#un-edited un-beta'd

[vancekilo]

The Last Stop Before the End of the World, Chapter 1

It hadn't stormed in Aravice in weeks. When the first few droplets of rain finally hit the white cobblestones, everyone in the city breathed a sigh of relief. Maeve was among them, though she'd only been in Aravice for a few hours. 

She'd led her horse through the white gate, sweating and cursing the weather. The first few drops had fallen then, and her mood had improved. 

It was as though the rain was greeting her - and it was probably the friendliest thing about Aravice. Despite the late hour and the downpour, there were still crowds of people clustered everywhere. Aravice was a city of white, with most of the color coming from awnings that covered the streets, allowing alcohol soaked patrons to stumble through relatively dry. Some of them had tried to grab at Maeve's coin purse but she'd weaved out of their reach. It was strange that despite her father's work as a problem solver for the queen, Maeve had always been taught that anyone could be of use; there was no sense in alienating a potential ally just because he cut a few purse strings. For this reason she didn't report any of them, though she did give them her best glare.

Maeve was used to the small town hospitality of the Draewood. People in Aravice had a place to be and no patience for anyone in their way.  She was pretty sure she actually had a bruise on both shoulders from people pushing past her. It was a little easier once she boarded her horse.

Maeve got tired of the chaos and slipped down an alley. It wasn't covered like the rest of the streets, but the poor of Aravice didn't have the benefit of wide open spaces. The buildings loomed overhead like a dark canopy of trees. The slums were painted white just like the rest of the city but heavy shadows hung over everything, casting the buildings in grays and blacks. A few of the new "electric" lamps had found their way into the dark alleys, though they did very little to chase away the shadows. The lamplighters were relieved they no longer had to risk their lives to light alleys very few entered. Or rather, very few left.

Still, the oppressive buildings managed to keep Maeve mostly dry as she walked through. She was meant to be meeting her mentor in a different part of the city, but the blasted place was a maze. Destane was an interesting old man. He was still handsome, too, in that old man kind of way; salt and pepper hair and a world-weary kind of experience. 

It helped that he was the complete opposite of Maeve's father, Jasper. Destane had promised to never lie to Maeve and as far as she knew, he never had. Jasper found new ways to lie almost daily despite the fact that he loved nothing more than to send his children into terrible danger.

Not that, truth be told, Maeve didn't like the danger. But the lies were annoying. 

The sounds of fighting hit Maeve's ears before the smell of blood. She wrinkled her nose as she crept through one of the dark alleys. Who would be fighting at this time of night? In the rain? The city was so strange.

Creeping low, she pushed past laundry lines that hung nearly into the dirt and boxes of unknown contents. She peaked over a half-wall into an open area. "Open" was relative, but it was the most space she'd seen in the slums. Men, some stripped to the waist, stood in a circle. A few looked injured but they all seemed large and scarred. Maeve was used to seeing bare flesh but there was a lot of it...

"Like what you see?" said a voice and Maeve nearly jumped out of her skin. It took a strangely long amount of time for her to see the source. He melted out of the shadows like ink. Tall, thin, and pretty. The prettiest man that Maeve had ever seen; his eyelashes were thicker than hers. Black hair and pale skin (almost blue) and a sharp grin. 

His hands were on her before Maeve could even think, but the grip was gentle. Strong as a vice, but gentle. She could still reach her sword if needed, though. 

"I don't know what I'm seeing," she said finally. He rested his chin on her head and pressed her against his chest.

"My brother," he answered, "is going to win."

There were two people in the middle of the circle. One was a bull of a man, a soldier or gladiator, body like steel and thick with fat. The other was as thin as Maeve. He had long dark hair and thick purple circles under his eyes, as though he never slept. His dark skin was smooth and unmarked. The only possible evidence that he'd ever been in a fight before was a slight crook to his handsome nose.

"Is your brother the big one?" Maeve asked.

"No." Maeve felt a cheeky grin pressed into her skull and his fingers on the hem of her blouse, above her belt.

The fight was intense. There didn't seem to be any rules beyond no weaponry. 

The skinny one moved like lightning and never quite seemed to be where a blow would land. He seemed more interested in wearing down the other man rather than using any energy to hit back. His clothes, all silk, bled out of the bigger man's hands when he tried to get a grip. 

"What's your name?" asked the man above Maeve.

"Maeve. What's yours?" she answered. The big man had roared. He was getting angry. He had managed to clip his opponent in the shoulder. A single landed hit in a thousand misses. This did nothing but make the smaller man start to fight back harder. Despite his thin wrists, he hit like a viper.

"Salem. That's Halden. What brings such a nice girl to such a terrible place?"

"Work."

The hand on her belt tried to go lower but she stopped it.

"Not that kind of work. I'm a mercenary. I have a sword." She rolled her eyes though she knew he couldn't see it.

His hands found her hips instead. "Dangerous times. I'm not gonna judge."

Dangerous times indeed. Halden had started to fight back. The bigger man was out of energy. He took breaths in great gasps. Halden feinted and got him in the gut, then brought his elbow up to the man's nose. With a crack, he broke it. Blood poured into the man's mouth but any retaliation was stopped as one of the other men in the circle came up and grabbed Halden's hand, holding it aloft as victor.

"Undefeated again, you little stick insect," said the man who'd intervened. He threw a coin purse at Halden. Halden's opponent was left to lie in the rain, bloodied and embarrassed, as Halden strutted up to Maeve and Salem.

He finally seemed to notice her, eyes on her hips and breasts. "Salem, what did I tell you about..."

"I have a sword!"

Annoyed, Maeve grabbed Salem's wrist and twisted. He was very strong, but surprise was on her side and she managed to wriggle from his grip.

 Halden shrugged his uninjured shoulder. "Dangerous times," he pointed out, divvying up the gold and throwing Salem half.

From somewhere, Salem produced a white hat. The brim was large, small beads decorating the edge. The top was pointed, like a witch's hat, though it was too clean for that. Salem slapped it onto Halden's head as he pulled his shirt and top robe back on. 

"So, where you headed, pretty one?" Salem asked. He grunted when Halden punched him.

"Sorry, he's a raging stereotype. But same question?" Halden asked. 

"Oh, I'm looking for the fountain disrict," she said, ignoring that being called pretty had turned her face red. "Destane Sidorov. He has a shop there."

"Oh, you're way off. That's north almost to the castle," Salem said.

"Well, fountains. I thought it'd be in the middle," she answered, hoping her blunder explained the redness. It was also embarrassing, though not as much as the compliment. "Can you point me in the right direction?"

 There was a moment where the brothers stared into each other's eyes, a silent conversation. The significance was missed by Maeve, and she didn't feel right asking.

"We'll do you better." Salem linked an arm under Maeve's and gestured for Halden to do so on her other side. When he didn't, Salem rolled his eyes and just began walking. "We'll be your gentleman escorts."

Halden tipped his hat at her and followed.

[sesshy380]

Been playing around with an idea, and I want opinions. The beginning of my TKB 2nd chance has been done for a while now, and I would love to publish it...but there are few things holding me back.

First is that I am completely at a loss for a title, otherwise I would've already thrown it on AO3 with a little 'I have no idea when other chapters will be added' note.

Second is that I literally have no idea when chapters will be added.

So here's an alternative idea: Throw each chapter as I finish them on here until either A: I figure out a title, or B: I've finished the whole thing.

I know people like to click things, and I haven't completed my 'Make a Poll' self-achievement, so here goes. Setting duration for 1 day because alternative is 1 week and I don't think it needs to run that long.

[thepixelelf]

...............not even close

[bearsinpotatosacks]

Tagged by @sweetwhispersofchaos thanks for the tag!

I'll tag @pollyna @compacflt and anyone else who wants to

[charmandabear]

Office Hours - Chapter Ten

Summary:

It's bowling time! You and the gang get a little closer over this highly unsexy game. Definitely no sexy things will happen in this chapter. No, don't look at the tags. Stop, what are you doing.

Pairing: Astarion/f!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 4.3k

Tags/Warnings: thigh riding, dry humping, rough kisses, fantasies of bondage, cumming in pants, vampire bites/blood drinking, conversations about academic research, semi-public semi-sex

So I didn't actually mean to wait a week and a half between posting chapter 10 on AO3 and posting it here, but as a result, I can tell you that the un-beta'd chapter 11 is now up on my Kofi! You can read it for free, or you can wait until it's fully edited on AO3. Up to you, guy.

As always, @zipzoomzaria is responsible for the devastatingly handsome professor in the banner.

Read on AO3 ~ Masterlist

Admittedly, you kind of delight in the look on Astarion’s face as you cross the threshold into the bowling alley. His nose wrinkles while his eyes dart around the space, cataloging everything from the stained black and neon rainbow carpet, to the bored employee sitting in front of rows and rows of dirty rental shoes, to the group of noisy teengers eating nachos covered with a thick liquid cheese.

