#no but really holy shit!!! i love this so much

[captainreecejames]

Tale As Old As Time || My Ex is a Footballer OB38 Edition

links [masterlist] [my ex series masterlist]

summary you have a best friend and a boyfriend, too bad you're in love with the wrong one

pairings ex!cole palmer x reader, ollie bearman x reader

warnings cursing, hate to yn,

notes this was born because i realized that I hadn't written the classic friends to lover trope so here you guys go! also the next one will be george because I've had that one in the drafts forEVER so I want to get it out there for everyone!

july 2023

september 2023

liked by kimiantonelli, olliebearman and others

ynusername Ollie that's 3 wins this season!!! I'm so freaking proud of you but here's a reminder of what you looked like to keep you level headed

olliebearman did you really need to post that last one? ↳ ynusername yes bearboy

kimiantonelli 😃😃 ↳ ynusername be careful kimi

username1 ugh, i love their friendship! ↳ username2 yeah... friendship ↳ username1 she's got a boyfriend that's not Ollie ↳ username2 doesn't mean she isn't in love with ollie and playing with the new guys feelings

December 2023

ynusername posted a story -------

ynusername posted ------

liked by olliebearman, bsfinstagram and others

ynusername dates out with you

username11 so she goes out with ollie the night before and now her man... yn they could never make me like you ↳ username12 for real!!! that was clearly a date with ollie last night so she had to post with this mystery man

olliebearman does cole let you win like me? ↳ colepalmer nah mate ↳ colepalmer oh fuck ↳ olliebearman oh fuck ↳ ynusername you both are idiots

username13 COLE PALMER IS DATING YN LN????? ↳ username14 did not have that on my bingo card for 2023 ↳ username13 seriously does she go around collecting sports prodigies?

username15 wait, ollie lets her win in chess? (pouty face) ↳ username16 ollie bearman plays chess????? ↳ olliebearman only with yn ↳ ynusername and contrary to popular belief he only let me win once

username17 not ollie exposing yn and cole ↳ username18 and cole had to really back it up by commenting ↳ username17 if Ollie had just deleted his comment none of this would have happened and we'd still be speculating

january 2024

ynusername posted a story -----

march 2024

ynusername posted -------

liked by scuderiaferrari, charles_leclerc and others

ynusername HOLY FUCKING SHIT YOUVE JUST HAD YOURR FIRAT FORMULA ONE RACE AND YOU SCORED POINTS! I'm so proud of you and this whirlwind of a weekend. Nowhere I'd rather be than supporting you here.

username20 oH MY GOD YN JUST ADMIT YOU'RE IN LOVE WITH HIM!! ↳ username21 that hand holding picture???? that is not just best friends i am sorry

olliebearman thank you so much for flying out on such short notice YN! ↳ ynusername you know i had to when you're dad called me!

charles_leclerc congrats again to ollie ↳ ynusername charles!! you were amazing as well

carlossainz55 where's my appreciation? ↳ ynusername thank you carlos for getting appendicitis and then needing it removed so ollie could make his f1 debut and also thank you for showing him around ↳ carlossainz55 you're welcome!

kimiantonelli well done to Ollie, and you yn for surviving that race ↳ ynusername it was hard but I had david with me to help ↳ kimiantonelli ahhh, love david

username22 she really flew out on saturday to be there? yn please

username23 need cole palmer to realize that she really doesn't care about him

June and July 2024

ynusername posted----

liked by premaracing, scuderiaferrari and others

ynusername monza!!!!! featuring some race winners and prema racing or one direction, couldn't be sure

username30 not yn being online enough to know about one direction prema racing>>>> ↳ ynusername i sent that tweet to ollie, it makes me laugh every time

username31 the hand heart??? yn we know what you are ↳ username32 yeah but also she loves charles so idc she can do no wrong now

username33 at least we know that her and cole aren't together anymore

username34 yn magnussen got a race ban!!! is ollie gonna take his seat? ↳ ynusername oh kmags, the fia is just silencing him cause he's too good

ynusername posted----

liked by haasf1team, nicohulkenberg and others

ynusername ollie once again I'm so proud of you! and back in the points as well! couldn't be prouder to call you my best friend and boyfriend

username40 WHAT THE FUCK WE GOT A OLLIEYN CONFIRMATION??

ynusername also you raced alongside lewis hamilton can you get me an autograph? username41 you know what?? she's part of cultLH and I'm gonna defend her forever now

ynusername shout out to kmags for the race ban but I'm gonna miss you next year

username42 OLLIE ACKNOWLEDGE YOUR GIRLFRIEND!!! olliebearman

olliebearman i love you yn, and I'll get you that lewis hat don't worry ynusername best fucking boyfriend ever

francolapinto LEWIS ↳ ynusername LEWIS!!!!! ↳ olliebearman LEWIS!!!!!!!!! ↳ username43 your honor i love them all

[roanniom]

For the Road

Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Warnings: NSFW, oral sex (m receiving), dirty talk

You lie in the quiet of dawn, cool rays of a hesitant sunrise filtering through the curtains, as Eddie plays with your fingers.

“I don’t want to go on tour.”

His words are so soft you almost don’t hear them muffled against your neck. It’s the first either of you have spoken since you’d woken up in each other’s arms. Distress pricks your throat.

“Why not? You’re going to have so much fun and the crowds are gonna be sick.” Your tone is cheery. You want the best for your man, even if that means feigning excitement in the face of his imminent departure.

Eddie shifts in bed in order to look at you.

“You won’t be there.”

In spite of the stubble that’s accumulated on his face over night, his crumpled expression leaves him looking boyish. Your heart aches.

“I will be there, silly. You know I’m coming to London to meet up with you.”

“Yeah, at the end of the tour,” he groans, burying his face back against your neck. The laugh you let out in response is genuine. You don’t want him to be hurting, but his petulance is endearing in this context. Plus, you secretly like knowing you aren’t the only one dreading your separation.

“I’ll just be a phone call away, you know.”

“Promise?”

You tap him till he looks up at you again so he can see your outstretched pinky. Grinning, he hooks his larger one around yours.

“I’ll be waiting for you, Eddie Munson,” you reply.

“And thinking impure thoughts about me?” Eddie asks hopefully, a wolfish grin lighting up his features. You slide your free hand down his chest and under the covers.

“I only think impure thoughts about you, babe.” You go to press against what you assumed would be his half aroused member only to find it fully rigid under your palm. You intake breath sharply with a laugh. “You’re already hard?”

“What do you expect? Your hand is on my dick.” Eddie says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the entire world.

“Yeah, for like two seconds,” you say, rolling your eyes.

“What can I say? That’s all it takes—fuuuck.”

Eddie trails off into a groan as you wrap your hand around his length in earnest under the waistband of his boxers.

It’s only a few minutes before he’s panting, head tossed back and wavy hair sprayed out against the pillows.

“Oh fuck, just like that, baby.” His voice is low. Gruff with lust and leftover sleep. “You’ve got the magic touch, you know that?”

You hum in response. You’re too focused on the “task at hand” to let him really distract you with his praise. You’re stationed between his thighs, one hand gripping the base of his cock while the other fists up and down, squeezing and twisting over the mushroom head with a flourish each time.

Each time the tip is exposed, you flick your tongue over it, rewarded with his deep moans.

If Eddie was going to be on the road, you were going to be leaving him with plenty of material for his daydreams.

When you start bobbing up and down, taking him deeper in your mouth, that’s when his hips start bucking.

“Princess, it’s - shit - morning. You know I can’t…fuck. Can’t last long in the morning.” He attempts to push you off but you just look up with a grin, your hands still working him expertly.

“Oh I know.”

“I haven’t gotten you yet,” he practically whines, reaching to squeeze at your breast through your sleep shirt.

“I’ll sit on your face later. Right now I want you to cum, ok baby?” you ask before dropping back down to take him all the way down your throat without further warning.

Eddie gasps and his whole body jerks.

“Holy fucking…oh god. Yes ma’am.”

~*~

-

—

—-

——

I hope you enjoyed this little blurb as I get back into posting! Please let me know what you think! I’ve been gone a long time and would love to hear from you guys

[emmyrosee]

Pls pls pls help a girl out!!

Its shark 🦈 week and whenever I’m in shark week I crave angst full on body angst ne you write it best 😭 pity me

I write it the best…? 🥺🩷 also no specific character in mind for this, but yall are married so 🫶🏻

————-

You’ve been yelling at each other for hours.

The circles of verbal assault haven’t slowed its pace, vile, cruel words flying from one mouth to pierce the heart of the other, only for the other words to come harder, meaner, louder. The throes of anger keep you both pinned in place, unable to stop, think, and see the damage you’re causing each other.

Your hands are swollen from your fists being so tightly balled, migraine forming from your scowling. His brows are stuck pinched in the center of his forehead, so deep you’re convinced they’ll stay there for days after you’re done. His teeth are grit so tight together that you want to massage his jaw to make them loosen before he shatters his pearly whites into pieces.

The culprit? A cold cup of tea, that now sits to the side dejectedly.

Because of that cold cup of tea, you’ve been screaming for two, going onto three hours, with no end in sight.

But, it’s not about the cold tea. It’s about the fact that the urgency in your love is gone, the quickness and determination to be with each other has dissolved into nothing but sugar melting in a mug of tea. Your time together has been awkward, it’s been minimal, and in your search to do something nice for him, like a warm cup of tea, he allowed it to get cold, and… what happened next?

There’s boundaries being crossed, lines of truce being broken as you cast vicious words against each other, the use of insecurities to make the other crumble and conjure a look of hurt, only to morph to disgust and yell back something even more heinous.

And yet…

“What did I even marry you for?” He snarls, throwing his arms out. “I’m certain it wasn’t for this! So why are we wasting our time right now?”

Your world stops.

In an instant, all words die on your tongue. Your mouth opens and closes like a fish as all you can think about are his words. They repeat in your head, almost in slow motion, as your heart sinks in your chest.

“What…?” you croak. Your throat is dry, mouth cottony, and you silently pray to anything, holy and not, merciful and malicious, that you didn’t hear him right. Your mind is lying, so tired of fighting you’re seeing the worst in him as a defense mechanism.

“You heard me,” he barks. “Your life is so miserable? You hate it here so much? GO.”

You heard him right.

You wished you hadn’t.

Your arms come up to cradle yourself in comfort, the fire swirling in your chest now extinguished, the once lively fight now being reduced to a ringing in your ear.

You’d… when did he…

“You don’t get to sit here, call me a cheater, a loser, a liar, all for your own good mind. Not when I’ve put my whole LIFE into you. I gave you my WHOLE. LIFE.”

“Why…”

“What?” He snarls.

You sniffle. Your bottom lip wobbles, and you blink a line of scalding tears out; you’re surprised they don’t sizzle your flesh from being so hot with frustration.

“Why… are you being so mean?”

“Mean?” He snaps. “Mean, you’ve called me some of the cruelest shit I’ve ever heard in your vocabulary, but I’m being mean? Do you even hear yourself, IM THE MEAN ONE?”

“Do you really wonder why you married me…?”

Your voice is so quiet, you wonder if he heard you.

He opens his mouth to spew his venom, only to stop dead in his tracks. His brows soften as his eyes widen, jaw slacking subtly. For the first time tonight, the room is quiet; still thick enough to cut the tension with a blade, but it’s quiet enough where you both can gather your thoughts.

You wipe your nose with your arm, “do you really think I want to stay here and fight with you? Is that how you think I want to spend my night with you?” You sob softly, “because it’s not. I don’t want to fight with you over cold tea… I don’t want to…”

You can practically see the lightbulb over his head light up. That’s right, you think to yourself. This is about tea.

“I…”

“I don’t question why I married you,” you whimper. “I know exactly why- because I love you. But the man I know would never, and I mean never, verbally assault and question his love for me over a cold. Cup. Of. Tea.”

“I don’t…” he shakes softly. “How did we get here…?”

“You started this war,” you hiss. “I didn’t.”

“Baby…”

“Don’t you fucking baby me,” you snap. “No. You don’t get to do that as a way to weasel out of this. You’re not going to guilt me with pet names to forgive you.”

“No, no, baby- damn, no, I mean-“

“You know what?” You pull your lips down into a frown and throw your hands out in defeat. “You want me gone so bad? I’m gone.”

“No, no, wait,” he begs, reaching out for one of your hands. You whip them back like he’s made of fire, and he reels away, as if keeping you safe, “no, I don’t want you to leave. I don’t question my love for you, I’d rather die than ever have you wonder if I love you-“

“Then you’d better have a goddamned good explanation for this,” you hiss. “Because right now? We’re done.”

“No!”

“I’m…” your strength is gone. Your lip quivers and your hand comes up to cover your mouth, and you wail as you make a dash out of the room, darting for the bedroom. You lock the door and slam your fist against the wood, screaming, howling in agony at the heartbreak of potentially losing your husband over a cold cup of tea.

Things spiraled so far out of control, that he questioned his love for you. How are you to come back from that? Angry words are truth shrouded in cruelty, and you are not going to let him berate you in such a manner as to wonder if this marriage was a good choice. You deserve far more, far better, than that.

On the other side of the door, you hear a soft poomf, then a thump. You stop crying to try and figure out the noises and their purpose.

“I’m here,” he says quietly, a far different tone from how he was speaking to you not three minutes ago. “I won’t try to come in. I won’t make you talk to me. But I’m here… and I love you. And I’m sorry.”

“Bite me,” you choke.

You hear him sigh through his nose, “I… I know why I married you,” he whispers. You don’t say anything. He continues regardless, “because you’re you. And on our first date, you were late because you hated the outfit you had planned, but you looked so fucking good, I couldn’t handle it. And it was that day, I decided I wanted to wait for you, forever. You are more than worth waiting for. And…” you hear him clear his throat, but there’s an emotional block in his voice, “I’ll keep waiting for you. Right here, on this floor. I’ll sleep, I’ll eat, I’ll piss I’ll die here, I don’t care, I’m right here. And I’ll stay here to prove that you’re worth waiting for.” He shudders.

“I’m happy to wait for you.”

———

haikyuu: daichi, kageyama, tsukishima, kuroo, yaku, iwaizumi, mattsun, hanamakki, oikawa, kyotani, ushijima (different font), kita (also different font), atsumu, osamu, suna, sakusa, meian

bnha: bakugou, dabi, hawks

jjk: gojo, geto, nanami, sukuna, toji, shiu

tokyo rev: baji, draken, mikey, hanma, rindou

[laurrelise]

they would be friends argue with the wall

[dalishious]

Dragon Age: Vows & Vengeance Episode 3 Thoughts

This episode was WAY more enjoyable than episode 2, for me at least. The biggest reason being Davrin; holy shit, he is so fucking good in this episode!

Unfortunately, Drayden still annoys me. They just aren't my cup of tea, I think. And unfortunately, my opinion on Nadia continues to fluctuate between liking and disliking her. But Davrin, oh, Davrin... I really can't emphasize enough how much I enjoyed him in this episode. If his character is anything here to judge, then he is just what this franchise needs in terms of a Dalish character after DA:I. (I hope we can say the same of Bellara.) Because I really love how he seems to balance his life as a warden and his culture as a Dalish elf! It's perfect example of what I want to see, personally; a character who is capable of being proud of their Indigenous-coded culture, while also having more going on than just that.

I'm so excited to get to know Davrin even more in The Veilguard now, that's for damn sure.

[mlarty]

Holy shit I love your recent Karlach and Lae'zel pieces, are you planning on drawing any other BG3 origins going absolutely freak mode?

Omg, thank you so much, we're really appreciate that you loved the Karlach and Lae'zel pieces!! 🖤 And yesss, we’re planning to draw the dark endings for all origins. We’ve been sitting on this idea for a while now — a whole series where each companion unleashes their darkest desires Actually, just yesterday we dropped Shadowheart as the Dark Justiciar, so you can try to guess who’s next >:3

[brain-rot-central]

Sonnet of the Lone Cardinal, Ch. 9

A/N: *YELLS "GOOD LUCK, BABE!" FROM THE ROOFTOPS*

WE MADE IT TO THE GALA, HOLY SHIT

Thank you to every single person that has liked, commented, sent anons, or showed any kind of support in any form for this silly little story. These last two months have been some of the shittiest of my life and I'm so happy be here with ya'll. I love you all so much. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Rating: Explicit (due to the themes, really. No smut this chapter.) Word count: 9.9k (I love you guys SO MUCH I'M SORRY)

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x Female Tav (DU, named)

Warnings: 18+, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, pregnancy, implied alcohol abuse, trauma, past abuse, PTSD themes, depictions of physical abuse, unhealthy relationship, death mention, depictions of murder and gore

Summary: It's the night of Wyll's charity event. Will Tav receive the answers she seeks from the Duke, or will more present themselves?

