#a special blade do the job now

[nariism]

ink to paper — k. ayato

mutual/oblivious pining + "don't look at me that way."

synopsis. yes, he thinks. what would he do without you? well, his schedule would be a mess, for one. and he wouldn't know how to cut bunny ears into his apples, either.

wc. ~1.2k

— for @kruinka and @ph-xntasy / @yuellii 🫶 | event masterlist ✉️

You've cut his apples into petit rabbits today.

The ink at the end of Ayato's brush has soaked through his page at least three times since he started scribing, big globs of black ruining what could have been a beautiful sequence. And the culprits for distracting him taunt him with their little red ears.

In fact, they've been sitting for so long that the flesh of the fruit is starting to brown. How long has he been unproductively glancing up and down between his paper and his breakfast? 

He had told you that they were in season as a passing comment the last time he saw you—nothing more than a throwaway line to make conversation. Yet here you are, showing up at his table with a tray of his usual breakfast and something extra. Something hand-crafted and too cute for him to even fathom putting into his mouth.

It seemed that you had a special place in your memory for him. He could bring up the smallest wish and it would show up on his desk the next day.

It was your job to know him inside and out, after all. Your sole duty as his scheduler. Even so, you made time to do things outside of your job description if only to please him. You always looked so happy to see him, too. He's starting to wonder if you have a crush on him.

He glances at his clock. While he is busy with work, what harm would a few minutes do if he were to be a little distracted?

Kamisato Ayato cannot cook.

He remembers fondly the only time he had ever demonstrated his kitchen skills to you. After unpacking his favourite tempura from Uyuu restaurant, he proceeded to line the shrimp up on a plate and decorate it.

You found humour in his apparent lack of expertise in the kitchen, chalking it up to his spoiled upbringing. He hadn't believed you then, thinking that you were being too harsh as well as too distracted by the melody of your laugh to bother dwelling on it. But now he's here, trying to do something as simple as cutting apples and failing miserably.

What spurred him on to do this in the first place is beyond him. Maybe he thought that the smile on your face when you saw his efforts would be worth all the trouble, or perhaps he was seeking your approval since he admired your ever-growing list of skills.

From servant to sparring partner to cook to personal scheduler, you were quickly making yourself a regular part of his day. He envied your adaptability, having little opportunity as a noble to try.

He figured this would be a chance to start. To learn, if it were to make you happy or proud.

Oh dear. Who knew cutting apples was such a daunting task?

Ayato thought this would be simple—cut some apples into cute shapes, make you smile, perhaps keep you around a bit longer to discuss it than you would usually stay. (Lately, he's been craving to hear your voice more and more.)

But this blade is tiny, unlike his hefty sword. It's too nimble for his fingers, and he's sure he has nicked himself at least a dozen times by now.

If you were here, you'd probably scold him for being so careless. And you'd set aside time in your busy day to help him, he's sure. It's in your nature to be kind which makes him miss you all the more.

Just as he's about to give up and call it quits, the door slides open.

Archons. He's been so engrossed in his woes that he had forgotten it was almost time for your scheduled meeting to go over his other plans for the week.

The scraps of peel and sloppily shaped apple slices are so incriminating that he doesn't even bother hiding it. You both stare at each other from across the table, completely unblinking and still.

"Um..." You strain out, clearly attempting to hide your amusement. "Hello."

He coughs awkwardly, placing down the paring knife and trying to uphold as much dignity as he possibly can.

"Hello," he greets, unable to meet your gaze anymore. "My apologies. Our meeting slipped my mind."

You gently pluck a rabbit from the plate, rotating it around in your fingers to get a better look. They're sloppy, for sure, with jagged edges and tiny slits where you know his knife slipped. And they don't even resemble anything remotely close to rabbits in the first place, more like blocky V-shaped thingamabobs.

You glance up and down between the rabbit and the man behind it, who looks strangely flustered considering his usually calm temperament.

"Don't look at me that way," he says quietly, wooden end of the blade gently knocking against the table as he deflates.

"Are these... bunnies?" You ask him in bewilderment.

"They are... supposed to be rabbits, yes."

Complete silence fills the room until Ayato feels as if he can't breathe. Coupled with the way your eyes are scrutinizing his attempts, he wants nothing more than to melt away.

And then you laugh. You can't stop laughing, it seems. Doubled over onto the table and fighting for air between giggles.

He can't help the softening of his expression, the warmth in his chest. If this is all it took to get you to smile like that, then who cares how embarrassing it is that he can't even cut fruit correctly?

You round the table, plopping down next to him. Oh no. He can't control his racing heart when you're leaning in so close to him, so close that he can feel the rumble of your laughter in his own body.

With your shoulders pressed together, body resting comfortably against his, you take the blade and slice of apple from his hands.

"I'll show you how," you offer. He watches intently as you make the first shallow slits through the peel, then gently slide the knife across the top. Too busy admiring your skillful hands, he almost instantly blurts out:

"Can you please show me again?"

You look at him funny, brows pinched but a smile still seeping across your face. You show him another time, expertly cutting another slice. And another. And another.

Unconsciously, or perhaps following the quiet voice in his heart, his head falls atop yours. You sink into him, allowing him to rest against you without complaint.

"Hm, am I your personal comforter now?"

"I suppose you are."

"You know, if you actually pay attention you might be able to make your own breakfast."

"Mm..." He hums when your hands don't stop moving despite your words. Instead, you laugh again. And again, there's the ever familiar thrum of his heart.

"Oh, dear Commissioner. What would you do without me?"

Yes, he thinks. What would he do without you?

Well, his schedule would be a mess, for one. He's far too busy to keep track of it all on top of his other work. And he wouldn't know how to cut bunny ears into his apples, either.

He would rather you keep him company anyway, bunnies and all.

© ALABOADOA 2023 — please do not translate or post my works to other platforms.

#— whispers in the wind: 1k event ✉️ #genshin impact #genshin #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin fluff #genshin x gn reader #kamisato ayato #ayato #kamisato ayato x reader #ayato x reader #genshin ayato #ayato x you #ayato x y/n #ayato x gender neutral reader #ayato x gn reader #genshin fic #genshin drabbles

[look-at-the-soul]

Grandma knows best

Tommy Shelby x reader (+Grandma)

Summary: Thomas Shelby is a well known gánster, reckless, fearless, stubborn, restless… he might be a lot of things, but he wasn’t an inconsiderate man. Not specially with an elderly woman.

A/N: 🤷🏻‍♀️ grandmas definitely knows what’s best for us 👵🏻♥️✨ nothing but a fluff moment…

See the Grandma series here

Word count: 3,303

Taking off you coat, you tried to rub your hands to warm them up. Announcing you just arrived, barely noticing an unfamiliar voice.

But to your surprise, once you stepped into the kitchen, you found the least person you thought that could ever be there.

The Small Heath devil, Thomas Shelby.

“Oh darling, there you are.” You grandma greeted you with a wide smile. “I was just telling Mr. Shelby about you.”

“Grandma.” You were paralyzed, frozen in spot.

Giving you a subtle double look, he had to force himself to compose, nothing your grandmother had said about you prepared him. Your beauty was beyond words. And over the last hour he had heard nothing but compliments and good things, he had to admit he had been curious about that young lady that seemed to be exceptional.

A long time ago you learned walking alone once is dark is a bad idea, but crossing your eyes with that man was worse.

“We haven’t done anything wrong Mr. Shelby…” you tried to explain as the man stared perplexed, his man spread as if he owed everything in that house.

“Sweetheart Mr. Shelby helped me with the groceries and bread, the basket was heavy and he offered to walk me home.”

Noticing the terror in your eyes, he cleared his throat.

“My job is done here Mrs. Barwick, it was lovely to meet you, thank you for the tea.”

Standing up, he grabbed his peaky cap, the razor blade caught the light and shone in your direction. But your grandmother had a different idea.

“What do you mean you’re leaving? You’ve to stay for dinner.”

“Absolutely not.” You rushed to interrupt. Looking down at the tone you just used to answer your grandma you mumbled an apology.

“I really appreciate the offer bu-”

“This is absurd, you can’t leave until you’ve had dinner Mr. Shelby, I must insist, and I need to know the rest of the story of that caravan trip you did.” She replied scolding him just like she did with you, in that motherly tone.

Frowning you looked from her, to the well known gánster. There was no way back now, he was staying for dinner.

“Now, would you like some more tea?” She offered to him, as Thomas opened his mouth to say no, your grandma filled the cup again. It looked ridiculous in his hand.

The most dangerous man in the country drinking tea from a cup decorated with flowers. ¡In your bloody kitchen!

“Milk?” She offered, ignoring the fact that he could kill her anytime. You’ve heard all kinds of stories about him and the tortures he used among his enemies.

“Yes thank you.”

“Sweetheart, would you mind helping me here?” She pointed at the pot next to her knees, it was getting harder for her to bend down these days.

“I’ll get that for you.” He offered and in mere seconds he was crunching down to get it.

“Oh bless you.” Your grandma offered him another smile. “Why are you still standing there?” She called to get your attention.

Shaking your head a little, you were able to move past the initial shock, but still threw the man a side look just to make sure he wasn’t planning to blind your grandmother.

“Shall I cut these?” Mr. Shelby proposed pointing at the potatoes, after your grandmother nodded he produced a knife from his pocket, making you gasp. “Everything alright Miss Y/LN?”

“If you excuse me, I’ll come back in a minute.” She raised her eyebrows at you before she left.

“Listen it’s just the two of us alright? I pay the taxes and give money to church but I won’t pay you for protection.” You should have kept your mouth shut but for some reason, adrenaline made you talkative and you were nervous, afraid for your life, for your grandma.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m not here to collect any money.” He raised his hands in defense. “Your grandmother is adorable.”

“What?” You asked perplexed, thinking of a possible way to get out of the house safely.

“You heard me, I’m not here to do any harm to you or her.” He clicked his tongue. “She said you’re a smart woman, you’ve nothing to worry about.”

“Then why are you here?” Confusion was written all over you.

“She offered me tea and cookies… oh! And dinner.”

“You can’t stay!”

“Y/N! Where are your manners? That’s no way to treat such a gentleman.”

You couldn’t help but scoff at her words. Thomas Shelby a gentleman. He narrowed his eyes, and gave you an offended look.

“Set the table, I’ll finish this.” She ordered.

Doing as she asked, you went to collect the plates.

“Not that ones! The fancy set!” She instructed pointing the spoon at you.

Tommy chuckled at your surprised expression, but quickly looked down to continue his task chopping the vegetables.

But he’s a criminal! He’s a gangster! You wanted to say. Yet, she wanted to use the delicate china reserved only for important occasions.

Placing the plates, you took then the silverware from the drawer. Seconds later you heard them laughing over something he had said, your grandmother’s voice praising him for his sense of humor. She had no idea who he was! Or what he had done.

“And what did he say afterwards?” He asked your grandma, you found him leaning against the sink, his body turned to face her.

“He said, I swore I saw you first, it had to be me the one who would make the first move.” Your grandmother stated proudly.

Here she was, seventy something years old telling the number one Birmingham’s criminal her love story with your grandfather.

“I told him, of course honey, you chose me. He always thought it was him, but it was me the one who chose him.”

“How long were you married?” He asked with interest.

“Over fifty years, most of my life. Can you believe that?”

“That’s lovely.” He admitted. The words sounded so wrong in his mouth, he should be cursing or shouting.

“Dinner is ready.” Your grandma announced. “Y/N help our guest.”

You wanted to roll your eyes.

“Food smells amazing.” He complimented.

“Would you like a piece of bread? Tommy?”

“Grandma!”

“What? He says I can call him that.” She defended.

“Please.” He smiled and you groaned internally. “I’m going to wash my hands.”

As soon as he disappeared, your grandma grabbed your arm. “You need to put a smile on that face my darling, can’t you see? An educated gentleman is visiting us, he smells nice, has a sense of humor, is polite and handsome… have you seen his eyes? It’s like a piece of heaven!”

“So what? He’s a-”

“You need to find yourself a decent man, Y/N.”

“He’s not a decent man.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Grandma, he’s an arrogant, selfish and dangerous-”

“May I have this honor?” He asked interrupting your little disagreement, offering his arm to your grandma, he guided her tenderly towards the table. He probably heard everything you said.

“So, Tommy what is that you do?”

“I’ve a business, we sell car parts in different countries.”He wasn’t lying.

“I’ve never used a car!”

“Then I should take you for a ride.”

You felt about to combust, he was charming your grandmother and she believed him!

Grinding your teeth, you placed the food on his plate.

“I really appreciate this.” He gave you a twisted smile.

Your grandmother’s hand came to rest on his arm. “I’m so glad I came across you this afternoon. It’s been lovely to share this meal with you.”

“I’m flattered you think that.”

“You don’t have a wife waiting at home, do you Tommy?” Your grandma asked bluntly and you almost chocked on your food.

“No, Mrs Barwick. I’m not married.”

“How is that possible?” She shook her head. “You deserve a good woman!” Then, looking at you she said; “what was that tale I told you to find a husband?”

“I don’t know grandma, I’m done with my dinner if you excuse m-”

But the look she threw in your direction, made you reconsider leaving the table. Sometimes she didn’t need to use her words. One look was more than enough.

You took a deep breath uncomfortable, and it only grew as you could feel Mr. Shelby’s eyes on you.

“Your grandma mentioned you sell books.” He asked to ease the tension.

“Yes.”

“Oh but show him! About that collection you got.” Your grandma encouraged.

“What is it about? Eh?”

“She’s a great seller.” She praised.

“Oh.” Mr. Shelby’s eyes sparkled. He was having fun. “Really?”

He was the most irritating person you’ve ever met.

“It’s about the Greek mithology.”

“Fascinating.” He nodded. “Why don’t you stop by my office tomorrow? I’d like the entire collection.”

“That’s wonderful!” Your grandma beamed.

“All set then.” He ran his tongue over his lips and then, tilted his head. “You made me remember about my grandmother.”

“What was a she like?” Your grandmother asked, batting her lashes.

He had her eating from his palm deliberately.

Studying the man before your eyes, something changed inside you. How could he be so cold-hearted? He seemed like a total different person in that very moment, his guard was down, posture totally relaxed, he even had a smile on his face.

Catching you off guard, you had to look away from him.

“She was a gypsy princess.” His blue eyes filled with nostalgia. “Thanks to her I learned all about values like respect, loyalty. She showed me how to ride a horse and light a fire.”

“It must’ve been hard for her to be on the road.”

“Actually no, she loved to be free, said how nature provided us for everything we might need.” He explained all while his deep voice was dragging you into something you couldn’t name. “It’s getting late and I don’t want to keep you up. Thank you once again.”

“Thank you for a lovely evening Tommy, would love to have you again for dinner .”

He gave you another look, not so subtle this time.

“I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“Not at all, right Y/N?” She pressed her elbow against your arm. “Walk him to the door my dear.”

Offering his hand to her, she whispered into his ear; “She doesn’t trust easily, you’ll need to work harder.”

Tommy tried to disguise his chuckle, after winking at your grandmother he thanked you too.

“I really enjoyed it, hope to see you around?” He arranged the peaky cap on his head and placed his hand on your arm.

“Goodnight Mr. Shelby.” Was all you could think of saying, still confused by everything that happened.

“Goodnight Mr. Shelby?” Your grandmother mimicked your voice. “You’ll need to do better next time, fix your hair, wear your new shoes… a little something! Y/N I placed him in a silver tray for you and you only said two words to him. Sweetheart you need to do something to catch his attention.”

Opening your mouth to protest, but she continued rambling. “But be discreet, you must stand out from the other women, don’t throw yourself at him, leave him wanting more,” her eyes sparkled in excitement. “A hand on his shoulder, hold his gaze… or pretend to brush something from his coat and then look at his lips.”

“Grandma, stop.” You blushed.

“Goodness, I can’t do anything else for you! He was right here!” She took the plates to the kitchen. “A smile might help, you need to ask him about his day, fix his handkerchief…”

“He was only here because you didn’t give him another option.” A sigh escaped your lips.

“My sweet girl, you’ve everything he needs,” she cupped your chin gently. “But you’re too shy! He kept staring at you…”

“I think your imagination is wild.”

“Y/NY/LN,” you stopped midway as she called your full name. Oh oh. “I like him to be my grandson-in-law… so you gotta do something soon.”

And knowing her the way you did, you realized there was no way back now. Once an idea got into her head, she wouldn’t let that slip away.

“I’ve been praying for this moment for so long!” You heard her say from across the room and then she mumbled something about that blue dress that suited you so well.

As you were about to clean the kitchen you heard a knock on the door. Opening, you were surprised to find the most terrifying man on your doorstep once more.

Your heart rate went up immediately, he was standing with his hands crossed in front of his body, head hanging low, you could only see his lips under the peaky cap.

“I’ll be waiting for you Miss Y/LN, tomorrow ten o’clock, I’ll make sure to send someone to help you with the books.”

“That won’t be necessary, I can carry them by myself.” You insisted, still unsure about his intention.

“Fairly well, as you wish.”

As he turned around to leave, something made you stop him.

“I want to thank you for helping my grandmother.” Never, in a million years you imagined you’d be grateful for something he did.

Lifting his jaw to stare at you with those piercing blue eyes that could set anyone into stone, he gave you a smile.

“I just did the right thing.” He cleared his throat. “You’ve nothing to be afraid of by the way, don’t believe everything you hear.”

“I just learned that, you can be considerate and charming sometimes.”

“Then consider yourself lucky,” he winked at you, “that doesn’t happen too often.”

Looking past your shoulder, Tommy noticed your grandmother’s head poking, moving her hands excitedly towards you.

****

Master list

Tag list: @lyarr24 @runnning-outof-time @cillmequick @datewithgianni @cloudofdisney @gretelshelby @garrison-girl-08 @lespendy @onlydeadcells @fastfan @stevie75 @prettylittlehoneyeyesxoxo @esposadomd @forbidden-forest-witch @ange-thoughts @moral-terpitude @elenavampire21 @forgottenpeakywriter @thenattitude @winchestergirl22 @zablife @elk96 @heidimoreton @imichelle-l-rigby @allie131313 @already-broken144 @peakyscillian @babaohhhriley @shelbydelrey @shaddixlife @sloanexx @sydneyyyya @adaydreamaway08 @pono-pura-vida @thomashelbyswife @darleneslane @everythingelseisextra @kmc1989 @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @lau219 @red-riding-wood

#That’s what Cill said #tommy shelby fanfiction #tommy shelby fan fic #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby fanfic #thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x you #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fanfiction

[megu-meow]

love scars - Gojo Satoru

Gojo x Fem. Reader

Summary: you heal Gojo's scars after his fight with Sukuna.

TW: MANGA SPOILERS, hurt, pain, battle scars, blood

Seeing Satoru physically hurt was not something you witnessed often. His infinity kept him safe, not many were able to penetrate the invisible barrier that protected him from outside attacks. However, the King of Curses was one of those few that managed to nullify that defensive power of your beloved husband and you warned the white-haired sorcerer about that possibility before going into battle.