He lets out a low growl and you giggle, almost giddy at the evening ahead of you. There is absolutely no chance in hell you’ll be able to do anything even remotely sexual in this environment. You grab his hand and drag him over to the shoe rental.

“Hi, can I get a 7 ½?” you ask the employee, and they languidly pull their chin off their hand and turn around to grab the shoes.  Astarion hovers behind you, still uncomfortably taking everything in. You take the shoes from the employee and drop them in front of you, stepping out of your flats and into the bowling shoes.

“Ugh, gods, I don't know why you insist on taking part in this,” he says with a sneer, well within earshot of the employee, whose eyes have already started to glaze back over. “It’s not enough to put your fingers into a grease-coated ball, you choose to play dress up with a hundred other people’s feet?”

“I mean I wouldn’t choose to, I just have to if I want to actually do the bowling part of it,” you tell him as you wiggle your ankle to get the shoe to settle.

“Sorry, what?”

You had been waiting for this moment and you try to hide your glee as you say, “Yeah, you have to rent special shoes so you don’t fuck up the floor.”

His face remains frozen for a moment in a look of utter disgust as he processes what you said. “So you’re telling me,” he drawls, waving his finger like a disgruntled valley girl, “that in order to play this asinine game that you’re making me play, I must pay money to let my feet bask in the foot sweat residue of several hundred strangers?”

“You also have to leave your shoes with them while they’re rented,” you add, handing your flats over to the employee, who slips them in the cubby whence they retrieved your rental shoes. Astarion splutters incoherently.

“That’s it, you’ve lost me, this was a very cute idea but I am absolut–” You grab his hand as he starts storming away and pull him back towards the rental counter.

“C’mon, it’ll be fun, I promise!” You grasp his hand in both of yours, an exaggerated gesture of a pleading child. “Just do it for me, please?”

He scowls at your beaming face for a moment before rolling his eyes and approaching the counter again.

“I’ll take a 9 ½,” he grumbles through gritted teeth. The employee continues to display an almost impressive amount of apathy as they grab the requested size. Astarion makes a show of his disgust as he takes off his patent leather oxfords and puts on the grubby shoes that were presumably red and blue at one point. 

“I’m going to fucking kill you,” he mutters out of the side of his mouth and your grin widens.

“You absolutely will not,” you tease. He stands suddenly, closer than you had realized, and looms over you.

“Would you like to test that theory?” he hums in a low voice, and your breath catches in your throat. He turns away from your reddening face with a smug sense of satisfaction as he hands his shoes to the employee. He starts to walk away when their voice interrupts him.

“Sir, you need to pay for those,” they call out halfheartedly. He turns around to you, just staring back innocently.

“Oh, I’m paying,” he confirms blankly, and you shrug.

“You’re the one with tenure, you make more than me,” you state matter-of-factly. He scowls again but doesn’t protest, and instead just taps his phone on the pin pad.

You scan the lanes to see if you can spot any of your friends. Gale sees you and waves you over to where he and Wyll are sitting together stiffly. Shadowheart and Karlach aren’t here yet. 

“Hello, there,” he calls, grateful to see faces he recognizes. A paper boat of fries sits on the table between them, along with two plastic cups of water.

“Any word from Karlach?” you ask Wyll, leaning over the hard plastic bench to grab a fry.

“She apologized, she said they’d be here soon,” he replies, glancing at the text from her.

“Took them longer to get ready than they expected,” you say with a grin, and Wyll clears his throat, cheeks darkening slightly.

“Oh Tav, have you caught up with If Books?” Gale asks you, taking off his glasses to clean them with his knit sweater vest.

“Yes, I couldn’t stop listening to it,” you reply enthusiastically, “some episodes have been very illuminating.” You cast a quick glance at Astarion and he petulantly shoves his hands into his pockets and shuffles his feet. “But it’s so hard waiting for each new one,” you add, and Gale nods.

“Yes, and they’ve switched from a bimonthly schedule to a monthly schedule, so the wait is even longer,” he agrees.

“What’s up, fuckers?” Karlach’s voice booms across the lanes and Astarion mutters, “Oh thank the gods,” under his breath. Shadowheart and Karlach saunter over, Karlach double fisting pitchers of a pale amber beer. She puts them down onto the table, only one of them sloshing beer over the edge. Shadowheart narrows her eyes at Astarion, sizing him up.

“Shade, this is Astarion, Astarion, this is my best friend Shadowheart,” you awkwardly introduce them to try to cut the tension as early as possible.

“Yes, I’m aware,” Shadowheart says with disdain, looking down her nose at Astarion. “I’ve heard plenty about you.”

“Only the best, I’m sure,” he lobs back. “Funny, I don’t think she’s mentioned you.” You shoot Astarion a dirty look as Shadowheart’s eyebrows disappear into her bangs. You can tell that she’s unaccustomed to sparring with someone who has as much snark as her, but the verdict is still out on whether or not it’s a good thing.

Oblivious to the heated standoff behind her, Karlach types away at the console, putting in slightly wrong initials for everyone and giggling maniacally as she does. In order, the names say ASS, TAV, CAR, SAD, GIL, and WIL.

“Soldier over here’s lucky, her name is already three letters,” she laughs and winks at you. Astarion fiddles with the roll of his sleeve and looks at the ball return with apprehension.

“I suppose my ‘ass’ is first?” He hits Karlach with the look over the glasses and she throws her head back, cackling like a hyena. 

“Good on ya, Cardigan, there’s a sense of humor under that mop after all.” She kicks the toe of her red and white shoe at him from where she’s sitting, but he dodges out of the way. He walks up to the ball return and shudders before he decides on one, visibly gagging as he picks it up.

“Okay you drama queen, we get it, it’s gross,” you laugh at him, “now just knock as many pins down as you can, okay?”

“That much would seem obvious,” he smirks, and walks up to the edge of the lane. He glances back at you one last time, almost as if he’s assessing if you’re really worth the humiliation, before throwing the ball down the lane. It glides towards the pins in a smooth straight line before crashing into their pyramid, knocking over all but one. He stares at the lone pin in shock as you and Karlach whoop at him.

“Hey, you might actually be good at this game after all!” you shout as he walks back to the bench, looking just a little more pleased with himself. He’s about to sit down when you stop him, saying, “No, you get two frames.” He looks back down at the end of the lane just in time to see the mechanical arm sweep away the fallen pins and leave the remaining one standing. He makes a dramatic show of sighing heavily and picks up the ball again. He approaches the lane, calculates the pathing, and throws the ball. It knocks down the last pin.

“Okay Ancunín, comin’ in hot with the spare!” Karlach laughs and he puffs his chest slightly at the compliment. “I think you might need a better nickname than Cardigan.”

“Gods please, I’ll take anything,” he begs, and you stand up to grab a ball.

“Perhaps Dr. Bowling?” Wyll pipes up, and Gale adds, “A doctorate in Bowling Studies with a concentration in spares and strikes?” Astarion’s scowl is icy, but even you can tell he’s having fun.

“I’ve spoken too quickly,” he says, gritting his teeth.

You find that the six of you get along quite well. The conversation is easy and light as you cycle through your turns, laughs flowing between you as freely as the terrible watery beer.  

You take a gulp from your plastic cup, your legs draped over Astarion’s lap as Gale takes his turn. Astarion scoffs at the smell.

“Nine hells, how can you possibly drink that piss?” He turns his face away from the yellowish liquid. 

“I don’t know, I have low standards for myself?” you answer with a shrug. 

Shadowheart lets out a high pitch giggle. “Clearly, considering you’re dating him,” she snickers, and Astarion fixes her with a playfully snide look.

“Big talk coming from someone who needs aloe vera after a romantic evening,” he retorts with pursed lips. Shadowheart tries to suppress a smile – talking shit is her love language.

“At least she and I agree to it prior,” she says coolly, and Astarion goes even paler than usual. He shoots you a nervous glance, a sort of are we allowed to joke about that? But you laugh and take another sip of your beer, surreptitiously rubbing the back of his hand resting on your knee in assurance.

You’re enjoying watching Shadowheart and Karlach navigate the awkward early stages of the relationship. Shadowheart has her hands clasped around her knee, bent in front of her as her foot rests on the plastic bench. Karlach’s arm is draped across the back of the bench, leaving enough plausible deniability as to whether or not her arm is actually around Shadowheart. You suspect by the end of the evening, it’ll be less ambiguous.

“So tell me, Gale,” Wyll asks as Gale waits by the ball return. “I’ve never met a wizard with a PhD, what was your research in?”

