#bodies in our cellar

[cinemacrypt]

would it be alright if i drew your arsenic and old lace ocs? I think their designs are reaallly cool and their story sounds really interesting :)

PLEASEPLEASE PLEASEEEEE that is such a nice thing to ask please do! I love your art and would love to see ur take on the Brewster Cousins

#mars says stuff #mutuals #asks #bodies in our cellar

[fanaticsnail]

Let Me Take Care of You

Even though I have all of the one-shots planned out and added to the Masterlist, mapped out several other plot points, and attempted to prioritize fics that I've desperately been putting off - I feel like we all needed this. TLC for our broody warlord. He needs to have his burden relieved in a SFW way (for once, regarding my writing!).

Word Count: 4,323

Warnings: semi-sub-Mihawk, switch-behaviour, moaning, kissing, pining, massaging, swearing (once), barely proof-read, fluff.

Song suggestion: Older - Isabel LaRosa

The amber-coloured eyes of the warlord shut tightly as he rose the maroon-coloured liquid to his lips; barely a whisper of a flinch perking up to his crows feet as he sipped at it. He rolled the bitter liquid over his tongue, savouring the flavour of the tart tannins before relinquishing it down his throat. The alcohol trickled down his neck to pool in a heat at the pit of his bare chest and stomach as he listened further to your melodical voice speaking with expert precision his readying schedule.

“Praises of your battle have already been sent in from the World Government’s head office,” you nodded, relinquishing the rolled newspaper from beneath your arm to present to the warlord while expertly holding your clipboard up to your face.

Mihawk rolled his neck, reopening his eyes and grasping the wafer-fine paper roll from your outstretched hand. Fingertips barely whispering a small touch, you retracted your hand from his once he clasped his hand around the material.

“Go on,” he commanded in a lazy tone while unrolling the paper to begin reading it. A glimpse of agitation fell to the warlord’s brow as his eyes narrowed, skimming over the pages while you continued to relay his schedule to him.

“You expressed interest in tending to your vineyard later today: I’ve already sent for your stable-hand to brush down your Clydesdale for a ride,” your eyes narrowed as you examined your boss, “also, the horticulturalist and viticulturalist have scheduled a meeting with you and the cellar hands to ready the next vintage of Tokaji for you to sample.”

Mihawk hummed in response, his nose hissing in a small, sharp inhale afterwards.

You were accustomed to his surliness as his personal assistant; your roles being from administrative roles regarding: scheduling, to managing his liaisons with the world government contacts to running his large homestead and farmlands with his many staff; alongside his sales associate for his Tokaji distribution and growth on Kuraigana. You were on first name terms after several years within his service, but chose to remain formal while you were within working hours.

“Sir?” you asked him, sharply. He snapped his unblinking eyes to bore into your own.

“Yes?” he questioned in a bored, drawn out tone.

“You are less like yourself today,” you noted, pulling the clipboard away from the front of your torso and placing it down on the table to lay it before him, “you normally rise at the opportunity to indulge in your samples. Is there something I should be made aware of? An injury perhaps?”

A small scowl drew itself upon the lips of the warlord; something akin to a pout below his well-maintained moustache.

“If any of them had the skill to land a single blow, I would have made you aware of such an occurrence,” he taunted you, agitation again falling to his brow. He floated his hawk-eyes back to the newspaper, shaking it to stabilise the material with a firm grip.

You cocked your chin sharply at his challenge, quickly raking your eyes over his body to check it for injury or slight dishevelment. Your sights fell to his righthand shoulder; zeroing your eyes with a precise beam against his upper body.

“You’ve pulled something,” you noted through pursed lips, “an overexertion wielding Yoru, no doubt while-.”

“-I have no such ailment,” he spoke over you in a sharp tone, his eyes snapping to yours over the top of the newspaper with a scowl. You held your narrowed gaze against his own with relentless resolve, choosing to step towards him as he withdrew his sights to fall back to the newspaper.

“As you’ve been priorly informed, sir, I have quite the resume,” you began, bringing your fingertips to curl down the top of the paper Mihawk was grasping, “you are aware of my history as a rehabilitative remedial therapist, and I am glad to offer my hands to you should you ever require them.”

It was true. Your vast experience was why Dracule Mihawk hired you. Your resume was unlike anything he had encountered prior, which is why he chose to keep you close. Swordsmanship, dagger mastery, martial combat, administrative duties, expert skills in the realms of viticulture and remedial massage occupied the majority of your time in study – undoubtedly the reason you never acquired the opportunity to settle down and home-make with a partner of your own, and chose to accept the role of assistant from the great swordsman.

Mihawk chose to ignore your hand pulling the paper downwards and continue to skim his eyes on the lower edges of the page to avoid your statement. You quirked your brow at him in question before sighing and retracting your hand from the pages.

“If that will be all, sir,” you began with a curt nod, “I shall retire to my duties managing your staff.”

As you turned to flee from the large dining hall, a voice softly addressed you.

“Fine,” Mihawk uttered in a low tone, prompting you to halt your next step, “I admit it. Wielding Yoru has taken its toll recently and I may have strained myself under the weight.”

You smirked before turning back towards your boss. Tilting your neck to relieve a small ‘click’ of pressure, you dropped your smirk and turned back to face him once more.

“Would you like me to rid that burden from you, sir?” you asked him, approaching the table once more while reaching for the newspaper and wine glass from his hands, “take the weight from your shoulders?”

He sighed, dropping his head and relinquishing his grasp on the two objects and handed them over to you.

“Yes,” he admitted in a exhaled whisper.

A soft smile drew itself to the corners of your lips as you placed down the objects on the table in front of him. You had never before crossed this particular boundary between you and Mihawk; fondness in professional comradery being the only true establishment in your relationship before the years and depth of professional curtesy blossomed into true alliance.

As your tenure drew close, your relationship did begin to deepen over a glass of wine or two after you had completed your duties of the evening. He had begun asking for your opinion after your third year of service. Your fifth year, he trusted your judgements in a variety of tasks; relinquishing them completely to you.

Within the eighth year of employment, he would often seek you out for conversation regarding his staff; often seeking, in his own way, gossip amongst the members he employed. This being your ninth year of employment, you could easily find the word ‘friend’ from falling within your thoughts regarding the dark-haired gentleman before you. You held a fondness for him, often desiring to see him thrive in achieving his combatant goals and maintaining his title of world’s greatest swordsman. You could even go so far as to say you loved him; pining for him through subtlety caring for him in all ways in your duties.

“Say no more,” you responded, reaching your hand towards his own; gaining his full attention in a curt snap of his chin upwards. He gazed up at you, you almost stooping towards his seated form. His eyes held the depth of his ailment.

“Go and ready yourself in the bathing quarters; dress down but remain covered,” you nodded to him, giving his hand a gentle squeeze in affirmation, “I’ll have your itinerary cancelled for the day and rescheduled for the following week. And between us,” you reached your other hand to smooth over his cheek in a gentle caress, “the grapes would do well with maturing on the vine for a little while longer.”

He hummed against your hand, eyes closing and leaning into your caress. You were taken aback at his unwithheld expression of fondness for you. Helping to guide him to his feet, you ushered him throughout the doors, noticing his usually strict and rigid posture had begun to slouch against the burden on his shoulders.

You shook your head with your soft smile remaining, watching him as the final shadow of his body fell away from view. Arrangements made through den-den-mushi calls and vocal commands to your underlings; you widened your fingers to ready themselves to rid the warlord of the burdens he was carrying in the knots littered along his back and shoulders.

Walking along the halls, up the many steps and winding along the corridors; you found your feet falling to the large bathing quarters of the large, darkened castle. You knocked on the wooden door with a tri-fold, curt rap – the inner room welcoming you with a small groan beckoning your arrival from within.

You opened the door, truly not quite prepared for the sight befalling you.

Dracule Mihawk, clad in nothing but a white towel hanging from his hips: his hat, necklace and sword being nowhere in sight. Your eyes met with his curled, dark locks as his head hung lowly; his hands clasping the marble, low-lying table beneath his palms. You could almost visibly see the waves of tension falling from his bare shoulders, prompting a small gasp of empathy to fall from your lips as you shut the door behind you.

“Why did you not say something sooner, my lord?” you asked him, approaching him swiftly. He sighed in response, holding his eyes fixed to the polished tiles beneath his bare feet.

“I do not readily present vulnerability to those I employ,” he uttered through clenched teeth, “why should you be any different?”

Your brows fell to a firm frown, eyes narrowing as you uttered: “I would have thought after nearly ten years of service, we would call each other ‘friend’ by now.”

He sighed again, shoulders slouching further under the weight of his burden.

“Okay, friend,” he mocked, bringing his eyes up to meet with your own, “if you would be so kind as to hold true to your promise. Fix me.”

You folded your arms over your chest and widened your stance in stubbornness.

“Ask me more politely, friend,” you sternly challenged him; “and I just may find it in my heart to do so-.”

“-please,” Mihawk whispered through baited breath in a tone you could only just pick up on your registry.

“Beg, pardon?” you asked him, not truly processing the words falling from his lips.

“Please,” he stated a little more firmly, his eyes almost wide and pleading with you, “please fix me.”

You were shocked. Taken-aback. Flabbergasted. Holding true to your promise, you relinquished your shoes from their presence wrapped around your feet and placed them neatly by the door.

The next item you removed was your socks, placing them within the soles of your shoes. Removing your coat and placing it by the door, you turned back towards your boss and began your approach. You stood in front of him, his head bowed low once more to reveal his broad shoulders towards you.

“If I may assess the damage, sir?” you asked, reaching your hand out to touch his shoulder.

“By all means,” he mocked you, a small chuckle almost leaving as you touched your palm to his shoulder while remaining strong in front of him. Feeling the warmth radiating from his body, an audible gasp fled your lips alongside an empathetic wince.

“Fuck,” you gasped, feeling the muscle below his skin. It was completely solid. There was no ‘knot’ to work out; his entire shoulder was one large intertwining vine of tension and pressure.

Another sigh fled from his lips at your reaction, his voice addressing you; “is it truly that bad?”

You clicked your neck from side to side, retracting your hand from his shoulder and drawing your fingers to intertwine within each other to stretch them in preparation.

“Sir,” you addressed him, his eyes drawing again to yours from their down-focussed position upwards.

“Yes?” He challenged you, his tone once again mocking you with his pained smirk lingering beneath.

“You-,” you collected his chin within your fingers to hold his gae against your own, “-are going to absolutely hate me after this.”

“I doubt that,” his smirk widened.

“Oh,” you shook your head, relinquishing your hold on his chin and returning to your pile of clothes, “you are either going to fire me-,” you said, undoing your belt and untucking your shirt to have it fall below your underwear to keep you shielded, “-or propose to me after this.”

“What are you doing?” he asked you, his shoulders stiffening upright and alert at your movements. A snarl fell to his mouth as you pulled your pants from your hips downwards to pool at your feet.

“Calm down-,” your face was completely serious, your air of command falling freely from your lips in reaffirmation, “-I am going to need my knees for the job to be properly performed. Judging from the knots on your shoulders; I’m assuming the rest of your body has been equally as ill-maintained in care.”

His snarl lessened, his jaw almost falling slack before he tensed it.

“If you insist,” he relinquished his hesitation, “you know what’s best.”

“That I do, sir,” you nodded to him, again approaching him once more with a fresh towel in hand, “use this to prop your head and lie face down on the bench. Let me take care of you.”

He immediately snatched the towel from your hands and in one swift movement, he fell immediately to lie on his stomach with his arms bent outwards to prop below his chin. You couldn’t help the small giggle to fall from your lips at his eagerness, but as you were reminded of your prior experience feeling his marble-like stiffness below his muscular definition; you would be exactly as eager to be rid of your burden as he currently was.

“Get on with it, then-,” he commanded you, halting as your firm hands gripped his shoulders and began to search his muscles for the source of the tension. His spine, shoulder blades, rib cage and biceps were all stiff and rigid; a plate of stone ready to be carved under your expert and precise skill to be restored and moulded into his glory.

You winced as you located the large knot, a place in the crevasse between his shoulder blade and spinal collum close to his upper neck. You tested the pressure with your thumbs, syphoning an unintentional moan to wince through the lips of the warlord. Mihawk tensed at the shock of the sound you managed to pull from him, opening his mouth to speak; only to be cut off with your verbal reprimand.

“There is no shame in sounds here, my lord,” you informed him, pushing down further against the knot and rotating your thumbs expertly in a circular motion, “I can tell how much this pains you, and I can sense the relief you will come to feel once I rid you truly of it. If it causes you more tension to withhold your vocalisations, by all means do not restrain yourself.”

Replacing your thumb with the precise point of your elbow had Mihawk arching back into your touch with his bottom lip clenched between his top teeth; his breath hissing out in an attempt to restrain his audible moan. You continued to utilise your left arm to drive down your right elbow for a firmer pressure; finally withdrawing a completely unrestrained whimper to escape from the lips of the warlord below you as he humbled himself truly under your ministrations.

“Well done, sir,” you praised him, dragging your elbow to the mirrored point on the other shoulder to relinquish the lesser knot on the other side, “you’re doing wonderfully-.”

“-Do not treat me like some incapable- ungh!” his words were stolen from him as you continued to work your remedial magic against his knots; battling with them and overcoming them in combat beneath your skilled hands.

“Stop holding back,” you commanded him firmly, lying your right forearm directly onto his spine and baring down your weight onto it, “the more you withhold your humility, the more tense you become. Let me help you.”

Under those final four worded commands, Dracule Mihawk became a mewling, gasping, sighing mess beneath your talented hands and forearms as you continued to detangle the firm vines of his hardened knots beneath his skin. You remained professional under the sounds you pulled from him, fighting the warmth that began rising upwards from your chest to your cheeks.

You leant down towards his ear, his dark curls brushing against your cheek as you brought your lips towards his ear.

“I am going to stand on you now, my lord,” you informed him as you continued to put pressure against his left shoulder, “if that is alright with you-.”

“-Yes,” he sighed, his eyes met with yours with his pupils completely blown with unbridled satisfaction and anticipation, “please.”

His jaw was slack, his breath fleeing his lips in shallow pants as he was guided within a place somewhere situated with the most pain his body had been within while chasing the biggest release of complete relief and descending his burden onto you.

“As you command it, sir,” you nodded to him with a warm smile, placing your palms flat on his back and jumping to situate your feet beneath his thighs as you crouched lowly. You placed your bare knees against his glutes and bore the brunt of your weight first onto those pressure points.

Another relentless whimper fell from his lips before he allowed an unbridled moan to fully escape from his lips as the pressure became completely withdrawn from his muscles; leaving his body completely exposed and mouldable below your ministrations.

“I’ll be placing my feet on you now, sir,” you informed him, testing his lower back with your left foot as you rose from your kneeling position, “if you could trust my leadership for this next experience; I will guide you on when to inhale and exhale to relieve your body completely of the tension. Can you do that for me?”

“Y-yes,” he sighed. His tone caused you apprehension as you began to have the warmth from your chest truly spread itself in reaction to his vocalisation. You mentally scolded yourself, reminding yourself that you were a professional and this was your job; Mihawk was your boss, not some lover or object for you to fixate your desires upon. You shook your head and began to rise your body while baring your weight against his back beneath your feet.

“My lord-,” you began, halted only by his next words.

“-Mihawk,” he corrected you, “call me Mihawk, please.”

You nodded, inhaling and exhaling slowly to not read into his correction further than needed to be.

“Okay, Mihawk,” you spoke, a smile rising against your lips as you savoured the flavour of his name rolling over your tongue, “inhale.”

His torso rose upwards to completely balloon his chest upwards as you placed your left foot steadily against his spine.

“And slowly exhale,” you directed him, chasing after his breath with your weight. You felt the satisfaction of a loud ‘crunch’ below your toes followed by a cry of complete abandon falling from the lips of your boss below your feet.

“Good job, Mihawk,” you praised him again, “you’re listening very well.”

He moaned again against your praise as you trailed your feet upwards to fall against the mid of his back; “let’s do it again. A big inhale for me, please.”

Again breathing in a long inhale, you chased his breath with your weight while commanding him, “exhale now, Mihawk.” ‘Crunch.’

As a baker would roll out and form a crusted pastry; you were spreading out the torso of Mihawk against your weight, pulling moans, groans and cries of bliss from his lips as he listened intently to your every command. Each time he would gift you with a satisfactory ‘click,’ ‘crack,’ or ‘crunch,’ of his back and spine; you would offer him praise to follow. “Well done, Mihawk,” “you’re doing so well,” or comments of “oh, I bet that felt so good,” would fall from your own alongside an empathetic groan of pleasure at the relief he should surely feel beneath your feet.

