#.fic

[lskisms]

(not) strong, c. berzatto

syn. you think you traded all your luck on being able to wake up next to carmen every morning because it doesn't look like you have any left to spare. no matter; carm is here to patch you up.

gen. romance, angst.

warnings. crying, reader has a bad fucking day, carm is a sweetheart, mentions of food and eating.

word count. 1.8k.

you’re lucky that bad days tend to be few and far between; how could they not be when you have the privilege of waking up next to carmen berzatto every morning? he, of course, denies the effect he has on your life, says if anyone’s making a difference here, it’s you. but you really can’t downplay the warmth and light that sharing a bed with him, sharing a life with him brings to you. seeing him first thing in the morning is always the best part of your waking hours, a nice pick-me-up before you go to work; you have never taken that for granted.

but there are days where even seeing your boyfriend isn’t enough to wipe the slate clean, to erase that familiar sense of dread that makes its home in the pit of your stomach for you to carry around all day. having carmen with you, body or spirit (through text, of course), always momentarily eases the pain, but when he’s gone, when you have to stop texting, it comes back, agonizing and sharp like a blade twisting in your gut. all you can do is count down the hours, minutes, seconds until you get to go home and see him again.

today, it seems, is one of those days. regardless of the fact that you woke up feeling well, sharing a few soft kisses with carmy in bed before he made you breakfast and left you to your own devices so he could get to work, it seemed like the universe was working against you: you got to the train late, meaning you made it to work late, meaning you started the day off behind and if that wasn’t enough, you just couldn’t seem to get anything right. time has moved by at a snail’s pace, almost like the world is taunting you, wanting to drag this torture out for as long as fucking possible.

and it is. it is torture in all the worst ways, excruciating and harrowing. you didn’t have time to slip away and text carmy the whole day, barely had enough time for a lunch break, and even when you had taken your lunch break, typically a reset for you, things still were entirely awful. you’re astounded you even made it through the day without breaking into tears.

in public, at least, because the second you get home, it all comes rushing at you. the door closes behind you and the tears will not stop, no matter how hard you will them to just go away. you can’t even be bothered to hang your bag up on the coatrack, letting it drop to the floor instead on top of your different pairs of shoes left stranded at carmy’s front door. you trudge through the apartment into the bedroom, change into comfier clothes (a pair of shorts and one of carm’s sweaters), and lay down. it’s the only thing you can think to do after a rough day while you wait for your love to come home to you.

he does, eventually, though much later than you do; with his hours at the restaurant, it’s not often he comes home any time before eleven pm, and even that, that’s pushing it. it’s maybe closing in on half past eleven when you hear the door open and carmy’s voice, your name sounding as perfect as ever (nobody says it like he does, you maintain, your name has never sounded prettier than it does coming from him), and you become acutely aware that you have completely wasted the evening.

carm’s footsteps draw closer and then you hear him again at the door, a sweet lilt of “baby? you doin’ alright?”

and that, for some reason, just sends you over the edge. you’re not facing him, which is lucky, but you shake your head and close in on yourself, drawing your knees to your chest and making yourself smaller. you’re trying not to cry, not again, but it feels like the only way to react, the only way to get all of this out.

“sweetheart…” his voice is quiet and then he’s crawling up the mattress to lay beside you, shoving himself in the small space left between you and the wall his bed is pushed against. when he sets his gaze on you, all soft and clear blue sky, you fall apart, not sobbing but not holding back the tears anymore.

for a few moments, carm doesn’t know what to do. even though he’s seen you like this before, he still hesitates because you aren’t communicating what you need from him right now. still, the best bet, as always, seems to be wrapping you up and holding your pieces together. 

so he does. he scoots in close, tucks your head under his chin, and wraps his arms around you. and he doesn’t say anything else, just lets you cry into his shirt, no doubt staining it with your tears, but if he cares, he doesn’t show it. you’re sure part of the lack of speaking is from him just being a little awkward about it, but still, you’re thankful that he isn’t pressing you on it.

when the tears finally do stop, he waits for you to pull back, waits for you to make the first move. he meets your gaze head on, the arm that isn’t pinned under your head moving so that he can wipe away stray tears caught in your eyelashes or on your skin.

“what’s all this about?” he asks softly, tipping his head so that your foreheads touch. “what’s got you all worked up?”

you shrug with one shoulder, casting your eyes down, letting them focus on the neckline of his shirt. “i don’t know. today was just… a really… really bad day, carm.”

he nods, brushes hair out of your eyes, lets his thumb stroke your cheekbone. “you can tell me about it. i’m listenin’.”

so you do. you recount the whole day to him, every gritty little detail, and he listens intently, like what you’re saying is the most important thing in the world to him. and maybe it is because he treats everything you do and say like that; he takes everything to heart and turns even the smallest things into something big and monumental.

you realize as you’re talking that all of the bad things that happened are so inconsequential and it makes you feel kind of stupid. carmen comes home and complains about much bigger issues all the time, and you listen, of course, offer advice when he needs it; but his issues are always so much bigger than yours, there are things, lives, that ride on his decisions going over well. not like yours, not like this. and it gets you worked up again, laughing when the tears burn at your waterline again.

“hey, hey, what’s all this?” he asks, ducking his head to look at you when you try to turn away. “why’re you cryin’ again?”

“i really don’t know, carm,” you answer tearfully, shaking your head like the movement will get rid of it all. “guess i feel kinda stupid. i’m not strong like you are.”

he mimics you, his turn to shake his head, curls falling into his eyes. “you don’t need to be, alright? you don’t have to be strong like i am. i can be strong enough for the both of us. that’s my job.”

“are you sure? i just-”

his hand, rough and warm, comes to rest on your cheek and you look up at him. his gaze is gentle in a way that he reserves just for you. “i’m positive. i can’t do much, but i can do this, so let me… ‘kay?”

you nod, closing your eyes and muttering back an “okay.” he leans to press a lingering kiss to your forehead before tilting back down, his nose brushing against yours. you lay like that for moments that stretch into forever, his breath hot against your mouth and his arms warm around you, your own personal weighted blanket.

“i’m not that strong, by the way,” he says quietly, breaking the silence. when you make a noise of confusion, he clarifies. “you said i’m strong, but i’m not. not really. i got a lot of fucked up shit goin’ on ‘n half the time, i’m spaced the fuck out… y’know, and i worry that you’re gonna figure that out one ‘a these days, but… i wanna be strong for you. i try really fuckin’ hard it almost scares me. so i mean it when i say i can be strong for us both because i want that to be the truth, y’know?”

you wrap an arm around him and nod, pressing your face into the soft material of his tshirt. the thank you you say into his shirt is wet and thick with tears, but he doesn’t seem to mind all that much, wrapping his arms tight around you and holding you against him; he doesn’t seem to mind a lot of the things you do, just takes them in stride and adjusts, which is sweet.

“you don’t need to thank me for anything,” he says into your hair, rubbing your back. “it’s my job to take care’a you, so that’s what i’m gonna do, alright? now… you eat dinner yet?”

the scoff he lets out when you tell him that no, you haven’t, might come off as mean to anyone else, but to you, it’s anything but. this is, for all intents and purposes, what he was made to do and this is proof of that.

“‘course ya haven’t. alright, what d’you want, hm? i’ll make whatever you’re cravin’, so just tell me what it is.”

you rattle off your order and when you pull away to look him in the face, he’s got a smile that belongs solely to you. he kisses you all soft and gentle, lips warm against yours, the one thing you’ve really wanted all day, and it dismantles that dread you’ve been feeling, takes its house apart piece by loving piece until it’s razed.

“you really gonna make me a grilled cheese right now? it’s almost midnight.”

carm lets loose a breathy chuckle, kisses you again, quick this time. “yes, chef. not letting my baby go to bed on an empty stomach. you know i don’t play around like that. what kind of cheese you want?”

you know he doesn’t play when it comes to making food for you, so you tell him to surprise you. you’ll eat anything he makes anyways because when he makes it for you, it’ll always taste good.

© lskisms 2023. do not translate, copy, or repost my work on any site.

#carmy x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #the bear x reader #.thebear #.carmy #.fic

[keigologies]

sick heart, sick body, s. spiegel

syn. you both got some healing to do.

gen. romance, sick fic.

warnings. canon typical spike banter.

word count. 2.1k.

note. this was posted on ao3 forever ago and i said it was cross-posted here, but i ... clearly never actually did that... until now... oops (?)

spike has known you for most of his bounty hunting career. you came on the team a year after he himself joined jet, proving yourself to be not some wayward hitchhiker they'd have to take care of on their own dime, but a genuine asset: budgeting skills like no other (which the bebop crew really needed help with, though they would object to if questioned), ways of drawing out bounty heads into false senses of security (without causing a fire fight, something spike could really learn from, according to jet), disciplined in all the ways that matter. you're a quick learner; given the time and patience, you'd been able to pick up on his fighting style and you'd learned enough about mechanical engineering to help him and jet in repairing things on the bebop and the other spaceships on board.

all that to say: you're strong and spike has never known you to be anything else. you're smart, quickwitted, a powerhouse bounty hunter with all the skills that matter. you may be a little quiet, a little meek at points, but you're strong, almost untouchable.

so it surprises him when you come down especially hard with a severe case of the flu. it sounds so... primitive, he thinks, just some stupid earth sickness that honestly can't compete with some of the (quite frankly) awesomely-titled sicknesses that have come to be since the colonization of other planets; really, he justifies to himself, venus sickness sucks, but it is a cool name.

he cringes when he hears you cough for what might seriously be the hundreth time tonight and then mentally punches himself for taking the piss out of what you're going through right now. jet had said you'd contracted it while you guys were hanging around in tijuana and spike had been off tracking bounties; it was just coughing and congestion at first, but apparently, it eventually morphed into something way more severe. you'd quarantined yourself immediately to keep them safe, which spike has respected since he got back earlier in the day, but he shares a bedroom wall with you and damn him if you think he's going to allow you to keep suffering like this without him interfering.

your next coughing fit sends him up and out of the comforting warmth of his bed. it's not like he's angry with you or anything - sure, the coughing is getting on his nerves, but he knows you can't help it and he's not that much of a heartless asshole to be mad at you for keeping him from sleeping specifically because you're ill. really, he finds himself wanting (needing, maybe) to check on you, to make sure you have everything you need so you can rest easy and recover faster.

he realized a long time ago that he'd become jaded about the world. with everything that happened in the before the bebop era, it was clear why he'd become so disillusioned and nonchalant about things. with his past, things just didn't matter as much; he still had life to live, but he'd decided to be a little more reckless about things. he didn't want to waste time worrying about things that didn't concern him, now or ever: whatever happens, happens.

your being sick isn't really any of his business because outside of him having to listen to you cough all night for as long as you're ill, it doesn't concern him in the slightest. he means, it shouldn't concern him because it really shouldn't, but there's a part of him that's... open to the idea of being concerned for you and your wellbeing, which is strange to him because he shut himself off from ideas like that decades ago, it seems like. it's not that he's incapable of it, of caring for another person, but rather that he feels it's more of a betrayal. he'd given his heart to another and he'd never truly gotten it back.

though, in the five long strides it takes him to cross from his door to your own, he thinks that maybe he had gotten it back, years ago even, and he was too afraid to admit it to himself. so many things he'd held himself back from for years, all in the name of a woman who had disappeared into the ether without so much as a trace. she was gone; dead or alive, julia was gone and she had been for a long time. it's been time for him to douse that torch for a while now.

and when he comes to this conclusion in those five strides, he thinks that you getting sick might be a blessing in disguise, at least for him, because he's realizing now that he's been taken with you for quite some time. he's not sure when it first started, this infatuation with you, but it certainly isn't recent. he supposes it doesn't matter, however, because he's realizing it now, on his way to rescue you from an earth virus that definitely had a way lamer name than other sicknesses, which is a comment he's sure you'll laugh at and agree with him about if he brings it up.

once he finally raps his knuckles on the sliding metal door leading to your bedroom, he hears the beginning syllable of "come" before it's interrupted by a ragged cough. your voice, rough and almost whispered, struggles to say "come in," but you finally manage it and he opens the door just enough to slide in, ducking under the door frame.

"you feeling alright?" he asks, closing the door behind him. "you've been hacking up a lung all night."

you do your best to laugh, but it's a sad attempt, barely there and hoarse. a piece of him wilts at the sound, sad to hear you in such a bad condition. "better than i was yesterday."

"sure doesn't sound like it," he answers, turning towards you. he withers a little more.

you look so small in your bed, under what he can only guess to be every single available blanket on the bebop. you have dark circles under your eyes, your cheeks sunken and your skin pallid in accordance. you look like you have one foot in the grave.