“I’m so glad you asked, because I think you in particular would find use of it,” he responds enthusiastically. “It was in ethical uses of high powered spells. There’s a stigma around mortals chasing too much power, but I feel very strongly that some spells simply have no downside.”

Astarion quirks an eyebrow, his hand absentmindedly playing with the ends of your hair.

“I wouldn’t have pegged you for someone who’s power hungry, Dekarios,” he says with a smirk, and Gale emphatically shakes his head.

“No, the power isn’t for me, it’s for– well, hold on.” He quickly grabs his ball from the return and throws it down the lane. It hits the gutter within seconds.

“Too bad!” Karlach calls, her arm slipping ever so slightly around Shadowheart’s shoulders a bit more.

“It’s fine. Anyway.” Gale is quick to return to the benches, excited to talk about his research. “I strongly feel that Globe of Invulnerability, Heal, and Heroes’ Feast simply have no downside. We should implement systems in which they can be used for the greater good.” 

“Fascinating. Do doctors not already use Heal in hospitals?” Wyll muses, then turns to Shadowheart as he stands to take his turn. “Shadowheart, you’re a cleric of Selûne, you must use Heal all the time.”

Shadowheart shakes her head. “We’re not permitted to use anything more powerful than Mass Cure Wounds, and even then it’s only in the most dire situations, like war zones. I don’t even know how to perform it.”

“See, this is precisely what I’m saying! Imagine all the good that we could do if there were more medical professionals who knew Mass Cure Wounds and Heal.” Gale gesticulates wildly with his almost empty cup of beer. 

“Heroes’ Feast could end world hunger in a matter of minutes!” Wyll nearly shouts from the lane right before he bowls his second frame, almost as excited as Gale.

“Yes!” Gale returns the excitement and then downs the last sip of his beer. “In fact, I think many of these high level spells are outlawed in some countries without even considering how they might impact our society.”

“Hey Ass, you’re up,” Wyll calls, heading back to the bench. 

“Darling, could you move your legs?” he asks you, his tone saccharine. You make a show of deliberating, holding your finger to your chin.

“Hmmm, I’m not sure. Wyll, who’s winning right now?” you call out to him and he speaks through the fry in his mouth.

“Ashtarion,” he mumbles.

“Yeah, I don’t think I will move,” you smirk obstinately, pushing your calves down into his lap. He raises his eyebrows at your challenge, peering at you over his glasses. He grabs your ankles and sharply turns you in your seat, his rough handling sending a subtle jolt through your core.

“Don’t pick a fight you can’t win, love,” he hums, his lips barely brushing against yours. He stands and turns towards the lane, leaving you slightly breathless. Karlach and Shadowheart titter at your dazed expression, the distance between them having all but disappeared.

Astarion gets yet another strike, and you briefly wonder how this English academic got so dexterous before remembering the feel of his long smooth fingers working inside you. You blink several times to banish the needlessly dirty thought as he turns around with an insufferably pompous look on his face, his newly discovered talent feeding his already overinflated ego. You try to play it cool as you stand and walk toward the ball return, but he blocks your body with his. You look up at him and he runs his knuckle up the front of your throat, stopping it right under your chin.

“Don’t choke,” he purrs and you press your lips together tightly to prevent an embarrassing noise from escaping. You shake your hair over your ears to cover how red they’ve become, but you’re certain your cheeks still give you away. You grab a ball and throw it down the lane, hardly aware of how many pins it knocks down. You stare into the ball return with glazed eyes as you watch your pink ball slide out of its mouth. You grab it, barely registering the shouts of encouragement from the others, and throw it down the lane as quickly as you can. You turn around before seeing the outcome of the frame, your mind occupied by one solitary thought.

“Excuse me, I’m going to run to the restroom,” you mumble, wrapping around behind the plastic benches as Karlach stands to take her turn. As discreetly as possible, you run your fingers across Astarion’s shoulders as you pass behind him. If you’re lucky, he’ll get the hint. If not… well, you need to take a breather anyway.

You duck into the hallway branching off the main lanes and settle yourself behind an ancient payphone. You have no idea if it’s meant to be kitschy and retro or simply a relic of a bygone era. You take a deep breath as you try to clear your head.

It didn't take long for Astarion to swing around the corner, grabbing your face in his hands and pushing you up against the wood-paneled wall. His lips are hard on yours and his fingers tangle in your hair – a roughness you’re all too happy to accept. You grasp at his lower waist, pulling his body further into yours. Your lips pop open as a small moan escapes when his knee slides up between your legs, pressing against your already aching mound.

“I thought this was meant to dampen our appetites,” he murmurs through breathless kisses. You clutch the back of his head as you grind down wantonly on his thigh.

“It’s not my fault you get fucking hot when you’re competitive, ah–” you swallow the moan as he slides his chilled hands up the back of your shirt, pressing into the dip just above your ass.

“I take it you like seeing me win?” You can feel his lips smiling against your earlobe, and you let out a small squeak when he gives it a gentle nip.

“I like seeing you cocky,” you groan, desperately chasing the friction that his thigh provides. He chuckles and pushes his leg up further into you, causing you to grunt through your teeth and pull on his hair as you try to keep the obscene noises that he’s tearing from you under control.

“Tell me how else you like me,” he rasps, and you can feel his erection pressing against your thigh. 

“I like it when you’re domineering,” your voice cracks as you continue to roll your hips against him. “I like when you tell me what to do. I like it when you’re just a little mean but even more when you tell me I’m a good girl.”

His hips buck against you and you shift on top of his leg, trying to relieve your own throbbing cunt while rubbing your leg against the bulge in his pants. His lips are still on your ear and he lets out a hissing breath when you lightly brush against his cock.

“You are my good girl, don’t stop.” His breath is cool against your skin and he runs the tip of his tongue along the shell of your ear, pulling a deep shudder from you. You can already feel how wet he’s made you, and if he keeps this up you might just come undone.

“I want you to put your hand around my throat when you fuck me,” you whine, your slick folds sliding against each other as he grinds his thigh into you. “I want you to put me in a collar and hold the leash tight and tell me I’m yours.” The fantasy is pouring out of you at this point. You’re hardly aware of your surroundings, all that matters is you and Astarion.

You can tell your words are affecting him, too. The rutting of his hips grow frantic and you tighten your hand in his hair and you can feel that familiar spiraling heat blooming out from your core.

“Gods, Astarion, I’m–” you mewl, fully riding his leg at this point. “Please bite me, I want you to bite me, I’m begging–” The moment his fangs sink into your flesh you come, your hand pressed tight over your mouth to muffle the sound, your hips stuttering with each rippling wave of pleasure. As he takes long dragging sips of your blood he makes barely audible whimpers into your neck, his hips still thrusting into your thigh. You bring your hands to his ear, gently pinching his velvety lobe between your fingers.

“Fuck, come for me Astarion,” you whisper into his hair, and it’s enough. He inhales sharply through his nose, teeth still latched onto your neck, and the rest of him stills, save a few subtle jerks of his hips as he spills inside his pants. You let out a breathy chuckle as you card your fingers through his hair affectionately. He pulls away from your neck and you’re blessed with one of your favorite sights – his lips slightly bloody, his eyes wild and frenzied, his chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. You kiss him, lapping up the metallic droplets from his lips, and he lets out a shuddering breath.

“I do so love it when you do that, you know,” he sighs, and you stifle a giggle.

“Make you come in your pants?” you tease.

“No– well, yes, I mean– I mean no!” he stammers, uncharacteristically flustered, and you hum with approval. “No, when you kiss me just after I’ve fed on you. It makes me feel… closer to you, I suppose.”

“Plus I bet it’s, like, really sexy,” you joke, skating over his sincerity, afraid of what you might accidentally say in response. You’re so not ready to write a check that you can’t cash.

“Yes, it is,” he murmurs and kisses you again, unphased by your deflection.

As though an impenetrable barrier had been lifted, someone rounds the corner to head to the bathroom and the two of you straighten up like you didn’t just dry hump like a couple of horny teenagers. You try to tidy your appearances, but there’s no accounting for the noticeable stain on the front of Astarion’s pants. He pinches the bridge of his nose, his glasses sliding up onto his forehead.

“I can’t believe you… ugh. I can’t be seen by the others like this.” He sighs deeply, the consequences of both of your actions finally catching up to him. You bite your lip guiltily, then suddenly gasp, recalling the machine you’ve seen in hundreds of restrooms throughout your life but never had any use for.

“Do you have a quarter?” you ask him frantically, and he stares at you, completely flummoxed.

“No, who carries cash anymore? What, why do–” You’re gone before he can finish his sentence, dashing around the corner to find Shadowheart. Karlach sees you first, and her face lights up as she waves her whole arm at you.

“Hey, we were just about to send out a search party,” she laughs as you round the corner of the benches.

