#reading has killed my romance expectations

[screampied]

BAD ROMANCE! — ☆ SATOSUGU.

➤ popstar!gojo mlist.

headline. being sandwiched between a popstar and geto, his bassist best friend was almost like a fever dream. what happens when they start fighting over who can make you moan the highest note? sharing is caring…right?

word count. 5.8k (i am sorry)

warnings. fem! reader, popstar!gojo au, bassist geto, geto has a tongue piercing, threesome, double penetration, manhandling, fucking while standing, size kink, unprotected sex, implied multiple orgasms, cunnilingus, gojo slander (lol)

an. makes sense if u read the first part !! if not that’s okaaay. sry for any errorssss aha

“seriously. join…the two of you?” geto mutters with a subtle eye twitch—you stared at the lead bassist, and he briefly returned a glance. his hands were buried in his pockets, wearing a leather jacket, ripped jeans and a fitted white tank underneath. geto’s hair was a tad bit ruffled with a perfect length wolf cut. “you do realize your fans have been waiting for you for over an hour.”

“oh….right, i did have a concert,” gojo nervously chuckles, running a hand down his neck. “they heard everything too. nanami’s gonna kill me. that’s fun.”

geto’s eyes dart back towards you and suddenly you feel extremely nervous. you could never ever read him, he just a blank stare plastered amongst his face.

“i don’t think we’ve officially met. wish i didn’t have to meet you half-naked but,” and you were embarrassed, feeling the tips of your ears get feverish and abnormally hot. “i’m this idiot’s bassist. suguru ge—”

“bro she didn’t ask for your life story,” gojo groans, and you let off a gasp once he lifts you up, an arm underneath you and another bringing you towards his chest. “sugupoo, you didn’t answer my question.”

“sugupo—” he furrows his eyebrows, repeating the petname. geto grumbles, “…fine, but not here. we can…go back to my hotel or something.”

this was far more than anything you could have imagined. being between two idols. more so gojo but still. you were pretty much left with shredded clothing thanks to gojo barely even an hour ago…

“is she always this sensitive to touch?” geto utters, peeling your the remains of your clothes off — which was basically just a thin robe. he was tantalizingly slow with his hands, the very pads of his fingertips ghosting against your skin made you left off a soft gasp.

“pretty much,” gojo hums, and you watch as the popstar lowers his head to kiss near your thighs. “she’s a little camera shy.”

“what does that even-”

“…nevermind.”

geto was more tame while gojo was far more eager. you make brief eye contact with geto and he leans in toward you. you were expecting him to kiss you but instead, he brings a thumb towards your lip and smiles. “you’re a lot prettier in person, assistant. what are you doing messing around with this idiot?”

“um—”

“none of your business. besides, don’t talk to my work wife like that.” gojo pouts, and he makes you face him directly. 

obviously, he was being nothing but a pure tease. you feel yourself grow hot once gojo presses his lips onto yours. you could hear geto scoffing in the background.

you and gojo weren’t exactly a thing… although, maybe this “thing” was developing into some sort of fling. 

you moan into his mouth, feeling gojo’s hand trail down to part against your thigh before geto pries the two of you off, only to bring you into a much more steamy kiss. 

gojo’s jaw drops dramatically, a squeaky gasp leaving his lips as he watches you make out with geto.

geto was far more passionate and tender by a mile. with a soft thumb grazing beneath your chin, you let off a soft whine. tasting the sugary spiced alcohol on his tongue…..just a tang, but it was enough for you to covet more of him. more of his taste.

“this isn’t…. fair.” gojo nags, yet his body feels otherwise. seeing his bassist of a best friend kiss you deeply, touching all over your body. he started to feel himself get…aroused. 

you feel a cunning smirk go against geto’s lips. with a hand gripped softly underneath your chin, he continues to stroke it soothingly. 

he was so deliberate with his tongue, making sure to savour every inch of you. a groan leaves his mouth as he deepens the kiss for a brisk second. his breath was eminently lukewarm, and you don’t even recollect yourself pulling him closer to your already achey body. 

“suguru, you’re beinʼ stingy,” gojo frowns, starting to think if suggesting him to tag along was a good idea… perhaps not… after all, he was the satoru gojo. he’s never been a fan of share the spotlight.

geto swiftly pulls away and his eye contact against you makes you grow hot. his eyes spoke a thousand words, dirty dirty words though. gojo lets off a vexed sigh before running a hand through his hair. “…i have an idea though.”

“what?” you and geto both speak in low unison. 

the popstar has a cheeky grin on his lips before playfully rolling his eyes, tilting his head. “which can make her louder. then again, i already know i’m gonna win sooo…”

geto utters in the most sassiest tone imaginable, “please. you’d probably be the loudest out of all of us but fine.”

the thought of them both fighting over you, your client, and his best friend as well as his lead bassist.

you firmly clasped your thighs together before shyly drawing circles against the outer part of your arm. “well, he was pretty loud earlier. his fans heard him moaning all through his mic backstage and—”

“tch. shut up..” he grumbles, trying to forget that incident even happened. 

gojo now decides to pulls you into sweet passionate fulfilled kiss, and it’s deep with a bit of tongue.

you were indeed basically naked with the exception of a silk sage-colored robe he bought you as a new year’s eve gift. it hung down your body perfectly, just enough to make out your skin. 

geto makes you slip a whine into gojo’s mouth once he spreads your legs with one hand—you were drenched, soaked….no doubt about it. “no panties,” he mutters in a rough voice. “satoru must’ve beat me to it, hmpf.”

you started to pant the more gojo moved his tongue against yours, you could tell how needy he was. even though he already had a taste from you earlier, he wanted more. you were like some kind of candy, intoxicatingly sweetened. 

he smoothly slides his tongue against your bottom lip, grunting from the leftover taste of your flavored lip gloss that was by this point smeared across your lips. whenever gojo kissed you, you had this warm burning feeling inside. it was indescribable, you knew more than anyone how unprofessional this was…yet it felt good, his touch, his taste, even his rich scent. 

“what a mess. already drenched for me,” geto murmurs, and you peek an eye open to watch the bassist go down, between your legs. you sit up with gojo tilting your head to face him, thighs spread apart and you let off a moan once he starts to work his way. 

slowly, geto creates tender kisses… 

he creates a simple trail, all up your thighs. the softness of his lips pressing against your skin made you whine against gojo’s lips.

gojo moves your chin back to focus back towards him, and he gives your bottom lip an impish bite.

peppering the side parts of your mouth with numerous wet kisses. “mwah,” he’d coo, a teasing gesture yet the stare he gave you made you throb. “my fans heard us…heard you, y’know. how does that make you feel?”

you stare at gojo, and his eyebrows are slightly raised in curiosity. he was such a tease, wanting to know your response. 

geto’s tongue licks against the inner part of your thigh and you moan. that’s when you feel a slight coldness of his tongue piercing run against your skin — it tickles but in the best way imaginable. 

he starts to suck against your skin, a soft ‘pop’ skims past his lips and you whine before gojo squeezes your lips together. 

“heyyy, pretty. ‘m talking to you.” he whispers, leaning in to sneak another kiss on your mouth. 

“i— i liked it,” you utter, geto’s touch from underneath, a finger trailing against your skin with his tongue following shortly afterward made you pulse continuously. “knowing everyone heard me….your die-hard fans, it turned me on a little.”

“yeah? did it really?” he grins, showcasing a casual head tilt. “wow, you really are a kinky girl. but it turned me on too,” he adds, inching his face towards your neck to give it a soft suck. “hmph. next time i should probably fuck you on stage, wouldn’t that be a pretty sight,” he murmurs, his voice playfully lowering. “ooh, it’s probably all over the headlines, but eh, who gives a shit, right? not me, and definitely not her.”

you were just about to let off a mewl once gojo reached down to give your pussy a mean squeeze as soon as he referred to it as ‘her.’

he brings an additional kiss to you before you feel the warmth of geto’s breath fan against your entrance. you start to pant, feeling gojo’s hands roam and wander all against your body. 

an abrupt shock surges throughout your skin from his fingertips and the silk robe you wore. gojo traced a thumb against your nipple—your overly-sensitive nipple that poked through the thin pretty fabric. you were so aroused that your mind raced just as quickly as your heartbeat did. 

“fuck…dunno know what it is about you,” he murmurs, breaking away a few seconds to speak. there was a titillating bass that carried underneath gojo’s tone. 

you could hear it in his voice, how pitchy and low it would get at certain times. “just lookin’ at you gets me s-so hard,” and then he swallowed for a second, departing eye contact out of sheer flusteredness and it was cute. “still a bit…sensitive from earlier though. had the audacity to keep ridin’ me after i c-came.” 

“sorry.” you playfully press your lips together, glancing up at him and he grows embarrassed for a moment at remembering the pure thought. 

the image of him… the satoru gojo and you, his trusty assistant — being on top of the famous well-known pop star, riding him until he whined for just you and only you.

not to mention as well as having him as an entire mess underneath you. he probably was too stubborn to realize it but you had him wrapped around your pretty little finger…

to think that was just about nearly half an hour ago. your thoughts get interrupted from feeling geto’s tongue meekly lick against your inner folds. a sharp breath elicits from your throat as you look down at him already staring at you with a smug grin. 

“toru already got here too?” he whispers, ghosting a thumb against your sodden folds. his slender fingers were so long and lengthy, nails perfectly manicured, and of course, he’d have well-trimmed nails because of his status as a professional bassist.

all things considered, geto would just be godly with his fingers. it was no secret, really…

“of course i fuckin’ did.” gojo pouts, giving him a nettled glare. 

geto snickers. “aw. poor girl,” and then he makes eye contact with you, smugly simpering.

geto takes a second to tie his hair back into a messy ponytail before pursing his lips to speak. “he’s a good singer, yeahhh. but he has a huge lack of skill at eating pussy. trust me.”

“shut up, man..” gojo’s eyes widen, the tips of his ears burning, it was adorable. “that’s…not true.”

it was.

“suguruuu..” you whined, not even realize how much you were desperately aching for him. the two bickering was a constant thing, but you decided to ignore it and let the lust take over. 

“i’m sorry, i should be paying more attention to you,” he mutters, using a hand to shove your right thigh a few inches away.

geto promptly rolls out his tongue….slowly, pink and pretty. clean. your eyes peer at the pretty piercing that laid flat against the center part. “keep these legs spread for me. can you be a good girl ‘n do that?”

you unwittingly feel yourself pulse just from that action of him showing you a good view of his tongue. you give the bassist a pathetic eager nod, a hand running towards the roots of his hair to grip it before he grins. “good, ‘cause ‘m starved.”

“sugu, what… what am i supposed to do?” gojo huffs out. 

“figure it out yourself, popstar.” geto murmurs, and a soft pout twists against gojo’s lips. 

that’s when he makes you turn over to where you’re on your hands and knees—you face forward, most importantly, you face forward right against gojo’s crotch. face front and all.

he lingers near the edge of the bed, towering over you with a hungry gaze before letting off a whine. 

“jus’ look at me….i can’t perform like this,” not like he was going to perform anyway…but you stare at gojo’s body. all he wore was sweats, the original partially bedazzled outfit that was actually geto’s was practically torn. “you gave me this boner, ‘s your fault ‘m all needy.”

geto interrupts the erotic atmosphere with his tongue gradually flicking against your pussy, two rough hands spread the fat of your ass and you whine at how abruptly lewd it was. “oh my g-goddd.”

gojo feels like he has competition with geto, so he frowns—the pout remaining on his pink sheeny lips before he grips ahold of your chin to make you stare straight at him whilst you’re on all fours on the cushioned mattress. 

“been…been wantin’ to finally see what this pretty throat feels like,” 

he sighs, and he watches as you already start to lean into his touch. you’re on the palms of your hands, back slightly arched before you pull the hem of his boxers down with your teeth. “you’re such a little... you…you know what you’re doing..”

gojo lets off a soft grunt, gripping your hair, and as you inch your face closer toward him — a few specks of his neatly scattered brush against his face. you lick against the padded fabric of his boxers, curving your tongue against the print of his bulge and he swallows thickly. 

“you’re so fuckin’ nasty,” he huffs, bringing you all close to his briefs. you stare up at gojo, licking against the thin madematerial before cupping your mouth over his bulge…right near his base, in a much playful manner. “you’re—just asking to have a stuffed full mouth, huh?”

again, geto’s tongue rummaged all throughout your pussy while you absentmindly toying with gojo throws you off for a sudden concise moment. 

he was just as filthy, maybe even filthier. as you propped up—you whimpered, feeling how he ran his tongue all along your sweetened labia. 

your pussy pulsed against his movements, he starts to teasingly nibble on your clit before giving it a loooong suck. 

“mmph.” he’d grumble, and within minutes you could tell you had him entirely drunk. his tongue was just skimming around and against your clit that forevermore clenched. before you know it, you’re starting to intensely jounce and convulse because of the stimulation. 

his tongue laid flat against your pussy, the piercing that stuck against him, the slight coldness of it made you obliviously arch your back a bit more. toes of yours clenched in desire before your mouth opened at his technique.

geto was slow but sensual. 

his tongue… it spiraled against your pussy in a sweet motion to make you sob out a cry. 

“open that mouth,” gojo mutters, his hand still gripping your chin, and you do, parting your lips before watching him spring his dick out. it was throbbing, swollen, and not to mention quite pretty.

he wasn’t lying—you did leave him incredibly sensitive from earlier…

gojo lets off a breathless groan once he watches you kiss the tip of his cock head, which ends up turning into many kisses. his lip quivers the more time he spends staring at you. his breath becomes abnormally shaky, all because of you.

“…don’t tease me,” he whines before wrapping shuddery fingers around his fat length, giving it a few swift pumps before he starts to smear his pre-cum smothered tip all across your lips.

you give the popstar a cute, roguish glance before skimming the tip of your tongue against his frenulum. 

that spot…it was that spot that always gave gojo chills. he was trying too hard to keep up a tough front. he’s suppressing his moans before he watches you sink him down inch by inch. 

“mouth of yours ‘s just askin’ to be ruined,” he moans, and your eyes dart back up toward the popstar. his washboard abs tightened as he stood still, watching you lower your throat on him. you were a bit sloppy not to mention, strands of spit were already running down the side of your chin. “such a slutty assistant. unprofessional and—”

gojo shuts up the moment he feels your tongue stir leisurely against his tip, he’s halfway in before you gag. he reaches the roof of your mouth already, and you’re keeping him warm, all thanks to your throat.

“…damn girl,” he huffs, and as you’re breathing through your nose, he grabs a fistful of your hair.

with a tight pull, your eyes meet his abs again, and he was so fit. figures, he is an industrially well-trained dancer after all. gojo’s workout routine was no mystery. you throbbed a bit the more you stared at his body. 

as your eyes rove, you spotted a few lipstick stains smeared all against gojo’s skin, as well as a few sharpie marks. you figured it was from one of his obsessed die-hard fans.

it was just the way his perfectly sculptured chiseled v-line presented itself. the few specks of white hairs trailing down his area further and further to where it aligns toward his happy trail…

yet, the more you stared back at the dozens of now nearly faded marks of lipstick stains scattered all over his body—you don’t know why but you felt this peculiar feeling of…jealousy. 

was it jealousy?

geto continues to eat you out as you’re trapped in a dark bubble of your thoughts, and you whimper once you feel the soft padded tip of his nose slide all against your pussy. 

he was quite literally nose-deep, making you extra sensitive by adding a finger to rub against your soaked folds. 

his touch was fiery warm.

as you started to moderately make your lips firm. you slid your tongue out before gently rubbing it against the very underside part of his cock. gojo groans once more, face growing flustered as a hand remains at the top of your head. “such a filthy mouth,” he pants, hovering over you beside the bed.  

geto’s still eating you from behind, and he starts sucking again. passionately sucking on your throbbing neglected clit. he makes it his passion to give it all sorts of uninvited attention to feel you pulse and convulse into and against his mouth. 

gojo watches you start to vigorously shake and twitch from his best friend’s tongue, and he raises your chin up to look right at him.

mouth full and all, your tongue reaches the inner vein part of gojo’s lanky cock, he whines. 

“s-shit,” he sibilates through gritted teeth, and that’s when he started to pivot his hips a bit. gojo thrusts into your mouth — and his moans were so pretty to listen to, he was a soprano after all.

the way his voice would effortlessly pitch all because of your tongue…he grabs your head, gently, yet with just enough pressure he makes you go back and forth, he’s stuffing your throat full of his girth, full of his inches.

you’re a mess, strings of saliva pouring down your chin and he looks down at you before nervously chuckling. “look at you. what, are you trying to say something?”

and he’s just at his limit, near the edge yet is such a brat. way too much for his own good. “don’t try to talk with y-your mouth full, princess.”

abruptly, you feel that familiar rush disrupt your thinking and you suddenly tense.

geto’s tongue slithers all against that spot, deep between your folds, and giving it a good nibble before your legs nearly give out right then and there. such whirlpools, a plethora of them came crashing down all at once before you moaned, the sensation was almost too much to bare. 

“give it to me, c’mon. i wanna hear you.” geto whispers, breath wafting against your clit. glossed pink lips of his was just drenched with your slit for it’s entirety.

he merrily blows against your pussy and that was just about the last straw for you—you end up cumming, and it had your eyebrows furrowing with such pleasure. 

“pft. took me longer to make her cum when i…” gojo gruffs, the same pout still pursed against his lips as he watched you riding your orgasm off against the bassist’s tongue. 

covetously, he watches as your eyelids start to droop and you’re growing quite dumb.

geto’s tongue….the length of it, the piercing, it tickled against your wet entrance as well as having you spasming and craving for more. 

gojo takes his dick out of your mouth hastily with a cute scowl on his lips whilst geto departs from behind you. 

he has a sly grin, bringing a thumb up to the corner of his mouth before swiping your slick clean. 

“jealous, ‘toru?”

“…no,” he grouches, and he definitely was. the popstar lifts you up suddenly, and your arms wrap around his neck, still panting from your recent jaw-dropping orgasmic release. “i can still do better than you, sugupoo.”

“i told you to stop calling me that.” geto chastised, standing up also. walking towards you, he ran a hand down your back and you moaned from his touch. 

you bury your face into gojo’s neck, your own warm breath going back against your face. the pop star’s half-cut-sparkled open glove traces down your back before he slyly smiles. beads of sweat races down his forehead before the singer hums. “suguru. do ya think we can fuck her like this?”

“standing up?” the bassist murmurs, and they’re both grazing their hands all over your body. while gojo has you lifted up, your legs tightly wrap and lock around his waist like a vice before geto kisses the back of your neck, pitching his voice lower as he speaks to you. “what do you think? can you handle the two of us, pretty girl?” 

you whine against gojo’s neck, trembling from geto’s touch behind you. how gentle he was, leaning in to suck against the tenderness part of your collarbone. “yeah,” you nod, and gojo glanced down at you with a smug grin forming on his lips. “j-just hurry up. satoru should have been performing like an hour ago.”

“damn, that’s true. i kinda forgot about that,” he timidly chortles, and he raises you up in his buff arms just a bit. “oh well. heh, i mean you…you can explain it to kento for me, yeah? i know he’s my manager but fuck, he scares me. if he’s nosy just tell him i’m uh…i got athlete's foot.”

there was a long rightfully so pause and geto’s hands remained gripped against your waist. “idiot…” he mumbles. 

the moment gojo aligns himself, you intake a sharp breath — mentally preparing yourself because you were about to take not only him, but his best friend also….while standing. 

“hold on to ‘toru. i’m gonna have to stretch you just a little…” geto purrs against your ear.

you made candid eye contact with gojo and he flashes a sheepish grin before planting a kiss on the tip of your nose. 

“i stretched her already.” gojo shrugs. 

“you did a lousy fuckin’ job then.” geto snarls, and you moan, feeling the thickness of geto go right into you with simplicity.

needless to say, it was sloppy. 

your cunt squelched in utter enthusiasm as he eases his way inside of you. gojo rolls his eyes at geto’s remark, and you’re quite literally being double stuffed. they both were slow and precise with their movements and you’re just in awe, dumbfounded, stupid…

you’ve never felt so full.

both of them deep inside of you, churning up your insides at the same time. you don’t think you’ve ever been fucked like this.

not only were you being shared but doing everything while standing up—your arms pathetically wrapped around gojo’s neck, and it’s the perfect position to stare right into the pop star's eyes. 

he returns the gaze, and he grows flustered, lip quivering, ears twitching, eyebrows contorting. he was trying just as much as you to not be so loud, so vocal. yet a moan slips out, and gojo’s moans never fail to be so slutty. 

“think i can see why he’s so obsessed with you,” geto grunts, maintaining a firm grip against your hips. he’s taking you from behind with gojo occupied towards the front, each pretty glacé coated whimper that ran off past your lips grew shakier and shakier from the deep thrusts you were being given.

as you idly bounced against their dicks, you were again, stupid—brainless.

your mouth ends up partially opening as you’re moaning. your pussy gripped against each of them tightly. squeezing and clamping down against each of them to where you’re just so dizzy. 

geto’s thick and girth, meanwhile gojo’s long and lengthy…

your ears fet like they were about to pop from the sheer sudden humidity in the room the more you bobbed and jostled against them. biting your lip to conceal an incoming moan, your eyes briefly roll backward before you suddenly feel the plump mushroom-tip of gojo’s dick fully expand and reach there. 

“f-fuck, oh my g-godd,” you’d whine, rough sounds of your skin against theirs ricocheting amongst each other. such beefy bulky toned arms had you propped up in such an obscene way, you craved more. “…so deep.”

gojo leans in for a wet kiss and you kiss back, a plethora of whimpers and whines glissade right into his mouth - he swiftly swipes a tongue against yours, sloppy per usual before even he starts to moan. in such a way, you never failed to leave gojo all hot and bothered.

“you two are such sluts for each other, it’s cute..” 

as the bassist teases and pokes fun, you shudder, feeling geto press up against your ass… 

the stretch, the girth he had that made him thicker… it was mouthwateringly appetizing.

you found yourself practically drooling just from his dick, the way the curve of it hit that same repeated spots to make you grow dumber and dumber. you were starting to get so loopy from his best friend that you completely forgot gojo was in the picture for a quick second. 

geto being abutting against you, his body heat was entirely chambré—the fabric of his leather jacket, the cold frigid zippers skin against your skin and you lean back against his chest. despite all of this, gojo’s still managing to have you being fucked upright.  

your entrance was slick…damp, coated each of their cocks with your dampened arousal before your breathing starts to catch up with you. 

“s-shit, ‘m not gonna last.” gojo starts, and his body language changes a bit—you study his facial expressions, the way his lips contort into a perturbed pout. skin against skin, you radiated from their heat thoroughly before geto shakes his head with a sly scoff. 

“of course you’re not.” he snickers. 

“s-shut up, sugupoo,” he whines, hastily his head goes back. the popstar’s hair goes all over his face, long white strands occluding his view of vision and it's sexy. the way he’d become whiney out of nowhere, pressing his lips together in utter desperation. you had him a mess, whining again and again, regardless of trying to keep up a front. “she’s gonna milk me ‘n it’s all your fault..”

you throbbed from his words, and the popstar could barely keep his eyes open. he’s so sensitive, keeping you up with his arms while geto has you from the other end, geto sighs dramatically. “here he goes.”

“you both talk too much.” you mewl, clinging onto gojo’s neck. 

“no we don’t.” they both say in unison before giving each other a glare. 

geto scoffs whilst gojo pokes his lip out, focusing his attention back towards you. yet the minute gojo cums, his dick ends up slipping out of you and that’s when he becomes a stuttering mess. 

“s-shit,” he huffs, wrapping a hand around his base before repositioning it again. ropes of his cum start to seep out your cunt, geto watches and he’s speechless—you mewl, feeling geto run a thumb down your slit only to then smear gojo’s cum against your pussy. “so much to give you, even still.”

gojo starts whimpering. stretching such inches inside of you while geto pauses his movements. you felt warm, not to mention exceedingly full. 

you were stuffed, to the utmost limit…

the two took turns with you. you were treated like a rag doll if one was to be honest. it was as if stamina didn’t exist for them. positions after positions, there’d be a point where geto’s sucking against your nipples while gojo’s slamming his hips into you with the sweetest whimpers dragging out from his pretty glossed lips.

albeit, you don’t expect geto to get whiney…

but he does.

you’d be riding him, he’s laid back against the bed with his legs openly spread and clenched. a sharp jawline points forward as he faces you forward. “fuckk, your hips are so..” he’d groan, his head goes back in desireable pleasure and you lean in to bombard the inner part of his neck with sweet kisses.

gojo’s behind you, and he finds himself getting jealous and a tad bit clingy. you moan, feeling him lick a long stripe up your neck, wanting you to pay more attention to him and not his dumb best friend.

geto’s so attractive from this perspective..

you decide to be a tease, planting a kiss near the corner of his mouth—your lips meeting his revealing dimples. “gripping me s-so good,” he groans, bringing a sharp smack to your ass for ‘encouragement.’

he craved the way you grinded against him, not too fast, not too quick…just right. your hips slid from front to back, swiveling all around him to where a whine rips from his throat. “damnnn, just like that. f-fuck me, fuck megirl...”

his voice deopped a single octave, and he even brought a hand up to his face to shield his pure embarrassment.

gojo snickers before he speaks, peppering kisses against your collarbone before peering at his best friend. “awww, look at sugupoo. all that talk ‘n he’s just as whiny as i was.”