"jesus," spike says, crossing the small room to your bedside and sitting on the edge. "you look awful. have you been eating?"

somehow, he's able to recognize your shrug under fifteen different blankets. "we're almost out of food. didn't wanna bother jet about it or throw the budget out of sorts."

"are you being serious right now? fuck the budget. you have to eat when you're sick like this." he genuinely frowns and presses the back of his hand to your forehead and then cheeks. "and you're burning up. did you just decide to forgo medicine in the name of the budget too?"

you shrug again.

"you're the worst." 

but you can tell he's joking because if he really thought that, he wouldn't be here at all. he stands and when he turns to look at you, you've got a questioning expression on your face.

"oh, don't look at me like that. i'm not just going to come in here, berate you for being stupid about being sick, and then leave. i'm going to go see if i can track down some medicine."

"it's not gonna be any of that weird shit you keep in the first aid kit, is it?" you ask, a grimace clear on your face.

"okay, first off, that weird shit is home remedies and they work just fine. second, no, i'm not stupid. that stuff isn't going to cure what you have, so don't worry your pretty little head, alright? the newt stays in the kit another day."

the last comment makes you laugh and this time, it's not as hoarse as it was a few minutes ago, which makes him smile to himself. with you being in the state you are, it's nice to hear a few seconds of your cool, clear laugh. something about it anchors him to this moment in time, reminds him that he's not as cold and as standoffish as he's always presented himself to be in this new life of his; no, he's capable of caring for people like this, of loving someone like this. he's got something good here with you and he's always had it, he's just never let himself think that it was his to actually indulge in.

"i'll see what i can find. in the meantime, start deconstructing that 'money is more important than my pressing health needs' mindset you apparently have going on, okay? i mean, really, you were worried about the budget? you know jet would agree with me here, as much as he complains about not having money. plus, shit that you can't account for happens."

"okay, okay, i get it." you accompany your words with an eye roll, but the smile is clear on your lips, which are cracked from dehydration. "can we save the lecture for when you get back? or just save it for jet altogether since i know you'll end up snitching to him about this eventually anyway?"

spike scowls, but it's obviously playful. "don't go catching an attitude with me. i'm generously playing nurse for you right now when i could very well just let you suffer here alone."

"oh, this is you playing nurse? then you really oughta work on your bedside manner, spiegel. it's atrocious."

he shakes his head and begins backing away from you, arms crossed over his chest. "keep acting like that and maybe i'll feed you that newt after all."

"yeah, yeah, yeah. i think jet's been hiding chamomile tea somewhere in the living room. make some for me, please?"

"you're real lucky i'm in the mood to be compassionate," he jokes, finally turning to open the door. "you want honey with it?"

"if we have any."

"you got it. don't fall asleep before i get back or i'm ratting you out to jet about this tea too."

he hears your hum of affirmation as he steps into the hallway and when he closes the door behind him, he allows himself to assess the whole interaction. if this had occurred at any point before now, he would have felt entirely disgusted with himself, but at present, he realizes he doesn't really mind. you've taken care of him an innumerable amount of times since joining him and jet, serving as the defacto nurse on the bebop, and this could easily be just him returning the favor, but it feels like so much more than that. 

because it is. if it was anyone else, if was any other time, he wouldn't be feeling this way: soft and warm on the inside like heat without his trusty cigarette. when he'd left the syndicate and faked his death, he'd sworn off love and adoration and affection. they had been his downfall once, they would not ruin him a second time. sure, he'd come to trust jet more than he'd trusted anyone before, but he kept even him at arm's length, afraid of what might happen if he let him come too close to orbit. 

and while it worked for the most part, spike has been learning (for what he assumes is quite a long time) that cutting those kinds of human connections of out of one's life isn't the way to go about healing, especially when the person one wants to love has proven time and time again that they're worthy of being trusted. there is no life without love because life without love and companionship is a sickness of the heart and he's let it fester for far too long.

so when he comes back to your room with a hot mug of chamomile tea with honey, a few pieces of hard tack he scrounged up, and some generic medicine, and he finds you asleep? he doesn't find himself all too annoyed with you like he threatened he'd be. no, instead, he feels a little bad when he has to wake you up to drink and eat and take the medicine he had to go digging through too many drawers for. and when you apologize for keeping him up with your coughing, he tells you you're the worst next door neighbor for it (a joke), but he's glad he can help you (not a joke).

and when you ask him if he'll stay for a while (just to make sure i'm not going to die in my sleep, you reason), he agrees and lays under your fifteen blankets with you until your breathing evens out and you're fast asleep, and even then, he stays just a little bit longer than he needs to, relishing in the feeling of sharing a bed with another person again.

he figures you've both got some healing to do, so you won't mind if he falls asleep with you. 

© keigologies 2023. do not translate, copy, or repost my work on any site.

#spike spiegel x reader #spike x reader #cowboy bebop x reader #.fic #.fluff #.spike

[1000punks]

Of Paradise For Hell (Part 1)

masterlist. || read on AO3

pairing: Haarlep x named!Tav (non-binary OC) / eventual Haarlep x named!Tav x Raphael

warnings: 18+. nsft. mdni. obviously spoilers for act 3 (house of hope). very slow burn but they're naked the whole time. a later chapter will contain consensual somno.

word count: 2, 993

named!Tav is my non-binary tiefling ranger, Festé. i was seeing far too few fics with tiefling!Tav and i thought it was crucial, nay, critical to include them in the headcanons. i hope you all enjoy! ♡

Today had been a frustrating and long day. Festé and the others had finally succeeded in rooting out Orin's lair and clearing it of Bhaalists. They would save the Bhaalspawn herself for the next day, retiring back to their rented rooms for the night.

As Festé was crawling into bed, however, they found yet another one of the envelopes, this time a deep crimson, tucked halfway under their pillow. Understandably, Festé's nerves were frayed, having been the one to find all of Orin's little "gifts" in their camp since she had first appeared before them in Rivington. Looking around nervously, they picked the envelope from between the bedclothes, swallowing and flexing their fingers cautiously before tearing it open from the corner. Festé held their breath as they all but tore the stiff parchment from inside, scanning it quickly and relaxing exponentially when they recognized the script. Not Orin's messy, chaotic hand, but elegant, sloping Infernal. Meant for their eyes only.

He will be gone for half a tenday. Stay with me. Don't make a mess getting here or it will be your soul as well.

Festé sighed in relief, letting out a half-chuckle at the prospect of him owning their soul. They knew it would never come to that, he was far too infatuated with the chase of it all, the theatrics. They looked up and around once more at their sleeping comrades, hastily scrawling their own note that they would be back in the morning. They could only be so reckless when there was a shapeshifter on the loose, after all. Festé grabbed their cloak and stole out of the room, quiet as a mouse, you could say.

They arrived in the now-familiar castle, breathing out deeply and pausing to feel the warm air of Avernus enveloping them, almost nostalgic for it. Unlike the others, especially Karlach, they embraced their short trips to Avernus - now, it was like coming home. Ever since they made their unofficial agreement with Haarlep, it was their nearly-private refuge.

And the agreement wasn't anything like what he wanted from them, they shivered involuntarily at the thought as they crossed the antechamber quickly, their armour making soft clinks as they picked up speed.

"Come on now, don't seem too eager, you dolt," they muttered, trying to shake off the excitement and the nerves as they reached the doorway of the Boudoir. They halted suddenly when they saw Haarlep's all-too-familiar frame, biting into their lip. Would it ever get easier, they thought, would the sight of him ever fail to make them feel so weak and lightheaded?

"There you are, little mouse. And dressed in such fine armour, no less. I hope … " Haarlep trailed off, reclining in the bath and flashing a grin, putting palms together over the surface of the water, "… I pray … that you didn't come here to fight, dear one." Festé only rolled their eyes playfully, relaxing their stance at the doorway before slowly walking into the room, their eyes fixed always on the incubus. Haarlep cocked an eyebrow as Festé reached for their longsword, unsheathing it in one motion before setting it on the floor, straightening up and matching Haarlep's wide grin.

"I wouldn't dream of it, Haarlep…" they drawled softly, reaching back to loosen the straps of their armour, lifting the plate over their head and letting it clatter to the floor as well. "I wouldn't say no to some, er, help with my boots and breeches though." They met Haarlep's eyes once more, their confidence faltering as a blush crept over their already rosy skin. Haarlep had sat up in the water almost silently, wings unfolded halfway and dripping softly.

"No, no, little mouse. Tonight you undress yourself, and come to my lap. I've already poured the wine for you." He gestured to their legs with an open palm, his gaze raking over their body already.

Festé's blush deepened, relenting easily under Haarlep's gaze, holding it with their own as they kicked their boots off one by one, bending to tug their breeches down soon after, raising their eyebrows as a silent plea. Haarlep always knew what to say to undo them, but was not forthcoming this night. Festé steeled themself and, underclothes be damned, treaded slowly into the water. They couldn't let Haarlep win all the way, could they?

"Now pet," Haarlep tutted, reaching out to hook one of the straps of Festé's bra off their shoulder, "You know I meant all the way." He purred, sitting up further and gathering them into his lap, forcing them to straddle his thighs and letting his tail snake up their back, pushing it's way under their bra slowly as he chuckled. Festé suppressed a shiver, not wanting him to win. Not yet. Haarlep, content with teasing them, turned and reached for the goblet of wine, pressing it gently to Festé's lips with an encouraging look, ready to pull away if they refused, but knowing they could not resist.

Festé caved on that front, a little too easily, and drank deeply, the wine warming them from the inside out. Haarlep silently set the goblet aside, replacing his tail with his hands on Festé's back as he leaned close to their ear, breathing hotly, "Very well, I can see that you're too stunned to speak in my presence, dear one." He loosed their bra from their body, letting it fall away in the water. "I hope that my … expertise - " he growled from his chest, eliciting the softest of moans from Festé's lips, "will loosen your tongue as it has a good many times before. After all, you little imp… " Haarlep clawed down their back slowly, as if carving his next words into their flesh, "what hath night to do with sleep?"

Festé pulled back and looked up at him dazedly, bringing their hands to his chest, their gaze now fixed on his lips like the old romantic they had always been. Haarlep leaned back, forcing them to press themself closer to him and knowing that the wine was doing curious things to them, particularly their heartbeat. The needy whines would start soon enough, he was sure, and trailed his fingers lightly up their back.

They both sat like that for a while, Haarlep tracking how each of his slow, gentle movements made Festé's breath hitch, finally taking his hands off their skin and chuckling when their hips shifted, their head shooting up from its place on his shoulder.

"Haarlep, I-I'm - " they breathed out a sigh of despair, rolling their hips forward slowly and relaxing somewhat at the relief it seemed to give them, if only momentarily. "What have you done to me, you godsforsaken incubus?" Their voice shook almost imperceptibly as they lay their head back on Haarlep's shoulder. Festé's breath was hot against Haarlep's neck, and it was almost enough for him to take pity and give them the relief they sought.

Instead, he gripped their hips tightly. forcing them to stop with a purr, "Why, only what you agreed to when accepting my invitation, little mouse. the cat is away, and that is our cue to play, is it not?" Haarlep moved one hand to Festé's chin, tilting their head up and leaning close, "My intent is to undo you completely, I want your inhibitions low, your guard down. I want you to prove to me - " he paused, brushing his lips over theirs, the sudden heat making Festé flinch, " - that your body belongs to me."

Honeyed words, Festé thought, tilting their head and pressing a chaste kiss to Haarlep's lips, but part of the dance nonetheless. They sat back and studied his face, willing their hips not to move as they panted out, already desperate for release. They flashed the incubus a cocky smile against their better instincts, knowing it would be used against them later. "You," they rasped, "have to take it from me. You … have to make me lose control."

All it earned them was a hearty laugh, a deep belly laugh that echoed off the stone walls of the Boudoir. Haarlep adjusted his grip to their jaw, squishing their cheeks firmly and leaning down to lick up their neck, growling softly, "I wish it were more of a challenge, pet. Even with your 'superior' instincts, you make it so deliciously easy for me." He pushed Festé back from himself suddenly, enjoying the fleeting fear that flashed across their face, paying no mind to the water splashing around their two bodies. "Get up, pet. It is time you let old Haarlep lead you to ruin."

