#compulsion and desire rumbling around me

[pussy-ache]

had to really search back cuz i buried shit deep but i couldn’t figure out what he was talking about but now that i’m thinking about it, as nice as a day that was…if i remember correctly i was crying cuz my heart was kinda breaking pretty much the whole day

#i guess i came up with whatever excuse i could to cover the tears lmao #i don’t really remember the session as much as i remember the beach #i remember sitting next to him on a big rock #the air was salty and i caught myself wondering if i’d be able to taste it on his lips #and i remember closing my eyes and trying not to reach out and touch him #compulsion and desire rumbling around me #i remember swallowing it down felt like swallowing fire sometimes #instead i concentrated on throwing my love into the water #just absolutely hurling every ounce of it i could into the waves #and on the walk back to his car i decided that no matter how long it took i’d be able to tell him someday that i finally let him go #i still have a really pretty pebble i picked up from the beach that i carry in my wallet #i made a lot of promises to myself that day #i intend to keep them all #minus the one i broke last week but that one was really just a matter of time lmao #sometimes i’m in awe at how friendship wise we’re very much on the same page with each other #but at the same time we’re in two different worlds/two different friendships #we have incredibly different memories of that day. two different worlds #i’ve actually always been aware of that duality #but that day the space between us was so vast #i was sitting next to him and was absolutely worlds away from him #there was no bridge across to him #there still isn’t a bridge but i never really thought there would be #it was a nice beautiful sad day #i actually wouldn’t change anything about it #we were just in two different worlds is all. and that was okay then and it’s okay now #i can still hear the waves against the rocks if i close my eyes and i’m certain i would have tasted the salt on him

[tantalizingtopi]

Forgiveness

The Dark Urge

Word Count: 639

Disclaimer: characters belong to Larian studios and Baldur’s Gate 3

The Dark Urge ponders forgiveness whilst slaying their business partner’s competition. Durgetash implied a tiny bit, but not much. This takes place pre-tadpole and early on in their partnership.

Forgiveness. Very rarely have I had the need to extend this to others, yet I find myself contemplating the theme more and more in recent days. As the leader of the temple, I must balance forgiveness with punishment, and carry out father’s orders as well as cull too much knowledge of the existence of us outside of our circle. Small whispers and rumblings have always existed, but they must never be more than that. We are too small at this time and with the right force could be swept into the abyss again.

Sarevok. He has spent the last years lollygagging, spinning his daughters around for his own amusement, enjoying the lavish praise they give him. Helena is gone now, a trophy in Orin’s quarters, but Orin remains, her devotion to Sarevok despicable. For his part, his neediness to maintain some semblance of power further disgraces himself and by extension, father. His only redeeming quality is his willingness to defer to my judgment and respect my position.

Orin is a puerile nuisance, her open displays of mutilation lack foresight and will put us in jeopardy if she does not contain herself. I send her away as often as I can to commit acts in Bhaal’s name, and so far my sibling has not strayed from my direction, although she is vocal about it. She relishes in the maiming and the flesh, the romanticism of the aftermath, not in the act of killing— the murder itself. Still, I try to remember leniency and allow her to indulge within reason.

Sceleritas Fel, my devoted butler. He does not receive forgiveness, he does not deserve forgiveness. He exists only to serve and please me and by extension my father. He revives anew despite my killing him many times over. He sates my knife hand and my urges when I must exercise restraint for the greater purpose. He is, however, an annoying windbag and I often must slip away in order to conduct business. A quick few slashes and he is incapacitated for a time, which is infinitely helpful.

But what about myself? I am not sure I deserve the same leniency as I give Orin, the same grace I extend to Sarevok. I am born from Bhaal and Bhaal alone, yet I struggle. Father will show his displeasure if I resist the depraved urges he bestows on me, and sometimes I will no longer inhabit my own body, killing without any recollection of the event. Sometimes he will visit me in my sleep, torturing me in my dreams if I have not fulfilled his desire. I do not always relish in a kill, sometimes guilt will take me just as much as these compulsions. It has always been like this, this occasional pain where only pleasure should exist. I wish to put voice to this, to ask if it is the same for others. But to speak aloud would be a sin most condemning. I cannot falter, as without my father’s blessing, I would not exist. I must obey him, to the best of my ability.

I finish cutting down the three men, leaving them to drown in the shallows. Smugglers for the Knights of the Shield, these three in particular had a nasty habit of being too rough with the women they paid for. I watch them flail, a grin playing on my features. There is something, particularly satisfying, about watching someone drown. Especially in water that they could easily get out of, if they still had the ability to.

When they stop moving, I wipe their blood from my blade on my dark cloth pants, the waves of pleasure in witness their peril that I feel is akin to a devout experience and I know my father is pleased with my sacrifice tonight. Perhaps I didn’t need forgiveness after all.

#fanfic #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 dark urge #bg3 durge #dark urge #durgetash #bg3 bhaalspawn #just bhaalspawn things #durgetash beginnings #durge #bhaal #forgiveness #murder hobos

[suzannnemillerhistoryandresearch]

POEMS (and poetic writing) by SUZANNE MILLER

FAULT

My brain has a great fault

And one day half of it will fall away

The feeling half?

Meanwhile my baby reptile's brain

Wants to slither in some muck

And snap and passing things

When my fault finally tears away

I'll lose a continent

Most of what I know will sink

Treasures and all

My fault is not my fault

I had no hand in it

An act of God

One day a rumble

A boom and a slide

And contours will be changed

For another seven thousand years

UNTITLED

Now it's time to let go of my mother and my father

Now it's time to let go of the hurt of the poet

Now it's time to let go of the damaged child I've been

the broken bird I've been the woman in the window I've been the sphinx I've been with memory of stone

Now it's time to let go don't you know

Now it's time to let go of the last To the very last

***

***

If it is the poem I love

The poem on a napkin

The poem in a glass

Served up for the discouraged

Then the poem I love

Is my desire nearly realized

***

***

My grandmother was a divorced woman

She wore slacks and worked in a factory

As for as I know

There was nothing lyrical about her

UNTITLED

It occurred to me to eat the fleas

Off my socks

Which were full of the,

From the cats

It proved inefficient

But (illegible) your nerves at things

Only do it at your leisure

Is my advice

Don't get compulsive

Just eating any little spect

Eat with awareness

***

Am I your animal prey mate?

No, I am a solitary

Like the Nepal tiger

I need thousands of miles to roam

And that just for my body's food

Of the other

I need immensity

Mystery

You in your many differences

Need your explosions of pride

I in my womanly difference

Need to be alone with my stripes

UNTITLED

What a pair of pretty boys, Richard and Kelly

Stoned both they beat each other up

One especially cries for his father

Long gone

Swap meet lamps are smashed

A little blood here and there

They hurl their pain around the friday night

Then it gets about 4

They fall asleep in each other's arms

What a pair of pretty boys, Richard and Kelly ****

WENT TO THE DOCTOR TODAY

Patient: I have metaphysical pains, doctor

Doctor: Where are they?

Patient: Well, there're here:

in my abdomen and chest I can't see as often my hearing is erratic my heart beat is soundless my brain waves meaningless......

Doctor: One minute please! I've heard of symptoms like these.

Patient: Oh, and there are eruptions here and here oozes here and here oozes and secretions drips and stains disgust and fear losing my job what have I got?

Doctor: I'd say you've got mutiny all over your system

UNTITLED

There's no reason to do this

Nothing wrong with that

There's just no reason to do this

So you do it Yes you do

So I will not see the end of warriors

I hoped I would would would would ........

Mommy Daddy why are you throwing me away?

and away and away and away and again and again and

again

So much happens in a short time

It takes so much time to recall it

For example'..........

Why is almost everyone sick? (that is not feeling well?)

Why are so many people recovering

Walking outward walking out

Why are so many people recovering

And so many still sick? (that is not well?)

My family was composed of mostly cruel people, feelings were hard to express

They were hard on each other too often, one of them or some of them or all of them were so hard and sometimes cruel to someone or some few.....a curse of multiple of curses was laid upon them till each and everyone has paid their share. I've paid mine. I declare myself free of the curse. This day. This very day.

UNTITLED

All these carefully planted clues and hints but no solution in the end. The audience will not be given its tidy tie-up of the mystery + all loose ends, All shall be explained. He runs the risk of alienating his audiences or stimulating them. First of all because all the characters talk as if Mr. Herbert had been murdered the audience is pulled into believing he was. But he may have been thrown from his horse his head on the bank and fallen into the moat. In which case they are all innocent. But they have murder in their hearts and the men at best do murder Mr. Neville whom they fear will marry the widow. By their grouping together to club him to death they assert their tribal (aristocratic tribe) power and their gender domination. We are left feeling these men could have contrived the death of Mr. herbert - "A man without property is nothing". So Mr. Noyes is nothing, Mr. Talman is nothing and Mr. Neville is nothing the women aren't even men so they are doubly nothing!

UNTITLED

Tell a tale of your oddest love. The one that called forth from the demons of the air their bilest sarcasm. I will being unable to refrain from these submerged images glistening at the bottom of my pool. Lips + jewels suk in the pearly stones and those are cast in bronze. Imagine that I, the lover do not exist. Only the Beloved reigns here. There is no room for she will comprise a universe consisting solely of herself. Although one might say that I am sometimes the Beloved, refracted, reflected or reveried you could catch me at that. But that's another tale from the enchanted globe on my delicate shoulders. However, though I wrote she that too isn't always the case. She and He are interchangeable although difficult to tell apart except by certain outward emblems of adornment. For he doesn't wear her topaz ring as large as the devouring sun and she doesn't wear his shiny black tapered boots + black cossack coat as broad as the night. Though the lilys have tried very hard to imitate her fingers, to catch the graceful phoniness of those white tentacles that encompass the martini glass like the white sea foam holding the static drama of our (celliri?) cup, they always fail. But his hands are all logic, each finger signifies a fallacy exposed, or a truth asserted that comes streaming out of the upright thing like the smoke of incense, or the ray of light in a painted saint's vision, and I see the scrolls of words coming out into the air in something massive like Latin.

O, what sweeps my shores, a cast, green + shapeless power. It doesn't matter to me that no one liked the Beloved. They were envious of her limitless resources, her magical snobbery by that collapsed them into shadows. She had a classical inhumanity + the wealth of Valhalla. She like to poke me in the ribs with her umbrella - just for fun. But, perhaps that was he. That would be more likely, wouldn't it?

UNTITLED

But they cannot keep me. I see at night oceans full of (gorgeous?) prisoners like the opulent conditions of a harem. I am awed by the co-existence of things. Deserts appear before me and I understand that the infinite dimensions in the Sphinx's eye is born of these treeless expanses. Other lands unpeel beyond my wall, blue from the azure Eastern seas.

ARIADNE THE SHRINK

God knows she'd like to be something else

When you have a child to raise

No man to carve the bird

Owing your beauty

A comely setting

You sacrifice the stars

For the oozing psyche

With God having this miracle in mind

You flourish larger

Than the ordinary heart

It becomes you

To pour from your golden lap

To the copious bounty of your mind

Steady on you stand

HOLDing the almost invisible

Thread in your woman's hand

Leading the leaders

Out of the maze of the beast

God knows she'd like to be something else

ARIES

I am the Ram

Living in the highest places

He doesn't know it

But I see the hunter

Looking over my precipice

I feel his breathing

Why is he not content to be near me

He wants to do something

The silences I live in

Perhaps these expanses

Terrify him

If he would put down his weapon

He could touch me

And all power would be his

Poor hunter

Timid braggard

He'll end up with the barrel in his mouth.

EARTH

I am the Earth and I can rock you or keep you still

I am the Earth and I can scatter your toys in heaps

And break you in half

I am what can be wandered and used

But if you harm me in your grossness I will swallow you up

Work this out

Work this out now

For if you go too far in your greed

I will wake you up

Through sometimes it's better to put you to sleep

I am the Earth and I know what I'm doing

THE BABY ALONE IN THE RUINS

The thought too often came

If I only had a body of work

I could take out and point to

And say look

I suffered this I celebrated that

I honored life even when life

Didn't seem to want me

When it seemed life, like my mother Didn't want me

I took all of you to my unsucked breast

And said I will scream for you

I will be your outraged voice

I will hurl your fury at the wind

As it blows through my breastbone

My poems will listen to themselves

Since no one hears me

I am the baby alone in the ruins

And I will turn to my beloved and say

I can not really hear you

The volume of my fury is too high

11/20/85

UNTITLED

She loved day's end and the very word twilight and crepiscule, the promise of night with it's mighty veil. Were we not conceived, that heroic journey in the dark and then formed, in richest blackness? We have each of us been there, in place like no other. Black out space is all spangled and full of heavy visible bodies, but womb darkness is like the brain of a god.

UNTITLED

Before we two (there are just the two of us aren’t there?) begin the delightful game of story-telling, the author, we won’t pretend there isn’t one, wishes to intrude only to display a little background about the way the game is usually played.

Always before, time reaching back to Greece or beyond, the poet/hero is a young man. We are given his innocence, then his confrontations with life; mystery, lessons, shocks, and joys, to his final epiphany. These three stages are here, in this narrative, given to a girl, and by doing so the author is aware that there will be no reverberating mythology, no archetypal, age-hallowed, venerable and heart-nodding echo to give her added weight and creedence in the Collective Unconscious, whatever one may take that to be. The formidable task will be to make you believe that she existed, that she is possible, and that she may have lived before, though mute and blind, her tongue missing, her eyes forbidden to see what must not be seen.

[lisablack000]

“I can’t live without you”.

“You complete me”.

“Without you I’m nothing”.

“Never leave me”.

They sold you a beautiful lie about love.

And in your innocence, you bought the lie, took it as truth. Because everyone around you was doing the same, and you wanted to fit in, and you were so frightened of being alone, since you’d never plunged into the oceanic joy of your own aloneness and found safety there.

Nobody is coming to save you, you see. No prince on horseback. No Juliet. No surrogate mother. No "One Special Person". No messiah who will take away your pain, your feelings of emptiness, that sense of separation and abandonment that’s been with you since you were young. Nobody will be able to feel and metabolise your feelings for you. Nobody can live and die for you. Nobody has the power to permanently distract you. Nobody can own you or be owned.

Your other half, your completion, is not outside of you, you see, but deep within you. It lives as your very own presence, burns like the Sun within.

So many people are looking for love. Or they are trying to hold onto a love that seems to be slipping through their fingers. Or they feel they have lost love, and they are trying to get love back, running from uncomfortable feelings of withdrawal, numbing themselves with more dreams, running further and further from themselves, in pursuit of something they will never reach, still dreaming of their “One Special Person” who will complete them, provide them with a lifetime of psychological security, be the perfect mother or father they never had on Earth.

Of course, that’s not love. That’s fear, an urgent flight from aloneness.

If you can find or lose it,

if you can be 'in' it or 'out' of it,

if it can be given to you or taken away,

if you have to fight for it, beg for it, manipulate yourself or others to get it,

if you feel you have to become worthy of it,

if it hurts, then it’s the mind’s version of love.

It is the lie.

For if you love, you are present. That’s it.

If you love someone, you are present with them. As present with them as you are with yourself. As present as the Sun in the sky, despite the clouds, the storms, the ever-changing weather.

Do not confuse love with desire, then. Desire comes and goes. It burns brightly, or the flame extinguishes. But desire is not consistent, like love.

Do not confuse love with attraction. Attraction is beautiful, but it ebbs and flows, rises and falls like the ocean waves. It changes with the seasons, days, hours, moments. It is not ever-present, like love.

Do not confuse love with warm, pleasant feelings, even limerent feelings of being "in love". Pleasurable feelings turn to painful ones so quickly. Love is not pleasure nor pain, it is not ecstasy nor hurt; it is the field that endures, even as the bliss fades into despair.

Do not confuse love with the urgency to possess someone or be possessed. Love is not infatuation. Love is not obsessive nor compulsive. Love does not cling. Love does not own anything; it is weightless, formless. Love does not say “I need you for my happiness, my contentment, my life”. No, love is synonymous with freedom, with a wide open heart, with the willingness to feel every feeling, think every thought.

The most dangerous myth is that another person can ‘make’ you happy. No, no. Happiness, true happiness, the kind of happiness that cannot be bought or sold or neatly packaged, is identical with your own presence, which nobody can give to you, and nobody can take away. If you look to another for happiness, you will always depend on them, always be afraid of losing them, and fear and resentment will rumble underneath your ‘love’. You will adapt yourself to please them, numb your thoughts and feelings, close your eyes to the truth and live in fantasy and hope. You will make yourself unhappy in order to win their love, keep them, control them. You will make yourself unhappy trying to make them happy… or forcing yourself to be happy. That is not love, it is an addiction to a person. It is fear masquerading as ‘romance’. It is the lie.

But underneath every addiction is the longing for home, for Mother in the deepest sense of the word. Find the deepest sense of home within yourself, then. Make your body your home, your breath, your belly as it rises and falls in the present moment. Find your ground in the sense of being alive. And in that place of presence, spend time with others who nourish you, who help you feel alive, who empathise with you and can validate your precious feelings. When you are not trying to win love, when you are not running from your own uncomfortable feelings, you can afford to truly love and be loved.

Invite others into your love field; let them stay, let them leave, bow to their path and walk your own with courage. But do not for a moment buy into the lie that salvation lies anywhere except at the very heart of your exquisite presence, the place where there’s nobody to be saved. The place where you touch life, and are touched in return, moment by moment...

For you are The One, your own greatest lover, partner, friend, guru and Mother.

And so you can say to yourself:

“I can’t live without you”.

“You complete me”.

“Without you I’m nothing”.

“Never leave me”.

- Jeff Foster

Carving from Hell valley, Japan

[fandomfluffandfuck]

Ignore me if this is out of turn: would you ever write that kind that I can't think of where you get smexy when one is asleep and the other isn't (consensually course)? Rpf or otherwise

Somnophilia!

a.k.a. "sleeping beauty syndrome"

or basically the desire/urge to be sexually intimate with a person who is sleeping.

*right now I'm just looking at the CONSENSUAL form of somnophilia where both the asleep and awake parties have verbalized/discussed their prior consent and are perfectly happy to be participating!

**Along with talking about the consensual form of this, I'm also talking NOT about the kind (from my own understanding) where there's a compulsion element to, like, "pure" somnophilia. Where it's just something you uncontrollably desire. I'm talking about this in just like, hey, wanna try this thing because I like the idea of it and I think you'd like it too?

But, yes, not out of turn at all! This blog is for the less vanilla and vanilla things along with whatever I please mixed happily together lol. I would write about this, sure!

Specifically though, between evanstan and/or stucky I can see either but I personally see it way more in evanstan because

This Interview from Before We Go era (starting from 2:17 - the spurring question is "what's something you've done for someone else?" Chris fumbles through talking about waking up his partner with a surprise in a sweet non-criminal way lol (for example one time I set out a bunch of flowers on/around the bed so my girlfriend at the time woke up to being surrounded by flowers (not talking directly about somnophilia here, just sounds like it lol)))

Chris comes off as just being In. Love. with being so deeply trusting of another person as well as giving off I Would Love To Take Care Of You vibes. Both of those would lead me to think he'd get something, if not a lot out of somnophilia. (and a lot out of soft domming, but thats for another time lol)

Sub!Seb + his mile wide praise kink. If you mix those with Chris' love of trust and mother hening caretaking instincts then it wouldn't surprise me that Sebastian might want that. Not at all. His dom, his life partner using him for his own pleasure, knowing that he wants it too. Yum.

So yes.

Like, I can so see Sebastian coming to Boston to see Chris, staying at his place for a good couple of weeks of private time and they end up being SO wrapped up in each other that they don't leave the house. Especially if it's in the colder, snowier months where they can have a fire and cuddle in front of the mantelpiece and doze a little, under a blanket, in cozy pajamas.

They're just be all wrapped up in each other all the time and Seb would float for long periods of time with Chris always there to hold and touch him and tell him absently that he's so good, so amazing, so pretty, so handsome, so everything. The center of his world. And not even strictly sexually touching him the whole time: just lounging together, watching shows and movies and holding hands, reading with their legs curled together, scrolling on their phones while pressed together from shoulder to hip, playing card games and laughing and reaching for each other, cuddling, etc. Chris gets so much out of touch and Seb really loves being touched so it works beautifully. Harmoniously.

And at some point Chris is petting Seb, lazily moving his hand up and down, up and down his back, slow and meditative and he murmurs, "y’know that thing we talked about not to long ago, the, uh, thing with me using you whenever I wanted to-?"

