this. Hell, this spanking session seems to be the longest in your entire life with him. Usually he indulges in a slap or two to your ass while taking you from behind, but never anything like this.

But it could be worse. He could be a crazy, torture hungry, fucking sadist like that crazy ass General Byzantine was. The man who beat you within an inch to your life and put you up on the auction block once a couple of his Avoxes had nurtured you to suitable health.

You were overjoyed when he died about 4-4 ½ years ago. All the media outlets say that General Byzantine died from tainted tea at one of the popular tea houses in the Capitol. Apparently Coriolanus was there with him, having a meeting for political purposes since he was running for Senate and nearly died. You remember that he had canceled your sessions for a week, but still put a hefty sum in your bank account; even requested that you wear a certain color lingerie (blood red) when you resumed your little booty calls with him once he recovered from nearly dying from tainted tea.

Your black lacy cheeky panties slid up your ass crack from the force of all the spankings. Coriolanus didn't say a word, just silently righted the panties before landing another pair of smacks to your ass cheeks, causing you to let out a loud squeal.

“Did my bad baby girl learn her lesson, or do you need more?” President Snow asked, his ardent tone a bit dark and mocking as he soothed your ass by rubbing it- with both palms this time.

“I've learnt my lesson, Mister President, Sir.” You told him, choking back a moan as you grew wetter and wetter from his hands just rubbing the sting out of your ass. Oh God, how your core aches for his cock.

Coriolanus let out a deep, throaty moan at your answer. He loves it, fucking loves it when you call him Mister President and Sir. Oh, and put them both together- yea he's fucking feral.

The president slightly opened your legs, only to swipe a long finger up your wet, clothed center. “Oh, darling, you're soaked.” He proudly announced. “Is that all for me?” Coriolanus rhetorically asked, already knowing that it was all for him.

You knew that the platinum president didn't need an answer, but decided to indulge him with one anyway. “Yes, Coryo. It's always for you.”

Coryo bent down and peppered your beet red ass with kisses. The plushness of his lips against your hot sensitive skin makes you squirm. Chuckling, Coriolanus sat up and pulled your heels off, one by one, and let them fall to the floor with a loud thud. He helped you stand on your feet, only to pull down your panties and toss you onto the bed.

As you lay on your stomach, head buried in his pillow, which smelled like him- like roses, you heard the sound of Coryo slipping out of his black floor shines while unbuckling his belt. You peeked over your shoulder, only to see him quickly unzipping his maroon pants. You turned back around, resting your head back on his pillow, as he quickly shed his pants and boxer briefs.

“Lift your ass up high for me and spread your legs as wide as they'll go, baby.” The President ordered you, to which you obliged him. Your ass was raw and stung, but your pussy was throbbing with need, as Coryo kneeled right behind you on his king sized bed. “Fuck, you're always such a needy lil slut for me, darling.” He remarked upon seeing your cunt dripping and glistening for him.

Looking over your shoulder, you smirked, “Only for you, Coryo, my Mister President.”

The platinum blonde's icy eyeballs nearly rolled into the back of his head at your words. Words that went straight to his cock, making it harder- if that was even possible.

“Yes, I'm your President and you're my perfect, pretty, lil slut.” Coriolanus groaned, teasing your clit with the angry, red, leaky tip of his cock. “You remember that the next time I tell you to do something, baby girl.” He said, grabbing your hips and snapping forward; sheathing his entire 8 inches into your soaking wet cunt. “Fuck, darling, you're so goddamn tight for me.” Coriolanus groaned, pulling out only to surge forward, causing you to mewl out in pleasure.

President Coriolanus Snow has a big cock and he sure does know how to use it. That's for sure. And you let him know that too.

“Of course I'm tight for you, Coryo. You're the biggest cock I've had, the only man whose tip kisses my cervix; whose girth stretches me out with a delicious sting.” You honestly tell him, stroking his ego and making him start to pound into you relentlessly.

Hearing you say that out of all the men that you've had in your whoring career that he's the biggest and the best makes his heart soar with overwhelming pride. So much so, that he'll just have to keep you around.

Permanently.

Coryo doesn't think that you'll have any protests about it. Maybe he'll bring up the idea while you're away on business in 12. Use the time away as both a vacation and a business trip. There is a vacant cabin in the woods that he knows of by a lake that could be a setting for a romantic night or two.

“Oh…fuck…Coryo…” You moan into the pillow that you're holding onto for dear life as you surge forward with every hard, fast thrust Coryo gives you.

“You like it when I fuck you face first in the mattress like a dirty fucking slut, don't you darling?” He groans, rutting even faster while placing a hand on the middle of your back; pushing you further down into the mattress. “Fuck, you're so sexy like this, baby.” The President huffs. “So fucking sexy.”

You moan into the pillow, but it comes out in a heap of garbled drools, as Coryo's cock hits that special spongy spot deep inside of you while his heavy cum filled balls slap against your swollen, neglected clit.

“That's it, baby. Fuck yourself on my cock, you pathetic slut.” Coriolanus encouraged in a half groan as you began to meet his thrust with ones of your own. You could help it, you needed to cum so badly. Fucking yourself on his cock while he pounded you was the only way to do that.

Turning your head, so that the side of your face rest on his drool soaked pillow, you mewl and whine, “So close, Coryo. I'm so close.” Feeling that coil in your lower belly tighten, you beg, “Please, let me cum, Mister President. Please, make me cum.”

Coryo quickly unhooked the long row of clasps that held your black lacy bodice together while cooing, “Don't worry, my pretty baby, I'll make you cum” The bodice fell off your shoulders, but Coryo slipped his arm around your middle and pulled you up on your knees, only to yank the black bustier off of you; tossing it to the side.

Coryo's hands instantly grabbed hold of your tits as he continued to harshly fuck you. His hands squeezed them roughly and pinched your nipples, all the while your hands clawed his wrists for leverage as he felt your climax coming on. Coriolanus knows you're close by how your cunt's clenching around his cock. “Fucking cum for me, darling.” he ordered, biting the crook of your neck.

The feel of his teeth roughly nipping your skin, only to use his tongue to soothe it, paired with his deep, erratic thrusts, his heavy balls slapping against your clit deliciously, and his large, calloused hands roughly fondling, had you cumming with a loud moan. A moan that was a string of curses mixed with his name: Coryo.

He fucked you thru your orgasm only to shove you back down onto the bed and plunge his cock hard and fast into you. His pounding was so relentless as he chased his own release that you felt another orgasm on the cusp. Oh gods, his cock felt so fucking good hitting you on all the right spots.

Oh fuck…

“I'm gonna fuck you full with my heirs, baby.” Coryo panted, his thrust becoming sloppy. “Can't wait to fucking knock you up; see your belly swell with my growing baby inside.” He babbled as his hands roughly held onto your shoulders for leverage. “You're gonna look so beautiful all round and full of my baby, my darling rose.”

You didn't pay him any mind. Didn't say a word about his string of impossible words. You're on birth control, so his fantasy of knocking you up is just that. A fantasy. A breeding kink, to be politically correct.

Coriolanus’ hips stuttered, once, twice, three times before he was moaning, “Fuck, Y/N, baby. Fuck…”, and filling your pussy with hot ropes of his thick cum.

Feeling his hot cum spurting into your womb sent you over the edge. “Coryo…” You mewled, cumming for a second time.

He didn't stop and pull out like he usually did.

No…

This time, Coriolanus kept fucking you. He fucked his load right into your pussy, causing you to let out a shaky moan from both overstimulation and your third orgasm of the night.

Coryo finally pulled out, but only after filling you up with a second load of his thick, hot cum. Cum that was somehow leftover in his balls from the first time.

The President smugly grinned as he watched his second load of the night slowly drip out of your puffy, abused pussy- looking like beautiful white pearls.

Ah, pearls. That reminds him…

“I bought you a new jewelry set for the trip. Fancier pearls than the ones you had; they're packed in your bag.” Coriolanus told you, sitting by your side and rubbing your back as you lay on the bed like a ragdoll.

Ugh. Of course, he bought you new things, including luggage, and packed them up for the damn trip to District 12- your personal hell- that he's dragging you on.

When you didn't say a word, Coryo pushed the strands of sweat soaked hair away from your face and asked, “Are you alright, baby?”

Pushing his hand away from your face, you simply assured him, “Yea, I'm fine.”

Nodding, he told you, “I'll call your driver, tell him that you're staying the night; then I'll run us a bath.”

You've never stayed the night before, prompting you to ask, “Why're you letting me stay the night with you, Coryo?”, as he stood up.

“We're needed at the train station bright and early, Y/N. It's just easier for you to stay here so we can head out together in the morning.” The President explained before taking off to do the things he told you about.

Of course, he wanted you to stick around tonight so he can make sure that you're on that train with him heading to 12 in the morning. You're his personal high class girl. His glorified whore. If President Coriolanus Snow wants you with him tonight to ensure that you step on that train with him tomorrow, so he can fuck you during his stupid business trip in hell, then that's what he's going to get.

You don't have a say in the matter. You're just around until he gets bored of you; finds something younger and prettier to satisfy his carnal desires with.

Only you thing you don't know is that President Coriolanus Snow’s never going to get bored of you or trade you in for a younger model. In fact he thinks you're the best girl he's ever had.

Hell, the devil himself knows that the President killed for you- even if you don't know it.

Tags: @kuroosbby001 @purriteen @poppyflower-22 @meetmeatyourworst @whipwhoops @bxtchopolis @readingthingsonhere @savagenctzen @ryswritingrecord @erikasurfer @tulips2715 @universal-s1ut @thesmutconnoisseur @squidscottjeans @sudek4l @wearemadeofstardust0 @mashiromochi @gracieroxzy @belcalis9503 @shari-berri @aoi-targaryen @whiteoakoak @spear-bearing-bi-witch @gisellesprettylies @loverandqueenofdragons @qoopeeya @mfnqueen1 @permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88 @v-love @swiftieblyth @joyfulyouthlover @harvey-malfoy @tian-monique @chxrrybomb22 @marvel-hiddles-stark @xjinnix @devils-blackrose @zombicupcake3 @jacesvelaryons

[greyskyflowers]

I feel like i haven't seen anything with a hell hound/grim Charles AU and I feel like that's not right soo..

Like, let's discuss.

There's a lot of ways this could happen and there's probably a hundred more that I haven't thought of but personally I'm really leaning towards one.

•

Prior to Charles being a living human, and then a ghost, he was hellhound. I like the idea of a curse being put on him, maybe he came looking for a witch and they weren't ready to be dragged to hell yet, and that forces him into the life of a human.

It's strong magic and it tucks all those memories and instincts behind a door way way in the back of his head. He's human when he's born and he's human up until he dies.

Edwin, however, immediately knows something is wrong when Charles dies. He doesn't know what it is, or what Charles is, but it's heavily tied to hell. He just spend decades there and he knows what it does to things. Just like the scent and touch of hell will always be smudged like dirty fingerprints on his soul, it seems it's true to Charles as well.

He does not run away from Charles though. He can't. Not after sitting with him while the other boy slowly died. A part of Edwin is ravenous for contact, for someone to talk to, for companionship. Part of him didn't make it back from hell and it left a hollow in his chest that aches with loneliness.

It also doesn't appear that Charles knows something is wrong with him.

Edwin will take his chances, honestly as long as it's not the damn spider he can make his peace with about anything.

And so, nothing is said about it.

However, the original curse eventually dissipates. At that time, all Charles' memories slam open the door in the back of his head and demand acknowledgement.

•

There's a limit to how much the human mind can handle before it just shuts down to protect itself. Which makes sense, however Charles dropping like a stone one day doesn't give Edwin much to work with besides a whole lot of fear and worry.

The mixing of memories, from before before and from his previous life, is messy. It takes awhile to translate the thoughts and memories into something that the human mind can handle.

And the Charles that opens his eyes is not the same as the one who closed them.

His nose is assaulted with scents, even more overwhelming after not being able to smell as a ghost for several years. And he smells hell. Faded but still undeniably hell.

He looks at the boy fussing over him and blanks for a minute. Edwin, his mind reminds him, ours a louder part cuts in. This one is ours. Edwin.

Frantic and as exhausted as a ghost can look, Edwin is talking but Charles isn't listening. He's taking it all in, everything slowly trickling back to him until he's himself but also more. A older and stronger part of himself has woken up.

He doesn't tell Edwin, terrified that he'll run as soon as he knows. It bothers him that he's not more upset about the being a hellhound thing. It should surely bother him more but it doesn't. It just feels like him.

It's hard to not give it away though, especially because it feels normal to Charles now. It feels like he's moving his whole body for the first time after only using parts of it. He's able to get most of it under control but things come out the more emotional he gets, especially with anger.

Canine teeth that sharpen a little too much to be human, strong and sharp nails that grow a little too long sometimes, a unhappy noise from his chest that could potentially be called a growl, a viciousness to him that's almost startling at times.

•

But... of course Edwin knows. He could have probably have made a decent guess all those years ago in the attic if he'd had to but he's confident now. He's not sure how a hellhound ended up human, let alone a ghost, but he doesn't question it too much.

Instead he plays his part too, doesn't say anything but he makes sure holy water doesn't get on Charles, always keeps an eye out to make sure he's far away from any demonic traps when a case calls for it, doesn't do anything that might potentially be a trigger for pain, and so on.

There's not a lot of resources available for this type of situation and Edwin does his best.

•

Cut to the start of the show and it makes sense that Charles likes Crystal. She's got hell on her soul a bit too, left from David, and psychics have a history with the occult.

It's easy to get caught up with her, the excitement of someone new. It has him urging Edwin to take a case in America, and not noticing small problems beginning to take root.

Somewhere along the way, something happens between him and Edwin. Usually they don't have issues and Charles wants to resolve this but he doesn't want to be the one to give in.

What's wrong with playing a little? Trying new thing and getting to know new people? They could all get along if Edwin would just relax.

Charles doesn't even get defensive when Crystal makes the occasional too vicious dig at Edwin, although the little betrayed looks he gets from Edwin make his skin itch. They both give as good as they get and he's willing to let them spit at each other until they've calmed down.

•

Charles will admit that possessing Esther was not the best choice he could have made, or even top 3, but it was the one he went with. He's never done it and probably never will again after seeing how upset Edwin was. It's fine though. They'll be fine.

It's not fine.

The Cat King, and god does Charles hate cats, puts the equivalent of a collar on Edwin. The bastard knows exactly what Charles is too, how insulting it is for him see Edwin leashed like dog.

He stays just beyond Charles' reach or close enough to Edwin that he can't do anything.

Are we playing a game his grin asks and Charles wants to rip the word no into his skin until he lets Edwin go.

•

Niko is a unexpected joy, especially for Edwin. As soon as she can see them, she asks Charles about his teeth. He doesn't pay attention to how Edwin also looks panicked at the question, just smiles at her and he's positive his teeth are human. She hums and get easily distracted by something Crystal is saying, but he makes a point to run his tongue over his teeth before he opens his mouth around her, just to make sure.

They keep getting distracted, by cases that are as interesting as they are frustrating, while trying to figure out how to get the bracelet off Edwin. The Devlin House is not his best moment, the case digging cruelly into sore spots he'd been trying very hard to forget he had. It also adds to the tension between him and Edwin.

•

Charles does not like the night nurse. Especially when she goes digging in his head, but he gets her back when she goes too far, gets too nosy and sees things she shouldn't. It's easy to give into the anger that's been gnawing at him for years, but he send her off over the the side of the cliff instead of just finishing her right there.

But she comes back, just like Esther does, and she leads that thing right back to Edwin.

•

The world narrows down to a pin prick where the wall reformed after closing behind the demon. There's a ringing in his ears that's not loud enough to cover Edwin's screams playing over and over in his ears. He turns on the night nurse growling so hard his throat burns, teeth aching from where they're clenched and bared at her. He's never been this mad. He's never been this scared.

Some type of survival instinct must kick in because she opens a door to hell for him, probably hoping he just stays down there. He doesn't remember his way around, or know where he'll even pop out at, so he snags Edwins notebook and opens it to the map he knows is there, and starts his descent.

It does come back, each step pulls up the memories and instincts until he's confident he could track Edwin by smell alone if he needed to. He ignores the woman sobbing on the stairs, she doesn't matter.

Limbo

Gluttony

Lust

Here. The dollhouse.

There's old blood on the walls of the hallways, mixed in with new, and in parts of it he can smell Edwin. Some of it old enough that it would have been from his first trip down and his skin prickles from how angry he is.

He doesn't need the lantern, his eyes have adjusted to see in the dim hallways and dark corners but he's knows it will comfort Edwin. It's a comfort to him too, even if he doesn't need it. It reminds him of when Edwin found him.

And he does find Edwin, a fluttering relief in his chest as he starts towards him and Edwin takes a step too. Only for him to be ripped away again, screaming, and Charles can already smell the fresh blood.

He doesn't really need to be quiet, not really. The demon isn't going to be eager to pick a fight with Charles once it realizes what he is, but it might get brave if it's over what is clearly it's favorite toy.

