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chunksworld · 1 year

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Moth to a Flame

IVE Wonyoung x Male Reader | (Tags: Smut)

A/N 1: Welcome to another episode of Chunk goes monkey brain. Credit goes to @kaedespicelatte as always for beta reading

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From: Vicky Jang

“She told me she just got on the plane, daddy. You know what to do.”

You should’ve known that she had something up her sleeve as soon as your girlfriend left for Japan. You should’ve known how opportunistic she is and yet you find yourself driving to her apartment as quickly as possible once again like you don’t already have a significant other that loves you very, very, very much. It should have raised red flags when you didn’t receive any messages from her the week leading up to your girlfriend’s departure. It was foolish from you to think that maybe, just maybe, she finally realized just how extremely messed up the situation is. You should’ve known better, you should be better. But it really doesn’t matter now because it was pathetic how quickly you dressed up as soon as you received that text from her. You couldn’t even wait until your girlfriend has completely left the country and you’re already dying to dick down her best friend out of all people.

It’s infuriating how addicted you are to Jang Wonyoung. It’s infuriating how she can manipulate you. It’s infuriating how easily she can gaslight you. It’s infuriating how you are willingly giving in to all of it. And what makes all of the above worse is that she’s not even your girlfriend to begin with. No, she’s just your girlfriend’s beloved best friend that somehow crept her way into your life like some sort of parasite waiting for a vulnerable host. And you were vulnerable in more ways than one because it only took one session of drinking before she was able to seduce you and you’ve been falling prey constantly ever since. It didn’t help that you’ve already developed some sort of attraction with her that you tried so hard to hide deep inside you because of your “morals” but it’s almost disgusting to even bring out such a word at this point. Knock on the door in a specific pattern that only you two know and you’re met with a surprise that far exceeds your expectations.

“Wonyo—“

Only one foot inside and you already find your body meshed with hers, lips doing the same as you haphazardly close the door behind while you attempt to weather the storm that is Jang Wonyoung. It’s all too overwhelming and yet you should be familiar with it now; one second you find yourself engaging in an awkward dance in the middle of her spacious living room and then another finds you blindly crashing on top of her sofa (be careful not to land on her pillows again or she might actually kill you this time). An outsider might think that this is all just one giant mess but everything is carefully orchestrated; Wonyoung is one for establishing routines and sex is no different matter. Her slender fingers make quick work of your hoodie, hurling it god knows where and leaving you awkwardly in a white tank top that you wore in a rush. You hope she would look past it and she fortunately does, more so because it gives her an even better opportunity to ogle at your biceps than she usually would and such a sight turns her on immensely (though that’s something she won’t ever admit to you).

“Hmm. I’ve missed you so much, daddy.”

You hate it.

You hate how one word can bring the most primal and sinful desires out of you, the way she utters it with such conviction and vigor devolving you into a shell of your former self (which doesn’t say that much considering you’re so willingly giving in to what she wants). You hate how her perfume lures you every single time, notes of red berries and datura flowers driving you further and further into the edge of your sanity. You hate how those lips intoxicate you much faster than any alcoholic concoction could; their taste and texture rivaled by none—soft, plump, and with a hint of the peach-flavored lip balm she always uses. You hate how amazing her body feels against yours, tight, slim, curvy and oh-so-delectable in all of the right places. You hate how just one measly text from her brings you right into her apartment every single time. You hate how you always promise to yourself that this shouldn’t happen ever again and yet you find yourself itching to fuck her right at this very moment. You hate how easily you forget the fact that she’s not your girlfriend—or even worse, you hate the fact that she’s not your girlfriend.

“Wony, I told you not to say that.” It’s a feeble attempt in trying to look and sound intimidating when she already knows you too well—even better than your own girlfriend, unfortunately. It’s almost pathetic hearing her laugh in response, her teeth sinking into her bruised lower lips to prevent herself from destroying your ego even further though the sight just makes her that much tempting to your eyes. She knows how much power she holds over you, an irony considering her position in this power dynamic you two have going on; and yet it’s a position she’ll gladly relegate from if it means getting fucked until she can’t walk the following morning. But she’s too nice of a girl to push you to your limits and she doesn’t want her dick appointment to be ruined so she pulls you for another kiss to subdue your feigned anger. It’s embarrassing how quickly your anger is quelled the more she swirls her tongue around yours, the more amorous sounds that emit from those lips of hers, the lower her hand travels starting from your well-defined abs down to the raging tent forming on your gray sweatpants.

“Or what, daddy?”

It’s downright poisonous, the way her eyes dare you to do something, anything and yet you’re like a deer in the headlights. Those damn alluring eyes. This isn’t anything out of the ordinary either, it’s common knowledge that you’re too much of a coward to actually confront her about the usage of that particular term of endearment (See, the truth is that you actually love the fuck out of being called “daddy”, but why boost her inflated ego even further by telling her? Keep acting like you hate it and she’ll continue to tease you for it). Thankfully, there’s still a small part of you that is completely aware of just how wrong all of this is—and this small remnant of humanity in you wants to inform her of such unjustness. To inform her that you have a girlfriend who you have a loving relationship with, that you should be in your shared apartment and FaceTiming her because she’s bored out of her mind in that hotel room, that all you should be worrying about right now is how to make sure her dog doesn’t leave a mess all over the place. Isn’t it your anniversary in a few weeks?

“I can’t.” Of course you can’t. It’s a “grass is green and the sky is blue” situation. Any response other than that would freeze hell over (not that you aren’t there already). Was it worth trying? Perhaps. But all it does is make Wonyoung even more impatient—and you should know out of all people just how incredibly difficult it is to deal with an extremely horny and needy princess. This brief moment of vulnerability enables her to flip your positions, straddling your lap. Groan as the underside of her shorts make contact with your clothed length and the sensation almost sends you into a frenzy. A proud smile paints her features—it’s another battle won for her and you didn’t even put up a fight. Maybe you should stop trying at this point, you’d rather paint her face with your cum anyways. That will surely look better on her than the loads of makeup she spends hundreds of dollars on.

“That’s what I thought. Now take these clothes off of me— and wait! Don’t rip them, okay? I’ll cut your dick off if I have to throw away another expensive top.”

“You’ll have nothing to fuck then. And if I recall, none of your toys can make you scream as loud as I do. I don’t think you want that to happen. Right, Miss Jang?” Checkmate.

“Hmph, shut up!”

Before either of you could retort, you sit up to meet her at face level. Take this moment to appreciate just how gorgeous she is, a face truly sculpted by the gods and made to be ruined. Starstruck couldn’t even begin to describe how you felt when Yujin introduced her to you, it was like looking at a Michelangelo piece come to life. Except she’s actually real and you’re about to spend another night finding out just how perfect she is, no need to snoop around in a museum somewhere in Europe. Brush loose strands of her hair aside and grab her by the waist, pulling her into a kiss that is gentler and softer than the first two. It’s captivating, alluring, and addicting. It’s a feeling you don’t quite achieve even in your hottest sessions with your girlfriend and deep down, that’s probably what kills you the most. “You’re so gorgeous, Wony.”

“Save the compliments for later, I want you to fuck me hard right now, daddy.” Before you could even do the honors, she’s already pulling her top over her head and you do the same to yours. Wonyoung moans as your lips latch on to her neck; kissing, licking, and biting as you give her hickeys but you’re careful not to leave any darker ones or you’ll be out of here in a flash. It’s so sinful the way she moans your name, and it fills you with elation knowing that you’re the only one out of eight billion people on this planet that is capable of such a feat. It sends more blood rushing to your groin and you can’t wait to just ruin her. Your hands aren’t idle however, roaming her smooth back as you search for the clasps of her lace bra before throwing it with the same force as she did with your hoodie.

She’s definitely not as big as Yujin but her breasts are perky, taut, and just the right size to fit in the palm of your hands. You’ve grown to love them over time and you wouldn’t have it any other way. They look perfect in your hands and even better once you have your lips wrapped around them. Trail your kisses down to her collarbones, continuing to leave marks while you fondle her tits. It only makes her moan louder and you bring your lips to hers to silence her—you two have already received a noise complaint and you don’t want her to get kicked out (it’s definitely not purely because you want to kiss her again). But it’s useless once you do end up sucking on her tits, careful not to overstimulate her while your tongue twists around her areolas and your lips latch on to the soft flesh.

You would gladly stay like this until the end of time but of course the night couldn’t end like this because before you knew it, she already had a firm grip on the waistband of your sweatpants. Regretfully lift your face off her tits and she gives you a look that could only scream “fuck me already.” And what Wonyoung wants, Wonyoung gets. She removes herself off your lap and pulls the obstructing fabric down in one swift motion, immediately exposing your fully-erect cock to the cold air of her apartment. She almost drools at the sight, but she doesn’t want you to boost your ego either so she could only cover her hand to prevent you from hearing any sounds of arousal. But it really doesn’t matter because at the end of this night, you’ll have her screaming for your dick as if her life depended on it.

“Commando? Seriously? And yet here you were acting like you didn’t want to do this?” She tries hard not to give any further reaction and yet, her eyes can only look at its size and girth in awe. The sheer attention she gives to it almost makes you want to pull up your sweatpants again because of how much precum is dribbling out due to arousal. Completely remove your sweatpants and it joins the scattered pieces of clothing in her living room. Now you’re completely naked; and as much as you don’t want to think about it, not even Yujin gets the privilege of seeing you in such a state regularly (go ahead, keep thinking about your girlfriend and that would make it two women you’ll disappoint tonight). Just focus on Wonyoung, you already made it all the way to this point so you might as well see through it.

Make her straddle your lap again, this time working on unbuttoning her shorts and taking off her matching lace panties that are absolutely drenched. You would tease her for this but given the mutual overflowing lust for each other, you decide to save that for a later time. Now both of you are fully naked and given how wet she is, it makes the task of sliding her down your length much easier. Though it doesn’t say much considering how tight she is, even tighter than Yujin, despite the handful of times you’ve had sex with her already. You almost groan in pain as her nails dig deep on the skin of your back while your cock digs deep inside her warm and suffocating pussy. She screams, the sound reverberating throughout her studio apartment and given how thin the walls are, you two are about to give her neighbors a show tonight.

“So fucking tight, Wony. So. Fucking. Tight.” You hiss and grit your teeth as you fill her more and more, stretching her out with every inch inserted inside her. It takes a few more seconds before you can finally impale her, your tip reaching her cervix and then completely pulling out—audible whines from Wonyoung as she grabs your cock from underneath and forces you back into her. She’s so damn needy. But you would be lying if you said you aren’t either because you grip her ass needily as you begin to stroke upwards, immediately sending shockwaves throughout her slim body as she falls slump on your chest. Her slick thankfully aids in helping you maneuver or you’ll have to use some lube (something you’ve only had to do when she asked to do anal once and you’ve been dying to try it again).

“God—ah—f-fuck, daddy. You’re stretching me out so well.” Hot and heavy breaths send goosebumps all over your body as she buries her face on the crook of your neck, completely pressing her warm body against yours (you actually wanted to kiss her again but you’d gladly feel every inch of her perfect body as an alternative) and god, does she feel so fucking amazing. The way her thighs crash against yours, the thunderous slapping of skin on skin mixing with the faint noise of the heater turning on in the background, her moans flowing directly into your ears—it’s all too much to handle and as much as you hate to admit it, the fact that she’s not even yours to begin with is what truly sends you spiraling into a world of bliss. You’ve already fucked up anyways, might as well indulge to the fullest before judgement day comes.

And indulge you do because soon enough, you’re moaning and groaning much like she does—only at a lower tone as if a conductor is telling you to harmonize with her. But eventually, it gets drowned out by the continuous slapping of your hips to her thighs, creating a vociferous squelching noise that only increases in volume and confirms just how wet and aroused she is. Look down and the juices flowing down her thighs adds further evidence as it stains your crotch with her precious honey as well—such a delectable treat shouldn’t be wasted and should be lapped up instead. Fortunately you have the weekend all to yourselves so you can eat her out all day tomorrow if you want.

“H-Heh. You’re really enjoying this aren’t you, daddy?” Wonyoung lifts up her face to look at you for the first time in a while and she looks so beautiful, breathtaking, and absolutely fucked. Tears have begun to well under her eyes and yet somehow her mascara is still intact, guess it was money well spent after all. “I bet Yujin unnie can’t fuck you this good, huh? I wonder what she would be saying right now once she finds out that her best friend loves getting dicked down by her man, hmm?” It should make you angry, it definitely has to make you angry. But every sexual encounter with her has stripped you of any sense of dignity and honor. And at this point, you don’t give a damn about anything else other than giving in to your desires.

“Shut the fuck up, Wony.” You have no response either, so you just grab on the sides of her face and pull her into another kiss. “Just shut the fuck up and take this dick like the cumslut you are.” Fuck it. You go back to the hickeys you’ve made earlier and turn them to an even darker shade of red, making it near impossible to hide the sinful events that took place tonight. No worries, it’s not like you two are planning to leave this house for the next two days anyways. You want to make sure that you’ve fucked her in every single corner and in every position manageable. You don’t see it but a smirk appeared on her face. She got you worked up again like she wanted and it caused you to be even more aggressive just like how she wanted. You really are just a moth to her flame, how pathetic.

“Of course, where else would I want your cum? Turn me into your breeding bunny, daddy.” A sultry whisper to your ear and it unlocks an even more primal side from you. Plant your feet on the couch and you begin to fuck her with reckless abandon like the wild animal you are. Wrap her long legs around your waist and lift yourselves off the couch, a position that almost makes your knees give out. But your leg muscles are there for a reason as you grab on the back of her thighs and pound her relentlessly. It’s raw, it’s hot, and it’s so fucking passionate. The way her sweaty body would lift high up in the air before gravity brings it right back to your cock, the way she clings on to you for dear life, the way she tries to kiss you despite it being an almost impossible task. The air grows increasingly hot signaling your impending orgasm.

