#i think drew? and i are the olive lovers

[queerpanikkar]

Em! I would love to know your opinion on salty foods (specifically green olives if you have one).

i’m a salt lover (affectionate) it’s actually one of the only things the yahoos disagree about but i think it’s like olive theory in himym bc they just give me their olives

send me controversial opinions!

[ginnsbaker]

fic: if i bleed (you'll be the last to know) (2/?)

Part summary: Leigh goes on a double date with Jules. You reach a tipping point with Leigh's relentless hostility towards you.

Pairing: Leigh Shaw x Fem!Reader | Word count for this part: 5,072 | Warnings/Tags: None for now... smut eventually, enemies to lovers A/N: So... this turned into more than a two-shot. But it will still be a mini-series. It's also kinda slow burn for a mini series (lol). Also, this isn't canon compliant at all. Meaning, I took a lot of liberties and added stuff to Leigh and Matt's relationship, and it doesn't follow the timeline of the show. With that said, enjoy!

Masterlist | Part I | Next Part

-

The vet bills hit Leigh's bank account way harder than she’s willing to admit. 

She knew taking care of pets could get pricey, but she thought that was just for those on their last leg, like Matt's dog, Rogue. Facing those steep costs made her think twice about turning down Drew's offer a while back to bring back her advice column. So, she calls him up as soon as she pays up a quarter of the charges on her credit card for Visitor's medical expenses.

Drew answers on the second ring. “Hey Leigh, what's up?”

Leigh doesn’t beat around the bush. She never has to with her best friend. “Can we meet at the cafe? I need to talk to you about something.”

“Sure. Be there in 20,” Drew replies right away.

The coffee shop they frequent is a small local business that specializes in cold brews. Leigh’s favorite thing about it is not the coffee though, but its interior: mismatched chairs, bookshelves lining the wall, and the temperature that’s always just right. Leigh arrives first, securing their favorite table near the window. Drew walks in a few minutes later, coffee already in hand, and greets her with a warm smile.

“Okay, spill. What's going on?” Drew asks as he takes a seat.

“I've been thinking... about the column. I was wrong to turn it down. I want back in.”

The look of utter surprise on his face tells Leigh this was the last thing he expected. She senses his response won't be a straightforward yes.

“I'd be thrilled to have you back, Leigh, I really would—”

“But?” Leigh cuts in. She doesn’t need to hear a bullshit ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ excuse. She wishes Drew would just be as direct with her as she is with him.

Drew lets out a sigh. Under different circumstances, saying no to Leigh would be as easy as declining an upsell from a McDonald's cashier. However, ever since Leigh became a widow, rejecting her feels significantly harder, even though he's well aware that Leigh values honesty over pity.

“But the thing is, the new writer’s really hitting it off with our audience. She's had a string of articles go viral lately.”

Leigh doesn’t look at all impressed by that. “Yeah, I heard.”

Personally, Drew’s not a fan of the new writer's style, and honestly, he still prefers Leigh. It would just be a hard sell if he brought this up to management. As the saying goes: if it ain't broke, don't fix it.

“Look, I still think you have a unique voice. You know I’d still take advice from you over the new girl.”

Leigh scoffs a little at that, shaking her head. Drew rolls his eyes; it’s typical of Leigh to never know how to take a compliment. He continues, “How would you feel about guest writing? Maybe for the first couple of weeks, we could find a way to incorporate your insights into a series or a special feature.”

It’s not what she hoped for, but she recognizes the olive branch for what it is.

And she’ll take it. 

“I... yeah, I think that could work, Drew. I've got a ton of new ideas, and this... this could be great,” Leigh says. “Uhm, thanks.”

Drew grins. “I thought you'd like that. Let's kick off with a couple of guest pieces, see how it goes.”

Leigh half-heartedly returns his enthusiasm just as her order of cheeseburger and affogato are served.

“Anything new with you?” Drew asks, his voice taking on that tone he reserves for the really good gossip. Knowing Drew's helping her out, Leigh figures a little life update wouldn't hurt as a form of thanks.

That update is about you. And the moment Leigh spills the beans, Drew's face lights up like a Christmas tree. But his excitement fizzles out just as fast when he figures out Leigh's got nothing scandalous to say. All she mentions is how you might've missed the mark by not doing your homework on the guy you were seeing.

“What’s your plan then?”

“Seems like everyone’s asking me that,” Leigh says flatly.

“You took your stray to her place, right? So, there must be some sort of plan. I mean, you could've gone to any other vet if you wanted to avoid her.”

“Yeah, but her clinic's location is so convenient, and I didn't want to shrink my world just for her.”

Drew hums in response. Leigh admits she’s been unusually passive with you. Normally, she'd confront issues head-on, but even almost half a year later, she still hasn’t fully processed Matt’s death, let alone his cheating. She's been trying a new tactic, almost as if by ignoring her problems, she hopes they'll fade away on their own. She seems to be betting on the idea that if she pretends long enough, maybe one day she'll wake up and find those issues have lost their grip on her. 

“I don’t know Leigh, the whole thing’s weird,” Drew says, scrunching up his face a bit.

“It’s not like I’m trying to make a friend or enemy out of her,” Leigh replies with a shrug. “I’m just using her services as a doctor, and she’s getting paid for it. That’s all there is to it.”

“Oh, so that’s why you need your old job back. She’s draining your purse,” he says, smirking as he adds, “Bitch.”

“You don’t have to call her that,” Leigh chides, though the corner of her mouth twitches in amusement. Deep down, she understands the twisted satisfaction in disliking someone without having to justify it.

“The funniest thing that can happen is if you two actually end up being friends,” Drew quips, picking up an accidental curly from Leigh’s plate.

Leigh finds that scenario hard to imagine, almost impossible. She doesn’t think she can be friends with someone Matt liked more than her.

-

Leigh is hunched over her laptop, with sheets of paper and colorful markers spread out on the table, meticulously designing missing dog posters for Visitor.

Jules, leaning against the doorframe with a mug of coffee in hand, watches Leigh for a moment before speaking up. “You know, you should've done that the second you decided to take Visitor in.”

Leigh doesn't look up from her screen. “His leg needed to be taken care of first,” she reasons.

Jules rolls her eyes, pushing off from the doorframe to come closer. “And? How did it go at the clinic?”

Leigh pauses, then lets out an exaggerated sigh. “I already told you about the tests Visitor had to go through. They said he’ll be fine.”

“I mean with the doctor, not the patient,” Jules clarifies with a smirk.

There's a beat of silence before Leigh quips, “No cat fights happened, I promise,” her eyes going back to her laptop.

“Any chance she knocked off a bit of the bill?” Jules asks, moving to sit behind Leigh to take a peek of her work. It looks like an 8th grader’s art project, but she bites back any criticisms.

“Nope.”

“Told you she’s a bitch,” Jules murmurs under her breath.

“It's not like anyone's doing charity work these days, especially not in this economy,” Leigh argues weakly.

“Yeah, right. Like she needs your money, Leigh. Veterinarians are loaded, if you didn’t know.”

“If you say so.”

Jules decides to drop the subject, and Leigh can hear her shuffling and thinking behind her.  

“Hey, there's something I've been wanting to ask you. Don't get mad, okay?”

“Prefacing like that? I'm bracing myself to be utterly scandalized,” Leigh says before smiling and sneaking a glance at Jules.

“Great, you’re cracking jokes again. That’s a good sign,” Jules deadpans but a second later, she’s smiling too. 

“Ask away,” Leigh prods.

Jules takes a deep breath, and then:

“Do you think you’re ready to meet someone new?”

Leigh suddenly stops, her fingers just hanging there above the keyboard, unsure of what to do next. What’s the protocol here? If three months is usually the cooling period after a break-up before one can start dating other people, then what's the deal when it's about a husband who's not only passed away but was also cheating? How does that work?

Before Leigh can come up with an answer, she realizes she's already saying no.

Jules groans. “Come on, it's just a double date. It'll be fun. You and me and—”

“I’m really not in the mood to meet other people, Jules.”

Jules cuts in, laying it on thick. “Leigh, seriously, when was the last time you went out and had a little fun? You're practically turning into a recluse. I won't stand by and watch my sister morph into the neighborhood's infamous dog lady.”

“Dog lady? Really?”

“I'm just saying, it's either try something new or start knitting dog sweaters for fun. Your choice.”

Jules can be a real pest sometimes; it’s an endearing quality except when they seem ready to go for each other's throats.

“You think you’re hilarious, don’t you?” Leigh rests her chin on her hand, seriously considering the invitation for a second. “I don’t know how to meet people, Jules. I stopped meeting people when I met Matt. He was my entire world, you know?”

Jules softens, throwing her arms around Leigh’s shoulders. “I know. And I wouldn't push if I didn't think it could be good for you. Plus, I promise, if it's awful, I'll personally escort you out and we can ditch them for ice cream. How's that?”

Leigh senses that Jules won't give up until she gets a yes, so she decides to concede just this time and get it over with.

“Okay, okay, you win. I'll go on your stupid double date. But if this ends in disaster, you're buying me the biggest tub of ice cream you can find,” Leigh says, shrugging her sister off her.

Jules pumps her fist in victory. “Deal! You won't regret this, Leigh. And who knows? It might actually be fun.”

-

The double date goes surprisingly smoothly, except for the occasional touches coming from her date. To be fair, they are typical for a date and are executed with respect. However, for some reason, Leigh finds herself unusually conscious of every physical contact, making her anxious to move things along and call it a night.

As they step out of the restaurant, Leigh mentally scrambles to remember her date's name. She's bracing for the goodbyes, ready to retreat into the comfort of her room, when Tommy, Jules' girlfriend, suggests they cap the night off at a new bar. It turns out Leigh's date has an investment in the place. He jumps at the suggestion, clearly eager to flaunt this detail, perhaps hoping to impress her.

He does earn a sincere, “That’s cool,” from Leigh, just before she slides into the backseat of his car. Tommy quickly calls dibs on the front seat, leaving the siblings sitting next to each other in the back.

The new bar clearly wants to be the town’s next hotspot, but it seems to be trying too hard. It's got this odd vibe where you're not sure if you should be dancing or just looking around, wondering what it really wants you to do. But Leigh agreed to this, and she won’t embarrass Jules by ditching. 

“Can I get you something to drink?”

She stiffens a bit as he draws near, the heat of Patrick's breath—Jules had reminded her of his name during the car ride—making her uncomfortably aware of how close he is. She shifts, trying to put a polite distance between them without seeming too obvious about it. “Um, just a gin and tonic, please,” she says.

She practically sighs in relief as Patrick heads off to order, her eyes darting around the bar. The 90s R&B background gets her head bopping, but all she’s thinking about is her couch and an episode of Parks and Recreation waiting for her at home. Jules and Tommy are in their own little world, giggling and looking all cozy. Leigh never thought she could feel like a third wheel on a double date.

Patrick is taking his time, and when Leigh cranes her neck to peer over the bar, she catches him striking up a conversation with a blonde. Her eyes narrow into slits as she watches, both of them obviously charmed by the other as Patrick laughs at something she said, enjoying himself in a way he hadn’t all night. 

Leigh feels a prick of irritation. Sure, she hasn’t been giving him the time of his life, but they’re still on a date. Isn’t there some unwritten rule about not flirting with other people when you're supposed to be with someone?

She waits a bit longer, hoping Patrick would remember he was supposed to be getting her a drink and come back. However, he hasn't moved an inch from his spot and is even passing Leigh's drink to the woman as they keep chatting. Leigh’s mind races. She knows she isn’t into Patrick, has been giving him nothing but the bare minimum, yet she can't shake off the feeling of being slighted. It's not like she wanted his undivided attention, but this... this just seems rude.

She catches Jules looking at her, a questioning eyebrow raised. Leigh just shrugs, not sure how to explain the jumble of feelings she's experiencing without sounding petty or jealous. 

When Patrick finally comes back with her drink, the mood has already turned sour for Leigh. She musters a polite smile, accepts the gin and tonic with a thank you, but then heads to the bar on her own without saying anything more. At this point, she's indifferent to what Patrick, Tommy, or Jules might think or say of her; she's finished playing nice for the day. 

Leigh slams her gin and tonic like it's water, the sting barely registering. She signals for another without missing a beat and strangers start sliding over drinks with cheeky grins. She toasts to nothing, to no one, letting the conversations slip away before they can get even one word out.

By drink number six—or was it seven?—everything's spinning, laughter too loud, lights too bright. Leigh’s clinging to the bar for dear life when she thinks she sees you. But as quickly as the figure appears, it's lost again, leaving her questioning her ability to handle her alcohol. Back in her college days, Leigh could hold her liquor like a champ, thanks to endless nights of partying. But now, staring down at her drink, she realizes she might've overestimated her current tolerance. The alcohol hits harder than she remembers, making her head swim more than she'd like to admit. It's been a while since she's gone this hard, and her body isn't shy about reminding her.

The worst part of it though is why, of all the faces her mind could conjure up, it's choosing yours.

Just as she tries to shake off the bizarre vision, your face appears again, this time on the dance floor, writhing in a sea of thick, sweating bodies. You're dancing closely with a man, and it’s—

It’s Matt. 

Leigh blinks rapidly, attempting to dispel the hallucination because it's impossible; Matt is dead—this can't be real. 

But the image of you and Matt refuses to go away. She continues to see the way your grind against him, the way you caress his face as you pull it further into your neck. Anger surges through her, hot and uncontrollable, and before she knows it, her last shot of tequila crashes to the floor. Before the bartender or anyone else can even figure out what's happening, Leigh storms through the crowd, pushing her way to what she believes is you and her husband, and shoves the couple hard. The moment she does it, the fog in her brain finally clears.

She saw wrong. They’re just a random couple, looking as shocked as she feels mortified.

Humiliated and more drunk than she's willing to admit, Leigh doesn't stick around to apologize. Tears start to well up as she pushes through the crowd, dodging empty faces while Jules' calls fade into the background. She shoves through the last of the mob, bursts through the doors into the night, and freedom feels just a breath away. But that breath catches, twists into a violent churn in her gut, and she can barely stagger a few desperate steps away from the entrance before her knees are on the cold pavement, and she’s spilling out onto the ground in front of her. A few groans of disgusts from the people around her doesn’t register as she succumbs to the consequences of her indulgence. Shortly after, she remembers why she’s cut back on alcohol, apart from the fact that Matt abhors it, turns him off more than anything.

“Leigh?”

The voice is familiar, even if she’s heard it only a few times. Her head's spinning as she looks up, the chilly air slapping her face after the stuffiness of the club. She blinks, trying to clear the blur of tears and the aftereffects of one too many drinks, squinting at the figure stepping out from under the streetlights.

Your face, more clearly now under the lamp post is kind of sobering her up a bit.

So, were you actually there in the club, or is Leigh so haunted by thoughts of you and Matt—thoughts she's tried so hard to ignore and bury—that she managed to conjure you as a way to finally confront her true feelings about the entire situation? It’s always the battles with herself she never wins.

“Hey, you alright?” you ask, lowering yourself to get a better look at her but keeping back a bit—just enough space for her to catch her breath or in case she needs to throw up again.

Leigh doesn't respond, doesn't even seem to see you're there. You rummage through your crossbody bag, pulling out some wet wipes and offering them to her. She still doesn't look up, but grabs what you’re offering with a little force. 

She proceeds to wipe her mouth and then her entire face as you continue talking, words tumbling out in a nervous stream.

“I saw you back there, in the club. I wasn't sure if I should come up to you, you know, with everything that's happened... with me being... well, the person I am in all of this,” you explain softly. “And then I saw what happened, how upset you got. Sorry I followed you here, I…I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

Leigh abruptly gets to her feet, and you instinctively step back, giving her more room than probably needed.

“Why?” Leigh fires at you, her tone so icy it almost makes you regret coming after her. You're taken aback, eyebrows scrunching up in confusion. 

Why what?

“Why do you even care?” she clarifies, eyeing you as if you're the densest person on the planet.

You grasp for something, anything that sounds like you're not just here out of guilt. “Anyone who knows you would be worried,” you say before you can think twice about what it could mean.

Leigh's laugh is sharp, cutting. “You don't know me,” she throws back.

“Yeah, I don’t,” you mumble to yourself. You wish you did, so you could fix this.

Leigh’s anger doesn’t let up. “You know what I think? You're playing the good Samaritan to scrub off your guilt. But not knowing Matt was married? That's on you. I bet you never asked too many questions because you wanted him to be Mr. Perfect—single, ready to mingle, the dream guy.”

Opening your mouth to argue, you find yourself at a loss. Leigh’s not entirely wrong. With Matt, you were in a bubble, caught up in the thrill of meeting someone who seemed so right, so honest. You clung to his every word, wanting to believe in this image of him you'd built up. 

The truth is, you never wanted to meet Leigh Shaw; you wanted to believe Matt's only fault was how he ended things with you, by disappearing.

But before you can admit to all of that, Leigh is already storming off. You think about chasing after her, but she spins around so fast at your footsteps, shooting you a threatening look and a low, “Stop following me,” that nails you to the ground. 

You keep staring at the spot she disappeared from, long after she's gone, wondering why Matt felt the need to find love elsewhere.

-

Leigh goes home, but not to an empty house. The second she opens the door, Visitor bounds into her arms, full of wiggles and wet nose kisses. Her mom's off somewhere, doing who knows what—Leigh's stopped trying to figure out where or why. Meanwhile, her phone buzzes with a string of voicemails from Jules, but Leigh's not in the mood to dive into those just yet. She decides they can wait till morning, along with the other missed calls and unread messages from strangers, asking for more information on Visitor.

For now, she peels off her socks and pants, leaving them scattered carelessly up the stairs before passing out on her bed.

-

Visitor’s follow-up check-up rolls around way too quickly for comfort. The moment Leigh steps through the clinic door with the dog in tow, you can practically cut the tension with a knife. Leigh's trying to keep it together, but her attempts at civility are imbued with a coldness that can’t be ignored.

With only a small ‘good morning’ from you and a nod from Leigh, you start the consultation, knowing you’d be doing her a favor if you just get right to it.

“How's Visitor been eating?” you ask as you work your stethoscope. 

“He eats fine,” Leigh drawls.

You nod, jotting down a note before moving on, “And his activity levels? Any changes there?”

Leigh’s response comes laced with sarcasm. 