Edwin is more vulnerable then he's ever been though and Charles aches with it. Whatever Edwin wants, Charles will be completely silent if that's what he wants. Anything.

There's an ache, a burning, a balloon about ready to pop in his chest. He wants to find somewhere dark and small and safe for them. He wants to lick over the wounds he sees on Edwin and right, focus. Clearly he's starting to fall back into those instincts pretty strong.

They stop on the stairs and the only reason Charles doesn't just throw Edwin over his shoulder and continue up the stairs is because the other boy is clearly exhausted and has something he thinks must be said.

•

Love.

He loves Edwin. There's nothing he loves as much as Edwin and certainly nothing he could love more.

In love... what does that mean?

The completely human part of him thinks of his parents and nonono, that's not right. The hellhound part, that's sitting right under his skin due to being back in hell, tells him to kill something and leave it at Edwin's feet.

Neither of those seem right. However killing the spider demon for Edwin is incredibly tempting and he makes a note to revisit the thought later.

He can't say nothing to Edwin though. So he says something, the first thing that he can string into a sentence and hopes it's enough.

It seems to be because they're moving again, making it through the door just in time.

•

The cat king's bracelet is gone and Charles wants to go home. He wants to drag Edwin through the nearest mirror and hid away in their office for a week or more. He wants to look Edwin over, feel along all his joints to make sure they're okay because that's where the demon spider would have started when it ripped him apart, the joints giving way easier than trying to snap bone. Not that it didn't do that too.

He doesn't want to abandon the girls though and they stay.

•

Charles hates witches. To be fair, his last real run in with a powerful witch ended with him being reborn as a human. He really hates Esther though.

She knows, just like the cat king did, what he is.

There's runes on the floor under him, and even if he gets out of the iron collar he's still going to be stuck. The collar is a insult as much as it's a way to keep him under control.

He's stuck, Edwin screaming in the next room and he's going to tell Edwin everything after this. He wants to learn everything he can about himself so he never gets put in this situation again. He knows he could get out of this if he had more understanding and practice. The iron burns but he can burn hotter, he knows he can, and the runes can be broken, he just doesn't know how.

Niko and Crystal will have to do for now though, they slide him his bag, which slides over some of the runes and makes a break in them. He finds the lockpick quick after that and he's free and up in moments. He aches to go to Edwin, his teeth itch and he can barely think about anything else, but the girls were right. He needs to kill the snake.

Thankfully, the snake dies quickly under his rage and he's upstairs again in just minutes. EdwinEdwinEdwin runs on loop in his head.

He's not quick enough to save Niko and he can feel Edwin's heartbreak from across the room.

Crystal and Niko are Charles', not the same way Edwin is but still something close and loved. They have to move though, death is going to come for her.

Edwin is crashing. Exhausted, overwhelmed, and devastated. He can barely stay up even with help and eventually Charles just picks him up. There's no fight, he just accepts it.

He's quiet. Charles hopes he doesn't think he's back in hell... or that he never left at all.

•

The unexpected arrival of the night nurse at their office, and the threat to Edwin, has Charles finally saying fuck it. He's going to get rid of her and after that he can beg Edwin for a chance to explain.

But he doesn't get a chance to. Instead he has to make sure his teeth aren't showing too sharp as he grins at their newest agency member. She huffs at Edwin a few times and seems genuinely upset but Charles can't bring himself to be sympathetic. She keeps an eye on him until she leaves, and he lets his teeth show right when she leaves as a reminder. Smart woman.

It's just them again, like it's always been, and he wants to cry as he hugs Edwin. It feels good to hold and be held.

Until Edwin pulls back and says he knows in a way clearly meant to show that he does indeed know.

Hellhounds tend to run hot, and even though Charles is dead and can't really have a body temperature, he does tend to run hot. However, he feels frozen, even colder than the night he died.

There's no fear from Edwin though. No screaming or running, no wards to trap him or spells quickly spoken to hurt him. Just Edwin, looking at him the way he always has, and Charles realizes like a punch to the gut that the look is love.

•

Edwin doesn't mind the too sharp teeth when they bite at his lower lip and neck. He doesn't mind the sharp nails where they sometimes catch a little on the skin of his hips. He doesn't mind the way Charles can smell and his favorite smell is apparently Edwin, who can't smell and has no idea what he even smells like anymore.

Edwin doesn't mind the growls and snarls, pulling out the softer sounds Charles didn't know he was capable of making. Edwin doesn't care.

He doesn't say anything specifically but Charles also knows the part of Edwin that thinks this wasn't his last run in with hell, is relieved. There's not a single place in hell Edwin could be taken that could be hidden from a hellhound, not a place in hell that Charles wouldn't find.

🌙🌙🌙🌙

I like my characters morally grey and ready to kill for each other.

This idea punched me on the face and stole my lunch money. Someone write me fics please 🥺

[stevesbipanic]

Steve's only 25 when it all catches up to him.

It starts off small, things people wouldn't even be able to tell is an early sign of something wrong. Misplacing keys, forgetting which day he has his shifts, what time he's supposed to get Robin. Robin notices though.

Robin knows Steve always keeps his keys on the hook next to Eddie's by the front door, that's where he always finds them, he's not misplacing the keys, he's forgetting the hook exists.

Robin knows Steve has the same shifts every week, they never change because they line up with Eddie's at the record store nearby. Robin knows Steve isn't forgetting what time he's supposed to pick Robin up, he's forgetting Robin moved away a few months ago after she graduated college.

Robin keeps noticing when the kids start calling her because the little things are becoming big things.

Robin notices when Dustin calls and tells her Steve thought he and Suzie were back together, "Like how crazy is that we broke up two years ago, I don't think I've even mentioned her lately."

Robin notices when Lucas calls and tells her Steve asked when his next game was, "The season ended months ago, he came to the finals."

Robin notices when Max calls and whispers softly, "He asked to take me to the skatepark, Robin, I told him I had to help mum. He's forgotten I'm blind Robin."

Robin wished she'd noticed sooner, maybe years ago when Steve was getting knocked around a lot. She wished she'd screamed in the face of those Russians to take her instead. She wished a lot of things when Eddie called her.

"He's in hospital, Birdie, he collapsed at work."

Robin is back in Chicago for the first time since she graduated. She wished she'd visited sooner.

"Do you think the feds are gonna let me go soon, Robbie? I mean it usually doesn't take this long for them to bring me the NDAs."

Robin hopes Steve doesn't notice her eyes going glossy as she runs her fingers through his hair, "Don't worry Stevie, I'm sure they'll be in soon, Dusty is probs just arguing over something in his."

"At least he isn't having to explain he raised a demodog. Did I ever tell you about that Robbie?"

Robin smiles softly, "Yeah but tell me again, don't want to forget any of it."

Eddie gives Robin the gist of what the doctors said, Eddie didn't understand much, a lot of technical words and shit. Too many concussions, more than they knew about most likely. They say it'll probably get worse with no timeframe of how quickly it'll happen, there might be good days, there will be a lot of bad days.

The first bad day comes a week later. Steve barely remembers Eddie, trapped in a time when Eddie was just the kids DM. Eddie sobs in the corridor in Robin's arms. The next day it's like nothing happened and Steve gets discharged. They tell Steve, this time Eddie is the one to comfort him.

"I don't want to forget you Eds."

"It's okay if you do, sweetheart, I'll still be here."

It's Robins idea to start writing everything down. Eddie, Nancy and the kids all help. Filling journals upon journals of stories and pictures of Steve's life to help on the bad days. Steve has to quit his job, Robin moves back to Chicago, they make it work.

On bad days depending on how far back Steve is Dustin or Robin or Eddie will read through the books with him, filling in the gaps of what he needs. On the worst days, Eddie leaves the pile of journals on the bed with a note and waits downstairs to see if Steve will join him later.

They make it work for a few years. Steve celebrates his 30th birthday with perfect clarity. He writes himself an entry in the journal next to a big group picture with Steve and Eddie's matching rings showing.

That July, over a decade since Starcourt, Steve is in hospital again. He'd collapsed at breakfast. Eddie had thought it was going to be one of their good days, Steve had woken up fine, all his memories in tact if a little fuzzy. He'd made them coffee and giggled at Eddie's singing while he made them eggs and just like that it all came crashing down.

Steve's brain is shutting down. They don't know if he'll make it past Christmas. There's more bad days after that. More days with books left on the bed. Most days Steve doesn't even come downstairs. On the good days, Eddie always calls off work. He'd rather be fired than miss a single second of Steve smiling at him like he does, so full of love.

They have Christmas, the whole family comes, they have to bring every chair from around the house and squish in around the table just to fit but it's perfect. Steve sits between Robin and Eddie, face bright and full of love and life. Everyone gives him the tightest hug as the night closes, all lingering, afraid of letting go.

"I love you, dingus."

"I love you too, Robbie."

Later, upstairs in their room, Steve and Eddie go through all the journals, laughing softly at each little note the kids have left. Steve writes his little journal entry, a tradition of good days, and curls into Eddie's arm whispering soft loving words to each other before falling asleep.

Steve never wakes up.

The funeral happens shortly after, all of the family is still in town. Robin holds Eddie afterwards as they go through the journals together. When they get to the last page, they struggle not to smudge the ink with their tears.

Dear Eds and Robbie,

I don't know how many more good days I'm going to get so I'm leaving this here for you now. I love you both so much, you're equally my soulmates and I want you two to look after each other while I'm gone.

Robs, go travelling with Nancy, ok? Thank you for looking after me all these years but it's time for you to go look after yourself. Go see the world for me, tell me all about it wherever I am when you get back.

Eddie, I'm sorry we didn't get as much time as we hoped, I hope you know that even just a day with you has been worth a lifetime with anyone else. Go follow your dreams, write music, perform, show the world how amazing I know you are. I give you full permission to fall in love with whoever you meet along the way, I don't want either of you guys to be alone.

Thank you for giving me a life worth remembering.

Your Dingus,

Stevie

[disciplined-cornfed]

Rome wasn't built in a day

Alex had never expected his college life to take this kind of turn. He’d moved to New York for school, planning to live on campus like most students, but when he found a better deal on an off-campus apartment that financial aid would cover, he jumped on it. The apartment was in a decent neighborhood, close to the subway, and the landlord didn’t ask too many questions. Seemed like a win.

What he hadn’t planned on, though, was Frank—his new roommate.

Frank was… something else. The guy was like a time capsule from a decade ago, straight out of Jersey Shore. From the gelled-back hair, the deep tan, ridiculous yelling at football and ufc matches every weekend, the flashy chains, to the relentless love of tank tops and gold watches. Alex wasn’t sure if Frank was for real or if this was just an elaborate, extended joke.

But here’s the thing: despite his douchey exterior, Frank was actually a pretty nice guy. Sure, he blasted club music at ungodly hours and flexed in the mirror every time he passed it, but Frank was always chill. He’d offer Alex food whenever he cooked, made sure the apartment was clean, and always gave him a heads-up when he had people over. Plus, Frank clearly knew what he was doing in the gym. The guy was shredded, and Alex had to admit, Frank’s discipline when it came to his diet and workout routine was impressive.

It didn’t take long before Alex’s curiosity got the best of him.

One day, after weeks of seeing Frank pound protein shakes and head to the gym religiously, Alex asked him for some advice. He had always been a casual gym-goer, but seeing Frank’s dedication made him wonder if he could up his own game.

“Yo, Frank,” Alex said one afternoon as they sat in the living room. “What do you usually eat for those gains, man? And how do you stay so consistent?”

Frank grinned, pausing the DJ Pauly D remix playing on his speakers. “Bro, it’s all about focus foods and the right lifts. Stick to lean meats, eggs, beans, lots of veggies. And you gotta hit the weights hard. No shortcuts.”

Alex nodded, scribbling down some notes on his phone. “Got any recommendations? Like content or something I can watch?”

Frank’s grin grew wider. “Oh, for sure. I’ll send you some stuff. There’s Dom Mazzetti, Vinny Guadagnino—some good shit, bro. But hey, I’ll send you my playlist too. Got a WAV file I use at the gym that keeps me hyped.”

Alex raised an eyebrow. “A playlist?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Frank said, waving his hand dismissively. “It’s got some fire tracks. Also, I threw in some personal affirmations underneath it, helps me stay focused during my lifts. You probably won’t even notice them, but they help, bro. Trust me.”

Alex wasn’t really buying into the whole “subliminal affirmation” thing. It sounded like some weird self-help nonsense. But Frank was shredded, and if these little tricks worked for him, maybe they were worth a shot.

Later that evening, Alex plugged in his headphones and hit play on Frank’s WAV file. It started with “Lucky, Lucky, Lucky Me”—a male cover that felt oddly calming. The song transitioned into upbeat remixes like “Fireball” and other club tracks that seemed to pump adrenaline into his veins. Somewhere in between, Sinatra’s smooth voice made an appearance, bringing a strange, nostalgic energy to the mix.

As the playlist played, Alex caught faint whispers beneath the music—barely noticeable. “You love the gym. You crave the weights. Tanning makes you feel amazing. You rep the Italian pride with every lift.”

He chuckled to himself. This subliminal shit can’t be real, he thought. But, whatever—Frank swears by it.

The playlist ended with “Lucky, Lucky Me” again, and as Alex dozed off that night, the tune echoed faintly in his head.

The changes didn’t happen overnight, but as the days went by, Alex began to notice subtle differences. It started with his workouts. He’d always been someone who worked out occasionally, but now there was something different. One morning, as he walked past the gym on his way to class, he felt an urge—a need to lift. It wasn’t just about getting in shape anymore. Something about the weights called to him, pulling him in.

He ended up inside, grabbing a set of dumbbells and diving into a full workout. By the time he finished, he was drenched in sweat, but instead of feeling exhausted, he felt exhilarated. There was a rush—an energy that coursed through him, leaving him wanting more.

From that point on, the gym became part of his daily routine. At first, he didn’t even realize it was happening. He started following Frank’s tips—lifting heavier, focusing on compound movements, and pushing himself harder with each session. His muscles responded quickly, growing faster than they ever had before. His shirts started to fit tighter, hugging his chest and arms in ways they never had before. Every time he looked in the mirror, he couldn’t help but flex, admiring his progress.

It wasn’t just the gym either. One afternoon, Alex caught himself in front of the bathroom mirror, noticing how pale his skin looked under the fluorescent lights. Without thinking much of it, he booked an appointment at the tanning salon down the street. After his first session, he looked at himself in the mirror, marveling at the golden glow on his skin. It made him feel good, confident—like he was stepping into a new version of himself.

Tanning became part of his routine, just like the gym. He started looking forward to that golden glow, the way it made his muscles stand out more, and how it just felt right.

One weekend, Alex found himself wandering into a clothing store, drawn to a section of tank tops with bold prints—Italian flags, American flags, vibrant colors that screamed confidence. He picked up a few without thinking twice, the fabric feeling perfect against his newly defined arms. When he got home and slipped into one of the tanks, he stood in front of the mirror, flexing his biceps. The tank hugged his body in all the right places, and as he admired his reflection, a grin spread across his face.

Damn, I look good.

It wasn’t just the clothes that made him feel this way—it was the pride, the feeling of representing his heritage with every lift, every flex. It felt right.

The most surprising change came with his voice. At first, it was barely noticeable—a slight shift in his accent, a few new words slipping into his vocabulary. But as the weeks went on, the transformation in his speech became undeniable. His voice took on a thicker Jersey inflection, and words like “bro” and “yo” started slipping out naturally, almost without him realizing it. He spoke with more confidence, more swagger, his words carrying a weight that hadn’t been there before.

He even noticed how loud he’d become, but it wasn’t obnoxious—it felt like he was owning the room. His friends started to comment on it, but Alex didn’t mind. It felt like the way he was supposed to talk, like his voice was finally matching the rest of his transformation.

One night, Alex found himself scrolling through YouTube, where he came across a Dom Mazzetti video. He clicked on it, expecting to laugh at the over-the-top persona, but something else happened. As Dom joked about gym culture, diet, and lifting, Alex found himself nodding along, relating to the lifestyle. The gym wasn’t just a place to work out anymore—it was part of who he was becoming.

The next few weeks passed in a blur. Alex’s days revolved around the gym, tanning, and repping his heritage with pride. He found himself following more content creators who embodied the same mindset—guys who lived for the grind, the lifts, and the pride in who they were.

His roommate Frank noticed the changes, too. “Bro, you’re looking jacked,” Frank said one afternoon as Alex flexed in the mirror before heading out to the gym. “You flexing the gains hard now.”

Alex grinned, running a hand through his hair, which he’d started gelling back every morning. “Yeah, man. It just feels right, you know?”

Frank clapped him on the shoulder, a proud smirk on his face. “Told ya. Once you get in the groove, there’s no going back. You’re one of us now, bro. Tanning, lifting, and heritage. Welcome to the crew.”

Alex chuckled, feeling Frank’s words sink in. Wasn’t just about the workouts or the diet no more. It was the whole package—the attitude, the pride, the way he carried himself. He’d become confident, bold, and unapologetic. The gym had become his temple, and every flex in the mirror, every perfectly tanned muscle, reminded him of how far he’d come.