"Mmmyeah?" Sebastian murmurs, sleepy.

"How'd you feel about that. Tonight. Or. In the morning?"

Sebastian sighs, all dreamy. And after a little while of silence, thinking silence, Seb murmurs, "tonight? You-" his cheeks flush hot. Not from being so close, sharing body heat under a blanket in an already warm house, but from his own request. "You're gonna fuck me after dinner, yeah?"

Rumbling happily, Chris easily says, "yeah."

"Just... don't clean up after you tire me out?"

"Oh-" Chris raises an eyebrow, smiling because he can't stop himself. He cant be cool and collected around Sebastian when he's excited. "You want me to fuck you and then stay in you after, hmm? I know you get sleepy after you cum, yeah. You gonna fall asleep on my cock after you're done?"

Sebastian hides his face in the junction between Chris' neck and shoulder, just this side of squirming. "Yeah-" he whispers, like it's a secret.

"Yeah. We can do that. I can do that. Can stay inside you as you fall asleep and then I fall asleep and then use you later, when I wake up." Sebastian makes a breathy, high noise of approval. "Mmm-hmm, baby." He strokes a possessive hand down Sebastian's spine, lowering his voice to a gravelly, deep whisper, "how long do you think I'll last before I get hard again and need to use you?"

"Chris-" Sebastian moans, sounding a tiny bit scandalized.

"Do you think I'll wake up right away when I'm back hard? Or do you think I'll start fucking you in my sleep-" Chris rocks his hips slowly, like he might if he were a teenager again, having a wet dream and fucking down into the mattress. "Rocking... rocking in and out of you until I can't take it anymore and I'm so hard that I wake up, sweaty and throbbing and I just roll you over- promise I'll be careful not to jostle you too much so I don't wake you up." Sebastian shakily moans, grinding back into Chris. "I wouldn't wanna wake you up. Not when I know I'm gonna exhaust you even more later, yeah?"

"Yeah-" Sebastian's voice has gone all whiny and high. Needy.

"How many times do you think I'll wake up like that tonight?"

"I- I dunno."

"Want me to keep track?" Sebastian moans. "Yeah. I'll keep track and in the morning I'll fuck you and wake you up, just before I finish so you can feel it. Maybe I'll make you guess, go by how wet and used you feel-"

Sebastian's fingers bite into him where he's holding on. Nodding and gasping a little, "please!"

"Mmm, yeah. We can do that."

#asks #my writing #chris evans #sebastian stan #evanstan #rpf #real person fanfiction #somnophilia #marathon sex

[maddieinwonder]

A Lesson In Romance #7: False Start

Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: Just a lot of awkward vibes hahaha

Word Count: 1.7k

Plot: Reader keeps getting caught in rom-com situations with Spencer Reid. This time, they try to confess their feelings.

A/N: I didn’t actually manage to include the definition of a False Start in the chapter itself, so I’ll add it at the end. No spoilers for now!

Masterlist | All chapters here!

-----------

It took you 24 hours to decide that you were going to do something about your feelings for the good doctor. Pretty quick, considering you were a living, breathing rom-com cynic. But as ancient Greek philosopher, Heraclitus, once said: "The only constant in life is change".

Specifically, change happened after you woke up in your cute co-worker and dear friend's arms and you wanted nothing more than to get back into them as fast as possible.

But by the universal laws of working in the BAU, catching a break seemed to be the hardest when you actually wanted one.

Firstly, it was like every serial killer in the country decided to cancel their vacations simultaneously, swamping the team with urgent case after case. At this point, you were more familiar with the couch on the jet than your bed at home, and everyone was feeling the strain.

Secondly, if you weren't sleeping, you were usually out in the field chasing unsubs with Derek or Rossi. You had stopped holding out hope for being paired with Spencer — on account of your areas of specialty overlapping too much, and Hotch not being the type of leader to waste his resources — and as a result:

Thirdly, getting even ten minutes alone with the genius became an impossible task, and not for lack of trying either. At the start of the month, the two of you had tried to adapt your breakfast ritual to the road, but it always got interrupted mid-coffee order or even at the ding of the lift. Not that you and Spencer stopped trying, no, but your patience was wearing thin.

So you did something you hadn't done since you submitted your application to join the BAU — you prayed for a chance.

Because every day that you didn't admit your feelings to the doctor was another day fighting the compulsion to tell somebody else about them, and god only knows what a room full of profilers (and one nosy tech analyst) would do with that kind of information.

Then, out of the blue, the door of opportunity opened.

After two weeks of straight travel, the team had earned a well-deserved one night’s rest in your own beds before dealing with a local case, bright and early tomorrow morning. And since your flight landed at 2am and all the trains had stopped by then, this gave you the perfect shot to execute your plan.

Unfortunately, you forgot to take into account the most important factor — your nerves.

It didn't help that Derek had wolf-whistled in the carpark as the two of you walked off in the same direction, nor that Spencer immediately put your favourite album into the CD player out of instinct; an overly domestic action that made your heart beat even faster.

But it was when you arrived in front of his apartment building that you felt the worst of it. As you tried to summon the right words to your lips, your heart hammered in your chest and your thoughts jumbled themselves into nonsense.

"Are you ok?" Spencer asked, snapping you out of your anxious spiral instantly. "You don't look so well."

"I-I'm fine." Your fingers twitched nervously.

"Doesn't seem like it." He looked down at your hands, and you cursed your subconscious brain for giving you away. Then, he placed a hand over yours and your heart stopped.

"You're not alright, that's for sure, but it seems like it's just sleep deprivation." He assessed, bending slightly to look at your face. "You can't drive in this state. Do you want to come in?”

Your head snapped up to meet his gaze, ready to protest, but Spencer beat you to it. "Let’s go. You wanted to talk about something, right?" He called out, already one foot out of the car.

Before you could realise what was happening, you found yourself sitting on Spencer's couch holding a warm cup of tea.

This was the first time you were in his apartment. Yet, it was exactly what you thought it'd be like. Every wall was lined with bookshelves, filled to max capacity with books of every topic imaginable from neuroscience to philosophy. Those that didn't make it to the shelves were found in random stacks around his apartment, standing out against his forest green walls.

"Did you know that chamomile tea is a natural remedy for insomnia? In fact, it is commonly regarded as a mild tranquilizer. It's calming effects may be attributed to the antioxidant apigenin, which binds to specific receptors in your brain that initiate sleep and reduce anxiety." He explained, walking over with his own mug.

"I actually did know that." You smiled. The tea seemed to work its magic because you did feel relaxed, and you must have looked it too, because the worried frown disappeared off Spencer's face.

"Didn't know you were a tea person." You commented lightly, blowing the steam from your mug.

"There's a lot of things you don't know about me." He replied mysteriously, and you raised your eyebrows.

Spencer's apartment was too quiet, no rumbling fridge or quiet radio playing in the background to make your awkward silence any less pronounced. It was then that you noticed he didn't have a TV. Somehow this fact didn't surprise you very much.

"You... you wanted to talk to me about something?" He broke the silence, looking down at the hot tea swirling in his mug.

Right. You were here to talk about your feelings. Your face flushed as you tried to summon your willpower, again.

"I wanted to tell you something—" You began shakily. "But before that, I just want to preface, we can ignore this entire thing if you don't agree. I mean, I really enjoy our friendship as it is, and I wouldn't want to do anything to affect tha—"

"Wait." Spencer interrupted urgently, before catching himself. "Sorry, um, before that, can I say something?"

"Um, ok, shoot." You replied meekly, trying to hide your relief behind a long sip of tea. There was a pause as he gathered his thoughts, and you might have been seeing things, but he looked almost... nervous? 

"The day we met, I calculated the probability of meeting somebody that shared my exact coffee order and the result was almost one in a million.” He finally spoke, lifting his head to meet your gaze. “That probability decreased when I factored in working together, sharing the same interests, and... and how I enjoyed spending time with you more than with anybody else."

Spencer cleared his throat, a blush coming onto his cheeks.

"Ever since then... my life just started making sense. I know I’m a scientist, not a poet, and I could tell you all the statistics about relationships in the world, but when it comes to you...”

His cheeks were crimson now, as he ran his fingers through his hair. You had a feeling yours looked the same.

"I guess, what I'm trying to say, is that I think you're beautiful and smart, and I have no idea what you see in me, but I'd really—"

Suddenly, both your phones buzzed violently against his coffee table, jolting you out of the moment. You leaned over in a trained motion, only to see exactly what you expected:

Garcia: No rest for the wicked, crime fighters. Conference room in 30.

Penny: No rest for the wicked, crime fighters. Conference room in 30.

You let out a sigh you didn't realise you were holding, and Spencer looked over at you, doe-eyed and nervous.

“The case?" He asked quietly.

There was a silence filled with words unsaid. "We should go." He said finally. "If we leave now, we can still make it on time."

You only nodded in response, more out of duty than desire, and gulped down the rest of your tea. The thought of what he was about to say burned down your throat.

Driving away from Spencer’s apartment was torturous. The doctor hadn’t said anything to you since he entered the car, only fiddling with his bag as he looked out the window. It was too dark to read his expression, but you wondered if he could still hear the way he called you “beautiful”, or whether the moment had already dissolved into the space between you.

Luckily, you didn’t need to wait long for an answer, as Spencer tugged on your sleeve before you exited the carpark, his face scrunched in worry.

"I really didn't mean for that to be so... weird. Can we talk about this again after the case?" He asked softly, and despite every semblance of logic left in your brain, you couldn’t stop the hope from blooming in your chest and you smiled.

That was when Spencer did something completely uncharacteristic. (You didn't know this at the time, but it was something that you would tease him about for a long time after.)

In one fluid movement, the doctor pulled you into a tight hug that elicited a squeak from you, but it only took a second for the initial shock to wear off before you relaxed completely into his warm touch. He took that as a sign to continue, burying his head into your shoulder and letting out a content sigh.

Unlike waking up to your bodies intertwined, nothing about this was a mistake. Not the way his fingers stroked your back peacefully, nor the way his curly hair tickled your cheek. You felt the stress of the past two weeks melt away in his embrace, and so did any coherent thought, except one: normal friends didn't hug each other like this.

Later when the two of you finally entered the conference room, miraculously still on time, nobody commented on the smiles plastered on your faces but everybody could tell. They were profilers after all.

But for the first time in awhile, you were just too happy to care.

-----------

Tag List:

@blue-space-porgs @nobutalsoyes @lady-loves-a-lot @queen-flower @oops-all-ajs @spottedzebrasinpartyhats @agentcarterisgay @totalmess191 @sapphic-prentiss @mellowalieneggsknight || @averyhotchner @amesandpineapples @willowrose99

Definition of a False Start here

#mads fics #spencer reid x reader: a lesson in romance #if you read this earlier and some things changed #that’s because I rewrote it lol #but that’s it I promise!! #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid fic #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic #cm fic #cm fanfic #bau #aaron hotchner #hotch #derek morgan #emily prentiss #david rossi #jennifer jareau #penelope garcia #criminal minds #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader fluff #spencer reid x y/n fluff

[idabbleincrazy]

Destiny ~ A Missing Scenes Ficlet

Chapter One: Fate

Fandom: Angel (Buffyverse)

Rating: M

Pairing: William/Drusilla, William/Angelus, Drusilla/Angelus

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: experiencing new feelings, missing scene: Destiny, prelude to 'the slaughter of innocents', Dru is scheming 😈, Dru's canon 'Daddy' usage

Summary: William and Angelus take stock of each other and Drusilla has been listening to the stars.

A/N: decided to split this one up into chapters just to finally get something in my docs finished.

~London, 1880~

“Ah, I like this one. You and me, we’re gonna be the best of friends.” 

Angelus couldn’t take his eyes off the fledge, William, as he threw his head back and laughed along with him, those pale blue eyes sparkling with mischief and drawing him in. His princess had chosen well with this one, light where she was dark, soft tawny hair, and sharp angles hidden beneath a lingering layer of soft flesh. He would shape up nicely soon enough. 

“Dru, sweetheart, have you taught him how to hunt yet?”

“Oh, yes, Daddy. Took him out right away, once he arose from his bed ‘neath the stars.” Drusilla glided over to William’s side, his arm instantly winding around her waist to clutch her close, his gaze heated as it fell on her. “Like a panther he was, my pretty knight, barely even needed my instruction.”

“Well,” Angelus looked William over, a hunger growing in him for more than just blood. “I’ll just have to judge that for myself, won’t I, princess? I had a bit of a night planned for Darla ‘n I, but it seems a spot has opened up, as it were. I’ll take our young William here along with me for the kill, make sure he’s cut out for the likes of us, shall I?”

William turned his gaze from Drusilla to Angelus and cocked his head in slight confusion, catching Angelus’ intense stare. He felt that same thrill roll through him that he had experienced when he had willingly thrust his hand back into the sunlight to rise to the challenge laced behind the elder vampire’s question. He couldn’t explain it, but he had felt the sudden urge to please Angelus, to prove himself worthy. The pain of the sun on his flesh was nothing compared to the lightning-strike-tingle that had zipped down to settle in the base of his spine. As he stared back at Angelus, he had that same urge, no, need, to prove himself again, to see those chocolate eyes flash gold again as the demon showed its intrigued approval. His own demon rankled slightly at the opposing desire and William had to fight back the compulsion to automatically acquiesce to Angelus’ dictatorial planning of his nightly activities.  

“I rather thought I would be heading out with Dru tonight, maybe some other time? And as she told you, I’ve taken to the hunt quite well already, surely you can take her at her word.”

Angelus sneered at him and rolled his eyes, pleasantly surprised at how quickly William’s back was up over his insinuation that he was suspicious of the fledge’s capabilities. 

“I can’t. The girls may well be capable of taking care of themselves, but if there’s ever a spot of trouble, I need to know you can hold your own in a fight, boy.” Angelus grabbed William by his collar, dragging him away from Drusilla like a misbehaving cub being carried back to the litter by his mother. He ignored the small growl rumbling in William’s chest, the look on the fledge’s face only serving to fortify the image of a scolded cub. “You’ll need to prove to me how much of a panther you really are, or you might just end up a drowned kitten. Do we have an understanding, dear Willy?”

“William.” William ripped himself out of Angelus' grasp, his glare almost laughable as he straightened his clothes, looking every inch a sulking child.

“William...right. The question stands, William, do we have an understanding? Has our Dru found her knight?”

“Yes. Fine. I will go with you to feed tonight.” William fought to keep the glare contorting his face as he felt himself react surprisingly to Angelus’ small grin of approval. To hide his disconcertment at the way his body warmed and certain parts responded to the elder male in confusing ways, he turned once more to Drusilla, pulling her flush against him and kissing her soundly. He ignored the dark, seemingly knowing, chuckle that sounded behind him, clutching his Sire closer all the more for it. “Sorry, pet, seems we’ll have to have our fun later.”

“No need to fret, sweet William, everything is going as it should, the stars have whispered it to me.” Drusilla smiled at him, that dazzling, childlike sparkle in her eyes again, the one that had enamored him to her from the moment he had awoken to his new life. “You’ll see, love. Now, go, my pretty one, and show Daddy what a fine creature you are.

“And Daddy,” Drusilla floated over to Angelus, pressing her lips chastly to his before tilting her head to trail her tongue over the healing cut on his cheek, licking up the faint trace of blood still clinging to the skin, “do try not to tire him out too much, he’ll need his strength for what’s to come before dawn.”

William was still puzzling over his Sire’s words and so was caught unawares when she flounced back to his side for another kiss, her tongue slipping between his lips before he could take control of the kiss. The taste of the elder vampire’s blood lingered on her tongue and William couldn’t hold back the soft, hissing gasp of surprise at the sudden hunger that sparked within him at the rich flavor. Drusilla pulled away from him, a knowing grin playing on her lips as William’s tongue flicked over his lips to seek out any remnants of that powerful nectar. Her eyes flicked between the pair of them as she backed out of the room, smug and satisfied that she had carried out her tasks just as the fairies had instructed. Their family would have such fun over the coming years, and her Sire would finally realize that demons could indeed feel love, even if they might not at first recognize it as such. 

Yes, her beautiful pale knight would open Angelus’ eyes to many new emotions before the stars were done with their plottings and dealings.

#spangelus #buffyverse fanfic #a:ts fanfic #spangel missing scenes #destiny #spike #william #drusilla #angelus

[cosmicjoke]

Alright, chapter 133 of SnK!

I’ve got a few things I want to talk about here.

One of the things that always strikes me about Levi as a character, indeed, one of his defining character traits, is his coolness under pressure.  His calm demeanor, no matter the circumstances.  One of the interesting things to go into is WHY Levi is like this.  

We see it particularly exemplified in this chapter, I think, and there’s a few examples.  For one, they’ve all just lost Hange as their friend and Commander, and this loss particularly impacts and affects Levi, since he was closer with Hange than any of them.  But rather than allowing his grief to consume and paralyze him, Levi immediately begins trying to contribute when Armin says he wants to go over the plan, bringing up Hange’s theory about Zeke and how killing him might stop the Rumbling, etc...  Then Eren transports them to Paths, and everyone reacts with shock and awe, except Levi, who’s expression is duly unimpressed and unsurprised.  We see this from Levi throughout the series, of course.  Situations that present themselves, new and frightening circumstances which throw everyone for a loop and send people into panic, Levi reacts to with calm collectedness, a distinct LACK of surprise or fear.  He really does stand in sharp contrast with everyone else in this situation.  Everyone there is a seasoned war veteran, at this point, they’ve all been through and seen some truly horrific things.  But they still react with a kind of frantic uncertainty here.  They then begin to plead with Eren, Armin and the rest trying to convince him through any means possible, to stop the Rumbling.  They try to bargain with him, show him empathy, make promises, etc...  They make their desperation obvious by saying whatever they think will appeal to Eren.  Levi is the only one who, I think, is fully honest here.  He tells Eren that if he stops now, he’ll let him off with JUST an ass-kicking.  Levi doesn’t try to placate Eren, or show him sympathy, or empathy, he doesn’t try to be gentle or handle Eren with kid gloves.  He tells him flat out he’s going to beat his ass for what he’s done, but he’ll show him some leniency for stopping by not killing him outright.  The thing is, I think Levi’s known from the start of this whole disaster that talking to Eren wasn’t going to work.  Everyone else was holding out hope that if they could just speak with Eren, he would stop, that they could convince him through words.  But like I talked about in my last post, Levi is someone who’s just seen and experienced too much of life’s brutality and unfairness to blind himself to bleak reality.  When the 104th goes running off after Eren appears to them, to try and reach him, Levi just sits down in the sand and has that resigned expression once more, and his expression continues to show a total lack of surprise when Eren puts the 104th back where they started, before they could ever even get close. Levi isn’t surprised, or even dismayed, I don’t think, at Eren’s refusal to talk, because I think he always knew he wouldn’t be willing to.  That he wouldn’t be interested in hearing anyone’s pleas or promises.  I think Levi always knew Eren was hellbent on this course of action, and it was more or less hopeless, trying to appeal to him.  And once again, I have to restate, I think it’s because Levi’s just experienced too much hardship in his life to cling to false hopes.  He’s world-weary and in many ways a realist, someone not given to delusion or fancy.  

I feel like Levi probably glimpsed this uncompromising, hellish bent in Eren back in Liberio, his mercenary compulsion to follow through on whatever plan he had, which is why Levi was so disgusted by him on the airship back then.  He saw a lack of mercy in Eren, and it reminded him of the brutes Levi grew up with in the Underground.  Not just a willingness, but a desire to take from others to satisfy himself.  It’s why, when they’re all transported back to the plane, while everyone else looks horrified and in shock at Eren’s refusal to talk, Levi looks as unflustered as ever, and states with a matter of fact tone that negotiations are over, before asking Armin what it is they do now.  None of this is surprising to Levi.

Levi’s look of despair throughout this final arc continues to strike me as his resignation in the ugliness of humanity and the useless, pointless suffering they inflict on one another.  He’s depressed, and disappointed, because everything happening around them is only a confirmation of all the worst things Levi saw and experienced, growing up.