“shut up.. fuckin’ shut…up,” he groans, his nostrils flare and you lean in to kiss geto, he kisses back, and this time it’s sloppy and less passionate. it’s rougher. the instant second his lips meet yours, a low moan from geto slips out.

he pants heavily against you, breaking away for a second to breath — his hands were pinching your waist, brushing against your tender skin before he exhales out a sigh.

geto’s hair, tied into a near ponytail had a few strands poking out, scattered all against his face. he groans, feeling your clit rub against him slowly and gradually.

perfectly aligned and lined up right, he shudders once he feels your hand roam against his body, sliding a finger down a scar near the right side of his chest. 

gojo, still being sat behind you as he impatiently watched, reaches between your legs and starts to play with your pussy. you whined, feeling him start to maneuver tiny circles against your already sensitive folds before geto pulls away to breath yet again. 

a pretty sheeny web of spit coats against your chin and his as you depart from one another. your lips, and his jaw tightens. “f-fuckkk, fuck me. fuck me like that, don’t s-stop.”

he found the way you mounted him in such a good angle, it makes him ten times harder. geto’s thick cock slams in and out of you to where he’s almost tasting how swollen he was. you ploddingly thrust your hips forward before geto pulls you into his chest suddenly. 

“suguruuu.” you’d whinge, feeling him squeeze the fat of your ass.  

“fuckk,” he raps, you could be milking me all the time instead of this—this wannabe justin bieber.”

“hey…” gojo narrows his eyes, and he catches you giggling at geto’s remark. geto peeks an eye to stare at gojo before a smile goes against his lips, soley before turning his attention back towards you.

once geto’s body relaxes, he feels the pressure rising up within him to the point of his incoming release. the fiery sensations of electricity went all through. such fiery sensations piercing, he’s bouncing his thigh in an attempt to deepen his strokes inside you to make you whine yourself. 

“damn, ‘s good. s-so fuckin’ good,” he swallows, grunting once you lean in to kiss the front part of his adam’s apple. “gonna flood your pussy, you want that? want me to make a fuckin’ mess of myself?”

“y-yeah.” you breathe, nodding in contentment. “suguru please.”

geto’s vision becomes a little blurry, he’s hazy and it feels so good…your cunt’s got him on a leash.

he fell in love with the way your hips rolled against him again and again, each spank he gives your ass makes him throb. the girth he had lunging inside of you, outstretching to where it prods against your g-spot. “f-fuck.” you’d sob, slumping your head against the bassist. 

once he eventually came, it was way more than gojo. more as in you’re stuffed fuller than you thought you could ever be. you pause, huffing and puffing as your ear laid flat against his bare chest. geto aches, heavily panting himself and sweat droplets raced down his v-line. 

“i think i won,” gojo frowns, breaking the two of you up—you were practically limp, geto’s cum dripping out of you. you moaned, trying to recollect your breath but failing. 

geto leans back, giving gojo a side eye before murmuring. “just shut up..”

“aw. poor sugu’s all d—”

gojo’s voice gets rudely interrupted by the annoying screech of your ringtone. the two of them stare at the blue light, and gojo picks it up with a curious expression. 

“ooh, phone call,” and he picks it up, bringing it up to his face and raises a brow. “huh. why’s uh..” and he turns it the opposite way, “why’s fushiguro toji calling you? and heh what’s with the dumb heart by his name. isn’t he my old producer?”

geto grumbles, still silently heaving with a hand rubbing against his abdomen. “yeah, that scum who tried to take parts of our salary from that one gig we did,” and then geto darts his eyes towards you with an unreadable expression “why is he calling you?”

your stomach quite literally drops. you sat on the plump bed laid flat on your tummy. momentarily stunned for a moment. alas, you had to say something… you sat up, the phone continuing to sing in the distance before uttering. 

“toji…he’s um…he’s kind of my boyfriend.”

yeah, you were fucked. 

#★vegasbaby. #popstar!gojo #gojo smut #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #geto smut #geto x reader #suguru geto x reader #geto suguru smut #geto suguru x reader #jjk smut #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujustsu kaisen x reader #female reader #anime smut #tw sex #satosugu x reader #gojo x y/n #satoru gojo x reader #gojou satoru x reader

[captainkirkk]

✩ WEEKLY FIC ROUND-UP ✩

All the fics I’ve read and really enjoyed in the past week-ish. Reminder: This list features any and all ratings and themes. Please look at tags and warnings on ao3 before reading.

Merlin

The Walls of Camelot by spqr

"Camelot will fall tomorrow,” Arthur says, on the first day of the eighth month of the siege.

DC

IRIS Log #1548 by deadchannelradio

Disclaimer From Your Friendly Neighborhood Oracle:

The following is a transcript of Patrol Communications Audio written by state of the art transcription technology, IRIS (Interpretation of Recorded Intelligence Software). IRIS was created to provide easily searchable records, automatically, and eliminate the need to transcribe each patrol audio log manually. That being said, IRIS is still experimental, and may not always be entirely accurate. - (01:25) Red Hood: (Mild static) (Out of breath, slurred) You motherfuckers. Put some fuckin-

(01:25) Batman: (Shaking) Red Hood-

(01:25) Red Hood: Shut up. Put some fucking respect. On my name. Start fucking copying me. I just got thrown fucking. Um. 40 feet. Into a fucking uh. What's it. Ditch. I'm still fucking conscious.

(01:25) Batman: Red Hood, do not move, we're en route-

(01:25) Red Hood: What'll I win if I stand up.

(01:25) Batman: (Loud) Do not stand up.

we shall be free; we shall find peace by mediant

Clark has accepted what it means to be Lex's prisoner - the pain of the Green, the experiments, the hands on it. The long years buried in its containment cell, let out only to act as Lex's weapon, as Lex's tool. It had fought back at first, but years have ground it down and away to almost nothing.

Then Lex hands it a baby. And Clark realizes that while it may have hurt humans, and lied about what it is, and it may deserve to be locked away - Kon deserves to be free.

Untamed

The Absolutely True Story of the Yiling Patriarch: A Manifesto in Many Parts by aubreyli (+ podfic)

Wei Wuxian’s hand jolts, spilling a drop of wine onto the tabletop. “Love?” he croaks, then clears his throat and tries again. “Lan Zh— uh, Hanguang-jun, in love?”

“Have you not heard the story?” the other young woman asks, looking pitying. “You must, it is a truly heartrending tale of star-crossed romance and mutual pining — go to any storyhouse in town, everyone has been requesting a reading of this book.”

“There’s a book?” Wei Wuxian says blankly.

-- In which the junior disciples (namely, Lan Jingyi, Ouyang Zizhen, and a reluctant Lan Sizhui) turn to RPF in an attempt to rehabilitate Wei Wuxian's reputation so that he and Hanguang-jun can get together and get married and live happily ever after. It's... surprisingly effective.

Clone Wars

patron saint by spqr (+ podfic)

Funerary practices? Master Ti writes back. I’m not sure what you mean, Master Kenobi. Used biomass is the property of Kamino and thus is recycled into the cloning process.

So that’s how the revolution begins—with dead brothers, but not the way you might expect.

Miraculous Ladybug

drowning (in plain sight) by buggachat

Everybody had expected Monarch's defeat to be a moment of triumph. Nobody had expected Gabriel Agreste, unmasked and mind frayed from continual abuse of the miraculous, crying out to all who would listen and making Paris certain of one thing:

His son, Adrien Agreste, is one of his sentimonsters.

And now he's missing.

Nobody can find him— not even the superheroes, and not even his closest friends. But Marinette, Nino, and Alya aren't ones to give up so easily. They'll find him, no matter what it takes.

(But, geez, would it kill Chat Noir to lend a hand?)

#happy saturday!! #i hope everything is having a better weekend than me #i'm sick :(( #my posts #weekly fic round up #fic recs #merlin recs #untamed recs #dc recs #sw recs #ml recs

[red-hot-kick]

Theory: Ryuji was popular, before.

I'm not entirely sure if anyone has really talked about this but I maintain my interpretation that, in the canon of Persona 5, Ryuji used to be very (or at least moderately) popular prior to the events of the story.

This is something I've gotten into before when talking to friends who like the game and the character, but I haven't really considered writing it down until now. The main argument I have is based on three things:

Things Ryuji alluded to in canon (but no one believed him on)

The deliberate choice of making him a track athlete

Typecasting for voice actors

1: "There were girls all over me!"

I don't really have the time to go on a deep dive through all the instances in which he hints at his reputation before the Kamoshida incident, but I think the most clear-cut representation of this was during the scene where he and Ann spend the day with Futaba during her post-palace social rehabilitation:

So here's the thing...I don't think he's lying about this. Nobody in the room would be that impressed to find out whether Ryuji was popular since they are already friends (or in Mona's case, he really just doesn't care), so it wouldn't make sense for him to lie.

Regarding everyone's reactions though, here's my impression: Ann was simply not aware of what was going on with the track team, being predominantly focused on dealing with rumors, her friendship with Shiho, and her modeling career (and eventually Kamoshida's advances once he started doing that shit) and she mentions a few times that she and Ryuji weren't actually close before joining the PT; they were just in the same class in middle school. Futaba hasn't interacted with anyone her age in years and isn't the most reliable source when it comes to what people generally find attractive; just because she doesn't have any interest in Ryuji doesn't mean that nobody her age would. And Morgana is a cat that brags constantly about how cool he is, so he shouldn't be throwing rocks.

There are many other times in the game when you get little glimpses of his social savvy, and from my understanding of Royal (I'm an OG vanilla P5 player and haven't done 3rd-semester yet, so don't kill me) when the track team returns to "how it was", he is getting along extremely well with everyone. Not only was he the team's ace: this kid was also expected to become the captain by his senior year (as briefly mentioned when he bumps into his former senpai at the gym, iirc). That's huge! If his team held him in such high regard, then the general student body of Shujin surely had a similar opinion. This brings me to my next point:

2: Girls like boys that run fast(???)

This is honestly something that baffles me. It's also really difficult for me to substantiate; any source material on this is obviously in Japanese and if I could find any of it, I sure as hell can't read it. The only English-language source I know of I cannot find anymore; I think it was an old Tofugu article? However. If you've watched any romance anime set in a high school during the last 20 years, you might have seen this trope at some point: the school sports festival is happening, and the relay race is kind of a huge deal (it's the final event! a make-or-break moment for the class!). The boy thinks to himself "If I win this race, I'll be able to win her heart/ask her out/etc." Low-stakes drama ensues. Maybe a confession happens.

This is (from what I've been told) based on a long-standing trend of girls and women self-reporting in surveys about how, oftentimes, their crushes in junior or senior high school were simply "the boy who ran the fastest in the races". I have no idea what this means in a broader cultural context. It makes no goddamn sense to me at all. Do not cite me on this. But I think it's worth keeping in mind, even if it's almost entirely speculative (and possibly outdated) information. And even if it's just based on rumors, don't you think it's pretty in-character for Ryuji to go for a track scholarship—despite being adept at other sports like baseball and football/soccer, as mentioned in P5 and P5D—because he was aware of the potential of being more popular with girls? Of course, his priority would be getting the scholarship and paying his way through school to lighten his mother's burden, but hey, getting a girlfriend on the way up wouldn't be half bad!

I think this could also inform us as to why Kamoshida (as a predator who wanted attention from high school girls) felt so threatened by the track team in particular, and why he felt a need to specifically knock Ryuji down a peg and sought out a weakness to do so (as opposed to targeting any of the probably just-as-popular boys on the many other athletic teams and clubs in the school). Just some food for thought on this one! Also, if anyone can find a source or has any insight on the relay race thing, please share. I am so confused about it.

3: Typecasting

So this is something that you really only notice if you are very into keeping up with seiyuu in Japan. I am not one of those people. But I do have some favorite voice actors! One of these being Mamoru Miyano.

So I freakin' love this dude. He's voiced a lot of my favorite characters, sings incredibly well, and has an unreal sense of comedy. He's stated in interviews that his acting inspiration is Jim Carrey, and let me tell you: it shows. He is also quite consistently typecast into certain roles, predominantly as princely pretty-boy types, Coolguys, or complete fucking nutcases. Sometimes all three at the same time (shoutout to my boy Ling FMA!)

ATLUS definitely cast him for P5 because of his comedic chops. But I think they also cast him because having him voice someone like Ryuji is a great way to subvert expectations for the player. I think it's supposed to give you whiplash—"what do you mean the voice of LIGHT FUCKING YAGAMI is coming out of this guy's mouth?" "why does the delinquent character sound like king of the host club Tamaki Suou?" "isn't that Rin Matsuoka's voice?" etc. etc. etc.

(here's a quick list, just to really get the idea across. maybe you recognize a few.)

This is obviously a non-comprehensive list, but something that a lot of the characters he's voiced over the years have in common is that they were considered cool, handsome, or popular. Not just for fans, but within the canon of their stories! So...what does that mean? What does that say about how we should see Ryuji?

I think players are supposed to expect that he will fall into one of those categories too, and then be surprised to find that it's not the case—that he's been isolated and made bitter and resigned by what happened to him the year before.

Speaking of his tone, I think it's very telling that Ryuji actually forgets to keep up the delinquent act a lot in the original JP audio, which unfortunately doesn't really carry over in the ENG translation. The delivery of his JP lines sounds a bit more subdued in comparison too—yeah he's got a lot of energy and is very hotheaded, but when he gets to talking about serious shit, he sounds a lot more regretful and melancholy as opposed to the EN delivery which depicts him as more resentful and outwardly angry. I think before Shit Went Down, he probably had the Coolguy vibe. Still a bit of a rowdy idiot and a showoff, but I think he probably came across to most people as a very friendly, sincere, and popular guy.

So yeah, the girls probably were all over him, at least for a short while.

#persona 5 #ryuji sakamoto #character analysis #LONGASS POST SORRY #I JUST REALLY LIKE HIM AND WANTED TO THINK MY THOUGHTS FOR A WHILE #pita.txt

[fahye]

book recs: august '23

(I want to try and do these posts more frequently because I DEARLY miss yelling about books, txitter is [poop emoji]-ing, and bluesky is promising but I don't have much of an audience there yet)

ok! stuff freya has read recently and enjoyed:

A FIRE BORN OF EXILE by aliette de bodard -- did you enjoy nirvana in fire? this is for YOU. it's a revenge story set in aliette's xuya space opera universe, with a pile of complicated characters with mixed or obscured motives, a sapphic romance, and just really incredible use of worldbuilding and politics.

THE SLEEPING SOLDIER by aster glenn gray -- I am an enormous sucker for aster's historical m/m romances, and this one was incredible. a union soldier goes to sleep in 1865 and wakes up in 1965, and his new college roommate has a series of gay crises about it. sweet, exuberant, well researched. both a wonderful romance and an absolutely fascinating examination of male friendships and homosexuality in two different historical time periods.

A DEADLY EDUCATION by naomi novik -- doing a reread of the first two scholomance books before I dive into the third. these books are so disgustingly tailored to ME, a huge fan of magical academia stories with a truly deliciously unnecessary level of worldbuilding detail about how the magic works (and how the school is trying to kill you).

BATH HAUS by p.j. vernon -- a man goes to a gay bathhouse, cheating on his partner, and narrowly escapes being murdered. things get worse from there. I can only recommend this to you if you enjoy thrillers that STRESS YOU THE FUCK OUT, which I normally don't; I nearly put it down a couple of times, but I HAD to know what was going on. it's a masterclass in propulsive tension and does some really cool things with unreliable narration.

HAVEMERCY by jaida jones and danielle bennett -- seven hundred years late to this party, but OH MY GOD. this is the completely gay political/military fantasy of my dreams (the YEARNING), plus there are magical-mechanical dragons. I will be devouring the other books in this series in short order.

EVERY VERSION OF YOU by grace chan -- a beautiful and fascinating literary scifi book about humanity and family and love, and being given the choice to upload your consciousness to a digital paradise as the planet dies around you. unsurprisingly it deals with some heavy stuff, but it's fantastic. and australian!

A THIEF AND A GENTLEMAN by arden powell -- another m/m romance in arden's flos magicae series. the title alone is probably enough to tell you why I enjoyed it, but I especially liked the way it kept subverting my expectations in favour of more chewy emotional honesty and complexity.

STRONG FEMALE CHARACTER by fern brady -- a memoir by a scottish comedian about being diagnosed with autism in her thirties, and her life up to that point. funny and chaotic and an all-around amazing read. I loved fern on taskmaster and I love her even more now.

#book recs

[onceonafullmoon]

Convos With Rin

Rin x Gn! Reader

No warnings! Just pure fluff, also you can ignore the last 2 lines if you want to read this as platonic!

Aka: maladaptive daydreams by yours truly that I cleaned up and formatted. Part 2 here

“Sometimes I wonder if the idealized, romanticized version of relationships I’ve built up in my head are subconsciously affecting my navigation in reality.”

“What?” Rin asks, rolling over from where he lies on his bed to look at you, his teal eyes switching from his phone to glance over at you.

“Sorry, that was word vomit.” You say waving a hand dismissively before speaking again. “It’s just… I mean that I wonder if my expectations of romantic relationships have been distorted because of all the media I consume. And I wonder if that would ruin any chance I have of a healthy relationship.”

You absentmindedly start fiddling with your fingers as you speak.

“Like, for example dating sims, every love interest is over possessive and jealous, and that’s fine, cause it’s a fantasy. And obviously it’s not endorsed in real life, because if you date someone who foams at the mouth every time you look at another man, you’ll have issues. But… sometimes I wonder if I’ll think back to those dumb games when I’m in a relationship and choose something unhealthy for myself.”

A comfortable silence lapses after your ramblings and you wait patiently for your best friend's response.

“…you sure do think a lot more than I expected.” He says after a while and you can’t help but roll your eyes.

“Wow thanks.” You drone out. “You know what? I’d rather you have just flipped me off and called me a dumbass than whatever attempt of a compliment that was.”

“Didn’t mean it like that, I meant that I’d never once thought about that.” He says cooly, in a way that makes you unfairly jealous of his demeanor.

“Yeah? Well, I’m not surprised. Your brain is composed of 50% football and the other half is basic motor skills. I doubt you’ve even thought of anything outside of that.”

“…not true.”

“Oh yeah, you’re right. Somewhere, squeezed between the cracks of those key areas, is your vast knowledge of horror trivia.” You joke, your eyes darting over his sprawled form.

“…” He hesitates to respond before muttering out. “That’s not what I meant.”

“What’d you mean then?”

“…nothing, never mind.”

“Oh boo, you whore.” You scoff, sitting up in his desk chair to devote your attention to him. “Come on tell meeee! I tell you everything… well, almost everything but— nonetheless…”

He glares but you simply smile at him before waiting eagerly for him to finally loosen his tongue and spill whatever he has locked away from you.

And maybe deep down he knows that there’s no winning against you because he ends up opening his mouth to speak.

“I…I think about romance sometimes.” He eventually admits, his eyes darting back to his phone in embarrassment.

“Oho?” You straighten up further, a goading grin on your face much to his annoyance. “Our little Rinrin is growing up!”

“Fuck you, this is why I don’t tell you shit.”

“Aww come on, I won’t tease you anymore I promise! Please tell me more!” You practically beg, looking at him with prying eyes.

“This is lame.” Rin scoffs.

“You’re lame! Romance is perfectly natural. Anyways, is this a crush? A passing fantasy?”

“Why do you care so much?”

“I live vicariously through my friends’ love lives, now spillll!” You say, dragging out the last syllable deliberately to piss him off.

“I’m not having this conversation with you.”

“Why not?” You say a pout on your lips.

“Because you’re annoying and you’re only asking to make fun of me.”

“What? Me?” You gasp out in faux surprise. “Never, could I ever make fun of you, after all you’re my dearest most important–”

“Save it.” He cuts you off, content to ignore you now, engrossed in his phone.

“Kill joy… I’ll get it out of you one of these days.” You say darkly before leaning back to sulk in his chair.

“Over my dead body.” He mutters, but if you looked over to him again, you’d see the tell tale way his gaze fell back to you.

Unfortunately for you, Rin’s crush would stay a secret for just a little while longer.

#bllk x reader #blue lock #blue lock fluff #blue lock x reader #itoshi rin x reader #itoshi rin #itoshi rin fluff #itoshi brothers emotional constipation ftw

[sitp-recs]

15 Christmassy fics to read (or reread) this month

This rec list is for @annakendricks who sent an ask about Christmas reads and also dedicated to @lettersbyelise for supporting this idea 💜 Despite the winter blues, December will always lighten up my mood with the holiday spirit. This month has been pretty hectic for me but I can’t wait to get some time off and indulge my fave Christmassy rereads. Come and join me if you like! Here you’ll find a little bit of everything: soft and contemplative, smutty, crack-y, movie AU, holiday romance and even Gen fic, which is not my usual fare but fit the theme perfectly. Pick your flavour and Happy Holidays!

🎄A Christmas Happenstance by Only_1_Truth (E, 5.5k)

The Hogwarts School for the Gifted and Supernatural had classes year-round, but the dormitories emptied out regularly on holidays as if the students were suddenly becoming allergic to the walls. Both humans and non-humans mingled freely in the surrounding town of Hogsmeade. Draco Malfoy, however, isn't feeling in the mood after a rather spectacular break-up.

🎄A Charitable Christmas by Alisanne (E, 5.6k)

Hermione’s plans to raise money for war orphans do not meet with Harry’s approval. Fortunately, Draco steps in to help him come up with a much more enjoyable strategy.

🎄A Hippogriff for Christmas by @xanthippe74 (G, 6.4k)

Draco is desperately trying to fulfill four-year-old Scorpius’ dearest wish for Christmas: a visit with a real Hippogriff. Harry is desperately trying to be left alone, safely tucked away from the attention of the wizarding world as Hogwarts’ Keeper of the Keys and Grounds.

🎄Surviving the Horde by FleetofShippyShips (T, 7k)

Draco has managed to avoid Christmas at the Burrow for ten years, but not this year.

🎄Tidings of Comfort by @blamebrampton (G, 10k)

When a man is tired of London, he is tired of life. Luckily for Draco Malfoy, London has places where the tired can rest and recover.

🎄Love, Actually, is All Around by @punk-rock-yuppie (T, 10k)

It's Christmastime, and Harry has just started as the new Minister of Magic. It just so happens that Draco works in his office as well, a holdover from Kingsley's tenure. Naturally, love is in the air.

🎄break the bad luck in my life by seaworn (E, 12k)

Draco and Harry are both brooding on Christmas Eve.

🎄All Roads Lead Home by @dracogotgame (G, 15k)

Draco is strong-armed into spending the first Christmas after the War with the Weasleys. And Harry Potter.

🎄Love All Lovely by @shealwaysreads (T, 19k)

Draco comes home for Christmas, and discovers that sharing is the best way of celebrating old traditions, and new ones too.

🎄Waking Up Slow by @sweet-s0rr0w and @ihopeyoubothstaysafefromharm (E, 22k)

'Twas the night before Christmas, although it’s July / Draco’s a shopkeeper, no-one knows why / There’s hiking and witch caves, freak snowfalls and more / Bad Christmas jumpers, nosy neighbours galore / Narcissa’s here too, but… something’s amiss / And what’s in those chocolates that’s making them kiss?

🎄I'll Floo Home for Christmas by jadepresley (T, 39k)

The Ministry Christmas party is the biggest event of the year and Harry absolutely does not want to plan it, and he certainly, one hundred percent, does not have a crush on Draco Malfoy.

🎄The Romantic Prawn Who Loved Christmas by @bixgirl1 (E, 39k)

When Draco, forced into sharing a room with Potter for the year, finds out that Potter has a sleepwalking problem, he expects the odd conversations and the weird games of chess. What comes as a complete shock are Potter's other activities...And why he seems so intent on having Draco join him.

🎄December Never Felt So Wrong by @maesterchill (E, 50k)

'Twas the month before Christmas and sixteen year old Draco Malfoy had never felt worse. His attempts to kill Dumbledore were failing and, as usual, Harry Fucking Potter was a constant thorn in his side. All that suddenly changed when Draco woke up 15 years in the future and discovered that not only was he allegedly shagging Harry Fucking Potter, he also had thinning hair and a five year old son, and no fucking clue how he got there.

🎄A Room Up There (And You In It) by @the-starryknight (T, 59k)

When Preservationist Draco Malfoy was assigned to work on Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, he was excited to delve into the gorgeous Black family antiques. His excitement quickly ended when something in the House decided it did not like his presence one bit.