It was heartbreaking for you, to let him go into battle so soon after his unsealing, but you had no other choice. He was the strongest after all, the one destined to defeat the monster called Ryomen Sukuna. You couldn’t just sit there with the others and watch the clash of the strongest, so you decided to wait in the medical ward of Jujutsu Tech, knowing that Satoru would teleport there instantly if he got hurt. Shoko told you about his plan, he didn't want you to be there when he arrived, and he didn't want you to see him hurt, but you couldn't care any less about his preferences. You were a Special Grade sorcerer, a healer with an insane amount of cursed energy, but Gojo didn't want you to take care of his wounds after his fight because of the Heavenly Restriction imposed on your powers. In order to balance out the sheer amount of cursed energy you possessed and the seemingly limitless reversed cursed technique you could produce, your technique had its flaw: the pain that you took away from others by healing them was inflicted on you throughout the duration of the process.

He witnessed it many times, the way it worked, and he held you lovingly, trying to take away the agonizing pain shaking your body. Compared to you, Shoko's powers were a lot more limited, she couldn't deal with greater injuries, however, she could heal him enough so that he could do the rest on his own. There was no way he could allow you to go through the pain he was feeling after Sukuna's back-to-back slashes.

After the longest 2 hours of your life, you suddenly felt a huff of air and Satoru appeared in front of you, growling in pain.

"No, no, no, baby, you're not supposed to be here, go get Shoko, please." he implores, the agonizing pain visible in his cerulean eyes. At least the one you could see, the other slashed in half, covered in blood.

"Shoko's busy with the others, Satoru. You know this is not the job for her, she couldn't do it. I have to be the one to heal you, sweetheart." you explain, already multiplying your cursed energy, ready to produce the RCT needed for a difficult job like this one.

"No, I can't... I can't let you deal with this, my kikufuku. It's unbearable, it's too much." he exclaims, tears running down his face "I can do it myself, I just need a moment to cool down and re-charge my cursed energy."

"No, you can't, Satoru! You're gonna bleed out, I have to do this. Please, let me do this..." you are crying now too, imploring him to finally agree "I love you, please let me do this!"

He takes off his surprisingly intact shirt, he hisses in pain, but he has finally accepted your help. You step closer to him as you put your hand over the deepest cut you could see, one close to his precious heart and you look him in the eyes one last time before starting the process. He leans up to carefully kiss your lips, whispering how much he loves you, how sorry he is, and how everything is going to be fine. He takes your free hand into his and he can feel your grip tightening as his wound fades slowly. For the first few cuts he thinks you're doing great, but you are doing everything in your power to not scream from the agonizing pain. Your eyes are full of tears, your face contorted from the feeling of sharp blades slicing your skin. There are no visible scars or anything signaling that you were hurting, but he knows what you're feeling. It's the same thing he had to endure half an hour ago while fighting Sukuna.

After an hour of constantly healing him, you're about halfway done, but the pain gets nearly unbearable and you scream, trying to push through it for Satoru's sake.

"Baby, please, stop, I'll be okay from now on, I'll do the rest myself, just please stop!" he implores, unable to let you continue. You cannot speak back, you drop your head back, trying to deal with the unbearable pain, but you don't let go. You continue healing him as he implores and begs you to stop. His eye is the most difficult to restore, but you're able to do it, and as soon as his last scar disappears from his body, you collapse into his hands, barely conscious.

"Are you okay, little one? Please tell me you're okay. I love you, I need you to be alright." he says cupping your cheeks, leaving small kisses all over your face and lips.

"I'm fine, 'toru. Don't worry!" you smile lightly, kissing him on the lips "Jus' tired."

"I'm not gonna let you do that again. I don't want you to feel pain, sweetheart. You're so brave, you are amazing. I love you more than anything." he murmurs, kissing the crown of your head as you bury your face in his toned chest, inhaling his scent. He smells like cologne and body wash, a tiny ounce of sweat, but you don't mind. You're glad he's okay and that you were able to heal his porcelain skin, making every scar littered on his body disappear forever.

#gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen #jjk imagines #gojo imagine #gojo fluff #jjk x reader #satoru gojo #jjk x you #gojo saturo #gojo angst #gojou satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo fanfic #gojou satoru x you

[macabr3-barbi3]

Hey! I saw your oneshot requests post on AO3. I hope I'm not I'd love to make a request, hope I'm not too late! Could you please write a oneshot with Alastor catching the reader masturbating and give him a breeding kink? It's cool if you're not into it though and would only prefer to write Alastor catching the reader before having sex, lol. *gives you a massive smooch on the forehead* thank you smm

did I go a little crazy with this? maybe. I had fun though, that's what matters! I struggled a little with the breeding kink part but I hope you still like it, anon! <3

Tags: vaginal sex, possessive sex, masturbation, biting, a bit of scratching (I like Al's claws what can I say)

2.4k words

<3<3<3<3<3

Another shitty day in Hell, you think to yourself, coming home from the shit job you held at the news station. You’d think Katie Killjoy could get her own fucking coffee and fetch her own scripts from the producers but no- she needed you to do it so she could spew shit down your throat when her day wasn’t perfect. Which, you know, it was Hell- every day was shit.

You collapse back onto your bed, limbs tense and head pounding. Katie just never shut the fuck up and her shrill voice sounded like a dentist drill in your head. You’d kill a man to be able to relax- it wouldn’t be the worst thing you had done in Hell. But it had been a long time since you had done anything like that; not since Alastor had disappeared. 

Alastor. Even now, thinking his name brings a pulsing heat to your core. 

In hindsight, of course, trading your soul to the Radio Demon for your boyfriend’s to be free had been stupid. So, so stupid, and you realized it as soon as the bastard had broken up with you to fuck off to another area of Pentagram City. Leaving you and your soul in the clutches of one of the most dangerous Overlords that Hell had ever seen. Your job was simple at least- you spent time with Alastor in Cannibal Town almost as an assistant for a while, managing his schedule (when he could be bothered to follow it), checking in on other souls he owned (when he cared enough to check on them), and just generally being at his beck and call.

You were perhaps the tiniest bit infatuated with him at the time. You did whatever he asked of you- his tasks and errands, his housework, the organization of his radio studio when he got too into ripping someone apart. It wasn’t long until he was asking you to assist him with the deed, pushing a blade of angelic steel into your hands and guiding you towards a rapidly beating heart. 

The way he had said “good girl” that day lived inside your head, would twist wickedly around your thoughts when you were trying to focus on anything. 

It did now as well, and despite the fact that you hadn’t seen the demon in seven years- having just up and vanished one day- it still held the same power. Your heart raced, cheeks flushed, and you could feel yourself growing damp between your legs at the thought. You didn’t allow yourself to indulge in the memories often, but today felt like an especially shitty one. You think you could be forgiven thinking inappropriately about your old boss long enough to get a quick orgasm in before passing out for the day. 

With a quick glance to the window, just to make sure the curtains were drawn, you slide your fingers under the band of your panties and run your fingers through the slickness that you find, gently circling a finger over your clit and huffing out an exhale at the sensation. Thinking of Alastor never failed to make you a mess, pleasure curling in your brain and your gut. It was a wonder you had managed to work for him so long without trying to make a move but he had always seemed so uninterested in anyone else when they tried. You wouldn’t imagine that you were special enough to change his stance on that, but your imagination wasn’t hurting anyone.

You shift on the bed, raising your hips up far enough to slide your bottoms off and shove them to the side. You freeze when you hear something that sounds like a creaking door, but brush it off as something from a lower floor, bringing your other hand under the covers. 

One rubbing lightly at your clit you let your other hand reach further, slipping first one finger and then a second into the wet warmth of your pussy. You whimper and close your eyes, wishing that your fingers were longer, wishing someone else was at the other end of them and causing the stretch.

“Good girl.”Alastor’s voice slithers like a tendril through your mind, and you can’t help the groan that tumbles from your lips in the darkness of the night. “Alastor,” you breathe out, indulging yourself, the sound barely audible. It’s going to be over too quickly but you’re too wound up to care, the thought of the Radio Demon alone threatening to send you hurtling over that edge.

“Yes, darling?”

You yelp at the shock of his voice, not just in your head but echoing in the room. Eyes flying open, impending orgasm fading, you see his eyes glowing in the darkness of a corner, his grin coming into view as he steps into the faint light of your bedside lamp. “A-Alastor. What are you doing here?” 

He had been gone for seven years. What were the chances he would show up here? Now? 

“Can an Overlord not simply pop into the home of a soul in their possession when they choose?” He steps closer, head cocked to one side as he looks at you, and you realize that your hands are still fucking touching yourself and you rip them out from under the blanket. “I must say, this is quite the welcome home.”

“I- I didn’t-” He crouches at the end of the bed and your brain stops working for a moment. “I obviously wasn’t expecting you-”

“Hmm, that doesn’t sound quite like the truth! You said my name, did you not?” When you falter his grin widens, reaching a hand out and snatching the blanket away, exposing your bare skin to the room. “My my, what do we have here?”

“Oh god- Alastor, I’m so sorry,” you say, and try to scramble up the bed away from him before he wraps a hand around your ankle and yanks you back down. Your heart is pounding, threatening to beat straight out of your chest with the look that he’s giving you.

He gives a hum of acknowledgment. “There’s nothing to be sorry for, darling,” he murmurs, trailing his fingers up your leg to settle on your thigh. “Except, perhaps, starting without me. Do tell, did you miss me terribly while I was gone?”

You open your mouth to speak and all that can escape is a choked out moan when he slicks his fingers through the wetness he finds between your thighs. “That’s not quite an answer but I suppose it can be forgiven.” Miraculously blunt, he presses a digit into you, followed quickly by another as he shifts so he’s crouched above you, face a mere breath away from yours. 

“A- Alastor, fuck,” you manage to gasp out. “Where have you been?” It should be the farthest thing from your mind when he’s got those dexterous fingers inside you, stretching and preparing you for something more if the bulge in his trousers is anything to go by.

Alastor shrugs, “oh you know, just here and there. Doing a bit of this and that.” Eyes lidded he takes in your form beneath him. “Nothing quite so interesting as what I’ve stumbled onto here.” His free hand fumbles with his belt buckle, the clinking of metal drawing your eyes to his exposed erection in his fist. “Won’t you show me how you’ve missed me?”

In answer you lift a leg to wrap around his waist, delighting in his dark chuckle and throwing your head back with a groan when he growls “good girl” against your throat. 

He lines himself up with your heat and pushes in slowly, giving you time to adjust; once he’s reached the hilt he braces his hands on your headboard and pulls back, slamming back forward with a vigor you’ve only ever seen from him in his studio. You cling to his back, fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt in a desperate bid to get closer.

Alastor leans down far enough to lick into your mouth, sharp teeth nipping at the sensitive skin of your lips. You bite back in retaliation, perhaps a bit too hard in your eagerness and confusion at the situation- his lip splits and you taste the metallic tang. He pulls back for a moment, manic grin on his face in spite of the bead of blood welling on his mouth. He releases the headboard and shifts, one hand twisting up into your hair and dragging your head up to meet his. The other slides between your bodies, thumb grinding into your clit and the rest of his claws gripping your hips where he could reach them.

You had already been so close to orgasm by the time he turned up- the pressure on your clit and the feeling of him inside you, his hands gripping at your body and head while he kissed you and railed himself inside you. You tear your mouth away from his to gasp his name, winding a hand up into his locks as well and striking against something hard.

Your body is shaking with the attempt to hold back, trailing your fingers to the base of his antlers and giving a soft squeeze. 

He groans into your mouth, a broken sound. “Do you mean to make me spend myself already, darling?” He drops your head back onto the pillows, licks down the column of your throat while pulling your other leg up around his hip to press closer to you, deeper. “We’ve hardly begun! I thought you missed me- you’d wish it over so quickly?”

“God, Alastor,” you whimper, and his thumb increases its speed, pressing you into the mattress and digging his fingers into your skin. The release is so close, your legs tensed around the demon’s middle, fingers shaking where they grasp at him. “Fuck-”

“I’d prefer to take my time with you, but I suppose there’s nothing to be done for it if you’ve yearned for me so.” He redoubles his efforts, pounding into your tight heat while you moan and quake around him. A particularly hard thrust has him glancing off that sweet spot inside of you, and combined with his efforts on your clit you’re breaking, everything inside of you clenching and releasing in a rhythm that has him snarling into the skin of your neck.

“I can feel how much you missed me,” he hisses in your ear. “So responsive and greedy in how your body pulls me in- wishes for me to release myself within the grip of your body, to fill you with me.” Another hard thrust and you whine into his hair, grip still tight on his antlers. “Is that what you wish? To be filled? Marked as mine not just in soul but body?”

Your voice trembles out of you, “god, Alastor, yes.”

“There will be no part of you that I have not touched,” he growls, and post orgasm you gasp at the sensation of tightening around him involuntarily. “All of you will be mine- mine-”

Alastor reaches orgasm with a broken cry, clutching your body to his as tightly as he can while spilling inside of you, tensing walls seeming to be trying to pull him deeper despite being buried to the hilt already. He bites you in the moment, a push of teeth into the skin of your shoulder just under your shirt, sucking and running his tongue over the mark as he pulls back.

He leans back far enough for you to see his face again, crimson eyes lidded and smile dangerous. There’s blood on his lips, from where you had bit his and from sinking his fangs into you as he went over the precipice of pleasure. Finally he releases his grip on you.

You collapse back into the pillows, sated and exhausted, while Alastor stands from the bed and situates himself, dragging his thumb across the bite you had left on his lip and smearing the blood across the pad of the digit. He sucks it into his mouth with a crooked smirk. “Well, this was quite the enjoyable detour, darling!”

“Detour?” You sit up against the pillows again. “You’re not staying?”

“I’m afraid not- but don’t worry your pretty little head about it! Neither are you!” He snaps his fingers and your bottoms are back on your body, Alastor holding a hand out to you and hoisting you up from the mattress. He takes a moment to pat your head, smoothing down the stray hairs that had escaped your ponytail from your combined efforts before he bangs his cane on the ground.

“I am?” You look around your apartment. “But- I have a job? And my apartment, who will water my plants?”

“We’ll bring your plants with us! Do you truly care about such trivial matters when you’ll be with me?” A claw tipped finger under the chin, he makes you look up at him. “That’s what you’ve wanted all this time, yes? So help me with this little project I’m working on.”

The floor opens below you, Alastor throwing an arm around your shoulders as you shift into the shadows and reemerge in some kind of lobby.

“What the f-”

“Salutations, everyone! This is one of my associates- I’m happy to offer her services! Please feel free to use her as you see fit, Charlie- she’s quite eager to please.” 

“Oh my gosh, HI!” The Princess of Hell steps forward- you recognize her from her interview at the news station a week ago, Katie hadn’t stopped bitching for hours after that shitshow. She violently shakes your hand and arm before the shorter woman, her little one-eyed girlfriend, forcibly pulls her away from you. “I have SOOOOO many ideas for what you can help out with- do you have any experience with cooking? How about cleaning? Maybe Niffty could use some help-” Charlie reaches back and grabs your arm, dragging you away from Alastor who gives you a little wave before slinking back into the shadows.

You spot Husk behind the counter of a bar, Angel Dust of all people draped across it with his head dropped into his arms. The cat lifts an eyebrow at you, another one of Alastor’s souls apparently roped into helping with this ‘project,’ and raises his glass in acknowledgment. A healthy amount of fear and anticipation fills you- you would be working with Alastor again, which would be a nice change of pace from the news station. But when Katie found out her little assistant was going to working with the young woman who made a mockery of her live on television she was going to be pissed.

#hazbin hotel #ao3 writer #ao3 fanfic #alastor #alastor x reader #alastor the radio demon #x reader #alastor hazbin hotel #requests <3 #my stuff <3

[monamourbladie]

hi!! <3 im the anon who req the dan heng headcanons.. TYSM IT WAS AMAZING!!! OmG OMG OMG best idea ever. well not best idea ever. but imagine like blade is super distant and cold towards you as he normally is, right? but he secretly likes the reader for plot purposes. but one day, the reader is js like "oh well" and talks to someone else for a change, having fun w the other person instead of blade since blade 'doesnt' like them. would blade just stand there and watch knowing he cant rightfully do anything since it was partly his fault (and he has too much pride for himself), or would he try to get you to talk to him again?

HI ANON AHH tysm for the requests :D i’m glad you enjoyed it so much~! that’s a great idea i was so excited to write this one i tried to write it as fast as possible LOL

Secretly Loves You - Blade x F!reader

warnings: none~

You had been apart of the Stellaron Hunters for about a year now. You had grown the closest with Silver Wolf, as you both shared an intense love of games. You were picked up from their time on the Xianzhou Luofu for your healing capabilities and quickly became a core member of the crew.

Elio liked you and so did Sam, Silver Wolf adored you and Kafka respected you. But the person who you wanted to like you the most seemed to despise you.

Blade — Kafka’s golden boy (you always swore they had something for each other, but neither ever confirmed it and nobody could guess if they were together or not) Fierceness aside, he was absolute eye candy to you.

Blade was extremely closed off — it’s been like that since day one. It took him months and months to warm up to Silver Wolf (and now he treats her like an irritating little sister that he secretly adores but claims he hates), and even though it’s been almost a full year, you haven’t been able to break through to him just yet.

You didn’t exactly know why. It wasn’t like he was talkative and excitable to everyone else by any means, but he definitely showed at least some kind of enjoyment speaking with people. With you? It seemed like he absolutely hated you.

Maybe it was the fact that he hated being nursed back to health due to him wanting to die so badly. You never understood that, and were just simply doing your job to protect him.

You’ve lost count by now of how many times he complained to you about helping him was unnecessary. It irritated you, but you always smiled at him and told him you were just doing your job.

“I told you, I don’t need your help,” he grunted as you rubbed special Xianzhou healing oils on his back. You bit your lip as you continued to massage it into his skin, “Do you ever not complain?” you said teasingly as you pat his back playfully.

He only grunted in response. He hated having you see him like this. He was shirtless on the med bay table, sitting up with his chest bandage off for once. His upper chest was heavily scarred and destroyed from all the times Jingliu killed him over and over again. The first time you saw those wounds, you were determined to try and heal them so he wasn’t forced to wear as many bandages on the daily.

You were using special Xianzhou healing oils to increase the healing speed — and within a few months, you were noticing small bits of healthier skin, showing it was working.

“Complain all you want, Bladie, but it’s actually working to help you.” He glanced back at her with a glare, “I told you not to call me that, L/n.” His voice was bitter and cold as always to you.

It hurt, but eventually you grew thicker skin to it. It hurt especially because over the months you began to harbor a nasty crush on the immortal man.

Silver Wolf loved to tease you about it, and swore she would help get you two together. But little interactions like these with Blade helped cement in your mind that there was no way he saw you as anything more than an annoying healer.

What you didn’t know was that Blade actually harbored feelings for you, too.

Due to his painful past, he was very adamant about not getting close to anyone again out of fear he’d lose everyone he loves again — especially a lover.

He thought you were absolutely beautiful. He secretly loved the extra attention you were giving him, and although he wanted nothing more than eternal rest, he was thankful that you were giving him a distraction from the pain.

He just had no idea how to tell you. He had a reputation with the Hunters as being the cold and brooding one. He definitely wasn’t sure how to approach a girl he liked and say “Hey, I like you” without feeling like an absolute pathetic fool.

It stayed this way for months. Neither of you saying anything to the other that would let the other know you like each other. Until eventually, a new member on the medical team started to work for the Hunters — a man named Leon.

Leon was everything Blade was hoping he could be for you. He was handsome, he was nice, gentlemanly — he was attentive to you and could speak his heart. You and him quickly became close, and there were even some moments where Leon took care of Blade instead of you.