As you fell to his shoulder blades, you stood on the tips of your toes and began to shuffle your feet to rid the flesh of any tension before you fell your feet back to drop to a kneeling position: your knees falling against his shoulders with your fingertips spread wide to brace your weight fully onto his body.

You rocked your knees against his shoulders, Mihawk’s mouth fully falling slack at this stage and brows furrowing in bliss with his eyes shut tightly. You craned your head to the side to get a full picture of his face; your brows again falling to a frown at his tension.

“Mihawk,” you verbally warned him, his eyes clenching tighter in response, “give yourself permission to be truly vulnerable beneath me.”

He sighed out a sharp exhale, his face contorting again; prompting you to apprehensively reach your hand forward to cup his cheek. His eyes fluttered open with his brows remaining furrowed. His beard felt coarse beneath your hand as your thumb soothed his cheek with small circles.

“I promise,” you moved your hand up to rub your thumb over his forehead, “you will feel much better once you just let go.”

His gaze fell to your lips before reluctantly pulling it back upwards to land on your eyes; his own eyes softening as he nodded subtly.

“Good man,” you praised him with a warm smile, removing your hand and leant backwards onto your feet once more closer to his shoulders, “now inhale once more.”

With a shaken breath, he inhaled again; feeling the tips of your fingers firmly against his neck, your knees against his shoulders and the balls of your feet perched on his lower back.

“Now exhale,” you softly commanded him, rolling your weight to your knees and chasing his relief with your body. ‘Crack.’

A low, rumbly groan of pleasure exited from the lips of the warlord in complete bliss as his tension had been successfully relieved beneath your skilled ministrations.

You smiled, slowly bringing your feet to the cool, tiled floor beneath your feet. Briefly sitting yourself atop his back, your white shirt rising slightly to reveal your underwear against his bare flesh, you hopped yourself down from your perch atop him. Reflexes overtook you as you reached your hand forward to rake through his dark locks, ruffling them beneath your fingers as you drew patterned circles against his scalp.

“Do you feel better?” you asked him, tilting your head downwards to check over his face for any further discomfort. In response, Dracule Mihawk immediately sprung to his feet; his hands falling beneath your shirt to grasp at the flesh above your hips. He dragged your pelvis to lie flush against his own, angling his chin downwards and entangling his lips against yours in a dance of passion.

Your eyes widened, your hand continuing its woven position within his hair as his moustache tickled your upper lip. You squealed out in surprise as his tongue protruded and caressed your lips as he circled his chin upwards to deepen his embrace. Raking his hands further beneath your shirt and circling around your back, he fully caged you against himself as a hawk would carry his prey within his talons.

He retracted his lips from his caress against your own and began trailing affectionate, fluttering kisses against your chin and jawline towards your ear; cradling your body completely against himself with a small, gleeful sway. You felt him smile against your skin, prompting more shock to rise to your face. Your fight, flight and freeze reflexes truly all engaged as this completely unprompted response from Dracule Mihawk continued in a dance of balancing lazy and abandoned sensibilities with a passionate and calculated engagement against your body.

He walked your body backwards towards the wall and fell himself to brace against it with his head fully falling against the arch between your neck and shoulder. He allowed another moan to fall from his lips as he bore his full weight against you; your arms reactionarily falling beneath his arms to catch him.

“Sir,” you addressed him in a warning tone, “I would not have gotten up that quickly. You needed time for your body to readjust to your new alignment before you bore your full weight onto yourself.”

“Patience is not my strongest suit, dear,” he chuckled against your shoulder, pressing his lips against your clothed body, “especially when it comes to expressing gratuity to my beautiful friend.”

You giggled, bracing his body completely against your own and in turn walking him backwards to knock the point behind his knees against the marble benchtop. He fell to a seated position, his forehead remaining connected to your stomach.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his hands falling to the back of your exposed thighs and holding your body against his forehead, “can we draw up more of those into our schedule?”

You furrowed your brows at him, reaching your right hand to retrieve his chin to tilt his head upwards to gaze into your eyes.

“My hands are yours, sir-,” you began, Mihawk bringing his left hand up to cradle your right hand within it; pressing a deep kiss against your palm while correcting you.

“-Mihawk,” he uttered, pressing another chaste kiss against your palm looking down at your hands affectionately, “please. When we’re alone like this, I am Mihawk to you.”

“Need I remind you, Mihawk,” you warned him, chasing his gaze with your own, “I am your employee, not your spouse.”

“Allow me to alter that arrangement,” he smirked against your palm, flittering his gaze upwards to meet your own once more. You shook your head at his statement with a small, half-smile.

“Firing me?” you asked him coyly, your left brow arched upwards in question.

“Courting you,” he corrected you, beckoning for you to arch downwards with his chin to rejoin your lips against his once more. Smiles and sighs in satisfaction of finally giving into your desires for one another falling from you both in unified harmony.

#one piece #opla #opla fic #one piece live action #x reader #dracule mihawk #mihawk fanfiction #mihawk #opla mihawk x reader #mihawk x reader #one piece mihawk #fluff #mutual pining

[theemporium]

whore I’ll give u my first born if you write vampire lando only turning his humanity on for his girl 🐈‍⬛🙏

ew i don't want your children

.

“So, this is your plan!”

He received no response. 

“Just gonna dose me up with vervain and lock me up? What do you think that’s gonna accomplish?” 

The silence remained, and Lando let out a humourless laugh. 

“This is pathetic!” 

He pushed himself to sit up, only to let out a groan as he felt the burn of the vervain still fighting his system. He leaned back against the wall, his curls sticking to his forehead as he glared at the metal door across from him. 

“This is bullshit and you know it,” he called out again, though the dull pain in his gums made it a little harder. He needed to feed. He needed blood. He needed to get the fuck out of this cellar. “If this is some intervention, let’s stop wasting all our time and move on!” 

He heard a whoosh before he saw Carlos’ face staring back at him through the small window. “This is for your own good.”

Lando’s smile was grim. “That’s all you have to say? C’mon, Carlos, I expected a better speech than that.”

“This isn’t you, Lando,” the Spaniard continued, his lips turning down with a frown. “You’re better than this.”

“I disagree, amigo,” Lando said with a small snort of laughter. “I have never felt better.”

Carlos sighed. “We aren’t giving up on you.”

“Oh whoop de-doo,” Lando scoffed as he leaned his head back against the stone wall. “You’re wasting your fucking time. Nothing you are gonna say is gonna make me suddenly see the light. I’m happy the way I am. I like who I am right now.” 

“We might not be able to change your mind,” Carlos started before the loud, clunking noise of the lock being opened echoed through the cellar. “But she can.”

Lando’s face instantly fell when the door was pushed open and you slid into the room, giving the boy a shy—maybe even nervous—smile. 

“Hey, Lando.” 

Lando instantly stood up, his body burning at the movement but he didn’t care. His eyes found Carlos’ as the man slid the door back shut. “What is she doing here? She shouldn’t be here!”

“Why? Because she’s human?” Carlos guessed, almost looking smug. Lando had never wanted to snap his neck more. “You’re different now, Lando. Surely you don’t mind ripping her throat out. She’s just a measly human, after all. Just like the rest of the ones you killed.”

“Carlos,” Lando gritted out through clenched teeth.

“You said you wanted to feed,” Carlos grinned. “There’s your meal. Bon appetit.” 

Lando’s eyes instantly fell to you as you stood on the other side of the cellar, watching him like he was a stranger. Like you had never seen him before in your life. “You need to leave.”

“We both know that’s not happening,” you said with a grim smile before you took a step towards him.

His back was pressed against the wall in a flash, his eyes narrowing at you. “Stay away.”

“You look different,” you murmured, ignoring him as you continued to close the distance between you both.

“Love—” The nickname slipped past his lips in a pained voice.

His eyes clenched shut when you were standing in front of him, his body twitching when he felt your warm palms resting on his cold cheeks. He could hear your heartbeat, hear the way it skipped a beat. Not in the way it used to. No, this time it was in fear. He hated how much he knew the subtle difference, how he wanted to get rid of it. 

“Open your eyes, baby,” you murmured in a soft voice, your thumbs brushing against the apples of his cheek. “Please? For me?”

He hesitated for a short moment before he opened his eyes.

Your lips twitched upwards in a soft smile. “There’s my boy.”

“You need to go,” he whispered to you, a hint of desperation in his voice.

“I’m not leaving this room without you,” you said to him, completely serious. “So, you either join me or you kill me.”

His eyes flashed in anger. “Love–”

“I mean it, Lando,” you said with a shake of your head. “It’s your choice whether I leave here alive or dead.”

“I-I can’t,” he whispered in a shaky voice. “It’s too much. I…I can’t do that, I can’t turn it back on—”

“Yes, you can,” you assured him, squeezing his cheeks slightly. “I’m here. Let me help you. Let me in. Let me carry the burden with you.”

Something flickered in his eyes, a single tear rolling down his eyes. “Baby—-”

“Shh, I’m here,” you murmured and you wasted no time in throwing your arms around his neck, pulling him close as he nuzzled himself against you. His body wracked with sobs are you clung onto him, letting the emotions pour through him. “I’m here for you, Lando. Forever. Just like I promised.” 

And he could only hold onto you tighter as you held him while he cried.

.

#cece's slumblurb party #lando norris #formula one #f1 #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris x y/n #lando norris fic #lando norris one shot #formula one x reader #formula one x you #formula one x y/n #formula one fic #formula one one shot #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x y/n #f1 fic #f1 one shot

[fandoms--fluff]

Hiii! Can you make one where y/n is the youngest Salvatore sibling and she had a crush on Katherine and Katherine felt the same aswell, so the Salvatore's locked them up in one room and they were so awkward until Katherine felt brave enough to just kiss her

Ty and I hope you have a great day! :)

First Kiss

Salvatore sister reader x Katherine Pierce

Warnings: swearing?

A/n: Hope you like it <3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Damon pulls the key out of the lock, successfully trapping you and Katherine in the cellar. He turns to Stefan, passing him the key. "That was easier than I thought it would be" Damon smirks, staring at the both of you lying on the ground, passed out.

"Well, that's what happens when you inject them with almost enough vervain to put our little sister and her crush in a coma," Stefan says.

"Yes, but by the end of this, they'll stop making googly eyes at each other and finally get together, ending the torment they're making us go through" Damon explains to him with a small smile on his face as he and Stefan walk up the stairs.

You groan, blinking your eyes open. "Ughh, what the hell happened?" You look up to Katherine who woke you up. She woke up herself a few moments beforehand.

"Your brothers I'm guessing" Katherine helps you stand up. "Of course, why didn't I think of that" You groan and walk towards the iron door.

"DAMON, STEFAN! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU PLANNING?! LET US OUT OF HERE" You scream up at them, knowing they can hear you.

"No can do, little sis" Damon yells back down the stairs.

You then realize that you're stuck in here with Katherine. Aka, your big-time crush. A crush that you've never told anyone about.

Okay, you need to find a way out of here quickly before you do something stupid and everything falls apart for having any chance of embarrassing yourself in front of Katherine. You think to yourself as you start pacing across the small dungeon room.

Katherine watches as you pace back and forth. She's sitting on the small rusted bed taking in your form without your knowledge. Now, if she could've chosen to be with you in 1864, she would have, but there's only so much she could do to not get attention on herself for Klaus to find her. So she's had to wait over a hundred years to be back with you.

And even through all this, keeping an eye on you over the years, she still doesn't know how you feel about her. Even with her best efforts, she hasn't found out. But that also might have been wiped out by her own obsession with you.

The silence was getting to both of you and you both knew it, but neither of you was doing anything.

Why wait anymore? Fuck it. Katherine thinks to herself.

She stands up and walks over to you, stopping you from pacing. You look at her with confusion as she places her hands on your waist.

"I've been waiting too long to do this" She whispers. "What are you talking ab-" She cuts you off with a kiss.

You kiss her back immediately. Shock and excitement running through your entire body.

As soon as you guys break the kiss, a voice calls from outside the cellar door.

"I told you it'd work" Damon smirks to Stefan who's standing right beside him.

"Seriously?!" You cross your arms, mad that your idiot brothers ruined the moment.

"Open the damn door," Katherine tells them, also pissed about how now they dared to ruin this.

"Okay, okay, but no funny business" Damon raised his eyebrows in amusement while unlocking and opening the door. "Get your mind out of the gutter, dude" You roll your eyes and punch him.

Katherine follows, smirking as Damon wipes the blood from his nose. "Don't say a word" Damon glares to a smiling Stefan.

#katherine pierce #katherine pierce x reader #katherine pierce x salvatore reader #katherine pierce x female reader #katherine pierce x fem reader #katherine pierce x vampire reader #damon salvatore #damon salvatore x reader #damon salvatore x sister reader #stefan salvatore #stefan salvatore x reader #stefan salvatore x sister reader #cute #fluff #imagines #thevampirediaries #fanfic #writing #theoriginals #legacies #first kiss

[toxicanonymity]

getting dressed for halloween: dad's best friend edition

1k drabble one shot / dbf!Joel x f!reader / master

Halloween Anon asked: The gif set of Pedro doing his tie makes me think of like stepdad! Joel or DBF!Joel dressing up as the devil or a vampire for Halloween and it gets hot. I needed to tell someone that. / gif from @pedgito. Notes/Warnings: I8+ mdni, unsafe PIV. unedited. Dad's best friend (dbf) Joel/reader pairing from Silence can never be bought but can stand alone.

You can see the stepdad story for this gif set here.

Joel sees you in the mirror behind him.  "Damn, Trouble. . .this our comin' out party? Cause you know I can't keep my hands off you in that." You knew he was gonna like your dress. It's a charcoal tube dress under a sheer, black long sleeve dress with bats all over it. And of course the quintessential fishnets for Halloween.  

Joel's Halloween party is always a big hit.  You give him a hug from behind as he finishes tying his tie.

"Mmm," he picks up a small, fancy shopping bag off the vanity and hands it to you.  "Wear these instead."

You peek in the bag.  "What? I thought you liked the ones i'm wearing."

"I LOVE the ones you're wearin'. . . These are just a little more . . . Festive." 

"You go to that store just for fun, don't you?" 

He shrugs with a smirk. "Gimme a sec and I'll help ya with those." He nods toward the enormous, perfectly made bed.  You slip your shoes off and go sit on the bed as he finishes slicking back his hair. 

You giggle.  

"You makin' fun of my vampire hair? Close your eyes for a sec."

"Course not," you shrug innocently with your eyes closed. 

 "Careful, sugar. Vampires aren't known for their sense of humor. . . You known what they are known for?"

"You've been making this joke all week," you laugh. "I'm not on my period anymore." 

"Damn."

He fiddles with something at the vanity, then walks up to the bed and nudges your knees apart to kneel between them.   He slides his hands up your thighs with a deep inhale and hooks his fingers into the waistband of the fishnets you're wearing.  You lie back and lift your hips so he can pull them off. 

"Mmmm."

Then he presses his pants between your legs as he pushes you down on the bed, clamping his hand over your eyes. His hardness presses between your legs and swells harder, sending a rush through your whole body.  Your eyelashes flutter against his palm and fingers. 

He brings his mouth to your neck, breathes hotly on it, swirls his tongue, then latches down.  

"Ow!" Your eyes shoot open.

"Oh shit, do they hurt?" He touches one of his fangs with his tongue.

"No, it just surprised me. Kinda hot."

"They're ceramic, custom fitted."

"Of course they are." You check for blood and there's none. "That's pretty hot actually." 

He takes the stockings out of the bag and they look almost the same as the ones you were wearing before. Just slightly smaller diamonds.  

"These are the same."

"Just wait." You start to sit up and he pushes you back down with a hand on your breast.  He clumsily tries to put them on you then the doorbell sound rings on the screen on his wall. "Damnit. Prolly just the caterer but I gotta show’em  where to put stuff.”

“Put'em on, see if ya like'em."

"Okay. . ."

"I'll be back," he says in a vampire voice. 

As you put on the stockings, you realize the real difference is that they're crotchless. 