He spoke with more confidence now, his voice carrying a thick Jersey accent that seemed to come naturally. Words like “bro” and “yo” slipped out effortlessly, and he found himself embracing the louder, more assertive side of himself. Even his walk had changed—there was more swagger, more presence.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

A few weeks later, Alex and Frank were sitting in the living room, scrolling through profiles of potential new roommates. Their lease was ending soon, and they needed to find someone to fill the third room. Frank leaned back in his chair, sipping a protein shake as he swiped through a list of candidates.

“Yo, check this one out,” Alex said, pausing on a profile. “Marco Ricci. Italian last name.”

Frank raised an eyebrow and leaned in, studying the screen. “Oh shit, an Italian? That’s promising.”

They opened Marco’s profile, but instead of seeing someone flexing or rocking a tan, Marco looked... pretty regular. He wasn’t out of shape, but he wasn’t exactly lifting heavy either. Pale, with a pretty average physique, he was the kind of guy who didn’t seem to spend much time at the gym. His shirt was plain, and his expression, while friendly, was far from the confident swagger Alex and Frank had come to expect in their circle.

Alex chuckled, nudging Frank. “Dude’s kinda pasty, huh?”

Frank smirked. “Yeah, bro. Definitely needs some work. But Rome wasn’t built in a day, you know? He’s got the Italian blood—that’s what counts. We can mold him.”

Alex nodded, his mind already racing. Marco might not be there yet, but with the right guidance, who knows? The guy had potential. He just needed some direction.

“Yeah,” Alex said, swiping right on Marco’s profile. “We’ll get him there. If he’s down to move in, I have the perfect playlist in mind."

Frank chuckled deeply, shaking his head. “Bro, he won’t know what hit him.”

Alex grinned, flexing in the mirror nearby. “Hey, Rome wasn’t built in a day, right?”

Frank laughed again, raising his protein shake in a mock toast. “Damn straight, bro."

WANNA BECOME A GUIDO FOR REAL? Try this subliminal:

Guido Subliminal (Accent, Mindset, Discipline, Extreme Confidence)

[local-diavolo-anon]

i'm back!

ok so 2/3 days ago i found this youtube video where op turned Springtrap (or well, William Afton) into a fully build DnD character, and if i say so myself: things got out of hand fast

so here is my take on DnD Springtrap and specifically on that build (adding more infos under the cut for who is interested, i suggest to watch the video first)

starting with saying that unless you're playing in a scifi setting, this build is either not for you or to be modified, since in later levels spells are heavily centered around technomagic and electronic devices; personally when i will play him i will probably tinker around with the chosen spells and cantrips to make him less violently niche and/or more versatile

which kinda saddens me because it takes away not little of the characterization but, given most dnd stories take place in a medieval fantasy or high fantasy setting, a cantrip like On/Off or a spell like Remote Access are NOT particularly useful; so i will go for more psychic damage or necromancy oriented abilities, maybe i might take more than just 4 levels in artificier as well (especially given that again, all of those warlock spells at later levels are all technology oriented) but i need to see what those offer

however it is a kinda tank-y build given that with a shield on you can get up to a 27 of Ac, so even with low damage and not much hp you would not struggle too much to stay alive, and i like that!

as for the character himself, i put too much effort into my interpretation not to share it, so if anyone wants to play this guy as well, i fabricated a possible backstory that might come useful:

The character goes by the name "Dave Miller" (or whatever variant you want to use), and was originally a human artificier who created constructs for a living, mainly with the goal of offering aid to who needed it for whatever reason.

After losing part of his family to some kind of accident he became terrified of death, so with age he started replacing his own body parts with machinery to delay his last days (which made him a cyborg), until the point where he was very very close to become just a robot.

There however he ran into an issue, that being that a robot need a power source, and his own heart and lungs could not sustain a whole robot by themselves.

Through particular and very much not illegal experiments tied to necromancy he discovered that the life force of a living being could be shared, and used as a form of fuel. (possibly: age lived of the creature used= amount of extra months you get)

Here comes the second problem: this only worked with intelligent creatures, and more specifically, it worked best with creatures of your own race, which meant that he either went around murdering people or he found another solution. Non same-race creatures worked as well but not as good and there were not easy to find in the middle of a city and with a shop tied to your name.

And here is where and WHY he'd join a party of adventurers: after some time, his reserves or fuel were running VERY thin, and running into a group of adventurers was a god sent because by joining their party he essentially got a free pass to kill whoever he wanted, and reduce them to a dried raisin after sucking some life force out of them. Doing so you learn that the mowe powerful the creature is, the more energy it produces as well.

Your goal, that you as the player are following, when role-ing your character? essentially slay whatever powerful BBEG your Dm throws at you and suck all of that juicy fuel out of them, so that you can return to your little shop in the middle of the capital and return to create and sell whatever weird construct, doll, or robot comes to your mind for another few decades undisturbed.

And this is it. I think this might be a good backstory that could fit pretty much any setting you want to play this guy into, be it classic dnd or some scifi futuristic thing.

of course you don't NEED to use this one line per line, make up your own without looking back if you don't like it lol, dnd is the "make up shit and have fun" game after all!

Edit: also no his outfit makes no sense, i just went with vibes and decided a tanktop dress shirt, a twin tailed gilet and suspenders OVER said gilet was a good choice.

[theonewiththefanfics]

A Life Worth Living (one-shot)

Synopsis: As sickness creeps closer in taking her life, Y/N has come to make her final amends. Though the Astarion she fell for no longer exists, even the cold clutch of absolute power can't match true love.

This is sort of an AU! because in truth, Ascended Astarion would not give a single shit if you've left him at this point, sorry :D I just had to get this out of my head

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x fem!Reader; Astarion x fem!Reader

Genre: angst, fluff

Warnings: talks of sickness (not specified), dying, death, swearing etc. Minimally edited :)

Word count: 5115

The day was much like any other in Baldur’s Gate – sunny without even a single wispy cloud in the sky, yet the Ancunin palace rose above all the rest like a beast in the night, drowning the houses in menacing shadows.

Matches, Y/N thought, to the person living inside.

Wrought iron gate surrounded the grounds, thorny rose vines looping through, while beautiful blooms opened towards the slowly moving star above.

This could’ve been her home, had she not said no. She shuddered to think what her life would’ve been like.

That had been almost five years ago. So much had changed during that time. It didn’t even feel like just half a decade had passed, it felt more like a century since Y/N had left Astarion. But she couldn’t stay with him. Not after he’d Ascended, completing the ritual he’d killed Cazador for, and became what he had always hated – a version of Cazador himself.

Her hand had barely touched the handle of the gates before it swung open on its own accord. Y/N shouldn’t be surprised by it, not with how much magic she’d seen and experienced during her travels, but still, such small things made their impact. Whether it was an invitation inside, or a trap only time would tell.

She didn’t have much of it, which is why she was there in the first place. Had that cursed sickness not been slowly taking over her body, eating away at it, cell by cell, Y/N would have dragged this final meeting with Astarion as far in the future as she could, but there were still friends she wanted to visit, places to see, no matter how limited her life had become.

With thinly veiled amazement, because she didn’t want to marvel at what surely was slave work, she walked down the gravel path towards the large double doors of the mansion, looking at the meticulously groomed gardens. Not even a single leaf was out of place. A bittersweet smile tugged at her lips. Where once she would’ve believed Astarion to be the one to care for these plants, now Y/N knew in her heart, he’d never stoop so low as to even get on one knee to prune a rose. Such a thing was below him nowadays. Let alone sleeping next to her on a bedroll.

When she stood face to face with the large carved oak doors, her heart picked up its rhythm. She couldn’t help it, as years of memories, of love won and lost, rushed through her mind. Slowly, she raised her hand to knock.

It took about half a minute for the doors to open, an unfamiliar face staring back at her.

A vampire spawn, eyes red and glowing, looking at her with a cocked head.

“Can I help you?” he asked, giving her an appraising glance.

 Y/N let out a breath. “I’m here to see Astarion.”

“Master Ancunin is not taking any visitors. Not without a previous notice,” he said it almost with a sneer, but she just gave him a smile.

“Tell him an old friend has stopped by. From the times before.”

The vampire looked ready to scoff and throw the door closed in her face, but stopped as he was closing it, a recollection of something flashing across his features. Whether he recognised her as a hero of Baldur’s Gate, or maybe he recognised her from a story Astarion might’ve told didn’t matter, because whatever it was, hopefully would grant her this one meeting.

With that though, Y/N was left to wait outside, pretty much twiddling her thumbs. Astarion probably wouldn’t take it too kindly if she went and took a bloom, though it used to be something he did for her. He used to do so much for her…

About five minutes later, the same spawn appeared, opening the door and motioning for her to enter.

“Master Ancunin will be with you shortly.”

And once again, she was left awing at the hallway, this time completely alone. She guessed no one saw her as a threat, despite the fact she had felled many enemies, including the Absolute. But oh well. At least she didn’t have to awkwardly stand with a guard or something, trying to figure out what small talk to fill the silence with. This gave her a chance to have a look at her surroundings.

A grand staircase, looping up to both sides, stood in front of her, while the palace spiralled away to the right and left. The entrance itself was almost like a ballroom, and she was sure, Astarion had at least one, if not more. What would those look like? What would a ball itself in the Ancunin residence look like? Would there be dancing and singing? Would people be laughing?

She couldn’t imagine it. Not with how he had degraded her after Ascending, telling her to kneel, telling her he’d turn her into a spawn, not because he wanted to spend the rest of their eternities together, but because of the control he now wished to exert over her.

A vision of herself, a blood-red gown, her eyes matching the velvet he’d no doubt dress her in, flashed across her mind. And a beautiful pearl necklace cinched tightly, two large bite marks across the slant of the skin. A collar disguised as gems to tether her to him. One large gilded cage to keep her in.

“Well, well, well… if it isn’t my darling, crawling back home.”

Astarion stood at the top of the staircase landing, bringing Y/N out of her pondering.

He was a vision, as he always had been, but now, were vulnerability and love had shone in his eyes, only wry amusement and cruelty were left in their place.

His steps echoed across the empty house as he made his way down, not taking his gaze away from her. Y/N could imagine how she looked to him – covered in dirt and dust from weeks of traveling, eyes hollowed by dark circles and hair a complete mess, skin cracked around her lips, its colour dull. Compared to his meticulously coifed locks, the intricate frock and trousers, and even his gem-covered boots, she was a disaster.

Despite the pain in her heart, Y/N managed a smile. “You look good, Astarion.”

He scoffed, coming to stand before her. “Of course, I look good. I always did. You just didn’t appreciate it. Have you come back to beg? I do like a bit of grovelling. Though after what you did, there might be more you have to do than just plead for me to take you back.”

She chuckled, shaking her head and looped her arm through his elbow, undoubtedly surprising him, as she took charge and led them to the left, no idea where the hallway was going to bring her to, otherwise she might start crying. “Tell me everything Astarion. I want to know how you’ve faired these past five years.”

Her nonchalance, her whole attitude had completely stunned him, something Y/N didn’t think she was capable of, but maybe it was good. Without having knocked him off balance a bit, he might’ve just turned her away, but she needed this conversation. This closure before the sickness took her.

Together they walked inside what turned out to be a dining room. Did he even need one? He didn’t eat human food, even though he was Ascended now, and could enjoy the tastes.

“I have to say,” he started, “I did not expect to see you again.”

Y/N sighed, looking at the paintings hung along the walls, at the gleaming chandeliers above. “Believe me, I did not expect to come either.”

“Then why are you here? If not to apologise for what you did, why bother wasting my time?”

The words stung, but she wasn’t going to tell him the real reason. It wouldn’t matter to him anyway. He told her he wished she died screaming, and though that might still be a possibility, it was more likely she would simply go to sleep one night and never wake up. “Because, although I do not believe I have anything to apologise for, I did wish to make amends. Life for us mortals, is so short… and the thought of living the rest of mine, without at least having tried, seemed… wrong.”

Astarion scoffed, but she could feel him tightening his elbow, as if he didn’t want her hand to slip from the crook it rested in. “I will not apologise for my decisions.”

“I am not asking you to,” Y/N said. “I simply wish for us to become friends once more. If only for the sake of sentimentality.”

“Sentiment,” Astarion sneered. “But what else can I expect from such a creature as a human.”

Y/N let out an amused huff, pressing down the real impact it left on her heart. He knew right where to cut, because when they’d been together during the tadpole adventure, she’d laid her soul bare to him. Told him all about her fears and hopes, how much of a hopeless romantic she was, so now, to tell her it was foolish to try and rekindle if only a friendship, was stupid… but she hadn’t expected more from this version of Astarion.

He’d already given much more time than she’d expected. Half of her had thought when the spawn would tell him who was at the door, he would take the chance and fulfil his words by killing her himself.

Absolute power corrupts absolutely. It’s what she’d told him when she’d tried to talk him out of the ritual. How he would be condemning seven thousand other lives. But he hadn’t cared. Astarion had believed he deserved the power, deserved to complete what Cazador couldn’t. Y/N couldn’t stand by and watch, nor would her conscience allow her to be by his side.

And so she’d left. Because there was nothing left of the man she’d fallen in love with. For these five years after, she’d avoided Baldur’s Gate, hearing from whispers and gossip how he’d risen in the ranks of politics and society, how brutal he could be to his servants and those who stood in his way, almost reminding her of when he’d talked about his Magistrate days, only amped to a hundred. A new, sickening Cazador at the helm.

“But how have you been, darling?” Astarion almost sounded bored as they moved into what passed for a living room in this palace, Y/N assumed. “What shenanigans have you caused?”

And so she told him. As a servant spawn brought a tea-set laying out two cups, though Astarion didn’t even pick his up, Y/N recounted how she’d gone all across the Sword Coast, had travelled over the seas and seen knew lands. How she’d done the things he’d promised they would do together.

“Sounds rather… dull,” he commented, lounging on the seat. “But I suppose to such simple minds and hearts as yours, it’s all very exciting and enthralling.”

She wanted to snap at him, remind how half of the ideas she’d completed, had been his, but instead, Y/N just took a deep breath. “Have you finally gotten everything you wanted, Astarion?” she asked instead. “Are you finally happy?”

That had been the true question plaguing her mind these past years.

He turned to look at her, eyes blazing. “I have power, status, people bow to my every whim. What more could I possibly want?”

“Then I’m happy for you,” she said, setting down her half-drunk tea. “Even if it means nothing to you anymore, I am happy you’ve finally gotten what you wished.”

An awkward silence settled between the two, and Y/N took it as her cue to wrap things up. “I best take my leave.”

“And where will you possibly go?” he sneered, but stood up alongside her, making their way back to the grand oak doors.

“Karlach and I are meeting up at a local tavern. And then we’re all going to the get together at Wyll’s. You would know that, had you come to the party Wither’s invited us all to.”

“And waste my time?” he scoffed. “No thanks. This conversation has done enough of that.”

By now they were at the doors, and Y/N turned around, taking in her final fill of the vampire. No doubt this would be the last time she ever saw him. “I hope you have a good life, Astarion. You deserve it. Despite how things went down between us, I do wish all the best for you.”

Slowly, she leaned up and pressed a kiss against his cheek. It was cold, but not as cold as she had been used to. No doubt he used every opportunity to lazy out in the sun, or feed on someone.

Just as she was about to exit, he grabbed her by the wrist, his hold tight and not something she’d be able to break out of.

Astarion’s scarlet eyes narrowed in on her, pulling her closer to him.

Y/N’s heart spiked. Was he really still that hurt, he would finally cash in on that revenge? She knew she would never be able to hurt him. No matter what, that romantic heart of hers would betray her.

He snapped her to his chest, her breath hitching in her lungs, as he leaned down by her neck and inhaled. Her frame was ramrod straight, not daring to move a muscle. When he finally moved back, anger and something else raged in his eyes. Was it… fear?

“Now, my dear, tell me the real reason you came here.”

“I -,”

“And don’t lie,” he hissed. “Because I can smell it on you. In your blood.”

“Smell what?” Her voice was barely a whisper.

“Death.” And Y/N had to be hallucinating, because she was sure she heard his voice crack. “Sickness and death runs through your veins. It’s – it’s like acid.”

“What’s it matter, Astarion? What would any of it change?”

“It would chan-,” but he stopped himself.

Y/N leaned a bit closer, her Y/E/C eyes narrowed, trying to decipher what she was seeing on that stony face, but pulled back, shaking her head. “Maybe you will finally get your wish and I will die screaming.”

By the look on his face, she understood Astarion did not appreciate the comment. “You dare enter my home, under the pretences of lies and deceit,” but his vile words didn’t match what she could see brewing underneath – despair. If only she was still naïve enough to believe he felt anything else but contempt for her. “I deserve to know the truth.”

“But you do know it.” Y/N shrugged. “So I’m going to ask you once again – what does the knowledge that I am dying, change? I would still die someday. Whether it is in a week or in half a century, I would still die. What’s it matter?”

“Had you not been stupid, and accepted my offer of becoming a spawn, you wouldn’t be in this mess,” Astarion spit, but didn’t release his grip.