♥ Previous Chapter

♥ Link to Ao3

♥ Playlist

They descend the master staircase, Tav drawing in a shallow breath as she hits the final step. As they turn the corner, arm in arm, she realizes how unsettled she is. Astarion was so close to saying it. Admitting to what they both know to be true, only to tear himself away at the last moment.

Her throat feels tight as she tries to swallow. Should he have said it, there's no doubt in her mind as to how the night would end up. Possessed by the urge to say it back, over and over, spending half the evening wrapped in each other's arms, making up for lost time. She'd guide his hands to her stomach, foreheads pressed together, and speak softly against his lips of what lay within. Of what will be, soon enough.

None of that will happen, now.

The thick aroma of the hors d’oeuvres being served wafts through the air, pulling Tav from her thoughts. The subtle sweetness of wine is complementary, surely free-flowing like waterfalls into the mouths and bellies of those gathered within the grand hall. She can hear muffled chatter from within the ballroom, along with the occasional clinking of glasses. Drawing in a breath, Tav dares herself to stare ahead.

Astarion turns to her, and she catches him from the corner of her eye. But as Tav raises her head to meet him, he quickly adverts his gaze. He’s silent for some time beside her, save for a conveniently timed clearing of his throat. Finally, he asks, “Are you ready, my dear?” Although he continues facing forward, Tav catches stolen glances from his periphery. 

She's still so very raw from their earlier bout, and the booming depth of Astarion's voice causes a shiver to run down her spine. Despite its seriousness, Tav can hear the concern laced within his tone. Her body jerks involuntarily as her nerves alight. “Yes,” Tav replies, forcing a smile to materialize on her face. She now dares herself to look upon him.

Astarion simply grunts in acknowledgement, refusing to meet her. He can't even look at me, now? she ponders to herself. A pit forms in her stomach, alongside a sharp cramp that leaves her wincing. She rests her free hand over her lower abdomen, closing her eyes as she draws another breath through her nose. Pursing her lips together, Tav breathes out. The tension pitted high within her chest unravels as the breath leaves her lungs.

But when she looks at Astarion again, she's awash with emotion once more. His jaw is taught with tension, threatening to snap. There’s a sheen over the reds of his irises, highlighted by the dull light of the candelabras lining the hallway. Tav knows this look. And as much as she'd like to blame the drink that lay heavy on his breath, she knows that isn't the only cause. 

He looks far away. 

Astarion only wears a distant expression when he's desperate to remove himself from the current. When his mind is elsewhere, shielding him. Protecting him until it’s safe to come back out. As if a switch has been flipped – the mask of the entertainer, the people pleaser, is falling into place. The actor is almost stage ready. To give the people what they came here to see.

The dissociation is taking root.

He's uncomfortable. Tav’s entire body shakes from the realization. What's worse is that he's forcing himself to do this. Putting himself on display for everyone, strutting around like some proud peacock for all to fawn over. Astarion once told her that a handsomely crafted face can open any number of doors. She wonders how many times he’s been forced into opening those doors. What prizes lay behind them.

Tav shutters again at the thought of all he's been made to endure. A deep ache settles within her chest, her gaze falling to the floor in front of her.

It's obvious now that Astarion was hoping for a better outcome to their earlier discussion. Perhaps a kiss or two, maybe even something more. Anything to help soothe the ache within him, knowing he was sending himself out to perform. Instead, he got the complete opposite – Tav backing him into a corner, pushing him to admit something he clearly isn't ready to share. 

Doubt begins to rear its ugly head within Tav’s heart.

Maybe she should have gone easier on him. His history is complicated. Of that, she knows. There are things Astarion doesn't understand due to two centuries of indentured servitude, like emotion, and how to coexist alongside another. Perhaps she should have been more patient with him. Perhaps she shouldn't be so demanding of him. He’s trying, afterall. Isn’t he?

Her heart skips heavy in her chest – a defiant thud, then a pause before resuming its normal rhythm. Pressure mounts once more and she suddenly finds herself choking back tears as her vision clouds.

No, Tav reassures herself, screwing her eyes shut. 

Astarion isn’t an innocent child needing protection behind her skirts. He’s taken lives – many, to be frank. He, himself, has died. He understands the delicate balance between the life before and thereafter, better than any mortal being could ever dream to. When Tav reopens her eyes, she lifts her head and looks straight in the direction of the ballroom. All sound drowns out from her ears. She clenches her jaw.

I deserve more. He should be more.

It's been a process, learning to give herself the grace to truly feel. Tavaria has taken the lives of so many people without second thought. Faces that are no more than blurs behind her mind’s eye, barely able to decipher one from the other. All she recalls is the incessant chanting within her mind. Scleteras’s shrill voice echoing, encouraging her to kill, kill, kill. The voices only grew louder when she found the others. Daydreams of what pretty corpses they'd make.

Especially Astarion. 

She'd gotten close, one night. Did her best to warn him before the urge took her completely. All Tav remembers is writhing against her restraints as Astarion looked on. Concern clouded his visage, mixed with the smallest drop of fear. Visions danced behind her eyes, of how beautiful his flesh would look laid out within the palm of her hand as she fileted it clean off his bones. How delicious his blood would taste on her tongue. Would it run hot, she wondered? Smell of rot and decay? She'd bathe herself with his entrails, feeling impossibly close to him, but not before successfully copulating with him. A high offering to her Father, securing the next generation of cursed Bhaalspawn.

Bhaal must be furious, looking upon her now.

But that was all months ago, and she rejected her birthright. Refused to be her Father’s vessel of chaos and murder. The day she turned her back on him is the day Tavaria chose life. And to her surprise, the chanting stopped. The urge stopped. She could breathe for the first time in what was likely years.

Since then, Tav has tried her best to walk the path of redemption. She can never bring back those who have fallen victim to her sins. The young tielfing bard’s face haunts her daily, smashed beyond recognition. But she's vowed to do better with however much life she has left. To be kinder. Show the compassion she was never given to others.

She’s chosen to be a good person. That should be reason enough as to why she deserves to hear him say it. To hear from his own mouth that he loves her and not have it be a figment of her imagination. 

And it's perfectly fine that she does. There's no reason to feel guilt for wanting what you deserve.

At this very moment, Tav stands next to a man that feels more like a stranger to her than ever before, all while their child grows within her. A man who wears the same face of the one she loves, yet acts so foreign to her.

She deserves to be loved in a way that is befitting of her, and she will not settle for anything less than what she deserves.

Without so much as another word, Astarion steps forward. Tav follows almost seamlessly, their arms still interlocked. They cross the threshold into the ballroom and are immediately greeted by copious pairs of prying eyes, all focused on them. Music swells from the band as they travel to the middle of the room, neither of them missing a step. 

As Tav looks out into the crowd, she recognizes a few faces from her short tenure in the City Watch – noblemen and ladies all dressed in their evening best. Their silk dresses and velvet frock coats are dyed in various elaborate colors and patterns. Jewelry adorned with precious gems hangs plentiful from their ears and necks. She nods and smiles as she passes, catching more than a few people ducking their heads after making brief eye contact. Their lips move in silent chatter to one another, but Tav can imagine their conversations: one of Baldur Gate's most eligible bachelors arriving arm-in-arm with the city's hero. The same hero who left him at the moment of their triumph.

How terribly poetic.

The band suddenly cuts out as they reach the middle of the room. Astarion retrieves his arm from around hers rather swiftly, and Tav steps back. The vampire takes a quick breath, wiping his head up. Applause rings out as he then turns to address the crowd. Astarion bows repeatedly, each time in a new direction, the reception growing louder. Tav again surveys all in attendance and decides to clap in tandem, all the while retaining her best face. 

The vampire lord then raises a hand – a gesture to signal the quieting of the crowd – and the applause slowly dies off. A smile is etched across his face, but it isn't his usual smile. Not the one he reserves for her. Tav shivers.

“Thank you all for such a warm introduction!” Astarion exclaims, boisterously. His open-mouthed smile stretches now across his face from ear to ear, the tips of his fangs gleaming in the light. 

Do they know of his true nature? Tav wonders as his teeth catch her eye. It's a question that hasn't dawned on her before this moment. He’s not necessarily trying to hide it. Many in the city knew of Cazador, but only as an aristocrat, bred from a long line of wealth. If they do know the truth about Astarion, it doesn't seem to bother anyone much. 

Tavaria again looks out among the crowd, studying them intently. Many of the ladies have fans covering their faces, though the ones who do not, Tav easily catches the barest glint of a blush sitting upon their cheeks as they watch Astarion swish about the floor. A single thread of what must be jealousy pulls tightly within her. It fades as quickly as it comes, dissolving into vapor as she releases the breath she’s holding.

Signs of Astarion's vampirism are so obvious to her, now that she's looking at him. Pointed fangs just peeking over his bottom lip as he smiles, ruby red eyes that glimmer in the light of the chandeliers, Cazador's bite scarred into the column of his throat. His complexion used to be ghastly, like that of one raised from the dead. But since the ritual, he's as pink as any mortal being. He blushes, even. 

And, gods, is he handsome. More so than any other man in existence. The sharp lines of his face, the subtle bump along the bridge of his nose. Tavaria understands all too well why the women, and even some of the men in attendance, look upon Astarion with such hungered stares.

Astarion clasps his hands together. He turns again to the crowd and says, “I'm sure we all know why we're here tonight, yes?” He gives them a moment to murmur an audible response before continuing, “And, no, unfortunately it's not just for my handsome face.” The room erupts into laughter. The vampire then raises a sharp brow, mouth curling into a sly smirk.

A horrid realization comes over Tav: These people could easily be sacrificial lambs, ripe for Astarion's picking. And he knows it. Worse yet, loves it. Loves having fools wrapped around his finger.

This is Vampire Lord Astarion, the entertainer. The socialite. The deceitful. Pulling from his past life as an at-will aristocrat; as many times as his master made him perform. It's such a well-practiced act that Tav can hardly tell when her Astarion ceased and this version took over. The transition occurred seamlessly right before her eyes. And if she didn’t know him better, she’d be thoroughly convinced that this is what he truly consists of. Tav watches in awe as Astarion flits across the floor, continuing to address all before him. Not a drop of worry remains present on his face, his countenance bright and inviting. 

It makes her gravely uneasy.

He lets the room swell for a moment, continuing his speech once it dies back again. “My dearest Lords and Ladies,” Astarion’s tone sends another shock wave down Tav’s spine. He speaks with the same sweetened vitriol as when they first met. Bile builds near the back of her throat, her mouth turning bitter.

“We come together tonight to celebrate one man who surely gets the job done,” the vampire continues. Astarion looks out into the crowd, lifting a hand to wave one finger. Tav follows his eyes. “One man, who puts honor and duty before all else.” Suddenly, he halts, having found his intended target, and he extends his hand. And as Tav traces his arm, she finds the man in question on the other end.

“Esteemed guests,” Astarion boasts, “it is with great honor that I introduce our man of the hour.” Astarion hesitates for a moment, the room eerily silent. He glances toward Tav; her breath hitches. She can see the contempt within his eyes, but he continues, loud and prideful. “Wyllyam Ravengard, your Grand Duke!”

Thunderous applause erupts from the crowd. Wyll, surrounded by the other members of the Watch, tilts his head politely in acknowledgement, giving several small bows. Servants then descend upon the guests, holding silver trays lined with glasses of sparkling liquid.

“And as such,” Astarion says, choosing a glass off the tray a servant presents to him, “may I propose a toast to our young Duke, who does oh so very much for his belovéd city.” 

Tav retrieves a glass from a servant, giving the contents a quick whiff. Champagne, and a damned good one, too. Astarion then holds out his glass, those in attendance following suit. Silence befalls the ballroom – the only audible sound being the fizzling of champagne. All eyes are on Wyll, who stands with his own glass, ready to receive his due.

“To Wyll,” begins Astarion, “for I could have not asked for a better traveling companion during our plight against the Absolute.” His eyes are thin slits as he speaks, expression forcibly strained.

He's lying. And so brazenly.

Astarion despised Wyll during their journey. Teased him about being the golden boy, only agreeing to be a dog for Mizora due to a subconscious desire to bed the she-devil. Some, if not all in part, influenced by Tav and Wyll’s short-lived romance. Astarion’s quips escalated in intensity not soon after, and remained sour right up until the end of their adventure together.

It's unsettling to her just how easily Astarion can slip into the mask of a perfect gentleman. Play any hand to his advantage, win over even the most suspicious of individuals. Is that what he's been doing to her this entire time, she wonders? Playing a game? Is there even still a line between what's real and what's for show?

Who is this man that wears the liar’s grin so unashamedly? He wears her lover's face, but this is not him.

Unless… their dynamic has changed? 

Tav finds that difficult to believe, but perhaps they've come to an understanding. Perhaps she shouldn't be so quick to judge their relationship. The men are partners now, after all. That demands some level of mutual respect.

…Right?

Raising the glass to his lips, Astarion drinks his champagne. The other occupants of the ballroom soon follow suit, as if following orders from a leader. Placing the glass to her lips, Tav tips it back just enough to make contact with her mouth before bringing it back down. She quickly scans the room – hardly anyone is looking at her. Likely no one has realized she didn't truly drink, and she sighs in relief.

Wyll then steps forward, glass still half full. He wears a white satin full suit with golden trim. His long locs are pulled back behind his shoulder in a low ponytail. A rapier sits upon his hip, swishing gently as he steps forward. “My sincerest gratitude, Lord Ancunín,” he says, taking his place by Astarion's side. The ballroom is silent again as the men stand eye-to-eye. Only the occasional sound of someone clearing their throat travels through the air. 

“Truth be told, I had my doubts about Astarion when we first met.” Wyll then turns toward the crowd before continuing, “but now, through his gracious donations towards the restoration of the Lower City, I can tell his heart lies in the exact same place mine does.” He begins nodding his head, as if agreeing with himself. “The abundance of love he has for this city and her people rivals my own.”

The patrons begin clapping and Tav furrows her brow. Idiots, she sneers to herself. Astarion would sooner watch this city burn than save it, especially if it meant protecting himself. How can Wyll not see that? How can they not see it?

“And so I also propose a toast,” Wyll exclaims, holding his drink up in the air. “To Lord Astarion Ancunín, the rogue-turned-hero. An undeniable asset to this city, and someone I am grateful to call a true ‘friend.’” His face is tightly guarded, wearing a well-practiced expression. Diplomatic in nature.

The room tips their glasses once more to their lips, and Tav does the same. Again she only allows the liquid to grace her lips for a moment before bringing it back down. Her stomach lurches as she watches the two men then embrace one another. 

The discontent on Astarion's face is clear to her: He wishes for nothing to do with Wyll and this entire affair. And then Wyll – precious, gracious Wyll who makes the best out of every situation – smiles brightly, genuinely welcoming of the vampire's embrace. If Wyll has any reservations surrounding their current situation, they're well hidden.

The men separate, eyes locked to one another, and Astarion raises a hand to Wyll’s shoulder. He gives it a pat, and then the two men turn toward the crowd. Applause rings out again and Astarion speaks, “I say it's about time we start this thing!”

Wyll nods, taking a quick sip from his glass. “Agreed, friend.” Their voices are loud and echo throughout the room. “Everyone!” Wyll states, “Please, enjoy the festivities! This is a night for all! Thank you!”

Astarion's hand then slips from Wyll's shoulder and he departs, but not before managing to squeeze out another smile. The band resumes playing, chatter resuming within the ballroom. Tav loses sight of the silver-haired vampire as he blends within the crowd. She bites at the inside of her cheek – Astarion is unhappy. But she can't worry entirely about him, at the moment.

Her eyes find Wyll as he crosses the room, back to the small gathering of people he was initially with: Marceline, a half-elven paladin of Lathander; Oliver, a human fighter like herself; and Lester, a high-elf who is a cross between a fighter and a mage. Together, they make up Wyll’s personal division of the City Watch.

Admittedly, Tav had found Lester’s skill quite peculiar. ‘I'm somewhat of a battle mage,’ she recalls him saying. Tav had initially laughed at the insinuation, though she soon found it to be true. One afternoon, Lester used his magic to hold his enemies in place, and then proceeded to bring his mace down hard over them. Needless to say, Tav found a new respect for the man, after that.