-

Two hours later, you tell him you're gonna go grab a bottle of wine. You bring your cup of punch down with you to the wine cellar, not very convincing, and sip on it as you sit on the cabinet. You don't have to wait long for him to show up with that horny look. He pauses to lean against the doorway looking you up and down while loosening his tie. A little drunk already.  Then he crosses the cellar and you spread your legs as he reaches you.  He gets up against you, grabs your ass in both hands, and slides you into him so you can feel how hard he is already.   

He unbuckles his belt and you start taking off his tie.   He looks more like a vampire without it.  Once his stiff member is in his hand, he doesn’t  waste any time. You don’t let him.  He slips his fingers through the slit in the stockings, feels how wet you are, and says “hot damn, let’s go.” then nestles the tip  inside your folds and shoves into you.   

Your moan echoes -  you’ve forgotten to be quiet - and he covers your mouth as he fills you with his cock and you wrap your legs around him   You’re sighing into his hand, pulling him into you by the ass, and he fucks you hard. He dips his head down to your neck and latches on, sucking as he  thrusts into you.  The fangs actually feel pretty good. But having him inside you is the best feeling in the world. Months later and you’ve never for a second been bored.   He’s the perfect fit, the perfect stretch, and you’re only content with a quickie because you know you’ll get more later.  He begins to grunt softly each time he buries himself inside you.

The door opens upstairs and he slows but doesn’t stop.   Someone yells down  “GRAB A BORDEAUX WHILE YOU’RE DOWN THERE.”

Unsure which one of you they’re talking to, Joel says “YOU GOT IT.”  then smiles subtly but deviously. His slicked back hair is growing on you. He begins snapping his hips faster so the two of you can get out of there.   

He grunts as he fucks you hard and you try to hold off so you can come together.   Then you see it in his eyes and hear it in his breath and let go, clenching around him, trying not to moan too loud.   Then he makes eye contact with you as he erupts inside you.  You sigh as his pulsations carry you through your climax.  He covers your mouth with his and kisses you deeply as his balls finish emptying. Then as you catch your breath, you lay your head on his chest and he strokes your back.  

“Ahhh, Joel. . .  I love Halloween.”

He pulls out and takes a handkerchief out of his shirt pocket for you.  

“I know you do, sugar.  So do I.” 

-

Trouble au: @jbcalway @daddy-din @angelmenace @silkiers @axshadows @legs0pen4dilfs @fan-fiction-floozy @grnherbs @icuminurbutt @likeanimagepassingby2 @witchy-jadda @mxtokko @missannwinchester @cannolighost @anxiousankylosaurus @montenegroisr @97cityy @lillyrob @billyloomiswhore4 @cloudroomblog @boysddontcry @twsssmlmaa @call-me-doll-face @ausamocee @skythighs @jasminedragon @leeeesahhh @blushynini @momia2910. LMK IF YOU WANT OFF NOW THAT THEIR MAIN STORY IS OVER.  I just assume you want any follow-ups on them.

All joel: @ethanhoewke @silkiers @eiviea @evyiione @xdaddysprincessxx @queerly-anxious @chernayawidow @ambassadortotrilliusprime @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @jasminespringtime @romanarose  @fandomsfallnomore @djarinxore @lokanda @blackvelveteen1339   @manazo @wolvesandvampires  @taeslarityy @str84pedro @kyloispunk @filthfairy @fieryglutenfreechickennoodles

#joel miller x reader #joel miller drabble #halloween #pedro pascal smut #joel miller smut #pedro pascal #toxicanonymity ☠️ #dbf!joel miller #dbf!joel #trouble!joel #trouble!joel☠️ #pedro serve #halloween!joel #content label

[cthulhusstepmom]

It's dark in the cellar, has been since they were tossed down here however many days ago. Hard to tell time without regular meals. Completely windowless, there's no place to spend his usual half hour basking under the sun. It had been a matter of hours before his coldblooded body had started to slow in the cool subterranean temperatures. He'd tried to keep it to himself, deal with it quietly, but there's no way to hide it from Gid, steadfast loyal Gid. Kremy had found his sluggish form gathered unceremoniously close to the living furnace that is his right hand man.

The heat may have stabilized his body temperature but it would do nothing to improve his mood(well maybe just a little bit it's hard to be too miserable when you're so nice and warm no matter the dire circumstances). Gideon took care of light well enough too, illuminating a circle around them with dancing warm firelight, though that was extinguished as soon as Kremy saw it start to waver and flicker, can't allow his partner in crime to burn himself out now can he? And so they sit in an almost peaceful silence, have done for who knows how long.

"Y'know it's not the worst bind we've gotten ourselves into. The gang will be along soon enough to bust down the door." Gid pauses in thought. "Probably not Twigsy. Or Frosty. Or Gricko unless he's a beasty. Probably down to Torbek to do the door busting come to think of it."

Kremy grunts noncommittally.

"Ah don't be like that, can't be worse than the time we had to climb out of the window of that inn."

"The snake oil heist on the western bank?"

"Nah the one with the innkeepers daughter, Felicity? Franny?"

He remembers that particular scrap well, if only because of the god awful wig.

"Felicia. How that veil covered my snout I will never rightly know."

Gideon snorts.

"Oh yeah. Sure would've been nice to know Gricko was an ordained minister before hand but it's not the first time we've been married."

Kremy hums. "Can't say it's the worst contract I've signed."

The warm body next to him rolls with deep, hearty laughter. The room goes silent for another spell before Kremy sighs.

"I dunno Gid, you ever get the feeling that we've taken it too far? Finally poked the bear that's gonna rip our throats out?"

"Nah man, I know you'll get us out of anything 'fore it gets too serious. Even if we end up knee deep in Fae tomfoolery. And I'll punch any bear that tries to bite us square in the body till it dies, no problemo." He pauses. "I trust you Kremy Lecroux."

That knocks the speech right off of his tongue.

Trust.

On a conceptual level he got that there was some form of reliance between the two of them, and sure some trust if you had to put a non-ironic label on it. He knows that Gideon cares for him, has stated it on many occasions in many different ways. And if you had to be so crass as to put it into words, of course he cares for Gid too, wouldn't have bothered keeping him around this long if he hadn't(lord knows the food bill would be enough to sway his opinion if he wasn't entirely too attached by now).

But trust?

Trusting Kremy Lecroux is a bad idea on any number of levels. He's a cheat by profession and a liar by lifestyle. Hell he's sold the souls of those around him in exchange for power more than once. There's nothing worth trusting in him, he's a coldblooded criminal and he's never gonna change, not for anybody. And here Gid is announcing it with his full chest. It's one of those things that's so endearing about him, he never holds back; Gideon Coal has never made a promise he doesn't fully mean. But since he's a man of contracts and business dealings he at least wants to give him a fair shot, a head start, a warning to keep that fiery heart close.

"You sure about that Gid? Those kinds of words have a power to em you know that."

"100% man, I'll follow you to the end of the world."

Kremy struggles to get air into his lungs, it takes a minute, two. When he finally gets enough to speak, it's frustrated and tinged with melancholy.

"Well I'll gladly let you do just that, if we ever get out of this fucking place."

"Hey." Kremy offers no response. "C'mon man don't be that way, the crew are all out there figuring their way in as we speak, fact I can smell the Torbek already."

He says nothing.

"I know what'll cheer you up."

A large, warm hand cups the bottom of his snout, gently directing his face up and to the side. Before he can think to protest, his eyes are drawn to the sudden lick of flame dancing on the tip of Gideon's finger. Not unlike when he lights cigarettes for him, except now he's pressing the pad of the digit to a small twig from the rocky floor until it smolders dully. Blowing on it, Gideon brings the small stick towards his face. It's warm but not uncomfortably so (he'd never had a doubt in his mind that Gid would hurt him). Carefully, precisely, with hands steady from working on the delicate innards of machines he can't begin to comprehend, Gideon draws the ashen tip of the stick across his upper lip in two swooping lines.

"There you already look more like yourself!" He proclaims proudly.

And god if he can't help the smile that breaks across his face.

"You're a crazy son of a bitch Gideon Coal, you know that?"

"Been told once or twice." he chuckles.

#“Gid when we walk outta here I need you to go first.” “Why?” “Cause you're my light at the end of the tunnel. Always will be.” #Once Upon a Witchlight amiright? #god im obsessed its bad #theres not NEARLY enough fan content for this and it is is a CRIME #to any of my followers or mutuals: if you like banter if you like funnies if you like gay subtext if you like found family #i am BEGGING you to check out once upon a witchlight and gush with me #its done by Legends of Avantris on youtube and twitch #moustache moment in ep.26 my beloved #once upon a witchlight #kremy lecroux #gideon coal #coalecroux #legends of avantris

[biteofcherry]

Eva, I am sorry to inform you that this guy:

Is not amused by your bratty behavior, not at all, honey, and he thinks that maybe he needs to find something better to do with that smart mouth of yours. 👀

Bratty? Me? 😇 I think Andy's been too stressed with work and in fear of him suffering a heart attack I simply did my best to defuse the tension and make him relax. Like a good, loving girl that I am 😌

Charm and defuse

Andy Barber x female reader

summary: You thought it was a great idea to pick your husband from office after watching him work so hard for the past few weeks. Andy was so tense, coming back home late each night. So really, surprising him should make him feel a little better, right? Well...

warnings: established relationship; Dom/sub undertones; possessive Andy Barber; smut-t-y bits ahead;

You feel a little bad.

Mostly embarrassed. And giggly.

There's a champagne hiccup, too.

And feeling bad, yes. The bad part is important. Especially when Andy's face clouds with that stormy look, muscle in his jaw ticking as he stares you down.

He shouldn't be staring you down, you think. You're his cute, beloved wife and you came here to make him happy. You almost frown at him, but remember that Andy's hand gets heavier when you frown at him.

Well, sometimes you do it on purpose, because the sting of his slap can feel amazing.

Something tells you now wouldn't be the right time to aggravate him further. You're in enough trouble as it is. Not your fault, truly, but better not point that out.

Pity that your mouth doesn't cooperate with the tiny non-drunk particle in your otherwise tipsy brain.

"Don't glare. It's your fault." You blurt. And frown. Oops.

Andy arches a single eyebrow as he takes a step forward. He moves quietly, yet each step feels like it thunders along with your heartbeat. Which stopped for a few seconds when Andy came into his office.

Your plan was to come to Andy's office in the evening, so you could surprise him after his last meeting and perhaps be a little naughty on his big, polished desk.

Which is why you came in nothing but lingerie under your cobalt blue coat and with a bottle of champagne - some expensive sparkle that Andy kept in the small wine cellar at your house.

But Andy's meeting was running late. Really late. To the point of you getting bored out of your mind.

So you opened the bottle. A few sips wouldn't harm anyone and you'd be more relaxed to make a sexy pose on Andy's office couch to welcome him when he returned.

Half a bottle later he did return.

And you were spread on his couch in nothing but lingerie and jewelry, sucking a finger into your mouth when Andy walked in.

With three other man right at his back...

You're not sure if he was more pissed that those men saw you like that, or that you cursed and giggled and waved your fingers at them.

He barked out something harsh to them and closed the door to his office (more like slammed them). Andy's eyes never leave your form, even as you stumble from your sprawled-like-a-whore position to a more lady like.

"Explain, please," Andy slowly takes off his suit jacket, "how is it my fault that my wife flashed a body that belongs to me to other men and downed half of the bottle of Krug that I saved for our wedding anniversary?"

He drapes his jacket over the back of a guest chair and starts rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. Which makes your brain sidetrack and your thighs clench.

"Maybe if you weren't so busy with a boring meeting, you'd get to your wife sooner and do something about all this!" You gesture at yourself and pout.

"Oh, I'm about to do something about all this." Andy's voice is a snap of leather, sending shivers down your spine at the though of that potential outcome.

"Okay!" You jump up, swaying slightly as the bubbles fizzle in your head again.

You hook your thumbs under the waistband of your panties, about to tug them down your legs, when Andy's fingers clench around your wrists and pull your hands away.

"You're not getting the part you like, honey," his breath is a hit, cruel tease against the shell of your ear.

"Not until I've had my fill."

He twists your arms behind your back and binds them with his tie. Then he's pushing on your shoulder, forcing you to kneel down. Sliding a foot between your knees, he kicks them wider apart.

Keeps his shoe dipped right under your clothed pussy, too.

"You downed that champagne so eagerly and spread yourself like a cute little slut-" Andy tilts your chin up with one hand, unfastening his pants with the other- "You will swallow me as eagerly and rub yourself on my shoe like a good girl."

When you don't react, too mesmerized with the sight of his beautiful, thick cock springing free, Andy squeezes your chin.

"Won't you?" He asks, holding your gaze.

"Yes, Sir." You wet your lips and grin. "I like the taste of you more than champagne, anyway."

Andy snorts, but eases his grip on your chin and instead cups your cheek as he guides his cock between your parted lips.

"Prove it, brat," he challenges, holding the back of your head as he pushes himself down your throat.

When you start rocking your hips against his foot while tonguing the underside of his dick, Andy groans in relieved bliss.

Lord knows your presence is always what he needs for his day to be better, even when you're being mouthy or getting into trouble. He loved your surprise visit and if it wasn't for the unexpected witnesses, he'd take your giggly, tipsy ass for a ride on his desk - just like he knows you've been dreaming.

But other men saw the treasure that you were and since Andy can't punch them and gouge their eyes out, he has to take it out on you.

Besides, it wouldn't do good if he didn't punish you for being careless.

Sensing your rhythm increasing, Andy stills with his cock halfway in your mouth and taps his shoe against your inner thigh. You gaze up at him, swallowing a hum around his length.

"You don't get to cum." He commands and your pupils widen.

Your whine resonates along Andy's cock, but you slow the motion of your hips. You're not particularly happy with this punishment, but you guess you'd be even less happy with the repercussions for your disobedience.

Then again...

"Don't even think about it," Andy pats your cheek. "Disobey and you won't be cumming for a month."

"Be good," he caresses you with the back of his hand and pushes deeper into your throat, "and I'll reward you for being my good girl."

"My good." He starts fucking your face harder. "Thoughtful. Frisky. Wife. Oh fuck baby! That's it! Keep going. Keep-"

It takes all remnants of your will power not to orgasm when Andy does. It's fucking hard to do, because the grip on your head and the twitching of his cock on your tongue is a great turn on.

Maybe Andy's conditioned your body to react this way to the mere taste of him, but you have to lift your hips completely up from his shoe, because the slightest pressure would undoubtedly tip you over the edge.

Andy pulls out when he's still spurting, smearing last splashes on your chin and cheeks. Then thrusts into your mouth again.

Long minutes later Andy lifts you up on your feet. He unties your hands and helps you into your coat. Your body is still buzzing with need, panties sticking to your slick folds.

He doesn't clean your face and holds your hand in his as he marches you out of his office into his car.

#stargazingfangirl18 #Siri #Andy Barber x reader #Andy Barber x female reader #Andy Barber x you #Andy Barber imagine #charm and defuse

[fandom-imagines-stories]

Do Not Go

Vax’ildan x Reader

Words: 2349

Part One of Two

Summary: Separated from the others in a brutal battle, Vax tries to save you before you fall to your injuries. 

Notes: You guys knew this had to be coming eventually. I have so much angst planned for this man, it isn’t even funny. Also, I’ve never written for an animated character before (let alone one based on a DND campaign) so hopefully this goes well. I’m playing around with jumping around in a timeline, so bear with me. I love Vax so much. 

-

“This way!” 

“No, you idiot. This way!” 

“Close the gate!” 

“Hurry!”

The voices shot over your head like the arrows that were actually shooting over your head. Ahead, the large metal gate began to lower. 

Shit shit shit shit. 

The whole group ran faster. 

Scanlan and Grog got under first, Grog nearly smacking his head against the bars. Then Pike, then Keyleth. Vex ducked under the closing bars. You and Vax were only seconds behind. You stopped when you heard him cry out. An arrow grazed his leg, making him fall. 

“Go!” He yelled to you, voice urgent and out of breath. 

You looked at the closing gate and turned on your heel, sprinting to his side. You grabbed a hold of his arm and helped him back to his feet. 

“I’m not leaving you.” 

The gate crashed down with a dooming thud. 

“Vax!” Vex screamed, reaching her hand through the bars.

 Soldiers descended upon you. 

“We’ll hold them off.” He told her, readying his daggers for a fight. 

She remained, along with the rest of the group, eyes wide and panicked. 

Vax put a hand on hers. “We will find another way around. Go.” 

Vex’s eyes snapped to you. “Keep him alive.” 

All you could do was nod and she reluctantly pried herself away from the gate. The group disappeared into the dark hall. 