“Itoldthemnotto,” Gale adds quickly, and you appreciate that he learned his lesson from last time. Shadowheart strides up to you and grabs your chin, pulling it to the side to expose your neck.

“Ugh, Tav, you shouldn’t drive when you’re like this,” she groans. “Te absolvo.” She flicks your forehead as she casts the spell and you flinch before a sheepish grin slides onto your face. 

“Hey, where’s Astarion?” Karlach asks, making like she’s going to head towards the bathrooms to look for him. You grab her arm before she can get too far.

“No no, don’t worry about that,” you speak frenetically, “Does anyone have a quarter?”

“Who even carries cash anymore?” Karlach asks with a bemused face, but Shadowheart glowers at you.

“Why, what do you need it for?” she asks through gritted teeth.

“Don’t worry about it,” you mumble, and she rolls her eyes. She grabs her purse and pulls out a sleek black leather wallet embossed with a crescent moon. “I only have ones,” she says, and you yank the bill out of her hand.

“That’s fine thanks love you be right back.” You take off with her dollar and make a beeline for the change machine near the arcade. After several attempts to flatten the bill enough for the machine to accept it, you hear four clangs as the quarters drop into the metal tray. You quickly scoop them out and run back to the hallway outside the bathrooms where poor Astarion is pretending to talk on the payphone.

“Where in the sweet hells did you go?” he hisses, and you finally get a good look at his appearance. His hair is still slightly disheveled, and he’s untucked his shirt to let it hang over the wet spot on the front of his trousers. You don’t answer him, but rather grab his wrist and duck into the women’s restroom that is, thankfully, empty.

You turn to the metal machine hanging off the wall that dispenses three invaluable items for a bowling alley bathroom: tampons, condoms, and scrolls of prestidigitation. You drop a quarter into the slot above the third item, crank the knob, and out falls a tightly rolled scroll.

“They’re usually for mothers to clean up after they’re done changing their baby’s diaper,” you say, nodding your head towards the plastic baby changing station. “But clearly they have other uses. Infame.” You recite the spell’s incantation and the scroll vanishes along with the stain on Astarion’s pants. He lets out a sigh of relief.

“Thank the Gods.” He unbuckles his belt and begins to tuck his shirt back into his pants. “You owe me,” he adds wryly.

“Um excuse me, who just traipsed all over just to hunt down a goddamn quarter so you could clean up after yourself?” you pout and he slides his hands around your waist.

“But who’s responsible for getting me into this mess in the first place?” he hums in a low voice, brushing his lips against yours. You’re about to melt into his kiss when suddenly the door to the restroom opens and a bewildered looking halfling walks in. You and Astarion spring apart and he quickly redoes his belt buckle. You embarrassedly shuffle out the door without a word.

The two of you reemerge to see all of your friends waiting impatiently by the shoe rental. Your and Astarion’s shoes have already been removed from their cubbies and the employee is just waiting for you to return the bowling shoes. The two of you jog over, and Shadowheart rolls her eyes as you approach.

“Fucking degenerates,” she mutters under her breath, grabbing Karlach’s hand and storming out the door.

[ker0senebunny]

walking on a string✫*ﾟ･ﾟ

steve harrington x fem!cheerleader!reader

part two -- after much anticipation, PART TWO IS HERE!

summary: steve leads on cheerleader!reader, thinking that her affection is insincere. after all, he’s a loser now. what could she possibly want from him? (angst, fluff)

warnings: language, angst, fluff, no use of y/n, afab!reader, fem!reader, un-beta'd, all characters are 18+

word count: 2,787

notes: ahh my first fic!! this is inspired by the song walking on a string :)) also steve is a lil insecure n angsty because the duffer brothers apparently won't let him express his insecurities or trauma!! so i did that. he deserves a hug and i hope our cheerleader!reader can give that to him. i have a part 2 lined up so lmk if u would wanna see that!! enjoy xox

p.s. i may or may not have finished editing this while dyeing my hair

i think about you walking on a string.

it always brings me back here.

you had been to family video every day that week (so far), and for steve harrington, that was weird. mega weird.

steve had always noticed you at parties, even if you weren't directly looking at him. you would come in with a troupe of cheerleaders, the hairspray practically sliding off of them in waves. you emerged from the cloud of crunchy hair and denim jackets with a softness that only you could possess. you looked as if you were made of gossamer - silken and perfect.

but that was when he was king steve: someone more worthy of you. someone who meant something. now, he’s just steve who works at family video and parents six children in his spare time.

so yeah. all your light touches and eyes skating across his lips was definitely all in his head.

that week, you'd come into family video at least five times. and every time, you asked to see steve. even if he was in the back, you would wait for him in front of the counter, drumming your manicured nails on the smudgy surface, looking around with wide, innocent eyes. today, you'd come to actually return a tape. you left him notes whenever you returned a tape, always signed with your name and a cloud of hearts. he swore he could smell your perfume on the paper.

it all started after the mall burned down. when you walked in to that miserable family video store, steve didn’t even notice you. “welcome to family video, how can i-” he droned, flipping through a magazine. he’d been working there for barely two weeks and he was already sick of it. at least he got free ice cream at scoops. all he had here was...keith. what made it even worse was the fact that robin was sick on this particular day. something about a "totally rancid stomach bug." steve shuddered just thinking about it. so now, he had nobody to banter with to pass the time. “steve?” you said, surprise evident in your open smile. his head snapped up immediately and was met with your gentle eyes.

“hi,” he breathed out.

“hi,” you gave in a giggly reply.

it was silent for a little bit. you were holding pretty in pink in your manicured hand. before he could ask you if that’s all you wanted, your hand that wasn't holding the tape was over his, squeezing it with every ounce of comfort you could transfer to him. “i heard about the fire at the mall. i’m so, so sorry that happened to you. it must’ve been so scary!”

he couldn’t tell if you were fucking with him. after all, you were still socially relevant in this dismal little town. he was the horror story told to incoming freshmen, a story of failure.

his gaze skirted around your pretty face; he saw part of the cheer squad waiting in a car outside. they were looking inside the store not so conspicuously and giggling. his eyes narrowed. yeah, he knew he was right; why would you be talking to him?

“yeah, well, at least i still have a job,” he quipped sarcastically. the scent emanating from your soft skin and your cardigan was making him dizzy. he found himself in a rush to get you away from him as soon as possible. he wanted to avoid whatever humiliation could be coming next. “will that be all?” he gestured to the tape. you seemed startled as you removed your hand from his. he already craved the warmth you gave him. “oh, yeah! i’m sorry to bring that up, by the way. i just wanted to make sure that you’re doing alright.” he hummed and registered the rental in the system, trying to ignore your presence less than a foot away from him. “just return it next friday,” he said, already turning back to his magazine. he felt a little bad, sure, because out of the corner of his eye, he could see you deflate. you became a little more subdued because of him. his dad was right - nobody wanted to be around him.

he hadn’t even realized that he’d zoned out until your fingers brushed against his once again.

you seemed to notice the shift in him, though, and the tender smile returned to your face as you took the tape from his hands. “it was really nice seeing you, steve. i’ve missed you,” you said before giving him a kiss on the cheek and slipping out the door. he was left mid page-turn, plump lips agape.

and of course robin wasn’t there to see it.

you were the current co-head cheerleader at hawkins. you were chrissy cunningham’s best friend. you were the top of the pyramid, all tiny crop tops and skirts that showed the cusp of your ass. you smelled like jasmine and citrus and god, were you pretty. supple skin, graceful eyelashes, a lush mouth. steve knew that you most definitely tasted like sweet almond cookies, soft on his tongue. he knew that you rented pretty in pink almost every friday, when he thought you would be partying. he knew that you were too good for him. so why the hell did you keep coming in to talk to him?

for weeks after that, you returned every friday to rent pretty in pink. you always stayed to talk with steve, and he felt his hard exterior start to slip away. you laughed at all his dumb jokes, even staying past closing to keep him company as he reorganized the incoming tapes. you brought him lunch with lovey-dovey notes that he definitely didn’t store in his wallet. he invited you over for movie nights — a weekly occurrence for the two of you. he’d even introduced you to his gaggle of freshmen. but in the back of his mind, he knew that you were just pulling him along on a frail string — and it was surely about to snap.

but even through all of that, coming in five times in one week was a lot.

the bell at the door jingled, taking steve out of his reverie. it was getting colder in hawkins — the last of the nice weather before the bitter chill of winter set in.

he took a breath and slid himself behind the counter as he saw you walk in. he could’ve sworn that you perked up, chin rising and hair shifting to show off your kissable neck as you fluttered over. stop it, he commanded himself in his head.

you smiled as you approached him, a sheen to your cheeks and the slope of your nose. “hi, steve,” you said, a little breathless. the light bent around you in a way that gave you a natural glow. steve could swear that he heard a choir singing somewhere. he shook himself into the present. “hey sweetheart, what’s up?” he said, reminding himself to play it cool. be neutral. you looked down, hands flattening your white skirt. you suddenly felt your cheeks warm. “i was just wondering if you’re going to be at the pep rally next week?” you looked so hopeful, standing on your tippytoes to lean over the counter. steve could see the tops of your tits as they threatened to spill out of your pink scoop-neck top.

he was shocked that he, steve harrington, new resident nothing of hawkins, was being asked out by the prettiest girl in his deadbeat town. this had to be some sort of sick joke that nicole and amanda put you up to. he smirked at you, plan in motion. if you wanted to play it that way with all the tiny tops and touching and the way you smell like apricot scrub…well, he’s getting off topic. the point is, steve harrington needed to play you right back.

