#and the rest of the band is like PLEASE DEAR GOD

[crushmeeren]

SFW & NSFW Bakugou Headcannons

Everyone involved in this fic is aged up/18+; continue scrolling or block if you aren’t into this

Note; These are Random SFW & NSFW Bakugou headcannons that exist to me 😫 sometimes I can’t stop thinking about Bakugou and the things he may do. I needed to just get them out even if it isn’t a one shot. Please enjoy these with me 💥 Also, these were only a few, I had a lot more but didn’t wanna make it too cluttered

Warnings; making out, pussy eating, hickies, choking, bit of dirty talk/praise, not so vanilla vaginal sex/anal sex, aftercare

Another note; I may have gone a bit overboard with this… anywho I really really liked writing this, just something to post in between my one shots, I could write more for him as well as other characters, feel free to suggest one! 💕

If this gets 1,000 notes I’m gonna shit myself

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Katsuki who constantly paints his nails black and has piercings lining from the lobes all the way up on both sides of his ears, plus a tragus on the left and a daith on the right (black and silver jewelry only)

Katsuki who also has a damn eyebrow piercing, who also has tattoos all over his arms and chest (mostly black & gray), it all, unsurprisingly, makes you drool

Katsuki who is actually left handed, who places his right hand on the soft, sensitive skin of your inner thigh as he drives because he always wants to touch you (the fucker squeezes a bit too hard when someone cuts him off, road rage for real with him)

Katsuki who only listens to Japanese rock and heavy metal at full fucking volume, who rolls the windows down during summer and blasts it while you drive down the highway (but you love the music too, so you digress)

Katsuki who religiously wears all black, who loves Doc Martens and Vans, who has an unbearable amount of SiM band T-shirts (which you steal, but he doesn’t mind)

Katsuki who plays the drums and learns your favorite rock song just so he can play it for you (spoiler- you cry)

Katsuki who says fuck almost every other word (but so do you)

Katsuki who introduces you to Eijirou & Denki, who become some of your closest & best friends (you’re so grateful for this, you love those idiots, they’re at your house often)

Kastuki who flushes a soft peachy color to the tips of ears the first time you call him Katsuki

Katsuki who bakes you any desert you want, whenever you want, who always makes you dinner (it’s like an orgasm in your mouth)

Katsuki who encouraged you to get into fitness in the first place, who has supported you every step of the way, who loves you no matter what you look like, but wanted to share his passion of working out with you (Eijirou is often there with you)

Katsuki who helped you learn how to love yourself, who has always been your weight lifting/running buddy (you complain, but now you secretly love going to the gym with him. Plus Bakugou in gym clothes? Dear god.)

Katsuki who pushes you outside your comfort zone, who is stern but that’s what you need to stay focused

Katsuki who can tell when you’re getting overstimulated at the grocery store, so he moves as fast as he can, giving anyone around you the bitchiest look he can manage, while holding your hand and whispering sweet words to you

Katsuki who loves you unconditionally, who you trust wholeheartedly, who is your best friend, who you want to spend the rest of your life with, and he feels the exact same way

💥Little Warning, the NSWF part is below this 💥

Katsuki who fucking loves making out, who gets warm shivers, cock throbbing when you lick behind his teeth and over the roof of his mouth

Katsuki who sucks your soft nipples into his mouth one at a time, who likes to tease you, giving you the erotic view of his warm tongue swirling around one, sucking with plush lips, who bites and pulls making your skull dig into the pillow

Katsuki who sharply bites hickies into the underside of your tits, dull teeth making your skin ache, forcing you to squeal as he liters you with bruises

Katsuki whose voice is gravelly and low when he whispers to you that you’re his needy little bitch and his sweet girl in the same goddamn sentence (you think you could cum just from his nasty mouth)

Katsuki who wraps his pretty lips around your clit making you see stars, sucking gently, who slips his middle two fingers into your slick pussy and swirls his tongue around your sensitive bud until your dripping, badly aching for his cock

Katsuki who gets you so motherfucking wet his thick cock slides in all the way in at once, curly blonde pubes brushing your clit, who sends heat flaring up your spine, out to your limbs as you feel every inch of his dick slide in and out

Katsuki who bites roughly at your calf (he really loves biting you), who leaves teeth marks near your ankle bone as he wraps his fingers around one leg, hooking your knee over his shoulder as he folds you in half

Katsuki who lets you wear his fingers as a necklace, squeezing the sides just right, so you feel dizzy, lightheaded with pleasure when he makes you cum like that

Katsuki who gets so sweaty during sex you watch as it drips down the side of his face, down his neck, who laughs, making you feel filthy when you can’t resist the urge to sit up and lick the liquid from the hollow of his throat

Katsuki who actually fucking loves anal because your ass sucks his cock in just right, who fucks you from behind while he stretches your ass open (little bit of double penetration with his fingers, it’s so damn good)

Katsuki who lets you guide his cock slowly into your ass, panting, whining, growling about how hard it is not to flex his cock so he doesn’t rip you in half

Katsuki who lets out high pitched whines/moans when he starts to really fuck your tight ass, who pushes down on your upper back, nails digging in, forcing you into the mattress

Katsuki who fucks your ass so well your fingers almost rip the sheets, who has you screaming Katsuki! so loud you muffle your shouts in the mattress, whose hips bounce off your ass so hard it turns your skin red

Katsuki who nails your sweet spot through your ass, who makes you makes you cum so hard you get chills, who makes you scream out that you can’t take it (but you can and he knows, your safe word is dragonfruit after all)

Katsuki who is so mean, gripping your hips so tightly, pulling you back into his thrusts, who speaks condescendingly when he asks you where the fuck you think you’re going, because he knows you can take his thick cock, cuz you’re his good little girl

Katsuki who fills your ass, your pussy, cums anywhere he fucking wants because he can, covering you in thick, warm ribbons of his release

Katsuki who cleans you up after, who helps you get dressed, who trades sweet kisses with you in the dark as he holds you until you pass out, head resting on his chest as he snores softly

#bakugou smut #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou katuski x reader #mha bakugou #bakugou x reader #mha bakugo katsuki #mha smut #mha headcanons #bakugo smut #bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugo katuski x reader #bakugo katsuki #my hero headcanons #bakugou headcanons #katsuki bakugou #bakugo katuski #bnha bakugou #katsuki smut #katsuki bakugo mha #bnha bakugo katsuki #headcanon #ns #my hero academia smut #my hero x reader #mha x reader #mha bakugo x reader #mha bakugo smut #bakugo scenarios

[scoonsalicious]

Unwanted, Chapter 1: Unarmed, Pt. 1

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Summary: (For this part only) Following the events of CA:CW, Tony Stark has offered Steve Rogers an olive branch of sorts to bring The Avengers back together. You, CTO of Stark Industries and head of Innovation & Technology for the Avengers' Initiative, have your doubts, as you're not quite ready to forgive Captain America for ripping your family apart just yet. Steve had one condition, however, when agreeing to return to the team, one that's going to turn your life upside down and inside out: If he's coming back to join The Avengers, he's bringing his best friend, Bucky Barnes, with him.

Warnings: (For this part only) Language (obviously), minor mention of alcohol, I'm obviously on Team Tony during the CW; don't come for me, awful jokes, minor use of (Y/N). As always, if I missed any, please let me know.

Word Count: 3.2k

A/N: Here's a little preview of Unwanted. In it's current form, it's standing at about 50k words, with about 25k still in editing, and I'm maybe about half done with writing the entire thing? I'm not going to lie, it starts out cute and fluffy, but it's gonna get real angsty and painful. Dear Reader has unresolved emotional trauma and Bucky doesn't understand the importance of boundaries in 21st century relationships. This piece has been my baby for several months now; I really hope ya'll enjoy reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing it! Banner By: The absolutely amazing @mrsbuckybarnes1917

Taglist: (Please let me know if you'd like to be added!) @blackhawkfanatic

"You're sure you're cool with this, Boss?" you asked Tony Stark, for what was probably the ten thousandth time in the last hour. The two of you were sitting by yourselves off in a corner of the common area of the Avengers Tower while the rest of your team congregated around the bar, eagerly anticipating the official return of Captain America to the Avengers. That, by itself, would be enough to warrant a gathering of Earth's mightiest heroes, but what had everyone in attendance talking was the fact that Steve Rogers wouldn't be returning alone.

Your billionaire employer sighed and swirled his glass of Laphroaig, the amber liquid sloshing along the sides of the tumbler. "I don't love it, Pocket, but it was Cap's only condition for coming back into the fold, and since Barton, Wilson, and Maximoff all went off the reservation with him, it seemed a small price to pay to get everyone back under one roof." He took a swig of his whiskey and smacked his lips.

You couldn't help but smile at his use of your nickname. Thor had inadvertently given it to you when you first met the God of Thunder years ago, remarking for everyone to hear that you were so small and tiny, he could tuck you into his pocket and abscond away with you to Asgard. Somehow, it stuck. You'd hated it at first; it had felt dismissive and condescending, which of course meant that it soon became the only thing the members of your team called you, but the more they used in their daily lives, the more you actually came to love it. It was a brand new, unique identity that came to embody the person you’d become, and the past you’d worked so hard to put behind you. You were more likely to answer to 'Pocket,' now, than you were your legal name, and you were grateful for it.

"Besides," Tony continued with a shrug, "if letting the Barnes thing go means we get the band back together, I'm willing to be the bigger person about it."

You stared at him, impressed. "Well look at you. When did you get so emotionally evolved?"

"Since Pepper told me I needed to start seeing a therapist or she’d leave me once and for all," he admitted to you with a cheeky wink; you both knew that, though Tony drove his partner, Pepper Potts, absolutely insane sometimes, she loved him far too much to ever walk away from him for good. That didn’t stop the threats, though. Lord knows he tried her patience. In your opinion, the woman was a saint.

Your eyes widened at the revelation and you let out a low whistle of appreciation. "You're going to therapy? Wow. Tony, That's amazing. I'm proud of you."

"Oh please," Tony scoffed, "I have much more important things to do than sit on a couch and spill my feelings. Besides, my secrets are too valuable to divulge to an actual human being. I just trained FRIDAY on therapeutic conversational datasets so she can handle all that psychological mumbo jumbo and then I paired that with BARF's augmented reality-- it's seriously the platinum standard in mental healthcare. No awkward silences or judgmental stares, just pure efficiency. You should try it; it’d do you wonders. And the best part? No copays."

You chuckled as you took a sip of your pineapple and Malibu. "Yeah, okay. That completely tracks for you," you told him with a smile. "So, what did Dr. FRIDAY tell you that got you to change your mind about the Barnes situation?"

Furrows appeared between Tony's eyebrows as he took another sip of whiskey to buy time for collecting his thoughts. There was still so much pain in him where Bucky Barnes was concerned. You'd worked for him in some capacity for nearly fifteen years and you'd never seen him as defeated as he'd been when he got off that Quinjet from Siberia. He'd been bloodied, battered and utterly broken, body and soul. Seeing him like that had shattered you, and you never wanted to live through something like that again.

Tony ran you through his experience with his therapeutic innovation, and you had to admit, it was impressive. The system had helped him realize that Bucky Barnes wasn't responsible for the heinous crimes Hydra had brainwashed him into completing, and so his anger over the death of his parents, while justified, had been misdirected.

"Once I processed that, it was a quick jump to realizing we can't be the best version of the Avengers if we only have half the team at home, and it's innocent people who would pay the price for it. So, when I reached out to Cap and he agreed to come back if I agreed to let him bring Barnes with him, well..." Tony trailed off, gesturing vaguely with his hand toward the where the rest of the team was waiting.

"So, you and Rogers are just, what? Good then? All water under the bridge?" you asked him, mild irritation clouding your voice.

"Oh, absolutely not." Tony took another sip of whiskey. "I can work with him again, and I'm glad to, but we're not going to be braiding each other's hair anytime soon."

"Good," you said, raising your glass in a mock toast to Tony. "I'm not quite ready to forgive him on your behalf just yet." Tony had essentially saved your life when you first met him, and he’d continued to support and guide your career to heights you could have never imagined. You'd started as a systems analyst and mechanical engineer at Stark Industries fresh out of college, and under Tony’s mentorship, it wasn’t long before you found yourself rising to the position of the company’s Chief Technical Officer, second in command only to Pepper, now that Tony had passed on the reins to her. All this happened long before he'd ever brought you in to work with him on the Avengers Initiative, and now you spent the majority of your time heading up their Technology and Innovation Department, as well.

Any kind of healthy respect you might have had for your boss had died out a long, long time ago, because Tony Stark  was Tony Stark, but now he was just Tony-- more like an annoying older brother you loved dearly,  whose name just happened to be on your paychecks. You owed him everything and that had earned him your unwavering loyalty. You'd follow him to hell and back again if he asked it of you, though he knew he’d never have to; you’d be paving the path there right alongside him.

The sound of laughter made its way across to you from the other side of the room and you felt warmth at the sound-- everyone, together again and happy. Just a few short months ago, you never would have been able to imagine the scene before you, not after the fight in Berlin and its brutal aftermath. You had thought for sure that this little family you'd found yourself in the middle of had been destroyed beyond repair.

So, you might have had your own reasons to be pissed at Steve Rogers.

"What's Barnes like?" you asked Tony. Having only ever glimpsed him from a distance, or from behind a computer monitor, you'd utilized all the resources at your disposal to dig up as much information on the Winter Soldier as possible, but even your skills hadn't been able to get you what simply didn't exist. "You know I don't like unknown quantities."

Tony seemed to think for a moment. "You mean, aside from being a brainwashed, murderous assassin?"

"Tony," you chastised. You knew that Barnes had spent a good deal of time in Wakanda before coming home to New York, working on having the words that triggered his homicidal alter-ego neutralized. Rogers may not always acted rationally when it came to making decisions about his oldest friend, but you were sure he wouldn’t be bringing Barnes back to the Tower if he posed a serious danger to the rest of you. Right?

"Fine," Tony said, with a typical exaggerated sigh. "Aside from being a former brainwashed, murderous assassin; better?" You rolled your eyes but nodded. "Don't really know, didn't care enough to ask. I'll be happy as long as he doesn't start murdering us all in our sleep. Cap vouches for him, so that counts for something. Maybe not as much as it did once upon a time, but something. But T’Challa seems to think he’s harmless enough now, so that’s good enough for me."

You nodded, taking another sip of your pineapple and Malibu, then leaned back, pensive. "Oh, God," you said after a moment of thought, sitting up in alarm. "You don't think it’s going to be like having an entire extra Rogers around, do you? All '40s morality and emotional repression? Because I am so over having him police my language." It wasn't that you had anything against Captain America as an Avenger, but there was only so much of the Boy Scout act you could take before you started getting nauseous. And okay, fine, you weren't too proud to admit it-- there was a not-so-small part of you that still hadn't forgiven him for what you saw as his blatant betrayal of Tony when he refused to sign the Accords. You'd promised to play nice, though, for the sake of your family, but your personal relationship with The Star-Spangled Man had taken heavy damage since Berlin.

Tony chuckled. "As if you'd ever let Cap's presence keep you from a good profanity. I should put out a swear jar. We could fund that crisis algorithm project of yours off your mouth alone."

"Fuck you, Tony," you uttered with a chuckle, fully aware that he had your number. You never met a four-letter word you didn’t fall immediately in love with.

"And look at that," Tony said with a smirk, "I just made another dollar. Hey FRIDAY, open up a new savings account and deposit a dollar into every time Pocket has a potty mouth."

"On it, Boss," the AI replied cheerfully.

You swore at Tony a few more times for good measure. "I fully intend to financially bleed you dry now, asshole."

"Oh no, I'm shaking in my custom Tom Ford's," Tony mockingly bemoaned, putting his feet, enclosed in the aforementioned ridiculously expensive loafers, up on the coffee table.

Raised voices from the other side of the room caught your attention. You stood up and craned your neck, trying to see what had caused the commotion. "I think they're here, Boss," you said.

"Alright," Tony said, standing up and putting an arm around your shoulder, "big smiles, kiddo. Remember, we're supposed to be happy about this." You suppressed a chuckle as you watched Rogers present Bucky Barnes to the rest of the team. Everyone was welcoming; you wouldn’t have expected any less, but as you watched their body language, the only word that came to mind was guarded. And you completely understood; The Winter Soldier’s reputation had preceded him, after all. There were hugs for Rogers, of course, but no one made any attempt to reach out to his friend.

Despite your overall annoyance with Rogers, you couldn't help but feel some degree of happiness for the giant oaf. When you'd been assigned on a mission with him (which happened fairly frequently, as he was so pathetically abysmal with anything having to do with technology) and ended up having to hole up in a safehouse for an extra couple of days while waiting for extraction, he'd started opening up to you about James Buchanan Barnes, and the reminiscing had made him so happy, you encouraged Steve to tell you everything about this Bucky. After that, the trouble was getting Rogers to stop telling his Bucky stories. If he wasn't sharing tales about growing up with his best friend during the Great Depression and all the absolute mischief they got into, he was sharing war stories of their time together with the Howling Commandos. He'd even shared his grief with you– how painful it had been to watch Barnes fall from that train and the guilt he carried for not being able to save him. He’d confessed to you once that, when he went into the ice, fully prepared to die, there was a part of him that was relieved to be reunited with Barnes in the next life, and waking up some 70 years later to a world where he was still alive but Bucky was still gone had broken his heart all over again. And yet, here they were– together in the next life, after all. If you were a different kind of person, you’d say it was a goddamn miracle. 