“I did not come here to ask you to change me.” She placed her hand against where his heart should be beating, yet everything was still under her fingers. “I am not afraid of death. I am not happy its coming for me so quickly, but I would rather have my life end now, than live as a spawn.”

Hurt crossed his face. “Would living with me really be so repulsive to you?”

“Living as your slave would.” Y/N lifted her chin. “We would not be equals. You would never see me as the person I am, but rather as a thing to own. And I, for one, thought you would be the first person to understand why I would never choose such an option.”

This was not how she wanted them to part, but it seemed like it would once again leave them as enemies.

She pulled away from Astarion, and this time he let her.

“I hope one day you do understand my choices. Because as much as I disagree with yours, I have always accepted and understood them. Live Astarion, if only for yourself.”

Sunlight greeted her, as she opened the door, but she didn’t manage to put a single foot outside, when the vampire grabbed her by the nape of the neck, pulling her back in and slamming the door shut.

“I am sorry my dear, but that simply won’t do.”

Fear didn’t even get a chance to rush through her veins when everything went black.

It was a while before Y/N finally came to, but when she did, she was laid on a plush bed, body covered in a duvet, head resting against the softest pillow in the universe, and the sky outside was the violet of the setting day.

Horror struck her as her memories came to her – of Astarion pressing his palm against her nose and mouth, preventing her from breathing. Of how unconsciousness took over, while his red eyes glared at her fading form. But worse – the conversation they’d had right before that, about refusing to become a spawn.

Did he really hate her that much, he’d turn her against her will?

But instead of Astarion sitting in the room she found…

“Gale?” Y/N’s brow furrowed as she raised herself to her forearms on the mattress. “What are you doing here?”

“Ah, you’re awake.” The wizard stood with a smile, walking to sit beside her. “How are you feeling?” He pressed a palm against her forehead, checking the temperature, and hummed when he deemed it to be normal.

“Fine,” she mumbled. “But again – what are you doing here?”

“Astarion called.”

“Astarion?” Y/N was befuddled. She would’ve assumed Gale would be the last person ever he would contact, well, last except for her. Especially if he’d turned her into a spawn. No doubt would their friends come to battle if they heard such a thing. And yet Gale seemed perfectly content in the vampire’s castle.

“He sent such a panicked message, I portaled here as quickly as the Weave would allow and-,”

Gale was stopped mid-sentence as the door clicked open.

But the man standing in the doorway wasn’t the Astarion she’d known before, the man she had fallen head over heels in love with, or even the Ascended Astarion she’d spoken to that day. No. This Astarion had eyes as bright green as freshly grown grass, cheeks red and full of life and the blunt incisors of a human, hope and shame shining in his irises.

She whipped her head to Gale. “What in the name of all the Hells did you two do?”

“We saved your life,” the now ex-vampire entered the room, his movements slow as if Y/N was a deer he would startle if he did anything quicker than the pace of a snail. “And I paid the price for it.”

She swallowed hard. “And what exactly was the price?”

“My immortality.”

Now, Y/N assumed she’d been cured as she was inclined to believe not only because of Astarion’s transformation, but because Gale so meticulously was counting her breaths and heartbeat, but that confession almost did take her out, the shock of it all.

She threw a wary glance at the wizard. “So – so I’m not a spawn?”

“No,” Astarion shook his head. “But I don’t blame you for believing I would do such a… vile thing.”

Heavy silence settled in the room when she finally turned to look at him. “But I thought you had everything you ever wanted.”

“I did so too,” he nodded. “But when I smelled it, that – that sickness in your blood… I guess it is true what they say – love is the most powerful magic of all. Because the thought of you dying – it did something to my head… my heart. I could not let that happen.”

Y/N surveyed him, the new person standing before her. “You gave up everything for me. All the power… everything…”

“I won’t lie – I almost gave into the temptation, I almost did bite you. But these past five years were… miserable. And the thought of living the rest of eternity with the knowledge you hated me before you died… it wasn’t something I could do. Even with all the power in the world, the one weakness I have never been able to rid myself of is you.”

Neither noticed Gale clear his throat and motion towards the door, and neither noticed how it shut behind the wizard, leaving them on their own.

She watched as Astarion crossed the room, and sat himself down at the very foot of the bed, eyes locked onto the fingers in his lap. He was still as graceful as ever, but no longer was there this predatory supernatural sense to it. Now he was more a ballet dancer, than a stalking panther.

“So what happens now?”

“Now,” he sighed. “Now I don’t know. I didn’t really think further than Gale performing the ritual and hoping it would be enough.”

“Am I… immortal now?”

“No,” Astarion shook his head, and his smile was so warm, it almost knocked her back down to the bed. “You’re as human, as human can be. Only healthy now. Hopefully with many a decade before you yet to be lived.”

“And you?” she had to address the elephant in the room. “What exactly are you now?”

“I,” he sighed and looked at the wall. No, not the wall, but a large mirror, his eyes boring into the ones of his reflection. “I am what I was before Cazador. As common as a high elf can be.”

“I just don’t understand,” Y/N said. “I don’t get why you would do such a thing. Seven thousand spawn died for you to gain all that power, for you to prove you could complete what Cazador couldn’t. How could you just throw it all away?”

Astarion sighed, standing up and moving to the other side of the room where a large open door stood, leading out to a balcony. He leaned against the railing, and Y/N finally got out of the bed.

She could feel the strength having returned to her muscles. No longer did they ache, no longer did her bones scream, no longer did she feel tired and weak. A new zeal of life had filled her, and she couldn’t get why Astarion had given it all up for her to – what? Live maybe just a couple of more decades?

Together they leaned on the marble railing, overlooking the lush gardens, the flowers now a duller colour, but still as beautiful in moonlight, as they were in the sun.

“For five years I imagined what I would do if you showed up on my doorstep,” Astarion started. “There were times I imagined taking you and putting you in chains, dragging you to a dungeon and inflicting unspeakable pain, because that’s how it felt when you left. I wanted to do nothing but hurt you. And then I imagined how you would have come to your senses, how you would come and beg me to turn you into a spawn, finally realising your place was always beside me.”

He looked at her. “But then you did turn up. And all I could do was barely hold it together and not kiss you then and there. When you said you were dying, but that it would be a better life than with me, something… something cracked. Whether it was my sense coming back to me, the part of my brain that made good decisions being released from a prison of power, I don’t know.” Astarion chuckled. “But the only thing running through my head was – the one person that has always loved you selflessly, is dying. And you’re a pathetic coward that can’t do anything to stop it.”

“When Gale told me there was a way to heal you, but it would cost me, somehow I didn’t even pause to think. I just told him to do it. If the price for you being able to live a fulfilled life was having my power, my immortality stripped away, he could’ve for all I cared, spilled all my blood and let me bleed dry. As long as it meant you were here – living and breathing.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s what you would’ve done. And I couldn’t be bested by a dying woman. Would turn you into a full martyr, and I couldn’t have someone outshining me like that.”

Y/N wiped at her eyes and cleared her throat, letting out a choked back laugh. “What was the ritual?”

“Apparently Gale had been looking at certain transfers of power for a while.” Astarion shrugged. “When I contacted him, I didn’t even have anything specific in mind, I just knew he would probably be the best at figuring out what, if anything, could be done. Of course, had the answer been negative, it would not have ended well for our dear wizard, but you understand my point.”

“Well, I am glad Gale is still in one piece.” Y/N looked at him as she slowly covered his palm with hers. Astarion’s breath hitched, when she intertwined their fingers. “And I am grateful to the both of you for what you did. But I will forever be in debted to you.”

“No,” Astarion shook his head, tightening his hold, as if terrified she’d slip away like sand. “There is no debt to be repaid. Actually, I think I should be the one thanking you. For showing up. For even thinking I was worth enough to say goodbye to, but I have to ask… Were you ever going to tell? Had I not smelled it on you, would you have ever told anyone? Because when I told Gale, he was so stunned, I almost thought he would join you and pass out.”

“No,” Y/N shook her head. “By the time I decided I had to see you at least once more before I… well, you know… I’d already met all of our friends individually. I had thought of asking Shadowheart if there was a spell maybe, but ultimately, no.”

“Why would you keep something like that to yourself?”

“I didn’t feel like burdening the others.” She shrugged her shoulders. “We’ve all gone through so much darkness, have so much else to worry about, I didn’t want to add more to that.”

“Surely you know those idiots would ride blindfolded into battle for you.”

“I do. But it’s not like I would want that. Besides… if those were to be my last days, I wanted them to be filled with joy and fun things. Not with Halsin worrying if such excitement was healthy for me, or Lae’Zel scolding me for certain decisions. And let’s not even mention Karlach who’d cross the world searching for a cure that might not even exist.”

“And you left me for last…”

Y/N bit down hard on her lip. “Because it took everything in me to get over the hurt. Get over what you did and said. Because I was terrified you would slam the door in my face if I showed up.”

A tear rolled down his own cheek, as he bit the inside of it. “A fair assumption. And maybe if you’d come earlier, I would have. But… deep down I knew, I would have done everything to try and make you stay. Even through the haze of that power… my heart has always been yours. And still is. If you will have it.”

The words coming out of her mouth hurt, but they had to be said, despite how ardently she wished to say yes and return to how things were. But she knew she couldn’t neither of them could. “I don’t think it’s a good idea, Astarion.” She could see him visibly shrink down, tears now unabated as they flowed like rivers from his eye. He wanted to pull away, but she didn’t let him, holding onto his hand tighter, running a soothing thumb over his hand, so warm and alive under her touch, it made her sigh.

 “You’ve just regained yourself.” Y/N tried to give what was an endearing smile, but was probably more a grimace.  “You’ve just become an elf again… there is so much you need to grasp and realise… I don’t think a relationship is what would be good right now.”

Two green eyes met her Y/E/C ones. Gods, the colour was so gorgeous, she felt like drowning in his gaze. “The only thing I was ever sure of in my life was you. Even as an Ascended bastard. And then I blew it. Absolutely smashed my chance to pieces like an idiot, but… if you’ll allow it. I would like another try. If only at being someone worthy to stand by your side.”

Y/N felt her lips quirk up. “Would it be overtly presumptuous of me to think, that by the end of it, you would wish to be more than friends?”

“If I am only allowed to be your friends, I will fall to my knees before you and beg for the chance. But no longer will I lie and say my true intentions aren’t to hopefully, one day, get on one knee, and wish for a shared life.”

She had not seen such a version of Astarion, so candid and vulnerable, since leaving him. And for him to be so open, made some resolve in her melt a bit. “We can try. Slowly.”

It was like a boulder had rolled off Astarion’s chest, his whole body visibly shuddering in relief, before he tentatively, as if waiting for her rejection, weaved a hand around her waist.

She rested her head against his shoulder, revelling in the feeling of him pressing his cheek to the top of it. And when he tilted her chin up, a hopeful gaze in his eyes as it slipped to her lips, she didn’t stop him when he pressed his mouth to hers.

It was like surfacing for a breath after years of being pulled down in an abyss, something Y/N never thought she’d be able to do again. And that kiss – it was filled with so much love, she didn’t need oxygen to breathe.

There was still a world of hurt between then, a universe of making up to be done, but they had time. They had all the time they wanted or could need.

“To a new start, my love.” She muttered against his lips, and the smile Astarion gave her was more brilliant than the moon and stars shining in the sky combined.

“And to a life worth living.”

The next kiss they shared sure as hells was.

Tags:

Astarion tags: @spacebarbarianweird @omggiannarosa @poisonquinzell @iffazu @alisoncdariel

Everything tags: @palaiasaurus64 @supernaturalbaesduh @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @sea040561 @staryeyedgirl @deathbyarabbit @m-a-t-91 @maladaptive-ninja-returns @averyrogers83 @gallifreyansass @dewy-biitch @avxgers @unlikelygalaxygiver @magicwithaknife @ollyoxenfrees @bnhvrdy @thatkindofgurl @sj-thefan @lestersglitterglue @im-squished @strangersstrange

A/N: My tags are always open

Please don't repost onto other platforms! That is called plaigarism :)

I also had an idea of writing this from Astarion's POV, so if that is something of interest, do let me know :)

[splatashahowlett]

kitchen confessions

logan howlett x reader

to be honest, you didn't even know how your body could function on a daily basis with the amount of sleep you were getting each night but you couldn't do anything about it. so here you were, sitting on a kitchen stool, notebook in hand, spoon in the other. trying to enjoy the remains of your favorite ice cream.

life wasn't easy when you lived in a school, you could say goodbye to any kind of privacy and to all your favorite food that you would try to hid on top of cupboards. the fact that you were older than every students here didn't help. but you were grateful above anything else.

when charles found you, you refused his proposition at first. but you came to the realization that you had nothing to lose. that's why you didn't mind having trouble sleeping everynight. you got used to going into the kitchen and sketching in your notebook. you could finally breath without worrying about people asking very intimate questions (those kids wil be the death of you).

but what you weren't used to was having company.

all you could hear was the noise of your pencil scratching against the paper and the loud humming of the washing machine next door supposedly on silent mode... but you found it comforting in a bizarre way.

your dissociating state was disrupted by a grumpy voice coming from the door leading to the hallway.

"doesn't anyone sleep around here?".

startled, your eyes connected to a tall figure leaning against the doorframe. his arms were crossed and eyebrows slightly furrowed. you recognized him as the guy rogue told you about, was it nolan ?

rumour has it the professor asked him to join the xmen decades ago and his only answer was "go fuck yourself".

"only two of us are awake -well, three with you-" you answered, getting back to your drawing. you know that aside from you ,the only person awake at this time of night was the kid always glued to the tv whose name you forgot. your heard the bear-looking guy sighed and open the fridge.

"is there any beer in this kitchen?" he huffed, probably still emerging from his sleep. you chuckled softly, amused with his animal-like behavior. maybe you shouldn't but you thought he was cute. not in a "i'm interested in him" way of course, but more in a "he looks like he listens to katty perry in his free time and dream about adopting thousands of kitten even if he would never admit it" kind of way. this must have been something to do with your mutation considering you could see people's aura and "true nature", if that's even a thing...

"this is a school, but you can find some soda in the cupboard on your left" you answered, still smiling.

you certainly weren't expecting it but ater grabbing a bottle, he pulled out a stool from under the kitchen isle and sat infront of you. okay maybe you also thought he was cute in a "i'm interested in him" way. I mean, it's also like he did it on purpose: walking around the house in a white tank top probably a size too small for him which made his biceps pop out.

so naturally you acted like you didn't care about him at all (or so you thought).

"are you afraid of me?" his question caught you off guard and the face you made must have been really funny cause you could swear you saw the corner of his lips twitch upwards at the sight of it.

"excuse me?" you asked, waiting for further explanation.

"your heart is racing" he answered, taking a sip of his drink. you didn't even question what you just heard and gave the first excuse that came to your mind.

"coffee" you hoped the guy couldn't also sense lies. he raised his eyebrows and smiled, knowing you didn't drink coffee in, at least, the last three hours.

after a not so awkward silence, he finally decided to speak up: "I'm logan", still keeping his eyes on you.

"y/n" you settled fot the shortest answer, wishing he could not see through the crush you were developing for him.

"not so friendly huh" he said, almost disapointed. you sighed and even felt a bit guilty for not making any efforts.

"I"m sorry, I'm just exhausted. it's nice to meet you logan" you hoped this answer would be enough for him cause you don't think you would be capable of more for tonight.

"trouble sleeping? at least I won't be the only down here everynights" in usual, the thought of not having your alone time anymore would push you over the edge and you would probably start crying, but in this case, it didn't feel so awful. this may be the reason why you felt bold enough to ask a very personal question: "nightmares?"

logan froze and you immediatly regretted opening your mouth. but you still waited for his answer, afraid to make it worse if you said anything else.

"yeah" he nodded "what about you?" he added.

"same issue" you answered, happy he felt comfortable enough around you to tell you about it. this was also one of the benefits of your mutation, your own aura was singular. everybody felt at ease around you, some of your friends even used you as an ambulant aspirin.

"you wanna talk about it?" now that was surprising. you didn't know the guy but he definitely wasn't the type to listen to you ranting about your struggles. at first you were resilient about it, but then you realized that it's been a while since you had let someone in, and even if the grizzly seated on a stool that was most likely to break under his weight may not be the best person to open up to, you felt a strong urge telling you that you could and should trust him.

"just some traumatic experiences. being a mutant in the 21st century is far from being easy; people take advantage of that" you answered, not as uncomfortable as you thought you would be. logan nodded and kept his eyes on you.

"yeah, same issue" he articulated in an empathic tone.

so you both spent the night talking about things you shouldn't have to go through, hoping that some day you'll be brave enough to learn to live with those harrowing memories.

weeks passed, then months...and you found yourself falling harder for logan each day. you two grew quite close and you valued your friendship with him which is why you still didn't tell him about your romantic feelings for his stupid face.

but you had enough of being scared and anxious so you decided today would be the day. well the 8am version of yourself did, it's now past 10pm and you still didn't tell him anything. but you knew he was coming to the kitchen like every other nights.

right as when you started getting lost in thought you felt a hand on your shoulder, logan's. you didn't even jump, used to him sneaking up on you.