He absolutely was growing jealous over the man. Some nights Blade wondered if he could just kill Leon and get on with it and swoop you off of your feet, but being a romantic was not Blade’s strong suit by any means.

His final straw finally made him snap to go to Kafka for advice. After his weekly checkup with you, he got home and realized his bandages weren’t tight enough around his chest, so he had to go back to the med bay. As he walked back to the med bay he froze, seeing you kissing Leon from a distance.

He felt his anger consume him and he decided to just deal with the loose bandage and fix it himself. He stormed off as he felt the Mara flare up within him, making him angrier than he normally would’ve been.

Of course you’re moving on. Why wouldn’t you? He never made any move on you to let you know he liked you. Why would you risk waiting around when a perfect man for you was right there?

Blade found himself at Kafka’s door as he knocked. She opened it and frowned seeing Blade angry, “Bladie? What’s wrong?” she asked.

Blade pushed himself in the door and slammed it behind him, huffing in frustration, “Can I just fucking kill Leon already?”

Kafka raised as brow as she motioned for him to sit down on her couch. “You can’t kill the rookie. Why do you want to?”

Blade unbuttoned his shirt and jacket and slid it off of his arms, revealing his bandaged chest. “Can you fix these for me? Y/n’s too busy getting fucked to deal with it.”

Kafka bit her lip as she smirked. “Am i sensing jealousy from you? Over Y/n and the rookie?”

He grumbled as he shook his head, running his fingers through his tousled hair, “Would you just leave it and fix this shit for me?”

Kafka raised her hands in defense as she sat behind him, beginning to unravel the bandages. “You just want it tighter, right?”

“Yes,” he muttered, looking out at the photo of them all on her wall.

Blade, Elio, Sam, Silver Wolf, Kafka, and Y/n were in it. He felt his heart ache seeing her so happy beside Silver Wolf. She looked just as happy in the photo as she did leaning in to kiss Leon.

The image of them kissing was seared in his brain, and it made him angrier the more he thought of it.

Kafka, whose used her Spirit Whisper on Blade long enough to understand when he was angry, rest her hand on his shoulder. “Blade. Talk with me. Why are you so angry right now?” she asked, her voice gentle with him.

He was silent for a moment before realizing this might be his only shot for help. He sighed, “…It’s about Y/n. I… I like her,” he said, his gravelly voice low and soft as he spoke. Kafka was the only person he felt comfortable opening up around.

“And I’m angry that she can’t see that. She knows I have a hard time expressing myself. So why couldn’t she tell?” Kafka unintentionally let out a laugh at his commentary.

He turned around, glancing back at her confused, “You’re laughing at me? Seriously, Kafka?”

“No — it’s just… have you even attempted to tell her that you like her? Everything I ever see, you’re ignoring her, glaring at her when her back is turned, and badmouthing her whenever you’re alone with her and she’s patching you up. It hurts her, Bladie. I refuse to believe that you think you’ve made your feelings clear,” she replied.

Blade blinked in confusion. “But I like her. I don’t treat anyone differently than that.”

“Are you even aware of how many people think we’re dating?” Kafka asked him. “I’m sure she thinks we’re dating, too. She probably gave up and moved on with that rookie.”

“Gave up? Does she like me too?” Blade asked quickly, feeling a slight glimmer of hope. Kafka shrugged, “It’s so obvious. She definitely gave up trying since you made no effort to show you were interested.”

“Well — help me out, what am I supposed to do now? Did I fuck up already and lose her to that damn rookie?” he asked her.

Kafka sighed, sitting back against the couch. “I don’t know. I’d recommend asking her tomorrow and just pray that you have a chance still. I know you really like her.”

Blade grumbled at this and nodded, grasping at his shirt and sliding it back on over his head now that Kafka had finished bandaging him up.

“Yeah, well. I don’t know if I’m that lucky. She was kissing him and seemed to be very happy with it,” he said with a bitter tone. “Thanks.”

“If it comes to it, I can always pull strings and check with Elio-“

“No,” he said firmly, standing up to leave. “I don’t want to know the answer.”

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

The next day sometime after lunch, Blade headed to the cafeteria with his heart pounding. He had never felt this anxious before, not for a long, long time.

Just tell her you like her. She’s just confused, that’s all. It’ll be fine…

He saw you sitting alone at one of the cafeteria benches, obviously on your lunch break. He took in a breath and walked over, sitting across from you.

You looked up from your data pad and smiled, “Hi, Blade. Did you need me to fix your bandages already?” you asked sweetly.

He was embarrassed that he felt his cheeks burn from the kindness in your voice. “No. That won’t be necessary. Kafka fixed them last night.”

Your smile visibly fell a bit and Blade cringed at himself. “Oh, Kafka… right. Well, what did you need?”

“I’m not with Kafka,” he said quickly. “I don’t want you to get the wrong idea.”

“Wrong idea?” you raised a brow, curious as to where he was going. “Wrong idea about… you and Kafka?” you muttered. He could sense a bit of irritancy on your end at the thought of them together.

“Right. We’re not. But… you and that Rookie. Leon, right? Are you?” he questioned. You seemed surprised that he asked and you let out a soft nervous laugh, “W-well, no… but. I mean, it’s complicated, I guess.” you took a sip of your drink as Blade tensed up.

“I want us to be, because the guy I like really, really doesn’t like me. So I’m just cutting my losses and trying to move on, I guess. It just so happens Leon has an interest in me. I’m just anxious to make the jump,” you confessed. There was no way he’d figure out it was him, so you felt comfortable saying it.

“Don’t,” Blade quickly said. “Don’t date Leon.” You furrowed your brows at him, “I’m sorry, why do you care? As far as I’m aware, you hate being around me. Quite frankly, I’m shocked you’re even speaking to me right now.”

Blade felt offended that you believed so strongly that he hated you. “You think I hate you? Why the hell do you think that?” he questioned.

“Because you’re always so cold and closed off towards me! You always are grumpy whenever you have to speak to me and have me work on you, you’re closed off and never speak to me unless you absolutely have to, and it honestly hurts! I don’t know why you treat me this way, but I’m tired of it.”

Blade felt like a total idiot hearing you open up like that. Kafka really was right…

“I don’t… I don’t hate you,” he said quietly, averting his eyes out of embarrassment. “I like you, Y/n. I just had no idea how to deal with it. I figured you’d just… know.”

You couldn’t help your eyes widen at his confession. “You mean to tell me this entire time I’ve been trying to get over you, you just assumed I knew you liked me?” you gawked.

“Yes?” Blade replied. It was so obvious that he was so, so bad at relationships but clearly was trying hard. You could only giggle at this, shaking your head. “Jesus, Blade, you’re really something, aren’t you?”

Blade wasn’t really so sure how to answer your comment. You started to smile, “So, since you don’t want me to go out with Leon… I’m assuming you want to take me out on a date instead, right?” you asked.

Blade felt his cheeks flush again as he nodded, “I would love to.”

You smiled and stood up, walking over to him and leaning in. “I get off of work in 4 hours. Meet me at my room at 6, okay?” you said, leaning in to kiss his cheek.

You were shocked to see the man actually blush at your action. He looked up at you with a smile and nodded, “…Okay. I’ll see you at 6.”

#honkai star rail #hsr #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #blade x reader #yingxing #blade hsr #blade x reader hsr #yingxing x reader #masterlist

[rileysluvr]

almost 4k words of john price and throat fucking omg i love old men. this one is a little crazy i won’t lie guys my bad

“Hi, Captain,” you smile, closing the door behind you. “What are you up to?”

He hadn’t bothered lifting his head from the documents in his hand when he heard the knocking on his door, nor to bark a gruff order of entry. He simply doesn’t have the time to. When he catches sight of you in his peripheral, though, with that sweet as sugar voice greeting him like a heaven-sent amusement, he does suppose a short break won’t horribly kill him. You are always reminding him he works too hard, anyway.

Your presence is always sure to cheer him up. Whether it be on a day where far too much is happening for his brain to keep up, or one that progresses so slowly he can actually feel himself aging in real time; you show up near the end, all spry and dolled up for him, and he’s sure to forget all about even the shittiest of days. You’ve just got that sort of delightful energy to you.

“The usual paperwork, nothin’ exciting.” He taps his cigar on the corner of the ashtray in front of him, just next to a glass with a thin line of brown liquid he’d been working on. Whiskey, presumably. “Why?”

The room is lit a dull color, easier on the eyes. He always liked things that were easy on the eyes, yourself included.

The admiration for warm, maybe even domestic comfort like this, comes free with the job, and he’d be a fool to not notice the sweet girl in front of him who fits all the requirements and more. Actually pursuing it, however, without the childish sneaking around; that’s a whole ‘nother ball game, trickled with millions of obstacles of every kind.

“No reason. Just that you’ve been in here a while,” you say as you walk over to him, hands clasped behind your back. “And we all missed you at the bar.”

He drops everything—cigar hits glass, documents hit desk, hardened manner going unnourished—and pushes his chair back. Your eyes instantly fall to see how his legs are spread naturally, big and just begging for you to come closer. You’re not going to pass up the opportunity.

He jeers, arms crossed over his expansive chest. “So you’ve come here to save me, is that it?”

“Maybe not save you.” You step between his knees, wondering when his posture had dropped so that he was leaning farther back, hips forward and closer to the chair's edge. Like he’s showing himself off, welcoming you to take a bite. You’re not going to refuse him. “But I can always try my best to help.”

He’s no idiot. He knows what you’re suggesting; you’ve done it plenty before, without fault. He just wants to hear it in that unabashed and wildly indecorous tone of yours. “And how are you going to do that?”

Bottom lip stuck between your teeth for a moment, balancing back and forth between your heels and toes. Your head tilts down a bit but your eyes stay on his figure, like a cheeky pout.

“Lemme suck your cock?”

He heartily laughs at your proposal. “Right now? While I’m working?”

“I promise it’ll be quick,” you pry, in that dangerously, easily seductive voice of yours. You’re dangerous. You’re the only one who’s capable of breaking the bond between the captain and the work he’s bound and effectively caged himself to.

“You’re a devil, y’know that?” The disapproval in his voice is entirely for show, and you seek out that playful coyness in his tone like it’s your favorite candy. “How do you expect me to say no to that? ‘Specially with a pretty girl like you offering?”

He looks you up and down, from smile to hips, and it’s like his stare holds the power of a thousand daggers, each piercing blade laced with arousal and relentlessly digging into your soft skin. God, you really are just a needy thing for him, aren’t you?

He clicks his tongue, eyes landing on yours after practically stripping you bare in his head. Let him finish his work and it doesn’t have to be left up to the imagination, he reasons with himself. “You can’t wait ‘til I’m finished with all this?”

“But I want to now,” you pout, head tilting to the side and making it far too difficult for your captain to deny you.

You play it up, dramatizing your disappointment with the idea of him so invested in his work rather than what you’re offering. Though, it certainly isn’t entirely a charade; you fear that a few tears may actually prick through if he turns you down. Then he definitely wouldn’t have it in him to send you away.

He glances to each side of the room, thinking on what he’s already sure of. He has to appear at least slightly annoyed, otherwise he loses all authority to a tricky thing like you. An inkling of his hesitation is real, but not for longer than a second.

He sighs, “Alright, then. Knees.”

You give a great smile of pure excitement over victory before doing as he so vaguely ordered, sinking to your knees with a helpful hand on his thigh. Even through cargo pants and a military-green fleece jacket, your mind is doing cartwheels thinking about what’s beneath the baggy, yet so tight around the arms and chest, clothes. And he can’t deny the same thoughts for you, dressed in your issued getup as well.

“You lock the door?”

You shake your head; there’s that cheeky look on your face again, except it’s somehow infinitely better when you’re knelt between his legs rather than standing upright. He’ll take it either way. You’re his favorite vice, by far.

He scolds you with the click of his tongue. “Then you better get on with it, right? ‘Less you want someone to walk in and find you down there, now.”

You giggle, telling him all he needs to know. You wouldn’t mind being caught all that much.

“Oh, you naughty thing…” He shakes his head, “Pretty little devil, like I fuckin’ said.”

You grip and pull at his cargoes, growing impatient. “Can’t help it, Sir. Wanna be your girl.”

“You are my girl, sweetheart.” His big hands soothe over the sides of your head, cupping your cheeks as if you held more value than any prized possession. “You know you’re my good girl, don’t you?”

You nod with a sultry hum, just like you do every time he tells you that. Your hands glide up his thighs and reach up to the buckle of his belt, pulling the leather loose as the clanging of the metal rings in your ears. With his elbow on the armrest of his chair to prop up his head, watching your hands work at unzipping his pants with your big eyes looking right up at his stern ones.

Palming him through the clothing a few times, your mouth watering and lips aching to wrap around the fat, hardening cock beneath your fingertips. You can see the glint of adoration in the blown out centers of his eyes, a smirk crept onto his face. Like a king sat on his throne with prey presented at his feet, and you surely make the prettiest prey.

When you’ve got his cock out, you waste no time in wrapping your fingers around the base and sticking your tongue out flat to lick a languid strip up the entire length of him. He groans lightly, though it turns throatier when the tip of your tongue reaches the head of his cock, precum salty on your tastebuds and a bitterness your body learned to miss after mere days of going without it. You know where he’s most sensitive under your tongue, and you begin to play into it instantly.

He grits his teeth with a quick hiss, though he’s so quick to compose himself. “Haven’t got all night, sweets. Suggest you stop your teasin’ and get on with it.”

You take him in your mouth, head of his cock nudging the roof of your mouth as you work to fit more of him. Relaxing your jaw to get used to his unruly size, earning an appraising mutter of a swear from under his breath. Sucking on him like your favorite flavor of lollipop, drool spilling from the corners of your lips.

Making such a mess before you even take him down your throat, faint strings of saliva tickling your chin and sending waves of cool liquid down his spine when it drips onto skin still untouched and unwarmed by your mouth.

You ease more of him past your tongue until he hits the back of your throat, a muffled moan coming from you having his cock twitching in your mouth. He rolls his shoulders back, actually giving into comfort. “Fuck. Jus’ like that, lovie…take your time.”

Even when he’s off the field, he’s still going to coach you through your tasks like a good captain does. No matter how overbearing it gets, no matter how obvious the cues. You’re his responsibility, and he’s always going to watch after you.

Your hand that’s wrapped around his cock proceeds with languid strokes up the length of what you don’t reach with your lips. You trace a vein with your thumb and bend your wrist a bit; anything to boost his pleasure, and anything to get the chance to consume said pleasure like it’s your first and final meal.

He pushes your fallen hair out of the way, tucked behind your ear so you can better choke on his cock without a single distraction. So he can see that pretty face of yours going all dumb, lips stretched around the sheer size of him as that view he loved more than any.

“Keep goin’, sweetheart, it’s alright. I’ve got you.” His big hands hold the sides of your head in a way that really makes you feel treasured without force. You swallow around his cock and he huffs a heavy breath.

The hand on the back of your head is getting heavier and heavier as you bob up and down on his cockhead, and a sick part of you just wants him to shove your skull fully down and make you to take all of him without a breath to yourself, nor a single care spared from him.

“Christ, this mouth of yours…gonna be the death’a me.”

He reaches forward to pluck his still-burning cigar from the ashtray, tapping it against the glass once before bringing it to his lips. He takes a long drag from the dry, rolled paper, and the sight has your efforts of properly sucking his cock faltering just a bit. His other hand, remaining on the nape of your neck, urges you to keep going with a nice squeeze, so you do.

Smoke spills from his mouth and clouds the air around you, and not once does he take his eyes off yours. The scent of tobacco and burnt paper spins your head around in all the best ways; that smoky aroma that lingered from the moment you walked in the door is nothing but homey.

You swallow around the head of his cock again, and he just about loses it. Every word he says is so breathy and spent, yet so authoritative as usual. “Yeah, keep doin’ that right there, love. Fuckin’ brilliant.”

You push on, doing your best to make him feel good. All you’ve ever wanted was to make him proud.

And he is proud of you, beyond what words can describe.

You’re valuable to him both off and on the field, and the progress he’s watched you make while under his command is mind-reeling. He takes pride in having you on his team, to himself. He revels in the fact that he was the first cock you’ve ever taken in your mouth and now you do it on your own volition almost flawlessly, every time, always with a devoted gleam in your naive eyes that nearly suffocates him.

Your tongue glides up to pay more attention to the tip of him, causing him to muffle a groan between his teeth and shove you back down in an instant, almost too hard. You whine around his length and widen your eyes at the sensation of his cockhead hitting farther than what you had progressed to. A gagged noise fills the space and your eyes squeeze shut, only opening when he’s gently pulling your head back.

“Already strugglin’?” He takes you all the way off his cock and you gasp out. You hadn’t even realized how you were depriving yourself of air, though the shock mainly comes from how uncomfortably empty your mouth has become, so suddenly.

“Let me fuck this pretty throat, love. Y’gonna let me do that?” Care laces his voice and it’s near hypnotizing, so much so you’re entirely deaf to the slightest tone of mockery beneath it. “Be easier on the both of us.”

You nod as best you can with a spinning mind, and it’s so utterly desperate that it would surely bring shame to your name. A pleading mantra repeats itself in your mind, running through every possibility you can think of that consists of him using you in ways both pleasant and torturous, yet all landing around the same area; if he feels good, you do too. And if you’re on the brink of passing out from whatever he’s subjected you to, and you keep going because nothing would kill you worse than to fail him? Well, then he feels pretty fucking good himself.

He leans forward to abandon his cigar; it’s not like he needs both hands to use you however he’d like, no. He just loves to have his touch encasing you, feel the way your head gets heavier and easier to maneuver as you go on. Leaning into him, drooling all over his palms; the more control he has, the better.

The big hand on the back of your neck is moving up to lock into your hair, a snicker being heard from above as your mind goes numb. He spares a quick glance at the door, returning to you as fast as he left.

He’s a mixed blessing; he cradles your face in his calloused palm and collects your hair in a messy ponytail, the roughness of his skin alone speaking volumes of what he’d do for you. How he’d always protect you, before he’s tugging tight and pulling you up to your knees and off your haunches, impossibly and overwhelmingly closer so you can better gag and choke around him without backing out.

You take your own hand from his cock and land it on his knee, giving him full reign.

“Good girl.” He eases you off of him before he’s slowly pushing you back down, this time with added inches of his cock in your throat. Both of his bruty hands encase your head like he’s just come into possession of a priceless jewel, and in his eyes the analogy doesn’t lapse far from the truth. “My good fuckin’ girl.”

He repeats the process until he’s fully fucking your skull like a fleshlight, though ever-so nice with it. He keeps the same pace you had set for yourself, and he refuses to push you entirely down to where your nose would make contact with the ending hem of his fleece zip-up. At least not yet, anyways.

You open up the best you can for him, until you’re scared your jaw will lock up on you or even unhinge. You squeeze a thumb in your fist, curl your toes in your steel-cased boots, ship your mind off to somewhere else. Remind yourself over and over how much you value his pleasure; anything to keep your body from rejecting his bully of a dick in your mouth.

“That’s it, lovie. Easier like this, ain’t it? S’just like I told you.”

You spiritually agree, convinced that this was your true purpose in life. If you aren’t pleasing your superior—the one who has always been there for you to lean on, cry on, save you from your own stupidity—then you aren’t really living.