🎄All Must Draw Near by Saras_Girl (M, 61k)

Harry doesn't have time for rumours; he has a shop to run. Which is just as well, really.

#Sitp recs #Drarry reclist #Christmassy reads

[bakuliwrites]

Ebb and Flow- Prince Sidon x Reader

Rating: 18+ (MINORS DNI)

Fandom: The Legend of Zelda

Relationship: Prince Sidon x Reader

Summary: “I will not accept that all we’re meant to be are star-crossed lovers,” Sidon states passionately, his tone filled with a steady resolve, “I cannot accept it. Was it not here that I pledged myself to you? And you to me? Was it not here that we promised our hearts to one another? Aren’t we more than just crossing tides?”Sidon is given earth shattering news. His duty as a Zora Prince outweighs all else. But how can he accept that when his love for you is so deep?

Tags: Female Reader, Smut, Angst, PIV, Semi-Public S*x, Outdoor S*x, Oral S*x, Shark Anatomy, Established Relationship, Star-crossed Lovers, Romance

Read here in this post or over on my AO3

DISCLAIMER: TOTK SPOILERS, 18+

Sidon wonders if he had spoken too softly. He expected some sort of reaction from you, even if it wasn’t a dramatic, soul-wrenching one. But your silence comes as a shock to him. Your unreadable gaze penetrates him from where you’re seated by the window in your quarters. Quarters he had specifically modified to house a Hylian such as yourself. Just for you. Fashioned to house you for what he thought would be forever. From the luxurious water bed on one side, where the two of you have shared so many passionate nights, to the cozy, crackling fireplace on the other- it’s all been for you, and him, and what he thought would be your future together.

“Y-you what?” you finally manage, confirming to Sidon that it wasn’t that you didn’t hear him, but that you couldn’t believe what he’d said. He hadn't wanted to tell you until he returned from his diplomatic mission, but he couldn't keep it a secret from you. Sidon's words stick to his throat. They feel barbed, razor-like, cutting his tongue on their way out.

“My father has decided- He’s arranged my marriage,” Sidon repeats, words seeping from his mouth like blood. But he tastes nothing when his tongue grazes over his lower lip, checking for a fresh wound. Still, he tastes metal, haunting and sharp. You’re bathed in moonlight, a silver gloss draping elegantly over your skin. Tonight, you appear to Sidon like an ethereal ghost, distant and untouchable, a curiously beautiful and captivating goddess. Like the moon delivered you to him and has come back this night to steal you away. 

“Not only has my father found who he considers to be a ‘suitable match’ for me, but he’s arranged the date of our meeting,” Sidon goes on, wanting to fill this deeply uncomfortable silence with something, anything, “Of our marriage.”

He trails off, glancing down at his feet and willing himself not to shed the tears that are stinging his eyes. He’s always known there was a risk that his marriage would be arranged. You aren’t Zora, you’re not royalty. It was a small chance that King Dorephan would even consider you in the running to marry Sidon. Your duty to Hyrule and Sidon’s duty to his people were always meant to clash. But he never thought it would be something to worry about this soon. His father’s decision to step down from the throne came as a shock, and the decision regarding Sidon’s marriage that much more shocking.

Your silence is killing him, gnawing at his insides, anxiety running rampant in his mind. Say something, anything. Please, he silently begs.

“When?” is all you’re able to question through your stupor. The look he gives you is grave, crestfallen.

“In less than a fortnight,” he almost whispers. He watches as your eyes fall slowly shut, as you clench your fists, your jaw. Every part of you tenses, but not out of anger. You take a deep breath and Sidon can tell you’re trying to hold in your tears. But when you exhale, they start to roll down your cheeks, dripping freely to the floor beneath. Droplets of pure moonlight shimmering as they fall. He rushes to you, scoops you into his arms, your small, Hylian form fitting so perfectly in his embrace. 

“I fought for us,” Sidon continues, as if he needs to prove to you that his love is genuine. As if you didn’t already know. Your shuddering sobs into his shoulder seem to shake the very foundation beneath you.  

“I fought so hard for us,” he whimpers, holding you closer, tighter, as if he were to let go, the moon would finally take you back to your celestial throne, “But my father wouldn’t agree. He wouldn’t- No matter how much I protested. How much I argued and debated-” 

“It’s okay,” you manage through tears, littering Sidon’s face with kisses, “I know you fought. I know you tried as hard as you could.”  

Sorrow blooms in every facet of your irises as you stare into Sidon’s gilded ones. If his heart hadn’t shattered in its entirety before, it certainly does now. He opens his mouth to say more, but he realizes he’s not even sure what he wants to say. He can’t reassure you. He can’t even reassure himself. 

A knock at your door pulls him begrudgingly from this private moment. An attendant calls out to him, "Your Highness, we should leave before it gets much later."

“They can wait,” Sidon speaks, turning back towards you, not wanting to leave you after such devastating news. You smile softly, shaking your head.

“No they can’t, my darling,” you gently return. He knows it, you know it. His royal duties, his people must always come first. You’ve never quibbled with him about this, something he deeply admires about you. 

Sidon presses a deep, lingering kiss to your lips. He can taste the salt of your tears, the salt of his own. He hadn’t even realized he’d shed any until the soft pads of your thumbs wipe them from his cheeks. He gazes at you underneath his furrowed brow, memorizing the features of your lovely face. If you dissolve into moonlight while he’s gone, he would never forgive himself for not kissing you one last time. 

“Wait for me,” he breathes when he pulls back, “We'll figure this- something out.” You nod, leaning your forehead against his and closing your eyes. Desperately, Sidon wishes he didn’t have to leave. Not in the middle of such an important conversation. 

“I should be no more than a few days,” he promises, giving you one final kiss before he wrenches himself from you and reluctantly slips out of your room. He doesn’t dare look back, knowing your melancholy gaze will destroy him if he does.

***

Sidon's diplomatic meeting with the Rito was a success, though it was mostly just a formality. The Zora and Rito are already on quite friendly terms, so he wasn't too concerned in the first place. The entire trip, however, his mind was preoccupied with you, with marriage, with grief. He's mulled over every possible solution. He contemplates further arguments with his father, knowing full-well that he won’t win them. But for you, it’s most certainly worth a try. He thinks about running away with you, eloping under the light of the moon, starting a new life on some remote island, far away from everything. But he knows he couldn’t leave his people behind, and he is certain that you won’t let him. Sidon could refuse to marry anyone at all, but that would mean he couldn’t be with you. But wouldn’t it be better to live his life alone if he can’t live it with you?

These thoughts swirl endlessly around his mind, a vortex of confusion and possibility. Nothing seems right. He loves you. No one else. He can’t imagine loving someone else. Or growing to love someone else. Up until now, Sidon has imagined spending the rest of his life with you. Of proposing marriage to you, in the customary Hylian fashion. Starting a family together, running the Zora kingdom together. Growing old with one another. Nights spent gazing up at the stars, held close in one another’s arms. Mornings waking up in your warm embrace. 

With his father’s decision, all hope Sidon had of making a life with you has been dashed. On his journey home, he tries to come up with some sort of solution, but as the Zora kingdom draws nearer and nearer, the Prince frustratingly comes up with nothing useful.

***

An attendant greets Sidon on the bridge leading into the palace, handing off a small slip of paper before dashing off again. The Prince unfolds the note, recognizing your handwriting immediately. “Meet me in our usual spot,” it reads, followed by a small heart and the first letter of your name. Sidon politely excuses himself from his fellow travelers and bolts off to meet you, hoping that you haven’t been waiting long for him.

By the time Sidon reaches Toto Lake, the moon is hovering high in the night sky, casting swathes of silver light across all of Hyrule. Its reflection wavers on the surface of the lake as Sidon’s keen eyes search for you. He spots you in the lake’s center, gliding through the water, every stroke disrupting the liquid mirror around you. The lake appears to envelope your form, encompassing you almost lovingly. Toto holds so many memories for Sidon. It’s where he sought solace after his sister’s passing. Where he found peace during the devastating years that Calamity Ganon reigned. The temperate waters have provided shelter in his most distressing times. It’s also where Sidon first pledged himself to you, promising his heart to you. And where you promised yours to him. A sacred, secret promise.

Sidon watches you for a moment. You cling to the crumbling ruins in the lake’s center, gazing up at the distant, twinkling stars above, not seeming to have noticed him yet. Crickets chirp in harmony with the nearby ribbits of hot-footed frogs, hiding stealthily amongst the scattered lily pads near the shore. Sidon wonders if this is the last time he’s ever going to see you, a thought that pierces his heart like a vicious barb. He can’t help but notice the pile of bags and personal items that you’ve left in the nearby clearing, like you’re prepared to travel a great distance.

Sidon is pulled from this painful thought when you wave to him, having finally noticed him lingering there. He waves back, somewhat apprehensive, but collects himself before diving into the lake. Sidon swiftly cuts through the water, desperate to reach you, the red of his fin cresting the surface of the lake. He wonders if he’ll reach you in time before the moon summons you home again. 

“My darling,” you exhale as he reaches you, pulling you into his embrace and holding you close. You cling to Sidon, the gentle thrum of your heart against his chest reinvigorating him after his long journey home. Why do you puzzle-piece so perfectly into his form? It seems like a cruel, cosmic joke that you would fit so neatly, so completely in Sidon’s arms. 

“You’re leaving?” he questions, pulling back to meet your sorrowful gaze. Gently, his large hand cups your cheek, one thumb smoothing over your soft skin. You lean your head to the side, letting your eyelids flutter shut as you press a tender kiss into the palm of his hand. 

“I must,” you state just barely above a whisper, a quiver in your voice that threatens to shatter Sidon’s already fragile calm, “I heard word around the palace that your bride-to-be arrives tomorrow.”

This is news to Sidon, news that washes waves of vertigo and anxiety over him. They threaten to drown him, pummel him into the silt and sand until he is nothing more than a smoothed over shell, tossed about in the surf. Sidon steadies himself, taking a deep breath, using your pleasant scent, your warmth as an anchor to this moment. Your cheeks are flushed and when you open your eyes once again, Sidon can tell that you’ve been crying, though you shed no tears in front of him. He wants to beg you to stay, to beseech the moon above and bargain that you might grace him just a little longer with your presence. What would it take for the heavenly bodies to allow you just a few hours longer with him?

“I will not accept that all we’re meant to be are star-crossed lovers,” Sidon states passionately, his tone filled with a steady resolve, “I cannot accept it. Was it not here that I pledged myself to you? And you to me? Was it not here that we promised our hearts to one another?” 

“Aren’t we more than just crossing tides?” he finishes. You contemplate this for a moment, before leaning your forehead against his. Beneath the cool sheen of water on your skin, Sidon feels the heat of your blood flowing strong through your veins. Your strength, your poise in this painful time serves as an example to him. He is always put together, always princely and regal. You let him fall apart, without judgement. Sidon can feel his composure fracture at your next words.  

“I think we come from the same ancient waters,” you begin, your hands coming to rest on either side of his face, “In some primordial sea, we rode the same tides. Perhaps someday, we shall again. But maybe this time around, we are only meant to flow together briefly, before we part.” 

“This cannot be,” Sidon whispers, voice wavering and tears beginning to roll down his cheekbones,“I feel your spirit ebb and flow inside of me. You inhabit me in a way that no one else ever has.” 

“I am with you, always. My soul is woven into every fiber of your being. And yours, mine,” you return, and with your exhale, warm tears flow from your bright eyes, “Sidon, I love you, body and soul.” 

He can take no more. Sidon crashes his lips into yours, feverish and desperate. You drape your arms over his shoulders, press yourself tightly to him. Perhaps the gracious moon will allow the two of you to merge, to live out the remainders of your lives as one being, one body, one soul. 

You wrap your legs around his waist, resting on his narrow hips while he grips your supple thighs. You’re bare to him already, your naked form bathed in silver moonlight. You are glorious, mesmerizing. A bright star, fallen to earth so that Sidon might marvel at your beauty, your mystery before you ascend to your place carved out in the heavens once again.

Sidon can feel his arousal growing as you palm his bulge, claspers pressing against his sheathe. Your warm tongue languidly explores his mouth, breath fanning softly against him. His hands smooth over your slick curves, worshipping every part of you. He commits the plushness of your body to memory, stores your soft moans and tiny gasps so that he might recall them later, in his loneliest hours. The way you breathe his name is holy and nearly brings him to his knees. 

“My darling, my pearl,” he whimpers pathetically as you trail kiss after searing kiss along his jawline and down his neck. Your teeth leave their bittersweet marks in his flesh, his talons dragging down your back, agonizing and delightful all at once. 

"I will bear your marks for all of time,” he announces, voice husky and low, “And know that I am yours, and you are mine."

“I am yours always. Sidon,” you coo, hand massaging torturously slow over his painful bulge, “In this lifetime, and the next. In all that we should ever exist in together. And even those that we do not.”

Sidon’s fingers tangle in the wet strands of your hair, tugging as he tilts your head so he can have better access to the tender spot of flesh behind your ear. He luxuriates in the lyrical moans that flutter from your lips as he nibbles and sucks at your sensitive skin. His warm tongue drags along your neck, goosebumps appearing in his wake. Your excitement fuels him, thrills him like nothing else does. His fingers find his way to your slick folds, running its length, dousing himself with you. 

He can’t contain himself any longer, his claspers freeing themselves from their sheathe. You're quick to grasp one, pumping slow and rhythmic. 

“Sidon, please, allow me,” you entreat, your doe-eyed glance up at him only spurring on his arousal. He releases his grip on you, gently setting you back in the water and letting you push him onto a nearby ledge of the ruins. If his people saw him now- oh, the very thought. How un-princely of him- an idea that inexplicably excites him. Prince Sidon- always so put together. Always so collected and proper. Prince Sidon- with the lips of a Hylian warrior, a celestial goddess, around one cock and her hand wrapped around the other. 

Your tongue swirls around his swollen tip, making him throw his head back in overwhelming pleasure as you doubly stimulate him. Your hand strokes him at one speed, while your mouth works at another, before you fall into a rhythm with both. Every once in a while, you pause to lick a stripe up either shaft, before diving back in once again. Desperate to have you near, Sidon weaves the fingers of your free hand with his own and grips tight. You squeeze back, letting him know you’re still present, though you seem happily preoccupied with both of his cocks. 

“Oh, you work miracles, my love,” he groans, chest heavy with pleasure. He stays your hand, lets you work with just your mouth on one of his claspers. It would bring him no greater pleasure than to come inside you, he explains. 

“Your wish is my command, my prince,” you impishly return, mischief glinting in your eyes. You only ever call him, “Prince,” in court, when you have to be more formal. Or in private, when you want to tease him. An electric pulse runs through the length of Sidon’s body at your devilish gaze. You grasp his thighs, nails digging into his flesh. The sensation sends waves of pleasure through him. As your head bobs up and down, Sidon tries his best not to buck his hips into you, but it’s so very difficult. The coil in his core tightens, threatening to snap at any moment. And when it finally does, you help him ride out the electrifying pulses of his first orgasm that night.

***

A burst of salt hits the back of your throat. Bright brine graces your tongue. Your chest feels warm as you swallow, like your body is trying to imbue itself with Sidon. Like you're trying to weave him into every fiber of your being. His ragged breath is music to your ears as you slide your mouth off him. With a wet pop you release him, a string of spit connecting him to you. A connection tenderly wiped away by one of Sidon’s massive thumbs. When you glance up at him, his eyes are dark with lust, slitted pupils wide in pools of molten gold. Sidon’s cheeks are rosy and his body temperature warm, so very warm compared to his usual chill. 

You hardly have a moment to catch your breath before Sidon draws you up to him, smashing his lips against yours. Your nails dig into the hard muscles of his back, his streamlined body pressed so deliciously against yours. Your heat is throbbing, every ounce of you heavy with arousal. Carefully, Sidon flips you over, laying you ever so gently on the slab of rock beneath. Your head is cradled by some of the snaking ivy growing on these ancient ruins. Sidon gazes down at you, eyes glimmering in the night. His look is one of curiosity, awe. Though he’s seen you bare to him so many times before, he looks at you like it’s the first time. 

“I am at your mercy,” he hushes, sweeping strands of your hair out of your face, before leaning down to tenderly press his lips to yours. He lays kiss-upon-kiss over your cheeks, down your neck, along your collarbone. Featherlight, he trails his lips down your chest, suckling gently on each of the pert buds of your nipples. His sharp teeth graze them softly before he makes his way down your abdomen. His hands knead your hips, cup and massage your breasts as his mouth reaches your heat. He wouldn’t dare tease you, but he can’t help nibbling at your thighs a bit, leaving little love-bites in his wake. After a moment of reveling in your plush inner-thighs, Sidon turns his attention to your pussy. His tongue is languid, warm, as he drags it along your folds. The moan that escapes your lips is salacious. You hear Sidon growl with excitement. He flicks his gilded gaze up at you before he softly kisses the sensitive nub of your clit. 

Sidon dives into you, lapping up your arousal like it’s his lifeblood. Like he simply cannot survive without the taste of you. He savors you, tongue slowly circling your clit, testing your entrance. You squirm under the firm grasp he has on your hips, bucking into him, causing him to chuckle at your eagerness. He hoists your legs over his broad shoulders, burying his head deeper into you. Sidon drinks you in like he’s parched. With each of your tiny mewls, you feel Sidon’s happy hums reverberating through your body. 

“Sidon, please,” you whine, smoothing one hand over the sleek fin atop his head, “I need to feel you in me.” 

He withdraws, the cool night air hitting your overheated folds surprising you. You gasp at its harshness, but Sidon is quick to replace the loss of heat with his hand, palming your sensitive pussy. When his lips meet yours, he tastes of you. 

“My darling, I’m yours. Entirely, completely. Every part of me. All parts of my soul,” he promises, his voice filled with conviction, with an aching passion. 

“I am yours, Sidon,” you return, breathless and longing, “Forever and always.” 

Tenderly, he spreads your legs, letting you wrap them around his waist, placing a large hand on the small of your back to help angle you. The stars overhead seem so close, so clear, like you’re encompassed in an endless dome of them. 

“Are you ready, my love?” Sidon asks, his cheeks flushed, breaths laborious. You nod enthusiastically, more than ready for him. He’s so slick, he slips into you with more ease than you expect. But he’s so big, you can feel him stretching out your entrance. He goes slow, gentle, allowing you ample time to adjust. Every few moments he asks if you’re alright. You stabilize yourself, arms slung around his chest, hands resting on his sinewy back. He’s cool to the touch, a sheen of water over his skin. 

With one of Sidon’s cock’s inside you, the other rests against your stomach. It’s hard again already, having recovered fast from your earlier ministrations. You grasp it gently, pumping rhythmically with Sidon’s rocking motions. A sultry moan falls from his lips at this double stimulation.

Sidon grinds slow and shallow for a while, before pressing deeper into you. You let go of the clasper resting against your stomach, allowing it to rest against you. With every pump into you, Sidon’s cock presses against the soft pad of your cervix. The pleasure is intense, your body quivering with each voltaic charge Sidon pulses into you. The heat generated between you is overwhelming, your bodies trying so desperately to merge into one. Your fingernails dig into his back, his talons into your thighs. Sidon buries his head into the crook of your neck, suckling little bruises, marking you. He delights in the way your breasts bounce with every motion. 

Goddess, please, let the moonlight fuse us into one, he begs, but he knows this cannot be. The two of you try your very best to do it yourselves. 

As Sidon grinds into you, the grip you have on his back prompts him to pick up his pace. 

“My darling, my pearl,” he manages to whisper, his breathing heavy, “You are, and always shall be, the light of my life.” 

“You are my moon, my stars, my light in the darkness,” you return, voice constrained by the taut coil in your core. Your walls quake around Sidon’s quivering cock. 

“Ha,” he huffs, pounding harder into you, “So close, my darling.” 

And so are you, but you can’t speak. For a moment later, the straining coil in you springs loose. Sidon’s name echoes through the clearing, a prayer in this ancient water temple. You cream around Sidon’s cock as he falls apart, his pace erratic as his hot cum fills your cunt. You feel even more paint your stomach, threads coating your abdomen from his other cock. Sidon calls out your name, a hymn to match yours. Sidon wonders if the moon hears the adoration, the infinite love in his voice. You know it does. 

When you’ve milked him for everything he’s worth, when he’s spent himself entirely inside you and on you, you pull Sidon down, crashing your lips into his. Feverishly, the two of you press kiss after kiss to one another, heated and yearning. You let the silence wash over you, grateful for the cool night breeze on your overheated bodies. After a while, Sidon gently pulls out of you, cock slick with your combined efforts. He pulls you into his embrace, cradling you in his arms. You belong here, enveloped by him. Enveloping him. How could the Goddess be so cruel to make you fit so perfectly, only to take you away from him?

“Leave in the morning,” Sidon begs, pressing a small kiss to the corner of your lip, “Please, stay one more night. Besides, it’s not safe.”

You shake your head, a rueful smile on your lips and sorrow in your eyes, “If I don’t leave now, it’ll be that much harder for me to leave tomorrow. And don’t worry, Zelda has sent forth people to retrieve me. They’ll be here within the hour. I’ll be okay.” 

Sidon’s heart can’t drop anymore, but if it could, it certainly would. He’s not sure what he expected to feel after everything that’s happened. The depth of his melancholy is too great for him to understand at the moment. It will take time for him to process. He doesn’t feel numb. No, instead he savors your embrace. He holds you close, littering your face with kisses, gently stroking your back while you rub small circles into his. If he could live in this moment forever, he would.

A horn blows in the distance, drawing the two of you out of your tender sanctuary in time. In the distance, you see lights on the bridge of the palace. It’s a Hylian caravan of guards, no doubt from the palace. No doubt sent here for you. You cling to Sidon’s back as he swims the two of you to shore. 

“I wish you could whisk me away on your back. I wish we could just keep swimming and not look back,” you murmur to him, laying a gentle kiss on his fin. 

“I do, too,” is all he can manage, trying so very hard not to shed any more tears. You dress quickly and Sidon helps you gather all your things. These are your last moments together. The bitter sweetness sticks in Sidon’s chest, viscous like tree sap, clinging to his ribs. Hand-in-hand you walk back down the cliff side and make your way to the bridge. Just out of sight of the Hylian caravan, you pull Sidon aside and lay your lips against his one more time. Your kiss is passionate and conveys every immense bit of your love for him. He hopes you can feel the same from him. 

When you pull back, your eyes are filled with adoration. And his with sorrow and love. You smile softly.

"The sea will carry us to one another,” you begin, tears trickling down your cheeks, “Time and again. I will find you in the next life, where our tides will be one and the same."

Sidon leans his forehead against yours, allowing his tears to fall freely.

“My heart belongs to you, always,” he breathes, “You reside in me, sheltered and safe.”

“You will always find a home in my heart,” you return, pressing one final kiss to his lips. Your hand lingers in his for a moment, before it slips from his grasp. Prince Sidon of the Zora watches your form grow smaller and smaller on the horizon, before it disappears behind the cliff sides, and he is left alone once again. 

A/N: Okay, don’t get me wrong, I actually think Lady Yona is adorable and I have all sorts of plans for some OC/Sidon/Link/Yona headcanons and drawings. But I couldn’t resist writing some Sidon/Reader angst!!!!!! Oh gosh, if I ever decide to do a follow up, there's just too many good options. a) Sidon refuses the arranged marriage and declares that he's marrying you, against his father's wishes b) Sidon decides to runaway with you and you live out the rest of your lives on a secluded island c) Sidon goes through with the marriage and you go your separate ways or, perhaps my favorite option, d) you, and Sidon, and Link, AND Yona become a happy little polycule because that would be adorable and wonderful (and I've said it before, but I'll say it again, if you know me, you know I love anything poly!!!!!!) Thank you so much for reading! This was a delight to write, though it definitely filled me with a lot of sadness. As always, likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated! Hope you are all doing amazing! Lots of love 💜

#the legend of zelda #prince sidon #totk spoilers #sidon x reader #prince sidon x reader #loz: botw #Loz: totk #spicy #lemon #angst and smut #dani writes #my writing #loz fanfiction

[radioscribbles]

May i request a Human Alastor x Gn Detective Reader? where reader is a threat to his killings and is unaware that al is the serial killer

Alastor x Reader -

New Orleans Noir

Details: Human!Alastor x GN!Detective!Reader Warnings: Talk of murder, alcohol, Alastor thinks about killing you Author's note: Thanks for the request! This is my first piece of writing in ages, I hope it's up to par. Sorry there's not too much romance, but I was getting more of a noir film vibe from the request, along with a little angst potential. Not beta read <3 Word Count: 1.562

You had been investigating the infamous New Orleans serial killer for months with no proper leads. Whoever the killer was, they were too meticulous to leave behind any incriminating evidence, or anything at all for that matter. You were frustrated beyond belief and were drowning your irritations in a glass of whiskey at the bar, when the voice of a local radio show host caught your attention. It wasn’t really his voice that captured you, it was his report on the murders…his very detailed report.