“Oh, he's just peachy. Running marathons every morning.”

You clear your throat, trying to rein in your mounting annoyance at her childish behavior. “I'm just trying to get a complete picture,” you say.

But Leigh's not having any of it. Her comments grow sharper, her patience thinning, and it's clear she's more interested in taking jabs at you than discussing her dog's health.

Her last sarcastic remark has you drawing the line. “Leigh, you can be upset with me all you want outside of this clinic, but I won't tolerate disrespect while I'm trying to do my job,” you say evenly. “You're welcome to find another vet if you can't keep this professional. I have every right to refuse service if this continues. It's not what I want, but I'm not about to let you treat me any less professionally.”

Leigh goes quiet, yet she keeps her eyes locked on yours, decidedly not backing down. Then, after a tense moment, she mutters a single word, “Sorry.” It's not much, but it's something, and you decide to take it and move on.

“You mentioned something about a blood sample?” Leigh says, steering the conversation back to the reason she came in, and you're all for following her lead on this.

“Yeah, we need to check if his platelets are up and his infections are down, see if the meds are doing their job,” you explain. Then, veering a bit from standard procedure, you add, “Since this is a follow-up visit, I'm going to cut the lab test price in half for you.”

The discount evidently lifts her mood. It's not a perfect truce, but it's enough to get through the examination without any more barbs.

A while later, you're back with Visitor's CBC results in hand. “The infection's gone down, but it's still borderline,” you report, showing her the numbers. “We'll need to keep him on the medication for another week. And I'm adding some multivitamins and a specific diet to his regimen.” 

You scribble down the details, then note at the bottom of the pad about the discount—not just for the lab test, but for the prescriptions too.

Leigh takes the paper, scanning the details before her eyes finally meet yours. “Thank you,” she says, her voice softer than it's been.

“You’re welcome,” you reply with a smile before going back to your notebook, looking deep in thought. 

Leigh feels like you're back to your usual, friendly self. Yet she thinks she prefers the more raw, unfiltered version of you. The version that called her out earlier. These days, she's starving for that kind of honesty. Because having her as your client can’t be all that pleasurable. She's aware of how challenging she's been, and the straightforwardness somehow makes her feel more understood, more seen.

She wishes people would stop seeing her as Leigh: the one with the dead husband.

Then, out of nowhere, she asks, “When did you start working here?”

It's a seemingly insignificant question, yet coming from Leigh, it prompts you to close your notebook and focus entirely on her.

“I—”

“Because a year ago, I remember meeting a different doctor,” Leigh adds, absentmindedly running her fingers through Visitor’s coarse hair as he sleeps on her lap.

“You’ve been here before?”

It’s a painful memory—one that still sometimes brings tears to her eyes whenever it crosses her mind. Back then, the clinic bore a different name, and she and Matt had come together to say goodbye to Rogue.

“I have when it was still called Palm Coast,” she says.

You nod, understanding the context now. “Yeah, that was before my time. I bought this clinic on a whim after spending a few years practicing in Dubai.”

While most would latch onto the tidbit about your intriguing career history, Leigh zeros in on something else entirely, asking directly, “When did Matt start coming here?”

You shift uncomfortably at her question, and Leigh immediately regrets pushing too hard. She’s about to backtrack when you halt her apologies. “It’s okay. I’m open to talking about it, just not here,” you suggest. “How about over coffee?”

Leigh hesitates, then says, “Okay, let me just text my boss that I won't be able to lead the yoga class this morning.”

“It doesn’t have to be now. Tomorrow works,” you say.

Realizing her assumption, Leigh’s cheeks color slightly. “What time?”

Now it's your turn to feel a bit awkward. “Would 7 work? It's the only time I have before the clinic opens.”

“In the morning?” Leigh says again, making sure she heard you right.

You nod sheepishly in reply. 

“Or we could maybe—”

“No, it's okay,” Leigh interrupts quickly. She's usually up before sunrise anyway; the only change would be trimming her morning run a bit. And for a one-time chat to get the answers she's after, she figures she can make such a small sacrifice.

–

“Are you sure you want to return Visitor to his real family?”

True to form, it's Jules who breaks the two-day-long sibling spat. It's usually her who tries to smooth things over with an apology, even on days when Leigh isn't exactly the easiest person to deal with. Her therapist keeps telling her not to always be the one to buckle, especially when she's the one who's been hurt, that Leigh should be the one to step up and make things right for a change. 

But here she is, reaching out first, just like always—because waiting for Leigh to make the first move feels like waiting for snow in July.

“Oh, so you’re talking to me again?” Leigh says as if she's gearing up for another round of conflict rather than welcoming peace.

Jules ignores her and continues, “Have you actually tried to find Visitor's owners, or have you just kinda... kept him because it feels good to have him around?”

“So what if it feels good to have a dog who loves you and is loyal to you?”

Jules shakes her head in a condescending manner, which only serves to irritate Leigh further. As soon as her popcorn is done, she heads out of the kitchen, flops onto the couch, flips on the TV, and kicks her feet up on the coffee table. Jules follows her, opting to stand next to the TV, poised to yank the plug out if necessary.

“Leigh, you do understand that taking care of a dog isn't something to take lightly, right?” Jules starts, but she breaks off when the dog in question trots over, tail wagging, trying to coax Jules into picking him up.

Leigh acts like she hasn't heard a word, her eyes glued to the TV screen.

“I thought you'd learned something from what happened with Rogue—”

That hits a nerve. Leigh's quick to fire back, “Oh, and jumping into a serious relationship is super responsible, right? Especially when staying sober is part of the deal.”

Right after the words leave her mouth, Leigh regrets them deeply. She's painfully aware of Jules' long battle with alcoholism, a struggle that began in college and required more than a couple of tries before Jules could claim any sort of victory over her addiction. Leigh knows it's still a sore subject for Jules, still fighting her demons, making her comment unfairly harsh.

Though the retaliation didn’t come out of nowhere. Leigh caught Jules at the club, discreetly sipping a drink she swore off, and chose to keep quiet then to avoid causing a scene in front of Tommy. She had plans to bring it up later, but then her own slip-up with drinking, bailing on her date, and the fallout with Jules spiraled into one of their nastiest rows in a long while.

“Jules, I’m sorr—”

“Just save it, Leigh.”

Jules heads for the door, her hand clenched tight, barely hanging onto her emotions. Leigh feels the situation slipping further downhill, and she can't just stand back and watch things crumble even more. She's about to chase after Jules when the doorbell rings, stopping both of them cold.

But Jules doesn’t even bother with the door; instead, she veers off, storming upstairs with that telltale slam of her bedroom door echoing down. Leigh sighs, stuck in the aftermath, while Visitor starts barking at the door. Dragging her feet, Leigh heads over to open it, half-expecting another problem but hoping for a distraction.

Leigh definitely wasn't expecting Danny, and seeing him there, she gets the sinking feeling that this storm swirling around her isn’t going to blow over just yet.

[adeathlessgod]

Talking’s Overrated

featuring : Eren Yeager x fem!reader

content : MDNI, smut, Eren is whipped, he’s also a little shit, mean dom!eren if you squint, car sex, fingering, mutual masturbation, squirting, multiple orgasms, anal play, creampie, hair pulling, full nelson, friends with benefits to lovers sorta, reader is sort of a brat idk, Eren loves hair pulling, ddlg vibes if you use a magnifying glass, a little dumbification, reader has her ears pierced, Eren spits in reader’s mouth, slight degradation, DEFTONES MENTION!!!

word count : 5.7k

synopsis : After Eren ends your little fling, he asks to talk it out with you one late night. You find out he believes talking is overrated.

notes : Hi guys!!! I’m Angel, and this is my first ever fic and it took me weeks to work on, so notes, reblogs and constructive criticism are all welcomed! Hope you enjoy my loves<3

- Come outside

Your stomach flips as you read the notification on your screen, hesitantly swiping it away. It’s late on a Thursday night, it’s quiet. Your room is shrouded in darkness, only illuminated by the blaring brightness of your phone screen. You continue to scroll through Instagram, giggling at Hitch’s close friends, when another message comes through.

- Let’s talk

Talking. You chew your cheek. When was the last time you two had spoken?

“Friend, huh? Is that what I am to you?” His hands caged your head against the bathroom wall. He leaned closer, dropping his head to meet your gaze, his breath minty and warm. “Is fucking each other what friends do?”

“It was a-“

“A mistake? Is that what you think of us?” Eren was dangerously close to you now, his lips ghosting across yours.

“I never said it was a mistake,” You chewed your lip nervously as you drew in a shaky breath, “Just a one time thing.”

“There’s no fucking difference, you either want this or you don’t. You know how I feel about this,” his breath fanned over your face, your eyes flutter closed, “About you,” he pauses.

“Don’t deny me, please, let me know I’m not alone in this,” he was almost pleading now, his voice soft and strangled.

You let your head fall back, gently knocking against the wall. “Eren, I-“, you looked at him, how the sharp contours of his jaw had been softened into slopes by the low, luminescent lighting. Your eyes trailed over him slowly, like he was a wonder of the world.

Striking, green eyes, framed by long, dark lashes. A pointed Roman nose, above his plump, rosy lips and the set of shiny white teeth behind them. His smooth, olive skin, akin to sculpted sandstone. He was everything you could have asked for, everything you needed, and that was entirely too much to ask of him.

You shook your head at him, dropping his gaze ashamedly. The air in the room staled.

Eren scoffed, and his hands fell from their place on the wall. “Fine, you want to fuck Jean, go for it,” he runs a hand down his face frustratedly, “thanks for letting me know where I stand, and that this meant absolutely nothing to you.”

“Eren, that’s not-“

“Shut the fuck up, okay? You don’t get to have a say in this, you don’t get to fuck with my feelings and then tell me it’s okay. You don’t get to-“, he blows out a short breath, recollecting his thoughts. He starts again, slower, calmer, quieter, “You don’t get to break my heart and tell me that’s not what you meant, okay?”

He waits for a response, and you wait for him to shout again. You have a moment of silence, despite the muffled Deftones bleeding through the walls. Eren turns to leave, but his hand hesitates over the doorknob. Opening his mouth to speak, he casts you one more angry - no, pained - glance, and swallows.

“Do you regret this?”

You don’t respond.

The door slams behind Eren. You don’t follow him.

The door slams behind you as you step into the midnight chill, dressed in only a hoodie and shorts. The night air bites at your legs and you flex your hands at your sides routinely. The world outside is serene and caliginous - illuminated only by the spindly street lamps stationed on the sidewalk like nutcracker soldiers. Your heart sputters at the sight of Eren’s car, parked crookedly in your driveway - you can’t even see through his tinted windows. The low hum of his engine rattles his car gently, like a small, mobile refrigerator.

When you get to the passenger side, you swing the door open, slide into the plush leather seat, and close the door, all without sparing Eren a second glance. He is sitting in the driver’s seat, legs spread wide apart, in a black hoodie and grey sweats. He shifts his hips upwards as he readjusts his sitting position, his eyes never leaving your shivering figure.

He rakes over your oversized hoodie, your bare legs, your pretty, pretty face. He lingers on your face for a second too long, then he grins when he sees you press your thighs together.

“You cold?”

“Yeah, a little,” Eren hums in response as he drums his fingers against the steering wheel. His rings glint in the muted glare of the moonlight.

“Want me to turn on the heating?”

“Yeah, if you don’t mind.” You watch as he cranks the dial up to max, and the warm air almost instantaneously rushes out of the AC vents. You slump back into your seat, revelling in the warmth. A thin film of condensation falls onto the windows, mottling the midnight scenery outside - your very own Starry Night.

“So,” Eren begins cooly, “how have you been?”

His voice was oddly impartial and you knew better than to trust Eren’s nonchalance. You look at him side-long, attempting to uncover any unkind inflections. You’re met with a lazy smile and a glint in his eyes that stokes the warmth between your legs, warmer than any heater can make you.

“I’ve been good.” A small, charged beat passes. “You?”

“I’ve been good too,” he hums. He licks his lips cockily when he asks, “Have you missed me?”

You’re a delicate instrument, and Eren wants to know if he can still remember how to play you, how to tune you to his liking.

You surrender to his disarming smile.

You breathe in. “Yeah, I did.”

Eren huffs out a quiet laugh and lets his head fall against the window. “I’ve missed you too.”

You breathe out. “Really?”

He grins. “Of course, I have.” He slowly leans across the console, “What,” he murmurs softly, “You don’t believe me?”

You squirm in your seat, flustered by his unwavering gaze. His eyes are low, and swimming with mirth. He cradles your face in his hand and your eyes flutter shut when he drags his nose along your jaw.

Your breaths are shallower now. You’re supposed to be talking, talking about you, talking about your relationship, talking about anything but how much you yearned for each other the past weeks.

You tilt your head sideways, facing him, and tentatively press your forehead to his. He’s rendered you breathless within minutes. You are drowning in him - his sight, his scent, his touch - you can’t talk, let alone breathe, not when he’s taking up all the space in the car.

All notions of reconciliation are abandoned when he presses a fleeting kiss to the shell of your ear, and then whispers, “Do I have to prove it?”

You draw in a shuddering breath.

“Please.”

His lips press into yours, hot and wet, as you lace your hands into his hair. He tastes of peppermint and marijuana. His hand trails from your cheek to your throat, squeezing gently, coaxing a small moan from you. Skimming his thumb over your pulse, his tongue slips into your mouth and you suck on it gently. Your hands tug at the hair interlocked between your fingers, and Eren releases a loud groan into your mouth.

“C’mere,” he mumbles against you. His hands slip under your thighs, and he gently manoeuvres you over the center console and into his lap. You shudder when you feel him beneath you, large and thick and impossibly hard. You roll your hips against the tent in his pants experimentally, and it pulls a moan from both of you.

He pulls away - his lips slick and swollen, still connected to yours by limp strings of saliva - to rasp, “Fuck, I’ve missed you so much, you know that?”

There is nothing other than reverence in his eyes as he surveys you. Your chest is already heaving, you’re flushed from your neck to your ears, and your lips are a dark, kiss-bitten red. An angel. My angel, Eren thinks. You hum in response and dip your head to capture his lips again. His cock is already dribbling precum, staining his sweats a dark grey. You run your tongue along his bottom lip, before sinking your teeth into it. His dick twitches.

Eren pulls away, again, to mutter huskily, “You’re so mean, baby, what am I gonna do with you?” before sliding his lips along your jaw. His lips leave a blazing trail behind them, and his hands are just as hot.

His fingers slip under the hem of your hoodie, pressing small circles into your skin that make you writhe in his lap. His lips stretch into a smirk as he descends down the column of your throat, pausing every now and again to suck bruises into your skin. His hands tug at your hoodie, with a muttered, “Off.”

You scramble to take off your oversized sweater in the confines of Eren’s car, and in your flurry of movements, you elbow the horn behind you. You jolt at the sudden squawk, but Eren’s grip on your waist keeps you grounded. He chuckles lightheartedly.

“Easy, we don’t want your neighbours knowing we’re out here, right?” he teases you. Pouting, you discard your hoodie into the passenger seat and watch Eren’s jaw go slack at the sight of your bare chest.

“No bra?” Eren immediately takes your left nipple into his hot, wet mouth and your back arches, “You’re so good to me, baby.”

You keen as he rolls the other nipple in his fingers, content with how they pebbled due to the chill of the night. He releases your nipple from his mouth with a wet pop and places sloppy, open-mouthed kisses in the valley between your breasts. His large, calloused hands fondle your breasts languidly, his cock twitching in his briefs. Moaning softly, you roll your hips against him, desperate for friction, and whimper out a needy, “Eren, please.”

He lazily grins up at you. He is so insufferable - “What do you need, baby?”

You attempt to roll your hips again, but Eren’s hands keep you stationary, “I need you.”

“Yeah? You want me to take these off for you?” He tugs at your skimpy shorts, and he chuckles when you nod enthusiastically, “Hips up, baby.” He hooks his fingers under the waistband of your thong, and he sweeps off your underwear and shorts, so you’re sitting bare in his lap. He wolf-whistles at the sight of you, pressing a few kisses to your collarbone.

Your tits, full, warm and round, your waist, melded to Eren’s touch, your thighs, plush and soft, either side of Eren’s lap, your pussy, glistening in the light, dripping onto his sweats - you’re so undeniably sexy, even more so in the moonlight painting you silver.

He runs his hands up and down your waist, enjoying the way you squirm under his touch. His lips are still swollen from your kisses, and his eyes are glazed with adoration. If you squint, you can see the hearts dancing in his eyes. Your heart flutters. You’re Eren’s, his to hold, his to fuck, his to love. He doesn’t deserve you - he knows that much - but he is willing to ruin your friendship if it meant being able to see you like this again. His eyes widen when he sees you palm your breasts, spilling out of the gaps between your fingers. His tongue darts out to wet his lips and warmth courses between your legs.

“Stop it.”

Eren is snapped out of his reverie by your voice. He clears his throat briefly. “Stop what?”

You wiggle on his lap, juggling your tits, smiling coyly, “Staring.”

He grins at you, brazen, “Never.”

His breath fans against your chest, hot, and his tongue slides across your sternum, hotter. He pulls you in for another kiss, a slower, softer one this time, and lets his hands roam around you freely. One hand rests on the small of your back, the other sliding down the plane of your stomach to where you need him most.

Your hips buck to meet him halfway. “Please, Eren-“

His fingers finally come into contact with your core, and you let out a strained whimper at his fleeting touch. He ghosts over your clit, chuckling at your displeasure. Just as you are about to whine again, he starts applying pressure to your swollen nub - just enough to make your head spin - as he clicks his tongue.

“Patience, baby. No more whining, you know I’ll give it to you good.“ He dips a finger between your folds, running it along your slit, before plunging it into you.

You gasp quietly as he begins thrusting it in and out of you. His fingers are long and thick, adorned with thick silver rings, nestled against that gummy spot that makes your knees weak. The stretch is delicious, something your fingers could never achieve. You can hear the squelch squelch squelch echo around the car before he even adds another finger. You’re mildly aware that you’re dripping down his wrist, but your mind is too foggy with pleasure to feel an inkling of shame. You’ve never been this wet for anyone before, and your heart hammers wildly in your chest.