“Christ. Letting me use this tiny mouth like you’ve got no shame, eh? No dignity?” He laughs in your face, and you’re only able to flutter your droopy eyelids in response, tear after tear overflowing to your cheeks with each blink. He pushes your head down rougher. “It’s a good thing ya don’t…be no fun if you actually gave a shit ‘bout your humility. Your fuckin’ career…just so you can be your captain’s perfect, little fucktoy.”

He’s laughing again; he doesn’t give two shits right now, as he’s pressing your head down and fucking your face harder than ever. He’s murmuring more to himself than anything. “Don’t know if I should scold you or applaud you for it.”

He pulls you off him for a moment and you catch your breath like a madwoman, coming close to choking on the saliva that pools in your mouth. Tears fall freely from your burning eyelids, rolling down your cheeks and dripping onto his cargoes while your pinkened, glassy eyes don’t leave his worshiping ones.

He’s prying your jaw wider and pushing you back down before you can even think.

“Cryin’ and gagging ‘round my cock isn’t gonna make it any better, honey.” He grinds his teeth, telling you sweetly, “C’mon, you’re almost there. You’ve got this, baby.”

Your jaw hurts like hell, a familiar soreness you could never learn to simply get used to. Though, it’s a pain you so easily ignore each time. You suck it up and pull through like the good soldier you are, wishing for it not to go unnoticed by the teacher. And he always notices, just like he does your breaking and pleasure points. He wouldn’t push you terribly too far.

One of his hands falls to land on your neck, thumb reaching around until his grip is fully and loosely wrapped around your neck. Until he feels the bump of his cock moving in and out of your esophagus under the pad of his thumb, protruding up and down beneath his knuckles. It gets him higher than any drink or cigar ever could, even the rush of a battlefield can’t compete.

“Fuckin’ A, sweetheart, that’s it. Perfect, little thing.”

You’re doing too good of a job for him to even think of making a snarky comment about how much you must love having him so deep down your throat. He knows the answer well enough, and it shows through the glistening tears in your eyes and the willing, faithful hands practically anchored to his knees.

His grunts become more gravelly and common as he gets closer to finishing. It’s a prospect that bubbles deep in your belly, like his orgasm was worth far more than any pleasure to yourself at this point.

“Tell me. Y’want me to paint this pretty face?” he proposes, all exasperated but still so fucking cocky. You’re dizzy, lightheaded, every other word that could be used to describe the out-of-body feeling of him treating your body so harshly, in the nicest, most giving way possible. It’s visceral, really.

“Or should I come down this throat instead?” he pants. A smirk plasters itself onto his lips, though you don’t think it ever left in the first place. “You’d like that, wouldn’t ya, sweetheart?”

You can’t even respond, apart from your strengthening grip on his knees and the flexing and tightening of your neck muscles around him. He scoffs above you, but it’s loving. “Throat it is.”

It’s only a few more thrusts of pushing your head down to the base of his cock until his hand is stuttering in its movements, and he’s holding you in place as he spills his hot cum down your raw throat. A deep, long groan emits from his own, and it’s well-earned music to your ears with the way it vibrates in his throat as his head is thrown back. At least, the bits of his high that aren’t drowned out by your own struggling are a nicer gift than you could ever ask for.

You can’t breathe as he does this, and it’s even worse than when he was relentlessly shoving his cock down your throat; you can only think to swallow until he’s satisfied. You can only writhe and cry beneath him and try to savor the feeling of making him feel so good, until you have no choice but to beat your hand down on his muscular thigh to let you up for air.

He listens, but not without a laugh that would make him seem evil if you didn’t know him well enough as the compassionate captain with a warmer heart than most would imagine. He rips your mouth off his cock, yanking your head back at a rate that has you stumbling backwards on your ass and palms on the hard floor, under his old, wooden desk.

He watches on as you feverishly catch your breath, him as well but not nearly as crazed as you, gasping for air with your chest heaving up and down and a hand clasped to your neck. Attempts at blinking away your teary vision, your other hand soothing over your strained jaw; all the while, he’s shoving his softening, spit-soaked cock back in his pants and zipping them up with a predatory visual hold on your pretty form.

Once he’s got his fix of staring and you’ve caught up to a somewhat stable reality, he helps you. “C’mon, darlin’.” He reaches a hand out to you and you take it, smaller fingers being enveloped by his strong ones. He tugs you up gently and matches the action with a benign, “Up here, now.”

You wipe your tear-stained cheeks with the back of your free hand as he pulls you up onto his lap. Your back leans up against his shoulder and the armrest of his chair, legs hanging off the other side like the bridal-style position. He wraps his big arms around you, knowing your head is still far up in the clouds.

“Did such a good job for me, love. Y’know you always do. One of your best goes yet, don’t ya think?” His hand replaces yours with a duty, thumb swiping over and around your lips to clean you up so tenderly. “You feelin’ quite alright?”

Your mind is beyond numb, words that actually spill coming nowhere near what you’d actually want to say; pour your heart out about how much you’d do for him, how much he means to you. It’s all indescribable. “Mhm…always good f’you.”

“Awh, sweetheart.” His face matches yours with a grin, but the broken grogginess in your voice doesn’t go disregarded. “My poor girl fucked her throat raw like she wanted and now she can barely talk, eh? Is that right?”

You nod drunkenly, still with that needy pout in your demeanor that had him babying you like it was his only responsibility.

He brings the glass of whiskey from his desk and to your mouth, pressing the rim against your puffy lips rather harshly. He’s already beginning to tip the glass towards you, so you have no choice but to open up a bit wider and take what he’s offering. “Take a drink,” he tells you, and you listen.

He actually laughs, watching how you wince and whine from the burning of the hard liquor tainting your throat. Similarly to how his cock was only a moment ago. “Atta girl.”

Something about the control that comes with directing your next move, and your innocence to it, your compliance; it all has his mind elated. The only thing he’s sure of is that he likes it, far more than he probably should. You’re gonna get him in some serious trouble, one day.

You adjust your body on his lap so that you can wrap your arms around his neck and press your chest to his, burying your face in his neck to escape whatever was not him. His beard tickles your skin, and his huge, welcoming frame beneath you grounds and stabilizes you so comfortably like no other.

He brings a hand to drag up your back, tracing your spine a couple times before he palms the back of your head to keep you close. Truthfully, he wants to stay like this until morning.

“What now, pretty? Tell me what you need, anything.”

“Just wanna stay here with you.” You nuzzle in closer, attempting to absorb all of him and be devoured by his being. Your voice is muffled and mumbly due to being pressed up against his neck, “Promise I’ll be quiet while you work.”

He chuckles a light, sincere one, words muttered quietly for the close proximity. “Yeah, sweetheart?”

His eyes land on the door to his office; blinds closed, thick wood and metal sure to keep any noise of your endeavors from reaching the ears of any unsuspecting individual on the other side. He squints his eyes. The door is indeed unlocked, but he can’t seem to view that as an issue anymore. So what if someone were to walk in and see the two of you like this? It’s far past the peak bureaucracy hours of the day, anyhow.

His thumb soothes circles on the back of your head, and he can tell you’re calming down more by the second with the way your chest is gentle against his and your pulse has slowed. “I don’t mind that one bit.”

#cod mw2 #john price #captain price #captain john price #john price x reader #john price x female reader #john price smut

[fandomwritingbit]

I feel like if William found out that one of the cute, kind, unassuming girls that works for him was also serial killer he would definitely get horny about it. And of course when he implies to her she knows she's like "Take's one to one, Mr. Afton~" They would both just sooo messed up and fuck about it I think

Hello! Sorry this took so long, I wasn't planning to publish this 'til next month but a sudden urge to finish it struck me and here it is!

Serial killer William Afton x (afab)serial killer reader

warnings: murder, somewhat glorified, reader and William are both fucked up

It’s been 6 months since you started at the diner and by now you were more than well acquainted with your role. It came relatively naturally to you this whole customer service thing, your brightly coloured scrunchies bobbing as you kept patrons happy and balanced everything that needed doing by the end of your shift. To cut it short, you were absolutely thriving. Your bosses liked you, so much so that you’ve had your first raise already, it was all going just swimmingly. It’s just the perfect job, no one would ever think anything bad of you here, you’re just too damn cute, too damn charming. It’s really an excellent cover. 

The diner gave you more than just cover though. You've learnt some very helpful skills over these months, like what the best chemicals for cleaning are, how to remove even the most stubborn of stains and how to dispose of the things that just couldn’t be cleaned. 

At the back of the restaurant for example. Like most eateries has huge skips, always full of the week’s waste and secluded enough to offer a window of opportunity. It was very easy to get in as you had a key, that and the knowledge that your cheap-arsed employers didn’t install cctv there, and so of course you put the window of opportunity to use. Several nights of fun easily hidden from prying eyes in black bin-liners and blending in with the rest. How could it be that easy?

But, what you hadn’t considered was that perhaps you weren’t the only one using such a perfect place. 

~

He stumbled through the door like a drunkard, the high of his activity so delicious, it made his fingers tingle and a cold electric colour tint his vision. He props the doors open with a brick,  reaching into the diner to grab what he needed to get rid of, his shoes slipping in the red slick dripping from his form. God, it’s all over him, staining his shirt and leaving footprints on the floor, a nightmare to clean up, but he wasn’t worried. He had all night to sort it out, not like any of his lay-about employees would be in a hurry to chuck any rubbish out anytime soon. 

He grabs the bag, moving it over to the bins and opening the one furthest from the door. Taking a bag off the top, he undoes the half-arsed knot and sets about getting rid of his evidence, a baseball cap, one of his branded teddies and a blunt statuette; each smeared in the blood on his hands. He packs them into the bag and again ties it up. But he’s too careful to leave it at that, and removes the bags closer to the bottom, intending to shove the incriminating one down where no one would find it. And it’s there at the very bottom of the skip that he sees it. It’s such a sobering sight that he freezes for a moment, confusion flooding his features. 

A kitchen blade, a large one stained with crusted blood, he was sure of it. That browning red was so familiar, Hell it was all over him now, the smell very apparent. But that wasn’t his. The bins were emptied only two days before and whilst he is an efficient man, he wasn’t that good. He reaches down to touch it, but stops inches away. Right next to the knife was something else. As he plucks it from the rubbish, it all clicks into place. 

~

At the end of a busy shift, you walk down the staff hallway more than relieved, absentmindedly taking off your apron a few paces before your locker. There was nothing special about to day, but it was fucking rushed, hardly a moment to breathe and right now nothing sounds better than going home and spending you day off in bed. When you’re done shoving your apron inside the locker and slinging your bag over your shoulder, your body instinctively tenses at an awareness of a presence behind you. So you shut and lock the door as quickly as you can, before facing your boss. 

“Oh hi, Mr Afton. Just about to clock off.” You smile brightly, so sweetly that he almost doubts himself, almost reconsiders what he’s about to ask you. Almost.  

“Don’t yet. Come into my office, I want to talk to you.” There was an amused tone to his voice, like there was a hidden joke you weren’t aware of and did not understand. But that was nearly always the case with Mr Afton, everyone said so, said that they dreaded when he was on shift because they couldn’t tell if he liked them or was a hair away from sacking them. And right now, you feel the same. But surely he liked you? How could he not?  

“Yeah, okay.” You try to keep your voice obliging and happy, following the nod of his head for you to walk past him, down the hall and into his office. You’ve been in here before, using his stapler on some leaflets or asking for extra change in the till. It’s always a cold room, hardly decorated and a little imposing, very much in line with the man himself. 

There’s a heaviness in the air that you don’t want to break, so you wait for Mr Afton to ask you to sit, watching him from your seat as he leans against his desk. He’s enjoying this too much, the slightly startled expression on your pretty face, like you have no idea what this is about, like you’re thinking about anything you could have possibly done wrong. He almost believed you.

He half smiles before breaking the silence with small talk. “Been busy today?” He wants this to be slow, but the temptation to just out you prickles at him.

You blink, a little surprised at his casualness, it was out of character but not exactly unwelcome. “Yeah, pretty crazy. We managed alright though.” You hope he’s asking for the sake of asking, not expecting you to recall anything too specific because the shift was a complete blur. 

He hums, a handsome smirk spreading across his face, “Well I’m glad. Chris was supposed to be in today, he called in sick last minute. Which I’m sure had nothing to do with today’s footy match.” You giggle, yeah, Chris wasn’t the brightest for that one. His grin fades as he looks thoughtful for a second. “Some people are so good at lying, it’s insane. Don’t you think?”

Your eyes go wide in suspicion. “Yeah, I suppose so… We all do it sometimes.” You keep smiling in an effort to keep this conversation light. 

“Not you though. You’re too honest, there’s hardly a sick day to be found on your record.” You nod, thinking that maybe this was a compliment, or commendation, maybe he was going to reward you for such good work? His posture then changes as he again grins. “If you were going to lie it must be about something very… serious.” He watches the way you subconsciously shake your head and it tickles him, you really have no clue where this is going to go and it’s just delightful. 

Unable to reach his conclusion you just out right ask. “Uh… what’s this about, Mr Afton? Have I done something wrong?” 

“Undoubtedly.” He continues teasing. ‘Something wrong’ doesn’t even begin to cover it, though it would be hypocritical for him to say so. The glee he’s getting from dragging this out is immense, but he’s just dying to see that cute little face of yours drop when he reveals your disgusting hobby. He sighs, “I found something the other night, you know. Something very interesting.”

Your eyes narrow as you look at him in disbelief, maybe a small part of you knows just from the malice in his eyes that he has you because a sudden dread seizes hold of you. “Sorry- I don’t follow…” You’re confused, he couldn’t know what you’d done, he just couldn’t but if he did… 

“You’ll get there, sweetheart.” He speaks mockingly before slowly standing and walking to the other side of his desk and opening the top drawer, humming a tune as he does so. You watch him fingers tapping against each other in anxiety, you can’t help but notice the heavy looking paperweight on his desk, it’s a cube carved out of some polished stone, the corners sharp.

“This.” His words force your gaze from the object to him, and the small piece of fabric pinched between his finger and thumb. Just continuing to stare at it, it doesn’t trigger anything, until he tosses it down onto the desk right in front of you. 

It’s a scrunchie. A light pink scrunchie, patterned with crusted blood. And then it hits you like a freight train. You can see yourself wearing it, two low ponytails resting on your shoulders that night. People told you how cute they looked on you. How didn’t you notice it was missing… Well, your mind was on other things that night.

You move your eyes to him, goosebumps all over your skin as you mind races. And at seeing your strained expression he laughs, unexpectedly and meanly. “God, your pupils- that is really something.” You look crazed, frantic, maybe even terrified, it was like nothing he’d ever seen yet still achingly familiar, it's frightening in the most delicious way, making his trousers cling to his growing erection. 

“I…” You start but instantly falter, gaze flicking between your boss and this paperweight. The darkest part of you is frightened into planning by this discovery. It’s far from you but you could reach it if you tried, just across the table, you just need to wait until he’s distracted but right now his attention is solely focused on you. You just need to wait-

“You’d never be quick enough.” He cuts through your train of thought like he could read your fucking mind. “I’m not completely stupid, though perhaps scaring you into a corner isn’t the best idea.” His tone is full of ridicule.

“What do you want?” You say hoarsely, too much emotion in your mind for you to think clearly. If he knew what you did -what you are- why are you here? Surely he’d have called the police and by now you’d be in an interview room surrounded by coppers. Surely, they’d have already found your pattern and linked as much to you as they could. But no. You’re here, in his office.

“I’m not here to bargain with you, love.” He chuckles, “I’ve seen where you live, there’s very little you could offer me.” Though he can certainly think of something very sweet you could offer him.

“-You’ve been to my house?” You say slowly, his mocking passing you by somewhat. This was too much to learn at once. 

“I had to do some research. You know, a knife in a bin is one thing. A fella in a river put a name to the weapon. But then,” His eyes are wide with animation as he talks, “I remembered another man in the same river, a few weeks ago, stabbed to all hell. Then I found another… I must say, you’ve done well not to be caught.” 

“A-re you gonna call the police?” Your voice cracks on the first syllable, making the rest of your question quiet.

He pauses in thought, the silence tortuous. “...No. I can’t have them poking around. I don’t want any other unsavoury acts coming to light.” 

At those words you suddenly dawn to a realisation, that look in his eye, that devious glee that at first you thought was just teasing. Was something else. Something very dark. It makes you exhale, an odd and sinister calm settling over you, enough for you to relax your posture in this chair and glace around the room. You know what you’re looking for and find it easily, a missing persons poster pinned to a pinboard just on his left. 

“That kid…” You speak lowly, utterly enthralling him. And he follows your eye-line to said poster, his eyebrows raising slightly. “He’s dead?” The question is pretty sure on your lips, a cruel confidence to them that showed the spark to you he’d been looking for. 

“Probably.” It’s noncommittal, but amused and you can just see the disturbed actions in his eyes. It’s crazy, like a monster in human skin.

“You killed him, didn’t you?” The words are so weighted, they tear aggressively from your throat, an unintentional emphasis that cuts through the room like a razor. And the harshness of his grin is more than confirmation. “You’re a fucking murderer.” You laugh incredulously, disbelief melting away by the second. 

“Takes one to know one.”

#fnaf #william afton #william afton x reader #william afton smut #fnaf william afton #william afton x you #fnaf smut #five nights at freddy's

[iliektehhaxs]

Violent thoughts of giving Cole Cassidy a shave after his beard has grown out, you sitttng in his lap as you sharpen the razor, him teasing you and telling you to “be gentle darlin’” as your begin to glide it across his skin. He’s smiling the whole time, barely even paying attention to the sharp object at his throat, too distracted by the intense focus in your eyes, how you bite your lip in concentration. His hands don’t help at all, the comforting circles they draw on your bare skin making you stop and shiver with each pass of the blade.

“Stop that,” you whisper, trying your damnedest to keep a steady hand. “You’re distracting me.”

“Distractin’ you?” He purrs. “Now how in the world am I doing that?”

He’s the picture perfect definition of smug, an air of confidence afforded to him by the fact he knows his effect on you, knows it like the back of his hand, knows it like the stars know the night sky.

“Cole,” you huff, then you feel the heat of his hand lower towards your ass. You almost want to smack that grin off his face, but you know it’d just turn him on even further.

“Come on sweetheart, best hurry up now,” he groans, fingers drumming against the soft flesh. “‘M not a very patient man, ‘specially when it comes to you—“

“Oh really?” You wonder out loud, only to be interrupted by the heavy slap of his hand against your behind.

“If you only knew how you get my blood going…” he chuckles to himself, head tilted so he can look up at your flustered self. “Like I said, hurry up so we can get to the fun part, yeah?”

“Me sitting on your lap isn’t the fun part?” You tease. He rolls his eyes at that.

“No, it’s what you do when my pants are off,” Cole groans. “Now please baby, don’t leave a poor man waiting.”

You laugh, but your hands quickly move to finish your job. After all, he said please.

#robo writes #overwatch #cole cassidy #this is my announcement that I am a FOOL for Cole #and it is truly a shame that there isn’t a lot written about him #cole cassidy x reader

[libertineangel]

The more I think about it, the more I think the Dark Brotherhood actually could work if it were written by someone with any idea how cults operate.