Because of the way Rogers described his best friend in those old stories, you were expecting Bucky Barnes to come swaggering along next to him, with a cocksure tilt to his head and a panty-dropping smirk playing along his lips, but the man who accompanied Steve was the furthest thing from that.

He shuffled behind Rogers slowly, looking at the floor and avoiding making eye contact with anyone else from the team. His hair hung long and limp, curtaining off his face as though it were a protective barrier. Though, if it was keeping him away from everyone else, or everyone else away from him, you couldn't be sure. He was much thinner than you'd anticipated, especially for a super soldier– though still extremely muscular, giving you the impression that it had been a long time since he'd let himself indulge in anything more than the bare minimum amount of calories he needed for survival. Tilting your head, you tried to steal a glance at his infamous metal arm, the thing of legends that had turned him from a run-of-the-mill assassin into the stuff of waking nightmares.

But the sleeve of his jacket hung limp, only empty space where the appendage should have been.

Curious. He'd come to Tony Stark's home unarmed. Your hand flew to your mouth to try and stop the uncontrollable snicker that broke loose at your own stupid joke. Tony elbowed you gently in the ribs to shut you up, and you hoped you were too far away and the others too distracted by Steve's introductions to notice you, but that thought flew right out the window when Bucky Barnes' head snapped up at the sound, his eyes locking onto yours from across the room.

"Holy shit," you breathed, knowing another dollar would go into Tony's digital swear jar, but damn if the man didn't have the most striking blue eyes you had ever seen. There were dark circles under them, and he looked incredibly tired, yeah, but they were beautiful. You didn't mean to stare, but you found you couldn't look away, either, and so the two of you were locked into some sort of impromptu staring contest. The longer you looked at him, the more you could sense an overwhelming sadness coming from him, as well as a level of wariness at being in a room full of strangers. It was almost overwhelming.

But then, just as suddenly as it began, the spell was broken. Blinking once, Bucky looked away and you felt the tension vanish from between you.

"What was that about?" Tony asked you in a low singsong voice.

"I have no idea," you answered, honestly. There had been so much pain and loneliness in his eyes. You'd seen eyes like that before, when you were younger and looked at your own reflection in the mirror following a scalding shower with your skin scrubbed raw and bloody. You suppressed a shiver.

Finally, Steve managed to disengage himself and Bucky from the other Avengers and began making his way toward you and Tony. Up close, you were struck by how tall Bucky was. He had to be at least a foot taller than you, if not more. And God, he was handsome. Granted, in a kind of heroin-chic sort of way, but still. A couple of good nights' sleep, a few good meals, some light personal grooming, and... well, there was a very good chance you were going to be in trouble once he got his shit together, that was for sure.

"And Buck," Steve was saying, drawing you out of your ogling, "This is our resident computer genius, Pocket (Y/L/N). You ever need help with anything technology-related, she's your girl."

"A bit of an over-simplified version, Rogers," you said, sticking your hand out to shake Bucky’s, "but yeah, that about covers it."

Bucky looked at you, then down at your hand, making no move to take it.

"What the hell kind of name is Pocket?" he asked, voice rough as though he hadn’t been using it a lot. Pulling your hand back, you shot him an annoyed glare.

"I don't know," you oozed back sarcastically. "What the hell kind of name is Bucky?"

"It's his nickname, Pocket," Steve supplied helpfully, though not without a trace of confusion. You gave him an annoyed, pointed look.

"No shit, Rogers." You turned back to Bucky and spoke slowly, as if to a child. "So, what do you think Pocket is, then?"

"Oh," said Bucky, catching on. The corners of his mouth turned up ever so slightly. "Gotcha; m'sorry about that. My manners are rusty from a severe lack of use."

You didn't mean it, but your mouth curved up into a hint of a smile, too. And then, almost as if you couldn't stop yourself from doing it, you found yourself saying "I see you've arrived unarmed."

There was a long, heavy beat of silence as Steve and Tony stared at you, mouths slightly agape, and you wondered if you'd made a critical error. You were just about to punch yourself in the face and claim you had a concussion and therefore couldn't be held responsible for what you said when Bucky burst into laughter.

It was the most beautiful sound you'd ever heard, and it was contagious. Through your own laughter, you risked a glance up at Steve. He was looking back and forth between you and Bucky, an indiscernible look in his eyes, and you couldn't help but wonder how long it had been since he'd heard his best friend laugh. Hell, you wondered how long it had been since Bucky Barnes had laughed at all.

"Pocket," Tony groaned, palming his face, "that was truly terrible, even for you."

"I'm sorry," you said, trying to catch your breath through your burst of giggles. "It just slipped out-- I couldn’t help it. You know once these things come into my head, they just bounce around in there until they fall out. I didn't mean it."

Steve smiled at you. "So that's what you were snickering at," he said, amused. Damn that enhanced super soldier hearing. Rogers didn't need to be so nosy with it.

You shrugged. "What can I say? Bad jokes are my superpower. Don't be jealous that all you got was super strength and a six pack, Rogers."

Bucky laughed again, then nudged Steve playfully with his elbow. "I like this one, Stevie," he said. "She's funny."

You weren't sure why, exactly, but something in Bucky's words turned your insides into a warm puddle of goo.

Oh, you were going to be in trouble, indeed.

Next Part ->

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky x you #mcu bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #james barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x y/n

[ahoycaptainautumn]

Fated Mates Part 3

Synopsis: you, a vengeful vampire slayer, cross paths with the devious and handsome Astarion. Instead of a stake through the heart, Astarion finds something he thought impossible for vampire spawn. A mate.

Astarion learns more on vampiric mates while you do odd jobs in town. Scraping up enough money your merry gang gets to rest well tonight. Though there’s only one problem, there’s only one bed.

It took another two days before your merry band finally made it to the first town. More hours of Gale’s snores and sleep talking of magical items. Or the way Karlach randomly set fire to something now twice in her sleep. Wyll played some tune non stop on a ukulele you swear just to annoy you. Not to mention the bickering and fighting when they were awake. After getting no sleep you demanded to the group that you would all pitch in and do some odd jobs to afford a stay at a tavern for a night. Anything to give you a chance at relaxation and a soft mattress. Everyone agreed to meet at the town square at the beginning of sundown. The hours before that were up to each entirely.

You first went into the town square in hopes of finding someone to offer you an easy quest for a fee. Perusing the marketplace you find a dressmaker eager to find someone for help.

“My my my! You’re perfect for the job! I was just in need of some help, thank the Gods! I need you to run to this store and grab the fabric on hold for Marteen, then meet me at my shop after the market closes.” He hands you a wrinkled piece of paper with the name of the shop on it. You nod your thanks and head out to said shop.

Astarion immediately abandoned the idea of doing some side quest and instead goes to find the local bookkeeper. The town was quaint in size but he hoped large enough to have some of a selection on what he was looking for. 200 years as a vampire and still his knowledge of vampirism was slim to none. Most of it from passing mouths. Fellow spawn were more than likely in his similar predicament and just as naive to the ways of the vampire world. Anyone higher on the food chain wasn’t keen on educating. Here and there in his travels for prey he heard whispers of things. Knowledge of vampire mates was mostly rumor, common gossip with no real evidence. Astarion had only met one other vampire to have met his mate. At the time the bond seemed weak to him. A cause for a future exploitation. A bother. He never believed himself to be plagued with such nonsense and had not thought to ask more of it. Astarion made his way up the old brick library steps and into the establishment. Years of neglect were evident in every crevice of the place. Spiderwebs littered every corner and shelves of books were caked with years of dust. Astarion tried his best to hide his disgust and made his way to the front desk. An old human woman sat slouched in her chair dozing off. Astarion cleared his throat, waking the woman. She fixed her overly large glasses before squinting up at Astarion. He gives his most award winning smile in return.

“How can I help you stranger?” She croaks.

“I was wondering if you had anything on a special type of creature? A vampire perhaps?” Astarion asks nicely. Her bushy brows furrow in confusion.

“Sorry, things of that nature need special clearance given by the governor. Something about too many impressionable kids trying to bite one another.” She waves her hand away as she finishes talking. She goes to turn away from him as Astarions hand darts across the desk. His thumb and forefinger caress the old woman’s chin as he gently turns her head back to him. Astarion leans close, breath mingling with the librarians. With his best bedroom eyes Astarion pleads once again.

“Please dear? I swear I shan’t be more than a moment.” The woman’s face lights up beet red as she flusters under his touch.

“I mean- I- well I mean- if if if you really won’t be more than a second than I guess it’s okay.” She stutters out.

“Perfect. Just point me in the direction, love.” Astarion purrs. The woman scuffles from behind her desk and grabs a set of keys from her pocket. Astarion follows as she leads him further into the library towards an old vault door. With a turn of a key she guides him to the shelving labeled V.

“Please don’t be long, my boss will be around any moment!” She giggles behind her wrinkled hand. Her blush still evident as she walks away. Astarions face drops back to a resting neutral once she’s out of sight and he makes his way through the novels. There are only a few books pertaining to vampires. His fingers slide over titles of “How to Properly Slay a Vampire” and “Vampire Bites for Medical Use”. None contain anything about mates. A growl of frustration leaves him before he’s manically ripping through books across the shelves. Books and scrolls fly through the air before Astarions rage stops in its tracks. Mid throw Astarion reads the title of the small book in his hand. “Mates in Five Different Species: Fate Driven Partnership”. Astarion just about rips the book open before he hears the patter of the woman’s footsteps coming closer. He rushes out the door and slams it behind him. The woman jumps at his sudden movements just outside the chambers.

“You have been so lovely, thank you. I must go, good day!” Astarion shouts over his shoulder before dashing outside. The woman’s shriek at his mess is the last he hears as he makes for the door and rounds the corner. Finding a secluded alleyway, Astarion makes himself comfortable on top of a wooden crate and cracks open the book.

Vampiric Mates:

Vampire mating is a rarity within the species. Only about an average of 31% of vampires have mates. Of that 31% only 3% of their mates were non-vampire in manner. Courtship of mates in vampires comes within three stages: sight, taste, consummation. The beginnings of the mating correspond with the first mutual stare between the partners. Mating is then felt in its entirety with a touch of either lips or genitalia. Finally, the mate bond is accepted for eternity with consummation of the partnership.

Astarions eyebrows shoot up as he reads. He had already completed two damned steps without even realizing.

Though the “feeling” of a mate may differ slightly from vampire to vampire, similarities are shown throughout each recorded mating. Feelings of a something similar to a cord “tightening” is usually the most common sign. Feelings of falling, fainting or loss of emotions momentarily have also been recorded. It is believed to be innate to each vampire to recognize a mate once seen.

Astarion thinks back to the shared bargain kiss you had made a few nights earlier. The feeling of a band wrapping and tightening in his core. The way he felt his stomach drop. He had thought himself nauseous from not drinking enough but in reality he knew he was denying it. Denying the feeling he felt with that first look. Something so ingrained biologically he couldn’t shoo it away. He flips to the section labeled “Vampire Mates: Other Species Mate”.

Mates of a vampire not already afflicted with vampirism upon meeting may be at a disadvantage. Though similar feelings may be present they will not be as strong as they are for the vampire mate. The mate also may not feel the same feelings of possessiveness and aching as the vampire mate will. Non vampire mates may not inherently realize what has happened without further education.

Astarion reads the last sentence several times over. You didn’t even know. He could continue on this little adventure and you would never be the wiser of what was unfolding between the two of you. A large part of Astarion was glad, gleeful even, to not have to worry about this further. But a small, quiet and forgotten part of his brain felt remorse at the thought. Astarion was about to continue to read through the entire section before he noticed the beginnings of the sunset. Realizing he would be meeting back with your party shortly, Astarion leaps from his seat on the crate and moves through the alleyways. He knows if he shows up empty handed you won’t let him hear the end of it. He knows your still deciding on whether or not you want to plant your stake right into his heart anyhow. Moving through side streets and back alleys Astarion moves with grace between drunks and gamblers. Swift and nimble, his hands dip into their pockets and empty them of any useful change. With a bit of money to his name, Astarion takes a main road back to the square. Though an image to his right stops him in his tracks, you.

A bit earlier -

Fabrics in hand, you huff down the street to Marteens shop. The fabric store was on the very outskirts of town. Nothing more than an old witch with a spindle, calling it a shop was a bit excessive. Though the lady was kind enough, you spent far too much time to get there as well as listen to the old woman gab as she got your order together. You finally step up to Marteen’s Dress Shop and softly knock on the door. Large floor to ceiling windows show the interior from the front. Mannequins dressed in beautiful floor length gowns adorn the left and right side. A small podium sits in the middle awaiting a blushing bride to try on her future gown. Marteen opens the door and beams at you.

“Please come in, come in!” He waves you in. He helps unload the several bits of fabric from your grasp. Luxurious rolls of dark blood red fabric, black lace, and golden trimmings leave your hands. You help bring everything else into the shop. Marteen unloads the rolls onto a long table next to the front podium. You stand next to him admiring the cloths.

“It really is beautiful.” You whisper, more to the fabrics than the man. He smiles at you as he grabs a mostly made dress from his back room. The same fabric is made into a long gown in his arms. A tight black bodice corsets the top as gold accents the sides. Crimson fabric layers on top of eachother at the bottom as it bellows out into a sweep gown.

“Before you go, could I ask you one more job? I’ll throw in a few extra coin!” Marteen asks.

“Sure, what can I get you next?” You ask.

“This dress, it’s for my daughter. It’s nearly complete save the sleeves and a bit of patching in the back. You look about her size, mind being my model? I’d ask her, but it’s a bit of a surprise.” You really hadn’t expected that. It had been a very very long time since you worn something so exquisite. Back before your parents had been murdered. Back when your father threw elegant balls for nothing more than to fill the manor with good company and better wine. Back before life became what it is. You shake the thought before they take hold.

“Sure why not.” You shrug.

Cinched into the velvet fabric feels like a dream against your skin. Marteen expertly sewed beautiful bell bottom sleeves with black lace endings onto each arm. Gold is hemmed in the sides to accentuate your curves. Flowing black ribbon ties in the bodice tightly. Marteen smiles broadly, proud of himself. You do a small twirl at his command and watch the fabric flow with your movements. You can’t help the giggle that takes over you as you sway.

“It’s perfect! Absolutely perfect!” Marteen glows.

“It is! It’s absolutely perfe-“ your words die half way through your throat when through the front glass you see a gawking Astarion. Shame and anger sweep over your momentary glee. You clench your hands and jaw as you stare him down. A smug look takes over his face as he watches you. Marteen comes and looks over your shoulder.

“Oh, is that your betrothed?” He asks innocently. You can’t help the sarcastic laugh that leaves your lips.

“As if! Never in a million lifetimes.” You reply coldly, eyes narrowing. Marteen gives you a puzzled look.

“By the way he looks at you in that dress, I would have thought otherwise.” Marteen tosses over his shoulder.

—

Astarion had good intentions, brilliant and easy intentions. Seduce you, con you, but never fall for you. To overcome the illness of being mated. He was determined, arrogant even in his belief that this mating was nothing more than a silly joke from the universe. He could get over a few fleeting feelings, he had endured much worse in centuries of slavery and solitude. But those resolutions all but melt away at the sight of you. He watches you twirl in a dress fit for a vampiric queen. Blood red accentuating your body, long fabric flowing with your movements. An easy smile gracing your lips. That familiar coil in his chest begged his attention once again. An ache fills his long canines to sink into the soft nape of your neck. All he could do was stare at your form, the way your lips looked so mesmerizing in that easy smile. An animalistic urge shook him with the thought that that smile should be for him, not some gown maker. The thought vanished as quickly as it comes as you find his stare and match it with a look that could kill. Gods, this was going to be harder than he thought.

-

Redressed, you collect your payment and meet Astarion out in the front of the shop. He gives you a fake saddened look.

“Here I was out doing honest work and you’re trying on gowns. Really, (y/n) you outta be ashamed.” He tuts at you. You wag your finger in his face.

“I was doing work blood sucker! Besides, there isn’t a way in the 9 realms of hell you did any honest work.” You accuse him. At your words Astarion pulls the money he had collected from his pocket. Your finger stops mid wag as you look at the coins in his hand.

“Now now now, nothing to say little killer? What will the others think when I tell them?” Astarion muses. He starts to make his way towards the center of town. It takes you a moment to catch up with him.

“You are not to tell them anything! Do you hear me, or so help me-“ you threaten.

“Or what, drive a stake through my heart? Last time you tried that you ended up kissing me. Really you need to learn better threats.” Astarion teases. You swear you see red. You just about open your mouth before Astarions face comes smack dab in front of yours.

“Besides dear, we both know you need me more than you want to kill me.” He whispers to you. You stare him down fighting the urge to hit him with all your strength. All it does is make his cocky smile grow bigger. An awkward throat clearing brings the two of you apart as Gale stands in front of you.

“Hmm well if you’re all done with your lover's quarrel, we were going to put our money together.” You want to argue that a lovers quarrel was very very far from the truth but you instead take role. Counting the money together you think you have enough for all of you to grab a bunk for the night. You had spotted an inn earlier and lead the group towards it.

-

The inn was one of the larger buildings in the area. It hosted a tavern on its first floor, home to beer drinking and dinner. The next two stories were dedicated to rentals. Thankfully, there was just enough space for two to a room with a small bed for each. Everyone argued who was going to bunk with you. Given your earlier appearances everyone had already voted you and Astarion to a room. You just about lost your head in front of the kind old inn woman.