Vax watched them go, keeping his back to the soldiers. He turned his head towards you. “How many?”

You scanned the crowd before you. “Fifteen, give or take.” You shrugged. 

He smirked. “Better get to it then.” He whipped around, throwing one of his daggers into a soldier’s eye. 

Arrows shot past your head, nearly slicing your cheek. Three soldiers with swords charged you. You cast a bolt into two of them and watched them crackle into dust. The third swung at you. His sword only collided with your wrist guard, but the impact knocked you backward into another guard. A sharp, burning pain radiated from where you collided with him. 

“Son of a-” You gasped. 

He charged you again. 

You grabbed both of them and cast your personal favorite spell. They both collapsed with a painful scream. 

Vax finished off another soldier, his dagger cleanly slicing open the man’s throat. Five more rushed down the hall towards you. 

“I thought you said there were only fifteen!” He yelled. 

“I believe that’s our cue, darling!” You shouted over the clashing metal. 

Vax took your hand and the two of you started to run. You cast a handful of ball bearings onto the floor, buying you at least a head start. 

You sprinted around corners and ducked into dark halls, hoping to lose them. Finally, Vax found an open door and pulled you through. It opened directly to a flight of stairs. Neither of you caught it in time and you both tumbled down into the dark. You caught the door with your foot, thankfully, closing it so the soldiers wouldn’t find you. 

You landed on a hard, stone floor. Pain radiated through your body. You could hardly move. Even when Vax helped you to your feet, there was a stinging, awful ache in your back. 

“Right. A little light, love?” Vax said. You cast a small fire and lit up the space. It appeared to be a cellar. “Perfect. We can wait for the soldiers to pass and then we can go find the others.” 

“Vax-”

“We make a pretty good team, don’t we?” He chuckled. “I have to say, I’m impressed. The way you handled yourself was incredible. That spell? Those men didn’t stand a chance.” His lips formed a victorious smirk. 

“Vax…” Your voice was weaker now. 

His hazel eyes turned from amused to worried in an instant. 

You took a step towards him and immediately collapsed into his arms. 

“Y/N, what is it?” He asked. As his hands reached to hold onto you, he felt a wetness below your ribs. His hand came away bloody. “No. Gods, no.” He gently lowered you to the ground, pulling you into his lap. 

“I guess,” you gasped in an attempt to laugh, “I guess adrenaline has more power than I thought. I hardly feel-” You cried out as another jolt of pain shot up your spine. 

Vax’s face contorted as if he too were feeling your suffering. “It’ll be alright. We’ll use that  healing potion you bought from Gilmore and everything will be-”

“I used it.” You coughed. “I used it on Keyleth during our last battle, remember?” 

“We’ll figure out something else. We’ll…” His voice broke into a panic. 

You reached up and touched his cheek. Your fingers were cold. 

“Shh,” You soothed. “Can you just… hold me?” You managed a small smile and hoped that his beautiful hazel eyes would be the last thing you saw- just as they had been the first when you met.

-

The fire lit only a small circle. The trees loomed over you like tall, ominous shadows. You’d never been a fan of darkness. Too much could await you. Too much of the unexpected lurked in the pitch. 

There, in the dark, you could see them. Staring at you. The rest of the group seemed unaware, but you couldn’t help but stare back. You weren’t frightened, exactly. There was no malicious intent in their eyes. Instead, there was a curiosity that equally intrigued you. 

“Oh, stop it with the theatrics, will you?” Percy scoffed. “That’s Scanlan’s job.” 

“Yeah!” The gnome agreed, giving you a wink. 

You laughed and rolled your eyes. You took another swig of ale but nearly choked on it. 

A figure stepped out of the darkness. From his alluring presence to his smirking lips, you found yourself utterly entranced. 

“Y/N, this is Vax’ildan, but everyone just calls him Vax. Vex'ahlia’s brother,” Percy said. 

“This little mouse is Y/F/N Y/L/N,” Vex snickered to her twin. “She’ll be joining us, apparently.” 

The woman half-elf’s skepticism towards you hadn’t gone unnoticed. Not that you blamed her. Times like these, everyone had to look out for themselves. Honestly, the only member of the group enthusiastic about your joining was Scanlan and you were pretty sure he was trying to bed you. 

But you couldn’t take your eyes off of the dark-haired rogue. 

He looked at you intently and you felt the burning heat of blush rush to your cheeks. You gave him an unbearably awkward wave. Fates, what were you doing? 

“Hm.” He dismissed you with a nod and took his place beside his sister. 

-

“Do you remember?” You laughed weakly. “Do you remember how nervous I was? All of them were intimidating, but you frightened me the most. With your dark gaze an-and your smolder. You fucking smoldered at me!” Your laughing turned into violent coughs. 

Vax held you closer. 

“I remember,” He said. The reassuring smile he gave you didn’t reach his eyes. “Try and hold still. The others will find us soon. You’re going to be fine.” 

“Vax, I-” 

Footsteps thundered overhead and Vax’s body jolted and you slid ever so slightly out of his grasp. The sudden movement sent another fit up your back. You muffled a pained scream by biting your lip so hard it nearly bled. 

“I’m sorry. Fuck, I’m sorry.” He muttered, arms wrapping tightly around you once again. “The others will be here soon. Pike will heal you. They’ll find us. Everything will be fine. They’ll find us.” His words were barely more than a whisper as if he were more reassuring himself than you. 

“It’s okay,” You said. You tucked a lock of his dark hair behind his ear. “I’m okay.” 

“Don’t…” He clenched his jaw to keep his chin from trembling. 

“There was a night- gods, it feels like it was yesterday-” You took a deep, shaking breath and tried not to wince. “There was a night in that awful tavern. Everyone had gone up to their rooms but us and we stood outside for what must have been hours. We talked about, well everything, and I can still remember your hand grabbing mine. I thought I’d surely stopped breathing.” You closed your eyes and smiled sadly. “I’m sure you don’t remember. The next morning we were both so hungover from all the ale and you didn’t seem to recall anything that had happened.” 

Vax felt a pang of guilt. That night, he’d let himself feel vulnerable in a way he hadn’t in years. It scared him. The next morning, he could hardly face you. He let you believe it didn’t mean anything. That the secrets you trusted him with were forgotten in a haze of the morning. It was one of his greatest regrets. 

“I remember.” His hand held yours and his lips pressed gently against your palm. “I remember.” 

Perhaps it was you who didn’t. Not entirely.

-

“Look there!” You exclaimed. You pointed to the sky so enthusiastically that you lost your balance and stumbled into him. You both, however, were too drunk to care. “Did you see it?”

“See what?” 

“The shooting star, silly! It was right there!” Your words were hardly understandable, but he still nodded, listening intently. “In my village, we used to say that shooting stars were souls being brought back from the dead.” Your goofy grin dimmed. “You know, for a long time, I’d see them and I would think that maybe, just maybe, those stars would be my parents coming back to me.” 

You felt his eyes on you and fell silent. You let your gaze fall back to the street around you. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t know.”

“Nobody ever asked.” You shrugged. “And it’s not something I like to talk about, so…” You bumped your shoulder against his to try and play off the situation. “Unless I have a few drinks in me, apparently.” With a nervous laugh, you took another swig. 

The dark memory faded almost as quickly as it had come, thanks to the haze of intoxication floating around your head. 

Vax’s eyes didn’t leave your face as he took another drink of his ale. He’d lost count of how many he’d had, but he was fairly certain you’d had half as many. Yet drunken giggles tumbled out of your lips like flower petals in the wind and he couldn’t help but smile. 

“I used to be scared of you, you know. You and Vex,” you said. You laid your head on his shoulder with an absentminded snicker. “I’m still scared of her! But you,” you jabbed a finger at his chest, “you’re just a big softy, aren’t you? You act like you don’t care, but you do. I can tell.” 

You let your hand fall back to your side, but your head stayed on his shoulder. Both of you looked back at the sky. Something grazed your palm. Your breathing hitched. Vax’s fingers laced with yours and his warm skin sent shivers up your arm. 

Vax couldn’t move. Gods, he could hardly breathe. Just the feeling of holding your hand made his heart pound like it never had before. The urge to take you completely in his arms was fought only by the towering fear in his mind. He pressed his lips to your forehead and closed his eyes, trying to commit the feeling to memory before the darkness in him ruined it. 

He felt vulnerable when he was with you. Weak. He wanted to protect you. He never wanted to be without you. 

And that terrified him. 

You were right. He cared more than he cared too. 

-

You were growing paler by the second, which hardly seemed possible. 

Vax was covered in your blood.

The rest of the group was still nowhere in sight. 

“Vax,” You gasped. He lifted you slightly, holding the back of your head in his hand. 

“I’m right here, darling.” 

“I need you to tell them…” You winced. Just speaking was taking more energy than you had left. “I need you to tell Vox Machina that I- to tell them I-” 

“You’ll tell them as soon as they arrive and Pike heals you.” He didn’t let the hope in his voice falter. If he could convince you, maybe you could hold on just a little longer. 

Your expression saddened. “Tell them thank you. My life is richer for knowing each and every one of you.” 

“Please.” His voice cracked along with his heart. “Please, just hold on a little longer, Y/N.”

“Vax’ildan,” You used the rest of your strength to hold his face in your hands. “The things I should have told you sooner…”

“Y/N, I beg of you, do not go.” He held back a sob. 

“I’m afraid I don’t have a choice, my love.” Your words shot another arrow through his heart. Love. You weren’t afraid anymore. Your heart may be slowing, but it felt fuller than ever. “My Vax’ildan. How am I ever to repay you for what you have given me? For the love you have reminded me I am still capable of?” 

“Don’t leave me.” He pleaded. “You can make it. You’re so strong. Please. Don’t go. Please, Y/N, I…” His words caught in his throat. 

Your hands fell away from his face. Your head tilted back and one final breath parted your lips. 

Like that distant night, Vax couldn’t move. He was frozen, staring at your still body, and waiting for you to wake up again. But your skin was cold in his grip, slicked with your blood. 

“Y/N?” He put a hand on your cheek.

It was like ice.

“Don’t you dare leave,” Vax cried. “Don’t you do this. We need you. Please. Y/N.” He shook you gently. “Y/N, please!” His cry rang through the chamber. He pulled you to him, burying his face in your hair. He whispered against the coolness of your cheek. “I love you. Do you hear me? I love you.”

Everything fell silent, save for the sound of his sobs echoing back to him from every dark corner. Even the shadows seemed to mourn. 

#vox machina #the legend of vox machina #vax'ildan #liam o'brien #vax'ildan x reader #vox machina imagines #dnd

[azurevi]

on your side

pairing: leona x gn!reader

cw: alcohol

summary: leona reckoned that bringing you home for the holiday was not the best idea, especially when you started rambling on about how amiable his brother was.

note: some good ol’ hurt/comfort for my favorite lion

Leona, head in his hand, silently regretted having brought you home for the two-week break.

To be fair, he never would’ve approved it, let alone suggested it. But the only alternative you had was to stay at one of Rook’s villas, and that peeved Leona in more ways than he cared to admit.

Mostly he worried that you wouldn’t get along with his family (because he never could), while a smaller part was concerned that you would be scared off by their… forcefulness.

All of that went out of the window as he sat across you at the dinner table, waiting for the moment his patience snapped so that he could drag your ass back to his room. It only took one day for you to get chummy with Farena and his wife, while Cheka had long been planning your wedding. 

Well, that’s not surprising. You managed to sneak your way into his heart after all, so it should really be within expectation that you managed to steal theirs. 

What was surprising though, was that Farena would take so much of a liking to you that he busted out one of the best (and strongest) fruit wines from the cellar after dinner. What was more surprising was that you accepted.

So now he was watching his brother and his wife struggle with the most basic of human abilities, speech, while you babbled on about your misadventures in NRC, your sobriety thrown out of the window.

“And then the chandelier fell-” You hiccuped. “-fell on Ace, and stirred up a whole dust storm in the canteen!” 

Farena inhaled loudly through his mouth before chortling. All his royal burdens, which were normally so indivisible from him, seemed to have vanished in his drunkenness, though Leona reckoned that he never had many to begin with.

The heavy door was pushed open, and Cheka poked his disheveled head in. “Oji-tan! Here you are! Can you tuck me to bed?”

Leona groaned and turned away in his seat, vaguely gesturing at the inebriated couple. “No. Ask your parents.”

“Ah, dar…darling,” Farena spotted his doe-eyed son and tapped his wife, attempting to rouse her from her haze, and made a series of incomprehensible hand gestures. Then he nodded and stood upright, swaying a little as he walked towards Cheka with open arms.

“It’s a pity, my dear,” she clasped her hand atop yours, face still raw from all the laughing. “But we should call it a day. Let’s talk- talk more tomorrow, ‘kay?”

“That sounds amazing, your majesty!” You saluted, earning an unbecoming snort from the queen. 

“And you, Leona, escort our lovely guest to their room, ‘kay?”

Leona hummed half-heartedly.

The family proceeded to trudge out of the dining room, leaving only him, you, and a few guards inside. After a beat, he started, “Had fun?”

“Oh, so much fun.” You giggled and reached for the bottle of wine. He snatched it out of your reach in a flash.

“Hell no. We’re leaving.” He walked around the table and grabbed your elbow, hoisting you up. 

“Ugh, the floor is melting…” you muttered before tripping over your own feet. If it weren’t for his iron grip, you would’ve face-planted onto the hard floor.

Soon as you regained your footing, you threw your arms around his neck, “Pleaze carry me.”

He clicked his tongue and pushed a few stray strands out of your face. “No.”

“Pleaseee?” You smushed your cheek against his shoulder, your hold around him loosening as a telltale sign of falling asleep. The tips of your ears were tinted red by the wine, and your body felt like hot iron against his.

The next thing he knew, he was cradling you in his arms as he paced the long corridors of the palace. Outside, Sunset Savannah was but a shadow against the night sky. It wasn’t totally dark, but a deep blue canvas with large and small stars embedded across it. The world out there had an unfathomable vastness, ever-expanding, never-ending. But right now, all Leona could focus on was your short breaths and attempts to snuggle even deeper into his embrace.

“Stop wriggling,” he said.

“You’re so mean…” you murmured, letting your arm fall limply to your side. 

“This is what you signed up for.”

“Yea, I know."

He turned a few corners and finally got to his room. It was many times bigger than what he had back at NRC, but the space had always been suffocating. With your presence though, it felt a little more pleasant. 

Just a little.

“Drink up.” He nudged your feet that were dangling off the side of the bed, offering a glass of cool water. You emptied it in no time.

“Your brother…” you said after leaning back onto the bed, now sounding less like there were sandpapers in your throat. “He’s nicer than I imagined.”

“Yeah?” He replied curtly, shrugging off his top layers so he could get cozy for bed. He had his back to you, but the flutter of his ears indicated that he was listening.

“Mhm. From what you told me, I expected him to be big and scary and unforgiving…” you slurred.

He couldn’t recall what exactly it was that he’d told you, but it must’ve been nothing good. Across the room, you fumbled with the collar of your shirt, trying to get some air. Agitation grew the more he watched. Eventually, he clicked his tongue and helped you release a few buttons.

“But he’s so nice! I mean, he’s a king and all that, but he’s also… not? I dunno. He’s really warm . It’s not awkward talking to him at all,” you grabbed his arm, as if remembering something. Your eyes were almost twinkling from your enthusiasm, and his hand working on your shirt faltered for a split second. “Oh, and he’s bright, y’know what I mean?” 

Leona didn’t answer. Of course he knew, he’d been hearing those words since he was born. What a radiant and exuberant boy! He’s sure to lead the country to a great future. All the while he would conceal himself in the shadows, listening in on those ignorant people’s exchanges.

It was only when he opened his mouth to speak that he realized how clenched his jaw was. A sense of unease had crept up on him, and your wobbly voice complimenting all of Farena's virtues swam in his head. No words came, or more precisely, no words that weren’t venomous.

Then, with a start, he realized he hadn't been worrying that you wouldn't bond well with his family at all-- he knew before anything that you would click the moment you met. No, he was just scared that you would come to understand why people compared him with Farena. He was scared you would see him how everyone else did:

Aloof, vicious, not enough. 

Buried memories flooded back into him, sharp as a polished knife. He touched the thought of you being on their side like a wound, and it answered with an ache. The pain was so abrupt that he could already feel something hardening within him. He opted to ignore it.