"hello there" he said, happy to see you. you couldn't bring yourself to look at him so you just muttered what seemed to be a "good evening" under your breath.

"you good bub'?" he asked, stopping in his tracks. you loved that about him, he didn't necessarily show it but he cared deeply for everyone in the mansion, and you hoped he cared in a special way about you.

"yes, sorry. I'm just bored" you grasped on how stupid you sounded when your words reached your own ears

"you do realize that has to be the worst excuse you ever came up with, right?" he laughed, and sat on the same stool from the night you met.

you knew it, but you still weren't ready to admit what was plaguing your mind.

"I'll be there when you're ready" logan interrupted your train of thoughts almost like he could read your mind: another thing you loved about him.

logan knew exactly what you were thinking about, cause he was also thinking about the same thing: he really cared about you. so he took your hand in his and squeezed it, as a sign of reassurance. he gently stroked your knuckles with his thumb and kept his eyes on you. he couldn't get over the fact that you were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

"do you want a drink?" you said, hoping to release some tension and make up for your lack of enthusiasm when he walked into the kitchen. he only nodded, keeping his words for something much more meaningful. so you stood up and opened the fridge. you knew logan was right behing you and it killed you; why did he always had to do that ?

so when you turned around, you found yourself only inches away from his torso, you looked at his eyes for the first time of the night. logan took the two bottles from your hands and placed them gently on the cupboard next to him. never breaking eye contact. your heart was racing and breath quickening: was this a dream?

once his hands were free, he gently took your chin between his fingers and muttered: "I don't know if it's the way you talk, your gorgeous smile, or the way you brought me the intimacy of being understood, but I think that I may be falling in love with you"

you stopped breathing for a second and looked at him with your wide eyes.

"nevermind, I think it's the way you were completly oblivious of my feelings for you from the begining" he added while smiling and closed the space between your lips. you kissed him back (duh) and wrapped your arms around his neck. you couldn't help but smile hear to hear; your smile grew ever wider when you felt logan also smile against your lips.

to be honest you didn't even know how your body could function on a daily basis with the amount of love you had for this dude...

[trashmouth-richie]

older! eddie x fem! reader

summary: when your bf skips town /‘s you can’t pay your rent, you put on your best outfit and knock on your landlord’s door begging for forgiveness

@eddiemunsons-missingnipple for the Eddie edit

w/c: 3.8k

t/w: 18+ ONLY —heavy smut, degrading, hair pulling, mouth fucking, choking, edging, switch!, daddy!kink

He was an asshole to extraordinary proportions. A life full of mold covered lemons would do that to a person. You were nervous, to approach him. But something told you he’d hear you out— listen to you. Maybe even be sympathetic to your pleads.

Yeah right.

As if he were made of anything but pure hatred. Toxicity swirled in his veins, his poisoned skin covered by decades worth of tattoos; all dark and sharp edged.

His peppered scruff balanced out his naturally soft eyes. A wolf in sheep’s clothing. A scowl that would make any resident of Forest Hills Trailer Park think twice about crossing. But you were left with no choice. When Trey had ditched town with the human bicycle Chrissy Cunningham, you were short on rent. Bills were tight, and you often ate in the dark, or by candle light. Anything to save a bit of money.

And that’s what led you here. Standing at your landlord’s door. Putting on an extra swipe of lipgloss, making sure to curl your hair, and wear a low cut tank top, the only push up bra you owned, and some cheap lashes from the mall— you knocked politely on the sun faded door. Hoping for some sort of a miracle that Mr. Munson would take pity on you.

One knock. Nothing.

Another. Still nothing.

It’s not until you are slapping your hand into the door that a voice behind you startles you nearly out of your too short skirt.

“What’d’ya need?” He’s covered in motor oil and grease, standing below you on the dirt and sparse grass covered ground, wiping his hands on a once red rag, a ring of sweat around his white tank top, bandana wrapped around his head, cigarette hanging gingerly from his slack lips.

He remembers the day you had moved in, it was freezing cold in early February. All by yourself, moving things one at a time in a shitty old Buick he hadn’t seen around since his high school days. He wanted to offer his help, something he didn’t give to anyone. But something about the way you smiled as he showed you around the dingy shithole of a trailer, voicing your opinions on what could be spruced up, made him hate you a little bit less.

Everyone in the park knew not to bother Eddie. He was a grumpy, mean son of a bitch and his patience was rail fucking thin. The Johnson’s dog went missing? No shit, he was the one who called animal control to come and pick it up, fucker had fleas and probably rabies. Can I paint the kitchen? Fuck no. The sink isn’t working at lot 8. Call a mechanic. And just for the annoyance he upped their rent $100.

Seeing you on his steps, dressed like that, sparkly tits, and your bra showing through your tank top had his dick twitching in his pants. Of course you were a smoke show, and he was honestly surprised to hear that ol’ what’s his face ran out on you with Chrissy Cuntingham. Her shit had been rode hard and put away wet more times that could be accounted for. Bitch still wore her homecoming tiara and had her green and orange pom poms in the back window of her car— despite the fact that graduation was more than 25 years ago. Worse than an alleycat, and smelling like one, Chrissy mostly kept herself busy by buying the minors alcohol or showing her many “party tricks” to the bachelors of the park. Sitting on his porch, smoking a joint like he did every night, Eddie took note of the black jeep that showed up every Thursday outside trailer 6, a graying head of suave douche boy hair could only be one person, Jason Carver.

He took note that your trailer, right next to his, was full of screaming and yelling when your boyfriend was home. A noise all too familiar in the trailer park, bouncing off Eddie’s ears like birds chirping.

But when he was gone? The window to your bedroom would be cracked open ever so slightly, propped open with the soft cover of Stephen King’s IT. The kitten purr of a vibrator and your delicate moans sang out to him. A siren amongst lonely fishermen, calling out to them in song of entrapment only to eat their souls, bodies never found amongst the dark sea bed. At first he thought it was wrong to listen, wrong to hear your pleasuring yourself, but he had sworn he heard his name on your lips, more than once. Fisting his cock angrily to your voice, your wet mouth, swollen lips from him sucking on them, pretty little pussy aching for him. He didn’t need playboys anymore when he had your face to imagine. And imagine he had.

What would your sweet pussy look like wrapped around his cock? Would you swallow his load down your throat if he asked, demanded you to? Sweet thing like you wouldn’t have to worry about anything if you were his. The choked laugh after he finishes all over his hand makes him shake his head at the idea. He didn’t know your age, old enough to be on your own but definitely not 45 like he was. Visions of your sugar plum tits bouncing in his face as you rode him on the itchy couch in his living room, lulled him to sleep most nights.

He saw a peek of a tattoo on your side when you were hanging clothes on the line. Your body drove him in, his eyes melting around your curves, the swell of your ass in the jean cut off shorts you wore. When you saw him staring you waved him over, a devilish grin on your lips, a wanting sparkle in your eye.

He knew your type, trouble. And oh fuck the trouble he would love to be in. He’d never volunteered to fix anyone's appliances. But your silky saccharine voice had him calling a mechanic in a few days time, would have been sooner if he could have tore his eyes away from your tanned legs, but he kept those extra days all to himself, whimpering at night with a sore cock your name on his breath. It had been seven months of you living next door, your vibrator turned on like clockwork every day your boyfriend left for work.

And now here you are. Looking at him with “fuck me” eyes and a glossy smile on your lips. Those same lips purring out pleasantries about how fuck face left you and you were needing an extension on rent. The swell of the summer sun hit your cheeks, making you glow like some love sick angel on his steps. He was fucked. And soon— you would be too.

“So what?” He tried to gamble, tried to keep his hard facade, “an extension and then what’s next? You’re gonna tell all your little friends that I give hand outs to the needy? Oh no doll, not today.”

He pushes his way around you and into his trailer, the pungent smell of too strong incense burns your nostrils as you hold the door from him shutting it.

“Please, Mr. Muns—.”

“Eddie,” he grumbles.

“Eddie, please— I’m begging you,” the glimmer of a tear welling in your eyes, your voice dipping low into an almost whisper as you made your way inside, shutting the door behind your back and feeling around for the lock, “I’ll do anything.”

Eyes dripping of sex appeal and lust, you tip your tongue to the center of your top lip, eyeing his tightened jeans and you swear you see his dick twitch beneath the stretched denim.

Cock at full alert he shakes his head, his head dipped low and eyeing you up and down, lip bit between his teeth. A low groan in his throat, he talks in a gritting whisper, “Don’t start something you can’t finish sweetheart.”

“Oh I plan on finishing, big boy,” you hum walking towards him, devilish grin planted on your lips, “I don’t think we’ll have a problem with that, will we daddy?”

Fuck. Not even touching you yet and Eddie is rock hard, he could probably cum if you asked him to. Thanking a higher power that he wasn’t twenty anymore, he’s got years of stamina built under his worn leather belt. “You’re about to write a check your ass can’t cash doll, you sure this is what you want?”

“stop talking,” you breath, inches from his lips, he can taste the peach flavored lipgloss on his tongue, “and fuck me.”

Not needing any more of an okay than that, Eddie turns you around in a swift motion, a gasp escapes your lungs and he catches you before you stumble over your heels. He drags your hips down into him, your ass round and luscious on his stiffened length. He rips the neck of your tank top open exposing the mountainous swell of your chest and your cheap K-Mart bra. Pinching your laced nipples between his rough fingers, he rolls them like joints as his hot mouth assaults your neck, painting you, he sucks bruises into your neck, licking them better with tiny flicks of his satanic tongue and ending in a bite, marking you as his.

Pushing your ass into him you can feel his cock. His achingly girthy length has you soaking your panties, dripping wet just for him. His smokey smell is mixed with sweat as you angle your neck back against his shoulder, moaning into him as he sucks like a vampire into your neck. His stubble rubbing against your skin.

“Eddie,” you moan breathless into the humid air of his trailer.

He groans, your body pushed tight against him has his head spinning, drunk off your touch. Grabbing your skirt and yanking upward. Dripping in anticipation, your panties could be wrung out, your arousal pooling from the center and beading slowly to the ground. He hisses and hums when his finger first skates along the slick of your panties with a schlick, “fuck, all this for me doll?” He’s playing now, his thick fingers moving in lazy circles around your clit, your creamy pussy clenching desperately on nothing, you nod with a whimper.

“You gonna make all those pretty little noises I hear from your window once that dumbass you let fuck you leaves the house every day? Hmm? Didn’t think I could hear did you?” His cocky bravado kicks his cock up on your ass, sending a moan through your body as you rub deeper into him.

Quite the opposite actually

Purring into his neck you lick the expanse of skin he’s showcasing. Blowing hot on the slicked spit from your tongue, you rotate your hips to angle his fingers better on your clit, the sensitivity rolling like an electric current through your veins.

“I did it on purpose,” you confess breathlessly as Eddie’s fingers stop. “Watching you stare at me for months, I knew you’d touch yourself over me.”

Eddie groans gutturally twisting your body into the front door, back hitting the broken shades with a thud. In milliseconds he is on you, hot tongue lapping up your neck and biting with enough force to break skin. No time to be patient to have you undress for him, he shoves your skirt up tipping your panties clean off. Your exposed pussy shuddering with his blown breath on your slick core. His devilish eager tongue expertly licks and teases your clit. Humming with each jerk of your body as the sensitivity makes you squirm. Tongue wiggling inside of you like an eel, your hands are gripping his hair for dear life, yanking at the roots like you’re pulling weeds. Your thigh is on his shoulder, the leg on the ground begins to shake as your first orgasm rips like a tidal wave through you. Head thrown back against the door, moaning loud enough for the entire park to hear— you don’t care.

Your noises stir Eddie’s arousal even more. Whimpering as he grip him impossibly tighter he a broken, “fuck,” into your folds as he goes back for seconds, “you’re gonna get me into trouble, pussy so fucking sweet.” His lips are wet, your arrival shining like pretty lipgloss allover hos chin and lips. Already spent from the teasing and the damn breaking, Eddie hikes you up over his shoulder, your bare volumtuous ass bouncing with every step. He throws you onto a king sized bed, unmade and reeking of weed. Rolling papers on the night stand along with several lighters you aren’t given much time before Eddie kicks his jeans off, boxer briefs do him justice as his cock jumps to his belly when he unthreads his legs from them. Pearly beads of pre cup drip from the thick head.

Eddie leans forward and places a thick hand on your neck, your vision blurs and returns with each grip he threatens and releases his teeth biting your lips, slow drops of blood seep from his bites, he licks the wounds clean.

“Havent used rubbers since the 80’s and I won’t, so are you on the pill or are we ending this right now?”

“Pill,” you warble, chords of your neck strained against his hand.

“Thatta girl,” he praises, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips, “I’m gonna fill you up full with my cum you’ll be leaking it out for hours.. maybe days.”

Tears sting your eyes at the thought of his glorious pearly cum deep in your walls painting them pretty, “please daddy, I need it.”

Eddie grins, “so needy baby, you want this cock?” he asks, flicking it through your folds, a noise resembling macaroni and cheese is blasts from your core, he groans deep, “so fucking wet,” his lip is almost bit in half with how he’s trying to hide his excitement, “I’m gonna wreck this sweet pussy so you won’t be able to walk home.”

Whimpering like a bitch in heat, Eddie flips you over, angles your ass up, slapping each cheek hard enough a red hand print sized welt develops almost immediately, he pushes all of himself into you, bottoming out as you moan and cry thanking God in your head as you’re split open, a welcomed pain. Spit soaks his sheets from your mouth when he pulls out, “oh you can take it, honey, don’t fucking quit on me.”

“I’m n—,” gasping loudly when he spits harshly on your ass. Rubbing his thumb against the pink button. The new sensation brings color to your closed eyes, stars and shapes of all size float in your closed mind, your pussy clenched harder around Eddie as you whine his name.

“Yeah?” Eddie moans, “told you daddy would take care of you, that needle dick can’t make you feel like this can he?”

you try to choke out a ‘no’ but no noise comes out, your head is thrown back violently as Eddie grabs your hair in one hand and pounds mercilessly into you.

Eddie is grunting with each slap of his heavy sack against your clit, “this is what you came here for right? Bad girl can’t pay her rent so she came to fuck the owner in exchange?” His taunting only makes you wetter, makes you clench his harder as you come undone for the second time. Screaming his name until you’re breathless. Panting and sweating like you ran a marathon. He gives you one more deep thrust of his hips and watches you fall forward.

“Look at the mess you made you little whore,” Eddie spits, venom laced words on that glory filled tongue, as he drags you by your hair to look at his soaked cock, “lick it up, want you to know how fucking sweet you taste.”

Eddie flips you over like a rag doll, positioning you the way he wants. Head dangling off the mattress, Eddie groans as he jams his cock into your throat, holding it there and choking you simultaneously. He reached to the night stand and grabs a black small vibrator placing it on your clit. The vibrations make you moan and choke around his length and against his hand. Eyelids fluttering shut you’re positive you can’t breathe, just when you’re about to pass out he brings you back, letting you breathe for a few seconds, chuckling to himself as you enter the hazy bliss of intoxicating euphoria. Your body convulses under his. Begging for a third orgasm, you can taste the earthy tang of your release and Eddie’s pre cum mix on your tongue.

His girth fills your throat completely, barely leaving room for your own tongue in your mouth. He’s dripping sweat onto your own body you can feel it slip from your belly button down into the curve of your neck. Eddie's hair is swaying in conjuncture with his hips slamming home against your face. Using your mouth like his own fist has you soaking the sheets, clit over stimulated, a deep bruise settling inside the soft silk of your velvet folds. A bruise you’d wear proudly for weeks to come.

Slapping your face as you gag lightly, mind steadily focusing on the jerking of your legs and the vibrating pulse of your cunt. Eddie shushes you reassuring you, tauntingly “someone too big for their britches huh? Work through it, sweetheart— that’s it, fuck good girl,” he chokes a whimper down his own throat as your tongue swirls around him. “Christ, swallowing what I give you, such a good girl for daddy.” Eddie thrusts one more deep cant of his hips into your mouth groaning deeply when you hollow your cheeks. Letting you breathe freely.

“You like that? Like me using you like a worthless fucking toy?” Eddie lifts you up to his face by your hair, kissing your lips delicately, you nod and whimper as he harshly sucks and nips at your neck leaving purpling marks in his wake.

Unabashedly you scratch your long nails into his chest, leaving your own mark on him as he groans against your skin. “My turn,” you whisper as you crawl into a standing position in front of him. Kissing him sweetly and pulling his bottom lip between your teeth, he whimpers at your touch. A tantalizing smile radiates across your lips. Eddie Munson a switch? Who knew? Pushing his shoulders backwards he falls on the bed, curtains of curls cascade around him and his face is turned up in shock then to a satanic grin.

Wiggling your tight skirt down your body you stand in only your heels.

“Fuck, you are a goddess.” Eddie groans, stroking his thick length in slow rhythmic motions as he stares at your body shamelessly, you climb towards him on his messy sheets between his legs your poor abused throat sore and bruised from his animalistic fucking.