Like say they recruit like in Oblivion, they find people who've killed (or anyone with a sufficiently high bounty) and approach them out of the blue - with completely different dialogue & framing this could work so much better. You're probably on the run from the law, alone and vulnerable, that's prime cult recruitment fare, so instead of Lucien being all "muahaha you're evil like me" make him a smooth, comforting presence, he shows up and offers you sanctuary and a family who can protect you, make sure you're safe forever and nobody will ever come after you again. Don't even give the trial contract, just hand over the Blade of Woe and invite them to the Sanctuary, making it clear he expects your presence - if you don't show in a couple of days he'll come back and give you an oh-so-friendly reminder, and if that doesn't work then other members will ensure you never do. Let him show up in the middle of the night still too, just to make it clear that despite the friendly welcoming air he knows who you are, knows you're vulnerable and can reach you anywhere.

Then, all the early contracts should be easy, simple jobs against targets you're told deserve it - corrupt guards, abusers, that sort of thing - and your "family" are all so comforting and reassuring and encouraging, after all this isn't that different to what you did before, and your family are more experienced and always willing to support new members; after all, the rest of the world hates you now, so who else do you have for support?

When you're deeper in, the contracts start getting more difficult to justify to yourself, but what else could you do at that point? You can't just leave, you know very well by now that the family would be able to find you anywhere and even if it's never mentioned you know there's only one way out, and telling the guard would be confessing to enough murders to earn you an execution anyway. It's not until around this point that they even mention Sithis - before now it's just been a family that takes special jobs in a form of unspoken public service, it's only when you're fully entrenched and can't afford to question it (for your own piece of mind as much as anything) that all the truly dark religious aspects get brought in, and things only get more unpleasant and disturbing from there.

#tes

[dumplingsfordays]

30 strales

blade x florist!gn!reader

genre - fluff

summary - after you fall down into some metal buckets in your flower shop, a certain raven-haired customer happens to be walking by and helps you clean up.

cw!: swearing, blade kinda wants to murder you but ends up changing his mind because he likes uuu <3

note - i hc that blade smells like citrus. no, you're not getting an explanation, sorry lol.

and as always, thank you for reading!

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

When you got your job as a florist at Petals and Pollen, you didn't expect this many people to talk to you - you were just there to make bouquets, but most of the time when someone came up to you to ask for a recommendation or advice on what flowers to give someone, your conversations would end in 'hey, are you free this week? I know a great coffee shop that you'd like' or 'there's this cute bookstore a few blocks away, wanna go there together sometime?' or just straight-up 'do you want to go on a date?'. Of course, you weren't angry or anything, but a part of you felt annoyed. Did these people come up to you only because they thought that you look nice, or did they actually want to get a bouquet and they picked up on your personality midway?

Either way, you always declined. You weren't really interested right now, and besides, you had stuff to do. Planning dates wasn't exactly part of your job description anyway.

But one cold autumn afternoon during a thunderstorm, a rather peculiar man entered the shop - his expression wasn't one of boredom or neutrality like most other patrons, it was one of rigid, almost angry determination. He stomped up to the counter with quick steps, long navy hair flowing behind him as he stopped suddenly in front of the counter.

"How do I say 'fuck you' in flower?" he growls. "Use any flowers you need. I have the money."

You blink a couple of times in surprise at the taller man, processing his request. You knew flower language, it's just that you were wondering who it could possibly be for - a nasty coworker? A disrespectful teacher or boss?

Deciding not to dwell on it, you nod and get to arranging the bouquet. From some nearby stands, you pick out some geraniums, foxglove, meadowsweet, and orange lilies, cradling the flowers in the inside nook of your elbow. You place them in a clear glass vase and tie them together with a sunset-red silk ribbon. You feel the man's eyes linger on your fingers as they knot the ribbon in a bow, and finally, you finish the bouquet and hand it to the man.

"120 strales, please," you say, pressing a few buttons on the cash register. The man quirks an eyebrow.

"No dahlias?"

"Dahlias? Why would you need dahlias?"

"Ka- I mean, I read that they meant disappointment."

You sigh. "Well, that book must've been wrong. Dahlias are a symbol of commitment, not disappointment. I think the author must've meant to write "yellow carnations", but I don't know how you would mix it up that bad. Should I add them?"

"No, that's fine." The man slides you the payment and, grabbing the bouquet, storms out the glass door to the shop.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

"Fuck!" he mutters under his breath as he speedwalks angrily through the crowded streets of Xianzhou, his delicate bouquet gently cradled in his arms. What the hell was Kafka thinking? He was going to bring this to the General as quote unquote "thanks", and she tricked him? Oh, he was going to kill her when he came back.

But this florist was rather... different than others he'd been to in search of a "fuck you" bouquet. They had a special sort of air about them, an air that he couldn't quite pinpoint but knew that it was addicting. Well, maybe not addicting - he just wanted to see them again, that's all.

Wait, see them again? No, he didn't do that sort of thing, he never wanted to up and start conversation with some random stranger that he saw once while buying flowers. He didn't spontaneously show up at their doorstep and ask what their name was - he only did that to his victims, and in this case, this person wasn't a victim. He barely even knew who they were (with the exception of the obvious title of "florist".)

What if they would become his victim, then? He would have a chance to talk to them without feeling guilty of doing so, and maybe murder them at the end. That's what happens to everyone anyways, how was one less person in the world going to impact him?

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

The next day, a few hours after opening time, you see him again. He's calmer than yesterday, opening the door to your shop with a small squeak and taking his time to look around at the flowers you have on display. He pauses next to a small tin pail of yellow pansies.

"Those are pansies," you note. He turns his head sharply to meet your gaze with those blood-red eyes and turns back to the flowers.

"They're pretty," he says under his breath, lifting one out of the pail and examining its petals. "What do they mean?"

You can't read his expression at all - it's just neutral, with a small hint of fascination that immediately vanishes when he puts it back.

"They mean 'I'm thinking of you'," you reply as you pull some leaves off the stem of a tulip and throw them into a paper bag. He blinks in response and continues examining the various flowers, finally coming over to your counter a couple minutes later.

"I'd like some daffodils, please." He slides over 230 strales.

"The largest bouquet costs 200, you can keep the extra 30."

He stares at the currency in silence as you pick out the freshest daffodils and bind them together with a pale yellow ribbon, adding some white lace frills into the midst. You hand him the bouquet and he looks up at the nametag pinned to your left.

"y/n," you say. "Nice to meet you too, um..."

"Blade."

"Blade, okay."

You give a small, awkward smile. He takes the rather large bouquet from your hands and leaves the extra 30 strales, which you grab and run after him with as he leaves the shop.

"Blade! Blade!" you yell as you run after him. "You forgot your-"

He's gone, blended in with the crowd, probably, but you daren't go look - you have a business to run, and you already see some potential customers approaching the establishment. You decide to wait for him - if he comes back tomorrow, you'll give him the strales back.

As you're making a rose bouquet for a middle-aged man in a grey suit and tie, Blade pops into your mind again. His eyes were... eerily captivating, like bloodied dark iron magnets that pulled your gaze toward him. Combined with the fact that he was hard to read, and that you've never seen him before in your life, made him the most mysterious person that you'd ever interacted with. But a part of you wanted to see him again, to talk to him, to find out who he really was and what he was doing in your shop in the first place. Guess you'd have to see tomorrow.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Tomorrow was a mess.

You estimated that about 200 customers came in, most leaving with flowers in hand, and to your disappointment, none of them were the dark-haired, red-eyed, "fuck you"-bouquet-ordering man who somehow forgot that he'd left 30 strales lying on your counter before yesterday. By the time you had shut your doors, the floor was completely littered with little pieces of leaves and small, multicolored petals. Guess you had to stay after to clean up.

You pulled out your best weapon, a wide mop, from the cleaning closet in the corner and got to work. Pulling it along the tiled floor, you decided that it was rather boring to mop in silence, and pulled out another one of your favorite items - a pair of headphones, which you promptly connected to your phone and resumed mopping, now with a spring in your step. This spring turned into occasional hopping, which then turned into full-on dancing as you got caught up in the music.

Blade was watching all this unfold outside your shop, standing in the darkness and staring dumbfoundedly through the glass window. He was planning on murdering you tonight - it was horrifying that you were dancing so carefreely, without even noticing his piercing gaze on your moving form.

Abandoning the mop, you grabbed onto a column and twirled around it several times in musical glee before tragedy struck and you fell into a shelf of those goddamn tin buckets. Luckily they didn't have flowers in them, but they still hurt like a bitch - you tried pulling yourself up, only to fall down again and wince in pain as the metal edges of the buckets dug into your skin. Your legs are probably going to be covered in bruises the next morning.

You hear the door open with its signature squeak and a sinking feeling of embarrassment flooded your system.

"Need help?" the navy-haired man standing in the doorway askes, stone-faced. He stared at your trapped form blankly as you gaped at him.

"It's nine, no- ten in the evening," you stammer out, "how are you here?"

"Passing by." He feels a strange pang of guilt when lying to you. "You didn't answer my question."

You swallow and look around helplessly before replying reluctantly. "Yes, please."

Blade walks into the shop and grabs you by your hands, hoisting you up with ease onto your legs for a second before catching you when your knees buckle almost instantaneously. He sighs, lifts you up, and carries you to the nearest chair, setting you down like a fragile vase.

Blade's touch was comforting, and he smells like citrus, which is a very unexpected scent for him to have in your opinion. You thought that he might've smelled like- wait, why were you even thinking about this? The way in which his lowkey kinda attractive strong arms carried you was completely irrelevant to the current situation - why was your brain hung up on this while the poor guy has to clean up after you?

Speaking of cleaning up, he was almost done. He was now putting the mop back in the closet, and after he shut the door, you took this moment of silence to ask a question.

"Can you carry me upstairs, please? Just to my bed."

He freezes. You desperately hope that it's not a bad thing - your legs are starting to actually hurt and you don't think that you can carry yourself up a flight of stairs.

Luckily for you, he walks over and scoops you into his arms once more, carrying you with relative ease to the wooden stairs, which creak a little under your combined weight. You loop your hands around his neck as you climb up, holding on for dear life. When he reaches the second floor you thank him quietly, and he returns the gesture with a nod, turning on the lights by raising his knee up to flick the switch. The hallway fills with a golden light, and when you point to the door to your room, he heads there.

You hope that your room doesn't seem too messy - there's plants everywhere (which probably isn't that much of a surprise given that you're a florist) and the occasional book is lying on every wide surface like your desk and the bookshelf. Blade strides over to the bed in one corner, moving a leather-bound book aside titled "A Complete Collection of Native Bee Species" when he lifts the blanket. He sets you down onto the mattress with that same gentleness and you lean into the pillow, eyes already drooping shut at its softness. You turn your back towards him, and he takes this as a signal to remove your apron, which he hangs on a nearby chair. You, in your near-sleepiness, hear him sigh as he turns off the lights and closes the door, leaving you to drift away in peace. The scent of citrus lingers in your mind.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

The next day, as you're setting up shop, you find a note on the counter, written in black pen and a quick hand.

Locked front + back doors. Exited through window, keep the 30 strales.

#honkai star rail #hsr #honkai #fluff #blade fluff #blade x you #blade hsr #blade x y/n #blade x reader #hsr blade #blade honkai #blade star rail #star rail blade

[shuttershocky]

how do you feel about iori/saber so far by the way, whether as a ship or just their dynamic in general

I really like their dynamic!

While Iori and Saber themselves are full of callbacks to the original Shirou and Saber, their relationship dynamic is something that's all their own.

Usually a servant like FSR Saber would have belonged to a more emotional master. Saber starts the game out as an arrogant, destructive force and a bit of a bully, constantly going "Good grief my master's so weak! How did I get such a weak master when I can solo this whole thing? I should just kill everybody that gets in my way."

Rather than get upset or insecure however, Iori's humility and martial discipline ends up making a wall for Saber's arrogance to repeatedly bounce off of. When told he's weak, he goes "You are right. I don't fight because I'm strong, but because I should." When Saber talks down to him saying his presence doesn't change the outcome of a fight whatsoever, he just goes "I know. I'm doing the best I can."

This doesn't just eventually warm Saber up to him, but it also ends up creating the soul of their dynamic for the rest of the game. Saber's powerful, impulsive, and free in all their aspects, while Iori is measured, disciplined, and tied down (he's poor, he's an orphan, he's a warrior in an age of peace). This leads to fun gags like Saber having that classic Saber gluttony which wreaks havoc on Iori as a poor ronin living hand to mouth every day, but where this really shines is in how it makes its own twist in the original dynamic of Shirou and Saber.

Underneath Shirou and Saber's relationship was the recognition of themselves in the other. Both were willing to give up their entire lives for the greater good without once thinking of themselves, and seeing it in the other person horrified them because that was someone they cared about, while making a special exception for their own self-sacrifice.

In Samurai Remnant, Saber wonders how could such a weak human have summoned a servant as powerful as them, but the answer slowly becomes obvious as their relationship grows. Hiding underneath Saber's smug nature is a legend known for brutally killing anything and everything that stood in their way, whether that be armies, kings, monsters, or even gods. Why? What could compel a human to put a god to the sword just because they were ordered to? How broken and terrible inside must you be to see an aspect of divine power and feel no fear, only the desire to fight and to kill something that should be untouchable by a human?

The most delicious part of Iori and Saber's developing relationship is Saber slowly realizing that the bravery in Iori's eyes when he (literally) locks blades with a Servant is not bravery, but something much more familiar.

It should also be said that FSR Saber is one of the extremely few servants (if not the first even) to cry about the thought of leaving their Master after the ritual has ended.

Bittersweet goodbyes have been a mainstay of the series since Fate/Stay Night, but FSR is the first time in my memory that we see a Servant look back at the short, second life they've been given and actually break into tears about not wanting to go.

Going back to the throne of heroes would mean returning to legend. They'd be the bloodstained killer and godslayer. Unparalleled, feared, revered, and alone. Meanwhile in this incarnation, they run around doing odd jobs every day to afford rice, assumed by the neighbors to be the new fiance of the poor ronin that lives in a shack, destined to be forgotten by history like everyone around them living humble and ordinary lives. And now that they've tasted it, they don't want to go back. They've fallen in love with this life, and have to live out the rest of the Waxing Moon Ritual knowing they don't have a choice about going back.

It's soooooo good. Such a perfect capture of that vintage Type-Moon feeling, I'd almost forgotten this wasn't even written by TM themselves but by the Fire Emblem Three Houses team.

#FSR spoilers #Fate Samurai Remnant

[damianbugs]

If you r still doing the fic recs, what are some good Bruce and Jason ones? I'm going insane

HELLO. oh my gosh. you know, since exam month has officially begun, i should be studying, but like, why would i do that when i could be doing this instead? this is like. so much more productive for my happiness.

it's no secret i am not normal absolutely totally insane about bruce and jason and OF COURSE i will rec you fics of them. i have 150+ bookmarks of fics just centred around them so i really tried to narrow it down to a few of my favourites. if you ever need anymore please ask again!

what a truly disastrous tragedy they are. the blueprint i fear. no fictional father and son has impacted me more. jason and bruce fic writers lace their works in crack because once you read one, you are stuck forever. there is no escape. trust me. anyways!

BRUCE AND JASON FIC RECS

don't take your guns to town by kreestar

batman comes home from a night patrolling to find a 10 year old jason todd waiting for him in his kitchen. across gotham, at the same time, red hood is stopped by a 25 year old bruce wayne.

MY NOTES: no one is surprised at all that the first fic on this list is time travel. the characterisation in this was insanely good especially between young bruce and jason i loved their parts. so bittersweet and the ending was lovely!

I Will Always Be There For You by squashflower

There's a closet in the manor that locks you inside. It has no lighting or heating or air conditioning of any kind, and Jason, safe to say, wishes he could burn it to the ground. Or shoot it. One of the two.

MY NOTES: there is just something so good about stories where it switches from robin jason to an experience mirrored by red hood jason and this is the perfect example. so so good.

all the small weights by sparkycap

When Batman gets hit with fear toxin, he worries about his Robins. His Robins think it's their job to deal with it. Jason wasn't aware anyone still included him in that group, but according to Tim, he's the only one available.

MY NOTES: fear toxin the trope that keeps on giving. best thing about this though is that the actual fear toxin is not the main part of the story, and i think it was handled so beautifully and maturely in a way i haven't seen before. i cried (twice).

-> just an aside, but i think you should read the other bruce and jason work by this specific writer. they're all insanely good.

Mermaid Tears by minnow_doodle_doo

And if real mermaid tears were what Jason wanted the world to have, Bruce would make Aquaman cry glass.

MY NOTES: teehee sorry for recommending ur own fic in ur ask minnow but this fic is just so sweet and special i need everyone to read it. a wonderful look into that all encompassing love bruce had for jason when things were much simpler for them.

Aftermath by ivy_and_ivory

Now: Batman is in Paris, pulled there by a case that extends beyond Gotham’s borders, when circumstances lead him to a badly injured Red Hood – who might hold the key to Batman’s investigation.

Then: The Red Hood storms into Gotham, begins to stake his claim on the criminal underground, then abruptly disappears – but only after he breaks into Arkham Asylum and leaves the Joker dead in his own cell.

Or: A study of why Bruce couldn’t kill the Joker, what would happen if someone else could – and how you move on from the aftermath.

MY NOTES: you know when you find a fic and you're just like. oh my god. this is it. this is exactly what i wanted. this is all that matters. yeah. that's this fic to me. im sort of obsessed with the idea of batman bonding with red hood without making the direct connection that it's jason.

A Straight Blade by Sparkypants

"What happened to your face?" Bruce asks, reaching his hand for Jason's jaw. "You're bleeding." Jason bristles, cheeks turning pink. "I cut myself shaving." He says, and wipes at the cut with the cuff of his hoody. Damian makes a clicking noise with his tongue, "I'm amazed you haven't taken your own head off." He snarks. Jason shoves his chair away from the table, temper flaring. "Well it's not like anyone ever taught me, is it." He hisses. He's five years late, but Bruce finally teaches Jason how to shave.

MY NOTES: i am so okay so normal about this fic. such a sweet little happy story but i was literally looking down at my screen squinting through my blurry vision because i was tearing up. the unknowing domestic simplicities of being father and son (hysterical sobbing)

Stargazer by LemonadeGarden

Jason Todd is seriously injured during patrol one night, and is forced to stay at the manor to recuperate until his injuries are healed. To pass the time, he makes a list of things he never got to do before he died. Except there's one small problem: most of them involve Bruce, and Jason doesn't really think Bruce cares all that much about him anymore. This is a story about how wrong he is, but I made it sad anyway.

MY NOTES: okay so i think the best way to end this post is with the first ever bruce and jason centric work i ever read that changed the chemicals in my brain forever. THIS is the fic that made me really latch onto their relationship and want to see that reconciliation and recovery. THE roadtrip fic ever.

#bruce wayne #jason todd #oh how they r so important #batfamily fic recs #saki batfam fic recs #batman #red hood #robin ii

[felixora]

Baldur's Gate 3 Companion!Tav Ask List by @paarthursass 

Please check their List here, it's literally a top tier list

(contains major spoilers for the game, and for some dark urge runs as well)

Had to redo this, but finally I'm satisfied with the result. Here's my drow Soulknife Rogue (please oh please adapt this subclass for the game) Arnafein Rilynghym.

General

1.Where can your Tav be recruited?  Are they first encountered on the Nautiloid, or in the Nautiloid crash region?  Or are they not recruitable until a later act?

He can be recruited not too far away from the Blighted Village area, in the forest outcropping.

He’ll be there with a pair of poorly equipped young tieflings and a group of goblins, trying to cool things down between the two and convince the goblins to leave the tieflings only to him. The player/party members might catch on some details in his facial expression that would be giving away a lie, as well as his attempts to place himself between tieflings and goblins.