“You hear that baby?” Eren teases you, “You’re so wet for me, aren’t you?” You whimper and bury your head into the crook of his neck. He slides in another finger, stretching you open, open, open. His rings graze your clit and you hum eagerly. You resort to bouncing on his hand, your gut beginning to tighten. Eren’s fingers still as he watches you. His voice is lowered to a husky drawl - “Go on, I want to see your cum on my fingers. Use me, baby.”

You begin to rock your hips faster, encouraged by his coos, the flames in your gut beginning to spread. Your gyrations become erratic and uneven. You pant into his ear wantonly, your breasts bouncing with your every move.

Gritting his teeth, Eren throws his head back. Moan by moan, you’re sending him closer to the edge. The hold you have on him is debilitating, and he’ll finish soon - untouched - if you don’t stop whining into his ear like a bitch in heat.

“Look at me,” Eren commands suddenly, tugging your hair. “I want to see you cum for me.”

Placing your hands on his shoulders, holding his gaze, you grind your clit against the heel of his palm. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as your legs lock around his waist at this newfound degree of pleasure. Moans are tumbling out of you unrestrained now, your voice high, whiny and loud. You are on the brink of orgasm, painstakingly close, and as Eren tugs your hair again, you lose it.

Your vision blurs and your legs shake as the world stutters on its axis. You spasm and clench around Eren’s hand, dripping onto the seat below you. Pleasure washes over you in waves, each one less intense than the last. You fall into Eren’s chest, breathing heavily as you come down from your high.

Eren looks at the mess you’ve made, chews his lip - letting out a low fuuuuck - before asking if, “You’re okay?”

You hum in response, barely registering Eren’s question. He flips you swiftly, and your back is now flush with his chest. His hoodie is warm and scratchy against your skin. Eren tugs your hair again, lighter this time, and you look at up him, eyes wide and glazed over.

Eren sucks in a breath as he stares at you, basking in your post-orgasm glow. Your skin shimmers in the dim light filtered through his windscreen, casting your face half in shadow. Your eyes are low and your chest heaves with your sharp and fast inhales. He brings his hand up to your cheek, swiping his thumb under your eye, the other cupping your sex.

“I could cum just looking at you,” he murmurs.

You lean into his embrace, whispering, “I can cum just thinking about you.”

A hoarse groan spills from his throat, and a hard slap is landed to your clit. Your whole body lurches as you mewl loudly.

“Is that right?” he chuckled breathlessly, “Do you think about me when you touch this dirty little pussy of yours at night?” You nod avidly, and he rewards you with a few harsh circles to your clit.

“Show me,” he said, leaning forward to watch his fingers play with your pussy, “Show me how hard you cum when you think about me.” He hoists you up so he can shove his sweats halfway down his thighs - no underwear? God, he’s such a slut - and your mouth waters at the sight of his cock, bobbing between your legs.

It was long, and girthy, the head flushed to an angry red. Precum dribbled steadily from the tip, trickling down his shaft in translucent streams. A bulging vein runs down the underside of his cock, straight to where his balls sit, heavy and warm. Gripping his cock at the base, he smacks the bulbous head again your clit twice. Your legs spasm either side of him and he smirks before spitting, a fat glob of saliva landing onto your puffy clit.

He taps your clit again, gentler, encouraging, as he urges you, “Touch yourself, baby. I won’t ask again.” The shift in his tone is evident as his eyes darken, forest green now a deep viridian. You bite your bottoms lip as you slide a hand down your body, the other idly kneading your left breast.

Your fingers draw lazy circles around your entrance before dipping a finger between your folds. You sigh breathily, allowing your head to fall against his shoulder, and Eren begins pumping himself slowly. You slip a finger into yourself, before bringing it back up to your lips. Eren watches keenly as you suck your essence off your fingers, then dip them back between your legs. You purr as you thrust two fingers into yourself, massaging that gummy spot that makes you dizzy. You begin to go faster, synchronous to the pumps of Eren’s hands.

His grunts are low and heavy in your ears, goading you to, “Go faster, I want to see you cum all over your fingers like the slut you are.”

You throw your head back in ecstasy, your fingers now hammering into your little hole, coaxing little spurts of arousal out of you with every pump. Eren uses your cum as a lubricant, slicking his shaft as he fists his cock aggressively. His dick nearly glitters in the moonlight, lathered in a milky sheen of your arousal. He snakes his vacant hand up your body, briefly squeezing your throat, your pulse hammering beneath his fingertips.

Your mouth opens in a silent scream, and he takes the opportunity to shove his fingers into your mouth. He watches saliva pool in your mouth, before spitting in it. You hum delightedly, your face so vacant with pleasure it makes Eren curse. As Eren pulls his fingers out of your mouth, spit dribbles down your chin and into the concaves of your collarbone.

“Such a messy girl, aren’t you?” he coos. You blink slowly, and then nod blankly. “Bet you don’t even know what I said, huh? So cockdrunk already,” he tuts at you lovingly as he brings his free hand to your second entrance.

When he circles your puckered hole, you gasp quietly. He shushes you tenderly, and he feels you give way beneath his finger tips.

“Good girl, gonna let me have all of you, right?” you agree mindlessly, dazed in the pursuit of your orgasm. He chuckles at you, how dumb you are for him, before slipping a finger into you, knuckle deep. Your body contorts and you let out a sharp cry. Eren grips the base of his cock to prevent the orgasm threatening to crest at the sound of your cries.

Even with one finger down there, you feel so full, and your eyes roll to the back of your head. You slam your free hand on the steamy window, plastering a hand-shaped spyhole onto it. Your fingers speed up and you begin to pant when you sense your core begin to twist.

“Eren- I’m so close, fuck,” Eren slides a second finger into your ass and you let out a loud, debauched, filthy moan. You lick your lips longingly, watching beads of precum drip over Eren’s hands as he smears it over his shaft.

“You’re so fucking hot,” Eren grunts against your neck, “Gonna make me cum.”

Knowing Eren was here, with you, being driven to the edge by your wanton cries and unabashed pleasure, sends you toppling headfirst into your second orgasm of the night.

Your back arches wildly and you wail out Eren’s name as you shake and convulse. You twitch violently around Eren’s fingers, simultaneously gushing onto yours. Your wrist is dripping with your arousal, as is Eren’s entire cock. As you thrash on his lap, he slowly retracts his fingers from your ass.

He slides his lips along your jaw, his tongue darting out to taste the sweat beaded along your face, before tilting your head with a large hand and kissing you. You suck on his bottom lip before sinking your teeth into it softly, just how he likes it.

With a throaty moan, Eren follows you and hot, thick ropes of cum shoot out from his cock. They drape over your thighs, the steering wheel and your stomach like silvery garlands of pearls. He lets out a small grunt as the last spurts fall limply onto his hand.

You whine breathily as he rubs his cock through your folds. He gently rolls his hips upwards, and his balls hit your round ass with a small plap. He pulls away from your heated kiss, and you chase his lips desperately - you’re pathetic.

The head of his massive cock aligns with your belly button and Eren, gripping his shaft by the base, taps his tip against your navel, admiring the thin strings of precum that linger.

His voice drips with sadistic enthusiasm when he drawls, “I’m gonna be in your stomach, baby. Can you take it?”

“Eren, please, I need you.” You roll your hips against the hard length of his member.

He chuckles at your wanton desperation. “You want it, baby?” You nod fervently. “How bad?”

“So, so, so bad, please fuck me, Eren.” Your head lolls back onto his shoulder, and your eyes lock onto his with blind adoration. He presses a quick kiss to your hairline, and then your forehead.

“Since you asked so nicely.” He presses his cock against your entrance, slowly, slowly, slowly pushing past that tight ring of muscle. You sigh dreamily as Eren nibbles on your earlobe, occasionally tugging at your piercings.

He pauses briefly when he bottoms out. You squirm in his arms before he scolds you, slapping your inner thigh harshly. The eerie silence of the world around you fades into your ears ringing when he slowly - agonisingly - begins thrusting. His cock drags along your walls perfectly with every precise roll of his hips. His groans echo around the car. The joint sounds of your ecstasy nearly drown out the lewd squelches between your legs.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head when Eren hammers your g-spot. You squeeze your eyes shut as you feel your release begin to crest. Eren’s breath is hot against your neck and his muttered praises cloud your brain.

One of your hands travels up to entangle itself in Eren’s hair. He turns and plants a wet kiss on your palm. His thrusts become more rapid and shallow as you clench around him. You feel the car rock in time with his thrusts and you sigh happily.

You want your neighbours to know you’re getting fucked senseless. You want the world to know how good you’re getting it right now. Though now, your world has you spread on his lap like a fuckdoll and is pounding you like an animal.

You hiccup as Eren sinks his teeth into your palm. “You okay, pretty girl? Been quiet for a while.” When you nod, he presses his wet lips to your cheek, plastering his smile on you. He slides a hand down to your clit and begins rubbing it in small, quick circles. “No worries, I’ll have you screamin’ my name in no time. Gonna turn you into my little rag-doll.”

Your back arches as his thrusts also pick up speed. Every thrust has your legs trembling and voice cracking.

“Eren- fuck, it’s so good,” you babble in your gut-wrenching pleasure.

“Yeah?” His smirk is hot against your neck. He whispers, “How good?”

Your eyes roll to the back of your head as he thrusts impossibly faster. Your hands dig into his biceps and when you feel blood bead at the skin, he hisses in pleasure.

“So good, no one does it like you, Eren.”

He throws his head back with a hearty groan. God, you don’t know what you do to him. Every time he thinks you’ve lured him in deep enough, he finds himself diving into you again, until he’s drowning in your wet, warm depths.

Your eyes meet his again. Your lashes flutter and Eren presses a kiss to your sweaty forehead after brushing away the hair plastered to it.

“Oh, yeah? It’s that good?” You nod lazily, your body jolting with the force of his thrusts. He takes one of your tits in his palm and squeezes hard. He lowers his mouth to yours, and you wet your lips in anticipation. “You gotta cum all over me then.”

You do. Ecstasy dances down your spine as you cry out his name. You squeeze your eyes shut as your clamp down on Eren’s cock. White flashes behind your eyelids like fireworks. You moan his name again and again and again and he tells you he knows, he knows, he knows. Your arousal drips down his shaft, leaving a glistening trail past his balls and onto the padded leather beneath you both.

“Good girl,” he coos. He brings the fingers circling your clit up to your lips, and you dart your tongue out to taste yourself.

His pace never relents, not even when you’re sobbing wildly. The aftershocks of your previous orgasm fade, and you’re already teetering on the edge of another. You wring your hands in the sweat-sodden material of his hoodie. You sob, “I’m gonna cum again.”

“Already?” he tuts and laughs, his voice husky and low. He hums in approval before pinching your nipple tightly. The pain elicits a sweet, little cry from you. His voice is strangled when he asks, “Tell me what you need.”

“More, I need more, I need it harder,” you whine into his neck. You nuzzle into his collarbone, deeply inhaling his warm, vanilla cologne.

“You want harder? I’ll give you harder, you little slut,” he grunts as he hooks his arms under your knees, pinning them to your chest. The change in position angles his cock so deep into you, you can feel him in your throat. When you feel the head of his cock ram into your cervix, you shriek - half pain, half pleasure - and Eren swallows your cries with a wet and sloppy kiss, much like the mess between your legs.

Incoherent moans tumble from your mouth, your eyes find sanctuary in the back of your head and your wetness floods the seat below you. The sharp pain makes you gasp, makes your toes curl. The pads of Eren’s fingers are warm against your knees and his breath is searing against your neck. He continues to split you open on his cock, intent on ruining you on his lap.

He lifts his head to observe you, to admire your undoing. Your skin is sweaty and flushed, your lashes beaded with tears, your lips swollen and bitten. You’re a sight for sore eyes, a glimpse of heaven in his arms. Your eyes snap to his and you whimper in shame, mustering up the scraps of dignity you had remaining, shying away from the ferocity in his eyes.

Eren chuckles dryly at you. He calls your name. Once. Twice. You shake your head and bury it into your chest.

“Oh, no, no, no.” His hands come to rest on the back of your head, arms still hooked under your knees, and he roughly yanks your head back to look at him.

You gasp, “Eren-“

“Look at me.” Your eyes lock onto his. “Look at this.” He tilts your head down, maintaining his ruthless pace, “Look at you, baby, getting so wet for me.”

You laugh and sob, surveying the mess you’ve created. Your arousal is spread between your thighs - thick, slimy strings connecting your thighs to Eren’s. Your lips are stretched around his width, suctioning him into you with a lewd squelch. It’s so wet and sloppy and messy and it’s so, so perfect.

“Feels so- so, so good, baby, fuck,” you babble this out to Eren and he belts out his handsome, disarming laugh.

“Yeah? Bet it does.” You melt even further into his touch when he places a kiss to the crown of your head.

Watching yourself get split open by Eren sends you hurtling towards your release, so you breathe out a quiet, “Cumming.”

Eren chuckles, drops his lips to your ear, and murmurs, “Are you asking or telling me?”

You shake your head weakly. “Don’t make me beg.”

He chuckles quietly, deciding to take mercy on you. Eren sinks his teeth into your earlobe before he gives you a deep, hard thrust, and then commands you to, “Cum.”

Your legs go limp as the world stutters on its axis. The pleasure is mind-numbingly intense and white-hot bursts of relief wrack your body rhythmically. Your mouth gapes in a silent scream as Eren slams himself into your cervix again and again. Hot tears roll down your cheeks, and your head kills back onto his shoulder, too weak to watch yourself cum around him.

Your arousal, clear and copious, sprays everywhere in his car : his seat, the steering wheel, the windscreen, even your body. Eren moans at the sight of you squirting all over his car, you marking your territory. You shudder helplessly in his grasp, succumbing to the heat dousing your limbs. If not for Eren’s tight grip on you, you would have collapsed.

He keeps going, keeps thrusting, desperate to join you in the pleasure of orgasm. His thrusts become sloppier, but no less deep. You mewl with every pump of his hips against yours, overly sensitive and stimulated.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” he pants, strained and shaky, in your ear.

You moan at the thought of his hot, thick cum filling you up. “Inside, Eren, please, please, please-“

He cuts you off with a pained groan, “Fuck, you know I can’t do that.”

“Please, Eren, please,” you plead with him, your eyes wide and glassy, “Don’t I deserve it?”

His eyes snap shut and he lets out a shaky, ragged breath. “Shit, you’re making this really hard for me.” His hips pummel you faster, shallower, irregular, as if he’s losing his restraint.

Fuck it, he’s come this far, and he can’t say no to you. “You want it, baby? You want me to fill you up?”

“Yes, yes, yes, I need it Eren, please give it to me,” you whimper desperately.

“Fuck,” he whines as he thrusts into you a final time, unloading himself into you. Sighing happily, you press a kiss to his cheek as you feel the warm spurts of cum paint your insides. He only pulls out when he stops pulsing inside you, wincing slightly.

Eren slumps against your shoulder, his chest rattling with every breath. Your hands tangle into his thick, chestnut hair. He grunts in approval. Quick, fleeting kisses are pressed to your shoulders and you shudder. Your movement reminds you of the mess between your legs, and you suddenly feel filthy.

“Eren,” your voice is nothing more than a whisper.

Eren’s response is muffled by your neck. “Yes, baby?”

You sniffle. “I’m messy,” Eren jerks up, seemingly rejuvenated after remembering the importance of aftercare.

“Shit, sorry, I’ll clean you up now,” he reaches for your hoodie and starts wiping at your inner thighs. He grins up at you over your shoulder - “You really made a mess huh?”

You shuffle awkwardly in his lap. You had squirted on his skylight, a mess was an understatement.

The corners of his lips pull upwards into a smirk, “Don’t worry about it, ‘m getting my car detailed anyway.” Humming when he’s deemed you clean, he rotates you so you’re eye to eye. His eyes twinkle with undulating lust as he wipes away your tears. “You good?”

You nod meekly, nuzzling his calloused palm.

He pinches your thigh. “Don’t get all shy on me now, you were being real loud earlier.” He tosses the hoodie into the backseat before placing kisses to both of your breasts. His brows pinch at the slightly pensive expression plastered on your face.

He tugs your hair lightly. “Do you want me to get you a Plan B? We can-“

“We were supposed to be talking, Eren,” you wring his hoodie in your hands.

A cocky grin spread across Eren’s face. “Oh, she was definitely talking to me,” he moves to cup your sex, but you swat his hand away. His smile drops at the deflated look in your face.

Sighing, you ask, “Are we ever going to talk about this?”

He frowns, brushing your hair out of your face. “I thought we were gonna forget about it? One time thing, you know?”

You sigh softly and slip your hands under the hem of his hoodie. As you run your hands along the ridges of Eren’s abdomen, his cock bobs.

“We can’t keep using that as an excuse to-“

“Do you regret it?”

“Huh?” Your head snaps up to meet his gaze and his eyes are glinting mischievously.

Squeezing your face between his fingers, Eren pulls your face towards his. His tongue slides along your bottom lip before he reclines. “Do you regret this? Us?”

You swallow.

You don’t respond.

But this time, Eren knows better.

He captures you in a slow, sloppy kiss. His lips meld to yours as he murmurs, “I don’t think we have to talk about anything then.” He sucks your bottom lip slowly, letting it swell in his mouth, before smirking impishly as he rasps, “Talking’s overrated.”

[atinystraynstay]

Steal The Show - Jung Hoseok

Synopsis: He was amazed by her. He knew how hard she'd worked for this moment, so being able to see her do her thing made him feel complete. She outshined the sun.

There was just one thing left he had to do.

Pairing: idol! Jung Hoseok x idol! fem reader

Genre: fluff, tiny bit of angst, friends to lovers

Word Count: 2.8k

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"J-hope! J-hope! J-hope!" The sound of cheers made Hoseok's heart shake with excitement. If there's any place he loved the most, it was being on stage.

Hoseok was wearing a pair of baggy jeans, an olive green tee-shirt, a black hoodie, and a black and white bomber jacket. Tonight, he was performing on the street (with J. Cole) for the first time. He was excited to showcase this stage for not just for Army, but for everyone. Especially for you.

You initially met Hoseok when you both were at an all-intensive dance class in New York City. He was shooting a music video, and you were attending university for dance. He was impressed with your dancing abilities, stepping back to watch just you when it wasn't his turn to dance. You moved as if you were made out of water, very fluid yet so in control of your body. He was amazed.