“yeah, of course i’ll be there.”

he winced behind his smile. you beamed up at him.

into the garden, by the hand.

you’ve always had me,

walking on a string.

you were co-head cheerleader, that was true. but you also had a hopelessly huge crush on steve harrington, something your friends teased you over a lot. especially chelsea. the only person who ever defended you was chrissy, your best friend. chrissy always placed your hand in hers as a motion of comfort, a crinkle in between her brows as she told the cheer squad to, “back off! it’s not like bradley dunkirk is any better.” the other girls tittered in laughter as chelsea hid her flaming cheeks in her pompoms. you shook your head at chelsea and chrissy’s repartee as your eyes searched the bleachers. it was the day of the pep rally — the positively perfect time to show off your cheering prowess. your skirt was hiked up a little extra; your top was your smaller one from sophomore year that made your boobs perk up and almost overflow through the v-cut.

your pompoms wilted in your clammy hands as you scanned the gym, searching for that swoon-worthy warm grin and floppy hair. you eventually spotted him mouthing something to robin. they laughed through their own secret language and you felt a sinking pressure descend on your chest.

but then robin said something, gesturing toward you with a nod of her head. he looked up and over, eyes alert and looking for someone. his gaze rested on you, a pensive neutrality washed over his face. you rustled your pompoms playfully at him as you smiled, skirt swinging and exposing more of your thighs. steve swallowed as he saw the fabric rise, but then he just gave you a polite, closed-lip smile and looked back at robin, who was gesturing wildly at him.

your pompoms drooped and you frowned. he’d been weird the entire week, avoiding you, brushing off your coy smiles and flirty touches. you were overjoyed that he came and were looking forward to seeing his cute little dimples, but he didn’t seem to want anything to do with you. you sagged in your tennis shoes until chrissy tapped your shoulder and signaled that it was time to start.

your routine went perfectly. but as you stood on your teammates' shoulders and smiled at the roaring crowd, your mind was elsewhere. steve was clapping for you, but his eyes didn’t hold the usual mirth that they did. you thought that the two of you were building up to something. he couldn’t be that dense, you thought to yourself. surely all the love notes and smiles and jokes made him realize that you liked him. a lot. a LOT a lot. at the very least, you thought you were friends.

you’d liked steve since freshman year. you were barely a teenager, a fresh-faced fourteen year old who sucked her braces when she was nervous. you saw him in the parking lot, all boyish smiles and strong hands. you immediately liked the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed. they crinkled, but they stayed open — so that he could still take in the face of whoever he was speaking with. you liked that he was considerate, that he held the library door open for you even as his date rolled his eyes for “helping a stupid little frosh.” you disappeared into the background for that first year, as you watched his life collapse in on itself.

but then sophomore year came and you blossomed. chrissy cunningham was in your english class. you two were partnered up to read a scene from macbeth and couldn’t do it without laughing. you knew that day, that she was going to be your best friend. then, the two of you were suddenly trying out for cheer. you got your braces taken off. your hair and a new healthy shine to it. people looked your way as you walked arm in arm with chrissy, ponytails bouncing in unison.

you’d always been afraid to speak to steve. sure, he was nicer than most popular kids (to you, at least) — but he was just so cute. and that made it all the more impossible to approach him. you remember how you felt your heart clench after you heard he and nancy broke up. he seemed to really love her, but a selfish part of you itched at the chance to have your shot.

that summer, when he was working at the mall, you barely had the courage to step inside scoops ahoy, even though amanda and bridget begged you to go with them. you knew robin from your history class. she was funny and sweet and a welcome surprise as you stepped into the ice cream shop. you walked up to the counter with a sway in your hips that ensured that people looked at your ass in those tiny denim cutoffs. you, robin, and your friends joked for a bit about your upcoming senior year. they were discussing something about a new culture club song when you looked to your right.

steve was laying on the charm while serving two girls from your school. you felt your stomach twist in jealousy. you looked at your sweet red converse and didn’t even notice robin asking for your order. you blinked at her and smiled, asking for strawberry in a cone. you and your friends moved toward where steve was. he gave you a small smile and looked you up and down, before going right back to flirting.

you liked him from afar; that was the extent of your relationship with steve. up until now, you’d only made small talk with him at parties. but you liked him because of how you saw him interact with others, especially that dustin kid.

you were heartbroken to think that the past few months of work visits and move nights (during which his arm would venture around your shoulder) didn’t mean anything to him. you saw him talking to robin off in a corner, and putting on a brave face, bounced over to the two of them.

“hi robs!” you chirped. she smiled at you and yelled your name as you approached from across the gym, miming pompoms in her hands. “nice cheering,” she said with a wink. you giggled in embarrassment and looked down at your frilly socks. “nice…playing?” you said. she laughed, but steve stood silently. robin looked between the two of you before muttering something about a girl named vickie.

you stood in front of steve now. he couldn’t help but think about how cute you looked in your uniform, glowing after a successful pep rally.

“hi stevie,” you said. he flushed at your nickname, something that you’d given him a few weeks ago after noticing a similar flush appear when you used it in passing.

“hey sweetheart,” he said, not looking you in the eye. you transferred your pompoms to one hand and reached the other out to gently grasp at his fingers. he let you.

“what’s going on? are you okay?” you asked sweetly. the dark part of steve, the part that convinced him that you were just leading him on, told him that you were faking it. that you were just here to make fun of him in front of his ex-classmates who already did the same behind his back. but here you were, face to face, looking at him with worry and your jasmine scent and pretty lips. he sighed out your name; you could detect the disappointment.

“i know what you’re doing.”

you looked at him in confusion, still holding his hand. you stepped closer to him and could smell his lemongrass shampoo. “stevie,” you said softly, “what do you mean?”

“i know your friends put you up to this,” he said harshly. something akin to hurt flickered across your face, but you replaced it immediately with your usual gentle disposition. “put me up to what?” you prompted softly. he rolled his eyes and huffed, pulling his hand away from you. this time, you let the hurt show on your face.

“i know that you and your friends wanted to fuck with me by pretending that you liked me,” he said finally, crossing his arms and furrowing his brows. you looked utterly crestfallen. your heart ached at the possibility that steve could think that your affection was anything but sincere. “no, stevie, please-“ you started, but he cut you off. “i know that i’m just this has-been cool kid who’s good for nothing, but i’m still a person. and i won’t be dragged around on your little string anymore. i’m done.”

if you looked crestfallen before, you looked absolutely crushed right now.

steve desperately wished that he could suck his words from the air around you and never let them see the light of day. but from the look on your face, he knew there was no going back now.

your eyes tickled and burned as wetness blurred your vision. it hurt you more than anything to know that steve thought so little of you. the boy you’d do anything for, go anywhere for, thought that this was all a game to you. you tried to swallow around the lump in your throat, your next words coming out cracked: “steve, i promise it’s not like that.” he scoffed.

“then tell me why your friends sit outside of the video store and watch us and fucking laugh at me?”

your heart stopped then. it broke you, knowing that steve thought so little of himself and you. “steve, they’re laughing at me! because i never stop talking about you because-“ you stopped, not knowing whether you should even bother to tell him now. with a shaky breath, you continued: “because i like you so goddamn much.”

he looked at you strangely then, watching the tears finally begin their path along your cheeks. “save it. i’m done.” the gym was empty now; everyone had left during your conversation. he looked at you, all dolled up in a green little cheerleading costume, a yellow ribbon threaded through the back of your ponytail. he tried to ignore the wetness on your face and the pitiful tremble of your bottom lip. he tried to memorize the color of your lipgloss and how it sparkled under the dimming sun and fluorescent lights. he looked at you and tried his best to keep himself from falling for you. he turned to walk out of the gym doors. as his reeboks squeaked across the lacquered hardwood, steve thought about running back to you and kissing you until he heard his favorite laugh bubble up out of your chest. he heard a sob rip its way out of your throat and in a moment of weakness, he turned around to see you drop your cute little pompoms and raise your hands to your face to hide your tears.