As the player’s group comes closer, the player (and other companions, which is important) and Arno are connected through their tadpoles, though much more painfully than in other cases (the narrator might even comment on that). Arno would recognize in you another survivor that escaped the nautiloid and through pain would telepathically ask you to play along. After that with more demand addressing the goblins as “another True Soul came to look for them, so would they finally let them do their fucking job?” The player might choose the Deception/Persuasion route to play along with Arno, to simply attack the goblins (in which case both tieflings and Arno would help out) or attack Arno and tieflings under the guise of him “being the survivor, that Absolute cultists are looking for” (in this case tieflings would die and Arno will be captured and interrogated by Minthara).

2.Do the other companions have special comments or reactions upon recruiting your Tav?

Gale – A friendly drow! That’s a rarity in this place, as far as I can tell. Let’s hope this won’t be a double-crossing situation though.

Shadowheart – Arno seems well versed in dealing of these cultists. I just hope he won’t stick his nose in other’s thoughts – we have more than enough mind-probing as it is.

Astarion – Well that was a spectacle. I hope our newest addition won’t stop to help any stray or poor thing in need.

Wyll – It takes a lot of inner strength to stand by those in need, especially under the weight of your own troubles. Arno would be a good addition to our group.

Karlach – Well Arno seems to know some shit around here. Now we don’t need to blindly walk around in search of the bad guys place.

Lae’zel – The elf’s knowledge of this place seems useful. Can’t say the same of his handling of tadpole’s effects. We ought to be careful.

3.Does your Tav have any comments or advice when you recruit other companions?

Gale – Having a wizard around should improve our chances of survival. Though I’m sure as hell won’t be asking him about any teleportation.

Shadowheart – It’s good to have a helping cleric’s hand with us. However, the choice of name does bring a bit of ominous feel to this acquaintance.

Astarion – The whole knife play was a bit too on the nose for be, but I can understand his reaction. Let’s hope his bloody tendencies will be the problem of our enemies, and not ours.

Wyll – The Blade of Frontiers… Well, the name does sound grand, though cannot say I heard of it before.

Karlach – Karlach’s spirit sure will brighten up our company. I just hope we won’t wake up to the actual hellfire.

Lae’zel – The gith looks like a tough fighter. But don’t expect me to go on errands for her.

4. What sort of general actions raise or lower their approval?

Raise:

Empathy and Compassion towards weaker or struggling.

Supporting freedom, autonomy and choices that align with his desire to break free from societal expectations.

Sharing a sarcastic sense of humor can lead to a bond with him, as he appreciates this attitude. Engaging in witty banter and humor is a plus.

Illegal activities aimed at helping others.

Lower:

Disregarding or belittling others' struggles or doubts, particularly in moments of their vulnerability, resonating with his own past of self-doubt and anxiety.

Yielding to controlling individuals or behaving subserviently in the face of authority.

Aggression towards the weak.

5. Are there any instances where your Tav can permanently leave the party, depending on player character actions?

The first instance is tied to letting Minthara join a party (murdering of tieflings would significantly lower Arno’s approval, but letting Minthara join the party would be the point of conflict, in which Arno will go a separate path).

The second instance would be tied to possible betrayal, around end of Act 2 – a group of drow agents, which would represent the house Rilynghym (Arno’s family), will ambush the party. They are tasked with bringing Arno back home, as well as extracting Githyanki prism.

Depending on the level of approval, the player can persuade Arno to go about this peacefully (understand that there was more at stake and they needed the Gith’s prism), persuade Arno to attack the spies or Arno will turn his back on the group altogether.

6. Do they have any secrets that can be revealed?  What are the prerequisites for this secret coming to light?

The Player would find out in Camp that Arno has partial amnesia, and remembers some parts of his childhood and his family, but not the last 3 months since he left home. As the adventure progresses, he’ll start to remember more and more, as well as start having a repeating blurry dream of his mother calling out to him, but he would understand any of her words. 

As the game progresses, he would remember that his house (a drow house Rilynghym, that settled on the surface, in Neverwinter), that specializes in espionage and infiltration, sent their agents to infiltrate the cult of the Absolut and acquired information about some sort of artefact.  The spies disappeared in Baldur's Gate, and as Nathiira received the news, Arno (who wanted to finally prove to his mother that he is worthy of her trust and can help the house on an equal footing with everyone else) suggested that he could investigate the matter. This provoked the conflict between mother and son, which ended in Arno being put in a cell. He escaped the imprisonment and ventured to Baldur’s Gate on his own.

In Baldur's Gate, Arno found out that the spies were supposed to steal a specific artefact for their house, but they were discovered by the cultists and taken as prisoners. All but one.

The spy, named Tsabran, a loyal servant of Matron Nathiira, managed to avoid the cultists and got in touch with Arno, telling him everything that happened. He explained that the spies, were trying to steal an artefact of incredible power created by the cultists. However, their hideout was discovered, and the cultists caught all the spies except Tsabran.

The artefact was supposed to have a power of a mini-version Elderbrain, allowing its wielder to enhance telepathic influence on intelligent creatures, and even subdue large groups of creatures to their will. It had to work in the hands of those who have psionic abilities, enhancing them tenfold. (Note: the artefact can unlock the ending, where instead of someone becoming an illithid, Arno will use the artefact and his own psychic skills to suppress Elderbrain) Together, Tsabran and Arno devised a plan to steal the artefact and bring it back to Matron Nathiira. They managed to get to the room with the artefact through secret tunnels. However, before Arno could check the artefact for traps, Tsabran lifted it off the pedestal and thus activated the alarm. The two had to flee, but Arno was wounded during the escape. He hoped for help from Tsabran, but the latter left him behind, running away with the artefact. That's how the cultists captured Arno.

7. Do they have their own personal quest that spans the course of the game?  Can it take different branching paths depending on the choices the Player Character makes?

Arno’s personal quest would be focused on him slowly regaining his memories of past months, and in the process fighting the memories of emotional abuse and neglect from his mother, that led to his anxiety and feeling of never being enough. As he would regain memories he would have more and more doubts, if chasing after mother’s approval is really what he wants from life, especially if it goes against his moral code.

Player can help him find confidence in himself, support his attempts to make his own decisions in spite of what was drilled into his head for decades (and became part of his sub-conscious behavior; for example him having a sweet tooth but denying himself any sweet food due to previous prohibitions from his mother)

Alternatively, Player can insist on the notion, that Arno’s mother was right, that he wasn’t ready for any sort of adventure like this, and specifically his lack of skills, patience and knowledge were the reason of his troubles. That Arno’s mother only tried to protect him and their house, to give them a better life.

Toward the end of Act 2, MC with Arno is ambushed by members of House Rilynghym, who were sent by Nathiira to bring Arno home, as well as retrieve Gith's prism with him (when asked, the spies would answer that Nathiira found out about the prism and its influence through telepathic connection with Arno).

At that moment, Arno will remember the captured spies in Baldur's Gate and tell the newcomers that the situation has become much more important and dangerous than possessing some artefacts and gaining more power for their house.

Depending on the Player's actions and the level of approval with Arno, the situation will go in different directions:

Arno confidently tells the spies to go back home, because the existence of the cult threatens their house as well.

Arno and the Player fight the spies to keep the prism. Arno does not approve of this, but is persuaded by the Player to fight on their side.

Arno joins the spies, having more faith in his mother's judgment. He and the spies will die in the battle.

In 3rd act, as the group reaches the Baldur's Gate, during one of the nights, Arno’s mother will get in touch with him via telepathic projection – all of the companions infected with the tadpole will see and hear her as well, as part of their shared connection. She will say that she is very disappointed that he did not return with the spies when he had the opportunity.

Nathiira says “I've been very patient, considering your completely stupid and irresponsible behavior. Go back home, now.” Аrno exhaled, nervously gesturing towards his mother “Can't you listen to me for once? I'm trying to explain, that what's happening in Baldur's Gate is a threat to the entire region. And our family, too.” There is a tense pause. As Nathiira looks at him with her familiar calculating look, Arno looks down, slightly lowering his head as well “Just, listen. I can't just leave, not with this... thing in my head. So I can look for Tsabran and the artifact. Show you that I can do this.” Nathiira is silent for a few moments, closely looking at her son before finally exhaling: “You won't just drop this, would you? Fine. This is your task now. The last time Tsabran sent us a message, he mentioned that he was hiding somewhere deep and wet.” Arno breathes a sigh of relief and Nathiira speaks again: “Arnafein” there is a long pause, where she considers what to say before finally settling on her choice “Don't let me down.”

The group will go in search of Tsabran in the underground part of the city.

When the group finds Tsabran, it turns out that the artifact has begun to negatively affect his mind, making him more neurotic, full of paranoia and hallucinations. Because he was not a psionist himself, the artifact could not find enough power in his mind and his brain literally began to melt from it.

At that moment, Tsabran was obsessed only with the idea that he was the one who had to deliver the artifact to Matrona and receive her recognition and gratitude. The group had fight to get the artifact. In battle with Tsabran, he’ll have control over some civilians and creatures from sewers, all while screaming about how he will prove the Matron his loyalty and usefulness. Arno will recognize some of the civilians from the 1st day they entered Baldur’s Gate.

As Arno defeats Tsabran and takes the artifact, the telepathic projection of Nathiira appears, noting that she felt the artifact’s power through their connection.

The projection of Nathiira comes closer, with fascination looking at the artifact “Incredible isn’t it? Imagine how much influence we might gain with this in our hands. No-one will ever dare to even think of harming our house ever again.” Arno shakes his head “Mother this artifact won’t bring us any good. It breaks people, strips them of their will, it’s not-” Nathiira interrupts him “It’s exactly what we need to survive, Arnafein. This will finally give us the protection we needed. Any politician, any noble, any rival of ours now can be brought under our control. They won’t be harmed, they just won’t think about harming us” Arno exclaims “It will harm them, mother, this is exactly what taking away freedom of their mind is!” Nathiira huffs and waving him away with a hand “Oh, don’t be such a child, they will be fine! It’s better than getting rid of them all-together.” After a moment, she adds, more steel in her voice “You wanted to prove yourself to me. This is your chance. Do as I say - bring us the artifact.”

Depending on Players choice, Arnafein either will agree to bring the artefact home or will say that he’ll give the artifact to the Harpers for protection.

Choice “Arnafein agreed to bring the artefact home”

Arno closed his eyes, battling with his own doubts in his head. But moments later his shoulder sagged down, and he bows his head and finally said “As you say, Matron.” Nathiira looks pleased, relaxed. “Good. I’m glad you saw reason. Now, our agents should be nearby...” Arnafein raises his head slightly, looking at his mother with confusion “What? I... I thought you sent only me.” Nathiira patiently sighs “They were here just in case, to assure that the mission was successful. Don’t think too much about it - it was still all you. And our people will know it as such.” After a pause she continues “Now, I won’t take anymore of your time, the faster the artifact will be brought here, the better. Go.” With a slight pause, Arnafein bows, and Nathiira calls for him one last time. “And Arnafein. I’m proud of you, son.” As the group exits the chamber where they battled Tsabran, the spies meet them right at the exit. One of the agents steps forward “Sir, we’ve just received the message from Matron - we’re at your service. If you’ll need our assistance in upcoming battle, you can count on us ” Arno absentmindedly nods “Good. Make sure that the artifact is delivered as fast as possible to Neverwinter” and he gives the artifact to the agents before adding with more presence “As for everything else - I will call if you are needed.”

Choice “Arnafein refused to bring the artefact back home”

Arno closed his eyes, frowning, battling with his own doubts in his head. But moments later he takes a deep breath and looks up at his mother. “I’m sorry, I won’t do this. This is not our way. I will give the artifact to Harpers and they’ll make sure no-one gets harmed anymore because of it” Nathiira looks at him for a long moment, her jaws clenched, her eyes hard and cold. “Just as I thought. You would pass on a golden opportunity to put our house out danger forever, just so you can play a hero.” She steps forward, her telepathic projection getting right in the face of Arno, before she sneers. “You are not a hero. You’re just an arrogant, naive child, who thinks he knows better than everyone else.” She continues looking at him, as Arno meets her stare with his own sudden resolution. Nathiira spits out “Well you don’t.” She takes a step back, turning away from Arnafein and adding, “We'll have a long talk about it when you get home” Arnafein let’s a moment pass, before, with deep sadness saying “No. I don’t think we will” As Nathiira stops and turns back to him, Arno raises his hand and her eyes widen in understanding and shock. Arno sliced the air with his hand and permanently severed their family telepathic connection. As the group exits the chamber where they battled Tsabran, the spies meet them right at the exit. Arno, not expecting to see them, will take a step back before asking “What- What are you doing here?” One of the agents steps forward, slightly bowing his head. “Sir. The Matron ordered us to keep an eye on you and intervene in case of imminent danger to your life” Arno dumbly looks at him, repeating his words “Keep an eye? Aha. Hahaha” He bitterly laughs, rubbing his hand over his face “she didn’t even... Of course she didn’t.” As Arno says with utter betrayal and disappointment he once again turns to bewildered agent, and says “Well, as you see I’m fine and dandy, so you can return home and report as such” The agents exchange glances, before with a doubt in a voice one of them says “Sir, we were also told to retrieve the artifact” Player can choose what to do - “Let Arno handle this” - (Deception) The artifact was destroyed by Tsabran in the battle. - (Intimidation) The artifact stays with us, want it or not. In case of failure or letting Arno handle this, Arno will say: “There was... a change of plans. Matron knows of this, so you’re in the clear. Return home, agents”

8. What do they say when the Player Character asks them to stay in camp?  How about when the Player Character asks them to come adventuring again?

Stay in camp – “You sure? I might hear the danger coming from miles away. Well, the thoughts of danger, more precise.” And after confirmation “Well, suit yourself.”

Come adventuring again – “Knew you’d come around”

9. Does your Tav have any escalating conflicts with one of the other companions, like Lae’zel and Shadowheart’s knife-fight?

No.

10. Are there any unique NPCs associated with your Tav that can show up during the course of the game?

In act 3 in Elfsong Tavern the group can meet Arno’s older sister Maliara, which would be trying to draw as little attention as possible. She’ll tell Arno that she and their uncle went behind mothers back and their uncle made a deal with Lorroakan to open a portal from Neverwinter to Baldur’s Gate and allow Maliara passage to the city. Maliara will try to persuade Arno to return home with her (depending on the previous encounter with the spies Arno’s reaction to this would differ, but he will say that he can’t return yet – not with the danger of Absolute cult behind their backs). Maliara would be gentle with her words, but also vocal about her worries for her brother, even going as far as offering her help in this whole quest, despite Arno’s own worry for her. If the Player invites her to join Camp, she’ll become a permanent addition to it, as an Artificer (trading different alchemical supplies). 

11. Are there any moments in the game that trigger unique dialogue for your character? (Like Gale’s anecdote about the barfight after you save the goblin prisoner)

In Moonrise Towers, while looking at some of the battle and floor plans of Shadowcursed lands, Arno will recognize them. “We’ve had this floor plans for months before the spies went missing...” “My house knew about the inner dealing of the cult. And told no-one. How many people we could have saved if we just warned, I don’t know, the Harpers or the city governments. Instead we were chasing after some stupid artifacts.”

In act 2, when meeting gnolls and other creatures mind-controlled by the other cultists, Arno will express his genuine disgust for this, saying that no-one should go through such violation of autonomy. He might recall going through the same thing, when he was still little and some slavers tried to abduct him and his sister, and how terrified he was over losing control of his body.

Story Specific

1.How does your Tav advise the player character when it comes to the Dream Visitor?

“I can see the advantage we’ll have with these powers, but you always have to pay the piper. And our friend does sound like a skilled musician. Let’s just be careful with the help they are providing.”

2. How do they advise the player character on Raphael?

“One blink – and there goes your freedom in those clawed hands. Not even one story has a happy-ending when it comes to deals with the devil. I don’t think we’ll be the exception to the rule, so let’s not gamble with our lives more than we already do.”

3. How do they react to Astarion biting the Player Character?

“Huh, well that explains all those thought-wishing about having a taste…” “I have no problem with him staying, as long as he remembers his manners”

4. How do they react to the Player Character letting Abdirak whip them?

“That’s um… An interesting… View. Right”

5. How do they react to the Player Character taking their first tadpole power?

“You know, when I said “be careful but curious” I really had more emphasis on the careful part. Although, you seem alright… at least for now. Just give me some heads up next time, I might prepare the knife just in case.”

6. Will they stay with the Player Character regardless of siding with the goblins or the tieflings, or is it possible for them to leave the party permanently?

Arno will stay with Player if they side with Goblins, but he’ll strongly disapprove of this.

7. What can they be found doing at the tiefling/goblin party?

On tiefling’s party: He’ll be staying near Mol, bouncing back and forth with her ideas regarding how to get the most profit from drunk adults (“They leave a lot of their belongings unattended, who’s to say you won’t be the one to find them and be oh-so-kind to return them for a small price for such lost-and-found services.”). The reason for that is partially due Arno wanting to be a bit far away from so many drunk people, as his head starts to be in huge pain from all of their thoughts.

On goblin’s party: He’ll be staying very far away from any possible party participants, possibly in the shade of the trees, closed off and gloomy. When approached, he’ll say that he hopes the lives of all those innocents were worth this “blast of a party” and that this arrangement better pay off with finding the cure. If questioned by the Player further, Arno would admit that there is someone back home who came up in his memories – two small tiefling kids with dark skin, his sister’s kids. He’ll lament that he can’t stop imagining all those slayed kids in the grove as his nephews.

8. Do they have comments on who the Player Character chooses to spend the night with? 

Gale – I see you have your hands full of our local wizard. I’m sure you’ll sleep soundly after his lectures.

Shadowheart – Hopefully we won’t find your cold and lifeless body somewhere in the ditch tomorrow. Jokes aside – do have a wonderful night, I’m sure Shadowheart will leave her poisons for more desirable targets.

Astarion – Astarion is… A spicy choice. I honestly hope I will be far enough to enjoy a quiet night without playing a witness to any… lewd thoughts. Or bloody ones, pick your poison.

Wyll – Seems like our local monster hunter already took your attention.

Karlach – Well someone’s in for a warm night. I just hope you’ll be responsible and all of that stuff and won’t burn our camp in flames of accidental passion.

Lae’zel – You sure do have interesting taste in company. Hopefully, we’ll see you in one piece tomorrow – otherwise, don’t expect me trying to avenge you.

9. Do they have unique dialogue if the Player Character lets them die when they steal the Blood of Lathander?

-

10. How do they react if the PC licks the dead spider in the Gauntlet of Shar?

1st time. No. No-no-no, stop thinking that, stop.

2nd time. Oh for gods sake… Is it only the “Underdark knowledge” to not lick the damn spiders?

11. What do they say if the PC tries to force them to go up on stage with Dribbles the Clown?

1st time “Ha-ha, what a wonderful idea (telepathically “don’t you fucking dare”)”

2nd time “Right, on stage. Dreamed of this all my life (telepathically “you better sleep with your eyes open from now on”)”

12. Is it possible for your Tav to be kidnapped and replaced by Orin?  How is Orin's deception revealed?

-

13. How do they react to the PC either allowing Astarion to ascend or convincing him to spare the 7000 spawn?

Astarion ascends – “So… He did it. Looks quite pleased too. I don’t know why, but it makes so … angry. He did break from his Masters control, found his ultimate freedom but it all feels so wrong… I just hope this finally brought him the life he desired”

Astarion remains a spawn and spares the 7000 spawn – “I don’t think I saw Astarion that sincerely happy and relaxed, like, ever. It suits him. Do you think he would appreciate congratulations? Or am I “biting off” too much with it? Oh yes, that one is perfect for teasing.”