Tav places her still-full glass of champagne on a tray held by a servant, then smooths out her dress. Astarion had suggested speaking to Wyll, should she wish to know more about their arrangement. And as she makes her approach toward Wyll, Marceline is the first to notice.

“Tavaria!” the half-elf exclaims. She bolts over to Tav, raven hair lifting off her shoulders from the momentum. Marceline hugs her, warm and tight, nuzzling her face against her hair. Tav returns the hug, raising her arms to encircle the woman. As Marceline steps back, she says, “Gods, we were all so worried about you!”

Tav raises a brow, allowing Marceline to take her by the hand and lead her back toward the group. “What ever do you mean, Marceline?” she asks, curiously.

Marceline stops, as does Tav. As she looks at her, Tav can see the slight pull in her bottom lip. “...You didn't show up for work yesterday, Tavaria.”

Tav’s eyes grow wide with surprise. “I… I what?”

“We were going to send a patrol to your flat,” Marceline explains, resuming her initial course, “but Wyll refused to grant it.”

Tav feels herself being brought closer to Wyll; watches as his eyes land on her. Though, her mind is a million realms away. Has she really been so preoccupied that she forgot her duty?

…Has she forgotten herself?

“Ah, there she is!” Wyll states jovially, a smile stretched across his face. His demeanor is warm and welcoming. It hints nothing of him being cross with Tavaria, despite her most recent transgression.

“Your Grace,” Tavaria says with a bow. “I am so–”

“Oh, Tavaria, please,” Wyll interjects, huffing out a laugh. “We know one another far too well for formalities. Please, speak to me as you would a friend.” He brings the champagne glass to his lips. “That is what we are, yes?”

A calm falls over Tav. One would think she'd grown used to it by now, but Wyll's patience and understanding always surprises her. “Of course, Wyll,” she agrees, giving him a smile of her own. “But I am still so very sorry for abandoning my post yesterday.” She shakes her head. “I fear that I don't know what's come over me, as of late.” Not necessarily a lie.

“You ’n this fancy lord fella have history, don't ya?” asks Oliver, outwardly. He's a stoutly man, bald and fills out his dark blue suit with hardly an inch of give. His words are slurred, his cheeks red and flushed. The tone he uses is somewhat accusatory, though Tav knows him well enough to be certain he means no harm.

Despite herself, Tav cocks a questioning brow in his direction. “We do… but how do you know about that?”

“Aye, Tav,” Oliver answers with a haughty laugh, “there are sonnets written ‘bout the two of ya.” He points his glass in her direction. “Down in the brothels, the bards sing of a young woman fallin’ in love wit’ an evil prince.” Oliver nods his head. “Pre’ty sure that’s you ‘n lover boy, no?”

A scowl settles on Tav’s face. She can feel the anger rising within her. It's on the tip of her tongue to inform the man that Wyll was once the closest thing to an actual devil, though she manages to hold off. No reason to throw him under the table. “Oliver, they've sung for ages about that,” Tav bites back. “I doubt it's just Lord Ancunín and myself they refer to.” 

Lester then snickers quietly, turning away as he brings a hand to his mouth. The blond is a man of few words, a stark contrast to Gale and other mages she's met. Yet when he does speak, his words carry heavy meaning. He and Tav share a sly grin. It's obvious to both that Oliver is full of drink and hardly worth the argument currently mounting.

“It's more than fine, Tav” says Wyll, finding an opportunity to break the tension. “I figured you needed a day off. You haven’t been yourself, as of late.” Wyll takes another sip from his glass. “But what I didn't expect,” he says, lowering his glass as he tips his face up toward Tav, “was to find you here.”

The fine hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. Gooseflesh breaks out over her arms, quickly glazing around the room. This isn't a conversation she wants to have out in the open, especially with Astarion lurking about. Tav dips her head and asks quietly, “Wyll, may we speak privately?”

The group exchanges glances, their expressions flat. They then nod to one another, and soon Marceline, Oliver, and Lester depart toward the refreshment table at the far side of the room, each giving Tav an uptick of their head as they walk past.

“Why are you here, Tavaria?” Wyll asks sternly once the others are out of earshot. He turns his whole body toward her. “I can only assume this means you're both–”

“It's complicated,” Tav answers, quickly. Wyll’s face then falls, an exasperated sigh escaping him. She feels her stomach nearly drop through the floor. She should have expected slack from Wyll about this. Or, really… from anyone.

“I see,” he remarks, placing a hand on his hip. Wyll chokes back the rest of his champagne just as a servant passes by, and he places the glass upon their silver tray. “Are you sure you want to do that?” he asks Tav, nodding politely to the servant as they depart. “Should I remind you of what he's done?”

Tav meets the questioning gaze of the servant looking back, and they quickly duck their head. Astarion has eyes and ears throughout the entire manor – not a detail she's forgotten. Though, she screws her eyes shut and draws a deep breath in. 

Wyll speaks of the ascension. 

The moment Astarion, the rogue, fell and Astarion, the vampire lord, took his place. Tav still hears them, even now – the shrieking of over 7000 souls perishing from this realm, banished to the depths of the Hells.

She remembers the fire behind Astarion's ruby red eyes as he rose, as if born anew. The manic laughter that tumbled forward from his chest as he confronted Ulma, slitting her throat. The pulsing artery of her carotid bathing him in blood, flowing freely into his mouth. 

She remembers the moan he let out as the woman's blood hit his tongue. The gurgling noises arising from her throat as she grew limp, falling into his arms. His body rocking in time with her twitching form as he finally sealed his lips over the wound, drawing more and more blood into his mouth.

And within moments, it was over. Ulma grew still, and Astarion dropped her to the floor in an unceremonious heap, completely lifeless. Astarion stood still for what felt like ages. The Gur who arrived with her soon fled when Astarion finally lifted his head, vowing to return with stronger numbers. And all the vampire lord did was laugh.

In the immediate aftermath, Tavaria and the others were horrified. The chance of Astarion turning on them next ran through each of their minds. Wyll vowed to stake him through the heart should he draw closer; Gale promised to cast spells to hold Astarion in place. Tav had never feared Astarion up until that point. Even with his fangs seated deep within her neck, she still trusted him to take just enough. Though, as he turned to face her, blood smeared across his face, dripping down his chin… A chill ran through her heart.

His smile is what did it. Wide, almost goofy. It was as if he expected her to be as proud as he was. Finally, after two centuries of horror, he was now the cat who got the clotted cream. And, by the gods, did it feel good.

“I remember well enough what he's done,” Tav remarks solemnly, opening her eyes. She shifts her gaze away from Wyll. “And all he continues to do.”

Wyll cocks his head upward, narrowing his eyes. “So you know?” he probes, cautiously.

“Unfortunately, yes,” Tav confirms, moving her head in agreement. “In fact, that's the entire reason I stand before you now. Astarion suggested I speak with you about what happened.”

Wyll is stoic for a moment, unwavering. Tav questions for a moment if she somehow misread the situation, but Wyll bursts into a sudden fit of laughter, placing a hand on his chest. The duke then shakes his head. “At least he's still a character,” he says, continuing to laugh. His arms fall back down to his hips. “But petty, no less. The man doesn't even have the common decency to wear a suit.” He then gestures toward Tav, hand waving up and down. “Though, he made sure you look the part.”

Heat floods her face. “H-how do you know I didn't choose this myself?” Tav argues. How embarrassing, she thinks, for it be so obvious that Astarion clothed her. Like his personal doll.

Though, much to her relief, Wyll only chuckles. “Tavaria, you are capable of many things,” the Duke says, reassuringly. “But this?” He waves his hand up and down her form again. “I don't think you'd ever choose this for yourself.” And just as Tav's heart begins to sink, Wyll adds, “It's not necessarily a bad thing.”

“Wyllyam!” she scolds through gritted teeth. Tav then scans the room, silently praying no one is eavesdropping on their conversation. “Mind yourself, please!” She can feel how brightly her cheeks now burn, and before she turns back to Wyll, Tav catches Astarion's scowling at them from across the ballroom. “I-I’m your subordinate, Wyll,” Tav states within a hushed tone. A cold chill passes over her, and she finally meets the Duke's gaze once more.

Curse Astarion's attuned hearing. He's likely heard everything they've said.

“Of course, of course,” Wyll agrees. “My apologies; I may be a bit deeper in the drink than I realize.” He shakes his head. “Right. You're here to talk about my agreement with my lovely friend, Astarion.”

A jolt of pain shoots through her chest as she feels her cheeks flush. Their performance earlier was exactly that – an act. There's still no love lost between the two men. However, it sounds even more strained, now.

Tav gives Wyll a sullen glance. “I'm sorry, Wyll. When I found those men laying in the crypts below, I demanded answers from him.” She clasps her hands over her stomach, looking down. “But he refused to tell me everything.”

“Of course he did,” Wyll is quick to remark. He shifts his weight onto one hip. “Because your opinion of him is the only one he cares for, just as it's always been. Wouldn't want to sully that, now, would he?”

Tav raises her head to meet Wyll. How much of what Astarion told her is the truth? Perhaps she knows nothing at all. Would that be so out of the realm of possibility? “Wyll, what happened that night?” she asks, plainly. “Why was Astarion even with those men?”

Wyll sighs, casting his gaze to the floor before looking back up. He clicks his tongue, placing his arms over his chest. “When I became Grand Duke, I knew one of the first things I had to do was keep an eye on Astarion.” He wags a finger in the air. “The Szarr family has been around for centuries, and is considered one of the wealthiest in all of Baldur's Gate. For Astarion, in all of his unpredictability, to inherit such an estate, alongside boundless physical powers…” Wyll seems lost in thought for a moment before he continues, “...It’s a recipe for disaster.”

Tav nods in silent agreement. She knows he isn't wrong to assume as such. Only minutes after ascending did he test the boundaries of these new abilities, much to everyone else's horror. Mere hours after the ritual is when he demanded her mortal life be given to him. Wyll was absolutely correct to not trust Astarion. A fact that's difficult to argue against.

“So,” Wyll explains further, “I invited him to Wyrm’s Crossing one afternoon and proposed an agreement: Astarion aid me in cleaning up Cazador's morally questionable affairs, and I give Astarion his privacy. No meddling in his records, nor his personal business. And he agreed.” Wyll then smiles. “But only after I made good on my promise to position patrols outside of the palace, ready to move in should I give the word.”

Tav’s eyes widen in shock. “You would have laid siege upon him?” she asks, voice quivering.

“Without question,” Wyll answers, sternly. “Tav, I know of your history with him. I can only imagine how complicated it is now.” He leans in closer to Tav, nearly face to face. “But heed my words – the man is a devil masquerading as a man.” There's a sharp bite to his words that sends a shockwave shooting down her spine. Wyll shakes his head again. “He is not the Astarion we knew. Not even close.”

“...How can you be so sure?” Tav’s lips pull into a quirk. Astarion can't be all that horrid… Could he? Surely, she would know by now.

Wyll draws a deep breath in, releasing it with forced effort. “Cazador's depravity ran deeper than I thought. I knew the man would be involved in terrible business, but never did I think it would include the trafficking of humanoid creatures.” The Duke swallows, taking a moment of respite before adding, “I used this as leverage to broker a deal with Astarion. He'd continue business as usual, gathering sensitive information to help me build a case. And I stay out of his other affairs.”

“You used him?!” Tav exclaims, worriedly. “And with slavers, no less? Wyll, that's low! Even for you.”

“Is it crueler than Astarion forcibly taking half the city as his spawn?” responds Wyll, coldly. “I needed an in, Tav. Surely you can understand why.”

Just then, the leader of the band speaks, welcoming all to gather for their next song. Tav meets Wyll’s eyes, and he gestures toward the dance floor, holding out his hand for her. Reluctantly, Tav accepts, and they both head toward the floor.

They stand before one another, one set of hands interlocked adjacent to their waists. Tav's free hand rests atop Wyll’s shoulder, while he places his on her hip. The band then kicks in – a slow, melodic song – and the two begin to sway. Tav remembers the night they danced around the campfire together. A soft smile comes to her face, but it’s short lived. 

“I'm the reason Astarion was present that evening,” Wyll continues. “But I never instructed him on how to act.” The two part as Wyll stretches out their conjoined hands, and Tav twirls under both of their arms. She returns to him, and the two spin as they glide across the floor, the hem of her skirts swaying as they go.

“He told me he had no choice but to kill them,” says Tav within a broken breath. “That they would have gotten him first.”

Wyll then chuckles, throwing his head back. “And I'm sure he's expecting me to tell you the same. But that would be too far from the truth.” Wyll then separates from her again, releasing their hands to lay his palm flat against hers. Tav then follows his lead, moving so their bodies are parallel to one another, and they walk in a circle together. “You're a smart woman, Tav. I know that as fact,” Wyll states, confidently. “Do you really think the vampire ascendant is so defenseless? That he’d find himself trapped?”

Wyll then drops his hand, holding up the opposite, and Tav does the same. They mirror their previous formation, circling now in the opposite direction. “He had every chance of escaping, had he any desire to do so,” Wyll continues, facing Tav.

Tav meets his eyes, her body almost on autopilot. A chill runs down her spine as her mind makes sense of Wyll's inference. “Wyll, are you implying–”

“That he murdered those men on purpose?” Wyll interrupts, almost emphatically. The band then slows, music winding down, and Wyll comes to stand before her. “Yes, Tavaria. That is exactly what I'm implying. Because that's exactly what happened.”

Applause rings out around them as the music cuts out, but Tav can hardly hear it over the sound of her heart hammering away in her ears. Her blood runs cold. 

Wyll speaks sense; Astarion always had control of the situation. His life was never in danger. He killed those men for no reason other than he could. 

A game. A way to test his new powers.

The smell of iron dancing beneath her nose pulls her violently from her thoughts. Saliva pools thickly in her mouth as she scans the room, desperately searching for the source. She gasps aloud when she finally finds it.

There, in the far corner of the ballroom, stands Astarion. His eyes are fixed on her as he raises a silver goblet to his mouth. They share a glance long enough for Tav to watch the goblet then fall away, a small bead of crimson liquid dripping down his stained lips. Astarion is quick to snatch it up with the side of a finger, bringing it to his mouth.

The smell is intoxicating, and Tav’s vision grows fuzzy. She's suddenly hungry, starved for something she knows not what. It's what happened to her at the butcher shop, but it’s worse. So much more intense now than it was then.

Astarion's tongue darts from his mouth to envelop the digit, swiping the liquid from his finger. His eyes have yet to leave hers, and Tav feels an enigmatic pull overtake her.

Is that… blood?

The urge to lick the essence from his lips swells within her. To bury her tongue as deeply as possible within his mouth, savoring every last drop of blood. To swap their tainted saliva back and forth, until the taste all but fades into nothing.

Astarion then smiles, as if privy to her thoughts. Her mouth falls open with sudden realization.

…Has she grown a hunger for blood?

“Tavaria!”

Her concentration is broken as Wyll’s voice bellows in her ears. She whips her head in his direction, staring wildly. “I'm sorry,” Tav says, rushed. She sucks in a sharp breath and screws her eyes tightly. “My mind was elsewhere.”

Wyll’s gaze shifts to the far corner of the ballroom, where Astarion stands. The two men exchange deep scowls. “I don't want to get between whatever business you have with him, Tavaria,” he says, shifting his eyes back to her. “But if I were you, I’d run.”

Tav huffs out a laugh. She then looks to Astarion and finds that despite the women who have now joined him, he's still focused entirely on them. “What do you mean?” Tav asks innocently, turning her head to Wyll. “I don't think Astarion would ever harm me.”

“You have no idea who Astarion is anymore. None of us do.” Wyll states with finality. “And I'm deeply concerned by what may become of you should you stay.” He lifts his hands then to Tav’s shoulders, and she shudders under his touch. “There will come a time when he grows bored of this game.” Wyll tightens his grip. “I don't think I have to tell you what happens next.”

Tav’s eyes grow wide.

It's… a game. Their entire dynamic is a game of cat and mouse – who can outsmart the other first. How could she have been so blind? There's no love in this. No, this is about possession. Control. Deep down, a part of her always knew that. But she didn't think it was evident to anyone else.

“Your neck, Tav – I see it.” Wyll's eyes draw tightly together, his voice dropping an octave as he tilts his head. “He's already marked you.”