“I-I can’t hold on much longer—ah, shit. I can’t hold on much longer, fuck.” Thank goodness her floor isn’t made out of carpet because her slick starts to seep out of her pussy with every deep thrust. Usually she would respond with a one-liner but she’s so deep into her own world of ecstasy that all she could do is cry and wail as your spearing length continues to drive home into her cervix. You can’t talk that much more either because the familiar, bubbling sensation in your stomach only grows with each thrust. And the way she clings on to you for dear life, screaming to the world how good your cock is only serves to expedite and intensify your eventual undoing. It only leads you closer to completely unraveling like she intends you to, like how you’re supposed to.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuckkk! I’m gonna fucking cum inside you, Wony. Gonna cum and fill that tight pussy.”

“Don’t fucking stop, daddy, I-I’m gonna cum as well. Please—“

“FUCK!”

With one final deep and unrelenting thrust, you completely explode. It’s a shout that’s definitely justifiable enough to cause your eviction, even more so as she joins you in your peak. It’s a sensation that’s overwhelming and numbing at once. Your vision is filled with white. You can feel your ears ringing, legs completely giving out as you crash back down on the couch. An out-of-body experience that only happens with her leading you to become breathless and scrambling for air. You won’t stop cumming, can’t stop cumming as ropes upon ropes of semen continue to unload inside her, every jolt of your hips make sure to shoot your cum deep and fill her walls white. It fills you to and over the brim with bliss, a feeling that you want to chase over and over again. It’s addicting, it’s mind blowing, and it leaves your balls completely drained inside her. So much so that your cum immediately starts dripping out of her fucked pussy as soon as the last spurts have been left inside her, an erotic sight that you will never get tired of.

A few minutes past before the tremors completely stop and you engage in a mindless makeout session with her to help you two calm down. Brush loose strands of disheveled hair aside as you can gradually feel her breathing return to normal, wrap your arms around her waist possessively and she squeals due to her heightened sensitivity. “You filled me up so well daddy, fuck…..” Wonyoung takes a finger and swipes at a streak of cum that drizzled out of her and brings it to her mouth as if it was spilled ice cream, her facial expression indiscernible. “Yum! Next time I want it all in my mouth, m’kay?”

“God, you’re insatiable.”

She gives you a kiss, then she starts grinding her hips again. “Only for you, daddy.”

#ive smut #wonyoung smut #jang wonyoung smut #male reader #kpop smut #kpop fanfic #reader insert #smut

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nebbyy · 25 days

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I have a request, if youre taking them.

Baldwin's wife sneaks into the battle in 1177 with sixteen year old Baldwin, his reaction and what not. make it your own, just thought this would be cool

King Baldwin x reader - My archangel

A/N: I absolutely LOVE this idea! I've never thought of a scenario like this before, so thank you so so much for the suggestion<3

Sorry if this took so long btw, I haven't been active lately because of school and work😔😔

As always, painting is "The Crown of Love" by John Everett Millais (it's so funny to me for no reason, it just makes me think of how Baldwin would be physically dragging you out of danger).

Summary: During the most importante battle of his life so far, the last person king Baldwin expected to see on the battlefield was his newlywed wife

Warning: war, but it's more of a background thing, mentions of injuries and a hint at misogynism

Word count: 5433

It had been decided. Jerusalem's knights and soldiers would be riding towards Saladin's army at dawn, led by their king, King Baldwin IV of Anjou. Your Baldwin.

The mere idea that tomorrow your husband would find himself fighting face to face against the most fearsome of his enemies terrified you, especially knowing that you could do nothing to protect him. He had expressly said he did not want you or his sisters anywhere near the battlefield, it was too risky. You should have waited for his return, for him to be victorious astride his steed, now lying lifeless on a black bed.

You closed your eyes, begging your mind to spare you from the projection of that macabre image in your head. But you could do nothing against these emotions, which were tearing at your mind and spirit. You could not remain still and impassive, obedient and elegant as you always were as a young princess, then as a wife and now as a queen.

No, that image of you had to slumber, if only for a while. You did not have your kingdom on your mind at that moment, only Baldwin and the overwhelming desire to be close to him.

You cursed your nature for making you a woman, for not having had the opportunity to learn the art of arms and war. You cursed your long robes that prevented you from any daring movement, and your limbs because even if they were able to move freely they would not have the strength to even wield a sword.

As Baldwin fell asleep in your arms, exhausted by the fatigue that this imminent battle was costing him, and you held him close to your heart as if to compel him eternally into your embrace, you weaved a plan in your mind. A plan not to leave him alone at dawn, to stay as close to him as possible.

Because even if it was the day God would claim your husband's soul, at least you wanted to be near him as he took his last breath.

How selfish you were, not even death would have been left for him. But then again, poets have been saying it for centuries, love is the gravest form of madness.

You woke up in an empty bed, the spectre of a kiss floating on your bare shoulder where Baldwin's lips had rested a few moments before, when he had to arouse himself to lead his army into battle. And despair pervaded you almost immediately, when when you woke up still no idea had come to your mind to stay by his side, after you had hoped that sleep would grant you a solution to your problem.

Unable to hold back tears of frustration and despair, you summoned your favourite handmaiden, your nurse, old to almost retirement but cunning as a mischievous child. You wept on her welcoming lap, clutching the fabric of her robe in your fists.

"Oh Agnes, how unfair is my fate as a woman. I am asked to stand by my husband's side all my life and yet I am denied a place beside him in these dark times. And they tear him from my arms and leave me here, alone and helpless, these monstrous Saracens!" She looked at you with sympathetic eyes, stroking the long hair that fell from your shoulders, which resembled the waves of the sea as they shook slightly from your sobs. "What can I do, Agnes? You who always have a quick tongue to give solutions to my every worry, tell me what I can do, before his horse and troops are too far away to be seen."

She, like a mother consoling a child who has injured himself while playing, took your face with one hand, inviting you to turn your gaze towards her. As she wiped the tears that streaked your cheeks with her thumb, she spoke softly to you, although her tone had a hint of her typical mischief in it: "My lady, weeping over your fate does not suit you. Instead, I propose you run. Make haste to the armoury, there you are sure to find armour left behind by some lord. Do you follow me? Well, you will simply have to put on the armour, carrying a pair of your husband's breeches underneath. And keep your helmet tightly closed, so that it cannot be seen that beneath the armour there is not a brutish knight, but a beautiful queen.

Go out of the palace through the servants' passages, and buy the horse of the first man you find. Not yours, in the royal stable they would notice his absence. And then all that remains is for you to ride, ride as fast as you can, to reach the Christian encampments as soon as possible, which by then will have been set up. Remain aloof, and reveal yourself to your husband only. And do so at night, in his tent, where no unwanted eyes can see your unexpected encounter. Is it all clear, my lady?"

You merely nodded frantically with eyes wide in wonder and relief. You practically leapt into the air, quick to grab the first slip you could find and a pair of cheap shoes that you could ruin with all your impending travels. You were about to leave the room, but stopped for a moment at the threshold, before turning back to Agnes to hold her tightly in a warm embrace.

"What would I do without you, my dear. You are even better than a guardian angel, I wouldn't be surprised if one day you left some white feathers behind!" The woman squeezed you affectionately before pushing you away playfully, urging you to get out and go and do whatever she directed. "It is the job of a nurse, to solve a child's problems in the same way as a mother. But hurry now or the battle will be over before you have even found a helmet!"

You laughed lightly as you wiped the dried tears from your cheeks, wasting no more time in rushing to get what was necessary to implement your plan. You rushed in front of the crate containing Baldwin's clothes, tossing robes and shirts in the air until you found breeches fit for a ride. You hastily donned them, then dashed down the long corridors of the palace.

Once in the armoury, you began to spin like a wheel, desperately searching with your eyes for any armour. You weren't picky, anything would have been more than enough: you'd have been fine with just a breastplate, chain mail, simple shoulder straps,… But most of all, you needed a helmet. And that you found almost immediately in your mad search. It was crudely moulded and already bore a few dents on the sides, but you paid no attention to it, it was enough to conceal your identity.

You also found a breastplate, and that was all you needed. You considered taking a sword with you too, but quickly changed your mind: it might be foolish to most, but you hoped that if an enemy found you unarmed, his honour would prevent him from challenging you to a fight.

And then, your focus on your sword quickly faded as you remembered that you still had no horse to reach the battlefield. Running awkwardly, like a child ambitiously trying on his father's far too large armour, you stepped back into the corridors, this time frantically searching with your eyes for a servant to follow towards the back exit.

It must have been a hilarious scene from an outside observer, a burly swineherd looking perplexed over his shoulder as a half-armed knight los eguiva like a tin puppet through the narrow corridors. But the scene was short-lived, for after a couple of turns you finally reached the palace exit, and emerged into the crowded streets of the city.

I had to move my helmet slightly above my eyes to better see the road around you, scanning the area for any horse. You could only see two camels, a few cows, a hen with her small flock of chicks, but no horse in sight. But just when you were about to give up hope, a mysterious force swept over you.

More than mysterious force, you were almost overwhelmed by a horse held on the bridle by a dirty, smelly man. "Out of the way, kid!" Looking at the man with wide eyes, taking good care to make sure your helmet covered your features well, you strained to speak in the most naturally deep voice you could muster, attempting to fool the yokel into mistaking you for a mere boy.

"Sir how much… how much are you asking for your horse?" He laughed, opening his mouth wide and exposing his few remaining teeth, yellow and frayed, and looked at you with a look of paucity and mockery, "You're going off to war without even a horse? The Saracens will impale you like a spit, son. Not that the battle would do you any good either way, with the child king we have, they will all be wiped out. before they even reach those bloody Arabs!”

You clenched your jaw so tightly that you thought your teeth might blow out from the pressure, so hard were you trying to suppress your anger at that disrespectful commoner. Breathing slowly, trying to calm your nerves, you spoke in stiff, icy words, "30 shillings. And you leave me the saddle" The man's eyes widened, incredulous at how much a young man was willing to pay for his old, shabby horse. But he wasn't complaining at all; in fact, better for him if the thirst for war drove the youth of today to such lengths. If only he had known that it was not the bloodlust of a daring young man that was before him, but instead the affectionate madness of a desperate wife.

He did not even answer, stretched out his open hand in front of him where a moment later a bag full of coins fell. He opened it for good measure, making sure the hefty sum was true. When he was satisfied, he slowly handed you the bridle, dazed by the small fortune he was holding.

You hoisted yourself awkwardly onto the horse, and it was not a quick operation as it seemed almost impossible for you not to fall off the horse, so much was the armor restricting your every move and weighing you down. After a few minutes of tribulation, you finally steadied yourself in the saddle and with a firm gesture of your leg, spurred the steed, which galloped off in an instant.

At a gallop, the city didn't seem nearly so big. Nor did the streets seem so crowded, perhaps because the people spread out like the sea in front of Moses as you passed, trying to escape the unpleasant fate of being swept away by the running horse and its mysterious rider. You felt as if you were sailing through the waves of the sea, with people's heads bobbing up and down, a current of movement pushing you closer and closer to the city gates. No one paid much attention to you as you crossed the threshold into the kingdom of heaven, most just thought you were a careless rider who had fallen behind, perhaps this was your first battle. Whatever your problem was, it was not about the wall guards. And so your figure disappeared from the sight of the remaining citizens in the city, vanishing into the vastness of the endless desert.

You did not know quite how long you rode, how many hours it took you before you began to locate even the slightest trace of the passage of the army of Jerusalem. At first it was only small details, marks left on the ground, mainly trinkets possibly dropped to the soldiers during the ride. Then the signs of their passage became more prominent, when around a small oasis you even found a few abandoned spears, probably forgotten back by some careless soldier.

And you stopped there for only a moment, as thirst would have prevented you from going any further. As you drank from the body of water, your mind travelled in thought to your husband; who knows if he too drank from this spring? And if so, how long has it been? Will he be far from here? What would he say when he saw you retracing the passage he and his troops were tracing? At that last thought a shiver ran down your spine, most likely he would not be very happy to know you were so close to danger. You shook your head, trying to rid yourself of the image of the look that Baudouin would give you if he saw you at that moment, alone, barely armed in the vast and merciless desert, with no escort to protect you…

You only hoped that the surprise and joy of seeing you at such a tragic moment might cloud his mind from any concern he might have for you. In the meantime you had quenched your thirst enough. Regaining the reins of your horse, and after a series of ministrations to remount the saddle, you resumed your ride towards the battle with the unknown outcome.

As you rode with the wind blowing in your face, with nothing to entertain or distract you, your mind could not but return again to Baldwin. You could not help it, for fear for his fate had been tearing at your soul for days without respite, ever since it was announced that a battle would take place.

Baldwin was too young for all this. He was barely of marriageable age, he could barely reign without a regent at his side, he was hardly considered more than a child, many nobles even refused to call him an adult! And then there was his illness, which although not yet crippling, had already begun to expand its deadly effect on his body, numbing his nerves and making it impossible for him to wield his right hand properly. It was really unfair, that a man in his condition should lead an army to what everyone considered certain death.

Death at the hands of the Saracens, who were rumoured to be as many as ten times the number of the army of Jerusalem. A sob escaped from your mouth, followed by a faint stream of tears that ran down your cheeks, but they were short-lived on your face, the dry desert wind dried them in no time.