14. How does Tav react to the PC becoming a mind flayer?  Can they offer to become one themselves?  Does their reaction change if they’re romanced?

If not romanced – Arno would be saddened, but thankful towards the Player, accepting this as a necessary sacrifice.

If romanced – still saddened, but determined that he’ll stay by your side no matter what, as you were there for him, and he’ll do the same for you.

He will not offer to become a mindflayer.

15. How do they react when the Dark Urge first reveals their amnesia and murderous thoughts to them?

“Huh. Well I can calm you down a bit, as amnesia seems to be something the two of us share. Can’t say the same about a bit of… murder? Anyway, I’m sure there will be plenty of enemies to release your murderous tendencies on.”

16. How do they react to the Dark Urge killing Alfira?

“Now. I don’t even need to be a mind reader to figure out what happened. Another question is why? And you better start explaining now.”

After explanation.

“Well. Let’s pretend we’re friends again – but from further distance.”

17. If romanced, how do they react to the Dark Urge trying to kill them in Act 2?

When woken up – “Hm? Someone’s in mood for a cuddle?” “Although I do sense a bit more tension in you, than usual, love. Are you alright?”

After confessing to what’s happening – “Oh dear, I knew we should have tried reading your memories… Hey, look at me, it will be alright. Whatever it is, you’re so much stronger”

Trying to help the bounded Player “Focus, dear, listen to my voice – (telepathically) “you can overcome this. I won’t let you fall””

“Save the gratitude and focus. I’ll have your back no matter what.”

Romance

1.Is your Tav a romanceable character?  Are there any specific requirements to romancing them?

Yes.

2. Does your Tav need to be flirted with to start the romance, or will they approach the PC themselves if approval is high enough?

Arno needs to be flirted with to start a romance.

3. Are they a polyamorous or a monogamous option?

Can go Poly

4. Do they have a special romance scene at the tiefling/goblin party?

Yes (note: romance scene would be only on tiefling party). Arno would ask the Player to join him after party for “little rendezvous”. After everyone goes to sleep, they’ll meet on deserted part of the river shore, where Arno prepared a small place for them with blanket, wine remains and some light food. As Player comes closer to Arno, who is using his much more controlled than before telekinesis to skipping stones across the water, Arno would turn to them:

“Much quieter here, isn’t it?”. He’ll throw another stone without his telekinesis.

Player either can

Try throwing a stone themselves (success / fail) – “You’re full of hidden talents / Not as easy as fighting, yeah?”

Comment that they preferred the lively atmosphere of the party – “Oh nooo, we have a party-goer among us. Horrific.”

Simply agree with Arno. – “A kindred spirit”

Afterwards Arno invites them to sit. As they sit, Arno starts talking:

“I “borrowed” some wine from Mol – thought I’d indulge myself, but then thought better of it. Don’t want to create another telepathic mess with so many drunk bodies around.”

Player could try to persuade Arno to share a drink with them, drink themselves or ask about him if that was his reason to stay away from the party (“Well yes and no. It’s good to be part of celebration, but I generally enjoy not being in the spotlight”)

Arno’ll continue:

“When I found this place, I remembered how when I would be overwhelmed I would leave our family house and spend some time near water, just skipping stones. Helped me focus quite a bit. Silly, but I thought I’d help me remember something from past months. Some name, or a place or… something. But there is nothing”

Player can

Ask them about what they actually remember - (and Arno will suggest to share images from his past, where he stays in large room, near a table covered in maps and plans, listening to some women (his mother) giving orders regarding something), and afterwards comment - “Huh. Not as painful this time”

Reassure them it will come back with time - “Perhaps. Never been good with waiting, but I suppose I don’t have a choice”

Say they might never come back. - “True. Can’t say it brings me any comfort”  

“I don’t know what will awaits us in the future. But right now, I’m glad to have “this” in my memories.” And then he would hastily add “I mean, this, your general company. And others of course”

Player say to shut up and enjoy the moment, or that the sentiment is mutual, in which case Arno will nervously laugh, saying “Yup, ok, good, I’m shutting up”

After which they’ll spent the quiet night observing the river water. 

5. Does the romance have different branching paths, or just one route to take?

There are a few different paths, depending on how his personal quest will progress.

6. How do they react to the player character breaking up with them, or choosing another character over them?

He’ll let a small “Oh” and take a step back, as if slapped, lost for words for a couple of seconds. After which, he’ll try to start talking, with a bit of cheer to his tone at the beginning “Well that was…expected. Though I thought we had more time.” After a pause “Can I ask if there was any specific reason?”

As Player confirms, Arno will say “Well. I will cherish our memories together all the same. Thank you, for giving it to me”.

7. What questions can Zethino ask the PC about Tav in the Love Test? 

What brings Arno the most comfort?

What future does he see for himself?

What brings his heart the most pain?

8. If they’re poly, do they have a reaction to the PC engaging in a relationship with Halsin?

“Well that’s definitely one of the times when I’m glad I wasn’t snooping around in someone’s thoughts.” He’ll laugh, but with some discomfort and turn his sight downwards. “I mean, if this is really something you’re interested in…  Halsin is definitely a catch, with all that gigantic wall of muscle and natures passion. Can’t judge you for desiring that.” And after a pause. “Although I must ask – does it have anything to do with us?... with me, more specifically? Did I do… or didn’t do something?” After assurance from Player that everything was alright. “Ok, ok, good to hear” “Well, in that case go right ahead. Just please return to me in one piece after all that throwing around and riding and … Ok I’m shutting up.”

9. How do they react if the PC has sex with Mizora? The Emperor?  Haarlep?

Mizora – carefully curious, might ask to share the memories with him via link.

The Emperor – disgusted, when he tries to connect with you telepathically he winces and says “let’s just never speak of it. Never”

Haarlep – Arno would check up on Player, ask is they are alright and if they just need silent company and support – he’ll be there for them.

10. Will they join in with the PC and the Drow Twins, or no?

No. Arno will be feeling very uncomfortable in the brothel, due to remembering that his mother had to work in a brothel in Amn in the past just to provide him and his sister with some roof over their heads, and was treated poorly by the customers.

11. What are Tav’s plans for the future?  Do they propose to the PC, or is marriage not something they’re interested in?

Depending on how his personal quest developed, Arno would:

Travel back to Neverwinter to become a spy on a permanent basis, always under his mother's control (no matter how many unacceptable things he had to do), helping her take direct control of minds of the nobility and small gangs of the Neverwinter region.

Travel back to Neverwinter and agree with his mother’s plan for him to settle down for a quiet, though unhappy, aristocratic life. He’ll become the public face of the house Rilynghym, but will always feel out of place.

Travel the world and build his own name by helping those in need and captivity.

Stay in Baldur's Gate, help rebuild the city and become the city's protector.

Organize his own web of spies that investigated and sabotaged authoritarian regimes and tyrants.

12. Free space! Share anything from your companion!Tav au!

Arno has nearly perfect visual memory, that helped him memories many maps and images (such as his family tattoos, that he tattooed his skin with after leaving home)

He’ll occasionally would lose control of his psychic powers (that are going sideways due to tadpoles influence) when heavily focusing on something which would lead to him extending his telepathy on others and accidentally sharing his thought with them, or start telekinetically levitate things or even small/medium creatures around him.

In 2nd scene of the romance he’ll suggest to the Player to use their psychic connection and would strengthen it to the point, where they both would clearly feel each other’s emotions and touches as if they were their own.

He would joke to hide his nervousness or uncertainty. 

During conversation with MC, Arno will recall good moments from his childhood. How he was raised most of the time by his older sister Maliara and sometimes by his uncle (a psychic wizard). He will recall how, as a child, when all the adults would leave them and go out to find them food/any money, Arno and Malia would sit on the roofs of houses together, watching the sunrise or sunset and getting used to the burning sensation it left on their eyes.

If questioned, Arno will tell about his family, how all of them are psionists, with special gifts in telepathy and telekinesis.  He’ll tell about his uncle, a Neverwinter wizard who could raise a whole house with only his thought. His sister, who is a talented artificer, working on different kinds of living blobs and explosive concoctions. And about his mother, who learned how to influence others and even bend them to her will, though temporarily.

Arno tells there were very little privacy in their house, as their mother wanted to know everything that was going on. If the MC says that’s messed up, he’ll say “Yeah? I never really thought about it that way, I mean - it was typical for us. We kinda were used to it.” He’ll apologize for snooping in others thoughts, as it comes easier to him than to others. Growing up in a household where your every thought was scrutinized and corrected by his mother did give him an impression, that it was alright with everyone else.

If questioned, Arno will tell that he actually has a sweet tooth, but he was forbidden to eat any sweets or sweet fruits at home. He’ll jokingly recall one scene from his childhood:

"I was really upset over some argument with my mom and as always, when I was like this, my sister Malia, came around and brought a whole basket of peaches. I have no idea where she found them, but we spent the whole evening munching on them until we were sick. Then mom returned home, and we kinda missed that. So when we heard her going upstairs to our room, we panicked and hid al peach pits in the plant pot we had in the room.” He laughs. “It took my mom years, before she noticed a peach tree in the room. She was really pissed.”

Despite his difficult and emotionally charged relationships with mother, he really cares for her and genuinely loves her, his older sister and uncle, feeling deep connection to them, that extends even over their telepathic abilities. Arno often finds it difficult to go directly against someone's opinion and generally tries to please others (unless it is in strong conflict with his moral principles of freedom and helping others). He often doubts if his own decisions, but is sincerely grateful when asked about his opinion or help.

The final scene for their personal quest, depending on the outcomes:

If Arno declined to bring artefact home:

Arnafein is sitting on the roof of the inn. The sky is slowly brightening, preparing for the dawn. MC comes closer behind him, and Arno slightly turns his head to their side, nodding his head towards free space near him with a small smile. MC sits; there is a moment of silence.

Player:

*Stay silent.* - Arno sighs "I thought this would be easier..."

"Are you alright?" - Arno "Yes. Just been thinking."

"Cozy place" - Arno smiles "Good for clearing head after messy day"

Arno continues "I breathe more freely than I did in decades. Actually feel like I can go anywhere and there won't be even a fleeting feeling of a leash around my throat. I'm happy." He pauses, his smile turning sour. "I just hoped mom would be happy for me too."

Player:

"Maybe she'll come around" - Arno "You sound like Malia. Maybe you both are right."

"She made her choice, you made yours" - Arno "True. I suppose I wasn't expecting the consequences of my choice to sting so much."

"Seems like she only wanted to control you" - Arno "I think there was love too. Just, her own version of it."

"It's just. We had bad days. But we had good too. I hoped... that good ones mattered more. That deep down she trusted me and was happy for me to find my own path. But she never planned to, has she?"

Player:

"I'm sorry" - Arno "Don't be. You showed me there is more to life than chasing after someone's approval."

*Hug him* - Arno let’s himself be embraces "Thank you. For everything."

"She might have want to, but was too afraid to lose you" - Arno "Perhaps. But I can't sit and wait for her understanding anymore"

"I found my path. With my choices. And my damned consequences."

(If romanced)

He turns to MC, laying hand on their hand.

"There will be bad days. But there will be good days too. And I hope I'll meet them with you - with all of the terrible choices and consequences that entails."

Player:

"Terrible choices, huh?" - Arno smiles "Absolutely wicked"

"Likewise" - Arno smiles "Good to hear we're on the same page"

He kisses the MC, laying hand on their cheek. Kiss will be meek at first, turning more passionate by the second, before they break from each other, grasping for air. Both brightly smiling, and gently grasping each others hand.

"Maybe that's a bit too early to say" - Arno "Well, we have all the time in the world to think on it. And make our own, considered choices."

And as so, the sun starts to rise, basking them in the dawn light.

If Arno agreed to give artefact to agents and bring to mother:

Arno sits on the bench in the outdoor alcove, shielded from the night and people. As MC comes closer they can see, that Arno uses his psionic powers to fully control rats before him.

Arno absentmindedly says "These ones easy to control. It won't be as easy with smarter creatures..."

Player:

"With more time you’ll get a hand of it." - Arno wryly smiled "Yeah, practice is the base of mastery."

"You ok with bending creatures to your will now?" - Arno "My mother wants me to. She thinks it will be useful, back at home."

"You seem troubled." - Arno "This... Is not the most pleasant thing for me. But I’ll get used to it."

"We have a saying back at home... Ilharess zhaun alurl. Matron knows best. For so long I've been trying to get her approval, to make her see me as an adult, not a child. Yet I continued to behave like one."

He makes the rats stand still, in attention. "But I know better now. I know to trust in my mother's judgment."

Player:

"And you'll be content with that?" - Arno "I have to. I will be."

"She seems to know what she's doing" - Arno "She always did, I was just too stubborn to see that myself."

"And what if she'll be wrong?" - Arno "No-one is perfect. But to survive, one needs to trust and obey their leader."

"Ahh look at me, overthinking stuff again."

He let's go of the rats, making then scatter around. "I didn't actually want to... burden you with my stupid troubles."

Player:

"It wasn't an issue at all." - Arno "But it was. It wasn't your problem to solve."

"Yeah, too late for that." - Arno laughs "True, and yet..."

"You were quite whiny sometimes." - Arno "And I apologize for that, as I’ve said it wasn’t your troubles to deal with, so I’ve been unfair."

"What I'm trying to say is... Thank you. To be of use to my house and mother. To be worthy of being her son. I have it - all thanks to you."

(if romanced) He'll lean his head against the MC, trying to kiss them but then will flinch and nervously laugh.

"Well, ok, she, uh... Seems like that will have to wait for later times."

Player:

"Is your mother still in connection with you?" - Arno "Comes with growing up in family of telepaths."

"Wait, what, who?" - Arno "My mother. Still checking in on me and not really approving something... intimate. Ruins the mood a bit."

"Well that's awkward..." - Arno nervously laughs "Yeah, you tell me"

"We can just. Stay here then. Together."

And they stay sitting there in the night.

#bg3 tav #bg3 spoilers #baldurs gate tav #drow #bg3 oc #bg3 #arnafein #oc

[katiexpunk]

Heat Wave | Pairing Javier Peña X fem!Reader

Summary:  In the sweltering haze of a Colombian heatwave, everyone's on edge, including you, your nerves fried crispier than plantains in a hot skillet. Even Javi is not immune - his nights spent tossing and turning, the relentless heat driving him mad. Imagine his surprise - and yours - when he knocks on your door late one night, a little buzzed and sweaty, craving a distraction. What's a generous soul to do but let him in and share some cool, sweet cholado? As the night unfurls, the heat outside might be unbearable, but inside, things are just starting to warm up.

Rating: 18+ Minors DNI. I say this with love -- GTFO.

Word count: 5K

Warnings: Javi wasn't super nice to reader and has to gravel a bit, female masturbation, references to the cartels, use of pet names (Hermosa, Cariño), emotions, reader cries, sweat, fingering, female stimulation, face-fucking, blowjob, praise kink, unprotected sex (wrap it up, don't lead by my written example), direct p in v, pussy slap, somewhat rough sex, sensual sex, creampie, and cum eating.

Authors Note: Eek! This is my first time writing for Javi, so be kind to be hunnie bunnies. Joel will always have my smutty heart, but damn, Javi can fucking get it. Special thanks to @sydneyinacoma for being my personal hype woman on this one, and to @josephquinnswhore for telling me this premise wasn't total trash. Ily bbs.

Also I often edit after I post (hello typos) so if you saw one originally sorry 🫣

The window is wide open, but the curtains aren’t moving; only offering a slight flutter now and again, offering a deceptive promise of a breeze that you know will never come. You lay there, restlessly, the cotton sheets sticking to your damp skin. The eerie silence of the room was punctuated by the whirring fan overhead, its blades churning the stale, hot air in a slow, hypnotic rhythm. It’s nearly midnight, hours since you’d gone to bed, but yet, you find yourself staring at the ceiling, cursing why you ever decided to move to Colombia. Had you known it would be the hottest summer on record, you might have thought differently and denied the job. 

You turn to your side, annoyed at the hair clinging to the back of your neck and forehead like velcro. You stare at the alarm clock on your nightstand, watching the numbers slowly change, like a shitty version of trying to count sheep, but there’s no point. You’re wide awake, and there doesn’t seem to be anything that can change that. 

You roll onto your back to splay out like a starfish, hoping the gap between your limbs will somehow offer you some reprieve from your burning core, and you stare at the ceiling. You wonder if you’ll actually get any sleep tonight. The heat was enough to keep you awake, but there were other things that would probably prevent you from dozing off if the heat weren’t a factor. 

Outside of the thud of your own pulse, it’s completely quiet in your apartment. You’re sure people are awake, but no sound comes from Steve and Connie’s apartment next door; nor from Javi’s. Odd, you think, considering work has been slow as of late and most of Colombia, even the cartels have hidden themselves away from the relenting sun and suffocating humidity, too tired to do anything substantial. 

In your haze, eyes transfixed on the ceiling panels above you, you try your best to think about something else, anything but him, but your last conversation replays in your brain like a bad rerun. 

You knew he wasn’t really the type to settle down, and you were more than aware of his reputation, yet you let yourself hope that this situation might be different, that you might be the one to change him. 

He had insisted that it was for the best and that he wasn’t the right guy for you; that it should be simple for you to move forward and erase any trace of your connection, and that he should do the same. Perhaps that was the reality of it; maybe it was only you who had experienced a heightened sense of joy during those countless nights he held you close. When wrapped in his embrace, the burden of your conscience seemed to lighten, and you couldn't help but wonder if he had ever found comfort in your presence as well.

Your mind begins to drift to the ways he made you feel like you were the most precious thing in the world. You can still feel his pillowy lips leaving a soft trail of kisses up your neck and across your jaw, cock buried deep inside of you. The memory of it sits low in your belly, adding to the stickiness between your thighs, now a cruel mixture of sweat and arousal. 

Your mind swirls with thoughts of him, and you decide that there might be one thing you’ve yet to try that might be able to help you fall asleep. You lay there, trying to focus, to let your mind sink into better days, better nights, ones you had spent wrapped around him in every way possible.

You tease your fingertips along the thin fabric of your tank top, trying to ignore the way the sweat that’s seeped into its fibers causes it to bunch up as you stroke your hand down your sternum. You circle your nipples through the fabric, trying to call forward any sense of arousal or sensuality. You slide your hand under the waistband of your linen shorts and place your hand between your legs, resting it atop your lace underwear, already wet, courtesy of Colombia and your incessant thoughts of Javi. 

Your fingers are quite delicate compared to his, and you miss the thickness only he can seem to provide. You slide your underwear to the slide, and drag your index finger through your folds, bringing your slick up to your clit. Your hips lift at the sensation, and you let out a little moan.  

You begin to slowly draw small circles, eventually increasing your pace enough to provide a nice mix of movement and pressure. Your restless thoughts of him have you so keyed up, already so close to the cliff of your orgasm you can practically taste it. Your body heats even more as you chase your high, desperate for a release, practically begging for an escape from this inferno. Like a cord about to snap, you swear you’re starting to see stars when you hear it  – knock, knock – and the distraction cruelly pulls you back from the edge, your pressure gauge falls, and your orgasm retreats back inside you like you scared it. 