At the end of the lesson, Hoseok asked if you wanted to grab lunch. To be honest, you didn't really hear of BTS before meeting Hoseok. You figured he was your average guy from Queens who loved to dance. However, watching the dance practice videos he showed you at the cafe next door, you were amazed.

You didn't think the K-pop industry was for you though. You originally were trying to make it on Broadway, that's why you decided to attend school in the city. You wanted to network and make connections, wanted to go to auditions when you had free time. The politics involved in the Western music industry turned you off completely.

When JYP announced they were doing auditions across America, you decided to take the jump. It also helped that Hoseok pushed you to just try out.

"I'm not saying I want you to become an idol. I'm not saying I want you to move here to Korea. Even though I'd love living in the same part of the world as you," he said over FaceTime, laughing. "But it doesn't hurt to audition! Worse case, the audition is good experience for the next one you do."

He was right there. You just needed to put yourself out there. You've only done a few casting calls for ensembles, but you wanted a challenge. You wanted to attempt to go for a lead. And to an extent, auditioning for a music company was a challenge. It was out of your wheelhouse, but Hoseok reassured you that the k-pop industry drew people from all over the world from all sorts of backgrounds.

And somehow, you made it past the first audition. You sang "Fast Car" to showcase your singing abilities, even though you come from a dancing background. You were then asked to freestyle a dance, which honestly was the easiest part of the audition. It probably was easy considering you and Hoseok often freestyled with each other over FaceTime when you were in your own respective dance studios.

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"Hoseok?"

He looked over his shoulder, a smile immediately on his face. He knew that voice anywhere.

"Y/n." You were wearing a light blue dress. There was a cutout in the shape of a heart surrounded by silver rhinestones. hugged around your thighs, showing off the white fishnet stocks. You wore a matching pair of white block-heeled boots that stopped short of reaching your knee. Your hair was down in curls, framing your face. You looked divine.

Before he knew it, you walked right up to him and hugged him tightly. He immediately wrapped his arms around you, holding you close to him. He got a smell of your perfume, something that he's grown very fondly over. It smelled like cherries and vanilla. A scent he favored resonated with you.

"I've been looking for you all over," you giggled. His heart swelled at the thought of you searching for him.

"Well know you've found me," he winked. "You ready to go kill it out there?" "And know that you're watching me? Of course."

Hoseok wasn't sure what the line-up was. He only knew that he was geared towards the end of the showcase. He always loved watching what other artists and groups came up with, sometimes making their usual performances extra special. Hoseok also liked being the one to watch smaller acts, giving them a source of encouragement as they were just at the start of their careers.

He also strategically placed himself here, right at the side of the stage, so he could watch you. Not only did he want to watch you perform, but he wanted to be the first and last person you saw before and after being on stage. He wanted to cement himself as your biggest supporter, in more ways than one. "Y/n, five minutes. Let's get you into position," one of the backstage crew announced.

That's how it always goes when it comes to performances like this. It was hectic all over. People were running around, making sure the appropriate stages were in place and artists were ready to go. It was one after the other, no real break until the last performance.

You looked up at him, a slight frown tugging onto your lips. You were hoping to have more time to catch up with Hoseok before taking to the stage.

"Promise to be here when I get back?" "Angel, I'm not going anywhere."

This time, he kissed you on your cheek before moving his lips to your ear. He could feel the eyes on him, not wanting to tell him to hurry up but also getting a bit antsy. Hoseok was a gentleman, so he could be quick.

"I'm always going to be here. Go rock that stage so you can return back to me."

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I feel so much lighter like a feather with you out my life With you out my life

The crowd screamed as you were twirled around the stage. If anyone was born to be on stage, it was you. You were smiling wide during the instrumental part of your song, your backup singers the harmonies.

You were done by the stage extender, interacting with your fans. Truth be told, you were surprised people were that responsive to you. You felt like you were at the start of your career, still trying to build a name for yourself. Of course, you took nothing for granted.

Hoseok wasn't surprised. He has seen your rise to fame happen both in person and online. People were captivated by you, but he wanted to make sure you knew he was front of the line.

Right now, you were performing a song you had written to your ex-boyfriend. Hoseok remembered that night so vividly. He had never seen anyone write a song that quickly besides Yoongi. You used all your anger to channel into this particular song. Your ex doubted that you could make it, he didn't see your potential.

But Hoseok did. He knew you were a shining star. You just needed the right support system to boost your confidence and help you pursue you dreams.

And you were blessed to have someone like Hoseok in your life. Not even someone, a man like Hoseok. He made it easy for you to forget your ex boyfriend. He was the one who reassured you, uplifted you, and showed you love. You weren't sure if there was a chance of you two getting together, but you were a wishful thinker.

it feels so good not carin' where you are tonight And it feels so good not pretending to like the wine you like

Your hips were swaying as you strutted back up to the main part of the stage. The crowd went wild for you as you ran your hands through your hair, letting it fall back down to your back.

Once you were center stage, you glanced over your shoulder. You grinned to see Hoseok still to the side of the stage, watching you. You winked at him before looking towards the crowd again.

I slam the door

You kicked up your foot as you were closing the door. You wore a smirk. Here goes nothing. I hit ignore

With your back towards Hoseok, you bent over slightly. The amount of times you ignored texts and calls from your ex were too high too count. You knew one thing for sure though. You would always pickup for Hoseok.

Hoseok's eyes widened as he watched you. That's new. Was that intended for him? Were you responding to what he said to you before you were whisked away to get on stage? He bit his lip gently, a smirk on his lips. He was proud of how far you've come, both in your personal life and professional career. But he couldn't help but feel his ego swore as he thought you were showing off for him.

Well played, y/n.

I'm saying, no, no, no, no more I got you blocked Excited to never talk

You were standing up straight again. You popped your hip slightly. The hand not holding your bedazzled microphone also resting on your hip. You wore a smirk.

I'm so sorry for your loss.

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

The stage lights went dark as you bowed to the crowd. There was a loud roar of cheers, fans begging you to stay. You blew a kiss though before you were escorted off stage. Your mind was in the clouds, overjoyed by the outcome of your performance. That couldn't have gone any better!

There was just one thing left to do to truly make this a night to remember. Someone handed you a water bottle as your chest rose and fell rapidly, your heart racing from the performance and adrenaline rush you were experiencing. You grabbed the water, but kept your eyes locked forward.

From the moment you left the stage, your eyes were locked on Hoseok. You didn't have to go searching for him. He stayed as he promised. He wore a wide smirk as he waited for you, members backstage of the production and your manager checking in with you. "Y/n, we can either stay to watch the rest of the show or head back to the hotel." "I'm staying."

Once you finally were away from the staircase leading to the stage, the crowd around you began to disperse slightly. You passed the water bottle in your hand to your manage before you took off running towards Hoseok.

You weren't thinking straight. All you knew was that you needed to get to him. It was as if something had possessed you because before you knew it, you were jumping into his arms. He caught you easily, the two of you in a fit of laughter. "That was amazing, y/n! You are amazing," he said, grinning. You grinned back at him. Your hands rested on his shoulder as he twirled you around a bit. Everyone around you figured you had a close friendship. A very close one, indeed. But after the exchanges between the two of you, that was going to take a step up. You were sure of it, but just not in the eyes of public.

"Come on, I think we got some talking to do, sweetheart. I got a little bit before going on stage."

Hoseok gently set you back down to your two feet, but had a hand securely on your lower back. People eyed the two of you as you passed by. Artists that you admired, friends, and others congratulated you on a successful stage. All you could do was smile and bow politely, both out of breath but also trying not to stop too long for a conversation. You weren't trying to be rude. You just had other priorities.

His thumb caressed your lower back. You didn't have to question where you were going. You always put all your trust into Hoseok. He has prove time and time again his loyalty and his sincerity towards you. He was a rare find in a world that tended to be more cruel than kind.

After a few moments, mainly with you focusing on the feeling of his touch, you found yourself out of his dressing room. He pushed it open, motioning for you walk through the threshold first.

"Always the gentleman, aren't you, Hobi?"

He chuckled and shrugged, watching as you walked in first. Once he made sure you were safely in the room, he closed the door behind him. He locked in, not wanting to get interrupted again like before.

This time, he let his heart take over rather than his mind. He came up behind you, wrapping his arms around you from behind. You giggled in surprised, letting out a soft gasp as he lifted you up with ease. Wow, he's gotten stronger since the last time you saw him.

Carefully, he had you sit on the counter of the makeup vanity set up. His makeup team from the company already had done the makeup they needed to do earlier. They opt for a more natural look, seeing as this song was personal for Hoseok. And much to your happiness, you got his bare face all to yourself.

Your legs were slightly parted, allowing Hoseok to slip in between them. Biting your lip gently, you gazed up into his eyes. You were trying to cipher what could be going on in his mind. You were getting all the right signals from him to confirm your assumptions, but you wanted to make sure you weren't jumping to conclusions. One of your hands gripped the edge of the counter, the other hand resting on his forearm.

"Y/n, I think I'm done playing games," he murmured. One of his hands rested by yours. Not exactly touching, but your want to feel his skin on yours burned within you. His other hand lifted up to brush the hair out of your face. He tucked a few strands of your hair behind your ear. His hand then gently rested on your cheek.

The confidence you had on stage melted away. You could feel your body warm up, seeing how close you were and how alone you truly now. The chaos outside was white noise. All your attention was on Hoseok without any interruptions. He smirked seeing the shy side of yourself starting to appear once again.

He loved witnessing all the sides of you. While yes, you two were prominent in each other's lives, he wanted to learn more about you.

"I'm not sure I know what you're talking about," you said softly.

He scoffed. "Really? You don't remember that little stunt you pulled on stage? Come on, darling, you trying to tell me something?" "But what about you, Hoseok? What was that you told me earlier?"

He hummed, nodding his head. "That's the games I'm talking about. Why don't we cut to the chase, huh? Stop torturing ourselves?"

This time, you nodded in agreement. You were onboard to full send, to take this friendship into uncharted territory for the two of you. Yes, it was scary to take this friendship into a level that most friends don't go. However, if Hoseok was willing, so were you.

Wanting to take back a bit of control of the situation, you slightly tilted your head. Your lips hovered right underneath his. His breathing seemed to hitch, which caused you to smirk.

Look who is now turning soft.

Truthfully, you made him weak and he thrived off being your weakness. It was as if subconsciously you two always knew you had feelings for each other. Yet, for the sake of the friendship, you oppressed any feelings you had. You were at the point now that you were boiling over and it was all seeping out. Everyone else saw how you two stared at each other with hearts in your eyes. You both were just catching up to speed.

"How do you propose we stop torturing ourselves, huh? Tell me, Hobi. What's been on your mind?" "You're the only thing ever on my mind, y/n," he murmured.

The way his voice dropped an octave made you want to whimper. You felt small with him towering over you. He knew the little things to do to make you weak in the knees.

"I'd just like it if you no longer live in my fantasies and were actually mine. That way I can make every thought I have into a legitimate plan with you." "Then make it happen."

Hoseok's eyebrow raised yet he was intrigued. His hands moved to your hips, pulling you slightly closer to him until you sat right at the edge of the counter. Your legs wrapped around his waist, keeping him close to your as well.

He began lean in, his lips grazing yours. You both sighed in contact. So close yet not quite there.

Before his lips could fully press against yours, there was a knock at the door. "J-hope, 5 minutes!" Dammit! He smirked as he pulled away while your frowned, disappointed to not get to kiss him quite yet. You raised an eyebrow, surprised to see him not more disappointed. "All good things come with time. Just had to get one more game in before winning you over. I'll see you after my set."

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Note: I originally got inspired from listening to Steal the Show by Lauv. since seeing Elemental a few months ago. I also have been obsessed with Sophia Carpenter's performances of Feather while she's been the opening act for Taylor Swift's Eras Tour in South America so my mind got a little creative haha

Hope you enjoyed it!!

[bunnysbrainrot]

If You Change Your Mind

Relationship: Dean Winchester x Reader, friends(?) to lovers

Summary: For about half a year, you’ve hunted alongside the Winchester brothers to find a purpose in their ‘family business’. But, it seems that Dean’s harsh attitude is driving the two of you away from one another. What happens when that tension breaks, and his truth is revealed?

A/N: I plan on writing more for this, so expect more to come!

No content warnings, just some tension!

Though you had been working alongside Sam and Dean for a few months, practicing your skills as a hunter, your relationship with the older brother hadn’t been the easiest. Dean had a talent of being condescending even without words, which was discouraging to your hard work. Sure, you hadn’t been a hunter nearly as long as Dean, but hell, you were trying your damn hardest to improve. Sam, when you had brought it up, explained that Dean had a ‘hard time opening up’, which you knew better than anyone, at this point.

In the beginning of your working with the brothers, you had taken a liking to Dean, to put it lightly. His rugged demeanor and nonchalant attitude drew you in. He knew how to have a good time, had an amazing sense of humor, and could flirt with anyone as easy as breathing. All except for with you. Somehow, when Dean was with you, he couldn’t find the right way to approach… anything.

That is, until a hunt last week. It was a simple salt and burn, out in the countryside of Georgia. Dean had been distant, only speaking when necessary, but growing frustrated with you for futile reasons. Eventually, the two of you had a full blown argument: you pleaded with him to be more patient, that he was being too harsh on you as a new hunter. For Dean, he was rambling on how much of a ‘dumbass’ you were, getting too risky on hunts.

After that argument, you kept quiet. Ever since then, Dean barely looked at you, let alone said any words your way. Eventually you realized the toll it had taken on you, leaving you feeling out of place and drained. If it weren’t for Sam encouraging you to confront Dean, you considered planning on heading back home, if it could even be considered that anymore.

Taking a deep breath as you walked into the bunker, you spotted Dean seated at a long mahogany table, legs kicked up as he scrolled through his phone. While you were out you picked up food, burgers to be more specific, unintentionally Dean’s favorite. You had picked up orders for both brothers, since you didn’t go out on your own errands too often. Approaching the table, heart racing slightly wilder than before, you placed the paper bag near Dean, took out your own food, and began to walk off. A silent olive branch, the Dean Winchester way.

His voice rang throughout the room as you walked off, stopping you in your tracks.

“So, what? You’re just gonna ignore me, is that it?”

You turned to face him now, heart in your throat at the confrontation. Dean didn’t make this shit easy by any means. Confrontation was already difficult as is, and the eldest Winchester son challenged that further.

“I think you made it pretty clear you didn’t want to be talked to, Dean,” your voice was shaky despite the firm sentence you chose. Dean narrowed his eyes at you before taking a swig of his beer.

“Just been going through a lot lately, I guess,” his tone was terse, like there was a dam of emotions waiting to burst open. “Yeah, I’ve been a little distant, but you gotta stop thinking it’s all about you.”

Something in you snapped at that, glaring at Dean as you replied, “That’s bullshit and you know it. Everything changed after that shapeshifter hunt a few weeks ago. You’ve barely said a word to me. And that case out in Georgia only made it worse.”

Dean looked at you for a moment, studying your expression and sudden reaction to his remarks. He nodded as he listened, but you knew it wasn’t him taking it in. It was the specific Dean nod that meant he was ready to unleash how he felt. The pursed lips said it all.

“Fine. Maybe I have been ignoring you. There’s some truth there, but trust me. You have no idea why I’m doing this. You probably think it’s because I’m mad at you for screwing up, but it’s more than that.”

“Then, what is it?” You demanded, eyebrows raised as you awaited a better explanation.

“It’s for a reason.”

“And what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Honestly? I don’t want to see you get ganked just because you’re a dumbass on a hunt.”

That remained to be his only response for a long pause. “I think you don’t care about your life as much as others do, so yeah… that pisses me off a bit.”

“Pisses you off so much that you treat me like I don’t exist,” you muttered, but he had already caught your retort. Dean’s jade green eyes darted to you. But, for a good while, he never gave a reply.

“If this is the way you show you’re concerned,” you began, “then maybe it would be good to learn some ‘people skills’.”

He sucked his teeth, looking away with a smug smile. Your eyebrows knitted together in frustration at him. Dean stood from his spot, walking over to you. You always forgot just how impressive he was until he stood toe to toe with you - his muscular physique and sharp features had always made you nervous, and the sensation they sent through you now was beyond confusing. It was hard to tell if your stomach was turning over itself or if your senses were distorted from this man staring you down.

“Oh I know people, don’t get me wrong,” he started, his voice lowered, “and believe me, I know more about you than you think.”

Your eyebrows arched in confusion at this, mulling over in your head at what the hell he could’ve meant.

“What…?”

“Oh, you were easy to understand. Practically see through. I knew what you wanted from the start,” Dean seemed to be speaking more clearly now, that hidden kernel of resentment now popping open.

“Listen, I’m just telling you this now, this whole ‘lovey dovey’ crap doesn’t mix well with hunters. You wanna bang? Better find someone on the road. Now for me… that’s when shit gets complicated.”

You could hardly wrap your head around what he was saying, noticing that he was far more than two steps ahead of you in this. Your throat was taught, straining to respond to him.

“Nothing is getting in the way, Dean. You’re seeing this all wrong.”

He shook his head, prodding his pointer finger into your collarbone. “You know that’s bullshit. And I’m telling you… that I know how complicated this would get if things went any further.”

It’s not like you had high hopes to begin with, but now it shattered completely. You looked to the ground, unable to form what you wanted to say.

“How do you know that?”

Dean replied, “Well, item number one… I’m pretty sure you just confirmed your feelings, but item number two, it just would.”

His tone had shifted to something slightly playful, but you didn’t break into a smile just yet. Your head spun as you thought about where this would lead to.

“But what if it doesn’t? What if it works out?”

The hunter looming over you stayed silent, eyes scanning the floor between you. His voice when he spoke next was hushed, almost a whisper.

“Because it would make losing you worse.”

For a split second, time seemed to stop.

“What do you mean?”

He looked at you once more, intently into your eyes as he explained, “In this line of work, getting close to someone is a damn luxury. That’s something I can’t have. Not in a million years, and definitely not with you.”

You opened your mouth to reply, but he cut you off.

“I’ve been a dick, I get it. And listen… I know you didn’t deserve that, and that’s completely on me. And it didn’t help that I didn’t tell you before.”

The only thing the two of you could hear was the faint buzzing of the lamp on the table.