Only an instant seemed to pass, time to bring a hand to his face to wipe away the dried saline tears. Yet when your gaze focused again on the landscape in front, you saw a few hundred metres away a series of white tents, a few faint rows of smoke rising in the air, a massive cross set with precious gems, leaning against a rough wooden construction. It was the camp of the Jerusalem army.

Getting off your horse, you advanced hesitantly through the camp. Looking around, you noticed the stunned gazes of soldiers and horsemen watching you, some intrigued by your unkempt armor, some confused by your clumsy way of moving. But although the attention of their gazes made you stop breathing, fearing that you had been discovered, but fortunately it was short-lived, all the men were too tired from the exertions of the journey to investigate even this oddity. Taking you for an inexperienced little boy, they looked away from you and proceeded to drag their aching limbs back to their respective tents.

But although no one gave you more than the attention you give any stranger on the street, your heart would not stop beating furiously in its cage. You quivered at the mere thought of seeing your husband again, who although he had recently separated from you, already felt as if you had not seen him for an eternity. And your soul screamed at the idea that this might be the last time you would see him alive, and urged your legs to move faster. From hesitant strides, your gait grew brisk, impatient, and faster and faster until you burst into a frantic run through the expanse of white tents.

You scanned one, two, ten, a hundred, so many that by now they seemed to you an endless bundle of the same white cloth. But although your hope gave no sign of existing from your mission, your legs were beginning to give out under the constant strain you had subjected your body to for endless hours. You had no choice but to stop to catch your breath, resting your hands on your trembling thighs as you gasped for breath. And it was in that very instant, while you neither heard nor saw anything but the roar of your heart echoing in your ears and the rough ground flattened by the heavy footsteps of the soldiers, dark because of the blurred evening light, that you heard it. That voice.

"We will discuss this tomorrow, now I need the rest" "Certainly, my lord." The dialogue was followed by a knight of high lineage who came out of the tent in front of which you had pulled up to rest. He did not even dignify you with a glance, and you could not care less, for it was not him you were interested in. He was the first man to speak who had captured your complete attention, making the whole world fade away around you. It was a jovial voice, full of life despite obvious tiredness. It was a boy's voice. It was Baldwin's voice.

You sidled up to the curtain of the tent and, before opening your mouth, breathed slowly, tending not only to ease your nerves but also to modulate your voice to make it more masculine, deeper. The deception was to be revealed only when you were alone in the tent, away from prying eyes.

"My king, I know you are now bereft of strength, but grant me a brief interview with your majesty." You could visualize him rolling his eyes, puffing silently and running his good hand over his eyes, as he was always wont to do when any courtier demanded his attention while he was already lying in your arms. And as whenever this familiar event took place, similarly Baldwin made an effort in this case to stand up and mutter a reply, unaware that the subject behind the cloth was not just any boy, but his beloved wife. "I'm afraid I'm in no condition for a meeting at the moment. We will discuss whatever you need tomorrow." Panic grew in you hearing him so indisposed. After all, you should have expected it; he had more to think about than granting an interview to an anonymous soldier. In an instant, however, you changed your strategy, if you couldn't convince him you would have to bait him, "Please, sir, give me a few minutes! I bring with me a great surprise, a gift that I know will fill your heart with joy and restore your energy!"

He paused, as if weighing his options. At least that was what you thought, but in truth Baldwin was wondering if he was going crazy. If he had only dreamed, due to exhaustion and fatigue, that the voice speaking to him from outside the tent was not any young man's, but a disguise meant to hide the angelic melodic voice of his beloved wife. Were it really her, Baldwin would not have wasted a moment in throwing open the door for her, taking her into his arms and carrying her to his momentary abode, where her presence alone could be savored by him.

But he knew it could not be possible: you, his beloved wife whose image constantly pervaded his mind, were thousands and thousands of feet away, safe within the walls of your palace, as you had promised him. It was just not possible that you were the one hiding outside the tent, his hopes were just a cruel game of his mind. But by now his attention had been caught by the stranger so eager to talk to the king, to give him this phantom gift. Perhaps there would have been cause for concern, for thought of possible deception or assault by an enemy spy, but Baldwin did not give the thought more than a second's attention, before sighing softly and turning away, gazing back at the white fabrics of the tent. "Very well, come forward then. I hope this surprise you tell me about is really that formidable."

You came close to slinging yourself into the tent, throwing yourself into Baldwin's arms in an instant, and never letting go. But you still couldn't do it; it was too risky. You merely placed a hand on the side of the fabric that closed the curtain, pulling it to go through and letting it fall back behind you. And there you stood, facing Baldwin, clad in that armor far too large for your size, your heart pounding wildly from both the fatigue of the journey and the excitement. And he slowly, with a phlegm as elegant as the waters of a stream, turned to reveal the identity of his mysterious visitor, and you had already freed your face from the tortuous confines of the helmet you had worn for endless hours.

His eyes widened, wide as never before. Perhaps for the first time in his life, Baldwin could say he was truly, truly surprised. A thousand emotions passed from his face, from astonishment, to joy, to anger, and then to sadness, and then to astonishment again. For a moment he seemed about to open his mouth, but he stopped, opting instead to run to you, putting his arms around you, holding you tight and lifting you off the ground so tight was his grip. "My affection, how can you be so foolish! This is no place for you, so far from home, close to the enemy… You promised me you would stay safe, let me go, let me protect you! How could you do something so rash, you who are always so wise? Alone through the desert, what if the enemy had met you before I got here? What would I have done if your lifeless body, tortured by the Saracens, had been brought to me?"

His voice was exhausted, worn out by weariness and emotion that blocked his throat and threatened to make hot tears fall from his white cheeks. His words were harsh and stern, but devoid of any reproach: it was his fear speaking, his fear of seeing you the next day among the stacked bodies of war victims. And as he spoke he held your arms, shook you lightly, and in the process interrupted himself to place chaste kisses on your face, as if through the touch of his lips he was trying to convince himself that you were really there, standing before him. That it was not a mere illusion, a game of his mind.

Gently, with a touch as light as the morning wind, your hands went up his chest to his beautiful face, which you lovingly cupped. "I swore before God that I would not abandon my place at your side until the breath leaves my body. I have enjoyed with you wealth, pomp, and good fortune. But what you have granted me to witness is only half of the aspects of a nuptial union. Poverty, sickness, and the misery of war are the woes that touch every human being, and which two spouses are expected to face together. So now, my king, I beseech you, do not deny me a place at your side as you fight for the honor and freedom of the Holy Land, do not deny me a duty that has been mine since you and I were joined in eternity. It is unjust what you have subjected me to, to have to watch you ride away from me, toward the worst of dangers! And how could you think I would let you go just like that, without opening my mouth? Now we are even, I have retraced the path you yourself have traced, as bereft of safety as you were bereft of my presence. And now together we face this mortal danger, which, however, will never hold a candle to the pain that distance from you brings me!"

Baldwin's eyes softened, though they had a melancholy note in them. He inhaled with shuddering breath, and his grip became softer on your body, his hands descended from his arm to your waist, always holding you as close as physically possible.

"I was always told that silence honors women. This does not suit you, for depriving you of speech robs you of the royalty that makes you my queen. I ask your forgiveness, my angel, for leaving you alone in such a dark time. But try to understand my choice, how self-centered would I have been to ask you to come with me, in the midst of the greatest danger? It was simply too much for me, my beloved, the burden on my heart, begging me to do all that was permissible to keep you safe, even if that necessitated keeping you away from me. You are too far away now for me to send you back to the palace with an escort, and my heart could not bear to part with you for even another hour. You will stay here, ruling your people as you should. But please do not do me the wrong of setting foot on that bloody battlefield tomorrow. If even God decides that tomorrow my hour has come, and I fall lifeless on the bloody ground, do not move a step, do not show any sign of weakness. Don't follow me into the afterlife, don't even think about it: I know full well that I will never have the honor of lying eternally by your side, I am not worthy of it, so don't jeopardize your precious life in the name of an eternity by my side."

You did not respond, and silence fell. Squeezing together for another moment, you broke away shortly thereafter only to move to the bed set up in his tent, not as luxurious as his usual palace bed but certainly far more comfortable than the hay bunks in which soldiers elsewhere rested. Clinging to each other, you remained silent for a few moments. Or maybe it was hours, neither of you knew. Nor did you care, knowing how much time had passed, how much more separated you from the inescapable fate that awaited you the next day. Silent tears streaked your faces, sobs and sighs filled the air of the room. Then, you took courage to open your mouth, your voice soft and melancholy, weakened by weeping. "How unfair is our fate, affection. How bitter is my soul, knowing that tomorrow I must witness such a slaughter, an open-air slaughterhouse in which you yourself may become yet another victim."

As your first response you heard a snort from your husband, who squeezed you tighter for a moment, as if to secure you beside him, engulf you in his body. His lips pressed against your temple, placing a gentle kiss there, and they remained resting there even as he began to speak, "I know, I know my angel. I too wish things were simpler, that I could retire from this world, go and live with you, away from all this chaos, all this violence. You don't know how much I would have liked to abdicate, to leave the throne to Sybilla and her husband. They would have been good rulers, if only dear William had not passed away so soon. And so we have only to live like this, my beloved. To live perpetrated by the duties and horrors that mankind is capable of, all in the name of God's affection," a pause, a look that said a thousand silent words, and then resumed, "in the name of my affection for you… Tomorrow it will be an honor for me to fight, for like the valiant Lancelot, who fought to his last breath in the name of beautiful Guinevere. I do not care if my life will be endangered, if I return wounded and maimed more than leprosy is already reducing me. No, I don't care, because at the end of the day, whether my heart still beats or not, I know that I will return to lie in your arms.

And that makes up for all the injustices I will have to face." The last words were whispered, softened by a deep affection that numbed the senses and made everything as graceful as the clouds in the sky.

More tears streamed down your rosy cheeks, but you tried to conceal them by hiding your face in the crease of Baldwin's neck. The tone grew sterner for a moment as he resumed speaking, intimating you to listen with a grip on your shoulder. "Just promise me that, in case the battle goes badly, and I am dead and defeated and my whole army with me, promise me that you will escape, as far away as you can. Find shelter at the dwellings of those who have abstained from this conflict, find asylum in churches and in any sacred place you can find. Do whatever you can in order to protect your life. Protect what has always been dearest to me, your life."

"I will, I promise." You would have liked to retort, or much less say what he wanted to hear without really thinking it. But deception did not suit you, not toward Baldwin at least. And the mere thought that that might be his last will, which made you want to throw yourself to the ground and cry every tear you had in your body, also made it impossible for you to disobey that simple request, which after all was the request that you care for your own body and soul.

Whether Baldwin had taken your word for it or not, you were not sure, it was hard to say. It didn't matter, both of you were too tired to linger talking any longer, contrary to your usual routine of endless discussions on all kinds of topics. He whispered something to you in his native tongue, and although the language was vaguely unfamiliar to you and fatigue clouded your mind, you could still discern a sweet "I love you" among the words he spoke.

The next day your awakening was similar to the day Baldwin left Jerusalem: alone in bed, the place where your husband lay still warm. Outside the men were shouting orders and the horses were pawing in irritation at the din. In the distance you could hear the cries of the Saracens approaching, and the horns of war echoing in the air. You tried to peep your head out of the tent, but a guard surprised you right in front of the entrance. "My lady, his majesty has ordered that you do not leave the tent until the battle is over." The tone was authoritative and gentle at the same time, but his spear was stretched across the opening of the tent, an admonition far more direct than his words. You obeyed, as you had promised Baldwin that same evening, and without protest you retreated back inside the small temporary dwelling.

And so you stood there, alone and unaware of what was unfolding beyond the white tent. The last sound you were able to discern was your beloved's voice inciting his men to battle, before the din of war produced such a cacophony that it was impossible to understand a single sentence spoken. They rode for a few hundred meters until they reached the place where the battle would take place. They rode so far that the din they caused as they passed became muffled, barely audible. And perhaps it was for the best, for the distance muffled the atrocious sounds of war, of slaughter.

And so you waited there, within the four fabric walls, white as snow, that you feared at every moment might be stained with blood, friend or foe. You waited for the outcome of the battle, dumb with fear, with tension. You awaited Baldwin's return, dead or alive, victorious or defeated. And you did so by standing there, closer to him than was possible, exhausted and restless at the same time.

A/N: Yallll this was LONGGGG. i really really like how this turned out, and i hope you do too! I'm really sorry for how long it took me to write this piece, but I promise the following ones will take much much less🙏🙏🙏 Anyway, now I gotta go start working on those, feel free to leave a comment or feedback about this fic<3<3

#king baldwin x reader #kingdom of heaven #fluff #king baldwin iv #anonymous #f!reader #writers on tumblr #my fic #historical fiction #historical inaccuracies

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monster-slxt · 10 months

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You are the personal maid to the youngest omega prince of the kingdom. Unknown to everyone, you are also the prince's lover. By day, you both played the role of a kind master and loyal servant. By night, you throw off your masks as well as your clothes and indulge in each other's bodies. Being an ordinary beta, no one even suspects that a lowly maid like you would be sleeping with the very prince you serve.

Then the king sells the prince off to the cruel monster king to prevent a possible war. Not willing to be separated from your beloved prince, you are the only servant to volunteer to accompany the prince on the journey.

While at the monster king's palace, you stick close to the prince refusing to leave his side for even a minute. Even sleeping in the Prince's bed at night. Yet strangely, the cruel monster has not made a single pass at your lover. You think perhaps the monster doesn't find humans attractive.

If only you knew.

If only you knew that the king had already knotted and bed on the very first night you arrived. That every night after, your precious omega lover would fuck himself on the king's massive, veiny cock right next to your sleeping body.