Festé scowled, defiance rising in their chest at his implications, settling themself firmly on Haarlep's thigh and starting to move their hips once again. Starting to shake as the wine bolstered their already growing lust for the hateful incubus. They moaned brazenly now, their eyes glazing over and their mouth falling open, resting their cheek to Haarlep's palm as he slowly released his grip on their jaw. They knew that with a snap of his fingers, he could have them bound in chains or completely nude, but the moment didn't come. Perhaps it was a testament to the devil's self-control, or simply that he was enjoying the show. Festé guessed at the second one, feeling Haarlep's free hand claw up their back once again, harder, more painful as he pulled them in for a hot kiss, molding Festé's shape against his own. The kiss grew deeper, Festé's moans muffled against Haarlep's silver tongue; and they grew more desperate, grinding their hips more firmly, chasing their pleasure along his thigh. They almost didn't notice Haarlep's arm snaking around their waist, crushing them closer.

Haarlep's wings flexed once more above the surface of the water, dripping softly for a moment before propelling both of them into the air. He broke the kiss first, laughing his deep laugh once more as Festé choked back something between a scream and a whimper. The momentary fear and the loss of contact left them a clinging mess, wrapping their arms around Haarlep's neck tightly and growling, "Usually the art of seduction doesn't include trying to kill the object of your desires, Haarlep!"

Their trajectory suddenly changed, Haarlep was pushing their body below his as Festé looked up at him in abject horror, earing only a chuckle in return as they careened back toward the floor. They prepared themself for the inevitable pain, when he would break them, quite literally, on the hard stone below. But again, the moment never came. Festé's back hit the soft cushion of the bed instead, Haarlep's body instantly covering their own like a blanket. He pinned them gently but effortlessly as they tried to catch their breath. His hands closed around their wrists like manacles as he towered over them, smirking widely. "Fear, in a healthy dose, is an excellent seduction tool, precious little lamb. You know your dear incubus would never let this beautiful body come to any real harm, don't you?"

A look of concern, real concern, passed over his face as he stroked Festé's cheek, waiting for their reassuring nod and shudder at his touch before he ghosted his fingers down their neck, moving them even more lightly down their sternum and stomach, allowing them to arch up to his touch before laying over them, whispering to their ear, "And you know our safe word, pet?"

Festé nodded once more, this time letting out a whimper at the heat of his skin on theirs, squirming under him and knowing it was useless. His grip on their wrist tightened, his palm pressing into their stomach firmly. "Say it, pet. I want to make sure you remember." His tone was playful, but commanding.

"P-precor … " Festé stammered against his neck, and suddenly the pressure on their stomach was released, replaced by the slow, teasing touches they had grown to love so much. Haarlep truly had a way with melting all the tension out of their body, as well as stringing them so tightly that they feared they would break. It contrasted so well with his touches that the two together would surely make them burst.

Haarlep broke them out of their reverie by slipping his hand down the front of their underwear, kissing them softly and chuckling, "Come now dear, you have the look of someone who is realms away. Let us bring you back here to Paradise… " And indeed, he did, Festé's lust for him rising too easily as he began to tease over their clit, his gaze fixed on their face.

Festé was long past pretending now, long past holding back their sounds from the devil. This was a battle they could never win, and in truth, they were glad to lose it, every single time. They strained against Haarlep's grip on their wrist until he relented with a playful sigh, only allowing them to prop themself up on their elbows as he continued his slow, heated touches between their legs.

"Please, p - unh … Please, Haarlep… kiss me… " it came out as a sighing moan, and the incubus was only too pleased to indulge them, leaning down and locking their mouth with his own, gripping the back of their neck tightly and giving them no escape. Festé returned the kiss with vigour, daring to lick into his mouth and earning a bite as Haarlep pressed his weight down on them. He slowly drew his fingers through the growing slick in the tiefling's underwear, withdrawing his hand slowly and spreading his fingers over their lower stomach. Festé could only whimper as Haarlep gripped their thighs, drawing them around his waist while he deepened the kiss.

The incubus' self-control was, once again, astonishing to Festé. They drew him closer with their legs, pressing their hips up to grind against him slowly, breaking away from his lips to moan against the shell of his ear before moving to bite down his neck. Haarlep betrayed a low groan in response, resting his full weight on top of them with a relaxed sigh. His hips slowly began to meet Festé's rhythm as his hands smoothed up their sides. He wouldn't ever say it out loud, but he enjoyed a little care being taken with his needs as well. He keened at Festé's particularly hard bite to his shoulder, his wings spreading above them both instinctively.

Festé chuckled softly against his heated skin, looking sideways up at him before sucking a deep bruise into it, their hands massaging the spot just under his shoulderblades. Haarlep shot an uncharacteristically tender glance down at them, moving to press them down against the bed with a soft laugh. "Such a sweet pet you are. But… " he traced a single finger over their bottom lip lightly, "I want to show you what Haarlep's mouth can do, my dear." His voice was a little sharp, making Festé smile and suck at the tip of his finger, pushing their luck just a little further.

It was to no avail, he was already working their underwear off their hips, meeting their eyes and clawing down their stomach. With a wide smile, he forced their thighs apart, running his thumbs along either side of their precious slit, humming his approval at the gasp they sucked through their teeth. "It's just as I thought, little mouse," he whispered, his face going slack in mock seriousness, "You find me so utterly irresistible, don't you, sweet … little … dear … " Haarlep punctuated the last few words with slow kisses over Festé's chest, pausing to suck deeply at one of their nipples and all but ignoring the near-scream they let out above him. It merged with the softest symphony of whimpers as he moved down, planting hot kisses to their stomach and hips. Festé threw their head back, trying to even out their breathing as he kissed the insides of their thighs. At the first lick, their hands shot to grasp at his horns, and the second had them letting out a throaty moan, rolling their hips up to meet his mouth.

Haarlep paused, holding their hips for a moment before squeezing them tightly enough to plant bruises, burying his face deeper between their thighs. Festé could only respond by tugging at his horns more insistently, trying to find a rhythm with their hips once more. Haarlep wouldn't allow it, digging his nails into their flesh hard enough to draw blood. Festé looked down, a little shocked with the pain, but nodding breathlessly, relaxing into the feeling that began to build low in their stomach. Haarlep kept his eyes on theirs, cocking an eyebrow as they started to stifle their moans, and finally moving one hand to their stomach, pressing firmly as a final warning.

Festé finally relented, moaning deeply ad they looked into his eyes, no longer able to follow the individual movements of his tongue as the licks and sucks became too intense and began to blur together in a crescendo of heat. They went limp, finally breaking for him. Their moans echoed off the stone ceiling as they pressed their hips up shakily. Up to his touch, his mouth, shuddering and twitching above him as well as against his lips.

"Thank… thank y-you, Haa-ahh - " they clenched their teeth around another moan as they felt two of his fingers slide easily inside them, Haarlep chuckling deep in his chest as he continued to lick at their clit, soft as you please.

Except that Haarlep suddenly looked up, his mouth glistening, and seeming to notice something that Festé could not. He never stopped his fingers as he listened for a moment. "I have a surprise for you, little one," he whispered, leaning up to press kisses against their neck, nuzzling their skin as he slowly worked them up again. Then finally, in the moment before Festé came undone for him a second time, they heard the footsteps.

A/N: heyyyy! couple of things

1. i know this seems super self indulgent, and it is! i wanted more time with the damn incubus and his damn demon master

2. i know Haarlep has been accepted as non-binary by the fandom, assume this is masc!Haarlep and consider it being easier to use he/him for them to not confuse what they're doing with the other non-binary they/them doofus- it's just for clarity and ease of reading, lovers please don't come for me :'D

3. Festé is pronounced "fest-ay", it's a name i got from a character in twelfth night- the fool. Festé is a fool and in my bg3 file they are an astarion truther. you can see where i'm going with this: they're a "i can fix him" girlie

#.txt #.fic #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #haarlep x tav #haarlep x named!tav #haarlep x raphael #raphael x tav #raphael x named!tav #haarlep #raphael #fic: of paradise for hell

[quesadillayuri]

lacy, oh lacy (i just loathe you lately)

In theory, it would be easy to hate Scaramouche. The other man is bitchy, and rude, and cruel, and completely, fundamentally, in-fucking-capable of taking a joke. No matter what Childe says, Scaramouche will roll his eyes or squint at him like he’s an idiot or make some stupid huffy noise that conveys he would rather be anywhere else. Scaramouche hates Childe, and Childe should hate him just as much, for the same reasons he doesn’t get along with most of the other harbingers. Like the rest, Scaramouche is uppity, self-righteous, self-absorbed, and unlike the rest, he is uniquely awful in so many ways. There is a laundry list of reasons why Childe should hate Scaramouche. And yet. And yet. (Childe hates Scaramouche. A meeting, a post-meeting conversation, and post-conversation visit to Scaramouche prove that his feelings for Scaramouche are a little bit different than he initially thought.)

local snezhnayan man so obsessed with inazuman bitchy doll that he boomerangs past a crush, around hate, and right back into down-horrific love

#this is pre canon pre everything fuck yall!!!! #this genuinely came to me in a vision #i didnt even fw childe like that but his thoughts were beamed directly into my brain and i wrote them down like a loyal scribe to an old go #ANYWHOOOO #scaramouche #childe #kunikuzushi #ajax #tartaglia #genshin impact #genshin #fanfic #.fic #chiscara #fatui #tsaritsa #the tsaritsa #im not just tagging her for no reason SHE SHOWS UP #genshin impact fanfic #genshin fanfic

[awordbroken]

what if i didn't write for nine months then spat out an oc/canon mistletoe kiss fic. haha j/k... unless?

All Colours Smear

"I came as soon as I got your message. I could hardly have come sooner." Crow Melusine frowns, unbuttoning their coat. "Just what was such a hurry?" "This!" With an indignant flourish, Mr Fires turns to show them its arm, where, in the crook of its elbow, a bundle of silken fur and leathery limbs clings to its robe sleeve, half a toy train crammed into its drooling maw. "Happy Christmas, Mr Transport," Crow Melusine says after a pregnant pause. "Is this why you called me? Because you're on babysitting duty?"

#.fic #mr fires #.oc: crow melusine #fallen london

[thebrandywine]

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse) Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Leon S. Kennedy/Chris Redfield, Leon S. Kennedy & Piers Nivans, Piers Nivans & Chris Redfield Characters: Leon S. Kennedy, Piers Nivans, Chris Redfield (Resident Evil), Original Characters Additional Tags: Infected Leon S. Kennedy, Established Relationship, Piers Nivans Lives, Infected Piers Nivans, Post-Apocalypse, Major Character Injury, Disabled Character, Mild Gore, Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Injury, Angst Summary:

He'd always hoped that he'd miss the end of the world, either because he'd prevent it until he died or because he'd be one of the first people to go. In the end, he's wrong on both counts.

#.fic #reblogging this for the morning crowd 👀

[lskisms]

eat my love, c. berzatto

syn. carmen berzatto is a childhood best friend, your protector in everything. when he leaves for new york, he leaves you behind and in his absence, you realize just how deep your love for him runs. his return to chicago is just what you need.

gen. romance, angst (if you squint).

warnings. none.

word count. 1.8k.

playlist. restless, bibi. love scene, baekhyun. seasons, wave to earth. asleep, the smiths. wasteland baby, hozier.

forget religion, forget deities, forget all of it; you have been a devout follower of carmen berzatto for years. he’s the childhood best friend with just a few years and even more inches on you, the one who protected you in the schoolyard in elementary school, the one who showed up to the movie theater after you’d been stood up in high school, the one who made sure your college mini fridge was stocked all the time with food you only had to eat up in your microwave.

he’s been everything to you, protector and savior all in one go. so while you’re not quite sure when your feelings shifted from platonic to romantic (though it was definitely between his time in new york and his return to chicago), you’re not surprised that they have. maybe it’s the “obscene amount” (richie’s words, not yours) of contemporary romance novels you read, plenty of titles with a friends to lovers arc, that put this in your head and maybe that constantly riled up man has a point, but still, something about it feels inevitable.

when carmy left for new york, you worried about him, more than was probably necessary. it was the first time in your whole life that you’d be away from him and it wasn’t that either of you needed one another to look out, but having grown up with him as a constant presence in your life made it difficult to adjust to life without him. where he used to be a phone call and a trip on the l away, now he was a phone call and a plane ride, too many miles to fathom.

but you waited: waited for him to come home, waited for him to notice you, waited for him to reciprocate. it feels like your entire life all you’ve done is wait for him and you’ve been content with that, even if it is your own personal brand of psychological torment. because you know him like it’s etched into your very genetics, the ability to know him for who he is in a way that you can’t know anyone else.

and so when he returns to chicago, to home, to you, it feels monumental, even if it is under less than desired circumstances. he starts working his ass off almost the very second he gets off his flight; you don’t see him for the first few weeks he’s back in chicago. it’s through no fault of your own, of course, because you text him plenty and he responds, but they aren’t hitting the same beats they used to, and you worry.

but here he stands now, flannel coat and baseball cap and all, at your doorstep unannounced. it surprises you, seeing him here like this, because he hadn’t so much as even suggested the idea, but you can’t complain, not when this is the first time you’re seeing him in what feels like a lifetime.