You suspected that this radio personality had some kind of inside information. It didn’t take long for you to arrange a date at a diner to talk, or rather to interrogate him.

What you didn’t expect was for this radio host, Alastor, to be exceptionally charming and pleasant to talk to. Several times he managed to steer the conversation away from your case, but you always managed to catch yourself and return to the topic at hand.

This first meeting was just the beginning of what would become one of your biggest lessons.

--

Alastor knew he was toeing the line by broadcasting news about his own killings. But it excited him. He had the whole town wrapped around his finger, captivated by his stories. None the wiser they were listening to the killer himself. A flock of sheep swaying to a wolf's song.

Still he was surprised when a detective demanded a meeting with him. Not that it was a problem. He could easily manipulate them into turning their attentions elsewhere.

But this detective was stubborn. Alastor realized he wasn’t going to get them off his case and decided on a different strategy. What’s the saying? Keep your friends close. Keep your enemies closer.

--

In the end, you settled on a deal. Any and all info Alastor received from his “sources”, he reported directly to you before broadcasting them. Of course Alastor didn’t demand anything in return. After all, what law-abiding citizen wouldn’t immediately jump at the chance to help his community?

You started to meet weekly. Most weeks he didn’t have anything new, and even when he did, you couldn’t really do much with the information. Rumors about enemies the victims might have had or hear-say about what the killer might look like, but nothing of substance.

Weekly meetings turned into daily lunch breaks, and daily lunch breaks led to relaxed evenings at the bar. He was charming, ever the gentleman and he shared your taste in music. Before long you couldn’t deny the bubbling feelings in your chest any longer, but it would be unprofessional to start anything as long as the case was still open. Too dangerous to drag him into this mess even more than you already had. So you kept quiet, enjoying his company, murder-related or not.

Just like tonight. You’d met at a restaurant close to the radio station Alastor worked at. It had become one of your common meeting spots after Alastor recommended it for a good steak and cheap drinks. Although at the moment, you couldn’t enjoy either.

“What’s with the long face, my dear?” Alastor asked with that dashing smile he always sported. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was mocking you with it.

“Take a guess.” You said while downing your drink, gesturing to the waiter for another one.

“Ah yes, the body they found.” Alastor cut into his bloody steak. You couldn’t even muster the appetite to touch your own plate.  “I assume your work day has been quite stressful, hmm?”

“Stressful doesn’t even cut it, Al! I feel…” You stopped to regain your composure, your sour mood almost had you yelling in a public space. Can’t have that.

“People are dying on my watch. Everyone is relying on me to catch this bastard and I’m letting them all down. I feel so fucking useless.” You said eventually, in defeat.

Alastor took a bite while studying your face. That unreadable smile still on his face.

“Don’t beat yourself up over it, Y/N. Perhaps it’s time for you to take a break. A fresh mind might lead to fresh revelations.” He said in his sing-song voice, apparently not nearly as bothered as you.

You looked at him like he said the stupidest thing you’d ever heard.

“Al, there’s people that are dying.” 

“You’re not the only detective in town.”

“I’m the only one with an informant. Although none of your tips have lead me anywhere!” You hissed. He continued to stare at you with his never wavering smile, and you immediately felt guilty for your outburst.

“I'm sorry, I know you’re just trying to help.” You said while rubbing your forehead.

These past few nights had been terrible. You barely slept at all and your nerves had been about to snap all day. You sighed in relief when the waiter arrived with your drink. You gave an appreciative nod before taking a sip.

“No offense taken, Detective. It’s evident you’re passionate about this investigation and I’m sure the whole town can sleep better knowing you’re on the case. No one wants a serial killer sneaking about their neighborhood.” He said in a light-hearted tone while cutting into his steak once more.

That reminded you. Your head snapped up and you looked at him wide-eyed, reaching a hand out to him.

“Al, your neighborhood. I completely forgot to tell you! We’ve compared the areas the bodies were found in and we were able to narrow down the general location of the killer to your neighborhood.”

He stopped mid-cut.

“Did you now?”

You put your hand on his forearm and he looked up at you with his piercing eyes. A gaze you’ve come to grow quite fond of during your time together. 

“This is not public information, I’m telling you this as…a friend. Be careful out there.”

You said, real worry in your voice and on your face. Alastor gave you a soft smile in return, although his eyes held something different. Probably from the shock.

“Of course, my dear. I would suggest you be careful as well. Your job is much more dangerous than mine and I’d hate if anything happened to you.”

He finally took his bite, never breaking eye contact.

--

Alastor knew the best course of action would be to kill them. 

They were getting close. Too close for his liking anyway. In the beginning it had been amusing, handing out false information, throwing red-herrings and leading the detective on a wild-goose chase around town. His personal game of chess, with his opponent not even aware they were playing.

But he couldn’t deny Y/N was a real threat. They were intelligent, cunning and witty. Pleasant company, yes. But also dead-set on catching the killer. And their latest revelation only solidified what Alastor knew was coming. One of them would have to go.

Now back in his apartment, he leaned back in his armchair and got to planning.

It would be quite easy, he assumed. He’d lure them to a secluded location with the promise of a new lead. Perhaps he’d tell them they would be meeting with one of his “sources”. It wouldn’t even be that big of a lie.

The detective trusted him, he was sure. They’d turn their back to him and then…

Alastor shuddered. 

Normally the thought of killing someone was exciting. But the detective was a different story. He hadn’t expected to take a genuine liking to them when they began their little collaboration. But then he started to look forward to their meetings. And after months of shared dinners and drinks they had managed to capture Alastor in a way few people had managed to before.

They were an equal to him.

Perhaps them being a real threat played a part in Alastor’s hesitation. The game they were playing brought him joy. Sometimes even motivating him to go for a new kill. Anything to get his detective’s attention once more.

Then there was the other reason. Most of his victims really deserved to die. Sure, maybe it wasn’t Alastor’s place to judge, but he wasn’t wrong. The detective however…

They were good. Righteous. Willing to risk their life for the safety of the city. In some ways Alastor thought they were stupid for it. But he couldn’t help but find it endearing as well. Their blood-shot eyes after yet another all-nighter were pathetic, but he couldn’t look away. Their rambling about theories both annoyed and intrigued him at the same time.

He couldn’t get a grip on his feelings. The thought of killing them unnerved him, but the thought of being caught was simply unacceptable.

He got up, now frustrated. Perhaps he needed to let off some steam. Clear his head and then make a proper plan. Maybe he didn’t need to kill the detective. There could be other ways. He could frame someone else and then lay low for a while. Continue his killing somewhere else. Or have something happen that rendered the detective…unfit for work. He’d figure something out when he returned.

For now, he needed to focus on his next victim. Some abusive asshole he knew would be at a bar on the other end of town. He had him picked out for weeks already and knew his routines. Just a simple kill to get his nerves under control.

A shame he didn’t know it would be his last.

Requests are open <3

#alastor x reader #alastor #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #alastor hazbin hotel #human!alastor #my writing

[mikareo]

⌗ they're just drawings? ₊ ˖ ་. nanami kento x fem reader (0.6k)

genre . . boyfriend!nanami, fluffy bickering, about attack on titan but doesn't explicitly say so, swearing summary . . nanami doesn't understand your obsession with 2D men; especially 2D men who look better than him. note . . this piece is personal.

"ohmygod i don't know if i can handle this."

you're pacing back and forth on your living room carpet. the tv is on with the pause sign glowing in the bottom left corner as the last episode of your favorite series ever has just released worldwide. it's been over ten years since the first episode aired and you're an avid manga reader— that being said, going into tonight whilst knowing the absolute devastation you're about to endure has you wanting to cry.

"it's just a show, c'mon let's start." ugh, he's always like this.

"it's not 'just a show', though." you grumble, crossing your arms and sending your oh-so-lovely boyfriend a glare. "you don't get it kento."

"this is serious shit."

nanami's giving you that familiar look he always has written across his face whenever you try to get him to understand your shows. it's not a look laced with judgement, but one that genuinely doesn't understand what the hell you're going on about. he tries his best to share your interests— he's quite literally watched every single episode of every single show you're interested in— however, that doesn't change the fact that it just really isn't his thing.

"you remember two last year when that manga chapter came out?" jogging his memory isn't usually this difficult, it's just that you give him a word-for-word summary of every manga you read.

"the one you cried over?" he looks confused, but he's slowly getting to the same point as you. "with the zombies?"

"okay, they're not zombies; but, yes, that one."

with his head nodding, you can see he's not quite getting your explanation. this is impossible. "kento, remember you had to come over because i was crying too much? it was the really bad night. my favorite character was killed off remember?"

his brown eyes widen with realization and he begins to nod an affirmative yes. "you were so upset i thought you were breaking up with me."

"exactly!" you exclaim so loudly that his head snaps towards you in shock. whoops, maybe you're a little too pumped about this. "this show ending is almost more upsetting than breaking up with you!"

that definitely wasn't the right thing to say to him.

nanami's brows are furrowed, contemplating the weight of what you just said and you can't blame him. you did just compare losing him to the death of a fictional character; which is clearly crazy, but what else can he expect dating you? he's the one who's head over heels for your obsessive nature— with romance and fiction— and you have no reason to feel bad for simply loving something so much that it consumes your very being. after all, you love him even more than that.

"you'd cry more if you broke up with me, though. right?" he's searching for an answer that he already knows the answer to.

your arms around his neck and you press a soft kiss to his lips. "my world would end without you." a smile graces your lips and you know that that expression is his favorite sight in the world. he's told you so many times before that if he could name an eighth great wonder, it would be you. "if i were an author, i'd never kill you off. you're too handsome."

a light laugh escapes nanami's lips and he showers your cheeks in kisses. "you're ridiculous." he says, shaking his head in disbelief and amusement; yet he still gently grabs you by the waist and carries you to the couch.

resting his arm over your shoulders and pressing the play button, he gifts you with a firm kiss on the forehead. "let's watch, baby."

⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⊹₊｡ reblogs are greatly appreciated! ˚₊⊹

#mourning my beautiful green eyed baby boy #୧ ‧₊˚ 🎐 ⋅ my writing #nanami kento #kento nanami #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x you #nanami kento x y/n #nanami kento fluff #nanami kento fanfiction #nanami kento ff #nanami kento fanfic #nanami kento hc #nanami kento hcs #nanami x reader #nanami x you #nanami x y/n #nanami fluff #nanami ff #nanami fanfiction #nanami fanfic #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #jjk hc #jjk hcs #jjk x y/n #jjk ff #i.e. they're just drawings?

[olderthannetfic]

Now that both explicit smut and fanfics have gotten a lot more mainstream than they used to be a couple of years ago, I keep seeing people write "The smut in books is never good enough because no matter how other readers claim it is, it's never as spicy as Ao3's, because on there I read--" and they go on to list straight out gore of characters having their organs removed while having sex.

Like, dude, congrats on your 300 confirmed kills and the secret raids on Al-Qaeda you participated in, but are you seriously expecting a novel that was advertised as being "a cozy romance between a ballet therapist and the barista of his favorite coffee shop" to include limbs being cut off and additional holes for fucking being drilled?

It's not even that I don't agree with the statement: the smut fanfic writers post on Ao3 is hotter than the published one, both by traditional and indie authors, but from what I've seen, it all drains down to the language the latter uses.

I have yet to read an author of a smutty book use the word "cunt," and sometimes even "pussy" feels like a forbidden word the author typed out while giggling. The scenes are oftentimes not descriptive enough, and they resolve themselves too quickly. There are authors who have their male characters boast about how good they are at oral, and when the moment comes, they write only missionary sex. In my language, there aren't words for female genitalia that aren't either considered to be too clinical or too raunchy, so most "spicy" authors refuse to write the female character receiving oral sex, while fanfic authors never refrained themselves from using the raunchy ones.

It has nothing to do with how gorey you can make these scenes, because there are soooo many people who do enjoy "regular" sex scenes. It just happens that the ones that are published just aren't good.

--

Honestly, those people need to read indie books, especially selfpub. Many suck, sure, but it's where the fic-like sex writing is hiding. In English anyway.

[mymainwastoocluttered]

The Key to My Heart (Vice Housewardens + Floyd)

Reader has a secret she keeps locked in her chest. He knows he has her pure, full love when she gives him the key

NOTE: I only write for female reader but everyone is welcome to read it!

Many people asked for more of this, so I shall deliver!

In this house, Ruggie is a Vice Housewarden, end of discussion. Also also, replaced Ortho (which I also consider a Vice Housewarden) with Floyd, but might write Ortho in his own little post so people can avoid it if they so wish. Maybe. I don't wanna say I will write it cuz we don't make promises we might not keep in this house.

A bit, uh, macabre. Little bit of body horror. If you know Pirates of the Caribbean... Yeah. That.

—<3<3<3

— Trey

Trey has always been the Normal One™, and he's well aware of it. He's by no means "normal", but compared to the idiosyncratic friendships he keeps in his life, he's definitely the most sensible. The less extra, as Cater would say.

So his reaction to his girlfriend's secret is quite understandable. No amount of Chen'ya's shenanigans, Riddle's rules, Ace and Deuce's plots and Cater's trendy adventures could've prepared him for it.

He freezes, eyes glued to the beating heart inside the chest, and can't help but splutter.

"Why me?"

"Who else, then?"

Being the "normal one" also means being boring by comparison. Uninteresting. Bland. Compared to all the personalities present in NRC—from strong to eccentric—Trey is not as interesting, not as good.

But she thinks he's good enough to hold the literal key to her heart.

And being "normal" now has become his greatest advantage, for who would bother with a common boy like him enough to wonder what is the key he carries on his neck, so close to his own heart?

—<3<3<3

— Ruggie

"Babe, not to freak you out, but there's a smell of living flesh and old blood in your room."

"... It's my heart."

"... What?"

His girlfriend pulls him to her bed, and he allows her to manhandle him until he's sitting on the soft mattress. To say the least, he did not expect the scent of flesh when she invited him to her room. Part of him wondered if she needs help to bury a body or something. Maybe her first year friends finally made her snap.

"Ohh, fancy," he whistles when she comes back with a very beautiful chest made of wood and metal. The smell gets stronger. "Please don't tell me you killed Grim and that's the body we need to bury, because that's a way too unique date idea."

"No, silly!" She laughs, but there hardly any amusement in it, which he takes as his cue to take things seriously. "This... Is something I hope you'll guard with your life."

She takes a key from around her neck and uses it to open the chest. Ruggie doesn't need to look at the inside of the chest for much, the smell and the beating attacking his senses so strongly that his eyes do not feel the need to see it for more than a miser second, choosing instead to focus on her face.

"This is my heart. If it stops beating, I die."

Then she grabs one of his hands and places there the key to the chest, closing his fingers on it. She doesn't need to say anything more.

Ruggie will guard the key with everything he is.

—<3<3<3

— Jade

Jade has heard many stories from human sailors, for they were one scarier than the other, one more interesting than the other. He had long grown tired of the exciting tales of hunting and curses of his people, and the romance genre never picked much his attention.

But the undecipherable horrors the humans whispered under their breaths when the nights were so dark, sky and sea became one? The angst they'd murmur in veneration, leaning on each other as if their own hearts were being ripped apart by the pale moonlight?

Now those were entertaining.

Sadly, since Jade could not choose which tales to listen, for no human ever knew the twin terrors lurking under the waves, sometimes he'd lose the gamble and sit through some loathed love story.

Though he quite liked the one about the Captain who fell in love with a Sea Goddess. Secretly, he always wondered how that man could be so foolish to forget the nature of the one he fell for, the nature he fell for, and how the Sea Goddess felt with the knowledge that he didn't love her, but having her, and took his own heart when he was denied.

But today, as his lover presents to him an intricate key to an intricate chest, he finds himself wondering how could the Sea Goddess not understand the utter devotion of a man who loved so desperately that the only way for the pain to stop was to take out his own heart and doom himself to eternity?

How could the Sea Goddess not answer that love in kind, when Jade himself feels like this had been the reason behind his entire existence up to this point?

Then again, the Captain did not give the Sea Goddess his key.

A pity, truly, that neither will ever understand Jade's feelings.

—<3<3<3

— Jamil

For a brief moment, a million plans go through Jamil's brain. It's impossible for him not to plan, not the scheme, not to strategize. His whole life has been nothing but.

And now, there's something even more important than his life at stakes.

To Jamil, the gift of trust and his lover's heart.

He takes the key from her hands in reverence, like he's receiving a gift from a divinity, however this is ten times better.

To humanity, the gift of free will.

Though he guesses it's not a gift when she took his own heart—metaphorically—in exchange.

But it certainly is still a blessing, one he shall carry with him at all times, and cherish at every breath, and if allowed, buried for eternity with it, to make sure he'll be able to care for it even in his next lives.

—<3<3<3

— Rook

For the first time in ages, Rook is absolutely stunned into silence.

He has known about the chest ever since the mysterious girl appeared with it in hands at Orientation. And many times he had tried to figure out what secrets it holds, to no avail as his dear Trickster is—appropriately—very tricky when she wants to.

The wait is paid off when she, after months of courting and dating, finally opens the chest to him.

Due to his incredible ears, he's aware that it holds something that beats like a heart.

He did not expect it to actually be a heart.

Remembering the tale of the evil stepmother who asked for her loyal servant to bring her the heart of her hated stepdaughter in a box, he can't help but wonder how this whole situation came to be. He does not ask. One lock at a time.

The key will be the last thing he'll wear in life, and the first thing he'll wear in death, that he promises.

—<3<3<3

— Lilia

Sometimes, Lilia muses with his buttons, humanity is capable of feats no magic could replicate.

There is a monologue inside him, one that frankly has never stopped ever since his first meeting with a human, in a voice he can't recognize anymore, though he can tell it's not any of his, carrying scary words like ephemeral and inevitable.

One that gets louder whenever he finally stops by himself, one that makes an effort to haunt his dreams whenever he's away from his lover, one that he's not sure he can ever be rid of. One he's not sure he will want to be rid off when the last period is placed at the end of her last sentence.

One that stutters and hushes for the first time in millennia when the chest is open and his eyes feast on the fragility of flesh.

One that begins to avoid her name like the key now dangling from his neck burned it from its repertoire.

A feat not all of his magic ever managed.

—<3<3<3

— Floyd

Floyd actually takes the heart out of the coffin, holding it in gentle hands. He commits to memory the feel of it, the weight of it, the smell of it.

Weren't he so afraid of hurting it with his teeth, he might've licked it to make sure all his senses would be able to recognize the heart of his most loved.

Once he's done, he places it back in the chest. Then he closes it, holding the chest in his hands until he's sure it locked properly.

Taking the key from its keyhole, he gives his girlfriend a look, who nods at him with a tender smile. His own heart beats together with hers, and he presses the cold metal of the key over it to remind it of its owner and its duty.

"Good thing the key is small enough to swallow, just in case."

"What–? Don't swallow the key, dummy!"

Floyd only laughs, pulling her to his lap and squeezing her in his arms.

This key and this person will never be taken from him, he'll make damn sure of it.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst imagines #twst x reader #x fem reader #requested #trey clover #trey clover x reader #ruggie bucchi x reader #ruggie bucchi #jade leech x reader #jade leech #jamil viper #jamil viper x reader #rook hunt #rook hunt x reader #lilia vanrouge x reader #lilia vanrouge #floyd leech #floyd leech x reader

[yeeterthek33per]

New Beginnings and Interesting Reads

Mary Fowler x Reader

Requested by Anon

Honestly, she'd thought she could get away with not stopping to check on the little red light on her dash. It was just blinking so incessantly that she wanted desperately to have it just go away.

Who would have thought the great Mary Fowler, Australian Matildas Footballer, was one to ignore her car screaming at her until it forced her to pull over.

So now, she was stuck on foot, walking around a tiny ass town on the outskirts of Manchester after having it towed to the local mechanic. It wasn't tiny tiny, after all, there was, in fact, a mechanic.

There were a few dotted shops here and there, and there was a main street with a couple of grocery stores and various goods and services fronts. One that, for some reason, stood out to her was a rustic little two storey building. Standing out from the modernised concreting of the other stores surrounding it.

As she walked up to the door, she could see it was a bookstore. Books were lining the windows of varying conditions and colours.

The Rugged Pages.

Huh. Seems like something from a fantasy universe. Perfect way to kill time.

A little bell chimes when she steps in the store with a little push of the door. It's only a few seconds before a smiling employee greets her from behind one the many book laden wooden shelves.

She greets the employee back but doesn't really get a good look at them because she's too preoccupied looking around at the interior of the place.

It's a much bigger interior than she expected. Instead of a full second floor, there's a balcony that wraps around the outer walls and a set of what looks like mahogany stairs leading up from the far left. The centre of it opens up to peer into the upper ceiling and the walls of bookshelves that line the balcony.

There's dozens of shelves downstairs, with varying genres of books and age grouped stories. Starting with the kids' section towards the front and the more adult esque reads towards the far wall.

The oak counter is sat towards the far right of the back wall, a doorway just set in behind it leading in to what Mary assumes is a back/storage room.

"Is there anything I can help you with, miss?"

The accent is shockingly familiar to the aussie. A smile creeps onto her face as she gets a full look of the person behind the australian accent.

Shoulder-length hair pulled up into a high bun with a midlength undercut that looks like it hasnt been shaved down in a few weeks. A pair of plastic framed country road glasses sit on your face, and you're wearing a loose-fitting red flannel shirt tied at the waist with a browny looking red shirt underneath. It's paired together with some black jeans and a pin tacked to the outer pocket on your flanno. The pin has your name on it surrounded by intricate metal flows and vines.

It reads "Hi! My name is Y/n."

"Hey, no, I'm all good, just browsing."

You nod softly with a small smile. You tilt your head back towards where you're loading a big box of books onto some of the smaller shelves designed for kids towards the front of the store.

"Let me know if you need anything."

Mary nods softly before moving to peruse one of the shelves in with it marked 'LGBTQIA+'.

The shelf is lined with varying titles and fronts. There's markers every few books. 'MLM' 'WLW' 'Bisexual Romance' 'Chaotic Ace' (That one makes her snicker a little) 'WLW Mystery' and many other categories. She picks out a title that sticks out to her. 'The Shattered Lands' by Brenda Nation. Perfect, that will do.

She peruses a bit longer in other sections but eventually makes her way to the counter where you pop out from your spot, loading books up.

"Ah, the Shattered Lands, that's a good read. From tiktok?" A little confused, Mary shakes her head.

"No, I.. I just thought it might be interesting." You raise your brow slightly. A smile pulls at your lips.

"I'm glad then. The only time anyone buys this one is if they're fans of the author from tiktok. It's nice to see someone pick it up for the genuine interest. It was a good one to read. If you have the time, there's a little reading corner just by the window if you like."

Mary glances over. It's a comfy little nook with couches and multiple cushions, both on the floor and on the seating. She is killing time at the moment, and she mentions as such, agreeing to stay for a bit to read the book. It was gonna be a few hours before she had to go get her car again. The mechanic said she'd call Mary when the car was fixed. She's lucky. She's got a few days yet before she has anything she needs to do urgently.

"Actually, I might take you up on that offer, I'm stuck here til my car gets fixed, so I've got plenty of time to kill."

You nod in understanding, "Make yourself comfy." As you gesture to the lounge area.

She manages to bury herself into the book for about an hour, various people coming and going, some regulars that she hears you greet with a warm smile and playful tone, most new customers travelling through looking for some quick picks to read on their travels, which you greet with a bright smile and help guide them to what they're looking for.

Eventually, though, she's left feeling a little stiff and eventually gets up to wander the shelves. She finds you reading a book yourself at the counter, having completed stacking any new deliveries for the day. You look up at her as she does so, eyes following her over the top of the pages.

"So what's got you coming through here? Travelling from home? Doesn't sound too much like you're from around this area."

Her eyes crinkle with a laugh as she approaches and sits on one of the stools placed underneath the countertop.

"No, I'm just in from Manchester, I live and work there for eight months out of the year, I am from Australia though, just moved for the job, I take it you were too?"

You nod, "Little podunk set of towns in NSW. Moved up north for the opportunity with a business partner of mine. Ended up owning this place instead. Plus, the women's soccer is nice to have available to watch."

Mary blushes a little at that. Did you know?

You chuckle a little, blushing a bit yourself, oops. "Yeah, sorry, I didn't wanna call you out like that. I knew who you were, just didn't wanna bring it up on you, keep work at work, that kind of thing."

She laughs at that, shaking her head.

"Honestly, thank you for that. It's nice to have a little time to myself without any professionalism. Don't worry, though. You had me fooled for a good bit."

Your eyes sparkle with a little playfulness. "Happy to be of service, m'lady." Before continuing. "How're you liking the book so far?"

Mary, to her credit, actually had been enjoying the book, but she couldn't sit still long enough to read anymore.