© ker0senebunny. all rights reserved. all original posts of writing are my own words, with the exceptions of quotations from songs, movies, and other media. my work is NOT to be crossposted to another platform, copied by anyone, or translated without my express and explicit permission.

taglist: nobody yet :)) send in an ask if you’d like to be added!

[startrekfangirl2233-writes]

Daddy's Little Princess

Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Reader (One-Shot)

Description: You get home after a long day at the office to near silence. It warms your heart when you walk into your living room to see your husband Bradley Bradshaw playing with your eldest and making her laugh as she combs his mustache with a doll's comb.

Disclaimers: AFAB!Reader, Tooth-rotting fluff, Babies, Bronco, Bradley

Word Count: 1167

A/N: Hi, Star here! The Top Gun Brain-Rot still has me by the throat. This was inspired by this post which suggested, Play with his mustache use barbie hair brushes on it. Obviously, the minute I saw it, my brain immediately went yup, that's a Bradshaw and so this fic was born. This is un-beta'd and un-edited by anyone other than me, so forgive any glaring errors.

AO3: Cross-posted here!

My Masterlist

It's been a long, horrendous day. You'd had to go into the office for an important meeting and dress formally for it, too. The worst part was having to leave your husband and children at home alone. Thankfully, it had been one of his few days off-duty from NAS North Island. You'd kissed your babies on their foreheads as you left early in the morning and spent far too long pressed against your husband’s chest before leaving. Traffic in San Diego was no worse than it usually was, so all in all, your morning was typical. It was during your meeting that your day rattled off the rails. Your proposal was not well received. It had been ripped to shreds by every member of the C-Suite present in the boardroom that day. You'd spent the remainder of the day with your team reviewing every inch of the proposal with a fine-toothed comb and writing and re-writing pieces for the follow-up meeting in one week.

After your day, you were flagging as you got into your Jeep that evening to drive home. The one highlight of your day had been the giggle-filled voicemail you'd received during your lunch break. Your daughter's voice had been so sweet with the baby's babbling and your husband's deep tones in the background. It was apparent your mischievous little princess had stolen your husband's phone and called you accidentally. It brought much-needed energy to you and an impetus to finish work as soon as possible.

All the streetlights are coming to life and illuminating the road with a golden glow as you turn onto your street and finally breathe a sigh of relief. Your husband's bright blue Ford Bronco sits in your driveway as you pull in behind it. It's only a few minutes before you're unlocking the door and finally stepping out of your heels. Rather than the giggling stampede you expect, the house is nearly silent. Sure, there is the ever-present low hum of Bluey pouring out of your living room, but the undercurrent of chaos usually present in your home with a 3-year-old, an 8-month-old, and not one but two dogs isn't there at all. You place your bag on the side table and stretch your tense muscles before padding silently to the living room and peeking in. Your son, Arden, rocks in his swing seat on the floor, suckling happily on a pacifier. Surrounding him lies the residue of what looks to be a war zone of dinosaurs versus Barbies, your daughter Maria's favorite game at the moment. You can't see her yet, but boy, can you hear her now.

"Daddy, Daddy! The dinoswars won! I twout the Barbies were gonna win. You tolded me they would win!" Her little voice pipes on and on about how sad it was that the Barbies lost. Interspersed with her chatter, your husband hums inquisitively to keep the conversation going. Your grin grows at your husband's voice when the little miss runs out of steam.

"Baby, maybe the Barbies didn't win because you forgot something?"

"What, Daddy?"

"What magic spell did Daddy tell you the Barbies needed to beat the big bad dinosaurs so you could save Ardy?"

"I hadda brush all their hairs and kiss them."

"That's right, baby. But you forgot one thing." Maria makes a little confused hum, and your husband continues, "You forgot to comb your hair and Daddy's!"

"Oh!" Her little squeal of realization is too cute. "Daddy, help!"

"Gimme the comb, Princess. Gonna make you look all pretty so we can save Arden from the big bad dinosaurs." 

You step a little bit closer. The kids are entirely occupied with the game, and the dogs, Tramp and Falcon, are curled up in one of the dog beds. The only person to notice you is your husband, who winks at you from his spot in the war zone of toys your living room floor has become. 

"All done!" He proclaims, "Don't you look beautiful?!" He smacks a loud wet kiss against her cheek as she giggles loudly.

"Daddy, wait!" Maria's all bossy now, "We forgot one thing!"

"What's that?" Your husband is the best.

"Your moostach, Daddy!" She's smiling proudly at pronouncing the word mostly correctly. 

"Alright, baby girl. C'mere. Let's comb my mustache and defeat these dinosaurs before mama gets home."

He tugs Maria to stand in between his legs and hands her the bright pink doll's comb. He sits there with unerring patience as your baby carefully runs the comb through his mustache, wiggling his upper lip occasionally to make her laugh. It's absolutely adorable to see. Bradley Bradshaw had confided to you early on in your relationship that he was afraid to have children. As he’d lost his father at a young age, he didn't know what it meant to be a good dad. All that fear turned into uncontrollable love the minute he held Maria in his arms, and he'd proven what a fantastic father he was every day since. You’re unbelievably in love with this man. That love only swells in your chest when you see the glittery butterfly clips nestled in his curls and the love in his eyes as he devotes all of his attention to your little princess. 

Unsurprisingly, of your two kids, Arden sees you first, giving you a gummy smile and squealing as he wiggles his little body to catch your attention. You step into the warzone willingly, carefully avoiding stepping on any of the toys, and heft your youngest into your arms. He’s warm and baby-soft in your arms as you snuggle him close, breathing in the scent of his baby shampoo and the special detergent you use on his clothes. Hurricane Maria is not to be deterred, though, as she wraps herself around your leg and kisses your thigh.

“Princess, princess, c’mere.” Bradley sounds so fond as he tries to free your daughter from her limpet-like grasp of your leg. “Let Mama and Ardy sit down, baby girl. Then you can cuddle her all you want!” He coaxes her away and pulls her into his lap as he sits on the sofa. You join them, letting the soft cushions conform to your body. Maria joins Arden in your arms, and you finally let yourself decompress.

"Hey, Mama," Bradley murmurs.

"Hi, B," Your voice is soft as you turn your head to kiss him. 

"How was your day?"

"Terrible. But it's better now. It’s always better when I have you and our babies in it."

You smile into the kiss he gives you, relishing in your husband's taste before focusing all of your attention on your children in your arms. Maria chatters about everything she'd done during the day, and you converse happily with her. Arden babbles at breaks in the conversation, and you love seeing Maria interact with him. It'll soon be time for dinner, baths, and bed, but for the next few moments, you can rejoice at the feeling of having everything you love at your fingertips.

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN HERE OR ON AO3 BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN HERE OR AO3, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.

[saltwaterflower]

Lack of mid-season Laios / Kabru smut. Will it be grossly canon divergent by the end? Probably. But I AM IN NEED and I guess I'm going to have to make my own food around here.

12:20 AM: Man I worked all evening and night on this and didn't even get to the smut. Just build up and sheer pining.

6:40 AM: … I'm working harder on this smut piece than I had my previous non two. Can't help it.

11:30 AM: Oh god. This is seriously going to be my entire day.

12:40 AM PM (time no longer has any meaning): Well THAT smut scene is done... going to go on a long walk now to clear my head. All fuzzy and mushy. Need a satisfying conclusion still. Maybe my Undertale soundtrack will inspire me.

1:30 PM: "Come On Eileen" was actually the song I listened to a dozen times on my run... imagined Laios as Eileen and yes, this was my inspiration.

3:30 PM: Oh god it is done. To post beta'd or un-beta'd... that is the question.

4:11 PM: I'm ded. Brain toast.

11:15 PM: Finished editing. Goddamn. Now to wait for my beta… I think. But I also think I might want to set what I have on fire by this point.

[sugalaritae]

summary: hoseok wants to tell you something exciting but gets sidetracked by your beauty and passion.

word count: 656

rating: series rating 18+

genre: FLUFF!!! SO SO SO MUCH FLUFF

warnings: none. hoseok is just falling hard.

a/n: it's hobi's birthday!!!!! i have to do something and this wonderful man has been BEGGING me to write something for him and this wonderful fic. it's also been a year since i first started writing this series and i needed to do something. i just love him so very much. i know it's just a little teaser, and for that i'm sorry, but it's something!! this is very lightly edited and went un-beta'd!

this is part of the 'heat waves' series and that masterlist can be found here

Hoseok is in a recording studio that is very different from Yoongi’s. It feels odd being in a place that feels familiar but isn’t. He craves the comfort of Yoongi’s studio. The way that it feels like Yoongi with its black and dark oak aesthetic. How every time he goes there it smells like his friend and is filled to the brim with creativity and memories. 