All this ties into another point I want to discuss, which is Levi’s relationship with Jean, actually.  I’ve found the relationship between the two of them really interesting since way back in the Uprising arc, when Jean was the most vocal in condemning Levi for his violence, declaring with certainty that he would never kill another person.  Jean is disabused of his moralistic superiority not long after that, when he learns first hand the consequences of sticking to ones morals uncompromisingly, nearly losing his life, and forcing Armin to take a life for him.  And it’s Jean who we see, again and again from that point on in the series, grappling with and coming to terms with this difficult lesson.  We see Jean’s respect for Levi, and his understanding towards Levi, grow greatly, after this incident, and Jean himself having to grow, to change and accept that sacrifices are inevitable if one wishes to protect the things and people they care about.  That sometimes even one’s own comfort and moral convictions are necessary sacrifices to achieve those things.  

Levi tells everyone that he’ll take care of Zeke, but admits that he’ll need all of their help to get the job done.  I feel like this is Levi, once again, asking if all of them are ready and willing to get their hands dirty, just like he did before they raided the Cavern underneath the Church on the Reiss property.  He knows he can’t do this job by himself (which is just further testament to Levi’s strength of character, an ability to admit to weakness), but he wants to make sure everyone else is alright with plunging in to a situation in which they’re going to be forced to kill.  Jean is the first to answer, telling Levi and all of them that he’s not going to let the sacrifices they’ve already made, the people they’ve killed in order to get where they are, be in vain, and that he’ll do whatever it takes to stop the Rumbling.  This shows incredible character growth on Jean’s part.  He went from someone who claimed that he would, under no circumstances, take another human life, to someone who declares that he’ll do whatever it takes in order to stop the Rumbling, to achieve a greater good.  And I think this growth on Jean’s part ties directly into his relationship with and the influence of Levi.  Levi never judged Jean for being uncomfortable with killing, never criticized or scolded him for it.  He even told Jean that he couldn’t say, one way or the other whether Jean’s beliefs were right or wrong.  That Levi himself didn’t know the answer to that.  He never tried to convince Jean of anything.  He just told him the truth.  That his failure to kill had put the lives of his comrades in danger, including his own, and that it also caused Armin to have to bear the burden of killing another, one which should have been Jean’s own to bear.  All of that is absolutely true.  And it was really through this lack of judgment on Levi’s part that, I think, Jean was able to grow and expand his own views on killing, and adjust and allow for there to be circumstances in his world view which would justify taking another life.  He wasn’t forced by anyone to change his views.  He changed them based on experience and through Levi explaining to him that there is no definitive right or wrong answer to be found, and through Levi’s simply being honest with him.  He was telling Jean that it comes down to what one is willing to sacrifice in order to protect the things and people they value.  And Jean learned about himself that he’s willing and able to sacrifice more than he ever realized.

But it’s still a struggle, and something all of them, even at this point in the story, continue to battle themselves over.  We see Connie struggling in particular this chapter, looking anguished over what he had to do back at the port.  It’s only Levi who accepts that brutal reality of kill or be killed with a calm understanding, and I think this is probably because, unlike the rest of them, who all had peaceful, probably relatively easy and happy childhoods, without any exposure to violence or real cruelty, Levi, I think it can be safely assumed, probably took his first life while he was still a boy.  And doubtless, that was due to desperate circumstances.  Levi’s life has been one filled with uncertainty.  Growing up in extreme poverty, he never could have known with any certainty where his next meal would come from, or when.  Never knew with any certainty whether he could find proper shelter for the night, or a safe place to sleep.  Never knew with any certainty whether he would be assaulted, or robbed, or if someone would attempt to take his life.  Levi’s life has been one of desperation and a true, unforgiving struggle to simply survive.  And so while all of his comrades have seen and experienced the horrors of war with him, none of them can know with the same level of understanding that true kind of desperation of simply trying to live day to day, that kind of awful and overwhelming uncertainty and fear of not knowing if you’ll be alive from one day to the next.  It’s those kinds of experiences in life that really separate Levi from the rest of his comrades, and in a lot of ways, isolate him from them.  It’s why the extremity of their circumstances and the desperation of their situation in this final arc continually shocks and overwhelms them, but Levi regards it all with his usual, if deeply saddened, calm.

#attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #Levi Ackerman #jean krischtein #snk 133 #meta #thoughts

[doyumacy]

𝐆𝐎𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐂𝐑𝐀𝐙𝐘 — 3

gif not mine

pairing: taeyong x doyoung x reader

warnings: 「dotae x reader, mentions of donghyuck and yuta, smut (unprotected sex, fingering, oral sex m. receiving) polyamorous relationship, swearing, angst, a slight of possessives  」

word count: 「 3,4K 」

ꜰᴏᴜʀ

“Someone sent you flowers,” Your assistant Donghyuck enters your office with a white rose flower bouquet in his hands.

You stop what you are doing and smile looking at them. Taeyong and his gifts. He even changed the flowers since he never sent white roses. Donghyuck places the bouquet on your desk and hands you the note card. You grab it.

𝒀𝒐𝒖’𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒅𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎𝒔. 

𝑰 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖. 

𝑫.

You smile and bite your lip.

Doyoung.

You shake your head when you realise this might be wrong. Why would he send you flowers? He hates flowers and even more, sending them. You know things are getting out of control and as much as you don’t want things to change, you don’t mind the idea of just you and Doyoung.

But the image of Taeyong comes to your mind. What would he say if he knew you two were going back his back? If something Taeyong can’t stand is betrayal and much less of the people he loves.

You come back to reality when you hear Donghyuck sigh. “I wish I could find love.”

You huff. “Love ain’t everything in this world.”

“Easy for you to say it when you have two men just for you,” Donghyuck rolls his eyes.

“Okay, fair, but I mean, you already have love.”

“The love I receive from you and my family can give me orgasms,” Donghyuck cocked his eyebrows.

You laugh. “Try using Tinder?”

“I am desperate but not that desperate,” he places a hand on his chest, offended.

“Or you can wait for the party this weekend to mingle,” you beam. “But as your boss I’m telling you that's not the most professional thing to do.”

“We all know those parties are not for business or looking good; is to find a good ass to bang,” he shrugs.

“I’m gonna pretend to didn’t say that or I will uninvite you,” you warn.

“Is Johnny still married?” He asks.

“Pretty much so,” you smile, typing on your laptop keyboard.

He sighs, defeated. “I guess I can’t stop trying.”

“Aren’t you gonna text Taeyong to say ‘thank you’ for the flowers?”

You nod. “I’m just gonna finish something and I’ll call him.”

(...)

When you’re back home, you notice a sound in the kitchen and go there just to find Taeyong putting away the groceries. He has taken his suit jacket off and is hanging on the back of one of the kitchen benches. He turns and sees you. He smiles at you. “Hey you. When did you get here? I didn’t hear you.”

“I just got here,” you say and get closer to him, placing the bouquet on the kitchen counter.

“Who sent those?” He points at the bouquet.

You press your lips together. “It was a gift from the Chinese editor. He’s excited to come.”

Taeyong nods and closes the fridge door. He rolls up his shirt sleeves and leans against the counter, resting his hands on it. He tilts his head, looking at you. “Why do you lie to me?”

You blink. “W-what do you mean?”

He sighs and walks to you a few steps. “I know Doyoung fucked you days ago.”

You gulp and open your mouth, but nothing comes out of it. “H-how did you know?”

“I heard you two,” he shrugs and shakes his head. “I don’t mind at all. Doyoung and I have fucked plenty of times when you’re not around.”

You tilt your head in surprise. “What?”

“It doesn't feel good, does it?” Taeyong cocks an eyebrow.

You shake your head. He finally steps in front of you and grabs your chin with his thumb. “What really bothers me is that you lied to me.”

You look down your feet and gulp. “I’m sorry.”

Taeyong squeezes your chin a bit so you look at him. When your eyes meet his, one of the corners of his lips lifts. “Show me how sorry you are.”

Slowly, Taeyong leans into the space between you and him, lips puckering slightly and pressing themselves to yours. Mouths lulling against each other, the pliant skin of his lips aching upon you, making you want more, making you want to kiss every part of him.

Your chest, and cheeks, and heart burn, fingers curling around his jaw and pulling him into you. Mouths aching for more, noses nudging against cheeks, hands desperately reaching to grab for flesh. Taeyong moves backwards slightly. He stares at you before pushing you down slowly to the bed. He places himself on top of you, kissing you again. His body arching into you, chest plush against your breasts, his groin prodding you, the heat of his member obvious even through his pants. Your mouth parts with a groan, with Taeyong reaching up, clasping a hand around your throat. He latches down gently, fingers strong, curling the way they would when he places them inside you. Another moan rumbles out your mouth. Mark pulled back. You bite your lip.

He removes his hand from your throat, leaving you all too untouched and to make it worse, he takes a hold of your wrists and pin them atop your head. Leaving you helpless and unable to pull him closer. You watch from below as a grin parts from Taeyong's lips, still glowing with the remnants of your kiss.

"Taeyong, please."

"Please?" He partially asks, partially mocked.

"Please fuck me."

"Hey, hey,’ he releases your wrists. "Patience, baby. And you still have to show me how sorry you are."

Taeyong leans downward, pressing a single kiss upon your lips. The taste of him lingering against you but disappearing all too quickly, though the feeling reappeared upon your neck. Where Taeyong leaves small, chaste kisses, trailing lower as though he is mapping out every detail of your skin. The desire to reach up and grasp his shoulders burn in your stomach, and yet, the compulsion to follow his orders is stronger. Taeyong is rarely a dom, and today he is behaving like, and you don't mind at all.

You keep your hands upon the bed as Taeyong moves your shirt upward, rolling it as he did, supple skin of his fingers brushing against your torso. Small whimpers leave your mouth, eyes tightly shut, embarrassed at how easily his touches affected you.

But his touches stop when he stands up in front of you. You get on your knees still on the bed and help him to remove what is left of his suit, letting it drop on the floor. "So..." you start,  fingers undoing the button of his dress shirt. "Will this be enough to show you how sorry I am?" you ask and then suck his chest, making him groan sexily. You lick the spot and give it a kiss before admiring the red spot you created in contrast to his white skin.

"You tell me," Taeyong grabs your hair and pulls it a bit. "Oh God, (Y/N)," Taeyong calls when you bend down to give his stomach marks as well, licking the sensitive skin.

You remove his pants, putting down his boxers that it's a pool under him now. You fist his growing member. Taeyong closes his eyes shut when you kiss the side of his cock, biting his lip to prevent a series of groans to emerge.

You give the tip a lick, kissing it as it oozes precum. "Fuck." he hisses, looking down on you Damn, you look so hot kneeling in front of him like that. Your hand doesn't leave his cock the whole time then smiles before doing the deed.

Your mouth is really hot or maybe because his cock was really sensitive now but it feels so good that groans escape his lips. You suck his cock, playing with it inside her mouth and even fondling his balls. His hands reach for your hair again,  tugging it in a ponytail as he bobbs your head up and down on his cock. He groans and throws his head back.

"You're so fucking good, baby." he compliments as the holds on your hair got tighter. You swallow his cock, deepthroating him that makes him groan. "Oh God, (Y/N)." And that is it, his control going down the drain. He thrusts into your mouth with so much power. He keeps on groaning as he fuck your mouth and feel himself cumming in no time. His cum fills your throat and some dropped on your mouth, even licking the excess from his cock, swallowing it.

Taeyong gives you an adoring smile as he wipes some excess from your lips and you suck his finger that makes him look at you lustfully. "Such a good girl."

"My turn," he slightly pushes you into the bed again and with no effort, your pants are on the floor.

He begins to gently brush the pad of his middle finger against your folds, the pressure already making you squirm. Your panties are stuck to your skin, unable to realise how wet you are from just a kiss and sucking Taeyong off, but here's proof as the chiffon moulds to your sex, Taeyong’s finger delicately causing a delicious friction that wound your body up even more. You need something else. You need his skin on yours.

You shift uncomfortably when he slides against your clit and he freezes on the spot, basking in your reaction as a small whine falls from your lips. His fingers pulling at your panties as he places his hand inside, making room in the tight space.

He groans when he feels the softness of your flesh, drenched in your arousal and he presses his forehead against yours. The tight material strains against his hand and your thighs making you look down and you moan at the sight, the veins in his hand protruding against the skin as two of his fingers rub at your clit. Your head falls back against the bed while you concentrate on taking deep breaths to ease you away from your impending combustion it seemed.

You shift again when you feel his finger dip to your entrance, collecting your arousal and swirling it around. A small whine falls from your throat as he looks up at you, eyes dancing with mirth. Fuck, he is loving this.

“What, do you want more?” He asks, playing innocent, his breaths coming out in heavy bursts, telling you he is just as affected as you.

You nod and you feel him push one of his long fingers inside of you. Your walls spasm around the digit uncontrollably. The pleasure is imminent as he begins to curl his digit slowly against your sensitive walls and you moan again. Taeyong joins you, moaning loudly as he captures your mouth in another messy kiss, your tongues tangling together, his free hand gripping your hip as you thread your fingers entirely into his hair, anchoring him to you.

After a couple more snaps of his wrist you feel him bring another finger to your entrance and you hold your breath as he pushes inside, the stretch wonderfully pleasurable as you cry against his lips, to which he swallows each beautiful noise.

“Ah, Taeyong,” you moan. “Right there, please don’t stop.” You beg as his fingers brush against your g-spot and he pulls away from you, looking down at your bodies as he continues to finger you, taking sharp intakes of breath as he concentrates on pleasuring you good.

“I love it when you say my name,” he utters.

And you are saying it, the syllables falling from your lips like a mantra and as you close your eyes you feel him kiss just under your ear, his laboured breathing sending shivers up your spine as he begins to suck on your earlobe, nibbling on the soft flesh teasingly.

“You sound so beautiful,” he comments, his voice hush, a low growl. “You look so beautiful."

He pins you down using his crotch, pushing his thigh into yours and your belly flips in fresh pleasure, feeling how hard he is again.

You open your eyes and look between your bodies, your eyes rolling into the back of your head at the sight. You could tell Taeyong knows you are close. “That’s it, babe,” he husks. “Let go for me, I know you want to. I can feel you clenching around my fingers.”

You shut your eyes again, tight as they can go, letting Taeyong’s voice echo in your brain. It is so hot to hear these words coming from him, his usual calm and polite demeanour lightyears away from this, and you moan quietly, in between sighs of his name as he helps you see stars.

“Cum on my hand, baby… C’mon,” he urgs, his voice sugary sweet in the shell of your ear and that is all you need to hear before your orgasm tore through your body.

You are aware you are maybe being a little too loud, but you don't care. The sensation is strong and you gasp for breath as the pleasure ebbes slowly out of your body, aware that Taeyong is watching your every expression as you come around.

He gives you a moment so you can come back from high and he plants kisses on your chest.

Taeyong gives his cock a few jerks as he watches you turn around and sit on your knees, with a slight tilt forward and the arch in your back to accentuate your ass.

His hands lightly smack your cheeks and slowly enters your dripping hole. His hands grip your hips as he slides deeper into you, both being moaning messes at the delicious feeling.

When his length is fully buried inside of your tight walls, he wraps an arm around your waist and a hand on your tit. “After all the times you’ve been fucked, your pussy is still as tight as ever.”

Taeyong slams hard into you, showing no mercy and causing you to jolt up. “But you take me so well, darling. I’ve never seen someone as pretty as you.”

His compliments cause your heart to soar, despite the soreness you’re beginning to feel in your pussy. He’s relentless, bottoming out until his tip is practically in your guts. “Oh fuck, yeah... just like that. Shit."

Your knees give out as you fall face forward into the mattress, hands in fists from the incredible pleasure of every hit. Your ass now in his full view and every tingle of magic lights up in his veins.

Your throat is raw from screaming and moaning, Taeyong holds your hips steady to thrust into a new angle. Automatically, your body twitches as his tip hits your special spot and he’s well aware that you’re close to releasing.

Taeyong lifts your limp body upright, against his torso and an arm secured around your middle as before. His hand snakes to your clit, rubbing feathering circles over the neglected bud.

Nonetheless, his single action paired with his tip grazing harshly against the particular spot causes your legs to tremble. “Do you want me to stop?” His threat rings in your ears when you still left him without an answer.

You’re so close, you’re starting to see white. "Fuck fuck fuck. I'm so c-"

“I’ve got you. Let go of yourself, baby.” Taeyong slows his hips when your walls squeeze around him sporadically.

He whispers, cumming inside of you. He pulls out and gently tucks you into the covers.Breathless, you stare at him. "Taeyong..."

"Yeah?" He lays next you.

"That was so good," you run a hand through your hair. "So good."

He smirks. "I know."

(...)

You eye the roses placed within the glass vase situated in the center of the table. The Elie Saab gown that hugs your body has everyone's eyes on you.  

This gala is for the Magazine's Anniversary, people from different parts of the world are there and none of them can't stop congratulating you for the great work you are doing.

Taeyong and Doyoung are wearing matching red suit bows and they seem very pleased to be talking with Kim Lee, a beautiful fashion blogger. She is gorgeous and her dress is sexily revealing. You understand why your two boyfriends are too focused on her. Or her tits.

You feel a bit jealous but since they are too busy with Kim, you can also make yourself busy. You grab two glasses of champagne and walk to Yuta, the editor of the magazine in Japan.

Yuta is beautiful, you cannot deny it. His facial features are soft. Sharp cheekbones and his body is thinned out, but you can notice his defined muscles underneath his suit.

You place a hand on his shoulder to call his attention and he turns to you. He smiles. "Hey you. You disappeared."

"Sorry about that. I had to greet more people," you apologise. "Want a glass of champagne?"

"Of course," he says and you hand him a glass. He grabs it and has a sip. "The party is amazing. I love it."

You smirk. "Thank you so much. I'm happy you made it."

One of the corners of his lips lifts. "I would have never missed one of your parties, miss (Y/L/N)."

He's flirting. You know it. And you don't mind since Doyoung and Taeyong's eyes are still focused on Kim Lee, all smiley.

You give a gentle smile. "Just (Y/N), please."

He nods. "Okay, (Y/N)." Yuta winks at you. "By the way, you look incredible tonight. Respectfully, of course."

You beam. "Thank you, but please stop complimenting me. I'm blushing."

He chuckles. "There's no way I can't stop complimenting such a beautiful woman like you."

Across the room, Doyoung hears your laughter and he looks for you; you are standing in front of Yuta, who is watching you like his last meal. While laughing, you put a hand on his shoulder which makes Doyoung enraged. Something's snappening inside of him.

Why the hell are you flirting with another man? Taeyong seems to realize where Doyoung's gaze is focused and frowns. He then laughs. "I can't believe she's giving us a taste of your own medicine."

Doyoung runs a hand through his hair. "I hope she still has energy when we get home."

Taeyong cocks an eyebrow. "What are you planning?"

"You'll see," Doyoung looks at him.

(...)

You leave Yuta alone again so you can go to the restroom. As you're fixing your makeup in front of the mirror, someone enters and locks the door. You turn just to see a not very pleased Doyoung walking to you. You smile. "You're in the wrong restroom, sweetie."

He tilts his head to the side, watching you. "You know why I'm here, love."

You shake your head, playing dumb. "Is something wrong?"

Doyoung sighs, irritated. He walks close to you a few steps and when he's close enough to you, he grabs your chin lifting it up, so your eyes are at his level. "You're fucking mine, (Y/N). Do you get it? I hated seeing you flirting with that asshole."

You bite your lip, looking at him playfully. "I was just doing what you were doing, sweetie."

He groans and clenches your jaw a little, not so much as to hurt it. You whimper. Then Doyoung groans, releasing you. "Just wait until we get home."

"Why don't you show me here?" You put your arms around his neck. "I'm horny. Yuta got me horny." You tease.

Doyoung growls and by the next second, you are pinned to a wall with Doyoung's hands on your waist, his grip is strong. "Don't fucking push me or I'll fuck your soul out right here."

"Then do it," you lick your lips.

Doyoung keeps a hand firmly pressed on your waist. He pulls you flat against him and stares down at you

Your hands run up his chest, feeling each curve through his tuxedo. You wrap your arms around his waist and pull him down to let your lips meet.

Doyoung moves his lips against yours, roughly. He roughly sucks your bottom lip between his before pulling away. "You're lucky you're wearing that long dress."

You pout. "I can bend over."

He giggles and places kisses on your neck. "Save that energy for tonight because you're not getting any sleep. I promise," he whispers to your ear and you gulp because Doyoung always keeps his promises.