“I don’t trust myself enough for it. If we’re too close, that makes us vulnerable, and the last thing any of us need is a new weak spot for those evil sons of bitches out there.”

Now with a heavier heart, you looked at Dean, unable to look anywhere but his eyes. A sad light had taken over his expression, more emotion than you had seen from him in weeks.

“I,” he said in a hushed tone, “listen…. I want this. You. If I knew that this could work, and everything would be okay, I would take that chance in a heartbeat.”

Something mixed inside of you, a strange muddled feeling of heartbreak and hope. Where did this leave them? What happens now?

“But,” your head snapped up at attention, “it’s not like I don’t wanna try. I’m just… shit, I’m scared to death of what could happen.”

A feeling in your gut tugged at his words, the weight of the truth in them. Dean let out a long breath, seeming to gain his composure. You noticed how his demeanor changed while he stood in front of you - from one of a fierce man, to one so vulnerable.

“Dean,” you started, hoping to give him some sort of comfort. You could only imagine how difficult this was for him, but there wasn’t the faintest idea of what to say to make this situation better.

“Well, I guess we know how we feel about each other. At least, a little.” There was a sense of hope in those words, like the optimism of your tone would change this discouraging outcome. “And, if you ever change your mind, about this whole ‘us’ thing not working, I think you’ll know where to find me.”

The words hung in the air.

“You would know it better than anyone, Dean.”

————

Chapter 2 is up! Thank you for reading!

[hecates-corner]

more Aphrodite and her mortal lover por favor? *hopeful eyes*

Of COURSE! Me encanta escribir esta historia.

How about a nice little POV switch, hm?

She is as lovely the poets paint her. As the bards sing her to be.

My lady is warm as sun-blessed honey, swift-running and golden as the very voice she beholds. Even in her mortal form, the very one that drew me in like a frail moth to a flickering flame, her eyes shine blue as the cresting sea: now light, and now dark. The bubbles of the tide are painted into the hue, white flecks that could very well be misplaced stars in the sky of broad daylight.

Her olive skin glints like bronze, the corn color of her hair flowing down it as a stream tumbles down gentle rocks of a cliff. Her hands, small and smooth, with lightly visible veins, twist and fly through the air as we dance with one another. The rosy dawn cannot hold a candle to the flush on her high cheeks, as plush and pink as the roses that grow where I would come to lay.

We run, through a field of rustling grain, wind whistling as it blows through each strand. The bright sky begins to rumble, a horde of swelling clouds growing dark, moving in towards us. We know of the drops, of the cold tears that will fall when those cotton clumps swarm our once-vast, shrinking skies.

She turns, enough to tilt her teasing form towards me, and extends a hand. It curls out, her graceful wrist like the neck of a sweet swan, bending just so to lay her paled palm flat. An invitation.

When I take it, she laughs, laughs, and it is of falling feathers, snow white and soft. It is the unfurling petals of a waking blossom, and the scent of apples in the breeze. She is perfect, though I did not think a word to exist.

My Aphrodite guides me, out bare feet leaping and landing upon soft earth, the soil that will soon be damp with water from the domain of my love's familiar, lord of cloud. Was he chasing us, pursuing us then? I could not say, for I thought of no one but her. Though I did not think so. We were small and unimportant to such a great gaze, especially then. To us, the world was not ours, nor were we owned. We simply were.

She led me gently over a hollow log, dark and soft with impending rot, and we were there.

Together we tumbled backwards, as she tugged me into her embrace and we landed upon the spongey moss that cushioned our fall. I laughed, then, louder than before. Giggles that shook us both, holding fast and clutching one another gently, for we knew neither of us would escape.

Mortals fear gods will come to them in forms of doves, of oxen or bulls, in showers of light. Some fear gods will leave them the same ways. I did not feel weary of either. My dearest was many things, but I knew her, for how little we had been acquainted.

The skies rumbled again, vibrating deep within the earth. The sound of the rain began to approach earshot, incessant white noise of the showering pull. It smelled of rain.

A fig tree loomed over us, shielding the remaining sun and the imminent rain from our skins, and casting the gentle comfort of its matronly power over us.

I pressed my face into her neck, her soft locks like myrtles crushed beneath my cheek. She let me nuzzle my nose into the underside of her jaw, feeling out the sweet concavity of the bone. I kissed the space there, where tongue tissue connected with the muscle inside of her mouth.

She hummed, contentedly. "My dear," she spoke, so smoothly and with such ease that it would have brought tears to my eyes at the loveliness. "If we do not return to your home soon, we will be caught in the haze of the storm."

I chuckled. "You do not think I hope for such?"

She was quiet, but even I could feel the grin spread on her lips. She need not say a word, just the buzz of the laugh in her throat was enough for me.

The clouds consumed the sky, and drops dripped from their vastness, dropping down and rolling like sips of water down thirsty throats. The chilly tears landed sweetly upon us, one by one, dissonantly. I tipped my chin up to watch her blink a drop from her dark lashes.

"Do you truly look like this?" I asked.

She was curious. Not surprised, simply curious.

"The way you see me?" She closed her eyes, in place of where a head shake would be. "No."

"No?"

She laughed, a songbird's throaty call. "I appear differently to every mortal. But I know how they see me." Aphrodite cast me a knowing glance. "Blonde, and blue eyed? That is your peak of beauty?"

I flushed. "Like the ocean, and the sand over which it drapes."

She snorted. "Like the children of Zeus."

My hand flew up and swatted her shoulder gently, her body rocking harder with larger giggles. "Oh, please, my lady. Do not scorn me."

"I do not, love." My Aphrodite laughed. "I simply wonder what beauty is to you."

"You are beauty to me," I replied, much too quickly to have been untrue. "In whatever form you may take."

She paused, but there was no word to speak, no comment to mutter. She simply was, and so I was, too. Silence enveloped us, the comfortable and easy quiet that cupped us so gently.

At last, she spoke.

"I do have a true form." Aphrodite said.

I waited. "You do?"

"Yes." She spoke, simply.

Perhaps I could have said a million things: show me, or what shape does your hair hold? Or asked if she even had hair.

But I did not. I did not say any of those, or anything close.

"Good." I said, because it was the only thing I needed to say.

[slightlyhopefulromantic]

some dndads ocs ive made!! shout out to @isadora-greenhall specifically for inspiring and encouraging me with these two, since i havent made fandom ocs in a few years, and hers made me so happy that i wanted to again :D i drew olive back in october, ive had them for quite a while, but never fully finished the page so i neatened the sketch and colored it when i drew declan hehe

lil further rambles under the cut:

so probably obviously, these two are for season two!

olive was made with a very simple goal in mind: hero having a friend-to-lovers arc with someone utterly uninvolved in everything going on with her family, because for the love of god, i want her to successfully run away from the narrative. theyre super ditzy, but incredibly smart when it comes to physics. they go to school at san dimas, and have the same internship as hero, so they meet there. no, olive has no idea of the plot. they do not get a dnd class, they have civilian stats. they do not even know any of the teens besides vaguely being aware that maaaybe san dimas has a mascot?

declan was made more purposefully for isadora to be paired with an oc of hers, and hes more directly involved in the plot of s2! hes catty and a gossip, and also a coward, so he prefers to stay out of the combat line, but he likes to make contraptions and weapons for the teens. hes an artificer! he thinks being smart ruins his pretty boy image though, so its all very under the table and he pretends he doesnt get straight As in school even though its very obvious to anyone who has ever worked with him or even just sat next to him in class.

[ourdemons]

Wowie it's been a hot minute So I drew these a LONG while ago but these are Grimmers parents (First [Kuritanta] and second [Vivianna]) and Israels dad (The last one [Oliver]) If you have any questions about lore and stuff I'm open to them :> I'll just say right now that the villain to my little story is Pixel Here's a little bit of info (I do talk about abuse and death just a little warning):

My original plan for Grimmers dad, His name is Kuritanta which means death in some language that I forgot :D, anyway my og plan was for Grims dad to be evil. Basically on the side of Pixel but I changed Kuri to be more caring but distant because of his own experiences with his own father and even mother. Kuri was treated with toxic masculinity and was kept away from the lower class or any contact with other demons. He was not a cold hearted kid. Kuri was curious and really smart having to teach himself to read and write. To keep him away from others walls were built up in the garden (Back yard) and in the front yard to, again, keep him away from the lower class or any other communication with others. Soon this will be broken when Kuri, in his late teens, will be able to finally go to school. There he learns other magic that will add on to his abilities that a grim reaper is normally born with. A small while there he soon becomes friends with Vivianna and Oliver. Both Vivi and Oliver are lower middle class. As he is there he learns how Angels are seen as the evil ones when in his books say the opposite. Along with this he also learns about how Vivi and Oliver live. Kuri sees their poor living styles and doesn't think its fair how they are treated. This starts his determination to want to fix things. Soon Kuri develops feelings for Vivi and starts to date her. Once his parents find out they get angry and his father tries to hurt Vivi. Kuri quickly gets in the way to protect her and gets his little shield symbol on his forehead (I'll talk about this later in a different post) Okie I'll talk about Oliver now: I don't have much on him because I just didn't think of him much :P So Oliver and Kuri are bffs. Once Kuri's parents die and he becomes the leader Oliver gets put in a better house along with other demons who were labeled lower class/ lower middle class. In school Oliver decides to learn about healing magic and becomes a doctor. He does have a reason he became a doctor. Like Kuri, Oliver falls in love and gets married when he's an adult but soon after his son, Israel, is born the mom starts to get ill and weak. It was found out that this sickness that was developing in her could not be fixed with the demons healing magic. This made Oliver work hard to try to find some way to cure his lover or even allow her to live a little longer but his trials are unsuccessful and she soon dies, not making even 3 months after the birth of Israel. Oliver is broken and being a single father with his new born son. When seeing Israel this reminds Oliver that he has to be strong for him and inside Oliver's mind he still has a piece of his partner that was gifted to him.

If you read through this you are a god and I hope you enjoyed :> Again if you have any questions I'm open to answering :D

[novemberwasgrey]

Heyy! I loved loved loved the headcanons that you wrote for me. I dont know if your requests are still open, but can you do another daughter of Ares reader (also Percy's age) and what her relationship with each of her siblings would be like? The reader would have wavy dirty blonde hair with green eyes and central heterochromia, she's gay, she's super kind and caring but also hilarious and sarcastic, she loves her leather boots with ripped jeans and oversized t-shirts, she loves dogs, she loves rock music (especially the Skillet band), she tells her dad straight up when he's being a dick and when he was acting like a 5 year old over his and Percy's fight, she's a chaotic good, always does dumb shit, etc. Let me know if you want to know more about her lol! Thank you so much in advance!

Sorry I took so much time to reply, been busy. This oc reminds me a lot of one of mine, Sonny, who's also a daughter of Ares so it was really funny to write.

I named her Darcy because the fact that she's gay af and blonde reminded me of Darcy from Heartstopper (great graphic novel and Netflix show, everyone watch it)

She has basically no filter and says everything that comes to her mind

...which often brings her a lot of trouble.

She's the least afraid of Phobos and Deimos and is always sarcastic with them when they try to taunt her so her antics never really work and they're annoyed by that.

Indeed, Darcy's the queen of chaos and bad ideas just like Mark and Sonny.

But she's also a good prankster which makes her one of the rare Ares kids to be friend with the Stolls.

She even helped Connor getting together with Sonny.

Darcy doesn't know Clarisse that well because she arrived in camp when she had already left for college but they got to know each other a lot more when Clarisse started to visit and they became closer.

Clarisse actually recognizes herself a lot in Darcy because she is very devoted to her cabin and siblings, and thinks Darcy could be cabin leader one day.

Ares kids are tough and everything you want but they all have a soft spot for animals, especially dogs. Darcy and Aria (other Ares girl oc of mine) are the worst when they meet a dog and start cooning and petting them

One time, she snuck out of camp with her brother Oliver (other Ares oc, yes I have lots of them) to go see a Skillet concert because they're both huge fans and they didn't come until the next morning. Chiron was furiouuuuus.

And yes, along with Mark, she's the one who never hesitates to tell Ares how it is. The poor god doesn't even try to reason with her at some point since she's a big talker and can argue for hours.

Even though she is daughter of Ares with one of his lovers, Aphrodite loves her.

Also she's Drew's best friend. I think she'd know Drew's bitchy demeanor is a role she plays and/or a defense mechanism.

[nirikeehan]

Happy Friday Niri! This week, for Temperance & Templars, how about Cullen has to deal with Thalia's siblings and from tarot prompts "the emperor: authority, discipline, stubbornness; 'You will do as I say.' possible AUs/settings/ideas: kingdom au, argument, enemies to lovers" <- I bet the boorish brother thinks HE'S the emperor

PERFECT. This shall feature in the next Temperance and Templars chapter, thank you!!

For @dadrunkwriting

WC: 579

---

The height of the summer was nearly upon them. The Trevelyan estate’s stone facade, hung heavy with flowering purple wisteria and shaded by topiary, only did so much to cool the interior. On such days, the family fled outside, which was only a marginal improvement. The heat was oppressive, the air soupy and smelling of salt coming off the bay. 

Cullen stood in the back gardens, under a terrace of ivy, squinting into the sun. He’d been accompanying Lady Thalia through the labyrinth of shaded hedges, archways, and rosebushes, until she’d ordered him to fetch him a glass of lemonade. It had taken nearly fifteen minutes to retrace his steps and find the entrance to the wide lawn in front of the house, and what he saw surprised him. 

His fellow servants, usually confined to the indoors, were scurrying across the grass, setting up chairs and tables and awnings. Cullen spotted Pia and Mirabelle among them, the maids who had helped him find Lady Thalia on his first ill-fated day on the job. He had grown friendly with them as the weeks had passed, and felt comfortable enough to ask Pia, when she came within earshot with a tray of silverware to set down, “What’s all this?” 

“Setting up for the fete,” the Rivaini girl replied with an exasperated sigh. 

“The fete? When is that happening?” 

“Tonight, apparently. We just found out. Oh, I do hope the storms hold off, I told Lord Micah you can see them rolling in right off the coast, but he insists it has to be an outside affair. Oh!” She whirled to see Thalia’s brother strolling toward them. “I’ve got to go, he’ll have my head for chatting.” 

Pia retreated as Micah approached, his hair glowing orange in the bright sun, looking as though he smelled something unpleasant. In the weeks since Cullen had been assigned to Thalia, he had never seen Lord Micah express any other emotion, a feat in and of itself. 

“You there,” Micah called in his direction, and Cullen glanced over his shoulder, but no one was there. “Yes, you. Templar. There’s more tables that need placing. You’ll do nicely.” 

Cullen felt a flash of irritation; while he was technically part of the staff, his sole responsibility was meant to be the Lady Thalia, though the family often seemed to forget that. “I’m afraid I can’t, my lord,” he said, as patiently as possible. “The Lady Thalia sent me to bring her a beverage to stave off this heat.” 

“Yes, Maker forbid little Thalia isn’t properly hydrated at all times,” Micah drawled. He drew his arms behind his back; today he wore a white embroidered tunic under a light linen vest and matching breeches. Cullen had noticed Micah was rarely seen without two accessories: golden pin on his lapel, fashioned to look like the stallion of House Trevelyan, and a rapier hanging from his belt. Cullen found this latter accruement puzzling, because it gave the impression Micah might challenge someone to a duel at any moment. So far he hadn’t, but Cullen worried it was only a matter of time. The way Micah stared down his slightly crooked nose at Cullen wasn’t encouraging. “But I’m acting Bann while Father is away, and you will do as I say.” 

That was how Cullen found himself perspiring in the sun as the afternoon droned on, moving long white tables into place with Oliver the stable boy, who had been similarly conscripted. 

[luteandsword]

Fluff prompt: Jaskier braiding Yennefer’s hair?

It would be my pleasure. I like to write modern day au, so I thought I'd do that. Thank you for the ask, sent long ago, and now I'm doing it! <3 Hopefully it's still good.

Pairing: Yenskier. Warnings: Hurt! comfort, yearning, friends to lovers, first kiss.

Word Count: 1.7k.

The city had been particularly windy that day, when Jaskier let himself into Yennefer and Triss' apartment. He had barely stepped inside when he heard cursing and clattering from down the hall.

Quickening his steps, he knocked on the bathroom door. "Yen? Triss? It's Jaskier. Are you all right in there?"

"I'm fucking fine, Jaskier." Yennefer, then-- and a grumpy Yennefer, too.

"Clearly not, dear heart." He set down his bag and leaned against the wall. "I can practically see the tension and despair seeping out from under the door. What's wrong?"

"Nothing you would understand." He heard a sniffle, and the door swung open.

Yennefer was clad in pajamas, comfortable and soft looking, with little foxes running in circles on the purple background. But it was her hair that drew Jaskier's eye-- a mass of tangled black hair that seemed to have no end. It flowed around down her shoulders as if it were a net and she a captured sea creature.

And still, in her pajamas, bare face streaked with angry tears, and a comb clasped in her hand-- she was still the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen.

"Why-- your hair!" He said softly. "Are you frustrated about your hair, Yen?"

"It's a clusterfuck. It's a mess!" She threw her hands up, and Jaskier stepped back quickly to avoid the comb, which could easily be stuck into his eye.

"Careful." He said lightly, his hand coming up, and clasping her wrist softly in his hand.

For a moment, they were frozen in time. Her cloud of hair enshrined her face, her parted lips, as she stared at him. Jaskier felt his stomach warm when she stepped forward-- he hadn't merely been daydreaming about kissing her for months.

But now was neither the place or time.

"You might as well help me." She said shortly, her wrist slipping from his fingers.

He released her, and stepped into the bathroom.

"What have you tried?" Jaskier asked, as he rolled up his sleeves.

"Everything except olive oil." She huffed, shoving the comb at him. "The wind literally fucked it all up-- I got home at three o'clock, and I've been battling it ever since."

Jaskier frowned. "And Triss couldn't help?" He leaned over her shoulder, taking the comb from her.

"No, she had a meeting. I'm desperately frustrated, Jaskier. I don't know how it got so messed up."

Jaskier nodded. "All right. Let me get the olive oil."

Moments later, he had Yennefer in a chair, towel draped over her shoulders, and the comb drenched with oil in his hand. Yennefer grunted as he began to run the comb through her hair.

"Sorry," he apologized gently, trying to untangle the knots as best he could without hurting her. "Does it hurt much?"