"Move over." He ordered, and you rolled to the other side of the bed. Without another word, he got under the covers and turned his back to you.

Silence seemed to stretch out, filling every corner of the room. Your shallow breaths gradually took on a calmer pace, and Leona thought for a second that you were already out for the count. Then your voice came, quiet but startling.

"Are you mad?"

A pause. "No."

"'Kay," you shuffled, turning to lay on your side. "Are you upset?"

"Go to sleep." He snapped.

"Was it something I said?"

He was partly annoyed, partly confused as to how you managed to notice the shift in his emotions even when you were drunk as a skunk. The space right behind him sank as you hovered over him, watching his side profile. He didn't need to look to know that you were observing him, but he did anyway, glaring back at your wide eyes with an edge impossible to hide.

"Was it the stuff I said about your brother?" 

The mention of Farena was like a step on his tail. Leona growled, pulling up the blanket so you would have nothing to look at. "Shut up."

Your arm gave out under you, and you fell back onto the mattress with a huff, creating the illusion that you'd given up. But knowing you, there was no way you would just let this slide.

Predictably, you started moving around again, this time trying to pull him down onto his back. Compared to him, your feeble arms felt even weaker when you were drunk, but you were annoyingly persistent enough that he gave up and complied. A scowl seemed permanently pasted on his countenance. "What."

In the lightless room, Leona had a better look of you than you did him. Your hair was a spectacular mess, spilling over your eyes, in which there was determination, penetrating his soul. He fought the urge to look away, fearing that his feelings, those idiotic fears of his, would somehow reach you.

“C’mon, don’t give me that look,” you scratched the back of your head. “Sure, your brother may be charming and— hey, don’t push me!” You slammed your hands down on either side of his head. 

“I swear to the Sevens, if you don’t-”

“No one can hold a candle to you, okay?” You snapped, as if the loudness of your voice could somehow force some senses into him. “No one even comes close. I know you’ve been told otherwise more often than not, but they're wrong. You're not abominable or wretched or lacking or pathetic or whatever the hell it is that they associate you with. Yes, you can be obnoxious and have a shell impossible to crack. Like a... turtle. But I know that deep down, you are not as unkind as they make you out to be.”

You waited and sighed at his silence. “Look, you don’t have to tell me how you feel. I know you hate gushy conversations. Just… I see you, okay? Even when the world doesn’t. And I love every part of you, even the hidden layers. Plus, you do have something your brother doesn’t.”

“And what may that be?” He probed.

You jabbed your finger at his chest. “This.”

“…My heart?”

You blinked, then cleared your throat. “Yea, that too.”

He wasn’t sure where to start, the whole speech you just did, the spontaneous turtle simile, or whatever the hell you meant by ‘that too’. The only thing he could mutter was, “Are you sure you’re drunk?”

“That’s your response?-”

“You just sound really collected-”

“Did you even hear a word I said?”

“Yes, crystal clear. Now sleep.” He grabbed your wrists and pulled, scoffing as you flopped onto him with a yelp. 

Calm seconds ticked by as you shifted in his arms, positioned just how you usually were back in his dorm room. The only difference was that his hold was tighter than usual, a silent revelation of the thoughts he couldn't voice. 

“For the record,” he pressed his lips to the crown of your head. “I don’t give a damn about what anyone has to say about me, except you. So…”

So as long as you’re by my side, I’ll never be afraid.

“…Never compliment my brother in front of me again.”

His words were wasted to the air— you were already gone in the land of Nod, blissfully unaware of the hell of a hangover you were going to go through the next day. A loving sigh escaped Leona as he ran his hand through your hair before dipping his head to kiss your cheek.

“Mm,” he grimaced as the sharp alcohol assaulted his nose. “Remind me to never let you drink again.”

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #leona kingscholar x reader #leona x reader #leona kingscholar #sie writes

[tumbleweed-writes]

Death and the Lady: Chibs Telford x Reader

An idea I've been tossing around in my head. Might continue it if anyone is interested in more.

--------

The plan to pull any forensics team from Lodi heading to the Sons burnt warehouse and the two dead bodies in the cellar of said warehouse was a bold one. Jax was proud of himself for  coming up with a creative solution that would require no spilt blood.

He spoke quick to present his plan to his uncertain brothers. “Look, all we need for a murder is bodies and a crime scene.”

Chibs was fast to speak, not quite getting how this was any different from the prior plan they’d had to just kill some Nords and attract the attention of Lodi’s forensics team. "Ya lost me Jackie."

Jax replied the answer was so obvious. “Skeeter, guy’s got more gambling debt than he can handle. I’ll make it worth his while.”

“The cemetery guy?” Bobby questioned doubt clear in his voice.

Jax nodded his head sure of his plan. “Yeah, I give Lodi a front-page murder and we don’t stir up another shit-storm that might bite us in the ass.”

He cringed the second the words left his lips. There was only one issue that might screw up the plan. Skeeter the Sons connection to access to Charming’s nearest crematorium and one of its oldest funeral homes wasn’t in town at the moment. 

“Shit.” the statement left him.

Tig groaned, not entirely thrilled that the plan was being shifted away from his original idea or just straight up murdering some Nord or some other scumbag. “What?”

Jax cringed again, hating to admit that there was a wrench in the plan. “I just remembered, Skeeter’s not in town.”

Tig stood up again ready to jump into action on the original plan. “Alright, that settles it. We stick to my plan.”

Jax spoke again, raising his voice as another solution entered his mind. “Y/N.”

Clay furrowed his brow, the name somewhat familiar though it had been years. “She's back in town?”

Jax ran a hand through his hair, a sigh leaving him. “Yeah, she’s taken over the family business apparently. She’s back. Been back for a few months now.”

Chibs frowned totally lost on just who this Y/N was that everyone but him seemed so familiar with.

He continued to follow the conversation, his interests peaking further as Jax spoke again. “I don’t know…she’s cleaned up her act apparently. She’s worth a shot though. She’s got enough history with the club. I don’t think she’s cleaned up enough to go running her mouth if we approach her with this.”

Clay shook his head at this news not missing a chance to push back against the idea that she’d be totally useless to them. “Money talks, clean act or not. You make contact with her, get this plan on the road. Who knows, she might come in handy in the future, if she’s down to accept our gifts in exchange for a few favors. Might be smart to have a funeral director readily available. Who knows just what she has access to. From what I’ve heard her father left some debt behind and we all know her brother is off in the county nuthouse. She might be willing to play ball if we offer her some incentive to chip away at that debt.”

Chibs furrowed his brow all the further having to wonder just who this Y/N character was aside from a funeral director that his brothers all seemed to have some familiarity with. 

Chibs had been patched over in Charming for about a decade now, surely he would remember some funeral director that had some sort of wild streak that his brothers all seemed to remember? 

He mulled over the thought as the club proceeded to discuss their plans. 

He wasn’t the only one mulling over the change in plan. Jax felt his stomach twist uncertain if Y/N would be as willing to help out debt or not.

He’d heard the gossip around town and it all seemed to indicate that little miss Y/N had turned over a new leaf and had really matured from the twenty year old girl who’d been sent away by her father years before. 

Jax rubbed the back of his neck, his stomach churning at the path that lay ahead of them. 

Y/N Y/L/N was no Skeeter, but she would work in a bind.

He just hoped she was not as on the straightened arrow as it appeared.

—---------------------------------------------------

The cemetery in Charming was actually quite massive despite the smaller town. Generations upon generations had been buried on the land. On the property sat a crematorium that was used by the few funeral homes in Charming as well as a chapel where services might be held.

One of the funeral homes that often used the on sight crematorium was Y/L/N and Sons Funeral Home.

Ironically enough, there weren’t any sons in the business…at least not anymore.

Y/N Y/L/N had taken up the mantle of her father’s business. The funeral business was something she’d fought against for so long. 

She had resented it in a way. She resented being known as the creepy kid in school because her father buried the dead. She resented the expectation that she would follow in her father’s business once her brother had clearly proven he just wasn’t stable enough. She’d resented the fact that even though she was expected to follow this path that the And Sons part of the name wouldn’t be dropped.

She had rebelled and she’d rebelled hard. Charming’s local MC had given her an environment to indulge in that rebellion. She had used the environment to cope with her personal issues and heartbreaks. She’d barely been legal the first time she’d visited the Sons clubhouse and during each visit after that she’d allowed herself to fall into the chaos of a Friday night party.

A few years of her life had been dedicated to that chaos until she’d hit rock bottom. Drinking and associating with Charming’s criminal element had been fun, until it had not been so much fun.

Her father had given her an out and she’d taken in traveling east to start anew. She’d tried to find a life outside of death, but she’d found within a few years that she did have a genuine respect for the family business.

It was all she’d ever known and she’d decided to follow her father’s footsteps on her own terms. She’d enrolled in mortuary school out east and had found work upon gaining her license.

She’d assumed she’d finally escaped both Charming and her past.

The past had a way of biting you in the ass though. She’d learned that the hard way.

The family business had been left to her and though she wanted nothing more than to remain out east she’d realized that the family business wasn’t the only thing she’d inherited from her father.

Debts and her brother were now her responsibility. So, Y/N had traveled back west, back to Charming.

She should have known the MC would come knocking eventually. Her past associates would eventually realize she was back in town.

So, it should have been no shock with the crematorium doors swung open at least one familiar face walking in the door.

She turned from the cremains she’d been sifting through the thick rubber gloves she wore making her hands feel damp with sweat.

Chibs Telford wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but the pretty young woman standing by a flaming cremator wasn’t at all what he’d pictured when he heard the words funeral director.

She was not dressed all in black the way he’d been picturing. To be honest he’d imagined some stuck up and possibly even creepy looking woman in a black pantsuit.

The pretty woman standing by the cremator was wearing dark wash blue jeans of all things and a black tank top. Her brow was somewhat damp with perspiration from the heat of the crematorium. Chibs took notice of the bead of sweat that traveled down her neck disappearing between the valley of ample cleavage the sight sending a jolt of lust through him. She had a nice figure; attractive curves that were complimented by the tight fit of her jeans. Her long hair was piled on top of her head fastened with a clip in an attempt to deal with the heat. He furrowed his brow as he spotted a pair of baby pink converse sneakers on her feet. 

She was less Morticia Adams than he’d been anticipating. She looked more like she should be hanging out at a farmers market or maybe having ice cream at one of the mom and pop parlors on Main Street. 

The pretty woman he’d been so unabashedly admiring finally spoke a sigh leaving her lips. She looking none too pleased by her guests. “Jackson.”

Chibs felt his heart lift the soft sweetness of her voice not what he'd been expecting at all even if she didn't sound happy.

“Hey, darlin, long time no see.” Jax replied always the flirt even when on business.

Chibs frowned a small part of him, somewhat certain he didn’t like the clear undertone of a history between his brother and this young woman. He pushed back the thought knowing it was ridiculous. 

Y/N sighed, shaking her head, her eyes studying the friends Jackson Teller had brought along. She didn’t recognize a single face other than Jax Teller’s. Though she guessed it shouldn’t be too much of a shock. She’d been away for so long.

She didn’t study her company for long, a sigh leaving her. “I’m assuming this isn’t a social call.”

Jax gave her a small sheepish smile. “Not entirely.”

“Skeeter’s not around, I’m afraid. He’s out of town, hopefully not at the racetrack.” She remarked a small frown crossing her features at the thought of her father’s associate.

Although she didn’t approve of Skeeter’s conduct at times, she knew he’d been a loyal employee to her father. He was now her loyal employee. She appreciated that loyalty despite his habits.

That loyalty hadn’t stopped him from associating with the Sons of course, but who was she to judge given her own past. 

“They really cremate bodies here?” Half Sack spoke getting close to the cremator gazing within the flames.

“Aye an sometimes we do.” Chibs spat out smacking the prospect in the back of the head before yanking him from the machinery.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, the thick Scottish brogue not entirely expected. She gazed at the owner of the accent unable to place him anywhere in her memories.

She knew her memories from that time in her life might be somewhat hazy, but she was sure she’d remember a Scottish accent in the middle of northern California.

She was certain she’d remember the man standing in front of her from the accent alone. She felt her stomach churn noticing the deep scars embedded into his cheeks. If she hadn’t remembered the accent then she definitely would have remembered the scars.

He gazed back at her his sunglasses dropping slightly, his dark eyes gazing at her, the action giving her an unexpected reaction.

She frowned, not entirely amused at the mixture of lust and curiosity that stirred up in her under his gaze.

She wasn’t that girl anymore, a voice in the back of her head scolded her. She’d grown up and changed. It had been almost ten years and she was a new person, a better person. She was no longer the biker groupie.

Jax stepped forward, breaking the spell that had seemed to wash over both Chibs and Y/N without anyone around them really taking notice. “We aren’t here to see Skeeter Darlin’. We gotta ask you a favor. I’m here to ask an old friend a small favor.”

“Favors are never small with you from what I remember. They also usually have a way of biting me right in the ass if my memory serves me right.” She replied, reluctant to pull her eyes from the Scotsman and back to her old friend.

Jax smirked, nodding his head. “Fair enough.”

He cleared his throat fast to speak again. “We need two bodies.”

“Jesus Christ, Jackson. Why are you coming to me with this? I’m not some club hangaround anymore. I’m trying to be a better person and you’re dragging me into this shit.” She snapped a groan leaving her as she took off her gloves slamming them down on the counter beside the cremains she’d previously been attending to.

Jax sighed, not entirely shocked by the reaction. He prayed he was right when he’d remarked that she wasn’t so on the straightened arrow that she wouldn’t go blabbing the information to the Charming P.D.

“I know it’s a lot to ask but…” He barely worked out before she spoke again.

“A lot to ask? You do realize when I got licensed I had to take several classes on the ethics of the funeral profession. I’m pretty sure handing out bodies to the local MC violates so many of those ethics I swore to uphold and is considered abuse of a corpse. You do realize I could lose everything if you fuck up and it leads back to me? You aren’t just asking me to let you borrow a freaking cup of sugar here, Jax.” 

Chibs twisted his lips somewhat amused by how browbeaten Jax seemed to look upon this outburst.

If the outburst had come from a less pretty woman, Chibs might feel frustration. After all, they were depending on this girl to help them out of an utter shit-storm.

A small part of him had to admire the balls she had to speak to a dangerous looking biker in that tone of voice. 

She was bold, bold and pretty were admirable traits in a woman. 

Jax reached in his kutte pocket pulling out a thick manilla envelope. “I know, I’m sorry. It’s a lot to ask, but we’re in a bind here. SAMCRO is willing to compensate you for taking the risk.”

He paused handing over the envelope feeling somewhat guilty to even bring it up. “I know your old man was struggling to keep things running towards the end. This could help alleviate some of the burdens he left behind.”

She gazed down at the envelope, part of her wanting to toss it right back in his face the other part of her wanting to toss in the cremator as a showing of just what she thought of his attempts to buy out her morals.

She cringed a the heft of the envelope her mind crossing over those burdens Jax was mentioning.

Business was steady, but her father hadn’t been in the best health towards the end. It hadn’t been easy to tackle some of the debt left behind even with steady business.

She also felt her mind flash to her older brother. Institutionalization was expensive, even on a state level.

She gazed within the envelope making up her mind knowing it might damn her soul. 

She shook her head, her jaw tight. “Two bodies?”

Jax nodded his head relieved that Clay had been right. Money talks. “Yeah, one white guy and a Mexican guy.”

She rolled her eyes, tempted to snap that this wasn’t a custom order shop and he’d get what he got and he’d be damn happy with it.

She gazed at the still flaming cremator. “I had a guy who died in a work accident….uh worked for the electric company. It’s a closed casket. He didn’t have enough of a family to give a shit and suddenly want an open casket at the last second. They’d barely even pay for me to do the embalming. Stop by the funeral home in a couple of hours and you can have him.”

She paused shifting in place, hating herself for doing any of this. “There’s a fresh burial, one of my guys just filled in the hole this morning…cheap casket. He should be fresh enough still, I’m a damn good embalmer…even with the cheap jobs.”

She gazed down at the envelope, a voice in the back of her head screaming she was completely soiling the profession she loved. She was scum. She’d been entrusted to care for these bodies and make sure they had a peaceful rest, and this was what she was doing.

She ran her thumb along the envelope, a louder voice claiming that the money would help.  The money would help ease the debt and help make sure her brother got the best care available.

Between the debt and her brother's care she was drowning.

She was at risk of losing a family business that had been there for generations. It was her legacy.