#taeyong imagine #taeyong smut #taeyong x reader #doyoung smut #doyoung imagine #doyoung x reader #dotae smut #dotae x reader #yuta smut #donghyuck smut #nct imagine #nct smut #nct 127 smut

[vannahfanfics]

Atlas and Pleione

Category: Romance

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Characters: Shoto Todoroki, Momo Yaoyorozu

Hey, everyone! Here is my second story for the @todobowlbang! I had the pleasure of again working with @danyartime​, so make sure you check out her absolutely gorgeous art!

The pattering of the rain drummed in Shoto’s ears, filling his consciousness with white noise that was only interrupted by the rumbling of thunder overhead and the squeaks of his soles as he trudged down the water-slicked sidewalk. The water streamed over his form, slicking his bicolored locks to his forehead and running in rivulets down his pale face to soak into the fabric of his hero uniform. His shoulders hunched as if he bore the weight of the world; perhaps he was not Atlas incarnate, but Shoto did feel burdened, and this torrential deluge was simply the latest of many tribulations that he had faced throughout the day. The cold and wet mattered not, for his troubled mind barely perceived the sensations as it was too ladened by weariness and toil. All Shoto could think about was getting home, of shedding his costume and the mantle of hero for at least a little while. 

The white metal gate squeaked as he pushed it open, the hinges noisy due to the water saturating the metalworkings. The front yard was sodden with rain puddles spilling over onto the path of stone circles leading up to the porch; Shoto carefully picked his way across, careful not to slip on the smooth convex surfaces of the garden decor. He was relieved to feel the solid wood underneath his feet as he slowly, achingly mounted the three steps onto the veranda attached to his house. The porch swing swayed back and forth in the whistling wind, and Shoto’s aching knees protested for a moment, enticed by the promise of soft cushions— rain-soaked though they may be. However, Shoto persevered to stumble up to the front door, leaning against the frame for a second as the cold sapped the last bit of his strength. 

He pressed his forehead against the wood, closing his eyes as he breathed in ragged breaths. The water cascaded from his hair, streaming down the painted door in thick droplets. He was so exhausted that he momentarily entertained just curling up on the floor right there, whether he caught cold or not. Just as the last dregs of energy were about to melt from his body and allow his knees to buckle him into a heap, he heard something soft and sweet drifting through the wood. 

She’s singing, he thought with a sleepy smile as he heard the wordless melody drifting through the wood, carrying the warmth of home with it. He could hear her moving too, shuffling through the entryway as she passed from the living room to the kitchen. If he used his imagination, he could even fantasize the smell of what she was cooking; probably sweet-and-spicy curry, her favorite to make on rainy days like this. Shoto’s mouth watered at the promise of soft rice and savory meat steeped in thick, creamy sauce; guided by the phantasm of food, his hand gripped the doorknob and turned. As the door yielded, he stumbled over the threshold like a zombie, his primitive brain thinking only of dinner and the embrace of his loving wife. 

“Shoto?” came her honey-sweet voice from the kitchen, where she was probably stirring a pot on the stove. Oblivious to the water puddling with each one of his unsteady steps, he shambled down the hallway, dropping his house keys into the little ceramic bowl on the dresser on muscle memory alone. “Honey? Is that you?” she called again, louder. He thought he had answered, but maybe he hadn’t. He was so tired. His thoughts were blurring, and his vision too; the entryway blended together in a mess of colors and shapes, making him groan and sway dizzily. He slumped against the wall, smearing water across its surface as he leaned heavily against it and fought hard to remain conscious. 

“I’m so tired,” he whispered aloud, or maybe that was in his head. Was that a headache coming along? Or was that the rapid footsteps of his wife approaching? As the colors distorted, he reached out compulsively, hoping it was his lover’s blurry form approaching. He smiled dreamily as he felt her fingers link with his, squeezing tight as her other hand— so warm— smoothed over his pale, clammy cheek. 

“Shoto, honey!” Momo gasped in alarm. In his addled state, her voice was like an analgesic, sending him drifting into a dreamy state of euphoria. 

“Momo,” he slurred as he slipped forward, slumping against her. Momo squeaked and just managed to catch him, spreading her feet apart a little to brace herself against the man’s superior bulk. She laughed nervously as he nuzzled into her neck, breathing in her scent. He always thought she smelled like Earl Grey and vanilla, and no matter how many times the pleasant aroma graced his nose, it was just as intoxicating as the first time. “‘M home…” 

“Yes, I can see that,” she chuckled, realizing that he was unharmed and just thoroughly exhausted. She rubbed his back soothingly through the sodden fabric of his uniform; every stroke of her slim, manicured fingers sent warmth blooming over his cold skin, like fire-bursts erupting over a cold tundra. “Hard day?” she asked knowingly, and Shoto nodded into her shoulder in response. Momo tutted understandingly and pressed a kiss to his temple, leaving her lips lingering there for a moment as she allowed him to rest against her. Even just her bearing his weight for a few minutes restored a little bit of strength to him, enough for his clouded mind to clear and allow the sun of lucidity to shine again. 

“Cold…” 

“Let’s get you out of these clothes, honey.” Though his wearied body desired nothing more than to collapse against Momo for the rest of the night, Shoto forced himself to straighten back up, finally getting a clear look at his wife. She was wearing her favorite apron— the one with flowers on it that he’d gotten for her birthday— with a simple cotton dress underneath. Her long black hair was piled up on her head and tucked into place with a pair of decorative pins. Such a domestic look, and yet to Shoto she looked nothing short of a radiant goddess. Already, he was reaching out to hold her hips and snuggle her close, but she gently pushed his hands away. 

“You’re soaking wet, Shoto,” she reminded with a small giggle. Her hands painted patterns in his wet palms for a second before running up his arms, over his shoulders, to his front so she could slowly ease the temperature-stabilizing apparatus off his back. It fell to the floor with a clunk. Her hands skipped down his front, traversing the planes of his pectorals and abdominals, before deftly unclasping his belt to allow it to fall to the floor too. She paused for a moment and Shoto peered at her through slitted eyes, meeting her own gaze that glimmered with affection and adoration. She kissed his nose, then his cheeks, then his lips before pulling back ever-so-slightly. “Thank you for coming home to me.” 

Shoto’s eyes watered a little bit, the exhaustion making him a little emotional. Momo always told him that, every time he came home from hero duty, and he did the same for her. It was an unspoken promise to return home to the other no matter the circumstances, to fight through whatever danger they must to keep that vow. Shoto groaned and pushed forward, burying his face into her plume of downy-soft black hair and breathing in that smell of tea and vanilla he loved so damn much. 

“Of course. Always. Thank you for waiting here for me, my love.” 

“Always,” she echoed with another gentle kiss to his neck, her deft fingers pulling on the zipper of his costume to expose his chest. “You’ve fought so hard today. Let me take care of you, darling,” she whispered against the crook of his neck, making goosebumps rise wherever her warm breath ghosted over her skin.

Shoto had no qualms about that. If there was ever anyone he would completely surrender to, it would be her. She peeled the wet fabric away from his cold skin, shimmying it down his body until he was left in his boxers. Shoto stepped out of the sodden blue fabric as it fell to the floor with a wet slap. Momo wound her arms around his middle, stroking up and down his back with her fingertips as she pressed into him; as her body heat bloomed across his skin, chasing away the cold that had seeped down into his bones, Shoto groaned under his breath and hugged her tight. 

“Love you,” he mumbled into her hair. He felt her body shake as she chuckled heartily. 

“I love you, too,” she hummed, painting invisible patterns in the valley between his shoulder blades and leaning her cheek against his shoulder. They held each other like that for a minute, ignoring the water puddling around his rain-drenched clothes, before she quietly uttered, “Do you want to talk about it?” As she felt Shoto’s body go rigid, she hastily added, “You don’t have to, honey.” The tension melted from him then, and he slumped more against her. 

“... Not yet. Just be with me, please?” 

“Of course,” she nodded, but paradoxically pulled herself away from him. When Shoto tried to grab her again, a pitiful pout appearing on his features, she laughed and held him at bay with two hands on his chest. “I have to go turn off the curry. Why don’t you go get in bed, and I’ll meet you there in a minute?” When Shoto looked down at the clothes seeping water over the wood, she cupped his chin, tilting his face back up. “Don’t worry about that. I’ll clean it up. You’ll get cold again soon, standing out here in your underwear,” she said teasingly before skipping away like a fairy, the strings of her apron jumping as she bounced back into the kitchen. The chills beginning to propagate over his body trumped his desire to follow, so he immediately trudged to the back of the house, where their shared bedroom lay. 

He moaned shamelessly as he slipped into the freshly-washed sheets and down comforter, which smelled of the lavender fabric softener Momo liked to use. Face buried in the pillow with only the crown of his head peeking out above the fabric, Shoto relished in the warmth beginning to cocoon him. He was already beginning to drift off to sleep when Momo came. He grunted in protest as she pulled the comforter away from his head, only to find it replaced with a soft, fluffy towel. 

“Can’t have you catching a cold,” she laughed gently as she rubbed his hair with the towel. Shoto laid still, enjoying the gentle motions of her wringing the water out of his hair with the pleasant-smelling linen. Once she finished, she tossed the towel somewhere across the room and weaved her fingers through his bicolored locks to ease out the knots. A purr rumbled in Shoto’s chest as her fingers gently massaged his scalp too, and his eyelashes fluttered as he cracked an eye open to stare sleepily at her. “Better, love?” 

“I’ve been better since I walked in the door,” he said honestly. He smirked in amusement at the flood of pink that bloomed over her cheeks. Even after all these years, she still flustered so easily. 

“Do you want dinner?” she asked, looking away to hide her blush. Shoto shook his head, rolling on his side to loop his arms around her waist. Her hands came to rest on the top of his head as he nuzzled into her soft belly. 

“No. Jus’ wanna lay with you.” 

“All right,” she said softly. As Shoto scooched back across the bed to make room for her, still hugging her middle, she climbed onto the bed on her knees before shimmying down onto her side, snuggling up close to her husband. She hooked her leg over his, pressing so that every inch of their skin was touching, and Shoto responded by burying his face into her hair again. There were so many things about their relationship that Shoto loved, but the intimacy— the moments like this where he could let down his guard and bear his emotions freely— was perhaps the most important to him. It had always amazed him how Momo so effortlessly opened up her arms and let him in, held him close and whispered encouragement to him, loved him so deeply and wholly and purely that it made his heart ache. 

“Love you,” he repeated shakily and squeezed her tight, craving even more closeness even though it was nigh impossible. This time, Momo just hummed in response, her fingers tracing patterns over the muscles of his back. As her gentle motions and presence guided him down into a sense of calmness and ease, the stress of the day finally melted fully from his body, causing him to release a big sigh. He curled into her, tears brimming on his lashes as he finally began to process what he’d endured out there. 

“... I couldn’t save someone today. A little boy. I tried to get there, but… I just wasn’t fast enough,” he admitted in a hoarse voice. The tears dripped down from his eyes, threading her obsidian hair like dewdrops. He trembled as he fought the urge to retreat back into his shell because if Momo had taught him anything, it was that burying his trauma only made him feel worse in the end. The telling was as cathartic as it was painful. “Everyone told me that it happens sometimes, but… I still felt like such a failure.” 

“Oh, Shoto,” she crooned soothingly, pulling back from him to meet his teary gaze. She gently cupped his cheek, pushing his bangs out of his eyes before stroking his cheek with her thumb. “I know, honey. I probably can’t tell you anything you haven’t heard today.” Shoto leaned into her touch, staring at her miserably. Smiling softly, she pecked him on the nose. “But all the same, you will never be a failure to me. Sometimes we win, and sometimes we lose… What matters is that when things don’t go our way, we find the strength to keep going and make tomorrow a better day.” 

“Tomorrow is a better day,” he echoed slowly. 

“That’s right,” she nodded encouragingly, running her fingers through his hair again. “Even heroes have bad days, love. That doesn’t make you a failure; that just makes you human.” 

“I’m so glad I married the smartest person I know,” Shoto smirked, making Momo laugh and tip back her head. As her slim neck was exposed, ripe for the taking, he swooped in and pressed a few open-mouthed kisses to the smooth skin. She rumbled with a satisfied purr, continuing to stroke her nails along his scalp. After a minute of lavishing her neck in kisses, he relaxed back into her, drinking in that tea-vanilla smell and allowing it to lull him back into a state of drowsiness. 

“Go to sleep,” Momo soothed as she sensed him trying to stave it off in favor of cuddling with her for a few more moments. “I’ll be here when you wake up, love.” 

Tomorrow, when it’s a better day, Shoto finished drowsily, stifling a yawn. It’s true, he supposed, that even heroes had bad days… Some days, he really was Atlas, with the weight of the world bearing down upon his shoulders. But all it took was one glimpse of his Pleione— his Momo— to make him feel completely weightless, free, at peace.

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

#todomomo #shouto todoroki #shoto todoroki #todoroki shot #todoroki shouto #momo yaoyorozu #yaoyorozu momo #my hero academia #mha #boku no hero academia #bnha

[sopherfly]

August Fic Update & Snippet

-peeks out from around the corner- I'm so sorry, friends, real life can be so rude, and there have been other things and people that I needed to prioritize over getting the last chapter of The Shadow Of A Dream done.

HOWEVER. We are making progress. We're at... 14.6k words, so it's going to be a mammoth of a chapter.

There is also ANOTHER OBIKIN FIC IN THE WORKS and it will be incredible and amazing, and hopefully that'll start up in mid-September. 😁

So, to thank you for your incredible patience, have some more 🌶️🔥spicy 🔥🌶️ content while I get back to work.

~

Through the openness in their bond, Anakin saw the instant when Obi-Wan’s grief burned out, igniting like dry brush, transforming inside the flames into sharp, desperate desire. Anakin pulled away with a gasp, surprised at how easily Obi-Wan’s arousal became his own. Breathing heavily into the space between them, Anakin traced his thumb over Obi-Wan’s lower lip, skimming slowly over the skin the same way he had after their first time, and just before their second. It reminded him of all the ways he wanted Obi-Wan; it brought to the front of his mind every desire, every fantasy that he hadn’t dared hope to fulfill, not when their future had been so uncertain.

He allowed himself to hope now, the feeling filling him with longing, and he increased the pressure of his thumb just a little, watching as something bright flared to life in Obi-Wan’s eyes.

“Stop that,” Obi-Wan warned. Their bond was blazing with arousal now, and Anakin felt need coiling hot and tight through his gut, his blood abandoning his brain entirely as he held Obi-Wan’s gaze.

“Or what?” he breathed, the smallest spark of playfulness cutting through the sudden heat between them. He repeated the motion, more deliberately this time, and Obi-Wan exhaled on a shudder.

“Anakin. You’re still recovering.”

“I know,” Anakin whispered. Some part of him knew Obi-Wan was right: this probably wasn’t wise. And yet, Anakin had nothing more to do but heal. What further harm could they cause, as long as they stayed clear of his injuries? How bad could it truly be if his body felt so ready for it?

“We can be careful,” Anakin said, desperation already apparent in his voice. Kriff, how had he gone so quickly from calm to aching? “Just—Obi-Wan, I—I need it. I need you. Please.”

Obi-Wan groaned. “Force, Anakin. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to say no to you?”

“So don’t say no.” He held his breath as he waited for Obi-Wan’s response, searching Obi-Wan’s face, transfixed by the torrent of emotion glittering behind grey eyes. It only took a moment before Obi-Wan gave in, seeking Anakin’s lips and drawing him into a kiss that made his nerves sing.

“If we’re going to do this,” Obi-Wan said as he pulled away, “I need you not to move unless I tell you. Do you understand?” Anakin nodded, the motion fast and eager, and he barely managed to keep his hips from arching up. “If you move, I’ll stop. And if something hurts and you don’t tell me—”

“I’ll tell you,” Anakin interrupted, low and raspy. “I promise.”

“Good.” Obi-Wan brushed the tip of his nose past the corner of Anakin’s mouth, skimming up until their lips were nearly touching, but not quite. Anakin whimpered, willpower alone holding him still, and then Obi-Wan leaned in to whisper in his ear, “Roll onto your back for me.”

A hand on Anakin’s collarbone encouraged him, and he did as he was told, shifting onto his back, then biting his lip when Obi-Wan knelt between his spread legs, hands coming to rest on Anakin’s thighs. Anakin could already see what he was planning, and kriff, he wanted it, wanted Obi-Wan’s hot mouth around his cock, sucking him down, but—

“Wait,” he said, stopping Obi-Wan before he could go further. “Don’t—I have another idea.” He sent the image across their bond, and Obi-Wan groaned again, one hand slipping down to clench in the sheets.

“Anakin…”

“Please,” Anakin begged. “I want you on top of me.”

Anakin saw the words nearly overpower Obi-Wan, his jaw dropping open as his pupils blew wide, and there was something almost dangerous in the way arousal rolled through their bond like an earthquake, powerful enough to destroy the very ground they stood upon. Obi-Wan swallowed, shaking his head once, his grip tightening on Anakin’s thigh as he growled, “You are a menace.”

It wasn’t no, and anticipation thundered through Anakin, their bond rumbling with aftershocks of desire as Obi-Wan leaned down to kiss him breathless, then used the force to summon a tube of bacta and a towel from the other side of the room. The bacta Anakin understood immediately; the towel took his distracted mind longer to figure out, but as Obi-Wan draped it over his chest, covering his tunic to protect both the garment and the bandages underneath, Anakin finally made the connection. Any kind of mess would necessitate a change of those bandages, along with an explanation as to why. Better to avoid that problem altogether.

Anakin smiled a little, impressed by Obi-Wan’s presence of mind. Desire was making his own thoughts fuzzy around the edges; every part of him ached with need, and he wanted so badly to move, to reach out and caress Obi-Wan’s face, then tangle his fingers into Obi-Wan’s hair. By some miracle he managed to follow Obi-Wan’s instructions, watching with heavy-lidded eyes as Obi-Wan removed obi and tabards and tunics, but the compulsion to touch only grew stronger as Obi-Wan slid his trousers down just far enough to free his cock from its confines.

Kriff. Obi-Wan’s cock was beautiful, and Anakin came far too close to sitting up in one fluid motion to take it into his hands. He felt himself tremble with the effort of keeping still, his muscles tensing, his open palms pressing into the sheets where they rested by his sides. “Obi-Wan. Please, I…”

“I know, darling.” Obi-Wan’s fingers slipped under the waistband of Anakin’s trousers, sliding the thin fabric down below Anakin’s knees, and Anakin whimpered as his own cock sprang free to stand at attention, hard and leaking against his stomach. One of Obi-Wan’s hands closed around his shaft, stroking slowly upward, and Anakin couldn’t control the desperate sound pulled from his throat as Obi-Wan’s grip tightened just a fraction.

“Nngh—kriff.” The almost-silent curse didn’t make staying still any easier, and Anakin swallowed hard, whining a little when Obi-Wan released him to gather some of the bacta into his palm. He slicked himself up first, then took hold of Anakin again, his gaze growing sharp when Anakin couldn’t contain a little jerk of his hips.

“Anakin.” Obi-Wan stopped, releasing him, and Anakin whined again at the loss of sensation, the loss of contact. He needed Obi-Wan to be touching him everywhere all at once; he needed Obi-Wan draped over him, surrounding him, coaxing little cries from his lips.

“I know,” Anakin replied breathlessly, “I know.” He willed himself to relax, releasing the tension in his shoulders and hips, showing Obi-Wan through their bond just how pliant he planned to be. “I’m sorry. Please—I won’t move again, I promise.”

You keep showing me things like that and I won’t be able to control myself, Obi-Wan warned, breathing deeply before finally shifting forward. He braced one hand on the bed to the right of Anakin’s chest, his body hovering over Anakin’s, then lowered his hips, reaching down to take them both in hand and stroke their cocks together.

Pleasure shot through Anakin, hurtling across their bond like a comet careening through space, so bright and hot and overwhelming that both of them cried out in the same instant. Need and relief made every sensation sharper, and Anakin hissed through clenched teeth, desperate to arch his hips up and knowing that he couldn’t, not if he wanted Obi-Wan to keep going. And he did. Kriff, he needed it—he needed the warm slide of Obi-Wan’s hand and the feeling of Obi-Wan’s cock held tight against his own.

Part of him wanted to reply to what Obi-Wan had said, to tell him that he didn’t have to control himself, that Anakin didn’t want him to, but the thoughts got lost somehow, burned up by the fire that raged in their bond and the warmth of their mingled breaths. When the urge to hold onto Obi-Wan became too great, Anakin met Obi-Wan’s eyes, his question soft and needy as he whispered it into Obi-Wan’s mind. Master, please. Can—can I—?