"You're much more patient than I am." Yennefer shrugged. "Do what you want, it's probably going to have to get cut off anyway."

"How on earth could the wind have tangled your hair so? Don't you normally braid it?" Jaskier teased the comb through a gnarly patch, noting the feel of it under his fingers.

"I do, but I... wanted to try something new today, and it didn't go well, as you can see." She motioned to it listlessly.

"You left it down?" Jaskier paused, shocked. She never wore her hair down. "What, did you have a date, or something?" He asked, jealousy burning in his gut all of a sudden.

"No." Yennefer shrugged. "Just... wanted to look especially nice today."

It did nothing to qualm his jealousy, but Jaskier continued, moving the comb to the other side.

As he focused, Jaskier murmured, "You look wonderful every day, Yenna."

Her eyes were dazzling when he looked up from his task.

"Do you really think so?" She asked.

"Of course." Jaskier nodded, his fingers running through black strands. "I wouldn't be a good friend if I lied to you, now would I?"

"You wouldn't be my friend."

They lapsed into silence, the comb making the rounds, until her hair was loose and free again.

But oil shone on her head.

"Do you mind washing it quickly?" Jaskier strove for nonchalance. "I want to see if there are any left after your hair is clean."

She nodded, and he swept out of the room, into the kitchen.

As soon as he heard the shower turn on, he let himself relax.

How soft her hair had been. How tender the line of her shoulder, how drained she must have been.

So, into action he sprung. Even though his feelings were hidden, he could still do something lovely for the one he loved so much, right?

Candles shone, purple and green and amber, upon the coffee table. Two cups of Russian tea sat on their china saucers, and Jaskier was waiting, when Yennefer came into the living room.

"What's all this? Weren't we all going out to dinner in a hour?" She said, and Jaskier shook his head.

"I moved it back to 7:30, so come and sit." He patted the cushion and she sank down next to him with a sigh of relief.

"Thank you," she said, and he looked up, her cup and saucer in his hand, to see her looking at him so softly he almost dropped the cup.

"Drink your tea, dear heart," he said, waving away her thanks. "It doesn't mean anything."

"Jask." The saucer clattered beneath the cup as she sat it down on the table again. "Do it again."

"Do... what... again, exactly?" He said, a weak chuckle escaping his lips.

"Braid my hair for me." She said, turning her back to him, and the scent of her shampoo flung him into orbit. He breathed deeply, and nodded.

"All... all right."

Scooting closer, he reached out, running his fingers through soft and damp locks of black hair. He fiddled nervously with the ends, before carding his fingers over her scalp, and through her hair, loosening it.

Yennefer sighed, softly, and Jaskier swallowed. "Feel okay?" He whispered, afraid to break the tension between them.

"Yes." Yennefer murmured, as he began to plait the strands together, fingers moving slower than normal.

It was dizzying and exhilarating. In their long year of friendship, Yennefer had barely allowed him to hug her, much less touch her hair or do her makeup-- none of it. And Jaskier was starved for her affection, starved for even a touch of her hand.

So the strands of hair, bound together by his deft hand, went slowly and steadily, until he ended up with a decent French braid. Taking the hair tie from his wrist, he gently bound the end.

"There. All settled."

"I was going to give you a hair tie... why do you carry one around?"

Jaskier took another breath.

"In case you need one."

Time seemed to shift as Yennefer moved away, turned around, and moved back, until she was close to him-- so close their knees brushed, their breath mingled.

"That, Jaskier, is one of the sweetest things you've said to me, though you say many in jest."

Jaskier shook his head, vehemently. "Never would I say sweet things to you in jest, but if you think that it's all a joke--" he turned his head away, cursing himself. This had been a mistake.

"That what's all a joke, Jaskier?" Yennefer's voice came into the hollow of his ear as if it were the call of a goddess, one he was unable to resist.

"Nothing," he shrugged, his heart beating too fast in his ears.

A slide of flesh along flesh, her finger curled under his chin, and moved his face back to face her. But he pulled away, reaching for his cup.

"Jaskier. Am I misreading this?" Her voice was low, and gentle, but Jaskier felt as if he was surrounded by

"Depends." He shrugged, liquid lukewarm and tasteless all of a sudden.

"You never shut up, and now you give me one word sentences? Where are my sonnets?" She teased, her hair falling against his shoulder, and he reluctantly smiled.

"Depends, Yen, on whether you're misreading what could count as love for something else." He set the cup back down.

"And is it love?"

Jaskier turned his face, their cheeks brushing, and pulled back slightly, so he could see her eyes.

A sharp intake of breath-- who was it? Someone was shaking-- who was it?

It was him; it was Jaskier, bearing his heart to someone who could break it so, so easily.

"When has it ever not been love, when it comes to you?" Jaskier murmured.

Yennefer did not move for what seemed like an eternity. Then, suddenly, fingers were grasping his hand, pulling him even closer, and he sucked in a breath at the sudden contact.

As if he had been drowning in the ocean and had finally been released from his watery prison.

But when she did nothing else, he glanced at her once more. Her eyelashes, the curve of her jaw, the fullness of her lips-- and how she was staring at him blatently.

"It cannot be love, Jaskier, surely." She breathed, sounding as breathless as Jaskier already was.

"But it is, Yen." He turned his hand over, letting their fingers intertwine.

"This whole time?" When he did not answer, Yennefer shook her head, shoulders shaking with sudden mirth.

"What's so funny?" Jaskier said, feeling the walls of his heart closing once more. Was she laughing at him?

"Nothing, nothing at all. It's just... this whole year, I've been figuring myself out. Wondering what to make of myself after... the last time I was in love. And now... it feels as if you've been here all along, and I haven't been able to figure out... that the emotion I feel when I see you was..."

"Deep and unabiding loathing?" Jaskier joked, even as he hoped-- oh how he hoped, that it would be real, reciprocal, just once.

"No. Love." Yennefer said.

And then she was leaning in, or was Jaskier leaning in? The press of lips upon lips, so gentle-- she was so soft and sweet, and the sigh of contentment he let out against her mouth as she slipped her fingers onto his jaw, cradling his face with love as she kissed him, kissed him, kissed him!

He never wanted it to end.

And as Yennefer says, who says it has to?

-- fin --

My askbox is open, and I do take prompts! Taglist: @howdoistormspirit @tellhound

Song I listened to while writing it.

[magpierrecanarie]

Found the design sheet! Only took me a while to sort through the mess that's my "my stuff 2" folder. I don't even know why I named it that since this laptop is literally my own.

TL;DR: I talk about my Vocaloid Oliver design, show some progress pics and talk more regarding his overall concept.

↓↓ Click here if you'd like to know more! ↓↓

So... if you've been following me for a bit, you'll probably realize that I've changed from posting everyday to posting every other day. Well, about that, it's because I realized that I'll actually run out of artworks at this rate since I'm relatively slow in making art in general.

Which brings me to today's topic! I'd like to talk about some of the process I go through whenever I design a character, or in this case: Oliver.

Like, I don't know if you've noticed but I'm not exactly good at art, sometimes I reuse poses and it ticks me off, othertimes I literally reuse identical character distinctions and it takes me a while before realizing. However, I do always try my best to not have overlapping character designs so that every one of them is unique in their own way. My personal favourite trick is to add something that's awfully big and obvious that makes them look clearly different, even when they're completely shaded over with black (Oliver's tail).

First things first, I try to come up with a doodle with some sort of concept in mind. There were actually a couple more pre-concept art doodles that I made a good 4-5 years ago that isn't included in this post, I'm considering posting it (+ another one I drew up a year ago) in a separate post since it's getting a bit late and I don't feel like digging it up.

Since I'm playing around with an Oliver from a universe where the Vocaloids are an alternate version of their original VPs (more clarification in the previous Oliver fanart), + I mentioned that his specific side-effect was borderlining on life-threatening (also in the previous Oliver post), I decided to draw him as half human, half Nessie the Loch Ness Monster.

There were quite a number of reasons why I chose her compared to other monsters: 1) I've always had the headcannon that the PowerFX Vocaloids were like a big family, not necessarily blood-related but they're spiritually bounded to each other. Since I personally believe that Sweet Ann and Big Al are Oliver's new adoptive parents, I think it'll be nice for him to also be a monster in some way. (+ the amount of Oliver is a monster/half-monster headcannons in the fandom is uhh, hoo boy) 2) Oliver has always reminded me of a sailor. I don't know why and I'm pretty sure his entire costume is based off of a pre-existing choir's outfit, so there's literally no reason for it to have ties to the sea. Maybe it's the colour palette? Or maybe a Vocaloid fanfiction I read a long time ago that I've forgotten since then? Idk, but either way I really like the thought that he came from either a family of sailors or a family that lived close to the sea. 3) Okay, if you know anything about the Loch Ness Monster myth, you'd know that its origin is from Scotland and not you know, Britain, where Oliver's supposedly from. And to that I say, my argument as a South-east Asian is that it's CLOSE ENOUGH... Plus, I don't think there's other Sea Monster myths that are as easily recognizable as Nessie, who ironically enough doesn't even live in the sea, rather, she lives in a fucking lake. But still, the other couple of Sea Monsters/Sea Creatures myths that I think are decently popular are probably the Kraken or the Mermaids + Sirens. The Kraken is eliminated from the selection since this isn't supposed to be the Horror genre LOL, and the Mermaids + Sirens are a bit too far regionally, plus they're a bit basic (sorry to all my Mermaids + Sirens lovers out there) imo.

There are some ugly AF doodles here but it's what you go through when you're me, sadly.

Also, if you noticed but here I finalized the design you saw in the previous Oliver fanart where he was wearing a merge of these two testing designs of his cloak:

The former was partially inspired by the Scottish Kilt Sash, though it's not very obvious since Oli's not Scottish so I just took inspo from the way it's usually framed on one's body. The latter however was inspired by manta rays, they look STUPID as hell and I love them, so as a compromise, I merged the two cloaks together and that's what became of the current one! B)

It's actually getting a bit too long for my laptop to handle so I'll leave it here for now.💀💀

See you on Friday! B) Might be posting an original artwork then so you can look forward to it!

[bellewintersroe]

hello! firstly I just wanna say that I'm super duper happy to see BoB blogs still around and posting content! love this fandom so much <3 okay, I was wondering if I can have a BoB ship? both romantically and platonic

looks: I'm 5'7", female she/her, light olive skin, black shoulder length wavy hair, and slender build.

personality: but of an introvert (but not to the point where I can't go up to the counter to order food lol), bit sarcastic (not in a mean way ofc!), I'm also called being funny/the joker too by my friends so there's that too, I'm an artist who draws as a hobby, love to listen to music while I'm said drawing or just as background noise, animal lover (preferably dogs and birds, but cats are cool), love to bake sweets, oh and a TV and movie buff!

have a great day 💙

Agreed!! We need more BoB accounts / content, I miss it!! It’s honestly such a nice fandom to be a part of and I think everybody should give writing a go! :)

And of course! Thank you for your request <3

I ship you with… Shifty Powers!

How attractive is this guy? Seriously and this gif omfg sieirkkfkeirir so sexy lmao

but let me start with you honestly sound so sweet and chilled out! I feel like this matches Shifty’s energy perfectly.

even tho you’re more of a jokester/ sarcastic it’s a super good balance in your relationship, and before you and Shifty get together- when you’re still friends- he definitely admires you for how funny you are.

I think Shifty’s dark features would be a good match for yours, you’d be such a stunning couple, and you’d look like a good fit which everybody around you points out before you admit it to each other!

but shifty always thinks you’re beautiful, and maybe he lets this slip when you’re feeling a little shy/ introverted ?

he’d definitely think you’re a massive sweetheart, and you’d sit and talk for hours until you maybe accidentally kiss? I think it would take a long time of talking, maybe you’re both laid together on the grass- it’s kinda a mutual thing.

shifty goes super red after and let’s say you crack a joke he just giggles and goes even more shy.

Why do I feel like he has the odd tendency to be a little dopey?? Like let’s say you say something sarcastic, it takes him a minute to realise what you were saying.

when he finds out you can draw he’s soooo super duper impressed. He’d compliment you so much, and tell everybody around you guys about your talent.

has to tell the odd guy to back off (politely) when they beg you to draw them.

if you drew him omfg he’d be grinning for DAYS. I think he’d be genuinely a very happy, smiley boyfriend/ partner overall. There’s not much that can upset him, unless you have a little disagreement or he sees you upset.

would be good at communication? Maybe stammers a little when he’s trying to explain something difficult, like in that one scene with him and Winters when he’s worried about explaining what he saw at war once he’s home?

sometimes all he needs is a massive hug and he would be the best at giving them back too.

maybe when you’re sat watching a movie together he’d have your head in his lap or vice versa? I think his love language is deffo physical touch.

sometimes he’d just roll up to face you when you’re talking about a tv show/ movie you’ve both just watched and he’d be in awe. He’d have these huge puppy eyes that literally glisten- omg he’s so in love.

probably asks advice from the guys on how to tell you? Not even in a soppy kinda way, he just wants to make it nice and I think Luz would have a big input on this.

likes to take you fishing as you both chill under the sun in the fishing boat.

you sit and listen to the radio together- super chill vibes I can’t imagine there being many disagreements, you both sound super chilled.

brings you a puppy as a present one day!! It adds such an excitement in both of your lives and Shifty falls SO IN LOVE with the puppy- omg you’d have to fight him just to get a cuddle with it!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I ship you platonically with… Dick Winters!

Ok I think this friendship might stem from the fact you’re both kinda introverted and therefore insightful. Winters is kinda on the quiet side so you bond fairly quick whilst all the louder people are getting along.

he’s super friendly and not intimidating at all, he finds you really funny, when you start cracking jokes or saying little sarcastic comments about the men.

of course he’s super professional and polite so he’s always very respectful of you which you admire.

He admires your art work, and I feel like he’d really appreciate and feel like he could have a real conversation with you.

Regards you as one of his closest friends, so when he sees you getting close with Shifty he smirks from a distance.

very respectful of your privacy so doesn’t question it until he’s feeling a little bold and you probably just crack out a joke or start giggling- you probably wouldn’t expect it from Dick.

would listen to you talk about whatever movie or tv show you’ve watched.

even if you’ve got a completely different taste he still tries to gives them a watch.

Hates reality tv

[libidomechanica]

Untitled (“Come that”)

A sonnet sequence

               1

To the winds she thorns and made between: ’O woe betide! And wouldst brabbling fills both to answer—then called in all? Like a missal where stand save thee! With curious too, down desertness, though certain we walk before to her lips beyond solutions, with all heart wide, sam slips were much I respect, and the breaking flight. After seat the Baron flies. Come that many lambs we pull; fair-lined slipper knows, if Belle reject, content?-World at length burst Joy’s granary is full, and so well could lie outside. Thou hast thou, sweet, O great god Pan, when the same sunlight, condemn’d to Combat, or add a Furbelo.

               2

—So I handed her shared in my worth! Then drew behind; beside. Hyena foemen’s eternal evenings quick—and soul behind Belinda now, by Honour forbid! Made prostrate faults, if she’d tell her, because a cause thy case, blind-hitting nature did the bald-coot bully Alexander! Man; She though it seem’d but Zephyrs gentle common place my tremble away so soon; as yet this, that was certainty, perhaps mankind, is leaving lotion hold you have stay, in dangerous a pastoral war; shall partake him that in buskin fine, the hemisphere; one of his Face, like the soul doth ryse.

               3

Their monsters story, while legion’d spirit may words run out I wanna be your pinky ring not if an acorn gave of Courtly Balls, and arm’d his rosary of fruite of doubted Knights, and hence the Skies. And the kitchen be your nose who can contrive it mouth and in this peer. Out of the storm. Sleeps slipping the oaken log lay on the river; and truly sayes, than on the sex will say. Tell her, I opine: at least he rent, a laurels, and romances, new-plucked from the Sun, he rain, as few wouldst promotional important Card: first my fav’rite Curl away? The other grace, and Madeline!

               4

Almost a wall, and dreaded flower salesman. Melodious traine, with ease assumed they live with singing offend, will I ever dull substance soon as which man miracle.: The brain this might his may safely cross’d in her both, ere you froze: this world whisper lost! In earthly Vehicles to see her decease. The Lady Psyche, but dropping sounds like a length, for your Charge, the struck one is dead. Her breath, less from olive-trees a purer soul’s spring open and mighty fuss just not saue, murder at the duchess of all saint or sully’d the dusk, when the female friends t is perpendicular.

               5

Than wolves and let me laugh indeed. Not wit nor piety both are to range sometimes, adorings of the single thing more; but the Mists in grosser lips beyond all the Sprightly do inherit heaven, by turn out of place, and more suspends the Glory of fame, full of melancholy fit shall cause, but such as all I never say that opposition of the shining to weep, so short time it near. Cookout scuttle blew in cloudless eyes; so much in the growing, the painture so: it fills both Loue to raise that early risers after Million trod upon you thinking Fan be most secret.

               6

I saw my good dog grieued, but justly the river?—A things, the king our fatherless be, while Anna be yours nor mankind; but in your warme, for thee my deeds to lord you. And would that plac’d; his other heart, and Is To-day; to where the Throngs on ev’ry Grace, too, especially when they; now grave-damps falling, kiss’d and lustihead to her lattice, I would that it is St. Leave off a leaf where might and earnest Eyes sent out of prison. The streams; return rebuked to creatures, carries in-Wait here; and of Female Lungs, sighs, tears, lest I go still like all the awkward soul so charms and called softly soul.

               7

But O the haplesse gayne. The light, tis shall bowed on her which is at her hair—her Cheeks a bidden Blushes, and Lover sultry horn, its joys come to tempting Grace was sent, the Muse in rebellion trips to lutes to Belinda yielded like a flying close secrecy, as they like wintry maid. Which leads, or bright, features who lifts its death; ’ To horse was force and all the Planets that veins the Ground, go throw off is ideal, seldom fair Sacharissa down, chloe steps behind the three, fifteen, practise herself, when next she lifted up a weight of his Royal mind, his prayed: give me not seen, before.

               8

And secret laugh, while yon sun and Roger, that the Grashopper so near. By night to strew the Sylphids, to sette thy prey: the nation of her Hand, as poetical; and dreaded East to please, I drank a heart when these delight, save one to wait for thee, whose sort of war, or in generate a drove of chance led me to have I not floating at and ev’ry place that doth he, my dearest; which beaked promotional important Card: first prizing head, or look too closely the Ground, and idleness hard to leap larger to commend them for mankind might, like the lovelier was the sacred shearer.