“Come on, the lovers can share a romantic evening together!” Karlach teased.

“There is no lovers and there will be no romance!” You seethe.

“Honestly, I mean Gods knows I can do better.” Astarion chimes in.

“Now what is that suppose to mean-“ you turn your attention to the white haired Vampire. He raises his hands in mock defense.

“Aw the lovers are fighting again.” Shadowheart replies. The old woman behind the desk gives a small chuckle.

“Oh deary, I completely understand. You two need a special room. Here darling, on the house. Last door on the right.” The woman gives a set of keys over to you. You thank her for her understanding and set off in the direction she gave you. Astarion is on your heels as you ascend to the rental rooms on the third floor. The rest get together with their designated partner for the night and set off to their rooms for the night. You set the key to the lock and turn it.

“I hope you know I’ll be getting the largest bed, beauty sleep needed and all.” Astarion quips. You don’t have the function to respond as you peer into the room. The room is massive. There’s a beautiful fainting couch overlooking large windows peering into the valley below. Velvet curtains hang in the windows. A fire roars off to the left corner in a stone fireplace. A plush bear rug lines the middle of the space. And right there, dead center, is only one large king bed.

Part one here

Part four here

#smut #reader insert #astarion #astarion x mc #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x you #bd3 #mates #baldurs gate wyll #baldurs gate gale #one bed trope #soul mates #balders gate 3 #bg3 astarion #bg3

[strawberryspence]

happy birthday @giiiiigiiiii! here's a tiny lil thing for my dear musician friend. 🥺💗

-

There’s music when Eddie finally comes home. There has been a schedule mix up at work, leading his coworker to come early. Eddie decided to take it as a little blessing. Maybe get some take out for Steve, they can lounge around the rest of the night.

They haven’t really seen each other a lot lately, Steve has been busy with school and work and Eddie with work and band.

Eddie tiptoes to the their master bedroom, ready to tackle his boyfriend with kisses and love. The soft strumming grows louder as he walks closer, he doesn’t really think anything of it. Steve likes putting on soft music as he studies, something about it calming him down.

He peeks his head, and gapes at the sight that he sees. Steve’s back is facing him, but he could still see him strumming Eddie’s old acoustic guitar.

Eddie stands and watches for a while, the sunlight streaming from the open window, the soft yellow dancing against Steve’s skin. He doesn’t know where Steve hid the camera, and he wishes he knew because he wants to keep this scene close to his heart, frame it for his bedside, print it for his wallet.

Steve doesn’t know how to play. Eddie knows this, they’ve been together now for almost three years, and he’s never seen Steve taken interest in playing. The melody he’s strumming is familiar, though Eddie can’t exactly pinpoint what song it is.

“Hey.” Eddie says, breaking the silence and making Steve jump a mile away from their bed.

“Oh my god!” He shrieks, the guitar instinctively turning into a weapon, “What the hell, Eddie?!”

“What the hell to you too. I didn’t know you could play.” Steve immediately sets the guitar down.

“I don’t know how to play.” Steve looks away, looking at anything but Eddie.

“Nuh-uh,” Eddie laughs, “Come on. How did you learn? Who taught you?”

Eddie fake gasps, “Steve Harrington, are you cheating on me?” He smiles right after, to let the other know that he’s joking, that Eddie knows that Steve will never do anything like that.

Steve glares at him, “Of course not!”

“Well tell me. What were you playing?”

Steve purses his lips at him, in the cute way he does when he’s contemplating about things. He sighs, plopping next to Eddie on the bed and taking back the guitar. They stare at each other for a while, as Eddie smiles encouragingly at his boyfriend.

Steve sighs, before finding the chords on the body, softly playing as he sings, “Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you.”

Eddie breaks into the biggest smile, his jaw hurting and his teeth clenching together. Steve smiles back at him, his eyes soft and sparkling against the light. There’s nothing but pure love and adoration in his eyes, and Eddie prays that Steve Harrington will look at him like this for the rest of his life.

“Happy birthday, dear Eddie. Happy birthday to you.” Steve finishes his song, his hand reaching up to cup Eddie’s face.

“Was it that bad that you’re crying?” Steve pouts, wiping away his tears. Eddie didn’t even realize he was crying.

Eddie laughs wetly, “No, no. This is— this are happy tears, sweetheart.”

Steve sets aside the guitar, “You ruined the surprise, but that was supposed to be one of my birthday gifts for you. Max has been teaching me how to play for the last two months.”

Eddie stares at him, his eyes fleeting to Steve’s hands, calloused at the finger tips from learning a few simple chords just for him. He can’t even comprehend the fact that someone loves him that much to do that for him.

“I love it.” Eddie says, breathless with disbelief, “It’s the best gift I could ever gotten.”

Steve rolls his eyes, “It’s just one song.”

Eddie shakes his head, “No. I’m saying the truth. I love it, sweetheart. Thank you.”

Steve stares at him, his cheeks colored red from the praise. Eddie takes the guitar and puts it back on his lap, “Play it again.”

“You want me to sing happy birthday again?”

“Yes. Please. We’ll have to record it so I can listen to it whenever I want.”

Steve giggles, but he doesn’t say anything more as he starts strumming again, his voice soft as he sings the familiar words.

Eddie has always thought he wouldn’t live past 25. But right now, two days before he turns 25, the sun is warm on his skin, the soft strumming of the guitar filling the silence. Steve's smiling at him, the love of his life learning a few chords just for him.

Eddie's more than happy to be alive.

#throws and runs #throws and then goes to sleep GOODBYE #dae soft hours lol #steddie just staring at each other getting lost in each others eyes #GAH #steddie rants #steddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steve harrington x eddie munson fluff #steddie headcanons #steddie hc #steddie ficlet #daeheadcanons #dae writes

[elfiewhore]

Mommy domme elf story

Hello my dears and darlings! Finally, the long promised elf mommy domme story is here! Or at least, the first two chapters. As I began writing I realised that this idea had a firm hold on my mind and I want to write a slow, lewd and enticing tale. So that means this will be part 1 of ? - The first two chapters.

Please feel free to give me any feedback and/or tell me what you'd like to see next! This story is written from the perspective of the reader as the member of an adventuring party. The gender and name of the protagonist is purposefully left vague which, while it does mean some specific descriptions will be a little nonspecific, hopefully means that you can easily identify yourself in the story <3 This story is strictly 18+ and contains/will contain content including but not limited to: Humiliation, peeing, diapers, AB/DL, gfd, age regression, crossdressing(depending on how you identify), chastity and monsterfucking. All that out of the way, without further adieu I give you the first two chapters of my as-yet-unnamed story!

Chapter 1: An unexpected parting “I’m afraid I cannot continue along this path. To be quite frank you are all far too reckless. The strain it places upon me is far greater than any I have faced before. I wish you well, but I must depart.” That was the last words of your party’s healer, a priestess sworn to a god of healing. She was your last resort, having had to beg for the mercy of the church to provide her services free of charge. And she wasn’t wrong. Your party are notably reckless, charging headlong into combat without a second thought. This devil-may-care attitude had at first earned you some renown, as your bravado led to taking on the most dangerous of missions posted in the Adventurer’s guild. Slaying harpies, undead, and even a gryphon! The stuffed head of which is now resting within the guilds’ storage as collateral for your replacement arms and armour after the last debacle. Not that it was your fault, mind! You were always good. You listened to the numerous healers that had come and gone through your party. Standing where they wished, protecting them, ferrying potions. You were always their favourites, it wasn’t fair that the others always dragged you down. But you couldn’t leave either, the reputation stuck. You sent out subtle enquiries to other famous bands only to be rejected at each turn. Even the less reputable groups required steep entry fees as ‘insurance’ should they require costly resurrection magicks. Truly it was a terrible situation. And now here you were sitting in the foyer of the guild. The wooden walls of this esteemed establishment groaning under the weight of trophies and banners of heroes long past. They did little to inspire as you sat with your chin in your hands, waiting for a representative from the guilds’ treasury so that you can convince them not to repossess your equipment. “Just give ‘em the puppydog eyes. No one can resist those!” Your group had told you. And this was also true. It wasn’t your fault that you weren’t especially strong or imposing. It was useful for fulfilling your role but unfortunately led to you often being underestimated or treated childishly. Your mind swirled in a thunderstorm. Travelling without a healer was tantamount to a death sentence. Out in the wilderness, even the smallest cut could lead to a life-threatening infection. Not to mention mummy rot, lycanthropy, wyvern stings. Everyone had a role to play and you were missing one. “Excuse me. Is this the Adventuring Guild?” Came a breathy, soft spoken voice. Airy and light. You glanced up to see a woman standing before the desk, speaking to the clerk. Your breath caught for a moment in your throat as you took her in. Long, beautiful hair the colour of spun gold and braided with gems that glittered like stars tumbled down her back like a waterfall, framing the back of this curvy, enchanting figure. Every movement, no matter how small, was performed with effortless grace as she rested a staff of living wood against the desk. Atop it rested a crystal so pure one could see right through it, and silvery threads of magicked metals intertwined with the knots and whorls of the staff. Pretty (and valuable) as that staff may be your eyes refused to be pulled away from this woman. Clad in a robe of forest greens that flowed about her as if pulled by an unfelt breeze. Trumpet sleeves made of thin, almost translucent fabrics revealed pale and unblemished skin. But most notable of all, perhaps, were her ears. An unusual thing, one might thing, to focus upon. But the tips were long and pointed. 

An elf.. you think to yourself. A rarity to be sure. These reclusive, powerful creatures lived for millennia within their enchanted forests and reclusive holds. To see one traveling the world was an unusual sight indeed, for they often cared not for the affairs of men, halflings and other mortal beings. Content to remain within their own communities and spend their time plumbing the depths of the arcane and the nature of the divine, among others. “Yes this is the Ad-” the clerk stops, their eyes widening as they look up at this woman. “H-How may I.. Help you?” “Hehe! Oh please don’t be alarmed, sweetie. I don’t bite!” The woman’s voice again, a soft whisper. The susurration of a blanket being draped around you. “I’m only here to see if any parties are in need of a.. Oh what’s the word in this era.. A physiker? No..” “A healer?” Your eyes widen. That was your voice. Why did you speak? You groaned internally. Drawing attention to yourself never ended well. The figure turns, blessing you with a radiant smile. “Yes! Oh thank you!” Her eyes regard you from above as you are given a chance to look upon her face. Flawless as the rest, her eyes were a strange cavalcade of colour. At once purple, then gold, then blue as they took you in. Though no wrinkles could be seen, for elves are forever youthful, her countenance held a certain age to it. A wisdom beyond your own. You attempted to be polite, to meet her gaze. But that was difficult at the best of times and you were somewhat distracted by the revelation that her dress did little to contain a bountiful chest. The creamy pale skin stark against the deep green dress. It did not look ill-fitting, mind. Simply.. This woman’s bust demanded attention. Her ruby-clad lips draw your eyes northward once more. “My my! Let me help you with that!” She coos, in a voice tinged deeply with maternal concern. She reaches down and cups your cheek with a touch so delicate and warm you at once wish to melt into it. Your face had been rather beaten up in the last adventure, and with none to restore your vigor now you simply had to patch them up. But now the aches subsided more swiftly than they had ever before. Not just those upon your face, as the elf whispers her magic, it travels through your body. Soothing the woes of fatigue and injury. Even old wounds you had long since accepted receded before her radiance. Her hand pulls away and you can’t stop your face from following. Unbalanced, you collapse upon the floor with an embarrassed groan as you are snapped back to reality. A sound graces your ears. Like a babbling brook meets the chime of crystals. You realise she’s giggling. Your cheeks flush red as you rush to your feet. 

Her laughter stops as she looks genuinely apologetic. “I am sorry, little one. I didn’t mean to embarrass you. It was simply.. Cute.” Normally being called such a thing enraged you, frustrated you. But now… It felt comforting. “It’s okay.” you mumble.

“A-hem!” a stuffy voice draws your attention. You see the stuffy mustache first, like a hateful caterpillar resting upon the craggy face of a mountain filled with debt. The treasurer. “You again. I told you before if your party cannot prove to this guild that you are capable of finding a consistent and reliable healer to prevent any further deaths we will be forced to repossess the equipment we have graciously provided! I shan’t hear any more arguments or delays! So I ask for a final time. Have you a member capable of sealing wounds and ensuring your survival?” their stern gaze pierces you and your words wither in your throat. You tried to muster some kind of response but all that begins to croak out is a pathetic “N-no..” “Now now!” A scolding voice rang out. “There’s no need for that! No matter how urgent you feel your issue may be there’s no excuse for snapping! Or being impolite! If you must know ‘tis I that has joined this worthy band of warriors and, personally, I believe you would scarcely find a better purveyor of magicks and mending than one of my people. Now unless you would doubt the provenance of my ability, I have matters to discuss with my noble companion!” It was the elf. When did- You didn’t ask her to join you?! You barely spoke a word to her. And yet here she was, standing beside you with an arm protectively holding you against her side. Your cheek presses against her soft, warm breast through the thin fabric as you are held with a surprisingly firm grip. 

Chapter 2: Mommy’s home

The elf, whom you learned was named Nimue, was true to her word. Requesting (or gently demanding) to be taken to where your group were staying to introduce herself. She was apparently a mage of great renown amongst her own people who had left the isolation of her home to travel amongst the younger races as, in her own words, she ‘missed the energy and vibrancy of youth’ You couldn’t very well say no. You needed a healer. Furthermore elves legendarily had little need for riches which was a source of great frustration for any trader that fancied trying to arrange a trade deal for their crafts. So payment seemed not to be an issue. Dutifully you returned to the house your party had purchased many moons ago. Now somewhat dilapidated, the garden overgrown. It made you well up with shame to bring such a perfect and ethereal figure to this place. But her face remained impassive as she was led inside not that the interior fared much better. Broken bottles, dust, overturned chairs. Too often had your party returned here either too tired or drunk to care about cleanliness and it had become simply a part of the decor. First to meet you were the leaders of your band. A pair of twins, one a swordsman named Krennan and the other a channeller of barbaric rage named Mithra. “Well now, pipsqueak. Who’s this you brought with yo-” Began the swordsman, only to be cut off. “I think that’s quite a rude nickname to give someone, don’t you think?” The elf’s voice came in clipped tones, her hands on her hips. “How would you like it if someone called you pipsqueak, hmm? Just because you’re bigger doesn’t mean you get to bully others you know!” The twins look stunned. Confused. They hadn’t even exchanged names and already this lady was scolding them like a schoolteacher. “Well? Not to mention the absolute state of this abode. I’m told you are the ‘leaders’ of this little group? Hmm? Well I don’t see much leading if you leave this place in such a mess!” You couldn’t help but smile, though you attempted to hide it. To see these two being taken down a peg was… Wonderful. You glanced up at this woman, this saviour and your heart leapt just a little. You clung to her side even though you technically could have left at any time. Nowhere felt safer than right here, especially after her gentle arm almost habitually draped itself around you. “Now do either of you have anything to say for yourselves?” Her voice never raised, not once. But the tone, the power, the authority. It was all that was needed. The duo mumble and hang their heads, somehow cowed by this beautiful stranger. “Now apologize.” She commands. Krennan begins to mumble but withers under her gaze. “S-Sorry for calling you a pipsqueak.” He says a little more clearly. “That’s better. Now dearies. Thanks to a certain someone here-” she announces, rubbing your arm affectionately. “-I am your new… What was the word again in this era?” She asks you. “Healer” You say back up to her, feeling an utter rush of pride that you could be helpful to her. Especially as she beams back down at you. “I am your new healer! I’ll make sure you’re all back in bed safe and sound each and every night!” Her words are accompanied with a happy giggle. “But first sweeties, I think we need to do something about this mess, don’t you? After all. Cleanliness is next to godliness! So come along, pick up a brush. No dillydallying!” She ferries you and the other two further into the house, ushering you like children.

The next few hours consisted of chores. Cleaning the house, trimming the garden, dusting every inch that could be dusted. Your other companions - A scout named Callie and a sorcerer named Ilnax, were roped into the affair with sleepy confusion. That they fucked regularly was the worst kept secret in the group and today was no exception. But Nimue had some kind of.. Allure. Power. Nothing magical, you don’t think. Simply an aura of maternal authority. You found yourself eager to please, trusting that she knew best. And before long, the house was transformed. No longer a dilapidated sty, it looked somewhat close to actually livable! “Okay sweeties! Well done! I’m so proud of you! Teehee! And now it’s bath and bedtime for all of you!” That snapped some of them out of the strange spell she had woven. “Bedtime? We’re not-” Began Callie, only to find Nimue’s smiling face gazing down at her. “I am responsible for your health and that begins with a good and consistent sleep schedule! I’m told you four are constantly staying up far too late. This won’t do, so long as I’m here you will sleep at a reasonable hour! You wouldn’t want to die because of a silly mistake you made because you were cranky, would you?” 