“carmy,” you practically exhale, not even hesitating to step forward, wrap your arms around his neck, press yourself close against him. your nose buries into the collar of his coat and when you inhale, the scent is so entirely carmen berzatto; you hadn’t realized you could miss a smell this much, let alone a person.

you’re elated when his arms wind their way around your waist, both hands warm against your lower back. you stand just like this for moments that feel like they stretch into hours, taking in the fact that he’s back, he’s home.

“i missed you, loser,” you say into the thick fabric of his coat.

he scoffs against your shoulder, patting your back and pulling away from you to look you dead in the eye. “yeah, yeah, i missed you too.”

you share a small laugh, an even gentler smile, and you step aside to let him in. it’s the first place of yours that he’s never experienced. sure, he’d seen it in photos and facetime calls, but he’s never been here in person, the first place that is wholly you: no family, no friends, no college roommates. the essence of the apartment belongs solely to you.

and he sees that, sees you everywhere he looks. it’s in the way your shoes are organized by the front door, in the way that you keep one of his old jackets (stolen months before he left for new york) hung up on the coat rack, in the way that the photograph centered on your endtable isn’t one of your family but one of you two; it was snapped on senior prom night, which he hadn’t been able to attend due to his bad grades, but he’d gotten dressed up all nice for you anyways, so that you’d have nice pictures of the two of you together, even if he couldn’t be your date like you’d planned.

“nice place,” he remarks, looking around and taking in the parts of you he doesn’t know; books lined up on the shelves of your tv console, record player next to it, the succulents on the window sill. “better than that shithole you were living in when i left.”

you let out a breathy laugh, roll your eyes, close the front door behind you. “you mean the dorms? anything is better than that.”

you follow him deeper into your space, watching the way he watches everything else, takes everything in, like he’s relearning you from scratch. almost every second of the day, carmen is on, burner cranked up to high, one of the most intense people you’ve ever met, but here, you can tell he’s set to simmer, introspective in a way he’s not when he’s at work. it’s nice to see him with his guard down like this, cerulean eyes wide and searching.

the silence stretches out between you, but it doesn’t snap like a rubber band like you thought it would. quiet used to be easy with him and you’d been worried that the distance and time apart would change that, but it hasn’t; it’s still just as comforting as it had been.

but you have to break it, clearing your throat and looking away out the window. the sun is setting behind tall buildings, casting the sky a burnt orange (terracotta, maybe, you think). and with your string lights that glow soft, flaxen gold over your equally as soft sheer curtains, quiet music playing from spotify on your tv, this could not be a more romantic moment, at least in your mind.

“i worried about you, y’know… when you were in new york,” you say quietly, eyes trained on some point beyond the horizon. “i never really knew what you were up to over there and you were so far away… i don’t know, i guess i just missed being able to make sure you were taking care of yourself.”

his sneakers move gentle against the floorboards as he turns his whole body to face you. when you glance at him, he has an expectant look on his face like he knows you have more you want to say; whatever piece of you that knows him better than anything else, he has it too, he’s always been able to anticipate anything from you.

you shrug, look down at the floor. “i thought i’d be able to stop worrying when you came back ‘cause if you needed me, you’d be a train ride away again, but… carmy, you’ve been back for weeks and i think i’m worrying about you more than i did when you were gone.”

“you don’t gotta worry ‘bout me; sugar does enough of that for the both of ya,” he replies, voice soft in a way that he’s always reserved for you, special and one of a kind.

with a nod, you look back up at him, meet him with another shrug. “no, i know. just can’t help it, i guess… think i’ll always worry about you, one way or another.”

his hands fidget in the pockets of his coat, flexing and unflexing, rustling against the material. he lets out a sigh, looks out that same window, the sun lower than before. “i worried about you too. you can take care’a yourself, but… i was worried nobody’d have your back the way i do.”

“i mean… i have sugar and fak and them, i had mikey, but… they aren’t you. nobody could replace you.”

and when he looks back at you, you think he realizes that you mean it in more than one way. he’s not just your defender in everything, some self-appointed knight in shining armor; he’s the love of your life, has been for years probably. he stands here in the middle of your apartment that is every bit him as it is you and he sees you. his eyes lay you bare, roll out your psyche, understand you in a way that no potential romantic interest from the past few years has been able to because he has his own brand of knowing you, one that you’re so used to that it feels wrong coming from anyone else.

and he knows that just from staring at you. the inches between you feel like miles and your fingers twitch with unsnapped tension; you swear his do too because like clockwork, his feet scuff against your hardwood floor and he closes the distance, hands out of his pockets to cradle your face in them.

“you mean that?” he questions, his breath hot against your lips. his palms are calloused and warm, and you’re learning the feel of them in a way you’ve never had them before because this is new, but it’s what you’ve wanted for ages.

you nod, your eyelids fluttering and breath shallow. this close to him, you can make out all of the imperfections in his skin, the little dips and freckles. “wouldn’t lie about somethin’ like that, carmy. you know that.”

“just wanted to hear you say it, sweetheart.”

when he kisses you, it is unpracticed and unrefined but perfect in all the important ways: it’s him and he tastes like cigarettes covered up with spearmint gum and he is so warm. you kiss him back like you’re trying to make sure he knows the taste of your love, like a fine wine aged for years; you think he notices it.

“don’t worry about me no more,” he says against you without pulling away.

“that’s kinda my job,” you reply with a short, breathy laugh, your hands curling into the rough fabric of his coat.

“doesn’t need to be. i’ll take care of us.”

the words cut deep into a part of you that has gone untouched for years, something reserved for carmy and carmy alone. and he knows it’s there now, treats it with all the delicateness in the world as he kisses you again, apologizes for not realizing sooner, promises to make up for lost time. his touch, new and exciting, sets you alight everywhere and you are born again like phoenix out of ashes. to be loved like this by him is something you’ve dreamt of for years and now it’s yours and you don’t plan on letting go.

i’ll take care of us. you believe him.

© lskisms 2023. do not translate, copy, or repost my work on any site.

#carmy x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #the bear x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #.thebear #.carmy #.fic

[norahjakobs]

Chapters: 1/1

Fandom: PAYDAY (Video Games)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Major Character Death

Relationships: Jiro (Payday) & Sangres (Payday)

Characters: Kento (Payday), Jiro (Payday), Sangres (Payday)

Additional Tags: No Dialogue, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Character Study, Grief/Mourning, Loss of children, parental grief, prose, Post-Canon, Canon Compliant, Canon Continuation

Summary:

Hell's Island was still.

(A exploration of Kento through his environment and others)

#payday #fan fic #my writing #.fic #.txt #jiro #sangres #kento

[1000punks]

bonding. //bedding

bonding. //masterlist

pairing: spawn!Astarion x named!Tav (non-binary OC)

warnings: 18+. nsft. mdni. bondage. oral. fingering. smut-to-fluff.

word count: 5,196

summary: two gays remodel a house domestic fluff and some character background building, set in post-game baldur's gate. two people who are weird and traumatized work on their relationship and reclaim their sexuality through a shared kink. lots of gooey romantic smut while these two slowly figure out their future together.

named!Tav is my non-binary tiefling ranger, Festé. i was seeing far too few fics with tiefling!Tav and i thought it was crucial, nay, critical to include them in the headcanons. i hope you all enjoy! ♡

Astarion stirred when he felt Festé press their face into his chest, lifting his head from the pillows and blinking the sleep from his eyes. The tiefling had wound all of their limbs around him, including their tail, and they had begun snoring softly into his neck. Their warm breath on Astarion's neck encouraged a shiver to run up his back. He looked around the room, gently shaking the hair out of his eyes, and his gaze fell on a rapidly fading sunbeam from between the thick curtains. The elf smiled, running his fingers over Festé's back while he closed his eyes once more, doing a self-assessment. He was still stiff from the previous night, though the bath had helped. The tiefling moaned into his shoulder suddenly, and Astarion froze, smirking when he felt their back arch under his hands. They pressed themself tighter around his body, and the elf's eyelids fluttered; he so welcomed the warmth as he felt them start to rub against his thigh. Whatever they were dreaming of, he could tell they found it pleasurable, from the way they clung to him and lazily rocked their hips. He steeled himself; he wasn't quite so depraved as to take advantage of his little imp, of course, but that wouldn't stop him from waking them up to play. He drew the blankets tighter around the both of them, giving Festé a tight squeeze.

"Good evening, darling," he murmured softly. "I'm ready to make good on my promise." He couldn't resist biting their ear gently, sucking at the lobe with a devious chuckle as they twitched bodily in his arms. They shifted, baring their neck for him instinctively, opening their eyes, and letting out a heated sigh. Astarion claimed their neck with a messy kiss, his voice velvety against their skin. "Did you have a pleasant dream, darling? You were moaning about something; what was it?"

Festé yawned, shivering as he kissed down to their shoulder and up again to their ear, whimpering at the attention before clearing their throat. "I'm not telling, my love. Reality is so much better than some tired old wet dream." They chuckled, smoothing their palms over the elf's sides. 

Astarion pressed his thigh firmly between their legs, chuckling softly. "It certainly was wet, my dearest." He pressed against them, pushing his imp to their back easily and draping his body over theirs. "Isn't it fortunate that you have me here to clean you up?" He rested on his elbows, dipping his head to kiss Festé deeply, licking into their mouth before pulling away with a hard suck on their bottom lip. He breathed out roughly against the corner of their mouth. "Gods, darling…" he sighed. "You smell absolutely fucking divine. It's overwhelming." 

"Indulge yourself then, Star. Smell me. Taste me." Festé smirked at him, kissing softly at his lips and chin and moaning out involuntarily when he ground his thigh between their legs once more. They heard him growl in his chest and pulled back to meet his eyes, which were dark and hooded. Full of lust. Festé tried to sit up before Astarion pushed them down roughly by their chest. His grip was exceedingly gentle as he moved his hand to their throat, resting his body on theirs and kissing them once more, brushing his nose over their skin subtly. Festé hooked their thigh over his hip, pressing up against him. Astarion promptly pinned it to the bed, moving his other hand from the tiefling's throat and resting it on the mattress next to the tiefling's head. He pushed himself off them, and smiled down at them.

"Wrists, darling." His voice was soft, and Festé held them out without hesitation, while Astarion reached for the hank of rope hanging from the headboard. He measured it out and fashioned it around one of his imp's wrists. His eyes raked slowly over their body and he licked his lips. "Spread your legs," he spoke again in that soft tone, though Festé could tell it took some effort. Astarion wove the rope through the headboard, pulling it taut and tying the end around their other wrist. He slipped one finger under the binding to check it was safe, and he sat back with a haughty grin. Festé squirmed as they opened their legs for him, and he looked over them with a hint of triumph in his eyes, glancing down before meeting their gaze once more. "You're leaking all over our nice sheets, darling. What do you have to say for yourself?"

"I say, I can't help it; my fiancé is an apex predator that wants to devour me." They chuckled softly as he glared at them, finally shaking his head and joining in. Astarion moved close, clawing up their sides firmly and leaning down to nip over their collarbone, pressing his fangs to their skin in warning.

"You don't know just how right you are, my dear," he murmured against their chest. "However, you won't be laughing for long. In fact, my plan is to have you moaning my name." Festé let their head fall back against the pillows, and the elf glanced up at them, grazing his teeth over their chest. "May I?"

The tiefling nodded, their mouth dropping open as his sought the soft skin above their heart. He sank his teeth in and drank messily, but only for a moment. He pulled away and let Festé's blood trickle down between their breasts in small rivulets. They squirmed again, following the small river of blood with their eyes and shivering as it began to pool in their navel. Astarion had sat up, his face sombre as he met their eyes, and blood staining the corners of his mouth. He didn't even bother to lick them clean, instead opting to lay between the imp's legs, dipping his head and lapping softly at their navel, his body relaxing and humming his appreciation. The elf leaned up, licking slowly back up to the seeping wound on Festé's chest and sucking deeply.

They tried to put their hand in his hair, to pull him closer, but instead they yanked their wrist hard against the rope. Astarion groaned softly, smiling against their skin and continuing the slow sucks. Festé began to whimper, arching their back and whispering, "Star, it's too mu…" He pulled away immediately as they spoke, bending to circle their nipple with his tongue instead, sucking it into his mouth a moment later. The tiefling moaned in relief above his head, their breath hitching. Astarion moved his arms under their legs, pressing messy, bloody kisses down their stomach. He gripped Festé's thighs, pushing them up on his shoulders roughly while his nose brushed against their hip. He glanced up at them, watching their skin flush an even deeper shade of red when he breathed out over their clit. They lifted their hips, and he pulled his head back with a smirk, not letting them have contact.