No! Fuck. 

Now hot, tired, and sexually frustrated, you let out a long sigh. You slide your underwear back in place and withdraw your hand from your shorts. You wipe your wet fingers on the fabric beneath you, gaze at the clock once more, and wonder who the hell would be at your door at this hour. You rise, legs still a little shaky from your would-be orgasm, and walk over to answer it. 

Your aggravation at the disruption vanishes the moment you clock his face through the peephole. You unlock the top and bottom lock and release the chain from the door, opening it to completely see him. 

He looks like he’s been chewed up and spat out, his hair a disheveled mess of thick, dark, damp curls, small beads of perspiration collecting on his lush, tan skin. You’ve seen him like this before, a look of affliction, hiding behind soft brown eyes. But there’s something else flickering in his eyes – some kind of yearning. For what? You haven’t got a clue. He’s made his stance on your relationship very clear, or at least, the parade of women filing in and out of his apartment speaks volumes. 

You lean up against the door frame, waiting for him to speak, to give some sort of explanation as to why he’s on your doorstep.

“Hey,” is all he says, eyeing you up and down, eyes lingering a little too long on your exposed stomach. 

You’re positive you must look like a mess right now, but you don’t really care, you feel like one. 

“Javi – is everything okay? It’s late,” you answer quietly.

He crosses his arms, then uncrosses them, then shifts the weight from one hip to another, unsure of himself, obviously uncomfortable. 

“I know, ‘m really sorry to bother you. Can I come in?” he asks, looking at you with his big puppy dog eyes, and you can’t turn him down. You step aside so he can enter your small living room, hoping he can’t smell your arousal on you, hoping that he’ll assume the musk lingering in the air was just from the cracked window, the outside world seeping in. 

Your apartment was rather small to begin with, but with his presence, it seemed to shrink before your eyes. He walks over to the center of the room, and pauses once he sees the couch; a memory of him railing you on it flashes through his brain. 

No. 

No, he won’t let himself think about that. He swallows the thought, and palms at his jeans to adjust himself.  He’s not here for that, he’s here to gravel.

You let out a sigh, and walk over to him. You come to stand right in front of him, giving him the opportunity to commit the sight of you like this to memory – all pretty, skin clammy, cheeks a darker shade of pink than normal. You pause before saying anything, still unsure why he’s here in the first place. 

“Can I get you some water, whiskey, anything?” you ask, cringing at how awkward it feels to play hostess with him now, considering he’s explored every inch of your body with his tongue.

Javier shakes his head and runs a hand over his forehead to wipe away the sweat collecting there as if he’s deciding what to say. 

“Mmm, no. Probably shouldn’t have any more whiskey tonight,” he admits. “Some water would be good. You don’t happen to have anything cold by chance, do you? This heat is fucking killing me,” he says. 

“Actually, yeah, I do,” you say, your voice an octave too high, remembering your creation earlier this evening. You nod to Javi to take a seat on the couch, giving him a perfect view to watch as you saunter over to the kitchen. You open the freezer and reveal a container with a kaleidoscope of colors. It closes with a thud, and you open the fridge next, pulling from it a bowl of fresh fruit – juicy chunks of mango, sweet pineapple, zesty oranges – and a can of whipped cream. Javier watches intently as you gather it all neatly onto a little tray, glide over to the end of the tiny kitchen to grab two spoons from a drawer, and close it with a quick thrust of your hip. 

You place the tray on the coffee table. The couch lets out a little squeak as you find your seat next to his. 

“Fresh cholado – made it tonight,” you say, offering him a spoon. 

You neatly assemble the fruit on top of the colorful slushy mixture. The sound of the whipped cream releasing its contents onto the top of the fruit causes the hair on the back of his neck to rise to stand. 

“Go ahead, dig in,” you say, offering him a kind smile. God, you’re always so sweet and nice to him, even when he doesn’t deserve it. 

Both with a spoon in hand now, you delve into the sensory masterpiece, pausing in silence as you savor the blend of textures and tastes, a welcomed escape from the heat.

Javier closes his eyes and lets out a small hum in delight. 

“This is so good, holy shit,” he praises, not even finishing with his latest bite before he’s digging in for another. 

“I’m glad you like it,” you say, and you really mean it. 

The elephant in the room becomes harder and harder to ignore. 

“Why are you here, Javier?” you ask, voice a little unsure. 

His eyes hold your gaze for a moment, and he swallows his last bite and then places the metal spoon onto the tray in front of you both. He doesn’t say anything, instead, he holds out his hand, his eyes pleading with you to take it. You hesitate, before deciding to place your palm in his, allowing his fingers to wrap around yours. He stares at it, the pad of his thumb tracing over the back of it, and he inches closer to you. 

Neither of you says anything, but your brows furrow and you look at him, hoping he can see the pain – the hurt he inflicted on you – in your eyes. 

“Cariño,” he whispers softly, and you sense the obvious change in his tone. His hand releases yours, and he brings his palm up to land on your cheek. Maybe it was just the heat playing tricks with your emotions, but the simple action causes tears to well up in your eyes. 

“I can’t do this anymore,” he admits. 

Oh god, he already broke your heart once, was he here to just do it all over again? The thought causes your already battered heart to sink into your stomach. 

“I can’t pretend like I don’t need you anymore,” he continues, “like you’re not the only thing - the only person - in Colombia preventing me from losing myself,” he adds. 

The sudden truth bomb he’s dropped leaves you speechless. 

“I —” you start to say, but the broken silence is all it takes before Javi pulls you in closer, hugging your waist, dragging you up onto his lap, your knees straddling him. You try to ignore the uncomfortable press of his DEA badge digging into your inner thigh but secretly hope it leaves a mark. 

Fuck, it feels so good to be on him like this again. You shouldn’t feel this way, but you do. You rest one hand on his shoulder and instinctively run the other hand’s fingers through his hair. Old habits die hard. For the first time in a while, you feel a bit of relief; you wager he must feel the same by the hefty sigh that escapes his lips. 

“Javi – I don’t,” you pause, your words trembling, “I don’t want to get hurt again,” you say, allowing your hands to wrap around his torso and your head to fall into the crook of his neck. Hot tears begin to spill from your eyes and fall to the fabric of his shirt, the weight of your confession compounding with all of your other frustrations from the evening. 

“I know, baby. I just…fuck, I don’t know how to do this. I suck at the emotional,” he admits, gently patting the back of your hair and holding you close to him. He pauses before guiding your face up to look at him and continues, “I’m so sorry I hurt you. I was just scared; didn’t want to get hurt, or even worse, hurt you, but I realize now that I did, and I was wrong. I was so fucking wrong. Shit. I just… I need you, I need you more than I need air in my lungs,” he adds, and you hear the break in his voice. 

“You do?” you ask, hating how pathetic you must sound, your eyes puffy and cheeks wet from your crying.

“I’ll always be here for you, cariño, if you’ll let me. I know I don’t deserve it, but do you think you can forgive me?” he softly mutters. Seeing you trying to blink away the silent years trailing down your cheeks, he reaches up and swipes away at them with his thumb, and his hand stays there, cupping your face.  

You nod yes in response. 

Just like that, it’s almost as if everything were still the same; as if it were just you and him against it all. A thought of doubt crosses your mind, one saying this might just be temporary, your heart still unsure if you can trust him, but you allow yourself to cave into the feeling all the same. 

He holds you quietly against his chest, the pressure of his strong arm around you is soothing. You feel his cock begin to stiffen under you, and it causes something to stir in your lower belly. God, you want him. It was less than half an hour ago that you were coaxing yourself to orgasm with just the thought of him inside you.

Your chest begins to flush, and the heat your bodies generate together mingles with the warm air in the room around you. You slightly press off of him to find some reprieve from the burning surface of his chest and place your hand on it, his shirt slightly clinging to it as you do. 

You lean forward and press a soft, breathless kiss on his lips, one laced with the taste of tears. It’s delicate at first, as if to test the waters of your reunification after so much time apart, but it’s not before long that it deepens; his tongue exploring the recesses of your mouth, your mutual lust boiling to the surface. His hands glide down from your waist to your hips and he grips onto the delicious flesh there, inviting you to grind against him. 

Your hips roll on him, and you feel a sudden disdain for the clothing that clings to your skin like a second skin. The fabric is damp and heavy, and with each roll of your hips, it chafes against you. Your eyes tell you that you’re not the only one who’s uncomfortable, Javier’s face in a slight twist, one that screams both pleasure and pain. 

“You know, Colombia’s hot enough without the two of us making more of it,” you say, letting a little giggle out as you do, tilting your head back, letting your hair fall behind. Javier trails kisses down the side of your neck and then darts his tongue out to lick the hollow of your throat. The action causes your breath to hitch. 

“You’re right, Cariño, we really should do something about these layers, hmm,” he purrs, and you catch his drift. 

He releases both of his hands from your hips and helps you lift your tanktop over your head, your perky tits bounce in response and the friction of the fabric on your nipples causes them to stiffen. One of his hands finds its home on your hip, and the other comes to grab your breast. He rolls your nipple between his fingers, the feeling sending a tiny zap through you as he does. His mouth finds your chest and his tongue trails the valley of your breasts before slowly making its way over to the stiff peak of your other exposed nipple. A low, hungry growl leaves his chest, it’s a needy and desperate sound that goes straight to your cunt. 

“Javi –” you moan, “clothes,” It’s not a question, but a request, one he’s happy to oblige. 

He begins to undo the buttons of his linen shirt, and you watch in anticipation, his stiff cock under you making you impatient. His shirt joins yours on the floor, and you trail your hand down the expanse of his chest, noting the little freckles that pepper it; the small detail drives you to another level of impatience. 

You swing your leg over him, feet coming to the floor; a temporary but necessary adjustment so you can step out of your shorts and panties. You stand there before him, happily naked, pleased to be free of your cloth prison. The air is thick and hot, but it feels good to have so much exposed skin for the first time tonight. With his eyes dragging over every inch of your body, you eagerly watch back as his hands come to his waistline and he undoes his metal belt buckle. 

You look down and notice his boots are still on; you drop to your knees in front of him and you swear you hear his heart thump in excitement at what you might do. You look back up to lock eyes with him, and you reach down to his shoes and begin to undo the laces of his boots. Fuck, that’s definitely not what he thought you were going to do. With his feet free, his fingers fumble for the button and zipper of his denim jeans, and he slowly undoes them, lifting his hips slightly to let them over his ass as he drags them down, taking his briefs with them, until everything is off his body. 

Now both totally naked, you rise to take a seat on him, but his hand darts out to your shoulder as if to hold you in place on your knees. He spits into his free palm, and takes his heavy cock in hand, slowly gripping the length of it up and down. You salivate at the sight, the tip of him is red and weepy with pre-cum. 

“I think you look pretty good where you are, Hermosa,” he says, “always so pretty, especially like this,” he adds, still stroking himself. 

You love when he uses his Spanish on you, his words sending a surge of desire through you like a bolt of lightning, your body responding with intensity as the sticky tread of arousal pools between your legs.  

You inch closer to him, your hands finding his knees, and you gently pry them apart, creating just enough space for you between them. You look at him as if to say let me, and he releases his grip on himself, and you take over stroking his length. You lick your lips and position him at the entrance of your mouth. You place a soft kiss on the head of his cock, and smear the precum that’s gathered there on your lips like chapstick. 

You hum in delight as you sink down onto him, letting your jaw relax so you can take him deeper, savoring the salty taste of his skin. He gathers your sweaty hair into a makeshift ponytail and holds it back from your face, allowing you to work him without distraction. And god, you’re into it – the sounds are filthy, but your delighted little moans have Javier unraveling like a runaway spool of thread. You look up at him through your wet lashes and let out a little wink, an innocent act considering your practically sucking his sanity out through his dick and having fun with it. 

“Fuck, baby. Gonna have to stop or you’re gonna make me cum,” he says, holding the hair on your head taught as if to warn you to slow down, letting his head fall to the back of the couch, staring at the ceiling as if to think about something other than how good you’re making him feel. You let out a satisfied mew, and release him, a little pop sound fills the air as you do. 

“C’mere –,” he says, a little breathless and sweaty. You rise to stand, your knees pink and sore from the ground, and he stands to join you. At full height, you have to look up to see his face, and you feel him grab both of your hips and twist you around onto all fours, your upper body resting on the couch for support.  “My turn to taste you, Cariño,” he says, using his knee to nudge you, and encourage you to spread your legs open for him. 

With your tummy flat on the couch cushions, your ass is on full display, and he fucking loves it. Using his middle finger, he inserts it into your needy cunt, gently curling it to sweetly abuse your g-spot. The moans that escape your lips only encourage him further, a light chuckle follows when he reminds you that he’s only using one finger and that he’s just getting started with you. He uses his other hand and pushes your hips and ass deeper into the couch, while his one finger stays in place, gently rubbing the spongey texture of your g-spot without breaking, making you squirm under the bare minimum he’s providing you. 

You’re already wet, but once he thinks it’s enough, he extracts his finger, and uses his hands to lift your hips up, making you arch your back for him. He crouches down further to plant a tender kiss on your ass, biting into it very dimly, eliciting a little yelp from you in response. He slowly begins to move lower and lower, kissing the lines where your ass meets your thighs. He taps your cunt a few times with his thick fingers, each time getting a bit rougher, sending a stinging sensation through your whole body. The rough taps eventually become a full-on slap, and you move your hips in desperation, a mellow whimper escapes your lips begging him to give you what you need. He flattens his tongue, and moves it across the expanse of your dripping folds, lapping at you like you’re the cold refreshment he needs. 

The tip of his tongue finds your clit, and he stays there momentarily to give it a little suck before moving it upwards, licking the whole length of your pussy. He continues to do this a few more times, before finally stopping and focusing his attention on your now swollen clit. You’re barely breathing as his tongue relentlessly pleasures your needy little clit. He brings his forearms onto the back of your ass, and uses his thumbs to spread your outer lips open completely for him. 

“Javi – holy fuck,” you moan as he slides his greedy tongue inside you, moving it in and out as breathless moans continue to leave your lungs. 

“Taste so good, sweeter than the fuckin’ cholado,” he praises, and you’re nearly gone at his words.

He continues to eat at you, but releases a hand and then brings it back up, under you this time, as his fingers begin to circle smooth circles over your clit once more; your whole body begins to shake, it’s so much. You’re moaning and whimpering at the feeling of both his hands and his mouth on you. 

“Come for me – want you to soak my face,” he says, his encouragement is all you need and you snap. Your vision goes white, and your whole body tenses under his attention. He rides out your orgasm with you, ensuring no drop of your sweet juices goes to waste. Once your shaking has subsided, he lifts his chest and you readjust, bringing your weight to your forearms on the couch. 

“Javi, need you, god, please,” you’re all but practically begging for him. 

‘I’ve got you baby,” he coos, “gonna give you what you need,” he says as he strokes his cock a few times, and then places the tip at your slick and waiting hole. Both of his hands come to your hips, surely leaving little bruises under his strong grip. Your slick makes it easy for him to bury himself in you to the hilt, your greedy cunt taking every inch of him like it was your fucking job, like it was made for him. 

He begins a relentless pace, thrusting his cock deep inside of you, the obscene sounds of the clapping noises, a song made as a result of your wetness and his thighs, spurs you on. He reaches out and grips the back of your neck, and jerks you backward into him, forcing you to arch your back against him. The new position lets him take you deeper, harder. Holding you against his chest, he snakes a free hand around and his fingers find your clit once more. He makes soft circles on your clit, working you with each thrust until he once again has you climbing the ladder to your climax. 

“Just like that, you’re so perfect, Cariño, taking me so perfectly,” he praises, voice low. 

You squirm and babble something of the likes of gonna come under him, and he holds in place as you begin to unravel once more for him. Your hole contracts around him, your perky tits bouncing as he continues to fuck you through it. You’re so tight, your sweet sounds have his own orgasm not far off. 

Suddenly, without warning he stops fucking you and pulls out. You look back at him, brow creased, wondering why he stopped. 

The sight is one you’ll remember till the day you die, Javi all sweaty curls, ragged breaths, hard and throbbing cock in hand, shiny with your slick, looking at you through needy brown doe eyes. 

“Why – why’d you stop,” you ask, breathless. 

“Turn around, Hermosa. Lay on the couch. Want to look you in the eyes as I cum,” he rasps. 

You do as he says, and spread your legs open for him. Within seconds, he’s back on you, filling you up to the base of him. The dark hairs at the base of him tickle your swollen clit as he rolls his hips into you. A tingling warmth pools in his belly and surges through every sensitive nerve on his body, accompanied by the surge of blood that rushes to every corner of his flesh, his response making it obvious that his release is imminent. 

His hips slow, and he lets out a rough moan, spilling inside of you. He pauses there, and you feel him gently pulsate and twitch as your walls drain every last bit of cum inside him. 

He collapses on top of you, working to catch his breath, an exhausted mix of sex, heat, and general tiredness from the restless night. You wrap your arms around his broad shoulders, and intertwine your fingers around his now full-on wet locks and trace small patterns onto his back. You stay there like that, in your sticky embrace of sex and emotion, until your heart rates return to normal and your breaths find a manageable pattern. 

He slips out, bringing with him a glob of cum that pools on the cushion beneath you. He leans back on the other arm of the small couch and watches as he slowly pools out of you. “Mmm, sure do love watching me drip out of you,” his gaze doesn’t move from the filthy sight of it.

He leans forward to drag his pointer finger through your folds, causing your body to twitch at the unexpected sensation on your tender clit. He slightly presses the tip of his finger into you, and his cock twitches and begins to swell like it’s ready to go again. He drags his finger out, now coated with a mix of you and him, and he brings it up to your lips. 

“Taste us,” he says. You open your mouth to welcome the cum-coated finger onto your tongue. You savor the taste of the mix of you, an overly salty, heady mix of sweat and semen.

Once satisfied, he removes his finger and leans back once more. 

In your fucked out state, you tilt your head toward the coffee table, noticing that the remaining cholado has turned into a sticky, syrupy mess. 

“Sad that’s melted, I could really use something cold right about now,” you say as you reach your arms up and try to secure your wet hair into a little bun on the top of your head. 

“How about a cold shower,” Javi offers, a smile on his face. He stands and offers his palm to you for the second time tonight. 

Without saying anything, and without hesitation this time, you place your hand in his, and he pulls you off the couch and into his arms. His chest firm against yours, he brings both of his palms to cup your face in an embrace. He pauses momentarily before leaning down to place his lips against yours. 

“And then maybe some breakfast?” He says, tilting his head to the side, signaling to the window. 

The sun is now rising, bringing with it what you can only imagine is going to be another tortuous day. 

Well, almost as torturous.

At least now you have each other. 

Although you’re pretty confident you won’t be getting any sleep tomorrow night, either. 

END

Tagging some moots: @darkheartgatita @elegantduckturtle @alltheglitterandtheroar @hotgirlbedtimescenarios @reddedmiller @morallyinept @theywhowriteandknowthings @beefrobeefcal @secretelephanttattoo @ruinmepedro @papipascalispunk @dins-riduur-anthe @untamedheart81 @planet-marz1 @pascalpvnk @elvinaa @joeldjarin @javiscigarette @cavillscurls @bastardmandennis @janaispunk @endlessthxxghts

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