As usual, you were last for the bath. You were used to it. The others simply barged their way past you to take the hot water for themselves. As you stepped into the bathroom you blush as immediately you realise that Nimue is also in there, standing near-naked before the tub. You never thought you would see an ass that perfect but you could probably bounce a gold coin off that thing as silken underwear are nearly swallowed by the cheeks. She turns with a yelp, covering her bare chest but then chuckling and dropping her hands revealing perfectly pink nipples. “Oh, it’s just you! Hehe! Close the door silly.” She says with a chuckle. Your cheeks burn, not just because of her nudity but how somehow you don’t count as someone she would be embarrassed by. As if she doesn’t see you as an adult that would find such a sight enticing. But you find yourself closing the door. “It’s getting late, so I thought I would join you in the bath! That’s okay, right? No one changed the water so I did it myself and added some firestones. It should be nice and warm! C’mon!” She beckons, turning and slipping off her panties before climbing into the tub. You debated leaving, but why should you? She was inviting you in. And the water was literally steaming hot. You hadn’t had a warm bath in so long. You realise that while you had been debating internally your body had made the choice and you were already sinking into that warm, steaming water. The tub, small as it was, would only fit if you sat between her gorgeous thighs. They cushioned your hips like pillows as she wrapped her arms around your stomach, pulling you back against her to give you a hug. Her breasts squishing against the back of your head as she does so. “I’m so glad I found you, little one. This was just what I needed! Oh this is going to be a wonderful, wonderful time!” She coos, bringing some water up and beginning to wash you. Overwhelmed, you simply sit still. It was nice, finally. To have someone stand up for you, take care of you, protect you. Finally you could just relax. Just.. Relax.. “Ooop! It looks like someone’s having a bit of an accident!” She titters. Your eyes flutter open as you look down and to your utter horror you see between your legs a definite tinge of gold in the water. Did you- You pissed yourself! You immediately try to scramble out, stammering an embarrassed apology but again those powerful arms keep you still. “Shhh…” She soothes, softly petting your head. “It’s okay. I understand. You were relaxed. Don’t worry, I won’t tell.” She whispers into your ear. “I’ll take care of it. I promise. But for now.. We should make sure there’s nothing else in there, hmm?” Unsure of what she meant, you simply settled back into the water as her hand trailed down between your legs. You tense as she touches your most intimate place, but quickly relax as her gentle hands slowly start to rub and tease you. “W-What are you…” “Helping you relax.. Shhh..” She whispers into your ear as she continues just gently touching you. Holding you in a motherly embrace as her delicate strokes make you shiver so sweetly. You had never been touched like this. So carefully, tenderly. Not trying to simply get you off as quickly as possible. But wanting to fill your mind with a haze of pleasure. It was overwhelming. It was everything. You settle even more comfortably against her chest, half turning to nuzzle into her breast as she holds you close. “That’s my little champion. My brave heroic adventurer! You’ve done so much, such a good job! Now just relax. Let me take care of you. Let mommy take good, good care of you now…” Those words reached your ears and swirled into your mind. Soothing all worries, caressing your anxious soul. You didn’t even realise when you felt your hips lift and grind against her hand as you cum for her. She was taking care of you now. You were hers, happily and hopelessly hers. You could never have imagined how far that would go. 

#trans nsft #nsft #ab dl #ab dl kink #diaper kink #piss kink #diaper humiliation #diaper wetting #fantasy kink #ab dl baby #mommydomme #mommy k1nk

[reasonsmandy]

A letter?

Eddie Roundtree x Fem!Reader

✧.* requested by anon — Hi!!! Love your writing so much!! Not sure if you’re still doing requests lol, butttt I have a really specific one so if you’d be able to do this I’d like actually die omg. Okay so I’m a fashion student from LA and I was thinking, the reader is like basically siblings with billy and Graham, (her dad and their mom started dating when they were kids so they were practically raised together) but she’s closest with Eddie in particular. They’re best friends. They’ve basically been attached at the hip since they were kids. They’re both secretly harboring feelings for each other and everyone knows it but themselves. She’s been there for them since the band started, like Camilla, making them outfits for gigs and stuff. and Eddie even takes her to prom when her date ends up being a jerk to her. Butttt the reader ends up moving to LA to go to fashion school (maybe eventually she can be their costume designer for the aurora tour 🙏) and Eddie slowly stops talking to her god knows why. Fast forward- The band moves out to LA and they stay with her until they’re stable enough to be out on their own. The tension is super high between her and Eddie and EVERYONE notices. Super Angsty. Ends in fluff and love confessions 🫶 maybe angry billy lol. AGAIN THANK YOU!!! I know that was super complicated. YOUR WRITING AND EDITS ARE AMAZINGGGG !!

✧.* you're reading part one, here's the sequel — You matter to me

✧.* summary — You and Eddie were a story in the making, which you were sure had been finished after the way you left. But now with your reunion, perhaps there is a reticence.

✧.* warnings — none.

✧.* word count — 3.2k

✧.* 🎸 — Eddie's masterlist

✧.* mandy's notes — I love this ask! And I'm working on part two for it already. Please, lmk what you guys think of this back and forth writing dynamics.

You drop your keys into the jar that was on the table next to the door, then hang your coat on the hanger as you try to speed up the process to finally rest from a long day. The apartment was dark and you didn't bother turning on all the lights, contenting yourself with just the orange light from the kitchen, you went to the counter, checking the letters you had received and also collecting some newspapers from the previous days to throw away.

Days like these make you miss the constant movement and excitement that your life in Pittsburgh contained, your thoughts from time to time hovered over delicious memories that you, whether or not you wanted to have a taste of once again. It had been a few months since studying fashion had brought you to LA, and even if you were satisfied with several friends and studying what you loved, there was a huge lack of what remained there.

With the feeling of nostalgia tugging at the pit of your stomach, you head to your phone to call the number you used to answer. At the end of the line you hear three rings before the hiss and finally a voice.

“Hello?” The unexpected voice makes you wonder if you had the wrong number.

“Uh, I'm looking for Mrs Dunne?” Your voice was tired, at this point you just wanted to kill the longing.

“Y/N?” You hear the questioning after a silence, and recognizing the voice makes the butterflies in your stomach rise.

“Yeah Eddie, it's me.” You say in a breath, and once again you receive silence.

“Y/N my dear, how is everything going there?” You try to avoid the feeling of sadness about what had happened, swallowing hard.

“Everything good, and things there?” You are amazed at how natural your voice sounds.

“It's actually a bit chaotic, the boys are packing everything up in a hurry to move.” She says in a nervous laugh.

“Move? What do you mean?” You try to remember having received this information before, but you can't find it.

“Didn't you receive my letter? They will try to grow the band in LA, you might even meet up. Isn't it great? Your brothers miss you.” You didn't know if you believed the last sentence, at least not in the plural. Graham and you talked sometimes, but you and Billy hadn't talked since your move.

“That's awesome! I'm happy to hear that.” You indeed were, but you couldn't help but feel the confusion of why all this was happening now.

…

You have a vivid memory of sitting on the floor of Graham's room as he murmured about how unfair life was, and at that point you tried your best to help your half brother with any advice you came up with. Your face was resting on the bed when you and he looked at the door when you heard Billy knock three times, indicating that he was going to come in. They were your brothers since you were two years old, when your father married the boys' mother you grew up together in that house mostly without any problems.

They were kind to you, they always were, even though Billy was more distant. You knew someone that he was marked by something that you weren't here to witness, but in a way you understood how much a parent was missed.

The older Dunne sits on the edge of the bed, watching his older brother frustrated, you notice that he holds back his laughter feeling the nostalgia of something that perhaps he has already been through. You thought about whether you should go out and leave them alone, but you figured that if you stayed quiet it wouldn't get in the way.

“They'll be other girls.” Billy tries to comfort him, Graham for the first time stops staring at the ceiling to look at his brother.

“And how'd you know that?” You watch them talking and try your best to go unnoticed.

Billy looks at you, his gaze urgently asking you to help him with this.

“Because you know how to play the guitar" Your voice barely comes out, since you hadn't spoken for so long. Your older brother looks at you with a subtle look of 'what the fuck?'. You shrug, completing the sentence. “What? I heard it's something girls like.”

Graham lets out a muffled laugh and you're happy to have made him laugh, Billy frowns and you can see a bit of jealousy there which makes you smile.

“And besides.” Billy continues, looking at Graham again. “You’re fourteen years old!”

You laugh and your brothers accompany you. It's a comforting memory, one of the moments when you felt welcomed and loved.

However, from that day onwards Graham's obsession with having a band was born. You thought it was a good idea, after all, you spent the afternoon idly after all your homework was done, and when you sat down to design different types of clothes and sometimes sewing something with Mrs. Dunne Graham hovered around making sounds of boredom, you knew that would be good to entertain him.

He had invited his best friends, who you had been attending since you had moved in at the Dunne house. You can vividly remember the morning you were woken up by the thunderous sound of drums coming from downstairs, you curse and mumble, getting up to find out what it was about.

When you get to the bottom of the stairs, you come face to face with Warren trying to arrange his drum kit in the living room of your house, you blink a few times trying to shake off the sleep that still resides within you, Eddie's figure appears soon after with his guitar hanging around his neck. He smiles at you and you give him an even wider one.

“Does Mrs Dunne know what you guys are doing here?” You say in a laugh, Warren turns to Eddie for that answer, his messy curls reaching his eyes.

“I guess so…” Roundtree answers you, moving closer to you. And your body demonstrates a fact that you had hidden from your brother: the girl who was attracted to men who played guitar was you, and he was the boy you felt attracted to. “Do you know where Graham is, sunshine?”

Your legs shake at the nickname that gradually became common coming from him, you shake your head, spending as much time as possible observing Roundtree closely. “I literally just woke up. But assuming that you guys already looked for him in his room, you should try the garage.”

“On it!” Warren exclaims, heading towards the garage but not before winking at Eddie who rolls his eyes.

You frown, and are slowly eroded by the silence that surrounds you and Roundtree. He clears his throat “I think they made omelets, if I were you I'd run before Chuck finds out.”

“Would you like to join me?” You ask in a whisper, afraid of the answer. "I mean, if I'm not busy with all this.” You gesture to the instruments piled up on the couch and Rojas' drums.

“I'd love that.” He smiles, leaving you with the pleasant nervousness of falling in love.

…

Now the orange light wasn't enough to make you see your surroundings without your eyes hurting, so getting rid of the vivid memory you decide to immerse your thoughts in what you loved the most ‘create clothes’. Recently you were obsessed with a specific style you had noticed on the streets of the city, and the way women in particular looked most beautiful in the prints you had in mind, your goal now was to create a line to present in the same style and this had involved your last thoughts and efforts in the last few days.

You didn't know how to shake off the bittersweet feeling of having your childhood experiences in the same city, it was good when it came to homesickness, but you couldn't shake off the thought that would always go to Eddie Roundtree. After all, even after so long you couldn't shake the love that arose in your chest when his face came back to memory.

You smile when you remember that innocent and calm love that always surrounded you two, the first of so many things for each other, your firsts were his and his were yours. And even though he seemed to try, distance wouldn't erase that, but of course, the thought that he wanted to delete such memories hurt.

Of course, you weren't sure about that, you had no way of knowing if he actually wanted to erase everything you lived through since you didn't speak to each other anymore. But it was customary for you to always expect the worst so as not to be disappointed if it turns out to be true.

…

You accompanied your brothers to band practice with your sketchbook in hand, with no other plans for the afternoon other than watching them play while using the band and their inspirational styles. You guys liked the idea that in the future you would be successful as a fashion designer and they would be the biggest band in the world with you making every outfit they would wear off and on stage.

“Hey Y/N, glad you're joining us!” Chuck says as he opens the garage door for you to enter, you smile.

“Thanks for having me.” You thank him, already taking your place on the ottoman he used to leave for you there. "Cami, You came!" You say running towards your good friend, and now, sister-in-law.

“But of course, I wasn't going to miss a preview of your prom show.” She says hugging you back, then looking at the boys.

“Yeah, about that…” Your voice makes all the boys look at you scared. "No! Oh sorry, now that I noticed what you could understand, What I meant was that I don't even know if I'm going.”

“What? Why?” Warren asks, twirling one of the drumsticks in your left hand.

“I thought you were looking forward to it.” Graham adds, intrigued along with concerned.

“She was, what happened sunshine?” Eddie asks, you could see he was very confused.

“I just don't want to be alone, you all already have dates." You try to explain, they look at you intently. "And my friends too, so..."

“I thought you liked our dates." Chuck says, trying to tell you that you would still have their company.

“Yeah, and besides, you know Amanda is looking forward to meeting you.” Rojas says, referring to his date and new girlfriend.

Eddie didn't say anything, but you feel his gaze on you the entire time, which makes you avoid his gaze.

“Are you being serious?” Billy asks, his tone sharp as usual. You shrug. “I thought that Jamie guy was going with you." You can see he's holding himself back from rolling his eyes, and Eddie stops looking at you to look at him.

“Jamie?” Warren asks what everyone was wanting. "Really?”

“You said that it was a bad idea.” You say angrily to Billy, because he was acting like he wasn't partly to blame for this.

“Yes, but if you're going to complain about going alone, you'd better accept the invitation." You suck in a breath, and Billy triggers a deafening silence in the room.

“I'm going out for a walk.” You say leaving, if you let no one stop you or ask you to stay.

“Really bro?” You hear Rojas' voice as it fades out as you move away.

You don't know how long you spent kicking pebbles on the sidewalk outside your house, slowly becoming grateful that your house wasn't so far from Chuck's and that soon you were on your own. You feel the presence of someone approaching, and decide not to look at whoever it was, it was still daytime and you didn't feel threatened by being alone on the street.

“Billy is a dick!” Roundtree speaks, sitting next to you, and you laugh melancholically. “I'm sorry about him, you know that if you don't want you, you don't have to do anything, right?”

You nod, still looking ahead and not at him. And that's why you don't notice how nervous he was, thinking minutely about his next words and how to do it. He opens his mouth and closes it without saying anything a couple of times before getting straight to the point.

“Go with me.” That's all he says, and you look at him with a frown.

“Is this a joke?” You start to get irritated just by this prospect, he holds your thigh so you don't get up.

“No.” He makes it clear, and you try to understand what the hell was going on. “I don't have a date.”

“But you said…”

“Let me be clearer." He says, holding back a laugh. "I don't have a date anymore.”

“You didn't have to do that." You say, with a bittersweet feeling of happiness.

“I wanted to, and besides, you know my times with you are always amazing.” You feel your cheeks burn as your smile widens. "So, what do you say?”

“Of course, I'd love to go with you." You hug him, feeling your body fill with butterflies. "Thank you, really.”

“I'll pick you up at eight?" He says, seeing you get up to go to your house.

“But don't you go early to check the sound?" You say holding back a smile.

“Oh yeah, forgot about that.” He says scratching the back of his head. “Then...”

“We can meet at Chuck's.” You say, completing his reasoning.

…

You take a deep breath before you knock on the door, automatically holding your folder with your drawings close to your chest, as if that would protect them from any judgment you theorized could happen.

When the wooden object opens, you can't contain your smile, and open your arms to welcome your brother in a hug. He squeezes you with longing and happiness, in the corner of your eyes you can see the rest of the band smiling when they look at you. When breaking away from the hug, everyone in the band gets their due "hi" and "I missed you!" of you, as soon as you finish talking to Karen and getting to know her you turn to Roundtree.

“Hey.” You say in a low voice, as if anything that involved you and Eddie was a secret. Perhaps a force of habit.

“Hello Y/N” His voice comes out harshly, something you hadn't imagined coming from your reunion.

“Good to see you.” By this time, you were feeling the tension building up. “Look, maybe we should talk about…”

“I don't think that's a great idea.” He cuts you off, avoiding looking deep into your eyes.

“Oye Eddie, check out this vest that I brought!” Rojas' voice calls him, and you try to ignore the tightness in your chest.

“I'll see you around.” He says, walking over to the curly-haired drummer.

“Everything alright, honey?” Camila's voice makes you jump in fright, but when you come face to face with her, your body melts.

You hug her immediately, gradually feeling calmer. "I'm so glad you're here, you have no idea”

She notices your gaze fixed on Eddie when you leave the hug, and knows (more than anyone) what that gaze held. All the history you had since that prom, which was put on hiatus due to the reticence caused by your departure.

“So you and Eddie?” She asks, looking concerned.

“I fear that's not even a thing anymore.” You swallow your upset, and put into practice what brought you there. “Hey y'all, gather here! I can't wait to show you what I came up with since I knew you were coming.”

“You know we don't even have a record company yet, right?” Billy asks, but not in a harsh, rude tone. But in fact, genuinely curious.

“I know, but you wouldn't come here if you didn't believe you were going to wear these clothes on stage one day." You smile, causing your brother to do the same. “So shut up and come and see it.”

You see they laugh with you, not noticing that Eddie was holding his.

…

Your hands shook as you positioned the letter in front of your boyfriend, if you could call him that. For everyone, Eddie had only done you a favor on the day of the prom, but in reality you had been sneaking out ever since.

The vivid memory of the cold wind hitting your skin took you to that night, ‘The Dunne brothers’ had already made the show a while ago and he didn't take long to grab your hand and guided you to the roof. You had no idea if they were allowed to be there, but fuck it, you had finished school and nothing would be important after that night.

You sat together eating some food that you had brought, and the comfortable silence hovered between you. You feel his gaze on you, and you slowly gain the courage to say what you've been thinking since that day began.

“Thank you.” Your voice comes out in a whisper. “For doing this with me.”

“Are you kidding?” He says between a laugh. "I always have a blast with you. And to be honest, I kinda want this to last forever.”

“Yeah me too.” You look deep into his eyes, and see him get closer, interspersing his gaze between your lips and your eyes.

It stops when you are inches close, You feel his breathing and his intense gaze, little by little the party music fades away, being replaced by the beat of his heart.

“Why did you stop?” You whisper, looking now at his lips.