His chest is littered with tattoos both old and new, faded and blown out lines mixed amongst sharp edged fresh ones stark against his pale skin. Blistering red lines decorate him from your nails earlier. Knees on either side of his hips you slot your pussy lips against his needy thick cock, sliding forward and back again, your hands on his chest for leverage. Leaning up on his elbows and moving you both backwards so he can rest his back against the headboard, he scants forward to kiss you but you push his forehead away dumbly.

Tsking and using few words to speak with a hoarse voice you whisper, “no touching.” Grinding your hips down into him, pocketing his cock in your slick folds like a sword in a sheath, you lick a stripe up his neck and land at this ear, your pretty moans singing to him like a demon seeking a naive victim. His hips jump with each roll of your own, desperate for relief he whimpers and whines as he’s close and you retreat. Starting all over again. After the third go around his bangs are stuck to his forehead, cheeks warm with a frustrated, worked up blush as you edge him again and again.

“Mmm’ fuck that’s a good cock daddy,” you moan as you come hard on his cock again making a mess yet again, he groans as you milk him for all he’s worth, your creamy pussy clenching against him, and your denial of his release is too much for him. “you wanna come for me?”

Eddie nods in spent anticipation, practically tearing up from being so worked up and being able to release himself. “Please— I can’t,” he groans, as you start grinding on him again, only this time you give in, hugging him in a pinky sheath of gummy walls and slick floors. “Christ,” he melts as you bounce atop his cock, dragging your hips backward and forward helping him hit the spot you so desperately craved from him. His thick hands are on your hips moving you to his liking, a pebbled nipple in his mouth makes you cry out his name as he pumps into you holding you still.

He slaps your ass, “I’m gonna come, shit, fuck!” He hums your name as hot ropes of his thick release coats your walls and floods out you don’t stop riding him, coaxing every last drop out of him until he’s hissing through his teeth as his softened length falls out of you, hot, reddened and aching.

Eddie pulls you to him, kissing your neck and scooting you both down the bed. “Think you’re my favorite tenant,” he laughs as you lay motionless on top of him, both breathing heavily.

“Jesus, I’d hope so, but maybe Miss Richard’s comes over here to get some money knocked off her rent,” you tease, tracing circles into his spotty chest hair, “heard she’s real pretty in her nightgown, just gotta be careful of her poligrip.”

He laughs again, smacking your ass, “you’re a fuckin’ brat y’know that?”

“And you’re a filthy fucker, quite the pair I’d say,” you spit before biting his chest.

Eddie yanks you by your hair to look you in the eyes, “not every day a pretty baby like you comes knocking on my door to rattle my cage and get free rent. But I’d like if you came over more often, that attitude needs adjusting.”

“oh really?” you question, hand under your chin like you’re bored as you roll your eyes, “and your old ass is gonna be the one to tame me huh?”

You spend a greater part of the night bent over Eddie’s knee, his studded belt in his hand as he whips you again and again. Tears spill from your eyes, and coat his thighs. Eddie’s sadistic ass only grins, a joint hanging limply from his lips, shushing you softly, “don’t cry honey, I told you your ass wouldn’t be able to cash that check.”

-

-

👅 I’m gonna go touch grass now

[neonovember]

Carmen definitely has black cat energy, maybe more akin to something like a stray cat (saying that lovingly) but definitely is more cat boyfriend than dog boyfriend. Have to leave him alone and gain his trust and then he’ll be curious about you, and then won’t leave you alone 🥰😭

this is completely true, carmen is kinda stand-offish and reserved at first and he is horrible at replying and calling you back because let’s face it he doesn’t really know how to communicate properly. but even after all that, all of that distance and reservations you force him to come out.

you drag him to a nice hole in the wall lunch spot, you take him for drinks, and then something just clicks in Carmen. Once he realises you aren’t going to leave him stranded he completely opens himself to you, and don’t try and tell me he wouldn’t be the most clingy mf after 😭 this man is literally a toddler yall!

So why not a little drabble down below? A sneak peak if you will. it’s likes 200 worth of word vomit and there’s allusion to smut to enjoy ;)

*

The busy streets of the farmers market spilled into the morning traffic, as Carmen rushes between crowds with two cups of coffee grasped against his chest.

They burned, really fucking bad, probably searing a third degree burn right under his pelvis but god did he not care, his legs ran with the wind behind them as he tried making it back to your shared apartment as quick as possible.

He had only left the warm bed where you lay 10 minutes ago, only after you had thought about ‘how good a coffee would be snuggled up here’ and Carmen had shouldered on a flimsy fleece jacket and his house slippers before racing out of the house to fulfill your request.

He didn’t regret it now, but he could practically feel his skin itch with a desire to feel you against him again. There had been a celebratory dinner of sorts for the beef after it got recognised as Chicago’s up and coming restaurant of the decade. Carmen couldn’t wait till you both made it to your apartment and just took your right there in the backseat of his car that now stood stationary in the parking lot.

Carmen can still taste you on his tongue and now he’s grateful he took a much needed day off to spend it with you.

Opening the apartment door, the smell of melted butter and grease washes over Carmen’s senses. Flipping of his slippers, Carmen past the kitchen, where used dishes lay on the stove top and the ingredients for pancakes lay open.

“Baby? I got our coffee?” Carmen yells out, and when there is no answer a sweat begins to break on Carmen’s forehead.

“H-honey? You there!?” Carmen yells louder, looking through the living room before entering the bedroom with haste.

“I’m right here Carmy, it’s alright” The sweet saccharine melody of your voice pulls Carmen from whatever fear inducing nightmare he fell into.

You’re here, back where your supposed to be. Wrapped around the covers that smelled of the both of you.

“Made us pancakes” You smile, the sun streaming in through the linen curtains so they dusted all over your gorgeous face.

If Carmen could shift his eyes away from you (which he can’t) he would see the pretty tower of pancakes dripping with syrup and berries plated on the bedside table. Hell, if he saw how well done they were you feared the coffee might get thrown across the room and Carmen will drag you up to his face.

“Got us coffee” Carmen whispered, placing them to the side, forgotten as his mind was consumed with feeling you against him.

“Just get in here already” You giggle, before the sheets are thrown to the side and the warmth of Carmen’s body encapsulates you once again.

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @corrodedcoffinfest.

The First, and the Last

Day #6 - Prompt: Heard It In a Love Song | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: T | CW: Language | POV: Eddie | Pairing: Steddie | Tags: Older Steddie, Everlasting Love, Getting Married

He's the last. 

The first, and the last, somehow.

Eddie's been with Steve forever, longer than any of the other couples in their orbit, and yet. They couldn't get married until now. At least not legally, and they just didn't ever bother to do it, symbolically. 

So, now they can.

At fifty.

He had to wait thirty years to marry Steve. 

Gareth got married after two years. Jeff, four. Goodie, ten, and Goodie's a notorious foot-dragger. Never in a hurry to make any decisions, big or small. 

So, thirty sounds insane, in comparison. 

Especially since Eddie's the opposite. He's impulsive. He makes decisions fast, and he made his decision about Steve decades ago, but today's the first time he can actually act on it.

And now he's nervous. 

He shouldn't be. Steve said yes. There was never any question he wouldn't, but Eddie's hands are shaking as he tries to tie his tie. He's never been very good at it, and today's no different. 

"Here, let me," Gareth says, and he ties it with ease.

"Thanks," Eddie says, and just keeps looking at himself in the mirror. When did he get so old? Yeah, the road is hard, and they've been at it for decades, but he feels like he only just realized that so much time has passed.

Which is insane. Gareth has almost raised his kids. That's how long he's been married. Jeff's kids are in middle school. Goodie doesn't have any, but doesn't want any. Eddie never really thought about it. Now he's fifty. He's probably not having kids at fifty. 

But he is getting married.

"Steve looks great," Gareth says, "Robin's getting him all shined up."

"Oh, I hope not," Eddie laughs, because Steve can definitely do a better job getting himself ready than Robin.

Then he looks back at Gareth, "I can't believe I'm the last."

"The last what?" Gareth asks, checking his own hair in the mirror.

"To settle down," Eddie says, and he jumps when Gareth barks out a laugh, "What?"

"You think you're the last to settle down? Since when? You've been settled with Steve forever."

"Yeah, but, like, not officially."

Gareth rolls his eyes, "Definitely officially in all the ways that matter. Today is a formality, you understand that, right? You aren't committing to anything today that you haven't been committed to for thirty years."

That's true. That's definitely true. He hadn't thought of it like that.

"It's a piece of paper, Eddie. A tax break. It's nothing else, I promise. You're just as married as I am, because of how you feel about Steve. Trust me."

"What if getting married fucks it all up?" Eddie asks, because he's been worried about that. 

"It won't," Gareth reassures. "Trust me. You're solid."

Eddie nods. They are. 

"Do you want me to send in Steve?" Gareth asks, meeting Eddie's eyes in the mirror.

"I'm not supposed to see him, before," Eddie says, because that's been hammered into his head. Relentlessly.

"I truly don't think it matters. Will you feel better if you do? That's what matters," Gareth says, and Eddie pauses for a second, then nods.

And Gareth leaves to go fetch him, and Eddie thinks he already feels a little bit better.

Steve comes in and smiles at him as he strides over, "You having cold feet?"

Eddie shakes his head, he's definitely not, "You?"

Steve cups his cheek, leaning over to kiss him, then he cups his cheek, "Never. You look so serious."

"I've loved you for thirty years," Eddie says, as serious as he feels.

Steve smiles, soft and sweet, "Me too, Eddie."

"I would have married you back then, year one, day one. If you'd have had me," Eddie says, leaning into Steve's palm. Finding the familiar comfort there.

"Eddie," Steve says, so soft and tender, "what's this about?"

"I feel like, maybe, I should have married you years ago. Even if it was just for us. Even if it wasn't legal."

"Okay," Steve says, encouraging him to keep talking. 

"I'm sorry I didn't, that's all. I'm sorry we're last," he chokes out.

Steve just smiles, and leans in to kiss him once, twice, more, "It's not a race. We're good, Eddie. We've been good for a very long time."

"Did you want kids? Did I sleep on that, too?" Eddie asks, and Steve's shaking his head.

"I would have said so if I did, honey. Honest. Yeah, I assumed that's what my life would be like, before you. But that's just because even in my wildest dreams, I couldn't have predicted the life we'd end up having together."

And it's Eddie's turn to smile, and he keeps on smiling as Gareth pokes his head back in, "We're still doing this right? Everyone's waiting."

Eddie doesn't much care about everyone else, only Steve.

"You gonna marry me?" Eddie asks again, this time cheeky and flirting with Steve, his husband-to-be.

His husband already, in all the ways that matter.

"I suppose so, we're already here," Steve teases, and reaches up to straighten Eddie's tie, "This is good. You finally learned to tie a tie. I'm so proud."

Eddie grins, and ignores the face Gareth is making at him, threatening to out him as a dirty liar.

"Why, yes, yes I did. Just for you sweetheart," Eddie lies, and pokes Gareth in the gut on the way by, knowing Gareth won't say a word. They know where each other's bodies are buried; helped with the shoveling. 

This little white lie won't hold up forever. Eventually Steve will see him trying to tie a tie and the jig will be up.

But not today.

"Starting your marriage on a lie, for fucking shame," Gareth hisses as he passes Eddie and Eddie laughs. 

And when it's time for Eddie's vows, he ad-libs in a confession about the tie, and Steve laughs, head thrown back, tickled.

Steve then promises in his, that in this marriage, he'll teach Eddie to tie his tie for real.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @corrodedcoffinfest and follow along with the fun! 🦇

[strawberrystepmom]

happy gojo fluff friday i guess. gojo x f!reader. established relationship, self indulgent crafting fluff, reader is teaches the second years. | divider by cafekitsune, wc 1.4k, reading time 5 mins 17 seconds

“I used to make these all the time, remember?”

Sitting with your legs tucked beneath you in your living room, you hold up a bundle of braided twine bracelets, a rainbow of colors with assorted charms attached to them. Little plastic seashells on the blue one, flowers dotting the green one.

Satoru remembers, he still has the one you made him in your first year. It feels like a lifetime ago that six teenagers had vaguely matching mementos they wore showing their unity as a group, yourself and your fellow first years Nanami and Haibara and of course himself and his friends. 

“Blue seems cliche,” you opined at the time with a raised brow, a pink cheeked seventeen year old Gojo staring back at you anxiously. His crush had bloomed by then although you pretended to be oblivious to it. “How about pink instead?”

He has never been able to tell you no so he nodded, keeping his mouth screwed shut while you worked. Pink he received, so bright it almost hurt his eyes to wear it back then. You attached a little smiley face charm right in the middle, affixing it around his wrist. He wore it every day until it began to unravel, safely kept in a small lockbox in the back of his closet.

The same box that contains most of the memories you’ve given him, the photos, the cards, the trinkets, and the ones the two of you have yet to make including that pesky engagement ring he can never seem to figure out the right time to give you.

“I might take it to school with me tomorrow just to see what the kids think.”

Two big hands make their way to your bent thighs and you smile, still digging through the box in your lap. Beads, closures, all the stuff you used to pride yourself on keeping tidy and neat. You glance up at him, that same smile on your face.

“Let me make you a new one since I have all this stuff out.”

You dig through the box for a minute more, squinting and making a show of exaggeratedly humming. Leaning in toward him, you hold colored embroidery floss up to his face to compare it to the shades of his eyes, the unforgettable feature that they are. One bundle of floss is too green, the other is too yellow. 

“What do you think the kids will say?” He asks, watching each of your movements raptly. Your tongue pokes out of the corner of your mouth when you concentrate, an adorable habit you’ve maintained in all of the years he’s known you, and you sit back on your haunches for a moment, hands on your thighs. 

Yet another adorable habit.  

He reaches to grab your arm, gently rubbing his thumb along the inside of it. You smile at the touch and ponder what your students will truly think if you bring this to them. It’s a bit of a dated hobby compared to the luxury of choice teenagers have now and you laugh to yourself, shaking your head.

“Well, Maki will probably say you’re rubbing off on me since I don’t bother to teach anymore and call it stupid to my face.” Satoru chuckles, watching through his lashes while you spring back into action, reaching behind you to grab a few more bundles of blue. “Inumaki will probably spell something inappropriate in English if I bring the letter beads. Panda will ask me to make each of them a matching bracelet because he’s sweet and will request that I make one for Yuuta to have when he gets back, too.”

Looking at the latest bounty recovered from the little tackle box that stores the trinkets required for this, you gasp. Cerulean with a deep blue sparkle woven through the strands. 

I’ll save this for something special some day, you told yourself more than a decade ago, spending your student stipend in some fancy embroidery shop in Nippori. Yen exchanged for fancy thread, dotted with glitter or metallic coating. You had no idea. Maybe you even bought it back then hoping a day where you’d be able to compare it to Satoru’s eyes would arrive, subconsciously laying the tracks for your own future.

“It’s a perfect match.”

The grin on your face is mirrored by your love who reaches around your body to grab from the twine selection himself. A handful of colors that match your eyes sit across his large palm and he glances down at the collection, mimicking your previous attempts to find something that screamed “him”.

“What are you doing?” The question is a half joke but you let him hum to himself, raising one bundle and then another to compare them. “Well, I didn’t make you one back then because I thought I was too cool,” he blinks at you, making you giggle. “I was right, of course, but there’s no time like the present, right?”

Nodding your agreement, you remove the paper from around the twine and shake it out. You’ll need some coordinating colors so you dig back through the bundles in front of you, sticking them against his face again. 

“I still have the one you made me, by the way.”

Scoffing, you roll your eyes and use your index finger to poke around in the bead compartment, searching for the perfect one for your newest creation.

“Don’t lie, I can always tell.” Satoru grabs your hand delicately although your fingers are still holding various crafting supplies and raises it to his lips, gently kissing your wrist. You are very attentive to the little things about him and likely noticed when he finally stopped wearing it, several years after it was first made. “I’m not lying. I had to stop wearing it because it was unweaving and I didn’t want to lose it forever.”

You feel guilty for the accusation and lean in toward him, kissing the tip of his nose, claiming your hand back from his grasp to begin braiding twine together into a pattern.

“I can always re-make it if you’d rather have a pink one,” you offer, braiding together various shades of blue in your lap without looking down. “I can wear this one.”

Smiling softly, he looks at you, then the bundle of your eye colored twine in his own hand.

“You wear the blue one and I’ll make one that matches you to wear myself, how about that?”

Nodding, you let the conversation fall quiet while he unbundles his own selections, fingers deftly separating and joining three strands, just the way you tried to teach him years ago when you assumed he didn’t care. He has always paid far more attention to you than you’ve realized and you’ve given him a lot to study over the last ten or so years.

“I think you should leave this at home,” he admits. It’s selfish but he doesn’t want to see you share this precious memory with your students who may not even appreciate it. He wants to sit cross legged on the living floor with you, making little friendship bracelets that will eventually unravel or fade or snap, for the rest of his life. He wants to make them for your children someday, matching bracelets with mom and dad. He wants to keep this, to keep you, all to himself.