Bile pools in the back of her throat again as a sudden wave of nausea rushes forward. A hand flies to her neck, covering the remnants of Astarion's bite. 

Tav wants to vomit. She wants to run, scream, forget she ever let Astarion back into her life.

The realization dawns over her that Wyll is right: Astarion will inevitably force her hand, should she stay long enough. He will never let her live out a mortal life. Tav will become his puppet, his trophy. His most prized possession, completely dependent on him for sustenance. Astarion will keep her sealed tightly within this palace, never to see the light of day again. She will be expected to lay with him as he commands, satisfy him as he commands… To become completely subservient to all his desires.

She was right, and has been right this entire time. Astarion has only given her the illusion of choice, hoping that she gives into him willingly.

She feels hollow.

Tav stares blankly at Wyll, placing both of her hands over her lower belly. Her mouth struggles to form the words racing through her mind, unable to grasp them. She wants to tell Wyll everything. About her and Astarion, about the baby. He could hide her, far away from Astarion's reach. So that he could never find her or their child ever again. She knows he would.

But the aroma of a certain spiced cologne distracts her, and as Tav turns her head toward that particular corner of the ballroom again, she sees Astarion drawing closer.

Panic grips her throat, and almost instinctively she's ripping herself away from Wyll. “I–I need some air!” she shouts in his direction, briefly looking back. Wyll moves to speak, but Tav is beyond earshot. 

The urge to run consumes her, but to where? She scans the room desperately, tunnel vision beginning to set in. Finally, she finds large window pane doors leading out into the garden.

Tav dares to look back and finds Astarion now chatting with Wyll. Their expressions are taut, strained – she can see Astarion's fangs under the curling of his upper lip. Her heart skips strongly within her chest, and she looks again to the French doors.

It may be futile, as Astarion can simply sniff her out should he choose, but anything is better than staying here. She may as well try. With that logic in mind, Tav makes a desperate dash towards the doors. 

—----------------------------------------

Bursting out into the courtyard, Tav barrels down the stone steps. She runs into the hedges, stopping just short of a rose bush. The sound of tearing fabric rings in her ears, but she doesn't care. All that matters is keeping away from him right now. 

Fearfully, she dares herself to look back to the top of the stairs. Astarion soon comes into view, surveying the garden. Though, he makes no effort to follow her. Instead, he turns, wine glass in hand, and heads back into the ballroom.

A choked sob then escapes Tav's throat. Her body is overcome by violent shaking as she drops to her knees, clutching herself. How could she have been so blind? Was she charmed? Has Astarion been whittling away at her subconscious this entire time?

Just as she feels her resolve begin to shatter entirely, Tav catches the silhouette of another standing where Astarion just was. Brown hair tied into a high bun atop the man's head, the rest flowing down his shoulders. Mauve and midnight blue evening dress, complete with a vest and jacket. He seems to be searching for something.

“Gale?” Tav questions tentatively, poking her head from beyond the bushes. “Is that really you?”

The wizard looks out into the garden, his face lighting up as he finds her. “Tav!” he exclaims, running down the steps to meet her. “I knew I saw you talking to Wyll earlier! Though, I must ask…” Gale then extends a hand to her. “...are you hiding?”

Tav pouts as she takes his hand, letting Gale pull her up. “It's a long story,” she deflects, patting herself down. There's a small tear in the dress just below her left breast, and she scowls. “I'm surprised to see you here. I wouldn't think of Astarion inviting you.”

“Well, fortunately for you, the guest list wasn't his to command.” The magician places his hands on his hips, staring intently at Tav. “But really, why are you out here? You all but ran from Wyll.” Gale then searches her up and down, bending forward and sideways. “Are you hurt? Did he say something unkind?”

Tav sighs and shakes her head. “No, no. It's nothing Wyll said.”

A blatant lie – it's everything Wyll said.

“I just needed some fresh air, that's all.” She tries her best to put on a smile, but she knows Gale doesn't buy it.

“Tav,” he states, sternly. “What's wrong? You look beautiful, yes, but I can also see that you're shaken.” He dips his head to stare up at her from under his brow. “I'm your friend, Tav. You can talk to me.”

She looks at him. Emotion swirls within her chest, and she begins to heave with heavy breath. Tears well up within her eyes, and it's not long before Tav rushes forward, throwing her arms tightly around Gale’s neck. She sobs, heavily, messily, into his shoulder.

It's cathartic – like a dam finally giving way after keeping a rushing river at bay for far longer than ever intended. She feels arms encircle her and realizes they're Gale's, prompting another rush of tears to flow down her cheeks. For the first time in months, she feels safe. She hadn’t realized she'd forgotten what this feels like, until now.

By the time Tav lifts her face, the shoulder of Gale's jacket is horribly stained. She must look like a child's painting right now, make-up askew. But Gale simply gives her a reassuring look, reaching into the pocket of his jacket to retrieve a handkerchief. “Here,” he says while holding it out for her. 

And for a moment, Tav wishes she could have fallen in love with him instead.

Tav accepts his offer, muttering her thanks as she lifts the kerchief to her eyes. “I'm sorry for not having answered your most recent letters.” She then blots the skin over her cheeks, scowling as her foundation stains the cloth. “There’s so much I have to tell you, Gale. So much has happened in such a short period of time, and I've no time to process it.”

“I'm here now,” Gale states triumphantly, placing his hands on his hips. “No better time to start than the present.”

She gives a soft laugh, sniffling before she says, “I suppose you're right.” She swipes the handkerchief under her nose. “Well, for one… I'm pregnant.”

Gale doesn't answer. Instead, he cocks his head slowly to the side, eyes growing wide with surprise. “...Whoa,” he musters. “Well… That's… certainly one way to start.” He then rights his posture, shifting his weight to one side. “I… wasn't aware you were with anyone.”

“That’s because I'm not.” Tav stares at the ground, sticking out a foot to run her shoe mindlessly over the small stones that make up the garden’s pathway. “At least not officially.”

The wizard crosses his arms over his chest. “I see. Is it someone that you know?”

“Oh, yes, indeed,” Tav answers quickly. “We both know him quite well.” She then pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, adding, “Or, we did.”

“I think I'm beginning to understand,” says Gale with a snicker. “I can see how tensions may run high in your line of work.” Tav quirks a brow but remains silent, curious as to where Gale is taking the conversation. “And how your superior may seem like the best person to relieve them with.”

And then her mouth hangs open for a moment, dumbfounded, though she quickly gathers her thoughts to argue. “Gale, I don't think you–”

“You know,” he continues, sticking up a hand to wave a finger, “when I was at the academy, I had a professor who–”

“Gale!” Tav shouts. Heat floods to her cheeks in embarrassment. “Gods, no! It's not Wyll!” Placing her face in her hands, Tav begins to pace back and forth. A groan escapes her as she drags both hands across her face, further smearing her make-up. “Why does everyone assume I'm still infatuated with Wyll?”

Gale shrugs his shoulders. “I don't think he's that hard on the eyes.”

“He isn't!” Tav shouts again. “But, sweet Hells, he's my boss!”

“Alright, alright,” Gale holds up his hands in defeat, then crosses them over his chest. “So, if not him, then who?”

Tav sucks in a breath through her nose, exhaling slowly through her mouth. Her heart pounds against her chest as Astarion's name dances across her mind. She wants to say his name, but her mouth won't cooperate. Instead, she slowly lifts her hair, turning her head to expose the healing bite mark on her neck to Gale's curious eyes.

“That… looks like a recent bite wound,” comments the wizard, pupils dilating.

“And you would be correct,” Tav confirms, flatly.

His squints, leaning closer to Tav, then stands upright. “Judging by the spacing of the marks…” Gale says, hesitantly, “...I would say that's the bite of a vampire.”

Tav nods, lips drawing into a thin line. “Right again.”

“Huh,” huffs Gale. “But, there's only one vampire we both know.”

Her heart is pounding again, so loud it's drowning out any sound in her ears. “Indeed,” Tav agrees, willing herself to continue despite her discomfort. “And we happen to be standing in his garden.”

She watches Gale's face as it contorts, the phases of acknowledgement written clearly for Tav to see. The magician's face ranges from confusion, to shock, to acceptance, back to shock again. “Oh, Nine Hells,” Gale mutters. “...How? When?!”

Tav throws up her arms, laughing to herself. “Not sure, Gale! Because if I did, I certainly wouldn't be in this mess!” 

Shame settles in. Tav’s face burns again, tears welling up in the corners of her eyes. Hearing these words said with her own voice somehow makes this real. Makes the empty hole within her chest ache, once occupied by Astarion. The desperate desire to be held by him, to disappear into the night and fall in love all over again.

“Gods, Tavaria… I don't even know what to say.” Gale lowers his arms to his sides, holding one hand to his hip. “How did he react when you told him?”

The air is knocked from her lungs, and Tav sucks in a desperate breath. “...I haven't,” she says, quietly.

“What?!” exclaims Gale. “Tav, you have to tell him!”

She glares at him, balling her hands into fists, shame quickly warping into anger. “Gale, if I tell him, you can kiss ever seeing me again goodbye.” She's shaking now, emotions boiling over.. “I will be his, forever, whether I want to be or not! I will no longer have a choice!”

“Oh, poppycock,” says Gale with a wave of his hand. “If there's one thing we both know about Astarion, it's that he'd never let any harm come to you. Especially by his doing.” Gale moves closer to Tav, voice dropping in decibel. His gaze remains glued to her. “Is this what you were discussing with Wyll? You know how he feels about Astarion, Tav,” says the wizard.

Tav swallows thickly. Her jaw is clenched tightly, teeth grinding against one another. “Gale, he's not the man either of us think he is,” she states, boldly. “Not anymore.”

Gale leans back with a laugh. “I somehow doubt that,” he argues, raising a hand, then both. “Sure, he's grown to be a bit of a recluse over these last few months.” With a shrug of his shoulders, Gale adds, “And the Gods only know how familiar I am with such a state. But it doesn't seem his heart has changed, when you're concerned.”

“What are you talking about?” Tav retorts in frustration. Does he mean to mock her? It's unlikely, but still infuriating how wrong he is at this moment. “Gale, he had fucking bodies in the crypts, what are you–”

“Did you ever think that perhaps Astarion sought you out again because he knew he was losing control?”

Tav’s eyes grow wide, shocked by the wizard’s declaration. “...What?” The whispered sound that escapes her throat is foreign to her. “I don't…” She shakes her head slowly in disbelief. “What do you mean?”

“You're the only one he's ever felt safe with, Tavaria,” explains Gale.  “Astarion never spoke to us the way he spoke to you. You two had a language all your own.” 

…He’s right. Tav’s gaze wanders off toward the French doors of the ballroom. Astarion confided in her like no other. Spoke to her in a tone that was reserved strictly for her. His hardened edges gave way to a soft, pale underbelly after a time. And never to another.

The panic in his eyes as Cazador rendered him utterly helpless, entrapped within an enchantment. Desperate pleas to free him ripping through his throat. Astarion shook violently within her arms as she broke the spell, his body collapsing against hers. His nails nearly pierced the thick leather of her armor from how tightly he gripped her, and when it came time for them to separate, Astarion refused to let go.

‘Please,’ he cries softly, pupils blown wide. He's shaking something fierce, as if reliving the worst moment of his life on repeat. He clings to her forearm as she tries to stand. ‘Please, I can't, he's going to, to you, he's going to–’

‘Hush now, Astarion,’ Tav coos, trying to soothe him. She runs a hand gently through his hair and kisses his sweat-soaked brow. ‘We’re here. He can't harm you.’

Astarion turns to her. He lifts a trembling hand to her face, cupping her jaw. ‘...I don't care about what happens to me,’ he says, voice hoarse. ‘I don't want him to have you.’ His jaw cinches tight, spitting through gritted teeth, ‘He has no right.’

The magician sucks in a deep breath and brings a hand to his face, exhaling as he begins stroking his beard. “Look, if Astarion wanted to harm you, he would have done so already.” He then tosses his hand to the air, lips molding into a soft pout. “I think he's asking for help in the only way he knows how.”

Heat crawls across her skin, and suddenly the air is too hot. Tav draws in a deep breath, fanning herself with her hands. Her eyes sting from the threat of fresh tears and she once again begins to pace back and forth.

“I never wanted any of this,” she admits to Gale, looking up at him each time she passes. “Gods, sometimes I wish I chose my Father.” Tav chokes back a sob. “At least then I would never have to think or feel again.”

A moment passes before Gale says solemnly, “Pain, happiness, sorrow, bliss – emotions remind us that we're alive, Tavaria.” He shakes his head. “To deny them is to deny life itself.”

“I don't wish to argue that,” Tav replies. “I just mean–”

The words die in her throat as her eyes catch a glimpse of someone standing by the French doors. 

At the top of the marble stairs is Astarion, glass of wine in hand. As he descends the steps, Tav swears there's an additional button undone on the crimson dress shirt he wears. The fabric ripples across the pale plane of his chest, moonlight glinting off the golden amulet hanging around his neck. He reaches the bottom step and takes a swig of wine before sauntering over.

“The Wizard of Waterdeep!” Astarion bellows, almost mockingly. “Fancy seeing you here.” As he comes to stand next to Gale, Tav can smell the alcohol on his breath and notes that his eyes are slightly glazed over. He fidgets to find a comfortable pose, inevitably settling on leaning to one side with his free hand on his hip.

He's… drunk. Reminiscent of the night he helped himself to a cave bear within the Underdark.

“Astarion,” Gale replies with a nod of his head. “Good to see you, too. Love what you've done with the place. It feels so much more–” Gale rolls his wrists, as if to stimulate a response, “–alive, than it did before.”

The vampire gives a soft grunt before saying, “Well, yes. That was the entire point, no?” His eyes then land on Tav, and she feels the small hairs on her arms and neck stand on end. “I hope I'm not interrupting anything?” Astarion inquires with a grin. 

The ruby red of his irises burn into her despite their sheen. “Not at all,” Tav manages to reply, turning her head to Gale. “Gale and I were just catching up. I've admittedly been a poor friend,m neglecting to answer his letters.” She makes sure to give a laugh after her sentence; Astarion is studying her.

The magician’s gaze flits momentarily between Astarion and Tav before settling on Tav. “Oh, no, of course you're not,” Gale says with a chuckle, “it's no issue, really. Just happy to know you're doing well.” Tav gives him a small nod of her head, thanking him for having taken her lead. Gale returns the gesture.

“Splendid,” Astarion states flatly, albeit sarcastically. “Then I'm sure you wouldn't mind if I borrowed this lovely lady?” He brings his glass again to his mouth, throwing the rest of the wine back. As the cup drops from his face, Astarion meets her eyes again, brow drawn tightly together. “I’ve been looking for her.”

Again Tav and Gale share a look, and Tav nods approvingly. “N-no, of course not,” Gale stammers. “I think we're sufficiently caught up.”

“Indeed we are,” Tav comments, moving closer to Astarion. “It was a pleasure to see you, Gale. I'll do my best to be better about answering your correspondence.” She then slips her arm around the vampire's, only to feel Astarion flinch against her. “Shall we?” she then asks Astarion, giving his forearm a pat. He's tense alongside her, though he returns her gaze.

“Enjoy the rest of your evening, Gale,” Astarion says to Gale, turning toward the palace. His voice edges on bitter, but there's still enough pleasantry about it to be considered cordial. 

Tav waves to the wizard, then follows Astarion's lead back toward the ballroom. Her stomach is in a mess of nerves and her heart is practically in her throat. Drawing a deep breath in, she manages to blink away any hint of tears forming within her eyes. The signature scent of Astarion's cologne envelops her and she clings tighter to his arm as they ascend the stairs.

Before entering the ballroom, Astarion gives Gale one final glance as he ushers Tav beyond the French doors. He then follows swiftly behind her.

“Huh,” is all Gale can mutter to himself.

[docholligay]

Thank you all for being concerned about the beeb.

She seems fine, she was back to badgering me about wanting to watch a movie and we are making her favorite (spaghetti) for dinner.

So, I get to the preschool, and the kids are released directly to the parents. I go to sign beeb out, and the teacher tells me, "I need to talk to you." My first thought is that my darling child has returned to her roots from infancy, when she was stuck in a life of crime stealing other children's snacks. She hadn't done that in a long time, but she does love a snack.

But then the teacher says, "She's not in any trouble" which is great. Okay, cool.

I get taken back into the classroom and I can tell beeb has been crying. The teacher then recounts to me that apparently, she and a boy were playing, and seemed to be playing together nicely, and then all of a sudden he hit my daughter and put her in some kind of tight headlock and was squeezing the hell out of her.