He misses the comfort of home. 

He’s had enough of this place with the language difference and the people who ooze ego and oddly nothing else. 

He spins around in the chair and looks at the shelves and off-white walls. The shelves are filled with trophies and books that he knows are only dusted by the cleaning crew and rarely touched otherwise. 

He lets himself stare at one book in particular, an architecture coffee table book. His mind goes blank as he just stares at the white lettering against the green cover. He doesn’t know how long he’s lost in that little space of nothing, but your text tone brings him out of it and he spins back around to face the desk. He sent you a text asking if he could see your face, he wants to tell you that he’s coming home earlier than he had planned. Everything has gone faster than the company thought and he’s being sent home with full pay. 

He smiles as he reads that you’re available for a facetime and he quickly sets it up, fixing his hat on his head before he presses dial and then slips himself and the chair out of view. 

“HEYYYY!???” your voice is excited and he laughs just a little at the sudden inflection of a question at the end. 

Slowly, he pushes himself and the chair into your view, looking directly at the camera as he does so. He was smiling already but seeing your face makes it widen and he feels his chest fill with a feeling he isn’t quite sure he’s ready to explore completely. Perhaps he’ll dip his toes in but he wants to do this slow and properly. 

“Hello gorgeous,” he greets you. 

His gaze slips over your face. You look so peaceful and yet there are new bags under your eyes. You had mentioned that there had been a project at work that was keeping you and Jin at the office late but he hadn’t expected it to be taking this kind of toll on you. 

You laugh and shake your head, “I don’t think I’m gorgeous right now, I just took off my makeup.” 

He shakes his head. 

“Seriously! I’m so tired from this project and I just got home and wanted to wash the day away but I don’t think I have really looked at myself in a week and I look rough!” you laugh.

He shakes his head again. 

You stick out your tongue and wrinkle your nose. He wants to melt. You must know that you’re fucking adorable when you do that. 

“You’ve only mentioned it in passing, are you enjoying it at least?” he asks. 

There’s a twinkle in your eye in response and you nod. 

“Tell me about it?” 

He watches as you smile and then launch into words that he doesn’t entirely understand but he’s heard Jin speak the same language and so it’s familiar, like visiting a country again but not being fluent enough to know exactly what people are saying. 

He decides, as you tell him about a design you’re working on for the presentation to the board, that he won’t tell you about coming home. No, he wants to surprise you. Most of all, though, he wants to hear all about this board meeting when it happens. In person. He wants to see your face light up in person because he knows that it’s going to look even more radiant and beautiful without the dullness of technology. 

He can’t wait to come home. 

💖 💖 💖 

please reblog, comment, or send an ask if you enjoyed what you read!! i hope you have a good day!

© sugalaritae, 2022/23. you do not have any permission to repost or translate my work even if you give credit. all of this is mine.

[conkers-thecosy]

Well, unless something drastic happens with the poll, I'm going to go out on a limb here and say most folks are happy with "Backs to the Wall" remaining un-beta'd - thanks to everyone who has given feedback, and to those who have offered to beta the next project! 💛

I've finished the hard edit and I feel a little better about this chapter (though very little bagginshield to speak of, I'm afraid!) and I've been sat here snuggled up on the sofa watching old Rankin/Bass films!

I shall post shortly!

[welcometololaland]

5 favourite fics that i've written

(for fic writer appreciation day - i didn't know that such a day existed, but that's nice!)

thanks for the tag @rmd-writes - i didn't really know what to put so hopefully i did okay.

Speak for Yourself (RWRB)

my original baby. certainly not my best writing by a long shot, but this fic pulled me out of a massive slump, handed me the keys to a beautiful fandom where i made a bunch of really cool friends and just generally made me so happy. i never planned this fic, and yet somehow (after over 105k) it came together so perfectly in the end. almost like it was meant to be.

get it right, to get around me (911 Lone Star)

this hurt to write, but it was one of those moments where i sat down in front of my computer, started typing and couldn't stop. i wrote, edited and posted this fic in five hours - i was that drawn to it. it's not often that i get off the rom-com train, but when i do, i love playing with season 1 tk. i think this was my best character study to date.

Still Waters Run Deep (911 Lone Star)

i just think this is my best writing to date (notwithstanding the fact it is un-beta'd and therefore has some grammar mistakes). also, did i mention that i am unwell for season 1 tk? i am.

Luck of the Draw (RWRB)

a fic i wrote for @stardisnightarchive which incorporated her two beautiful ocs. if you've read this fic, you'll know why it's on the list. the emails in chapter 2 were probably the silliest, stupidest things i've ever written, and i'm not even embarrassed to say that i made myself laugh.

Love Game (911 Lone Star)

okay. okay. i know it's a wip. but aside from Speak for Yourself, i don't think i've ever been this obsessed with writing a fic. the intersection of my interests, the characters, the social media interactions, the fact that it is so. damn. meta. the scheming that went into this was next level, and the ending (if i can pull it off) will be some of my best work.

im tagging @indomitable-love @three-drink-amy and @clottedcreamfudge (i know they've already been tagged, but how the fuck are you guys gonna choose your favourites for real? everything you write is chefs kiss). i'll also ask @paper-storm and @strandnreyes (refer to and repeat issue above and i'm also very sorry if you've already been tagged).

[asirensrage]

The Only One - Sam/OC smut oneshot

Title: The Only One Rating: Explicit Pairing: Sam Winchester x OC Fandom: Supernatural Warnings: sex. possessive thoughts. mentions of marking each other with hickeys and bruises Summary: He likes her like this.

Notes: I wrote this in like 45 minutes. I had Sam and my OC Michelle in mind as I wrote this (thus why things he mentions have to do with her fic and their future lol) but I didn't use her name in it. This is un-beta'd and barely edited if I'm honest.

He likes her like this. 

Her hands are stretched out in front of her. Her head rests on the pillow as her back is arched with her ass in the air. She’s dripping. For him. 

She’s waiting patiently, even as she squirms slightly, for him to touch her again. He doesn’t, simply because he likes to watch her. He didn’t think they’d ever reach this point. Didn’t think she’d ever let him in but now…now there’s a ring burning a hole in his duffle, waiting for the right moment that he can offer it to her. That he can convince her to wear it and to marry him. He wants to bind her to him in every way. 

“Sam…” she’s starting to beg. 

He smirks to himself before he reaches forward, palming one of her ass cheeks. “I’m here, baby.” Sam moves, pressing a finger into her. She’s wet and tight and feels so fucking good. She always feels good. Always tastes like something he wants to devour. He thinks he knows every sound she makes, every way she clutches at him and begs and demands more and it’s never enough. 

She keens, pressing back as much as she can, to get closer. He presses another finger in, curling them slightly until she gasps. He leans forward, kissing a path up her spine as he holds the position. He likes teasing her. He likes building her up over and over until she’s desperate and begging. He likes to see her eyes glaze over as she takes him in every position he can move them into. Her mind gets to shut down, gets to focus only on feeling him. His favourite sound is his name on her lips. 

He moves back, removing his fingers and tasting her on them. He groans. Sam’s always been a fan of eating his girlfriends out. He likes the way they squirm and beg and how he can give pleasure until they can barely breathe. Sam’s always enjoyed using his strength to pin them down in the best ways, including holding their hips down until they cum against his mouth. It’s somehow more satisfying with her. She’s deadly, always armed to the teeth, and she’s so standoffish, refusing to let anyone in. Anyone but him. 

He lines himself up and pushes his cock in. He tries to breathe, to focus so that he doesn’t break as soon as he’s fully in. He wants to hear her scream for him again. He listens as she moans, his hands moving to her hips, helping guide her even as he thrusts forward again. She ran from him. She was always running, pulling back just when they started to get somewhere good. Sam’s not stupid. He knows he played a part in how he hurt her, how he left, but this, where they are right now, makes it worth it. Every single time he fought for her, that he followed and waited until she was ready, until she approached him and asked for him, for his care and his touch and to just kiss her and never stop. He won’t. He’s not letting her go. Not anymore. 

His pace quickens and he leans forward, his arm going under her until his hand sits at the base of her throat and he pulls her up. His chest is pressed against her back and the change in angle has her clutching at whatever part of him she can reach as she calls his name. 

Their grips are going to leave marks, but he likes seeing the bruises and hickeys he leaves on her. He knows she does too. She tries to leave marks where others will see it, a claim on him for when he’s hunting. 

It’s not long before she cums, tightening around him as she tries not to cry out. He wishes she would. Still, with the feeling of her and the sound of her voice, it’s not long before he tries to increase the pace, slamming into her before he reaches the edge. He holds her against him as he cums, kissing her neck. She’s on birth control, neither of them should have kids now but the hope that one day she’ll call him, telling him she’s pregnant sits in him. He wants that. He wants that future with her. 