Their bond lit up with the image of him clinging to Obi-Wan’s shoulders, hanging onto Obi-Wan’s hair, and the punched-out breath that drew from Obi-Wan was beautiful enough that Anakin committed it to memory, determined never to forget that look on Obi-Wan’s face. “Yes, Anakin.”

Anakin mewled his relief, not entirely blind to the way that the short, high-pitched sound made Obi-Wan weak with want. One hand came to rest on Obi-Wan’s shoulder, the other reaching up to fist gently into his hair, and Obi-Wan moaned, his pace increasing just enough that it was both perfect and maddening.

“Hh-aah,” Anakin gasped, incapable of stopping himself from tilting his head back. “Kriff.”

“Alright?” Obi-Wan asked softly.

“Yes,” he managed, more shaky than he’d intended. Force, he would never understand how Obi-Wan always put Anakin’s comfort and pleasure before his own. Anakin hardly deserved it, and yet, when the thought crossed his mind, Obi-Wan banished it utterly, driving it out with a bruising kiss that made Anakin see stars.

That kiss, paired with the steady movement of Obi-Wan’s hand, brought Anakin far closer to the edge than he’d expected, and he clung tighter, durasteel digging into Obi-Wan’s shoulder, flesh fingers tugging at the roots of Obi-Wan’s hair until Obi-Wan pulled back. “Anakin—you deserve so much more than I’ll ever be able to give you.”

Obi-Wan was wrong, so kriffing wrong that Anakin couldn’t begin to explain, but suddenly Obi-Wan quickened his pace, and Anakin keened, the sound high and sharp as his hips lifted off the bed against his will.

“Fuck,” he gasped, and Obi-Wan had promised to stop if Anakin moved without permission, but this time he didn’t, and Anakin flashed a brief grin at Obi-Wan breaking his own rules, releasing his hold on Obi-Wan’s hair just enough to trace his fingers through it. Obi-Wan’s eyes, impossibly dark, caught on Anakin’s lips, and he looked entirely too affected by something so simple as a smile. Force, Obi-Wan’s love was enough to shatter Anakin apart.

“Master,” Anakin said in warning. This was going to be over embarrassingly soon, but he couldn’t help it; his body was wrung and his nerves were shot, and Obi-Wan was on top of him, staring at him, hanging on his every expression. The twist of Obi-Wan’s wrist was just right, and he must’ve known exactly how close that would get Anakin, must’ve been pushing them both to the edge this quickly on purpose.

“Obi-Wan.” Anakin screwed his eyes shut, just for a moment, but it did little to hold off the cresting wave of his pleasure. “Kriff, I’m sorry, I’m—I’m already close, I—”

He had no idea whether he was asking Obi-Wan to speed up or slow down; he didn’t want this to end, not when it felt so good, not when it was exactly the kind of closeness he needed after almost losing Obi-Wan, but kriff. Even if Obi-Wan backed off completely, he wasn’t sure that he would last. He was already teetering, so close to the precipice that the smallest push would send him tumbling over.

#obikin #obi wan x anakin #obi wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #star wars fanfiction #this is one of 5 times where they have sex in this chapter #and there are feelings and hurt/comfort too #aaaaaaand much more of anakin following obi-wan's orders later on so look forward to that #🔥🔥🔥 #sopherfly writes

[yanderart]

so like.... hitoshi shinso art portrait.. where he forcefully puts our legs on his waist while his abs are shown and he's smirking as we feebly put our hands on his chest, either to brace yourself or to push him away, you never knew.. ;)

First of all, anon,,,

And second off I'm taking these two other shinsou asks I got

And combining them all in a little thirst drabble/concept thingie for good measure.

Incoming drabble (shinsou x reader, dubcon/noncon elements, hinted nsfw) that’ll maybe get turned into a portrait later lol

Listen here, though,,, imagine my concept,,

   Hybrid!shinsou, with a taunting smile that brokers his usually detached demeanor. He's staring straight at you, the bags below his eyes even more pronounced than you remembered. His gaze, heated and intense, gives yours no choice but to return the gesture in kind.

   He's holding you up with his muscled arms, sharp nails leaving bloody indents on your thighs due to a barely contained eagerness. Your breaths come in gasps as he studies your reactions with keen interest.

   You are a mess before him, and only had his heat to thank for it.

   In all honestly, you can barely think as his eyes continue to drift downward. The smell of his powerful scent fogging your thoughts and the heat emanating from his body sending pleasant shivers up yours.

   Somehow, you are overwhelmed by a desire that, at the back of your barely conscious mind, you know is not your own.  

   You were warned against taking in hybrids without the proper measurements, heat suppressants being at the top of most requirements. The shelter even made you sign a waiver before you could take Shinsou home, something which had even seemed laughable when you examined the lanky and sleep deprived hybrid from up close.

   Yet Shinsou was quick to brush it aside once the dust from his move settled, citing how there was no real danger for either of you considering you owned no other hybrids, nor were you of his same species.

   "There's no risks for you. I might be a bit clingy when it happens, but that's all there is to it, really", and the guy was so convincing too, little weasel in disguise that he was.

   You were just a lonesome human female, he continued when he felt trepidation emanating from you still. It wasn't like a hybrid's heat could even affect you.

   If you had been clever enough to do your own research then, to suspect the young feline man of being capable of deceit, then you wouldn't really find yourself in this predicament now. So, so trusting you were. Shinsou truly hit the jackpot with you.

   Actual purrs leave his throat while he admires your writhing form. He takes in the dazed expression in your face, the way your body involuntarily shivers as the logical side of your mind temporarily shuts down. You are at his mercy, plain and simple, and he isn't feeling particularly forgiving.

  A warm sensation extends across your skin as you hear his rumbling grow gravely, demanding. And then there's the unmistakable tingling in your lower abdomen, your underwear rapidly dampening to the horror of what little lucidity you had left.

   "You smell so good", Shinsou murmurs as he strengthens his grip around you, his nails drawing further whines out of you as they sink deeper still. His purple tail sways against your legs before promptly tangling between them. "So good for me", he is burying his face in your hair, audibly inhaling in eagerness, "'wanna taste you so bad."

   You are way past the point of refusing now however, victim to the persuasion of his heat. In such state, the need he infected you with made it so no real objection even dares cross your mind. You are so mindless, his little toy to play with and do as he pleases.

   "Please, Shinsou...", was all that manages to escape your lips, your hands trembling down the outline of his hardened chest, aching for a different hardness pressing up against you altogether. You are still trying to push yourself closer still, impossibly so due to the lack of space left between you two, "Please", you keep begging in needy whines, intoxicated on a foreign desire.

   Your hybrid seems infinitely delighted by your pleads, judging by the kisses that start being scattered against your shoulders. His furry ears tickle your chin and jawline as they twitch, a contented sigh abandoning your lips without permission.

   His kisses there do little to soothe you, to appease the overwhelming need you are experiencing. Nonetheless, you somehow understand by his reaction, the way his own audible need tangles with your own, that you wouldn't be left waiting much more.

   You might be the one currently losing your mind, influenced by such a staggering compulsion, but Shinsou still had to take care of his own urges too.

Yet he can't help but rejoice once more at the fact that you had been the one to adopt him, smile impossibly wider as his hips stutter against your own, his longing growing unbearable. And he was sure you'd understand him too, once the heat passed and the bond between you two was cemented...

  But good luck trying to leave his side after that though. A hybrid never left his mate.

-----

Btw a very belated happy birthday to the third anon, hopefully you had a grand ol' time pal ! This whole drabble is kind of a big tease, but hope y'all enjoyed it regardless 💃💃

 might have to actually turn this into a portrait later on tho. Hybrid!Shinsou be hitting differently

#here yall. have a trashy hybrid drabble i might expand on later lol #shinsou hitoshi #shinsou x reader #yandere bnha #yandere shinsou #shinsou #bnha #bnha imagines #bnha x reader #yanderart 🧠's #which is my writing tag now ig? #asks #anon #tw dubcon #bnha hybrid au

[kandisheek]

I finally finished all of my Kinktober prompts for 2020. If you're in the mood for porn, look no further, I got you covered ;) Featuring Stony (ST), Winteriron (BT) and Stuckony (SBT) content.

Thank you so much to everyone who has read my fics, it means the world to me and I look forward to doing this again next year. Now, on to the porn.

Anal Sex: The Bottom Line (ST) on AO3 Summary: It's still new, this whole relationship with the team, and Steve and Tony haven't really managed to spend any time alone yet. So when they finally have sex a small misunderstanding arises. Steve assumes that Tony wants to bottom, Tony assumes that Steve wants to top. They are both wrong.

Ass Worship: Pecan Spice (ST) on AO3 Summary: Steve loves the way Tony smells when he's in heat. He loves it even more when Tony lets him have a taste.

Blow Jobs: Packing Heat (ST) on AO3 Summary: Tony always notices Steve Rogers, even when he's all but disappearing into the wallpaper at a party. It's time he does something about that.

Cunnilingus: But I Like The Taste (BT) on AO3 Summary: When Toni first sees James Barnes, the man who vibrates with tension at every turn, who can kill a man with his bare hands, a beast caged in a human body, she wants. And as it turns out, Barnes is very much willing to let her take him down. Especially when it involves him getting a taste.

Deepthroating: The Push You Need (ST) on AO3 Summary: Steve keeps seeing finger-shaped bruises on Tony's face. He isn't sure what it says about him that he wants to be the one to put them there.

Dom/Sub: Keep Me There (ST) on AO3 Summary: Tony loves when he gets to do this, make Steve fuck him until he's begging to come, tears streaming down his face.

Edging: As You Wish (ST) on AO3 Summary: Tony practically begged Steve to try one of his favorite fantasies of all time – getting edged when he's in rut. Steve – his alpha boyfriend – is a little skeptical at first, but when Tony's next rut comes he gives him exactly what he wants.

Exhibitionism: Looking Through Walls (SBT) on AO3 Summary: Steve and Bucky are having sex in the kitchen when Tony walks in, gets himself a coffee and walks right back out without seeing them. Steve comes so hard he sees stars. Later Bucky thinks up ways for them to repeat the experience.

Formal Wear: Formal Dining (BT) on AO3 Summary: Tony discovers that Bucky gets off on him acting the part of the rich asshole billionaire. It turns into a Thing™.

Glory Hole: One Hole Glory (ST) on AO3 Summary: Tony hasn't seen a glory hole in years. So when he stumbles across one on a road trip with Steve he can't resist making him an offer.

Hand Jobs: A Helping Hand (BT) on AO3 Summary: On their last mission Tony had to hack into Bucky's arm with Extremis and Bucky can't get the feeling out of his head. He never would've guessed that losing control like that could turn him on so much.

Knife Play: Knife's Edge (BT) on AO3 Summary: Tony gets cornered in a back alley by the winter soldier and has an unexpected reaction to being held at knifepoint. He doesn't think it'll come up again, but after he and Bucky somehow end up in a relationship he probably should've seen it coming.

Lingerie: Blue Lace and Second Chances (SBT) on AO3 Summary: Steve loves looking pretty for Tony. It's something he was too afraid to explore back when he was with Bucky, when being different could've ruined his life. This newfound freedom is one of his favorite things about the future. Then Bucky comes back and Steve discovers that Tony is just as eager to put on pretty things and show off. Luckily Bucky is more than happy to indulge them.

Monsterfucking: My Treasure, My Dragon (ST) on AO3 Summary: It's in Steve's blood, the need to protect what's his, especially the crown jewel of his hoard. He always takes it hard when Tony gets hurt in battle. Or worse, outside of battle. Luckily Tony knows just how to make it better.

Nipple Play: The Stars are Brightly Shining (ST) on AO3 Summary: Steve wants to practice his painting skills on Tony's body and Tony is very inconveniently turned on by the whole thing. It's a challenge not to ruin Steve's hard work by coming all over it but luckily Steve finds a solution that involves a very happy Tony.

Oviposition: Orbit By Default (ST) on AO3 Summary: Tony quickly realizes that the planet he landed on has a huge market for sex trafficked species. It's a blessing that he looks human enough to slip under the radar because he knows the kind of price his species gets sold for. He doesn't expect to meet another alien in the same predicament as him, but when he does they take the advice to 'stick together' a little too literally.  Or: Tony lays eggs, Steve has tentacles, and somehow they fit together perfectly.

Pet Play: Dairy Dream (ST) on AO3 Summary: "I want that come because it's mine," Tony rumbled right in Steve's ear, prompting another shiver. "You're gonna give me as much as I want. And I'm not gonna stop until that beaker is full, do you understand?"

Praise Kink: A Show of Trust (ST) on AO3 Summary: Tony safewords. Steve is there for him, always.

Sex Pollen: Needs Must (ST) on AO3 Summary: An unfortunate bio-bomb accident ends with Tony, Natasha and Clint doused in a dubious chemical. They don't seem too bothered by their sudden desire to mount each other like animals. In fact, Steve is probably more bothered than any of them. He really doesn't get paid enough to deal with this.

Sex Work: Queen Bee (ST) on AO3 Summary: In a world where humanity vaguely works like a beehive Steve is chosen to be the Queen's mate. She's not quite what he expects.

Scars: I Wouldn't Change A Thing (ST) on AO3 Summary: Steve shows Tony that he doesn't care about his scars. Tony isn't convinced until he is.

Shower Sex: Pouring Up (SBT) on AO3 Summary: You'd think three people having sex in one shower would be a bad idea. (You'd probably be right. But that's not going to stop Bucky.)

Spit-roasting: A Little in the Middle (SBT) on AO3 Summary: It's highly unusual for an omega to have multiple alphas because they can easily get competitive and possessive. Still, Tony is making it work with Steve and Bucky and they couldn't be happier. But even though his alphas have been best friends forever they still have problems when it comes to sharing Tony during his heat. Luckily there's enough Tony for everyone.

Temperature Play: Closer For Warmth (ST) on AO3 Summary: Steve picked up a perfectly formed ice cube, holding it up for Tony to see. “Open your mouth.” Tony's tongue wrapped around the cube as Steve fed it to him, visibly rolling it around his cheeks. Steve lay back on the bed, spreading his legs with a smile. "Now kiss me."

Threesome: Brought High and Dropped Low (SBT) on AO3 Summary: After seventy years of separation Steve and Bucky get a little emotional when they have sex for a second first time. Tony kind of feels like he's third-wheeling until his boyfriends reassure him – very thoroughly – that he's not.

Toys: Pick Your Poison (SBT) on AO3 Summary: It doesn't take Tony long to notice that Bucky has a problem with choice. After his conditioning he apparently feels like he can't give Steve what he needs anymore, can't be the partner he deserves. So he only joins Steve and Tony on dates, staying away from anything sexual. It's frustrating for all of them. Thankfully Tony is a genius. And letting Bucky backseat-dominate Steve through Tony might just work.

Uniforms: Don't Bolt, You Know The Drill (ST) on AO3 Summary: Officer Stark has an accident in his police car and his superior won't let him repair it himself, which is just a waste of time and money, really. But as it turns out the mechanic he consults is hella cute and Tony really needs more reasons to keep seeing him, even if that involves playing dumb and destroying his own property.

Vibrator: Seaward on the Waves (ST) on AO3 Summary: Tony gets saved from drowning by a merman which, up until that point, he didn't even know existed. He is especially surprised when that merman has no compulsions about being the first of his species to ever have sex with a human. In fact, the mer seems pretty excited about it. Tony knows an opportunity when he sees one.

Voyeurism: Look, No Deal (SBT) on AO3 Summary: Steve is curious what gay sex would feel like. Bucky is convinced that no man could ever enjoy getting fucked up the ass. Tony proves him wrong.

Watersports: When It Rains It Pours (ST) on AO3 Summary: They've been stuck in traffic for a while when Steve says he really has to pee. But the next rest stop is miles away and they can't really stop in the middle of the highway. Tony didn't expect just how much watching Steve struggle to keep control of his body would turn him on.

And the bonus fic where I chose the kinks myself: Purely For Research (ST) on AO3 Summary: When Steve and Tony get kidnapped by aliens, ostensibly for scientific reasons, Tony learns something about Steve's body that even Steve didn't know was possible.

[thebrotherssalvatore321]

Keeping Secrets Ch. 49

Keeping Secrets Masterlist

“You’re back.” Elijah said with a smirk on his face when Katie walked through the front doors of the compound that led straight into the courtyard where Elijah sat in a black suit, light blue shirt and a black tie reading a book.

“I’m back.” Katie said with a smile and a look around the place. “And you’re wearing a suit.” He closed his book and sat it on the table. “The laid back look didn’t suit you. Pun intended.”

Elijah just shook his head at her bad joke as he stood up and walked over to her where she’d stopped next to the fountain. “How was your trip?” he asked as he held his hand out for her bag.

“It was good, but I’m happy to be home.” She answered as he took her duffle bag off of her shoulder.

“So where is Niklaus?” he asked as they started up the stairs to Katie and Klaus’s quarters.

“Father Kieran asked for a meeting as soon as we returned.” Katie answered as they came to the door and she pushed it open. “So how was your Klaus free week?”

“Quiet.” He answered with a bit of a smirk as he put her bag down next to the door.

“A good quiet or I’m bored out of my freaking mind quiet?” she asked curiously as she sat down on one of the two couches in the sitting room.

“Good quiet.” He answered with a bit of a nod as he sat down on the couch across from her.

“Good.” Katie said with a small smile.

Things had fallen comfortably quiet between them for a few minutes when Elijah looked around. “I just realized there is not a t.v. in your quarters.”

“Yeah, so?” she asked with a confused shake of her head.

“So, how can you watch your man if there’s not a t.v. in your room?” he asked with a smirk.

“My man?” she asked, still confused.

“The crossbow wielding man with angel wings on his back and in dire need of a bath.” He described making Katie wrinkle her nose at the memory of her telling Elijah that Daryl Dixon from The Walking Dead was her man. “Or do you only have eyes for Klaus these days?”

“Yes, I only have eyes for Klaus, but I am also a red blooded American woman who can’t deny that Daryl Dixon is very attractive.” Katie told him honestly.

“And who pray tell is Daryl Dixon?” Katie heard Klaus’s voice behind her and turned to see him walk into the room having caught the end of her sentence.

“A fictional character from her favorite t.v. show.” Elijah answered for her as he stood up and Klaus walked around the couch and sat down next to her. “Blue eyes, dirty blond hair, questionable people skills…It seems she has a type.” Elijah said then saw himself out.

“You know, now that I think about it, the guy that plays Daryl is also an artist. Maybe I do have a type.” She thought out loud.

“You’re trying to make me jealous aren’t you?” Klaus asked with a glare to which she just held up her fingers in a pinching manner with a devious smile.

He glared at her and let a low, playful growl rumble up from his throat. “Okay,” she laughed, holding her hands up in surrender, “before you go all Big Bad Wolf on me…what did Father Kieran need?”

“He asked me to compel Camille to leave town.” He told her and she frowned. “The look on your face tells me I was right to seek your council before compelling her.”

“Why does he want her to leave town exactly?” she asked as she turned, pulling one of her knees up on the couch to face him.

“It seems compelling her to sleep easy and accept that her brother simply snapped, hasn’t had the desired effect. Her pursuit of what happened to her memories is leading her closer and closer to the dangerous truth. Father Kieran doesn’t want her to get mixed up in our world. I’ve stopped compelling her since moving here, but it’s too late. If I don’t compel her to leave she will get mixed up in all of this and you know better than anyone what happens to the people that get pulled into our world.” He explained.

“I also know that unfortunately some people are just meant to get mixed up in our world and will do so no matter what compulsion is worked on them.” She added. “Take Jeremy for example. Damon compelled him to leave town and forget about Vicki. He did, but Kol found him and pulled him back in. You can compel Cami to leave, but if someone wants to get to Father Kieran again they will just go after her and pull her back in. I’m not sure compelling her to leave and taking away her choice in the matter is the answer.”

“So do you think we should just let her find out the truth on her own?” he asked curiously.

“I think you should ask her what she wants. It was clear when I met her that she felt like she was going insane and compelling her to leave won’t fix that or the gaps in her memory.” She answered.

“Have you been compelled before?” Klaus asked.

“Nope and I hope it never happens. Which is why I picked up this while we were in the mansion.” She said as she pulled her vervain necklace from Damon out of her pocket. I figured since I can’t ingest vervain I could wear it just in case.” She explained.