If only you knew, the king's plan to make you his cute little mate as well. He knows both of you will make lovely broodmares~

Aww this is kinda sweet ngl🥰

The big monster king can of course tell how his new toy prince feels about the cute little maid who volunteered to go with the prince, and figures well might as well take two toys for the price of one. A beta isn't as good an option for a broodmare, but the king's not too worried. In fact he sees a wonderful opportunity to play with his new toys.

The single time I was separated from my prince, the king offered him a proposition. He knows about our little relationship, and will allow me to continue to dote over the prince, even to sleep in their marriage bed, so long as the prince let's the king freely use his holes at night. The prince is so relieved that he can keep seeing me that he happily agrees. And so the king makes sure to pound into the prince as hard as he can without waking me, always cumming deep in his womb to make sure the prince gives him an heir.

By the time the prince is undeniably showing, we've both grown quite found of the monster king. He's an amiable host and quite charming in his own way. The prince was completely enamored with his new husband, no doubt helped by how often he was getting absolutely destroyed on his cock. And though surprised at first I was also taken in when the king started courting me as well.

It still completely surprised me one night when the king woke me up by crawling on top of me and ripping off my night gown.

"Finally," the king growled into my ear, the prince covering my mouth with his soft hand, "Ive waited far too long to claim you." Without even prepping me he starts rutting his giant cock against my hole, the smell of an alpha in rut sending my body into overdrive.

The prince leans down to kiss me while the king starts forcing me open around him. "I'm sorry I tried to stop him from taking you," the prince mutter between sloppy kisses, "It feels good I promise."

I'm sure he's lying. The stretch is the worst thing I've ever felt. As a beta my body isn't as ready to accept massive insertions like this, but it still gets wet as the king finally bottoms out inside me. He gives a few experiential thrusts before quickly picking up a brutal speed, all without giving me a moment to adjust. The kings beastial nature fully comes out in this moment, finally allowed to let go and properly breed his new broodmares.

"You'll be so pretty pregnant like me," the prince is grinding against his pillows now, and I just finally connect the dots that he's pregnant. I can't tell if that thought makes me moan or if pleasure is finally starting to overtake the pain of the kings brutal pace.

It's not long before he's filling me up, and some part of me knows I'm already knocked up. That I'm just the kings fucktoy now, just like my prince. My king pulls out and starts fucking my prince as I collapse onto my stomach. Maybe this future won't be too bad.

#asks #queer nsft #monsterfucking #monster smut #tetro #dubcon

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love-on-mars · 7 months

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Im not sure what or where the source is so take this with a big ol grain of salt BUT ive heard mick apparently would show up to photoshoots with messed up lipstick bc he would be eating a girl out right before… So, what if reader was one of these lucky girls in that situation ;3? Probably around the time of shout at the devil or theater of pain, since that was when the crue were doing the most stage makeup :3 (thank u!!!!!)

HIIIII!!!! I’m so sorry this took so long writers block is kicking ass. I need to find out where you learned about this for….reasons…..

Anyways I hope you like it!

Warnings: oral (f! Receiving), mild language, mick being unholy.

Mick Mars x Reader

Lavender Lips (18+)

Having a rockstar boyfriend had its ups and downs. The best upside are you get to see just how sexy he can be in his stage outfit. It’s always a treat to see him on stage wearing it, but up close? It’s impossible not to gawk at him.

Mick sat in the dressing room, just having finished putting on his ‘Shout at the Devil’ attire, waiting for you to come in. You two met before he joined Motley Crue, during his Vendetta days. Your sweet yet mysterious nature allured him into talking to you at one of the venues they played, and he instantly fell for you.

You also had a very spontaneous personality, which he had a love hate relationship with. As much as he loved to see you have fun he didn’t want to just run off and potentially get lost, but it wasn’t always so bad….

As you walked through the door you went straight to Mick, admiring the costume and makeup he had on. You loved the demonic look it gave him, you especially loved the dark fuchsia on his lips.

“Don’t you look ravishing…” you teased, you had always wanted him to take you in costume, but hadn’t had the opportunity yet.

Mick looked at you up and down, you were wearing a black shirt and skirt with some fishnet leggings. Simple, but tempting for the ghoulish rockstar. “As do you, my love…” he purred, stepping towards you with a sly smirk on his face.

In an instant his lips were on yours, wandering your body hungrily. Whenever he wore his stage outfit it brought out a more confident and bold side of him, almost as if he was possessed.

Mick gently lifted you up to sit you on the dresser, pushing aside whatever was in the way. As his hands found your now dripping core you realized what he was after, “Mick we can’t…you have a photo shoot…don’t wanna mess up your costume do you?” You whined out, wanting to go further but knowing he had a job to do.

“Well, maybe I don’t have to for now…” he smiled, kneeling down to remove your skirt and fishnets, along with your underwear gently. He spread your legs to reveal your drenched pussy, aching for his touch. He looked up at you as if he was asking if this is ok, you smiled down at him giving the confirmation he needed.

Immediately he began to lap and suck on your folds, instantly attacking your clit. You jolted are the feeling, letting out a small whimper. Mick had always been a master at making you come undone within seconds, even if he was barely touching you.

He looked up at you to watch your face twist into pleasure, feeling your hands in his hair only Pushes him on more and more. The most unholy and wet sounds coming from where you both meet.

“Mph…Mick the photoshoot…” you moaned as he teased your clit. “They can wait, I wanna make you cum first.” He declared as he sucked at your clit harshly. Suddenly two of his fingers slid into your warmth, pumping in and out slowly. He quickly picked up the speed of his fingers as you trembled, your orgasm inevitable.

You put your hand over your mouth to try and muffle your moans and whimpers of pleasure as Micks fingers curled up to brush your g-spot, making your legs quake and your eyes roll back. “Such a sensitive little thing…it’s ok sweetheart, cum for me…” he cooed.

You screamed into the palm of your hand as you came, Mick lapping up as much of your sweet nectar as he could. He slowly stood up, and helped you put your clothes back on. As He admired your beauty, you looked up at him and began to giggle.

“What’s so funny?” He said with a smile. “Your makeup is all smudged!” You exclaimed through giggles. Mick looked in the mirror behind you and shrugged. “It’s fine, make me look more demonic.” He smirked.

“Mars! Time to go cmon!” A man’s voice boomed outside the room. “Be back soon baby. Then we can have some real fun.” He said as he kissed your forehead.

As Mick walked into the set, the guys gave him knowing looks and smirks. “He’ll yeah old man! Get some!” Tommy shouted. Mick ignored him, needless to say the old man took his sweet time with his beloved, who said he couldn’t get some excitement every now and then?

#mick mars #mick mars imagine #mick mars x reader #motley crue #motley crue x reader #1313 #team mick #nikki sixx #tommy lee #vince neil

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makeyoumine69 · 1 month

Text

My Lovely Detective IV

— PAIRING: Patrick Bateman x Fem!Detective!OC

— CO-WRITER: @iron-flavored-lipgloss

— CONTAINS: Unprotected non-con sex, rough body play & kissing, manhandling, caging, swearing, degradation, pet play, rough oral sex (Patrick receiving), nausea, exhaustion, hallucinations, fainting, near death experience (drowning/strangling).

— WORDS: 3k

— A/N: Sorry for the waiting, we hope you like it!🙏💗

— LINKS: [MASTERLIST]; [SERIES MASTERLIST]; [AO3].

Faceless

Shaking and panting, Andrea clung to the shattered pieces of her dignity, her eyes tightly closed and her cheeks burning as if his cum was volcanic lava.

"I didn't know you were a sprinter," the detective teased, smearing his warm liquid around her lips to taste it. Then she looked up at him and noticed how hard he still was. "You laughed at me, but... it seems you have a problem with satisfying your hunger."

As they lay on the floor, the woman took the opportunity to look at the coffee table, at the big knife to be exact. Slowly, the woman sat up and wrapped her legs around Bateman, her hands sliding up and down his broad back.

"You like how tight I am, don't you?" Andrea whispered softly in his ear, her hand so close to the knife. "The girls you usually fuck don't feel this good?"

"Because they've all been fucked and used up by me already ... I'll get you there too," Patrick muttered, one hand finding its way to her ass cheek and giving it a sharp slap, the other pinning her wrist to the cool glass table. "Looks like you haven't learned your lesson yet. You've got such a big mouth, but I'll have no problem stuffing it."

He had Andrea's chin in his rough grip now, forcing her lips into a pout. There was less than an inch between them as he spoke, a tone strangely intimate but his eyes dark and cold as ever. She met them with fierce defiance. Both palms were still on the knife - a brief and silent stare fight until Patrick had had enough. It was uncomfortable to admit it to himself after the detective had commented on it so accurately, but it was almost as if Patrick hadn't found any relief at all. He was as hard as ever.

Bateman let go of her, only to grab the back of Andrea's head and force it down. "Suck it."

'When was the last time I gave a blowjob?' Andrea wondered before licking her lips.

"Don't make me choke or I'll bite you!" The woman warned, wrapping a hand around his thick girth. The moment she took his pulsating dick into her warm mouth, she moaned from the taste of their shared pleasure. "It must be hard to live with something like that?" She teased with an unabashed look at his cock.

Smirking, the detective didn't wait for his answer as she continued to worship his meaty cock, sliding her tongue along the veins, feeling their pulsation and moaning each time his balls tightened in her grasp.

"God, Mr. Bateman," Andrea murmured, looking directly into his hazel eyes. "I'm such an amateur and I can feel your sac tensing so hard under my touch. I bet you like it that much?"

Patrick just laughed in disbelief, a sound that half turned into a groan when she accidentally teased a certain sensitive spot. But it wasn't Andrea's rather mediocre skills that drove him crazy. In terms of skills, the hookers he hired were obviously much better. But that smug smile of hers, those still full lips wrapped around his girth, the way she looked at his cock like it was the most perfect one she'd ever seen, let alone put her mouth on...

That was special.

He couldn't stand it.

"Shut up and stop playing around." With a rough tug on her hair, Patrick made the woman cough and drool, but any complaints were choked out of her as he shoved his length down her throat, past any resistance. Then, Bateman bit his lip bloody, trying to keep from moaning too loudly. And unable to control himself, Patrick began to thrust into her mouth, treating it like another tight hole, digging his fingers painfully into her scalp.

Andrea's eyes watered constantly and she drooled like a waterfall from the way the curve of his dick scratched her throat. "Mmmh-mmm!" The woman whimpered around his pulsating flesh, leaning on his hips to slow him down a bit, but he ignored her sign of pure discomfort.

'I'm going to faint if he keeps this up,' the detective thought, glancing up at Bateman to see the look of pure bliss on his face. 'Fucking bastard, shit, I'm going to cum again.' With these thoughts, Andrea let go of his thighs and instead of focusing on the gagging sensation in her throat, she began to rub her clit in demanding, almost desperate motions, smearing her juices all over her swollen pussy, not caring if it stained the floor.

"Mmm, Batem-man," she gasped as he gave her a moment of reprieve. "You want to kill me with your fucking meat stick?"

Andrea wanted to add something else, but she didn't have a chance as Bateman grabbed the back of her head and shoved his balls into her abused mouth, the moment she tasted his taut, warm flesh, the detective let out a pathetic cry as she felt so fucking degraded.

"Don't." Patrick shoved his shoe between her legs, dripping pussy staining the polished leather as he kicked her hand away. "You can't cum, unless I let you."

His sadistic hunger fed well on Andrea's disheveled state, those sweet and pitiful sounds, and her vulnerable position, forced to kneel at his feet. His hands tightened in her hair and the thrusts became more urgent as Patrick lost himself in his sickening pursuit of relief and absolute control.

"Such a tight little mouth ... fuck, you were made to be used like this," he growled, no longer restrained and ready to blow.

Andrea's eyes were so wet that she couldn't even see his face as she looked up at him; the mixture of spit and his cum running shamelessly down her chin and then onto her exposed breasts.

"Mmhhh!" She whimpered breathlessly around his throbbing dick as he squeezed it almost to the hilt, causing the woman to nearly gag. "Bateman..." the detective rejoiced in a husky voice as he let her catch her breath. "Are you going to cum or what?"

The woman gave him a challenging look before Patrick thrust into her mouth again with increased ferocity, pulling at her hair and impaling her head on his beefy shaft. Trembling, Andrea didn't even try to lean against him to slow him down, instead the woman cupped his heavy sack and massaged it rhythmically with her sucking; the wet sounds she made were beyond imagination.

Patrick wiped away her tears with his thumb and caught her glassy gaze again. "Look at me. Don't close your eyes."

He arched her neck back harder, telling her to look up and focus on him and him alone as it seemed Andrea was on the verge of losing consciousness. Her eyelids fluttered like a trapped bird flapping its wings in vain, but she obeyed, keeping her eyes open even as they rolled back into her skull.

"Ahhh, that's a good little bitch," Bateman groaned, the familiar tingle running down his spine and his balls tightening with need, signaling him that he was close.

Slamming into her throat one last time, Patrick let himself go, his cock erupting in her mouth and filling it with his hot cum. He held her head in place, his hips stuttering wildly against Andrea's face until he was completely empty.

Andrea didn't remember passing out from exhaustion, her mind nothing but a black void, until she saw the outline of something familiar... or someone, if she was right. Her beloved boyfriend was calling to her, offering her a hand and inviting her to join him as they walked across a wide field. The woman felt relieved and happy to finally be with the man who could give her protection and stability. But was it really true? Piece by piece her perfect dream shattered before her eyes and when she opened them the next time, Andrea found herself in a goddamn cage. It was not as big as the cells in the police station, but the fact that she was locked in such a place was enough to make her panic.