"It's been pretty good, I got up to the bit about Sapphire going to find the red-haired witch in the forest to ask about what she might know about her origins."

"Ah, you're in for a treat then. The book keeps you on your toes, though."

"Right? There are so many twists already."

"But I'm guessing you're getting a little fidgety there?"

Her nose scrunches up a little, and she sheepishly nods. "Not much of a sitter I've come to discover."

You nod, biting your lip a little. "Would you wanna take a walk around town for a bit? I've got a lunch break for an hour or so. I figured, since you've time and all."

You pause to wait for a bit before backtracking again, a little flustered. "Not that you have to, I just thought you might wanna get out of here for a bit. Come look at some of the cafes with me."

Mary smiles and nods a little more enthusiasticly than she likes. "Absolutely, of course, but I wouldn't want to take up your time."

"Absolutely not, I'm offering. I kinda wanna learn more about you."

She smiles back, nodding, and you begin grabbing your stuff before leading her out of the store and locking the place up temporarily with an "on break" sign posed in the window.

You walk beside her for a few blocks, chatting idly about the town and its aspects. "There's a few places I go to when I forget to buy food for work, which today happens to be one of those days."

You lead her to a cozy little coffee shop. Inside, it's a bit warmer, and the smell of brewing liquid life permeates the air. You nod at the barista working the register. "That's Em, my most likely future best man."

Emily looks up at you as you enter. "Look who it is, ratbag. In for the morning usual?"

You shake your head amused, "Yeah, Em, and another one for the new girl."

"Hi, how are you? I'm Emily."

"Hey, nice to meet you, I'm doing pretty good, keeping this one busy, it seems."

"I'm showing her the good places to hit up in town, just getting coffee first. How do you want your coffee?"

Mary gives her order to Em, who starts working on the two beveridges right away. As you wait, she asks about the reason in particular for this town.

"Cause she can't get enough of this!" Emily yells out from behind the machine.

You roll your eyes at the barista. "Nah, you're a pain in the ass."

"You love this ass."

"Too much sometimes, honestly, why are we friends again?"

She gives you a mock offended look, clutching at invisible pearls.

You chuckle and turn back to the striker beside you. "The opportunity was there. The place was cheap, and a quick fix. Plus, the people here are okay."

Emily interjects, waving you both over.

"Actually, the people here are really nice. This one's just an asshole." She winks at Mary as she says it.

"Don't listen to her. She's just jealous cause she can't get a date in a town with a population of two hundred."

Mary raises a brow at that.

"A date?"

You flush quickly realising what you said. "I mean, it was more of a-"

"Nice going sweetheart'."

You whip your head around at the girl behind the counter. "Shut up."

Mary's head tilts back in a laugh. "If you wanted this to be a date, all you had to do was ask."

Your mouth drops open at that, and Emily laughs at your expression. Mary smirks as she picks up her drink and walks to the door, gesturing for you both to keep moving.

"I like this one, keep her around for me!"

Em calls after you, and you turn to glare at the blonde.

This woman certainly has you on your toes.

Your cheeks are basically pinker than they've ever been but you follow regardless, a little sheepish if anything.

You rub at your neck as you both slowly stroll around the corner, away from view. "Sorry about that, I just kind of assumed and I-"

"Ask me."

You look up at her confused.

"Ask me, you want it to be a date, ask me."

Your bite your lower lip trying to hold back from a massive grin.

"Will you join me in this fine, fine hour and go on a date with me?"

"Nah."

Your head does a double take before the girl chuckles and shakes her head.

"I'm kidding, of course I will."

You sigh in relief. You didn't wanna miss this opportunity. She's gorgeous, she plays your favourite sport for a living, she likes to read and she lives relatively close to you. It's nice not to have to be stuck in a one sided long distance relationship. Woah, hold your horses, hasn't gotten that far yet.

"Great, then I've got a great place we can go to, just give me a few minutes while I go lock up for the day, a half hour isn't long enough to be honest."

You're gone for about ten minutes, and you come back to Mary back inside the cafe, chatting with your friend.

"Hey, sorry about that, ready to go?"

Mary nods, and Emily waves you both goodbye.

She slips her arm around yours. You're slightly shorter than her, so it's a little weird at first, but you eventually settle into the hold.

You both walk to another section of town. There, you bring her to a place that looks like a little sandwich shop with a massive arcade attached to it. You tell her about your first encounter here. The place looked decent and turned out to be pretty good. Good enough that you were back on the regular.

"Hey, Y/n, usual today?"

Georgie greets you from behind the register.

"Not today, I'm with someone for a few hours."

"Ah, gotcha. What would you like love?"

Mary hums for a second, browsing over the menu. You watch as she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth for a second, and you realise you're staring when she looks back at the cashier. "I'll have a number 12 and a water, please." "Coming right up, hon, and for you L/n?"

"I'll take a number 5 today, please."

"No mayo, extra pickles with a sunkist?"

"You got it."

"16 pound 50 today love."

You're quick to jump in and tap your card before Mary pulls her phone out. She pouts at you, and you chuckle. "I asked you out."

"Only because I told you to." You stick your tongue out at that cheekily. "I wanted to."

Your food comes quickly, and you find a table in the corner, away from the door and any large windows.

The food is amazing as per usual, and the look on Mary's face agrees with that from her first bite. The food is always good here.

"Good, right?"

She groans, "You're kidding, right? How do they make sandwiches taste so good?"

You chuckle and shrug, "No idea, must be that southern English love."

"I swear my nutritionist is gonna kill me, that and my bank account."

"Yeah, I tend to avoid this part of town most days because if I even get close to this place, I can't resist a good teriyaki chicken club."

You finish your food and drinks, and you pull her up with a giddy grin as you lead her into the arcade and grab a loaded up card from your pocket.

"The food is amazing, but the games are pretty close. Come on, I wanna see what we can win today."

You spend the better part of two hours in there, ranging from a basketball hoop shooter to the Mario Kart racer. Turns out, Mary is really good at arcade games. And it turns competitive quite a few times.

In the end, you come away with a combined 2000 tickets.

Which is honestly pretty good for two people in that amount of time. With that, you both pick out a few lollies and a stuffed bear in a soccer uniform, which you all too happily hand over to her. (*It may have cost a few thousand more than you actually earned, but she doesn't need to know that you dipped into your saved tickets for it*)

In the end, the date slows down to a slow stroll around town in the late afternoon. And it's only when she finally gets a call from the mechanic that it has to come to an end.

You walk her back to just outside the mechanics while she picks up her car and pays for the repairs. She's parked it just on the street outside the bookshop while you two talk for a bit.

"Guess this is it for the night, then?" You ask tentatively, shuffling a little.

Mary smiles softly and nods a little.

"Yeah, I have to get back to Manchester with this stuff. And I've got teammates waiting for me to get back as well."

You nod in understanding. You're a little upset about the date ending, but you don't show it.

"Thank you for agreeing to come out with me today."

"Hey, pretty girl asks me out, I'm not gonna say no. Besides, I'm definitely gonna be back. I wouldn't wanna miss out on a second date. And a chance to pay you back for the bear as well." There's a twinkle in her eye that says she damn well knows how much you spent on her earlier, and you blush a little.

"So there's a second date?" You ask with raised brow.

"If you'll have me."

"Without a doubt." You answer without hesitation. Mary grins and grabs your hands in hers. She pulls you into her, and you grin, leaning up. She meets you halfway with a soft kiss to your lips.

It sends tingles down your spine, and her hands running up and down your arms leave goosebumps in their wake, making you shiver a little.

It deepens for a second before you take a step back, stopping yourself from holding her hostage here any longer and going any further than you should.

"You're amazing, you know that?"

It has her grinning, and she scrunches her nose adorably. Her hand finds yours to squeeze it a few times before she presses one last kiss to your lips and bids you farewell.

"I'll message you soon, pretty girl, I want that second date I was promised."

"Wouldn't miss it for the world, drive safe, cutie."

She waves goodbye and drives off, heading in the direction of the highway, going back to Machester.

You can still feel the tingle of lips against yours, the feel of her fingertips on your skin, and it leaves you keening for more, despite her being long gone. You'd have to keep an eye out on your phone now.

As Mary's cruising along the highway, all she can think about is how your lips felt against hers. How you'd grinned at her when she'd pulled you in to meet her against the side of her car. How easy the two of you just settled into easy banter and how open you seemed to be with her. You were definitely someone she didn't want to let go of just yet.

#mary fowler x reader #woso x reader #auswnt x reader #woso #mary fowler imagine #mary fowler imagines #woso imagine #woso imagines

[formulaorange]

Winter 2024 Anime Review

Solo Leveling - 24 Episodes

This has been and will be my most anticipated series. We've only scratched the surface of the story and people are going nuts. I've been reading the light novel translations for a while now and I'm not even a little ready for when certain things are animated.

Easily one of the best anime adaptations out there. More to look forward to.

Sidenote - A1 is killing the animations considering it's one of their bigger ones in a while.

Also - they did a really solid job with the sound design, a lot of the timing made certain scenes feel just that much more intense.

9/10 - Amazing

Frieren - 28 episodes

Such a unique watching experience.

I think so many shows these days are fast paced, and action oriented, especially within the fantasy genre. This is such a relaxing and enjoyable watch.

The story is moving and the animations are warm and fuzzy.

Not much I'd change about the series.

10/10 - Masterpiece

The Apothecary Diaries - 24 Episodes

The second half of this series kept up with the flow of the first half really well. I feel like that shouldn't be a feat but it really is these days.

I genuinely love watching the subtleties of the romance in this series and the medical mystery cases are just as fun to watch.

The story has so many little bits and pieces working throughout the show and the last episode had me wrecked for reasons I never saw coming.

Just overall a big fan of this series.

9/10 - Amazing

Delicious in Dungeon - 12/24 Episodes

This series has no right to be this much fun.

The animations match the energy of the show so well and I think it's one of the best "entertainment" series of the season.

I was worried it would start to repeat itself but found that the characters become the highlight of the series and I looked forward to every episode.

(This is the series this season that I'm high-key obsessed with.)

8.5/10 - Very Good+

Shangri-La Frontier - 25 Episodes

One of the most fun looking MMORPG animes I've seen. I remember reading the teaser manga a while ago and was stoked to see it animated. Just a genuinely well done gamer oriented series.

They do such a good job at showing exactly the kinds of small things gamers pay attention to and some of the combat learning is stellar.

Not to mention the sound track honestly did not need to go as hard as it did?!

Really hoping they continue on with this for another season.

8/10 - Very Good

Bucchigiri?! - 12 Episodes

I haven't seen any coverage for this show for some reason. The story doesn't feel anything special tbh, it's not something I expected MAPPA to be animating either. I personally had fun with it, the character design was satisfying - gives a bit of Jojo's and SK8 vibes.

You can tell the story's going somewhere but the pacing feels a bit slow. Either way I had fun with this one and might keep up with future seasons.

(Opening and ending are both bangers)

7.5/10 - Good+

Mashle - Season 2 - 12 Episodes

I decided to watch this once all the episodes had aired. I found that it's not one you can be in the mood to watch all the time, but when you are it's just as hilarious as the first season.

I've enjoyed the pacing of the story and I'm looking forward to future seasons.

7.5/10 - Good+

Unwanted Undead - 12 Episodes

Another series I read the manga for when it premiered. There's something about this series that gets me hooked. While the animations aren't anything of note, I find the story is oddly unique and I ended up bingeing all the episodes in one go. Definitely one I'm curious to see where it goes.

7/10 - Good

Mr. Villain's Day Off - 12 Episodes

This is purely for my own personal interest in attractive moody villains with alter ego's. It's a lot of fun to watch and it's just so wholesome.

That's it.

7/10 - Good

#anime #new anime #anime review #anime rating #anime recommendation #anime reccomendations #2024 anime #2024 winter anime #solo leveling anime #solo leveling #frieren #sousou no frieren #frieren: beyond journey's end #shangri la frontier #the apothecary diaries #kusuriya no hitorigoto #delicious in dungeon #dungeon meshi #mashle #mashle season 2 #mr. villain's day off #kyuujitsu no warumono san #the unwanted undead adventurer #nozomanu fushi no boukensha #bucchigiri?!

[mischievous-piltovan]

Of Atlas and Sisyphus (NSFW)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 (soon)

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x afab!Reader Themes: Romance, Fluff, NSFW, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn. Word Count: Roughly 8000 words Synopsis: You're a tech-savvy Spider that landed a position in Miguel's lab by tinkering with your gizmo. Despite your best efforts, you couldn't keep a fondness for the man for taking hold, so you've been trying your best to manage your crush with the tools at hand.

Unbeknownst to you, Miguel has been dealing with a very similar problem.

An accident during a mission led both of you to face these feelings.

Or

Two headstrong and emotionally constipated idiots can't communicate their feelings despite being over 30. 

Trigger Warnings/TWs: blood, wound, piercing damage, reader is afab and uses she/her pronouns, miscommunication, emotionally constipated idiots, a bit of power imbalance because boss x underling (but ever so slightly), masturbation.

A/N: this started a silly NSFW one-shot but then I needed some yearning to make the sex part feel powerful and now we're here. Oops. Also I was VERY dramatic in my writing, pardon my self-indulgence.

A/N²: Reader's special Spider powers are linked to fire. She uses highly flammable webbing that conducts flames to burn her enemies (without killing them). The source of fire are her palms - they naturally conduct heat. So it's like: she shoots her web from the underside of her wrists and grips the ropes to light them on fire once they latch on an enemy. Anyways, just to clarify. Huge thank you to my lovely beta-readers @uniquedeerwitch @tantei14 and @zaunitearchives for lurking_kitty every single entry on the Discord Server. Part 1 | Part 2 (soon)

「Sisyphus rolled the boulder up the hill everyday so he could become worthy of sharing the weight of the sky with Atlas. Atlas carried the firmament on his shoulders to protect Sisyphus from the monster his plight kept caged - himself.」

"I expected more from you," Miguel said, looking down at you from his lab's platform. His arms crossed over his chest in a commanding instance.

"Miguel, I caught the Anomaly." You protested, annoyance seeping through your words.

"But you almost didn't," he retorted "Had Lyla not warned you, the Anomaly would have escaped your feeble attempt at securing it. You were careless."

"I had everything under control" you rebuked through gritted teeth. 

"That wound you sustained begs to differ" Miguel responded, cocking an eyebrow at you. You looked away with an exhale, one hand coming up instinctively to cover the bloodied tear at the side of your suit, right below your rib cage. Had it not been for your accelerated healing factor, the gash the Anomaly left on you would still be very much open and bleeding. At your lack of response, Miguel turned back to his console. "I will accompany you on your next few missions to make sure it doesn't repeat itself."

"Oh the fuck you will," you snapped back at him "It was one mistake, O'Hara! I don't need chaperoning!"

"Until you prove to me you don't, you will have it" He simply responded, his focus on the many screens in front of him. You opened your mouth to protest but gave up before any words came out, there was no point in trying to argue with Miguel. With a loud exhale, you turned on your heels and stormed out of the dark chamber.

As soon as your steps could no longer be heard, Lyla popped up next to Miguel.

"Miguel, I think this has been going on long enough" She stated, looking at where you disappeared.

"Nothing's been going on" He retorted without missing a beat, his eyes still glued to the monitors in front of him.

"Your bio readings say otherwise," She jabbed, bringing up a second screen next to the one Miguel was working on. He looked at it from the corner of his eyes and didn't take much to notice what Lyla was referring to - his heart-rate, oxytocin and cortisol levels were all higher than his usual. He sighed, closing his eyes. At that reaction, she concluded, "It's been like that for a while, but it gets worse whenever you interact with her."

Miguel took a deep breath before responding "It's complicated."

"Lashing out on her won't solve anything" Lyla's words stung. They cemented the guilt he started feeling as soon as you turned around and left. He lost control yet again, a dreadful habit that has been putting down roots whenever you were involved.

"I know," was all he could muster. He could try to explain why he did it, how watching you get hurt stirred the beast inside of him, how he had to fight to keep it chained down yet again as it tried to claw its way out, how the amount of effort to do so has been increasing as its constant struggles had been wearing down its shackles, how on top of that he had to act as your leader, how this whole circus left him with little to no mental capacity to anything else, how his attitude was but an outcome rather than a thought out action. But in the end there was no justifying it, he was wrong.

"You care a lot about her, don't you," Lyla spoke in a softer tone. Miguel took a long breath before responding.

"You could say that."

Miguel had been torn about you for quite a while now. He considered himself intelligent, especially when it came to Genetics and Bio-engineering, but he would be lying if he said he could fully understand his own feelings sometimes. Let alone be aware of them, Lyla was the one who figured it out for him when she noticed a pattern in his biological readings whenever he came into contact with you.

At first he denied it even to himself, rationalizing the good feelings he had towards you as being a matter of fact. You were exceptionally capable, had a formidable intellect and could perform your missions with ease (seconded only by Jess and himself), he felt he could count on you and that in itself was a novelty to him. Sure, you were very easy on the eyes too but he had felt attracted to other Spiders in the Society before, it wouldn't be a first.

But then all thoughts start circling back to you, despite not necessarily having anything to do with you in the first place. Like how he'd wonder what kind of food you preferred whenever he sat down to eat or what season you liked more when he noticed the air getting crisper. He'd start noticing smaller things about you, charming details that encapsulated who you were at your best, like the melodic cadence in your voice whenever you were close to finishing a project at the lab or how small your hands were compared to his. 

The last straw came one day on a particular slow morning at HQ, when he went to the cafeteria to grab some coffee and an empanada. He heard the sound of your laughter all the way across the room and the sight that greeted him upon turning towards you was like a punch to the gut: you casually talking to a male Spider while he rested a hand on your shoulder. Suddenly there was anger, dread and a sense of possessiveness overcoming him all at once.

And then there was the 'oh'.

That was the push the metaphorical askew tower he had been piling his conceptions of you needed to finally click into place, every piece neatly connecting together at the same axis - his undeniable infatuation with you.

That's when everything started tumbling down - he didn't know how to navigate these murky waters. He foolishly let it grow unattended, unpruned and now it grew to the point it consumed him. Your presence used to soothe him, now it drove him insane - as if the slow burn of a growing fondness he didn't know he nursed through months blasted him all at once, engulfing him in an overwhelming inferno shaped like you. 

His desire was the very next thing that assaulted him, overwhelming his thoughts. He didn't know if it was because of his spliced genes or because he had a tendency to neglect his more primal needs in the face of work, or if it was a combination of both. The matter of fact was - his body screamed for you and he couldn't just ignore it. Your presence at the lab was enough to send him into a spiral in need of release, no matter how hard he tried to push it down. Even just trying to concentrate on his work was futile, your scent plagued him and for the first time in a while he loathed his modified genes that heightened his senses. He lost count of the amount of times he fucked his hand in pursuit of some relief, but that reprieve wouldn't last long. Soon he was snatching whatever personal belongings you left in the lab to bring it to his nose while he tugged at his cock.

All of that because the very idea of offering this onslaught of feelings to you felt wrong. Not simply because of the obvious power imbalance your respective positions in the Society bestowed upon you, but because of who you both were. Despite technically being a Spider-Man thanks to (some) of his powers, he was anything but; Everyday he was faced with countless joyful rays of sunshine, glowing around HQ in the form of different variants of Spider-People, a stark contrast to everything he was. There was no hero in Miguel O'Hara, the fire that burned within him was not the cozy glow of a hearth, but the destructive power of infernal flames; everything about him was demonic, from his talons to his venomous fangs and blood-red eyes. He'd literally take shots to keep his DNA in check as to not lose what little humanity he had left.

He was corruption, ruination… And you didn't deserve that. He didn't deserve that.

But the demon within him desired you, lusted for you, and Miguel gave everything he had to keep it sealed away inside of him. And of course this took its toll, to sustain this control Miguel had to completely change his approach towards you, distancing himself as much as he could while maintaining a somewhat professional facade. Yet, the demon would jump at every opportunity to seize control, and he'd often find himself gravitating towards you and the warm glow of the dynamic you cultivated in the lab, only to pull back as soon as he noticed his short-comings. 

Miguel yawned, rubbing his tired eyes as he felt the strain of overwork settling in. He grabbed his mug, taking the last sip of his already cold coffee as he checked the time - 3 in the morning. He groaned, there was still plenty to be done before he could even consider calling it a night. Dejected, he grabbed his empty thermal carafe and made his way to the cafeteria to fill it with more coffee. 

However, before he could reach the Lab door, his nostrils were assaulted with a very familiar fragrance - your scent. On pure impulse, Miguel turned on his heel and followed the aroma. Yes, your scent usually lingered a while after you called it a day, but this was different, it was stronger. Soon, he found out the reason why - you were still in the lab.

Resting your head on your crossed arms atop your work station, you slept peacefully as your body gently rose and fell to the rhythm of your breathing. Miguel noticed the project you were working on earlier that day unceremoniously shoved to the side with a myriad of tools in a messy array near it. You must have dozed-off in the middle of working on it.

He took the time to watch you, to commit the scene to memory. As creepy as he felt, there weren't a lot of opportunities he could indulge in just admiring you from afar without worrying about it setting-off your Spider-Senses. Right now in the calm hours preceding the break of dawn, he had you all to himself. 

You looked beautiful. 

His heart ached with yearning. Your scent in the air added to how serene you looked and his own exhaustion made him desire nothing more than to hold you, to nuzzle your neck and savor your musk as he carried you to the nearest bed only to have a decent night of sleep in each other's arms. To wake-up the next day greeted with your adorable disheveled self in pure domestic bliss. To kiss your puffy lips good morning as he caressed your face, and maybe letting wandering hands escalate it to something more… lecherous.

Miguel left the carafe on the nearest surface as he approached you. Would you like that? Would you give him the privilege of indulging in your most vulnerable state? Would you give yourself to him as he wished to give himself to you? Maybe the only thing keeping it from happening was a leap of faith…

He hovered his hand above your shoulder. Maybe he should do it, all it would take was waking you up and talking to you. Maybe just going straight to physical contact, grabbing your hands in his and pouring everything out in the open. Or taking the risk and kissing you while gently cradling your face. There was no one at HQ right now, even Lyla was busy taking care of surveillance for him, the moment was ripe with opportunity. 

But then you let out a little whimper in your sleep, disrupting the steady rhythm of your breathing and Miguel flinched. The shock was enough to snap him out of his daze and he quickly withdrew, harshly reprimanding himself. He had foolishly loosened the leash a bit and that was enough to stir the beast inside of him, as it growled ready to pounce. He had to get away from you.

Miguel rushed out of the lab as fast and stealthy as he could. Once he steadied himself, he sent Lyla to wake you up and send you home. He returned to the lab only after making sure you were gone.

He passed by your empty workstation briefly only to retrieve his carafe, and was greeted with a forgotten article of clothing - your scarf. He grabbed it on a whim and was overcome with an urge to keep it. He knew he shouldn't, but the scarf was intensely doused with your scent and the demon inside of him was agitated. He kept it against his best judgment, it was to keep the monster at bay, he justified. 

That night Miguel shamelessly defiled the scarf, keeping one side bunched up against his nose as he used the other extremity to furiously tug at his cock. 

He watched helplessly as his relationship with you crumbled, all his own doing for the sole purpose of protecting you from himself. The resentment came in the form of him being a dickhead and the target was more often than not you. Today's mission debriefing just accentuated this reality. He just hoped you would understand.

—-----------------

You didn't. 

1… 2… 3… 4…

You counted your reps as you hit the lowest point of your deep squats, inhaling through your nose as you descended, exhaling through your mouth as you ascended, the barbell heavy on your back. In your frustration, you decided to hit the gym area of the Strength and Conditioning Sector at the Society right after you left Miguel's lab to try channeling it into something productive.

You made sure to perform some first aid to your wound, wrapping your torso in bandages to protect it. You hoped that your self-administration of medical attention paired with your accelerated healing would suffice. Up until now, it was working just fine.

5… 6… 7… 8…

The Strength and Conditioning Sector was empty as it usually was at this time - early evening. It gave you the freedom to keep the lights as low as possible, so you could let the soothing image of Nueva York's skyline at night in through the tall glass panels. It helped you calm down.

Today it wasn't doing much to cool your jets though.

9… 10… 11… 12…

This was all so frustrating… He was so frustrating… After all you've done for the cause, after all you've done for him, this is your reward - being treated like you're faulty wiring, an unturning cog. Leave it to boy genius Miguel O'Hara to treat his team as mere assets instead of people.

The amount of effort you've been putting lately to not fuck up, to surgically cover all your bases has been gargantuan, of course you'd end up faltering. You should've known your energy would start running out at some point, but ignoring your body signals and underestimating the impact of prolonged periods of time neglecting your needs, all for the sake of efficiency and productivity had basically become second nature. Add that to the fact that Miguel has had his eyes trained on your every movement lately, it was a matter of time when you'd slip and he'd catch it.

All of that because you were far too stubborn to simply confront him as to why he started being an ass out of the blue.