               9

You, they be most beware! They most beware! Already quills, and go and the sake to mind the balmy Rest. Love in lap of Tyrol borrowed from above poor and ampler flowing, when she known to the glorious Dye, at Darlet we a blink did the going away: let’s get through Satyrs joyed with blowes did find a broken be, there rose Her eyes out of those other like as first resort, to leave it; yet through the rain, that shine because the cedar’d Lebanon. She took such deed, the thorns and even this weak voices soft and play the roast me, wretch, into rhythm have prayers for thee, while throats.

               10

Is not take Lodgings in Battel seiz’d alive, and on her cheeks; and straightness; now t is not dead? And sunk so low they mind, familiar blooms sae green turf suck the radiance fell’d this end and slighter. And a-proportioned shards through evening; if thou distinct witness of herds weep no more, it did sip, and placid glass had one Plebeian Card. Where he keeps mine, I though thou overcomest sodger. For Rights it were by me relation with Ends of poesy, according to the byrds to the mirror, and green, are to see what is no port wherever I abide; they please hath set. Or, like a flying.

               11

Care shining drums, upon the rose, or wedg’d Weapon from the ground about the World was of dependences must fall before the diff’ring Force, without defend? And wipe the Ithacensian streams, after verse; but that blowe the fuming Lightning from the shores and something quick Poetic pages. Find out they went, holy man; a rampant her object to the sun, how should make earth Hell! Kings, and sees, and since she, Let some thou kneel, touch your praise, but what be i’ th’ flower than they were slurring all memory of flowers be presume to the Baron’s Cheek that it be woods, fly to restrain’d his Pain.

               12

The Sylphs with varying to the dumb-sister, or no; or when from its test, and like a sail, that she briar roses see I in its ordinariness. How change, than duty, learnest wool, which sight, or heavy hands and goodly verdure fling thy purple riot: then to the hairy Sprights are diuels in Majesty of thy mind, and purple footcloth, let me powre euen which man of blood, that roses, fair Suns shall the Prize: the new Brocade. If for Madeline grew my tomb; or, like phantoms, too fine would put off from you been an acre hates me, be of you; I babbled of such vulgar miracles?

               13

And tween mid the routed, as when rough her silken Samarcand to come, her Eyes; at ev’ry light, again the seems I feel a noisome scent, their Doom; and there are fang’d there is much of sence of us verse; but yet gives way; and sphere, as she was that I shook and spilt our heare of Madeline was half a service she might be: hear our own that you like puzzled alone. By this youth and heater you’ll forfeit, so strictest into metals twain, and unembroyder’d from my loss to be annoy’d. With crimson drops he stern bay; at last heaven, I thine and care the deep in broad Sabre next, like a rope.

               14

One Vision of Day, the human breath that heart. And bade her face, and softens, and surfeit day by her lists were sped; and hours do, and beg his time with melancholy; until them in the starry skie. Sweet self; if thou, sad and thereof to Cuddie shall with you, except you here? To justify the sky might as Vision of the Blaze of the river. And lucent syrops, tincture of my lofty rhyme. Their secret spring men; drinks back at her these the uncouth swains shall the Throne. Saw that your Honour is it, to regret; o Deaths again. A generous as she hate it grew that scarcely came you do!

               15

As from the float us each discernment to the eloquence her mine, as who sits in broad golden scabbard on a moment in my wears. Hazard of a madden’d like a kind of a Prude sinks with a huge despair rise in flying. A voice doth he, my dearest, bleeds with for fair Belinda flew, Umbriel on a bee shut up the sun, how many women to arise; dreadful, as no maid’s bliss to purge from myself I’ll never want supply each important Card: first my heart in England rail the blisse, and makes the misery of your wonder is tamed: and cut the kings but the conditional.

               16

He playing on thee to grieves, with just so much; if only wake another thanks for ever! In some couenants of Air, this cruel sunshine the thou doe sitt: and yet, because to death, for history of fame, full of the stem the Fair ones mynd about the eye an interfered in Guido’s famous Druids, lifted up; there are ill at each sidelong goodbye, she fled; now to the coolness of Fitz-Plantagenet. Leaves that underworld, yesterday was, To-day is not floated to forests eke, made so kiss for your kind, They haled us to lay, like a gentle clouds of wretch, into you: but me.

               17

That are not make a woman if their spheres, ethereat the alert enemies; declaiming; there all women will be realm she eats another up, and turned head wings; which long be-night: good angels shining Ringlets I death bugs me as night? From frighted ever formed in the same by whole, as you have you took it off; for stars, innumeration, but like Love, rather, I must each other, may of danger and feel something else saw a goddess with vocal reeds, that take it spread hers your nakedness of glowworm, now I compasse weight disports. Cleave often swore my snooky and hues. Thus when, or fate.

               18

Who should disclose, quite enough, strong, and drizzling rose, or lose possesse him as a tomb which, with wailing: think they pleasant music, yearn upward eyes, for my lost a work nothing in your men together. A garment of Eternal woe, for him did known. A constru’d rage, and drizzling steed, into my words favour, and fled, in shall flow, or like growing our last leave myrtle; a gown made her list, put that Kings in the live land. Ah, happy speed; So, purpose of willows and double Lord’s do-rag. But why then the Nymphs, and well could be, great ends: ourselves delight inviolate’s ode, or since she, with me.

               19

And the precipitated, means deals in the enthrone, who hold the fatal ferry; and also subject to thy cruell the wintry Main, the backe, the curtains of huge empty Air. A kiss the wish’d in YES, and through his dull race, or lose both he, my death my hart still doubting Wits are ill at once, she miserably crave the preside, faining Altars of the Spleenwort in her hand. But when knows, the light, the duchess of your fed my comfort is, she sent for the Pleasure; I think and well and perform’d to the dull substance and pricking and pine. As lately I a garlands unblest kings, and other night?

[anubianwrites]

4. Lover's Horror

Glory made his way across the city at high speed, he needed to find an anchor did he?  Even two?  He knew just the ones!  His stylish red boots thundered the cobblestone pavement as he flew down the streets.  The light faded as the hours began to grow.  He had to hurry.

Panting, out of breath Glory reached the huge mansion where the demons lived he sought out.  He pounded on the door frantically.  Glory had to succeed, the door creaked open.  An incredibly handsome bare-chested and muscular incubus answered the door and leaned on the frame with his arm.  His olive skin glistened in the dim lights.  The demon smiled at the tiefling.  “Mmm, well well well, my favorite glorious bottom, already needing more attention from daddy?  I always have time for you.”  Glory’s heart was racing and for a second he felt charmed by this but this wasn’t the time.  Glory shook his head, the handsome demon always made him stop thinking.

“No, Fornyx, are you busy?  I need you!  It’s an emergency!”  The demon ran a hand down his thick muscled chest and demonic scales.  His black silk pants did not hide his outlines at all.

“Oh, just hanging out with my little bro Caranaz…he’s been practicing his throat stretches, why do you need some of his skills?”  Fornyx smirked and crooked a finger under Glory’s chin.  Glory shook his head again.

“Be serious!  It's not any of that…maybe later but…not now!  Martha’s missing and in danger!  Haggie gave me a rite to do to try and find her, I need you to help be my anchor for it!  Please!”  Fornyx’s expression became more serious, he could see his lover was upset and changed his stance entirely.  He called out behind him, fluttering his bat-like wings.  “Caranaz, get in here, we’re heading out.  Come on!”  His tone was authoritative, and sent shivers down Glory’s spine.  He felt the tinges of arousal, he loved it when Fornyx was dominating.  A much younger incubus with a swimmer’s build came trotting into the hallway, he had olive skin and curly black hair.  His leathery wings folded behind him.

“Yes sir?  What’s up?  Where are we going?  Oh Hi Glory!”  The younger incubus asked as Fornyx wrapped his free arm around his little brother and pulled him close.  His brother answered. 

“We need to help Glory here with something, his sister’s missing.  Grab my vest would ya?  Thanks.”  Fornyx rubbed his brother's head teasingly.  Caranaz gasped and ran off retrieving a tight fitting leather vest that Fornyx put on, accentuating his muscled chest rather than covering it.  Glory swallowed as his mind started getting fuzzy, this lot always did that to him.  “Lead the way Glory, we’ll follow.  Quicker to fly.”  Fornyx said, scooping the pale tiefling into his arms.  “I’ll carry you, handsome.”  he smirked, they stepped outside and spread their wings, taking off with a powerful thrust into the air.

“We need an open space…to the field just outside town!”  Glory ordered.  Fornyx smirked, flashing some fang.

“I like it when you get bossy.”  He flirted, he couldn’t help it, it’s his nature.  Glory chuckled.

“Save it for later Fornyx.”  Glory chided.

“That's daddy to you, mister.”  Fornyx cooed.

“Oh my gods you are impossible, now’s not the time!”  Glory groaned.

“But we like it when you’re flustered!”  Caranaz chirped.  Glory covered his face in frustration.  Damn horny demons.  Glory pointed to the ground.

“There!  That spot will do!  Down, boys!”  Glory demanded.  The two incubi only smiled, looked at each other and chuckled, sharing the same brain cell.

They landed and put Glory down who poured over the instructions.  He drew his dagger and traced the mystic symbols into the dry dirt.  The two demons watched, waiting.  “So why aren’t we just storming that asshole’s house and put the screws to him?”  Fornyx asked.

“Because she isn’t there.  I caught up to mom and her scrying can’t find her there.  Haggie couldn’t scry for her either.  She’s gotta be somewhere just…not somewhere obvious.”  Glory responded as he drew the complex sigils on the ground.  

“So we’re conduits?  How come we’re the ones you need to be anchored too?”  Caranaz asked.  Glory smirked.

“Cause we all have an intense connection, and Haggie said I’ll need a strong connection to anchor me…with how much time we are together…and what happens when we are…pretty strong.”  Glory chuckled.

“Oh come on Glory, we love you, you can say it.”  Fornyx says, crossing his arms in a dominant stance, his smoldering eyes locked on the tiefling.  Caranaz just smiled.  Glory felt his cheeks flush but he didn’t respond.  Finally he finished the patterns and directed the demons to stand at the indicated positions.

Glory anchored the instructions on the ground with a few rocks as he drew his knife, “Direct your demonic energies into me-Fornyx not now, don’t say anything!”  Glory warned with a smirk.  Fornyx but up his hands defensively and said nothing.  Caranaz chuckled and nudged his elder brother, crossing his arms.

Glory slit his hand and dripped the blood into the center of the sigils as he chanted, the dark moon glared above them.  Energy picked up, wind blew around them as he chanted.  The blood pooling in the center from his hand.  It glowed and began flowing into the grooves in the ground.  The demons extended their hands and wings as they let their energies mix into the ritual.  Glory chanted louder, the wind howled, energy crackled at his feet, the sky thundered.  His voice raised.  Bolts of red electricity leapt up and arced over his body, leaping between his horns and down his arms and legs.  He felt unmoored, like he was separating from the world.  Glory rang his voice louder, the glowing sigils pulsed with light, beams of energy jumped and faded, crackling.  Glory performed the gestures he needed at this stage, being as careful as he could.  Determined to get it right, he had to get this right, it had to work.  It had to.  He couldn’t abandon his sibling now.  

Something was happening.  He felt it, fading from the world he knew.  Darkness enclosing him as the crescendo of magic roared in his ears.  His open cloak billowed in the intense wind.  Magic snapped around him like a cocoon, crackling as Glory vanished.

Daisy and Desmonia arrived at the manor of Malachai.  The day was fleeting.  Daisy’s hopes were hanging by threads as she met too many paths and not enough clues.  Old Gertrude was her only lead now.  The wight and witch approached the doors and knocked but there came no answer.  Daisy wasn't going to wait and come at a better time.  Her baby was missing and she wouldn’t sit still.  With a magical word and a knock the door unlatched and swung open.  The home was so beautifully attended to.  Spotless of dust or age.  Ornate portraits of dark ceremonies, beautiful witches, handsome warlocks and fierce beasts lined the walls as they wandered.  Richly built furniture and fine wall paper decorated the place.  Daisy using her pendulum was led up the stairs.  Lined with a red and gold carpet, pinned by brass rods to prevent the lining rug from tripping anyone.  

Daisy could feel the magic in the place, dark and foreboding.  Nothing unusual here given where she lived, dark magic was commonplace.  But this felt different.  The amber tip pulled them down the dark hallway, its glow the only light source as potted plants rested at the end of the hall, flanking the window.  A red drape was drawn.  At the end of the hall a solid oak door with polished brass door knob and fittings sat.  A dark pulse behind it throbbed.  

Desmonia took point and opened the door.  It swung open revealing the fine and stately bedroom.  A comfortable large bed with drawn curtains surrounding it like the bed of a royal.  Fine polished wood formed the frame, the banisters tall and decorated with ornate carvings of birds and snakes.  The silk drapes heavy and colored a dark green.  The room was decorated with a marble sitting table near the window and fine upholstered chair.  A fine couch before a fireplace that wasn’t lit.  A rich rug had pride of place in the center of the room.  Rich lacquered wooden end tables, a large armoire, and boudoir finely occupied the room.  Thin laced curtains let light into the room but obscured the contents.  Desmonia could feel the presence of another undead.  She wafted across the room, Daisy close behind.  They drew back the drapes from the fine royal bed.  There lay the withered and desiccated body of a woman, arms across her chest.  A dark pulsing aura washed over her body like a cocoon of dark malice.  Desmonia reached out to touch it, a black bolt of energy lept and crackled, carving across her forearm and hand like a heated blade.  Desmonia recoiled and hissed.

“Foul magic this be.  It reeks of death, and yet holds no favor to the undead.  A spell of repression…”  Desmonia hissed.  Daisy stepped forward and drew her enchanted atheme blade.  The emerald jewel embedded in its hilt glowed as she stabbed at the mystical aura, it crackled, fighting the magic.  Daisy chanted a spell of dissolvement as she cut through the status spell.  It fought back with arching bolts of dark energy striking like lightning bolts, the wall, the bed, the floor, ceiling leaving streaked black grooves of scorched energy and the scents of ozone.  The spell cracked and fell to Daisy’s dispulsion.  She staggered and fell backwards into a nearby chair.  She panted and gasped surprised by how much it took out of her.  Desmonia flocked to her side to make sure she was ok.  

“No, I’m fine, thank you Desmonia.  Thank you.  I just need a minute.”  Daisy reassured me.  The corpse on the bed raspily groaned, an ethereal voice emanated from it.  She didn’t speak but they heard the raspy voice of a woman.  

“Thank you…so long…trapped…could not resist…damned spell.”  Old Gertrude struggled to formulate as her undead mind slowly awoke.  

“Old Gertrude…why were you in such a state?  What happened to you?”  Daisy eagerly asked.  The corpse looked to her with living eyes glowing with necromantic energies that sustain her.

“A dark…creature…came much time…ago…took root in my son…a host…vile…thing…a demon of death…”  the corpse raspily conveyed.

“Not a demon of these realms…”  Desmonia observed.  Old Gertrude nodded and blinked in agreement.  Daisy was even more worried now.  Her mind raced with desperation and concern.

“Where is it now, Gertrude tell us!  He has my daughter!  Help me save her please!”  Daisy begged, tears welling in her eyes.  The corpse blinked as she raspily tried to convey.

“A secret place…it's a lair…dungeon in…son's room…hidden door…a demi realm where he takes them.”  She struggled to say.

“Them?”  Desmonia quired.  Old Gertrude blinked in acknowledgement.

“Victims…women he lures…consumes their souls…nourishment…to keep possession of my son’s body.  To stay hidden…”  she says.

Daisy rose to her feet.  “Do you know how we could defeat this creature?”  The corpse looked sad.  The answer is obvious.  Daisy sighed knowing a mothers worry.  “If we can, we’ll save him from the beast.  But my daughter is my primary priority.  I understand your concern.  I will try to help him, I promise!”  Daisy takes her hand and gently squeezes the ancient corpse.  Gertrude smiled faintly, her skin cracking like tissue paper.

Daisy set her hand back down gently and ran out of the room, Desmonia close behind her.  Time was slipping away.  The door to the bedroom was open, a tossed and messy bed sat in the center of the room.  Fine carpeting and wooden panels.  The room was warm and comfortable but lavish.  Daisy felt disgust…that here her daughter was defiled.  She hated it, she hated all of it.  Using the pendulum the door was located, but opening it was an entirely separate affair.  This would take alot.  Daisy felt the hidden planar passage with her powers, feeling the contours of a door.  She had a few tricks, the problem was being able to break in.  

Martha recoiled as the creature rubbed her bulging stomach.  She felt like it’s been months since she was sealed in here.  “What is this…”  she whimpered.  It smiled at her.  

“Oh lark, I’ve impregnated you, I’d have thought that obvious.  I have sped the passages of time in this room, to hasten your development.  You will birth my master’s new body…and soon…soon…we shall implant him within the growing infant before you birth him…he shall walk the earth again.”  he cooed, stroking her cheek.  “You get to be mother to a new world, lark.  Be proud!”  

Martha cried, she shouted in rage and shook the chains frantically, weeping, powerless.  The creature laughed.  “Not too much longer, lark…a few hours and you’ll be ready for the big ceremony…”  he smiled and turned away, and went to a ritual area in the chamber.  Green glowing candles pulsed with dark horrible light.  She couldn’t see much of it.  Her body felt so violated, the heat in her belly swelling, it made her feel weak, tired.  She blinked, barely able to focus.  Martha was terrified, what was this sinister plan?!

Time slipped away as Martha lost consciousness, every time her eyes opened she was fully, rounder, heavier.  Horror gripped her, it was close to time, she could feel it coming.  The weight, the hormones flooding her with rage, fear, joy, confusion.  Martha couldn’t stave off the madness flooding her brain.  She was having a baby?!  She was having a baby.  She was going to birth a monster, used by some evil being for some horrible purpose.  Desperately she rambled at the creature.

“Y-you won’t get away with this!  This is Sister’s Respite!  I’m part of a coven under the Grand Coven!  You won’t live through this!  They’ll come and destroy you!  You can never stay if you do this!  The Night Mother will stop you, punish you, and make you beg for death!”  The creature laughed so heartily Martha’s ears rang.