"Bateman!" She yelped, gripping the bars of the cage with all her might, realizing that she was still in his apartment, but not in the living room. God, he had locked her in the bedroom. It was only now that the detective noticed that she was completely naked, except for a black leather choker around her neck like a collar. "Let me out!" Andrea screamed, unsure if Bateman was even there.

Sobbing softly, she leaned against the cold bars of the cage, her hands sliding along them with visible trembling. Where was her boyfriend now? If he was so protective, would she be in this situation?

It was nothing new for Patrick to be distracted at work - lounging on his couch, sketching in his notebook, gossiping with the boys about hardbodies and the Patty Winters show - his mind all over the place.

Today, however, his thoughts had been focused on a specific subject, taking shape as a voluptuous body and a pair of teary, dark eyes looking up at him, perhaps begging for more, perhaps just praying for release.

It wasn't as if Bateman had suddenly started to feel guilty about yesterday's events, but the consequences of his actions had only just begun to sink in: The detective would be part of his life now, for how long he couldn't predict.

Somehow it felt like he was stuck with her now, not the other way around.

When Patrick finally stepped in front of the cage, he fought an unusual kind of tension that tightened his intestines, and only seemingly indifferent he stared down at Andrea's figure while he unbuttoned his suit. It was a truly pitiful sight - Andrea curled up, her arms wrapped around her naked body, shaking so badly it was impossible to tell if she was crying or freezing. She must have been waiting for him all day, Patrick realized, not unlike a puppy that believes it has been abandoned by its owner. There was no clock in this room, the blinds had been torn off. No food either. However, his fridge was filled with body parts and maybe expired yogurt.

Patrick shoved his shoe between the bars, forcing Andrea to turn around and face him in all her vulnerability. 'God, she really cries.'

He wasn't quite sure how he should feel about this, remembering her stubborn temper all too well. Now Andrea's eyes were red and filled with panic, and she whimpered at the harsh contact with his sole. Her whole body was covered with goosebumps as well. In this state she would die of frostbite, and wouldn't that be a waste of his efforts?

"You look like hell, and I don't like it." Patrick unlocked the door and threw Andrea over his shoulder so he could carry her to the bathroom. 'This isn't about her comfort at all, I'll just keep her alive like this.'

As soon as Bateman entered the bathroom and put the woman on her feet, Andrea fell to the floor and crawled to the toilet, vomiting from intense hunger. She was starving, dehydrated, exhausted and cold. Shaking, she slid down the smooth marble and lay on her side, tears streaming down her pale face. The detective blinked several times as she saw her boyfriend's face again.

"Hayden..." Andrea murmured, reaching out to the blurred image of her lover. "I was just trying to do my j-job..." the woman closed her eyes and dropped her hands to the floor. "I'm so...sorry...Hayden..." she cried out before fading out.

The darkness consumed her, only to let her hear the voice of her mentor, Detective Kimball. "Listen to me, Andrea, listen to me very carefully," he paused, puffing on his cigarette. "This man, Patrick Bateman, is extremely dangerous, I want you to remember that. Always."

"I understand, sir." The woman replied, hiding her notebook.

Andrea could see their conversation as if she was watching the movie, it was so strange and overwhelming that she felt nauseous, like she was drowning.

The woman’s eyes wandered aimlessly around the bathroom, and while this proved her conscious state, she was still unable to see Patrick. The name she kept calling out was foreign to him and as she mumbled more words, incoherent and confused, it became clear that the woman was hallucinating or even experiencing a panic attack.

Patrick hated it. He didn't really know what to do with a body he had to save.

Of course, the slap on the cheek did not help either.

Finally, he decided to fill a glass with water and let her swallow a Xanax, then took a pill himself - all with one free arm, since he had to stabilize her body with the other. She was still shivering in his embrace, unable even to sit up in the bathtub, and without his support her head would have gone submerged. Patrick distantly remembered that the scent of lavender was supposed to calm people, so he added a generous amount of bath oil to the water. While Andrea slowly warmed up under his touch, Patrick couldn't help but sweat in the humid atmosphere that was his bathroom. He was ridiculously overdressed in his wool pants and shoes, and his shirt had become quite wet in the process. The feeling of the fabric clinging to his skin made him shiver. Catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror, which was starting to fog up at the corners, Patrick realized that he looked about as disheveled as Andrea now.

It was getting a little hard to justify why he was doing all this.

'I could just push her head under water, and it would be over in a few minutes.'

But just as this cruel thought flashed through his mind, Andrea began to move her head, wriggling out of his grasp and turning to face him, though her movements were somewhat sluggish.

"Hayden, huh? How could you mistake me for your boyfriend?" Patrick wondered, testing if she had come to her senses yet.

Still shivering, the woman inhaled deeply as if she could finally breathe, her lungs burning from the pain and tension. "Don't... don't you dare say his name," Andrea managed to pronounce while observing the situation she found herself in. "Are you going to kill me now?" The detective asked as she looked down at the water. "To be drowned in such an opulent bathroom... how generous of you."

Only now did Andrea smell the lavender scent that slowly enveloped her like a mist, clouding her mind and making her go limp again in his arms - they were the strongest she had ever known - tight as ropes. He could end people's lives so easily with such a grip, just by strangling them or breaking their necks. With a loud sob, the woman looked up at Bateman's vacant face again, but then she had to close her eyes as she felt his painful pinch on her nipple, she thought he was going to tear off the piece of flesh.

"Stop!" She screamed, but her body didn't listen, like a broken porcelain doll. "Get...off," Andrea's vision blurred and after several blinks she saw Hayden's face above her again. Almost breathlessly, she let him kiss her, relishing the sensation of his tongue exploring her mouth, not bothering to hold back the moans that rippled through her mouth. "I... I need you, Hayden," the woman bubbled, and the next moment she was pushed violently underwater. Suffocating, Andrea opened her eyes wide to see the black marble of the tub - a testament to her imminent death as the lack of oxygen spurred her to let go and relax, to let the darkness finally take away all the pain and suffering. With that, the woman looked at the bubbles coming out of her mouth one last time before she blacked out, but then she was pulled up roughly and she took a raspy, desperate breath, coughing out the water and her heart seemed to stop from being so close to death.

"Don't. Don't say that name. It will never get you out of here." There was something about the repeated mention of her boyfriend that drove Patrick crazy. If he was going to kill her after all, he should be the last person on Andrea's mind; not even in her thoughts should she be able to escape him. "Do you think he would even want you back? Like this?"

Bateman grabbed her by the neck and forced her to look into the mirror. Only the bruises he had inflicted on her last night appeared as purple spots all over her body.

"I am your only hope now. But whether you want to live or die, I'll make you work for it!" It was a moment of revelation for Patrick, to his own surprise.

He finally began to understand his motivation for all of this - replaceable in every aspect of his life, as Vice President, fiancé, son, and in his human existence, he was about to become her destiny. If anything happened to him, the detective would have to die as well, still trapped and abandoned. There was no other use for imprisoning Andrea instead of killing her, except to play master over a human life.

Andrea's body felt boneless as he bent her torso over the tub edge and ran his fingers across Andrea's lower back, just above her ass and over the ink that was beginning to blur at the edges. 'I probably went to Harvard while she got this pathetic symbol of rebellion.'

Patrick had only seen the tattoo after she had fainted, and it had become a fixation for him ever since, to his own horror, arousing something beyond disgust in him.

"Was that your first job? Hunts Point street hooker? Then you should be used to it." Shaking, maybe from the climate of the room, probably from the rush of sick desire that overcame him, he held Andrea close to him, so close that it was nothing but pain, and close to her lips he promised: "I'll fuck you and you'll come alive, you little pathetic bitch!"

P.S. Thank you for reading until the end! You can follow my side blog @makeyoumineagain and my amazing co-writer @iron-flavored-lipgloss and turn on notifications to know when we update!

#american psycho #patrick bateman imagine #patrick bateman #slasher smut #patrick bateman smut #patrick bateman headcanon #christian bale smut #christian bale #patrick bateman imagines #patrick bateman x oc #patrick bateman x fem!oc #slasher x oc #patrick bateman fanfiction

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sukunaswifeeeey · 17 days

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AU sorcerer gojo x vampire f!reader

Synopsis: You started college 2 years ago,during your first year at college a unfortunate event happened. You had to try and adapt to this new life and keep it top secret, but that doesn’t last long when a certain white haired man finds out your little secret.

PART 1 PART 2

NEXT MONDAY

The sound of your alarm abruptly woke you from your sleep, it made your ears feel like they was bleeding. If you was being honest you haven’t slept that well since that terrible day, you always felt like you had to be on the look out 24/7, paranoid something was going to happen. And it was nearing the end of the month and you was more exhausted than usually, with the lack of blood you have been getting. Sometimes it sounded nice to just kill and eat when you wanted but you knew that it would cause more harm than good. So you always decided to just try get through the last couple days and find a victim.

You got up from your bed and got ready for day, putting on more makeup than usual to hide the dark and sunken bags under your eyes. Feeling shitty wasn’t even close to how you was feeling. You grabbed your bag and left your dorm to your first lecture.

GOJOS POV

Gojo arrived at the college, he was on the phone to the higher ups “Gojo you have been assigned to all y/ns classes and before you take any action you need to analyse her behaviour, we dont know how dangerous she is yet.” “Ill be fine, im entering the college now.” He hanged up the phone and walked in.

He approached the door to the lecture and walked in. Everyone looked up in surprise, even you.

Y/NS POV

You looked up. This wasn’t what you was expecting, but he left your mind quickly and the lecture continued like normal. But you couldn’t shake the feeling of that someones eyes was on you for the whole lecture.

Even though you was starving for blood, you knew you could wait it out. There was a party at the end of this week, it will be swarming with a bunch of drunk, stupid people that will be easy to lure into your trap. You felt excited knowing you will get a good deserved meal, maybe even two people with how hungry you are.

FOLLOWING FRIDAY

Your lectures ended for the day, and adrenaline is already running through your veins. You couldn’t wait to sink your fangs into someone.

You started getting ready, having a shower and putting your best dress on in your closet. If you wanted to catch your perfect victim you had to look good. You put some makeup on and quickly sprayed some perfume before you left your dorm.You meet some friends on the way and they dropped you to the house, before you even stepped out the car you could smell the stench of weed and the mountains of people drinking outside on the front lawn of the house. You made your way inside the house and the flashing lights of the house reflected on your eyes. You was quite sad you couldn’t enjoy the moment as you had to put yourself first and find a victim.

You went into the kitchen of the house and made yourself a drink, you poured some vodka and sprite into a plastic cub and started sipping. You wanted to loosen up and then find your victim, you leant on the counter of the kitchen and scanned your surroundings. Bingo, you thought to yourself as you seen the infamous gojo satoru making eye contact with you. You smirked at him and he did to, he started making his way to you.

“Are you satoru gojo?Ive heard at a-lot about you.”He smirks and raps his arms around your waist “In the flesh.” This was the perfect moment and you had to take, a horny college boy who’s begging for your attention and obviously…sex.You sipped on your drink before you continued the conversation. “So what you trying to do then?” You looked up at him, grabbing his collar, if you was being honest he was a attractive man. You couldn’t lie, its a shame that he has to be your victim but you saw the opportunity and took it. “Hm i dont know, should we go upstairs?” You didn’t even need to respond, you just grabbed his arm and lead him up the stairs. Finally, you thought to yourself. A whole month without blood does do its damage and you are not wasting anytime.

You lead him in and quickly lock the door, you hastily pushed him on the bed and started kissing him. His tongue slips in your month, taking control and flipping you around. You internally roll your eyes, he really thinks he’s getting some. You take a breathe and now is the perfect time, you sink your fangs into his pale skin and keep sucking. You lose all control of your body and cant stop, the hunger getting the best of you.A couple minutes later you wipe the blood of your mouth and push him of you…

Until you hear him laugh, you think your hearing things. You look back and he is still In perfect condition, like you didn’t even sink your fangs into him in the first place. Dread flows through your whole body, who is he? What have you gotten yourself into…

Okay so the middle bit of the story is kind of awkward. I just kind of rushed that bit as it was kind of boring and i had to give her character lore in part 1. But i promise it will get more interesting in the other parts. Thanks for reading🥰!

#jujutsu gojo #gojo saturo #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk gojo #jjk smut #jujutsu au #jujutsu kaisen #jujustsu kaisen x reader #vampire

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starsailorjannystan · 25 days

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in honor of @bg3-apprecimaytion's event! for @again-please's iconic elusory wizard girlboss tav: neve nomani 🔮🪄 from Dancing With My Demons (please read the whole Mercurial World series btw)

@again-please if your character is misrepresented in any way just let me know and i'll delete it no questions asked ✨️this is all extrapolation

if i'm late no i'm not you didn't see anything

12. memories snippets of neve's last day in baldur's gate. look at the clock, it's sad girl hour. word count: 4419

storm's eye

"Do not take oaths when you graduate from Blackstaff Academy."

--Ka'a Orto'o, Gnomic Utterances, CC IV xvi

Norry's shop is little more than a hole-in-the-wall, humble stone and wood and washed-out sign ensemble of a storefront, nothing like the famed portal of children's stories you’d wander in hoping to stumble upon opportunity and adventure.

Fortune favours the ones who bet on losing dogs, so you could take a chance.

You’d push the door open and strings of bronze bells would chime the merry little tune of serendipity.

Worn out drapes over small tables and shelves lined with books, bronze and gammanium arcane tools, miniature astrolabes, the stray fire elemental trapped in a crystal globe, dancing dust particles visible in the dim sunlight filtering through the windows, strings of colourful cantrip-infused trinkets that do nothing to help the shop's reputation as a curiosity store that provides unreliable magical objects (it's an unfortunate side effect of being associated to the Enchanter's Guild's name, uncancellable subscription, no refunds).