Festé tried again, letting out an exasperated sigh when the elf reached up and pressed his palm firmly on their stomach, shaking his head. They strained yet again, which earned them a firm bite to the inside of their thigh — enough to bruise, but not quite enough to bleed. 

"Patience," was all he whispered, pressing a messy kiss against their clit, and they resisted the urge to jerk their hips up, pulling the ropes taut once more, and stifling a moan. Astarion was satisfied, licking slowly through the folds between his imp's legs. He moaned softly, pressing the flat of his tongue to their entrance with each slow lick. He moved to lock his arms over their hips, pulling them closer, and they gasped in pain when the rope cut into their wrists. Festé couldn't resist bucking their hips up with a low moan when he sealed his lips around their clit, and he looked up at them through his bangs as he sucked with varying pressure. He didn't let them settle into a rhythm, pressing his nails into their skin as he held their hips down and forcing them to submit. Festé let out a low, shuddery moan, watching their elf pull away and run his tongue messily over their clit, simply raising his eyebrows when they began to shake beneath him. Astarion lifted one hand when the tiefling moaned out again, reaching up and pushing two fingers into their open mouth, moving them slowly over their tongue, and pressing down on it. He hummed approvingly when they got the message and began to suck at them messily, breathing shakily. He cast his eyes down once more, eventually closing them and loosening his grip on Festé's hips, letting them rut freely as he dipped his tongue against their entrance again. Slowly, he withdrew his fingers from their mouth, spreading drool over their chin before pulling his hand away. Festé keened when the elf moved back to their clit, flicking his tongue lightly over it. They choked off into silence when he slipped his fingers inside them, and he sighed through his nose as his imp's body seemed to swallow them up. 

Festé began to move their hips in shaky bucks, pressing their mouth against their bicep to stifle the moans that Astarion was prying from their chest. He curled his fingers subtly, looking up at them again as he licked firmly over their increasingly overstimulated clit. His free hand moved to grip their thigh, and he pressed his nails into their skin. The elf felt their entrance start to twitch around the base of his fingers, and he started to move them in slow thrusts, increasing the pace the more they moaned. He breathed raggedly, the scent of their arousal fully overwhelming him as he started sucking messily, the tips of his fangs pressing into the skin above their pubic bone. They rutted more firmly before going slack on the bed, their inner muscles squeezing around Astarion's fingers while he kept them moving, teasing out their orgasm.

He worked his fingers free slowly, moaning out with a short chuckle as Festé all but gushed over his palm. The elf quickly dove to lick them clean, slipping his soaked hand down to grip his cock, and starting to roll his hips slowly against the bed to slick himself up. He moaned roughly, unable to get enough of their taste, continuing the adoring, deliberate licks. Festé encouraged him with a litany of soft pleas, and he responded in kind, breathing in their scent as it seemed to assault him from all sides. His tongue trailed through their folds and along the insides of their thighs, and he was losing himself almost completely in the moment. 

"Star…" came a whisper from above him, and his head snapped up. He looked positively debauched. Astarion was panting, leaning up on one elbow, and rocking his hips into his hand. His cheeks and chin were slick, and his lips were pink, parting slightly as Festé looked down at him. "Star, untie me; I want to touch you. Please?" they begged in a soft voice. Astarion let out a heavy breath, sitting up between their legs and wincing as he moved his hand from his cock. He reached up, undoing the slipknots on Festé's wrists quickly, and reached down to cup their cheeks in his hands. 

"How do you feel, darling? Mm?"

"I'm floating, my love," they whispered, reaching up to grip his wrists, and Astarion sighed out softly, giving them a gentle kiss on the nose. They let out a heavy breath. "I need you, Star…" Festé pushed their hands into his hair, pulling him down with a sigh and kissing desperately over his neck.

Astarion was only too happy to oblige, resting his body on theirs, turning his head, and claiming his imp's lips forcefully. He pressed his hips to theirs inquisitively, and they nodded, one of their hands moving to grip the back of his neck, not daring to break the kiss. The elf adjusted with his free hand, slipping into them easily and sliding home with a hard sigh. He bit their lip, fingers searching blindly around his thighs to pull the blankets back around them both, finally gathering them around his shoulders. Festé moaned roughly into his mouth as he began to thrust his hips lazily to theirs, his arms sliding under their back and crushing their body closer against his. In reality, neither of them were moving much; each was opting to rut against the other and simply enjoy the way their bodies pressed closely together.

The tiefling broke the kiss first, knocked breathless when Astarion pressed as deeply as he could inside them. They clung to him tightly as he dropped his head to their shoulder, arching when he pressed his nails into their back. He was trying desperately to stifle his moaning against his imp's neck as he rutted against them. Festé could tell, even in their altered state, that this was not perfectly polished and practiced skill. This was a vulnerable man, acting out of pure sexual desire and carnal need. It was a relief, they thought, to finally see this side of him. They tilted their head, breathing roughly against his ear, while they redoubled their grip on the back of their elf's neck. He stiffened above them, letting out a soft whimper and rolling his hips to theirs in a firm, slow grind. One of his hands moved up Festé's back, cradling their head as he pulled back slightly, brushing the tip of his nose against their own. 

"Darling… touch my back," he murmured. When Festé looked incredulous, he shushed them, whispering, "I know why you never do; it's because you're frightened of hurting me." The elf kissed at the corner of the tiefling's mouth, keeping the movements of his hips slow and breathing out heavily in pleasure as he felt them squeeze around his length tightly. "I want you to touch it. Please. I need to feel tenderness on that part of my body, for the first time in my life." He met their eyes, his own wide and pleading. "I want you to have that honour, my love."

Festé's fingertips travelled cautiously down his back, so lightly that Astarion could barely feel them. He arched to their touch regardless, knotting his fingers into the hair at the nape of their neck, pulling and tilting their head up. They watched his face cloud over with ecstasy and smiled. "Does that feel good, my love?" they breathed. He nodded, responding with slow, messy kisses over their neck. Festé experimented, running their fingers up the dip in the elf's back, and his hips jerked forward, surprising both of them. 

"Sensitive…" he moaned softly against their jaw. It wasn't like him to be so pliant; it was usually Festé in his position, coming apart so easily under another's touch. They marvelled silently at the phenomenon, matching their breathing with his and tracing slow figure-eights along the small of his back, and his hips stuttered, grinding to theirs roughly. Finally, he pressed their hips to the bed with one hand and gritted out, "Don't stop." Festé chuckled impishly, dragging their nails up his back softly. It was interesting to watch Astarion try to act tough while he was whimpering into their ear. The friction soon proved to be too much for the both of them, and Festé broke first, much to their chagrin, and they kept their touch light, dragging their nails slowly up their elf's back. The weak pulses of their muscles forced a moan from his chest, and he was suddenly slamming his hips with no rhythm, just need. He didn't stop even when he hit his peak, panting raggedly as he trapped their mouth with his. They smoothed their palms over his back, their touch soothing enough to get him to slow down, and he melted under it entirely, resting on top of them with a shaky sigh. 

"I've never felt like that before." Astarion whispered, a long while later. He hadn't moved an inch, and Festé had continued running their hands slowly over his back. "I didn't know that could feel so… good." He looked up at Festé from their shoulder, his eyes hooded, and hummed softly, nuzzling into his imp's neck. "How do you feel, my darling?"

"Peaceful, my dear. It's nice to see you so… blissful." They smiled, closing their eyes, their hands still moving over Astarion's bare back. "Seeing you experience genuine pleasure is pleasurable to me."

"That's a very selfless statement to make, darling," the elf quipped. "Are you saying that if I were completely selfish about my pleasure during sex, you would find pleasure in it still?" He reached up, stroking two fingers along their jaw.

"More or less, yes. As you probably know, I'm very sexually flexible." Festé chuckled. "I'll do anything with you, so long as we both consent to it."

"Anything, you say?" Astarion pushed up on his elbows, looking them over and narrowing his eyes. "What if I kept you right here all night?" he lifted one hand, touching his pointer finger to their nose. "To satisfy any and all of my cravings?"

Festé smiled widely, tilting their chin up and nibbling their elf's finger. "I wouldn't mind that at all, my love. Oh-!" Astarion had bucked his hips to theirs firmly, and they huffed out, chuckling. "How are you still ha-!" Another rough slam of his hips silenced them.

"Magic, darling," Astarion answered sardonically, smirking at his little imp. "It has nothing at all to do with the fact that you're beautiful, and I love you." He bent forward to kiss Festé, as if to drive home his point. "Mn… beautiful, and handsome, I might add." He chuckled, kissing softly down one side of their neck and up the other, pressing his hips to theirs in a hard grind, forcing a gasp from Festé's chest. 

"Flattery will get you everywhere, Star…" They lifted their thighs, and Astarion caught one, holding it over his hip. The tiefling's eyebrows furrowed as he pressed painfully deep, their breath hitching and coming in short gasps. He leaned back, one fang peeking from behind his lips as he smirked widely, watching their mouth fall open in a snarling moan.

"Darling… I've never heard you make that sound before," he purred. "Do you like a little pain? Or shall I ease up?" His imp shook their head quickly, gritting their teeth when he rocked forwards again. "No? You be sure to tell me if it's too much, hmm?" They nodded once, and Astarion pushed up to his knees, pulling both of Festé's legs up and hooking them over his shoulders. He gripped their hips firmly, jerking them down the bed towards him, and hitting their inner wall in the process. They arched their back with a hoarse moan, their tail flicking out across the sheets and curling up. Astarion glanced over at it, one hand smoothing over his imp's stomach and pressing the heel of his palm firmly below their navel. He hissed out a sigh as he started to move, lips curling into a grin as he felt his cock move under his hand.

Festé brought their arms above their head, stretching out languidly below their elf. The tiefling's tail snaked over the bedsheets, coiling easily around Astarion's wrist and pulling it, forcing him to increase the pressure on their stomach. They watched his eyes widen as he splayed his fingers over their skin. Festé pressed their hands against the headboard, trying to get leverage to rut back against their elf's thrusts. Their mouth hung open slightly as they worked their hips, and Astarion leaned forward, forcing them to fold in half. He trapped their wrists in his free hand, gripping them tightly, and watching his imp struggle in his grip with a hot sigh.

"That's it, darling. Pretend that you don't want to give in, and then submit to me. It's adorable." He kept his thrusts even, the angle allowing him to press deeper into them with every movement. Festé all but writhed below him on the bed, hissing out their pain and pleasure as Astarion's movements gradually became harder and faster. He stopped suddenly, laughing when it made his imp whine out loudly. "Oh, oh…" he cooed, pressing firmly at their stomach while he slowly pulled out. Festé gave him a pleading moan, tugging at his wrist with their tail. He wrenched it from their grip easily, chuckling and gripping one of the tiefling's shoulders, forcing them to turn over. Astarion pressed the heel of his palm in between their shoulder blades, catching their wrists and holding them against the small of their back. "Good, stay on your belly for me, darling," he murmured softly, leaning down and nipping softly at the back of their shoulder. Festé only thrashed in his grip, their whines muffled against the pillow.

Astarion kept the grip on their wrists, clawing down their back with his other hand before wrapping his arm under their hips and yanking them up. He slipped back into them effortlessly, heaving a sigh of relief when he buried himself within their slick heat once more. The elf smoothed his palm over their belly with a breathless chuckle, staying still while his beloved imp started to rock their hips back against his.

"Calm down, darling. Let me take care of you, mm?" Astarion whispered, walking his fingers down Festé's lower stomach and brushing them lightly over their clit. Their hips faltered, nearly collapsing on the bed, before they pushed their knees apart. Their breaths came in rapid gasps as they moved their hips with no rhythm. "I've got you, my love. Move however you like." He squeezed their wrists gently before letting go, bending over them and kissing up their back messily, resting his free hand on the bed next to their shoulder. He never stopped moving his fingers between the tiefling's legs, pushing them to the edge. Festé began to moan out in need, and Astarion subtly moved his hand from the bed to their throat, pulling them upright and back against him in one fluid movement. Astarion sat down on his knees, pulling his imp into his lap. He felt them freeze, and he started to laugh. "Don't move, darling, just enjoy… mmh, the feeling."

Festé leaned forward slightly, resting their hands on their elf's knees and panting out, "I don't think… I can move, my love. You're so…" they shivered, clenching around Astarion's length as he squeezed their throat, starting to rub at their clit in slow circles once more. Eventually, he released his grip, dropping his hand to their stomach and raking his nails over their skin. Festé's hips twitched, and they stifled a whine, taking a deep breath instead. Astarion sat up slightly, taking his hand from between their legs as his chest brushed against their back. He reached forward, closing his hand around theirs and pulling it slowly. Festé glanced down, starting to squirm as they grasped what he was doing.