“Your brothers are going to kill me." He says jokingly, making you smile. “But I never cared what they thought anyway.”

One of his hands goes up to your cheeks, caressing your skin before kissing your lips. You didn't know what an explosion it would be like when it happened, but your body surrendered to it every second, and since then, you two haven't been able to put an end to it. And honestly, you didn't even want to.

Eddie takes the letter in hand, knowing that your nervousness probably indicated something. He wasn't angry, but disappointed, and it broke your heart.

“You were going to leave me a letter?” He speaks in disbelief, a few tears appearing in his eyes.

“Babe, let me explain…” You say but he interrupts you.

“You were going to leave, and I was going to be the last to know…” Your voice was choked, and you felt your tears running down your cheeks. "Damn sunshine, a fucking letter?!”

“I couldn't find the right time to tell you. " You say taking his hands, sitting next to him. "I didn't want to upset you…”

“Did you really think I was going to be upset?" He looked hurt by it all, and you wanted to disappear. "That I would be upset watching my girlfriend achieve her dream?"

“When you put it like that, well.” You close your mouth before finishing your thought.

“I wish you the best." He stands up, and you watch him closely. “You will rock, I'm sure.”

“Where are you going?” You say through tears, and he turns so you don't see his.

“I need some air. " He says, opening the door, and leaving.

You didn't see him in the days after, and on the day you were all packed to leave… he left you a letter.

...

Hi, I hope you enjoyed it... If you wanted to ask for something my requests are open, and if you want to ask and don't have any ideas check out my prompt list :) xoxo

-> Part two will be out soon!

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[he-goes-down]

Hi, it's me again, can I ask you for a smut with our dear Izzy, like him in the Juju Hounds era, like he's in a photoshoot and he and the fem reader that is the photographer have sex ? I love Izzy dreads!

OMG YESSSSSS juju hounds izzy is my life line

Photograph

Pairing: Izzy Stradlin x reader

Warnings: smut, videotaping, unprotected p in v, small dirty talk

Second Person POV:

“Okay and pose.”

You said and the flash snapped, temporarily blinding your boyfriend and his band as they tried their best to keep their eyes open. That was the end of the whole band shoot and it was time for just an Izzy cameo. “That was a good one, thanks guys.” You put a little thumbs up in the air as you peaked into the camera. The band started to leave to go to a bar down the street, they said bye to Izzy and yourself saying they’ll see the two of you later at the bar. “Okay Iz, come here.” You said and he walked up to you. You showed him some of the pictures and let him choose what he thought was the best. Soon it was the slotted time for his shoot.

“Okay, a little to the left, you arm a bit more up.” You spoke, peaking into the camera as you ordered him around. Another flash. You did another thumbs up as an indication he could stop his pose. “I love it when you order me around.” He flirted. You rolled your eyes and scoffed at his words. He soon began to do bad attempts at model poses. “Take a picture it’ll last longer.” He said striking a god awful pose. You laughed at his sillyness and was about to take a picture but he moved and you took a photo of him in the middle of a laughing smile. So cute. But you went back to your normal schedule photoshoot. Taking a few really good shots and a few crappy ones, crappy ones that were in his opinion, but you thought they we’re good, especially the model was a really sexy man.

You were soon finished with it and began to order around the photos you took, what will be further edited and what will be discarded. Izzy came up behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist resting on your hips, his mouth coming for a quick peck on the neck and then resting his head on your shoulder. Watching as you scrolled through the pictures on the camera. “What happens with the shit ones?” He asked. “They get deleted but I’m gonna keep these ones.” You told him, still looking through the photos you took of your boyfriend. “And do what with them?” He asked with a certain lusty and suggestive undertone. “Doesn’t matter, you won’t be there when I use them.” You played on with his joke. “Is that so?” He quirked an eyebrow and smirked at you, his mouth now going back to your neck but this time, suck snd biting the sensitive skin, making you moan in your mouth. “I’ll always be here when you… need me.” He took a suggestive pause. “No need for photographs.” He said, his one hand squeezing your hip and moving you to face him slightly. His other hand going from his hip to your heat. He passionately kissed you on the lips, you moaning against his mouth as his fingers passed over your cunt. The sexual noises spilling out from each others lips as his tongue entered your mouth and you began to heatedly make out

You started to frantically unbutton his shirt, wanting him to stop teasing your pussy and to fucking rail you. “Someone’s needy…” He said. His hands now going to your shirt, untucking it from your pants and traveling under your shirt feeling your bare skin. His hands staying at your upper torso, his thumbs playing with your sensitive nipples as he held you. “Izzy… fuck- just please…” You begged. “Mhm? Use your words baby.” He told you. “Izzy-…fuck me.” You softly panted. “Say no more.” He finished. Both of you began to shed off your clothes. Izzy went to one of the tables placing some of the equipment off the table, but taking the spare camera and putting it ,slightly tilted downwards on the self above the table. He pressed the record button. “Now you’ll have a video of me.” Izzy said taking you by the hand leading you to the table. Bending you over the table and adjusting his position behind you. His highly above average cock lining up to your pussy. Your cunt ached and screamed for his big dick to absolutely destroy you. “You ready baby?” He asked, gripping your hips tightly. You nodded and whined. “Good girl.” He said and he began to slowly penetrate through your clenching heat. His cock stretching you out roughly, making you back arch, but Izzy pushed you back down on the table, your tits and stomach pressing against the cold surface of the table. Izzy’s one hand now placed on your back and the other on your hip. He groaned loudly as he was all the way in you. “God, fuck baby…” He mumbled. You whined and clenched around as he began to thrust into you. Small slaps with each time his hips met your ass.

Izzy looked up straight to the camera, giving a wink before he grabbed both your hips and slammed into your pussy like no tomorrow. “F-…Fuck!” You screamed and moaned. Stuttering and mumbling as he railed you. “My girl likes to be fucked like a fucking slut yeah?” He smirked as he went harder and faster. “Mmm… Fuck! Izzy-…” you moaned his name as continued to repeatedly fuck your pussy till it went numb, hitting your g-spot making your head fog and your moans slur. You clenched around him hard feeling that you were about to cum from his hellish thrusts. He knew that feeling all too well, he knew every inch if how your body worked and how you liked it. “My good girl gonna cum?” He praised through pants. “Ah-! Izzy! Fuck!” You cursed and shook under his touch and dick. “Cum for me slut.” He told you and with that sparked your stomach to burn, your walls to clench and your legs to buck and shake. Cumming all over his dick, whining and whimpering as he still harshly fucked you. “Izzy-…” “Yes baby, I’m so close.” He huffed, his thrusts getting sloppy and faster as he pushed to cum inside you. “God- fuck!” He groaned loudly as he spilled inside you.

“Now you have something more to use in your alone time.”

A/n: it was really bad im sorry im running on 3 hours of sleep

#guns n roses #izzy stradlin #slash #duff mckagan #axl rose #steven adler #duff gnr #slash gnr #izzy gnr #axl gnr #steven gnr #izzy stradlin x reader #izzy stradlin smut

[fayestardust]

On September 16, 1944, Private Ivor Rowberry wrote a final letter to his mother. Five days later, he was killed. He was just 22. He was part of the 2nd South Staffordshire Regiment, volunteering for airborne service. During We Happy Few 506's Operation Market Garden Tour this weekend, Mark Huberman, the actor who plays Lester Hashey in Band of Brothers, read his letter to us (pictured).

I would normally post it under the cut, but it is so moving that I want everyone to read it.

---

Dear Mom,

Usually when I write a letter it is very much overdue and I must make every effort to get it away quickly. This letter, however is different. It is a letter I hoped you would never receive, as it is just a verification of that terse, black-edged card which you received some time ago, and which caused you so much grief. It is because of that grief that I wrote this letter, and by the time you have finished reading it I hope that it has done some good, and that I have not written in vain. It is very difficult to write now of future things in the past tense, so I am returning to the present.

Tomorrow we go into action. As yet I do not know exactly what our job will be, but no doubt it will be a dangerous one in which many lives will be lost – mine may be one of those lives. Well Mom, I am not afraid to die. I like this life, yes for the past two years I have planned and dreamed and mapped out a perfect future for myself. I would have liked that future to materialise, but it is not what God wills, and if by sacrificing all this I leave the world slightly better than I found it I am perfectly willing to make that sacrifice. Don’t get me wrong though, Mom; I am no flag-waving patriot, nor have I ever professed to be.

England’s a great little country, the best there is, but I cannot honestly and sincerely say “that it is worth fighting for”. Nor can I fancy myself in the role of a gallant crusader fighting for the liberation of Europe. It would be a nice thought, but I would only be kidding myself. No, Mom, my little world is centred around you, and includes Dad, everyone at home, and my friends at Wolverhampton, that is worth fighting for, and if by doing so it strengthens your security and improves your lot in any way, then it is worth dying for too. Now this is where I come to the point of this letter. As I have already stated, I am not afraid to die, and am perfectly willing to do so, if, by my doing so, you benefit in any way whatsoever. If you do not then my sacrifice is all in vain. Have you benefited, Mom, or have you cried and worried yourself sick? I fear it is the latter. Don’t you see, Mom, that it will do me no good, and that in addition you are undoing all the good work I have tried to do. Grief is hypocritical, useless and unfair, and neither you or me any good.

I want no flowers, no epitaph, no tears. All I want is for you to remember me and feel proud of me; then I shall rest in peace, knowing that I have done a good job. Death is nothing final or lasting; if it were there would be no point in living; it is just a stage in everyone’s life. To some it comes early, to others late, but it must come to everyone some time, and surely there is no better way of dying. Besides, I have probably crammed more enjoyment into my 21 years than some manage to do in 80. My only regret is that I have not done as much for you as I would like to do. I loved you Mom; you were the best mother in the world, and what I failed to do in life I am trying to make up in death, so please don’t let me down, Mom, don’t worry or fret, but smile, be proud and satisfied. I have never had much money, but what little I have is yours. Please don’t be silly or sentimental about it, and don’t try to spend it on me. Spend it on yourself or the kiddies, it will do some good that way. Remember that where I am I am quite O.K. and providing that I know you are not grieving over me I shall be perfectly happy. Well, Mom, that is all, and I hope I have not written it all in vain. Goodbye, and thanks for everything.

Your unworthy son,

Ivor

---

#ivor rowberry #world war two #operation market garden

[streaminn]

I want Hermit Enid to see what could have been in the streamer Au, to see what she could have had if it wasn't for her brother.

You cruel cruel anon

It starts with enid waking up

Theres a smell in the room, of something fond, of something enid hasnt smelt in so long. It scratches under her eyes, biting and toxic.

Wednesday?

Enid cracks open her eyes, squinting through the dimmed shadows of.. Her room?

No, that's wrong.

The werewolf rolls over and braces herself against the floor, her heart drumming. Where is she?

Her fingers touch a furry carpet, a very bright pink carpet and god how long has it been since enid has been smacked with such vibrancy?

Not since four or so years ago, thats for sure.

Enid props herself up, looking around in a confused wonder. Squinting at the fairylights around the ceiling and gawking at the rather interesting amount of taxidermy hanging along the walls.

Is that a deer skull??

Did she break into wednesday's house? It'd explain the smell but.. How did she get here? The wolf knew she had a rather rough night the evening before but this badly?

"Enid?" a voice calls out from behind the door, so soft and so- "are you awake?"

Its Wednesday.

Okay, so she was welcomed here.

Enid's shoulder's relaxed as she padded across the floor but just as her fingers brushed against the door handle, she froze.

There was a band along her ring finger. A glimmering white gold.

Enid doesn't wear jewerlly, she couldnt bear to wear rings ever since..

"enid?" wednesday calls out, her voice rising to what could almost be concern.

Ever since wednesday's wedding day.

"are you going to open the door or am i going to be stuck holding the food?" wednesday's dead drawl knocked the wolf back to her senses and so she opens the door to a woman she hasnt seen in years.

She's wednesday, is all enid can think about.

Beautiful, lovely Wednesday. All freckled skin, raised brow and holding food in a tray like mentioned.

Call it autopilot or enid always been one to please but she cant help but stumbled back to make way for a coffee sipping wednesday.

She looks absolutely comfy, dressed in her batman pajama pants and buttoned shortsleeve.

Enid looks down at her spiderman themed bottoms and cant help but blink in wonder.

Just.. What is happening?

"dear?" wednesday calls out.

It takes a while for enid to realize that it was her wednesday was calling for. When it registers, enid's eyes immediately snaps to wednesday in shock.

"dear?" she murmurs. Dear? Wednesday would never call her dear.

What is she talking about? Wednesday used petnames once in a while. Shes a sweetheart!

Wednesday tilts her head to the desk, where some scrumptious looking food lays. "are you not going to eat?"

"food, right right-" enid says, like she totally understands what she's saying before the rest of her words proceeds to die in her mouth as her eyes catch sight of a matching ring along wednesday's finger.

Oh.

Immediately, all enid's questions were answered and an indescribable feeling settled into the pit of her stomach.

Its one of those times.

"im sorry, dearest," enid murmurs, like she truly was dear to the Wednesday Addams Sinclair. She walks up to wednesday, her hands just about hovering above her back as she leads her dearest down to her chair. "im just having a rough morning is all."

Wednesday doesn't look surprised as she looks up to the werewolf but her face twists to something so caring that it shrivels up any words enid could say.

Her hands are so cold as they hold onto enid's face. Cold yet grounding, truly a way to describe wednesday.

"its okay," wednesday says and enid blinks, realizing that maybe she does miss her bestfriend a bit more than she should. "do you want me to message the team that we are sick?"

"we?" enid wheezes, her throat so dry at just how much everything is right now. There's a tear sliding down her face and wednesday is wiping it away and ohmygo-

Wednesday's face doesnt change as continues to hold enid like she's the most precious thing in the world "yes, we."

The emphasis nearly makes enid sob right then and there.

"we are married, enid-" and there enid goes, crying because oh does she wish that was true. "we are a team. We always have been."

It settles with enid hugging wednesday, her hands heavy as she just about tries to weld them together.

If only.

Enid wakes up to an ache in her chest.

She wakes up to the smell of dust clinging onto her walls and the careful whirring of her fan.

She wakes up alone.

Enid doesnt get up, instead she grabs at her blanket and tucks herself deeper into her cold bed.

Its too early for this.

Or, if you mean enid knowings that theres a reality out there where if her twin didnt exist she and wednesdsy coudlve been together? You bet enid is bitter. Bitter and hateful and so angry

But after all that is done brewing deep in her heart, enid will be left with a painful wonder of "why not in this universe?"

#Writing #Streamer enid au #Hermit au #Wenclair

[1pcii]

wanted to start sharing some of my playlists cause they're getting to a point in pretty happy w them so I wanna start off with my one for the strawhats!

as the title suggests its still a huge work in progress but since it's also my only chronological/one you have to listen in order I also wanted to explain it a bit!

the first and second song from the opla ost are mainly to 'set the scene' so to speak, opening with 'my sails are set' which is set around post-arlong park which I feel perfectly captures the melancholy but also hopefullness nami (and almost all strawhats) was feeling about their past circumstances and joining Luffy. she is also the driving force of the ap arc which is the first major arc and what jumpstarts the rest of the plot.

'welcome to the grand line' moves both the story along to them being in the grand line aswell as establishing a more upbeat tone which is important for the next song.

now THIS IS where I start geeking out, for those who don't know, The Mechanisms are a steampunk concept band! following the story of a crew of immortal space pirates, each album having it's own storyline to it. 'our boy jack' is a revolutionary song against a corrupt monarch/government which I think first the alabasta/enies lobby saga so we'll. 'Jack' being Luffy and the song being from Zoro's POV. the references to fighting giants (little garden) being hunted (baroque works) drinking and sacrifice (dammit zoro) and having utter unwavering faith in the protagonist is just. so good to me. listen to The mechs, they're so good 😭.

'im going to be king of the pirates' is just another progression song tbh. I though it fit ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯

these next three songs I put to represent the timeskip, 'get the band togeather' being the crew departing back to sabody/generally referencing how they were all doing their own thing for those two years but are now back with Luffy! 'planetary (GO!)' basically just being a high energy song hyping up their new adventures.

'wealth fame and power' title-wise carrying that same energy (and also another transitional song because the next one is just. such a huge tone shift)

now this one. THIS is the one I was most exited to add, if you don't listen to any other song PLEASE listen to this one. it's so dear to my heart I love it. 'Steamboat Shenanigans' is by another steampunk concept (/pantomime!!!) band I like called Steam Powered Giraffe. the scenario I imagine behind this is just, a purely domestic day on the thousand sunny. maybe a bit more Franky and Brook focused since the two main running motifs are music and the boat(/robotics behind it) itself. GOD it's just, such a fun song. makes you wanna smile and dance, I love it.

#psii.mp3 #music #my playlist #strawhats #straw hat pirates #straw hat crew #mugiwara crew #mugiwara pirates #nakamaship #I also have a good few ship playlists but they're all pretty short rn since Im not really used to listening to music through playlists #(or streaming in general) #but I'll probably post about my frobin/zolu ones soon since they're near 50mins each #tho I feel my zo/lu one is a bit samey to most w a few exceptions. I'm really happy w my fro/bin one tho (lots of spg in it because I #couldn't NOT take that opportunity w Franky being a cyborg man) #anyway please give this a listen if it interests you! ik steampunk folk may sound weird but I promise it's amazing! luffy didn't almost #loose to captain carmilla in the captain's poll for no reason ;) #1pc #one piece

[hlizr50]

Fic prompts you say?????????