She knew she could sell the family business and pay some of those debts but that seemed like such a shameful thought. Then there was the issue of her brother. Daniel needed around the clock care and it got pricey. The money could help to keep providing that care.

Without the institution he'd be moved to being in an even worst institution as a practical ward of the state or worst kicked out of the hospital. She knew he wouldn't stay medicated on the streets and she couldn't take care of him. There was no way he could live with her in his condition. They'd gone down that road before. Her father couldn't care for Daniel and she sure as hell couldn't.

She knew she was betraying the dead by taking this money but a voice in the back of her head snapped that the dead didn't need money. She sure as hell needed the money. Selling her morals and ignoring her conscience was the one way out of tunnel of debts and uncertainty. This action would surely damn her to hell and she couldn't take a moral high ground that she was a better person now. 

It was damn hard to be the better person when you were stuck eating a diet of mostly ramen noodles and selling plasma just to barely scrape by. It was hard to be the good person when your brother needed yet another expensive medication to keep his symptoms under control. It was too hard to be the good person when you were so damn tired.

She knew she was going to hell for this, but she already felt like she was in hell half the time anyway with all the financial stress.

She sighed as Jax spoke, giving her a small grin. “Thanks Y/N. I know this is a big ask…”

“It is.” She interrupted a sigh leaving her.

She spoke again a grimace crossing her features knowing if she was damning her soul for this action she might as well fully commit. “From now on…you don’t go to Skeeter for favors. I’m your first contact.”

Chibs raised an eyebrow once again taken by the brass balls on the girl. He resisted the urge to smirk a little amused; she felt comfortable presenting this idea with as much of a fuss as she’d put up a second ago.

She spoke again, shaking her head. “You’re right, the money helps in more ways than one. I’m willing to do more favors in the future for a price…we both know I’m more reliable than Skeeter any day of the week.”

Jax grinned at the proposal. Maybe Clay had been right, having a funeral director in SAMCRO’s arsenal did hold the possibility of promise. “Of course, darlin’. You’ll be our first call. In fact we might need to borrow this crematorium later.”

“It’s done. Just call me. My number hasn’t changed.” She remarked that strange jealous feeling stirring up in Chibs’ gut again.

Her number hadn’t changed, a number Jax Teller apparently knew.

He didn’t have long to focus on the strange sense of jealousy or how it confused the hell out of him as the Sons turned to leave ready to leave and get this plan moving forward.

Chibs wasn’t pulled from his thoughts until Juice finally spoke, the man not having said anything this entire time. “I’m glad to be out of that place. It gives me the creeps.”

“Aye, the creeps.” Chibs remarked not able to focus on the environment they’d just been in the woman in that environment far more interesting. She was far from creepy.

To be honest Chibs Telford wasn't sure what to make of her. That concept puzzled him.

Juice watched as Jax sped up ahead of them before he spoke almost as though he could hear just what Chibs was thinking. “At least she’s not creepy as hell like Skeeter…I mean she's spooky given her job...but she is kind of hot…wonder what she meant by club hang around. She doesn't look like the average croweater...at least I don't get that vibe. Curious to know what that history is.”

Chibs frowned as that jealous little feeling stirred in him again. He shook it away a huff leaving him unable to stop himself from agreeing. “Aye…spooky.”

He paused shaking his head hating to admit that he was a little curious himself about just what the history surrounding Y/N was. 

#chibs telford #chibs sons of anarchy #chibs telford x reader #sons of anarchy fanfiction #chibs telford fanfiction #chibs telford fanfic

[since-im-already-here]

'Permit me to remind you'

Klahadore drabble

(Image Source: https://woka.com.ar/?s=captain-kuro-by-@tsuyomaru-one-piece-pictures-one-piece-qq-3Go3Y0Ua)

Word Count: 2,005

The night began as the sun bid farewell to the sky and greeted the stars with familiarity, deeming it an appropriate time to get into bed with a nice warm drink and cosy pillows, which is exactly what you were doing for the young lady Kaya. Reaching for the scorching pot of tea, you pour her a small teacup and bring them over to the newly tucked in and settled Kaya as she reclines against her cushions.

“Klahadore is insistent that I ensure you drink your remedy, my lady. I hope the flavour has improved with the small amount of honey I've added. A little sweetness goes a long way,” you directed her, she nodded and gave a small apprehensive smile. Her illness was depicted in her pale face, hollowed eyes and the dryness of her mouth. You returned her smile before reaching behind your back and collecting a few of the sugar-coated treats you had managed to swipe from the kitchen without the staff noticing. With a sly smile, you offered them to her, 

“Speaking of sweetness, I stole some biscuits from the kitchen stash for you,” you gave her a small wink, offering a final hushed command of, “Don’t tell Klahadore.” 

Kaya begins to giggle at your comment, but immediately slips into a sinister and dry coughing fit, prompting you to reach behind her and pull her into a more upright position to clear her airway as she finishes her collection of raspy, dry breaths. You wince as she coughs into her hands, offering her your handkerchief you keep tucked within your sleeve to collect her illness parting from her lips within. 

“I don’t feel well enough to drink right now. I just want to sleep, please?” Kaya wheezes through her words. From hearing her shaken breath and dry wheeze, you decide that, just for tonight, she can skip her remedy. You place the tea and the biscuits back onto the tray you brought them in, ready to face the disapproving tone and glare of the chief of staff. The same chief of staff that you, two nights ago, shared in an interesting experience with. 

It seemed all it took for the both of you, was a bottle of sticky-sweet port wine shared in the afterhours of a particularly long day of tending to your duties as lady’s maid to the young Lady Kaya. Once the staff bid you both goodnight for the evening with a curt nod and a small, polite smile; a small glass of wine shared between two leaders of staff was followed by another. And then another.

As our memory drew into a small haze, you walked throughout the halls with the full tray clutched firmly in your hands. You were unable to recall the moment from when you had finished the last of the sweet wine to having your arms draped around the neck of your raven-haired coworker. 

Your lips pushing against each other, gasping for breaths as your limbs entangled in the wine cellar against the racking barrels as they syphoned the crimson liquid into the barrels below. This was not how you expected the night to progress; but the two of you had many moments you could’ve considered flirtatious leading into the evening’s event. 

Closing your eyes now; you could still feel his breath fan against your neck as you controlled your verbal gasps and whimpers against each other’s flesh as your bodies joined at the lips. You could still feel his hair falling onto your forehead as he drew away from your neck to gaze longingly into your eyes. The awkward feeling of his glasses inching down his nose and falling onto your face. You remember feeling his hand remove itself from your hips, your jaw falling slack as you witnessed him press his inner palm against his glasses to redraw them atop his nose, only to then force it way under your shirt to grasp your hip again - the warmth of his gloved hands welcome against your flesh.

You knew it was not becoming of a lady to join in entangling yourself with a gentleman in such a way, especially in a place as exposed as a wine cellar. This was not your first dalliance with a man, but it was your first with a colleague. 

Reopening your eyes, you attempt once more to rid your thoughts of their waves of memory, the warm feeling of anxiety and loss of control clawing their way from your chest to your jugular; discomfort clutching at your lips and souring the flavour. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“We need to stop,” you whispered in between his bruising kisses atop your lips, “someone could hear. Someone could-.” Your words were syphoned into the mouth of your lover in a similar likeness to the barrels racking beside you.  

“Just a little more,” as he pressed his lips into your neck, tongue swirling at the pulse and feeling the elevation in your heartbeat. “Please, darling. Just-...” He trailed a flurry of exuberant oscillations of his smooth lips against your jaw to your cheek, “-Please.” 

He began losing himself in the feeling of your body wrapped around his, your arms around his shoulders and his own raking over your hips to grasp the flesh of your back in a desperate clawing motion to clutch you closer. Another kiss was shared in a long and drawn out caress, followed by another. Then another. The stagger and rapidity of his kisses did nothing to deter the intended silence being met in the air; your whimpers painting the atmosphere with their melodic serenade. 

“Klah-’’ you squeaked, another attempt to steer his passionate kiss to a halt being met with no reaction. This verbal warning didn’t seem to sway him in the slightest. It almost seemed like his name meant nothing to him in the heat of the moment. 

It wasn't until footsteps were heard that it broke him from continuing to chase the feeling of your lips against his own in exuberate moments. At the rise and fall of pattered footsteps against the cement floor, heels clicking and echoing within the chamber as they made their approach. The fear of being caught by his colleagues was all too much for both of you; yet you were still entangled within each other’s arms as stiff as the portraits painted above the cellar walls. As they retrieved a bottle of wine, they left the cellar with their heavy-laden footsteps trailing behind them in tow. 