He took in a deep breath and breathed it out. “So exactly what do you suggest I do?”

“Let her remember everything.” She started.

“She will despise me.” he pointed out.

“Maybe, but there’s also the chance that by letting her have a say and giving her back her free will she won’t. She may even choose for you to cover up everything supernatural with a story fabricated by her and choose to leave on her own. But I firmly believe it needs to be an educated decision on her part and that you need to respect her decision whatever it may be.”

“It will anger the priest if she doesn’t leave.” He pointed out.

“Just because he is her family doesn’t mean he knows what’s best for her or that he gets to dictate her life.” Katie shrugged. “Telling her everything includes that her uncle knows about vampires and witches. I didn’t agree with Elena messing with Jeremy’s memories and I didn’t use compulsion a lot when I was a vampire for a reason. I don’t like playing god and messing with people’s free will.” Klaus sighed and turned away from her as he leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped. “You know, just because you come to me for advice, doesn’t mean I’ll get mad if you don’t take it. I trust you to do whatever you think is best.”

“I’m just trying to figure out if I should warn Father Kieran of what I intend to do before we talk to Cami.” He said then sat up and looked at her.

“We?” Katie asked.

“I would like you to come with me. My presence tends to put her on edge however last I checked you managed to win her favor.” He told her with a look in his eyes that told her he was set on taking her advice.

“Okay.” She gave him a nod. “I’ll go with you.”

TVDTVDTVD

Katie stood next to Klaus who knocked on the door of Cami’s apartment. After a few seconds she answered, looking confused for a second before she remembered them. “What do you want?” she asked him with a glare, her eyes darting back and forth between the couple.

“We just want to talk.” Katie told her.

“According to your uncle you are on edge and not yourself.” Klaus added.

“And you’re here to what, compel me not to be?” Cami asked as she crossed her arms over her chest.

“Actually I was going to take your uncle’s advice and compel you to leave town. However after discussing things, we,” he looked at Katie then back at Cami, “believe that wouldn’t clear the root of your anxiety.” Klaus stated. “May we come in for a chat?” he asked with a motion inside considering the couple was still standing in the hallway.

“Sure, why not.” She answered sarcastically and stepped aside letting them in.

After explaining everything to her, she stared at them with tears in her eyes. “My uncle has known what happened to Sean this whole time?” she asked with a whisper and Katie nodded. “Why are you telling me about all of this if I’m just going to forget it when you leave?”

“Because we want to give you a choice in the matter.” Klaus answered then looked at Katie.

“Knowing what you do about this city is dangerous.” Katie took over. “It may very well mean the death of you, but we don’t want to manipulate you anymore. You can choose to remember everything, a little or nothing at all.” Katie explained. “Point is…how much you want to remember, if you leave or stay…it’s your choice.”

Cami just stared at them. “You do not have to decide today.” Klaus told her

“I want to remember, everything about everyone.” Cami answered, her stunning green eyes wide and watery.

“You’re sure?” Katie asked, needing to know that this was truly what she wanted.

“I’m positive.” Cami answered with a wide eyed nod.

“Okay.” Klaus answered then moved to kneel in front of Cami, placed his fingertips on her cheek and looked her in the eyes. “You will no longer forget about us when we leave your sight and you will remember everything. You…are…free.”

As Klaus stood up Cami blinked out of the compulsion then looked up at him. “Thank you, both of you.” when she looked at Katie she gave her a nod and a small smile.

“You’re welcome, although I’m sure your uncle will not be happy with me.” Klaus replied.

“Probably not, but he’ll just have to get over it.” Cami said as she stood up and crossed her arms over her chest with a smirk.

TVDTVDTVD

“What do you think about me letting Thierry out of the garden?” Klaus asked as they walked into their quarters.

“I don’t know.” Katie answered as she set her shoulder bag on the table by the door. “He’s only in there because you set him up. So he doesn’t really belong there, but at the same time if you let him out he might want revenge.”

“Or perhaps if I issue him a pardon he will be thankful enough to not try anything stupid.” He countered as he grabbed her hips and pulled her close.

“I’ve never met Thierry.” She answered as she slipped her hands up his chest and wrapped her arms around his neck. “It’s totally your call.”

“What about if I tell you I’m thinking about asking Diego to lead a rousting of the caldron?” he asked with a look at her eyes.

“Why?” she asked.

“With the loss of Davina we no longer have the edge over the witches. Not only will a rousting keep up the morale, but it will remind the witches who is in charge.” He answered. “I’m also hoping Marcel might join them. Getting back at the witches might do him some good.”

“If it will entertain the men and keep them happy along with keeping the witches on their toes then I say have at it.” Katie answered then pecked him on the lips.

TVDTVDTVD

Katie stood to the side of the courtyard watching as Klaus walked in with Thierry and announced to the handful of the top men that Thierry had been pardoned. They all clapped and welcomed Thierry home. “Well, you’re in a good mood.” Marcel said from where he sat at one of the patio tables with a bottle of bourbon and a glass. “You should visit Mystic Falls more often.”

“Well, as much as I’d like to, I have pressing responsibilities here.” Klaus said then got the attention of the people around him. “Now, as you all know, the witch Davina is no longer with us. Without Davina we can no longer monitor the activity of our witch neighbors. However, since their harvest failed their magic will soon be gone forever.”

Elijah walked up to stand beside Katie with his hand tucked into the pockets of his suit pants. “Was letting Thierry out your idea?”

“No, it was his.” Katie answered not looking away from Klaus.

“And the rousting?” Elijah asked.

“Also his idea to keep the witches on their toes and lift morale.” She answered seeing Marcel grab his bottle and walk away, not interested in the rousting. “Although it’s not working for Marcel, not that I thought it would.”

TVDTVDTVD

Katie, Elijah, Klaus, Diego and a few of the daywalkers stood in the courtyard looking at the two desiccated daywalkers that were killed at the rousting. A small symbol carved on their foreheads. “Someone will die for this.” Klaus stated.

Elijah kneeled, looking at the forehead of one of the men. “Remarkably, I don’t disagree. However I would like to know where they learned such dark magic.” Elijah stood up and turned to Klaus who stood next to Katie with his hand on her lower back. “I had hoped never to see that symbol again.”

“I recall it is the signature of a fool who once stood against us. Clearly, some upstart witch is salvaging old tricks. I’ll do for him as I did the other.” Klaus said then walked over to Diego. “Diego, when night falls, I want you to gather every vampire in the quarter. Get me the head of whoever did this and put it on a stick.”

“Yeah, that’s gonna be a problem.” Diego replied and Katie frowned. “Everyone’s freaked out man. We haven’t had witches killing vampires in a long time. Marcel made sure of that.”

“Marcel has run off like a scared child.” Klaus replied and clapped his hand down on Diego’s shoulder. “You lot are left with me.” he took his hand off Diego’s shoulder and back away, turning his eyes to the other daywalkers. “Now, who of you will fight to defend our home?” no one said anything. “Not a single one of you will stand with me. So afraid are you of this new threat? You should know better.” Klaus looked away from them to Katie to see her giving the daywalkers a frowning glare. “I’ll handle this myself.”

Katie and Elijah watched Klaus walk out like the man on a mission that he was. Katie looked at the daywalkers, scoffed with a roll of her eyes and started to walk off. “You got something to say, queen?” the female daywalker with dark hair spiked up into a mohawk asked.

“Actually yeah, I do.” Katie answered as she walked over. “You were all given the privilege of a daylight ring to protect this city. And now when you’re needed most you tuck your tails and hide? The hell kind of soldier cowers from a fight?”

“The kind that doesn’t bow to Klaus Mikaelson.” The tough looking brunette standing next to the mohawked woman answered. “And Marcel advised us to stay out of the fight with the witches.”

“Marcel is stuck in a cloud of grief and not thinking clearly. Or did you all forget how much he cared about Davina?” Katie asked with furrowed brows. “The fact of the matter is your people, your fellow vampires, are being threatened and you’re just going to stand back and watch. How is that the right thing to do?”

“Is right because it keeps us safe.” Mohawk girl argued.

“Oh my god.” Katie laughed with a look at Elijah as she threw her hands up in frustration. “Why do I even bother when it’s clear you are all a bunch of selfish fools?” as she turned toward the stairs she saw Diego look at her as if he agreed with her then back at his people. Contrary to the tone he took with her at the dinner Klaus threw when they first moved back into the compound, Katie actually liked Diego. Of course he was loyal to Marcel, but he also seemed to have a good head on his shoulders. Elijah followed her up to what she was starting to think of as the common room. She made herself comfortable on the couch and Elijah went to the bar in the corner of the room and poured himself a drink. “Should I have kept my mouth shut?”

“No.” Elijah answered without a second thought. “You are their queen and as such you have the right to speak your mind.”

“But what if what I have to say isn’t the right thing or if I make things worse?” she asked with a sigh. “You and Klaus built this place, you both have experience at being leaders. I’m just a weirdo that lived two lives and has never been given authority over anything before.”

“Based on what I just witnessed, I believe you will do just fine.” Elijah answered honestly as he walked over and sat in the armchair across from her. Katie just grabbed a throw pillow as she leaned her head back then pressed it to her face with a groan. Elijah smirked at her dramatics.

TVDTVDTVD

When night fell Katie started to worry about Klaus and went down to the courtyard to wait and found Elijah pacing with his phone to his ear. When he pulled it away and hung up Katie gave him a look that asked what was wrong. “Rebekah’s not answering her phone.”

“You worried about her?” Katie asked as she tucked her hands into the front pocket of the dark grey hoodie with a pink Under Armour symbol of the front of it.

“Frankly I’m worried that she had something to do with this. She’s very displeased with Niklaus.” He told her with a worried frown.

“Well, she does love to conspire against him.” Katie said with a tilt of her head.

“Yes and I believe this time she’s had help.” He told her as he turned his eyes to Thierry, sitting at a patio table by himself in the courtyard littered with other vampires, mostly night walkers lounging around. “Thierry, is it?” Elijah asked as he and Katie walked over to him.

“That’s right.” Thierry answered skeptically.

“My sister is rather fond of you. It's strange, she’s not typically drawn to unremarkable men.” Thierry looked at him with fear in his eyes. “Would you care to explain your sudden magnetism?”

“I don’t know what you’re-” with a woosh Elijah grabbed Theirry by his neck and pinned him to the wall of the arching hallway that led to the front doors.

“You can either tell me what you know or I can distribute tiny pieces of you throughout the quarter.” Elijah told him as Katie rushed over to them.

“She asked me to keep and eye out on witch stuff.” Thierry answered with a groan. “I found something and when I showed her we were jumped by some guy. He desiccated her with his touch.”

Elijah who had loosened his grip a little while Thierry was talking slammed his head back into the wall again. “Like a coward, you left her.”

“What was I supposed to do, fight some warlock that took out an original?” Thierry asked in fear of his life.

Katie pushed her hair back out of her face. “Where did you leave Rebekah?”

“The docks, warehouse 57.” Thierry answered while looking at Elijah. “I was just doing what she asked.” He looked at Katie. “You cannot tell Klaus about this.”

Elijah threw Thierry head first into the wall behind them. “We shall take that into consideration.” He gave Katie a smirk then started for the doors.

“Take me with you.” Elijah turned and gave her a look that told her she was out of her mind. “As much as I like my home I don’t feel safe in it without you, Klaus or Rebekah here. It’s no secret these people don’t like me.”

Elijah pondered it for a moment. “You do not leave my side, understand?”

“Yep.” She answered, popping the p at the end of the word as she headed for the door.

Elijah grabbed her hand, stopping her. “I am serious.”

“I know, Elijah, but you and your brother need to remember that while I am human and pregnant I’m not made of glass. I know my limits.”

He took his hand off her wrist. “Very well then.” He pulled the large wooden door open and waved her out.

TVDTVDTVD

They found Rebekah in the warehouse lying in the center of a salt circle with other witchy symbols drawn in salt, and a dead snake inside of it. When they tried to step inside it and get her out they hit an invisible wall. “Of course there would be a boundary spell keeping us out.” Katie sighed then kicked the wall.

Elijah saw the symbol on her forehead. “Someone’s channeling her. Typically it’s a lethal process, but because she’s an original, she can’t die. Instead she’s an endless source of power.”

“You wouldn’t happen to know how to break this kind of boundary spell would you?” Katie asked and he shook his head, his brown eyes wide with worry. “I’ll call Bonnie, you try Sophie.” He gave her a nod and they both pulled out their cell phones.

Sophie answered before Bonnie so Katie gave up and listened to Elijah talking to Sophie who was on speaker phone. “You’re not listening. We cannot enter the circle. There’s some kind of confinement spell or… If I can’t remove her, we can’t break the link.” Elijah explained.

“It’s a convoluted spell. It’s like a witch’s recipe. You can spoil the balance by adding a more potent ingredient, a mystical binding agent.” As Sophie spoke, Elijah turned to Katie with wide eyes then kneeled near the circle. “I don’t know, volcanic ash, rock salt, anything up to and including eye of newt.”

“What about the blood of a witch?” Elijah asked and Katie placed her hands on her stomach.

“Do you have the blood of a witch?” Sophie asked, confused and Elijah hung up on her as he looked from the circle to Katie. “I need a favor.”

Without a second thought Katie held her hand out to Elijah and watched as he took it and bit the fleshy part of her hand between her pinky and wrist. Like usual Katie didn’t even flinch from the pain his sharp fangs piercing her soft skin caused. When they held her hand over the outer line of salt and dripped her blood on it the salt started to bubble and smoke, working its way around the circle back to her blood droplets. “Did it work?” Her question was answered when Elijah stepped into the circle, picked up Rebekah and whooshed her out of it.

“So I’m guessing you want me to keep the fact that Rebekah is conspiring with Thierry to myself?” Katie asked as she slid into the passenger seat of Elijah’s Lincoln.

“Yes.” Elijah answered as he shut the back driver’s side door having laid Rebekah in the back seat. “If you wouldn’t mind.”

“I don’t like keeping secrets from him, but…” she paused as she grabbed the seat belt strap and buckled herself in, “he has asked me to let him worry about Rebekah and to not stress over her. So, I will let you two worry about your sister while I worry about whoever is behind these weird marks on people’s heads.”

“His name was Papa Tunde.” Elijah started, then proceeded to tell her about the dark witch and former leader of the French quarter coven in the early twentieth century. How he used sacrificial magic to gain the power needed to make the city the witches once again. But Klaus studied him, figured out his strengths and weakness and in doing so figured out that Papa Tunde was channeling the power of his twin sons, killed them, then killed Papa Tunde.

When Rebekah woke up she informed them that it wasn’t a copycat, Papa Tunde was alive.

TVDTVDTVD

“Elijah has informed me that you had a talk with the inner circle.” Klaus said as he walked out onto the balcony where Katie was sitting on the patio couch looking through Davina’s drawings.

“They poked, I bit back.” She answered honestly as she kept her eyes on the drawings she was flipping through.

“He also said you handled yourself well and did a good job of putting them in their place.” He said as he took the papers from her hands, shut the large folder they were in and set them on the table.

“Yet they didn’t venture out to help you did they?” she asked as he sat down on the couch beside her and pulled her to straddle his lap.

“No,” he answered as she rested her hands on his chest and his held her outer thighs, “but you did.”

She lifted her eyes to his, a hint of guilt in them. “Are you angry?”

“No.” his answer surprised her and her face showed it. “He said you didn’t feel safe here without one of us around and I never want you to feel unsafe.” He moved his hands to hold her sides over the thick hoodie she still wore. “Now, as for the cowardly vampires, Marcel and I have discussed giving them an ultimatum. Either they stay and prove themselves to me or they get out of my city.”

“The only thing I know about an army is when they aren’t acting like one.” She replied as she moved her hands to hold the sides of his neck. “If you and Marcel think this is what’s best then I trust you.” he gave her a small smile before he realized her hands were sucking the warmth out of his neck.

“Your hands are like ice, Love, what are you doing out here?” he asked as he took her hands off of his neck and started rubbing them to warm them up.

“Just thinking.” She answered. “We never figured out why Davina was drawing Celeste. It couldn’t have been to warn us that Sophie was going to use her magic to complete the harvest, there was no magic to consecrate.”

“Will you do me a favor and not freeze to death in the process of figuring it out?” he asked with puppy dog eyes.

She laughed. “Sure.” With a whoosh he brought her inside, shut the balcony door and set her on her feet near the fire that was lit in the fireplace.

“So would you like to stand with me while I give my speech?” he asked from where he stood behind her with his arms wrapped around her chest.

“No. Contrary to what they seem to think, I’m your queen, not theirs.” She answered. “I won’t be their queen until they respect me and they won’t respect me until they respect you. So, you lead the way and I’ll follow.” She said as she turned in his arms and pecked him on the lips.

TVDTVDTVD

Katie stood on the balcony overlooking the courtyard across from the one Klaus stood on, the vampires of the French Quarter gathered below. “Not long ago, you all united against me. You failed. Since then, in my benevolence, I have wiped the slate clean. Yet it seems clear you think that I am the one who needs to earn your respect, your loyalty. You’re mistaken.” Klaus spoke, looking down at the vampires. “It is you who must prove yourselves to me. Our community is under attack. I require soldiers. I need warriors, not cowards.” He held his hands out at the people below. “Each of you has a decision to make. You either fight alongside me, or you leave…Now.”

The vampires started murmuring amongst themselves, no one moving until Thierry stepped up and looked up at Klaus. “We don’t owe you anything.” The vampires stopped talking and looked at Thierry. “If staying in the quarter means living under your rule, I’d just as soon get the hell out.” He turned and looked at Diego who gave him a look that told him he wasn’t leaving. Thierry shrugged and left. A little over a fourth of the vampires followed his lead. Katie noticed that none of the people that she had spoken to earlier that day left with Thierry and she couldn’t help but wonder if she’d made a difference or if they stayed because Marcel was still here.

TVDTVDTVD

Klaus and Marcel shared a drink at the bar in the corner of the common room while Katie sat on the sofa and Sophie stood near the lighted bookshelf that was built into the wall on each side of the fireplace and held records and a record player. “I’ve got no reason to help you, and I sure as hell don’t have a reason to help him.” Sophie told Klaus with a motion at Marcel.

“Now, now, don’t be difficult, love.” Klaus told Sophie as he moved to sit at the table in the room. “You’ll only live as long as you’re of use to us and right now, your best use is to explain why a witch I killed 100 years ago has come back for revenge.”

“Come on, resurrected witches with vast power?” Sophie told them as if they should be able to figure it out. “It’s the harvest. Four girls were meant to die and be reborn. I don’t know how, but someone jacked that power and they used it to bring back 4 witches…just not the right ones.”

“So there’s still a chance. If we can get that power back, we can save Davina.” Marcel said with an almost excited look between Klaus and Sophie.

“Let’s concentrate on the immediate problem, shall we?” Klaus asked. “Papa Tunde wants revenge. He’ll continue to attack us, channeling power from the vampires he sacrifices. He kills, he grows more dangerous. So, how do I end him?” Klaus asked, talking with his hands as he thought out loud.

“He needs sacrifices to gain power.” Sophie pointed out. “Keep him from killing anymore nightwalkers, that’s a start.”

“Unless…” Klaus looked up at Marcel, “he finds the one place with a load of vampires ready to be sacrificed.”

“The garden.” Katie thought out loud.

“The garden.” Klaus confirmed with a nod as he stood up and he and Marcel headed for the door. “Katie-”

“I’ll stay here.” she told him and he gave her a thankful nod before he disappeared out of her sight.

TVDTVDTVD

Katie was eating a small dinner in their quarters when Klaus came in and sat down across from her with a glass of blood in his hand. “He got to the garden and drained every last soul in it.”

She took the last bite of her salad and pushed the empty bowl away. “So now what do we do?”

“I say we figure that out in the morning.” He sounded tired as he lifted his eyes to hers. With that one look she knew exactly what he needed. So as soon as he was done with his glass of blood she walked around the table and held his hand out to hers. He put his in hers and let her lead him to their bedroom.

“Lay in the center of the bed, arms outstretched and eyes closed please.” She told him and he gave her a curious look. “Just do it.” she told him then disappeared into the bathroom. When she came back out she found him lying as she said, minus his shirt. “I didn’t ask you to take your shirt off.” She laughed.

“You didn’t ask me not to either.” He pointed out with a smirk keeping his eyes closed. “Will it be a problem?”