“Okay. It’s probably for the best anyway, I don’t need to give them one more thing to give me shit about.”

Satoru leans toward you and kisses your forehead right as you’re finishing the blue bracelet. He looks down, tying and knotting it around your wrist, remembering when you did the same for him so long ago. 

“Looks good.” His words catch your eye and you smile up at him, looking between his eyes and the bracelet wrapped around your wrist. It is an uncanny match and you’re proud of your own eye for color though your pride is stopped in its tracks when he sticks out his wrist, bracelet pinched between two of his fingers and dangling from his hand. “Would you mind?”

You do as he did for you, as you’ve done for him before, with softness in your eyes it would be impossible to hide. 

“Not bad,” you compliment and he shrugs with a chuckle. “Obviously. I even think mine is the better of the two.”

Letting your hand rest in his lap, next to his, the hastily made bracelets sit one next to the other on each of your bodies. His eyes follow yours and he weaves your fingers together, thumb gently rubbing the thickest part of your palm.

It’ll always be the two of you, a perfectly matched set, no matter what.

[almacambiondaughterofsaleos]

The Biggest Problem With Hazbin Hotel's Rehabilitation Mentality Is Trying To Make All Sinners Victims Instead Of Owning Up To Their Own Sins

I think the biggest problem with Hazbin Hotel rehabilitation mentality is that they focus in on how sinners are victim of circumstances rather than owning up to their problems and changing themselves. I think the biggest thing with this series is the fact that they think the problem is society instead of someone's own issues how they got into hell.

One of the first indications of this bs is making it out that Lucifer and Lilith were just misunderstood dreamers were against a strict ignoring that they caused sin in the world and caused help humanity's downfall. But the narrative ignores that fact and tries to treat them as victims of heaven, so we can have Lucifer as a misunderstood sad boy instead of how in the Bible he was jealous of humanity and wanted to bring it down with him due to God's love for them. A misunderstood sad boy wouldn't do this type of shit and Vivziepop selling it a load of it.

I know this is going to be controversial but I think Angel Dust is hindered as a character but not focusing on what got him into hell. And it wasn't just the drugs and sex, because he did kill people and some of them probably didn't end up in hell. So just imagine him being sent to heaven and his former victims recognized him for his crimes and until now showed repentance. However, the narrative even then doesn't focus on that fact but the idea he's a total victim and doesn't show part of his way to redemption is get his life back together and admit he's done shit where he wasn't the victim but the victimizer. One could say he was put through that life, but then again show his sister is in heaven and that she chose a life of virtue and made it. So, he has no excuse of his dad or brother getting himself into hell except himself and he needs to work on it. Even if he's a victim to Valentino, he still is a victimizer in someone else's eyes who recognizes him decades ago.

And I am also going to say this the Extermination is used as a way to have all of hell be turned into pitied victims that you forget a lot of them are in hell for a reason. And even more they are doing antics that got them probably into hell like murder, sex, and other types of depravity. While not all sinners are on the same level, the exterminations as a whole just i used to make you forget that they are there for a reason and erase that there is a reason they weren't given a chance into heaven. Seriously, Emily herself called them innocent souls when in any other scene they are far from innocent and the reason why Adam is depicted as a one note villain is because they can't fathom the idea that maybe the Extermination could be used to cull the worst sinners or something.

I think the biggest problem with Hazbin Hotel's every sinner is really a victim it comes ironically counter to finding redemption. A show which Vivziepop says she inspires from but she completely misses the point is Bojack. She says she's watched it but the biggest point of the show just because you are the victim doesn't give you an excuse to act like a total jackass to others and not own up to your mistakes. The problem is Habzin Hotel never lets anyone own up because they have to play victims, especially any character favored by Vivziepop. Redemption doesn't come from seeing yourself as a victim, but recognizing your own mistakes and how to reform from them. And frankly I didn't see Angel Dust want to reform from his mistakes, but just want a home away from Val. The problem is that Hazbin Hotel is about enforcing victimhood instead of owning up that you did bad things and need to change. An excuse for your behavior is still not fully an excuse and you need to own up to your actions.

[reno-korino]

A complete analysis of Cazador Szarr, his palace, and spawn

A week ago, I posted a Reddit thread analyzing everything to do with Cazador Szarr. I wanted to bring it here! THIS IS A VERY LONG POST, THIS IS YOUR WARNING BEFORE CLICKING. Here is the Reddit link.

--

Who is Cazador Szarr?

According to the Forgotten Realms wiki for Cazador Szarr, The Szarr family was a family of Baldur's Gate who were once wealthy merchants and farmers.

I couldn’t find any information on what year the actual Szarr family was attacked, but the information I do have is, “Long before the 15th century DR, the land that would encompass Tumbledown held a grand estate that belonged to the mercantile Szarr family. Unfortunately, every member of the Szarrs was murdered by a rival house, and their holdings were burnt to the ground.” It was unknown how Cazador survived. Maybe he organized this? After the tragic incident, Tumbledown was filled with fog. In addition, the Outer City expanded over the area, and it would become a large cemetery.

Decades prior to 1482 DR, a portion of the cliffs that surrounded the area fell away. Because of this, part of the family crypts were revealed; graverobbers seized the opportunity to plunder the tombs.

Cazador is known as Cazador Szarr 'The Avid', according to a scroll titled “Vampires before Vellioth” From this information, we can see that Cazador turned from Vampire spawn, to Vampire Lord the year 1276, and about 20 years later give or take, is when he turns Astarion into a vampire spawn. Considering the game is set in 1492, this means Cazador has been a vampire lord in Baldur Gate for about 216 years. One of Cazador's slaves, Astarion reported that he was turned into a vampire spawn almost two centuries prior to 1492 DR(1292).

Cazador is the patriarch of the Szarr family, (The head of the family) he apparently didn’t want military or political power, He likes power over people. So when he speaks, Astarion (or vampire spawn) body has to react. He apparently made vampire spawn torture themselves and each other for fun. You can interact with a bust in his palace which reads to be 'Mordic SeLanmere', the most powerful vampire king. It suggests that this might be Cazador's ancestor?

After talking/killing the Gur Gandrel, Tav can talk about the night Astarion met Cazador, and you’re able to call out that it was convenient Cazador just happened to find him. Astarion will deflect and claim he probably was found because of the smell of blood. When you do ask Astarion if you should be worried about Cazador hunting you down, he says you should always be aware, but Cazador was never one to actually leave the city ever. (get a life, Cazador.)

Astarion only assumes Gandral works for Cazador, which is false. If you give Astarion up, he'll be held at the Gur camp, where everyone will be slaughtered in Act 3 by Cazador, and Astarion will go back to the Palace as a zombie.

If you don't kill the Gur Gandrel, you actually find out that his two children were part of the 7,000 spawn trapped by Cazador. Sparing Gandrel, and the rest of the 7,000 spawn will let you briefly talk to him, and his two now vampire spawn children,

Cazador has some beef with the Gur (Obviously since he steals their children) because the werewolves that fight you are ‘Fallen Gur Hunters’. At the party, we can also see the werewolves that fight you are from the Hhune family. There’s a ‘Chatterteeth’ that fights alongside Cazador, who is, like Godey, a pair of bones. I’m not sure what Cazadors affinity is for werewolves, maybe its his twilight fantasy of Edward x Jacob?

On Astarion Ancunín

Astarion's age of death is 39, rather young for elves. His grave reads: 229 - 268 DR 498 DR. This Reddit thread gives good information.

Astarion was turned into a vampire by Cazador Szarr in the year 1292DR. Before he was a vampire, Astarion was a magistrate. A magistrate judge is a judicial officer of the district court and is appointed by majority vote of the active district judges of the court. A group of vagrants, a group called the Gur beat Astarion to deaths door when they took issue of a ruling Astarion made. It is there Cazador 'saved' him with the choice of 'life' or 'bleeding to death in the street'.

It isn’t said if Cazador made/let/stopped Astarion from continuing to be a magistrate. Since Cazador saved Astarion from the Gur, he ‘chased them off’ and turned Astarion into a vampire. I think it would be interesting if there was some sort of political move since a large opinion is that Cazador organized the attack. Perhaps there was an issue with Cazador's status?

-- My theory about Astarions family

In another comment, someone suggested Astarion might be from elsewhere instead of being born in the city. The idea he came to Baldur Gate because he wanted to pursue bigger things and become a Magistrate seems in character without having to add in his family, but you'd think he'd be concerned about his family and vise versa? Unless Astarion had bad blood with them.

At the end of the day, for his main 7 spawn, it doesn't make complete sense to have them be born and raised in Baldur Gate with a full family, since that's way too many connections. Too many distractions when they're out getting marks, and too many opportunities for Cazador to be exposed. Since there are 7,000 spawn created by Cazador, but only 7 that he 'keeps', so there has to be some sort of reason.

Were they the most beautiful? Alluring in his eyes? Or perhaps, the most charismatic, or did they have the least amount of connections that could come back to bite him? Surely, there has to have been one incident. Wouldn't that be interesting if there was at least one spawn we don't know, that used to be of the original 7, but was 'taken out' because a family kept asking too many questions?

*-- *

Cazador, on making Astarion vampire, also made him crawl out of his own grave.

“Nearly two hundred years and I never came back. Not since the night I woke up down there. I had to punch a hole in the coffin and clew my way through six feet of dirt. Then when I finally broke the surface, retching up first and congealed blood, Cazador was waiting.”

It's unclear if Cazador gave all the spawns the same treatment, but my opinion is he did this to send a direct message to Astarion. Astarions grave is in the Thorass alphabet, Showing that his last name is Ancunín. The only way to get to this grave is during a dialogue scene at the end of "The Pale Elf" quest, widely considered the 'good ending' in which the player does not let Astarion ascend. Asended Astarion will not bring you to the grave, and can not be found when in the cemetery in the city.

Astarion also mentions when talking about being turned into a vampire about how painful it was, saying, "I remember how it hurt when I turned into a vampire. My body writhed and warped while I was utterly helpless, the grip of death owned my heart as it beat its last."

In earlier patches, Astarion mentions how he begged Cazador to be turned instead. This is old though, so I wouldn’t say this is reliable.

Astarion does also say in a voiceline that:

"The mindflayers weren't my first kidnapping. A long time ago, I crossed Cazador, a powerful man in Baldur's Gate."

Astarion would bring the people for Cazador, he’d tease Astarion by asking him if he’d like to dine with him, and if Astarion said yes, he’d get a rat(girl dinner). If he said no, he’d have Astarin flayed.

There is also Astarions worst memory, when he was sealed, buried alive for a year. If you ask him about it in Act 3, he talks about how in his first decade, he found a darling boy that he couldn’t bring back to Cazador. So Astarion ran and disobeyed. Cazador caught him and sealed him up, starved him inside a dusty tomb for a year. He claims,

“A year of silence. Months of scratching my hands raw, trying to carve my way out. More months of not moving at all. Months wishing only for death.”

Astarions Brothers and Sisters, the Seven Spawn

It seems Cazador has his main seven spawn, Astarions ‘brothers and sisters’. Seems like Cazador had a real, manager-in retail type mentality and claimed they were ‘all a family’ even while he was carving scars into their flesh. To note, I’m not sure why the only scars Astarion DOES have are the ones on his back. Apparently, Astarion was ‘one of his firsts’ which signals that Astarion might be the second spawn? The rest came years later, but took a special interest in Astarion for his ‘sweet sounds’. Astartion does seem to have some sort of survivor's guilt for them. It isn't ever specified who came first, or who was the most recent.

The respective spawn names are: Leon, Aureila, Yousen, Violet, Dalyria and Pale Petras

They all have the same stats. The demographic is:

Female (3/7) - 43 %

Male (4/7) - 57 %

With 1 Tiefling(Aurelia), 1 Halfling(Yousen), 3 elves(Violet, Astarion,Dalyria), and 2 humans(Pale Petras, Leon) - This is based on observation, I could be wrong!

Their eyes will be glowing red, which means they are under the influence of Cazador. This applies to all the spawn. Once Cazador is dead, their eyes stop glowing.

When Leon and Aurelia confront you at the inn (and attack you), Aurelia claims Cazador knew where Astarion was the entire time, likely watching us from the shadows.

Cazador apparently promised the 6 vampire spawn that he’d set them free. You can learn more about Pale Petras, where he wants to bring back one more person so when he is ‘free’, he will have someone to drink dry right off the bat. Dalyria doesn’t seem to humor the idea and instead wants to leave in fear of angering Cazador by being late, BUT interestingly enough, the vampire spawn are out in the day in a tavern, which means they are hunting day AND night? Considering how Astarion talks to Pale Petras, it's clear that they don’t really get along too well.

When you meet the spawn slave, after succeeding on a perception check, you notice on all 7,000 spawns, "Beneath the first and blood, you notice that every prisoner has a rune carved into their flesh." What is interesting, is it only looks like Sebastian is the only one with these marks. I looked at all the other spawn NPCS and couldn't find anything visible. The runes marked into Sebastian also look kind of fresh, so this perhaps was a recent thing? Unless I'm reading the scars wrong, but from how Astarion talked about his scars, it doesn't sound like he was given them as soon as he was turned into a vampire spawn.

As for the appearance of the other spawn, I can chalk it up to the models not being completely finished with the runes, I suppose… Either that or Tav can see under people's clothes…. kinda weird!

More on Cazador and Baldur Gate

According to Astarion, Cazador is just another ordinary noble in Baldur City. He says that Cazador is a little reclusive perhaps, but just another ‘the great and good’ of Baldur’s Gate. He apparently has a grand palace on the hills of the Gate, where he hosts the city’s high society. This makes me wonder, since there is a ballroom in Cazador’s palace if he hosts all these large high society balls. Astarion wonders if Cazador would risk exposure by doing it at the palace, signaling that Cazador at least, does care for his image.

When your character is a Baldurian, you can ask, “That giant gothic monstrosity has been inhabited by vampires this entire time?” So at least the citizens of Baldur Gate can see how out of place it is.

The Szarr Palace has a palace south tower and ramparts. He has city guards charmed guarding the entrance. It also has a garden and beautiful architecture. The Szarr palace colors are teal and red. My analysis of the building is linked.

The dialogue from Astarions origin character playthrough when he has a nightmare about Cazador:

Spoken like a true old bitch:

“First, thou shelf not drink of the blood of thinking creatures.”

“Second, thou shalt obey me in all things.”

“Third, thou shalt not leave my side unless directed.”

“Fourth, thou shalt know that thou art mine.”

Cazador keeps all the spawn underground in cages. When meeting Sebastion in the cages, you tell Sebastion he’d been down there for “One hundred and seventy years. You were one of my first, too.” This means either the “200” years is more 175 years, or he might not have gone out to get spawn for around ~15 years. It could also mean Astarion sees the 15 years as a short period of time, which would make sense.

Astarion thinks that Cazador hired the Gur to find Astarion in Act 1, and the Gur does not know what Cazador really is. If you give Astarion up and go to Cazador in the future, he will ask you if you’re the one who “took my poor Astarion under your wing, only to abandon him so cruelly?”

What’s really interesting, if you interact with Astarion in the ritual, he’s a zombie, unlike his other spawn. Could this be because he was tortured by Cazador, flayed?

When you read Cazadors mind after killing him without Astarion, it seems Cazador has nightmares of “The boy I was, the man I became, the monster that will not end. I sleep, but cannot rest, I live, but cannot die. I am eternal, and I grieve.” I say shut the fuck up, Cazador.

Obviously, Astarion meeting Cazador in the current up to date patch(9/7/2023) , he’s very demeaning. Man rolls his r’s like he’s still in the fucking renaissance. He claims Astarion is still his even if he can resist his words. He waves around his stupid little staff, but his magic is still strong enough to grab Astarion into the ascension ritual even if you roll a nat 20 to resist.

On talking to Astarion about coming home :

Cazador seems to have mortal servants walking around the palace. The Servants aren’t charmed, but they are ‘fanatics’ as Astarion claims, “Here of their own free will, and utterly devoted to Cazador.” He says, “Each one came to our door and begged to be given his ‘eternal gift’. They’re sure he’ll turn them if they serve him well enough” whatever the fuck that means.

What I can gather from this information is, that people do know that Cazador is a vampire lord, but obviously not everyone. It's like the well-kept secret that isn’t a secret because Astarion claims earlier that Cazador wouldn’t want to do the ritual at the Palace for fear of exposing himself. If anyone else has any clarification that Cazador is a known vampire, please, I'm all ears.

The servants seem to be obsessed with keeping the place clean, making sure it's ‘pure’. But that’s kind of hard considering there are BATS flying around everywhere in this palace. I can't tell if they are paid at all, either, they are just there freaked out trying to be the best they can so they can be the next vampire spawn. It also makes me wonder, why doesn't Cazador just turn these people into spawn? Is he afraid to scare staff away when they vanish because they begged at Cazadors door for vampirism? How on earth did they find this out? What on earth is Cazadors title to these people, is he a lord even if the public doesn't know he's a vampire lord?