#12 for Gwynthan please.

I know you are skeptical, but this is my chance to convince you!

My OTP.

I’m doing this because I love you, and I can’t deny that these two would be disgustingly adorable and supportive of each other.

Word Count: 750

Pairing: Gwyneth Berdara/Ithan Holstrom

Prompt: “H-how long have you been standing there?” - “Long enough.” (I adjusted it a tiny tiny bit based on what I’d written.)

~~~

She ran a thumb over the cerulean stone, her reflection distorted over the smooth surface. While her evenings had become more restful over the years, the training ring was still her solace. It was a place where she’d grown strong, in body and mind and soul, empowered by the people who had become her family.

The Valkyries had outgrown the training ring at the House, though they still used it for any priestesses who still dared not venture out into the world. Which was why Gwyn could sit with her legs dangling over the railing, enjoying the peace and quiet of the winter afternoon.

Perhaps she wasn’t enjoying it, exactly. Perhaps she was more… hiding.

Another year.

The invoking stone was a lead weight in her palm, and she dropped her hands into her lap under its burden. Gwyn had never worn it as a priestess, though she couldn’t bear the thought of letting it go. Cat would have been an incredible priestess; devoted and compassionate and gentle. The redhead knew, now, that it had never been her destiny to remain hidden in the pale blue robes of the Mother. It had never been her call to remain huddled and hushed in the library.

Gwyn’s purpose was to be strong. To empower others who had been wounded to do the same. It had taken a long time, but she was finally proud of who she was, the warrior she had become.

But that didn’t make days like these any easier.

“Happy birthday, Cat,” she whispered into the winter chill, eyelashes fluttering to cool the burning in her eyes. Would it still hurt this much a decade from now? A century? Gods, she hoped not.

“I think you’d be proud of me,” she continued. Sometimes it was nice to talk to her like she was right there. “I try to help people who don’t know how to fight back. I’d like to think that—“ she sniffled, losing the battle against her pooling tears “—that I’m making sure that what happened to us doesn’t happen to anyone else. I just wish… I just wish it wasn’t too late to save you.”

The breeze was frigid against the dampness on her cheeks, and seeped through her leggings as if they were made of nothing more than lace. But she barely noticed, falling into the chasm that still remained in the wake of her twin’s death. Her head dropped, suddenly to heavy, and her drooping shoulders shook with the force of her grief.

Still.

“I’m so sorry, Cat,” she whimpered between ragged breaths. “I love you. I miss you so much. Nothing is the same without you.”

Suddenly she was wrapped in an embrace, two warm, strong arms banding around her and pulling her into the warmth of a broad chest. Then there was a kiss to her cheek, capturing one of her many falling tears.

“You do help people. Every day. It’s incredible to witness.” The gentleness of the voice made her slump in the comforting arms of the man who had become so dear to her. Ithan Holstrom was always so forthcoming with his feelings, unafraid to be vulnerable and honest if it meant earning Gwyn’s trust. She couldn’t thank the Mother enough for connecting their worlds, though the resulting conflict had been horrifying and bloody.

“H-how long have you been listening?”

Ithan sighed at her back, his exhale pulling her further into him. She didn’t want him to let go, and it seemed like the feeling was blessedly mutual.

“Long enough,” he whispered, his breath tickling the shell of her ear. “Your sister would be immensely proud of you. Just like I am. In fact, from what you’ve told me, the only thing that would upset her is the fact that you still hurt so much, and you exile yourself to a secluded roof to try to handle it alone.”

Gwyn squeezed her eyes shut, a desperate attempt to halt the fresh wave of tears from his heartfelt words.

Ithan released her from his grasp, but only long enough to step to her side and tilt her chin up toward him. His kiss was so warm and tender, protecting her from the winter chill.

“You’ll catch your death out here, Freckles,” he murmured. “Come inside. We’ll cuddle in front of the fire and I’ll tell you more about Connor.”

Connor. The brother he’d lost. His own nightmarish night, a world away.

Just another reason Ithan understood her better than anyone else.

#fanfic prompts #Drabble prompts #gwynthan #Gwyneth Berdara #Ithan Holstrom #acotar #crescent city #gwyn x Ithan #ithan x gwyn #fanfic asks #asks #asks are open #fanfiction #Gwyneth berdara x ithan holstrom #ithan holstrom x gwyneth berdara

[not-so-lost-after-all]

This was a catastrophy...

It started as a joke, though. She told Astarion about Halsin's proposal with a good-natured shake of her head. He started laughing, his usual thetrical self. “He just can't shut up about the freedoms of nature. Darling, you can have as much Halsin as you want.”

There was cold wave all across her body. She stopped her steps, inclining her head and met his eyes. “Is that so?” she said, casually for now.

“Well, if you'd like me to join in, that would indeed cross the line,” he frowned a little. “But I must ask, is that because... you know... we haven't in a while.”

“Gods, give me strenght,” she gritted her teeth.

(Shadowheart chuckled. “I just wonder what exactly you try to achieve here. You want to turn him into someone who can understand how people actually care about each other sometimes? Someone who won't get stabbed within a week on his own? He won't change. Most likely even can't anymore.")

Suddenly the bile inside was on her tongue, overflowing. Esipre was so tired and even viciously glad she didn't care if the words are cutting anymore. “Of course it is, what other reason could I possibly have to go with him? And I don't ask for any permission.”

His eyes widened. Oh, that hurt. It was easy to be mean to him. Cruel, even. “Then have fun, I suppose, my dear.” There was tremor in his voice he didn't bother to hide. No mockery followed, now that was something. But she was not in the mood to coddle him, hug him or kiss him.

“It was never my intention to sleep with him. I told him no because I know it would sting you no matter what you say. I understand why I gave you the impression but you should have known me better by now. You never listen or ask, you only want.”

She never saw her own reflection in his eyes, she only seemed reborn in them in a twisted form. She hardly recognized herself whenever he depicted her character. And yet, wasn't there a grain of beastly truth in his words?

He whispered her name and she knew if she stops for a moment, it would pierce through her heart again.

“I'm not done here. I thought that in recent weeks, I gave you enough to earn if not love, then at least your trust. My blood, protection, warm body during the night, the truth about your scars, the way back to our city - why wasn't it enough? Gods above, anyone else in our merry band would be less demanding and more giving.”

(“That's wonderful lets get married and have kids look, Gale. But I'm afraid you're looking in the wrong direction.”)

And then, the ace from her pocket. “If you think so low of me, then perhaps you also think that if it was Cazador with us instead of you and told me about his sad story, I would spread my legs and offer my neck to him too?”

Astarion took a step back with a jerk. “Don't say that, don't you ever joke about that,” he hissed with both anger and frustrated hurt.

She went way too far, she knew. Esipre closed her eyes for a few beats of her racing heart. It helped. She was a leader, not someone's bitter neglected wife, dammit.

“I'm sorry, that was a low blow. But I'm scared and tired too, you know,” she finished with hollow voice. With a wave of her hand, she left. Mercifully, he didn't follow her.

---

That was a catastrophy...

He simply tried to not stand in her way, to please her, to make her stick around. Now he wondered whether she returned to Halsin or not. It was already dark, everybody already resting at the inn, only Esipre was missing. He found her outside, hunched by the fire, cross-legged and with a bottle of wine. She was so small and perhaps for the first time he noticed the toll this little adventure was taking on her.

“May I?” he started.

“I'm afraid I would be no fun tonight. Perhaps go talk with Lae'zel about our glorious slaughter today? Flirt with Wyll maybe? Whatever. I already told you...”

“That you're going to help me. Yes, you repeated it several times already. I'd rather be sulking in your company if I may.”

He didn't wait for the answer. He quickly found himself with his head in her lap. Like some tamed wolf, he thought. Perhaps that's fitting and strangely he doesn't even mind. Esipre looked at him in displeasure and pressed her lips together but didn't stop him or yell at him.

“Please be patient, you know I'm still learning. If you want me to ask something, I wouldn't even know where to start.”

She laid one hand on his chest but barely met his eyes. “Fine,” he sighed. “Why are you here and not inside with the others?”

“It was wonderful here, without any words. Inside... Everyone wants a piece.”

“And I want the biggest piece of you, of course, until there's nothing left. Why?”

She took a sharp breath and then the words came like a flood. She never was lady enough for her noble mother, savvy enough for her noble father, a piece of furniture for her step mother. Even on the streets she got herself almost killed several times and the few times she sold her body she was so miserable she made the others miserable too. Not good enough of a wizard, never had the time and money before. Not good enough of a friend to not sell her companions to the law or lowlives several times to save her own skin. Never enough. She wanted to not fail everyone just for once. “See, you're not the only one wearing a mask.”

“You're doing great job, darling. Barely any of us died so far. Some of us are even better off now. You've grown so much and maybe you should trust our companions that they know what they're doing when they decided to follow you.” He grinned widely. “Am I doing it correctly?”

She laughed and nodded. There was that light in her eyes again.

“Anyway, whatever happens, I want to thank you for that look. You always brighten up when you stare at me. Nobody ever looked at me like this. I... just wanted you to know that,” he kissed her wrist reverently

Perhaps, just for once, gods actually sent him a blessing.

#astarion #astarion x tav #my writing

[bardic-inspo]

Midnight Chimes

Chapter Five: Supplication

Pairing: Astarion x Cursed! Tav

✨Full Chapter List ✨BG3 Fic Masterlist ✨

Series Summary:

It’s easier for Astarion to believe Naomi tastes so sweet because she was his first. Easier to ignore the fact that every undead in vague proximity yearns for the same blood that’s sated him night after night. Easier to pretend her music is arcane as any other bard’s, and not divine enough to wake corpses from the dirt. Easier to pretend Naomi is simply a bard, and not something more akin to a siren. One that's slowly realized she's not just another sailor, after all. Easier to bury the fact that he's already stupidly in love with her. Like she wouldn't just raise that out of the ground, too. A curse rears its head. A devil comes calling. Astarion fights for his freedom from Cazador. He and the rest of their merry little band fight to save Tav from the doom she feels she's fated for.

Chapter Preview:

He thought he was going to feed tonight. To feel Naomi’s blood crush like velvet on his lips. The blood of a thinking thing. Not someone so damn thoughtless. Astarion’s hands fit to his hips. “Did you manage to smack your head on something, too, or are you really so unburdened with brains in that skull of yours? I just saved you--” “You’ve thought about killing me since the second you saw me,” Naomi says with stony certainty. “How would you have done it, that night, back in the Gate?”

Chapter CW: Some more direct display of/allusion to Astarion’s sexual trauma.

A/N: Cross-posting from AO3. Dividers by @cafekitsune.

✨ Click here if you prefer to read on AO3 ✨

Naomi’s chest heaves. Her heartbeat bounds with it. It thumps a plucky, pleading rhythm in Astarion’s eardrums. Just a taste. Please. He gags back a sickly, sudden urge in his throat.

He won’t beg.

His tongue would be wetted by now, if Lae’zel wasn’t out for the blood that should’ve been his. Now the soil’s stained with hers.

Naomi scrambles backwards. Lae’zel’s body slumps from her propped legs, head planting face-down in the dirt. Violet eyes flash to Astarion’s, wide and watching. The drow inches back farther, fingers patting behind her for the rapier resting just a breath away.

Astarion’s grip tightens around his dagger. With a wan smile, he sheathes it. Naomi stills, watching him with a wary gaze.

Crickets croak. Water drips down stalactites into stagnant pools at the cave’s edges. Soft, sleeping breath swells through the surrounding tents. None of the other campers in their little cave are any wiser to what’s transpired. Yet.

“You’re welcome, by the way,” Astarion says when Naomi says nothing.

Like he’d reached out and pinched her, Naomi blinks feverishly.

“Gods--” she gasps, “you--”

“She would’ve killed you, darling,” Astarion drones, already bored with this phase of grief. They’d only just finished cycling through with Alfira. Time for a shortcut to ‘acceptance’.

Naomi’s face hardens. “Like you haven’t dreamed of doing the very same.”

Astarion regards her incredulously. “Is this about our little tiff? I was over it ages ago.”

Dear gods, they’re farther from ‘acceptance’ than he thought. He thought saving her might win him a favor. He thought Lae’zel would kill them all, if someone didn’t strike her down first. He doesn’t spare her corpse another glance. No use in second-guessing that one.

He thought he was going to feed tonight. To feel Naomi’s blood crush like velvet on his lips. The blood of a thinking thing. Not someone so damn thoughtless.

Astarion’s hands fit to his hips. “Did you manage to smack your head on something, too, or are you really so unburdened with brains in that skull of yours? I just saved you--”

“You’ve thought about killing me since the second you saw me,” Naomi says with stony certainty. “How would you have done it, that night, back in the Gate?”

Astarion’s eyes narrow. His hand twitches towards his dagger again. He tames it to stillness with the grit of his teeth.

She isn’t wrong. He knows that keen gleam in her eye. He could say something different. She would still know better.

Her face softens. It tangles a knot in his brow and in his chest.

“You could have killed me a dozen times over by now.” The husk in Naomi’s throat scrapes the underside of all she says. “You’ve considered it. But you haven’t done it. Which means you’ve already decided you won’t. And like you said, you just saved me. So what is it you want, Astarion?”

Astarion’s nose wrinkles in indignation. How dare you, he wants to hurl at her. But his mind drops the stone as if it’s scalding. Sobering, he wonders, instead, what is this woman?

Not a cleric, even if she really did grow up in a temple. If that story is even a little true. Not a bleeding heart, though she occasionally wears one on her sleeve. Not a victim. At least, not in Baldur’s Gate. Astarion had decided that wouldn’t be her fate. She speaks of that private, internal debate now like it’s small talk they made over pints.

Above all else, Naomi’s a bard, and a bard’s a performer. She knows her audience. Or, she needs to, if she hopes to keep playing. And now, she’s asking what he ‘wants’.

His anger snuffs to an old, sodden sort of sadness. The furrow in his brow grows slack, the same way a hollowed log might crumble to rot. Astarion’s eyes drift, downcast, to the dark pool in the grass seeping towards his shoes.

‘Want’ was over ages ago. A twinge aches in his knees. An instinct to match the raw burn lining his gullet and the throb of weakness in his limbs. Astarion kneels.

“Need,” he whispers, fraught. He dares to drag his eyes back to her.

Naomi searches his face. She says, as if it's the simplest thing, “Tell me what you need, then. And you’ll have it.”

“I-- I need, well, blood.”

Her eyes glaze with distance, lips parted around a low breath that leaks out in a whistle. She sees past him, through him, as if his body were as invisible to her as it is in a mirror. Her gaze sharpens like glass a second later.

“You’re a vampire,” she says. It’s not a question. He watches her eyes dart to his lips, looking for the telltale tips of his fangs, then to the reds of his eyes again, studying.

“Yes,” he says, straightening beneath her scrutiny, “I am.”

Naomi’s shoulders tense, but her hands don’t go wandering towards the rapier. “How long since you last killed someone?”

Astarion lays a hand over his unbeating heart. “I’ve never killed anyone! Well, not for food. I feed on animals -- boars, deer, kobolds. Whatever I can get.”

Astarion scoots just slightly, leaning near enough that he could reach out and touch her angled legs, if he wanted to. Near enough, she could swipe a knife to his side if only she could ever be so quick. He can hear that pulse of hers doing double-time like she’s flying as fast as her feet can carry her, and not just sitting still as a statue in the dirt.

Poor little squirrel, he thinks, but she looks nothing near scared. In his periphery, the space between her fingers and the rapier thins to a sliver.

His chest pinches, suddenly, quick as a rabbit darting through the brush. There’s no nausea now, now that it’s time to beg, after all.

“It’s not enough,” Astarion rasps. “Not if I have to fight. I feel so weak. If I just had a little blood, I could think clearer. Fight better. Please. Like you said, if I ever meant to hurt you, I would have. I won't. You can trust me.”

You have to. We don’t have a choice. He has more fodder for his own defense, but he saves it. Naomi has a new look about her. Like she’s seeing him for the first time. Like he won’t need to paint her the bigger picture for that to settle into view, too.

He bookmarks that look, in the split second before sheer force like a brick crashes through his mind. Her lilac eyes, soft as petals, settled somewhere distant beyond reaching, counterbalanced by the determined set of her jaw, grounding down into a certainty of choice if not of outcome. He’ll know it, in the future, as the look Naomi wears when she’s about to punch far harder than the weight that hangs off her bones.

Astarion recoils, hands clawing in the dirt. It’s not just a fist, but a barrage that bears down on his brain. The tadpole screams and it splits him. Shards of memories scatter, cutting to the forefront of his consciousness.

He sees Cazador’s looming shadow, red eyes aglow like steaming coals in the dark, and hears his master’s command like a sizzling smoke trail: Feed. It brands Astarion’s mind just as a blade branded his back. His fangs meet ruddy fur and then flesh. He gags. Bile rises in the back of his throat to meet the blood running rancid down it. Still, the rat writhes. Inside of Astarion, everything does. His stomach clenches. His insides burn. Bitterness rules his tongue, long after, even as it spills out gratitude.