Katie picked up his shirt from where he had put it on the bed and replaced her own with it, loving the spicy scent of his cologne. “Nope. You know I love the view.” She answered as she sat down beside him, squeezed some hand cream into her palm and rubbed her hands together to warm it up before she picked up his hand and worked the cream into his skin.

“What are you doing?” he asked only to get shushed by her which made him chuckle. However, his laugh was cut off when she dug her thumbs into the heel of his palm and slid them outward. She repeated the action up his arm, halfway to his elbow, then back down and focused on one of her favorite parts of his body.

After spending a good ten minutes kneading every muscle and joint of his left hand she straddled him and kissed her ways across his chest then sat down at his right side. Another content sigh left his relaxed, parted lips when she started massaging his other hand. When she’d spent just as much time on his right hand as she did the left she started working her way up his arm, but before she could massage any further he grabbed the back of her neck with one hand, wrapped the other around her waist and rolled her over so that he was hovering above her. “You’re too good to me.” his blue eyes looked lovingly into hers.

“I would argue that I don’t show how much I appreciate you often enough.” She argued as she slid her hands from his sides that she’d grabbed out of instinct, up to rest on his chest, feeling the beating of his heart.

“You don’t have to. It’s in your eyes every time you look at me.” he said then caught her bottom lip between his and she sighed into the gentle yet intense kiss.

TVDTVDTVD

Katie sat on the bed watching Klaus get dressed for the first public service at Saint Ann’s since Sean massacred his fellow seminary students and himself. “Are you sure you don’t want to come with me and get out of the compound for a bit?”

“Yeah.” She answered. “We still don’t know where Papa Tunde is. Plus, I stopped being a beliver somewhere around 1822.” She slipped off the bed and walked over to him as he shrugged on his jacket.

“So you said that these people won’t respect you until they respect me.” he started as he put his hands on her hips and Katie hummed a positive answer. “I feel like I have forced the position of queen of the French quarter on you.”

“Maybe a little.” She agreed with a so-what shrug.

“Do you even want to be their queen?” he asked.

“I don’t feel like I deserve the position, but you’re their king and I’m your partner in crime. It only makes sense that I’m queen.” She reasoned.

“Yes, but is it something you want?” he asked with a pointed look.

“I haven’t thought much about it to be honest, so I don’t know if it’s something I want.” She shrugged with a frown.

“Okay, to help you decide, why don’t we use today as a trial run.” He offered.

“What do you mean?” she asked with a confused shake of her head.

“While Marcel and I are out, if a problem arises Diego will come to you with it.” he told her and she just stared at him with wide eyes. “You don’t have to. If you feel better with how things are now, with you behind the scenes, I will be fine with that too.”

She thought about it for a minute. She never saw herself as a leader but since coming to New Orleans she’d been helping as Klaus said, behind the scenes, but if she stepped up as Queen she’d be putting herself directly in the limelight working with Diego and Marcel. Was that really something she wanted? “I want to stay behind the scenes. If I change my mind later I’ll let you know.” She answered and then looked at the clock. “You better get going or you’ll be late.” He pecked her on the lips then left.

TVDTVDTVD

Katie was bundled up in a hoodie and yoga pants, reading a book on the private balcony when a knock sounded from the door of their quarters. So she closed her book and answered it revealing Diego on the other side. “Hey, Klaus isn’t here.”

“I know, but I thought you should know the witches left us a package in the courtyard.” He told her then jerked his head for her to follow him.

“Did Klaus ask you to keep me in the loop?” Katie asked, sounding confused as she followed him.

“Na, but you’re our queen now right?” he asked as they walked down the stairs.

“Seems that way.” As they walked into the courtyard the bright white suit of Papa Tunde caught her eyes. “What the hell…?” she asked, taking in the slit across the dead man’s neck.

“Either our witch problems are over, or they’re just getting started.” Diego told her as he too looked down at the body.

“I’m gonna go with just getting started.” Katie said, noticing that the symbol he was laying on was the one he used to channel the power of his offerings. “He doesn’t have the mark on his head.” she thought out loud.

“Yeah, so?” Diego asked, sounding more confused than snarky.

“So whoever killed him thankfully didn’t absorb his power.” She answered. “Which was a lot considering he drained the entire garden last night.” She looked over the body in thought. “It also mean’s he most likely didn’t become anyone’s sensei during the short time he was on our side. No smart witch would let power like that go unclaimed.” She looked up from the body to Diego. ”Sorry if you had friends in the garden.”

“I didn’t,” he answered, “but a few did walk away.”

“Well, for what it’s worth I’m glad you stayed.” She told him as she tucked her hands into the pocket of her hoodie then looked at the other inner circle vampires standing around the courtyard, including the two women that had sassed her the day before. “All of you.”

“Yeah, well, getting called a coward by a human tends to make you rethink your actions.” Mohawk girl said with a tilt of her head and a shrugged shoulder.

“I see my lovely queen is already on top of things.” Klaus said as he walked into the courtyard with Marcel.

“If by on top of things you mean gawking and trying to figure out how someone as powerful as him ended up with a slit throat and left in our courtyard then yeah, I’m on top of things.” Katie answered a little sarcastically.

Elijah came downstairs and kneeled down by the body. After a few minutes of Elijah looking Tunde over Klaus asked, “Can I get you anything brother, a magnifying glass, a pipe perhaps?”

“Do you have a theory that you’d like to share with us, Niklaus?” Elijah asked.

“Back in the day, if the witches wanted to send a threat, they’d just kill a chicken and leave it on your doorstep.” Marcel spoke up.

“It’s a rather large and ominous chicken, wouldn’t you say?” Elijah asked as he stood up.

“Papa Tunde defeated Rebekah with ease, almost got the two of us as well. If he was supposed to be their prized fighter, why leave him for dead in our front yard?” Klaus asked.

Before anyone else could say anything Rebekah walked in. “Well, don’t you all look cheery?” she asked as she joined the circle around Papa Tunde. “Listen to this. A girl literally exploded from a grave today as Sabine was giving her tour of the city of the dead.” Everyone perked up giving her their full attention. “It was Monique Deveraux.”

“What?” both Katie and Klaus asked at the same time.

“The tourists thought it was part of the show, but the witches are celebrating like it’s some kind of bloody miracle.” Rebekah told them. Katie realized then that Papa Tunde’s death redirected the magic that raised him back to the rightful owner, Monique.

“Maybe it is. They think that all hope is lost, but now suddenly a harvest girl is resurrected.” Marcel said, his brain taking the same path as Katie’s. “This is how we’re gonna get Davina back. Kill the witch that took her place.”

���Well, Davina was drawing pictures of a dead witch.” Katie spoke up making everyone look at her. “It stands to reason that Celeste could be the witch that took her place.”

“First Papa Tunde returns to settle old scores.” Klaus said with a point to the dead Papa Tunde, then pointed at Elijah. “Now your murdered lover is back. This isn’t witches attacking vampires. They are declaring war on us.”

“Awesome.” Katie sighed letting her head fall forward.

TVDTVDTVD

Katie was in the kitchen making herself an early lunch when Klaus, Elijah and Rebekah found her. “Okay, what’s with the family gathering?” she asked with suspicious eyes.

“We would like to talk to you about your safety here.” Elijah answered.

“Mkay.” She drawled.

“With three more resurrected witches out and about we think it would be best if you left the quarter for a little while.” Klaus told her.

“So, as your future sister in law, I’d like to accompany you to the plantation house.” Rebekah said with a hopeful smile.

Katie looked at Klaus, Elijah and Rebekah then back at Klaus. “And you all agree that this is what’s best?” she asked and he nodded. “Then I’ll go.”

“That seems too easy.” Rebekah pointed out skeptically.

“Well, you guys have a war on your hands. You need all hands on deck and my puny human ones, fighting skills and magic muting bombs aside, are more of an obstacle than an asset.” She pointed out.

“Magic muting bombs?” Rebekah asked with a confused face.

“Bonnie gave me a going away present.” She explained. “Bombs like the vervain one Elena used on you after Rose and what’s his face kidnapped her.” she told Elijah. “Only these are full of a crushed herb that when inhaled by a witch will mute their power. But I only have three and I need to save them for when, slash if my back is ever against the wall.”

“Leave it to the Bennett witch.” Rebekah said clearly impressed.

“You two can’t think clearly if you’re constantly worrying about me and the baby.” she told Klaus and Elijah then looked at Rebekah. “So I’ll go pack a bag and meet you out front. I’m driving.”

“But your car’s a junker.” Rebekah argued.

“It is not a junker, it’s well loved and the only thing I’ve ever earned and paid for myself. I just got it back, I’m driving.” Katie argued making Klaus and Elijah smirk at her as she left the kitchen, her bowl of lunch in her hand.

TVDTVDTVD

“I had hoped to not spend another night in this house again any time soon.” Katie complained as she and Rebekah rocked in the rocking chairs on the front porch, taking in the cold night air.

“Yet you agreed to come here.” Rebekah pointed out. “With me even though you don’t trust me.”

“I don’t trust you when it comes to your attempts to thwart Klaus’s rule, but I do trust you when it comes to keeping this baby, and therefore me, safe.” Katie corrected her then hugged herself. Even in the thick hoodie she was freezing. “I’m gonna turn in for the night.”

Instead of going to sleep Katie sat at the piano in a small room playing what her fingers could remember of what her mother had taught her. When her phone started ringing she pulled it out of her pocket to see that it was Elijah. “Hey, what’s up?”

“Where are you?” he asked, sounding worried.

“The plantation house where I’m supposed to be.” She answered with a frown.

“Where’s Rebekah?” he asked.

“Outside last I checked. Elijah, what’s wrong?” she asked as she stood from the piano headed to the front door.

“You were right. Celeste is back.” he told her as he pulled the front door open. “Niklaus, Rebekah, you’re all in danger.” As she tried to walk out the door slammed shut and Katie yelped. “Katie, you have to find Rebekah and stay with her until I get there.”

“Elijah, I can’t. Those stupid witches are trapping me in the house” she told him as she rushed to the back door only for it to catch fire making her yelp and jump back. “Damn it!”

“I’m on my way.” Elijah hung up. Every exit she tried burst into flames, the door to the rooms she ran through shut behind her until she was trapped in the piano room that wasn’t on fire, but when she tried to kick the window open a line of fire spread along the walls completely trapping her. Not knowing what else to do she took off the hoodie she was wearing and the tank top underneath, poured the glass of sweet tea she’d been drinking while playing the piano on the tank top then lowered herself to the floor where less smoke was likely to be. Even with the filter she’d created, smoke still managed to make its way into her lungs making her cough. She was starting to feel light headed when Elijah whooshed in through a window, scooped her up, whooshed her out into the fresh air and laid her on the hard drive way out front. “Where’s Rebekah?”

“I don’t know.” Katie answered as she sat up still coughing. “Last I saw she was on the front porch.” He grabbed the hoodie she’d been clutching in her hand and pulled it over her head then helped her stand up and bit his wrist. She drank enough to heal her smoke ridden lungs then pushed it away.

“Aww you healed her. How sweet.” the voice of Sabine made them both turn from the house to see her walking up the drive to them. Elijah pushed Katie behind him with a defensive stance. “You won’t hurt me. I’m the only one alive who can break the curse on Hayley’s family.” Katie had no idea what curse she was talking about, but at the moment she didn’t care because another redheaded witch walked up to stand beside Sabine who Katie guessed was really Celeste. “And Genevieve knows where your sister is.” Another older witch joined the women. “Bastianna has Klaus tucked away someplace safe. He’s suffering horribly, I might add, and all because you chose to save the little human instead of your own blood.”

Elijah took a few steps toward Celeste and she held her hand up, the sickening crack of bones breaking filled the air a second before Elijah yelled out in pain and sank to his knees. “Stop!” Katie yelled as she rushed to Elijah’s side holding his shoulder, wishing she could help, but she’d stupidly left the grenades in her car. “Stop hurting him.”

“Oh I’m going to do more than hurt him.” Celeste told her then looked at Elijah. “What a horrific ending,” Celeste closed her hand into a fist causing Elijah to yell out again, “to your pathetic diseased family.” Celeste opened her hand and closed it again torturing Elijah. “I guess always isn’t forever after all.” Celeste twisted her fist snapping his neck before the three witches walked away. Not knowing what else to do Katie sat down next to Elijah and waited for him to wake up.

TVDTVDTVD

“Marcel!” Elijah yelled as he and Katie walked into the compound courtyard. “Where is my brother?”

“I’ve got guys out looking for him right now.” Marcel answered with his hands held out in a calming manner. When two men stepped in front of Marcel, Elijah grabbed them and threw them aside.

“Was that really necessary?” Katie asked with a frown at Elijah’s temper.

“Klaus threw one of his classic temper tantrums, snapped my neck, tried to take on a coven of witches by himself. He got dropped.” Marcel explained. “I don’t know where he is or how to find him.”

“They also have Rebekah.” Elijah informed him then turned his eyes to the vampires around them. “Every! One of you, will help me to find them.” He pointed at the vampires then looked at Marcel. “I’m going to kill them all.”

TVDTVDTVD

Katie was getting out of the shower from washing the stench of smoke from her hair and skin when she heard a knock on the door. So she threw on a robe and answered it to see Elijah. She stepped aside and jerked her head for him to come inside. “Are you okay?”

“Physically yeah, mentally not so much.” She answered as she went to the bedroom and grabbed a tank top and a pair of pajama bottoms. She changed in the bathroom and came back out to find Elijah leaning on the archway. “So the night walkers are looking for Klaus and Rebekah?” She asked as she sat down on the bed and pulled her leg up on it.

“Yes, I was going to join them, but I didn’t want to leave you unprotected.” He told her as he walked further into the room. “They are originals, they can’t die.”

“But I can.” She added. “Is that why you saved me? Because they can’t die but this baby and I can?”

“Yes.” He answered with a nod. “However I also gave you and Niklaus my word. I will not let anything happen to you or the child.”

“Well, whatever your reasons…thank you.” she told him with a tired blink.

“I will let you get some sleep.” He turned to leave.

But she stopped him, “Elijah?” he turned to her with questioning eyes. “I really don’t mean to send the wrong signal here and I have no right to ask after leaving you in the bayou with a werewolf bite, but I haven’t spent a night by myself since moving here and with the witches after revenge…” she shook her head. “Never mind.”

“I will stay, if that’s what you’re asking.” He told her seriously.

“That's what I’m asking.” She told him with a nod that he returned as he watched her slide under the sheet and comforter. He laid on the other side of the bed on top of the comforter facing her. After laying in the dark for a while Katie asked, “What curse was Sabine or Celeste or whatever she wants to be called, talking about?”

“Hayley’s family has been cursed to spend most of their time as wolves, only being human on the full moon.” He answered. Katie couldn’t help but wonder why that meant so much to him that Celeste though it was enough to keep her alive. She knew Elijah well enough to know that he’d either given Hayley his word that he’d help her break the curse on her people in return for helping him during his time in the bayou or he’d developed feelings for Hayley. “You can ask whatever it is you’re not asking. I hide nothing from you.”

“Why does the fact that Celeste is the only one who can break that curse matter to you so much that it would keep you from killing her?” she asked. “I mean why would you go out of your way to break a curse on werewolves without there being something in it for you or someone you care about?”

“I have given Hayley my word that I would help her people.” He answered. “I also started courting her during the week you were gone with Niklaus.” Forgetting that he could see her even though she couldn’t see him she smiled. “This pleases you?”

“If she brings you even the slightest bit of happiness then, yes, it pleases me.” she answered then yawned. “The sooner I go to sleep the sooner I can help you find Klaus. So, goodnight, Elijah.”

“Goodnight.”

#The originals #the originals fanfiction #the originals klaus #the originals elijah #the originals rebekah #the vampire diaries fanfiction #elijah x oc #elijah x oc fanfiction #klaus x oc fanfiction #klaus x oc #tvd #klaus mikaelson x oc fanfiction #keeping secrets #phoenix rising #fanfiction.net

[houseofhurricane]

ACOTAR Fic: Bloom & Bone (2/32) | Elain x Tamlin, Lucien x Vassa

Summary: Elain lies about a vision and winds up as the Night Court’s emissary to the Spring Court, trying to prevent the Dread Trove from falling into the wrong hands and wrestling with the gifts the Cauldron imparted when she was Made. Lucien, asked to join her, must contend with secrets about his mating bond. Meanwhile, Tamlin struggles to lead the Spring Court in the aftermath of the war with Hybern. And Vassa, the human queen in their midst, wrestles with the enchantment that turns her into a firebird by day, robbing her of the power of speech and human thought. Looming over all of them is uniquet peace in Prythian and the threat of Koschei, the death-god with unimaginable power. With powers both magical and monstrous, the quartet at the Spring Court will have to wrestle with their own natures and the evil that surrounds them. Will the struggle save their world, or doom it?

A/N: This chapter, from Tamlin's perspective, required a lot of careful thinking and revising and research on my part, specifically on whether abusers can ever recover and what that looks like. Personally, both in real life and in the ACOTAR world, I do believe that recovery is possible, but that abusers must admit the harm they have caused, reckon with themselves to create new patterns of thinking and behavior, and make amends if possible. This has shaped the way I've written Tamlin here and in future chapters. I do think that in the ACOTAR novels and fandom, Tamlin gets criticized for his behavior in a way that other characters with similarly abusive patterns of behavior (Rhys, Nesta, Eris) do not. I also think that redemption is possible for him. All that said, if you don't agree, or if you find Tamlin triggering, I completely understand. You can find all chapters here.

There are footsteps in the darkness, and Tamlin follows them, the breeze disappearing from his skin as he’s surrounded, pulled from the scent of flowers by walls of stone. It is impossible to gnash his teeth in this form so he growls instead, the sound amplified and echoing in the hollow chambers of his estate. Once, they were full of his courtiers and servants, studded with visiting nobles who sought his favor or his counsel.

Now, only Rhysand waits for him, at home in the darkest corner of the great hall.

“What do you want?” Tamlin asks, his voice clotted, scraping his throat.

“I’d like to send Elain Archeron to your court as my emissary.”

“Running short of spies, Rhysand?”

“If I wanted to spy on you, would I be here asking your permission?” He drawls the words but Tamlin has been listening in the forests, his hearing even sharper in this form, and he can hear the slightly anxious pitch in the man’s voice. And it’s curious that he would send someone, let alone his mate’s sister, as if he hadn’t ordered Lucien to make regular visits to Spring. “I’d like to be assured that she’ll be safe.”

“My lands are none of your concern but the dangerous creatures have all been put in their places.” He feels a fraction of his old self when he’s hunting, the mission clear and certain. He loves the feeling of his body obeying his commands, the only being in Prythian in whom he can put his trust.

“I need your word that she will be safe here.”

“You think I’ll lock her up in a ruined castle and throw away the key?”

Rhysand, damn him, simply takes a look around, the gloom deep enough to make his tan face pale as milk.

“Does Lucien stay here when he visits you?”

As if he doesn’t know that Lucien winnows himself to that castle in the human lands when their meetings and councils are over, preferring to spend his time with that Band of Exiles than stay a night in his ruined bedroom, or search the estate for another room that managed to escape its High Lord’s wrath.

Sometimes, he looks back at the being he was during the war with Hybern and feels no spark of recognition. Sometimes he has to coax himself to admit that it was he himself at those moments, starting a war over a woman he knew, even then, did not love him. And sometimes he does not force himself to recognize the truth of his own actions because the realization is always an explosion inside of him, blinding and horrifying, destroying another part of him every time he realizes what he became. What he is, still. It’s partly for this reason that he avoids the face he wore in those days.

“When would you like the Archeron sister to come to my court?” As if he doesn’t know who Elain is.

“She would like to arrive as soon as possible. I believe she stayed up last night packing her trunks.”

“So eager to get away from you?” The pleasure he feels at saying the words catches in the throat of the beast, unused to speaking like a lord, smooth words concealing the whirling of his mind.

“All the members of my court are free to go where they wish.”

Rhysand must really want this outcome, to tread so lightly. Usually his response would have been along the lines of Fuck you, you imprisoned my mate, and now Tamlin watches as he coaxes his mouth into a line resembling a smile’s curve and, as he so often does, picks a nonexistent piece of lint off his tunic.

“What do you require for her?”

“Nothing too impossible, I think. A bed, a bathing-room, a door that locks. A guarantee that she’ll be fed at regular intervals. I did mention that Lucien and Queen Vassa would be joining Elain, didn’t I? So it will be three of everything.”