“You poor fool.  You think your Grand Coven and Night Mother matter to me?!  To us?!  We are beyond such paltry concerns.  I have died before, child.  I am of death.  I cannot be destroyed.  You’ll just buy yourself a few thousand years before I can reform in my lord’s realm, ready to do his will.  Your desperation is like sweet wine.”  He appeared next to her and licked her cheek.  “Such sweet terror, you precious lark.  You’ll live through this, do not worry.  He will reward you for your part.”  He reassured her.  “Who knows.  He might even let your family live too.”  He chuckled before returning to his work on the ritual site.  Martha passed out again.  She was so tired, craving sleep and yet could not find a purchase.  

She awoke much later, laying on the altar he had been preparing.  Martha’s eyes were bleary, she could hear the creature talking but it seemed so far away, muffled.  She couldn’t move.  There was a smell, acrid, she was cold.  Her eyes adjusted seeing the creature wearing Malachai’s face at her feet chanting.  Her belly is the size of a pumpkin.  Yellow sulfur smelling paint over her mounding pregnancy, forming some sort of symbol.  She was naked.  Realization hit and she tried to get up.  Manacles anchored her by the throat, wrists and ankles to the altar.  Her legs held apart. She whimpered as the creature conducted its foul ceremony.  Dark energy swirled above her, she could feel it, pure hatred, hatred for life and living things, seething disdain and endless empty hunger.  She was horrified by the face inside it.  Inconceivable shapes formed and fell apart in the churning energy.  Something was coming.  Martha cried.  She was never going to get out of here.  She was never going to see her family again.  She was going to be used as a vessel for some horrid monster and discarded the casing of a sausage.  Martha whimpered, thinking of her family…her loving but stern grandmother…her doting father…her loving and wise mother…even her dumb horny brother and his vulgar suggestive chatter…she loved them so much.  She wished they could be with her, that she could be with them at home…safe at home.  Martha started to prepare herself for the end of this sordid tale of pain and horror.  She feared but she needed to be ready…she needed to be at peace.  Tears fell from her eyes as she made herself ready to die in this horrible place.

The dark ritual thrummed in the room, sucking all warmth from it.  Frost creeped along the stones as the creature chanted.  It’s voice wasn’t Malacahis anymore.  It was something else, something darker.  The churning energies above began to creep down like hanging vines towards her, or tentacles seeking to burrow into her.  Martha closed her eyes, ready for this to be over.

Something crackled.  Light burst into the room as a hole in reality tore open like being forced by great cleaving claws.  The hulking demon Pyraeus emerged wreathed in infernal fire.  He roared and charged the ritual site, catching the creature off guard.  He punched in the face and threw it clear across the dungeon.  He rushed to Martha and removed her bindings.  He smiled kindly at her, she was beautiful… and heavily pregnant.  Piraeus didn’t care.  His demonic heart throbbed with relief she was alive.  We held her close in his arms.  “You’re safe Martha.  I’m here to save you.  I won't let him hurt you.”  Martha could scarcely believe it.  She cried and smiled up at the fire demon, his body’s intense warmth comforted her.  She held her belly with both hands.  His massive arms shielding her from the bitter cold in the room.  

“Pyreus!  You’re such a sight!”  Martha struggled to say, words were lost on her to encapsulate her elation and joy to feel a flicker of hope and safety again.  

The dark tendrils still reached for her, but seemed to halt progress without the ritual chants.  The creature leapt up and flew across the chamber, the scorched flesh revealing the monster inside emerging.  It roared as it came for him.  Pyreus delivered another devastating punch, throwing the creature off balance as the intense hit cracked into his skull.  The creature was stunned.  Violent energies struck Pyraeus from above, feeding on his energies.  He buckled and dropped to one knee, shielding Martha from it.

“You…fucking slag!”  the creature screams.  “You derivative demonic flounce!  You think you can defy me?!  ME?!  I AM ROKUUTH!  BRINGER OF DESPAIR AND I SHALL NOT BE DENIED!”  he shed Malacahi’s form and twisted into a horrible blackened creature, skin like tree bark.  Two twisted horrid horns, glowing jaundice eyes like lanterns in the depths of night.  Seething with malice.  It extended a hand casting a bolt of dark energy.  It struck Pyreus, his blistering red skin began to pale, the fires started to dinge.  Yet he stayed solid and strong as he shielded Martha.

“You cannot have her.  Martha will not be used as some discardable wrapper for your evil.”  Martha touched his bulging chest.  She smiled seeing his determination.  Fire sealed them in a globe of energy.  His eyes flared with a determination Martha never saw before.  But she recognized it.  Her heart fluttered.

Out of the darkness Glory saw a bright light, a fire.  The envelope of reality slid over him as he appeared in this strange place.  Blade in hand.  He had moments to take in the sight.  He spotted Pyreus and Martha in a corner, wrapped in a globe of hellfire.  He saw bolts and beams of dark enervating energy and a horrid black skinned demon with yellow eyes.  Glory charged the distracted demon and drive his blade deep into its side under the arm.  It screamed as the magical blade sank in like it was softer flesh.  Rokuuth screamed and smacked the tiefling in the face, hurkling him across the room with a powerful strike.  

Glory reacted in time, a magical shield absorbing the strike as he hit the wall.  He focused his demonic magics and hurled a sphere of raging fire across the room, igniting the area in fire. Rokuuth screamed and flailed as the fire scorched into his flesh.  His skin crackled like kindling.  A thunderous sound smashed against the door above the stairs.  

Rokuuth jumped on Glory enraged as his skin blistered, seething and heaving he strangled the tiefling.  Choking the life from him.  “You insipid half-hell, you worthless mistake of breeding!  I will tear you apart!”  Rokuuth seethed.  Martha screamed.  Glory felt life draining away as he couldn’t breath.  Blood pounding in his ears.  

The heavy metal door burst open with a thunderous crack.  Dais and Desmonia entered.  Desmonia conjured withered vines of thorns around Rokuuth piercing his flesh.  Daisy rushed down the stairs on an unseen wind and struck the demon with her morningstar with a mothers fury.  “Unhand my son you BITCH!”  she screamed as she drove the pikes into Rokuuth’s face.  The demon recoiled and fell backwards trying to recover from the strike.  

Desmonia hovered speedily across the room to Pyreus and Martha, “I shall tend to our Martha.  Go help punish this vile creature of the Horned One.”  Pyreus looked to Martha.  Martha smiled and touched his bulging chest. 

“It’s ok.  Destroy him.”  she urged.  Pyreus dispelled his fiery shield and put Martha down gently and nodded.  He ran off and joined the fight.  Smashing furiously with his massive fists into Rokuuth.  The spindly demon could not recover from the pummeling.  Glory slid in and delivered strikes with his dagger as it wreathed in black and green fire.  Dealing extra injury to the demon.  Daisy threw bolts of energy from her weapon, blasts of force and motes of energy that pierce the demon.  

“We have to get that thing out of Malachai.  I promised his mother.”  Daisy yelled.

“I got it.”  Pyreus yelled, smashing Rokuuth to the floor and with demonic ethereal hands he punctured into the demonic form.  Rokuuth screamed, weakened and unable to resist the hulking demons strength, the creature was torn from the human vessel which gasped and fell to the ground, wounded and bleeding.  Pyreus held the ethereal being in his firm grip and continued his vicious assault on it’s being.  Daisy hurled bolts of magical energy and Glory chanted the words to a banishment.  He’d send this thing to hell.  

Rokuuth screamed, thrashed and tried to escape but he could not.  Soon the tieflings spell took hold.  Pyreus let go as the dark spirit was drawn into an unseen void, thunderously banished from this realm.  With it done, the fire demon rushed to Martha.  She was now wrapped in Demonia’’s black shawl for clothing.  Martha burst into tears of joy and fell into Pyreus’ arms.  Then her mothers as they all gathered around her.  

“My child!  Oh my poor child what's been done to you!  We’re here!”  Daisy embraced her pregnant child.  Glory beamed, relieved she was safe.

“It’s ok sister, we’d never abandon you!  We’re here!”  Glory squeezed her hand.  Pyreus stood back letting the family comfort her.  He hadn’t realized but he was smiling and tears of liquid flame sizzled down his cheek.  Then Martha gasped.

“Oh gods…”  Martha groaned as pain wracked her.  Her water had broken.  She looked panicked to her mother.  “It’s time…its coming…”  she said fearfully.  Daisy nodded.

[valentineforlemonandcherry]

It’s 1 AM and I just finished Light and Dark. Honestly, I put off for about a year because I didn’t want it to end. Let me tell you something, it was soooo good.

First off, I love her friendship with Em. Secondly, the love interests were well developed. I have a softer spot for Cy than James, which is why chapter 22 hurt… a lot. But it’s okay because I just pretend like it didn’t happen. The epilogue for Cy and the reading was absolutely perfect! I did read James’ AU chapters. Remember how I asked about Sirius seeing James and the reading going at it at the Potter house? Well you told me you had something planned in the future and it DID NOT disappoint! If you ever decide to do something like this for James and Sirius, I’ll be first in line to read.

Honestly, you’re my favorite author on here. I’ve read the Charlie/Oliver and Remus/Rowan/Tristan (love Rowan and Tristen so much btw. What is it with you and OCs that make me fan girl a little too hard?) stories. Sorry I always forget tittles, but I love them too. Thank you so much for the amazing writing! I can’t wait to read more :)

-🦭

Hello hello! Ah, this is so lovely. I remember receiving some of my first messages from you, close to the start of Light & Dark. Thank you for sticking with it and finishing it. It's truly wonderful to hear that you liked it right up to the end. I honestly had a hard time finishing it because there were so many things I wanted to show, but ultimately, I think it came together okay.

I want to respond to your individual comments, but I also want to avoid potential spoilers and not annoy anyone with a huge (really, huge), rambling block of text, so it'll be under this cut:

First - Emmeline Vance! Yes, I saw Em as this understated, but very confident person, even as just a first-year. And then here you were, this slightly stand-offish, unsure person, with your arms crossed across your chest and a somewhat confused and profoundly displeased expression on your face all the time. You drew together because both of you had this quiet, tough energy. Also, it didn't really show up in this story because Emmeline realized you were struggling during the years the story takes place and was very gentle with you, but I imagined Emmeline as having Sirius-level recklessness and biting sarcasm, except with more of a forward-thinking brain and less of a need for dramatic flair - so truly, a force to behold. An amazing friend - hence, why your and Cyrille's daughter is named after her.

(Also, I mentioned it only a couple times, but in Light & Dark, I thought two of your other friends, Amelia and Hestia, fell in love and dated at Hogwarts. The same night you reunited with Cyrille on the Astronomy Tower, Amelia and Hestia played some drinking-and-kissing game in the Hufflepuff common room (where you were supposed to be) and realized they were just as compatible as lovers as they were friends.)

Second - Yeah, Chapter 22 was... I put a warning up because I didn't want anyone to have any bad feelings while reading the story. However, I think sometimes we fantasize about 'bad-boy-or-girl/dominant/experienced' tropes (which, why not?) without acknowledging the flip side of that. Physically, having a sexually experienced partner means just that - if this is a new relationship and that person is already sexually experienced, then they obviously had those experiences at some point with someone else.

With Cyrille Lestrange, it's especially dark. Cyrille's ability to dominate you and his incredibly mesmerizing aura, which you might find as attractive features, came from his 'training' to seduce someone whilst maintaining total control over the situation, ultimately to persuade that person to give whatever is needed. Fortunately, with you/Reader, Cyrille is slowly able to let go of that aspect (which is why in Part 19, he confesses to you that he doesn't know how to be intimate without putting on a mask, and why Cyrille always affectionately thinks of you as his true dominant, since with you, he finally feels free and light-hearted and gets to be emotionally vulnerable with you when the two of you are together.)

It's not just Cyrille. I almost always think there is a flip side. For example, in my head, Remus Lupin's gentle and humble traits might draw you in, but they arise partly from his lack of self-esteem, which might play a key factor in pushing you away. Sirius Black's roguish charm and confidence might attract you to him, but they come partly from his independent upbringing (not having anyone to care for him), so those aspects will likely go hand-in-hand with his shutting you out and with his more reckless behavior.

Also, Chapter 22 is a slight reminder that we see the story from your/Reader's perspective. Part of the later chapters (hopefully) contain these flashes of realization where you suddenly comprehend what other characters were thinking at a prior point in time. For example, the James A/U is meant to highlight what he was personally struggling with back when the two of you first broke up (i.e. the significance of 'choice' over instinct). And Chapter 22 shows flashes of what Cyrille had to endure to, as he believes, 'save the people around him.' It is also a very, very slight parallel to what Cyrille may have felt when, after you lost your memory, you started to date James. Obviously, there are huge differences - for one, you didn't know about your link to Cyrille and you were genuinely happy with James and your actions had no consequences beyond Cyrille's suffering; whereas Cyrille is obviously thinking about you and is totally miserable and is enabling this terrible regime of Voldemort. But for me, the point was not to take character traits and perspectives for granted. I always meant to include Chapter 22 in the story, but at the end of the day, it is upsetting and disgusting. I hope it didn't upset you too much!

Also, I shouldn't say this, but I love that you had a softer spot for Cyrille. I can imagine him somewhere out there, smirking and softly stroking your hair, so utterly pleased that he's definitely won his Angel back over from that 'uncivilized, messy-haired, stupidly-proud-Gryffindor, can't-control-his-own-damn-mouth-long-enough-to-say-hello, how-dare-he-look-at-another-girl-when-he-has-you, never-deserved-you-anyways prick.'

Third - the Sirius and James chapter! I had that saved for ages. It never fit into the original story (because I felt like it was too much insecurity and drama when combined with the main issue of Lily-James-you), and I was so excited to finally share it with everybody. I have lots of ideas about Sirius, as well as about all of the inter-Marauders dynamics. I hope I'll eventually get to share them here.

Fourth - Rowan Scamander and Tristan Graves. Ah, thank you for saying this! I get so nervous with featuring OCs. I see their personalities and histories so clearly in my mind, but I never know if it comes through correctly in the actual story. I don't want to say too much on these characters because Foxtail & Wolfsbane is still in-progress and they both continue to be involved in the story, but my initial conception of each of them was something like the following:

Rowan is the Golden Child, and he initially takes to this position very easily - not only smart, but witty; not only popular, but kind. However, the older he grows, the more his parents' fame and his bright aura wear on him as everyone's expectations of who he should be start to suffocate him. Because, the truth is that while Rowan inherited many qualities from his parents, he doesn't naturally have either of his parent's gentleness, which is part of what they're famous for. He doesn't have his father's awkwardness or love of creatures or his mother's understanding nature and sense of deep duty. Instead, he has his own sense of adventure and intense personality. But whenever he acts like himself and lets his ambitions show, he seems to disappoint people. So, not only is he expected to be perfect, but he's expected to perform perfectly as though it was nothing, and to follow his parents' footsteps and even have their personalities as though it all comes naturally to him. Thus, he stays this beautiful, bright, charismatic young man, but a certain edge starts to grow in his fierce soul as he realizes that fame is a cage and the only reward is power, but never peace.

Tristan is, in some ways, Rowan's reverse. He initially comes off far too authoritative and independent (seemingly ordering people around without listening to their views) and basically like some arrogant prodigy who only ever has master-servant relationships (e.g., having Susana as a 'maid' or telling Cas that she can't love him or keeping you prisoner in the United States). Then, you learn about his past - how he was caught between his parents, the Obscurial, and an entire team of Aurors, and how he only survived because both of his parents died for him. But just when you are about to garner some sympathy for him, instead of being grateful, Tristan blatantly shows that he hates any comparison to his father and swears that unlike his father, he won't die for just one lame, undeserving person, which is a shocking way to talk about a parent who loved you and died to protect you.

Only then, it all starts to unravel: Tristan only kept you with him in the United States to figure out if you were telling the truth about the Nine-Tailed Fox and that you weren't alleged with Voldemort and to keep you safe from all of the Aurors who wanted to kill you because they thought you were an Obscurial. He willingly let you go once he knew you were telling the truth and that you could take care of yourself. Tristan saved Susana from being sentenced to death merely because she was Grindelwald's secret daughter and he uses his knowledge of ancient metal magic to curb her power at her request, because Susana inherited Grindelwald's dark and destructive bent in magic. Tristan only told Cas not to love him because he knew he had the shard of Obscurial locked away in his soul and as his depression grew, he felt it growing stronger in his soul, and he was afraid to hurt Cas. (There was a storyline I originally sketched out where Tristan had a prior childhood crush, Mary Jauncey, whom he hurt badly and ultimately lost when Tristan first discovered the Obscurial had gone into his body by the Obscurial bursting out of him when he got angry, but I took it out. The importance of that was that it became a deep trauma for Tristan, in addition to his parents' death. There are hints of the loss of Mary Jauncey in the first few chapters where Tristan appears; that's what the passages of Hades and Persephone were about - Tristan is Hades, Mary is Persephone, only in the real world, they can never reach each other. Even magic cannot bring myth to life; only myth is myth. The Nine-Tailed Fox, as a mythical creature herself, senses this desire and pain in Tristan.) Tristan also believed that Cas was MCUSA's greatest asset, and when he overheard other Aurors talking behind her back and saying that she only ranked high because of her relationship with him, he became furious and tried to put some distance between the two of them, at least until she established herself among the Aurors, which Tristan knew would not take long. The sum of this is supposed to be confusing - Tristan says he doesn't want to be like his father, that he would never sacrifice himself for a single individual and yet he has, time and time again - for Susana, for Cas, for you - and then, finally, you learn that when Tristan talks about that lame, undeserving person, he meant himself, as a little kid whose parents sacrificed themselves for him. Tristan believes that no matter how many people he helps, it could never amount to the potential his parents had for helping people, and for that reason, he wishes that he had died instead and that his parents could be alive in his stead. When the Nine-Tailed Fox helps him to find forgiveness in himself (through you), that wound in his soul becomes healed enough that the Obscurial is forced out of him. That's his arc up until now (Part 26).

Finally, and most importantly - Thank you very much for leaving such sweet messages and giving my stories all this attention and love. ♥ I hope this wasn't too long; I just want to make sure I'm reciprocating your good energy. Cheers!