You both breathed a small sigh of relief as the cellar door closed behind the unsuspecting coworker, your smile breaking against your lips as he turned back to face you again. His eyes softened when his gaze met with yours seeming to, just now, remember that you both were working. He leant forward to rest his forehead against your own, the glasses again falling from the top of his nose down to the tip and brushed against the tip of your nose. 

~~~~~~~~~~~

Lost within the spiral of your own thoughts, you start to wonder if it was just one night to him. Did it mean as little to him as he made it out to be? There was no whisper of a word or a murmur to inform you of anything other than the sort. No acknowledgement of the event even occurring the following day as you fell into the rhythm of working together in perfect synchrony. 

Continuing to the kitchen, you set down the full tray of hot blue tea and stolen biscuits against the sink to prepare disassembling the arrangement meant to be presented to the lady under your charge. At eyeing the sugary treats atop the porcelain tray, your anxiety begins to elevate with the rapidity of your heartbeat that you did, indeed, steal those biscuits to bring to Lady Kaya from the pantry. And you did, indeed, bring the full tray back down to the kitchen, knowing full well that Klahadore would be less than pleased that Kaya did not drink her remedy that night. 

Hearing the barely audible tap of soft shoes upon the kitchen floor causes you to briefly halt your disassembly of items, retracting your hand from the handle of the teapot you had begun to pour down the sink. Resetting it upon the tray, you rotated your neck to rid it of the small click within before narrowing your eyes and curling your lip. 

“Why is the tea here?” the smooth voice purred from behind you, “She needs to have her tea daily, Dear. And biscuits? You know better than-.” His voice halted as you thumped your palms first on the kitchen counter before turning to face him.

“Klahaore, I don’t know better. I know best,” you challenged him, your brows decreasing their position on your forehead, “A simple biscuit will not cause her harm, and we both know she needs something in stomach or she’ll feel sick from the tea as it hits it.” You stepped closer to him, raising your chin to glare into his eyes. His jaw slackened slightly, his breath hitching at your verbal challenge and the proximity you drew yourself within.

After several unspoken and silent moments pass between you, he clears his throat and readjusts his glasses with the heel of his palm. His mouth begins to open to begin another order towards you, only to halt at your next interruption.

“If that will be all, I shall take my leave for the night,” you rotated your shoulders, standing firm in your upright and formal posture and awaiting dismissal from your superior. Klahadore furrowed his brows, not truly understanding where this animosity and surliness had come from.

"See me in my office," he ordered, stepping closer to your body. You stepped back from his approach, unbreaking in your defiant expression nor the rigidity in your posture.

“My working hours begin between the time my lady rises in the morning, and concludes once she is settled for the night,” you quipped in return, “If I am to be required to attend a meeting with my superior, I will do so in the hours I am employed within.”

"I am giving you an order, darling. You will come to my office now," he informed you, his tone strong and low. He stepped towards you once more, which you followed by stepping back to keep yourself an arms length away.

"And I am saying I will not," you smirked in return. His eyes darkened, his jaw tensing behind his pursed lips. 

With that small smirk, you begin to push yourself past him, only for him to grab your wrist firmly and pull you against his torso. Your eyes fill with disdain as you glance up at him, though you imagine it isn't too threatening with your cheeks flushed with the contact he was providing to you. He holds you wordlessly, staring down into your eyes with a final warning-look. 

“Sir,” you spat, looking down to the position his hand was remaining circling your wrist within, before floating your gaze back up to his spectacles framing his dark eyes. He breaks from gripping your wrist and hovers his hand to the side of your face, almost brushing the heel of his palm against your cheek in a gentle caress. 

“We need to discuss what happened in the wine cellar,” he whispered in such a low and intimate purr of his voice, it prompted your cheeks to flush with further warmth than the initial contact of his grasp on your hand. You gulped back your collected saliva in your mouth, darting your gaze between his eyes.

“And what happened in the wine cellar, Klahadore?” you feigned your ignorance, recollecting the exact moment he was referring to but choosing to play coy with a smirk threatening to find residency back atop your lips. 

His lips ticked up to the left hand side of his lips as he stooped lower to your face, whispering gently in another purred tone.

“My darling, permit me to refresh your memory.”

Apprehensive tag list @fanaticsnail @writingmysanity @sordidmusings

#klahadore x reader #kuro x reader #x reader #op x reader #opla #opla fic #op kuro #op klahadore #captain kuro x reader #captain kuro #black cat kuro #one piece #one piece fic

[cinemacrypt]

Just two nice, normal kids. Nothing weird abt em. Nothing at all

#frank einstein brewster #lucille brewster #mars's ocs #bodies in our cellar #original character #oc art #mars draws stuff

[littlemonday]

So much of the difference in player response to the Emperor vs. Raphael comes down to aesthetics.

I’ve been seeing a lot of fan posting of Raphael lately, which is honestly fine. I enjoy seeing fan creations on all the characters. But I feel like I need to address something that is, for me, rather glaring in the fandom. Raphael is a pretty popular character, while the Emperor gets so much hate posting I’ve had to block users and entire groups on other sites because it was so over the top. These characters are functionally quite similar in the game, but the disparity in how they’re each perceived couldn’t be more different.

Both characters need to form an alliance with the main character. Both characters need the main character to defeat the brain. Both characters are willing to manipulate the main character to meet their own ends. But, one character is a conventionally attractive middle aged man, and the other is a humanoid squid monster. (How many times have we all seen posts about how upset someone was when their hot dream guardian turned out to be the squid monster?)

Not only is Raphael conventionally attractive, but he stays that way when he reveals himself as a devil.The Emperor presents himself as someone the main character would trust, but when he’s finally revealed, he bears no resemblance to the facade he was wearing - a facade that he sincerely believed was necessary to keep himself safe and to win your trust. Raphael is quite literally the handsome devil. His ascended form barely makes an appearance, but even so that form is not alien. It’s devilish, but not alien, and “alien” unlike devilish, invokes a deeply discomforting fear of the unknown.

Raphael is all opulence and performance, wearing tailored clothing and living in a grandiose house that hides the horrors of what happens there until late into act 3. While the mind flayer colonies by comparison are grotesque organisms that look like the inside of a body, and the Emperor’s home is a bare bones cellar with the last remaining keepsakes of his former life. The chains he uses to hold his victims are right out in the open.

Raphael is like an old school campy Disney villain who tries to entertain you all while openly admitting that he wants you to come to him when you’re desperate and all hope is gone. And like those old Disney villains, he just enjoys being evil. He even comes with his own villain song that he sings. He enjoys your suffering. He’s openly playing with his food. The Emperor does try to seduce you, but mostly tries to appeal to your pragmatism and empathy. However, he doesn’t have Disney villain camp to help him out here. He embodies all the body horror and fear over the player's loss of humanity by virtue of him being a mind flayer. He does have a song, but most of us miss it on our first play through and don’t hear its tragic lyrics.

Raphael, and this one is perhaps the most frustrating to me, imprisoned and tortured Hope for years! He takes advantage of people, including orphans, and gets them to sign away their souls for eternal torment in exchange for something they desperately want or need in life. While the Emperor has that one infamous cutscene in which we see him enthrall Stelmane, but it comes on the heels of the player dehumanizing and provoking him. A lot of players will refer to this as a “call out” and a “mask off” moment, which is very disingenuous framing. It’s frustrating that so few players never seem to consider the deeper role their choices may play in triggering this scene: you treat him like an inhuman monster, and you get an inhuman monster. Players will complain all the time about how the Emperor manipulates you and lies about everything, but apparently in this one scene he’s suddenly being completely honest and not manipulating you? So many never consider the possibility of confirmation bias when it comes to this character.

As I said, this cutscene is an obvious threat, but I know that just because he’s threatening you, it doesn’t mean there’s no truth to what you’re seeing. However, it also doesn’t mean that this is somehow “the truth” as so many players seem to think it is. I’ll write more on this in another post, but there’s just not enough information in the game to make definitive conclusions on their relationship. And I bring this up because I don’t see anywhere near the outrage over Hope as I see over Stelmane.

Then there’s Ansur. The Emperor killed his love, Ansur, out of self defense (we know this from Ansur himself), and for a lot of players, this was what solidified their hatred for the Emperor, and they will endlessly hate post about it. Raphael, on the other hand, never killed any of his loves. But the reason he never killed any of his loves is because he’s never loved anyone. He’s incapable of it, and anyone he has killed was, at best, a mere tool for his use.

Which brings me to my next point, even though both characters are trying to manipulate you to their own ends, only the Emperor sees you as more than a means to an end. Raphael does not. In fact, I wrote a lot of words on this very topic.

I’ve had people tell me that they like Raphael more because he’s upfront with his intentions, while the Emperor isn’t. That’s not entirely true. The Emperor tells you he wants his freedom, even tells you the power he uses to protect you is power he’s stolen, but he goes to great lengths to hide his identity, where Raphael barely goes to any lengths at all. As I said, the Emperor sincerely believes he must do this to protect himself. He likes to puff his chest out, but he’s quite aware of his own vulnerability, so he lives a life in which he’s constantly hiding and disguising himself. He’s surviving, as he puts it in the end. Raphael is essentially a prince in the Hells who wields a lot of power, and whatever vulnerabilities he might have are well protected. Whatever difference this makes is not enough to justify the gulf in how much hate the Emperor receives versus how little Raphael does.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: this is not me saying that you have to like one character or dislike another. That’s personal, and I’m not going to waste time telling people how to feel. So please don’t take away from this that I want to see more hate posting about Raphael. I don’t! Please don’t hate post about any characters, and if you absolutely must, please don’t use character tags to do so. What I am saying is that there’s a clear double standard in this fandom, and I want more players to engage with this media in a way that is both empathetic and analytical. I think both of those things together can prevent a lot of toxicity.

#bg3 #the emperor #the emperor bg3 #bg3 emperor #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 spoilers #raphael #media criticism #not a hate post #fandoms

[tracksidequeen]

The Secret Seduction

Summary: Suspiciously, your dad’s best friend and business partner comes over a lot for dinner. You’re determined to get to the bottom of it, quite literally.

Request: DadsBestFriend!Toto fic plssss

Warnings: 18+, dad’s best friend-trope, smut, Soft!Dom!Toto, light choking, sexual teasing, cunnilingus (oral performed on female), degradation kink and praise kink, wrap it before you tap it, overstimulation, manhandling, daddy kink. 

Words: 2.9k+ (pure smut)

********

“Darling, can you open the door?”

You hear your father shout from his study as the doorbell rings, announcing the arrival of tonight’s dinner guest. It was never quiet during dinner - always someone around, perhaps to cover up the fact that your family could not function without a distraction. But well - if that means a specific someone to come over more often than usual, so be it. 

“Hurry!” Your mom shouts while you’re adjusting your hair in the foyer mirror. “Yea, yea!!”

“Hello, mr Wolff!” you say with a bright smile as soon as you open the front door and his eyes widen with delight. “Hey, what a nice surprise to see you’re back!” You beckon him to come inside after he gives you a lingering hug. “Come in, come in. Let me take your coat.” He places the bottle of wine he brought as a gift on the hallway table, and slides his coat off his shoulders. “I can undress myself darling.” You brush your hand over his arm, following the seam of his coat, “but isn’t it more fun if I do it?” His eyes narrow as a smirk appears on his face.

“Haa, Toto, what’s taking so long, come here!” your father barges in and pulls Toto in for a sturdy handshake. “How have you been man?” He chuckles deeply at Toto’s question and looks at you. “Better since our smart-ass is back in town. She makes everything more perfect.” “I bet. Uni decided to give you a week off?” Toto laughs in your direction. “Finally, yea.” “Better spent your time wisely, enjoying yourself, relaxing - you deserve it,” he says, and winks knowing your father won’t see as he’s with his back to him.

Toto and your father were doing business in his office until dinner was ready and you decided to help your mum set the table. “Darling?!” You hear your father shout once again. “You go,” your mom said with a chuckle. “Yes,” you say as you peek your head in his office and you walk in, finding your father and Toto sat in the leather armchairs with a half-empty glass of whiskey in their hand. “Could you be a doll and get a new bottle from the cellar?” “C’mon Ed, you can’t make her do that! She’s not you maid,” he laughed calling out your father. “I’ll get it.” “No, you’re our guest Toto.” “Nonsense,” he says and lifts himself out of his chair and stumbles out of the office, but you see him struggle.

“Need some directions?” He turns around with a smile on his face, “yea, that’d be nice.” “Follow me.” You walk in front of him through the hallway and he places a his hand on your shoulder, making you look back. “In case I get lost again.” You chuckle, “better safe than sorry, right?” “Not sure if ‘safe’ is the right word when I’m around you.” You stop walking and hold the door handle, before turning around, “scared of what an innocent girl might do to you.” 

He takes a step closed leaving only inches between your bodies and he places his hand over yours on the door handle. “You’re not that innocent missy, and no, I’m scared of what side of me those siren eyes will bring out.” “I hope it’s the bad side,” you say biting your lip. “You need to watch it miss. Now open the door.” 

“Make me.”

“Not sure if you want that,” he says lowering his head to your ear and whispers, “because once that part of me is out I won’t be taking it easy.” “Just how I like it,” you challenge him, and you trace your hand over his chest down towards his belt and you hold him firmly. “Not here,” he says pulling your hand off his crotch and opening the door with his other hand still placed over yours’. 

You close the door behind you and follow him down the stairs, but before reaching the bottom he turns around. He’s multiple steps down, but with his height he’s still at eye level with you, and his hand reaches to grab your waist. “Did you put on this short dress for me?” You place your hand over him and wander it over your body, down to the hem at the bottom between your legs. “Do you like it?” “It’s hot,” he says under his breath and places his hands behind your thighs to lift you up. 

With your legs wrapped around his waist he carries you down the stairs while your teasingly play with his hair and hover your lips in front of his. Inches removed, but not yet touching. You put it out there, now he needs to make the first move. “How bad do you want me?” you ask him. “Not as bad you want me,” he challenges to rile you up. But you won’t give in. Never. “Yet you’re the one that keeps coming over for dinner every other week, exactly the weekends I’m in town,” you say with a tilted head. “How convenient.” He laughs because he realises you’re on to him, “I thought I was subtle.”

“Well, you’re not. Especially not with the way you look at me during dinner.” He grabs your arm and directs you backwards against the wine shelves. “And how’s that?” You pull him in closer. “Like you want to rip off my clothes, and take me so well and so hard that I’ll be shouting your name until I lose my voice.” A devious smile is planted on his face as he pulls down the strap of your dress with one finger. “And you were the one convincing me you were innocent.”

You look up at him with dough eyes, “but daddy I am.” “Fuck don’t do that,” he grunts under his breath as he pushes his body against yours. “Why? Because I make you hard?” you say teasingly, as he bites his lip to resist the temptation burning inside him to kiss you. “Oh and you were the one convincing me you don’t want me that bad, weren’t you?” 

You try to slither away from the tight confines he had placed you in, trapping you between his body and the shelves, but as you try to go away he holds you more firmly. “Stay.” His voice sounds different than usual. More stern and demanding. His eyes reflect a yearning glint. Right back in the position you were before, he starts tracing his index finger over your cheek, down your neck, over your chest between your cleavage, and squeezes your breast with his whole hand as he presses the outline of his hard cock against your stomach. “Think you can take me?” he asks and kisses your neck with a little too much suction knowing it might leave a faint mark.

“Want to watch me try?”

The hand that was parked on your breast quickly made its way down your body at the seduction of your words. “Touch me, Toto.” His fingers hike up your dress a little more, exposing your skin. Softly he traces the inside of your thigh, alternating between a light touch and hard pressure, digging his fingers in your skin and gliding them upwards under your dress. You close your eyes and lean your head back against the wall, feeling every sensation soar through your body.

Gently he pulls aside the fabric of your panty, but that gentleness contrasts the eagerness with which he coats his fingers with your honey and slides one in with full force. You shiver under his touch, his long fingers reaching depths you couldn’t and your feel sparkles soar through your body as he pumps his finger in and out. Still with your eyes closed and your head arched back he whispers in your ear, “you like it when I touch you like that, little slut, don’t you?” Without being able to muster up the words you frantically nod yes, and you open your eyes.

You find him smiling at you satisfied, knowing you let him have full control over you as you spread your legs a little wider for him. The soppy noise of his finger gliding in and out your pussy fills the room and he arches his finger against your g-spot. Immediately you stand on your tippy toes, but in response Toto places his thumb on your clit and starts drawing circles. Your honey drips down your legs and you get light headed under his touch. “Fuck Toto, this feels so good,” you moan a little too loud. “Fuck!” “Quiet darling, or else we’ll have to stop,” he says as he teasingly increases the speed of his pumps and the stroke of his thumb nearly sending you over the edge, making you moan louder.

“You’re not good at following commands, are you? Now do as I say,” he demands as he crouches down, hikes up your shirt and pulls down your panty. Before lowering it completely he flicks his tongue against your bud shooting electricity through your spine. He proceeds to lower it. “One foot up.” He helps you take it off. “Other foot.” He stands back up. “Open your mouth.” He stuffs your panty in your mouth and closes it holding his hand over your jaw. “Now, I need you to be as quiet as possible. Capiche?” You nod your head. “Good girl.”

“Since you were so keen on undressing me... go ahead.” With your mouth full you trance your hand over his stomach down to his belt, but the moment your fingers touch his belt, his finger enters your tight pussy again. Trying to focus on undoing his belt and pulling down his pants you feel your own knees get weak as his fingers skilfully massage your clit to the point of painful throbbing. 

You look at him as he’s standing in his white boxers, and he nods his head, indicating you to continue. You curl your fingers behind the elastic as his fingers curl inside your tight walls, and you pull it down, his big veiny cock hard and ready. You look at it with widened eyes, not sure how he would fit. Knowing very well you’ll feel the after math for days to come. “Get my wallet out of my pocket,” he commands and you do as he says. Out of his wallet he takes a condom wrapper and tears it open with his teeth before skilfully putting it on.

“You ready?” he asks as he kneads your breast and pinches your nipple, but you knew better than to respond with words after he very clearly told you to be quiet by stuffing your mouth. You merely look at him with sultry eyes, and he spits in his hand giving his cock a few good pumps. “Let me show you how a real man fucks. Nothing like those lame college boys you’re used to.”

With ease he lifts you off the floor and manoeuvres your pussy right above his cock. Your legs wrap around his waist for more stability, but with the force he drops you down on his cock, spitting open the tight walls of your pussy with your ass slamming against his hips, there is nothing that could’ve offered more stability or precaution. The intense sensation of his girth rubbing against your insides, the feeling of his balls slamming against your skin and his pubic bone butting pressure on your clit had you stuck in a high you never felt before. “So proud of my little girl, now show daddy how good you can take me.” 

He thrusts his hips up, making you bounce up and down his shaft making wet noises fill the room, only making him hungry for more. You tilt your head backwards to try and compose the intense sensation, and he kisses your exposed neck. “Look at me.” You do as he says, a strand of hair sticks against his forehead and you see him bite his lip, realising he is struggling to keep it together as well and you feel his rock-hard cock throb against the inside of your pussy. 