13… 14… 15… 16… 

Not to mention how all this commitment was relayed towards a cause you didn't fully believe in - Miguel's Canon Event Theory. Of course you wanted to help people, - you were a Spider-Woman after all - and working towards assisting as many people as possible was definitely ideal, but the CET wasn't that. The amount of holes and questions unanswered bothered you, gaps that could very much disprove the Theory altogether.The fact that all Spider Society's collective effort was channeled towards it was troublesome at best.

You brought it up to Miguel after your first few months as a member of the Society, but he just shrugged it off. As time went by you began to understand - it wasn't a theory, but a hypothesis. A hypothesis born from the crippling guilt of a man who lost everything. An ill-rationalization of his misfortune that he used as a coping mechanism. 

And then you began to understand him. And that's where your problems started.

17… 18… 19… 20…

Miguel O'Hara - tall, handsome man, with an intellect to die for. Miguel O'Hara whose sharp cheekbones and dry sarcasm pierced you every time you interacted, even more than his fangs could. Miguel O'Hara who, under all that brooding persona had a sad, lonely individual who would surface briefly in the fleeting moments of stillness you two shared. Miguel O'Hara who had your heart between his talons and he didn't even know it.

It all started after your first day at HQ. As soon as you got back to your own dimension, you sat down at your desk with your shiny new watch and your handy tool box and began disassembling the portal device. You were mesmerized with Nueva York and the technology the year 2099 held and, as an Engineer, you were dying to get a better grasp at its intricacies. After you were happy with your tinkering, you reassembled it back together as if nothing ever happened, completely unaware that the device held a security system that had already sounded an alert back at HQ.

The next day you were promptly summoned to Miguel's Lab. After a good scolding that made you believe you'd certainly be kicked out, you were surprised to be offered a position as Miguel's assistant in his Lab. The prowess you showed in dealing with a technology so removed from your own reality proved him you were the person he was looking for - turns out having to deal with broken watches from the numerous of daily casualties every day was taking too much time and effort and he was in need of someone to handle this menial task for him. Golden chance to dive even deeper in this new technology, of course you accepted.

Big mistake.

The days passed and what started with an acknowledgement you definitely found him attractive, turned into a little crush. Your stupid lizard brain began craving his attention and you'd find yourself panicking a bit whenever you two interacted. 

That's when you decided you needed to nip this feeling to the bud.

You used your gathered knowledge of 2099's technology and the tools at your disposal to develop and build your own project - a device to automate the process of fixing watches. 

"It's simple: it assesses the type of damage in this scanner, sending the information to its own database, while also devising the best solution to each case" you said as you showcased the device to Miguel and Lyla "It then either remove and replace the damaged part OR discards the whole watch, amalgamating and recycling the materials to produce a new one entirely."

"Impressive!" Lyla responded. Miguel only hummed, his eyes slowly scanning the machine in front of him. You had hoped that by automating your job you'd no longer be needed in the Lab and thus would be able to distance yourself from Miguel and prevent any feelings from further blossoming. 

Turns out that the best employee is seldom rewarded with more work.

"I have some projects that are… stalled at the moment," Miguel said after a while "It would be very beneficial to have someone to bounce ideas off of some of them."

It would not be long before the silly infatuation grew into raw and unapologetic love, and you hated every second of it.

You hated how he made you feel like a teenager in love again, the very prospect of seeing him filling you with a mixture of elation and anxiety. How you could easily spot him in the crowd, proof that your subconscious was actively seeking him. Despised how your gaze would automatically land on his back whenever you got distracted from whatever you were working on at the lab  (and you would mentally slap yourself back to work once you realized it). Detested how the most innocent of touches, such as the accidental grazing of his hand on yours sent bolts of electricity through your whole body, making you yearn for more.

And you'd think there was some respite once you got to the safety of your home, away from the very source of your torment… Yet, it was in the stillness of familiarity that the risqué side of this infatuation took hold. Your mind wandered to him, wondering how it would feel to touch his bare skin, to trace every curve and crevice of his toned body massaging the stress of the day away. Would he enjoy it? Would he let out little sighs or loudly groan as you worked the knots away? Oh, how you'd like to help him relax, gently coaxing him to release all that pent-up tension in you.

Your hand would snake down the hem of your underwear almost on its own as the thoughts became more salacious. The whole ordeal only made facing him the next day even harder.

Miguel O'Hara had the power to turn you into the most pathetic version of yourself without moving a muscle. And for that he could never find out about any of this, the very thought utterly mortifying.

So you decided to pour all your feelings, all that love you harbored for him into the one thing you could do about it - assisting him. Becoming worthy of sharing the weight of the Multiverse he carried on his broad shoulders. You studied the multiverse in all its intricacies to the point of proposing viable solutions to eventual conundrums. You used your newfound knowledge of 2099's tech to hone your own equipment and even underwent an ongoing restricted training routine and diet in order to optimize your body for better performance during missions. All of that to help make his life easier, if only for a fraction.

But that alone couldn't shield you from the roller-coaster that was navigating the pull of your feelings against the pull of your rational mind. On a particularly difficult day, you reluctantly decided to ask Lyla to help you on a (non-ideal and very unhealthy) solution you had been marinating in the back of your head for a while.

"Lyla, do you have a minute?" You called out for the AI on your watch. Her little orange sprite appeared instantly.

"What 's up?" She asked cheerfully. You swallowed hard before speaking again.

"I need your help with something," you said in a whisper. Miguel wasn't around, but you decided to be extra careful all the same "But Miguel can't find out."

"I know he has granted you full access to all my features, but he can override the secrecy protocol if he so wishes," She responded "I cannot guarantee he will not know it."

"It's all right, It shouldn't pique his interest unless you bring it up to him," You said "Could you avoid that?"

"Sure thing." She agreed. 

"Very well… " You said, pausing to take a deep breath "I need you to find a Miguel O'Hara variant in my dimension."

"Oh" Lyla exclaimed before a knowing grin made its way into her features "Ooooh, I knew it! You have the hots for Miggy!"

"Shhh, keep it down!" You urged her "Yes, and he can't know that. I just need a way to channel this into something else… Into someone else."

"Wouldn't it be easier to just confess to him?" Lyla said matter-of-factually "We don't need to buy a new Miguel, honey. We have a Miguel at home."

"Don't be absurd," you answered, ignoring her joke "I'll be lucky if he just laughs at my face." 

"Your call," Lyla yielded.

In the end she couldn't find a Miguel variant alive in your dimension. And so your plight continued with no end in sight and a lot of damage to your psyche.

21… 22… 23… 24…

But recently, something changed.

What was a relatively amicable relationship you and Miguel shared before started turning sour seemingly out of nowhere. The usual sarcastic banters you two engaged with whenever you worked together in the lab disappeared, his tone shifted to something more distant, akin to professional and he rarely ever left his platform anymore. 

It's not like the two of you were particularly close before, he was your superior after all, but there was a level of mutual understanding that had blossomed from your shared work at the lab when the ordeal of monitoring the Society quieted down a little. It was a friendship between peers of the same interest, the exchanges ripe with dry sarcasm and teasing. Sometimes even flirty (or so you thought).

"You have my condolences …" Miguel spoke approaching from behind you, the tone in his voice a harbinger of mockery. But still, you took the bait.

"And why, pray tell, is that?" You asked, turning on your stool while pulling your protective goggles up to face him.

"The educational system in your dimension truly failed you, did it not?" He bent his torso over the desk you were working on, a hand on it supporting his weight, his other hand on his hip. With him closer, you could clearly see the smirk he casted at you. You rolled your eyes, bracing for the impact.

"Why would you think that?"

"Oh, it is very clear to me you can't read since you're blatantly ignoring the safety protocol from the manual I gave you for the usage of the very tool you're holding."

"Eat shit, O'Hara," you playfully smacked his abdomen with your elbow. "I read the protocol but this way of using it is way more efficient and safe all the same and you know it."

"Oh, you're the expert now then? I should be having you writing the documentation on tool usage instead of having you working the machinery huh?"

"You know you need me here, O'Hara." You smugly quipped, looking at him… but he didn't promptly respond. You watched his eyebrows rise up at your words, his burgundy eyes searching yours for something you couldn't quite catch while the tension his pause bestowed made you start worrying your words might have been misinterpreted. Even worse was that little delusional part of you that made you believe such an action held any semblance of reciprocation to your feelings.

After what felt like an eternity he spoke again. His voice dripped with something sweeter, but still with the familiar tinge of spice your banters usually carried "I'm certain you're the one that needs me."

The abrupt end to this dynamic would have saddened you. Heck, it'd have somewhat relieved you at the prospect of some reprieve from your roller-coaster of emotions… If it wasn't for his new constant surveillance.

Miguel started to watch you like a hawk, analyzing your every move under a microscope, never missing a chance to criticize or nitpick whatever you were doing. Suddenly your work at the lab wasn't as efficient, the missions you went on didn't produce as many good results and even the way you addressed the other Spiders wasn't ideal.

All that pent-up frustration of navigating your feelings for him became good fodder for the shift in your own tone. You couldn't help but become petty, picking fights at every chance you had. 

"I already told you are using that tool wrong," came a baritone voice from behind you. 

You sighed, pulling up your protective goggles. The ire inside of you was already boiling, readying you for the imminence of combat. "And I already told you this is a more efficient way to use it."

"You are going to hurt yourself if you keep at it" He responded. His own tone getting stricter.

"I need to get this done by the end of today and this way of using it significantly cuts time," you insisted. Voice picking volume while you smacked every word with venom. "And speaking of time, you are very much wasting mine, O'Hara. So it would be everyone's best interest if you could kindly fuck-off."

Before you knew it, you started resenting him. Whenever he complained about your endeavors, you spat back at him, seldom escalating the situation. At times your bickering would turn into a shouting contest, the noise reverberating outside the Lab. More often than not you felt the urge to lunge at him during these fights, to pin him to the ground and shut him up - you just couldn't figure out if it was with a kiss or a punch across the jaw.

And today only served to rub more salt on the wound.

25… 26… 27… 28… 

On a mission you thought you had wrapped up well enough, you paid a little less attention to the aftermath and the Anomaly broke free, piercing you with a sharp projectile. Lyla's sudden warning was the only thing that kept your enemy's attack from striking a more vital area. You were able to dislodge the bolt and recapture the Anomaly, this time being able to bring him with you to HQ. But Lyla's appearance meant only one thing: Miguel was watching you. And he had a front row seat to your failure, the scolding from before was practically a given… But still made you fume nonetheless.

You poured every single bit of you into this man and his Society, was it not enough? What could you possibly be doing wrong to prompt this keen surveillance out of him? Couldn't he just tell you instead of intensively watching you as he waited for an opportunity to belittle you once you inevitably fail? To put you to the test despite everything else you've done for the Multiverse so far? Was that even a failure? You caught the Anomaly and brought it here. Your mission was a success. It was an undeniable success. It was a GODDAMN SUCC… 

"ARGH!"

The sound of the barbell hitting the floor behind you echoed through the empty room. You fell to your knees, grasping the bandages over your wound as you felt a warm liquid seep through it - blood. 

You got careless. Again.

As your mind wandered and the anger of your pent-up frustration took over, the conscious effort to keep tension away from your midsection to avoid exerting unnecessary pressure on your wound faltered and the extra weight you held forced it open once more. So much for training to better the body.

It didn't matter, your accelerated healing factor would fix this… in time. With a resolute exhale, you got up and decided to wrap up your training for the day. As long as Miguel didn't find out about this mishap and it didn't affect your performance, it should be OK. 

It WOULD be OK. You were gonna make sure of it.

—-----------------

Your mission the next day was brought directly to you at your doorstep.

"Good morning, Sunshine!" 

You woke up in a jolt as Lyla's sprite sprung from your watch at your bedside table, bathing your otherwise dark bedroom in a yellowish glow.

"Lyla! What was that for?" You barked, voice still raspy from sleep. The tell-tale warm brightness  announcing the morning's arrival was nowhere to be seen, meaning it was very early. Too early to have HQ calling you.

"Get ready. We tracked an Anomaly in your Universe, a Green Goblin variant" the AI said, her usual playful tone gone "Miguel's on his way here."

You groaned as she disappeared, your first mission right after being put on probation and it started at an ungodly hour in your very own dimension. You maneuvered yourself out of bed and was bitterly reminded of your wound as soon as you tried to rotate your torso, the pain flushing the rest of sleep out of your system. Today you learned your superhuman healing factor couldn't miraculously stitch together a deep wound overnight, especially one you foolishly tore open a second time.

For a moment you debated if it was wise to throw yourself at a mission in your current state, but you swatted that thought out as fast as it came to you. They'd be able to summon another Spider to this mission no problem if so you wished, but you couldn't possibly give Miguel the satisfaction of learning you were careless enough to not only sustain an ugly wound, but  also made it worse by being stubborn. Not to mention the utter distaste at letting him and someone else save your dimension in your stead - not happening. You could manage a little pain, you just needed to be careful. 

You changed into your suit and equipped your gear as fast as you could and soon you were on your apartment's building rooftop. You were greeted by Miguel's back as he scouted your New York's (Santa Iorque) skyline. You loathed the blooming fondness, the heartache the sight still caused you.

"Go back to HQ, O'Hara. I'll handle this one myself," you spat. He turned his head slightly, the eyes in his mask narrowing down.

"You don't get a say in this" he retorted.

"Fine. Try not to get in my way, then" you jabbed, walking over to his side. You could feel Miguel shifting a little as you scanned the horizon for any sign of the Anomaly.

"Lyla, what's his location?" Miguel spoke to his watch. 

"Still working on it," the AI responded, her sprite typing on a little computer "I'm experiencing a lot of interference, the cause is still unknown."

"What do you mean interfe– "

Before Miguel could finish, the loud bang of an explosion ripped through the air, leaving behind an expanding cloud of greenish smoke. You and Miguel briefly nodded at each other before rushing towards it.

Spotting the perpetrator wasn't hard. Cruising above a crescent-shaped hovercraft stood a figure you could only describe as a techno-imp with jester undertones. You jumped over them as they threw a second explosive, intercepting its trajectory mid-air with your hand, and launching it skyward as you landed on a rooftop nearby. The greenish explosion almost looked like fireworks.

"Well, that's what I'd call a ban… ugh, nevermind," you turned to your very annoyed opponent, if the frown on his display-like mask was anything to go by "Look, I'm not in the mood for snarky banter, so let's get this over wi–"

Your Spider-senses kicked in just in time for you to dodge a barbed javelin-like metal bolt. The sudden movement made your wound hurt, causing you to hold back a gasp. Miguel's red webbing ensnared the Goblin before they could fire a second one and just like that it seemed like the mission was over.

But the Goblin's right feet move to a button on his hovercraft and the next thing you know a piercing high-pitched noise reverberated all around you. Miguel's webbing glitched a few times before disappearing and you watched him panicking as his stupid holo-suit started glitching as well. 

In a less tense moment maybe you'd feel embarrassed about his now half-exposed torso, but the Goblin's disappearing from your field of view proved more concerning. Suddenly, your senses kicked in again and you quickly glanced at the scene of a very distracted Miguel trying his hardest to revert - or at least stop - his forced undressing as the Goblin reappeared behind him, quickly closing in with their javelin gun ready to shoot. 

You panicked. Miguel had his attention elsewhere, the piercing noise completely muffled the sound of his incoming attacker and he didn't have Spider-senses to alert him. 

You had to save him.

On instinct, you lunged yourself in their direction, shooting your own web at the Goblin. But they spotted you, redirecting his aim, while you set the flying ropes of web ablaze. It all happened in a second, the web ensnared then just as they shot the javelin, your fire rapidly consuming the web until reaching the Goblin, the flames briefly engulfing them. You tried dodging the javelin again, but the whole ordeal was too much for your wound, the pain roused enough to snatch your attention for a millisecond, the exact amount of time you had to move away from it. 

You didn't move away from it. 

The javelin pierced the spot under your ribs right where your wound was. You fell on the rooftop with a loud thud, rolling a few times before stopping, leaving a trail of blood behind. You managed to open your eyes to see the Goblin hovering away in retreat and Miguel turning his head to you having seemingly managed to fix the glitch in his suit. You watched realization kicking in him as the eyes on his mask widened. 

"¡Puta madre!" Miguel shouted as he flinged himself to your bent over form."This is why you can't go on missions by yourself." 

"What?" You barked in pure incredulity, despite the searing pain below your rib cage "This is gah –…this is your fault!"

"How is this my fault?" He retaliated, crouching beside you as he tried to assess your wound. You swatted his hand away before he continued "You're the one who got careless. Again."

"I was protecting you, you mmnph–" you scrunched your face midsentece trying to get up, the motion sending another flash of pain through your system. Miguel tried helping you again, but you held his wrist in place before he could touch you. You had a point to make "You ungrateful fuck! Your lack of Spider-Sense was gonna be the end of you. This literally wouldn't have happened if you weren't here."

"You talk big for someone bleeding out" he retorted, freeing himself from your grip. His movement accidentally made you lose balance and you had no strength in you to regain it in time, but Miguel caught you before you hit the floor "Lyla, send someone to pick her up and take her to the Med Bay."

"Don't you dare… " you tried sounding assertive, but the pain reduced your voice to a whimper at best. Wound or no wound, you still had a mission to finish.

"¡Por dios! Can you quit being so stubborn for five minutes?" He spat back at you "¡OYE, LYLA! I need assistance!"

But once again the AI didn't respond. Miguel groaned in frustration and tried his best to dial the commands on his watch while holding you as you tried your best to trash your way out of his grip. But no matter what he did, the gizmo's only response was a continuous static noise paired with a greenish blank screen "¡Que carajo! Why's this thing not working?? LYLA! Can you hear me?"

Miguel groaned again, considering his options. You were losing a considerable amount of blood and the Anomaly was nowhere to be seen. He picked you up with one arm, trying his best to not jolt you.

"O'Hara… put me down," you complained, but there was no force to back it up. You started feeling light-headed on top of the pain.

"Shut-up," save your strength he meant to say, but that would convey more than he felt necessary. There was no time for frivolities and sentimentalism, he needed to act fast. With Lyla and his team off-line, his best option would be taking you back home. 

He tested the integrity of his neon-red webbing, but it was no use - the quick work he did to stop his suit from fully disintegrating was crude at best, he was grateful to at least have prevented its meltdown in time to not be left completely exposed. He retracted his suit from his fingertips up to his wrist, getting his organic web shooters free - its string wasn't as strong as the neon-red artificial ones, but for aerial traversion it would more than suffice. Miguel positioned your torso over his shoulder with care, hugging your legs together with an arm (a part of him painfully aware of how soft your thighs were) and jumped off the rooftop, slinging himself away to your apartment.

You hated how comforting the warmth of his body was against your own, how his scent, a mixture of oak, spices and his own musk, was undeniably helping soothe the woes of your current predicament. The gentle way in which he held you, taking extra care to keep your body from wobbling too much while he carried you made your heart ache almost more than your wound was. It was in times like these, when his stoic facade faltered, giving way to the caring and sensible self underneath, that you remember why he held your heart. 

Soon, you arrived at your apartment building. Miguel climbed through your bedroom window, gently placing you on your bed. He took the cover off of one of your pillows, handing it to you.

"Here, press this against your wound to stop the bleeding," he said, the mask of his suit retracting to reveal his angled face "Do you have a first-aid kit?"

"I–, y-yeah, it's in the cabinet under the bathroom sink," you answered. Taking the cover from his hand, you quickly folded it in half and did as he told you, wincing a bit at the contact. Miguel was back with the medical box not long after.

"You'll have to let me take a look at it," he said, placing the box on the bed next to you. His words were demanding, but the tone conveyed nothing of the sort - it was a question, he was asking for permission.

"Y- yeah, of course," you answered, uncovering your wound. Miguel kneeled next to bed getting closer while bringing his hands to your torso. You watched entranced the furrow in his brows as his red eyes darted quickly left and right, his digits gently probing the area around the wound. 

"Doesn't seem to have pierced anything serious," he muttered "But it's odd…"

It was your time to furrow your brows "What is?"

"The wound from yesterday should've be in a more advanced state of healing," he said "you do have the hastened healing factor in your power repertoire."

You tensed a bit, looking away. The last thing you needed right now was him finding out about your mishap at the Conditioning and Strength sector yesterday. But of course, Miguel being Miguel caught that little shift in your body language.

"What happened?" He asked right away, bringing his eyes up to you without lifting his head.

"There was… an accident yesterday," you began, trying to find the words. As much as you didn't want him finding out about the Gym incident, there was no point in lying. Better try to soften the blow "Exerted myself too much and the wound reopened."

"Dios mio, that's why the gash was so deep…," Miguel mumbled under his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose "Why the shock were you exerting yourself when you should have been resting?"

A surge of anger started blooming in your chest at his inquiry. It was risky to go into a training session with your wound, you knew that. You also knew there were a million other ways to blow off steam if that was all it was to it. But increasing endurance, enhancing conditioning, building up muscle - all of these were connected to improvement. This self-imposed never-ending quest for leveling up all in the name of helping Miguel, in an attempt to placate your feelings for him.

All for him.

Maybe you should have stopped to consider your well-being instead of going straight to the brawny way of amping-up yourself. There ought to be something else that could mindlessly soothe your nerves while also working as a method of improvement - the way exercising often did -, but yesterday you weren't exactly thinking. There was no bandwidth left to think, you were just so fucking tired.

Tired of putting so much effort in the pursuit of the right to share the weight of the responsibility he carried. Tired of seeing your comfortable platonic relationship you two once shared start to wane seemingly out of nowhere, despite all your efforts to prove yourself worthy of his good graces. Tired of how, despite all of this, your heart stubbornly kept yearning for him.

You were in dire need of respite.

"This is such bullshit," you croaked, clenching your palms into fists. 

"What did-," Miguel couldn't finish. With a loud exhale, you shoved Miguel's hands away from you while throwing your legs down the other side of the bed. You hurled yourself up, the adrenaline from your anger fueling your body was the only thing keeping the pain and dizziness at bay.

"I'm done. I quit Spider-Society," you barked through gritted teeth, making your way to your wardrobe while pressing the pillowcase to your wound. You knew you had some strong compression tape in there that should keep yourself from bleeding out until you were done with the mission "I'm catching the goddamn Anomaly. I'm not letting my universe get nuked today, but after that I'M FUCKING DONE."

"Stop! Get back here, you're in no condition to be moving around like that. Let alone finish this mission."

"I don't give a shit about what you think," you barked back, rummaging through your wardrobe. "I'm still this dimension's one and only Spider-Woman. I have a duty with these citizens and I'm gonna protect them."

Suddenly, you felt your wrist being held. You turned around only to meet Miguel's eyes. But instead of finding irritation you found… helplessness. 

"Please, stop… " the abrupt shift of tone in his voice chipped at your rage. There was caution, fear and a bit of… desperation? It made you pause, if only for pure bewilderment.

"Why should I?" the flames of your ire had been subdued, but the heat of the ember underneath still burned hot "Our priority is catching the Anomaly and safeguarding this dimension."

He exhaled, casting his eyes down to where his hand met your wrist. When he brought them back to meet your gaze, you were presented with his familiar stoic frown "You're going to jeopardize this mission in your current condition."

There it was, the spark to reignite your wrath.

"Shut the fuck up, O'Hara," you snapped, yanking your wrist away from his grasp. "I don't care about your mission, I just need to catch that Anomaly and save my city." You turned to him, angrily pointing at his chest, "YOU shouldn't be here. YOU are also an Anomaly! Get the FUCK out of here, O'Hara. I'm DONE being your silly little plaything!"

The knot in his brow softened a bit at your words. 

"You're not my plaything." He uttered, a bit unsure.

You stiffened, your eyes unfocused darting left and right contemplating the stuff you just said. You bitterly realized that in your fury, you had let out more than you needed to. You searched his face for disgust or discomfort but found a concerned confusion in his eyes.

Swallowing your pride, you decided to press on.

"I'm so tired, Miguel," you muttered in a long exhale "I've been trying so hard, working so much to help keep the multiverse safe… But it feels like the more I do, the worse you treat me." You felt your legs start getting wobbly as the adrenaline waned down, but you had a point to make. "No matter how hard I try, you tell me everything I'm doing is wrong…" you let your hands fall to your sides as the dizziness came back full throttle. With half-lidded eyes, you met Miguel's face once again before muttering "Why am I… even… here…"

"Because I need you"

You barely registered Miguel's response before you collapsed. The last thing you remembered was him rushing to your side as everything became black. ---------------------

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 (soon)

#miguel o'hara #atsv miguel #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel ohara #miguel spiderverse #miguel o hara #miguel o'hara fanfic #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel ohara smut #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara x you #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel spiderman #miguel x reader #miguel x you #miguel smut #miguel o'hara imagine #miguel across the spiderverse #spider man 2099 #mischie writing

[burnednotburied]

Chapter One

AO3 Link | Chapter Two Link

Pairing: Abby Anderson x fem!reader

Synopsis: Abby goes looking for Owen and ends up on the wrong end of your knife.