I get down on my knees next to her, and I am VIBRATING with rage. I am ready to FUCK UP this three year old. I turn to the gal and say--and everyone who has spent long enough around me can hear exactly how this is coming out of my mouth--"I can't help but notice that it looks like she's had a bloody nose."

The boy has apparently been written up, and was sent home, and after they talk to the supervisor he may or may not be returning at all. I don't know what else they are supposed to do realistically, but holy fuck I am so angry about it.

And, AND, after hearing some stuff from beeb--I've been trying not to bring it up so she doesn't associate preschool with this negative experience, because she has been loving it SO much--I THINK I KNOW WHICH KID IT IS. I figure it out in my head, putting all the tidbits I know together, and this wave of FURY comes over me. It is the Zelda "you just figured it out" chime but assembled from the screams of the damned. I am ready to beat this shit out of this [inappropriate things to say about a three year old redacted]. I do not trust that if I see him in the hallway I will be able to stop myself from going full Jack Russell Terrier on this kid and his parent.

I am REALLY hoping this doesn't ruin her time in preschool. She is still talking about how much she liked her swim lesson today. I am trying not to dwell on it with her because I don't want her to think about it too much.

But it was so hard, she was trying so hard to be brave as we were leaving, and she went, 'I'm still a bit sad"

[drdemonprince]

Hello. Just read your article on asexuality and fetish (was looking through your substack and the title got me curious) and holy shit you have no idea how much it resonated with me. It's something I have been contemplating lately after having some sexual experiences that I found not as much actively unpleasant as just downright boring. I was considering the possibility of asexuality which would have explained nearly everything but for the fact that I do seem to have sexual fantasies even if only involving specific circumstances or scenarios (similar to the thing you mentioned about not needing it to be a specific person: mine always had little to do with actual real life people and more with various characters I would conjure up that would fit the situation) despite having very little attraction to people? I could always tell who would be considered attractive or not and had some general idea of what features I might like over others but none seemed to be mandatory in terms of physical attraction. I really did think I was stuck in some strange sexual purgatory situation and was trying to come up with ways of finding a concrete answer, always with the assumption that it would either be that I am asexual or I am not (due to what I thought was evidence to the contrary), but reading that article was really comforting, knowing that somebody else has that very same experience. Probably going to watch the movie you mentioned in the article while I'm at it too lol. Anyway, much love, hope you have a good day!!

Yeah!! Glad it was helpful to you. As is the case with SO many things, the operative question isn't really "what identity am i" / "is my identity valid/make sense/does it explain what i am accurately" -- the real question is "well, what the hell do I feel like doing?" and there's an endlessss array of possible ways to do sexual or sensual stuff with other people, or to just explore your fantasies. it's all good

I hope you enjoy That Boy with Peter Berlin!!!

[jazeswhbhaven]

An Unsightly Guy | React | Spoilers

It's Day 7 and 8 lovelies!!! And boy do we have some great content ahead especially in day 8 lol

It seems though the momentum on this event has slowed down and I think it's mostly due to the fact that it's so drawn out and so far there's nothing really "exciting" happening.

But that seems to be the case with these events like the hype is high the first two to three days and after it's like s p l o o t.

I think if this was a Amy only event and the card had an adore mode people would be more excited about it.

But that's just my ramblings forgive me.

So we're back with Sitri being on his BS when seeing Amy at any given moment lol But before this they were just staring at each other quietly again like my favorite gif that ya'll often see.

but if i'm being honestly Sitri and I have the same brain cell here because I can't stand other's hot ass breath on me even if it doesn't smell bad because why??? are??? you this damn close???

So Amy ofc tells Sitri that he's breathing like that because he's hurt. Fair but this man don't give a shit lol

He goes over to him to access the damage I assume because it turns out even though the forest is torn up there's more angel bodies dead than devil bodies. They remained victorious.

I love how Amy's subordinates are always worried about him and it shows solidarity for their leader. But yeah Sitri also has this thing about him where he shows care for everyone else except the person he dislikes this being Amy.

That's from him being up in Hades. I swear to ya'll it is. That snooty ass attitude rubbed off so badly Sitri can't help but reflect that back into the universe

STOP

the height difference, how the sprites are close to each other, Amy being a foul mouth demon that he is...I really can't get away from my cxc ship bullshit ever when they do things like this lol

I do however like that Amy is a punk. Just mouthing off and cursing any time he can.

that's why Astra likes to provoke him too

But Sitri just simply tells him to stop bitching because the pain is proof that he's alive. So Amy takes this opportunity to one up on this moment because of what happened a few days ago

first of all, Amy is adorable. I just wanna tap his booba and tell him he's doing great.

Sitri gets pissed off though because it's the exact same thing he told him when he arrived a few days back when he had to save that devil boy from his commando unit. As much as he didn't want to admit it, he had this one coming. An eye for an eye basically and Amy came and showed out.

So a couple things about this.

Remember what they said about him here, not usually being foul-mouthed and foul-tempered for a bit. You'll see where I'm getting at later.

Second. This is the pronoun thing I was referring to, which now has me thinking that maybe Sitri didn't mean "her" on day 6 and that was possibly just a mistake on the translating/writing part.

Though I am still wondering what incident caused him to be very angry back then where he had to smack himself back to reality to keep from focusing on it.

And while this little interaction is going on, the devils around them are gossiping about how Sitri and Amy always found time to fight each other even in situations like this.

But I think they forgot the part where Sitri can fucking hear them lmaooo because he was quietly stewing in annoyance by the entire thing, so much he had to think about when he and Amy first met.

So this was centuries ago, and it's wild because I'm like wait it's been that long for them holy shit my life is fleeting because to me a decade blinking by is so long.

A bit of lore about Satan btw, this was a time where he barely had an army, so it must have been he first came into power as a king. (we really need that backstory honestly) And went around scouting for willing participants even neighboring countries.

They also bring up that devils who saw him traveling around decided to join because they loved his energy.

When I think about this it's wild that Satan had to foot for his own army. This leads me to believe Gehenna was low due to the amount of deaths, or perhaps something happened with the previous king that caused this.

Either way, the babes did his thing and now he's got more than enough helping him during the battles. Picturing him recruiting folks though is cute because I imagine he's a great motivational speaker or just "hey join me btw" and it just works.

So the instructors didn't even notice Sitri because well in their defense they hadn't seen him yet. So of course they see this pretty, "slender" looking devil show up with his hair all nice and pushed back and is just like "aye so???"

He introduces himself and then that's when everyone starts acting accordingly and seeing him as a superior. But I mean that's why he was nice about it anyway because to him, they should be wary of someone they hadn't seen before and Gehenna needs that type of energy.

So now that we're in day 8 there's a few things I wanted to point out. One of them being the breadcrumb here that Hades had a fully formed solid military. That means...Leviathan is either the same age as Satan or a bit older, or he is younger than him but he's just better efficient with managing devils with his strict ass.

Sitri though see's Satan's army as an advantage. Because the Gehenna devils are flexible and free but also disciplined. That leads me to believe that it's only really fear and power that Leviathan uses to make sure that everyone in his military doesn't fuck things over. It makes sense, given Levi doesn't really have a carefree personality. There's too much trauma in there for him to break down that wall.

So while Sitri was daydreaming about his plans for leading Satan's army...someone...i think we know who fucking spits in his direction...

Now the reason he's pulling this face again is because he stepped into the spit. And I'm sitting here like ?????? I get it.

Again, like imagine just minding your business and someone just hacks a fucking loogie on the ground and you step in it. With your good shoes at that.

I'd be so disgusted like??? IRL bodily functions even my own gross me out easily so I apologize if anyone ever feels offended by me having strong opinion's about things we can't help. It's just me ya'll I live in pain constantly due to this.

Yup, it was Amy ya'll lmao big surprise.

So the reason Amy wasn't reading the room here, is because he felt like he didn't need to due to his status as a solider and being recently done with training. He was really good at what he does, so he felt anything else was not worth paying attention to.

Including spitting in the direction of your superior.

Now remember when I told ya'll to keep in mind that they said Amy wasn't usually foul mouth or foul tempered?

Then what the hell is this? Lmao

I get it, people change and well devils ain't got nothin' but time so perhaps Amy did mellow out with age and he was much younger here so that "I don't need to listen or do jack shit that ain't got to do with Satan" was very heavy. So ofcourse he'd pick a fight with everyone else.

But them expect Sitri to deal with it because he was nice to everyone?

Nah. He about that life.

He pretty much said "fuck you" without actually saying it and spat ON Amy. Mind you, Amy didn't even spit on him directly just in his walking path.

Yeah...?

That goddamn fucking smirk I'm going to lovingly kick his ass because Levi PLS

You're telling me he literally took this man, molded him into a Levi clone and sent him back out like that in Gehenna? I feel this is deliberate lmao "You sent me someone and gave me work to do so here you go here's your present <3"

Imagine all of the ass kicking Satan had to do in order to fix that attitude? Phew...I bet he was like "Again?"

now ya'll know why Cain is always on that everyone is stupid to me energy because look who he takes after?

I just find it hilarious that Sitri took that personally, because Levi would take that personally. If fact Levi wouldn't even spit on Amy back he'd just fucking hang him for being disgusting LOL

i couldn't resist.

So with Amy it was on sight, because trust, if someone spat on my face I'd be swinging too because clearly you want to disrespect me

Like ya'll think about it?

All he did was just spit on the ground and Sitri wasn't paying attention and stepped in it. He didn't spit directly on him.

small story time but it reminds me of a story i was told that i ripped up a boy's classwork in kindergarten because he tore my page on the corner as a "joke". i legit took his page and ripped it up. apparently i was on demon mode lmao

But now we're really starting to see the meat and potatoes of their dynamic. Sitri actually started it and ran with it. He saw the spit as disrespect and intentional when Amy sees it as "this dude fucking spit on me now we have beef"

So they're having this little interaction of Amy trying to punch Sitri, and because Sitri's ability to hear his heart and his muscles swell before he makes the movement he can dodge him without problem. But Amy is robust and not clumsy so he doesn't do the comical falling forward thing most of us see in cartoons.

Sitri is annoyed though because he sees the potential in Amy and his talent, he simply just doesn't like that attitude and sees it as a problem.

This is definitely Levi vibes.

So the next time Amy goes for him, he actually trips him so he falls. And it ends there.

Mannnnnnnnn this is a whole trip and a half. Like imagine if Sitri would have just simply ignored the spit and just dismissed Amy's bad attitude? I wonder if that would of even helped or if Amy would have done something to annoy Sitri later that would start the same beef regardless.

Imagine.

Centuries old beef because someone stepped in spit.

[operationslipperypuppet]

top 5 murph npcs? & top 5 brennan npcs? :)

oh excellent question

murph npcs:

general jaina bronzebeard (shoutout to the end of jainabaiting and to her having legendary actions now. and also to her slipping in c1. icon)

ol cobb (god, what a guy. i miss him so bad but what an exit. he flirted with mavrus mid battle. he’s hardwon’s best friend. i love him.)

jolene the green (a murph mom dude. a freaking murph mom. devastating. beautiful. and also believably living for thousands of years?? there’s something about how murph plays an immortal. “we will not rain arrows down from our towers, we will always shine a light” has been written on my wall for a year and a half. god)

balnor (feels rude to put him this low but like. couldn’t skip him. this man was a CARD. he’s gonna make you cry. we’re the hounds. we’re the freaking hounds.)

kenna (KENNA!!! new addition but god i love her. she does Not want to cover up her hammer with a knitted cover, mr bufo, but thanks for the offer. she is giving you a potion. she’s jumping off a cliff. she’s so so strong.)

special shoutout to mira kilde and melora bc i love them and couldn’t omit any of the earlier ones to put them on the list.

brennan npcs:

sandra lynn faeth (i love her so much she’s so much fun and she sucks but she’s working on it!! also it’s so sad that there wasn’t time to ask her about the bobby dawn thing bc holy shit)

alejandro (brennan excels as an old, slightly nuts wizard. he fits this mold perfectly. his reaction to finding out dale is dead is so freaking funny to me every time. plus kingston can summon him in tuc2. it’s wonderful)

esther sinclair (she can’t cry. she wants to fuck ricky so bad. she’s a wizard with a baseball bat. she’s mad. she’s right. she’s running a secret society of wizards. i. love her)

avanash the bones guy (numbers don’t really matter on this list but this guy is so funny. and the bit lasts a good amount of time. it’s so dumb)

jan de la vega (she’s just so rad. she’s against them but then she isn’t and she will kick their asses later if needed. she’s so fun)

it was hard to narrow both those down damn

ask me my top 5 anything

[theotherpacman]

got s1 is really a very faithful adaptation of agot, with only minor divergences. sometimes I really love the little details in the book that the show doesn't have room for, but sometimes I like the decisions the show made differently.

things I appreciate about the book:

the fact that jon is 14 makes his naivete regarding the wall hit so much harder. he's just a little boy and he's willing to sign his whole life away bc he believes he can be a part of something noble... neither his father nor his uncle nor anyone else tells him that to take the black is a grim sentence steeped in shame

ned hearing that bran's direwolf saved his life and being like "holy shit I killed one of them... what the fuck did I do"

sandor just whole ass traumadumping on 11-year-old sansa completely unprompted and then when he realizes he's just made himself vulnerable for literally no reason he goes "if you tell anyone about this I'll fucking kill you"

mormont thinks jon will be disappointed that bran is now a cripple but jon is so ecstatic bran's alive that he picks up tyrion lannister and spins him around (tyrion is startled by this) and then proceeds to cheerfully make friends with a guy who hates his guts bc jon kicked his absolute ass in training

tyrion and bronn starting to become friends on the way to the vale <3

THAT SINGER BITCH i love him

"whatever you may believe of me, lady stark, I promise you this -- I never bet against my family" screaming crying throwing up

jon going to maester aemon and convincing him to let sam take his vows!!!! using the metaphor of the maester's chain to make his point about how just bc sam is different that doesn't mean he's useless!!!!!!!

TYRION FIGHTING IN THE BATTLE AGAINST ROBB'S MEN!!!!! THE SHOW DID HIM SO FUCKING DIRTY i get that they didn't have as big a budget back then but come on man ToT

"when the sun rises in the west and sets in the east. when the seas go dry and the mountains blow in the wind like leaves. when your womb quickens again, and you bear a living child. then he will return, and not before." LET THE BARRENNESS BE PART OF THE CURSE why did they cut that

when tywin says "because you are my son" tyrion fucking Hates him for that bc he knows that if jaime were he tywin wouldn't spare him a second glance, he's only Tywin's Son now that jaime is prisoner and might die at the hands of the starks

things I appreciate about the show:

arya shooting a bullseye from behind bran. queen

jaime being a dick to everyone all the time for no reason. just going around starting shit. also that scene outside robert's bedroom where he talks to jory. jaime in general

ROS!!!!! MY GIRL ROS MY ABSOLUTE QUEEN ROS

"she's our guest." "she's our prisoner." "do you find the two to be mutually exclusive in your experience, my lord?" lmaooooo get his ass maester luwin

"sometimes possession,,,,, is an abstract concept"

THE DRINKING GAME!!!! first of all it gives us more insight into shae as a person who is so different from tyrion's established worldviews, secondly tyrion is always going around saying offensive shit and he thinks nothing of it bc a) people say offensive shit to him all the time and that's one of the ways he deals with it and b) he's usually right BUT when he makes all those assumptions about shae he's totally wrong and she stands up for herself, but my favorite part of that scene is that tyrion is hesitant to share this traumatic story from his past but he's just made bronn and shae confront their traumas so now he has to share too. and I think that's beautiful

all of varys and petyr's bitchy conversations when they're alone in the throne room

this only covers the first book/season I might make more of these as I keep reading

[pinkmoondoll9shihtzu]

a

Yesterday i got the craziest message out of the blue .. My ex bf from 2011-2013's other ex gf who he was with before me hit me up to say that he got arrested?? And that her and like 5 other people are pressing charges against him for assault spanning across all different periods of time.. it's really wild idk how to feel. She said if i feel comfortable i can give my own testimony for when they go to court , even tho i dont live in england anymore.. Im like yeah honestly i will because like this dude is so unrelentingly violent and scary he legit almost killed me it was so extreme, i've known a lot of corrupt ppl but he is the only one i've always thought needs to be locked away from society like it's a murder scene waiting to happen not to mention he is just a straightup rapist

it's crazy too cus like 4 or 5 nights ago i had a dream that me and him and the girl who messaged me were all watching videos of ourselves in that time period like i even posted about it on here. i thought it was just a typical trauma processing dream not an actual premonition of something i would have to revisit irl

She said something about how she'd been looking back in her old fb messages with him to help paint a picture of the timeline so out of morbid curiosity today i checked to see if i still had ours. Sure enough i do, i've never looked at them retroactively before, but holy shit like... He is so much more of a monster than i even remembered, i dont get triggered easily anymore but it genuinely hurt my heart to see how horrible he was. Every conversation is just him snapping at me because i didnt respond to him fast enough or something so minor, and the whole time im just trying to apologize and de-escalate but it makes him more and more furious. the day before i was about to fly to london to move back in with him he was threatening to kill himself because i was going to my friends house to say bye to them. He was like "You're going to a party i just know it you're lying to me you'd never tell me you're really going to a party because you know i'm suicidal you've ruined my night you're a piece of shit" Like this was the NIGHT before i was about to leave everything behind just for him

i'm like rly shocked at everything i saw in that convo today im not even scratching the surface with this post. Anyways i guess it's cool that there is some justice happening right now and the people who survived him have been able to band together to try and ensure he can't hurt anyone else in the future. i rly wish none of us ever had to go thru any of that tho ugh i was so young i just really had no idea and it fucked me up for many many years afterwards. ive come a long way tho .

ill probly delete later cus idk who lurks this blog. i prefer not to show weakness :K But yeah.. just wanted to express this crazy unexpected life event and get it off my chest while its fresh

Peace and love !!!