Magic safely contained in vials, jars, airtight bottles, neatly labelled and organized the way you'd store food or legal documents or body parts in a mortuary. Not a single living thing, no skin-prickling excitement that awakens at the mere mention of 'magic'.

The place is a light inconsequential spring breeze to the pulsing cold storms of the Weave.

Behind the counter, a young woman with pleated locks of strawberry-blond hair, a pale freckle-dotted face, and magic spilling out the eyes. The scroll she'd hold in her hands would go up in flames, and you’d very wisely choose a less hazardous place of commerce.

Well, a few days ago, that's the sight you would have been greeted with.

You've only taken refuge in this empty shop to avoid the tentacled monstrosity abducting people outside, after all.

Neve should be sleeping, which signals to her brain that now is the perfect time to wake up fully and work on the eldritch cannons problem.

Mornings always come to her sharp and early, crisp like dried tea leaves--so many things to do, so many tasks to get started on, so many readings to pick back up. But the light bravely soldiering on through her round window is not even pink yet, bathing her room in blue-gray hues that do nothing to lure her away from the covers.

No matter. She's awake, now.

The silver cylinders are waiting for her on her desk, exactly where she left them last night.

Neve slips out of bed and goes through the motions of her routine--splashing frigid water on her face, putting on her brown robes laid out at the foot of her bed, braiding her hair--and her train of thought starts following the path she'd agreed on with herself a few days ago. The eldritch cannons belong to a patron, a monster hunter in need of a magic touch on top of their skills, and Norry dropped the order in Neve's lap on top of everything else.

She can't resist taking a look at them before starting her day. Cold and smooth metal under her hands. She can feel the magic embedded in the mechanism--human-made. That's not the interesting part, though. Loaded in the cannons are silver capsules, which can split open to reveal empty insides. Scattered across her desk, half-finished explosive scrolls that she keeps worryingly close to her few belongings. What's the worst that could happen, anyway? The attic going up in flames?

Yes. That's why she traced a ward of containment along the wooden rim of the desk.

The only scroll she's finished is sitting in a bowl filled with blackened remains of charred silver--a neat line of ink disables the spell, running like a seam in the middle of the scroll. This hunter's quarry requires full-silver weapons, which lowers the melting point of the material, but it cannot coexist with the scrolls that are supposed to fill the capsules. The very nature of the spell endangers the metal, reaching the too-low melting point too fast.

It's an impossible endeavour, which makes it excitingly infuriating.

How do you slow down an explosion? Or rather, force everything around it to hold together?

She's still trying to figure that part out.

The key is probably in the acceleration upon release of the mechanism's trigger, but the trick is to force the spell into holding together long enough—at least until it's out of the barrel, and out of the hunter's hand. Perhaps magical cooling would help? Books on frost magic are harder to find, but Neve is pretty sure she can get around that.

It's in cases like this that she bumps against the frustrating limits of her education. What ten-year-olds learn in academies, she has to knuckle her way through it, scraping together unrelated pieces of knowledge, reading between the lines written by long-dead archmages.

Well, no time like the present, right? First things first: harvesting the ingredients needed for the morning batches of potions.

On the roof, Neve's day dress sways on the clothesline, rippling in the wind. The chilled air carries the promise of rain, and even if she'll probably need to take her clothes to dry inside, it's a welcome change from the stifling atmosphere of the attic.

Her garden is a well-kept square made of orderly rows of magical herbs, culinary vegetables and berries. Along the neat edges of soil that turns downright frosty and hard in winter, complicated glyph patterns glow an eerie purple, keeping hungry insects away. They also form the base of an invisible energy dome protecting the plants from rain and hail--she cannot stomach seeing her little garden in ruins again, ever since a summer storm so sudden she didn't even have the time to pull the tarp up destroyed it a few years ago.

Away from the patch of earth sits a clay pot full of birdseed that she refills every tenday, when a couple of turtledoves stop on her windowsill, stretching their necks to peer inside her room. Sometimes, she'll put her work aside for a minute to get closer to them, and even if they're about to fly off, they'll change their minds and stay, letting her pet them. When she talks to them, they cock their little heads, beady black eyes watching her intently. They always stay when she talks, waiting until she's finished to leave.

It's the same couple, every time. She recognizes their matching white-spots.

(This grave is no home, they chirp. A heart-shaped hole in an axe's blade does not make it less of an axe.)

It's only her on the roof today, though.

She kneels in the madder soil of her much smaller plot of herbs--this one is surrounded by a much more potent combination of blue glyphs to keep the plants inside. That's where she grows the less appealing spell components, like daggerroot, oleander, henbane, aberrations of mugwort and rogue's morsel unfit for consumption and healing potions. Insects end up here, crushed by creeping vines, mixing with oxblood provided by the butcher's shop.

She pulls the roots and the soil stains her fingers, gets under her nails, the blood-fed stems rough to the touch.

Sharp pain lances through her wrist when she puts the roots in her woven basket, and she braces for the uncomfortable nerve-tingle that follows in her fingers. She'll try to write more with her other hand today, then.

She gets up and dusts herself off, her trousers spotted with earth and unfortunate ants.

No weavemoss here, she thinks wryly.

Neve blinks sweat out of her eyes and huffs. One more batch and she'll be done with today's first set of chores.

The fumes rising from the cauldron's surface press against her cheeks in hot swirls, and she cannot wait to wash it all off. Her eyes sting and her back is smarting with pain again and her stomach makes her acutely aware that it's almost noon.

Once she's satisfied with the colour and consistency of the mixture, she starts filling the pear-shaped glass vials that she'll have to label and put on the shelves later--but first she'll probably have to postpone lunch, she has to be in the shop to receive a shipment of wolfsbane and leave it in the decontamination salt circle for at least five days before using it, it has a bad habit of sucking the nutrients out of the soil and being a menace to the other plants, oh and there's still autumn crocus in the stocks, is there not? If not she'll have to make a quick trip to the botanical gardens, get more seeds, because the way they grow crocus (next to the strawberry stolons) is absolutely horrendous.

The cauldron is emptied until only dregs are left.

Neve settles at her workbench and starts grinding the mugwort roots she dried using her homebrewn rid-of-moisture spell. Once thoroughly crushed into a fine brown powder, she sifts it before mixing it with the pressed daggerroots in a clay bowl. She could keep going and turn this mixture into a proper oil, but that's not her end goal. Well, she is going to use it to coat the capsules and enhance their accuracy to the point that they'll never miss their target--better keep these explosions very, very localized.

However, this doesn't solve the melting off problem. The heat is dangerous for the cannons but also for the handler, who must take their mission seriously if they're willing to waste that much pure silver into a weapon, and as a result of its use, into, well, corpses (Neve tries not to think about that part too much. Yes, she's daydreamed about fire-bolting the careless cart-drivers who rush past her in the street while almost flattening playing children, but it stays what it is. A thought. She has more than an inkling that the client chose Norry's shop for its unobstrusiveness rather than for its quality of service.)

She needs something else. Something that, used in a different way, could solve her problem. Deerskin pouches rest on the shelves, but she knows none of them contains what she's looking for.

"What do you think?" She asks the cow doll slumped against her window--a gift from a little girl after she'd given her a healing potion for free three years after the start of her apprenticeship.

Black mica eyes stare back at her.

Oh gods. Two more years like this and she'd start animating the doll to get an answer.

Supply lines from the southern Sword Coast have been cut for weeks, narrowing the range of ingredients at her disposal. The Merchant's League is supposedly working on it, but most of the shops she frequents have been relying on stocks and seaborne trade. With certain components missing, one has to get creative and be willing to crack some eggs at random for... mixed results, to say the least.

Neve doesn't need to go through a lot of trial and error. She just knows. She sees the experiment failing before even setting up the materials.

She has to. She's running on limited reserves of time and energy.

Experiments play out to the end in her head, or stop when something goes awry--a misshapen ward, an ingredient shortage, too much heat under the cauldron, unsought results. When she encounters a problem that needs many steps for solving, she lays them out neatly, holds them each in her mind's eye, spins them in six or seven different directions to establish the most efficient and cost-effective way of accomplishing her task. Sometimes, an unexpected development prompts her to drop lines of thought, or add new ones.

Ingredients don't behave in unexpected ways unless you make them.

When she sees the solution too soon, it leaves her with mixed feelings. Yes, it's gained time, but she likes the challenge, and the feeling of being right that follows.

Small victories. She'll take them.

Maybe a temporary seal on the capsules to isolate them?

Norry is (or, rather, was a long, long time ago) a sealing specialist, and the back of the shop houses stacks upon stacks upon stacks of books on ward technique left to gather dust and cobwebs. Neve's made her way through a solid third of the collection, but quickly realized this was more a hoarder's trove of mostly dead languages than useful accounts of sealing spells. Still, she keeps a new tome on her bedside table, writing down any new information she can make out of it, referring to her translation notes and inferring purpose and spell components from context and common sense.

Her old master doesn't care much for frivolity or obvious displays of sentimentality, but he treasures most of his books like they're his own children.

He sure cares about them more than he does about Neve, not that his indifference comes from a place of genuine malice.

At least she's not on the streets selling her backside to the highest bidder, but there are some nights when even this thought offers only meagre comfort, nor does the knowledge that this alternative wouldn't have bothered anyone, least of all her parents.

Nights become the theatre of uncomfortable dreams--a cottage in faraway farmlands, where she'll be blessedly alone and only worry about her raspberry bushes and honeysuckle flowerbeds that she'll grow only for tea, no more soulless potion brewing in a dark room, coffee in the morning and getting dressed up to go nowhere, free to do whatever she wants with her days.

A place that's hers, no conditions attached, and in her wildest dreams, it's built for two.

She dreams of a slow, peaceful, rose-tinted life and doesn't think about the implications of retirement, because to retire she'd first have to live through something, anything, and it hurts and it doesn't stop there, because even though it's been ten years memories and dreams still blur together.

The in and out of a sewing needle, the embroidered bodice of a recently-mended pinafore dress that will be outgrown in a year and never mended again, lilac-scented hair she buried her face in, the forgotten feeling of laying her head on someone's shoulder, of a hug--

--a feral smile dripping with blood, the cut of a diamond, magic coursing through her marrow, splitting the skies, shattering the earth--

--waking up, the dream already evaporating, leaving her with the ghost of it, sitting on the edge of her bed, her guts twisting with aching loneliness, lack and emptiness all around her.

Others she spends in the throes of nightmares that never end nor clarify. Undefined. Black chasms and the slow agony of breath forced out of her lungs, burdened down, down, and this single thought like a death sentence, like cold truth: forever. this life all alone forever and ever and ever.

Those nights end with her eyes snapping open like a mechanical toy's from the artificer's shop, her brain leaning back in its chair, satisfied like a cat who got the cream of despair, I'm done! Please go on with your day! and she does, of course she does, because what other choice does she have?

Adjusting the shoulder strap of her satchel across her chest, Neve smooths the rumples of her day dress and locks up the shop, checking the defensive wards one more time--Norry left for an astronomy conclave with old colleagues in the countryside, entrusting her with the completion of the ongoing commissions and the never-ending list of magical items of service that need enchanting.

She's got some way to go before reaching Rivington, where she is to post a letter to Candlekeep.

Despite her earlier predictions, it hasn't rained yet.

She walks past busted open crates, wine spilling on the cobblestone path, broiling low clouds casting shadows across the buildings, wind carrying the smell of salt and fish and rotting fruit from the docks, the mix cloying in the back of her throat. It could have made for an unappealing brew if Neve didn't relish every second spent outside. Everything beats feeling like an old maid sealed off away from civilisation. Conversations no longer muted by walls reach her ears, the hum of the city, the hustle and bustle of shopkeepers.

Being lonely in a crowd rivals being alone in the attic.

Her path leads her closer to the docks, zig-zagging between sailors unloading ships, coming and going and dragging crates that clink with the tell-tale sound of wine and whiskey and rum bottles, the rumble of their steps on the gangplanks like the familiar ticking of clockwork.

Ivory tiles of Bite and Sting blink at her from a draughts stand, hand-painted bees and foxes and wolves laid up or down, sailors swearing and mutually accusing each other of cheating. Its companion card deck lies ignored in the muddy puddle at the sailors' feet. A few paces away, a lanceboard is perched on a barrel where two lanky laundresses are leaning on their elbows. Neve slows down, just enough to check out the board, and she can tell they're playing by Moonsea rules, if the broken Mystras laying on their side are anything to go by.

Near a warehouse, elderly seafarers skewer and skillet fish gasping for water. A rivulet of blood serpents around the lumps of wood and drips to the ground, carrying ripped scales.

High noon sunrays glint off Steel-Watchers patrolling on the piers. Neve can't say she likes seeing them around, but she can't deny she's curious to know what kind of spell animates them. She put aside incredibly rare books on armor magic from Khorvaire that Norry keeps in boxes in the attic like they're worthless junk but it seems she never has enough time to settle down and catch up on all her reading.

Watching the ebb and flow of low waves against the wooden pier pillars reminds her of all her compiled notes on elemental magic. She has no one to share them with, no one to comment on the capillaries-bursting focus she's attained to channel lightning, crackling wisps of blue light between her fingers, she'd been so ecstatic over finally managing to do it that she'd immediately broken her concentration the first time. No one to remark on her control of water, which she primarily uses to conduct electricity. No one to talk to, at all.

It's fine, though. She's spent ten years virtually on her own in Baldur's Gate. She can handle herself.