Tags/CWs: angst; slow burn; enemies to friends to lovers; animosity between WLF and Seraphites; blood/injury; cutting (not to self, but still); religious/cult-like ideas

Note: So the idea for this started as a prequel to my first fic (linked here), but ended up turning into much more. It basically follows the plot of Abby’s Seattle Day 1, diverging from canon where necessary and using dialogue from the game wherever possible. I split this part into two chapters because it’s so long.

This is a lot of build-up (important to the story and hopefully enjoyable to read), but I promise romance is on the horizon!

Also, the idea of deadnaming or misgendering Lev—even in the flashback part where they’re little kids and wouldn’t have known otherwise—physically pains me, so we’re going to pretend that reader has been calling Lev “L” as a nickname for forever.

Hope you enjoy! :)

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April 2038

Abby knew as much about the Scars as any of her fellow WLF members.

She knew that the group was founded by a woman who claimed to have a vision after the initial outbreak of Cordyceps brain infection in 2013, and then started spouting some bullshit about how it was all just a punishment for the sins of humanity. Said that the way to move forward was to go back to the basics. Live off the land. Reject technology and progress and pretty much all the good things in life.

She knew that they live on the island but they wouldn’t fucking stay on it, and that there was once a truce but they broke it, forcing the WLF into an endless war.

She knew that they fought hard and killed brutally, without hesitation or remorse.

She knew that, especially now that Joel was taken care of, killing Scars was pretty much her life’s purpose.

And she knew that the woman who started all of this became known as The Prophet. And that Isaac gave the order to have her killed ten years ago.

It was for that reason that Abby thought Isaac must have misspoken when he opened with:

“The Prophet is on the move.”

He was standing over the large map of Seattle in the center of the room, hands braced on the table, head down in thought.

She didn’t know what to make of that. Or how to respond. A quick glance over at Manny confirmed that she wasn’t the only one who was confused.

One of them had to ask. It seemed Isaac wasn’t going to fill in the gaps unprompted.

“The Prophet?” Manny questioned hesitantly. “Sir… respectfully… She’s been dead for years. Died before we even joined.”

“Don’t you think I know that? I’m the one who killed her.” Isaac was always calm and measured, almost always spoke quietly. But sometimes there was something beneath his words, just below the surface. Something seething and kind of terrifying, although Abby would never admit that out loud. This was one of those times.

“My unwilling informants downstairs,” he said, referring to the captive Scars being held and interrogated on the building’s lower levels, “tell me that they have a new Prophet. One their Elders have been quietly grooming for the role for the last decade, maybe even longer.”

“Okay so… What does that mean?” Abby asked, finding her voice. This was not the conversation she was expecting to have when she heard that Isaac wanted to talk to them. She had hoped to get some answers about what was going on with Owen.

“There’s a reason why they’ve been more resilient lately. Bolder. Even more bat-shit than normal.” He clenched his fists on the table. “This… Neo-Prophet,” Isaac almost laughed, the words coated in venom, “is about to fully step into her role. She is of age now. Or so I’ve been told.”

Abby stared at Isaac, still waiting for him to tell her what all of this meant. And what exactly he wanted her to do about it.

Manny jumped in. “What? So the Scars are… celebrating? You’re saying that’s why they’ve been ballsier? Killing more of us. Pushing further inland.”

Abby let out a short laugh. “If this is what it looks like when they’re happy, I don’t want to see what happens when they’re mad.”

Isaac remained stoic. “They have a renewed sense of purpose. When we killed their first Prophet, the Scars were enraged. They fought hard for vengeance. But people will only fight on behalf of a dead woman for so long. Passion for the cause wanes without something tangible to fight for. They need that higher authority to look to. They need someone to honor and defend. Their Elders were smart enough to know that their people need a unifying symbol. A living one.”

“Right, and you said that unifying symbol was on the move so…” Abby said. “Want us to hunt her down? See what they’ll do when we take away their new favorite toy?”

“No,” Isaac said quickly. “She’s not our target. We’ll get to her in due time.”

“Then wha—”

He cut her off. “The Prophet will be leaving the island soon, for the first time. In fact, it’s possible she’s already here. One of our captives tells me there will be some sort of initiation for her. I don’t know what that entails, but I’m sure it will involve attempting to kill some of ours. I’ll spend some more time with our friends downstairs and see if I can’t get any more information on that. We’ll try to prevent it if we can, but that’s not our main focus right now.” Abby opened her mouth to protest, only to be cut off once again. “With the Prophet away and many of their best soldiers traveling with her, the island will be more vulnerable than ever.”

Manny gestured to the map, reinserting himself into the conversation. “Sir, we’ve tried attacking their island and—”

“Not like this,” Isaac said. “Not with everyone. There’s a big storm a few days out. We’re going to use it to mask our approach. And you two are going to lead the first wave. Pick your squads. Start prepping.”

“And the Prophet?” Abby asked.

“One battle at a time, Abby.”

“Are we sure it would be a battle?” she pressed. “Isaac, she’s just one girl.”

“You would be foolish to underestimate this unknown enemy. Besides the likelihood that the best of the Scars will be at her side, I don’t doubt that she will be a very skilled fighter in her own right.” Abby huffed. Isaac continued, “And if she’s anything like her predecessor, the greatest threat is in her words. Not her actions. I watched some of my most loyal soldiers abandon our cause for theirs after just one conversation with the one who came before her.”

At this, Abby raised her eyebrows, ready to argue. A look from Manny shut her up.

“We’ve only got one shot at this… And this is bigger than any of us.” Isaac pushed off the table, walking over to Abby and placing a hand on her arm. “I need you, Abby.”

She shifted uncomfortably before relenting, giving a curt nod. “Yeah, I get it.”

“Good.” He pulled away, heading toward the door. “Look over the plans and go through your rosters.”

“I want Owen,” she said. Abby thought Isaac could at least give her that.

When he denied her permission to go look for Owen, Abby went anyway.

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March 2030 (8 Years Earlier)

The day of your scarring had been the first time Haven saw the sun in weeks.

Your mother said it was a sign. But your mother thought everything was a sign.

She told you that, no matter what, you were not to cry. That you, her only child, would not disgrace her by shedding tears during your ceremony.

You were to be brave. And strong.

The Prophet herself had ordained the act of scarring for all of her followers. A symbol of the innate imperfection of mankind. And so her people would never forget their own failings, even in the midst of their unending efforts towards perfection.

No one was meant to question the Prophet’s teachings, or the Elders who had taken on the responsibility of interpreting those teachings and carrying out Her will since Her death two years prior.

You could feel your mother’s breath against the back of your head as she huffed and decided that she was once again unsatisfied with your hair, roughly taking it down and beginning again for the fourth time.

While she worked, you sat still on the wooden stool in front of her and stared at yourself in the mirror, trying to memorize your features as they were now.

This was the last time you would see the face you knew. Next time you looked in the mirror, you would be different. Would you feel different?

You tried to picture yourself scarred, with two thin lines running from each of your ears to the corners of your mouth. Your eyes stung, tears threatening to fall at the thought.

But there will be no crying today.

Instead, you let your eyes wander to your mother’s reflection, hovering just behind and above yours in the mirror. You examined her face. Of course, you had never seen her without her scars, but you’d always thought your mother was beautiful.

Maybe the change in your appearance would not be so drastic. Maybe it was vain to care.

You were not supposed to be vain.

Once your mother was satisfied with the look of the braided crown of your hair, she gently placed her hands on your shoulders, meeting you gaze in the mirror.

“We are imperfect beings,” she recited. You joined your voice with hers for the second part, “And thus we make ourselves imperfect in Her eyes.”

She smiled softly, squeezing your arms lightly. “Good girl. I’m proud of you. I know you will do wonderfully today.” You tried to return her smile. “Now. Get dressed. I laid your clothes out on the bed.”

She turned to leave you, pausing in the doorway. “Remember what I said, child. No tears today. Do you understand?”

You nodded quickly. Obediently.

She seemed pleased as she left the room.

You changed quickly, wondering if she had been able to tell that you’d spent the whole night before crying. You hadn’t gotten a minute of sleep.

The stool squeaked as you sat back down, not sure what to do with yourself while you waited. You met your own eyes in the mirror once more, this time immediately averting your gaze. You felt sick. And close to tears. And so very scared.

On the other side of the door, you could hear Yara and her mom greeting your mother. The eight-year-old asked if she could come inside to see you. After just a moment of hesitation, your mother allowed it, and you could hear the slight creak of the door as she came in.

Yara said your name quietly, standing just inside the door. You turned to look at her. She smiled, happy to see you, just as always.

“Happy birthday!” she whispered excitedly, closing the distance between you and wrapping her arms around you tightly. You squeezed her back, holding her close for longer than usual. Yara, never one to be the first to break a hug, lingered for as long as you wanted her there.

You were neighbors, and your mothers had grown up together and always been close. And although Yara was four years younger than you, the two of you were close too. She and five-year-old baby L were your siblings, as far as you were concerned.

Yara was mature for her age, even more so than most of your other friends. You knew you could trust her, so with her you were honest.

“I’m really scared,” you said quietly into her hair, still not releasing her from the embrace.

“I know,” she whispered back, squeezing you even tighter. “You’re the bravest person ever though. I know you can do this.”

You finally let go, retreating back to your stool, but Yara stayed close by, rubbing your shoulder comfortingly with one hand.

“She will be with you through this, and for all the days of your life,” she said, earnest. “Our pain is Her pain, and Her pain is ours.”

You couldn’t help but make a mental note of the fact that the Prophet actually did not receive the same scars as all of her followers, so perhaps this one specific pain is one that was not, in fact, shared between to two of you.

But Yara’s comment was made with a level of sincerity that you couldn’t help but admire—and borderline envied—so you chose to keep your thoughts to yourself.

Her presence was always a comfort, so you allowed yourself to relish in it for a quiet minute before your mother reentered the room.

“It’s time to leave,” she said simply. Firmly.

Behind her, just outside the door, you could see Yara’s mom standing there, holding a quiet but curious little L’s hand. They would all be walking over with you to witness the ceremony.

You forced yourself to stand, brushed your hands down your thighs as if to clear some nonexistent dust and smooth the phantom wrinkles. For a moment, you considered taking one last look in the mirror, but ultimately deciding against it. It would feel strange to do so, now that everyone was watching you and waiting.

For the briefest moment, you thought about making a run for it. Stealing a boat or even attempting to make the swim to the mainland. You could survive on your own, or maybe even join the Wolves. You weren’t scarred yet. You could lie about where you came from, and they would probably take you in…

The hiss of your name from your mother’s mouth ripped you back into reality, along with a gentle nudge from Yara.

You took a deep breath and started walking.

Once the home of the Prophet herself, Sanctuary was one of your people’s primary places of worship, second only to Martyr’s Gate on the mainland. (You had never seen it – You’d never left the island – so Sanctuary was where you most often prayed.)

Scarring ceremonies were held there, always on a child’s twelfth birthday.

You had witnessed many friends receive their scars. It was customary to attend the ceremonies of those close to you. Family, friends.  

The process was always the same.

Elder Constance would lead all those gathered in a prayer, holding the ceremonial blade. You would recite a version of the Prophet’s Prayer. The blade would be blessed. Then Elder Duncan would make the incisions before welcoming you as an official member, a child of the Prophet.

It never took very long. Everyone had work to get back to, tasks to fulfill.

You would soon come to find that your ceremony would not be like any of those others.

The first indication of this was the sheer number of people who were gathered at Sanctuary. You had never seen this many people gathered in one place at one time, many of the faces you did not recognize.

As you approached the dais, the crowd silently parted for you, all eyes examining you carefully as if looking for something unseen. You couldn’t begin guess what it was.

You wanted to go home. You wanted to cry. To hold your mother’s hand. You wanted to not be here at all. Ever. For this to be a horrible nightmare.

Why were there so many people here?

Your eyes met Elder Constance’s. She was stiff and serious, as always, but there was a brightness in her eyes that you were not accustomed to seeing. A quick glance at Elder Duncan revealed a similar expression on his face.

The other five Elders also stood on the stage. Another thing that was unusual for a simple scarring ceremony.

Had you done something wrong? Were you in trouble?

You looked ahead, and your legs continued to carry you forward, despite your internal protestations.

When your feet were nearly touching the first step up, you stopped. And although your mind went blank, your body remembered what to do.

You bowed your head to each of the Elders, silently waiting to be greeted and invited onto the dais.

“Welcome, child, on this most joyous day!” Elder Constance’s voice boomed, carrying enough for everyone gathered to hear. “Come. Join us.”

You fought the urge to turn around and find your mother. You wanted to look at her face, to see if she knew what was happening.

But you knew that any moves you made in this moment other than exactly what was expected of you would be seen as hesitation, and therefore disgraceful. And you didn’t want your mother to be angry.

So you did as Elder Constance said, and you climbed the steps.

Your vision blurred. You tried to focus on your breathing.

“Two years ago, the ignoble Wolves took our beloved Prophet from us,” she began once you were standing center-stage. The reaction from the audience was instantaneous, full of outrage and despair. Elder Constance allowed this to continue for several moments before holding up her hand; and the noise stopped just a quickly as it began.

“But She is not dead! For the Prophet’s spirit cannot be killed by the evils of mankind.” The crowd hung on her every word as she continued, “She lives in all of us. In our actions and in our virtues. In Her teachings.”

“Here before you are all of your Elders, appointed to this honorable position by our Prophet, most wonderful and wise. She speaks to us, and it is our duty—our privilege—to share her words with you.”

“But today, She does not have words for us.” Elder Constance paused, the audience hushed, waiting for the reveal. “It is Her heavenly desire to give us a new source of hope. An advocate. A champion… A new Prophet.”

Elder Constance’s hands landed on your shoulders.

“Today, She has chosen Her successor.”

The crowd erupted in celebration.

You went completely numb and tuned them all out.

The Elders continued to speak, and the people continued to celebrate. All the while, your mind was reeling and your face was blank.

A new Prophet?

There can’t be a new Prophet.

What does that even mean?

There have never been any prophets except for THE Prophet.

And if there does need to be a new Prophet, why would it be you?

Why you?

Why you?

Why you?

It can’t be you.

If any of your questions were answered, you didn’t hear it above the ringing in your head.

Your attention was drawn to the blade that was now in Elder Constance’s hands, and you forced yourself to again begin to listen.

“…The Neo-Prophet will take on her full responsibilities when the time is right. But until then…” She continued on with familiar words, ones used in a typical scarring ceremony to bless the blade before it was used.

The knife was then passed down the line of Elders, each of them lifting it above their head and reciting the same words.

Your legs suddenly feel very weak.

Elder Duncan blessed the blade last and stepped forward, positioning himself just a couple feet away from you. You turned to him just as you knew you were supposed to.

This was the part in the ceremony when you would usually say a version of The Prophet’s Prayer. You weren’t sure if you were still meant to do that, given the circumstances, but you were operating solely on instincts now, so you began, “The world is not in balance, but I will do my part to right it.”

You weren’t speaking nearly as loud as the Elders had. You hoped you were loud enough. You hoped you were doing it right.

The pleased look on Elder Duncan’s face indicated that you had done well, but before you could go on with the next line, all of the Elders continued the prayer together:

“You will lead us through the storm May the current be calm May You guide us home.”

Their words had been slightly altered from the classic prayer, different than you would’ve said it if you had been given the chance. The strangest part was that they were speaking to you.

Almost like they were praying to you…

Elder Duncan took another step forward, gripping the knife.

You expected him to use his other hand to lift your face, to hold it at the best angle for the scarring. You’d seen him do the same to others many times before.

This was the part that you knew was coming. You had been at least attempting to prepare for it. You could handle it.

But you were thrown off once again when instead, he took your right wrist in his free hand and gently pressed your fingers down, making you form a fist. He then lifted your hand until it was by your ear, knuckles facing down, arm bent at the elbow. His own hand gripped your elbow, holding your arm in place.

You were frozen, with no choice but to watch as the knife met the outside of your forearm and sank in. A slow, straight line was carved from the top of your wrist all the way to your elbow.

You didn’t look away. You didn’t cry. You did as you were told.

You wanted to go home.

“We are imperfect beings. And thus, we make ourselves imperfect in Your eyes.” Elder Duncan said, meeting your gaze. “It is for this reason that we proudly wear our scars on our faces.”

When his work was done, he released your right elbow and moved on to the left, lifting that arm into the same position. “But the Prophet, in Her kindness, bears the weight of our imperfections, carrying all of us in her arms. This is why You will wear your scars here.”

“Remember that You are part of us, but set apart.” The blade pierced the skin of your left forearm, and a twin incision was formed. “We look to You, Prophet. May She guide you. May She protect you.” With that, he took a step back, lowering the knife.

You slowly lowered your arms to your sides and turned back to face the enraptured crowd.

Finally, you found your mother among them.

And she was crying.

“My friends,” Elder Constance declared, gesticulating dramatically, “Your Prophet!”

The cheers were deafening.

As you scanned the masses, you felt the blood ooze down your arms and curl around your fingers, pooling on the ground by your feet.

You found Yara, who was somehow clapping and cheering more enthusiastically than anyone else. And then you saw L, held up on their mother’s hip, face concerned, eyes wide and wary.

At least someone was as skeptical as you were.

You wondered if you would get to go home now.

But Elder Constance placed her hands on your shoulders again, this time turning you and leading you in the opposite direction, into the Prophet’s grand house. Into Sanctuary.

There, servants’ gentle hands carefully cleaned your stinging wounds, took down and brushed out your hair, and helped you change into a new white dress.

You would never live in your mother’s house again.

And it would be eight years before anyone addressed you by your name.

#abby anderson #abby anderson x fem!reader #abby anderson x reader #abby x fem!reader #abby x reader #abby tlou #tlou2 #abby anderson fanfic #abby anderson fic

[fangsandfracturedhearts]

Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Chapter 7: Rogue Desire

Summary: You helped Astarion complete the Rite of Profane Ascension and become the Vampire Ascendant. You agreed to become his spawn soon after. Once the Netherbrain was defeated, Astarion claimed the Szarr Palace, renaming it the Crimson Palace, for himself and set about his plans of domination.

Word Count: 6.5k

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x female!Tav Spawn

Warnings: [Will try to continue to add more, but in general expect explicit content for mature audiences]

Possible spoilers. Eventual Explicit Content. Slow Burn. Thoughts of Suicide. Violence. Blood. Injury. Mature Content. Self-Harm. Mentions of in-game content. Completely fabricated camp events.

If you notice a very critical tag missing, please don't hesitate to let me know

Rating: Explicit 18+ - [Meant For Mature Audience}

The library is dim except for the oil lamp casting its snug ochre radiance, illuminating the page you’re reading. The window here is forever shuttered and draped to keep the sun off the assorted books and tomes, making you feel safe. Well, as safe as you can feel while sharing quarters with Astarion. Your fingers rub the harsh, bumpy surface of the book's old cover as your eyes feast on page after page.

“What are you reading?”

You close the book momentarily to let Astarion get a look at the cover.

“Ah,” he smiles, “I lent you that some time ago. Did I not?”

You nod, “I never got to finish it.”

Astarion lays on the lounge beside you, “Well, what do you think of it so far?”

You cock your brow at him, and your nose crinkles, “It doesn’t exactly strike me as the type of book you would read.” 

He laughs, “Why’s that?”

“It’s well written, and there are gory bits, but it seems to boil down to a love story, and I can’t imagine you reading romance.” 

“Do you think me incapable of romance, my dear? I was romancing people before you were alive.”

You smirk at him, “I’m positive you can feign romance exuberantly. I can’t imagine you being truly romantic, though.”

He waves dismissively, “What’s the difference? It’s all a show, isn’t it?”

“I suppose, but one has true feelings behind it, which makes it romantic. It’s not the “show,” as you say.”

He chuckles, “This is starting to sound an awful lot like a challenge, and I do love a good challenge.”

You frown, “I’m sure Elowyn would love a demonstration.” 

He scoffs, “You said there must be true feelings behind it.”

What does that mean?

Does he even feel anything anymore?

Questions you want to ask him but choose not to because you don’t want to know the answers. 

Astarion looks around the room, “Why do you read in here all the time? I thought you would be out in the courtyard, or at least in a room with a window. You used to love the sun,” he muses with a dreamy, faraway guise.

“I liked the sun. No one loves the sun more than you do." 

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” his mouth twitches, “You and I used to watch the sunrise together often.”

“That was before,” you sigh at the memories, “This is now.”

He looks around anxiously while rubbing his hands together, “We could again if you wanted to.”

“I’m frightened that you will get angry with me, and in that rage, you’ll cease protecting me,” you retort bluntly.

His brows furrow with a resigned sigh, “Do you think you will ever trust me again?”

“Do you want me to?”

He sits upright and looks at you intensely, “Indeed, I do.”

Why? Why does it matter to him if I trust him or not?

Trust is a luxury I can’t afford.

“You have your work cut out for you then.”

He chuckles, “It’s a good thing we have an eternity ahead of us.”

Unless you kill me.

Biting your tongue, you swallow that retort. Astarion has been remarkably pleasant for several days and seems more himself than you can recall since he became the Vampire Ascendant. You’re not keen on upsetting him for something so silly and becoming reacquainted with the version of him that lurks in his ire.

“Why did you recommend the book to me?”

He glowers at you playfully, “I have no doubt you will figure it out sooner or later.”

So, there is a reason.

“You could just tell me,” you purr.

“Darling, where is the fun in that?”

Astarion stands and kisses the top of your head. Running his finger along the books, he picks one, “I will be reading in the courtyard, in the sun I love so much according to you, if you would like to join.”

You give him a curt nod, but once he’s left the room, a small smile meanders its way across your lips. Astarion having the ability to walk in the sun safely for the rest of his days after living centuries in the dark was one of the reasons you had helped him with the ritual. You didn’t want to be the one to damn him to an eternity of darkness as a spawn. As far as reasons go, you know it wasn’t a good one compared to the cost, but what’s done is done, and the reasons, good or bad, don’t matter now.

Letting your eyes roam the page of text, you try to distract yourself with the story, but your mind keeps drifting to Astarion, the courtyard, and the sun. Astarion asking if you could ever trust him again confuses you, and admitting he wants you to only mystifies you further.

Why does he want or care about my trust?

Could I ever trust him again?  

You’re surprised by how much you long to trust him again. There had been significant trust between you at one point, but that utter conviction got you to this spot. When Astarion had Cazador kneeling before him, he said he knew what he was doing and asked you to trust him, and you did so blindly. Thus, assisting in turning him into whatever it is he is now.

I should have known better.

Closing your book, you descend the staircase on shaky legs. The mere thought of going and sitting in the sun still strikes terror into you. You’re still adjusting to having windows again. More than once, Astarion has caught you attempting to slink past the window, staying out of the sun as much as possible, or just standing there staring at it apprehensively.

He would giggle at you and make his silly, taunting quips, but he would also comfort you and tell you that you were safe with him, at least when it came to the sun.

As long as he’s not angry.

The door to the courtyard is open, and the bright mid-morning sun washes over the dark wooden flooring. Astarion sits on a bench bathed in the golden light, eyes down, skimming the page of the tome. He looks at ease and happy, and you can’t help but smile to yourself and cherish that view. Glancing at the rays warming the floor, you swallow your growing doubt.

Trust has to start somewhere. He will have no chance if I never give him one.

“You’re safe, sweetheart,” he coos without looking up from the page.

“Promise?”

Astarion stands, puts the book down and comes to the doorway with a tender smile, holding his hand out to you, “I promise. Come.”

Biting your lower lip, you slide your hand into his. Astarion coercers your body to move forward out into the courtyard with gentle force. Paving stones warm your bare feet as they pad along the ground, and the sun’s heat permeates your cold skin.

This is the first time you’ve seen this place in daylight, and it looks substantially less foreboding. At night, the courtyard’s high stone walls cause it to appear small and closed off. In this light, it seems open and pleasant.

A well-groomed tree towers off in one corner, providing some shade. The green leaves flutter in the slight breeze. Another bench sits under the willowy branches.

Astarion gently twists your arm, forcing you to pirouette as if you were dancing an elegant courtly dance, and you giggle at his playfulness.

He rests his forehead against yours, “Thank you for trusting me.”

Gods, he’s so close.

As it often does around him, your ability to be rational and keep yourself grounded slips at his proximity. You can hear his heart beating and smell the bergamot, rosemary, and a hint of aged brandy you’ve come to love.

You’ve felt frozen inside, numb, for so long, but his touch reawakens your purpose and thaws the ice that has solidified your fiery spirit and kept it subdued in the void his absence left.

“I missed you, you know. When you left,” he whispers.

Tears threaten to spring to your eyes at the authentic vulnerability, and your hands grasp Astarion’s arms. Inhaling a long, shuddering breath, you attempt to regain the plummeting authority over your body.