[wehaveagathering]

Just curious, what was the skate like irl? Who didn’t even finish/ who did better than the rest??

Oh, I love you for this question. Buckle up.

First of all, I think there are a bunch of misconceptions about what 👹Tort's Rope👹 actually is and how it works. I had not a clue how it worked until today, and literally a week ago I thought Torts was tying ropes to hockey players and having them drag each other around the ice... Not how it works.

So, John Tortorella's bag skate. First, the rope is marked in large sections and tied between two goals, placed a little closer together than usual. The players are split up into 4 groups of approximately 4 players each and sent to the four corners of the rink. When Torts blows his whistle, one player from each group completes 4 laps of the goals and returns to their corner; the next player up is sent off on his own laps, and so on and so forth. Once each player in each group has completed his first four laps, the two goals are widened to a new length marked on the rope and the first player is back up. It's not a test of time or speed; it's a test of endurance.

(Those numbers are rough estimates based off of what I saw today — it could be three laps, and I don't know how many reps they did. The actual schedule says 3x8 Lap which is the technical term for 👹Tort's Rope👹 but I thought I saw four laps. Eight reps sounds about right, too. Whatever! The actual numbers don't matter too much.)

What matters is that the player completes his laps and returns to his origination point, no matter how tired he is. His teammates can give him a pat on the back, or some tips and pointers, or they can stare into the blank void of space and consider a new career path. Whatever it is, he has to finish. So "not finishing" isn't really an option unless someone throws up or passes out or dies. And no one did that — so technically, everyone finished.

Some people certainly had an easier time than others. I noticed that Michkov and Bonk struggled quite a bit, and Jamie didn't look too thrilled either.

Travis Ballinghoff.

Which kinda sucked, because I was really rooting for them. But holy shit, Michkov was struggling. Charlie O Connor actually said in the PHLY podcast today that he noticed Michkov kind of cut his final lap short at one point and that John Tortorella came over to him and was like yo. can't do that. And for the rest of the time he pulled through.

Egor Zamula kept getting yelled at. "Let's go, Z! Keep skating, Z!" He also kept getting lapped by Rasmus Ristolainen. Tyson Foerster had "kill me now" face (see Bonk above) but Foerster does tend to have a pretty expressive face. Sean Couturier kept getting help from TK, who skated right behind him for the most part and kept pushing him forward with his stick. He even admitted it.

It seemed to me that most of the guys from last year, the returning ones, were the ones that did the best. Farabee, Frost, Tippett, Hathaway, Poehling, Laughton — they all had a routine in between their laps that they used to help keep them going, whether it was motivatinal or physiological or psychological. Farabee and Hathaway skated up and down the rope, in the center of the lapping players. Tippett stretched on the boards. (He's flexible. 👀)

It was interesting to watch who was fast, though. Ronnie Attard looked like he was having the time of his fucking life, and he actually did very well! Carter Sotheran has resting happy face, but I can't imagine he was having any fun. Jett Luchanko was certainly winded, but pulled through with minimal painful expressions. (Erik Johnson went on the record to say Luchanko looked like he didn't even have to try.) Zayde Wisdom, Noah Cates and Cam York all paced themselves well. But everyone, no matter who it was, was slowing down by the second or third rep — very visibly. It looked awful.

And then — and then! — they had to do shuttles. This one was in groups of four — started at one end, raced to the other end, tight turn, back to the original spot. Then a group of four at the opposite end, who were waiting, would do the same, and the small groups would switch off. They must have done at least five reps. No one fared well on these. No one. They were all lagging by the second rep.

Anyway, to answer your question, it was loud, and it was cold, and hockey players are big. The tallest ones were like hovering a foot over me (looking at you, Matteo Mann, what the fuck are you so tall for??) and even Michkov at 5'11 looked fucking ginormous. And his group was right near me — him, Frost, Seeler, and Lycksell. Frost was tiring but I could see him grit his teeth and grind out his laps. I assume after the emotional pain of John Tortorella, Frosty can handle the physical pain too. After one of his laps was done he gave Michkov a lil side hug. It was really cute!

Travis Ballinghoff.

Off topic, but stick "taps" — that's bad nomenclature, right there. A stick "tap" at the Vorhees TC sounds like a car backfiring.

At the end of every group's torture, they settled down for a circle stretch. TK went around the first one talking to guys and grinning and laughing. He looked like a leader. The second one Joel was going around making every guy give him a little fistbump. Then the third one was actually led by Spencer Gill, who I thought had done reasonably well, especially for having only just been drafted. He held his own.

Thank you for the ask!

[fandomfluffandfuck]

Okay okay. I just had this beautiful mental image of competence kink Steve. And my brain produced two fairly different images: Steve sees Bucky do something incredible during a mission. Idk what. And *oh*, he pops a boner right there and then, as much as the cup of his suit allows anyway. He can barely wait to get off the quinjet post mission, much to the team's amusement, to blow Bucky and then fuck into next week because holy shit hot

Or, Steve having an unfairly wet dream about WS!Bucky in the leather and incredible skills with all the knife tricks and so on and feeling very guilty about that. Because getting the horny from something Bucky had no control over? Not cool, at least in his mind. Bucks somehow gets him to spill though, and then ties Steve up and uses his knife skills to get him out of his clothes very efficiently, leaving Steve there as a panting and moaning mess Uh yeah my brain melted a little

For reference, my ask box is no longer open for requests, but this is from before I closed it, so I will be writing for this ask.

Oh, fuck yeah, I love competency kink. We can certainly talk about that and soak in the brain melt together, lol

Besides, we all know that that fucker has one

gifs by @/linusbenjamin

and this moment haunts him 😏 because of it.

Plus, that single shield catch isn't even to mention the million other examples I could think of for Steve's fixation on the Winter Soldier. The ghost is strutting around in what's practically fetish gear, like, c'mon, give Steve some slack. It's leather and straps and shimmering metal and decisive, confident combat. Motherfucker.

I am SO fucking down to think about Steve watching Bucky execute some incredible feat on a mission and getting turned on because of it, and I will expand on that in a minute. But, also, the second option, too. YES. Steve wet dreaming about the Winter Soldier? God, it's more than just likely, that shit absolutely happened.

(I did write something about those wet dreams in this ask answer under "war paint")

(Also, you need to see this art, that is... yup. Knives and bondage and competency.)

Okay, competency on missions driving Steve insane...

(warning for canon typical violence!)

It happens like this: one instant Steve is solely focused on strangling the underling that's freshly come at him 'cause he's just trying to get through the masses of them before he can actually disarm this whole fucking shitty, dangerous situation alongwith it's leader, and the next instant Steve is totally, completely, and entirely distracted from getting an arm around this fuckers throat, squeezing off his air between his forearm and bicep. It could not be farther from his mind, really.

Rather than thinking about how he can best discard this underling and move on to the next--always plotting his following move, what punch should he throw, what kick, where's his shield, how should he throw his shield, who's around him, and are they his teammates or this month's big enemy--he's aching, not thinking, aching to drop to his knees. It is a visceral, very unchill reaction that Steve can't fucking control. There is no way on god's green earth.

The wanting to drop like a fly isn't because he's tired and ready to give in and surrender, nah, he could do this all day, it's because he's at fucking full mast in his uniform pants so suddenly that he needs a goddamn break from himself. His own hyperreactive body. It's dizzying, debilitating, how his blood rushes from circulating oxygen as fast as it can to his bulging, burning, working muscles to pooling heavy and hot in his cock.

All that hot, thick blood filling his dick out as he moves and twists, grappling with his fucking random ass bad guy, and threatening, incidentally, to rub himself salaciously against the hard pressure of his athletic cup.

His cup is cupping him.

He's big, he can't not. He's got no fucking room. It's... yeah, it's, just--

Jesus Christ.

Steve's aching to drop to his knees and more. It doesn't stop at getting to his knees. One moment and he has the worst kind of desperate craving crashing through him, leaving him hankering for the sensation of firm, muscular legs squeezing around his throat, the pressure tight on both sides, making him feel like his head might explode as he gasps for air or he might pass out without any air or he might cum from pure fucking lust at how hot it is or all of the above all at once.

All at once.

It is an onslaught of arousal. Just. His appetency is un-fucking-checked for the tingling, sharp burn of fingers raking through his hair and pulling hard until he feels it in his scalp and skittering down his back, richly feeding the fire at the base of his spine. He needs to feel body heat suffocatingly around his neck and shoved up against him from behind. Heat painted like thick, sticky tar up the nape of his neck to the crown of his head.

And all that weakening fucking hunger is inspired by one instant. A single flash that he catches, lightning-fast, out of the corner of his eye.

Dark leather molded to fit a shapely body perfectly, sinfully, waves of hair flowing like water, and the distinct glint of silver metal caught in the sun, flashy and, just, sexy.

Bucky.

Bucky, who's barely just been able to be comfortable in combat again after deprogramming but is ever-skilled. Honed. Deadly and gorgeous as a honey trap.

Bucky, who has spent more hours in the gym training with Natasha than anyone else combined--something about mutual trauma and understanding and trust.

Bucky in elegant, lethal motion, wrapping himself like a lithe snake around his own steroid-fit underling, his burly thighs squeezed around the baddies thick, muscular throat, his veins bulging in strain, balanced perfectly on his broad shoulders, and keeping the power in his own mismatched hands. The palm of his hands, like it's easy.

Bucky is fucking winning, it's plain to see. No sweat.

Bucky has shocked this baddie by mounting him, throwing his weight around with ease in a way that shouldn't be possible for a man his size. Better, Bucky has thrown him even further off, fisting a hand into his hair cruelly, pulling so hard that his choices are to let his hair be ripped out and deal with the gritting pain or follow the hold and put himself in worse danger, prolonging the time before the pain. The unnamed baddie follows, of course. Anyone would follow someone as intoxicating and beautiful as Bucky. But he's then pinned there, throat fully exposed. Perilous. The most animal form of submission, this time forced and humiliated by defeat.

Bucky is the dominant fighter.

He is in control.

And he is making it known with what would be sickening glee if Steve was anyone but himself--if Steve wasn't so fucking aroused by watching Bucky wield himself as a weapon of his own choosing, taking control, and reveling in doing good.

God.

With his thighs around his neck, Bucky deftly plucks a long, sharp knife from its holster strapped onto his mouth-watering thigh and twists and twirls it around his fingers before holding it against the underling's throat. The threat is crystal clear and needs no further explanation: move and its lights out for you.

So, the underling folding to his mercy, Bucky slowly, slowly contorts his body, displaying his oh-so flexible spine and positioning his mouth right above his ear. Steve watches him whisper into his ear--his pink lips curling over the hushed syllables in the heat of chaotic, loud battle--and shivers.

Goosebumps come to attention all across Steve's body.

Shit.

He's unreal.

He's so gorgeous and so good and so charming.

At whatever he tells him, the baddie nods stiffly, all the color drained from his face, and Bucky retracts his knife unhurriedly, perfectly moving according to his own schedule, and confidently sheathes the blade it once more. Then, neatly, he unclenches his thighs from around his throat and slithers off his shoulders. It's almost a dance--totally smooth, well-rehearsed choreography.

He defies gravity.

As soon as Bucky is far enough from him, peeled away, the underling scurries off like a frightened rat, stumbling as he sprints off. Bucky watches him go with an unhinged, almost-pitying smile, an expression just for himself, as if to say, that's right, you better run. Tell the others, too. You fuck with me and it's over. Don't bother coming back.

Steve whimpers.

Realistically, it--Bucky devastatingly executing one of Black Widow's signature flipping, twisting moves as if it's his own and something developed specifically for him, an over 200 lbs man of pure muscle and metal--all happens in the span of seconds. Or, maybe it happens faster. It may not even be a single second. But for Steve, it plays in slow motion; it lasts ages in his mind.

Still, really, just it's one instant, and then his brain chemistry has been fully altered. Immediately. His wires have been crossed over and shorted out. Sparks fly. And his reboot back to being a functioning fucking human comes in the form of a punch to the face.

Fuck.

Steve groans through the pain of a fist colliding with his face, wincing, and opening and shutting his jaw to have it crack back into place. He's gonna fucking feel that later. But, for now, he has to ignore the heavy, aching throb of his cock, the pain in his jaw, and get back to fighting.

Later, he tells himself.

Later, that'll be his treat for getting through this shit day. He can kneel and beg, forgetting himself as a drooling, heaving, out-of-breath, hot faced mess at Bucky's feet, fumbling over words as he incomprehensibly pleads to have his shapely thighs wrapped tight around his head, his neck, his waist even, anything. Just hold him there until he fucking dies a happy death between those legs.

Heaven.

[pattypanini]

Sam Kiszka x Reader  Temptations

Summary: After a concert with your shitty boyfriend, a trip backstage with Sam doesn't seem too bad?

Word Count: 7.5k

Taglist for Oneshots

A/N: First off, we are veryyyy sorry. Marley and I have had the busiest summers everrr. But we are back at school! Which means we can grind on this tumblr account again! We started this during the summer and just have now finished it, along with LAYLOM and many more one shots which we plan on posting. We hope you take this one shot as an apology. Expect more to come very soon!!!! Love, Sam and Marley <3

Warnings: 18+, Slight cheating (this will not be for everyone) SMUT, penetrative sex, fingering, degrading, hickeys, dirty talk, slight submissive/dom, flirting, slapping, mentions of pregnancy, slight coercion.

PRECEDE WITH CAUTION. THIS IS NOT FOR EVERYONE!

Y/N's POV

It was your boyfriend’s idea to go out tonight. He said something about “being in a new city and having to hit up all the hot spots”. But you couldn’t really care less. You were more excited about the concert you two would be attending tomorrow. But him being the sweetest boy he is, you caved and somehow ended up in this random bar in Charleston.

You are sitting beside your boyfriend, Lucas, at the barstools lining the bar sipping on a margarita. You fiddle with the hem of your floral sundress, just barely paying attention to Lucas’s aimless chatter. You weren’t bored per say, but you’d rather be cuddled up in the hotel room watching some cheesy movie. 

“You excited for the concert tomorrow?” Lucas asks after taking a sip of his beer, a smile plastered across his tanned face. He runs his hand through his chestnut hair, gorgeous blue eyes piercing right through you. Man, are you lucky. Even after a rocky year and a half this man still somehow manages to give you butterflies. 

“Of course I am. I have been looking forward to it for the past six months.” Six excruciatingly long months of waiting. You take another sip of your drink before continuing, “Thank you for buying the tickets, honey.” You smile at him, reaching your hand out to rub his arm.

He had purchased the tickets as an anniversary gift, and it was arguably one of the best presents you had ever received, seeing that most of his gifts were half-assed. He knew how much you loved Greta Van Fleet and was thoughtful enough to get tickets as soon as they went on sale. 

“Of course baby. Anything for the best girl in the world. I’m super pumped too ya know.” He lifts your hand off of his arm, bringing it to his mouth to place a light kiss on it. He places it back down on your thigh, his hand lingering on yours. 