"Touch, darling." Astarion's lips grazed their shoulder, starting to guide their hand, his fingers deftly pressing over their own. "Let me help," he chuckled darkly.

"N…nuh…" was the only sound the tiefling could produce in response; between the depth and the way he was manipulating their hand, it was all becoming too much. Festé slumped in the elf's lap, barely moving besides their chest heaving as they gave up another orgasm to Astarion. He gripped their wrist, encouraging them to continue rubbing slowly as his left arm snaked across their chest, holding them steady.

"I find it so endearing whenever you turn into a little ragdoll, my dear. For one, it's adorable, and it's also so much easier to lay you down, like so…" He guided their limp form back to their stomach on the bed, smoothing his hands up their back firmly before pulling their hips up, holding them tight as he started to rock into them. "And then take advantage of you, like this." Festé moaned weakly in agreement, and Astarion tutted at them softly. "Keep your hips up for me, darling; that's your only job." He watched them nod slowly, balling the sheets up in their fists when Astarion began to slam into them roughly. His breath came heavily, the heat building low in his stomach when he reached down, knotting his fingers in Festé's hair. "You're so good for me, darling…" His mouth hung open, realizing the undertone of his statement and deciding to say the quiet part aloud. "I love you, so much…"

Festé mumbled softly against the sheets, arching their back and pressing firmly back to the elf's thrusts, catching him by surprise. He wrapped his arm around their hips and held them firmly against his own, grinding out his release and succumbing to the heat that seemed to blossom over the surface of his skin. It nearly put him flat on his back, and for once, he felt warm again, nearly human. Slowly, he came down, pressing his hips forward and catching himself with one hand on the bed next to Festé. The elf felt the sudden, sharp desire to blanket them with his body, and he gave in to the urge, slipping free of their twitching warmth and curling around them protectively.

Astarion shifted their body gently, laying next to them as he pulled them to lay on their side, breathing against their ear and kissing softly over their shoulder. "What did you say, darling?" he whispered breathlessly against the back of their neck.

"I said: 'If you love me so much, let me feel it'." Festé answered in a weak whisper, resting their hand on top of his, and pulling it to their chest. Astarion felt their heart racing, and he chuckled, nuzzling their neck. He reached down clumsily to pull the blankets around himself and his imp, and pulled them tight against him, shivering a bit. "Are you cold, love?" Festé murmured, turning over and wrapping their limbs around their elf when he nodded, brushing his cold nose against their cheek. The tiefling twitched and laughed softly, wrapping their tail around Astarion's thigh.

He sighed in bliss when they began to pet over his back softly. "Darling, do you know what I've always admired about you?" He peeked down at Festé's face tentatively.

"Hmm? What?" They tilted their head up to look at him.

He quickly averted his gaze, brushing his lips on the tiefling's forehead. Festé smiled. Even if their pale elf had lost his ability to blush, he still had his tells. Astarion paused for several moments, collecting his thoughts. "Your confidence," he finally said, resting his chin on the top of their head and stroking through their hair. "You've always faced things head-on, since I've known you. When I tackled you the first time I saw you and pressed a dagger to your neck, you were calm and level-headed. You refused a deal with a devil without breaking a sweat, then walked into his home and killed him. You faced down a shapeshifter in her… meat suit, dashing outfit though it was…" he chuckled to himself. "You climbed a netherbrain and essentially told it to go fuck itself. You never let anyone manipulate you, least of all me." He winced briefly at the memory of their first time together. 

Festé hummed, "Well… you were there with me the entire time, love. Wouldn't that make you equally confident?" They looked up at him, smiling warmly when he looked down to meet their gaze. He was smiling half-heartedly and shook his head.

"I was terrified the entire time," Astarion snorted. "The only confidence I had came from following your lead, and being thoroughly invested in you. I kept thinking that things could fall apart at any time, and they very well could have, but you were there." He sighed and traced his thumb over their cheek slowly. "Whenever we had stopped to camp for the night, and everything felt completely hopeless, you walked to everyone's tents and talked with them. I watched you every night of our little adventure. You definitely soothed my fears whenever I saw you approaching; I'm sure the others have similar sentiments."

"You flatter me, my love, but I-"

"Shh, shh. Let an old man get to his point." The elf rested a finger against Festé's lips, giving them a wry smile. They rolled their eyes and chuckled. "My point is, I appreciate that you are the way that you are. You're like the sun, loathe as I am to compare you to something that can burn me alive… But you brighten every darkness in your loved ones' lives. I aspire to be more like you." He moved his finger, leaning down to kiss them softly. "Now, it's your turn."

Festé was blushing fiercely at this point, and they shook their head, blinking. "I… I didn't realize you felt that way, is all. It's a lot to take in. Not to be, well, the hero, but; meeting everyone that we did, and seeing that most of them were as frightened as we felt made me feel that I had no choice but to act. Maybe that's stupid, because I don't think I knew what I was doing. I was frightened, mostly, of not being able to keep the promises I made. To you, to our friends, to the rest of those people… You know what I mean?" They paused, feeling tears well up, and they laughed wetly while Astarion looked on with concern. "I'm glad that my tenacity is what won out in the end, but I was equally as terrified."

Astarion squeezed them tightly, rubbing their back in slow circles. "Well, you're either very adept at hiding it, or, my darling…" he pulled back, tilting their chin up with two fingers. "Or you're not giving yourself nearly enough credit. Despite your fear, you were confident. You are confident, and I love that about you. You're never paralyzed, do you understand? You always seem to know exactly what to do, and I just…" he swallowed, his throat suddenly dry, and smiled sadly.

"You know what I admire most about you, my love?" Festé whispered softly, palms splayed on the elf's back, and he hummed in curiousity. "You're open-minded, far more than you give yourself credit for, before you start protesting." They smiled, resting a finger on his lips and beaming at him. "Even after everything you've faced in your life, you're open to new experiences. Lesser people would have given up, but you are ready to embrace life." The imp sighed happily, cupping his cheek. "Following strangers across the Sword Coast, then allying with them. Taking a chance on someone who was supposed to be a one-night stand. Playing devil's advocate, or, well… advocating with a devil to seize your freedom. This right here, as well." Festé traced their fingers down Astarion's spine, looking down between them and around the bedroom, smiling. 

Astarion smiled along with them, and the two fell into a comfortable silence as the night stretched out before them.

a/n: thank you so much for continuing (or starting, if you just got here) to support this fic! you rock! you matter! check out the masterlist if you want more sweaty elf-tiefling goodness!

#.fic #fic: bonding. #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #astarion acunin #astarion x tav #astarion bg3 #spawn!astarion x named tav #bg3 astarion #i'm all pointy ears #oc: festé #astarion

[quesadillayuri]

maybe tomorrow you'll know

The bed is warm. Mismatched quilts pile over her, pillows surround her without being claustrophobic, and Bagi wouldn’t mind melting here. It’s soft, surrounded by whites and purples and pinks, and Bagi might not know how she got here, but she doesn’t mind leaving. She’s exhausted, tired enough to stay somewhere unfamiliar. It doesn’t even feel so unfamiliar. Bagi’s eyes, however tired they are, still scan the room, and it feels like coming home to someone she loves, white curtains drifting in the breeze and string lights hung across the ceiling. There are photos pinned on a corkboard, and Bagi squints at the one closest to her. It’s of Foolish, grinning widely, arm around— Oh, god fucking damnit.

This is not Bagi's room, and this is not Bagi's bed. Somehow, this doesn't turn out to be a bad thing.

#bagina #bagikitten #teaduo #qsmp #qsmp fanfic #bagina fanfic #fanfic #tinakitten #oibagi #bagi #.fic #qsmp tina #qsmp bagi

[tatiejosie]

Bella/Mandrake fic

It was my first Earwig fanfiction!!! It's been sitting in my WIP folder for a long time and I kinda don't know if I'll actually finish it one day. It's rough around the edges and probably a little cheesy, if not downright bad.

Mandrake joins Bella for some tea time, it's a surprisingly comfortable moment, Bella falls asleep, wakes up to Mandrake looking at her. Respectfully, of course. Bella is still horrified.

The sun poured generously in the room, filling it with the warmth of a homely haze, numbing the sounds of the ticking clock and occasional passing car. Had it not been for the protection hex of the house and its surroundings - keeping the place safe from any unwanted spells - the comfort of this afternoon break would almost feel... foreign to the witch. After all, it really was some mundane tea time. And the large, fuzzy cushions of the sofa were so incredibly inviting.

Bella allowed herself to bask in the comfort of her surroundings, enjoying the serendipitous presence of the demon. Quite oblivious to his wandering gaze. Having been observant of his company for a moment, Mandrake noticed that the witch appeared to be dozy. Sinking gradually into the sofa, her voice growing weaker. She did seem to try and fight it off at first, but sleep was decidedly stronger than humans. Their exchanges got slower and scarcer, and the demon allowed the conversation to fade off to a comfortable silence. Mandrake said nothing as the witch drifted off to sleep. Bella eventually plopped herself to the side. He watched quietly as she nudged her face into the cushions, exposing her neck, several strands of blue curls falling over her face.

It might have been three thirty when Bella opened her eyes again. Slowly emerging from an impromptu, but much-needed afternoon nap, she stretched out and sighed heavily, her eyes trying to adapt to the brutal rays of sunshine flashing directly onto her. It wasn’t long until the witch realised that Mandrake was still resting quietly on the end of the sofa. He had seemingly been scrutinising her since she had fallen asleep.

Now, she was used to the man’s lack of knowledge on general social cues. At this point, it was just part of who he was as a person, and the witch was hardly taken aback by the occasional odd gesture.

She had to admit, though - at this moment, Mandrake staring at her felt uncomfortable. She couldn’t quite pinpoint any precise reason, she just wasn’t okay with him staring at her. Not that much. Maybe not that close.

In her book though, discomfort was to be played off of the situation.

“My, my,” she said as she yawned lazily. “... What is it that you’re looking at, Mandrake?”

Mandrake didn’t budge; but one of his ears flicked in surprise. “Does it bother you?” he asked in his usual monotonous tone. Bella gave him an amused, tired smile. “Don’t care much, to be honest…” she kind of lied as she shifted to her side. She propped up her head on her folded arm, and nudged a pillow in-between. “That has to be a sorry kind of sight, though,” she muttered under her breath.

Bella’s voice was still hoarse from the sleepiness, but there was a hint of melancholy in her tone. The demon knew her well enough to detect when she was being facetious, but he wasn’t sure what she was referring to. Or if the “sorry kind of sight” was supposed to be herself.

Bella smiled bitterly as she pressed her face further into the pillow, closing her eyes. Mandrake was certainly not going to coddle her about whatever insecurities she had. Not that she needed any of that. She was just fine, hiding herself in the comfort of the fluffy cushion.

“I find that…” Mandrake took the time to choose the right words, “... I don’t get to look at you a lot. At least… not as often as I should.” … Could. Should have. Bloody hell. The witch turned to him, somewhat confused. "... Whaddya mean?" “... I would like to look at you more often,” the demon replied, somewhat sheepishly.

Bella’s eyes widened; a scorching wave of embarrassment washed over her, she immediately stiffened and whipped her head away from the demon. The witch couldn’t help but feel like some sort of freak show - there was no way that Mandrake would have anything interesting to look at. Not in a positive light. Bella’s appearance had certainly been different in the past, and she really wanted to believe that she couldn't care less about looks… and yet, her heart actually stung when she imagined that, perhaps, Mandrake was just contemplating the extent of her appeal’s degradation. Maybe he did not find her as pretty as she might have been, back in the days.

She huffed. “There’s nothin’ to see.”

Mandrake did not reply right away, instead taking the time to look at this newly uncovered side. Bella had turned her back to him again. Her blue curls puffed up as she sighed. The demon’s gaze followed the direction of each hectic lock. He noted the shorter curls that flourished her neck. A handful of bright blue arabesques ornated her exposed shoulders and back - just a few inches of pale skin that she had uncovered at some point in her sleep, as her body temperature might have increased uncomfortably. The strap of her bra sliced into her plump skin, accentuated the sharp curve of her trapezius muscle. There was so much to take in.

The woman’s figure was a bundle of soft curves and golden spirals scything into one another, shaped by the contrast of plump, docile flesh imprisoned in layers of snug elastane and tight straps.