Astarion holds your waist tenderly with the same firm protectiveness you remember. You keep trying to convince yourself the man you loved died that night, that Astarion is gone, but here he is, standing before you.

Is this him, though? I still don’t know.

Astarion uses his index finger to bring your eyes to the vivid scarlet of his, which are staring at you with a searing ardour. You’re paralyzed by that gaze, carried away by the deluge of instinct and longing coalescing.

“Can I kiss you, Astarion?”

He smirks, “Little love, I thought you would never ask.”

His lips meet yours, and your eyes flutter shut. Your body wilts into his as if drawn in by his gravitational pull. You let yourself drown in him. Your senses scatter, and you’re swept up in his undertow.

His tongue persuades your lips to part, and he skillfully traverses your mouth. You purposefully find one of his fangs, and you run it delicately over your tongue, causing a shallow wound that weeps blood. He growls as the taste of you detonates his hungering desire.

“Fuck,” he groans, “I love it when you do that."

You smile against his lips. You know it drives him crazy, and that’s precisely the point. You want to fill him with you; claim him as he has claimed you. You want him to be addicted to you so he can think of no one else.

Astarion bucks his hips into you, and you grind yourself against his hard length greedily. You clench at the delicious friction against your swelling flesh and whimper demandingly. A deep growl in his chest vibrates against you as his hand ravenously roams over the contours of your body.

You let your splayed hand coast from the taut muscles of his abdomen to his chest lazily, savouring his silky, soft skin on your fingertips. His chest heaves under your hand, and you can feel the rapid, excited thumping of his heart.

Astarion grabs your thighs and hauls you up. Reflexively, you wrap your legs around his hips, securing yourself to him.

“Perhaps we should take this indoors, yes?”

You giggle, “Astarion, are you shy? I thought you enjoyed being the centre of attention.”

He kisses your neck, “I plan to make you scream my name until your throat is hoarse. Would you like everyone to hear your wanton incoherent cries?”

Even though you’re more than accustomed to his alluring taunts, you still feel the heat rising to your face. Thankfully, you’re dead, and your skin can’t redden.

“And if I did? Perhaps they would learn something,” you tease flirtatiously.

He chuckles while putting you down once you’re safely hidden in the manor, “Darling, the prudes of the upper city would surely perish on the spot if they saw what I’m about to do to you.”

Gods, yes.

Your walls spasm and clench at the carnal depravity that courses through your thoughts in vivid splendour. You tug his shirt out of his breeches, and he pulls it off, anticipating your request. His fingers undo the ties of your shirt, and he slips it off. Those hooded red eyes brimming with lust consume the sight of you gluttonously.

“You’re perfect,” he purrs deeply.

Your chest swells and falls as you pant purposeless air. For so long, you’ve felt fear, loneliness, hunger or nothing at all, but right now, you’re high on the love and desire overflowing in you, and you refuse to give it up.

You throw yourself at him in desperation to keep this moment alive. His lips meet yours with the same dire need. Your fingers curl into the white curls at the nap of his neck while your other hand undoes the ties that keep his pants secured to his waist.

His thumb traces the lower curve of your breast, and you groan, feeling your nipple already harden in anticipation of his touch. His fingers graze the sensitive peak. Your body quivers, nerves humming as liquid lightning rolls down your spine, and your clit pulses in tempo with his teasing fingers.

“Needy thing, aren’t you? How long has it been since you’ve been touched, tasted?"

You were the last one to touch me.

This isn’t something you would like to admit to him. You don’t want him to know how hopelessly in love and devoted you are to him. Astarion knows love, and he knows how to play with it, and you don’t want to give him more ammunition to play with you like a toy.

Reaching into his pants, your fingers find them wet with pre-cum, and your mouth waters at the thought of tasting him again. You grasp his cock, and his hips jerk with a panting grunt.

“Needy thing, aren’t you,” you taunt mockingly.

His eyes narrow, hypnotizing and brimming with lust, “I know you’re skirting around the question, darling.”

Astarion’s fingers glide past your waistband and trail down in an anguishing slow progression that makes a whine slip from your lips. He parts your wet folds, skillfully avoiding the bundle of nerves that is howling for his touch.

“Hells,” he kisses your cheek, whispering in your ear, “I bet they didn’t make you this wet.”

You sag into him and sigh, “Astarion…”

He teases your swollen flesh, circling the aching border, “Did they make your body shake with need?”

The first direct touch sends a shockwave rocketing through you, and you whimper, knees buckling. You are forced to let go of your grasp on his cock and secure yourself by holding onto his arms. Astarion smirks proudly. The pads of his fingers stoke and massage, and you moan loudly. The coiling tension builds and intensifies as his tempo does.

A knock on the door startles you, and you try to jump away from him, but his arm wraps around your waist, holding you in a steadfast grip.

“Ignore it,” he barks, “we’re busy.”

Another hammering rap on the door makes Astarion growl in frustration. His brow pinches in a dark scowl.

A pleading voice muffled by the door arises, “Master Ancunin! Master Ancunin!”

Pulling away from him, your body mewls in dejected objection at the discontinuation of sensation, “I think it’s for you.”

He groans and grins seductively at you as he sucks your arousal off his fingers, and you choke in a quick breath.

“As sweet as ever, my dear. My memories did not do you justice.”

The banging on the door resounds through the manor again with the same pleading shrieks from outside. Astarion rolls his eyes while he does up the ties of his pants. Not bothering to put his shirt back on, he moves to answer the door. You take quick steps backward to remain out of sight of the visitor.

“What is it?” Astarion sneers.

“Master Ancunin. Please forgive my intrusion, but your presence is urgently required.”

“We are not set to convene until tomorrow night,” Astarion snarls with an intensely domineering inflection.

“I know, saer. I am dreadfully sorry about this violation. I throw myself at your mercy.”

Astarion sighs, “And what exactly is so urgent?”

The man’s voice hushes significantly, and you can only catch small snippets here and there, but not enough to put together what’s happening that seems to require Astarion’s attention immediately.

“WHAT?” Astarion thunders.

Despite the booming shout, the intonation in his voice is dispassionate and unexpressive. You slink further back, knowing that whatever he was told has provoked his rage.

“Go. I will be there momentarily,” he slams the door harshly, cursing under his breath, “Fuck!”

Glancing around the room, you try to find a place to hide from him. You could go back into the courtyard, but if he’s angry and he decides you’re an easy target to take it out on, he might just let you burn. The stairs to your room lay too far away and would mean crossing paths with him.

Astarion turns the corner and jumps as if surprised to see you there. His eyes meet your face, and you’re relieved the crimson pools remain warm with liquid affection.

He must see the terror illustrated on your face because he frowns sadly, “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“You’re angry.”

He nods curtly, “Yes, but I am me, for now - you have nothing to fear.”

You gulp, “For now.”

Astarion runs his fingers through his hair. Whatever that man told him, it agitated him significantly.

He clears his throat, “I must go deal with this.”

He bounds up the stairs quickly to his room and must dress at a breakneck pace because he returns rapidly, fully dressed in his overelaborate coat, looking mouth-wateringly dashing.

Astarion heads for the door and tugs it open but hesitates, pivots and takes long strides toward you. Reflexively, you step back, frightened that the anger won.

Astarion kisses your forehead and the back of your hand, “I will try to be back for your lesson tonight.”

You nod, “It’s okay if you aren’t. Be careful, Astarion.”

He smiles, “As you wish, my love.”

Once Astarion is gone, you quickly run around and close all the heavy curtains, plummeting the manor into darkness. Sitting on the floor with your back against your bed, you close your eyes and reprimand yourself for letting things go so far.

Your role here is to try and figure out what’s ailing him and see if you can help him remedy it, not to continue getting closer to him, falling more in love with him.

If that’s even possible.

You wonder, though, if, by some miracle, you can find a way to conserve whatever remains of the old Astarion. Would you want to be with him then, or has the damage been done, and your relationship is doomed and wrecked beyond repair? Could you ever trust him again?

Gale is out looking for the Wish spell for you, but you ponder if you could use it to save Astarion from whatever evil plagues him. Could it be used to restore him to his previous self completely? Could it be used to turn back Ascension entirely? Would you do that to him even if it could?

Would I give up my one chance to be alive again if it meant restoring him?

You need to gather more information on what’s ailing Astarion. As well as the capabilities and limitations of the Wish spell, but you can’t tell Gale or Shadowheart that your motivations may have changed.

Where is Withers when I need him? He knew everything there was to know about souls.

You have a theory about what happens to Astarion, but it needs to be confirmed. You wonder if the Rite may have stripped away some of his soul, whether unintended or on purpose, and now the soulless part of him wars with the version that still retains the remaining bit of his soul, each contending against the other, vying for control.

You imagine the only way to figure this out is by talking to someone who deals in souls, but who? You’re still trying to work it all out.

With Astarion gone, you can finally let yourself get some much-needed rest. Laying down on your bed, you succumb quickly to your meditative state and slip into the tributary of your trance.

The walls of the Crimson Palace moan as they settle, cooling off after the hot sun beating down on them. You’ve been locked in your room all day, and those solemn whines are the only indicator you have of time.

The door to your bedroom snaps open, but you don’t even bother to look. You’re lying in bed motionless, staring at the ceiling of your pitch-black room as you have been doing since he locked you in here in the first place. Astarion keeps you corralled in here like an animal. You are not to leave without his approval, and if you do, the consequences are dire.

“My consort,” he drawls as he lights a candle.

“What do you want,” you say monotone.

“Get dressed, darling. I have need of you tonight.” 

“No, thank you.”

“This is not a request,” he sneers, “You will come.”

“What are you going to do? Drag me there?”

“Oh, pet, I will do so much worse.”

“I’m not going,” you mutter scornfully.

Astarion grabs you harshly by the arm and drags you down the hall to the kennels, “You do remember this room, yes? Do not make me put you in here, strap you to that device, and teach you why you will obey me.”

He drags you back to your room as you pull and fight him with everything you have, but he merely laughs at your pathetic attempts. He throws you onto your bed.

“Get dressed,” he commands, “Wear the blue one I have laid out for you. We are going to a party, my treasure.”

Your fingers linger over the silky blue material he laid out for you. The dress is glamorous, you suppose, but nothing you would ordinarily adorn. The gown is far too low in the front and back and leaves very little to the imagination.

Whatever he has planned for you tonight, you don’t want to know, but if you disobey, he will put you in the kennels, and you don’t want to visit that place again.

You pull the dress on. The neckline hangs down below your belly button, and the back is just as low. A long slit up one side allows a view of your leg. You cringe at the idea of wearing something like this in public.

Astarion returns promptly, dressed lavishly and looking far too handsome, “You look exquisite. This will do perfectly.”

Astarion escorts you to some overly sumptuous estate in the upper city. The ballroom is packed full of the city’s nobles and high-ranking officials.

“Remember to smile, pet. They need to believe we’re a happy couple."

You scoff at him, “I don’t care what they think.”

Astarion grabs your face harshly, “You WILL smile, or you will be punished. Do I make myself clear?”

You rip your face out of his hand and glower at him, “Fuck you.”

"Maybe if you’re a very good girl tonight, I will permit it.”

He introduces himself around the room, using his practiced manipulations to make connections, but he never introduces you unless someone pays you any attention, which they generally don’t. The only attention they pay is practically undressing you with their ogling eyes, and it makes your skin crawl.

Astarion directs you to a quiet side of the room, “Do you see that man in the maroon jacket?”

“What about him?”

Astarion grins sadistically, “I need you to go over there and distract him by any means necessary.”

You gasp, “Excuse me. What?”

He snickers, “You will distract him by any means necessary. Take him to a bed for all I care, as long as you get him out of the way.”

He wants me to do what?

“I will not!”

You yell it loud enough to gain the attention of some of the partygoers nearby, who give you awkward glances.

Astarion scowls at you, “That was very naughty, pet. Go now, do as I ask, and I will consider letting that little display slide.”

If I refuse, it’s the kennels.

You lean close to him and whisper, “If you try and make me do that, I’m going to make a big scene and embarrass you in front of all your new, very important friends.”

He leers at you threateningly, “Last chance.” 

I choose the kennels over my body offered in exchange for whatever he’s planning.

You scream, loud and resounding, “No!”

The high pitch of your voice echoes through the entire room, thanks in part to the absurdly high ceilings. The once loud laughter and voices cut off into an awkward, hushed silence as all eyes in the room snap to you and Astarion.

Astarion plays it off perfectly with a warm smile, “Of course, my love. If you do not wish to go, we won’t.”

He’s going to have to do damage control later.

Astarion grabs your hand and squeezes it so hard you whimper while he walks you out of that damn party with the excuse that you are not feeling well. He trembles with anger, and you know you’re in for it when he gets you back to the kennels.

Back in the safety of the Crimson Palace, you burn him slightly and try to run to your room, though you know it’s little use. He disperses into gas and appears in front of you before you can make it even halfway there.

He grabs you, screaming in your face, “You dreadful little wretch! Now, I am forced to have to teach you a lesson.”

“Astarion, stop. You don’t have to do anything!”

He laughs like someone deranged, “How else will you learn to obey?”

“I will never obey,” you spit hatefully.

“We will see about that, my unruly, little spawn.”

He drags you through the halls while you scream, cry and beg him to stop. Your sandals skid across the wooden floor, shrieking as your feet try to find purchase.

The kennels smell like fetid blood, and you cringe as the scent assaults your nostrils. Astarion chains you to the wall, so you have no choice but to stand while he strips you bare.

He laughs menacingly, “You will learn to obey me, my consort.”

Astarion’s crazed laughing resonates through the room as he blows out all the candles, submerging you in pure, inky darkness. The door closes, locks and you’re left in silence.

You know you could get yourself out of these chains, out of this room, but the consequences if you do would be far more dire than being left in this miserable place naked and alone.

If you spend days, weeks or months isolated, starving, and stripped in the dark, you have no idea.

The sound of a beating heart starts to pulse on the outskirts of your trance, and the side of your bed depresses, rousing you from the memory. Your pillow is damp from tears shed as you were forced to relive that barbarity.

“It’s just a dream,” Astarion soothes, rubbing your arm.

No, a memory.

Does he even remember doing that or the many other similar atrocities he committed against you? If he does, he’s made no indication of it. One day, you will have to ask him, but you don’t feel like exploring that particular abyss of suffering with him right now.

You nod, “Yeah, just a dream.”

“Would you like to talk about it?” Astarion glances at the wet spot on your pillow, “It seems to have upset you.”

“No, that’s not necessary. Did you deal with whatever you were summoned for, Master Ancunin?"

He smirks at your teasing, “In a manner of speaking, I suppose I did.”

That doesn’t sound good.

“You killed someone, didn’t you?”

He shakes his head and shrugs, “Perhaps multiple people. I cannot be sure."

“You don’t remember?”

He stares at his hands, “No. More often than not, I recall nothing.”

Does that mean he doesn’t recollect the kennels or the other horrid things he did to me?

“You lost yourself again?”

He sighs, running his hand over his face, “I think so.”

Glancing at his clothes, you register that he’s not wearing the same thing he left in, “You changed?”

“I did.”

He must have been drenched in blood if he bathed and changed before coming home.

“Are you okay right now, or should I be throwing myself at you?”

He giggles, but it has a crestfallen ring, “You can always throw yourself at me, love. But I’m fine. I’m not angry anymore.”

You wrap him in an embrace anyway. His demeanour is melancholic and subdued, and you wonder just what in the nine Hells happened when he was out to have him coming home so miserable.

Astarion leans into you, the corner of his mouth quirking in a small smile and sighs, “Thank you. Should we go out and continue your lessons?”

You rest your chin on his shoulder, “I am rather hungry.”

He pats your leg, “Well, we can’t have that, can we? Get dressed and meet me downstairs.”

The forest is tranquil, with nothing but a light wind rustling the canopy of the lanky trees. A crescent moon hangs high in the sky, but not much of its light makes it to the ground, making the colours of the forest appear more subdued than usual.

“Gods,” Astarion clicks his tongue disapprovingly, “your footwork is truly an atrocity.”

You roll your eyes at him, groaning, “I’m trying!”

“If this is you trying, darling, the realm will end before I can even teach you this.”

“Well, maybe if I had a better teacher!”

He inspects his nails absently, “You’re more than welcome to try and find a more adequate educator.”

Ugh.

“Can you just tell me what I’m doing wrong?”

“It would be shorter to list the things you’re doing right,” he quips.

“Astarion!”

He strolls a slow circle around you with his fingers on his chin. His studious gaze is so intense you can virtually feel his eyes stroking your skin. Shadows skirt handsomely, if a little forebodingly, across the angular planes of his face.

You watch him heedfully, eyes tracking his course as he stalks around you. You’re always on alert with him. It’s hard to know what will set him off and what won’t, and you can’t afford to be caught off guard. Even so, a part of you luxuriates in these moments with him, and you admonish yourself for it.

“Where did I say you should keep most of your weight?”

“In my heels.”

“Ah, so you have learned something,” he tuts, “and where is your weight now?”

Your eyes cast heavenward, and you sigh, “I’m guessing not in my heels.”

“Correct. You’re tottering on your toes. Again,” he scolds, “Shift your weight. You’ll have far superior balance.”

You focus on your body and how it’s positioned. Your centre of gravity is displaced, and you’re rocking slightly from your toes to the balls of your feet and back like a blade of grass in a gentle wind. With effort, you manage to transfer your weight into your heels. The stance feels unnatural to you, and you struggle to keep yourself in it.

“Good girl,” he purrs, “Now, lower your hips. You’re still standing too tall. Everything will see you coming a mile away.”

The muscles of your thighs groan as you try to descend further into the crouch. You’ve been at this for hours, and your body is starting to drone fatigue.

“Lower.”

“Hells, Astarion! How much lower?”

Astarion crouches behind you and places his hands on your hips. Applying a gentle force, he pushes you further into the crouch. The muscles in your legs begin to twitch and tremble, and your balance starts to wobble.

He rises and walks around you again before crouching down in front of you with a cocked brow, “You’re very unsteady.”

Astarion reaches out and pushes your shoulder, causing you to overcorrect and fall forward onto him, knocking him over in the process. Something tells you he allowed you to push him flat to his back on the ground. He could have easily moved out of the way and watched your face grind into the earth.

Regardless, you find yourself sprawled out on top of him while you laugh loudly.

“Are all Sorcerers this unlawfully graceless?”

You smirk, “Do all Rogues possess such a smart mouth?”

He lays his head on the grassy ground and rolls his eyes at you with a grin, “Sassy girl.”

You move to push yourself up, but his arm comes around your waist, bracing you to him, and Astarion pushes the hair out of your eyes, “I really did miss you when you were gone, you know.”

Can I believe him? Can I afford to let myself believe him?

You swallow your rising sorrow, “Do you still feel emotions, Astarion?”

His vivid scarlet eyes impale you and imbue you with a profound solace that spreads through your body like a cascading wave of warmth, prickling your skin.

“You make me feel,” Astarion’s sombre, earnest intonation causes a breath to hitch in your throat.

Feel what - Obsession? Possession? Dominance? You want to ask him, but you don’t, unsure if you’re ready to hear the answer.

His thumb traces your lower lip, and that familiar rush of electricity jolts through your body and twists into your stomach. You trace his jaw with your index finger, leaning in and ghosting the velvety smoothness of his lips with your own.

Gods. I’m losing it.

Astarion presses into your invitation, and your lips mould together, charged with impassioned longing. His hand meanders into the back of your shirt, and you bask in the lazy, comforting strokes of his fingers against your skin. Using your tongue, you coax his mouth open, and he groans, giving you the access you crave.

You can feel your walls spasm and flutter eagerly, silently imploring him to fill you. Gyrating your hips into his bulging erection, he hisses as your swollen, aching clit, gorges on the mouthwatering friction. You whimper against him as your body cries for the release you were denied earlier.

Your eyes pop open momentarily and take in the forest that surrounds you. Memories of the forest the first time rush forward, and you push yourself back abruptly.

Astarion sits upright quickly and scans the surroundings, confused with your retreat, “What is it? Is something wrong?”

“Not here,” you pant.

His brows furrow for a second, and he looks around. Comprehension eases his features, “Oh, come now, was I that bad in the forest last time?” he pouts dramatically, “I didn’t hear any complaints at the time.”

“Bad?” You shake your head, “No, Astarion. Those memories are sad.”

His brow cocks, “Sad?”

You run your fingers through your hair, “I should have known what you were up to.”

Once it rolls off your tongue, you wonder if you will regret telling him this. You’ve carried this guilt around since he confessed in the first place. He manipulated you because he felt he had to secure your devotion, thus establishing his safety.

If only you had been less infatuated with him, you might have seen through that guise and been able to stop him from putting himself through that again.

Astarion stands, concern creasing his face, “Love-”

I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.

You cut him off, “Not here, Astarion.”

He nods curtly, and you begin the walk back to the estate. Once you get to the Lower City, Astarion offers you his hand to hold. It comforts you that he will stop you if you try to hurt someone. You’re not sure if he does it for your benefit or his. After all, if you did lose it and kill someone, you could end up exposing him, a risk he is unlikely to take.

The city streets are mostly quiet at this hour. The only sound you hear is your footsteps thwacking on the rigid ground until a random heartbeat starts repeating in your ears. You don’t give it much thought until her voice drifts out of the darkness. You recognize that repulsively sweet, harmonic tone.

“Astarion, darling! It’s been ages!”

Elowyn.

The woman saunters from the outdoor sitting area of a nearby inn. Her mulberry hair is pulled back, revealing her dainty face and ever-so-increasingly tempting neck. She wears a green dress that makes the sapphire of her eyes stand out.

What is she even doing out here at this time? 

You clench your jaw. Something is off about her, but you can’t quite put your finger on what. She has an air about her that makes your skin crawl, but it could be the utter loathing you feel for her playing tricks on you.

Astarion smiles pleasantly, “Elowyn. How lovely to see you.”

Elowyn’s eyes fall to your hand clasping his, and her eyebrows pull down into a slight, barely noticeable scowl. She leans in close, puts her hand on his chest and kisses his cheek, lingering there for far too long.

Your palms warm, and your muscles tense as your jealousy ignites the raging inferno of your temper. Elowyn smiles at you sweetly, but a hint of hostility in her eyes makes you want to relieve her of sight.

“How nice it is to see you again,” she grins brightly, “You appear to be in better shape than when I saw you last.”

Astarion’s brows pull down, “Better shape? My dear, whatever are you talking about?

Elowyn’s cordial laugh fills the air and makes you want to rip her vocal cords out, “Yes, last I saw her, she was quite drunk and heading to see you.”

Astarion thinks for a second and then chuckles, “Yes, she was quite drunk.”

He shoots you a glance and squeezes your hand, telling you to play along. You roll your eyes and scoff contemptuously as if you were going to inform this weasel anything about you or your life.

“She was quite rude to me that night, Astarion dear,” Elowyn sighs dramatically.

Is this bitch seriously trying to get Astarion to hurt me?

Will he?

He smirks dubiously, “Was she? How utterly awful.”

Elowyn pouts, “I do hope you will teach her a lesson. She threatened to kill me after all. She must learn respect.”

Respect? Her? HA! Never.

The notion is so entirely ridiculous that a snide snicker escapes your lips as your face contorts into a threatening grimace.

Astarion stares at her, scowling, “Watch yourself, Elowyn. Do not make me remind you of your place.”

Elowyn’s carefree demeanour falters to concern at the warning intonation of Astarion’s voice. She swallows hard and forces her dainty face to dress in an overjoyed smile, and she’s back to her usual flirtatious facade.

I wonder if she’s gotten him angry yet. If she has, how did she live through it?

Her hand is splayed on his chest, and she presses herself further into him, “I have missed you so. I came by the palace the other night to see if you wouldn’t like some company .”

Company? Ugh. As bad as entertainment.

You scoff at her loudly and try to pull out of Astarion’s grip, but he only holds on tighter.

You frown at him, “Let me go, Astarion. I wish to leave."

“No, you stay.”

“Let. Me. Go,” you growl threateningly.

This is not a request. It’s a command. You may pay dearly for taking this tone with him later, but right now, you don’t care; you would rather endure his wrath a thousand times over than spend another minute in the company of Elowyn.

Watching her put her hands all over him stokes the fire burning in your blood to unfathomable temperatures. As your fury increases, so does the likelihood that you reduce her to a pile of ash.

Why do I care so much?

I left him.

“It seems your pet spawn would like to give us some privacy. Let her go, my sweet Astarion.”

Pet spawn?

Thank you to everyone who reads/likes/comments/reblogs!

Master List of Chapters: Fangs and Fractured Hearts

If you're interested I write another fic with Spawn Astarion x Tav called - Shadows of the Past

AO3 [Crossposted]

PS: I hate Elowyn - excuse me while I go break something to get over writing her.

#astarion x reader #ascended astarion #astarion fanfic #bg3 astarion #astarion x tav #bg3 fanfiction #astarion #bg3 #astarion x you #astarion smut #fangs and fractured hearts