You give him a look of warning, but he still proceeds trailing his hand up your inner thigh. 

“Lucas, come on. We’re in public, have some decency.” You peel his hand off of you, placing it back in his own lap. 

“Stop being such a bitch, can’t you ever have fun?” He snaps back with a roll of his eyes. 

You shrug off his hostile words, because it was nothing you weren’t used to. A few minutes pass by, neither of you talking to the other. 

You’re starting to get a little hungry, so you convince Lucas to order some appetizers. You both decide on some mozzarella sticks and fried pickles. As he is grabbing the bartender's attention, you hear the door open. 

It wasn’t a super busy bar, you always tried to find little hidden gems in the area and this was one of them. As the door opens, four very familiar looking men come walking through the door.

Holy shit. 

Greta Van Fleet is walking into the bar you are in, and no one even knows who they are. They make their way to the bar and not a single person bats an eye. You blink a few times just to make sure your eyes aren’t deceiving you. Nope, not deceiving. 

You stare off into space, trying to stay calm about the situation at hand but you are quickly caught. 

“Y/n. Y/n? Are you listening?” Waving his hand in front of your face. 

You snap yourself out of your trance. “Yeah. Yeah, it's just uh… I think Greta Van Fleet just walked in.” His eyes widen as he whips around in the barstool to look over his shoulder. 

“That's definitely them babe, go over say something.”

“No no no, I am not doing that. They probably don’t want to be bothered” You shake your head. 

Lucas smiles at you, knowing how nervous you are just being in the same room as them.

“What if I go with you?” He reaches to his left, grabbing your hands in his. 

“Okay fine, but you have to stay with me.” You stand up from the bar seat, feeling as if you could fall over at any moment. Your shaky legs start making their way over to them, you can hear Lucas’s steps from behind you. 

They are within six feet now, your heart is pounding in your chest. Now or never. You decide to approach Sam first considering he looked to be the one least occupied. 

“Hey, you’re Sam from Greta Van Fleet.” Your mouth somehow forms the words. 

Sam turns towards you, giving you a slow look up and down before saying a thing, but his body said so much. “I am, you can call me Sammy though, beautiful. What’s your name?”

“Um, Y/n.” You were feeling your cheeks burn hotter and hotter with each second passing. Beautiful? What the actual fuck. 

“Ah, nice to meet you y/n, and what’s your brother's name?”

“Oh, uh, he’s my boyfriend. This is Lucas.” Lucas reaches his hand out to shake Sam’s, and Sam returns with a weak, uninterested shake back. 

“Ha, well I assumed you were related, seeing that you look similar.” You’ve never gotten that one before. “I mean you would have gotten the good genes if it was true.” What is up with this guy? 

“So are you from around here?” He looks directly at you, only wanting your answer.

“No, we're not, we're from Virginia. We’re just visiting for the concert actually.” You smile, feeling bashful that you’re talking to the Sam Kiszka right now.

“Ohh, that’s awesome. Hey boys, this lovely lady is going to be at our concert tomorrow.” He says to the rest of them, pointing at you. Lucas is still awkwardly standing behind you.

“How wonderful, where will you be sitting?” Josh asks, reaching out to softly shake your hand. 

“Well we won’t be on the floor, if it was up to me we would be but Lucas got the tickets for our anniversary. But we're still pretty close, on the left third row up.”

“Jeez man can’t even get her closer seats.” Sam says under his breath, which is quickly shut down when Jake elbows him for his spoiled behavior. 

Lucas just laughs at what he thinks is a joke. Poor boy, how stupid and clueless.

“Oh babe I think the appetizers are coming soon, I’ll go wait for them. As long as you are okay with that?” Lucas reaches for your hand, making sure you are calm and comfortable.

“Yeah, yeah I’m good I’ll be over soon.” You smile at him as he makes his way back over. Sam on the other hand was staring him down as he made his way back to the other side of the bar. 

You didn’t know what to say to any of them, you’ve dreamed of a moment like this but now that it’s actually happening you don’t know what to say. 

“Um, am I able to get a picture with all of you, this is like crazy to me.” They all nod and smile and you ask the bartender to take your picture. The boys push you to the middle, surrounding you. Sam stands directly to your left, and Jake to your right, while Josh and Danny stand on both ends. 

Jake places a hand on your shoulder, pulling you in. As the bartender is about to take the picture Sam places a hand around your waist, pulling you in his way. 

You feel a rush of butterflies fly through your stomach as you feel his fingers press harder into your side. After a few photos everyone disperses and takes their seat. You wanted to leave them be but also wanted to stay around a little longer. 

“Hey Sam, do you think I could get a photo with just you? I don’t like picking favorites but…,” you bring your hand up to his ear as if you were telling him a dirty little secret, whispering,” …you're definitely mine.” 

With a smirk plastered across his face he stands back up grabbing the phone and handing it to Josh. 

Just like before his large hands make its way back to the familiar spot it just was on. You lean into him, trying to look as natural as possible. After a short moment of Josh taking at least 20 photos he hands you back your phone, but Sam never lets you out of his grip. Instead he pulls you closer, his face next to your ear.

“I wanna see you after the concert tomorrow, got it?” You didn’t know what to say, you stared at him thinking that you misheard. “Now go back to your ‘boyfriend’ and let him think you're his for one more night.” Sam releases his grip, sending you off with a smile and wave.

What? Your mind was racing a million miles a minute, not sure what to think about everything that happened in the span of only 10 minutes. You shakily walk back over to Lucas where he and your appetizers were waiting. 

“So how was it? I know you didn’t want me to leave but you looked awfully comfortable over there.” Taking a bite of the mozzarella sticks, he's now scowling at you.

“It was awesome! I talked to all of them and got some pictures.” You pull your phone out showing him the group photo you took, leaving your one on one photo with Sam out of the conversation. 

“Wow that's so cool, babe.” He is barely listening, sounding like he's never been more bored in his life. 

“So cool,” you think in your head about how you want to bring up the fact that you were asked backstage. “Oh and Sam said he wants to see me after the concert.” 

“Oh wow babe, maybe he’ll wanna talk to us and we can get some autographs.”

“Yeah, maybe.” You stirred your drink thinking about the events of tonight. Your heart still palpitating from the unexpected interaction from only moments ago. Much has happened on your trip to Charleston, and it has barely just begun. 

—

You stand in the foggy bathroom of the hotel room you and Lucas were staying in for the weekend. It’s a nice, clean hotel room, nothing super spectacular though. But you didn’t mind. You take a long everything shower and are feeling ready for the night.

You slip on your tight black dress, wrapping your silver belt around your waist. You decide to do your hair next, opting for some simple curls. You do a bold, glittery silver makeup look. You finally tug on your black heeled boots. You begin to walk out of the bathroom, but then remember you didn’t put any perfume on. You go back into the bathroom to spray a generous amount onto your body, ya know, just in case.

You knew it was silly to think that anything would even happen between the two of you , but it’s every girl's dream. And maybe it’s bad to think while having a boyfriend but, who wouldn’t have a one night stand with one of the boys, right? It’s like a hall pass.

You rush out to the main room, not wanting to be late. Lucas is already sitting on the bed waiting for you. You grab a small bag with the necessities and check yourself over in the mirror.

You can see Lucas’s reflection in the mirror, his gaze solely focused on your ass and how it fits in your dress. “Damn, babygirl. You look smokin’.” 

“Thanks babe, we should probably get going. I don't want to be late.” You begin to walk over to the door to leave, but Lucas is still sitting on the bed. “Ya coming?” You question him, god he can be so fucking annoying sometimes. 

“I mean we won’t be too late, why don’t you come back over?” He smirks, patting on the bed.

“No Lucas, come on. I want to go.” You cross your arms in front of you, waiting for him.

“God you’re so fucking insufferable sometimes y/n. A guy can’t even get fucking laid?.” Lucas pushes off the bed and grabs the keys.

Lucas was very sexually driven. He always was. You both met on Tinder and all it was supposed to be was a one night stand, but it slowly turned into more. And while you loved him for how sweet he was, there was always the other side of him that you wish didn't exist. 

“Okay Lucas, whatever. Be angry that I don’t want to have fucking sex with you right now when we have somewhere to be.” You roll your eyes and roughly pull open the door leading out to the hall. 

—

After what felt like the longest drive ever, filled with silence and anger, you make it to the arena. Lucas went straight to his seat while you made your way to the merch stand. You tried to go as long as you could without having to be with him. When you heard music start to play you quickly rushed to your seat to watch the openers. 

Your seats were good, you could see the stage perfectly. After the openers finish up, you wait anxiously in your seat for Greta to come on. You find it hard to believe you’re about to see Sam again and you wonder if he would be able to see you too. You hope he did. You also hope that he will remember what he said last night at the bar. But knowing how busy their lives are, your hope of meeting him backstage was feeling less of a reality.

You hear the orchestra music begin to lull and you know they are coming on any minute now. The moment of tension between you and Lucas subsides, and you both begin to feel the excitement.

The crowd is cheering so loudly you think your eardrums might burst. The curtain falls and suddenly there stands the man you were in a scandalous conversation with.  

The boys take their places on stage and the opening notes ring throughout the arena. You couldn’t believe how close you are to him. You knew the seats were close but this is closer than you thought.

There was a perfect view of Sam’s side profile. His perfect side profile, perfect body, perfect hair, perfect fucking everything. After all the attention you had got from Sam last night you were feeling jealous of the girls closer to him. At some points you had forgotten that Lucas was even with you, until you felt his hand snake around you making you feel strange. 

You gently shrug his hand off of you, wanting to dance and sing along without him being all over you. He immediately makes a sour face accompanied with a disbelieving scowl. He takes a large gulp of his beer, deciding to finally mind his own business. Your gaze travels right back to Sam, his hair now a little damp from his sweat. 

He looks over at your section and you swear he gives you a flirty, little wink. Sure, maybe you are being a tad delusional but he does know where you are sitting and last night he was being quite cheeky with you.

As the show went on you shared more than a few glances, some lasting more than expected, and because of that someone was getting very jealous. Everytime Sam would look at you Lucas would roll his eyes and take a big swig of his drink. But you didn’t care, you were too in the moment to realize. 

As the show comes to an end, you take your seat, not knowing if you should leave. I mean sure Sam said he wanted to see you again, but he could just be saying that to everyone. But you couldn’t lose the opportunity. 

Lucas finishes his drink and digs the keys out of his pocket. “Alright let's go y/n, I couldn’t have you before the show but I sure as hell can after.” He says giving you a flirty look.

“Um Lucas, don’t you remember? Sam wanted to take me backstage. I can’t miss this opportunity.” You hold your ground, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Oh my god y/n give me a break. He’s not going to do that, and even if he did I wouldn’t let you. Not after all the looks you were giving him.”

“So what I’m gathering from that is you don’t trust me?!” You furrow your eyebrows at him in pure anger. You had tried your best all night to suppress your irritation, but now he was working on your last nerve. 

“That’s not what I-” He starts.

“Just save it. You’ve been acting like an ass to me all night. I was just trying to enjoy the concert. Besides, this is a fucking anniversary present anyway and you’re treating me like I’m a child.” 

“Excuse me ma'am.” You hear a voice come from the floor down below you. A large man in a security shirt looks up to you and Lucas. “Sam Kiszka asked to see you backstage if you are willing to follow me.”

“Omg yes definitely-” You start before you’re interrupted.

“No, y/n, you are not going.” Lucas cuts you off before you could say anymore, while grabbing onto your arm rather forcefully. 

“Um yes I am. This is once in a lifetime Lucas, I won’t let you ruin this for me just because you're jealous and wanna go home to get your dick sucked. You can go, I'll get an Uber back to the hotel.” You grab your bag and begin to make your way to the stairs before you're grabbed again.

“You think you’re gonna be with him all night or something? Honestly go ahead y/n. Go fuck him, you obviously want to be with him more than me tonight. I should have known you were such a bitch.” He begins to walk away and towards the exit and you just let him. He just couldn’t stand being happy for you. 

You’d have a conversation with Lucas at some point, but you are a little more focused on the fact that Sam Kiszka is waiting for you backstage currently. 

You turn to face the security guy with an apologetic look, “I’m so sorry about him. I’d love to go backstage.” You give him a sweet smile in which he returns. 

“No problem, ma’am. Follow me right this way.” He leads you down the steps onto the floor and walks you to the back of the stage. The nerves were building up as was the anticipation of seeing Sam again. And he requested to see you.

You walk past all the backstage workers beginning to pack up the stage equipment, not a trace of any Greta Van Fleet member. You still find it hard to believe this was even happening right now, and who knows what's going to happen when you reach Sam. The fact you just had a severe argument with your boyfriend only minutes ago, and not even knowing where the two of you stood at the moment, complicated things even more. 

The security guard stops just short of a black door, labeled with the name Sam Kiszka.”Feel free to knock on the door ma’am, he's just inside.” He points in the direction of the door, smiles, and then turns to walk away. He didn’t even give you a chance to thank him, before he was out of sight. You’re left alone now, in front of Sam’s door. You take a deep breath trying to steady yourself before you knock.

You feel your hand shake as you bring your fist to the door, rapping your knuckles against it. After a few moments you hear the door knob jiggle. Oh my god. There he is, again.

His body still glistening with sweat as he opens the door for you, smirking looking down at you. He plops down onto the couch in the corner, patting the cushion next to him. “Sit down babydoll, I wanna hear your thoughts.” You take a seat beside him. He drapes his arms across the back of the couch, brushing your hair in the process. 

“Um It was really good. It was hard to take my eyes off you, you did amazing.” You realize his gaze on you, making you nervous and shift in your seat.

“I’m so happy you liked it.” Taking a piece of your hair, and twirling it in his fingers. “So what about, hm Linus? Luke, I don't care to remember. Where is he?”

“Oh Lucas, well he wasn’t invited back, which is fine he understands. Well…not really, but it’s fine. He’s been a real dick all night anyways so the time away from him is good.” You feel the anger rising back up again just from the simple thought of Lucas right now. 

“He’s no good for you babydoll, you need someone to treat you right. Make you feel good, make you happy.” His hand that was once gently intertwined in your hair is now grasped around the back of your neck.

You shift to face him.“Do I? And who do you suppose could do that for me?” He is so fucking bold, and apparently so were you with this newfound confidence. 

“Look right in front of you babe.” His lips form a straight line, his eyebrows practically raised to his hairline.

“Sam, I have a boyfriend.” The devil on your shoulder is so badly telling you to give into him. 

“And? I’m so much better than him y/n, open your eyes. Like seriously, what does he have that I don’t, because it doesn’t seem like much. Last time I checked he wasn’t a musician in a popular rock band who also happens to be a millionaire.”

Such a cocky fucking man. But you’d be lying if you said it didn’t turn you on.

“Well he pays for our rent, makes dinner once a week...lots of stuff.” You are trying to convince yourself. It's not really working.

“Baby, if you were mine you’d have your own house, never cook another day in your life, and have anything you fucking want.” His eyes were staring right into yours, he looked…serious? Fuck, why universe do you have to make things so goddamn difficult.  

“Maybe I don’t care about the money, I care about the love. Could you even do that?”

Sam stares at you, deciding his answer in his own head. “How would you feel if I kissed you, then you can decide if I ‘love’ the way you want babydoll.”

“Well I wouldn’t feel a thing because I wholeheartedly love my boyfriend.”

Are you really going to do this right now? Cheat on your boyfriend. You’ve never been a cheater, why start now? Maybe it’s because Sam Kiszka hasn’t been begging for your attention before. 

His grip around the back of your neck tightens to bring you closer to him, your lips only a few inches apart. You stay like that for a few seconds but it feels like hours with the need for him pulsing through you. 

Before you knew it his lips quickly attached to yours, his lips were so soft and plump. He pulls away to look at you. “Feel anything?” He questions with a cocky ass look on his face. His stupid, pretty face.  

“I wish I could tell you I did, but I didn’t.” You were most definitely lying, trying to convince yourself that there was nothing there. You felt guilty, but that guilt was being covered by the lust filling the air. The need for Sam was far too powerful, you didn’t want anyone else. 

Next thing you know your lips are back on his, this time with more urgency. You lean further into him as his tongue teases at your lips, begging for entrance. You part your lips for him allowing his tongue to slide against yours. Your hands make their way to the back of his head, lightly tugging at his coffee colored hair. 