All the text in Cazadors Palace Explained, and rooms explained

[ALL THE TEXT FOUND IN CAZADORS PALACE]

Chamberlain Dufey

In the Chaimberlain's private quarters, we find Chamberlain Dufey’s dead body in a casket. The Chamberlain is responsible for managing the household of nobles, so Dufey would have managed the household for Cazador. It's suggested by a private note left by Dufey’s Werewolf GF that he killed himself via poison, and so she Romeo and Juliet herself and killed herself as well.

You can find his diary on the bed on the floor, and we find out that Dufey killed himself because he found out about Cazador's ritual, because Cazador wanted Dufey to be the stand-in for the missing Asterion. He even calls Astarion a brat! Ironically enough, his poison is just enough to slow his heart and he isn’t actually dead, so his lover found him and killed herself in return. True poetry. Dufey hopes that once Cazador ascends, he can leave since Cazador won’t need his management anymore. This suggests that Dufey is a prisoner in one way or another. He is, a vampire spawn interestingly enough.

Godey

Cazador would throw the spawn into a ‘kennel’ when he was displeased with the vampire spawn. This is hidden by an illusion, that Astarion claims is one of his regular, cheap tricks.

Godey is a pair of bones that is under Cazador's control. He claims to be doing his job and to ‘keep him(astarion) in line.” He apparently tortured the spawn for days at a time, and Godey seemed to enjoy the screaming.

Spawn sleeping quarters

The vampire spawn seemed to live in a ‘dormitory style’ living, inside the dormitory wing. He has two rooms, “spawn dormitory” and “favorite spawn”

You can find Violet's diary, where she says the ‘garlic in Yousen's bed gave him a nasty rash’ which signals that vampires can’t handle garlic. It also shows that Violet is a little shit and makes life hell for the other spawn… a true sibling. Leon has a daughter named Victoria, but Cazador seems to ‘have a little plan for her.’

There is also a blood ledger from Dufey, who states the rules of what type of people Cazador wants to be picked up. Most notably, to focus on the lower class. He chastises them for picking up three people from wealthy families because their families of course are wondering where the as fuck they went. The goal is not to attract unwanted attention and to avoid aristocrats, even if they are out slumming in the lower city.

Favorite Spawn

The ‘favored spawn’ room is a lot more grand, with nice beds that don’t stack on a bunk bed. I wonder if Astarion was a bottom or top bunk?

It turns out when looking at the favorited spawn list, it mostly is Leon, with Violet taking only one year. When you read Leon's diary though, we find out he’s working so hard because he has a daughter named Victoria. Leon writes, “I've had to be his best hunter just so I could stay here with my daughter and keep her away from the other spawn. I don’t like the way Violet looks at her, not at all!”

So it seems that Cazador let the other spawn family stay with them unless Victoria is an outlier… But while they are ‘siblings’, they still do not get along. Either that or Violet is just a bitch. That being said, Leon also writes, “When I ask the master what he plans to do with Victoria, Cazador just gives me that wicked smile.” He writes that he is working together on a plan to disguise Victoria so she can escape. She’s a human girl running around, and her father even writes her a note to learn the ancient language book that is in the guest room so she can move around freely in the mansion. This means there was a KID running around the palace. A HUMAN KID.

You can also find a list that Victoria made, which seems focused on the number '17' for some reason.

What I’m gathering is, that Cazador is wicked and sick- of course, we knew that. But poor Leon, protecting his daughter? All of this is to say- Victoria is dead in the guest room. She’s covered by necrotic magic.

Astarion claims he has brought people to this guest room before.

Dalyria

In the guest room, we get to find Dalyria’s diary. It claims she was a Doctor, and Physician General to the Parliment of Baldur Gate. She claims she will always be a Doctor, despite what Cazador did to her.

She says that a “massive infusion of fresh, youthful blood may overwhelm the vampirism infection and enable my body to heal” and points out that Victoria is the pureblooded daughter of Leon. This seems to indicate that she thinks that vampirism is a blood-affected thing, and can be cured one way or another.

Leon was apparently a sorcerer before he became spawn, and warned everyone to not bite her since he booby-trapper her blood in case of an attack. So… considering she is letting out necrotic energy, I assume that Dalyria tried to bite her because she assumed Leon was lying.

When you try to Speak with Dead on her, it seems her answers don’t line up too well with the actual journal entries. She says that Dalyria lured her with the promise of food and shelter and she was bit by her, and then Dal was dragged away by Cazador, and Victoria was eventually killed by him.

A question I have is, with a daughter so young, and Leon has been on the favorite spawn list for so many years, did he have this kid when he was a vampire? She looks like she’s only 10 or younger, so he either had to have her at the Palace when she was a baby or he somehow got someone pregnant.

The Ballroom

When you enter the ballroom, the people on the floor are called guests. So I can assume there was some party, and then the werewolves were called to rip everyone up. On the body of a woman named Sanseverina, she’s carrying a note that says. *“Sansy, I've been invited to a party at the Szarr Palace tonight in their ballroom. Show the chamberlain at the door this note and he’ll let you in to join me. Wear your best dress!” - Callira (*Sansy was not indeed, wearing a dress at all.)

Callira can be found in what I assume is the cigar room dead on the floor. She holds a note from Dufay that she is requested by Cazador to play music at the party.

Using "Speak to Dead" on one of the dead party members on the floor, we find out that one of them is named "Sterlac", a Senior Clerk in the Counting House. He was invited to the party, and claims he was enjoying the party, drinking and talking. When you ask him what he was talking about, he says,

"Work… Counting House… Who controls what. Wanted names of senior staff… families… any scandals, secrets…"

He also says that at the party, the guests were politicians, minor nobles, fist officers, 'all sorts'. Cazador wanted information, he apparently asked them all a lot of questions about the power structures in the city, the weaknesses, and the type of people Cazador should look at controlling.

Cazador apparently took the most beautiful people away from the party, and they were never seen again. According to Sterlac, after Cazador left, werewolves came to the party and made the guests their little afternoon snack. From what I can gather, it does seem that Cazador has his foot in the door pretty heavily in politics, if he's using clerks for their information about staff and…. scandals.

I'm assuming this random attack of wolves is in reference to the 'grand feast' Dufay writes about in his party planner diary you'll find in Cazador's office.

What my takeaway is, that people in political power, at least of use to Cazador, know he is a vampire. But it isn't generally common knowledge, even when Tav comments on the vampire-filled manor, and Astarion jokes back that its "subtle, isn't it?"

Dufay also orders the guards on the wall to make sure they're vigilant and that the staff are silent and never speak. This shows that Cazador’s reach goes all the way to the guards. Dufay does note that “If you encounter the mater, stand still and cast down your eyes with dereference. The master likes to be respected.”

Oh. and no whistling, of course.

What is the puzzle under Cazadors Palace?

The puzzle under Cazador Palace can be entered via the cigar room. Me, and so many people have concluded this is simply an unfinished room since I tried to do just about everything to get this to work.

I back my theory up because this is the only location in Cazadors Palace that isn't marked as dangerous and allows the player to long rest and travel by waypoint etc.

Venturing further, we can find a confession from one of Cazador's captives, where they confess their transgressions. This is from someone named Dawson Kiltmaker, who claims they cheated on the city accountants' certification test. Since Dawson suspects he is going to die, he is using the journal to rid himself of sins so he can die with his soul a little lighter. He also claims that Cazador gloats, so it's confirmed that Cazador at least, fucks with the prisoners mentally. There are a lot of dead bodies so it can be assumed sometimes, Cazador just keeps people / kills them instead of turning them.

Cazadors Office Area / Family / Attic

Cazador's office is directly linked to the ballroom named the “Office Hall”

There’s a party planner on the desk that Dufay used to plan Cazador's gatherings. The ballroom functions are divided into two categories - Invited guests and involuntary guests, which are the entertainment for the latter category being considerably more sinister than the former.

So what I can assume is … There are other vampires invited or others invited of different types of morality that use or torture the second category? Thats wild. Cazedor also planned a ‘final feast’ that Dufey had to organize, which involved invited and involuntary guests…

Cazadors desk has Starbrt Shandy, a Carafe of wine, and Cagulated blood. He also seems to keep up with the news since articles are on his desk and a book about Baldur City's history. Cazador's entire office is just… blood and wine. Dude parties non fucking stop. There is also a book on the upper city and the lower city.

The Dais is the elevator down into the dungeon, Astarion had no idea it was there. He said Cazador brought his victims there, so it can be assumed that Astartion at least dragged the person to Cazador's office before they were brought to the second room down the elevator… Imagine how scary that would be.

There's a bust of Shyressa Runemaster as well, a vampire in 1360 DR. It should be noted, there's so many bottles of wine in this fucking estate. Does NOBODY drink water???

Cazador's Niece

In the attic, we actually get entries from Cazador's family from the year 1477. Amanita Szarr, Cazadors ‘niece’ claims she didn’t know that Cazador was a vampire. She claims she had no idea that her family were vampires, so it confirms that the Szarr family at least has some nonvampires and a long line of vampires.

She grew up on the country estate near Anga Vled was raised by servants, and hardly ever visited the city palace in Baldurs Gate. It noted she hated visiting, and that the Palace straddles the wall between the Upper and Lower City. In the year 1477 when she was 13, Cazador personally summoned her, and she was brought by carriage. Dufey greets her and brings her to the ballroom, and It is here that Cazador forcibly turns her into a vampire in the torture room above the ballroom. She was imprisoned in the attic by someone named Bolvart for trying to resist being a vampire, and she eventually succumbed and drank human blood. They kept her in the attic starving for an entire year and eventually sent up a bound captive, which she killed. So Amanita decided to stay up in the attic for the rest of her life calling herself Lady Incognita.

Amanita later wrote a book describing blood diseases claiming that there is something that can infect vampires with a brief illness. It's called “Red Thrombosis and Thandals Paroxsym”. Vampires should be able to recognize this before they even bite people if they are trained. Do you hear that, Astarion lovers? It's time to write Astarion is sick fanfiction. Or.. maybe, Cazador is fucking ill and everyone points and laughs.

So even those who survived the Szarr massacre still get hunted down by Cazador to become vampires it seems. Cazador leaves no stone unturned, but it makes me wonder how many other surviving members there had to have been. Obviously, Cazador has siblings if he has a niece.

Cazadors Corner

Going down into Cazador’s dungeon, there is a list with thousands of names from Baldur City, which can be assumed the sibling's victims.

There is Cazador's journal, which records the movements and actions of his spawn. He seems REALLY interested in Astarions, noting his every order, failure, and punishment.

He says, “Astarion failed to return from his hunt this night. Godey Informed. He will have the pliers ready when the boy shows himself again.”

Cazador starts to say how upset he is that Astarion is missing and that he wants to make Astarion scream. So then, Cazador starts to torture his siblings to find Astarion since he’s been missing for days. He then notes that when Astarion interacts with his siblings in Wyrms Crossing, Astarion is able to stand in the sunlight and bolds that he’s able to disobey Cazador. Dude is fucking upset writing in his diary. This obviously won't appear if you don't ever interact with Pale Petras and Dal.

In another book, Cazador writes about how he’s concerned about Lord Gortash because of his new steel watch, wondering if they’d mess with his vampire spawn and how he operates….

Cazador has a letter he writes to Mrel Alkam, who I suppose leads their own vampire circle in another region called “Athkatla” which is apparently more homogeneous than Baldurs Gate. He tells Alkam to enjoy his success while he has it because he plans to surpass him. He also says that he’s been long content with being a major city’s vampire lord. This signals that Cazador is not the only vampire lord out there, of course, but he’s feeling inferior.

Cazador essentially is writing this hatemail like, You might think you’re so cool and special with your vampires, but just you wait, I'm about to become cooler AND more popular. (For the record, Cazador slept in a twin-sized bed, so he was getting NO bitches.)

Looking into Athkatla further, we can find that this is the "City of Coin" , a location in BG2. There is a whole vampire coven in Athkatla, which players are able to interact with in BG2.

Under Cazadors corner, you can also find a scroll written by Lady Incognita that it was Donnela Szarr, Vellioth's original Vampire master, explaining how she was the one that opened the halls that Cazador uses as his dungeon. Apparently, they were built by mining dwarves who were exiles from Bhaerynden and seemed to be more of an outpost abandoned with time. Donnela questions, what was being mined here? It's questioned by Lady Incognita that it's unusual the halls were never discovered under Baldur's Gate, and they could have been deliberately hidden.

Cazadors previous vampire master, Vellioth

Vellioth - A skull with a scroll clamped in its teeth. This is Cazador's previous master, a cruel man.

His first lesson: “Is to always dominate. Allow none to be your equal.”

“Vellioth recalls when Cazador reached out to a former friend. His punishment was to watch as Vellioth drained his friend dry.”

His second lesson: “Power comes from solitude. To share with others is to be weak, and to be weak is to fail… and die.”

"Vellioth recalls when Cazador rebelled against him. Cazador suffered eleven years of impalement… because he failed."

(For the record, this is fucking horrific. It's such a hard juxtaposition AND parallel between him and Astarion.)

His third lesson: “Act not in haste. A near immortal has time to plan, time to act when others will pay the price of action.”

“Vellioth recalls Cazador, his lesson learned, killing him in the Rite of Perfect Slaughter. How they both laughed! Vellioth recalls Cazador boiling the flesh from his skull and then, to mock him, clamping his Schooling Scroll in Vellioth's jaws.”

(I couldn't find any information about the Rite of Perfect Slaughter)

Vellioth

As for Vellioth, he is known as Vellioth the Martinet. A Martinet is a strict disciplinarian, especially in the armed forces. He ruled from 1204 - 1276(72 years). A lot shorter run than most, but overall rather average considering. Vellioth’s master was Donnela Szarr the Architect, which makes me wonder if Vellioth was actually his family. There are only two Szarr names on the list of vampire lords, including Cazador and Donnela.

Here are the recent 5 stats:

Cazador Szarr - 216 years

Vellioth - 72 years

Donnela Szarr - 66 years

Hideous Gathwycke - 119 years

Failbleur the Fleeting - 0 years

The average amount of years in Cazador's recent 5 history of Vampire Lords is about 94.6 hours, with Cazador holding the highest number. When calculating the numbers for all listed, the average is 80 years, with Cazador taking the gold medal for longest in ruling.

My general opinion on why Cazador is most obsessed with Astarion is not only looks, but because I wonder if he also sees himself in Astarion- Cazador rebelled and pulled against Vellioth, so maybe he punished Astarion as Vellioth punished him for being bad.

Astarion will note that Cazador can’t be original for once and stole his own rules from Vellioth.

I think it's really interesting to see this side of the story, because when you ascend Astarion it feels like he kind of becomes the next Cazador, and this shows that Cazador was also in the same vicious cycle of abuse. Not that anything Cazador did was ever acceptable, but it's an interesting angle.

You do have choices to break this cycle or continue it. If you convince Astarion to not go through with it, he will thank you for believing in him.

On letting Astarion Ascend, he will sadly continue the cycle of abuse it kind of feels, not letting you break up with him at the end of the game. He laughs and calls you stupid, and says,

“You’re mine, remember?”

It's a sad reminder- Cazador is a cruel, vicious, and unredeemable person, but was also once a person, likely with some sort of light in his eyes… only to be shut down by abuse from his master, which makes his character so interesting.

Astarions Victims

From the four older captives that Astarion has brought, there is Sebastian, Wensleydale, Hapdim, and Gondlemead. Only Sebastion can speak. For…. research purposes, they do not react to being attacked.

For the children, it seems Cazador specifically ordered Astarion to capture them. This can only be assumed because they are the children of the Gur. When you kill Cazador, before leaving, you'll be confronted by Ulma, a leader of the Gur tribe. They are upset that Astarion stole their children, but seeked Astarion out when they find out he fled and somehow betrayed Cazador in hopes they could recruit Astartion.

There also does seem to be a back entrance to the dungeon from the sewer. Who knows how often that was used since there is a scene with a girl who was meeting up with a ‘silver-haired’ man who told her there was going to be a party when you reach Act 3.

Why didn't Astarion bite Cazador?

I wish I had a good theory for this, but I really don't. So, the only thing I have that could be something is Astarion mentions:

"In theory, the next step is to drink their blood. Once you've done that, you're free and a true vampire."

But he follows up by saying that it doesn't happen because vampires are the true natural enemies of another vampire. I read something someone said that maybe the vampire has to be willing to let the spawn bite him, but that doesn't make sense since Cazador didn't seem all that willing to be stabbed to death. If the tadpole can protect him from Cazador's grip, it should be able to allow him to bypass that stipulation.

So, at the end of the day, I think we can assume this is some plot hole. Either that or Astarion is thinking about it the next day after he rejected ascension and realizes, 'Wait fuck!' ​

My questions about Cazador…

I would love to know more about his Palace and why it was built/bought in such a weird spot?

How long Cazador has been a vampire?

Do the citizens of Baldur City know Cazador is a vampire lord? Or is it, if you know you know?

How long ago was the Szarr family massacred, and how many really survived? What was his family like?

How did Cazador meet Vellioth?

What is his fucking problem with Astarion?

What is his title? Is he referred to as 'my lord'?

Is he seen as a Patron to his spawn by the public?

What was the most surprising fact you learned?