Bella curled up on the sofa in a nervous attempt to retreat from the demon’s space. She made sure to avoid his gaze as she fixed herself up, readjusting the sleeve of her dress, pulling her woolly cardigan over her shoulders, pretending that her face wasn’t on fire. Somehow, he seemed to finally sense her discomfort. Was she ashamed of herself for falling asleep in his company? Was he doing something inappropriate? He did recall that staring was sometimes perceived as rude. But he didn’t think he was staring inappropriately. And Bella was not a stranger.

“Do you dislike that I am looking at you?” he asked, just to be sure. After all, Bella never told him that she disliked it when he looked at her.

#look. im not a native english speaker #im begging for indulgence at this point #earwig and the witch #ghibli #.fic

[twinstarsies]

no quirks au, meet cute (ish), implied stalking (not bkdk)

Katsuki is standing in the store debating the merits of picking up the shitty coffee Hitoshi drinks or making the fucker get it himself with his own money when a hand slips into his seemingly out of nowhere.

"The fu—"

He looks over to see bright green eyes surrounded by freckles and a wide smile that makes his knees go a little weak. The man gives his hand a squeeze and leans into his side, and Katsuki gets a whiff of warm cologne and spearmint.

"Ah, Kacchan! There you are!" he says brightly. It's followed immediately by a low, "My name is Izuku, I'm being stalked, and your resting bitch face is absolutely terrifying. Please just go with it."

Chalk it up to his knee jerk response to a challenge being to kick its ass, or maybe his innate rage at people who choose to be assholes, but Katsuki shuts his mouth and doesn't question it further. He slips his hand from the one holding it and instead wraps it around the stranger's—Izuku's—waist, turning his head to nose at soft curls as he makes a discreet sweep with his eyes.

And there—at the end of the aisle is a skeevy-looking guy that looks like he hasn't left his mom's basement in at least five years. His beady eyes are trained on Izuku pressing close into Katsuki's side, and his skin crawls at the hunger he sees in them: dark and possessive, and not in a fun way.

His arm curls tighter around him. "I think we need to try a new brand," he says, loud enough for Creep McStalker to hear, but no more obvious than his normal volume. "Wedding prep is kicking my ass and the shit you usually drink ain't cutting it anymore. The hag's gonna rip me a new asshole if I fall asleep during the rehearsal dinner."

His impromptu fiancé snorts a laugh. "That'd be funny to see. But I guess I don't want you passing out during our vows either, so."

Katsuki just grunts in response, still watching the guy loiter by the teas. When he looks away from Izuku and meets his glare, the guy immediately turns tail and fucks off without even pretending to grab something.

As soon as he's gone, the tension leaves Izuku's shoulders, and he slumps against Katsuki.

"Oh, thank goodness," he says. He smiles gratefully at Katsuki, and wow, he's pretty when he does that. "Thank you so much! He's been following me for, like, an hour and a half now. Nothing I did got him to go away."

Katsuki pulls away with a surprising amount of reluctance. He feels strangely comfortable with Izuku tucked under his arm—he doesn't want to let him go. He clears his throat, his face feeling warm.

"'S nothin'," he shrugs. "But, like. Do you need to go to the police or some shit?"

Izuku blinks at him and then waves his hand. "Oh, yeah, I will. I managed to take a picture of him and everything, so hopefully they can, um. Find his identity and... take it from there, I guess. I don't know how that works, really. Cop dramas don't really go into detail about stalker cases. Homicides, sure, and at this point I feel like I've watched enough procedurals to be able to commit a murder and get away with it, but—"

"You're a rambler, huh," Katsuki interrupts him, eyebrows raised in amusement. Izuku snaps his mouth shut, freckled cheeks flushing a pretty shade of pink as he gives him an apologetic look. He just grins and can't help but tease, "That's kind of hot."

Izuku ducks his head bashfully and playfully swats at his arm. "Don't tease me, Kacchan. It's mean."

Katsuki nudges him back, then realizes something. "What's with that nickname, anyway?" He never told Izuku his name, so how did he know—?

"Kacchan?" Izuku gestures at his chest. Katsuki looks down and sure enough, his name badge is still clipped to his shirt. Because he just got off his shift. "I read your name badge and it was the first thing that came to mind. I know it's kind of childish, but it sounds like we have history, which I figured would make a relationship between us more believable.

"N-Not that—" He stutters, and Katsuki watches him turn redder as he waves his arms around. "Not that I really thought we'd have to justify our fake relationship to the creep stalking me, but. I don't know, okay! It made sense in my brain at the time!"

Izuku's cheeks puff out as he pouts in his embarrassment, and Katsuki thinks he's the cutest thing he's ever seen. With a fond huff, he reaches up and ruffles his soft curls.

"It's fine, nerd." He grins again and winks. "I'll be your Kacchan anytime."

A certain gleam lights up those green eyes, and Katsuki senses a kindred spirit: someone who sees a challenge and takes it immediately just to come out on top.

"So," Izuku says, tone sweet as he bats his lashes, "would you be my Kacchan if I asked you out for coffee, as thanks? Not bought from the grocery store of course."

"Hell yeah," Katsuki agrees immediately. A spontaneous coffee date with a cute guy? Sign him the fuck up. His roommate can get his own shitty coffee. "You free right now? I ain't got anywhere to be."

His heart skips half a beat in excitement when Izuku takes his hand and slips their fingers together, beaming up at him with the prettiest smile. He has the passing thought that it's too bad Izuku isn't actually his fiancé—or even his boyfriend—because he kind of wants to see that smile for the rest of his life.

Izuku squeezes his fingers. "I'm yours for the afternoon, Kacchan."

Katsuki decides right then that he wants this afternoon to last forever.

#bkdk #bakudeku #twinstarsiesfics #.fic #i like weird meet cutes ok

[thebrandywine]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Piers Nivans/Chris Redfield, Leon S. Kennedy/Piers Nivans, Leon S. Kennedy/Chris Redfield, Leon S. Kennedy/Piers Nivans/Chris Redfield Characters: Piers Nivans, Chris Redfield (Resident Evil), Leon S. Kennedy, Original Characters Additional Tags: Piers Nivans Lives, Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, Making Up, Polyamory Negotiations, Arguing, Post-Resident Evil 6, Porn with Feelings Series: Part 2 of [a series of love songs] Summary:

Where do they go from here?

#HAPPY COCK APPRECIATION DAY TO ALL WHO CELEBRATE #.fic

[lskisms]

1 + 4 w sydney adamu ? maybe reader says one of the prompts n then a bit later syd says the other one ? also pretty pleaseeee some kissing n a lil domesticity ? been going insane abt syd since i first saw her ,,,

(stop) messing around, s. adamu

syn. there's been a little laundry mishap between you and your roommate... who you may or may not have a little crush on. (who can blame you?)

gen. romance.

warnings. lapslock intended, sapphic realness once again.

word count. 0.6k.

note. "been going insane about syd since i first saw her" TRUST me too omg... title taken from bibi's "let's be honest" and prompts from this list. also thank you for being my first request omg..

it is… far too early to be feeling the way you do right now: blood hot chocolate warm under your skin and your insides going gooey and soft like marshmallow. you're got a long day of studying and work ahead of you, leading to your early wake up time, but now there's a part of you that wishes you'd slept in like you normally do because this is way too much. sydney, your roommate, is making a breakfast of omelettes and hashbrowns, which isn't so normal, but she's doing it wearing your sweats.

"good morning!" she chirps when she turns to put dirty dishes in the sink, noticing you standing in the walkway.

"are those… are you wearing my sweatpants?" you ask, trying to maintain your composure.

after a long stint of bad roommates, sydney was a gift: funny, compassionate, and clean. since she'd moved in, you'd enjoyed waking up to her making breakfast and the brightness she brought into the apartment. it was only a matter of time, really, before you caught feelings for her. and now that you have, you've been finding it increasingly difficult to ignore them in favor of keeping a platonic living space.

syd looks down at herself, still cradling the dirty dishes in her hands. when she looks back up at you, her mouth opens and closes in nervousness, stuttering. "uh… y-yeah, i guess they are. they must have accidentally ended up in my… laundry… i'm sorry-" you throw out your hands, shaking your head. "no, it's totally fine! just an accident. not a big deal at all." she looks at you all wide eyed, still floundering, but eventually, she closes her mouth and nods. she goes back to making breakfast and sets the table, serving you your food. halfway through her omelette, she looks up at you and her fork pauses just a few inches from her mouth.

"that's my shirt!"

you stop chewing and look up at her, your turn for your eyes to widen. you raise a free hand to cover your mouth and you ask, "what?"

she gestures at you and the shirt you're wearing. "you're wearing my shirt."

you look down at yourself and sure enough, you're wearing one of her graphic tees. what a strange laundry mix up, you think.

"it must have ended up in my laundry too…"

the two of you look at each other and after a few moments of silence, you start giggling over your meals. when she softly kicks your shin under the table, you laugh harder. you spend the rest of breakfast sharing a laugh and chatting about your plans for the day.

with breakfast over, the two of you stand at the sink, a typical routine in your household. except this time, while she washes and you dry and put away, your hips and shoulders bump together in a way that is far more than platonic. eventually, the dishes are clean and in their proper places, and you look over at syd, only to find her looking at you already. she glances from your lips back up to your eyes and you can't wait anymore. you lean in hesitantly, trying to anticipate how she feels about this, but she closes the gap before you do, her lips soft against your own and her fingers brushing against your waist. it's perfect and beautiful and everything you've ever dream about your first kiss with her being.

when she breaks it, the two of you stare at each other for a long few moments and then start laughing again.

"took us long enough," she says, shaking her head.

"you think the washer and dryer were plotting this?"

"oh! for sure."

© lskisms 2023. do not translate, copy, or repost my work on any site.

#sydney x reader #sydney adamu x reader #syd x reader #syd adamu x reader #the bear x reader #.fic #.thebear

[masnmount]

Escape from L.A.

Words - 3.2k

Smut! Only interact if you are 18+, any minors caught interacting with this post will be blocked.

Please be nice <3

Following a 10 month trip to LA to ‘find myself’ I wound back up in Cobham having not found myself at all, in fact no, that’s a lie, I realised I didn’t need to find anything else, everything I could ever want was right here in front of me. My friends, family, potential love interests, I didn’t need to travel the globe to find what was on other peoples front door steps, I was content with my own door step.

Or should I say, my best friends door step. Here I found myself knocking on the door of my best friend’s house, my best friend since before I was even born, and his best friends, who he’d been best friends with since before he was born. The four of us had grown up together, not like siblings but like genuine best friends. It was a weird dynamic full of flirting to fighting and everything in between but it worked and none of us had ever fallen out for more than 10 minutes at most. Usually when one of the lads whacked me with a pillow just a tad too hard.

Of course, over time the dynamics of friendship can change along with a lot of things, physical structure being another. The last time I saw my best friends I had A cups and not much of a bum, now there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that, I was never unhappy with my body but the LA lifestyle came with intense work outs on the beach and sun bathing as if you’re getting paid to do so, and because of that my slight 20 year old frame had transformed into a strong and sultry woman. My boobs were 4 times the size (there must be something in the coffee out there) my hips had widened slightly due to the type of gym work I had been doing and my bum had grown, rather a lot.

The golden tan coating my skin was still very glowy despite the overcast weather in Surrey and my long dark hair was shining like I was in a L’Oréal advert (other brands are available). With this new found confidence in myself I thought I’d test the waters slightly and see just how much our friendship dynamic had changed since we last saw each other.

Wearing light cream joggers that hung loosely on my hips and a cream/white coloured low cut v-neck ribbed top I knocked on the door and waited for the footsteps. The boys knew I was coming over so the slightly stunned looks on their faces once they had opened the front door had me smirking internally, right where I wanted them.

Mason, Reece and Ben stood in the doorway looking slightly dumbfound and if I didn’t know them better I’d think there was something wrong with me, there wasn’t, far from it.

“Hey dickheads, did you miss me!” I greeted them with.

“Oh my god y/n, talk about taking your time” Mason laughed before he opened his arms out to me, lurching forward I grabbed all three boys best I could and squished them into a big hug. I’d actually really missed these guys even if I would never tell them that.

Forcing my way into Mason’s house, out of the no doubt soon to be rain shower, I slipped my shoes off and followed them through to the living room launching myself down onto the sofa.

After filling the boys in on my time away and them telling me stories from the football season just passed we we’re all hanging out on the huge double L shaped sofa, with blankets and snacks, some dumb movie on the TV and a couple of glasses of wine down each.

“So y/n, how’s the love life? Get yourself a nice LA boy to fill your time?” Ben asked.