And if she hugs herself at night pretending to be held by someone else, and if she sometimes goes to Umberlee’s temple and skims her fingers over the flowers floating in the fountains and holds them in her hands long enough to convince herself she has someone to give them to, and if she dreams of curling up and laying her head against someone’s chest to fall asleep to the sound of their heartbeat, well.

No one has to know.

The carrier pigeons of Sword Coast Couriers lounge under the sun, coats of feathers puffed up around them, looking like satisfied, plump, red and brown balls.

They look so peaceful to Neve, unburdened by debt and earthly matters and free to go wherever they wish.

They tweet at her as she enters the post office.

Danzo Arkwright, dwarven head honcho of the postal service, stands behind the counter, arguing with a customer--a darkling, hood lowered.

"No, no, no! Your hells-spawned bird already murdered seven of my carrier pigeons!"

An outraged gasp. "Hells-spawned? How dare you? He's as pure and innocent as the day he hatched from his egg! These were all unfortunate--"

"Well, I'm afraid I cannot let it join the ranks of the carriers."

The darkling clicks his tongue, pulls his hood up, draws himself up to his full height--Neve's, give or take the thickness of a hair--and turns on his heels.

On his way out, Neve catches a small flash of grey feathers and yellow-ringed eyes of the cuckoo he cradles in the crook of his elbow.

(He's saying Kill your whole family with an oyster knife. Do it and you'll be free. He's really fun at parties though, and this whole cannibalism affair in 1487 was a complete misunderstanding.)

Danzo glares daggers at his back until he recognizes Neve and smiles.

"Miss Nomani," he greets, crow's feet deepening around his eyes. He used to see a lot of her when she still sent letters to her father, and winked at her conspiratorially whenever she slipped a new letter to The Baldurian Post's editor across the wooden counter.

Still, his gaze quickly leaves hers when he spots another regular behind her.

She hands him the letter and thanks him before leaving.

The darkling is nowhere in sight, and she decides to allow herself one wishful trip to Sorcerous Sundries before going back to the shop.

A month ago, the Castle of Tomes issued a challenge: every scholar of magic was invited to send a new classification of the complete works of Ka'a Orto'o. If the classification was deemed an improvement compared to the previous one, the scholar would win the privilege of hearing their name added to the prayers of the Avowed.

And nine thousand gold coins.

Mostly nine thousand gold coins.

Of course, a wizard always pursues knowledge for knowledge's sake.

But nine thousand gold coins can't hurt someone's pride, which is a crucial aspect to consider when one has to deal with wizards, and it's a good carrot to convince scholars to dive back in Orto'o's works.

The true order of composition of Gnomic Utterances is a hotly debated topic in a pinpoint niche of the wizarding community. Voluntarily published out of order and purposefully mislabelled, it comes only second to the complete works of Volothamp Geddarm in terms of inanity and usefulness.

These works have nothing to envy to each other--rife with historical inaccuracies, bad puns, and piecemeal points of interest. It's a colossal waste of ink and paper and breath in arguments--in the year 1432, two wizards destroyed an entire reconstructed spelljammer fleet outside of Melvaunt in an explosion of magic after their discussion got too heated.

Unlike most wizards, Norry seems to have lost the need for posturing and constant ego-stroking, and thus didn't even spare a glance for the letter informing him of this challenge, resuming his tasks with the characteristic unhurried pace of an immortal being.

Which was tacit permission for Neve to sign up.

(To be quite honest, it's the hotly debated part that attracted Neve in the first place.)

It's the kind of work that relies on the reader to understand. But understand what?

Neve is a self-taught wizard through and through. She's used to figuring things out on her own. She's studied books until her eyes started weeping blood.

This proved not to be much different.

Of course, these books are an assortment of the most moronic, even if somewhat amusing in an absurd way, thoughts to have ever crossed anyone's mind since Ao created the Realms.

That's not what's important about them.

People have spent so much time unable to see the forest for the trees and dismissing Ka'a Orto'o as a bumbling old fool of a gnome that they've missed what was always sitting in front of them.

Because Gnomic Utterances paints a bigger picture: a complete map of Baldur's Gate ley lines--the most basic of basics of a wizard's education. There's a reason why the city is more often than not simply called "the Gate". It's not enough to read the words--a cryptographic approach suited this endeavour a lot better. In the right order, sentences bounce off of each other to create a brand new text.

The city is a gate for what Orto'o calls "the Swarm", some sort of collective-consciousness entity sealed off somewhere hundreds of years ago.

Even if Neve wasn't positive her proposition is the right one, she knows it's at least an interesting interpretation backed up by textual and magical evidence.

She's put in all the work she could. Now she can only wait for a response.

She signed the letter with her own alliterative initials, N.N.

Usually, everything that leaves Norry's shop bears Norry's seal. It's a frustrating erasure of Neve's work, and at the same time a safety net that fuels Neve's fear of being found out. That one day she'll be looked at and looked through and she'll have to make up for the fact that it's only her. That hypothetical people will assess and dismiss her in the same look.

As long as no one knows, as long as it's only her with herself, she's safe.

The solution hits Neve as she cracks an egg against the counter.

Yellow yolk spills in the pan and instantly starts sizzling, and she looks for her inkwell to write it down before she forgets. She's too tired to work on anything more tonight, but she'll get it started first thing tomorrow morning.

It's well into the night already, and she's barely pep-talked herself into eating a little before finally passing out on her bed.

Her brown robes are neatly folded and laid out on her small coffer, ready to be put on tomorrow, and there's nothing but the grating sound of her feather against parchment in the bare room.

A clutter of meaningless knick-knacks that see her leave in the morning and come back in the evening. Ropes of thyme and mint to drown out the burnt stench of cauldron dregs. Half-hearted attempts to decorate the place over the past ten years, but it'll take more than her good will and the smell of humid wood on rainy days to turn this attic into a home she'll be happy to go back to.

The space is lived in because she lives here, not because it's hers.

Surely, there are better ways to fall asleep that don't involve the gnawing feeling of being part of the book and arcane tools collection, left to be coated in dust and dashed hopes.

Surely.

Her scarce belongings are exactly where she left them.

Her abandoned and creased day dress, the bundle of unsent letters she keeps under her pillow, the little cow plush slowly losing its fluff. Dusty books on a bedside table, notes sticking out from various pages. Outside, the garden left to wither under a protection dome that's slowly killing it now that no one's here to renew it properly. Turtledoves pecking at an empty clay pot.

The little attic doesn't miss her, or wait for her return.

Don't think it cold-hearted.

It's just glad she got away.

#bg3apprecimaytion2024 #did i write this whole thing just to make a “animals talk but you don't have speak with animals on” joke?#yes #also she should be at the club imo #if neve had drawn cards on the wharf she would have gotten #one of squids #two of bats #three of hydras #which is not a nice suite but!#it would have been topped by six of crows #i love her your honor #btw know that management apologizes if the quote wasn't irrelevant enough pls forgive us

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topguncortez · 1 year

Text

How I Met Your Mother- J. Machado

pairing: Javy "Coyote" Machado x Valerie "Val" Bates word count: 1.0k synopsis: the story of how Javy and Val met. Coyote & Val Masterlist | Opposites Attract Masterlist

“I am going to kill you,” Javy cursed as Jake was filling out the paperwork for him. He was sitting in a wheelchair in the waiting room of the hospital. What was supposed to be just a simple workout ended with Jake accidentally dropping a fifty pound plate on poor Javy’s foot. His foot had immediately swelled up and was now an angry purple and blue.

“I already said I was sorry,” Jake said, “I got distracted.”

“Clearly,” Javy rolled his eyes. Jake was expecting a call from his girlfriend who was over in Italy with her parents. He had been distracted since the day she left and Javy was counting down the days when she’d return. Javy loved Jake like a brother, he was his best friend, his wingman, but man, was he annoying when it came to missing Y/N.

“Hey, don’t blame the lady,” Jake scolded.

Javy chuckled and adjusted his position in the wheelchair. His butt was starting to hurt from sitting so long and waiting to be taken back, “I don’t blame her. Out of all the girls you have ever been with, I actually like Y/N. I hope you don’t screw this one up.”

“You and me both,” Jake said, right as a nurse called out Javy’s name, “Want me to go with?”

“Nah, I’m good,” Javy said as the nurse came and grabbed him, “Stay gold, Ponyboy.”

“I'll never let go, Jack,” Jake smirked and gave Javy their ‘secret’ handshake before the nurse took him back. The nurse took him back to one of the exam rooms.

“Valerie, will be in to see you soon,” The nurse explained and checked the IV in Javy’s arm, “Do you need anything?”

“Can I get one of those warm blankets, please?” He asked and the nurse nodded, “Thank you.”

Javy looked around the small exam room and noticed his x-rays were on display. He winced at seeing the clearly broken bones in his foot and hoped that this wasn’t going to take him out of flying for very long. He and Jake had just gotten back to Lemoore from TopGun school, and he wasn’t ready to be grounded just yet. Jake finished first in the class, and Javy finished second. They both had an opportunity to be instructors, and Javy almost did take it, but opted not to. He wasn’t ready to settle in his career yet. There were still missions to fly and places to see.

He sighed and slunk down in his wheelchair, leaning his head back a bit and closing his eyes. He was exhausted. Usually by now on Saturday’s he was taking a nap after going to work out at the ass crack of dawn with Jake. He didn't understand why the man had to wake up at six on a Saturday to go the gym, but Jake said it was part of his routine. Javy almost dozed off as there was a knock on the door. He didn’t bother to sit up, thinking it was the nurse bringing him his warm blanket. But the second a young beautiful woman walked through the door, he was quickly pushing himself up and trying to look presentable.

“Hello, I’m Valerie Bates, you must be Mr. Machado?”

“I uh. . . y-yeah. I-I Javy,” He was mentally slapping himself. It was like every coherent thought had left his head. He suddenly forgot how to speak in the presence of a woman who was clearly a lot smarter than him. Valerie chuckled and sat down on a stool across from Javy. She signed into her laptop, looking over Javy’s case and pulling up his labs.

“Well, good news is your foot is not broken, just a fracture,” Valerie said, “I think we can just fix it with a boot and rest.” She looked over at Javy and he just smiled. She raised her eyebrows like she was expecting him to say something.

“You’re pretty,” Javy blurted. Valerie blushed and looked down at her laptop, “Oh my god, I am making a fool out of myself.”

“It’s okay, Mr. Machado,” Valerie shook her head with a smile on her face, “It’s probably the pain meds in your body. But, I want to know your opinion on just doing a boot.”

“I’m a pilot,” Javy said, “How long will I be out if we do the boot?”

Valerie looked at the x-ray, “I’m going to say eight to ten weeks. But, you’re young and if you do everything as I tell you, then it could be quicker.”

Javy clenched his jaw. He thought of all the detachments, missions and possible deployments he would be overlooked because of the injury. He suddenly wanted to go through a fifty pound plate at Jake for causing this. It was as if Valerie could read his mind and moved a bit closer to him.

“If you are worried about this affecting your career, it shouldn’t. I know eight to ten weeks sounds like a very long time, but it’ll go by pretty quickly. You need to be on total rest for the first two weeks, and then you can get back to working out and keeping yourself in flight shape.”

Javy looked up at Valerie and noticed how beautiful her eyes were. They were like endless pools of honey with strands of gold mixed in them. She also smelled of lavender and vanilla, which reminded Javy of him of being home at his grandmother’s house.

“You promise?” Javy asked, and Valerie smiled.

“I promise,” She answered and then pushed herself back away from Javy, going back towards her computer, “Now, I will have the ortho tech come in and fit you for your boot, and I will have you follow up in four weeks.” She grabbed her laptop and stood up.

“Wait, where are you going?” Javy asked, and moved as if he was going to stand up and then remembered that his foot was broken.

Valerie furrowed her eyebrows, “I have other patients to see.”

“But. . .” Javy was trying to think of something to say that wasn’t going to make him sound absolutely pathetic, but he could not think of a single thing except, “Will I see you again?”

A smirk graced her lips, “In four weeks for your follow up. Have a good day, Mr. Machado.” Valerie walked towards the door and opened it but not before Javy called out.

“It’s Coyote!”

“Callsign?” Valerie asked.

“Y-yeah,” Javy answered, “How did you know about-”

“Have a nice day.”

Javy sat there in awe as she walked out the door. He had talked to her for all of twenty minutes and was already so in over his head.

note: Sundays are Opposite Attract Days, so send in blurb ideas, asks, requests whatever you want! :)

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twoidiotwriters1 · 5 months

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The Curse of Oenone (Leo Valdez xFem!Oc)

A/N: The journey back home was exhausting BUT I'm okay now -Danny Words: 2,591 Series' Masterlist Previous Chapter // Next Chapter Listen to: 'Still' -by Kailee Morgue

IV: And I Said No, You Know, Like a Liar

"Leo," Annabeth tries for the tenth time. "Did Octavian trick you somehow? Did he frame you, or—"

"No." Leo's pale and shaking. "The guy was a jerk, but he didn't fire on the camp. I did."

"On purpose?" Frank stares at him like he's insane... and he might be.

"No!" The boy closes his eyes, trying to remember. "Well, yes... I mean, I didn't want to. But at the same time, I felt like I wanted to. Something was making me do it. There was this cold feeling inside me—"

"A cold feeling," Annabeth echoes like she knows what that means.

"Yeah," Leo looks at her. "Why?"

"Annabeth," Percy calls from below deck. "We need you!"

Leo leans against the mast defeatedly, he got all of his friends hurt and he's just about ready to puke, which softens Annabeth's conduct.