A light moan slips from your mouth at the feeling of his lips against yours, which doesn’t go unnoticed by Sam. 

“You’re such a bad liar. You can keep saying you don’t feel anything but your body can’t lie baby.” His hands trail down your body making you shiver. “So touched starved. Lucas doesn’t do anything to you does he? Surely he doesn’t please you the way you want, huh? I could do so much better for you babydoll.”

“Not recently. I mean he’s always begging for it and I usually give in but it always sucks. It’s half assed and always for his pleasure. He’s sweet sometimes but all he ever thinks about is sex. It’s hard to see the good in a relationship when the bad outweighs the good.”

Sam’s hands rub up and down your thighs, giving you comfort in the moment. 

“I mean even today he tried to fuck right before we left and when I was about to come back here he was arguing about going back and fucking then, like god if you’re going to insist on fucking all the time at least make it decent.” You realized how loud and aggressive you had gotten during your one sided conversation. “I’m sorry that’s probably more than you wanted to know.”

“No, it's all good babydoll. I could tell you didn’t like him all that much at the bar. But I could tell how much you were feeling up on me.” Smirking at you. If you were trying to have a serious conversation with Lucas and he did that you’d probably smack him, but when Sam does it, it turns you on. “You can act like you're not feeling it, but I can tell.” Before you can register, you're being brought up onto Sam’s lap, straddling him on the couch. 

“Y/n, I’ll treat you so right babygirl. With me, you’d never have to worry about anything ever again.” His hands are trailing up and down over your ass, you instinctively grind down into his lap. Sam sucks in a sharp breath through clenched teeth. “Goddamn, if you keep that up I’ll cum in my fucking pants.”  

“Mmm, that would be kinda fun, wouldn’t it? Ya know…if I made you cum in your pants.” You smirk at him as you grind your hips again. 

“Stop teasing.” He hisses through his teeth, grabbing at your hips to still them. 

“Fine, I won’t.” You get off his lap, kneeling in front of him and unzip his jeans. Sam’s hands connect to your hair as you release him from his jeans, only his boxers hiding his cock from your sight. Before you could fully make your way off the floor Sam was ripping off your belt and pulling your dress above your head. 

You feel the cold air hit your now bare chest, your nipples instantly hardening. You can sense Sam’s eyes on you and you finally look up to meet his gaze. 

“Well, well, well. Would you look at that?” His eyes scan over your chest as you settle yourself back down on his lap. 

“Like what you see?” You challenge him, leaning over so your tits are directly in front of his face. 

His hands reach down to the waistband of his boxers and swiftly pull them down. His cock slaps against his stomach and you can feel the saliva collecting in your mouth, you have to physically stop yourself from drooling. “I don’t know, you tell me.” His voice is low and husky, he’s incredibly turned on. You can tell because his cock looks like it's practically aching, a bead of precum collecting on his swollen tip. 

Almost subconsciously you begin to make your way down onto your knees, but before you could take him in he grabs a chunk of your hair, pulling you up to meet his gaze. “Oh no honey that's not how this works. I don’t know what Lucas makes you do but you come first, in more than one way.”

“But… I want to…” You look at him like a lost puppy, you were taken off guard. I mean, yeah, you were used to sucking Lucas’s dick with nothing in return, that’s all you’ve known for the past year and a half, why would you expect anything different now. 

“Well maybe I wanna please you y/n. Just accept that babydoll, not everyone is as selfish as him.” He leans forward on the couch taking your hips into his hands pulling you closer to him. 

His lips graze over your stomach leaving soft, feather light kisses. Your hands travel to the back of his head to clutch onto his long hair. 

“Lay down on the couch for me, peach.” He looks up at you from his sitting position, his eyes darkened and lust-filled. You immediately obey him, finally allowing yourself to give into his ministrations. Taking a seat on the couch, Sam gently pushes you down, your back hitting the leather cushions.

Your body laid out for him, completely vulnerable. He hovers himself over you, mouth connecting to your neck and leaving light kisses down to the top of your tits. “Can I leave marks, let Lucas know whose you are?”

“You’re implying that I'm yours, Sammy?” You smirk at him, running your hands up and down his bare chest. 

“Oh peach, you’ve been mine from the moment I laid eyes on you.” He leans down to place a kiss on your lips. 

You immediately melt into him, his lips so soft and plump. Your hands wrap around his neck pulling him down closer, bringing his hips flush with yours. He deepens the kiss, his tongue teasing at your lips begging for entrance. You part your lips allowing his tongue to slide across yours. 

A tiny moan escapes from your mouth, causing Sam to pull away. “Fuck, those little noises you’re making are so pretty baby. Keep doing it and I’m gonna fuck you straight out of your relationship.”

“Do it, fuck me so hard I forget about my stupid boyfriend.” Your hands scratch at his scalp and gently pull at the strands of his long hair. “Sammy…”

“What peach?” He lightly drags his hand up the curve of your hip and over your waist to grab at your tits. 

You look over at the vanity mirror against the wall, in the corner of the room. “I…” You trail off, lost in space, letting your imagination run wild with all the possibilities. “I need you to fuck me over by that mirror.” 

He follows your line of sight, a smirk appearing on his face once he realizes. “What a dirty girl. Fine, you wanna act like a slut, you’ll get fucked like a slut too.” Before you could register what was happening Sam grabbed your hand and brought you to the vanity. 

Sam pushed you face down onto the counter, bringing you close to the mirror. Sam’s hands grab onto your ass, watching as your face distorted in pain. 

His hands linger on the waistband of your panties. His fingers slip under the fabric and release with a harsh snap against your skin. “Fuck…” You squeak out. 

“Mmm, the prettiest peach. But, I think these need to come off,” He says, rubbing his large hand over your ass cheek before tugging down your underwear, letting them pool at your feet. “That’s much better, I need to see my girl completely when I fuck her.”

Sam’s fingers drag over your slit, feeling your pool of wetness. “Damn baby, who got you like this.” Whispering into your ear. “It wasn’t Lucas, was it?” He grabs your chin, forcing eye contact in the mirror. “Was it?” You watch his reflection as his jaw clenches. 

“No Sam, it was you, only you.” You practically whimper out. God, you were a mess for this man.

Sam grins, feeling proud of what he caused. “Good, now I think I need to get a taste before you’re not able to hold yourself up.” 

Sam kneels behind you to become eye level with your cunt. His eyes rake over your slick folds as he lets out a low groan. “Fuck, peach. Can’t believe all of this is for me.” His fingers lightly play with your folds before you feel his tongue lick a slow, long stripe up your pussy. 

“Shit…” You huff out, his warm tongue taking you by surprise. He continues on with a few more licks up your slit, before he pulls away. 

“Aw, someone liked that. You that deprived baby? Lucas not know how to please a woman like you? I mean he’s just a boy after all, you need a real man, like me.” He chuckles a little at his own words. You can feel the anger starting to boil. 

You whip your head around causing him to fall back onto his hands. “Stop fucking bringing him up.” You spit at him. “I don’t give a shit about him and I’ve been dreading the fact I have to go back to that hotel room when his asshole self is there.”

“Feisty little thing aren't you?” He smirks up at you, nothing but pure enjoyment plastered across his face. “You’re quite cute when you’re angry, peach.” Sam pushes your hair behind your ear. “Plus what makes you think you have to go back to him. I'm all yours.” He smiles sweetly at you. A moment of silence passes.

“Sam just shut your goddamn mouth for once.” You shoot him a venomous glare. “Fuck me. Right. Now. I can’t wait any longer.” Maybe you were begging, but you couldn’t care less you were drunk off this man. 

You see Sam rise from his knees in the mirror to stand behind you. He leans over to whisper in your ear, “You’re going to regret speaking to me like that, peach.” 

“Am I? That’s funny. I’m just wondering why your dick still isn’t inside of me.” You make eye contact with him through the reflection, you narrow your eyes at him. “You know what… maybe I’ll go get Danny to finish the job.” You turn around to start walking away before Sam grabs around your waist. 

“Oh, I don’t think so.” He presses a wet kiss to the side of your neck. “Danny is…preoccupied right now anyway.” 

He pulls your body back over to the vanity, his hand flattening itself over your back to push your face back down onto the cool counter. 

He leans down, his lips right against your ear, “Besides, you’ll never want another man after I’m finished with you.” 

“Hmm, I don’t know. Jake actually seems like he would be amazing in bed. More mature. More experienced. Yeah, maybe you’ve fucked a lot of girls but was it even good anyway?” 

“Shut your mouth or I’ll shut you up with my cock.” His cheeks are flushed red, your bodies radiating so much heat. 

“Maybe, I want that.” 

“Slut.” Without warning, he is slamming his cock inside of you giving you little time to adjust. “You wanna act like you can take me, then take me. Take me like the slut you are.” 

Sam pumps in and out of you, slowly getting you used to his large cock.

“Holy shit Sam, you’re so big.” You grab onto the sides of the vanity, attempting to steady yourself. 

“I’m sure it feels huge compared to whatever you’re used to.” He laughs under his breath, and you immediately turn around and stand up to face him. 

Your jaw clenches before you’re absolutely laying into him. Your faces are only inches apart. “What did I tell you about bringing his goddamn name up. I don’t want to fucking think about him you asshole.” 

“Well, I mean… I didn’t say his name.” He smirks and that’s exactly what sends you over the edge. Your hands land on his chest pushing him backwards. He stumbles back, landing in a seating position on the couch, looking up at you in awe.      

“If you keep testing me you’re not going to find me so peachy anymore.” You warn, your body looming over him. You begin to straddle him, lining him up with your core. “Now let’s see if you can handle me Sammy.” 

You lower yourself down on him, his hands instinctively grasp at your hips to guide you.

“Fuck y/n, you’re so tight. Shit-” You squeeze around him, causing his grip to tighten on you. A hiss slips passed his lips and before you know it he’s meeting you halfway, thrusting up into you. 

His hands travel up your sides to caress your tits. He takes your nipple between his thumb and pointer finger, rolling it in the most delicious way. Your head falls back, but you continue to grind against him. “Sammy…”

“What peach?” He sounds breathless and completely fucked out. 

“You feel so incredible. The- shit. The… fucking best I’ve ever had.” You pant out, your hands grasping at his hair. 

“I don’t doubt that peach.” Smirking, looking deep into your soul.

You grab a chunk of his hair, exposing his neck. “You’re acting pretty fucking cocky for not doing much yet Sammy. I don’t even feel close yet, I could go for hours.

“You’ll be going for hours whether you come or not baby.” He says, grabbing your hair exposing your neck, leaving a deep purple mark on the side of your neck. 

“God…” You moan out, causing him to smirk. He peels you off of him and next thing you know he's roughly flipping you onto your back.

“You haven’t seen anything yet, y/n.” He hovers over your body, his dick in hand pumping frantically. 

“Put it back in, Sammy.” You whine out in the most despairing tone.

“Fuck peach, you’re desperate for me.” He smirks down at you clearly enjoying the situation you two are in. “I know how bad you want it, you gotta beg for it though. Show me how bad you want it.” He begins dragging his cock through your folds, staring deep into your eyes.

The only thing that manages to come out of your mouth is a high-pitched moan. 

“That won’t cut it, peach, use your goddamn words.” He slaps his dick against your pussy, causing your body to squirm. He reaches his free hand out to drag down your body landing on your hip. He leans down to whisper in your ear, “You know you want this cock so bad, just give it up.” 

You roll your eyes at him, but then your eyes trail down to his rock hard length resting in his hand. You have to physically stop yourself from drooling. And as if you couldn’t get any wetter you feel another rush of wetness coat your pussy. 

“I think you want it just as bad as I do Sam, so why don’t you just give it up?” Reaching down, smearing the pre-cum from his tip onto your thumb, and bringing it to your mouth. 

His breath hitches and you can see the wheels turning in his mind. He spreads your legs further apart, your one leg now draped along the back of the couch, centering himself in between your legs, gently sliding himself into you yet again. 

You both let out a sigh of relief. You can’t help but chuckle a little. 

“Why are you laughing peach?” He asks you but still continues on with his slow yet deep thrusts. 

“Just find it funny how you wanted me to beg so bad, but you’re the one that ended up caving first.” You whimper out. 

Before getting another word out, a swift slap is delivered across your cheek. “I don’t want to hear another fucking word from you, got it?” He says through gritted teeth, with a dark glare that could stop anyone in their tracks. His large veiny hand covers your mouth before Sam completely demolishes your pussy.

He attacks hard and fast, giving you no time to get comfortable. After a few minutes, Sam’s movements start to get sloppy.

“Fuck, I’m so close peach. Shit, so so tight, fuck. So pretty mama. Prettiest fucking pussy.” His eyes are screwed shut and you can’t help but admire him.l 

You knew he wasn’t lying from the nonsense leaving his mouth. 

You grab his wrist, pulling his hand off your mouth. “Cum in me Sammy, I’m on the pill. Get me pregnant for all I care.”

“Yeah? I wouldn’t mind that. You being my baby mama.” His breath hitches and you can tell he’s right there. 

“Cum for me Sam, I know you want to cum in my tight pussy, just give it to me.” You squeeze around him and that is his breaking point.

“Fuck, fuck. I’m coming- shit.” He is drilling into you and before you know it you’re feeling his hot liquid flood your pussy. “Take it y/n, take it all…” After he comes down, he finishes off with a few more thrusts. Sam holds himself up on the couch before pulling himself out. 

You were so close, but you weren’t able to finish in time.

“That was so fucking good y/n.”

“I’m sure it was.” Still you lay there unsatisfied.

“What is that supposed to mean?” He furrowed his eyebrows.

“Well I’m sure it would feel good, you know, if I would have came.” Sam’s face turns bright red, feeling embarrassed. 

“I thought- well, I figured…”

“Sam” you cut him off. “Finish the job, or I’ll assume what I did when I first walked in here, that you’re all talk and no game.”

Before you could say anything more, Sam pries your legs open, exposing his cum dripping down your folds. Sam inserts his fingers, curling upward to reach your g-spot.

“Oh fuck Sam, right there. Fuck your cum back into me.”

“Yeah I’m sure you would like that. Better chance of getting you pregnant, right?” He adds his thumb, swirling circles onto your clit. 

Your body is thrashing around at this point, your hands searching for anything to grab onto, ultimately landing in Sam’s hair again.

You tug harshly on his dark brown locks and immediately you see the results of your actions. Sam’s eyes roll back into his head, “Fuck, you wanna try and make me cum again or something.” 

“Hmm, I wouldn’t mind that.” You smile up at him. 

You look right at Sam as he bites his plump bottom lip. “You're close.” 

“H-how do you know that?” You grip tighter on his hair. 

“I feel you squeezing my fingers Peach, I’m very familiar with the way women react to me when they’re close.” He drives his thick fingers even deeper and you are nearing your end, exactly as he expected. 

“I feel so fucking good, I could almost-” You trail off, your orgasm overtaking you. 

“You could almost, what?” 

You feel the intense buildup, before the euphoric release. Small spurts of your juices cover Sam’s hand and splashes up onto his chest. “Oh God.” You don’t realize your grip on Sam’s hair until you come back down, but he doesn’t even seem to mind. His eyes were full of pure admiration. 

“Holy shit, y/n. That was the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.” He pulls you up to straddle his lap, resting your head on his sweat glistening chest. 

“I could say the same thing about you.” 

You feel a feeling of euphoria, but now without the distraction you’re feeling very stressed. You knew that you had just fucked someone who was not the man you came to the concert with. But was it over before you came back here? You dealt with him for too long, and you knew that after this you could never go back to a man who treats you like an object. 

“Hey peach?” Sam looks down at you laying on his chest. 

“Hm?” You look up at him and a sweet smile spreads across his beautiful face. 

“You don’t deserve to be treated the way he treats you. You deserve to be treated like a queen. To be appreciated and loved, whether that’s from me or not.” His hand is stroking at your hair now in an attempt to comfort you. 

“I know I should, and I know what I did tonight wasn’t right, but I think it’s what I needed to realize what I deserve.” 

“Listen, I don’t know how to go about this from here. I wanna give you my number though, I don’t know just in case you wanna talk. Or if I’m in the area and need a date with a hot babe.” You chuckle at his words, feeling appreciated.

“I think I’d love that Sam. Thank you for tonight, seriously. I don’t think I’ll ever go to a concert that tops this one.” You can’t wipe your smile off your face.

“I know you won’t peach. Plus I don’t want anyone else bringing you backstage. You’re mine.” 

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