“Can you be quiet for me?” You nod your head yes as he pumps his cock in you deeper, as a challenge. To test you. To see if you really listen to him. But you do as he says and with difficulty you keep quiet. Satisfied he takes your underwear out of your mouth, throws it on the floor, and starts kissing you with hunger. He presses his mouth against yours, his tongue slipping inside making laps around yours, now and then slowing down to bite your lip, only to then go back for more; all the while you’re bouncing on his cock, climbing to an ecstatic high. 

He pushes you harder against the wall behind you for more stability, and instead of bouncing you on his cock, he starts fucking you hard. Taking the reins in his own hands, and thrusting his cock deep in your sensitive wetness. “You’re taking me so well, now show me how you look when I finish you.” As he was speaking those words you fucked you harder, deeper, so good that your eyes rolled back and stars entered your vision. His cock rubbed at a dangerous pace against your g-spot and with the contraction of all the muscles in your body and your head arching backwards you gasp for air as your orgasm flows through your body. 

Your whole body shakes under his touch, and as your walls convulse he cums inside you as he continues thrusting in your pussy, rising off the waves of your orgasms as you milk his cock. His heavy moans fill your ear and your pussy contracts again with arousal as you get back your senses. “You did that so well baby, I’m proud of you.” He kisses your mouth, breaking up your already unsteady breathing pattern and your nails dig in the back of his neck.

“Toto that was insane,” you say finally catching your breath and you kneel down, after he took off his condom, to pull his pants back up again. You close his zipper and belt, and pat it contently. “I got your seal of approval.” “You bet you do, daddy,” you say as you stand on your tippy toes to give him a kiss on his sweaty cheek. You adjust your dress and kneel down again to grab your underwear, but before you could put it on he stops you. “Give it.” 

You do as he says and he puts the lace underwear in his pocket. “It’s mine now,” he says teasingly. “You know it was already yours to begin with.” “Good to know for next time.” He traces his hand over your neck and puts pressure on your throat, making your swollen clit throb. He looks over your shoulder, and with the flip of a switch his demeanour changes.

“Ah it’s this one we’re looking for.” He grabs the bottle of whiskey off the shelf and takes your hand to guide you up the stairs again. As you’re walking up you arched your ass a little more back, knowing very well you were flashing your bare pussy in front of his eyes. He thinks he owns you, but you’re the one that got him wrapped around your finger, leaving him wanting more. He tries to hike up your dress, by playing with the seam as you make your way up, but you swat his hand away. “Compose yourself mister.” He laughs deviously and gives you a wink, but as soon as you step foot again in the hallway he switches back to normal. “Let’s go,” he says as you walk back to your dads office.

The office is empty and he looks at you confused, worried your secret affair might have taken up too much time. “They’re probably already in the dining room,” you say. “There you are!” your mom says the moment you enter the room with Toto. “Found everything?” your dad asks. “What took you so long?” Toto sits down on the empty seat at the table and you sit next to him. “Toto knows so much about the different wines we have in the cellar, he explained it all to me.” “Lost track of time,” Toto continues with your fib. “You have an impressive collection down there.”

The rest of the evening there is a tension in the air, an unspoken yearning for something unspeakable. You know Toto feels it too, it’s plain right obvious. With every brush off his finger on yours as he asked you to pass the salt, pepper, and salad bowl about a million times. As the night came to an end your parents said goodbye to Toto, but you lingered behind in the hallway as he put on his coat.

“Want me to help?” you ask and you pull the fabric over his broad shoulders. “You love dressing me, don’t you?” You shrug your shoulders indifferent, “undressing you is more fun tho, especially when you command me to.” “Well then, when can we do that again? Since you like it so much.” You smile at him with sultry eyes, knowing you got him wrapped around your finger. “You gotta have a little patience mister. I don’t know when I’ll be back in town again, uni sorta keeps me busy, you know?” 

He merely chuckles in response and you open the door for him to leave. The crisp cold air cuts against your bear skin, and as he walks towards his car he turns around. "I’ll visit you there, and fuck you all night long - like those college boys wish they could.”

-------

#Toto Wolff #toto wolff x reader #Toto Wolff x you #toto wolff smut #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 x you #formula 1 #formula 1 smut #toto wolff fic

[pennyblossom-meta]

Gale/Wyll banter

Here's a collection of Gale/Wyll banter that I found in the dialogue files. I hope this is useful as both fanfiction resources and general curiosity :)

Help: I'm fairly sure there's a line from Wyll (?) mentioning how Gale doesn't ever eat vegetables, but for the life of me I can't find it. UPDATE 30/12/2023: Found it and added it to the post, the banter happens with the MC during the tiefling party. Also added a couple more interesting tidbits of dialogue.

Warning: long post.

Act 01

Loss of powers

Wyll points out that he used to kill big monsters, and now a few goblins are a challenge. What gives? Gale remarks it must be the tadpole. Wyll: Was a time I tussled with hill giants without breaking a sweat. Wyll: Now, a mere werebear could swat me halfway to Amn. devnote: Amn = city on the Sword Coast. Pronounced "AAHM" like UK Eng "arm". Gale: Strange things are happening to us. What festers in our minds may well impel our bodies.

—

Netherese magic

Wyll recalls the hag said 'Netherese' and asks Gale what he knows. Astarion adds a thought if he is present. Wyll: Ethel mentioned Netherese magic. What in blazes does that mean? Gale: Magic from the fallen empire of Netheril. Ancient, exceedingly dangerous, and quite unrivalled. Astarion: Wonderful! I'd hate to be destroyed by any common old magic. devnote: A little sarcastic. You've been told the dangerous magic inside you is ancient and unrivalled

—

Goblin raids

Wyll: I've known goblin raiders to slaughter entire villages and strip them for loot - but I've never seen one ravaged like this. Gale: It's hard to imagine anyone who'd willingly inflict such devastation, be they zealots, marauders, invading armies... A sign of far worse to come, I fear.

—

Act 02

Mountain Pass

Gale: These cragged hillls make for weary soles. I see why most headed inland prefer the smooth sailing of the Chionthar. Wyll: More importantly, the land west of here suffers under a terrible curse. Gale: You've seen it for yourself? Wyll: I've glimpsed that doom during my travels, but never dared get close. Wyll: If we continue this way, we may get too close for comfort.

—

Scary woods

Wyll: What a dismal forest. Monsters could be lurking behind any and every tree. Gale: We'd be wise to fear the trees themselves. It feels like the forest itself longs for our destruction. devnote: serious Wyll: Frustrating, that. Wyll: Monsters, I can fight. But I can no more sever these shadows than I could the wind or the sun.

—

Approaching Moonrise

Gale: Moonrise Towers lies ahead. We're nearing the Heart of the Absolute, I'm certain of it. Wyll: Then let us push forward, heads high, weapons in hand, and turn this tower to rubble. Gale: Your confidence is encouraging but a little premature. Let's keep our eyes on the task ahead. Or eye, as the case may be.

—

Tollhouse

Gale: A tollhouse like this would only be merited in the most prosperous of settlements. This was once a thriving trade route. Wyll: Should it be any wonder? The Chionthar's waters carry merchant vessels from as far east as Berdusk. devnote: bur-DUSK Wyll: And they wouldn't have brought just trade goods, but song, dance, and custom. Riches of the mind and the spirit. Wyll: So much was lost when the darkness fell.

—

At the Mason's Guild

Gale: The masons here thought they were building something to last. How wrong they were. Wyll: Perhaps it's a blessing that none of them survived to see it fall to the shadows. Gale: No need for such a grim assumption. Halsin helped many to escape these shadows before the town was consumed. Wyll: Then some masons were more blessed still, if they could put their talents to use elsewhere. Wyll: Perhaps some of their work even graces Baldur's Gate.

—

Guildhall

Wyll: It might seem a bit ramshackle, but this place has a boastworthy bar. Gale: A bar is only as good as its cellars. Which vintages can we expect to find on their racks? devnote: Anticipating a nice drink Wyll: Here, a bottle is judged more by its ability to crack heads than the quality of its contents. Gale: Ah. If that's the main criteria then I shall reset my expectations accordingly. Water it is. devnote: Good humoured

—

House of Healing

Wyll: This was a hospital? Feels more like a prison. Gale: A common enough interpretation. Sickness has a nasty habit of making you feel trapped, if only within the confines of your own body. Gale: I once spent weeks convalescing in the Hospice of St Laupsenn (*) after a nasty bout of ruddy pox. For all their kindness, leaving that place behind felt like freedom to me. Wyll: I've always relied on the kindness of the healers and menders of the Coast. Better a cleric's healing touch than a chirurgeon's scalpel.

(Lore note*): The Hospice of St. Laupsenn is a temple of Ilmater in the North Ward of Waterdeep.

—

Moonrise General_AssaultState

Wyll: This is it, Gale - today, we annihilate the heart of the Absolute's power. The bards will sing of our victory here. Gale: Entirely unnecessary. Though if they are so inclined, I might be convinced to share a stanza or two of my own for inspiration. devnote: Feigned modesty

—

Moonrise General

Wyll: This is no aimless horde - the Absolute's forces are organised. What do you make of it, Gale? Gale: All enemies have some chink in their armour, no matter how much they like to believe themselves invulnerable. That's what we must find. devnote: Cheery/determined Wyll: And if we don't find any clear weakness? Gale: Then we hope our mutual strengths are enough to dominate them. Or, we die nobly in the attempt. devnote: Cheery/determined

—

Moonrise Prison

Gale: Not a devil in sight. How disappointing. COL_MizorasRescue_State_SavedMizora = False, TWN_Wyll_State_MizorasCaptureHappened, MOO_MizorasRescue_Event_WalkedAway = False Wyll: I doubt a few iron bars are sufficient to hold one of Zariel's. Gale: True enough. But an illithid pod? That would probably do the trick. devnote: Cogs whirring Wyll: I wager you're right. Ah, Gale - what a pleasure to see a genius' mind at work.

Wyll: Of course Mizora was Zariel's captured asset. How did I not see it coming? TWN_Wyll_State_MizorasCaptureHappened Gale: It's in a devil's nature to conceal the truth - you can't fault yourself for that. Wyll: I've been pacted for seven years on, Gale. I should be able to read between Mizora's lines by now, no matter how narrow the gap.

Gale: How long have you been pacted to Mizora, Wyll? Wyll: Seven years. Seven years of hunting the monsters of the Sword Coast - and seven years of Mizora's tight leash. Wyll: And seven years of wondering if I'd ever rid myself of her - or if I even should.

—

Act 03

At the Basilisk Gate

Gale: The history of the city itself is captured in the archives here - a fascinating resource. Wyll: I wonder what those archives will reveal about us a hundred years hence. Gale: Only the most excellent and complimentary things. With some encouragement from us, of course.

—

Morphic Pool

Gale: Whatever the outcome of what's just ahead, it will be the stuff of legends. Wyll: In that case, someone needs to survive to tell the story. Gale: My money's on you, Wyll. Wyll: I'm betting on all of us.

—

Misc banter

Gale's ticking time bombs

Wyll points out that Gale has two ticking time-bombs inside him - but he's holding together pretty well. Wyll: I admire your courage, Gale. Gale: Thank you. Any particular reason? Wyll: Between the orb and the bug, you've got more than your fair share of unwelcome passengers. Gale: What can I say? Mother always taught me to be a gracious host.

—

Wyll thinks Gale has potential

Wyll tells Gale he's got potential, and suggests he rename himself something more... heroic. Gale finds Wyll quite the tryhard. Wyll: You're an impressive fighter, Gale. You should consider a new name. Gale: I take it you have some suggestions? Wyll: 'The Wizard Wonder!' Or how about, 'The Master of the Weave'? Gale: Tempting. But I think we might already have the maximum number of theatrical titles.

—

With Laz'el and Wyll

Lae'zel notes that Gale knows a lot about mind flayers. He responds with information about his training. If there, Wyll chimes in as well. Lae'zel: You strike me cleverer than most istiki, Gale. Multiple tutors, I should guess. devnote: istiki - non-gith. IH-stick-ee Gale: Many a wise man and woman indeed. Waterdeep is the home of myriad scholars. Wyll: Ah, the City of Splendours. Spent a whole Fleetswake there with my father. What a delight.

—

Romance

The following dialogues are marked as ROM, which I assume is a flag for triggering when there's an active Romance with the MC.

Romance banter, Act 1

Gale: If your natural charm isn't quite up to scratch, Wyll, there are magical means of adding a little flourish of charisma. Wyll: A kind offer, but I think I'd rather pursue things the old fashioned way.

Gale: Have you noticed any attachments of the more, erm, romantic variety flourishing in our camp, Wyll? devnote: Fishing for info, a bit awkward. Wyll: I think I'm not the right person to be asking. Wyll: I can recognise a troll's silhouette on a far horizon, but I wouldn't know a flirtation if you whacked me alongside the head with it.

—

Romance banter, Act 2

Gale: I knew you were a graceful man, Wyll, but I hear you're quite the dancer too. Gale: I've been known to trip the light fantastic myself. Mine was a popular hand at the annual Blackstaff's Ball. Wyll: I'd have love to have witnessed it, Gale. I wager you are as elegant on the dance floor as you are on the battlefield.

Gale: I've heard that in Baldur's Gate, 'wizard' is also a term used for one who eschews their more, ahem, carnal desires. Is that true, Wyll? devnote: Fishing for info, a bit annoyed about what he's heard Wyll: Where are we going with this, Gale? Gale: Oh, nowhere. I just think it a rather cruel misnomer. Not at all reflective of the glamour wizarding life affords. devnote: A bit sulky/sensitive about it

—

Romance banter, Act 3

Wyll: I'm probably going to regret this, but Gale - if I'm to be wed, would you like to make a speech? Gale: You've asked the right wizard. My oratory skills have left many a wedding guest weeping in their seat. devnote: Honoured/very excited at the prospect of speaking at length. Oblivious as to why his previous listeners might have been left weeping… Wyll: Promise it will last less than half an hour? Gale: I can promise it will feel like less than half an hour... devnote: Trying to avoid committing to a short speech

Wyll: I used to believe the beauty of first love was unable to be surpassed. Wyll: But Gale - you are so much more tolerable now you've found your second. Gale: I'll take that comment with the sincerity and good will I assume it was intended. devnote: Not rising to it, cheerful

—

Misc quotes

Tiefling party

Gale: Wyll's a good man. He may actually be a tried-and-true storybook hero. Gale: Then again he's so full of himself it's a small miracle he hasn't resorted to self-cannibalism yet.

Wyll: You're running away from Gale's cooking. Wyll: It's delicious, don't get me wrong, but that man wouldn't eat a vegetable unless Mystra herself commanded it.

Other

Gale: So, you didn't fancy sharpening up the old moniker? I'd have thought the 'Blade of Frontiers' might be feeling a bit dull after all you've been through.

Player: Sounds heavenly. Mind if I join you? Wyll: Not at all. You hunt the deer, I'll scrounge up the ale. Prepare your belly for roast a la Ravengard! Wyll: Let's hope Gale doesn't take offence if I assume cooking duties, just the once.

#bg3 #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 spoilers #astarion ancunin #astarion #lae'zel #baldur's gate wyll #bg3 meta #wyll ravengard #bg3 wyll #bg3 gale

[abibliophobiaa]

Steve - planning 🫣

the one where you and steve make the most of being locked in a wine cellar.

s.h. x f!reader, little mean, unprotected p in v hate (is it really though?) sex. 18+ (1.2K)

——

“Gonna turn around for me, baby? Wanna see that pretty face when I make you come.”

His hands worked at the fabric of your dress. Hiked it up and over the slope of your ass, giving it a hard slap. Rubbed a soothing circle over the span of it with a mocking coo when you hissed. The sting ached low in your cunt, throbbing in tandem with your heartbeat. You muffled your moan into a forearm, palms braced against the stone slab wall, nail polish likely chipping from your bruising grip.

“Don’t wanna look at you,” you bit out, clenching your teeth as his fingers glided along the flesh of your backside, the seam of your thigh, stopping at the edge of your panties. “Just want you to fuck me, Harrington. That was the deal.”

“One time,” he repeated, toying with the dainty lace fabric covering your soaked slit. You nearly sobbed as he pushed the material to the side and glided a thick digit across your heat, trailing lazy circles around your clit, teasing along your center. Pressing, and yet not sinking in. You cursed low on your breath. “Just to get it out of our system since we’re locked down here anyway.”

And even that had been silly. A proposed idea after the weeks of arguing between the two of you. Like an old married couple, Eddie had joked, before you tossed a pillow at his head and Chrissy nearly shrieked at you for endangering her ‘lovey’s’ face so close to the wedding.

“Yeah,” you growled out, whirling around in his arms to face him. “So what’s it gonna be?”

And it wasn’t like you hated Steve Harrington.

You just — didn’t like him.

He’d been nothing but jovial, cocky even, always flashing his daddy’s credit card, trying to “one up” you on wedding planning.

Oh, you booked a nice little room with a view for the joint bachelor and bachelorette party?

Yeah, well, he’d upgraded it to a lofty five-star hotel overlooking the beach.

Oh, you had work and couldn’t help them put together centerpieces?

Harrington swooped in like Batman himself, ready to save the day.

It was infuriating. And he took pleasure in it. Some sadistic pleasure, mouth always twitching when you accepted your defeat.

He was just — too good, too perfect, too this, that, and all the things you hated.

But fuck it, if he wasn’t handsome.

Perfect nose, sculpted arms, that gorgeous face, broad shoulders and arms that now bracketed you on either side, enveloped you close.

His kiss was dominating. Mouth crashing into yours as he backed you against the stone wall.

The slabs chilled your back, the low swoop of your dress exposing it to the elements. Indents from your fingernails likely carved into the skin of his shoulders you clenched as he muttered, “Hold onto me,” into your opened mouth.

Thighs were hiked up and over his hips, your backside coming up to rest against a shelf.

“Hurry,” you rasped, aware that any moment someone could walk down those stairs and find the two of you like this.

Bodies pressed close, mouths connected, fingers roaming over exposed flesh. With a groan, the man before you pushed his pants down and over his thighs, cock slapping up against his stomach, eager for you. Impossibly long and thick enough to have your eyes widening, mouth watering.

He snickered. “You know, this is the quietest I think you’ve ever been. See something you like?”

“Shut up, Harrington.” You barked, but there was little bite. “I hope you know how to back up that ego of yours.”

“Now that wasn’t very nice,” he teased against your collar bone. The asshole dragged his head through your slick folds, grinning widely as it caught against your center, eliciting a desperate unbidden plea from your lips. “What did you just say?”

Another drag.

Up and down, tapping at your clit until you jolted in his arms, caging him in tighter with your vice grip around his hips.

Steve leaned down, the ghost of a kiss along your lips, the corner of your mouth, the curve of your jaw. Traced the path of your pulse to feel it jump as his cockhead prodded at your center once more.

“Please.”

You conceded.

Waved the white flag.

Accepted defeat.

Welcomed it willingly.

“Now was that so hard?” He mused, pushing in and robbing you both of air. “Ohmygod.”

“Move,” you stuttered out, eyes clenching shut in tandem with your cunt as he pulled all the way out and slid back in, hazel eyes roaming your face as he watched your reactions. “Fuck, why didn’t we do this sooner?”

“Wasted all that time fighting when we could have been doing this.” He gasped again, pulling back until you ached with it, before pushing in until you were so utterly full and deliciously split open on him. “Feels so fuckin’ good.”

His pace hastened, gaze dropping down to where you were connected. Watched himself fuck into you as a hand kneaded over the dough of your ass, holding you tighter to him.

“Look so good taking me like this, baby.”

Heat crawled up your spine at his words. His long fingers reached between the two of you, gliding over the soft fabric of your dress. Settled over your clit, determined fingers ready to make you come.

Hazel eyes flashed behind your half-lidded gaze, mouth rounding in a broken keen as he pressed down and circled, the pace of his fingers starting to match the languid drag of his thick cock inside of you.

“Oh fuck, you feel so good —”

“Steve, Steve —”

“Come on, pretty girl,” he rasped, lips pressing tight against yours, fingers wrapping loosely around your neck in a way that had your hand gripping at the globe of his ass, spurring his hips on harder against yours. “Want you to come on my cock. Make a mess all over it. Want it —”

It was too much. The sound of your slick mixing with his between your thighs. The fleshy slaps of his thighs hitting the backs of yours. The grunted breaths. The dizzying fingers between your thighs. The way he drove into you, relentless and determined. The weight of his body against yours.

You shattered, forearm draped over his shoulders tugging him closer to muffle your cry of “Shit!” into his chest.

He came apart after you, holding you close in his arms as his hips stuttered against yours. You wanted to hate him as he leaned forward and pressed a kiss against the curve of your cheek. Wanted to hate him as he tucked himself into his pants and helped you down off the shelf he’d propped you up onto — as he helped smooth down your dress and fix your messy lipstick.

There was little time to think about it, however, because the door swung open at last and Chrissy called down into the open cellar, “I’m so sorry, guys! We just got back from the store. We didn’t know you were down here still.”

But neither of you minded. Not as he pressed a hand to the small of your back and guided you up the stairs. Nor as he remained at your side, like a boy with a sordid secret, as you stepped into the main room and found yourselves greeted by Eddie and Chrissy, opened a bottle of champagne on the table between them, glasses already filled. As though they’d started without you.

“Hey, Steve,” Eddie called, grinning toothily. “Your shirt is on backwards.”

He glanced down, and your cheeks burned.

…Because he’d never taken it off.

——

#Steve Harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #Steve Harrington x f!reader #steve harrington x reader smut