“Such confidence in their desire to reside here.”

Rhysand’s lip curls. “If you think this is impossible--”

He should decline, insist again that these lands are him, but compulsion pulls at him, a heady thrum.

“It will take at least a month to make this estate adequate to your needs.”

“Elain would like to be here sooner.”

“There is a cottage in the village.”

“If I assist?”

Tamlin lets the growl build in his throat. He’s not sure which is worse: Rhysand knowing the exact layout of his home, or having Rhysand’s people build it because Tamlin himself isn’t sure who would dedicate this kind of service to him, now that they’ve seen the rot at his core. At least they still fear him enough to leave his jewels untouched, or else are unable to breach the surrounding wards.

“Am I to believe that you would send your precious artisans to build the home of your enemy?”

“I’ve given you reason enough to believe anything of me,” Rhysand says, and the words are transparent, infuriatingly so: a person could see that he was truly good if only they were in the mood to look. That Tamlin had allowed himself to believe otherwise for centuries gnaws at him, even as he wants to believe that this decent version of the male is just another mirror, a trick of the light.

“If we begin with the kitchens and three bedrooms, a week will be enough.” He shifts from paw to paw. “Ask Elain what she would like to look at, what colors she prefers.”

“Elain likes the colors of flowers. Soft and delicate furnishings.”

“And she cannot speak for herself?” The words come out harsh, grating, nothing like the tone he’d envisioned in his head, which would, all on its own, indicate the irony of Rhysand taking an Archeron sister for granted, presuming her words. He would say, if there was anybody who cared enough to ask, that after so much time in this form, he has lost the art of modulating his tone.

“I’ll ask her,” Rhysand says, soft and dangerous, “my precious artisans and builders will arrive tomorrow at first light, then. Should I advise them to look for you in this form?”

“I’ll look as civilized as you.” He manages to match Rhysand’s tone. The control required is exquisite. “Though I’m sure you’ll be around to make sure they survive the morning.”

“Prove me wrong, then, Tamlin.”

Of course, Rhysand disappears before Tamlin can lunge for him, his claws snapping on nothing but laden air. The marble floor, dull with inattention, pounds his paws and then his joints as he, the beast outside and inside, hits the floor. The foundation of the estate rumbles in complaint.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

There are no mirrors to allow Tamlin to observe the face of his Fae form, but his arms and legs are only skin and muscle. If he were slaughtered and prepared as a meal, the diners would complain about the gristle of him, the sharpness of the knife required to make the meal palatable.

He finds a clean shirt and pants and boots which are not spangled with embroidery or jewels, and though the fabric gives off a musty scent, he doubts that Rhysand, his artisans, or his builders will get close enough to judge the stink. Tamlin knows the way that gossip travels across the seven courts, imagines there are stories about his haunting of the Spring Court forests, that they’ll only be surprised he doesn’t appear with fur and claws or else covered in dirt. With this in mind, he scrubs his face and body with water and the last gritty bits of soap until the skin squeaks clean under his fingertips.

After centuries of seeing his own reflection, Tamlin knows how he might look, but no matter what he envisions, the result is disappointing. Any beauty undone by the rot inside, which tears inside of him, an animal gnashing its teeth. The reason he prefers to be transformed, the creature outside matching the way he feels inside. He knows that he deserves this punishment, does not stop imagining Feyre’s wasted body, the sound of her retching, Amarantha destroying that weak and beautiful human frame while he was so careful to be still and silent. He deserves this feeling for Hybern, for calling Feyre a whore, for her sisters in the Cauldron and all the hurt he caused. The list is endless and he recounts each item on it, filling up the hours when his forests are silent, when all the monsters within are too afraid of him to stir.

Despite all his years as a warrior, he never thought that he was such a terror. For a time he tried to blame Feyre for this unleashing, then Rhysand, but too soon there was only the stark reality that he himself was the only one to blame. How he’d never noticed the horrible thing inside his chest is beyond him, a question that will tear him up for all the centuries remaining to him.

Still, in spite of the punishment he is owed, Tamlin is tired of lurking in shadowy corners, in the parts of his forests that made even Amarantha’s creatures hesitant. He does not know what will happen when he is not alone, but finds himself thinking that even the harshest punishment would be better than this life.

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The builders arrive, the artisans and gardeners and even an architect, all peering over Rhysand’s wings to get a glimpse of Tamlin. He can see disappointment in her eyes, that he is all High Fae, and for a moment he wants to tell them how strange it felt, to spend the night so naked and unarmed. Then he thinks the sight of his estates will generate pity enough.

Then, beside Rhysand, the Morrigan appears, holding the hand of Elain Archeron, who does not break his gaze, not even when he feels the length of the stare, the blaze of his own eyes.

“Elain wanted to assist in the gardens,” Rhysand says, by way of introduction. “She has quite the talent for arranging flowers.”

“I see you will put anybody in your court to work for you,” he snaps back, just to watch the Morrigan lurch toward him, her beauty gilded with her fury. Rhysand’s court will bark at any slight towards their High Lord.

“I have heard about the famed beauty of the gardens of the Spring Court and I wanted to see them for myself.” Elain Archeron has dipped into a curtsy, the pearls at her ears gleaming in the first rosy fingers of dawn, her gown the colors of sunrise, rosy pink and coral and orange delicately interwoven. When she looks back up at him, her face is all serene, except her eyes, which stay fixed on Tamlin, assessing his expression as if a face could be a trove of knowledge. All he’s ever heard about this sister is her beauty, her kindness, her sweet softness, as though she were a statue made of sugar, but now she regards him like a goddess, piercing and certain amidst the glow of herself.

“Spoken like my emissary.” Rhysand nods at her and she aims a thin-lipped smile at him. “Elain will walk your gardens and propose a design for them. I think you’ll find her taste to be exquisite. And Laella has come with her proposal for renovations to your estate.”

The architect steps forward, scrolls in her hands, which she unfurls and explains to Tamlin without so much as a greeting. While she speaks, he realizes two things: that she is a dryad, and that her plans for the estate are lovely. She will polish the marble, working with the existing design, but add windows and open-air spaces so that those in residence can enjoy the breezes and the sunlight without having to step outside. Tamlin has never been to the palaces of the Night Court, but he cannot imagine that this design is a copy, and as the architect’s fingers scratch over her parchment, he finds himself nodding along. Laella has erased the border between indoors and outdoors. In such a house, he would not feel so surrounded by stone, so deprived of air. He could even imagine wanting to stay, always.

And if, in the end, he cannot bear to stay inside, it will give him a certain satisfaction to watch Rhysand’s reaction to the ruin.

“The complete renovation will take at least a month, but I will have a better estimate once I inspect your home and have your approval for changes.” The dryad’s voice rasps and moans, wind in the branches and the strain of the tree trunk beneath. Tamlin can feel Rhysand’s eyes on him, waiting for a slight, a show of prejudice against this faerie, not a High Fae, and while he aims a smirk at the other male, he nods over the plans.

“You are aware that I’m a beast?” He points, at random, to a large room made brighter and more spacious in the plans.

“Our High Lord has told us stories,” Laella tells him, a wisp of deep green hair escaping from its arrangement, her gray skin flushing in spite of her professional composure when she sees the talons that appear on the backs of his hands, summoned without a thought. “He also said you saved his life.”

“I imprisoned his mate in this place,” he counters, his voice rising, the artisans and builders and architects no longer straining to hear. Rhysand and the Morrigan have taken subtle steps to block Elain Archeron from view. “I had her sisters kidnapped by the king of Hybern. Ransomed my lands for an obsession with a female who rightly wanted nothing to do with me.” He can hear the ragged edge in his voice, the growl, and fears that in a moment he may turn animal again, that he has been cursed with an unwilling transformation without his knowing, an inversion of his powers.

“A truly evil person never believes they have done wrong,” Elain Archeron says, from behind Rhysand’s wings. Her voice is soft but pitched to carry. “From what I’m told, these lands are filled with beings who do evil deeds with no remorse for the suffering they leave behind.”

Rhysand has turned towards her, staring as if he’s never heard Elain say so many words. Everyone is staring at her. Tamlin feels the weight of their eyes fall off his shoulders, heaves a breath.

“Anyway,” she continues, more hesitantly, as if she’s aware that everyone is watching her, “I have to believe that the path to becoming evil is hard to distinguish. That we could get there with the best intentions.”

She flushes and goes silent, and he notices that she said we instead of you, and he thinks that maybe Rhysand’s sister-in-laws are not as moon-eyed over him as the rest of his court. The Morrigan squeezes her hand, and for a second Tamlin almost smiles; seeing the Morrigan out of battle and her armor will never stop amusing him, like seeing a jungle cat begin to sing.

“Are the plans to your liking, Tamlin?” Rhysand asks once it is clear that Elain will not say anything else. “I will pay for the renovations in exchange for one favor.”

“I have enough gold in my stores to compensate your people fairly.” He learned in the cradle, never to accept a favor as payment, especially without detailing very particular terms.

“You don’t know what I’ve promised them in payment.”

Tamlin growls and nods his head toward Laella.

“I offer double what your High Lord promised,” he snarls. “So long as you finish within the month.”

Those smiles are the first he’s received in years. No matter that he had to purchase them. The gold was sitting in his vaults, unused.

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Hours later, Tamlin stalks the grounds of the estate. The builders have already begun basic repairs under Laella’s guidance, the artisans scouring each room for pieces which might fit the dryad’s vision. Noise echoes throughout the halls, a mirror effect that leaves him dizzy. He has spent too many days in the forest.

“Have you come to see my plans?” Elain Archeron asks, appearing at his elbow, breathing hard.

“You followed me.” He growls, wanting to scare her off. No good can ever come of an Archeron on his trail. He’ll tell this to himself until it feels true.

“Your gardens are too beautiful to be so overgrown.” Again, no malice and no flattery, only gentle confidence. “I’ve been making all kinds of plans”

“You want to change everything.”

“You have an opportunity to have the greatest gardens in all of Prythian, maybe all of this world, and you are letting them go in favor of thorns and rot. As a gardener, I’m honestly offended.”

Tamlin stops mid-stride and watches her, assessing the truth of the statement. Her hands settle on her hips, the parchment of her plans bunching under her fingers. One colored pencil, pink, is tucked behind her ear, and three more are tucked into the bodice of her gown, thinnest fingers of blue and green and gold reaching for her clavicle.

“Your sisters must have warned you about me.”

“Oh, I don’t think Nesta’s ever been afraid of you,” she says, a smile forming on her lips.

“I don’t mean Nesta.”

He can feel the strain in her as she keeps her eyes on his, her breath hissing past her teeth.

“I will not talk about Feyre with you. If she ever wants to see you again, she knows how to find your doorstep.”

“Then why is Rhysand sending you here?”

“Night Court business.” She’s trying to say the words smoothly, but she blushes, the tip of her nose going pink.

“You’re lying.”

“I don’t owe you every single morsel of the truth.”

“You’re on my lands,” he says, only realizing the menace in his tone when she takes one step away from him and then another. “Why are you here?”

“My sisters have often told me that I need to see the gardens of the Spring Court.”

He rakes his fingers through his hair, catching a snarl so roughly that he has to hold back a wince. “That is a trip for an afternoon. Your High Lord sends you as his emissary and his gardener.”

“He -- I volunteered.”

“Tell me, Elain Archeron, are you Rhysand’s spy as well?”

“I would be a horrible spy if I told you that, High Lord. At any rate, do you think I have the skills for such a mission?”

“I hear you came out of the Cauldron with gifts, but their dimensions are vague in every recounting.”

She goes pale, as if she remembers who she’s speaking with, the calculus that made her Fae and took, he’s heard, a life story she deemed precious.

“You forgot for a moment that I ruined your life,” he says. He does not want to draw out the awkwardness. Let her walk away, let her leave, if she’s so inclined.

“Did you know that Hybern would capture us?”

“I believed the king. I thought that Feyre would be rescued, the enchantment broken, that we would live happily in my court for a thousand years.”

Elain snorts.

“You’re an idiot,” she says.

Tamlin just stares at her.

“Aren’t you supposed to be some fearsome warrior?” she continues, crossing her arms at her chest, “Even someone with no idea of strategy could tell you that Hybern would have never honored your promises. Even a human could have told you that.”

“You have never been in love then. You’d believe anything. Give anything. Do anything, just to have your beloved in your arms again.” His chest is tight and yet his skin feels too big for his body. He wants to hug himself but wills his fingers into fists, feeling the strain of the claws against the muscles of his hands.

“You nearly destroyed my sister.”

“You need to--”

“What I want to know,” she says, as if she doesn’t hear him at all, has no regard for rank or even danger, “is if a part of you did it on purpose. If you saw her suffering and wanted it to continue.”

He holds her gaze, the warm brown like whiskey, strong and sparkling.

“You do not believe what you said earlier, then.”

“I want to know if it could be true.”

“Is that what brings you to the Spring Court?”

She sighs, then uncrosses her arms.

“First,” she says, unfurling the parchment between them, “I’d like you to tell me what you think about my ideas for your gardens.”

He decides to look where she’s pointing instead of breathing another threat. She speaks of hyacinths and peonies and ferns, the lilac and forsythia bushes, and cherry trees and weeping willows that will line the paths, under which she proposes he install benches for lingering.

“Who do you think will be staying in these gardens so long?” he asks, the words more melancholy than he intends. He hates the way this male sounds, all longing and self-pity and no action at all, but he can’t keep the noise from escaping him.

She rustles the parchment, making it thunder. “There aren’t any other residents of Spring Court?”

“Not for lack of trying.”

“Why don’t you try to keep them?”

“You think I could have done something different?” He’s daring her to make a list of her suggestions. Cauldron boil him, his own list is endless and ever-growing.

“It doesn’t matter what I think,” she says, sighing as if there is more to say but she is too weary to muster the words, and he cannot believe that Elain Archeron, with her soft voice and her poise, all the glow of her, would be ignored, but Tamlin keeps quiet, allowing her to speak. “Anyway, I haven’t shown you my favorite part of my plan. I want you to install a field of tulips where the grounds meet the forest.” She sweeps her hand in that direction. “Mor has promised to find bulbs on the continent. I grew up hearing stories of tulip fields that went for miles.”

“You don’t think it sends a message of weakness to our enemies, to greet them with flowers?” It’s the second time within the moment when he’s asked for her opinion instead of stating his own.

Her nod is decisive, no sweetness in the gesture.

“Your enemies will know that the true terror is inside. Only the weak require a strong wall to hide behind.” He wonders if she’s thinking of her human lord, the one who left her. Tamlin has wandered as a beast for months, but the gossip of Prythian still finds him. Lucien has an ear at every door, and Rhysand’s monthly meetings are full of updates on political dealings that make Tamlin’s head ache.

“I’ll allow the tulips,” he says. “After all, you’ll be living here for a while, according to your High Lord. If my enemies are encouraged, you’ll see the result yourself.”

She nods, absently, no longer looking at his face but off into some middle distance. Probably considering a different arrangement of flowers, Tamlin thinks, deciding not to wait until she trains his eyes on him again. Instead he lets his feet carry him into the forest without only the smallest nod of goodbye.

He travels miles before he can rid himself of the image of her in his hall, rosy with the dawn light and fragrant as the gardens she dreams up. It is dangerous to think of an Archeron sister more than fleetingly, though, and so gradually Tamlin fills his mind up with the sights of the forest, the dappled light and the creatures that dart away when they hear him coming.

#acotar #acotar fanfiction #elain archeron #elain is my queen #elain x tamlin #tamlin #tamlin redemption arc #tamlin x elain #lucien vanserra #queen vassa #vucien #vucien is goals #inner circle #nessian #feysand #post acosf #acosf spoilers #gwynriel

[georgesdarkhorse]

k but paul fingering you in different positions until he touches one spot that makes you arch your back and throw your head back while silently moaning and his reaction is a smug little smirk while whispering lowly 'found it' in your ear

Sorry this has taken a while. I kept spontaneously combusting every time I thought of this ask. I don’t know why but from the first time I read this I imagined it in front of a mirror.

———

“Look at yourself.” Paul urged, pausing his movements.

My eyes fluttered open. After a moment I was able to focus, pushing past the fog my the delirious state of pleasure conjured. When I took in the view a shiver ran up my spine.

Directly across the room a floor length mirror was placed. His arms were wrapped around me, my breasts exposed, legs splayed open. My eyes snapped to my pussy, where his fingers were curled inside. He wanted to show me how my slick wetness covered his fingers. He wanted to show me how his thick fingers stretched and filled me. A whimper left my lips.

“Yeah,” Paul whispered lowly, satisfaction lining his voice. He tutted, “You’re just an absolute, beautiful mess right now, love.”

I was so lost in the moment, that I didn’t respond. He wasn’t really looking for one anyway, instead Paul was occupied with continuing his wonderful torture.

“Keep watching yourself, baby. I want you to see what I see.”

I nodded slowly, focusing back to the mirror, taking in my naked body pressed against Paul’s fully clothed one. He ran up my folds, spreading the wetness to my clit, which he gave a few appreciative rubs. My legs threatened to close at the contact but his feet were hooked around my ankles, holding them in place.

With a few more circles of my clit, I became a moaning mess. Paul chuckled in my ear, pleased with my reaction but even more pleased with the power trip I was giving him. He had complete and utter control over me.

He pulled away, fingers trailing back down my pussy.

“Did that feel good?”

I hummed in agreement before answering, “Yeah, wonderful.”

He ran a finger over my opening, the sensation causing a slight tickle. “Just you wait.”

I watched as a single finger entered me, the slight stretch not giving me the same amount of pleasure that I had just received. It was nice, just not enough.

He pumped his finger a few times, collecting wetness, giving us both a show in the mirror. Paul locked eyes with me through the mirror, the concentration he held was thick and heavy. He slipped in another finger, the significant stretch earning a moan.

Soon, the feeling faded, and I snaked my hand down to my clit, reviving the pleasure I so desired. The fullness of his fingers combined with the stimulation of my clit riled another moan from me. The feeling was short lived however, as Paul pulled my hand away.

“No no no, that won’t do.” He tutted, pinning my hands against my torso.

“Why not?” I whined, wanting nothing more than to get myself off. Paul typically compiled with any self touch I divulged in, most times he encouraged it wanting our orgasms to align. But tonight he was very particular about wanting to be the sole perpetrator of my pleasure.

“I’m doing all of the work tonight sweetheart, just relax.”

He ran his fingers wide and flat against my folds, shaking his hand from side to side. A deep moan left my lips as my legs began to tremble from the pleasure. After a moment, he subsided.

His finger went back inside. It felt as though he was taking his time, familiarizing himself with the landscape of my pussy.

I was about to pull his hand back to my neglected clit when a shock of pleasure zapped up my spine. With a sharp gasp I threw my head back and began wiggling away from the intensity of his touch. Tears pricked my eyes. It was overwhelming. Where orgasm was once a far objective, he had now brought me teetering on the edge with a simple turn of his hand.

Paul chuckled in my ear as he continued stroking along the top wall of my cunt. “Found it.”

My legs trembled and I cried out, hand flying to grip Paul’s thigh. “Oh my god!”

“Yeah, you like that, don’t you?”

My head thrashed from side to side, a tear slipped down my face. It was too much, too direct. I had never felt anything quite like this.

My entire body was on edge, I could literally feel my pussy compulsing. I dug into my heels, rocking my hips along with his movements.

“Oh, oh god, Paul…. I’m gonna, oh fuck I’m…”

“Yeah, you’re gonna cum? Cum all over my fingers baby, let it go.”

He pushed his fingers harder, diving into the sensitive spot, stroking it faster and pushing me to the edge.

I squeezed my eyes closed as my body tensed. My orgasm washed over me, a deep release followed, pushing out to every extremity.

“Fuck…” Paul slowed his motions, working me down from my high before withdrawing his fingers completely.

With eyes still shut, I felt his lips feather against my neck. Another chuckle rumbled in his throat. “Well that was unexpected.”

I let go of a deep breath, knitting my eyebrows together. “Wha…?”

Cracking open my heavy eyelids, I tilted my head towards him. A proud smile graced his lips before he captured my own.

“You left a bit of a wet spot on the carpet.”

Heat rose to my face as my eyes went wide. In between my legs a sizable dark patch spotted the flooring.

“Can’t say I’ve seen that before.”

It was clear that the spot was caused by my arousal, but I couldn’t piece together how it ended up there. “I don’t understand…”

“Well, it appears you’ve squirted darling

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