"He'll be fine," she tells him, referring to Jason. "Frank, I'll be back. Just... watch Leo. Please. Ara, coming or staying?"

"I'll stay," she replies.

Once the others are gone, Ara speaks again.

"Look at me," she demands.

Leo's lip quivers and he closes his eyes. Ara reaches for his face, her fingertips are cold and they alleviate the pain in his temples. He doesn't look at her yet, too ashamed to face her.

"It's okay. You didn't hurt me."

"I tried to," he replies hoarsely. He can feel Ara absorbing his guilt with the empath touch, and he doesn't know how to stop it, so he pushes her hands away. "I don't—I would never—"

"I know," she brushes his curls back, trying to ease him. "I'm okay."

She can't shake off the feeling that this is her fault... that this is the curse manifesting at last. Maybe Leo short-circuited after he came into contact with the Romans, and the ancient part of his soul remembered something and tried to fix a past mistake.

Whatever the reason, Ara has to correct it before it gets worse. She turns to Frank. "Dragon boy. I saw you in my dreams, you looked after my brother. Thank you."

Frank doesn't know how to respond to that, so he points to the laurels that fell off her belt. "I think that's yours."

Ara glances at the crown, but she doesn't pick it up. "Yeah, leave it there, nothing will happen to it."

"Your name isn't Sammy?" Frank blurts out randomly, looking at Leo.

Leo snaps his eyes open just to glare at Frank. "What kind of question is that?"

"Nothing. I just—Nothing. About the firing on the camp... Octavian could be behind it, like magically or something. He didn't want the Romans getting along with you guys."

Ara appreciates Frank's willingness to believe them even though they're probably the most unnerving kids he'll ever meet, and even though his girlfriend spent most of the feast staring at another boy.

"Well, if Leo wasn't in control of himself," she stands up. "I'll find out who was, and I'll take care of it."

"Thank you... Strategus." Frank clears his throat.

She smiles. "Call me Ara."

"Hey," Leo speaks, still in a bad mood. "I should talk to Festus and get a damage report. You mind...?" He gestures at the rope.

Ara unties him and Frank helps him to his feet. "Who is Festus?"

"My friend. His name isn't Sammy either, in case you're wondering. Come on. I'll introduce you."

We're waiting for Nico in the arena. I'm using a real sword today, Mike won't join us so I seized the opportunity.

Nico shows up with a greenish face, dark circles have appeared under his eyes, and he isn't as lively as usual.

"What's wrong?" I check his temperature. "You okay?"

"I had a weird dream," he says weakly.

Lily and I share a look. Now that we know who his godly parent is, we suspect Nico's going to get some hints about it too. We can't allow that while his sister is away.

"I'm sorry. I must've made you nervous by telling you about my Iris message to Percy..."

I talked to my brother the other night—my mom was there too, but I don't wanna think about that part—and he said Bianca was okay, but I think telling Nico only worsened his anxiety.

He pushes my hand away from his face. "I'm fine! Let's train."

Lily gives me another look. Percy needs to bring Bianca back to camp, I don't know how to help Nico.

"The port aerial oars have to be fixed before we can go full speed again. We'll need some repair materials: Celestial bronze, tar, lime—"

"What do you need limes for?"

"Dude, lime," Leo gets a little impatient when others can't keep up with his thoughts. "Calcium carbonate, used in cement and a bunch of other— Ah, never mind. The point is, this ship isn't going far unless we can fix it."

Festus makes a couple of other noises and Leo nods.

"Oh... Hazel! That's the girl with the curly hair, right?"

"Is she okay?" Frank asks anxiously.

"Yeah, she's fine. According to Festus, her horse is racing along below. She's following us."

"We've got to land, then."

"She's your girlfriend?" Ara asks, noticing the lavender hue around him.

Frank takes a second to respond. "Yes."

"You don't sound sure," Leo teases him.

"Yes. Yes, definitely. I'm sure," he replies defensively.

Leo raised his hands. "Okay, fine. The problem is we can only manage one landing. The way the hull and the oars are, we won't be able to lift off again until we repair, so we'll have to make sure we land somewhere with all the right supplies."

"Where do you get Celestial bronze?" Frank asks. "You can't just stock up at Home Depot."

"Festus, do a scan."

"He can scan for magic bronze?" Frank wonders. "Is there anything he can't do?"

"You should've seen him when he had a body," Ara sighs.

The memory of a whole Festus seems to worsen Leo's already terrible state of mind. Percy and Annabeth come back on deck together, both looking stressed. Leo steps forward. "Is Jason—?"

"He's resting," Annabeth announces. "Piper's keeping an eye on him, but he should be fine."

"Annabeth says you did fire the ballista?" Percy eyes him.

"Man, I—I don't understand how it happened," Leo stammers. "I'm so sorry—"

"Sorry?" He steps closer menacingly.

"Percy, really, don't start," Ara warns him.

"Don't start?" The boy repeats aghast. "He started it!"

Annabeth places a hand on his chest and pulls him back. "We'll figure it out later. Right now, we have to regroup and make a plan. What's the situation with the ship?"

Festus talks again, and Leo sighs in relief. "Perfect."

"What's perfect?" Annabeth asks. "I could use some perfect about now."

"Everything we need in one place," Leo declares. "Frank, why don't you turn into a bird or something? Fly down and tell your girlfriend to meet us at the Great Salt Lake in Utah."

Frank obliges quickly, and then Percy moves forward.

"Ara, can we talk?" He asks, glaring at Leo.

Ara's not in the mood to deal with her brother. "Later. I have to patch up Leo."

"I'm okay—"

"You're not," Ara shuts him up. "Sit down and let me do my job."

Leo fixes his gaze on the controls, embarrassed and miserable. Ara turns to Annabeth and looks at her with pleading eyes. "I got this, you can go."

"C'mon," Annabeth pulls Percy back. "I'll show you where your cabin is."

It's the two girls versus him, and he's never been able to win those battles. When the couple leaves, Ara turns back to Leo going back to her gentle tone.

"Hey—"

"Don't patronize me," he leans on the control board, eyes fixed on the monitor. "Please. You told me once that pity parties are good for nothing. Don't throw one now."

"Alright," Ara replies with a strong voice. "I've got a bruised rib, my brother doesn't like you, and you're a war criminal in New Rome. But..." She tries to reach for his hand, and when Leo doesn't move away, she holds it firmly. "You sound so smart when you ramble about construction materials—it's kinda hot, honestly."

Leo sighs heavily, stroking the back of her hand with his thumb. "You think that'd make me feel better, but..."

Ara clicks her tongue. "You were being used, Leo. And I've got proof," she grabs his face and forces him to look at her. "You called me Arae before leaving and I hated it."

He blinks and frowns. "So what? You don't like your name, that's not new."

"Ever since we met you call me Doll, Sunshine, Cielo—or Corazón when you're feeling extra cheesy," she teases him. "You only call me Arae when it's the two of us and we're being serious, but when you did it then... it felt like a stranger was talking to me."

Ara steps back, feeling a little crazy.

"It sounds stupid, but you pronounce it in a very specific way. Whoever talked to me, wasn't you."

Leo glances at the panel and radars on the control board, but he's thinking of how she called him Leónidas while trying to make him snap out of his trance, and how she almost succeeded because it feels different when she says it.

"Your brother should stay mad at me anyway, if it hadn't been for him—"

"Don't even," Ara rolls her eyes. "You know I can kick your ass any time."

"But it wasn't me!" Leo reminds her with frustration. "How are you not angry? I ruined everything! Even the ship we broke our backs building for six months!"

She can't tell him that she's not mad because she's sure this is the curse's fault, that's only going to make him spiral into a whole new crisis. Besides, she is angry, but mostly at herself, so she can't correct him unless she wants to get lectured.

"Big prophecies are never easy..." She squeezes his shoulders. "You wanna sulk for the rest of the day? Be my guest, but let's fix the ship while you're at it."

Leo shakes his head, tilts his head to the side, and plants a soft kiss on her knuckles. "Alright. I can do that."

"Cool. Now sit down and let me heal your head," Ara lightly runs her fingers through his curls. "We can be miserable together after I'm done with this."

"Fun date ideas," he replies, the tiniest smile on his face.

Leo manages to land the ship on the water. He's still not talking much, but Ara knows he'll need time to feel like himself again. As they approach the stairs, they hear hooves behind them and they turn, finding Hazel and her horse on deck.

"How—?" Leo stumbles back. "We're in the middle of a lake! Can that thing fly?"

"Arion can't fly," Hazel explains over the loud whines of the horse. "But he can run across just about anything. Water, vertical surfaces, small mountains—none of that bothers him."

"Oh."

Ara notices the way Hazel keeps looking at Leo, and whatever it is that has her so fascinated, it's starting to get annoying.

"General," Coach Hedge shows up with his bat. She'd almost forgotten he was on the ship with them. "Does this count as an invasion?"

"No!" Leo and Ara say at the same time.

"Um, Hazel," Leo says awkwardly, "you'd better come with us. I built a stable belowdecks, if Arion wants to—"

"He's more of a free spirit." The girl says, diving off the animal's back. "He'll graze around the lake until I call him. But I want to see the ship. Lead the way."

Ara and Leo guide her downstairs, but more than awkward, it's unsettling. Hazel is glowing lavender, and Ara isn't a jealous girl, or at least she doesn't think she is, but no one has paid attention to Leo like this before, and she's having trouble tolerating it.

They walk past Jason's cabin, where Piper is looking after him, and then they reach the mess hall where the rest of the crew is.

"So we've landed," Percy says, staring at one of the screens showing Camp Half-blood. "What now?"

"Figure out the prophecy?" Frank suggests.

"Which one?" Ara says sarcastically.

"I mean... that was a prophecy Ella spoke, right? From the Sibylline Books?"

"The what?" Leo asks.

Frank explains that Ella spat out a prophecy from an old collection of books. Ara's secretly glad the harpy didn't notice her, she doesn't want to hear her prophecy again, let alone recited by a crazy harpy.

"That's why you didn't tell the Romans," Leo guesses. "You didn't want them to get hold of her."

"Ella's sensitive," Percy scowls at the Camp Half-blood scenery. "She was a captive when we found her. I just didn't want... It doesn't matter now. I sent Tyson an Iris message, told him to take Ella to Camp Half-Blood. They'll be safe there."

"Let me think about the prophecy," Annabeth leans on the table. "Right now we have more immediate problems. We have to get this ship fixed. Leo, what do we need?"

"The easiest thing is tar," Leo starts right away. "We can get that in the city, at a roofing-supply store or someplace like that. Also, Celestial bronze and lime. According to Festus, we can find both of those on an island in the lake, just west of here."

"We'll have to hurry," Hazel says. "If I know Octavian, he's searching for us with his auguries. The Romans will send a strike force after us. It's a matter of honor."

Leo makes a face. "Guys... I don't know what happened. Honestly, I—"

"We've been talking," Annabeth interrupts him. "We agree it couldn't have been you, Leo. That cold feeling you mentioned... I felt it too. It must have been some sort of magic, either Octavian or Gaea or one of her minions. But until we understand what happened—"

"How can we be sure it won't happen again?" Frank inquires.

"I'm fine now," Leo assures him. "Maybe we should use the buddy system. Nobody goes anywhere alone. We can leave Piper and Coach Hedge on board with Jason. Send one team into town to get tar. Another team can go after the bronze and the lime."

"Split up?" Percy frowns. "That sounds like a really bad idea."

Ara crosses her arms, challenging her brother. "I'll go with Leo. If anything happens to him, I can take care of it."

Percy's eyes flash with annoyance. "Ara—"

"It'll be quicker," Hazel intervenes, smartly guessing an argument between Ara and Percy isn't quick to put out. "Besides, there's a reason a quest is usually limited, right?"

"You're right," Annabeth agrees. "The same reason we needed the Argo II... outside camp, eight demigods in one place will attract way too much monstrous attention. The ship is designed to conceal and protect us. We should be safe enough on board; but if we go on expeditions, we shouldn't travel in groups larger than three or four. No sense alerting more of Gaea's minions than we have to."

Percy glares at Ara sending a clear message. This isn't over. He turns and holds Annabeth's hand. "As long as you're my buddy, I'm good."

"Oh, that's easy," Hazel smiles. "Frank, you were amazing, turning into a dragon! Could you do it again to fly Annabeth and Percy into town for the tar?"

"I...I suppose," he hesitates. "But what about you?"

"I'll ride Arion with Sa—with Leo and Ara," she quickly corrects herself. Ara remembers Frank called Leo "Sammy". Is that some old friend of theirs? "We'll get the bronze and the lime. We can all meet back here by dark."

Frank doesn't look happy about this arrangement, and neither is Ara, but maybe she absorbed a bit too much of Leo's disheartenment.

"Guys, if we get the supplies, how long to fix the ship?" Annabeth continues.

"With luck, just a few hours."

"Fine," the blonde girl gets up. "We'll meet you back here as soon as possible, but stay safe. We could use some good luck. That doesn't mean we'll get it."

"I don't need luck, Annabeth," Ara seizes Almighty and stares at the symbols on it, the needle is completely still. "Just a deadline."

Next Chapter ->

Taglist.

@siriuslysirius1107 @ask-giggles1303 @asnyox-the-hoarder @im-planning-something-look @bandshirts-andbooks @coolninjapaper @thewaterlily @whenisthefall @1randomcomic @you-bloody-shank @sunflowergraves @owlalex44 @taylordaughter @typicalsolangelolover @writingmia @espressopatronum454 @slytherinnqueen @orbitingpolaris @obxstiles

#twoidiots writing #pjo fanfic #leo valdez x oc #leo valdez fanfic #doo #percy jackson and the olympians #heroes of olympus

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