Cazador commands it.

A second shape lurks in Astarion’s periphery. Someone else has come to see the spawn grovel on his knees, vermin dripping from his lips. Astarion’s eyes focus past Cazador’s caped shoulder. Oh, no. You shouldn’t be here, little squirrel.

Defiance boils beneath his skin. Astarion shoves from the stone and storms towards Naomi. She gapes, but doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t have the foresight to flee like a good little rodent would. Astarion’s grip locks around her arms.

Pain tears across his temples. He cowers. Between his eyes, the tadpole lashes. Their minds bend and blend. Cazador evaporates to mist. A heat descends in his stead, heady and impermeable. Sweat flashes on Astarion’s skin.

Music crowds his ears, raucous and heady with lust and liquor. Around them, a tavern teems with equal measures revelry and debauchery. Mugs froth with ale. Coin swaps hands and pockets. Necklines slip lower and looser.

At its beating heart, Astarion still holds on to Naomi. He trades his death grip for a grip for dear life. Her feet tap sure to the floorboards as his own footing flounders. The room spins in a blur of sound and color.

Astarion blinks, and it’s Naomi’s eyes he’s seeing through. In his stead, she dances with another drow woman. He doesn’t see her face, not really, not while this heavy-lidded. There’s familiarity, as strong arms wind around Naomi’s back, and flesh flushes to flesh. Desire licks flames from his throat to his groin. Feather-light fingertips play Naomi’s spine like the fiddle played on the stage behind them. The other woman’s leg nudges Naomi’s thighs apart and rubs against the budding want coiling tighter between them.

“You came back,” Naomi whispers to parted lips, hovering just an inch away from her own.

It’s why Naomi doesn’t see it. Why she doesn’t heed the shivers dotting her arms, seeping in with the chill beneath the door. She twirls, still, in the fever dance she’s sweated all summer. None the wiser as her lover’s eyes become blades.

Then comes the real one. Instinctually, Astarion ducks. Naomi doesn’t. The knife meets her nose, cutting the memory into a breathless present.

Maybe it’s sympathy that’s making Astarion’s chest heave as it does, that has him gasping, panting after air he doesn’t need. Naomi does the same, shooting him a glittering glare. More likely, it’s another side effect of the tadpole. Perhaps the trip it took them into Naomi’s memories left him with her frailties. Neither of them budge, even as they bristle. Astarion lets his shoulders slacken as he gives up the chase for breath.

“Hm,” Astarion hums. “How rude of her. Will she come back to finish you? Your jilted lover?”

“No,” Naomi snaps, though she glances away with a frown that’s uncertain. “I mean, I don’t know. But she hasn’t yet. And it’s…been a while.”

Since you’ve been finished, or since she’s come for you? It would be so lovely to see her blush, now, of all times. Better, still, to save that rush of blood for far superior purposes. Astarion stows the snark in favor of an earnest yank at the thread she’s left open, frayed, and vulnerable.

“It’s been a year, hasn’t it?” He says, voice softening to silk. “She was the last soul you sang for before us lucky few? Such a shame. You sound…” He trails off, plucking the word carefully from his repertoire, as one would a fruit from a branch. He finds the shiniest of the bunch before he lets it roll from his tongue. “...heavenly. Though, I suspect you taste even sweeter.”

He got his blush, after all. The rosy shade is delicate as a flower, and so very pretty against her cheeks. Still, her stare is suspicious. It raises a curiosity of his own. One easier to put to bed now, then to potentially encounter en route to lie down, later.

“Do you only love women?”

“I--no. No. That doesn’t -- that doesn’t matter now!” Naomi stammers. “You fed on animals because you had to!”

Astarion’s fleeting smirk fades. His lip curls, briefly, but he schools his face back to softness. Sadness. A kicked puppy expression that stokes her sympathy.

“I--yes. Yes, I ate whatever disgusting vermin my master picked. So you can see why I’m slow to trust you. But I do trust you. And you can trust me.”

Naomi’s brow knits in. “We don’t exactly have much of a choice these days,” she mutters skeptically.

“Exactly. You need me strong, I need you alive. I’ll only take a few drops. You’ll never know the difference. I’ll be well, you’ll be fine, and we can all go back to normal. Well,” Astarion’s eyes find Lae’zel, leaking and limp behind them, “some of us.”

“What about her?” Naomi murmurs sullenly.

“What about her?” Astarion says, with an edge of impatience. “She shouldn’t disturb us, and the dead are quite difficult to disturb--”

“No,” Naomi says sharply. “I mean, can’t you feed on her?”

Astarion sniffs, jaw shifting. “Do you think me a crow, content with carrion?”

“No,” Naomi says quickly. “No, not at all. I just wasn’t sure how all of this works.” A sly curve lifts the edge of her lips. “Will drinking sentient blood make you more…chipper?”

Astarion huffs, but it lacks any steam. “I beg your pardon? Has my delightful company been such a burden to you?”

“Hunger is a burden. I would wager it’s weighed on you as it would anyone.”

She’s serious again. Astarion likes her better blushing, or bullshitting. Like he’s someone charming or dangerous. Not the slave she saw with the rat buried in his teeth. His fingertips dare to close the distance between them, gently perching upon her knee.

“I’d repay your kindness with my own, darling,” he drawls, “if that’s what you’re asking. I can think of a number of ways to show my utmost gratitude.”

She tilts her head, eyes narrowing by a hair. “Fine. Feed from me, then. Only as much as you have to.”

“Really? I mean-- of course. Not a drop more,” he purrs.

“And then we’ll tell the others,” Naomi says pointedly. “About Lae’zel and about you.”

Astarion eyes her warily. He’s not against the notion. He’s not fond of skulking about more than strictly necessary. But two bodies over two nights, with the two of them as lone witnesses, plus one vampire… There’s stories that could be spun from those threads, about poor Naomi wrapped up in the vampire’s thrall. Nevermind that he’s a mere spawn and couldn’t do what so many might conceive him to be capable of.

Astarion lifts his chin. “And if they arm themselves with torches and pitchforks?”

“Then I suppose they’ll have to burn us both,” she replies evenly.

A slow smile parts his mouth. He doesn’t hide his fangs, this time, as they poke against his lower lip. He doesn’t need to be a true vampire to lure himself a bard.

“Let’s get comfortable, shall we?”

Naomi shifts back as Astarion stands, letting her legs lie flat. He delivers a swift kick to the neighboring corpse that rolls it away into the brush.

“There,” he sighs. “More privacy.” He answers Naomi’s scowl with an exasperated eye roll. “Don’t look so scandalized,” he chides. “I know you don’t have tears for her.”

“It doesn’t mean I’m happy about what happened.”

“What matters is what happens tomorrow,” he says, dropping his knees down on either side of hers. With every word, he inches further up her body. “What matters is that those of us who are left muster all the strength we can. Tomorrow, this could all be over. We could finish this. Be free of the worms.”

Her breath hitches as he hovers over her. Her heartbeat flutters, like a little hummingbird near his ear. Still, her eyes are cast to the side, where Lae’zel rests in blades of grass.

“Look at me, darling.” Astarion guides her gaze back with a hand cradling her scalp. His touch is tender enough to take her breath again. Violet eyes flicker to his, alight with excitement. Fear. Arousal, too, though she tries to bury it. His fingertips toy with the hair at the nape of her neck, tugging her braids to free them. Silver-white hair splays behind her head. He was right: it does shimmer slightly, beneath the stars.

It feels good, feels right that she’s pretty. That his first should be someone Cazador himself could’ve seen fit to bleed. Not carrion. Not some beggar beleaguered with bad luck.

It feels familiar, that she’s beautiful and beneath him. Memory twists his stomach like a snake. She shouldn’t have her eyes open for this part. Shouldn’t see him. Not like this.

“Good,” Astarion says softly. “Now close your eyes, and picture it for me.”

“Picture what?” Naomi murmurs, as her eyes slide shut.

Astarion fixes to the flare of her pulse against her neck. He dips his lips there and lets them drag against the salt of her skin, taking in the taste of her sweat and shivers. He carries on past the delicious ache of her pulse, even as his gums throb with its echo. He leaves his whispered daydream behind the shell of her ear.

“Freedom.”

His other hand winds around her shoulder, propping the back of her neck. Want, unbidden, tenses low in his abdomen. The sensation flees from his mind as her heartbeat sprints. A thrill runs through his veins, weightless and heady, as he chases her pulse down to the place where his lips first laid. Astarion grounds against the heat of her chest pressed to his and lets his teeth sink in.

‘Heavenly’. That’s what he called the sound of her, earlier. The noise Astarion makes now is only depraved. Gods, the taste of her is divine. She’s warm, and wet. In seconds, the heat of her has his mind and his mouth sticky in supplication. There’s rivers of it, seeping from the sides of his lips, he knows, sure as she’s streaming over his insides and painting them anew.

She should tremble like she does. He should stoke those little shakes, with the trace of fingernails and wandering hands. It’s not so different from sex. Finishing her would be for good. He could lead her to true death with little ones in a path like breadcrumbs for her to take. Just like he used to.

Except, it’s nothing like sex. For starters, Astarion never wants it to stop.

His mind smears, and he doesn’t hear his own muted moan. He wants to be lost in this lavender liqueur, submerged to the citrus edge that cuts its stems, drowned to that darker flavor that lays heavy beneath the others. Awash on the tide of strings, tingling so sweetly against his tongue, curling with a song that tastes like smoke.

Dimly, he feels fingers reach for him. A fist curls into his hair and yanks.

“Enough.”

Gasping, he surfaces.

Naomi looks up at him, pale and dazed. No worse for wear, other than a lack of color.

“That…that was amazing,” he pants without meaning to.

It leaks out of him, the same as the ruby redness seeping from the punctures he left behind in Naomi’s neck. It takes a concerted effort not to lap at the trails drying to a shade of deep wine down the column of her throat. He feels his lids grow heavy as he watches the path of the stains.

Naomi’s puffs a faint laugh. Her fingers flit towards his chin. “You’ve got--”

He catches her wrist before she can make off with her bounty. Astarion’s eyes slip closed, again, as he slips her forefinger between his lips and sucks the blood beading there.

“Mm,” he hums, content. He sets her hand back at her side, dainty, like she’s something fragile. When he blinks again, their surroundings settle in with sharper clarity. He sees them now in new shades of color and shadow. Vitality thrums through his every inch. Her blood is sunlight, streaking through him, turning the world anew before his very eyes.

“My mind is finally clear,” he murmurs, a tentative smile teasing his lips. “I feel strong. I feel…happy.”

“You don’t say,” Naomi echoes dryly.

Oh. Astarion swallows, following her eyeline down to his latter half. He straddles her, still. His hardened cock strains at half-mast against his breeches. It twitches of its own accord, pressing to the meat of her inner thigh.

“Hm. What else is one to do with a sudden influx of blood?” Astarion gives an airy laugh, clearing his throat sheepishly. Hastily, he dismounts and scoots a good foot back for good measure. “Ahem, my…apologies.”

Naomi sits up halfway, blessedly unbothered. She cocks her head with a coy sort of smile. “What do I taste like?”

A wide grin tugs his cheeks. “My dear, why, nothing can compare. But let me think on it. Another night, I’ll regale you with poetry fit for your fine vintage.”

His fingertips tap fondly against his own lips as Naomi loses the lift in hers. He can feel the taste of her, the flow of her, still, in a barely-there hum against his mouth.

“This is a gift, you know,” Astarion says on a hard swallow. “I won’t forget it.”

Naomi nods in the barest movement. Her stare settles on the unmoving shape in the brush again.

“And like you said,” Naomi sighs. “She would’ve killed all of us.”

It isn’t what he said. Not aloud, not exactly. But it’s a narrative he’ll throw his weight behind, for all it's worth to the others’ ears.

A/N: Lae'zel still not getting the respect a queen deserves, RIP my beloved, I'm so sorry.

Hoped you like the slightly spicy take on bite night. ;) Thank you so, so much for reading. And I hope life is being kind to you <3

#astarion #astarion ancunin #tavstarion #astarion x tav #tav x astarion #astarion romance #astarion fanfic #bg3 #bg3 fanfic #my writing #midnight chimes #naomi tavriel

[ivlenyxx]

Beyond What the Lights Could Offer - Chapter 1

Soukoku Kowloon Walled City 1980s Filmmakers AU. Prepare thyself for agonisingly slow updates, a lot of references towards Hong Kong and me screaming into the void.

original fic link on AO3 (by yours truly): Beyond What the Lights Could Offer by Lemon(ivlenyxx)

May 14th 2023, 29 years, 10 months since the release of Stray Dogs.

“Nakahara-san, Dazai-dan, nearly 30 years have passed since the release of the hit movie ‘Stray Dogs’,” the interviewer says with a smile. “It has grossed over 800 million USD at the box office and many consider it a classic. Many fans have wondered ‘Just what is the story behind the film?’. Now that’s a question that’s been asked for nearly thirty years now, so we beg of you,” she claps her hands together to form a prayer gesture and bows her head. “What exactly is the story behind Stray Dogs?”

The pair sitting opposite her both chuckle, amused. 

“Alright, alright. Since it’s nearly the 30th anniversary, we’ll tell you.” the man in the fedora answers.

Nakahara Chuuya, age 52, executive producer of “Stray Dogs”, sits up straighter as he ponders the question, combing through his faded copper hair with his hand; his partner, Dazai Osamu, age 51, director of “Stray Dogs”, smirks slightly, wrinkles spreading across his face. “Come on, Chibi, can’t keep our fans waiting,” he nods towards the interviewer and the TV crew across from them. “Unless the Great Nakahara Chuuya is getting slow in his old age.” he teases, leaning over Chuuya’s neck.

Nakahara noticeably bristles under his partner’s breath, that discomfort quickly morphs into annoyance and reaches its stunning conclusion as Chuuya grabs Dazai’s collar. “I swear to God, you shitty mackerel-” he snaps as the other man whines and wallows dramatically under his grip. “We’re the same age! I can’t take a moment to think?!-”

“No! Oh no! Chuuya is attacking me!” Dazai exclaims and yaps, notes of fake panic and amusement dripping from his voice. (The interviewer sits awkwardly in silence while the rest of the crew whisper amongst themselves) “My God, this is marital violence!” He throws up his arms (making sure to flash a gold wedding band at the camera) and easily overpowers his dear Chibi, shoving him onto the far end of the couch before redirecting his attention to the interviewer, the poor unfortunate soul bearing witness to Nakahara making grabby hands at Dazai while the latter holds him off with a hand in his face. “It goes a little something like this…” 

April 29th 1986, 8 years before the release of Stray Dogs.

Chuuya’s not exactly sure how he ended up here, but okay.

The red light floods the crowded, 40 square foot room, Chuuya’s eyes hurt from the strobing lights;Chuuya’s ears are bleeding from the music blasting through the crackling radio.

Oh second thought, not okay. Chuuya wants to leave. 

He puts down the half finished glass of cheap whiskey before manoeuvring his way through mountains and seas of people dancing to the beat of something that just came on. (something American, he doesn’t want to know) The red lights continue to pull assassination attempts on his eyes, which is only made worse by the pixelated screens displaying images of half naked men and women “available” in this cursed brothel-nightclub hybrid. The two dozen people making out in every direction doesn’t help either. 

If there was such a thing as unsee juice in this world, Chuuya would like 10 litres of it, please. 

Finally, Chuuya makes it out of the brothel-nightclub, (thankfully in one piece) he looks back at the bouncer, who doesn’t even spare him a glance. Hell, he didn’t even ask him for any form of ID, despite him obviously being underaged. His short stature speaks for itself.

Guess that’s Kowloon Walled City for ya. 

Chuuya makes his way through the interconnected hallways, counting and reading the posters plastered all over the place. 1, 2, 3, 4… 28. He thinks half of them are advertising stuff for the Port Mafia Gang. Interesting. He’d heard of them, of course. The most powerful underground organisation of the Walled City, operating in the dark (well, as dark as the City of Darkness could get) or even beyond. He’d heard rumours of them stretching all the way to Lantau Island and the Shatin District. Hell, even Cheung Chau’s underworld carries traces of their interference! 

Not that he’s ever personally been down there, of course. The underworld, he means.

Chuuya kicks at his feet as he makes his way up to the rooftop of the building, the gate creaks agreeably every time he pushes it and it returns to its original position with a pleasant clang! He squeezes his way through the drying sheets, careful not to bump into them in his dirty clothes, and legs it across a huge pile of scrap. At last, he reaches the edge of the rooftop and leans on the railing, taking in the sight of the City in the middle of the night. There are still a few lights on at this hour, not counting the establishments of the night, aka the opium traders, nightclubs, gambling dens, makeshift casinos etc etc. He spies one on the far left, the light of the balcony flickers in a way that reminds him of moths flapping their wings, and under the light is a boy his age with black hair and a bandage over his right eye, teetering back and forth on his feet, fingers gripping tight on the handrail. His eyes are downturned, expression blank.

What a weirdo. Chuuya thinks. He turns away to light a cigarette and takes a long drag. The next time he looks, the light is off, the boy is gone. 

He can’t help but feel disappointed, somehow. 

Chuuya shrugs off the feeling and takes another drag of the cigarette, looking straight ahead, beyond the Walled City, at the Kai Tak Airport. Planes take off and land dangerously close to the buildings nearby, another few soar mere metres above Chuuya’s head, their loud, rumbling engines sing a comforting tune to accompany the city’s orchestra of dripping air-cons and creaky pipes down below.

It’s as beautiful as ever.

One of these days, I’m getting outta here. He vows, before putting out the cigarette and flicking it off the roof. 