“As pretty as the boys might have been Ben, they’re about as fun as two planks of wood. All staring at themselves in the mirror while you’re left to finish yourself off, not for me thanks” Rolling my eyes I got up to pour myself another glass of wine, whilst stood at the kitchen island that was open plan with the living room was it only then I noticed. The same ‘glow up’ I was so proud of myself for going through, it seemed that Mason had gone through a glow up of his own. Slouched on the sofa with his feet up on the coffee table, I was at the perfect angle to look him up and down. His grey sweatpants and white hoodie complimenting his obviously ultra-toned physique. Mason was always on the lean side, you kind of needed to be as a footballer but in 10 months his narrow shoulders had grown broader, and his thighs thicker, highlighting just how slim his hips were. God he looked good and I couldn’t even see him properly. Why I’m having these thoughts about my best friend of 20+ years I don’t know but like I said earlier, dynamics change. The adorable purple beanie covering his head kept a soft side to him, a side the public never saw too often but in the comfort and company of his closest friends his relaxed look was unbelievably sexy.

“What do you mean ‘finish yourself off’” Mason quizzed once I’d returned, a slight smirk donning his lips, I wasn’t sure if he was teasing or genuinely curious, so I quizzed back.

“Well Mason dear, when a boy has achieved his goal, he’s pretty quick to roll over and go to sleep, not much care goes out to the poor lass sat next to them who had barely got started” “Do you know what I mean?” sensing he did know what I mean I looked away focusing back on the movie Reece was forcing us to watch.

Sensing eyes on me I scanned the room, and out of the corner of my eye I caught Mason, like a deer in headlights with his eyes firmly planted on my cleavage. Not moving my eyes from his face he looked up, I was expecting him to be bashful and look away but it was me who ended up bashful, he smirked at me whilst darting his tongue out over his bottom lip.

“So are you saying you faked it, or are you saying they never even bothered to want you to cum” His question like a fog horn in my brain, he’s twisted my little plan and now I’m the one blushing.

“They were stupid, not horrible, I let them believe whatever they wanted once I got bored of the sex, I’d fake it and leave” “I swear boys think they’re doing an amazing job when in reality most of them don’t have a clue” scanning all three boys faces I realised I had their full attention and I could almost smell the egos deflating.

“I mean, no offence guys but I really don’t believe that every orgasm you think you’ve given a girl was real” I muttered.

“Yeh course it is, they’ve told me” “why wouldn’t they just say if they hadn’t finished” “I’m great in bed there’s no way they’d fake it and leave after begging to get in there with me” was the chorus I heard, not quite sure who’d even said what.

I rolled my eyes and giggled out loud at the last one, I had to admit I’d love to believe they were that good in bed for their ex-girlfriends and one night stands sakes but it just didn’t sit right with me.

“When was the last time a guy actually made you cum then?” Mason directed at me, silence fell over the other two as they waited for my answer.

“I don’t know really, I can’t remember, a long time ago though, can’t have been mind blowing though because I’d remember that” I thought out loud, scolding myself internally at being so crude in front of my life long best friends.

Mason muttered something under his breathe which was clearly heard by Reece and Ben who laughed at his comment, it passed me by though so I asked him to repeat himself. Turning to me and looking me dead in the eye I waited for him to repeat himself. The cheek this boy has, before he uttered another word his eyes flicked down to my cleavage, his tongue darting over his lip again like before. “Bet I could make you cum.”

Thinking it was one of his flirty banter lines I laughed it off “sure Mason, believe what you want.”

“No I’m serious, if a guy hasn’t made you cum in that long let me have a go”

“I’m not a fucking pinball machine Mason, you can’t just put a penny in and have a fucking go??” I replied credulously at him.

“In fact” he continued, completely ignoring my response, “I bet I could make you cum with just my fingers, and if I can’t you can have my mouth too, for as long as you like” “how does that sound princess?” Princess, well that perked my interest.

Not quite sure where or who or what to look at or do, I looked to Ben and Reece, hoping their expressions would make me believe the lie I hoped Mason was telling, but their humoured looks told me they were just waiting for me to break.

“He’s got a point y/n, don’t mind us we’ll just wait for his downfall” Reece went on to say, laughing with Ben at the possible embarrassed Mason they could encounter should he fail on his mission to get me off, one that I hadn’t even agreed to, mind you.

Masons cards were, as I now properly understood, well and truly laid out on the table, this man right here was really wanting to pleasure me to the best of his abilities, in front of his friends, for my benefit.. could you believe the cheek. Feeling rather warm all of a sudden I looked back at Mason, who was still looking at me with those big brown beautiful eyes, I’m not going to say I was in love with my best friend, I’m not a cliché, but it was always different with me and him compared to the other two. The flirting did always go on for a little longer and the tickle fights did always get a little closer. But I’m not a cliché, and with that in mind I tipped the rest of my wine down my throat, swallowed and agreed.

Unsure of how we were going to approach this I let him lead me, I didn’t know how or where he wanted me but when his hand reached for mine I was putty. Thinking he was going to hover me I was surprised when he told me to straddle him, knees either side of those slim hips I was admiring earlier, his slouched position on the sofa not changed however now an ever so slight bulge visible as I imagined he was anticipating the actions to follow.

“kiss me”

“wh-wwhat” I spluttered, looking down at him beneath me.

“kiss me” he said it so simply, as if it was natural between us.

“I can’t just dive in y/n, part of making a girl crumble is the anticipation, I want you to be a worked up mess, begging for it” unable to believe he could do that to me I leant forward cutting his words off with my lips. Connecting with his soft lips my breath caught in my throat, this felt fucking amazing. The tenderest of tiny kisses was placed before I pulled away, before I could get too far away from him, his arm reached around my back pulling me back in, this time instead of the small peck from before he moulded his lips to mine, with force and passion. My mind went blank, we were the only people in the world at that moment. His soft wet lips caressing mine, he pulled me closer with his arm around my back and swiped his tongue across my lower lip, never one to refuse Mason I parted my lips and our tongues met. It quickly became heated, he tasted sweet, a hint of wine coating his mouth as I suddenly felt the effects of the wine I had drank, a moan was pulled from the back of my throat, well now I’m turned on.

Moving my hands I ran them up his arms and across his shoulders desperate to feel his skin, reaching his neck I snaked my fingers under the back of the beanie he was still wearing, pulling it in one swift motion from his head, his stunning brown locks falling between my fingers tips. His lips moved to my jaw and down to my neck, the spell this man had put me under was magnificent, my whole body tingled as I felt him leaving hot wet kisses down to my pulse point, his tongue darting out to lick at the sensitive spot pulling a breathy moan from me.

He carried on with his assault down my neck and collar bones, taking his time to lap at my skin with his tongue, I was sure he was trying to taste me, it felt like I had a sheen of arousal all over my skin with how his mouth made me feel. His words from earlier running through my mind you can have my mouth too, for as long as you like. He knew exactly what he was doing and I knew at that point I was about to experience every confidence he had in his ability to pleasure a woman properly.

For a brief second whilst he lips parted from my skin I felt him move the hand that wasn’t around my waist towards the front of my joggers, his finger dipping beneath the band, pulling it to test how far he could stretch them, ideally I’d hate to have to get off him to remove my clothes right now so I was delighted when he hummed, happy with the fact I didn’t have to leave him. Dipping his hand fully into my pants now he let the slightest touch from his fingertips touch my core over my underwear. Pulling away from me he looked down between us, eying the light blue lace, a frown formed on his face as his eyes met mine “That’s the wrong shade of blue princess” left speechless by his words I ground my hips forward hoping for him to start what he had promised me. A chuckle left his swollen lips before he removed his arm from my waist, thinking for a split second he was making a fool out of my gullible nature I gasped when he moved his hand towards the v-cut of my top, pulling the material down to expose my breast, leaning forward he took my left nipple into his hot mouth, I thought I was dreaming as his tongue swirled and flicked the bud, taking my nipple further into his mouth he sucked and nipped and the hand down the front of my pants slowly started moving again. The combination of his teasing touches on my clothed core along with his hot wet mouth on my sensitive nipple had me gasping his name.

“fuck Mase” I breathed out, his smirk evident against my skin.

“tell me what you want, darling, and I’ll do it” he teased.

As I mentioned earlier, I’m never one to refuse Mason. “I want your fingers in me” the tremble in my voice evident as the nerves broke through. “Please” that one word must have set something alight in him, as he quickly moved the light blue lace to the side and ran his fingers through my slick folds, the feeling of him touching me burned into my memory forever.

“god, you’re so fucking wet already, y/n” gathering my wetness on his fingertips he dragged them forward till he finally reached my sensitive spot. He slowly started to circle my clit with the pads of his fingers, my god the burn of desire that swelled in me took over. Tugging on his hair I pulled his mouth off my nipple and kissed him harshly, tongues battling, moans being swallowed as he continued his feather light movements on my clit. Parting his lips from mine he looked into my eyes “say it again princess” “say what” I quizzed, “beg me.”

Time slowed, his mouth reconnecting with mine, his fingers tips teasing my clit and entrance, his other hand gripping my breast, rolling my nipple between his fingers. “Please Mason, make me cum” upon hearing his name and that request fall from the slither of space between our mouths his fingers slid into me, him re-adjusting so his thumb could circle my clit as he ploughed his long fingers between my folds. Never in my life has a man, or even myself, made me react like his fingers in and on me are doing right now. It’s like he’s unlocked Pandora’s box within me, reaching areas within me I had only ever read about possibly feeling. His hands and mouth worked me like they knew every movement of my body, not at all like this was the first time he had ever touched me. His continuing assault had me throwing my head back, his mouth reattaching to my nipple and he took it between his teeth, “oh fuck mason, please keep going” I could feel him, I could feel him everywhere on me and in me. I could also feel my rising body heat, a tingle that started in my toes, a flush as red as roses moving up my chest and neck, tinting the tips of my ears as if I’d caught the sun.

“Mason please keep going, ooh f-uck that feels so fucking good” had I not have been chasing my impending orgasm I might have cried with how he handled me, so gently, so rough, so warm, so cold, he was perfect at this, like he spent his free time practising, he probably did but who am I to judge.

Sensing my walls beginning to tighten around his two fingers he started to egg me on “that’s it baby, see how good that feels, when a real man touches you” his words tingling the parts of my brain not yet clouding over. He was a real man, and that’s not because of anything other than right now my pleasure is his pleasure, his words of encouragement towards me so to reach a mutual desired goal. I almost wanted to starve off my orgasm for as long as possible, the thought of being able to have his lips around my clit, his tongue fucking into me sending me into a whirlwind, but I couldn’t even if I tried, for too long I had waited for a man to touch me right, and it was the man right in front of me my whole life who was able to do so.

“Come on y/n, cum on my fingers princess” and with that I crashed, clamping his fingers between my walls, his thumb never stopping its movements on my clit as my orgasm washed over me, his name along with a string of profanities and breaths caught in my throat tumbled from my lips as I came. He rode me through my orgasm till his touch became too much and he felt me shiver with every movement of his skin on my sensitive core.

“You look so hot when you cum” I heard him whisper against my skin, no doubt because he didn’t want the other boys to hear him say it.

The other boys.. fuck.

#.fic #.x #mentions reece james and ben chilwell #mason mount #mason mount smut #mason mount fanfic

[awordbroken]

mini-mini-ficlet quickly dashed out because i don't know when i'll feel up to writing something fuller and i've been thinking about making my oc suffer. based on my thoughts in this post (slight mask spoilers). warning for. hm. non-descriptive asphyxiation ig.

***

"Does something still remain of the hunter in Fires after all?" The satin-soft voice pins them in place, prey instinct freezing their breathing. "What a little field mouse it has brought into its collection."

Claws like glinting needles snatch the pillow from their hands. Predator. Crow Melusine has often felt small and helpless in the face of powerful forces–

(On their knees on cobbled street, sobbing and coughing at Mr Fires' feet. Desperate steps down the Coiling Spire under the hateful gaze of the Boil of Calamities. In a dream of burial, the ringing of Poor Edward's little silver bell.)

–but not like this. Not this animal horror. The hawk has already seen them. It is already preparing to swoop.

"Then again, you seem hardly worth the effort to release to catch again." There are nothing but shadows within the predator's veiled hood. Now the shadows consume them, too, as the beast looms over them, an almost playful tilt to its head. "No chase in you."

The pillow is deceptively gentle, coming down on their face. A choked whimper escapes their paralyzed throat then, at last scrabbling for breath to scream when there is no more breath to be had. Their fingers tangle in fur, they scratch and beat at limbs as immovable as pillars. Through muffled fabric, the creature laughs.

"Now I see. Fires does like to feel powerful." The voice grows shrill with terrible excitement. WEAK PREY IN ITS JAWS. POLISHING ITS TEETH.

STRUGGLE.

MORE.

MOUSE.

#.fic #.ocs #.oc: crow melusine