They both collapse as he pulls out of her. He lies next to her, his arm thrown over her waist because he doesn’t want to stop touching her. 

“Jesus Christ,” she laughs. 

He grins in response. He likes hearing her laugh, like hearing the pleased exhaustion that’s in her voice. “Come here.”

He beckons her closer and she moves, resting her head on his chest as she curls up against him. They should clean up but right now all he wants to do is hold her…and rest for a minute before he can move his head back between her legs. He wants to hear her scream, after all. 

Sam glances down. Her eyes are closed and she looks perfectly content covered in the bruises from her training and the hickeys that he sees have formed so far. He doesn’t deserve this, he knows that, but he’s not giving it up.

There’s a lot of trust that she’s given him, and he knows he’s the only one who’s ever seen her like this. The only one who ever will.

taglist: @raith-way @arrthurpendragon @zeleniafic @jvstjewels @veetlegeuse @chickensarentcheap @booty-boggins @residentdormouse @delicateblackrose @stanshollaand @cantfighthemoonknight @wordspin-shares @chrissymunson

[grimeysociety]

🎃 Kinktober 2022 - Day 9: Library

(Darcy/Ransom Drysdale, 716 words, un-beta'd) Read below or on ao3

“If anyone hears us, you’re dead meat.”

“If anyone hears us, you’re dead meat.”

He whispers the threat by her ear and Darcy moans, knowing that he means she’ll be fired and he’ll only be told not to fuck in the library. She thinks of the help finding them, and prays she doesn’t have to hobble out of there unemployed. Though Ransom’s grandfather is a prolific author, Harlan’s personal library is a monument to American literature itself.

It’s a priviledge to be there, and instead of poring over first editions as she planned to, she’s pressed up against one of the shelves, her thighs wrapped around Ransom’s waist as she clings to dear life.

His cock fills her to the hilt, grinding her backside into the books behind her. She feels the graze of his teeth at her throat again, and she wonders how she’ll explain this all to a therapist one day. She hasn’t felt this turned on in a long time, if ever. She squeezes him in retaliation, earning a sharp bite to her skin. His thrusts are sharp and deep, the sounds of their bodies together wet and obscene.

He’s doing most of the work, not that Darcy hasn’t tried. He was the one to grab her, after introducing himself, interrupting her studies. However, she was the one to tear open the condom with her teeth and quickly roll it on him, Ransom’s fingers working her clit in the meantime.

He’s brutal, bruising her against the unyielding shelf behind her. He spears, grinds, holds her steady and uses her body. She’s a vessel for his pleasure, loving every punch of him into her, his hands gripping her ass to keep her upright. All she can feel is the drag of his cock, the way he reaches her edges and traps her there. She doesn’t know if he’s spoken for, if he’s been watching her long, or if he even knows her name.

“You like that?”

She whimpers, and he chuckles, biting her again. She can feel she’s close, and so can he, by the smug look on his face. She hates guys like him, usually. So arrogant and entitled, but it’s freeing, in a way. There’s no finding out later if he’s an asshole. He’s pretty upfront about it, it seems.

He gives it to her, no holding back. It’s a hard fuck, nothing more. She can feel herself being lost to it, the intensity of his strokes. She takes it all, then feels the sharp pleasure and pain of him pinching her clit, and she bites down on her lip. He pulls back to look her in the eye, and his are bright as they stare at one another. Bright and wicked.

“Filthy girl, you’re gonna make me come…”

His fingers move up from her clit and Darcy pushes back. He allows her the short space to angle her hips precisely where she needs him, setting him up for the shot. Her hand grips his shoulder and she rides, his eyes falling to where their bodies meet.

“Fuck…”

“Fuck,” she echoes, head falling back.

He takes her by surprise, one of his hands coming up to her throat, his thumb brushing the mark he left there. Then he wraps his fingers around her neck, tightening his grip. She can feel her head begin to throb from the pressure, the air being cut off. She can feel she’s about to explode, her cunt beginning to clench. Her vision whites as Ransom groans, and she’s gone, she’s truly melted away. The world is disappearing and she doesn’t breathe at all for another fifteen or so seconds, not until he finally lets her go, pinning her to the wall as he climaxes.

He twitches, keeps her there as they pant together. He pulls out with a grunt and Darcy hisses, knowing she’s going to be sore for a while. He places her back on the floor and she leans against the shelves, dazed.

She watches as he plucks the condom off and ties it, hiding it in his coat pocket. He pushes back his hair from his damp hairline, lifting a brow at her.

“Don’t tell me you’re some distant cousin of mine?”

“Jesus, now you ask me who I am?” she snaps, and he shrugs.

She begins to laugh despite herself.

[late-to-the-party-81]

Checkmate Epilogue

AN: Here we go, lovely ones, a short and sweet little epilogue. If you have any thots or scenes you wanna see with these two, then please send me an ask. This series is un-Beta'd. Divider by @firefly-graphics. Mood-board by me but photo credits to those who took them.

Edit: Now includes art by the amazing @vibraniumcollar!

Series Master list | Chapter 24

CW: Fluff, breast-feeding, references to Smut, references to pregnancy, Genderfluid Loki.

Word count: 600

As Loki walked up the front path of his home he realised he was smiling. Happiness suffused his entire body in a way he had once though impossible. He opened the door and as he closed it behind himself he looked out the hallway window, the last of the summer flowers in the garden swaying in the breeze. He could hear Chess humming, and his smile widened to a grin.

He walked up the stairs, a rough section of the bannister rubbing against his hand for a moment until his magic smoothed it. One of the treads creaked under foot, until that too, was magicked away. The afternoon sun blazed through the upper windows and through partially closed doors.

He could hear the humming more clearly now, a classical tune that Chess had told him reminded her of him. He walked along to the end room and pushed open the door, and he was bathed in the warm sunlight. A few more steps and he was stood by the rocking chair, looking down at Chess as she held their baby daughter to her breast.

Her small mop of black hair stood out at all angles and she was trying to focus her large, blue eyes on the world around her, but was fighting a losing battle against her milk stupor. The delicate eyelids finally fluttered closed, the small pursed mouth falling away from his wife’s engorged nipple as the infant succumbed to sleep.

Grabbing a cloth from on top of the changing table, Loki placed it over his shoulder before taking his daughter from his wife’s arms. Resting the child against him he gently rubbed and patted her back, Chess smiling up at him as she tucked herself away. The babe let out a sleepy hiccup and Loki moved her so he could cradle her in his arms. Chess stood, arms around Loki’s waist, snuggling into his side as he looked in awe at the child they had created.

“Has my little Hel been good for her mama today?”

“Do I need to remind you again that her name is Helen, and yes she has been good, although you shouldn’t prescribe the notions of good and bad to a baby.”

The stood together for a while, looking out of the large nursery window as the sun slowly set on the early autumnal afternoon. Loki settled the sleeping baby into her crib for her nap, before fully embracing his wife.

“I was thinking, ildflue, that when we feel ready to give this little one a brother or sister, I would like to be the one to carry it. I know that we would need help with that, but to carry a baby, nurture a life like that, it’s just something I would really like to do.”

He fell silent, wondering what Chess would think to that plan. But she just held onto him tighter and lifted her face for a kiss.

“I think that I would love you even more pregnant. The way you loved me round with our child, I would love you the same. In fact the very thought of it is quite arousing. Although I’m not sure the reality of living with a hormonal you for 9 months has quite settled into my brain yet. But, let’s wait until this one is a little bit older, yes? I feel that I might need some proper sleep before we consider a second.”

“Well she is sleeping now, you could have a nap too – you know, sleep when the baby sleeps?”

“But if I went to sleep now I would miss out on you making love to me”

“Well, if you insist?”

“I do. Your Valkyrie demands it of you, my prince.”

End

Tag list: @sidepartskinnyjeans @christywantspizza @xoxoviva @animnerd @turbolisedcomet @goldylions

[unapologeticallyjaylos]

--- magazine au  --- [part 1] [part 2] [part 3]

Jay is a famous tourney player with a reputation for playing on and off the field. Carlos de Vil is an up and coming designer hell bent on fixing the crooked fashion label started by his mother. They’re both on completely different planes of existence... for now.

I’ve got part 2 coming soon :) also Mal didn’t make it into this spread much, but Evie talks about her on the last page. They’re already together. 

[secret-engima]

you have a small typo in the Deleantur fic, when he's showing Ardyn and Somnus his back injury a little less than halfway through, you call him Noctis before they know that's /him/.

Oh dear, thank you for that head’s up Anon! I’ll have to edit that out sometime (sigh) edited it four (4) times and I still missed that somehow....