He doesn’t know how many hours have passed, only that this is the perfect way to celebrate his fifteenth birthday.  

Chuuya continues to admire the view of the Kowloon Bay, occasionally glancing over to Victoria Harbour for a glimpse of its colourful and lively skyline. The best part about this corner of Kowloon Walled City? It contains the tallest building. One can pretty much see everything within a 20 km radius, and if one’s lucky, the clouds’ll part for the stars, and even the shortest, most 150-centimetre-ed of people could enjoy their glory.

He reaches for the radio beside him, switching between channels until he finds one that plays something that suits his favour. 

It ends up being an English channel, playing something from a new writer from America. 

“Now playing: The Tell-Tale Heart, by Edgar Allan Poe,” the presenter states calmly, before a low and unsettling voice takes its place, narrating the tale of an insane man who murdered his elderly housemate. 

Chuuya listens absent-mindedly as he lights another cigarette and continues to watch over the Walled City, his position giving him a handy bird’s-eye view over everything else. More lights have switched on, the opium dens are starting to close, the bars and brothels are chasing people out like a restaurant owner at animals like you see in movies or it’s 20-something A.D. and they have leprosy. Must be nearly morning. 

Oh shit it’s nearly morning. 

His eyes widen as he catches the faint blue ring of the sun rising over the horizon and slowly but surely evolve into a blinding orange light that pours over the Sai Kung District to the east, then to the Uni of Sci and Tech, to Tseung Kwan O- Chuuya throws his cigarette over the railing for the second time before shutting off the radio and making a mad dash for the gate, legging it over the scrap, nimbly contorting his body to avoid touching the sheets, before finally bolting down the stairs and out of the building. He passes the town square - a relic from the Walled City’s past as a Song Dynasty military outpost - and nearly slams straight into a bunch of bakbaks and popos doing taichi. A couple of them yell at him for his insolence. He zips his way through alleyways full of drunkards and shakes off a madman trying to gut him with a knife, (it’s the Walled City, he’s seen worse) he looks up for a split second and stops in his tracks.

He can see the sky from here.

The small slit of bright, warm blue peeks out amongst the mess of pipes and haphazardly built roofs, the clouds dance across it in pinks, soft oranges and light yellows. Chuuya stares up at that beautiful sight through the gap, the City has never been this generous before, the most daylight he ever got to see was approximately none, except for when he headed out of the Walled City every few months to run for supplies that the Triads couldn’t access. 

Chuuya looks around for a landmark that he can bookmark into his memory, and spots another one of the Port Mafia Gang’s posters on the wall to his left. 

He sighs. That oughta do. And so the poster enters his mind. 

He allows himself several more minutes of staring at the sky before booking it back home, he just hopes that Shirase and Yuan won’t be too pissed.

Unbeknownst to him, a boy with jet black hair and bandages all over has been looking at him through a window for a while now. 

#bungou stray dogs #bungou stray dogs fanfiction #fanfiction #bsd dazai #bsd chuuya #kowloon walled city #1980s #filmmakers au #soukoku #dazai x chuuya #how do i tag this #slow burn #horrifically slow updates #original on ao3

[rom-e-o]

Warming Up (Ebenezer/Constance) (18+)

When you live in London, winters are brutal. It helps to have a few drinks on hard. Or, even better, a fiancée who serves as a delightful personal heater.

Story below the cut! This story include 18+ content, including sexual content (non-explicit) and references to alcohol! Minors, please don't interact!

<><><><><>

They assumed seats beside each other on the room’s loveseat, as any other couple would do. Alas, the liquid courage consumed by both adults earlier that evening (one in the form of London dry gin, the other in the form of caramel-colored scotch) inspired other ideas. Ideas of the more wanton variety.

The hearth blazed with enticing flames a few feet away, while the open windows revealed a snowstorm ravaging the cobblestone streets of London. Rather than distracting the two, the scenery only encouraged them closer.

“My, if I might be so bold, you feel … very warm,” Ebenezer Scrooge muttered, the lilt in his voice impossible to ignore as his fingers lazily moved up the length of the woman’s dress, fingertips occasionally catching on the wrinkles of silk.

“Oh?” Constance DoGoode, his clerk and lovely fiancée, asked coquettishly. She tossed her strawberry-gold hair over her shoulders with a flip that looked amazingly natural for her to do. For a moment, he remembered the inked images of siren’s he’d seen in storybooks as a child, with their angelic eyes and flowing hair.

That ethereal image, one he’d long thought to be fantasy, was sitting beside him. Sitting close to him.

Gods, she looked stunning.

As they were alone and in each other's private company, she removed her jacket and had set it aside. An informal, pale blue top poked out from the emerald green and cream-colored silk skirts that were synched at her waist. On one hand was an engagement band, and on the other a silver ring he'd gifted her earlier in the springtime during an impromptu trip to the market.

Even in the middle of winter, she looked like a diaphanous, springtime nymph.

“It’s the middle of January, dear,” he said, letting a chuckle tumble from his lips. His hand came to a rest on her shoulder, which his large hand cupped the circumference of with ease. “How are you always so bloody warm?”

A raspberry-colored lips smiled back at him, begging to be kissed. He longed to indulge that want.

“Hmmm, I always get a little hot when I drink,” she replied easily, head relaxing against the top of the loveseat. She peered up at him dreamily, eyes starry as she studied how the firelight illuminated his handsome features.

His strong profile, masculine chin and expressive eyes were all features she knew other women found attractive, but they were the only things about his she adored.

She loved the soft, downy chest hair the crested the top of his shirt, which since they’d started drinking, had become two buttons undone. In addition, she loved the lines on his forehead, the expression when he furrowed his brow or stared directly into her eyes. She thought they made him look even more handsome; wise, determined. Hardened.

His hands were another magical part of him, and his fingers so dexterous and skilled. She took great joy in twining those digits together with hers at every opportunity, tangling them until they were both wrapped up in a tizzy and giggling like flustered school children.

Even idle motions, like how he turned the page of a book or undid his cravat at the end of a long day, captivated her. Not to mention, his hands were also quite efficient at tasks that took place beneath the folds of her skirt.

Daydreams about his hands were temporarily broken by him leaning forward to lift his glass from the lacquered table before them. Chips of ice sloshed quietly in the short glass as he drained the last remaining swig of scotch.

All the while, her eyes snaked up the column of his throat, watching his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. A small droplet of the amber drink lingered tantalizingly on the corner of his mouth before sliding down his face and to his chin.

She licked the corner of her lips as she watched.

He wiped his face after the last swallow, and was quick enough catch her cornflower-blue eyes all but lapping at his lips from the next seat over. A grin split his handsome visage.

“Are you looking or leering, my darling?”

Constance beamed innocently. “Can't I do both? You know I adore multi-tasking.”

"At work, dear."

"You are a piece of work, some days."

"You wound me."

"Oh, I adore work," she said. "As you know. I find it fascinating and addicting."

He chuckled warmly, sliding right back into place beside her. “My, my. I’m honored.”

One of his strong arms went about her shoulders to urge her closer, to encourage her to share her heat with him, and she happily obliged. Not before, however, rolling her eyes at his earlier comment.

“Oh, please,” she teased, hand slapping his chest lightly. “I know you are perfectly aware of how women and men fawn over you all the time in public!”

“Do they?” he asked.

“Yes! You are a magnet for attention, you handsome man.”

“Yet,” he started, dropping a kiss atop her head, “Yours is the only attention I care for.”

With a fresh surge of heat flooding her cheeks, she buried her face in his chest and heard him let out a triumphant laugh.

That was yet another thing she adored about her soon-to-be-husband. The sound of his laughter was as deep and rich as summer thunder. Even better was when he laughed when her head was pressed to his chest, and she could feel the reverberations echo through her own body, making her own heart dance with glee.

“If you keep making me blush when we’re this close, I may get hotter than the fireplace,” she said, peering up at him from her huddled position.

“Now, that sounds like a compliment, my darling."

“It’ll be less pleasing when you start overheating,” she teased back, lips curling into a grin. "You know you hate what humidity does to your hair, love."

Fingers teased the opening of his shirt again, even taking a second to undo another button, revealing another impressive sliver of chest.

When he arced a knowing brow at her, she only winked. "Just preparing you."

“Please don’t think I’m complaining about how warm you are,” Ebenezer teased. His hand settled atop one of her thighs, thumb stroking the high point of her voluptuous curve. Heavens, her form was epicurean in nature, like something crafted by a long-struck artist determined to render their vision of perfection in marble.

Her smile. Her voice. Her warmth. Her eyes.

Maker, her eyes. To see his own reflection in those lake-colored orbs did them a disservice, in his opinion.

“You’re not?” she asked, her voice perfumed with intrigue.

“Oh, quite the contrary,” he supplied, hand drifting north until his brushed her stomach. He felt the muscles of her abdomen flutter beneath the touch. “It’s quite becoming.”

“Truly?” she asked, leaning closer. Her ample bosom caressed his shoulder, creating another point of contact between them.

“Oh, yes,” he drawled, his smile wicked as he leaned forward. She tilted her face, expecting him to kiss her cheek or continue his teasing in a similar fashion. Alas, he pressed his lips to her temple, then inched down to the shell of her ear. “I enjoy feeling your warmth near me. On me….”

He dragged his lips down the side of her face until they skimmed the hollow of his cheekbone.

“Around me.”

This praise earned another shudder from the woman.

“Mm, you’re being a tease,” Constance moaned, even as her hand rose to cup the spot on her thigh that he’d been caressing before. He noted this movement with a flick of his steel eyes before refocusing on her.

“Guilty,” he admitted, his voice so low it was almost a growl.

He leaned forward again, and this time, Constance was quick to catch his lips against hers. A brief gasp of surprise escaped him, but it quickly turned to a moan of delight as she nudged him hard against the back of the loveseat.

Her lips occupied his easily, keeping him distracted long enough for her to crawl into his lap. Her glorious thighs spread easily over his narrow hips, and as she descended upon his lap in full, the molten heat he felt was even more intense than before.

"Well, if you're so determined," she teased, hoisting her skirts with ease. "I'll indulge you."

The subtle crinkle of her skirts and underlying petticoats mirrored the crackling embers of the fireplace only a few paces away. Let, the heat between them was something no hearth could emulate.

<><><><>

Tag list: @quill-pen

Thanks to @my-name-is-clover for the Connie faceclaim idea. I'm running with it. I'm in your debt.

#scrooge a christmas carol #scrooge 2022 #scrooge netflix #scrooge x oc #oc constance

[boxwinebaddie]

theres no way yersey has never ever been in a car crash because that man drives like his grandma is on her death bed bro 😭

OH MY GOD NOT BUBBE!!!!! also Put! Some! Respect! On! CLEO! BROFLOVSKI'S! NAME!!!!! because...she is dead...rip bubbe. </3 ;-;

...which i think explains A Lot abt why kyle drives the way he does.

( like no one's life depends on it -- sheila also drives like that, btw )

**idk what the rest of this ask is, i kind of just went rogue. i hope you like rollercoasters and zero consistency other than Driving HCs.

also this is just baaarely clinging to relevance in this subject area, but speaking of visiting people related to ky, i was thinking abt the iconic cd/blondie merger trip down to south park for ike's winter formal

— which, please note, i am still working out the details of, so i might be vague when i talk abt stuff bc things are subject to change —

ft. a dif ask where someone was wondering how kyle introduces stan/raven to his parents and stuff, here's my answer for you:

jerseykyle introduces ravenstan to his parents as "raven of crimson dawn" wHO HAS BLUE HAIR IN THE SP PART OF RM BTW!!!! yes, that does mean he's going through it; please be nice to him. and sheilas like "aH! so YOU'RE the reason that my sweet ike-y is puttin cleanin supplies in his hair and stuck a SAFETY PIN thru his nose!!" >:OO & stan is like AAHSHhimrsbroflovskiiamsosorrydonthurtmeaaa

also x2, when they get to sp, i think the og plan is to have them all stay in a hotel but something happens with that, so all the og sp college kids have to put up a non-sp res/celeb in their home and uh...

guess who jersey gets to keep as his crimson dawn virgin sacrifice ;)

but...more on that later! bc rn, we are talking about yersey ( you guys calling him yersey is so fkn funny ) driving WHICH UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES LIFE DEATH OR OTHERWISE SHOULD KYLE BE ALLOWED TO DRIVE!!!! EVER!!!!! EEEEEVER!!!! he's TOO unhinged.

like he thinks that every driver on the road was put there to personally piss him off. and he knows all the rules n regs but the second you piss him off, you will be gripping the OH SHIT handle for dear LIFE!!!!! really, the only person who enjoys being in the car with jerseykyle...

...is ravenstan. <3

actually, during the beginning of the third part of the ravesey hate, s&k are headin ~somewhere~ in lady ( tHEYRE JUST DRIVING OKAY!! DONT BE NASTY!!! THERES ALSO NO ROOM SMH!! ) and kyle is ofc being Bat Shit Insane for most of the v short drive...so naturally stan as raven is like *mild character break* Wowza <3 skdhs like stanley??? kyle is abt to KiLL this old lady in front of u don't say aW? HELLLO

like if you Want to say aw!!!! during that same car ride, just like heaven by the cure comes on, ( it's jersey's favorite song and it's also what big gay al said stan's voice sounded like, to jog ur re(memory) ) the sound of it immediately chills kyle out, he sings along under his breath and stan is like "you changed the pronouns..." and kyle is like "yeah? so what?" abt to fight and stan just smiles like "so nothing."

" —i just didn't know you could sing, new jersey." ;)

aAAAaaaAaaAAaa

bonus hc: when stan fled the tegridy farms fire, he was in kyle's favorite shirt, which was a green oversized the cure band teeshirt <3

that is the last time that kyle drives that chapter btw ( thank god )

because stan takes over <3

ON CRIIIIIIIIIIIM ;)

which at first jersey is like ah hEEELLL NO I AM NAUGHT GETTING ON THAT DONOR CYCLE, CROW!!!! ( kyle calls motorcycles donorcycles bc theyre just fatal car crashes waiting to happen ) but they basically have no choice because lady gets surrounded by rabid fangirls and paparazzi and its hop on or get mobbed...so kyle hops on, stan puts him in the motorcycle helmet ( his hair Barely fits btw )

— and they drive off into the night <3

ALSO STAN IS A REAAAAAAALLLY GOOD DRIVER!!!! DRIFT KING!!! all his turns are really smooth, he asks you if you're okay a lot ( which, you are always more than okay because ravenstan smells like the delicious apple cinnamon glade spray and hes SO pretty ), you get to put ur hands around his waist which is a 11/10 experience also his hip tattoos give you a perfect guideline...and he breaks for squirrels! <3

i know kyle was swooning smh also crim's license plate says CRMSNDWN ON IT...she is stan's baby, he loves his motorcycle.

speaking of, i got a couple asks about handiman ravenstan doing tool shed boy things and he is actually, really skilled in like manual labor/carpenting/mechanic stuff just because randy was consistently drunk or high and never did work around the farm or...ever. so stan just kind of naturally fell into that man of the house role...AT LIKE 8? he is also just really interested in cars and tools and things. <333

SOMETIMES ON TIKTOK HE DOES LIVES OF HIM FIXING CRIM UP IN THE LIL TANK TOP ALL COVERED IN CAR GREASE IN THE STANDANA....WHEEEEEW!!!! hes also not even trying to be ;) like he is genuinely just nerding out about gears and valves and things and everyone is like wow thats crazy ur so smart raven we love u shdksh

ONE TIME I BET YOU KYLE WAS CREEPING ON THE USER2743740343 TIKTOK ACCOUNT AND RAVENSTAN WINKED AND SAID HOLA YERSEY ;) <3 AND THE COMMENTS FOR LIKE 5 MINUTES WERE LIKE KYLEKYLE KYLE HAHA GOT HIM!!! OTPOTP

all this to say...uh...kyle has never been in a car crash because cars move the hell out of his way because they either don't want to die or are scared of him. every cop that's ever tried to give him a ticket got gaslit into thinkin they made the whole thing up or were immediately enchanted by jersey's intense ( police ) siren beauty.

regardless!!!!! kyle should not...be driving ever.

which is why stan does it for him <3333

also yes it is super cool when you're abt to be super late for work & ur super cool ex-rockstar boyfriend drops you off in front of the elementary school on his motorcycle.

-uncle nina, who has no idea what i was trying to say but i hope u had fun lmao, i worked 11 hours so sorry

#guys i am so sorry if this makes no sense i am very tired #but i was passionate abt this #ALSO YES SP TRIP RAVENSTANS HAIR IS BLUE #at first it was just bc i wanted us to twin #but its actually very plot relevant bc he does dye his hair #under...duress...which...interesting... #BUT YEAH NO KYLE IS A REALLY BAD DRIVER #BUT STAN IS A REALLY GOOD DRIVER #AND HIS MOTORCYCLE IS SOOOOO COOL LIKE RAVENSTAN PLEASE STOP BEING DREAMY OH MY GOD #the tiktok lives of him doing crim maintenance in the little shirt covered in the car grease making the stan groany noises #jail #WHOEVER IS WATCHING THOSE #JAIL #IM TALKING TO YOU KYLE #IF YOU ARE WATCHING BAD COMPLILATIONS OF THEM #AND I KNOW YOU ARE BECAUSE YOU DONT KNOW HOW TO PRIVATE YOUR TIKTOK LIKES #its his favorite show im sorry #also im sorry ill write a less bad ask at some point i just wanted to post something so u can have whatever this is #this is all spelled so bad i'm hiding hi everyone #been a while #edit: also sorry im not trying to leave u on cliffhangers #but i cant just give u all the info or youll get confused like it has to be sort of chronological #so ur gonna have questions but im givin u what i can im sorry